Figure it Out

I have suspicion. I suspect that we've done something in parenting that is robbing our kids of the ability to figure stuff out. I catch myself trying to give my kids a Nerf childhood. I don't mean one with those cool guns that shoot foam darts. I mean one that has them wrapped in the protective foam of my presence, protection, and wisdom. All the time. To keep them from ... well, everything. Problem with that Lego? Allow me. Your brother bothering you? Allow me to interject myself. You want to make a sandwich? Put that down and let me do it. You're just 9, for goodness sake.

And, I'm sure I'm not the only one.

In fact, I know I'm not, because every time I take my kids to the park, the playground, or any place populated with parents who've drank the same over-involved water that I have, I can spot them. Legitimate fear fills their face when Johnny approaches the slides. Terror when Susie puts the same hand she just touched the sand with in her mouth. But what are we teaching the kiddies when we do this?

That we love them? That we're there for them? Maybe.

Or, maybe that they're stupid? They can't do anything on their own? They should expect their lives to be free of experience, pain, and learning through failure? Maybe that, too.

But is this how God treats us? Is this what God has done for us? It seems not. It seems like He has given us at least two kinds of teachers — Himself, and our experiences of obeying him — and pain, along with the experience of disobeying him. No Nerf childhood for us. The world he made for us is filled with bruises, bumps, falls, and failings.

And yet, do any of us doubt that He loves us? I mean, really? Of course not, because only this God has come out from behind the protection of Heaven and gotten dirty. Only the God we meet in the face of Jesus has felt great, hot tears roll down his cheeks. Only the God we feel embraced in Jesus arms has had those same arms stretched wide in pain, so we know he knows when we run into them.

God has, in his sovereignty, ordered the world to force us to figure stuff out. How to build things, ask a girl on a date, try to plant a church, or just build a sandcastle on the beach. By grace, he's catching us up in the adventure of figuring things out. He's there, mysteriously working in us so that we can will to work for him. And, he's there when we don't, and we scrape our knees against the hard realities of sin and pain.

Oh that Jesus would remind me to let my kids figure it out — how to handle relationships, move past frustrations, learn why untied laces and bikes don't mix. The world he made is a great teacher. I'll be there, of course, just like he is for me, even as I'm here, trying to figure this whole parenting thing out.

Biblical Fidelity and Our Times

In every generation there is some challenge to biblical fidelity. Discussing this with a friend and pastor I admire deeply, Nic Gibson, he said this. I want to share it with you.

Arguing that the Bible isn't all that clear isn't actually all that hard or all that clever. This is the major tactic of almost all revisionist biblical interpretation – that the text allows for many interpretive options, and that its message is woefully ambiguous to careful observers with more advanced knowledge. And yet almost none of these people would accept that this is true about virtually anything they themselves have written. They think of their own writing as clear, accurately enunciating a definite meaning. They would see doubts raised against their sentence structure, philological choices, and presumed assumptions as unwarranted and unnecessary speculations marshaled against the otherwise clear meaning of a straightforward and unadorned text. But this is modern biblical interpretation, if not all modern literary interpretation. This is the end of all schools of deconstruction and accommodation – the refusal of the surgeon to submit to his own knife ... [A]t the end of the day there is one incision of logical division that they cannot stomach – that the embracing of logical honesty will not uphold the desires of their compassionate sentiment. It is because it is unthinkable that they should believe that their compassion isn't compassionate because what they believe is loving isn't love. Such a moral accusation coming from the word of God or from our very conscience is too much for the deconstructionist to admit and bear – as it would be unthinkable for any of us. But, what we would refuse to be done to text that we write ourselves, we must refuse to do to the apostles, to Moses, or to Christ himself— and all the more if we believe in the divine authorship of all these texts. It is too often those who try to have it all that have nothing. The one who stands with one foot in two boats ends up terribly sore. It is the one who lashes his wrists to two departing trains who holds fast to the trains, but not to his own torso.

News and Views Roundup

Here are some stories and articles that have garnered my attention this week.

Marriage for the Common Good

James K.A. Smith is a Philosophy Prof at Calvin College, and a generally stupendous fellow who spins a solid stream of social commentary. Over at Cardus he wrote a great article called Marriage for the Common Good. Challenging the concept of Wedding, Inc. to the expense of martial success, he writes:

If we want to raise up a generation passionate about the common good, perhaps we should say "No" to the dress—and all of the spectacular trappings of Wedding, Inc.—and instead plan for a marriage with open doors, honest in its vulnerability, even eagerly dependent.

There's a Christian Holocaust in Iraq

The terrorist army ISIS has systematically been killing thousands of Christians, forcing most of them to convert, die, or be displaced from the home their sect of Chaldean Christianity has called home for thousands of years — 700 of which were before Islam existed. Here's a quote from one of the many articles that no one in our government seems to care about.

