The Gospel Coalition

Editors' Note: This is the first in a series of brief articles from students and graduates answering the question, "What do I wish someone had told me before seminary?"

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What do I wish someone had told me before seminary? First, I wish someone had explained that my time would be a season of preparation in the fullest sense. To grasp this concept has taken me a few years. I had little experience with graduate level study, even less experience with writing, but most significantly I was unprepared for the kind of commitment I was making. In an ethereal, almost metaphysical sense, I had a notion that I was entering a season of necessary discipline and diligence. But I failed to grasp what that meant in the everyday grind of theological training.

I attend Beeson Divinity School in Birmingham, Alabama. It's an incredible institution founded on the desire to build up and prepare ministers to proclaim the name of Christ. Their credo is what attracted me first, their high academic standard second. Though I wanted to be challenged in my faith as well as in my studies, I'm not sure I understood what that would actually require. As I'm sure most seminary students would agree, studying theology, philosophy, and the biblical languages takes concerted effort and copious amounts of time. It's truly a time of intentional preparation.

When my classmates and I began seminary, many of us assumed we'd have ample opportunity to use what we were learning in everyday ministry. But this hasn't always been the case. I'm not proud of this fact; I'm just making an observation. Much like other fields of training, in ministry it's wise to build a solid foundation of learning before undertaking your first "real world" assignment. Seminary provides such a foundation. Many students have ministry positions during their time in seminary, to be sure. Even in those situations, though, it's difficult to give your all to a particular ministry while investing in the future. This by no means excuses ministry laziness while in seminary; instead, it calls to attention the need to prioritize. It's a hard choice, but one that ultimately results in a person better equipped to serve in the long run.

I also wish I'd understood before seminary that it's an investment in my future. Not some theoretical "oh that sounds nice" sort of investment, but a literal, determined, hard-fought one. Moreover, I wish someone had made clear that such educational pursuit is okay. Investing through further education is worthwhile, and no one should feel a false sense of guilt for this effort.

I believe seminary should be difficult. Most worthwhile pursuits are. Those in seminary are challenged with the prospect of ministering to others who, like themselves, are broken and need help. Rigorous training, therefore, is necessary. We expect high standards from our physicians, our accountants, and our professors; shouldn't we expect as much—if not more—from our Christian leaders?

Seminary is necessarily a time of foundational training and preparation. It sets the standard for the future. I just wish I'd recognized what it actually would—and should—require before I began.

The dawn of a new day pulls you out of your much-needed sleep. Your mind immediately replays the various conversations and teaching associated with a jam-packed Sunday of ministry. Against your better judgment, but out of habit, you reach for your phone and click on the e-mail icon.

Your eyes quickly spot an e-mail from a trusted ministry leader in your church informing you a husband has left his wife despite repeated exhortations to entrust his troubled marriage to Jesus and allow their close friends to journey with them in love. Lord, not another marriage crisis! Your mind races through the possible scenarios, anticipating the energy needed to shepherd this couple standing at the brink of divorce.

Then you see another e-mail from another ministry leader expressing how her life is falling apart. She admits she's struggling to trust God and is questioning everything about Christianity.

Church leaders often grow weary dealing with constant waves of suffering and sin. The challenges of ministry are overwhelming, demanding, and relentless. You battle guilt and shame as you experience schedule overload, fear of not knowing how to deal with a certain situation, dislike of conflict, procrastination, and even "compassion fatigue." However, God makes it clear what he expects from those he places in leadership. He holds them accountable for their pastoral responsibilities (Ezek. 34; 1 Pet. 5:1-11; Heb. 13:17). By his grace, pastors can look to and follow Jesus, their Great Shepherd, as he empowers them by his Spirit to accomplish his purposes in and through his church.

Stepping Back to Step Forward 

Given your overwhelming ministry load, and perhaps your understanding of church discipline, you may think: No way! I don't have time to fit another thing into my schedule, let alone think about church discipline. But here's the thing: you can't afford not to participate in God's discipline within his church.

Regularly we must step back, take a deep breath, and reflect on the ministry God has entrusted to us. It's all too easy to drift not only from God's mission but also from seeking and following his Spirit, instead defaulting to merely reactive and pragmatic ministry.

We should rejoice whenever we feel overwhelmed by the demands of ministry, for God uses such times of desperation and exhaustion to humble us, to make us more dependent on him, and to remind us that gospel ministry is all about him—not us or "our ministry." We're also reminded that God-glorifying ministry is impossible apart from relying on his means and his power. This is where church discipline enters the picture.

God's Mission and Church Discipline

As we look at church discipline, we're reminded God is continually bringing about redemption within his church while he advances his kingdom in the world. That's why it's so critical we see God's discipline as a primary means by which he's redeeming his bride and bringing glory to himself. The following definition may offer a sense of relief and direction as you try to navigate the chaos of ministry:

Church discipline is God's ongoing, redeeming work through his living Word and people as they fight the good fight of faith together to exalt Christ and protect the purity of his bride.

