Star Trek V; The Final Frontier speculated a lot about God’s existence and His nature, if indeed He exists. For a Hollywood film, at least it did that intelligently.

Symbolism abounded, with a self-fulfilled Vulcan that recognized his id, his disciples that came to him after giving him their deepest fears, and a nameless planet at our galaxy’s center that housed a sort of supreme being, comprising many faces. There was even a Great Barrier that everyone thought would prevent access of the living to the nameless planet.

Wonder of wonders, all this had purely rational explanations, discovered when the explorers were in danger of death. All the CGI and drama aside, Captain Kirk and Spock shared an interesting exchange when the danger had passed:

KIRK: I thought I was going to die.

SPOCK: That was impossible.

Kirk gives Spock a quizzical look.

SPOCK: You were never alone.

The wisdom I took from that is simple; nothing can hurt me outside of God’s permissive or expressed will, because I am never alone. God is always with me, and in me, and His inexhaustible love will never abandon me.

For Want of Light


On ships of war, the men below decks at night exist in a dim, red world, lest when called to their battle stations in the outer darkness they should succumb to night blindness. In the same way, we must willingly live in relative darkness, so we might fully see what God places before us in His subtle, spiritual light.

Isaiah 50:10-11 New King James Version (NKJV)

10 “Who among you fears the LORD?
Who obeys the voice of His Servant?
Who walks in darkness
And has no light?
Let him trust in the name of the LORD
And rely upon his God.
11 Look, all you who kindle a fire,
Who encircle yourselves with sparks:
Walk in the light of your fire and in the sparks you have kindled—
This you shall have from My hand:
You shall lie down in torment.

Guilty as charged! I would love to be alone in that verdict, but alas, I am anything but.

My confession is true; I have ventured forth into self-generated light, imagining it was from God. I should have heeded Isaiah’s admonition: Who walks in darkness and has no light? Let him trust in the name of the LORD and rely upon his God.

Is trusting active, or passive? It is active, as we discern and reject the world’s—and the self’s—seductions. But it is also passive, as we wait on God’s light, as opposed to trying to generate our own.

We live in a performance-oriented culture, and that drive taints the church’s works. We constantly audit our own productivity, and that of others. We encircle ourselves with sparks, walking in the light of our own fire and in the sparks we have kindled.

Let us not turn our work for our Lord into a competition, always striving to make points against “them,” while refusing to acknowledge the fruit “they” bear, lest they pull ahead of us on some celestial scoreboard.


Daddy’s always watching

Imagine yourself as a child in a Christmas-time shopping mall, running from one light-emblazoned display to another; so many wonders to choose from, so little time. Suddenly you spot the one thing in the whole world that you really, really, really want, so you look up to tell Daddy, but only strangers surround you.

“Daddy?” You look around. “Daddy?!” with more force. “Daddy!” you scream, but no familiar, loving faces look down to you.

Psalm sixty-one begins with King David calling out to his Father God, “from the end of the earth.” This might read, “From the end of my self will I cry unto thee.” The self, when it is separated from God, is a barren rock, or a sandy shoal, shifting with the wind and tides. When I stray from the identity I know—meaning Christ, if I belong to God—I find myself in an “outer darkness,” with no compass point to guide me homeward.

Like small children when we find ourselves lost, we cry out to Daddy (or Mommy, when Daddy isn’t around) to deliver us from the big, bad unknown. The great problem for most people is not knowing their Heavenly Daddy, or knowing Him, forgetting what He looks like.

King David knew that fear, that calling out from an overwhelmed heart. His response? “Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”

Even now, after walking with my Savior for forty-one years, I find myself chasing after the world’s pretty lights and fake santas. How often have I paused to look up for my Daddy’s smile, only to find Him distant? Distant, maybe, but always there, within reach of my little hand.

Tragic Reactions

San Bernardino Shooting Victims

Mention tragedy these days and most people’s thoughts go to San Bernardino. Reactions to that awful display of violence range from anger against Muslims to exploitation for various agendas.

Liberals have a hard time restraining their public rejoicing about the use of military-style firearms during that cowardly shooting spree. Managing straight faces, they moralize about the gun situation in our nation, proposing even more restrictions on their availability.

Racists see vindication for their hatred for anyone who seems different. Politicians are exploiting the situation for their own political ends.

Many Christians hope our nation will see Islam in its true colors, and pass controls on what their imams can teach. Little do they realize that infringements on one group’s religious freedom is like the camel and the tent; once his nose is inside, soon the tent is filled with camel.

Due to the love our Savior exemplified and commanded of us, much higher behavioral standards apply to Christians than to any other group in society. He told us not to judge others, lest we be judged for our own transgressions.

