It also reminded me of a wonderful song by Andrew Peterson that I have included after the article.

The Ache of Silence

Courtney Ellis

The women who had come with Jesus from Galilee followed Joseph and saw the tomb and how his body was laid in it. Then they went home and prepared spices and perfumes. But they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment” (Luke 23:55–56).

Six or so years ago, I became a birder. Now, wherever I go, I am always on the lookout for birds. We birders like to keep lists—birds we’ve seen, birds we’d like to see, and birds that frequent our backyards or parks or beaches. The birding community uses apps and websites to communicate with one another, and I’m always proud to be the first to see a rarity and then invite others to view it too.

Professional ornithologists often use these lists for their research and planning. It’s useful to know just how many house finches or pin-tailed whydahs were in a local park, and since ornithologists can’t be everywhere, they rely on citizen scientists like myself to help gather information. But here’s something fun that I learned recently: They don’t just need lists of birds. They also want data on when we’ve seen no birds.

While overflowing lists of birds are by far the most fun, it turns out that not seeing any birds can teach us too. Absence is a clue. Perhaps pollution or predators have driven the birds away. Maybe foul weather has them quiet and hunkering down. It might be that migration has started early or late due to a change in the weather. Silence is its own type of information.

Holy Saturday is a time of silence. Jesus Christ has been crucified and laid in the tomb. All hope is lost. Between the despair and finality of death and the impossibility and miracle of the Resurrection lies one very long day.

It is significant that Jesus doesn’t die and then rise again moments later, like a divine jack-in-the-box. He has work to do, of course—the harrowing of hell and the defeat of death—but then, God can work outside of time. Time exists for us.

So why are we given this day? Why this macabre, lonely Holy Saturday when we are invited to linger in what has been lost and commune with the disciples in their uncertainty, grief, and despair? Why must we exist within the pain of this pause?

Maybe it is because this pause is where we live our entire lives. Christ has died, and Christ will come again, but right now we exist in the ache—of war and cancer, discord and misinformation, violence and brutality and loneliness. We watch God’s good creation wear out like a garment, sped along by our own lack of stewardship and care. We live between the “now and the not yet,” as N. T. Wright puts it—between being known fully and knowing fully.

T. S. Eliot put it this way in his poem “The Hollow Men”:

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom.

God invites us to linger in the ache of Holy Saturday. To sit beside the women who yesterday saw the dead body of their Lord and went home to prepare spices and perfumes for him. The women who today kept their Sabbath, refraining from work and waiting for the sun to rise on Sunday when they could once again attend to the broken body of their Savior. To watch the tomb that is not yet empty, the world that is not yet healed and whole. To acknowledge the deep, deep pain we feel and face, offering one another the tenderest possible care.

Together we trust that the light will dawn because God promises that it will be so, even if all is still darkness here.

May we live in light of this cosmic truth: that even when all is silent, the birds have flown away, and no hope is visible to us, the deep work of God goes on beneath and through and above it all.

And that same God will hold us fast.

But February has been different: the sun decided it did not, in fact, hate us and blessed us with some warmth.

And this morning I was blessed with something else: a hint of green peeking through the brown mulch of Joe’s memory garden.

That’s what Amy and I call the heart-shaped garden in our backyard, filled with perennials of various kinds. In June and July black-eyed Susans, day-lilies and coneflowers compete for glory, exploding in yellows and purples and oranges of different shapes and sizes. But in the winter the stalks have all been cut down and composted, and the dirt-brown mulch survives as the only color, shape or texture.

That’s why the green shoots poking their vibrant noses out of the mulch made me so happy this morning: They are signs of transcendence.

Transcedence is a twenty-dollar word for a very simple concept: There is something beyond. Beyond what we can see. Beyond what we can understand. Beyond what we can know (at least in an intellectual sense).

I am thinking, in this context of course, of something that transcends death.

Death seems like the ultimate finality. But is it?

Imagine if the span of an average human life was not 80 years but 80 days. Imagine people who were adults by day 20, middle-aged by day 50 and retirees by day 65. Those born in May or June would see the cone-flowers and black-eyed Susans whither and fade and then die at the first frost. All that their senses would tell them is that flowers blossom and flourish, then wilt and die. End of story.

They would have no idea of a flower whose life transcended the winter.

We interpret life by our experiences within this life. But do we have to? Are we sure we have the full picture?

The green shoots remind me that 80 days do not give us the full picture, and it is likely that 80 years do not either.

The green shoots remind me that winter is not eternal.

The green shoots remind me that life has a mystery and strength to it that transcends my understanding.

And the green shoots remind me that one day, one day soon, the garden will be beautiful and vibrant and whole again.

Just like Joe.

I sat in Vicki’s living room with her and four other spiritual siblings. We were discussing how pain and trauma have shaped our spirituality. After a couple people shared, Vicki turned to me and asked, with some hesitancy in her voice, “And what about you? You’ve gone through more trauma than any of us.”

I let the question hang in the air for a bit, not sure how to answer. This group was safe; I did not fear their judgment. But neither did I want to steal the focus by saying too much. This was a group discussion, not an individual counseling session.

So I kept it honest, but brief:

“The biggest change is that I am less confident that I understand God or His ways. I don’t doubt God’s existence; but I doubt my comprehension of God. My theology is more tentative. And yet, I feel like I am closer to Him than I was before Joe’ s death”.

The answer surprised me. It put words to feelings that I had been subconsciously wrestling with. And perhaps this is a good place to expand upon those words.

My spiritual birth and upbringing were in a church and tradition that emphasized correct belief and correct living. I have written before about how Joe’s death yanked out the last trace of one spiritually poisonous idea: that we earn God’s favor by our choices and work.

But another spiritual dynamic from my formative church tradition was the idea that you could have certainty about most any theological issue. Uncertainty may not be a sin, but it is a fault, or at least a grave weakness. Uncertainty about theology or how to interpret a scriptural passage meant you simply did not study hard enough or believe deeply enough.

Going to a fundamentalist Bible College only reinforced this understanding in my mind. The seminary I attended after college was not fundamentalist, but reinforced the idea just as much, for almost all my professors were reformed. In my experience, few Christian traditions overestimate their ability to understand God and His ways than Calvinism. This faculty boasted many of the leading lights in evangelical theology. Getting a master’s degree in systematic theology from these professors did not help me to be intellectually humble.

To be frank, serving for many decades as a pastor also reinforced the need for certitude. Most people expect to hear answers from a pastor, not questions. And it felt good to remember my years of schooling and survey my office full of books and to think, “yes, I have the answers. I know Greek and Hebrew! I’ve read all the commentaries and the best theology books! I know the difference between imputation and justification, and between Pelagianism and Manicheism! I have the answers!”

But I don’t. I have some answers, of course. If you asked me to sum up Galatians or Luther’s theology I could do it.

But if you asked me to explain God my words falter. To say something like “God is an eternal spiritual being, creator of all things, and perfect in holiness, wisdom and power” now comes across to me as something like saying “The Pacific ocean is wet”.

More to the point, if you asked me why God “allowed” (if that is even the right word) my dear son to die so horribly, I would feel it an utter insult to God (and to my son) to try to give an answer.

I don’t know. It makes no sense to me. And I will not dishonestly try to force sense onto it.

God is good. And my son died horribly. If there is a formula for putting those two sentences together then it goes far beyond my ability to understand.

And I guess that is what I am getting to. I don’t understand. But I still believe. I believe in God. I believe in the goodness of God.

I suspect some people might think that is irrational. I don’t care. Rationality is one tool for understanding and living life; it’s not the whole toolbox. Faith is a subjective choice, not an intellectual conclusion. True, I cannot have faith in what I know is false or irrational; but I can have faith that there is a truth and reason that goes beyond what I can rationally understand.

That is where I stand now. And, as I pointed out in Vicki’s living room, I now feel closer to God than I did before. I spend more time in prayer and scripture than I did before. I am more thankful than I am before.

Why? Well, that’s another thing I don’t understand. But I suspect it has something to do with simply letting God be God. What I mean by that is that God is no longer in a box of my intellectual understanding. My goal, even as a pastor, is not to understand Him (for myself or for my preaching) but to be with Him in any way that I can. Of course that means I believe certain truths about Him. But believing is different from knowing or understanding. It transcends them.

Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. said, “I would not give a fig for the simplicity on this side of complexity, but I would give my life for the simplicity on the other side of complexity.” In the same way, I would not give a fig for a simple faith on this side of doubt and questioning and struggle. But I will give my life for a simple faith that has transcended those things.

God can be part of an argument, something you write books about. Or God can be a person you trust, like a small child with a wise parent. Ideally, He is both. But at this stage of my life He is much more the latter than the former.

I want to close this ramble by plagiarizing myself. Last year I wrote a post called The Sin of the Orthodox, based on the book of Job. The book of Job has proven a comfort to me, not because I am like the Job but because of the humbling lesson of the book.

“And this is the heart of the book of Job: God’s ways are, in the final analysis, not able to be fully understood by man, simply because we are never in the position that He is in. Even the most godly (like Job) and the most orthodox and cerebral (like Job’s friends) can never understand God in the same way they understand the things of this world. In fact, God describes the words of the orthodox friends, who felt they were speaking godly wisdom and true theology as “folly”.

Now, here is where the rubber hits the road. I have always taken pride in holding correct, orthodox views of God and theology. And I still feel that the biblical viewpoint is the best way to understand the world in which we find ourselves in. Yet, books like Job warn me to be very humble about my understanding. In the end, I have little doubt that my orthodox, evangelical theology will be like the fig leaves Adam and Eve used to clothe themselves: wholly inadequate, and replaced by something else by God’s grace.”

Some time ago I was meditating on Philippians chapter 2, which talks about how Christ "humbled Himself" and took on our humanity. This led to a poem.

I have often wondered, dear Christ
        which was the greater sacrifice
was it the tomb, or the womb?

Dark death held you inside
	three days, and nights beside
imprisoned in the world you had framed.

But nine months did You face
	there in Mary’s dark place
growing in the woman you had made.

Did You know even then
	You were the Savior of men
or were your thoughts in darkness as well?

And as Your mind came to life
	could you sense of the strife
You would endure on Calvary’s Hill?

I have sometimes wondered, dear Christ
	which was the greater sacrifice
was it the tomb or the womb?

A few weeks ago I was introduced to an ai music generator. I decided to upload my lyrics to it an see what would happen. And the result was…interesting.

Appropriately enough, they are thoughts of gratitude. And in particular, gratitude for the way my cancer journey has progressed.

I have gotten consistently good reports from the various PET scans, CT scans and ultrasounds over the last 6 months. While it is possible the cancer can return, it is clear that the surgery last April was successful and they were able to remove all the cancerous tissue in my body.

I had an aggressive form of prostate cancer, and was in stage 2. Stage 1 means that the cancer has not spread outside the prostate gland at all. Stage 2 means it has just started to spread in the areas just around the prostate gland. Stage 3 indicates the cancer has spread more pervasively to adjacent areas. And stage 4 means it has spread to distant organs (the lungs, bones or brain are the most common).

It was actually just a year ago that the doctors had their first suspicion of malignancy. In July of last year I had started taking testosterone gel, because my levels were low. As part of that procedure the doctors also began testing my PSA (prostate specific antigens) levels. A high PSA is a sign of prostate cancer, and prolonged testosterone supplements can make any prostate cancer grow faster.

My first PSA test came back a little high, but not worrisome. But the second came back higher, even though it was only a month later. That is when I was referred to a urologist to get an ultrasound of the prostate. The ultrasound was ambiguous, so I had a biopsy to test the actual tissue. And, as you know, it indicated widespread cancer in my prostate gland.

The surgery removed the entire prostate gland; the surgeon also used a new technique to see if any surrounding tissue was also cancerous. And indeed there were some immediately outside the prostate. So he was able to remove those without problem.

And here is where my thankfulness comes in. Because the cancer was found to be highly aggressive, it likely would have spread rather quickly to surrounding areas and then to other organs. In that case it would have been much more difficult, or impossible, to remove. Chemotherapy would be certain, and the outcome very uncertain.

In other words, if low T levels had not prompted me to try supplements, I would have likely been faced with an entirely different, and entirely worse, cancer journey. For who knows how far the cancer would have spread before it was caught?

So I have a special, extra reason to be thankful today.

And I would be remiss not to also mention thanks to the many people who have supported me; most supremely the wife that God has blessed me with. I am thankful every time I think of her. She is so much more than I deserve.

Happy thanksgiving, my friends.

Never fear, Claire. My wife will vouch that I do not suffer health problems stoically or silently.

But the conversation reminded me that perhaps I should give a health update, even if the news is, thankfully, non-dramatic.

And it is indeed non-dramatic. I’ve had three tests over the past four months to check if any of the cancers have returned, and all 3 have come back as clean as a proverbial whistle.

The last one was a CT scan at St. Francis Hospital on Halloween, where I was checked in by this guy:

I was a little worried they might break out the leaches, but thankfully that did not happen.

The PA at the urologist office, Bailey, did say that I have a 20-25 percent chance of the prostate cancer coming back, and if it did it would likely be in the first 2-3 years. So, if I can make it to age 45, I’m good.

About the only thing bothering me right now is some rather persistent sciatica, which makes extended times of sitting rather painful.

I saw my Physician Assistant Hannah about it. Hannah, by the way, is 12. Or at least she looks that way to me. As I get older people in their mid-twenties look like teenagers, and teenagers look like babies.

Does anyone else remember the slightly unsettling feeling you had the first time your doctor was younger than you? I mean, doctors are authority figures, or at least we have made them so. And its weird the first time your authority figure is younger than you.

And it’s even weirder when they start getting younger than your children. Of course, you stay respectful, but inside you’re saying, “all right young lady, I’m going to need to see some ID with your age on it, and also a copy of your medical degree. And by the way, do your parents know you’re here?”

The whole thing reminds me of just how much we live by faith in this world. Here I am, meeting this woman for the first time, who’s young enough to be my daughter, and, without checking her degrees or qualifications I just gobble down whatever medicine she prescribes. All because she’s in a medical office.

And, of course, I don’t check out the pharmacist’s degrees or qualifications either. I just assume that because he’s wearing a white coat and behind the CVS counter that he knows what he’s doing. He could be filling that little amber bottle with Midol, or cyanide, for that matter, and I wouldn’t know any better. At least for a while.

We live by faith in this world. No getting around it.

Anyway, I did end up getting a steroid injection in my back…which helped, but not as much as I would like. Oh well. I can live with it. Unlike cancer.

I still have to go in for testing, but they are now going to be less frequent.

One thing that amazes me is how seldom I think about the cancer. About the only time it crosses my mind is when I have a CT or an ultrasound. This is not good. I mean, think about it: I’ve now had cancer in a lymph node, malignant melanoma, and an aggressive form of prostate cancer. And they are all gone! I should really be constantly thankful and humble that all the treatments have been successful, and all the prayers answered. I should be writing in my gratitude list every day: “I DON’T HAVE CANCER.” I should let that good news be ballast against every thing that might frustrate me or get me down. But, to be honest, that is not really happening often.

Sometimes I’m a spiritual bozo.

But here is the best news: God loves bozos, too. And, one Day, by God’s grace and Word, I will be cured of my bozo-ness as well.

And that will be my ultimate healing.

After a very, very long day of travel, Amy and I made it home last night.

I was dead on my feet by 8:00 pm, and went to bed a little after 9:00; yet my brain woke me up at 4:00 with various random thoughts. If I ignored one, another two popped into existence, like the heads of Hydra.

Perhaps you know the feeling. Hopefully its not just me. Thoughts like:

· I wonder if Samson could beat Hercules at wrestling.

· What did Samson use for underwear?

· Did I leave my underwear at the hotel this morning?

· I wonder how often that happens?

· Do the housekeeping staff have a huge collection of random socks and underwear, or do they just throw them all away?

· They probably just throw them away; I would.

· Unless there were some really weird or ginormous pairs; I would display those to the other housekeepers.

· Why do they call the housekeepers when they are working in a hotel, not a house?

· Do people who live in apartments call their cleaners housekeepers or apartmentkeepers?

· And why are they called apartments when they are all joined together? Shouldn’t they be called jointments or something?

· Or maybe adjoinments? That sounds better.

