Daniel Hochhalter

When Another Receives the Blessing, I Need the Grace

Published by Daniel on November 20, 2022

On a recent frigid afternoon, I had completed my weekly grocery run and headed for the parking lot exit. It was a cold, snowy Saturday in November, and I felt chilly on the outside and pretty frosty on the inside too.

I was irritable because I was downright exhausted.

The preceding week had been one of those “perfect storms.” It was just a long week. Every night was a late night. There was no time to turn off my introverted brain before it was time to wake up from a restless night to start the whole thing over again.

By my Saturday morning grocery run, I was what doctors might call “brain dead.” It was solely by the grace of God that the mass between my ears could generate enough willpower to put one foot in front of the other.

And I had yet another commitment later that evening.

My filters were down, and it wouldn’t take much to set me off.

As I navigated my car toward the exit, I fell in behind a white SUV. When it came to the intersection, its windows came down so the passenger could hand some cash to a homeless person standing there with a sign. The sign promised divine blessing.

The homeless person trudged through the snow to collect the money from the vehicle, which sported a fish symbol and a sticker of two nails, intersecting to form a cross.

I was impatient to get home, but as a fellow Christ-follower, I felt I could cut the SUV’s occupants some slack because they were giving to “the least of these.”

We started moving again, but eventually came to a stop at a traffic light. Once again the SUV’s window went down and the passenger held out money for another individual holding another sign, again promising divine blessing.

And the light was green!

A green light is the perfect way to avoid both guilt and eye contact by looking left — you know, “to check for traffic.” Easy-peasy.

Whatever was left of my filters crumbled. The absolute audacity of these people to hold me up for a homeless person. Didn’t those do-gooders in the SUV realize that I had someplace to be?! Even though it was just to be home resting my exhausted brain?!

After making the right turn—carefully “checking for traffic” on my left—I fell in behind the SUV with a hearty scowl and a heart of venom, only then to spot the wide smile on the SUV passenger’s face.

The wind came out of my self-righteous sail.

She gave to “the least of these” in the name of Jesus—twice! She saw a need and responded the way Jesus would have. As a result, she experienced great blessing.

I, on the other hand, did not.

I was turned inward, withdrawn, and focused only on my own stresses. I thought only of my own needs and comforts.

I had a chance to do something for two individuals in need, and I did not. Instead, I complained inside about those who did. I felt horrible. I heard the condemnation of a thousand voices, taunting me in my failure—Satan’s default response when a Christ-follower blows it.

This did not help my day get any better.

Yet, through the cacophony of condemnation, one voice broke through. It was a soft, single voice—a whisper no less—uttering, “I love you.”

I love you.

I — who did nothing to help the least of these, and who clearly sinned by putting my own needs above others’ — had been reminded in that moment that I am loved.

Those in the SUV got a wonderful blessing, but I was the one who needed a reminder of grace.

At that specific moment, God knew I needed grace more than I needed blessing.

John 21 tells the story of the resurrected Jesus appearing to the disciples by the Sea of Galilee. Once Peter recognizes Jesus, he impulsively jumps from his boat and swims to shore.

Three times, Jesus asks Peter: “Do you love me?” Three times Peter answers, with growing frustration, “You know I love you.”

Then Jesus commands, “Go feed my sheep.”

Some days before this dialogue, on the night before Jesus was crucified, Peter had commited one of the most horrible acts of betrayal: three times, he had denied he even knew Jesus.

Peter basically commits the same atrocity as Judas, times three. Though the outcomes were different, Peter had to have felt the same sting of guilt as Judas.

Yet on that beach, Jesus faces Peter, suffering from the worst kind of guilt, and pours grace upon him, restoring him completely.

Jesus finds Peter and forgives him because at that moment, Peter needs grace more than he needs blessing.

Alone in my car that frigid Saturday afternoon, I experienced grace from a loving Savior who saw me in my self-centeredness and forgave me anyway.

Divine blessings are great, don’t get me wrong — but sometimes, being human, we just need a touch of grace.

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So 2020 happened, and God is still good

Published by Daniel on January 1, 2021

Today the calendar has turned: 2020 is officially in the books. And most of the world is shouting, “Good riddance!”

The year 2020 will likely go down in history as one of the strangest we’ve known. Sure, many years throughout history have been far more tragic; however, in most of our lifetimes, this one ranks near the top for sheer stress and weirdness.

Looking back over the last twelve months, bizarre is the only word I can find to describe it. If it wasn’t Australia in flames from wildfires, it was reports of murder hornets, toilet paper shortages, and coin shortages. If it wasn’t riots destroying Minneapolis, Portland, or Seattle, it was reporters standing in front of the burning buildings, telling us in all seriousness that the protests were peaceful. If wasn’t that fact that it was an election year in the United States, it was that fact that the guy who remained tucked away from the public saying as little as possible was declared the winner.

Of course, if 2020 had a label it would be the “Year of COVID-19,” named after the virus that came out of China and spread rapidly across the planet. This pandemic caused a nearly universal shutdown that brought the world’s economies to a screeching halt. Schools had to recalibrate for distance learning from home, a process that created massive extra work for teachers and found both them and their frustrated, distracted students glued to a computer screen for hours each day. As a teacher, I have to say that distance learning is something I would never choose to do again. In my experience, it has been almost wholly ineffective.

As the year dragged on, government officials mandated rules that we should all stay home, wear masks, keep social distance, and close down most small businesses and religious services. These rules applied to everyone except the government officials themselves and any protesters they agreed with.

