For My Wife on Mother’s Day: a Husband’s Confession

20170505_143600Well, I took out the garbage today
And expected a “Hip-hip-hooray!”
So it did get my goat,
When my wife took no note,
Let alone had a “thank you” to say.

When I pointed out what I had done,
She just paused and said, “Oh, thank you, Hon…”
Then went on scrubbing floors
And with other such chores
On her list of a hundred and one.

How she gets so much done, I don’t know,
But it’s clear that it’s never for show.
Yet I would be remiss,
If I didn’t say this:
That her setting is always on “Go!”

And all of it’s done with the touch
Of a gentle, sweet Mom who gets such
Little rest for her lids,
Taking care of her kids
And the husband who loves her so much.

It is Good to be Near God: a Thought on the Day After Inauguration Day, 2017

It is now the day after Inauguration Day.

I watched many of the festivities on television yesterday.  I was struck by a weird feeling unlike anything I know how to label.  On the one hand, despite my Anabaptist persuasions, I felt the (beautiful?) ceremonial solemnity of the occasion.  On the other, I was awash once again in the realization of the depths of degradation this country has reached.  A very strange combination of feelings, to be sure.

This morning, when I awoke, I saw that Desiring God had published an article by John Piper titled “How to Live Under an Unqualified President.”  Also, they posted the prayer that Dr. Piper prayed for the new president.  Both are excellent, and I commend them both to all.

Two elements of these materials stand out to me at this time.  The first is that Piper prayed that the Lord would grant repentance to President Trump but noted that this would be quite a miracle, since Trump is a proud rich man, and it is exceedingly hard for such people to enter the kingdom.  But he also recalled that when the Lord expressed how difficult it was for a rich man to enter, He followed by saying, “With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”  I thought about how it might be good for believers to pray for this president, picturing with a holy imagination what a glorious thing it would be for the Lord truly to grant him repentance—not the phony stuff focused on by the likes of Franklin Graham and Jerry Falwell, Jr.—but real repentance.  With God it is possible.  But for now, we have a president who has said that he has never asked for forgiveness from God or anyone else.

Second, the article also highlights the fact that this new president is egregiously far from being anything that anyone in this country can point to as an example to young people.  As Piper puts it, “Few parents would say to their young people: strive to be like Donald Trump. That is a great sadness.”  Indeed, it is.  But even worse is what Donald Trump’s ascendancy to the Oval Office actively teaches.  The message is clear:  There is no disqualification of leadership based on moral grounds.  If we think that the young people of this country are not getting that message loud and clear, we will find we are sadly mistaken.  They now know that a horrible moral track record—even when multiplied by a brazenly unrepentant hubris—is not sufficient to keep a person from occupying the highest office of the land.  How do parents, grandparents, teachers, youth pastors and others who work to lead young people these days explain the moral lessons of the Trump presidency?  Will they not be tempted to think that there is no point in following the way of Jesus and desiring and pursuing purity of heart?

I took a few moments to feel the concussive force of these thoughts.  Then I spent some time reading and praying over Psalm 73.  Here it is:

A PSALM OF ASAPH.

Truly God is good to Israel,
To those who are pure in heart.
2 But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled,
My steps had nearly slipped.
3 For I was envious of the arrogant
When I saw the prosperity of the wicked.
4 For they have no pangs until death;
Their bodies are fat and sleek.
5 They are not in trouble as others are;
They are not stricken like the rest of mankind.
6 Therefore pride is their necklace;
Violence covers them as a garment.
7 Their eyes swell out through fatness;
Their hearts overflow with follies.
8 They scoff and speak with malice;
Loftily they threaten oppression.
9 They set their mouths against the heavens,
And their tongue struts through the earth.
10 Therefore His people turn back to them,
And find no fault in them.
11 And they say, “How can God know?
Is there knowledge in the Most High?”
12 Behold, these are the wicked;
Always at ease, they increase in riches.
13 All in vain have I kept my heart clean
And washed my hands in innocence.
14 For all the day long I have been stricken
And rebuked every morning.
15 If I had said, “I will speak thus,”
I would have betrayed the generation of Your children.
16 But when I thought how to understand this,
It seemed to me a wearisome task,
17 until I went into the sanctuary of God;
Then I discerned their end.
18 Truly You set them in slippery places;
You make them fall to ruin.
19 How they are destroyed in a moment,
Swept away utterly by terrors!
20 Like a dream when one awakes, O Lord,
When You rouse yourself, You despise them as phantoms.
21 When my soul was embittered,
When I was pricked in heart,
22 I was brutish and ignorant;
I was like a beast toward You.
23 Nevertheless, I am continually with You;
You hold my right hand.
24 You guide me with Your counsel,
And afterward You will receive me to glory.
25 Whom have I in heaven but You?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides You.
26 My flesh and my heart may fail,
But God is the strength of my heart
And my portion forever.
27 For behold, those who are far from You shall perish;
You put an end to everyone who is unfaithful to You.
28 But for me it is good to be near God;
I have made the Lord GOD my refuge,
That I may tell of all Your works.

