Search & Ye Shall Find...

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:

If a comparison had to be made, I would liken my own conversion most to that of the Apostle Paul ’s . Though there were, of course, some notable differences between us two. When I came to faith in the Lord Jesus, there was no “light from heaven” that engulfed me and no mighty voice that shook me, as was the case in Paul’s encounter with the living Christ (Acts 9:3-6). Unlike Paul who was on the road to Damascus, I was in a humble church pew; and any light or voice that flooded over me that evening took place in the innermost parts of my soul, unbeknownst to any other save the Lord and I. And yet, me and Paul share this much in common: upon conversion, we both saw ourselves in the vice-grip of Christ’s sovereign Lordship over our souls. Upon seeing the Lord Jesus for the first time with renewed hearts, our response was much the same - “Who are you, Lord?” (Acts 9:5). We did not know the Lord up to this juncture, for we had been fleeing from Him all our lives, but upon seeing Jesus one thing above all else was made immediately clear: He was Lord. Like Isaiah, both Paul and I declared in our hearts, “my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!” (Isaiah 6:5). It was a moment I shall never forget; an hour of great trembling that was at the same time swaddled in the deepest of comforts my soul had ever known. It was as though I had been stirred from a mighty slumber, awoken at last to the reality of Christ’s rule, reign, and deep love for me. My conversion was not unlike this scene from C.S. Lewis’ Prince Caspian, “Lucy woke out of the deepest sleep you can imagine, with a feeling that the voice she liked best in the world had been calling to her...” Though, for all the sweetness of the moment, there was yet fear and trembling. A Godly, healthy fear, yes, but fear nonetheless. I was in the presence of the King, the LORD of hosts, and my soul for the very first time knew it; how could I not tremble? In this way, I cannot quite empathize with those who say of their conversion, “I put my faith in Jesus and asked Him to come into my heart.” I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times, but perhaps one more time will do: I did not want to become a Christian. It was only when I saw the beauty and love and lordship of King Jesus, coupled with the horror of my own sin and it’s just punishment, that I ran to Him with everything I was and thrust myself upon His promise to forgive, cleanse, and justify. Indeed, to bring another Paul into this conversion, Washer speaks of the second birth in this way: “The question is not whether you would like to pray this prayer and ask Jesus to come into your heart - after all, you know, the handle to your heart is on the inside and if you do not open it Jesus cannot come in. My friend, Jesus is Lord of your heart and if He wants to come in, He will kick the door down.” Though we are commanded to respond to the Lord in faith and obedience, turning to Him in repentance, let us always remember that it is not we who chose Him, but He who chose us (John 15:16). If God neglected to act first, no person would ever call upon Him for salvation from the wrath to come. In the death of Jesus, the curtain of the temple separating sinful man from most holy God was torn in two , not from the bottom of the curtain to the top, but “ from top to bottom ” (Matthew 27:51). It was the Lord’s doing, not ours. Each and every day, we live in the light of this glorious reality, in the very light of the Gospel. As Christians, the eternal truths of the Bible can too easily grow dim in our sight if we fail to meditate on their depths. For while “we have this treasure in jars of clay” (2 Corinthians 4:7), awaiting the full realization of our salvation to come, let us look to Him, the King, the LORD of hosts. Over the past week, my heart has drawn profound comfort from Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 2:14-16, “But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of Him everywhere. For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. Who is sufficient for these things?” When the Apostle Paul was stopped in his tracks on the road to Damascus by the resurrected Christ, he cried out, “Who are you, Lord?” Paul saw the Lord, the King, and responded accordingly. By comparison, though Paul’s companions saw a great light and heard a voice, Christ was revealed in that moment to His servant Paul, and Paul only. The men on the road with Paul saw a light and heard a voice, but could not discern the voice and form of the Lord Jesus Christ Himself. So it is with us in this world. The Lord Jesus is the once and future King, reigning both now and in the ages to come, without end. He is the King of kings and the Lord of lords “among those who are being saved”, all the while His sovereign rule is hidden for a time from “among those who are perishing.” As joyful slaves to a perfect Master, we as Christians are being led in a triumphal procession through the halls, kingdoms, highways, and byways of this world, proclaiming the matchless aroma of Him who saved us for Himself. Like a conquering general, the Lord is leading His redeemed people on route to the Heavenly City through this world of death and decay. As captives of Christ’s grace, Christians are to be proclaiming His Gospel on our way home, warning of His wrath to come and inviting all to join in the triumphal procession. The world may shun our praises of the Lord, and we will surely be mocked for our devotion to Christ, but be of good cheer - the battle is already won. God has overcome the world, the flesh, and the devil. Though it may not always seem like it, nothing will tamper with the reality that Jesus Christ is the once and future King - “who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty” (Revelation 1:8). Photo by Carlos N. Cuatzo Meza, Unsplash If anyone cares to read the full testimony of how I came to faith in the Lord Jesus, you can find it in my post “A Word Fitly Spoken” by following the link in the button below.

Mine & Elaina's Wedding Day - July 16th, 2022 To rub shoulders with, idiom, expression 1.) To meet and talk with (someone) in a friendly way. “Though the pair had only rubbed shoulders once before, they were quickly becoming good friends .” My father was a horologist by trade. I suspect the word horologist is a mystery to many of you; perhaps as esoteric as the line of work itself. In the common tongue, so to speak, my father was a watchmaker. I often thought of my father as a mechanical surgeon of sorts - for indeed he was. The degree of skill and knowledge that resided within my father’s mind, coupled with his vast precision in the field, was simply unparalleled. As a watchmaker, my father fixed clocks, built clocks, and collected clocks. Ever since I was a young child, the ticking of timepieces far more ancient than myself could be heard as their innerworkings resounded from one spectrum of our home to the other; an orchestra of time, bending their strings of brass gears and metallic springs in perfect harmony. Well, near perfect harmony. Some clocks were broken, and it was my dad’s job to fix them. That meant that, sometimes, it struck midnight three or four different times in our home throughout the day. Though my father was a watchmaker, he would often admit that horology was no great passion of his. He did his work well, but his heart found joy in other things: his Lord, his family, working with his hands and tools on a piece of lumber, and in music. My father absolutely delighted in music; his heart and lips were overflowing with psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs (Ephesians 5:19). There seemed to be no hymn that my father did not know the tune to and no instrument that he did not know how to play at least half adequately. When I was a teenager I took up the guitar (and set it back down within a number of days, might I add). One evening, while I was struggling with the positioning of my hands on the strings, I asked my father if he would help. As was his custom, he walked over and simply asked for the guitar. After familiarizing himself for a moment with the instrument, plucking here and there at the strings, he began to play a song - it was rudimentary, but good enough that I was able to make out the tune. When I asked how he managed such a feat, much less when he had time to learn the guitar, he merely replied, “I never learned. I just thought it was like the piano and turns out it is.” He then handed the guitar back to me and walked away. Needless to say, I set the guitar down shortly thereafter and took up writing instead. My father was also an avid whistler - a trait that he, perhaps to the chagrin of my wife, passed on to me. Indeed, there ever seemed to be a tune in the air when my father was around. I remember his soft whistle, like silk, cutting through the air at his shop on King Street, in our barn, as he did yardwork - wherever he found himself, really. In an effort to bring these various threads together (my father ’s work as a watchmaker, his love of music, and his penchant for whistling), I’d like to share a story he once told me. Some years ago, a customer strolled into his shop seeking service for a timepiece. The man was quiet, softly and kindly conversing back and forth with my father as he inquired about the piece and the work that was