Category: Spirituality

At first I had included this at the end of my prior post, but I felt like it should be separate. It’s difficult to “forget what is behind” when the things “behind” are lists of good things we’ve been involved in or done. It’s also hard, when we keep such lists, to forgot our inevitable failures. Sometimes there are failures that genuinely are “my fault.” I sinned. I didn’t step up to the plate. I lost it. Sometimes there are “failures” that are simply things that happened.

This week I received from one of my former law partners a copy of a judicial opinion concerning some people I had represented years ago in a bitter business dispute. The opinion was handed down in a recent case that was in some ways a continuation of the case I had handled four years ago. It’s fair to say that the nastiness and difficulty of that earlier case put me “over the edge” and led to some major changes in my life, including resigning my prestigious law partnership to take a teaching job. I’m very, very glad those changes happened — I love what I do now more than any other work I’ve done in my career — but for the past few years I’ve carried the baggage of that case. Could I have done something differently? Couldn’t I have resolved or won the case before it became such a problem?

Well, maybe. If you’re like me, you can pick apart anything you’ve done and find lots of flaws. But in this instance, it really wasn’t me. The judge in the opinion that my former partner sent me had some extraordinarly harsh words for the litigants’ conduct over the past five or six years. It was them all along. There’s nothing I could have done to salvage the disaster they had made for themselves.

Reading this judicial opinion, hearing this Judge criticize these individuals so harshly for their conduct for which they alone are responsible, felt like an enormous weight lifting from my soul. I think, I hope, I can now be free of that part of my past, and “press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.” (Phil. 3:12.)

But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (Phil. 3:13-14).

I’ve always loved studying history. It was one of the few subjects to which I applied myself in high school (owing to a fantastic teacher, Miss Atkinson, who believed in me), and I majored in history in college. I would’ve become a historian if I hadn’t gone to law school. But this passage always bothered me, as I spent hours pouring over my history texts. What does it mean to “forget what is behind?”

This is my regular post for Every Square Inch. Our topic for discussion is “how do truth and love relate?” This led me to the famous passage on “love,” I Corinthians 13.

At first glance, it’s difficult to see how love and truth relate in this passage. “Love is patient; love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.” (I. Cor. 13:4-5.) Doesn’t this tell us to ingore the truth sometimes for the sake of love? I can think of many wrongs that have been done to me over the years, often by friends and family, some of which continue to have lasting consequences. In a few cases, the perpetrator has never acknowledged the harm he or she did. The “truth” is that there is, in a sense, a “record” of these wrongs written into my life, whether I like it or not. Anyone who has lived more than a few years in this broken world could say the same.

So if love compels me to release the anger caused by these wounds, to purge the record, isn’t that the same as denying the truth?

Last week we visited the neurologist with my youngest son. He is four years old, vivacious, smart and generally healthy, but he does not really talk. He mostly babbles and communicates with gestures. he has a history of nocturnal seizures, which had been under control but which recurred over the holidays. There is (thankfully) no apparent physical cause (such as a brain abnormality) for these problems.

It was an extraordinarily frustrating visit with the neurologist because she told us nothing new. The school where my son gets speech therapy had been “holding off” on a broader treatment plan until the neurological visit. The neurologist, however, seemed surprised by this, and bounced us back to the school. I know these people are trying to do their jobs as best they can, but meanwhile my precious little boy is not learning how to overcome his speech disability, and we are not being trained how to help him. Days, months and seasons go by with no firm diagnosis and nothing for us to hook into.

We need patience and support. There’s nothing more I would want than for my little boy to be healed. If that’s not God’s will, I want to do everything I can to help him become the person God wants him to be. If he is disabled his whole life, he is no less precious as a person. The hardest thing isn’t the shock that everything isn’t “perfect.” It’s the waiting for some concrete understanding of the “imperfection.”

