Our First Christmas Since It Happened

My father-in-law passed away in June. He was the first of our four parents to die. My wife and I have now entered a dark place we've never known before, joined a Great Sad Tribe of friends whose parents are gone.

I usually start playing Christmas music as soon as the World Series is over. Early, I know, for some, but it's such rich, beautiful music I always want to enjoy it sooner rather than later. 

But this year I wondered if I would enjoy Christmas music. I knew that this first Christmas since Nanette's dad passed away would be bittersweet. We miss him terribly. The pain never really goes away. Would the music just be too sad?

I was surprised. I actually am enjoying the music more this year. Somehow the lyrics -- which I've always loved, not just the familiar tunes -- the lyrics are richer and more wonderful than ever:

"No more let sin and sorrows grow, nor thorns infest the ground..."

"Repeat the sounding joy..."

And the lyric that resounds more beautifully than ever: "tidings of comfort and joy"

I've always believed that the long, sad history of the world turned a corner in the birth of Jesus. I still believe it, but now it's more personal. And I'm so very glad.

Thoughtful Conservatism

This post was originally published at OhioConservativeReview.com. 

I teach a high school course on current social problems. I like to joke that my students begin the course thinking that dandruff and halitosis are social problems, and I try to expand their understanding to include the familiar list of controversies: immigration, gun control, abortion, the death penalty… issues well-known to most culturally-aware adults but only vaguely familiar to most high school kids.

They don’t know what “conservative” and “liberal” mean unless they listen to talk radio, in which case they know that “liberal” is bad and “conservative” is good, but they’re not exactly sure why.

The two words are intriguing in their own right. Their elasticity must be confusing to anyone learning English. Liberal arts colleges have no counterpart in “conservative arts” colleges. You can spread jam liberally but not conservatively. We conserve resources, but we don’t liberate them.

Still, the term “conservative” reveals a great deal about the ideology it portrays. After all, we conservatives strive to conserve something we deem valuable. We believe there are traditions and values that are precious and can be neglected only at great peril. We look to the great Western cultural tradition and the rich Judeo-Christian tradition as templates for a just and prosperous society. We are rightly suspicious of cultural innovations that jeopardize those values and traditions.

But here’s where ideology must be tempered with careful thought. A mere ideologue supports the cause without question. A thoughtful conservative must always ask, What we are trying to preserve and do we really want to preserve it?

Case in point: Southern conservatives were clearly, obviously on the wrong side of history during the days of the civil rights movement. The traditions they sought to preserve — racial segregation, Jim Crow laws, white privilege — were wrong, and white conservatives were wrong to support it, even if that was what they had grown up with. We can see that now. Blinded by a deeply entrenched tradition, they could not. Their position was untenable and indefensible, not just from a moral point of view but from the view of the common good.

On a whole host of contemporary issues — gun control, immigration, health care, and capital punishment, for instance — liberals and conservatives have staked out their positions. Fire-breathing ideologues on both sides will support the cause just because it is their cause.

But thoughtful conservatives owe it to themselves and, more importantly, to their nation, always to evaluate their motives and their message. If our motive is to recapture or consolidate power, we’ll never create a message that resonates with the moral sense of the public, and we’ll never be able to convince anyone — not even ourselves — that we are arguing for the common good.

Do we really think the solution to mass shootings is more guns in the hands of more people?

Do we really oppose the pathway to citizenship for all illegal immigrants, even the ones who were brought here as children and know no other home?

Do we really think health care is a commodity subject to the vicissitudes of the marketplace and not a right that should be accessible to all citizens?

Do we really think executing violent criminals is always just and right?

Our problem is that we’re all too predictable. We’re always against something, always anti-something. What are we for? How do we envision a more just and prosperous society? Is it enough to oppose Obama and the liberal agenda simply because cooperation is political suicide? Are the words “the president is right about this” impossible for a good conservative to think, let alone utter aloud?

Older conservatives can remember a time when leaders from the two sides of the aisle could afford to mix socially without fear of being labeled a traitor, when “compromise” was the grand art of politics, not a toxic label that kills careers.