This definition highlights how God disciplines us through his church for the purposes of restoring relationships, removing wickedness, renewing his people, and revealing his glorious love. It helps us to view church discipline not from our perspective, but from God's. It also helps us to see God's discipline through his church as his ongoing work through his living Word and people. Inherent in the definition, too, is an understanding that church discipline involves a continuum that includes both expanding (involving an increasing number of people) and also escalating (involving elders and more formal warnings) efforts over time to fight for those who relentlessly refuse to turn back to their living God.

This definition also recognizes that God disciplines us in everyday gospel community as we struggle with not believing—perhaps as a result of our intense suffering or chronic sin—who he is or what he's done through Christ. This is where giving the church a vision of living out the gospel in community—while equipping them to continuously encourage one another toward enjoying, trusting, and obeying Jesus—will yield disciples and eternal fruit. In other words, church discipline isn't meant to be just another thing to add to the plate but rather, by God's design, life-giving for everyone involved.

A much-needed look at church discipline also reminds us that God's ways and thoughts aren't like ours. No measure of rebellion disrupts or blinds God's redemptive gaze upon his people; he will complete the redemption he began in each of his children. Moreover, God uses his church to pursue, call back, and even remove the unrepentant person not only to redeem him or her, but also to redeem his bride as a whole. God is in the business of transforming what we mean for evil and leveraging it for his glory. Such is the nature of his gospel mission. Such is the nature of church discipline.

Whether we're fighting for tottering marriages or hearts ensnared by unbelief, God's discipline is meant to have a ripple effect on the entire congregation. Such difficult yet rewarding ministry enables us to experience God's radical life of mission, to see more clearly the glory of Christ amid suffering and sin, and to love one another in ways that image the gospel. These are the up-close, personal, and messy means through which God is redeeming his bride.

Editors' note: This article has been adapted from Robert Cheong's new book God Redeeming His Bride: A Handbook for Church Discipline (Christian Focus, 2013).

Online, Jill is a joyful and encouraging believer. She advocates for the oppressed and raises money for the poor. Every Saturday she tweets about her service at the local homeless shelter. She posts Bible verses several times a day. Based on her social media interactions, her friends seem to love and enjoy her.

Offline, she's a different Jill.

Offline Jill seems standoffish and unengaged with her church community. Her online activism feels more like judgmentalism and, while happy to volunteer at a shelter, she can't be bothered to serve her local church. Hurt by her apparent disinterest, Jill's peers feel ignored and pushed away. She seems more content to live online than face-to-face.

How can Jill's online life look so different from her real life? I can't judge her; I've been her and seen the fallout.

I Trick You

What I allow you to see online shapes your perception of me.

I put forth the cleanest version of myself not to intentionally fool you, but because I want to glorify God in all I say and do (and for more selfish reasons). I avoid broadcasting my negativity to keep you from stumbling (again, and for more selfish reasons). I carefully steward my statuses, affirm others, and avoid grumbling and complaining. I mind my moral and social p's and q's.

It's an admittedly misleading version of myself. I'm not posting, "Wow. I'm totally out of control. #ShamingMySon," or "I haven't done laundry in a month. #RatherBeTweeting." It's not that I'm unaware of my sin; I've just methodically eliminated the evidence. You assume I sin sometimes, but not because I've confessed.

In short, basing your impression of me on my social media profile would result in an embarrassingly inaccurate rendering of reality.

I Trick Me

What I present online unintentionally shapes my self-awareness, too.

Looking at the neatest, tidiest version of myself is sneakily alluring. I like the feeling of appearing perfect. The onlooking masses (or handful of friends) needn't know I sin, well, regularly.

To be honest, my own sin surprises me. I'm shocked when pride surfaces, self-control slips, or I fall prey to the same idolatrous patterns I've been battling for years. My gut reaction isn't Woe is me, I am a woman of unclean lips, but embarrassment about the evidence of indwelling sin I thought I could hide.

If Real Me is radically different than Online Me, which me is real, and which is the impostor? If I'm failing to demonstrate the same fruit of the Spirit in "real life" as I do online, it's probably plastic fruit—and I need to be aware of the discrepancy.

Getting Comfortable

It's fun to fill your life with Facebook friends, Twitter followers, and blog readers who seem to care every time you nail a Pinterest project or your kid does something cool. Who wouldn't love an audience to "like" all their pictures and "ooh and aah" over their craftiness?

But brothers and sisters, we must recognize this self-obsession and pride for what it is.

