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Welcome to News From the Frontlines! Over the past several years at Iotas in Eternity, I have been so heavily focused on content creation that I’ve sorely neglected content curation. As the saying goes, “No man is an island.” In like fashion, no one reads, writes, or learns in a bubble. Much of what I write here at Iotas in Eternity flows directly downstream from the wisdom and insight I glean from the many authors, thinkers, and fellow believers that I am so indebted to on a daily basis—a few of whom you will rub shoulders with today if you interact with any of the articles or videos I have linked to. The follower of Christ is engaged in a ruthless, day-to-day battle with the world, the flesh, and the devil. We do, however, fight as those with hope—for our Lord has emerged victorious from the grave, having seized power from the jaws of the serpent, swallowing up death itself in the process with glorious life. Nonetheless, as Christians we are at times grieved and weighed down by the many sorrows and sighs of life in this fallen world, in need of frequent encouragement and refreshment from the wellspring of God’s word. Lord willing, my smithy of words here at Iotas in Eternity has been a blessing to you, serving as words fitly spoken on your journey towards home. I am, however, just one man. This new segment on the blog, News From the Frontlines, aims to do just that—to bring you news and encouragement from around the spiritual battlefield—from the very frontlines—where faithful brothers and sisters of Christ are busy about drawing the Sword of the Spirit in warfare against all manner of darkness, sin, evil, and decay. My aim will be to share seven links each week on Saturday morning, be it blog posts, articles, essays, videos—or really anything I find to be good, true, and beautiful. Seven is a well-rounded, Biblical number and, conveniently, works out to one recommendation for every day of the week. While some of this week’s links are from the past few days or weeks, most of them are from some point in the last year or so—think of it as my way of honoring the believers who have shaped me as we enter into what I hope will be the first of many News From the Frontlines. Enjoy! News From the Frontlines: Recommended Reading, Listening, & Watching She Died Too Soon Tim Challies has been a tremendous encouragement—and inspiration—to me over the years, both as a believer and as a writer. And so, it’s only fitting to honor him with the foremost article in the first-ever News From the Frontlines. Amid the hundreds of his articles I’ve read at this point, this one has always remained close to my heart—“Of all the mysteries in this universe, few are more perplexing than the mystery of God’s sovereignty over life and death. Why do some live to so advanced an age while others barely live at all? Why are some who display such promise taken before they can deploy their gifts? Why does God call some early to heaven who surely could have done so much good on earth? Why God, we ask? Why?” You Become What You Read As a reader and writer, this is a particularly encouraging article—and indeed, one of my favorites from the past year. “First, we must realize that though we often read by ourselves, we never read alone. When you open up a book, you sit down with an author. The book is fundamentally a technology of conversation; it fosters the meeting of minds across time and space. The written word captures something of the author and, when read, conjures him.” Fear Not Fatherhood: The Glory and Strength of Young Dads As a young dad myself, I deeply appreciated Andrew Ballard’s article about fatherhood over at Desiring God. “Young kids during my own youth are God’s greatest gift to me. If he has given me the greater gift of children, I can trust him for the lesser necessities. But even more than this: Fellow young dads, if you are discouraged at the daunting task of building your own house, rejoice that God has built his. If he took care of his Messiah, he can take care of his Millennials. So, pursue marriage, count children as blessings, work heartily in all your efforts, and eat the bread of grateful toil.” Stealing Time: The One Theft You Cannot Restitute This article by Kendall Lankford remains one of the most sobering and convicting I’ve read all year—“There is a reason Psalm 31:15 is so arresting: ‘My times are in your hand.’ Not my future is in your hand, though it is. Not my fate is in your hand, though it is. My times. The days themselves. The mornings and the evenings, the Tuesdays and the Decembers, the decades shaped like question marks. David isn’t only expressing comfort, though there is enormous comfort here. He is expressing ownership. These days are not mine to begin with. They have been pressed into my hands like a merchant pressing gold coins into the palm of a steward and saying: Manage this well. I’ll be back.” The Quiet Theology of “All Creatures Great and Small” Elaina and I have thoroughly enjoyed the PBS show All Creatures Great and Small over the past year. Thus, it was a pleasant surprise to see such a warm, thoughtful reflection on the show over at Gospel Centered Discipleship: “All Creatures Great and Small invites us to slow down and notice that life rarely becomes meaningful through extraordinary moments. More often, it unfolds through ordinary faithfulness—receiving the place we’ve been given and loving well within it. Tomorrow. And then the day after that. Not as proof of our goodness but as grace received.” June is a Month for Marriage June is indeed the month for marriage—in fact, my little sister’s wedding is today! As I was throwing together this new segment, I asked my wife if she had any articles to suggest. She and I exchange articles, podcast episodes, and sermons regularly, and I am thankful that she decided to pass this post my way—Lord willing it is a blessing to you as well. Leah writes, “Over the years, we’ve piled up so many scraps, leftovers of attempts to build in our own wisdom, at the cross of Christ with a sheepish, ‘We tried to do it ourselves. Could You please fix this?’ And like a loving elder Brother, He quietly sets to work repairing the inept handiwork of His foolish younger siblings, returning it to us with a kind, ‘Try not to break it again.’ Somehow, we keep finding more things to break and be repaired. But He is patient. And receiving the better-made craftsmanship of our Lord is teaching us to rejoice in the beauty of a humble, given life. It is better than what we could have manufactured, ourselves.” You Should WANT Christianity To Be True In this video from his YouTube channel, Truth Unites, Gavin Ortlund explains not so much why Christianity is true—which it is—but why you should want it to be true. Photo by Ashni, Unsplash Would you enjoy reading more of my work? Subscribe by simply scrolling to the bottom of this page and entering your email. All future articles, essays, and short stories will be sent directly to the address provided. However, be sure to check your ‘Junk’ or ‘Spam’ folder and mark me as a trusted contact should my posts fail to appear in your email. If you’ve been encouraged by my writing, I’d be humbled if you shared my work with others who may also benefit from reading. And, if you’re looking for a way to support my work financially, you can do so via my Patreon Page.

In a fallen world, hospitals are perplexing places. They can represent the very best of times, such as the birth of a child, and the very worst of times, as with the death of a loved one. Indeed, life and death are so often held in the palms of a simple hospital bed. Begun originally by Christians in whichever culture the people of God found themselves—cultures that unashamedly abandoned the weak and sick to the whims of nature—hospitals were instituted with the express purpose of preserving life. Those caretakers within hospital walls were to perform lifesaving operations, treat deadly illnesses, and, of course, deliver children. As societal institutions, hospitals themselves flow directly downstream from the principles championed in the “Hippocratic Oath”—the “Do no harm” principle adopted by medical doctors and other healthcare professionals. However, as already aforementioned, we yet still live in a fallen world, and sometimes death—seemingly—prevails, even against our best wishes and most earnest prayers. It’s funny how when something in particular is on your mind, you begin to see that particular something everywhere. Are you looking to buy a certain make of car? Well, guess which type of vehicle you’ll begin seeing all over town—almost as though advertisers were targeting you. Similarly, in the weeks leading up to the birth of our son, it seemed as though any movie or television show my wife and I watched also featured a pregnant woman or a storyline about the birth of a child. The most notable of these examples being Lost, a television show about survivors of a plane crash on a mysterious island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. Speaking of hospitals, do you know the last place you might find one? A desert island. As you can imagine, this presents something of a problem, particularly if you only just barely walked away alive from a plane crash. And even among those who survived the crash with only minor scrapes and bruises, medical care is still necessary from time to time. Indeed, as with everyday societal life, people get sick, they suffer injury, or, like twenty-something Claire, they are a young woman nearing the end of their third trimester. One of the main characters in the show, Jack Shephard, is a spinal surgeon who quickly becomes the established leader among the castaways, lending his skills as a doctor to the many life-and-death situations that arise on the island. He is, however, just one man; a man with sparse and rudimentary equipment at best, only a handful of medications—and no hospital to speak of. All these factors—the harsh conditions of the island, the fragility of life, and Jack’s limitations as both a doctor and leader—come to a tragic head near the end of Lost’s first season. In what is undoubtedly one of the show’s finest episodes, life and death hang in the balance as Jack attempts to perform haphazard surgery on a young man, Boone, who has suffered a terrible fall. At the same time, pregnant Claire goes into sudden, unexpected labor only a few hundred feet away in a nearby patch of jungle. Jack, the only doctor on the deserted island, can’t be in both places at once. The episode is named fittingly: “Do No Harm.” Perspectives shift back and forth between characters as the dual drama unfolds. The primary focus is on Jack as he exhausts every iota of his medical knowledge in an effort to save the young man, going so far as to personally give a blood transfusion to Boone while simultaneously performing surgery on him. Meanwhile, Kate, another castaway, aids Claire with the birth of her baby not far from where Boone is slowly dying. Despite his best efforts and medical acumen, Boone’s life slips from Jack’s hands even as Kate helps bring a new life into the world. One life begins almost as swiftly as another draws to a close—“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2). Haunting the scenes as they flit between life and death is Michael Giacchino’s equally haunting score, concluding the episode with a song most appropriately titled “Life and Death.” In a fallen world, hospitals are perplexing places. I had this thought a few weeks ago as my wife and I sat in our room at Cambridge Memorial Hospital. It was, truly, the very best of times—our son, our firstborn, had just entered into the world. It was in that moment, and in the days which followed, that I tasted over and over again a joy I had never before thought possible. And yet, now and again, even as I sat holding my boy in my arms for the first time, I felt a tug on my heart reminding me of the worst of times—the passing of my father. A passing that, in God’s providence, had taken place in the very same building only a few years before. Hospitals are indeed perplexing places. For where else in all the world can a child be born only a few hundred feet from where their own father was born? From where their grandfather passed away? Where else can one life begin almost as swiftly as another draws to a close? How can one building—a single hospital—hold within it so many conflicting memories? I vividly remember the moon-stained clouds and billowing smokestacks that greeted my family on our way out from Cambridge Memorial’s cancer wing the night my father went home to be with the Lord. It was as though there were a shadowy veneer drawn tightly across the world to match the sorrow we found ourselves wading through as a family. And I will never forget how, eight years later and a few hundred feet over in the Labour and Delivery ward, golden light seeped through the windows on a warm May evening when my son was born. Light and life and warmth and a gentle breeze rubbing shoulders with the first of Spring’s flowers welcomed my son as he awoke softly in this fallen, staggeringly beautiful world. Life and death; sunlight and shadow—sometimes, it would seem, the world around imitates the world within. With a post like this, it’s typically around this point that I bring together the various threads I’ve begun to weave, drawing into tighter focus some larger thoughts and reflections