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.

_________________

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.

 

Crushed Expectations and Idols

Last Friday around 11pm, Andrea, the girls, and I left our condo to meet my parents and younger sister for a week-long vacation in Michigan. That departure time wasn’t in the original plan. The original plan was to leave Saturday after lunch and a morning of somewhat relaxed packing. Plans changed after a 5pm phone call from my mom that went something like this:

Me: Hey, Mom.

Mom: Hey! Where are you guys?

Me: At home, packing.

Mom: Ha, ha. No seriously, where are you?

Me: I am serious – I’m at home. I’ve been here all day.

Mom: Are you really serious?

Me: Totally. Why?

Needless to say, Andrea and I were convinced that the rental was from Saturday to Saturday. We were wrong; it was Friday to Friday. The next hour was a little rough. We went back and forth about what to do, finally deciding to do the best we could to get ready and see what happened, which resulted in our nearly-midnight departure time.

Amidst the whole debacle, my attitude was far from stellar. Praise God, my wife was a rock – she laughed during the phone call. I didn’t laugh until we were on the road, and I think I spoke some absurdity during the packing-frenzy akin to, “I don’t even want to go anymore.” My expectations of the first 24 hours of our vacation experience had been crushed.

The idols of my heart – a care-free packing process, a clean house to come home to, and the ideal first day of vacation – were blatantly exposed as I examined those crushed expectations. Like my three-year-old having a request for candy rejected, I didn’t get what I wanted, so I sinned. Everything I thought I had control of was now in a complete tail-spin, and I watched the plans I had been worshipping go down in a fiery blaze.

God is the ultimate iconoclast, exposing our idols and often smashing them for us, leaving us the choice of building new ones or submitting to Him. My hopes and plans weren’t sinful on their own, but when they were not realized and I responded in anger, I could see them for what they really were: objects of worship I would sin to see realized or sin if they were not. In retrospect, I praise God for exposing them, and inclining my heart to cling to Him as the only one sovereign over all things, including my vacation plans.

 

All Prayer as Praise

Most people have heard or seen the “ACTS” model of prayer – Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication (requests). It’s a handy tool, and I’m sure there are others just like it that help us frame our prayers and focus on God.

Yet as I think about prayer and the elements of our various models of prayer, I find that adoration or worship are not found only at one point of our prayers but are woven into each and every aspect of true prayer. A biblically driven definition of prayer would have to include that it is an admittance of need and an acknowledgement of God as the only one who can meet that need. Related to that, the traditional posture of prayer is on our knees, and it is the biblical word for “worship” that can rightly be translated “bow down.” Prayer always humbles us and always exalts God for all that He is, not simply when we use the phrase, “God, you are….”

For instance, when I confess my sin to God in prayer, I am recognizing my need for forgiveness and restoration, and I am worshipping God as holy, just, righteous, forgiving, and merciful. I am praising Him for the work of Christ’s death, resurrection, and ascension.

When I offer thanks to God, I am recognizing that the blessings in my life were not provided by me, and I am worshipping God as the provider and giver of all good things, as the author and finisher of my salvation, as my refuge and strength. Any expression of thanks, to God or others, exalts the one whom we thank, pointing out what is praiseworthy in them or what they have done, and the same is true in prayers of thanksgiving.

Offering requests to God is worship as well. I have many needs and desires that, in and of myself, I cannot meet. For instance, when my daughter is sick and I desire her to be well, my confidence is not in myself, or even in doctors or medicine, but in God’s strength and mercy towards my child and his wisdom to use any means he chooses to heal my child. My confidence is also in God’s wisdom, sovereignty, and love if he chooses to not heal my child. When I pray for God’s healing and submit to his sovereignty, I remind myself of who God is and worship him.

In all of this, what convicts my heart is that when I choose not to pray, I am withholding worship from God. To neglect prayer is to see myself as sufficient for a task apart from God. It is to see my sanctification and growth in Christ as a work of my flesh rather than a submitting to the Spirit. It is to minimize God’s holiness in light of my sin. It is to pat myself on the back as the provider of good things for myself and my family. It is to trust in myself rather than God. Failure to pray and thereby worship God leads to self-worship; prayerlessness will lead to pride. But prayers of faith exalt God for who he is and remind us of who we are. May we worship without ceasing.