Wrestling with Race on MLK, Jr. Day

It is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.

More this year than ever before, I find myself genuinely desiring to observe this day.  And more than ever before, I find myself perplexed and dismayed at the seeming impossibility of getting any observance right.  How does someone like me, a forty-seven year old white guy with only a small handful of relationships with people of color and nothing like a real clue about the actual experience of African Americans, rightly observe a holiday honoring someone like Dr. King and all he stood for?

I have decided to observe the day by taking a bit of time to share some of my pained ponderings.  To those who might wish to upbraid me for posting such thoughts as these on MLK, Jr. Day, I simply pose this:  Maybe you’re right.  Maybe it’s indecorous of me to choose this day, of all the days of the year, to air these thoughts.  I don’t know.  And that’s kind of the point.  But right or wrong, I have chosen to take a portion of this day to wrestle publically with my ongoing difficulties in this area.  I am observing MLK, Jr. Day by trying to deal with the thorny issue of race in my own heart and in the arena of relationships.  How are you observing this day?

In a recent course on 20th century theology, I have had the opportunity to gain more exposure to different liberation theologies, including Black Theology.  James Cone, who still occupies the Charles A. Briggs chair of Systematic Theology at Union Theological Seminary in New York, began writing books of black theology in the late 1960s.  I find his work to be fascinating and provocative in mostly good ways.  For me, at least, there is no scandal in his assertions like “God is black” and “Jesus is the black Christ.”  I understand his point.  More than that, when he says that the only hope for white people in America is for them to “become black,” my response is to say that I would be glad to.  If I understand him correctly, Cone means by this ‘becoming black’ a forsaking of power and a total identification with the oppressed.  That is nothing less than biblical.  It is the calling of all who would follow the incarnate Son of God.

But Cone and others end up asking too much, it seems to me.  I will explain below.  But first, let me offer some thoughts about my struggle to get a handle on the so-called ‘race issue.’

Recently I saw a few minutes of a sitcom in which a white couple and a black couple were making an effort to spend time together and get to know each other.  The conversation began to get painfully awkward along race lines, and in order to defuse it a bit, the white woman mentioned something about liking the movie “The Help.”  Then one of the black folks said something to the effect of, “Yeah, wasn’t it great how that pretty white girl started the Civil Rights movement?”

Ouch.  How does a white person rightly respond to that?  There is, of course, no such thing as a non-response.  It seems that there is nothing one could do or say—including nothing—that would be the right response.

One wrong response—but one perhaps worth offering anyway—might be to observe the fact that the movie could not have been produced without the willing participation of a number of black actors (and presumably others).  The same can be said of practically any such endeavor.  Perhaps such things as “The Help” should be seen as goofy attempts at white goodness which really just serve to expose how deeply racist we whites really are.  In our misguided attempts to be good white people, we cast ourselves as magnanimously and heroically non-racist.  That is a stinging rebuke, one that does not miss its target with me.

But implicit in such criticism is the idea that we should have known better.  And I can’t help wondering whether the same may be said of the black people who participated in the movie.  I do not mean to commit the tu quoque fallacy (Latin for “you too,” a dismissing someone’s argument by pointing out their hypocrisy).  My point is that, if there is an “Oops—what was I thinking?” to be uttered, it seems that it should be uttered by more than just the white people involved.  And maybe—just maybe—it might be admitted that, while there truly is a foolish white blindness that results in unhelpful gestures like the utterance “all lives matter,” such sapiential failures are not the sole demesne of white folks.

This summer, the website of the Gospel Coalition hosted a piece titled “When God Sends Your Daughter a Black Husband” by a blogger named Gaye Clark.  I never got to read the piece, because it was removed (at Clark’s request) before I became aware of it.  But there has been a great deal of discussion in its wake.  For those who might be interested, here are a few pieces of the discussion:

The address of the original article, offering a link to a discussion about it.

The link of the actual discussion: “A Controversial Article and What We Can Learn”

A news story about it.

A different blogger’s interesting take on it.

Thabiti Anyabwile’s reflection on it.

Apparently, in the article, Clark talked about the surprise she experienced when her daughter announced her engagement to a young black man.  She was happy to say that her son-in-law-to-be was a committed Christian and that that was all that really mattered.  But she also wrote honestly about her… shall we say, unpreparedness for the surprise.  Perhaps the most controversial sentence in the article was, “Glenn moved from being a black man to beloved son when I saw his true identity as an image bearer of God, a brother in Christ, and a fellow heir to God’s promises.”

