zeitgeist

The only thing more dangerous than the spirit of the age is being unaware that you’re caught up in it.

Like Times Square after New Year’s in the rain, America today is full of the aftereffects of a party gone bad, but many are too intoxicated to notice. To the level of distraction and amusement we’ve stooped, we have sunk to new lows and the mood is dark. Sobriety only comes at a price the morning after.

Thumbing through TIME magazine (Monday, Jan. 16, 2012) the other day, an article caught my eye — 10 Questions for Chris Kyle, a candid interview with former US Navy SEAL sniper turned author who earned three Silver Stars in Iraq for expert marksmanship with the deadliest record in American military history. The lines between his brow and the edge in his words: “You live in a dreamworld,” both pointed to something truer than my comfort zone was used to.

One question the interviewer asked was why he could kill a woman with a grenade in her hand but not a little boy in Nasiriyah with an RPG in his. “That day I could not kill a child,” was his reply. Something higher than the brass command to kill was informing Chris Kyle the day he let that boy go free. A reminder that rules not of this world play into the hands of a Sovereign God.

No dreamworld there.

The spirit of the age has swooped down like a giant bird to carry off in its bill this suffering generation, convincing us that we’re fighting for a just cause — namely, our rights.

Meanwhile, atop our lime-treated soil on this slightly tilting planet, our isms keep us busy clicking away online and picking from shelves of well-stocked stores, feeding off pig slop on TV and allowing our app-hungry devices to consume us while we treat our pets better than our neighbors. We’re split right down the middle — an angry couch of fiction readers, softer than marshmallows, living in the land of Diversion with two fists raised in the air. National pride faces its own dichotomy amid pleas for someone to rescue us from moral decay without having the collective conscience to uphold the standards necessary to recover them.

Zeitgeist.

The spirit of the age has swooped down like a giant bird to carry off in its bill this suffering generation, convincing us that we’re fighting for a just cause — namely, our rights. Look around. Every institution is under siege. Marriage is in the hopper, getting redefined. The term “family” can mean anything you need it to mean. Parents can choose their baby’s sex beforehand and children can decide their gender afterward. Our churches are in crisis, schools need policing, leaders from every sector are dropping like flies for doing unspeakable things. And the economy sustains a head wound that won’t heal while backpacks set up as portable living rooms in the public square. Ideological ire is everywhere. Around the globe, protest and unrest have become a way of life.

For the Christian, things are dicier than ever. While intolerance is a sitting duck, tolerance is a ticket to hell. The Word of God is Truth, but if discernment isn’t rooted in faith working by love, entitlement is a silent creeper and soon your judgments will subtly begin and end with you. The fog of spiritual battle can be thick, may even cause temporary blindness. Things are getting harder and harder to separate and figure out.

When the foundations are being destroyed, what can the righteous do?

Remember what Jesus said to Pilate when asked if He was King of the Jews?  He answered, “My kingdom is not of this world.”

Soothing words. Terra firma. Rules not of this world.

Still, the clanging of cymbals can be attention-getting loud. Knowledge abounds while Truth declines, Anti-Semitism rises as judgment falls, and walking circumspectly may mean keeping quiet when everything in you wants to scream. You may have knowledge, zeal, and confidence, but they will mean very little if you do not have Christ.

Tumult in the city, tumult in the Church — one thing is clear: The Zeitgeist is a very big killer bird.

    The LORD is in his holy temple; the LORD’s throne is in heaven;
his eyes see, his eyelids test the children of man.

-Psalm 11:4 (ESV)

______________________♦______________________

For further meditation

Psalm 11

2 Timothy 3:1-7

Isaiah 11:2-4

Isaiah 24

Author’s Note:  Reference in this blog post to TIME magazine does not constitute its endorsement or recommendation by the author nor is the article meant to be a political commentary on war or exploit the horrors of war. Use of said article is strictly anecdotal.

*Retired Navy SEAL Chris Kyle was called “Al-Shaitan Ramad” (The Devil of Rahmadi) among insurgents and is known as “the legend” among his SEAL brothers. He now lives in Mid-Texas with his wife and two children and considers himself to be a better husband and father than he ever was a killer. 

chart my course

O LORD,

Length of days does not profit me except the days are passed
in thy presence
in thy service,
to thy glory.

