When Sunday School Fails Us

This past year has been an incredibly informative one. In the course of studying through the book of Genesis to teach in Sunday school I’ve really come to learn more about the foundations of the Christian faith and about the biblical figures who, until this point, were caricatures in my mind. Growing up outside the church, my knowledge of the patriarchs consisted of a few smattering of stories about Noah, Moses, and something about Joseph’s coat. I can, in fact, remember sitting through an off-Broadway rehearsal of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat while visiting my uncle in New York City. As a young teen I had little to no context for the stories (and songs) being presented.

Over the course of the eleven years I’ve spent in youth ministry, I’ve come to see that my experience with biblical history as a non-believer did not differ all that much from that of students who had been raised in the church. I began to wonder why students, who had been raised by well-meaning, Bible-believing Christians, would have such a limited knowledge when it comes to basic and foundational historical facts.

What I’ve come to believe is by no means authoritative and it may certainly be influenced by my own experience as an outsider to the Christian community.

In my experience, the church (as a whole) has done a poor job of providing comprehensive Biblical knowledge. Of course, given our current place in history and the proliferation of Bibles (in this country, at least) each believer is primarily responsible to study and seek to understand Scripture (which is the Lord’s clearest form of communication to His disciples today). That said, the church has an important responsibility for and role in the discipling of young believers. Largely, we have done a poor job. We have, at times, fallen into what I call a ‘Sunday school’ mentality.

Before continuing, I want to say that I truly believe that this is not necessarily true of all churches, or all Sunday schools. It isn’t even necessarily true of those who teach Sunday school in my own church. It’s not as if we set out to do a poor job. No one does, but I believe that we have fallen into several disconcerting habits.

We Teach Sporadically and Spasmodically

In our attempt to provide quality and substantive teaching, we have a tendency to jump around from story to story sometimes disregarding the historical context that informs that story. This technique is prevalent in Sunday school classes (hence my designation of ‘Sunday school’ mentality) where it is common to learn about Abraham one week, Joseph the next, and Moses the next. While there are certainly times it is relevant to cross-reference a verse or story, this sporadic style often breeds misunderstanding of biblical chronology and general confusion about characters. The lack of context can also reduce historical biblical events into one-off morality stories.

I’ve spoken with students who have little to no understanding of when events took place within the Bible or, more importantly, why they took place. While such misunderstandings are common in all historical pursuits, it is concerning when it occurs with figures and events which should be informing how we live, work, and worship today.

In addition to this, I have in my own classes, attempted to connect Old Testament stories to their interpretation in the New. This helps students understand more of the why of the events.

We Pick and Choose Which Portions of Stories We Teach

In addition to skipping from story to story, we also have a tendency to teach incomplete versions of events. For instance, we might highlight the faith of Abraham demonstrated in his willingness to sacrifice Isaac but we may not talk about his willingness to deceive the Pharaoh of Egypt by lying about Sarah being his sister. We love to share the story of Jonah and the fish/whale but few sermons or lessons linger on Jonah’s disreputable motivations or his indignation even after the repentance of Nineveh.

The Results

Due to points 1 and 2, we tend to form incomplete pictures of biblical characters that cause us to think that:

1.     The Lord was far more involved (physically or audibly) that He was.

a.     By highlighting only moments within full lifetimes we often come to the faulty conclusion that the Lord showed up in a burning bush every day when, in reality, He did it only once in the entire course of recorded human history. We sometimes think that the Lord showed up every day in the lives of the patriarchs when, in reality, we have only two or three instances recorded throughout an entire lifetime. Misunderstandings such as this might make us feel that our own spiritual lives are somehow deficient or even cause us to doubt the existence of God since He may not speak audibly or split a sea in our own lives. Children and students often see the perceived contrasts between what they are taught of the lives of biblical figures and their own seemingly mundane lives more clearly than adults and by these false perceptions of the Lord’s personal involvement in everyday life will ring false with their own experience. We should strive to do everything in our power to reduce any opportunity for the seeds of doubt to germinate.

2.     That biblical figures were somehow something ‘other’ or more holy than we are.

a.     By highlighting only fragmentary elements of biblical stories we might come to the belief that figures such as Moses or Joshua were supermen who never struggled or wrestled with disbelief or obedience. Seeing these figures as superheroes can cause us to elevate them to another level above us ‘regular’ Christians. These distinctions are not supported by orthodox Christian theology which understands that all have fallen short of the glory of God and there is none righteous apart from Christ. We look to these figures as examples to emulate but always as models of what the Spirit of the Lord can do in spite of our own flawed humanity.

