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Sometimes a person is naturally sincere, so that what they do and who they are spring up, like two intertwined vines from the same root, out of their core being. There is no pretense.

And sometimes a person possesses all of the potential they need to learn how to live genuinely and care genuinely for others, but their aim, passion, or outlook remains unrefined, misguided.

This month, we will look at a couple examples of each. This week, we will start with the latter.

He was a young fisherman and a younger brother who had a local reputation for his quick temper. Perhaps we can excuse at least a part of his impetuous attitude and selfishness with stereotypical thoughts of male egotism and youthful naivete.

That is a snapshot of who he was.

But then, he started hanging out with another guy, a teacher who was teaching a new way of thinking in a new style. And hanging out with that teacher for several years began an amazing transformation in the young fisherman.

He would walk and talk with the teacher, and serve alongside him. He would witness wonders and be humbled nearly beyond bearing. He would be present during several of the most iconic moments of human history. And he would be the one given charge to care for the teacher’s mother when the teacher first passed away and then later flew away into Heaven.

His name was John, son of Zebedee. And his was a life beautifully transformed.

While I certainly believe that the love and truth of Jesus had the greatest effect on him overall, and I wholeheartedly believe that Mary was only a common person with no divine power of her own, I can’t help but wonder how much of John’s sincerity was shaped by Jesus himself and how much of it was influenced or enhanced by John’s time of caring for Mary. Certainly the combination of the two fed a spring of goodness already somewhere present in John’s heart. And it led him to become a channel through which so much of God’s goodness would be expounded to us.

How many people have come to know the love of Jesus personally though John’s carefully and sublimely written gospel? How many people have come to understand a deeper meaning of love through John’s epistles? How many people have read with wonder of the power of God’s love as described in John’s revelation?

Before becoming the only apostle to die at a natural old age, he endured a time of prisoner’s exile. And though St. Paul has often received much more attention for the breadth and depth of his writings and his work, today I celebrate the life and the quiet, faithful sincerity of John.

The art posted with these thoughts is a royalty-free image I found online. When I see it, I think of John and smile. Love lifted him up above himself to see a wider view and to bless so many. And love was what he lifted up to Heaven and out to the world as an offering in return.

And that, my friends, is a most true and sweet essence of sincerity.

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So many of us cry out for justice to truly be blind and for social equality and goodness to prevail.

But where does it start?

It starts in each heart, with each one who would practice the second greatest commandment: to love neighbor with the same care one would show one’s self.

Today, instead of profiling one specific person, I simply want to let Ms. Keller’s beautiful words stir our souls. And I want to quietly commend everyone who chooses to do what is good and right for another person, no matter if their just or good acts will ever be widely know.

Let us press on to love and to uphold the welfare of each other.

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Growing up with a mother who has always loved all things western, from cowboys and Native Americans to horses and guitar-picked ballads, I think it only fitting that I should write a post about justice and lawmen of the “Wild West” period.

I decided to do a flash jaunt of research and was fascinated by a list of archives I discovered at legendsofamerica.com. What I found most interesting about browsing the biographical blurbs there was how a number of those real-life sheriffs, deputies, rangers, and marshals lived a kind of double life — being both some sort of criminal and some sort of lawman.

That led me to think about how this concept of justice is ultimately an objective one…but that it can seem subjective, especially in self-regulating societies like the western frontier or in daily circumstances where we are right in the middle of things.

What is the difference? Essentially, it is simply in point of view. God, being high above, can see both or all sides much more equally than we can from a limited, horizontal plain.

In that light, and in honor of all the frontier-based lawmen who were really good, fair, and just, I have written the following poem to help us maintain such perspective.

After Ned Branson robbed the bank, I tracked

His mangy hide for two days. I lacked

Anything beyond my gun, coat, canteen,

And my faithful mare, Trinity.

Behind, in Silver City, I left Sally and little

Alice with my heart, and I whittled

Away the hours of riding with strokes

Of prayers for them, their best in my hope.