♦

Give me a grace that precedes,
follows,
guides,
sustains,
sanctifies,
aids every hour,
that I may not be one moment apart from thee,
but may rely on thy Spirit to supply every thought,
speak in every word,
direct every step,
prosper every work,
build up every mote of faith,
and give me a desire to show forth thy praise;
testify thy love,
advance thy kingdom.

♦

I launch my bark on the unknown waters of this year,
with thee, O Father, as my harbour,
thee, O Son, at my helm,
thee, O Holy Spirit, filling my sails.

Guide me to heaven with my loins girt,
my lamp burning,
my ear open to thy calls,
my heart full of love,
my soul free.

♦

Give me thy grace to sanctify me,
thy comforts to cheer,
thy wisdom to teach,
thy right hand to guide,
thy counsel to instruct,
thy law to judge,
thy presence to stabilize.

May thy fear be my awe,
thy triumphs my joy.

—New Year, The Valley of Vision

_____________________♦______________________

As the calendar New Year 2012 offers fresh hope for yielding more fully unto Him and seeing from new angles and perspectives, I’m reminded how little I am in control of so many circumstances. As a Christian, living in a fallen world is hard enough, learning to navigate on the high seas; an act of faith. I can but hoist my sail heavenward and trust Him for momentum, that I might gain by seeing from an eternal vantage point.

And I rest in knowing that my Sovereign God, from before the foundations of the world,
has ordained the waves, ordered the opening and closing of the locks,
fixed the buoys, and set the boundaries.
By His glorious and omniscient design, He alone knows the course I am to take.

Yet, still I must pray:

May all my moorings be found in You.

cast but a glance

Cast but a glance, not your pearls.

♦

 How do I rend my heart

When I’ve only ever given garments?

—Far lesser things I might have afforded

If ‘twere not for chastening Divine.

♦

Mourning dove,

covered in ash;

thy bruisings go deep.

♦

O, Steady Hand, go before me,

Severe Mercy, perform your alien work.

When

 Despair set low her bolts and bars

She blinded my eyes, thrust me asunder.

My spirit flagged, the flesh gave out.

By taking strength from other gods,

—‘twas Thee I had refused.

Now

I am caught; shorn,

listless from the winds and damp.

These markings — where did they come from?

Look away!

“It’s too hard, I must deserve this.”

But ev’n tears are cleansed of boasting

in Thy Presence.

♦

Canst thou hear Me singing?

Peer through the lock,

Thy vigorous captors are no more.

Arise,

Heaven’s flames extinguished, Fury’s quenched at last!

Lift up thine eyes; look about—

 ‘It is finished’

See!

—Cerulean skies; the temps are fair.

Thus

As My love, so My scars,

I AM

and ever shall be

JEALOUS

That My dwelling be found in thee.

Elizabeth DeBarros © 2011

For further meditation

 Joel 2:13; Isaiah 38:14; Zephaniah 3:17; Isaiah 60:1; Isaiah 53:10-12; Isaiah 63:4-6

John 19:30; Revelation 1:5; Exodus 34:14; Exodus 15:13; Ezekiel 37:27

_______________________

This poem was originally written for “Celebrating the Excellencies of His Name,” the collaborative series currently hosted by my dear friend, Becky Pliego, at her website, Daily on My Way to Heaven:

“During this Advent season, we want to invite you to join us in considering and celebrating the excellencies of the names of our Lord. We want to see Him fully…to know Him better, to worship and love Him more. And we will do this by studying His names.”

~We would love for you to come and share in the blessing~

thou art good

O LOVE BEYOND COMPARE,

Thou art good when thou givest,

when thou takest away,

when the sun shines upon me,

when night gathers over me.

Thou hast loved me before the foundation of the world,

and in love didst redeem my soul;

Thou dost love me still,

in spite of my hard heart, ingratitude, distrust.

Thy goodness has been with me another year,

leading me through a twisting wilderness,

in retreat helping me to advance,

when beaten back making sure headway.

