Written by J. Warner Wallace |
Tuesday, August 29, 2023
My rather sterile investigation of the gospels lead me to believe THAT Jesus was God and THAT He died for my sins and I certainly accepted His offer of Salvation. But while I considered myself “saved,” I seemed to trust Jesus for little else. I knew it was time to stretch, to step out in faith, to dream much bigger than I had ever dreamed before and trust Jesus for the results. I began to serve in the local church, entered seminary, began to write and podcast and eventually found myself with the opportunity to write a book. The crazy journey began to take shape.

The Gospel of John records an important conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus:
John Chapter 31Now there was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews; 2this man came to Him by night, and said to Him, “Rabbi, we know THAT You have come from God as a teacher; for no one can do these signs that You do unless God is with him.” (emphasis mine)
Jesus then talks to Nicodemus about what it means to be “born again” and concludes the conversation by saying:
16 “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes IN Him should not perish, but have eternal life. (emphasis again mine)
Jesus took the time here to make a distinction between belief THAT and trust IN. There’s clearly a difference between knowing THAT Jesus is a good teacher and believing IN Jesus as God and Savior.
In 1996 I did not believe that Jesus was anything more than a misunderstood legend from the first century. I had been a police officer and detective for several years, and I was a proud, independent, willful atheist. I was unmoved (and unconvinced) by the alleged evidence that Jesus actually lived or that the New Testament gospels could be trusted as eyewitness accounts. Well that’s not actually true. To be honest, I was simply unfamiliar with the depth of the evidence and unwilling to examine it fairly. I had been raised by an atheist and a cultural Catholic and thought the God of the Bible was an imaginary, unnecessary crutch.
When I walked into a Christian church in 1996, it was the first time I had ever been in a non-Catholic church building for anything other that a wedding. It’s still a mystery to me why I even decided to go in the first place. I was definitely there for my wife more than I was there for me. I still saw no need for such superstitions. I was, however, captivated by the way the pastor described Jesus. He offered Jesus as a wise sage with important wisdom that could speak to my life and inform my decision making in important areas like work, relationships and parenting. While I wasn’t interested in Christianity, I was interested in what this ancient sage had to say.
I bought my first Bible. It was an inexpensive pew Bible; I think it cost me less than five dollars. As I read through the gospels, I was surprised to find that they seemed to display characteristics of true eyewitness accounts. One of these is something I call “unintended eyewitness support.” It’s not unusual for an eyewitness to a crime to describe the events in such a way that more questions are raised than answered. It’s not until an additional eyewitness is interviewed that the questionable observation is reconciled in some way.
Read More
Related Posts:

In the earliest days of the PCA, college ministry was not uniformly viewed as a crucial pillar of outreach for the young denomination: parachurch organizations such as InterVarsity Fellowship and Campus Crusade already occupied much of that sphere. Yet recognizing the need for sound biblical teaching on campus, Lowrey put forth a vision of ordained ministers whose primary concerns were the discipleship of believing students, the evangelism of seekers and skeptics, and the sustained spiritual care of covenant children. It was not enough to simply bring students to church, Lowrey believed: the church should seek the students out itself.

