When you lose your father...

Last night, I hung out with two friends and we got on the topic of fathers and mothers. We'd all lost our fathers when young. One friend's father was murdered when he (I'll call him Tim) was 2 years old. The other friend and I simply had fathers who were absentee and in other ways "not the best dad in the world". 

We lamented that a bit, and then as we reviewed the landscape, I said in passing, "I'm the only one who lost his mother early." (My mother passed when I was in my early twenties.) Tim replied with a heartbreaking statement. "When you lose your father, you also lose your mother." He then unpack his words.

"When your father is gone, your mother has to take on his role, which erodes her ability to do the mothering she'd rather be doing."

Food for thought, and for compassion. And for lament. I measure a great loss in my mother's absence, but I had her for 20+ years. Tim had his mother (and his father) for two. After that, he had a single parent struggling to raise ten (!) kids in the slums of Mexico City.

Invasion of the Jesus Snatchers

 We've been going down this dark road for more than a decade. (I suppose from God's perspective, we've been working our way here since the beginning of time.) But now we're gaining speed. Downward. So badly so I'm getting the same vibe these days that I one got as a child watching a movie called Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

In one scene from that movie, a wife says to someone that her husband is not the same. And he's not. He's looking and acting weird. A few days later that person checks in with the wife again, but now the wife looks very odd, too. And the wife now says, along with her husband, that "Everything is just fine."

And you just know it ain't. The culprit is the innocent looking plant next to the bedside table. It came from outer space, and it's snatching bodies at night, one by one.

The movie scared the hell out of me when I was a child. What I see going on around me now is even more scary. It feels like hell is moving in. A spiritual evil is at work in our midst. It's not snatching our bodies, but our souls. I exaggerate, of course, but we have a lot of weird looking Christians wandering around the U.S. these days, and they ain't right.

Everything all right? "Oh, yes, everything is fine."

Hell, no. Someone I'm chatting with tells me Charlie's assassination has done nothing but bring him closer to Jesus. Sounds great on paper, but the Jesus Charlie Kirk and this friend of mine know isn't the Jesus I know from scriptures. Like everyone else, I do have my blind spots, but I know my scriptures pretty well. Jesus was a friend of the broken. God cares deeply about foreigners.

Everything all right? "Oh, yes, everything is fine."

Hell, no. There are things Charlie Kirk believed that I believe, yes but he added things to that mix that didn't come from any Bible I ever read. Kirk mixed toxic patriotism in with his faith, and so does that spiritually rejuvenated friend I mentioned a moment ago. But the book of Hebrews tells us to live as foreigners and aliens...

Everything all right? "Oh, yes, everything is fine."

Hell, no. At the memorial service yesterday people were instructed to wear red, white and blue. And Charlie was celebrated first and foremost as an American, at least from the words of president Trump: "He was assassinated because he lived bravely. He led boldly. and he argued brilliantly without apology. He did what was right for our nation. And so on that terrible day, September 10th, 2025, our greatest evangelist for American liberty became immortal. He's a model now for American freedom." But they're pretending at the very same time that Kirk died for Jesus. As if there was no real difference.

Everything all right? "Oh, yes, everything is fine."

Hell, no, when a "Christian martyr" is draped with the American flag and eulogized as an evangelist not for Jesus but for American liberty. That doesn't sound like a Christian martyr. That sounds like a politician or soldier. That was not a memorial for a missionary who died serving Jesus on the mission field. Kirk's death was a tragedy, but these people mourning him are steeped in Christian nationalism, and it shows through in a myriad of ways. They've been eaten by a plant most of them cannot even name, and now they're spouting Christian nationalism fluently when they talk.

Everything all right? "Oh, yes, everything is fine."

No, hell no. It's not. “He did not hate his opponents, he wanted the best for them,” Trump said, before breaking from his prepared remarks to add: “That’s where I disagreed with Charlie. I hate my opponents, and I don’t want the best for them, I’m sorry.” Trump was true to character. The veritable antithesis of Jesus in terms of operating principles. (And the Charlie he described did not match the one I saw in various podcast clips, either.) The "Christian right" here in America adores both of these men, but Jesus called us to be different from what we see in Trump and Kirk's hateful rhetoric.

A neighbor. A friend serving in missions (who ought to know better). And millions more besides. They've been snatched. Snatched by a seemingly innocent ideology that doesn't belong to Jesus. It consumes you if you don't have your guard up. And when it's done, all you have left of Jesus is his name. And the risk is high that he doesn't have your name in his book, because people who espouse Christian nationalism don't look or sound like Jesus when they do.

I'm tired of seeing Christians who got Jesus snatched out of them. Or maybe he was never in them in the first place. The end result is the same either way.

When does this movie end? Can it end soon, Jesus? I don't like it, Jesus. I want this movie to end.

-----------------

PS - Obviously, I've exaggerated at time in what I just wrote. Christian nationalism is a disease that can consume a person whole, but I'm sure we all have a touch of it from time to time. And not everyone suffering from it is a true enemy of the cross.

But no one, not no one, can be wholly consumed by both Christian nationalism and Jesus. The one eventually drives out the other.

Thankfully, we have it on good authority that Jesus will win this battle and the war. But grieve and weep, oh USA. Wail and mourn, for you have birthed death, and it now consumes you alive.

Reichstag Moment

The murder of Charlie Kirk was an act of evil.

