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What’s Wrong with Everyone Nowadays?

Into what estate did the fall bring mankind? 

(Westminster Shorter Catechism, question 17)

            Not to put too fine a point on it, but folks are acting pretty stressed out lately.

            I’m not the first to observe that 2020 has been quite a year, and it’s not over yet. The coronavirus pandemic was bad enough by itself, but then people had to take sides over it (as though illness were a matter of political dispute). In Michigan, some were so upset that they took to wandering around the state capitol building openly carrying loaded weapons while the legislature was in session.[1] Then, after George Floyd was killed by a police officer in Minneapolis, protests erupted around these United States. Most were peaceful, but some produced violence and even the short-lived takeover of a Seattle neighborhood.[2] Across the political spectrum, people were worked up.

            And all that was before the presidential election really got going.

            The nation seems more divided than at any time since the Civil War,[3] and almost entirely because people seem to be angrier than ever before. That political anger has spilled over into the Churches: depending on which evangelical congregation you attend on Sunday morning, either Trump voters or those against systemic racism must tread very lightly. It’s not just about politics, either. In the OPC, there currently appears no room for dialogue between those decrying institutional sexism and abuse of Church power and those warning that those who decry institutional sexism and abuse of Church power are destroying the Church. All around me I see pastor after pastor being eaten up by people who are mad that they’ve been asked to wear a mask or mad that others haven’t been forced to wear a mask. Everything, it seems, is a battle worth fighting, and fighting to the death. Moderation is capitulation, and even listening to an opposing point of view is a sign of weakness. There’s no place for patience, let alone charity.

            In the words of Charles, Prince of Wales, “What’s wrong with everyone nowadays?”[4] 

The fall brought mankind into an estate of sin and misery.

(Westminster Shorter Catechism, answer 17)

            Actually, I’m not sure there’s anything wrong with anyone. Instead, what I think we’re witnessing is a nation suddenly waking up to the fact that it is in an estate of misery. Especially in these United States, very very few people can tolerate being miserable for very long. We live in an age of miracles and wonders, of which over-the-counter pain medications are not the least.  Death is a stranger and a long life is expected. Discomfort is regarded as an unseemly intrusion into our lives of complacency, and misery seems downright unfair. In our cultural context, the perceived injustice is not simply government-directed public health measures: the perceived injustice is the coronavirus itself. In America, we have the right to be happy,[5] not miserable.

            But misery is the universal condition of mankind since the Fall. Because of Adam’s first sin, we are all condemned to frustration and death, and no one can escape it (Genesis 3). The western world’s avoidance of misery can make one believe we have escaped it, but this is an illusion. Misery and death will catch up to every last one of us. If nothing else, the current coronavirus pandemic has made us all acutely aware of that reality.

            Unremitting misery leads to frustration, and frustration, as Langston Hughes observed, tends to explode.

            What happens to a dream deferred?

                  Does it dry up

                  like a raisin in the sun?

                  Or fester like a sore—

                  And then run?

                  Does it stink like rotten meat?

                  Or crust and sugar over—

                  like a syrupy sweet?

                  Maybe it just sags

                  like a heavy load.

                  Or does it explode?[6]

            The African-American dream of full inclusion into the American dream has dried up, festered, stunk, crusted over, and sagged until it has again exploded on the streets of many of our cities. An explosion is what happens when a people are kept down by racist societal structures. An explosion happens when oblivious people persistently confuse systemic racism with personal prejudice, when in fact the term describes the ways in which governmental and societal systems are structured to exclude those who have always been excluded from the opportunities others take for granted. An explosion happens when wealthy suburban kids who smoke weed are sent to rehab while impoverished urban kids who smoke weed are sent to lock-up. An explosion happens when the Law’s concern for the poor, emphasized from the Proverbs through the Prophets, is one of the most ignored themes in Scripture and the one most likely to be spiritualized away by reformed preachers.

            Frustration tends to explode, and so those whose lives and livelihoods have been put on hold by stay-at-home orders and shuttered businesses take to the streets to demand that what they have lost be restored. Those who are giving the orders are ordering the rest of us to do what is relatively easy for them to do: stay home, work from a computer, and order in all one’s necessities. Others of us have to actually do the physical labor of producing and delivering the goods which make that lifestyle possible. Gestures of gratitude by public officials are much less significant than allowing us to go to worship services and sing praises to our Savior. Being denied that which is truly essential is frustrating, and frustration tends to explode.

All mankind by their fall lost communion with God, are under his wrath and curse, and so made liable to all miseries in this life, to death itself, and to the pains of hell forever.

(Westminster Shorter Catechism, answer 19)

            Such frustration and such explosion are fitting in this world corrupted by the power of sin and death. Dylan Thomas rightly counseled:

            Do not go gentle into that good night,

            Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

            Rage, rage against the dying of the light.[7]

            If we simply accept misery, then we affirm that this is the way the world should be. If we think that death is the natural end of life, then we deny the dark truths of Genesis 3. If we are not frustrated, if we do not explode, then God did not curse humanity and the ground on which we live; then death is not the last enemy; then there was no need for Christ to rise on the third day and our preaching is empty and your faith is also empty.

            The world was not made to be wracked by disease. We were not made to stay in our houses, divorced from our Churches and communities. We were not made to ignore the harms done to fellow man, to accept injustice, to be indifferent to mercy, or to walk in the pride of place. In this way, our times of pandemic are a merciful providence: our eyes have been opened to the way things truly are, and now is the time to rage against the dying of the light.

God having, out of his mere good pleasure, from all eternity, elected some to everlasting life, did enter into a covenant of grace to deliver them out of the estate of sin and misery, and to bring them into an estate of salvation by a Redeemer.

(Westminster Shorter Catechism, answer 20)

            But of course, rage will not address the problem at the root of all the miseries of this life: mankind has lost communion with God and is under his wrath and curse. The God of wrath and love has addressed the curse already through the resurrection of the dead: because Christ is risen, we shall be raised (1 Corinthians 15:11-28). The last enemy to be destroyed is death, but that enemy will certainly be destroyed (1 Corinthians 15:26). God gives us victory through our Lord Jesus Christ (1 Corinthians 15:57).

            Standing next to her dying father, a young woman once asked me whether I ever get angry at death. Anger at death is right and good, for that anger is ultimately hatred of sin, the dark power behind death (1 Corinthians 15:56). However, that anger must not be turned against other people because they are our fellow victims of the misery of this life. For them, we should love justice and do mercy (Micah 6:8). With them, we should walk humbly before our God, acknowledging that we are blind to our own sins and have no more wisdom than those who rule over us. Because we live in hope of the resurrection, we must love one another because love is what will characterize our life in the age to come (1 Corinthians 13:8-13).

            Explode. Rage against the dying of the light. Rejoice that because of the love of God and through the Cross you have communion with God, and so the miseries of this life will certainly come to an end. “Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another” (1 John 4:11).

[1] “Heavily Armed Protesters Gather Again At Michigan Capitol To Decry Stay-At-Home Order” (NPR.org, https://www.npr.org/2020/05/14/855918852/heavily-armed-protesters-gather-again-at-michigans-capitol-denouncing-home-order. Accessed October 26, 2020.)

[2] “Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone,” Wikipedia. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capitol_Hill_Autonomous_Zone. Accessed October 26, 2020.)

[3] And it’s pretty distressing, all by itself, that we have to use a civil war as a baseline for comparisons of levels of political strife.

[4] “Prince Charles Begs to Differ” (NBCNews.com, https://www.nbcnews.com/id/wbna6560478. Accessed October 26, 2020.)

[5] “Everybody’s Got the Right” by Stephen Sondheim. (Assassins. Music & lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, book by John Weidman. Theatre Communications Group: New York. 1990.

[6] Langston Hughes, “Harlem,” 1951.(https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46548/harlem. Accessed October 27, 2020. Italics original.)

[7] Dylan Thomas, “Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night,” 1951.(https://poets.org/poem/do-not-go-gentle-good-night. Accessed October 30, 2020.)

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But for the Grace of God

But for the grace of God go I … the phrase popped into my head as I was sitting shocked by the Mortification of Spin episode from July 15th. Shocked, merely by the title and quickly becoming outraged, hurt, even betrayed—which are some pretty strong emotions for a haphazard listener. (Well, now, a NON-listener.)

My podcast game is, lacking—to pad the facts. There are many good reasons I have never invested in podcasts (there are five young children-reasons running about) and rather more substandard reasons (how does anyone wear ear-pods?), but suffice it to say I am a poor podcast commitment. When I do, however, find myself hitting the purple app, more often than not a MoS episode begins. They are (were) a wonderful team—erudite, witty, current, and a fellowship of believers. Which is why I was shocked by the recent actions, or lack thereof, of Todd Pruitt and Carl Trueman.

But for the grace of God go I.

My knowledge of the gritty details is vague—essentially Aimee Byrd was ambushed with a list of questions to answer under the guise of a response to her book, and upon refusing was released from the podcast. I am aware enough that public statements contain mere scraps of truth no matter how people might dive to discover more. It was in my oblivious state that I blithely assumed the men of God who would sit with Aimee as a co-host, co-heir of Christ, and champion of her book (at the very least champion of her right to write a book) would speak up for her; they would use the voice that she helped make relevant to speak for her. Not in complete agreement with everything she says, does, or thinks but as brothers in Christ standing solidly with her repeated orthodox beliefs. Quite the opposite.

But for the grace of God go I.

I will no longer listen to the Mortification of Spin podcast. I have nothing to recommend them, other than a warning. Who we are in front of microphones is not always who we are in actions. What we say we believe does not always equate to what we do.

But for the grace of God go I.

Ministries are run by people, podcasts are peopled by sinners, blogs are written in anger or haste or poor taste—we are still being made perfect. This warning is also to myself.

When those ministries, podcasts, blogs are no longer peopled by believers willing to count the cost for Christ and lay down their agenda for His, that is the time to walk away.

Because of the grace of God, I go.

Photo by Drew Mills.

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Moving Forward as a Unified Church

Last year Torrey Gazette ran a series of pieces on the importance of theology for women. Since then it has become evident that fragments of the Christian church have no interest in the theological contributions of women.

We have drifted from “I do not permit a woman to teach” (1 Tim. 2:12) to “I don’t want women to talk about theology.” “God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose” (1 Cor. 12:18) has turned into fragments of the Reformed church teaching which of these universal gifts have been excluded from women. This has mostly focused on dismissing the gift of teaching in women for the edification of the larger church (unless they teach the pyramid scheme of women who tell other women to shut up). This has come from isolated individuals, wayward Facebook groups, and parachurch organizations that hold no authority in the church (though some of the participants are in positions of ecclesiastical authority). Yet, they are all fighting strongly to control the narrative of women within evangelicalism.

When Paul speaks about the gifts given to the church he says:

For to one is given through the Spirit the utterance of wisdom, and to another the utterance of knowledge according to the same Spirit (1 Cor. 12:8)

What Has Happened to Wisdom and Knowledge?

It has long been established that men have access to these gifts of wisdom and knowledge. What has been less established is whether these gifts have been given to women for the edification of the church. And yet, Paul ties these gifts to “the same Spirit.” The entire church—male and female—“were made to drink of one Spirit.” (1 Cor. 12:13).

