The Steps Between Two Chairs by Adrienn V

Please know that this is only part of the story. We have adventures, we hang out with people, we have joy, we play, we laugh, we learn, and we have so much hope. We feel challenged but not at all defeated.

These next couple of weeks, would you especially pray for Leila and Benicio?

It’s the 15^th  of August, Independence Day in India. We are sitting in the courtyard of our society, the space between the block houses that make up our apartment complex. A committee of residents is putting on a show with kids dancing, reciting rhymes, showing their talents. Later, there will be singing, men and women standing together in two different groups, answering back and forth to each other in Hindi songs. Anthony and I are talking to neighbors, and eating some spicy snacks. Our kids are sitting on the edge of the stage, watching other children dance, trying to snag some orange-white-green balloons, playing with mini-flags. I see Leila look at the girls chatting, laughing in small groups, watching others as they wait for their turn to dance in beautiful Indian dresses while lots of make-up. The girls Leila likes are a bit older, probably seven or eight. She calls them her friends, even though they don’t care much about her. I see her face, longing to belong, longing to find her place, missing the ease of making friends back home.

Last year, when we were preparing for our move to India, a friend told me a line she heard at a conference. I’ve thought of it countless of times since then. When you’re diving into obedience as a family, the enemy's favorite areas to attack are in finances, health, and one’s children. As anxious as I sometimes am about money and living on support, and as scared as I am of one of us getting dengue fever or malaria or some kind of nasty parasite, we have been doing relatively well on both fronts. It’s my children that my heart is breaking for time after time.

Leila is sitting on my lap as we listen to the songs, noticing two girls a couple seats over. There’s an empty chair next to them, and I nudge her to go take it. She gets down, takes a step, wants to pull me with her, and I give her my most encouraging look: Go on, honey, be courageous, I know how hard it is, I know what it feels like. I’m right here watching you and you can come back to me any minute. She goes, slow as a turtle, staring at the girls. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. She sits down, stiff, not saying a word. The girls don’t even notice her at all. But who cares? You took those steps, my love.

Later, she follows these girls around the yard. There are now eight of them together, speaking a mixture of Hindi, English, and little girl slang. She lags behind, not saying a word, not really part of the group, just around, hoping no one will notice that she is there, hoping that someone will.

I’m standing next to the wall, watching, tears streaming down my face. Praying one, just one, of the girls would be kind enough to talk to her, hold her hand, smile at her, invite her in. Later, I will go and ask them to explain to Leila what they are playing, and they do. It’s too many rules for her to remember, but she joins in the running—and I’m so proud of her strength.

Leila and Benicio, my little loves. We know that life is challenging here and you feel so out of control. We know you miss your friends and want to belong. We know that this experience will shape you in countless ways. We pray for comfort and peace and security, we pray for friends and joy, we pray that as you grow, our Father would make your hearts sensitive to those on the outside, those who hurt, those who are lonely, those who want to belong. May you become people who notice, who smile, who invite others in. You are loved more than you know.

Cancer Á La Christianity: How am I thinking about all this? by Jennifer Bell

For those of you who are following my cancer fun, you’ll probably note that my public story is curiously devoid of talk about God. That just seems wrong. I thought I’d offer, right here, right now, exclusively, my own take on my “battle” with breast cancer (diagnosed in late June) from a Christian perspective. I should do it early, before you all get entirely weary of hearing about it. (My husband, ironically, is a lung cancer researcher: so he’s already saying how it’s cancer cancer cancer—he wakes up to cancer, he works all day in cancer, he goes home to cancer. Pretty awful. Pray for the guy. I find myself asking often: how long can any one man do this?).

And why am I not talking about God?

