Today is December 23. At long last, days are getting longer again here in the north of the world. In two days we will celebrate Christmas, our annual celebration of the incarnation of the Son of God, the birth of Jesus the Christ, our Savior and Lord. Now, as many people know, the Bible makes no reference to the calendar when discussing the birth of Jesus. December 25 is in many ways a made-up birthdate.
(There are a couple prominent theories as to why Christians settled on December 25: One is that Christmas takes over former pagan winter solstice celebrations. Another is that a December 25 birthday would place Jesus' conception around March 25, the time of his death and resurrection, connecting God's work of creation and redemption in Jesus. Despite what you may have heard, neither theory is acutally totally certain.)
That being said, celebrating Jesus' birth toward the end of December is very fitting for those of us who live in northern lands. John 1 describes Jesus as "the true light" that "was coming into the world." In both John 8 and John 9, Jesus says that He is "the light of the world," and in John 12 Jesus says, "I have come into the world as a light." The slowly lengthening days remind us of how Jesus brings light to our world. The light of Christmas pierces the darkness of our despair, for God Himself has come to save us from sin and death, to rescue us from evil and oppression, to deliver us from suffering and brokenness. Jesus drives away our darkness with His perfect light. He helps us understand the truth about God and ourselves more and more. He overcomes our sinfulness and transforms us into His likeness. We celebrate Christmas because light has come into the world through Jesus. We await His coming again, when there will be no more night, when Jesus Himself will give us light rather than the sun or the moon (Revelation 21). This winter and every winter, we can celebrate, because Jesus our Savior shines light into our hearts, leading us to Him. Jesus, the light of the world, gives us hope.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, December 23, 2019
Monday, December 16, 2019
#155 12 Days
Dear non-Christian world,
I understand your desire to secularize Christmas. While I wish that you shared my belief in Jesus Christ, you don't. But you still want to celebrate and give gifts at the end of the year. I don't blame you for that. (Now since the holiday's name itself refers to Christ, no one should really talk about celebrating Christmas without believing in Christ Jesus, but we'll ignore that for now.)
However, I do have a complaint I'd like to file. You probably know about the so-called twelve days of Christmas, at least from that rather ridiculous song. Because that expression is so popular, companies and TV shows and the like love to have their own twelve-day celebrations in the days leading up to December 25th. But here's the thing: the twelve days of Christmas START on December 25th. Christmas Day is the beginning of what Christians historically intended to be a twelve-day celebration. (After all, the birth of the Savior and the miracle of God becoming human while still remaining divine deserve quite a bit of rejoicing and reflecting.) So, please stop using the twelve days of Christmas incorrectly. If you're going to take something incredibly important to our faith, strip it of its intended religious meaning, and use it for your own purposes, please at least use our terminology accurately.
Thanks for your time. I hope that you do have an enjoyable Christmas season. If you've got questions, please reach out to me or another Christian you know.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Saturday, December 14, 2019
#154 Let Henry Cavill Play Superman!
As you likely know, dear readers, I am a big Superman fan. So today let's talk about this guy:
That's Henry Cavill. He played Superman in 2013's Man of Steel, 2016's Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, and 2017's Justice League. I think Henry is a fantastic Superman. He's got the classic look and physique. He's charismatic and talented. And that dude LOVES Superman. A week or two ago Henry was making the rounds doing interviews for his new Netflix show, The Witcher. Again and again he talked about how much he'd like to make more Superman movies. He's got story ideas. He's got passion. He's even—as far as I understand—still got a movie left on his original Superman contract. I would LOVE to see another Superman movie starring Henry Cavill. I'm confident he would do an excellent job.
But there's a problem. Warner Bros., the studio behind Superman movies, was not happy with the performance and reception of Cavill's Superman movies. Word on the street is that they'd like to wait for a while and then start over with a new actor.
I just have a little blog. It's not likely that anyone from Warner Bros. will see what I write. But I'm still posting in support of Henry Cavill. I really, really, really enjoyed his Superman movies, even if others didn't. But here's the thing: criticisms about story and tone are not Cavill's fault. That's not his job as an actor. (In fact, as I understand, the response to Cavill has been very positive overall.) If Warner Bros. wants to make different Superman movies, great! So does Henry. He'll tell you that he'd love to explore different possibilities. But, you ask, will audiences be able to handle a somewhat different take on the same character by the same actor? Um, yeah. James Bond movies do this all the time. Look at the recent Daniel Craig movies. Quantum of Solace was a hot mess? No worries, Skyfall is a smash. Spectre has some issues. That's okay, push forward with No Time to Die. Let's treat Superman the same way. Let Henry Cavill make more Superman movies. He knows the part. He's become a star. And he respects and really gets the character. So here's to you, Henry. You're still MY Superman. I'm pulling for you.
Grace and peace,
Brian
P.S. To follow up on post #152, Lanie did get to build her snowman. Check it out:
But there's a problem. Warner Bros., the studio behind Superman movies, was not happy with the performance and reception of Cavill's Superman movies. Word on the street is that they'd like to wait for a while and then start over with a new actor.
I just have a little blog. It's not likely that anyone from Warner Bros. will see what I write. But I'm still posting in support of Henry Cavill. I really, really, really enjoyed his Superman movies, even if others didn't. But here's the thing: criticisms about story and tone are not Cavill's fault. That's not his job as an actor. (In fact, as I understand, the response to Cavill has been very positive overall.) If Warner Bros. wants to make different Superman movies, great! So does Henry. He'll tell you that he'd love to explore different possibilities. But, you ask, will audiences be able to handle a somewhat different take on the same character by the same actor? Um, yeah. James Bond movies do this all the time. Look at the recent Daniel Craig movies. Quantum of Solace was a hot mess? No worries, Skyfall is a smash. Spectre has some issues. That's okay, push forward with No Time to Die. Let's treat Superman the same way. Let Henry Cavill make more Superman movies. He knows the part. He's become a star. And he respects and really gets the character. So here's to you, Henry. You're still MY Superman. I'm pulling for you.
Grace and peace,
Brian
P.S. To follow up on post #152, Lanie did get to build her snowman. Check it out:
Monday, December 2, 2019
#153 Grace Church
When I was in seminary, Tess and I went church shopping. We were new to Grand Rapids and wanted to settle in with a church for the three years I would be in school. We hoped to find a congregation where we felt like we belonged, where we could get involved, and where we could hopefully grow and learn and even be challenged. We visited half a dozen churches or so over the first few months we were in town. There was a lot we liked, but we didn't feel like we'd found the place for us to be yet. There were so many churches around. Then I met a woman named Pat, who invited Tess and me to come to the church she attended: Grace Christian Reformed Church.
The next Sunday Tess and I went to Grace Church. When we were driving home after the service, we looked at each other and said, "This is the one." We never thought about looking for another church again.
For a little less than three years, Grace Church was home for Tess and me. There were a lot of things I loved about Grace Church. It began as an African-American church plant, and it grew into a church that was passionate about people from different backgrounds coming together in Christ. The congregation at Grace Church was more diverse than any I'd been a part of before. We celebrated black history month with an amazing dinner each year. We sang a whole variety of songs from different traditions. Lots of different people participated in worship, and children were intentionally included in children's messages and communion celebrations and waving streamers. Grace Church felt very intergenerational. It certainly wasn't perfect, but I learned and experienced a lot there.
I'd say there were two main things I loved about Grace Church. First, worship at Grace felt real. Sometimes churches (wrongly) make you feel like you need to get your life together before you come to church. Grace didn't feel that way to me. In sermons and prayers and fellowship, we talked about the tough times in life, about our weaknesses and struggles and need for God. Our worship (very appropriately) reminded us that we are all sinners saved by God's grace. The second thing I loved about Grace Church was communion. At Grace we truly celebrated communion. We gathered together at the front of the sanctuary in groups to share the bread and the cup. While we waited before and after our turn, we sang. Often we would begin quietly, even somberly, reflecting on Christ's sacrifice. But we would often finish with loud, joyful, triumphant songs, celebrating that Christ has triumphed and is with us to strengthen our faith and will come again. I firmly believe that communion is more than just remembering Jesus' death (though that is certainly necessary); it's also seeing how God is feeding us now and looking forward to what God will do. Grace Church helped me understand that.
I've been back to Grace Church a couple times since Tess and I left Grand Rapids and I became a pastor. Grace still feels like home. The worship is familiar and challenging and varied and points us to God. The congregation welcomes me like family, eager to hear about what I've been doing and how God is working in my life. I hope that I'm able to apply the lessons I learned at Grace Church in my ministry. I hope that a person who comes to a church I serve feels welcome, feels like worship is real, feels like there's reason to celebrate, and most of all, feels drawn toward Christ Jesus and His grace.
Grace and peace,
BMH
The next Sunday Tess and I went to Grace Church. When we were driving home after the service, we looked at each other and said, "This is the one." We never thought about looking for another church again.
For a little less than three years, Grace Church was home for Tess and me. There were a lot of things I loved about Grace Church. It began as an African-American church plant, and it grew into a church that was passionate about people from different backgrounds coming together in Christ. The congregation at Grace Church was more diverse than any I'd been a part of before. We celebrated black history month with an amazing dinner each year. We sang a whole variety of songs from different traditions. Lots of different people participated in worship, and children were intentionally included in children's messages and communion celebrations and waving streamers. Grace Church felt very intergenerational. It certainly wasn't perfect, but I learned and experienced a lot there.
I'd say there were two main things I loved about Grace Church. First, worship at Grace felt real. Sometimes churches (wrongly) make you feel like you need to get your life together before you come to church. Grace didn't feel that way to me. In sermons and prayers and fellowship, we talked about the tough times in life, about our weaknesses and struggles and need for God. Our worship (very appropriately) reminded us that we are all sinners saved by God's grace. The second thing I loved about Grace Church was communion. At Grace we truly celebrated communion. We gathered together at the front of the sanctuary in groups to share the bread and the cup. While we waited before and after our turn, we sang. Often we would begin quietly, even somberly, reflecting on Christ's sacrifice. But we would often finish with loud, joyful, triumphant songs, celebrating that Christ has triumphed and is with us to strengthen our faith and will come again. I firmly believe that communion is more than just remembering Jesus' death (though that is certainly necessary); it's also seeing how God is feeding us now and looking forward to what God will do. Grace Church helped me understand that.
I've been back to Grace Church a couple times since Tess and I left Grand Rapids and I became a pastor. Grace still feels like home. The worship is familiar and challenging and varied and points us to God. The congregation welcomes me like family, eager to hear about what I've been doing and how God is working in my life. I hope that I'm able to apply the lessons I learned at Grace Church in my ministry. I hope that a person who comes to a church I serve feels welcome, feels like worship is real, feels like there's reason to celebrate, and most of all, feels drawn toward Christ Jesus and His grace.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Tuesday, November 26, 2019
#152 Do You Want to Build a Snowman?
