God Gets It Right... Again

The Lord decided to take my friend Sarah home to His kingdom just minutes after I finished my last post.

I find that remarkable. To explain why, let me give you an abbreviated timeline of events for last week leading up to Wednesday, the day Sarah succumbed to the beastly disease of cancer.

The  previous Friday I worked, then went to my second job, followed by dinner and shopping with an old friend. The weekend was filled with cooking and fun family gatherings, along with church activities. Monday I returned to work, had dinner with a friend, and went to my financial class in the evening. Tuesday, work again, then allergy shots and a prayer gathering.

By Wednesday, I was ready for a break. However, my own church has a weekly prayer meeting, which I often neglect (cue embarrassment emoji). No good reason. I guess, like most of us, I'm lazy at heart. I had an extra reason to want to beg off this particular week, as our pastor had announced Sunday morning that we would be setting up for our Christmas luncheon after - you guessed it - prayer meeting.

What to do? The spirit truly was willing, but, oh, that weak flesh!

My mind settled on a compromise that my conscience could live with. I had only visited Sarah once since having learned her battle with cancer was coming to an end. December is a loaded month, but how often does one have the honor of sharing in another person's eternal homegoing? I decided to contact Sarah and see if she was up for a visit, in lieu of going to prayer meeting. I knew we would pray and read Scripture together, and maybe I could serve her in some small way. Surely the Lord would understand.

When I received no reply to a text sent that morning, I called Sarah's phone in the afternoon; got voice mail. Shortly after, my pastor's wife texted the following: "I'm with Sarah now and she's not up for a visit."

Now things start to get a bit confusing, so I'll quote the text conversation that ensued.

Me: OK please hug her for me

Pastor's wife: I will!!! Keep her in prayer

Me: For sure

That last text went out at 3:20 PM. At 4:23, my son's girlfriend, Brielle, who happens to be the daughter of our pastor and his wife, texted me, "Please keep Sarah in your prayers a little extra. We don't think she'll make it to the weekend (heartbreak emoji).

I thought such news required a phone call, but Brielle didn't pick up, so I texted, "I love her. My heart is aching too."

Again, in the interest of clarity, I'm going to revert to the text conversation.

Brielle: I can't talk right now because she's asked me and my dad and my mom to be with her for a bit but she is really declining. She can't really talk right now either.

Me: I understand. Tell her I love her and will remember her and her kids and grandkids in my prayers.

Brielle: I did tell her and she got a smile on her face.

That last text was at 4:52 PM. I knew at that point my place was not with Sarah, because she had  already called for all the people she needed by her side. A private person, Sarah didn't want a crowd; she just needed her family and closest friends.

My mind turned to Anita, our cherished family friend and stand-in grandma for my kids and baby grandson. She's been there for my sons since they lost their last biological grandparent 14 years ago, coming to school events and graduations and everything in-between. Anita, who served as "Grandma" at my son's wedding, and forced her uncooperative body to the hospital to see my newborn grandson, who now calls her "Nana" and sits on her lap.

Sarah was on her way to glory, surrounded by the people she loved most. Anita was and still is with us, and I was meant to be with her at that moment.

I found a providential parking space outside Anita's house, and her car in the driveway. Approaching her steps, I could hear the kiln humming through the basement window.

She was home, doing what she loves best - making pottery to beautify the world and put smiles on faces. She welcomed me with open arms, as she always does.

After awhile, my sister joined us, and we began talking about going to prayer meeting. We knew our pastor would leave Sarah's side only to care for the rest of his flock that evening, and we wanted to support him and all our brethren, who would soon be diminished by one.

Reality reared its ugly head. What to do about helping with the Christmas lunch setup? I had just enough energy to pray with fellow believers, but after such an emotional day and busy week, I would be useless at work the next day if I tried to do it all. If you read my previous post, you know the rest. Jane served in my stead, and I went home to get some sleep.

But first, I posted my blog article, which God practically dictated on the way home from prayer meeting. Unlike most of my writing, it went out to the public largely unedited, as I felt its message was simple yet profound and needed little tweaking from my humble fingers. I wrote it in less than an hour, and it hit my readers around 9:15 PM.

I received this message from Brielle at 10:03: "Sarah has passed on to be with the Lord"

Me: Thank you. I treasure what u guys did for her. God saw and won't forget

Brielle: I love you (heart emoji) my mom gave her a hug for you.