We see these gifts played out within the narrative of Scripture. Deborah was a judge over Israel (Jdg. 4:5). Huldah was a prophetess (2 Kings 22:15). Women were the first to proclaim the heart of the gospel to the apostles (Matt. 28:1-10). Women corrected street preachers (Acts 18:26). Philip’s daughters were prophetesses (Acts 21:9). And finally, women delivered books of scripture (Rom. 16:1-2). Elevating these cases and recognizing the actual contributions of women to theology does not undermine the exclusive maleness of church leadership. Contrary to teaching that women have no role in helping the church reform to Scripture, these examples place women centrally in transmitting the heart of the Gospel and communicating the church’s tradition.

Individuals who acknowledge women only to diminish their role after they step out of their kitchen, house, or women’s bible study have no avenue for women as sources of wisdom and knowledge for the church at large. Any gifts given by the Spirit are at most only to be used over other women. This is no way to move forward as a church. Paul teaches indiscriminately to edify one another in the instruction of the word (Col. 3:16). And while these segments of our church remain members of the true church (and something denominations need to correct), the church must remain focused on her mission: the proclamation of the gospel, the sacraments, and church discipline (including the discipleship of men and women as brothers and sisters in Christ).

To this end, I heartily recommend Aimee Byrd’s Recovering From Biblical Manhood and Womanhood. Despite the title’s reference to the 90’s book Recovering Biblical Manhood and Womanhood (which popularized the doctrine and language of complementarian thinking), Byrd does not argue against complementarian teaching so far as it’s Biblical. Instead, her focus is to remind the church to treat brothers and sisters in Christ the way the Lord Himself did: alike situated at the foot of our Savior.

Contra accusations that Aimee teaches female ordination or egalitarian structures, her writing encourages something biblical and orthodox: the Marys of the world should pursue the “good portion, which will not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:42). The church, like Christ, should encourage women in this pursuit of theology and discipleship. In arguing for this equality of discipleship, Aimee argues from the principals of scripture. In so doing, she has pushed back against an infuriated religious fragment that would like to reduce women to Marthas.

How Does the Church Move Forward?

This question would be dynamic depending on the denomination answering it. But I’m answering it within the Reformed Presbyterian tradition. Men alone may be officers. But theology does not belong exclusively to men. Wisdom and knowledge are gifts of the Spirit distributed at His will. And these are to be used in the church to continue reforming its heart and practices to Scripture.

Scripture has been given that all may be edified and sanctified (2 Tim. 3:16-17). Scripture has been given to all the members of the church to increase their wisdom and knowledge. Brothers and sisters in Christ are encouraged to use this wisdom and knowledge to edify one another and sanctify one another. As Paul says:

Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs (Col. 3:16)

submitting to one another out of reverence for Christ. (Eph. 5:21)

Scripture promises that God’s word will accomplish what it is intended for (Isa. 55:11) and gender does not play a role in that. God’s word is meant to edify and sanctify His whole church and not some segment of His bride. And each member is responsible to bear up one another (Gal. 6:2; Eph. 4:2; Col. 3:13) and correct one another (Matt. 18:15; Gal. 6:1).

These must be done within the confines of wisdom. Wisdom is a grace from the Spirit of God to those who will listen (Proverbs 1:5-7). There is nothing biological tied to this spiritual wisdom. Arguments that women are easily deceived and incapable of this wisdom ignore Paul’s example that men actively reject the wisdom of God (1 Tim. 2:14). For every “women aren’t fit because they are easily deceived” argument there is an argument that men intentionally ignore the word of God. However, believers are being restored to the image of God and taking on the mind of Christ. Arguing for man-only wisdom sounds more like “this women you gave me” than “blessed are you among women.”

Churches and sessions (!) can learn both theology and wisdom from women. Scripture is replete with commendations to edify one another and instruct one another (e.g. Eph. 5:19-21; Col. 3:16). Groups wishing to diminish the theological contributions of women have no place in Scripture. They have no place in the confessional, conservative denominations in which they dwell. Further, they have no place in the continuing reform of the church to Scripture.

Where From Here?

Where does the church go from here? We can’t pretend we are in a healthy situation. We have parachurch organizations eager for donations and not discipline. They remove contributors because they disrupt the flow by calling the church back to her task.

We have presbyteries more concerned with protecting their officers and not the orthopraxy of Scripture. Does “let there be no filthiness nor foolish talk nor crude joking” (Eph. 5:4) apply as equally as “I do not permit a woman to teach” (1 Tim. 2:12)? Is the entirety of Scripture applicable to women and officers of the church?

God’s church is to be ruled by His word. And His word describes not only who may edify the church but also the composition of her officers. The church needs to be more inclusive to the women who speak biblical truth while also rejecting the officers who impede the faithful path forward of the church. Until the church truly believes this it will allow sectarian leaders to fragment the church over their pearl-clutching.

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My Lament

It’s been a year and two weeks. Fifty-four weeks ago I said goodbye to my church home of twenty years. After the service, we came back home with those friends who understood the depth of pain, relief, and joy that leaving this church was to us. We fellowshipped, lamented, and celebrated. Looking back, that day is a swirl of surreal. It’s also the last day I felt I had community.

We quickly settled into another church of like faith and practice. We chose it because our two teenage boys, who had suffered incalculable pain and loss over the last two years, needed friends. This church had a few boys their age whom they knew through our annual church camp in the Black Hills. It felt like the right choice. Week after week we have gone—morning, evening, and Sunday School. We began to invite people over. When the piano player left, I volunteered to play every other week. I attended a women’s Bible study. We offered our home to begin a youth group. And then COVID-19 happened.

The resulting “couch church” allowed us more flexibility and we began to listen to sermons by one of my favorite pastors (Dale VanDyke at Harvest OPC in Grand Rapids, MI). We continued to listen to our church’s morning service but chose VanDyke’s sermons on Job for our evening “church.” These sermons were like the balm of Gilead to my cracked, fractured, and taped-together soul. But it wasn’t just me; the kids listened raptly, the sermons spoke directly to my husband’s deep wound, and we drank it in.

Then George Floyd was murdered. The country screamed at each other like rabid, frothy-mouthed dogs from their two poles. I broke with grief. These systemic and racial issues are not a new awareness for me (my brother and my daughter are both African American). I have long lamented how most of America sees them and I have seen these very real slights first-hand over and over again. But now—the country “awakening” to what has always been true—brought a mixture of joy (finally!), frustration (where have you all been?), and anger.

My anger, prompted by what I saw on social media from fellow church members and friends in our small OPC and PCA circles, undid me a little bit more. They claimed to care about racism yet denied the truth of history and its effects on the present and—even more acutely painful—they denied the countless stories of their black brothers and sisters. Still nursing my own deep wounds of betrayal and hidden trauma, I felt the rejection and dismissal afresh as my fellow Presbyterians explained away their complaints. I began to feel a queasiness settle in my gut and I fought the urge to flee. These people are not safe. 

Eventually, I decided I needed to quit social media. My anger was troubling my conscience. I needed more patience and forbearance with my fellow Christians, as Christ had infinite patience with me and my own blind spots. I had all but made up my mind when I got a voicemail from an old friend from my time at a children’s charter school (this school is 30% white, the rest mostly African American with a large immigrant population from Africa). I was on the board there and worked hard to recruit Black voices for the board as well as other committee work in order to best represent our students and take advantage of such beautiful diversity. I started a monthly culture club where we celebrated different countries and learned about their customs, food, and dress. Sadly, I had to leave the school two years ago when we were forced to begin home-schooling our girls, a situation directly related to our leaving our church home.

And so the voicemail. I haven’t heard from this friend since we left the school. She was a strong Black voice in the community and had joined the board, doing much to help the other (white) board members understand the unique needs and gifts of her particular community. She was compassionate, loving, and didn’t mind educating others. In her message, she thanked me for my voice on Facebook and for communicating love to her and those who looked like her without further polarizing the divide. She said that my posts gave her and her husband “hope,” and they wanted to let me know how much it meant to them. I cried. My feelings of frustration and even guilt over my frustration faded and they were washed away with a needed reminder that these things matter. 

It was the next week that Aimee Byrd was kicked off one of my favorite podcasts. Having read three of her books and listened to Mortification of Spin for years, I had been watching from a distance as the patriarchy club of the OPC (and PCA) became more and more agitated by her. I admired Aimee and her cool and leveled reasoning, her clear Biblical exegesis, her refusing to stoop to low blows, and her continued presence and speaking the truth in love. Though not a fan of Twitter (fewer pictures of cute kids and kittens, I guess), I started reading, mouth agape, the things people were saying about her. So many false things. My gut churned and stirred again. 

The Earthly Body of Christ

After all of this, I was left with questions. What is going on? Has it always been this way? Is the OPC changing or am I just waking up? It has been a while since I aligned with one political group or the other. The evil that is abortion tends to push me into one camp by necessity, but with so many other issues growing in importance, I have been “at sea” politically for quite a while. But now, one’s political stance and all that encapsulated seemed to be creeping into the church. Identity politics and virtue-signaling impacted a new set of “issues,” but underneath it all, the same. The arrogance of those with power. Ignoring the voices of those who have been oppressed. Not believing those stories of abuse because the accused abusers are “people we know and we know what we know.” Such arrogance and blind eyes to fellow believers’ pain!

“Mourn with those who mourn.” Where are the fellow lamenters? Where is the outcry? Why do we need to temper our outrage over injustices in order that we don’t appear to be on that other side? Why are our pulpits filled more with beseeching God to “restore law and order in the land” than to “restore justice and equity”? Where is the cry of agony over how the church and its people have been complicit, albeit inadvertently, to the sufferings of others? Why is that not the first stop, the first response, the loudest wail? Why the rush to defend our own policies and innocence? It is not just good secular psychological practice to listen and hear the stories of those who have been traumatized as a first step toward healing—it is Christ’s example to us! He came to rescue the down-trodden and the broken-hearted, his mercy toward the weak and abused ended in his literal self-sacrifice—how much more ought we just listen and mourn.

Coincidentally (yes, I know, “providentially”), my husband was asked to preach at other churches in May and June. I decided to do a three-week road trip with the kids to visit friends and family in several states. Leaving home without him, I was trepidatious and not enthusiastic. Yet as the miles slipped by, I enjoyed the company of my children (especially my oldest boy who was my co-driver for the first time), listened to more excellent preaching, and attended three different churches. I began to acknowledge just how very adrift we were.

I was alone. My family and I are alone. We are aliens in this land and we are in pain. We have been betrayed by those close to us and it hurts very much. We have a story we cannot share. We know first-hand what it is to be forced into silence while those in power flourish. Our unwavering faith in a God (who loves us personally and has a plan of goodness I don’t need to understand for it to be true) has kept us steady. But here I was, unmoored from the “have-to’s” of daily life, enjoying those relationships that matter most in my life, not being daily bombarded with reminders of our recent past and the present political climate, and it left a small space for my own loss to begin to wash over me.

Jogging with my brother in the humid and sticky air of Wisconsin, he asked how we were holding up. I said, “We’re doing all right, but just under the surface I am sad. And I am sad all the time.” I didn’t realize this was true until I said it out loud to him. Typing this now makes me cry. It’s true: I am sad all the time. 

