Search & Ye Shall Find...

L.M. Montgomery ’s novel Emily of New Moon was the required reading of my undergrad that, quite possibly, excited me the very least. How could the misadventures of a young girl on Prince Edward Island possibly compare to the heroic heights of Beowulf or the literary—and ocean—depths of Moby Dick ? However, flowing from the love I have for my wife (and her insistence that we read it together), I decided to give it an honest try. And upon finishing Emily of New Moon two summers ago, I now have to admit that Montgomery ’s novel very well may have been the single most pleasant reading experience of my undergrad. Now, if you are a young girl under the age of around seventy-five, were yourself once a young girl under the age of seventy-five, or have once known a young girl under the age of seventy-five, I likely don’t need to explain to you who L.M. Montgomery was. But for those of you who are yet unaware, Lucy Maud Montgomery was the famed Canadian author who penned the incredibly popular Anne of Green Gables novels. To this very day, she is considered to be Canada ’s most widely read author. Both series of novels by Montgomery , the Emily of New Moon books and Anne of Green Gables novels, are semi-autobiographical in nature in that they each follow the exploits of a young girl who, like Montgomery, spends her childhood in P.E.I. vested with an unusually large imagination. The Emily of New Moon books are particularly autobiographical in that, while the novels are still fictional, they chronicle young Emily ’s journey as a blossoming writer, mirroring Montgomery ’s own journey from years earlier. In this way, Montgomery ’s quest throughout these novels as the author, like Emily ’s as protagonist, is razor-focused on the art of writing. As a hardened reader of Lewis, Tolkien, Hemingway, and Dostoevsky,—these men serving, alongside others, as my literary tutors— Montgomery ’s addition among them as an influence may seem out of place. And yet there are many things that I have gleaned from Montgomery that have shaped my own writing— wonderful things beyond count that, having not read her work, would have left me poorer for it . Indeed, there is a passage in the second book of the Emily trilogy, Emily Climbs , that is, in my opinion, one of the most hauntingly beautiful expositions on what the writing process truly feels like: “I forgot everything but that I wanted to put something of the beauty I felt into the words of my poem. When that line came into my mind it didn’t seem to me that I composed it at all—it seemed as if Something Else were trying to speak through me—and it was that Something Else that made the line seem wonderful—and now when it is gone the words seem flat and foolish and the picture I tried to draw in them not so wonderful after all. Oh, if I could only put things into words as I see them! Mr. Carpenter says, ‘Strive—strive—keep on—words are your medium—make them your slaves—until they will say for you what you want them to say.’ That is true—and I do try—but it seems to me there is something beyond words—any words—something that always escapes when you try to grasp it—and yet leaves something in your hand which you wouldn’t have had if you hadn’t reached for it.” —L.M. Montgomery, Emily Climbs Beautiful. Of course, while this process—this grasping for something beyond words—is perhaps unique to writing, it is not limited to writing. These truths can just as readily apply to music, arithmetic, and parenting. Johannes Kepler, the German mathematician and astronomer active during the 1500 and 1600s, once said that because humans are made in the image of God, we can “think God’s thoughts after Him.” The world around us—the universe, the atomic realm, the disciplines of reason, literature, science, and art—is understandable and intelligible because God, being a God of order, made them so. And because the world around us can be understood, we undertake as God’s image-bearers the gargantuan task of thinking His thoughts after Him in our endeavor to unravel the mysteries around us and bring Him glory. As a writer, I feel the weight of this reality. From an early age, I recognized that I had a certain proclivity towards words but it wasn’t until I became a follower of Christ that I finally sensed the purpose behind this talent. Upon becoming a Christian, my talent became a gift , supernaturally bestowed by the Holy Spirit for the edification of the church and for the glory of God. I was always good at writing, more or less, but it’s only now in my Christian life that I sense “ as if Something Else were trying to speak through me—and it was that Something Else  that made the line seem wonderful. ” In his book Delighting in the Trinity, author Michael Reeves describes this as the “beautification” of the Holy Spirit. God the Holy Spirit not only gifts and inspires the people of God, but He makes their finished product something beautiful. The Spirit of God endows believers with their gifting, imbuing their work with a depth and weight that they couldn’t possibly accomplish in their own strength or by their own imagination. Consider, for example, the beautifying work of the Spirit in the canon of inspired Scripture, the mighty feats of architecture throughout church history, and more recently, the music of Christian composers such as Johann Sebastian Bach. It is in and through the beautifying work of the Spirit that our work ultimately finds purpose—moving from transience to transcendence, touching the very fringes of eternity itself. “I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with ability and intelligence, with knowledge and all craftsmanship, to devise artistic designs, to work in gold, silver, and bronze, in cutting stones for setting, and in carving wood, to work in every craft” (Exodus 31:3-5). Though the very best of our work only but approaches the edges of His glory, we yet strive, strive, and keep on. For, even though some—or most—of the beauty escapes from our grip anytime we try to fasten our hands on it, our labor “yet leaves something in your hand which you wouldn’t have had if you hadn’t reached for it.” Whether you are a musician, an engineer, an astronaut, a theologian, or anything else in between, your God-given task in the vocation you find yourself is to glorify the Lord and make Him known. Much of this requires that you, in your work and toil, tug hard enough on the various threads dangling around you until they lead back to the Lord Himself. In this way, we are unraveling the truth and beauty around us, thinking God’s very thoughts after Him and feeling our way towards Him in all we do, though He is not far from any one of us (Acts 17:27). Photo by Alex Dukhanov, Unsplash If you enjoyed reading this post, you may also be interested in a similar piece I wrote last year on the topic of music and how, through it, we can trace the fingerprints of God:

Over the course of the last year, I ’ve taken on the labyrinthian task of dipping my toes into the murky depths of church history. I began this study out of a growing realization that I spent my first few years as a Christian in a sort of naivety on the topic of church history—a general malaise characterized by ignorance and caricatures. Perhaps you can relate, as I did, to these words by Burk Parsons: “In our day, many Christians have a view of church history that is a popular, but unfortunate, caricature. They believe the church started in the first century, but then soon fell into apostasy. The true faith was lost until Martin Luther recovered it in the sixteenth century. Then, nothing at all significant happened until the twentieth century, when Billy Graham started hosting his evangelistic crusades. Regrettably, we form caricatures of history on account of our ignorance of history. Too often, our historical awareness is sorely lacking. What’s more, we don’t fully know where we are, because we don’t know where we’ve been. We might be aware of certain historical figures and events, but we are often unacquainted with what our sovereign Lord has been doing in all of history, particularly in those periods that are less familiar to us.” This naivety of mine did not end at church history, either. Flowing from my lack of historical literacy sprung several general misconceptions about those belonging to the Catholic and Orthodox church in particular. It was about a year ago that I began to have, all of a sudden, a number of in-depth and challenging conversations with some close friends of mine who recently converted to the Orthodox church—a growing trend among young Evangelical Protestants in the West, to say the least. While I felt competent in my defense of the Gospel from a Biblical perspective, I must admit that my knowledge of historical Christendom during these conversations was a sorely lacking blind spot. It was in and through these conversations that the Lord challenged my understanding, urging me to pursue Him and the study of His Word with greater diligence and, of course, prayerful humility. While I can safely say that after studying church history I am more reformed than ever before, I am nonetheless thankful for the stretching of my soul over the past year. In a genuine effort to better understand the theological positions of my Catholic and Orthodox friends, I found myself falling more deeply in love with Christ, His Word, and the truth of the Gospel that His Spirit has preserved throughout the ages, irrespective of the foolishness of men. Just as “ we don’t fully know where we are, because we don’t know where we’ve been, ” so too must we familiarize ourselves with the church ’s fight for truth throughout the ages, lest we forget it ourselves. Reflecting on this past year of on-and-off study on the topic of church history, I’ve come to three chief conclusions. The first is that, as Socrates once said, “I now know that I know nothing.” Perhaps that is an exaggeration, but there is a very real sense in which the study of church history is merely the study of history itself—and history is nuanced, complex, and not always immediately clear. The moment we become overly confident in our evaluation of history is perhaps the very same moment we’ve begun to make a caricature of it. This brings me along neatly to my second point. In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis considers the legacy of human history in this way: “All that we call human history—money, poverty, ambition, war, prostitution, classes, empires, slavery—[is] the long terrible story of man trying to find something other than God which will make him happy.” Unfortunately, I think a similar accusation can be leveled against church history as well. In the many conversations I ’ve had over the past year with my Catholic friends in particular, my study has routinely brought me back to pivotal moments across church history—councils, trials, executions, and movements that to this very day mark the seemingly seismic divide between Protestant, Catholic, and Orthodox theology. In all of these historical happenings, I am at once disturbed by the disposition towards sin and cruelty that marks many so-called Christians throughout history, while at the same time amazed at the patience and longsuffering of the Lord without which “no human being would be saved” (Matthew 24:22). Lastly, my study of church history has made this third and final point abundantly clear: the Lord is building His church, and He ’s building me as well. When I consider my own need for daily correction, the wandering nature of my own heart, and the plethora of shortcomings in my own theology that I am not yet even aware of, I see a picture of Christ’s church. Indeed, in our own walk with Christ and through the sanctifying work of His Spirit bringing us from dust to glory, we see a microcosm of church history. In Matthew 16:18, the Lord Jesus Christ directs our gaze forwards, up and through history, that we may find comfort in His sovereign leadership: “ I will build My church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. ” Christ is building His Church in and through history, no matter how dark and bloody, and He is building us in spite of our sin-stained history. The Spirit who hovered above the primordial waters in Genesis 1:2 is the very same Spirit of Christ who built His church from antiquity into the present day. And, this is the very same Spirit who resides in you and I if we know God and are known by Him, having been washed in the precious blood of His Son, chosen from before the foundations of the earth. Just as the Spirit of God brought order out of chaos on that first day of Creation, so too is the Father bringing His people out from the kingdom of darkness and into the Kingdom of light, the Kingdom of very own His Son. I