Founder’s Week Changed My Life

It’s been 7 years since I last attended a session of Moody Bible Institute’s Founder’s Week, a free conference commemorating the birthday of the school’s Founder, Dwight L. Moody. I carved a morning and afternoon out of my schedule today to hear Al Mohler – it seemed appropriate participate in this joining of my alma maters. As I drove downtown, listening to Caedmon’s Call’s 40 Acres, the soundtrack of my college years, I thought about how influential this annual conference has been in my life.

My first Founder’s Week experience was in 1999 via radio when I was a junior in High School. I can remember hearing James Meeks talk about “donkey heads and dove’s dung” and evangelism, along with Henry Blackaby, Erwin Lutzer, and Ravi Zacharias. There was such power in every person who spoke, and I found myself tuned-in to WCRF as much as possible, soaking in the truth of God’s word proclaimed from the pulpit of the Moody Church. God used that conference to awaken in me a desire to go to Moody Bible Institute for my undergraduate education as I prepared to serve in the church as my vocation.

My first Founder’s Week as a student was in 2001. I was filled with awe that classes were canceled and I was “required” to attend the morning and evening sessions at Moody Church. Sure, there were times when my eyes were heavy during the second morning session or when I despised the cold walk or long shuttle bus lines, but I counted it a privilege to soak in, in person this time, the beauty of God’s word proclaimed. John Piper spoke twice that week. I can still seem him standing behind the ornate wood pulpit of Moody Church, almost visibly filled with God’s Spirit, speaking on the issue of race and Christian community. I can still feel what it was like after that sermon to sing the hauntingly beautiful hymn, “We Are One in the Spirit,” as everyone present spontaneously reached for the hand of the person next to them and we all raised them in unity to God. I remember the conversation my roommate, Nate, and I had after the night, and the renewed commitment to following hard after God that we made. The beauty of Founder’s Week is that the next morning, I sat under the teaching of Dr. Piper again, and saw what theology applied looked like.

Beyond John Piper, over the three Founder’s Week’s I attended, I soaked in masterful illustrations from Tony Evans, beautiful exegesis from Alistair Begg and Howard Hendricks, and messages of truth from Franklin Graham, Elisabeth Elliott, Joni Eareckson Tada, Chuck Colson, Joe Stowell, and too many others to name. People whose books I had read, who I had listened to on Moody radio for much of my life, stood before me and proclaimed God’s Word in the power of God’s Spirit.

The most significant change Founder’s Week wrought in my life happened in the last one I attended as a student in 2003. Andrea, my wife, and I were still dating at the time, and she had come up from Cedarville University for the week to spend Founder’s Week with me. At this point in our relationship we were fairly serious, having talked about the increasing possibility of marriage, but we had pragmatically relegated that step to a much later date. It just seemed too soon, especially because our relationship had been long-distance for its entire existence. Well, God used Andy Stanley’s message one evening to change our plans. We left Moody Church and headed to 3^rd Coast Café, where we opened our hearts to each other in a way we had not up to that point. I remember dropping her off at our mutual friends’ apartment, where she was staying for the week, and simply saying, “Why are we waiting?” The next month we were engaged, and less than 6 months later we were married. Founder’s Week strikes again!

To sit in Moody Church today, was somewhat surreal. I thought back to the close brothers I had sat in that sanctuary with many times over, soaking in God’s messages to us. I thought about how blessed I have been to receive the education I have, first from Moody, and then from Southern Seminary. And I thought about how God used Founder’s Week to aide in my decision about where to attend college, to deepen my walk with him and my fellowship with others, and to determine when I would marry my wife! I know it’s just a conference, but Founder’s Week feels like an old friend to me; the kind of friend that is by your side, encouraging you through major decisions in life, challenging you at others. Even as I write this, I wonder how many other lives have been forever changed by a week at Moody Church in February. Of course, the strength of Founder’s Week simply points to a deeper truth: the power of God’s Word proclaimed in the power of His Spirit.

