There and Back Again: A Garden Tale (Part 1)

There are a few obsessions I have -- apart from John Piper, of course. One is resurrection. I am in love with new life and resurrection language and imagery, but this is a topic for another day. I am also obsessed with this idea of reconciliation and its dark cause and wonderful fulfillment in both future hope and present relational experience of the God of the universe, but this can wait too.

The garden. My obsession with the garden finds its root in the fact that I was made for it. The Pentateuch opens with anticipation, expectation, pregnant mystery giving birth to the land conceived in eternity past. "In the beginning" to the modern reader sounds so antiquated, but at the beginning these words could only look ahead to a living, breathing land that was full of perfect and glorious means and ends. Yes, means AND ends.

God knew them both. The wonder and mystery of the end. The tragedy and triumph of the means. Life is precious, but life out of death is thrilling, an unexpected plot twist in the ever darkening cosmic story; he who finds life past the brink of death finds its true meaning.

This garden life envelopes time and space. In the beginning, the garden tells us of what should have been the true man as he walked side by side with his Creator. At the end, the garden awaits once more, the hope of restoration and everlasting fulfillment. Between these bookends, as men endure the hell of turning away from God and condemn themselves to a true, literal hell, the anti-garden, one emerges living the life that every one of us secretly wants and knows we should have lived. This one true man comes with a message: Trust me, lay your heavy burdens and your dead life on me that I may free you to walk in all the fullness of mine.

Meet the Heretic

My name is Paul. And I am a recovering mud-slinger. It has been 22 months since I called someone a heretic. They may have deserved it, but then again, maybe not.

Almost two years ago, I used this word three times in a span of just two months. My friend, Meredith, happened to be present on all three occasions and likely didn't see my best side. Greg Boyd I called a heretic for his stance on the dangerous open theism. Rob Bell I had called a heretic for the collective of what I deemed unbiblical teaching. And Joel Osteen I called a heretic when maybe false teacher was a better designation.

I fear that after 22 months of sobriety I am on the verge of falling right back into my old ways. But it must be said, maybe just this one more time. Just once more.

I am a heretic.

I don't expect this admission will light up the blogosphere or make front page news, frankly because no one has ever heard of me in my little corner of the web. You wouldn't be privy to this insight had you not stumbled across this blog. You would have gone about your business and never been the wiser.

You see, high up in the mountains where few go without a donkey, I committed heresy before my believing friend and his wife, a Muslim. Maybe I get a pass because I heresied in Arabic, but I must admit that I knew what I was saying. Maybe I get a pass because it was an explanation of the trinity, but after ten years of following Jesus shouldn't I have that one locked down by now?

As I shared a story, she got the impression that Jesus was the Holy Spirit. Naturally, any good trinitarian would be quick to correct this. A good trinitarian knows there is one substance and three persons.

But how to express this in words that she would understand? I began by explaining the multiple roles of her husband, Ahmad. He is one person, but fulfills three roles. He is a father to his three children. He is a son to his own father. And he is a worker at the local butcher. Straddling the heresy line, I reminded her that this was only an example, a picture.

She didn't completely understand yet. So I tried again by showing her Jesus at his baptism in the Jordan River. We had gone through this story the previous day. Who is present? The Father speaks. The Spirit descends in the form of a dove. And the Son rises out of the water. This was it I thought, the perfect example from the Bible!

Well, she wasn't there yet. That's when I said it. They may not let me come home after this one. I could be excommunicated. They'll write books and blogs against me. I may forever bear the label "heretic", my scarlet letter. But I just didn't know how else to show it.

"We believe that God is one," I said to her, "and the Book says this in the Old Testament and the New Testament. But God shows Himself to men as a Father, a Son, and a Spirit."

In the wake of this horrendous representation of a crucial piece of Christian doctrine, I realize that anyone can fall into heresy, albeit mistakenly. It is a thin line between good teaching and bad teaching and I guess it was just my turn to cross it. Surely everyone has crossed this line once or twice. I'm not saying we reward people who camp out on the other side of the line, but that we have some understanding for people when they slip up from time to time. And when I say we, I'm firstly talking to myself.

Perhaps a little humility will go a long way in understanding people rather than judging them for theological views that may still be in process and condemning them for their process theology. After all, we believers in the only begotten Son are all continually being moved toward perfection through Him, whatever that may look like. We're being conformed to His image, even heretical offenders like me.

Kindness and Severity (Or, Islamic Intolerance)

The Muslim world demands to be heard. It demands respect. It demands tolerance. The Muslim world demands to be given the place of honor that it has not earned. This is not the quiet pleading of a weak, crippled beggar child who tugs at the pant legs of passersby on the street. Rather, it is the screaming of an abused, neglected, marginalized child who thirsts for attention. A child filled with violent rage, its craving grows with every new journalist assigned to cover its many heinous crimes.

The Muslim world demands airtime, even a brief flash across the news ticker, but once it has your attention, it demands more. It demands a hearing, and with that hearing an understanding, and with that understanding an alliance. It demands your respect, your cooperation, and your tolerance. It will have your tolerance, or your life. Islam has forced on the world its need to be tolerated, recognized, and showered with praise on the world stage, but behind the new iron curtain of Sharia law tolerance is nowhere to be found. One by one, Arab leaders air their grievances and demand reparations and justice only to return to their homes where they violently suppress their own national minority voices.

Nationalism is not the driving force in the Muslim world, but insecurity. The citizens of this world do not hoist high the national colors, call out for global acceptance, and aggressively defend their actions and religion as a result of nationalism, but because of an intense insecurity that plagues the entire culture. It is not praise that falls from the lips of its people, but a continual defense even when there is not the slightest hint of accusation. And arguments for this defense thrive in the realm of poor scholarship, half-truths, and misrepresented facts. I am told the world is turning to Islam en masse. I am told that all civilization hinges on Islam juxtaposed to the roadblock of what the Europeans call civilization. I am told that any of today's technological advances are the direct result of Islamic civilization. I am told that every single person on the earth is born a Muslim. The world watches on as an entire race of people labors to continually prove their great worth and value to the world. They yearn for your attention and your allegiance. The average citizen who falls prey to this pervasive insecurity utterly rejects, mocks, and abuses the very cross by which he can be fulfilled.

The great message of tolerance preached by the Muslim world is utterly empty behind closed doors. Day after day, my Muslim friends command me to enter Islam. They force on me this decision and command me to convert. No arguments are necessary, but simply my submission. The residents of my city continually clamor for my attention in matters of religion, their religion. The moment I turn the conversation to the cross, the resurrection, and the payment of mankind's sin the conversation has become unacceptable. Strong arguments for the Christian position are not met with thoughtful dialogue, but scorn. Presentations of gospel truth are not met with the question "What must I do to be saved?", but fear of the secret police. Prayer for the sick is not met with gratitude and expectant faith, but mockery and abuse.

If I may for a moment address my Muslim neighbors: your blood is not on my hands.

There will come a day when you stand before the throne of God almighty and you will not be able to claim ignorance. You will be held accountable for your rejection and abuse of the only beloved Son who came to ransom mankind. God will exchange a lifetime of kindness for the severity reserved for those cast into the outer darkness. "Behold!" cries Paul, "the kindness and severity of God."

From Paul's Journal: Tyrants and Thieves

There is a weight associated with a relationship that looks ahead to marriage. There is a heavy burden, it seems, to truly be the man that God has called me to be. I feel it pressing down on my shoulders as a squat bar digging into my bones and causing me to buckle down and focus on the goal ahead. There is a responsibility that I feel I have taken on. I have not yet made the commitment, evidenced by a wedding ring, but I will be tasked with the duty and great delight to provide for my wife, treasure her, protect her, honor her, and, without hesitation, lay down my life for her -- and this does not necessarily mean dying, though that is there as well.

