Category: Current Events

When the world rejects your prayers, pray anyway

Published by Daniel on October 4, 2017

It didn’t take long after the tragedy in Las Vegas for the bloviating and hyperbole to begin. While many expressed shock and sadness for both the victims and for the city itself, sadly others took the massacre as a call to arms to press their political agendas. In the name of compassion, this latter group rejected the compassion of a country that was shocked into momentary paralysis as though they even had right to reject it in the first place.

Armed with the principle of never letting a crisis go to waste, they insist, “No! Only action is compassion.” And so, they shame, guilt, and demand action even before the blood is dry.

This has always bothered me. While the nation is still doubled-over in shock, using intense grief to promote an agenda—no matter how sincere—seems to amount to little more than emotional abuse. Any grief or pastoral counselor will tell you, decisions made in the heat of emotion almost never turn out well. In seminary, I had a professor tell his class, “Never resign on a Monday.”

Nevertheless, the demands for action ring out. In the past, that tactic hasn’t worked. So, inevitably, the outraged turned up their rhetoric to include blame, hate, and even prayer-shaming.

The cry of “prayer is not enough” became the new catchphrase. Following other mass-shootings before Las Vegas, U.S. Representative Elizabeth Etsy once said, “A moment of silence or prayer is insufficient to the task.” Senator Chris Murphy once tweeted, “Having lived through Sandy Hook, I know that thoughts and prayers are important, but they’re not enough.” Then-President Barak Obama said, “Thoughts and prayers are not enough. It’s not enough. It does not capture the heartache and grief and anger that we should feel.”

Comments like these in the face of tragedy irritated me. They seemed condescending and elitist. However, in the days following the Las Vegas shooting, my perspective shifted a little. Why should I be irritated? It made complete sense that a non-believer or a worshiper of the secular culture would see prayer as nothing more than a platitude, a superstition, a symbolic ritual, or an empty gesture expressed by simpletons. They see no power behind prayer. Why would we expect them to believe anything different? They’re simply staying true to their belief system.

On the other hand, for the Christ-follower to say such a thing is more troubling. In her response to the tragedy, Christian writer Jen Hatmaker posted on her Facebook page that her “blood is boiling over and I want to run screaming into the streets. I feel like we are standing in the middle of a violent, endless nationwide crisis swirling all around us, and we keep ‘sending thoughts and prayers.’ I want to rip my hair out.”

To say prayer is not enough says a lot about that particular Christian’s view of prayer. Prayer is good, so long as it is not the holy-roller, chandelier-swinging variety, but it doesn’t truly have a power to make a difference in anything. It is something to say with children before tucking them in. It makes us feel good. It is merely an act of faith, something to hold onto. But in the face of evil, these prayer-shaming Christians seem to see little actual power in prayer.

It is not enough, they insist. Prayer is not enough. We must do something.

Because everyone knows that we humans are far better capable of solving the problem of evil than a God who created the universe and defeated death. Seek ye first the kingdom of government, and all these things shall be added unto you. Most certainly, the problem of evil can be fixed through congressional legislation, which is often brought about through manipulation, fear-mongering and compromise.

Rest easy, America.

And please ignore Paul’s words about the foolishness of God being wiser than the wisdom of humanity (1 Corinthians 1:25). Or that “our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms (Ephesians 6:12). He certainly didn’t mean it that way. We must invoke action. We must do something. And we must do it in the moment when the world is rocked back on its heels.

Sarcasm aside, it is imperative that we ask ourselves exactly what is prayer. What happened in Las Vegas was the face of evil.

The very thing prayer-shamers reject is the very thing that can help.

However, before we get defensive and counter, we followers of Jesus must come to terms with prayer as well. Do we believe it? Is prayer a platitude, an exercise to say before dinner, or a symbolic act of ritual? Do we believe that in prayer we are seeking the face of Jesus against whom no evil can stand? Do we truly believe that invoking the name of Christ is an act in which the demons flee and the captives go free?

Prayer acknowledges humanity’s helplessness in the face of evil. It forces us to see our own powerlessness. Only through prayer will we ever understand the true nature of the battle.

So if politicians and media trolls want to shame Christ-followers for “merely” praying, let them. I would expect nothing different. Let them think they are doing something productive. Let them think that prayer isn’t enough. This has never intimidated God before. I would place my trust in a holy God that I cannot see over politicians who claim they have the wisdom to curb the power of evil when they don’t even have the know-how to overcome the NRA.

Besides, prayer-shamers—both within and outside of the body of Christ—should not be our focus. God should. Legislative acts will do nothing to stem the face of evil other than make the legislators feel good about themselves. That is, until the next evil act occurs after which the whole cycle repeats.

Finally, I would like to comment about what I believe is a legitimate point that prayer-shamers make: Prayer should never be used as an excuse for apathy. There is enough truth here that should challenge us Christ-followers and even make us feel uneasy if we realize that it in fact applies to us. If we say that we are praying for Las Vegas and we do not actually pray, then we are using prayer as an excuse for inaction. That truly is apathy.

Posting a picture of the Vegas skyline with the words “praying for Vegas” is not praying. Actually praying for Las Vegas is.

If all we do is share a “praying for Vegas” post on social media without any follow-through, then we indeed have reduced prayer to simply another form of hashtag activism—a narcissistic attempt to show the world we care while accomplishing nothing. Saying we’ll pray without actually praying is nothing more of an empty exercise than that of jumping up and down with outrage, pulling our hair out, demanding “now is the time” that we do something to fix evil.

Rest assured, we will get our just rewards, if patting yourself on the back is all the reward you desire.

Meanwhile, evil prevails and the suffering continues.

I challenge us Christ-followers to pray. Really pray. Don’t pray for show. Don’t pray to make yourself feel good or uber-spiritual. Pray from the position of helplessness. But pray truly believing the power of prayer. Pray with the full knowledge that we are seeking the face of a holy God.

In the face of mockery, when others reject the power of prayer, I want to encourage you to pray anyway.

