Fathers are called to provide for and protect their households. To do this well, they must be sober-minded and stable men who lead their families with gladness, fortitude, wisdom, and resilience.

To provide literally means “to see before.” Thus, a key element of provision is anticipation. A dad is responsible to anticipate the needs, threats, and temptations in his household. His goal is to have clarity about the issues facing his family, coupled with a readiness to act with wisdom to address them.

And he does not do so by himself. In seeking this clarity for the sake of provision, a father does well to remember that he has been given a helper precisely for this purpose. Together, they will see more than if they try to see alone. A faithful father welcomes the insights and wisdom of his wife concerning the needs of the family.

Fathers with Sober Minds

A common pitfall in a father’s leadership is defensiveness in response to his wife’s insights, comments, and encouragements to act. Say a mother sees a pattern of sin forming in her son’s life. She brings it to her husband’s attention, wanting him to do something about it. He gets defensive, or blows up, or shuts down, or shifts blame. All of these reactions display a lack of sober-mindedness.

This is true regardless of whether his wife brings the issue to his attention in a helpful way. Say that the sin in the kids has awakened fear in her. She knows that little sins, when left unchecked, become big sins. Little sinners, if left unchecked, grow up to be big sinners. And so, she brings this to her husband’s attention with some anxiety, agitation, and (perhaps) frustration that the sin has festered as long as it has.

Such situations call for stable sober-mindedness. At a basic level, sober-mindedness is the opposite of drunkenness (1 Thessalonians 5:6–8). Drunkenness refers to the physical, cognitive, and moral impairment caused by drinking too much alcohol. Drunkenness negatively affects one’s judgment, frequently leading to other sins. Those who are drunk don’t see clearly, nor do they stand firmly, nor do they act wisely.

Crucially, alcohol is not the only intoxicant. Passions too, whether ours or others, can cloud our judgment and hinder wise action. Under the influence of passions, we become reactive and tossed to and fro. Again, we get defensive, blow up, shut down, or shift blame.

“To be sober-minded is to see with clarity, stand with stability, and act with wisdom.”

Therefore, to be sober-minded is to see with clarity, stand with stability, and act with wisdom. Sober-minded men govern their own passions, and thus they are able to absorb and endure the passions, reactions, and agitations of others.

Making a Resilient Dad

Where does such sober-mindedness come from? In my own life, I frequently return to Colossians 3:12–17 as a way of building sober-minded resilience into my soul. So let us consider the passage, not merely as a word to all Christians, but as a word applied particularly to husbands and fathers.

CLOTHED IN VIRTUE

First, Paul calls his readers to clothe themselves with key virtues: “compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience” (Colossians 3:12). All of these are vital for fathers as they seek to lead their homes. We are to clothe ourselves with these virtues “as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved.” In other words, these virtues flow from knowing ourselves to be loved by God and set apart for his service. Steady fathers are grounded in the love of their heavenly Father.

READY TO FORGIVE

Second, steady fathers bear with and readily forgive others (Colossians 3:13). They are long-suffering, and they keep short accounts. They don’t hold grudges or allow bitterness to fester. They either allow love to cover a multitude of sins, or they quickly act to address substantial sins and pursue forgiveness and reconciliation. The one thing that they don’t do is allow sins to pile up in their own hearts and their own households. And they act this way, fundamentally, because their Lord has freely forgiven them.

RULED BY PEACE

Third, steady fathers clothe themselves with love and let Christ’s peace rule in their hearts (Colossians 3:14–15). The peace of Christ is the root of Christian sober-mindedness. He is our peace. He is our stability. He is the sure and steadfast anchor of our souls. And a godly father who welcomes the peace of Christ in his heart is empowered to be a sober-minded anchor for his family. The peace of Christ enables him to be a spiritual harbor for them in the storms and trials of life.

STEEPED IN SCRIPTURE

Fourth, Christ’s peace reigns in our hearts when God’s word dwells in us richly (Colossians 3:16). Paul’s words press us to pursue a particular quality in our biblical meditation. The word must dwell richly in us; this implies a certain abundance and fullness of God’s word in our lives. This richness overflows from us, in both teaching and singing. Steady fathers have the word on their tongues; they are ready with wise biblical instruction, exhortation, and admonition for their families. More than that, “psalms and hymns and spiritual songs” are the soundtrack of their lives. They love to sing God’s word back to him and over their families.

ALWAYS THANKFUL

Finally, steady fathers are grateful fathers. Three times in Colossians 3, Paul calls us to gratitude. “Be thankful” (Colossians 3:15). Sing “with thankfulness in your hearts to God” (Colossians 3:16). “And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him” (Colossians 3:17). Glad-hearted gratitude to God is the abundant overflow of a steady father. A steady father thanks God for all things, great and small. He is ever mindful of God’s many kindnesses to him, and he leads his family to the throne of grace with thanksgiving and adoration.

Sober-Mindedness in Action

So, returning to the original scenario, how might a Colossians 3 father both respond to his wife’s insight and lead in shepherding his son?

“Steady fathers are grounded in the love of their heavenly Father.”

First, a sober-minded father will not be threatened by the insights of his wife (even the agitated and anxious insights). Instead, he’ll receive his wife’s insights with humility, meekness, and gratitude. Because he is anchored in God’s love and Christ’s peace, he will be quick to listen and slow to speak, carefully evaluating the situation in light of God’s word.

Second, the dominant note that he’ll strike, whether she brought her concerns in a faithful way or a reactive way, is gratitude to God for her, and gratitude to her for her help. He is able to live with her in an understanding way and show honor to her as the weaker vessel (1 Peter 3:7). With God’s help, his sober-mindedness can act as an anchor for her, and together they can turn their attention to wisely shepherding their son.

Third, he’ll take the initiative in addressing the issue with his son. He’ll do so clothed with compassion and patience, bringing the same steady presence to bear in teaching and admonishing his son with all wisdom. Such wisdom will often take the form of anticipating and diffusing his son’s own defensiveness and blame-shifting with kindness, meekness, and manifest love. A steady father will both bear with the weaknesses of his son and insist that God’s word be obeyed in everything.

Finally, he will aim at forgiveness and reconciliation, first with God, and then within his family. God’s forgiveness in Christ is foundational, but it always spreads. A steady father leads in making sure that everyone in his home is keeping short accounts with each other, quickly confessing sin and sincerely offering forgiveness.

