It happened again. My dad really hurt me. He knows he really hurt me. But of course he didn't say he was sorry. And of course my mother did what she has done my whole life—excuse his behavior by saying, "That's your daddy."

I've spent a lifetime struggling to forgive and keep forgiving my dad. I don't think I felt the weight of it until I spent a week at home as an adult with my son, then 3 years old. As I heard him speak to my son the way he had always talked to me growing up, the weight of a lifetime of harsh words and hurtful disapproval came down on me. That's when I really began to grieve the loss of the nourishing, encouraging dad I wanted. But more than grieving began that week. For years I suffered sleepless nights remembering the conversations and criticisms of the past, rehearsing the confrontation I hoped was somewhere in my future.

One day Dennis Rainey personally handed me a copy of his book The Tribute: What Every Parent Longs to Hear, a book about honoring your parents (now published under the title The Best Gift You Can Ever Give Your Parents). I couldn't even lie and tell him that I looked forward to reading it. I think I actually said to him something like, "I'm not interested in that."

Bitter Reality

A while later I found myself in a beautiful hotel room on a business trip. Once again I was awake in the middle of the night remembering, rehearsing, fuming. But then the Holy Spirit interrupted my anguish. We had been studying John 16 that week in Bible study. Jesus speaks of the work of the Holy Spirit—that he comes to counsel, to convict, to guide us into truth. And that's just what the Holy Spirit did that night. He told me the truth and brought me under the grace of conviction, showing me the blight upon my own soul—the sin of unforgiveness, the sin of demanding my own rights to the dad I think I deserve. He counseled me to begin walking out my repentance by living out and expressing honor to my parents. He called me to trust him to supply the feelings to go along with my choice to live out a forgiveness I didn't really feel.

I began to be kind instead of cold, choosing to turn off the recorder in my mind that wanted to replay the old tapes of hurtful conversations and situations over and over again. I pulled out The Tribute, which challenges readers to compose and deliver a written tribute to their parents, telling them what they did right. And I did it. It took me three years, but I did it. And I know it meant a lot—it still means a lot—to my parents.

But here I am, another decade or so down the road, and my dad is still my dad. And sometimes I realize that I am still that same little girl longing for his approval, his interest, his tenderness that just isn't there. And here comes Father's Day. My life does not have to be ruled by Hallmark, and hopefully I honor my parents more than one day of the year. But I know my dad longs to hear from his kids that he did well as a dad, that he is loved and appreciated. Father's Day is when we tell our dads such things. More than that, I know that honoring my parents is what God wants from me; it's what's best for me.

Ugly Truth

But here's the ugly truth: I do not want to honor my parents. So here, as in so many other areas, I find the law continues to drive me to Christ. How I need the righteousness of one who always honored his earthly parents to be credited to my account, which is radically in the red in this department. How I need the power of the one who glorified his heavenly Father to generate in me the desire and decision to honor my father, and the perseverance to carry it out over the long haul of life and future offenses. How I need the Spirit who generates the fruit of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control to tend this garden in my heart and bring about this growth in my life—in my actions and reactions. How I need my heavenly Father to remind me that he intends to use every disappointment in my life—including my disappointments with my dad—to draw me to depend more fully on him.

I do not want to honor my parents. So I'm asking God for the want-to. I'm once again reckoning myself dead to the sins of disrespect, hard-heartedness, coldness, contempt, self-righteousness, and unforgiveness so that I can be alive to God. I'm taking a step in God's direction by taking a step in my dad's direction.

And by this we know that we have come to know him, if we keep his commandments. Whoever says "I know him" but does not keep his commandments is a liar, and the truth is not in him, but whoever keeps his word, in him truly the love of God is perfected. By this we may know that we are in him: whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked. (1 John 2:3-6).

I'm taking a step in my dad's direction because I want to walk in the way Christ walked. And I'm trusting that Christ will be there with me, empowering me for every costly, stumbling step. 

A daughter who shall remain anonymous, out of a desire to honor rather than dishonor her dad.

Missional Communities vs. Community Groups

Missional Communities vs. Bible Studies

Conclusion

No community is perfect, but by the grace of God all communities can be more conformed to the image of Christ and be more faithfully used for God's purposes.  Regardless of what category your community falls into, I hope you are challenged to think about how you can more intentionally be disciples together and make disciples of those who are far from God.

May God give us the grace to pursue the fullness of all he intended for our life together, and would we receive the joy of following Jesus and participating in the mission He has called us to!

Don't like gay marriage? Don't get one. My gay marriage doesn't change anything about your straight marriage. We're not altering the definition of marriage; we're expanding it. These new rights don't take away yours. So don't try to deny them to us.

The startling rise in public approval for gay marriage depends on such simple appeals to intuition. Look at all these happy gay couples. Why not invite them to join the party and get married? It's not like straight couples have done such a good job of commending the institution. Besides, what consenting adults do in the privacy of their bedrooms is their business alone.

To our highly individualistic Western culture, only libertarian arguments make any sense, even to many Christians. Personally we might say homosexuality is a sin; but what right do we have to impose our values on anyone else? If they aren't harming anyone else, then who can deny their gay marriages equal protection under the law?