Trump will get a lot of mileage out of it, however.

Stay tuned.

Blood Meridian vs Lilith

I listened to Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian via audiobooks recently. Then the very next book I went through by the same route was George MacDonald's Lilith. Could two more antithetical books of fiction possibly be read in sequence? I struggle to imagine what they would be.

Blood Meridian is dark. Dark. Did I mention dark?

Lilith is hopeful. Hopeful. Did I mention full of hope?

Here's my two cents: Both books are extreme, and at least one of them certainly wrong. Dead wrong. That would be Blood Meridian.

These books have been around for long enough that I probably don't need to say this... but... Spoiler alerts ahead. Stop reading now if you don't want them.

The last sentence in Blood Meridian reads, "He dances in light and in shadow and he is a great favorite. He never sleeps, the judge. He is dancing, dancing. He says that he will never die." After reading these words, one could be forgiven for wondering if I accidentally got things flipped around. This judge sounds like a delightful person.

Ummm. No. The judge we speak of here is powerful. Evil beyond words. And immortal, to boot. It's hard to imagine a worse combination: Power, Evil, and Immortality. Judge Holden seems to possess all three.

That's why Blood Meridian is wrong. Dead wrong. It's just fiction, but Cormac McCarthy clearly had a poor grasp of reality. I'm not sure I'll give this author another reading. I might yet read, "The Road", but I'm inclined to take a pass. I prefer to drink from the wells of those who offer more wholesome water. This man seems to be caught up in a great and terrible lie: The lie that evil shall prevail. Having also seen No Country for Old Men, I can see that this wasn't a slip of the pen. McCarthy's Anton Chigurh is just as evil as Judge Holden, and seemingly just as immortal. McCarthy knows what he means to say. The problem is that he's wrong. Evil shall not prevail.

If there is one thing I am sure of in this universe, it is that God is real. And God will prevail. In short, I believe that Power, Goodness, and Immortality reside in one being. Meatloaf may have felt that two out of three ain't bad, but in this situation, McCarthy has demonstrated that in some situations, you really need to get all three right—or just go home.

Moving on to Lilith, we run the risk, if it were possible, of erring just as wildly in the opposite direction. George MacDonald's Lilith presents us with a world where God's goodness is so great, even the most evil creature created is eventually redeemed and won over to love. If Blood Meridian's Judge Holden is the devil incarnate (and that case is not difficult to make), George MacDonald proposes in Lilith that even Holden will come around one day. Even Judge Holden will one day bow the knee to God eternal and embrace all that is good.

NGL, that's pretty hard to swallow. But the difference is this: At least MacDonald's proposal sounds nice. It's something to hope for. Because God is Good. If the redemption of every last thing in creation is possible, then God would surely do it. Whether that's possible is a open question, but it's at least something worth hoping for. At least MacDonald is pinning his hopes on a good outcome in the hands of a good God.

I'll be reading more MacDonald.

Greed for M___ (Fill in the blank)

I write this one with no research, so perhaps this isn't a new thought, but it's certainly new for me.

It struck me today that I have, for most of my life, been a slave to greed. Greed for m___.

For what? Not money. (Nor mammon, in case you were thinking this was a trick question.) No. Greed for memory. And just as Paul noted regarding money, I find that my love for memory has been a root for a number of evils in my life.

Obviously, memory is a necessity in life, and money proves pretty useful, too. These are neutral things, to be used well or poorly. What occurred to me this morning, however, is that there are dynamics at play with both that are worth examining.

To start with money, it can be gathered and then used profitably for the kingdom of God. But if hoarded, money is a curse and a prison. And in the end, it will be taken away. If not by the circumstances of life, then by death itself. We shall (!) be parted from our money.

Interestingly, memory is similar in at least a few respects. We can gather memories and use our memory profitably for the kingdom of God. But if we memorize for personal gain—and, most notably, for reasons of pride—memory is a curse and a prison. And in the end, it will be taken away from many of us as we approach death. Many of us lose the capacity to form new memories and keep them.

Where am I going with this? Well, those of us with good memories tend to take pride in such things. We remember trivia. We remember things so as to flaunt how much we know. Some people drive flashy cars. Others flaunt the wares they house between their ears.

But if we are in the game to flaunt our memory, then we are no better than those who flaunt their wealth. The same pride issues beset both crowds. It's just that the former like to think they are more refined.

For me, it occurred to me that all my googling on silly questions is too often chasing after the wind. I should be careful which topics I allow to consume my time. The facts I hoover up in life should preferably be of the sort that help me advance the kingdom of God. Raise up the poor. Love my neighbor.

Probably best to stop here. This reflection is not meant to be overly negative. It's fun to learn things. It's fun to know things. And there are ways to use the assets between our ears in ways that please Jesus.

But let this be a word of caution to self. Don't forget that greed for m___ can be unhealthy, and there are several ways to finish that M word.

The Fifteen Trillion Dollar Piano

Donald J. Trump lost an auction in 1988 for a 58-key piano used in the classic film “Casablanca” to a Japanese trading company representing a collector. The following year, Mr. Trump went on television to call for a 15 percent to 20 percent tax on imports from Japan. 

That was then. Fast forward forty years to now. Trump has finally has his revenge on that event. Collateral damage be damned, he got his tariffs.

Let us calculate the cost of that piano, now that we know the role it played in this debacle. I'd estimate it at about $15T.