It seems that a maelstrom of argument followed in the comments section of the post.  Obviously, some people were upset by the inherent racism.  But death threats apparently came from white supremacists who were angry that Clark was okay with her daughter marrying a black man.  She ended up writing a brief apology and asking TGC to remove the article, which they did.

I listened to the discussion between Jason Cook, Isaac Adams and Jemar Tisby, three African American Christians, reflectively responding to the article and the fallout that ensued from it.  They dealt with the sentence quoted above, pointing out that it reveals that Clark sees her son-in-law’s blackness as something to get over.  This and many other points made by these brothers are painful but necessary and helpful.

But one of the things that comes out in the discussion is that, before it was ever posted in the first place, the article was vetted by a number of people, including Clark’s son-in-law-to-be (who is said to have loved it) and Cook himself as an editor for TGC.  Cook briefly acknowledges that he too managed to miss the depth of the racially problematic message in the article.  But it seemed to me that the point was rather quickly set aside.

Now, there are several problems with my observations here about black people sometimes also missing the subtleties of inherent racism in such places as “The Help” and the Gaye Clark article.  First, one might rightly argue that it is not my place, as a white guy, to make that observation—that my job is to own my own white issues.  This leads to the second problem, namely that such an observation might just serve as a convenient distraction from the main issue.  That would, indeed, be a rather gross instance of the tu quoque fallacy.  And of course, there is the basic question of just how helpful it is to the over all conversation to make such an observation.

But my point in making it is not to change the subject or to avoid responsibility or to evade any appropriate white guilt.  My intent is certainly not polemical at all.  My point is to say that I want to think rightly and truly about race.  But if it is so difficult to think clearly that well-intentioned white people and well-intentioned black people can easily miss the mark, I’m going to need some help and some patience from those who are ahead of me in “getting” it.

The other day I remarked to a friend (another white guy like me) that I had thought of coining the phrase “Jim Dove laws” as a term for what I see coming in the not too distant future: legal persecutions of Christians somewhat resembling the Jim Crow laws which make up so much of America’s cruel history toward black people.  But I hadn’t actually used the phrase anywhere until I mentioned it to my friend, because I knew there was something wrong with it.  Mostly, I had thought of “being misunderstood” and looking like I was being insensitive toward the actual plight of African Americans by comparing it  to the discomforts of evangelical Christians in an increasingly secularizing culture.

My friend pointed out what I already knew was the case, though.  It wasn’t just a matter of being misunderstood as insensitive.  It was insensitive.  How could I even seriously entertain the idea of such a comparison?  The fact is that I did.  A worse fact is that the right word for that insensitivity is “racism.”

While I am not some skinhead or KKK member, I am a sinner who has insidious strains of racism in his heart.

One of the problems of the discussions of racism among white people, including Christians, is that racism is too often defined as active, aggressive meanness toward people of other races.  There is not enough acknowledgment of the “soft” racism that inheres in all of our hearts.  For example, why is there some little part of my psyche that thinks it kind of cool of me that I treat a minority person just the same as any white person?  Is there something especially good about me when I am kind toward a black person?  Is it magnanimous of me?  Usually such ideas are only present in me in the form of deeply embedded feelings.  I don’t sit there consciously patting myself on the back for not being racist.  But the latent notions are there.  And I must be honest and call them what they are: racism.

Some months ago, I heard the story of a black pastor in Canada whose wife begs him not to go out to the store at night, not because he might encounter criminals but because he might encounter the police.  Other brothers in Christ who are pastors, scholars, theologians, testify of the daily experience of having white people, especially women subtly shrink away from them on the street or in other public places.  I have no idea of how to respond to that other than to shut my mouth and listen, to try—somehow—to join them in their pain through prayer and my God-given powers of imagination, thinking of how awful that must be.

And of course, there is no denying that, in more than a few cases, this racial xenophobia reaches lethal levels.  If I get pulled over by the police, I am liable to feel annoyed, but I don’t generally worry that it might be the end of my life.

This brings me to another thought.  Most of what attaches to me as so-called “white privilege” is negative in nature.  That is, because I am white, I do not experience certain unpleasant things such as being tailed by security when I walk through a store.  But as far as I can tell, there is not much in terms of positive privilege.  Being white certainly does not mean that doors just swing open for me in life.

And come to think of it, there is such a thing as a white experience which is also unpleasant and which it might be fair to say is something the black person does not share.  It is the converse to the black experience that the white person does not share.  Black people, it seems, cannot know what it is like to be a member of an ethnic majority which is expected to feel guilty for being such.