Thy goodness will be with me in the year ahead;

I hoist sail and draw up anchor,

with thee as the blessed Pilot of my future as of my past.

I bless thee that thou hast veiled my eyes to the waters ahead.

If thou hast appointed storms of tribulation,

thou wilt be with me in them;

If I have to pass through tempests of persecution and temptation,

I shall not drown;

If I am to die,

I shall see thy face the sooner;

If a painful end is to be my lot,

grant me grace that my faith fail not;

If I am to be cast aside from the service I love,

I can make no stipulation;

Only glorify thyself in me whether in comfort or trial,

as a chosen vessel meet always for thy use.

–Year’s End, The Valley of Vision

__________________________________________

At the end of every year for as long as I can remember, I find a few hours, or maybe I should say the hours find me, to hang up my hat and draw a curtain on the last 11 months, resigning myself to the fact that next month will be a blur and I will never pass this way again.

What’s done is done.

I then get quiet and pensive — until I rest in knowing that what hasn’t been accomplished this year will perhaps be in the following, remembering that it’s not so much about what I’ve begun or finished as it is the good work God began in me and promises to complete.

Feeling suitably small, I give Him thanks.

 

words to live by

“That we shall communicate

not just what comes to mind,

but that which is in accord

with Scripture.”

-Nohemi Lugo

Assumptions can be quite costly.

For centuries, men have erected shrines of their own making, gargantuan masterpieces to honor a God Whom they believe gives nod to their monuments of cavernous proportions and elaborate detail.

In 1883, an idea costing many pesos combined with a massive land donation brought forth the Basílica del Voto Nacional in Quito, Ecuador to commemorate the country’s devotion to the Sacred Heart. Men and women came donating stones in exchange for having their names engraved on them. Technically “unfinished,” it’s been said that “when the Basílica is completed, the end of the world will come.”

As if God pays attention to stone. 

Religion, no matter what form it takes, is a wall of great heights, a seeming protection — a pseudo-spiritual alibi for the sinner.  Whether the object of affection is in the artistic fenestration of a narthex, a hideous array of gargoyles or the furnishing of a Gothic spire, it’s always something that represents what men think God also admires. But He does not concern Himself with temples built by human hands.

And yet, there is another set of religious lies far more common, which distort the grace of God, allowing us to persist on our own terms. A veritable spree which is actually a cover-up for wickedness.

“I can’t help it, I’m just wired this way.”

“God understands my needs.” 

“Jesus wants me to be happy, right?”

Apart from its many vestments, the distinguishing marks of man-centered religion are always the same: they either focus on externals or diminish personal accountability.

But Jesus said:

“A good man out of the good treasure of the heart bringeth forth good things: and an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth evil things. But I say unto you,

That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment. For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.”

-Matthew 12:35-37 (KJV)

Unless we rid ourselves of the last traces of religion, we will inevitably end up following our own dictates and remain bound, building castles in the sky, impressed by what our own hands have made, unaware that God is far more particular about what it is we say and do.

Purify my lips and guard my steps, O Lord. ♦

wurtemburg road

I would have despaired
If I had not believed
That You would come to me
Great God who saves

—Lyrics from Great God Who Saves by Laura Story

Thirty-two years ago seems like yesterday, as does sitting at my mother’s kitchen table, longing to be understood and have my sins accounted for. Her compassion held me somewhat, but still the moment proved inadequate for confessing any further. She couldn’t cleanse me of my sin and take away my guilt. Inconsolable, my soul was a mix of trouble and danger — to what degree I didn’t exactly know, except that I was crawling out of my skin. I took off down the road, no fixed destination in mind.

The highway is no place to work out your salvation, but that day it had become the ordained venue. Cars blurred past; I hardly noticed. I was preoccupied with only one thing: How to undo the burden that was my life.

Just 17, deeply broken and with an as yet unformed theology, all I knew was Heaven and Hell were both beckoning. Somewhere between turning off the highway and meandering halfway down the dirt side road, vivid in my mind’s eye was the stunning, bloody scene of Golgotha — an offensive sight had I not believed.

Jesus died for my sins. Mine.