Also, I will be charged to lead my wife. Leadership should be the expectation of all men. We are all called to lead in some way or other, but few take this seriously. Leadership is a fine line, and not for the faint of heart. There are many men who attempt to call what it is they do leadership, but they are deceived and sadly mistaken.

Some are thieves; they steal, kill, and destroy like their father. The thief takes what he wants, and in the end never really wants what was taken. Indeed, what he took did not belong to him, but neither does it become his. He will never be satisfied; he grasps for every rose within his reach, causing all to wilt.

Some are tyrants; they overpower, rule, and dominate like their father. The tyrant abuses and controls, but will never control his abusive power. Under the tyrant, there is no freedom until death do you part.

And some are leaders; they serve, understand, and love like their Father. With humility, the leader serves. With patience, he listens. He recognizes that he has been forgiven much, and therefore loves much. Because of the life Jesus is living through him, the leader is patient, kind, not jealous; he does not brag and is not arrogant, he does not act unbecomingly; he does not seek his own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; he bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.

This is a heavy burden to bear for any leader. It is heavy for any man. This burden is far too much for any son or daughter of Adam to bear. As I contemplated these things, the weight grew even heavier when I decided to ask Rebekah's father permission to begin dating her. This would set in motion the process by which I would one day take full responsibility to lead his precious daughter.

As I sought the Lord that week, I asked Him to give me a promise from His Word.

"Come to Me," He said, "all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light."

Baptism and Ramadan

With whom do you identify?

We all must answer this question. And, in fact, we do. Every day we attest to our identity by the way we live and the places we go, those we follow and those we shun. The question can be rephrased a hundred different ways: Where does your allegiance lie? Whose badge do you wear? Whose colors do you raise? Whose team do you support?

With whom do you identify and are you willing the world to know?

Now that Ramadan has reached its full potency, all the masks have been stripped and the truth unveiled. People are hungry. They are hot. They are thirsty. Did I mention that the entire Arab world is hungry? An entire people spanning parts of three continents is miserable for a full lunar cycle each year, so stay out of its way, walk on the other side of the street, and, if need be, run for your life. But what is commendable, and certainly notable, is that they will continue to persevere until the end. Ramadan is theirs and they will see it through to the end, if nothing else by mere mechanical, chemical impulses to place one foot in front of the other. Why? Because it is in the DNA, it is who they are.

But in the months leading up to THE celebration of the year -- the most wonderful time of the year, that time of the year when families come together to prepare feasts, bake holiday cookies, and celebrate together -- everyone wants to know of the foreigner: Will you fast? Some are pushier than others, but I have not yet met an Arab Muslim in my North African country who has deflated the notion that I must fast during Ramadan to really belong here. People are thrilled to hear that I fast, but vastly disappointed that I will not fast for Ramadan. When I push a little deeper into this thinking I find that if someone can just get me to reschedule my fasting for Ramadan, I'll be there.

You see, in the Arab world, image is everything. The one thing my friends want from me, maybe even need from me, is to identify with what they are doing. In their eyes, if I will just come along and if I will just identify with them, pray with them, fast with them, then I'm already there: I'm one of them. At the most basic level, I have identified with Islam. And once I'm a Muslim, I am a true North African. My identity is Arab.

This is why baptism is so important in the Christian life. Contrary to popular opinion, baptism is so much more than a glorified bath in an oversize tub. It is more than the drops of water that anoint the head of a new believer. Baptism is more than water, however one chooses to use it. Baptism, at its fundamental, core level, is identification. When Paul says that we are baptized into Christ's death, burial, and resurrection, he is saying that we bought the T-shirt and want the world to know who we now are. I have pledged my allegiance to the new Spirit-driven life that His resurrection signifies.

We make identifications all the time. We go to a certain school, cheer for a certain team, and give ourselves names like "Calvinist", "Dispensational", and "Bedside Baptist". How I identify myself begins to define me. This is why when my identity is wrapped up in all the things I'm against, I begin looking for fights around every corner. And when my identity is secure in the truths of Ephesians 1, I can rest easy knowing that I am a chosen, adopted son without fear of endangering my long-awaited inheritance.

That with which I truly identify will be evident in my life. She identifies with the Texas Rangers, and proudly wears the hat wherever she goes. He identifies with a certain political party, and anyone who doubts him can look to the pin on his jacket. True identification is to march out to war with the king and proudly wear his colors at whatever cost. Take off the old self, put on the garb of the new self. True identification with Christ's resurrection is to yield oneself to the transformative power of the Spirit; yes, walking in newness of life is proof of identification.

So, again, with whom do you identify?

But, perhaps, the more telling question is with whom would our neighbors say we identify?

Hope Floats

"But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness and all these things will be added to you." - Matthew 6:33

Coming through the tempest, I now find myself lying on the shore, exhausted and weak. For the longest time, I swam against the current, trying to reach a goal from which a greater force was intent on keeping me for one reason or another. In the midst of those interminable moments returning to shore, swimming through the rough, suffocating waters, I feared that my vain striving to reach some distant buoy would prove fatal, not in an extravagant or eloquent death that people would remember and retell again and again as a story of bravery and courage to the last breath, but simply sinking into nonexistence, swallowed up by the deep waters and forgotten.

I nearly lost heart that day at a beach in Torremolinos, just as I nearly lost heart that summer in the mountains of Africa. Doubt followed closely on the heels of loss of faith and death began to creep into my heart and spread through my limbs as I struggled in the direction of shore. Empty and sinking, I cried out in anguish for mercy and hope was reborn. The only hope that is capable of restoring my spirit, reinvigorating my passion, and re-centering my heart after it had once more strayed.

On that shore I lie, drained of all of me. Lying at the edge of the sea where I had given my last vain effort. Lying safe from the driving waves in which I was sinking into the deep waters of oblivion to the notice of no one. Spread out on the sand, my chest heaves as the waves continue to crash and surge over my weary body. Hope is rekindled as dependence is set right in my life, no longer the hand-puppet to suffocate me at the whim of selfish desires holding it captive; its icy fingers now slowly release from around my neck. For a time, dependence had become confused in me, given to that which was undeserving. My hope is not reliance on the girl I met two months ago in Sevilla though in the end it was her silence that served to painfully return me to dependence on the only One who will never fail me. My hope is not contingent upon advantageous circumstances, warm feelings, or the returned affection of a woman, nor should it be shaken -- if held firm by meditation on what has already been proven true in the world and in my own life -- by a lack of any one or all of these elements. My hope was and now remains He who rescued me after I had worked so hard to swim my own way only to find myself drowning in an unforgiving ocean. Even when I no longer held on to hope, He held on to me.

Now just ten days removed from my near death experience, with fresh perspective and a focus rebuilt on the foundation of the Creator of heaven and earth, He has enacted the process by which it seems He will give me one of His most precious gifts. And if there is one thing I have learned this summer, it is to not elevate gift above Giver. As I have sought the Lord these past few days, He has met me with wisdom, timely counsel, and ever-clearer direction. This morning I awoke and found myself soaking up a sermon preached by Jesus long ago. He proclaimed, "Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness." Seek the Giver, for then "all these things will be added to you."

From Paul's Journal: The Adventure Instinct

I'm home now; finally returned to my city. I've never been one for what they call home; home was something from which one must escape, a captivity into which freedom called. Stained and dreary, those four walls pressed in on me for years. I have not settled since, always chasing freedom but finding new walls. It may very well be that a woman's touch is needed to transform a dungeon into a home.

