The Lord be with you and bless you today.
Today’s Kindle deals include some noteworthy books and commentaries.
Westminster Books is featuring When Christians Disagree, an interesting and applicable book about the long feud between two of our favorite Puritans.

Carl Trueman holds nothing back here. “Nothing is sacred but the godlike power of the autonomous self-creator, defined by the repudiation of whatever previous generations have considered sacrosanct. And the slaying of a human being is surely the most dramatic demonstration of such. That is why abortion is now not merely regarded as a necessary evil but as something exhilarating, something to be proud of and rejoice over.”

Aren’t you thankful that God cares not only about the big things but also the small things? “Just a few weeks ago, I realised I had to submit an important document for a fast approaching deadline. Much to my horror, I had no clue where I had put away that indispensable piece of paper. Panic mode set in.”

This may be helpful to young seminarians (or old ones, for that). “For many pastors, time spent in formal seminary training is one of the most joyful seasons of life. Most seminary students are in their twenties or early thirties, learning God’s Word and how to walk by faith in all spheres of life. Toward that end I offer here six steps for maximizing the seminary experience.”

Rebekah Cochell brings an interesting perspective to the controversy. “This performance was on a world stage, with people of all faiths, ethnicities, nationalities, and cultures watching. One of the major things you need to consider when creating visual art is how your audience will interpret it. Once you research and consider how your intended artwork will be understood by your audience, you adjust your visual so that your message is clear.”

Reuben Bredenhof wants to help you put the courage back into encouragement. “There are all kinds of suggestions about why people are more fearful these days. The effects of social media. A world unsettled by regional wars. The lingering effects of the pandemic panics. A politically polarized society. Whatever the precise causes, the effect is clear: a lot of people are scared today. Young people and middle-aged people and seniors and children—many of us are dealing with a fear that is often hard to shake off, a sometimes-paralysing anxiety.”

From Andrew and Christian Walker is a parent’s guide to talking with your kids about their tech.

We must not love money so much that we fail to be generous. Yet we must also ensure we are not giving merely as a way to assuage guilt or relieve external pressure. 

Christianity doesn’t in any way lessen suffering. It enables you to take it, to face it, to work through it, and eventually convert it.
—Robert Kellemen

Westminster Books is offering deals on the bestselling books from the recent CCEF National Conference. That includes books by David Powlison, Dane Ortlund, Paul Tripp, and yours truly, among others.

I want to continue to acknowledge those who have reviewed Seasons of Sorrow: Doug Eaton, Brianna Lambert, and Pierce Taylor Hibbs have all posted reviews to their sites, for which I’m so thankful.
Today’s Kindle deals include the IVP Pocket Reference series.
Beware the New Seeker Sensitivity
Trevin Wax: “There’s a different kind of ‘seeker sensitivity’ at work here, and I want to encourage church leaders to avoid it. We need pastors to resist the siren call of our age and give themselves over anew to the glorious call of heralding the gospel and preaching the Word, no matter what political categories get crossed.”
Entitlement is the Enemy of Worship
“Many times we approach God like we do an employer. We come not broken and indebted but rather anxious and annoyed at him. Why? Well because we feel he’s failing us. We come to collect our paycheck for service rendered and it’s late or unavailable. We feel we’ve done our part better than most but when we need him he’s not there.” In other words, we come with a sense of entitlement.
Immovable Hope in the Wake of Hurricane Ian
Jeramie Rinne writes from the aftermath of Hurricane Ian. “It’s Sunday morning, October 2, 4:30 a.m. I’m writing this from a hotel bathroom so as not to wake my wife. A week ago, I couldn’t have imagined this is where I’d be today.”
Well They Got Their Man: And It Only Took One Day
Stephen McAlpine writes about a concerning (but increasingly common) situation in Australia. “Sometimes I just get weary of Christians who say that if we were only winsome enough in the public square then we could be up front Christians and take our place in meaningful corporate roles with no pushback. As if we never are winsome. And as if winsome is even a strategy that will stave off the attacks.” (See also Murray Campbell)
Something My Dad Could Teach You
Also from Australia, Wes Bredenhof writes about his dad’s life as a police pilot and the importance of self-discipline.
We Know Our Enemy’s Plans
Darryl reminds us that we already know our enemy’s plans and that this ought to prepare us to counter them.
Flashback: Never Humble Enough
I pray sometimes that God will make me humble. But inevitably I soon find myself feeling proud for asking God such a noble thing. It’s pathetic really.

