One of the many disappointing realities about the American political landscape is the lack of ownership. It’s not just politicians who shirk ownership – we all do. When my microphone sounds wonky, my mind immediately goes to the sound tech wondering if he will remedy his mistake, not to the more likely responsible party: myself. I probably moved the microphone or pulled the cord.
Of course we know that avoiding ownership usually backfires. Our esteem falls for those who dodge responsibility. But even still, the temptation to blame shift is strong in all of us.
“I am what I feel” sums up expressive individualism. Our culture frames identity around discovering what our deepest desires and longings are. To know our longings is to know ourselves.
In Billie Eilish’s 2023 song “What was I made for?” written for “Barbie,” Eilish reflects on the confusing journey to understand her feelings. It’s this journey, she assures herself that will lead to her happiness.
“The end is near!” “Repent!”
Have you ever seen a statement of prophetic warning spray-painted on a wall or in a subway station? got to be honest, I don’t take much notice to such warnings. But what if those warnings were for me and for you?
We are feeling all the feels. Our youngest, Soren, is about to graduate from high school. This has been a season of reflection for Angel and me and a season of preparation. In our children’s ministry hallways at New Life next to each age level we have containers that represent how many days of influence remain for you as a parent before your child launches. I recognize, of course, that there is no finish line for parenting, but one’s influence and role changes significantly in each season.
As we look back on our parenting, the most important things we taught our children were who God is and who they were.
Intrusive thoughts are unwelcome and hard to control. I can remember having intrusive thoughts from the time I was a child. When we drove, I often felt the compulsion to press one foot down on the floor between the telephone poles (and yes, I also hopped over the cracks in the sidewalk). At other times, when walking alone, I remember the persistent thought, “He’s watching you.” I would search the bushes and trees for the one my mind told me was watching me.
Why do I have to keep forgiving him?
I’ve heard it many times as a pastor. It’s said with weariness and hurt, or bitterness and anger, or confusion and longing. It can mean at least four things.
“It hurts too much to keep forgiving him for repeated sins.”
“Can’t I just overlook her sin against me?”
“He hurt me so deeply that he doesn’t deserve forgiveness.”
“Why am I still hurting over an offense when I said I forgave her?”
What does God’s Word have to say about each of these situations?
Which Sins are Feeding Your Sin of Lust? David Powlison talks about how important it is to press into the sin behind the sin of lust. He shares a breakthrough with one client, “Look what we just found out: another movie was playing in a theater next door. Suddenly we were not only dealing with a couple of bad behaviors: viewing pornography and masturbating. We were dealing with anger at God that was driving those behaviors. What was that about?”
How to Give (and Receive) Repentance: Blake Glosson begins with this fun question, “Imagine you’re on Family Feud and Steve Harvey gives the following prompt: “We asked 100 sinners, ‘Name one reason why you do not repent of your sin to one another.’ The top seven answers are on the board.” What do you think the most common answers would be?”
Don’t Always Be Efficient: If you’re like me, you might need this word from Seth Lewis. He asks, “Who wants an efficient friendship? Or marriage? Who would want to visit an efficient park, or art museum? Who prefers drive-through fast food to a slow evening meal where the conversation lasts longer than the courses? It’s great to be efficient, but it’s not always great.”
Even the Darkness: Meredith Beatty shares, “As a child I was afraid of the dark, afraid that something sinister lurked under my bed just waiting to grab the stray toe hanging off the edge. But as an adult there’s a different kind of darkness, not literal, but just as scary. It’s one no one seeks and can descend upon us at any time. An uninvited blackout that clouds our hearts and brings despair.”
Naturalism is Nonsense: The late RC Sproul doesn’t mince words in this short clip.
6 Ways Christians Can Respond to Our Strange New World: Carl Trueman begins, “The world has shifted under our feet. New notions about selfhood challenge Christians’ views, and we’ve found ourselves in a hostile place where it’s dangerous to challenge the new status quo. To object to same-sex marriage, for example, is in the moral register of the day not substantially different from being a racist.”
Four Questions to Help You Examine Unwanted Thoughts: Esther Smith asks, “Do you experience thoughts you don’t want? Do you ruminate on beliefs about yourself, the world, or God that feel true even though you know they are not? Do you feel tormented by depressed, anxious, or intrusive thinking? Are you uncertain about what to do with some of the thoughts that enter your mind?”
The Difference Between Repentance and Self-Hate: Lara D’Entremont starts, “If self-hate could change a person, I would have reached perfection by now—at least, that’s what my therapist told me.
When It Seems the Lord is Sleeping: James Williams concludes, “When the wind is howling and the waves are overbearing, remember our Lord promised he would always be with us, even if it seems he’s asleep on the boat. He doesn’t always work according to our timing, but he is always at work. Our trust is not in ourselves or the circumstances we see around us, but rather in the one whom even the wind and sea obey.”
Comedy Pet Photography Awards: Sure to make you smile.
As a boy I was fascinated with pain. I often wondered how the pain I felt compared to pain others felt. I mostly kept this to myself, but there was at least one occasion I got into an argument with friends about who had experienced the most pain.