The heat of conviction fell as my heart pounded. No longer a clergyman’s dry recitation as dictated by a perfunctory church calendar, I was grasping by faith the reality of Christ’s death in real time, on the ground — in my darkest hour of need.

Overwhelmed, I didn’t have the legs to keep walking. I climbed over the nearby post and rail and barbed wire fence and made my way just over the hill, hidden from view. Although the cows were not in the pasture, that I was trespassing was even less of a concern. Dead men don’t care where they die.

I dropped to my knees. The crush of sin now too much to carry, I cried out to God loud enough for all the world to hear. Clouds overhead were a tumultuous grey. A necessary, unbearable moment. I didn’t demand of Him what I could only beg for.

Would He hear me?

However long I spent in travail was long enough for the sky to give way to crepuscular rays and for the effectual work of grace to take hold, cleanse me from the dreck of sin and set me free from the wasting ache of pain, guilt, and shame.

With raised hands, I stood amazed, wiping away the last of my tears. A whole new world had opened up. Back upon the road, I skipped and sang like a little girl.

Without a doubt, He had come to me.

Great God who saves.

Psalm 104

 

speechless

When the call came, I wasn’t prepared. First thing she said was, “Don’t turn on the TV.”

Then she asked me if I knew what had happened. Knew what?

That two airplanes had flown into the Twin Towers of the  World Trade Center.

I soon learned along with the rest of the world about two more attack crashes, one into the west wing of the Pentagon and the other into a field near Shanksville, Pa.

From there, the morning took on a surreal overlay, a kind of slow motion, that crept into the afternoon. Landlines and cell towers were jammed. If silence could scream, it was deafening. Little did I know my husband was watching the Pentagon burn from his office window. At home with two young children, I felt somehow exposed.

The house felt cold.

A few hours passed before we could reach one another by phone. I don’t remember who called whom. We both were alive.

Horror. Fire. Twisted metal. Rubble. Dust. Billows of smoke. People covered in ash, running for their lives. Thousands were dead yet still unaccounted for. A few hundred jumped to save themselves from a worse demise. Certain aftermath never dissipates.

9/11 is when Death reached in through America’s thermal pane windows and took us all, let alone the world, by surprise.

9/11

A day when the calendar froze, bipartisan politics ceased, racial divides blurred, social prejudices disappeared. All that mattered were souls — dead and alive — a time when coping was secondary to surviving the shock, which was a fine line that showed up at mealtime. Can’t remember if I fed the children, but I probably did.

Normalcy was being redefined right under our noses.

♦  ♦  ♦

Later that afternoon, my neighbor, well in her third trimester, looked up at the cloudless blue sky. Together, our faith arose in silent accord, absorbing the dichotomy. Poignancy has a way of making sense of things when little else does.

Zeal and a broken heart fueled another neighbor to post to every door in our cluster of 150 houses an invitation to keep vigil that night on the corner of Cranberry Lane and Oldfield Drive. When she knocked at ours, she asked if my husband would bring his guitar. Without question.

Not only were we grieving for our nation, we were mourning for our 43-year-old neighbor. Less than 8 hours prior, he was an engineer for a government contractor, now an unsung hero who happened to be sitting in the crosshairs on Flight 77 that morning  bound for Los Angeles, along with 59 other victims ranging in age from 3 to 71.

Now, his widow and two daughters were grieving the sudden loss of a husband and father.

♦  ♦  ♦

Dusk settled upon us as people continued to gather at the corner. Many seemed skittish. Most of us strangers among a small sea of faces. Some brought blankets and lawn chairs. Who was in charge? What would happen? There was no plan. No public figure to offer solace. All that lay against the street sign among the mementos was a photo, candle, Redskins pennant, racing bike and hockey stick; reminders that this was the corner where he turned to come home to his family every night.

But as the fingers began to pluck at the strings, nobody was too shy to sing. People found comfort in the sound of the chords. All the songs were hymns, songs of praise.

That night, there was only one keynote speaker, Jesus Christ, exalted in the midst of a crowd, drawing men unto Himself.

“The attacks were meant to bring us to our knees, and they did — but not in the way the terrorists intended. Americans united in prayer … came to the aid of neighbors in need … and resolved that our enemies would not have the last word.”