The air in Washington and Columbus might be too thick with suspicion to allow that kind of collaboration. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Conservatives don’t have to march to the beat of the most aggressive drummer, even if he does have an audience in the tens of millions. We are, you know, capable of thinking for ourselves.

It may be that young conservatives, instead of leading the charge hard-right, can regroup and present a more thoughtful, nuanced message for a public exhausted by cynicism. It may be that conservatives can find common ground with liberals on issues that will benefit everyone. It may be that conservatives can take the lead in breaking up the gridlock that has paralyzed our government and alienated the voting public.

Or it may be that we’ll just keep doing what we’ve been doing.

Theodore Clinton Smart

I think there are certain experiences that are so life-changing, you feel as if you were the first one ever to experience such a thing. I think falling in love is one of those experiences, or maybe having your first child. I have just had one of those experiences: my wife's father died last week. I feel as if I've joined a Great Sad Tribe whose sufferings I never fully understood until now.

A few years ago I gave the eulogy at another funeral, and he (my father-in-law) was there. He thought I did a good job and said he wanted me to do his funeral. At the time I was merely flattered, but when the time came (two days ago), I could barely hold it together.

Here is the eulogy I delivered at his funeral two days ago:


I heard it said once that success is when those closest to you admire you the most. I think this is true, and I can tell you from personal experience and observation that Ted Smart was a wildly successful man. We are met this morning to celebrate his long and fruitful life.

Ted made it clear that he didn’t want a lot of malarky said about him at his funeral. I’m not sure what he meant by that, but I do know that it’s hard to speak of this man without speaking with the deepest affection and genuine respect. If that’s what he meant by malarky, I hope he’ll forgive me for what I’m about to say.

Ted Smart was a remarkable man. No one ever met him and walked away without his having made a strong impression. And for those of us who knew him so well and loved and admired him so deeply, the impression he made on us was life-shaping.

Ted was a remarkable man in the way he loved his family: Clarice, Diana, Kathleen, Nanette, Anita, and Ted. He loved having his family around him, and we were around him a lot. He actually put an addition on his house to make room for a longer dinner table, to accommodate the family that would come there to eat.

It was a regular habit for folks to drop by on Friday nights for dinner. Ted and Clarice never knew how many places to set or how much food to prepare. There might be a few of us or an entire table full of kinfolk on any given Friday night. After supper, after the dishes were cleared, Ted would sit down to a game of Scrabble with two or three of us at one end of that long table, while others would stay at the table with magazines, iPads, newspapers, and laptops, always accompanied on his stereo by some of the great music Ted loved: Beethoven, Dvorak, and Handel (especially the Messiah). In the living room, a few others would be watching the Reds. 

Most Sundays we were all back again, usually in larger numbers, for a late Sunday dinner. And the same scene afterward: Scrabble at one end of the table and others sitting around with the Sunday paper and coffee and the rest. I think those were among Ted’s favorite moments, with his house full of his family. What he loved most about special occasions -- the birthdays and Christmas and Thanksgiving and the annual cook-outs -- what he loved most was never the gifts or the food. It was the fact that the family had gathered. Those were his golden moments. 

But there was no clearer picture of Ted’s love of his family than what we all observed in his love for Clarice. It was mutual with the two of them, the way they took care of each other. When she was hospitalized in December after a fall, he was at her bedside constantly. And over the past weeks, as he spent time in the hospital, she was there at his side at virtually every possible moment. The love and loyalty and compassion and tenderness the two of them have shown for one another has been remarkable.

Ted led a remarkably simple life. For him, there were only a few things that really mattered -- his faith, his family, and the Ohio State Buckeyes -- and he simply refused to let life get complicated. He didn’t see the need to go anywhere except for work or church, or a special family occasion. I remember in the 1970s when I was a young adult and everyone was in a panic because of a shortage of natural gas, Ted wasn’t worried. He said over dinner one night that as long as he had the wherewithal to put gas in his car and drive to work, to put food on the table and to heat his house, he had all he needed. Ted lived his life by a set of remarkably simple, straight-forward priorities.