needed. My father, being the expert he was, quickly deduced that the issue was relatively minor and that it would not take long for the work to be done. The man, my father said, was welcome to linger in the shop while the work was being done, as it would only take a few minutes. At this point in the story, I always imagine my father slipping on his glasses, sitting down, and gliding on his rolling chair across the floor to his rolltop desk where he began working. As was often the case while he worked, my father fell into his pattern of whistling some hymn or tune as his focus narrowed on the timepiece before him. However, after a few verses of my father’s composition, he ceased whistling the particular hymn that he was on midway through and continued his work in silence. Within a moment, however, the tune was picked up again from across the shop by the customer walking idly between the clocks on display. After a verse or two, the man stopped whistling and continued to browse in silence. My father, without turning from his work and no doubt with a smirk on his face, began whistling another hymn, this one somewhat more obscure. He stopped whistling after a few seconds, and sure enough, the song continued as though it had never ceased from across the room as the customer continued browsing the clocks on display, whistling away while he was at it. This song and dance continued as my father worked and the man waited, with each hymn selected by my father growing more and more obscure - testing the man, as it were. Without fail, this mysterious customer picked up each and every song, almost as though he and my father were whistling with a single voice. “All done”, my father said after a few minutes, pushing away from his chair and walking towards the man with the fixed timepiece. The pair exchanged a few words, the customer paid, and then he disappeared out the door as softly as he had arrived. To my knowledge, my father never saw the man again. Though this mysterious man had only rubbed shoulders with my father the one time, he had nonetheless left quite the impression on him. There was something about this man, my dad had said, that struck him deeply. Perhaps one more thought along this point just to underscore how curious this encounter was. My father was born and raised in Eastern Europe. This meant that the vast library of hymns he knew were by no means restricted to English tunes. German, Serbian, Romanian, Hungarian - my father knew of many songs in many tongues. What made his chance encounter with this particular customer so interesting, so mysterious, was the fact that the customer was not only well-versed in Christian hymns, but in Christian hymns from multiple languages. Indeed, no matter how determined my father was to stump the man with some far-off, ancient hymn, this customer always found his way through the tune. Life is full of such encounters. You rub shoulders with a soul, perhaps only for a moment, and then your paths never again cross. And yet, just sometimes, there exists within these brief encounters a touch of some unknown and mysterious quality; a mingling between souls that cannot be put into words, though it is felt deeply. It is as though some unspoken reunion takes place, though you and this soul have never met before, and perhaps will never again see one another in this life. The beginnings of a friendship take root, one that flashes here below for but a moment, only to burn on forever in eternity. An unending rubbing of the shoulders, so to speak. I like to think that we will have best friends in Heaven. Surely, our best and dearest Friend will be the Lord Jesus; He is the One to whom all the sweetest friendships here below point. And yet, this reality remains: you and me and billions upon billions of other souls will live in the New Heavens and the New Earth forever and ever. We shall need a good while to get to know one another, don’t you think? Even in our glorified state, clothed in our resurrection bodies and without sin, we will never ascend to the heights of omnipotence, omnipresence, and omniscience. That is, in Heaven we will not be all-powerful, all-present, or all-knowing; such glory belongs to God, and God only. And so, it would only stand to reason that we will, in some sense, have to rub shoulders with one another throughout the endless ages in an effort to get to know each other. We will not have the luxury as creatures - even as glorified creatures, but creatures all the same - to know all people instantly upon simply meeting them, or have the capacity to engage in countless friendships in a single moment. We will, just like in this life, have to put in the hard work of friendship. Furthermore, does it not also make sense that, within the bounds of sinless perfection, we shall become closer friends with some souls over others? Have you ever considered, truly considered, this glorious reality? You, dear reader, and I, and all who are in Christ, will enjoy life abundant without end throughout all of eternity. A trillion ages shall pass and we will yet still be rubbing shoulders with one another as though the day has only just begun to dawn. Such a thought is enough to make any man tremble for a moment; we cannot possibly grasp the sheer enormity of it. My wife and I often jest that, provided we do not pass together, we will wait for the other to ‘arrive’ in Heaven. After all, Heaven will be an awful big place and it would be a shame to lose one another. As you can imagine, her and I have already settled that, after our Lord, we will be each other’s best friend. As in the swell of family and friends on our wedding day, we are determined to not lose track of each other, no matter how many shoulders we may rub along the way. I write all of this lightheartedly, but with a great sense of seriousness also. For while we can only begin to imagine what that other world will be like and how it will all work, it is good to rest in the truth that the Lord knows what He is doing - all will be well. Not just well, but perfect. When we who are in Christ meet our journey’s end and knock finally on that last door, it will be opened to us and we shall be greeted by all that has ever escaped the longing of our souls. The burning within our hearts will at last be satisfied in Him whom we saw from afar through the eyes of faith. And then, a great deal of dances which have been cut short shall be taken up once again, this time with no whisper or threat of an end to come. We will see those familiar faces once again, now filled with joy and looking well rested, almost unrecognizable, just as we shall be. The white shores and far green country of the New Heavens and New Earth, clothed in a swift sunrise never to set, will be our new home. A country upon which trillions of souls will dance and sing the song of the redeemed; a sea of saved sinners, the fellowship of the King . Mothers will dance with their sons after all those long years apart; husbands who lost their dance partner long ago will find them in the ballroom once again, their lovely wife, their friend, waiting for that dance that was cut short so suddenly; little sisters will again stand on their big brother’s shoes as they are whisked across the dancefloor for the ages to come; and following the tune of some far-off though familiar whistle as it cuts through the air, sons will at last look upon the face of their father and friend that they have missed ever so much, picking up that deep talk right where they left it, as though it had never been interrupted. There too will be a vast number of folks we have never seen, never known, and never danced with here below, those with whom we only briefly rubbed shoulders with; but we shall get to know them just fine - for remember, we will have time enough to perfect the dance of friendship over there. “But, as it is written, ‘What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love Him’” (1 Corinthians 2:9). Photo by ashleyphotography.ca

“Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him” (John 11:11). The Gospel According to Mark has crowded my thoughts of late. Not only is Mark the first Gospel in mine and Elaina ’s Bible reading plan for this year, but Mark also happens to be the focus of a new series our church has embarked on, aptly titled “Who is this Man?” There is solid historical evidence, coupled with the witness of Church history, to suggest that Mark’s Gospel is the earliest of the Gospels - that is, the first to be written. This may provide an explanation for why Mark writes with such ferocious urgency; perhaps he felt hemmed in by the impending weight of eternity and simply needed to get the message of the Good News out into the world, and quickly at that. Indeed, anyone who has read Mark knows that his word of choice is “immediately.” With Mark being the oldest of the Gospels, we can then say that the very first words spoken by the Lord Jesus Christ in Scripture are found in Mark 1:15, “Now after John was arrested, Jesus came into Galilee, proclaiming the gospel of God, and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe the gospel.’” The Lord, like Mark, is not in the business of wasting time or mincing words. In a few short phrases, Jesus provides the everlasting solution for all earthly sorrow, sin, and guilt: “repent and believe in the gospel.” The living God, robed in flesh in the person of Jesus Christ, cut to the very heart of sinful humanity’s greatest need when He commanded we repent, turn from our sinful ways, and place our eternal hope in His life-giving death and resurrection. At this juncture, perhaps it would be wise to distinguish between two types of repentance. Or, as my father-in-law once put it to me, to discern between Repentance (capital R) and repentance (lowercase r). Capital R Repentance occurs only once in the Christian’s life: when they first put their faith in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. Capital R Repentance is the haunting call of Jesus that goes out to each and every soul outside of Him: “There were some present at that very time who told Him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. And He answered them, ‘Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans, because they suffered in this way? No, I tell you: but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish’” (Luke 13:1-3). Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish. When God opened our eyes to the reality of our sin and the weight of holy wrath looming above us like a mighty storm cloud, we cried out to Him for forgiveness, finding refuge in the finished work of His Son who died for our sins. By the work of the Holy Spirit, we were quickened in our spiritual deadness and turned to Him in Repentance (capital R). It is the act of salvation, of conversion, of the new birth, that God the Holy Spirit exercises upon us, securing us forever in Christ. By contrast, lowercase r repentance is the duty of each and every Christian throughout each and every day of their lives. It is the act of sanctification; the daily putting off of self and killing of sin that must be done again and again until we reach the end of our earthly wanderings. In either case, the act of repentance requires a turning away from something (that is, sin) and a turning towards something or someone (in this case, the ultimate Someone, God). Paul puts it thus when speaking to the church in Thessalonica: “and how you turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God” (1 Thessalonians 1:9). Notice how the believers in Thessalonica turned to God from idols? True repentance never ceases at mere sorrow or feelings of guilt; it begins there, by God’s grace, but it must always culminate in the concrete action of turning away from sin and self towards the living God. When we first put our faith in Christ alone (capital R), we are turning from the kingdom of sin, self, and darkness to Him, with daily dying to self (lowercase r) that must continue until He returns or bids us come home. When I was in middle school, a shadow of this reality was often put on display by a teacher of mine, Mr. H. Anytime one of us students did something disagreeable in this particular teacher’s class, we would go to him, pricked in our hearts for having abused his kindness, and say, “I am sorry for the way I acted.” His response was always the same: “Don’t be sorry, just don’t do it again.” True repentance must follow a similar pattern: a genuine brokenness of spirit for having grieved the heart of God, coupled with a resolute determination, by His grace, to forsake that sin entirely insofar as we are able. The daily practice of Godly repentance flows from a heart that hates sin, loves holiness, and is zealous for the honor and glory of God. And yet, why does repentance come so slowly to us? Why is it that we, time after time, sin after sin, find ourselves only sluggishly going before the throne of grace, if we go at all? How often are we driven by the soft hand and still voice of the Spirit of Christ to finally and fully repent of some particular sin, experiencing great joy and peace therein, only to doubt His gentle leading anew when some fresh conviction comes our way? It as is though we are ever in the grip of some kind of spiritual amnesia, so easily forgetting the love and gentleness of God in His commandment to repent, preferring rather to wallow in the slums of sin, selfishness, and unbelief. I fear our sluggishness to repent of, confess, and forsake sin comes down to a simple matter of the heart’s posture towards God. Indeed, so often the heart of the matter has to do with the matter of the heart. In our reluctance to repent, we are betraying some malady in our souls, communicating to God and ourselves that we, in that present moment, prefer sin over Him. Quite simply, by refusing to repent of sin we are clearly demonstrating how profoundly stupid we can be. Or, as one theologian put it, “When we defend our sin, we are playing defense attorney for the very thing that is trying to kill us.” Many of us may recoil at the thought of repentance. Indeed, it can at times feel supremely painful. Nonetheless, God is supremely good, kind, and merciful to demand of us repentance; it is the very healing of our souls. He is holy, holy, holy, utterly good and righteous, and as such He alone knows the true destruction that comes about because of sin. It is a very good thing that God calls us to continual and daily repentance, for there is such sweetness therein. So often we are like the young child C.S. Lewis spoke of: a foolish boy who prefers to make mudpies in a slum because he cannot even begin to imagine what joy is promised him with an invitation to holiday by the sea. Would we forsake the sweetness of His eternal promises, both now and in the ages to come, for the fleeting pleasures of sin? When the still, small voice of the Lord beckons you to turn from sin and turn towards Him, do not delay - for He has nothing in mind but your eternal good and His eternal glory. Submit to His gentle leading, for underneath that soft, velvet touch is an iron fist that will lead you in the ways of holiness, one way or another. With the resurrection of Lazarus in John chapter 11, we see the realities of repentance in full force. Lazarus, having been dead for days, is brought forth from the darkness of the grave by the words of the Lord - “He cried out with a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out’” (John 11:43). When we are given new life by the Spirit of Christ, it is His Word that raises us up out of the shadow and grip of sin, giving us new life in Him. Like Lazarus, we stumble weakly towards the Lord Jesus as those who were once dead, falling upon the arms of Him who is faithful and just to forgive us of our sins. O, if the voice of the Lord had carried any further, would not the entire cemetery have been raised! And when we, as sons and daughters of the Lord, lose our way and fall under the stupor of sin, is it not the voice of our Shepherd who brings us back to the fold?: “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him” (John 11:11). When the Lord in His kindness calls me to repentance, is He not saying, “My friend Joshua has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him!” The Lord is good, kind, and merciful to demand of us repentance, for there is such sweetness therein. Take heart, my brother and sister in Christ, for our Lord eagerly delights to extend His forgiveness to all who come to Him. Indeed, it is He who said: “Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent. Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me” (Revelation 3:19-20). Though we are weak and feeble, in such need that our very acts of repentance must be washed in the blood of Christ, He bids us come all the same. And so I ask, my dear reader, is there something you must repent of today? “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. 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). Photo by Bruno van der Kraan, Unsplash

Standing before his men as the onslaught of the Barbarian hordes closed in, in the midst of the sound and fury of battle roaring around him, General Maximus Meridius stilled his brothers in arms with but a few words: “What we do in life, echoes in eternity.” And with this, the will to fight, and to live, burned on. With another anniversary coming around the bend, I find myself thinking more and more of my father. He was a great man; I would not be the person I am today without him. After Jesus Christ, I can safely say that much of my character is owed to the example left behind by my father, my Tata. Upon his passing, my father left this world with a rich legacy of godliness; one that has profoundly shaped my own walk with Christ, and the lives of countless others also.  The life that my father lived here below sent ripples of righteousness throughout this world and into eternity. His example permeated not only my own life ever so deeply, but the lives of many all around him, even of those who never rubbed shoulders with him. My wife, who never met my father, though she catches glimpses of him through me, is inextricably blessed by his example by way of her union with me. My father’s life to this very day bursts outwards yet still into unseen and unknown generations. Indeed, “What we do in life, echoes in eternity.” What lies below this brief introduction is the eulogy that I delivered on the occasion of my father’s funeral, nearly seven years ago now. I do not think that this is my best work, for surely I have written better things since then. However, what this piece lacks in sophistication it makes up for in significance. I look at these words now as a monument of the past, a breaking of seasons as it were; a transition from one season of life into another, with these few words marking the divide between the two. My dear father shall be remembered by a great deal of things, least of all my writing, but I invite you to catch a glimpse of him once more through these feeble words all the same. A glimpse that may be fairly outdated, to be sure; for he is now doing far, far better than any memory of mine can recall, or the finest words suggest. Enjoy. — Regardless of how eloquent they may be, mere words always seem to fall short when given the task of honoring my father for the man that he was. To capture one man’s life with words is much like taking a photo of a sunset. The image, the product, no matter how beautiful, can never compare to the glorious reality. It is my delight, however, to stand before you all and give this brief eulogy in honor of John (Yoka) Budimlic, whom I knew as Tata.  