Yes.

Donald Trump has shaved about $15T of value off world stock markets (perhaps more) because some Japanese collector outbid him at auction. For a piano.

If anything about this situation seems strange? Congratulations. You're sane. That's an increasingly rare state of mind to be in, BTW.

Try to hold onto it.

God Being Sly With Us

There is a dynamic to human life that makes me just smile and say, "God, you did that on purpose, didn't you?" The dynamic I am referring to is wrapped up in this question: Have you ever noticed what things deteriorate and when?

Think about it.

Would anybody argue against the thesis that all that we are as humans can be boiled down to body, mind and soul? If anything of human essence is not captured in these three basic categories, I defy the objector to point it out. I think those three categories are as a good a rough approximation as one could hope for.

Now.

When does the body enter decline? I'm told it begins in our early twenties. We start to feel it later, but that's when it begins. Peak condition? Enjoy it when you're young. It ain't gonna get better. The world's finest athletes may get in some special accomplishments in their thirties, but they won't be faster runs or greater feats of strength. It's all downhill from those heady immortal days of our youth. No matter how hard you try to make it otherwise.

When does the mind enter decline? Mmmmm, same story. Chess players are at the height of their capacities in their early twenties. If you happen to be Magnus Carlsen, you can reign over the chess board into your thirties, but his dominance at this point in his career only speaks to the even greater advantage he had over the next-best players when he was in his twenties.

Mathematicians, too, put in their finest discoveries while in their twenties. The Fields medal assumes that nothing is lost by restricting recipients to people under the age of forty. When Andrew Wiles proved Fermat's last theorem at the ripe old age of 41, that was a fluke—and the result, notably, of work done over six years by a genius who had been interested in the problem since early childhood.

I could go on with more obvious examples. Rhetorical question: how old were the Beatles when they wrote their best material? Are there any musicians you can think of, past or present, whose music got even better as they approached their golden years?

But we digress. To the point. There's one more question to ask.

When does the soul enter decline? My suspicion is that it doesn't have to. Ever. Bodybuilders, athletes, musicians and mathematicians must yield to the hands of father time pretty early on. But we can work on our souls all our lives. And I think souls can become sweeter and more mature with each passing decade.

I think God had a little fun with that arrangement. It's the way it ought to be. And it's the way it is. What matters most in life, we can work on right up to the end. God knows we are frail, and yet he endowed us with the capacity to "bulk up" and "sharpen up" the most important thing about us, and enables us to do this basically without restriction. The workout gym for the soul is open 24/7 for the entirety of our lives.

Now, if you don't mind, I'll stop here. I need to go work out.

Houston Has A Problem I Don't Want

 Brian Houston of Hillsong disrepute added to his woes recently by accidentally typing his google search ("ladies and girls kissing") into a Twitter post seen by millions.

Schadenfreude captures a fair bit of the public responses, and Mr. Houston (who does have a problem) did not improve matters by trying to claim (a mere 16 minutes later) on the same Twitter account that it had been hacked. This additional epic fail received the derision it deserved. (Observers gleefully remarked at how he had miraculously recovered control of his hacked account within minutes, when such problems usually take days or even months to resolve.

Mr. Houston has a problem, to be sure. From the looks of it, he has quite a few problems. But enough about him. Let's talk about me.

After I was done enjoying his further decline in the estimation of the world (toward the place of respect he deserves, having brought such disrepute to the name of Jesus), I turned to the awkward question that needed to be asked. What consequences would I face if my worst searches were made globally and publicly visible?

Ouch.

I am thankful that a full listing would show that I've got a pretty good record the vast majority of the time. I'm doing pretty well. Well... compared to some. Some of the time.

But that kind of accounting won't cut it. It only took one moment of typing in the wrong textbox for Mr. Houston to get into the situation he found himself in. Let's be generous (very generous, I'm sure) and assume that was his first and worst internet search on his worst day.

What was my worst search on my worst day? I won't put it here. But it's worse than what Mr. Houston typed. A lot worse.

I don't want Mr. Houston's problem. But I do want to remember it.

It is always preferable to do the right thing for the right reasons. Failing that, a distant second is to do the right thing for less awesome reasons. Distant second, indeed. Jesus delivered strong rebukes to Pharisees who did all the right things (or at least a number of good things) for a lot of really bad reasons.

If I avoid bad internet searches because my heart is in the right place? Perfect. But when my human frailty is winning the day in my heart, perhaps I'll remember that my internet searches are emblazoned across eternity, with nothing hidden–even if, unlike Mr. Houston, I do not have a highly visible Twitter account.

Mr. Houston's problem is mine, too. Our actions are never as invisible as we think. All SHALL be revealed. Some things now. But ALL things, eventually.

Keeping these things in mind might help me to evaluate more truthfully (for oh, how we do love to lie to ourselves) just how innocent and defensible my internet searches are.

Even the worst ones.

Your Best Version Of Me

 (A short poem)

God, please help me to be

Your best version of me.

(I did say it was short.)

They are gentle who need mercy (and know it)

The post header speaks for itself. But that makes for a rather short reflection, so I'll take a moment to answer to the question, "From whence did this thought arise?"

The short answer to the question is this: I can tell I am getting older. I can sense that I am growing weaker. And I am more aware, not uncoincidentally, of my need for mercy.