· Also, why do they call buildings “buildings” when they are already finished with the construction? Shouldn’t they be called “builts”?

· I think Hercules would win against Samson. I mean, he held up the world, right? Unless Samson had like a thousand years to grow out his hair. Maybe that would level the field.

Anyway, despite poor sleep I am thrilled to be home. This might seem odd since our lodgings over the last two weeks were so luxurious and the places we visited so fascinating. Cruising through the Aegean rocked my world. But, as the old phrase goes, “be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home”. And besides, we have a retention pond we can view from our back deck. Almost like the Aegean if you use a little imagination.

Home is where you can be most comfortable, even more so than in a swanky hotel. At home you know where everything is. At home you get to sleep with your favorite pillows. At home you can know how to operate both the remote and the AC.

I LOVE being at home. When people say “go big or go home” they apparently have no idea how invested in going home I am. I will not be going big, thank you. Going medium-sized is the best you will get.

At the same time, I feel the term home carries some ambivalence, at least for me. I am home, but, in a way, I am not home yet.

This ambivalence reflects the same tension that the Bible displays about this world being our home. On the one hand, as the wonderful hymn says,

This is my Father’s world,
And to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings
The music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world:
I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father’s world,
The birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white,
Declare their maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world,
He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.

We live in a good earth, created by a good and powerful God who deigns to let Himself be called Father. God declared of this earth, “It is good”, and He was not patting Himself on the back but making a declaration. The earth is a good and fitting abode for mankind. The earth is our rightful home, and we should be thankful and good stewards of this God-given home. Christians should be the ultimate environmentalists, for we see not only the goodness of the earth but the goodness of the earth-maker.

But, at the same time, the Bible also talks about believers as being, in some sense, not at home in this world. For example:

1 Peter 2:11 - Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul.

2 Corinthians 5:1 - For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands.

Hebrews 11:13ff - All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.

Hebrews 13:14: For here we do not have a permanent city, but we are looking for the city that is to come.

Resolving this paradox is not too difficult if we know the Bible’s story. For our good home is still good physically, but morally has been corrupted and perverted by human sin, injustice, greed and violence. So much so that Jesus could actually refer to Satan three times as “the prince of this world” (John 12:31, 14:30, and 16:11).

Humanity’s sin has allowed Satan to have some sort of limited, but real, authority within this world. I stress limited, for it is limited both in scope (God has veto power) in effect (for God will use evil for good) and in time (for the coming Kingdom of Jesus will end all evil of all kinds). It is limited…but also real. This world, for a time, shows the garish ugliness of the Perverter, even as it also shows the sublime beauty and bounty of the Creator.

I should qualify this a bit by stressing that humanity and human culture produce many, many good and beautiful things. A sonata can stun like a sunset, and for every Hitler there is a Lincoln or a Ghandi. We should take part in, and celebrate, the good, lovely and ennobling things of this world. Our goal as Christians: “To enjoy all things in God, and God in all things”.

Our Father has given us a good home; yet it is not yet what it should be (and will be). That is why I am grateful for home, but still feel homesick. Homesick for a land I have never been to. C. S. Lewis puts it best:

In speaking of this desire for our own far off country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness…it is the secret we cannot hide and cannot tell, though we desire to do both. We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name.

The books or the music in which we thought beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshipers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.

Yes, the goodness and beauty, of books, music, art, etc. “is not in them; it only comes through them”. Goodness and beauty always comes dappled and mediated in this world. We are fools to ignore the beauty and goodness of the things of earth or human culture. But we are also fools to seek them apart from their maker, to cling to the gift apart from the giver, to love only the art instead of seeking the Artist.

And that is why I am both home and homesick. I’m 63, and most of the things that I once thought would be fulfilling turned out to be as ephemeral as the leaves of autumn. But I am now seeing more and more that the wonderful things of this earthly home are both a shadow and a foretaste of a home not yet visited. And I long for the substance, not the shadow, the fullness, not the foretaste.

We are home … but not home yet.

But I can’t help it. I came here to read scripture and think. I opened the book to Psalm 103:

¹ Praise the Lord, my soul;
all my inmost being, praise his holy name.
² Praise the Lord, my soul,
and forget not all his benefits—
³ who forgives all your sins
and heals all your diseases,
⁴ who redeems your life from the pit
and crowns you with love and compassion,
⁵ who satisfies your desires with good things
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

As I thought about these words while gazing on the endless sea, I became overwhelmed at all the good things God has blessed us with this last week and a half, and got a little teary.

Okay, a lot teary.

I never thought we would be able to spend time in Istanbul, that fascinating old city. Or to visit the Island of Patmos, or walk along the ancient ruins of Ephesus. Not to mention the wonderful day on the beach in a Turkish coastal town, or hiking up the center of the Santorini caldera.

But here I am, enjoying time aboard a lovely ship and thinking about the bounty of blessings showered upon us this last 10 days. And, to be honest, I am having a hard time taking it all in.

There is a line from a Clint Eastwood flick that keeps coming to mind this morning. It is from the movie Unforgiven, which is a western and an anti-western at the same time. What I mean by that is that it is indeed set in the old west, sometime in the late 1800’s in the town of Big Whiskey. But it subverts the standard motif of western movies. There is no real hero in the movie. The protagonist, William Munny, is a flawed man with a murderous past. The “bad guys” are not worse people than Munny, just less lucky or skilled, perhaps.

The climax comes when Munny walks into a saloon and kills the Sheriff, played by Gene Hackman. Hackman, like Munny, is a flawed man. He keeps order in town, but overlooks injustice. He is more concerned about building his house and his own reputation than doing what is right, but he is not an especially evil protagonist. Especially compared to Munny’s past.

As the sheriff lays bleeding and dying on the floor of the saloon he looks up to Munny in disbelief that this is happening to him. His last words: “I don’t deserve this…to die like this! I was building a house!”.

And William Munny replies with words that both undermine the standard western motif, and also the normal way that so many of us view life:

“Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it”.

And that is really the whole point of the movie. Which is why it is both a western and an anti-western, for in almost all western movies the “good guys” get good things (revenge, fortune, the girl) in the end while the bad guys get, well bad things (death, dishonor, disgrace). That is the formula.

This is hardly limited to westerns, of course. The specifics of the formula change, but the formula itself remains. Most chick flicks, for example, see the honest and genuine protagonist get her reward (the hunk, the job, the friendship) while the shallow or sneaky antagonist gets the opposite.

The movies and books we consume usually have some variation of this same theme. And really, why wouldn’t they? A movie or book where the bad guys triumph doesn’t sell.

“Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

I think the reason that line stuck with me is that it encapsulates in seven words a fundamental shift in the way I interpret life. I am increasingly understanding that when it comes to the most important things, the idea of deserving is fundamentally and fatally flawed. And this increasing understanding is bringing increasing freedom and joy, at least for me.

The movie did not convince me of this shift, of course. Life convinced me. The movie simply illustrated it and gave it, for me, a memorable tag line.

I find freedom in this view, because for most of my life I have been partly shackled by the idea that I needed to measure up in order to receive good things in my life. As I said, the ever-present media reinforces this idea, but, more concerningly, my church background also contributed greatly to it. My formative years were in an independent Baptist Church, and I also went to a university of that same persuasion. And while I am grateful for much of what I received from that church and that school, at the same time I increasingly feel they contributed to a mentality focused on spiritual performance. Yes, they taught rightly that a person is saved by grace alone, by faith alone, through Christ alone. But after that salvation you better work hard to keep God’s blessing on you. Unconfessed sin means your prayer will not be heard. Partaking of worldly entertainment will ensure your spiritual poverty. Not having devotions every morning and not attending church 3 times a week (four if you count Thursday-night “soul-winning”) will mark you as a spiritual slacker deserving only of God’s rebuke and discipline.

You were saved by grace, but kept right with God (and deserving of His blessing) by being continually “on fire” for the Lord and His work.

Even in college I was moving away from this fundamentalist mentality. But ideas and values that take root in our childhood or adolescence are not easily untangled, nor removed. Even in my 40’s and 50’s I struggled with the idea of not doing enough, or, even, not being enough. If my kids made bad choices it was, partly at least, because I had not done enough to guide them. If we had financial problems it was because I had not done enough to ensure God’s blessing. And if the church struggled or lost members it was definitely my fault: I did not pray often enough, lead well enough, or preach good enough.