When U.S. troops invaded Iraq in 2003, there were at least 1.5 million Christians in Iraq. Over the last ten years, significantly in the last few months with the emergence of ISIS, that figure has dropped to about 400,000.

In a region where Christians predate Muslims by centuries, over one million Christians have been killed or have had to flee because of jihadi persecution, while America is basically standing by and watching.

This shouldn't surprise us, but it does. We Western Christians have allowed the relative ease of life for the past few centuries to feel a certain homey warmth about this world which makes us shocked at persecution. But Jesus told us to expect it, and embrace the responsibility of suffering well. Pray for our brothers and sisters in Iraq, and across the world who are suffering.

The Prince of Preachers' Lost Sermons

Charles Spurgeon was an amazing preacher, leader, and teacher of the 19th century. His influence still reverberates today. How often I myself wonder through his words, picking up wisdom like gold from the ground. Well now there's good news for people like me, we've found more of his sermons! Most of these sermons are from his early years — years full of struggle, mistakes, and pleas for grace. As a young pastor, you can imagine I can't wait to get my eager hands on this multi-volume set when it arrives.

A Beautiful Bible is Blowing Up on KickStarter

As a font nerd and a dude who really loves the Bible, this is like some sort of cosmic convergence of awesome things. A book designer/graphic artist/GENIUS named Adam (Coincidence? Of course not) has launched an effort called Bibliotheca. He wants to give the world a Bible that's beautiful to hold, read, and feel in your hands. I will be buying one or more of these.

Ethnic Unity v. Wishful Thinking

I pastor a multi-racial, multi-ethnic church. That fact, by the way, is a complete miracle. I don't know how it has happened, except for two factors: (1) I prayed a lot that God would make our church ethnically broad, and (2) by grace I actually try, for real, to care about people who aren't from my neck of the woods (as we say where I'm from). God has been pleased to do what I've asked, and I'm really grateful for that.

But in the broader church world, we're not quite as together as we could be. Oh sure, we'll have the odd unity service. The black pastor and the white pastor who've hardly ever met stand on the front row, awkwardly embrace, pretend they have something to talk about afterwards, and the praise then Lord as they walk away that neither one of them has to endure such an event but once a year.

Maybe that sounds harsh. Some truth is harsh.

Then there was yesterday. Yesterday I spent a few hours with a friend of mine who happens to be the leader of a large, fruitful denomination of African American churches. In Ron Burgundy speak, he's kind of a big deal. Ever since I arrived to plant Aletheia, this man has gone out of his way to make me feel welcome. He's invited me to address gatherings of largely black pastors. He's sent me texts encouraging me. He's bought me lunch, prayed for me, given me advice. He's even sent me and my wife cards on our anniversary. We're totally different. We come from very different Christian traditions, different parts of the world, and different upbringings. But, as I sat in his office yesterday, I was struck with the realization, "This is what unity looks like. It's when I love this man, and he loves me."

Our country is beleaguered with racial brokenness. In the church, it's not much better. Sure, we've tried to make it better. We've tried unity services. We've tried ecumenical counsels. We've sworn to be more diverse. But here's the deal — it's just hard. Real love is always hard. Real love is always costly. It certainly was for God, wasn't it?

But therein lies the difference between ethnic unity and wishful thinking. Wishful thinking looks to events. Real love looks to the cross. Wishful thinking thinks programmatically. Real love thinks sacrificially. Wishful thinking doesn't work. But real love ... well I think it does. It's working really well for this man and me.

Maybe that's a start.

A Year After the Bombing, Three Reflections

Last year I wrote on my perspectives on the bombing of my city. A year later, a few reflections seem in order. Everything Changed For many in Boston, everything changed. For the victims, the police officers, the leaders, the marathon runners, and even for the perpetrators of the crime, life would never be the same again. How could it be? At the mention of The Boston Marathon, new associations will dawn in the mind. Athletes and heroes, victims and victory, terror and triumph, mingled together. For me personally, this was the day when Boston finally felt like home — my home.

Nothing Changed There is a good-hearted temptation to believe that tragic events change everything. In face of tragedy, we stand together, unified by our common wound and say well-intentioned things like, "we must be more kind," "justice will be done," and "we must put a stop to this evil." But sadly, the tragic events which expose the resident wickedness in the human heart are not in themselves powerful enough to change our hearts. A year after the Boston bombings, evil still exists, crime still persists, and injustice still resists even our most earnest promises to root it out.

We Must be Changed These dual realities — that while a great many things changed, many things stayed the same — illustrate the deep need we all share in Boston (and indeed we all share as humans). This is the need to be fundamentally changed. This is Holy Week, a time we remember another great tragedy, the murder of the Son of God at the hands of sinful men. God, looking at the repeating cycle of tragedy, chose to get involved. To step into the tragedy, and rend from it the ultimate victory. The greatest hero, the King of Kings walked into the blast meant for us, from the charges we set in our own depravity, to show us what love really is and how change truly happens. God dying for men — greatest tragedy bringing final victory.