And he will do all of this in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him, clothed with the love of God that binds his family together in perfect harmony.

Christians confess that God is. Indeed, his name is “I am” (Exodus 3:14). According to Hebrews 11, a fundamental aspect of pleasing him is believing that he exists: “Without faith it is impossible to please him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him” (Hebrews 11:6). But unless we are philosophers, words like existence and being and is are fairly bland. They don’t awe us (though they should).

Perhaps that’s why the Bible regularly stresses that God doesn’t merely exist, but that he lives. “The Lord lives, and blessed be my rock, and exalted be the God of my salvation” (Psalm 18:46).

A common oath throughout the Old Testament is “as the Lord lives.” What’s more, references to “the living God” are highlighted in some key biblical stories. Reflecting on the biblical witness to the living God may stir our affections more than simple statements about his existence.

Not Like the Idols

The Bible often refers to Yahweh as the living God in order to set him apart from the idols of the nations. In Jeremiah 10, the prophet exhorts Israel to avoid the vain customs of the people. He looks with disdain on the making of an idol:

A tree from the forest is cut down     and worked with an axe by the hands of a craftsman.They decorate it with silver and gold;     they fasten it with hammer and nails     so that it cannot move. (Jeremiah 10:3–4)

The idols of the nations are “like scarecrows in a cucumber field, and they cannot speak.” What’s more, “they have to be carried, for they cannot walk.” There’s no reason to fear them, since they can do neither evil nor good (Jeremiah 10:5).

Isaiah echoes the same truth in chapter 45 of his oracle. The nations “carry about their wooden idols, and keep on praying to a god that cannot save” (45:20). Isaiah 46 elaborates:

Bel bows down; Nebo stoops;     their idols are on beasts and livestock;these things you carry are borne     as burdens on weary beasts.They stoop; they bow down together;     they cannot save the burden,     but themselves go into captivity.“Listen to me, O house of Jacob,     all the remnant of the house of Israel,who have been borne by me from before your birth,     carried from the womb;even to your old age I am he,     and to gray hairs I will carry you.I have made, and I will bear;     I will carry and will save.” (Isaiah 46:1–4)

The contrast couldn’t be clearer. Donkeys carry the idols of the nations; Yahweh carries his people. Idols can’t even save themselves; the Lord saves his people.

According to Jeremiah 10:6–7, this is why Yahweh is unique.

There is none like you, O Lord;     you are great, and your name is great in might.Who would not fear you, O King of the nations?     For this is your due;for among all the wise ones of the nations     and in all their kingdoms     there is none like you.

“Donkeys carry the idols of the nation; Yahweh carries his people. Idols can’t even save themselves; the Lord saves his people.”

In contrast, the nations are “both stupid and foolish,” worshiping wood overlaid with gold and silver, and clothed with violet and purple by the hands of men (Jeremiah 10:8–9). “But,” the prophet says, “the Lord is the true God; he is the living God and the everlasting King” (Jeremiah 10:10).

This is a fundamental difference between the Lord and the gods of the nations. The Lord is the living God. He’s not a statue. He’s not dead; he is alive. When Yahweh is on the move, it’s not because someone put him on their shoulders. He comes and goes as he pleases.

‘You Are God Alone’

He is the living God who speaks from the fire (Deuteronomy 5:26). He dwells with his people and drives out their enemies (Joshua 3:10). When David confronts the giant Goliath, he is particularly incensed that the uncircumcised Philistine has defied “the armies of the living God” (1 Samuel 17:26, 36). Likewise, Hezekiah appeals to Yahweh for deliverance when Sennacherib, king of Assyria, mocks “the living God” (2 Kings 19:4, 16). He pleads with Yahweh,

Truly, O Lord, the kings of Assyria have laid waste the nations and their lands and have cast their gods into the fire, for they were not gods, but the work of men’s hands, wood and stone. Therefore they were destroyed. So now, O Lord our God, save us, please, from his hand, that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that you, O Lord, are God alone. (2 Kings 19:17–19)

King Darius, after being tricked into casting Daniel into the den of lions, calls Daniel the “servant of the living God” (Daniel 6:20). When he sees that God has preserved Daniel, he decrees that all peoples “tremble and fear before the God of Daniel, for he is the living God, enduring forever; his kingdom shall never be destroyed, and his dominion shall be to the end” (Daniel 6:26).

In the New Testament

In the New Testament, Paul echoes the prophets when he urges the inhabitants of Lystra to “turn from these vain things to a living God, who made the heaven and the earth and the sea and all that is in them” (Acts 14:15).

However, we also discover some surprising things about the living God in the New Testament. He has a Son, as Peter confesses when Jesus asks who the disciples say that he is. “You are the Christ, the son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16). More than that, the living God has a Spirit, as Paul testifies to the Corinthians: “You are a letter from Christ . . . written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God” (2 Corinthians 3:3). The living God is the triune God, eternally subsisting in three persons.

The triune God also has a household, “the church of the living God, the pillar and buttress of the truth” (1 Timothy 3:15). More than that, those of us who have set our hope on the living God as our Savior have now become the temple of the living God, in whom and with whom he dwells (2 Corinthians 6:16). We are the children of the living God, as numerous as the sand on the seashore (Hosea 1:10; Romans 9:26).

“Have you considered recently how wonderful it is to draw near to the God who exists, the God who is?”

And as such, we take care, lest there be in any of us an evil, unbelieving heart, leading us to fall away from the living God (Hebrews 3:12). Our consciences have been purified by the blood of Christ so that we no longer offer dead works, but instead serve the living God (Hebrews 9:14). And one way or another, we will have to eternally face the living God. Either we will fall into the hands of the living God (a fearful and terrifying prospect, Hebrews 10:31), or we will come to Mount Zion, the city of the living God, and to his innumerable angels in festal gathering (Hebrews 12:22).

Longing for the Living God

But perhaps the most striking note about the living God is expressed twice in the Psalms. It is the note of longing after such a God.

As a deer pants for flowing streams,     so pants my soul for you, O God.My soul thirsts for God,     for the living God. (Psalm 42:1–2)

And then again, in Psalm 84:

How lovely is your dwelling place,     O Lord of hosts!My soul longs, yes, faints     for the courts of the Lord;my heart and flesh sing for joy     to the living God. (Psalm 84:1–2)

Have you considered recently how wonderful it is to draw near to the God who exists, the God who is? And more than that, to draw near to the God who lives and who is to us the fountain of life? We come to him to drink, to satisfy our souls with the greatest reward that he offers: himself.