Lanie sure does! A couple weeks ago we got a dusting of snow. Lanie asked me if we could build a snowman. I had to tell the poor girl we couldn't. There wasn't enough snow, and it soon melted away. Then when I left work late this afternoon, there was white stuff coming down from the sky. Once I got home, Tess asked Lanie what was falling outside. "Snowman!" Lanie shouted. It's still snowing now. Maybe tomorrow we'll have the right conditions for Lanie to get her snowman.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, November 18, 2019
#151 Hyper Sports
When I ran cross country and track in college, my friends (Bryan) Kunz and (Ryan) Linde(mulder) and I had the best pre-meet tradition. The night before a meet we would head down to the basement of West Hall, where there was an arcade cabinet. The machine had a couple dozen games, but on pre-meet nights, we were only interested in one: Hyper Sports.
Hyper Sports was a pretty weird game. It combined seven seemingly random summer Olympic events into one competition: freestyle swimming, skeet shooting, long horse, archery, triple jump, weightlifting, and pole vault. The game was simple to play and incredibly fun. Kunz, Linde, and I were immediately hooked. But Hyper Sports was not for the faint of heart. Sure, swimming was child's play, and skeet shooting wasn't much of a challenge. Long horse only took a little time to master, and archery became quite doable after a fair amount of practice. But triple jump was a tough nut to crack. As I recall it took us several weeks to get past triple jump. I remember having to go online and find advice about the optimal launch angle to hit for each jump. Oddly enough, weightlifting never was much of an obstacle for us. But then there was pole vault. Pole vault crushed your soul. The end of the game was in sight, but pole vault simply taunted us as it defeated us again and again and again.
Kunz, Linde, and I loved Hyper Sports night. We looked forward to it. We bonded over it. Playing a few rounds while switching off between events made us so happy. But we knew that we wouldn't be truly satisfied until we conquered pole vault. A pretty decent amount of time passed. We started playing the game pretty early during our freshman cross country season. Well into our freshman track season and maybe even into our sophomore year, we hadn't beaten pole vault. But then, one night, there was magic. I took yet another crack at pole vault. I mashed the buttons quickly enough and at just the right time to clear the bar. Our little pixelated guy fell to the mat below. We had done it. We had finished Hyper Sports. We cheered and fist pumped and high fived like we had actually won something. Hyper Sports was truly our game now.
The three of us kept playing Hyper Sports after that first triumph; after all, we couldn't break tradition. The game really didn't become any less fun; if anything we relaxed and goofed around with it even more. We got better and better at the various events, working together to do things like set a new skeet shooting high score or best weightlifting mark. All told, in dozens of games of Hyper Sports throughout our college careers, I think we beat pole vault like three or four times. But one of those times everything clicked, and we managed to break the game's pole vault record, too. Hyper Sports may have been a silly pre-meet tradition, but those good times are forever burned in my memory.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Hyper Sports was a pretty weird game. It combined seven seemingly random summer Olympic events into one competition: freestyle swimming, skeet shooting, long horse, archery, triple jump, weightlifting, and pole vault. The game was simple to play and incredibly fun. Kunz, Linde, and I were immediately hooked. But Hyper Sports was not for the faint of heart. Sure, swimming was child's play, and skeet shooting wasn't much of a challenge. Long horse only took a little time to master, and archery became quite doable after a fair amount of practice. But triple jump was a tough nut to crack. As I recall it took us several weeks to get past triple jump. I remember having to go online and find advice about the optimal launch angle to hit for each jump. Oddly enough, weightlifting never was much of an obstacle for us. But then there was pole vault. Pole vault crushed your soul. The end of the game was in sight, but pole vault simply taunted us as it defeated us again and again and again.
Kunz, Linde, and I loved Hyper Sports night. We looked forward to it. We bonded over it. Playing a few rounds while switching off between events made us so happy. But we knew that we wouldn't be truly satisfied until we conquered pole vault. A pretty decent amount of time passed. We started playing the game pretty early during our freshman cross country season. Well into our freshman track season and maybe even into our sophomore year, we hadn't beaten pole vault. But then, one night, there was magic. I took yet another crack at pole vault. I mashed the buttons quickly enough and at just the right time to clear the bar. Our little pixelated guy fell to the mat below. We had done it. We had finished Hyper Sports. We cheered and fist pumped and high fived like we had actually won something. Hyper Sports was truly our game now.
The three of us kept playing Hyper Sports after that first triumph; after all, we couldn't break tradition. The game really didn't become any less fun; if anything we relaxed and goofed around with it even more. We got better and better at the various events, working together to do things like set a new skeet shooting high score or best weightlifting mark. All told, in dozens of games of Hyper Sports throughout our college careers, I think we beat pole vault like three or four times. But one of those times everything clicked, and we managed to break the game's pole vault record, too. Hyper Sports may have been a silly pre-meet tradition, but those good times are forever burned in my memory.
BMH
Monday, November 11, 2019
#150 Would You Change Me?
One hundred fifty posts! When I started this blog a little over three years ago I intended for it to be an ongoing thing, but I wasn't sure how it would work it out. I'd never had a blog like this before. Yet here we are. One fifty's a pretty respectable number; it's the number of psalms in the biblical book of Psalms. So let's take a psalmlike topic tonight and talk about God in the midst of darkness.
When I was 17 years old, I served as the youth representative on my church's youth pastor search team. The experience challenged and stretched me. I came in with little idea of what to expect and many times had reservations about whether or not I was really beneficial to the group. But I definitely grew from having responsibility entrusted to me and especially from learning from the other team members. After about half a year of searching, in the summer of 2008, our search team met with the church's "steering team" (essentially the elders) to make a recommendation to bring before the congregation. The meeting was long and heavy. We had detailed conversations and took a significant break from discussion to spend time in prayer and silence. I felt moved to speak at a fairly crucial point in our discussion, and I felt like God used my perspective in guiding us a certain direction. Eventually we came to an agreement and concluded our meeting. My work on the search team was finished, and I had a strong sense that God had used me.
Let me give you a little more background info at this point. The summer of 2008 was a great time in my life. I had experienced a huge breakthrough in track the previous spring and was still riding some of the high of qualifying for the state meet. That summer I became much more social than I ever had been before. Three of my friends and I were together all the time, constantly meeting up to hang out and occasionally have some sort of memorable adventure. That summer I also began attending our church's community youth drop-in night, which was a huge factor in pushing me toward a career in ministry. I was 17, enjoying summer and anticipating my senior year. Life was good.
But when I was leaving church that evening of the big two-committee meeting, life didn't seem good. After weeks filled with joy and excitement, my thoughts and feelings took a totally unexpected turn. Seemingly out of nowhere darkness and depression overwhelmed me. I started feeling like I didn't want to live anymore. I remember thinking, "Okay, God, this is it. I've done what you wanted me to do. You can take me now." I just felt drained. Spent. Finished. One of the steering team members caught me by the door, thanked me for my service, and, apparently sensing my pain, asked if I was okay and offered to talk with me. We chatted a bit, but I didn't really disclose anything. Eventually we said good-bye, and I walked over to my car.
Alone again, I wrestled with my thoughts and with God. I'm not sure I actually prayed this, but I remember basically hoping that I would die on my way home. After what felt like an eternity of anguish, I decided it was time to leave the parking lot. But before I pointed my car toward home, I pulled out my iPod. At that time I was obsessed with the album Fight the Tide by Sanctus Real. (It might still be my all-time favorite album, though I don't listen to it nearly as often as I did when I was 17.) Right in the middle of the album was my favorite song, a somewhat quieter but intense track titled "Change Me." I scrolled down and hit play. As I started driving, "Change Me" filled my car:
Did I change your mind with what I said last night?
When I was 17 years old, I served as the youth representative on my church's youth pastor search team. The experience challenged and stretched me. I came in with little idea of what to expect and many times had reservations about whether or not I was really beneficial to the group. But I definitely grew from having responsibility entrusted to me and especially from learning from the other team members. After about half a year of searching, in the summer of 2008, our search team met with the church's "steering team" (essentially the elders) to make a recommendation to bring before the congregation. The meeting was long and heavy. We had detailed conversations and took a significant break from discussion to spend time in prayer and silence. I felt moved to speak at a fairly crucial point in our discussion, and I felt like God used my perspective in guiding us a certain direction. Eventually we came to an agreement and concluded our meeting. My work on the search team was finished, and I had a strong sense that God had used me.
Let me give you a little more background info at this point. The summer of 2008 was a great time in my life. I had experienced a huge breakthrough in track the previous spring and was still riding some of the high of qualifying for the state meet. That summer I became much more social than I ever had been before. Three of my friends and I were together all the time, constantly meeting up to hang out and occasionally have some sort of memorable adventure. That summer I also began attending our church's community youth drop-in night, which was a huge factor in pushing me toward a career in ministry. I was 17, enjoying summer and anticipating my senior year. Life was good.
But when I was leaving church that evening of the big two-committee meeting, life didn't seem good. After weeks filled with joy and excitement, my thoughts and feelings took a totally unexpected turn. Seemingly out of nowhere darkness and depression overwhelmed me. I started feeling like I didn't want to live anymore. I remember thinking, "Okay, God, this is it. I've done what you wanted me to do. You can take me now." I just felt drained. Spent. Finished. One of the steering team members caught me by the door, thanked me for my service, and, apparently sensing my pain, asked if I was okay and offered to talk with me. We chatted a bit, but I didn't really disclose anything. Eventually we said good-bye, and I walked over to my car.
Alone again, I wrestled with my thoughts and with God. I'm not sure I actually prayed this, but I remember basically hoping that I would die on my way home. After what felt like an eternity of anguish, I decided it was time to leave the parking lot. But before I pointed my car toward home, I pulled out my iPod. At that time I was obsessed with the album Fight the Tide by Sanctus Real. (It might still be my all-time favorite album, though I don't listen to it nearly as often as I did when I was 17.) Right in the middle of the album was my favorite song, a somewhat quieter but intense track titled "Change Me." I scrolled down and hit play. As I started driving, "Change Me" filled my car:
Did I change your mind with what I said last night?
Did I break your heart by straying so far
From what you have in mind for my life?
Would you change me from who I've been lately?
'Cause I know I'm nothing without you
Did my words betray the patience I once claimed?
Can't you see it in my face? I need your grace
Would you change me from who I've been lately?
'Cause I know I'm nothing without you
Would you save me from the way I've been lately?
'Cause I can't see living without you
So would you speak to me and show me what I need
Is it patience, kindness, all that's in between?
Loving others the way you love me?
Would you change me from who I've been lately?
'Cause I know I'm nothing without you
Would you break me from the way I've been lately?
