To Know Nothing Except

One of the things I really enjoy about reading the letters of the New Testament is that, in them, we often get a glimpse into the mind and life of the apostle writing them. We believe that Scripture is inspired by God but also that the human writer plays an important role. This is a good thing for us as readers today, because we can frequently identify with the writer–we can share in his joy, in his confidence, in his frustration, or in his pain.

Reading I have been reading through the book of 1 Corinthians, written by the apostle Paul. And with all of the above in mind, a passage that has stood out to me is 1 Corinthians 2:1-5. Here’s what it says:

And I, when I came to you, brothers, did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. And I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling, and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.

Here Paul references when he first came to preach in the city of Corinth. It’s handy that we are able to jump over to the book of Acts and see what the circumstances were surrounding Paul’s arrival in that city. What we see, I think, is that Paul had had a rough number of weeks before he got to Corinth. Acts 16 tells of his ministry in Philippi, which involved being put in prison and beaten. He went from there to Thessalonica, where the gospel begins to spread before an angry mob gathers and threatens the Christians, forcing Paul to move on to the village of Berea (Acts 17:1-9). In Berea, Paul finds a receptive audience, but then the same mob from Thessalonica tracks him down there, “agitating and stirring up the crowds” (Acts 17:13). This again forces Paul to move on–this time to Athens, where he has a chance to preach to the local philosophy-club, and he receives a mixed reception there.

All of this leads to Paul going on to Corinth. When we bring together Acts 16-18 with 1 Corinthians 2, I think we get a picture of a worn-down Paul. He has been going from city to city, and while he has experienced some positive reception to his message, he has also experienced opposition–ranging from active, violent opposition to apathy and disbelief. The struggles of life and ministry have been taking their toll on Paul, so he comes to Corinth “in weakness and in fear and much trembling.” I think these words that Paul uses when he writes to the Corinthians are more than just a sign of humility. They are an accurate representation of what his life was like at that point.

Most all of us have been there before, at least in some sense. Perhaps we haven’t faced the type of opposition or persecution that Paul had, but we certainly know what it is like to have life begin to wear you down. I’ve been there, and I imagine you have as well. We wrestle through marital conflict, or stress at work, or health issues, or unemployment, or overdue bills, or disloyal friends, or feelings of spiritual emptiness. The list could go on and on. Like Paul, we come to a point in life in which we are “in weakness and in fear and much trembling.”

So what did Paul do when he was in that place? He clung as strongly as ever to the message of the Jesus’ cross. He “decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.”

It’s when we are in those deepest trenches of life that we most need to be reminded of the gospel of the cross. In our pain, frustration, and weakness, we need to hear once again that Jesus entered into our pain and into our weakness. He has joined us in the trenches. In Christ, God experienced humanity with all of its struggles, and he demonstrated his power precisely through the weakness he experienced.

So when we are suffering, we remember that we worship a Savior who suffered. When life is wearing us down, we turn to the one who, because he gave his life, offers us life in abundance. Because Christ joined us in our weakness, he extends to us the chance to share in his power. We’re invited to know nothing except Christ and him crucified. And I think that’ll be enough to get us through the day.

The Screen Between Me and Myself

Hello friends. It’s been a long while since I’ve written anything. But now that Opening Day is coming to an end and the Cincinnati Reds are well on their way to going 162-0 this season, it may finally be time to put fingers to keys once again.

A couple years ago I did a lot of thinking about the influence that digital technology and social media has on our lives. Specifically, I focused on how these technologies shape the way we think and influence our relationships with God and with one another. This was born out of my interaction with two books I head read at that time: The Shallows by Nicholas Carr and Alone Together by Sherry Turkle.

Recently I began reading Turkle’s newer book, which is titled Reclaiming Conversation: The Power of Talk in a Digital Age. I wanted to read this because, well, I don’t consider myself the greatest conversationalist (at least, if being a good conversationalist means making eye contact with people and not falling into awkward silence every twenty seconds). I am not very far through the book yet, but it has brought be back to this consideration of how our technology is shaping our lives. What I have seen, even just in the first few chapters, is that our embrace of digital technology (smartphones, gaming, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube, texting, and so on) not only affects how we interact with God and with others, but also affects the way in which we understand ourselves.

According to Turkle, meaningful conversation begins with solitude, of all things. It is by first understanding ourselves as unique individuals that we become best prepared to interact with other unique individuals. And so solitude is important. It develops empathy, creativity, and a “stable sense of self” (pp. 61-62). It creates space for self-reflection, which Turkle defines as “the conversations we have with ourselves in hope of greater insight about who we are and want to be” (p. 79). Time spent alone in solitude ought to be a regular part of a healthy lifestyle.