Well, there’s history here, and I don’t want to repeat it. I made a conscious decision to write for a secular audience, to publish in secular presses, and to opt for just writing plainly about Truth rather than proselytizing or evangelizing. I do have some doubts about this stance, but I’m going with it. I think the big motivator behind my decision is that I’ve mostly disliked “Christian art,” which is varied, admittedly, but I’ve not wanted to be associated with it. I’ve also been put off by the way artistic standards are often compromised by Christians. I don’t think this is God’s call, but Christians seem to be at a loss on how to play out artistic talent. The art often seems contrived, not very provocative or rich. It’s soft or weak or fearful-of-stepping-on-toes. So, I just bowed out.

So, yeah, I’m working on a real memoir that I hope to really publish, and this piece will not be included in it. I do stress about that, about the absence of a statement of faith. And maybe this is all related to how I think about my cancer in terms of Christianity.

Well, first and foremost, I will say that I’m not going to sit around and whine about how unfair this all is. This is where, finally, my Gen X cynicism may morph into something good (ha, ha, mom!). Of course, this happened to me! What did anyone expect? Am I not a perfect candidate for cancer?

I guess the very first takeaway (that ridiculous language!) is this: predestination. I can see the hand of God here. I wish He were writing my history in some other way, but He’s not.

There were some amazing facts about my life prior to the diagnosis, and immediately following it:

·      In recent years, my marriage had sharply taken a turn for the better. There are things that still suck, but we’re in a better spot. We couldn’t handle this a few years ago, and—though I wish it weren’t like this—we can now. I’m sorry that we don’t get more time “frolicking.” We were just talking to our girls about couples who might watch/babysit them, and we wanted for them to be couples who seemed to talk to each other and laugh together. This isn’t the end-all, but it’s something. It really, really is. And we’re there: we talk and laugh together! (And, yeah, I’m wary when that’s not happening in a marriage.) I do think God graciously got us to this place in our marriage, and the process was not fun, and I am scared, because we only had a moment to breathe, and there are still problems, but God waited for cancer to happen till we were okay, and my kids can be in a home in which mom and dad love each other.

·      We’re in a good church. I think God graciously surrounded us with the right people. There’s a ton to say here too, but I do want to emphasize how important this has been to me, and how dramatic it’s been too. I grew up elsewhere, and it took a lot to make this change, and it’s only been positive. Again, I know this is the work of God.

·      We moved to a new house immediately before the diagnosis. We were also relatively settled prior to the diagnosis, and my mom is right next door. In all honesty, we made the move to help her out and, sadly, she’s doing the helping. But, well, there you go. Had I gotten the diagnosis even one or two weeks earlier, it would’ve been insanely stressful. In other God-given blessings, our old house sold immediately (thanks to a member of our church) and I had actually finished doing all of the minutia of moving—things like putting my knickknacks away, other tasks that would certainly have remained undone.

·      I spent the previous year writing a book, and I finished it. I’m sure this means way more to me than to anyone else—but it’s huge. I still do have things I really want to write, but God gave me that whole freakin’ year to just sit on my butt with a cup of coffee in a relatively stress-free marriage to write the novel I’ve been wanting to write! Have you ever heard of such a thing?

·      This, too, sounds maybe goofy to you. We had been planning to go to Disneyworld for almost a year with Tim’s family when I was diagnosed. Not one of them asked—though I know they all wanted to, as I would want to—Are we still going? In an amazing feat by doctors, I had surgery first in early July—removing the cancer. Then, we went to Disney at the end of July, with me still pretty weak. When we returned, I began chemo. Like, right away. The first week of August. At Disney, Tim pretty much schlepped me around 100% of the time. But I’ll tell you this: I see this as God’s doing.

The doctors all said I could wait on the surgery, and go to Disney first, having surgery later. They said, statistically, my cancer wouldn’t change—so I should just go on vacation! Forget the possibility of a metastasizing terminal illness! Go see Mickey first! In truth, this sounded like utter madness to me. I couldn’t wait; there was no way I could wait!

Others told me to cancel Disney when the diagnosis came in—how ridiculous to consider going now! Disney wasn’t going anywhere! Forget the fact that, for us, this was a massively big deal with tons of planning and coordinating and money! Well, I thought, maybe I wouldn’t go, but they all would. Complete cancellation would be horrible for so many people, especially my kids.

