“No!” answered Frodo, coming back to himself out of the darkness, and finding to his surprise that it was not dark, and that out of the window he could see the sunlit garden.” — Tolkin’s Fellowship

Gandalf has just revealed that Frodo has the “one ring to rule them all … and in the darkness bind them.” In fear silence overtakes both of them. And Frodo, though the sun is shining, slips into the darkness.

I am reading Lord of the Rings. Comfort in the midst of the dreary season. When I am came to this line, I thought, that is how I feel. All around me there is still joy and celebration, but I can only see the darkness.

Of course it is good to have a Gandolf. If only for the fireworks! But more than a guide you need someone to walk beside. And through the window, where the sun is shining, Sam is outside working. He is marked as the simpleton. But JR Tolkien did not leave his name as simply “Sam”. He is “Samwise“. I suspect this is on purpose. For in the simplicity there is a deep wisdom. Sam is one that sees beyond the troubles and finds the joy in friendship. In gardening. In a good meal. It is a wisdom that reminds of home, of belonging and love.

As I read on and the dark riders begin to pursue… I am thankful for those in my own life who pull back the curtains and remind me that the sun is shining.

“This is impossible!” — Ezekiel, as he tries to put on my socks.

Over Christmas I hurt my back. A bulging disc. Lots of pain management. Rest. Prescribed PT. The healing has been so slow. And at four weeks I slipped back when I tried to put on a sock. So there was Ezekiel each morning struggling to get socks on my extra wide feet.

In the midst of all this, I officiated two funerals, was replaced on a mission trip to Florida, watched Megan exhausted with so many extra roles… my mind broke. I spiraled. I could only see the negative. Could only think about the pain in my back. Depression. Anxiety.

In that moment God feels so distant. Not that He isn’t real, but you start to wonder if He cares about your situation. You shout that He does, that He is present — but the truth doesn’t break through the fog.

So I took two steps: first, I got back on medication. I had taken something during the pandemic when the church imploded. Second, and just as important. I reached out to faithful friends. I confessed my situation and asked for help. Asked for prayer. And they responded.

There is power in their prayers. There is also power in handing off your burden. Just saying it aloud allows someone else to carry a bit. The load lightens. Your heart is reminded there is more than darkness.

As Baptists we rarely practice confession. We picture Priests in the confessional. We imagine guilt. But I have found confession is less listing sins. Instead it is acknowledging my need for help. We confess to God, but also to our friends. And in this act, they take up a portion of our burden. Their grace allows light to break through. Hope returns.

So to all who are helping me, thank you. And to anyone who is currently spiraling, please reach out.

I tried to explain the formation of snow and ice. With snow, the individual water drops freeze high in the air. There they crystalize into flakes that fall and pile up into a blanket (staying as separate individual pieces). But ice happens on the ground. The water pools together and freezes into a solid block. Multiple drops — gallons molded as one sheet.

I am not sure how much E listened. Because next he was asking if camouflage snowsuits were sparkly, like real snow? Hard to imagine sparkly navy seals…

But his question got me thinking. Our driving was slow, but safe on snow. If it was ice… we would have stayed home (or introduced the van to the ditch).

What if there was only ice? Could you imagine this week’s blanket of snow as ice? Every winter storm would be an emergency! Would we be better ice skaters? Would cars have tank treads instead of wheels? Would we just migrate with the birds?

The snow, which led us to cancel in person worship, had me frustrated. But ice blankets would be worse! And, with my routines changing, I was forced to pause. Did God create snow for this purpose of reflection?

Ezekiel is right. Snow sparkles as each flake reflects the sun. This makes our coldest days the brightest. — May I willingly pause and allow Light’s revelation!

But on every house one thing was exactly the same. At the very peak of the roof a bright metal cylinder extended. Capped with a bright metal ball. And every now and then that ball would begin to whirl. Every house in sync. It startled us, but everyone in the cozy neighborhood did not blink an eye.

That is except for Madam Pants. So named for the bright pants she always wore, even to Sunday worship. She had outlived her generation by two. And her mind was slipping. But after school we watched the children run to her house. She brought out a plate of fresh cookies and welcomed her “little nomads”. Those were the only words she spoke.

Ezekiel had to ask his sisters what the word “nomad” meant. He assumed it was a cookie devourer. But discovering it was people who moved, he spoke up, “Madam Pants, we don’t move, we stay.”

“Yes,” echoed his sister, “this is our mountain. We are not nomads, we are settlers!”

“Little Nomads,” was her response, as they each devoured a cookie.

The children then ran to finish chores. One other part of each home was the same. Behind the house was a square garden, with a strange fence. Unlike every other fence, wooden posts and pickets, each side was a long bright metal pole. Wide and thin, it was more blade than cylinder. Why not a regular fence? “Tradition”, said parents, “this fence carries blessing”.

