Tenebrae (Latin for “darkness”), refers to a Christian service during the week leading up to Easter, often involving the gradual extinguishing of candles. The Last Words refer to the 7 last sentences Jesus spoke as he was crucified on the cross. Hearing his own words sung in a round is musically mesmerizing, and strikes you with the gravity of all that he came to accomplish during his earthly ministry.

He was the mediator who came to offer forgiveness:

Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do
Forgive them, they know not what they do

He was the Messiah who came to save:

Today you will be with me in Paradise
You will be with me today

He was a child who came to model compassion and serve:

Behold your son, behold your mother, behold your son

He was a Son who willingly endured abandonment from his Father:

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why have you forsaken me?

He was a human who suffered pain:

I thirst, I thirst

He is the Messiah who volunteered his life as a sacrifice:

It is finished, it is finished

Father, into your hands, into your hands
I commit my spirit

Luke 23:34, Luke 23:43, John 19:26, Mark 15:34, John 19:28, John 19:30, Luke 23:46

It was a short walk to the entrance, passing hotel after touristy hotel down the busy street, one family amongst dozens, all headed in the same direction. Our parent radar was up, ensuring the kids kept pace.

“Get your ears here. Only $5. You’ll pay $15 inside the park!” the jovial street vendor warned. Time was short and I wanted to see the park. We bustled past a man holding a homemade cardboard sign, asking for assistance and wishing all passers by God’s blessing. The gates were within sight. “Heads down! Stay focused! Come on!” I pleaded with the family.

We enjoyed window shopping, ducking in and out of a handful of interesting stores. In the back of my mind I kept hearing that great Spaceballs line, “Merchandising, merchandising, where the real money from the movie is made…. Spaceballs—the breakfast cereal. Spaceballs—the flame thrower!”

Then it was time for the reverse trip, back to the hotel, to make sure we were ready and rested for the big day. A military vet and his son were asking for handouts, and the familiar street vendors were repeating their same spiel.

Getting the whole family to sleep in the same hotel room isn’t easy. Sprinkle in the anticipation of a fun outing the next day, and we weren’t sure anyone was going to sleep.

With the lights off and hotel air conditioning on full blast, our eldest stumbled through the dark and wanted to talk, clearly troubled. My wife ushered him into the bathroom so she could turn on a light without waking the others. Through moist eyes, he poured out his heart.

“It isn’t fair. How can there be people without a place to sleep, begging on the street, while everyone’s spending hundreds of dollars to get into Disneyland?”

Platitudes and nuanced answers weren’t going to suffice. I wasn’t able to hear my wife’s answer, but prayed she’d have wisdom to respond.

As we passed each person with a sign, he silently walked over, gave them a package of cheese and crackers, and rejoined the masses headed for the gates. Eventually his food stash was empty and we were at the entrance.

Nothing more was said, but I was convicted.

How had my heart become so calloused that I could walk right by and not feel pain? Why was my first instinct to avoid eye contact with those along the street? Why did I question the motives of those asking for help? When did I learn to rationalize a lack of response?

At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. (Matthew 18:1-4)

On this trip it wasn’t the magical world of Disney’s kingdom that captured my heart, but the eyes and heart of my son, demonstrating to me true faith and humility.

It’s 16 years later, and that moment just came.

We got Moby in 2001 as a puppy. Years before we had any children, he solidified his place in our family. On Friday, we gathered as a family to say good-bye. He was having repeated heart failure episodes, and unable to breathe.

I expected it to be hard, but not this painful. Looking back at all of our memories, it’s easy to see why. Do you mind if I share a few?

Moby Memories

When he was first eating food from a dish, he was top-heavy. When he’d lean over his bowl to eat, his head would weigh him down and he’d do a face plant into his food.

About the same age, he would spend the night in a crate to help with his house training. Each morning after breakfast he’d head straight to the crate, open the door, and pull out his blanket in protest.

When we first met Moby, he was fully black, with a splash of tan just around his eyes. His coloring was beautiful, and he seemed to lighten a bit as he grew. Then came his first haircut. The black coat was shed with his first grooming, only the black tips remaining. Everywhere else he was now a beige color.

Speaking of haircuts, the first time we brought him to the groomers they asked if we wanted his head rounded. Fearing he’d end up with a military-style flat top, we said yes. As it turns out, they sculpted his head into this huge helmet-shaped dome. When he came home, you could literally see the disgust on his face as we couldn’t stop laughing. Since he was part poodle, the groomers had shaped his head like a traditional poodle. We didn’t make that mistake again.

To demonstrate his fierceness, Moby would plan sneak attacks on the flowers in the yard. Seriously, they never saw it coming. He was also afraid of house flies. You could always tell when there was a fly in the house, as he’d be cowering, tail between his legs, looking for a place to hide.

Being small in stature, Moby somehow managed to make descending a single step something of an occasion. Instead of stepping down from one level to the next, he would launch himself off the step with all four paws in the air. While taking a walk one day, going off the curb to cross the street, Moby did his usual leap. A stranger saw it from across the street and yelled over to us that it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

Speaking of walks, Moby loved the smells of the outdoors. Whenever he came across something good smelling (think geese poop, dried worms, rabbit pellets), he would lower one shoulder and attempt to roll in it. When he wasn’t shoulder-diving into something nasty, he would position himself right between us. He’d look around as if to say, “That’s right. We’re out on a walk, folks.”

In our first house he wasn’t tall enough to see out the front window, but he wanted to keep an eye out for squirrels. To get around this he used a begging posture he’d learned as a trick to elevate his view. He’d sit on his back haunches and balance with his front paws up in the air. That gave him just enough height to keep an eye on Squirrel in the front tree. They frequently had stare-downs.

Speaking of houses, Moby was with us through every major life change: changing jobs, the family expanding, and moving 6 different times. During one move, we had a 13 hour drive between states. Moby spent the entire drive standing so he could keep an eye on things and provide input as needed.

Before we had kids, we’d occasionally eat something while watching TV. During a meal of Macaroni and Cheese, Moby thought he could crawl on his belly on the floor between us and the couch, come out between us, and get our food. This became the Moby Macaroni Maneuver.

Speaking of couches, when Moby was excited about getting a treat he would climb onto the back of the couch and leap off. It was part of his pre-treat routine. That carried over into other aspects of life, when he just wanted to hang out with us, too. Thinking he was part cat, he’d hang out on the back of the couch.

Speaking of other kinds of animals, his favorite toy of all time was a squeaky crab. He’d take a hold of it with his mouth and shake it for all he was worth–over, and over, and over, until he was convinced it was dead. Oddly enough, these toy crabs didn’t last long. For fear that Meijer would stop selling them, we eventually started stocking up to make sure he never ran out. We still have a couple to this day.