Ted was a remarkable man in his love for the Scriptures. He made it a habit to read through the Bible once a year. He told me once he usually finished Revelation sometime in September, then he would go back and re-read his favorite books -- the Psalms, the Gospel of John -- until year’s end. Then he would start again with Genesis in January. 

I suppose he read through the entire Bible dozens of times during his lifetime. As a result, he possessed a truly encyclopedic knowledge of the Bible. I can remember many times when we would be talking -- over dinner or maybe a game of Scrabble -- about some biblical account and he would say to me something like, “You remember what King Hezekiah said to Isaiah, don’t you? Surely you remember!” 

Of course I didn’t remember. I was the one with the seminary degree, and I didn’t know, but he knew. He seemed genuinely surprised that other people didn’t know the details of biblical stories as intimately as he did. But he knew it not just because he had read it so much, he knew it because he loved it so deeply.  

And Ted took the Scriptures literally. He believed the Scriptures were not just to be read, they are to be obeyed. He said that Jesus taught that if someone asked you for help, you should help. He gave generously to many ministries and Christian organizations and to people in need... not because he had money to spare but because he believed that was what he should do.  

Ted’s love for the Bible was indeed remarkable.

Ted would surely deny that he was a remarkable man, but the truth is that what made him such a man was his remarkable love for his Savior. He was truly amazed at the grace of God. He had put his faith in Christ while he was a young child, and he knew that God had changed the entire trajectory of his life in that moment. Not just this life, but the next as well. I remember when we would gather on Easter Sunday, we would always sing one of his favorite hymns, “Up From the Grave He Arose.” He didn’t need to see the lyrics, they were inscribed not just on his mind but on his heart. And he always raised his left hand and closed his eyes to sing that last refrain. Anyone who knew Ted knew he loved Jesus. 

That’s why Ted was ready -- when the time finally came -- to go home. Ted made his peace with God not because he lived his life so well but because he had placed his entire confidence in Christ and His sacrifice.  And now for Ted, the struggle is finally over, and he is with the Savior he so adored. 

There are people who will tell you that death is not to be feared, that death is as natural as birth, just a part of the natural order of things. But all of us sitting in this room right now know at some deep level that this is not true. We know that the death of a human being -- at any age -- is not at all natural; it is absurd. Death is a vicious intruder, an outrage, an obscenity. We somehow know that we were made for more than this, that this cannot be all there is.

Ted knew that this short life is just the beginning of life. The Scriptures that he loved so much teach that Christ destroyed the power of death by rising from the dead Himself. As a result, those who have put their faith in Christ can think about death differently. We do grieve, “but not as others, who have no hope.”

For us, the grief is profound. But for Ted, the words of the Apostle Paul have finally come true, and he is overjoyed. 

“The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death...  

The body is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: 

It is sown in dishonour; it is raised in glory: 

it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power... 

So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, 
and this mortal shall have put on immortality,
then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, 
Death is swallowed up in victory.                         
O death, where is thy sting? 
O grave, where is thy victory?”

Apology Interrupted

Jesus' story of the prodigal son has to be my favorite parable. It is the gospel writ small. 

Jesus tells that story and two others to answer questions about Jesus' habit of spending time with sinners (Luke 15). The other two stories -- of the shepherd who left the 99 in safety to search relentlessly for the one animal in danger and of the woman who searched the house relentlessly for her precious lost coin -- end with great celebrations of lost things found.

The story of the lost son also ends in great celebration. But it is different in that the father did not search relentlessly for his son. He loved him relentlessly, but he knew he had to wait for the prodigal to return. He knew that the rebel could not be compelled to come back until he wanted to.  

The rebel son didn't want to come home for awhile. But when he finally came to his senses, he prepared his apology speech: "“Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants” (Luke 15:18-19, ESV).

A good speech. And it just might turn the old man's heart. Then again it might not, because the son had so deeply humiliated his father, no small thing in an honor-based culture. But this humble apology was his only hope.

What I love about this story is that the son never got to say his apology. He didn't even get to finish coming home before Dad interrupted him. Jesus tells us that "while [the son] was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him" (v. 20). 

The son started into the desperate apology he had prepared, but he never got to complete it. Before he could finish, Dad interrupted him and turned to the servants with instructions: "Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found (v. 22-23).