Ezekiel and his sisters were soon weeding and picking a harvest of green beans. Then, seeing the first ripening tomato, Ezekiel rushed to be the first to pluck and taste it. A trip and a crash and all four sides of the fence crashed down.

With shouts and accusations, the kids began to pick up the fence. Having watched it all, we walk over to help. Each fence is surprisingly light. But there is no easy way to fit them back together. “Are we missing a part? There should be some kind of connection!” you wonder. At that moment the cylinder at the top of the house begins to spin.

All the children look up. After years of ignoring the whirring sound, they look anew at the spinning ball. Then back at the fence. As one, “Could the fence connect up there?!” Forgetting the garden a new project has begun. The oldest grabs a ladder. Ignoring our protests, they are soon up on the roof. And we are helping lift the fence pieces to them. At the peak, the ball has stopped and the end of each fence easily snaps into a slot. Soon all four fences are sticking straight out into the air. One in each direction.

Parents are arriving home, as the children climb down. Confusion and chaos erupts. Everyone talking over each other. You and I slip backward and find ourselves standing next to Madam Pants, “NOMADS!” she shouts. And at her word the ball begins to spin.

The house begins to shake. The arguing ceases. Dad urges everyone inside, which seems the opposite of rational. But when the door closes, the house begins to rise into the air. Soon it was flying over neighbors toward the valley.

The rest of the village is outside gawking. Some immobilized, but others are taking down their own garden fences. Other houses rise in the air. Before we knew it the whole community was gone. All except Madam Pants, who had never stopped shouting “Nomads!”

It was good that you and I had wandered into the village. Madam Pants needs us to help install her fence, well, I guess I mean propeller. Installed, we start to say goodbye, but as it began to spin, she opens her door to us, “Nomad?”

Hurting my back has forced me, between PT, rest, frustrating setbacks, to consider my purpose and calling. What is my purpose when I can no longer say yes and help? Was saying yes to everything ever supposed to be my purpose?…

I doubt it. As I was exhausted. And not sure I used my best gifts. And by yes to everyone, did I settle for their desires rather than God’s?

In this moment I am praying I will let God carry me. Beyond ease. Into adventure.

I suppose the late 1940s must have been a woke era. At least “woke” is what it is called today as the department name is changed back. ¹

Does it matter? They are just words. But then the words have been becoming reality. This week another school shooting. An assassination.

Will we wake up?

The victors in the First World War brought retribution. But the result was only greater violence. Truman, who fought in the first, led the end of the second, changed the course of history. He set aside war. Not for weakness, but a refusal to be the aggressor. And this word became reality in the Marshal Plan², literally rebuilding enemies.

The work enabled the conquered to become strong³ and through the process these nations became our allies.

Our actions always beget more of the same. Violence begets more violence. But help, hope, kindness, love… Will we open our eyes to this truth?

Our Family just toured the Truman Presidential Library — it was fantastic.

1. The name was changed because the country “decided to go woke.” — Link to Article ︎
2. The Marshal Plan focused on Europe (13 billion, equivalent to 180b today), but the similar plan was implemented in Japan (2 billion – 26b today). — Wikipedia, ChatGPT did the Math to find today’s value. ︎
3. For decades the top four economies in the world were the US, USSR, and our enemies in WW2: Japan and Germany. This only changed at the turn of the millennium with China and then India’s rise. — Wikipedia ︎

As Jesus approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it  and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace.” – Luke 19:42

Last week on Fox and Friends, President Trump discussed his hope to broker peace in Ukraine and then the discussion went in an unexpected direction. Trump’s conversations are always drifting into bombast or rant. But in this moment he began to discuss eternal fears, would he be welcomed into heaven? With trepidation, he hoped creating peace in this massive land war — surely a good deed — would be the a work to open the pearly gates. ¹

In our secular society² it is refreshing to see a leader of the nation wrestling with existential questions, like eternal destiny. The powers in our world — politics, media, fame, business — rarely, if ever, consider heaven. If they do, they don’t debate getting to the good place. Much less does eternal destiny influence any of their decisions today.

Among the common people, especially those who are 79. It is this language that allows the President to connect with average Americans ^{(see 2)}. This connection, if you are watching, will not bring peace, instead more division. All the more because Trump’s words are uninformed. Far from leading us to heavenly peace – Trump again divides us from truth. Even from the Truth.

Trump’s theology is mashup of Jesus and Karma: Jesus may be the bridge, but good works carry us across³ . In this theology perfection is not the goal, but tipping the scales with one more good deed. Or, to keep the bridge image, to tilt the bridge enough that we may slow roll to the pearly gates.