So what are we to do? We need to strive to understand Scripture not only so that we might teach it more clearly but also so that we would understand and apply it more fully to our own lives. We have all experienced seasons when the Word of God felt dry and lifeless; when stories appeared confusing and dusty without context. These lessons are for us as much as they are for those who would learn from us. We can only teach what we know. We can only know what we understand. Our first aim should be to put ourselves in the best possible position to understand the literary form, historical context, and intent of the authors. These goals, as well-intentioned as they may be, only serve to put us into a position in which the Spirit of the Lord might best work. That is the ultimate aim—the touch of the Holy Spirit which transcends human understanding and convicts the heart.

As we seek, pray, and wait on the Spirit’s revelation, we can:

1.     Read the Bible regularly – this is the most basic (and often most difficult) step. We must be involved if we expect to be changed.

2.     Read entire books of the Bible – in our own personal study we should read books in their entirety. We do ourselves a disservice if we sabotage our understanding by setting ourselves up to misunderstand.

3.     Seek to understand the literary and historical context of the book we’re reading—this is the most daunting if not the most difficult step. Part of this comes from reading books to completion, but other sources such as Bible dictionaries, maps, and concordances can also assist.

4.     Try to teach Scripture and its context in age-appropriate ways to children and youth of all ages. As we teach, there are necessarily going to be times when we will not literally read every verse of Scripture to a child, but we need to try to communicate the entirety of the story in a way that is understandable and relatable. We often give our students too little credit when it comes to helping them understand Scripture, sometimes we just need to present them with it, read aloud.

Justice Misapplied

Yesterday my family and I were on our way to a funeral. We, obviously, needed to get there on time. We got on the expressway north and made good time for about ¾ of our trip. Much to our chagrin however, the traffic slowed to a crawl without any discernable reason. As we limped along, we began to notice that the southbound lane of the freeway was deserted. The southbound lanes, it seemed, had been shut down due to an accident. We proceeded on until we could see where the police had the expressway cordoned off and traffic was stopped.

Just then, about ten car-lengths ahead of us, an SUV pulled out into the “authorized access only” turn arounds and pulls a U-turn into the now abandoned expressway. Both my wife and I were aghast and furious that this person would a) disobey a posted sign and b) disobey a police-directed initiative. As I watched the car disappear in my rear-view mirror I saw movement come up alongside me. A police car drove up on the shoulder and approached the turn around. My wife and I both said out loud, “Go get him”. In a moment of perfect justice, the police officer, too, pulled a U-turn, flipped on his lights and chased after the offender who must have felt so isolated and vulnerable being the only car driving down an abandoned expanse of highway. We cheered. Justice was done. All was right in the world.

Humans have an inherent sense of justice. Our quest for justice is born and rooted in being made in the image of God. We know that the Lord is righteous, wholly and perfectly righteous; so righteous in fact that He must be then opposed to anything that is unrighteous. From that attribute flows the wrath of the Lord which opposes anything that would hate or be opposed to His moral character. It is one of the communicable attributes of the Lord. We, too, seek out justice and fairness in this world, whether it is in some offense or slight committed against us or whether it is, in the instance of this driver, someone who has broken the rules. We naturally demand that those who break the rules require punishment for justice to be done.

Illegal U-turns must be punished.

Yet our desire for justice can quickly transition into hatred and bitterness. A misplaced sense of justice leads can quickly lead into pride and self-righteousness since we, unlike our Maker, are not perfect and are riddled with sins of our own. Our sense of justice can quickly cause us to overlook the long list of our own sins.

In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells a parable to those crowds gathered around Him. He tells of a landowner in need of workers for his vineyard. Early in the day he hires a group of men, promising them a day’s wages. Around noon he hires another group offering them, too, a day’s wages. He does the same around three in the afternoon. Finally, around five, he hires a final group, offering them a day’s wages as well.

“When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his foreman, ‘Call the workers and pay them their wages, beginning with the last ones hired and going on to the first.’

The workers who were hired about five in the afternoon came and each received a denarius [a day’s wages]. So when those came who were hired first, they expected to receive more. But each one of them also received a denarius. When they received it, they began to grumble against the landowner. 