love how this reality is unfolded in Ephesians 2:19-22: “So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus Himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In Him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit.” Without an eternal, Biblical perspective, human history quickly becomes a rather nasty portrait. But we do not lose heart. History is, after all, His story—is it not? The Lord knows what He is doing. Even as I reflect upon my personal history, it ’s tempting to think only in terms of my own blunders, buffoonery, and blatant sin, altogether forgetting the fact that I am forgiven, redeemed, and being sanctified “ from one degree of glory to another ” after the image of Christ my Creator (2 Corinthians 3:18). And when we shift our gaze from ourselves and onto the history of the church, we should see a similar trajectory from disgrace to grace, from dust to glory, from sin to salvation. Through even the darkest days of the church,—when the truth of the Gospel seemed veiled under the Catholicism of the Middle-Ages, when hell itself was howling at the very gates—the Lord was at work and in complete control, building His church year after year, soul by soul. At another point in Mere Christianity , Lewis picks up on this point: “Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of—throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.” Indeed, the Lord is building His church, and He ’s building you and I—from cottages into cathedrals. Generation after generation, billions of souls have been redeemed and woven into this grand tapestry of the church. Even as the gears of history gnaw onwards to His definite end, the great Shepherd of the sheep has been spreading His arms out wide throughout all the earth and throughout time, drawing His people unto Himself through the proclamation of the Gospel—eternal life through faith in Jesus Christ alone . The church is no mere building or institution, nor is it some abstract amalgamation of ideas rolling through the ages, but rather a living, breathing cathedral of sons and daughters of the Living God, “ built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus Himself being the cornerstone ” (Ephesians 2:20). “And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God Himself will be with them as their God’” (Revelation 21:3). Photo by Dario Veronesi, Unsplash

Though my grandmother didn ’t speak much English, I loved her very much. More importantly, I knew that she loved me even more than could be imagined—no words in any language were needed to convey that reality. While my grandmother passed away some time ago,—almost fifteen years now—she remains in my memory as one of the warmest, kindest, and sweetest souls that I’ve ever known. The day she passed away was the first time I remember seeing my father cry. It all happened so unexpectedly. It was the first week of the seventh grade and I was getting ready for school like any other morning. My father was outside lugging our garbage bins down the considerable length of our driveway, when suddenly my mother appeared in the room and let me know that Tata’s mom, Makica as we called her, had died and went to Heaven. I do not remember anything else from that day other than a single, momentary frame from my memory: as I was walking from my room to the kitchen, I glanced out the window and saw my father hauling the garbage bins down to the side of the road, pausing now and again to wipe tears from his face as he walked. Several days before he went home to be with the Lord, my father expressed his excitement at the thought of seeing his mother again. Despite the fact that my father and I were separated by thirty-five years, I sense that she was the first significant loss for us both. Surely we had suffered the loss of others, but Makica was different. I lost a grandmother, he a mother, but we both suffered the heartache of saying goodbye to a godly woman who was very dear to us. My father was just fifty-six when he passed away and I was only nineteen. Each in our own way, my father and I were still young and had not as of yet tasted the fullness of grief that accompanies aging: the sobering reality of life here below as those closest to us begin to pass from this age into the next. Sitting by my father ’s hospital bed all those years ago, I could only dimly understand his longing to see Makica again. While his eagerness to see his mother made sense to me, my heart could not yet grasp the depths of such a longing. Now, standing upon this side of my father ’s passing, I have come to understand in a greater measure what I only caught glimpses of back then—a deep longing to depart and be with Christ and those closest to us who have left this world behind, yet constrained by another desire to remain here below with those who yet remain. “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. Yet which I shall choose I cannot tell. I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account” (Philippians 1:21-24). As my father battled cancer, you can imagine that my prayers during this season were occupied upon a single point: “Lord, please heal my father; don’t take him yet.” However, as the weary days pressed on the Lord began to cultivate a change in my heart and in my prayers also. What if—I began to think—the Lord did not purpose in His heart to heal my father? Surely He could, but would He? Could it be that more good and glory would spring from my father’s passing than his healing? In God ’s perfect timing, it so happened that in the months leading up to my father’s passing I was making my way through C.H. Spurgeon’s devotional, Morning & Evening. As is so often the case with Spurgeon, his writing offered a treasure trove of wisdom and comfort for this particular season of my life. Sitting by my father’s bedside, thinking of Makica and what the days ahead would hold, I shared these words with him from a passage in Morning & Evening : “Death smites the best of our friends; the most generous, the most prayerful, the most holy, the most devoted must die. But why? It is through Jesus’ prevailing prayer—‘Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given Me, be with me where I am.’ It is that which bears them on eagle’s wings to heaven. Every time a believer mounts from this earth to paradise, it is an answer to Christ’s prayer. Many times Jesus and His people pull against one another in prayer. You bend your knee in prayer and say ‘Father, I will that Thy saints be with me where I am’; Christ says, ‘Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given me, be with Me where I am.’ Thus the believer is at cross purposes with his Lord, for the soul cannot be in both places: the beloved one cannot be with Christ and with you too. You would give up your prayer for your loved ones life, if you could realize the thoughts that Christ is praying in the opposite direction—‘Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given Me, be with Me where I am.’” This past Mother’s Day weekend as I was reflecting on the heartache that often accompanies holidays, anniversaries, and special occasions, my mind kept going back to these words from Spurgeon that my father and I wept over many years ago. Spurgeon did not provide a title for this devotional, but perhaps I can be so bold as to offer one: “A Tale of Two Prayers.” How often we as Christians pray from the perch of our own comfort rather than pausing for a moment to consider not only the glory of God, but the ultimate good of the other. Or, as Spurgeon put it, are we not so often at cross purposes with our Lord? We cling desperately to our loved ones with the hope of healing in mind, all the while that is precisely what Christ is offering them. As we grow in Christ and in the consideration of our eternal home, let us pray earnestly for those God has given us while also ever resting in this glorious truth: “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints” (Psalm 116:15). Death is no small enemy. Indeed, so dark was the shadow of death upon humanity that the Lord Jesus Christ was born, died, and rose again to abolish death and the sting of death, which is sin, for all who repent and believe in His name (1 Corinthians 15:56). And so, when “d eath smites the best of our friends; the most generous, the most prayerful, the most holy, the most devoted, ” may we take comfort in the truth that the Lord is gathering His people home: “ Every time a believer mounts from this earth to paradise, it is an answer to Christ’s prayer... ‘Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given Me, be with Me where I am.’” Photo by Annie Spratt, Unsplash

Several years ago, Jordan Peterson appeared on the rather popular Lex Fridman Podcast . In no time at all, a discussion arose between the two men regarding their favorite author—the great Russian writer, Fyodor Dostoevsky. Their conversation was narrowing in on this point: which of Dostoevsky ’s novels can rightfully claim the title as the greatest book ever written, Crime and Punishment or The Brothers Karamazov ? In his defense of The Brothers Karamazov , Fridman made this simple but profound statement when pressed by Peterson—“Some of my best friends are inside that book.” I feel as though I have now reached the stage in my Christian life where I can honestly say of the Bible that “some of my best friends are inside that book.” The more I read the Bible, and the more I am shaped by it, the dearer its words and characters become. Only, they’re not just characters, are they? From Adam to David to Peter, these are real, living, historical individuals we are presently concerned with. Real individuals that all we in Christ shall one day meet in the age to come. Real individuals that, through trillions of ages, we shall get to know, converse among, and grow to be friends with. After the Lord Jesus Christ, my best and dearest Friend in all the Bible, I think the Apostle Paul is a distant second, but second all the same (not bad considering some of the mountainous, larger-than-life folks he’s squared up against in Scripture). Indeed, over the years I feel as though I’ve come to know Paul as a friend and grown to love him rather dearly. The words of Paul, inspired by the Spirit of Christ, have so permeated my life that I can scarcely think of a man who has more deeply influenced my thinking aside from the Lord Jesus Christ Himself. The words of Paul, of course, only hold the weight they do because of the Lord’s leading and inspiration, but I am thankful all the same for the man that God used in such a mighty way—both in my own life, and in the life of many billions of others. I do not suppose to know what Heaven will be like, but I do look forward to seeing my brother Paul face to face. I am eager to shake his hand and draw him in for an embrace; to let him know that, though we were separated by an ocean of time, he was used by the Lord so profoundly in my life. Like ships passing in the night, he and I and many countless others slipped by one another in the fleeting shadows of history, and yet a friendship was sparked—a friendship that though it began here below through the pages of Scripture, shall continue forevermore in the world to come. Photo by Joshua Newton, Unsplash Author’s Note: With respect to where I stand on the Dostoevsky question, I would lean towards Crime and Punishment over The Brothers Karamazov . For while The Brothers Karamazov is often hailed as Dostoevsky’s magnum opus and arguably the better of the two novels, Crime and Punishment resonated more with me personally. Indeed, I have often heard folks make a similar distinction, with some going so far as to say that Crime and Punishment was the novel that brought them back towards God and Christianity because of Dostoevsky’s deep treatment of such things as guilt, justice, and redemption. Nonetheless, both novels are often found in any “The Greatest Novels Ever Written” list and rightfully so—Dostoevsky was a literary genius with few parallels, a master at weaving together theology, politics, the human condition, philosophy, and psychology into rich stories with characters so real you could very well find lifelong friends among those pages. Dostoevsky was the kind of author that, upon reading him, you would find burning within yourself a great desire to write more and to write better—only to quickly realize how pale an imitation your work was in comparison to his upon starting. For those of you who may be interested, the link to the Fridman and Peterson clip in question will be below. While I by no means can get behind everything Jordan Peterson says,—especially his often muddled perspective on Christ and the Bible—I do find that he has many worthwhile insights, particularly into literature and philosophy.