Such questions have put Christians and other religious and even secular moral conservatives on the defensive. So it's surprising that Liza Mundy in her new cover story for The Atlantic, "The Gay Guide to Wedded Bliss," would threaten to forfeit the tactical advantage of supposed neutrality. She argues that gay marriages tend to be happier and more intimate, so straights can learn from them. Mundy even acknowledges the critics may be correct after all that gay marriage will change marriage for everyone. All to the better, Mundy writes: "by providing a new model for how two people can live together equitably, same-sex marriage could help haul matrimony more fully into the 21st century."

What Changes?

What exactly does she mean by these changes for the better? She means most basically that gay marriages erode differences between the sexes. There are no gendered roles and responsibilities. Men who love caring for babies and doing the laundry should do what feels right. Women who don't like to cook should work late instead. She believes that when we unshackle marriage from traditional expectations, we'll make it more appealing to the growing number of young adults who forsake the institution altogether or delay it much later than previous generations. And same-sex couples are already making marriage cooler, she says, leading to "nuptial fever" and a rush to the altar.

But a new definition for marriage demands new wedding ceremonies, Mundy observes. New same-sex rites devised by the Episcopal Church do away with fathers giving away brides. Now, sponsors present both spouses.

"The new service does not ground marriage in a doctrine of creation and procreation," says Gary Hall, an Episcopal priest who serves as dean of the Washington National Cathedral. He told Mundy that he hopes the same-sex liturgy will reshape the standards for all Episcopal weddings. "It grounds marriage in a kind of free coming-together of two people to live out their lives."

Lest readers think Episcopal ceremonies will hardly affect the rest of us, she turns to Delman Coates, pastor of a predominantly African American megachurch in the Maryland suburbs of Washington, D.C. While debating homosexuality during the state's recent vote to sanction same-sex marriage, Coates says he challenged Christians to change their views of what the Bible teaches about divorce and premarital sex.

"He does not condone illicit behavior or familiar dissolution, but he wants the members of his congregation to feel better about their own lives," Mundy explains. "In exchanges like these, he is making gay marriage part of a much larger conversation about the way we live and love now."

Apparently the bedroom isn't so private after all. Nowhere is the possibility of changing marital norms for all more tense than the debate over monogamy. Mundy cites research from Vermont that shows 15 percent of straight husbands admit to sex outside marriage, compared to 58 percent of gay men in civil unions and 61 percent of gay men in committed partnerships. Personally, Episcopal priest Hall says he would not marry a couple who did not plan to be monogamous. And he expects marriage to "critique" some gay practices, though it's not clear how.

"How do we speak credibly to people about their sexuality and their sexual relationships?" Hall asks. "We really need to rethink this."

Rapid Changes

Indeed, even if we disagree with Hall's prescription, we can agree we need better thinking about marriage in a rapidly changing society. Whether or not the Supreme Court will decide this summer to legalize same-sex marriage across the nation, democratic momentum points toward a future where these unions take their place alongside other new norms, such as unmarried cohabitation and bearing children out of wedlock. A Pew Research Center poll released Wednesday revealed that in 2011, 44 percent of single mothers had never been married, up from 4 percent in 1960.

Long before same-sex marriage, no-fault divorce and birth control drastically shaped attitudes about marriage by eroding social stigmas against unmarried parenting, cohabitation, and sex outside marriage. Gay marriage may be a big step, but it's only the next step in a staircase that doesn't end here. And with each new step, we see that you can't change the definition of marriage for some but not others. No-fault divorce, as we can see from history, didn't force anyone to get divorced. But it removed permanence from the definition of marriage and pressured everyone, including churches, to rethink their views on biblical teaching. Likewise, gay marriage does not force anyone to become gay. But it cements the already popular belief that marriage has nothing to do with creation or procreation.

You need not claim Christian faith to understand what's at stake in the debate over gay marriage. Harvard University professor of government Michael J. Sandel, writing in his bestselling book Justice: What's the Right Thing to Do, questions whether we can welcome gay marriage on purely libertarian, nonjudgmental criteria.

"In order to decide who should qualify for marriage, we have to think through the purpose of marriage and the virtues it honors," Sandel writes. "And this carries us onto contested moral terrain, where we can't remain neutral toward competing conceptions of the good life."

To be sure, every Christian will be forced to choose sides. And we'll need the courage to stand by God's vision for marriage. So when asked about the purpose of marriage, our vision of the good life, let us point to Genesis 2:24, cited in Ephesians 5:31: "Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh." In Ephesians 5:32, the apostle Paul explains, "This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church." So for all the other good purposes of marriage—affection, support, stability, child-rearing, among them—ultimately Christian marriage points to the gospel. Specifically, Christian marriage reflects God as husbands love their wives "as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word" (Eph. 5:25).

Few children today will grow up and see this love in action. Nearly half have parents who aren't even married. So we cannot be surprised they have little idea what marriage should be. Yet we respond with hope that when they meet a Christian couple, they see the difference and hear the hope of the gospel. Broken homes are a mission field. They call us first to compassion, not judgment.