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Final thoughts: Jesus, his kingdom, and predicting the end of the world

Published by Daniel on September 22, 2017

Apparently, in a matter of hours, we’re all going to die.

Really.

According to a Christian Numerologist—whatever that is—September 23, 2017 is the day when an unseen planet known either as Planet X or Nibiru will come crashing to earth, creating tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, hurricanes, flooding, and—far worse—the widespread release of the movie mother! to a frantic public.

This will result in wide-spread panic, confusion, and other levels of mayhem.

There is already evidence of this: The Great Solar Eclipse, Hurricanes Harvey, Irma, and Maria, the flooding in Houston, and the Mexico City earthquake.

Even the Bible backs up this claim, Luke 21:25-26:

“There will be signs in sun and moon and stars, and on the earth dismay among nations, in perplexity at the roaring of the sea and the waves, men fainting from fear and the expectation of the things which are coming upon the world; for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”

Clearly, if you omit the last total eclipse in 1999, the next one in 2024, the lunar eclipse/blood moon of 2015, the four blood moons, as well as Hurricanes Katrina, Hugo, Inike, Camille, Andrew, Ike, Patricia, etc., the tsunamis in Indonesia and Japan, the 1993 and ’27 Mississippi River floods, how can one not see these verses are referring specifically to September 23, 2017?

To my knowledge, the world ended in 2003, 2011, 2012, 2015, in addition to the coming apocalypse on Saturday. That’s just the twenty-first century. And who can remember all the times the world ended in the last? I am still suffering from the doomsday apocalypse of Y2K. And these are just the Christian predictions.

As I count down my final hours before Nibiru appears as a fiery sphere in the sky, a couple of thoughts come to mind. Why are we in Christ’s body so obsessed with the end of the world? And is all this effort within the body of Christ to predict the end of the world doing anything to further the kingdom of God?

Make no mistake, I believe that Jesus Christ will come again. I believe the prophecies of Revelation will happen, although I am unsure exactly what they will look like. But I also know that Jesus states that no one knows the day or the hour of his return (Matthew 24:36).

So why haven’t Jesus’s words stopped us from trying?

It would be easy to simply blame the writers, speakers, and promoters of popular eschatology (the study of the last days), taking advantage of a multi-million-dollar industry. Who wouldn’t want a cut of those profits? The cynic in me could just stop there.

But I think there is more to it. These end-time entrepreneurs wouldn’t have a market if we, the Christian body, weren’t so obsessed with it.

So why the obsession?

One wouldn’t have to look too far beyond the headlines for the answer. Every day for the last couple of months, there seems to be yet another catastrophic hurricane out in the Atlantic, another forest fire, another earthquake, another incident of mindless violence, another reminder of the deadly stare-down with North Korea, or another terrorist attack. Humans no longer talk to each other; we scream, degrade, and if those don’t work, kick the snot out of each other. It is overwhelming. In the words of singer Randy Stonehill: “It’s a great big stupid world, and I’m feeling kind of queasy as it spins around…”

What is most troubling is the realization that all of this is completely beyond our control. We simply don’t know how to fix the universe. We look to science, reason, and government to stop it but to no avail. There is simply nothing we can do. There are powers far greater than the human mind. These horrible events are daily reminders of our helplessness.

For us Christ-followers, we look beyond the natural for meaning to the chaos. We search the darkness for something to cling to. Obviously, we turn to Jesus. This is not a bad thing. In fact, I highly recommend it. He is, after all, “the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). He is the Savior of the world, the lighthouse in the storm, the loving shepherd and protector. Jesus is exactly to whom we should turn.

The problem comes when we turn our focus more on Jesus’s return than we do on the Jesus himself.

We don’t do this intentionally. We know that good wins over evil. The book of Revelation and the second coming point to an end of the suffering and chaos, an end which results in victory. And this focus brings relief. Knowing this, the next logical step is to turn our attention to when that will be. The when becomes the point of emphasis.

The when, however, is intentionally ambiguous. If the Son of Man doesn’t know, then how can we? Yet we continue to look at the Bible as a code, a numbers game, a treasure map. The Bible is the Word of God, the answer to all; therefore, the when just has to be in there somewhere. It is there simply for us to discover.

So, we scour the Bible for new clues. We read books that look to the sky claiming to have unlocked said clues. We attend seminars meshing current events to the Scriptures to understand.

I can’t help but to wonder if this is our attempt to run toward Jesus, to cling to someone bigger than ourselves.

The truth is, we are burning too much of our energy and resources trying to unlock the details about the end of the world. Instead, we should turn that energy to being the kingdom of God in the face of great suffering and chaos.

Whenever I see a headline of yet another Christian predicting the end of the world, I cringe. The truth is, end-time Christians who make bold, specific predictions about the end have never been right. After their predictions turn out wrong, they don’t reform themselves. They simply let enough time pass before they can figure out and write about the next celestial event that will most certainly spell the end.

But every time a failed prediction passes, the body of Christ loses a little more credibility. After all, if Christians are so wrong about predicting the end of the world, couldn’t they also be wrong about the deity of Jesus, the cross, and the resurrection? Why should the world accept the message of the cross when its followers get the end of the world so wrong so frequently? Why should we even be trusted?

These failed predictions do little more than affirm the world’s stereotypes that Christians are nothing more than superstitious buffoons. They put the Christian faith on the defensive and cheapen the message of grace the cross brings.

And the cross should always be our focus.

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When the world went strangely dim: God’s glory amidst suffering and hate

Published by Daniel on August 31, 2017

My wife and I traveled down to my sister’s house in Albany, Oregon to experience the great eclipse a couple of weeks ago. From Oregon to South Carolina, the moon blocked out the sun, casting a 70-mile-wide shadow across the United States. Albany happened to be in the path of totality. Portland would get a 99.2% showing of the eclipse.

But what a difference .8% makes.

My wife and I sat in my sister’s backyard and donned our dorky eclipse glasses.

For an hour, we watched the moon slide slowly across the surface of the sun. A show like one we have never seen was about to begin. About fifteen minutes out of totality, Albany grew darker—a strangely dim type of darkness, not quite twilight, not quite dusk. It was like looking through oddly-tinted sunglasses.

