Seven Pounds of Guilt

Seven Pounds (Columbia Pictures, 2008), starring Will Smith and Rosario Dawson, is summarized by the Internet Movie Database like this (here): “A man with a fateful secret embarks on an extraordinary journey of redemption by forever changing the lives of seven strangers.”

IMDB.com gets this mostly right. An anguished man with a secret—huge spoiler alert coming!—has, with the help of a friend, hatched a plan to identify seven individuals whom he finds worthy of benefiting from his body parts, after he commits suicide.

This is the strange impetus that drives the plot of Seven Pounds. It’s what makes the film both loved and hated, depending on your demographic. Meaning, if you get paid to rate films, you generally hated it; if you don’t, you generally loved it.

Specifically, by a roughly three-to-one margin, the professional critics panned it. On the other hand, everyday audience members loved it. That is, Rotten Tomatoes, here, shows that 195 critics gave it an overall score of 27 percent, while over six-hundred thousand non-paid viewers gave it a score of 75 percent. Hundreds of thousands more people freely offered their generally positive opinion than the relative handful who were paid to review the film.

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Regardless of who you are, I believe one thing about film and film-making: to understand the medium, one has to understand what’s beneath the visuals of the story and maybe even the story, itself. The result of that may have nothing to do with what you’re watching, yet everything to do with it.

For example, Steven Spielberg’s E.T: The Extraterrestrial (Universal, 1982) appears to be about an alien boy stranded on Earth and befriended by a non-alien boy named Elliot. However, as Spielberg told Roger Ebert, in 1997, “From the very beginning, 'E.T.' was a movie about my childhood—about my parents' divorce” (for more on that, see Ebert’s page, here).

So, on the surface, the narrative gives us E.T., a boy who must phone home. But just below the surface is separation from the family unit and the grief and anxiety that the separation generated. These are the aspects of life that the Apostle Paul might call common to man (I Corinthians 10:13, NASB); they are universal experiences illustrated by the story-teller. The narrative is just the placeholder for those common-to-man experiences.

With this in mind, the jury may be out on the film Seven Pounds. This is because the film doesn’t touch on something universal, as Spielberg’s E.T. had done. It instead considers something philosophical. It conveys two interdependent ideas that three quarters of its unpaid critics appear to agree with. It first says that for one to die for another individual is a good and noble thing; it then says that the laying down of one’s life ought to only benefit those who are worthy of the ultimate sacrifice.

Seven Pounds tries to be Spielbergian. It tries to tap into a universal truth—namely, that to lay down one’s life is beautiful. And the film wonderfully illustrates how such a selfless act can forever impact the life of another—or, seven others, as in this film.

The film delivers a corollary to this truth. Namely, that to make the sacrifice worth it, it ought to only be made on behalf of those who are good; it should only benefit the truly deserving.

The film’s screenwriter, Grant Nieporte, must have believed that, in this, he was simply relating another universally held belief. His story’s protagonist—Ben Thomas, played by Will Smith—believes that only a good man (or woman) ought to receive the gift of life being offered to them. We see this in a portion of dialogue that Ben has with a man named George, to whom he would donate a kidney:

George: You know, Ben, I keep asking you this but why me?
Ben: Because you are a good man.
George: No, really.
Ben: Even when you don't know that people are watching you.

This same thought is seen again, as Ben talks with Emily, to whom he would donate his heart: 

Emily: Why do I get the feeling you're doing me a really big favor?
Ben: Because I get the feeling that you really deserve it.

Nieporte and Thomas—and, I assume, Will Smith—seem to believe that the beneficiaries of an ultimate sacrifice must be worthy of that sacrifice. I believe that they also thought they were conveying something which the majority of the public had also thought, along these same lines, if the film’s approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes is any indicator.

But God has another opinion. As Paul writes to the Romans, Christ didn’t die for those who had lived good lives and were therefore worthy of his sacrifice. No; instead, he died for the sinners (5:8), as every one of us are such (3:23), and for the ungodly (5:6).