Oswald Chambers made a profound statement about judging that I must pass on:

Most of us are much sterner with others than we are in regard to ourselves; we make excuses for things in ourselves whilst we condemn in others things to which we are not naturally inclined.

I am not likely to walk into a meeting of coworkers and open fire on them with an AK-47, just as I did not take out my frustration and anger on my wife. Though I can be spiteful—a sin of which I must consistently repent—overt violence isn’t part of my temperament.

That being the case, I find “righteous” indignation an easy reaction to crimes of terror directed against civilian men, women and children. When a politician advocates deporting members of a particular religion because they may be radicalized, I self-righteously pump my fist in agreement, even though some “Christian” groups are similarly radicalized.

Whether or not such interdiction policies are consistent with the American ideal of freedom is irrelevant to God’s called-out ones, but our desire to implement such policies is terribly relevant. Our goal of furthering God’s kingdom must remain paramount, even in the face of terrorizing religious persecution. Jesus told us to love our enemies for good reason; only by so doing can God convict Christ-haters of their sin, and draw them to Himself.

Accepted in the Beloved

If you ever feel bumfuzzled, just review Ephesians 1:3-10. Seriously!

I began with verse six because it jumped out at me with some urgency while reading in Ephesians chapter one. “To the praise of the glory of His grace, by which He made us accepted in the Beloved.” (Ephesians 1:6)

Not to minimize the praise of the glory of His grace, I’ll focus on the latter part of the verse. First, throw out the word, accepted. I looked it up and found it means way more than just that; it means God has made us charitoō, or graceful, charming, lovely, and agreeable in His sight. He examines us with grace, and has poured out His favor and blessings upon us. God tells us here that we are favorably regarded as members of the “beloved,” which is agapaō, and everybody knows that’s God’s special kind of love.

Now, if that didn’t put a little Sonshine in your day, you really need help.

Fuzzy Model Airplanes

I enjoy watching YouTube videos of flying model airplanes. That means I hope to actually see the model in flight. Most camcorders, however, can’t keep the subject in focus for a number of reasons that, surprise!, have spiritual parallels.

While autofocus was one of the great twentieth-century inventions—for shutterbugs anyway—every human being is born with fully functioning autofocus. No, I’m not talking about visual autofocus, which is one of the miracles of our creation. I mean autofocus of our attention. Like those camcorders that loose focus and cause me to mutter little nothings, our attention autofocus easily gets distracted.

The most common cause for losing focus is objects that pass between the camera and the subject, distracting the autofocus to the nearer object. (Matthew 6:25-34) All the things Jesus mentioned in that passage, and more, take our eyes off Him in favor of what we consider more immediate concerns.

Another reason that causes camcorders to lose track of model airplanes is when the plane ranges too far from the camcorder, causing its image to become so small that the autofocus can’t pick it out of a low-contrast background like clear sky.  Then the autofocus tries to find a subject by crazily ranging near and far in search of a subject—any subject. Our attention autofocus does the same thing; when we allow ourselves to become too distant from our Lord we can’t distinguish between Him and everything else out there.

The remedy for camcorders’ autofocus issues is to simply switch it off when the subject is further away that a few yards (or meters, if you’re a globalist). Trouble is, we don’t have an on/off switch for our attention autofocus, so our only solution is to stay as close to the Subject as possible.

Never be content with a fuzzy Savior, you’ll likely lose Him entirely.


Big Daddy Weave produced a song called Overwhelmed that included the lyrics, “And God, I run into Your arms, unashamed because of mercy …” I am eternally thankful for that saving mercy, but I can’t honestly say I’m unashamed; forgiven, but not unashamed. That begs the question of why I am ashamed, and for what.

Answering the “for what” part of that question would involve a lifetime of soul-searching and confession, but telling you why is relatively easy. I am ashamed because I’m not convinced that my life faithfully represents my Savior’s love and holiness.

Oh yes, by the world’s standard I’m suitably religious and moral. Most, in fact, consider me a nice guy, but in my quest to be Christ to my world I am an utter failure.

Does God judge me for my humanness? He already did, and that judgment fell on His Son, my Messiah Jesus Christ. (Romans 8)

C.S. Lewis on the Incarnation


Da Vinci’s Annunciation

The Second Person in God, the Son, became human Himself: was born into the world as an actual man—a real man of a particular height, with hair of a particular colour, speaking a particular language, weighing so many stone. The Eternal Being, who knows everything and who created the whole universe, became not only a man but (before that) a baby, and before that a foetus inside a Woman’s body. If you want to get the hang of it, think how you would like to become a slug or a crab.

