This week Westminster Books hosted the bookstore for the Bethlehem Conference for Pastors. Now they’re offering 50% off some of their favorite books featured at the event.

(Yesterday on the blog: You’re Only Human)
Grave words
Kim Henderson considers tombstones and how they can preach to us even decades or centuries later.
A Call for Theological Humility
Gain Ortlund: “We must engage those with whom we have theological disagreements with humility, asking questions to make sure we understand, remembering that we don’t see things perfectly, and always seeking to grow in understanding where we may have blind spots.”
Love the people the Lord has given you, not the ones you hope to have
“There has been a sad tendency to really look for particular kinds of people who currently aren’t in the room to join the church the Lord has given us, rather than to love the specific people the Lord has already given us.” This is a reminder to love the people the Lord has actually provided.
How Great (Psalm 145)
Here is quite a nice new rendition of Psalm 145.
Cactus Spines and Groaning
John considers the painful groaning that goes on in our world. “Our groaning is not grumbling, but rather lamenting. Our lamenting God invites us to lament with him.”
Why Spiritual Habits Are Good
“We need to have daily routines for hygiene, eating, work, chores, and devotions. My friend Rev. Clint Davis always tells us, ‘two things you have to plan into your day is your exercise and your quiet time. If you don’t plan them into your day, they will not get done.’ I have found this true in my prayer and Bible reading.” Habits matter!
Flashback: Biographies for People Who Have Never Read a Biography
Today I want to offer just a few suggestions and recommendations for people who are approaching biography for the first time, or for the first time in a long while.

It is difficult to see how Christianity can have any positive effect on society if it cannot transform its own homes. —John MacArthur

There are a few little phrases I think about and repeat to myself on a regular basis. One of the simplest but most frequent is this: You will never regret the sins you do not commit. It’s basic. It’s easy. It’s obvious. But I need to hear it again and again.

Like you, I know that dreadful sick-to-my-stomach feeling that follows a sin, and especially one of those sins I am particularly committed to battling and overcoming. Though I had promised myself that I would never again commit that sin, though I had prayed for the Lord’s help, and though I had addressed the pattern of temptation and attempted to nip it in the bud, still I had caved and blundered into it once again. And I understood: I failed to take hold of the grace the Holy Spirit offered in that very moment of temptation. I sinned only because I chose to sin, only because I wanted to sin, only because sin was more attractive to me in that moment than righteousness.
And so I know the flush of heat that creeps up my neck and over my face, the sweat that beads on my forehead when I acknowledge that, yes, I did it again.
I know the deep feeling of failure and am familiar with having to go before the Lord to confess it again and to admit that I’m far more of a spiritual infant than I care to admit.
I know the sense of disappointment in myself and the necessary hardship of having to tell a friend or tell my wife that I messed up.
Like you, I know what it is to regret a sin and to wish that I hadn’t committed it. Hence, I often repeat to myself that little phrase: You will never regret the sins you do not commit. It reminds me of the obvious fact that regret comes when I succumb to temptation and joy comes when I resist. I’ve never once regretted resisting a temptation, never once mourned turning away from a sin, never once felt guilty for obeying God’s Word. To the contrary, I’ve felt such satisfaction when temptation has given way to righteousness, when I’ve slammed the door instead of opening it, when I’ve fled the devil instead of welcoming him in. Regret and sin are close neighbors, but regret and righteousness exist a world apart.
And so in the moments when sin seems attractive and righteousness seems burdensome, in the moments when doing what God forbids feels like it will deliver joy and doing what he commands feels like it will make me miserable, I stop, I consider, and I repeat this little phrase: You will never regret the sins you do not commit.

The young man had forsaken his father, claimed an early inheritance, and blown it all in reckless living. Having fallen from riches to poverty, this prodigal son was now in the most desperate of straights—working hard, eating little, spiraling ever downward.

But on one brutal day, when he was as low as low could be, a thought suddenly flashed into his mind: “At home even the hired servants have food enough to spare, and I’m here dying of hunger!” The thought birthed an idea: “I will go home to my father and say, ‘Father, I have sinned against both heaven and you, and I am no longer worthy of being called your son. Please take me on as a hired servant.’” He understood that though he was no longer worthy to be considered his father’s son, he would gladly take a place as his father’s slave.
So he set out to return home and at last arrived at the outskirts of his father’s holdings. As his foot hovered beside the boundary marker, he paused for just a moment to run over his plan and rehearse his words. “I have sinned. I am not worthy. Make me your servant. I have sinned. I am not worthy. Make me your servant.” With a whispered prayer, he steeled his gaze and began to shuffle forward.
He had taken only a few steps when suddenly, in the distance ahead, he saw someone approaching, running, almost sprinting in his direction. His arms looked to be open wide in a gesture of embrace. As the form came closer, there was a flash of recognition: his older brother. He must have been overseeing the field servants nearby when he spotted his younger sibling and came running toward him. Now, as he approached, the younger man saw that his brother’s arms were not open in embrace, but open in the universal gesture for “stop.” In just a few moments the two stood face-to-face.
The older spoke first: “What on earth are you doing here? After all you’ve done, how dare you set foot on this land?”
“I know I blew it,” the younger replied meekly. “I know I sinned. But I have nothing left. I’ve come to ask dad if he will let me be his servant.”
“Do you know what you did to dad when you left? Do you know how badly you shamed and embarrassed him in front of the entire community? He wants nothing to do with you.”
“I know he won’t ever take me back into the family. I wouldn’t even ask. But I know that he’s kinder to his slaves than most people are to their sons. I don’t need privileges. I just need kindness.”
“He doesn’t love you anymore. He doesn’t want you anymore. You’re dead to him.”
“I just want to talk to him. I just want to plead with him. I have seen him extend mercy to others—maybe he’ll extend it to me as well.”
“Mercy? To you? You’re an absolute disgrace. You disgust me and you’ll disgust him. You’re filthy. You stink.”
“I know. I know I do. I’ve been sleeping in barns. I’ve been eating with animals. I’m starving. I’m broken. I’m done.”
“I’m the future of this family. I’ve done everything dad has asked of me. I’ve obeyed his every word. It’s me he loves.”
“I know. I know you’re worthy of dad’s love. I know I’m not. But maybe dad has some love for the unworthy. I just want to ask. I just want to beg.”
“Come on! You know how just and fair dad is. He can’t just pretend you didn’t betray him. And he certainly hasn’t forgotten what you did to him. He won’t forget. He can’t forget.”
“I know. I can’t either.”
“None of us will ever forget what you did. None of us will ever forget who you are.”
As a tear cascaded from the young man’s eye, his older brother spoke once more: “Tell you what: You march yourself back up that road. I don’t want you to even think about coming back until you’ve cleaned yourself up, until you don’t stink anymore, until you’ve put on some decent clothes, and until you can reimburse dad every single penny you took from him. Then maybe, just maybe, he’ll be willing to see you.”
“I guess it’s only fair.”
“Go. Get out of here. You’re lost—don’t come back until you’ve found yourself.”
“You’re right. I’ll go. I’ll try to clean myself up. I’ll try to earn it all back. And if I do, I’ll return and prove myself to dad.”
And with that, the younger son turned around. He headed back up the roadway and past the boundary marker, each step extending the distance between himself and his father. His brother stood and watched him go, a satisfied grin on his face.
“I think I’m going to throw myself a little party,” he said. “I deserve it.”
(Author’s note: Have you ever considered what might have happened if the prodigal son met his older brother before his father?)