But today, we don’t spend much time alone. With smartphones in our pockets and tablets or laptops in our bags, we never have to be alone. We can experience instant connection at any time. The thought of true solitude makes us feel anxious. We think it’s boring. But with a few taps at a screen, I can be looking at pictures, statuses, updates, videos, and all sorts of other things. I’ve noticed how difficult it is to experience solitude in my own life. Whenever I’m forced to stand in a check-out line at a store or restaurant, my first impulse is to pull out my phone and check in. If I’m reading a book, I make sure to have my phone right near me (you know, just in case someone texts).

But is this really a problem? Is this anything to be concerned about in the first place? I think the answer to these questions is: Yes.

Solitude is a means by which we come to know and understand ourselves better. When I’m alone, I encounter myself. I think about who I am and who I want to become. I reflect on my hopes, fears, goals, dreams, and regrets. And, as a Christian, I think about all of these things in connection with my relationship with God.

This is what it means to engage in self-reflection. But the digital age doesn’t promote self-reflection. Instead, as Turkle explains, it encourages self-presentation (p. 81). When we come to the online world, we don’t present ourselves as we truly are. Instead, we project a specific version of ourselves–namely, a version designed to garner the greatest number of likes, comments, or retweets.

This is something I think that we all do, to some extent. For example, as much as I try to write with openness and authenticity, the truth is that the “me” you’re getting in this blog isn’t quite the same as the “me” which exists in real life. It’s a “me” that has been edited and designed to sound intelligent or funny or whatever.

This becomes a problem when we flee from meaningful solitude and self-reflection. Without such time in solitude, we can fail to see the differentiation between our true selves and the “self” that we have presented in the online sphere. We may come to feel that our projected online self is our true self, and we will therefore value ourselves based on how “liked” we may be in the online world. Our own sense of worth becomes dependent on the amount of online traffic we can generate. Hopefully I don’t have to explain how terrible of a measure of self-evaluation that can be.

And so my simple encouragement today is that you seek out moments of solitude–disconnected from the technology that has become so much a part of our everyday lives. It may be in those small moments like waiting in line or lying in bed while you fall asleep. These are chances to daydream and reflect. But it should also happen in more purposeful settings, when you turn off your phone and put your tablet away so that you can spend time alone, or maybe spend time with a good book or a journal, and truly reflect on who you are and where you are going.

What I have found in my own life is that the pursuit of these moments is like learning to walk again. I’ve become so adapted to a constantly-connected life that thirty minutes away from my phone or computer feels laborious. But I think habits of solitude are worth it. They allow us to come to know ourselves better, and from there we’re more equipped to relate with one another.

The Words We Choose

Last night I watched the Academy Awards on TV. I watched, in part, because I really like movies, and in part because I was secretly hoping that “Star Wars: The Force Awakens” would be the surprise-winner of Best Picture (I mean, how surprising would it be for a movie to win that wasn’t even nominated, right?!). During the course of the show, there was a term that was used that I had never heard before.

One of the films that had received nominations was “The Danish Girl.” I haven’t seen this movie, but what I know about it is that it is about Lili Elbe (formerly Einar Wegener), a transgender individual and artist from the early 20th century. When talking about the movie, the presenters in the show said that Elbe had undergone “gender-confirmation surgery.” I had never heard it called this before. I had heard of a sex-change, or a sexual-reassignment, but “gender-confirmation” was a new one for me. And it got me thinking.

My purpose in this post isn’t to write about transgender issues. Rather, I want to consider the way in which language is used and how the words we choose shape the way in which we understand reality. Language is rarely neutral, and the term “gender-confirmation surgery” is a case in point. It says much more than it might seem to at first. To speak of a “gender-confirmation” implies that the surgery is in some sense a correction. That there was a flaw in Elbe’s biology. It suggests that Elbe’s true self was as a woman, and that the surgery brought alignment between identity and physiology.

There is an article written in the Huffington Post by a surgeon who performs such surgeries. In it, he explains that uses the term gender-confirmation surgery because it is “a more accurate name for the procedure.” He writes, “If such surgery helps confirm the way a person feels he or she was meant to be, shouldn’t the name reflect that truth?” Now take what I’m about to say with a large grain of salt, because I’m obviously not a doctor, but is this truly the more accurate name for the procedure? At the very least, it’s a very loaded term–one that goes beyond the physical procedure and comments upon identity and psychology. And as the term becomes more common in our discourse as a society, the more it will shape the way people conceive of gender issues.

The worldview-shaping effect of words can be seen in any of a long list of issues. Almost any topic we talk about is shaped by the words that can be used. Consider, for another example, the way we talk about abortion or right-to-life issues. I myself am “pro-life,” and I believe that the rights of the unborn ought to be resolutely protected. But what of those who think otherwise? Wouldn’t the logical opposite of pro-life be…pro-death? Or maybe anti-life?