-President George W. Bush, excerpt from 9/11 Address, 2006

pragmatic jalinda

Granted, the mirror has only one crack and it’s in the corner, but I still could not live with this imperfection.
I also could not throw away a perfectly good mirror,
so there had to be a clever way to save it.”

-Jalinda

If you don’t know what a pragmatist is, then most likely you are one. To some extent, we all are. And if there’s one thing pragmatists the world over have in common, it’s the desire to make something work.

You know the drill. Bigger is better. More is more. Plugging up holes and putting out fires. Git-r-done. Pragmatism is so much more than this, really, but this is what it looks like distilled and wearing a baseball cap.

To be fair, resourcefulness can be a virtue, but only up to a point. Overripe apples are great for making a tasty batch of applesauce, but there is a terminal ill no amount of human cure can remedy. Big sin, little sin, sin is sin, and the blackest of sin does not respond to a coat of paint. Or tail feathers. Morals do not save. No one is good. There is no hiding from the eye of Him to Whom we must give account.

To those who think they can accomplish spiritual goals by natural means, think again. As the prophet says:

“What will you do in the end?”

-Jeremiah 5:31b

We live in a moment on the timeline when the crack in the glass has not only widened but also lengthened and multiplied. Where anarchy is a song and nihilism is broadcast from T-shirts worn by children too young to drive. Where meaninglessness is served with toast points among the elite, promoted as fine art. Knowledge abounds, but truth falters in the streets. Justice? Feed the poor, but please, no talk about offending a holy God, lest it bother someone. We’re a fractured generation living in the midst of horrible consequence. The land of Sin, a banished country.

What to say to those who want out?

First, I’d tell them Christianity is not a quick fix. Then I’d say something like this:

There is an eternal God Who dwells in unapproachable light,¹ and He sits on an eternal throne in heaven, arrayed in majesty. He is the Everlasting Father, Creator of the universe, Who, from the beginning, has ordained all that is seen and unseen. He is the Provider of creatures both great and small, of them that fly above the earth and of those that crawl upon and under the earth and they that swim in the ocean deep. Through His Son, Jesus Christ, the One and Only, He sustains every atom of matter by His powerful word.² Not a jot or tittle goes unobserved from His all-seeing eye. And He is not weak, as though He needed anything. In fact, in Him we live and move and have our being.³ He knows that we are but dust, yet He does not treat us as our sins deserve.

How can this be?

What kind of God would allow so much evil?

Why does He frustrate feeble, sincere men in their attempts to succeed? 

Why so much difficulty?

No, sir. Christianity is not for me.

Yes, this God insults man’s intelligence, diminishes his strength, thwarts his purposes and catches the wise in their craftiness.

Why?

Christianity is not a quick fix, nor is it a method or a movement. I daresay, it is not even a religion, as if it were a decision based upon human will or ancestry. Neither is it escapism, a subculture, counterculture or an alternative lifestyle.

Beyond description, Christianity is a word that escapes the eloquence of man. Though admirable attempts have been made by many, I won’t try. But this I will say: It’s not a 12-step program, a Get Out of Jail Free card or a 7-step plan to a happier you.

Christianity is a Man. And unto this Man there must be an abandonment of all other trusts.

Jesus Christ and Him crucified is the response of God to the problem of sin, the exact satisfaction of God’s wrath and the only hope for mankind’s abject ruin, total inability and plight of eternal condemnation. He is the very expression of God’s glory and kindness and unto Whom the only right response is to believe in Him by forsaking your idols, confessing and repenting from your sin and being converted, that you might find refreshing in Him.⁴

In Christ, a glorious new birth awaits.

There is some of the pragmatist in all of us, I’m convinced, and only through the well-trained, Spirit-filled Christian mind are we able to begin to break free from its grip.

-Tim Challies

God doesn’t need permission from His creation to act. He does not depend on anyone or anything and He does not yield His glory to another, for from Him and through Him and to Him are all things. His purposes are set high above the heavens, made manifest on the earth below upon the ever-unfolding plotline of history. And we are but His lowly subjects, whether we believe in Him or not. He is King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

Lord of Jalinda, pragmatists all.

“Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved.”

-Acts 4:12

1. 1 Timothy 6:16

2. Hebrews 1:3

3. Acts 17:24-28

4. Acts 3:19

yesterday’s perfection

“Fads come and go, but trends live longer.”

-Newell Turner, Editor in Chief, House Beautiful, Dec/Jan 2011

It’s all about STYLE.

At least that’s what they told me. And I’ve lived long enough to know how an ever-changing forecast of what’s in and what’s out can influence choice on many levels. Did you know that hot pink is considered a neutral? Well, it is. They said so. Goes with any color. Feel free to buy the pillow now.

Designers issue warrants against fads, render edicts about what IS, and claim joy, peace, and freedom yours by following the latest trend. The amount of money spent in search of the holy grail with just the right patina doesn’t matter, as long as it’s not fake verdigris from a can. That is so 20 years ago.

Don’t get me wrong. I love good design. Point out an arch and I’m in Rome. Put some big round peaches in a respectful blue bowl (any shade) and I’m happy. Natural beauty is the raw element of all good design — shape, color, texture and a drop of wonder; its strength. Then comes quality and a certain perfection. And placement. How and where a thing goes can adjust a person’s sensibilities. Here, not there. This, not that. Yes. No. A little to the left. Like having an editor living inside your head, hacking away at the excess, adding to what is sparse, leaving behind what works, that five peaches are better than four. Same with flowers. Odd, never even. Right there. Keep it. Perfect.

But if there be any grit to one’s theology, it will inform even this kind of stuff.

♦  ♦  ♦

In the ’70s, I grew up in a family with a mother who not only acquired glass grapes, an orange butterfly chair and a Rococo mirror but also knew what to do with them. As she did with the hot pink ostrich feather boa, which matched the hot pink Qiana criss-cross halter gown she had made to wear on a cruise. Her closet held more excitement than a funhouse. The Spanish gaucho outfit, for example — the hat alone was more grand than our small town could bear. But her penchant for quality surpassed her flair for fashion, so she got away with it. The pairing of grey leather gloves with the studded grey suede pumps and hose took skill, but a dusty lavender felt cloche is what made the plum wool suit sing. She knew color — undertones and overtones of every hue.

Ever the domestic maven, she could spread a table like no other. Fresh flowers to celebrate the season; red, white and blue on the fourth of July. Also kept a different set of dinnerware for each holiday and occasion, including shells and oval dishes for whenever a whim arose for stuffed clams or au gratin. (Her frittered squash blossoms didn’t need a plate.) Everything I learned about taste, tilt, mood, lines, scale, bias and nap I learned from her — furniture, clothing, hats, coats, purses, linens, blankets, bathing suits, shoes. Lamps and candles, too. Taught me to first eyeball things, then measure afterwards. Her city ways showed up even at the farm stand, where she made buying local honey and a dozen ears of corn look glamorous. Someone should’ve taken her picture, as those days are long gone. But style can’t be sold, and these days they don’t call her “Hollywood” in the nursing home for nothing.

Today, she admits it all was a fading glory, along with the patent leather stilettos, silver eyeshadow and chandelier earrings that swept long against her black cocktail dress. For the first 21 years of my life, I lived inside her magazines, buying the lie, too. A scam of the highest order. Thankfully, we both got out in time.

That’s why fads and trends don’t cut it for me. Covetousness mars the whole bolt. But I don’t fight back by dressing in burlap. I just need to keep a check on “wanting nice things.” Joy, peace, and freedom do not come from 1,500-thread-count Egyptian cotton bedding, the Audi or good lighting — and I really like nice lighting. The world of design, diamonds and pearls — and a well-appointed home — pale in comparison to the flawless beauty of God’s commands.

Sure, glossy perfection exists, but mostly for the camera and to help us get in touch with our depravity. Although many never get past the must-have alpaca rug. Or they buy two for the price of one and feel good about how much money they saved. Depravity reigns in the cleanest of ways while designers and decorators spend way too much time doting on the small stuff, enticing the masses to crave what they don’t have and what their eye never has enough of seeing.

Tomorrow may find us laughing at today’s fads, but trends, well, one day they’ll be so yesterday.