Given my father was a watchmaker by trade, it seems only fitting that his favorite passage of scripture was found in Ecclesiastes 3. You do not have to be a watchmaker, however, to appreciate the sheer beauty with which our God has penned this passage:  “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven… He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end” (Ecclesiastes 3:1,11). “He has put eternity into man’s heart…” Every one of us has a craving for that which is infinite and eternal, and our hearts cannot find rest until they rest in Him who alone is the Shepherd of our souls. First Peter 3:8 speaks of our Lord as One who is untouched by time, for to Him one thousand years is as one day, and one day as a thousand years. I draw great comfort from the reality that my father has now found rest for his soul in the presence of the Master Watchmaker, the One who tends the seasons of all things beneath heaven.  Now, my dad was a brilliant watchmaker, but to say the least his talents are no longer needed in such a place as heaven, where time itself is no more, for it has been washed away on that everlasting shore. It is worth mentioning, however, that despite my father being a watchmaker, he was notorious for being late nearly everywhere he went. A fond memory of mine is arriving at church several years ago nearly an hour early because my father had forgotten to account for daylight savings time.  My father did everything with a rare excellence, there seemed to be no place in which his talents and skills would run dry. Where my father’s passion truly lied, however, was in carpentry. Him and I spent many long days in our backyard crafting furniture out of the wood we had gathered in our forest. I was as young as ten years old when my dad had placed an axe in my hand and sent me off into our backyard in search of cedar trees long enough, and to my dread, straight enough, to make a bed with.  With his own hands my dad built the roof under which my family lives, the bed that I sleep in, the table that he had his morning coffee on, and no doubt many other countless pieces of furniture that he has crafted over the years for family and friends. Much of what my dad made for others he did free of cost, merely out of the love and goodness that so readily poured out of his heart. My dad was eager to help others; you didn’t have to know my father long to consider him a close friend, even a brother.  He delighted in making others laugh and smile. When asked at a grocery store what method of payment he would like to use - cash, credit, or debit - my dad would always respond with, “I’ll put it on my health card.” Sometimes the cashier gave a little chuckle but many times they responded with confusion and often would excuse themselves in search of their manager to see whether or not you could buy 2L of Pepsi and a dozen eggs with your health card.  In light of my father’s love for carpentry, however, I cannot help but think of our Lord Jesus who Himself was a carpenter by trade. With every stroke of my dad’s axe and every nail that was confounded by his strong hands upon a hammer, my heart drew back to our Lord Himself in a quiet workshop of His own in the hill country of Galilee.  However, it would be a lie to say that a love for carpentry was where the similarities ended between the Lord Jesus and my dad. I speak for many when I say that one cannot properly appreciate my dad without first taking the time to talk about his Lord.  In Christ I see a chivalrous husband who is sensitive to the needs and desires of His beloved wife, the church, going so far as to taste death for her, that she may feast on life. The same can be said of my father who seemed to stop at nothing to ensure that his wife was happy and well, all the while never taking his eyes off of Jesus as the supreme example of chivalry. The tender love of my father towards myself and my three sisters has always warmed my heart and in many ways has helped me comprehend, at least in part, the infinite, eternal love of our Father in heaven towards us, His children. At times in my own life when I would wrestle with plaguing doubts regarding God’s love for me, I always seemed able to look to my dad and think to myself, “If my Tata, a man, can love me as much as he does, how much more does my Father in heaven love me?” My dad’s love for his children was perhaps only a lingering shadow in the light of God’s love, but it was nevertheless the most precious thing in all the earth to my sisters and I. Jesus Christ is the eternal Son of God, equal with God the Father in glory, beauty, wisdom and holiness, and yet in unwavering obedience to His Father Jesus had emptied Himself to become a man. Our Lord, the Author of Life, had offered His life for us to satisfy His Father. This is staggering, and yet throughout my dad’s entire life he served as an example to us all of what it means to be a man who honors his father and mother, even as his Lord had done many years before.  I have exhausted my vocabulary in attempts to praise the man whom I loved so much, but perhaps nothing greater can be said of my father than this: he loved Jesus Christ, and he tried with all his heart to be like Him. Colossians 3, verses 9-10 read: “Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have put off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its Creator.” The new self... After the image of its Creator...  I can say with confidence that there is no man in whom I saw Christ more, than my father. In light of His glory, however, we must not forget that the Lord Jesus was also One who was well acquainted with grief and suffering. In many ways, He was a man of sorrows. For on the cross His heart was filled with joy at the thought that He was dying for His beloved friends, His people, and yet at the very same instant His soul was overcome with agony as He endured the wrath of His Father upon the tree. Had my dad never been diagnosed with cancer I would still say he was a man who tasted sorrow many, many times; a man after Christ’s own heart, one who had fellowship with Jesus in suffering. And yet through even the darkest of valleys I have no doubt that our God walked hand and hand with my father. For though the journey to heaven is paved with suffering, the narrow way is still wide enough for you and God, remember that. Beyond his God, my father often turned to another one of his close friends during times of hardship: a man named Charles Haddon Spurgeon. Charles Spurgeon was an English preacher during the 1800s and though my father had never met him, nor did the two ever hold a conversation with one another, they were friends indeed, brothers even. Especially in his sunset years, my father exhausted Spurgeon’s wealth of wisdom and he often expressed to me with tears in his eyes how much comfort he found in the writings and sermons of his dear friend. I cannot help but smile at the thought of my dad crossing paths with Charles in those halls of glory above.  Several days after my father’s 56th birthday, his health began to take a turn for the worse, so much so that I feared I would never see him again if he was taken to the hospital. A crushing weight developed deep in my soul and I trembled at the thought that this may be one of the last moments that I had together with my father. In tears I gathered myself and read to my dad a devotional that Charles Spurgeon had written. It reads as follows: “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.’” With these fair words I said goodbye to my dad, yet through the tears I could still sense eagerness in the eyes of my father, eagerness and excitement to see his Lord. As He often does, however, the Lord had other plans and my father instead spent the following weeks in the hospital where his condition continued to deteriorate. He expressed his desire to us near the end of his life that he simply wanted to come home - no hospital, no hospice, but home. Our family then put plans in place to bring him back to his home once the weekend had passed. ...a time to be born, and a time to die…  Before my father had the chance to come home once again, the season of his life had passed, the time to die had come, and the prayer of the Lord Jesus prevailed, for my dad went to be with Christ where He is. My father went home. ​ “From all earthly tumult and sorrow we flee With hearts full of yearning, O Savior, to Thee; In all Thy great blessing we sit at Thy feet And share with the ransomed this fellowship sweet; Home, home, home, home No more to roam! Grant us, Our Redeemer, this heavenly home!” ​Until we meet again, my dear friend.