Of course, that isn’t the way the discourse has been framed in our society. Instead, we talk about being “pro-choice.” At the level of denotation, “life” and “choice” are not at odds. But these are the words we use, and each carries with it a grouping of connotations and implications. They shape the way in which we think about the issue.

So my plea today is simply that we all pay close attention to the words we use, and of the words that are used toward us. Think about what these are really saying. How are these words ideologically shaped? For Americans like me, this may be especially important in an election year like this, when a lot of people are talking about a lot of different things in a lot of different ways. It can be easy to get lost in the muddle of “spin,” and it requires deliberate clarity of thought to see through to the truth of what is being said. Political discourse is just that–political–and politics are rarely if every neutral.

Words matter. Language can construct the lens through which we see the world, and our job is to (at the very least) be aware of the way in which this happens. The words we allow into the public discourse today can be the foundation of worldviews ten years from now.

In all seriousness, though…how does that BB-8 droid work?!

Ministry in Obscurity

This week I was fortunate to be able to attend the Preaching & Teaching Convention, which is held every year at my alma mater, Ozark Christian College. Conferences such as this are some of my favorite times of the year, and this week was no different. I love the chance to catch up with old friends; I love the worship and the sermons; I love the encouragement I get from hearing stories of how God is working through his people throughout the world.

But at the same time, these conventions often come with another side for me. It’s not fault of the conference itself or of any of the people there. Rather, it’s a result of the sinfulness in my heart. The thing is that I tend to compare myself to others. That’s an unhealthy habit in any situation, but perhaps especially so when in infects a context of ministry. I really do like hearing about and seeing others’ successes in ministry, but there is always a part of me that sees the people on stage or hears the stories of megachurch pastors, and I think, “Why aren’t I there? Why don’t I have those same opportunities?” And so even though I always leave weeks like this encouraged, there is a part of me that can easily become wrapped up in envy and jealousy.

With all of that in mind, this week I feel that God has impressed an important question on me. That question is this: Am I okay with obscurity?

That is, will I be okay with it if my picture is never on the back flap of a dust jacket? Will I be okay if my name is never on a course schedule? Will I be okay if I’m never invited to speak at a convention? Will I be okay if my sermons are never put on a podcast? Will I be okay if I never lead a church to double in size? Will I be okay if traffic on my blog is never very significant? Will I be okay without awards and honors? Will I be okay with serving God even if it means no one ever knows my name?

As I’ve been thinking through all of this, I have been reminded of the Fourth Gospel of the New Testament. Tradition holds that this gospel was written by the apostle John (and I think there are good reasons for thinking this). According to the other gospels, John apparently had a pretty big personality. He and his brother James were known as “Sons of Thunder.” When a village refused hospitality to Jesus and the disciples, James and John asked if they should call down fire from the sky to consume the villagers. And later on, they requested that they be given seats at Jesus’ right and left hand in the kingdom. They sought power, recognition, and honor.

But there is an interesting feature in the Gospel of John, and that is that John’s name never appears. Other disciples are named: Philip, Nathanael, Andrew, Peter, Thomas. But John’s name never shows up. The most common understanding is that the figure called “the disciple whom Jesus loved,” who shows up several times in the Gospel, is in fact John. But he never states this explicitly.

John had been one of Jesus’ closest disciples. He was one of the “inner three,” along with Peter and James. He had done miracles and preached the gospel. He was apparently the only one of the Twelve who was present at the crucifixion, and he was one of the first to witness the empty tomb. He had an impressive resume. And yet, when writing the story of Jesus, John didn’t identify himself by his accomplishments, deeds, reputation, or even by his name. Instead, his identity was grounded in the simple truth that he was loved and redeemed by Jesus.

John made little of himself but much of Jesus. And shouldn’t that really be the attitude God is seeking in those who serve him? The question before me is “Am I okay with obscurity?” And until we can answer that in the affirmative, why should God use us? Why would we expect God to utilize messengers who are going to steal the spotlight away from Him? As followers of Christ, we are like publicists: our job isn’t to highlight ourselves, but rather to point people to Jesus. And maybe that requires at least a willingness to live and work in obscurity.

It’s a lesson I’m learning. Like many lessons, it’s one I have a pretty good handle of in my mind, but also one I have difficulty allowing to seep into my life and heart. It’s counter to how our society so often works. We live in an age when business and leadership publications give advice on developing a “personal brand” (which is a weird idea in the first place, right?) A number of people (I think first of some athletes, but I’m sure others do too) have personal logos! This cultural mindset can so easily infiltrate our churches and ministries, and suddenly our work can become less about magnifying God and more about getting our name and face out there.

It’s a hard lesson to live. But we have a story of a Son of Thunder who became an anonymous gospel-writer. The Spirit of God in John produced humility and love and selflessness, and that same Spirit will continue to reshape our twisted and inflated egos when we allow Him to, and when we joyfully embrace the possibility of obscurity.