Then, there was another possibility—a very strong one: surgery without reconstruction (yes, I’m getting fake breasts, happening slowly now). The reconstruction process required more recovery time, and Disney would just hurt. I had about decided to postpone the reconstruction—no breasts!—just so my kids could go to Disney. This is where I was headed. Get the cancer out. Forget about the fake breasts. We’d still go to Disney.

Well, I have to tell you this: my doctors hustled, and Tim and I hustled. I really do need to give a lot of credit to the surgeons involved in this. We were on a tight schedule. I wanted the cancer out. And everyone agreed that it was best to start the reconstruction process (two surgeons work simultaneously) immediately for more success and less surgery, though my trip made things tough. They adjusted schedules, and got me in the door in  couple days, as opposed to weeks. I had surgery and reconstruction; then I went to Disney! It did hurt a lot, but it worked. I have a hard time imagining the horror of living with cancerous tumors while going to Disneyworld. I also know that the reconstruction process, albeit very weird, is something I’m glad we started.

·      Well, here’s God too: Tim has a good job, and we have good health insurance. You probably know how important that is. Even more than that, his job is especially sensitive to cancer—though this is tragic too.

·      I went back to teaching college after a not-super-great foray into junior and high school teaching. This, too, is huge for me in terms of job satisfaction, writer stuff, and schedule! (Also, with both jobs, I had the summer off.)

·      My kids got to see Tim’s family, as well as their Aunt Tracey and Aunt Debbie from my side of the family. And this means a ton to everyone. Besides my kids’ opportunity, it was important for all of us—to affirm connections, speak, laugh, cry.

·      When the cancer came, I found myself surrounded—no exaggeration—by loving people who swept in and boosted me up. I’m not going to lie to you. We’re talking about moms mostly, but not exclusively. I was—and am—still very hesitant to accept this help, but I am so deeply moved. We’ve been fed. My girls got play dates. This amazes me, and it only attests to the God in which they trust.

There are other things, too personal to mention. But when the diagnosis happened, these are some of the circumstances.

I also get morbidly weird on people, so I should preface this next part. I’m still not sure how to correctly think about it all. I do wonder if my own work, the life I was meant to live, is nearing its end. We are given this life. And maybe I’ve lived mine. Perhaps my life was meant—yes, I think this—to be lived in order to give others the lives they’re meant to live. Actually, I think this a lot. I think about Tim, and how he can do this. I didn’t make it so, but God did. And Tim can totally manage. I stuck around for that. I wrote a few books. My girls are here, in a good spot, strangely sweet (I say strange because I’m notably not sweet).

Maybe it’s my time?

My girls are the one part of this morbid picture I don’t have a handle on. I have a hard time figuring out how my early death will work for the good in their lives. I don’t want to leave them. I think of kids growing up without parents, and how it’s possible, but I don’t want that. I’d like to strike a deal with God, and I can’t. Just let me live till their adults. Then, take me.

And I worry about Tim.

Which leads me to other important questions: What if I’m not going to die? Why is this happening now?

Well, I have some thoughts on this—and I need to acknowledge that I could be entirely wrong. I don’t  know God’s ways. I really don’t know why it’s happening now. But I do have some thoughts.

First, I’m going with this: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).

I have to stand here. I’m riddled with doubts. I can’t lie. But I have to stand on the sovereignty, goodness, and wisdom of God. This is part of a good plan.

Ouch?

I do know, really, truly, I’ve seen other seemingly horrible—actually, really horrible—things work out in amazing ways. I also know that I, personally, have not foreseen the good coming from these bad situations; I’ve been unable to see things clearly. I’ve been notoriously shortsighted and cynical. So who am I to say that there is no good to come from this?

Sanctification, then.

If I were to hazard a guess, an appropriate response, to this pretty horrible situation—that is, undoubtedly, jeopardizing my life (and aren’t all lives jeopardized, whether we acknowledge it or not?) and changing the shape of my marriage and scaring my kids and robbing me of my physique and forcing me to come to terms with my own stance on things—I might say that this is pushing the artist-identity thing within me, and my own identity in Christ is what is at stake in this miserable battle.