Mark Lowrey, founder of Reformed University Fellowship and former head of Great Commission Publications, has died. He was 78. For several months he had battled an aggressive cancer that had spread to several abdominal organs.
Lowrey was a minister whose flock was never just one congregation, but was instead countless numbers of students in a lasting network of campus ministries that stretches from coast to coast and beyond. He was the quiet yet driving force behind one of the most visible and effective Christian fellowships today.
Born in Hattiesburg, Mississippi in 1945, Mark Lowrey came of age during the Vietnam era, and served one tour overseas in Saigon with the Army before returning home and enrolling at RTS in Jackson, graduating and becoming ordained in 1978. After only his first year of coursework, however, Lowrey was called by the PCA churches in his hometown to lead the campus fellowship at the University of Southern Mississippi. From this mustard seed of faith would eventually sprout a national network known as Reformed University Fellowship (RUF).
In the earliest days of the PCA, college ministry was not uniformly viewed as a crucial pillar of outreach for the young denomination: parachurch organizations such as InterVarsity Fellowship and Campus Crusade already occupied much of that sphere. Yet recognizing the need for sound biblical teaching on campus, Lowrey put forth a vision of ordained ministers whose primary concerns were the discipleship of believing students, the evangelism of seekers and skeptics, and the sustained spiritual care of covenant children. It was not enough to simply bring students to church, Lowrey believed: the church should seek the students out itself.
This vision proved both persuasive and successful, partly due to Lowrey’s gifts as a strategist. “Mark was equal parts a vision person and a detail person,” recalled Ruling Elder James (‘Bebo’) Elkin, who served alongside Lowrey in Mississippi in its earliest years. “He was skilled at putting together a coalition: he wasn’t just a master of facts and figures, he also prioritized relationships with people, and could get them involved in key ways.”
After a decade serving in his home state, Lowrey and his family moved to Atlanta in 1983, to PCA headquarters. From there Lowrey could better facilitate the growth of RUF, overseeing the training of new campus ministers and interns not just across the South but across the country. Lowrey describes this growth elsewhere in this volume; but worth noting here are four main factors: (1) establishing a firm financial footing for presbyteries to call new ministers, ensuring greater longevity at their posts; (2) a focus on training both men and women in ministry, raising up a generation of servant-leaders who could respond to the unique spiritual needs of different students; and (3) an ambitious national and international vision, inspired by Lowrey’s own overseas service; and (4) the harmonious integration of RUF with the other arms of the PCA, such as Mission to North America, under which it stood in the early days.
After 25 years at the helm of RUF, a new chapter for Lowrey began in 1996. In need of new resources for K-12 students, Great Commission Publishing, a joint venture of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church and the PCA, recruited Lowrey to use the skills he had developed working on behalf of college students for a younger demographic, primarily elementary and middle-school students. Central to this new curriculum would be its Christocentric focus: drawing on the work of scholars such as Edmund Clowney, whom seminarians had been reading and preaching from for decades, GCP updated its materials to show even the youngest believers from the earliest possible opportunity how all of Scripture points to the hope of and fulfillment in Christ.
Today, as the denominational curriculum of record, GCP serves over one thousand churches in the PCA and other denominations, but the need for fresh approaches to ancient verities remains. Lowrey served GCP in different capacities over his 30 years with the company; he became its executive director in 2021.
He is survived by his wife Priscilla, whom he met and married while she was working for InterVarsity Fellowship in the early 1970s; two children: Leonard and Elizabeth.
He was a faithful, committed servant whose work seldom bore his name, but whose fifty-year career is a direct fulfillment of Moses’ plea in Psalm 90:
“Let your work be shown to your servants,and your glorious power to their children.Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us,and establish the work of our hands upon us;yes, establish the work of our hands!”
Source
Related Posts:

For many, grief brings despair, anger, or fear. Yet, my father’s passing hasn’t stirred those emotions in me. He lived his life with nothing left unsaid or undone. My four brothers, sister, and mother—his wife of 66 years—feel the same. We didn’t face his death with regret or unfinished business. We shared the rare gift of a complete relationship without the “what-ifs” or “if-onlys.”