One of our favorite mannerisms of Moby’s was how he’d always tilt his head sideways when hearing his name. It was as if to say, “Yes, you called?” He did that faithfully until he lost his hearing late in life.

Speaking of health issues, he had abscessed teeth which had to be removed. He had a heart murmur that ultimately led to heart failure. He tore the ACL in his knee. The highlight had to be when he swallowed a corncob holder. At the age of 14 he had emergency surgery, and was good to go. The vet didn’t believe us and took x-rays to confirm he had actually swallowed the whole thing, spikes and all. While they were removing it, they also removed a huge hair ball from his stomach. Did I mention he sometimes acted like a cat?

He also had skin allergies his whole life, with various treatments not doing much to help (us giving him injections, special shampoos). At one point we had him wear a white wife-beater t-shirt to keep him from scratching himself raw. Even in his health issues, he made us smile. A few months before he died, his vet’s office even referred to him as a “perpetual pup,” always bringing a smile to your face.

Speaking of things we made him wear, every Christmas he donned a Santa hat and had to endure a photoshoot by the Christmas tree. He tolerated it, but his disdain was obvious.

Speaking of winter, Moby loved the snow and cold more than heat. There were times he’d have to burrow through the snow it was so deep. At the other end of the temperature spectrum, when it was hot while taking walks Moby would wait until we were passing a patch of shade and would plop down in the lawn. He’d pant and smile at us, tail wagging. He’d refuse to go on.

When we were saying our final good-bye to Moby, my wife used this as an analogy with the kids. She explained that his body was shutting down, and didn’t want to go on any further. I immediately pictured him sprawled on the green grass with the tongue flapping.

Speaking of snacks, we didn’t often (intentionally) give him people food. That didn’t stop him from trying to get some, however. One infamous tale is when he ate my mother-in-law’s special Dutch dried beef, and chewed off the corner of a recently autographed book. In Moby’s defense, they were sitting on the floor together, as if to say “eat me.” To this day, I think that was the only book he ever chewed.

My mother would frequently spoil him with treats and snacks. “These eggs are good for his coat” she’d say. We tried to be firm, but secretly enjoyed seeing him spoiled. On Sunday mornings, when I made eggs for the family, he’d be there beside me hoping for a drop of shredded cheese, or ham, or anything. He seemed to know when it was Sunday morning before I entered the kitchen.

He was quite adept at eating apples. He would gently nibble the apple off the core, and knew not to dig too deep. When he was younger, he’d help lick out yogurt containers after we were through. His entire face would be hidden inside the small carton. It was quite adorable.

We often said Moby was a pup of routines. (I have no idea where he got that from.) If I didn’t wake up early enough in the morning, he’d scratch at the side of the bed to wake me up. Later in life, when he could no longer climb stairs, he’d smell the coffee first thing in the morning, timed to brew the same time I’d wake up. He’d be up and watching for me to come down the stairs, the first to greet me every day.

At night, after we got the kids in bed, he’d be standing in the kitchen waiting for us to come down. It was his favorite time of day, when he had us all to himself. He’d attempt to share our popcorn, or have a treat of his own. We’d sit on the floor together and read or watch a show, and he’d snuggle in or stand in front of me until he received a sufficient amount of attention.

Speaking of nighttime attention, for most of his life Moby slept in our bedroom. As we’d settle into bed, he’d come to my side of the bed, sit down, look up at me, and wait for me to give him a good scratching. It was his pre-bedtime massage, I guess. Many nights I was tired, or cold and wanting to stay under the covers, but then he’d look up at me with those big brown eyes. How could I resist?

Worth The Pain?

Everywhere I go in the house now, I’m faced with the thought, “Moby would have been right here with me when I’d do this.”

Working in the office? Yep.
Cooking? Yep.
Coming home? Yep.
Waking up every morning? Yep.
Eating a meal? Yep.
Exercising? Reading? Yep, and Yep.

My sadness now could have been avoided had we never gotten Moby. But the level of pain demonstrates the absolute joy he brought to our lives, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Rest well, Moby. You enriched our lives more than you’ll ever know.

This was our family’s first visit to Mexico. Looking for ways to stretch ourselves and our children, a couple good friends recommended visiting the Door of Faith Orphanage (DOFO) in La Misión, Baja California, Mexico. With the promise of a good local taco stand accompanying it, how could we go wrong?

Surveying the mountains surrounding the orphanage, I used those few quiet minutes that final morning to read that day’s Scripture in my devotions.

I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth. — Psalm 121:1-2

I smiled at the relevance of the imagery and knowing it is a favorite passage of my in-laws who were on the trip with us. Psalm 122 and 125 continued describing the walls and mountains providing refuge:

Peace be within your walls
and security within your towers! — Psalm 122:7

As the mountains surround Jerusalem,
so the Lord surrounds his people,
from this time forth and forevermore. — Psalm 125:2

How appropriate for this orphanage, surrounded by a front gate and mountains, providing shelter for the precious lives within. Psalm 127 closed out the section reminding us that “children are a heritage from the LORD” (Psalm 127:3), and the critical need for God to be the foundation of it all:

Unless the Lord builds the house,
those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
the watchman stays awake in vain. — Psalm 127:1

Our family’s visit to DOFO was a wonderful opportunity to meet the children, volunteers, and staff personally, and to experience a slice of their culture and daily lives. We were under no illusions we’d be helping in any lasting way the few short days we were there, but the orphanage welcomed us all the same and appreciated our desire to learn and spread the word about the work they’re doing.

Meet Door of Faith

We stayed in one of the small campgrounds at the orphanage, which they use for housing missions groups and visitors. Maggie, one of the American volunteers, was our gracious host, showing us around, ensuring we had answers to all our questions, and making us feel welcomed. The DOFO staff is comprised of both paid Mexicans and American volunteers. There are currently about 28 Mexican staff members on site and seven American volunteers. The American volunteers raise their own personal support, and receive no financial compensation from Door of Faith. During our visit we saw groups from both the U.S. and Mexico there for the day volunteering.

Much of our time was spent hanging out with the children on the playground. The kids wasted no time in classifying us as playmates, grabbing our hands and inviting us to play. I was grateful my woeful Spanish wasn’t a huge barrier. When a boy sitting on a swing yells out “Amigo, faster!” it’s fairly easy to pick up on what he’s looking for.

From toddlers to college-aged, DOFO currently supports 65 children. They have capacity for up to 120, including facilities for newborns. While it is an orphanage, a number of the DOFO children do have parents. However, the parents were unable to care for them for one reason or another (e.g., drugs, abuse) and either willingly gave them away or had them removed. In some cases, the Mexican government brings the children to the orphanage, though DOFO receives no government funds.