 

Forgiven and Sent

If you’re anything like me, you’ve often felt unqualified to serve God in any meaningful way.

And you’re probably right to feel that way. Each of us is woefully inadequate for the task of ministry (and by that, I don’t just mean being on a church staff or working as a missionary, but rather the various ways each of us serve God and others). We have sinful pasts, and we continue to battle temptation in the present (a battle in which we sometimes fail). We have flaws in our characters. We struggle to clearly perceive the will of God.

But that’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s really the only way things can be. None of us have proven ourselves worthy of being used by God. And that’s sort of the point, I think, because the fact that God still chooses and calls us to his service is a means whereby we see his love most clearly put on display. Three examples from Scripture come to mind:

First, we read about the famous call of Isaiah in Isaiah 6. Here Isaiah sees a vision of the heavenly throne-room, where God is seated and is surrounded by worshipping angels. God calls out, and the entire room shakes from the power of his voice. And here Isaiah cries out, “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” (v. 5). After this, one of the angels touches Isaiah’s mouth with a burning coal, and God then sends Isaiah to work on his prophetic task.

Second, John 21 recounts a conversation between Peter and the resurrected Jesus. As readers of this text, we remember Peter’s recent failings with regard to his thrice-repeated denial of Jesus–an event that the gospel-writer himself recalls with the mention of a “charcoal fire” in verse 9 (cf. Jn. 18:18). As Jesus and Peter talk, Jesus asks Peter three times, “Do you love me?”, and each time, Peter replies that he does. This leads to Jesus giving Peter three instructions: Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.

Third, Acts 9 includes the first telling of Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus. Even though Paul (then called Saul) had been “breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord” (v. 1), Jesus appears to him in heavenly light and sends him to Damascus, where Paul soon comes into contact with a Christian believer named Ananias and is baptized. When Paul later recounts the events in Acts 26, he tells that Jesus had also said to him, “I have appeared to you for this purpose, to appoint you as a servant and witness to the things in which you have seen me and to those in which I will appear to you” (v. 16).

That brings me to what stands out to me in each of these passages: In each one, forgiveness and commission are joined together. The prophet/apostle is in some sense reconciled with God, but at the same time he is given a job to do. This might sound like a rather insignificant observation, but I think it’s key to fully appreciating these passages and what they mean for us today as we grapple with our inadequacy before God.

When I read these three passages, I expect there to be more of a gap between the forgiveness and the commissioning. There should be some sort of “trial period” for the newly-appointed prophet. After Isaiah’s lips are touched with the coal (symbolizing the removal of his uncleanness), I expect God to say, “Okay, great…now get out of here for a while and prove to me that you’ve got what it takes. Go pray a lot, and help some people out, and don’t curse or smoke, and in a  couple months maybe I’ll call you back and we’ll see how we can use you.” But that’s not what happens. God cleanses Isaiah, and he sends him on his task. And it’s the same with Peter and Paul–the demonstration of forgiveness is tightly wound up with their apostolic calling.

I think this should help us be more comfortable with our inadequacy. In just these three examples, God calls and uses sinners, deniers, and persecutors. They haven’t proven themselves, and yet they are sent out as witnesses of God’s Word and of what God has accomplished through Christ.

God doesn’t forgive us of our sins only so that we can enjoy a reconciled relationship with him. As Paul writes in Ephesians 2:10, we are created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” God cleanses our sins, but he does more than this. He gives us a purpose. And stepping into God’s purpose for you is itself an experience of grace.

It’s amazing to me that God chooses to have a relationship with crummy, sinful people like me. And it’s equally amazing that he chooses to utilize crummy, sinful people like me.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. (2 Cor. 4:7)

Darwinism and the Embrace of Weakness

“Survival of the fittest.”

That’s a pretty common phrase that you probably hear on a near-regular basis. It’s most closely associated with Charles Darwin’s theory of natural selection, in which organisms most suited to their environment are more likely to produce offspring, thus causing evolution within the species over time. But we use the phrase in other ways as well: when we talk about business, sports, politics, and a host of other things. In fact, survival of the fittest may be one of the true cornerstones of the way we live our lives in the United States. But lately I’ve been thinking: How does survival of the fittest resonate with the Christian message contained in the Bible?