As we embrace this commission, we recognize that quoting Ephesians 5 won't do us much good in public arguments over the government's definition of marriage. So we return to Sandel: what is marriage for? What is the purpose? Hall, the Episcopal priest, argues that marriage is a "kind of free coming-together of two people to live out their lives." Using Mundy's description, we see marriage as a negotiated arrangement between two people looking to support one another for a time and not exclusively. Shared responsibilities, divided evenly, relieve some of life's burdens.

Without even citing the explicit example of Christ's sacrifice for the church, we can still argue that marriage requires far more of ourselves than the new definitions betray. Love demands 100 percent of each partner. Marriage based on needs and affection will struggle to endure when the needs change and the affection fades.

When we lost the permanence of marriage, we lost the purpose. And now, as we lose the transcendence, we lose the transformative power of union. Any two people can partner together for support in childcare, housecleaning, finances, and sex. But it takes a true marriage to turn two into one all-giving whole.

"A truly strange thing has happened to American Christianity," Gregory Paul writes for The Washington Post's "On Faith" blog. He claims that Christians who defend the free market are in a profound contradiction because Acts 2-5 is "outright socialism of the type described millennia later by Marx—who likely got the general idea from the Gospels."

Does Acts 2-5 really command socialism? A quick reading of these chapters might make it seem so. Acts 2:44-45 says that immediately following Pentecost, "[A]ll who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need." And Acts 4:32-35, referring to the early congregation, says,

Now the full number of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one said that any of the things that belonged to him was his own, but they had everything in common. . . . There was not a needy person among them, for as many as were owners of lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold and laid it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.

Though these passages may sound like socialism to the average reader, such a superficial reading may miss what a closer examination of the text reveals. There are three major reasons why Acts 2-5 does not teach socialism.

This is not an example of true communal sharing. — Acts 2-5 portrays a spirit of communal sharing rather than an actual commune. The people did not sell everything they owned to legal title, as those typically do in a commune. This is evidenced by the imperfect verbs used throughout the passages. Craig Blomberg says in his study Neither Poverty nor Riches, "[Chapter 2] verses 43-47 are dominated by highly marked imperfect tense verbs, whereas one normally expects aorists [once-for-all actions] in historical narrative. There is no once-for-all divestiture of property in view here, but periodic acts of charity as needs arose."

This point is even clearer in Acts 4-5. The NIV translation of Acts 4:34b-35 says, "From time to time, those who owned land or houses sold them, brought the money from the sales and put it at the apostles' feet." Blomberg comments:

Again we have a rash of imperfect verbs here, this time explicitly reflected in the NIV's "from time to time." The periodic selling of property confirms our interpretation of Acts 2:44 above. This was not a one-time divesture of all one's possessions. The theme "according to need," reappears, too. Interestingly, what does not appear in this paragraph is any statement of complete equality among believers.

John Stott affirms Blomberg's conclusions on property in the early church, also underscoring Luke's use of the imperfect tense:

Neither Jesus nor his apostles forbade private property to all Christians. . . It is important to note that even in Jerusalem the sharing of property and possessions was voluntary . . . It is also noteworthy that the tense of both verbs in verse 45 is imperfect, which indicates that the selling and giving were occasional, in response to particular needs, not once and for all.

There is also sufficient reason to believe that the early followers of Christ did not sell all they had, but rather occasionally sold part of their possessions and gave the proceeds to the apostles for distribution. For example, in Acts 5, Ananias sold a piece of property (v. 1) and kept a portion of the proceeds for himself and his wife, Sapphira. The problem was not that they were required to sell their possessions and give all of the proceeds of their land to the apostles, but that Ananias lied about the true price he received for the land (v. 7). Peter points out that he could give or keep the money as he saw fit (v. 4) but still lied to Peter and to the Holy Spirit (v. 5).

But even if, for the sake of argument, we grant that all believers sold all their possessions and redistributed them among the community, this still would not prove socialism is biblical. The next two reasons explain why.

The act in Acts was totally voluntary — Socialism implies coercion by the state, but these early believers contributed their goods freely. There is no mention of the state in Acts 2-5. Elsewhere in scripture we see that Christians are even instructed to give in just this manner, freely, for "God loves a cheerful giver" (2 Cor. 9:8). Even if the believers sold all their possessions and redistributed them among the community, this still would not prove socialism is biblical, since the state is not the agent selling property to those in need. There is also plenty of indication that private property rights were still in effect, therefore this was not even even be considered socialism if the term were used to refer to a regulated system of community ownership.

The narrative was not a universal command. — To prove Acts 2-5 commands socialism, you would have to show that this historical precedent is a mandatory prescription for all later Christians. You cannot get the imperative (all Christians should do this) from the indicative (some early Christians did this). The fact that some Christians "shared all things" does not constitute a command that all Christians should follow their example, because it is not clearly taught in passages of Scripture elsewhere.