Then, in the final moments of totality, the sun went completely dark.

For a moment.

A ring of fire burst out from around the perimeter of the moon. Cheers erupted throughout the neighborhood. Dogs barked. I snapped some pictures and then watched in quiet awe. Words cannot describe the event. The only thing going through my mind were the words of the Psalmist: “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands” (Psalm 19:1).

For two minutes, a wondrous act of the Creator brought the nation to standstill. Suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about my life. I wasn’t worried about the upcoming semester of classes, or my anxieties, or even what I was going to each for lunch that day. Heck, I wasn’t even worried about the drive back to Portland—a normally ninety minute journey that would take almost seven hours. All that mattered at that moment was the dazzling display high up in the heavens.

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

The heavens declare the glory of God. Summer 2017 had been quite eventful, emotional, and one of great transition.

Early on, my wife and I planned a trip back to my home state of Montana. Originally, the plan was to attend two weddings only ten days but five hundred miles apart—one in Billings and the other in Spokane, Washington.

However, that simple plan quickly turned sideways. my grandfather had a massive stroke that took his life just a few days later. Then, my father’s gall bladder attacked him during our special Father’s Day dinner, sending him to the hospital. This, of course, was followed by emergency surgery. Then, if that wasn’t enough, my dachshund Copper decided to get in on the fun when his mouth unexpectedly swelled up, requiring an urgent visit to a vet. My wife and I bounced around Montana like a ball in a pinball machine—Helena to Coeur ‘d Alene, Idaho and back to Missoula, then Great Falls, then Billings for the first wedding, then the mega-metropolis of Savage, back to Missoula, and finally to Spokane for the second wedding.

All in three weeks.

When it was over, my car aged over 3200 hundred miles. I didn’t fare much better.

It was a strange blend of laughter, sadness, celebration, stress, adventure, and of course, transition. A niece on my wife’s side of the family and a nephew on my side transitioned into the world of marriage. For us who are merely uncles and aunts, our relationships with them would transition into something entirely new as they cling to their new spouses and start a new life. My grandfather transitioned into his heavenly home, and those of us left behind transitioned into an unknown life completely without him. My father’s health transitioned back and forth on a daily basis, and I transitioned into a new experience of dealing with an aging dad.

O soul, are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness you see?
There’s a light for a look at the Savior,
And life more abundant and free!

The heavens declare the glory of God. The last several months have seen an escalating in the great American Civil War—one that has been fought largely with stilted rhetoric. Then violence started to creep in, slowly—almost unnoticeably. All this violence didn’t have the impact on us as a nation.

Until a woman was run over and killed by a neo-Nazi in Charlottesville, Virginia.

I am afraid this rhetorical civil war is escalating into a violent one.

On August 26, a category three hurricane named Harvey pummeled Texas in one of the most violent displays of nature since, arguably, Hurricane Katrina. Watching the suffering and loss on TV, I couldn’t begin to fathom what is going on in the minds and hearts of people who lost everything. Also present were endless examples of people helping each other—lifting them out of harm’s way, providing financial resources, food, and lodging, and even encouragement.

Sadly, not to be outdone, brutality and malevolence found its way back into the trending headlines. In the days following, the devastation on the lives of countless Texans was eclipsed by sorry souls who have the heart of Swiss cheese—some of it is missing, and the parts that remain stink. The faces of Harvey were replaced with debates about climate change, whether or not Trump’s response to disaster was better than Obama’s, how Joel Osteen’s church responded or didn’t respond, and whether Melania Trump’s shoes were inappropriate. A professor tweeted the Harvey was karma on Texas for supporting Trump. Politico ran a cartoon mocking victims giving glory to God for their rescue while at the same time making government its own god. And the French satirical magazine Charlie Habdo, who twice was the victim of radical Islamic terrorists, published a cover with Nazi salutes coming out of the water and the headline: “God exists! He drowned all the neo-Nazis of Texas.”

I shake my head in sadness.

It’s almost hard to remember that between Charlottesville and Harvey, a great eclipse brought the United States—from sea to shining sea—to an halt. For two minutes, the nation’s eyes turned upward.

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

The heavens declare the glory of God. To the conservative and the liberal, to the believer and the atheist, to the oppressed and the oppressor, to the human of every race and even to the beast—we all looked in awe to the skies. No one worried about their lives. Political causes moved to the back burner. No one fought or called each other names. No one listened to beltway pundits and arrogant journalists flap their gums. We were all humans again. We were community. For two minutes, the heavens declared the glory of God.

Sure, some tried to turn our attention away from the wonder. One writer tried to argue that science is greater than God because predicting the path of the eclipse is somehow greater than actually creating it. Another tried to use the eclipse as a hook to discuss racism. Fortunately, those attempts got little to no traction. Majesty blurred human nature.

Two minutes later, it was done. Light returned.

“Normal” once again pushed out the “extraordinary.”

Even though the eclipse was only a few weeks ago, it already seems so distant. Allowing life and sin to overwhelm God’s glory is not at all difficult.

It is also sad when it happens.

Perhaps it is time to step away from our personal causes, our debates, our vindictiveness toward others, and our hatred toward those who don’t see things the way we do, and once again look up to the heavens. Everything that matters to us—no matter how important we may think it is—will, in the words of Helen Lemmel’s great hymn, “grow strangely dim, in the light of his glory and grace.”

Lyrics from the song “Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus,” by Helen Lemmel, 1922.

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With the world coming apart, the church still must be the church

Published by Daniel on August 17, 2017

I haven’t said much during this week following the violence in Charlottesville. I have followed the rhetoric on social media and have been saddened by what we have become. But I felt it unwise to say anything, even if it meant not expressing sadness. In truth, I really don’t know what to say that wouldn’t merely contribute to the growing cesspool that is social media. I have no idea how to fix this ugliness.

But my heart is churning.