While the film Seven Pounds attempts to confirm the supposed universal idea that ultimate sacrifice requires worthiness, the maker of the universe had another idea. Instead, he flipped that thought on its head and changed the economy of that contract from one of worthiness to that of worthlessness.

The economy of God says that none are worthy of benefitting from his Son’s ultimate sacrifice, yet all are invited to participate, anyway. Worthiness has actually been taken out of the equation, altogether. As Matthew Henry puts it (here), Christ didn’t die for the “good” (as Ben told George) or the deserving (as Ben told Emily), but for the ungodly among us; He died for the:

helpless creatures, and therefore likely to perish, but guilty sinful creatures, and therefore deserving to perish; not only mean and worthless, but vile and obnoxious, unworthy of such favour with the holy God.

Moreover, Henry says that we are “enemies,” “traitors and rebels, in arms against the government.” We were of “carnal mind.” He says that we were “not only an enemy to God, but enmity itself.” We were not only unworthy of the sacrifice of Christ, we were totally and completely worthless.

Yet, we were—and are—those for whom Christ died. He died for us vile and obnoxious ones.

C.S. Lewis seems to have anticipated Seven Pounds and its viewpoint on sacrifice and worthiness. He must have understood the idea’s pervasiveness when he mentioned the valiant nature of the sort of thing that the film’s Ben Thomas had done. Lewis says that, “As St. Paul writes, to have died for valuable men would have been not divine but merely heroic; but God died for sinners”(1).

* * *

Ben Thomas, dying for the lives of seven others was merely heroic. He died for valuable men and women, donating his heart, eyes, kidneys, and lungs, so that others might see and live.

Our Lord’s death, on the other hand, was beyond heroic. It was divine. It was such because it refused to consider the worthiness, godliness, or guilt of those for whom the sacrifice was made. Whereas, in the film Seven Pounds, it was Ben Thomas’s guilt that had motivated him to go through with the sacrificing of his life in the first place (he had accidentally killed seven people, as he texted while driving).

Christ laid down His life not because of any degree of worthiness on our part. Instead, He knew how unworthy we were and laid down His life, anyway. In this case, the guilt belonged to the beneficiary of the sacrifice and not the one who had become the sacrifice.

Jesus’ motivation was not guilt, but love—His love for a people who had gone astray: namely, all of us (Isaiah 53:6). He was so motivated by love that He, “for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising and ignoring the shame” (Hebrews 12:2) in order to bring us into His presence.

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My philosophy of life is that everything in life is a lesson. And I see two lessons here.

The first is the lesson of Seven Pounds, that sacrifice like Ben Thomas’s is merely heroic; the second is that of the New Testament: we need to consider how we might be more like Jesus. With those two thoughts in mind, then our directive for this day is that, as we lay down our lives for the King, we ought to think about how we can be more than heroic.

We are not and we cannot be divine, but we have the divine God living in us. As we follow Him, with His Spirit within us, He will direct us to the ungodly, to the unworthy, and speak to us about how to sacrifice ourselves, to lay ourselves down, so that we might love them into the Kingdom.

This is our mission. This is why we’re still here: so we can love the obnoxious into the Kingdom. You and I were worth the blood of Jesus. Likewise, those around us are worth loving—not because of who they are, in themselves, but because they, too, are those for whom Christ died.

In the film Seven Pounds, Ben Thomas literally gives the woman he loves his heart, that she might survive a soon-to-be-fatal cardiac condition. This is, for us, but a weak metaphor for what God has done for us through His Son: He has given us His heart, so that we might do the same—that we might, in turn, give our hearts to Him.

This is the message of the Gospel. It’s a message worth dying for. At the very least, it’s the message that we can sacrifice a part of ourselves to every day, as we’re directed by God. There are plenty of unworthy ones around us, in days like this. Even during a pandemic.

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1. C.S. Lewis. “Membership.” The Weight of His Glory and other addresses. 1946. Harper Collins. Hat Tip: Pastor Greg Hill.