Yes, I taught and preached the idea of grace. But I did not, at least in this aspect, live in it.

Strangely, it was the death of our son that yanked out the last roots of that way of thinking. I was not a perfect parent, of course. Who is? But, as much as any person can evaluate themselves, I can say this: I was a very good Father to Joe. Obviously there are things I wish I would have done differently. But I was never harsh, never hypocritical, never false with him. I showed him love and acceptance and kindness, and tried to provide a model of Christian living.

And yet, he still made some poor choices. And yet, he still developed a severe case of Schizophrenia. And yet, he still chose to end his pain by taking his own life.

He did not deserve this. Amy and I did not deserve the pain and such deep, deep grief, nor did his sisters. But it happened.

Nor did I deserve cancer, or my persistent back pain. Or many of the other problems large and small Amy and I have faced over the years.

But . . . neither did we deserve all the blessings we have received.

We do not deserve to have the wonderful marriage that God has blessed us with. We do not deserve the lovely church family we are part of. We do not deserve to be born in the United States, with all its incredible privileges. We do not deserve our wonderful daughters and their families. And we certainly do not deserve the greatest gift of all: salvation and grace through Jesus Christ. Forgiveness and salvation are gifts from a Father, not paychecks from an employer. Psalm 103 again:

⁸ The Lord is compassionate and gracious,
slow to anger, abounding in love.
⁹ He will not always accuse,
nor will he harbor his anger forever;
¹⁰ he does not treat us as our sins deserve
or repay us according to our iniquities.
¹¹ For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his love for those who fear him;
¹² as far as the east is from the west,
so far has he removed our transgressions from us.

And, sitting on this deck, I am reminded that we do not deserve this Grace Trip. We do not deserve to be able to visit Istanbul, Ephesus, Patmos, Athens and so many other amazing places. We do not deserve to be cruising the Aegean on a lovely ship, with such amazing food and service.

I left my fundamentalist heritage for many reasons. The catalyst was seeing and understanding how deeply scripture was misapplied or abused in order to reinforce the fundamentalist viewpoint. That was relatively easy for me to figure out and name. But the mindset that went with that, the mindset of guilt, performance, deservedness and spiritual anxiety….well that mindset had settled into my heart, not just my mind, and took many decades (and a shock to the system) for me to really recognize its perverseness.

To be frank, I suppose I will always wrestle with this a bit. But sitting on the deck of this grace-ship, in the middle of this Grace-Trip, I am not fighting back tears of regret or self-reproach, but tears of gratitude. Gratitude for all the wonderful things we have seen and experienced this last week. But also gratitude for the fact that this Grace-trip is a sign and symbol of God’s gracious blessing in all of our life-journey, which is bountiful and free, and not helped or hindered by whether I deserve it or not.

Yes, bad and painful things happen on this life-journey. But I know that God is not punishing me, but grieving with me.

In all their distress he too was distressed (Isaiah 63:9).

For those in Christ, this is our new reality: we now longer live in Karma-town, but in Graceland. Our goal is not to earn God’s favor or God’s blessing, or to earn anything. It is to receive His love and grace as pure gift, and then simply to seek to pass this gift along to others in whatever form we can.

Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it.

And thank God for that.

Let me close with some pictures from the last few days:

The government seems to take pride in taking care of the felines; they vaccinate them and spay or neuter them, then just let the little buggers roam free. Everywhere.

I was intrigued to see the contrast in Istanbul between the chill cats and the bustling tourists or busy workers. The felines lounge serenely as throngs of people scurry around them.

But what was even more intriguing was the juxtaposition between what interested the cats and what the humans were fascinated by. This juxtaposition was made all the more sharper by the venue. Most of these first group of photos were taken at the two great palaces of the Ottoman Empire, palaces with incredible treasures like bejeweled daggers and priceless mosaics. The cats care for none of these things, of course. They were interested in three things and three things only: food, sunshine and being petted.

Here is a guy taking a nap in the shadow of the great Hagia Sophia:

And here are some felines totally non-plussed by the fact that the tomb of Suliman the Magnificent was only a few feet away.

One of my favorite photo came from the market, which, like most markets here, has a roof but wide open passageways to the outside. This fellow seems to be wondering why the humans treasure the shiny metal things so much, when they already have sunshine and food.

We also visited the ruins of Ephesus, one of the great cities of the ancient world. In fact, it was one of the five largest cities in the world in the first century, and incredibly wealthy. But today all that is left are ruins. And cats. Everywhere: cats.

I wished I could communicate to these furry friends that they were privileged to live in a UNESCO world heritage site, where people come from all over the world and pay $50 a day to visit. And not only that, the Apostle Paul spent two years here, and (kinda) inspired a riot by leading so many folk to abandon idol worship. But I don’t speak cat, and even if I did I don’t think they would be impressed. History, art and architecture seem beyond, our perhaps beneath, their notice.

I had hoped that Ephesus would be an inspiration to my thoughts, and I would wander around its ruins and picture more clearly the Apostle Paul walking these streets and selling his tent-making wares in the agora. But, to be frank, that did not happen. The throngs of people bustling didn’t help. Jostling with thousands of camera-wielding tourists in Columbia gear does not lend itself to biblical contemplation.

But I did think about the cats. I pondered how they could be in a sense of great majesty and meaning and wonder and neither know nor care a thing about it. There are not blamable in this, of course. They are not human, after all.

But I am. And the silly cats caused me to ponder my own silliness. How often am I in a place of majesty and mystery and wonder and neither notice or care? I am not just talking about the natural beauties of this world, with its soaring mountains or endless seas. I do mean that, but also more. I mean the majesty and mystery and wonder of the people around me, every day. After all, each one is a unique reflection of God in some way; not that we are God, of course, but each of us is made in His image. Each one of us, every one one of us, is created specifically by the same God who created the wonders of this world and wonders of worlds our eyes will never see.

Do angels shake their heads at me when I brush aside the wonders of the person next to me so I can doom-scroll on my phone? Does the “great cloud of witnesses” of past believers witness only my obtuseness in the presence of the transcendent other? Does Jesus face-palm when the only thing I see in another person is whether they are a help or a hindrance to my agenda today?

I don’t know, but contemplating the cats brought these questions to mind. And for that I will be thankful. And hopefully a little more aware of the majesty and mystery around me.

Tuesday was our first full day at sea, and we were scheduled to land at the island of Lemnos. The weather had other ideas, however, and high winds and waves made it impossible for us to tender to the island. The next island on the agenda, Mykonos, was also experiencing this weather, so the captain was afraid that even if we sailed there overnight we would not be able to get off the ship there either. So he called an audible: we left the bay of Lemnos and headed toward Patmos, which had a much better forecast and a more protected harbor.

Amy and I were thrilled. I would trade Mykonos for Patmos any day. The weather forecast still called for rain off and on most of the day, but who cares?

We woke up early and packed our raincoats and umbrellas, which, as it turns out, were entirely un-needed. As you can see from the photos, it was an absolutely lovely day.

Lovely island, but we mainly wanted to see Patmos because it was here that John saw the apocalyptic vision he recorded in the book of Revelation.

Chapter 1 of that books reads:

I, John, your brother and companion in the suffering and kingdom and patient endurance that are ours in Jesus, was on the island of Patmos because of the word of God and the testimony of Jesus. On the Lord’s Day I was in the Spirit, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet, which said: “Write on a scroll what you see and send it to the seven churches: to Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia and Laodicea.”

Standing on the island where our Lord appeared to John in this way was very moving. I always like to visualize these events as much as possible, and now my visualizing is much more concrete.

The Bible does not say where, exactly, John was when he received this revelation. But that has not stopped people from claiming they know.

Halfway up the main hill is a cave and small grotto. This is the place it is claimed John was when he these things were shown to him. Our guide was a lovely young woman who grew up on the island, and she stated without hesitation that this was the place where it happened. She beautifully recited a good part of Revelation chapter 1 in a way that was quite moving. And apparently, from what I gleaned from her words, the Orthodox Church affirms this cave is the true site.