I don’t know how to heal without community. I am reading Philip Ryken’s commentary on Jeremiah and Lamentations for my daily devotions (it is rich and wonderful). I am listening to the sermons that remind me of God’s character and his infinite love for me and my family. I am reciting my gratitude list and making “Christ is everything and I have Christ!” my daily mantra. But yet the wound has begun throbbing more acutely than it did a year ago and I am just so sad.

This is my lament. It ends not in despair but in clinging to the only thing that is not sad: Christ and his resurrection. But God calls us to more in this earthly life: eventually, I need to learn to love His people again. No, not love (for I do love them). But to trust them.

I realized last night that my problems with my current church begin and end with me. I have been there long enough that I can see people’s flaws—and their flaws scare me. I am a wounded animal, watching with hyper-vigilance from a corner of the room, unsure where my escape route is, not trusting anyone enough to receive their help. It is easier to find reasons to dislike and dismiss than it is to admit I simply don’t feel safe enough to stay.

But how long, O Lord? How long until I can stand in front of a congregation and profess my commitment to that local body of believers and begin serving and making myself vulnerable and working toward intimacy? How long until I am not afraid of each and every person and their capacity to rip the rug out from under me and my family? How long until I can feel safe? 

Pray for me. Pray for us. Pray for all those who are lamenting in private because they do not feel safe enough to do so publicly in Christ’s church surrounded by reassuring arms, hands, and hearts of non-judgmental love and unconditional acceptance. Feeling stuck in the former, my heart longs for the latter. 

I miss my church community.

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Open Letter to Governor Abbott

Dear Governor Abbott,

I am a near life-long Texan. I’ve lived the majority of my life within two Austin zip codes. I have been raised to believe that Texas is a safe haven for small, local, and independent business owners who give back to their community.

Sir, I know that this pandemic has been a catastrophic political valley to walk through. I would not dare speak to you about what should or should not be done in every situation. Yet, towards your recent closure of breweries, wineries, and distilleries as “bars,” I would petition you to reconsider recent decisions.

Most of these businesses have worked with stricter policies and procedures than you mandated. Most have exclusively served people outdoors as they utilized their indoor space for “to go” business (something hindered by their inability to deliver their own products). They continued this practice even as the weather got increasingly hot. They have carefully protected their employees and partisans by requiring social distancing, washing of hands, and mask wearing when not drinking or eating at tables. Closing these businesses was wrong. 

For your office, this has not been enough. In recent days, your office has permitted the redefinition of a “bar” to include alcohol sold to distributors. These sales to distributors are almost exclusively for local grocery and liquor stores. These sales are oriented for consumption in private residences. Thus, these sales supply alcohol to the people staying home under your guidance and direction.

Sir, these breweries, wineries, and distilleries are being wrongfully punished. They are being punished for abiding and even exceeding your requirements. They are punished for not being local grocery and liquor stores who are allowed to deliver alcohol themselves or through third parties. They are being punished for supporting local grocery and liquor stores when they sell their product through a distributor and get labeled a “bar.” They are being punished for accommodating people throughout the state of Texas who drink alcohol in the comfort of their home. In brief, they are being punished for abiding by the rules of the state and providing essential products to the economy of Texas.

These things considered; I ask you to reconsider the definition of “bars” in your Executive Order. Neither your 51% definition nor the calculations of your office properly identifies the at-risk locations you wish to close. This novel coronavirus is waging war on our communities. It is waging war on our local businesses. These industries contribute to what makes Texas unique and cannot endure for long as your office hinders them due to inadequate standards and definitions.

Sir, please reconsider your Executive Order’s definitions of “bars” and save our local businesses. 

Yours,

Joshua M. Torrey

Picture by Drew Mills

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Joy in the Journey

Thomas Boston was part of the group of ministers called “The Marrow Men” who sought to return Scottish Presbyterians back to the free offer of the gospel. It was this movement that eventually led to our own Presbyterian denomination. In 1751, Rev. Boston preached a series of sermons on the single verse, Ecclesiastes 7:13 “Consider the work of God: who can make straight what He has made crooked?” These sermons were published in 1752 as the booklet “The Crook in the Lot.” It is a relatively short read (the audiobook is only 4 hours total length) and I commend it to you in its entirety.  For our purposes today, I will be drawing several lessons from Rev. Boston’s book because this is where the rubber meets the road as we consider joy in our journey.  

Paul wraps up his epistle of joy with a brief mention of his own struggles. 

“I rejoiced in the Lord greatly that now at length you have revived your concern for me. You were indeed concerned for me, but you had no opportunity. Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” - Philippians 4:10-13 ESV 

This may be one of the most overused understatements in all of scripture. When Paul says that he has learned to be content in every circumstance, he understates the circumstances in which he has learned that lesson. In 2 Corinthians, we learn more details of Paul’s being “abundance and need” as he says here. 

“Five times I received at the hands of the Jews the forty lashes less one. Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I was stoned. Three times I was shipwrecked; a night and a day I was adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from robbers, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brothers; in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure.” - 2 Corinthians 11:24-27 ESV 

That’s quite a list of “all things” Paul can do through Christ, isn’t it? It is within this context that he tells the Philippians to “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again, rejoice.” How can we rejoice, how can we face all things through Christ when the Lord has made our journey crooked? 

Everyone’s Journey is Crooked 

“Consider the works of God: who can make straight, what He has made crooked?” Ecclesiastes 7:23 

So let us consider the works of God together. Thomas Boston makes this as one of the first points in his first sermon: 

“Everybody’s lot in this world has some crook in it. Complainers are apt to make odious comparisons: they look about, and taking a distant view of the condition of others, can discern nothing in it but what is straight, and just to one’s wish; so they pronounce their neighbor’s lot wholly straight. But that is a false verdict; there is no perfection here; no lot out of heaven without a crook.”  

Look around at your sisters in Christ. Consider that the Lord has also given them a crooked journey. Within this room, there are many struggles. This has never been more clear to me than when we lost our first child to miscarriage. Friends all over the US and Canada sent me condolences, and so many of them had suffered this particular crook. I had not known until I found myself in their ranks. Within this room, many have suffered pregnancy loss, stillbirth and/or infertility. Many have, or currently, suffer chronic illness, or pain. A number here suffer from depression, anxiety, and other mental and emotional burdens. Some are struggling with unwanted singleness, widowhood, and divorce, while others find their marriages are their crook. Some have been or are currently victims of violence within your homes. Some have been assaulted. Some of you are dealing with aging and infirm parents and others with wayward children. Some of you are facing financial burdens, addiction, unemployment. The list goes on.  

Sisters, we need to understand that there is no such thing as a straight path. If you are looking to the life of another and thinking that surely you would love a path as straight as hers, believe me when I tell you, her path may be crooked in different ways, but it is still crooked. If you are looking to the life of another thinking less of her for the crook in her lot, consider that it is the Lord who works in her, and has appointed this for her. Who can make straight, what the Lord has made crooked? Not you. 

Thomas Boston points us to the first cause of every crook. “Sin so bowed the hearts and minds of men, that they became crooked in respect, of the holy law; and God justly so bowed their lot, that it became crooked too. And this crook in our lot inseparably follows our sinful condition, till, dropping this body of sin and death, we get within heaven’s gates.” Now let us not fall into the trap of Jesus’ disciples in asking “Who sinned, this man or his parents, that this man is blind?” It is absolutely true that all the suffering and pain in this life comes first because of sin in this world, but Boston divides the crooks into 2 categories: pure sinless crooks, and impure sinful crooks. Sinless crooks are sufferings that arise because of the general corruption of the world to sin. Sinful crooks are sufferings that arise because of direct sinful acts done by another against us or done by us. 

This is the first step in finding joy in our crooked journey. In which category does your crook belong? Consider my first example: pregnancy loss. Genesis 3 makes it very clear that everything related to reproduction has been broken as a result of sin. All the various pain and suffering surrounding pregnancy and childbirth come about because this world has been shattered by sin. We grieve these things, but we carry no condemnation or shame for them. Similarly, if the crook in your lot is because of another’s sin against you, we grieve that sin and call it sin. We seek justice for that sin. But you have no condemnation or shame. In both of these cases, the pain and grief is the real crook of our lot. We suffer the results of the sin, and it makes our journey in this life crooked, but we have no cause for shame in them. Too often we carry false guilt and false shame for the crooked things in our life that are there not because of our sin, but, as Jesus told His disciples, “that the works of God might be displayed.” (John 9:3) 

Now there are crooks in our lot that come about because of our own sin. At the beginning of Philippians 4, Paul identifies two women who have been faithful. He says they have been co-laborers with him in the gospel. They have, however, come into a mutual crook in their lot. They have disagreed, and Paul begs them to agree in the Lord. They have ceased to have the mind of Christ, and Paul is telling them both to repent of their pride and agree, not with each other, but in the Lord. When the crook in your lot is because of your sin there is no cause to despair. Remember two things. First, you cannot make this crooked thing straight, even if you are the one who has made it crooked. You cannot fix it. You can—in fact, you must—repent. Turn back to Christ. You have his mind in you. You have his power at work within you to will and to work. Don’t hate the crook. Don’t try to turn from the crook. Instead, repent of the sin that caused it. Turn to Christ.  

Contentment in Our Crooked Journey 

But in all of this, our crooks remain. How can we face our crooks, walk our crooked journey, while still being able to rejoice in the Lord always? How, in the midst of the brokenness can we do what Paul calls us to do. “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.” Philippians 4:8-9 ESV  

When we consider that the Lord is the one who has made our way crooked, and we cannot make it straight, there can be a temptation to turn to fatalism. We can throw up our hands and say “Oh well. I guess the Lord wills it. What can I do?” This is not at all what scripture calls us to. Our union with Christ gives us the power to work for His good pleasure! Contentment is not the same thing as passive resignation.  

In his beautiful book The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment, Jeremiah Burroughs says: 

“But a gracious heart, being enlarged to be capable of God, and enjoying somewhat of him, can be filled by nothing in the world; it must only be God himself. . . . 

All outward peace is not enough; I must have the peace of God. But suppose you have the peace of God. Will that not quiet you? No, I must have the God of peace; as the peace of God so the God of peace. That is, I must enjoy that God who gives me the peace; I must have the Cause as well as the effect. I must see from whence my peace comes, and enjoy the Fountain of my peace, as well as the stream of my peace. And so in other mercies: have I health from God? I must have the God of my health to be my portion, or else I am not satisfied. It is not life, but the God of my life; it is not riches, but the God of those riches, that I must have, the God of my preservation, as well as my preservation. 

A gracious heart is not satisfied without this: to have the God of the mercy, as well as the mercy.” (pg 43, 44) 

It is so easy to keep our eyes always on crookedness in our journey, looking for the straightening, seek the solution, or the healing, or the justice for the problem. Instead, we must have our eye to Christ himself. We must be satisfied in Christ. Like Jonathan said on Friday night, our joy can only be Jesus.  

This is illustrated so well in the familiar story of Mary and Martha. In Luke, when Martha comes to Jesus asking that her sister help with the serving, Jesus answers her: “Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things; but only one thing is necessary, for Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her.” (Luke 10:41-42 NASB) Jesus said Mary, in seeking Him, had chosen the good part.  

