Category: Life

When we read Jesus’ words about forgiveness, it becomes shockingly and frighteningly clear that God’s forgiveness to us and our forgiveness to others are linked. Simply put, my unwillingness to forgive others prevents God from forgiving me. Matthew 6:15 and Matthew 18:21-35 are two prime examples.

This is very confusing to those taught that God can and will forgive us for everything. Apparently, that’s not the case.

NT Wright says the following in a commentary on Matthew 18:21-35:

“Forgiveness is more like the air in your lungs. There’s only room for you to inhale the next lungful when you’ve just breathed out the previous one. If you insist on withholding it, refusing to give someone else the kiss of life they may desperately need, you won’t be able to take any more in yourself, and you will suffocate very quickly. Whatever the spiritual, moral and emotional equivalent of the lungs may be (we sometimes say ‘the heart’, but that of course is a metaphor as well), it’s either open or closed. If it’s open, able and willing to forgive others, it will also be open to receive God’s love and forgiveness. But if it’s locked up to the one, it will be locked up to the other.”

This makes complete sense from the “ontological” perspective I discussed in my last post. If you remember, death isn’t the consequence of sin, but the very definition of sin. In other words, sin isn’t the breach of a rule and then death its punishment. Rather, sin is severing communion with God who is true Being and thus the path toward non-being.

In this light, withholding forgiveness from others is not “bad behavior” punishable by God withholding his forgiveness from us, like some cosmic tit-for-tat. Instead, forgiveness is the very air we breathe in our communion with God, the consistent and automatic inhalation and exhalation of God’s Life and Being to us and through us.

The moment we hold our “breath” we suffocate ourselves. But the moment we breathe out, we are able to fill our lungs once again with the sweet life-giving air of God’s forgiveness.

My oldest son told me a joke the other day:

Question: “What’s heavier — 200 pounds of feathers or 200 pounds of bricks?”

Answer, “The feathers. Because you also have to carry the weight of what you did to the birds.”

Without going into details, there’s a lot of heavy “stuff” happening in my life right now. Each thing by itself is common to normal life. But everything together forms a heavy weight.

So, I’ve noticed myself sighing a lot lately.

In an essay on “sighing” in the Bible, Arther Pink writes:

“The groanings of the believer are not only expressive of sorrow—but also of hope, of the intensity of his spiritual desires, of his panting after God, and his yearning for the bliss which awaits him on high (2 Corinthians 5:2, 4).”

I think that’s a good description of the internal forces inside me that express themselves as sighing. It’s an intermingling of stress and faith, of sorrow and hope, of loss and love. It’s a longing for what currently is to be shaped into how things should be.

St Paul writes a poignant portrayal of groaning in Romans 8. Creation groans. God’s people groan within creation. And God’s Spirit groans within God’s people. Like a woman in labor, everything is sighing and groaning toward the hope of God’s New Creation being birthed.

What Paul describes on a cosmic level, each of us experiences at a very personal level. All the little details of life — marriage, singleness, parenthood, friendships, careers, spiritual growth, societal justice, and so much more — are the contractions in which New Creation labors to be born in us and through us. And even though we may articulate prayers that petition God’s will, the deepest and most genuine prayer may be a sigh.

Before this season passes, I know there will much more sighing… and groaning and tears. And they will be my prayers.

As I’ve revisited various aspects of my life, change has been the constant theme. On the cusp of my fiftieth year, it seems everything is different. My kids have grown up. Some friends have left. Some have died. We’ve left our home of twenty years. We have changed churches and tried different forms of Christianity. Careers has changed. Everything has shifted… except for two things.

The first is God. He has remained consistently awesome, good, loving, holy and comforting through everything the years have brought.

The second is Debbie. I cannot state enough how rock-solid she has been throughout the years. While each year brings challenges and changes, she has remained a continual source of strength, love and joy.

Frankly, I’m still amazed that she chose me. Her positive outlook on life is astounding. I don’t understand how she hasn’t been completely crushed by my cynicism. Instead, her solid character has transformed me.

I could go on about her beauty, creativity, intelligence, wit, compassion, courage, generosity, imagination, gentleness, humor, faith and so many other qualities. But what astounds me the most is that by embodying Jesus to me for all these years, she has made me a better man and saved me from myself.

Debbie is the greatest expression of God’s love to me. I absolutely know he loves me because she chooses to be my wife. Any likeness to Christ that I exhibit is because of her — her steadfast faith to Jesus, her daily commitment to be my wife, her prayers for me, her long-suffering and endurance as my wife. I’m ashamed to say that she has seen me at my absolute worst. Not only seen me, but been hurt and wounded by me. I’m sure she carries unseen scars that will form her martyrs crown.

And despite everything I’ve put her through, she chooses to love me and say “I do” to me every day. And she can still give me a smile that I’ve never seen her give another person. That, my friends, is God’s love in the flesh.