From Mere Christianity

Before God fathered Jesus, His only begotten Son, our Savior existed as God’s creative Word. I think Lewis understated his metaphor, though; the picture of a human lowering himself to become a slug is simply not low enough. My mind pictures a human being becoming a bacterium for the sole purpose of eradicating the fatal, Beelzo transgvirus-1, also known as the sin virus.

Lots of folks have trouble with the Biblical statement that Jesus was the only begotten of God, due to their misunderstanding of Trinitarian doctrine. The alleged paradox lies in the idea that Jesus, God’s divine Son, had a beginning, and as God is eternal, that couldn’t be true. As a clever workaround, wordsmiths came up with the phrase, “begotten, not made,” in the Nicene Creed, but they needn’t have gone to all that trouble. The truth is far simpler; Jesus of Nazareth, though He was indeed born in the flesh, was not born of the flesh, because His Father is God Himself. As such, Jesus is the perfect man, the second Adam, who unlike the first Adam, never rebelled against His Father.

In other words, God the eternal Word became a mortal man at Jesus’ conception, enabling Him to be at once, immortal and mortal.

I hope that clears up the “only begotten” aspect of Jesus’ incarnation, so you’ll know the simple answer next time someone asks you the hard question.

Be Christ to Your Family

If you’re interested in diligent, godly grandfathering, you won’t find much about the roles of grandfathers in the family support literature. More sensitive people call us, “grandparents,” even when they’re talking about grand dads, lest they be thought sexist. On the other hand, grandparenting is, in fact, often a two-person job. One of the topics we must address is nurturing a mutual understanding and cooperation with Grandma. It’s the old story that neither the husband nor the wife are islands unto themselves, and neither bear sole responsibility for failures. As Christian grandfathers, we must take up Christ’s cross unilaterally, accepting our responsibility to be Christ to both our wives and our greater families.

The problem we grand dads face is Grandma usually sets the tone of our relationship with our kids and their kids, and even their kids, if we live long enough. That issue begins with our younger selves, where Wifey holds the family reigns while Hubby does all the “manly” things like taking out the garbage, changing the oil, and occasionally even mowing the lawn. Too often, Hubby only joins in the family’s spiritual life at Wifey’s insistence, all the while thinking about the, “More Important,” manly duties, like keeping track of the latest scores and planning his next hunting trip.

Face it, guys, we’re preoccupied with trivial pursuits, self-centered and self-absorbed. Fortunately for us, our Heavenly Dad keeps His mind on the important stuff, like saving us, and keeping us in His Spirit. If we fail to follow His lead, it’s not because we aren’t good enough or otherwise qualified; we’re just too lazy to make time for obeying His expressed will.

I feel like standing tall, raising my sword, and yelling, “All who want Christ’s Way for the family, follow me!” Trouble is, I’m the last one you’d want to follow; I know His way as well as most, but fail in the following part. Maybe I should instead drop to my knees and cry out, “All who have failed our Lord and Savior, and failed your families by not loving them as Christ loves us, join me down here.” There’s no time like the present to bring revival to God’s called out ones, and it must begin with prayer. May we Christian grandfathers lead the way on our knees, ’cause that’s where the battle for the family begins and ends.

Combover Religion

A young fellow with whom I once worked teased me about my combover hair style. I should place “hair style” in quotes, which I just did, because I haven’t bothered with such vanities since my early ’40s. It’s not that I didn’t care about my appearance, it simply wouldn’t have done do any good. To make appreciable inroads on my graying hair and growing paunch, I would have been forced to pursue unthinkable means, such as dying my hair, and (shudder) exercising. I still have hair more or less covering my pate, but now it’s practically all white. And my paunch? Well, let’s not go there.

In titling this piece, “Combover Religion,” I’m not commenting on the brothers’ hair styles. Rather, my statement involves covering up the “bald spots” in our faith, experience, and behavior. Unlike my head of hair, we, the church, aren’t especially transparent about our shortcomings. This isn’t about our hidden sins, if there were such things; I’m talking about our faith-challenges. You know, our little disappointments with God and the brethren, our battles with excesses, and our inflated testimony.

Do you feel as though your brethren wouldn’t esteem you as highly if you revealed your personal glitches? If we were to go by that concern’s frequency, not a one of your faith-family could take exception to your crooked halo. (I could replace that twenty-three word sentence with, “nobody’s perfect,” but it wouldn’t be as colorful.) One foundational problem with most of our churches is, we fail to practice what Jesus preached.

Don’t get me wrong; not all churches are ruled by pretenders. In fact, the body with whom I fellowship consistently supports and helps those who aren’t the picture of personified sainthood. We aren’t perfect, and don’t expect perfection in anyone else. If the folks at your church come across as perfect, you need to find another place to fellowship, where the folks accept one another without “combovers.” To view all the “one another” passages in the church’s Instruction Book, click here.