After George Müller got his heart into a place where it had “no will of its own in regard to a given matter,” he remained on guard against feeling as a means of decision-making. When I think on how love drove him to care for thousands of orphans, it seems odd that he would not want feelings to reign. A friend of mine who is a philosophy professor would wholeheartedly approve, despite being an atheist; whenever his students begin a sentence with “I feel,” he nips them in the bud. “Think your way to truth,” he tells them, “don’t feel.”

It’s certainly an odd notion, in an age of irrationality and sentimentality, when you’re supposed to listen to your heart, as a pop song goes, and when learning to love yourself, according to an older pop hit, is the greatest love of all. Aren’t all the movie heroes, after all, people who lead with their hearts?

Yet Müller distrusted his own emotions when it came to decision-making, because he knew what the Bible warned, that the heart is deceitful, and dreadfully sick. When emotions are in charge, such that they govern actions, they are more likely than not to extend first to the self, and to others only insofar as they propel one’s self-love. We’ve all met parents, for example, who tell themselves they doesn’t discipline their children because they love them so very much, but who in actuality love themselves too much, and see their children only as extensions of themselves. The heart can be beautiful, the heart makes us human, but the heart is a lousy decision-maker, because its prime object of affection is so frequently itself.

So Müller, that committed Christian and caregiver to lost children, worked to keep his feelings in check. Only then, he must have believed, could he reflect the love of God, which is always borne out in action, not sentiment. It’s been quite often, in my ten years as a Christian, that I have let my emotions make decisions for me, while I told myself that the whisperings of my deceitful heart were in fact the prompting of the Holy Spirit. Ironically, it’s only as I’ve learned to try, at least, to put my own wants in check that I have found my actions more infused with genuine love, as opposed to sentiment, with self-sacrifice, as opposed to self-centered martyrdom, with courage, as opposed to bravado. It’s one more way that He is strong where we are weak, which is something I learned to pronounce early in my Christian walk, but have only recently begun to understand.

Editor’s Note: Here’s a link to Tony’s first post in this series, “A rule of prayer.” 

Posted in Front Page, Odds & Ends | 16 Comments »

I’ve had reason of late to consider George Müller’s thoughts on prayer. Müller was a Prussian-born evangelist credited with caring for over 10,000 British orphans during his lifetime in the 19th century, and educating a good many additional children. Müller was known for never accepting government assistance, and for never requesting money of anyone. His earnest faith was that if he did God’s will, God would provide. As the story goes, there was a time in the early years of his orphanage when the food ran out. He had the children arranged around the dinner table regardless, in order to give thanks for the food God was going to provide. Soon there was a knock at the door; a bread truck had broken down outside, and the owner offered it to Müller rather than let it go to waste.

Rather than thanking God for what He will provide, I am usually asking Him not to take away what He has given. I wonder if I ever will come close to the assurance that seemed to inform Müller’s life. For some time I have been taken with his guidelines for prayer, which are at once so practical and so difficult to follow. The first thing he did, he explained, was to strip himself of his own will. That doesn’t mean that he adopted a stoic indifference to the outcome, but rather that he got himself to a place where he was willing to embrace the outcome, even if it’s not what he desired.

That, Müller implied, was more than half the battle. It certainly is for me. I am a want-filled creature, hopeful and fearful all at once, and prone to ignore God until something I want or something I fear is directly in my field of vision. How strange, when prayer is so frequently the consequence of our immediate wants, to begin by praying that our own wills be sublimated.

In his exhaustive Civil War trilogy, Shelby Foote writes how Jefferson Davis, upon learning that his young son had plummeted to his death from an upper window, closed himself into a room, and could be heard pacing the entire night, saying over and over: “Not my will, but thy will.” It was a prayer for the ability to submit, I’m sure, as much as a statement of faith. Maybe that’s all our statements of faith ever are, prayers that we might be, if only for a short while, faithful, and faith-filled.