When I'm being encouraged primarily by online relationships, and large portions of my time are spent reading my own good press, it can get pretty comfortable on the sofa of social media. I like living in an online world where there's no need for my community to truly bear with me. I'd rather bask in the love of my digital perfection than stumble and fall before real people who will call me out and hold me accountable.

If I'm not careful, hanging out where no one knows my dirt can easily lull me away from reality into a life of insincerity and isolation.

Being Present 

Avoiding real-life connections—the ones you see every Sunday morning—to unpack your heart in the digital community doesn't only set you up for a delusional view of self, disappointment with your physical community, and social isolation; it also breeds spiritual stagnancy.

No matter how great your internet friends are, they aren't standing beside you, sensing your suffocating self-absorption. They don't see you at your worst or notice when you're avoiding fellowship or suffering from spiritual depression. They won't pick up on your dissatisfaction with your spouse, your constant bitterness or negativity, or your refusal to forgive the friend who hurt you. But real-life friends, the ones who can drive to your doorstep when you call, will.

I need friends who will get in my grill, iron sharpening iron, and help me to conquer sin head-on. I may turn a blind eye to my own social media slickness, but true friends won't. I need to be confronted by my sinfulness in real life, where there's no filter and no delete button.

Our Real and Present Need

My greatest need isn't a public relations manager; it's a Redeemer. And real-life, everyday friends—the ones aware of both my sin and the gospel's power—will regularly remind me of this need.

Long-distance and digital friendships, no matter how wonderful they are, cannot gain full access into our souls. Seeing a friend's compassionate eyes, holding her hand, and kneeling together in prayer are evidences of God's tangible nearness in the war against sin.

Don't settle for keeping your life primarily or exclusively online. Social media is a poor substitute for physical presence. Strive, fight for, and pour into those friends with whose voices, body language, and quirky personalities you're well familiar. These are the hearts that know your heart—and are praying and engaging for your sanctification.

UPDATE: Kermit Gosnell was found guilty today of three counts of first-degree murder. Because the major news media initially refused to cover the story, many people are unaware of the extent of the atrocities committed by the Philadelphia abortionist. TGC is reposting this entry to provide context and background for this breaking news story.

Kermit Gosnell, 72, is an abortionist on trial in Pennsylvania for murder and infanticide. Here are 9 things you should know about the Gosnell case:

1. Gosnell was arrested in January 2011, charged with eight counts of murder: one patient who allegedly died under his care after a botched abortion, and seven infants supposedly born alive whose spinal cords Gosnell allegedly severed with scissors.

2. According to prosecutors in Philadelphia, Gosnell catered to minorities, immigrants, and poor women, and made millions of dollars over 30 years performing illegal and late-term abortions in squalid and barbaric conditions. Gosnell took extra precautions with white women from the suburbs, according to the grand jury report. He allegedly ushered them into a slightly cleaner area because he thought they would be more likely to file a complaint.

3. Women paid $325 for first-trimester abortions and $1,600 to $3,000 for abortions up to 30 weeks. The clinic took in up to $15,000 a day, said authorities. Although abortions after the 24th week are illegal, Gosnell allegedly aborted and killed babies in the sixth and seventh months of pregnancy and charged more for bigger babies.

4. According to the grand jury report, the clinic reeked of animal urine and the furniture and blankets were stained with blood. Medical instruments found in the practice had not been properly sterilized. State officials have failed to visit or inspect his abortion clinic since 1993. Prosecutors also claim that Gosnell is not certified in either gynecology or obstetrics.

5. Prosecutors say that none of Gosnell's staff, including his wife, were licensed nurses or doctors and that a 15-year-old student performed anesthesia with potentially lethal narcotics.

6. A woman who worked for Gosnell testified that she was called back to a room at his abortion clinic in Philadelphia where the bodies of aborted babies were kept to hear one screaming amid a shelf-full of dead babies. "I can't describe it," says the woman. "It sounded like a little alien." She says the body of the child was about 18 to 24 inches long and was one of the largest babies she had seen delivered during abortion procedures at Gosnell's clinic.

7. On January 31, 1998, a then 15 year old Robyn Reid sought an abortion from Gosnell's clinic. Once she was in the clinic, though, Reid, an 87-pound teenager at the time, told Gosnell she changed her mind about the abortion. She claims Gosnell got upset, ripped off her clothes, restrained her, and repeatedly told her, "This is the same care that I would give to my own daughter." Reid regained consciousness 12 hours later at her aunt's home, with the abortion having been completed against her will.

8. Gosnell's arrest and trial have received almost no coverage by the national media. During the early part of the trial ABC, CBS and NBC did not cover the trial at all, yet gave 41 minutes and 26 seconds of air time to the story of Mike Rice, the Rutgers basketball coach who was fired for verbally and physically abusing his players.