So today, I remember the tragedy of a year ago. But I don't only remember, I hope and pray that this tragedy would cause us to remember the greater tragedy of the cross, in preparation to celebrate the greatest victory imaginable. Jesus rose, after all. I'm believing that Boston will too.

Resolved: No Resolutions

I'm kicking off 2014 with a rebellion against the new year's resolution. That's right, no resolutions in 2014. "Now wait," you might say. "Isn't having no resolutions really a resolution itself?" Perhaps. But what I'm interested in is what the resolution does to the soul. I'm not rebelling against goals, I'm rebelling against the list — the wishes we all make of pie-in-the-sky dreams that would be awesome to achieve but will largely go undone. Don't believe me, though. This phenomenon has been pretty heavily researched, showing that we're not very good at resolving. We make the list, most of us don't achieve it, and then we settle ... or get depressed ... or get cynical ... or worse.

So, no to resolutions.

But for those of you who know me, you'll know that I'm an achiever. I'm a living, breathing stuff-getter-done-er. I can't even relax without planning out how I'll achieve relaxation. So how can I say such a thing as no to resolutions? Because resolutions don't work. But goals, with plans ... they do. In fact, setting goals and making plans works quite well.

So, no to resolutions. Yes to goals, with plans.

Here's how this works for me...

Goal I make a huge list of goals. I pray over it, talk to my wife about it, and edit it. But in about a week, I'll have settled on it. I put those goals in different categories (9 of them to be exact). Spiritual, physical, emotional/mental, marriage, kids, work, financial, educational, and miscellaneous. I write them down, print them out, and put a laminated list in my journal, on my iPhone, and a few other places where I can see them.

Plan For each goal, I make a plan. If I say I want to read my Bible in a year, how am I going to do that? If I want to write a new book, what's the schedule? What are the little goals to get the big goal done? I write those plans down and put the important dates in iCal, with reminders.

Maintenance I have a weekly, 1-hour appointment with myself. Phone is off, computer is closed, journal is open, list in view. I'm simply asking myself and Jesus, "How am I doing? How's the plan going? Holy Spirit, what needs to be added or changed?"

Celebrate When I achieve a goal, I celebrate! Not usually in a big way, but I at least thank God, buy a coffee, high-five my wife, or something. When you win, thank God and throw a party!

None of this is Bible, and none of it is law. But it's been working for me pretty well in 2013. In fact, my biggest goal of 2014 is just to do those four steps above more consistently.

Providence, and 4 Wrong Ways to Think About 2013

Here we are at the precipice of another year. The gyms are revving up their new year's campaigns, the self-help aisles in the book stores are fit to burst, and we're feeling the itch to make lists full of to-do's. But before we get too foam-at-the-mouth over this coming year, it may be helpful to think about the one we're leaving. When it comes to thinking about the past, we can make at least four mistakes:

Fatalism The fatalists are those among us who live by c'est la vie. This perspective sees the past as a series of uncontrollable events that "just happened." The fatalist views yesteryear like a line of dominos. One event touches another in a series that never stops. He copes with this by saying, "it is the way it is." He puts his head down. He moves on.

Activism The activist is the opposite of the fatalist. He's the can-do achiever who looks at the past like one big O.T.I. (which, according to previous coaches apparently means, "opportunity to improve.") Life doesn't happen to you, you happen to life, darn it, and life better watch out. The activist has a plan, has the will, and, if he ever references the past, only does so to achieve something in the future.

Futurism Speaking of the future, there's a fourth wrong way to look at the past, which is to neglect to do so at all. There are those among us who are futurists. If life were Disney World, they'd never leave Tomorrowland. The futurist is the one who says, "chin up, tomorrow will be better." Why does he say this? Who knows. But the futurist is convincing enough for himself, at least.

Victim-ism The final wrong perspective that eats our cultural lunch is victim-ism. The victim is like Rabbit from Winnie the Pooh, always wondering, "Why did this have to happen to me?" In our therapeutic culture, blaming everyone else for our own issues is as natural as instgram-ing that totes hilarious situation you were in that one time (See what I did there?) But blaming others for the pain doesn't help it, it just deflects it.

This all begs the question. What is a good way to look at the past? May I suggest the robustly biblical answer, through the perspective of providence? Providence affirms the following:

God is Strong Enough to Order History Only Jesus reveals a God who is strong enough to rule over time without obliterating personhood. How do we know? Jesus had a clear destiny. Born to die and rise. Yet, he wasn't a machine. He was a real man with real experiences. No other religion offers such a Deity. Not a fatalistic tinkerer, a Sovereign Savior.