R. C. Sproul explains how Christians must interpret biblical narratives through the lens of broader Christian teaching: "We must interpret the narrative passages of Scripture by the didactic or 'teaching' portions. If we try to find too much theology in narrative passages, we can easily go beyond the point of the narrative into serious errors."

The communal sharing in Acts 2-5 was not the practice of the early church in the rest of the New Testament, so it is clear that this practice is not a mandatory command. Thus, even if Acts 2-5 was socialism, it would hold nothing other than historical interest to later believers and would have no binding power on the later church.

Certainly, the communal sharing illustrated in Acts 2-5 was a beautiful picture of generosity and love. But it is impossible to show that these passages teach socialism given their temporary, voluntary, and strictly narrative nature.

Note: A longer treatment of this subject by Dr. Lindsley can be found here.

Public opinion appears to be changing about same-sex marriage, as are the nation's laws. Of course this change is just one in a larger constellation. America's views on family, love, sexuality generally, tolerance, God, and so much more seems to be pushing in directions that put Bible-believing Christians on the defensive.

It's easy to feel like we've become the new "moral outlaws," to use Al Mohler's phrase. Standing up for historic Christian principles will increasingly get you in trouble socially and maybe economically, perhaps one day also criminally. It's ironic that Christians are told not to impose their views on others, even as the threat of job loss or other penalties loom over Christians for not toeing the new party line.

In all this, Christians are tempted to become panicked or to speak as alarmists. But to the extent we do, to that same extent we show we've embraced an unbiblical and nominal Christianity.

Here, then, are seven principles for surviving the very real cultural shifts we're presently enduring.

1. Remember that churches exist to work for supernatural change.

The whole Christian faith is based on the idea that God takes people who are spiritually dead and gives them new life. Whenever we evangelize, we are evangelizing the cemetery.

There's never been a time or a culture when it was natural to repent of your sins. That culture doesn't exist, it hasn't existed, it never will exist. Christians, churches, and pastors especially must know deep in their bones that we've always been about a work that's supernatural.

From that standpoint, recent cultural changes have made our job zero percent harder.

2. Understand that persecution is normal.  

In the last few months I've been preaching through John's Gospel, and a number of people have thanked me for bringing out the theme of persecution. But I'm not convinced my preaching has changed; I think people's ears have changed. Recent events in the public square have caused people to become concerned about what's ahead for Christians. But if you were to go back and listen to my old sermons—say, a series preached in the 1990s on 1 Peter— you'd discover that ordinary biblical exposition means raising the topic of persecution again and again.

Persecution is what Christians face in this fallen world. It's what Jesus promised us (e.g., John 16).

Now, it may be that in God's providence some Christians find themselves in settings where, even if they devote their lives to obeying Jesus, they won't encounter insult and persecution. But don't be fooled by the nice buildings in which so many churches meet. This Jesus we follow was executed as a state criminal.

One of my fellow pastors recently observed that, in the history of Christian persecution, it's often secondary issues—not the gospel—that elicit persecution. Persecutors don't say, "You believe in the gospel of Jesus Christ; I'm going to persecute you now." Rather, some belief or practice we maintain as Christians contradicts what people want or threatens their way of seeing the world. And so they oppose us.

Again, to the extent we respond to changes in our culture either with panic or alarmism, to that same extent we contradict the Bible's teaching about ordinary Christian discipleship. It shows we've traded on the normalcy of nominalism.

Pastors especially should set the example in teaching their congregations not to play the victim. We should salt into our regular preaching and praying the normalcy of persecution. It's the leader's work to prepare churches for how we can follow Jesus, even if it means social criticism, or loss of privilege, or financial penalties, or criminal prosecution.

3. Eschew utopianism.

Christians should be a people of love and justice, and that means we should always strive to make our little corner of the globe a bit nicer than how we found it, whether that's a kindergarten classroom or a kingdom. But even as we work for the sake of love and justice, we must remember we're not going to transform this world into the kingdom of our Christ.

God hasn't commissioned us to make this world perfect; he's commissioned us chiefly to point to the One who will one day make it perfect, even as we spend our lives loving and doing good. If you're tempted to utopianism, please observe that Scripture doesn't allow it, and that the history of utopianism has a track record of distracting and deceiving even some of Christ's most zealous followers.

It's good to feel sadness over the growing approval given to sin in our day. But one of the reasons many Christians in America feel disillusionment over current cultural changes is that we've been somewhat utopian in our hopes. Again, to the extent you think and speak as an alarmist, to that same extent you demonstrate that utopian assumptions may have been motivating you all along.

4. Make use of our democratic stewardship.

I would be sad if anyone concluded from my comments that it doesn't matter what Christians do publicly or with the state. Paul tells us to submit to the state. But in our democratic context, part of submitting to the state means sharing in its authority. And if we have a share in its authority, we just might have, to some extent, a share in its tyranny. To neglect the democratic process, so long as it's in our hands, is to neglect a stewardship.

We cannot create Utopia, but that doesn't mean we cannot be good stewards of what we have, or that we cannot use the democratic processes to bless others. For the sake of love and justice, we should make use of our democratic stewardship.