 

Outraged by Ourselves

If you want to get a group of us Christians riled up, just talk about how wretched the outside world is. We’ll pile on like a pack of ravenous wolves to talk about how this place is going to “you-know-where” in a hand-basket. About how when we were kids things were much simpler and sanitary. About all the ways the world system in corrupt and sinful.

All our outrage seems a little illogical. I mean, doesn’t it make sense that the world is… worldly? That people who don’t believe in a personal God or coming judgment act as if there is no God and that they won’t be judged for their decisions by a standard of righteousness? I may believe in such truths, but many don’t, or at least they are suppressing those truths. And if they do deny these beliefs, it is logically consistent for them to act in a sinful, self-absorbed way that takes no thought of a world to come. If I didn’t believe in historic Christian doctrines, surely my life choices would be much different.

As Christians, what should surprise us more than anything about those who do not name the name of Christ (and those who do, for that matter), is not the fact that we sin but the fact that we do anything that appears to be of any redeeming value at all. We should be in awe of the limitless grace that can turn any of our evil, pride-filled actions into good and that keeps us from being consumed for our more frequent sinful actions.

Instead of being outraged by non-Christians who live lives consistent with their non-Christian beliefs, we followers of Christ should be outraged by ourselves and our inconsistency. In his book Crazy Love, Francis Chan opens with the statement, “We all know something’s wrong.” He doesn’t follow with a litany of the ways the world is worldly, but, instead, holds the mirror up to American Christians so we can see what wrong with us. He goes on,

“At first I though it was just me. Then I stood before twenty thousand Christian college students and asked, “How many of you have read the New Testament and wondered if we in the church are missing it?” When almost every hand went up, I felt comforted. At least I’m not crazy.”

The book is filled with too many jaw-dropping quotes to list (and I’m only at chapter 6), but none of them take aim outside the church, because the sin outside the people of God should rarely surprise us, but only grieve us and motivate us to bring them the cure for their sin-sickness. If we’re going to get worked up over something, it should probably be the fact that we as Christians respond to what should be the “life-changing” message of the gospel and the call to follow Jesus with little more than a commitment to go to church and not swear. Again, at least our unbelieving friends live in a way that is consistent with their beliefs.

I’ve got as much to learn as anyone else on this topic. Reading Crazy Love has been a great help, and I commend Francis Chan’s work to all followers of Christ. You can also download the audio version, read by Francis, for free during July at christianaudio.com. For now, let’s not get upset that the world is worldly but that the church is.

 

But I Don’t Want To

I don’t like absolute statements, but I’m tempted to say that all sin is rooted in our sinful, selfish desires to find pleasure and fulfillment outside of God. God, then, does not call us away from pleasure, but towards pleasure in Him rather than in our warped, sin-filled ways of seeking pleasure. We are to forsake the dry cisterns of selfishness for the living waters of following God, as Jeremiah so beautifully put it (Jer. 2:13).

My sinful desires reared their ugly head today when I didn’t get what I wanted. I wanted to go home and have lunch with my family, which is a good, potentially God-glorifying thing to do. Then, through some miscommunication, I came home to an empty house. They were at the store. Slight frustration set in and I reminded myself that I should have called before leaving. Then, as seemingly always happens, when I was done with lunch and ready to get back to work, they got home. So I stayed around a few minutes longer and played five minutes of Playdoh with Elaine… which sent my frustration higher because of my dislike for Playdoh. (I’m not sure why, but I just don’t like it.) Then, to top it all off, Andrea asked me to run two errands that would take about 10 minutes. 10 MINUTES! Can you believe the nerve! I’ve got things to do! A whole list of important ministry things to do was looming as obviously more important than honoring God with those fifteen minutes by loving my family as a gift of His grace and by seizing those “inconveniences” as opportunities to see and show His grace.

Sometimes when our three-year-old says she doesn’t want to do something I explain that life is often about doing things that you don’t really want to do or that might not seem that great at first. My airtight logic is often lost on here, but most people would agree that apparently inconvenient or even horrendous tasks often make up a joy-filled life. I acted like a three-year-old today, as I do to some degree everyday, and missed an opportunity to honor God by finding pleasure in the things He placed in front of me. I’m thankful for the cross, where I run for forgiveness, and the empty tomb that gives me new life and desires.