9. The 3801 Lancaster Film Project is an ongoing documentary series about Kermit Gosnell, the Women's Medical Society, and the cover-up by state and local oversight agencies.

(Warning: The video contains graphic images.)

When listening to a sermon on the Fatherhood of God, we've heard it more times than we can probably count: the illustration that when Jesus refers to his Father as abba, it is a very comfortable, deeply intimate child-like term, interpreted as either papa or daddy. Jesus uses the term once in Mark's gospel and Paul uses it two times in Romans and Galatians.

Of course, the bible teacher or pastor's purpose in explaining the word abba this way is to show us that Jesus had a very intimate relationship with his father, not stoic or merely positional. It is what a loving father has with his son and the son who lives securely and comfortably in that love. It is an important message—and it is true.

You can't read John 17, Jesus' intimate and passionate prayer to his Father the evening before his brutal and sacrificial death, and not see this tender intimacy. You see it also in John 1:18 where some versions have it that Jesus dwells "in the bosom of the Father." Ask someone you know well if you can sit at their side. They will be happy and honored to have you do so. Ask them if you can dwell at their bosom and you'll get a different reaction. We also see this Father/Son intimacy at Jesus' baptism where the Father proclaims from heaven to us all his extravagant love and pride in his Son.

This intimacy and love between the divine Father and his Son is as true as the existence of God himself, for it is his very nature. But it is simply not true that Jesus' use of the word abba means something a small child would utter in reference to his father. It does not mean "daddy" or "papa."

This origin of this understanding is generally traced to the notable German Lutheran New Testament scholar Joachim Jeremias who in his 1971 text New Testament Theology explained that abba was "the chatter of a small child. . . . a children's word, used in everyday talk" and seemingly "disrespectful, indeed unthinkable to the sensibilities of Jesus' contemporaries to address God with this familiar word" (p. 67). While Jeremias did not use the word "daddy" or "papa" in relation to abba, the implication was strong and others came along to make that connection.

But other Hebrew and New Testament scholars have taken exception with this understanding.

University of Fribourg's Georg Schelbert critiqued Jeremias' assertion in a 1981 essay and then later in a 2011 book-length treatment entitled ABBA Vater. He contends that Jeremias' interpretation is in "error" and "unwarranted." He elaborates,

In the Aramaic language of the time of Jesus, there was absolutely no other word [than Abba] available if Jesus wished to speak of or address God as father. Naturally such speaking of and addressing thereby would lose its special character, for it is then indeed the only possible form!

This is because, as we shall see, abba means either "father" or one's own father. Schelbert explained that Jeremias even adjusted his earlier understanding in the face of critical peers.

Schelbert was followed by Professor Geza Vermes, a most important scholarly voice on the Jewishness of Jesus. In his book, Jesus and the World of Judaism (Fortress, 1983), Vermes calls out the "improbability and incongruousness of the theory" and that "there seems to be no linguistic support for it." (p.42). Vermez holds, in agreement with Schelbert, that abba can either be understood as "the father" or the more personal, "my father."

This criticism was followed up a few years later with an essay in the Journal of Theological Studies by James Barr (vol. 39, 1988). His article, "Abba Isn't Daddy" explains:

It is fair to say that abba in Jesus' time belonged to a familiar or colloquial register of language, as distinct from more formal and ceremonious language. . . . But in any case it was not a childish expression comparable with 'Daddy': it was a more solemn, responsible, adult address to a Father. (p. 46)

Although he explains that in Jesus' time, this address was used by a father's children of all ages, young and adult, it was often used by small children. Barr adds,

If the New Testament writers had been conscience of the nuance 'Daddy' they could easily have expressed themselves so; but in fact they were well aware that the nuance is not that of 'Daddy' but of 'father'." . . . [T]he semantics of abba itself [based on various evidences] all agree in supporting the nuance 'father' than the nuance 'Daddy'." (p. 38)

It is important and true to understand that God is our intimate Father. So many places in the New Testament make this vividly and encouragingly clear. It is one the rich qualities that makes Christianity distinct from all other faiths and philosophies.

But let's not illustrate this grace for others with something that is not true.

Other articles in this series:

C.S. Lewis and G.K. Chesterton Quotes

Burning Your Ships for Jesus

Misquoting Francis of Assisi

The Cross an Electric Chair?

Divorce Rate Among Christians

Do Faithful Christians Take the Bible Literally?

Is the 'I Only Need Jesus!' Declaration Christian?

Who Really Started the Family 'Culture War'?

Are Your Kids Likely to Lose Their Faith?

Are Millennials More Self-Sacrificing and Community-Minded Than Previous Generations?

She's classical. I'm rock 'n' roll. 

She's patient. I'm impulsive.

She's soft-spoken while I can't stop talking.