A top priority of the orphanage is to provide a family atmosphere for the children. Children live in small dorms based on age, with a dorm parent primarily responsible for their care each and every day. Each dorm is uniquely designed and decorated. Bright colors, art, and landscaping are prevalent throughout the homes and campus. The children all have chores and responsibilities, as with any family, helping with things such as laundry and cleaning.

One of my favorite buildings was a small bakery that was recently built. With each child’s birthday, a themed cake is prepared. Given the sheer number of cakes that are made each year (one per child), they built a small bakery dedicated to the making of birthday cakes for the kids. If you’re interested in contributing to their baking, keep an eye on the bakery’s Amazon wish list.

Education is a huge goal at DOFO. There is a preschool onsite, and the older children attend local schools. The day we were leaving, even the staff and volunteers were preparing to attend a parenting class as part of their ongoing education.

As if caring for the needs of 65 kids wasn’t enough, DOFO also emphasizes community service. Their mission statement priorities say it forthrightly:

We strive to love our neighbor as ourselves, teaching our children to give back through both word and action. By allowing and encouraging our children to serve others, both on site and in our community, it brings restoration. Our children are taught that they are NOT what’s been done to them, they are made in the image of God, designed for good works, they have a purpose in this life. Service to other brings healing.

Part of the outreach even includes training other orphanages. The day we arrived, DJ and Lynette, administrators at DOFO, were participating in the dedication of another orphanage in the area.

Our Eternal Family

We also had the privilege of attending a worship service during our visit. Each Sunday the whole orphanage attends the Templo Cristiano Elim de México church. What an enriching time to study Scripture and sing praises together. DJ participated by providing English interpretation during the service. The congregation was so welcoming. One of the Mexican girls from the church even took it upon herself to make sure our daughters had flags to wave and were able to participate fully. After the time of worship, they invited us to join them for homemade sopas and soup (delicious!). Frequently church members will prepare a meal after the service to raise funds for their missions.

The church visit provided a powerful perspective for our trip that I didn’t anticipate. I loved hearing worship songs I knew being sung in a language I didn’t understand, knowing the passion and praise was glorifying the same triune God. In some ways, it helped me avoid simply going through the motions and instead forced me to focus on who we were praising: our Creator.

It reminded me that we are all part of the same Body, and that we have a responsibility to each other: “But God has so composed the body … that the members may have the same care for one another” (1 Corinthians 12:24-25). Romans goes further explaining that, “in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others” (Romans 12:5), and that we are to “be devoted to one another” (Romans 12:10).

God, being the “father of orphans, champion of widows” (Psalm 68:5 MSG) repeatedly directs us to care for the fatherless, to protect them, and provide justice (e.g., Isaiah 1:17; James 1:27).

Before God our Father, we all share the same status through faith in Christ, and that is as adopted sons and daughters of God (Galatians 3:26; Galatians 4:5). No matter our family status on earth, we can share the same heavenly Father. For God has, “predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will” (Ephesians 1:5). We have, “received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’” (Romans 8:15). In promising His return, Christ even says, “‘I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you’” (John 14:18).

Be Devoted To One Another

There are so many ways you can learn more about the orphanage. Subscribe to their newsletter, email or snail mail. Follow them on Facebook or Twitter. They also post some adorable pictures on Instagram.

If you’re able, I highly recommend scheduling a visit. Don’t shove this off as something only for youth groups to do. Are you in Southern California? From there it can be a single day trip, driving down and back. A church from California was doing just that one of the days we were there. They drove down, served a meal for the children, played and enjoyed time with the kids, and drove back. What a precious opportunity to serve together as families!

Prayer is essential, whether it’s for increased awareness of their ministry, growing compassion for this part of the Body, the needs of the children (physical, emotional, spiritual), the volunteers who raise their own funds, the staff, or the local church where they worship.

And certainly financial support is needed. They provide a number of ways to give online, whether a one-time gift or monthly.

And so we “groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons” (Romans 8:23), and use our time to act justly and love mercy. May God bless Door of Faith Orphanage as they continue to do just that.

Not long ago, I held a contracting job within the Federal government. Despite its boasting of telework initiatives, the ability to work from home was an elusive privilege pursued in a Sisyphus-style struggle, filled with training courses, paperwork, management whims, prolific policies, and yes, even politics. In spite of numerous managers fighting valiantly, by the end of my tenure, teleworking was expressly forbidden on our contract (unless the government needed our help during off-hours, in which case it was demanded).

And so, mine was one of commuting to the office every day in what’s considered to be some of the worst traffic in the country. Based on some quick calculations, it’s possible I spent an estimated 3,100 hours commuting to and from work, or 129 days of driving. The length of my daily commute put me in the top 8% of American workers!

Looking back, it provided plenty of memories, some wonderful, some amusing, and some downright awful. Before time and age have their way with my memory, I thought I should capture some of those memories lest I never forget.

The Audible

When enduring dreadful commutes, having something good to listen to is often the only escape.

• Early on, I did not own an iPod or any sort of podcast player. My solution? I burned podcasts to a Read-Write CD-ROM the night before, and listed using a portable CD player. (Did I forget to mention the car didn’t have a built-in CD player?)
• Playlists and podcasts were a must. By the end, I had it down to a science, knowing precisely how many of my favorite podcasts I could listen to during a typical commute, some of which required listening at 1.5x speed in order to fit in a full episode.
• While carpooling successes ebbed and flowed, the successful commuting collaborations were an opportunity to expand my musical horizons. One fellow commuter, in particular, could spin up everything from Flo Rida to Johnny Cash. I am indebted to him for my love of the Man in Black.

The Unexpected

When commuting every day, there are bound to be some surprises along the way.

• 

  Deep in thought one afternoon on the way home, methodically stopping and starting in the bumper-to-bumper traffic, I suddenly realized I was staring at the back of the Extreme Home Makeover bus. They had just finished taping an episode in D.C. I have to assume the regulars on the show were smart enough to fly to their next destination rather than parking on I-95 with the rest of us.

• Occasionally some of us would forget that carpooling wasn’t everything it’s cracked up to be, and would go through the hassle of coordinating schedules to achieve the magical 3+ people needed to take the HOV lanes. One morning, we fell short by one person (no doubt due to a last-minute back out), dooming us to the regular lanes for the commute. And yet, as the HOV entrance approached, my fearless co-worker merged on, and there we were enjoying the wide-open freedom of HOV … illegally (and let’s assume unintentionally). It didn’t take long before he realized the mistake. However, these lanes are separated by jersey walls and once you commit, there is no off-ramp for more than 10 miles, a stretch littered with State Police enforcement points. More than a few prayers were said (did I mention he’s a pastor now?), and in the end we made it through unscathed.

