D.M. Jorgenson

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  • Of Possibly my Weirdest Post

    Caveat Emptor

    Before I dive into the meat of a post which I converted from hand written notes, a little background is necessary. I am deep in writing my final masters thesis for an MPhil in Theology from the University of Cambridge. A lot is at stake as my score will determine whether I get to continue on to a PhD and (likely) whether I receive any further funding for said PhD. My brain has been running through the writings of such varied geniuses (and madmen/people) as Friedrich Schleiermacher, John Henry Newman, Henri Meschonnic, Walter Benjamin, Rowan Williams, Ben Quash, Elaine Scarry, Janet Soskice, John Dryden, Augustine, Jerome, Eugene Nida, Stephen Tardif, Hans Urs von Balthasar and many others as well as through the translations of and the direct Hebrew of the Hebrew Bible. I am tired in two languages.

    My dissertation is about translation theory and language as it relates to the Hebrew Bible specifically Robert Alter’s translation which was completed and published in 2019. After writing some 30K words (for a 15K word thesis limit) and 200-300 citations, I had the strong desire to simply go on a walkabout for the brain, a playing with language with no intent to use any other thinkers directly, though I might imitate some style and movements. In short, I wanted to let my brain play, and the afternoon was too beautiful, and the writing tablet I have (though not precisely as lovely to write on as ink and paper) felt lovely.

    I sat outside, and though I sought to convey the sense of the beauteous weather and feelings of it, maybe in poetry, I could not and so gave up. Instead came to my mind a title “Absolute Presence,” which my hand dutifully wrote at the top of the page and thus began the following exploration which comes very lightly edited, and with the heavy caveat that it is not remotely for the faint of heart. That being said, I was delightfully encouraged in the process of writing it, and felt myself pulled along in a rather unique fashion which I will, someday perhaps, attempt to describe. Whatever the state of its product, I challenge you to have a sit down one day soon, and loose your mind to explore a path as it naturally reveals itself, and see where you might end up.

    All my love, and thank you for reading.

    –D.M. Jorgenson

    Absolute Presence

    There is nothing like the moment of erasure produced by the ringing of the bell. Everything outside of the ropes and pads of the ring drops away into nothingness and while I recall that narrowness of focus, the fog of it could quickly further collapse into a narrower, terrifying blindness accompanied by brutality confusion as an opponent beyond my skill and confidence battered me into oblivion.

    —

    In my first ever theatrical performance, I had a very strange out of body experience. I was delivering my lines in the King’s College Chapel, as I had countless times before in my dorm, my shower, on street walks and in music rooms for weeks. But I wasn’t in the performance, I was outside of it, watching as if suspended between the floor and the highest fan vaulted ceiling in the world. I was doing it but I was no longer in it.

    —

    Two days ago, for the first time in twelve years, I stepped into the boxing ring, headgear on, mouthguard in and took my stance before a larger and much younger opponent. I weigh 7/KG (157 lbs), and he was 81KG (~180 lbs). I’m 35, he’s early twenties. When told to box I wasn’t frightened and my stance and breathing settled me. Unlike literally hundreds of sparring sessions at the U.S. Air Force Academy, I felt truly present.

    I laughed when I got hit, made silly video game noises (boop*) when throwing the jab and even managed to get my much better opponent on the ropes a couple times.

    —

    I have written before about the day I remembered my hands when learning to surf, and perhaps this was something like that, clarity of focal perception attuned to the joy of a series of delightfully difficult moments.

    It got me thinking about presence.

    How does one cultivate presence? Should one cultivate presence? What is presence?

    Perhaps an apophatic approach could help. Though I must warn you that what follows is a dizzying side-quest not for the faint of heart.

    Not-presence

    What is not-presence? Not quite ‘what is absence’ for that may be too far a distance from the real question, but rather ‘what is not-presence’ in its totalizing or unified sense.

    What does not-presence look like? In other words, what might negate presence?

    Well presence in what sense? Spatial, Attentiveness, Intellectual, Spiritual, Emotional?

    To be present spatially is to be at the table.

    No definition or description can stand outside its relations. To be present at this table (physically) is to be absent from that table. But how would I negate my presence from this table? To leave is not to be absent from the table’s vantage, for it does not consider my departure at all, much less experience my departure as an absence.

    I cannot be absent from an object only a subject. I cannot feel an absence except as a subject. None of this however negates presence, for indeed a subject experiencing an absence does so only in relation to some needling sense of presence; in memory, in thought, in desire, in spirit perhaps.

    Absence cannot therefore be not-presence since for a subject a fragment of presence, even if imaginary or illusory, must be in place as a necessary condition of experiencing an absence, or if we think in terms of language, of naming an absence.

    Therefore absence is not not-presence but a kind of partial presence felt in a desire for (or indeed an aversion to) the expansion of that partialness. An absence sensed is rooted in an affectional inclination toward pure presence or not-presence.

    Not-presence, in this light, has almost nothing to do with spatial (or any other) proximity but with memory. Not-presence is either total ignorance or an absolute forgetting.

    An absence may be the sense of a word stuck on “the tip of the tongue” where the acute frustration of absence is in an imperfect forgetting of what was once present to memory. In the sense of knowledge on absence might occur when some linkage between ideas or concepts or words beacons outward reminding of an incompleteness in understanding. This is not not-presence, for like the frustration of partial forgetting, it is the frustration of a partial knowing desiring to know more.

    Ignorance, and by this I mean absolute ignorance, is of a completely different quality and cannot be experienced in any real sense for in its absoluteness it bears no relation whatever to anything available to a subject.

    Often we use the term ignorance not quite in this way. We employ it pejoratively as an insult, but what is true ignorance cannot be morally or ethically culpable because true ignorance has not even the slightest connection to a subject and therefore, like an orphaned dot in a large dataset, it cannot hope to be connected to any other relation except by some external imposition which erases ignorance by the provision of a path, even if partial, to that knowledge which it could not have accessed (or been accessed by) before.

    From there ignorance is immediately eradicated, for the not-presence of knowledge, i.e. ignorance, has been converted to a continuum of absence-presence, of known-unknown with an intervening bridge of relations.

    This is revelation; the ultimate and irreversible erasure of ignorance by the provision of sense and senses, objects and subjects and varying degrees of presence-absence which forecloses forever the appeal to ignorance as what cannot be known to the foundation of a living question of what is and can be known submitted to a stream of time within which no man is excused to believe in absolute ignorance but must relate to all things on their temporal continuum absence-presence, known-unknown never again to speak of the ignorance of not-presence of knowledge.

    Memory is then the only tool that remains to one who wishes for not-presence, or, rather, forgetting is all that remains. Only a trained and disciplined process of forgetting can return again to the (fallacious) bliss of ignorance. Only by forgetting the relations of presence-absence, known-unknown, can one make appeal to ignorance, that is to not-presence. Only forgetting can negate presence.

    Any talk then of an absence, whether of revelation or of knowledge, places itself automatically in the absence-presence relation. No sense of absence is possible without some sense of presence (real, tangible, illusory, imaginative, spiritual, etc) The linguistic relation between absence-presence is as incontrovertible as the relation between mother and child. Whatever state it maintains (positive, loving, hateful, confused, clear, etc.) can never escape the invisible bond of their relation. The nature of that tie may shift, but it’s being cannot.

    Only not-presence can negate presence. Absence can only reinforce the absence- presence continuum. Suppose, however, that a child is born and put up for adoption, never knowing their mother. Does their ignorance (here used in its most limited fashion) amount to not-presence? Say they even believe, without any shred of doubt, their adoptive mother is indeed their biological mother. Still we do not have not-presence, for a second subject exists, whose tie to the first is a matter of being, who registers the absence in memory of months of the intimately carried presence of pregnancy.

    While the child may not experience absence, and in a limited sense be ‘ignorant,’ the relation of two subjects cannot collapse to not-presence without the not-presence of both parties.

    The relation, being constituted by connection itself, not its quality or hopes or shape or any quantifiable measure, remains where either remembers.

    Suppose the mother of the child is in an accident which causes amnesia. Have we reached not-presence? In a limited sense for the mother as well as the child perhaps we have. But we live in a world of more-than-dual relations. There are friends, family, co-workers all with relational ties of their own; both to the mother and the child. To reach not-presence, all subjects in this web of relation must forget. Including you who reads this and I the one who writes it, imagining the relations and interrelations.