 

Help the Weak

Last Saturday I participated in and helped lead a GroupBoost Workshop geared towards strengthening and encouraging small group and Bible study leaders in a network of churches here in the south suburbs. We took the morning and sought to apply the four commands of 1 Thessalonians 5:14 to group-life:

And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all.

As leaders of the workshop, our task was introducing and explaining the commands to the group at large as an aid to smaller round-table discussions, in which attendees hashed out specific applications of Paul’s words. It was a very enjoyable morning of interaction with those from other churches in the area who are also seeking to minister to those in our community.

I was responsible for introducing and briefly explaining the command to “help the weak” (which, for one reason or another, always reminds me of the B. B. King song, “Help the Poor”). You can find my thoughts and the questions we discussed below; I hope they are of some help to you.

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In the phrase “help the weak,” there are two key words to consider…, and one of them is not “the”. First of all, what does it mean to “help”? It carries the idea of support and upholding another person. In Bauer’s Greek Lexicon, he gives two definitions of this word, antecho, the first being “to have a strong attachment to someone or something; cling to, hold fast to, be devoted to.” It is used in Matthew 6:24 and Luke 16:13 where Jesus says that we cannot serve both God and money because we will be devoted to one (antecho) and despise the other. It is also used in Titus 1:9 in saying that elders must hold firm (antecho) to the truth of the word. Bauer’s second definition has the connotation of having a strong interest in someone. So it would seem that “help” here carries the idea of devotion and constant support. This is not a one time “love offering”, but it is ongoing aid to those who are weak.

So who are the “weak”? The word can be a reference to those who suffer from a debilitating illness or physical weakness, but also to those who are spiritually weak – weak in the faith. Their weakness is deep-seated and seemingly rooted in their character. They are easily overwhelmed, and, in the context of 1 Thessalonians, possibly rattled by the prospect of persecution or hardship. Paul talks to the Thessalonians about the day of the Lord, and the weak would be those who are anxious about what that day holds.

In small group ministry, the weak people are the ones who still have questions when everyone else is ready to move on. They are the ones that you need to personally invite to group each week so that they continue to come. They are the group members who are overwhelmed by situations that the rest of the group just takes in stride as part of everyday life.

The weakness Paul talks about may also be a reference to a weak conscience, such as those in 1 Corinthians 8 and 9 who had issues with meat offered to idols. In this case, supporting the weak may mean denying ourselves. It may mean not flaunting our liberty before those who may be affected in a negative way by it, because the weak are those who are is easily offended or shocked by the actions of a group member that everyone else is oblivious to.

You can see why Paul would say we need to cling to the weak, to hold fast to them, and to support them. Their weakness is not a one time thing, so our help to them cannot be either. We will need to be in their life for the long-haul. In addition, our help to them cannot be a task accomplished by one person – it takes more than a single individual to support a weak member in a group. They need a community of people around them, and unless we hold on to them and support them, they will crumble before us.

In my mind I picture a somewhat flimsy beach house – the kind that is up on posts for when the tide comes in further than normal. That house cannot be supported by one or two posts; it needs a small army of support, as do the weak. And, like the weak, the house never grows out of its need for those posts. Granted, the weak person may and should mature to some extent, but their weakness is also rooted in their constitution, so they will need consistent, ongoing support. Thinking about these things, it would seem that Paul had group-life in mind when he wrote this command, because the weak need a group to consistently support them.

Our temptation as group leaders or participants may be to be frustrated with the presence of the weak among us. However, having a weak person in the group allows a group to corporately show the love of Christ to a person in deep need. His or her weakness should not cause us to become discouraged or annoyed but should remind us of our own weakness and the fact that Jesus has helped us more than we could ever grasp. The weak person’s presence in our group is a divine opportunity to reveal God’s glory through our love for them.

In summary:

• The help offered to the weak must be ongoing because their need is ongoing.
• The help offered to the weak must be from multiple group members, both for the benefit of the weak and those helping.
• The help offered to the weak may be expressed in self-denial or, if you will, “group-denial.”