• 

  One commute home I drove alongside a trailer full of Google Street View cars. It reminded me of a Multi-Troop Transport, ready to unleash its battle droids on some unsuspecting town.

• On a rare morning drive when traffic was actually flowing smoothly (it must have been a delayed departure), I noticed a white bird flying alongside my car. I was easily traveling at 60 mph, and the bird not only kept pace, but also course, flying in the lane next to me for at least a couple miles. It was quite surreal, and I half expected to see Roma Downey appear in the passenger’s seat.
• When cold weather AND precipitation were in the forecast, VDOT’s massive salt truck plows would appear in pairs, parked along I-95. Yes, I said parked. They strategically chose locations along the highway … and would wait for the first few flurries to fly. At first I found it silly, but I suppose it made sense. If they waited for the weather to arrive, they’d be faced with the same traffic woes as the rest of us, with no hope of actually reaching the highway now in need of clearing.
• While at first unexpected, I eventually grew accustomed to seeing rather large motorcades usurping one direction of I-95, either for a military funeral procession or official transport of some sort.

  

The People

Oh, the people. Have you ever gone to the mall and people watched? Commuting in bad traffic can be similarly entertaining, but on a whole new level. People somehow think they’re alone when they are sitting in their car, exposed by clear windows on all sides. The things people do when they think they’re alone. Of course, others are only too aware they are stuck in a mass of vehicles and people, and seek help, assuming surely this congestion isn’t normal.

• I was stuck in the usual Thursday-afternoons-during-the-summer traffic nastiness. A honk from the car in the lane next to me grabbed my attention. I looked over, and the driver clearly wanted to talk with me. I paused my podcast, and rolled down my window, and this happened. Welcome to Virginia.
• Other interactions while parked on I-95 included people asking me, “Is it always like this?”, and “Where’d you get that bumper sticker? I’ve been looking for one of those.”
• As for the people who thought they were alone, there were plenty nose pickers, and women applying makeup or aerosol hairspray, but one efficient mother wisely spent a portion of her commute using a breast pump. Yes, you can get a ticket for texting while driving, but I guess lawmakers hadn’t considered that possibility yet.
• Slugging was sometimes a decent option when heading into D.C. Think of it as “Instant Carpooling” or “Casual Carpooling,” where you meet up with total strangers and combine forces to achieve enough passengers to use the HOV lanes. The majority of time the people were helpful, cordial, and friendly. There were, however, some people that violated etiquette and shared their wacko thoughts on anything and everything. My brother’s been slugging daily for over a decade. I wish he’d write a book.

The Strategy

Many techniques were used to try and get around the horrendous traffic. For months I tracked each day’s commute: departure time, weather conditions, day of the week, length of commute. Surely I just need to leave early enough, and exercise or eat breakfast once I get to work. There was never an early enough. Then there were the traffic cameras, available real-time on mobile devices, as long as you didn’t consult while driving. Maybe I can time things just right. Or maybe if I take public transportation, driving the wrong direction to get to the train station, which takes me to the bus, which takes me to work.

In the end, this was the only strategy I found to beat the traffic:

• [footage not found]

The License Plates

I-95 is the only thoroughfare along the East coast, so there are many out-of-staters just trying to pass through every day.

• Some of my friends played license plate games. Not the usual “see who can find all the states first” kind, but the “let’s make up a mathematical formula using all the numbers on a license plate” kind, and would see who could do the calculation quickest for each plate. “Oh, there’s another 19,” they would say.
• One summer day on my commute home, I saw plates from ID, FL, MS, IL, OK, NC, MD, MA, NJ, NY, MO, TN, MI, PA, CO, and UT. That’s 16 states, in a 30 mile stretch, in 1 commute.
• With the tens-of-thousands of commuters taking the same route each day, it was amazing to me that I started recognizing individual license plates. Apparently we kept similar schedules.

The Sights

Virginia is a beautiful part of the country, with gorgeous changing seasons, rolling hills and mountains, and towering trees. On occasion I was able to look beyond the congestion surrounding me, and take in some awe-inspiring sights.

• Leaving early in the morning provided some incredible sunrise views. Often, if you timed it right, you could be parked on I-95 at one of the higher-elevation points with a clear view East. A brief interlude to the madness.

• 

  Each day I was fortunate enough to drive by the magnificent National Museum of the Marine Corps. It’s not only a wonderful architectural site to see, but a fabulous museum to visit, if you ever have the opportunity.

• While I-95 is the only main thoroughfare, it was possible to take residential back roads through Occoquan and around Quantico, and avoid the highway all together (though not always its overflow traffic). I took this route infrequently enough that maps were in order. This alternate approach home was an automatic doubling of my “normal” commute time home. When traffic reports indicated above average problems (there were always accidents, so they needed to be severe or numerous enough), then I’d do the math as traffic reports emerged and diverge if back roads showed the potential for saving time. Once I accepted the additional time I’d be driving, those back road commutes (when I didn’t get lost) bordered on the enjoyable. The rolling roads, the landscape, the rural farms and white picket fences, were refreshing to see, especially compared to the asphalt and bumpers of a normal commute.

The Sustenance

When you’re settling in for what could easily be a multi-hour drive, you want provisions. Be careful, however, lest you end up triggering the need for a pit stop whilst stuck in traffic. You’ve been warned.

• Coffee, black gold. It was a must. Once a week I’d treat myself with a stop at a local filling station, either Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts. If I was looking for straight-up coffee the choice was Dunkin, but the Americano fix was SBUX. All the other days it was a travel mug. Eventually, I began using a Stanley Classic Field Green Thermos. You know the kind. It was less convenient for use in the car, but worked great with the coffee mug in my cube.
• Beverages while driving are tricky. Have a large stash of napkins in the car, and a Tide stain stick waiting for you at work.
• Coffee was a must, but the rare food purchase was  extravagance. The Breakfast Burrito from Anita’s New Mexican Restaurant for $1.69 was enough to make the commuting misery (almost) melt away. More common was the free donut that came by doing the survey on my Dunkin Donut’s receipt from the previous visit. Amazingly, the cycle was never ending, and the survey was becoming nearly automatic.

The Grind

While commuting had its moments, more often than not it was a day-to-day battle.