Many years ago, when I was pizza delivery driver, I had a somewhat disquieting experience on a delivery to a certain apartment.  A young black man opened the door, and we began the normal of exchange pizza for money.  In the background of the room a young black woman suddenly yelled at me, “Hey!  Can you deliver me some watermelon?!”  I was terribly flustered and just tried to pass it off with a nervous laugh.  The young man was merciful and turned to her and told her to shut up, then turned back to me and said, “Sorry.”  As far as I know, my discomfort—and that is putting it mildly—is a distinctively white experience.

Now I must hasten to say that the experience of white guilt, white awkwardness or embarrassment, the burden of actual white racial badness—none of this comes anywhere close to off-setting or comparing to the real pain of the black experience in America or the appropriate indignation that black people feel.  I make no comparisons of scale—or even of kind—between these special white and black experiences.

Moreover, I know that some black people, in hearing the expression of quandary and confusion by white people over not knowing what to do, have responded by saying it is good and appropriate for white people to feel it.  And in general, I think they are probably right.  It is certainly fair for black people, as a group, to feel less than sympathetic toward the awkward and embarrassing struggle of white people as we try to figure out how in the world to be good and right in relation to them.  Maybe it’s really a good problem, healing to black folks in one way and to white folks in another.

But all of this tempts me to despair.  It seems to set us all up for a hopeless separation of races.  Black experience and white experience, and therefore, black people and white people, seem to be separated by water-tight bulkheads.  Can we ever come together?

I know that it is almost inappropriate for a white man to be the one to ask that question.  I know that it must be black people who say when racial tensions are over and forgiveness and reconciliation have done their work so that no more worry is needed.  And I get that, in expressing a desire for that time to hurry and arrive, I may be guilty of trying to forestall the necessary process of going through what we must go through—perpetrator race and victim race—together.  (By the way, if you think it is silly to use such terms, you are probably white and have not really come to grips with the realities of the history of race in America.  The phenomenon of African slavery alone is unparalleled in human history in terms of scope and cruelty.)  Yet I cannot help it.

Matters may be further complicated by the fact that there are some ideas communicated from people like Dr. Cone with which I simply cannot agree.  Again, if I understand him correctly, he takes the force of his black theology to places which are just a bit too far.  It seems that I am asked to recast the gospel as being essentially about the black experience, not just including it.  It is not enough, it seems, to see the suffering of Jesus as including the horrors of the black experience in American history; we are expected to see them as one and the same.  It amounts to a black exclusion of white people somewhat like Jewish exclusion of Gentiles.  And at that point, it goes too far.

I am confident that Dr. King would say so.  (And yes, I know that white people are not supposed to invoke Dr. King.)  He had no desire to see the Lord Jesus and His cross, which is for all people equally, eclipsed by or subsumed under the Civil Rights movement.  He would not tell me that my being white means I can only approach God through the mercies of black people and then take my seat in the outer court.

I am more than glad to look at a black brother and say, “For too long, you and those of your ethnicity have languished under the cruel burden of white hegemony.  I realize that there is something terribly inappropriate about the idea that it is sufficient simply to announce a leveling of the field after several centuries of mistreatment.  I agree that it would be totally fitting and maybe therapeutic for all, for the shoe to be on the other foot for some period.  And I am willing to go through that passage.”

But I cannot agree to a theology of reversal which makes anyone, even us white people, ultimately second-class citizens of the kingdom of God.  I do not know what Dr. Cone would say now, but that is how I read his work of four or five decades ago; and that is an extreme to which I just cannot go with him.

Well, these have been long-winded thoughts on this Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.  I do not have any greater clarity than I did when first began writing them.  But maybe now that I have put them here, I may have the benefit of some good help form others in wrestling with them.

Meanwhile, I look forward to this:

After these things I looked, and behold, a great multitude which no one could count, from every nation and all tribes and peoples and tongues, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, and palm branches were in their hands;  and they cry out with a loud voice, saying, “Salvation to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.”
— Revelation 7:9-10

Hymn for Epiphany

Ye who walk in darkness here,
Ye who languish in the vale,
See! The Light of God comes near!
Know that grace shall yet prevail!

God, His promise to unveil,
He to save the perishing,
Ends now Israel’s long travail,
He who bears her suffering.

Sages, come, your gifts to bring,
Thinking not of your largesse.
Learn that He’s the King of kings.
It is you who will be blessed!

Of your pride yourselves divest,
Your anxieties and fears.
Come to Him! He bids you rest,
He who bottles up your tears.

He proclaims to them with ears
Of the kingdom in His wake.
‘Tis the King who now appears
With a kingdom naught can shake.