Although I lean conservative, I am finding it impossible to take sides. I cannot, in the name of Jesus, stand with the white nationalist groups. Their ideology is repulsive and un-Christlike. Any attempts to hijack the name of Christ to their cause is an abomination. And nothing could justify the violence done.

On the other hand, I have watched the violence, intimidation, and hate perpetrated by the Antifa movement over the last several months, and also despise what they stand for. Using violence and silencing people who don’t agree with you isn’t the best way to persuade. Oppression used in the name of fighting oppression is still oppression.

Both groups are two sides of the extremist coin, one that historically never goes well. If either side truly gets their way, freedom ceases to exist. There seems to be no heroes, no “good guys.” Both sides effectively dehumanizes the other so successfully that when one group physically attacks the other, it becomes nearly impossible to express any kind of grief or outrage—even when an individual’s life is tragically snuffed out.

It is imperative to remember the person who was killed as a person and call out the violence against her for what it was—evil.

It is also imperative, as Christ-followers, to not allow ourselves to take sides. Both the Evangelical Right and Progressives are making the exact same mistake: instead of calling out the evil of the extremes for what it is, we are minimizing, justifying, or ignoring the evil if it comes out of the narrative with which we identify. We sacrifice our prophetic voice in the name of what we consider the “greater good.”

Karl Barth once said, “When the church weds itself to the spirit of the age, it will find itself a widow in the next.” Our nation, and even our church itself, is experiencing a serious identity crisis. We don’t know who we are anymore. We must not give in to the temptation to side with one extreme or the other.

Church, in the name of Jesus, be the church.

We are not the church if we allow our prophetic voice to fall under the submission of a political cause or politician. We are not the church if we justify or minimize evil acts from either extreme of the political spectrum. We are not the church if we are selective in our outrage. We are not the church if we liken the kingdom of God to any political cause. We are not the church if we take any side to the left and right extremisms for the cause of the “greater good” no matter how we define it.

We must be the church. We are the church when we are a church of love, loving and showing that love in the face of all forms of extremism. We are the church only when Jesus is our cause, not a political side (note: there is not a single political cause worth fighting for can fully represent the Kingdom of God). We are the church only when we are a church of prayer. We are the church only when we sacrifice our political voice at the expense of conservatism or liberalism. We are the church only when we look to Jesus as the answer and not some political cause.

We don’t know what this nation will look like if or when we ever solve this identity crisis. But rest assured that no matter how it turns out, Barth’s warning is accurate: if we allow our churches to wed to the spirit of the age—whether political conservativism or progressivism, then the entire body of Christ will be a widow in the years to come.

That is something we cannot allow to happen.

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Changing our response to a violent world

Published by Daniel on June 3, 2017

We live in a violent world. Always have. And if I were a betting man, I’d say we always will. If humans excel — truly excel — at anything, it is coming up with new, exciting ways to kill each other. This will always be the case, as long as we exist in a broken, sinful world.

At the May 22 Ariana Grande concert in Manchester, England, a terrorist attack killed 23 people and injured 116. Days later, on a cross-town train in my town of Portland, Oregon, a white supremacist knifed three protectors trying to stop his hate speech toward two minority women. The women escaped, but two of their protectors died.

Acts like these obliterate the idea that this world can somehow overcome violence and achieve peace. We can preach platitudes, but does anyone really think Katy Perry can change the heart of ISIS by begging them to “coexist”? We can pass laws, but does anyone truly believe determined terrorists can’t circumvent them? And if we ask our governments to respond, virtually their only tools are sanctions (not always effective) or brute force (more violence).

Bottom line: We should do our best to avert violence, but people will still kill one another. I realize this is not an ideal reality, but it is one with which we are stuck.

Perhaps as a result of the information age, in which acts of violence from around the world are streamed daily onto our TVs and computers, we have lost our ability to process and to grieve.

On social media, images of terrorism mix with funny memes, vacation pictures, and kitten videos. If the latest horror doesn’t involve us, we scroll past. Only when it touches our personal values do we get angry and demand justice, and then usually only through hashtag activism which costs us nothing. We act as if some deaths matter, while others do not. We pick and choose which violence offends us.

Humanity has always been violent; that doesn’t change. So what must change is how we respond. Here’s what I mean.

We must re-humanize oppositional voices. Our nature is to de-humanize those whose perspective or experience varies from ours. We use labels like “those people” or “people like that”—often with a subtle lip-curl or eye-roll. Usually this shift is subconscious—we don’t even know we are doing it. But slowly, gradually, we begin to see “them ” as subhuman. We are the humane, enlightened ones; they are not just wrong or different, but actually evil. After this switch, we can justify violence as tolerable — even righteous — because we now believe “they” are the real problem. So attacking “them,” we rationalize, serves the greater good.

We must stop politicizing violence. Tragedy has become so politicized that after each new horror, instead of uniting in healing and grief, we split apart in hatred and blame, reducing the victims to mere pawns in the political debate. As stated in the “Rohm Rule” by Rohm Emanuel, current Chicago mayor and former White House chief of staff: “You never want a serious crisis to go to waste.”

Immediately after the Manchester concert bombing, some on the political right cheered the attack as poetic justice because Grande once said she hated America. Others used the tragedy to demand a clamp-down against immigrants and refugees coming in to the West. Never mind that the bomber was a British-born citizen.

On the other hand, after the Portland slayings, some on the political left immediately blamed Trumpism. Even former presidential candidate Jill Stein tweeted: “Another heartbreaking tragedy in Trump’s America, as a white nationalist shouting anti-Islam slurs murders 2 on Portland, OR subway.” Never mind that the killer opposed Trump and supported both Bernie Sanders and Jill Stein.

When we use tragedy to advance our own agenda, we trivialize it—and its victims. We become disconnected from the fact that this is not about left or right, but about the fact that something terrible has happened.

People lost their lives. This matters more than swiftly (and usually erroneously, as above) blaming one’s political opponents.

We must remember that we all have violence within. I own a gun, for hobby shooting and self-protection. However, I am not “pro-violence,” and the odds are very slim that I’ll ever have occasion to use it for the latter purpose. Owning a gun does not make me a killer, any more than owning a cutlery set makes you a slasher.