5. Trust the Lord, not human circumstances.

There's never been a set of circumstances Christians cannot trust God through. Jesus beautifully trusted the Father through the cross "for the joy set before him" (Heb. 12:2). Nothing you and I will face will amount to what our King had to suffer.

We can trust him. He will prove trustworthy through everything we might have to endure. And as we trust him, we will bear a beautiful testimony of God's goodness and power, and we will bring him glory.

6. Remember that everything we have is God's grace.

We must remember anything we receive less than hell is dancing time for Christians. Right? Everything a Christian has is all of grace. We need to keep that perspective so that we aren't tempted to become too sour toward our employers, our friends, our family members, and our government when they oppose us.

How was Paul able to sing in prison? He knew that of which he'd been forgiven. He knew the glory that awaited him. He perceived and prized these greater realities.

7. Rest in the certainty of Christ's victory.

The gates of hell will not prevail against the church of Jesus Christ. We need not fear and tremble as if Satan has finally, after all these millennia, gained the upper hand in his opposition to God through the same-sex marriage lobby.

"Oh, we might finally lose it here!" No, not a chance.

People around the world now and throughout history have suffered far more than Christians in America presently do. And we don't assume Satan had the upper hand there, do we?

Each nation and age has a unique way to express its depravity, to attack God. But none will succeed any more than the crucifixion succeeded in defeating Jesus. Yes, he died. But three days later he got up from the dead.

Christ's kingdom is in no danger of failing. Again, Christians, churches, and especially pastors must know this deeply in our bones. D-Day has happened. Now it's cleanup time. Not one person God has elected to save will fail to be saved because the secular agenda is "winning" in our time and place. There shouldn't be anxiety or desperation in us.

We may not be able to out-argue others. They may not be persuaded by our books and articles. But we can love them with the supernatural love God has shown to us in Christ. And we can make his Word known today—with humility, with confidence, and with joy.

A beloved relative is dying before your eyes; the syncopation of an EKG monitor punctuates each heartbeat. Bleep . . . Bleep . . . Bleep . . . . It's not the sound of hospital equipment, however, that is dragging your soul into despair; it's the conflicted thoughts and emotions swirling within. Memories, tender and most lovely, give way to the cold sterile confines of a deathbed. You seek to apply your faith in God's providence, but the torrent of emotions rains down mercilessly upon you, causing you to feel hopeless. 

Such an experience can be replicated in a thousand different scenarios. We've all been there at some point. Some of us live there. You understand quite well the concept of Philippians 4: think on things that are praiseworthy and true, with prayer and supplication, shunning worry in favor of thanksgiving, and God's inscrutable peace will guard you heart. Indeed, this is a precious, altogether true promise. But in some moments of crisis you're so exceedingly distracted that you feel unable to control your thoughts and thus incapable of finding peace. What then? 

Essential Problem

The Lord of glory unifies creation under the reign of Christ in the Holy Spirit's bond of peace; the Devil, on the other hand, comes to steal, kill and destroy. He divides and conquers. It is a strategy that has been around from the inception of sin. The Son of Man sows good seed into his field, producing a harvest of life that redounds to God's glory; the Devil sows weeds that threaten to choke it out. Such is the pattern. The Father extends his hand of redemption to subdue and organize the chaotic creation under his care; sin manufactures more and more chaos.

When the chaos of sin engages one's soul, anxiety naturally follows. The word translated anxiety in Philippians 4:6 comes from the Greek word merimnao. It gathers meaning from the words merizo "to divide" and nous "mind." This divided mind is the unhappy condition of the man whom the Apostle James describes as "double-minded, unstable in all his ways" (1:8). Such instability routinely focuses on the object of anxiety to the exclusion of God. In such moments, the sick feeling in our stomach and shortness of breath in our chest confirms that flaming darts have pierced our spiritual armor. We've been hit, and we are in trouble.

Reality Check

If you find yourself in this situation, seize the first opportunity to get before the Lord. Anxiety imposes a hypnotic trance, which must be broken. If you've ever read The Silver Chair by C. S. Lewis, for example, this sort of phenomenon is depicted in the scene in which the evil Green Lady, ruler of the underworld, seeks to bewitch Prince Rilian and his friends. You may recall that just when she seemed to have enslaved them with her lies, Puddleglum stamps out the enchantress's magical fire and breaks her spell. Rilian then awakes, kills the serpent, and leads the travelers to safety. Our Prince of Peace, Jesus, says, "You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free" (John 8:32).

The truth of God's Word, regardless of our feelings, constitutes reality. The challenge, though, is opening the eyes of the heart to embrace this truth, especially when fiery darts are flying at us fast and furiously. A time of solitude before God is precisely what we need in such moments. Even as I write this sentence, I am looking out upon a quiet pond. Only water with this degree of calmness can possibly reflect heaven above. Likewise, we will reflect the Lord's peace when we sit in the quietness of his presence.