'Cause I can't see living without you
Would you change me from who I've been lately?
'Cause I can't see living without you
As I reached the far side of town, I remember the line "So would you speak to me and show me what I need?" hitting me like a ton of bricks. That was my prayer. I nearly broke down in tears. And in that moment God's presence became clear to me. I didn't hear the voice of God or see a vision, but God touched my heart. Suddenly I knew that God had heard all of my prayers and knew everything that I was feeling. I knew that God was with me, that He had been with me, that He would continue to be with me. My feelings of darkness and depression didn't just evaporate, but I knew that I was going to make it. God was going to pull me through. God got me home safely and helped me get some sleep.
I love the psalms, and I think that night in the summer of 2008 is a big part of why I do. I think that my faith works much like the psalmwriters' faith. I don't think believing in Jesus means that I won't have trouble—far from it. But I do believe that Jesus cares about my pain and can handle all of my emotions and insecurities and struggles and fears. And deep down I believe that when I hit rock bottom and want to give up, God is there, listening and watching, giving me strength and helping me through. I know I'm nothing without Him. All the times when I wish I was better or wish I felt differently, it's good to know that God can change me. I can't see living without Him.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, November 4, 2019
#149 Poor Reflections
I had a rough parenting moment today. I was trying to get a resistant Lanie out the door so we could go grocery shopping when I remembered that I needed to take her to the bathroom to let her try to go potty. Since this was her first trip to the bathroom after her nap, I figured her pull-up would be wet, so I helped her pull her pants all the way off. Next the pull-up came down, but when it hit the floor I realized it was full of poop. How could there be poop? That didn't make any sense. She'd already pooped in the morning, and she hadn't said anything to me. She always seems to tell us when she poops. Before I could react, Lanie had already put her right sock into the poop. There was also poop on the floor, poop on Lanie's legs, poop on her bottom. With a groan I whisked Lanie over to the toilet and sternly growled at her, "Don't move." My frustration was growing by the second. Leaving the house was already taking too long before we entered the bathroom. Now I had a huge mess to clean up. As I set about the complicated task of disinfecting everything, Lanie, confused and cold and probably a bit scared by my quick and not-so-gentle movements, started crying. Exasperated, I told Lanie she was fine. She kept crying. I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. "Stop crying!" I snapped. Lanie recoiled in shock. "O-o-okay" she stammered through sobs. Immediately I realized how wrong I'd been. My poor daughter was in tears over an accident, but rather than comforting her, I yelled at her. I was a terrible father.
I wish I could say that this was the first time something like this happened, but it isn't. In a lot of ways parenting is like holding a mirror up to yourself. I see a fair amount of myself in Lanie, but even more than that my interactions with her help me see what kind of person I am. Over and over again I'm appalled at the reflections I see. I'm impatient. I'm easily distracted and often not fully present. I'm selfish and insensitive. I become angry or frustrated too quickly and struggle to respond well to those kinds of emotions. Lanie certainly isn't perfect, but she's really not a very difficult child. Yet again and again I fail her by being inattentive or crabby or just too tired or stressed. When I see myself reflected in Lanie, it's hard for me to think anything other than that I'm a poor father. As a parent I see all of my worst characteristics, all of my most terrible shortcomings and misdeeds. It scares me. This poor girl and at least one more child will have to deal with me as their father. Tess has to put with me as her husband. A whole group of people is enduring me as their pastor. Me! I wish I was a better person for the sake of Lanie and Tess and everyone else. But my personal growth never comes as quickly as I'd like. Sometimes I worry that I've stopped progressing altogether. If parenting has taught me anything it's how incredibly imperfect and broken I am. I need to do a lot of apologizing and making up for my wrongs. I need to ask God for a lot of grace, both when it comes to forgiveness for past sins and when it comes to help to keep me from harming others more in the future. The truth is that I'm a mess. I suppose I could be even worse than I am, but I don't find that very comforting. It's so much easier for me to see all the many ways I could be much, much better.
Grace and peace,
BMH
I wish I could say that this was the first time something like this happened, but it isn't. In a lot of ways parenting is like holding a mirror up to yourself. I see a fair amount of myself in Lanie, but even more than that my interactions with her help me see what kind of person I am. Over and over again I'm appalled at the reflections I see. I'm impatient. I'm easily distracted and often not fully present. I'm selfish and insensitive. I become angry or frustrated too quickly and struggle to respond well to those kinds of emotions. Lanie certainly isn't perfect, but she's really not a very difficult child. Yet again and again I fail her by being inattentive or crabby or just too tired or stressed. When I see myself reflected in Lanie, it's hard for me to think anything other than that I'm a poor father. As a parent I see all of my worst characteristics, all of my most terrible shortcomings and misdeeds. It scares me. This poor girl and at least one more child will have to deal with me as their father. Tess has to put with me as her husband. A whole group of people is enduring me as their pastor. Me! I wish I was a better person for the sake of Lanie and Tess and everyone else. But my personal growth never comes as quickly as I'd like. Sometimes I worry that I've stopped progressing altogether. If parenting has taught me anything it's how incredibly imperfect and broken I am. I need to do a lot of apologizing and making up for my wrongs. I need to ask God for a lot of grace, both when it comes to forgiveness for past sins and when it comes to help to keep me from harming others more in the future. The truth is that I'm a mess. I suppose I could be even worse than I am, but I don't find that very comforting. It's so much easier for me to see all the many ways I could be much, much better.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, October 28, 2019
#148 Shots Fired
For some reason I've been in a bit of "ten years ago" kick lately on my blog. There's probably good reason for that (beyond that fact that we ten-fingered humans use a decimal number system). 2009 was an incredibly formative year for me: I really began embracing the idea that God was calling me into ministry, I left home for college (following a couple summer adventures), and I met my future wife, plus a whole bunch of my closest friends, for the first time.
But we're not here to talk about any of that stuff today. In the midst of me falling in love and growing into my identity and all that jazz, I had one of the most bizarre and frightening experiences of my life on October 28, 2009. It was late in my first cross country season at Trinity. We were getting ready for the conference meet. Joey (our senior captain) and Bo (our student assistant) and I were a little ways west of campus finishing up a pretty standard run. (I think it was our 7-mile bike loop route, but I'm not totally sure on that.) As we ran on the left side of a quiet residential street, we saw a vehicle approaching us. Suddenly a masked figure dressed in black popped out of the sunroof and pointed something at us. We heard a pop-pop-pop-pop. This guy was shooting paintballs at us! We scampered off the road but couldn't find any real cover and ended up just sort of crouched together. We were hit a few times, including a shot that hit me in my right temple. The car passed us and disappeared. After determing that we were really okay, though pretty seriously shaken, we finished our run. Our coach was rightfully furious when he saw the paint and heard our story. He called in a report to the police. However, we hadn't been paying much attention to the vehicle when we first saw it, and then we were concerned about protecting ourselves, so we weren't able to provide much of a description. Nothing more ever came of the drive-by paintball shooting incident. It might sound ridiculous or even funny when you read about, but let me tell you, it was pretty stinking terrifying to experience. We were totally caught off guard and didn't know what was going on. But hey, at least we got a story out of the ordeal.
Grace and peace,
BMH
But we're not here to talk about any of that stuff today. In the midst of me falling in love and growing into my identity and all that jazz, I had one of the most bizarre and frightening experiences of my life on October 28, 2009. It was late in my first cross country season at Trinity. We were getting ready for the conference meet. Joey (our senior captain) and Bo (our student assistant) and I were a little ways west of campus finishing up a pretty standard run. (I think it was our 7-mile bike loop route, but I'm not totally sure on that.) As we ran on the left side of a quiet residential street, we saw a vehicle approaching us. Suddenly a masked figure dressed in black popped out of the sunroof and pointed something at us. We heard a pop-pop-pop-pop. This guy was shooting paintballs at us! We scampered off the road but couldn't find any real cover and ended up just sort of crouched together. We were hit a few times, including a shot that hit me in my right temple. The car passed us and disappeared. After determing that we were really okay, though pretty seriously shaken, we finished our run. Our coach was rightfully furious when he saw the paint and heard our story. He called in a report to the police. However, we hadn't been paying much attention to the vehicle when we first saw it, and then we were concerned about protecting ourselves, so we weren't able to provide much of a description. Nothing more ever came of the drive-by paintball shooting incident. It might sound ridiculous or even funny when you read about, but let me tell you, it was pretty stinking terrifying to experience. We were totally caught off guard and didn't know what was going on. But hey, at least we got a story out of the ordeal.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, October 21, 2019
#147 Like Family
During Jesus' earthly ministry, He often told parables, stories where He would use familiar things and situations to help His listeners understand unfamiliar things. Many times Jesus began His parables with "The kingdom of God [or heaven] is like…"
At the beginning of the month I conducted a funeral for a member of our church. (I also referred to this back in post #145. Check it out!) We had visitation on Friday night. Afterwards the family had plans to gather for supper at the restaurant here in Kanawha. Tess and Lanie were gone for the weekend, and the family invited me to join them for the meal. So I spent an evening as part of this family. I read Scripture and prayed and sat with them at the funeral home. We chatted and shared food at the restaurant. As the evening went along, I felt like I had stepped into a parable.
The kingdom of God is like a family that takes in a stranger who doesn't have loved ones around. The family sees that he is alone and invites him to join them, treating him as one of their own. In the same way, God invites people who are strangers to Him to join His family. He loves and cares for them as His own children. He teaches them to love and accept others, even strangers, like family members. And so God's family grows and God's love spreads until the kingdom fully comes. Then no one will be left alone. Then everyone will be family.
Grace and peace,
BMH
At the beginning of the month I conducted a funeral for a member of our church. (I also referred to this back in post #145. Check it out!) We had visitation on Friday night. Afterwards the family had plans to gather for supper at the restaurant here in Kanawha. Tess and Lanie were gone for the weekend, and the family invited me to join them for the meal. So I spent an evening as part of this family. I read Scripture and prayed and sat with them at the funeral home. We chatted and shared food at the restaurant. As the evening went along, I felt like I had stepped into a parable.