Yet this doesn’t mean there’s no violence in my heart.

In the Old Testament, God says simply, “Thou shalt not kill.”

But in the New Testament, Jesus expands: “You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘You shall not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment” (Matthew 5:21-22, NIV). And the writings of John confirm: “Anyone who hates a brother or sister is a murderer” (1 John 3:15, NIV).

Show of hands: How many of us have never murdered someone? Most of us can raise our hands because we’ve never broken that Old Testament commandment.

Show of hands again: How many of us have never felt anger or hatred in our hearts toward someone? Ah…who’s raising a hand now? If you are, you’re lying.

This would be much easier if we stopped with just the Old Testament. But the New Testament says we’re all killers in our hearts.

When we flame someone on the internet, we are killers. When we rage against Team Trump, Team Obama, or Team Hillary – we are murderers. When my anger flares up toward Antifa rioters starting fires, throwing rocks, or stifling free speech, I am committing homicide in my heart.

This sobering realization proves that I am no better than Salman Abedi (the Manchester bomber) or Jeremy Christian (the Portland slasher).

With this realization comes gratitude that, even so, Jesus still saved my sinful heart.

And with this saved heart, I can once again feel grief for the victims of violence, no matter who they are or why it happened.

Violence will plague us until Jesus comes. But when it does, we believers must respond as he did. We must stop rushing to political agendas and personal vendettas, and instead respond with genuine sorrow, empathy, and compassion.

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Why is the cross so hated around the world?

Published by Daniel on April 14, 2017

Last Tuesday, as I waited outside for someone to unlock my church for an event, a young couple walked by. As they passed, the woman read aloud, not once but twice, a sign on the door and gave a loud, exaggerated snort of derision. Then she actually turned around and came back to snap a photo of it. Judging from her sharp, sarcastic laughter, I was sure the photo would be posted online with a snarky comment — something about the stupidity of church people.

On the outside, I briefly made eye contact with her and gave her a nod and a smile.

But on the inside, I sensed the insult and felt a rush of snappy retorts. Thankfully, the Holy Spirit kept my pie-hole closed.

After she left, I turned to see what she had found so funny. The sign just said: “No woman’s [sic] Bible reading tonight.”

Other than the spelling error — “woman’s” instead of “women’s” — I could see nothing there to inspire her derisive laughter – much less a photo surely destined for social media.

I started to think that her actions had been for my benefit. I can read, and I’m sure her companion could too — so why did she feel the need to keep reading this sign aloud? And why was she so intent on mocking it that she retraced her steps to photograph it, right in front of me? I’m just a Christian who happened to be standing outside my church, waiting for someone to open it; I never did anything to her. Yet I really think she was making a dig against Christianity in my presence. Maybe it was something else, but I don’t think I misread her meaning.

Two days earlier, two ISIS terrorists had blown themselves up in Coptic churches in Egypt, killing forty-four and injuring many others. The worshipers in these churches were celebrating Palm Sunday, just as we were doing here.

Somehow, these two events seemed distantly related to me.

Let me be very clear. The mockery (if that’s what it was) I experienced on Tuesday is nothing compared to the horror and sorrow of the explosions in Egypt last Sunday. The two events aren’t even on the same scale.

But both events share a similar seed: a hatred for Jesus and the cross. Every other group now has defenders to be sure they are not mocked or persecuted; only Christians are still fair game. On one end of the spectrum, TV and movies virtually always portray Christians as naïve, bigoted idiots who contribute nothing to society. On the other end, we hear constant reports of the rape, torture, and slaughter of Christ-followers overseas. Christians are the last remaining scapegoat in cultures around the world.

Clearly, Jesus isn’t surprised by this hatred: “If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first” (John 15:18, NIV). I’ve always wondered why this is so. Why does the world respond to Jesus with such hate and animosity?

If you ask non-Christians–and even some Christians–in the United States why, most will point to Christians themselves as the primary reason. They might say that Christians are too judgmental, or hypocritical, or filled with hate.

Fair enough. All Christ-followers are guilty of those things at one time or another. I know I certainly am. Sadly, I often beat myself up for saying or doing things that embarrass the cause of Christ. So this criticism against Christians is not unfounded.

But the same criticism also applies to pretty much everyone else on the planet. I can’t think of a single person who is not judgmental, hypocritical, or filled with hate. Welcome to humanity.

No, I believe the hatred of the cross and its followers is something deeper.

Sure, the cross was a grisly torture device, designed to cause death in the most sadistic, pain-filled way possible. So to unbelievers, celebrating the cross naturally seems creepy and scandalous. To them, the whole bloody sacrifice thing is nauseating and worthy of scorn.

But even deeper: The cross confronts our idolatry. It threatens the god of Me. It exposes the fact that we are hopelessly lost and broken – and we cannot fix it.

We don’t want to think about that.

Ironically, we are so determined not to face our brokenness that we respond to this exposure with hatred, derision, and mockery. And in so doing, we silence the rest of the message: the freedom and redemption that comes through the cross.

Jesus’ death obliterated every obstacle between us and Almighty God. Through Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, we receive the redemption that comes with it.

I can’t force the world to hear, understand, or accept this message. I can only reflect Jesus as best as I can to those around me.

Even so, it is likely the world will continue to hate my Savior and, by extension, me. We Christ-followers shouldn’t be disturbed by this hatred. Jesus warned us it would come, and you don’t have to delve too far into the daily news to see his warning fulfilled.

I am okay with this.

Because the world may treat Christians with hatred and scorn – but we have the cross. Without the cross we are broken, sinful, and inadequate. But with it, I pray that each of us may respond as Jesus did – with his authentic love and forgiveness in return.

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How the church lost our prophetic voice in 2016 (and how we might get it back)

Published by Daniel on January 18, 2017

On Friday, our next president will be sworn in.

The 2016 election ended the most bizarre, unsettling campaign season I’ve ever seen. Afterward I felt great relief, not because my candidate won (I couldn’t vote for either major candidate) but because it was finally over.