Often when our family is watching a movie I am called away for some purpose or another. As I complete my task, I hear my children calling to me “Mama! Come quick! You’re going to miss the good part!” Martha’s mind was filled with the everyday tasks of her life that she missed the good part. Just as Jesus promised he wouldn't take it from Mary so she could serve tables, He will not take the good part from you. Jesus is the good part. Your crook is there to turn your face so you will not miss the good part.  

Grace in our Crooked Journey 

In 2 Corinthians, Paul gives us a little more insight into what it meant that he could “do all things through Christ.”  In chapter 11 he outlines all of his physical sufferings, but in chapter 12 he tells us of a bigger crook in his lot. “So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations,  a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, “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.” - 2 Corinthians 12:7-9 ESV 

Paul tells us directly that the Lord had made something crooked in his life for his humility, but Paul still felt free to ask the Lord to relieve it. Do you earnestly ask the Lord to relieve your crook? So you should! The Lord delights in the prayers of his people. You cannot make it straight, but He can. We begged the Lord for children for ten years. His grace was sufficient for us, but he also gave us the means to straighten that crook, and we took them. Do you have biblical means to remove a crook in your life? Use them! Doctors, therapists, medicine, the police, and the justice system, to name a few, are common graces from God to deliver us from these things. Both times Jonathan was unemployed we earnestly prayed, and he applied for every job listing for which he was not disqualified.  

In either case, with a lot that is straightened, or one that the Lord leaves crooked, His grace is sufficient for us. For too long that promise sounded like an empty platitude. I had no idea of the depth of Christ’s grace. Ephesians 4 tells us how grace is sufficient for us.

“But grace was given to each one of us according to the measure of Christ's gift. – (Eph 4:7 ESV)

and then

“He gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the shepherds and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ,. . . we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love.” - Ephesians 4:11-13,15-16 ESV 

Grace is given to us primarily through the church. There is a reason we call certain elements of our corporate worship service “means of grace.” Ephesians tells us that grace is given to us through the church for the purpose of unity in the faith, and maturity. We are being built together, in love. Sisters, Christ’s grace is sufficient for your crooked journey because he has not called you to walk that crooked path alone. His grace is poured out to you in the preached word and the sacraments every Lord’s Day. Together, each of us with our own crook to our own lot, we are being built together in love into Christ. 

What is the crook or crooks in your lot, sisters? Consider the work of God: who can make straight, what He has made crooked. He has made it crooked for His glory, to turn your face to Him. Shall we rejoice, even in this crooked journey? Yes! His grace is sufficient. In fact, it is abundant. It is poured out to you through his fullness, the Church.  

Photo by Drew Mills

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Finding the Root of Joy

Introduction 

I am a pretty bad gardener. I consistently kill plants, both indoors and out. Even the plants labeled “easy care” or the ones you find in lists of “Top 10 hardy houseplants” are often reduced to dry sticks in my care. I bring a plant home, and I think “this time, I am going to keep this plant alive!” I watch it closely, and at the first sign of lagging health I spring into action. I increase fertilizer in the water. I move it to get more sunlight. I prune dead leaves, or even whole branches. I pluck dead flowers. Eventually, the entire plant is looking so sad and on the verge of death that I go to Google. The first thing I always read is “check the roots.” Inevitably, this is the problem. Over watered, and underpotted, my plant has languished while I have cared for every other part of it except the most necessary. In fact, I have almost always made the problem worse in an attempt to cure it. 

As we examine our own Christian life, we are often in danger of making the same error as I do in my gardening. We rightly identify a problem in our life. Maybe we are struggling with contentment and joy. Maybe we have a sin issue we cannot overcome. Maybe we have made a poor decision, and we are struggling to deal with the consequences of those choices. Regardless, we identify the problem in our life, and we spring into action. We work harder. We do more things. We “pluck leaves and clip branches” in our life, all the while letting the real problem continue, and sometimes even making it worse.  

The book of Philippians is often called the Epistle of Joy. The apostle Paul wanted the people of Philippi to experience joy in their Christian journey, and it seemed to be eluding them. Instead of jumping in on the fruit and the leaves of their Christian life, Paul keeps pulling their attention back to their root. Three times in chapter 2 alone, Paul brings them back to Christ. 

Jesus’ perfect obedience, death, and resurrection united us to Him. Sometimes when we use good confessional terms like “imputed righteousness” we can get a picture in our head of a ledger book in which Jesus’ sacrifice is written down beside our name. It is credited to our account in a book keeping way. Instead, scripture tells us time and again that our salvation joins us to Christ in a mystical union. We do not have Christ’s righteousness assigned to us in some theoretical way. It is really ours because we are in Union with Christ. Paul comes back time and again to the root of joy in our Union with Christ Jesus. Our joy is rooted in sharing the mind of Christ, receiving the indwelling work of Christ, and participating in the fullness of Christ. 

We Have the Mind of Christ 

Philippians 2 opens with a string of imperatives, or commands to action. Read alone, it can seem like a stream of machine gun fired things to do, coming one on top of another before you can even catch your breath from the last one.  

“So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” (Philippians 2:1-4 ESV) 

It’s easy to go through this list like a checklist of obedience, “love, check. Full accord and unity, check. No conceit, check.” All we need to get this joy thing looked after is some elbow grease and a whole lot of self-deception. The second we look up from reading this we have to come face to face with the reality of how self-centered our interests are. We feed ourselves the deception that we are focused on our kids, or our commitments, or our husbands, or our job, or our church, or our parents, or our schooling, or, you fill in the thing. But start a conversation about pet peeves, and immediately we come face to face with our own interests and preferences. The things that drive us the most crazy – balled up socks left every where but the hamper, blatant and obvious grammatical errors in print, another driver moving too quickly or too slowly and hampering an otherwise possible left hand turn. You get the point. These things are all focused on self. They are far too trivial, and come up too frequently for us to entertain for long the notion that we are primarily focused on the interests of others.  

This list does not stand alone for exactly this reason. The moment we begin to focus on the fruit in this list, Paul draws us back to the root. 

“Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant,  being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” (Philippians 2:5-11 ESV) 

Often when we consider the sufferings of Christ we want to jump immediately to the physical and spiritual pain and suffering of the cross. Paul clearly includes that in this passage, but it isn’t the whole of what we understand when we consider Christ’s lowering himself. Question 27 of the Westminster Shorter Catechism asks and answers it this way: 

Q 27: Wherein did Christ's humiliation consist? 

A: Christ's humiliation consisted in his being born, and that in a low condition, made under the law, undergoing the miseries of this life, the wrath of God, and the cursed death of the cross; in being buried, and continuing under the power of death for a time.  

When we consider Jesus’ humility we are considering that from the moment his physical body was conceived in Mary’s womb, until the resurrection, Jesus was debasing himself. The entire period of his physical, earthly life was suffering, emptying, humiliation. During that time, the 2nd person of the godhead, the Son, was still God. All things were still in him and through him, and sustained by him. The wind and waves obeyed Him all the time, and around the globe, not just when he dramatically demonstrated it for his disciples. He was feeding the multitudes the entire time, not just when thousands watched  Him do it on Galilean hillsides. He was always God, but He was also man. His body was finite, bound by natural and religious laws of His own creation, mortal, weak, completely human. Even if Jesus’ physical body was, as some suggest, the strongest, buffest, most physically fit human body ever made, it would still have been so far beneath His divinity as to be considered humiliation.  

In fact, there is no human comparison to be made to Christ's humiliation, so why would Paul root our humility in this? How could we aspire to something so impossible for us? Paul tells us that we should have this mind of humility and focus on others because it is already ours in Christ Jesus. Christ the Son emptied himself, setting aside the glory due Him as a person of the Godhead. If we are in Christ, we will do nothing out of self ambition, or conceit because the same Christ who did not consider his own divinity, has given us His mind. When Paul tells us to be of the same mind, it is not my mind, or your mind, or John Calvin’s mind, but Christ’s mind that we share. When he calls us to the same love, it is the love of Christ, the same spirit is the Spirit of Christ, the same purpose is the purpose to which Christ calls us.  

The beauty of Christ’s total sacrifice on our behalf is not just some elaborate example to which we should aspire. That very sacrifice was made for us, and also given to us. We abandon our self interest, pride, discord and selfishness by turning back, time and again, to the beauty, and enormity of what Christ has done. The deeper we look into Christ’s humiliation, the less we consider ourselves. Can we share the mind of Christ who did not consider His equality with God, and be concerned for our own preferences, comfort, or conveniences? Consider the trivial things we say are robbing us of joy: the balled socks, open cupboard doors, and right-of-way violations. Is it the mind of Christ that elevates those things to such prominence in our minds?  

The deeper we gaze into the beautiful mystery of Christ’s incarnation, the more we turn, like Paul, away from us, and into the worship of the exalted Christ.  

“that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” (Philippians 2:10-11 ESV) 

This is the joy to which Paul calls the Philippian church, and the joy to which he calls us.  

Christ is at Work in Us. 

Compared with the holy humility of Jesus, our own sin is a fearful and terrible thing. We would have no joy at all if we were given just the mind of Christ to see and discern our own sin, but were left alone to fight against it. As we consider those annoyances and inconveniences driven from our own pride, not the mind of Christ, Paul reminds us of another essential element of our union with Christ.  

“Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” (Philippians 2:12-13 ESV) 

Our obedience comes because God himself is presently and actively at work within us. The exalted Christ has not forgotten His own. We are united to Christ and receive not only his mind, but also his power, at work within us, “both to will and to work for His good pleasure.” Union with Christ does not only change our direct obedience, it also works actively to change our will. We are not brought into union with Christ to be little androids, obeying the orders being inserted into our programming. God is actively changing our desires, giving us the want to go with the work.  

I really love John Calvin’s commentary on this passage in which he says Paul “represses drowsiness as well as confidence. . . . The Holy Spirit, calls us to consider, that he wishes to work upon living organs, but he immediately represses arrogance by recommending fear and trembling”. We see the interconnection here between bearing the mind of Christ through our union with Him, and the Spirit at work within us to will and to work. If it is God who works all obedience within us, we cannot think of ourselves highly. How can we operate from selfishness, or empty conceit when the very desire to obey comes not from ourselves, but from God. Within this root of union with Christ, we find rest, and joy in the finished work of Christ.  

Our Union to Christ is Union to One Another 

But notice an essential element of this entire passage, and really of this entire book. Paul calls them to make his joy complete through their obedience, both in verses 1 and 2, and in verses 16 – 18. He calls them to be of one mind, one love, and one accord with each other. Not only does Paul tell them his joy is linked to them and their faithfulness, he tells them that they cannot have joy apart from each other. Remember that the deeper we look into the beauty of Christ’s humiliation, the less we will consider ourselves? It is also true that the deeper we look into Christ’s humiliation, the more we will love Christ’s church. We cannot experience fullness of joy without the church. 