The kingdom of God is like a family that takes in a stranger who doesn't have loved ones around. The family sees that he is alone and invites him to join them, treating him as one of their own. In the same way, God invites people who are strangers to Him to join His family. He loves and cares for them as His own children. He teaches them to love and accept others, even strangers, like family members. And so God's family grows and God's love spreads until the kingdom fully comes. Then no one will be left alone. Then everyone will be family.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, October 14, 2019
#146 First Date
Ten years ago tonight Tess and I had our first "date." You could quibble about me calling this a date because I hadn't officially asked Tess out at this point, but that was just a matter of me not finding the right opportunity yet. Tess and I were acting like we were dating at this point. On October 14, 2009, Tess and I went to watch Up in the lobby of our college's chapel. In the weeks leading up to that night we'd gotten to know each other pretty well through late night conversations. The chemistry was clearly there. We found some space on the floor and settled into the semi-darkness with a shared blanket. Honestly I'm surprised I was able to catch the plot of the movie. I spent the whole night daydreaming about Tess and desperately trying to work up the courage to hold her hand. (I only got as far as overlapping pinkies. What can I say? I'm a coward.) Later that night, back in the upstairs lobby of our dorm, Tess fell asleep on my shoulder. That was it. From that night on, we were a couple. It was like magic. After we finally said good night, I went and wrote in my journal, clearly head-over-heels. Ten years later, everything isn't brand new anymore, but I think it's safe to say I'm still clearly head-over-heels.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, October 7, 2019
#145 Victory
This past weekend I conducted a funeral for one of our church members. After the service in the church building, we drove to the cemetery on the west edge of town. A light mist was falling through somewhat chilly fall air—pretty miserable weather. I stood by the casket and looked out at the family of this dear woman whom I had the privilege of visiting in the nursing home many times over the past few years, and—among a few other things—I said, "Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? Thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
I've done that same thing with every funeral I've conducted. I think this practice captures something that's at the heart of the Christian faith. Death is a horrible thing. Death makes us so afraid. Death is sometimes so painful for the person dying, and is pretty much always excruciating for those who are left behind. For all of our human advances, the best we can do is delay death. We can't prevent it. It just seems so final. And right there is where our Christian hope comes in. We believe that death isn't final, because God has raised Jesus Christ from the grave, conquering death forever. Because of Jesus, in the great struggle between death and God's people it's God's people who have the victory. What an incredible blessing that is!
I think these moments by the grave are some of the most special moments in the life of a pastor. I have the privilege of standing beside the soon-to-be-buried body of one of my brothers or sisters in Christ and essentially spitting in the face of death. I have the privilege of looking at grieving family members and comforting them with the words of Jesus: "Your [loved one] will rise again." Of all the benefits of being a Christian, I think this victory over death is the greatest as well as the easiest for us to communicate to those who aren't Christians. Not everybody understands sin or evil or love or the presence of God. But I think everybody understands the threat of death. Yet we Christians know that, for those who belong to Christ, death cannot defeat us. We already have the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Thanks be to God!
Grace and peace,
BMH
I've done that same thing with every funeral I've conducted. I think this practice captures something that's at the heart of the Christian faith. Death is a horrible thing. Death makes us so afraid. Death is sometimes so painful for the person dying, and is pretty much always excruciating for those who are left behind. For all of our human advances, the best we can do is delay death. We can't prevent it. It just seems so final. And right there is where our Christian hope comes in. We believe that death isn't final, because God has raised Jesus Christ from the grave, conquering death forever. Because of Jesus, in the great struggle between death and God's people it's God's people who have the victory. What an incredible blessing that is!
I think these moments by the grave are some of the most special moments in the life of a pastor. I have the privilege of standing beside the soon-to-be-buried body of one of my brothers or sisters in Christ and essentially spitting in the face of death. I have the privilege of looking at grieving family members and comforting them with the words of Jesus: "Your [loved one] will rise again." Of all the benefits of being a Christian, I think this victory over death is the greatest as well as the easiest for us to communicate to those who aren't Christians. Not everybody understands sin or evil or love or the presence of God. But I think everybody understands the threat of death. Yet we Christians know that, for those who belong to Christ, death cannot defeat us. We already have the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Thanks be to God!
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, September 30, 2019
#144 September to Remember
As September comes to a close once again, I think that we should pause for a moment to honor Brewers manager Craig Counsell, the sovereign of September, the emperor of the expanded roster, the king of the closing stretch. For the second straight year, my beloved Milwaukee Brewers caught fire in the last month of the series, launching an epic run into the postseason.
Last year the Brewers went 19-7 in September (and 22-7 after August 28). They went from 6 games back in the NL Central on August 28 to tied for the divison lead on September 30 and then won the tiebreaker game in Chicago. Counting the tiebreaker game, the Brew Crew ended the season with 8 straight victories. (I blogged about the 2018 Brewers after that tiebreaker game in a post titled "Game 163.")
This year the Brewers went 20-7 in September (and 21-7 after August 30). On September 5 the Brewers were 5 games back in the race for the 2nd wild card, and on September 29 they finished the season 2 games ahead. And even that's selling things short. They clinched that playoff spot on September 25 and then won again the next day to cap off a 20-4 stretch that saw them win 18 of 20 games with two separate 7-game winning streaks. Now sadly a mini-collapse in Colorado in the last series of the season doomed the Brewers' hopes of a second-straight division title. But even with 3 straight loses to close the year, those September numbers are insane.
Let's dig a little deeper. 19-7 (winning percentage: .731) and 20-7 (.741) are bonkers months. Last year's Brewers were legitimately good, going 95-67 (.587) in the scheduled season and 96-67 (.589) with the tiebreaker game. But based on stats, the Brewers would've been expected to go 91-72 (.558), so they outperformed expectations by 5 games. This year's Brewers are not nearly as good. The Crew has maybe 1.5 real starting pitchers. Last year we had three main relievers: Josh Hader, Corey Knebel, and Jeremy Jeffress. Knebel never pitched this year due to an injury. Jeffress was designated for assignment just before September after a disappointing season. Christian Yelich, the reigning NL MVP and serious MVP candidate again this year, went down for the season on September 10. (Counting that day, the Crew went 14-5 [.737] without Yeli.) The Brewers finished the year 89-73 (.549), scoring just 3 more runs than they allowed. The Crew would've been expected to finish 81-81 (.500), so they outperformed expectations by 8 games.
A lot of the credit for these amzing finishes obviously goes to the players. But as I said at the beginning, I want to recognize Craig Counsell. Currently teams are allowed to have 40-man rosters in September. The last couple years, Counsell has been a master of using extra pitchers out of the bullpen to win game after game even though the Brewers' pitching staff is not nearly as talented as a lot of other organizations' staffs, especially when it comes to starting pitchers. Last year's run seemed like magic, the kind of stretch you get to see maybe once in a lifetime. This year the Brewers basically did it again. For a while there pretty much every pitcher change and double switch seemed to work. Counsell is apparently a winning wizard, a master manager. It's rare that I feel fortunate to be a Brewers fan, but the way Counsell has had the boys playing the last two Septembers, I definitely feel fortunate now. Next year teams will only get to have 28-man rosters during September, so maybe this is the end of Brewers magic. With the way our roster is banged up after this incredible push, I don't know what will happen when the Brewers go to Washington for the wild card game tomorrow. But we'll always have #Craigtember. Thanks, Craig.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Last year the Brewers went 19-7 in September (and 22-7 after August 28). They went from 6 games back in the NL Central on August 28 to tied for the divison lead on September 30 and then won the tiebreaker game in Chicago. Counting the tiebreaker game, the Brew Crew ended the season with 8 straight victories. (I blogged about the 2018 Brewers after that tiebreaker game in a post titled "Game 163.")
This year the Brewers went 20-7 in September (and 21-7 after August 30). On September 5 the Brewers were 5 games back in the race for the 2nd wild card, and on September 29 they finished the season 2 games ahead. And even that's selling things short. They clinched that playoff spot on September 25 and then won again the next day to cap off a 20-4 stretch that saw them win 18 of 20 games with two separate 7-game winning streaks. Now sadly a mini-collapse in Colorado in the last series of the season doomed the Brewers' hopes of a second-straight division title. But even with 3 straight loses to close the year, those September numbers are insane.
Let's dig a little deeper. 19-7 (winning percentage: .731) and 20-7 (.741) are bonkers months. Last year's Brewers were legitimately good, going 95-67 (.587) in the scheduled season and 96-67 (.589) with the tiebreaker game. But based on stats, the Brewers would've been expected to go 91-72 (.558), so they outperformed expectations by 5 games. This year's Brewers are not nearly as good. The Crew has maybe 1.5 real starting pitchers. Last year we had three main relievers: Josh Hader, Corey Knebel, and Jeremy Jeffress. Knebel never pitched this year due to an injury. Jeffress was designated for assignment just before September after a disappointing season. Christian Yelich, the reigning NL MVP and serious MVP candidate again this year, went down for the season on September 10. (Counting that day, the Crew went 14-5 [.737] without Yeli.) The Brewers finished the year 89-73 (.549), scoring just 3 more runs than they allowed. The Crew would've been expected to finish 81-81 (.500), so they outperformed expectations by 8 games.
A lot of the credit for these amzing finishes obviously goes to the players. But as I said at the beginning, I want to recognize Craig Counsell. Currently teams are allowed to have 40-man rosters in September. The last couple years, Counsell has been a master of using extra pitchers out of the bullpen to win game after game even though the Brewers' pitching staff is not nearly as talented as a lot of other organizations' staffs, especially when it comes to starting pitchers. Last year's run seemed like magic, the kind of stretch you get to see maybe once in a lifetime. This year the Brewers basically did it again. For a while there pretty much every pitcher change and double switch seemed to work. Counsell is apparently a winning wizard, a master manager. It's rare that I feel fortunate to be a Brewers fan, but the way Counsell has had the boys playing the last two Septembers, I definitely feel fortunate now. Next year teams will only get to have 28-man rosters during September, so maybe this is the end of Brewers magic. With the way our roster is banged up after this incredible push, I don't know what will happen when the Brewers go to Washington for the wild card game tomorrow. But we'll always have #Craigtember. Thanks, Craig.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, September 23, 2019
#143 Juice Bars
A couple months ago Tess and I introduced Lanie to the delicious frozen treat pictured above. In our house we call those things juice bars. (You might call them freezies or something like that, but I don't care. I'm sticking with juice bar. It's way cooler.) Lanie loves them because, as I've already said, they are delicious. Everyday she asks to "share" one with me. While that's a nice thought, it's not really accurate. We started out sharing them. Lanie would eat maybe half of the frozen bar, then ask me to eat the rest so she could drink the melted juice pooled at the bottom. That was a good system. But as Lanie has gotten more skilled at navigating the flavored ice, she's stopped needing my help. So now I'm stuck helping her eat the juice bar and getting none of the sugary goodness myself. It's a hard life.
[Looks around, makes sure Lanie isn't nearby.]
Thankfully there are still tasty solidified delicacies in the freezer after she goes to bed.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, September 16, 2019
#142 Ten Years Ago...