Thankfully, mercifully, happily over.

Then the protests and riots began—the most violent of them in my hometown of Portland, Oregon. The losers threw tantrums while the winners gloated.

My heart hasn’t stopped aching about the 2016 election season. However, what troubled me most was not the candidates, but the body of Christ. I consider 2016 to be the year the church lost its prophetic voice.

Both progressive and conservative Christians took their eyes off God’s simple requirement: to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God (Micah 6:8). Each side seemed to have a sickening case of tunnel vision, condemning vile behaviors in the other candidate while overlooking equally vile behaviors in their own. God’s people could have called for justice and repentance without scrambling down into the mud with everyone else. But we didn’t. So we lost our prophetic voice.

What do I mean by prophetic voice?

Consider King David.

In 2 Samuel, David had just committed a string of terrible sins. First, he sleeps with the wife of Uriah, one of his top warriors. Then, when she gets pregnant, he craftily calls Uriah back from the battlefield for a little—ahem!—“R&R” with her, to hide who the father is; but Uriah won’t enter his own home because doing so would dishonor his fellow warriors, who are still fighting and can’t enjoy such luxuries. Thwarted, David resorts to premeditated murder. He commands his general to put Uriah on the front lines and then withdraw the troops, leaving Uriah to be killed.

The plan works; David gets away with both adultery and murder.

Until the prophet Nathan shows up to tell the king a story:

“There were two men in a certain town, one rich and the other poor. The rich man had a very large number of sheep and cattle, but the poor man had nothing except one little ewe lamb he had bought. He raised it, and it grew up with him and his children. It shared his food, drank from his cup and even slept in his arms. It was like a daughter to him. Now a traveler came to the rich man, but the rich man refrained from taking one of his own sheep or cattle to prepare a meal for the traveler who had come to him. Instead, he took the ewe lamb that belonged to the poor man and prepared it for the one who had come to him” (1 Samuel 12:1-4).

Hearing this tale of injustice, David rages: “As surely as the Lord lives, the man who did this must die! He must pay for that lamb four times over, because he did such a thing and had no pity” (12:5-6).

Only then does Nathan close the trap: “You are that man” (12:7).

This story can help us understand the prophetic voice, and also how we lost it.

The prophetic voice speaks truth to power. Nathan had to deliver a stinging rebuke to a king. Although David’s kingdom was ruled by God’s law (the Torah), in a monarchy the king is the arbiter of the law, and can essentially do whatever he wants. Though David was considered a man after God’s own heart, he did not hesitate to commit sin and then hide it.

I admit I can get pretty starry-eyed around “kings” (people who have wealth and fame – like when I used to do on-air interviews of musicians, politicians, and other celebrities at a Christian radio station). In fact, who doesn’t? For some reason, most of us want rich, famous people to think we are cool. However, if God so instructed, would I have the courage to speak God’s uncomfortable truth to power? Nathan did, even knowing it might cause his political downfall or possibly his physical death.

It took great courage for the prophet to deliver this rebuke to a king. But the prophetic voice must speak God’s truth to whomever God instructs, no matter how powerful and no matter what the potential consequence.

The prophetic voice must transcend our own political agenda. Nathan could have convinced himself that maybe he didn’t hear God correctly, or that David’s sin wasn’t all that bad. After all, David was doing some great things: establishing a beautiful capital in Jerusalem, bringing the ark of the covenant back home, and defeating some pretty bad enemies of Israel. He was a good king overall, so why care about his personal life? Why bother with his sins (or “mistakes”)? After all, bringing him down would d– evastate not only the palace and royal family, but the entire nation as well.

When my alma mater’s president posed next to then-candidate Donald Trump with a Playboy cover on the wall behind them, I cringed. I know he didn’t pick where he stood in Trump’s office, but that photo seemed representative of what was going on among Christians at that time: we were more than willing to overlook sin if it benefited our political agenda. Maybe Trump was our guy because he preached pro-life, so we didn’t care about his playboy lifestyle; or maybe Clinton was our gal because she preached benefits for all, so we didn’t care about her unethical practices; or maybe Sanders was our guy because he preached social justice, so we didn’t care that he doesn’t even really believe in God.

So we lost the moral high ground. Or, as Judge Judy says, we accused without clean hands. We found that we cannot call out the splinter in our opponent’s eye when we have a plank in our own.

The prophetic voice should lead to a repentant heart. Nathan approached David not just to spew vitriole or delegitimize his kingship, but to call David to repentance. And David immediately responded, “I have sinned against the Lord” (12:13). Psalm 51 beautifully expresses his repentance:

Create in me a pure heart, O God,
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Do not cast me from your presence
or take your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation
and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain m
(Psalm 51:10-12).

True, David was a true follower of God who cared deeply about God’s opinion, while many of today’s politicians and pundits aren’t. Still, we don’t even try to do what Nathan did: confront them directly and call them to account, led by God with the purpose of effecting repentance. Instead we confront them indirectly on social media, led by our own silly passion—pointlessly mocking them, repeating wild rumors about them, and insulting their followers. That’s the world’s methodology, and we are not being God’s prophetic voice when we imitate it. Our objective must be repentance—which, by the way, always includes our own.

So, under a new president, can the church regain its prophetic voice? Or will we keep practicing the world’s ways of jeering, rejecting, and tearing down without building up?

I hope we’ll do the former. But we’ll have to look within. Will we try to speak God’s truth, in love, to everyone or just to those with whom we disagree? Will we seek justice for all, or only for those we personally deem oppressed? Will we pray for our president, not for him to grow a brain or roll over dead but to humbly repent, seek reconciliation, and lead our nation with wisdom and grace?

Nathan’s gentle, truthful approach softened David’s heart to hear God’s words. We too must maintain a gentle spirit of repentance for ourselves, our opposition, and our whole society. God’s kingdom must come first; no political party, preference, or agenda is more important.

To regain our prophetic voice, we must be brave, loving, and consistent, or else remain silent.

I am pretty sure silence is not an option.

We must do better.