    But more we live in a world of pictures and notes and media of various kinds, of books and buildings and stories. Any one of these may bear witness to one forgotten and by the strange resurrection of memory make visible what was invisible, not because it was not-presence but because it had been hidden but never erased. All subjects forgetting then is not enough, either, for not-presence. All objects which bear any impression, even illusory or incomplete of their subjects and more of the relation must also be destroyed, and destroyed absolutely.

    Yet our sciences improve. Our methods of drawing even from the dust the fragments of lost lives and civilizations, of finding and fabricating new relations, expand. Even what might have been once unknown returns to the known because it was ever, in an absolute sense, in its known-unknown relation. Absolute ignorance is omitted and not-presence thwarted.

    Suppose then we erase all subjects but one, place him in a solitary chamber and inflict him with absolute amnesia. Have we achieved the negation of presence?

    You may think that I will appeal now to God, but we do not yet need to do so. The very chamber in which our subject is placed becomes for him a relation even if he is not a relation to it. And its presence hints at the possibility of the presence of others.

    That he cannot recall another doesn’t matter. The intimations of possibility of presence are likely to incite a reaction against the loneliness of absence even without any memory of the loneliness of presence (for as anyone who has struggled with loneliness can tell you it seems to have remarkably little to do with proximity to others).

    Let us then take one further solipsistic step to test the limits of such an exploration.

    What if I am indeed nothing but a brain in a vat fabricating all my surrounding relations? You already will see, I have argued that even illusory presence enforces the presence-absence continuum. A conscious mind is therefore unable to escape absence-presence and can never ultimately reach not-presence.

    The Indestructibility of Relations

    This state of affairs leads to the conclusion of the indestructibility of relations. Connections made between subjects and subjects, subjects and objects, subjects and themselves can never be absolutely annihilated in the realm of time, they can only be hidden or transformed.

    There is, however, one notable exception although its requirement is nothing less than the remaking of the cosmos. God will “remember their sins no more.” (Hebrews 8:12) God, not being a subject, but the grounds for subjects and objects both, cannot be submitted to any rules or principles of subjects as we conceive them.

    Still we may speak of a practice of subjectivity in God which human subjectivity approximates by some means upon which I will not seek to speculate.

    In light of our discussion thus far, however, if the path to not-presence is forgetting then the indestructibility of bonds ties us to our sins and those we’ve sinned against. What is required then to reach the not-presence of sin required to enter the pure presence of the pure God? If not-presence is also resisted by the objects of existence which themselves perpetuate the indestructibility of bonds and keep sin in a state of absence-presence so that I must cry out with Paul “O wretched man that I am who will save me from this body of death,” (Romans 7:24) then the world and its objects too must be destroyed after a fashion so complete as to be beyond the skill or capability of any to restore, even God, who not being subject to any rule of subjects imposes a promise which fulfills a requirement of forgetting freely and completely.

    But the annihilation of the bonds of sin requires more, it requires the annihilation of our memory of our sin as well as others’ memories of our sin as well as the annihilation, as I have said, of any objects which could possibly even intimate, illusory or otherwise, our sin. To annihilate the indestructible bond the whole of the previous cosmos in all its relations must be unmade and remade.

    As long as the world in which the sin occurred in any fragment exists, and even the tiniest intimation of sin is seeded in our minds, and the God who made and upholds it all remembers – if any of these remain, the bond of sin remains and we are trapped in the absence-presence continuum of its relation to us and to those we have wronged, most of all God.

    So it is necessary that we also remember not our sins in the world to come, and how could we? If God has forgotten and re-made the world to match the fulness of His remembering; we too will forget. For he says, “I will remember their sins no more.” (Hebrews 8:12) And What God forgets ceases to be for as the ground of being where he provides not for being it can indeed return to not-presence.

    But what of our relations here and now? Will such bonds as we build survive this forgetting? Is not so much of my relation to you in my remembrance of how I have wronged you and you me? Yet, can we not trust the God who will re-make His creation to be with His people to re-make our bonds as well after such a fashion that sin is reduced to not-presence?

    Certainly we can, and indeed we must. For a mere absence of Sin will not be enough, which traps us in the absence-presence continuum forever, but only its absolute not-presence.

    And how great a hope do we have in so strange a thing, if one may call not-presence a thing, in the great hope of God’s forgetting, of our forgetting, and of a cosmos which might testify against us unmade and re-made in its entirety to annihilate even the barest intimation of sin. That is True Resurrection.

  • Song of Silas *Teaser*

    Song of Silas *Teaser*

    The concave glass spin in a dainty gold setting. Mareth watched it closely with his whiteout eye. The glass cast an eerie green-purple glow which danced strange across the young boy’s too-thin face.

    The room was close and filled with smoke puffed from a pipe lolling in the wizard’s mouth. The smoke broke around the spinning light as if nudged aside as a nuisance. He strained to keep his eye open and puffed absently.

    “Tree hunnid!” Silas’ voice shattered the low quiet and the boy leaped to his feet standing triumphant in a trench between precarious towers of books.

    “Hush,” Mareth voice was the expert combination of soft yet firm.

    Silas prowled between the stacks as if hidden, moving toward the door.

    “Stay inside, little man.” Mareth’s eye twitched in the odd light and he winced but kept it open.

    Silas would not be persuaded. By the faculties all young boy’s have to recognize the room for mischief, he knew without knowing just how little leeway the wizard had to stop him.

    “Silas,” Mareth’s tone was a warning that the boy wholly ignored as he breached a gap in the books and reached the heights of the stairs heading toward the outside door.

    Mareth ground the pipe between his teeth still struggling to stare into the light of the spinning glass.

    “Silas, don’t!” No longer warning, but futile as a hollow threat.

    Silas still felt the fear of it, and knew he would have some cause to regret in the future. But what boy knows to think of his future self when in the grips of excitement? He opened the door and slipped through, tripped in his haste, lost a shoe, stumbled into a stranger in the street and bolted without looking back.

  • What’s my calling?

    What’s my calling?

    If you found out tomorrow you would have to leave the military (or whatever profession you are in), hang up your uniforms, turn in your gear, and let your clearance lapse – what would that do to who you are? Would you find yourself lost, confused, discouraged? Would you be excited? Would you feel like you’d been emancipated after years of imprisonment?

    As I close out my own time in the military, I am honestly feeling a lot of both. Who am I without the uniform? What have the last 15 years really meant? Yet, I can’t wait to be free, and good riddance also comes to mind. I am deeply angry with the military, across all branches, though I am not here to bad-mouth it nor those who serve.

    In truth, both responses though are likely to stem from a misunderstanding of the role of secular professions in the Christian life. Your profession is not the most important thing about you. What you do for work, while good in itself (so long as it isn’t expressly sinful), is only the tip of the iceberg.

    Who you are is hidden away in Christ, and the work you do you do is unto the Lord. Whether you are a plumber, a pastor, or a general – we all have a common calling – to expand God’s Kingdom and make disciples of all nations. It is easy to consider any particular line of work your “calling,” but this is not scripturally rooted. You were called to Christ and to work for Him, but not to any particular claimed area. You are called to use your gifts, but they may be just as reasonably used in the military as in a business, a church, a non-profit, or a family devotion – perhaps all of the above – gifts are not professions or callings, they are tools.

    In fact, Paul says at one point, “Only let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him, and to which God has called him. This is my rule in all the churches. Was anyone at the time of his call already circumcised? Let him not seek to remove the marks of circumcision. Was anyone at the time of his call uncircumcised? Let him not seek circumcision.  For neither circumcision counts for anything nor uncircumcision, but keeping the commandments of God.  Each one should remain in the condition in which he was called. Were you a bondservant when called? Do not be concerned about it. (But if you can gain your freedom, avail yourself of the opportunity.) For he who was called in the Lord as a bondservant is a freedman of the Lord. Likewise he who was free when called is a bondservant of Christ. You were bought with a price; do not become bondservants of men. So, brothers, in whatever condition each was called, there let him remain with God” (1 Corinthians 7:17-24).

    We can easily (mis)read this to mean that we ought to “find our calling,” but that is not what Paul is saying. He is saying, wherever you were, in whatever condition, profession, etc. when you were called to Christ, that is where you are called to serve Him. This is most clear in the final verse, “So, brothers, in whatever condition each was called, there let him remain with God.” Paul makes continual reference here to the “time of his call.” He is speaking of the call to Christ not to any specific profession.