We all shared our stories: fractured limbs, concussions, road rash, and a hernia (that was my best card). As each story concluded the storyteller would lean back, content with his story, expecting white flags to be raised in defeat. But, in fact, each of us was disappointed with the reception of our tales of woe as the next storyteller would jump in, one-upping the last teller’s story of pain with his own.
I look back with embarrassment at the immaturity and narcissism this pain one-upmanship revealed in me. And yet, is this not the culture we live in today: a culture of victimhood?
The Royal Flush of Victimhood
There is nothing more powerful in today’s culture than playing the card of victimhood. And there appear to be more playing that card than ever before.
As a boy I was fascinated with pain. I often wondered how the pain I felt compared to pain others felt. I mostly kept this to myself, but there was at least one occasion I got into an argument with friends about who had experienced the most pain.
We all shared our stories: fractured limbs, concussions, road rash, and a hernia (that was my trump card). As each story concluded the storyteller would lean back, content with his story, expecting white flags to be raised in defeat. But, in fact, each of us was disappointed with the reception of our tales of woe. Our friends seemed unmoved by our ghastly pain and then would jump in with their own story, believing they could one-up the pain the last storyteller experienced.
I look back with embarrassment at the immaturity this pain one-upmanship revealed in me. My lack of empathy revealed a narcissistic heart. Thinking that my own pain was greater than anyone else’s only demonstrated my ego. Today’s culture of victim reveals similar truths about our collective hearts.
The Wild Draw Four Card of Victimhood
There is nothing more powerful in today’s culture than playing the card of victimhood. Like a kid holding onto the Wild Draw Four card in Uno, we hold tight to our victim card, pulling it out at just the right moment, expecting it to guarantee our victory.
The week following Angel’s (her words will be italicized) confession of adultery I was in a state of shock. I was still trying to navigate the situation with my identity as a pastor intact. Even when we came to our Senior Pastor, I said that I could still preach Sunday (just a few days away) as I was scheduled. Fortunately, wisdom prevailed.
I was asked to take a leave of absence, which was difficult for me to accept. The next six months would be the most difficult months of my life. Angel’s confession of her affair would be peeled back. Her confession of one affair became confession of a series of affairs and I would have to come face to face with the ugliness of my own heart. From the time I was ten, my understanding of my identity was inextricable from my calling as a pastor. I was about to not be a pastor any longer.
Days after we met with our Senior Pastor, we met with the Ministry Director at the ministry where Angel was working. They graciously allowed her to shift her job and stay on as their book store manager.
Our church’s leadership was not only generous enough to support us with counseling, but they also brought in a conciliation ministry called Live at Peace. The partnership would initially be difficult for me, in particular, as our conciliators recommended that my leave of absence become semi-permanent, with a two-year reconciliation period. “How is that fair?” I questioned. “Why am I being punished for what my wife did against me?”
Counseling was really rocky as well. I thought we would be working to repair our relationship and work through the damage, but what our counselors quickly became aware of is that Angel had compartmentalized a significant amount of the previous two and a half years. Every session peeled back more hurtful layers.
The only thing that was left of our picture perfect marriage was glass shards. The seemingly petty heart issues that we entered marriage with had destroyed us. A week before Angel (her words will be italicized) confessed her infidelity, she contracted the flu, bronchitis and then walking pneumonia. Picking up on the language of James, the Danish theologian, Soren Kierkegaard calls sin “the sickness unto death.” God’s hand was heavy on Angel. She had beat her fists against his chest, but he would not stop pursuing her. That January he laid her out. Her spiritual sickness was manifested physically. God would not relent.
Unable to get out of bed, I just so happened to pick up John Piper’s ‘This Momentary Marriage’ to look for answers. It was yet another means of sweet conviction God used to pursue my heart. Against my better judgment, I was serving as a ministry fellow for a campus ministry at Princeton University. They were on their winter retreat in upstate New York. We received a call from my Director who was concerned by my sickness. He asked if we would be able to come up, even just to have them pray over us. There was no reason for him to ask us to do that. There was no reason for us to say yes. We said yes.
We got our kids in the car and drove, Angel nearly comatose next to me. We pulled in and walked straight into the back of the main room where the evening session had just begun. After a few minutes Angel was shaking and sweating next to me. Then tears began to flow.
I knew I had to break the power the lies held over me. I felt compelled by God to live in truth. I had been trapped by the fear of losing John and our kids. But my fear of God ultimately trumped my fear of losing my family. With all of my being, I realized that my only hope was in trusting God with everything while being willing to lose it all. I was broken.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“No” I mouthed. “I’ve been having an affair.”
My body went numb.
As a boy I was fascinated with pain. I often wondered how the pain I felt compared to pain others felt. I mostly kept this to myself, but I remember at least on one occasion getting into an argument with friends about who had experienced the most pain.
We all shared our stories: fractured limbs, concussions, road rash, and a hernia (that was my trump card). As each story concluded the storyteller would lean back, content with his sharing of the story expecting arms to be raised in defeat. But, in fact, each of us was disappointed with the reception of our tales of woe as the next storyteller would jump in, one-upping the last teller’s story of pain with his own.
I look back with embarrassment at the immaturity and narcissism this pain one-upmanship revealed in me. And yet, is the behavior of so many today any better?
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