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Why we need Advent now more than ever

Published by Daniel on December 2, 2016

Advent—beginning with the first of four Sundays before Christmas—is usually my favorite time of year. I start anticipating it around June 21, when the days start getting shorter. I love the lights and colors, the smells of Christmas trees and warm fresh-baked cookies, the sounds of bells and carols, and the sight of Rudolph and Charlie Brown running across my television screen. But there’s a deeper reason for my love of Christmas.

For years, I have wrestled with my broken life, and Advent is a season to remember how God stepped into humanity’s story—my story—and lived among us for the sole purpose of saving us. Have you ever suddenly realized that you find more excitement in the days leading up to Christmas than the actual day itself? That is Advent. The “secular” Christmas season of anticipating Santa Claus is merely a shadow-like reflection of what Advent is. Advent is waiting, knowing Jesus will come. So for me, Advent is a reflection and celebration of the magnitude of Jesus’s birth, and what it means in the mess that is my life.

Yet this year, despite my love of Advent, the temptation has been strong to just sit in the darkness and be sad over a world gone mad.

I tried to start this blog on the first Sunday of Advent, because I wanted to give a warm, meaningful introduction to this season of hope.

Yet no words came.

I was in a sour, bleak mood. This year has felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone – or, more accurately, like the overall plot of “The Walking Dead”: There is no way this story can end well.

Like many people, I have been reeling from a painfully long and ugly presidential election which divided families, friends, and even the body of Christ. I celebrated the day after, not because of the outcome but because it was finally, mercifully over. Then came weeks of riots and accusations, and as if those weren’t enough, the election that will not go away is about to be stretched out at least another few weeks because an official recount was requested in three states. The uncertainty continues.

As I continued trying to blog, a Somali refugee plowed his car into a crowd of students at Ohio State University, then jumped out of his car and began stabbing everyone he could before he was shot dead by law enforcement.

Yet another tragedy. Yet another reason why I could find no heartening words to say.

The hope of Advent seems pushed out by a dark, broken world, extinguished by the pain of daily life.

Perhaps it’s just the cumulative weight of 2016 in my psyche. Granted, there have been many things to be thankful for in this year; I can’t pretend there were no blessings. But it has been a year unlike any other in my lifetime. Globally we are overwhelmed by issues and evils, knowing that no one – not even the talking heads on TV or the self-proclaimed experts on social media – can solve them. Nationally we are shattered by politics, nursing suspicions and firing accusations against our closest friends and family members because of who we did or didn’t vote for. And personally I celebrated my 50^th birthday this year, which reanimated deep questions about life’s meaning and God’s plan.

I have felt so many raw emotions and scary uncertainties this year that I just want to tap out for a while.

So instead of anticipating Advent with joy, I did so with numbness and dread—as if it were just another task to get through.

As I watched the horrible events at Ohio State scroll across my television screen, I got into a pretty frosty (bad seasonal pun intended) debate with myself over whether it was worth it even to get a tree. But I knew that if I didn’t, I’d keep debating the question and be unable to move on to other things – like finishing this blog.

So despite my Grinch-like heart, I ventured out.

Barely thinking or caring about anything, I drove to a nondescript tree lot, grabbed the first decent tree I saw, secured it atop my car, and headed home. Within an hour I had fixed it in a stand, strung it with lights, and thrown some decorations on it.

And although my initial intent was simply to get that chore out of the way, the result changed me.

In the daytime, my tree was just an odd, temporary living room decoration, giving off barely visible light. But as darkness fell, it became truly beautiful.

I sat in the warm glow of my new Christmas tree, a glow which brought remarkable contrast to my darkened living room. And I began to feel the hope that Advent brings.

That morning I had been reading Ann Voskamp’s new book, and now one sentence she wrote explained my experience: “The way you always find the light in the dark is to make your hand reach out.”[1] My sparkling-new Christmas tree was suddenly the symbol of Advent for me. It was light invading the darkness. But I needed to reach for it, and invite the hope of Advent into my own heavy world.

I am grateful I chose to go buy a tree despite my sour disposition. God used that tree to show me that we remember Advent not despite the world’s darkness, but because of it. The anticipation of Advent shines brightest in a dark world; it is when the world is darkest that the anticipation is most needed.

In 2017, there is no guarantee of a better year. We will still be living in a dark, fallen world. And that is exactly why Advent is more important than ever. The world’s darkness is exactly why we must remember Advent—which holds within it the anticipation of Jesus’s birth, the power of his sacrifice, and the hope of knowing that one day he will come again.

[1] Ann Voskamp, The Broken Way, p. 57.

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Seriously, what is going on with this presidential election, and what do we do now?

Published by Daniel on October 10, 2016

In the last few days – amid yet another outbreak of scandalous news items and a second debate involving the Democratic and Republican presidential candidates – traditional and social media continue to warn us that if the “wrong” candidate wins, the sky will fall, children will starve, and the Yellowstone caldera will erupt.

Then there are thoughtful commentaries by Christian writers and leaders, trying to present biblical reasons why Christians should vote one way or the other. Theologian Mirasolv Volf says the policies of Hillary Clinton best represent Christian values; theologian Wayne argues that Trump is the better choice.

Christian progressives wag their fingers at Christian conservatives for being single-issue voters, without admitting that they themselves often are too. And don’t get me started on the old argument that “if you don’t vote, then X will win and the sky will fall, children will starve, and the Yellowstone caldera will erupt.”

If I am for anything in this election, it is for hitting the reboot button on 2016 and trying again.

I am pretty sure that as Jesus watches this election, he is slowly beating his head against the pearly gates.

Of all the presidential elections in my ever-lengthening lifetime, this one is the most bizarre, frustrating, and insane. If nothing else, it is a commentary on the level to which we the American people have sunk.

As an independent who leans right of center on most issues, my struggle is not which candidate to vote for, but whether to vote at all. I know, I know – in a constitutional democratic republic such as ours, voting is a privilege and a duty. I agree. But this time, it feels like a choice between being buried alive and being burned at the stake. How can I vote for either?

Honestly, as an evangelical Christian, I have serious problems with both of the top two candidates. Equally.