The sorrows of those who run after another god shall multiply; their drink offerings of blood I will not pour out or take their names on my lips. (Psalm 16:4)

So far in Psalm 16, David has sought refuge in God, asking for God to preserve and keep him. He has confessed that Yahweh is not only the Lord, but that he is David’s Lord — the all-sufficient and all-satisfying Good, from whom every good gift comes. And under that greatest Good, one of the chief earthly goods that David has received is the saints in the land, God’s people. They are holy and majestic, delighting David with their grandeur. Because he loves to be near God, David likewise loves to be near his people.

As he continues to pray, David next considers another group of people, those who run after other gods. Perhaps he has in mind the nations around Israel, who seek refuge not in Yahweh, but in Baal, Dagon, and Ashtoreth. Israel is married to Yahweh, covenantally bound to him as her Lord and Husband. The nations, on the other hand, have married false gods, demonic powers. They have run after them and acquired them in marriage.

And what has happened as a result? When David considers the saints and their marriage to Yahweh, he thinks of the majesty of mountains with great delight and pleasure. When he considers idolaters around them, he sees a very different picture — sorrows, pains, injuries, hardships, and wounds. And not just static sorrows, but multiplying, growing, and abounding sorrows.

“Having run after other gods and acquired them, the ungodly have brought down on themselves pain, strife, and hurt.”

Having run after other gods and acquired them, the ungodly have brought down on themselves pain, strife, and hurt.

Prosperity of the Wicked?

Such sorrows are not always immediately evident to us. In Psalm 73, Asaph expresses his dismay at the prosperity of the wicked, and his confusion at their success. The wicked have no pangs until death; they are well-fed and insulated from trouble. They don’t have the struggles and hardships that most men do (verses 4–5). Despite their pride, violence, folly, malice, and oppression, they prosper and succeed in all that they do (verses 6–9). They are always at ease as they increase in their riches, brazenly mocking God for not seeing and not knowing of their evil (verses 10–12).

Such a picture stands in stark contrast to David’s observation in Psalm 16. So how can these two pictures be reconciled? Do the sorrows of idolaters multiply, or are the wicked always at ease? Does their idolatry injure them and cause harm, or does it redound to their prosperity and success?

Asaph shows us the way. His vexation gives way to clarity, but only after he worships Yahweh in the sanctuary. Only after he seeks refuge in God as his highest good is he able to discern the end of the wicked (Psalm 73:17). And when he does, he draws the same conclusion as David.

Truly you set them in slippery places;     you make them fall to ruin.How they are destroyed in a moment,     swept away utterly by terrors!Like a dream when one awakes,     O Lord, when you rouse yourself,     you despise them as phantoms. (Psalm 73:18–20)

In other words, while the wicked may prosper for a moment, in the end their sorrows will multiply. Their foot slides in due time. Having run after vanity, they dissolve into phantoms. Having worshiped creatures, they fall under a curse. In the end, the bill comes due.

“While the wicked may prosper for a moment, in the end their sorrows will multiply.”

In this life, the sorrows of the wicked are unevenly distributed. At times, we see their destruction early, when God gives them a taste of the harvest they have sown. We see it in the consequences of their actions — the brokenness, pain, and loss wrought by sin. This is a severe mercy, a kindness from God that is meant to lead the wicked (and us) to repentance.

But others avoid such earthly sorrows. They temporarily evade being swept away. But even these are storing up wrath for “the day of wrath when God’s righteous judgment will be revealed” (Romans 2:5). And when that day comes, the sorrows will multiply forever.

False Worship and False Confession

Having observed and discerned the end of idolatry, David must act on what he knows. And so, he commits to avoiding their idolatrous sacrifices and their false confessions. In particular here, he mentions avoiding their “drink offerings.”

Israel offered drink offerings to Yahweh as part of the sacrificial system (Leviticus 23). In Israel’s drink offering, the priest poured out wine on behalf of the worshiper, in conjunction with one of the other primary offerings, whether an ascension offering, peace offering, or purification offering (Numbers 15; 28–29). Such offerings were to be offered only once Israel had entered and taken possession of the land. In the Bible, wine signifies triumph, celebration, and rest. As one commentator puts it, bread is morning food, eaten to give strength for the day’s labor; wine is evening food, imbibed at the end of the day in gratitude for a job finished and done well. Thus, drink offerings of wine were meant to celebrate God’s triumph over his enemies and his faithfulness to his promises.

In Psalm 16, then, David refuses to participate in idolatrous drink offerings. More specifically, he rejects “drink offerings of blood.” While blood was certainly used in Israel’s sacrifices — sprinkled on the horns of the altar or poured out at the base of the altar — Israel was strictly forbidden to drink blood. The nations around Israel, however, seemed to have drunk blood, and they also offered some to their gods in drink offerings. Because “the life of the flesh is in the blood” (Leviticus 17:11), it’s possible that they did so in order to receive life from the animal that was slain. Israel, in contrast, received life directly from Yahweh himself.

More than simply rejecting their sacrifices, David also rejects their confession. Refusing to take their name on his lips is more than simply avoiding saying the wrong word. David is refusing to invoke the names of the false gods, refusing to call upon them as his lord. This is the counterpart to his seeking refuge in Yahweh and confessing him as Lord.

Model of Faithful Resistance

For us today, David’s clear-eyed fidelity to God is a model. We too often see the wicked prospering in the world. Their sin, far from harming them, seems to enable their success, and in doing so, it becomes a temptation to us. The pressure to go along — to placate the false gods of our evil age, to invoke the world’s objects of trust and worship, to run after other gods in order to fit in and find earthly success — is real.

But we must discern their end. Their sorrows will multiply. The ease, if it exists, will last only a moment. The light and momentary success of the wicked is working for them an eternal weight of affliction that will far outweigh earthly prosperity.

And when we discern this end, we are strengthened to resist the pressure of our age. Rather than conforming ourselves to the pattern of this world, we are transformed by the renewing of our minds. Rather than seeking to placate false gods or false men, we offer ourselves as living sacrifices to God alone (Romans 12:1–2). Rather than echoing the lies and falsehoods in our society, we say with our lips and from our hearts, “Jesus is our Lord; we have no good apart from him.”