I am doubtful. The Bible mentions the island, but not a cave. And the tradition about the cave dates from the 10th or 11th century. Yes, that is ancient to us, but it is still almost a thousand years after the event.

She then took us to the top of a hill where a monastery was built in the 11th century. You will notice it now looks like a fortress. This is because raids from Ottomans and pirates forced it to create defensive fortifications. Those same raids caused most of the islanders during the middle ages to move their homes to just outside the monastery, so that they could flee inside it when trouble called. This was an interesting dynamic to me. Normally monasteries are far from the city, in order to be removed from worldly distractions. And this monastery was indeed isolated at the beginning, but the village built around it. There must be a sermon illustration in this, but I am still fishing for it. Give me time.

I did not take the first picture below. It is from a drone or helicopter, since you cannot get higher than this on the island. The rest are from inside the walls but not inside the monastery itself (since it does not allow photos).

After touring the holy sites we had a nice lunch at a table on the beach and I took a swim in the bay. The water was much warmer than you would think: around 70 degrees. I will spare you pictures of me in my swimsuit. I don’t want to make all the younger guys jealous. But here is a lovely picture of my hot wife:

As I said at the beginning, “nothing is ever perfect.” And I believe that. But, to be honest, I am straining to think of anything not very perfect about today. We got to go to an island we did not think we would be able to. The weather was lovely. The grotto and monastery were very, very interesting. And we got to spend time thinking and pondering about what it must have been like for Saint John to live here, and where, in fact, he might have received his amazing revelation. Finally, as we left the island, we were blessed with a beautiful sunset.

And all this with the person I love and admire more than anyone else in this world.

Okay…maybe once in while…at least for a day…something can be perfect.

To describe why I will need to describe briefly the place and history of this great building and the city of Istanbul itself.

The Hagia Sophia (the name means Holy Wisdom in Greek) was the greatest Christian church for many long centuries. Finished in 537 under the direction of the Emperor Justinian, it contained the largest interior space in the world, and employed the first full dome of its type. It was the largest church in the world for almost a thousand years, and is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

More interesting than its place in architecture, however, is its place in history; Indeed, the history of the Hagia Sophia is a mirror of the history of the western world itself.

The Hagia sits in the center of the old city section of what is now called Istanbul. But of course, the city did not always have this name. It was called Byzantium in ancient times. It came to be called Constantinople after the Roman Emperor Constantine, in one of the most important acts in history, converted first himself and then the empire from pagan to Christian and then decided to make Byzantium his new capitol (instead of Rome). The renamed city quickly became not only the center of the Roman Empire but also the center of Christianity, for the empire and the church were now wed.

A century and a half later the emperor Justinian commissioned the building of the Hagia Sophia as a temple suited to the power and prestige suitable to the center of the church and empire. It’s size and grandeur were unmatched for many centuries. Early in the 10th century, the pagan ruler of the Kievan Rus’ sent emissaries to his neighbors to learn about Judaism, Islam, and Roman and Orthodox Christianity. After visiting Hagia Sophia his emissaries reported back: “We were led into a place where they serve their God, and we did not know where we were, in heaven or on earth.”

For the next 8oo years almost all Emperors of the eastern Roman empire were crowned at the Hagia Sophia.

From the 6^th through 12^th centuries the history of the church was dominated by the increasing division between the western church, headquartered in Rome and speaking Latin, and the Eastern Church, headquartered in Constantinople and speaking Greek. In 1064 the Pope’s envoy entered the Hagia Sophia and placed a papal bull (legal document) on the altar, which excommunicated the leader of the Eastern Church and his followers. The division was as much geo-political as it was theological, and when Venetians from the fourth crusade attacked Constantinople in 1204 and desecrated the Hagia Sophia the breach in the church became irreparable.

In the background to all this internal division was an ever-growing external threat: the armies of Islam. Muslim armies had spent the last several centuries conquering Christian lands. In the east, Constantinople resisted the wave of conquest. Its size, wealth and strategic position made it the ultimate prize.

Muslim forces first besieged the city in 674 and finally conquered it in 1453, meaning the attempts spanned almost 780 years and included at least ten major seizes.

The conquest was brutal, even by the standards of the time. The Hagia Sophia was a refuge for the population during the city’s capture. The conquering Muslim ruler, Mehmed the 2^nd, allowed three days of pillage, and churches around the city were destroyed. The Hagia Sophia was looted. While most of the elderly and infirm were murdered, the remaining were sold into slavery in the Ottoman Empire. Historians differ about the number, but all agree that tens of thousands were murdered and many more tens of thousands were enslaved.

The Hagia Sophia, along with the other churches, was made into a mosque, and its glorious mosaics covered or destroyed.

Some people will no doubt point out that the Crusaders did horrible things as well. Which is true. But then again there are two key differences.

First, by the time the crusades began approximately 80 percent of Christian lands had been conquered by Muslim armies. Imagine a foreign culture that had conquered all of the United States except New England and you may have a certain sympathy for the Christian leaders of the time.

Second, the crusades are now almost universally decried by Christians as a betrayal of the teachings of Christ and a low point of the church’s history. But if you go to Istanbul on the anniversary of the fall of Constantinople (now Istanbul) you will find a quite different sentiment. The conquest of Istanbul is one of the proudest, if not the proudest, moments of Turkish history. On the anniversary, a replica of the Janissary (Ottoman soldiers) marching band performs as many onlookers are moved to tears. It was the Ottoman’s empire’s finest moment, opening the way to attack Europe. As the Poles and Hungarians would attest, the following centuries would be one of hardships and war as Muslim armies attacked as far as Vienna.

So, obviously one source of my mixed emotions while at the Hagia Sophia is seeing this glorious church forcibly converted into a mosque, visualizing the fearful Christians trapped into the sanctuary as Turkish armies began battering the door with a ram (as happened). It is not hard to view the forced conversion of the Hagia Sophia as emblematic of the forced conversion of so, so many Christian cities and peoples. I realize I am biased in this, of course, as a Christian. But it is a bias I cannot shed and have no desire to.

But another source of my diffidence is this: I have such great mixed feelings about the idea of Christendom itself. And the Hagia Sophia and Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome, are the twin towers of Christendom.

By Christendom I do not mean Christianity or the teaching of Jesus. Rather I mean the combination of Christianity with the power of the state, whether that state is headquartered in Rome, Constantinople, London, or Washington. Christendom is the marriage of the teachings of Jesus with the power of the government. And, to me, it is an unholy marriage, no matter how fortunate it seems to some.

It is this marriage which has produced the bastard-children called the crusades, the inquisitions, the heresy trials, and a thousand lesser-known evil offspring. It is the marriage of church and power which has led so many Christian leaders to abuse power in the name of the church. True, Christendom has not produced the greatest evils in the world. These things would have likely taken a different form, and Christendom at its worst cannot hold a candle to, for example, communism. But Christendom certainly has produced the greatest evils in the history of the church.

As I say, my feelings are a mix, for without Christendom the beautiful Cathedrals I admire so much would likely not exist. Without Christendom it is difficult to see how the works of most of the great artists of the western world before, say, 1600, would have been produced. Would Michelangelo have crafted the transcendent into stone and paint if not for the backing of a Pope?

And again, it is also difficult to foresee how the conquest of Islamic armies would have been stayed if not for competing armies equally dedicated to the divine. Perhaps without Christendom there would be precious few Christians today.

Perhaps.

But perhaps not.

After all, are political and martial powers the only forces at play? Are not spiritual forces capable of protecting humans and guiding human history? Is prayer really less powerful than gunpowder? Who can say for certain that unless the church had taken the crown of empire that the gospel of Jesus would have suffered?

Perhaps I am wrong, and my ignorance matched only by my naivete. That is possible. Certainly I am out of step with so many of my fellow-believers who increasingly seek to wrap the flag around the cross.

But to me the cross represents something that, if not opposite to flag waving, is at least at counter-purpose to it. The cross symbolizes the humility of the very Son of God, who disdained worldly power, and, indeed, was crucified on that cross by the powers of this world. It is hard to me to reconcile that next to the altar of the Hagia Sophia, the altar containing the signs of the broken body and spilled blood of Jesus, was the spot where earthly emperors were crowned and exalted.