Discussion Questions:

1. We will consider the potential obstacles to having a weak group member, but what are some positives aspects of having a group member you might classify as weak?
2. The weak can be frustrating to help and may not be readily received by all group members. How can you shepherd your group in the process of helping the weak, making it a positive overflow of God’s love and not an “unwanted” project”?
3. Supporting the weak can become a group’s fulltime job. How do we support the weak without neglecting others in our groups or allowing them to monopolize each meeting?
4. What might help you and your group stay committed to helping a weak group member over the long-haul?
5. How we help the weak is often dependant on the individual, but do you have any general ideas about how to help the weak?

 

An Imposed Choice – Jayber Crow and Free Will

Some of the changes in life were imposed, and some were chosen – if by ‘chosen’ I may mean that I chose what I seemed already to have been chosen by, desire having obscured the alternatives. (From Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry, pg. 29)

As I was reading this wonderful novel about Jayber Crow, the fictional barber of the fictional town of Port William, Kentucky, I was struck by this statement. As a student and pastor, I have done a lot of thinking and reading and musing and meditating about the issue of reconciling divine sovereignty and the human will. Haven’t we all? Questions pertaining to these seemingly contradictory truths arise constantly in small groups, youth groups, and countless other groups, and I often formulate answers that feel unsatisfactory, both to myself and others. Yet this simple statement penned by Wendell Berry made me wonder if it may be helpful to think of free will as Jayber does – as a perceived reality. He says that some changes in his life were imposed – forced upon him – while others he ‘chose,’ though his choice also seemed forced. That he in essence chose what was the only possible choice for him.

I don’t know if that’s what is meant by the statement, but the thought of an “imposed choice,” and that my will may only be a perceived reality is helpful to me. Even comforting. Probably because I find it to ring true with who God has revealed Himself to be in His word and who I have seen myself to be as I’ve looked into the mirror of Scripture.

 

Wisdom from the Wise Men

The Magi seem to have always been a mystery to me. Ironically, I think some of the mystery stems from all of the conjecture that surrounds them. The classic example is that while they rub shoulders with the shepherds in most nativities, it’s easy to see from Matthew 2 that they didn’t arrive in Bethlehem until Jesus was almost 2 years old (Matthew 2:16). And the idea that there were three stems only from the mention of three gifts (2:11) – I assume there could have been two to 200 of these travelers. I’m not vying for their removal from nativities or the manufacturing of magi armies to put on display – we have three kings set up in our house and I find them to be a great reminder of the worship the magi brought Jesus. My point is simply that knowing so little about them from Scripture but so much about them from conjecture seems to make them more of an enigma than they should be.

One way the magi are often portrayed is that they were fully cognizant of what their journey to visit this newborn King meant. But did they understand that this was the Messiah? Or in their minds was He simply another monarch? Because they were experts in astronomy, astrology, and natural science (so says my Bible’s footnote), they had easily recognized a new star, marking the birth of a king they identified as the King of the Jews (v. 2). In response to this discovery, they set off to honor the new monarch. Had they done this in response to other stars marking the arrival of other kings in other nations? I’m not sure, but it seems possible.

They initial looked for the new King at Herod’s palace, which was the logical place to go, only to be met with confusion by Herod – confusion that led to anger. The mix-up was resolved when the magi were informed by the scribes that the Messiah was to be born in Bethlehem, to which they went. The star they were following eventually rested over a home in Bethlehem where they found Jesus with Mary. They rejoiced and they worshipped. They offered gifts to the child in the presence of His mother, who, judging by her previous reactions, was probably equally astounded and understanding.

These magi from a far away land, non-Jews surrounded by God’s chosen people, were some of the first worshippers of Jesus. Jesus had come to His own people, but they didn’t recognize Him. Yet these gentiles were led to the Messiah by a supernatural star, and they rejoiced in a city oblivious to the royalty in its midst. Not so unlike the shepherds the magi were unlikely and unworthy worshippers of this King.