In this story Jesus paints a beautiful picture of God's love for us. It wasn't the son's apology that won his father's heart. He didn't have to do anything to win his father's heart. His father had never stopped loving him, despite the pain and humiliation he had caused.

So it is with us. God loves us whether we're sorry for our sins or not. But we cannot know His love until we're sorry for our sins. We can't come back to Him until we turn away from our sins and come Home. To use the language of Scripture, we can't know God's love until we're ready to repent.

Repentance doesn't qualify us for God's love. Nothing we could do -- no good deeds or repentance of bad deeds -- can qualify us for God's love. But repentance puts us in the place to know His love.  

This is the Gospel. Not that we are sorry enough for God to forgive us, but that our sorrowful repentance puts us in a position to be forgiven. Our repentance doesn't change God's mind about us. It only brings us to the place where God can welcome us home, as He is longing and ready to do.

Why did Jesus have to die?

I fill pulpit for a local Chinese congregation once a month. The normal pattern is for the English-speaking and Chinese-speaking congregants to worship together. We sing and recite the Lord's Prayer and do responsive readings in English and Chinese simultaneously. It is always a delightful experience, and the people are always warm and welcoming to me.

Before the sermon, the English congregation leaves the sanctuary to go to a small chapel, where I speak to the English congregation while the pastor speaks to the Chinese congregation. 

This time was different, however. The pastor was away on a mission trip, and the man who was to speak to the Chinese congregation had to bow out for some reason. So I got an email Tuesday afternoon saying that I would be speaking to the combined English and Chinese congregations. Since I would be speaking through a translator, I would need to provide a manuscript, and I should plan for the sermon/translation combination to take about an hour.

I chose a Lenten theme and text. I've always been fascinated by the story of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. I have been teaching the gospel of Matthew in my Bible study at my church, so I used Matthew's account (chapter 26). I addressed the question "Why did Jesus have to die?"

What follows is the text of my sermon at the Dayton Chinese Christian Church on March 10, 2013. 

When I watched the Passion of the Christ, I realized the plot was oddly familiar. I’d seen it before: the good guy is captured by the bad guys and they’re going to condemn him to death. As I watched Jesus being tormented and interrogated by the authorities, I found myself hoping for a moment that he would be somehow rescued. That’s what always happens in these stories. Someone stands to speak up for the innocent man and the blood-thirsty mob is quieted. Or, better yet, the good guy’s friends (here, the disciples, led by bold Peter) mount an impressive and daring rescue. 

But then I realized that this story was different. Not only that it did end differently, it had to end differently. I realized that Jesus really couldn’t be rescued because he had to die.

Why did Jesus have to die? He was a great leader, a true prophet, a wise scholar. And he was an innocent man, the only innocent man who lived on the earth.

Our text today is in the 26^th chapter of Matthew’s gospel. The story takes place in Gethsemane, an olive grove outside the walls of Jerusalem. Like most big cities, Jerusalem was a crowded and noisy place. Jesus and his disciples liked to go to Gethsemane to escape the noise and confusion. They treasured the quiet and privacy of that little grove of olive trees.

Judas knew that Jesus would go to Gethsemane that night, so that’s where he led the arresting party. 

Jesus knew that Judas knew about Gethsemane and would soon be there with an armed band.

Jesus knew that the other disciples would run away in terror.

Jesus knew that Peter would loudly deny that he even knew Jesus.

Jesus knew that the Jewish leaders would falsely accuse him of terrible crimes and arrange to have him killed.

Jesus knew that he had to die an agonizing and humiliating death at the hands of the Romans.

Jesus knew all that all these things must happen. And as he contemplated it all, he was overwhelmed by grief. That grief drove him to prayer.

Read with me beginning at Matthew 26:36. “Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, ‘Sit here while I go over there and pray.’ He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee along with him, and he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, ‘My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.’”

Jesus knew he had to die a horrible death, abandoned by his friends and countrymen. There was no other way.

Which brings us back to our question: why did he have to die?

There are some popular explanations. These answers are partly true, but they are ultimately false because they are incomplete:

Some believe that Jesus died to provide an example for us.