    We must be careful not to be influenced by a worldly notion of calling which sets a profession above the Savior, or a job above the work of the Gospel. Only by submitting to Christ’s Gospel mission in every area of our lives, including our work lives, is there true blessing on the path.

    More, Paul doesn’t merely call this a “recommendation,” rather he says that it is his “rule in all the churches.” It is the Apostle’s rule that people remain in the condition in which they were called, with respect to circumcision, with respect to job, with respect to place it seems. He even extends this to slaves. Though the ESV renders it bondservant the word in Greek is doulos which more directly means slave (though I realize the term slave has connotations and meanings to us which it did not possess at the time of the writing of 1 Corinthians).

    We see here though, that while it is a rule for the churches, it is not so strict a rule as to entirely hinder changes due to wisdom. He says if a slave may find his freedom, then he may avail himself of the opportunity. Nor, of course, would it require one to stay in a sinful place, such as if one were a priest of another religion.

    For military service specifically, it is suspect at best and folly at worse to claim that God gave anyone some sort of divine calling to the military. While we may wish to use David or any of his mighty men as examples, we cannot forget that Ancient Israel was the explicit nation of God directed in warfare by God Himself. The same cannot be said of any modern nation. While God is sovereign and often uses nation against nation in warfare, we cannot be sure we fight as soldiers for Christ based on any particular national identity as David could. Today, Christians must exercise wisdom in volunteering or abstaining from military service.

    Neither may we use the examples of Daniel, Nehemiah, Hannaniah, Meshael, and Azariah (Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego), because their service to their respective secular nations was not voluntary.

    The vast majority of Roman centurions and other military members were equally not at liberty to volunteer but were impressed into service. The concerns of the Vietnam generation in being drafted are different from the discernment Christians must have in our freedom to volunteer. With that additional freedom comes additional responsibility – first and foremost to our King in Heaven – to choose wisely where, whom, and how we serve ultimately unto Him.

    This is not to say that joining the military is evil, nor good, only that it is a matter of wisdom and discernment which the Christian must submit to the Lord and actually wrestle with. There is no easy answer. Yet, the very practical guidance from Paul still rings true – whatever condition in which you were called, there remain. If God called you out of darkness and into His light while you are in the military, do not fear to serve Him wholeheartedly in excellence in your profession. If He called you to Christ outside of the military – as another profession – there remain (at least for a time) to deepen your faith and understanding of the Lord that you may be a light right where He called you.

    I had a former boss who was a green beret, and he used to say, “If I have given you a monkey to train, don’t give it back to me and ask me to train it – that’s your monkey.”

    The very concept of a “personal calling” smacks of an abdication of responsibility that is unfitting for a Christian and detrimental to effective work in the same way that the lies of a “soulmate” ruin romantic relationships. In both cases, the responsibility which God has given us for exercising Godly wisdom in decision-making is subverted as we seek to offload that responsibility to Him. Don’t give the monkey back – that’s your monkey.

    Christ finished all His work upon the cross, so our work has little to do with salvation (except as proof of fruit), but it ought to be our delight to actually do the work God has given us. Part of that work is to exercise Godly wisdom and make decisions which reflect His character and bring Him glory.

    It is, I believe, too easy to put too much of ourselves into our work at the expense of Christ’s work, but just as easy to believe that the ordinary work He has given us in our jobs is somehow disconnected from His gospel mission. I have fallen off the horse on both sides, as it were, but maintaining balance means maintaining a Biblical focus on the primary mission – to make disciples of all nations. He even tells us how – Baptize and teach them to obey His commands. We are to preach the Gospel in every area of life – for Christ is our calling and the Gospel our greatest work in every ordinary activity, from the decisions we make, to the partners we marry, and to the professions we pursue.

  • Applying to Cambridge – A Peek Behind the Curtain

    Applying to Cambridge – A Peek Behind the Curtain

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  • The Long Road to Literary Joy – Escaping the Slough of Bad YA

    The Long Road to Literary Joy – Escaping the Slough of Bad YA

    A Child’s Beginnings

    Some of my earliest reads in life were Narnia and Lord of the Rings. My mother read C.S. Lewis to us when I was quite small, but then I didn’t do much reading at all for quite a few years. I have spoken before about moving from Colorado to South Dakota when I was a kid, and, to say that it was hard on me would be a serious understatement. I am still dealing with the consequences of that move almost a quarter century later.(Not a shot at you, Mom & Dad, just an observation).

    A Detour through Role Playing Games

    While the question I was asked by a wonderful new friend at Realm Makers was about graduating from young adult in reading and writing, I must confess that my real love of storytelling was seeded not in books but in games. I remember vividly playing my first console role playing game when I visited my family in Alaska. I couldn’t tell you how old I was, but it couldn’t have been more than ten. The game that captured me was Final Fantasy VIII. Now I am going to be burned at the stake for a video game heretic for saying this, but I still think Final Fantasy VIII is the best of all the Final Fantasies I have played (yes including VII which I played years later).

    I was only in Alaska for a couple weeks over the summer, visiting family from my mother’s side, but the only thing I remember from that particular trip was starting Final Fantasy VIII and getting to the Tomb of the Unknown King. I was under-leveled and didn’t have what I needed to beat the boss at the end (a pair of minotaur brothers at the center of the labyrinthine tomb.) I tried again and again and failed again and again. The atmosphere of it, the fight, the characters, the mystery of the Unknown King – all of it captured my imagination. Getting to become part of that story by controlling the characters was all overwhelmingly awesome.

    I had played other types of games before with friends, but never like this, never with a story. My parents didn’t want me playing video games and refused to get me a console, but I was able to get Final Fantasy VIII on computer and, after many hours and failures and twists and turns of story, I finally beat it. I will never forget those characters, Squall and Zell and Quistis and Rinoa, even Seifer in all his misguided knightly desires.

    For a lonely kid living in the middle of nowhere with basically no friends, games became an outlet and a way to connect to stories I felt I would never be able to live. Sitting in Hawaii decades later after having traveled half the world, made many friends, and done some frankly crazy things, I realize how shortsighted little me was. Still, the stories instilled a longing for adventure, or at least ignited it.

    Arrival at the Slough of YA Fiction

    Then there was Harry Potter. I grew up with Harry in many ways. His struggles were my struggles, and I wanted what he had – a close group of friends. School life and its myriad twists and turns, the elements of magic and mystery which I had long loved, but lost in the frustrations of adolescence re-emerged, and I was hooked. I read the books in a single sitting normally, hogging my dad’s big La-Z-Boy chair for hours until the story was done. It was more than escapism, it was character convergence. It was also deeply unsatisfying. The victories felt hollow, (deathly hollow) only enabled by the utter foolishness of a bad guy who had no real reason not to win. The plot armour felt too strong.

    Now, that’s not to say I didn’t enjoy, or even that those books are bad. They aren’t. They are excellent in their own way, and are filled with excellent characters and epic moments. I won’t soon forget Cedric’s death in The Goblet of Fire. (If you hadn’t read it, get over it, it’s been out long enough to legally enjoy its own scotch at a U.S. bar – no need for butterbeer).

    That is also not to say that YA is a “bad genre” or that it ought to be relegated eternally to a lesser place. Speculative Fiction in general is already denigrated in literary circles, for which I am eminently confused and frustrated. Rather, for me, in my approaching YA, it always simply felt that some foundational substance was missing that I couldn’t place.

    But a man who hadn’t yet written a novel should not think to critique one who has, and certainly I should not denigrate many who have published when I remain a mere mortal in my literary listlessness working toward a publication of my own but not yet “successful.” As Roosevelt said, “It is not the critic who counts…”

    A Potentially Pretentious Escape

    At the risk of sounding too high and mighty, though, I found that young adult literature tended to lack a view of the world which is nuanced and radiantly multifaceted. When we are young, everything is almost too bright (or dark) to see clearly at all. Much of YA fiction captures this stark division but loses the interweaving colors, or is wrapped in so many layers of misunderstood nostalgia for youth that it becomes hollow drama over petty things. Then again, as Alexander Pope once said, “What mighty contests rise from trivial things.”

    As I have been working and revising this post, I may have come to a kind of epiphany. So much of YA literature is built on the premise that the adults haven’t really done their job, so the “kids” have to take matters into their own hands. So many of the protagonists are orphans with teachers who won’t listen or are too scared to work things out. In this sense, the sacrifice of Snape and the towering figure of Dumbledore actually did set apart Harry Potter as a really great series of tales.