Today is our 27th anniversary. Twenty-seven years ago, I cried in front of a couple hundred people as the church doors opened and this amazing woman walked down the aisle to join her life with mine.

Recently, I’ve been nostalgic about so much in my life. However, I’m not nostalgic about my relationship with Debbie. Old photos and memories don’t make me long to return to something that’s changed or missing. Like I said, her love has been so rock-solid, that there’s nothing missing from prior years.

We have shared 27 wonderful years together. I love who she was when we started our journey together. I love her even more today. And I know I will love her more in our golden years and all the days in between.

I actually feel sorry for anyone who has not met Debbie and experienced the expression of God’s love that she is. She is the absolute bestest thing in my life. And like God’s grace, there isn’t a single thing I did to deserve her.

Debbie, I love you! I loved you more than I could imagine 27 years ago when we said “I do” to each other. And today, I love you even more! It fills our unknown future with hope and thanksgiving because I know whatever we encounter, we will love each other even more with each passing day, month and year.

“Theology without love is the theology of the demons.” -St Simeon the New Theologian

The other day I discovered that someone felt a comment I made on Facebook was unkind. I find this ironic (I think I’m using the term correctly) in that I was trying to demonstrate that a video was wrongly accusing Pope Francis and the Roman Catholic Church of calling Lucifer “God” in one of its Paschal hymns. I simply stated some historical facts and then called the video “shoddy reporting.” Frankly just a little bit of historical research, which is what a reporter is supposed to do, would have clarified everything. But clickbait always uses dramatic headlines and aspersions on a person or group.

But the quote from St Simeon was used during Sunday’s homily and caught my attention. I know I am guilty of loveless “demonic theology.” I was once told, that whenever I’m asked a question, I respond with a dissertation. That’s my personality and seminary training at work. By amassing an overwhelming counter-argument, I win.

And that’s my problem. There shouldn’t be a “winner” in theology. Being right doesn’t make me right, if that makes sense. Theology must be infused with love, which is willing the good for the other person. Sometimes the “good” might be correction. But correction doesn’t come by “winning” an argument. It comes incarnationally, by being and practicing good theology, which is ultimately love.

One of the things I dislike is “insider talk.” These are words and phrases that people in groups use to communicate with each other. Most of the time, these words and phrases simply become rote to those inside the group and confusing to those outside of the group.

Orthodox Christianity is no different. We have phrases that cause non-Orthodox people to ask, “What does that mean?”

One phrase we use is, “God grant you many years.” We say it or sing to people on their birthday, their saint’s day, and on other special occasions. I used to think it was simply the Orthodox version of, “Live long and prosper.”

My friend and I would joke around and say, “God grant you Minnie ears.” You know…  like Minnie Mouse. Anyways.

Yesterday at church, a friend and I were talking and he mentioned something very interesting. A priest told him that the phrase “God grant you many years,” doesn’t mean “May God let you live a long and healthy life.” Rather it means, “May God give you many healthy years so you can continue to repent.”

You see repentance is the inward condition that allows God to perform his work of transformation. (BTW, HERE’S a great quote on repentance.) Repentance is essential for spiritual formation. So by praying, “God grant you many years,” we’re asking God to give people as much time as possible to experience transformation into Christ’s likeness, which is our salvation.

So the Orthodox phrase, “God grant you many years” now makes more sense to me.

And it’s probably a nicer expression to say than, “May God give you lots of time to repent because, Buddy, you need it.”

I enjoy rereading books. Even though I know how it will climax, the journey is so enjoyable that I return over and over. And sometimes knowing the ending enhances subsequent readings.

The same applies to the Gospels, Matthew’s in particular for this post. Here’s a climactic line from Matthew 8.

“What do you want with us, Son of God?”

I wonder what Jesus’ original disciple thought when they heard this. Frankly, they must have been freaking out just a little bit. Mere hours before, they thought they were going to drown in a storm. Then their Rabbi calms the tumultuous elements by simply speaking to them. WHAT!?

Now exhausted from rowing, they land the boat only to be confronted by two deranged and violent men screaming, “What do you want with us, Son of God?”  And as he did hours before to the raging forces of wind and waves, he does again to the raging forces of evil. WHAT!?

This is the big reveal to which Matthew has been building in the first part of his story. Jesus has defeated the devil on his own turf. He has called his twelve disciples, symbolically restructuring Israel’s twelve tribes around himself. He has begun teaching and healing and crowds have begun to follow him. Jesus then teaches of God’s imminent kingdom in chapters 5, 6 and 7. Matthew follows this up with individual moments that demonstrate Jesus’ authority over disease, creation and evil, like a poker player dramatically revealing each card in a winning hand. Now Matthew drops the final card and there’s a collective gasp. For the first time from a human being’s mouth, Jesus is called by by the title, “Son of God.”