Though, on the other hand, it may simply be a matter of the heart, but matters of the heart are never simple. Perhaps, I'm growing weary of running. And what is a runner who has no destination? To always run and have no finish line quickly compounds the fatigue. Maybe this is the cause of that sudden, unexpected loss of the wild, escapist spirit that many men don't realize has left until mid-life. They lose the adventurer inside, that wanderer running from old, cell walls, that killer instinct. The instinct that the youthful fighter feeds off, but when suddenly it leaves, if not replaced by anything substantive leaves him dead in the water, old and washed up, fully at the mercy of his opponent.

So this growing desire for home, or a home -- because home itself does not necessarily have to be something I have already known or seen or heard, but perhaps a new invention, or a remixed solution fortified with better ingredients -- though it seems to come at the cost of the killer instinct falling away, does not have to be something bad. A tree which has suddenly lost its leaves will rest and return after a season fully rejuvenated.

To live and learn this idea of home does not of necessity have to mean the death of something -- adventure, joy, or fullness of life -- but a transformation, a step into the unknown. How else does a duckling discover its natural swimming ability unless it pokes through the shell and stumbles past the broken pieces?

Naturally, at this stage of my life, one of the biggest upcoming steps to discovering and integrating home will be starting a family. But this itself is another big adventure, so where do men go wrong, what is the cause of the crisis many men experience at mid-life?

It seems to me that the root can be found in the attitude toward the two stages of life. There is an instinct in many men my age to wander, explore, adventure, and experience; let's call this the adventure instinct. Could it be, as I have said, that this adventure instinct gets fatigued and must, for a time, go into hibernation or briefly lie dormant in order to refresh? That many families often begin while this instinct is dormant, leading to later discontent when the man feels that home has again lost its freedom and reverted to the old, dirty cell walls.

So what is the solution? What is the remedy and road to a healthy family? I would suggest that the answer is in the object of that adventure instinct. The wandering season I am in now is feeding this instinct, as well as, I am sure, early married life will also be a source of new adventure. But it seems like the adventure instinct is seeking, even dependent on, something to fulfill it. It is possible that I could let the instinct run away with me and chase fulfillment in traveling, hiking, rock climbing, and all the other excitement that awaits me on this side of the world. In the next stage, I could seek fulfillment in my wife, my kids, and this whole home idea. If these are the objects of my adventure instinct and its fulfillment, they will all fail me.

The object, the goal, must be a greater adventure, a more luscious pleasure, and a bigger joy than any object I have so far named. My hope must be the One who secured it. My joy, He who is not only the essence of beauty, but her source. My adventure, He who created the wildest habitations and the fiercest instincts.

If I am to step into this new stage of life, I must rest on the Foundation which will hold all the stages together. If I am to love my wife as she deserves to be loved and raise my children to know the greatest Adventure, then they cannot be the first focus. In fact, they will only come into right focus when I use the proper lens to view them. To be a consistent man, a passionate husband, and an adventurous dad, I must be setting the right lens now in advance.

"Set your mind on the things above, not on the things that are on earth." (Col 3:2) If Paul sees it as necessary to inform us to do this, it's likely that it will not just come naturally. Whatever season my adventure instinct is in, I must be alert and continually forming this instinct by setting my mind on the things above.

From Paul's Journal: Sex and Heaven

My most recent exploration into heaven began several weeks ago when I stumbled over Isaiah 25. I'll come back to this momentarily, but first some thoughts from Mark Driscoll and C.S. Lewis.

In Mere Christianity, Lewis compares the next stage of man with the contemporary view of evolution. The turn from "huge, very heavily armoured creatures" to "little, naked, unarmoured animals which had better brains" is, by and large, inconceivable and leaves man with very little to go by in predicting the next stage.

The new man will be like nothing we've yet seen and Lewis makes the point that he is not the result of a sexual act. The new man is advanced and comes about through a spiritual birth. In the next stage, sex is voided, no longer necessary or even in existence. In a sermon I recently heard, Driscoll quotes Steve Arturburn as saying the sexual act is the most powerful, pleasurable act in man's earthly experience.

As a single man who still remains a virgin, I have no real category in which to place this information. I have never experienced the supposed thrill, ecstasy, and intimacy of what I am told is one of God's greatest gifts to man. You could say that my "Man" experience is still lacking, incomplete, as a puzzle missing a large piece just off-center or a machine not yet running at full efficiency because a certain cog has not yet been replaced with its proper upgrade.

So I ask, if for some reason I am not married and have not experienced sex before this life ends, will my joy be incomplete? It seems that if the words of Jesus are correct -- "they will not be married or given in marriage [in heaven]" -- there is no sex in heaven. But the greater question is, can my joy be incomplete in heaven? Is not every good and pleasurable thing on earth given, or come down rather, from the "Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow?"

The gift is not to be gloried in, but the Giver. Sex is not to be gloried in, but He who has given it. Will heaven not be the true form, and God the actual light that our individual idols cause to be seen as shadow on the earth, in which all joy and pleasure and more are culminated and even increased exponentially? In heaven, all good and pleasing gifts are true, real, tangible. It's amazing how empty men can feel at the height of conquest, success, and victory. How, when I grab onto what I'm looking for on this earth, it never seems to be what my soul is really in need of. That somehow in heaven the momentary, scattered wafts of true joy and pleasure that often tempt me to God are full and ongoing and not lacking for eternity.

Heaven is to truly come home as we always dreamed it would look, to smiles and hugs and never-ending love deep as the sea. Heaven is to walk the fields along the creek side soaking in every bit of the sun's warmth to never again have a care or a worry or a fear of something needing to be done or fixed or made ready. Heaven is to know my neighbor with the greatest of love and intimacy surpassing and superseding what man knew as sex on the earth in ages past, now nearly a forgotten memory.

Isaiah informs of us these things:

"The LORD of hosts will prepare a lavish banquet for all peoples on this mountain; A banquet of aged wine, choice pieces with marrow, And refined, aged wine.
And on this mountain He will swallow up the covering which is over all peoples, Even the veil which is stretched over all nations.
He will swallow up death for all time, And the Lord GOD will wipe tears away from all faces,
And He will remove the reproach of His people from all the earth;
For the LORD has spoken."

Isaiah 25:6-8

God Comes To Us

"O Children of Israel! Call to mind the special favor which I bestowed upon you, and fulfill your covenant with Me as I fulfill My Covenant with you, and fear none but Me. And believe in what I reveal... And cover not Truth with falsehood... And be steadfast in prayer; practice regular charity; and bow down your heads with those who bow down (in worship)." - Al'Baqarah 2:40-43

Just what is the fundamental difference between Islam and Christianity?

For some time now, I have been studying the Bible and the Qur'an with my friend Muhammad. As I have gone deeper into the Qur'an, the lines that divide us are becoming more clear in my mind. The above reference from the second surah represents what I think is the biggest difference.

Mohammad goes all the way back to where it all started with God and Israel, the Abrahamic Covenant. The Covenant is established here for the first time in the Qur'an and is immediately followed by what I call the "imperatives of worship". It is a call to Israel to remember the God who covenanted with them and an establishment of the foundation on which the covenant stands. What does Mohammad understand here as Israel's part of the covenant?

Several "imperatives of worship":

1. Believe in what I reveal. (2:40)
2. Cover not Truth with Falsehood. (2:41)
3. Be steadfast in prayer. (2:43)
4. Practice regular charity. (2:43)
5. Bow down your heads (in worship). (2:43)

Israel is to fulfill it's part in order that God may fulfill his side of the bargain. This understanding of God's covenant with men leads to what are known as the 5 pillars of Islam (pray 5 times each day, give alms, go on hajj, observe Ramadan, and say the Shahadda). In Islam, man must go to God. He must work and earn favor with God in order to be acceptable. God waits for man to come to Him.