I once thought quickly. Quicker than most people. Now my sons can see that they think more quickly than I do on many topics. They aren't always respectful in the ways that plays out in our interactions. I find myself thinking, "I need to be more gentle. (Because I wish they'd be more gentle with me. And maybe it's not too late to give my sons a better example.)"

I never had great ears. I've always misunderstood what people are saying. But it's perhaps getting worse. I feel frail when family members are frustrated with my frequent requests to hear them repeat what they think they already said loudly enough.

I once drove with supreme confidence. But in recent months, I have noticed that I am making more driving errors. No accidents, thankfully, but I don't process three thoughts at once so well, anymore. I need to pay more attention on the road. My eyes are not young, anymore. I ruefully recall how many times in my life I have mocked elderly drivers for their caution and crawling pace. Ouch.

I could come up with more examples, but perhaps these suffice.

I've always needed mercy. It's just more obvious to me, now. And the more aware I become of my own need, the more I empathize with those who still need mercy from me—and the more I wish I had learned these traits when I was young, hot-blooded, and thirsty to conquer.

There is only one true conqueror, and his name is Jesus Christ. Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy.

When Risk Isn't Risky (Ukraine Is Safe)

 When I was a young teen, I enjoyed playing a particular board game.

Perhaps you recognize this snippet? Yes, we regularly invaded Ukraine as children. But no matter who won or lost, we were always having fun. It was only a game, after all.

The battle over Ukraine being fought today is anything but fun. It's a human tragedy on a mind-boggling scale. This blog post is not meant in any way to minimize the horrific suffering happening even as I write these words.

So much for the big difference. Pastime vs Panic. Play vs Real.

But there's one thing in common that I thought I would just jot down as a reminder to self and a prayer for the citizens of Ukraine. We who belong to Christ are not citizens of this world.

We played Risk as kids but when the board game was folded up and put away, we found ourselves where we had been the entire time. Safe at home.

So too, today in Ukraine. Not all have this hope. I pray this hope for them. But many in Ukraine belong to God. They are, even as I write this, safe at home. Even as they daily face (and some experience) death.

Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. ... All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one...

Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them...

 Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our “God is a consuming fire.”

Excerpted from Hebrews 11, 12

God As IT Support

 I work in IT, and sometimes life as an independent contractor can be rough.

When you work for a company, there are resources. People to meet around the water cooler. This is a big deal, psychologically speaking, when you're up against the unknown--a problem you can describe, sure, but you have NO idea how to solve. Because you don't face it alone.

But when I face these challenges alone, I can get pretty anxious. I've been around the block a few times. You might solve a problem like this in a minute. Or a week later it could still have you dead in the water.

My go-to response in such times, sadly, is to bail on non-necessities. First to go is usually my morning quiet time.

But wait. Fasting by choice is a great practice, but we don't normally give up meals just because of a work hassle. Why should I treat my quiet times with God as any less vital? Jesus said he had food his disciples knew nothing of. When I keep the food and bail on communing with God, I'm proving that I've learned nothing from their gap in understanding.

But I do.

Yesterday morning began Day 3 of The Voodoo Bug, I'll call it. The hour of decision arose as I went about my morning routine in the kitchen. (Getting that essential breakfast and coffee, of course.)

Suddenly, from within me, out of nowhere, an attitude of defiance bubbled up. I still remember that my hand was on the door to the microwave when it happened. "God," I said, "I'm going to have my quiet time today."

"And you're going to solve this problem for me."

Now God doesn't owe me anything, and he ain't my lackey. But the words gushed out in a rash attitude of faith. Which made me suspect that this faith itself had been a gift from God.

After my words stopped echoing around the empty room, I reviewed in my mind what they meant to me. Timeline? None. Just confidence that God would see me through this just fine. It will work out. And well. Meaning, all IT problems eventually get solved... but I felt in my heart that the solution to this one would be a little unusual... a blessing.

I then proceeded to have a quiet time before starting in on work.

Not having a clue how to solve the problem quickly, I had chosen the slower route. A day or two of training. Watching educational videos. Taking notes. Somewhere in the mix, I believed I might find the secret sauce to solving the problem.

By yesterday evening I was only halfway through what we call "Yak Shaving" in IT (you can look it up), and the problem was nowhere near resolved. But the last item on the calendar was a scheduled call with my partner and a contractor we have doing some work for us.

He's bright and knowledgeable in the area where my problem lay. I knew that all along, and I had plans to rope him in eventually, if my slow self-education didn't pan out. So I only mentioned my problem to him in passing at the end of the call. He jumped on it like a dog on a bone. Didn't want to let go. That had not been my plan.

To my credit, I described the problem and my thoughts on what might be going wrong very well. That was as much as I could do. However that was all he needed. He figured out the solution, and had it figured out in about 15 minutes while we gnawed on the issue. He didn't need to go the slower route. By the time I got off the call, my IT problem had been solved.

Now the atheist in the crowd can always offer up another explanation for how the day transpired. What's so miraculous about a knowledgeable person helping you out? Fair enough! And, as per my last reflection, I must be careful in how I describe God's intentions and actions.

But all the same. It was a blessing to be able this morning (I just got off the call) to report to my client that I had a working solution. Not least because today was the scheduled date for me to have it done.

God is good. God is with us. God provides. This IT problem is licked. And my client is happy.

I am thankful.