I later learned Sarah actually entered into heaven about 9:30, mere minutes after I finished the last task God assigned to me for the day. I wasn't at her bedside, but she received hugs and assurances on my behalf by those who were assigned to be with her. Moreover, it was only by divine intervention that I heeded the call to contact her at all on the very day she died. If I hadn't been trying to evade a task I wasn't assigned to (luncheon setup), I likely wouldn't have contacted Sarah that day. With gift buying and all the other insanity that Christmas isn't about, I would have continued busying myself with holiday mayhem, and missed my final opportunity to communicate with a friend I loved.

"Remarkable" really doesn't cover it.

"A God thing" comes a little bit closer.

As usual, the word of God says it best:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; 

in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths." 

~ Proverbs 3:5-6 ~

Substitution - the Antidote to Pride

A friend of mine is dying of cancer. Our friendship has been short but sweet. We've had exactly two visits and a handful of phone chats, but the bulk of our relationship has consisted of text conversations. Still, there's a closeness I feel towards this dear soul which is hard for me to explain. Perhaps it's our sisterhood in Christ and some similarities in our circumstances. Perhaps it's just a bond of peace from the Holy Spirit.

Whatever it is, I'll miss her until we meet again in heavenly splendor.

When I learned today that her earthly end is near, I asked if I could visit. The answer came back via my pastor and his family, who have been at her side today and through this whole ordeal. They are ministering to her, and that's all the fellowship she can handle.

Having kept vigil at the death beds of both my parents and several beloved friends, I know what it is that I'm missing. Death's approach isn't pretty, but somehow it's a privilege to participate in the final hours of someone you love.

Yet, God has closed the door on this particular mission for me. I'm not called to this watch. The Lord, evidently, has assigned it to my pastor's family, and they are tending to our friend lovingly. He will reward them in due time, and all is as it should be.

How wonderful that God in His wisdom doesn't assign every task to me! That's what the Body of Christ is all about. Sometimes I forget that and try to take on more than I'm called to do, which usually ends in disaster. For tonight, thankfully, that isn't the case.

It seems my life lately has been replete with gracious substitution. In an unrelated matter, my cherished sister stepped forward tonight to spare me a chore for which I had no energy. Truth be told, she's a constant source of fruitful endeavor, from which I frequently benefit.

As I left church tonight, leaving my kind-spirited sister with the brethren to set up for a  holiday luncheon this weekend, it occurred to me that here is another case of substitution on my behalf.

Help had been requested. My conscience wanted to answer the call. The spirit was willing, but the flesh has been tired and is trying to learn to stop taking on more than it can handle! So I pushed pride to the side (isn't it really pride that makes us think everything depends on us?) and let Jane do my share of the work.

When you get right down to it, isn't substitution what the cross was all about?

Substitution - the heart of the gospel.

"He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, 

that we might become the righteousness of God in Him." 

~ 2 Corinthians 5:21~

All or Nothing... or Something

There was a time in my life when, if I couldn’t do it perfectly, I wouldn’t do it all.

I can’t afford that luxury anymore.

Over the last few years, my life has gotten significantly more complicated. Complication, in the sense I mean, is a mixed bag. One of my sons is now married to a delightful woman, and they have become parents to my beloved grandson. My other son is seriously involved with a precious girlfriend, whom I hand-picked for him (that’s a whole ’nother story – just take my word for it).

I strive to spend individual time with all four of my children, be they related by blood or simply a bond of love. And it goes without saying, I snap up any chance to cuddle my grandbaby. All these things take time, every second of which is cherished and well spent.

Complication of the most delicious kind.

I'm much less enamored of the time I need to spend caring for my less than perfect body. Mind you, my earthly vessel has never even approached perfection, but as each year passes, fewer and fewer functions, ahem, function  perfectly. This corporeal lack of cooperation has resulted in a resentment-worthy number of hours being given over to doctoring of one sort or another.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m healthier than many of my peers and take almost no medication. I haven’t been diagnosed with any untreatable illnesses or conditions. It’s just that the mileage on this body is racking up, and the wear and tear on certain rebellious parts has mandated things like exercise regimes that are supposed to be done on a daily basis.

