Jan - March Book Reviews

Three months and almost 15 weeks into 2024, I have been trying to maintain a book-a-week pace of reading this year. I aim to combat the increasing gravitational pull toward only mindlessly scrolling through Insta reels or reading mostly short-form journalism. Anywho, for those interested, here is a rundown of what I have been reading thus far into the New Year. I have enjoyed all of the books, even the ones I have ranked 3 stars. Below that level, I just stopped reading the book. In total, I have 6 books ranked at 5 stars, must read; 4 books at 4 stars and 4 at 3 stars.

The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny & Murder  
David Grann ***** (5 Stars)

Started the year with the newest work from a master of narrative-nonfiction, David Grann. He has already penned two outstanding works, Killers of the Flower Moon (now also a fantastic movie from Martin Scorsese) and The Lost City of Z.  

Here, Grann delivers another nail-biting, page-turner of a tale about “shipwreck, survival, and savagery.” Grann is an extraordinarily captivating writer. Once the crew has set out to sea, it is nearly impossible to put the book down. What gives Grann’s works such power though is that he never allows the stories he tells to remain simple armchair thrillers. His ability to tell a good yarn is coupled with the keen eye of a historian looking for meaning beyond the immediate circumstances of the crew.  Here, the ugly truths of imperialism and empire are revealed through the hardships of the very men tasked with doing the work of empire.

The Wim Hof Method: Activate Your Full Human Potential
Wim Hof *** (3 Stars)

The Iceman himself, Wim Hof, explores in length the power and potential of ice baths/cold plunges. The book makes some extraordinary, and in my estimation, dubious claims, about the ice bath and breathing techniques. I didn’t take a whole lot away from the book. However, since finishing it three months ago, I have ended every shower with 1-2 minutes of cold.

Red Notice: A True Story of High Finance, Murder, and One Man’s Fight for Justice
Bill Browder *** (3 Stars)

In case the world requires more evidence that Putin and his cronies are corrupt and murderous villains, Red Notice should do the trick. The book describes itself as a “financial caper, a crime thriller, and a political crusade.” It is certainly all those things, and the pages turn easily. However, reading about the fight for justice in the world of high finance left me a little underwhelmed.

Dominion: How the Christian Revolution Remade the World
Tom Holland ***** (5 Stars)

This book is quite simply a masterpiece in every sense. A magisterial work showcasing how Christianity has thoroughly and completely shaped the Western mind and imagination. The book is lengthy and exhaustive, which will intimidate some readers, but Holland resists the temptation to veer too far down any one historic rabbit trail. Careful and deliberate in his millennia-spanning sketch of church history, Holland demonstrates how utterly saturated the West is in Christian assumptions and values.

Lest this raise the suspicions of the skeptical, rest assured, the book is not triumphalist by any means. Holland himself came to the writing project agnostic in his thinking. What he found, and what he reveals, however, is that Christianity truly has transformed the world as we know it.

Every Man for Himself & God Against All: A Memoir
Werner Herzog *** (3 Stars)

In my estimation, Werner Herzog could comfortably fill the role of Dos Equis Most Interesting Man in the World. Imagine my delight when I stumbled upon his memoir. With a title like that, I had to give it a read. The childhood memories he relates read like fantasy, but most of the book is dedicated to his filmography. I was hoping for more of his philosophy of life and opinions on matters great and small. Unfortunately, I am not familiar enough with his films to have enjoyed the book to the fullest. For the Herzog enthusiast though, the book may well be worth your time.

The Air We Breathe: How We All Came to Believe in Freedom, Kindness, Progress, and Equality
Glen Scrivener **** (4 Stars)

This book is a sort of commentary, you could say, on Tom Holland’s Dominion. It makes exciting and bold assertions about Christianity’s influence, travelling further than the historian himself was willing to go. For that reason alone, I loved the book. It serves as a bridge between academic historians and laypersons, which served me well. However, I would encourage the reader to just go to the source itself, Dominion by Tom Holland.

The Surprising Rebirth of Belief in God: Why New Atheism Grew Old and Secular Thinkers are Considering Christianity Again
Justin Brierly **** (4 Stars)

In the early 2000’s ‘New Atheism’ was all the rage. It hadn’t occurred to me until this work that those conversations have grown largely silent. This book explains why. Drawing from the same well as Scrivener and Holland, Brierley boldly asserts that Christianity is experiencing a renaissance of sorts. I thoroughly enjoyed the book but was left with a puzzling question. Brierly showcases numerous academics (many of them former atheists) who are now giving Christianity a second chance. I was surprised however by how many of them seemed to lean politically right. I was left wondering why that is and what it might mean for the future of faith.

No Surrender: My Thirty-Year War
Hiroo Onoda **** (4 Stars)

In the late-stage Pacific theatre of World War 2, Japanese Lieutenant Hiroo Onoda (along with a company of fellow soldiers) was left on the Philippine Island of Lubang with a simple instruction: never surrender until Japanese forces return. Outlasting the rest of the men (who either surrendered or were killed), for 29 years, Onoda would continue to fight a war that had long since passed. During those three decades, he was pursued first by American troops, Philippine police, hostile islanders, and multiple Japanese search parties, all the while adapting to and fighting with the elements of mountainous jungle terrain.

That real life is stranger than fiction has never been so demonstrable as here. The many hardships Onoda endured while remaining loyal, courageous, adaptable, and steadfast to his cause speaks to the tenacity and valour of the human spirit. And yet, his lonely battle was all for naught. Onoda wasted three decades of his life fighting an imaginary war with an imaginary foe. His cause and plight also serve as a sharp reminder of humanity’s propensity to remain entrenched in us vs them thinking, even when both sides have long since retired from the fight. The book is both a tragically inspiring and comically cautionary tale.

My only gripe with the book is that it ends as Onoda surrenders on the island to Japanese superiors who are finally able to convince him that the war is over, and he must return home to Japan. The reader is left wondering how Onoda reintegrated into Japanese life and came to make sense of his solo thirty war during the last four decades of his life.

Humans: A Brief History of How We Fucked It All Up
Tom Phillips ***** (5 Stars)

I enjoy history. I also enjoy spectacular tales of failure. I also really like a good laugh. Now, to receive all three in one place? That would take a small miracle of writing. Yet here it is in Tom Phillip’s Humans. Phillips has a razor-sharp wit. He also happens to be a historian, so this book is a complete treat to read. Picture a history class where the teacher is a comedian tasked with roasting humanity. This book is laugh-out-loud funny at times and a healthy, albeit concerning reminder that humans are particularly adept at one thing in particular: messing things up. The book served as a chuckling reminder of why I am not a humanist.  

The Art Thief: A True Story of Love, Crime, and a Dangerous Obsession
Michael Finkel ***** (5 Stars)

Michael Finker gave us Stranger in the Woods, the story of Christopher Knight, the recluse who lived alone in the woods of Maine for 27 years. That book was so spellbinding, that Finkel earned himself a “must read any of his future books” credit. I am glad I did. This story is no less fun, bizarre or enchanting. The book captures everything I love about narrative non-fiction. Truth truly is stranger than fiction.

In this work, Finkel brings us the most unlikely story of Stephane Breitwieser. Stephane isn’t exactly the kind of man you would picture as the portrait of success. He is living off social assistance while his mother allows him, and his girlfriend Anne-Catherine Kleinklaus, to live rent-free in her attic. While the couple wears no obvious signs of success or social skill, their small attic apartment was decorated with 239 pieces of stolen art worth more than 2 billion dollars combined.

This Bonnie and Clyde couple are the world’s most consistent and successful art thieves in all of history. Between 1995 and 2001, they stole a piece of art on average, every 15 days. This book is a riot of a ride, chronicling their crime spree and eventual capture.

The World’s Largest Man: A Memoir
Harrison Scott Key ***** (5 Stars)

I first fell in love with Harrison Scott Key because of his How to Stay Married: The Most Insane Love Story Ever Told. The book had me in stitches . . . while also teaching me plenty about marriage. The World’s Largest Man is an earlier work of his, the book that would earn him the Thurber Prize for American Humor. What makes Key so enjoyable to me is how he explores the most important of relationships. In How To . . . it was the way he sardonically explored the pains and travails of infidelity while also tenderly speaking of the marriage journey. Here, he employs the same tricks, except the object of his focus is his father and subsequently, what it means to be a man and a father yourself.

Reading Harrison Scott Key reminds me so much of the joy and pure delight I experienced when I first discovered David Sedaris. Any author or book that can in equal parts make me laugh, while also reflecting meaningfully on the most important relationships in life, earns my highest praise.

Vacationland: True Stories from Painful Beaches
John Hodgman *** (3 Stars)

I seem to be drawn to memoirs that explore “the comedic middle-age travails of white male fathers in their forties” as of late. I stumbled upon John Hodgman’s book (he of Mac vs PC and John Stewart fame) hoping to find more of what I found in Harrison Scott Key. The book certainly doesn’t deliver like Keys does, but enjoyable, nonetheless.

Wolfish: Wolf, Self, and the Stories We Tell About Fear
Erica Berry **** (4 Stars)

If one wanted to perfectly market a book to my reading sensibilities, it would be to combine a thrilling non-fiction tale from the wilderness, and couple that with an exploration of the human psyche. Bonus points if it also includes wolves. This book came to me checking all the boxes.

After reading Nate Blakeslee’s American Wolf I went all in on wolf literature.  I devoured Rick McIntyre’s Yellowstone trilogy (Wolf 8, 21, and 302) and then entered the void of “lessons humans can learn from wolves” literature. It was a bit much in hindsight. But then Erica Barry arrived in front of me.

The work is an exploration of wolves, both real and symbolic. A portion of each chapter explores the true story of legendary wolf OR-7, a male wolf who travelled more than 1000 miles, becoming the first wolf to enter Western Oregon in more than sixty years, and the first wolf to enter California in more than ninety years. I would have read the book for OR-7’s story alone.

The real meat of the book though is found in Erica Barry confronting the symbolic wolves of the world for a woman coming of age. Leaving home for college and career, Barry is at her best when conveying her own stories of confronting fear.

In college, while walking home late from the library, she is surrounded by a group of men with hoodies covering their faces. Terrified, she wonders if assault comes next, but the men just laugh and walk away. Returning home from a bar, a man follows her and drunkenly wraps his arms around her. She is forced to ask a stranger for help and then runs as that man defends her with fisticuffs. At home, she is startled by a man with mental health issues banging on her door insisting he be allowed in. Once again, she must rely on the police to protect her. These and other stories like them vividly describe close encounters with “wolves.” They are stories that straddle the thin line between escaping a situation left physically unscathed, but impacted, nonetheless.

What I appreciated most about the work though was her insistence on acknowledging the very real danger of “wolves” while also refusing to “stay out of the woods.” In each chapter, Barry confronts her inherited beliefs about fear, gender, danger, femininity, violence and the female body. It is a book I hope both of my daughters and my son for that matter, will someday read.

King: A Life
Jonathan Eig ***** (5 Stars)

This is the first new major biography about MLK to be released in decades and the first biography of the man that includes recently declassified FBI files. What we find here is an almost uncomfortably intimate view of an incredibly complex man. The book is filled with surprises and revelations that reveal MLK to be a man who was both prophetically ahead of his time and martyred because of that. And yet also a man firmly rooted within his time. The book leaves the reader with a most pressing and troubling question. Can our heroes be both courageous and contemptible?

Gratitude: Happiness Doubled by Wonder

The final days of summer always produce a sort of wistful melancholy within me. In less than a week, it will be time to pack school lunches again, drag out cooler weather attire, and settle into the welcome rhythms of another year and season of time. For the moment, though, I feel caught in a sort of time warp. Why did this summer feel so long? Why did this summer seem to pass so quickly? Summer has always felt that way to me. It drags on. It flies by.

            Years ago, a friend of mine remarked that as parents, we get 18 summers where our children want to spend their summer days with us. That seemed generous. By the time I was 16, I was working full-time in the summer and skipping family plans. Summers are not infinite. The kids won't always be around. Health and mobility are no guarantee either. The passing of a summer season, in my estimation, deserves a marking of time, an acknowledgement, or a salute in some form.

            This year, for me, that meant scrolling through every single photo I had taken from June until now. For the number of photos I take, it is puzzling how rarely I look through them. My goal was to slowly make my way through the catalogue, pausing to say thanks for the memory and moment behind each photo. I opened my library to June and began to scold myself for taking too many photos. This exercise was going to take some time. And yet, by the end of my ceremony, I couldn't help but think I hadn't taken enough photos.

            Along the way, I discovered moments that had already escaped my memory. With certain photos, I could hear the laughter behind the moment. At others, I could smell the sea or mountain air. The nature photos never do the subject justice, but they are enough to remind me of the sensation of standing in wonder. Photos of the kids delight me. My, how they have grown. Their smiles are enchanting. Photos of Kristen offer the viewer a peak at her glow. My, she is ageing gracefully. There is a magnetism to her smile.

            Apart from a few awkward selfies and a couple of food shots (all of which included bacon), most of my photos were of friends, family, and nature at its finest. What do you do with that? Well, how can you do anything at all except say thanks? What a gift! What riches! G. K. Chesterton once remarked, "I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought, and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder." I think I am slowly learning the truth of those words. 

Saying Thank You 

1. Back: What did this summer give me that I’m grateful for?

2. Here: Can I savour any specific moments / events / connections that come to mind?

3. Forward: What am I grateful for as I anticipate the coming fall season?

Boundaries: I Hate Saying “No”

I hate saying "no" to people. Spilling that two-letter word from my tongue feels like pushing molasses up a hill in January. Saying "no" to people, plans, or ideas just feels so final. I am much more comfortable hanging out in the vagaries of "maybe", or "let me check my calendar, and I will let you know", or "great idea, I will get back to you once I check in with the fam."