“To all perfection I see a limit;
but your commands are boundless.”

-Psalm 119:96

Chapter Nine: The True Nature of Spiritual Warfare (Chapter Ten, too)

“Even the devil is God’s devil.”

-Martin Luther

WEEK 6

¡Arriba! Piña colada smoothie…it’s what’s for breakfast! Just in time for summer, too, as we come to the end of our book discussion 8) Thanks for reading along and sharing your thoughts. I’ve enjoyed every minute — studying, summarizing, posting and responding to your comments. But I didn’t find “A Place for Weakness” to be an easy read. A bit dense in places, better editing would’ve helped to streamline some of the clutter and repetition. As is the case with many contemporary theologians, clear writing is not their forte. But these things are forgiven. What matters most is we’ve been edified in some measure. With sound theological underpinnings tied to our mast, we can sail on the high seas of life in hope that somehow, through us, God is glorified. Such is the way of faith for those who endure, come what may.

SUMMARY of CHAPTER 9

Winding down Part Two, “God of the Empty Tomb,” Horton focuses on two major themes: Satan and death. In “The True Nature of Spiritual Warfare,” he zeroes in on the conflict that takes place in the unseen realm between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of Satan and how the drama plays out in our lives. But the Director never once abandons the stage. With Satan’s role as “prosecutor and Christ as our defense attorney…Satan’s objective in this contest is to undermine our confidence in God’s merciful will toward us, while God’s is to strengthen it.” Here’s where we soldier up to engage in Ephesians 6-style combat: “As counterintuitive as it is for us, we must turn outward at precisely these times and hope only in the Lord, whatever our conscience threatens, whatever blandishments Satan offers, whatever our experience tells us is the obvious case.”

While there’s no denying spiritual warfare, Horton decries a certain theology some circles employ, where a whole vocabulary has emerged to navigate what he terms to be borderline “cosmological dualism,” — “the belief that the universe is in the grip of a cosmic duel between God and Satan, as if these represented two equal forces.” And there’s the rub — there is only one Sovereign. As Luther said, “Even the devil is still God’s devil.” Horton argues for a faith that understands this both Biblically and empirically, based on the fulfillment of prophecy in Scripture and historic eyewitness accounts.

“The most exciting and liberating thing a believer can hear in the middle of spiritual and physical distress is not that there is a secret battle plan for defeating the powers of darkness if we will only come together and follow its fail-proof steps, but the announcement that Jesus Christ has already accomplished this for us in his first advent.” (pp. 166, 167)

This is the good news. There is no better news. For the “Judge himself — whom the transgressors had originally arraigned — takes off his robe and dons the warrior’s suit.”  Then the question “Who wins?” becomes the declarative: “He won!” — the verdict by which the believer truly lives and overcomes.

SUMMARY of CHAPTER 10

In “When God Goes to a Funeral,” Horton makes clear that the account of Lazarus in John 11 is not some contrivance about Jesus arriving late to raise a dead guy so everyone can gawk. Rather, it is the scene where sin’s worst fruit, death itself, is on display, now about to be subject to the power of God for the glory of God. This Biblical narrative reflects the eschatological truth of the hope yet to come: God’s triumphant defeat of the last enemy — Death. Jesus wasn’t late. He knew exactly what he was doing — pointing to Himself as “the Resurrection and the Life.”¹

But Mary and Martha’s tendency is our tendency. They didn’t understand. If only Jesus had come sooner…though they believed, they weren’t able to see the big picture. And so often, we can’t either. “God, if you really care about me, ________________— fill in your own blank.” (p. 181) But Jesus doesn’t condemn them for their frustration. Instead, He lifts their vision.