God is Good Enough to Account for the Pain "But what about those painful parts of last year?" God rules over those too. But only Jesus reveals the kind of God who is good enough to account for the pain. Why? Because he's experienced more suffering than any of his children ever will, he can say, "I know this hurts, but trust me," and we can believe him.

God is Gracious Enough to Gift and to Wound God loves to give gifts to us. Over and over, the New Testament describes God like a great daddy, eager to give beautifully wrapped gifts to his kids. But God does not only give grace wrapped in bows, but veiled in pain. These are those graces that grow us up, prune us, hurt us, and help us. Like weight on the spiritual bar, or surgery on the spiritual problem, it hurts. But a perspective of providence allows us to see that God is the kind of dad who not only gives presents, but pressure. And like a good dad, he's not interested in us just having what we want, but becoming who must.

So before you and I pop the corks and toast 2014, let's look backwards with some proper perspective, thankful to God for those graces that were obvious, as well as the ones that were veiled in suffering.

A Good Black Friday Psalm...

If you're like me, you feel tempted on days like today to think that stuff = joy. Keeping up with the Joneses is the great American Holiday tradition. But before you give that lady the flying elbow for the underpriced LCD TV, just have a quick read...

But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled, my steps had nearly slipped. For I was envious of the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked ... But when I thought how to understand this it seemed to me a wearisome task, until I went into the sanctuary of God, then I discerned their end ... When my soul was embittered, when I was pricked in heart, I was brutish and ignorant; I was like a beast toward you.

Nevertheless, I am continually with you. You hold my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

Selections from Psalm 73

7 Things I'm Thankful For

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I thought I'd celebrate the day with 7 things for which I am thankful. I'm Thankful for Jesus No, I'm not just giving you a Jesus-juke. I'm grateful for my savior. He loved me while I was his enemy. He bled to beautify me. I will sing for 10,000 ages about his greatness and not yet have scratched the surface of his kindness.

I'm Thankful for Sanctification Jesus doesn't just save me. He grows me. He challenges me. He slays me. He prunes me. He loves me. He rebukes me. He trains me. This is our relationship. My Savior-Lord wants me to grow up. It hurts — a lot — but it's worth it.

I'm Thankful for My Wife She shouldn't be my wife, you know. She should be someone else's wife ... someone much nicer, kinder, more patient ... maybe someone with more hair. But she's mine. She chose me, and I her. She loves me, and I her. She doesn't let go of me, and I'm not letting go of her.

I'm Thankful for My Kids Kids are a gift. I have four healthy, happy, awesome kids. Being a daddy is great and really tough. I have four little mirrors who show me my need to be sanctified. I have four little people who have the potential to change the world for Jesus. I have four little reasons to fight the good fight of the faith. They're a blast, and they'll be gone before I know it. So, I'm drinking it all in now.

I'm Thankful for My Parents Having my own kids has shown me one more thing ... it must have been tough as nails to raise me. I was not an easy, cheerful, obedient young lad. My mom and dad must've wanted to put me up for sale a time or two. They didn't. They raised me, paid for me, fed me, put up with me, housed me, drove me to school. I'm really grateful for all that.

I'm Thankful for My Spiritual Family The men and women with whom I have the privilege of walking is unbelievable. My spiritual sons and daughters, aunts and uncles, fathers and mothers ... they know who they are. I'm so glad I don't go to a church, but I'm part of a spiritual family. Going to church is boring. Belonging to a family is exhilarating.

I'm Thankful for My Stuff God's given me stuff. Not a ton of it, but enough of it. A bit of money, a car, a house ... everything I need. I don't own it, Jesus does. He lets me hang on to it. I want to steward it. I want to give a lot of it away. I want to improve it. The best part is, I don't live for it. I'm grateful for it, without being beholden to it.

I don't know if you've done it yet, but take a moment. Look over your life for evidences of grace and, be thankful. It's a good day for it.

To Hell with Authenticity

Your bag is burlap. You prefer records to mp3's. Whole Foods is too corporate for you. Everything you own is made by Apple (which for some reason isn't too corporate for you.) You're authentic.

And nothing says "authentic" like an instagram effect on the staged picture of your life you really want everyone to see so they know how great your most recent sun flare'd cup of organic, ethically-sourced tea you tasted. But by the time you were done staging the picture, it was cold. It stinks when authenticity horns in on real life...