    As an adult now, who has had the pleasure of teaching many students in my work at university, and who now has three little nieces starting to grow, I am more than sympathetic to the plights of the young. I can say unequivocally that we adults have failed our young. Parents have abdicated raising their children in the fear and admonition of the Lord. Teachers have taken advantage. Pastors and leaders have fallen hard. It is no wonder that so many flock to stories about the youth having to correct the mistakes of the elders.

    Another Short Detour

    I don’t talk about my real job, but I will break that “rule” here to be a bit vulnerable. In my “real life” as it were, apart from being a writer and blogger, I am an officer in the US Air Force. People often have thanked me for my service, and just as often I have felt very uncomfortable with that thanks. I have only deployed once, and have had quite an easy go of it by all standards. For most of my career it didn’t feel a whole lot like a service or sacrifice. Perhaps when it is fully behind me, I will talk more about that portion of my life, but for now, there is another story to tell.

    When I was completing my Masters at University of Arizona, I remember a day that I went to Chick-Fil-A in uniform. I was a young lieutenant and frankly struggling with a lot of personal demons, but I put on a brave face when I wore the uniform. I had been thanked for my service multiple times and shrugged it off politely, but then something different happened.

    A young boy, who couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen, came up to me as I ate sitting in a corner with my back facing the entrance.

    The boy said, “Thank you for your service.” I had heard those words a thousand times or more, and have heard them many more since, but that moment was unique. At that thank you, it took all the force of will I had ever mustered to keep myself from bursting into tears. Why?

    Well, there are many reasons I had joined the military to begin with, (and one day I will write about them) but what I realized in that moment was a deeper reason that had eluded my conscious mind. I wanted to fight for the young. I wanted to forge a fairer world for them, for this boy. My tongue merely said, “Thank you, young man,” but my heart screamed it’s reply, “You, you, I do this for you! Not for the voters or the tax payers, not for the president or the constitution or even the dream of America. I want to spend myself for the next generation.”

    My most recent novel is about, at a fundamental level, the aged trying to set the world on a path that the next generation can thrive in by correcting their own past mistakes and training the warriors to come.

    Literary Heralds Speaking the Way Back

    With that digression out of the way, we can jump back to when I was reading YA, in late middle school and early high school, where I was essentially being raised by any and all stories around me. At that time, I had honestly never thought of writing a novel, though I wrote many short stories and poems and even songs in my youth. A novel never entered my mind as something I should try writing until I read two fateful books in college, between my Freshman and Sophomore year.

    T.H. White’s The Once and Future King took me by the soul and wrenched me half sideways with uproarious joys then plunged me into succulent sorrows, and did it all with a wit and humor that was eminently approachable and deliciously deep. Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo set my mind ablaze with intrigue and philosophy and courtliness and loveliness and sacrifice. My heart had been longing for something to delve into, and these books showed me a possibility. My first book series (which will likely forever remain in the cellars of my writer’s compost heap in hopes it will one day grow something better) was born out of a simple question raised from reading The Once and Future King, “can Lancelot be redeemed?” Then the Count of Monte Cristo sent me on a quest to understand the French Revolution, and I started asking harder questions as well, “When is rebellion godly, if ever?” “What is sovereignty?” “What even is authority?”

    I chose English for my undergrad and went on to get my MA in literature and rhetoric (where I met the young man I just told you about). I encountered vast hordes of stories riding rampant across the battlefields and byways of history that had the kind of depth and delight and challenge I longed for. I discovered (or re-discovered) poetry of such magnificent beauty that my spirit wept with joy too deeps for words and humor that beggared that poor pauper we today call “comedy.” Now, I do not wish to say that all modern writers or poets produce doggerel, but the level of beauty in the words seems greatly diminished. I have my suspicions why that is, and it isn’t a lack of skill, but that is a topic for another post.

    Retracing my Steps: Moving back to Surge Ahead

    For now, it is enough to say that I have high standards. When once you have experienced a holiday at sea it is ever so hard to return to mud pies in a back garden. Yet, my greatest delight was to go back and read those earliest works that had first enlivened my imagination, Narnia and Lord of the Rings, and find in them the depth and subtlety and beauty of a seemingly lost world of profound literature. We have a tendency to put English teachers and critical scholars in a box and say they are simply pretentious, and perhaps we are, but it’s not a genre issue with YA rather a beauty issue. My favorite book in the world (other than the Bible) is a children’s book. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry is a masterful work that can delight a child’s imagination and bring a grown man to tears. The gap between the child and the grown man, the liminal space of the so-called “young adult,” is a false one that I worry is hindering our growth, not in intellect or physical size or even in maturity, but in our rightful appreciation of beauty. Who is to blame? Adults who have failed our young, ourselves, and our younger selves.

    “Graduating” from young adult wasn’t about “growing up” for me. It was about a return to recognition of cosmic majesty and an approach toward that majesty with the fearless joy of a child. I am convinced that, had someone pitched to me Narnia in my teens, I would have scoffed. Yet, as a literature instructor at university, re-reading them via audio book in the car a few short years ago, I cried ugly tears. I found that what I loved as a child was more profound than what I sought in stories in my “young adult years.” Maybe your experience isn’t mine, but I think the phase of “YA” was my phase of littlest growth as a writer and a human. It was a slow-going trod through despondent valleys of misunderstanding and misguided desires. I still find, from time to time, old flecks of mud from that mire clinging to my coat and tugging at my too-weary heart. Though I am grateful to the Lord for the path I walked which has made me who I am, there is a large part of me which regrets most that I ever left the child’s wonder behind. It has been a hard-fought battle to retrace my steps and unlearn and re-learn along the way.

  • Go Big, then Go Home

    Go Big, then Go Home

    North Shore Hawaii, 5 January 2024

    I walked out to the point, across a section of rocks that would let me avoid a large portion of the paddle out. The waves on the horizon looked manageable, and I was excited to try to rip on my short board (emphasis on try). I waited for a series of waves to come in and raise the water level around the rock I stood on and then leapt into the water on my board, paddling hard away from the rocks as the return flow helped pull me out into the ocean.  I began paddling straight outward toward some smaller breaking waves, duck diving them, and pushing through. I tried to angle myself toward the point, knowing there was a cross current that would pull me farther out east away from the spot I wanted for my board.

    Another wave came through, bigger this time. I duck dived it, pushing hard, waited a few seconds for the white wash on the other side to dissipate so I could paddle better, and then another wave was coming in. I dove again, arms already the early tired you get from a warm up, and heartrate starting to elevate. I came up from my duck dive, and another wave was rising, and I checked my position to the point. I hadn’t gone any farther north, where I wanted to be, but the current was ripping me out east. I increased my angle and paddled hard back toward the point, managed to line up (luckily) with a fun little right-hand wave. Turned, saw another one coming in, and caught it as well. I did a couple simple turns, nothing great, then checked my position again. I was way far out from the point and now in front of a rock shelf that sits on the east side of the point, far inside the main break.

    Then began the almost thirty-minute-long paddle against a treadmill current. When I finally turned to try to catch another wave, I had to bail as I was way too close to the rock shelf. I managed to pull out of the wave, but there was no escaping the swirling current around the shelf, and I was pulled into it, smashing my knee. I had been here before, different board, smaller day, but I knew what to do. I paddled out and to the east letting the current pull me out into a broader channel that would let me get back inside. Another kid behind me ended up getting pulled into the same rock shelf, so I wrapped back to check on him. Thankfully he was doing great, though his board looked a little banged up. When all was said and done, we simply paddled back into shore. It had been an hour, for two so-so-waves, and I had never even gotten to the outside break. I was discouraged, but I had options. I went to get the big guns.

    I arrived back at the beach with my longboard, painted up for my silver surfer costume half a year ago. It’s gaudy and silly, but it’s the board I have surfed the most and I have solid trust in it. With the added float from the bigger board, I blasted out past through the treadmill currents out the back of the main set waves. I managed to make the paddle during a lull between larger incoming waves as well, which I am grateful for, as there is no duck diving the longboard. The waves were sloppy and building somewhat slowly on the outside. I mis-timed a couple and had to pull back. One, I yielded to the shortboarder who had the peak (in surf parlance, whoever has the peak essentially has the right of way since he or she has the potential for the longest ride).