Ephesians 1: 22 – 23 says, ���And he [God the Father] put all things under his [God the Son’s] feet and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all. (ESV) 

If our joy is rooted in Christ, then it is found in its fullest within the church which is described as the fullness of Christ. Our union with Christ is not, primarily as an individual, and neither is the joy found through our union with Christ. When we are united to Christ, we are united also to every other. Again, this is not in some theoretical “we’re all in the same book of life” way. We have spiritual union with each other, because we are in Christ.  Yes, individually we possess the mind of Christ, and individually we have the power of Christ at work within us both to will and work for His good pleasure. But also, together, as the church, we have the mind of Christ, and the power of Christ at work within us. Our joy in Christ is realized in the church, not when things look the way we want, or when people behave the way we think they should. Our joy in Christ is made full because we are called to have the mind of Christ who emptied himself for the Church whom He calls His fullness.  

Ladies, this retreat is called One Accord, I presume from this passage of scripture. Are we? Are we seeking accord by seeking the mind of Christ? Are we seeking the good of our sisters in Christ, and sister congregations over our own good, and our own congregations? Are we grumbling and disputing about and with each other, or are we corporately a shining light to our culture, our towns, our Presbytery, our Synod? If Paul were in this room, would he say of us, like he says later of Euodia and Syntyche, that we have been laboring for the gospel? Or would he say of us what he says in Philippians 2:21, “. . .they all seek their own interests, not those of Jesus Christ”? 

When we talk about joy it is really easy to “cultivate” joy the way I have cultivated plants. We look to the fruit of our joylessness – our grumbling, our complaining, the things or people we think are causing our grumbling or complaints. We clip away activities. We change locations. We do everything on the surface except examine our roots. True joy can only be rooted in our union with Christ. 

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always three more

how many more? pushups, mice, loads of firewood minutes on the timer, pages, years and the answer, always three more in threes because we are good Christians, as Kristen would say, for Father, Son, and Holy Spirit cheek kisses, raps, the tapping spoon children, days, shamrocks, the beers I put down with you, hours 'til home, three more exits thrice more round the turntable how long, O Lord.

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The Cruciform Marriage

Before you are married, you have to be single. Before you figure out how to be a married person, you have to figure out how to be a single person. If you don’t figure this out, you will still move forward with an understanding and definition of what it means to be single (or, later, married): you just won’t have a very thoughtful understanding or definition. Consider this an invitation to think constructively about how to live in your present estate, and in whatever estate into which you may be called.

An example might help get at what I have in mind. A few years ago, my father emailed me a New York Times article on the difficulty single pastors have finding a call in evangelical circles, thinking, no doubt, of my own experiences when a recent seminary graduate so, so long ago. Back then, I not only experienced the soft discrimination discussed in the piece but actually lost a potential call due to being single. The elders of an Orthodox Presbyterian Church were inclined to recommend me to their congregation but decided not to because several members incorrectly thought 1 Timothy 3:2 (“Therefore an overseer must be …the husband of one wife”) barred me from ordained office and the session didn't want to start a new pastorate with a fight.

What struck me about the ministry candidates mentioned in the article was that they were all seeking the same sort of positions as their espoused and family-encumbered brethren. Paul, the patron saint of single pastors, wrote "I think that in view of the present distress it is good for a person to remain as he is" (1 Corinthians 7:26, emphasis added). Singleness provides the opportunity to live in view of, or to enter into, the present distress: that is, to take risks for the sake of the Gospel and Christ's Church. 

To end your state of suspense, I did eventually receive another call. Because I was single, I was able to take a relatively risky call, one so risky that four married men before me had declined it. To my way of thinking, why would the Lord keep a man single unless he wanted him to take a chance for Jesus, a chance which a man who has to provide for a family really should not?

As I write this, I realize I am venturing forth onto relatively thin ice. In 1 Corinthians 7:7, Paul himself conditions much of his advice with “For I wish that all men were even as I myself. But each one has his own gift from God, one in this manner and another in that.” I don’t want to add to the Law of God, and not every unmarried Christian has the ability, opportunity, or disposition to take risks in the service of the Church, especially if one hopes to find a spouse. 

Nevertheless, my topic for these three essays—the first being “The Cruciform Single”—is “The Cruciform Life” (that is, the life which is formed after and upon the model of Christ’s Cross), and I’m persuaded that the choice to take up one’s cross is grounded in one’s expectations for one’s life. A single Christian woman my wife and I know comes to mind, who, like most single Christian women, would like to be married. Somewhere along the way, she decided to take in foster children, and, as so often happens to foster parents, ended up adopting two young girls. She herself is no longer as young as she once was, and it must be as obvious to her as it is to everyone else that children of a different race who are working through the traumas common to all children who end up in the custody of social services will likely reduce her marriage prospects. Plainly, she does not expect her life to be arranged around the fulfillment of her desires. Instead, she has found her own way to imitate Christ’s love, and in the bargain (whatever she may have expected) has had to die to self. Should she ever marry, the choice to take up her cross now will certainly shape any relationship with a future husband.

One’s attitude to the challenge of the Cross is grounded in a view of self which also comes out in one’s approach to marital status and the practice of marriage. In my pastorate, I’ve noticed what I think of as the “enhancement” view of marriage. The person who holds this view tends to see him or herself as a more or less complete package: they can do quite well on their own, thank you very much; they certainly don’t need much self-improvement. This Christian sees marriage as an opportunity to enhance his or life: the spouse is a positive addition who will bring emotional support, sexual adventure, better use of time and financial resources, and a general increase of one’s sense of well-being. In other words, a spouse is someone who makes my life “better” (the quotation marks indicate that I am the one who judges whether and how my life is better): a spouse who does not make my life “better” is not worth marrying or, by the same token, keeping. (Hence the rise in divorces amongst evangelical Christians.)

On the other hand, one can be a reasonably competent adult person and still see oneself as very much a work in progress, a work still in need of much work that can’t be done on one’s own. Said person may recognize his or her problem isn’t a lack of help around the house: his or her problem is his or her self. That is, he or she needs to change: to change radically or even to die (so to speak). For this Christian, marriage is less an opportunity for an enhanced and better life than an opportunity for another life that can be found only by crucifying him or herself. The spouse is not someone who will serve me, but someone whom I can serve: an opportunity to decrease that Christ might increase (John 3:30). The measure of such a marriage is not how much better one’s life seems to be: it is how much better a Christian I am becoming (or not); it is how much I am becoming like Jesus.

“Then Jesus told his disciples, ‘If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.’” (Matthew 16:24-25)

The disciple’s path is the path of self-denial and of the Cross, and marriage is as much a part of that path as the rest of the Christian’s life is. As Paul says:

“The married man is anxious about worldly things, how to please his wife, and his interests are divided. And the unmarried or betrothed woman is anxious about the things of the Lord, how to be holy in body and spirit. But the married woman is anxious about worldly things, how to please her husband.” (1 Corinthians 7:33-34)

I think most tend to read those verses from 1 Corinthians 7 as pointing out a tension between service to one’s spouse and service to one’s Lord. In a marriage, that certainly can happen, but it need not. Elsewhere, in Ephesians 5:22-33, Paul would have us understand that Christian marriage is an arena for some very particular Christian service: wives die to their own agendas by submitting to their husbands, and husbands sacrifice their agendas by ordering their lives around their wives’ spiritual growth. This kind of “anxiety,” or preoccupation with one’s spouse, is not in competition with a dedication to Christ, but a particular form that dedication can take.

The shape of the Ephesians 5 marriage, I must point out, is cruciform. The cruciform marriage is not a model for Christian marriage: it is the Biblical description of a Christian marriage. Not to put too fine a point on it, but a marriage which is not cruciform is not Biblical.

So far, so good. But how does the challenge to take up a cruciform marriage address those who are not yet married? My favorite commandment (if “favorite” is the right word in this context), is the Tenth, of which the Apostle Paul famously wrote “I would not have known sin except through the law. For I would not have known covetousness unless the law had said, ‘You shall not covet’” (Romans 7:7). In my case, the Law spoke through the Westminster Shorter Catechism #81:

“The Tenth Commandment forbiddeth all discontentment with our own estate, envying or grieving at the good of our neighbour, and all inordinate motions and affections to anything that is his.”

At the time, a former girlfriend (I was decidedly the dumpee, not the dumper) had just been happily engaged to another man, and I was indulging in the melancholy which has inspired countless pop songs. The Tenth Commandment caught me up short: I was grieving at my neighbor’s good. Literally, grieving at my neighbor’s good. Ever since, I have struggled to rejoice with those who rejoice (note my judicious use of the qualifying verb “struggle to”), especially when their joy exposes discontentment I have with my own estate.

How to prepare for marriage? Rejoice with those who rejoice. Marriage often seems a zero-sum game: I get what I want at the expense of your giving up something you want. This fuels discontentment, which is a close cousin to the bitterness which poisons and kills so many marriages. If you view relationships as zero-sum games, in which giving to another is made worthwhile only if met with reciprocal giving, then you’re an unlikely candidate for marital contentment. At the same time, you shouldn’t think the solution is constantly giving up what you want while pasting on a happy face: that’s not contentment, but bitterness deferred.

The secret to contentment is not getting what you want; rather, it is wanting others to get what they need. What we all need, of course, is to grow in Christlikeness. This sets the agenda for the Christian marriage in particular and the Christian life in general. I don’t give in to you, because you getting what you want is likely to be as problematic as my getting what I want. Instead, I give up for you; I give up so I can do or be for you what you need so you can die to sin and increasingly imitate Christ. A Christian should find it rather easy to rejoice when another imitates Christ.

The Tenth Commandment pushes us away from self and toward others. It doesn’t ask for self-denial, but it does require other-centeredness. In that way, it teaches us to count all suffering joy because trials increase and perfect faith (James 1:2-4). The Tenth Commandment teaches us to die to self and to love fellow believers. That kind of love is patient and long-suffering and is willing to do the hard work when the relationship becomes difficult. That kind of love may include a strong emotional attachment, but its foundation is a commitment to follow Jesus when it is hard to do so, and also when it brings joy to do so.

How does the Christian single prepare for a Christian marriage? How does the married Christian repent? Take up your cross and follow Christ.

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Music Review: Extra Nos

One of Christian Hip Hop’s (CHH) most loved & respected artists released a new album: Extra Nos by Flame.

Let’s be honest most of CHH is baptist or Calvinistic leaning, so Flame confessing that he is not Calvinistic, not baptist, but he is a Lutheran is a big deal. Before the bias reviews from Calvinist whining about being attacked arrive, I figured I as a Lutheran (Wittenberg Project) will give a review.

Overall I give the album 4 out of 5. It is a very short project, even if you count the skits. While being a short project, Flame still was able to succinctly lay a foundation to his fans about his new tradition and to introduce it to his fans. Album had a goal & he hit that goal: inform people of his theological journey, correct past things stated, and share new orthodox outlook. This EP will give many things to think about and offer a great casual listen to many. 

Each song is packed with theological significance that relates to why he left Calvinism. I pray people receive it as “his journey,” and not just a slap in the face to tulipers. But if they take it that way ... oh well ... we are ready for all the smoke.

On the song “Used to think”, Flame mentions that people think either your Calvinist or Arminian as if those are the only two options—which is utterly false. Flames album challenges all these misconceptions. Fans on social media are asking for clarification and resources because they have no knowledge of what defines a Lutheran. Flame does an excellent job explaining key tenants without going too deep.