Yeah, right.

Complication I could do without.

And then there are helpful and interesting complications like a Bible-based financial class some caring folks invested in for me. Really, they invested in me, realizing I’m not the worst money manager who ever walked the earth, but believing I could benefit from some time-proven strategies to shore up my future. The class requires a time commitment of one evening a week, as well as homework that promises to change my life.

Complication of the most thoughtful kind.

True confessions: I started this article several weeks, maybe even a month ago, and life has gotten in the way of my finishing it. More true confessions: my all or nothing tendencies have also interrupted its flow. For instance, the aforementioned financial class suggests a variety of time-tested strategies to clean up one’s money messes. Since (thankfully) I don’t have too many such messes to address, I’ve been focusing more on the wealth-building suggestions, such as making money wherever possible and investing heavily. Oh, and keeping and sticking to a budget (something I’ve tried unsuccessfully to tackle over the years, but would love to get the hang of).

I have to admit, I’ve had to step back and remember that, while this class may be gifting me with tools to improve my fiduciary life, Rome wasn’t built in a day. I will never be able to “do” this money thing perfectly, but I can glean ideas that make sense, and put applicable ones into practice over time. Christ took three years to complete His earthly ministry, and His Father has taken 56 years to bring me to where I am today – which is struggling but striving on a daily basis to be more like Him.

So, why do I expect myself to nail this whole course in a few weeks?

Similarly, my exercise routine has had to be curtailed. I simply can’t keep up with each and every suggested remedy for ailing limbs each and every day. I admit it. Twenty-four hours just isn’t enough time to accomplish perfection in this area. Nevertheless, I try to do some exercises regularly. Well, perhaps frequently is more accurate. 

Sometimes not giving up, not tossing the baby out with the bath water, just has to be good enough.

Something is better than nothing.

One other note: if this post seems less “polished” than others I’ve written, that’s because I’m feeling led this morning – Thanksgiving morning – to finish it and put it out there for you, my readers. I’ll have a houseful of family expecting to chow down in a few hours, so perfection of every word and phrase is out of the question. Dinner, I hasten to add, will not be served in a perfectly clean house (far from it), nor will it be displayed on a perfectly arranged table. And I guarantee you, the fare will be a far cry from perfect. My hope, though, is that we will all eat in a serene setting with a (relatively) sane hostess.

That will have to be good enough.

But a faithful friend asked this morning about my writing, and I had to admit it’s been stagnant lately. Not for want of ideas or interest, but for lack of time and energy. Meanwhile, this half-finished piece has been sitting on a flash drive, patiently waiting for its author to practice what she preaches.

Herein lies my imperfect but heartfelt attempt to do just that.

In closing, I invite you to check out the Thanksgiving Proclamations issued by our forefathers, George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, both of whom understood the concept of perseverance in the face of opposition and imperfection, and Who it is that enables flawed humanity to keep on trying.

God bless us, everyone!

Wreckage Restored, AKA, Rebirth

This may be a somewhat strange observation, but so be it. New neighbors recently purchased a long-neglected house, and began rehabbing it. At the top of their list was remodeling the bathroom; thus, one day a dumpster bag appeared on their front lawn, filled with all the tile, fixtures and debris of their old bathroom.

Out with the old, in with the new.

Upon seeing the wreckage, my quirky mind went to 2 Corinthians 5:17: "Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new."

How wonderful to realize our God can reshape and remodel our lives - and it doesn't cost one cent!

Heel Heal Part 2

Beloved readers, I wanted to add an addendum secondary to receiving some feedback on this post. 

Apparently, I left the impression that I actually believe what my head sometimes tells me about "staying on God's good side" so as to avoid heavenly punishment. Let me state for the record that the God I serve does love me unequivocally, regardless of my missteps. While He does chasten His children, He does so lovingly and for our good. His goal is to train and mature us, as opposed to getting a kick out of punishing us.

In addition, we need only consider great martyrs of the faith and the persecuted church to realize that, quite often, bad things do happen to good people - people who, to our finite minds, surely deserve better.

Sadly, sometimes I allow flawed thinking to interfere with what I know to be true.

Thank goodness I can turn to the Scriptures to clarify bad-think when it rears its ugly head!

Now, back to the original article:


My wise father once told me it isn't up to me to defend God's reputation.