—Kevin Hutchins

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

Schindler’s Christmas List

Video essayist Jack Nugent, on his YouTube Channel Now You See It, refers to the film Schindler’s List (Universal, 1993) as “The story of the color red.” I’d like to consider this thought and how the Bible can be viewed in the same light.

In this Christmas week, as we see poinsettias at home and in the malls—if we’re brave enough to venture out—we ought to consider how red is used as a visual in the Bible, in much the same way it is used in this film (and others). If we comprehend its significance, we can better understand the season we’re now in.

* * *

If you’ve seen Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List, you know that it is filmed almost exclusively in black and white, not color. However, it is bookended by two scenes filmed in color.

 These scenes include a Jewish family gathered for prayer and the lighting of two candles, as well as the epilogue, showing current-day Jews laying stones and a rose on Oskar Schindler’s grave, in Jerusalem. The film also includes two pivotal scenes where the color red represents a turning point in the heart of the businessman who would save nearly 1,200 Jewish lives, during World War II.

Spielberg makes conspicuous use of red in these middle scenes. It stands out in a predominately black and white film much more so than, say, the woman in red, in The Matrix; Dorothy’s ruby red slippers, in The Wizard of Oz; or the red doorknob in The Sixth Sense. It is not merely one color among many, as in these other films, but the only color to be seen, at this point in the film.

So, the director is obviously making a deliberate choice to use that color. In so doing, he demands his audience consider his use of it and its meaning.

As Jack Nugent says, “Schindler’s list perfectly embodies all the symbolic uses of red: its origins in fire and blood; the religious significance developed from pagan rituals, all the way to Christianity; and the harnessing of the color’s dual meaning”—i.e., that of life, passion, and love, as well as death, horror, and punishment. (See Nugent’s essay, “The Meaning of Red in Movies,” here).

When we see red in the middle of this mostly black and white film, it is attention-getting. It screams to us of what is happening: not in the visible world, but in the invisible heart of the man who would become savior to many.

We see red in the coat of a three-year-old girl, just as Oskar Schindler witnesses the liquidation of the Krakow, Poland ghetto. This is the point in the film where the Jews, already rounded up from within and around Krakow and placed into the ghetto, were forcibly removed from their homes to be murdered—either there, on the spot, or else in Auschwitz, after being loaded onto nearby cattle cars. Schindler sees the girl separating herself from the crowd; we see her re-entering an apartment building, and hiding under a bed.

This is also the point where Schindler—who may, up until this point, have viewed the Jews as a collective workforce—began to view them as a collection of individual lives worth saving. This journey toward understanding began, from Schindler’s point of view, as he lay perched above the city, on horseback, witnessing Krakow, Poland’s Kristallnacht, or The Night of Broken Glass, as it has come to be known, and took note of the girl in red.

Schindler’s journey ends when he later sees the lifeless body of the same girl being hauled away on a cart, to be burned along with many of her former family members and neighbors. There, she is no longer the representation of lives about to be extinguished. She has become the symbol of the lives that will be lost unless Schindler does more than merely employ them in his enamelware factory. This is why he is horrified, grief-stricken, as she is carted off toward the flames, right before his eyes.

As the film begins with red, the last color seen in the last burning candle on the Jewish family’s table, it concludes with red, as shown in the red rose placed on Oskar Schindler’s grave. If the color red were a thread pulled tight, it would be center-stitched into the blood-red heart of Schindler, in the scenes mentioned above, where the girl in the red coat is burned onto the conscience of the man who would save many from the Nazi holocaust.

* * *

As Schinder’s List may be considered a story of the color red, so may the Word of God. Some consider this the Bible’s Scarlet thread.

In many instances, the Bible includes the color red as an important thematic element contained in the story of man’s fall and redemption. In this context, red is used to convey the same things seen in Schindler’s List: life, passion, and love, as well as death, horror, and punishment.