            Most weeks and seasons in life come with invitations, requests, or bids for our time and energy. There are social engagements, service requests, work projects, communal duties, family duties, hobbies, and travel plans, all mixed in with the need for downtime and whatever personal side projects we want to get at. Juggling the demands and expectations of others is no easy task. For someone like me, saying "no" to any of it feels like being tasked with telling a gaggle of kindergarten students that Santa Claus isn't real and Christmas has been cancelled.

            Part of my trouble with saying no is a fear of disappointing people. It is never easy to let others down. No one likes the feeling of rejecting an invitation or request. We care about how others feel. We want to help. We want to come through for them. We want to participate.

            On a deeper level, though, my trouble with saying "no" is often ego-driven. I want to be liked. Saying "no" is rarely a recipe for winning friends and influencing people. I want others to think well of me. Agreeing to other people's plans and expectations certainly helps in that department.

            Deeper still, saying "no" is a confession of human finitude and frailty. No one likes confronting that. We would rather keep believing we can squeeze it all in. Rarely is "I'm tired" or "I don't have the energy" considered a reasonable excuse in polite company. We don't enjoy admitting to our limitations, and others don't like hearing about it either. But all we know the truth of it: each of us only has so much energy and hours in a day. We can't say yes to everything because, as a contemporary truism states, "every yes is a no to something else."

            Given all of this, we often feel forced to employ dubious self-defence tactics. There is the "delay making a decision until it is too late" play. There is the excuse playbook, which often spirals into half-truths or bald-faced lies. There is the "say yes to everything, realize you have double booked yourself, then cancel something last minute" strategy. And, of course, there is the "Sorry, I am in a really busy season right now." This one is worth double points because it gets you out of things while also making you look super important. I have made it my goal to banish the word "busy" from my lexicon.

            I have learned, and am still learning slowly, that these half-baked strategies for coping with demands and expectations end up frustrating others more than a simple "no" would have in the first place. Being intentional and focused about our upcoming year requires setting firm boundaries and disciplining ourselves to be able to say no.

            When I was first ordained as a minister, I was so excited about the prospect of performing weddings while journeying with young couples and earning a little cash on the side. Over time, couples would recommend me to friends and family and before long, this side gig had taken on a life of its own. Within a few years of ordination, virtually every weekend in the summer was booked with weddings. Friday night rehearsals followed by Saturday afternoon wedding, reception in the evening. Over time, I started to hate all of it. Summers were passing me by. I was feeling resentful about giving up every weekend in the summer for a few hundred bucks.

            I tried to limit how many weddings I would take on. I tried to say no to anyone not part of my church community, but well, you start to make an exception here and there, a favour for a friend this weekend, another couple caught in a jam next weekend. It was eating up too much time and energy.

            In the end, I gave up my ordination credentials for several reasons, but this was certainly one of them. I wanted to create a boundary that just wouldn't allow me to say yes. No marrying power = no weddings. I needed a boundary that answered every request or expectation for me. That is what good boundaries do.

            Not every situation is that easy, though. During lonely Covid lockdowns, a friend of mine suggested we partner together on a fun little side project. I didn't have to think about it too much, and with nothing going on during Covid, it made sense to add in an outlet for some fun and laughs. I enjoyed the couple of hours a month I spent on the project. When the world opened back up, though, pressures began to mount. I had said yes to this project during a certain season of life, but in the "post-Covid" season that was emerging, there were other more important things to say yes to. Something needed to give.

            It took me almost three months to garner the courage to tell my friend I could no longer participate in our partnership project. I feared disappointing him. I was scared it would change how he felt about me. I was scared I would look weak. But I knew this new season of time was asking me to say yes to other things, and despite it being hard, I felt liberated by the decision.

            Saying "no" is the worst. I still hate it. I still struggle to say it. I do it clumsily and often a little too late. But I am learning that saying "no" really is the key to being able to say "yes" to the important things; the things we feel called to.

            As you look toward your fall and this new season in front of us, before invitations and expectations are thrown our way, it may be worth asking a few questions of ourselves. What do I value? What do I feel called to? What do I feel a duty towards? Once we answer those questions, we need boundaries to protect them. Learning to say "no" is where good boundaries begin. Here are a few other questions to get you thinking about boundaries.

Setting Limits

1. How do I tend to my values and priorities going into the fall?

2. What is most important to me, and how might I protect it? 

3. What limitations might I need to embrace?

Remember: Spiritual Autobiography

For our sixth summer theme at Nexus, we are taking a week to remember as we look forward to the fall and a new season together. In lieu of a blog post this week, Karla passed on an incredibly helpful exercise that I thought I would post here. To help us remember and learn from our own history, why not spend a little time thinking about or writing our own spiritual autobiography? I think this is a great reflective exercise, so check it out. Karla Drader adapted this from Brian K. Rice’s “The Exercises - Volume One”. Thanks Karla!

Your Story As Spiritual Autobiography

As we look back in order to look forward, you may want to reflect on your story - as involved and detailed as you like. Considering the highlights of the past can give you good clues about yourself - what’s important to you, areas needing healing, parts of you you’d like to reconnect with… so many avenues to explore. The record of your life has many details! This can be an exciting exercise in self-discovery and awareness. If you choose to focus on the spiritual highlights, you might consider how you have experienced God's presence and work in your life… how you have been shaped by your faith communities, friends, direct experiences/senses of God’s presence…how you might notice your story joining the big story of God in the world. Here are three approaches to consider:

The Thematic Approach:

Use these questions (perhaps one a week) to reflect and build on core themes. Use them as prompts or stepping stones into the writing process. Use any questions/themes that interest you, ignoring those that are not helpful. Come up with your own questions or perspectives to guide your writing.

• Write about the significance of your spiritual heritage and church experience. What were some people and experiences that seemed to draw you closer to God, and what seemed to draw you farther away? Has your perspective changed at all over the years, and if so, in what ways? 

• What are the earliest memories of your encounters with God?

• Consider the defining moments that have shaped your life. Defining moments are those that have shaped who you are today - they may be decisions you made, events you participated in, experiences you had, etc. (Note: Reflect on influential people in the next section.)

• Now write about several people who have had a significant influence on your life. What was the nature of their influence on you?

• Write about any spiritual practices you’ve tried throughout your life. How has that shifted? What was their impact? Are there any you long to return to? What has been meaningful for you? What were the things that most connected you to God? To others? To yourself? To the land? 

• Now consider more recently… What is feeding your soul? How do you notice the effect? How are you experiencing God? 

• What have been the most painful experiences that have shaped you? How have you encountered God in these hard times?

• What are other themes or ideas that are of great interest to you and which have shaped you?

The Historical/Timeline Approach:

Build a storyboard of your life with attention to the defining moments, vital lessons, key influencers and pain points that have shaped your story. Divide your life into chronological periods or chapters, either by decades or by life transitions (graduations, significant relationships, major geographical moves, career changes, major loss and crises…choose no more than 6 or 7).

Once you have divided your life into segments, brainstorm to build a list of anything you believe is spiritually significant in each of these periods. Consider people, places, events, experiences, decisions, beliefs, challenges, problems, opportunities, etc.…let your mind wander back, gathering many things which you can edit afterwards.

At this point, you have a broad chronological outline of your life, placing the spiritually significant events in their chapters/seasons. Now you are ready to begin writing. Choose several items and write about them, using the style of writing that works for you - bullet points and brief notations, or more detail and story-telling. Consider how God has been at work and what God might be saying right now. 

The Narrative Approach

For this approach, think about your story in light of the features of good stories. For each feature, do a little brainstorming, gathering many ideas and possibilities. Then write about the ideas that stand out to you. 

• Charlie Chaplin once said, "Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot". Consider the genres of your life…Drama, thriller, comedy, fantasy, romance, science fiction, adventure, sports, action, western, horror, musical, and mystery…Would you consider your life story to be one of these genres, or do you find significant experiences that would fit under several of these? Could you rewrite your story in a different genre? 

• Characters: Who are the primary characters in your story, and what is their influence on you?

• Antagonists: Who are they? How have they hurt you? How have you responded?

• Quest: What are you searching for? What has been lost or stolen? Where are you in the search and recovery process?

• Struggles, challenges, opposition: What have you encountered? How did it unfold? How did it resolve, or has it? What were the results?

• Themes: What are the great themes that are vital to your story? How have you experienced those great themes?

• Loose Threads: What seems really unfinished about your story? What is unresolved? What are the points of tension that are prominent in your story?

As you write, it may be easiest to choose one approach to use, but you can borrow ideas from all three. Whichever you choose, you’ll need to do the work of identification, gathering, and brainstorming to gather the raw material (ideas, themes, experiences) that are of interest. Then there is the work of reflection and writing on the things you think are most important. This can take quite a bit of time if you want it to, so consider setting goals, and breaking up the task over days and weeks.

When you finish, read it over. Reflect on how you feel as you read through it. What are the dominant reactions you have as you consider the story of your life and the story of God in your life? What do you notice now - about God at work in your life journey? Is there anything you believe God is saying to you right now in light of your journey as you have remembered it? What clues have you uncovered in your past that give insights into who you are today? Is there anything you sense God asking you to revisit in your past? 

Service: A Few Observations

I just returned from a road trip in the US Southwest with some close friends. We were there to immerse ourselves in the region's haunting landscapes while celebrating the end of bachelorhood for one of the folks in our party. According to our car rental receipt, we logged over 2,000 km of travel. Being on the road that much, you notice a lot about the hospitality industry, nourishment only available through diners, cafés, or truck stops.

            What makes for good service in the hospitality industry? Obviously, great food can cover a multitude of service sins. In one café in California, I was prompted towards a tip at an order and pick-up counter. I baulked at the suggestion. Why must one tip for no service? And yet, the avocado and egg sandwich was so delicious I immediately forgave the establishment for its pompous West Coast presumptions and felt guilty for not leaving a little extra.

             At a buffet in Death Valley, the spread was so grotesque that I was forced to make a meal out of nachos and cheese, the quality of which made cinema snacks look like gourmet dining. And yet, the server was so kind and attentive that I still left a tip, despite being acutely aware that my stomach was about to enter a digestive civil war. Great service can also offset certain culinary sins.

            This, of course, brings us to the fifth theme of our summer journey together, service. Granted, in the hospitality industry, service is performed for tips, so great service doesn't exactly come to us with pure intentions. Even still, I think there is something to be learned about the nature of service from the people who make their living by it. And so, as we look to the fall and try to set intentions for a new season in front of us, what does it mean to give ourselves to service? Here are a few observations from the hospitality industry as I consider the fall and how I can give myself to service this coming season.

Space

         If there is a recipe for poor service, it is a busy, understaffed restaurant. You find yourself waiting 30 minutes just to make your order, and by the time your mouth is on fire from the spicy habanero chicken burger, your water glass is empty. If a server oversees 30 tables, none of them will be served well. In the best of restaurants, servers have fewer tables to manage because exceptional service requires time and space.

            This is why, for me, setting intentions, expectations, and priorities for the fall is so important. Quite simply, if we are too busy or pulled in too many directions, we can't give ourselves to service. Sure, we might be able to squeeze in "one-off" acts of service or projects, but our calendars won't allow us to live into service as a way of life.

            Over the past week of travel, I had the opportunity to reflect on how I fill my days. During conversations with my travel mates, I was challenged to look at my calendar as a moral statement. I am still wrestling through this: calendars as moral documents? The idea is that how we fill our calendars reflects what we see as good and right. Most of the time, I fill my calendar with personal duties, demands, and pleasures. In doing so, I deem those things as good. But what if I worked in the opposite direction? What if I started by identifying what is good and right and filling my calendar based on those moral guidelines?

            This brings me back to the rule of life I am working on (see an earlier post). Family time and programs for the kids are good, but are they the only thing that is good? If I am not careful, my calendar can fill very quickly with the duties and demands of family. I could spend all my time waiting on that table, so to speak, while the tables of the community and neighbourhood wait for service. It can work the other way around as well. Church, community, friends, work, family, hobbies—each of them can fill our calendars if we let them.

            This fall, I want to be intentional about how I approach my calendar. I want to create space, not for "one-off" service projects, but for a way of life that allows me to serve others daily. To do that, I need to identify what is good and start from there. I need to ensure I am not too busy or pulled in too many directions. To give myself to service requires making space for it. If I am not intentional about that, my calendar will dictate where my time and energy are spent.

Goat on Cow Service

         The second thing I noticed about the hospitality industry is that great service seems to follow the "goat on cow" paradigm. Great servers see (notice), delight in, and give to those they are entrusted with serving. As I mentioned above, this can only be enacted when servers have time and space.

            See (Notice). A good dining experience means being noticed by your server regularly without it feeling like your server is a helicopter parent. It is all in the small moments: the server arriving after you have had a minute or two with the menu, the extra napkins arriving after your sticky-chicken-wing-fingers have spoiled the first five you were given, your glass topped up with water at the perfect time. A good server sees and notices your needs and responds.

            We often relegate service to specific projects or volunteerism, but service as a way of life is more intentional and attentive. During the week of my book launch, I felt overwhelmed by all the tasks I needed to complete. The event also happened to coincide with the end of our Nexus season, Kristen finishing up her teaching duties, and the kids finishing school themselves. That week felt like a whirlwind of stress and anxiety. To casual acquaintances, our stress was probably unnoticeable. But one couple could see (notice). On the day before the book launch, they ordered food for us so we wouldn't have to worry about taking care of dinner. Another friend showed up 5 hours earlier than expected the following day to help take care of last-minute details. Those acts of service to me and my family meant the world to us, saved us a lot of stress, and reminded us that we were truly seen. I want to make space in my life so I can offer the same kind of service to others.