Many people have boldly made the claim that the God of the Old Testament is at odds with the God of the New Testament. The God of the Old Testament is all wrath and no grace, while the God of the New Testament is all grace and no wrath - or so they claim. The God of the Bible is inconsistent, they say; the God of the Old and New Testaments cannot be one and the same, these scoffers postulate. This cannot be further from the truth. There is only one God, and His character is unchanging and eternal - "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever" (Hebrews 13:8). The same God who laid the foundations of the world in Genesis by the very word of His mouth is the same God who will roll up the heavens like a scroll at the end of all things (Isaiah 34:4). God is utterly perfect; perfection cannot be improved upon. And yet, sinful humanity remains shocked with horror that God would be angry about anything. We are not so shocked that God is loving and gracious, this we expect of Him; but filled with wrath against sin? Well, that simply cannot be. What men fail to realize is that God's loving grace shines brightest against the dreadful shadow of His righteous judgement. If He had never revealed to us the unimaginable consequences of our sin, we would have no reason to praise His glorious grace in the gospel of Jesus Christ. In our natural state, sinful man cannot even begin to grapple with the reality that a holy and good God must exercise His wrath and justice against all evil. If He failed to do so He would cease to be good - He would cease to be God. Just as God cannot change, so too is it impossible for Him to turn a blind eye to sin. Did the God of the Old Testament destroy the earth with a flood because of sin? Indeed He did. Did the God of the Old Testament wipe out cities and cleanse entire populations because of their wickedness? Indeed He did. And yet, countless generations of men and women, each and every one in obstinate rebellion against their Creator, still lived - many perished to be sure, but far more were spared. To echo the words of R.C. Sproul, the real mystery of the Old Testament is not why so many people died, but rather, why did God allow anyone to live? It is a good thing that God is good. To live under the thumb of an all-powerful, all-present, and all-knowing deity that lacked complete and utter goodness is a nightmare too horrifying to fathom. God is good, and God is love (1 John 4:16) - therein lies the good news, and the bad news. The good news is that God is good, and the bad news is that we are not. Jesus said, "No one is good except God alone" (Mark 10:18). The Apostle Paul begins his letter to the Romans by first indicting the entire human race of their sin and cosmic rebellion against a good and holy God: "For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth" (Romans 1:18). Two chapters later, Paul deals the final and fatal death-blow against his fellow Jews who cower behind their traditions and works, and against stubborn humanity itself - "None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God" (Romans 3:10-11). Like the prophet Isaiah, we are all undone, unravelled, coming apart at the very seams before the thrice-holy God of the universe: "'Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory!' And the foundations of the threshold shook at the voice of him who called, and the house was filled with smoke. And I said: 'Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!'" (Isaiah 6:3-5). The Lord is good, and we are not. Our God is a consuming fire, and He is the One, the only One, with whom we have to do: "And no creature is hidden from His sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of Him to whom we must give an account" (Hebrews 4:13). As Luke Walter put it, "The sun will burn your eyes out from a distance of 92 million miles and do you expect to casually stroll into the presence of its Maker?" Perfect and righteous judgement await those who presume upon their own morality and fleeting goodness as a defense before Almighty God. A great storm cloud gathers above the head of the unbelieving sinner, filled with mighty peels of thunder and flashes of lightning, heralding the wrath to come upon those who are in rebellion against God and reject His Christ. What then shall we do? It is only by first becoming undone by the bad news that we can then even begin to grasp the depths and wonders of the good news. And what is the good news? It is simply this: "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life" (John 3:16). God the Father sent His Son - the One who was in the beginning with God and God Himself - to save sinners from the wrath to come. He did not come into the world to save the 'righteous', for there are none who do good - no, Jesus came into the world to save sinners like you and sinners like me. Jesus Christ began His earthly ministry with these simple and sobering words: "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel" (Mark 1:15). To repent is to consider the holiness and righteousness of God and your hopeless state before Him; to recognize that His wrath rightly rests upon you, and then to beg Him for forgiveness. He is good and faithful to forgive you. He has promised to do so if we call upon Him in faith, for He is "the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus" (Romans 3:26). " 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). If we come to Him, He will in no wise cast us out, for Jesus Himself said, "and whoever comes to me I will never cast out" (John 6:37). To repent is not merely to say sorry and then move on, continuing in sin, but it is to reorient the entire posture of one's heart towards God. It is a renewed heart of humility and sorrow for sin and trust in His promises. It requires the Spirit of God to be at work in your heart, turning it from stone to flesh; giving you eyes to see Him as He is, and in turn to see yourself as you are apart from Him. Repentance means to turn from your sin and turn to God in total confidence and faith that He is who He says He is, and that He will do what He has promised. Trust in Him only for salvation; not your works, not your upbringing, but in Christ alone. Look unto Jesus. Not in our own works or in the strength of our faith, but in Him. As the hymn goes, “Upon a life I have not lived, Upon a death I did not die, Another’s life, Another’s death, I stake my whole eternity.”   Assurance of salvation is found and secured in His finished work upon the cross whereby the Father has “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). We can only enter into the presence of and friendship with this thrice-holy God because of the finished work of His Son on the cross and His triumphant resurrection. Through faith in Christ, we are made righteous - we are justified, cleared of our moral debt - in the eyes of the Father. When Christ was praying in the garden that "this cup" should pass from Him, it was not the scourge of the Roman Empire that He feared or the nails that would soon break His flesh. It was the cup of God's wrath that He dreaded; it was His bearing the sins of the world that so shook His soul. Every iota of God's wrath displayed in the Old Testament becomes dim and pale when held against the dreadful backdrop of the cross of Jesus Christ. The Holy of holies was to take on that which was unholy, our sins, so that any who believe in Him would become holy as He is holy. As Paul says, " For our sake He made Him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God" (2 Corinthians 5:21). I believe it was John Piper who put it this way: "In three hours Jesus drank the cup of God's wrath that would have taken an eternity to pour out on me." Jesus drank every drop of His people's condemnation; and through faith we take upon ourselves the robes of His righteousness, even as He took upon Himself our sins and punishment. At the cross of Jesus Christ, God's perfect justice shook hands with His perfect grace. Cast your soul upon these truths, upon the reality that “a person is not justified by works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ” (Galatians 2:16). As the great 18th-century evangelist George Whitfield so vehemently declared, “What! Get to heaven on your own strength? Why, you might as well try to climb to the moon on a rope of sand!” Look unto Jesus in the Gospels and take hold of these glorious truths through faith. And what is faith? As Dr. Stephen Yuille so wonderfully puts it, “Faith is the hand of the soul by which we receive Christ and become one with Him.” This faith is not of our own meritorious concoction, “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not as a result of works, so that no one may boast” (Ephesians 2:8-9). We are saved by Him, from Him, and for Him, secured eternally in the unbroken chain of salvation that Paul lays out: “And those whom He predestined He also called, and those whom He called He also justified, and those whom He justified He also glorified” (Romans 8:30). The atoning death of Jesus Christ was the most weighty and horrifying display of God's wrath in the entirety of the Bible. The human race in the time of Noah deserved death; Sodom and Gomorrah deserved to be wiped from the face of the earth; Uzzah, presuming that his hands were purer than the ground upon which the Ark of the Covenant was bound, deserved death for his disobedience; Jesus Christ, who knew no sin, took on the sin of deserving sinners. The sinless Son of God took upon Himself the sins of a hell-bound race, extending the gospel of reconciliation to all those who despair of themselves and call upon God in faith, repenting of their sins and trusting in Him alone. When the bad news of God's wrath upon us cuts to our very heart by the work of His Spirit, it is only then that we can see and savor the good news: the unfathomably deep love, patience, and grace of the Triune God extended to unworthy sinners like you and I. By faith in the atoning death and resurrection of the person of Jesus Christ, we are brought in from the howling infinite of God's holy wrath, forgiven of our sins, washed of our guilt, and given a seat at His table, unending fellowship with Him both now and in the age to come, and crowned with the family name itself. In the words of Augustine, “I have read in Plato and Cicero sayings that are wise and very beautiful; but I have never read in either of them: 'Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden.'” "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light" (Matthew 11:28-30). Photo by Michael Olsen, Unsplash