Our current cultural moment values with unique ardor the "authentic" individual—everyone being fully themselves. This is a movement driven by my generation. And historically speaking, 18-35 year-olds are great at knowing who they are, aren't they? It's the cultural equivalent of changing my son's name to Iron Man because he's convinced (at 3 years old) that's who he really wants to be. Sound ridiculous? That's because it is. Yet, everything about my generation is connected to this vain endeavor. Gender—which one most authentically fits you? Sex—what most satisfies you? Politics—what best represents your values? Money—what view of economic justice and policy resonates most deeply within your soul? Doug Wilson puts it this way,

We want our jeans authentic (pre-ripped at the factory), our apples authentic (grown locally instead of somewhere else),  our music authentic (underground bands nobody ever heard of), our lettuce authentic (organically manured), our literature authentic (full of angst), our movies authentic (subtitles), and our coffee tables authentic (purchased from a genuine peasant while we were on some eco-tour). In short, we are a bunch of phonies.

I'm convinced that when the history of my generation is written, many will scratch their heads and wonder why we were so fixated on being personally authentic. The reasons for this large-scale psychosis are many... repression, confusion, social dissolution, and many other "_____tion" kinds of words. But at bottom, the most basic reason is clear as day: Ego.

Chasing Authenticity is Selfish "But wait!" You say. "How can being authentic be selfish? Isn't it selfish of you to ask me be something other than myself?" And yes, I suppose you may have a point, if that's what I were saying. But I'm not. No one likes a faker. What I'm saying is that you chasing your essential you is just that... living for number one. We have a word for that in the English language: selfishness.

Chasing Authenticity is Unloving Because the pursuit of authenticity is selfish, it is therefore unloving. Biblical love is pouring out your life for the life of another. It's finding your joy in the joy of another. It's essentially Trinitarian and essentially Christ-like. But did Jesus spend his thirty years before his public ministry living in Mary and Joseph's basement, listening to vintage records, reading Marxist literature and discovering himself? No. He spent his early years preparing himself for his public ministry. He came to love us which meant not living primarily for his own sake.

Chasing Authenticity is Inauthentic Perhaps the most tragic reality about striving for authenticity is that it makes you the most fake, plastic person possible. Becoming who you are is not a goal, but a side effect of becoming like Christ. Jesus said that in order to live, you have to embrace death. Death to self—even the authentic, organic, burlap, Apple, ethically-sourced, self. Only then, when you've died to you and all your precious, nuanced ways you've come to identify you will you truly live.

So I say to hell with authenticity. May the vain pursuit of personal preciousness perish along with all other lesser loves, cheaper joys, and distracting sirens. For if we do not cast this foolishness into outer darkness, then we will very likely be taken there by it in the end.

Fans vs. Friends

In our celebrity culture, obtaining fans becomes the highest possible means of self-actualization. One can literally measure one's cultural value just by checking how many "friends" (scare-quotes intentional) you have on Facebook, followers on Twitter, and fans in the audience of your life. But lurking under the fine veneer of fandom we've painted for ourselves is the void of friendlessness. And woe to the man or woman who has many fans but no friends. So what are the differences between fans and friends? Here are 5 of them: Fans cheer when you're good, Friends cheer when you're not Everyone loves a winner. I don't watch much football, but even I watch the Super Bowl. Why? Because I love to watch the best two teams play. I love to watch the winners. If you lead anything, someone will cheer for you, but who's cheering for you when you fail? Who is by your side encouraging you when the adversaries surround? I'll tell you who: a friend, not a fan.

Fans say convenient truth, Friends speak hard truth Fans acknowledge something true—easy truth. Truth about your strengths. Obvious, happy truth. But what about hard truth? Recently I had a friend tell me some hard truth. It wasn't fun for either of us. It even stung a little. But the sting of truth spoken by a friend is a faithful wound—a sign of friendship, not fandom.

Fans are shallow, Friends are deep Fans don't know you. They know your stage presence. They know your writing. They know your leadership. They know what you're good at. Therefore, they develop a two-dimensional, shallow, false view of you. Friends know you—strengths and weaknesses, gifts and growth areas. They know the deep you. And by the way, you need deep. You can't live on shallow relationships. They will warp your soul from its deep design into a twisted, flaky breakable shell.

Fans run from failure, Friends run to help The rise into fandom is euphoric. The albums are selling, the audience is cheering, the opportunities are opening, and everything seems up and to the right. But then you fail. Then you skid. Then something happens. Where are the fans? Cheering at someone else better than you, that's where. That's because fans run from falling stars. But before the crushing weight of failure destroys you, who comes to your aid? Friends. Fans are scared you'll fail. Friends know when you do, you won't be alone.

Fans will destroy you, Friend will save you You've heard the axiom, "don't believe your own press." Well fans are the ones who print the press about you. And once you start to believe your press, you become untethered from the solid ground of reality and float directly toward the stratosphere of self-deception where the oxygen of truth is thin and suffocation is certain. Friends will save you from floating away. They root you, ground you, and keep you alive.

So what are you? Are you a friend or a fan? Do you surround yourself with friends or fans? Now's a good time to decide before the hall is empty and you stand alone on the stage of your life accompanied only by the cavernous silence of fans who've come and gone.

A Theology of Mom

Since one of the stated goals of modern society is the erasure of gender identity, it comes as no surprise that with Mother's Day approaching, some on the fringes are crying sexism. Normally the fringes don't bother me all that much. Crazy's been around for a long time, and that's not likely to change. But our culture has apparently installed an HOV lane from crazy straight into the downtown district of normal, because normal is changing at a rapid pace. So, here's a brief theology of the glorious gift of mom. It seems to me a wonderful idea to celebrate moms. I have a mom. I'm married to a mom. I pastor a bunch of moms. And since the idea of showing honor to one another is entirely biblical, celebrating our mothers is not only appropriate, but wonderful.

Motherhood is a Created Good This one's no longer obvious, so I'll just state it plainly. God made motherhood, and He made it good. Motherhood is part of the created order itself—what Lewis might call the "deep magic." In Genesis 1-2, God made man and woman and gave them a mandate to be fruitful and multiply. Part of God's intentionality in making everything was to make women who became moms. No, motherhood isn't a form of cultural misogyny, cast upon women to oppress them. Has it been used that way in the past? Sure. But when God made everything, he made motherhood as a good, intentional, beautiful gift. Therefore celebrating motherhood can be worshipful as we say, "God, thank you for your good gift of motherhood! Thank you for the good gift of mom!" To think of motherhood as anything other than a good gift given to women is to think very differently than God.

Motherhood is a Gift of Femininity  I remember going to city hall to register the birth of my first son. I sat down across the desk from the woman in the office of registration. She began to ask me questions. Name. Address. Occupation. "Pastor," I said.

"Your wife?" she asked.

"She's a homemaker and a mom," I said.

She looked at me with one brow lifted, "So, she doesn't have a real job, then?"

"You mean like sitting at a desk at City Hall?" She got my point, I think.

Culture (and by that I mean us) doesn't value women as mothers as much as we value them as bodies and jobs. We'll buy their albums as long as they're super sexualized on the album cover. We'll celebrate them as long as they're fit. We'll sing their praises if they achieve something in their careers, when they dress well, have nice homes, or become sexually liberated (whatever that means). If moms are celebrated all, it's only when they have a baby and get their abs back in two weeks. Somehow, we've dislodged motherhood from femininity. But this is not the picture God gives us. Proverbs 31 gives us an amazing picture of a woman of valor, dignity, and deep beauty. What's she like? She's a mom, a wife, a businesswoman, a lover of God, and loving to others. Her abs, breasts, and fierceness are never mentioned. Not even once.

All this doesn't mean you have to be a mom to be a real woman. It simply means that motherhood is a gift of womanhood. Gifts should be celebrated.

Godly Moms can Change the World It's not hyperbole to say the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. In my own experience, the amount of influence that my wife exercises over my kids constantly amazes me. She is making four little disciples all day, every day. These four little people will grow to be and do something—hopefully something amazing like, I don't know, become mothers like her.

The influence of godly mothers is replete in history. Western civilization wouldn't be what it is without St. Augustine. He wouldn't have been who he was without his mother, Monica. Her prayers and guidance moved him from being a cult-member and sex-addict to the brilliant church father love. America wouldn't be the nation it is without men like John and Charles Wesley. Their mother, Susanna, bore 17 children, losing more than half of them. She faithfully raised her kids and as a result, we got her sons. Susanna Edwards, wife of Jonathan (easily the greatest theologian America has ever produced) gave birth to generations of good, godly influence—13 college presidents, 86 college professors, 430 ministers, 314 war veterans, 75 authors, 100 lawyers, 30 judges, 66 physicians, and 80 holders of public office, including 3 U.S. Senators, 7 congressman, mayors of 3 large cities, governors of 3 states, a Vice-President of the United States, and a controller of the United States Treasury—all from her and her progeny. Moms—diaper changing, boo boo kissing, husband loving, child rearing, working, loving, totally normal human moms—can change the world.

So here's to you, moms. You hold an office created by God for good and glory. Your motherhood is a gift of your femininity. Your influence is unthinkably great upon the future. To fail to celebrate that would be a horrible mistake, one which I mean to avoid by wishing you a deep, profound, and joyful Mother's Day.

Loving Dzhokhar

(The following is an article I had the pleasure of writing for Leadership Journal's Blog.) On the way to work yesterday, I was disturbed. As I scanned through the radio stations, more than once I heard calls to "round up the terrorists," to "send those foreigners home," or worse yet, to "eradicate the Muslim threat." Looking for distracting music I was confronted with destructive hatred. When I arrived at my office, I perused a few news sites and found the world of editorial journalism wasn't faring much better. "What does their religion matter?" one editorial asks. Another, "So what if they were Muslim?"