on life, death, and the sovereign purposes of God in both. Only, I’m not going to do that this time. Not how I usually do, that is. The death of a father, the birth of a son—many things can be said, perhaps many of which have been said already, whether here or elsewhere. Sometimes, however, it is best to speak little—“a time to keep silence, and a time to speak” (Ecclesiastes 3:7). Sometimes, it is best to let grief breathe; best to let the weight and sorrow of life in a fallen world sit heavily for a moment rather than rush to explain it all away with reflections and lessons which, however precise, are of little help in the heart of the moment. Because we serve a sovereign God, there is no such thing as suffering without purpose—it’s true. Indeed, there’s no such thing as anything without some ultimate purpose: “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). God is good, and He works all things out for His good pleasure, even that which is bad, detestable, and utterly inconceivable. As Joseph said to his brothers after a lifetime of riding the bull that is God’s providence, “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today” (Genesis 50:20). However, just because there’s always a purpose—some ultimate why—behind our suffering, sorrow, and grief, that doesn’t mean we are always privy to the explanation. And sometimes even when God does reveal to us the why of our suffering, or some part of it, that doesn’t necessarily absolve the pain of it—nor, in my opinion, should it. There is a certain Christlikeness to embracing sorrow—“He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). As He stood outside the tomb of Lazarus in John 11, Christ knew what He was about to do. He knew that everything was going to be alright, that the dead man would come to life again, both in the coming moments and in the everlasting hereafter. And yet, John tells us that the Lord “was deeply moved in his spirit and greatly troubled” (John 11:33) because of the death of His friend and the heartache that such a thief introduced into the lives of those around Him. To the delight of Sunday School children everywhere who are tasked with memorizing Scripture, we are told in the Bible’s shortest verse that “Jesus wept” (John 11:35) outside the tomb of Lazarus. Jesus Himself—the One who at the end of all things stoops to wipe away forever the tears from the eyes of His children—wept with no one to dry His face. Knowing that all will be well in the end is not a reason to entirely forgo weeping in the moment. We must weep as those who have hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). No one possesses more joy than the Lord Jesus Christ; and yet no one in all of human history has drunk as deeply from the bitter wells of sorrow as He has. I know, down to the very bedrock of my being, that all will be well in the end because of the Lord Jesus Christ and His Gospel—abundantly, infinitely well. I also know that things must be made well because a great many things are currently so terribly unwell. If everything were already alright, there would be nothing for Christ to set right upon His return. I can, and will, grieve over what sin and death have taken from me because of how contrary and intrusive these twin evils are to the heart of God and the joy of His people. I can grieve over the fallenness of this world and all that stems from it because the Lord Himself grieves over it—with hope. With hope of that future, glorious deliverance which He shall surely bring to pass. Because of the Gospel, I can joyfully and confidently mourn the unhappy reality that my Tata wasn’t here to see me become a Tata myself. I don’t know why God has allowed this to be so, but He did. In the best of times, I can see dimly lit shadows and hear far-off echoes of what He is doing, but I find that, at most, I am only skirting the edges of His wisdom. And so, in the meantime, I will grieve as one who has hope. I will grieve with a hope that looks ahead to a New Heavens and a New Earth where all these former things—death, illness, hospitals—have passed away. My faith is set on that happy, immovable future where death has been swallowed up by life, where hospitals have been torn down and replaced with mansions—where sons and fathers and grandfathers leave behind such dusty titles and, as brothers in Christ, embrace one another before the throne of their Heavenly Father. Photo by Ricardo Resende, Unsplash Author’s Note: If you enjoyed this post, I would recommend reading this one as well: “For Everything There is a Seasoning.” Would you enjoy reading more of my work? Subscribe by simply scrolling to the bottom of this page and entering your email. All future articles, essays, and short stories will be sent directly to the address provided. However, be sure to check your ‘Junk’ or ‘Spam’ folder and mark me as a trusted contact should my posts fail to appear in your email. If you’ve been encouraged by my writing, I’d be humbled if you shared my work with others who may also benefit from reading. And, if you’re looking for a way to support my work financially, you can do so via my Patreon Page.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5). The Romantic period was a time of unprecedented political, cultural, and artistic upheaval. It was also a time of staggering contradictions, wherein technological advancements promised prosperity to many, all the while children and slaves were crushed under the boot of ‘Enlightenment’ ideals. Just as the Industrial Revolution was ushering Europe into a new age, so too were the Romantic writers, such as Wordsworth and Blake, striving towards a future that more closely reflected Britain’s supposed profession of Christianity. Chief among the writers and activists of the day was John Newton, slave-trader turned Christian abolitionist and esteemed hymn-writer of “Amazing Grace.” By examining Newton’s A Slave Trader’s Journal, “Amazing Grace,” and other abolitionist texts, it will become clear that Britain’s orientation as a slave trading nation was not only incompatible with her Christian profession, but contradictory of the Bible itself. Indeed, Newton’s slow and incremental conversion to Christianity, and his subsequent rejection of the slave trade, is reflective of Britain’s own change of heart towards slavery in the midst of her self-professed Christianity. Only by first examining the roots of racism and colonialism in Britain will Newton’s own conversion to true Christianity shine all the brighter and frame the trajectory for Britain’s own slow, albeit mighty, conversion. In order to understand Newton’s pro-slavery sentiments as a young man, one must first grasp Britain’s own colored past with racism, colonialism, and imperialism. As Britain was coming out of the Middle-Ages, she became imbued with a profound sense of cultural and religious superiority, largely predicated on her self-professed identity as a Christian nation (Callan 1). As a ‘Christian’ nation, Britain felt justified in all her imperialist pursuits, believing herself to be the righteous arm of God extending across the nations (15). Britain’s sense of superiority becomes blatantly clear in her invasion of Ireland; a nation that, seemingly, was indistinguishable from the white, Christian nation of Britain herself. Since there were no obvious racial justifications for the British invasion of Ireland, the Crown conjured up religious objections to Ireland’s practice of Christianity to justify their imperialist aims (2). According to Britain, Ireland had fallen from the faith and this alone justified invasion. By painting the Irish as “Christians in name, pagans in fact,” the British set the stage for what would become the impetus for all future colonial endeavours in Africa, Asia, Australia, and the Americas (3, 13). In Britain’s estimation, the Irish were “a savage and sacrilegious race, hostile to God and humanity” (3). This disposition towards other nations, one of religious and ethnic superiority, fueled British colonial efforts around the world, climaxing in the transatlantic slave trade. This undercurrent of racism that, mingled with a form of Christianity, spurred the British invasion of Ireland in the 12th century was thriving in the lifetime of Newton. As a young man, Newton became well acquainted with both sailing and the slave trade, insomuch that by the time he was only twenty-eight he was commanding his own slave trading vessel (Black et al. 731). By this time in Britain, however, the ‘type’ of racism that predicated her invasion of Ireland had morphed into a version of ‘Christian colourism,’ wherein light skin came to represent goodness and purity, contrasted with dark skin that symbolizes sin, darkness, and death (Callan 5-6). In this way, religion became weaponized against those who did not fit the ethnocentric mold of white, Christian Europeans—weaponized against the black population in particular. According to Callan, “racism partnered with religion,” creating an us-and-them mentality between Britain and the rest of the world which fueled both societal and colonial expansion, resulting in widespread oppression (10). When racism becomes partnered with religion in this way, it results in a type of colonialism that sees itself as both the savior and scourge of the nation or peoples being invaded, as was the case during the slave trade. Understandably, this twisted view results in people, particularly British slave traders of the time, concluding that the individuals they are enslaving are less than human. In Newton’s A Slave Trader’s Journal, this disposition becomes devastatingly clear. Newton writes about the slaves on his ship as though they were mere cargo or beasts, often lending greater focus to their physical abilities or price than their identities as men and women made in the image of the God he claims to believe in (Newton 731). Indeed, when burying a slave that died, Newton cannot be bothered to refer to him by name, simply calling him “a man slave (No. 84)” (731). During their voyage, Newton expresses anxiety over the hygiene of the slaves not because he cares for their well-being, but because he is “much afraid of another ravage from the flux” which has already claimed several victims (731). As one might expect, these victims are not mourned as humans, but as lost profits and mere numbers. As Newton writes nonchalantly in his journal, “Buried a girl slave (No. 92)” (731). Indeed, Newton’s cavalier attitude towards the abuse of slaves, particularly female slaves, is extremely distressing. Newton recalls an episode where “William Cooney seduced a woman slave down into the room and lay with her brutelike in the view of the whole quarter deck” (731). Newton is distressed at this event not because of the slave woman’s inherent value as a human being, but because of the economic loss he may suffer if “anything happens to the woman… for she was big with child. Her number is 83…” (731). Once again, Newton cannot be troubled to remember this slave woman’s name, worrying only about his personal gain and reputation in the midst of such vile sin. What is more distressing is the fact that on “some ships, the common sailors are allowed to have intercourse” with such slaves as they choose, thus displaying utter contempt at the humanity of these women (Falconbridge 734). In this way, the state of Newton’s own soul, and that of other proponents of slavery, reflected his contempt not only for his fellow man, but for Christianity as well. However, just as the tides began to turn in Britain away from slavery, so too were things changing in Newton’s own heart. Before setting out on his fourth slave trading voyage, Newton fell ill and was prevented from taking to the sea again (Bilbro 571). Providence would have it that, in the midst of his illness of both body and soul, Newton heard the revered George Whitefield preach—thus commencing his own conversion to true Christianity (571). In fact, Newton’s conversion, and his subsequent change of heart, paved the way for the road that Britain herself would soon follow. Newton’s conversion, like Britain’s, was slow and arduous. Though Newton left the slave trade in 1754 after hearing Whitefield preach, it would be years until he fully grasped the depths of his own depravity and the evils of the slave trade (571). In 1754, Newton regarded the slave trade merely as “disagreeable,” only to amend this statement in later years when he admitted that it was “unlawful and wrong,” ultimately being convicted that the slave trade was “so iniquitous, so cruel, so oppressive, so destructive” (572). Like many other believers in Britain during the height of the slave trade, Newton came to his senses gradually. Indeed, many British Christians during this period were slow to embrace slavery reform despite the base hypocrisy that such an ideology had in light of holy Scripture (566, 571). It was around this time that Newton penned “Amazing Grace,” a hymn that stands not only as one of the greatest ever written, but as a testament to Newton’s own conversion—one of darkness to light, from blindness to sight. In it, Newton captures his own blindness—and that of Britain’s—quite brilliantly: “Amazing grace! how sweet the sound, / That saved a wretch like me! / I once was lost, but now am found / Was blind, but now I see” (575). Indeed, the great darkness that had hung for so long over Britain was slowly beginning to wane, and the true light was now shining forth. Just