         Delight. The best servers don't just take your order, they seem to genuinely enjoy time with you. Feigned or authentic (I get servers are working for tips), the best servers are often playful and funny. They ask good questions (beyond what I want to eat or drink) and seem genuinely interested in my itinerary and interests.

            I am inclined to think the same is true when living towards service as a way of life. Serving as a way of life means moving beyond meeting needs to genuinely being interested in the person, or people, we are serving. Granted, that is easier said than done. People, in my experience, aren't always, or even often, delightful. Service, as a way of life, though, at some point, requires the act to move from duty to delight. That requires curiosity and patience. It takes work and regular practice. We need to build our service muscles, so to speak. To start, we might begin by moving towards those who mildly annoy us at work, church, in our families, or in our neighbourhoods.

            Give. While in Death Valley National Park, my friends and I inquired of every server who would listen, "where is the best place in Death Valley to do some night sky viewing?" We wanted to find the perfect spot to take in the stars. Most folk would reply with, "Anywhere in the park is great." And they aren't wrong. Death Valley is a gold-tier night sky preserve. It is impossible not to see a spectacular sky while visiting there. But one server truly gave us his wisdom and experience. Map in hand, he outlined several options around the park to find truly spectacular night skies. We ended up being richer for him giving us his wisdom and experience.

            Service as a way of life asks the same of us. It asks us to give of ourselves. It asks us to move beyond meeting immediate needs to find delight while truly giving of ourselves. Sometimes, that is just giving people the dignity of our undivided attention. Sometimes, it is spending the energy to find good questions. Sometimes, it may mean opening our wallets or sharing our hard-fought wisdom. Service, as a way of life, means carving out the space and time in our calendars to be able to give of ourselves. And again, not to beat a dead horse, but that WILL NOT HAPPEN if we aren't intentional about the coming year and season ahead of us.

            So, as you approach this fall and the coming season, I hope you will join me in carefully considering where we want to spend ourselves this year. What is good and right? How might that shape our calendars? Do we have the space for service? How can we make ourselves available to see (notice), delight in, and give ourselves in service? Below are some further questions we hope will help you as you consider service as a way of life.

Giving Myself to Service

1. What makes me glad?

2. When have I noticed joy or gladness when serving?

3. What needs do I notice around me? Is there something they have in common?

4. What could I do to meet the needs I notice? Have I already started in some small way? Are there others I can join?

How to Stay Married

It takes a special kind of author to make a reader laugh out loud. To do so while writing about the nightmare scenario of your wife carrying on an affair behind your back, while making profound observations about marriage, life, and faith along the way? It could only come from a one-of-a-kind exceptional talent.

            Until a few weeks ago, I had not heard of Harrison Scott Key. I am richer for having stumbled onto his work. To say Key is funny would be a disservice to the man and his writing. Lots of people are funny. Many writers are funny; some even manage to produce a few audible chuckles from their readers. Key offers more than that. His writing is of the uproarious, side-splitting, belly laugh variety of funny. Kristen was repeatedly interrupting my reading, asking what was so amusing. Key is hilarious. His words are also weighty, insightful, cutting, raw, and wise with experience.

            Key also happens to be a Christian. This would normally disqualify a writer from the kind of glowing affection and praise I am pouring onto his comedy. His work, however, has made him the recipient of the Thurber Award for American Humor. I was unfamiliar with that prize but consider the list of fellow recipients over the years: Trevor Noah, Jon Stuart, David Sedaris. The man is in elite company.

            Penning a truly funny book would be one thing, but it is the power of his story that truly elevates this book to my favourite read of the past three years. Is it possible to stay married when your wife has cheated on you, multiple times, and left you with the kids? Is it possible to stay married when your marriage long ago passed the point of any hope?

            The book is not a "how to" manual, nor does it pretend that every case of infidelity might work out the same way. What it does offer is an intensely honest glimpse of the gritty realities it takes to make a marriage work, even when there has been an affair (or two). I am so bloody tired of cynical books. Works about escaping marriage, church, or faith are just so cliché. Taking pot shots at any of those is easy, lazy, and quite frankly, boring.

            To read a book that had me walking away loving the institution of marriage and church, faith and Scripture, more than when I started, was so incredibly refreshing. That this book did that while having me laughing, at times with tears in my eyes, is a testament to the brilliance of Key and his writing.

            Now, should you be worried that the book features a man telling his side of a marriage story, rest assured, his wife contributes a chapter, and gave her blessing for the writing.

            All that to say, do yourself a favour and read this book. Below is a selection of quotes from the book. Enjoy!

On Faith & Scripture

What do I believe, exactly? I believe there is a thing called God. I believe happy endings are real. I believe the Bible is both a comic novel and the oddest and most accurate accounting of human psychology ever assembled.

On Monogamy

I’d grown comfortable with the idea of sex with this woman and only this woman for the rest of my life, like when you only bring one pair of shoes on a weekend trip. Bold choice, make it work.

On the Crisis of Infidelity

I love the sensation summoned by crisis: hurricanes, tornado warnings, kitchen fires, car accidents, live audiences waiting to be entertained, former neighbors waiting to be bludgeoned to death with a gardening tool—these awake in me a heroic fearlessness I do not feel most days.

On Marriage & Prayer

I’ve prayed for my wife more than just about anyone else, because God says to pray for your enemies, and marriage can sometimes be a war of attrition and one of siege, sometimes cold, occasionally hot.

On Believing In Miracles

I’ve known many teenage mothers who are virgins. They’re called Baptists. So, yeah, I believe the miracles.

His Qualifications Should He Want to Become a Pastor

He possessed "all the necessary virtues of a future Church of Christ preacher, including testicles and a love of my own voice."

On Love

That’s the thing they don’t tell you about love. You can love somebody, really love somebody, while being totally okay with their unfortunate mauling by an escaped Siberian tiger.

On Marriage

The reality is that every marriage is a partnership of two broken assholes with good intentions and varying degrees of ability to deliver. Marriage is as much a mystery to me now as the origins of the universe and the laws that govern the behavior of matter. What makes one work is just as strange as what makes one not.

An Honest Appraisal of Scripture's Readability

Halfway through the Old Testament, the grand comic fugue of Scripture devolves into an excruciatingly slow action movie that made me want to eat a bag of glass. The book of 1 Chronicles felt like a history textbook written by somebody who kept blacking out. Reading the minor prophets—Hosea, Joel, Amos—felt like reading YouTube comments written by people who hate a video of Israel. Lamentations is quite obviously a sad book and so is Jeremiah. The gloriously poetic book of Isaiah reads as if a clinically depressed Middle Earth elf king wrote it, and Ecclesiastes now sounded not unlike an elegantly dismal Edward Albee monologue delivered on a park bench by a wealth manager pondering suicide, and the Psalms read like a high school friend’s Facebook posts about all the cryptic drama in her life that she won’t fully explain, but you know it’s not good and also that she might be high.

On Faith Traditions

You’ve got to appreciate a world religion that does not attempt to make the good guys look too good. Name some grotesque character trait of Barack Obama or Dolly Parton. You can’t. You know they’re probably jackasses in specific ways—we all are—but the official narrative won’t allow for it. Too much is at stake.

Marriage Truths

One of your greatest misconceptions, the one you must jettison as soon as is convenient to you, is that you’re easy to live with. You’re not. You’re a monster. Marriage reveals this to you, though you’d prefer to blame your partner.

The Importance of Happiness in Scripture

The Bible seems to think the happiness question is moot. Saying you deserve happiness is like saying you deserve fresh, minty breath. Nice to have, enjoy it while it lasts. There are more things in heaven and earth to want than happiness. Purpose. Community. Duty. Joy. Goodness.

The Point of Scripture

I finally understood the point of the Bible, this book of operating instructions crowdsourced over thousands of years, a sort of vast cosmic Wikipedia of wisdom about the human comedy, each story a case study in the long war between darkness and light, proud and meek.

On Pastors

I have always felt pity for people who did this for a living. You try writing and delivering a new TED talk or two every week for ten or twenty or thirty years, based on a book nobody reads, baring your inmost thoughts for a crowd of friendlies who’ve heard it all before and strangers who’d rather be washing a cat.

On Churches

The nice thing about church is, if you move to a new city and find a good one, you’ve got instant access to dozens of friend prospects who are kind and funny and who may also believe Jesus held a concealed-carry permit . . . I found it edifying to worship with the deranged, especially when they let you swim in their pool.

The Odds of Infidelity

If you’re a man, you’re more likely to commit infidelity than you are to play a musical instrument. If you’re a woman, you’re more likely to have an affair than you are to have bangs . . . If you think this could never happen to you, you’re a fool. It’s happening right now. Your wife is sending memes to your neighbor this very day. Does she send you memes, too? Your husband is a little drunk and texting an inside joke to a colleague whom he’s so often imagined disrobing in a luxury hotel room that he could tell a police sketch artist what she looks like in the shower.

On Sexting

Whenever I’ve asked to see a woman naked, I’ve always had the decency to do this in person.

What People Say About Infidelity

People had and would say many things to me in the coming days and weeks—I’m so sorry; Let’s go beat this dipshit’s ass; I know a guy; Call my lawyer; Praying for you—but only Angie said, “Fight for her.” I held the phone to my face and looked upward into a sky so painfully blue you almost wanted to cry for the beauty, and I thought, “You know, that’s not the worst idea.” . . . What the demons said, via blogs and TED talks and occasionally at hotel bars while I traveled for work, was “You deserve to be happy.” The demons said, “To hell with her.” The angels said, “Love her.” The demons said, “Let her die.” The angels said, “If anybody dies, let it be you.”

On the Prospect of Divorce

I think most divorces are merely a failure of imagination: you lose the capacity to conceive of a happy future.

On Peace & Surrender

When I got home from my long drive, I no longer felt terror or shock or even the delightful masculine compulsion to assault the problem with the brute force of reason. Instead, what I felt was peace. Man, it was weird. It was not a spacey, THC-laced tranquility, but more like the peace you feel when you’ve ordered a cheese pizza and they bring you one pocked with hateful black olives and you eat the disgusting pizza anyway, it’s not so bad, it’s still pizza, fuck it. It was the peace of allowing asshole drivers to pass you freely on the interstate, though they deserve slow and painful deaths, the peace of accepting that this ballet recital is going to last three hours and you can do nothing short of calling in a bomb threat. Chill, brother, nobody here is having fun, not even the children. Let it go. It was the peace of surrender.

On Therapy

And if you, like Lauren and me, can afford a little therapy, do it: solo therapy, marriage counseling, do it all. You don’t have to go every week. But go when it gets hard. Go during the difficult years. Go before it gets as bad as it got for us. Go when you feel that distance. If you haven’t had sex in three months, go.

On the Reality of Marriage

Nobody told me fighting for my marriage would be less a fight than a kneeling in humiliation at the feet of my enemy. In those delicate days in the autumn of 2017, our marriage motionless in the critical care unit of the burn center, this admission of such an obvious truth, that we were both deeply flawed assfaces, was the first thing we’d agreed on in a long, long time.

Best Friends vs Marriage

Best friends remain best friends because you can take breaks, but a marriage is the sleepover that never ends.

On Children & Divorce

Children "thrive best with two parents in the same house, we know this: two people bound together by covenants not easily dissolved. Be offended at this simple truth if you like . . . For a brief and harried season of my life, I was a single parent and just about died. The dishes alone were

enough to make you deny the existence of a loving God. Parents are like arms. You can swing it with one but two work best and three would be weird . . .

            Perhaps one day we will evolve ourselves into some better arrangement for the children, where benevolent armies of solar-powered robots raise children on expansive baby farms, but until Elon funds this nightmare, marriage is what we’ve got. It’s good for us and it’s good for the kids, even when it hurts like hell.

            I think often of our daughters and what they have learned of love in this strange season. I suppose we’ve given them enough trauma to turn all three into artists or writers, or at least law students. But we’re here, all of us: a nuclear family, detonated but not destroyed. We won’t be traumatizing our children with our divorce. We’ll traumatize them with our marriage, as God intended."

On Bad Advice

Avoid those who urge you to vengeance or say you deserve better. The only thing you deserve is better advice from people who have a rudimentary grasp of the nightmare of marriage for both people in it. Run far and fast from those who say different.

On Contemporary Wisdom About Marriage

Marriage has changed over the millennia, and that’s a beautiful thing, but the prophets of this present age would have us believe marriage should exist solely for the benefit of the people in it, for their emotional, psychological, and carnal empowerment, as though matrimony is merely an extended couple’s spa experience featuring orgies and explosive self-actualizations that you can exit whensoever your heart desires. What if the prophets are wrong? Are we not freer than ever in human history, and sadder, and more anxious?

On How to Stay Married

One of my favorites, Alain de Botton, once wrote, “Compatibility is an achievement of love; it must not be its precondition.” That is marriage, in the end: two of you, being you, warring against the worst parts of you, making space for the best to grow, and learning to see that some parts of your spouse are not your favorite, and letting those parts be anyway. Hating those parts is no grounds for divorce. The only thing worth divorcing, in most cases, is the hatred itself, and your inborn desire to shape the world to your will like some kind of Marvel villain.

On Over-Affectionate Couples on Social Media

I worried they were pretending marriage isn’t an impossible riddle only solved by breaking both of you in half. I thank those weirdos for reminding me that a good marriage often looks like a joke to those outside it.

On Human Depravity

I like the idea of human depravity—really, it explains so much—but it’s not a breakfast-friendly doctrine.

On Faith

Sometimes maybe is all you have to hold on to. That’s all faith is, an enthusiastic maybe. A passionate probably. A hopeful hopefully . . . All I really know is this: the most powerful force in the universe is love and the strangest is forgiveness.