While those in the medical field had to deal directly with COVID itself, most of us had to deal more with trying to stay sane. As we followed orders to “stay home,” we were pummeled with endless ads filmed as Zoom calls, and filled with phrases about being “alone together” in “these uncertain/troubling/unprecedented times.” After several thousand such ads, they got pretty old.

The virus also created a new stereotyped group of zombies called “karens,” who considered it their duty to publicly shame, shout down, and even attack anyone not following “the rules” to their satisfaction. Often they recorded their rants on social media to support their noble cause.

Sadly, the most horrific casualty of the pandemic of 2020 has been what was once called “a sense of humor.” One joke about the pandemic, and you’ll be mocked, shamed, and crushed into silence. A few of us are still struggling to keep a sense of humor, but the number is dwindling each day. (Side note: If you take issue with this paragraph because you believe I am belittling the tragedy of the pandemic, then you are afflicted with this malady, and you should seek help. Watching a movie such as “Airplane” or “Blazing Saddles” might be a good antidote.)

Sarcasm aside, 2020 started out very strange for the whole world, and ended up growing very heavy for me personally.

In late September, after a week of a debilitating headache, fever, and lightheadedness, I tested positive for COVID. This fact led to a week of hospitalization that included one night in ICU. Apparently, I got a side order of pneumonia served up with my COVID. I was so grateful when I got to go home, but the symptoms (fatigue, shortwindedness, severe cough) stayed with me for several more weeks.

Then, while still in recovery, on November 6 I lost my father. I sat at his bedside as he passed from this life to the other side. One moment he was breathing, and the next he wasn’t. Up to that point, even after being in ICU with COVID, I had still been able to chuckle a bit over the surrealness of 2020. But after this loss, the whole of 2020 turned very heavy for me. The combination of COVID uncertainties and the loss of Dad was almost too much to bear.

Now, here we all are, staring 2021 in the face. A new year always appears to bring a sense of hope to the world. We believe that the stroke of midnight on December 31 will bring the craziness of 2020 to a halt and usher in an entirely new chapter of normalcy. But that hope may be more superstition than reality, because in truth, we have no idea what this new year will bring. It could be even stranger and more traumatic than the last one. (I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.)

Maybe COVID will finally be conquered, and the world will finally be able to breathe again (both literally and figuratively). But there’s no guarantee we won’t see new strains of it—or the rise of something even worse.

The U.S. will have a new president. But whether that is good or bad remains to be seen. I’m guessing it will be more of the same garbage coming out of Washington. We just don’t know what the new year will bring? Will 2021 be riot-free? Will racism finally be overcome? Will Facebook and Twitter quit annoying us with their community standards? Probably not.

In 2021, I am sure there will be uncertainty. There will be crisis. There will be rage, fear, and loss.

Yet that is not all.

In 2021, there will also be gain. There will be success. There will be triumph, courage, and laughter.

This new year will have all of that—good and bad. And God is still good.

This is the main lesson I have learned from 2020: God is still good. And his goodness is not related to our happiness or our suffering. His goodness transcends everything. Regardless of life’s uncertainties, it is imperative that we always remember and proclaim his goodness.

In the uncertainty and stress of 2020, God is still good. His sovereignty is greater than murder hornets, coin shortages, or a media with an incredible lack of self-awareness. And his goodness is the same “yesterday, today, and forever” (Hebrews 13:8, NLT).

Despite my own COVID scare in 2020, God is still good. I need not fear a virus because, even if I should die, God’s goodness still reigns supreme. And despite the loss of my dad, God is still good. Even as my family grieves, we know that God uses death as a transition from this life to a place without sorrow or pain. Job himself proclaimed, at the height of his suffering: “God might kill me, but I have no other hope” (Job 13:15, NLT).

God is still good. And his goodness is not tied to the turn of a calendar page.

In 2021, no matter what, I pray that we will all cling to him and his goodness.

Shoehorning Jesus into the great mask debate

Published by Daniel on July 17, 2020

These days, across the nation and throughout Christendom, there’s a white-hot theological debate on a topic that I’m sure has been debated for centuries: Would Jesus wear a mask?

This issue is due to the novel coronavirus—a troublesome virus that proves, once and for all, Tommy Lee Jones’s statement from the movie “Men in Black”: “A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals, and you know it.”

But I digress.

The great controversy of Coronapocalypse is: Are you pro-mask or anti-mask? Which do you value more—personal liberty, or corporate safety? Do masks really help even if people use them improperly (which, it seems, almost everyone does), or are they just a symbolic tool to make us feel proactive and safe?

And this is a flaming hot issue. Both sides claim to have definitive data on their side. Some people defiantly go out with no masks, causing scenes or attacking store employees who ask them to put one on. Others follow the offenders and post videos of their egregious sin while trying to shame them into compliance.

Pro-mask or anti-mask: which one are you? (I will pause here so you can choose a team.)

And now, not to feel left behind, the body of Christ has entered the fray, leading us back to that burning question which has troubled philosophers since I believe the Council of Nicea…

Would Jesus wear a mask?

Anti-maskers might say: “Of course he wouldn’t. He’s, like, God. Why would he? COVID can’t kill him. And it can’t kill me, either, unless God allows it. So I’m just going to live my life, and follow Christ’s example of trusting God.”

And that actually makes sense.

But pro-maskers might say: “Of course he would. It’s the compassionate thing to do. Even if it doesn’t slow the virus, at least it shows others that we are not selfish; we do care about their safety.”

And that actually makes sense too.

Me? I don’t wear a mask. But it’s not because I’m an anti-masker. It’s because covering my face gives me great anxiety, sometimes almost to the point of panic attacks. I just can’t cover my face, not even to keep it warm in subzero weather.