After four decades as a caregiver, I thought I understood grief. I’ve watched my wife, Gracie, battle relentless pain and loss since her devastating car accident in 1983—a crash that led to more than 80 operations, multiple amputations, and a struggle with chronic pain that would crush most people. I’ve grieved alongside her in stages, mourning the parts of her health and life that slipped away over time. Some call it incremental and continual grief.
But standing beside my father’s casket, I encountered something new—a grief that cuts to the bone and leaves a void, like a door slammed shut. This wasn’t the slow, grinding sorrow of caregiving, where you brace yourself daily for another blow. And even though not unexpected, it was swift and final—a full-stop in the story of a man who shaped me.
My father and I shared a bond built on respect, love, and a mutual commitment to our Christian faith. His unwavering support and wise counsel were anchors in my life, especially during the most challenging caregiving moments. When I was lost in the wilderness of Gracie’s suffering, his words guided me back to solid ground.
For many, grief brings despair, anger, or fear. Yet, my father’s passing hasn’t stirred those emotions in me. He lived his life with nothing left unsaid or undone. My four brothers, sister, and mother—his wife of 66 years—feel the same. We didn’t face his death with regret or unfinished business. We shared the rare gift of a complete relationship without the “what-ifs” or “if-onlys.”
Caregivers know the unique pain of “anticipatory grief”—mourning the losses you see coming while still wrestling with the ones at hand. I’ve lived in that space for decades, grieving bit by bit as I watched Gracie’s body and spirit endure the unimaginable. That kind of grief is a slow bleed, exhausting even the strongest spirit. But this grief for my father is different—blunt, piercing, and conclusive. I am no longer waiting for the inevitable but living in its aftermath.
As I sit with these feelings, I’m struck by how my sorrow is softened by the lessons my father imparted throughout his life. One such lesson came unexpectedly when I was asked to speak at the Huntington’s Disease Society of America (HDSA) conference some years ago. Huntington’s is a devastating genetic disease that haunted my father’s family for generations. It was a heavy legacy, and knowing this weighed on me as I accepted the invitation.
I arrived the evening before and met many wonderful people at a meet-and-greet. I listened to their stories and felt the weight of their suffering. Even though I’m no stranger to harsh realities, the depth of their pain overwhelmed me. Later that night, as I sat in my hotel room, mentally rehearsing my keynote address, I called my father and confessed, “Dad, I don’t feel worthy to talk with these people.”
He didn’t hesitate. “You have been uniquely prepared and equipped by God to minister to these people and more—and there’s no one in line behind you to do it. Now get down there and do your job!” His voice, honed by decades as a pastor and Navy Chaplain, was steady and unyielding. My only response was, “Yes, Sir!”
The next day, I spoke with passion and conviction, knowing I was fulfilling my father’s commission. I’d seen him walk into the most horrific circumstances with the confidence of the Gospel and the authority of God’s Word. With his words echoing in my ears, I felt his hand on my shoulder as I stepped into that same role.
As I navigate this different kind of grief, I find solace in reflecting on the countless lessons my father imparted—in both word and deed. His life was a gift, not just to me but to so many others. My gratitude tempers the sting of loss. Though the tears come, they are mixed with joy for a life well lived and a race well run.
Many people experience grief tangled up with unresolved issues. My father had a difficult relationship with his own father, and his life was marked by sadness over “what could have been.” Yet, he allowed that sorrow to be transformed by God’s grace. He became a father to not only his six children but to our spouses, cousins, and a host of others who found refuge at our home.
As I wrestle with this different kind of grief, I am determined to let it be shaped by God’s provision, principles, and purpose. The loss of a father is a unique, incalculable pain. Sometimes, that loss comes from abandonment—but death comes for us all, even the most loving of fathers.
Since my father’s charge to take the stage at that conference, I’ve spoken to tens of thousands of fellow caregivers who struggle with the same kind of incremental grief and heartache I’ve carried. Now, while shouldering this different kind of grief, I find new resonance in the scriptures that describe Jesus as “…a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3).
Reflecting on my father’s legacy of ministry to broken lives, I am reminded of his favorite hymn:
“There is a balm in Gilead, to make the wounded whole.There is a balm in Gilead, to heal the sin-sick soul.”
My grief—a different kind of grief—is real and will last a lifetime until I am reunited with my father in Heaven. But I know what he would want me to do now: allow God to turn this grief into a balm for others. So, when my head hangs in sorrow, I still hear his voice echoing in my heart:
“Get out there and do your job.”
Peter Rosenberger hosts the nationally syndicated radio program, Hope for the Caregiver. His newest book is A Minute for Caregivers—When Every Day Feels Like Monday. www.HopeforTheCaregiver.com

Related Posts:

.kb-row-layout-id223392_4ab238-bd > .kt-row-column-wrap{align-content:start;}:where(.kb-row-layout-id223392_4ab238-bd > .kt-row-column-wrap) > .wp-block-kadence-column{justify-content:start;}.kb-row-layout-id223392_4ab238-bd > .kt-row-column-wrap{column-gap:var(–global-kb-gap-md, 2rem);row-gap:var(–global-kb-gap-md, 2rem);padding-top:var(–global-kb-spacing-sm, 1.5rem);padding-bottom:var(–global-kb-spacing-sm, 1.5rem);grid-template-columns:minmax(0, 1fr);}.kb-row-layout-id223392_4ab238-bd{background-color:#dddddd;}.kb-row-layout-id223392_4ab238-bd > .kt-row-layout-overlay{opacity:0.30;}@media all and (max-width: 1024px){.kb-row-layout-id223392_4ab238-bd > .kt-row-column-wrap{grid-template-columns:minmax(0, 1fr);}}@media all and (max-width: 767px){.kb-row-layout-id223392_4ab238-bd > .kt-row-column-wrap{grid-template-columns:minmax(0, 1fr);}}
.kadence-column223392_96a96c-18 > .kt-inside-inner-col,.kadence-column223392_96a96c-18 > .kt-inside-inner-col:before{border-top-left-radius:0px;border-top-right-radius:0px;border-bottom-right-radius:0px;border-bottom-left-radius:0px;}.kadence-column223392_96a96c-18 > .kt-inside-inner-col{column-gap:var(–global-kb-gap-sm, 1rem);}.kadence-column223392_96a96c-18 > .kt-inside-inner-col{flex-direction:column;}.kadence-column223392_96a96c-18 > .kt-inside-inner-col > .aligncenter{width:100%;}.kadence-column223392_96a96c-18 > .kt-inside-inner-col:before{opacity:0.3;}.kadence-column223392_96a96c-18{position:relative;}@media all and (max-width: 1024px){.kadence-column223392_96a96c-18 > .kt-inside-inner-col{flex-direction:column;}}@media all and (max-width: 767px){.kadence-column223392_96a96c-18 > .kt-inside-inner-col{flex-direction:column;}}

Subscribe to Free “Top 10 Stories” Email
Get the top 10 stories from The Aquila Report in your inbox every Tuesday morning.