I started thinking about this a couple weeks ago as I was reading a new(ish) book by N. T. Wright titled Surprised by Scripture. In the first chapter, Wright is discussing the the relationship between science and faith when he makes this observation:

Basically, the American dream is that if you get up and go, you’ll succeed; the egalitarian hope is that the fittest will survive the economic jungle. This is simply a given, an unexamined presupposition that lies behind, for instance, the gut-level reaction against any kind of health-care proposal: after all, if these folks were fit to survive, they’d be out there earning a living! It also works at the international level: America has grown to be the leading superpower, so if America doesn’t like a regime somewhere else in the world, then America–with a tiny bit of help from her friends, of course!–has the right and duty to go and bomb it and effect regime change. And my point, as you will readily see, is the great irony that often those who are most opposed to Darwin when it comes to reading Genesis 1 are in fact most deeply in thrall to him, or to the wider application of his theories, when it comes to social and international policy. (pp. 16-17)

Could Wright be right?…er, I mean, could he be correct? Is it true that while many conservative Christians dispute Darwin in matters of biology, we’ve accepted his principles in other areas of life and society? Has survival of the fittest even affected the way we understand faith and church? And how does this mesh with the message of Jesus and the apostles?

Wright mentions issues of health-care and international relations, but with a little thinking, I imagine all of us could see how survival of the fittest affects a number of other spheres in life. We live with the unstated assumption that the best, brightest, and most talented will rise to the top and thus deserve a higher level of status, position, or attention.

Think about how the hiring process works in any business. Whoever is in charge of hiring looks through resumes and applications for the “fittest”: the one with the best experience, the most education, and the most impressive references.

Think about how scholarships are given out to universities: to the ones with the highest GPA’s, the most extracurriculars, or the most athletic talent.

Think about how we choose political leaders: we are often drawn to those who project the greatest image of strength or bravado, perhaps without concern for other elements of that person’s character.

For my friends involved in the world of the church, think about how publishers choose their authors or how conferences schedule their speakers: it’s typically those pastors who lead the largest churches and have had what most would readily recognize as “success.”

My point is not to say that all of these practices are necessarily bad. When I take my car in to the shop (which I don’t do nearly as much as I should, by the way), I hope that they have hired the most qualified mechanics and not the least qualified ones. But I do think it’s important to recognize how much of an ingrained assumption survival of the fittest has become in the way we manage our lives, and also to identify ways in which this assumption is at odds with the values of God. Especially when we go to our Bibles and read passages like this:

Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is made to fall, and I am not indignant? If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness. (2 Cor. 11:29-30)

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. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Cor. 12:9-10)

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. (Matt. 5:3-10)

When they came, [Samuel] looked on Eliab and thought, “Surely the Lord’s anointed is before him.” But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” (1 Sam. 16:6-7)

Darwin’s world is one in which the strong survive. And because this is such a central tenet of our own culture, it’s tempting lean on our own strength. We don’t want anyone to notice the chinks in our armor. We do it in our relationships, in our jobs, and even in our churches. We think that the ones who are obviously closest to God are the ones who seems to “have it all together,” that is, who do and say the right things out of their own spiritual strength.

But the truth is that we worship a God who prizes weakness; who blesses the poor and meek and hungry, and who chooses the youngest of eight brothers to be a leader. We worship a God who achieved victory, not through Darwinian strength, but through suffering on a cross.  And so maybe it would be best for us to stop clinging to our own strength, to accept our weakness, and to embrace the grace and strength of the Creator and Savior.

Maintenance

I’m pretty good at starting stuff. But I’m not always so great at continuing it.

My guess is that’s you’ve discovered the same thing about yourself, at least at times. Now that we’re a full eleven days into the new year, you may even be discovering this at this moment. You’re asking yourself, “Why did I ever make that New Year’s resolution? I never really wanted to get in shape in the first place, did I? And besides, how was I supposed to know that Wendy’s was going to start this 4 for $4 deal?”

The beginning is the easy part. The maintenance is the difficult part. And what I have found, at least about myself, is that I often focus on the beginning and don’t even think about what it’s going to take to maintain a project. It’s one thing to start, and even to accomplish a goal. It’s another thing to maintain the fruits of that goal.

It’s something you realize when you go for a jog for the first time in six months and have trouble making it past the end of your driveway.

You realize it when your plane lands in another country and you naively assume that you’ll remember everything you learned in your two years of foreign language class in high school.

You realize it when you’re car becomes stranded on the side of the road because you never took it in for a tune-up.

You realize it when you sit down to pray after having gotten out of the routine, only to find your mind wandering to everything other than thoughts about God.

You realize it when you sit down to do your July budget and notice that you didn’t write anything down for April, May, or June.

You realize it when you haven’t written many blog posts for a while and have trouble tapping out every single word.

You realize it when you notice that you haven’t done well keeping in touch with an old friend, but now it’s been so long that it would just be awkward to call.

We like to start new things–to start a new exercise regimen, a new diet, a spiritual discipline, a relationship, a habit, and so on. But if we don’t plan to maintain these undertakings, our starting of them doesn’t do much good. And that’s the key: we can’t just plan on how to get it off the ground. We also have to plan for how to keep them in the air. We have to plan for maintenance, and we have to do this planning at the outset.