My confusion about the magi and the mystery that surrounds them in my mind begins to clear when I remember that so much about the Christmas story is not as I would expect. Why would God come to the earth He created as a baby, born of a virgin? Why would He be born in such a mean and lowly way? And why would he reveal Himself first to shepherds and magi from the east? While I ask the questions, hindsight helps me see that this was right in line with the God of grace and mercy revealed in Scripture, whose ways are not at all like mine. So I guess that’s what I’m learning from the magi this year – that with God, things are often not as we expect them. That God chooses unlikely and surprising people to reveal Himself to, but that all respond with rejoicing and worship. That Bethlehem and a manger and poverty and shepherds and magi make perfect sense for our great God.

 

Driven by Adoption

This past Sunday was both the International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church and Orphan Sunday. God has been working on my heart in both of these areas, so we spent our teaching time at youth group last Thursday discussing these issues. In my preparation, I assumed the only link between the two was that they are horrible results of the Fall which God has called us to redeem through prayer, action, and, ultimately, the gospel.

I had spent most of my preparation time thinking about orphans and the need for the church to be active in adoption and orphan care as a reflection of His adoption of us (Galatians 4:1-7). I had not thought as much about the doctrine of our adoption in Christ as something like justification or sanctification, so I was struck by J.I. Packer’s statement in Knowing God stating that adoption is the “highest blessing of the gospel” (207). He explains that justification is the “primary” or “fundamental” blessing, in that all the other benefits of the atonement flow from the appeasing of the wrath of God through Christ’s death and resurrection, but that our adoption as sons and daughters of God, making us siblings and joint-heirs with Jesus, is the highest and deepest expression of the love of God that we can know. Packer is very clear on this point:

You sum up the whole of the New Testament teaching in a single phrase, if you speak of it as a revelation of the Fatherhood of the holy Creator. In the same way, you sum up the whole of New Testament religion if you describe it as the knowledge of God as one’s holy Father. If you want to judge how well a person understands Christianity, find out how much he makes of the thought of being God’s child, and having God as his Father. If this is not the thought that prompts and controls his worship and prayers and his whole outlook on life, it means that he does not understand Christianity very well at all. (201)

It was in contemplating my adoption in Christ that God helped me see the link between the persecuted church and orphan care. Again, the link to orphan care is obvious: we care for orphans and adopt them as an expression and overflow of God’s love for us seen in His adoption of us, always with the hope of making children a part of our physical families and, in God’s sovereign grace, our spiritual family.

In the same vein, we pray for the persecuted church around the world, Christians we have never met and will probably never meet until eternity, because they are our brothers and sisters. We care for them and about them because they are our family; we have the same dad. If one of my biological sisters was suffering or being persecuted because of her faith in Jesus, I would be constantly concerned and actively seeking her deliverance every day… every hour! So should my heart break for my spiritual family around the world. Though I do not know their names or faces, we are blood relatives through our common faith in the death and resurrection of Christ.

Our love for the orphans and the persecuted is driven by our adoption in Christ and, ultimately, by our desire to see God glorified in all things.

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For more information about the persecuted church, check out www.idop.org and www.persecution.com.

For more information about Orphans, Adoption, and Orphan Sunday, two good sites are www.orphansunday.com and www.togetherforadoption.com.

 

Seasons and Senses

I have spent the vast majority of my life in the Midwest, barring a 4 year stint in Louisville, which I would describe as having a wonderful southern/mid-western feel. One of the things I appreciate about where I’ve lived is the presence of all four seasons – in winter, snow falls and my breath becomes magically visible. In summer, the sun scorches and the formerly hibernating pools open for business. In fall, the leaves explode with color and crunch underneath my feet. And in spring, the flowers bloom, the birds sing, and I sneeze a lot. That’s what the seasons should be like.