But I was well aware of what might be

And the violent confrontation awaiting me:

How it might not end well, how I could

Rot in this desert, fallen where I’d stood.

On the second day, I found Ned’s path

Led down, but there was a way to catch

Another view by shifting Trinity left

And climbing to a majestic cliff.

From there, I looked out just in time

To spy the tension, tuned so fine,

Between my prey and the Madder Gang,

Ned and Charlie now posed to draw and aim.

And from such heights, I could clearly see

Who drew first and whose shot streamed,

To strike a deadly mark, across the span

So that I blinked and saw Ned hit the sand.

I waited for the gang to ride away —

I would deal with them another day —

Before I descended to place Ned’s frame

In a dry and sandy shallow grave.

Then I found a stream with a patch of green

Where Trinity could feast and I could sleep

Before we turned homeward, alive and well,

To a house so love-filled, even if so small.

And on the way back, I mused aloud,

“My view from the level plain’s ground

Would not have been the same

As what I saw from high above that day.”

When I finally came to the edge of town,

Before I turned right, toward our house,

I paused to thank Almighty God

Who had, in mercy, brought me home.

And I thought of how His vast view

Is always higher, clearer, true.

I asked Him to help me always recall

How He’s the best lawman of all.

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We so often think of negative consequences or fateful punishment when we hear the word justice. Yet, there is really a neutral feeling to the word and a positive side we can easily overlook.

As definitions in Webster’s Dictionary point out, the doling out of justice may include bestowing merited rewards and showing equal, impartial, and fair treatment to another — no matter who they are. Combining those two meanings, we might also observe that a just person is a person who generously bestows blessings on others all around them, in fair measure and regardless of who those other people may be.

In that regard, justice cannot be administered by someone who is selfish. Indeed, if the vices of greed and self-centeredness grip the mind and heart of the person at hand, he or she will never be able to administer true justice. And so, selfishness can stand as an antonym and a barricade to the presence of justice in a person’s life.

And not just the life of a rich, famous, or powerful person. But also in the lives of common people like you and me. However, since most of the historical records still available to us detail the lives of the rich or the powerful, let us the consider the example of one man who was both, in his time, so that we might consider if his example is worth following.

Though history has preserved it, relatively few people know his name or his story apart from a now somewhat-less-popular Christmas song which combines a 13th century melody with lyrics penned in the 1850s. And his name is something of a tongue twister for England speakers outside of Eastern Europe.

His name was Wenceslas, and he ruled Bohemia (the modern day Czech Republic) as a Duke from the age of 18 until his life was (unjustly) cut short several years later. Only posthumously was he given the title King of Bohemia, the title by which we may have heard his name in the song.

It is a happy, lively tune, telling the tale of a ruler who stopped at nothing to provide for his people, going to personally attend to their needs and show them kindness, no matter how lowly their circumstances might be. In fact, besides the note that he banished his own mother, the former queen regent, soon after he began to rule, we don’t see much sign of him administering justice in a negative sense. It seems he spent the vast majority of his time bestowing goodness and righting wrongs wherever he could.

When Wenceslas began to rule, other leaders in the country insisted that half of the kingdom be given to his younger brother, Boleslaus. This was only fair, after all, and would likely help maintain peace in the land. Interestingly, Boleslaus was not prone to pure justice and was much greedier at his core. Where Wenceslas thrived in his generosity, Boleslaus brewed in his self-centeredness and longed for years to rule it all.

Finally, one September day, Boleslaus carried out a plot with three conspiring noblemen. First, the noblemen all stabbed his brother, and then Boleslaus finished Wenceslas off with a lance — right in the doorway of a church.

There are several ironies in the story. The ending of Wenceslas’ life was gruesome and heartbreaking, yet the tune which commemorates it is so sweet and cheerful. He had the status of a king, but he spent his years giving away his worldly goods, time, and energy to touch the lives of those he ruled. He could have treated some people better than others, but he seems to have had equal care and kindness for every single needy person. And even though his brother wanted only to destroy him, Wenceslas would live on forever in the memories of those who love what is good, in the Spirit of the One he worshipped.