Posted in Front Page, Odds & Ends | 2 Comments »

It’s okay to fall into temptation and then repent. It’s a fine thing, I suppose, to “lose it” with your kids and then come back and ask forgiveness. It’s nice that you’re always honest with me from the pulpit and assure me that you fall repeatedly like me; and you’re so transparent, confessing to me that you also constantly forget to trust in Christ and to rejoice. But when that’s all you ever tell me I am not so greatly empowered.

I want to hear you say sometime that you do trust in God day by day, that you have been learning to be strong in him in moments of temptation. And I want to hear the stories pour out — how you didn’t lose it with your kids but managed to hold firm in faith and love because you were conscious of God (1 Peter 2:19), and how you called on his power when you saw the test coming (Psalm 50:15). I want to know how this walk of faith is changing you, and that you no longer stumble around in defeat but are living a new life.

Repentance and confession, yes. These are the graces that lubricate the fellowship of saints. But are these not given that we might also go beyond and see some better victories, lest we start to think that stumble-and-confess is all the height that we can climb? Did the Word not say that we would “reign in life”? (Romans 5:17)

Posted in Front Page, Odds & Ends | 4 Comments »

“If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins” (1 Corinthians 15:16).

What an interesting way to put it. You might have thought Paul would say, “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and the notion of sin is hogwash.”

But no, whether Christianity is true or not — and even if Nietzsche is right that “God is dead” — we are still in our sins. I know, I know, philosophically you can give me a good argument that where there is no God, there is no such thing as sin: Sin is a meaningful concept only where there is a Personal lawgiver. True enough.

But my earliest memories are of shameful thoughts and deeds that have no better description than the word “sin.” Sin as a concept has a quality that should please the 14^th century English logician William of Ockham, and succeeding practitioners of the scientific method. It contains all the facts of my experience with nothing spilling over and unaccounted for. It is economic, parsimonious, simple, elegant.

I for one am grateful to have heard the news of the gospel — that a solution was provided for the miserable predicament I found myself in since consciousness of existence was coterminous with consciousness of guilt.

And now the inverse is gloriously true:

“Christ has been raised, my faith is not futile, and I am not still in my sins.” Glory!

Posted in Front Page, Odds & Ends | 3 Comments »

I have several friends who are in the midst of trying to discern what they should do for a living next. They are all successful, and many have been on the corporate treadmill. Each is capable of running faster on that treadmill, and earning high six or even seven figures. Yet each has chosen to step off.

I believe God is calling, as He always has, men to turn their hearts homeward. That is what these men are doing. They have determined that training up their children isn’t something they can farm out to other people. They have realized that there is a difference between earning a living, and living to earn. They have abandoned the value system that assesses people according to how much they earn, and how much they are admired by others. These are all very difficult things for men, especially, to do.

I know plenty more men who are scurrying ever harder on the treadmill. They work 70, 80, 90 hours and more per week. They have fancy cars, palatial homes, expensive private schools and sports camps for their kids. They live to work, and they are good at business because they can avoid the self-deceptions that doom many companies. They see business opportunities where others can’t, and so they are well compensated.

These very same men, however, don’t seem to evaluate their own lives with the same perceptiveness they apply to business. They tell themselves that they never see their children because they are working to support them, as if the alternative is that their children starve. They tell themselves that their relentless work is for their families, and not the admiration of other men. They pretend that they are good parents, because they have some occasional “quality time” with their alienated youngsters.

I wonder what would happen if they scrutinized their own lives with the same acumen they apply to a struggling company. What if the “profitability” of the home wasn’t the size of the bank account, but the spiritual strength of the family? Who among us would be rich then, and who poor? I admire my friends who are changing their lives, because it takes courage to go against the world’s standards. And yet the world needs them, and their children, because the world is overfull with the other kind of men, the ones who sacrifice their children on the altar of business success.