Others believe that Jesus died as martyr for a great cause.

These are popular answers, and many people believe them. These answers are true, but they aren’t true enough: It’s true that the way Jesus faced his death provides an excellent example, and it’s true that he died as a martyr for a great cause. But these explanations don’t give a true answer to the question because they don’t go far enough. There was far more involved in the death of Jesus.

So if Jesus didn’t die merely as an example or as a martyr, why did Jesus have to die? Here are three reasons:

1. Jesus had to die because it was his Father’s will:

Many times in the gospels Jesus speaks of doing his Father’s will. Jesus was relentlessly focused on doing his Father’s will. Jesus had known from the beginning that it was his Father’s will that he die. 

God’s plan was actually born long before the time of Christ. Isaiah spoke of this fact hundreds of years before the time of Christ, when he wrote, “It was the Lord’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer.” (Isa 53:10). As a father, I cringe at this thought, that any father would choose to see his son crushed and suffering. 

But God had begun to prepare His people for the death of their Messiah long before the days of Isaiah. For more than a thousand years the people of God had been giving up their own animals in their ceremonial sacrifices. Their priests had slaughtered tens of thousands of the choicest livestock as atonement for the sins of the people, according to God’s instructions, given through Moses.

As Jesus approached Jerusalem for the last time, he was met by an adoring throng in an event we remember as the Triumphal Entry. The people thought they were escorting their Messiah-King into the Holy City, where he would eject the hated Romans and restore their kingdom. 

But Jesus knew that Passover was a few days away. The people thought they were escorting the conquering king, but Jesus knew they were escorting the last Passover Lamb. 

Jesus knew that all those centuries of sacrifices, all those thousands of slaughtered animals, were really just one long rehearsal for this great Final Sacrifice of himself, the Lamb of God.

Jesus asked repeatedly if there might be another way to accomplish his Father’s purposes, but each time he concluded his prayer with, “Not as I will but as you will.” 

Read with me beginning at verse 39: Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.” 

“Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. “Couldn’t you men keep watch with me for one hour?” he asked Peter. “Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” He went away a second time and prayed, “My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done.”

God did not grant Jesus his request in Gethsemane. Why? Jesus had to die because it was his Father’s will that he die. 

2. But there was another reason Jesus had to die. Jesus had to die because a terrible debt had to be paid. 

I was at Wright State University a few weeks ago. I was in a hurry, I didn’t pay attention to the signs, and I parked in a lot reserved for students.

When I came out to my car to leave, I was surprised to find this little slip of paper fluttering under my windshield wiper. This little piece of paper says I parked in a spot I’m not allowed to park in, and as a result I have incurred a $50 parking fine.

This was upsetting to me, of course. Fifty dollars isn’t a fortune, but it’s not pocket change, either. This paper says that there is an appeal process, and it gives instructions on how to appeal the fine.

I went online and filled out the appeal form. About a week later I got an email from Wright State telling me that my fine had been reduced to a warning.

For a big university with a multi-million dollar budget, what was a $50 fine? What did it cost Wright State to withhold the penalty for my parking offense? Nothing. 

A lot of people wonder why Jesus had to die. If God wanted to forgive our sins, why couldn’t He just forgive our sins? Why all this drama and suffering? 

The problem is that our sin isn’t like a $50 parking ticket. Our sin is an overwhelming debt that we can never pay. 

In his book Reason for God Tim Keller explains this concept. "Imagine that someone borrows your car, and as he backs it out of the driveway he strikes a gate, knocking it down along with part of a wall. Your property insurance doesn’t cover the gate and garden wall. What can you do? There are essentially two options. The first is to demand that he pay for the damages. The second is to refuse to let him pay anything… Notice that in either option the cost of the damage must be borne by someone. Either you or your friend must bear the cost for the damage, but the damage does not somehow vanish into thin air.”

Forgiveness is costly, not cheap, even for God. Our sin is a gigantic debt that we could never pay, so we are completely unable to make things right. If we are to be made right with God, He has to bear the cost. 