This is justice in us: when we are filled less with ourselves and more with that Spirit, so that we want to bless others in equal measure and our deeds long reep the rewards, even after our earthly life has ended.

To quote the final refrain of the song, “Therefore, Christian men be sure, wealth or rank possessing, ye who now will bless the poor shall yourselves find blessing.” This, too, is justice. Perhaps the sweetest justice of all.

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Abducted as a minor, he was carried to a foreign place and enslaved to labor against his will for years. When he found a miraculous way back home, he seized the opportunity and was reunited with his beloved family.

I think now of how he might have fared afterward according to my own culture’s standards.

Many people would have, at the very least, harbored awful feelings towards the people group from that foreign place, despising anyone of their ethnicity and every expression of their culture.

Most people would have just wanted to stay home with their family.

Some people would have become hypervigilant about every possible person who could pose a threat to them or their family at any future point.

And a few people would have raised an army to go back and fight the original captors, demanding retribution for all the damage those people had done.

This young man could have understandably declared his hatred for that people. But he chose instead to return to them with love and communicate that love to them through their very own culture.

He certainly had the chance to stay with his family. But he gave it up, leaving his home behind for the remainder of his life.

He could have lived out his days in fear and paranoia. But he chose instead to walk in paths of faith and trust, exuding a calm and strength that only comes in a life when love has smothered fear.

And, if the records are true and he really came from a noble family, he likely would have been able to raise an army to take across the sea so that he might exact justice on human terms. But he did not, choosing instead to let the Spirit ruling over him do the conquering of hearts and minds.

Last week, we noted how Jael dealt a literal blow of justice upon a threatening enemy. And such violent acts are often what we think of when we consider the word “justice.” Death by some form of bloodiness at its most extreme, sentencing by a judge or other authority at a lesser extreme.

We don’t think of dedicating the rest of one’s life to loving the very people who tried to destroy us as justice. Mercy or grace perhaps. Superhuman ethical perspective perhaps. Taking leave of one’s senses perhaps. But not justice.

But what if, in a different line of thinking, the life of Patrick shows us justice lived out in another way?

What if his ability to love his former enemies and even embrace them as his new, own people was built on a foundation of trusting that God knew what justice was yet needing to be done and that God would do it?

Does it take more courage to violently administer justice or to wait and give one’s enemies the chance to turn and seek forgiveness?

When I look at Patrick’s life, I think of another saint’s admonition, written a few hundred years previously: “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:21). Indeed, in his calling and his obedience, just as in the life of the Lord he followed, Patrick showed us a different way of honoring justice and ushering in rightness.

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She lived millennia before Peter Jackson brought Tolkien’s lovely Eowyn to the screen and had her do what otherwise seemed impossible, wielding a sword to defeat an other-worldly enemy while magnificently declaring, “I am no man!”

And she carried out a feat equally necessary for the good of her people and surrounding nations, but she did it almost silently, in the privacy of her own personal space.

Her name was Jael, and she lived in a time and space where her only other identifying characteristic was the name of her husband. Still, we have a gift in the fact that one chapter of her life was preserved for us to learn from.

When the leader of the opposing forces escaped the army led by Deborah (mentioned in my first courage post from last month) and fled for his life, he came across the place where Jael and her family had pitched their tents. Exhausted, and believing she was a harmless, friendly woman, he entered her tent to rest and hide from those pursuing him.

But Jael knew who he was and knew that his reign of terror needed to end. So while he was sleeping deeply, she crept back into the tent and used a mallet to drive a tent peg all the way through his head, from his temple to the ground beneath him.

What a woman.

The ancient text memorializing her brave deed does not tell us exactly how she felt beforehand, in the midst of the act, or afterward. Some would say it doesn’t matter; all that mattered was that she stopped a ruthless leader from hurting more people.

