Martin Luther. He is the colorful and dynamic man whose brilliant mind, pastoral heart, and witty pen ushered in the Protestant Reformation nearly five hundred years ago. His fresh interpretations of Scripture shattered the paradigms of his day—creating momentous shifts religiously, culturally, and even politically. Any of us who attend a church other than the Catholic or Orthodox have Luther to thank.
We hear stories about Luther nailing the Ninety-Five Theses to the door of Wittenberg’s Castle Church (although whether the nailing actually occurred is still up for debate). We hear of his brave stand at the Diet of Worms, lifting up Scripture as his ultimate authority of truth and conduct. In these episodes, he plays the part of the fearless leader—strong, bold, sure.
We do not often hear stories of his life as a monk and priest, before his Reformation shift. Luther once said, looking back, “If ever a monk got to heaven by monkery, I would have gotten there.” The young monk Luther took the religious life seriously, doing all that was required and more. He was even chastised at times by his mentor for confessing too minute of sins and adhering to too strict of penance for them. He was obsessed with living a holy life. And he was terrified.
Read moreI find it incredibly easy to criticize the Israelites. I marvel, incredulous, at their obstinacy, lack of faith, and thickheadedness. How could a group of people be so dull?
You have just watched a sea split open and walked across a stretch of dry land that just a short time before was covered with water, trapping you from escape. Your enemies, who outnumbered you, and could have slaughtered your family and friends, were wiped out behind you, through no effort of your own. You’ve been fed by miraculous food that appears on the ground overnight and have had your thirst quenched by water spout from a rock, in spite of your complaining. Then, after all of this, you create a calf of gold, with your own hands, and bow down to the god you’ve created for yourself - and this is only the beginning.
After seeing God’s faithfulness and provision, how could you doubt that He would meet your needs? After watching him crush your enemies, how could you be afraid of another foe? How could you forget so easily? How could you turn away?
Read moreI sat on a worn couch in the living room, listening to Sam tell stories about the children he and his wife had fostered over the past sixteen years. They had dedicated their lives to caring for children with special needs, who were cast out by their own families, and would be a challenge for other foster families in the area. Through his stories, I couldn’t help but notice the profoundly deep love he had for the children that had passed through his home.
“We had a boy once that couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t walk, couldn’t feed himself. He was dependent on us for everything. He could not give me anything—not even a smile most of the time. But I loved that little boy. In fact, I think—although I shouldn’t have favorites, I know—I think that he was the one out of all of the children we’ve had that I loved the most.
“He helped me to understand, more than anyone else ever has, the love that the Father has for me. He could give me nothing, could do nothing for me, but I loved him just because…he was. I would hold him in my arms, pleased to just look at him and hold him.”
Read moreWe are capable of many things in all directions, of great virtues and great sins. And who in his mind has not probed the black water?
Maybe we all have in us a secret pond where evil and ugly things germinate and grow strong. But this culture is fenced, and the swimming brood climbs up only to fall back. Might it not be that in the dark pools of some men the evil grows strong enough to wriggle over the fence and swim free? Would not such a man be our monster, and are we not related to him in our hidden water?
-John Steinbeck, East of Eden
In my post-graduate, unemployed summer-freedom, I’ve been curling up with one of my favorite novels, East of Eden. I needed to remember why it was deserving of this high position in my own little literary world. You see, I’ve only read it once. But I remember when I read the last words and closed the cover the first time around, I knew that it was one of the best stories I’d read. John Steinbeck is a master at capturing humanity—its glory, its mess, its humor, and all its peculiarity.
A few days ago, when I read the quote above, I was stuck by his profound analysis of the depravity of the human soul. Unlike many voices in our culture today, who claim a basic goodness in humanity, Steinbeck saw that in the deepest reaches of all of us, there are seeds of darkness.
Read moreTrue religion overflows with happiness and joy… The thought of delight in religion is so strange to most people, that no two words in their language stand further apart than “holiness” and “delight.”But believers who know Christ understand that delight and faith are so blessedly united … They who love God with all their hearts, find that His ways are pleasant ways, and all His paths are peace. Such joys, such brimful delights, such overflowing blessings, do the saints discover in their Lord … We don’t fear God because of any compulsion; our faith is no fetter, our profession is no bondage, we are not dragged to holiness, nor driven to duty. No, our piety is our pleasure, our hope is our happiness, our duty is our delight.
–Charles Spurgeon, Morning & Evening
Holiness and delight. How far apart do these two words stand in your language?
Delight. The squeals and giggles of a child as the waves splash over her feet as she runs along the shoreline. A heaping cone of ice cream in the humid summer twilight. An unexpected care-package filled with homemade goodies which appears in your college mailbox. The sparkle in the eyes of those in love.
I finally buckled down and finished a long overdue project this week—a dress that has been in various stages of development for about two years. Crafting is the one area of my life in which I am the queen of half-finished projects. So, I was determined to be ‘one who finishes her projects.’ I worked out a solution for the geometric impossibilities created by my pattern-less improvisations. I carefully lined the edges so the whole thing didn’t unravel one fray at a time every time I threw it in the wash. I deciphered the magical thing that is a buttonhole foot on my sewing machine. And when the last button had been attached, the last threads snipped, and I squeezed it on over my head and twirled around in front of the mirror (read: awkwardly contorted to see myself while standing on the toilet in front of our tiny bathroom mirror), the sensation was…delight. It got even better when the lady walking beside me into the local market turned to say, “Cute dress!” Delight, giddy delight over my finished project and its success.
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