———————–

Not FROM, but FOR

Six times in his little three chapter letter to Titus, Paul calls for Christians to be into good deeds (1:16; 2:7,14; 3:1,8,14).  The last of these six comes near the end of the book where he says, “Our people also need to learn to engage in good deeds…” (3:14).  He even goes so far as to say that the reason Christ Jesus saved us was to redeem us from our lawless deeds “…and to purify for Himself a people for His own possession, zealous for good deeds” (2:14).  We cannot miss, then, the fact that God has not saved us just to save us.  He intends to make us into a people of active goodness in the world.

And in the context of all this emphasis on good deeds, the apostle writes, “He saved us, not on the basis of deeds which we have done in righteousness, but according to His mercy…” (3:5).  Literally, Paul tells us that our salvation is ‘not from’—‘not sourced in’—any righteous deeds on our part (ouk ex ergōn = “not out of works”).  Instead, it is completely according to His mercy (and by the means of a bath of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit)!

[Huge sigh of relief goes here.]

Boy, is that good news.

If God is to save me on the basis of my good works, I’m sunk.  Look at the list that characterizes us prior to the rebirth and renewal of the Spirit: “thoughtless,” “led astray,” “enslaved to various passions and pleasures,” “killing time in wickedness and envy,” “hated,” “hating each other” (3:3).  And it’s not as though Paul has the worst non-Christians in mind here.  Rather, he is thinking of all people in general.  That’s who he has just referred to in verses 1-2; if there is any particular class or kind of people in view, it is the people good enough to be in civic leadership (v. 1).  No, if God is going to save anyone, it won’t be related in any way to righteous deeds on their part.

Nevertheless, He saves us for good deeds.  Paul insists that Titus insist on this point.  Drenched in the Holy Spirit, Christians are to be a people of good deeds.  Justified by grace, Christians are to be a people of good deeds.  As heirs of the hope of eternal life, Christians are to be a people of good deeds.  As those who trust in God, Christians are to be a people who thoughtfully engage in good deeds.

Good deeds.  It’s not where our salvation comes from.  But it is what our salvation is for.

Lord Jesus, forgive me for my tendency to rest on the laurels of Your merciful salvation.  Make me a vessel of Your grace and love in this world.  I want to be profitable for people.  Father, wash me anew with Your Spirit for this purpose.  In Jesus, amen.

Back to School!

My Fall Reading List

My Fall Reading List

Well, Lord-willing, this year I will be finishing off the MA I began a million years ago.
I actually had to meet with a few professors this summer to demonstrate competency and currency in several disciplines from classes that I took a long time ago.

I have completed 50 of the 64 semester hours for my MABTS (Biblical and Theological Studies).  So it’s 10 hours this fall, 4 in the spring, and it’s done!

On the docket for the fall are:
THS502  —  Theology II   (4 hrs)
THS560  —  20th Century Theology   (3 hrs)
NTS560  —  Thessalonian Epistles   (2 hrs)
RES500  —  Graduate Research & Writing   (1 hr)

Spring will be:
THS508  —  Integrating Theology and Ministry   (2 hrs)
RES502  —  Thesis   (2 hrs)

Though the 2-hours of credit I will receive for my thesis are to be earned in the spring, I have to do a significant amount of work on the thesis this fall.  I will be meeting with my reader-prof this week to find out the calendar due dates of various pieces and phases of drafts through the year.  I will also be finding out–hopefully–the limits and specific direction he wants me to take.  The thesis topic itself is related to a theology of heroism.  There will be more revealing of all of that on “Geberology,” my other blog, in the future.

I am headed into a pretty breathless next few months.
But I am grateful–to the Lord, to my wife, to my kids, to my church, to all the friends who have encouraged me to carry on serving the Lord and his people as a… what am I… a thinker?  Is that a spiritual gift?  😉

May the grace, peace and love of the Messiah be yours in abundance!

 

Explicable Me

“I feel ya, Bro!” says one guy to another. What he means, it seems, is that he apprehends a given situation or idea the same way the other guy does. But the expression suggests something deeper, more empathetic than a mere shared understanding of something. “I think and feel the same way you do about that,” is the apparent message. And the really incredible implication is that the first guy can give this assurance because he actually knows the very thoughts and feelings of the other.