Ten years ago this month I met Tess. It's hard for me to wrap my mind around that fact, but it definitely makes sense. We've now been married six years after four years together in college. Time flies. So in honor of Tess and me having had some sort of relationship for ten years, I thought it'd be fun to revisit the story of our first meeting. Sorry, dear reader, if you've heard this one before:
It was the very end of freshmen orientation at Trinity Christian College in the fall of 2009. To be exact, it was the night before classes started. Looking for something to do that evening, I wandered downstairs to the basement of my dorm, West Hall. A small group of fellow freshmen was relaxing around the table in the downstairs lobby, playing Apples to Apples. The guy at the head of the table was someone I'd briefly crossed paths with earlier in the week. I didn't recognize anyone else, but I caught the first guy's eye, and he remembered me and invited me to join the game. So I sat down with my back to the stairs. Across the table from me was a girl with dark wavy hair, who told me her name was Tessa. I grabbed a handful of cards, and the magic started to happen. Normally I'm not particularly good at Apples to Apples. I'll win a card here and there, but I'm not an expert at reading people. That night, however, I was dynamite, taking cards left and right. Before too long I only needed one card to win, and it was Tessa's turn to judge. The rest of the group told her not to pick my card, but she really had no way of knowing which was mine, so sure enough, she gave me the victory, earning herself a fair share of grief.
That was that. I'd like to tell you that the rest was history, that it was love at first sight or something like that. Things didn't happen quite that quickly, but it didn't take too long for Tess and me to become a couple. Over the next couple of weeks we bumped into each other for games a few more times. We ended up with a few common friends, exchanged phone numbers, and pretty soon we started getting to know each other over long late-night conversations. It only took about six weeks for us to become something more than just friends, but I think that's a story for another week….
Before I go, allow me to switch gears for a moment. Earlier this year I blogged about my love for Ryan Braun and listed my eight favorite Braun memories. That list may need some revising. Yesterday afternoon Braun came up to bat in the top of the 9th with the bases loaded, two outs, and the Brewers trailing the hated—and I mean HATED—Cardinals by one run. Braunie worked a full count before launching a grand slam into left field. Listening on the radio as I drove home, I went absolutely nuts, screaming and whooping and pounding the ceiling of my van in celebration. I think I scared Lanie half to death (again). Someday she'll understand. Anyway, the Brewers hung on to win their ninth game in ten days. Thanks, Ryan!
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, September 9, 2019
#141 Molly
I didn't blog the last two Mondays, and it's my sister's fault. Two weeks ago we went home to Wisconsin for Molly's wedding, and last Monday we returned to Iowa. (I'm not good at blogging when I'm traveling.) But in honor of my little sister getting married (Congrats, Molly and Drew!) I thought it would be a good idea to dedicate this blog to her.
Molly is five years younger than I am, and we were never very close growing up. The age difference definitely played into that, but mostly I think it was my fault. I just didn't know what to do with a sister. I'd spent years without any siblings, and then here comes this girl. What's a boy supposed to do with that? So I picked on her and argued with her and did my best to make her life miserable. (Though, to be fair, Molly can give as good as she gets.)
But then I grew up and left for college. I'd come home for a weekend or Christmas break or the summer expecting to find my annoying little punk sister. But more and more I discovered that Molly was turning into somebody I truly enjoyed hanging around. She had great taste in music and a really solid sense of humor. She was witty and sarcastic. She was smart; she was fun. And to be totally honest, she was much cooler than I ever was. (And now I'm a dad, so let's face it, I'm never getting any cooler.)
I don't know that I can say that Molly and I are extremely close, but we're a lot closer than we used to be. I'm really proud to be her brother. Molly is very mature in her faith in Christ Jesus, she cares deeply about other people, and she's passionate about her teaching career. Molly's a lot of fun, and she also thinks carefully and deeply. I'm very impressed by (and sometimes jealous of) her skill and creativity in writing. She's dependable and hard-working, a good friend and a great sister. Love you, Molls!
Grace and peace,
BMH
Molly is five years younger than I am, and we were never very close growing up. The age difference definitely played into that, but mostly I think it was my fault. I just didn't know what to do with a sister. I'd spent years without any siblings, and then here comes this girl. What's a boy supposed to do with that? So I picked on her and argued with her and did my best to make her life miserable. (Though, to be fair, Molly can give as good as she gets.)
But then I grew up and left for college. I'd come home for a weekend or Christmas break or the summer expecting to find my annoying little punk sister. But more and more I discovered that Molly was turning into somebody I truly enjoyed hanging around. She had great taste in music and a really solid sense of humor. She was witty and sarcastic. She was smart; she was fun. And to be totally honest, she was much cooler than I ever was. (And now I'm a dad, so let's face it, I'm never getting any cooler.)
I don't know that I can say that Molly and I are extremely close, but we're a lot closer than we used to be. I'm really proud to be her brother. Molly is very mature in her faith in Christ Jesus, she cares deeply about other people, and she's passionate about her teaching career. Molly's a lot of fun, and she also thinks carefully and deeply. I'm very impressed by (and sometimes jealous of) her skill and creativity in writing. She's dependable and hard-working, a good friend and a great sister. Love you, Molls!
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, August 19, 2019
#140 Growing
Lately I've been asking church members how they'd like to grow as Christians, if there are any areas where they'd like to improve their spiritual life. As Christians, we always want to be maturing, becoming more and more like Jesus. As pastor, I have the privilege and challenge of encouraging others to grow in their walk with Christ. Hearing what other people have to say about growing in their faith is also really interesting to me.
As I hear from others, I naturally think about myself and my own life. There are quite a few areas where I wish I was better at following Christ, but one that's been on my mind a lot recently is prayer. I'm pretty comfortable praying, both privately and in public. I've made some progress in truly expressing my feelings to God. But I wish I prayed more often and more spontaneously. I wish prayer characterized my whole life instead of feeling like something I remember to do every once in a while. I think part of my struggle is an underlying desire to be self-sufficient. I don't want to pray about some things because I think I should handle them myself. Deep down I know that's silly. God's actions and our actions aren't mutually exclusive, and I really can't do anything without God empowerment. Yet I still neglect to pray about lots of things.
But as bad as my foolish attempts at independence can be, an even bigger obstacle to my prayer life is my amazing ability to distract myself. Life is filled with little gaps: a couple minutes between arriving at an appointment and the event starting, a few moments spent waiting for someone else to arrive or get ready, that sort of thing. Once in a great while I think that a short space is a great opportunity for prayer. But much more often than I not I pull out my smartphone and read some worthless article that I'm only semi-interested in or I fret about all things I'd like to accomplish yet today or I spend some time rehashing an earlier conversation that didn't go nearly as well as I would've liked. It would be so much better if I could take even some of that time and pray for God's strength as I deal with upcoming challenges or ask for God to make His presence clear in the lives of the people I just spent time with or to thank God for answering some earlier prayers. But I don't work that way, at least not yet. Prayer takes work and commitment, and distractions are so much easier and too often even more appealing to me. It's clear that I could use some growth.
Grace and peace,
BMH
As I hear from others, I naturally think about myself and my own life. There are quite a few areas where I wish I was better at following Christ, but one that's been on my mind a lot recently is prayer. I'm pretty comfortable praying, both privately and in public. I've made some progress in truly expressing my feelings to God. But I wish I prayed more often and more spontaneously. I wish prayer characterized my whole life instead of feeling like something I remember to do every once in a while. I think part of my struggle is an underlying desire to be self-sufficient. I don't want to pray about some things because I think I should handle them myself. Deep down I know that's silly. God's actions and our actions aren't mutually exclusive, and I really can't do anything without God empowerment. Yet I still neglect to pray about lots of things.
But as bad as my foolish attempts at independence can be, an even bigger obstacle to my prayer life is my amazing ability to distract myself. Life is filled with little gaps: a couple minutes between arriving at an appointment and the event starting, a few moments spent waiting for someone else to arrive or get ready, that sort of thing. Once in a great while I think that a short space is a great opportunity for prayer. But much more often than I not I pull out my smartphone and read some worthless article that I'm only semi-interested in or I fret about all things I'd like to accomplish yet today or I spend some time rehashing an earlier conversation that didn't go nearly as well as I would've liked. It would be so much better if I could take even some of that time and pray for God's strength as I deal with upcoming challenges or ask for God to make His presence clear in the lives of the people I just spent time with or to thank God for answering some earlier prayers. But I don't work that way, at least not yet. Prayer takes work and commitment, and distractions are so much easier and too often even more appealing to me. It's clear that I could use some growth.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, August 12, 2019
#139 Whose Church?
As the pastor of Kanawha Christian Reformed Church, I live in the parsonage, which is across the street from the church building. Lanie, my two-year-old daughter, has gotten used to going across the street for worship on Sunday mornings. She also sometimes comes with my wife to visit me when I'm working in the study during the week. When Lanie looks out our window at the church building or talks about somebody going there, she refers to it as "Daddy's church." I'm glad that she's making a connection between me and the church. I work for the church and represent it in many ways. But I keep trying to explain to her that it's not just my church; it's her church, too. And it's Mommy's church and Miss Tracy's church and Miss Marilyn's church and Mister Larry's church and so on and so forth. We're all members of this church. I'm the pastor, but that doesn't give me any special claim of ownership. We all make up the congregation; it's our church. However, while I keep gently correcting Lanie, I know she's not the only one who thinks that way. I've heard some church members who've been around here much longer than I have refer to it as "Brian's church." I get it. It's easy to associate me with the church, and that's a nice way to talk about it to people who know me.