    I missed a couple more, dipping the nose of the giant board and being forced to shift my weight back out of the wave. Then finally I got one as the wave was standing up, and I was looking down the face toward the bottom. It felt like a clean and beautiful drop. I tracked out to the right, intending to fade the take off back left, but the right closed out in front of me in a crash of white faster than i expected. Thankfully, my twin was more maneuverable, so I dug in for a drawn out turn left and stayed in the wave, got a short ride, and then the left closed out into a splash of white, and I rode out into the flats and then leapt back, trying to not be swept too far inside. It was maybe an eight-foot wave, about as big as I had ever ridden, but really fun.

    My head cleared the water to see behind me a big set wave maybe ten feet high coming at me. I paddled furiously directly toward the rising wave, only switching to a turtle roll at the last minute to ensure I had the best chance of clearing the worst of the power. I felt myself pulled backward, over the falls, but my body beneath the water acted like a partial anchor for the boat that was my longboard and kept me from getting pulled too far back. I flipped the board over and got back on it and paddled like mad again as another ten-footer rolled toward me. Again, turtle roll at the last minute, exhaustion setting in, board ripping me backward in the surf. But I pulled through, scrambled back up and paddled again. A third wave barreled toward me, just as big, I was close enough to that I was able to paddle straight through and let it lift me over it, and I sailed down the backside of the wave into the small lineup on the outside. I was breathing hard, but I had a smile on my face.

    Devotional Note

    I am so thankful for how far God has brought me in the stresses of the sea. One of those waves, even six months ago, would have been enough to set me freaking out, bailing my board and heart pounding into likely madness. I probably would have given up, letting the white water just push me wherever it wanted me to go. I wouldn’t have fought through to the place I wanted to go. Not today. Today, I knew I needed to get somewhere, and it would be worth it. I fought my way out the back.  I am even more thankful for how far the Lord has brought me in the stresses of life, whether relationships, work, struggles with sin, purpose and the like. Life is a series of strong current and powerful waves. Sometimes we should go with them, and sometimes it is right to fight them, vigorously, to reach the place you want to be. More to the point, to become the man who the Lord wants you to be. How often do we give up too soon, when victory is within sight? It may be behind a powerful and terrifying wave, one that will even pull us back a bit, but if we persevere, we can press forward still and reach the place He desires us to be. He has been faithful in teaching me this more and more and granting me greater confidence in these things, so that the smaller ripples of misfortune mean little, and even the bigger waves, though they crash and roar, cannot unsettle the stillness and strength which the Lord bestows.

    The story continued…

    I waited out there, letting big waves roll under me and build behind me toward the shore for maybe fifteen minutes. I steadied my breathing, and tried to get my noodle arms to wake up. I paddled for a few waves, fought my way back outside after missing a couple and getting caught inside again. The frantic paddling fight against waves as they stood, being pulled back by my floaty board, and finally making it out back again was a cycle that I became used to and better at. Finally, the wave I was going to catch came. I saw it pretty far out as a nice bulge on the horizon. Had I been more perceptive, I might not have taken it, but I was tired and wanted to catch something in, something fun. I wanted to push myself and catch something big. I paddled in around a couple guys who saw it later than I did (just as the peak has the right of way, the guy who paddles first is supposed to have the wave as well. It’s hardly a science, but there are these little etiquette rules, and folks yielded to me.) The wave stood up pretty fast and I almost missed it. I took the drop relatively late, especially for my longboard, but I set my rail in the wave and rocketed down the face, then I bottom turned and guided my board out left intending to pump myself back up the wave’s face. What I saw along the face after my turn was a towering wall of water around ten to twelve feet high and thirty or forty feet long with the feathering edge of white on the top the whole way. This was a closeout. That whole section of the wave would crash together in one giant explosion of epic, thunderous force. Most surfers would be bummed. Some terrified. It was a big flipping closeout. This wouldn’t be a long fun ride, but for me, this closeout represented the biggest wave I had ever ridden. Double overhead. I didn’t even fully realize it at the time. There was no panic. A calm excitement ruled.

    Thinking about it now, and talking with some men from my church afterwards, maybe I should have been a bit more amped, but I was having fun. I recognized the closeout (which I wouldn’t have even maybe two months ago) and did the only thing you could do; I turned the board back out into the flats to try to escape and then ride the foam ball. The roar of the wave in my ears as it crashed behind me and the rocketing sensation of speed when all that power exploded outward toward the shore was exhilarating. I leaned back onto the board, side-eyeing the wave in preparation for when the foam would hit. I rode through it wobbling a bit with the twin fins looser than a standard longboard fin. I let the big wave carry me well inside before a second wave from a different direction (much smaller) crashed into me from the left, and I laughed as I jumped from the board and the foam and water caught me like the playful, powerful hand of God.

    Devotional Note

    Not every wave will work out for you, some might go horribly wrong. Whatever the case, there is a lesson and joy in the taking it anyway. We can never know where it will end for sure after all. We must press forward and push the boundaries of our abilities. I could have focused on the fact that this wave didn’t let me ride it, that it didn’t work out the way I had wanted it to work out. When we try to control the outcome we tire ourselves and enervate our souls. When we only ride the waves we know we can manage we stymie our growth. While there is much that can be done, sometimes the best you can do is enjoy the ride and take the added courage and confidence that comes from having faced a larger-than-life trial. So often, especially as Christians, we lose our sense of play and forget that God is a playful God, rather the source of all play – for without his creation there could be no play. I will likely write a whole post later on the playfulness of God, not in some kind of juvenilia, but in profound blessed enjoyment. For now, this big wave represents the joy in challenge and the playfulness of God who uses all things in our lives to glorify Himself and to strengthen us. Especially as men, we lose sight of the joy of living in the seriousness of other things – and that deadly seriousness keeps us from taking on greater challenges which may make us look foolish in the eyes of others. My female readers might look at a big wave and the danger of it and think that it is pure stupidity, but for a man, there is a profound purpose to testing the physical strength that God has given us, in play and in serious ways. This testing builds the confidence we need to face the larger waves that God will send our way in the future, as well enables us to appreciate and excel in the smaller waves. In short, men, take challenges as opportunities no matter the outcome, and women, try to encourage the men in your life to challenge themselves, even when it seems foolish – challenges bring us the life, the enlivening power, we need to serve the people of God, you, and our Lord better.

    Takeaway

    In the wake of the bigger wave, a much smaller wave followed on, clean as glass though frosted with thin wisps of white water. I popped back onto my board and caught that clean little wave back in toward the shore, loving the feeling and smiling like a madman at all the people on the inside who were taking little waves, enjoying the shielding of the interior bay. I rode a couple more short waves before heading back in, but by the time I reached my car I was deathly tired. My knees hurt, my back was tied in knots, and my shoulders burned like iron in a coal forge. My breathing was a bit ragged, and everything felt exhausting, but I was so excited. There was joy. Joy in the challenge, in the overcoming, in the failures, the sights and sounds, in the whole of the experience. Praise God that we get to live in such a world as this where we may be reminded of the immensity of His power and rejoice in what power He has given us to contend with the world He has made.

    It’s a new year, with hopes and challenges and desires, some new some old. As we step into it, with the Lords gracious hand in our lives, let’s go big for his Glory, pushing through the challenges and reveling in the chance to test ourselves and be tested. We are not yet all that we could or should be for Him and His Kingdom. In order to reach it we must be willing to go big and press the edges of our ability. As Paul says to the church in Philippi, “Not that I have already obtained this [the resurrection from the dead] or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 3:12-14

    Let us press on toward the goal to which we are called, ever upward, to the immense, towering heights of God’s calling in our lives and the lives of those around us. Go big for God as long as you have breath, and then, when breath ceases, go home to Him in glory.

  • Looking Back to Surge Ahead

    Looking Back to Surge Ahead

    2023 in Review

    I started this blog during a short trip to Colorado this summer in the prayer that perhaps some day I would be able to expand it. In the last six months I have produced 61 posts totaling almost 95,000 words across many musings, thoughts, stories, and heartaches. That is, to me, immense. Some 700 people have visited the site in those six months, and it is my deep hope that each walked away with something of the Lord. To people who measure growth in thousands and millions, I am thankful that God has answered my prayer to have positive impact on even one other person and taken it much farther than that. We will go farther still, Lord willing.

    Deep Thankfulness

    I have been writing all my life, but only this year have I become serious about using that writing (and writing more) to try to reach out into the world and share and grow with others. There is vulnerability in the exposure, but freedom in the process as well. So, it is only right that I should thank many of the people who got me here, in no particular order.