But I believe it matters. Because she was a woman and feelings matter to women. (And, to be honest, so many of our own heroes living today who struggle with physical or mental health issues after they have had to carry out roles of justice have often had to shut off their feelings in the moment and don’t know how to fully deal with them afterwards.)

If I were Jael, I think my heart would have started pounding as Sisera approached and I recognized him, even as I worked up a small smile and pulled a mask of calmness over my face. And I am sure my hands would have shook at least a little as I poured the milk for him to drink and pulled a soft wool blanket over his prone, breathing form. And I might have had to set the mallet and peg down to wipe my sweaty palms before I could finally move to strike. And I might have stepped to the other side of the tent to muffle my tears in a cushion after the deed was done so that I didn’t startle my husband or children. And I might have stepped outside to throw up after I had to return to the body and show another that this enemy was indeed dead.

Yes. Postulating about her feelings matters. Because it reminds us that when human beings serve as channels of God’s justice in our world, they are still human. And the price they may pay in order for justice to be done is not only measurable if they pay with their own life. Sometimes it is actually in the surviving that a greater price must be paid. Because they did what they knew they had to do — what we needed too — but now they would have to live with the memories of it.

So when I read this account of Jael, I am simultaneously filled with empathy and gratitude. Empathy for how what she did was by no means easy (and I am not just talking about the physical strength required). And gratitude for all those, down through the ages, who have delivered justice when it was needed.

They, too, have been channels through which God worked different types of miracles. And they have reminded us that He Himself is just.

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Last week, I wrote about the brave women of whaling families who let their men go for months and years at a time while courageously holding down the fort. Today, I offer another shout out, admiration of and appreciation for their modern counterparts: the spouses of active duty service members.

Their husbands or wives are shipped off for tours to far away places, usually to face hard circumstances and often to handle unpleasant or even horrible duties.

And when those husbands or wives come home, they have to readjust to life together again, sometimes with the special challenges of injury, mental illness, or emotional distress thrown in to complicate matters.

They may have to move many times across the country or even around the world.

If there are children involved, they must do what they can to be both mother and father to those children during deployments and help the children readjust to every change, every sudden up or down, every normal childhood milestone that may be more complicated in the face of military life.

And while it’s true that some will quickly say, “This is what we signed up for and I am just doing what I need to do,” as far as I am concerned, they are not sincerely thanked nearly often enough.

Because it takes an incredible amount of courage to face the unknown and the what ifs, to remain faithful to one’s spouse when they are so far away, and to keep caring and supporting when the hazards of the job lead to additional relationship stress.

That is some kind of courage. And some kind of tenacious love.

In honor of these military spouses, I offer a very short poem, written in the voice of a committed wife writing to her deployed husband.

Many things may worry you but let this not be one.

My heart will be staying true until this trip is done.

And evermore. And evermore.

Some pain lodges in the mind and some invades the heart.

Release in Grace your pain can find while we remain apart.

And evermore. And evermore.

You will stand, risk, and obey until the time has passed.

Then you will come back one day, come home to me at last.

And evermore. And evermore.

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There was a time when the energy sources so widely used in our lives today were unknown or unharnessed and people in the developing world sought light, warmth, and industrial materials from the natural world around them. This included (much to the chagrin of today’s environment lovers) the harvesting of whale oil and related byproducts from those massive creatures.

No one can deny sadness in the fact that specific whale populations dwindled as a result. Yet, today I will not condemn the hunters for their eager pursuit. Instead, I will praise them for their courage.

Who among us would be brave enough to take a “sleigh ride” with them? Having our tiny wooden boat dragged over waves at breakneck speeds until the whale grew tired? Then approaching the whale to try and spear it through the heart before it could potentially destroy our boat or drown us with a flick of its flipper or a thrash of its tail?

Certainly not me.

But for all the bravado and upfront bravery displayed by the men, there was a different kind of courage being displayed at the same time.

Who among us would be brave enough to hold down the fort back home? To take care of all the family’s needs without knowing when one’s husband or father or neighbor or friend would return? Or if he would come home?

