I turned 45 yesterday. My birthday was supposed to arrive when I was somewhere high over the Atlantic, perhaps just off the coast of Namibia, at the front end of a monster 16-hour homeward flight. I should have long since fallen asleep, and not known exactly where I was when the clock struck midnight, nor even what time zone it might have been. I suppose it’s possible that I would have turned 45 a few times while flying briskly from east to west, from South Africa to North America.

But as it happened, I turned 45 in my own home and my own bed. There was an alternate version of my week where I had traveled to South Africa, then Zambia, then Zimbabwe to do a little preaching, to visit some ministries, and to be part of a conference. I went to bed Thursday night thinking all this would happen. I had even checked in to my flights and gone off to get the negative COVID test that would allow me to enter those countries. But when I awoke on Friday morning I quickly realized that none of it would happen, all thanks to the appearance of a new variant and the immediate international response to it. The countries I had planned to visit were the very countries deemed most unsafe and, had I arrived there, I expect I would have been stranded. So in the end I guess it worked out okay. Still, it was rather a disappointment to have the trip fall apart so close to departure.
I haven’t yet done any international travel since COVID struck and since Nick died. For many years it was a prominent part of my life and I do miss it from time to time—mostly the joy of experiencing Christian worship and fellowship in far-off places. Last week’s trip was to be my first journey in almost two years and I suspected it wasn’t going to be easy. There was a kind of fear that settled over my family the day Nick died—a fear related to a new awareness of the fragility of life. And while we are doing a bit better now than we were a few months ago, we still struggle to believe that we won’t experience other sorrows and losses, that the God who ordained one tragedy for us hasn’t ordained many more. It still feels intimidating to be apart, and especially an ocean apart. But, in God’s providence, that didn’t happen anyway.
That said, it may in the month ahead. Abby has returned from Boyce College for her Christmas break—the final time she will move back into our home before beginning one of her own following her wedding in May. Though she will mostly be working at a nearby grocery store through the winter break, she and I also plan to sneak away for a little trip together—one that was supposed to happen almost two years ago, but has been repeatedly postponed through the pandemic. When the kids were small I told them I’d save all my travel miles and hotel points from all my trips and then use it all to take them each somewhere special. This is what Abby and I hope to do later in the month. But, as always, we are at the mercy of the pandemic and, as it happens, Canada just tightened up all the travel rules again this week. So we will see. Aileen continues to work part time while holding things down around the home, while Michaela has another two weeks at high school before she gets a couple of weeks off. Then we will hopefully settle in for a sweet and restful holiday season together.
As for me, I recently completed a major book project I will be able to tell you about in the coming months. It should be on store shelves in September of 2022. Of all I have ever written, it is my favorite and I hope it will serve the church well. In the next few weeks I’ll be starting another book while, of course, continuing to emphasize the blog. And speaking of the blog, on the first day of November I hit the 18-year anniversary of daily blogging. I’ve been at this for a long time! And, I hope, will be for many more years.
And on that note, let me thank you for reading this article and for reading this blog. It means so much to me that you continue to read along—it’s a tremendous blessing and encouragement. And for that reason and so many more, I wish you and yours God’s richest blessings in the holiday season ahead.

The French language has an endearing little phrase that could almost have been drawn from the Bible’s wisdom literature. “Plus ça change,” they say, “plus c’est la même chose.” The more things change, the more they stay the same. Though I live in the 21st century, I read in the 19th, which is to say, the great majority of the material I read recreationally is sermons written in the 1800s. Because a preacher will usually apply a text to the specific needs and concerns of his congregation, sermons provide an interesting way of understanding the pressing issues of the day.

As I have read, I have become fascinated by how many of today’s concerns were also the concerns of our forebears. Many of today’s issues have already been discussed, debated, and even resolved and we have much to learn from those who have gone before us. French has it right: The more things change, the more they stay the same. Here are a few examples.

Congregational singing. Pastors were concerned about dwindling congregational participation in singing. Many churches had begun to put singing in the hands of professionals—typically small but highly-trained choirs. Today we may be concerned that worship bands drown out the congregation and sing in ways that amateurs find difficult to emulate. But then pastors were concerned that choirs had supplanted the “one another” ministry of singing that the Bible describes in Colossians 3. They lamented that in many churches it was frowned upon for the congregation to sing along lest it taint the professionalism of the church’s ministry in music.

Political villainization and exaggeration. One American preacher expressed his dismay that every presidential election was deemed the most important and the most consequential of all time. He lamented that every candidate made it sound as if the future of the Republic was at stake—that if the people chose his opponent, America would inevitably crumble and fall. This is certainly still the case today not only in the United States but in other nations as well. It’s fascinating to know that so little has changed—that even then, every issue was deemed unprecedented and every election proclaimed the most important in history.

Explicit nudity. Christians in that era were dismayed at declining morals, especially as it pertained to art. Though movies did not yet exist, it was becoming acceptable for people of good standing to have nude art in their homes. As today pastors may encourage their congregations to keep a wary eye on their media consumption, in that day pastors encouraged their congregations to keep a wary eye on the art they permitted themselves to own or to view. They especially fretted about young men corrupting themselves by looking at what was essentially that era’s pornography.