Knowing God's Plan (The One That's Really Just Your Own)

 I've made my share of mistakes in life. As I read a book aloud to the family at the dinner table (titled "Better Decisions, Fewer Regrets") my mind is drawn like a moth to a flame to some of the more spectacular ones. Most of them didn't mar my life for too long, thank God. But the Condo From Hell (I believe that's the name next to the PIN over at City Hall) kept me in misery for several years. 

It began as 3-man partnership.

The subcontractor did shoddy work and had ADHD.

(This turned out to matter.)

The general contractor had zero (0) experience in renovation project management.

(This turned out to matter.)

I provided the money, but I had zero (0) experience in real estate investment.

(This turned out to matter.)

I started this blog some 13 years ago while I was trying to escape Condo From Hell. It still hurts to read those old posts. I lost about $150,000 on a $70,000 investment. That takes talent.

I did pray over those plans, and they seemed like good ones. Going in. In hindsight, God's take on my adventures probably involved a lot wincing (on his part). Certainly a lot of wincing on my part. Anyway, the disparity between how I saw matters going in verses how I view them in my rear view mirror is startling.

That all came to mind as I read an old letter my mother wrote in 1971. I've heard this story a few times over the years. When I was a toddler my dad went into business with several other guys with a plan to do something... something...  yeah... something cool that will be awesome for the kingdom of God.

(Lack of specificity. Warning sign #1.)

Purchasing 100 (yes, one hundred) acres of land with such poor planning is a fool's errand, and my parents were poor.

(A high-stakes bet made by poor folk. Warning sign #2.)

The general contractor, I'll call him, turned out to be an incompetent, and not terribly godly, man.

(Poor judgement of character. Warning sign #3.)

All the warning signs were there. And yes, all the plans came to naught. in the early 80s, my parents finally escaped the partnership after a legal battle. All the land they had bought? It was eventually sold about ten years later, still virgin and utterly undeveloped. 

But spot the difference. The land they purchased just happened to be on the slopes of Mauna Loa, in Hawaii (where we lived at the time, believe it or not). Over the next 10 years, that land went up in value. By orders of magnitude. (And continued to do so after they sold it!) When the dust had settled, My parents came out much wealthier than they went in.

The mysteries of God. The folly? Well, my parents and I had that in common. The financial harvest we reaped? Couldn't have been more different.

But what's interesting to me now (and instructive) is to read now how my mother wrote of it in 1971.

With several other Christian men in the city, we bought 100 acres about twenty miles from town. We are in love with it... So the Lord has provided "abundantly." The four men involved in the group are leaving the back, more forested 50 acres open for whatever the Lord may lead its use to be. Whether a campground or orphan home or half-way house, He'll show us when we need to know. Last week He again showed His leading...

My mother was a very godly woman. And very much mistaken.

How often we Christians use words like these. When we apply them to the past, it usually sounds fine. We share at the church meeting our gratitude at how God provided for us. But is what we're saying true?

I pose that as a question not because I doubt God's goodness, but rather because, when we're peering forward into an uncertain future, our efforts to describe God's goodness and God's leading are, to state matters charitably, often rather ham-fisted.

God all too often turns out not to be on the same page that our glowing assessment has him pinned to. God was not leading my parents to build an orphanage. They made a lot of money on that land, Yes. But No, no Christian organization ever set foot on it. You wouldn't know that, to hear my mother's telling of the story in 1971. This is not to fault my mother. I've been there, said that, and lived to see how wrong I was.

The takeaway. If the past has anything to teach us, it's that we are not good at predicting the future. Our own plans fall apart, and we at least knew those plans going in. How much more foolish to think we know what is coming, when we are not privvy to the details of God's plans.

Better that we stick to what we know: God is good. God is with us. God provides. Looking back over my life, I can truthfully say to my children that God has been with me and has provided for me. I can assure them that God will be with them, too.

But specifics? Those are above my pay grade.

You asked, ‘Who is this that obscures my plans without knowledge?’

Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me to know. (Job 42:3)

Asperger Folk In The Bible

This reflection assumes the world and proves nothing. With that preface as spoiler alert, I'll move on.

I am on the Asperger's spectrum. My brother was off the deep end Asperger's (frantic hand-waving) as a child, so with that clear diagnosis of a sibling in hand (in waving hand, that is) and some obvious traits of my own, safe to say... Yeah. I'm there.

People are not always kind to me about it. And, perhaps unsurprisingly, what worries me more is how many people are being kind. I hate it when I'm being annoying and don't even know it.

Anyway. I see patterns. I see patterns that aren't there (always a problem) but I also see ones that are there. I run with details. And once I'm on a topic I'm passionate about, I just don't know when to stop.

These are strengths and weaknesses.

Where I'm going with this is to simply note with some bemusement that Asperger's folk do seem well represented in the pantheon of biblical writers. Meaning, many of those writers are celebrated for the very things that can get me in trouble. Refusing to move on, finding patterns, and deep-diving on details.

Seriously.

A few examples?

The prophets. I mean, in this day and age, you might say nothing at all. A lot of people leave their church for a real reason which they don't bother to share. Or maybe they explain their reason, and then leave. But pity the souls who don't leave, have a problem with their church, and they just won't shut up about it. Well, those folk aren't thought of as playing with a full deck. I know, I know. Where was Isaiah to go? Hitch the next ride to Assyria? Even so, as I read their rants, I have to say. These guys were kinda Asperger's-y. And we revere them today.