as God commanded in the beginning that there should be light in the midst of outer darkness, to bind and cast out that very darkness, so too did the light of knowledge and truth begin to dawn on Britain: “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:6). Newton’s conversion had rung so mightily throughout his own soul that he became utterly convinced that no Christian, indeed no man of any creed, could remain ignorant of the slave trade’s stench and evil. Like anyone who goes from darkness into light, from blindness to sight, Newton began to have grave misgivings about his past life as a slave trader. Of his own ignorance, and that of his fellow slave traders, Newton admitted “that neither he nor any of his friends had had any notion” that slavery was indeed a great evil (Black et al. 730). The conviction that the slave trade was evil and antithetical to Christianity may have begun with men like Whitefield and Newton, but soon this sentiment was general over all of Britain. Truly, “Then he touched their eyes... And their eyes were opened” (Matthew 9:29-30). William Wilberforce, a member of Parliament and militant opponent of slavery, vocalized over all of Britain that the slave trade was not only a great evil, but a plague to her citizens and the people of Africa as well (Wilberforce 735). Wilberforce’s influence on the British public cannot be dismissed, nor can Newton’s influence on his life, as he was instrumental in Wilberforce’s conversion to Christianity (Bilbro 560). In this way, Newton’s own conversion led to the conversion of Britain herself, wherein his own experience soon became that of Britain’s. The Romantic period in Britain was not only a time of significant cultural and artistic change, but it was an era that ushered in lasting change. Indeed, the work and works of the Romantic writers, men like Newton himself, changed their society in such magnificent ways that the effects of their labor are still being echoed in our own time. The lasting impact of the Romantic writers during the abolition movement sought to remind Britain of her commitment to God and the truth, and in this way brought about her conversion to true Christianity as she shrugged off the vices of racism and slavery. The great light that dawned in Newton’s soul soon spread across the entirety of Britain—“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5). This same light continues to shine today as we too wrestle with injustice, cruelty, and sin; as we strive to secure a voice for the voiceless of our own age, just as Newton had done. However, though the battle rages on, we must have hope. Hope that, like Newton once wrote, “Tis’ grace has brought [us] safe thus far, / And grace will lead [us] home.” References: Bilbro, Jeffrey. “Who Are Lost and How They're Found: Redemption and Theodicy in Wheatley, Newton, and Cowper.” Early American Literature, vol. 47 no. 3, 2012, p. 561-589. Project MUSE, https://doi.org/10.1353/eal.2012.0054. Callan, Maeve. “A Savage and Sacrilegious Race, Hostile to God and Humanity.” The Journal of Medieval Religious Cultures, vol. 49, no. 1, 2023, pp. 1-23. Black, Joseph, et al., editors. The Broadview Anthology of British Literature: The Age of Romanticism. Third Edition, Broadview Press, 2022. Falconbridge, Alexander. “Account of the Slave Trade on the Coast of Africa.” The Broadview Anthology of British Literature: The Age of Romanticism. Edited by Black et al., Third Edition, Broadview Press, 2022, 733-734. Newton, John. “A Slave Trader’s Journal”. The Broadview Anthology of British Literature: The Age of Romanticism. Edited by Black et al., Third Edition, Broadview Press, 2022, 731-732. Wilberforce, William. “Speech to the House of Commons.” The Broadview Anthology of British Literature: The Age of Romanticism. Edited by Black et al., Third Edition, Broadview Press, 2022, 735-736. Would you enjoy reading more of my work? Subscribe by simply scrolling to the bottom of this page and entering your email. All future articles, essays, and short stories will be sent directly to the address provided. However, be sure to check your ‘Junk’ or ‘Spam’ folder and mark me as a trusted contact should my posts fail to appear in your email. If you’ve been encouraged by my writing, I’d be humbled if you shared my work with others who may also benefit from reading. And, if you’re looking for a way to support my work financially, you can do so via my Patreon Page.

At Iotas in Eternity, it has not been, nor will it ever be, my desire to chase trends and fleeting headlines. Does this mean that my work may be viewed less than it otherwise would be? Perhaps—but so be it. Every iota—each word, jot, and tittle—will be accounted for and weighed out in the end. Words here or there on their own, though minute and easily passed over, will become a mighty company should enough of their members come alongside them. For though a grain of sand be small, among the smallest of all things, what is a great swath of beach but the consistent, faithful accumulation of tiny grains of sand over time? For good or for ill, great things often stem from small beginnings. For my part, I would rather be faithful over little, than unfaithful in much. Since beginning to write regularly a few years ago, my chief desire has always been to write those things that are true. Things that are not simply true for today, mind you, but things that were true 100 years ago, 1,000 years ago, and which will continue to be true 10,000 years from now and forever thereafter. When I stand before the Lord Jesus Christ at the end of my life—as we all will—I want to stand tall and joyful knowing I had done all within my ability to serve Him and His body faithfully with the truth and with those things He kindly entrusted to me, whether it was little or much. The Lord has given me everyday words with which to work my craft. It is my utmost desire to stretch and strain those everyday words for eternal purposes—for His glory and for your good. Thus, Iotas in Eternity. And, should no one save the Lord Himself read my work—well, He is audience enough for me! (For more about the name of my blog, Iotas in Eternity, and why I write, click here). As I consider the time given to me, whether it be little or much, it is more than ever my desire to write more and to write better. This pursuit, in addition to my work as a teacher and caring for my small—though growing!—family, lends itself well to help from others. That’s where you come in. Would you consider supporting my work at Iotas in Eternity? Should you feel led to bless my work as a writer with a monthly gift—of any amount—I warmly welcome you to visit my Patreon page for Iotas in Eternity (simply click here). By becoming a paid member (or Patron), your monthly gift of any amount will enable me to continue doing on this blog what I’ve always worked to do: bless my readers with everyday words for eternal purposes. Keep in mind that without any monetary support, I will continue writing unto the Lord and for His church. He is worthy, and there is scarcely a thing I enjoy more than having the honour of serving others through the written word. Indeed, nothing short of death will keep me from writing; have no fear, I’m not going anywhere! Nonetheless, your support would be a tremendous encouragement, one that I will strive to steward faithfully as I continue to provide for my family and cover miscellaneous blogging costs (paying for a domain, email marketing, expanding Iotas in Eternity, and the like). Should you choose to support my writing at this time, I can’t promise you much more than that which I’ve already given—my heart, my words, and as many jewels as I can dig up from God’s word. Down the road I would love to bless my supporters and subscribers with special offers or premium benefits, all the while keeping my work free for others. I hope these perks will come with time, though not quite yet. What I can promise each of you, however, is that I will continue to polish nuggets of gold from those things I read, see, and experience until they shine brightly for your reading pleasure. And above all, to encourage you best as I am able with unfading truth from the word of our Lord. If you’ve been blessed and encouraged by my writing through the years, I humbly invite you to walk alongside me in this exciting adventure. Though, of course, there is no pressure to do so—not now, not ever. And as always, the very best support you can offer me remains the very thing many of you have already done: reading my words, encouraging me with warm words of your own, and sharing my writing with others. My friends, if not for this encouragement, I may have ceased writing long ago—you know who you are, and you have my heart and abundant thanks. Thank you, my friends, for this great kindness you’ve done me by welcoming my words into your minds, homes, and hearts. I look forward with immense joy to serving you and our Lord in the years to come with everyday words for eternal purposes. Would you enjoy reading more of my work? Subscribe by simply scrolling to the bottom of this page and entering your email. All future articles, essays, and short stories will be sent directly to the address provided. However, be sure to check your ‘Junk’ or ‘Spam’ folder and mark me as a trusted contact should my posts fail to appear in your email. If you’ve been encouraged by my writing, I’d be humbled if you shared my work with others who may also benefit from reading. And, if you’re looking for a way to support my work financially, you can do so via my Patreon Page.

Behold, a son! In my most recent post, Worship While You Wait, I wrote about the importance of doing just that: waiting well upon the Lord, season by season, and worshipping Him with confidence as you do so. In His providence—and perhaps, good humor—the Lord saw it fit that the time of our waiting for the arrival of our son should come to an end the very next day, thrusting Elaina and me into a new season—one that shall never truly come to an end, though it will take on different shades and hues as the years pass by. I’ve often remarked that I feel my wife and I have always been married. It didn’t take long for us to settle into the new rhythms demanded by marriage; so much so that, after only a few months, I felt hard-pressed to remember what single life was like. We were young, no more than loosely stuck in our ways, rather mature, and deeply in love—and above all, the Lord was for our marriage. This made the transition from engagement into living life together as one rather easy and altogether joyful for the two of us. I fully realize this may not be everyone’s experience, but I praise God that it has been and continues to be ours. After seeing and holding my son for the first time, a similar change came over me. Our son was born only a few days ago, and already I cannot possibly imagine our little family without him. I am a father, and cannot think of my life outside of this new, joyful reality—“The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). I’ve been meaning to write something about my son’s arrival for a few days now, but each time I set my mind to the work, the words seem to come up short, if any words come at all. Words, for all their charms and depths, are of little use here. If you are a parent, surely you know what I mean. Or, rather, I now know what you have meant all these years. Throughout my life, I’ve been hearing from parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, and all manner of friends and distant relations that something beautiful—something altogether expected and yet, somehow, unexpected—envelopes you as a parent the first time you hold and behold your child—behold, a son! I can’t quite put it into words, but suffice it to say, I get it now. We are so very in love with him, more than we ever thought possible. Parents—you were right! The past few days have been some of the most tiring and yet most joyful of our lives. Indeed, there is nowhere else I’d rather be and nothing else I’d rather be doing. To faithfully steward this role of husband and father, given to me by the Giver of all good things, is the great privilege of my life. Our little man keeps us busy with his shenanigans, at times summoning his inner King Darius—“no diversions were brought to him, and sleep fled from him” (Daniel 6:18). But through it all, we rejoice in the incalculable gift that he is to us and many others, delighting already in the little bits of his personality that shine through all his ways. In the days and years to come, please pray for us as we seek to raise our son “in the discipline and instruction of the Lord” (Ephesians 6:4). And above all, we give all glory to our great God and Father, and to our Lord Jesus Christ, who has been so, so very near and so very good to us. “Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them!” —Psalm 127:3-5 Would you enjoy reading more of my work? Subscribe by simply scrolling to the bottom of this page and entering your email. All future articles, essays, and short stories will be sent directly to the address provided. However, be sure to check your ‘Junk’ or ‘Spam’ folder and mark me as a trusted contact should my posts fail to appear in your email. If you’ve been encouraged by my writing, I’d be humbled if you shared my work with others who may also benefit from reading. And, if you’re looking for a way to support my work financially, you can do so via my Patreon Page.