She's practical—loves the details. I'm visionary—love the big picture.

She loves filling our evenings by cuddling up with a cup of coffee and reading together—just the two of us. I love that too but also crave adventure.

She loves going deep with a few close friends, while I want to be friends with everyone I meet. 

She is an introvert, and I am . . . well . . . I am not.

She is strong in all the areas I am weak. We are different in so many ways, and yet we complement each other so well.

We haven't always celebrated these differences. Earlier in our marriage, this was a point of frustration. We struggled to understand each other or value one another's personalities, viewpoints, and preferences. 

We are both driven dreamers who desperately want God to use us and accomplish great things for his kingdom in this world. But we were going about things in exhaustingly different ways. The driver in me would just go and go and go as she frantically held her foot on the brakes with all the strength she could muster while still seeking to honor and support me. 

For the longest time, I thought she would eventually adapt to my way of doing things, and we would be able to find joy and fulfillment in running hard together. And in many ways, we have.

But in attempting to force her "to come over to the dark side" and join the ranks of extroverts, I was utterly failing to value her personality and see it for what it is—not as weakness, but as her greatest strength, a much-needed contribution to our marriage.

Suitable Helper

God calls my wife my helper (Genesis 2:18). He uses the same word to describe his Holy Spirit (John 14:26), the Helper who comes, not to let me stay "just as I am," but to change me and sanctify me to be just as Jesus is. In addition to all the other eternally important things the Holy Spirit does in me, he sees all the areas I'm a bonehead and shows me a better way.

My goal is not to force or convince the Holy Spirit to be like me or do ministry like I do. It's to submit to his holy, sanctifying genius to change the way I do everything—for the better—for the glory of God.

Obviously my wife is not the perfect Holy Spirit. Flawed, she needs the Holy Spirit just like I do. But God, in his mercy, gave me an equal who is not like me, to complement, help, and sanctify me. My goal should not be to force her or convince her to always do things my way. It should be to lead her by cherishing her and recognizing that our differences are our strengths.

How It Plays Out

This plays out in many and various practical ways throughout each week.

Like how I am terrible at resting. I stink at taking naps because my mind has a hard time shutting down from all the ideas and dreams running through it. I really love my work in ministry, and I get a lot of joy out of it. As a result, it's hard for me to slow down sometimes, and Sabbath can be difficult for me. Meanwhile, my wife thrives on her Sabbath, and her passion for it has graciously helped to smooth off my rough edges over the years so that I quite enjoy it now. I know that I need it. The Bible commands it. But it took a wife who is great at it to help me learn to rest well. Sometimes the godliest thing you can do is take a nap, and she has given me permission to stop trying to achieve all the time, and just recharge.

Like how I tend to say anything and everything that comes to mind, often unaware of how it affects others. I say things as if I know what I'm talking about, even if I might not, and this can sometimes get me into trouble. I know the Bible commands me to be quick to listen and slow to speak, but I do not naturally excel in this area. Meanwhile, my wife is a great listener and generally doesn't speak unless she has something of substance to say—something important to contribute to the conversation. Usually when she does open her mouth, it's like, "Wow! That's wisdom!" It took a wife who is great at this to teach me how to think before I speak and weigh the effect of my words. Sometimes the godliest thing you can do is shut up, and she has given me the freedom to not always have something witty to say, but to just listen and stay silent.

Like how I have never known a stranger, but it's not my natural inclination to focus more on lasting, deep friendships. Left to my own devices, I would probably fill our evenings by hanging with new acquaintances and call that living in community. But having a wife who thrives on a few deep friendships has helped me see the value of really going deep with a few people who know all my junk and love me regardless. Who call me out on my idolatry and spur me on toward holiness. Who push me to love Jesus more. It took a wife who is great at this to teach me about true community. Sometimes the godliest thing you can do is say no to yet another dinner with people you don't really know, and she has challenged me to walk closely with a few true friends, as opposed to swimming in a sea of acquaintances.

Something Different, Something Better

She is like a mirror ever before me, and through her strengths, I see my weaknesses amplified. She represents the beauty and character of God in many ways I can't. She challenges me and stretches me, quite painfully sometimes. Dying to self always is. God never promised our sanctification would be easy.

I can choose to bulldoze over her and crush her natural, God-given personality, or I can embrace how it complements my own and glorify God as I give myself up for her. It seems to me that the latter is what God had in mind when he paired me up with her and formed this unbreakable covenant.

This doesn't mean I passively stand by and let her grab apples she shouldn't be eating. It means I defend her and hold onto her with a kung-fu death grip when the serpent comes in and tries to exploit where her introversion lends itself to different sins I may not typically struggle with.

It means we are striving to out-serve one another; to make the other more important than ourselves. To cherish our differences and be changed by one another. It means just like I am learning her strengths, she is learning mine. It means letting her have her way in the small stuff, and then leading strong in the big decisions that will alter our lives.