This is exactly the opposite of the message we find in Genesis to which Mohammad seems to refer. Remember, Mohammad never read the Old Testament in His own language. He came a millennium after the completion of these books and almost two millenia after the writing of the Torah. Furthermore, he came from an entirely different culture hundreds of miles away. His opinion of the events of Genesis are slightly suspect.

But what do we find within the pages of Genesis? God comes to man. On the very day God establishes His covenant with Abraham, in blood, we find the sole condition placed on man for his part of the covenant. God is clear about what he is offering: a great nation, One who will rise up out of that nation, resulting in a blessing for all the world, which would serve as a great inheritance. But what does Abraham offer? Is he commanded to pray fervently, offer charity, or bow his head a certain way?

"Then he believed in the LORD; and He reckoned it to him as righteousness." - Genesis 15:6

God came to Abraham. Abraham simply believed and God looked upon him as righteous. The very foundation of the Abrahamic Covenant is grace. Paul writes in chapter four of his letter to the Romans, "Now to the one who works, his wage is not credited as a favor, but as what is due. But to the one who does not work, but believes in Him who justifies the ungodly, his faith is credited as righteousness."

Mohammad misunderstands the connection between the Abrahamic Covenant and the Mosaic Covenant. Unfortunately, the Qur'an's version of the "Ten Commandments" is the foundation on which the covenant is built. This error is obvious in Al-Baqarah as Mohammad intertwines the two covenants and bases the first on the second. In the Torah we know that the "Ten Commandments" were given only after the first covenant was ratified with saving faith. God gave more specific commands to his people several hundred years later because they proved incapable of simply walking in the grace of trusting God. Their hard hearts required specific directives to point out their sinful ways and lead them to a knowledge of the grace given to Abraham.

Clearly, hard hearts continue to prevail today, especially in the Law-burdened Islamic nations. So what does this mean for our Muslim neighbors? Stop working! God says in the Zabor (Psalms): "Cease striving and know that I am God." The foundation of the covenant which God made between Himself and Israel is a trust and a belief in the God who revealed Himself to Abraham, Moses, David, and Isaiah. They trusted God as He gradually revealed Himself. To Abraham, God was the One who would bless the whole world through one of Abraham's descendants (Gen 22:18). To Moses, God was the One who showed grace on His people by teaching them what righteousness looked like (Exodus 22). To David, God was the One who did not count sins against His people because they would later be paid for in blood (Psalm 32). To Isaiah, God was the One who was sending His Suffering Servant to bear the sin of the world (Isaiah 53).

One day, as Jesus was teaching in Jerusalem, a crowd of scribes and Pharisees gathered -- their main goal to find a way to have Him killed -- providing Him an opportunity to rebuke their hard, religious hearts. He was disappointed that the Jews had not followed Abraham's example of faith. John chapter eight records their conversation:

"Your father Abraham rejoiced to see My day, and he saw it and was glad."
So the Jews said to Him, "You are not yet fifty years old, and have You seen Abraham?"
Jesus said to them, "Truly, truly, I say to you, before Abraham was born, I am."
Therefore they picked up stones to throw at Him, but Jesus hid Himself and went out of the temple.

Many Muslims are ready to throw their stones at Jesus and His followers. I want to challenge you to consider the claims of this man you call a Rasul (Teacher). Read the Injil (New Testament), read the words of this Rasul you call Jesus. What He truly said in history, recounted to us by many witnesses will shock you. Read, and find out for yourself that God came to us.

Justice And The Fight For Freedom

The world watches anxiously as Arabs from Morocco to Bahrain together pursue one goal: freedom. They have mobilized to strike fear into the heart of tyranny. An entire generation fighting to expose and dismantle regimes built on oppression, corruption, and tyranny, these brothers and sisters envision a better future and a better life. They cry out for freedom, but the battle is really one for justice.

Today's youth have awoken to the reality that if they do not fight against injustice, no one will do it for them. They believe that corrupt governments and power hungry politicians are not the cornerstones of progress. Rather, hope rests on democracy and human rights to create a better world. Justice will be served. The wicked will be cast down.

Yes, this is an age of awakening. We will no longer lend ourselves to the injustice of kings and dictators, crooked politicians and bribe-seeking police. Yet to this day, mosques everywhere are filled with worshipers who bow to the antithesis of what it is they seek. They are a people who refuse to be ruled by unjust men, yet submit to an unjust God.

Time and again, my neighbors and friends instruct me that God will grant mercy to the faithful. I am told that for those who confess "There is no God but Allah, and Mohammad is His prophet" and outweigh bad deeds with good all will be forgiven. God will simply erase all the mistakes and errors triumphantly ushering the believer into paradise. In Islam, pardon is fully within the realm of God's justice, and He will pardon every good Muslim. Supposedly, bad deeds are forgotten never to be remembered.

But what of the victims, do they remember? Do they not deserve justice?

Consider a fictional courtroom in my local village. As you and I sit behind the defendant, he rises and moves to plead his case. Accused of murder, he stands before the judge and begins his defense,

"Your honor, I have committed murder as you are well aware. But you must understand that this is but an isolated incident. I have murdered, but I am no murderer. Consider the weight of my good deeds, I pray five times a day, give alms, and uphold Ramadan. Please ask my neighbors and they will tell you that I have been on hajj twice. Allah Al'Aqbar! Does not this life of service before Allah more than cover the few mistakes I have made? I beg your mercy as you consider my past service in rendering judgment."

With the drop of a gavel, the judge acquits this man of all charges. He is free to go. For a moment the courtroom is stunned; the citizens stare at the judge in shock. And shock gives rise to anger. "Order in the court!" cries the judge at the public outcry. Amidst the uproar, a young girl sits quietly trembling in the back row. Tears begin to flow down her cheeks; a flood of memories gushes through her mind. As her makeup begins to smear, her puffy eyes lock with those of the defendant as he retraces his steps down the aisle. With a grin, her father's murderer exits the courtroom.

Not one of us would tolerate such blatant injustice from a human judge. This revolution was started to cast down such injustice. And yet, Islam's claims make God out to be no better than our oppressors. To this point, my Muslim friends will object, "But God is not bound by our justice. His justice is different than earthly justice."

You are right when you say that God is not bound by temporal, finite creation. But I ask, did not the God who created you and I and the world in which we live also create the order that turns it and the justice that governs it? If God deems that the justice passed down to the prophets Moses, Jesus, and Mohammad is holy, is he not unholy when his justice proves contrary? Buried inside every human heart is a God-given conception of justice that flows from God's very nature. We can know and fight for justice because it is essential to the God who has sanctioned and sanctified it.

All injustice comes at a cost. A price to be paid. The murderer must relinquish his freedom, the thief must make reparations, and the sinner must be called to account for his active rebellion against a holy God. Within the confines of Islam's double-standard-justice, men will continue to uphold justice only when it is convenient and beneficial for them. Only a people that understands God's deep love for justice will actively pursue that justice in all facets of life.

Until the Arab world takes a firm stand on universal justice, the change they so desperately desire will elude them. An unjust God is as worthy of my worship as Mubarak is deserving of my tax money. Under an unjust God, the fight for justice will fail. Nothing will change but the names of those who filch and oppress the poor.

So what is the answer? How does God prove Himself just and still justify sinners? According to Paul's letter to the Romans in the Injil, chapter 3, the publicly shed blood of Jesus stands as payment for the sin and injustice committed by all who place their trust in this Messiah. Islam is half right, God will indeed pardon sin for the faithful. But He does not do this without payment.