Benjamin Franklin, one of America’s Founding Fathers, was also the father of many popular idioms. Writing under the pseudonym Poor Richard as something of a secular Solomon, Franklin gave away many pearls of modern wisdom. These pearls include: “Well done is better than well said,” “Haste makes waste,” and most famously, “In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” True enough. For a time, however, thoughts of death—though not death itself—can be avoided and even taxes evaded (despite garnering devastating consequences in either case). Waiting, by contrast, can scarcely be dodged and is nigh universal to the human experience. Indeed, to wait is to be human. It is the great equalizer; common to kings, beggars, geniuses, and simpletons alike. As my wife and I anticipate the birth of our son in only a few days, my thoughts have often turned to the Lord’s manifold purposes in seasons of waiting—waiting for an answer to prayer, for an open door, for healing, for relief, for employment, for retirement, for a child to come, for a child to return, and all else between. So much of life is waiting; surely the Lord would have us do it well. He does nothing without purpose. Thus, we should endeavor to wait—even wait!—with purpose ourselves, knowing that this is a gift from His hands. Indeed, as with all things,—“So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31)—the Lord expects us to worship while we wait. To wait is to be human. To wait well, however, is to be Christian. Throughout the Bible, God’s people were no strangers to the wilderness of waiting. For if you remember, the nation of Israel wandered about this particular wilderness for a generation. In His wisdom, God often calls His people to wait with no off-ramp in sight. Abraham was well-advanced in years before he received the child of God’s promise from many years before; for decades, Moses tended to livestock in the wilderness before God suddenly tasked him with tending to the people of Israel through another wilderness for several decades more; David faithfully and courageously led sheep as a youth before God, through many trials and snares, established him as the leader of a nation; even Jesus Himself, the Captain of our salvation, worked as a carpenter in near obscurity for thirty years before He began His earthly ministry. For each of these men, prolonged waiting wasn’t merely a crucible to be endured, but a season to be embraced as God prepared them for those seasons to come. Waiting and faith so often go hand in hand. Alongside faith, waiting is a prominent theme in Hebrews 11. For what does it mean to have faith but to wait well upon the Lord and worship Him while doing so? As the inspired writer puts it, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). By faith, though Abraham could not see far off, “No unbelief made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God” (Romans 4:20). Waiting, like faith, is not passive—but active. Though he was in a season of strenuous waiting, Abraham’s faith in the Lord grew strong in direct proportion to his worship of the Lord—“he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God.” Like Abraham, we must be “fully convinced that God [is] able to do what he [promised]” (Romans 4:21). By faith, the people of God place their hope on the bedrock of His unchanging, perfect character. Circumstances and fortunes change, but we worship, even in our waiting, the living God who does not change—“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:17). Indeed, we can wait unto the glory of God because “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8). Downstream of our faith is so often some form of waiting. Not idleness, but waiting; worship-filled waiting that seeks to be faithful in the present, all the while looking ahead with unshakeable certainty to the promises of God for the future. By faith, though the Old Testament saints waited all their lives for the promise of God, “These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were seeking a homeland... But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one” (Hebrews 11:13-16). We so often think of waiting as that dreadful time in between seasons when, in fact, waiting is a God-ordained season unto itself. Waiting is not so much that perilous gap between seasons solely to be endured, as much as it is a vital time in its own right meant to equip us for that which is to come, “so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 1:7). Much like trials and suffering, God’s purposes in our prolonged waiting, though perhaps mysterious, are by no means aimless. And so, rather than strain with all our might for a peek beyond the next horizon, and in so doing be found idle where we are, let us wait well. “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you” (Matthew 7:7), and in the midst of your asking, seeking, and knocking, worship while you wait. The Lord Jesus Christ is not aloof in our waiting. As the Alpha and the Omega, He is the Beginning and the End and all things that lie in between. Photo by John Tyson, Unsplash Would you enjoy reading more of my work? Subscribe by simply scrolling to the bottom of this page and entering your email. All future articles, essays, and short stories will be sent directly to the address provided. However, be sure to check your ‘Junk’ or ‘Spam’ folder and mark me as a trusted contact should my posts fail to appear in your email. If you’ve been encouraged by my writing, I’d be humbled if you shared my work with others who may also benefit from reading. And, if you’re looking for a way to support my work financially, you can do so via my Patreon Page.

What does it mean to be a Christian? Among other things, a Christian is quite simply a follower of Jesus Christ—one who submits to Him as Lord and Savior, who joyfully puts themselves under the yoke of obedience to Him and His word. Just as those who were subjects of Herod in the first century were called “Herodians,” those belonging to Christ were labeled as “Christians.” In Acts 11:26, we read how “in Antioch the disciples were first called Christians.” Whether the moniker of “Christian” began as a convenient label from outsiders or as a derogatory term—“mini-Christs”—meant to mock believers, one thing is certain: the name stuck. To be a Christian is to be a disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ. This involves the recognition on your part that He is Lord and that you are not; that He is Savior and that you are woefully unable to save yourself from the wrath of God. Flowing from these twin recognitions is repentance; you turn from your sinful ways to Him, casting from yourself the very notion that you are able to be righteous before God on your own, trusting rather in the finished work of Jesus Christ on your behalf. When we place our faith in the work of Christ—His sinless, obedient life before the Father, His atoning and substitutionary death on the cross for sins, and His glorious, bodily resurrection as vindication of God’s satisfaction in His Son’s sacrifice for sinners—we become justified before the sight of God. That is, we become righteous even as Christ Himself is righteous—“For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:21). On the cross, Jesus bore our sins; when we respond to the Gospel in repentance and faith, Christ’s righteousness is put on us even as our sins—past, present, and future—were put on Him. We are made right with God by His grace through the gift of faith; this is not of ourselves, lest we should find any reason for boasting. It is by faith, as the Spirit works in our hearts, that we enter into union with the Lord. As one theologian put it, “Faith is the hand of the soul by which we receive Christ and become one with Him.” To be a Christian is to be one with Christ; to be united to Him through faith. Once the Christian is justified by the work of Christ, then begins the work of their being made like Christ. This is called sanctification, the process by which we as believers are made holy even as Christ is holy. This is the very end unto which we were all saved: “For those whom [God] foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers” (Romans 8:29). All of the Christian life—that which resides within the very nucleus of what it means to be a Christian—is the God-glorifying, Spirit-filled, Christ-honoring work of our being made holy from one degree of glory to another after the image and pattern of Jesus Christ our Lord. In Philippians 2:13, Paul says that believers must “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” Paul is not saying that we are to save ourselves when he writes about working out our salvation—only God can do that. Rather, he is instructing believers to, quite literally, “work out” that which God has already completed in them through His Spirit. In a very real sense, sanctification is just that: our day-to-day working out of the reality which God has sovereignly worked in us. We are literally working out our salvation; outwardly etching into time and space with our good works that which God has sovereignly accomplished in us, in our very hearts. Unlike justification, which God accomplishes on His own, sanctification is a work that we as believers partake in alongside Him—God is not going to live our Christian life for us. Though, at the same time, we are feckless in our attempts to be holy apart from Him. Indeed, we are co-laborers with God in sanctification, ever relying on the help of His Spirit as we seek to walk in obedience to His word. Two of the chief ways in which we grow in Christlikeness is to spend much time in His word and much time in His presence through prayer. These two go hand in hand as we, in anticipating God’s manifold blessings from the word, first seek His help through prayer, then read, praying throughout and afterwards that His truth would trickle down to the deepest depths of our hearts and there bear fruit—that is, to “work out.” We might, for example, read Paul’s words in Galatians 5:22-23 about the fruit of the Spirit—“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law”—and rightly conclude that we are desperately lacking in patience. Prodded gently by the Spirit, we then respond with prayer: “Heavenly Father, it is my utmost desire to be more and more like your Son, the Lord Jesus, who was and is the very height of patience. I admit that I lack patience in many corners of my life. Lord, forgive me for how I have fallen short in this way, and grant me grace and strength that I may grow in Christlike patience in every circumstance with those around me.” Then, if you’re anything like me, you very well might expect a great wellspring of patience to begin foaming up within you. Only, that is rarely, if ever, how God works out Christlikeness in us. When we pray for greater Christlikeness, be it increased faith or patience or otherwise, God doesn’t simply drop faith or patience into our lap—rather, He tends to drop us into situations that demand greater faith or patience from us. And often, much to our initial and at times ongoing displeasure, these situations are marked by suffering. We see this patterned many times throughout Scripture. In James 1:2-4, for example, we read: “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.” When we pray for holiness, it ought not surprise us that God should toss us into the furnace of testing and trial wherein we can then be purified (1 Peter 1:6-7, Romans 5:3-5). What better way for God to increase our faith than to withdraw our sight for a time; what better way for us to grow in patience than to be thrust into a season of waiting; what better way for us to become more like Christ than to have all unrighteousness purged from us through the testing of faith that comes from the hands of a loving Father, albeit in the furnace of suffering for a time. It seems a lifetime ago that I read through John Calvin’s short work, A Little Book on the Christian Life. Translated and edited by Aaron Clay Denlinger and Burk Parsons, this little book is a relatively self-contained, practical section on the Christian life drawn from Calvin’s labyrinthian magnum opus, Institutes of the Christian Religion. About halfway through the chapter titled “Bearing Our Cross Is a Part of Self-Denial,” I read these words: “Another reason the Lord afflicts His people is to test their endurance and to train them in obedience. They are quite unable to produce obedience unless He Himself empowers them. But it pleases Him to illuminate and testify by clear proofs to those graces that He has bestowed on the saints, so that those graces don’t lie hidden and idle. In Scripture, therefore, God is said to test His servants’ endurance when He puts on display that strength and constancy in suffering which He has given to them.” I remember retreating to another room upon reading these words, trembling, so as to be alone. I was a relatively new Christian, but I had already sensed a sort of complacency about myself that weighed on my heart. In the stillness of that moment, I quite vividly recall myself coming before the Lord in prayer, asking to be made more like Christ—to know Him and love Him with a fervor greater than any I could possibly muster on my own, no matter the cost. A few hours later, I found myself in a hospital room. Sitting quietly, I listened as my father broke the news that he had stage 4 liver cancer. His words, as well as others, were swirling about my mind like a tempest—“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.” Folks will often say, “Come to Jesus and He will take all your troubles away!”—I’ve found the opposite to be the case. Indeed, my life before Christ was relatively easy and carefree in most respects. And when I became a Christian, Christ did in fact take away that which formed the raw substance of my troubles: namely, the sin and impending judgement thereof that put me at infinite odds with Him. Looking back, it was only after I submitted to Christ that I found peace; and, somewhat unexpectedly, this was when the real battle truly began. As our Lord said, “In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). That evening in the hospital room was to be the beginning of my enrollment in the school of learning Christ. We’ve all heard the age-old question—“If God is loving and all-powerful, then why in the world does He allow for suffering to exist?” One needn’t be a linguist to pick up on the scathing accusation layered within these words. Indeed, it is less a question at all and more of a rebuke directed towards almighty God. “Why God? Why!” the crowds exclaim. “Why do children suffer and die before their time? Why are the very best taken in a flash, while the most vile are left to prosper? Why does suffering run rampant, with no end in sight?” As Christians, we must allow for two seemingly contrary realities, both of which are affirmed by the Bible in no uncertain terms: the first being that God is utterly sovereign, and that evil, utterly real evil, exists in this world. There is tension here—but not irreconcilable tension. Alongside Paul, we rejoice in the knowledge that “for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). Much of the time we do not and cannot see how all things are being worked out for our good and God’s glory, but we must take it on faith that nothing escapes our Father’s care. This is why Paul, only a few verses earlier in Romans 8:18, can say with unabashed confidence that “the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.” Before he even has opportunity to pull out his abacus and do some calculations, Paul determines that any present suffering experienced in this life by believers is not to be compared with the glory to come in Christ. Suffering is real and devastating for the believer and unbeliever alike. For the believer, however, suffering is neither negated nor outright dismissed. There is no wasted suffering. In the hands of a sovereign, loving Father, how can there be? Because God is actively working out all things for our good, unequivocally, suffering is not only made bearable in light of the promise of that which is to come, as Paul says, but it is redeemed. As Christians, we should all want to be sanctified into the image of Christ. However, by contrast, which of us actively desire the intrusion of suffering into our lives? Everyone wants sanctification; no one wants suffering. God, in His love, gives both. In His matchless wisdom, power, and love, God so often grants suffering, with sanctification swift upon its heels, in order to achieve our highest good for His highest glory. No matter how great the trials we find ourselves in, we can rest in the knowledge that our suffering is not only being worked out for good, as though haphazardly along the way, but that all our suffering is sovereignly ordained and being worked out by God for our highest good—so much so that it is indeed far better in the mind of God that we should suffer temporarily in light of eternity, than that such trouble should never have occurred at all. Such is the love and power and wisdom of God towards all those whom He has chosen in Christ. Photo by Dibya Jyoti Ghosh, Unsplash Would you enjoy reading more of my work? Subscribe by simply scrolling to the bottom of this page and entering your email. All future articles, essays, and short stories will be sent directly to the address provided. However, be sure to check your ‘Junk’ or ‘Spam’ folder and mark me as a trusted contact should my posts fail to appear in your email. If you’ve been encouraged by my writing, I’d be humbled if you shared my work with others who may also benefit from reading. And, if you’re looking for a way to support my work financially, you can do so via my Patreon Page.