Yesterday my sister married the love of her life in Kitwe, Zambia. Cheyenne, the oldest among my three younger sisters, had first met Willem on a mission trip to Zambia two years ago where she served the Lord and others in her vocation as a chef. Even back then, my sister rightly recognized that this trip would be the fulfillment of a childhood dream, an adventure long in the making. Though, who among us could have anticipated such a turn of events? Well, maybe I had my suspicions, as all big brothers do—slight as they may have been at the time. All the same, while the adventure for Cheyenne may have begun in Africa, it by no means has ended there. Unfortunately, Elaina and I are not in Kitwe, Zambia. Bound by the constraints of time, many thousands of miles, and the nigh-draconian attendance policies at my school, we were unable to make the journey from Canada to Zambia for Cheyenne and Willem’s wedding. Nonetheless, Elaina and I are joyfully looking forward to seeing and celebrating with them once the equally draconian process of acquiring a visa for Willem is complete and they find themselves back in Canada. Well— back for Cheyenne, but a new home entirely for her husband, Willem. To my knowledge, Willem has never left Zambia and so life in Canada will be quite the adjustment for him: the joys of highway 401 at rush-hour, the excitement of ‘rolling-up-the-rim’ at Tim Horton’s just to be told—again— to ‘Please Play Again’, and of course, fighting off polar bears in the morning as you de-ice your car. He’s going to love it here! My mother, however, was in Zambia for my sister’s wedding. It was she who suggested that Elaina and I write up a short speech that she could then share at Cheyenne and Willem’s reception in our stead. My sister has a printed copy of this speech for her own memory, but I feet it necessary to share my thoughts here as well. Perhaps for my own sake above all, I share these words as a remembrance of the fact that we—my siblings and I—are no longer the kids we once were; that seasons come and seasons go, but thanks be to the Lord that the most important things yet remain and forever will. Indeed, in the best of days and the worst of days, I take refuge in the tremendous reality that the best is yet to come for all of us who are in the Lord Jesus Christ, “to all who have loved His appearing” (1 Timothy 4:8). — Words have profound weight behind them. Words are able to build up, and to break down; to encourage, as well as discourage; with words we begin relationships, mend them, and end them. And yet, for all their power and beauty, sometimes words just seem to fall short—here I am, writing these words many thousands of miles away, and I don’t quite know what to say. As you well know, Cheyenne,—and doubtless she’s already told you this, Willem—Tata’s favorite passage of Scripture came from Ecclesiastes chapter three. Here are a select few verses from the passage he cherished most: “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die… a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance…” (verses 1, 2, and 4). Over the years, we have, all of us, done our fair share of weeping and mourning, but that is not how this day is to be remembered: today is to be filled with laughter and dancing, and strive to remember it this way, for the day slips away all too quickly if you allow it. Though, as it is with even the best of days, there is sorrow mixed in with the joy; tears from both laughing and weeping. On days like today, it is only natural—only human—to mourn for those empty chairs around us. But as Christians, our prayer is ever this: Lord, hasten the day when death is undone, and every empty chair is filled once more, never again to go empty. Just as the warmth of spring cannot be enjoyed without first having endured the slush and bitter cold of winter (you’ll see soon enough what we mean, Willem), in order for any season of life to begin another must come to a close. As I reflect on the seasons of life that you and I have shared together, Cheyenne, a few moments of sweetness come to mind: playing video games together in our teenage years (or rather, you watching me  play video games); baking and cooking up a storm in the kitchen (and stealing ingredients from the cousins’ house next door when we ran out of anything); playfully teasing Mama for being unable to differentiate between the words pool and pole  (sorry, Mama). But above all, and I speak for both Elaina and I when I write these words, our great joy in knowing you as a sister has been witnessing your love for the Lord through the many seasons of life that He has brought you in and out of, leading you now to this new season—one of laughter, dancing, love, and joy.  I think it’s only right, in a way, to mourn these dear seasons of life that have come and gone; for they were sweet indeed, and we should, as the saying goes, not cry because these years are gone, but rather smile that they happened at all. Though you and I are no longer children like we once were, I am thankful that we remain sweet friends. And though I cannot be there with you in person, I feel the need to thank you for your many years of faithful love and friendship towards me, for these have been one of God’s great gifts in my life. And as you embark on this next journey with this new best friend, with Willem, just try your best to remember that your old friends will always be there for you—and above all, ever remember Him, the Lord Jesus Christ, who is your best, dearest, and oldest Friend, no matter what season of life you and Willem may find yourselves in. Love, Josh & Elaina Photo by Martin Fennema, Unsplash

“Now is the judgment of this world; now will the ruler of this world be cast out” (John 12:31). The dark night of the soul—have you tasted those bitter waters, believer? Have you wandered those dark, starless paths wherein your faith seems to hang by a lone thread? It is a dreadful thing to fall under the shadow of such a night; when the hand of the Lord seems so very heavy, and His face ever so far away. In these dreary moments, it is as though a great veil is drawn over the Son, obscuring from our souls for a time the warmth and comfort of His light. It is during such dark nights of the soul that one ’s faith seems as nothing more than a dancing candle flame in the midst of a howling infinite. Perhaps you have found refuge from the storm within—as I have often done—in the words of David. Consider, for a moment, the utter desperation of spirit with which he calls out to the Lord in Psalm 88: “I cry out day and night before you... For my soul is full of troubles, and my life draws near to Sheol... You have put me in the depths of the pit, in the regions dark and deep. Your wrath lies heavy upon me, and you overwhelm me with all your waves” (verses 1, 3, 7, and 7). The words of David in Psalm 88 draw to a close with these haunting remarks: “O LORD, why do you cast my soul away? Why do you hide your face from me?... You have caused my beloved and my friend to shun me; my companions have become darkness” (14, 18). The man is caught between a rock and a hard place, with no relief in sight. There is in the Christian life a particular darkness of soul that can at times almost overwhelm the believer. A spiritual depression—a dark night of the soul, a crisis of faith—that clouds our hope and gnaws at our assurance, casting our souls into the pit alongside David in those “regions dark and deep.” Having walked those dreaded halls more than once,—and been led out of them again by the faithful hand of the Lord—an observation I have made is this: the Lord’s purposes are far greater in and through such suffering than we can possibly imagine. Indeed, His hand is not heavy without purpose. Have you ever considered, dear believer, that in allowing such fears and doubts to linger for a season, the Lord is gently, lovingly, redirecting your gaze back towards Him? Perhaps you’ve been caught navel-gazing of late—drawn away from your first love and the gospel by your own sense of achievement, comfort, or security—and the Lord in His love towards you has come to stir you awake from your slumber. Whatever the source of these dark nights of the soul may be for any one of us, I feel confident in saying that the Lord uses such soul-agony for this predetermined end: that we should despair of ourselves anew, set aside our fleeting emotions, and cling to His promise of life eternal secured through the work of the Lord Jesus Christ alone. Do not trust your heart or the feelings that flow from it—trust in the Lord and His steadfast love, independent of whether or not you feel it. For, His faithfulness towards those in Christ is the surest thing there is; indeed, surer by far than the sun which will rise tomorrow morning. Now, our own sin and unbelief aside, we must reckon with the reality that we have an enemy in this world: that ancient serpent from long ago, the accuser of the brethren (Revelation 12:10). It is he who whispers lie after lie in the ears of the righteous, flinging all manner of accusations against us before the throne of God night and day continually. “Now the serpent was more crafty than any other beast of the field that the LORD God had made...” (Genesis 3:1). In days both dark and delightful, his lies can so easily come to us and make us stumble—and worse yet, cause us to doubt that gentle hand which holds us. “You have sinned again,” the forked tongue whispers,  “best you give up now, your God has turned His back on you for good this time.” Whether it be the reminder of some fresh sin we have just committed, or an old haunt from our past, the father of lies and his ilk are ever quick to accuse us. In his wicked craftiness, the airing of old haunts seems to be his specialty: the painful remembrance that he calls to mind of those sins committed long ago—the sins that have scarred us, and perhaps others also. It is as though the enemy says, “You have been forgiven, you say? Perhaps—but has He forgiven you of that? Perhaps not.” This debilitating, nigh-paralyzing feeling of unworthiness that believers can so often fall into is perfectly illustrated in Fyodor Dostoevsky ’s final novel , The Brothers Karamazov. After a humiliating arrest under suspicion of murdering his father, the eldest Karamazov son, Mitya, begins to feel naked and ashamed before his tormentors after they stripped him of his clothes, belongings, and humanity: “He felt unbearably awkward: everyone else was dressed, and he was undressed, and—strangely—undressed, he himself seemed to feel guilty before them, and, above all, he was almost ready to agree that he had indeed suddenly become lower than all of them, and that they now had every right to despise him.” Given The Brothers Karamazov was published in 1880, I have no qualms about spoiling this significant detail: Mitya did not kill his father. And yet, the fierce accusations of those around him make Mitya feel as though he did; as though he is in someway worthy of being despised. He is innocent, but he does not feel as though he is. Rather, he feels undressed, naked, and despised by his enemies; indeed, every bit as vile as they accuse him of being. The enemy tempted our first parents in the garden, he sought the life of Job, and in his hubris he dared breathe lies and temptations in the presence of Him who is altogether truth. Surely we as believers cannot expect exemption from such ill-treatment if the enemy was so bold as to accuse our Lord. In the book of Zechariah, the Lord has given us a mighty illustration of our identity in Christ—in Him, we stand pure, forgiven, accepted, and forever set free from the lies of the enemy. In Zechariah 3:1-4, we find these words: “Then he showed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the LORD, and Satan standing at his right hand to accuse him. And the LORD said to Satan, ‘The LORD rebuke you, O Satan! The LORD who has chosen Jerusalem rebuke you! Is not this a brand plucked from the fire?’ Now Joshua was standing before the angel, clothed with filthy garments. And the angel said to those who were standing before him, ‘Remove the filthy garments from him.’ And to him he said, ‘Behold, I have taken your iniquity away from you, and I will clothe you with pure vestments.’” Now, I want you to notice something very important: Joshua the high priest is not clean when Satan brings an accusation against him. Joshua is, as the text says, “clothed with filthy garments” (verse 3). There is a sense in which Satan’s accusation is perfectly legitimate: “God, you say you are holy and yet here is your high priest, filthy and entirely unfit for service!” Joshua is every bit unworthy as Satan accuses him of being. Notice, however, the response: “ The LORD rebuke you, O Satan! The LORD who has chosen Jerusalem rebuke you! Is not this a brand plucked from the fire? ” God, being God, is entirely, infinitely aware of our condition before Him and in no need of any reminders. And yet, though He is aware of every skeleton in every closet—every old haunt that the enemy may tread out before Him in accusation of us—it is nonetheless He who loves us most. I believe it was Charles Spurgeon who once said that when he is tempted into thinking he is unworthy, he thinks little of it—for he was never worthy. At no point were any of us worthy of salvation. But God, being rich in mercy, has taken our filthy garments off of us, nailed them on the cross of His Son, and clothed us with the perfect righteousness of Jesus Christ: “And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with [Christ], having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This He set aside, nailing it to the cross” (Colossians 2:13-14). Allow this mighty, infinitely deep truth to wash over you. The One who made you, died for you; if you are in Christ, and He in you, your vestments are pure indeed. If you have turned from your sin in repentance and found refuge in Christ through faith alone, then all your sin, every haunt and source of guilt, has been forgiven by the Lord. In Christ, your sin has been cast into that sea without bottom to forever plummet further from all living memory, blotted out from the record of Him who knows all, forgotten and forgiven entirely, removed as far from you as the east is from the west. Plucked from the fire, we in Christ have not only been forgiven, but clothed in the very righteousness of the living God Himself, saved forever. In the death and resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ, the ruler of this world has been cast out: “ He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in Him ” (Colossians 2:15). The accuser of the brethren, Satan, has been crushed beneath the heel of the Lord; the truth of the gospel renders the accusations of the enemy empty and impotent. Nothing in all of creation can separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord because our Lord lived the life we could not live and died the death we could not die. We do not need to fear the judgement, for Jesus has died in our place. I love these words from Dr. John Neufeld: “I will love the cross more when I come to realize how deeply dark were my sins and therefore how deeply merciful was Christ’s mercy. And my love for that which Christ has done will increase exponentially... when we paint sin so exceedingly sinful, it paints the cross so beautifully. And I can’t help but think we’ll never appreciate the cross until we appreciate how deep and dark were all of our actions here.” Ours sins are dreadful—indeed, far more vile and nightmarish than we could possibly dare to guess—but the salvation in which we stand, secured in our Lord, is far more beautiful than our hearts can ever fathom. In fact, so infinitely rich is the gift of our salvation in Christ that we shall spend all our days in the ages to come trying to uncover its bottom: “ so that in the coming ages He might show the immeasurable riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus ” (Ephesians 2:7). Photo by m wrona, Unsplash

—Winter of 2017— I only met Steve Lawson once, but the memory of our meeting has cast a long shadow in my memory — particularly in light of recent events. Though he does not know it, Lawson ’s ministry left a deep impression on my understanding of the Lord and His Word . Indeed, Lawson was used by the Lord in the life of my family during some of our darkest days. I had the opportunity to speak with Lawson after a sermon he gave at Redeemer University in the fleeting days of December 2017. A group of us men, myself at the front, had stood in line after the sermon to meet Lawson. However, upon getting to the front of the line I soon realized that I stood alone, looking down at a lone hand extended in my direction. The men I attended the event with had got caught up in some conversation of theirs some ways back, leaving Lawson and I on our own. Given the line behind me had mysteriously disappeared, he and I had time to speak at some length. My father had already been diagnosed with cancer by this time, — only a few weeks prior — and so one of the things that Lawson and I touched on in our conversion was along this point. I won ’t transcribe the exact words he said to me, but they were along these lines: “Keep the faith.” Though I was largely unfamiliar with Lawson and his ministry up until that evening (at best, I saw him in a few videos from Ligonier Ministries), I was deeply encouraged by his sermon and the words he and I shared together. It wasn’t long before I began reading and listening to much more of his material in the coming weeks. As I mentioned, my father was in the midst of cancer treatment during this time, and in His wisdom the Lord saw it fit that Lawson’s The Attributes of God series came across my lap. A few short weeks later, nestled somewhere between the wisdom and sovereignty of God, — both literally and within the span of the series — my father was called home to be with the Lord. —Summer— When I began my studies at the University of Western Ontario last fall, I did so with a sense of excitement and trepidation. I was eager to finish well the last leg of my education — a journey I had embarked on with breakneck speed several years earlier, taking time off for mine and Elaina ’s wedding, and little else. However, as my journey began upon the final chapter — with the very end in sight! — the dark clouds began to roll in. I was not unlike my dear friend Bilbo in The Hobbit who, upon seeing the end of his road, felt a similar way: “All alone it rose and looked across the marshes to the forest. The Lonely Mountain! Bilbo had come far and through many adventures to see it, and now he did not like the look of it in the least.” My faith in the Lord notwithstanding, I must admit I had a sense of foreboding as my time at Western approached. Some of my reservations were purely practical in nature: for instance, my commute to Western ’s campus in London was about an hour and forty minutes each way, sans traffic or poor weather. To add insult to injury, the fact that the route between my home and London is called ‘The Snowbelt’ (appropriately named given the amount of snow the area receives during the winter months) was little comfort to my heart. And as is so often the case, worry begets more worry: would I be safe during those dark and dreary winter commutes? Between commuting, classes, and studying, when would I have time to work? And between commuting, classes, studying, and work, when on earth would I have time to spend with my wife? Coupled with these worries, I was gripped further by this ominous sense that I was about to intrude upon a place that was itself in the grip of some darkness — a spiritual darkness that hated the Lord and hated those who identified with Him. In spite of this weight in my soul, there was a zeal yet kindled within me. I began devouring the book of Acts, studying the ever Christ-focused examples of Peter, Paul, and Silas, praying earnestly for my teachers and classmates, none of whom I had yet met, in expectation that the Lord would do some mighty work in them. In the days approaching the dawn of my new semester, the Lord in His kindness reminded my heart of this everlasting truth: “‘Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!’ The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress” (Psalm 46:10-11). Whatever stood in front of me in the coming days, weeks, or months, the Lord calmed my troubled heart with His promise to remain with me until the very end of the age. The Lord would glorify His name and magnify the gospel of Jesus Christ; I had only to be still and faithful. —Fall— I don ’t care much for driving. Thus, the prospect of a three and a half hour daily commute to and from campus was not something I relished as my time began at Western. However, I sought to entrust this time to the Lord, desiring to make the most out of an unavoidable situation. It’s funny: as I reflect back on the last several months, I think my time of peace and quiet with the Lord along those daily commutes will be one of the things I miss most about this season in life. Well, it wasn’t all peace and quiet. I wanted to fill my time on these long drives well, and so I began my commutes in September with the longest, beefiest series I could think of: R.C. Sproul’s fifty-seven part overview of the entire Bible, From Dust to Glory. It was around this time, perhaps the second or third week of class, that I also began listening to sermons by Steve Lawson again. His sermons were long, as was my commute, so it worked out splendidly. During these commutes, my mind was immediately taken back to those dark and heavy days from many years earlier; when the grief of losing my father was so fresh, and the mighty presence of the Lord God ever so near. I soon began for the second time in my life Lawson ’s series The Attributes of God , and was again deeply encouraged by the Biblical truth he brought to bear on this great God we serve; the faithful Friend and Father who had brought me and my family through many dangers, toils, and snares since I last listened to the series all those years ago in what seemed like a different life entirely. Though I had only met Lawson that one evening, his books, sermons, and series were used by God in a mighty way that same winter as I wrestled in my soul with the death of my father. J.C. Ryle once observed that, “The best of men are only men at their very best.” Even as a new ish Christian, I was under no illusion that Steve Lawson was faultless; like all men, he was a great sinner saved by a great Savior, just as I was. But I thank God all the same that He used an imperfect and weak man in Steve Lawson to point me to a Savior who is infinitely perfect and strong when my heart needed those truths most as a young man. My appreciation for Lawson, and the Lord’s work through him, deepened all the more when my little sister came to faith in the Lord Jesus Christ a short time ago through one of his sermons she ‘just so happened to stumble upon online.’ I am, of course, being somewhat facetious; the Lord does nothing without purpose. I praised God for His deep faithfulness to my family, and I praised Him yet again for the ministry of this man who had blessed me and my family ever so much, albeit from afar. And then, like all of you, I heard the news in late September. Truly, “The best of men are only men at their very best.” —Winter— This was a hard winter. A man from church who ploughed our driveway during the heavy snowfalls (once while we were actually stuck in our car at the midway point of our driveway on route to the airport) remarked that Canada received more snow this winter than it had at any other time since 2001. With each new weather alert along the Snowbelt — signaling more flurries to come — my mind remembered the words of Richard III in Shakespeare ’s play of the same name: “ Now is the winter of our discontent.” I say again, this was a hard winter. In the care of the Lord ’s providence, I fell ill in early November with a nasty infection. Indeed, it was the sickest I had ever been in my entire life. What began as a minor cold mutated into a host of other symptoms, including two more infections compounded on the first, a severe fever coupled with body aches, an unceasing headache, shortness of breath that did not allow me to speak (never mind that my placement at a school began that same week), and a cough that persisted into the early weeks of January. All told, over the course of that first week I was in the emergency room twice, passed between four different doctors, lost a significant amount of weight for so short a time, and was left unable to speak more than a few words above a hushed whisper without breaking out into a violent coughing fit in placement for a profession that was largely based upon one’s ability to speak and interact with others. Oh, and my wife and I were moving at the end of the month. It was in and through these difficult and exhausting days that the faithfulness of the Lord stood strong. When we truly begin to sense our own weakness, it is only then that we come to see but the edges of His majesty, strength, and love towards us. When I began my commute with the Lord in this new season, I was assured by His promise to be with me — “And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20), a promise He has upheld to me with unflinching faithfulness. During this leg of my commute with Christ, — a stretch of road I shall call ‘The Sickbelt’ — I found myself thinking often of Steve Lawson. Indeed, lying sick in bed left me with little else to do besides the ability to think and pray; something I tried to do, however imperfectly. When the news about Lawson broke, it ripped through social media and Christian circles like a whirlwind. Even after many weeks of thinking and praying through what had happened, I was often left at a loss at how best to untangle this particular knot theologically, let alone emotionally. How could this happen? , I thought to myself. Why was it, after years of not reading or listening to Lawson, that such a terrible thing should happen only days after I took up listening to him again? If only I had opportunity to speak with him; if only I could encourage him with the same words he told me all those years ago — “Keep the faith.” To my shame, I was all too easily caught up with the drama, scouring the internet for answers into a situation that had nothing to do with me when I should have been pleading before the Lord for my brother in the hour he needed it most. In light of this reality, it did not take long for the Lord to hit me over the head with this simple, yet firm, admonition: Mind. Your. Own. Business. It was at this point I determined within myself that, as often as Steve Lawson ’s name came across my mind, I would pray for him —not for his ministry, but for him : his relationship with the Lord, his marriage, his family, his church, that he would repent and trust in the Lord for forgiveness, who is our only hope in the fleeting spring that is life and bleak winter cold that is death. —Spring— Life is woven together with seasons. Seasons of weeping that give way to seasons of laughing; seasons of war and seasons of peace — seasons of sorrow that seem to rob all hope from tomorrow, only to be met with the sweetness of spring wherein joy finds rest and voice again to sing. As the writer of Ecclesiastes declares, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven” ( Ecclesiastes 3:1). As my time at the University of Western ebbs to a close, I draw comfort in looking back over all the road my feet have traveled. A few more months remain in my program, but my long commute is now over; this part of the journey is complete, and a new road stretches out before my feet. However, now standing at the latter end of this road I have just come to the end of, I feel as though an entire life has just been lived —indeed, what is a year but a dress rehearsal for that unending day of which we in Christ shall all take part? What is our daily commuting with Christ here below but a glorious shadow of the adventure yet to begin? In the vast providence of God, it seems only fitting that Steve Lawson ’s story over the past several months should bookend my own. After a long withdrawal from the very circles he once occupied, Lawson — only a few days ago — broke his silence and asked for forgiveness in the form of a widely circulated letter, confessing to a watching world that he had grievously sinned against his wife, his family, his church, his brothers and sisters, and above all, that he had brought reproach upon the name of Christ. “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven... a time to keep silence, and a time to speak” (Ecclesiastes 3:7). As I reflect upon the faithfulness of the Lord Jesus Christ over this past year, it is with fear and trembling that I consider not only His kindness to me, but to all of us — and to Steve Lawson as well. Without the steadfast love of the Lord, without the enduring security of His promises towards us, surely we would all have made shipwreck of our souls many times over in the past year — in the past hour, even. But thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord who gives us His promise that, “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). Wherever you may find yourself today along your commute with Christ — whether it be in a season of sorrow or one of joy — perhaps I can leave you with this encouragement: fight the good fight, finish the race, and, as a brother once said to me many years ago, “Keep the faith.” “ The Road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say. ” — Bilbo Baggins, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring Photo by Clay Banks, Unsplash

Just as a piece of literature should tell us something about its author, or a timepiece its architect, so too does creation - both seen and unseen - reveal its Creator. As David says, “ The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims His handiwork ” (Psalm 19:1). Indeed, “ all things were created through Him and for Him ” (Colossians 1:16). The Lord cannot but pour Himself into all His handiwork, for it is through Him and for Him that all things made find their substance, worth, and beauty. God has revealed Himself chiefly through the inspired words of Scripture, perfectly manifesting Himself in the Word made flesh, the Lord Jesus Christ His Son; but, God has also seen it fit that all of reality should in some way testify of His majesty and beauty. However, is it not curious that the many glories of creation appeal to all of us differently? In the study of God ’s world , a mathematician may revel in the precision and order of God ’s universe, a zookeeper His sense of humor among the animals, and a judge His inscrutable moral perfection. For my part, as a writer, reader, and teacher, I tend to see God’s world and His fingerprints in it through stories - metaphors and echoes of far better things yet to come. Just as marriage here below is the shadow of a richer Heavenly reality, Christ’s relationship with His church (Ephesians 5:31-32), so can we trace our many experiences in this life back to some glorious revelation of our Lord and His eternal love for us. When I was a teenager, I had horrid acne. I began my development from sapling to young man at a rather early age - though, this was not entirely without some benefits. For example, I was the third tallest boy at my school for a few years (only to lose any lead I had in high school), and I began growing facial hair well before my friends (a lead I still hold over some of them). But then came the acne. Between with my increased height, newfound facial hair, and blossoming acne, I must have looked like two entirely different people between the sixth and seventh grades. In my pursuit of being acne free, I tried everything: Proactive, organic soap, apple cider vinegar, aloe vera - you name it, I tried it. Proactive seemed to work for a time; only, it was expensive and the moment I stopped treatment my acne came back worse than ever before. Nothing seemed to work. For anyone who has struggled with acne for any length of time, I need not further explain how discouraging this can be - physically, socially, and emotionally. One evening, when I was about eleven or twelve, I was lying in bed after dinner. Before I fell asleep, however, a knock sounded on the door and my father walked into the room. My father most often knocked to announce that he was about to enter a room, not to ask permission if he could. Upon entering, my father sat on the edge of my bed for a few minutes while he and I talked. I do not remember what we spoke about - it was so long ago - but I will never forget what happened next. While lying with my head on the pillow, my father got up and leaned in to kiss my forehead as he said goodnight - and that he loved me. “No, my face,” I said softly as I recoiled from him, retreating further into my covers. I was ashamed; having had acne for some time now, I got used to feeling ugly in my own skin. I didn’t want him kissing me - it didn’t seem right. “It’s okay, I don’t care,” my father said as he leaned in further and kissed my forehead, acne and all. He got up from the bed and made his way to the door, turning to speak once more before leaving the room: “Have a goodnight. I love you, Josh.” Nineteen years was too short a time here below with my father, but I thank the Lord for each and every moment He blessed my family and I with him. I am thankful for his godly example; the ripples of righteousness that continue to pulsate in my life and through the lives of others because of his diligent, daily pursuit of Jesus Christ. I am indebted to my father who, though I was not yet a Christian at the time, displayed in that evening an image of the gospel and the heart of our Father in Heaven: “For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person - though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die - but God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:6-8). While we were still sinners - enemies of God, fomenting all manner of blasphemies against Him and filled with far greater filth than mere acne - the Father sent His Son to die for us. Through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, the Father bestows upon us the right to become sons and daughters in His own family. As those who cling to Christ for salvation, robed in His righteousness, we call upon God not as a far-off, cosmic entity but as a beloved Father, the One to whom all fatherhood points: “For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’” (Romans 8:15). In Christ, through His Spirit, God the Father stoops down to embrace, kiss, and assure us of His love. We did nothing to earn this salvation and inheritance in Him; it was a gift of His free grace, freely offered to all who repent of their sins and believe in the Lord Jesus Christ. When we try and make ourselves clean, when we shrink away from His gentle hand and His promise to forgive, we grieve Him whose very heart is that of a loving father. God is not