If my goal is to get in better shape, I can’t just create a plan on how I’m going to lose 10 pounds and then leave it at that. I have to plan on how, once I lose those 10 pounds, I’m going to live in a way that keeps them from coming back to find my like the animals in Homeward Bound.

And if my goal is to develop greater intimacy with God, I can’t just make a plan for how I’m going to devote time to worship and prayer and Scripture-study over the next month. I have to think about how I’m going to continue to do those things when something unexpected comes up, or when my life gets really busy, or when the initial fire and excitement dies down.

If a couple is planning to get married, they have to do more than think about the details of their wedding ceremony: the music, the flowers, the food, and which song they want their friend David Heffren to sing at their reception. More importantly, they need to think about how their relationship will continue to grow and how they will continue to be devoted to each other years after their honeymoon is over.

When we make short-sighted goals, we often lose focus once we reach those goals. And when we lose focus, we lose intentionality. And when we lose intentionality, whatever gains we’ve made in that area begin to deteriorate, whether it’s physical, financial, relationship, spiritual, or whatever else. Once that happens, we end up right back where we were in the first place and are forced to start the whole project over again.

So what I am continuing to learn is that I need to prepare for the long haul from the start. And maybe the next time I go for a run, I’ll be able to make it out of my driveway and all the way to the end of the street. Lucky for me, we’re only the fourth house down.

Reflections on Quitting

Know what I found out over the past few months? It’s really stressful to make important, potentially life-altering decisions. And that’s why I generally try to keep the decisions in my life to things like, “Do I want to go to Chick-fil-A or Panda Express for lunch today?” (And in case you’re curious, I think I’m going with Panda today).

As you may or may not know, this fall I started a PhD program at McMaster Divinity College in Ontario. And, as some others of you may or may not know, I more recently decided I didn’t really want to be doing that program, so I withdrew from school, packed up my car with all my stuff, and took it back to Kansas, where I’ll be staying until I figure out what I’m doing next.

It has quite possibly been the most difficult decision I’ve made in my life. It’s tough to return home with your tail between your legs after having told a bunch of people about the exciting academic program you were going to do. I don’t want people whispering to each other about how I apparently wasn’t able to hack it (even if it might be true!)

So it’s been a crazy time and that involved a lot of me stress-eating pizza (but not the good pizza…the cheap kind that tastes like it was made of the box it came in). But through this entire process, I think I have learned a thing or two about life, which I thought I would share with all of you.

But before I do that, I should make one thing clear: My decision to quit school doesn’t really have much to do with McMaster itself, or with any of the faculty or people there. McMaster is a really good school, and everyone there is really nice and super-helpful. I certainly don’t regret the friendships I made there one bit. If I wanted to pursue a PhD right now, McMaster would be the place to do it, and I would encourage other people who are thinking of going seminary to take a look at McMaster.

With all of that said, here are a few things I’ve learned while going through the process of making this decision:

1. Intuition is a valid factor in decision-making

Just so you know, this is a very Un-David-Heffren thing to say. I’ve always said that decisions should be made on cold, hard facts! You need solid reasons! Pro and con charts!

What I’ve discovered, however, is that I can come up for reasons to support both sides of just about any issue. I could list solid reasons to stay in school. And I could list solid reasons to leave. A purely reasoned approach put me in a logjam.

So call it intuition. The more I thought through my decision, the more I felt a deep-seated unease with the prospect of remaining in school. I realized that it just wasn’t what I want to be doing right now. And I don’t think that’s an illegitimate influence in making a decision…which is difficult for me to say, as someone who typically values logic over emotion.

2. Mistakes can be reversed

This has been an important lesson for me in a number of ways over the past year. What I’ve found about myself (and maybe you are like this to) is that I too often remain in situations I’m unhappy with because I don’t think I can change it. I figure “This is the path I’ve chosen, and my only option is to stay the course, whether I like it or not.” I can’t quit my mistakes.

But this year I have learned that mistakes can be reversed. Spiritual repentance is possible. Relational reconciliation is possible. Vocational reorientation is possible.

But it requires humility. The reason many of us continue down paths we don’t really want to go down is that we don’t want to admit to others that we were wrong. I’ve learned that it’s really uncomfortable to sit across a table from someone and say “I’m sorry.” And I’ve learned that it’s really uncomfortable to walk into a professor’s office and say, “I don’t think this is for me.” But it’s only when we stop and acknowledge the mistakes we’ve made that we’re able to move forward into something new.

3. Most experiences are a mixture of good and bad.

Here’s a minor spoiler from the Pixar movie Inside Out: the film shows that many of life’s experiences cannot be entirely summarized by a single emotion, whether it’s joy, sadness, anger, fear, or disgust. Instead, many experiences involve a confluence of emotions. Something can be both happy and sad; good and bad.