I think it’s important to pause here and gather our historical bearings. In Israel, the title “Son of God” had layers of meaning. It was used for angelic beings (Gen 6.2). It was also used for the nation of Israel (Ex 4:22). It was later used for the Davidic king (Psalm 2.7). By Jesus’ day, it had developed into a messianic title. The Messiah was the “anointed one.” He was to be King David’s true heir, through whom YHWH would rescue Israel from pagan enemies, judge the world and set everything right. Also, in the surrounding Roman culture, “Son of God” was also a title for Caesar, the self-proclaimed Lord of the world.

All of this is to say, “Son of God,” in its historical context in Matthew’s story, referred to Israel’s true king and did not have any reference to deity. Throughout Israel’s history and in Jesus’ time, “Son of God” never meant “deity,” “second person of the Trinity” or “equal to God.” To oversimplify, “Son of God” is more of a political title. Israel’s king represented Israel’s God and was therefore called the “Son of God” (2Sam 7:14).

Now the title would gain its fullest meaning after Jesus’ resurrection. His followers would recognize that he was the true embodiment of YHWH. By the time of Paul’s writings, “Son of God” will have transitioned to its fullest meaning as the one who was already equal with God and was sent by him to become human and to become the Messiah.

Why bring this up? Because it’s too easy for the fullest meaning of the phrase to eclipse the nuances Matthew is using and therefore short-circuit the logic of the story. In this dramatic reveal in Matthew 8, the shadowy evil destroying these two men proclaim Jesus to be the “Son of God,” Israel’s true messianic king. Later Jesus’ disciples and then Peter will also declare him to be the “Son of God,” giving further validity to the claim. During Jesus’ trial, the chief priest asks him if he’s the “Son of God.” Knowing the end of the story, we know the answer that the chief priest cannot see. And finally at the foot of the cross, the Roman centurion, an enforcer of Caesar’s will (remember Caesar used the title “Son of God”) proclaims that the dying Jesus is the true “Son of God,” the true Caesar. But how can Jesus be the true messianic King of Israel if he’s dying at the hands of Caesar? His title “Son of God” will be validated in a few short days.

Israel believed that YHWH would resurrect his faithful people at the end of time as the first event of his New Creation. Now surprisingly, YHWH validates Jesus and all of his claims and demonstrations by resurrecting him. Jesus IS God’s Faithful One and all of his claims are true. He is Israel’s true messianic king.

Why is this seemingly roundabout journey so important? Because Matthew is telling the climax of Israel’s centuries-long story. Israel’s Scriptures declared that her true King was not only King of Israel, but Lord of the nations. Matthew has demonstrated that Jesus is the “Son of God,” Israel’s true king. By doing so, he’s therefore proven that Jesus is the true “Caesar,” the true Lord of the world. And as his followers continue to reflect on his words and life, they quickly realize that he actually embodied YHWH, saying and doing what only YHWH could say and do.

When modern Chrisitians proclaim Jesus as “Son of God” we are proclaiming him in the fullest sense of the title – the Only Begotten Son of God, second person of the Trinity, very God of very God. But the full meaning sweeps up the other meanings as well. We’re also declaring Jesus as Israel’s true King and the true Lord of the world.

This is important because the same evil force driving the two men in Matt 8 still works in our world. Personally, it drives our rage, lust, greed and fears. Socially, it drives companies, political parties and their candidates, governments, and even churches. Globally, it drives forces like economies, technologies, globalization, and trade. And like 2000 years ago, the evil asks, “What do you want with us, Son of God?”

Only by being the fulfillment of Israel’s story can Jesus be God’s answer to evil. God didn’t jump straightway from Genesis 3 to Matthew. Rather, he works with and through Abraham, Moses and all the characters, plot twists and promises in Israel’s long story — a story that climaxes with Israel’s King ascending his throne, a cross, in order to defeat evil and being raised from the dead in order to launch God’s New Creation. Now we are swept up into that story as well. We are both beneficiaries and agents of Israel’s true King and the world’s true Lord, who is also God in the flesh. How we live and continue his work must be shaped by this story and all its nuances so we we may live and work in the same manner he did.

A telephone rings and a man answers, “Hello.” The voice on the other end asks, “Hi, is your refrigerator running?” “Uh… yes it is.” “Well, you should go catch it.”

Jokes like this highlight a word’s multiple meanings. The humor occurs when one meaning is used improperly in a different context.

Context is key. It determines a word’s meaning. An overused example in the English language is the word “love.” It’s use in popular language falls within a large spectrum of meaning depending on context. And when you throw in something like sarcasm, a word’s meaning can completely change. “I love spending time with my mother-in-law,” could mean different things depending on who is speaking, her personal story and her tone of voice.

Some words can also have stories “baked” into them depending on how they’re used over time. In our current social and political climate in the US, words and phrases like “police” and “build a wall” are becoming infused with different meanings in different contexts.