first and foremost a brilliant mathematician, beautiful artist, or even Creator, but a Father. In order to see God and His world properly, we must view reality through this crucial, beautiful lens. In his book Delighting in the Trinity, Michael Reeves makes these important points about the Father ’s heart: “Since God is, before all things, a Father, and not primarily Creator or Ruler, all His ways are beautifully fatherly. It is not that this God “does” being Father as a day job, only to kick back in the evenings as plain old “God.” It is not that He has a nice blob of fatherly icing on top. He is Father. All the way down. Thus all that He does He does as a Father. That is who He is... He creates as a Father and He rules as a Father; and that means the way He rules over creation is most unlike the way any other God would rule over creation.” God the Father is not aloof in our salvation. The Father chose us in the depths of eternity, having predestined us to life eternal through faith in His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, saving and sealing us with His Holy Spirit until the day in which Christ returns. When your flesh fails you, when the winds and waves of this world assail you, when the enemy accuses you, look to Him who is above all a Father, who sent His only Son to die for your sins while you were still His enemy. He knows everything about you, indeed the very worst there is to know about you, and yet it is your Heavenly Father who loves you to the uttermost. This is our Father’s heart. “ This is my Father’s world: The birds their carols raise, The morning light, the lily white, Declare their Maker’s praise. This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair; In the rustling grass I hear Him pass, He speaks to me everywhere. ” Photo by Emiliano Bar, Unsplash

Many years ago, a large African-American man was riding the Detroit city bus on route to some destination of his - whether it was to work, church, or the gym, I cannot remember. As the bus snaked through the city, collecting more and more passengers along the way, the small vessel began to grow rather crowded. In no time at all, the large man found himself squished and squashed by his fellow travellers, a young boy among them - in the seat just beside him, in fact. As the stuffy seconds gave way to stifling minutes, so too did this young boy ’s manners give way to mischief, growing from impatience to outright villainy. It was at this point in the journey that the young boy, prompted by sin alone, began bumping, pushing, poking, and even punching the large man beside whom he sat, seemingly for no other reason than his own twisted sense of pleasure. The large man - large in the sense that a mountain or oak tree can be considered ‘large’ - continued to sit by in peace, unfazed by the little creature beside him that was bent so wildly on causing him grief. Finally, the bus hissed to a stop and the large man, smiling, looked down at the boy beside him. “This is my stop,” the large man said as he stood up from his seat, gently making his way past the little boy into the aisle of the bus. Before leaving the bus, however, the large man turned around and for a moment loomed over the boy who had only moments before been pecking at him, much as a woodpecker would a tree or a gnat some mighty beast. Reaching into his coat pocket, the large, smiling man took out a small business card and gave it to the boy. The boy, confused, and doubtless a little terrified, took the card with his trembling, puny hands which were lost for a moment in the mass of the larger man’s, and began reading the card. The boy’s eyes were immediately drawn to the inscription at the bottom: JOE LOUIS. BOXER. HEAVYWEIGHT BOXING CHAMPION OF THE WORLD 1937-1949 Before the young boy had time to look up, the champ had already left the bus and was making his way down the street. Over the years, I have heard several iterations of this story. One account suggests it was not a little boy pestering Joe Louis but rather three young men who had attempted to pick a fight with him while riding the city bus. As with all stories of this sort, there are perhaps many more renditions floating around in the world, of this there can be little doubt. In any case, the significance of this story does not change depending on which version is true; whether Louis ’ antagonists were three young men or a mere little boy is of no concern . The ultimate lesson of the ‘Joe Louis Story’ rests in the fact that this account points to a truth higher and greater than itself, which is simply this: Joe Louis, the most celebrated boxer of all time, perhaps second only to Muhammad Ali himself, chose to set aside his status and forgo his power for the sake of those far weaker than himself. I once heard it said that the true measure of a person ’s character can be determined not by their ability to express any single attribute well, but rather by their capacity to display seemingly contrary attributes in harmony with one another at any given time. Allow me to explain. We may respect and get along well with a man who is supremely kind. However, if this man is kind only , lacking other worthy attributes such as courage and generosity, would not our respect for him diminish to some degree? However, if that same man were not only kind, but brave, generous, joyful, loving, humorous, intelligent, just, humble, and righteous also, holy even, would our admiration for such a soul not abound exponentially? If a man was all wrath, wrath, wrath, he would surely be despised; but if his wrath was justly concentrated on some evil worthy of it, then we might even understand him; and greater still, if that same man were also filled with some great measure of love for others, going between love and wrath as on a dime insofar as the occasion demanded it of him, well, then we may even dare begin loving such a man ourselves. Continue adding to this man other attributes, - wisdom, humility, courage, and so on - and you will soon find yourself with quite a specimen. It is one thing to be kind, another to be kind and humble, but to be kind, humble, and mighty, well, that is quite the feat. This quality within a person - this characteristic of supreme character - becomes even more mysterious and wondrous when two seemingly opposing characteristics are paired alongside one another - again, love and wrath being an example. Or, as in the case of Joe Louis on the bus, a raw strength and capacity for immense brutality tempered with gentleness and meekness. However, Louis’ display of character was but a type and shadow of a more beautiful reality. It is in the person of the Lord Jesus Christ, the King of kings and Lord of lords, that all true beauty coincides. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End - and all that lies in between. Jesus Christ inhabits all godly perfections and attributes perfectly within Himself. Or rather, all these many perfections inhabit Him as the fountainhead from which all holiness, truth, and beauty flows. This glorious reality is true of all persons within the Godhead. Our God - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit - is kind and yet vengeful against sin, merciful and yet supremely just, loving and yet filled with righteous anger towards evil. He is gentle and He is holy. If He were vengeful and just alone we would have cause only to fear Him. But because He is kind, merciful, and loving also, indeed all of these attributes to the very utmost, we can entrust our little lives to Him while at every point knowing He will do that which is right and best - “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Genesis 18:25). What makes the Lord so unfathomably beautiful and desirable is the very reality that He is all good things at once, perfectly . He is holy, holy, holy, experiencing no lack in His righteousness and elevation above all created things, while at the same time being the kindest, gentlest, humblest, funniest, happiest Being in all of existence. The Lord, like a great jewel held up to the sun, displays endless new perfections and beauties as the light of His glory refracts through His many attributes - wrath coupled with grace, holiness with gentleness, all existing within perfect and eternal harmony. What we often assume to be some great chasm existing between two seemingly irreconcilable attributes is merely the vast, infinite expanse that is occupied between the two in the person of the Lord Jesus Christ. Indeed, the Lord is “gentle and lowly” (Matthew 11:29), but He is also gentle and holy, wholly encompassing within Himself the great spectrum that lingers between all goodness and perfection. And make no mistake: it is only with utter holiness and perfection that the Lord robes Himself. Banish forever the thought that any trait or attribute outside of perfect goodness and moral purity exists within Him. When we peer within the pages of Scripture, particularly in the book of Revelation, this tremendous mystery unfolds further. Consider, for example, the Lion and Lamb contrast in Revelation chapter 5: “And one of the elders said to me, ‘Weep no more; behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that He can open the scroll and its seven seals.’ And between the throne and the four living creatures and among the elders I saw a Lamb standing, as though it had been slain, with seven horns and with seven eyes, which are the seven spirits of God sent out into all the earth” (verses 5-7), and only a few verses thereafter, the crowds of Heaven praise Him saying: “‘Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!’” (verse 12). Throughout all of Revelation, the Lord Jesus is depicted as both Lamb and Lion, as both gentle and holy. Notice, however, that Jesus is truly Lamb and Lion; not one and then the other, but both, always. He is a holy Lion that is infinitely gentle, and a gentle Lamb that is infinitely holy. The sheer vastness of Christ’s character is displayed not only in the titles bestowed upon Him as Lamb and Lion, but in His very deeds as well. In Revelation 19:11-16, we behold this lofty vision: “Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness He judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on His head are many diadems, and He has a name written that no one knows but Himself. He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood, and the name by which He is called is The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, arrayed in fine linen, white and pure, were following Him on white horses. From His mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and He will rule them with a rod of iron. He will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On His robe and on His thigh He has a name written, King of kings and Lord of lords” (verses 11-16), and then, once the cup of His wrath has been poured out, this is what the Lord does next: “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (Revelation 21:4). When C.S. Lewis wrote that God is good but not safe, - that is, not a teddy bear, lowercase g ‘god’, but an all-consuming fire - I imagine these to be the sort of passages he had in mind. At the end of the age, the Lord Jesus, clad in a blood-soaked robe, treads upon the enemies of God as though they were mere grapes in a winepress; and yet in the next scene, He is drying forever the tears of His beloved children with the sleeve of that very same robe. There is none so good as our Lord, but let us never make the foolish mistake of thinking that because He is good He must also be safe. Yet for those of us who are in Christ, we have everlasting safety and refuge in Him from the wrath of God to come. We are saved from Him, by Him, for