God came to earth wrapped in man's skin, called Himself Jesus, and made the reparations on our behalf. Justice was fulfilled at the cross. The sinner's pardon is the blood of our spotless lamb.

Freedom or Facade?

Arabs everywhere are crying out to demand freedom. Egyptians, Libyans, and Saudi Arabians are standing up to corrupt and violent governments and clamoring for change. They raise their fists for freedom, equality, and hope.

On January 30th, Egyptians protested in a "Day of Rage." Officially, Bahrain followed on February 14th, Libya on February 17th, Morocco on February 20th, Tunisia on February 25th, and Saudi Arabia on March 11th. Unofficially, many have fallen in between, more frequent in some countries than others. In Morocco, for instance, every Sunday has seen peaceful protests in all the major cities since February 20th.

The protesters collectively want freedom. But on an individual level, people are demanding work, better pay, and more opportunities for the college-educated. They want to put a stop to corruption. They want new leaders. They want a better life.

But today's freedom movement has a serious internal flaw. The focus is on me. What can I get? How can I better my position? America's freedom was built on a Judeo-Christian ethic, an entire nation joining together to create a better world for everyone. Where self-interest comes first, freedom devolves into tyranny. The fight for personal gain is not the fight of freedom. This man's freedom is another man's chains.

The conception of freedom that requires the destruction of the bourgeoisie by the proletariat is a never-ending cycle of violence. Freedom always has in view the minority. And this is the fork in the road where freedom and Arab culture part ways because even the minority does not have in mind the minority. What an Arab minority has in mind is ascension to power on the backs of other minorities. For many, freedom is an empty word, a stepping stone to securing power.

I fear that many of today's freedom fighters have a short-sighted view of freedom. If freedom is what you want for your nation, there is no place for your motivations of money, power, and position. Freedom requires sacrifice. Freedom defends the weak, helps the helpless, and extends its hand to enemies. My Arab friends, you must set aside your hatred, your biases, and your differences. It may sound counter-intuitive, but by helping the helpless, you help yourself.

Will you fight for your own rights, but deny them to your countrymen? At the end of the day, will the poor and uneducated still be marginalized? When you have seen your revolution through, will you acknowledge the rights of your Christian brothers and sisters, those who have been threatened, tortured, and killed in the name of Islam? Will you defend the oppressed, abused, and downtrodden?

I want you to know that you have many Christian countrymen. In fact, they are scattered all across North Africa and the Middle East. They work hard, commend truth, seek justice, and ask God to give wisdom to those in authority over them. They are the minority that is most in danger of being left behind in this revolution.

Will we all get the better life you seek, or is this just a facade?

The Shot Heard Around The World

A young 20th century would stumble into the world desperately seeking identity. The expectations were high; previous generations had been responsible for reformations, industrial revolution, and the Enlightenment. Progress was lifted high as the banner that historians would use to define the age, a powerful diversion to steal the world's attention away from the atrocities of imperialism, ongoing wars, and the rising discontentment of nationalism.

Mankind looked down from his high tower reveling in the glory of his great masterpiece all the while oblivious to the corrosion of its foundations. Then, one warm summer morning in Sarajevo, a shot was fired that was heard around the world. Before the projectile reached its mark, the world was at war. Piercing the jugular vein of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the bullet released a flow of long overlooked anger and virulence into a shattered world loosely held together by the tenuous geographic lines laid out by the imperial powers that be.

Fired from the gun of a young Serbian, this shot would signal the mobilization of the world's armies. Declarations of war would be heard as far as the shot's ringing echoes could reach. With one swift action, the world was at war. An unstoppable chain of events brought modernity crashing back down the very mountain of progress it had intrepidly stood upon.

A fledgling 21st century would find itself in that same struggle to discover its identity. One more generation fed up with its oppressors, the Arab world unwittingly awaited a catalyst as it stood by watching kings and dictators -- risen from among their own people -- multiply the iniquities of previous centuries' colonists. Once more the answer would be heard loud and clear by the world that had turned a blind eye to their suffering. With the strike of a match, a young Tunisian man would ignite the Arab world sending far and wide the flames of violence and rage long suppressed.

College-educated but out of work, his only hope to support a hungry family -- the produce cart that he pushed around the streets of his city -- was confiscated by corrupt policemen whose own families were well provided for. The next day he set himself and the Arab world on fire. The empty gas can lying by the side of the road, his smoldering body would spread the flames like a wildfire to the far reaches of North Africa and the Middle East. As the flames spread, every major Arab leader would feel the heat of Mohamed Bouazizi's fire.

Wisdom of Words

How is it that our words can be so powerful? How can such small exertions of air -- manipulated and repackaged according to various nuances -- carry such a heavy burden, bearing the heavy baggage of both the past and the now?

Words, while taking the form of a sharp blade, or, perhaps, a dense, blunt object, even a virus, small as it is in its preliminary form, which quickly spreads and overwhelms its victim, bear the power -- at times blatantly, but often acting from a more subversive nature -- to cripple, to maim, and in such extreme cases to kill. But this is the easy way; the broad path leading to the destruction of all involved, even, in due time, the destruction of he who wields such deadly power.

And what -- apart from the obvious answer of man's fallen nature -- motivates such violent a power? Lust, greed, pride, hate, anger, competing ideologies, in some cases religion itself, poor reasoning, and on goes the list from the very minor, subconscious ticks, to the far spectrum of worldview and culture.

But my interest does not so much lie in the realm of the nature of evil in its marriage with words, but moreso in the divorce of the two. I choose the word divorce because the time is past for a pre-emptive strike; prevention was only possible in the garden. The task now is restoration; to bring all things into submission under Christ.

So what, indeed, is the motivation -- in contrast to the above stated motivations that open the door for evil to play its role in our words -- behind the arduous task of redeeming our words? Quite simply put: wisdom. And so for this I lean on proverbs to bring light to how one's words are to conform to his position and continual transformation in Christ to his likeness.

Proverbs 1:7... The key by which we understand wisdom: "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom."

"Put away from you a deceitful mouth,
and put devious speech far from you." - 4:24

"A worthless person, a wicked man,
Is the one who walks with a perverse mouth." - 6:12

"The mouth of the righteous is a fountain of life,
but the mouth of the wicked conceals violence." - 10:11

"when there are many words, transgression is unavoidable,
but he who restrains his lips is wise." - 10:19

"By the blessing of the upright a city is exalted,
but by the mouth of the wicked it is torn down." - 11:11

"There is one who speaks rashly like the thrusts of a sword,
but the tongue of the wise brings healing." - 12:18

"Anxiety in a man's heart weights it down,
but a good word makes it glad." - 12:25

"The one who guards his mouth preserves his life;
the one who opens wide his lips comes to ruin." - 13:3

"A truthful witness saves lives,
but he who utters lies is treacherous." - 14:25

"A gentle answer turns away wrath,
but a harsh word stirs up anger." - 15:1

"A soothing tongue is a tree of life,
but perversion in it crushes the spirit." - 15:4

"The heart of the righteous ponders how to answer,
but the mouth of the wicked pours out evil things." - 15:28

"He who restrains his words has knowledge,
and he who has a cool spirit is a man of understanding." - 17:27

"Even a fool, when he keeps silent, is considered wise;
when he closes his lips, he is considered prudent." - 17:28

"A fool does not delight in understanding,
but only in revealing his own mind." - 18:2

"He who gives an answer before he hears,
it is folly and shame to him." - 18:13

"He who guards his mouth and his tongue,
guards his soul from troubles." - 21:23

"Do not go out hastily to argue your case;
otherwise, what will you do in the end,
when your neighbor humiliates you." - 25:8

"Do not answer a fool according to his folly,
or you will also be like him." - 26:4

"He who rebukes a man will afterward find more favor
than he who flatters with a tongue." - 28:23

"A man who flatters his neighbor
is spreading a net for his steps." -29:5

"Do you see a man who is hasty in his words?
There is more hope for a fool than for him." - 29:20

A Drop In The Bucket Is Something

The tower shuddered with the impact of the plane. For a moment, it swayed as pieces of debris began falling from the heights. Then, in one destructive moment, the foundation gave way and the tower collapsed inward, toppling over on itself and spreading the remains across the floor. Blocks were heaped in masses with the crumpled nose of a paper airplane protruding from the rubble. Little Megan stood close by pleased that her airplane had finally taken down this once proud skyscraper.

