May the Lord be with you and bless you today.

If There Wasn’t a Sermon About It, Does Your Pastor Even Care?
Trevin Wax addresses what is an urgent concern to many pastors. “I thought about ‘Justice Sunday’ recently because of the questions many faithful pastors have these days about when to speak, and on what subjects, and how best to engage in cultural disputes or political questions. Social media has increased the pressure to speak and advocate, as we have faster and easier connection to various opinions on a wide range of issues.”
Bible Gateway Removes The Passion Translation
“A Bible version designed to ‘recapture the emotion of God’s Word’ was removed from Bible Gateway last week. The Passion Translation (TPT) is listed as ‘no longer available’ among the site’s 90 English-language Bible offerings.” This article is about the removal of The Passion Translation which I’d guess few of you read. But past that, it has lots of interesting things to say about Bible translation philosophies.
Join Alistair Begg @ RMC22 Speaking on “Finishing Well.”
June 29-30, 2022, Matthews NC. As a pastor who has sent his church members through Radius, we are encouraged to have Alistair Begg as one of our plenary speakers. We look forward to his session on the challenge and the glory of finishing well in the task of missions. (Sponsored Link)
Great God Above Beheld Below
I’ve been enjoying this new song by Sow and Tether.
Jesus and John Wayne
This review has much to commend it, but I was especially interested in what it has to say about the confluence between history and love. “Schweiger argues that the Christian historian has a duty to love the historical subjects she studies, who are now dead. This love is not sentimental, nor does this love absolve the subjects of their sins. Loving the dead means we tell the truth about them, as far as it is possible given our limitations and the complexities of the past. And we love the dead for their own sakes, rather than for some utilitarian purpose we might have for them.”
The Paradox of Parenting and How To Trust God More
“From the moment our babies leave the safety and protection of the womb, we are literally and figuratively pushing them out. They can’t stay in the nest forever, and this brings us joy and sadness. Isn’t this the paradox of parenting? The more we want to hold on to them, the more time reveals we have to keep letting them go, little by little.”
Pastor, Take a Break Before You Quit
Jared Wilson has lots of good things to say here about pastors and sabbaticals.
Flashback: The Character of the Christian: Hospitable
An open home displays Christian love but it also enables it. Hospitality creates opportunities for relationship, for discipleship, and for evangelism. It creates a natural context for modeling marriage, parenting, and a host of Christian virtues.

Let the past sleep, but let it sleep on the bosom of Christ. Leave the irreparable past in His hands, and step out into the irresistible future with Him. —Oswald Chambers

It’s undoubtedly one of the most-told and best-loved stories in the entire Old Testament. It has all the hallmarks of a great tale—heroes and villains and peril and deliverance. It tells of faithful young men who faced unjust persecution, faithful young men who were sentenced to die a horrific death—to be consumed by flames in a fiery furnace. Yet it also tells how they were unexpectedly and miraculously delivered; how, though they were thrown into the flames bound hand and foot, they walked out of their own accord; how, though they were surrounded by a superheated fire, they emerged unscathed. Because Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego honored God in life, they were preserved from death.