That said, I must report with mixed emotions that the pain relief I experienced two nights ago has been short-lived.

It occurred to me to take down my gleeful post from the other night. After all, doesn't it make both God and me look ridiculous (and perhaps show cruelty on the part of the Former) to have declared a healing which turned out to be less than 24 hours of respite?

No. And I'll tell you why.

First off, I'm no worse off than I was before this all happened. In fact, God graciously gave me an evening and night's sleep unhindered by foot pain - something I haven't been able to enjoy for some time.

Second, a question that was plaguing me can be shelved for another day. I couldn't help but wonder, in the midst of my rejoicing, why me?

People typically ask that question when they've been on the receiving end of bad circumstances, like a cancer diagnosis or the death of a loved one. In my case, despite singing God's praises for my apparent healing, I couldn't help but wonder why a relatively minor (albeit quite unpleasant) problem like mine was singled out for healing, while I can list countless friends suffering from debilitating pain, disability and life-threatening illness.

Where's their healing?

Indeed, if anyone's going to claim unfairness, it ought to be cancer patients who experience remission, only to have the disease come roaring back and oftentimes take their lives after years of valiant combat. In searching for meaning in what I've experienced, I must admit that now, at least I have an inkling of what such heroic folks go through.

And another thing. My mind leans toward cause and effect, actions and consequences. If something goes wrong in my world, I wonder what sins God is punishing me for, or what lesson He can only teach me through trouble. Conversely, when something goes well - especially something major like a perceived healing - I tick off reasons for my good fortune. When I thought my foot was healed, I struggled against wanting to take partial credit.

My thinking went something like this: "Instead of getting wrapped up in self-pity over the limitations my pain was inflicting, I nobly served from home last weekend. Instead of focusing on what I couldn't do, I found things like letter writing and phone calling that would bless others without causing my foot any fuss. Oh, and let's not forget that I went to church Sunday night, instead of yielding to laziness, and if I hadn't gone to church, I wouldn't have reconnected with Ed, and he wouldn't have prayed over my foot, and..."

You get the picture.

The only problem was, for every right choice I found, I came up with half a dozen wrong ones that should, if blessings result from good decisions balancing out bad, have knocked me completely out of the running.

I know. I think too much.

Then, there's the manipulative part of my makeup that wanted to make sure I didn't do anything to put the kibosh on this wonderful miracle. In other words, what heavenly bar would I have to uphold in order for God not to withdraw His benevolence in this area of my life?

For instance, if I'm supposed to get a handle on gluttony, well, that's been a lifelong battle with varying levels of success (mostly failure, truth be told). But maybe if I took off weight again, and kept it off this time, and never pigged out again, and kept up with all my exercises more religiously, and... and... and...

Like I said, I overthink things.

I must confess deep disappointment. For one thing, cortisone treatment, here I come. I'm not looking forward to that, or to the waiting I'll have to do (the docs can't see me till June) for an appointment that may or may not yield the desired result.

But the God I serve is bigger than any temporary or even lingering disappointment.

The God I serve can't be manipulated any more than He can be reached by human achievement, as the builders in Babel found out.

The God I serve doesn't take my pain lightly. While it may seem trivial when stacked up against terminal diagnoses and crippling disabilities, it's still very real to me. If it weren't so real, the relief wouldn't have been so welcome.

Yes, the pain is real - but so was the temporary reprieve, and so is the Redeemer.

And, by the way, it's still all about His glory.

As Ed so correctly observed, it's about the Healer, not the healing. The band, MercyMe, poignantly points this out in their crowning composition, The Hurt and the Healer:

So here I am

What's left of me

When glory meets my suffering

I'm alive

Even though a part of me has died

You take my heart and breathe it back to life

I fall into Your arms open wide

When the hurt and the Healer collide*

So, where does all this leave me? As I struggle to understand the events of the last few days, two passages resonate, calling this disappointed but still faith-filled daughter back to the altar. I'll let the prophet Habakkuk and the apostle Paul have the last words:

Though the fig tree may not blossom,

Nor fruit be on the vines;

Though the labor of the olive may fail,

And the fields yield no food;

Though the flock may be cut off from the fold,

And there be no herd in the stalls—

Yet I will rejoice in the Lord,

I will joy in the God of my salvation.