Amidst the challenges of planning a wedding, there is one practicality that stands apart from the rest. I am, of course, referring to the seating arrangement. Indeed, once the guest list has been made - which in and of itself can be difficult - it seems nothing short of mental gymnastics to coordinate, untangle, and arrange these guests in a manner that seems best. Nearly two years ago now, my wife and I were finalizing the seating arrangement for our own wedding. At the time, we found ourselves, though ever so slightly, impeded not only by space limitations, but by the lingering limitations of the pandemic as well. Despite these obstacles, I at one point in the ever-changing Rubik’s Cube of our seating chart had a fleeting idea: what about reserving an empty chair at the front table for Tata? I say this idea was fleeting because, quite simply, we could not spare the space - even for an individual who was ‘not there’. What I at first imagined to be a heartwarming and honoring tribute soon became impractical above all else. An empty chair at the front table, where my immediate family was to sit, meant that someone actually at the wedding could not sit there. This idea of mine was so passing in nature that it never passed beyond my own thoughts into words, not even to my wife.  Tata, my father, had passed away several years before my wife and I got married - in fact, well before her and I ever met. It was in the days and weeks leading up to my wedding that I became more acutely and intimately aware of my father’s absence - indeed, a felt absence, as it were. That itch, that phantom limb, of his once overwhelming presence in my life began to overshadow my heart as the day approached. After my wife and Lord, I must admit, there may have been no one’s presence I wished for more dearly on the day of my wedding than that of my father’s.  However, our wedding was to be a day of joy and celebration, not a day of sorrow and sadness. As much as I wanted to honor my father, I did not want to do so in such a way that would distract from the day’s true purpose. I knew it would be folly to focus on that which was missing, for in doing so one could so easily miss everything else; and this was not a day to be missed. My father’s ‘presence’, or lack thereof, would inevitably be felt throughout the day by myself and others - that was expected, and that was okay.  Indeed, a visibly ‘empty chair’ for my father on our wedding day was unnecessary; no one needed a reminder of his absence. Life is filled with empty chairs, is it not? For those of us who have lost dear ones, does not the grief feel fresh when the milestones of life begin to pass us by? Engagements, weddings, graduations, birthdays, funerals, births, anniversaries - these are all necessary and beautiful threads that make up the mosaic of our lives. However, it is within these that the echo of our loved one’s life begins to ring again; all the chairs around us are filled, save a few. We have moved on, yet they remain the same. My father will forever be fifty-six in my mind; that is, until I see him again and he proves to me otherwise.  That’s the dirty little secret about grief: it doesn’t go away, it lingers. With each passing year it takes on a different form to be sure, but it still remains. Grief grows with us, not away from us. However, as the years ebb, covered softly by “the velvet feet of darkness”, there is a sweetness to grief that begins to take hold. A warmth blooms within the soul that, like David after the death of his child, can now dare to say with joyful sorrow, “Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he will not return to me” (2 Samuel 12:23). When a dear friend, parent, spouse, or child passes to be with the Lord, we become reminded of the fact that we have skin in the game. Suddenly, there is no room for a fickle faith; either the Bible is true, all of it, or it isn’t - simple as that. But because the Bible is true, because Christ finally and fully secures the salvation of those who cast themselves on Him, we have hope. Hope that this is not a life that leads to death, but a death that leads to life, and life abundant. Hope that, though their chairs may be empty here below, it is because they have taken up residence forever at the side of Him who invited them by name to the Wedding Feast of the Lamb:  “‘Go therefore to the main roads and invite to the wedding feast as many as you find.’ And those servants went out into the roads and gathered all whom they found, both bad and good. So the wedding hall was filled with guests” (Matthew 22:9-10). For those of us in Christ, this is our great hope; for both ourselves and those who have gone on before us. After the death of his son, David wrestled with his grief until he could say, “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints” (Psalm 116:15). Dear brother and sister, if there is an empty chair in your midst today, rest assured that it is because your loved one had another appointment to keep. For they were invited by name, just as you were, to sit at a chair with a handwritten place card, written by the very hands that were pierced for our transgressions. They now occupy a seat that is less a chair than it is a throne - one that shall never again go empty. Photo by ashleyphotography.ca

For anyone who has faithfully read or listened to the late R.C. Sproul, you would know it is no exaggeration on my part to say that the man was a storyteller. Indeed, R.C. seemed able to pull from his deep proverbial pocket a story well-suited for almost any and every theological concept. Several years ago, I heard a story by R.C. on the issue of guilt and forgiveness. At the time, I thought it to be an encouraging and insightful illustration; however, I was unable to remember exactly where I had first heard the story when I went to look for it some time after. It must have been from one of his many sermons I had listened to, or perhaps from his radio broadcast, Renewing Your Mind - though, I could not recall. This past summer I read his book Pleasing God and behold, there it was (with a plethora of other classic R.C. stories, might I add). Speaking on the issue of guilt in a chapter titled “Real Forgiveness”, R.C. unfolds this encounter: A woman once asked me: “How can I receive forgiveness for my sins? I have prayed and prayed to God for forgiveness for my sins, but I still feel guilty.” The woman was seeking theological advice. She looked at me as if she expected me to come up with some secret, esoteric device to grant her full assurance of her forgiveness. I replied, “I think you need to pray for forgiveness one more time.” My answer not only disappointed her, but also clearly annoyed her. She said: “Didn’t you hear what I said? I have prayed repeatedly. What good will praying one more time do?” I answered, “This time I want you to ask God to forgive you for your arrogance.” Now she was really angry. “Arrogance! What do you mean by arrogance? I have humbled myself time and again in prayer. Why is that arrogance?” In response, I quoted 1 John 1:9 to her: “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” Then I told her she needed to repent of her failure to believe God’s promise. For a moment, and a moment only, let us empathize with this poor woman. There is in the Christian life such a thing as guilt . Even after we have been redeemed and washed in the blood of Christ, there can be - and often is, though wrongly so - a sense of guilt that yet lingers in the dimly-lit halls of our soul. This guilt assumes power when we give a foothold to unbelief and doubt; when we refuse to fully and finally believe that God has separated our sins from us as far as the east is from the west, casting them into the sea of forgetfulness (Psalm 103:10-12; Micah 7:19). “He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His steadfast love towards those who fear Him; as far as the east is from the west, so far does He remove our transgressions from us” (Psalm 103:10-12). And yet, we still wrestle with guilt. Often, this guilt is bound to some particular sin from our past; “old haunts”, as it were. We know that God has forgiven us, yet we struggle to believe that God has forgiven us of that . Other times, we experience a more general sense of guilt, one that is tied less to some old way of life in particular but rather guilt over some vague realization of our own unworthiness. We are saved and forgiven, but we struggle at times to fully embrace the depth of the Father’s love for us. And lastly, sometimes we feel guilty, quite simply, because we have sinned. When guilt of any sort stirs within us, we must distinguish between guilt and guilt feelings. If we have objectively sinned against God, then as Christians we should expect an objective feeling of guilt to flood our soul. If His Holy Spirit has taken up residence within us, then what a joy it is that He will not allow us to remain in sin’s slum without some profound sense of spiritual unease or even agony. If that is at any point where we find ourselves, then we must confess and repent, trusting in the faithfulness of Him who is “just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus” (1 John 1:9; Romans 3:26). However, we must also reckon with the reality of so-called ‘subjective’ guilt. This shade of guilt is less factual and more emotional; it is a black veil that threatens to cast itself over the mind with a deep sense of unworthiness that shakes our faith to it’s very foundations. It is not unlike the sin the woman speaking with R.C. found herself in; the chief issue not being the initial transgression that we find ourselves in agony over, but rather an arrogant distrust of God Himself that lies at the heart of our guilt. In this way, the guilt is not subjective at all; it is still sin, albeit not the sin we supposed it to be. Many of us, perhaps all of us, have tasted the bitter, dark drink of doubt. A doubt that arises from guilt-ridden thoughts, thoughts that cast a shadow on God’s love for us. Whether these doubts spring from the rotting vestiges of our fallen flesh lying to us or from the lips of the enemy accusing us, there remains one bulwark of hope: cast yourself upon the faithfulness of God alone, trusting in Him to forgive of the very distrust that so easily entered into your heart against Him. Indeed, I suspect the Father allows our doubts to come now and again in order that we may despair of ourselves anew and cling to Jesus, and Jesus only. For it is in these dark seasons of doubt that a particular form of self-examination begins to take hold; a