Think of a time when you were overwhelmed by guilt. You had rationalized your actions, you had talked yourself into doing something you knew was wrong. And suddenly, an awareness of all your sin and guilt descended upon you and crushed you. There was no way out for you. All you could do is suffer your well-earned humiliation and shame.

Now imagine that you had to suffer that humiliation and shame for someone else’s wrongdoing. You were innocent, but everyone believed you were guilty of a great evil. 

Now imagine that you had to suffer the humiliation and shame and guilt for the sins of all people of all time. 

Now you see that God couldn’t simply nod and wink and tell us all is good. 

Jesus knew all this as he suffered and prayed in Gethsemane. He knew he was facing not only the physical and emotional suffering of the beatings, the mocking, the crucifixion. 

There was more, much more. This man who had never known a moment of guilt his entire life was about to take on all the guilt for all the sins of all the people in the history of the world. He would take on the guilt for all the murderers, the child-molesters, the rapists, the men who abused their wives and children, all those people who committed those horrific crimes of genocide and ethnic cleansing in Europe, in Rwanda, in Yugoslavia.

He was about to suffer for my sins. He would stand in my place and absorb the punishing blows that should have fallen on me.

Jesus knew he had to die because that was the only way to pay the terrible price for all our sins, for my sins.

3. There’s another reason Jesus had to die: Jesus had to die because there was no other way. 

This doctrine, this teaching that Jesus is the only way to God, is not a popular idea these days. Many people are offended at this idea. 

Yet Scripture leaves no room for doubt:

As the apostles were standing before the Sanhedrin, the Jewish Supreme Court, they had to decide what to do with the Court’s order to stop preaching about Jesus. The apostles said they couldn’t stop preaching about Jesus because “there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.” (Acts 4:12)

Jesus himself said that he was the only way for a man to know God: “No one comes to Father except by me.” (John 14:6)

In other words, there is no Plan B. Jesus repeatedly asked his Father about a Plan B when he prayed in Gethsemane. But his prayers were met with silence because there never was a Plan B.

This means that putting my faith in the death of Jesus to pay for my sins isn’t just one possible option among many. It’s not even the best of several options: it’s the only way.

Read with me beginning at verse 43, as Jesus submits himself to his enemies and begins to suffer to pay for our sins: “When he came back, he again found them sleeping, because their eyes were heavy. So he left them and went away once more and prayed the third time, saying the same thing. Then he returned to the disciples and said to them, ‘Are you still sleeping and resting? Look, the hour has come, and the Son of Man is delivered into the hands of sinners. Rise! Let us go! Here comes my betrayer!’

47 “While he was still speaking, Judas, one of the Twelve, arrived. With him was a large crowd armed with swords and clubs, sent from the chief priests and the elders of the people. Now the betrayer had arranged a signal with them: ‘The one I kiss is the man; arrest him.’ Going at once to Jesus, Judas said, ‘Greetings, Rabbi!’ and kissed him.”

The death of Jesus was always, from the beginning, God’s only plan to restore us. Despite Jesus’ repeated pleas with his Father, there never was any Plan B. Jesus had to die because there was no other way for God to bring us home again.

So what does this mean? For one thing, I am thankful for this Gethsemane account in the life of Christ. I have had moments when I wasn’t sure I wanted to do what God wanted me to do. I have faced anxiety and uncertainty about doing God’s will. It comforts me to know that even Jesus experienced these things as he contemplated carrying out his Father’s plan. I’m glad to know that uncertainty and anxiety do not have to mean the end of my obedience; Jesus went on to do his Father’s will even though he was anxious and uncertain. 

But more to the point, what does it mean for us that Jesus had to die? How is that significant? 

The death of Jesus is unique in world religions:

1. Muslims don’t look to the death of Mohammed as the ultimate fulfillment of God’s will for his life. 
2. Buddhists don’t look to the death of the Enlightened One as payment for a crushing debt of sin.
3. Jews don’t look to the death of Moses the only way to God.

It is only Christians who think of the death of their founder in this way. Scripture teaches that Jesus had to die so that we could make things right with God. 