    To Andrew and his wife Kayla, I cannot imagine having made it this far without some of the conversations we had during that week in Colorado. I praise the Lord for your marriage, your friendship and encouragement to me, and for the kick in the teeth that I needed to actually start this whole process. To Ian and Anna, but Ian especially (no offense, Anna, I’ve known him much longer) I want to say thank you for your critical eye, continuous contact, and unwavering support. You strengthen me with your feedback and challenges. Many new posts and ideas were sparked and honed from your difficult questions.

    To my sister, April, who has always been the first person who I sought feedback from, whose editorial eye and sense of storytelling I have regarded as of the very first class, thank you for being angry when I kill off a favorite character and insightful enough to know it was necessary (or kind enough to say so). Thank you for writing your own supporting post on your blog (hopefully the check finally cleared), and for all the difficult conversations about the nature of reality, storytelling, being men and women in a world gone mad, and for your faithfulness to God and as a mother. To my brother, Emmanuel, who has been an excellent example of the steadfast, persistent, hardworking man of God I often wish I could be and am striving to embody. You are the inspiration for some of my strongest characters and for me to grow deeper in the Lord.

    For my father who has become my rapid editor when I post something perhaps too quickly and fail to maintain even basic standards of the English language. More, to the father who raised me with many opportunities to grow as a man, hunting, shooting, camping out, pushing me to challenge myself physically and mentally. The father who, many years ago, despite his own misgivings supported me in leaving college to pursue mission work in a foreign country, and has since supported and trusted me through many difficulties: through surgery, through heartache, and through the joys and pains of wrestling with the Word of God.

    Finally, to my mother, by whose prayer and faithfulness, by the grace of God, I am where I am today. It is a truism that a Christian’s faith is most heavily influenced by his father, but there is no overstating the profound importance of my mom’s persistence in prayer for me when I was far from the Lord for many years, contending with myself, a dark world, and a depression she didn’t even know about. Now, years past the valley of the shadow of death, I am grateful for her excitement, joy, and exuberant love for the people around her and boundless curiosity. I am more grateful for those traits that I have taken from her, including interrupting people at coffee shops, bothering people on plane rides, and just generally being more outgoing than reserved, despite many years resisting those impulses. She is ever a light to people around her and a passionate defender of people.

    Next Steps

    With the spectre of a new year looming, what is next? Well, the Sibilant Sword is changing. I am slowly rolling out my Sagas of Siegyrd onto Royal Road to expand readership, and I stood up a Patreon where people can subscribe to get early access to new chapters, as well as opportunities to read posts early and provide feedback before they hit this blog. The Thirtieth chapter of Siegyrd is already written under the title “A Timeless Crystal Song.” It will post here on the 26th of December, but if anyone wants to read it early, they can subscribe and check it out on my Patreon.

    Additionally, after the New Year, a new story around Siegyrd will begin. The Dragon’s Daughter Arc will soon come to an end (which, as with all stories, lays the foundations for new beginnings). To tide us over until the next phase of storytelling, I have prepared Sagas of Siegyrd Origin Saga: The Last Sovereign where you will learn some of Siegyrd’s origins, what made him who and what he is. I have many other plans for the year, and will let you know as they come. 2024 is, to me, a year for building the next phase not only of the blog but of my life. It will be, Lord willing, my last year in my current job as I plan to transition to a whole new career path. It is exciting and terrifying, but I hope you will join me along the way.

    I am thankful for everyone who has read thus far and who continues to read, and for the one person, who I have never met, someone named Lisette, who gave me my first “tip” as an author here. Goodness is it nice to feel appreciated even in this small way for my work!

    Closing Remarks

    As Christmas comes and we are reminded of the Lord’s advent and then we step into a new year under His guidance, I pray you will take some time to consider what’s next for you and your family. I also pray you will bask in some sacred moments with those you love and worry little about what is to come and what was. You are still here on earth, and that is proof positive that the Lord has good and wonderful work for you to do for His kingdom. Don’t forget, His best blessings can only be enjoyed as long as it is called today. We live in no other time than this. Hold these tensions without giving in to them: the present moment and the eternity to come; the past and the future; and be thankful that God is molding you into His likeness.

    Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!

  • What you “Ought” To Know

    What you “Ought” To Know

    She kicked out her hip and leaned heavily on her chair, shifting her nose up and setting her glasses just so on her face as she uttered in an exasperated, haughty tone, “He should’ve known better!”

    Her eyes were limned with pleading, her posture sunken, “Doesn’t he know better?”

    She stood tall, hands on hips, nose scrunched in rage and derision. “He knows better,” she demanded with the punctuation of a stiletto heel heavy on the wood floor.

    You’ve likely encountered many of these situations, stared down the feminine fury of them. Maybe all of them. But what is it that you were supposed to know? And how in the world, were you supposed to know it?

    The Impetus

    As with many of my musings, this starts with a conversation at – you might have guessed it – a coffee shop. I had been trying (and failing epically) to write on the concept of a beautiful death. My community lost someone recently, and after part of the funereal procession, I have been disconsolate – restless. I had my hat pulled low, headphones over my ears, and focus music blaring as I tried to force words onto the page. I sat on the second floor of Morning Brew in Kailua, HI (which consequently is a place I highly recommend). I was fighting back tears (and losing) as I struggled through the emotions around the whole event. A table of four young ladies next to me very politely pretended they noticed nothing of my distress, but I couldn’t focus. I finally gave up after maybe thirty minutes of the writer’s equivalent of a dry cough, lots of painful effort but no progress.

    That’s when I took off my headphones and let myself (rudely) eavesdrop on the table next to me. Apparently it is “breakup season.” The ladies were commiserating over their various woes (and real pain that I do not for a moment diminish). Some day I will likely write a longer series on romance in America, but that is for another time. In this case, one of the gals brought up a particular issue and finished with a kind of mix of astonishment and anger at what her paramour had done. I confess, it gave me an eyebrow raise as well, but, with a splitting migraine on my way home opening up my psyche to the possibilities of new perspectives, I started to think on it more. Where are the gaps in what we ought to know? And, perhaps more importantly, how do those gaps get filled?

    I’ve noticed the trend of this kind of judgment about what one ought to or ought not know, but except in cases of extreme moral behavior (vis a vis – murder or the like), they are often over relational foibles rather than true moral concerns. Yet they carry the weight of an almost moral indignation. They range from “he should’ve known to never wear a black belt with brown shoes,” to something along the lines of, “how could he possibly think it was right to confront my coworker who I complained about in that way?” There are myriad variations here, but I want to make clear this isn’t about what we ought to know morally, but rather what it seems is expected of us socially as men and as people. In a world largely disconnected, where are we supposed to learn that other than the hard way, of stepping on the relational landmine and hoping it doesn’t blow up the whole thing?

    A Quick Aside for Women

    I don’t generally write for women. They aren’t first in mind as my audience because I don’t know your experience, but I put an aside here for you before I continue. Please, show a little grace to those men who step on the relational landmines. We often don’t know better (even though we “should” this is about bridging a gap not simply lamenting the gap). We were never taught better because many of our fathers didn’t teach us, or we didn’t have fathers in our lives, or we picked up the wrong things from media and other places. I emphasized a little, because it takes wisdom and discernment to extend grace for things that really are fixable versus things that are fundamentally destructive – like cheating. Don’t stand for that, and neither will we.

    Back to the Men

    Now, for the men. I am not going to give you some drivel about emotional intelligence or getting in touch with your feminine side. To be a good man is to be a good man, to embody the principals and design of manhood. Part of that is accepting mistakes when they are truly yours, and taking steps to correct them, as well as being kind and gentle with those who otherwise wound us. The ladies will never know what it is to be undermined the way a man is. They know what it feels like for them, but can’t for us. Just like we can’t for them. Stop trying to reach understanding and start trying to reach trust. That is the advice for men. You can tie yourself in intellectual knots in the attempt to understand exactly why the woman you love is acting (or not acting) in a particular way. You can take your practical guy brain and try to force the issue to a conclusion – which will almost certainly result in a fight and at least one relational landmine moment – or you can develop trust by being steady.