Watching her play, something long forgotten had awakened inside me as the poorly constructed tower of lego blocks, molded by the hands of a five-year-old, lay in smoldering ruins on the kitchen floor. The memory had been dormant for years, waiting to be released once more by some abstract sight or thought. I was sitting again in Mrs. Stempien's 10th grade homeroom surrounded by those drab, brown curtains and dull tile floors typical of the region's under-funded high schools. With every eye glued to an antique television set, the room was left utterly speechless. Those flaming towers, tinted blue on the old screen, were burned in my memory forever as they crashed to the earth.

Similar to my own experience with the infamous assassination of John F. Kennedy, the defining moment in history for many of my elders, she has heard only faint legends of twin towers from ages past. She will never know precisely how I felt that day sitting uncharacteristically silent at my creaky, wooden desk. There is much pain in the world that she does not yet know.

Recently, someone criticized me and my youth, questioning my ability to understand anything about the world. After all, I'm not even thirty yet, how could I really know anything?

But the truth is, I have seen the world in all its beauty, beauty that quietly uncovered my village with the first light of dayspring as it emerged from looming Himalayan peaks. I have seen the world in all its pain, weeping with Mother Theresa's nuns as they cared for leprous, dying Indians who, their whole lives, had known only the street. And I have seen its violence, living amidst the rage of Arab Africans as they angrily fanned the flames of revolution in hopes of a better life.

I have sat at the feet of the great thinkers of history and asked them the hard questions. I have studied the world around me and discovered universal truths that many have rejected and many more will disregard to their destruction. I have known mankind and attentively listened to his hopes and dreams, regrets and hurts. I have become personally acquainted with the world's suffering, that feeling of gasping for air, or a searing heat that comes suddenly upon the body, when the most intense pain breaks through with the news of divorce and separation, growing up with an alcoholic single mother, and a stepfather's rejection after discovering faith in a Savior who was supposed to make everything better right now.

My time on this earth has indeed been short, but I have savored it and squeezed out as much as I could. If today was my last day, I couldn't honestly say I did not know the world. I do know the world, we're just not that well acquainted yet. There is so much more I want to explore; so many more adventures yet to be had that it's almost overwhelming. I'm bursting at the seams with my experience with the world, and yet it's only a drop in the bucket.

I did, in fact, see the towers fall; one day she will have her own towers. One day she will stand in my shoes, somewhere between innocence and adulthood, gathering herself to step into this mystery: a world that she has known, but not nearly well enough.

Rob Bell and African Kung Fu (Or, On "Love Wins")

Bad theology is sort of like Kung Fu training in Africa.

For several months I was a member of an African Kung Fu school, the first Arabic-speaking martial arts class I have attended. Throughout my training, I struggled to acclimate to not only the foreign language that was in many ways still a mystery to me but to the African mindset -- widely unknown in today's America -- that bones break, people get hurt, and life moves on. On every level, this was a new experience for me. Unlike my former Tae Kwon Do training in America, where everything was done on heavily padded mats, under constant supervision, and with specific instruction and warnings against how not to perform certain moves, my experience here, both in terms of instruction and sparring, could be described as "no holds barred."

One day, two months into my training, and a mere week before my knee injury, I nearly crossed that proverbial line only to be met with a brief "look" rather than the severe rebuke I likely deserved. In performing a specific defensive maneuver, in which the arm is tucked around behind the back in order to control the attacker as he lies on the ground or to lift him back onto his feet, I mistakenly looped my arm outside-in through his arm rather than inside-out. Just before I lifted him up, thereby putting all of his 130 pounds on that one specific hold point, another, more skilled, participant took notice of me, still a novice, and my egregious error. A brief look and word of correction, "no, no, not that way, you'll break his arm; the other way," and I was set off on my way again.

Now, I had thought I knew what I was doing. After all, when the instructor had quickly demonstrated the move on one unfortunate victim the first time, and even a second time which was unusual, I had taken in everything; I was obviously ready to go and make it happen. Thankfully, someone caught my mistake before I made it; this would prove to not be the case a week later when I performed a move wrong several times without guidance, effectively spraining my knee and setting me out of Kung Fu for three months.

With seven years of camp counselor experience under my belt, I can confidently say that 90% of the mothers I met over the years would never let their children train at my African Kung Fu school. Now the point, while I'm not advising a "helicopter parent" approach, is that I do see the need to balance freedom with oversight and instruction in any discipleship or mentoring relationship. The middle ground is the way to go; freedom with oversight and training.

This is what is sorely lacking amongst our pastors today. In the same way no Kung Fu master rises overnight without years of training, neither can a pastor perform his duties effectively without the proper training that balances freedom with oversight and instruction. Freedom to flourish, to innovate, and to love, but oversight and training that gently guides and leads along the path of truth, not taking for granted the essential doctrines laid as the foundation for our faith. It seems that too many pastors today have not been given this gentle training and oversight that Paul so strongly advocates in letters to Titus and Timothy. Too many ill-prepared pastors are leading churches, and in many cases leading them astray. They wield freedom, free from the constraints of godly instruction, and find themselves quickly using it "as a covering for evil."

Case and point: Rob Bell. Though I intend to read it, I have not yet read his new book entitled "Love Wins: Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived". From what I gather so far, it looks pretty universalist/inclusivist and therefore anti-Christ and His teachings. I wouldn't make this judgment simply on what I've heard about this one book, but have been increasingly skeptical about Rob Bell since college. But, unfortunately, he seems to be just the latest example of a "Christian pastor", whether emphatically or subtly, who, while likely a believer in the Lord Jesus himself, is leading thousands astray and as James writes, "will incur stricter judgment", certainly not from me, but from God on the Day of Judgment.

And, by the way, this isn't my standard that I'm holding him to. Simply follow the line of orthodox Christianity throughout the centuries and you will find continuity amongst the greats: Jesus, John, Polycarp, Irenaeus, Athanasius, Augustine, Aquinas, Calvin, Luther, Edwards, to the modern day. The line is clear and goes back to Jesus following the trend he set forth himself, "I am the way, the truth, and the life, no man comes to the Father but through me." And He made very clear what the only other option would be.

And one last thought. I understand Bell went to seminary. That's great, so did I. But seminary and good, effective pastoral training don't always go hand in hand. Discipleship is a necessity and I had a hard time finding that in seminary.

Iron Will (Or, Mankind's Shtick)

Is it possible that man can will anything? Is he that strong? Referred to as "the measure of all things" by Protagoras, can man overcome aything?

War. Tragedy. Pain. Inconvenience. Cold, for instance, is a cancer. It lurks close by as I awake in my warm bed. It nips at my heels as I make for the shower. And it takes shape as the hot water ends and I reach for a towel. It begins small, but grows maliciously. Soon, my whole body is seeping with cold. But I endure. I remind myself of my strength and press on. For a day, it is a small trial. It makes me better. A second day, another opportunity. A week and the optimism holds strong. But as the cold lasts through the weeks and on to months, the will begins to wane.