I’m not proud of this weakness, especially in this era of COVID-19. But I just can’t tolerate face coverings. And it’s not something I can turn on and off. Anxiety doesn’t work like that.

Before anyone says I should do it anyway, let me ask you this: What is the situation that creates the most anxiety for YOU? Is it heights, caves, family? Think of a time when you were in that situation, or imagine that you are in it at this moment. Now do you see how crazy it sounds to just get over it?

This week I had to visit my doctor’s office, which I knew would require me to wear a mask. The mere thought was so stressful for me that I slept only three hours the night before and only after taking some Benadryl. All night long I thought about that visit. I feared I might panic and hyperventilate right there in the office, which would cause a spectacle and embarrass me half to death.

Fortunately, at the office I was given a cloth mask and, when I told them about my panic attacks, the doctor and nurse allowed to use it my own clumsy way: instead of strapping it behind my ears, I held its top edge against the bridge of my nose and let the rest of it hang down in front of my mouth. The doctor and nurse were perfect examples of how to be adaptive and gracious—much more so than most other examples I’ve seen.

And this is what troubles me about shoehorning Jesus into the great mask debate. Jesus is more than a rhetorical point to support either side of any issue. Those who label any given action as “not like Jesus” or “unChristian” are generally missing the complexity of his nature—how gracious he is, how understanding. They are shrinking Jesus into a flimsy, feeble figurine that might be rubbed for good luck.

So what WOULD Jesus say in this debate over masks? First of all, if you think what he would say is directed at the other side, you’re not hearing him.

I believe he would meet each of us exactly where we are.

To the militant anti-masker who sees this as a fight for liberty and personal choice, he might say: “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Luke 25:40).

To the aggressive pro-masker who appears to focus more on the act than on the heart, he might say: “You tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders” (Matthew 23:4).

To the one with anxiety issues who wants to wear a mask but is overwhelmed by panic, he might say: “Then neither do I condemn you” (John 8:11).

Jesus is bigger than any issue you can name.

In the great mask debate, as in all of life, what would he say not to others but to you?

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Why I am silent on issues of race

Published by Daniel on June 9, 2020

During this first week of June, riots and protests erupted in cities across America, sparked by the brutal death of George Floyd, an African-American man, at the hands of a cop in Minneapolis, Minnesota. The video of this arrest and death was shocking, and soon after protestors across the country hit the streets, and rightly so.

Sadly, however, these protests were quickly overshadowed by violent looting, rioting, destroying property, and even death. The sadness over Floyd’s death quickly evolved into anger as I thought what is happening now is no longer about George Floyd.

Yet I said nothing.

Among the reports and photos flooding the internet, I noticed a sign held by a protestor that read: “White silence = white violence.”

I have been thinking about that sign constantly ever since.

I am white. And I have been silent. Does this mean I don’t care?

Not at all. I am as horrified as everyone else by what happened.

So why am I silent? And does my silence equal violence?

My answer is multifaceted. Let me try to explain.

As the discussion of race has evolved over the last decade, we have made everything so binary, so “either / or,” that we have lost our ability to nuance.

As a follower of Jesus Christ, my heart breaks for the Floyd family. I have seen racism in many forms. In my home state of Montana, issues of racism center mostly around Native Americans and the reservations. Like people of every color and creed, I must continually watch for racism and prejudice in my own heart.

Yet I also have real problems with what has happened since.

I have a problem with the riots burning businesses to the ground–many built and owned by blacks, destroying their livelihood. (1)

I have a problem with city officials looking the other way as communities burn, leaving citizens and business owners to fend for themselves (which, on a side note, seems to strengthen the case for gun rights).

I have a problem firefighters being blocked by protestors from doing their job.(2)

I have a problem with politicians and media pundits throwing fuel on the fire, spinning the narrative and turning Americans against one another.

On the other hand, I do support the Floyd family, as well as those who’ve suffered injuries, loss of businesses in their neighborhoods, and in some cases their lives. I also support the huge majority of police officers who are doing their best to prevent these losses. Logically speaking, I am curious why the public narrative says we must view all police officers as murderous brutes (a generalization that is not okay), but we cannot view all protesters as riotous thugs (a generalization that is also not okay).

In both cases, shouldn’t we be able to distinguish good actors from bad ones?

But mentioning such points is likely to release an apocalyptic wrath such as the world has never seen since, well, last night on (insert any media outlet here). That’s one reason I keep quiet.

Here’s another: As a white guy, if I stay silent I am labeled a racist, but if I speak out I am labeled a patronizing wannabe white savior of the black community. I have been told that I am not permitted to speak because I am white and have nothing to say because I come from a position of privilege. And because I can never truly understand, I am often told that it is best for me not to speak at all – or if I do speak, I should do so only to voice support for the only acceptable opinion (3), not to voice any inner thoughts or questions that trouble my mind.

I once heard a sermon series in which the pastor passionately challenged his listeners to have “hard conversations” about race issues. Of course I agreed. However, when we as a congregation began trying to comply in the weeks that followed, I quickly learned that those “hard conversations” went only one way. Any question or comment that strayed from the approved talking points was met with anger, labels, or demands to “check your privilege.”

So I stopped talking.

And now I am chastised with “white silence equals violence.”

In all honesty—and please understand that there is no sarcasm here and I truly speak from my heart—I have no idea how to engage, what to do, or what to say.

So what do I do? Do I mark my social media accounts with a blackout screen labeled #blackouttuesday, as was done by many on June 2? Does that help? (4) What if I believe hashtags are an empty gesture that does little good – or actually does harm, as has been said by some activist leaders themselves? (5)

Again, as a Christ-follower, I know I must confront issues of racism, both around me and inside me. Jesus is all about justice. But he is also about peace and understanding. And understanding is hindered when only one side of the conversation is allowed.