The same is true in the Bible. A writer will use the same word to mean different things. Or he may use the same word in different contexts as a way to build toward the story’s climax. So by the time you’ve reached the climax, the previous uses of the word become infused with the greater, overarching story. A great example occurs in Matthew 9:9:

“As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax-office. ‘Follow me!’ he said to him. And he rose up and followed him.”

If Matthew wrote this Gospel, then this is a fascinating story highlighting his own calling. Matthew recalls his response to Jesus’ call as “he rose up and followed him.” The Greek word for “rose up” is a fairly generic word that can simply mean “stand up.”

But Matthew will use the word a moment later in another story. In Matthew 9:25, Matthew recounts Jesus resuscitating a young girl from death:

“So when everybody had been put out, he went in and took hold of her hand, and she got up.”

There’s that word again, “got up.” But it definitely means something more than simply “standing up.” The little girl has been “raised up”  — she’s been miraculously resuscitated from the dead.

The word ultimately is used in describing Jesus’ own resurrection. More than a resuscitation, Jesus is the first of God’s faithful people to be bodily resurrected, thus launching God’s New Creation smack-dab in the midst of this startled creation. As such, the generic word becomes infused with overwhelming meaning and compels the reader to revisit Matthew’s previous uses of the word.

In the story of the young girl, it’s fairly clear that Matthew uses the word to powerfully link the girl’s extraordinary resuscitation to Jesus’ resurrection. The implications to Jesus’ proclamation and demonstration of God’s imminent kingdom are tremendous.

Now look at Matthew’s autobiographical description of his calling. Here’s a tax-collector, loathed by all and perhaps also himself. He’s colluding with Israel’s overlords in order to get rich off of the backs of his oppressed countrymen. Not only is he hated because of his job, but his very life is a constant reminder that Israel’s exodus has not truly ended. Yet, this repulsive life was his life every waking moment of every single day for years. Perhaps decades.

Then this young man appears, proclaiming the true end of Israel’s exile and the beginning of God’s Kingdom. And this young man asks Matthew to follow him. It’s a miracle. He’s been resuscitated from his dead life of collaborating with the enemy. In fact it’s even more than a resuscitation. He “rose up,” carries the undeniable tones that he was “resurrected” from a life of exile and death and now follows Jesus.

As we read Matthew’s short autobiographical recounting of his own calling, we can almost picture an old man filled with untold gratitude penning these short lines. He’s grateful for the resurrection miracle he experienced years ago, grateful to be part of the larger story of Jesus’ resurrection power as he followed with Jesus throughout Israel, grateful to be a surprised and confused eyewitness to Jesus’ own Creation-impacting resurrection about which he will soon write, grateful to be part of a “resurrection” community with others who have experienced the same life-altering power, and grateful to know the ultimate resurrection still awaits him, his community and all of creation.

“And he rose up and followed him.”

I’ve been reading through NT Wright’s book, After You Believe. It’s challenging me to think more intentionally about “following Jesus.”

Luke 9:31 states Jesus was speaking to Moses and Elijah on the Mount of Transfiguration about his “departure.” The Greek word is “exodus.” The fact that Luke chooses this word in conjunction to Jesus’ conversation with Moses is striking. Jesus’ death will enact an event like the Old Testament Exodus. But where Moses’ Exodus led the Israelites out of slavery to Egypt and into the Promised Land of Israel, Jesus’ Exodus will lead humanity out of slavery to sin and death and into the Promised Land of New Creation.

But how does this imagery impact our “discipleship” or “following Jesus”? In Moses’ Exodus, the people followed Moses through the sea on dry ground. Our imaginations have been shaped by the Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments or more recently by Dreamworks The Prince of Egypt. Moses raises his staff, the waters split into towering walls and the people cross safely across the sea.

But Jesus’ Exodus is different. Imagine Jesus standing on the shore of the sea. But rather than splitting the waters, he wades into their midst, ever deeper until finally he is engulfed…. and drowns. We stand on the shore in horror as we watch his lifeless body bob to the surface and float facedown upon the currents. For three days the tides slowly carries his body to the far shore, where it’s washed up onto the sand. As we squint and peer at that lifeless speck on the other side, amazingly it stirs and stands and beckons us to follow.

With this image Jesus’ familiar words “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me,” are infused with the dread and foreboding they were intended. For most of us, the thought of drowning is terrifying. In Jesus’ day, crucifixion was equally if not more terrifying.

For me, I’ve allowed the idea of “following Jesus” to become a bit sterile, focusing more on “copying Jesus” or “imitating Jesus.” And while that’s an important element, at its core, following Jesus requires nothing less than death and resurrection. That is the only way out of slavery to sin and death and into the Promised Land of New Creation.

St Paul writes, “Thus, if anyone is in the Messiah, there is a new creation! Old things have gone, and look — everything has become new.” (2Corinthians 5:17) A human life that embodies God’s New Creation is only possible by being transformed by death and resurrection — the old is gone and everything has become new.