These are the highlight songs:

“Used to Think”: great song. Lutheran place a big value on church history. I love the way the song starts off acknowledging the East church. From there the songs gets real personal and exact. He addresses false doctrines he held. His flow/pattern to the beat makes the song not appear too “heady” but the song is very deep.

“2k”r: His flow on this song improves the beat. Once again this track is content > typically hip hop beat. The beat is not bad, but the beat does not drown out the message. This song is a great intro to Lutheran thought for his fans & people not familiar with Lutheranism as a whole.

One of the personal reasons I love this album is that Flame unapologetically confronts the issues he sees. Many Lutherans come off as Crypto-Calvinist and more eager to rebuke methodist/free will systems than to draw a hard line against Calvinist, but Flames has no issue clearly stating the errors in the Calvinist tradition. Overall this album will shake things up in the CHH world. Some are already calling for a response, while many others are being exposed to historic reformational thought. Great album.

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acts 17:28

I am Lazarus, revenant

the LORD calls me back: 

things are never the same again

our Jesus, who gave me second life

himself dies shortly after,

lives again, and is taken up,

our parents long gone,

and then my sisters

all our fellows

crucified, stoned,

exiled, fallen to lions,

starved, and I live restless

given even this good time

which I did not ask for,

I would be happy 

to go home

having walked the new earth,

and returned, perforce, to the old,

I soon shall taste death again. 

and this time, at last

in him I will live forever, 

move,

and have my being

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my feelings vs. the church calendar

This is going to be not only about the Enneagram but about the Myers-Briggs. I know, it's the horoscope for intellectuals and you already hate it. This is also going to be about the church calendar (also known as the liturgical year). This is not a historical argument: if your denomination already employs it, you probably know more of the history and practice than I do, and if your denomination doesn't, I don't aim to persuade you. This isn't about you, this is about my FEELINGS. Save some time: please close this tab and send your hate mail directly to Joshua.

I'm a 5 and an INFJ.

Most 5s are male, and INFJ is one of the rarer MBTIs.

So being a female 5 INFJ has meant it's been difficult to find others who react to things or process information the same way I typically do. (I know, because being a 5, I immediately read everything I could get my hands on about the Enneagram, that's our thing.)

If you have managed to escape knowing anything about either system, here's the condensed version:

The Enneagram is primarily about how you respond to trauma. 

The MBTI is primarily about how you take in and process information.

The Enneagram has 9 types, the MBTI has 16. 

While a letter or two of your MBTI may shift over time, your original Enneagram number usually doesn't, but you do shift to different numbers in times of strength or insecurity.

That's probably enough to give you a rough idea. I have found the exploration into these methodologies to be fruitful, and as a 5, even damning self-knowledge is still knowledge, and I love collecting knowledge, so I'm all in on this. 

You might have noticed I'm stalling writing about my actual feelings—another 5 tactic. I do not like revealing personal information. I do not even particularly like having feelings since they are generally overwhelming and inconvenient, sometimes even contextually inappropriate. I'm German enough to be incredibly frustrated that emotions are not malleable, that they do not come and go when I say so. They are not LOGICAL, no matter how much I try to control them.

And this is where the INFJ stuff comes in. I feel other people's feelings. Always have, unless they are hiding them, or unless I make a conscious effort to turn off that part of myself. In the right context, I believe this could be called either empathy or discernment of spirits. In the wrong context, it's frightening and exhausting. It was particularly confusing when I was younger and didn't know what was happening, or why certain people made me feel certain ways. It is downright overwhelming in crowded situations (bars, parties, etc.).

I could probably make a living doing "fortune-telling," but that's a terrible use of a spiritual gift and dubious use of empathy.

I=Introverted

N=Intuitive

F=Feeling

J=Judging

So if you feel the feelings of others, how do you know when what you're feeling is actually yours? Sometimes I just don't have the energy left to have my own feelings. I also frequently need to retreat and spend time by myself. Trying to balance this need to have space with the 5 tendency towards unhealthy escapism? Haaaaaahahahaha. I'm going to be fighting for that balance the rest of my life. If you are one of my three or four extremely close friends, sure, I might talk about my feelings if you ask a direct question I can't escape from. I will not be led into it, I know what you're doing, and if you're anyone other than those three or four people, I'm going to deflect. Probably by using humor. Then while you're laughing, I'm going to change the subject back to YOU, and we'll be off to the races. 

Push me too far, with questions, or with your feelings, and you will experience 5 withdrawal coupled with the INFJ door slam. It will be like you never existed. (I'm working on not doing this as much as I used to.)

It's not ideal, but it's the way I am, and at least now I know WHY I act and feel this way. Being vulnerable, allowing myself to be seen, acknowledging that my needs and feelings are real and should be met, these things are HARD for me. I would prefer we didn't talk about me, and yet, I also need that sometimes, and it's almost impossible to accept. At my best, I believe that I am smart and capable (and I prefer to be judged on these grounds rather than anything else! Don't you DARE compliment me on my physical appearance unless you want to get stabbed), but that's a good day, that's 5 moving to 8, you would be better off getting out of my way. In that mode, I know that I have resources, that things will be okay, I can be open and magnanimous. This is the closest I will ever come to extroversion. I get there either by feeling really good, or really angry. 

When 5 goes to 7, in fear or stress or anxiety, I shrink, I shut off, I retreat. You will not see me. I am in hoarding mode: energy, resources, time. In this mode, I am not enough, and I'm going to punish myself for it, because how could I be enough for anyone else? How can I help others (my primary goal!) if I can't help myself? 

It can get emotionally dark quickly this time of year. I always end up a bit adrift around big holidays, not having any real family traditions to fall back on. My family of origin doesn't celebrate much of anything, and I don't have my own family. I don't know what to feel, and I don't know how to feel it. The holidays are a time when I want to feel my own distinct emotions, and sometimes I just can't, because there aren't any. How should I feel? How should I act? ..... and so I turn to the church calendar. Ah, we're in Advent. I know what that means. Having something to model myself on—something to copy—is a relief. Here is the emotional costume, the feelings-uniform, the appropriate one for the right time, that I should wear. 

When your feelings don't necessarily reflect reality, I have found it necessary to do the good actions, and hope the correct feelings follow. Following the church calendar can be part of doing the good actions. In Advent or Lent? Mourn, repent, pray, hope. In the feasts or Christmas or Easter? Lay off your sackcloth and ashes, and rejoice. Interestingly enough, Advent and Lent make the most sense to me. They fit my natural frame of mind. I have difficulty transitioning into seasons of rejoicing. I do not always feel like I deserve good things, or to rejoice. And yet, God calls us to, in so many ways, and sometimes through the church calendar. So much of the church year is what the Roman Catholics call "ordinary time," which I love. How extraordinary that on any given Sunday, you can go to your church and receive word and sacrament, and that is considered ORDINARY. That is what God has ordained for our good. The church calendar is not meant to draw attention away from Sunday worship. But I do think it can add to it. 

Yes, sometimes I am faking it and just hoping I end up making it. Yes, sometimes I feel like an impostor because my feelings won't cooperate.

This calendar is neither commanded nor forbidden. And for me, it shoulders some of the emotional burdens. It is an invitation to follow a slightly different year, not the 12-month hustle, but the rotating, repeating seasons of the church. That rhythm has become homelike to me when my "regular life" calendar is too full of obligations I don't want and empty of many things that I want very much. It takes me OUT of myself and plops me into the more eternal mindset of the church. I continue to meditate on time: we are in it now, but not for much longer. Emanuel! God is with us, and soon, we will be with God. 

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Connecting the Covenants to Jesus

When it comes to celebrating Advent, I’m a relative newbie. I grew up in a Christian home that believed in the Gospel, but we were not part of a tradition that celebrated Advent. Although we did not celebrate Advent specifically, December was always a time to focus on the birth of Jesus, our Savior. We celebrated through church services: Christmas plays with manger scenes, reading Luke 2 on Christmas morning, and so much more. 

If you are new(er) to Advent, like me, you may be wondering what it is or if it matters. Advent is a time of waiting and preparing. It’s a time of waiting for the day we celebrate the birth of Jesus, remembering that for most of history, the whole world was waiting for his birth. It’s also a time to prepare our hearts to celebrate his birth. The birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus are key moments in history, central to the Christian faith. They demand to be celebrated. It is important to prepare our hearts to celebrate Jesus’s birth so that we can approach Christmas with Jesus as our primary focus. 

Jesus’s birth was not just some random event that occurred when God finally felt like getting around to saving the world. Jesus’s birth was one that carefully planned and prophesied from the very beginning. From the beginning of time, Jesus’s coming was part of the plan. When God laid out the foundation of the world, Jesus was placed as the Chief Cornerstone. 

God did not leave us in the dark about his plan. From the moment of the Fall, he promised to bring a Messiah who would save his people from their sins. And he continued making this promise until it was fulfilled. That is why I chose to focus on nine of God’s covenants for Advent this year. God’s covenants with his people provide a framework for our understanding of the birth of Jesus. 

From the Garden to the Cross: How the Covenants Point Us to Jesus uses short chapters to cover the story behind each covenant and how it connects to the coming of Jesus. Each chapter contains a black and white illustration for you to color in that provides you with a visual connection to the covenant the chapter covers. (If you would like to interact with other believers as you study theses covenants, there’s even an option to join a guided discussion group on Facebook.) 

Each chapter builds on the last one, continuing God’s story of the world. They show how God narrows in on the identity of the promised Messiah, until you can’t help but see that he is Jesus. You will begin in Eden, when God declares war on the serpent, proclaiming that evil will not win: 

“In this declaration, God makes the first covenant that promises a Messiah. And he makes it with a serpent? Why would God make a promise like this to a serpent? This first covenant is not just any ordinary promise: it’s a declaration of war. It is a promise to the serpent that the serpent will not win. It is a promise from God that evil will not prevail. The serpent may be able to do some damage, but someone is coming that will crush the serpent’s head under his feet” (p. 5).

When God promised someone was coming that would crush the serpent’s head, thus defeating him forever, he had a specific person in mind. That person was Jesus. The very first promise whispered a hopeful phrase that would echo through every generation of the world: Jesus is coming. 

God’s covenant with Abraham identifies the family that God used to bring the Messiah into the world. God promised for many years that Abraham would have a son and that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars. In the giving of this covenant, God also promised Abraham that through him, all the families of the earth would be blessed. 

“Although God made his covenant specifically with Abraham, this covenant was not just for Abraham. The Abrahamic Covenant was a special promise to Abraham and all of his descendants. The promises of God would hold fast for every person that could trace his or her heritage all the way back to Abraham. Even more beautifully, the promise, “I will…be God to you and your descendants,” holds true for every believer” (p. 17). 

God’s promise to Abraham was more than a promise to give him a child. It was a promise to bring about salvation not just for Abraham’s family, but for all of God’s people. When Abraham looked up at the stars and remembered God’s promises, they whispered back to him: Jesus is coming.

Through the giving of the Law in the Mosaic Covenant, the Israelites learned that they were not sufficient to save themselves. They could not obey all of the Law all of the time. It was impossible! 

