Search & Ye Shall Find...

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!

“ And the scribe said to Him, 'You are right, Teacher. You have truly said that He is one, and there is no other besides Him ' ” (Mark 12:32). All of history is His story - and we're living through it. Every day, every moment, counts for eternity and counts for Him. Our lives either abound unto Christ, or rail against Him; there remains no middle ground concerning Him with whom we have to do. Indeed, “What we do in life, echoes in eternity.” And yet, do not some moments feel weightier than most? As though we are, the lot of us, standing upon a great threshold that, once crossed, ushers us into a new day, for good or for ill. If for good, praise the Lord. And if for ill? Praise the Lord all the same, since “we know that for those who love God all things work together for good” (Romans 8:28). Whether in the best of times or the worst of times, the Lord is God and God He will stay. When the flow of history seems uncertain and fearful, remember this: it is His story, and He is the One who determines the end from the beginning. Indeed, no matter who is President, Jesus is King: “On His robe and on His thigh He has a name written: King of kings and Lord of lords” (Revelation 19:16). The Lord reigns from on high, and all things are under His rule - angels, demons, men, birds, beasts, creeping things, the seen and the unseen are all His, whether they realize it or not. Every. Knee. Will. Bow. Even if the tides of history begin to turn for, in our estimation, the very worst of outcomes, there remains no need to fear or tremble: “Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” (Psalm 46:10). The Lord forms both light and darkness for His glorious purposes, and He will be magnified in them both. Should the kings of this earth and the very nations themselves rage and revile, what is it to Him, the Almighty?: “He who sits in the heavens laughs; the Lord holds them in derision” (Psalm 2:4). Rulers come and go, but the Lord remains forever; He is the same yesterday, today, and forevermore. And what of the kings of this earth, and the power they wield? What of it?: “The king's heart is a stream of water in the hand of the LORD; He turns it wherever He will” (Proverbs 21:1). They are as clay in the hands of the Master Potter: “Our God is in the heavens; He does all that He pleases” (Psalm 115:3). And should things “go our way”, we would do well to remember what He has said of Himself: “I am the LORD, and there is no other, besides me there is no God” (Isaiah 45:5). He alone is our Rock, our steadfast hope, our Savior - salvation belongs to the Lord and none other. Like us, the prophet Isaiah lived in a time of political turmoil and unrest. Indeed, there was no earthly king to be found in all of Israel, for he was dead: “In the year that King Uzziah died...” (Isaiah 6:1). Uzziah's death marked the end to a time of relative peace and prosperity in the land of Israel. In the midst of darkness and uncertainty, God Himself lifted Isaiah's head upwards where he “saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of His robe filled the temple” (Isaiah 6:1). In Isaiah's vision, the holy angels themselves could not bear to even look at Him, the once and future King: “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). Isaiah saw the King. Uzziah was dead; but the Lord of the universe, the thrice-holy King of kings and Lord of lords, was there, just as He always had been. Indeed, no matter who is President, Jesus is King and always will be - there is none other . Photo by Paul Bulai, Unsplash

The elders and pastors had only just left the house, leaving my father and I on our own for a moment. My father was weak by this point, quite weak, and so it must have been me who walked the men across the house, through the softly playing music in the living room, and to the door to bid them farewell - and thanks. Did I walk the men out? I truly cannot remember. It's a harmless thing to forget, really, but strange all the same given that so much of this moment has been deeply impressed upon my memory. I do, however, remember that my father looked tired, weary in both body and soul; his head leaned back on his pillow, eyes closed. This would have been around mid-January. Canadian climate will often do this curious thing where it vacillates between all four seasons for a time, unable to make up its mind, only to suddenly wholeheartedly commit to either scorching heat and humidity, or else bitter cold and howling winds. Now that Christmas had passed, so had all weatherly indecision; the veil of winter had decisively fallen, and a darkness began to rest over the land. Indeed, the shortening days were weary and the ever lengthening nights were so very dreary. It was around this time that my father's cancer had worsened and spread. As though riding upon the velvet feet of darkness itself, a shadow and sorrow began to threaten our family. That same shadow of cold and howling wind which had gathered out of doors began to steal across our own household. Cancer... What an ugly word, like a mouthful of razors... So hard and harsh, both in word and in deed... The C's so sharp you could cut your tongue on them. Dear reader, I hope that you do not read self-pity in my words, for that is not my intent. I do not mean to exaggerate, nor am I on the prowl for your sympathies; I only mean to recount things as they happened and as they seemed to me at the time. And yet, there is always a warm light that persists in the dark, howling infinite - " The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it" (John 1:5). It was in these days that Christ's presence felt most near, as though His reality took upon itself a greater weight - an intended weight - in those times when our family's faith was most fragile, "The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit" (Psalm 34:18). And yet, in the moments between moments, a fissure in our faith could be traced. A hairline crack, thin as an atom, that gave room to a single, deafening question: does Jesus care? It must have been a Monday when the elders and pastors came to visit - though again, I cannot remember entirely. What I do recall is that on Sunday our church held a communion service. My father was unable to attend church by this point, but he deeply desired to share in communion. As is the custom of many churches, a handful of men in our local leadership would often visit the sick and elderly the week following Sunday communion to partake of it with those brothers and sisters who had been unable to attend in person. That Monday, several elders, pastors, and close friends of my father came to our home to do this very thing. After thanking the men and seeing them out, I walked back to my parent's room and paused at the doorway to observe my father. Standing there, I could only just make out the melody coming from the other room - music that my mother must have turned on when the men arrived. He was in the same position as before, sitting upright with his head leaned back on his pillow, eyes closed, though not asleep. As I recall this memory to mind and see my father there in his bed, I draw comfort from Paul's words, "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, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal" (2 Corinthians 4:16-18). Without Christ, there is no hope. Apart from unwavering faith in His unwavering promises, would we not, all of us, be undone? Looking at my father from the doorway, weak and worn as he was, these twin realities presented themselves: "Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day." This was true not only of my father, but of me also - of my entire family. We stood in these days upon a great threshold; the wasting away of the world and its comforts on one end, and a peace that surpassed all intelligible understanding on the other. While fully aware of the answer, we would ask ourselves, does Jesus care? And yet, did we not ask the question all the same? I left the doorway and made my way into the room by my father's side, sitting on the bed with him. We sat in silence for some time, with only fleeting exchanges here and there - that was alright, we had a lot on our minds and even more on our hearts . His eyes were still closed, but he was thinking. No doubt he was going over many of the same things in his mind that I was, though I am sure it was with far greater intensity. He looked both tired and restless, caught between the need to rest and the need to care for his family as he had always done. Was he thinking and worrying about those things that occupied my own mind? Was he too, somewhere deep in his own heart, asking that dreadful question - Does Jesus care? If he was, he never would have let on; his head was still leaned back on his pillow, eyes closed. In the stillness that veiled that moment, I also must have closed my eyes at some point. It was such a quiet stillness that rested over the room that I could sense even the slightest motion of my father. He was the first to hear the music. I opened my eyes and looked at him curiously. His eyes were still closed, but his head was swaying gently, up and down, back and forth, as though he were following a tune or conducting an invisible orchestra. His lips were moving softly, tracing the words quietly as he heard them. And then, suddenly, I heard the music as well. Streaming softly from the living room, and then more noticeably, a haunting melody began to swell through the door, "Does Jesus care when my heart is pained Too deeply for mirth and song? When the burdens press And the cares distress And the way grows weary and long? Oh yes, He cares, I know He cares His heart is touched with my grief When the days are weary The long night dreary I know my Savior cares." I know my Savior cares. As the hymn continued to fill the room, I once again closed my eyes and allowed the music to cascade over me; to clothe me, to comfort me. When I say that this moment was 'haunting', understand me well: it was haunting. It was hauntingly beautiful, hauntingly weighty; it was poignant, reflective, transcendent even. In those fleeting minutes, it seemed as though the great gulf between earth and Heaven was breached, as though the eternal stepped foot onto the dusty floor of the temporal, transient, and fleeting. To borrow from another hymn, "Heaven came down and glory filled my soul." For but a moment, the unseen could be seen - "the things that are unseen are eternal." The music faded, and with it the moment also. That door left open into the infinite was gently being shut once again, leaving my father and I as we were. My eyes slowly opened and I looked at him. He was in the same position as before, sitting upright with his head leaned back on his pillow, eyes closed, though not asleep - with a smile on his face. "Does Jesus care when I've said, 'Goodbye' To the dearest on earth to me? And my sad heart aches Till it nearly breaks Is it aught to Him? Does He see? Oh yes, He cares, I know He cares His heart is touched with my grief When the days are weary The long night dreary I know my Savior cares. I know my Savior cares."