• Early on, as I was still becoming familiar with the area, before I had a GPS, I would venture off the beaten path. “There must be a better way that these tens-of-thousands of suckers sitting on I-95 don’t know about,” I’d say to myself. The result? A call to my personal OnStar service, otherwise known as my wife. Invariably, the conversation would end with us trying to figure out how the same two roads could interest at 5 different points. Only in Virginia.
• Getting lost or being stuck in traffic is frustrating. Remembering you are paid hourly in those situations, and are therefore losing income with every passing moment, is absolutely infuriating. Occasionally I’d be shaken from the monotony of the commute by a work-related phone call requesting assistance with the escalation of an issue, or have the good fortune of a scheduled conference call during the commute home. While both meant being paid for time on the road, I eventually grew to value the time alone and preferred not having the calls.
• One particular stretch of the drive home that was always enjoyable was the backup where the highway “merged” 2 car pool lanes and 1 on-ramp into an already full 3 lanes of traffic … at the bottom of a hill so the tractor trailers had to start from a complete stop. This spot is referred to simply as The Merge. There’s nothing quite like inching along in a 2 mile backup on hot asphalt in 98 degree weather. Memories of the merge are enough to make my stomach churn and palms sweat, even to this day. Since you’re likely to stay awhile, you can even check-in at the I-95 HOV Merge on Foursquare, if that’s your kind of thing.
• Virginia summers are hot. And humid. Virginians also care about the environment, and what better way to demonstrate that than to declare Ozone Action Days! One particular steamy summer afternoon, the traffic congestion was worse than normal and continuing in spots where there was generally some relief. I wasn’t too surprised, as anything can cause this volume of traffic to slow down (e.g., a parked car on the side of the road, a new sign, rain, too much sun, not enough sun). This day, however, the additional slowdown was caused by one of the electronic overhead traffic signs. On it was a flashing alert that we were under an Ozone warning, encouraging us to reduce traffic by carpooling. Keep in mind we’re already on the highway. As soon as we passed under the sign, traffic resumed to normal speeds. In an effort to help the environment, a law was passed requiring VDOT to display these signs. The end result? Tens-of-thousands of cars idling on the highway for 30 minutes longer than usual because of a pointless sign. How is that helping the environment or keeping traffic moving?  It seems to me it’s doing quite the opposite.
• After driving the same route for long enough, you get a feel for traffic patterns. It became second nature to change lanes at certain points along the commute, anticipating the normal congestion points. Certain lanes flowed better than others at some of the backups, whether due to the configuration of merging traffic, or the driving behavior of the majority hoping to avoid an upcoming merge. The key is knowing when to change lanes, ride out the benefit as long as possible, and switch back before you’re stuck with newly merging traffic. Countless hours of my life were no doubt reclaimed with such deft maneuvers. So ingrained were these lane changes I began to find it hard to ride with others who either didn’t share this crucial life skill, or simply didn’t care about commuting efficiency. As a corollary, it is almost never worth changing lanes on the spur of the moment simply because one lane appears to be moving more quickly than another. Such lanes will suck you in with their appeal, and immediately grind to a halt the moment you join. Don’t fall for it.

The Enjoyable

Commuting was not all heartburn. Looking back, I have plenty of wonderful memories, as well.

• 

  It was imperative to receive traffic alerts. There were few things as enjoyable as receiving those traffic alerts on vacation days. I might as well confess, I also checked traffic reports during rush hour on days off. It was a guilty pleasure.

• During one stretch of work, I was able to telecommute for an hour or so each morning before hitting the road and driving into work. This allowed some flexibility in trying to allow some traffic to clear. But it also allowed me to wake up my children before I left, say a prayer together as a family, and drive away with them all standing at the window waving. There’s no greater send-off when leaving for the day.
• In all my time commuting, I was never involved in an accident. It was not uncommon to see at least 2 or 3 accidents in each direction every day. There were so many distractions, and times I was nearly asleep or lost in thought. I’m so grateful for God’s protection during all of those commutes.

Remember the song This Little Light of Mine that you sang as a kid in Sunday School?

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

As another Halloween was drawing to a close, I sat alone with a depleted bowl of candy on our front porch, waiting for any remaining neighborhood children to come by. It was quiet, almost too quiet. As I surveyed our street, I counted 7 consecutive houses next to us that were completely dark. No porch lights, no sidewalk lights, and no light spilling out from the front windows.

With no street lights in our neighborhood, that type of darkness is noticeable. Our street relies on the lights of each home to keep the neighborhood lit. And on any other night of the year, whether they’re home or away, these families do their part to illuminate the neighborhood. So why not on Halloween, when everyone knows there will be families with children out and about after dark?

Some of these families have told us they don’t do Halloween. They go away for the evening to avoid the Trick-or-Treaters, and make it a family outing. I understand they may not want their kids to have all that candy. Or maybe after being gone since 4:30 a.m. and commuting for a couple hours, they’re just not in the mood to come home and spend an evening dealing with (someone else’s) rude and ungrateful children. I get it, I do. But I suspect there are deeper reasons for their absence on this evening.

Of the families that chose to keep their homes dark, I know at least 5 of the 7 are Christians. To one degree or another, these families are intentional about sharing their faith through their words and actions. That outward expression of their faith on every other day of the year is a stark contrast from their absence and darkness on this night. Why the retreat on this one day?

The case can be made that Halloween, with its ghosts, goblins, and candy, is a secular holiday. But there is no corresponding boycott of Valentine’s Day, or the non-religious aspects of holidays such as Christmas. And how do I reconcile a spiritual justification for skipping Halloween when it’s countered with a celebration at church earlier in the week? There the children donned costumes, played games, and received candy and prizes. I don’t have a problem with churches using the holiday as an opportunity to engage the community, but then it seems the same effort should be made within our neighborhood on the night when people are willing to come to our homes and knock on the door.

We spend the other 364 days a year relying on God’s grace, striving to live an attractive life, looking for opportunities to share our faith with those around us. As neighbors came by on Halloween, I couldn’t help but wonder what message they receive from a home that has been intentionally darkened? How is it being perceived by those walking the streets? Do those who don’t share our faith understand the spiritual stand being taken, or is there a chance the avoidance of the neighborhood on only this one night of the year is feeding some Christian stereotypes? As one who shares your faith, I know I have found it hard to understand.

People close to me, that I love and respect, have made the decision to avoid the usual festivities of Halloween. I share these questions not out of judgement, but simply because I know I’m making some assumptions and I’d like to understand. I readily admit my life is full of inconsistencies. You won’t have to look hard to find a weak witness, or frequent failures in loving my neighbor, likely on all 365 days of the year. Is Halloween a modern day example of Romans 14 (regardless of which viewpoint is exhibiting the stronger faith)?