I think there is both comfort and warning in this truth:

1. There’s great comfort in knowing that Jesus had to die. It may be the most familiar verse in the Bible, but there’s a good reason that John 3:16 is so well-known. It’s such good news. “God so loved the world [that is, so loved me] that He gave His only son...”

The death of Jesus means that God must really really love me, and that changes everything:

• money problems? That’s okay. God loves me.
• people let me down/betray me? That’s all right. God loves me.
• uncertain future? No problem. God loves me. He’s in charge.

The fact that God gave up His son for me means that He has deeply committed Himself to taking care of me: Paul wrote in Romans 8:31-32, “What shall we say about such wonderful things as these? If God is for us, who can ever be against us? Since he did not spare even his own Son but gave him up for us all, won’t he also give us everything else?” 

2. But there’s a serious warning here, too. The fact that Jesus had to die means that I can’t afford to be indifferent about Jesus. If Jesus is my only hope, I must cling desperately to him. The writer to the Hebrews put it this way: “How can we escape if we neglect this great salvation?” 

If the death of Jesus is the only way for me to make things right with God, it is a kind of blasphemy for me to tell God, “I’ve got this one. I’m a high achiever. Some people might need to let Jesus pay for their sins, but my sins aren’t so serious.” That’s a lie that leads to damnation. No one can pay for his own sins. Only the death of Jesus pays for sin and makes things right with God. This is as true for the law-abiding church-goer as it is for the serial killer. No matter how well-behaved or badly behaved I’ve been, I need Jesus.

There are, in this room, only two kinds of people. Some have made peace with God through Christ. Some have not. Those two categories account for everyone here. There is no third category.

If you have never put your faith in Christ for his death to pay your debt, you can do that today. You must do that today. There is no better day than today to make things right with God, and you have no guarantee of tomorrow. 

Do it now. 

The Dayton Chinese Christian Church is a place where you can find good people who love Jesus, people who can help you find peace with God through Christ.

If you find yourself strangely moved by what I’ve said today, that may be God’s Spirit inviting you to take that first step by talking to someone who can help you.

There was one vistor there that day, a young man who is attending the University of Dayton. For the entire 45 minute sermon, he leaned forward, listening, obviously attending seriously to the words. I wondered what his spiritual state was and what prompted his keen interest.

After I finished and sat down, a lay leader came to the microphone and spoke quietly in Chinese for a few minutes. While he was speaking, a young woman I recognized from the English congregation came down the aisle and stood next to him. 

After the service concluded, I saw the visitor come to the front to speak to another one of the members of the congregation. They were talking quietly in the pews when I left.

Glory to God! What a privilege to speak God's kind words of grace into the lives of people!

Reading Lewis: The Great Divorce

One of Lewis' most popular titles seems mis-named. The Great Divorce is not about marriage or divorce or about the family at all. It is a parable about heaven and hell and the great division ("divorce") between the two.

In this story, Lewis portrays heaven as the Reality toward which every desire has always been leaning. Even evil desires have in them some kernel of the joy that heaven -- and only heaven -- could ultimately fulfill.

Hell, in this view, is a place of torment not because of the exquisite physical terrors but because of its failure to be much of anything at all. Hell isn't the opposite of heaven in The Great Divorce; it is "not a bang but a whimper," to borrow a phrase. The tiniest molecule of heaven could hold the entirety of hell.

And this life here on earth? From that vantage-point, after death, our earthly life will seem in retrospect either a region of hell (because it really all began there) or the first taste of glory.

I have long thought that every man has tasted hell many times in his life. Not when he burns his finger but when he feels that aching pang of being Left Out, especially when he realizes that he alone is the cause of his isolation and rejection.

Reading CS Lewis: "Why I Am Not a Pacifist"

I have a new item on my bucket list: I want to read the works of CS Lewis. I've always enjoyed reading Lewis. His gift for the perfect analogy is, I suppose, one of the reasons he is so clear and compelling and why he still has such appeal so many decades after his death in 1963.

Some of his works I know well from frequent exposure. I teach a class on Lewis in my high school, so I read Mere Christianity and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe with my students every year. But I've never really read all the way through his essays, stories, and sermons, collected in works such as The World's Last Night, God in the Dock, and Of Other Worlds.