Of course, my understanding of what the seasons “should be like” is conditioned by my residency in Ohio, Illinois, or northern Kentucky – and in the northern hemisphere, for that matter. As far as I can tell, my friend, Todd, who grew up in Hawaii, associates 60 and 70 degree weather with all the seasons… which is how many people, including my father, think it should be. But not me – I love my seasons (no offense Todd or Dad). I’m sure that part of the reason is the beauty found in all four: huge snowflakes floating to the ground, illuminated by moonlight or the look of an autumn hillside, not to mention the sight of tulips springing from the earth or the sound of crickets singing the day to sleep. God’s beauty is displayed in all of the seasons, and I appreciate the constantly changing canvas of this region.

However, I think much of my affection for the change of the weather is tied to the emotions and events that I associate with those changes. I am keenly aware of that mental tie during this time of year. The crispness in the air awakens in me the need for apple cider, a hike in the woods, s’mores, and a high school football game. As the crispness sinks into cold and the final leaves release their grip, I can almost smell the turkey and pumpkin pie, and I begin preparing for backyard football and family conversations around the fireplace. A deep sense of nostalgia and the recognition of new memories being made both settle in simultaneously. Of course the beginning of winter, the breaking of spring, and the onset of summer cause other feelings to surface and countless memories to flood my mind. But fall, for some reason, is unique.

Yet the weather and its semi-predictable changes are just one of the many triggers our Creator has given us. Smells and tastes, sounds and sights often cause our minds to flood with memories long forgotten or deep emotions we have felt in times past. And beyond the often unsolicited onslaught on our senses, God, in His wisdom, has called us to engage all that we are in our walk of faith – our heart, soul, mind, and strength, which surely includes our senses. Throughout the Old Testament, wells and altars, feasts and sacrifices, stones of remembrance and even circumcision, forced the Israelites to tie their understanding of God to physical markers that would constantly remind them of His presence among them. They would see, smell, taste, touch, hear, and thereby know that the Lord is good, faithful, and holy. Such is the nature of baptism and the Lord’s Supper, as well as the God-centered elements of our celebrations of Christmas and Easter.

My love of fall has reminded me that we should fully engage our senses for the glory of God. That we should rejoice in hot mugs of coffee and the rustle of leaves as gifts from Him. That we should delight in a song from childhood that fills us with a sense of peace and joy as a mark of His grace. That we should keep picture albums handy, and rejoice in the countless blessings of our Father. That we should fully engage in the celebration of Christ’s birth and His resurrection, allowing our senses to log the importance of such events. That our churches should make baptism and communion a priority in worship, fully embracing the tangible nature of them both.

That we should love the Lord our God with all of our heart, soul, mind, and strength.

 

Miles Davis & Echoes of Redemption

Saturday I watched episode 8 of Ken Burns’ movie Jazz, a documentary that Andrea and I started 2 years ago while still living in Kentucky and somehow never finished. If you’ve never seen any of Burns’ work, his documentaries are outstanding. His three major ones are on the Civil War, Baseball, and Jazz, which he considers to be the three quintessential elements of Americana, and his newest endeavor is titled The National Parks: America’s Best Idea; it premiers this Sunday at 8 eastern on PBS.

While watching this particular episode from Jazz, I was sobered by how often these amazing musicians found themselves enslaved to drugs and alcohol and saddened by the vast number of them who turned to addictions to find relief. I don’t say that with any thoughts of superiority; we all have sinful refuges we turn to besides our Creator, and, for many in that era of jazz music, drugs were the escape hatch from the pressures that surrounded them; pressures that ranged from racism to road life. It was just disheartening to hear about how their lives crumbled around them and their talent was often squandered.

In the midst of that discussion, a story about Miles Davis had clear echoes of redemption.