These were my restless thoughts as I looked down into this great building. My eyes were dazzled by the size and grandeur of a building: “Imagine this built in the 6^th century.” I am grateful to have touched its walls and gazed at its massive golden mosaics. But I look forward all the more to the Day when the Emperor has nail-pierced hands, and the glory of His realm is not seen in marble and gold, but in truth, righteousness and justice.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus.

That might be the intro to some low-budget teen movie from the 90’s. But it will serve well enough to get us started.

I did not start the day with my ears and nostrils filled with wax. It was a little stranger than that.

At least, it seemed very strange to me that I, a provincial midwestern pastor, would wake up in a Turkish five-star hotel, then mosey around the main palace of the Ottoman Empire, waltz around an ancient underground cistern holding 25 million gallons of water, and finally explore the greatest church building of the first millennium of the church’s existence.

I just don’t do this very often in Indiana.

Istanbul served as the capital city of the Byzantian Empire, then the eastern branch of the Roman Empire, and finally of the Ottoman Empire. So yeah, it tops Franklin in the history department. A bit.

The Ottoman rulers built a huge temple complex, called the Topkapi Palace. It would take a long time to describe, so I will just put up some pictures.

Next our guide took us to the Underground Cistern. There are actually several hundred underground cisterns in the city, but this is by far the largest and most unusual. It was built by the great emperor Justinian in the 6^th century, and carefully hidden from outside viewing so that enemies could not pollute the water. In fact, after the fall of the empire its presence was forgotten for hundreds of years, and it was not until the 1980’s that it was restored and (mostly) drained.

The cistern is 450 feet by 213 feet and capable of holding 25 million gallons of water. The ceiling is supported by 336 marble columns, taken from various ruins around the empire, each 30 feet high.

Here is a video I took:

After lunch we visited the Hagia Sophia. I have heard about the Hagia Sophia since college, and have always longed to see it. It is one of the greatest buildings in all of western history. But visiting it actually left me with decidedly mixed feelings. I will try to explain why sometime later. The building deserves its own post anyway. For now I will just leave a couple pictures of the outside.

After our guide took us back to the hotel, I decided to get a haircut and shave. Getting a haircut in a foreign country is a great way to experience a little non-touristy culture. And besides, I heard that Turkish shaves are an entirely over the top experience.

And boy-howdy are they ever! My barber first used a brush to lather up my face, then started applying a very sharp straight edge razor.

I had never had someone else shave me before, especially with a straight edge. I tried not to move a muscle. And of course, it was just then that Amy decided to ask me a couple questions about the history of barbers and if they ever also acted as dentists in the way olden days and other such stuff that I HAVE NO IDEA ABOUT, HONEY, AND A STRANGER IS SHAVING MY THROAT WITH A KNIFE RIGHT NOW AND I CAN’T REALLY TALK, OK????

After this the barber asked, “Wax?”. He didn’t really speak English, so I thought he meant something like a lotion or crème, so I nodded.

He did NOT mean lotion or crème, in fact. For the next thing I know he is filling my right ear with hot green wax.

My thought process went something like this:

…“Oh, that’s new. I have hot wax in my ear.

…Okay, he’s doing the other one now. Seems balanced.

….Hmm, he’s applying it to my upper cheeks? Seems odd.

…Wait, why is he approaching my nostril?

…AHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

And, of course, Amy is LOVING THIS. She is literally doubled over with laughter. And then she asks, “you know what happens next, right?”

NO, HONEY, I HAVE NO IDEA! I SUPPOSE HE IS JUST GOING TO LEAVE IT ALL IN THERE UNTIL IT SOMEHOW DROPS OFF ON ITS OWN IN A WEEK OR TWO! HOPE IT DOESN’T RUIN DINNER FOR YA!

And…this just made her laugh some more.

My wife is a sadist.

And yeah, it did sting when he yanked the hardened wax out of my various facial orifices, but, hey, my mama didn’t raise me to wince and cry every time some Turk pulls wax out of my nose, now did she?

I survived. And I was feeling pretty good about myself. Until he got out the flames to deal with any hair left on the outside of my ears.

Yes, boys and girls, you read that right. Barbers don’t mess around in Turkey. He pulled out a lighter and singed off all the little ear airs left over after the green wax. They don’t do that at Great Clips.

He followed that up by pulling out the world’s tiniest clippers and trimming off any nasal hairs that somehow did not get yanked out with the wax. I kinda felt like they should stay, you know, after surviving all that. Reward those tough little fellas. But it was over before I could figure out how to translate that sentiment into some sort of sign language.

The haircut was less dramatic. Until the end, when he put my head under a torrent of water and lathered it up, then vigorously massaged it. And when I say, vigorously, I worry you may not get the full picture. He worked on my scalp like a body-builder trying to crush a bowling ball.

And of course this made my lovely wife laugh at me again.

At last it was over. I felt like I had less facial hair than anytime since I hit puberty. My nostrils and ears with still tingling.

How much did they charge for this torture, I mean, shave and haircut? About 30 bucks.

Marriage counseling will cost more…

Our hotel is amazing! It came included in the package so I did not expect it to be quite this nice. It was built in 1892 to service passengers on the Orient express. And it has a lot of history and famous guests.

We walked out onto the main drag to get something to eat. Here are a few videos. I have not had time to edit them so they are a little rough.

And here are a few bonus pictures:

That's tea by the way.

That's it for now. I'm going to bed!

So today Amy and I are doing what we normally do on Thursdays: Fly to Istanbul and then cruise the Greek Isles.

Okay, okay we don’t do this EVERY Thursday. But we are doing it this one.

This is a trip of a life-time, actually. A trip we wanted to make for many years, but never thought we would be able to.

We’ve been referring to it as the Greece trip, but I think a better name is the Grace-trip. By that I mean that the whole trip is a gift, which is the root idea behind the Greek word for grace.

Last spring Darren, one of the church elders, and I were having lunch at a mediocre Mexican restaurant when he asked me, “Where is someplace you and Amy have always wanted to go to but never had?” I didn’t have to think long. Greece had long been on our radar screen, both for its incredible natural beauty but also because of it’s place in history. It was here that philosophy began, and it was here that so much of early church history occurred. Plato and Paul both walked the streets of Athens and taught there. The recipients of most of the New Testament epistles lived in either the Greek mainland or Greek settlements in what is now Turkey.

Little did I know at the time that sneaky Darren had a sneaky plan. He encouraged the church members to contribute to a gift fund to make this trip possible.

Their generous check was given to Amy and I in June as our church celebrated its 40 year anniversary; this year also marked the 20^th anniversary of our time as Senior Pastor and wife.

We were blown away of course. First of all, that Darren had pulled a sneaky on us. You see, Darren is an engineer, and engineers don’t do sneaky. I believe they actually kick you out of engineering school for it.

But more, of course, we were blown away just by the generosity of our church. This was a trip to see the Parthenon in Athens, not the Mitchel Corn Palace in South Dakota. It’s a spendy trip.

Originally Amy and I thought we might wait until next May for the trip, but she found an outstanding travel package that had been discounted. Windstar Cruise Lines has a land/sea package that first gives you three days in Istanbul, then eight nights cruising the Greek Islands before disembarking at Athens. We added on two nights in Athens for a full two weeks.

I call this a grace-trip, for that is what it is. It’s grace, because it is a gift. Undeserved and unmerited, like the very best things are.

Many people have told us that the trip is “well-deserved”. In fact, I think I heard that phrase three times yesterday. I appreciate the sentiment, but must demur.

They mean, of course, that it is a nice recompence for serving 20 years at our church. But serving 20 years at this church has been its own reward. Certainly there are aspects of serving as a pastor here that have been hard. But my overwhelming feeling is one of profound blessing. I get to study the Word, preach, and engage with people I love. And I get PAID to do this.

This trip is not deserved; it is a gift. This is a grace-trip, not a reward-voyage.

And…Amy and I have been able to increasingly view our whole sojourn in this life as a grace-trip. She has been especially helped in this by the writings of the amazing Ann Voskamp, and I have followed in her train.

Life, after all, is a gift. None of us deserved it or achieved it; we receive it.

That does not mean it is not also very, very painful at times. Amy and I have certainly not escaped grief and broken hearts. Losing a child is the worst pain imaginable. And cancer is not a fun time either. But God is still good. And life is still a gift.