But as pastor, I think it's very important for me not to think of the church as my church. I do have quite a bit of authority, but I can't just do whatever I want. (On the flip-side, I have many responsibilities, but there are also a lot of roles that church members need to fill.) The church is a community; we're all in this together. It's our church. Plus, we believe that there truly is a head, a leader, an owner of the church. But that's not me; it's Christ Jesus. Jesus is in charge of the church. Jesus is the one who has saved us and brought us together. I serve the church because I serve Jesus, and the church belongs to Him. Remembering that keeps me humble, and it gives me hope when times are tough. So I'll keep telling Lanie that it's her church, and I'll work on helping understand that it's also really Jesus' church.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Friday, August 2, 2019
#138 B-Dubs
I'm late on the blog this week. Sorry about that. Because I'm late, I'll try to keep this short. Last night Tess and I and Lanie went out for Tess's birthday. We went to Buffalo Wild Wings (from here on, B-Dubs). That may seem like an odd choice to you, dear reader, but that's really not out of the ordinary for Tess and me. If I had to guess, I would say we've eaten at B-Dubs more than any other restaurant in our married life. Part of that is because we enjoy it. Wings or chicken tenders with a whole variety of sauces just hits the spot for us sometimes. But after six years of marriage, there's something almost sentimental about B-Dubs for us. You see, about a month after our wedding we moved to Grand Rapids, MI. There was a B-Dubs basically across the street from where we lived. The night we moved in, we went there after a long day of traveling and unloading. From then on whenever we didn't want to cook, there was B-Dubs. Whenever we planned on going out but didn't really know what we wanted to eat, there was B-Dubs. When we were dead tired and celebrating our first anniversary a few days late, there was B-Dubs. When we were in Washington for the summer and our hiking plans for our second anniversary were ruined by rain and we drove into the nearest city, there was B-Dubs. Nowdays when we have to go to Walmart and decide that we want to go out to eat since we're driving at least an hour and a half round trip, what's basically the first restaurant we see? You got it, B-Dubs. At this point it's tradition. It's our place. Maybe that's unusual, but that's okay. It's us.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, July 15, 2019
#137 Best of Both Worlds
When I have time to myself I really enjoy reading Superman comics. I also really enjoy watching my beloved Milwaukee Brewers. (If you've read my blog in the past, you've likely picked up on those two things.) Doing either of those things makes for a happy Brian. But here's the best thing: I can read comics and watch baseball at the same time. Baseball games have natural lulls between pitches, to say nothing of the commercial breaks at every pitching change and half-inning, so there's lots of little gaps for reading. Most of the comics I read do not have overly complicated plots, so I don't miss much—if anything—by reading in spurts, enabling me to pause to catch all the action in the game. It's beautiful. At the end of the day, it's hard to beat sitting in my La-Z-Boy with a Supes trade paperback in my hands and the Brew Crew on the TV. In those moments I feel that life is good.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Tuesday, July 9, 2019
#136 The Language of Pharaoh
This post has the potential to get controversial, so I'm going to do my best to handle it well. I just started a new sermon series on Exodus. The beginning of Exodus narrates how Pharaoh and the Egyptians force the Israelites into slavery. Pharaoh goes about this by stirring up fear of the Israelites among the Egyptians. Pharaoh cleverly and subtly points out that the Israelites are non-Egyptians, warning his people that the Israelites are already strong and numerous and only growing stronger and more numerous. Pharaoh insinuates that the Israelites have come to undermine and overthrow Egypt. The idea seems to be that the Israelites could take over, taking what rightfully belongs to the Egyptians.
As I was reading and reflecting and studying last week, I kept thinking that I'd heard speeches like Pharaoh's before. I've heard this kind of language here in the U.S. in the 21st century, both from political leaders and ordinary citizens. I've heard some of my fellow Americans worry about strong young male refugees coming to the U.S. from places like Syria, similar to how Pharaoh worried about a future army of Israelite men rising up against him. I've heard some of my fellow Americans talk about recent immigrants needing to go back to their own countries. I've heard some of my fellow Americans describe other people who speak Spanish as if they can't be truly American. I've heard some of my fellow Americans expressing fear that the people seeking asylum at our southern border are going to overrun or ruin "our" country. When I hear statements like this, I hear the language of Pharaoh.
Now the situation in Exodus is not the same as the situation today. I am well aware of that. Our laws and system of immigration are vastly different than how people moved about over 3000 years ago. We have some specific concerns about illegal immigration in the U.S. today that don't have a direct parallel in ancient Egypt. Pharaoh was concerned about Israelites who were already in Egypt, while some of the examples I gave above were about people who could potentially come to the U.S. We don't see open slavery in the U.S. today like there was in ancient Egypt. Pharaoh was oppressing God's chosen people. Today things are more complicated. God's chosen people is the church, which includes people from every nationality, ethnicity, and language. God's people today are on both sides of the examples I gave above. There are Christians who are already here in the U.S.—including some who are seen as genuinely "American" and some who are seen as "other"—and there are Christians among those trying to come to the U.S.
But in spite of those differences, I feel confident in saying that we Christians cannot justify using the language of Pharaoh, and I don't think we should keep silent when we hear such language. The Bible makes it clear that Christ Jesus brings reconciliation between human beings, gathering all types of people into His church. In Jesus God shows His perfect, gracious, and just love, the kind of love He wants us to live out in our relationships with Him and other people. Love does not stir up fear or hatred; in fact, 1 John says that love drives out fear. What's more, underneath the language of Pharaoh there seems to be this assumption that people of some nationalities or ethnicities are somehow worse or more wicked or less than other people. Why else would we be worried about them "taking over our country"? A few weeks ago, my denomination (the Christian Reformed Church) just reiterated that any teaching that claims that God wants people of different races to be separate or that some are better than others is heresy, incompatible with true Christianity. The language of Pharaoh preys on fear and dehumanizes others. It's wrong.
I'm not saying that the U.S. shouldn't have laws about immigration or seeking asylum. I'm certainly not saying that I have all the answers for those debates. But I am saying that, when we speak about and interact with people who live in our country or who are trying to come to our country, when we contact our elected officials who make our laws, we should talk about and act toward those who live in our country or are trying to enter it the way we'd like others to talk about and act toward us. We should think of the people in and trying to come to the U.S. as if they were our own family, as if there wasn't a "them" and an "us" but just "us." In Christ we see that we are no better, no more deserving of love than anyone else. But God loved us, and He calls us to love. Once we were not a people, but now we are the people of God, and anyone can be part of our family through Christ. With God's help let's not live or act or speak like Pharaoh but like God.
Grace and peace,
BMH
As I was reading and reflecting and studying last week, I kept thinking that I'd heard speeches like Pharaoh's before. I've heard this kind of language here in the U.S. in the 21st century, both from political leaders and ordinary citizens. I've heard some of my fellow Americans worry about strong young male refugees coming to the U.S. from places like Syria, similar to how Pharaoh worried about a future army of Israelite men rising up against him. I've heard some of my fellow Americans talk about recent immigrants needing to go back to their own countries. I've heard some of my fellow Americans describe other people who speak Spanish as if they can't be truly American. I've heard some of my fellow Americans expressing fear that the people seeking asylum at our southern border are going to overrun or ruin "our" country. When I hear statements like this, I hear the language of Pharaoh.
Now the situation in Exodus is not the same as the situation today. I am well aware of that. Our laws and system of immigration are vastly different than how people moved about over 3000 years ago. We have some specific concerns about illegal immigration in the U.S. today that don't have a direct parallel in ancient Egypt. Pharaoh was concerned about Israelites who were already in Egypt, while some of the examples I gave above were about people who could potentially come to the U.S. We don't see open slavery in the U.S. today like there was in ancient Egypt. Pharaoh was oppressing God's chosen people. Today things are more complicated. God's chosen people is the church, which includes people from every nationality, ethnicity, and language. God's people today are on both sides of the examples I gave above. There are Christians who are already here in the U.S.—including some who are seen as genuinely "American" and some who are seen as "other"—and there are Christians among those trying to come to the U.S.
But in spite of those differences, I feel confident in saying that we Christians cannot justify using the language of Pharaoh, and I don't think we should keep silent when we hear such language. The Bible makes it clear that Christ Jesus brings reconciliation between human beings, gathering all types of people into His church. In Jesus God shows His perfect, gracious, and just love, the kind of love He wants us to live out in our relationships with Him and other people. Love does not stir up fear or hatred; in fact, 1 John says that love drives out fear. What's more, underneath the language of Pharaoh there seems to be this assumption that people of some nationalities or ethnicities are somehow worse or more wicked or less than other people. Why else would we be worried about them "taking over our country"? A few weeks ago, my denomination (the Christian Reformed Church) just reiterated that any teaching that claims that God wants people of different races to be separate or that some are better than others is heresy, incompatible with true Christianity. The language of Pharaoh preys on fear and dehumanizes others. It's wrong.
I'm not saying that the U.S. shouldn't have laws about immigration or seeking asylum. I'm certainly not saying that I have all the answers for those debates. But I am saying that, when we speak about and interact with people who live in our country or who are trying to come to our country, when we contact our elected officials who make our laws, we should talk about and act toward those who live in our country or are trying to enter it the way we'd like others to talk about and act toward us. We should think of the people in and trying to come to the U.S. as if they were our own family, as if there wasn't a "them" and an "us" but just "us." In Christ we see that we are no better, no more deserving of love than anyone else. But God loved us, and He calls us to love. Once we were not a people, but now we are the people of God, and anyone can be part of our family through Christ. With God's help let's not live or act or speak like Pharaoh but like God.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, July 1, 2019
#135 Getting Away from It All
Next to Calvin Theological Seminary is a pretty large pond. There are a lot of weird and wonderful things about the seminary building, but in my opinion, the sem pond is far and away the best part of the seminary's space. You can see a bit of the pond in this picture of Tess and me from my graduation:
Seminary life can often be hectic, stressful, and confusing. The sem pond, however, is usually calm and quiet. I can't say that I frequently visited the sem pond while I was a student at Calvin, but I do have some very good memories of sitting out there on sunny days. On one end of the pond, water gently flows over some rocks and drops into the pool. Near the other end a little green island floats between a couple neat bridges. From time to time ducks rest and swim and play at the pool. As I sit here thinking about the sem pond I can feel myself relaxing. It is a beautiful place.
When I was next door to the seminary at Calvin College for synod (my denomination's annual meeting) a couple weeks ago, I fled to the sem pond for refuge several times during breaks. After hours of meetings and discussion I would feel like my sanity was slipping away. But sitting by the sem pond or strolling back and forth on the island helped me unwind. Here was space away from all the people and busyness. Here I could watch ducklings scurry after their mother and listen to water trickling and babbling down to the pond. Here I could feel the warmth of the sun and breathe deeply as I walked across lush green grass. The sem pond reminded me that life was still going on outside of synod, that the whole world didn't depend on our decisions. By the sem pond God gave me enough peace to get through the week. Just another reason to love the sem pond.
Grace and peace,
BMH
When I was next door to the seminary at Calvin College for synod (my denomination's annual meeting) a couple weeks ago, I fled to the sem pond for refuge several times during breaks. After hours of meetings and discussion I would feel like my sanity was slipping away. But sitting by the sem pond or strolling back and forth on the island helped me unwind. Here was space away from all the people and busyness. Here I could watch ducklings scurry after their mother and listen to water trickling and babbling down to the pond. Here I could feel the warmth of the sun and breathe deeply as I walked across lush green grass. The sem pond reminded me that life was still going on outside of synod, that the whole world didn't depend on our decisions. By the sem pond God gave me enough peace to get through the week. Just another reason to love the sem pond.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, June 24, 2019
#134 Synod
I didn't blog last week because I was busy serving as a delegate to synod, the Christian Reformed Church's (that's my denomination) annual meeting. Synod was quite the experience. Returning to Grand Rapids, MI, where Tess and I lived for three years while I was in seminary, gave me an opportunity to see several old friends and visit some locations that hold special meaning for me. My plan is to reflect on some of that in future posts.