It means that I won't stay "just as I am" . . . and neither will she. Together, by the power of the Holy Spirit, we will be something different. Something better.

I used to think, "Help! I married an introvert!" Now I'm singing, "Hallelujah! I married an introvert!"

The Storyframes Collective is a collaborative effort between The Gospel Coalition and the Austin Stone Church for the purpose of celebrating the extraordinary work of God in the lives of ordinary people. Through excellence in the art of storytelling (film, photojournalism, spoken word, and writing), this project aims to recount God's redemptive, transforming work in the lives of our brothers and sisters. In form, this website collects encouraging stories about God's grace. In function, we want these stories to inspire you to praise God.

As a collective, we hope that people from around the world will join us in collecting and telling the amazing stories of God's grace and the power of the gospel. We hope this project will increase your faith, encourage your spirit, and open your eyes to the extraordinary work of God every day in your life and in the lives of others around you.

While these stories differ in characters, formats, and locations, they share the same hero: God. Whether highlighting addiction recovery, healing, renewal, transformation, or any other form of good news, they testify to God's power and grace, made available to us through the person and work of Jesus Christ.

We hope you not only enjoy reading, hearing, and seeing these stories, but also take time to observe the stories of those around you. Tell others the story of what God has done for the world in Jesus Christ, and tell us your story—what God has done in you.

Treasure the Promise

In this powerful video, part of The Journey's Stories of Change project, Matthew and Sarah Harms recount their experience of learning to trust God's goodness through a deeply painful loss. Raising a daughter with disabilities and losing another have led them to treasure the promise that God is working all things together for their good and his glory (Rom. 8:28).

This Sunday is the day Americans set aside to honor their mothers. Here are 9 things you should know about moms and Mother's Day.

1. In 1914, President Woodrow Wilson issued a presidential proclamation that officially established the first national Mother's Day holiday to celebrate America's mothers. Many individual states celebrated Mother's Day before then, but it was not until Wilson lobbied Congress in 1914 that Mother's Day was officially set on the second Sunday of every May.

2. President Wilson established Mother's Day after years of lobbying by the mother of the holiday, Anna Marie Jarvis and the World's Sunday School Association. Anna Jarvis' mother, Ann Jarvis, had attempted to establish a version of Mother's Day during the Civil War as a time for remembrance. By the 1920s, though, Anna Jarvis became disgusted by the commercialization of the holiday. She incorporated herself as the Mother's Day International Association, trademarked the phrases "second Sunday in May" and "Mother's Day", and was once arrested for disturbing the peace at a Mother's Day carnation sale. According to her New York Times obituary, Jarvis became embittered because too many people sent their mothers a printed greeting card. As she said, "A printed card means nothing except that you are too lazy to write to the woman who has done more for you than anyone in the world. And candy! You take a box to Mother—and then eat most of it yourself. A pretty sentiment."

3. Jarvis also established the tradition of giving carnations on Mother's Day. At a memorial service for her mother, Jarvis gave away carnations, her mother's favorite flower, to all that attended. Red and pink carnations were to be worn for living mothers, and white for those who had passed away.

4. Mother's Day was the most important Sunday on the organized crime calendar. According to Joe Pistone, an FBI undercover agent, the mafia often closed for business when Mother's Day arrived each May.

5. Mother's Day is the third-largest card-sending holiday in the United States, with 141 million cards exchanged annually. It is also the largest card-sending holiday for the Latino community.

6. Based on the latest Census figures (2010), 53 percent of 15- to 44-year-old women are mothers. 20 percent had 2 children, 17 percent had one, 10 percent had three, and 5 percent had four or more.

7. In the U.S., there are 5 million stay-at-home moms. In 2012, 24 percent of married-couple family groups with children under 15 had a stay-at-home mother, up from 21 percent in 2000. In 2007, before the recession, stay-at-home mothers were found in 24 percent of married-couple family groups with children under 15, not statistically different from the percentage in 2012. 61 percent of women age 16 to 50 who had a birth in the past 12 months were in the labor force.

8. There are 10.3 million single mothers living with children younger than 18 in 2012, up from 3.4 million in 1970.

9. Five mothers are mentioned by name in the genealogy of Jesus (Matthew 1:1-17): Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, Bathsheba, and Mary.