That is what we choose to believe.

I’ve only travelled internationally a few times, but I am always tempted to get anxious about all the things that can go wrong. But I am laying down my expectations and agenda, and simply, as Amy put it, “sink into grace”. Or, as Ann Voskamp wrote,

“No expectations. Only gratitude….because all is grace.”

I am trying hard to make that my mantra for this trip. And also for my life.

Some folk have asked if I will be writing about our trip (as I did on the last one). The answer is: I think so. Part of me wants to totally disengage from my phone or laptop as much as possible, and to just be in the moment without having to think about how to write about it. But another part of me loves to share wonderful experiences with others.

So I imagine I will at least put up some pictures. I may even try to record and narrate some video, like some millennial influencer. I think things will be too good not to share. But no promises.

As part of this re-launch, we are thinking of broadening the focus. The podcast is titled, Philosophy and Faith, and the past 15 episodes have been a series called The History of Philosophy.

And apparently no-one is interested in this. The number of people who listen or watch has gone way down, compared to the episodes before this.

So as we re-launch we are going to broaden the scope of the podcast, and possibly re-name it. We will be considering topics like the following:

• The meaning of creation ex nihilo

• What Genesis says about human purpose

• Pascals’ wager

• What is heaven?

• Do we have a soul?

• Are all humans immortal?

• The great difference between resurrection and immortality

• What is sin?

• Plato and Paul

• The problem of evil?

• How does prayer work if God is sovereign?

• What is the occult, and why is it wrong?

• Do Christians need to keep the Old Testament law?

• How do we interpret Revelation?

• What are the stages of spiritual growth?

• How do the spiritual disciplines fit in with spiritual growth?

• What things bring about spiritual growth?

• What does it mean that Christ is the Second Adam?

• Can we know ourselves if we don’t know God?

• Knowing of versus knowing about

• The logic of the atonement

• How do we deal with doubt?

I wonder if you would do me a huge favor: take just a minute to peruse the list and leave a comment below on which would be most interesting or helpful to you. We will use this feedback to plan. That would be really helpful.

By the way, you can listen to past episodes on the podcast on whatever platform you use just by searching Philosophy and Faith. Or you can catch them on YouTube here.

Finally, if I had one episode from the History of Philosophy series that I think would be the most helpful it would be the one titled Plato, Dualism, and Christianity. It is impossible to really understand Christian Theology without understanding Plato. This episode gives an overview of his most important thought.

Even if you don’t like philosophy, you might find it helpful.

To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that. But if I were, I don’t think I would reply with an idea or a sentence, but with a simple metaphor: gardening.

After all, it is no coincidence that after God made the man and woman he gave them a role: to be gardeners.

The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it. — Genesis 2:15

Now, let’s think about this; in the chapter previous to this, we see God creating all things: seas and mountains, whales and swallows, oaks and ivy. In fact, God has created nothing less than “the heavens and the earth”.

So why would God need a gardener? Surely the kind of being who calls the sun and moon into being could handle the task, right?

Here is why: out of love.

All creation is an overflowing, an effusion, of the love of God. Humans are created to be a special object of that love, or, perhaps better, to have a special role in the arena of God’s loving creation. They alone are described as being made “in God’s likeness” so that they can “image” God throughout all creation. That is, by their likeness to God and connection to God and through their godlike gifts they can rule over creation with God, or, better, to be the way God rules over creation.

Then God said, “Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.”

So God created mankind in his own image,
in the image of God he created them;
male and female he created them.

But what does it mean to “rule”? That is the question, and gardening is the answer.

In our fallen, human culture, to rule over something is an act of force, if not violence. And the goal of that force is to make others (or other things) do my bidding.

But that is not how a gardener works. They rule over their plot of ground, but not by force, but by creative work.

Let me explain by using my own backyard.

Amy and moved into this house five years ago. It was a new build, and the only part the builders did poorly was the landscaping. You see, they finished the build and the landscaping some six weeks before we could move in. And all they did for the back and side yards was to throw grass seed on the ground and cover it with straw. And so it sat un-watered and windswept for 6 weeks.

By the time we moved in the seeds and most of the straw had blown away; no grass was growing at all. There were no trees or bushes. The side and back yards were both simply dry, bare dirt.

But we had a plan for this little plot of land; we could see not only what was there (dry, barren soil) but what it could be (a lovely plot, filled with grass, trees, shrubs and, especially, flowers).

That is what it means to be human. It is not simply a certain trait or two that distinguishes us from other mammals or animals. It is an entirely different way of interacting with the world. Other species take the world as it is: reality is simply the brute fact that they must adapt to. Yes, beavers make dams bees make hives and robins make nests, but this is an instinctual drive (as evidenced by the fact that all robins make nests and all robins make the same kind of nest) driven by a need for survival and reproduction. This is very different than humans who:

1. Conceptualize a different reality than the one they see

2. Make a value judgement that a different reality would be better (and not just for survival) than the reality before them.

3. Choose between different possible realities based upon their personality, values and sense of beauty.

4. Problem solve to make that reality possible

5. Use abstract language to communicate that hypothetical reality to others so they can assist.

6. Finally, use their reasoning and resources and teamwork to bring about that reality.

This is what it means to rule over creation: not to exploit it, but to improve it.

Gardening is a wonderful, God-given metaphor for this. Amy and I looked at the plot of land we now had ownership of. We pictured in our mind the ways we could make it more lovely. Not out of physical necessity, but out of a love for beauty; out of a desire to be able to appreciate and expand the beauty of certain trees and plants we love; out of a desire to make a place where pollinators could flourish.

So we choose what it should look like and we communicated this to some others that could help us in various ways, and we got to work.

Again, gardening is a metaphor; we are not called to quit our jobs and become professional landscapers. The metaphor points to the way to be human, not the exact job description as a human. The way of seeing how the goodness of this world and our society could be increased; how they could become so much more beautiful, both in physical beauty and moral beauty; how justice can flourish like a well-tended plant. And then using our God-given gifts to make that happen.

This is our glory as humans: using our freedom, rationality and imagination to make our world and our culture more and more what they can and should be.

Gardening with God: seeking God’s help and wisdom to transform our world. And not because God needs it, but because, out of love, He shares with us the dignity of causation.

All praise to Him.

The paparazzi are getting crazy. “We need to know how you’re doing, Dan!” “Your public wants to know that you are okay.” “We will give you 8 bazillion dollars for an interview”. Such is the life of an internationally known thought leader like myself. I wonder if this is what Einstein felt like.

So here goes.

It is now 2 and a half weeks post surgery. The regular post-op appointment with the surgeon is still another month away, which seems odd to me. A LOT can go wrong in six weeks. But I did have a kind-of follow up. I had to go back up to the urologist office so the (female) nurse could remove my catheter. And the surgeon's assistant, a PA named Bailey, did a brief exam. By the way, I don’t understand why urologist’s offices are staffed almost entirely by women. But I do agree with the sentiment I read somewhere: having prostate surgery will cure you of all traces of modesty. ‘Nuff said.

Anyway, Bailey assured me that my pain levels and the lovely purple bruises covering the majority of my abdomen were normal, and that I was recovering on schedule. She also said I would have deep fatigue for a good while, and would not have my full energy level back for “almost three months”. Wow.

That was about ten days ago. And now my pain is pretty minimal, except if I do something crazy like, you know, bend. Or stand up. Or sneeze. Even still it’s not that bad.

But boy was she right about the fatigue. A good part of the day I feel like an octogenarian sloth with a bad flu.

I did go back to work part-time this week. Luckily I am a pastor; my previous jobs were a lumberjack, a NFL linebacker, a professional boxer and a break-dancer. So, you know, I’ve got it good now. If I could just find a way to pray while I nap I’d be all set.

I do feel pretty guilty watching Amy mow the grass and do most of the housework; but, as always, she has a good spirit about it. Cuz she’s a saint.

And I want to add a huge shout-out to my co-pastor (and eventual replacement) Nathan Beasley. It is both humbling and gratifying to see him do the work of the ministry (including preaching) better than what I do. In fact, I don’t really know why the elders want to keep me around, unless it’s just to be eye-candy. But it is a relief not to worry about the church while I recover. So, thank you, Nate.