The Lord God is my strength;

He will make my feet like deer’s feet,

And He will make me walk on my high hills.

~ Habakkuk 3:17-19

And lest I should be exalted above measure by the abundance of the revelations, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, a messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I be exalted above measure. Concerning this thing I pleaded with the Lord three times that it might depart from me. 

 And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

 Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. 

For when I am weak, then I am strong.

~ 2 Corinthians 12:7-10        

*Bryson, J., Cochran, N., Graul, B., Millard, B., Scheuchzer, M., and Robby Shaffer. (2012). 
       The Hurt & the Healer [Lyrics]. Retrieved from    
       https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/mercyme/thehurtthehealer.html

For more like this, check out: Disappointment

Heel Heal

I limped my way into church tonight after asking my son to drop me off at the entrance. Normally, I love to walk, but over the past few weeks, that simple activity has become agonizing for me.

An X-ray two days ago revealed what I suspected - an annoying, uncomplicated heel spur. But, oh, how those calcium deposits make their presence known! Anyone who's had one knows they can make even small acts like stair climbing and getting out of chairs difficult. Thoughts become concentrated on finding the least painful way to accomplish the most basic of tasks.

A literal thorn in the flesh.

Despite the pain, I had every reason to feel joyful tonight. I pulled off a surprise for a very dear friend who spent years discipling me in the Word of God. She and I sat together to enjoy the concert, and were treated to special music from the SMS Men's Quartet. I did enjoy their singing, which was heartfelt and glorifying to God, but I must confess my mind was on my foot.

For one thing, I was having trouble keeping it pain-free, even while sitting. In addition, my eyes kept veering from the men onstage to the attractive, open footwear on many ladies' feet (mine were sporting the most cushiony sneakers I own - hardly a complement to my church outfit, but desperate situations call for desperate measures). While the singers trilled praises to God, I mentally made plans to purge my closets of anything my toes could peek out of, and trade them all in for sensible shoes.

I'm sure my mindset had nothing to do with the fact that I spent the afternoon looking up videos of podiatrists using long needles to inject cortisone shots into the heels of anxious patients.

Sometimes I like to know what I'm in for.

When the concert was over, my friend and I went back to meet her husband, who was picking her up from the service. I haven't seen Ed for many years, and we spent some time catching up.

I should mention that Ed is certain he has the spiritual gift of healing. He absolutely loves the Lord, and he believes with all his heart that our God is still in the healing business.

I put that belief to the test almost 20 years ago when I was dealing with - you guessed it - a different heel spur. I had gotten to the point of consulting a podiatrist and having orthotic shoe inserts made. If those didn't work, I was ready to have surgery.

Like I said, these buggers really hurt.

I happened to be at a barbecue at Ed and Jean's house while all this was going on, and casually mentioned to Ed that I could really use my heel to be, you know, healed.

The brand of Christianity to which I've been most exposed believes that the gift of healing has largely ceased. We seek out doctors and medicine, but don't typically call on the Almighty to miraculously heal our ailments. This is one theological area (among many) to which I can claim no expertise, so I can't really comment one way or the other, but it's not been my experience that these things actually happen in our day.

So, you could say I was a bit skeptical.

But, again, desperate situations...

So, I asked Ed to pray for my foot. I remember being a bit aggravated, and not a little suspicious, when he tossed the ball back into my court and suggested I do the praying. He said he would pray, too, but implied that I had the primary responsibility.

Whatever.

I prayed, he prayed, we all prayed.

And the darnedest thing happened. The pain went away.

Not immediately, as I recall, but somewhere between our conversation at that picnic and, oh, I don't know, the next few weeks or so, I stopped hobbling and started walking like a normal person again.

That heel sure seemed healed.

Later that summer, I was having fun with my kids and jumped into a pool, coming down hard on the "spurious" foot (sorry, bad pun). That little stunt landed me in the ER, where I was given an X-ray. I was sure the film would reveal a "spur-less" heel. On the contrary, the spur still showed up, alive and well - but it never hurt me again.

As far as I'm concerned, spur or no spur, the pain went away, and that's a healing in my book.

So, I couldn't resist asking Ed if he'd like to take a crack at praying over the latest albatross plaguing my foot.