I just spent the weeks following surgery reading Rosaria Champagne Butterfield’s Openness Unhindered, which I decided not to review (there were things I really liked about it, and things that really bugged me). However, the major principle that hit me in reading this was her take on personal identity. She linked one’s self-preservation, one’s clinging to personal identity, with pride.

I am now forced to figure out what my own identity is. I have—and you may know this well: I don’t really need to spell it out—vehemently forged out an identity as an Artist, albeit second-rate, unorthodox, kinda conservative, but Artist nonetheless. And it’s meant a lot of crazy things in my life.

I feel like I might’ve written about this elsewhere, so cut me some slack if I have.

As my own writer identity (Writer is probably better than Artist) emerged within the Church (I grew up in it, and this is contextually important), I remember several key things happening. To mention only a few:

·      There were a lot of artistically talented types, really skilled, but not driven, not mad with their love of guitar or sculpture or prose. They could deal with their talent without following it, heeding some secret call they knew they heard. I envied them their mental health, to be honest. They were so healthy! They got jobs in other fields, called their talent hobbies, kept talking about needing more time to paint or whatever. But I also thought they weren’t the real deal. I judged them. I still do. When someone performs for me, or I see a show, or I read a book—every time: I’m looking for the authentic artistic moment. This is both awful and indicative of a sad truth. I don’t know what it means to submit myself, my identity to God, to be truly His and His alone. There’s that. The awful part. I hoard my own personal identity. At the same time, what’s wrong with our artistic community? Why such a lack of authenticity within the Church? Why are our artists so second-rate? Why are we compelled to relegate the Arts to a hobby, an extracurricular activity, something not as important as real work?

·      One of the most powerful memories I have from growing up is of a Christian woman who was a classical pianist (real deal: judgment call!) giving it up for God, so to speak. She was a raging talent. An artist! There was something magnificent about seeing her play, and I knew this at twelve. This is all from my perspective, so I can only claim limited knowledge—but this very real, blow-you-away, unquenchable, raw talent, was abandoned by her by the time I reached adulthood. Why? As idolatrous? The woman continued living on, but she did not thrive. She really didn’t. I’m sure there were extenuating circumstances. But I know I’m not alone in seeing this as a tragedy about art and artists. I also remember thinking that I wouldn’t let that happen to me.

·      I have numerous bright and articulate friends who think my “privileging” of the artistic identity is bunk. That it’s just another gift or personality type or talent. I love these people, and they’re among some of my closest friends. I think when I get all worked up on the topic, they kindly sigh and say, Let her talk. Nice, but I’m clinging to my special vision of the artist. The Artiste, if you will. But, hey, maybe this is the very thing that needs to go.

And so my own identity bloomed, burned. An identity in Christ? Yes, that too. As in the following: in addition to my other identity, my identity as Writer.

Even as I write this, I believe there is something unique and not to be forsaken about our individual make-ups, our identities. I want to be super careful here. I know I don’t want to fully submit my own sense of self; I am convicted of this—but I still believe there’s something important about our own identities. I’m very much troubled by this tension between fully submitting to God and carving out who we are as individuals.

In addition, I think it’s important to come to terms with things like self-confidence. It’s true that we live in a culture that talks a lot about self-esteem. We give kids As for effort, participation trophies galore. We work hard in building self-esteem. And I know that many Christians balk at this notion; in some ways, I do too. As a teacher, I don’t like how we let knowledge slip for the sake of self-esteem. At the same time, I’m not so willing to suggest that it isn’t important to build people up. Repentance for sin is good. Is having a sense of who you are sin? Is it thinking too highly of oneself? What is the place of self-confidence? (Artists must have some self-confidence, am I right?)

Okay, was that a big tangent?