Before I start to sound like I’m crying in my milk, let me say that I’m deeply thankful for my little boy and for all the other blessings I’ve received. Even when I despair that he’ll never learn to speak, or when I give in to the “big black dog” worries about deeper undiagnosed problems with his health, I’m grateful that God entrusted him to my wife and I, just as he is. There is so much pain in this world and so many people I know who have dealt with more immediate and severe losses, such as cancers and tragic fatal accidents. God is good; all His purposes are good; all His ways are good; and everything in this short life of mine is His, until we rejoice together in that better country He is preparing.

A couple of weeks ago I took the kids to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. The museum’s collection of encaustic paintings from the Roman period in Egypt caught my fancy. These lifelike paintings were placed over mummies, as was the one in my photo. The man pictured here lived in the first century A.D. Look into his eyes, at his little mustache — he’s a regular guy, just like me. He was as real a man as I am. And yet, he’s been gone from this life for nineteen hundred years. Life is short.

This is my first post as a proud member of Every Square Inch, a diverse group of faith bloggers who have joined together to share their thoughts and opinions.

I’m not one for New Years’ resolutions. I think this is because I know myself too well. I’m an obsessive-compulsive sort of guy who dives all-guns into something until something else catches my attention. I know that if I resolve to do something now, I might pursue it for a month or so, but I’ll soon lose enthusiasm. I don’t want to cheapen my “resolve” by spending it on things I’m not really resolved to do.

I’ve also lived through too many uncertain circumstances recently to place much value on my own resolve. A few years ago, I was a partner in a major law firm. Through a series of events I never would have predicted or wanted, I left that prestigious job to become a lowly college professor — a job I love, but a job that is dramatically different than what I did as a practicing lawyer. Within the past year, my otherwise healthy little boy began having seizures, and his speech has not developed much beyond babbling. Just two months ago, I was the principal worship leader in a service with over 600 people. Last month, the music director resigned, the ministry was thrown into chaos, and my own role in the ministry has dwindled to almost nothing.

Life moves more swiftly and powerfully than my resolve. I saw a video clip a few days ago from the recent Asian tsunami. There was footage of a man standing on the beach, leaning towards the onrushing wave. He couldn’t do anything at that point but lean forward and brace for impact. With the force of that wave, his resolution certainly did nothing for him, and he undoubtedly died.

Life is like that, even more so if we have some glimmer of the “powers and principalities” with which we contend. None of us has the resolve to stand firm. But the Church will stand, and prevail. The victory of Christ and his bride is sure, even when my resolve falters.

Yes, there are many things I hope to accomplish this year. I hope to continue a reading program in the Church fathers; I hope to gain a more complete, nuanced understanding of issues relating to faith and science, without slacking on either the faith or the science; I hope to write some meaningful music; I hope to find my way into an even richer ministry role than I had before; I hope to love my wife and children passionately; I hope to publish some good academic work; I hope to find my way into another graduate program, maybe a Ph.D.; I hope my writing and blogging will become more meaningful and edifying. But this is deeper than all my resolutions: to cast myself this year upon the Grace of Christ, to take refuge in his Church, and to find my true hope and home in him.

The Dawn Treader and I started a series on Titus a while ago, which has been proceeding, shall we say, at a leisurely pace. A recent event brought Titus back to my attention.

I learned this week of a leader in a prominent evangelical church who revealed over the holidays that he has been carrying on a secret adulterous affair for many years. (No, it isn’t the guy you’re thinking of, it’s that other guy, and it isn’t the church your thinking of, it’s that other church 😉 ). Unfortunately, this is a recurring problem in churches all around the country.

We often are drawn to leaders who are smart, attractive, accomplished in business, wealthy, or “conservative” in appearance and demeanor. The first thing God requires in a leader, however, is purity. In fact, Titus 1:6-9 tells us twice that church leaders must be “blameless”:

An elder must be blameless, the husband of but one wife, a man whose children believe and are not open to the charge of being wild and disobedient. Since an overseer is entrusted with God’s work, he must be blameless—not overbearing, not quick-tempered, not given to drunkenness, not violent, not pursuing dishonest gain. Rather he must be hospitable, one who loves what is good, who is self-controlled, upright, holy and disciplined.