In another passage he writes, “But the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, great-heartedness, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. There is no law that opposes things like that! And those who belong to the Messiah, Jesus, crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the spirit, let’s line up with the spirit.” (Galatians 5:22-25) Again, this is the life transformed by death and resurrection. Paul is not telling people to work harder at being loving and joyful, etc. He’s detailing the genuinely human New Creation life, a life transformed and empowered by God’s Spirit and available to those who follow Jesus into his death and resurrection.

Three men were relaxing at a smoothie shop after one of their regular visits to the gym. The first man declared, “Do you know why I joined this gym? Since I’ve been going the past couple of years, I’ve lost 40 pounds of fat and I’m so much stronger. I’ve never looked or felt so good in my life. They have the newest equipment and play the music I like. This gym is the best.”

The second man nodded in agreement, “Do you know why I joined this gym? Because in the past couple of years since attending, I’ve been working out with a personal trainer. I know all about most of the muscle groups and which exercises and equipment strengthens them. I’m learning so much about various foods and how to maximize workout and diet to maintain peak fitness. This is the strongest I’ve felt in my entire life. This gym is the best.”

The third man looked at the other two men and stated, “Do you know why I joined this gym? Several years ago I was in the hospital, not sure if I would see tomorrow. I realized then that my wife, kids, friends, and others in my life needed me. I joined this gym so I could be healthy in order to be with them and serve them as long as I can.”

I encountered a jarring story this morning in Henri Nouwen’s The Wounded Healer. It’s a great reminder that even with the best intentions we can completely fail to see people.

“One day a young fugitive, trying to hide himself from the enemy, entered a small village. The people were kind to him and offered him a place to stay. But when the soldiers who sought the fugitive asked where he was hiding, everyone became very fearful. The soldiers threatened to burn the village and kill every man in it unless the young man were handed over to them before dawn. The people went to the minister and asked him what to do. The minister, torn between handing over the boy to the enemy or having his people killed, withdrew to his room and read his Bible, hoping to find an answer before dawn. After many hours, in the early morning his eyes fell on these words: ‘It is better that one man dies than that the whole people be lost.’

“Then the minister closed the Bible, called the soldiers and told them where the boy was hidden. And after the soldiers led the fugitive away to be killed, there was a feast in the village because the minister had saved the lives of the people. But the minister did not celebrate. Overcome with a deep sadness, he remained in his room. That night an angel came to him, and asked, ‘What have you done?’ He said: ‘I handed over the fugitive to the enemy.’ Then the angel said: ‘But don’t you know that you have handed over the Messiah?’ ‘How could I know?’ the minister replied anxiously. Then the angel said, ‘If, instead of reading your Bible, you had visited this young man just once and looked into his eyes, you would have known.’”

“Snow can never emit flame.
Water can never issue fire.
A thorn bush can never produce a fig.
Just so, your heart can never be free
from oppressive thoughts, words, and actions
until it has purified itself internally.
Be eager to walk this path.
Watch your heart always.
Constantly say the prayer
‘Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.’
Be humble.
Set your soul in quietness.”

–St Hesychios

As Jesus’ apprentices, we are called to embody his life into our world. However, in order to embody Christ, we must walk the long journey of transformation into Christ’s likeness — to become by grace what God is by nature. This doesn’t occur automatically, but in communion and cooperation with God’s presence in our life.

St Hesychios provides us with some spiritual tools for the journey:

1. We must eagerly desire to become like Christ. This is our vocation and not our hobby. God uses every aspect of our lives in the process of transformation. We must receive this process with thanksgiving regardless of how painful the delivery system is at the time.

2. We must be genuinely self-aware. We must be honest about the monsters that lurk in the shadow of our heart and how they find expression in our lives. Self-delusion short-circuits the process.

3. Our lives must be marinated with prayer. Our lives must be steeped in prayer so that prayer becomes the natural default posture of our heart. One great tool provided by St Hesychios is the Jesus Prayer.

4. Practice humility. Learn to seek the good for others before yourself. This might express itself in being quiet so others can talk. Or it might be quietly serving someone without drawing attention to yourself. Or it might be learning to be thankful.

5. Learn to practice silence. Incorporate moments of silence as a regular part of your daily life.

It’s crucial to remember a couple of things about spiritual tools. First, St Hesychios doesn’t provide an exhaustive list of spiritual tools. The Church offers many indispensable tools on our journey to Christ’s likeness.

Second, practicing these disciplines does not automatically equate into Christ’s likeness. There is not a one-to-one correlation between practice and transformation. It’s similar to going to the gym. Using the equipment doesn’t automatically result in physical health. Surely, it can contribute toward a healthy lifestyle. But there are other essential factors as well.

When properly practiced, the specific tools provided by St Hesychios, as well as all of the resources provided by the Church, create an environment of communion and cooperation with God in our lives. It is this relationship that forms the structure for transformation into Christ’s likeness.