This week I'd like to reflect on my experience at synod itself. Nearly 200 delegates from all over the U.S. and Canada met for six days—two days while divided into advisory committees and four days while united for plenary sessions. Synod was tough for me. Several times I struggled with knowing and believing that this meeting is important while also feeling like we were wasting our time. Synod is important because ministers, elders, deacons, and commissioned pastors gather from throughout the denomination to make decisions about how we are going to work to follow Christ Jesus together. We listen to each other and together seek to discern how the Holy Spirit is leading us as a group. The goal is not to come in with our minds already made up but to discuss and submit to God together. But sometimes it feels like our discussions are pointless, like none of the speeches change anyone's mind. That's not totally true. There were times when the discussion changed or clarified what I perceived was the best way forward for us. Others confirmed to me that the discussion helped them at times. But sometimes I felt like two sides were simply talking past each other while the atmosphere in the room grew more and more tense. Sometimes it seemed like a small minority was passionately making speeches even though their position was going to get crushed in the vote no matter what. I really think it's important that we listen to each other when we disagree. I really think it's important that we don't silence the opinions of the minority. I really think it's important that every delegate has equal opportunity to speak and to vote. But I know that there were times that it was terribly difficult for me to listen, particularly when the debate grew long or when I'd already heard that specific speaker several times. I feel guilty about that.
Sometimes, too, parts of our meeting felt like simply a formality. We received reports from all the agencies and ministries of our denomination, as well as several related organizations that we support. There's generally nothing to discuss or do with these reports. But I also know that it's important that we receive these reports. We all had material to read, and different committees got to talk with representatives from these various groups. We need that. We need to know how the money we contribute to ministry is being used if we're going to continue to wisely and faithfully support agencies and ministries. It's also a joy to hear stories of how God is at work so that we can celebrate and give thanks. But again I know that there were times that my eyes glazed over. I feel guilty about that, too.
I think one of the biggest struggles—if not the biggest struggle—at a gathering like synod is humility. We need humility to listen to others, even if we disagree or feel like we already know what they're going to say. We need humility to help us weigh whether or not the words we would speak are really important enough for everyone to hear. We need humility to remind ourselves that the church belongs to Jesus Christ, that our decisions are about following Him, not about us winning or being right. And we need humility to trust that God is at work for good through and even in spite of our messy discussions and decisions.
So synod was often tough for me. But it's part of my job, and I was happy to take my turn as a delegate. And for all the difficult times, some really great things happened. We shared wonderful times of worship as well as fellowship over meals. We took a stand against false teaching that twists what we believe. We hopefully took steps to revitalize the way our congregations join togther to fund the work of our denomination. We were encouraged by brothers and sisters who visited from other parts of the church. And most of all, we were reminded that God is at work among and around us all throughout our denomination. And even if I struggled, that makes the whole process worthwhile.
Grace and peace,
BMH
This week I'd like to reflect on my experience at synod itself. Nearly 200 delegates from all over the U.S. and Canada met for six days—two days while divided into advisory committees and four days while united for plenary sessions. Synod was tough for me. Several times I struggled with knowing and believing that this meeting is important while also feeling like we were wasting our time. Synod is important because ministers, elders, deacons, and commissioned pastors gather from throughout the denomination to make decisions about how we are going to work to follow Christ Jesus together. We listen to each other and together seek to discern how the Holy Spirit is leading us as a group. The goal is not to come in with our minds already made up but to discuss and submit to God together. But sometimes it feels like our discussions are pointless, like none of the speeches change anyone's mind. That's not totally true. There were times when the discussion changed or clarified what I perceived was the best way forward for us. Others confirmed to me that the discussion helped them at times. But sometimes I felt like two sides were simply talking past each other while the atmosphere in the room grew more and more tense. Sometimes it seemed like a small minority was passionately making speeches even though their position was going to get crushed in the vote no matter what. I really think it's important that we listen to each other when we disagree. I really think it's important that we don't silence the opinions of the minority. I really think it's important that every delegate has equal opportunity to speak and to vote. But I know that there were times that it was terribly difficult for me to listen, particularly when the debate grew long or when I'd already heard that specific speaker several times. I feel guilty about that.
Sometimes, too, parts of our meeting felt like simply a formality. We received reports from all the agencies and ministries of our denomination, as well as several related organizations that we support. There's generally nothing to discuss or do with these reports. But I also know that it's important that we receive these reports. We all had material to read, and different committees got to talk with representatives from these various groups. We need that. We need to know how the money we contribute to ministry is being used if we're going to continue to wisely and faithfully support agencies and ministries. It's also a joy to hear stories of how God is at work so that we can celebrate and give thanks. But again I know that there were times that my eyes glazed over. I feel guilty about that, too.
I think one of the biggest struggles—if not the biggest struggle—at a gathering like synod is humility. We need humility to listen to others, even if we disagree or feel like we already know what they're going to say. We need humility to help us weigh whether or not the words we would speak are really important enough for everyone to hear. We need humility to remind ourselves that the church belongs to Jesus Christ, that our decisions are about following Him, not about us winning or being right. And we need humility to trust that God is at work for good through and even in spite of our messy discussions and decisions.
So synod was often tough for me. But it's part of my job, and I was happy to take my turn as a delegate. And for all the difficult times, some really great things happened. We shared wonderful times of worship as well as fellowship over meals. We took a stand against false teaching that twists what we believe. We hopefully took steps to revitalize the way our congregations join togther to fund the work of our denomination. We were encouraged by brothers and sisters who visited from other parts of the church. And most of all, we were reminded that God is at work among and around us all throughout our denomination. And even if I struggled, that makes the whole process worthwhile.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, June 10, 2019
#133 Coffee
Sitting still has never been my strong suit. As a kid I would jump and jump and jump while doing normally stationary activities like playing video games. At school I would rock back and forth in my desk. Nowadays I'm a little bit better, but I still often tap my foot or shake my legs or play with my hands if I have to sit too long. So being short on energy normally isn't my problem. On top of that, I'm a morning person. I wake up ready to go. Because of these things, I never became a coffee drinker. When others ask me why not, I usualy just say I haven't grown up yet. For the most part I'll find something else to drink or just go without a beverage if I join a group of coffee drinkers. But every once in a while I find myself in a situation where I drink a cup of coffee to be polite. And well, it isn't pretty. I can't really handle it. It's not so much the taste—though I do add some cream or sugar there. It's the caffeine. I almost never have caffeine. Not only do I not drink coffee, but I also very rarely have pop. So I'll be at a coffee shop where the smallest coffee available is a 12 oz. By the end of my cup I feel like I'm twitching. I keep picking up the cup and playing with it. I feel somewhat off for a large portion of the day. It's a weird experience. So if you wonder why I'm not drinking coffee, I don't think it's because I'm crazy. It's more that I'm trying to stay sane.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, June 3, 2019
#132 Ascensionism
Last Thursday was Ascension Day. I love Ascension Day. There are so many great songs to sing: "Rejoice, the Lord Is King" and "Crown Him with Many Crowns" and "Jesus Shall Reign" and "All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name" and "Before the Throne of God Above" immediately come to mind. We get to celebrate that Jesus has triumphed! He has completed His ministry on earth and has returned to the His rightful glory in heaven.
[Side rant: I recently saw a statistic that more congregations in my denomination, the Christian Reformed Church, commemorate Mothers' Day than Ascension Day. That seems off to me. Don't get me wrong: celebrating mothers is a wonderful thing (I love you, Mom!), but Mothers' Day is a greeting card holiday, not a church holiday. Plus, celebrating mothers in church can be tricky because so many people hurt due to recently losing their mother or having an ugly relationship with their mother or longing to be a mother but not having children of their own. Meanwhile, Ascension Day is a traditional, distinctively Christian celebration. Look, the ascension is so important that it makes it into the super brief Apostles' Creed: "He ascended into heaven." I get that Ascension Day falls on a Thursday, but can't we at least remember it the following Sunday?]
There's a large group of Christians that are called Pentecostals because of the importance of Pentecost and the gift of the Holy Spirit to their theology and practices. What if other Christian traditions were named after a specific Christian holiday? Now all Christians should really be "Easterists" because Jesus' resurrection on Easter is the center of our beliefs. (I spelled this out a few posts back. Go check out "The Most Important Day" if you haven't already.) But for the sake of the argument let's consider different traditions picking different holidays. I think my Reformed tradition could rightfully be renamed "Ascensionism."
Let me explain. Jesus' ascension is incredibly important to much of Reformed theology. Based on the ascension, we believe that Christ Jesus is King of all things NOW. We don't just look forward to His reign. We believe that He rules over all areas of life at this very moment, even as we look forward to the full coming of Christ's kingdom when He returns at the end of time. As the Reformed theologian Abraham Kuyper famously said, "There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry: 'Mine!' " Because we believe that Christ rules over and claims all areas of life, we believe that He calls His followers to serve Him in all areas of life. So we don't just serve God by doing church work like preaching and teaching Sunday school and doing evangelism and singing praise songs. We also serve God by living the way He wants us to live and testifying that He is in control as we work as farmers and doctors and hairdressers and teachers and well drillers and police officers and advertisers and politicians and bankers and gas station attendants and so on and so on. Jesus cares about business and legislation and ecology and art and literature and athletics and chemistry and mathematics and psychology and every area of life. Even now we can sometimes see Him working to bring reform in these areas (often through His people), and eventually He will completely renew them all. Jesus is Lord of all. He is King now. He's at work, and we get to join His work as He uses us. Our world belongs to God. So let's take time to celebrate Jesus' ascension.
Grace and peace,
BMH
[Side rant: I recently saw a statistic that more congregations in my denomination, the Christian Reformed Church, commemorate Mothers' Day than Ascension Day. That seems off to me. Don't get me wrong: celebrating mothers is a wonderful thing (I love you, Mom!), but Mothers' Day is a greeting card holiday, not a church holiday. Plus, celebrating mothers in church can be tricky because so many people hurt due to recently losing their mother or having an ugly relationship with their mother or longing to be a mother but not having children of their own. Meanwhile, Ascension Day is a traditional, distinctively Christian celebration. Look, the ascension is so important that it makes it into the super brief Apostles' Creed: "He ascended into heaven." I get that Ascension Day falls on a Thursday, but can't we at least remember it the following Sunday?]
There's a large group of Christians that are called Pentecostals because of the importance of Pentecost and the gift of the Holy Spirit to their theology and practices. What if other Christian traditions were named after a specific Christian holiday? Now all Christians should really be "Easterists" because Jesus' resurrection on Easter is the center of our beliefs. (I spelled this out a few posts back. Go check out "The Most Important Day" if you haven't already.) But for the sake of the argument let's consider different traditions picking different holidays. I think my Reformed tradition could rightfully be renamed "Ascensionism."