Judah and Tamar were to have twin sons. Zerah, about to be delivered, held out his hand but was brought back into the womb, to be replaced by his brother Perez. The momentary appearance of Zerah was marked by a scarlet thread tied to his wrist by his mother’s midwife, indicating he had been replaced by his twin brother Perez, the ancestor of Jesus (Matthew 1:3).

Scarlet is also mentioned as belonging to the temple, where the ritual sacrifices were made, and as belonging to the priests, those who performed the sacrifices. “You shall make the tabernacle with ten curtains of fine twined linen and blue and purple and scarlet yarns” (Exodus 26:1, ESV). “And they shall make the ephod [apron / breastplate] of gold, of blue and purple and scarlet yarns, and of fine twined linen, skillfully worked” (Exodus 28:6, ESV).

Before the Israelites took the city of Jericho, spies were sent in. They were later given refuge and safe passage out of the city through a window in Rahab’s house and let down the city wall by a scarlet thread. This was the same scarlet thread used to tell Joshua, when they reentered the land, that she hadn’t told the authorities they were there, earlier, and to remind her that she and her family would be kept safe from the invading Israeli army.

This red sign marked Rahab’s family safe from the death and destruction to come upon her family. It was a reminder of how the scarlet red markings on the doorposts of the Israelites had marked them safe from the death angel about to ravage Egypt, killing all of its firstborn.

The scarlet thread of Rahab extends back to the Exodus and beyond, all the way to the garden, where animals were sacrificed by God, covering the sin of Adam and Eve. It extends forward to God’s ultimate sacrifice, that of His Son, sent to redeem mankind. It includes the scarlet worn by Jesus’s uncle Zacharias, clothed in the same ephod of his ancestors, as he performed his priestly duties in the temple, the year that Jesus was born.

* * *

This brings us back to where we had started: the Christmas story. As with the twins, Zerah and Perez, the Lord, whose arrival is heralded by “a multitude of the heavenly host” (Luke 2:13), does something similar. He ties a scarlet thread around the wrist of those willing to recognize that He is their substitute on the cross, for the punishment they deserve, even as Perez was substituted for Zerah.

As with Rahab, we had been prostituting ourselves with the ways of the world. But we are now rescued by the scarlet blood of the lamb, He who had been slain from the foundation of the world (Revelation 13:8). He who could not be sacrificed unless He was first born to a woman and placed in a manger (Luke 2: 7,12,16) extends the scarlet thread of Rahab toward us. He does so that we might be rescued, saved from the destruction that will ultimately come upon the world—much as it came upon Jericho, with every wall of separation torn down and every loved one who would be saved forever rescued from eternal devastation.

The scarlet thread is woven throughout the fabric of the Bible. It tells us how the love of God reaches out to the lost and rescues them, giving them life in place of death. It speaks of how God’s great passion redeems His people from death and the horrors of eternal punishment. It is seen in the garden, the lineage of Jesus, and the redemption of the gentiles. It is visible in the temple, the priests, the blood-loss coming from Mary in her delivery of Jesus, and in her Son’s death on the cross.

Oskar Schindler, a flawed and fallible man, rescued hundreds once he looked to the scarlet threads woven into a young girl’s coat, once he permitted her plight to work its way into his heart. Jesus, our perfect and infallible Savior, whose birth we remember this week, wants to take the plight of lost humanity and work it into our hearts this Christmas. He asks that we might comprehend the message of the Scarlet Thread and convey it to others, that they, too, might be rescued.

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Shall we, the rescued, not take the Scarlet Thread’s message, the Gospel, to those in desperate need of it, this season? Perhaps we need an epiphany, as Schindler had, when he saw the certain death facing the Jews and permitted his heart to be moved, so that he might rescue them.

If we haven’t had such a moment, we need to ask God to provide us one. The eternal lives of one or two, or perhaps hundreds, depends on such a moment being birthed within us.

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

Election Results We Can Count On

According to the mainstream media, the election is over and we have a new president-elect. Others would say we’re still in a grey zone, where some electoral intrigue might still occur. In this timeframe, during the month of December, deadlines have to be met:

·  The 8th: Resolve all election disputes at the state level.