The Bible is a Him book - it’s all about Him. The Bible also happens to be the world’s greatest hymn book. From Genesis to the Psalms to Revelation, every word sings of the glory of God and His marvelous salvation across a fallen cosmos in what is unmistakably history’s mightiest song. The Psalms in particular are too precious to be read only. These words must be sung, whether vocally, in prayer, or simply as the tune which echoes in your own heart as the day passes by. Let the words of God Himself fill your mind such that they trickle down into your soul like a steady stream, resonating within and without that you are indeed a child of the Father, numbered among His precious little ones and filled with His Spirit. Preach and sing these truths to yourself morning and evening, always “ addressing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with your heart” (Ephesians 5:19). Throughout history, the Psalms have not only served as the Church’s hymnal, but as a book of prayer also. Whether in seasons of want or fullness, wandering or wondering, joy or sorrow, the Psalms have given voice to countless saints along every leg of their earthly pilgrimage. Millions upon millions of voices have found refuge and utterance in the Psalms, producing a mighty cathedral of God’s people throughout the ages, crying and singing and praying God’s own words back to Him in worship. Indeed, there are few examples given us in all the world that are better suited for personal and corporate prayer than the Psalms, the very treasury of King David himself. In the Gospels, the Lord Jesus provides us with another pattern of prayer, aptly called ‘The Lord’s Prayer’. The Lord’s Prayer appears twice in the Gospels, once in Matthew 6:9-13 and again in the Gospel of Luke, 11:2-4. While these two prayers are very similar, they are nonetheless slightly different while maintaining consistent structure and content between the two. Matthew’s prayer is taken from the Sermon on the Mount and is the longer of the two, while Luke’s account is slightly shorter and recorded as being from an entirely separate account.  Dr. John Neufeld thoughtfully observed that the differences between the two versions of this prayer should be a source of great joy and liberty for Christians. These differences in length and content demonstrate the reality that, within God’s desire for prayer that pleases Him, there exists a certain flexibility within the bounds of the structure that He has given to us. Like the Psalms, we can insert our own words, burdens, and desires into the structure of Jesus’ prayer, while at no point straying from God’s intended will for how we are to address Him. How then shall we pray? I am indebted to the wisdom and example of my dear father-in-law for the prayer that lies below. Though I have added some of my own words and a section or two, much is drawn from his example and above all, from the example of our Lord Himself. May these words give you strength, utterance, and a renewed zeal for prayer when you find yourself with little strength and even fewer words. — Our Father, Abba Father, as your little children we call out to you as our Heavenly Father who is in authority over us, and over all. We are as sheep in the pasture of your providence, and we look to you as our great Shepherd - who saves us, leads us, provides for us, and protects us from the wolves and darkness of this world. We thank you for the many good and godly fathers that you have given us here below, but we know that the very best of these men are only shadows of you, our God and Father from whom all good things flow, and to whom all good things point. You have established the rules and we are never to forget that you, Father, are in authority over all things and to be obeyed with trembling, love, and child-like joy. Give us the grace, Father, to obey you in all things; like the waves of the sea and the stars of the night sky, to only and ever live within the borders that you have sovereignly established for our good. Your will is good, Father, for it proceeds from the wellspring of truth, righteousness, and love that resides in your own heart. Your will is good, Father; give us grace to see it that way, and not easily forget it. As our Heavenly Father we have experienced your intimacy and love. You are committed to doing us good and not harm, working out all things for our eternal good and your eternal glory. Through faith in the finished work of your Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, we now belong in your