Humble Prayer

Truth is recognized in quietness and galvanized in prayer. While the Greek legacy says "know thyself," the Roman says "rule thyself," the Buddhist says "annihilate thyself," the Muslim says "submit thyself," and New Age religion says "love thyself," Jesus says, "Without me you can do nothing" (John 15:5). Why nothing? Because without Christ we are stuck in the underworld of anxiety without hope of release. Sure, one can pretend to have escaped anxiety, distracting himself through drink or amusement, but these merely provide a momentary release. Only in childlike dependence on Christ, expressed through humble prayer, do we realize genuine liberation.

When you're in the crosshairs of anxiety, get alone with God, read aloud his promises of salvation—which are more certain than the breath that we breathe—and, as you cast your cares upon him, may the peace of Christ be yours.

World-changers are a rare breed. But they don't have to be. If displaced youths can revolutionize the kingdoms of the earth in God's name, you and I can transform our communities with the gospel.

Consider the year 605 B.C., as the nation of Judah is losing power and significance. Babylon rules the world, with Nebuchadnezzar as king and general.

Then the unthinkable happens. Nebuchadnezzar besieges Jerusalem, and the city falls because God hands it over to him. Thus begins the book of Daniel: clarifying who truly controls the situation, thereby revealing Daniel's secret confidence that inspires him in three key world-changing behaviors. Since he knows God rules all earthly kingdoms, he can settle down, start small, and win big.

Settle Down

Daniel and his three friends are abducted, transported to Babylon, and enrolled at the state university (Dan 1:3-4, 6). They take classes and study the liberal arts, but this state-sponsored education smells more like religious coercion than intellectual stimulation. They're learning the literature and language of a hostile nation. They're being groomed for civil service as cultural elites (Dan 1:4). They're training to embody new customs (Dan 1:5) and proclaim the glories of false gods—like Bel and Nebo/Nego—by bearing their names (Dan 1:7).

But they don't stage a protest or instigate a riot. They don't plot a rebellion. They don't even refuse to participate. They take it right on the chin and keep moving.

Imagine that you attend Georgetown, but al-Qaeda attacks and levels Washington, D.C. You're taken away and forced to study at the State U in Kabul, Afghanistan, where they interrupt classes five times each day for mandatory prayer, and the cafeteria closes during daylight hours for the month of Ramadan. Upon arrival, they change your name from Christopher Smith to Mohammed Allahu Akbar. Would you take that sitting down? How did Daniel and friends do it?

The Lord knew they'd need help, so he inspired the prophet Jeremiah to write them a letter (Jer 29:1). He told them to "build houses . . . plant gardens . . . take wives . . . multiply there. . . . Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare" (Jer. 29:4-7). He told them it would be 70 years until God brought them back, so they should make the most of the time (Jer. 29:10-11).

Daniel obeyed. He settled down and served the neighborhood. He became a model student and a pillar of the community.

Jesus gave us a similar set of commands. Go to all nations to make disciples (Matt 28:18-20, Luke 24:47). Do not love the world, or the things in the world (1 Jn 2:15), but love your neighbor as yourself (Jas 2:8). Honor everyone. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the king (1 Pet 2:17). In other words, settle down and be good citizens.

Start Small

Although seeking to be a good citizen, Daniel resolves not to defile himself (Dan 1:8). The problem, however, is that he doesn't have much control over his life. He appeals to the chief eunuch, but his request is denied (Dan 1:9-10). So Daniel goes down the chain of command to the steward, but this time he proposes a 10-day test (Dan 1:11-13). Note these things about the test:

1. The test is small. Daniel does not protest, petition, refuse, or revolt. He simply proposes a new menu with a trial period.
2. The test is tentative. The fact that Daniel proposes a time period implies that he's willing to go back to the defiling food (and try a different plan) if it doesn't work.
3. The test is out of Daniel's control. Picture this New Year's resolution: "I'll eat healthy food for 10 days. If I come out fatter, prettier, and smarter than the rest of my generation, then I'll know it was a good idea, and I'll persevere." Yeah, right. He's obviously expecting God to do something supernatural.

Daniel doesn't get anxious about stuff he can't control. He focuses on what he can control (not his menu or his health, but his ability to request a slight change), and he begins there. After all, if God is really in control, it just might work! And of course, it does (Dan 1:14-16).

How do you handle big problems? The economy tanks. The election doesn't go your way. Your company is failing. Your name is mud. The world is full of evil, envy, abuse, and pain. What can you do about it?

Start small. You can pick up a piece of litter at the park. You can submit your report before the deadline. You can donate a can of soup. You can talk to one person about your hope in Christ. You can do the next thing, whatever it may be.

Win Big

Daniel settles down and starts small, but his influence reverberates through the ages. Notice how much he wins.

First, he wins Nebuchadnezzar's respect (Dan 1:18-20). At the final exam, Daniel and his friends win first prize. It's as though President Obama came to your church, interviewed the teenagers, and concluded they were 10 times more useful to him than his chief of staff. Only God can give such wisdom (Dan 1:17). But that's not all.