“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:17). The scene is a familiar one. Taxed by the day he has just waded through, a father passes over the threshold of his home into an evening he may not have exactly welcomed had the choice been his—but, it’s one that he’s come to expect more and more these days. He looks around to survey the spectacle before him: the dirty dishes are piled high, such that Babel would blush at its heights; dinner has not been started, much less completed; clothes and garments litter the floor, as though some silent rapture has taken place without him; and from the other room there rings a cacophony of sounds and squeals and— “I’m home!” the wide-eyed man declares. Then—then every care and mounting temptation to flee back to the relative peace of his car slips away as the pitter-patter of bare, squishy feet round the corner. A smile dances upon a small, chubby face bearing a toothy grin, reflecting your own, followed by more squeals and heightened laughter from everyone in the room as the family gathers to welcome you. You’re home. The scene is a familiar one, even a mundane one, and sometimes even a frustrating one—but you wouldn’t trade it for anything else in all the world. Out there, Paradise has been lost; within these walls, however, you and your family are taking it back inch by sacred inch. Praise God for dirty dishes. Indeed, the Lord in His kindness has blessed you with dishes and not just a single dish. Where there are many dishes there are many mouths; many to love, serve, and provide for. And more than that, God delights to dirty those dishes day in and day out with all manner of provisions and patrons. Clean dishes are fine and well and good for decoration, but far better they be filled and dirtied with food, no matter how simple. For, “Better is a little with the fear of the LORD than great treasure and trouble with it. Better is a dinner of herbs where love is than a fattened ox and hatred with it” (Proverbs 15:16-17). Praise God for dinners waiting to be made. Better a dinner waiting to be made than no dinner at all. What a joy that we can retreat from the howling winds of this world into the warmth of hearth and home to serve and love those whom the Lord has entrusted into our care, be it only for a season. Praise God for emptying refrigerators and energy levels, for this often speaks to lives and families which are anything but empty. And even in the simplest of meals—“Give us this day our daily bread” (Matthew 6:11)—we are reminded of Him who has not only provided the bread, but who is Himself our Daily Bread: “Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst’” (John 6:35). Praise God for noisy households. Far better a noisy home than one with no noise at all. Sounds and squeals and crying and laughter and chatter are signs of life, even as the rustling of leaves signal vitality in the tree whose branches they dress. And though the noise is often trailed by mess and disorder—be it dirty dishes, strewn clothing, toys, or crumbs—there will come a time when this season will also fade into another, just as all the others leading into it have come and gone in equal measure. For the time being, however, let us joyfully embrace the season of life we find ourselves in; the very season which we, doubtless, prayed for and sought after with tears only a few years prior. “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). A time to pick up dirty clothes, to wash them and mend them, and a time to fold them away into storage for the last and final time; a time to cook for few, then many, and then only for a few once again; a time for dirty dishes, and a time to come, perhaps, for only a dirty dish. While this season of life persists, whatever it may look like, be sure to praise God for your dirty dishes, whatever they may be, and all the countless blessings which make them so. Photo by Gaurav Sharma, Unsplash Would you enjoy reading more of my work? Subscribe by simply scrolling to the bottom of this page and entering your email. All future articles, essays, and short stories will be sent directly to the address provided. However, be sure to check your ‘Junk’ or ‘Spam’ folder and mark me as a trusted contact should my posts fail to appear in your email. If you’ve been encouraged by my writing, I’d be humbled if you shared my work with others who may also benefit from reading. And, if you’re looking for a way to support my work financially, you can do so via my Patreon Page.

“Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them” (Psalm 139:16). “You’re going to be a dad soon!” With our son’s due date swiftly approaching, I find that Elaina and I are being told more and more these days how we’re going to become parents in a few short weeks. In fact, ever since we found out that we were expecting our first child, many well-meaning folks have consistently said the same thing to me—“You’re going to be a dad soon!” I know what people mean when they say this—but they’re wrong for saying it thus. I’m not going to be a dad soon: I am a dad. I needn’t wait for my son to be born to be his father any more than he needs to wait for his birth to be my son. Nor, for that matter, does my son first have to be born in order to be considered a person—he simply is one. To say to me, “You’re going to be a dad soon!”, makes about as much sense as me rubbing my wife’s belly, quietly whispering to the baby inside: “Just you wait, you’re going to be my son soon.” Words, and the way we use our words, are of the utmost importance. To say that a mother or father becomes one only after their child is born is to betray a dangerous set of beliefs—a worldview which stands in stark and violent opposition to Biblical Christianity. No one in the Bible ever spoke this way. The fact that many of us do, almost without considering the implications, suggests that the culture around us has seeped into our thinking and speaking far more than we’d like to admit. Like a fish in the ocean, we scarcely even notice the environment we find ourselves suspended in. Once more: I know that most individuals likely do not mean in their heart what such a phrase implies. But then again, if someone truly doesn’t mean something, then they just shouldn’t say it to begin with. Indeed, such phrases—“You’re going to be a dad soon!”—are merely symptoms of the greater rot and wickedness that have so infected our culture: an infection which desecrates the sanctity of the unborn, going so far as to even celebrate and encourage their annihilation, resulting in hearts, wombs, and lives that are utterly hollow. The words we use, and the ways in which we use them, have a direct impact on the way we think—and the way we think will shape the various ways in which we love, or fail to love, the smallest among us. Now, as I’m writing this, I readily admit that even the best of us lapse into moments—or seasons—of inconsistency. The Christian life is a gradual progression of spiritual maturity, of sanctification, wherein we grow in our faith as the Lord does His work in us through the years. Much of this work involves a daily drawing together of the seen with the unseen; allowing the invisible truths of God’s word, the unseen, to shape and interpret our understanding of the world around us, the seen. For parents, and I think particularly for fathers, there is an opportunity to exercise this kind of faith—the drawing together of the seen with the unseen—as husband and wife anticipate the arrival of their child into the world. At the moment of conception, you and your spouse are a mother and father, parents to a unique soul who now also bears the image of God. And yet, at least for a time, this reality goes about largely unseen—though, my wife assures me, the reality is surely felt! Nonetheless, you and your spouse are now parents, even as your child is just that, a child—a living soul to be loved and cared for. And, what better way to love someone than to pray for them? Over the past few weeks, the importance of prayer was impressed anew upon my wife and I. After what we thought was to be a routine checkup, our midwife discovered an anomaly with our son’s heartbeat. She suspected it was an arrythmia—an abnormal heart rhythm. To be safe, my wife and I were sent from the midwife’s office directly to the hospital where a flurry of appointments awaited Elaina and the baby: heart monitoring, ultrasounds, and the like. The ride over to the hospital, short as it may have been, felt drawn out and quiet. Throughout the long afternoon that followed, I found it surprisingly difficult to string together a coherent set of prayers any greater than, “Lord, I know you are in control. We trust you.” Though, looking back, I suspect there is scarcely a prayer more profound. With my mind working away as it was on the sudden news, I kept praying these words in addition to turning over some familiar passages of Scripture in my heart: “Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them” (Psalm 139:16). Whether I prayed these words with our son in mind or more so for Elaina and I, I cannot say—it was likely a blend of both. We left the hospital later that afternoon with some inconclusive assurance that these sorts of things aren’t entirely uncommon. Our son had what’s called “an irregularly irregular” heartbeat, meaning that his heart’s rhythm was indeed irregular, but not consistently so. Among the variety of “irregular heartbeats” a baby could have, an irregular one was the least troubling. Such irregularities arise in preborn babies for a wide host of reasons: it could have to do with the heart’s electromagnetic field, or with some incongruity between the top and bottom of baby’s heart as it continues to develop and sync properly, or, more seriously, the arrythmia might stem from structural issues within the heart itself. The doctor at our local hospital sent a requisition for further testing to a facility that specialized in infant care, McMaster Hospital, in addition to a handful of local checkups in the interim. The saying goes, “The heart of the matter is a matter of the heart.” In the time that spanned between appointments, my thoughts turned more and more to my son’s heart—not only to his physical heart which had caused so much commotion of late, but his spiritual heart. Since I became the boy’s father, my prayers for him have been ceaseless, though almost entirely along a single point: “Lord, please continue to strengthen and mature our child. Take care of his little heart as it grows—please, bring him safely to Elaina and I.” I still pray this sort of prayer daily. Though, my emphasis is no longer so heavily focused on the health of my son’s heart and physical body, as though his frame were composed only of organs and bones and tissues. After our visit with the specialists at McMaster Hospital a few weeks ago, it was concluded that our son was in good health and that any irregularities he may have are more or less insignificant when it comes to his development, birth, and overall health. Praise the Lord—He is good and kind beyond all measure. Though, like all children, whether in the womb or freshly out of it, the issue of my son’s heart persists. His physical heart may strike an irregular beat here and there; in time, this may well resolve itself. His spiritual heart, the seat of his inner man, however, remains one that is in dire need of renewal. It is likely he will grow out of his arrythmia and live a completely normal life; my son’s spiritual heart, however, still requires healing from the hands of the Master Physician. My son may not be born yet, but my son he remains, even as I am his father. I’m not going to be his dad in a month’s time: I am his dad—today, right now, just as I’ve been for the past eight months. And as his dad, I consider it my solemn and joyful duty to “bring [him] up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord” (Ephesians 6:4). The lion’s share of this godly instruction will take place after his birth and into the years ahead. But, by God’s grace, I intend to lead and love him well in this rapidly-waning season of awaiting his arrival, even if it only ever be with prayers on his behalf to the Lord who delights to renew hearts for His glory. Indeed, both now and hereafter, so long as he and I live, that remains the very best I can do for him. And so, as we anticipate the arrival of our son, our prayers are aimed high—praying not only for his first birth, but for his second birth as well. “Lord, please continue to strengthen and mature our child after the image of Your beloved Son. Take care of his little heart as it grows in the knowledge and understanding of You—please, bring him safely home to Thee. In the name of Christ our Lord, Amen.” Photo by Omar Lopez, Unsplash Would you enjoy reading more of my work? Subscribe by simply scrolling to the bottom of this page and entering your email. All future articles, essays, and short stories will be sent directly to the address provided. However, be sure to check your ‘Junk’ or ‘Spam’ folder and mark me as a trusted contact should my posts fail to appear in your email. If you’ve been encouraged by my writing, I’d be humbled if you shared my work with others who may also benefit from reading. 