I'm observing two distinct and unhelpful reactions to the apparent Jihadist terrorism that has struck our city. The first is the xenophobic, racial, and even religious hatred of our Muslim neighbors. The other is the willful ignorance of the religious connection to these terrorists acts—the blind assumption that all religions are created equal. Neither are good. Neither are truthful. And more importantly, neither are Christ-like.

It is obvious to the liberal mind that hatred of our Muslim neighbors is wrong. It is not obvious to the liberal mind that one can observe what is immoral in one religion without hating all of its people, being a racist, a bigot, or a backwards fundamentalist—a favorite straw man of our time. This is why the liberal mind (and the conservative mind, for that matter) must experience a change of mind. Christians must have Christian minds. So how are we to think about our Muslim neighbors? About Islam? Even about Dzhokhar Tsarnaev?

Christians Should Believe Christianity is Right To quote Tim Keller (which is almost always a good idea) It is no more narrow to claim that one religion is right than to claim that one way to think about all religions is right. It just won't work to say, "All religions, faiths, and belief systems are equally valid, and if you don't agree you're a bigot." The idea falls in on itself because, in making a claim that exclusivity is wrong, you're excluding the exclusivist. Darn that logic, ruining all our fun.

Christians do, in fact, believe that Christianity is right. And by the way, not believing Christianity is right is not Christian love, it's hate. Jesus is the self-described savior of the world, forgiver of sin, and restorer of humanity. If he is who he claimed to be (and Christians believe he is) then to not proclaim that news to the whole world is twisted and sadistic. Our silence is preventing them from obtaining the cure to what is broken within them and all of us. What kind of love is that? In the name of not wanting to offend anyone we implicitly condemn everyone. I'm glad that Jesus didn't love me like that.

Christians Should Believe Loving our Neighbor is Right Perhaps you say, "If Christians believe Christianity is right, then they won't love their neighbors. They'll condemn everyone else, especially Muslims." But I would say that if Christians really believe Christianity is right, then we'll be fiercely committed to Christ, who commanded us to love our neighbor. How did Jesus interact with those of different religions? Ask the woman at the well. She was a Samaritan. Ask the Roman official. He was a pagan. Did Jesus have an interfaith worship service, affirming the equality of their own paths to God? No. Did he picket them, getting the disciples to stir up racial or national hatred against them? No.

Jesus demonstrated his unique, exclusive grace by talking with them, loving them, and changing their lives. If our cultural values have drifted so far as to call this behavior hateful, then color me hateful. I'll be glad to be in the same camp as Jesus. Hopefully all Christians would be.

Christians Should Believe in Sin We shouldn't wring our hands and have to qualify our hatred of evil. Jesus didn't. When we see evil in the world, call it evil. When we see evil in the church, call it evil. When we see evil in other religions, call it evil. If Christians, who are supposed to know Truth, cannot identify evil, we merely demonstrate that we are either wrong, ignorant, or complicit with the evil we won't name. This does the world no favors. The ubiquity of evil is part of the gospel. Jesus' life, death, and resurrection makes precisely no sense whatsoever if evil is not real, horrible, and everywhere.

But of course, evil is real, horrible, and everywhere. That's the problem with it. The biblical word for this problem is sin. The horror of sin contrasts the wonder of Jesus' grace. If we refuse to see the horror, then we'll miss the wonder. If we don't help the world see the horror, then we can rest assured they'll miss the wonder as well.

Christians Should Believe in Grace After we name the evil, we must keep talking. Part of the problem with the culture war was that it went about loudly labeling the wrong while much more quietly proclaiming the right. If we believe Christianity is right then we will invite everyone everywhere (including our Muslim neighbors whom we love) to experience the grace extended to humanity by Jesus Christ.

This is not a glib, cheap invitation, by the way. Grace is a costly, bloody thing. The cycle of violence and hatred stops at the cross because God’s justice was poured out on his innocent Son for a guilty humanity. If God has done this for a race like ours, then it shows that we are both totally guilty in our sin and unimaginably loved in Christ’s grace.

Christians aren't better than Muslims. Christians aren't better than Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. We share in the same fallenness they do. We must love them like Christ. We must talk to them like Christ. We must invite them to Christ.

Doing all of that requires that we first start thinking like Christ.

The Smoke Clears: On Tragedy and Mission

As I stood and sang with hundreds of other Christians, "It is well with my soul," my heart was filled with hope. I was, along with other pastors, praying for the grace of God to shower our hurting home. In solidarity we were gathered, keenly aware of the presence of God with us. It was a great experience... interrupted. Leaving, I walked through the streets of downtown. An eery hush marked a city known for noise. The place seemed abandoned, except for military and police personnel—like something out of a sci-fi movie. The church meeting felt full. The city felt empty. This contrasting experience caused me to wonder what the church's next step should be. Honestly, I felt something like frustration. "Surely," I wondered, "there must be more Christians can do than pray and sing. Surely we can scatter as powerfully as we gather." I wasn't the only one felt this way. A friend in our church who came from the same event, through the same streets, summed it up by saying, "A simple 'is everyone here okay?' elicited streams of conversation from a shop clerk, a waiter—those who watched hundreds wander through their doors on Monday. Boston is aching and has no idea how to really, truly make it better."