My guess is that—and I’m totally thinking aloud, pretty candidly, all about self-exposure, why not?—my own sanctification process involves resolving this tension between personal identity and submitting to God.

(Maybe oddly, I wrestle less with my loss of physique, though I hate that—and I feel super insecure about it with my husband and I’m paranoid about hair loss. Somehow or other, I’m—at heart—okay. My husband probably won’t buy this. But, believe me, too: I’m rushing after those fake breasts—so maybe I’m being dishonest here.)

And so here I am. Cancering it. Forced, at last, to find out who I am in relation to Christ. I see myself as a sinner in need of a Redeemer. But is my “sense of self” counted as sin? Is this where my treasure is?

Here are some verses I’m pondering:

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21).

“²³ Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. ²⁴ For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. ²⁵ What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self? ²⁶ Whoever is ashamed of me and my words, the Son of Man will be ashamed of them when he comes in his glory and in the glory of the Father and of the holy angels” (Luke 9:23-26).

¹⁵ The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship.^[a] And by him we cry, “Abba, Father” (Romans 8:15).

“As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, ² in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient. ³ All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our flesh^[a] and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature deserving of wrath. ⁴ But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, ⁵ made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. ⁶ And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, ⁷ in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. ⁸ For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— ⁹ not by works, so that no one can boast. ¹⁰ For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (Ephesians 2: 1-10).

^“You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; ²³ to be made new in the attitude of your minds; ²⁴ and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness” (Ephesians 4: 22-24).

There are a ton more. So my second takeaway is this: Who am I, really?

Father by Kirsten Snyder

My biological father is serving a life sentence in prison.

Included in his crimes is rape.

My father is a rapist.

I heard the violent and scary stories about my father. He kidnapped me when they split up; all I think I can remember is crying and being in the vehicle. He tried contacting me on one of my birthdays. I carefully listened in on the phone when my mom's face turned white and she rushed in her bedroom. A triumphal occasion when I was twenty-two and purchased my first house turned sour when I started receiving gradually, increasingly insane letters from prison from him. Even as I write this, I am scared to share too much.

I spent a number of years from childhood through young adult wondering what parts of me were from my father. I was the only one in my family with blue eyes, and I knew my “ugly feet” came from him. I was told he was one of those people who was so smart that he was crazy. To me, that meant be smart, but don't be so smart that it turns you crazy. Those awkward teen years of being hyper and goofy gave me warnings: be fun, but not too much that it turns you crazy. Basically, anything that wasn't strictly walking a line was one step closer to becoming the mad man that was inside of me.

I used to believe in the pro-choice stance of giving exceptions for rape and incest. Then I heard the dehumanizing pro-choice voices about “the child conceived in rape.” I remember seeing a “Dateline” show, or maybe it was “20/20 ,” about a girl who was adopted out of prison and lived in the shadow of her insane mother who had shot and killed her siblings. I understood her. While I knew I had part of my own father, this evil person, inside of me, I felt I had conducted myself in society pretty well up until that point. I mean, I was a hard worker, good in school, not a drain on anyone (like this is my measurement as a person). Surely, those children born out of rape could be similar. Plus, I had never really connected my father’s evil deeds to me, as his product. While I was fearful of being his, I fought against the idea that I was his bad product. This is where my ideals of pro-choice exceptions didn’t line up.

The voices about the “child of a rapist” angered me. I am not my father's daughter. I am not my father. I am not my father's daughter. It took me several years to figure out (and I still continue to work through it from different angles) who I was.

Here, I could give you many Scriptures that speak about the new creation in Christ. These were healing waters for me. I was not destined to be the creation of a monster. Still, the almighty gods of science and society were screaming the nature-over-nurture chant, and their cries lingered in my mind. New discoveries were being made, however. The Human Genome Project found that, while we share up to 99% of the same DNA with apes, there is a large difference on how our genes regulate themselves. To put it plainly, humans have a vastly higher percentage of changeable genes, while apes have more rigid genes. This led me to geek out on the study of epigenetics. Now, science was saying the opposite: that you are not bound entirely by your DNA. I was not bound, and like a doubting Thomas, I could now fully trust that God's Word was true.