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B laise Pascal was a Renaissance man —among other things, he was a philosopher, mathematician, physicist, and theologian. Today, however, he is remembered best as the author of a philosophical argument simply called, “Pascal’s Wager.” Maybe you’ve heard of it? While not a fully developed proof for the existence of God,—not in the formal, philosophical sense, that is—“Pascal’s Wager” is nonetheless just that—a wager. Indeed, “Pascal’s Wager” is less a strict argument for the existence of God and more an argument for why, even in the midst of uncertainty, belief in God is an infinitely better bet than the alternative. Nor is “Pascal’s Wager” an argument for the God of the Bible, per se, but rather an interesting thought experiment for the existence of a God in general. It goes a little something like this. To believe in God and live a life in accordance with what you believe to be His will (denying self, suffering for righteousness ’ sake, giving generously, loving God and others above yourself) is an infinitely safe wager because of the infinite stakes involved, even if you should die only to discover that God does not exist. Indeed, you will have lost nothing in the end, for nothing is what you will slip into. At the very worst, you will have lived a life more joyful and fulfilling than most, albeit one that does not ultimately count for anything in the grand scheme of a rapidly expanding and woefully disinterested material universe. However, should God exist, your “wager” or “bet” on His existence will be of eternal and infinite value. God will have been proven to be true and your faith will not have been in vain—infinitely far from it! On the other hand, one can live a life of fleeting pleasure under the assumption that God does not exist, and if they are correct, they will have lived a life of comfort and experience no eternal consequences for this kind of life because, just like everyone else both good and bad, they will simply slip off into the void, completely and utterly unnoticed. However, should God exist, the unbeliever who lived selfishly and wickedly (or apathetically) will have made the infinite gamble, and as such, suffer infinite loss under eternal judgement in Hell for denying their Creator and spurning His lordship, love, and grace. Once again, “Pascal’s Wager” is not an airtight philosophical argument for the existence of the God of the Bible, nor was it ever intended to be. It is, nonetheless, a starting place, particularly for unbelievers, wherein one can “count the cost” of their respective worldviews and deeply-seated beliefs in light of eternity. “Count the cost,” Pascal says, “and weigh in the scales between infinite loss and infinite gain, or else not an iota of either.” A powerful proposition. I, however, would like to introduce to you another wager, one that I find far more compelling— The Watchmaker’s Wager. The story goes that a woman once approached George Whitefield after one of his sermons and said something to the tune of, “Now, I enjoy your sermons as much as the next person, but why must you always keep on saying, ‘Ye must be born again!’?” Without skipping a beat, Whitefield looked the woman in the eyes and thundered: “Because ye must be born again!” Like countless Christians throughout history, Whitefield rightly believed and preached that spiritual regeneration—being born again by the power of the Holy Spirit—was at the beating heart of the Gospel. In the words of our Lord, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God” (John 3:3). Apart from the new birth, a man or woman cannot even see the Kingdom of God resounding all around them, let alone enter into it. If the Spirit has not done this work in a person’s heart, all their seemingly good works and outward religiosity are nothing but lipstick applied to a pig—and a dead one at that. Outside of Christ, we were all dead men walking; our greatest need wasn’t more self-esteem or motivation or even religion—we needed to be raised from the dead. We needed a new heart. Such was the dreadful state of each and every one of us before God gave us new life and washed us with the precious blood of His Son. Whitefield understood this truth well, and so did my father. This would explain why, well over a decade ago now, he came home from work one evening and relayed an interaction he had with an elderly customer of his—an interaction that went on to change more lives than one. My father was a watchmaker by trade. It was a dying trade appreciated and patronized primarily by those who had already done most of the living they were going to do here below. Perhaps these elderly customers of my father’s, now that they too were advanced in years, admired the workmanship of timepieces, harkening them back to a simpler time when aesthetics and function went hand in hand; or, perhaps, they simply had a timepiece in their possession that needed fixing and my father was the only one nearby who could make heads or tails of the work that was required. Who knows. Whatever the case, one such customer strolled into my father ’s cramped little shop the day of this particular interaction. Later that evening when my father relayed the conversation, he simply said that he and an older gentleman got to talking about Christianity and the Gospel. My father had asked if the customer was a Christian, to which the man replied, “Yes, I’ve been going to church my whole life.” At this point in the story, I like to imagine that my father adopted a similar posture to Whitefield’s when he responded with, “But have you been born again? ” I can almost see my father’s eyes looking out over the rim of his glasses as they slipped down his nose somewhat, his forehead inclined forward, allowing the question to sit in the stillness for a moment (he adopted this posture with me many times, particularly when waiting for my response to something he asked). If there was anything more to the conversation between my father and this man, I wasn’t aware of it at the time—except that the man seemed to indicate that my father had given him a good deal to think over before his next visit. Not long after this encounter, my father was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer. And not long after that, he went home to be with the One whom he loved very much; home to the embrace of the Savior who loved him far, far more. The sheer swiftness of my father’s cancer was a shock to us all, perhaps to him most of all—and yet, his faith remained true and strong to the very end. Indeed, because my father had been born twice, he needed only to die once when the time came for it. Shortly after his funeral, my mother said that a woman who knew our dad was going to stop by with a meal she had made. In the moment, I must have missed what exactly the connection was—something about her father or father-in-law and how he was a customer of Tata ’s. What I do remember is that my mother had asked if she would stay for dinner with us and that the meal she made was delicious . After we ate, the two made conversation in the kitchen while my sisters and I congregated in the living room. That evening was nearly a decade ago—and until only recently, it had faded from all memory. Indeed, in a world governed by a sovereign God, there really are no such things as coincidences. Last summer I had the opportunity to serve at my church’s Vacation Bible School for the week. I was running the “Science and Memory Verse” section (my background is in English Literature and Law, so this was naturally a good fit for me). After one of my sessions I got to talking with another helper who I’d seen around church throughout the week. She and I exchanged names and, not entirely to my surprise, she recognized the last name Budimlic (I come from a rather large extended family, with something like 75+ first-cousins alone, 11 of which hail from a single family). Almost anytime someone recognizes my last name, whether be it at church, through work, or an old school teacher on the first day of the semester, my reply is usually the same at this point in my life: “No, no, I’m from the other , smaller Budimlic family—those are my cousins.” However, a handful of my older cousins weren’t the only Budimlics that this woman recognized. After some back and forth, and upon discovering that my father was indeed a watchmaker (not many of those around), the pieces began to fall into place for both of us—“I think that my grandfather was a customer of your dad’s,” she said. “Actually, your dad played a part in my grandfather coming to faith.” The more she and I talked, the more it became clear that the mysterious watchmaker who talked to her grandfather about the Lord all those years ago was none other than my father. Suddenly, conversations and details from long ago, seemingly a lifetime ago, began to draw into sharp focus. Throughout these many memories, hitherto entirely unconnected in my mind,—my father sharing the Gospel with an elderly customer, the unknown woman who came by for dinner after his funeral—was a single question that seemed to thread together the entire tapestry of events: “Have you been born again? ” A few days later the woman I met at VBS sent me a message confirming that it was indeed her mother who came by to our home with a meal shortly after my father passed. And, it was indeed her grandfather, the father-in-law of the woman who brought the meal, who visited a humble watchmaker many years ago with a broken timepiece, ultimately leaving with far more than he bargained for. The woman with the meal, as she’s come to be called here, wrote these words detailing how her father-in-law came to faith—or, as she puts it, his “second birthday.” Here is the underside of the tapestry, the side of the story my father, John, never knew about until, perhaps, only recently: “ On Wednesday evening, February 1st, 2012, Terry had had a most interesting telephone conversation with his father. Dad had taken an old watch to a clock repair man in downtown Kitchener who is a real believer, and John had opened the back of the watch and shown Dad what was broken and what it would cost to fix. Then he had noticed the only other Ferguson who was a customer of his was Danielle. We had had some very good conversations about the Lord ’ s things in times past, and John asked Dad if he knew me. When Dad said he sure did, and that I was his daughter-in-law, they had a little more in common and then John asked Dad if he were a Christian. Dad emphatically replied, ‘ I sure am! I ’ ve gone to church all my life. ’ Then John asked Dad if he was born again. Just as strongly, Dad said, ‘ No! I've only been born once. ’ Then John asked Dad, ‘ If you were to die tonight, would you go to Heaven? ’ Dad could only say, ‘ I hope so. ’ Dad relayed this conversation to Terry on Wednesday night. We prayed about how to respond to Dad ’ s inquiries about what this all could mean. On Saturday afternoon, Terry called his parents to see if we could go over. They were home and so we went with our Bibles and concordance under our arms. After some general conversation, Terry asked his Dad about the conversation with the watchmaker. Then he suggested we look at some verses in the Word of God. Now Dad already believed Jesus is the Son of God and that the Bible is the Word of God, a good starting place. So, when Terry showed him John 3:1-21-36 and we read those verses about the interchange between the Lord and Nicodemus, Dad was really listening. We also found verses that speak of being saved by faith not works, and that the works of an unsaved person are as filthy rags to a holy God. We found the verse in Jeremiah (17:9) about the human heart and how it cannot be trusted. It became clear that Dad had never understood these words before and that the Holy Spirit had prepared his heart to hear them. We were there for most of the afternoon, and Dad did not want us to leave, but we left before their suppertime at the retirement home. Before we left, I invited them to come for lunch after church the next day, as I had made a big pot of fish chowder. Having spent a sleepless night, Dad got right to the point, saying he had never understood about the need of being born again before and that he had always thought of himself as a righteous man until recently. Terry assured him that if he wanted to get right with God, he could pray right then and there, confessing his sins to God and thanking the Lord Jesus for taking the punishment for his sins and that God would assuredly do His part in causing him to be born again. Dad said he was really ready for this and he prayed a most beautiful and sincere prayer of repentance and faith in the Person and work of the Lord Jesus Christ. What joy in Heaven and on Earth in our living room! Terry feels very, very thankful to have had the privilege of leading his father to the foot of the cross of Calvary and it has been a big encouragement to him. We are so thankful to now know we will see Dad in Heaven. The bill for the watch repair was going to be $150.00, and Dad ended up bringing the watch home as it was. Instead, he came to the waters and bought wine and milk without money and without price! (Isaiah 55:1). ” It shouldn ’t be a surprise to any believer that God delights to work out extraordinary ends through even the most ordinary of means. Indeed, so often our Gospel witness is exceedingly weak and we ourselves weaker still. But God. He is exceedingly capable and eager to show Himself strong through our weaknesses and ordinary acts of faithful obedience. Sometimes God makes clear to us the fruits of our labor; oftentimes, however, He does not. Not completely, at least; not here, not now. But of this we can be certain: any act of loving, faithful obedience unto the Lord here below will echo in eternity, no matter how seemingly small, unseen, or insignificant. In God ’s universe, there are no private moments and no unseen acts of love. In the meantime, God is the One who waters and gives the increase. It is our duty to trust and obey, leaving the harvest to His capable hands. He is the Lord of the harvest—some will sow while others reap, building on the foundations set down by others, but God provides any and all blessing to our efforts. Indeed, we never know what will come about because of our ordinary acts of faithfulness—be it a kind, passing word, a whispered prayer, or even a simple question. Indeed, Pascal had his wager, my father had his— “Have you been born again?   If you were to die tonight, would you go to Heaven? ” “ The clock of life is wound but once, And no man has the power To tell just when the hands will stop At late or early hour. To lose one ’ s wealth is sad indeed, To lose one ’ s health is more, To lose one ’ s soul is such a loss That no man can restore. The present only is our own, So live, love, toil with a will, Place no faith in ‘ Tomorrow, ’ For the Clock may then be still. ” —Robert H. Smith, The Clock of Life Photo by Mukund Shyam, Unsplash Would you enjoy reading more of my work? Subscribe by simply scrolling to the bottom of this page and entering your email. All future articles, essays, and short stories will be sent directly to the address provided. However, be sure to check your ‘Junk’ or ‘Spam’ folder and mark me as a trusted contact should my posts fail to appear in your email. If you’ve been encouraged by my writing, I’d be humbled if you shared my work with others who may also benefit from reading. And, if you’re looking for a way to support my work financially, you can do so via my   Patreon Page .