I only watched Inside Out last week while I was on a plane, but it helped me understand what the year 2015 was for me. As I was reflecting on the past year on New Year’s Eve, I thought, “How would I classify this year?” And that’s not an easy question to answer. In some important ways, it has been one of the best years of my life. In other ways, it has been one of the most difficult and frustrating years of my life. So was it a good year or not?

And I think it was a good one, because even in its most difficult times, I experienced positive things. While I was stressed out trying to make decisions, get schoolwork done, and adjust to a new environment, I was also able to be encouraged by people close to me and to experience the everlasting faithfulness of God. The past few months brought a lot of frustration and anxiety, but it also brought more relational depth and taught me a few lessons that I may have needed to learn.

So that’s what I’ve learned, and I write all of this in hopes that it might encourage any of you who are wrestling with a difficult decision. As the New Year begins, I’m starting the exciting and terrifying process of looking for a full-time ministry, as I figure it’s about time I start doing something with all the years I’ve spent in education. So here’s to 2016–which I’m sure will once again be filled with incredible blessings, difficult transitions, exciting opportunities, orange chicken, and a 60-win season for the Cincinnati Reds.

Heffren Book List: 2015 Edition

Here’s some New Year’s trivia for you: Did you know that “Auld Lang Syne” mean “Times gone by”? You probably did. But I didn’t until about 30 seconds ago, so now one of the great mysteries of my life has been solved.

Speaking of New Year’s, for the past couple years I have ended December by posting a list of my five favorite books I read during that year. I do this mostly because I like making lists, and I also like talking about things I’ve read and hearing about things others have read. So with that, and in no particular order, here is my list of the five best books I read in 2015:

1. Ready Player One, by Ernest Cline. This is a novel I picked up from the library during the summer and really enjoyed. If you were to combine The Matrix, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, and an episode of VH1’s “I Love the 80’s,” you would get something like this: A story about a teenager who must solve clues in a digital world through his knowledge of 1980’s pop culture in order to win a coveted fortune. I didn’t even catch all the references in the book, but anything that can make use of the video game Joust and the movie War Games will be okay in my book.

 

 

2. Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, by Susan Cain. I’m someone who leans on the more introverted and reserved side of things. This can be a frustrating personality trait in our American culture, which so frequently idealizes extroversion and being outgoing. Cain’s book, rather than trying to force introverts to become extroverts, makes the point that both personality types are important and offer creative and productive things to society. If nothing else, this book at least makes me feel a little more okay with my inability to maintain eye contact for more than about a tenth of a second.

 

3. Scary Close: Dropping the Act and Finding True Intimacy, by Donald Miller. People who know me are aware that Donald Miller is one of my favorite contemporary writers, so I was very eager to read this book, especially since it had been over four years since Miller had published. I’ve appreciated Miller’s candidness as he discusses what he learned about the importance of vulnerability and honesty, as well as the danger of control. The more we try to project an idealized version of ourselves to others, the more difficult it is for us to connect on a meaningful level. I’ve never felt like I’m great at relationships, but it’s an area in which I hope I’m growing, and this book had a lot to teach me on that point.

 

 

4. Kingdom Conspiracy: Returning to the Radical Mission of the Local Church, by Scot McKnight. McKnight is another of my favorite writers lately. In everything I’ve read by him, I’ve enjoyed the level to which he applies in-depth knowledge of Scripture to the practical issues Christians face in the contemporary world. What I like most about this particular books is the high value he places on the church. He makes the point that Christians often talk about “the kingdom of God” and “the church” as two completely separate things, so that serving the poor or engaging in mission is “kingdom work” while going to sitting through a sermon or singing praise songs is “church stuff.” But the two belong together, and it is primarily through the church that God’s kingdom should be most realized in the world. I think this is a book that can make church leaders and all believers excited about the place of the church in the world and the opportunities that lay before it.

 

5. Prayer: Experiencing Awe and Intimacy with God, by Timothy Keller. An area of my spiritual walk in which I consistently try to grow is in prayer. For one, this is such an essential part of the Christian’s relationship with God. And for two, I’m never as consistent or purposeful in it as I would like. I was therefore glad when I saw that Keller had written a piece on prayer. There may not be a lot here that is completely new or mind-blowing, but while Keller writes with simplicity and accessibility, his material is also profound. In this book, I especially like the material he pulls from Christian leaders of generations past (Luther, Calvin, etc.).

 

So that’s my list from 2015. What about you? What have been the best things you’ve read this past year? Leave a note in the comments. Thanks so much for taking some time to check out the blog this year, and have a great start to 2016!