Rejecting God’s self-revelation in favor of our own ideas about what he would or wouldn’t do is the height of self-righteous pride. —Albert Mohler

I wasn’t quite asleep but I also wasn’t quite awake. It wasn’t quite real, but it also doesn’t seem right to call it fake. Like a story that had already been written or like a tale that had already been told, it flashed into my mind in the briefest of moments.

In what must have been some kind of a waking dream, I saw myself lying in bed when an angelic envoy roused me with a message. And as surely as Mary knew, as surely as Joseph knew, as surely as Zechariah knew, in my dream I knew—I knew the messenger was reliable and his message authentic. “God sent me to tell you that Christ will return in exactly one hour.” My heart rose. My mind reeled. My feet raced. Leaping from bed, I ran downstairs, grabbed my coat and keys, and sprinted out the door. I knew exactly where I needed to be.
One scene faded into the next, and I saw myself arriving at Glen Oaks Cemetery. There is no place on earth I like to go less but need to go more. There is no place on earth where I feel greater hope or deeper sorrow. Yet this was just where I knew I ought to be. Flinging the car door open, I leapt into the predawn darkness. Up and down the rows of graves I began to run, shouting out the glad tidings. “It’s time! It’s time,” I cried! “It’s time to rise!” I ran up one row and down the next, up one row and down the next, my feet pounding over the uneven turf.
I watched myself pause briefly by the grave of a young man whose parents had written just three short words on his gravestone. They are words Aslan had once whispered to Lucy when she was overwhelmed with fears and uncertainty: “Courage, dear heart.” And those words have often given strength and courage to me as I’ve passed by that granite monument. “Michael,” I cried “it’s time! It’s time to rise! Just a few more minutes and it’s time!”
I took off running once more, but paused almost immediately, this time by a nearby grave where, just a few short weeks ago, a family had gathered to sing sweet hymns of comfort in both English and Hindi. “It’s time, my Christian sister,” I said in a shout! “It’s time to rise!”
I saw myself run on and on, up and down the silent rows, crying out the news. I stopped again, this time by a plot where another young man is buried, a young man whose parents once approached Aileen and me to encourage us, to console us, to pray down heaven’s comfort upon us. “It’s time” I shouted! “It’s time! Just a few more moments and you will rise! Your body and soul will be joined together and you’ll rise! It’s time!”
The eastern horizon was beginning to glow with the first light of day. The earliest rays of the sun were threatening to break through the clouds hanging low over Lake Ontario. The clock had ticked down to just one minute and now my feet carried me to the spot in that cemetery that has become most familiar.
With my face glowing golden with the sunrise, I paused where I’ve paused so often. On the edge of that patch of grass that has been tended by my hand and watered by my tears, I dropped to my knees. In a tone that was confident and unwavering I said, “It’s time, my boy! It’s time! Just one more minute and we’ll hear the cry of command. Just one more moment and we’ll hear the voice of the archangel. Just a few more seconds and we’ll hear the blast of the trumpet. It’s time, my boy. It’s time! It’s time to wake! It’s time to rise!” I began the final countdown: 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …
And then—and then I became aware again. I became aware that I was in my living room, not the cemetery. I became aware that it had been a dream, not reality. But I also became aware that my face was wet with tears and my heart rich with joy. For though it was only a waking dream, it was a dream grounded in the best of all promises, the surest of all hopes.

“For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord.”