Always there is the choice: God or Mammon. Every day, in a thousand ways, we choose one or the other. Which are you choosing? I’d be a liar if I told you I always chose God. Which is why I’m doubly glad I have these friends struggling to find their way, and to do the right thing. They inspire me to be better than I would otherwise be.

Posted in Front Page, Odds & Ends | 11 Comments »

It was not quite 8 a.m. and as I was walking with Spider down streets still devoid of people, a little boy I don’t know called out to me heartily from his front porch: “Today’s my birthday!”

The notion of it was suddenly utterly delightful to me, as was this shared secret with a fellow earth traveler in an unrepeatable moment in time. “Is it really! That’s fantastic!” I said. “What’s the date today?” He cocked his head to think a second or two: “March 19^th.” “How old are you now?” “Six!” “I hope you have a wonderful birthday today!” I said (Everything was exclamation points.) “I will!” he said, as a foregone conclusion.

Remember the days when you didn’t need context to bring up a subject? All thoughts important to you were instantly relevant. Your friends, to their undying credit, didn’t think you weird but were on board without missing a beat, and ready to go with the flow.

Remember the days when you could expect that something that was good news to you would of course be good news to everyone? Even some strange middle-aged lady walking her dog?

No wonder God loves children especially. I wonder if I can become enough like one again that people over age six will feel free to tell me something out of context, and be able to trust that I care.

“Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it” (Luke 18:17)

Posted in Front Page, Odds & Ends | 7 Comments »

My wife and I come from homes without much in the way of admirable traditions. We both became Christians as adults, and now with four boys to raise, we find ourselves casting about during occasions like Easter, trying to develop a set of traditions that are meaningful. We don’t want our children to associate Easter solely, as we did, with hunting for eggs, any more than we want them thinking Christmas is all about presents.

There’s something oxymoronic about trying to start a tradition. But that’s where we are. Some churches are rich in tradition and practice, making it easier for people like us to bind ourselves to meaningful habits. We find ourselves in a Protestant church, however—the very label connotes a casting off of habits. So we have to inaugurate our own traditions.

Take Passover, for example. I know, it’s a Jewish holiday. But it’s also the night when Christ broke bread and drank wine with his disciples, and when he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane. I’m not the first Protestant to think perhaps this deserves some commemoration. I did a little reading about how other Christians do this, but we were mostly on our own. We settled on lamb chops (the last fresh lamb our butcher had), with, among other things, a side of horseradish, commemorating the bitterness of captivity (to sin), and a side of cooked apples, to signify the sweetness of deliverance. We had bread and red wine as well, and talked with the children about the significance of all these things. Probably all they’ll remember is that they each got a sip of wine.

I read Psalm 113 to them before we ate (”Who is like the Lord our God/Who is enthroned on high?”). After dinner I read Psalm 115 (”The Lord has been mindful of us; He will bless us”). The children listened politely … and asked for another sip of wine. I suppose a tradition doesn’t take root in one sitting, especially among little heathens.

Today they’ll have light meals, their way of walking alongside me as I fast. “Why won’t you eat?” asked my oldest. I told him that Good Friday is a day some Christians fast, as a way of repenting and remembering what the Lord did for us. He asked if he could fast, too. Later, I told him, when you’re older. That’s the other challenge with tradition, to keep it vibrant by remaining connected to its purpose, rather than letting it become the dead grip of a forgotten past.

A good Protestant could explain why all of this is balderdash. We’re liberated from these rituals, etc. As I teach my children other things, however, I’m struck by the efficacy of coupling theory with practice. It seems like we learn best when we are doing. We are practical creatures that way. So I fast, as a way of “doing” repentance, even though I know full well that the sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, and a broken and contrite heart. A physical practice like fasting, for me, strengthens my spiritual practice.

I’m curious if others have had the same experience and what, if anything, you do during the season of Passover and Good Friday and Easter. What do you do, if anything, to make this time more meaningful to you and your family?