I ache inside as our nation tears itself apart. I ache for the Floyd family, for the black community, for the peaceful protestors who need to be heard, for the rioters and their victims, for police officers trying to protect people despite zero support, for politicians treating this issue like a football. My heart longs for truth and justice to win the day.

In my uncertainty, I realize that there actually is something I can do. I can pray (though saying that is even ridiculed today). I can imitate Jesus as much as possible. I can confront the evils of racism inside me and around me as I do my daily work, meet with my faith community, and go about my everyday business.

This plan is not perfect, and I know that some may harshly critique it as wrong or inadequate. But in my conundrum, I honestly don’t know what else I can possibly do.

And when the craziness of this earthly life is finally over, I will be judged. But I will be judged not by the media, not by the pundits, not by the protestors, or guilt-inducing do-gooders but by the holy one on the throne—the one I desire to follow with all my heart.

(1) https://www.foxnews.com/us/black-firefighter-devastated-minneapolis-riots-bar

(2) See Richmond, VA news sources (https://www.wtvr.com/news/local-news/police-chief-details-emotional-rescue-amid-richmond-riot).

(3) For a good analysis, see https://www.nationalreview.com/2020/06/george-floyd-protests-free-speech-progressives-say-silence-complicity/

(4) About hashtags – remember these? In 2014, the terrorist group Boko Haram kidnapped 276 young girls in Nigeria. As if to illustrate the public’s fickle attention span, the hashtag “#bringbackourgirls” exploded on social media but was within a day or two replaced by “#icebucketchallenge,” a campaign to fund research for ALS (also called Lou Gehrig’s disease). Most of Boko Haram’s victims were not directly helped much by the hashtag activism (https://www.thedailybeast.com/three-years-later-a-look-at-the-bringbackourgirls-catch-22); however, the cause of ALS was greatly helped by it (https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/2019/7/20/20699732/ice-bucket-challenge-viral-charity-als). The point is, raising awareness is not the same as actually investing time or money – though even those investments can sometimes backfire and cause harm; see such well-known books as When Helping Hurts (Corbett and Fikkert) and Toxic Charity (Lupton).

(5) See https://www.cnn.com/2020/06/02/us/blackout-tuesday-black-lives-matter-instagram-trnd/index.html and https://www.instagram.com/tv/CA343EOAkrE/?utm_source=ig_embed.

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The safest place in a storm

Published by Daniel on April 2, 2020

On my office wall hangs a vivid photograph entitled, “Phares dans la Tempete, La Jument.[1]” It shows a lighthouse keeper at La Jument reef, standing in the door of his lighthouse just as a towering wave nearly engulfs the structure from behind.

Original photo by Jean Guichard, http://www.jean-guichard.com/

As retold later in Celtic Countries magazine,[2] the story of the shot goes as follows.

On December 21, 1989, a powerful storm smashed into the area, hitting the lighthouse with gale force winds and with waves reaching up to 30 meters (nearly 100 feet) high. During the night, the massive waves crashed through the lighthouse’s lower windows, flooding its living quarters and forcing the keeper to escape to the lantern room at the top of the lighthouse.

The next morning, despite dangerous flying conditions, a photographer named Jean Guichard hired a helicopter so he could photograph the dramatic storm from the air. The lighthouse keeper, Théodore Malgorn, heard the approaching helicopter and thought it was his rescuers. So he opened the door and stepped outside.

That was the moment the giant wave slammed into the lighthouse.

That was the moment Guichard took the shot.

Fortunately, the keeper was able to slip inside and shut the door, just before it was completely covered.

Original Photo by Jean Guichard, http://www.jean-guichard.com/

This famous picture of safety in the storm was given to me by my wife, shortly after life swept me into chaos. As I endured the greatest turmoil of my life, I took solace in looking at it, wondering what the lighthouse keeper felt that night. Did he shake with fear as the wind and waves whipped into a deadly frenzy, crashing again and again into his tiny stone tower? Did his heart pound in his chest as freezing water shattered his windows and poured into his home? Did he pray to God for survival as he fled to the lantern room—the very last refuge he had?

That night in the lighthouse, the keeper must have felt very unsure of his own safety. Yet in the whole vast ocean, the lighthouse was the safest place of all.

Like the lighthouse keeper, Jesus once faced a violent storm. After a day of ministry beside the Sea of Galilee, he and his disciples set out by boat to cross to the other side. But according to Mark 4:37-38:

“A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, ‘Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?’”

Note the sequence of the disciples’ reactions. Like most of us, first they panic; only later do they ask the God of the universe for help.

But Jesus does not punish them for this lapse by withholding that help; instead he immediately commands the elements to “Be still!”—and they obey. Only then does he turn to his disciples and ask, “’Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?’” (v. 39-40).

The truth is, it is one thing to trust God when things go well. But it is another to trust him from the center of the storm, when our world is upended.

And our world is upended now. Every day during this surreal COVID-19 pandemic, we get hit by wave after wave as we lose travel autonomy, small businesses, and loved ones. Our lives will be changed for months, if not forever.

I have not yet been touched directly by the virus, nor by the escalating death rates, so I have not felt explicit fear—but I do feel unsettled and anxious in this storm of uncertainty, as I’m sure the lighthouse keeper did at La Jument.

When life is like this, we must take refuge in our Creator, who is far bigger than any virus, news reports, or ventilator shortages.