Him; from His wrath, by His grace, and for His glory. What can we say to these things? What can we do but worship Him who is both Lion and Lamb, the Alpha and the Omega, the Almighty! O, and what a tremendous joy that we are called to imitate Him! Each and every day of our lives we are given the honor to couple kindness with courage, love with truth, and gentleness with holiness - however imperfectly - until we see Him face to face and become as He is. Allow your soul to flood with the glorious reality that we serve a God who is both gentle and holy, both Lion and Lamb. Consider Him who, “ though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, He humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross ” (Philippians 2:6-8). Joe Louis was poked and prodded by a small child, a minor inconvenience at worst; the Lord Jesus was mocked, beaten, spat on, impaled, and crucified by the very men He nursed to manhood from the womb, that by His atonement for sins we might become the very sons of God through repentance and faith in His name. What love! What gentleness crowned in perfect righteousness that, even upon the cross and to this very day, the Lord Jesus welcomes His very enemies to flee to Him for salvation. In His vast gentleness the Lord bids us repent, believe, and find refuge in His loving arms, wiping away each and every tear from our eyes as the stains of sin and sorrow wash away. He is good, and we are eternally safe with Him, but He is not safe. For, even as the Lord comforts His saints, the Lion of Judah ever bursts forth as a consuming fire to the defense of His people at the slightest motion of evil, such that the very gates of Hell itself and all its dark inhabitants shake at the very whisper of Him who was, who is, and is to come. “Aslan is a lion - the Lion, the great Lion.”  “Ooh” said Susan. “I’d thought he was a man. Is he - quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion…”  “Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good.  He’s the King, I tell you.” -C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe Photo by The Chaffins, Unsplash

On the second of May 2011, the United States military conducted “Operation Neptune Spear” in Abbottabad, Pakistan. Under the leadership of the Obama Administration and the scalpel-like precision of SEAL Team Six, the operation successfully resulted in the death of Osama bin Laden. The death of bin Laden, the most wanted terrorist in the world at the time, ushered to a close a chapter of Western history that had begun with the horrors of 9/11 nearly a decade earlier. Upon confirming that bin Laden was successfully killed, SEAL Team Six commander radioed in these simple words: “For God and country - Geronimo, Geronimo, Geronimo.” The sword of the State had swung decisively and without mercy, purging from the face of the earth a great darkness that had long since overshadowed the West. The saying “for God and country” has taken on an assortment of guises throughout history, Pro aris et focis ( “ for hearth and home ” ) and Pro Deo et patria ( “ for God and country ” ) among them. These two Latin phrases compose twin poles of a single coin, signifying a heartfelt devotion to those spheres of life that are most important: God, family, and community. Whenever I hear this phrase, - the more contemporary version being “for King and country” - I cannot help but think of C.S. Lewis’ words from his collection of essays, The Weight of Glory. At one point, Lewis writes what he thinks to be the chief end of a nation’s military (and a good deal of other social institutions). Lewis’ evaluation is rather simple: if the military, politicians, laws, and economy are unable to promote the safety and flourishing of society, the family unit in particular, then they are worse than useless. Indeed, man does not exist for institutions, but institutions for man. He goes on: “ ...we must say that the sun looks down on nothing half so good as a household laughing together over a meal, or two friends talking over a pint of beer, or a man alone reading a book that interests him; and that all economics, politics, laws, armies, and institutions, save in so far as they prolong and multiply such scenes, are a mere ploughing the sand and sowing the ocean, a meaningless vanity and vexation of spirit... Great sacrifices of this private happiness by those who have it may be necessary in order that it may be more widely distributed. All may have to be a little hungry in order that none may starve. ” In the hustle and bustle of our daily lives, it can become easy to lose sight of why we do the things we do. I think that, in order to regain a proper Biblical perspective in the midst of the mundane, we must first narrow our focus before broadening it again. That is, before setting our sights to the plethora of issues abroad, let us take stock of our own hearts, homes, families, and church community. There is a real sense in which our pursuit of “ God and country ” must begin at “ hearth and home. ” Indeed, does this not line up neatly with the two great commandments: “‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these” (Mark 12:29-31). How can we expect to love the world if we fail to love those closest to us, the very ones we rub shoulders with morning and evening? And, how can we possibly expect to love those closest to us if we neglect to love our Lord and Savior with our utmost devotion - the very God “who loved [us] and gave Himself for [us] ” (Galatians 2:20)? Many of my prayers have lately been settled on a relatively simple premise. Whether these prayers are uttered in my morning devotions or on my daily commute, I have often retreated to these few words: “ Father, may whatever I do today abound to your glory and the good of others. ” In other words, may my existence this day, the only day that I am promised, be a blessing to “ God and country. ” By God’s grace and good pleasure, may the life of His Son so pulsate in me today that my life brings with it an aroma of eternal significance. Let every intention, motive, shadow of a thought, word, and action abound to the spread of “the fragrance of the knowledge of Him everywhere” (2 Corinthians 2:14). Indeed, this prayer forms the twin purpose behind every word I write; the glory of God and the good of those who read my words. My great desire in all I share is that He would increase and that I would decrease; that by the moving of His gentle hand these words would ripple outwards to each one of you, echoing into eternity. I write that I may steward this gift faithfully. In all I do, I am ever trusting that His word will return to Him having achieved His eternal purposes; shedding light and scattering salt in my little corner of the internet, dispelling some darkness from therein that had long since overstayed its welcome. How can you this day, wherever you may find yourself, be an instrument for God’s glory and the good of His people? “And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him” (Colossians 3:17). Photo by Martin Adams, Unsplash

In the halls of my darkened memory, the night of my father’s passing is well-preserved. I may have forgotten a great many things about those weary days - and dreary nights - but I will never forget that evening. Indeed, I have walked the well-worn paths of that memory many, many times.  I remember how sudden it all was. Without a moment’s notice, my father simply packed his things and made his way home - to his true and lasting home . I remember the golden light fading from the hospital room as night crept into the place of day - a shadow of things to come, an echo of the nightfall that was beginning to encroach upon our day. I recall family and friends waning into shapeless shadows as the room grew pale, their darkened movements dancing upon the hospital walls. I also remember the silence.  Muffled tears and soft words broke the moment now and again, like small pebbles tossed onto the calm, unbroken surface of a lake. However, all these noises seemed swallowed up within the silence itself - the silence was roaring. One would expect the normal reaction to death and loss to be tears and grief; but when you come face to face with the beast itself, silence often feels most natural. Indeed, when faced with the unspeakable, who are we to speak? What can be said? What are mere words in the face of heartbreak, sorrow, and devastation? In fact, I did not mind the silence; I did not have the words to speak, and I did not want to be spoken to. One by one, the shadows of family members stole across the walls as they made their way out of the room. Within only a few moment’s time the room where my father passed was nearly empty, leaving only myself, my sisters, our mother, and one or two others.  After a few minutes, I lifted my heavy eyes from my father’s bedside and began to gaze across the room. Nestled a few feet from me in the dimly lit corner, a shape began to shift its weight from against the wall. The figure slowly emerged from the shadows. It was my cousin Jason, my dear friend; a man I esteemed as my own brother, and still do. His hands were awkwardly folded within themselves, his eyes and face unsure of where to focus or what to do. Suddenly, he stood up straight, embraced me within his arms, and as he began pulling away spoke a few words, the likes of which I will never forget: “If you ever need to talk, or even if you need someone to just sit with you in silence, I’m here.”   With these few words Jason excused himself and made his way home. — I think we are often far too critical of Job’s friends. In the midst of his unprecedented suffering and God’s inscrutable sovereignty, Job’s three friends allowed their words to run incredibly loose. But, they did not begin this way: “Now when Job’s three friends heard of all this evil that had come upon him, they came each from his own place… And they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great” (Job 2:11-13). When confronted with the unspeakable, it is best not to speak. Not at first, that is. For, there is a time for everything: “a time to keep silence, and a time to speak” (Ecclesiastes 3:7). For as long as the Lord gives me breath, I shall be indebted to my dear friend for his act of truly unspeakable kindness on the night my father passed away. Jason weighed the moment in his mind and measured out each of his words carefully to meet the needs of the hour. For anyone who has at any point experienced profound loss and sorrow beyond words, this gift of silence needs no further explanation. And for those of you who are at any point put in a position where you can comfort another, I would advise you to at first speak little, and listen much. Do not presume that your words are the most precious gift in such a moment. Allow the Lord to do His work; He will give you the words in due time. In the days and years since that night, Jason and I are yet to speak openly about this moment. It was an exchange of immense depth and intimacy, and I think we both realize this. However, this moment has forged between us an even greater depth of friendship than could have been possible otherwise. A friendship that at times moves beyond words altogether, one bound by the unspoken tongue of silence itself. Indeed, we never have to talk about it - therein lies the beauty of silence. Author’s Note: In an effort to write with integrity and as unto the Lord, it is important to stress that, though these events are in fact true, I do not always recall the exact words used in specific conversations. As much as I’m able, I strive to remain faithful to the event in question, capturing the ‘intent’ of the conversation when my memory fails with respect to exact words.