‘These who were hired last worked only one hour,’ they said, ‘and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work in the heat of the day.’

But he answered them, ‘I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the one who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?’”

Jesus told this story to illustrate to self-righteous religious Jews that He was more interested in bringing others into His fold through grace than He was in validating the already righteous (or at least, self-righteous). It was the misplaced sense of justice (and jealousy) that led these men to overlook that they too were hired fairly by the landowner.

In our quest for justice we must not too quickly ignore the fact that mercy is also an attribute of the Lord. We need to seek justice as a means to save and serve others, not out of some sense of self-righteous pride. We, too, should be as quick to show mercy and grant leniency as we are to condemn others for infractions for which we have been forgiven. None of us can conceive of exactly how guilty and unrighteous we are in the eyes of God. Yet, in spite of this deficiency, we have been redeemed by the grace of God through Jesus Christ. As we begin, in our own feeble human terms, to seek retributive justice for others, we must never forget the ledger of offenses that were once levied against us. This does not absolve others of guilt or exclude them from punishment (especially on a civic level) but it keeps us grounded in the reality that we too are debtors who cannot pay. We should not take joy from the downfall of others but turn our eyes to ourselves and praise the great and merciful Father who chose us before the foundation of the world to demonstrate His loving kindness.

Seasons of Change: Reflections of the Life of Christ through the Seasons

[Note: This is in no way biblical exegesis or meant to be authoritative. It is simply a way I have come to experience the world.]

It is winter in Michigan. By winter, I don’t mean we just had our first snow or that we’re looking forward to Christmas. No, this is the winter in the north when all the trivial notions of crackling fires and roasting chestnuts are long past. This is March, the time when the skeleton limbs of trees have grown tiring to look at and the sky is in a persistent state of gray.

This is (not coincidentally) the time of year when you begin to hear conversations in which people long for the summer’s warm embrace or question their willingness to suffer through another round of northern seasons. The snowbirds have long gone and are likely clogging the shuffleboard courts or tiki bars somewhere down in Florida.

As a hiker, this is also the time of year when I begin to get asked why I am still hiking even when the mercury sinks ever lower and the only fauna are hidden deep beneath blankets of snow or nestled among lonely boughs. I’ve struggled to find an answer to these questions of my perseverance. I’d like to say it was unyielding dedication but the rest of my life unveils the lie of my devotion.

Recently, I stumbled on a thought that has been percolating on the periphery of my consciousness for a few years now. I have come to see similarities between the seasons we experience here in this climate and the life of Christ.

We begin in the joyful heat of summer where are dreams are realized. We yearn for it. We plan vacations during the darkest nights of winter. Our calendars anticipate its arrival. It reminds me of the years of Christ’s active ministry when we he walked, taught, and performed miracles while his disciples struggled to comprehend even the most basic of his teachings. I wonder how often the apostles, as they faced martyrdom or old age, thought back to those days, back to when their Savior walked before them and taught the crowds as they grew ever more amazed at this strange and commanding man. How they must have longed for those days when they could share a meal or laughter with their Savior.

As sweet as those days were; as much as the disciples (and we, ourselves) learn from the parables and teachings, the divine plan of reconciliation was far deeper than “the good times”. Just as Jesus was delivered to his accusers, tried, mocked, and crucified the verdant throes of summer fade into the cold embrace of autumn which disperses the migratory birds and strips the trees of their gaudy dressings. Jesus, Himself, is hung up on a lonely tree, His disciples having fled like the falling leaves. We experience the haunting loneliness as the world is stripped away until only the bones remain, a hollow memory of this transitory world and our own faltering obedience.

Darkness falls after that grim day. Just as the sun disappeared from the day, the hours of daylight now grow fleeting and the clouds begin to occupy the place that summer’s blue once held sway. We feel the loneliness and despair that Jesus’ followers felt as they ruminated upon their loss, their disappointment, and their own weakness they demonstrated in their flight. They met together indoors, in doubt, and fear, and shame. We, too, are driven inside by the chill winds of our own dark time. It is in these days and nights that we long for the return of the sun and all the joyful plans we will experience in the year to come.

Into that darkness; into our long suffering, the resurrection comes. On Easter we again experience the rebirth of our Savior physically, and of our own lives spiritually. The time of suffering has passed. The time of rejoicing has come. So too, note how the budding of trees brings joy to our hearts, how the return of the birds long departed puts a spring in our step. Seasons are reborn. Speckled fawns lie softly on freshly sprouted grass. Flowers poke their heads above the soft loam.