Well, that is it for now. Paparazzi: leave me in peace!

I say “solidified” because I have felt this way for a Loooong time. But few things reveal a person’s inner qualities like an international trip, especially the 31 hour return part, like we had in February.

When you leave for your destination on a trip like this, your emotions and adrenaline are both sky-high. Sure the flights and layovers are long, but you are filled with more anticipation than a 14 year old girl heading into a Taylor Swift concert.

But on the way home….well, that can be a quite different story.

You are tired and homesick. You’ve been with this person literally 24/7 for over a week. The only anticipation is that of an inbox with 4,123,589 emails.

It’s pretty easy to get cranky, is what I’m saying.

Unless you’re Amy. She is the most steadily un-cranky person I know. Literally uncrankable. She makes a Collie seem like a grouch

And not only is she un-cranky, she is unselfish. Since I have to get up a lot she encourages me to always take the aisle seat, even though that can leave her squished between me and a totally random stranger, who could be a sumo wrestler with flatulence issues or (worse) Elon Musk. She doesn’t care.

And this is not because she is just a meek little fundie wife who never stands up for her own wants. No, it goes a lot deeper than that. She has simply learned what things matter and what things…don’t. And really, 98.34 percent of the things we all get our knickers in a knot about don’t really matter a week later. Often even an hour later.

Now, OF COURSE it helps that she is married to a man who looks like George Clooney, with the mind of an Einstein and the athletic abilities of Usain Bolt. Not, as some of my jealous friends have suggested, the looks of Keith Richards, the mind of SpongeBob, and the athletic abilities of the corpse of Don Knotts.

Obviously that helps. But still.

And, now, as I write this after two weeks of recovery surgery, I would just like to publicly thank my wonderful wife for her care and kindness. She has been there every step of the way. My medical needs have meant that her own needs have taken a back seat, yet she is always cheerful and thankful. She literally cares more about my needs and desires than her own. The last two weeks have not been a surprise in this regard. She is always like this. They have just shown it in sharper relief.

Today is her birthday, and I just want to publicly celebrate her. Not only for her love and care for me, but for her deep wisdom, her chosen happy spirit, her peace and contentment, her humor, her humility, and her love and concern for others. She is literally the best person I know.

Happy birthday, Amy. I love you more than words can say.

(click on images below for a slide show)

Dawn is incredibly smart. Actually, all my siblings are smart. But Dawn is the only one who seems desirous to have deeper conversations with me about art, history, religion and things like that. Here is a good summation of our dynamic:

Anyway, Dawn spent five days with us, and I loved each day. She made us some of the best food I have had in a long time. And we got to talking one’s experience of faith changes over a lifetime. It reminded me of a quote from Oliver Wendall Holmes:

"For the simplicity that lies this side of complexity, I would not give a fig, but for the simplicity that lies on the other side of complexity, I would give my life."

I applied that to faith: There is a faith on this side of deep doubt that I would not give a fig for; there is a faith on the far side of deep doubt that I would give my life for.

And this reminded me of a quote from Flannery O Conner:

"I think there is no suffering greater than what is caused by the doubts of those who want to believe. I know what torment this is, but I can only see it, in myself anyway, as the process by which faith is deepened. A faith that just accepts is a child's faith and all right for children, but eventually you have to grow religiously as every other way, though some never do.

What people don't realize is how much religion costs. They think faith is a big electric blanket, when of course it is the cross. It is much harder to believe than not to believe. If you fell you can't believe, you must at least do this: keep an open mind. Keep it open toward faith, keep wanting it, keep asking for it, and leave the rest to God. "

Steve Taylor wrote a song inspired by this quote some years ago. I really wanted to share the song with Dawn, especially since Taylor weaves in a theme from Rachmaninoff, whom Dawn loves. But I could not find any good videos of the song with lyrics. So, I made one myself.

Here it is.

• • •

Each time I read the book of Job I find deeper meanings. One idea that keeps coming to my mind is the sin of those who thought they had God all figured out. In particular I mean the friends who came to “comfort” Job. As it turns out, they were more interested in confronting Job, who ends up calling them, “miserable comforters” The main part of the book is a debate between these three “teachers” and Job about the justice of God.

The substance of their great debate could be summarized this way:

The friends argue that since God is just, Job’s afflictions must be the punishment for some hidden sin.

Job argues in response (repeatedly): Look, I don’t have any “secret sin” that deserves this kind of punishment, so God is not being just to me.

The friends then accuse him of undermining the notion of God’s justice.

Job responds by repeating what he knows: I am innocent, yet enduring incredible suffering, and this suffering seems to come from God himself. Therefore, “God is not being just with me”.

Now, of course, we readers are let into a secret. Chapters one and two describe the scene in heaven where God twice describes Job, “a blameless and upright man, who fears God and turns away from evil”. In fact, God says, “there is none like him on earth”. So we know before the dialogue begins that the three friends are in the wrong. Job’s afflictions are not punishments. Job is blameless before God.

But imagine if we did not have this information. Imagine we walked in to the story right where the dialogue starts. On the one hand, we have three wise, older men who have an exalted view of God and are eager to defend his ways. They are completely orthodox in their understanding, and their first priority is to protect God’s reputation. On the other hand, you have Job, who seems to be not only suffering, but positively afflicted by God (the suddenness and completeness of his losses cannot be mere coincidence). Job argues that he is blameless, therefore God is not being just, while the orthodox friends argue that God is just, therefore Job is not blameless. Who is right?

Whose side (honestly) would you be on?

Wait: before you answer, again try to strip your mind of what you know from chapters one and two. And you may find yourself in the position of Elihu. Elihu is a rather mysterious figure. He shows up without introduction and his name is not mentioned again after his long speech (chapters 32-37). His speech does not serve to advance the dialogue at all, and neither God nor Job nor the friends respond to it.

Here is what I think: Elihu is intended to function as a warning to the reader. His viewpoint and speech (“Job, you are wrong; I know wisdom, and you are speaking folly”) are the natural conclusion we are tempted to draw simply by listening to the speeches (without the prologue). In his speeches, he not only agrees with the orthodox friends, but is angry at them for not being able to withstand Job’s arguments.

It is right after his speech that God Himself arrives on the scene and, incredibly, joins in the argument. God does two things.

First, he reproves Job (chapters 38-41) for failing to understand what Kierkegaard would later call “the infinite qualitative distinction” between God and man. Job is wrong because He simply is not in a place to understand God’s ways, and therefore is recklessly hasty in saying that God is unjust to him.

The second thing God does, then, is surprising. He approves Job, especially in contrast to his orthodox friends. Twice he tells the orthodox, “you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has”. In fact, God regards this not only as a mistake, but a sin, for which they need to offer a sacrifice and ask Job(!) to pray for them. God seems less upset by Job yelling at Him than the friends yelling at Job on God’s behalf.

This, then, is the surprising conclusion to the dialogue: God and Elihu are contrasting figures, even though Elihu represents the orthodox views about God. Elihu listens and takes the side of the orthodox friends and rebukes Job, while God listens and ultimately takes the side of Job and rebukes the orthodox.

And this is the heart of the book of Job: God’s ways are, in the final analysis, not able to be fully understood by man, simply because we are never in the position that He is in. Even the most godly (like Job) and the most orthodox and cerebral (like Job’s friends) can never understand God in the same way they understand the things of this world. In fact, God describes the words of the orthodox friends, who felt they were speaking godly wisdom, as “folly”.

Now, here is where the rubber hits the road. I have always taken pride in holding correct, orthodox views of God and theology. And I still feel that the biblical viewpoint is the best way to understand the world in which we find ourselves in. Yet, books like Job warn me to be very humble about my understanding. In the end, I have little doubt that my orthodox, evangelical theology will be like the fig leaves Adam and Eve used to clothe themselves: wholly inadequate, and replaced by something else by God’s grace.

What does this mean practically? It means that we should be careful that our study of theology should never outstrip our understanding of “the infinite qualitative distinction”. It means our eagerness to defend God should never come at the expense of loving people. It means we must learn to live out our worldview fully, all the while realizing that when we see Him all of our previous “knowledge” will be fig leaves of foolishness.