This time, he whipped out an item he'd anointed with oil, laid it atop the sweater I was carrying, and murmured a brief prayer. I don't know why he didn't address his ministrations to the ailing body part, but I've gotta tell you, within minutes, I started feeling relief.

In the time that ensued, I tested out different foot positions which hitherto had resulted in wincing and whining.

Nary a whimper.

When it was time to leave, I didn't even consider asking my son to pull the car up to the entrance. Instead, I walked down the steps and across the parking lot, and triumphantly announced that he could drop me off at the top of our street if he wanted to.

Now, here's the mark of a Godly man. When I started sharing with others what had happened, Ed continuously and vigorously insisted on giving all glory to God.

And rightly so. Healing is a spiritual gift which, like all such divine bestowals, only becomes activated when one comes to faith. It isn't an entitlement or a super power or even an innate skill. Only God can grant such a gift, and only He should receive praise for its manifestation.

I'm still planning to go through my shoe racks and dispose of the worst offenders. Just because the Lord chose to correct one physiological problem doesn't mean I ought to go looking for another. That would be stupid at best and cavalier at worst.

The last thing I want to be with this miracle is cavalier.

In fact, in keeping with my "what if" personality, I'm finding myself fending off worry.

Will it hurts when I get up tomorrow? Will that first step when I get out of bed be the deal breaker? What if it only lasts for tonight? 

I almost didn't want to write this post, for fear of looking foolish if it turns out to be only temporary.

But I'm choosing instead to take my cue from the man Jesus healed in John 9, "[who] answered and said, 'Whether He is a sinner or not I do not know. One thing I know: that though I was blind, now I see'" (verse 25).

No matter what the future holds, nothing and no one can take away the fact that I'm walking on two good feet tonight after limping for weeks.

In my book, that's a miracle.

And I am so grateful.

Tenebrae

The Service

Last night I attended a Tenebrae service at Llanerch Hills Chapel in Havertown. “Tenebrae,” a Latin term meaning “shadow,” is a Holy Week gathering which attempts to place the audience into the mind and heart of Jesus in the hours before His death.

I’ve attended such programs before, but this one truly moved me.

The Sympathy

The whole experience brought to mind Hebrews 4:15: “For we do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin." According to Rev. David Guzik’s excellent online Bible commentary, Enduring Word, the Greek word “sympathize” means “to suffer along with.” If I’m reading this right, one reason Christ came to earth was so He could suffer along with His children, walk in their shoes, as it were. 

What I value about Tenebrae is it gives me a chance to suffer along with Christ.

As much as is humanly possible, that is.

Our text was Matthew 26:30 through Matthew 27:50, which walks the reader from Jesus’s prediction of His disciples’ betrayal, to wrestling with His macabre mission, and ultimately, His undeserved death.

Like I said, this touched me.

Warning to friends and family, especially my children: I’m about to become very transparent.

The Sorrow

Chapter 26 verse 38 shows our Lord agonizing as He pondered what lay ahead. The text says He was “exceedingly sorrowful, even to death.”

I don’t know what it’s like to willingly die for the entire human race (thank God – and I mean that literally, not in the cavalier way many toss around the phrase), but I can relate to suffering to the point of death. I’ve faced that kind of anguish twice in my life, and I pray it never comes my way again.

For many folks, there comes a come when it takes more courage to go on living than to end it all. I fought that life and death battle once as a troubled teen and again as an agonizing adult.

As an adolescent, my grief centered on an unrequited crush, made worse by the young man’s attentions to another girl. Sounds silly now, but it felt very real and very raw at the time. Later, as the mother to two young boys, I became hopelessly depressed at the prospect of my marriage ending and having to raise them alone.

Both times, I found out I was far from alone. God’s love for me was poured out bountifully through the merciful kindnesses of parents and siblings (through blood and through marriage), and professionals who did their jobs well and compassionately. Not least, through the tiny hands and tender hearts of the little ones He chose for me to parent.

But I well recall the courage it took to wake up every morning and try to do each next right thing. I remember counseling myself that the only thing I had to do each day was stay out of a mental hospital, for the sake of my kids.

I had to stay alive to fulfill my earthly job, for the sake of my sons. Our Lord had to stay alive that awful night in Gethsemane to fulfill His duty to die for the sake of humanity.