And his letters! Lewis made it a point to respond personally to every letter he ever received from a reader, either in a hand-written note or dictated to his brother Warnie, who typed. It is estimated that he wrote some 10,000 letters. There are three collections that I am aware of, and with that many letters sent to that many fans, I suppose Lewis letters will continue to surface from time to time.

So this is the first of my posts on my readings in the book A Year with CS Lewis, from his essay "Why I am Not a Pacifist."

Lewis argues against pacifism on two grounds:

1. Jesus' admonition to "turn the other cheek" is not to be taken absolutely, to apply in all circumstances (e.g., a student striking a teacher, a criminal attacking an officer) but is rather concerned with inter-personal relationships. This is a distinction I have heard before and which seems reasonable.

Except that the actual pacifism demonstrated by Jesus (and commended later by Peter in his first epistle) did not have anything to do with personal relationships. He was abused by strangers, by representatives of the religious authority and the State. Nothing personal about those attacks, yet Jesus, who had every reason to retaliate, to protect Himself, submitted meekly to those torments.

2. Pacifism is politically impractical. In the end, the strictly observant pacifist is dominated by the bully, whether in the schoolyard or in international relations. In a fallen world, pacifism works well only as a theory, not in real life.

Except that "in the end" the unspeakable suffering of Jesus did prevail -- as did the suffering of the protesters in India and the civil rights activists in the American South. Given enough time, it would appear that it is pacifism, not militarism, that is ultimately triumphant.


This isn't, of course, mere theory. All of us have to make daily decisions about how we will respond to abuse and threats. "Turn the other cheek" and "love your enemy" are what Christ taught and what He exemplified.

And it's not just a personal matter. The Newtown shootings have thrust the gun debate back into the national spotlight. I have yet to hear a Christian argue for the right to bear arms along the lines of WWJD. It seems that whenever a Christian argues for the right to protect and defend with deadly force, the teachings of Jesus must be set aside.

I am no pacifist, but I cannot argue against the biblical soundness of the position.


 

Why I Still Teach

I’m one of those rare people who actually enjoys his work. I don’t drag myself to work, even on Mondays. 

Why? I get to work with kids in their late teens, at that crucial point in their intellectual and spiritual formation when they’re working out their own answers to the most important questions they’ll ever consider.

“What should I do with my life?” 

“I know what I’ve been taught, but what do I actually believe?” 

“What really matters and should claim my attention, and what is inconsequential and can safely be ignored?”

I can’t answer all those questions for my students. I can’t find God’s call for their lives or tell them what they believe, but in our time together in my Bible classes I try to help them understand what kind of God has called them and how He’s spoken through His Word. 

Sometimes I like to take my seniors on an on-campus “field trip.” We walk down to the hallway where the class composites line the walls, and they can see my “trophy case,” the images of those hundreds of students who have sat where they sit now, in my classroom. They’re not only looking at their future, they’re looking at what I’ve done with the last 35 years of my life.

I know that most men my age who began in the classroom have moved on to other things by now: administration, industry, the corporate world. But 35 years after I started out with sophomore English and eighth grade Bible classes at the old Homewood campus, I’m still herding the kittens every weekday. 

And (most days) loving it.

I'm beginning to think more and more that teaching is a young man's game. So why have I stayed in it for such a long time? There are several reasons. Here are some:

3. There’s a buzz in a room full of teenagers. Sure, there are days when teens are annoying (I try not to show it), but most days I love the sheer energy of teen life. It both keeps me young and ages me prematurely, I’m sure.

2. As a Christian parent, my wife and I have appreciated all the help we have received in raising our three sons and one daughter. As a teacher, I am grateful for the opportunity to help Christian parents in that vital task that God has assigned to them, passing on their faith.  

1. And the Number One Reason: I’m pretty sure I have the best job in the world. I get to invest my professional energies in the two things that will survive the planet: people and God’s Word. A zillion years from now, when the universe has burned up and vanished, the results of what we did in that building on Washington Church Road will endure. The people who sat in those chairs will be thriving in God’s New Heaven and Earth. 

And I get to play a role in their intellectual and spiritual formation? 

Astonishing!