As a Northerner, I may be in the minority in saying this, but we need our seasons. As much as we may prefer one to another; as much as the chill or bleakness might dull us with monotony, they provide a type of calendar for our lives. In that way they are a gift. I understand that it is only a very small sliver of the planet that can experience the seasons in this way. I would imagine that each climate has its own peculiarities which make them unique. We do have an infinitely creative God, after all. I have come to feel such spiritual rhythms as I walk the trails and traverse the roads. Though my conscious mind may never grasp it fully, I will often find myself filled with longing, joy, or despair without ever knowing precisely why. As in all things, in turning my eyes toward Christ I am able to see the world fully, for what it is. These moments, are admittedly far too few. My resolve is deplorable at best. My eyes so rarely turn toward him but every so often when spring’s promise breaks winter’s clutch and I feel the warming of redemption and salvation, I witness the glimmers of Christ inviting me again to turn to him.

My Bad Theology is Saved by Grace

One of the many wonderful aspects about the doctrine of salvation by grace through faith is that I can get a whole lot wrong in my theology and still find salvation in Christ. The doctrine, briefly stated, is that we as guilty sinners bring nothing to a relationship with the Lord. We bring only our sin, past, present and future. We bring only our wrong-ness. We accept Christ’s offer of His sacrificial death by faith and His righteousness is imbued to us. Our life after--- our second life, is one of increasing obedience to Christ our Lord as the Holy Spirit works with and within our will so that we would become what we already are considered in Christ--- righteous.

What this means in practice is that though I am saved and growing in obedience, there are still lots of areas in which I suffer in ignorance or willful sin. And these don’t negate my salvation!!! In terms of theology, I am a finite man limited by my own ignorance and sin-stained inclinations. In short, I get lots of stuff wrong. None of us has our theology 100% correct because we are all limited by our sinfulness and the very distinction of being human (i.e. not God). Praise the God who saves in spite of who I am.

Now, this is no way absolves us from the responsibility we have to change our incorrect notions when confronted by truth just as we are responsible for repenting of sin as soon as we are aware of it. We cannot sit back and ignore the teachings of Scripture out of pride, laziness, or willful sin. When Scripture speaks, we must listen.  When we are made aware, we must conform.

However, in an age when social media allows us the avenue to posit any number of beliefs, it’s comforting to know (especially as I look back at my past comments) that my soul is secure in Christ not based upon what I knew and when, but rather solely upon the righteousness of Christ.

Still, I should probably temper that inclination to update my status. 

Refugees - A Conversation

The persistent wind whipped tiny grains of sand hard against the young man’s face. He squinted and pressed his lips tightly together. Giving another passing glance to the west he stepped back from the precipice and walked closer to sheltering trees where his companion sat meticulously snacking on a package of cheddar cheese crackers. As the young man sat, the older man, who was leaning against his pack, which was, in turn, propped against a tree, funneled the last of the crumbs into his cupped palm and popped them into his mouth.

The young man fumbled with the straps of his pack but finally retrieved a three-legged stool for which he found a mostly-solid surface of rock free from the sand. He sat heavily and looked out at the vista before them. The turquoise expanse of Lake Superior spread out before them, its waves a distant rush as they met the foot of the cliff a hundred and fifty feet below. The tawny rock face of Grand Portal Point was constantly cleared by the winds coming off the lake but always a new layer of fine sand appeared, swept from the eroding cliffs and deposited like a veil over the outcropping. Thus Superior’s “Pictured Rocks” were always eroding; always evolving.

Morning cloud cover had given way to a pristine blue sky dotted with perfectly constructed white clouds begging to be identified and named.

Another pair of hikers appeared from the tree cover and made their way onto the point. They took their pictures of the majestic panorama daring themselves ever closer to the rock face.  The older man smiled as he considered that every hiker took the exact same pictures here. Unique as their experiences may be, they all took the same photos. The pair walked eastward along the shelf before rejoining the trail further on.

“Do you think,” the young man began, “if you just ran full speed and jumped you’d be able to hit the water?”

“I’m sorry?” the older companion asked as he turned to see the young man staring down at his cell phone. “Oh geez. You know you have a problem right? How do you even have a signal?”

“It comes and goes kind of sporadically.”