·  The 14th: Electors (of the electoral college) vote by paper ballot in each state and the District of Columbia; the votes are certified.

·  The 23rd: Certificates are delivered.

As of this writing—Tuesday, the Tenth of November—the legal team representing one of the candidates will be disputing the election results. They will use this time, possibly through that second deadline (December 14th), to challenge the vote tallies in a number of states, hoping to find the electoral votes that would send their candidate across the finish line, much as Al Gore had attempted to do, twenty years ago.

So, from a certain viewpoint, the election of one week ago is not exactly settled.

* * *

What is exactly, definitively, and forever settled are the elections result of the Kingdom of God. There, our heavenly Father has chosen who would be His. He has chosen who would fulfill His messianic purposes for all time and who would fulfill His Kingdom purposes in specific times and places.

When the Bible speaks of election, it does so in a sense very similar to what we the people had done on election day: it describes the free choice made by one person to appoint another to operate in a position not before held, or to enter something not before seen.

When we read of “the elect,” we’re reading of those chosen by God. When we read of “election,” we’re reading of the choice that God has made in those He wants, or has wanted, to become great people and to do great things for Him and His Kingdom.

God’s word mentions the elect (or election) twenty-seven times, four of which are in the Old Testament (all in Isaiah). The forerunner is, of course, Jesus, our Savior. The prophet says of Him:

Behold my servant, whom I uphold; mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth; I have put my spirit upon him: he shall bring forth judgment to the Gentiles. (42:1, KJV)

It says further on in Isaiah that Jesus would bring justice to the nations—not by shouting or crying out, or raising His voice in the streets. He would do so through faithfulness; He would be called in righteousness and be made a covenant and a light for the gentiles, opening blind eyes and setting captives free.

All of this would occur because Jesus was elected by God to hold messianic office for all time.

 Every remaining instance of the word elect—or a form of the word, in Hebrew (בָּחִיר / bâchîyr) or Greek (ἐκλεκτός / eklektos)—refers to the church. It refers to you and me as the chosen ones, the elect of God.

Also in Isaiah (45:4), we’re told that we, as Israel, are God’s elect (as Paul tells the Galatians, it is those who are of faith who are sons of Abraham, what he calls “the Israel of God.” See 3:7 and 6:16). The prophet says that we shall inherit God’s mountains (65:9) and shall, as His elect, enjoy the work of our hands (65:22) in that place.

When we get to the New Testament, staring with the gospels, Matthew and Mark tell us that His chosen, His elect, should expect rough days ahead. He says that “except those days should be shortened, there should no flesh be saved” and “but for the elect's sake those days shall be shortened” (Matthew 24: 22).

Mark quotes our Lord, saying that God’s chosen should be careful whom they follow, for “false Christs and false prophets shall rise, and shall show signs and wonders, to seduce, if it were possible, even the elect” (13:22).

Paul mentions election five times in his letter to the Romans, alone. Since God is He who justifies, he says, “who can lay a charge against God’s elect?” (8:33). He says that God’s purposes stand—according to His choice, His election—not because of our works, but because of God’s calling (9:11).

Paul reminds us that, even as a remnant of Israel had remained faithful, we are among the remnant who stand, today, because of what he calls the election of grace—that is, God’s grace working in us so that we comprehend His election (His choice) to give up his Son as an intercessor, on our behalf (11:5).

Two verses later, he says that this election, this choice that God made, opens up avenues for us not open to Israel. And in chapter eleven, he says that we are beloved—as a result of God’s election to pursue us through the Son.

God leads by example. He demonstrates the nature of love, showing us that, above all else, it is a choice. This is the meaning of God’s election.

Paul also considers election when writing to the Colossian church, to the Thessalonian church, to Timothy and Titus, reminding them the elect are responsible to “put on holiness, mercy, kindness, humility, meekness, and longsuffering” (Col 3:12) and that he endures “all things for the sake of the elect” (2 Tim 2:10).