A humanity that didn’t see Him as the King of the universe – far from it. They beat and ridiculed Him and assigned Him an ignominious death – a death which the Bible says was considered a curse.

Did He contemplate ending it all? Is that what He meant by “sorrowful, even unto death?”

If He could have called down legions of angels to loose Him from the grip of murderous men, surely He could have arranged a less gruesome death for Himself – or better still, a direct ascension back to heaven to reclaim His rightful throne. Why wait till after the resurrection to be swept up in clouds of glory?

While praying in Gethsemane, did He consider refusing the cup of God’s wrath and taking an easier way out?

The Suffering and the Substitution

Was His pain magnified by the inability of His closest friends to satisfy His simple request for companionship and prayer? By their nodding off, not once but three times, when He needed them most? By their subsequent failure to comprehend that loyalty meant making good on their promises to stick by Him, as opposed to brandishing weapons?

He didn’t need to be defended by flesh and blood – His fate had been sealed in heaven before the world began. What He needed was comfort and strength from those dearest to Him to sustain Him to the cross.

Instead, they fled to save their own skins, and denied even knowing Him.

What went through our Lord’s mind when the crowd insisted on releasing Barabbas – a career criminal – and called for excruciating death for the Son of God? It was recently pointed out to me that Christ literally took the punishment that would have been doled out to this evil man – an actual substitutionary death. The gospel doesn't get any clearer than that.

Again, I find myself trying to comprehend the emotions He must have felt on that brutal night by traveling back to an incident in my own life.

I was bullied as a child, and in third grade I had the dubious distinction of being “called out” by a peer who wanted to fight me for no other reason than the fact that I didn’t fit in. How well I recall the terror and helplessness of being surrounded in the schoolyard by cruel taunters who were literally out for blood.

My father learned of my predicament, and showed up in the nick of time to rescue me.

In contrast, Jesus’s Father turned His back on Christ so that mankind could walk away scot free from eternal punishment.

I felt great relief when Dad’s commanding voice scattered my persecutors; our Lord felt no such solace. I suspect the brokenness of His body paled in comparison to that of His soul when He cried out wretchedly, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?”

The Sacrifice

The awful yet beautiful truth is that the Son of God gave up His spirit and suffered a grueling death so that I might live. In His deity, He poured out His life, but in His humanity, He lost hope for a time so that my hope could be perfected.

What a Savior.

Entertainment-itis Part 3

Part 1 of "Entertainment-itis" dealt with the addictive tendencies many of us face in the realm of visual media. Part 2 made the case for contemporary Christian music. In this final installment, we will broaden the discussion and tie up any loose ends.

Let’s Not Stop There

Could this same ideology not be applied to the world of print and film media today as well? Many of us retreat to books, movies, plays, etc. for most of the same reasons stated in parts 1 and 2 of this article. Therefore, it is important to note that the lens applied to the evolving nature of music and popular culture must also be pointed toward the aforementioned industries. While reading material can fall prey to the same dangers we have previously described, generally speaking, broad-brushers are less likely to summarily condemn print media as they might more modern forms of recreation, such as film. Therefore, I’ll confine my final arguments to the latter.

  

Finding and Supporting Finer Films

Motion pictures first saw the light of day in the early 1890’s, long after the Bible was written, and were not readily available to the common man until decades later. The first films were short, simple, and devoid of dialogue and color. Fast forward 100 plus years, and we have large-scale productions with huge budgets, covering a plethora of topics from zombies to war, romance, and even the gospel.

Can we not agree that a theater in 2019 hosting a revived showing of The Ten Commandments or The Greatest Story Ever Told, both of which were well received in their day, would likely be anything but filled with impressionable adolescents looking for a riveting stimulation of their senses? Especially when delectable, modern day actors are blowing up robots, unraveling plots for world domination, and portraying questionable love scenes two theaters down the hall. This returns us to our previous point – we must seek out healthy alternatives to compete with less desirable ones.

I’m not suggesting parents introduce young children to horror flicks and R-rated films in the name of family bonding and child development, any more than I would endorse serving young people musical indulgences glorifying sex, violence, or illicit substances. However, the stark fact remains that these options are all too real in our vast world of moving media, and to many of today’s youngsters, they offer the forbidden fruit we discussed in part 2. That being the case, we must ask ourselves the question, do artistic works render themselves harmful to us as believers simply because they have been adapted to suit the modern eye (or ear)? If the answer to this is no, we must next ponder, in a world where the line in the sand is so fluid, how do we know where it should be drawn?