But Christ will not be manipulated. He teaches that we are saved by God’s grace, not by our works. This grace does not lack in action. Our life will be filled with good works, but the actions are secondary. The salvation is in our relationship. A relationship where we are not central, nor in charge. It is a relationship of submission, where we are called to follow Jesus.

We should wake up each morning and allow Jesus to fill our minds. How can I be more like our crucified Savior? Where is he calling me today? We are not after that one big good deed, instead we seek “the way marked out for us” (Hebrews 12:1). Submitting to Jesus, letting go of myself, sacrificing for others… following the Way is the bridge to heaven and, in Truth, also the Life that will bring this world peace (John 14:6).

1. Read the NYTimes article, Here is Trump: “I want to try and get to heaven, if possible,” he explained. “I’m hearing I’m not doing well. I am really at the bottom of the totem pole. But if I can get to heaven, this will be one of the reasons.” ︎
2. We often declare we live in a “secular society”. In reality much of America is still religious (compare us to Western Europe, where Churches are now museums, here is Ryan Burge’s statistics). Yet there are centers at the top of society where the secular model dominates: news media, arts, education. These towers often dictate the nation’s perspective. For instance, the NYTimes author’s reaction to Trump: “Holy mother of God! What a thing to say at 8 o’clock in the morning.” I suppose this an intense subject for show called Fox and Friends (I kind of expect it be animated comedy). But the author reveals bias by taking the name of God in vain (or is it Mary’s name in vain)?? Rather than a serious question, it is a moment to declare the President absurd… and anyone who shares his question. —- The disconnect between these towers and the ground where normal people live, goes, I suspect, a long way to explain our current political moment. ︎
3. Yet, here again, I worry the majority of Americans — even those sitting in a pew on Sunday — share the President’s confused theology. ︎

So Kokotajlo asks, will AI’s goal lead to a human utopia or to human annihilation?

I must say, this podcast felt straight out of Hollywood. Picture Arnold Schwarzenegger, “I’ll be back”… but the better Terminator quote for our moment, “It’s in your (human) nature to destroy yourselves.” The machine is right. We have no self control. We will always eat the fruit. Listening to the podcast I felt afraid.

But then I got a cup of coffee, paced the church, watched the wind blow through the trees. ¹

The AI researcher may be right. Then again I can remember the nuclear Doomsday clock, always nearly, but never actually midnight. Our annihilation has always been on our doorstep.

In my FB feed was a page from Lord of the Rings. It has been decades since I read those stories, but I quickly remembered the scene. The Lord of Nazgûl, a king whose soul was sold to darkness, breaks forth into Gondor. Violently he strides over the threshold “no enemy had ever crossed.” The armies retreat in fear before him, save one. Alone stands Gandalf.

It is a powerful scene. But where do I fit in the scene? Thankfully I am not the evil villain, but neither am I the strong hero. Am I one of those running? Perhaps… But the passage continues in a way I had forgotten: “And in that very moment, away behind in some courtyard of the City, a cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed, reckoning nothing of wizardry or war ², welcoming only the morning that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the dawn.”

With the knowledge that annihilation is on our doorstep I could run in fear. Or I could find peace in watching the Light of the world. The One who has been, is, and will be. In this I will find I have a part to play. Maybe, as the crow sounds, my role is to simply declare the truth, the Son is here!

And there may be even more to our part. After all, Gandalf did not stop the Nazgûl. Instead it was a woman, arm and shield shattered by the dark Lord’s blow, and a tiny hobbit. For while evil boldly strides, seizing the fame it so eagerly desires, Good is also at work. Our destiny is not in digital hands of ones and zeros, but the pierced hands of grace.

So let us cry out the truth. Let our actions live without fear of tomorrow, but in the knowledge that tomorrow we have been saved.

1. John 3:8 “The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.”
2. Matthew 24:6 “You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come.” (See v6-14, all these destructions we fear are “birth pangs”, but in Jesus new life will be born. See also Romans 8.)

“The gift of grace is nothing short of new creation, creation not merely out of nothing but out of anti-creation, out of death itself… grace is a vibrant plant that will take over the soil and produce a life giving harvest.” — NT Wright

At creation God brought the world from nothing. Stars and planets form, waters rush then recede, land rises, life begins. But the problem of sin polluted the soil. The harvest of creation became death.

God’s response to creation’s demise was not to destroy it (Genesis teaches that floods don’t work). Instead God set out to bring creation back to life. So Jesus was planted in soil and in three days grace sprang forth. Grace that overcomes death. We NOW live in the reality of this grace.

Jesus explained our new reality with the parable of the weeds. Good seed is sown, but an enemy sows weeds among the wheat. Servants want to tear out the weeds, but the owner refuses, “you will hurt the wheat”. So both wheat and weeds are left to grow together.