A s a teacher,—and an English teacher at that—it would seem as though I have something of a moral obligation to read the book before I watch the movie. Unlike my wife, whose parents made it a rule that she and her brother had to read the source material before watching any given adaptation, no such rule existed in my household growing up. To my own shame, despite being a lifelong fan of The Lord of the Rings, I must admit that I only just read through the entire trilogy this past Christmas. And so, when Andy Weir’s debut novel, The Martian , was being made into a film by director Ridley Scott (known for classics like Gladiator , a personal favorite) back in 2015, I made sure to read the novel before enjoying the film in theaters—a practice I ’ve attempted to maintain ever since . Both the novel and the film, in my opinion, were excellent. This being the case, I, for some mysterious reason, neglected to keep tabs on Andy Weir’s writing career in the years that followed. Weir’s meteoric rise to popularity as an author is actually a really interesting and inspiring story—from teenage self-proclaimed nerd, to software engineer, to part-time blogger, to the author of a best-selling novel which, in the very same week that it landed a publisher, was also picked up by one of Hollywood’s most esteemed directors. But, I thought, perhaps the success of The Martian , as enjoyable as it may have been, was more of a fluke for Weir than anything else. Maybe he was just a one-trick pony—surely he couldn’t capture lightning in a bottle twice? To be perfectly honest, I didn’t even know the book Project Hail Mary existed until I saw the trailer a few months back for the newly-released film adaptation. To my pleasant surprise, it looked rather intriguing—something of a blend between Interstellar and Arrival (another two of my favorite films). And, being the good teacher I am, I purchased the book (which I had only heard great things about) in order to read it before my wife and I went to see the movie in theaters this past week. And in case you missed the buzz online, the film adaptation is being widely hailed as one of the all-time great science-fiction films ever made, garnering rave reviews from seemingly everyone, ranging from The Daily Wire ’s Matt Walsh to The Gospel Coalition to Scottish YouTube reviewer The Critical Drinker . Expectations were high, to say the least. And, having now finished both the novel and the film—I can see why. With Project Hail Mary,  Weir’s third novel, he not only captured lightning in a bottle for a second time—he obliterated the bottle entirely, leaving nothing but molten glass in the resulting crater. The novel exceeded my expectations, so much so that I devoured its nearly 500 pages in only a handful of sittings. I watched the film a few days ago, and I must admit that I’m having trouble getting the story out of my mind—for all the very best of reasons. It was a breath of fresh air in so many ways, bringing life and light and warmth to an entertainment industry that has been in a steady decline for decades. While my intention here will be to review Project Hail Mary as a whole , my primary focus will be on the novel—though, given how faithful and excellent an adaptation the film was, I will touch on it throughout. Lastly, this review may function less like a formal review and more like a reflection—a rev-flection, if you like. Project Hail Mary Much like Andy Weir’s first outing in The Martian , Project Hail Mary is an example of what ’s called ‘hard science fiction.’ Hard science fiction is a subgenre within science fiction, “ characterized by a strong emphasis on scientific accuracy, technical detail, and the logical extrapolation of established natural sciences like physics, chemistry, and astronomy . ” As an astronomy and overall science nut, Weir enjoys putting his characters into high orbits with even higher stakes, forcing them to use their wits and scientific acumen to get out of tight situations. However, at no point is all the science and math just a gimmick, nor is it ever at the expense of the story—in fact, science is almost a character itself in the novel. And yet, through it all, at the beating heart of Project Hail Mary is an incredibly warm and human story; a tale beaming with hope and humor, full of grace, courage, love, sacrifice, and above all, friendship . The central mystery of Project Hail Mary  is that the Sun is growing more and more dim. A strange space-faring microbial, dubbed ‘ astrophage ,’ has infected not only Earth’s star, but countless other neighboring stars—that is, all but one . If the threat is left unchecked, all life on Earth, and any other worlds, will perish in only a few short generations alongside their respective stars. In an effort to investigate this lone, uninfected star, global powers rally to construct the Hail Mary , the first interstellar spaceship of its kind. The ship is designed to take a select group of highly-trained scientists and engineers lightyears from Earth to the uninfected solar system where, hopefully, answers can be found. The novel ’s protagonist, Dr. Ryland Grace (played by Ryan Gosling in the film), is sent aboard the Hail Mary with two others as they embark on history ’s loneliest expedition. Their task is to investigate why the lone star has not been infected, with hopes of solving the cosmic mystery and sending their findings back to Earth before it ’s too late. Like a Hail Mary play in American Football, the ship and crew of the Hail Mary  serve as humanity’s desperate, last-ditch effort to save the species before time runs out. Only, upon awakening from his induced coma years later, Dr. Grace finds that his two crewmates have died in their sleep at some point along the journey—leaving him alone in a strange solar system lightyears away from home to solve humanity’s overwhelming existential threat. Only— is he alone? Ryan Gosling as Dr. Ryland Grace in the film adaptation of Project Hail Mary Full of Grace To my knowledge, Andy Weir isn ’t a professing Christian—in fact, I largely doubt that he is one. Nonetheless, Project Hail Mary, both the novel and its motion-picture counterpart, is absolutely brimming with religious themes. Take, for instance, the not-so-subtle fact that the ship’s name is the Hail Mary , and that it’s only occupant is named Grace—thus, Hail Mary full of Grace. The Biblical themes go much further, however. Though his worldview is most likely a naturalistic one, Weir asks interesting questions throughout the novel about life and what makes it worth living. Whereas the logical conclusions of his espoused naturalistic worldview are pessimistic and nihilistic, Weir is, oddly enough, the furthest from either in his approach to storytelling. Just like The Martian, Weir places a high premium on human life throughout Project Hail Mary. The Imago Dei (the image of God upon our souls) is hard to shake off. Indeed, Project Hail Mary is full of grace. It was refreshing to see several genuine and sincere references to God throughout the story—both in the novel and in the film. This is somewhat surprising for several reasons, not least of which because most of the characters in the story are purely naturalistic in their presuppositions about life and the nature of the universe—as is typically the case in many science-fiction stories. In my opinion, however, Project Hail Mary is not your typical science-fiction story. Consider this comment from the book, made by a hopeful scientist to Dr. Grace explaining why, in light of what very well may be the end of the world, he remains optimistic: “Do you believe in God? I know it’s a personal question. I do. And I think He was pretty awesome to make relativity a thing, don’t you? The faster you go, the less time you experience. It’s like He’s inviting us to explore the universe, you know?... It’s like... the coolest thing ever! Again, God’s just handing us the future! ” While this little conversation is cut from the film, it’s equivalent communicates a similar truth: “Do you believe in God?” Dr. Grace asks, to which the director of the Hail Mary project replies, “Yes. It’s better than the alternative. ” Despite the existential threat looming over the galaxy, each and every page of the novel is awash with warmth, hope, humor, and love—so much so that I found myself smiling ear to ear on more than one occasion and chuckling aloud on several others. Unlike other science-fiction stories,—even those of which I am a fan, such as Dune or Interstellar —at no point do the existential stakes of Grace’s situation become dreadfully overbearing. There is always a glimmer of hope and happiness woven into the chaos, almost as though a sovereign hand were gracefully directing all roads to some joyful end. Among other things, Project Hail Mary is a very smart, very touching, very optimistic, and very funny book (and movie). However, at the very heart of Project Hail Mary there is not so much a story about science or evolution or even survival, but one of friendship. Without venturing too much into spoiler territory, I’ll simply say that the emotional weight of the story is found in the unexpected relationship that slowly blossoms between Grace and Rocky, a benevolent alien whom Grace befriends near the beginning of his journey. Like Grace, Rocky is also on a mission from his home-world to determine why their own star is dying, hoping to find answers in the same unaffected solar system that the Hail Mary was sent to. In no time, a sweet friendship evolves as the pair work to solve the mystery together, drawing on the expertise and experiences from not only two completely different lives, but two utterly different worlds— “ Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow ” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10). Over the course of the story, this Biblical truth is borne out time and time again as Grace and Rocky put their lives on the line for one another—and by extension, for those back home as well. John Beeson, in his brief reflection on Project Hail Mary,  encapsulates this point well when he emphasizes the friendship between Grace and Rocky as the bedrock of the film’s narrative: “One of the most compelling aspects of [ Project Hail Mary ] is how friendship transforms Grace. When we first meet him, he isn’t the stereotypical hero. He’s not naturally courageous. He’s not particularly self-sacrificial. In fact, part of his backstory reveals that when confronted with a moment requiring bravery, he failed. That’s what makes his eventual heroism so powerful. Grace becomes courageous not because he suddenly discovers some hidden reservoir of bravery, but because friendship draws it out of him.” An unexpected friendship A Story Told With a Christian Accent Andy Weir gets friendship absolutely right—and it’s not because of anything remotely to do with the naturalism or evolution espoused by many characters throughout the novel. Indeed, Project Hail Mary speaks with a distinctly Christian accent on the topics of love and friendship in ways that evolutionary biology can only lisp  and blabber about incomprehensibly. In a purely naturalistic worldview, no such things as love, grace, courage, or friendship exist. These are owing to, and only possible within, a Christian worldview. Clumps of cells cannot befriend one another. And yet, despite the naturalistic worldview held by many characters within the story, love, grace, courage, and friendship nonetheless permeate every story thread of Project Hail Mary. It would seem that Weir’s characters aren’t nearly as consistent with their worldviews as they ought to be, just as many scientists, academics, and self-proclaimed ‘intellectuals’ in our world fail to live out the nihilistic conclusions of their own belief systems. Stories like Project Hail Mary impact us at a deep level and stir our innermost affections because they are seeking