“To answer your question, I think you’d underestimate your jump, plummet, and smash repeatedly into the cliffs on the way down. Then those seagulls over there,” he pointed, “would feast upon your corpse. What prompted that question?”

“just current events.”

“Ah. I assume you’re referring to the ongoing discussion on immigration and refugees.”

“I really need to just stop going online. Especially on social media. It just makes me sick.”

“Yes, and also you should stop ignoring one of the most beautiful places you will likely ever see to look at your cell phone.”

“A lot of what has been going on lately in politics bothers me,” the young man began, “but as a believer, my first allegiance is to the kingdom of God. I’ve always viewed this country just as the place I happen to live. I do thank God for the opportunities that He has given me living in America but I’ve always thought that I shouldn’t identify too personally with it. There are times though, that the moral concerns I have as a Christian overlaps with what we would consider politics. This issue, this decision to suspend or reduce refugees from these countries, it just bothers me as a believer.”

“How so?”

“I just see all the commands in scripture to take care of the foreigner living among you. To care for the widows and orphans and the under-priveledged.”

“But does that necessarily apply to the actions of a government? The government isn’t the same thing as an individual Christian.”

“So you’re saying that we’re called to care for the underprivileged in our neighborhoods but you’re fine with the government keeping those people out of our neighborhoods?”

“Come on. Don’t twist what I’m saying. As New Testament, Gentile believers, we’re not bound by the Mosaic law, which, I’m assuming, is where you’re pulling a lot of the language about foreigners.”

“True, but even though were not bound by it the same way the Jews were, we still find value in it by looking at the heart of the command and searching out what that says about the Lord. I mean the whole purpose of the nation of Israel was to serve as a type of mirror so that the world might be able to understand who their God was; what kind of person He was.”

“All the same, the government is different from an individual believer.”

“I agree, in principle. If we lived under an authoritarian regime (and even though it may seem like we do now, we don’t) then I would have no expectation that the government would honor the law of God. I wouldn’t expect it to. Our country, however, was created in such a way to be moldable by the collective wills of individual people. The ‘government’ therefore is really the collective beliefs of each of us. Looking at it from that viewpoint, I cannot let myself off the hook because if I do, then others will simply shape public policy into their own image.”

“But the Lord views them differently.”

“But if that’s the case, how can believers get upset at the way the government allows abortions or gay marriage or the way it treats blacks? If we can make a blanket statement to say that ‘the government isn’t bound by moral concerns the way that an individual Christian is’ then how can we even hold the government up to any type of standard?”

“But a government is different than a person.”

“That sounds like an easy excuse to wash your hands by saying ‘well the government is doing it, not me.’ If anything, as Christians in a representative democracy, aren’t we really the ones to blame? If the government is made up of the collective will of the people and the will of the people is turning away from the Lord, isn’t it our fault for not effectively training and making disciples? Who have we to blame but ourselves?”

The young man pulled his water bottle from a pouch on his pack and took a long swig of the moderately warm liquid. He had long since developed the ability to drink water of varying qualities at lukewarm temperatures. It was the result of numerous backpacking trips.

“Sorry,” he began, “I don’t mean to get personal. It just seems to me that so much of this decision is made out of fear. Fear of terrorists. Fear of Muslims.”

“There’s a difference between making a decision about vetting potential threats and being anti-Muslim. No one is being anti-Muslim. This isn’t a religious decision.”

“I don’t know that distinction seems pretty suspect. Plus, this was made a religious decision when the President said he’d give preferential treatment to Christian refugees.”

“You don’t want to rescue Christians from oppression?”

“Of course I do, they are my brothers and sisters in Christ but I feel like it sets a really bad precedent. I mean what happens when a different President or a different administration gives preference to a different religion or decides to take away the rights of believers? What happens when some administration becomes scared of Christians? The precedent is set with the stroke of a pen.”

“I can agree with that I guess.”

“I just feel like this is going to come back to bite Christians in the butt. Not just this specific issue but the ‘help’ Christians are receiving from this administration. I just feels like so much lip service to me; blatant pandering to get our votes.”

“But if it helps us?”

“I guess. But shouldn’t we be looking out for more than simply our best interests? Isn’t that one of the main themes in the parable of the good Samaritan?”

“Parables are tricky.”