I’m going to step from out of the shadows for a moment to type some thoughts. Today, Michael, my firstborn, turns 23.

Parenting classes and instruction never prepared me for this phase of parenting, when I look backwards into time at my adult children’s lives. As a young parent, my kids’ lives and my role in their young lives stretched out before me. Now their childhoods are just photos and memories. Sometimes those memories come rushing back like a flood, accompanied with a lot of emotions — joy, humor, regret, shame. From where I stand now, there is no reset button. There is no do-over. I can’t grab my babies and pull them into my lap. I can’t touch their tiny faces or hold their small hands or listen to their little voices.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I love my adult children. We are all friends and very close. But those precious childhood years are gone, never to return or to be relived. Now my kids are only a few years from moving out and starting their own families. Even our present experience of nightly family dinners, frequent car trips, family walks and other precious moments together will be quickly winding down.

As I was thinking about this on my drive to work this morning, another realization hit me. I will be 50 next year. If my family is blessed with long life, I have another 30 years or so. That means I’m quickly approaching the halfway point of my life with my wife and kids. Half of it is almost over. It blazed by so quickly. I can’t help feeling like I missed so much of it.

For what it’s worth, here’s my advise to all young parents. Don’t let anything steal you away from your children. Don’t let financial struggles, career choices, relational strife, hobbies, church, or anything good or bad rob you from the irretrievable years of your kids’ childhood. I know that with young children, the first 18 or so years of their lives can seem forever. But they are not. That time will be gone before you know it.

When you’re with your kids, be with your kids. Put everything away and just be with them. When you’re watching a movie with them, look at their faces and enjoy the wonder, laughter or surprise. When you’re on a walk with them, hold their hands, look at what captures their attention, and don’t rush. When you’re eating together, forget the mess and the volume and simply share the moment.

These last several years of family togetherness are so precious to me. I cherish them more than anything. I’m convinced that the best legacy of my life will be my kids. I’m blessed that my kids still make time to have family dinner together almost every night. Most of the times, I can’t stop laughing at their antics and jokes. I’m also blessed that my kids still like to watch TV and movies together. We laugh and cry as we watch the show together and repeat quotes after the credits have rolled by.

There’s no one else I would rather be than with my wife and kids.

I’m definitely not a DIY kind of person. But I do have a handful of favorite tools that I use frequently. There are two commonalities about these tools. First, they are well-designed to meet the most common repair challenges I encounter. And second, because of their constant use, they are well-worn.

God’s cosmic project, initiated in and by Jesus and now continually implemented by Jesus’ apprentices, is the New Creation. Heaven and earth are being stitched together as God answers through our lives our communal prayer, “Your kingdom come; your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

I think you see where this is going. We are God’s tools in his ongoing project. First, we are being formed to meet the common repair challenge of building toward the New Creation. St Paul writes in 2Cor 5:17, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the New Creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” In Christ, we are God’s New Creation in bodily human form. As such, we train cooperatively with God so he continues to form us further into Christ’s likeness.

Second, as we become properly shaped into Christ’s likeness we discover, usually to our amazement, that God uses us to build toward his New Creation. But this is not a simple and pristine endeavor. Sacrifice and struggle are common in building toward God’s New Creation. And they leave their marks on us. So over time, we will become well-worn.

It’s good to remember that all of God’s saints have carried the scars of service.

So much of our society focuses on superstars and celebrities. Whether sports stars, movie stars or pop stars, we follow their lives through glossy magazines and tacky TV shows. Many people dream of meeting them or having their lives.

Sadly, this perception permeates the modern Church as well. Many Christians have their favorite pastors, Bible teachers and music leaders. And because the modern pulpit has been replaced with a stage, everyone who ascends the platform is inevitably compared to other Christian superstars.

It’s obvious from headlines that the average human being does not possess the character to sustain the weight of stardom. Yet, whether it’s in our culture at large or the smaller Christian culture, we continue to place intense weight upon deficient shoulders by our fandom.

Our culture’s perspective isn’t unique. It infested Jewish culture at the time of Jesus. His students inquired, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” Matt 18:1. You can almost sense them jostling each other for the prime position, hoping Jesus would highlight a quality or trait they possessed that would mark them above the others.

As usual, Jesus performs a complete reversal, turning their expectations and understanding inside-out. He beckoned a little child to join him. In that society, a child was worth virtually nothing.

The more I read the Gospels, the more convinced I become that God cherishes the ordinary. In a great blog post, Fr Stephen Freeman makes an interesting observation. The second creation story ties humanity’s first sin to the rather mundane and ordinary act of eating. Think about that for a moment. Humanity’s and subsequently creation’s damage was caused by such a small ordinary action.