Certainly not me. (Though I might be more likely to succeed in that latter scenario.)

This was the courage displayed by the women of Nantucket, New Bedford, and many other communities throughout the development, growth, and heyday of the whaling business.

We still know a few of their names presently: these brave men and women who inspire us with their stength and tenacity, with their faith and their faithfulness. But so many of the other names, and stories, have been lost to the passage of time.

Yet, while their stories may now mostly be lost to us, their courage is still worth emulating.

A brilliant courage that stands up to the impossible and even runs right into the face of it.

And a beautiful courage that stays put, firmly committed to those we love through all the storms of life.

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He lived so long ago that the details of his life story are now spun for us in a tale of various hues and colorful climaxes. Yet today, even the youngest school children know his name and couples across cultures celebrate their devotion to one another in his honor.

But do we recognize what we are really celebrating when we remember the man who was called Valentine?

Some accounts say that he not only healed a young blind woman but that he also fell deeply in love with her.

How romantic.

Yet ultimately tragic, and ironic, because all accounts say the reason for his execution came in his refusal to deny his belief that every man and woman who wanted to marry should marry, something the emperor of his time had forbidden for the sake of maintaining a stronger army.

Some people think it beautiful that he left his young love a note of eternal affection before he was led to his death.

But if we focus only on that, we miss the greater beauty of his courage. What he lived for. What he died for. What he believed in so unwaveringly.

And we miss the beauty of courage a man and a woman display when they commit to a binding covenant with each other…and the courage they display when they choose to weather many storms and see the promise they made as not only their responsibility but also as their gift to give through and to grow through. Together. For the sake of the other.

For the word marriage may, in English, begin with a “m” and end with an “e” …but it has never been about the good of the individual. It has been about the good of the unit, and by extension, the good of the community, the nation, the world. And even the good of Heaven’s pleasure.

Ironic, as well, because in a day and age when we have more rights and freedom to marry than ever, so many people choose to disregard that right. It takes courage to take up that yoke. And it takes courage to appreciate the beauty and defend the worth of each couple who pulls together well, no matter what life throws at them.

This Valentine’s Day, I will celebrate the man who had the courage to do what was right until the end. And I won’t be receiving a dozen roses or a diamond ring or be whisked away to a fancy steak dinner. But I won’t mind. I will be happy to sit at home, sipping chocolate, and praying for my married friends to press on courageously and faithfully.

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She proclaimed words and wisdom from God to discern judgements in various civil cases thousands of years before modern suffragettes would cry out for equal rights.

She led an ancient nation faithfully for decades in the face of unnerving foreign oppression.

And when the time came for her people to overthrow the dominating enemy and her male military commander counterpart refused to believe God’s promise of victory without her auspicious presence by his side in battle, she stood at the peak of a mountain and commanded his troops to rush down that mountain and slaughter every last one of the enemy soldiers.

Then, after it was all over, she sang a beautiful song of triumph long recorded in the annals of history…a song that served as a prelude to forty years of blessed peace for her people.

The limited details of her life and person passed down to us clearly demonstrate the kind of courage that is born when hope incubates in adversity for long spans of time. But the song she sang tells us even more important things about the true meaning of courage itself.

First, true courage is most beautifully displayed and joyfully maintained when it springs from a willing, trusting heart. “When the princes in Israel take the lead, when the people willingly offer themselves – Praise the Lord!” (Judges 5:2 NIV)

Second, true and lasting courage springs from remembering what God has done in the past and believing that He can do other good things now, in our day. “They recite the righteous acts of the Lord, the righteous acts of his warriors in Israel. Then the people of the Lord went down to the city gates.” (Judges 5:11b NIV)

Third, true courage is born out of love for what is good and right, what or who is really worth defending. “So may your enemies perish, O Lord! But may they who love you be like the sun when it rises in its strength.” (Judges 5:31 NIV)

Thank you, God, for reminding us of where true courage is rooted, through the example and words of Deborah, wife of Lapidoth.

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