Inspired by [Sugar Ray] Robinson’s seriousness about his craft [of boxing] and finally weary of the life his addiction was forcing him to lead, Davis resolved to kick his habit. Characteristically, he determined to do it on his own. He had just finished an engagement with Max Roach in Hollywood. He rode the bus halfway across the continent to his father’s farm outside East St. Louis. His father told him he could do nothing for him except offer his love. “The rest of it you got to do for yourself.” Davis did. He moved into a two-room apartment on the second floor of the family guest house and locked the door. For seven days, as the craving for drugs raged, he neither ate nor drank, shivering with cold and struggling to keep from screaming with the pain that tortured his joints. Then, he remembered, “one day it was over, just like that…. I walked outside into the clean, sweet air over to my father’s house and when he saw me he had this big smile on his face and we just hugged each other and cried.”

Davis would not fully kick the habit after this instance, but it was an uplifting story amidst clouds of despair. In it, I saw parallels to the Christian life, though the correspondence does breakdown at some point, especially when considering the self-willed approach of Davis as opposed to the Spirit-empowered, community-focused sanctification of Scripture. But I can’t get over that picture of Davis emerging from the shadowlands of fighting his addiction to drink deeply of the fresh farm air and freedom he now felt. And then to see the smiling face of his father, for them to embrace, and for tears of joy and exhaustion to flow uncontrollably.

It’s what the fight of faith against sin and self often feels like; that God is near and offers his love, but we are shivering and struggling until the Spirit takes control and the struggle ends for a moment. It’s how I picture saints entering the rest of eternity: staggering in, war-torn and weary, to finally breathe in paradise and weep for joy in the arms of their Father, finally free from the struggles of life and the sins that have enslaved them for so long. It makes me want to keep fighting, remaining faithful to the end, because the fight is worth the present and future smile of the Father.

 

North! Or Be Eaten Blog Tour

“I don’t want to analyze a story. I don’t want to find hidden meaning. I just want to escape from the real world for a bit.” – J. R. R. Tolkien

There is something great about books with maps at the beginning – even before reading the first words, you are invited to lose yourself in a world not your own. In Andrew Peterson’s second installment in the Wingfeather Saga, North! Or Be Eaten, that world is Aerwiar. The first book in the series introduces readers to the Igilby children, Janner, Tink, and Leeli, their noble mother, their ex-pirate grandfather, the mysterious Peet the Sockman, and the lover of literature, Oskar N. Reteep. Our heroes are back in N!OBE, on the cusp of a journey to the Ice Prairies. Always close behind them are the dreaded Fangs of Dang, ravenous toothy cows, and hungry horned hounds, not to mention quill diggles, snickbuzzards, and bomnubbles.

Peterson returns with everything that worked so well in the first book: action, adventure, laugh-out-loud humor, creative footnotes, timely quotations from Oskar N. Reteep, and thought-provoking lines throughout. Yet North! Or Be Eaten takes the story of the Igilbys to a new level. I was reminded of the transition from Tolkien’s The Hobbit to his Lord of the Rings series: the truths of the wide-world were introduced in the first book, but the depths of those realities were plumbed in the series that followed. Such is the nature of the Wingfeather Saga. As the story unfolds from Janner Igilby’s perspective, we watch a young boy’s world expand from a cottage in the small town Skree to the vastness of thundering Fingap Falls, the seemingly impassable Stony Mountains, and the daunting Ice Prairies. More than the physical landscape, Janner’s eyes are opened to the realities of evil and betrayal, the value of family and courage, and the sometimes hard to grasp ways of the Maker. As Janner deals with fear, loss, and lonliness and as he grows in valor and love, the reader is able to learn the universal lessons of life that join the world of Aerwiar and our own.

North! Or Be Eaten lets the reader escape the real world for bit, yet in the midst of humor, suspense, and adventure there are truths from this other world so clear and parallel to our own that it is impossible to not be changed by them. 

 

Andrew Peterson is the author of On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness, Book One in the Wingfeather Saga, and The Ballad of Matthew’s Begats. He’s also the critically-acclaimed singer-songwriter and recording artist of ten albums, including Resurrection Letters II and my all-time favorite album, Love and Thunder. He and his wife, Jamie, live with their two sons and one daughter in a little house they call The Warren near Nashville, Tennessee. Visit his websites: www.andrew-peterson.com and www.rabbitroom.com.