to unfold to us that which is good, true, and beautiful—a phrase I ’ve come to appreciate a lot these days . Because humans are made in the image of the One true God, we make and relate to stories that are reflective of this ultimate reality. We strive to tell good stories and—to borrow a phrase from Rocky— “Amaze, amaze, amaze” one another because we stand amazed with the very best story of them all: Christ Himself. Goodness and truth and beauty have infinitely more authority than mere authorial intent. This is why we as Christians can enjoy those books and movies not even penned by believers, as is the case with Project Hail Mary , because these tales are nonetheless communicating something genuinely beautiful to us. Whether it’s the warm characters and emotional plot points of the novel, or the stirring soundtrack of the film, coupled with its mesmerizing cinematography, there is a peculiar kind of artistic beauty present throughout the story that can only be possible because of who God is and because of the many wonderful truths that make up His universe. Never underestimate art ’s ability to become a vehicle for the good, the true, and the beautiful—for many a Gospel truths have been communicated therein, however silently or imperceptibly. As C.S. Lewis said, God has laid traps for the unbeliever all throughout the created world, ensnaring them with His love and beauty no matter where they might find themselves. Indeed, for a piece of Christian art to be truly beautiful, it need not have Christians in it or even name the name of Christ. Filling it with those good things Christ has made is often testimony enough of His beauty. As Martin Luther once said, “The Christian shoemaker does his duty not by putting little crosses on the shoes, but by making good shoes, because God is interested in good craftsmanship.” If art of any kind is well-crafted, having been executed with grace and precision, all the while seeking to communicate something true well beyond itself, then there will be some good to be found in it. This is why art, particularly Christian art, is of such importance—be it poetry, novels, paintings, or film. Truth has a way of prevailing in even the unlikeliest of places; such as in the sweet relationship between a formerly cowardly scientist and his unlikely friend, a rocky alien named Rocky . Their sweet friendship, though fictional, points us towards the very best of human friendships, which are in and of themselves but fleeting glimpses of our best and dearest Friend who loved us and gave Himself for us. Floating masses of atoms and star-dust simply don’t become friends or sacrifice for one another, let alone give their lives for millions of others whom they’ve never met—this is antithetical to all the core tenets of evolutionary biology. Such love, however, is at the beating heart of the Gospel. Evolution says that life depends on the “Survival of the fittest”—in stark opposition, the Gospel says that life, life everlasting, depends on the Fittest giving His life for the survival and salvation of those who are weakest: “ Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends ” (John 15:13). For these reasons, and many more, I cannot recommend Project Hail Mary —the novel and the film—highly enough. It accomplishes with seeming ease what only the very best kind of art can do—that is, to “Amaze, amaze, amaze!” Images captured by cinematographer Greig Fraser , Project Hail Mary, distributed by Amazon MGM Studios Would you enjoy reading more of my work? Subscribe by simply scrolling to the bottom of this page and entering your email. All future articles, essays, and short stories will be sent directly to the address provided. However, be sure to check your ‘Junk’ or ‘Spam’ folder and mark me as a trusted contact should my posts fail to appear in your email. If you’ve been encouraged by my writing, I’d be humbled if you shared my work with others who may also benefit from reading. And, if you’re looking for a way to support my work financially, you can do so via my   Patreon Page .

H ave you ever found yourself lost in a sunset? In the dying light of an evening long ago, across an ocean of time and circumstances, I caught a glimpse of something that I will never forget. What I saw—the beauty that my heart tasted in that moment—was less the thing in and of itself than it was the thing beyond the thing . What I saw was a sunset: sharp, grey spires of pines clothed with golden light; and as the horizon leveled, a rich amber, like fire, erupting from the velvet shadows just beyond the nearest hills. I had seen many sunsets up until this point, but something stirred in me on that particular evening. What I tasted in that moment—the ache my soul experienced—filled me with a sense of nostalgia. It was as though I became an onlooker into things that were not to be seen by mortal eyes, while feeling strangely familiar and at home all the same. Truly, something restless stirred in my soul that evening; a deep and profound sense of longing awoke that is yet to be put to rest. Indeed, I have been trying to open that curtain again and again ever since that night. An Ode to Sunsets There are moments, perhaps only fleeting slivers of a moment, in which one catches the tune of something far-off and distant. We hear this tune in the dancing of golden sunlight upon autumn leaves, or the crescendo of beauty that lies in the clouds at sunset; a sight so rich in beauty, so tangible, that you feel you could almost walk over the nearest hill and round the next bend directly into those halls of glory beyond the clouds themselves. As if, for only a moment, the curtain is pulled back ever so slightly on every longing and ache of the human soul: the doors of eternity themselves having been thrown wide open for a moment in time. As though you were chasing an otherworldly song through an endless corridor, unsatisfied until your hands finally and fully rested on the source of the music. And then, before we know it, the music fades and the curtain is drawn once more, leaving us back in our own world once again. In these moments there arises a longing; a near maddening, romantic arousal within one’s soul; a faint whisper and soft suggestion that this world is not our home after all—indeed, how can it be? When C.S. Lewis spoke of the wood beyond the world, —this feeling, this sense of nostalgia—he had this mysteriously evasive quality of aching and longing in mind: “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.” In his monumental essay The Weight of Glory, Lewis expands further on this ache: “Apparently, then, our lifelong nostalgia, our longing to be reunited with something in the universe from which we now feel cut off, to be on the inside of some door which we have always seen from the outside, is no mere neurotic fancy, but the truest index of our real situation. And to be at last summoned inside would be both glory and honour beyond all our merits and also the healing of that old ache.” ...And Childhood While no one has had a perfect childhood, many of us had a good childhood—even a great one. I, for my part, had a great childhood. Indeed, the joys and comforts of my own upbringing have shaped me and my understanding of the world in ways beyond count. And when I consider my own childhood, there seems to me no other way to describe it than as one long, continuous sunset. Perhaps this feeling is just that, a feeling ; a rose-colored, nostalgia-tinged caricature of my early years. But, on the other hand, perhaps not. Perhaps this nostalgia of mine is not romanticism run amok, but instead the “ truest index of my upbringing, ” to borrow words from Lewis. Indeed, sorrows and imperfections aside, I feel like this characterization is most true to the heart of what my childhood actually was. As though every moment and memory of my youth is clothed in the warm light of a setting sun—Sunday evenings baking bread over a charcoal fire with my father and sister; going on family walks through the wood of this world with our dogs; large family gatherings at my uncle ’s home; and maybe most potently, Sunday evening song services at our local church. From the first to the last, all these dear childhood memories are touched with a golden hue, casting shadows far beyond themselves to a reality far greater, realer, and more beautiful. Though, I feel as though Sunday evening song services occupy a place unto themselves. I am by no means a competent singer (in fact, I was gently ‘released’ from junior choir several years early for this very reason—a story for another time, I’m afraid). Nonetheless, I love to sing; I love to sing unto the Lord; and above all, I love to sing unto my Savior with my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. Growing up, there was one hymn in particular that we typically saved for last on Sunday evenings, simply titled “Sunset.” Some years later, I often find myself singing the first verse now and again: “When shadows grow long in the evening, When birds wing their way back home, I get a heavenly feeling; It’s sunset and I’m going home. God paints the clouds in the evening sky, To show me the way to the palace on high, And stars mark the pathway lest my feet should roam,   It’s sunset and I’m going home.” That Old Ache I fully realize that not everyone had a great childhood, or even a good one. While there is a difference between good and great, I sense that the gulf existing between good and bad is far wider and more treacherous. Perhaps your childhood is marked not by the the light of a setting sun, but rather by storm clouds, sleet, and many dark nights. Though in either case, that old ache yet persists, does it not? Doubtless we sensed it from early childhood, no matter our circumstances. Some weight in our souls, a longing without name; a cry within the howling infinite of our innermost-being that testified to the truth that God “has put eternity into man ’s heart ” (Ecclesiastes 3:11). Without Him, our souls remained utterly restless. And when the Lord saved us, did we not finally taste and see the One to whom all the sunset-shadows kept pointing? All of life is as the setting of the sun—a gradual closing of the curtain as night falls upon this age. A groaning of all creation itself in anticipation of a new, unending day: “ But according to His promise we are waiting for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells ” (1 Peter 3:13) . When the shadows begin to grow long in the evening sky, do not despair. If you are the Lord ’ s, this world was never your home to begin with: “ For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God ” (Colossians 3:3) . Rather, follow these shadows and longings to the feet of Him who is the remedy for every ache in our hearts. For in a short time the sun will set on each of our lives, and with joy we will say to ourselves, “I ’ve got a heavenly feeling; the way has been long and hard, but now it’s sunset and I’m finally going home.” And when we at long last see Him for the first time and hear those words,— “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Master”—every ache shall then be healed and every longing satisfied. On that day, we will at last step into the light to which our lifelong nostalgia only dimly pointed—we’ll finally be home. Photo by Andrey Svistunov, Unsplash Would you enjoy reading more of my work? Subscribe by simply scrolling to the bottom of this page and entering your email. All future articles, essays, and short stories will be sent directly to the address provided. However, be sure to check your ‘Junk’ or ‘Spam’ folder and mark me as a trusted contact should my posts fail to appear in your email. If you’ve been encouraged by my writing, I’d be humbled if you shared my work with others who may also benefit from reading. And, if you’re looking for a way to support my work financially, you can do so via my   Patreon Page .