The first choice is easy. But with time, the will corrodes. The will is strong at first, steadfast. But over time, steadfastness turns to uncertainty turns to improbability turns to impossibility. Do you see how it works? Man does not lose his power to will with one choice. But as decay spreads through the bones and returns the man to the earth, so a life of trial can decay the soul leading to ultimate destruction. After weeks of cold, I lie here wrapped up in my blanket, striving for any and every drop of warmth to fall on my parched tongue. What was once a good and easy decision of my will is now just a stumbling block before my idol of comfort. My will is gone. My comfort takes over.

A month ago, Wednesday night's trip to the gym was a given. Of course I would work out, but I would also carry on with Mohammad in the cardio room. I would laugh with Saiad about how I came to see him at his restaurant again, but my suspicion grows that each time he sees me coming he escapes through the back door. I work out hard because I like the praises mixed with silly comments that I get from Abdul Aziz. A month ago, Wednesday night was non-negotiable. A week ago, Wednesday night was a fight, but a victorious fight. But here I lie, Wednesday night. My will has given way to Comfort, my god. Cold has battered my weak will into submission. The walls have fallen, the city is taken, and the golden calf has been erected. Life, joy, and laughter have ceded their superficial pedestals in my life as selfish idolatry has turned me inward.

Do you see it yet? This is what we do. John Calvin would tell you that your heart is an "idol factory". Hardly complementary words considering you're such a good person, right? Consider the man of Isaiah 44...

He comes home from a hard day's work. Tired, he crumples over against the wall outside his home. As night falls, the cold comes and a shiver trickles down his spine. Soon the shiver turns into a rumble in the pit of his stomach. So he motivates himself to make dinner. He pulls together some kindling and sticks and starts a fire. As he sits close by the fire, the warmth returns to his body. The fire crackles and rumbles; after some time he places a large stick in the middle. Warmed, he looks on in admiration of his accomplishment. With half of this stick, he begins cooking bread. With the half protruding from the fire he begins to carve a figure. When the bread finishes, he adds meat to the fire and continues his work. About the time he finishes carving, his meal finishes. Next to the fire, he eats his dinner and then bows down before his carving. The one half of his log he burns in the fire while he bows down before the other, praying, "Deliver me, for you are my god!"

How silly is this man. How silly this story, one more outdated chapter from a caveman scroll. But you do it. I do it. Man's will is weak, he will eventually succumb to any and every trial and temptation. He will make every love, joy, and pleasure into his god, seeking some deliverance. Man's only hope is to replace his will with that of someone or something greater. Some realize this and seek to replace their own will with that of another man, we call them accountability partners. Or, perhaps, he'll use some 12 step program. Someone better. Some set of rules. Some code.

What we really need is a divine will. Not the stick. Not the will of man as it shifts with the shadows. But the source of all light. For the light source can not be shadowed, but, rather, is the wellspring of radiant glory, the forgotten desire of those shadowed souls who stand behind their idols.

Dependence is natural to man. It's buried deep inside him. We all will depend on something. So what are the options. There is, of course, dependency on the stick. There is dependence on oneself which through the decay of the will simply leads back to the stick. There is dependence on some other person just as vulnerable as yourself which eventually leads to his stick. And finally, there is dependence on something more, something eternal. The only One true. The only One wise. The only One everlasting, never failing. One who was, is, and is still to come.

As I lie here wrapped up, defeated, I am reminded that I stray so easily. Before I know it, I'm right back to the shtick. Half of it comforts me, the other half I bow down to.

Sight Reading

Everything appeared crisp and clear. Every turn of the soccer ball. Each individual ray from the line of street lights. Each object in that small park with its own particular detail appeared enlarged, magnified even, as an insect observed through a magnifying glass. On this particular night I viewed the world in high definition.

I could see clearly the expressions of happy couples on the benches skirting the park. Each girl's joy uniquely revealed by means of her own individual facial features. And their counterparts each brandishing that same soul-searching gaze that every man knows, whether as a genuine reflection of his inner man or a contrived act, the perfection of the artful diversion designed to mask deeper motives.

Not too far off was an enclosed area where there was a football match underway. Nothing too serious, but scrappy football at its best. As I studied these teenagers, nothing escaped my vision. The highlight of the night was a brief scuff over a disputed goal. With perfect clarity I had seen the ball bend just inside a black shoe marking the goal post. From my distant vantage point, I had not missed the shooter's frustration with the disagreement over a legitimate goal. Nor did my eyes miss the knowing look on the goalie's face as he adamantly argued against the goal. With force he made his case, but his eyes were revealing. Taking pleasure in the other boy's fury, he was well aware the goal was true. Despite the intensity of the argument, these friends were soon back to the game with angry words a thing of the past.

Panning across the park to the street view, cars moved rhythmically through the large roundabout. Here the traffic flows similar to a Handelian movement. Each musician knows when to play and with what dynamics, and, subsequently, each knows precisely when to rest. Weaving in and out, each vehicle smoothly made its round and flowed on to the next destination. I marveled at the clarity of brake lights fading off to distant streets. Taxis and buses, bikes and strollers filled the square and carried on with their part in the sonata.

This is life. No better and no worse than it always has been. To them, this life is simple. To understand it is to flow with it, to be caught up in the various melodies and crescendos that life offers. Yet sitting on my park bench seeing it all afresh through new glasses, I see with greater clarity, but still cannot seem to follow the rhythm.

Across the street is a cafe. This is where the men go. They watch Champions League football, talk business, and relax with old friends over a coffee. And before they were old enough to do so, their fathers were here. And one day their sons will come here. In the same way, the teenagers playing football have always done so. Every summer they can remember was spent forever perfecting that shot, practicing this move, and playing with a certain team.

And here I sit. On the outside looking in. My father did not have a favorite cafe where everyone knew his boy. That special one in which we watched our first football game together. When I go to a cafe no one knows me, or my father or his. I did not grow up watching Champions League or playing football. None of these boys or their brothers did I run around with on endless summer nights. As a virus invading the body seems my existence in this African life. It is unknown, foreign. To the natural inhabitants and defenders of the body, it could appear a threat or simply be ignored.

Though a new pair of glasses offers greater clarity of vision, at least one great composer has created beautiful music without such an advantage. This piece I am now learning is driven by a different beat; a new style for me, but hardly new in itself. All great movements find their beauty and rhythm in an ordered complexity, a culture that each individual musician must perfect over a lifetime.

Life is too intricate to enter into on a whim. Adjustments must be made gradually. Unwritten rules discovered with experience. Dynamics explored through feel and often dictated by varying circumstances. An outsider cannot step in here and play first violin. He must defer to those who are more familiar with the part.

With new glasses and new vision, I look over the sheet music with greater clarity. Details come into focus that were once too blurry for me to make out. The most important of which is scribbled in the right hand corner: "second violin". Those who play second violin recognize and accept that sight is only one piece of the pie, a pie that will never be natural to them. Those who continue striving to play first violin without the talent to do so merely bring undo negative attention on themselves from the surrounding symphony.

At no other time in my life has my vision become more clear. Had I not come to live in Africa, my eyes would have never been good enough to see just how much of the world was still blurry. I can now see more clearly the rhythm of life, though I struggle to follow. I can see the unique qualities of the beat, but it does not flow through me. And I can read each individual note as it lies on the page, though I will never play them as well as my neighbor. But, at least now I am on the same page.

Holiness: What Do I Really Long For?