Let me explain. Jesus' ascension is incredibly important to much of Reformed theology. Based on the ascension, we believe that Christ Jesus is King of all things NOW. We don't just look forward to His reign. We believe that He rules over all areas of life at this very moment, even as we look forward to the full coming of Christ's kingdom when He returns at the end of time. As the Reformed theologian Abraham Kuyper famously said, "There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry: 'Mine!' " Because we believe that Christ rules over and claims all areas of life, we believe that He calls His followers to serve Him in all areas of life. So we don't just serve God by doing church work like preaching and teaching Sunday school and doing evangelism and singing praise songs. We also serve God by living the way He wants us to live and testifying that He is in control as we work as farmers and doctors and hairdressers and teachers and well drillers and police officers and advertisers and politicians and bankers and gas station attendants and so on and so on. Jesus cares about business and legislation and ecology and art and literature and athletics and chemistry and mathematics and psychology and every area of life. Even now we can sometimes see Him working to bring reform in these areas (often through His people), and eventually He will completely renew them all. Jesus is Lord of all. He is King now. He's at work, and we get to join His work as He uses us. Our world belongs to God. So let's take time to celebrate Jesus' ascension.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
#131 I Want to See Mountains Again—Mountains, Gandalf!
In the summer of 2015 I really drove west for the first time in my life. I had a summer internship in Mount Vernon, WA, so Tess and I road tripped out there all the way from Grand Rapids, MI. I'd never driven further west than Minnesota/Iowa/Missouri before, and I was very excited to experience the Rocky Mountains. When I first saw the mountains looming in the distance, happiness spread across my face. As the road climbed in Wyoming, I was practically giddy. Having lived all my life in the relatively flat spaces of Wisconsin—with brief stints in Illinois and Michigan—the mountains left me in awe. They were so much bigger and wilder than I ever could have imagined. That summer in Washington we regularly took day trips to the Cascade Mountains as possible, and Tess and I hit a couple national parks on our road trips bookending the summer. But our time out west was limited, and soon the mountains were only a memory.
Last week I finally got the chance to see the Rockies again. Tess, Lanie, and I took a trip to visit friends and family in Colorado. Now we didn't truly get into the heart of the mountains. We spent time in Fort Collins, Longmont, and Colorado Springs, mostly hovering between 5000 and 6000 ft. But we could see some truly high peaks when the weather was nice, and we still got a little taste of climbing up and down as we drove and did a bit of hiking. The views here in Iowa are nice enough. We get a good feeling of space looking over seemingly endless fields of corn and soybeans. But there's something different about looking up to the mountains and looking down from the heights. For a flatlander like myself, there's mysterious beauty in snow gleaming on the peaks and towns spreading through valleys. I love the exertion and adventure of hiking up and around on new trails, the picturesque scenery of trees and rocks and streams. I'll miss the thrill of seeing the mountains. I guess I'll just have to take another trip sometime.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Last week I finally got the chance to see the Rockies again. Tess, Lanie, and I took a trip to visit friends and family in Colorado. Now we didn't truly get into the heart of the mountains. We spent time in Fort Collins, Longmont, and Colorado Springs, mostly hovering between 5000 and 6000 ft. But we could see some truly high peaks when the weather was nice, and we still got a little taste of climbing up and down as we drove and did a bit of hiking. The views here in Iowa are nice enough. We get a good feeling of space looking over seemingly endless fields of corn and soybeans. But there's something different about looking up to the mountains and looking down from the heights. For a flatlander like myself, there's mysterious beauty in snow gleaming on the peaks and towns spreading through valleys. I love the exertion and adventure of hiking up and around on new trails, the picturesque scenery of trees and rocks and streams. I'll miss the thrill of seeing the mountains. I guess I'll just have to take another trip sometime.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, May 13, 2019
#130 Jam Sessions
As a college student I played guitar a lot. That's probably not incredibly unusual. Tons of college students play guitar. I regularly played for a few different campus ministries, which was great. I'd often pull my guitar out in my dorm room and play for a while to unwind or pass the time. My friend Ryan (or, as we called him, John Ryan "Ken 'the Animal' Jennings" Lindemulder) developed this ridiculous medley that we spent quite a bit of time figuring out and practicing on our guitars. (Come to think of it, that medley would make for a good blog post in the future.) That was an amazing experience.
But probably the most fun I had playing guitar in college was during jam sessions. Every so often a few of my friends and I would head outside at night and sit around on some picnic tables and play anything and everything we could figure out how to play off the top of our heads. My friend Leah (or, as we called her, LL Cool Laky) was my most frequent collaborator. We had such good times playing and singing. One of us would lead and the rest of us would listen and watch and figure out how best to join in. Time simply flew by during these jam sessions as we played song after song after song and different friends came and went. I remember crisp nights where I'd have to warm up my hands by breathing on them in between songs, wondering how long I could last before it turned too cold for my guitar. I remember passing a guitar around when somebody else came along and knew how to play a song the rest of us didn't. But mostly I remember thinking that those nights were the best nights in the world. I think I was probably right then. So if anyone wants to jam, just let me know. I'm ready.
Grace and peace,
BMH
But probably the most fun I had playing guitar in college was during jam sessions. Every so often a few of my friends and I would head outside at night and sit around on some picnic tables and play anything and everything we could figure out how to play off the top of our heads. My friend Leah (or, as we called her, LL Cool Laky) was my most frequent collaborator. We had such good times playing and singing. One of us would lead and the rest of us would listen and watch and figure out how best to join in. Time simply flew by during these jam sessions as we played song after song after song and different friends came and went. I remember crisp nights where I'd have to warm up my hands by breathing on them in between songs, wondering how long I could last before it turned too cold for my guitar. I remember passing a guitar around when somebody else came along and knew how to play a song the rest of us didn't. But mostly I remember thinking that those nights were the best nights in the world. I think I was probably right then. So if anyone wants to jam, just let me know. I'm ready.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, May 6, 2019
#129 When Your Hero Is the Villain
Without question, the greatest Brewers player in my lifetime is Ryan Braun. He broke into the majors in 2007 and was named NL Rookie of the Year. In 2011, when the Brewers won their division for the first time in my life, Braun was NL MVP. He was runner-up in the MVP vote in 2012. Braun took home 5 consecutive Silver Slugger awards from 2008 to 2012.
After the 2011 season, the news broke that Braun had failed a test for performance enhancing drugs. He very publicly questioned how his urine sample was handled, painting the responsible individual in a horrible light. When the suspension was overturned on a technicality before the 2012 season, Braun gave an infamous and very smug press conference. But in 2013, Braun was connected to Biogenesis, which supplied PEDs to MLB players, and he served a 65-game suspension. Ryan Braun is a liar and a cheater.
If Braun played for any other team, I wouldn't be able to stand him. But he's played his entire career in Milwaukee. He's the only Brewer remaining from that beautiful 2011 team that I loved so very much. I almost feel like Braun is my kid. I'm ashamed of the bad things he's done, but he's still one of my guys, and I love him for that. So much of my love of baseball is tied up in the 2011 divison champion Brewers (and the 2008 wild card Brewers), and Braun was such a big part of that. He was my favorite Brewer long before the whole steroid scandal hit. He played the biggest role in leading the Brewers back to respectability for the first time in decades.
Ryan Braun, like any of us, is a deeply flawed person. He's a villain to many baseball fans, and deservedly so. But even if I'm not always comfortable with it, he's still my baseball hero. He's brought so much joy to Milwaukee fans. So here are my 8 favorite memories involving Ryan Braun, #8:
8. Braun drawing a walk before Prince Fielder hit a walk-off home run in the 14th inning against the Rockies in 2011. (I'm sure there are better Braun moments than this one, but I remember it vivdly—I was listening on the radio.)
7. Braun hitting 3 home runs and a triple against the Padres in 2012.
6. Braun winning Saturday's 18-inning game with his sixth(!) hit, a 2-RBI single. (I was watching on TV.)
5. Braun coming in as a pinch hitter in the 9th inning and launching the winning 2-run home run against the Marlins in 2011. (I was watching on TV.)
4. Braun getting three hits and scoring twice in the Brewers first playoff game in 2011. (I was at this game.)
3. Braun hitting an RBI single in the 8th inning of last year's 163rd game, as the Brewers beat the Cubs to clinch the 2018 NL Central title. (I was watching on TV.)
2. Braun hitting the winning home run in the 8th inning of the 2008 regular season finale, the day the Brewers clinched the wild card. (I was watching on TV.)
1. Braun smashing a home run off the scoreboard at Miller Park on the night the Brewers clinched the 2011 NL Central title. (I was at this game.)
Thanks for the memories, Ryan.
Grace and peace,
BMH
After the 2011 season, the news broke that Braun had failed a test for performance enhancing drugs. He very publicly questioned how his urine sample was handled, painting the responsible individual in a horrible light. When the suspension was overturned on a technicality before the 2012 season, Braun gave an infamous and very smug press conference. But in 2013, Braun was connected to Biogenesis, which supplied PEDs to MLB players, and he served a 65-game suspension. Ryan Braun is a liar and a cheater.
If Braun played for any other team, I wouldn't be able to stand him. But he's played his entire career in Milwaukee. He's the only Brewer remaining from that beautiful 2011 team that I loved so very much. I almost feel like Braun is my kid. I'm ashamed of the bad things he's done, but he's still one of my guys, and I love him for that. So much of my love of baseball is tied up in the 2011 divison champion Brewers (and the 2008 wild card Brewers), and Braun was such a big part of that. He was my favorite Brewer long before the whole steroid scandal hit. He played the biggest role in leading the Brewers back to respectability for the first time in decades.
Ryan Braun, like any of us, is a deeply flawed person. He's a villain to many baseball fans, and deservedly so. But even if I'm not always comfortable with it, he's still my baseball hero. He's brought so much joy to Milwaukee fans. So here are my 8 favorite memories involving Ryan Braun, #8:
8. Braun drawing a walk before Prince Fielder hit a walk-off home run in the 14th inning against the Rockies in 2011. (I'm sure there are better Braun moments than this one, but I remember it vivdly—I was listening on the radio.)
7. Braun hitting 3 home runs and a triple against the Padres in 2012.
6. Braun winning Saturday's 18-inning game with his sixth(!) hit, a 2-RBI single. (I was watching on TV.)
5. Braun coming in as a pinch hitter in the 9th inning and launching the winning 2-run home run against the Marlins in 2011. (I was watching on TV.)
4. Braun getting three hits and scoring twice in the Brewers first playoff game in 2011. (I was at this game.)
3. Braun hitting an RBI single in the 8th inning of last year's 163rd game, as the Brewers beat the Cubs to clinch the 2018 NL Central title. (I was watching on TV.)
2. Braun hitting the winning home run in the 8th inning of the 2008 regular season finale, the day the Brewers clinched the wild card. (I was watching on TV.)
1. Braun smashing a home run off the scoreboard at Miller Park on the night the Brewers clinched the 2011 NL Central title. (I was at this game.)
Thanks for the memories, Ryan.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)