Recent posts in this series:

9 Things You Should Know About Pornography and the Brain

9 Things You Should Know About Planned Parenthood

9 Things You Should Know About the Boston Marathon Bombing

9 Things You Should Know About Female Body Image Issues

9 Things You Should Know About the Gosnell Infanticide and Murder Trial

9 Things You Should Know About Edith Schaeffer

9 Things You Should Know About Duck Dynasty

In recent years there has been a marked movement of evangelical converts to Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy. This trend has included not just younger, untrained evangelicals, but established pastors and professors and even one president of the Evangelical Theological Society. While the causes for this phenomenon are doubtless complex and different in each individual case, one frequently cited reason is the sense of historical rootedness these traditions offer. Thus at the website Why I'm Catholic, one former Baptist chronicles his conversion to Roman Catholicism in terms of his parallel discovery of church history; at Called to Communion, one former Presbyterian equates his acceptance of Roman Catholicism with an acceptance of "historic Christianity"; and at Journey to Orthodoxy, one former Anglican describes how blessed he feels to be worshiping in direct succession with the apostles through the liturgy of the Eastern Orthodox church.

Within Protestantism also there's a migration toward more historically rooted traditions (especially Anglicanism, the so-called via media) and more liturgical, historically conscious expressions of worship and spirituality. For devotional reading, most of my younger Protestant friends love Thomas à Kempis's The Imitation of Christ but wouldn't be caught dead with a John Eldredge book. Hymn writing is on the rise, and many evangelicals are suddenly interested in the liturgical calendar.

What's causing this shift? While leaving room for the complex theological issues inevitably at play, I think one significant factor is the sense of rootlessness and restlessness many younger postmoderns feel today. At the heart of my generation is a profound emptiness—a sense of isolation and disconnectedness and consequent malaise. We're aching for the ancient and the august, for transcendence and tradition, for that which has stability and solidity and substance. And it's driving many of us out of evangelicalism.

At 29 years old, I can relate to this feeling of being lost in the world without a context by which to interpret it. But I don't think we need to abandon evangelicalism to find a sense of historical placement. In fact, I believe this thirst for rootedness can be fully satisfied within a Protestant and evangelical framework. You can be catholic without becoming Catholic, and orthodox without becoming Orthodox. As we promote "gospel-centered ministry for the next generation," we must make clear there's nothing inconsistent with being both evangelical and ancient, "gospel centered" and "historically rooted." The reason is simple: gospel-centeredness is itself historically rooted. In fact, it's as ancient as the gospel itself.

Evangelicals and Pre-Reformation Church History

How many Christians between the apostle John and Martin Luther do you think today's average American evangelical can name? It seems we contemporary evangelicals have a tendency to neglect this span of church history, acting as if the important stuff basically skipped from the 1st to the 16th century. Yes, we acknowledge the importance of Augustine (especially his Confessions). And there were some key battles about Christology and Trinitarianism early on, and some courageous martyrs somewhere back there, too. Sometimes we'll even enjoy a John Chrysostom sermon or Bernard of Clairvaux poem. But all too often we give the impression that our real tradition is roughly 500 years old—with a few scattered precursors, perhaps—rather than one solid, 2,000-year-old tradition. And there are huge stretches of time to which we have no conscious connection. What would it have been like to be a Christian in the 9th century, for example? Did gospel-centeredness (the reality, not the word) exist then? How does the ministry approach we champion today relate to the entire history of the church?

If we contemporary Protestants have sometimes failed to explore these questions, it isn't an error we learned from the first Protestants. Nor is it intrinsic to Protestantism. In fact, the Reformers took pains to emphasize they were seeking to reform the church, not recreate it, and that the true gospel had never entirely vanished from the earth. Even the most strident critics of Roman Catholic theology (like Luther, or later Turretin) insisted that during seasons of great corruption and decadence God had always preserved a regenerate people (though Luther, in typical tongue-in-cheek fashion, speculated that at times it had perhaps dwindled down to a few maidservants). And when Roman Catholic theologians appealed to Augustine and the church fathers to vindicate the tenets of the Counter-Reformation, John Calvin didn't respond by saying, "Who cares about Augustine and the fathers? They're nothing." Instead he became a diligent student of the church fathers, seeking to establish points of continuity between Reformation theology and patristic theology. Sola scriptura meant Scripture alone is the supreme authority—not that Scripture alone is valuable.

Owning the Family Photo Album

I'm a Protestant, and I believe Reformation theology protects the gospel. But I also believe it's possible to be robustly Protestant and vitally connected to, say, medieval Christianity. The church didn't completely sink during the eras of castles and cathedrals, monks and monasteries, bows and arrows, and knights in shining armor—only to suddenly re-emerge with Luther's 95 theses. No, there's a solid and steady chunk of Christianity subsisting right alongside Caedmon and Charlemagne and Chaucer. And since through many advances and retreats, corruptions and renewals, Jesus has always been building his church (Matt. 16:18; cf. Isa. 42:4), we can stand to learn from medieval theology. It can serve as a resource for ministry in our post-Christian, wandering culture.