Posted in Front Page, Odds & Ends | 9 Comments »

It seems there are no new historical problems. I spent the day with Jonathan Edwards, sidetracked into the 18^th century and his “Treatise on Religious Affections” — aka, “Are people who emote about Jesus certified crackpots?”

Instead of the Charismatics and the Presbyterians, or the Hatfields and McCoys, it was the Revival supporters and Revival naysayers, in particular the Harvard crowd who after George Whitefield’s pot-stirring campus visit called him and Edwards “enthusiasts,” which wasn’t a compliment in those days.

I like Edwards; he has guts. Being the presider over the Revival, he would be expected to answer the question in paragraph one with an unqualified “no.” But he qualifies for 200 pages: He spends the first few insisting that when a man gets saved it’s not unnatural for him to want to crow or yelp or do cartwheels (“I know of no reason why being affected with a view of God’s glory should not cause the body to faint.”). And he warns against “lifeless formality” and the “prevailing taste” (ahem, Harvard) for stifled emotions.

Then he spends the remainder of the treatise saying why all that crowing and yelping and cartwheels isn’t necessarily a sign that a man is saved. Feelings are not reliable enough for that assurance. You go by the Scriptures, which tell us to judge a tree by its fruit: Is the man “a loyal subject, a true love, a dutiful child, a faithful servant”? Does the man pay his debts, for crying out loud?

Posted in Front Page, Odds & Ends | 23 Comments »

Scylla or Charybdis, which would you prefer — to be eaten by a six-headed rock creature, or sucked into a gaping maw? Situated on opposite sides of the narrow Strait of Messina, the two terrifying creatures forced mythical mariners to choose one death or the other.

Which would you prefer — a too high self image or a too low self image?

This one guy was a bit deceived about himself. Without giving it a second thought he pulled up a chair at the head table — till the host, embarrassed for him, pointed to his name card at the back of the room (Luke 14:7-11). This other guy, whose motto was “jump before you’re pushed,” didn’t even try to invest his benefactor’s money; he was sure he would fail. The lender was not impressed with such self-deprecation and fired him straightaway (Luke 19:11-27).

I don’t know how this is possible, but I went into marriage 27 years ago with both a too low and a too high self-image.

Our hero Odysseus was forced to pick which monster would devour him. You and I don’t have to do that. Every day, whether we’re trying to be a good spouse, a good mother, run a business, or succeed in school, we can repeat in our minds what Jesus says: (1) “Apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5), and (2) “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13).

No more having to gin up healthy self-esteem. No more having to tamp down inordinate self-esteem. Just acknowledge reality.

Posted in Front Page, Odds & Ends | 6 Comments »

The Benjamin Franklin Parkway slices diagonally from the magnificent Philadelphia Art Museum to a City Hall that will rival any building in Europe. It is anchored with fountains and trimmed with the colorful banners of many nations, and I feel very French when I drive down that boulevard. You can be sure the area is kept up.

Another story is told just off the gleaming avenue, where the perennial bugbear of the city is what to do with abandoned houses. When I drive through those areas I have other fantasies. I like to imagine the boarded up windows restored, and I wonder what difference just that one improvement would make in the morale of the town.

The March 1982 Atlantic Monthly ran an article from which I quote:

Social psychologists and police officers tend to agree that if a window in a building is broken and is left unrepaired, all the rest of the windows will soon be broken. This is as true in nice neighborhoods as in rundown ones. Window-breaking does not necessarily occur on a large scale because some areas are inhabited by determined window-breakers whereas others are populated by window-lovers; rather, one unrepaired broken window is a signal that no one cares, and so breaking more windows costs nothing.

Broken things are better fixed right away before the damage to the soul is done. I keep telling my son: the worse your room gets the worse it will get. He thinks it’s a tautology but it’s just human nature.

Posted in Front Page, Odds & Ends | 4 Comments »