No matter what happens—even if we experience sickness or death—we are not spiraling helplessly through stormy seas. Instead, we are secure in our lighthouse as the storm rages around us. We are safe in the arms of Christ.

By Falken – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3503077

[1] This French phrase means “Lighthouse in the tempest [at] La Jument.” La Jument (“the mare”) is a treacherous reef near the isle of Ushant in the Iroise Sea, off the northwest coast of France.

[2] Celtic Countries magazine, January 18, 2011, https://celticcountries.com/culture/245-la-jument-brittany-most-famous-lighthouse.

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That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown

Published by Daniel on December 13, 2019

On November 30, 2015, the ABC television network aired the 50^th anniversary special of “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” This annual animated TV show, based on Charles Schultz’s comic strip “Peanuts,” has traditionally aired shortly following the Thanksgiving weekend to kick off the Christmas season. It tells the story of Charlie Brown’s depression and angst at Christmas as he tries to find the point of it all amidst the shallow emptiness of commercialism.

The show is a big deal for me—so big, in fact, that I consider it the start of my Advent season. My tradition is that my Christmas tree and lights must be up and glowing before the program airs.

I want to kick of my Christmas celebration with the whole Peanuts gang.

That year, in 2015, the 50th anniversary special included a message from then-President Barak Obama. He said that this beloved Christmas program teaches us that “tiny trees just need a little love and that on this holiday we celebrate peace on Earth and good will toward all.”[1]

“A Charlie Brown Christmas” is about a tiny tree? Did the President miss the part where Linus walks onstage and quotes Luke 2:8:14?

That moment was pretty hard to miss. After Charlie Brown laments the stress and anguish of the holidays while staging a disastrous Christmas play, he cries out for anyone to tell him what Christmas is really all about. His friend Linus responds matter-of-factly, “Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about.”

Linus walks onto the stage and quotes the gospel of Luke:

“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not: for behold, I bring unto you good tiings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.'”

He then returns to the stage wing and concludes, “That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

The bookends couldn’t be more clear. The speech starts with, “I can tell you what Christmas is all about” and ends with “That’s what Christmas is all about.” Further, Linus is on the stage by himself. A single spotlight shines down on him. The camera never cuts away from him. It’s as if Charles Shultz is saying directly to the audience: “Look here. Here is the message. Don’t miss this. Right here. This is the point I am making.”

Fifty years later, the President of the United States somehow managed to twist this into: No, it’s about a tree that needs love. One has to be impressed at the strength of the neck muscles required to resist the gravitational pull of the obvious.

It was a bizarre event, and a big letdown for me. (Still is—see, here I am still thinking about it four years later.)

What bothers me is that this is just another example of how we continue to misinterpret the clearest meaning of this season.

It’s about exchanging gifts, marketers say; but what if I can’t afford to give gifts, or my gifts are rejected by others, or I receive hurtful gifts or no gifts at all?

It’s about happy memories, friends, and family, society says; but what if all my memories are of family fights, abuse, and desertion, and I have no love or trust in my life?

It’s about peace on earth, the former President says; but what if we can’t make peace happen? Face it, look at the headlines—we’re light-years away from that elusive ideal.

Like Charlie Brown, without Christ I’d be depressed too. Truth is, as a kid I hated Christmas after my parents divorced—hated the feeling of being divided between them, hated that my mom and one sister weren’t around anymore, hated that we’d never be together as a family again.

But Christmas is about none of those things.

It’s about the birth of the One who came to save us. It’s not about “peace on earth,” but about the Prince of Peace who will finally make things right. It’s not about a tiny tree that needs love, but about a Savior’s love that heals his sin-broken creation. Ironically, a tree is what will later lift up that same Savior to die for that same sin.

Linus is absolutely correct: Christ is the meaning of Christmas, and he is the way out of our depression and darkness.

Your world, like mine, is broken. But I encourage you, during this cold, lonely month, to anticipate with joy the Savior who not only came to die for humanity, but will come again to “set right” all of creation.

Don’t let Christmas become a mere frenzy of gifts and activities—and don’t listen to the lie that it’s just a vague human wish for “world peace.”

Allow Christ to present himself to you this Christmas. Allow hope and anticipation of his arrival wash over you in the bleakness. Wait for him. Listen for him. Cry out for the Messiah—God in the flesh—to come and heal his people.

In the darkness of December, let the Light of the World enter your heart.

Then worship. Celebrate the coming of our King.

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Bring on the schmaltz, hallmark!

Published by Daniel on November 5, 2019

I just watched my first Hallmark Christmas movie for 2019.

It’s not the first one I’ve watched. Last Christmas, somehow [the Christmas elves did it?] my television got glued to the Hallmark Channel, and I am pretty sure it is again. I freely admit that I am addicted to these movies; I cannot get enough of them, which is odd given that just days ago before Halloween, I was discussing the theological profundities of such movies as “The Conjuring” and “The Exorcism of Emily Rose.”

For the life of me I don’t know how I got hooked on Hallmark Christmas movies, or why they melt my butter the way they do. They are sappy/goopy and clichéd and have only one or two storylines that usually goes something like this: Just before Christmas, a beautiful businesswoman from the big city, highly successful but missing something, gets stuck in a small town – sometimes even her hometown – in a quaint little community that looks like Thomas Kinkade threw up on a Norman Rockwell painting.

There, she meets a ruggedly handsome widower with a sugary kid (think Beaver Cleaver) who helps her rediscover what matters most in life. She must choose between returning to her successful-but-empty career or finding true fulfillment in the quaint community, with the rugged widower person thrown in as a bonus. After a moment of misunderstanding, everything gets sorted out at the Christmas Eve gala. Beautiful businesswoman and rugged widower embrace and kiss. Then It snows.