Biblical authority. In that day, an increasing number of skeptics were pouring contempt on the Bible and especially its claims of miracles and supernatural occurrences. As Darwin solidified and propagated his theories, others were embracing forms of theistic evolution in favor of the Bible’s account of creation. Even some who considered themselves Christian were explaining away these matters for the sake of societal respectability. Pastors had to insist on the authority and reliability of Scripture from its first word to its last.

Polyamory and polygamy. In the past few years, we have seen many headlines about the rise of polyamory—the practice of engaging in multiple simultaneous sexual relationships. In the late 1800s, polygamy was a pressing concern, especially in America as it witnessed the growth of Mormonism and its fixation with plural marriage. Pastors had to teach their congregants what the Bible says about the purpose and sanctity of marriage and insist that marriage was to be a lifelong covenantal relationship between one man and one woman. They had to teach about the terrible consequences to wives and children in polygamous contexts. They did so in ways that were appropriately discreet for that era, but they did so nonetheless.

An epidemic of addiction. In the 1800s there was an epidemic of addiction that swept the nations. Where today we may be concerned with opiates, in that day Christians were concerned with alcohol in general and rum in particular. Rum was a cheap and widely available form of alcohol that was consumed and over-consumed by the masses, leading to poverty, premature death, the abandonment of children, and so on. Many pastors became staunch prohibitionists and encouraged their congregants not only to abstain but to formalize their decision through a pledge. While the specific substances have changed, those who pastored congregations more than a century ago were grieved to see addiction within and around their churches.

The character of politicians. Christians had to consider whether they should vote exclusively for politicians who were demonstrably believers and of upright character or whether they ought to elect politicians on more pragmatic grounds. Christians disputed whether the Bible permitted them to vote someone into office who stood for good policies even as he rejected Christ. And even today Christians disagree among themselves about the necessity of faith and good character in their politicians.

Tariffs. A significant political matter toward the close of the 1800s was tariffs and their role in global politics and economics. While the policies were outside the jurisdiction of pastors, they still mentioned them in their points of application, often because their congregants were being financially impacted by them. The fortunes of the people they shepherded often rose and fell with the decisions of politicians.

One reason I find such enjoyment in the sermons of this era is that many of the preachers were optimistic. In America, the Civil War was now decades behind them and in Europe, the wars that had roiled the continent earlier in the century had largely ceased. People allowed themselves to believe humanity had entered into an era of great progress. Many pastors, perhaps especially in the United States, adopted a postmillennial eschatology, convinced that the United States represented the source and dawning of the millennium. They saw America’s Christian influence sweeping across the world, changing hearts and transforming nations until Christ returned. This optimism suffused their preaching, giving it a joyful and hopeful tone—a tone that could not survive the two world wars that, unbeknownst to them, lay in the not-too-distant future.

I will leave the closing words to a pastor from Brooklyn who, despite often preaching about many of the concerns I have listed above, remained unflaggingly optimistic as he considered the future of his nation and the world.

At the south, Mexico will follow Texas into the Union, and Christianity and civilization will stand in the halls of the Montezumas, and if not in our day, then in the day of our children, Yucatan and Central America will wheel into line of dominion. On the north, Canada will be ours, not by conquest, for English and American swords may never clash blades, but we will simply woo the fair neighbor of the north, and she will be ours, and England will say to Canada, “You are old enough now for the marriage day. Giant of the West, go take your bride.” Then from Baffin’s Bay to the Caribbean there shall be one republic, under one banner and with one destiny—a free, undisputed, Christianized American continent. God grant it. Amen!1

More specifically, American Presbyterian preachers from the latter half of the century. ↩

This week the blog is sponsored by P&R Publishing and is written by Ralph Cunnington.
Years ago, I stumbled repeatedly on an ancient phrase that altered my thinking forever. 
Distinct yet inseparable.
The first time I encountered this phrase was while studying the Council of Chalcedon’s description of the two natures of Christ. Soon after, I found that Augustine had used it to describe the relationship between the three persons of the Trinity. Then I saw that John Calvin had used it to describe the relationship between justification and sanctification. It was so beautiful and clarifying, so simple: there can be distinction without separation. We can experience unity within diversity and diversity within unity.
“Someone should write a book on that one day!” I thought.
Fast-forward to 2020.
Lockdown.
COVID-19.
George Floyd.
Marches.
Riots.
Tensions were running high, and debates raged both in society and in the church.
To mask or not to mask?
Should we take down statues of people we now find problematic?
What is gender?  
What is real and true, and what is not?
I saw the church struggle to respond, and the phrase that had altered my thinking years ago suddenly came to back to me in a brand-new way. Distinct yet inseparable. I was sitting on an ancient concept that could bring clarity to these divisive issues.
And that’s how “Someone should write a book on that one day!” became “I need to write that book.”
Distinct yet inseparable explains who God is and how God works in his world. It explains what he has created us to be and how he has called us to live within the church. Indeed, the concept provides the key to answering the most pressing questions of our time—questions of identity, gender, and ethnicity.
My three children are part of the first generation to grow up with smartphones. According to recent research, they’re also part of the most dissatisfied and depressed generation yet. They are passionate about racial and gender equality, yet deeply pessimistic about the future. They’re not alone. We all need to see how the beautiful news of the gospel fulfils our longing for unity and diversity in a broken and confused world.
I wrote Perfect Unity to play a small part in doing just that.