1 + 1 = …1?
Henry Craik was evidently George Müller’s best friend for many years as they served together in Bristol, England as ministers of the gospel of Jesus Christ. When Craik died, Müller described their years of friendship as being “without a jar.” Amazingly, these two close friends never fought. But that does not mean that they always saw things the exact same way. Even less does it mean that either of them knew and understood the other down to the depths of his soul. The apostle Paul writes, “For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the spirit of the man which is in him?…” (I Cor. 2:11)

On the other hand, C.S. Lewis has famously written that “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.’” He is right, of course. And the experience is one of the great pleasures of life—one of the few which gives an undeniable foretaste of heaven. Which is probably why it is so elusive and rare. The truth is, even when two people really find that they are on the same wavelength, really mutually simpatico, their unity is never total.

Each of us is so different from every one of the others that, to be honest, I sometimes despair of ever truly communicating with another human being in this world. The simpatico soul moments are so few and far between and as fleeting as a snowflake on the tongue. Moments of annoying and even painful misunderstanding are much more easily and often come by.

Like so many other people (all others?), I yearn deeply to be known and understood. And I dread the opposite. Without claiming to be “just a soul whose intentions are good,” I echo the prayer of The Animals: “Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood!”

Lack of Communication
Recently, I had an unpleasant phone conversation in which it seemed that my dialogue partner was bent on misperceiving me while making repeated claims to ‘totally understand where I was coming from.’ It was awful, really. Leading up to the conversation and following from it, I have had the horrible self-doubts about whether it was wise even to have it. Back and forth I go from ‘why in the world did I even say anything?!’ to ‘I had to say that! And they needed to hear it!’

This last year, I worked at yet another Christian high school where I was not retained and where my departure was attended by copious amounts of relational misunderstanding. The truth is, my desire to work there was not that strong. The work was far too difficult (impossible, really) and the material rewards too minimal for it to have a naturally strong draw for me.

Among other things in my experience at this place was the constant awareness that I just didn’t fit. Like most Christian schools, it is a bastion of what I have often called, on this blog and elsewhere, God-and-Country-Evangelicalism. For the past ten years or so, my affinity for that mentality has eroded almost to nothing. Though I grew up in it and championed it myself for many years, it couldn’t survive my study of Scripture and church history.
So each week, as the school would gather on Monday morning for “Opening,” and the pledge of allegiance would be chanted to both the American flag and the “Christian flag,” I would do my best to step back into the shadows and just stand with my head down. Gabby Douglas, no hand on heart for anthemWhile I, unlike Olympic gymnast Gabby Douglas, never received any direct opprobrium for failing to put my hand over my heart, I always felt very foreign.

On one occasion, around the beginning of November, I did actually engage some 11th and 12th graders on the question of Christian non-violence, and the backlash was astonishing—almost like something out of a cheesy movie. Apparently, the superintendent’s phone lit up all afternoon and evening.
He did tell me, though, that a few of the calls were in support of my challenging the kids to think critically about the subject. And I did have a visit from a kind dad who came just to let me know he appreciated it. And while many of the students freaked out, there were a few who bravely defended me. I thank the Lord for all of these things. Still, they are the silver lining to what is undeniably a very large dark cloud of misfit experience.

It Only Hurts when I Relate
What bothers me about losing the position at the school the relational part. For one thing, I truly did come to love and enjoy the students; and I will miss them. But also, I hate the thought that the people of the school—the students, parents, my colleagues— might have wrong ideas about me. The official/unofficial story of why I am no longer there is likely to be that, though I was a good guy in a lot of ways, I couldn’t cut it as an English teacher, that I should just stick to Bible, etc. And that is simply not true.
What is true is that teaching all of the English classes for the entire high school is a job for at least two people. It cannot be done by just one person, especially if that one person is a real teacher. My understanding of what it means to be a Christian educator did not fit the school. I am not one for keeping things simple and shallow and just making the grades run on time.

But it is not a question of being misunderstood by robots. These are people. And what they think of me matters to me—no doubt, more than it should. I still live in the same city. I still see people from the school community around town. I’ve been bumping into them all summer. And each time, I want to run up to them and tell them that the official story is not true and that what happened to me there is not fair. But having been in similar spots before, I have learned how well such efforts turn out. It’s not pretty. As it is, writing this post probably means I will be seen as some kind of pathetic sore loser who doesn’t know how to just move on.

A Friend in the Valley
One of the most prevalent feelings I felt during the year—maybe the most significant of all—was loneliness. At times, the sense that no one else understood my heart or shared my view of things was almost oppressive. The Lord was with me, true. I knew He was present with me through the ache, and sometimes throbbing pain, of loneliness. But it was as much the presence of a wrestling opponent as of a loving friend.

Nevertheless, in the midst of the great trial that was this school year, the Lord blessed me with one really good friend among my colleagues. Mike, the Math teacher(!) from across the way, was also new to the school. That was probably what began our friendship—that, and our mutual love of coffee. But then it was sustained by a pretty good measure of shared understanding. With Mike, in the context of that place, I experienced something a little like what Frederick Buechner wrote of his childhood friend: “It was Jimmy who became my great friend, and it was through coming to know him that I discovered that perhaps I was not, as I had always suspected, alone in the universe and the only one of my kind. He was another who saw the world enough as I saw it to make me believe that maybe it was the way the world really was.”