Begin where you are. This simple sentence, tucked away in C.S. Lewis’s book Letters to Malcolm, has the potential to transform your prayer life. In four basic words, it ties together a biblical vision of prayer that avoids two errors that often smother our thanksgiving and adoration of God and hinder our requests to him, especially in relation to earthly blessings and goods. Consider these errors, and whether you recognize them in your own life.

The first I’ll call worldly prayers. Such prayers, though offered by a Christian, are in reality no different from those that an unbeliever might pray. Twice in Matthew 6, Jesus draws a contrast between the prayers and aims of the Gentiles and the prayers and aims of his followers.

When you pray, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do, for they think that they will be heard for their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. (Matthew 6:7–8)

Do not be anxious, saying, “What shall we eat?” or “What shall we drink?” or “What shall we wear?” For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. (Matthew 6:31–32)

Jesus criticizes both the manner of unbelieving prayers (empty phrases and many words) and the aims of unbelieving prayers (anxiously seeking earthly provision and material goods). Christ’s warning implies that his followers can wrongfully imitate unbelievers at precisely these points. We can seek material blessings as our highest goods, anxiously craving and desiring them. And then, we can attempt to manipulate God into providing us these blessings, treating him like a butler who exists solely to supply our earthly needs and preserve our earthly happiness.

False Spirituality

In reaction against the danger of worldly prayers, some Christians fall into a second error, which we can call false spirituality: a pious refusal to pray for earthly goods at all. Because we see the danger of worldly prayer around us, we begin to regard praise and communion with God as the only true forms of prayer.

The only blessings we thank him for are spiritual blessings, the kind set forth in Ephesians 1. Thus, we praise him that he chose us, predestined us for adoption, redeemed us by Christ’s blood, forgave us for our trespasses, and sealed us with his Holy Spirit, all to the praise of his glorious grace. Likewise, the only requests we make to him are for spiritual goods — for holiness, for help to walk in his ways, for filling with the Holy Spirit.

Clearly, such prayers are good prayers. The falseness comes from the word only. We may not use this word directly, but we may still subtly begin to operate according to it. The only requests that truly please God are those for spiritual things. The only thanksgiving that truly honors him is gratitude for spiritual blessings.

This attitude ignores the plain and simple fact that Jesus taught us to pray, “Give us this day our daily bread” (Matthew 6:11). What’s more, it ignores the litany of passages in the Psalms where the psalmists seek God for deliverance from earthly enemies, ask him to supply earthly needs, and render him thanks for earthly kindnesses. The Bible is filled to the brim with thanksgiving and supplication for earthly provision and blessing.

And so, to avoid both errors, we offer spiritual prayers for earthly goods. And “begin where you are” can help.

From Pleasure to Thanks

Lewis commends this principle as a way of fostering worship and adoration. We often find that spiritual blessings, being invisible, feel abstract to us. However much we may want to summon a heart of worship for God’s attributes, character, and saving acts, our hearts struggle to get off the ground. Lewis’s principle encourages us to begin with the concrete and the present.

The earthly blessings that surround us, however minor, are present to us in ways that help us to begin. A warm shower, shoes that fit, a satisfying breakfast of biscuits and gravy, indoor heating in the middle of winter, the laughter of your children, a hug from your spouse — all of these are concrete blessings, extended to you with kindness from God. “His mercy is over all that he has made” (Psalm 145:9).

“Direct your attention to the mercies that press upon you at every side, and see them for what they are.”

Thus, Lewis says, rather than try to conjure up feelings of adoration directly, direct your attention to the mercies that press upon you at every side, and see them for what they are. They are beams of glory, striking our senses, giving us pleasure, and inviting us to chase them back to the sun. Every pleasure, Lewis says, can become a channel of adoration when we experience the pleasure and then frame it rightly as a message of kindness from our generous Lord.

Lewis, therefore, encourages us to attend to our pleasures and then to give thanks for them — to say, “How good of God to give me this,” elaborating on this with all the concrete specificity we can muster. “Thank you, Lord, for the smoothness of the table, the softness of my socks, the sweetness of the honey, the silliness of my son, and the wisdom and compassion of my wife.”

From Thanks to Adoration

Then, having given thanks, we follow the sunbeam back to the source, turning thanksgiving into adoration. “Such earthly blessings, O Lord, are simply the far-off echoes of your own bounty and goodness. These are but the fringes of your ways, and at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

From our first breath in the morning to our last conscious thought as we rest our head on our pillow, Lewis encourages us to receive God’s earthly kindness, to give thanks for God’s earthly kindness, and then to leap from that gratitude to the heights of worship, weaving in the spiritual blessings of redemption, forgiveness, and sanctification all along the way.

“The higher does not stand without the lower,” Lewis reminds us (87). And that’s why we must begin where we are.

One must learn to walk before one can run. So here. We — or at least I — shall not be able to adore God on the highest occasions if we have learned no habit of doing so on the lowest. At best, our faith and reason will tell us that He is adorable, but we shall not have found Him so, not have “tasted and seen.” Any patch of sunlight in a wood will show you something about the sun which you could never get from reading books on astronomy. These pure and spontaneous pleasures are “patches of Godlight” in the woods of our experience. (91)

Daily Bread, Heavenly Bread

The same principle applies to our requests. Though the Gentiles seek for earthly goods (food, shelter, clothing), Jesus does not tell us to cease praying for such gifts. Instead, he exhorts us to “seek first God’s kingdom and his righteousness” (Matthew 6:33), and then to pray for our daily bread.

We see this in the Lord’s Prayer itself. The request for daily bread is sandwiched between “Hallowed be your name” and “Yours is the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever.” In other words, our requests for earthly provision are framed and animated by our desire for the sanctifying of God’s name and the coming of his kingdom.

Framing the prayer for earthly provision in this way enables us to avoid the foolishness of unbelieving manipulation that Jesus condemns. How many of us have earnestly desired some earthly good, but instead of asking God directly for it, have asked instead for some spiritual good in hopes that he’ll see our spiritual request and throw in the earthly good for good measure? Is this not the equivalent of piling up empty phrases and many words in order to trick God into giving us what we really want? Is there not a fundamental dishonesty at the heart of such pious prayers?