Throughout the New Testament and into the Church’s life, the acts through which we cooperate with God’s grace toward our ongoing salvation and the subsequent renewal of creation are equally ordinary. Fr Stephen names these classical exercises in his blog post — fasting, prayer, generosity, and watchfulness.

There are other equally ordinary tasks. In fact, Jesus summarizes the entire Law into two ordinary commands — love God and love your neighbor. As the ordinary act of eating impacted humanity and creation, our ordinary acts likewise can impact our lives and world. Here’s a list of ordinary moments in which we might cooperate with God’s abundant grace:

• Thank God immediately upon waking each morning.
• Move over slightly for the motorcyclist beside you on the freeway.
• Chat with a co-worker or neighbor about their life so you can secretly pray for them.
• Remain at peace in the midst of a crisis or deadline at work.
• Be polite to everybody.
• Stop and notice what’s happening around you.
• Don’t overindulge with food, TV or online activities.
• Listen to your spouse and children talk about their day’s activities.
• Exercise a little each day.
• Attend church services.
• Give to someone asking for a handout.
• Read the Bible regularly.
• Spend some time being quiet every day.
• Get plenty of sleep every night.
• Apologize when you’ve done something wrong.
• Forgive when you’ve been wronged.

St Paul encourages Timothy to “Train yourself to be godly” (1Tim 4:7). Training to be godly occurs through ordinary actions by ordinary people in ordinary circumstances.

The life of God’s son or daughter is a humble life of being God’s servant. It’s a life of following Christ’s example, learning from him how to be like him. Our life of apprenticeship to Jesus should be permeated by what Archimandrite Zacharias calls the greatest commandment of the New Testament:

“So you also, when you have done everything you were told to do, should say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty.’” Luke 17:10

The humility exemplified by this commandment can only come through repentance. Elder Paisios of Mount Athos instructs:

“Ask for repentance in your prayer and nothing else, neither for divine lights, nor miracles, nor prophecies, nor spiritual gifts—nothing but repentance. Repentance brings humility, and humility will bring grace of God, because it is a law: grace of God always comes to the humble.”

We see this “law” at work in Jesus’ story of the Prodigal Son. Both sons have the same selfish heart. But it is the youngest son who experiences the mercy and grace of his father. Humility released grace. And it was repentance that humbled the son.

The eldest son stands in contrast to his younger brother. His distorted heart was hidden behind a life of “being the good son.” He worked hard and obeyed his father. But his father’s grace toward his younger brother exposed the deep shadows of his heart — anger, resentment, entitlement, and pride. Despite living in the father’s home and doing the father’s work, without repentance the older son lacked humility and completely missed participating in the free grace of his father.

Unfortunately, the idea of repentance has itself become distorted in our culture. It has accumulated a narrow definition, something like “remorse toward ones bad behavior.” But this is not what Jesus was communicating.

During Jesus’ time, repentance had layers of meanings. It meant something like, “Think about everything that you value and trust both personally and as a community. Think about the core of what shapes you and the repercussions. And come to terms that none of it is working.” This larger context encompasses things like individual behavior, but so much more.

It’s my opinion that aligning our perspective of repentance to Jesus’ exhortation (i.e. repent of our culture’s version of repentance) is essential if we want to truly understand his teaching and ministry.

Jesus was not calling “bad” people to repent of their bad behavior. He was calling all people — “good” and “bad” — to repent, to rethink everything that they value and believe and that shapes and directs them as a person and as a people. And frankly, the core of what they needed to repent were things that they would have considered “good,” such as how to be God’s people. Through parables and actions, Jesus was calling people to take a hard look at the symbols, stories, and values that shaped their understanding of being God’s people, God’s children.

Jesus was embodying and demonstrating what God had originally intended for all of Israel to be — how to be a nation of priest so as to bless the other nations. And he did it by embodying and demonstrating how to be truly human. By being truly human as God intended, one can truly be a blessing to the nations and to creation.

Returning to the Prodigal Son, the youngest son’s repentance was not primarily remorse over his attitude toward his dad, the waste of his inheritance, nor his despicable behavior, although all of this and more would have been included. Rather, it was a complete rethinking of his core, of what it meant to be a son. And the conclusion at which he arrived was to be a servant in his father’s home. This humble insight is what transformed everything else and compelled him to return home.

And as he did, he found his gracious father not just waiting for him, but running towards him, eager to restore him back to the very position of which his internal disposition had been transformed.

“What is the greatest commandment of the New Testament?” This is the question with which Archimandrite Zacharias ended his recent lecture at St Vladimir’s Theological Seminary. I’ve learned that when spiritual fathers ask what seems like an easy question, the answer is rarely the popular or presumed one.

So after the audience shouted out the standard answers such as, “To Love God,” “To love one another,” and “To be holy as your heavenly Father is holy,” Father Zacharias told the audience to open their Bibles and read Luke 17:10.

Luke 17:10 is the punchline to Jesus’ parable on faithfulness as an expression of true faith. The parable is his response to the disciples’ request to “Give us greater faith!”