The Power of Church Community

What did our church do for us, exactly? They came when I called. Handed children to their spouses and got in the car. They listened to news nobody wants to hear. They sat with Lauren, too. They did not tell her she was doing a bad thing and must now do this or that good thing to fix it. She seemed plenty familiar with the moral equations in play. They did not give answers, not at first. They did the harder thing and asked questions. What does it feel like to be her? And in the answering, her heart awoke to something. To know people could see your inside and not revile you, this seemed a surprising new variable of the equation.

            And they texted me. “Checking in.” And “This bourbon won’t drink itself.” And “You drank all of my bourbon.”

            They hug us. They feed us. We feed them. They feed our children and we feed theirs and they feed Gary [their dog] when we’re out of town and when they’re out of town, we feed their cats. All we’re doing is feeding each other, basically, with hymns and prayers and sermons thrown in there to remind us why.

Intention: Groceries & A Rule of Life

If I had to rank domestic duties from my least favourite to most enjoyable, laundry takes the prize for the most abominable, soul-sucking activity a human can perform, while grocery shopping wins my top honours. I love grocery shopping. I would be perfectly content to grocery shop on a Friday night while regaling friends later with tales of a wild weekend. I consider grocery shopping to be a great joy.

            Whether one considers the undertaking enjoyable or not, what can't be denied is that most folks have peculiarities about the way they perform the necessary task. My wife, Kristen, has noticed what she considers an odd habit of mine: when I return from shopping, I don't just put away the groceries; I like to show my family the items I brought home like a grade-schooler excitedly showing off their unicorn stuffy at show-and-tell.

            "Look at this fam, bologna! Most people find this disgusting, but fried up with a nice mustard/brown sugar sauce, it is a succulent delicacy! And how about this, kids? This is green curry paste. Did you know I didn't taste curry until I was in my 20s? Consider yourselves lucky! And would you look at this, three squid tubes, already cleaned by the fishmonger, for $12! A deal like that doesn't come around every day!"

            Kristen believes I suffer from an evolutionary glitch of the mind, where my brain mistakes grocery shopping for the ancient act of hunting/gathering—as though I were a caveman parading around my latest kill! She believes a lot of wild things. What I am really doing is warming the family up to the coming week's menu.

            I have noticed a few things, however, about grocery shopping over the years. In our home, we tend to grocery shop in one of three ways. In the best case scenario, I enter the grocery store with a list chronologically well-organized according to aisle and section. That happens most of the time, but on slightly chaotic weeks at home, I will approach the task with a grocery list that looks something like this: bananas / milk / pasta / floss / asparagus / coffee / lime juice / apples. The list is there, but I am zigzagging all over the store, wasting precious time. Finally, there is the 'Hail Mary' grocery shop. These shops are reserved for when life is in a complete state of disarray. I head to the grocery store with the vague notion that we need food but without a plan or intention. I shop by way of hunches, meal planning along the way.

            Now, without question, when I am organized about my intentions while shopping, I can be out and home with groceries in under an hour. I spend less and less food is wasted. The Hail Mary approach at least doubles my time in the grocery store, often increases how much I spend, more food is wasted, and many evenings feature meals that have no discernible culinary logic. "Dad, is bacon with a side of boiled beets even a meal?" I tell them, "Anything with bacon is a meal, kids!"

            The grocery store lesson for me is about the importance of intention, thinking and planning ahead. Sure, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, as they say. Even still, without intention in life, or the grocery store, we often get sidetracked and distracted. We accumulate things we don't need or want (like that jar of pickled oysters in the back of my fridge I bought on one of my Hail Mary shopping trips).

            This brings us to our fourth theme of the summer at Nexus: intention. We spent the majority of July focusing on how to slow down. We reflected on what it would mean to find refreshment and connection in our lives over this summer. We paused to consider how we might savour moments, and people, and experiences. I hope we can continue to pursue all those things for the remainder of this summer season. And yet, summer is now half over. Don't kill the messenger, folks. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it is true. July is ending, and September is a mere month away.

            Might it be time to turn some of our attention to the fall, the real New Year for many of us? I don't want to think about it either, but here is the thing. The worst time to think about intentions for the fall is on the last day of the September long weekend. That is like showing up at the grocery store and scribbling out a shopping list in the parking lot. If we want to be intentional about what we do with this coming new year, the time to do it is now.

            Knowing that I have been thinking about crafting another "rule of life" to help guide me into the fall and the new year it represents. I did this years ago with a group of friends and found the exercise incredibly helpful and enlightening. If you are not familiar with a "rule of life", let me quote Jenn Kemper to quickly explain what it is and how it works.

            "The first example of a Christian rule of life came from the Desert Fathers, a monastic community of mystics living in Egypt around the third century AD. The most well-known rule is the rule of St. Benedict, written fifteen hundred years ago, which was created to help his community of monks translate their faith into the habits and rhythms of their shared daily life… our English word 'rule' is derived from the Latin 'regula', meaning 'a straight piece of wood,' 'a ruler,' and, by extension, 'a pattern, model, or example'…A rule of life, then, serves as a gentle guide that keeps you trained toward God…It is comprised of several simple statements that guide the posture of your life and the living of your days. It is not lived perfectly but can be lived faithfully while fostering within you an integrated and embodied life of faith."

            That is the essence of it. Perhaps it sounds a little too pious for your liking, but not every "rule" must be about praying, fasting, or any of that stuff. If a rule of life is about "fostering within you an integrated and embodied life of faith", well, then virtually anything could be on the table. One friend of mine had a rule that went this way: "I will give meat the respect it deserves and cook it with care and concern." Cooking a steak to medium? That is an abomination of desolation! Embodied faith means bringing our full attention and presence to the art of cooking meat. Another friend had a rule that went this way, "I will invite someone over to lunch every Sunday after church." An embodied life of faith, for them, meant prioritizing hospitality.

            You get the idea. So, here is my invitation to anyone who has bothered to read this far. Today is Friday, July 28. We have exactly 38 days until the end of the September long weekend. That is plenty of time to reflect on our intentions for the fall while building a "rule of life" that helps guide us throughout the course of our year until next summer. Perhaps it is worth giving it a try?

            I have just started to build a new rule of life for myself. I won't solidify any of this, nor commit to any of it, until the September long weekend. So, take the rules below with a grain of salt. They are just examples for the time being. For now, I am just toying with ideas—reflecting on what I truly want to be intentional about over the next year. I am hoping that as I reflect on this over the next month or so, I will be able to land on something by September that is a stretch, but realistic and meaningful. I want this next season of my life to be focused and intentional. So, again, much of this could change within the next month, but here are a few "rules" I am considering.

·      I will put my phone on 'airplane' mode every day from 5-7:30 pm so I am attentive and fully present to my family.

·      I will not look at my phone whenever there is another person in the same room as me.

·      I will focus on whatever person is in front of me and give them my full presence and attention (except door-to-door salespeople peddling products, religions, or charitable causes: I will treat them as though they have Covid.)

·      I will observe a Sabbath day every week from Friday at 5 pm until Saturday 5 pm. For these 24 hours, I will not be on social media and will not check email or the news. I will commit to being spectacularly unproductive and generously wasteful with laughter and play.

·      Quarterly, I will visit, ideally, the Scandinave Spa (or KW Sauna if Scandinave can't be arranged) and insist it is a 'spiritual retreat.'

·      I will not mindlessly scroll through streaming services looking for something to watch. I will only watch Toronto Maple Leaf's games and previously selected (by way of interest or friendship recommendation) TV/movies. "Looking" for something to watch is now anathema to me.

·      I will read one book per week.

·      I will make love 3-7 times a week (***partner approval pending***)

·      I will pray every morning to start my day with intention, purpose, and awareness.

·      On a weekly basis, I will verbally tell all three of my children the specific ways they delight me.

·      I will pray every evening to end my day reflectively.

·      I will only consume alcohol socially. On the odd, special occasion (like the playoffs or Wednesdays), spending time with myself passes the litmus test of "social".

·      I will designate 5-6 pm every day to the art of cooking (and cleaning up) meals.

·      On top of sermon writing, I will write for at least one hour every day.

·      I will not spend more than two evenings/mornings per week on child-focused programming. There is more to life than the family calendar.

·      I will practice listening to music actively while giving special attention to what the bass player is doing.

·      I will not spend more than two evenings per week on Nexus community activities. There is more to life than the church calendar.

·      I will read Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov so I can stop pretending like I am familiar with Dostoevsky's work.

·      I will not spend more than two evenings per week strictly watching television. There is more to life than vegging out and filling my face with snacks.

·      I will exercise 4 times a week.

·      Will pay Kristen a compliment every day that isn't explicitly sexual in nature.

·      I will sleep for at least 7 hours every night and nap on Sundays (and by a nap, I mean the fully undressed, under-the-covers-in-bed kind of nap).

·      I will only use what is commonly referred to as 'swear' words when the Leafs are losing to their opponents. The Leafs being in the lead is no cause for common cuss words. Hell yeah!

·      Will craft my sense of curiosity by committing to asking more and better questions.

            As I mentioned, just spitballing ideas at this point. Most of these are half-baked, some made in jest. Nothing is concrete yet. Behind most of them are my three main priorities for this coming year: 1) using time wisely (including knowing how to "waste" it), 2) living life with fewer distractions, addictions, and more intention, 3) Prioritizing what I feel "called to" and organizing my life around those things rather than trying to squeeze them in between distractions and the demands of things I value less.

            Maybe some of these ideas might get the creative juices flowing for you as well. Perhaps you might consider joining me in creating a rule of life for the fall? Here are some reflection questions to help prime the pump.

1. What tensions, like time, energy, scheduling, and competing needs (personal vs familial), will I face this Fall?

2. What are the “big rocks”? In order to say yes to something, what might I need to say no to? 

3. What do I want my/our rhythms to look like?

4. How can I carve out Sabbath time in my week?

Savour Part 2: Split-Second Glimpses & Snapshots & Sounds

To savour food is one thing, but could it be applied more broadly? Savour: to taste life and enjoy it completely. Enter the National, that quintet of Ohio middle-aged men known for their “sad dad rock.” Hmmm . . . I used to baulk at the thought of being a fan of dad rock. Yet, here I am, not only a dad, but at times a sad one to boot. It is probably no surprise that “sad dad rock” would resonate with me. I have followed the band over the course of two decades. Now, with their ninth studio album, First Two Pages of Frankenstein, the band has found me again. Track 3, in particular, New Order T-shirt, tickles all the right places for me, at this stage of my life.

            The song has all the markings of what has made the National famous. The quietly restrained baritone vocals of Matt Berninger layered over the lush and wistful sounds of nostalgic lament. Lyrically, Berninger presents us with a series of frustratingly vague and opaque lines, as though we are being given a peak at memories only he, or the protagonist, can hope to have any connection with. When “you in a Kentucky aquarium talking to a shark in a corner” features as a refrain throughout the song, the listener has little chance of making any kind of lyrical connection. But then, the chorus.

I keep what I can of you
Split-second glimpses and snapshots and sounds . . .
I carry them with me like drugs in a pocket.

            Ohhh. That resonates. Cause isn’t that just life? Making our way through the world, keeping what we can of those we love, left with a mosaic of memories that return to us down the road as split-second glimpses and snapshots and sounds? Yeah, that got my attention and hit me hard.

            In life, we fortunate ones, are gifted people to love. But we don’t get to keep them. No freeze frame. No time standing still in those perfect moments together. Time moves on; those we love change and grow. It happens so fast, you can miss it. So we keep what we can—memories of moments in time, experiences shared. There are times of ecstasy and laughter, times of grief and heartache. There are also quieter snapshots: reading together on a rainy day, lazy Saturday mornings under the sheets, maybe even that time you caught your loved one talking to a shark in some corner of an aquarium in Kentucky.

            Whatever the memories, they are always kind of bittersweet. Bitter in that we can never stay or recreate those moments. Sweet in that they remind us of a shared history, the gift of sharing time and space with people we love. On many a day, that is a drug that can sustain us.

            This song stands as a goat-on-cow sound for me every time I hear it. So where is the invitation? Simple. It is an invitation to savour. Wake up, Brad. Keep waking up every single day. Time is fleeting. Keep making memories, and remember to pause occasionally and drink it all in. Linger in the sounds and sights and smells of moments with those you love. Cause it will be gone soon enough, and you can’t keep that moment or that person stuck in time. So enjoy it as it happens, and remember to whisper a prayer of thanks for the gift. Then carry on walking with those you love.

Savour Part 1: It’s Corn

I like to putter and saunter my way around the Gravenhurst farmer's market. As such, it has become a solo ritual, my family unable to find enough patience to match the crawling pace of my curiosity. Attending the market has become an annual summer pilgrimage for me. Over the years I have honed the experience to a perfect art.

            Lap 1: get a lay of the land and vendors, absorb the sights, sounds, and smells. Lap 2: approach the vendors that caught my attention and inquire about their products. "How did crafting birdhouses become your artform of choice?" or "what is the difference between the Portuguese and Spanish chorizo?" or "are your bowties for dogs machine washable?"  Lap 3: make purchases.

            This year I was tempted by all the usual suspects: the windchime lady, the cutting board couple, the elderly gentlemen who crafts leather belts guaranteed to last 30-40 years. They almost get me every time, but this year a new vendor really caught my attention. His creation? Survival wristbands. I was spellbound watching him demonstrate its miraculous powers. Not only did it contain a thermometer and compass, but the wristband had flint and fire-making capabilities. As if that wasn't enough, a hidden pocket on the wristband contained a fishing line and lure. I toiled over whether to make the purchase. Granted, the odds of me ever being in a dire enough situation that required fire or fishing seemed remote. But darn it all, wouldn't I look the fool if it did happen, and I had passed on an opportunity for a survival bracelet!

            Eventually, I extradited myself from the vendor's stall and headed home with a selection of cured meats, a dog bowtie, fudge, and a summer delicacy: corn on the cob.