Despite our mutual hopes of getting together, I have not seen Mike this summer. I hope we will get opportunities to hang out again. But whatever the case, I am deeply thankful to the Lord for his friendship through the last school year. He has my deep gratitude and respect.

Finding Kinship in a Book
“The author who benefits you most is not the one who tells you something you did not know before, but the one who gives expression to the truth that has been dumbly struggling in you for utterance,” writes Oswald Chambers. While it may be a bit too absolute, his point gets at something very real. Once in a while, you read a book and feel like the author knows you. Earlier this summer, I picked up a wonderful little paperback by Daniel Taylor titled The Myth of Certainty: The Reflective Christian and the Risk of Commitment.

Having just finished it, I can say that it is one of those rare gems. It is only about 150 pages in length, but it took me about six weeks to reach the end. This is partly because I have had to set it aside for several days on a number of occasions since I began. But it is also because it is so rich and important that I really needed to take it slow as I chewed on each page.

In the afterword of the edition I have, Taylor mentions the nature of some of the letters he has received in response to the book. Some have expressed gratitude: “If there is a common theme to their letters it is a sense of relief at finding they are not alone…. It is no small thing to find that there are others in the world who share your experience.” Indeed.
One of the praise quotes on the back cover is from poet Luci Shaw who says, “I recognize myself on every page.” I must say that I do too—or very nearly so.

Taylor examines the plight of the reflective Christian with an insightful honesty that is downright soothing. In almost every chapter, he takes the reader on a little narrative aside in which he shows us the life of a character named Alex Adamson. Alex is a fairly young reflective Christian in his first year as a professor of English (Taylor’s actual position) at a Christian college which is steeped in unreflective fundamentalist traditionalism (hopefully not Taylor’s actual position). Poor Alex is both drawn to and repelled by two separate subcultures: the church and Christian circles on the one hand, and the secular intellectual subculture on the other.

Surrounding these narrative vignettes, Taylor deftly guides the reader in thinking through, not only the difficulties of being someone like this, but also the rightness and importance of going ahead and plunging into the risky enterprise of living a life of active faith in Christ. Here are a few excerpts which elicited from me the tearful response of ‘Oh my goodness, this guy knows me!’:

The life of a reflective person is more likely to be interesting, less likely to be serene; more likely to be contemplative, less likely to be active; more likely to be marked by the pursuit of answers, less by the finding of them. The result is a high potential for creativity, curiosity, and discovery, but also for paralyzing ambivalence, alienation, and melancholy.


Reflective Christians are, as they have always been, a great gift from God with important tasks to do. They cannot do them if mired in endless cycles of reflection without action. They also cannot do them, however, if they forfeit the life of the mind for mindless parroting of simplistic, culturally determined socio-religious agendas.


Thinking, as many have discovered, can be dangerous. It can get us in trouble—with others, but also with ourselves. And the suspicion lingers in religious circles that it can also, if we are not very careful, get us in trouble with God.


Like everyone, reflective Christians want to be accepted, to be valued, to be liked—ultimately to be secure. We are afraid of looking stupid, especially if we have an intellectual bent, but even more afraid, I hope, of being stupid. That is, I am willing, reluctantly, to be out of sync in either or both subcultures—to appear alternately naïve or rebellious, outdated or backslidden—if I am convinced that my stand is the right one.
Ah, there’s the rub. Will reflection ever give one peace about “the right” position? Intellectual orthodoxy will allow at best “a right” position, though even that is suspect. “How,” the ever-inquiring mind asks, “can I know that what I believe is right? Contrary forces witness to conflicting truths. I think I have the courage to take a stand, if only I could be sure where that stand should be.


That many people still believe that every “question” can and must be neatly linked to an “answer” illustrates exactly why the church is so often an inhospitable place for the reflective Christian.

But as I said, Taylor is not only good at articulating the problem. He gives a clear description of the way forward.

Faith is a quality and a choice consistent with the human condition. It is an appropriate response to the world as I find it. It is a superior response to cynicism or despair which use the genuine difficulty of life to deny the very real opportunity for discovering meaning in it.


There is one thing about which I do feel certain. I feel certain that the commitment to faith is a risk worth taking. I am more interested in finding a ground for commitment than I am in emphasizing the lack of certainty.