peeling back of the coats of the soul, as it were. We peel back layer by layer all that we are, like an onion, hoping to find some quality within ourselves that will in the end endear us to the Father and rid us of our woeful doubting. Only, upon reaching the last and final petal of our souls - should we dare to go down so deep - we find nothing at all that will save us. The final petal falls, and with it falls also the notion that anything but God’s free gift of grace through Jesus Christ can save us, endearing the Gospel afresh to our souls once more. When His hand is heavy upon us, stripping back by degrees the veil that separates us from Him, we are left with no other refuge but to trust all the more in the promise He made to all who believe in His Son. It is one thing to realize the depths and depravity of your own sin, but it is another to doubt the promises of God. To cast a shadow on the character of the Lord and on His willingness to forgive even the most heinous sin is to presume that He is just like us. As humans, we struggle to forgive others; we withhold grace and love from one another; but God is not like us. When we fail to trust in the promise of 1 John 1:9 by fixating on our sin, we are not being pious - we are being proud. And in our proud refusal to take Him at His word, we are ascribing to God the same faithlessness that so characterizes our own hearts. We may say that our doubts arise out of a despair over our own sin and not over His faithfulness, but that excuse simply will not do. To acknowledge and hate your sin is one matter, but to obsessive over it is another. Indeed, it is nothing but a form of unchecked self-pity, a shade of pride that ‘humbly’ swaths itself not as “holier than thou” but as “more wretched than thou.” In both instances the sin is the same: a preoccupation with self over Christ. Make no mistake, to claim that our own personal sin is somehow beyond the pale of God’s grace and Christ’s redeeming work is to doubt His character and promises. Self-pity is not piety: it is pride. God is good and kind to shield from us the full depths of our depravity. It is the mercy of the Lord in Christ that spares you and I from all the dark we cannot see in ourselves; indeed, from all the sin we cannot see in ourselves. And yet, for all the indwelling sin that you and I do see and wage war against, know this: it is but the tip of an iceberg. God sees all of our sin, and yet He loves us - “ but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us ” (Romans 5:8). To draw from the words of R.C. once more, “There are many things in my life that I do not want to put under the gaze of Christ. Yet I know there is nothing hidden from Him. He knows me better than my wife knows me. And yet He loves me. This is the most amazing thing of all about God’s grace. It would be one thing for Him to love us if we could fool Him into thinking that we were better than we actually are. But He knows better. He knows all there is to know about us, including those things that could destroy our reputation. He is minutely and acutely aware of every skeleton in every closet. And He loves us.” When I first became a Christian, I likely could have named for you on one hand the sins that I most regularly committed. I was, of course, insufferably naive - or something worse - in this absurd evaluation of myself. Now, over a decade later, I feel as though I could fill many volumes with the areas in my life still tainted by sin and selfishness. It is not that I sin more now than I did then, but rather that I see more of the darkness that lurks in my fallen flesh than ever before. The more like Him that Christ makes me, the more sin I see in myself and the more I rush to Him for refuge from none other than me, myself, and I. The more holy we become through Christ ’s life in us , the more sin we will see in ourselves. There is less sin than before, but we hate it more. We begin to see evil through the eyes of Jesus Himself; that is, we begin to despise it for the filth it truly is. The Lord does not reveal our sin to us that we should be ashamed and despair, hiding from Him as our first parents did in the Garden. No - He does so that we may grow in our sanctification and in the realization of our great need for forgiveness and His great desire to satisfy it. It is in our comprehension of our weakness that well-worn paths begin to be made to and from His throne of grace. If we were to taste upon our conversion all the sin we now do battle against, our souls would surely have wasted away in despair and become undone long ago. Thanks be to God that He graciously keeps from us all the dark we cannot see; flesh that we shall draw swords against and kill to our fleeting breath, and then, as the hymn goes, “Be saved to sin no more . ” “ There is a fountain filled with blood, Drawn from Immanuel’s veins, And sinners plunged beneath that flood Lose all their guilty stains: Lose all their guilty stains, Lose all their guilty stains; And sinners plunged beneath that flood Lose all their guilty stains. ” Photo by William Isted, Unsplash

STRIFE, noun [see Strive ] 1.) Contention in anger or enmity; contest; struggle for victory; quarrel or war. “I and my people were at great strife with the children of Ammon” (Judges 12:2). 2.) [ Archaic ] Earnest endeavor. “You see George, you really had a wonderful life. Don't you see what a mistake it would be to throw it away?” -Clarence, It's a Wonderful Life Before I settled into the profession of teaching, I worked for a number of years in the world of concrete. Prior to grinding out lessons plans and pounding due dates into the heads of students, I was pounding and grinding concrete. Indeed, before I was - hopefully - shaping students, I was shaping concrete. Shaping rock, shaping students; I'd be hard-pressed to say which is more difficult. Rock is less resistant to change and fights back far less often, but again, it's just rock in the end. Students, while tough as granite at times, are well worth the effort - well worth the strife. This is all to say that whether one is working with rock or with students, the work can be hard and the temptation to complain ever so easy. In my concrete days, my co-workers and I would load up our truck and trailer with supplies in the early morning hours. While we worked, a whiteboard with only a few words scribbled on it hung above us, watching as though it were a sentinel. Day by day, we were greeted with the same daily reminder written upon the board: “Do all things without grumbling.” My boss had taken the phrase from the book of Philippians, “Do all things without grumbling or disputing, that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world” (2:14-15). Do not grumble - simple enough, and yet so incredibly hard to do (or not do) at times. Have you ever heard someone begin a sentence with the phrase, “In our fallen world...?” For example, “In our fallen world... sin and sickness run rampant.” I must admit I draw issue with this phrase, though only because of the word “our”. If we are in Christ, having been delivered from this present kingdom of darkness and adopted as sons and daughters into the Kingdom of light (Colossians 1:13), then this present world is not truly “our” world, now is it? No - our inheritance is in Heaven, where Christ is; we are merely passing through this world. And yet, for the time being, this world is the only one we have. As it stands, Earth just so happens to be the only world we can physically inhabit. And, to finally come around to my point, in this fallen world the temptation to grumble is ever so strong. All the day long we are battered, bruised, beaten, and bereaved, fighting sin within and without until the moment we are called home. “O where is the haven of rest for the soul / The peace and contentment it seeks for its own / Can no place be found on this earth free from sin / No city of refuge, where safety we win? / No, no, no, no, not here below” ( Zion's Harp , number 263). The Christian life is one of strife . It's a wonderful life we have been given, one of abundant joy and grace, but let us not be so immature as to ignore the reality that life is also filled with real sin, real sorrow, and real strife in a world that really is fallen. Troubles are ever howling at our doorstep, and at times, safety seems fleeting as though it were a mist. We see our Savior and His promises from afar through the eyes of faith - but therein lies the rub, we see from afar . Rather than worship while we wait, how often do we find ourselves grumbling and complaining? Life is hard. In this world, we will be battered, bruised, beaten, and bereaved - and yet, are we not also incredibly blessed beyond our heart's imaginings? As our Lord said, “In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). This world will seek to shatter and splinter our faith, but take heart brother and sister, for the world is and will be in submission to the risen Christ. This world is not our home. While we yet tarry, we should expect strife to come our way. Life is hard. It's hard wrestling with your own sin each and every day, striving with all your might to put it to death; it's hard seeing sickness and sorrow hollow out loved ones; it's hard when death takes from us those we love, often so very soon, cutting the dance short midway ; it's hard loving those who refuse to love us back, ever giving and never receiving; it's hard when the holidays and anniversaries pass us by with more and more empty chairs around us than the year before; it's hard living by faith, when we grapple with dark doubts and ask that horrid question, “does Jesus care?” Life is hard. But do you know what's harder? Living a life without Christ and without His promises is harder; infinitely harder, unbearably harder. Do you know what's harder than living a hard life? Living an easy one. Living a life that's easy, meaningless, purposeless, Christless, and entirely self-absorbed - that's the hardest kind of life there is to live. A life of comfort and self will eat away at the very fabric of your soul. To live an easy life entirely for yourself is the hardest life you can live because at the end of it, when all is said and done, you will have gained nothing of lasting worth whatsoever and then, worst of all, you will have forfeited your very own soul as well. When we grumble, we lose sight of God, the cross, and one another. We sacrifice true joy upon the altar of self when we choose to grumble rather than give thanks and praise, even if it be in the midst of great trouble and strife. Indeed, we throw away our very lives and all God-given blessing when we become consumed with our grumbling, supposing that we have been in some way cheated by Him who has given us life, breath, and everything . There is no surer way to become miserable than to ignore Christ, our families, our marriages, and one another, choosing instead to grumble, complain, and wallow in discontentment. No person has lived a life harder or more difficult than Jesus of Nazareth. Though He was God, He took upon Himself the form of a servant and endured all manner of strife, slander, abuse, and loneliness - yet, He was without sin, without an iota of grumbling upon His lips. As the Author and Perfecter of our faith, the Lord “ who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God ” (Hebrews 12:2). Let us, in imitation of our God, live a life of joy no matter the strife we may face. For, “Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” (2 Corinthians 4:16-17). It's a wonderful strife, it's a wonderful life, and thanks be to God through our Lord Jesus Christ that it will all be abundantly worth it in the end. But the end has not yet come; let us worship while we wait, “ striving according to His power which works mightily within [us] ” (Colossians 1:29). “ It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you... that meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. They kept going because they were holding on to something. ” -Samwise Gamgee, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers Photo by John Royle, Unsplash