The Psalmists. Anybody read Psalm 119 recently? The dude is obsessed. With God's word. He finds dozens and dozens of ways to say the same thing. And we love it. (Some of us.) We study it. We sing it. ("Thy word is a lamp unto my feet...") Today someone who wrote something like this would get the askance glance.

The author of Hebrews. This guy (or, in a conspiratorial voice, perhaps gal) sees patterns everywhere. And a lot of those patterns are arguably not there. I mean, seriously. Levi offering the tithe to Melchizedek through his ancestor?? Let's be honest. Hebrews is awesome. But it's a dense read full of weird pattern-finding. If Hebrews had not been written, and your neighbor started scribbling this stuff on toilet paper. Would you accept it?

By the way, that bit about seeing connections? My mind just went to Yesterday, a movie in which Beatles songs were not written. Happily, the songs in the movie were well-received by screaming fans, even though sung poorly by a nobody, but we digress, and that's the problem with people like me. We digress. I remember this one time... oh. Sorry, again.)

Right. How about Matthew and the other gospel writers. I mention Matthew in particular because, to my unending delight, the new show The Chosen has chosen to depict him as deep OCD. Love it. I connect with Matthew big-time.

Anyway. Gospel writers. Patterns galore, laid in there, just waiting for you to find them. To say these guys were detail-oriented is to suggest that, oh, sorry. You don't want another analogy? I have several here? No? Ok. So they were detail-oriented, at any rate. Things like Matthew having Jesus be the true Israel, crossing the Jordan, re-enacting the 40 years (as 40 days), but this time not screwing up... We could go on. And on. And on. And boy, that would suit my personality to do just that. But suffice it to say. These guys were connecting the dots and finding patterns faster than John Nash in A Beautiful Mind and also like... oh, never mind.

All that to say, Asperger's folk like me? We're a bit like (wait for it, here comes another) Cassandra. Doomed to speak the truth, and, thanks to our way of delivering it, doomed also to be widely ignored or ridiculed for our fixated attention to patterns, connections, details and truth.

I'll be waiting for this lonely reflection to be ignored. In fairness, though... when that happens, in this particular case the world won't have lost out on much.

But I enjoyed writing this, all the same.

PS - did you notice the sentence that managed to use the word "chosen" twice, once in a title and once not? Did you notice I repeated the exact same feat with "mind"? This is the stuff you'll find in Bible commentaries. Some bushy-bearded guy will catch what everyone missed and y'all be like, whoa, that was cool. But mostly it gets missed. But we Asperger's folk lay it in there all the same. Just for fun.

Because we like patterns.

God Doesn't Do No-Looks

I have been tasked this week to spend five minutes a day interacting with the idea that God looks at me with joy in His eyes.

That's not an easy one for me, as I tend to assume, in my heart of hearts, that God is either not watching me at all (because He doesn't care) or that He's watching me with a critical eye (because He's disappointed).

That sounds stupid when I put in writing. That's what happens when feelings derived from flawed beliefs of the heart. In my head, I know God looks at me with love. But my heart has other opinions.

So as I sat down to engage with my five-minute task, the Bible fell open to Psalm 139, and that was serendipitous enough for my tastes and my task.

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

It struck me while contemplating this that, while the soccer no-look pass can be a beautiful thing, God doesn't use that trick where we are concerned.

I was disappointed to not find a good Messi picture to place here, as I prefer his magic over Ronaldo's style of play. But while I found plenty of Ronaldo no-look footage, I didn't see any examples of Messi doing it.

I was disappointed--until I realized that this can be spun to put Messi in a good light. <grin>

Ronaldo may be a master of the no-look pass--and, to be fair, there's no arguing that he creates very beautiful plays that way.

But when God and Messi create, they keep their eyes engaged. (Smile.)

Well, if you don't have much to say, make sure to say it quickly. I'm simply enjoying the thought this morning... the reminder... that God was watching me intently when he knit me together in my mother's womb.

There was joy in his eyes.

He's still watching me intently. Ceaselessly.

You know when I sit and when I rise;

    you perceive my thoughts from afar.

You discern my going out and my lying down;

    you are familiar with all my ways.

I am not a no-look creation.

Thank God I Lost My Phone

Well, in today's world you knew the title was the hook, and the truth was something else. Yes, I did lose my phone, but I also thanked God when I drove back to church and found it safe and sound.

But I do thank God for losing it yesterday, and for two reasons.

First, our church is going through a mini-hell right now. There are (or were) about 7 full-time staff there, but yesterday at 4pm we as a church gathered late in the afternoon to hear five (5) of them explain why they had resigned and would be moving on within a week or two.

This blog post isn't about that situation, but here's the thing. I drove to church in a panic (would I find my phone?) and returned in great peace (I found it!). That whole cycle of stress was 10 times higher than the concern I had about the sermon being given to a church in turmoil.

In short, my body, through elevated stress and adrenaline, informed me yesterday that my phone is a hell of a lot more important to me than my church.

Let that one sink in.

I reflected on that reality as I drove home. Well, frankly, I've been through a few church hells before, and I keep my heart from entanglements in that arena. So kudos to me for "holding on loosely" to church, but clinging tightly to Jesus.

But Jesus loves his church, and ours is hurting. Losing my phone was a blessing--a reminder for me to rethink my commitment to the body of Christ I am a member of.