Instead, begin where you are — with the desires and needs and anxieties that you actually have. The daily needs are real, and we are taught to ask for them directly. Bring them before God honestly, with no pretense or fakery. No doubt, our earthly desires are often excessive or misplaced. But the best way to reorder them is to bring them to God and let him do the moderating and refining.

“Prayers for daily bread lead naturally (or supernaturally) to prayers for heavenly bread, for the bread of life.”

In this way, we can begin where we are, but unlike unbelievers, we can press beyond where we are. We don’t seek merely the earthly provision; we seek God’s kingdom first, above all, as our highest good. Thus, as with gratitude, we ask for the earthly good, and then we press through the desire for the earthly good to a deeper desire for the heavenly good. Prayers for daily bread lead naturally (or supernaturally) to prayers for heavenly bread, for the bread of life.

Your Heavenly Father

Finally, don’t miss what ties all of these prayers together — the goodness of our heavenly Father. Why don’t we pile up empty and manipulative words for what we need? Because our heavenly Father knows what we need before we ask (Matthew 6:8). Why don’t we anxiously pursue earthly goods? Because our heavenly Father knows that we need them all (Matthew 6:32).

And this presses home the goodness of beginning where we are and asking for daily bread. Just the other day, I was burdened by an earthly problem. I could see no earthly way out of it. And so, I bowed my head and asked God for help. “I don’t know what to do, Lord. You will have to do something. Make a way.” Thirty minutes later, the answer came, clear as a bell.

Had I not prayed for the provision, I might have missed out not only on the blessing (since God does truly answer prayer) but also on the kindness and care of “our Father in heaven” (Matthew 6:9). When I begin where I am, I pray to him who knows my needs before I ask, and who tells me to ask anyway, because he loves to give good gifts to his children (Matthew 7:11).

O Come Thou Wisdom from on high,     And order all things mightily.To us the path of knowledge show,     And cause us in her ways to go.

I love Advent hymns almost as much as I love Christmas hymns. My favorite is “O Come, O Come, Immanuel.” The words and music perfectly capture the longing that marks this season of the church’s year. Advent is a season of waiting, of painful expectation and deep yearning for God to act to address the sin, sorrow, death, and evil that mar his world.

The second verse expresses our longing for wisdom, for God to order all things mightily for his glory and our good. The hymn testifies to our need for knowledge and wisdom and for the power to walk in God’s ways.

“Advent is a season of waiting, of painful expectation and deep yearning for God to act.”

But what do we mean by “wisdom from on high”? And how does Jesus answer this longing? The book of James offers a glimpse into the wisdom from above, the kind that pleases God and bears a harvest of righteousness. In drawing the connection between James’s “wisdom from above” and the hymn’s “wisdom from on high,” we can both see Jesus more clearly during Advent and strengthen our hearts to walk in the ways of God.

Two Kinds of Wisdom

James’s letter offers a sharp contrast between heavenly and earthly wisdom. The latter is marked by boastful betrayal of the truth, flowing from bitter jealousy and selfish ambition in the heart (James 3:14). Wisdom is not merely a matter of behavior, but involves the whole person, both inside and out.

Earthly wisdom is animated by envy and rivalry, by the itching resentment at other people’s gifts and success. Jealousy and ambition go hand in hand because they are two sides of the same coin. When our selfish ambition succeeds, we boast, looking down our noses at others from our high horse. When it fails, we stew in malice and bitterness as others surpass us.

In both cases, we are “false to the truth”; we fail to evaluate ourselves and other people rightly. Our vision is warped by “earthly, unspiritual, demonic” desires and passions, which result in “disorder and every vile practice” (James 3:14–16).

Such are the wisdom and ways of the world. These are the paths of ignorance, error, and falsehood. And the brokenness and confusion of the world is the result. Shattered families, sexual perversion, quarreling and dissension, slander and accusation — this is the world that we inhabit and mourn in our lonely exile here.

Wisdom from Above

James offers a fundamentally different picture of heavenly wisdom. Such wisdom likewise works from the inside out. “The meekness of wisdom” is reflected in our practice (James 3:13). Such meekness is the exact opposite of selfish ambition; meekness is not self-impressed or self-important. It looks at oneself with sober judgment and does not think more highly of oneself than it ought. In that way, the meekness of wisdom is “true to the truth,” rather than “false to the truth.”

What characterizes such wisdom? First, it is “pure” (James 3:17). Unlike the vile and wicked practices that mark worldly wisdom, heavenly wisdom is marked by undivided devotion to God. God’s wisdom is holy, unblemished, and whole. Heavenly wisdom brings order to chaos and confusion because it is wholeheartedly devoted to God’s purposes. James places the purity and holiness of heavenly wisdom in a position of prominence. It comes “first,” and in that way governs and guides the rest.

Next, heavenly wisdom is “peaceable, gentle, open to reason.” It leads us to avoid unnecessary conflict and refrain from violence and quarrelsomeness. Heavenly wisdom may lead us to fight and to defend what is good and true. But it does not love to fight for fighting’s sake. If given the choice, the wise and understanding are eager to live at peace with all men. The wise are willing to be friends with the one who is truly friendly.

Heavenly wisdom yields easily when moral issues are not at stake. It has a sense of proportion and courtesy, and bears with the foibles and stumbles of the weak. It is both open to reason and obedient, able to distinguish when it is good to bend and when it is time to stand.

Wisdom from above quickly overlooks faults and is therefore “full of mercy.” When forgiveness is sought, it is eagerly granted. Like the father in the parable, heavenly wisdom rejoices when prodigals come home.

Finally, heavenly wisdom abhors all hypocrisy and partiality. What you see is what you get. Wisdom’s character is consistent and persists through all manner of circumstances. The actions may be different, since different situations require different responses. But beneath every response lies sincerity, judiciousness, and refreshing honesty.

Longing for Wisdom

In the midst of a broken world and a depraved generation, we long for such wisdom. And while wisdom works from the inside out, from the heart to the hands and life, it is preeminently wisdom from above (James 3:17). It is wisdom that comes down from heaven, changes our hearts, and then issues forth in a “harvest of righteousness.” It is good and right for us to long to embody such wisdom in our own lives.

In Christ, we aspire to unimpeachable purity and abounding mercy. We endeavor for our steady reasonableness to be made known to all. We ask for God’s grace to demonstrate unwavering obedience to him in every area, and gracious courtesy to others as often as we can. And we eagerly seek peace when possible. The recurring mark of heavenly wisdom is its desire for peace, for wholeness, for fellowship and communion.