The second verse of This Little Light of Mine starts out with, “Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine.” Personally, I enjoy an evening at home, alone with my family, more than you probably realize. I dream of opportunities to hunker down within the safe confines of our home and isolate myself from the world around me. But in a neighborhood where many homes have two working parents making long commutes, rarely is there a time when the neighborhood is intentional about being outside together.

For me, Halloween seems like a fabulous opportunity to get to know them and their children better, to build community, or at the very least to keep the light on for them. Your neighbors are out looking for you. Be engaged. Be visible. Redeem the night. Don’t hide under the Halloween bushel. Let your light shine.

Despite knowing the way Bonhoeffer’s life ended, I found myself eager to continue reading as the story of his life unfolded. This was due in part to the engaging writing of Metaxas, as well as the contagiousness of Bonhoeffer, himself, and the fascinating life he lived. My historical knowledge was enhanced, and my faith was immensely challenged.

From an historical perspective, I confess there were numerous aspects regarding Hitler and his ilk that I had not previously known. So, too, regarding the plots against his life by those determined to put an end to his tyrannical reign. It was sickening how the Nazis were able to use a bastardized version of “Christianity” as propaganda to win over believers in their cause.

Likewise, the helplessness of watching the church (both within Germany and without) struggle to be faithful and uncompromising was saddening, to say the least. I realize such an assessment comes from a safe distance afforded by historical perspective. Bonhoeffer was sickened by the rationalization of some leaders within the church to justify acceptance of, and in some cases support for, the Third Reich. Others within the church believed the church should avoid any involvement. Metaxas summarized Bonhoeffer’s frustration with that view when he wrote,

When the state is trying to encroach upon the church, this is a proper sphere of concern. But for Bonhoeffer, the idea of limiting the church’s actions to this sphere alone was absurd. The church had been instituted by God to exist for the whole world. It was to speak into the world and to be a voice in the world, so it had an obligation to speak out against things that did not affect it directly. (p. 280)

It’s hard to summarize how fervently Bonhoeffer lived his faith, and strived incessantly to know God more intimately. It wasn’t something he did, it was who he was. Studying Scripture and praying were not religious habits he strived to do on a regular basis, they were a way of life for him. Perhaps the best way to give a sense for Bonhoeffer himself is through his own words. I end with just a few of my favorite Bonhoeffer quotes from the book.

• A Christian community either lives by the intercessory prayers of its members for one another, or the community will be destroyed. I can no longer condemn or hate other Christians for whom I pray, no matter how much trouble they cause me. In intercessory prayer the face that may have been strange and intolerable to me is transformed into the face of one for whom Christ died, the face of a pardoned sinner. That is a blessed discovery for the Christian who is beginning to offer intercessory prayer for others. As far as we are concerned, there is no dislike, no personal tension, no disunity or strife that cannot be overcome by intercessory prayer. Intercessory prayer is the purifying bath into which the individual and the community must enter every day. (p. 90)
• Where a people prays, there is the church, and where the church is, there is never loneliness. (p. 69)
• Do not try to make the bible relevant. Its relevance is axiomatic…. Do not defend God’s Word, but testify to it…. Trust to the Word. (p. 272)
• … extemporaneous preaching can be done by anyone who really knows the Bible. (p. 272)
• Theological work and real pastoral fellowship can only grow in a life which is governed by gathering round the Word morning and evening and by fixed times of prayer. (p. 271)
• I discovered later, and I’m still discovering right up to this moment, that is it only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith. One must completely abandon any attempt to make something of oneself, whether it be a saint, or a converted sinner, or a churchman (a so-called priestly type!), a righteous man or an unrighteous one, a sick man or a healthy one. By this-worldliness I mean living unreservedly in life’s duties, problems, successes and failures, experiences and perplexities. In so doing we throw ourselves completely into the arms of God, taking seriously, not our own sufferings, but those of God in the world — watching with Christ in Gethsemane. That, I think, is faith; that is metanoia; and that is how one becomes a man and a Christian (cf. Jer. 45!). How can success make us arrogant, or failure lead us astray, when we share in God’s sufferings through a life of this kind? (p. 484)
• Where God tears great gaps we should not try to fill them with human words. They should remain open. Our only comfort is the God of the resurrection, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who also was and is his God. (p. 349)
• It is remarkable how I am never quite clear about the motives for any of my decisions. Is that a sign of confusion or inner dishonesty or is it a sign that we are guided without our knowing or is it both …The reasons one gives for an action to others and to one’s self are certainly inadequate. One can give a reason for everything. In the last resort one acts from a level which remains hidden from us. So one can only ask God to judge us and to forgive us…. At the end of the day I can only ask God to give a merciful judgement on today and all its decisions. It is now in his hand. (p. 336)

Talks By The Author

^[1] Eric Metaxas at Family Research Council (October 2010)

^[2] Eric Metaxas at Calvin College, January Series (January 9, 2012)

“About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?’—which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’” —Matthew 27:46

Forsaken. It’s hard to imagine Christ feeling forsaken or abandoned. He is the Son of God, and yet at that moment on the cross, he felt forsaken by the Father; left alone. Was he really expecting an answer from the Father? Did he, the Son of God, not know the reason he must suffer this death alone?

When Jesus spoke these words on the cross, he was quoting Scripture. They are the very words that David used in Psalm 22. The psalm begins, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest.” At his time of complete separation from God the Father, Jesus turned to Scripture.

In a way, we should not be surprised, as Jesus frequently quoted Scripture. It was the basis of his teaching. He used it in the wilderness to rebuke Satan. He even believed that Scripture was a more powerful witness than his miracles. And after his resurrection, the Gospel of Luke tells two stories where Jesus appeared to his disciples, and he used each occasion to point them back to Scripture.

On the road to Emmaus, Luke records, “… beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, [Jesus] explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself” (Luke 24:7). And after Jesus departed, the disciples “… asked each other, ‘Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us’” (Luke 24:32)?

Likewise, when Jesus appeared to the Eleven and showed them his hands and feet he “… said to them, ‘This is what I told you while I was still with you: Everything must be fulfilled that is written about me in the Law of Moses, the Prophets and the Psalms.’ Then he opened their minds so they could understand the Scriptures” (Luke 24:44-45). Jesus used those few precious moments after his resurrection to show them how his life tied back to the Scriptures now contained in the Old Testament, and how his life is the fulfillment of all of it.

When Jesus quoted Psalm 22 from the cross, I believe he intended to point us to Scripture. In fact, portions of Matthew’s account of the crucifixion seem to mirror the very psalm Jesus was quoting. The psalm talks about the insults heaped upon David, “All who see me mock me; they hurl insults, shaking their heads. ‘He trusts in the LORD,’ they say, ‘let the LORD rescue him. Let him deliver him, since he delights in him’” (Psalm 22:7-8).