He replied, “If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it will obey you. Suppose one of you has a servant plowing or looking after the sheep. Will he say to the servant when he comes in from the field, ‘Come along now and sit down to eat’? Won’t he rather say, ‘Prepare my supper, get yourself ready and wait on me while I eat and drink; after that you may eat and drink’? Will he thank the servant because he did what he was told to do? Luke 17:6-9

So are you ready for the greatest commandment of the New Testament?

“So you also, when you have done everything you were told to do, should say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty.’” Luke 17:10

In other words, all of the other New Testament commandments are expected of Christ’s apprentices. But the greatest commandment, the one that is probably the most essential, is a constant attitude of humility as we endeavor to embody all of the commands.

This ties directly to the eldest son in the Story of the Prodigal Son. Remember his complaint to his father?

“Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!” Luke 15:29-30

On the surface, the eldest son has been working diligently and faithfully for his father. On the outside, he’s the perfect picture of “the good son.” But beneath the external loyalty is a dangerous undercurrent of pride and entitlement. And it corrupts him and causes him to miss perhaps the most important event in his family’s life — his brother has returned from the dead!

Yes, we have been adopted into God’s family and have been embraced as his sons and daughters. But we must not be deceived by a false sense of entitlement, like the stereotypical spoiled brats of royalty. As God’s children, we are called to become truly and fully human as embodied by Jesus. God’s commandments are not arbitrary rules and restrictions, but road signs that lead us to a truly human life. Being God’s children means following Jesus out of our subhuman existence and into the truly human life God intended and that Jesus embodied. It’s not an optional life, but one that is expected of all of God’s children.

To return to Jesus’ parable in Luke 17, the disciples requested a greater quantity of faith. Jesus redirected them to a greater quality of faith. And that quality is humble faithfulness, letting Jesus lead and train us into an obedient and truly human life. This is the mustard seed that can move mountains.

And like servants and apprentices of old, our constant attitude must be, “We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty.” This is what it means to be God’s sons and daughters.

“A truly humble person never behaves like a teacher; he will listen, and, whenever his opinion is requested, he responds humbly. In other words, he replies like a student. He who believes that he is capable of correcting others is filled with egotism.” Elder Paisios the Athonite (via Eclectic Orthodoxy)

The above quote really struck me when I read it this morning. When I was a pastor in my previous life, I felt it was my responsibility to always be teaching people. In fact, that was the primary reason I was a pastor. I thought I had a “gift of teaching.” I believed God has prepared me through my experience and education to share my wisdom with people. I dreamt of speaking at conferences and writing books that would illuminate others to grow deeply in their faith. And the Christian culture in which I was immersed encouraged this.

And one of my favorite modes was to shock and clarify. In order to make a point, I would sometimes make an overstatement for impact and then explain what I actually meant.

While I think my intentions were good, what I lacked was true spiritual discernment and the humility to wield it properly. What I failed to realize is that knowledge is power and power corrupts. And that corruption occurs slowly and most times without notice. In hindsight, I can see where pride crept in and easily found a haven in my heart.

Now I’m not saying teachers or pastors are bad. Nor am I saying that their knowledge shouldn’t be shared. I am saying that the mark of a “good” teacher isn’t his or her knowledge or presentation skills. It’s humility. It’s knowing what is appropriate for what context. It’s discerning what is actually needed. And many times, knowledge isn’t the primary need. And at least in my life, if my first impulse is “I need to teach this” rather than “I need to listen and learn,” then it’s an indicator that humility may not be at work in that moment.

Over the holidays, our family saw Saving Mr. Banks. Some have criticized it as “a Disney movie about a Disney movie.” However, we thoroughly enjoyed “the story behind the story” of one of our favorite movies, Mary Poppins.

While there are some rather emotional scenes in Saving Mr. Banks, the one moment that put my heart in my throat was during a dialogue between Walt Disney and P. L. Travers. Disney states, “That’s what we storytellers do. We instill hope again, and again, and again.”

I’ve written about this aspect of the Christian faith in the past. We human beings live in the midst of an amazing Story filled with unpredictable twists in plot that evoke passion, misery, and joy. This Story is epic in every sense of the word, enveloping the entire cosmos. And it also contains as many subplots as there are individual lives throughout history.

At its core, the Story in which we all live instills hope again, and again, and again. Saving Mr. Banks rekindled this in my imagination. And then immediately reading N.T. Wright’s, The Case for the Psalms, further fanned it into flames. In his book, Wright explains how Israel’s ancient poems tell an ongoing story of humans living at the convergence of our time, space and matter and God’s time, space and matter. It’s upon this knife’s edge that our stories make sense within the larger cosmic Story.

So, we not only live within this astonishing Story, but like Israel’s poets, we must learn to become its storytellers too so our words, deeds and lives can instill hope again, and again, and again.