To be sure, it's possible—and dangerous—to so emphasize "mere Christianity" that we lose our Protestant distinctives. But it's also possible to so bask in our particular denominational enclave that we lose touch with the entire Christian tradition. We contemporary Protestants need a balanced historical identity. We need to engage with both the last 500 years and also the previous 1,500, recognizing areas of discontinuity as well as encouraging points of overlap. As an African Christian in the patristic era remarked, "I am a Christian, and nothing which concerns Christianity do I consider foreign to myself."

I think this statement captures exactly what our attitude should be in engaging pre-Reformation church history: this is part of my heritage, my identity. The image I think of is a family photo album. In any such album there may be pictures that embarrass us, and we may be more proud to be related to one great uncle than to another. But warts, blemishes, and all, my family is still my family—and it would be foolish to cut myself off. After all, I wouldn't even be here without them.

Where to Begin?

If we want to increase our awareness of our pre-Reformation roots, where should we begin? The first six chapters of Mark Noll's Turning Points: Decisive Moments in the History of Christianity serve a great starting point in terms of secondary literature, but let me here mention three primary texts. These are all classic works of theology I believe deserve a wider readership among contemporary Protestants.

1. Boethius's The Consolation of Philosophy

Despite being one of the most influential books throughout church history, this work has been almost forgotten in recent centuries. Of it C. S. Lewis remarked: "Until about two hundred years ago it would, I think, have been hard to find an educated man in any European country who did not love it. . . . To acquire a taste for it is almost to become naturalised in the Middle Ages." Written in alternating poetry and prose while Boethius was awaiting execution in AD 524, The Consolation explores themes of suffering and divine providence. Boethius's treatment of the classic difficulty of divine foreknowledge and human free will in Book 5 alone makes the volume worth reading.

2. Gregory the Great's The Book of Pastoral Rule

Calvin called Gregory (c. 540-604) the last good pope. This book is a classic of pastoral theology; every minister should consider reading it. Gregory's thesis is that pastoral ministry requires a delicate balance of inner and outer qualities—theory and practice, contemplation and activity, administration and asceticism, otherworldly holiness and earthly wisdom. This is a helpful reminder since pastors tend to gravitate toward one of these realms more than the other. A good edition can be found in St. Vladimir's Seminary's Popular Patristics series, which in general is a great resource for becoming acquainted with early Christian thought.

3. Anselm's Proslogion

Although famous for its "ontological argument" for God's existence, this volume's rich theology and impassioned prayers make it a nourishing and edifying read as well. My doctoral research concerns St. Anselm's doctrine of heaven in chapters 24-25, and my delight and amazement with this book is the chief cause of this article. If anyone doubts the value of reading pre-Reformation theology, all I can say is, find a good translation of the first chapter of Proslogion, and tolle lege!

In the spring of 2008 I first prayed for a baby, and in the spring of 2011 God answered that prayer with the birth of our beautiful daughter. My joy was full but so were the fears I wrestled. In some ways I felt like a baby Christian again, caught in a whirlwind of emotions, learning and applying what I have known and trusted into a completely new life—I know I'm definitely not the first to feel that way!

Friends of ours had given us a card when their first son was born; it was full of prayer requests for his little life, a prayer for every day of the month. My prayers were not quite so coherent, especially at first, but the urgency of the moment drove me to my knees. "Help her, help me" baby prayers at 3 a.m.; prayers as I heard the baby monitor light up in the morning; prayers when I thought of her safety, her soul, her future; prayers with my husband; prayers while Eliza listened in.

When people found out that I was pregnant, I often heard how my creativity would discover a whole new vista of inspiration as I became a mother. So when Eliza came I was anticipating a fresh flow of profound poetic thought, but instead I was swept up in the constant flow of changes and feedings and "Old MacDonald had a farm." I was expecting full sentences, but I was blubbering looking at my beautiful girl. I actually wondered if I'd ever be able to write again. I just about tucked some thoughts away to ponder later when my brain would start to fit itself back together again (still nowhere near a completed process).

As I continued to learn the wonderful balancing act and privilege of mothering, homemaking, writing, traveling, and singing, Keith and I began to write a song for Eliza. We chose this theme of praying for her, and the end result was "A Mother's Prayer."

My parents have faithfully prayed for me my whole life, and I remember when I was younger my mum met with other mums to pray for all their children—a "Moms in Touch" group in Belfast. Just the knowledge of that support helped me, and I want Eliza to know we are praying for her and trying to guide her to the call and purpose of her whole life and an understanding of the Lord's grace and faithfulness. We're now in the toddler stage, and some of the prayer needs are shifting. We wanted the song to reflect the different seasons—ones we had discovered and those still to come. We also wrote it to remind us of our promise to pray for her through all the years we're given. We hope this song for her—and even more our praying for her—might catch her ear and help guide her heart as she grows up.