I know it’s un-Christlike, but I have trouble seeing either of them with the compassion of Christ. I would prefer that neither one be my president. Neither exhibits the moral compass or the character traits I desire in my nation’s leader. Both seem corrupted, out of touch with ordinary people, and willing to say anything to get votes. And in truth, one cannot—absolutely cannot—point out the character flaws in one without pointing out virtually the same flaws in the other. (The conspiracy theorist in me can’t shake the uneasy feeling that we, the people, are somehow being played.)

No matter who becomes president, I am not optimistic about the next four years.

So as Christ-followers, what do we do? Here is my advice to all Christian voters, which I really hope to follow myself.

Vote your own personal conscience. If, unlike me, you have a preference of one candidate over another, by all means vote. Even if you simply feel led to choose one as the lesser of two evils so the other doesn’t win, then cast your ballot. But don’t delude yourself that your candidate will advance Christian values. In politics, Christians – like most other segments of our society – are just a voting block to be patronized or demonized every election year. No matter what is promised before the election, Christian concerns are unlikely to carry any special clout afterward.

Pray for the candidates and other leaders. It looks like either Clinton or Trump soon will be elected president. Yet neither seems to be seeking God’s perspective. That’s all the more reason to follow the biblical mandate to pray for them, and for our other leaders. And our prayers should be not cynical (“Lord, help this idiot to get a clue”) but sincere, seeking God’s wisdom, discernment, and protection over the White House, Congress, and the Supreme Court as well. We must pray with a pure heart for the occupants of all three.

Remember that God’s kingdom is greater than earthly governments. The kingdom of God never has been, and never will be, represented by any secular government. It begins in our hearts, not in Washington, D.C. – and is carried out through our own actions, not through the actions of the executive, legislative, or judicial branch of government. No matter who wins this election, things can change, rights can be taken, and Christians can be pushed further toward the margins. But the kingdom of God has outlasted countless forms of government in the last two thousand years. We can be pretty sure it will outlast a Clinton or Trump presidency. It will even outlast a shift in the Supreme Court.

In less than a month we will have a new president, and the winning side will wrongly claim that their win is a mandate. (I say wrongly because when a majority of voters see both candidates unfavorably and blindly vote for the one they find slightly less despicable than the other, that’s not a mandate.) Then the losing side will vow cooperation with the new administration, while at the same time planning its demise.

Many voters will be filled with gratitude that this surreal election is over – but also filled with fear and anger at the outcome. Maybe, instead of railing against the new administration, we should spend the next four years reflecting on how the winner was able to channel that fear and anger into votes by tickling our ears.

And each Christ-follower should spend the next four years being the church to his or her own little corner of the world. Doing so will bring change far better and faster than any bloated bureaucracy ever could.

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Will we ever find utopia in a broken world?

Published by Daniel on July 18, 2016

I just returned from a week in Helena, Montana.

It was utopic: silent mornings, sitting alone on a wide deck overlooking Hauser Lake; loud middays, talking and laughing with family under the big Montana sky; and brilliant evenings, watching the horizon erupt in a blaze of colors as the sun dropped below the western mountains.

The scenery was fresh and spacious. The air was tranquil and clean. And most important, I was out of the city.

The whole time I was there, I fought back dread of the day when I would have to return to the city where I live – Portland, Oregon.

But before that day came, something worse happened. Shortly after the Fourth of July, the country exploded with violence, protests, and domestic terrorism. Two videos went viral, showing police officers shooting African-American men in St. Paul and Baton Rouge; then five officers were gunned down in Dallas. The nation cracked in two, and the schism spread wide. I knew—absolutely knew—the next several days would be filled with raging debates and groundless conclusions made from hundreds or thousands of miles away, based on a few seconds of unclear video.

And I was not let down.

It was like wading through sewage. Before anyone knew the facts, hashtag activism erupted from those who weren’t even there. People spewed half-baked answers which they were sure would usher in a national utopia. Even Christians rushed to “out-compassion” one another with simplistic solutions, subtly accusing other believers who disagreed with them of being uncaring.

My Montana escape suddenly seemed so distant. Instead of being grateful for all of the blessings God has given me, I grieved over the tension and strife. I wished I could stay in Montana and never return to the city. But duties called, so I returned.

Then, more shocking events: On Bastille Day, a truck-driving terrorist in Nice, France, mowed down scores of people, injuring hundreds and killing over 80; and a college student was shot dead in the streets of Helena, Montana. The Nice attack was stunning in its unspeakable scope and depravity; the world reeled from the shock. But for me, the Helena attack was even more personal. Helena was my utopia, my retreat. And just like that, my little self-made haven crumbled into dust. I realized that even there, evil is present. Even there, tears flow and hearts cry out to God. Even there, despite my best attempts to get away from it all, none of us can escape a broken, sinful world.

In fact, as I write this (Sunday, July 17), even more tragedy has erupted in Baton Rouge, leaving several police officers dead.

So why do we all try so hard to find utopia? Some fight to create it politically, by working to pass laws and elect leaders they believe in. Others, like me, seek it by physically fleeing to some place we hope will be better (we all know that tired old threat, “If so-and-so is elected, I’m moving to ____!”).

But for Christ-followers, utopia is not the goal.

Jesus is.

Following Christ isn’t about “what’s in it for me” – it’s about being in an intimate relationship with Truth. And it seems that the closer we get to him, the easier it is to step into the brokenness with those who suffer.

During all of the violence and chaos, I did see something good this week. It was a video, apparently filmed the day after the shooting in Dallas, of people stepping up and hugging police officers. As one hugger turned to walk away, the camera caught his t-shirt message: “God must matter.”

That grabbed me.

The brokenness of remote Montana is no different than the brokenness of inner-city Portland. If Jesus matters in Montana, then he matters in Portland. And if I cannot be a Christ-follower here in my city, then I cannot be one anywhere.

If God does not matter—regardless of where we are—then all we are doing is fighting for a utopia that will never come, or trying to flee to a utopia that doesn’t exist.

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