I love stories. Whether they are bound in a book, captured on film, told around the flickering flames of a fire, or consigned to pixels and sound bites in a video game, this much remains true of my soul: I love stories. Above all, my mind has always been drawn to fictional stories - like a moth to a flame. To put a finer point on it, I love those fictional stories that resound with echoes of truth. Though their worlds and circumstances may be composed of the imaginary, these tales nonetheless have one foot in reality just as the other is fixed firmly in the imagination. And, it is this one foot in reality that lends weight and credence to the other foot in the realm of make-believe. Indeed, the very best of stories are not saying anything new so much as they are expressing timeless truths in a new garb. This is precisely why the imaginary worlds of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis - Middle-Earth and Narnia, respectively - endure while other fantasy lands fade away into the dreary dungeons of distant memory. These lands are not the real thing, but they point beyond themselves to a greater reality; having been firmly established in the Truth, our eyes and souls lift upwards from the page to Him, the greater Aslan. The best fiction ought always to lead us from its own words to the Word Himself. Permit me to continue on my dear friends Tolkien and Lewis for only a moment longer. Many folks remain unaware that Tolkien was instrumental in Lewis’ conversion. Recounting a conversation between himself and Tolkien in a letter some time after having come to Christ, Lewis wrote: “These hauntingly beautiful lands which somehow never satisfy, - this passion to escape from death plus the certainty that life owes all its charm to mortality - these push you on to the real thing because they fill you with desire... Now the story of Christ is simply a true myth: a myth working on us in the same way as the others, but with this tremendous difference that it really happened.” Indeed, the story of Christ is, as Lewis puts it, the one true myth. It is a glorious truth that remains stranger than fiction. With that in mind, have you ever considered our own reality? Have you grappled with the fact that our world is one born out of the most curious of all possibilities? Have you ever had the sense that our reality is stranger than fiction? Consider, for just a moment, what we as Christians profess to be true. We believe that this world and everything in it, realms both seen and unseen, are not the product of random chance or spontaneous spaghettification, but are in fact created according to the deliberate, purposeful, and eternal decree of a Living God. Furthermore, we believe that this God is a personal Being and far from a mere impersonal force. He has a personality, a set of well-defined and perfect characteristics, and an eternal, personal history. It also follows that, as a person, this God has things He loves and things He hates; He loves that which is good and beautiful, and He hates that which is evil and sinful. Indeed, as a personal Being, He is the very spring from which all personality, joy, and love pours forth. We believe that His divine fingerprints - His characteristics and eternal attributes - can be found embedded within every iota of the things He has fashioned. Whether it be in the howling depths of the cosmos, in the soft bloom of a Spring garden, or in a piece of fine music, His aroma lingers on it all. As Christians, we believe that this God is perfect; perfect in character, power, wisdom, beauty, and moral integrity - God is the mountaintop of all completion, wholeness, and perfection. He is the happiest, holiest, and highest Being in all of reality. Now for the strange part. We as Christians believe that this God, the one true God, has revealed Himself as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. That is, we believe in the Trinity; one God who exists in three Persons. Not three Gods, but one Being in three Persons. We do not believe this to be true because it is convenient or easy to untangle in our minds - because, believe me, it is not. Rather, we are bound in our convictions by the truth of God’s Word that this is who God has revealed Himself to be, and that is the end of it. To believe in this wondrous mystery is to affirm the most basic - and profound - element of the Christian faith. As Michael Reeves writes in his book Delighting in the Trinity, “If the Trinity were something we could shave off God, we would not be relieving Him of some irksome weight; we would be shearing Him of precisely what is so delightful about Him.” Simply put, without the doctrine - the mind-numbing, heart-warming, God-glorifying truth - of the Trinity, Christianity itself quickly unravels. Without the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the incarnation becomes irrelevant, the crucifixion weightless, and the resurrection impossible. But because God is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the mystery deepens. We as Christians believe that God the Father sent His only Son into the world (John 3:16). The Author of Life came into this world to offer His life as a ransom for many, dying upon a Roman cross for the sins of His chosen people. Through faith in the atoning work of Jesus Christ, God the Son, we become washed of our sins and clothed in the spotless robes of His righteous, justified forever before the presence of the Father, filled with His Spirit, and heirs with Christ in eternity. As Christians, we believe that this same Jesus who died and took up His life again is returning, only this time His glory will not be veiled in the form of a lamb, but will erupt from His presence as a mighty lion coming to judge the earth in righteousness. How is it that we do not daily buckle beneath the weight of such glory! We must learn to shake from our souls the spiritual malaise that so threatens our joy and glory anew in this great God of ours. Enough with the veil of familiarity; delight in Him! Indeed, I could go on and on, but my hope is that this much has become clear: the world we live in and the story we find ourselves in is stranger than fiction. Perhaps Hamlet put it best, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” When I first became a Christian, my church began a 12-week study on “The Truth Project” by Focus on the Family. While introductory in many respects, it was hugely influential to my thinking and theology, and I wholeheartedly recommend it to all Christians, young and old alike. Throughout the study, oftentimes after a weighty passage of Scripture was just read or some new glorious truth touched on, Dr. Del Tackett, the study ’s leader, would often pause and after a sigh look to the audience and simply ask, “Do we really believe what we believe is really real?” In light of such weighty truths, all of which we as Christians claim to believe, how do our lives measure up? All these years later, I have never ceased to ask myself that question. Do we as followers of Christ act in such a way that affirms or denies the things we believe to be true? Do we really believe what we believe is really real? And if not, why not? I dare say we are often at odds with ourselves; so much of the time there exists a great tension, or gulf, between what we do and what we know to be true. We are in desperate need that the Spirit convict our hearts of those things that our minds claim to believe - like a white-hot stake driven from one into the other. I say these words to myself first and foremost, dear brother and sister. O, how differently I would act - how zealous for the Gospel I would be! - if I truly tasted the reality in every waking moment that Christ loved me and gave Himself for me, that I am indeed clean, and that He reigns on His throne this very second, soon to return. But take heart, dear brother and sister, for these things are true. The promises of God in Christ, the totality of His finished work on the cross, and the hope of glory to come, these truths are far truer, far sweeter, and far more glorious than our hearts can ever imagine. Scripture itself acknowledges and even anticipates this train of thinking when Peter writes these words in 2 Peter 1:16: “For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we were eyewitnesses of His majesty.” Tim Challies, writing on the moment when we as believers enter Heaven, penned these words of great encouragement: “We will know that though we dropped our anchor into the depths of an ocean whose bottom we could not see, it fastened securely to the rock. We will know that though we walked and limped and stumbled toward a city whose gates were obscured from our view, they opened to receive us. We will know that though we fought our way toward a destination we could see only with the eyes of faith, our faith was well-placed. ‘I knew it!’ we will shout in triumph. ‘I knew it was real! I knew He was true!’ we will cry, as we fall into the arms of the Savior.”  Indeed, these things really happened. We are following the one true myth, the story to which all other stories point, “but with this tremendous difference that it really happened.” And because these things are true, we mustn’t be afraid to lean upon Christ and His word with all of our weight. Go out into the world and be encouraged to live in such a way that is worthy of Christ and everything the Bible says about Him, and ever warm yourself with this great truth: “Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain” (1 Corinthians 15:58). Photo by Jan Huber, Unsplash I would encourage you to read Tim Challies ’ full article, “I Knew It!”, which can be found here: