Month: October 2017

Here I Stand

Here I Stand

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A Gideon handed out Bibles in my second grade class. Back then I thought it was a holy book, filled with mysteries and wonder. Not that I read it, of course. The little orange book was the entire New Testament preserved on unimaginably thin pages. King James version, of course. Although I thumbed through it quite a few times, for some reason the only verse I remember reading was John 3:16. I memorized that one. For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.

I took a different path, and decades of skepticism and atheism followed. Occasionally I’d skim through the Bible looking for a verse or two that could demonstrate how full of nonsense it really was. I approached the book arrogantly, holding tight to my preconceptions. I found in it exactly what I wanted to find, as long as I didn’t dig too deep.

Somehow, against all expectation and probability, I found Christ at 32. The most dramatic piece of the story is that it didn’t conform to any stereotype I always claimed brought people to faith. I wasn’t at rock bottom. There was no personal crisis. Life made sense and I wasn’t looking for a crutch. I didn’t do it for the kids. I just stumbled into the presence of God and couldn’t look away. Not long after, I returned to the Word with determination and intentionality. And now, here I stand.

Hundreds of years ago, many brave men and women did the same. Opening Bibles, they dropped presuppositions and allowed themselves to be transformed by the Word of God. Countless brave souls gave their lives for the truth they discovered. Once touched by the Word, they simply could not turn back. Many echoed the words of Polycarp, who when threatened with death replied, “Eighty and six years have I served Christ, nor has He ever done me any harm. How, then, could I blaspheme my King who saved Me?”

Today we commemorate the 500th anniversary of the Reformation. Before there were hammers and theses, there was an opening of the Word. Although a trained Augustinian monk, reading the book of Romans transformed his world. Like many before (Waldo, Hus, Wycliffe, and so many more) and many since, humbly seeking God through His inerrant and preserved Word changed the trajectory of that young monk’s life. It changed the course of history as well.

I’ve been reading, studying, meditating on, and teaching the Bible for about a decade now. I don’t claim that it’s easy or obvious, but this book and this pursuit has been nothing less than transformational. I don’t claim to have changed history, but my time in the Word has transformed my marriage, family, community, and myself. It has lead me into experiences more deep, rich, and joyful than any from my first 32 years of life. It has sustained me during unspeakable hurt and tragedy. Here I stand. I can do no other. I long for everyone to experience this as well.

Today, while many around the world commemorate the 500th anniversary of the beginning of the reformation, join me in spending time in the Word. Whatever your belief system or worldview, grab a Bible (or Bible app) and turn to Luke. The first couple of chapters are familiar and will go quickly. You can read the entire book in a couple of hours, or break it up over a couple of days. But read it. Let go of assumptions and read it with fresh eyes. And please, ask me questions. I love questions.

Evidence

Evidence

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“Jesus may have been a nice guy and a good teacher, but that was all he was.”

Honestly, I’ve always had a touch of rebellion in me. Growing up in a small Bible-belt town, I was one of very few people claiming to be an atheist. One huge reason I rejected religion (and particularly Christianity) was a lack of evidence.

“I only believe what I can prove with science,” I boldly claimed. “The Bible is a bunch of stuff a bunch of guys wrote. They were trying to explain things they didn’t know. We pretty much know all that stuff now. Science has explained it.”

I didn’t exactly go on a quest for truth. I didn’t seem necessary. None of the Christians I talked to could answer my questions. They had one consistent answer for me. “You just have to have faith.” I felt like they wanted me to turn off my brain. If they didn’t have answers, I assumed answers weren’t out there. My worldview was largely unchallenged, so I thought I must be right. Plus, it was kind of nice to live a life free from the fear of some controlling, cosmic grandpa who delighted in punishing us when we stepped outside his completely unreasonable lines. No thanks. Not for me.

Obviously, I wasn’t the first person to wander this path. I now know that countless others have clung to similar views. It’s even in vogue now.

A couple of decades before my high school years, Josh McDowell had many of the same objections to the Christian faith. Unlike me, he dove into it for himself. His quest was to empirically prove his Christian friends wrong, once and for all. Years of meticulous, global study into the historical evidence led him to a surprising, undeniable conclusion. It was true. Not only was Jesus a real historical figure, there is compelling historical evidence he performed miracles, was crucified, and resurrected. The Bible is a historically reliable book. Our Old Testament was accurately transmitted from generation to generation, and this is provable. The Biblical contradictions I found in my atheist literature were easily explained with sound, reasonable, repeatable, and consistent interpretive techniques. Piece after piece fell into place for Josh. He wrote it all down and published it a couple of years before I was born.

In all those years of arrogant posturing, I had no idea such a resource existed. McDowell’s “Evidence that Demands a Verdict” is a presentation of an accumulation of facts that must be faced and dealt with by any seeker of truth. This evidence lead him to a clear conclusion…Jesus was not merely a good man and good teacher. He was exactly who he claimed to be…the son of God, sent to earth as the redeemer of mankind. The claims of Christianity are true. Empirically and undeniably. Even the miracles.

The reason I tell you all this is because I finally got my hands on the book.  A new edition has been released, which has been expanded and updated by Josh and his son Sean. While largely building a case based on historical evidence, it also addresses popular philosophical questions too. It touches on the post-modern claim that there is no such thing as absolute truth, or that if there is, it can’t truly be known. It addresses objections to miracles by stating and answering objections by Hume, Spinoza, and countless others. It’s a comprehensive guide for both skeptics and believers.

Even with all this content, my favorite part of this book is Josh McDowell’s testimony, which opens the book. As compelling as the objective evidence is, hearing what McDowell endured as a child and then seeing how God has redeemed those lost years and healed his heart is powerful. To understand the broken view of fatherhood that Josh knew as a child, and then read his testimony in a book coauthored by Josh and his own son…it brings tears of joy.

Someday I’d like to write a conversation between my old and new selves. I’d like to be that person with answers that the younger me never could find. Perhaps it could help open a few eyes to the truth behind the hope that I have within me. When I write that, this book will likely be by my side, providing clarity as I respond to that young man…the young me…who so desperately wanted the truth but didn’t know where to look.

Whether you’re a Christian or not, you owe it to yourself to explore these topics. If there is even the most remote chance that Christianity is true, it’s the most important question in life. Plus, it is even more critical that a believer today be able to rationally defend and share his or her faith. Non-believers must ask themselves “if Christianity were proven to be true, would I convert?” If the answer is yes, this one book contains most of the evidence for you to examine and decide. If the answer is no, you aren’t seeking truth after all. That, by itself, is incredibly enlightening.

Check out Josh’s site here. Grab your own copy of the book here.

 

Disclaimer: I was honored to be on the launch team for the new edition of “Evidence that Demands a Verdict.” While there was no direct compensation for participation on this team and my enthusiasm for this volume is very real, I wanted to mention that I was given an advanced look at this work. 

The familiar pit: Grief

The familiar pit: Grief

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A side effect of a summer full of travel surfaced recently. Hours after midnight, I’ll sit straight up in bed and fumble for the lights in a mad panic. My disoriented mind attempts to discover if I’m in a hotel in Brazil, a condo by the ocean, or a sleeper train on my way to Scotland. In the dark, I could be anywhere. As the light suddenly fills the room, two questions pop into my head:

Where am I? How did I get here?

My eyes quickly find familiar objects…my lamp. The picture on the wall. My dresser. My wife. Those answers give me perspective. Context. Even though my heart is racing, the adrenaline begins to subside. My breathing slows. Awareness of my situation helps me move on. I am not entirely unchanged…even though I’m safe at home in bed, this is disruptive. I’ll be a little extra cranky tomorrow. The memory of panic will return throughout the day. Yet the truth shines through… I’m home.

Experiencing the same grief again is a similar emotional process. Self help sites and well-meaning friends may tell us grief is something we process, move through, and get over. At some point we should be better. We can expect life to be normal again. The truth is, when we lose someone we love dearly, their absence leaves a hole in our world. It’s possible to stumble into that hole again and again for the rest of our lives. When we do, we find ourselves disoriented and confused, like my panicked fumbling in the middle of the night. To find our way through it, we ask those same two questions:

Where am I? How did I get here?

Recently I found myself in that familiar pit again. Like most of us, I’ve experienced loss. Grief is familiar. I’ve recently learned that when it comes, accepting and pressing into it is much healthier than denial or avoidance. Acknowledge it for what it is without minimizing it or giving it more control than it deserves. Understand that the deep hurt is a reflection and validation of love known, experienced, and lost.

Just like the whimsy of love can drop in at any time, grief can as well. That’s what happened this time. I was staring blankly at my screen. When my screensaver kicked on, my mind snapped back to the present. “This is a familiar darkness…hello again, grief.” 

 

Although the weight had settled into my soul the day before, I finally recognized it for what it was. I was in the pit. Oh, but I knew that first key answer. Where am I? I’m in the pit. I’m mourning. Recognizing my surroundings was vital.

 

There hasn’t been a personal loss in my life lately, though. So the next question became key. Just like in my jet-lagged panic, I first had to answer:  How did I get here?

Our minds work in strange ways. Although mysterious, they aren’t entirely unpredictable. As autumn approaches and the daylight hours decrease, I tend to drift toward melancholiness. This was different. It was triggered by something. I realized social media had been showing me memories of my past.

This time, it wasn’t the anniversary of a loss that led me to the pit again. Instead, it was the anniversary of the beginning of a relationship that ultimately left me heartbroken. I had been revisiting the start of a life-changing relationship that would be cut short mere months later. Seeing the beginning prompted my mind to revisit the entire journey, including those familiar feelings about what might have been.

The wounds became fresh again. I’ve heard a broken bone become stronger than the original once it has mended. I don’t think that’s true of our emotional breaks. Years later they can still be uncovered and be once again raw and sensitive. Falling into the pit of grief reminds us that the wounds on our heart never fully heal. The pit remains because the love remains, which can be a freeing thought. Grief is a consequence of love, and love is worth it. Understanding this key helps validate our time in the pit, even years later. It frees us to feel the pain without the self-condemnation that often accompanies it.

It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to mourn again. In that way, these wounds that remain fresh do ultimately strengthen us emotionally by allowing us to revisit that love and acknowledge the loss. When we allow ourselves to feel the loss again, we also give ourselves permission to experience the joy, too. The scars we live with aren’t unlike those on Christ’s hands and feet, which the Bible tells us are eternal. Those scars are a reminder of the permanence of love. He thought it was worth it. We should, too.

My time in this particular pit had a wonderful outcome this time. By allowing myself to feel the loss, I began to remember why the loss was so deep. It wasn’t because of the way that relationship ended. The reason I find myself in this pit again is because of the joy, good times, and love. I don’t miss the ending, I miss the during. So I reached out, because in this case I can. An incredible conversation followed, and a bit of a reconnection happened. A ray of light broke through the darkness of that pit. 

Even though revisiting the pit is ultimately beneficial, it’s important to remember that life does go on. Although it is vital to allow ourselves to feel the emotions of grief and loss when they return, it is just as important to press forward into the remaining days we have been given. 

Although we glance back over our shoulder at times, our life is meant to be lived looking forward. The keys to the journey out of the pit are similar to flipping on the lights in my confused state in the darkness. Answering where am I and how did I get here was the first step for me in this new journey through this old pit.

I’ve walked this road before. I’ve been in this particular pit before. Although it’s not exactly pleasant, the familiarity makes it easier. Remembering the love that was found…the special times we shared…these things cast light into the pit. Light illuminates the path.