            If you have been following along with the Nexus summer themes, you will know that, thus far, we have explored finding refreshment and connection. This week, however, we are invited to savour. An odd theme for reflection, no? Savouring is, in fact, a culinary term, the ability to "taste (good food or drink) and enjoy it completely." The idea this week is to expand our notion of savouring beyond the realm of food and into the rest of life. Even still, food isn't a bad place to start. Consider the farmer market summer delicacy: corn on the cob. Many folks enjoy corn on the cob, but what would it mean to savour it and enjoy it completely?

            I am currently in a phase of life where my kids frequently steal my phone to find songs and music to their liking. This is vexing on several levels. Not only does this mess up whatever algorithm Apple Music has going for me (it seems to think I am a big fan of Korean pop music), but my phone now also has three separate songs on it entitled "Fart." Needless to say, I am not overly impressed with my offspring's taste in music.

            And yet, they did discover and introduce me to a song that, embarrassed as I am by it, I absolutely adore. It happens to be about corn on the cob. Take a listen below . . .

It’s CORN!
A big lump with knobs
It has the juice (It has the juice)
I can’t imagine a more beautiful thing
It’s corn . . .
I can tell you all about it
I mean look at this thing
When I tried it with butter
everything changed…

            I don’t care who you are, that song is a gift and that chorus is catchy! It is hard to see corn the same way after hearing this song. It captures the wonder of childlike amazement. Corn on the cob, what a gift, this big lump with knobs of juice! This song, for me, captures the difference between mere enjoyment and savouring. You can enjoy something, like corn, but still fail to really see it as a gift. To savour is to have eyes to see (goats on cows) and appreciate, at the moment, the gift of what we are experiencing. Corn on the cob, food in general, is a great place to start. But savouring can extend beyond the kitchen. To dive into that, perhaps another song might help.

ReConnect: Made in Bangladesh

The chicken and pork had just come off the BBQ and now, fifteen Watsons sat in a crooked circle catching up. Our cousin was visiting from Nova Scotia, and the Ontario Watsons had gathered to welcome her to our neck of the woods. Around the circle, splintered conversations of summer plans, future travels, political prognostications, Netflix recommendations, East Coast gossip, and the art of cooking meat hung in the air alongside belly laughs and chuckles. It was your typical family summer BBQ.

            Then, as happens from time to time, there was a collective lull in the conversation. To my surprise, my daughter Zoe found herself in the spotlight, the object of the entire group's attention. Someone innocently asked if she was enjoying being around the family, but her response caught us all off guard.

            "Yeah, it is great being around the family, but I guess I am just a little sad today." Someone asked why that was. "Well, I have been learning about fair trade at school and I noticed the clothes I put on today were all made in Bangladesh. I guess it just makes me sad that most of the clothes we all wear are made by kids who have to work long hours for unfair pay."

            I almost choked on my potato salad as the circle now sat in uncomfortable silence, everyone too stunned to know what to say. You could feel the collective itch in the room as everyone wondered what the tag on their clothes might say about where their shorts or t-shirts were made.

            My oldest brother broke the silence with his annoyingly righteous "tell me more" posture of curiosity. "Tell me more about fair trade, Zoe!" he said, rescuing us from the awkward silence. Zoe regaled us all with what she had been learning, and we, in turn, praised her for her concerns, relieved she hadn't asked any of us what we were doing about fair trade. As the conversation slipped back into political conjecture and debate over which European country one should visit next, I quipped to my brother under my breath, "Zoe will learn the guilty feelings about clothes go numb over time." We both chuckled, but I immediately felt bad for uttering the words. It was an incredibly cold and cynical thing to say, even if true.

            Staring at Zoe during her moment in the spotlight, I was both proud and incredibly sad. Sad because in looking at her, I could see myself. For a time, in our mid to late 20s, Kristen and I had been quite passionate about fair trade. Africa was in the spotlight back then and medicines for HIV/AIDS, debt cancellation, and fair trade were on a lot of people's minds. Kristen and I had made several trips to the continent, looking to do our part to help. At home, we searched for North American-made clothing, were frequent consumers at Ten Thousand Villages, and wouldn't even consider chocolate or coffee that wasn't marked "Fair Trade."

            But somewhere between then and now, I guess I just stopped caring. And I know exactly why. Back then, it felt like there was one thing to care about: Africa. I was young and had the energy for that. With the dawn of social media, however, suddenly, there were thousands of things to care about, broadcast daily to my news feed. Compassion fatigue, cynicism, and weariness crept in. Life gets busy with duties and demands. Next thing you know, your daughter is waxing eloquently about fair trade while my mind was fixated on which hot sauce went better with the pork.

            Ah, I have sinned and grown old. Truth be told, I wouldn't want to go back to my mid/late 20's, Brad. He had a messianic complex and was self-righteous, naïve, and preachy (and if you are thinking I still have those propensities, touché, but trust me, they are far more muted than they used to be). I don't want to return to that, even still, at that moment, watching Zoe teach us all about fair trade, I could see a part of myself that I had lost along the way. The part of me that cared and loved deeply.

            In the book of Revelation, Jesus is addressing seven churches in Asia. To the church in Ephesus, he writes, "I know your deeds, your hard work and your perseverance . . . you have persevered and have endured hardships . . . yet I hold this against you: you have forsaken the love you had at first. Consider how far you have fallen!"

            I don't think Jesus was specifically addressing middle age here, but boy, does that sound like my own experience of middle age. Hard work, perseverance over the years, even hardships, yet forsaking love. I would like to think that over the years, I have gained experience, wisdom, smarts, and a knack for discernment. Yet I worry I have forsaken love and replaced it with cynicism. These days, the human species annoys and vexes me more than it ever has. I can't think of a single cause, issue, or movement that I don't harbour some cynicism about. Even my first love, music, doesn't quite move me the way it used to. Never has moving to the country to eat me a lot of peaches while sticking my head in the sand seemed more tempting. There is a certain world-weariness about me these days.

              I am probably making things sound worse than they are. I don't think I have fully succumbed to the curmudgeonly old man within me. All I know is that in that moment with Zoe, I realized I had lost a part of myself. A part of myself I needed to reconnect to. I can't imagine this means becoming a zealot for fair trade again, but at the very least, I think it worth exploring what I still actually care about and what it might look like to fan the embers of that flame.

            And I don't mean this post to make us feel guilty about what we are, or are not, doing for some social justice cause. It is bigger than that. Life gets busy and stressful and hard. Most of us work and persevere through those things. Being an adult comes with duties and responsibilities. The best of us put our heads down and get to work. But things can get lost in the shuffle. Between the idealism of youth and being an adult tamed by duty, we can lose parts of ourselves in the process. Or at least, lose contact with parts of ourselves. Part of being a thoughtful adult is asking ourselves from time to time whether there may be parts of ourselves we need to reconnect to.

            I have come to think that without times of introspection and pause, we won't even recognize what we may have lost. Without slow times of pause, it is easy to just keep sliding in whatever direction life seems to be taking us. We need time and intention to change course, if necessary.

            Last week, our focus was on what we need from our summers to refresh and rejuvenate ourselves. This week, our focus is on what we need from our summers to reconnect with ourselves. Have we let things go that we need to reclaim? Is there a passion or interest that has sat on the back burner while we busied ourselves with the duties of life? Was there a dream or passion we let slip away? Are there people we have let go over the years, thinking we didn't need them? Friendships we have allowed to become idle? Do we even have room in our lives for anything new?

            Below are our reflection questions for this week. Perhaps part of our summer rhythm is making space to take stock of what we might need to reconnect to—ourselves, others, God, creation? Give yourself the space to linger on these questions. Below them is a link to Karla's guided prayer and reflection for the week. We hope these may be an aid to you as we allow the slower pace of summer to do its work within us.

Finding Connection

1. Is there a hobby, interest, or even a part of myself I want to reconnect with this summer?

2. Who are the people I miss and am drawn to reconnect with this summer?

3. Is there space in my life for community and new connections?

Karla's Guided Reflection

https://sites.google.com/nexuschurchkw.com/nexussummerprayerguide?usp=sharing

Refresh: Airplane Mode

The Persian poet, Rumi, once wrote, “I’ve lived too long where I can be reached.” He wrote that in the 13th century. I can't imagine what he would think about our ability to be "reached" today with the plethora of instant communication tools available to us all. Those tools have benefits and advantages, to be sure. There is also a shadow side to them.

Between email, phone, texting, and the handful of other messaging apps I belong to, I feel Rumi's line deeply. It feels impossible today to be unreachable. That feeling comes with a cost—the weight of others’ expectations, an inability to be fully present, and the weariness that comes from truly never feeling "off" or at rest.

Last week I flew out to Nova Scotia for a few days with Kristen's entire family. The flight there is a short two-hour trip. Of course, in exchange for the luxury and privilege of flying, travellers are required to have their phones in "airplane" mode. For two hours, everyone aboard the flight was unreachable. Nothing to do but read, maybe try to nap, be alone with our thoughts. Marry that experience with the cramped quarters of flying a budget airline and you have a recipe for discomfort.

Once we had landed, the familiar "ding" of the seatbelt sign being turned off unleashed a startling Pavlovian response from we passengers. Everyone reached for their phones. What had we missed in that two-hour window of unreachability? Was anyone trying to reach us in the last two hours? Were there emails, texts, or messages that required our attention? Everyone, it seems, was anxious to know.

It is uncomfortable being unreachable. Perhaps we are addicted to being within reach? Regardless, I would suggest being unreachable is essential and healthy, even a spiritual discipline. And it is certainly necessary to find refreshment.

Our first Nexus Summer theme is "Refresh." The idea of the theme is to take the time this week to reflect on how we might use this summer season to find refreshment. How can we be intentional about using the summer to recharge? What activities or people would help to that end?

Travelling and experiencing other parts of the world or our country can help. Time with good friends can help. Being in the wilderness or finding other enjoyable experiences can help. All of those are good things. But we could pursue all those things and still be on and within reach. You can be with your best friends and still find yourself distracted by an incoming text message. You can be on some glorious beach or hiking in the mountains and still feel the temptation to "check" your phone. Pursuing the things that refresh us only works if we are also committed to being present to them. It only works if we are not feeling the weight of obligation or expectations. It means times of being off, unreachable, in “airplane” mode.

Ronald Rolheiser says that "life is meant to be busy, but we’re also meant, at regular times, to have sabbatical, sabbath time, to rest and enjoy." Ah Sabbath—a time to rest and enjoy! What I have come to learn, imperfectly, is that rest and enjoyment can't do their proper work in us if our heads and minds are divided and available to be somewhere else.

I was lamenting to a friend recently that, unlike email, our messaging apps don't come with an auto-responder feature (and if they do, please let me know). With email, we can turn on an auto-response to messages. "Sorry, I am not checking emails for the next week"—that sort of thing. I was lamenting that it would be so much easier if all the other ways we communicate with other people had that same feature.

Slightly amused, my friend replied that I could always turn my phone off.

The thought of that sent a wave of anxiety running through me. How would I communicate with the outside world, check the news, and see if I am needed for something? What if there was an emergency? And how would I take pictures? "Well," my friend replied, "if turning off your phone is a little too cold turkey for your addiction, you could start by just putting it in “airplane” mode." Airplane mode! A perfect solution. I can still take pictures and be unreachable at the same time.

I will confess to being addicted to my phone. In many ways, I think our phones mirror us. If it is on, I am on. If my phone continues to allow me to communicate with others not next to me, or as long as it allows me to distract myself, I am not truly resting or enjoying the moments in front of me.

What it takes to refresh looks different for all of us. I have hopes and plans for this summer, people and places and activities that I hope help recharge the batteries. But I am committing this summer to not walk into those periods of time while still being reachable. I am not strong enough, yet, to turn my phone off for, say, an entire week. But this summer, I do plan to have it on “airplane” mode a whole lot more, because, as Rumi would say, I have lived too long where I can be reached. Perhaps something to consider yourself? Below are some reflection questions to help us think about setting our intentions for the summer.

Setting Our Intentions for the Summer

1. What are my hopes and fears for the summer? Can I let my imagination build something beautiful?

2. What are some settings & activities that will refresh & recharge me?

3. Who are some people that can help refresh me this summer?

Part 4: All Is Not As It Seems

Middleton finally arrives at the Abraham/Isaac story, having reminded us via the Psalms and Job that "between the extremes of blessing God explicitly and cursing God, there is the viable option of honest, forthright challenge to God in prayer, which God both wants and expects of those made in the divine image."

            Armed with this interpretive lens, Middleton gets to work, employing a Sherlock Holmes set of eyes to the story. The three chapters Middleton devotes to the story are fun and playful, inviting the reader into a mystery needing solving. And yet, while Middleton works with the methodical precision of a Holmes, he isn't shy about owning his own biases in approaching the story. "I simply do not believe the God I have come to know would ever want me to sacrifice the life of another as proof of faithfulness, nor do I believe that this God values blind, unquestioning compliance."

            Some might think that with a line like that, Middleton has arrived at a verdict desperately needing evidence. But I appreciated him owning his starting point. And let's be honest, what is the alternative starting point? Besides, Middleton's verdict is not without warrant. Why is Abraham silent? Abraham's silence in the face of God's request bothers Middleton most. The Psalmists weren't silent. Job wasn't silent. So why is Abraham?

            In sorting through the story's details, it can be easy to lose track of our emotional weight in Genesis 22. God, it would seem, asks Abraham to sacrifice (kill) his son as a sort of litmus test for his trust in God. Sure, at the end of the story, God stops him, but his willingness to go ahead with the plan seems to be praised by God. Not only that, but it also seems this test was the evidence God needed to go ahead and bless Abraham as the father of a great nation.