So as the smoke clears, what's the church's move? Walking through downtown I found myself asking, "Lord, show me what you want us to do." I walked. I wondered. After some waiting, a thought occurred. Perhaps it was memory, perhaps divine guidance. I'm not skilled enough to parse between the two. But the thought came as though God himself were saying, "I've already told you what to do. Go." I knew what that mean. For the Christian, "go" is a very meaningful word. "Go" is the standing order that Jesus himself gave to the church which, until he returns, is in effect. We're to go to the hurting, empty streets. We're to go to the aching who can't make it better.

Going, by the way, doesn't mean simply showing up with water, blankets, and medicine. I mean, this is Boston. The best hospitals in the universe are here. It's a world-class city. The people don't lack for much, materially speaking. So when we go, what—or more accurately, who—do we bring? Well, put simply, Jesus. The city doesn't need my stuff, they need my savior.

Tragedy has a unique power to open the human heart to its frailty—to true need. If that is true, then should we not bring truest grace to truest need? The dramatic contrast between the prayer meeting and my street walking shook me. My city is hurting. Could it be that his people have a moment to speak to the pain that we're all suddenly aware of? Isn't it possible that God, in making beauty rise from ashes, is opening an opportunity to speak this truth? I think it's more than possible, it's what God does. The gospel of Jesus' death and resurrection shows us that God is able to make the greatest good arise from the most torturous evil. The emotional whiplash I felt between my two experiences last night showed me at least this: Boston should get a shot at singing, too. The church has to go into this city.

Yes, I will sing "It is well with my soul." And as the smoke clears from this tragedy, I'm going work harder than ever to invite Boston to sing along with me.

A Pastor's Perspective on the Attacks on my City

Today at 2:50pm two bombs went off in my city. These bombs, designed to injure, did their work. At least two were killed, and hundreds were injured. All of this leaves us with questions. Who did this? More desperately, why? The Boston Police will, along with the FBI, launch a full-scale investigation. And the brave and gifted officers and investigators will doubtless find the individuals responsible. After that, pundits and politicians will start to work on policy changes to insure this doesn't happen again. Then, when time has passed, other politicians will use this as an issue to show their side has the answers.

But behind all of that work, much of good, lies the why. Deeper than culture. Deeper than religion. Deeper than policies, nations, kings, money, and every other reason we will hear in the coming days to explain this act of violence lies the reason truest of all: sin. All of us—friends and enemies, kings and peasants—are touched and marred by this realty. We are all alike fallen from grace. And now, having our visions skewed, perpetrate actions of sin against one another from a cloudy heart which all the while believes itself to be in the right. The broken breaking the broken.

And yet, tragedy like this shows us another aspect of ourselves. It's the part we see when perfect strangers run headlong into the smoke of fresh explosions to help their fallen neighbors. We see it when a man removes his shirt to dress a wound. A doctor manages his ER in the face of overwhelming injury. A citizen opens his home to those without one tonight. We are all alike fallen, this is true. And yet there's more to us. We are also image-bearers. There's something of God—his likeness—which comes out even in the darkest of moments. Especially in them.

And this duality should tell us something. We are fallen, but not merely. We are a race of insurgents against God made in the image of the very God against whom we've rebelled. Love, art, charity, grace—these are ours because they were given to us by Him. So what are we to make of it all? What are we to think when tragedy mingles with beauty? When pain accompanies grace? When blood spills with tears? We could start by calling to mind the cosmic event wherein this happened first and finally.

There was one who not only showed us the image of God, but was His exact likeness. He, shining like the sun, brought grace and truth, kindness and undeserved mercy. And... He also experienced the deepest and darkest violence humanity has ever accomplished—the destruction of the image of God, Christ himself. There, tragedy mingled with beauty, pain accompanied grace, and the blood of God himself spilt along with his tears. The gospel shows us that, in Christ, darkness, selfishness, terror, sin, and depravity can be and will be once and finally overcome. That's the hope—the only hope—for the deepest why of pain.

Tonight I'm praying for my great city. I'm praying that the image of God within her will rise above the brokenness which marks her. But, cosmically speaking, there's only one way that happens—and it's not when we simply look within. The deep problem lives within too. The image of God within us must connect—or reconnect—with the likeness of God sent for us, Jesus himself.

Yes, tonight I'm praying for my city. I'm praying for the victims. I'm praying for the first responders. I'm praying for families. But most of all, I'm praying for that grace which comes from God alone to overcome all that besets her.

Please, pray with me.