“Tricky, yes, but I think that while we often misinterpret them in looking too closely for details, we also under-apply them in not looking at them thematically. You cannot read the parable of the good Samaritan and not read into it a commentary on nationalism and preferential treatment especially considering the audience was Pharisaical Jews who considered themselves the heirs of privilege. I mean, doesn’t that sound somewhat familiar?”

“I have no objection to Jesus’ command that we should be caring for our neighbors whether they be Christians, atheists, Jews or Muslims. At the same time though, as a Christian, as a father, would you rather your children be raised in an environment conducive to the lessons you’re teaching them or one opposed to it?”

“See when you put it like that I still struggle. I want my children, should I ever have them, to really believe and put their trust in Christ. I don’t want it to be a cultural thing. I want them to know that they are actively making a choice between one thing and another thing. They’d have to do that now anyway. There’s a difference between being culturally Christian in America and being a follower of Christ. I mean they don’t have to be separate things, but most of the time they are. If, let’s say, there are more Muslims living in this country, then the only difference would be that my children would have to choose to follow Christ surrounded by Islam rather than choosing to follow Christ surrounded by secular humanism.”

“But again, this is an issue of security,” the older man began. “Are you saying you’d actively choose to raise your children in a hostile, possibly unsafe environment?”

“What is unsafe? We control so little that really it’s all in the hand of God.”

“That’s a pretty easy decision to put your nonexistent children in harm’s way to satisfy your own moral superiority.”

“First off, it’s not moral superiority; it’s treating others the way I’d like to be treated. Secondly, isn’t that what missionaries do all the time? They take their children out of their ‘safe’ homes and bring them into hostile and perhaps unsafe environments? Why do they do it? They do it because they know A) they’re not really in control of their children’s safety anyway--- God is, and B) they view the cause of preaching the gospel as more important than their own comfort and security.”

“This is different though, this is inviting disaster into our homes.”

“What are we but witnesses for Christ too? I mean is the call on our life any less than the one called to be a missionary? We’re called to witness to those around us AND those who are far away. What better way to do that than to bring the nations to us?”

“For the record, I’m not following you.”

“Look, campus ministries like Cru and Intervarsity have known and planned for years on the fact that many foreign nationals send their children to American colleges for school. These countries are the very ones that are the most hostile to missionary activity and where it’s desperately hard to be a believer. But they send their kids here. These campus ministries know that and look at this as an opportunity to minister to these children whom it would be neigh impossible to witness to in their home countries. What does this new action do for that? “

“I guess it makes it harder.”

“Absolutely. It puts barriers up to the progress of the gospel. More than that, there is the underlying narrative, correct or not, that the West (and by association, Christians) are actively opposed to Islam and really anything that doesn’t look like them. They think we hate them. Of course, we know that there are differences between being opposed to spiritual forces and the sin that goes along with it and hating people. But that’s a nuance that’s easily missed. What this course of executive action does is feed into that narrative: that Christians hate Muslims. Now, when we try and witness to our Muslim neighbors, whether that’s here in this country or a missionary across the world, we can’t start by introducing them to Christ, we’ve got to do all the back work to convince them we don’t hate them first”

“You have a point but don’t we have to do that with anyone we are trying to witness to?”

“Perhaps, but why create more barriers than are needed?”

High above, a silhouetted shape drifted in and out of the pair’s peripheral vision. It rose and fell with delicate ease upon the updrafts sweeping along the cliff bank. The bird seemed held aloft by unseen strings of a master puppeteer rather than spirited upon the wind. Both men stopped to watch the raptor, which it clearly was, as it rode upon the winds, lifting ever higher. Some gulls, stirred at the sight of the predator took to the air, cruising out over the lake to safety. They watched the bird coast effortlessly over the outcropping gazing down with its piercing eyes searching for prey. The animal seemed to hover with no indication of movement save the tilting of its streamlined head. Then, like some element-wielding phantom it rose swiftly along its zephyr-strings and disappeared up and over the canopy of leaves. The men paused in silent contemplation slowly lowering their gaze.

With trepidation the young man began again.

“Beyond the human dignity considerations,” he said quietly, almost apologetically. “One of the things that scares me the most is why these decisions seem to be being made. The pretense of a terrorist threat from refugees seems a pretty flimsy one as there hasn’t been a terrorist attack by an immigrant from one of these seven countries in thirty years.

More than any, the overwhelming defense from politicians and everyday citizens alike seems to be fear; fear of an attack. I’m not one to often claim someone has a phobia, but most of this reaction seems to be fear of Muslims rather than actual security concerns.