What is a year? Is it not a vapor? For an insect, a year is a lifetime, or perhaps many lifetimes; but to a man, a year is as sand falling through his hand, quickly passing, and then gone. Indeed, as we grow older, the years move quickly against us. Perhaps I am just an old soul, but I feel the weariness of this world more and more with each passing year. Though, I suspect being an old soul has little to do with it; I imagine that you feel it too. Sin has the tendency to do just that - making us ache and groan, I mean. Sin strains the soul, it burdens the mind, and quite simply, it makes us tired . This dreary world makes our weary hearts long for rest, for home - for Him. What is a year? Is it not a test-run? A dress rehearsal for that great and terrible Last Day when the curtain of life will finally be lifted and we find ourselves before “Him with whom we have to do” (Hebrews 4:13)? Just as our years are made up of days, so too are our lives made up of years. If we throw away our days - and our years - will not our life suffer gravely for it? The days go by slowly, but the years fly by. Our life is but a little flame that is easily and quickly snuffed out, and before long we are ushered upon the plains of eternity to give an answer for how we tended that flame. Indeed, as C.T. Studd once penned, “Only one life, ‘twill soon be past, only what’s done for Christ will last.” As I am standing upon the doorstep of a new year, I’ve been taking stock of the past year. If the last twelve months can be seen as a microcosm of my life, a test-run of sorts, did I run my race well? The answer is both yes and no. As it is with many of us, no doubt, this past year has been a mixed bag; a series of bruises and blessings, a combination of dark valleys and high mountain tops. Over the last year, tears have been shed; both of joy and sorrow. Even if I wanted to list everything that the Lord has done for me this past year, I could not. For, “I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written” (John 21:25). However, in remembering the past year, my mind was slowly being drawn to the year ahead. There are many exciting things lying before my feet in the upcoming year, for both myself and my wife, but there is a lot of change on the horizon as well. Suddenly, my thoughts began to drift not too all of the good that the Lord has done in the year behind, but to the things that must be done in the year ahead. In no time at all, my distracted mind began to compose a list of everything that required my attention in the coming days and months: bills to pay, deadlines to meet, difficult conversations to have, and so on, endlessly it seemed. It’s so easy to feel stretched thin, like “butter spread over too much bread.” And then, just as suddenly as my mind became distracted, a certain warmth began to bleed across my soul. Within moments, indeed in the moment between moments, a single truth took hold: “You are anxious and troubled about many things,  but one thing is needful.” The words felt like a strong embrace. I couldn’t at first recall where these words were from, but the speaker, the who , was unmistakable. It took me only a brief moment to pinpoint where exactly these words came from, and then I remembered: “Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to his teaching. But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, ‘Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.’ But the Lord answered her, ‘Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is needful. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her’” (Luke 10:38-42). There is a sense in which the past year of my life can be characterized by distraction. Not a distraction with bad things, exactly, but with lesser things. Not an all-consuming distraction with lesser things by any means, but not a whole-hearted devotion to the most important of things either. In the midst of such profound blessings - my relationship with the King of kings, my beautiful wife, our family, and our church family - how easy it is to become fixated nonetheless on the fleeting things of this world: financial responsibilities, work stress, and the state of the world at large. In our daily lives, there are many voices and vices vying for our attention. And yet, amidst the clamor of these many voices, the voice of the Lord cuts directly to the heart. When this passage in Luke 10 came to my mind, I was struck by how powerfully and immediately it set my heart at ease. The sound and fury of this world is no match for the still, small voice of the Lord; He created your heart, He doesn’t need to shout. He is the good shepherd, and His sheep “know His voice” (John 10). In asking the Lord for wisdom and guidance in the year ahead, He provided at once from His Word the very words I needed to hear most. Indeed, “one thing is needful.” For, in this one thing, intimacy with Christ and obedience to His Word, all other things are bound. To make much of Him is to make much of all things. To love Him with every iota of my being is to also love my wife, family, church, and community to the utmost. It is a profound mystery, but it also makes total sense. If we are willing to lose our lives for Him, we will surely find our lives in the process - for He is life itself. My friend C.S. Lewis, who at this point is such a fixture of this blog that he might as well be a co-writer on it, remarked on this very mystery with these words: “Put first things first and we get second things thrown in: put second things first and we lose both first and second things.” As we embark upon the uncharted waters of a new year, doubtless many of us have considered what resolutions we should commit to - or recommit to  - this January. To read more books, watch less television, eat healthier, workout more than thrice a year, and read the Bible daily are all worthy endeavors. However, let us not make the mistake of assuming that these alone will improve us. We must, by God's grace and with a renewed heart, strive to make purposeful resolutions that will draw us into deeper communion with Him rather than presume that our flimsy attempts at reform will further endear us to Him who died for us while we were yet His enemies. Rise up earlier, pray more regularly and fervently, scour the Scriptures, violently even - do it all and do it well, but do it with the end in mind of knowing and understanding Him. While you consider your resolutions, consider also for a moment a selection of resolutions from 18th-Century Puritan Jonathan Edwards' list of over five dozen resolutions that he maintained, edited, and reviewed on a daily basis for much of his life (the full list of Edwards' Resolutions  can be found on Desiring God's website, https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/the-resolutions-of-jonathan-edwards ). Some of my personal favorites among Edwards' resolutions include: 4.) Resolved, never to do any manner of thing, whether in soul or body, less or more, but what tends to the glory of God; nor be, nor suffer it, if I can avoid it. 6.) Resolved, to live with all my might, while I do live. 22.) Resolved, to endeavor to obtain for myself as much happiness, in the other world, as I possibly can, with all the power; might, vigor, and vehemence, yea violence, I am capable of, or can bring myself to exert, in any way that can be thought of. 62.) Resolved, never to do anything but duty; and then according to Eph. 6:6-8 , do it willingly and cheerfully as unto the Lord, and not to man; “knowing that whatever good thing any man doth, the same shall he receive of the Lord.” And so, while we may not know what lies ahead in the year to come, let us endeavor, all of us, to put first things first. May we be resolved like Jonathan Edwards “to live with all [our] might, while [we] do live.” Though, perhaps the Apostle Paul put it simplest and best when he said, “ For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified ” (1 Corinthians 2:2) . O, that the words of John the Baptist would flood my heart and pour from my lips in prayer: “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30) ! In the midst of any anxieties and troubles that may come our way in the year ahead, let this banner be over our hearts: He must increase, but I must decrease. Many things are important, but one thing is needful. He shall not be taken away from us, nor us from Him. Come what may in the days ahead, the Lord is God, and God He shall stay. Photo by Photoholgic, Unsplash If this post reads somewhat familiarly, that may be because it is adapted from an older post of mine, “One Thing is Needful.” Sometimes, we writers begin working on a piece only to realize we've already said all that we have to say about that topic in some earlier work - and often in far fairer words also! - save a few additions or subtractions here and there. However, seeing as how it is no great crime to plagiarize oneself, I took it upon myself to weave my old words into new ones, Lord Willing with some encouraging results. Enjoy, and Happy New Year, my friends!