            The story's humanity is hammered home, though, in verses 6-7. While Isaac is walking, unaware of his impending death, father and son have a little chat. Middleton reminds us it is "a poignant moment worth lingering over." Regarding how we read the story, the stakes are high. We witness a child innocently walking with his father when he notices something strange. Something is missing. They have the wood and the fire for the sacrifice but no sheep. Middleton notes that Isaac's tentativeness is lost to us in English translations. In Hebrew, the text reads, "Isaac said to his father, and he said . . . " Middleton remarks that it is as though Isaac initially began to speak but then hesitated. Perhaps Isaac even stumbles over his words as the suspicion that he may be the sacrifice enters his mind.

            Abraham responds that God would provide the sacrifice. This has often been seen as an expression of faith, but Middleton reminds us that Abraham's words are much more ambiguous. "God will see to the sheep for a burnt offering, my son," Abraham replies. What does that mean? Does it mean, "Isaac, don't worry; God will provide?" Or does it mean, "God will provide my son Isaac"? The ambiguity of this line is hilariously captured in this comic strip.

We can't ignore what is emotionally at stake in this story. Middleton doesn't invite us into his investigation as passive observers but as participants in a case of discovery. Bothered by Abraham's silence towards God in the face of this cruel test and knowing Job and the Psalms seem to contradict Abraham's posture, Middleton comes to the story "reading with wonder." He calls this "a way of abiding in the text while also bumping around within it, feeling the text's jagged contours, peering into its dark crevices, looking for anomalies and subtleties that raise eyebrows as well as, on occasion, the hair on the back of the neck."

            Middleton's findings are beyond what can be summarized here, but I wish to highlight five pieces of evidence he uncovers. Together with what we have found in the Psalms and Job, it convinces me that the story of Abraham/Isaac deserves a fresh reading. One, two, and five are the most compelling, while three and four add some circumstantial evidence weight.

1. Abraham Is No Stranger to Complaining

            That Abraham is silent in the face of God's request to sacrifice Isaac is entirely puzzling, considering that just four chapters earlier, Abraham does challenge God. In Genesis 18, we learn that a great cry has gone up to God about the evil happening in Sodom and Gomorrah. So great is the cry of injustice that God heads off to investigate. Presumably, having the great evils happening in these cities confirmed, God threatens to destroy them.

            Learning this, Abraham immediately challenges God. "Will you sweep away the righteous with the wicked?. . far be it from you to do such a thing—to kill the righteous with the wicked . . . far be it from you! Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?"

            Wow! That isn't just complaining. That is a full-on challenge of character and morality! Here we see the kind of exemplary boldness that Job and the Psalmists display! Abraham steps into the ring with God and lands some admirable combos here!

            Over the next half chapter, Abraham asks if God will save the city if merely 50 righteous people can be found in them. God agrees. Perhaps stunned that God would agree to the terms, Abraham returns with another request. "Now that I have been so bold as to speak to the Lord, though I am nothing but dust and ashes, what if the number of the righteous is five less than fifty? Will you destroy the whole city for lack of five people?"

            This second request on Abraham's part is gold. Not only do we have the most explicit ties to Job here (the boldness of his request along with it coming from "dust and ashes"), but Abraham is in fine form negotiating here. He doesn't ask for 45; he asks if God would be so petty as to destroy the cities for only lack of finding five people. It works. God agrees to 45.

            Emboldened, Abraham asks for 40. Then 30. Then 20. Then 10. God agrees to it all. Abraham stops at this point, but it isn't clear to the reader that Abraham couldn't have kept going to even one person or none. To this point, God had shown no signs of resistance to Abraham's request.

            It would seem God knows that Abraham will protest injustice and defend the innocent. Yet, when it comes to his child, Abraham is silent. It makes no sense. This event is not some distant memory. It occurs a mere four chapters before the story in question. That Abraham will intercede for strangers, but not his son, should catch the reader's immediate attention and inform us that something is not right. Something is amiss. Terence Fretheim writes, "The narrator may intend that the reader, having learned from Abraham in chapter eighteen how to question God, is the one who is to ask questions here."

2. Is This YHWH?

       The second major clue that all is not as it should be comes from recognizing who is making this request of Abraham. Whenever God speaks to Abraham in the book of Genesis, YHWH addresses him (12:1, 7: 13:14; 15:1, 4, 7: 17:1; 18:13, 17, 20, 26, 33). The narrator consistently uses the covenant name of YHWH to introduce God speaking to Abraham. But in this story, that is not the case. In Genesis 22, it is not YHWH who speaks to Abraham. It is not YHWH who asks Abraham to sacrifice his son. Rather, it is ha Elohim.

            To be sure, Elohim is used as a name for God throughout the Old Testament. But ha'elohim is unique. Middleton writes, "While we don't know for certain what the purpose of this deviation is, the effect is striking, and, I might add, ominous." Thomas Romer suggests that ha'elohim was a term "used to denote a god that dwells far away from humans and appears to be incomprehensible."

            Well, this is suspicious. Is this even YHWH at work here? Is Abraham having trouble discerning the voice of God from impostors? Is it possible this story stands as an example of how difficult it can be to know God's voice honestly? Might Abraham believe that YHWH sounds like all the other gods of the time? Gods that often demanded child sacrifice?

3. A Test of Love?

            So much is lost in language and translation. Middleton states much is at stake in how this story is translated. While our English translations typically record verse 2 as reading, "Take your son, you're your only son, whom you love—Isaac", the Hebrew is more nuanced with a rhetorical edge. Middleton notes that you could take the phrase "whom you love" as having "the rhetorical force of, 'you love him, don't you? So, prove it by your response to the test.'" Could it be that, torn between two women (Hagar and Sarah) and two sons (Ishmael and Isaac), the test is meant to showcase whether Abraham truly does love his son?

4. Peculiar Behaviour

            Middleton also notes a handful of peculiarities in the story that should raise eyebrows. Why does Abraham rise early the next day to carry out the task? Is he trying to avoid Sarah? Where is Sarah in all of this?

            Why does Abraham saddle his donkey? Abraham is used to having servants do his domestic work. Seems strange. Is he trying to hide his wrong intentions?

            Why does he chop his wood, again, instead of a servant? And wouldn't it make more sense to chop wood and then saddle the donkey?

            Middleton notes, "Perhaps Abraham is under such stress and emotional turmoil that he is not thinking clearly; but then who would be in such a situation?"

            Why must Abraham travel three days to make the sacrifice? Couldn't this be done right where he is? Or even somewhere closer than a three-day journey? Could it be Abraham is trying to hide what he is about to do? Or is, as Middleton wonders, "God intentionally giving Abraham time to think about the command, to allow his feelings for Isaac to grow, that he might come to a decision to question the command or to intercede for Isaac?"

            For the keen observer, something strange and suspicious is at play here. As Middleton notes, "Throughout the first ten verses of the Aqidah [the Abraham/Isaac story], the narrator has skillfully conveyed a series of rhetorical signals that suggest tension, stress, and perhaps internal confusion on Abraham's part, while portraying a significant power differential between an active father and a passive son."

5. The Family Is Missing

            For Middleton, the most critical feature of the story that supports an alternative understanding is that Isaac is missing at the conclusion. Verse 19 says, "Then Abraham returned to his servants, and they set off together for Beersheba." Middleton observes, "Isaac is conspicuously absent. This is a very well-crafted narrative, in which every detail matters…after noting that Abraham returned to his servants, Abraham travels with others, but no longer with his family, no longer with his son. Abraham's life is marked by a series of separations. The Aqidah narrative concludes with the simple, even tragic, comment that Abraham lived at Beersheba, with no mention of Isaac or Sarah, for that matter. The loss of Abraham's son by the end of the Aqidah narrative raises the question of the significance of this datum. There is no evidence that Abraham and Isaac ever see or speak to each other again after Genesis 22. What son would go home with the father who tried to sacrifice him to his God? It looks like the text is intentionally making the point that Isaac did not return with his father.

            And what about Sarah? She is missing at the start of Genesis 22; she is also missing from Abraham's life for the rest of the Genesis account after 22. The next time Sarah is mentioned, we are told of her death. Did Abraham's attempt to sacrifice Isaac also result in Sarah's alienation? Or were they separated even prior to chapter 22? We don't have clear answers to these questions. But we clearly have a broken family."

            And what is God's response in all of this? It is also noteworthy that it is an angel of the Lord, not YHWH himself, that does the intervening and speaking from this point on. Abraham is informed that God's covenant with Abraham in Genesis 12 remains. God will still bless Abraham and make him a great nation. That isn't new, though. Abraham is also told that God now knows that Abraham fears him. Clearly. But is that what God wanted from the test, if God authored the test at all? Fear?

             Isaac largely disappears from the larger narrative after this. The first eleven chapters of Genesis focus on an anthropological/theological account of the human dilemma. Then Abraham comes into the spotlight, followed by Jacob and then Joseph. As Middleton points out, "There is no comparable Isaac story. Apart from starring in Genesis 26, where God blesses his every effort to dig wells wherever he travels, Isaac appears only as a bit player in either Abraham's story or Jacob's story. He has no story of his own. Isaac, as a character, simply disappears from view. He has no significant actions that advance the narrative of Abraham's original promise."

            But Middleton is not done tracing the effects of this broken family. He wonders what Jacob learned about YHWH from his father, Isaac, and grandfather, Abraham. What faith legacy did Isaac leave behind for his sons? This is easy to miss for those not looking for it, but it is telling and tragic. In a conversation where Jacob makes an oath to Laban, Jacob speaks of YHWH and his father this way in 31:32. "The God of my father, the God of Abraham and the Fear of Isaac." Wow. The Fear of Isaac. "This is what Isaac passed down to Jacob," Middleton writes, "by intent or otherwise; God is the Fear. That God is to be feared was Abraham's legacy to his son."

            This is the very thing God acknowledges after the Isaac ordeal. Abraham feared God. That was clear. But as Middleton concludes, "Abraham shows that he fears God, but in passing that test, he failed another one. We can say that Abraham genuinely, in the end, tried to obey the God he understood. Inadequate as that understanding might have been. But in refusing to intercede or protest on behalf of his son, as he had previously done before, Abraham failed the test."

            Middleton concludes by stating, "Abraham was being tested not for his unquestioning obedience, but rather for his discernment of God's character. He was being tested for his trust in God, to be sure. But genuine trust is not equivalent to blind faith, to do anything a voice from heaven tells you. Rather, trust in God requires knowledge or discernment of what sort of God this is. God gives Abraham a chance to learn more about divine mercy through the process of intercession. How will Abraham be able to distinguish this God he is coming to know from the gods of the nations? This sort of discernment will be necessary so that Abraham will be equipped to "charge his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing righteousness and justice" (Genesis 18:19). Is the God of Abraham simply one of the pagan deities of Mesopotamia or Canaan who requires child sacrifices, a symbol of allegiance?...

            This is why Abraham's silence is so tragic. The Aqedah testifies to the Patriarch's missed opportunity for lament…But I continue to wonder: suppose Abraham had not been silent. Suppose he had been so sure of the mercy of God that he could wrestle with God, arguing back, challenging God—interceding for his son. Or suppose Abraham wasn't sure of God's mercy but took the risk to lament anyway. He might have come to know the compassion of this God, who hosted and affirmed Job's complaint, which brought Job comfort in the end.

            Yet despite Abraham's failure to lament, God was gracious and kept faith with Abraham, continuing to work through this fractured family, ultimately to bring redemption to the world. And the God of Abraham continues to welcome lament even today."

            So, in the end, what are we to make of this story? Middleton points out that it wasn't YHWH but ha Elohim, who requested Abraham to make the sacrifice. That is enough to make me question whether Abraham heard the voice of God at all. Perhaps the story is a lesson in discerning God's voice or realizing we often assume God is just like the other would-be idols and cruel gods of our time: gods that demand sacrifice without mercy.

            But even if this was a genuine test from God, I am now firmly convinced we have taken away the wrong moral from the story. The moral isn't that we should follow God mindlessly. It isn't that we should obey God at all costs and live in fear of God. No, the text is far too provocative for that. The moral is, in fact, to the contrary. It is an invitation to know a God of compassion, mercy, and kindness. It is an invitation to speak our minds, truths, complaints, and protests to God. It is an invitation to know, as Abraham's grandson Jacob would come to know that God is fond of wrestling, and we should never be scared to get in the ring.

Artwork: Binding of Isaac by Marc Chagall
Comic by Man Martin.

Part 3: Wisdom in the Whirlwind

In my first post on Middleton's book, Abraham's Silence, I indicated that the story of God asking Abraham to sacrifice Isaac has always been a sort of theological thorn in my side. It is a story that has always bothered me greatly. If God asked that of a human (even if that request came thousands of years ago), then I don't know how to think or feel about God. For some, the story is something to skirt over or a straightforward story of exemplary faith. That won't suffice for me, but neither will flirting with theologies of divine change. Maybe, it is sometimes asked if God has changed over time. I still need something else. You can try to set me up on a blind date with a serial killer while insisting that they have changed over the years into a compassionate and loving human being, but I am still not taking that date. I want a reasonable explanation of the story as it comes to us in Genesis.

            My first hint that something might be amiss in the story of Abraham and Isaac came from the author Leonard Sweet. He briefly but compellingly showcases that the relationship between Isaac and Abraham at the end of the ordeal tips the reader off that all is not as it seems. Middleton, by contrast, is slow and methodical in his approach. Only a third of the book is devoted to the actual story. The first two-thirds of the book is Middleton building his case. For anyone familiar with the lament Psalms, the book's first section is skippable. In short, we learn from the lament Psalms that we are free to speak our truth to God in the face of suffering. Our truth may not be the whole picture, but in prayer and worship, we do not deny our experience of how suffering makes us feel.