Some in the pro-choice community would say, So you are a child of a rapist, but were you conceived in rape?

Will the answer to that question change anything about my value?

Activism Prep: The Teeny Tiny Edition by Faith Christiansen Smeet

Once you know, you can’t “unknow” the injustice, the cruelty, the inhumane, the grotesque you just witnessed from a friend’s Facebook post or Twitter feed. And you have already made a rally cry using your own keyboard, posted your own versions of the same issue, relied on friends for more of the story or interpretations, and social media is “blowing up.”

So now what?

Here are a few things that will prepare you when stepping away from your screen to fully join the campaign for legitimate social and political change:

1. Pray really hard and without ceasing. It’s just that simple, and yet so complex and powerful. One can sit on a computer all day, but crying out to the Lord is where the action is and always will be. God says so.
2. Put on the full armor of God. See Ephesians 6:10-18:

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. 11 Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. 12 For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.13 Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. 14 Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, 15 and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. 16 In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. 17 Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

18 And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.

3.     Do your homework. Research and then do more research and then ask the experts and then ask a few more. Cognitive dissonance and an inability to understand all sides of the issue could be the chink in your armor and a deterrent to those who need you the most. Research will also allow you to experience empathy and sympathy, which are powerful tools of change.

4.     Take care of yourself, too. Spiritually and emotionally—so you are able for the long hard road ahead. You might be stuck in the trenches of outrage, fear, and disappointment in the sinful world for a while. You need to be healthy for the fight. The effectiveness of your actions rely on the force in which you are able to make them, even the small ones.

5.     Show up at home before you head out the door. Generationally, change starts at home. How we raise our children and influence our family in deed and in word creates godly strongholds and good citizens. Sometimes, activism gets caught up in the big picture with a microphone, but campaigns start among blood and friends. Then, it hits the streets and the polls and the world. You may or may not be able to make the national rally, but you can show up at the dinner table, to the local polls and the classroom, and sit in the pews, and listen at the townhalls, and write for local papers’ editorial sections . . . but, most importantly, show up at home. (Remember, you can vote from home these days too.)

There are vast measures and small measures that one can take in the name of change and sometimes that requires leaving the comfort of Facebook ranting. Get prepared: it’s going to be a long (think generations), hard fight.

Note: While social media is an extremely powerful tool when social and political change is in order, it is not our only option. Often social media becomes an emotional dumping ground for one’s beliefs and not a healthy interaction to win over hearts and minds. While there are many logical, thoughtful, and Biblical posts, they are not always as powerful as prayer, volunteerism, forgiveness, and literal hand holding . . .and, above all, love.

Forgiveness Is a Marathon by Vermon Pierre

Note from editor: I was thinking about how to best re-post this. Should I re-format it into our blog, or just provide the link? I went with the former, as The Gospel Coalition does it so nicely. Plus, you can check out their site.

Go here for Pastor Vermon's excellent article:

http://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/forgiveness-is-a-marathon%22



Thanks,
Jennifer

Pastor V’s Shout Outs by Vermon Pierre

Shout out to:

1. Ross Douthat and his incisive articles on abortion and Planned Parenthood (see below). There are lots of good things being written now on these topics. I like how Douthat’s cuts through rhetoric and the dissembling from the pro-choice side to reveal the hard truth, that abortion is “an institution at the heart of respectable liberal society…dedicated to a practice that deserves to be called barbarism.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/07/26/opinion/sunday/ross-douthat-looking-away-from-abortion.html?pagewanted=all

http://douthat.blogs.nytimes.com/?_r=0&pagewanted=all

2. Ta-Nehesi Coates and his article on the historical reasons why the South seceded from the North to start the Civil War.

I find that people often make definitive “well this is of course 100% true” type statements about past events. These statements often don’t hold up, however, mostly because we don’t pay enough attention to what people actually said back then about what they were doing or why they were doing certain things.