The Apostle Peter is just as sure to remind his readers of the election of God, the choice our Father made to pursue those who had been wayward and who are now His. He confirms Paul’s word to them, saying they were elect “according to the foreknowledge of God the Father” (1 Pet 1:2), that they were, as Jesus, “elect and precious” (1 Pet 2:6).

* * *

Much more could be said on the subject of election, to include such esoteric terms as the Calvinist Reformation’s view of Conditional Election, vis-à-vis Unconditional Election. This is a debate that has been raging since the death of John Calvin in 1564, one that I’ll leave for the theologians to discuss.

To me, the important point to remember is that God chose us to be a part of His Kingdom. God elected you, He elected me, to join him. And, according to John 3:16, we have a choice in the matter: whosoever would believe in Him can accept that offer of grace to join Him in His Kingdom.

For my part, I’d like to not only join Him, but to play as active a part as possible. Would anyone like to join me?

Who would like to be elected to this office of active citizenship in the Kingdom of God? The offer has already been made; it’s now up to you to either become a citizen or to decide you’ll focus all of your internal energy to the Kingdom’s purposes.

* * *

If you’re downcast, as a result of last week’s election results, take heart. God cast His ballot in your favor from before the foundation of the world, and His vote counts much more than that of any American voter.  

His election needs to be, and to always remain, the focus of our attention. His vote counts more than any earthly voter’s.

He chose you to receive grace upon grace, so that you would know that you are among the elect of God. Rejoice in this day, knowing that you are His.

Grow, as He gives you the opportunity, in the knowledge of His grace and the assurance of His having chosen you to be among His very own—for He has a very specific Kingdom purpose for you in this very place and in this time. No one else can accomplish that purpose but you!

You are chosen by God to hold this office. Specifically, you have been elected by God to hold the office of ambassador, or representative, of the Kingdom of God; you are called to be a minister of reconciliation, “as though God were making his appeal through [you]” (2 Corinthians 5:20).

You are uniquely qualified. If you make your party platform that of the Kingdom of God, you will never be disappointed. You will succeed.

“Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails” (Proverbs 19:21).

 —Kevin Hutchins

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational

Resurrecting My Marriage

Breathtaking! Bold! Beautiful! Like nothing you’ve seen before!

Those are the words that Roger Ebert (of the Chicago Sun-Times) used to describe the Robin Williams movie What Dreams May Come. Similar words were used by my wife’s co-worker, in reference to this 1998 film, which got us intrigued enough to watch it.

The film was based on the novel of the same name by Richard Matheson, whose earlier work, I am Legend, was set for the screen in Charlton Heston’s The Omega Man (1971) and Will Smith’s I am Legend (2007). What Dreams May Come was written for the screen by Ronald Bass, who is known for the Dustin Hoffman-Tom Cruise film Rain Man, along with other relationship-driven films, such as My Best Friend’s Wedding and Sleeping with the Enemy.

* * *

So what happens when the work of a man known for science fiction is interpreted by another known for relationship stories? You get the tale of a lost relationship hoping to be mended, with the mending set in a fantastical place—one masquerading as heaven, but is not. In this heaven, God is nowhere to be found and all who enter it can create their own lush and beautiful reality, as long as they can focus long enough on what they wish to create.

Loosely based on portions of Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy (1472), What Dreams May Come was a disappointment. Its premise is an extension of New Age thinking, which says that you can make your own reality here on earth, and applies it to the afterlife. This wasn’t exactly what Dante, or God, had in mind.

What Dante did have in mind was the idea of a man going through hell (literally) in order to reunite with the love of his life. Beatrice is his motivation for traversing all of the circles of hell, purgatory, and paradise, so that he might once again be with she who had passed away before him.

What Dreams May Come, whose title was lifted from Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” soliloquy, contains faulty theology, but its core premise intrigued me. It reminded me of a question I’ve had since I met the love of my life: Could we get remarried in the resurrection?

An odd question, I know. It does seem to fly in the face of the catechism some of us once knew, which says, in part: “Man's chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.”