 

Beautiful Truth

I think I finally began to understand and appreciate music around Jr. High. I can remember listening to a song and finding something in it so amazing that I had to share it with someone. That someone was usually my dad, which makes sense, since he’s probably where the bulk of my love of music came from – bluegrass concerts and a modest but varied record collection had rubbed off. I would take the CD out of my Koss boombox and plop it into the downstairs Magnavox player while saying something like, “Dad, you gotta hear this song.” We’d sit and soak it in, commenting on the mix of lyrics and music, or how the artist hit on something we’d never thought of before. Or we’d revel in the fact that he’d said something we’d always thought or knew, but in an amazingly clear or profound way, coupled to an amazing guitar solo. Or we’d simply be in awe of the artist’s musical skill or the great hook that had been crafted. After the song was over, I’d skip to my other favorite tracks, or my dad would jump up and say, “Check this one out,” as he pulled a CD from his stack of alphabetized, genre-atized discs that the previous song had reminded him of. It could go on for a while.

When I went away to college, visits home always included a music-sampling time in the living room, and my sisters and mom would often join in. Christmas morning would often erupt into a music-sampling festival, each of us jockeying for the stereo, calling for everyone to pause and listen to the new copy of musical genius we had just received. My wife is now subject to my calls to stop everything and listen to 3 or 4 minutes of magic (which she gladly does), and visits back home or visits from home also serve as an outlet for playing D-J with the family.

There is something about music that begs us to share it with others, even if it is the creation of someone besides ourselves. And it’s not just music or art we love to share, but beauty in general – a sunset on a summer’s day, a culinary creation, a movie or play, a quote or book, and countless other things that just seem more enjoyable when the same joy that fills our hearts and erupts on our faces in a grin is seen in the face of a friend. When they see the beauty we have seen. When beauty is relished in, talked about, mulled over, and rejoiced in with another person. It’s more than just beauty, but truth we love to share – a fuller understanding of what is real and meaningful and right reflected in a song heard or a sight beheld. Maybe beauty and truth are virtually synonymous.

Beautiful truths are not shared out of obligation, but because we can’t hold them in and hoard the joy they bring only for ourselves. To not share beautiful truths is selfishness. To share them is love and a deep reflection of the One who went to incomprehensible lengths to show us the depths of the most Beautiful Truth in the world.

 

You Say, “Talitha,” I Say, “Tabitha”

Whenever I read the book of Acts, I am struck by the parallels between the lives of the early church leaders and the life and ministry of Jesus found in the Gospels. I see it in the way they proclaim the message of the gospel boldly, the way they stand firm and strong in the midst of persecution, the compassion they show to the disenfranchised, the way they heal those in need, and even the way they die (especially with Stephen).

With that in mind, I am always struck by the similarities between Jesus raising of Jarius’ daughter from the dead and Peter raising Tabitha from the dead through the power of Christ. They strike me as similar because of the command given to the one who had died. In Mark 5:41, Jesus says to the girl, “‘Talitha kum!’ (which translated means, ‘Little girl, I say to you, get up’).” In Acts 9:40, Peter says, “Tabitha, arise.” In Acts, Luke goes to some length to point out the Greek translation of Tabitha’s name, Dorcas, and then uses the two names interchangeably, though he uses the name Tabitha in the command to arise.

One more interesting note is the presence of Peter at both resurrections. I can’t help but imagine Peter speaking the words, “Tabitha, arise,” and having a chill run down his back and a smile come across his face as he remembered hearing Jesus saying words so similar many days prior in Jarius’ house.

I’d say there are some more minor similarities between Mark 5 and Acts 9, but what do you think: am I stretching the parallel? Either way, I pray that all I say, think, and do reflects Jesus as was true with Peter and the early church leaders.