“God gave Israel the law because he knew not a single person could keep it perfectly. God gave Israel an advocate in Moses and later, the Levites. These human priests and the impossible Law that are part of the Mosaic covenant were all established to point Israel’s gaze forward to the coming future. Their faith in God saved them, and their desire to obey came as a result of their faith. For hundreds of years, generations upon generations would strive to obey the law, as imperfect as they were. Generation after generation would turn to priests to make sacrifices and advocate for them. Their striving, their failure, and their need for an advocate was all intentional. The Law was meant to show sinful Israel (and anyone who believed) that they could not save themselves” (p. 26). 

Although the law made for a terrible god, it made for an excellent teacher. Through their constant failure, Israel saw its constant need. Their works could never save them, but there was Someone coming who could. In all of their trying, failing, and trying again, hope echoed in their hearts and minds: Jesus is coming. 

Jesus is all over the Old Testament. He is in the Garden of Eden, in the ark with Noah, and in the temple with the Levites. He is found in every covenant God makes with his people. Everything that happened in the Old Testament was for a purpose. Every event, every promise God makes, and every important figure all point to the moment of Jesus’s birth. The Old Testament and God’s covenants with his people are brimming with hope, as they whisper to us all: Jesus is coming. 

I hope you’ll join me for Advent. 

From the Garden to the Cross: How the Covenants Point Us to Jesus is a ten-day Advent Bible study. It is available on Etsy right now for purchase. A guided discussion with Rose Elliott, the author of the study, begins on December 15, 2019. 

Photo by Drew Mills

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Book Review: The Forsaken Monarch

The line of historical fiction is a very thin one. An author can land so deep in the fiction she commits malpractice against history, or she can meticulously report history to the point of losing all storylines and the attention of most readers. Historical fiction set in middle Medieval Europe, with knights and castles and princesses, mostly trend in the first category by way of Tennysonesque romanticism. By contrast, Amy Mantravadi’s series of books about the Empress Mathilda is historical fiction that manages to weave actual historic detail into a gripping story. 

The Forsaken Monarch is the second installment of the Chronicles of Maud. The first book, The Girl Empress, released in late 2017, focused on the childhood of Mathilda, daughter of England’s Henry I, wife of the Holy Roman Emperor Henry V. Mantravadi walks the child bride from her Norman English upbringing, to her early adolescent betrothal and subsequent coronation as Empress of the Holy Roman Emperor, into her own adulthood. As eventful as Maud’s early years, however, the pivotal moment of her life was the accidental death of her only full brother, her father’s only legitimate son. This lynchpin is where Mantravadi leaves her Girl Empress protagonist. 

The Forsaken Monarch picks up where The Girl Empress left off. Maud faces her grief at the loss of her brother, and her mother, as she navigates the political landscape of the Holy Roman Empire, her own childlessness, and the implications of being her father’s only legitimate heir. Widowhood sends her back to the England she left as a child, and the political entanglements only increase. Empress Maud, married at twelve, and widowed in her twenties, has to find her place in the complexity and interplay of 12th-century European royalty. 

This second book, like its Empress, is more mature. The Girl Empress is written in an older style and reads like the memoir it is styled to be. In The Forsaken Monarch, the story flows more organically. Childhood marriage and adolescent coronations were historic and accurate parts of Maud’s life, but the childless widow looking for love and identity is a Maud we can all identify with. Mantravadi weaves the true details of the Empress’ life into a compelling narrative driven by Maud, rather than the forces around her. It is in this novel that we see Empress Mathilda of Norman blood becoming the woman history remembers her to be. 

History is truly front and center here. This is no Disney princess tale. Maud’s castles are cold, often unfinished, and violent places. Her personal knight, Drogo, is a soldier, a bodyguard, and a companion, but there is no mythical chivalric code or romanticized courtly connection. Mantravadi’s research extends from the political and religious controversies of the time to the details of streets and layout of various historic buildings. She quotes period-appropriate hymns, prayers, and phrases, and has endnotes to offer both appropriate translation and source material. Set in a time some call “the dark ages,” both books tell the period as it was, not as popular culture wants it to be. 

Mathilda is known in history primarily for the last third of her life. It is this final act that will be featured in the anticipated final book of the series. Amy Mantravadi has given readers the chance to learn about the whole of Maud’s life and in doing so has honored not only a great woman of history but also an underrepresented and poorly understood period of English and European history. I hope Amy Mantravadi will receive the recognition her research and writing deserve.

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Longing For The Bride

Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. For the commandments, “You shall not commit adultery, You shall not murder, You shall not steal, You shall not covet,” and any other commandment, are summed up in this word: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore love is the fulfilling of the law.

Besides this you know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed. The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light. Let us walk properly as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensuality, not in quarreling and jealousy. But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires. - Romans 13.8-14

This is the first scripture reading in the Book of Common Prayer’s first week of Advent readings. We anticipate the coming of Christ during Advent, as we should, but there is another aspect to Advent as well. We are anticipating the coming of Christ who will make all things new. Christ will right every wrong, establish justice, lift up the head of the downtrodden, wipe the tears from those who mourn, and he will also present his bride in her immaculate glory.

Part of our waiting for the second coming of Christ is living in light of the fact that Christ is here in our midst right now in the church. We live in the now and the not yet. Thus, the church is the place where Christ meets his bride every week. We are no longer our own, but belong to each other as we are the bride of Christ. Here in Romans, we are given simple commands about how we are to live as a bride. We are to love one another and that means that we are to seek the good for each other.

The Psalmist is also instructive in Psalm 122. “I was glad when they said to me, ‘Let us go to the house of the Lord!’” What are we to do when we are in the house of the Lord?

“Pray for the peace of Jerusalem!

“May they be secure who love you!

Peace be within your walls

and security within your towers!”

For my brothers and companions' sake

I will say, “Peace be within you!”

For the sake of the house of the Lord our God,

I will seek your good.

- Psalm 122.1, 6-9

We the bride honor our husband as we wait for him by seeking peace in his bride, pursuing what is good in his bride, setting the needs of others in his bride above our own. This is how we bring honor to our coming husband: by serving one another.

This advent arrives after a year of spiritual recovery for me. It has been hard to find my place in the bride. Recently I have taken steps toward joining another church and have begun to have my heart softened toward the bride again. It has been a rough couple of years where longing for Christ has been all I had from time to time. But this Advent I want to start longing for his bride again. You cannot have Christ without his bride, and you cannot love and serve Christ without loving and serving his bride. That is the lesson for me this Advent: longing for the bride.

Photo by Drew Mills

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The Cruciform Single

This essay began when a friend suggested I put together something for single people from my sermons on 1 Corinthians 7. Initially, I thought I’d begin by addressing sex. Then I realized I was taking exactly the wrong approach. After all, single people don’t need to be told sex is an important factor in deciding whether to marry: most can’t get that factor off their minds! The real problem for singles is not deciding whether to pursue marriage. Instead, it’s knowing how to live with the fact you’re not married and the fear you may never be. 

Before I preached through 1 Corinthians 7, I thought the passage more or less useless to me as an unmarried Christian. In fact, I wrote an essay (okay, a rant) some years ago describing my frustration when Paul’s counsel failed to address aching loneliness, my core problem, and that of many single believers. After several failed relationships, I feared God didn’t want me to marry, even though I desperately wanted to. I knew if I kept hoping for marriage, my failure to find it would only torment me. So I would lie in bed at night and repeat to myself, “I will never get married. No one will ever love me,” in the hope that someday I might believe it. While this no doubt seems an extreme (and somewhat ridiculous) measure, I honestly don’t think it was self-pity; in fact, I suspect my story strikes a chord with those likewise single after many years. Truthfully, this was the only way I could devise to perhaps find peace with my loneliness and turn aside from the idol of marriage. 

Although it may surprise you to hear it, 1 Corinthians 7 actually deals with this pain so familiar to single Christians. Particularly in verses 25-40, it does so by challenging and altering your perspective on your life as a Christian.

Freedom from the idol of marriage, I now realize, comes from living with the knowledge that the time is short (1 Corinthians 7:29). Because of this, no Christian should be bound by this world. Why is the time short? The form of this world is passing away (1 Corinthians 7:31).

“And the world passes away, and the lust of it; but he who does the will of God abides forever.” (1 John 2:17) 

God will soon destroy this world of sin. Indeed, the day of judgment, on which the world will be judged and found wanting, is at hand:

“Besides this you know what hour it is, how it is full time now for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed; the night is far gone, the day is at hand. Let us then cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.” (Romans 13:11-12) 

Christ’s work on the cross introduced God’s judgment into the world. You know what happened on the cross: Jesus suffered the judgment you deserved for your sins, and you were, therefore, declared righteous. Consider: the judgment he suffered was your final judgment, wasn’t it? You can’t be judged again. In Christ, you have already passed through the Final Judgment, which, properly speaking, has yet to come. Now you live in light of Jesus Christ’s work for you. Now you are already acquitted. In a real sense, then, the Final Judgment was begun in the cross. Now we await its completion when Jesus will return in glory and make his judgments evident to the entire world. Because the future judgment has already been made, the world is even now under judgment. All present things have already been brought to an end. Consequently, your values must be radically different from those of pagans, who are bound by this world. 

Pagans make idols of created things. These can be possessions, but they’re also statuses and appearances and your role in life. For too many, marriage is an idol. It’s an idol for the married person who thinks his relationship with his wife is the most important one in his life, who puts his wife’s desires before God’s claims on him. Marriage is also an idol for the single person who puts his life on hold until he gets married, who is sure all his problems would be solved if only he had a wife. Neither is looking to God. All who make idols out of created things will make their choices based on what best serves their idols. They are bound by the idols of this world, controlled by who they are or what they have. 

But you are different. You are different because you worship the true God. Created things, which include statuses such as marriage, need not be idols to you, but instead good gifts from God. Therefore, keeping or losing them is not of ultimate importance. You can use the things of the world without being bound by them. This is what Paul means when he says “not making full use of” the world in 1 Corinthians 7:31 (or “those who deal with the world as though they had no dealings with it”). This world doesn’t control you; you control it, to God’s glory. 

If, however, you are worshipping the idols of this world in any way, repent. The Corinthians would have claimed to be free of this world, but some of them believed only celibates can fully serve God. Service to the Lord, in their thinking, was governed by worldly status, and so they were bound by it. But you are able to serve God anywhere. Your worldly status does not affect your status with God. Worldly things are impermanent and are meant only to be helps in this life, as John Calvin observed in his commentary on 1 Corinthians. They must not become hindrances to living for the next life. Be bound only by God, not your relationship to the world. 

Glorifying God takes precedence over your status. Therefore, be faithful to Christ within your worldly status, serving him as well as you possibly can. Because Christ claimed you, make his glory the ultimate determiner of all you do. 

As a Christian, even a single one, you should be free from care. The Corinthians did not lead a carefree existence. No, they were constantly fretting, concerned as to whether it was “God’s best” to be married. Ascetics in their group said no, of course, it’s not. Asceticism is a worldview that says all things physical and material are inherently evil, and therefore one must deny one’s flesh in order to be good. Accordingly, the ascetics promoted celibacy. After all, what could be more fleshly and corrupting than sex? This meant the married people started considering divorce, and the betrothed people wondered if they should break off their engagements and send back the wedding gifts. They were in a dither. 