As a belief system, the Christian religion is subject to the many ills of all belief systems; as an encounter with God, it transforms individual lives and human history. God does not give us primarily a belief system; he gives us Himself, most clearly in the person of Jesus Christ, so that truth and meaning can be ours through a commitment to that love with which He first loved us. The risk is great, but the reward is infinite.

The Paralysis of Uncertainty and Gospel Ministry
My own struggles with doubt and certainty do not have much to do with the question of God’s existence. For the most part, the struggles Taylor has in view seem to be on that line. But that is not what hounds me. As it turns out, I am just no good at doubting God’s existence. He has always been too palpably real for me.

I have, however, tasted something of the bitterness of which Lewis writes in A Grief Observed: “Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. the real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him. The conclusion I dread is not ‘So there’s not God after all,’ but ‘So this is what God’s really like. Deceiver yourself no longer.’”

Even this, however, has only been seasonal. Thank God for that!
Mostly, I find I am plagued by doubts about certain Christian beliefs, some of them pretty central to Christian living and ministry.

For example, the debate between exclusive soteriology and universal reconciliation continues to roil around in my mind and heart. I hear an exclusivist say that there is no salvation apart from a decision of faith in Jesus Christ, that those who do not put their faith in Him will go to hell forever—I hear this, and I sense that there is truth in it. It is what I was taught from my earliest childhood, and it seems to be consistent with biblical on God’s judgment. Yet I cannot escape the opposing sense that the love of God and the greatness of His sovereign grace will likely surprise us in heaven by including many people we thought were beyond its reach. So I find myself saying to the exclusivist, ‘I do not feel at all comfortable speaking for God like that.’

On the other hand, I hear a universal reconciliationist say that God’s love trumps judgment. I hear him say that He will not actually send anyone to hell, at least not for eternity. I hear him say that Christ died for the sins of the whole world. I hear Him say that the many, many millions of people all over the world who do not believe in Christ but whom I do not want to think of as perishing apart from Him forever will, in the end, somehow be okay. I hear all this, and my heart feels that it must somehow be true. It too seems to accord with much of what Scripture has to say. Yet I cannot escape the sense that this idea is as much a violation of God’s holiness as it is a confidence in His love. Scripture is utterly clear that there is something called “destruction,” some kind of fiery judgment, coming for those who are not in Christ by faith. So I find myself saying to the universal reconciliationist, ‘I do not feel at all comfortable speaking for God like that.’

Now maybe one would say that this dilemma is fine. Maybe I don’t need to resolve it. Just let it be. But I know the Lord has made me for the teaching and preaching of His word. I know I am meant to proclaim His truth to people and to do so from an unapologetically prophetic stance. But how can I do that if I am, as Taylor puts it, “mired in endless cycles of reflection without action?” He speaks for me when he says, “I think I have the courage to take a stand, if only I could be sure where that stand should be.”

I cannot rest in the tension. For one thing, what if the tension between the biblical ideas of the exclusivity of the gospel and the universality of God’s grace means that the two ideas are to be synthesized? Such a synthesis could very well mean that I am among those who will face the fiery judgment of God. In Matthew 25, the Lord Jesus characterizes the “goats” as those who thought they knew Him but who failed to follow Him as they should. And in II Thessalonians 1, Paul says the fiery judgment to come is for those who do not know God and those who do not obey the gospel. Not believe, obey! Do I obey the gospel?!

I cannot seem to resolve the issue, but I cannot just leave it alone! I am truly in a quandary!

This is part of why I have stepped down, for a time, from the preaching team at my church. It is also why I decided not to speak at Junior High Boys’ Camp this summer. If I am conflicted about these things, how can I do the work of an evangelist?

And yet, the call is there. Like Jeremiah, I feel that if I do not speak in the LORD’s name, His words will be like a burning fire in my bones. I cannot hold them in. I am a man most perplexed if not altogether despairing.

Gospel Commitment and Relationships
My prayer now is that the Lord will graciously help me find a way forward as Taylor shows in his excellent book. His formula involves memory, community and perseverance. But will that help me know how to serve God and people in gospel proclamation? I am hoping so.
I am, at least, committed to stay in the game. If the Lord will, I want Him to use me to draw people toward Christ, whichever side of an inside/outside line they might be on in terms of salvation.

Meanwhile, I wonder how many people will even understand all this.
How many will even have the time or patience to read such a long post?! Probably none.
No doubt, for many people, this is all just so much navel-gazing self-absorption.  Mea culpa!
Nevertheless, I do hope that, in and through the community of the body of Christ, the Lord will help me to know what He wants me to believe and proclaim for Him. And I appreciate any help that anyone might have.

I close with the words of Pete Townshend:

“See me, feel me, touch me, heal me…
On you, I see the glory
From you, I get opinions
From you, I get the story.”