    The best way to produce trust for the ones you love is for you to be steady. Consistency (predictable and measured responses to various events and problems) and constancy (firm, dependable loyalty) are the hallmark of the steady man. The stoics talked much about this, but the stoics fail in that they seek the kind of internal control of self that is defined by the self. That is as futile as a toddler trying to solve the three-body problem in physics with an abacus. In order to have a foundational steadiness, a dynamic balance (which I wrote about here) you have to be rooted in the Word of God. It is not that you need to increase your trust in your partner first, but rather trust in God. Trust in God and consistently apply His Word to your life and stability will result. You need to trust (and build trust with) the woman you love of course, but you cannot place your trust in the woman you love. This goes for any relationship, but is especially important for romantic involvement. People change (and it’s brilliant that we do, because otherwise we could not grow and learn and become better), but God never does.

    In short, if you don’t trust God, you’ll never be stable and she’ll never be able to trust you, because trust placed anywhere else is trust placed in changeableness. Trust placed in the Lord is hidden away in immutability. I am a man and can always be moved in some way. God, cannot be moved. He cannot be destabilized or thrown out of His groove. He is the same, yesterday, today, and forever. He is the eternal source of stability.

    Alright I hear you, What’s the Point?

    What does this all have to do with these non-moral strange relational issues we face? How does that help me with landmines with my loved ones, my wife, my daughters, my [insert relational concern here]? When we see God as our source of stability, and act faithfully according to His Word because we place our trust in Him, it is possible to reframe the relational landmines into relational lessons. We can be teachable and humble in areas where we were and are wrong. We can also be firm and steadfast in areas where we weren’t wrong in a particular action and can weather the storm of our loved one being in the wrong. We can calmly re-assert our trust in the Lord no matter the circumstance. In all this we gain wisdom. To be in relationship with other people is to wrong and be wronged, each another opportunity to glorify the Lord by being forgiven and forgiving. Chasing the “why” of a particular behavior, to seek understanding in a purely rational sense, will lead down a rabbit trail, but to seek trust in the Lord and to cultivate that in every relationship through consistency and constancy is the way to be the stable man who can lead with wisdom.

    So, I think there are three things that you “ought to know” in the complex relational space and some associated “ought to dos”.

    1). You ought to know, you suck at this. That’s part of living after the Fall. You are going to screw up and not know what to do in almost every case.

    What to do? Keep trying. Ask forgiveness where needed. Seek Wisdom. Persevere, and Learn

    2). You can’t control the outcome. You can only control your actions and responses.

    What to do? Focus on doing what is right in every circumstance. Act according to good conscience on the principle of God’s word in every case. Let God take care of the outcome.

    3). You serve a Lord who gives wisdom generously to all without finding fault (James 1:5).

    What to do? Put down your pride and ask Him (and His people) for help. Not only shouldn’t you do this alone, you can’t do it alone. Wisdom doesn’t just get deposited like a check to your bank account (unless maybe you are Solomon, but even he didn’t end all that well once he was led astray by his pagan wives).

    Place your trust in the Lord your God, and you will never be put to shame.

  • What is the Law of God?

                   If you are not familiar with the distinctions within the OT law, then here I will lay it out briefly. Essentially there are three sub components to the law: The moral, the civil, and the ceremonial. Now, before we dive in, it is important to note that the disambiguation between the parts of the law are not true and discrete separations, rather they are a framework for understanding the law as a whole, which is a single thing and is about the expression of God’s character and goodness and beauty in the world that He made. So, they are parts, but not compartmented. We talk about them distinctly for clarity, but we must remember that there is a complex interplay between them unto the glory of the Lord.

    The Moral Law

                   The moral law is most of what we think of when considering the law today, and is largely given in the ten commandments (or the decalogue). There are other components, but the primary purpose of the moral law is the revelation of God’s holy character. Since His character is unchanging, there can be no change whatsoever to the moral law. It is set in stone (literally). This is part of why the scriptures tell us that to obey God is to love God (John 14:15)– the law is an expression of God’s character. If we are disobedient to it, we are rejecting not just a series of rules, but the person of God Himself. This is why all sin is ultimately (and primarily) sin against God. The psalmist gives us this clearly in that he says, “Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight, so that you may be justified in your words and blameless in your judgment.” (Psalm 51:4) It is very important to note here as well that breaches of the moral law are often punished by death – there is no sacrifice in the Old Testament system that can cover murder, adultery, or even disobedience to parents for example. All three were capital offenses and no sacrifices existed to cover over those sins. They demanded death. Christ’s sacrifice is the only one that can cover breaches of certain sins because no provision was made under the old testament for their covering. We can think of the moral law in terms of peace with God (and really the whole of the law).

    The Civil Law

                   The civil law is the rules for living within the kingdom of Israel. It is an expression of how we ought to relate to one another. They too are an expression of God’s character, largely in terms of His justice, but their practicum is within the sphere of relationships among the brothers. While the ten commandments do give guidance for interpersonal relationships, remember they are first about God and our responsibility to Him. The civil law is a pragmatic pursuit of peace within the community. It is about shalom with each other. While the specific laws themselves may not be in force, for instance since we do not have sanctioned slavery so no need for a year of jubilee, the principles from the civil law remain. It contains guidance for what happens when an ox is lost, or damage to property, or for making recompense for accidental wounds and the like. There are reparations and various means by which to make right wrongs done to others within this law, though intentionality matters for the purpose of the punishments. The principles from the civil law are principles about God’s justice, and those principles do not change from nation to nation. For instance, very few people own cattle in western society, so the laws around accidentally harming a brother’s ox seems out of place, but the principle of restoring what you have broken applies similarly to a vehicle accident.  

    The Ceremonial Law

                   The ceremonial law serves the function of being the outward signs for worship and the demonstration of the separation of the people of Israel from the people of the world. The principle at the core of the ceremonial law is that the Lord’s people are not like other people, they are to be holy as He is holy. The sacrificial system contains responses for many types of washing and activity and sinful uncleanness and purity and dietary laws. If we consider Hebrews we find that at least one purpose of the ceremonies is to cleanse the conscience of the worshipper (Hebrews 9:13-14), but even that cannot be completed by these old ceremonies for priests must continually re-do the sacrifices year after year, time after time. Christ’s sacrifice is the fulfillment of all necessary sacrifice for cleanness, separation, and ultimate righteousness, hence why there is no more need for sacrifices. One might say that the purpose of the ceremonial law is peace with oneself – the process of worship according to the dictates of God cleansing the conscience that we may properly serve God. In that sense, we ought not understand the clearing of the conscience as the only purpose of the ceremonial, but rather an enabling purpose, with the ultimate end still being in the proper and right approach toward God. The washings, the ceremonies of the OT were to demonstrate the holiness, the entire separateness, of God – His alien nature entirely pure and distinct from His creatures. This is why the people who He chose must necessarily be themselves set apart from the world, the surrounding idolatries, and pagan practices. His people’s ceremonial cleanness was (and is) a picture of God’s purity and the requirements to approach Him.

    Ceremonial Shifts between Old and New Covenant

    The transition of the ceremonial law between Old and New Testament also has much to do with the person of the priest and the issue of mediation. It is largely about how one can draw near to God. It is about access to the Presence of the Almighty. In the case of Old Testament sacrifices, they had to be completed by the priests on one’s behalf. They covered only certain types of sin. They covered only ceremonial uncleanness and unintentional sins which then allowed people to take part in the assembly. The sacrifices and offerings could only cover over the issues of cleanness and uncleanness unintentional sin and as Hebrews says “They are only a matter of food and drink and various ceremonial washings – external regulations applying until the time of the new order.” (Hebrews 9:10) Reparations and payments could be made for the purpose of correcting issues of theft and peace as well within the civil law.

    As a quick aside, the fact that the law had no provision to cover over murder and adultery (among other sins) is part of why Christ’s expansion of the laws against murder and adultery are so overwhelming in the sermon on the mount. Not only did it mean that those people had committed sin worthy of death (by hating or lusting), but it also meant they had no escape since there was no provision in the law for capital sin to be covered over by animal sacrifice. In other words, even the Pharisees, who believed themselves righteous, were damned by the expansion of understanding the law.

    So then why do Christians today not hold to the ceremonial washings, the feasts, the dietary laws, the acts of worship as did the Jewish people? Are we not also to be set apart from the surrounding culture? Certainly we are, but the manner of the separation has changed because the priesthood and sacrifice had changed. Where the priests of the Old Testament had to go yearly on behalf of the people, Christ sacrificed once and for all, so any additional sacrifice would be not only superfluous, but also blasphemous – indicating some failure or lacking in Christ. While the priests alone could enter the holy of holies, and only once a year, the death of Christ split the veil to the holy of holies and made His people “a kingdom, priests to his God and Father, to Him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.” (Revelation 1:6).