An answer to my question (Could we get remarried?), in light of this, could go something like: “No, if you’re enjoying God forever, marriage will get in the way of that. Besides, Jesus said, ‘For when they rise from the dead, they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven’ (Mark 12:25).”

This deserves a two-part answer.

I don’t know about marriage to another human being intruding upon a relationship with God then, in the next life, because the goal is to not permit that to happen in the here and now. If marriage to another person can be made to not intrude upon our relationship with God in this life, then why would it be intrusive in the next?

(I’ve once heard that this life is heaven practice, that this is where we learn priorities and behaviors that prepare us for the next life. I think that the Apostle Paul may agree with this notion, for, as Pastor Greg has recently reminded us, Paul had said that “godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come” (I Timothy 4:8).)

Whether it’s here and now or then and there, the idea is to maintain priorities: God first and all others second. As I told my wife, when I first introduced myself, “I want to be a part of your life knowing that I’m in second place, right behind God; and I want to know that you’re comfortable knowing you’re in second place—right after God.” With these priorities, I don’t believe that time and place play any part in the equation.

But what of what Jesus said about marriage in the next life? As Hamlet would say, “Ay, there’s the rub!”

From the looks of things—like the English Standard Version, quoted above—Jesus appears to have said that marriage isn’t part of the resurrection. But, as with the film I discussed above, looks can be deceiving. The actual meaning lies beneath the surface.

The context of the statement was Jesus’ response to an effort at entrapment by the Sadducees—those who don’t believe in the resurrection, so they’re sad, you see. 😉  Their attempt and his answer is found in Mark 12:18-27.

The passage begins by saying the Sadducees are agnostic regarding the resurrection; yet they asked him about it, anyway, to try and disprove the concept. Their attempt refers to the Levitical law that says if a man should die without a child, his brother should marry the widow, in order to preserve the family line and name.

The Sadducees proposed a ridiculous hypothetical; they suggested that this practice had occurred with seven brothers, none of whom could raise up a son. They further suggested that Jesus, because he hadn’t answered the question of to whom the woman would belong in the resurrection, he then couldn’t explain the resurrection, either, since he couldn’t sort out this family-lineage scenario to their satisfaction.

In the midst of his rebuttal to their hypothetical, Jesus said, “When they rise from the dead, they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven” (Mark 12:25). Or did he?

Well, that’s how the English Standard Version translates the Greek. But that may be an imperfect translation.

A possibly better translation, given the context of the passage, has to do with how women were being viewed, especially by the Sadducees: as possessions, as a means to an end, as a way to create sons who would maintain the lineage of the man.

Jesus says that the resurrection eliminates this selfish view of women as possessions. The ancient Syriac Peshitta version of the Bible translates the above verse from Mark this way: “They do not take wives, nor are wives given to husbands.” That is, they’re not taken by men, nor are they given to other men as possessions. Rather, in the resurrection, we all belong to God.

If we all belong to God, we would then belong to each other as we willingly give ourselves one to another—in much the same way that New Testament marriage calls for us to willingly belong to and submit to one to another (Ephesians 5:21), out of love for one another and out of reverence to God.

With this in mind, the sense that I get of what Jesus told the Sadducees is that the Old Testament view of marriage—found in Deuteronomy 25:5–10, where women are the possessions of men, for the sake of the family name and little else—will be done away with in the resurrection.

It’s not that marriage will be done away with, altogether. Meaning, there may be marriage in the resurrection, after all, and it may actually look like the sort of New Testament marriage that my wife and I currently enjoy and look to get better at, as the days go by.

* * *

This is not a theological certainty. Or even a theological assertion. It’s just the hope of my heart, based on what I believe Jesus has said on the subject, as he addressed an actual theological certainty.