Wisdom from on High and Among Us

As we long for such wisdom to fall upon us, Advent reminds us that Wisdom dwelt among us. For Jesus of Nazareth is the ultimate human embodiment of wisdom from on high.

Was anyone ever as pure and holy as he? Zeal for his Father’s house consumed him; it animated his entire life. He was perfectly obedient, even as he grew in wisdom and stature.

“Jesus of Nazareth is the ultimate human embodiment of wisdom from on high.”

Was anyone ever as gentle and meek as he? He rightly stewarded almighty power and authority for the good of his people, remaining ever mindful of our frame. His gentleness with burdened sinners was legendary. The weary and heavy laden found rest in his meekness. For all of his zeal and purity, he did not despise the weak and lowly.

Was anyone ever as full of mercy? How often was he moved with compassion to care for his people and meet their needs? Like a father with his children, like a hen with her chicks, like a shepherd with straying sheep — his mercy not only filled him, but overflowed and watered the souls of the weak.

Was anyone ever as impartial and sincere? He abhorred every form of hypocrisy. There was no play-acting with him, but he moved among the poor and the rich, the powerful and the powerless with sincerity and truth. Widows and revolutionaries, prostitutes and Pharisees, tax collectors and priests — all were welcome, provided they stooped to come through the door of humble repentance.

Jesus is the Wisdom from Above, the Wisdom from on High, and he came as our Prince of Peace and Wonderful Counselor, sowing and reaping a harvest of righteousness in a land of deep darkness. Christ has come. Christ will come again.

We Christian Hedonists have a complicated relationship with duty. On the one hand, with our emphasis on the centrality of affections and desire in glorifying God, we are at war with duty-driven approaches to the Christian life that regard the affections as optional add-ons. To do a righteous act purely from a sense of obligation — because it is the right thing to do — is not morally superior to performing the same act with a deep sense of desire and gladness. Desire does not ruin the moral worth of good actions. Indeed, the right kind of desire establishes the true moral worth of our actions.

On the other hand, we Christian Hedonists, far from setting duty and desire at odds, instead bring them together by insisting that we are obligated to delight in God. “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice” (Philippians 4:4). We are called and commanded to desire God, to treasure God, to want God, to find our highest joy in God.

So again, we have a complicated relationship with duty. And as such, it’s worth taking a few moments to consider this relationship more carefully. The question is this: Is there a good, wise, and Christian Hedonistic way of celebrating the value of duty in the Christian life?

What Is Duty Anyway?

To answer this question, let’s first untangle a potential ambiguity. What do we mean by duty? On the one hand, duty might simply be a synonym for obligation. Anytime we use the word ought, we are dealing with duty. In this sense, duty and delight, far from being at odds, coincide. We ought to delight in God. We ought to love him with all of our heart. Included in all of our obligations is the duty to find our highest satisfaction in God. Thus, if we equate duty and obligation, then Christian Hedonists clearly value duty. That’s why we talk about “the dangerous duty of delight.”

“Duty refers to fulfilling one’s obligations in the face of obstacles.”

But duty often has a more particular and narrower meaning. Often, duty refers not merely to obligations, but to obligations that we find difficult to fulfill for one reason or another. In this sense, duty refers to fulfilling one’s obligations in the face of obstacles. When obligation meets impediments, then we talk about duty. Put another way, duty (in this narrower sense) is when the want to and the ought to don’t match.

That’s why duty has so often been praised as a virtue. To do the right thing in the face of the various obstacles that hinder us, to persevere in willing the good even when it’s hard, even when we lack the spontaneous delight that would make doing the right thing enjoyable — these have led many to praise duty as not merely virtuous, but as the pinnacle of virtue. The moral effort involved in overcoming impediments seems to give duty a beauty and luster and value that unimpeded, spontaneous goodness seems to lack.

What do we, as Christian Hedonists, make of this seeming superiority of arduous moral effort that overcomes all obstacles to doing good?

Impediments of Various Kinds

First, let’s understand what we mean by impediments. It seems to me that impediments might be either natural or moral, and either internal or external. Natural, external impediments are the high mountains and long distances we endure to fulfill our obligations. The time it takes, the monotonous repetition of our obligations, the heavy loads we must carry, and the inconveniences we undergo — all of these lie outside of us and are simply features of living in a finite (and fallen) world.

Natural, internal impediments are those bound up with our finitude and embodiment. Any impediment flowing from bodily weakness and natural aversion to pain and suffering would be included here. Sometimes duties are heavy, not because the obligation is so heavy, but because we are so weak. To do the right thing when we are tired or hungry or sick, or when the consequences of doing the right thing will be pain, discomfort, and even the possibility of death — this is what it means to do our duty in the face of natural, internal impediments.

Moral, external impediments include the evil that we must overcome in others. Loving my neighbor who is kind and pleasant is easy. Loving my neighbor who is quarrelsome, bitter, envious, and ungrateful is harder. Their ingratitude and bitterness are impediments that I overcome to fulfill my obligation. The same is true of the mockery, scorn, and rejection by others that sometimes occur when we do the right thing and maintain our integrity. So also with the obstacles posed by dark spiritual powers, which seek to undermine our obedience (though frequently the obstacles they erect take the form of the other kinds of impediments).

“Even the simplest of obligations can feel impossible in the face of our own pride, anger, sloth, and fear.”

Finally, we have the moral impediments that lie within us. Our besetting sins and disruptive passions — these are the impediments that we most frequently have to overcome. Even the simplest of obligations can feel impossible in the face of our own pride, anger, sloth, and fear. Or we might consider how our desires for other good things turn our obligation to love others into arduous exertions. The love of money (and all the desires it could fulfill) kept the rich young ruler from doing the one thing Christ called him to do. That inordinate love was his greatest impediment, and he went away sad (Mark 10:22).

In our daily lives, these impediments are almost always mingled. Making a time-consuming meal for a bitter neighbor when you are tired after a full day’s work brings three of the impediments together in one major obstacle (and no doubt presses on our own abiding sinfulness, thus bringing all types of impediments together). So we must not artificially divide the kinds of obstacles that we face.

What, then, do Christian Hedonists say about duty in the narrow sense in the face of these kinds of impediments?