The Civil War and all that followed in its wake is one big and frequent example of present day myopia and inaccurate analysis. Coates does a good job giving primary source quotes that I can only hope improve our understanding of this very influential part of our history.

Everybody Seeks Community by John Talley III

As a young boy, I grew up in many different cities and states. I’ve lived in Philadelphia, Brooklyn, Albuquerque, Georgia, South Carolina, Texas, New Jersey, and Arizona. The main reasons for my relocations were due to the military, but moving from place to place was second nature to me. So much so, that some of my peers would jokingly refer to me as a “nomad.” During this time of moving and growing up, I struggled with the idea of “belonging.” I asked myself, where do I fit in? Where am I embraced?

Little did I know that I was really looking for was community. The term “community” refers to a group of people living amongst each other and sharing commonality. This is what I wanted. Where is the group of people that would be my community? Everybody seeks some type of community in some form or fashion; here are the three avenues in which people typically find this community, which they seek.

Gangs. I recall a time while in middle school, when I wore a blue outfit and a female asked, “Why are you wearing all that flu”? (In gang culture, “flu” refers to the color blue, but it is more of an insult coming from an opposing gang such as the “Bloods.”) Keep in mind, I was completely oblivious to the Bloods, Crips, or any other gang—for that matter.

One thing the gangs held in common was that they each held deep allegiance to this group of people they considered to be their community. They had an interesting bond that in some cases could not be broken. Most of these people who joined gangs were just like me yearning for a sense of “belonging—due to the reality of sin and fatherlessness. Young men and women become part of this type of community. Unfortunately, their common interest is centered on money, drugs, sex, and violence. Nevertheless, what they sought was community, a sense of belonging.

Fraternities. During my first year in college, I had the opportunity to join a fraternity, but I chose not to. I understand that great men and leaders have been apart of this brotherhood such as Dr. Martin Luther King, Warren Buffet, Neil Armstrong, and so on. But it just was not for me. However, the dude who lived across the hall from me decided to join. Prior to this, he was very friendly and outgoing. Once he joined, he became very introverted and, if I can be honest, he got  just plain weird.

I remember one time he was instructed to wake up at three in the morning dressed in all black, and he had to run across the Brooklyn bridge. I thought it was hilarious! His reasons for joining centered on the lifestyle, parties, girls, future career opportunities, and this underlying motif of “belonging.” That was primary the primary reason.

The Body of Christ. Christians are a part of something bigger than themselves. In fact, everybody is! We are a part of a particular narrative with a particular purpose, which is to ultimately glorify God, edify His church, and advance His kingdom. Sin has distorted that reality, but for those who are redeemed we understand God cares about His glory. Community for the Christian must be centered on our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. That’s the main reason why we can be of different ethnicities and cultures, yet worship together on Sunday morning. Our common interest is Jesus!

When I think about community, my mind reverts back to Acts 2:41-47. In this fellowship, there was teaching, eating, sharing, giving, praising, and so on. Verse 44 really sticks out when it says, “And all who believed were together and had all things in common.” Isn’t this good? All of these things took place because of the preaching of the word being received in the hearts of many, because of the Holy Spirit. Christians are part of a community that’s drastically different than any other community.

Conclusion. Everybody seeks some type of community. It is not limited to just gangs, fraternities, or the body of Christ. Perhaps, it’s NBA teams, Jordan sneakers, or hip-hop music. No matter age or ethnicity, we all seek it. I think we do so because it is embedded in us. We were not created to be alone. We were created in God’s image and likeness (Genesis 1: 26-27). We can say that the idea of community originated with God because in eternity past, before anything was even made, all three persons of the Godhead existed.

Think about it, within the Godhead, there are three divine persons who have different roles, yet are co-equal and co-eternal. Even with different roles, they all share a common interest that supersedes any other, the redemption of sinful people for the glory of the one who saves them. The Father elects, then the Son dies in their place, and the Holy Spirit regenerates them, which ushers them into a new community, the body of Christ. What community will you seek?