            However, Middleton's work on the book of Job is essential reading. It provides incredible interpretive clues for the Abraham/Isaac story and stands on its own as a powerful interpretation of an incredibly hard-to-understand book. So, to the book of Job, we turn our attention.

The Purpose of Job

         So, what is the purpose of the Book of Job? Middleton highlights several purposes. To start, it is an exercise in wisdom. In this sense, the book is parabolic. Like the stories of Jesus, the purpose is to stimulate reflection and wise living in listeners. The story is not an account of an actual situation.

            Building on that, the central question of concern in the book, according to Middleton, is then, "What should a wise or righteous person say (especially about/to God) in the face of terrible suffering?" Many have asserted that the Book of Job addresses the problem of suffering. Still, as William P Brown notes, "The Book of Job offers no explanation for suffering, even as it provocatively sets up the problem." This is critical. The book itself will weigh in on why explaining suffering is problematic. Instead, it has us wrestle through what kind of speech is appropriate in the face of suffering. Read that way, the book suddenly makes a lot more sense.

            As Middleton writes, "The question of the book seems to be whether God approves of Job's abrasive complaints about his suffering. Is protesting to God, or about God, concerning one's circumstances, viewed in the book of Job as a form of speech that manifests wisdom? It speaks to a larger question. When tragedy befalls us, when the world does not seem just, when even God seems not to be acting in character, what should our response be?"

            If we can accept this as the central question of Job, then there are two other secondary purposes for the book, according to Middleton. First, it acts as a sequel (or response to) the Abraham/Isaac story. The book functions as a second swing at Abraham's dilemma. Second, while the book offers no solid theology of suffering, it does offer a correction to the lousy theology presented by Job's friends (their bad theology is still at work today).

Two Big Problems

         People are often attracted to the book of Job for the same reason as the Psalms: brute honesty. But the book presents us with two problems. First, what are we to make of God's wager with the Accuser? And second, though we might be attracted to Job's honesty, the end of the book seems to showcase God ploughing Job down for his human stupidity. We might like Job's honesty, but a simple reading of the book suggests God doesn't love it so much. What are we to do with that?

            Let's start with the wager. Middleton is helpful here in putting this puzzle to bed. The book "does not intend to teach either history or theology. It isn't about events that really happened or what God is really like. Be careful in taking the figure of the Accuser in the book of Job as representing a clearly delineated theology. Given that he shows up only in the prologue, it may be that the Accuser is no more than a literary figure meant to get the story going." Fair enough, a literary tool to start the action and get us thinking.

            The second problem, what Middleton calls "the blustery nature of God's response to Job's complaints", is not as easy to pass over. So, what do we learn from this whirlwind God and his interaction with Job?

The Wisdom in the Whirlwind

         Let's start by being clear about what Job does and does not say to or about God within the book. The story begins with the wager. Initially, the Accuser can inflict suffering on Job, but it only goes so far. In Chapter 1, Job losses his cattle (wealth) and his four children. Immediately after learning about these losses, Job utters the words that would one day be turned into a famous worship song. "The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised." I have never liked that song. It has always seemed to need more honesty.

            Interestingly, this line from Job comes immediately after he learns of his first losses. Job hasn't had time to dwell or reflect on them. Perhaps Job's initial reaction should be seen as a naïve attempt to put on a brave face while trying to stuff grief he hasn't given himself time to process?

            Phase two of the Accuser inflicting suffering on Job sees him face extreme physical pain. Job's theology is worth noting at this point. In 1:21, he says God gives and takes away. In 2:10, he asks his wife if they should "accept good from God, and not trouble?" For Job, at this point, God is the cause behind every experience. Health, wealth, sickness, or poverty; all of it comes from God. The whirlwind will have something to say about this in the book's final chapters.

            There is then a shift that takes place. Job's friends come to sympathize with and comfort him. But it is worth noting that they spend seven days in silence before any more words are spoken—thinking, reflecting, brooding, processing.

            When Job finally breaks the silence, in concert with the lament tradition of the Psalms, Job's tone has drastically changed. He is no longer singing worship songs. Throughout the following thirty-six chapters, Middleton reminds us frequently that Job is incredibly bold in his speech. Job "explodes into a passionate malediction and . . . utters a torrent of audacious words. His outburst is like an X-rated lament psalm." After having some time to process his losses, Job no longer seems content with a God who gives and takes away, a God who gives good and trouble.

            Despite his complaints toward God throughout the book, it is essential to point out what Job doesn't say or do. If the primary question of the book is how a wise person should speak to/about God in the face of suffering, Job about says it all. Yet, he doesn't speak several things. First, he doesn't curse God. Second, aside from his moment of worship in chapter 1, he certainly isn't worshipping through the rest of the book. Third, he doesn't ask for revenge. Fourth, he doesn't ask for a return to health or prosperity. Fifth and finally, he doesn't try to rationalize his suffering. The only thing Job asks for, amidst his complaints and laments, is for God to hear his case and respond.

            For thirty-six chapters, we hear from Job intermittently but are forced to sit through long-winded speeches by his friends. Whereas Job's theology suggests God as the root cause for all things (good and ill), Job's friends hold a similar, albeit slightly different, theology. All the friends seem to accept some version of a causal relationship between sin and suffering. 'You suffer, Job,' they brazenly suggest, 'because you have done something wrong.' For them, suffering is self-inflicted. God is always in the right and can do no wrong, so Job's words are seen as inappropriate. Further, humans are insignificant in the grand scheme of things, so, 'Job, keep your mouth shut. You are out of line.'

            Finally, in chapter 38, we hear from God. What to make of this God speaking from a whirlwind storm? Regardless of what is communicated in chapters 38‑42, these chapters are just a stunning series of questions and queries towards Job about the grandeur of the natural world. It is lovely to read even without weighty questions hanging in the background. I have always thought it would be brilliant to have these words by God narrated by David Attenborough while the Planet Earth crew set it to orchestral music and awe-inspiring shots of the natural world.

            I digress, though. There is a lot to unpack here. What is God doing? Bullying Job into submission with the snickering rhetoric of humbling and impossible-to-answer questions? It can read that way, but Middleton is at his best here, showcasing something far better at work. Middleton proposes that "God is correcting Job's [and his friends] theology, his assumptions about what the world is like and the nature of God's relationship to that world."

            How so? Many have argued that God's two speeches in these chapters showcase God's power and control over creation. In unpacking Job, it is as though many interpreters wish Job had stopped talking after chapter 1. God gives; God takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord. God is in control, so accept your fate and don't forget to worship.

            Not so fast, says Middleton. The purpose of the speech is not to demonstrate God's authority over creation but God's DELIGHT in creation. Middleton writes that God "does this to expand Job's perspective about the nature of created reality and God's role in it. The speech reminds Job that this world extends beyond human knowledge and concerns. God not only describes an intricately awe-inspiring cosmos but points out dimensions of creation that are simply inaccessible to humans. To some extent, the view that God is decentering Job is valid, in that God opens up to Job vistas of reality that go beyond Job's anthropocentric concerns."

            Job had thought that God didn't care about the created world. He was convinced that God must be a distant creator who created the world and then walked away without caring or concern for the creatures inhabiting it. God's speech indicates otherwise. As Middleton notes, God takes "an interest in various wild and weird animals and is attentive to their strange habits. God illustrates a curiosity [and delight] about his own creation."

            At the same time, the speech showcases that while God delights in his creation, knows it intimately, and finds it all incredibly curious, this God is not one to micromanage the cosmos. Again, Middleton sums it up nicely. "God's care for creatures does not entail his precise control of them. God is involved with creatures but gives them significant freedom to be themselves, even to be their wild and quirky selves. This freedom God grants creatures includes their vulnerability so that the strength, dignity, and beauty of various wild animals are intertwined with the realities of struggle and death, from which God does not automatically protect them. God is implicitly correcting Job's assumptions of a tic-tac-toe consequence structure to the universe."

            What Job and his friends had in common was an assumption that the cosmos operated on a system of action=consequence. For Job, he had done no wrong action; therefore, to experience suffering was unjust. His consequence made no sense, so he wanted his case heard in God's court. On the other hand, the friends see Job's suffering as the consequence of some unnamed wrong action. God's whirlwind speech scrambles the equation. As Terence Fretheimn explains, "For all the world's order and coherence, it doesn't run like a machine; a certain randomness, ambiguity, unpredictability, and play characterize its complex life."

            The speech is powerful and enchanting, YET, according to Middleton, "it isn't clear that God's speech accomplishes the goal that God had for addressing Job." In trying to correct his theology, it seems as though God has rendered Job mute. He no longer has anything to say (40:4-5). This is where the central question of the book comes into play. "What should a wise or righteous person say (especially about/to God) in the face of terrible suffering?" If God only wants submissive silence and obedience from humans, then 40:5 would make a great place to end the book. God has spoken, and Job is silent. But Middleton contends that is the exact opposite of what God wants. "This makes it clear why there is a second speech from God. God was not satisfied with Job's abased silence. God desired a worthy dialogue partner."

            Middleton's case for the Abraham/Isaac story is coming into even further focus. God doesn't want silence but human partners who will dialogue and engage. What God wants, it seems, are humans who are willing (like Jacob) to get into the ring and wrestle.

            And so, God launches into a second speech, this time with God's desired outcome. Job speaks in 42:2-6 and understands what God had hoped he would. Middleton sums it up, "Job had questioned God's cosmic governance, assuming that God ruled unjustly, wreaking havoc in the world, with capricious power. But now he has come to understand the wonders that he was previously unaware of—namely, that God celebrates the wildness of creation, giving untameable creatures great freedom to be themselves. Job acknowledges that God does not micromanage the cosmos. Job has finally then understood the point of God's challenge, that the Creator actually wanted a response from him. It took a personal theophany, a manifestation of YHWH, to move him beyond his prior opinion of God."

            But there is one final problem to be addressed. If all the above is true, why does Job repent as his final act? The NIV has Job ending his remarks to God: "Therefore, I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes." For Middleton, these words of Job have been grossly misunderstood and "most contemporary biblical scholars aren't satisfied with the rendering found in standard published translations."

            Middleton's translation renders Job's final words this way: "Therefore I retract and am comforted about dust and ashes." Damn! That reads very differently!

            Middleton takes Job's words to mean that he is either withdrawing his accusation of God's injustice or retracting his inappropriate, passive response to God after the first speech when he refuses to answer.

            The dust and ashes part could mean that Job is saying he is consoled or comforted by the fact that he is simply dust and ashes. In other words, according to Middleton, "he has come to accept that the fragile nature of the human condition, with all its suffering, is not incompatible with the royal dignity and importance of humanity in God's sight, evident in God's willingness both to hear Job's complaint and to answer Him. Despite being dust and ashes, he has been heard and taken seriously by the Creator of the cosmos."

            Speaking to Job's friends later, God tells them that "You have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has." Job was right to complain. He was right to request an audience with God. Sure, he lacked the understanding that can only come with a theophany from God, but when confronted with immense suffering, he had spoken correctly. He hadn't cursed God. He hadn't tried to rationalize his suffering. God is not seeking quiet, silent obedience but a vigorous debate partner.

            As Middleton puts it, "The Book of Job suggests that between the extremes of blessing God explicitly and cursing God, there is the viable option of an honest, forthright challenge to God in prayer, which God both wants and expects of those made in the divine image. God comes not to bury Job, but precisely to praise Him."

            Abraham should have known this, as we shall see in the next post. But he missed it. And so, Job functions as the sequel to the Abraham/Isaac story. Job offers a second opinion on what it means to speak to and about God in the face of suffering. Job got it right. As we shall see, Abraham didn't.

            One final little tidbit that I can't help but highlight. In the end, of course, Job receives back his material blessing. He once again knows wealth and is gifted ten children, seven sons and three daughters. What is strange and often overlooked, however, is that only the daughters are named in the text. Even more telling is that we are told Job gives his daughters an inheritance equal to his sons. This is almost unheard of in the Old Testament and the entire ancient near eastern world. "Why might this be important?" queries Middleton. "Has Job's experience of being ostracized and at the bottom of the social ladder, along with his protest about the injustice he has felt, profoundly impacted his ethical sensibilities and spilt over into advocacy on behalf of those suffering the injustice of patriarchy?" Great question. Almost 40 years into my journey with Scripture, there are plenty of surprises for those keen enough to keep looking.

Artwork: Out of the Whirlwind by Roger Wagner

Part 2: Lament

Middleton's exegetical hypothesis suggests that we read the Abraham and Isaac story through the lens of Scripture's wisdom tradition: the Lament Psalms and the book of Job, specifically. Many are familiar with the lament tradition in Scripture, so this will only be a brief post before we spend more time in Job and Genesis. The lament tradition is essential, though, for Middleton's interpretive case.

        That case begins with a most curious idea at the heart of Middleton's book. What purpose do the Lament Psalms serve? What purpose does the book of Job serve? Or the story of Abraham being willing to sacrifice Isaac? As Middleton emphasizes, Scripture is frustratingly opaque when it comes to providing any rationale for suffering in our world. It certainly showcases the prevalence of suffering, yet why we must suffer is a question Scripture never seems to address head-on. Perhaps, Middleton suggests, these psalms and stories exist to show us how to speak to/of God during life's most trying times. Maybe they show us how the wise and righteous speak to God when life is at its worst. It is an exciting hypothesis.

        As Martin Bertman puts it, the lament Psalms showcase that "the Hebrew attitude towards the apparent existence of evil in the world has generally been to adopt the principle that the individual ought not to deny his own experience." The lesson seems to be that we are free to speak our truth to God in the face of suffering. Our truth may not be the whole picture, but in prayer and worship, we do not deny our experience of how suffering makes us feel.