Listen to the similarities in how Matthew describes the crucifixion scene: “Those who passed by hurled insults at [Jesus], shaking their heads…. ‘He saved others’ they said, ‘but he can’t save himself! He’s the king of Israel! Let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him, for he said, “I am the Son of God”’” (Matt. 27:39-43).

But David doesn’t end the psalm with abandonment or despair. Instead he sings God’s praises, and triumphantly declares his dominion over all nations, to the ends of the earth.

It’s easy to feel at times as if God has left us to fend for ourselves in today’s world. We can’t find a relationship that will last, or a consistent job to provide for our families. We pour our lives into raising our children, only to have them grow up and seemingly reject God. We finally gain the courage to share our beliefs about current events or politics with friends and co-workers, only to be thoroughly mocked for being out of touch. The church or denomination we’ve grown up in chooses what’s easy or acceptable to the world rather than the hard truth of Scripture. Sickness or a tragedy claims the life of a parent, a spouse, or a child. There are times we don’t feel God’s presence, and it seems we are alone, abandoned, forsaken.

It’s hard to imagine the extent to which Christ felt abandoned at that moment. It was apart from God the Father that he bore the burden of the world’s sins through an agonizing crucifixion. If we ignore Christ’s free gift of grace, if we do not admit our sin before God as well as our need for a Savior, we will spend eternity in hell, apart from God. But Christ willingly endured that separation on the cross so that we don’t have to.

When we feel abandoned, forsaken, look to the cross, follow the example of Christ, and turn to Scripture. For it’s in Scripture we find comfort that Christ “was not abandoned to the grave” (Acts 2:31). It’s in Scripture we are warned we will “experience persecution, but never abandonment” (2 Co. 4:9). It’s in Scripture that God promises, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you” (Heb. 13:5).

No, if we accept God’s gift of salvation, we are never forsaken or alone. Christ was forsaken at that hour, so that we will never be.

Church (S)hopping

As was the case with many aspects of moving, trying to find a new church home was a new experience for both of us. I am a Preacher’s Kid (PK), meaning when I was growing up there was someone in our family handling the decision of where to attend church. Since I attended college in the same city as my home church, I continued attending there fairly regularly through my college years. And while my wife isn’t a PK, her family also had a consistent church home in each place where they lived.

After getting married, my wife and I began attending my home church, where my dad was still pastoring. Remind me to tell you sometime about the dynamics, both good and bad, of attending and participating in a church where your dad is the pastor. A blog post for another day …

While I always knew it was true, I am now more sensitive to the many legitimate reasons to visit and experience multiple churches in search of a church home. Having moved into a new state with no familiar churches or denominations, we found ourselves in such a situation.

As way of disclaimer, I realize our search for a church is a completely different experience than someone who is not yet a Christian, or who has never been part of a church. I can only relay this experience from our perspective. However, in writing up our thoughts, I’ve found myself wondering at each point how someone who hasn’t grown up in the church would perceive or experience this process. I’m assuming in most cases they wouldn’t even get to the point of seeking out a church without first having some interaction and/or invitation from some part of the church. If and when a person in that situation does visit a worship service, are they wanting or expecting different treatment than what we, as Christians, were desiring? And that challenge is only one of many facing the church today in an effort to be relevant and effective in sharing the Good News with a society in need.

Herein lies what we experienced in finding a new church home.

Denominational Deliberation

We have always been members of Reformed denominations (CRC and RCA). While it would be fun to embark on the history of the relationship between those two denominations, I’ll spare you the details for now. Suffice it to say it’s about as fun as playing Dutch Bingo. (And yes, the RCA was in the right.)

Unfortunately there are no churches from either of those denominations within reasonable driving distance of where we now live (even by D.C. driving standards). This meant only one thing: there was no easy path in finding a new church.

So we decided we’d prefer a denominational church, but the denominations represented in our area were all unfamiliar. Including the aforementioned independent and pseudo-affiliated churches, we eventually attended churches representing the Baptist, Lutheran, Episcopalian, and Presbyterian denominations. Needless to say we had some research to do regarding the beliefs and traditions of each of those churches and denominations.

Learning about these churches actually helped us learn more about ourselves and our own beliefs. You can’t evaluate a church, its denomination, and their beliefs without evaluating and affirming your own beliefs. And it’s one thing to do it from the comfort of home while evaluating the beliefs espoused on websites; it’s quite another to be participating in a worship service and needing to quickly read ahead with responsive readings or prayers to know if you’re actually comfortable reciting along. (To all my Calvinist friends out there, we’ve learned that some churches recite more than the Apostle’s and Nicene Creeds.)

Of Course I Have a List

So what exactly did we want to find in a church? Anyone that knows me knows a list was quickly compiled. We wanted a church that was theologically sound, had good preaching, was in a convenient location from our house, had programs for young kids and couples our age, was working to reach the hurt and lost, had a solid nursery, and engaging and Spirit-filled worship. Shouldn’t be too hard to find …

The Visits

Visits: The Online Visit

It’s disheartening in this day and age that some churches still do not realize the importance of their presence on the web. We visited every church online before ever stepping foot inside their building, and for a number of churches the online visit was the only one we made. In some cases that speaks well of their online presence, as they clearly indicated what to expect, and we knew it would not be a good fit for us. In other cases we knew we didn’t want to visit, either if there was no web site or what was there frightened us away. I know we’re not alone in evaluating churches initially by their presence online.

I’ll also say what a comfort it is to have consistency between a church’s online representation and the in-person reality. Accuracy in describing worship styles and expectations for dress is obviously beneficial, but simply having consistent marketing of the look and feel of the website with signage and material at the church is a comforting feeling when arriving for the first visit, knowing I’ve got the right place.

Visits: The Consecutive Approach

Before moving to VA, an interim pastor of ours gave us a piece of advice about visiting churches. He recommended visiting a church for 3 or 4 consecutive weeks, arriving at different times, and sitting in different locations. This helps ensure you meet a mix of people, experience multiple worship services from varying perspectives. Otherwise you could easily be greeted by the only friendly greeter in the church (or perhaps the only grumpy one), sit by the only nice family in the church (or the only rude one), hear the pastor’s only good sermon (or only his worst one). By attending on consecutive weeks, odds are you’ll get a more accurate assessment in each of these areas.