The end.

Smarmy? Yes. Schmaltzy? Definitely. Warm and fuzzy? Sure. Blissfully wonderful? Absolutely!

What is it about these movies that completely draws me in? For that matter, what is it about them that draws in so many other people too? Last Christmas, Hallmark totally dominated the ratings.[1]

Why? What is the draw?

First, Middle America is respected. For the rest of the year, Hollywood depicts its residents as backwards, bigoted simpletons who lack the style and sophistication of the Coasts. It gets exhausting to be told by Hollywood how much we suck. But in Hallmark Christmas movies, these folks and their simpler, slower life is celebrated. Rural wisdom is acknowledged. Instead of fleeing in horror to the major metropolises, people actually find fulfillment in the small towns. For a couple of months each year, Hallmark movies truly connect with the values and traditions of the heartland.

See the source image Second, the stories show innocence and unity. Their sole purpose is to show people enjoying Christmas as a community. Nothing can tear the townsfolk apart; they all truly want the best for their families, their children, and their neighbors. If they disagree with one another, their differences are never mentioned because celebrating the season together is far too important; there is no “us-versus-them.” This shows us that there is life beyond divisiveness, that true community is people caring for each other because they want to – not because they are forced by government policies to do so.

Sooner or later, I will hear the objection (because that’s the type of people we are): “These stories aren’t real! They’re completely made up!”

True. But the same applies to Jesus’s illustration of the Good Samaritan. It’s a story—a parable. That doesn’t mean there is no truth in it.

Hallmark Christmas movies are a wink to the audience. They don’t pretend to be real (and the joke is really on those who take them too seriously). Instead, these movies show not what is, but what could be—if we all just reset our priorities, cut the drama and vitriol, and put people and community first.

If you hate Hallmark Christmas movies, don’t worry. Soon, there will soon be a whole ten months where everybody can hate on each other again.

P.S. Full disclosure: As I write this, the Hallmark Channel is on in the background. I look up just in time to see beautiful businesswoman and the rugged widower embrace and kiss. Then it starts snowing.

[1]Toni Fitzgerald, “Behind the Hallmark Christmas Movies Juggernaut: Ratings Just Keep Rising.” https://www.forbes.com/sites/tonifitzgerald/2018/10/26/behind-the-hallmark-christmas-movies-juggernaut-ratings-just-keep-rising/#760f2a9051ed Accessed, 11/3/2019.

Dear Lord, help me not to be a jerk today!

Published by Daniel on August 27, 2018

This week, while preparing to teach in a new state, at a new school, for a new school year, I taped a poignant prayer to my computer monitor.

It wasn’t the masterful, insightful words of a Francis of Assisi, or Teresa of Avila, or even an average pastor on an average Sunday morning. It did not ask God to glorify himself through me, or to make me a better man, better teacher, or better Christian.

It was far more basic and less spiritual:

“Dear Lord, help me not to be a jerk today.”

That’s all. I wish it were something more profound, but the truth is – sometimes I can be a jerk.

There are a number of reasons my jerk nature erupts. Sometimes it’s because I just disagree with someone about something. Or I’m ticked off about the way something went. Or – here’s a big one – some authority over me (say, my employer, or my local government) implements a policy that I hate.

Most often, I become a jerk when I feel I am not in control. This is pretty scary, because when am I actually in control of anything? So opportunities always abound for me to be a jerk. I can think of too many relationship moments I have blown because – instead of being the approachable, trustworthy person I want to be – I was a jerk.

And I am a good one. I suspect “being a jerk” is one of my spiritual gifts, and I am sure it is in the Bible somewhere. I can be an aggressive jerk that picks fights over the silliest, most trivial things, or a critical jerk that tells everyone they’re off the mark. If my arguments are proven wrong, I am put to shame – but even if I am proven right and “vindicated,” what good is that if I’m a jerk about it?

I can also be a passive-aggressive jerk – being nice to people’s faces, but bashing them behind their backs. I can be gossipy, sarcastic, or just plain mean. It feels good, but it does not enhance my spiritual growth or build trust with others.

So I taped this prayer where I can see it every day.

When I pray, “Lord, help me not to be a jerk today,” I am thinking only of myself. Narcissistically speaking, this prayer is all about me, and me alone.
Sure, it always feels better to point out how others are being jerks and how they should stop. Sadly, I absolutely love doing that! But the whole splinter-vs.-plank-in-the-eye thing that Jesus taught kind of sucks the fun out of it. In fact, my desire to call out others for being jerks probably says more about my own jerk status than it does theirs.

So I can only discuss me being a jerk.

I don’t want to be a jerk. But the truth is, sometimes I can’t help myself. Giving in to my jerk nature is too easy, and at times I don’t even know I have given in until it is too late. I immediately regret it, but often the damage has been done.

Unfortunately, my jerk nature is yet another embarrassing symptom of my sin nature. It is a part of my brokenness. And no matter how I try, I cannot just wake up one day and get rid of it by will-power.

Instead, I must lay my jerk nature at the cross. I must give it to the one who has conquered all sin. Every day.

So this little prayer begins with “Lord,” establishing who I serve: my Savior, not my sin nature. It is Jesus who brings peace amidst the turmoil that triggers my jerk nature.

The prayer continues with “help me,” reminding me that I cannot stop being a jerk simply by my own effort. I need the power of the cross to overcome this sin. I must give my jerk nature to Jesus. To this day, I am amazed at his unconditional acceptance of me. There is no sin so big that the cross cannot cover it – and conquer it.

Then the prayer asks that I not be a jerk. This is the heart of it – what I want the most.