        And so, Middleton notes, "In these prayers, ancient Israelites grappled with God, complaining about their intolerable situations (often blaming God for abandoning them or even targeting them) and pleading for deliverance." Besides cursing God directly (which is more of a question in the book of Job), very little seems to be off the table regarding what can be appropriately said or volleyed at God. Working with Psalms 39 and 88, Middleton demonstrates that all sorts of speech are welcome before God.

         Middleton says, "It certainly isn't 'theologically correct' to accuse God of doing evil, as this psalmist has done [Psalm 39]. This is a statement made in extremity, out of desperation. But it is not unique in the Psalter." And the Psalter is instructive for communities of faith. It is the pattern of worship and prayer passed down over generations and millennia. The Psalter is instructive regarding how we speak of God and to God.

        Want to complain to God about life's miseries and sufferings? Go for it. Want to accuse God or blame God for causing them? Go for it. Want to shout and shake your fists at the sky? All above board. As Middleton concludes, "Silence about pain in our society and in the church conveys the message that God simply doesn't care about suffering. Too many churchgoers have had to suppress their pain to sing glib hymns of praise and thanksgiving, when what was really needed was closer to a primal scream of rage."

        Having established that bold, accusatory language is appropriate and even a welcome part of prayer/worship, both then and now, Middleton is left with a perplexing question. Why is Abraham so silent when told to kill his son? When Abraham hears a voice asking for Isaac as a sacrifice, he doesn't complain, blame, or accuse God of anything. He remains largely silent. Why? Something is amiss.

Artwork is Blood, Sweat, and Tears by Alison Saar, 2005.

The Binding of Isaac: Part 1

I was in a feisty, combative mood. The scotch and wine I had shared with some close pastor friends was probably fueling my desire for a theological throwdown. I meet regularly with a small group of pastors that I count as good friends. Our time together is often spent checking in on each other, creating space for us all to share about the challenges and joys of pastoral ministry. This group has been a lifeline for me.

         And yet, at other times, we pastors just can't seem to help ourselves. Our meetings, on occasion, function as a sort of theological royal rumble. Throw out experimental ideas and takes on Scripture or the life of faith, and then duke it out. Pick ideas apart, expose their weaknesses, and see what sticks and what doesn't. I love it.

         On this evening I was itching to get in the ring and wrestle things out. I had a bee in my bonnet. You see, the week prior, a person who used to attend Nexus Church, but had recently lost their faith and left our community, posted some thoughts to social media that made me cringe.

         "I can't believe I used to believe in a God who ordered Abraham to kill his own son. I am embarrassed to think I used to see this story as an example of outstanding faith rather than evidence of a cruel and bloodthirsty God (which I no longer believe in). Funny isn't it how preachers always avoid this story. I suppose if they didn't avoid it, they might come to the same conclusion I did. This imaginary, bloodthirsty God isn't worth believing in."

         Ouch! There was a double sting in seeing this person's post. Most vexing to me was that I HAD preached on this story, within the last year in fact (and I think I did a pretty good job of it, all things considered). Second, though, it stung because this person wasn't entirely wrong. Pastors/preachers DO avoid this story. And if we didn't, maybe we WOULD come to the same conclusion as this person. The story of God asking Abraham to sacrifice his own son in cold blood is an incredibly disturbing story. As Leon R. Kass writes, "No story in Genesis is as terrible, as powerful, as mysterious, as elusive as this one. It defies easy and confident interpretations, and…continues to baffle me."

         Baffle indeed. It can be easy for Christians to ignore, or even just spiritualize, some of the more disturbing elements of the Old Testament. "Are you willing to give up the thing that matters most to you for God?" a preacher might ask, as though this story preaches in the same way as Jesus asking a rich young ruler to give up his wealth. This Abraham story doesn't bend so easily, however, to spiritualizing. In fact, this episode in Genesis is affirmed as exemplary in the New Testament. In Hebrews 11, the writer mentions the story of Abraham being willing to kill Isaac as a testament to faith. Really? What do you do with that?      

         The reality is that if any of us heard a voice asking us to kill our child, we would seriously question that voice and maybe even check ourselves into some mental health institution (or at least I hope we would). Today, we might applaud a person willing to give up all their wealth for God. But there is no way we would applaud the person who would claim willingness to kill their child for God.

         We can suppose it unfair to impose our cultural realities and values onto a story that comes to us from a very different time and place. Fair enough, "presentism" is without question a lens too many people bring to Scripture. Moreover, I happen to think it is the height of arrogance to insist characters from history behave by our set of rules and standards. Even still, this isn't a question primarily about human action, but divine action. Regardless of how Abraham performs within the story, the harder question is wrestling with whether God ordered someone to kill their child? And even if this God stopped Abraham in the knick of time, what kind of cruel experiment is it to test someone's faith by way of their willingness to murder or not?

         Something is amiss here. And so, with a glass of midnight wine in my hand, I lobbed these hard questions at this consortium of pastors I call friends. "How can any of you defend this story? Give me your best interpretation. If someone were to ask you how you can believe in a God who would employ this cruel and unusual test of faith, what would you say?" Debate and bedlam ensued, each pastor vigorously trying to work out how to explain this story, none of us content with our own answers by the end of the evening.

         So, what do we do with this story? Are we left either trying to ignore it, or worse, trying to defend and rationalize how being willing to murder is a sign of faith?

         For Christmas last year, a mentor of mine gifted me a book that I only got around to reading recently. Abraham's Silence: The Binding of Isaac, the Suffering of Job, and How to Talk Back to God by J. Richard Middleton. This book is remarkable and has totally upended the way I see both the story in question, but also the entire book of Job. Walter Brueggemann calls the book "interpretation at its most daring and at its best." Rabbi Irving Greenburg says the book is "a masterpiece of once-in-a-generation quality." That is some lofty praise, and I certainly agree.

         And so, over the next little while, I want to share some of the daring and bold insights this book provides on some of the most uncomfortable stories of the Old Testament. Rather than tackle this story head-on, Middleton builds a case, drawing from different sections of the Old Testament. The book is divided into three sections: he begins by having us examine the Psalms and in particular, the Psalms of lament. Next, he unpacks the book of Job. Only after showcasing the precedents set in the Psalms and Job, does he address the story of Abraham and Isaac head-on. So, if you have ever wondered what to make of the story of Abraham and Isaac, I invite you to follow along over the next week.

The artwork is by Caravaggio, Sacrifice of Isaac, 1602

A Welcome

Welcome, gentle reader, to my blog! I have but meagre expectations for this space. Even still, I hope you may find something of value here. I am considering this space my own personal travelogue, a diary of sorts if you will: a place to collect thoughts and reflections as I traverse through life on the Jesus Path. My posts won’t all fit within a neat category, even still, you can expect to find posts within four broad categories:

What I’m Reading - I like to read, mostly within the realm of theology or spirituality, but I am also a massive fan of historical, narrative, non-fiction. So posts under the category #whatimreading will generally fall under faith or historical page-turners.

Goats On Cows - I am always looking for goats on cows, those moments that fall somewhere between causality and coincidence, the purely random and obviously purposeful. I am convinced that God is at work in those moments, and when we notice them, an invitation awaits. Posts under #goatsoncows will feature those moments, events, songs, happenings that grab my attention and have me looking for an invite.

Postcards from the Path - Reflections on the journey of faith. Posts under #postcards could be musings on sermons I have given, the Bible, faith, community, or some other half-baked idea I am trying on for size.

Life Is Awkward - If I had to choose one word that sums up my own experience of life, it would just have to be “awkward.” Posts under #awkward will simply recount, diary style, my awkward encounters in the world or what it feels like to, as Karl Rahner would say, “live in the torment of the insufficiency of everything attainable.”

So, that is the plan, but who knows where this will lead?

Soul Boom

Until a recent trip to my local bookstore, I was unaware that Rainn Wilson (of Dwight Schrute fame) was an author. When I saw his name on the cover of this attractively labelled book, I was immediately curious what the star of The Office might have to say about, well, anything. My curiosity was doubled when it appeared Rainn was looking to start a spiritual revolution. I flipped through the table of contents and then leafed to the back to check out his reading recommendations and acknowledgements. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon him referencing David Bentley Hart, not once, but twice.

Under Rainn’s must-read books section, he noted everyone should read David Bentley Hart. Even more curious, he personally thanks DBH in his acknowledgements for introducing him to the mystic Christian way. Are Rainn Wilson and DBH friends? Do they share drinks together and talk about religion? If so, new life goal = find a way to insert myself into their company. Having made a mental note about that, the possibility that this book in front of me might offer David Bentley Hart somehow in conversation with Dwight Schrute struck me as something I couldn’t afford to miss. I bought the book without hesitation.



What I found in the book wasn’t quite what I was expecting (only two brief mentions of DBH). While I didn’t get the conversation I was hoping for, what I did learn is that Wilson is actually part of the Baha’i faith tradition. Fair enough, I learned much about the Baha’i religion in the pages of the book. Seems like a pretty good spiritual path, all things considered. I appreciated him owning the particular path he travels rather than advocating for some kind of bland and nebulous spirituality.

Of course, I wondered if I would struggle reading the book without imagining Dwight Schrute narrating it to me. That was definitely part of my experience reading it, and it wasn’t particularly bothersome or distracting. In fact, in tone and style, the book reads a lot like the kind of work Rob Bell might produce these days. Their writing styles felt almost eerily similar. Swap each author’s starting place in faith and I could have sworn I was reading from Bell himself. Imagine Dwight Schrute preaching about how everything is spiritual and asking “are you with me?” and you have the idea.

The similarities between Bell and Wilson don’t end with writing styles either. One of the interesting tidbits of info Wilson gives his reader is some insight into his failure to convince any of Hollywood’s gatekeepers, or any of the streaming service giants, to allow him to produce a show about God and faith. It seems both Bell and Wilson have had a hard time bringing serious conversations about God to Hollywood.

The good of the book? Well, he covers a lot of well-trod ground for anyone familiar with Rob Bell or others like him. There weren’t a lot of novel things to chew on. That being said, I found it refreshing to hear him make a coherent case for taking God, prayer, and faith communities seriously. He digs pretty hard into the "spiritual but not religious" crowd. As someone who believes strongly in choosing a spiritual path to follow in the context of community, I really appreciated this from Wilson. Moreover, given his writing style, he is able to talk about his spiritual revolution while keeping a grin on your face.

What would I critique? Well, my jaw almost hit the floor when, after spending the first half of his book making the case for mooring yourself to a religious tradition, Wilson spends the last few chapters pitching "a new religion". Coming from Rainn Wilson, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to take this idea seriously. After making his case for two chapters, however, I was puzzled to realize he wasn’t kidding around at all. In fact, I think he was even serious about the name of this new religion, “SoulBoom.” Really? I confess, there were moments when I considered tossing the book across the room. I couldn’t imagine telling someone I belong to the SoulBoom religion.

Essentially his pitch for a new religion boils down to this: people need more than individual spirituality. We NEED religion. We NEED to work out our spiritual lives in the context of community. We NEED the collective wisdom of the world’s ancient religions. BUT . . . all of our ancient religions have too much baggage, so we need a new one that takes their wisdom, but leaves the rest behind.

Initially, I confess, I was annoyed by his recommendation. It strikes me as the height of hubris and arrogance to suggest forming a new religion. Moreover, Wilson’s work showcases the similarities between faith traditions, and yet, it far too easily glossed over important differences and distinctions. To suggest that every faith path is heading to the same place lacks humility. For me, it is the flip side of the coin to those who insist only one religion or path is right. Both assertions feel arrogant and cheap to me.

That being said, I found Wilson earnest and his book a pleasure to read. I think Wilson’s new religion idea was born out of both a pragmatic view of the world and a sincere concern for humanity. To the latter, Wilson speaks at length about his concern for the state of our planet, and for children and youth in particular. On top of the major existential crises we face (pandemics, climate change, nuclear war, increasing polarization), Wilson is deeply concerned about the mental health crisis among our youth. It seems Wilson sincerely believes a strong dose of religion would do the world a lot of good right now. And I don’t think he is wrong there.

At the same time, the idea from Wilson is fiercely pragmatic. He spends time looking at the “religious nones and dones” category of the population. As it stands, people without a religious affiliation are growing rapidly while those with one continue to shrink at an alarming rate. People are done with religion and they aren’t coming back . . . and often for good reasons. That is the reality of the situation. And as far as I can tell, no one is doing a good job of bringing people back.

For Wilson though, religion is too important to give up on. We need religion in order to address the multiple crises we are facing. So, if folks aren’t coming back to the ancient religions, well, the pragmatic solution might very well be to create a new one. And though I might disagree, it does make a certain amount of sense. I can respect and admire that.

As I mention in my book, A Path Called Compelling, we all need a spiritual path to travel. We wander aimlessly without one. Here Wilson and I certainly agree. Now, more than ever, humanity needs a path if there is hope to find healing and restoration in our world. And while I advocate for the Jesus Path, I commend Wilson for the courage, perhaps even the audacity, to try to form one of his own. If only he could do something about the name of that path ;)

For those interested, here are the 21 tenets of this new SoulBoom religion. Wilson of course expands on each of these in his book, but for those looking for a snapshot, here it is.

1. A Higher Power

2. Life After Death
3. Power of Prayer
4. Transcendence
5. Community
6. Moral Compass
7. Force of love
8. Increased Compassion
9. Service to the Poor
10. Strong sense of purpose
11. No clerics
12. Diversity plus harmony
13. Centrality of divine feminine
14. Cooperation between science and faith
15. Profound connection to the natural world
16. Centrality of justice
17. A life of service
18. Practical spiritual tools
19. Emphasis on music and arts
20. Humility
21. Potlucks



Not bad stuff, not bad at all. You could certainly do far worse. While it may not be the path I choose to follow, it is still a path, and I have no doubt being a part of SoulBoom would get a person a lot farther than they would without a path altogether. And for that, I tip my hat to Wilson.