Anyone who seeks to be “blameless” in our culture knows this is difficult. I know from my own perspective as a man how sin constantly assaults us. Sometimes the only thing we can do is follow the example of Joseph when he was tempted by Potiphar’s wife: run. Look away. End the conversation. Terminate the pleasant little fantasy. Close your eyes and pray for help. It’s a lie. Call it a lie and leave it.

I know many men are trapped in addictions that make advice like this sound trite. For those men, this may be trite, and sustained professional help and support is needed. Have the courage to ask for forgiveness and help — you will find it. For those who find themselves wavering, though, the first step is simple: run.

May God keep us blameless and bless His Church and its leaders.

This week I attended a performance of Handel’s Messiah at Carnegie Hall in New York. It’s an annual tradition that my mom and I have done for the past ten years or so. I love the Messiah, and know most of it by heart.

For many people the Messiah calls to mind the “Hallelujah” chorus, a powerful but perhaps overplayed piece of music. For me, the most glorious moment in the Messiah is at the very end. After summing up the sweep of redemptive history, the oratorio concludes with one word, the word that concludes scripture: “Amen.” The “Amen” begins with the crisp, clean voices of the tenors. The other parts progressively blend in and wrap around each other in counterpoint, until the music crescendos with three grand “Amens,” sung together with the timpani and trumpets blaring.

The “Amen,” for me, is what the peace of Christmas is all about. God’s incarnation in Christ is a message of great joy because it sginals a new stage in the telos of history. God is offering redemption to us! Yet even as we trust in Christ and experience his redemption, we know that God’s purposes in history aren’t yet finished. We groan with all creation because of the hatred and evil that have entered the world through sin, and we feel the pain of loss and death.

But we know the “Amen” is coming. Even as God broke into history when Christ was born, he will break into history again when Christ returns, to establish justice and peace — to make everything as it should be. The “Amen” has begun, the voices are weaving together in counterpoint, and soon the timpani will roll, the trupmets will blare, and we will sing the final “Amen” together with the risen Lord. Amen!

Just a quick note to highlight a thoughtful post at PhilThreeten about the noise of the blogsphere. This is something all of us who like to blog need to constantly consider: are we just making noise, or is our blogging truly part of the work of the Kingdom? I particularly appreciate PhilThreeten’s remarks about spending time in the comments section of popular, fiesty faith blogs. I love arguing with people in those comments sections, but often for reasons that have little to do with Kindom values, and often in ways that take far too much time away from other important things. Blogging is a wonderful way of journaling, expressing, and discussing, but like everything else we need to keep it in perspective.

And, if you get discouraged by all the noise in the blogsphere, try sitting on an important church committee. At least we know in the blogsphere that we’re a self-selecting group of theology and policy wonks with some strong opinions and very different backgrounds.

I’ve been meaning to write something about handling major changes in life. Personally, I fear change. Just now my home church is going through some major changes. Our Worship Director, who has served for about ten years, is moving on to become senior pastor at another church — a great thing for both him and that church. We have a huge, diverse music ministry which involves many talented people, and it will take us some time to select an appropriate full-time replacement. So, this is a time of natural tension and difficult change.

I’m not sure, for example, that I’m going to be able to continue leading worship and playing guitar every Sunday at our “contemporary” service. This is something I dearly love to do, but it’s very possible that after the Worship Director leaves we won’t have the capability to carry on the “contemporary” band on an all-volunteer basis. I know I don’t have the time or ability to do it alone. There’s already some mourning of what seems to be passing, as well of simply waiting to see how God leads. Perhaps this is a “boundary event” by which God will direct people, including me, into other places or other ministries. Perhaps we’ll see God provide some amazing resources and people so that we can continue the worship band ministry until we hire a new full-time person. I’ve been fretting and upset about all this, but as I continue to focus on maintaining a servant’s heart, submitting to and resting in God’s good plans, I’m finding a growing sense of peace about it. It’s not about me, it’s about His people (which includes me!), His Kingdom, and His glory. Those aren’t just pious words, they’re certain Truth in uncertain times, the essence of hope and peace.