    Now there is much that we could say about this, and some complex passages in Hebrews that feel odd to our western modern minds, like the discussion of the priestly order of Melchizedek in Hebrews 7, but the phrase here that is most directly applicable to what we are discussing is Hebrews 7:12 “For when there is a change in the priesthood, there is necessarily a change in the law as well.”

    What about the law not passing away?

    So then how does this “change in the law” jive with Jesus’ own words in the sermon on the mount? Remember in Matthew 5:19 Our Lord says that “until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished.” (Emphasis mine). This final phrase is critical to our reading of the passage. While the phrasing before it talks of heaven and earth’s passing away, this phrase is where the brunt of the passage seems to lie. The question is, until what is accomplished? All of what? I would argue it is the completion of Christ’s redemptive work, which is finished, once and for all through the cross and resurrection. Christ has become a priest forever, “not on the basis of a legal requirement concerning bodily descent, but by the power of an indestructible life. For it is witnessed of Him, ‘you are a priest forever, after the order of Melchizedek.’ For on the one hand a former commandment is set aside because of its weakness and uselessness (for the law made nothing perfect); but on the other hand, a better hope is introduced, through which we draw near to God.” (Hebrews 7:16-19) Hebrews goes on to say that Christ is the “guarantor of a better covenant” (7:22) as well as that “he holds his priesthood permanently, because he continues forever. Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.” (Hebrews 7:24-25).

                   To wrestle again with Matthew 5, I would contend that what was to be accomplished was Christ’s sacrifice, entering into the true holy of holies in the heavenly places, once and for all (and Hebrews appears to agree). From there flows the change in the ceremonial laws, though the principles behind the ceremonies remain – to demonstrate the holiness of God and to rightly order approaches into His presence. Yet now, we have a high priest who does not simply enter one time per year, who is subject to weakness and his own failings, but rather we have the perfect high priest of Jesus Christ interceding continually at the right hand of God the father. We who are in Him are therefore also present with God, hence the change in ceremonial activities to approach God. Christ completed His work, and has been exalted above all. And while we do not yet see everything subjected to Him, that does not change that everything is in fact subject to Him. This is the principle of the already and the not yet. Christ’s work is complete in full, and not yet do we see it completed with the failing eyes of men, trapped in the confines of time.

    Ceremonial Distinction Today

                   But I have said that the principle of the ceremonial law still applies, and that the people of God must be holy as He is holy. So what are the outward signs we are today in order to demonstrate the principle of being set apart? Well, the scripture makes clear that those who love God will be known by our love for one another. In John 13:34-35 Christ says to His disciples, “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (Emphasis mine). Now, there will need to be an entire other discussion of what it means to actually love one another, especially in a world that has brutally twisted the concept of love into a monstrous misrepresentation, but this is the new ceremonial distinction between the people of God and the people of the world – love for one another.

    In Conclusion

                   Perhaps in this I have managed to generate more questions than answers. How do we know what is ceremonial versus civil versus moral? How do we properly distill the principles of the various portions of the law? How do we see the interplay between them both in the old and new testaments? This is hardly an exhaustive look at the law, but in essence I want to finish on a note that I think we tend to forget. The law is ultimately about God, as are all things, and not about us. While how it relates to us is important, it is how the law relates to God’s character that remains most stable. While legalism is a dirty word in Christian circles (and ought to be in a sense), a profound love for the law must be instantiated in order to rightly know God. The revelation of His law is a partial revelation of His divine character. Murder is prohibited (in part) because God is the God of life not death. Adultery (in part) because He is loyal and complete and true, because He is eminently faithful. Disobedience to parents (in part) because He is a God of establishing authority and order. Restitution for damages is commanded in the civil law because God is a God of justice, but provisions for those who cannot repay are in place because He is a God of mercy. Ceremonies that are costly (like the sacrifices of the OT, and mostly the sacrifice of Christ) demonstrate how holy and separate and pure God is. While the law relates to us, and we to it in many important ways – we mustn’t forget that the law is one of the earliest revelations of God’s character and we ought to, like the psalmist, cry out

    Oh how I love your law!

         It is my meditation all the day.

    Your commandment makes me wiser than my enemies,

         For it is ever with me.

    I have more understanding than all my teachers,

         For your testimonies are my meditation.

    I understand more than the aged,

         For I keep your precepts.

    I hold back my feet from every evil way,

         In order to keep your word.

    I do not turn aside from your rules,

         For you have taught me.

    How sweet are your words to my tastes,

         Sweeter than honey to my mouth!

    Through your precepts I get understanding;

         Therefore I hate every false way.

    Psalm 119:97-104

  • First Sword Strike – The Law of Faith

    We spoke about the fundamental stance of tota scriptura, how we let scripture interpret scripture. Yet, what do we do when scripture appears to contradict scripture? We appeal to the Law of Faith. We approach scripture in the faithful presupposition that there is no error in the text. Therefore, when apparent contradictions arise, rather than ignore or pit portions of scripture against one another, we seek, through prayer and continued study in faith to clarify. We always seek the unity between the texts and within the text as a whole. This is where context, study, and overarching methodologies help. A fancy word for how we approach scriptural interpretation is hermeneutics. The law of faith is really the first application of hermeneutics after the three stances we have already discussed.

    Recognition of Mystery

    In some cases, an apparent contradiction will be resolved through an appeal to mystery, which seems like an abdication of our study, but is the humble response to things which God has not fully revealed. As John Calvin once said, “Where God closes His holy mouth, I will desist from inquiry.” Or, as D.A. Carson once said in an article about the providence of God displayed through the book of Esther, “It is the duty of a Christian to learn everything that the Scriptures record; and it is equally his duty to remain in the most obstinate ignorance of everything they do not reveal.”

    Despite the fact that some apparent contradictions will resolve into mystery, I would contend that God has revealed far more than we often try to pursue. An appeal to mystery too soon is really just spiritual and intellectual laziness and cowardice – perhaps from a fear that the Lord’s Word may be disproven (a groundless fear though one I recognize as in the background). An appeal to mystery too late is presumption and pride – to seek to know the “secret things of God” is especially common among heretics in the earliest church and today. We will discuss in further strikes and sparring where those lines might be drawn, but for now, we reinforce that mystery may be the only faithful response to certain paradoxes of scripture and hence falls under the law of faith.

    Resolution in Understanding

    The second way that pseudo-contradictions resolve is with understanding, typically in the context and framing of the text itself. I once had the privilege of teaching on the very difficult passage in Hebrews six which raises serious questions of whether or not a true believer can lose their salvation. One of the young ladies approached me after and asked how I could be so sure of my approach in how I used broader scripture to explain this one difficult chapter. By the grace of God, my response was essentially this. Have you ever zoomed in on an image, down to pixelated level? Can you tell what the image is, or rather does it seem like something, but you aren’t quite sure? It’s fuzzy isn’t it? In order to understand the picture, you need to zoom out.

    The opposite can also happen to us when looking at scripture. We can zoom out really far, to where some of the practical details become blurry, and then we need to zoom back in. One of the greatest practical tools of the law of faith is that it reminds us to zoom in and zoom out as we approach scripture. To understand Hebrews 6, we need to understand what comes not only right before and after (in chapters five and seven respectively), but also the intent, audience, and overall argument of Hebrews. Then we need to understand where it fits in the broader New Testament, and then how it interacts with the Old Testament. Hebrews is a book especially linked with the OT since it was written to Jewish believers who were very familiar with the Hebrew OT. I won’t go through the entire process, but I think that the Holy Spirit gave me a bit of an insight there, because the young lady’s eyes lit up and she seemed to “get it.” I have been blessed to be a teacher of many topics and in many contexts, but I will never tire of the light bulb moment in a student’s eyes. I am very thankful to God for that.

    So, some of you may be wondering, can you lose your salvation? I am not going to answer that right now, as this is about the principle and approach, but I will respond to the question with another question – can you gain your salvation?

    What apparent contradictions have you seen in the text recently, and have you done the work to resolve them? Or have you rather avoided the apparent dissonance and moved along? It takes courage to approach this well, humbly, and effectively, but the Lord is faithful to demonstrate His own trustworthiness through the process.