Finally, the prayer ends with “today” – a reminder that I need Christ’s power now, today, every day. Without the word “today,” I could be overwhelmed by all the days ahead of me, and also waiting a long time for help. I need victory today, not tomorrow.
And when tomorrow does come, my prayer will be the same:

“Dear Lord, help me not to be a jerk today.”

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A tale of two miracles

Published by Daniel on August 9, 2018

There are two occasions in the Bible when God miraculously parted the waters:[1] the more famous Exodus account (Exodus 14:21ff), and the lesser known Joshua account (Joshua 3:7ff).

The Exodus account gets all the acclaim, primarily because it was none other than Charlton Heston standing at the banks of the Red Sea majestically holding his staff over the water. Thus far, the best we have come up with to portray Joshua is a cucumber from Veggietales.

Still, both miracles fall into the category of “something that doesn’t happen every day.” Both go against the laws of physics, Both defy explanation. And both result in making a way for God’s people, sending them from the old into the new.

The Exodus account is dramatic, precariously sticking Moses and the Hebrews between the raging Red Sea and an approaching enemy superpower (Egypt) bent on revenge. So God places a fiery pillar between the two groups, holding the Egyptians at bay. Pretty amazing, but God is not yet finished. God then instructs Moses to lift his staff toward the sea, and amazingly the chaotic ocean separates into a path for the Hebrews to safely pass through.

In the Joshua account, while waiting at the banks of the flooded Jordan River, Joshua reminds the people that God is about to do great things on their behalf in the Promised Land. However, unlike Moses, Joshua does not raise his staff over the water. Instead, the priests are instructed carry the ark of the covenant directly into the river.

Imagine being one of the priests who hears that bit of information: Wait—you want us to do what?

But the command is clear. The priests’ feet are to get wet. They are to traverse the slippery rocks beneath a swift and swirling river. Only then, after getting their feet wet, do the waters part to make a way into the Promised Land.

I prefer the Exodus method whenever God wants to move me. It’s less ambiguous and more straightforward, an uber hardcore miracle—something we can definitely talk about during praise time on Sunday morning. Epic movies with big budgets would be made to tell our story. Even pompous scientists and militant atheists with no sense of awe or enchantment would attempt to insert themselves into the narrative by writing lengthy tomes hoping to invalidate it.

In contrast, no one writes about the Joshua account. Many Christians give it little more than a cursory glance. You won’t find a lot people sharing about how God tossed them into the water before anything happened. It’s not dramatic. It’s not cool.

Besides, Joshua’s account involves a river—a much smaller body of water than the Red Sea.

Yet in many ways, the Joshua method is scarier. The path forward doesn’t appear until you make the first move. In other words, with absolutely no guarantees, you must run the risk of getting swept away by the current before there is any sign that God is about to do something.

All you have to cling to is your faith that God is somehow present—and, you hope, a still, small voice telling you to go. The action could kill you instead of providing a way forward.

Why didn’t God simply part the waters and make a way for Joshua, as he did for Moses?

It’s a question we all ask at one time or another.

I think the answer is found in another tiny but important distinction: In Exodus the Hebrews were running from something—a vengeful army, a life of slavery, possibly even annihilation itself; in Joshua they were going to something—the land promised by God to the generations before them.

Recently I’ve felt forced to go through the Joshua method, asking myself whether I am running from something or to something. I am writing this from a hotel lobby, my temporary home until our prospective house closes. My wife and I are in a transition from Portland, Oregon to Helena, Montana—a transition that’s been bumpy, rough, and uncertain. In the past months, we have deliberated about this move. For over twenty years I have lived in Portland while eagerly hoping to return home to Montana. In Portland I felt on the outside of the culture, never fitting in and complaining ad nauseum, ad infinitum about my life in the city and about the city itself.

When I got a job offer in Montana, I had to ask myself: was this my chance to finally flee city life and return to a less stressful smaller town? Brush the dust from my shoes and leave Portland in my wake? Sayonara, Portland! I’m outta here.

A Moses-style “parting of the waters” would have been the perfect way to do that. All I needed God to do was to part the waters and let me pass.

But what if this move is not about fleeing from something as Moses did, but going toward something as Joshua did? What if this move is for my growth?

I suspect that a “parting of the waters” enabling me to flee Portland would not have been spiritually healthy for me, but would have allowed me to run away from the city with a hard heart and a suitcase full of bitterness.

Instead, I am beginning to believe that God wants me to see this transition as going toward something, a new chapter in the journey. I am going because God wants me to.

The Joshua-style river parting forced me to put my feet in the water before it parted, forced me to remember and appreciate this chapter closing in my life. I thought about the friends I have made in Portland, the people I grew to love there. I celebrated and memorialized the good moments (getting married, buying a house, publishing a book, and being a part of a wonderful church community) as well as my deepest heartaches (the loss of my teaching job and the doctoral degree, the deaths of my father- and mother-in-law, and years of spiritual darkness).

Portland has been a significant part of my story, and if I had left it by fleeing through a parted sea, I never would have grasped the good.

I believe God wants me to remember those years—the good, bad, and ugly—as years that he was working in my life. And to rejoice in what he has done there.

God forced me, like Joshua, to step into the water first, before it would part.

So, with feet clumsily planted on the slippery rocks, I move to a new chapter of my life—in Helena, Montana.

My feet are wet.

The rest of the adventure is up to God.

[1] Technically, there are three “partings of the water” if we count the third day of Creation when God separated the waters to make “land” (Genesis 1:9)—but I omitted this account since no one was around to see it except God.