As believers, we’re not supposed to be living in fear of what might happen. We believe in an omnipotent and omniscient God who actively rules over this universe. We’ve been promised that He works things for the good of those who believe and even though ‘our good’ often looks a lot different than we’d think or want (and indeed what is ‘safe’) we still stand on this promise that He knows what’s best and that He will work it out in our lives.

What scares me is what can happen when people--- anybody, becomes callous enough to turn a blind eye to the suffering of others. What disturbs me the most about the holocaust, for instance, are not the Nazis--- I know that mankind is wicked; what disturbs me most were the German civilians who went about their daily affairs knowing, or at least suspecting what was going on but were so overwhelmed by fear, social pressure, and self-preservation that they allowed themselves to become indifferent. I’m afraid of them because I know how easily I can become them.

God, let me never grow indifferent to the suffering of anyone, Christian or not.”

The old man continued to look down at his boots. He bent at the waist (with considerable effort) and pulled loose an insufficient knot and retied it double. He slumped back.

“We’ve got to have grace. I suppose,” he began. “Grace with each other. I mean Scripture is expressively clear about how believers are to behave to each other. But especially in a situation where Scripture doesn’t say: “don’t do this”, we’ve got to give each other grace, knowing that each true believer is trying to love the Lord and love his neighbor as himself.”

“At the same time though,” the younger said, “we have to be willing to examine ourselves and why we are making the decisions we’re making. Just because we’re saved doesn’t me that our motivations are free from sin. The sanctification process is just that--- a process. It’s bringing every thought, action, and motivation in line with that of Christ. We can, and do, the right things for the absolutely wrong reasons and we do the wrong things for the right reasons. Both are flawed. Both fall short of the Lord. Our aim is doing the right things for the right reasons. For that we need the Holy Spirit. But because we know the fallibility of our own heart, we need to have grace for the heart of our brother.”

“Amen”

“and,” the younger added pulling himself up from his stool, “we air on the side of caution and loving others.”

He held out his hand. The older man placed his left palm on the ground which was covered in a mixture of sand and small sticks. He grasped the hand of the younger and was lifted upwards. He took a staggering step back into the tree, not dangerously but obviously winded. Shaking the dirt from his pants he wiped the sand from his palms. The younger man had already replaced the stool and was hoisting his pack onto his back. The man looked down plaintively at his own before taking hold of the top strap and raising it up. He felt the weight of the pack lessen as his companion bore up the full weight of his own pack as well as his own.  Grateful for the reprieve, the older man slipped his arms in the shoulder straps and buckled the waist. Still free of the full heft of the pack he wiggled a little to get the weight properly displaced on his hips. Only after nodding that he was ready did his young companion release the pack onto his shoulders. He felt the first steps under his feet; the shifting sand, the solid rock beneath. The trail followed the edge of the point for about a hundred feet before disappearing back into the shaded forest. Bright daylight faded into dappled shadow as he veered away from the cliff keeping always his eyes upon his brother ahead of him.

the tree in leaf and the solitary man

The tree in leaf

and the solitary man

stands motionless,

his face a plaintive mixture of certainty

and regret,

fingers absently folding a discarded gum wrapper.

A crow alights upon a limb

pointing its beady eyes to the grey heavens.

Warm December.

The Swan

The Swan

Bruised wings and battered bones

Know better the efficacy of time

Nestled snugly in the shattered rushes

Shivering at the advancing autumn,

Its encroaching chill, the unrelenting

Certainty of fate--- hollow consolation.

Dull flesh resigns the night

Each breeze bringing its tempest of leaves

---a swirling, visualized symphony

Of color and shape.

Each November tear knows the bitterest truth;

Each chill sunset hides a different law

Of an earth groaning; of a world unwinding

In slow entropy.

Eyelids flutter, seeking desperate respite,

She draws in her slender neck against the chill,

Still graceful as the unfurling fronds of bracken,

Even in defeat.

Glittering sunlight fades from the surface of the water

As the pale Hunter’s moon rises to survey its shadowy domain.

Wakeful nightbirds twitter from the fringes their callous frivolities.

Trembling still,

The watchful eye,

Scanning, at last, the dark expanse,

---exhaustion trumping vigilance.

She shivers one

Or twice

And draws to close her weary eyes in sleep

Or more, perhaps to dream

Of latter days upon the wing.