Second, he wins Babylon's empire (Dan 1:21). Why does the chapter conclude with a throwaway detail—that Daniel's tenure continued until the first year of King Cyrus? That detail is important because Cyrus was king of Persia, not king of Babylon. Cyrus was the guy who destroyed Babylon and set up a new empire. So God's man Daniel not only outlasted Nebuchadnezzar, he also survived the Persian takeover and maintained his influence. Nebuchadnezzar thought he was building his empire by capturing Daniel, but God was really building his. That detail is also important because we know Daniel's tenure survived at least until Cyrus's third year (Dan 10:1). So why does chapter 1 end with Cyrus's first year? Because that year was 539 B.C., roughly 70 years after the initial exile. It was the year Cyrus permitted the Jews to return and rebuild (Ezra 1:1-4). And Daniel was there, advising King Cyrus to issue the proclamation.

But that's not all.

Third, Daniel wins the world's attention. More than 500 years later, his influence is still being felt when advisers from Babylon (remember that "magi" is a Persian word) trek across the world to see the one who was born King of the Jews (Matt. 2:1-2). Daniel always directed people to the true King (see Dan. 2:20-21, 4:17, 7:13-14). He told them the signs of the King's advent (see Dan. 8-12, especially chapter 11), so they watched and waited until they finally saw his star in the east and went to worship him.

Daniel rested in God's sovereignty and paved the way for the Messiah to take over the world. What phenomenal influence!

"Winning big" is not about getting what you want. It's not even primarily about changing the world or making it a better place. It's about trusting Jesus to change the world.

We can't fix all that is broken. We can't repair the ruins of our communities or give people lasting hope and peace, unless we give them Jesus. We can settle down and start small. And if God is truly in control, there's a good chance he'll use us to win big.

In Gregory Thornbury's new book, Recovering Classic Evangelicalism, he tells a story of a conversation with Millard Erickson, who joked, "You know I love Carl Henry's work. It's extremely important. I hope someday that it is translated into English." I laughed to myself when I read that story, because I resonated with Erickson's point. Some of Henry's more serious theological work can be dense and difficult to understand.

But if you read some of Henry's cultural lectures, you find an upbeat, confident, and engaged mind. He speaks to the challenges of the day—his and ours. And as Thornbury describes, he writes and speaks with a "swagger" that finds confidence not in himself, but in the authority of God and Scripture and the power of the gospel.

I sat down with Gregory Thornbury and Collin Hansen—both Henry enthusiasts—and talked about where to begin with Carl Henry's work. We told stories of how Carl Henry got fired from Christianity Today (a periodical he served as first editor) and the day he trash-talked with Karl Barth.

If you've never heard of Carl Henry or don't know where to begin, Thornbury and Hansen are good guides. After you watch the video, consider taking up Thornbury suggestion to read Toward a Recovery of Christian Belief or Hansen's recommendation of The Uneasy Conscience of Modern Fundamentalism.

Recovering Classic Evangelicalism from The Gospel Coalition on Vimeo.

I ran my first Boston Marathon on Monday. After finishing the race, I headed to a restaurant a few blocks away. While inside, I heard two explosions near the finish line. Walking out of the restaurant, I was met by the sounds of police sirens, ambulances, and an odd, hushed confusion. Then, through a flood of text messages, Twitter feeds, and conversations with strangers, I learned details about the blasts that killed three and injured dozens more.

For the past few years, I've participated in a local running group. The camaraderie has been a welcome opportunity to get to know people who would not naturally come to my church. Yet, even as a pastor, I've struggled to find ways to build bridges to help those in the running community see the relevance of the gospel. Discussions about anything related to running—from previous races, to expected times, even down to the mileage on our shoes—can go on for hours. But moving to a spiritual topic feels subtly off-limits, and conversations usually fizzle. 

Early on race day, I joined with friends from the group as we rode the bus to the starting location. There was euphoria in the air and we murmured our aspirations like those nearing the end of a holy pilgrimage. For the long-distance runner, the Boston Marathon is a crowning achievement. Some runners train for years to gain the coveted qualifying time that allows entry. Monday's weather was ideal for a race. Everything seemed perfect. In the midst of this, I remember sitting on the bus, feeling discouraged over how irrelevant Jesus seemed to this crowded bus of optimistic, mostly upper-middle class, successful runners.

Changed World

But when I walked out of the restaurant, I stepped into a world that had changed. Suddenly our achievements, our medals, and even whether we had finished the race became astonishingly trivial. The near-sacred enchantment of the Boston Marathon vanished before my eyes; our medals became mere pieces of metal around our necks, the finish line was only a band of colored paint, and we found ourselves in a new race to discover if our friends were safe amid the confusion and sadness. This race had an urgency the marathon never did. Death and evil openly entered the equation, and they changed the atmosphere completely.

Instinctively, we all knew this new race, in a limited way, was about salvation. "Is so and so safe?" we asked each other anxiously as we worried and texted. In those moments, rescue and safety became the only thing relevant as we thought about our friends on the course.

The tragedy in Boston reminded me of the foolishness of assuming we can judge what is relevant and what is not. In the wonder of his grace, God has told us ahead of time which race really matters in life. Jesus wins for us the prize we could never win on our own and saves us from our eternal defeat into his eternal victory. We don't have to wait for evil and tragedy to confront us up close to relate to it, but can live in its fullness day by day.