Finally, Horton makes an appeal for the restored significance of grief by reminding us that “Jesus wept.” From this, he cautions against false piety. Whether the approach be stoic or sentimental, neither are commended. Both are given to extremes, seeking to avoid “the messiness of life.” We’re meant to grieve, but “we do not grieve as others do who have no hope.” ²

“At the graveside, neither optimism nor pessimism; sentimentalism nor stoicism tell us what is happening here. Only Jesus’ cross and resurrection define the event for us.” (p. 191)

1. John 11:25
2. 1 Thessalonians 4:13

MY TAKE

It’s one thing to write a book on suffering that offers treacly comfort, it’s quite another to write one that supplies moorings for theological sanity when standing in the face of it. In “A Place for Weakness,” Michael Horton writes with the bedside manner of one who has observed and endured a variety of life’s conundrums. There is no grandstanding in his offering. He’s a realist — and a believer in a gospel that “is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes.” ³ He makes his case for finding answers to the hard questions by presenting the truth found in Christ and nowhere else. Of all the efforts made by men to diffuse the stress and strain of life’s sufferings — whether it be blame, denial, a “theology of glory,” hyper-spirituality, inspirational platitudes, bad theology, stoicism or sentimentalism — none of them are sufficient answer to the cardinal questions: Why? and “Is God good?” But Horton’s answer doesn’t bother to cater to man’s felt needs as though they were ultimate. He points to a far more glorious future by proclaiming:

“The good news is twofold: (1) justice will be done; liberation will come; righteousness will be vindicated; evil, oppression, and violence will be wiped off the face of the earth; and
(2) all who repent and turn to the Redeemer will be saved.” (p.173)

This is no cop-out. Genuine saving faith in Christ rests upon these truths and are of the most profound consequence for an individual. The iron-clad nature of Truth is substantiated upon the inerrant Word of God; there is no greater place to put our faith and trust. That these claims are true whether believed or not is a great comfort to God’s people, and ought to give skeptics pause.

But perhaps one of the most heartening aspects of Horton’s view is that he’s fully grounded in reality. He doesn’t negate the pain and heartache of this life. There’s a time for tears and a place to fall apart. Comfort is necessary and a shoulder is to cry on. God can bear our questions, fears and doubts. Grief and mourning are normal this “side of Easter,” and part of the poignant beauty of what it means to be human. As the book title suggests, there is a place for weakness.

In case you missed it, throughout the book Horton makes clear that death is not a celebration, but the “last enemy.” He’d rather that we face the consequences of the Fall head on than be falsely comforted by hearing, “Death is a natural part of life.” At least the former allows for the gospel to shine! Sadly, even today’s Church has run aground on this one. Amid Horton’s pastoral warnings against the prevailing doctrinal winds of our day, his greatest exhortation to the Church is to trust in Christ and find in Him the unshakeable hope that transcends this vale of tears.

In Him was life, and the life was the light of men.”

John 1:4

3. Romans 1:16

WORTH REPEATING

“there is a cosmic battle…”

“Life’s crises, whether they start out as physical or spiritual, end up involving the whole person in any case.” (p. 164)

“Satan is bound, under house arrest. And yet, like a Mafia boss in prison, he still manages to cause trouble.” (p. 168)

“This is where Satan sets up his battlements and builds his ramparts: God and His Word are not to be trusted; instead, be your own boss, find your own path, believe in yourself, and be true to yourself.” (p. 172)

“We will not grow without a fight…”

“Christ is enough, even for you.” (p. 178)

“It simply did not make sense.”

“Jesus wept.” (p. 187, John 11:35)

“We do not grieve “as others do who have no hope,” but we do grieve.” (p. 191)

“The last enemy to be destroyed is death.” (p. 192, 1 Cor. 15:26)

“In Christ, the end has already begun.” (p. 193)

“O Death, where is your sting?”

GROUP CHAT

• As usual, you’re welcome to leave a comment on these last chapters. Also, feel free to share your impressions of the book, too.

• Now that you’ve finished reading “A Place for Weakness,” think about how you’ve been challenged in your view toward suffering/trials. Please share with us what you’ve learned, as it could be helpful to other readers.

• Want a challenge? Answer the following question from Chapter 7/Question 4:

“Does Christianity “work”?

(for a refresher, re-read “Our Faith is not a Fix”on pages 131-133)

________________________

A warm thanks to all for reading, listening, and contributing to the discussion.
I trust it’s been as enriching and edifying for you as it has been for me.

♦

“May the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you;
the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace.”

-Numbers 6:25-26

♦  ♦  ♦

-Soli Deo Gloria-