1. Duty exists to be transcended.

The narrow sense of duty is owing to the various natural and moral impediments that we face, and these are owing to our pilgrim condition in a fallen world. Someday, most of these impediments — at least the moral ones and the natural, internal ones — will pass away. It seems possible to me that natural, external impediments may still have a place even in the new heavens and new earth; heaven may have its ardors and exertions, its severities and steep ascents. However, in our glorified condition, our natural limitations will not in any way hinder our joy in doing good; indeed, they will increase our joy.

When that day comes, goodness will flow from us spontaneously, like songs from a lark and water from a fountain. Unhindered delight in doing what we ought will be the crowning bloom on our moral actions.

2. Humans have levels of will.

In the meantime, in our pilgrim condition, we embrace the worth and value of overcoming impediments in our efforts to do good. That worth and value will be embraced rightly if we recognize the different levels of “willing” that we are capable of as humans.

We see these two levels in Christ’s prayer in Gethsemane: “Not my will, but yours, be done” (Luke 22:42). “Not my will” — this means that, at some level, the race set before Jesus was an unpleasant one, filled with various impediments: a long distance up Calvary’s road, a heavy cross upon his back, the natural weaknesses of a beaten body, the hatred, scorn, and mockery of wicked men, his abandonment by his friends, and the surety of an excruciating death. Jesus beheld all of these impediments to his calling to love his people and, at one level, said, “I don’t want to.”

But only at one level. At another, deeper level, his human will embraced the divine will. “Yours be done.” Despite all of the impediments in his way, Christ still fundamentally desired to do the will of his Father. And thus he did what he ought in the face of the external and internal obstacles in his way.

What can we say about this deeper willing and desiring that Christ displayed? First, it was animated by joy: “For the joy that was set before him [he] endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2). Second, his experience of joy while enduring the cross differed markedly from his experience after his ascent to God’s right hand. The sufferings were neither pleasant nor enjoyable; they were horrific and painful. Nevertheless, we all know that there is a kind of satisfaction in doing one’s duty in the face of obstacles and in the midst of great pain, by looking forward to the reward (Hebrews 11:6, 26).

3. Even duties can become joys.

The two levels of our willing enable us to speak truly about the value of the narrow sense of duty. At one level, the want to and ought to don’t match; thus, we can talk about duty. But at another, deeper (or higher) level, they do match, because we actually persevere in doing the good, despite the lack of want to at the first level. Our desire or commitment to doing what’s right overcomes all external hindrances and internal reluctances.

This desire is what enables us to “count it all joy . . . when [we] meet trials of various kinds” (James 1:2). The fact that we have to “count it” joy highlights the gap that we are exploring. We don’t have to count pleasant experiences as joy; they just are joy because we enjoy them at both levels. It is the trials, the unpleasant moments, the impediments that must be counted as joy because we know what the testing is producing for us — steadfastness, maturity, and completeness (James 1:3–4).

4. Some impediments require repentance.

Recognizing the different types of obstacles that the narrow sense of duty overcomes enables us to evaluate them rightly. When facing natural impediments or the moral evil in others, we need not feel guilt for the struggle. We can lament our bodily weaknesses and grieve over the evil done to us by other people, but we need feel no moral responsibility or conviction for having to overcome such obstacles.

When facing our own inner, moral obstacles, however, such as the passions that hinder our pursuit of godliness, we must both lament and repent for our remaining sinfulness. In such cases, we do our duty with a humble brokenheartedness because the gap between the ought to and the want to is owing to our own abiding corruption.

5. Doing our duty strengthens our will.

We labor to strengthen the deeper level of willing by cultivating habitual holy affections at this level. Seeking to do our duty in the broader sense (i.e., fulfilling our obligation to delight in God above all things) is what strengthens our ability to do our duty in the narrower sense (when the want to and ought to don’t align at every level). We want the fundamental inclinations of our will to be enduring, stable, and strong enough to overcome the temporary disruptions of our passions in the face of external impediments.

So, we Christian Hedonists do not disparage duty. Instead, we put it in its proper place. It is a crutch in our pilgrim condition, a deep and abiding resolve to overcome the various obstacles that keep us from fully rejoicing in doing good with joy unhindered. In this sense, doing our duty in the face of impediments is a crucial expression of our deep and enduring satisfaction in all that God is for us in Christ.

My son, eat honey, for it is good,     and the drippings of the honeycomb are sweet to your taste.Know that wisdom is such to your soul. (Proverbs 24:13–14)

“Hey, son. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, Dad. What’s up?”

“Thanksgiving dinner is almost ready, but before we eat, I have some Thanksgiving Day advice for you.”

“Okay.”

“It’s pretty straightforward, but it might require a little explanation.”

“What is it?”

“Today, I want you to eat honey.”

“Honey? Why?”

“Well, because it’s good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah, you know what good means, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“Tell me.”

“Good means that you like something.”

“Okay. What does that mean?”

“Um, that it tastes good?”

“So honey is good because it tastes good?”

“Yeah, because it tastes sweet.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. So you’re saying that honey is good because it’s sweet to your taste?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever thought about how taste works? Like, what does it mean for honey to be sweet to your taste?”

“Not really.”

“Let’s start with honey. What is it?”

“Something that bees make in their hives.”

“Do you know how they make it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay, let’s start with flowers. Have you ever heard of Green Magick?”

“No.”

“That’s what a friend of mine calls photosynthesis and all of the amazing processes that go into making a plant grow. Plants take water and nutrients from the soil, carbon dioxide from the air, and light from the sun and mix and mingle it all together to produce stalks, leaves, and, of course, flowers. Do you know why plants have flowers?”

“In science class, Mrs. Johnson said that that’s how plants reproduce.”

“That’s right. Flowers reproduce through pollen. That’s the fuzzy stuff on the flower. The challenge is to get the pollen from one flower to another so that they can reproduce seeds to grow into new plants. Do you know how they do that?”

“Bees?”

“Exactly. Bees come to one flower. Pollen sticks to their hair. Then they go to another flower, and drop the pollen where it can fertilize it to produce seeds that produce more plants. Do you know why the bees come to the flower?”

“Because of the colors?”

“Partly. The colorful petals of the flower do grab their attention. But the petals are promising something that the bees want: nectar. That’s the sweet sticky stuff in the center of the flowers. Nectar is the bee’s reward for pollinating the flowers.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“I know. Let me ask you another question. Do you know what the word glorify means?”