Our culture can make this news seem trivial or superficial. Building bridges to help others see the worth of Jesus usually involves hard work and can be slow and frustrating. But in the midst of the labor we should not forget the fragility of irrelevance. Tragedy has a way of making God relevant. And at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, it took only seconds. 

We who have the greatest message in the world—the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ—ought to be the clearest and most compelling communicators. It's probably true that we evangelicals generally do well with one-way communication—preaching, lecturing, singing, and writing. It seems, however, that we are not always as strong with dialogue. We don't always listen carefully. We can be too verbose. We offer unsolicited opinions. We fail to notice. Or we allow ourselves to be distracted by thinking about our response while others are still speaking.

If we struggle in cultivating ordinary conversation, how can we possibly broach difficult faith discussions, which tend to be wrought with deeply held convictions, some of which are antagonistic to Christian faith? The key word here is "cultivating." Like the farmer who prepares the soil before successfully planting a seed, a number of preparatory measures ought to precede gospel conversation. Such measures grow out of prayer and worship—asking God to stimulate our affections and open doors for connecting with others. This much, I trust, is fairly obvious. It is the subsequent steps that I would like to consider. The first of which is the importance of noticing cues that highlight a person's openness God.

Noticing Cues

I use the word "openness" and not "interest" because it seems that the latter assumes a greater level of consciousness. The former, "openness," is often true without full awareness. In other words, the human heart craves God even when the desire hasn't been consciously formulated. Thus, a friend may speak at some length about her area of need—a fear, anxiety, or an inexplicable angst—without every mentioning God, when in fact her words have cried out for God the entire time without realizing it. This is "openness," and this is precisely what we need to recognize.

As you would expect, Jesus was an expert at identifying such cues. Whether it was at a well in Samaria or around those scummy tax collectors (including the little one who hung out in a tree), human hearts lay open before Christ's compassionate gaze. For instance, Matthew says of Jesus:

When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest." (Matthew 9:36-38)

Notice the order. Jesus was moved to compassion when he saw the crowds. Such compassion was instigated by a particular observation: "they were harassed and helpless." How is it possible to observe such details by simply looking at a large collection of people? That is, unless Jesus saw something more.

Self-Abandonment

Seeing the heartache of our friends and other loved ones requires us to consciously take the attention from ourselves and focus it on them. Pretty obvious isn't it? But it's easier said than done. Here is an example of how it works.

It was in the early 19th century when a French professor of medicine, René Laennec, invented the stethoscope. In his classic treatise De l'Auscultation Médiate (1819), Dr. Laennec explains how he was treating a young woman who appeared to be struggling with heart disease. On account of her corpulent frame, the young doctor struggled to hear the woman's heartbeat—that is, until he remembered a lesson he had recently learned from the field of acoustics. At once, he rolled a sheet of paper into a cylinder and applied one end to the patient's heart and the other to his ear. The clarity with which he heard the heartbeat was extraordinary. The stethoscope was born.

Every physician knows that attentive listening is a powerful requisite for healing, without which there is no diagnosis, and without a diagnosis there can be no personalized application of the remedy. Surely Jesus—the Great Physician—understood this when he looked upon the shepherdless crowd. With keen attention our Lord diagnosed the crowd's harassed and helpless state, resulting in genuine compassion. In this pattern we find a valuable lesson.

Listen with Intentionality

As a pastor of a local church, I enjoyed taking congregants to coffee and asking them to talk about the issues about the issues that most concerned them. It is remarkable how quickly folks will open up when they are given the opportunity. Honesty and vulnerability of a most remarkable quality would usually follow. In such situations, my job was simple: listen. Listen for patterns. Listen for underlying causes. Listen for regrets. Listen as through a stethoscope to identify the particular malady to which the good news of Jesus would bring healing.

I can give you dozens of examples from what I have learned on the hearing end from a decade of pastoral ministry, but let me tell you about an occasion when a friend applied her ear to my heart. It was weeks after my father's cardiac arrest when this friend of the family engaged me in conversation about how I was handling it. By that time, I was in way over my head, singlehandedly running the family business. The water line of anxiety rose with each day until eventually I started having panic attacks. Into this dark valley my friend appeared with her questions.

Although I didn't know it at the time, my friend was applying the pattern of Jesus. She asked probing questions—honest, genuine, humble ones. Her posture wasn't that of a teacher or sage preparing to impart wisdom; she was simply a friend listening attentively, finding cues that revealed my fears and insecurities. Finally, with some perspective on my angst, she winsomely applied God's promises of comfort and salvation.

In all of this, my friend not only cultivated gospel conversation; in a way that she couldn't have fully grasped, she was also God's instrument for cultivating my soul, as evidenced by my conversion, which followed shortly thereafter. Indeed, this is what makes such an approach to conversation so exciting: we prepare the soil, we plant the seeds, and sometimes—often when we least expect it—we get to witness the life-changing power of God.