This kind of concern is worry, and worry is a sin. Jesus says as much in Matthew 6:25-34:

“Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’” (Matthew 6:31)

Worry, not lust, is the sin of most single Christians. Worry they’ll always be lonely, worry God is secretly punishing them, worry they will always sit on the congregation’s fringe, looking in. But Scripture says you must not fret over your marital status. Give up thinking you will only be able to “really” begin living once you find a spouse. Give up wondering whether it’s a sin to want to marry. Neither marriage nor celibacy leads to a foolproof, effortless, carefree Christian life. Indeed, both marriage and celibacy have their cares. Paul makes this point in 1 Corinthians 7:32-34. To the anxious, he says, “Stop caring! Stop worrying over your marital status, for whatever you choose will bring cares. Every choice brings responsibilities.” The cares of marriage and celibacy don’t have to induce the sin of worry, but those cares are the duties and obligations which consume one’s time. These obligations are good things, for they are means by which you may glorify God on a daily basis. 

The problems of the single life don’t begin and end with sexual temptation. The real temptation is to replace the worship of the risen Lord with the search for a husband or wife. For too many, the Church has become a sanctified dating service, as singles move from congregation to congregation in search of the perfect singles group/meet market. When you succumb to this temptation, you’ve brought your idol right into God’s presence. In your idolatrous quest, you have broken the heart of your heavenly Bridegroom. 

The answer is not to give up on the possibility of marriage. Rather, it’s to live your life for Christ’s glory. Jesus Christ has redeemed you. He has already saved you from judgment. In light of this, your marital status cannot be the most important truth about you. Live as one freed from bondage to this world of sin. Live out your life only in light of what Christ has done for you. Seek to serve God now, as you are, for you are already perfect in his sight. He has judged you righteous in Christ. This righteousness, this transformed status, is realized in you right now and will be lived out eternally. 

Single or married, your identity is in Christ because you, now and always, are in Christ. So live like that’s your identity, because, after all, it, and it alone, is.

Photo by Drew Mills

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Ordinary Callings

The first time I spoke at length to my (now) husband Jordan, we were in a Ford Taurus, traveling from Connecticut—from my childhood home—back to college in western Pennsylvania. We exchanged pleasantries, talked about what music we should listen to in the car, and started driving. Then his very normal and appropriate question: “What’s your major?” launched us into my first conversation about the doctrine of vocation.

At the time of this exchange, I was a new college Freshman, and still a relatively new Christian. In my fervor to commit my life to Jesus, I was in turmoil over what my life should look like. The source of my anguish: should I trade in my literature major for a biblical studies major? Beginning college, I wanted to become a literature professor, ideally one whose expertise was in the realm of literary theory and composition. But here’s the thing that was driving me crazy: could I really serve God in that type of a career? 

Although I had been baptized as a baby in the Episcopalian church and attended fairly regularly for the first ten years of my life, when my parents were divorced, we stopped going altogether, save on Christmas and Easter. When I finally heard the gospel for the first time, I was somewhere around sixteen or seventeen years old, and subsequently began attending a Christian Missionary Alliance church. It was in this church environment that I saw a strong emphasis on missions and pastoral ministry for the first time. As a new believer, it seemed to me that real Christians did missions. Real Christians went into vocational ministry. Real Christians shaped their lives around their faith—they didn’t spend time debating literature and textual interpretation in the academy, right? At least I didn’t think they did.

Amid my extremely long answer to Jordan’s unintentionally difficult question, he recognized my need to hear about the doctrine of vocation. He had just finished Gene Edward Veith’s book God at Work not long before this car ride and had the information fresh in his mind. His response to me boiled down to something along the lines of, “God calls us to love Him and serve our neighbor in every area of our life, and vocational ministry is simply one of the callings you could have, not the highest calling.” 

During the time of Luther, and similar to the mission’s emphasis of my high-school church, “vocation” was distinctly connected to full-time church ministry. In this way, those who existed and performed other tasks in the world, such as being a farmer or a midwife, were not considered to have a “vocation” equal to that a monk. To combat this idea, Luther emphasized the priesthood of all believers. Veith explains, ‘The priesthood of all believers’ did not make everyone into church workers; rather, it turned every kind of work into a sacred calling.” It did not denigrate church work but emphasized the importance of all types of work.

It would be misleading if I said I had any intention of actually ending up in vocational ministry at the time. The only reason I was debating switching majors was out of a feeling of obligation, of a sense that I could only serve God in that type of work. I had just begun opening the scriptures for the first time; I had just learned who Abraham was two months before this car ride, for example. It was my overwhelming desire to serve God in my life. I just hadn’t found a way to reconcile literary theory and a life devoted to God. Fast forward eleven years, and here I am in full-time vocational ministry—but how did that happen? I will unpack that soon, but first, I’d like to look more precisely at what the doctrine of vocation is.

The Doctrine of Vocation

 In our culture today, if you were to say the word “vocation,” people would immediately associate it with the idea of “jobs,” or the work we do to make money. The word “vocation,” however, has a historical doctrinal meaning. It is derived from the Latin word vocatio, meaning “calling.” Every person is laden with the task of loving God and serving their neighbor (Mark 12:30-31), but that service manifests itself in every sphere of our lives, and God works through us to care for others. The purpose, then, of living out vocational callings in our lives is to allow God to work in and through us to help and serve those around us. Veith writes, 

God healed me. I wasn’t feeling well, so I went to the doctor. The nurse ran some tests, and the lab technicians identified the problem; so the doctor wrote me a prescription, I got it filled at the pharmacist, and in no time I was a lot better. But it was still God who healed me. He did it through the medical vocations. 

It is not contradictory to believe that God is the one healing through the hands of the medical professionals, it is simply the ordinary ordering of things. If you read Romans 13, it becomes clear that God even works through non-believers to execute His will and purposes, which is why we are called to submit to earthly authorities. In every relationship, every service done, God is there serving our neighbor through us.

So what are some examples of vocational callings? Obviously job-related work fits this, but it’s not the only thing. Perhaps that calling is to be a nurse, a farmer, a president, a data-analysis specialist, or a fast-food worker—all of these are job-related vocations, but vocation extends into our personal lives too. God calls us to be in community in the church and society. He calls us to be in relationships with other people: friendship, marriage, citizenship. All of these are ways in which we not only relate to one another, but they are ways in which we can bless others as well.

As mentioned earlier, the boy in the Ford Taurus and I ended up falling in love and getting married. Thus, one of my callings is to be a wife. We had two children, now I serve my two small kiddo neighbors as a mother. He became a pastor in the Lutheran church, so I became a pastor’s wife. I was not born into these vocations, but they were given to me as a blessing as years passed, as Veith says, “We do not choose our vocations. We are called to them.” All the while, I retained my vocations—and served others—as a friend, daughter, sister, active layperson in my church, stay-at-home mom, and citizen of the United States of America. In the realm of these different callings, I function differently. I do not treat my friends as I would treat my children, nor do I serve my government in the same way that I serve my church, and my vocations make me no better or worse than someone who serves in different vocations. 

This said, I have struggled immensely in each of these vocations (and all of the others along with them)—as we all probably do. How can I be a good citizen if I feel like I can’t vote in good conscience for candidates in an election? Can I be a good mother if I feel so profoundly frustrated when my children wake me up in the middle of the night? At what point do I cut off toxic friendships? Or should I muscle through knowing that God tells me to love all people? 

Although complex and often laden with interpersonal difficulty, vocations are to be done out of joy. Luther explains at length the importance of joy in service—vocational callings are not law thrust upon us, but a way of serving in light of the gospel. A beautiful example of this is when Luther explores the rhetorical question: why would anyone want to be married and have kids? Kids are smelly and frustrating and demand time and attention, and marriage isn’t any easier. Luther responds:

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” [...].

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. (The Estate of Marriage)

I have to admit, I loved citing this passage when our children were small, and I wanted my husband to have a turn with diaper duty. But aside from the radical nature of Luther’s willingness as a man to attend to “women’s work,” this passage is fundamentally about joy and serving the helpless child to whom God has entrusted to love.

Vocation is Motivated by a Free Gospel

It is important to take a step back and acknowledge with Luther and the other reformers that performing good works benefits us nothing in terms of our salvation: “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast” (Eph. 2:8-9, NKJV). No amount of changed diapers can merit us eternal salvation. No quantifiable joy in our service will do so either. Even if these works were far above and beyond the ordinary works that we do in life, they still have no bearing on our eternal status before God. Veith explains, “We often speak of ‘serving God,’ and this is a worthy goal, but strictly speaking, in the spiritual realm, it is God who serves us.” The purpose of living out our vocational callings is to love and serve our neighbor. Vocation is not self-serving to gain us a place in heaven, but a life focused on serving others out of the abundance of our freedom earned through Christ’s sacrifice. Paul teaches this in the next verse in Ephesians writing, “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them” (Eph. 2:10, NKJV).

If my works did something to justify me before God, wouldn’t my works, in fact, be fundamentally self-serving? These “good works” would use my neighbor to my own end, and not actually serve my neighbor for the sake of serving. The law convicts us of our sins and leads us to contrition and repentance. Through that repentance, we have ears to hear the message of the gospel: that Jesus Christ came into the world to bear our sin on the cross and to rise from the dead, conquering sin, death, and the devil for us. Now freed from the demands and threats of the law, we are made free to serve in light of it.

Living in Light of Vocational Callings

The doctrine of vocation followed me throughout these eleven years, reminding me to serve from a place of joy, acknowledging that in every way that I am called, I should be glad to serve—not as law, but as a freed, loved woman in Christ.

So how did I end up in vocational ministry when I had been convinced that I could pursue my dream of becoming a literature professor? In short, God called me to it. It sounds overly simple, but I have to say it’s simply true. All of the things I have done in the last eleven years: getting married, having kids, beginning seminary, moving five times, etc., God has made my callings clear. While my relational callings have remained remarkably the same, except for the death of my mother, my career was the thing that changed the most over the years. I went from retail worker, to stay-at-home-mom, to editor, to seminarian, to preschool teacher, to college minister, and many of these overlapped at any given time. It wasn’t until I graduated from seminary—with still no intention of going into vocational ministry—I was called to serve part-time as a preschool teacher at a Lutheran school.

Now, a year later, I have been called to a role as a college minister, working with female students. Many of my conversations with them cycle back to the idea of vocation. How do I know what God wants me to do? Can I love God in the job I’ve picked out for myself? Am I serving my neighbor if my motivations are self-serving?  (All good and similar questions to those I had in college).

And to these questions, I remind them that when Jesus died on the cross, we did not only have all of our sins wiped away. We were also given as a free gift through faith all of Christ’s righteousness. Theologians call this the “great exchange.” In this exchange, when God looks on us in our sin, he sees the robes of righteousness given to us in Christ. Similarly, because our good works will never truly be perfect, God looks on all that we do and credits it to us as perfect for the sake of Christ. God wants to use us, and he does through absolutely ordinary things. He does so in all of our callings. We exist in our vocations imperfectly, yet because of our faith in Jesus, it is credited to us as righteousness. 

Photo by Drew Mills