The second blessing struck me as I was nearing the end of my drive home, my phone safely on the seat next to me. Another car performed a perfectly legal and fine move. They slowed down in front of me so as to turn into a strip mall.

Now I know perfectly well that on some days I might have cursed my choice to end up by accident in the slow lane, and maybe I'd have been a little miffed at no one in particular. All over a slowed vehicle that cost me five seconds. On this day, however, I was too busy being blissful to have my phone back to let that slowing car get in the way of my joy.

What a helpful reminder of how I should handle all of life. As so many sermons and books (and, hmmmm, I think a parable or two from Jesus himself?) repeat ad nauseum, I have been forgiven infinitely much. I should therefore in turn be ever so eager to forgive others. But most of the time that's not how I operate. I'm just that gracious when I'm thankful to have my phone back.

Ouch.

So thank you, Lord, for helping me to lose that phone for 30 minutes. And for returning it to me. And for the two heart checks the entire exercise brought to my attention.

I need to care about my church more, while it suffers. And while our pastor and elders should face consequences for all the grievous mistakes made, I myself need to work on forgiving them from a state of bliss.

Because I am forgiven, too.

God Sightings

I came to my PC just now while thinking about a broken relationship and the lies and emnity that are part and parcel of the other party's strategy in this broken situation.

I want to reconcile. But I also want to maintain boundaries until we meet. To meet? That's my open offer. It is refused. And yet I am "the problem"--because I maintain some boundaries pending a meeting in person.

Enough said. I came to the PC and thought to play some music. I was tempted to play some rousing Pink Floyd or, no... wait. Better yet. Maybe I'll look up and play "Shout" by Tears For Fears. That sounds about right for the moment.

But then I thought better and simply clicked play on what was already my morning's playlist. Fernando Ortega's song continued mid-stream from where I had previously clicked pause. As if timed by a recording studio, the lyric below poured out.

But they poured out from the point which I have in bold below.

Lord of Eternity
Blessed is the man
Who walks in Your favor
Who loves all Your words
And hides them like treasure
In the darkest place
Of his desperate heart,
They are a light
A strong, sure light.

Sometimes I call out Your name
But I cannot find You.
I look for Your face,
But You are not there.
By my sorrows, Lord,
Lift me to You,
Lift me to Your side.

Lord of Eternity,
Father of mercy,
Look on my fainting soul.
Keeper of all the stars,
Friend of the poorest heart
Touch me and make me whole.

If You are my defender,
Who is against me?
No one can trouble or harm me
If You are my strength.
All I ask, all I desire
Is to live in Your house all my days.
[repeat chorus]

What a wonderful reminder from my Lord. I need not fear the slander of my enemies. I need only take care to remain in the house of the Lord.

Cloud Computing And The Sovereignty Of God

     One theme I have picked up in my own life as a programmer and in watching the posts other programmers put on Twitter is this: we can swing from hero to swamp-thing in minutes flat. One minute we are Superman. Able to do anything. Not troubled by the lowly failures of other mortal programmers. And a minute later we can be frail mud-dwellers, scrabbling to avoid getting sucked under the sludge.

    The thing that can tip the balance between these two extremes is very small. All that is needed is for our programs to crash. And they do. Sometimes we fix them like superheroes. And sometimes we're at a loss. And dead in the water.

    In the days of office computing, this was not quite so insane. PC crashed? Well, you do usually have another sitting around. Keep backups. Network down? Check the cables. The number of moving parts was not quite so insane, and all the parts could be visited by you in your sneakers.

    But in today's world, your database is frequently not in your office closet or computer room. It's in some Google data center. And the networking involved between end-user and your database? It traverses possibly the entire globe. How many miles of cable would you like to examine if users cannot connect? Login rejected? Well, in the past, the login info was stored in plain text in your user table. Go check it out. But what if the login is some 128-char token that an outside provider manages in a data center. What if the provider says the login is bad, and you cannot figure out why your users cannot connect?

    On and on it goes. When all is well? We're Mr. Incredible. Or Elastagirl. And when things break? We stare into the abyss and consider alternative forms of employment.

    Which brings me to my point. The more complicated the working system is, the more proud we are of our accomplishments... and also the more we realize how delicate it all is--and how much is beyond our control--when things don't work.

    Which means that cloud computing starts to look a bit like the rest of our life. Our bodies are miraculous things when they work. And they're still miraculous things when parts of them do not. But our feelings about 100% functional vs 99% functional are remarkably different. We are miserable when 1% of our function is lost.

    How about the world around us? Same thing. Perfect health is awesome, but if a family disaster hits? One phone call can take us to the lows plumbed by Job himself.

    This brings me to my personal reminder to self. God is sovereign, Pilgrim. You are not. You are desperately weak and in need of God. When things aren't working, and also when they are. When you doff your work hat and tackle OAuth2 login protocols. And when you sit down at the dinner table. And when you vote. And...

    Pilgrim. Listen. You are not in control. You never were. Rest in the trust that God is. Let God be God. And you? Get used to being a mortal who trusts in a very big God.

    PS -- It wasn't more than three days before I had a "My life is mud" day at work. (CI/CD pipeline hell, for the record.) God was good, but this blog post rattled in my brain all that day while I struggled with things I couldn't control and didn't understand.

Evangelicals Love Romans. And Ignore It.