presence; for you have adopted us into your family, given us a seat at your table, and made us heirs with Christ, not upon any merit of our own working but solely by grace through faith in Christ alone. Hallowed be your name, Father. May your great name be everywhere honored and adored and revered by all. As we pray in this way we align ourselves with your purposes and eternal will, submitting to you as the thrice-holy God of the universe. For you as Creator have created us for your glory, to glorify you and enjoy you forever. There will come a day when you redeem all things and your name will be glorified by all creation, with every knee bowing and every tongue confessing that Jesus is Lord. May He increase in all things, and may we decrease. You are sovereign, Father, you rule over all. Thy kingdom come, Father; that time when all the ravages of the fall come to a complete and utter end, when the invisible becomes visible, when faith steps into the light of sight. In that day, when your Kingdom comes, all sin and its effects will end; sin and death will taste death; all rebellion will be decisively settled and stilled; the groanings of creation will sigh no more; violence, wars, and disease will waste away; demonic activity will be forever cast out from the glory of the universe; aging will cease; sorrow, sighing, and every last tear will be wiped away by the touch of your fingers. We pray with expectation and longing for your Kingdom as we live and move and breathe here below with an eternal perspective. Truly, may your Kingdom come and your will be done on earth and in us, as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. Bread signifies that we should pray for everything that is needed to sustain our daily lives. We do not experience a single need that should not be the immediate subject of our prayers, so we pray for all these things, trusting that you as our Father know what we need long before we do, before the words even enter our minds or leave our lips. We acknowledge and trust that our needs will be met by a sovereign and all-loving God who has promised to meet all our needs and to do so abundantly. Father, we thank you that you are always faithful to do much more abundantly than we can even ask or think. For, all good things come down from above, from the Father of lights who gives His rain to the just and the unjust. Everything we need, from the air that we breathe to the clothes we wear to the very faith that sustains us, are good gifts from you, our Father. Forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us. You are holy and we are not. As we confess our treason against you, our Holy God, we are humbled and reminded of your amazing grace towards us. Not a day has gone by where we have loved you with all our hearts, minds, souls, and strength, or others as ourselves, and yet we hunger and thirst for the time soon to come when we shall worship and love you, and others, perfectly.  We thank you that though we fall short of your glory, we cannot fall short of your goodness and grace; nothing can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus, your beloved Son. We are reminded that our righteous standing before you is not based on our work or merit or anything we have done, but on your grace and your grace alone. For we do not forgive others to merit your forgiveness; rather, we forgive others because you have forgiven us in Christ Jesus, because we have experienced your love and grace and therefore respond with love and grace to all. And Lead us not into temptation. Not that you tempt us, for you do not and cannot, but we pray that you will keep us from those situations which we are too weak to handle. Keep us safe from the darkness of the world, the flesh, and the devil, and give us grace to be lights in this world while we yet draw breath. In this, we remember your promise to keep us from being tempted beyond what we are able to bear.  Father, we thank you that, though the world is evil, the Lord Jesus has overcome the world; He is the King of kings and the Lord of lords, and we joyfully submit to Him and await His coming with groans unutterable. Grant us grace to live by faith and not by sight. Equip us to more zealously love Him who we do not see, that we may then more earnestly love those who we do see, until that day when faith shall become sight and all is set right. In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the power of your Holy Spirit do we pray all these things before you, Father. Amen. Photo by Aaron Burden, Unsplash