One of the details never fails to fascinate. After they came out from the flames, the people nearby observed that “the fire had not had any power over the bodies of those men. The hair of their heads was not singed, their cloaks were not harmed, and no smell of fire had come upon them.” These men passed through the fire of the furnace without a single hair being singed, without a single thread being scorched, without as much as a whiff of the smell of smoke sticking to them. They came from the flames just as they had gone into the flames—without the least trace of harm.
And this strikes me as a lovely illustration of the way God expects us to pass through trials of our own, whether that trial comes in the form of persecution or betrayal or illness or bereavement. We are to pass through our trials unscathed by them all, unsullied and unharmed. We will not be unchanged, of course, and neither should we be. We will not be unimpacted, for our trials are not nothing—they are real and meaningful and make themselves known to body, mind, and soul. We are after all, humans, not robots and Christians, not stoics.
But our trials should make us better, not worse. They should strengthen our character, not diminish it. They should grow our virtues, and amplify our Godward desires, and more prominently display the fruit of the Spirit. We may emerge from them with broken bodies and broken hearts, but should never emerge from them with broken vows, broken honor, broken character.
To the contrary, we should emerge from our trials with deeper joy (even if also with deeper sorrows), with greater love (even if also with a deeper understanding of evil). Our trials should make us more patient and loving, more kind and godly, more loving toward God and more eager to love our fellow man. All that we endure should not just make us long for heaven, but give us the character of heaven, and not just make us long to see the face of Christ but to imitate the virtues of Christ.
And this is possible. This is possible because the One who was with those young men in their trial is with us in ours. The One who spoke to them speaks to us and the One who comforted them comforts us. As he was in the furnace of their affliction, we can be certain that he will be in ours as well.
Those young men passed through the fiery furnace without picking up the bitter smell of smoke. And just so, we are to pass through every trial without picking up any trace of bitterness, without surrendering our joy, without charging God with even the least wrong.

Today marks the third anniversary of the day Nick left us—the third anniversary of the day he arrived in heaven. It has been some time since I’ve paused with fingers on keyboard to collect my thoughts and deliberately think about him, about me, about my family, and about our grief. But the Lord, through the strange providence of having Aileen and me get stranded in a small fishing town in Alaska has given me time to pause, to think, and to write. (The photo above is one I snapped here.)

Time passes at a constant rate, of course, never any faster and never any slower. Yet sometimes it seems to have been so short a time since he died and sometimes it seems to have been so long. Sometimes he feels almost as present in my life as the day I last saw him and sometimes he feels so distant. Sometimes my memories of him are sharp and clear and sometimes they are dim and hazy. Increasingly they are like dreams I’m desperately trying to remember or reminiscences I’m desperately grappling to hold on to. The sound of his voice, the cackle of his laugh, the feel of his hugs—these are all fading into a past that seems ever more distant. I don’t like it that way, but it seems to be how human memory works—that without constant reinforcement, the old gives way to the new and the past to the present. It makes me wonder what I’ll remember of him years from now, or decades.
Today, though, I sure do miss him. I miss having someone who loved me in that unique way a son loves his father, and I miss having someone to love in that unique way a father loves a son. There are many kinds of love, of course, but that father-son bond is sweet, strong, and true. It’s no better than a father-daughter bond. But it’s different. Irreplaceable.
I miss having someone who shared so many of my interests and who was similar to me in so many ways. In varied ways, and mostly good ways, he was a kind of reflection of myself, though one who had the good sense to assume my virtues and eschew my faults.
I miss having someone who was deliberately following in my footsteps—who wanted to be like me enough that he observed and imitated. I miss the challenge of continuing to be worthy of being followed by someone so dear to me as a son.
I miss having someone who was growing beyond me, whose increasing experience and education had begun to reverse the roles so that I was beginning to turn to him for advice and guidance. We were becoming peers, he and I.
I miss the future we had mapped out in our conversations, a future in which he would get married, complete his degree, return to Canada, and take up a position at our church or at one nearby. We had planned to live close together, a family reunited after that time of preparation and education.
We will be reunited, of course, though at a much different time and in much different circumstances. We will be reunited in that place where our faith will become sight, that place where our pain will be erased and our tears wiped away, in that place where this will finally all make sense. He is already there. I will eventually catch up.
In the meantime, God continues to grant us the grace to trust him. None of us have wavered in our confidence that God is good and that in some way even an experience as painful as this is an expression of that goodness. None of us have allowed this to knock us out of the race or to give us an excuse to become less useful to the Lord’s purposes. None of us have allowed this to rob us of our joy or to keep us locked endlessly in sorrow or lament. All of us have committed to staying true to the Lord, to living our lives well, and to looking forward to that day when we will be together again.
Together again with our Savior. Our family whole, our hearts whole, our souls whole. All made whole through the goodness and grace of our God. Until that day I miss my sweet boy. I miss him, I love him, and I can’t wait to see him again.