Visits: The Gifts

Many of the churches we visited provided us with gifts. The gifts included jars of jelly, a coffee mug, and a candle. Nice touches making visitors feel welcome. In smaller churches we were easily identified as visitors, so someone made an effort to present us with the gift. In larger churches, there seemed to be a visitor’s center. We never checked out any of the visitor centers, but I’m guessing some of them provided gifts. Clearly the smaller churches have an advantage in identifying visitors, in this regard.

Visits: The Personal Friendliness

Another area where smaller churches can have an advantage is in friendliness. When your church is small enough to recognize visitors, friendliness is imperative. Almost all churches we visited greeted us and were friendly, but only the small to medium sized churches actually made an effort to learn our names, find out why we were visiting, and offering to help in any way they could. The larger churches weren’t rude, but there was generally nothing more than superficial greetings.

I’m sympathetic to the challenges faced by larger churches in this area of friendliness. One church we visited numerous times has 5 weekend services. Needless to say identifying visitors is near impossible. Even so, people that knew we were visitors for various reasons made no effort to introduce us to others, get us integrated, or help us find our way.

A larger church does does afford a level of comfort on an initial visit that’s hard to match with a smaller church. The larger sized churches allowed us to easily blend in without feeling like we were on the spot. Oddly enough, that same size that provided comfort on initial approach left us feeling unnoticed and somewhat empty upon departure. What is I’m sure a draw for these larger churches also ends up being a deterrent for people wanting a church family and not simply a place to attend worship.

Visits: The Follow Up

Most churches followed up with us in some fashion. (We did our best to provide our contact information whenever requested, to see how each church would respond.) A couple churches subscribed us to their email newsletters, while some churches sent generalized snail mail. One larger church sent a welcome packet of sorts, signed by the pastor. A couple churches called as general follow up. One pastor sent us a hand written note, one pastor called and later visited our house for a chat, and one pastor and his wife even had our family over for dinner.

Lessons Learned

I offer you a few of the lessons we learned.

1. First impressions are important. For us, that started with the website, and carried over to the first visit for churches we attended. Visitor recognition and treatment, fair or not, ended up being an important factor for us.

   We lovingly refer to one of the churches we visited as the Peanut Butter Church.

2. Welcoming visitors doesn’t stop once they’re seated. A woman who initially greeted us at one church was kind enough to explain a few things to us during the worship service (e.g., the process they used for serving Communion). A couple years after that visit I still remember her help and the impact it made on us.
3. Names are important. Introduce yourself, and express some interest in people you know are visiting. Simply asking their name will leave a lasting impression, much more so than a typical greeting.
4. For families at our stage of parenting, the nursery is almost as important as the worship. One church we visited didn’t have a nursery, and all their friendliness and follow up couldn’t help overcome the lack of nursery. Parents need to feel safe leaving their children with complete strangers, so anything that can be done to ease the process will not go unnoticed.
5. Worship style is important, but nothing trumps actual substance.
6. Visiting numerous churches in our neighborhood provided a sense of community. As we drove around town, or met new people, it provided a great frame of reference to see the churches actively involved in the community.
7. Church announcements can go a long way in hindering true worship. We lovingly refer to one of the churches we visited as the Peanut Butter Church. Every Sunday, the worship service started with an intense time of singing and praise. As that portion of the service completed, they immediately launched into mundane announcements regarding their life as a church, squashing any hope of maintaining a worshipful focus on God. One such announcement included a nurse from the congregation who took it upon herself to inform everyone of a very serious peanut butter recall.
8. Be careful using exclusive lingo. For several weeks, the Peanut Butter Church made announcements about an upcoming Potblessing event, about which it was clear everyone was excited. After 2 or 3 weeks, we finally realized it was a traditional church potluck, but not wanting to say the word “luck” in church, they cleverly changed the name to potblessing. We were shocked on a number of levels.

Celebration Church: Our New Church Home

After what seemed like an eternity of visiting churches, we finally found a place we call home: Celebration Church. It’s actually the very first church we visited when starting this process, and we’ve been an active part of the church ever since.

The Clear Winner?

Celebration is a church plant, and started small. Both of those meant it didn’t initially have as many of the features (you remember “the list”) as other churches we visited. For example, we were both fairly burned out coming from our church in Michigan, and wanted to find a place where we wouldn’t immediately have to be involved in everything. However, being a small church plant means there is plenty for everyone to do. We eventually felt Celebration could be helped through the gifts God has given us more so than some of the larger churches we visited.

Also, when we joined, and for some time thereafter, we were the only family in the church in our same family situation (just starting a family, with 2 young children). There weren’t any other young couples (yes, we still consider ourselves young). We kept hoping that with us being there, the next such couple to visit wouldn’t feel like they were the first.

Even though it didn’t win the point total on paper, we clearly felt this is where God wanted us.

The Denomination

Remember how I mentioned something about denominations providing checks, balances, and stability? When we first visited this church, it had a different name and was part of the Episcopalian Church. They were fairly open with us about some of the struggles they were experiencing denominationally, and kept us informed while we were visiting other churches. They soon left the Episcopal Church, and joined the Convocation of Anglicans in North America (CANA). Basically they are still an Anglican church, but now part of a relatively new denomination started by the Anglican Church in Nigeria.

Much has been written about the reasons for people leaving the Episcopal Church; suffice it to say it’s about far more than the one or two items you read about in the press. I don’t pretend to understand all the issues or the long road some of these life-long Episcopalians have traveled, but I can say with certainty they had very Scriptural reasons (e.g., dealing with issues of salvation).

We have much to learn about Anglicanism and its rich history. As with most other denominations, there is a spectrum of how its churches live out their faith, both in terms of theology and worship styles. Celebration celebrates much of the liturgy of the Anglican faith, using a nice blend of relaxed contemporariness while maintaining reverence and appreciating the historical faith.

Our Church Home

What the church has lacked in size, it has made up for with powerful exegetical teaching, rich and engaging corporate worship, and an encouraging body of believers. Our family has been challenged, encouraged, and discipled. We are grateful for Celebration’s faithfulness to God and His Word, and it’s been a humbling privilege to watch Celebration continue to grow in more than just numbers and programs.

Sowell covers a wide range of economic issues in an easy-to-read style, applying it to every day circumstances and continually demonstrating the relevance:

• “Much confusion comes from judging economic policies by the goals they proclaim rather than the incentives they create” (545).
• “… looking at these myths closely may illustrate how easy it is to create a plausible-sounding notion and get it accepted by many otherwise intelligent people, who simply do not bother to scrutinize the logic or the evidence–or even to define the words they use…. But superficial and even silly beliefs have sometimes been so widespread as to become the basis for laws and policies with serious and even catastrophic consequences” (495-496).

I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and the way it opened my eyes to many things in the world around us. Give it a read.