I have thoughts about God. But, of course, so do you. You see, all of us have thoughts about God. Even my friends who subscribe to the new atheist movement. We suppress the truth of God as revealed by His invisible attributes, His eternal power and His divine nature. Or, we submit to Him as Lord and Savior.

Now despite my suppression or submission, if my thoughts about God are not proper than they're pointless. For if my thoughts about God are not the primary thoughts of my life, they really don't count for much. Unless my thinking on God is my best thinking, my most inspired thinking, and the thinking that produces my most aesthetically-oriented word choice to reflect the beauty I claim to grasp, my thoughts on God are not true to life. For, if He truly is who He has revealed Himself to be, my only response must be to fall before Him with Isaiah and cry out "WOE! Woe is me for I am a man of unclean lips."

And it is true. But it is only the first leaf to fall in a vast forest of flaming, golden trees. Not only are my lips unclean, but consequently my heart. And if my heart is unclean, clearly the countless desires that pass to and from that heart each and every day are as tainted as the once white snow that is now an eyesore with its bountiful amalgamations and reproductions of the various shades of brown compounded by each successive plowing; snow that was once gifted with a glorious purity.

Stick to the Playbook

As a student of the world, I can't help but continually make observations and notes about everything. In professional sports, the best players spend hours pouring over game tape. They look for strengths, weaknesses, and overall quirks of the opponent. As Christians, I say we study our opponents, but we also must inspect our own team from time to time.

Now, like anyone else, I have a strong preference for my team. I am convinced that my team has a leg up on the others, namely the truth. But every team has its weaknesses. Some teams have more while others have less. Some teams could be great, but they lack identity.

A football team built for a strong ground-and-pound run offense will not flourish by spreading out five wide and expecting the quarterback to become Joe Montana. Likewise, a team built around Peyton Manning, is at a large disadvantage if he gets injured and the onus to win falls on the ground game and defense. So it is with the team whose identity is built on certain principles, but when its opponent comes Sunday morning the players begin to model a different style of play.

The same is true now in the faith world. As followers of Jesus, we have what other teams don't: grace. Our lives are to be saturated in the joy of knowing this amazing, unique grace. Our doctrine should be built on the immovable, unshakable foundation of grace. The greatest gift Christians have been given is grace. So why in the world would we ever want anything else? How could we start taking pages out of the other teams' playbooks?

This mindset has particularly detrimental consequences for the work being done in the Arab world. For too long we have been guilty of replacing Islamic hadiths, rules and fear with our pharisaical, Christianized ones. We teach Muslim background believers to forget the 5 pillars of Islam and hold to the pillars of Christianity:
1. Read your Bible every day.
2. Pray before every meal.
3. Give 10%.
4. Fast, but not during Ramadan.

We take one checklist for building up good works, and unwittingly exchange it for a whole new checklist. We go from fear to fear. But what does the Messiah say? “Perfect love drives out fear!” We must stop instilling fear and move to providing hope. This is the whole point of the Old Testament. “Look, you Jews, there is hope! His name is Messiah! And He is coming!!” And then we get to the New Testament and do we see, “Look! It’s Jesus! Now do this, this, that, and a few of these things and he’ll love you”?

No! This isn't the way it works. Jesus says, “If you love me, you will obey what I command.” He does not say “You must love me AND obey my commands.” My pastor in college once said, "Good works don't lead us to heaven, they follow us to heaven." The writer of Hebrews says, "Now where there is forgiveness of these things, there is no longer any offering for sin." (10:18) There is only one thing we can do to please God and that is trust Him as Abraham trusted Him. From the point of salvation we have nothing to offer. There is nothing we can do to please God or to lose His favor. Jesus has already done it all for us.

John tells us that “He came to the world to save the world, not to bring judgment upon the world.” Judgment is for later and Jesus comes to make our judgment a joke! You see, Muslims believe the Day of Judgment will be a large scale with weights comparable to your bad deeds and your good deeds. But, as Anselm of Canterbury has pointed out, one bad deed is not just a bad deed. One bad deed is rebellion against an infinite God and can not be covered over with any number good deeds. So when the Christian walks up to the proverbial scale and sees the many, many bad deeds sitting on the one side, he can rest in his assurance that the infinite weight of Jesus' good work more than compensates the evil. In fact, when Jesus’ good work sits on the opposite side of the scale, every shameful act I ever committed is transferred to Jesus’ scale.

It is grace! Grace is the whole idea behind the good news. That a loving, but uncompromising God wanted so much for the world and its inhabitants to be restored to Eden, to perfection, that He gave His one and only Son to pay for us. He pays our price. And He pays at His own expense. He doesn’t go out and take someone else’s trading chips to cover our cost, He pays with His own blood. This is grace. That we get what Jesus deserved and He takes what we deserved. We deserve to die, but live. He deserved to live, but died. And being the one perfect, acceptable sacrifice, God raised Him to life completing the perfect sacrifice.

Many act like discipleship begins with rules, I disagree! Discipleship begins with a proper, all-encompassing understanding of grace. That where sin once reigned, grace abounds all the more. Not the more I sin, the more pergatory I must endure or the more good points I must obtain. It is only by God’s grace that we are changed. Only by His grace that we are made new. That we follow Him, love Him, obey Him, tell about Him. Only by grace can one man say, “I am the chief of sinners!” and yet be assured of his reserved place in eternity where He will enjoy God forever.

No, our team is strong. I choose to stick to my own playbook, thank you.

Tomorrow

Darkness surrounded me. Reality began crumbling beneath my feet as I vacillated between two worlds. Seeking to immerse myself in bliss, my only remaining memory, I found myself fighting harder as other memories returned slowly reshaping my world. The more desperately I reached for this bliss the easier it slipped through my fingers. Grasping for everything I had known only moments before, an unbearable siren cut through the fog. At first unrecognizable, it seemed to come right up next to me.

Reality set in at 6:05am as I flung my arm at the alarm clock. Groaning, I turned over seeking one last hit of bliss. I would give anything for one last high. But it was over. I sat up and stared for several minutes through the bedroom window. Darkness had firmly gripped each stronghold of the night hours, but now a lone ray of light beamed across the far mountain peak signaling the long awaited invasion.

Jogging the old, littered streets I watched as the consuming shadows retreated one by one with the arrival of the dayspring. One ray after another appeared over the horizon as I ran the empty streets of this new, unknown city. With each mile the retreat was more sure as the strength of the day grew. A new day. Light had come to conquer the darkness.

Three years ago, I walked these very streets. I knew nothing of the culture, the language, or the people. I was just one more ugly American walking streets that didn't belong to him. Just one more inexperienced college student trying to wrap his mind around an ever-changing world. One more young, wide-eyed Christian claiming to know a thing or two about the Great Commission, but time would determine the level of that commitment.

As I jog into the new day, I am thankful for a new breath, a new morning, a new opportunity. Just as today will not be the same as yesterday, I am not the same person as three years ago. I am not the same American. Not the same student. Nor the same Christian.

What a difference three years can make. I can’t help but wonder, will I visit this city again in three years? And what then will I think of myself? Perhaps there will be disappointment over the battles lost and ground ceded. Or, perhaps like today, I will praise God for the growth He has steadily wrought in my life. Time will tell, but there is much to do these next few years. One thing is true, I have not reached the proverbial “there”. I never will in this life, but that won't stop me from running hard.

Paul tells us to “work out [our] salvation with fear and trembling.” How I long to see my salvation continue down this path of fear and trembling! As I look back three years, the road was difficult, but as I am continually made to be more like my Savior, the fight is worth the casualties. The road is long and there are always more miles to cover.

Today, with all its struggles and victories, will not last. Tomorrow is forever a ripe, new day.