While discretion and discernment are certainly called for when making viewing decisions, I hardly think our Lord and Savior would be flipping over concession stands at the local AMC, especially when it’s playing life affirming films like Unplanned and Gosnell. I have found that the secular media is usually loathe to advertise such movies, but rather, does everything in its power to bury them. For this reason, while I'm usually much too frugal (OK, cheap), to take in first-run films, I make it a point to put out cash for movies like these that are often the targets of ideological discrimination due to the important messages they bear. 

For example, Unplanned saw its Twitter account suspended the weekend of its release, and received an "R" rating, rather than "PG," for its mature content, forcing parents to think twice before bringing their children. Interestingly, Hollywood powers-that-be are largely silent over the fact that little ones are increasingly being indoctrinated  with pro-choice propaganda and hypersexualization in the name of gender freedom. In fact, entertainment moguls seem stunningly unperturbed about the link experts say exists between sexual content viewed by minors and their subsequent risky behavior; on the contrary, Hollywood continues to release pictures that fuel this phenomenon. Meanwhile, the Motion Picture Association of America, which assigns ratings, is more than willing to slap "PG" ratings on kids' movies with questionable content, while kneecapping a comparatively tame film like Unplanned by assigning it an "R" rating. If consistency is key, Tinseltown sure doesn't measure up.

But I digress. The main thing to remember is that the vehicle itself, i.e., the theater, is not to blame for the content it may at times be made to carry (think back to our discussion in part 2 of the fact that technology is a great tool, even though sin-stained hands may at times misuse it). I believe Christians should support worthwhile films when they manage to find their way into theaters.

The point is, it behooves believers to consciously consume with their families some of the finer productions available in theaters and home entertainment venues. Entities like Pureflix and the Kendrick Brothers are offering high-caliber film alternatives to Hollywood’s less desirable menu of options. In addition, Movieguide and Plugged In are online tools to help parents navigate and decide which movies will best reflect the values they wish to impart to their children. Here again, we see technology, rightly harnessed, being employed to serve rather than scare the believer.

Overcoming the Octopus

The scope of entertainment and worldly distraction has come leaps and bounds from the days of playing with a Jacob’s ladder in the schoolyard. The evolution and progression of the world has simply brought us to a place where practicalities are ever changing. As these things continue to develop, we find ourselves having to conform to a certain degree simply to be able to keep up with the pace at which life moves. After all, the wheel used to be a square. When was the last time you saw a car with square wheels? We are simply taking steps forward.

Children will be exposed, sooner or later, to the entertainment octopus. I’m nicknaming it thusly because this industry has arms and tentacles everywhere. Unless we decide to lock young people away with no technology or communication devices, the vast array of leisure options will find them. Some, like myself, may be rudely awakened by the manner in which this inevitability occurs. I tried very hard to prevent my sons from becoming interested in video games, which I saw as time wasters at best and mind corrupters at worst. To my dismay, the first person to bring them into our home was a parent from the Christian school they attended.

I can’t emphasize enough that children will not escape exposure to a vast array of recreational activities. As the previous example demonstrates, there is great diversity of opinion among believers as to what is and is not acceptable for Christian consumption. What we ought to be able to agree upon is the need to prayerfully and sensibly expose our youth to what’s out there while they're still under our roof and our authority.

God honoring adults must first lasso the entertainment octopus in their own lives, then wisely guide the next generation.

12-Step or Sidestep?

I began this article series by joking that we could use a new 12-step group for entertainment junkies like myself. This may seem to suggest total abstinence as the only way to conquer addiction. In many cases, such as alcohol dependency, there is no other way. However, when complete avoidance isn’t possible, prayer and dependence on the Holy Spirit can help us safely navigate the minefields of modern life – and that includes recreational choices.

We then considered the idea that good messaging can be presented through today’s technology, but it must be palatable. Just as toddlers first receive medicine via sweet treats to make it taste better, the things of God can be introduced to an unchurched world in a similarly delicious way.

Come to think of it, a 12-step program may not be necessary after all. Perhaps we just need some help swallowing our pills.