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One day every knee shall bow…including Google’s

Published by Daniel on February 2, 2018

“Knowledge is power,” Sir Frances Bacon wrote in 1597. Three centuries later, English historian Lord John Acton added, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men, even when they exercise influence and not authority.”

Hmm…

So, if “knowledge is power,” and “power corrupts,” then one might conclude: “Knowledge corrupts.”

Granted, this is a syllogism – not the most valid form of argument.

Still, the world seems hell-bent on proving it true.

Knowledge seems very squishy these days. Each of us considers our own perspective to be based on “facts,” and opposing perspectives on “alternative facts.” Even “fact-checking” has lost credibility—especially when it exposes the fact-checkers’ own biases. Yet most of us tend to find and believe “facts” that support our preferred narrative, with no further thought or research at all.

In today’s Information Age, whoever has the most control over information has the most power, redefining truth for the rest of us. Often with no accountability.

Enter the information giants—especially Google, Apple, and Amazon. (I’ll skip the social media giants as this blog is about academic / encyclopedic knowledge, more than popular knowledge.)

Google, the biggest information processor of all, has amassed unprecedented power by accumulating and distilling all available knowledge (“knowledge is power”). It has so much power that all internet researching is now called, generically, “googling.”

Recently Google released Google Home to compete with Amazon’s Echo (“Alexa”) and Apple’s HomePod (“Siri”). Like the others, this little device sits quietly in your kitchen, living room, or wherever, listening to your every word in case you want to ask it a question by saying, “OK, Google…” If you do, it then gives answers with a smooth authority that implies there’s no need to double-check them. And, in addition to listening to all of your conversations, it is also collecting data from them.

I am little creeped out by any company that performs 24/7 eavesdropping and data-mining, and then profits from the data. But I am also concerned by the actual responses to our queries and searches. Those responses are based on algorithms developed by humans. And those humans have power—power to slant the responses, intentionally or not, toward their own biases (“power corrupts”).

It’s been changed since, but recently I googled “fascism” to get a basic definition for one of my blogs. At the very top of the search results, above all of the dictionary results, Google provided its own definition so I wouldn’t have to look any further. But it defined fascism as a form of government that is right-wing only: “An authoritarian and nationalistic right-wing system of government and social organization…extreme right-wing, authoritarian, or intolerant views or practice.”

To some on the left, this was perfect. But any serious student of history or government knows this definition is wrong. A more accurate one is that fascism is simply extreme totalitarianism on either the right or the left. In fact, the list of left-wing fascist leaders is long and murderous, and has included Stalin and Lenin in Europe; Castro and Chavez in Latin America; and Mao, Pol Pot, and Kim Jong Un in Asia.

Then Google tried another twist: For users googling news sites, in the search results Google added a fact-check box beside conservative sites, labeling purported statements from those sites as “false.” But in many cases the so-called “false” statements either could not be refuted, or were never made by the site in question at all (http://dailycaller.com/2018/01/19/google-ends-fact-check/). Also, Google added no such fact-check box beside progressive sites.

After a public outcry against these clear and inaccurate biases, Google removed both the word definitions and the fact-checking boxes. It now includes word definitions provided by Merriam-Webster rather than by Google itself, and it has discontinued its “fact-checking.”

Yet examples still remain that “knowledge corrupts.”

Recently a woman posted a video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rAX0q4huUyw) online. In it, she shows a list of names or words related to world religions, and then asks Google Home to define each one. As she goes down the list, Google Home gives lengthy definitions for Allah, Buddha, Brahman, and New Age, drawn from various sources. But for Jesus and Jesus Christ, Google responds with variations of, “Sorry, I’m not sure how to help” or “My apologies—I don’t understand.”

Even Wikipedia knows who Jesus Christ is.

Google doesn’t?

In response, Google tweeted this statement:

“The reason the Google Assistant didn’t respond with information about ‘Who is Jesus’ or ‘Who is Jesus Christ’ wasn’t out of disrespect but instead to ensure respect. Some of the Assistant’s spoken responses come from the web, and for certain topics, this content can be more vulnerable to vandalism and spam. If our systems detect such circumstances, the Assistant might not reply. If similar vulnerabilities were detected for other questions – including those about other religious leaders – the Assistant also wouldn’t respond. We’re exploring different solutions and temporarily disabling these responses for religious figures on the Assistant.” (https://twitter.com/searchliaison/status/956999768323969024/photo/1?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww1.cbn.com%2Fcbnnews%2Fus%2F2018%2Fjanuary%2Fgooge-home-devices-programmed-to-recognize-muhammad-and-buddha-but-not-jesus)

To be fair, this explanation does make some sense.

Still, as the saying goes: “Once is a mistake; twice is a trend.” With Google, perhaps one might add: “Three times is a bad habit.”

Google isn’t the only knowledge clearinghouse that won’t acknowledge Jesus. Not long ago, comedian Steven Crowder asked Amazon’s Echo, “Who is Jesus?” and Alexa replied: “Jesus is a fictional character.” Skeptics claim Crowder edited the video to get this answer, but others reported getting the same answer before Amazon changed it.

Google now holds power over “knowledge” by holding a near-monopoly on internet searching, which is today’s repository of knowledge. Google seems to be writing a new version of truth. And it possesses nearly unchecked power to do so.

Suddenly, my above syllogism – knowledge is power, and power leads to corruption, so knowledge leads to corruption – seems frighteningly real.

The Bible says there will come a day when, at the name of Jesus, every knee will bow “in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Philippians 2:10-11, NIV).

For now, the tech gods of knowledge may try to redefine and minimize Jesus.

But one day, even they will kneel at Jesus’s feet.

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