     A short reflection regurgitating stuff written by better scholars than myself, but I just feel the desire to get these thoughts down for myself.

    Evangelicals gorge on the book of Romans. The Protestant love affair with Romans began with Luther and the affection for this book has not diminished with the passing of time. I'll say no more here about that because I'm not a scholar. Less is more. People can finish this paragraph imagining all the great stuff I'm thinking about right now. It's probably better that we leave it at the imagination stage.

    Moving on, I just want to throw down some things I've noted that Evangelicals, in particular, love to not notice (or love) about this book. Now it must be noted that I'm being a bit harsh. My most recent source of choice information is from the latest edition of Christianity Today (CT), a bastion of evangelical thought. So it's with a broad brush (more like a crop duster) that I lay down this criticism. And that's not fair.

    But... in a lot of churches I attended and from my more conservative friends... I still see the "women in leadership" question being answered too often with either (a) the "that's a good question" dodge, or (b) a bad answer: "women shouldn't be there".

    Which I find awfully surprising, given the following from the first few verses of Romans 16. Here we go.

I commend to you our sister Phoebe, a deacon of the church in Cenchreae. 2 I ask you to receive her in the Lord in a way worthy of his people and to give her any help she may need from you, for she has been the benefactor of many people, including me.

3 Greet Priscilla and Aquila, my co-workers in Christ Jesus. 4 They risked their lives for me. Not only I but all the churches of the Gentiles are grateful to them.

5 Greet also the church that meets at their house.

Greet my dear friend Epenetus, who was the first convert to Christ in the province of Asia.

6 Greet Mary, who worked very hard for you.

7 Greet Andronicus and Junia, my fellow Jews who have been in prison with me. They are outstanding among the apostles, and they were in Christ before I was.

    I'm just going to point out some stuff and be done. For openers, the opener is a reference to Phoebe, who (I credit CT for drawing my eyes to her) is a deacon, most likely the person who delivered Paul's letter, and therefore very likely the person who would answer any questions the church members might have about what Paul wrote.

    Let that sink in. No. Seriously. Let that sink in. We consider Romans to be a blockbuster theological treatise worthy of doctoral dissertations by the dozens. A woman was tasked with explaining it to the first people to ever hear it read aloud.

    Second, our old friends Priscilla and Aquila pop up. Again. And in this husband-wife team, Priscilla is mentioned first.

    Let that sink in.

    It also must be noted that half the awesome people noted by Paul here are women. I counted. If I can be forgiven for extrapolation (and we're in November, with election fever still running high), according to this exit poll, women held up half of the early church. If an awful communist regime figured out that much (Chairman Mao had women holding up half the sky), it doesn't seem too much to ask that the modern church to pile on to what St. Paul already knew.

    Finally, Paul refers to Junia as an apostle.

    Let that sink in.

    But give evangelicals a bit of credit for sheer head-in-the-sand obstinancy. Because too often it's not new thoughts sinking into heads, but rather heads sinking deeper into the sand. Examples? Two.

    First, even in my Bible before me, a footnote suggests that Phoebe might be a deaconess. Crediting CT again, I'd point out that there is no such word in the Greek. That word got invented so that women who were deaconesses could be given less authority than men bearing the same title. That's not in the Greek, folks. It's just a convenience invention for evangelicals of a different persuasion regarding the proper place of a woman in the church.

    Second, let's talk about this Junia, counted as outstanding among the apostles. If you can imagine people 2,000 years from now arguing that Tiffany "was sometimes a boy's name back then", you can guess where evangelicals have gone in their attempt to prevent a woman from being considered an apostle. Nuff said.

    In closing, I doff my cap to St. Paul, who in no way deserves the shade getting thrown on him by feminists who hate the Bible for its misogyny. Their frustrations should be directed toward some modern church movements. Jesus and Paul didn't get us into trouble with women. We did.

He's Right: The Election Was Stolen From Him

     I can understand his anger and frustration. It's not right that illegal tactics and other underhanded tricks were used to steal the election from him.

    He sought aid from the courts, and he had every right and reason to do so. People attacked his character because he didn't concede. They called him a sore loser, but this was so unfair. History will show that he really did win the highest office in the land, despite what everyone in the media said. And, as he claimed, when the illegal votes aren't counted, he won the popular vote, too!

   However, I speak here of Al Gore, a democrat in the year 2000. Gore graciously offered a concession speech and gave the presidency to George W. Bush--despite the fact that, had Gore held out, it would have been shown in due time that he actually and truly did in fact win the election, to say nothing of the popular vote Gore won by about a half million votes.

    As for that shell of a man holed up in the White House today? History will show that in the year 2020 democracy in the US stood on a precipice, looking into an abyss as dark as his soul.

    By God's grace it is he, rather than democracy, that will be thrown into outer darkness.

    But what then should happen to his enablers still ensconced in Washington, D.C.? Let us hope that history will record their ignominious departures too, and their evil intentions with them.

PS -- Lest this pilgrim be mistaken for having political leanings... For the record, in 2000 this pilgrim was pretty thankful that Bush won. Elated. Jubilant! In hindsight, this pilgrim is more transfixed by the fact that Gore placed the country's needs ahead of his own ambitions. Time passes and hopefully our priorities and values get refined. A good sign that this has happened is when political affiliations wane in influence and affection for Jesus grows stronger. This pilgrim wants no association with any party whatsoever.