Now what is the meaning? God is the owner. The servants are the church. Wheat and weeds are righteousness and evil. The church’s role is not to remove evil. When we pull up the weeds, we also pull up the wheat. Meaning, when we get rid of evil, we also toss out our righteousness (worse, often in the effort to pull out evil, we sow other evil!). So the church is called by God to focus on the wheat. We plant righteousness. Again and again.

The church is not blind to evil. The servants see the weeds! And we show each to the owner — we pray for the weeds’ demise. We ask that each evil shrivels. Yet our actions are not to attack the evil. We don’t answer hate with hate (or judgment or violence or exclusion). Instead we bring the response of Jesus to every situation.

This is not naive. Instead the church puts our trust in the power of Jesus. His death and resurrection unleashed the power of grace. We believe that the resurrection has defeated death. So we strive to follow the path of Jesus. In Jesus, we know that righteousness, roots deepening and stalks rising, will take over the soil. Evil will wither. In grace even heathens will become servants of the harvest. A harvest that bears heaven’s salvation.

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” — Galatians 6:9

“What is beautiful is not always functional…” – Patrick Mahomes and the secrets of the Dad Bod

The Chiefs are on the verge of a three-peat. Now the villains. Which is strange, my life in KC has normally had a “lovable loser” vibe. But winning means a lot of wonderful national articles about our team. Including the quote above from The Athletic on Patrick Mahomes’s dad bod. “You would think he was a soccer dad,” quips Tyreek Hill. A step down from the infamous soccer mom. Yet Mahomes is one of the greatest athletes on the planet. Throwing, dodging, running, even bulling over… Mahomes makes the ripped look ridiculous.

“What we do in sport is that we over rely on our eyes for those answers.”

Yet, it is not just beautiful athletes. In nearly every facet of life we think beautiful means better. “The good-looking are also presumed to be smarter, saner, more sociable, and generally higher functioning” (Think Big), We even consider “pretty people to be morally superior”… morally superior? take that line in. Does no one remember high school?!

Comedian Dustin Nickerson takes on this topic. For him, dad bods equal good dads. “It is a time management thing. Dads don’t have time to be ripped. Anytime I see a dad with muscles, those are just arms not hugging their kids.”

And there is a lot of truth in this laughter. If our core concern is our looks, what about our task? But if performance is central, when physical appearance doesn’t matter, it’s then that we find real beauty. Mahomes, after struggling to pull a snug Chiefs jersey over his regular clothes, shrugs, “Dad Bod!” His body may not be beautiful, but watch him play… with passes, reads, jukes, runs, touchdowns… it is beautiful! (Even if his spikes are not )

This is especially true in the church. As Jesus comments to the Pharisees. You are concerned with the outside of the cup. It shines with perfection. But the inside of the cup is all grime and mold. Your drink is undrinkable.

When we try to look good in the world’s eyes… whether it with snazzier clothes or super moralism or more powerful positions… we appear beautifully religious, but we do not know how to offer a helping hand (think the priest in the Good Samaritan).

But if the church is concerned with our task: loving our neighbor as Jesus loves us… Our beauty will be encased in dad bods, bodies that look like Jesus, with our hands offering all a cup of living water.

“He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him… Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering.” — Isaiah 53:2,4

His children are not church goers. For the service they avoided the typical church hymns and wanted two songs I had never heard (Warren & Lewis). Both are beautifully sad — capturing the loss. Of course one’s chorus needed a bit of editing. We try our best to avoiding “damning” anyone

These songs, unlike many of the Christians songs, have only a vague hope in the future — toss in some angels — they are missing Jesus. Yet, they are better at capturing the grief of loss.

The resurrection of Jesus — as Paul writes, “for our reconciliation” — is a beautiful truth. Death does not have the final word. Jesus’s blood speaks a better word, “arise”.

We see this unfold with Lazarus. But the moment begins with the Bible’s shortest verse, “Jesus wept“. When I was young I spoke in my heart’s conversation, “Jesus, why are you crying?, you know what is about to happen!”

I was too inexperienced to hear Jesus’s response — I talk too much. Now I know what God’s humanity knows. Sometimes the pain is too great. The grief immobilizing. There are no theological truths to spout, only tears to shed. And so Jesus wept.

Tomorrow my family will gather at our house. There will be cinnamon rolls and egg casserole. Then we will unwrap presents in our downstairs. We don’t have enough couches or chairs, so my dad always sat on the stairs. In years past people would join him to laugh and chat. We would rotate, sometimes rush by to grab more coffee. But there he always sat, smiling as the grandkids ripped open presents…

Tomorrow that spot will be empty. I know the future. But today? There are only tears.

And though Jesus holds my dad, he also joins me. He knows this grief is too great for any words. For any truth. So Jesus weeps with me.