Sibling Rivalry: Fighting in Narnia, the World, and the Church

It’s been a really long while since I’ve had a guest-post up here on the blog, even though some of you out there have promised to write one but still haven’t sent me anything. (And you know who you are!)

With that being said, today’s post comes from Cameron Tate. I first met Cameron in 2010 when he was a high school student in the youth group I interned with in Oregon. Even then I was impressed with his giftedness in ministry and his level of insight. Since then, Cameron has gone to Bible college himself, spent a year mentoring students at a Bible school in Austria, and is currently working with First Presbyterian Church in Boulder, Colorado.

Recently I had a chance to look at some material Cameron had put together for his church’s Advent series, which is relating C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia with Christian truth from the Bible. I asked if he would be willing to share some of those thoughts here, and he was gracious enough to do so. If you’d like to check out some of the other material Cameron put together for that series, you can see in in First Presbyterian’s 2015 Advent publication here.

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Lucy went first, biting her lip and trying not to say all the things she thought of saying to Susan. But she forgot them when she fixed her eyes on Aslan.

-C. S. Lewis, Prince Caspian

Since many of the main characters are children, one of the issues that The Chronicles of Narnia deals with is sibling strife. Though the conflict in C.S. Lewis’ Prince Caspian is between two literal sisters, it’s safe to say that figurative brothers and sisters in Christ also deal with discord on occasion. Strife has entered into all of our lives. We’ve all allowed the conflict and negativity that characterizes this world to affect our relationships. It’s evident in the innocent bickering amongst children, and how much more evident (though expressed differently, often more passive-aggressively) in our tense relationships with co-workers, family members, and fellow church-goers.

That’s why I believe the witness of a simple children’s book penned by a man who lived through two World Wars may give us some insight into conflict resolution. A man who witnessed first-hand “Christian” brothers fighting on behalf of their respective “Christian” nations. A man who had heated arguments with one of his closest literary associates (J.R.R. Tolkien) over the differences between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism. Certainly this man knew a bit about conflict, both in and out of the church. Yet in the quote above we see an insight into the ultimate and eventual solution to all conflicts, be them fraternal squabbles or global warfare.

Paul’s letter to the Ephesians calls all Christians to unity (Eph. 4:1-6); unity is Jesus’ prayer for the Church (John 17). Yet how often do we quarrel amongst ourselves? When was the last time a fight over something petty caused some to leave your church? To whom do you compare yourself when you scan your eyes over the congregation on a Sunday morning? Is there resentment in your heart, causing some inward groaning, grinding of teeth, biting of lips? Does the word “unity” come to mind as you glance in the eyes of others in the pews? Do you resent me for writing pews instead of chairs?

Rather than looking with eyes of envy, greed, lust, or pettiness at others, let us look to Jesus. See, sometime in between paying bills and reading the news we’ve lost sight the mystery and majesty of God. In so doing we have accidentally discarded the awe and reverence that are due Him. Our eyes are unfixed. We’ve thrown out that initial focus we had when we first saw Christ. Maybe for us, as it did in Susan, Lucy, Peter, and Edmund’s case, it’s become harder to recognize Christ in our lives. We need some vision correction; we need to refocus.

This is, perhaps, the greatest value of these books by C.S. Lewis: recasting the familiar story of the Gospel in an unfamiliar and therefore intriguing way. It allows the seeker to become enraptured (or re-enraptured) with Christ’s splendor. Many times throughout The Chronicles of Narnia, when a character looks at Aslan (the Christ-figure of the story), everything around him seems to fade. This is a beautiful and biblical analogy. Many of us may be reminded of the old hymn we sung as children ourselves:

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

When our focus is on God pettiness is rendered unimportant, borders are irrelevant, pleasures of this world become insignificant, revenge is unappealing, and sin loses its magnetism. When conflict arises, we often either focus on the problem or the person, but the quickest, best, and most holy solution to any quarrel is to draw nearer to Christ. Communication methods, diplomacy, compromise, discipline, punishment: these can be helpful tools in every day conflicts such as office politics. There will be, however, no resolution with satisfactory finality employing those techniques alone. The Church has the unique opportunity and responsibility to show the world a better, more interminable resolution: unity with Christ through the Holy Spirit. This is how we break open a window to what life will be like in eternity. The lion laying down with the lamb, which is to say: the end to all human and non-human conflict.

What a lofty goal! To display a slice of heaven through our relationships amongst Christians. Yet this is Paul’s vision for the fledgling community in Ephesus. It remains Christ’s prayer for all Believers. And I truly believe getting one step closer to this ideal begins with each person reading this and considering the brothers and sisters in your life. Perhaps there is someone in your life that has you biting your lip in anger; to which Paul would say: “Don’t let the sun go down while you’re still angry.” Instead, make amends today. Instead, put divisive pettiness to rest in the Church. Instead, fix your eyes on Jesus.