“Sort of. But I don’t know how to say it.”

“When we’re talking about created things, one meaning of the word glorify is to take something good and to make it even better. So nectar is glorified water. It’s water that’s been transformed by Green Magick into something even more glorious. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“So the bees eat the nectar, and it goes into their second stomach, called the honey sac. Once they’re full, they go back to the hive and share the nectar with other bees. All of the sharing and digesting starts to transform the nectar into something else.”

“That sounds kinda weird.”

“It’s actually amazing. Eventually, after partially digesting and sharing, the bees deposit the nectar into this wax that they make. Then they beat their wings really fast, which causes some of the moisture in the nectar to evaporate, which completes the transformation into honey. In other words, honey is glorified nectar.”

“And nectar is glorified water.”

“Now you’re getting it. So the move from water to nectar to honey is a move from glory to more glory to even more glory.”

“That’s cool.”

“It is. So now we’re back to my advice. Do you remember what it was?”

“You told me to eat honey because it’s good.”

“And why is it good?”

“Because it’s sweet to our taste.”

“So let’s think a little more about sweetness. Sweetness has to do with the connection between honey and your tongue. So what do you know about your tongue?”

“It’s in my mouth, and it has taste buds.”

“And what do you know about taste buds?”

“Not much.”

“Taste buds are tiny sensory receptors on your tongue that detect different tastes. Do you know the five main tastes?”

“Um, sweet, salty, sour, and . . . I don’t know the others.”

“Bitter (like kale) and savory (like bacon). So your tongue has taste buds, and when different foods hit them, we detect sweet, sour, salty, bitter, or savory (or some combination). So when we put honey on our tongues, we say it’s sweet to our taste. And because it’s sweet to our taste, we say . . .”

“That it’s good.”

“Exactly. Now, do you remember how the water went through an amazing process in the plant in order to become nectar? And how the nectar went through a weird process in the bees and the beehive in order to become honey?”

“Yes.”

“And what did I call that process?”

“Glorification.”

“Well, the honey needs to go through a similar process in you in order to be glorified.”

“You’re not going to make me spit up the honey and share it with people, are you?”

“Ha! No, this process is a little different. Think about this. Is water alive?

“No.”

“And so in order to be glorified, it needed something greater than itself. It needed something alive — the plant. Right?”

“Right.”

“And why did the plant need the bees?”

“Because they can’t move and pollinate in order to reproduce.”

“Exactly. They needed something greater as well — a mobile creature. Well, really, a lot of mobile creatures, a hive of bees. And how did they attract those mobile creatures?”

“With the petals and the nectar.”

“And why did the bees want the nectar?”

“To eat it.”

“And why did they want to eat it?”

“Because it’s good and sweet to their taste?”

“Very good. So in that way the bees are kind of like us, right?”

“Yes.”

“So we’ve moved from water (which isn’t living) through flowers (which live and grow, but don’t move) through bees (which live, grow, move, and taste). And now we come to us. What makes us different from bees (and other animals)?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think about it.”

“I don’t know.”

“No really, think about it.”

“Oh, right. We can think.”

“Exactly. So in order to glorify honey again, we’re going to think. We’re going to use our minds. And that brings me to my second piece of Thanksgiving advice. To do it, I need you to remember the first piece of advice. Do you?”

“Eat honey, because it’s good and sweet to my taste.”

“Great. Now, here’s the second: know that wisdom is such to your soul. Got that?”

“Not really.”

“Since it’s almost time to eat, I’ll give you a little help. The Bible says that ‘the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.’ So wisdom is a way of life that flows from the fear of the Lord. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then, let’s consider the word such. That’s a comparison word. It means like this. So we can restate the sentence as ‘know that wisdom is like this to your soul.’ Does that make sense?”

“Sure.”

“So what is wisdom like in that sentence? What does this refer to?”

“Honey?”

“Honey is part of it. But not just honey. What else?”

“The goodness of honey?”

“Yes. And why is honey good?”

“Because it’s sweet to my taste.”

“So if such means like this, and this refers to honey’s goodness and sweetness, what does the whole sentence mean?”

“It means that, just as honey is sweet to my taste, so wisdom — the way of life flowing from the fear of the Lord — is sweet to my soul.”

“You’ve got it. And how does sweetness (and other flavors) work?”

“When honey hits our taste buds, we call that experience sweet.”

“And so in order to taste honey’s sweetness, you must have . . .”

“Taste buds.”

“Which means your soul also must have . . .”

“Taste buds?”

“Exactly. Your soul has taste buds, just like your tongue does. But your soul doesn’t taste honey. Instead, it tastes wisdom. As honey is sweet to your taste, so wisdom is sweet to your soul. One is physically sweet. The other is spiritually sweet.”

“I think I’m starting to get it.”

“Well, that’s good news. Because if you’re starting to really get it — not just in your mind, but in your heart — then honey is going from one degree of glory to another.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Nectar is glorified water, transformed through the Green Magick in the flowers. Honey is glorified nectar, transformed through the bees that taste it, digest it, share it, and store it in honeycomb.”

“I still think it’s weird that we eat bee vomit, by the way.”

“And now the sweetness of honey is glorified, taken from glory to glory when you — a human being with a soul that thinks and wills, knows and loves — eats honey, because it’s good, and then connects the bodily experience of honey’s sweetness to the spiritual way of life that flows from fearing the Lord.”

“Wow.”

“Bees may be able to eat honey because it’s good. But they can’t ‘know that wisdom is such to the soul.’ But you can. You can eat honey — the glorified nectar that bees make from the glorified water that flowers make — because it’s good. And then, you can know with your mind and you can heed with your will your dad’s advice. You can connect the sweetness of honey to the life of wisdom. More than that, you can chase them both back to the source.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember Psalm 34? ‘Taste and see that the Lord is good.’”

“So he’s like the honey too?”

“He’s better. He designed all of this to show forth his wisdom and glory, and to invite us further up and further in. The water, the flowers, the pollinating, the nectar, the bees, the hive, the honey, the tongue, the soul, the life of wisdom — all of these are from him and through him and to him. To him be the glory forever and ever. And now, I’m hungry. Let’s go eat some honey.”

“Me too. But we’ve got one problem, Dad.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t think we’re having honey for Thanksgiving.”

“That’s okay. Pumpkin crunch cake will have to do.”