In watching the theologically faulty What Dreams May Come, I had to take a closer look at marriage and how it might look in the resurrection, in the life after this—for heaven is but a momentary stopover, on the way to the resurrection, where God has for us new bodies, and a new heaven and a new earth (Revelation 21:1). With that closer look, I now have hope, as a late-middle-age man, that I may indeed be able to once again marry my wife, if I can somehow see her in the resurrection to come.

My body is faulty. I’m dealing with what may one day be a difficult end-of-life scenario, in a battle with rheumatoid arthritis. As I fight the good fight, I’m thankful that I’m not fighting it alone. God is with me, by his spirit, and he has sent me an ally, a partner, one whom I can now hardly imagine life without.

She is the love that I had never known until Our Father had introduced us. God brought her four thousand miles from home to eventually meet me in Vineland, New Jersey. I wonder how far I might have to travel to meet her, once again, when I have finally, as Hamlet had said, “shuffled off this mortal coil.”

—Kevin Hutchins

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

The Greatest Christian Film Ever?

When we think of Christian films, a few may come to mind. There are classics, like The Greatest Story Ever Told, The Robe, and Ben Hur. More recently, there are Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ or Mary Magdelene, which I had discussed a few months ago. Another is the film Forgiven, with Kevin Sorbo, broadcast on Showtime, just today.

What if I told you, to misquote The Matrix’s Morpheus, that the greatest Christian film ever made might not be one of the above films? It may not even be a Christian film at all. Not intentionally, anyway.

* * *

I appreciate the video essays found on the YouTube channel Logos Made Flesh. This channel is named after the first phrase in the first sentence of John 1:14: The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.

Logos Made Flesh belongs to Matthew Scott Miller. He seeks to expound on symbolism and explore the hidden meanings baked into films. When he considered the film Ex Machina, he invited people to watch his videos by using the term “Hidden meaning”—which is to say, not private meaning, but the symbols and codes hidden but to those holding the key. (Films I like to decode, myself, are those of Stanley Kubrick.)

Miller’s approach is important for believers in the New Testament. There, truths about God, the universe, ourselves, and each other, are plainly discussed—while, in the Old Testament, these same truths are still there, yet concealed. What is concealed in the one testament is revealed in the other and vice versa.

As Miller considers The Shawshank Redemption, he asks:

Can a film which is rated R, for a host of obscenities, produced by a cast and crew of non-believers and which paints the only Christian as an evil hypocrite, be the greatest Christian movie ever made?

Over 2.2 million voters on the Internet Movie Database (IMDB.com) have made The Shawshank Redemption the #1 ranked film of all time. Miller says that while, “People are drawn to this film for its message of hope and enduring friendship,” few grasp its true meaning. What surpasses the themes of hope and friendship is how they come together in “a Christian act of redemption.”

Unlike most prison films, this movie seems to not concern itself with escape; instead, it focuses on life on the inside. No one who saw the film for the first time saw Andy Dufresne’s deliverance coming. There was no lead up or execution of a plan. Andy just disappeared.

We’re conditioned by the film to anticipate something other than an escape. As Miller says, “Contrary to every expectation, the prisoners fear release. While they hate the walls of the prison, they’re not seeking to escape from it, either.” Red (Morgan Freeman) put it this way: These walls are funny. First you hate ‘em; enough time passes, you get so you depend on ‘em.

For the prisoners of Shawshank, Brooks embodies this principal problem. For Brooks, says Miller, “freedom is [but] an exile to a world he doesn’t belong. So when he ultimately finds himself in that exile, empty and alone, he sees no other option but to hang himself.”

While this problem is seen in most of the prisoners, Andy is the exception; he is not a dependent. He doesn’t rely upon Shawshank’s walls for life and hope.

Andy, according to Miller, “subverts the prison’s dehumanizing system of rules and regulations, extending to his fellow prisons rare and extraordinary reminders of the outside world—cold beer after a hot day’s work, angelic music over the prison’s speaker’s, new books to educate men.”

In this setting, when proof of his innocence had vanished, Andy seemed to also succumb to the institutional pessimism of his fellow prisoners. But then the unexpected occurred.

For a moment, we were led to believe that Andy was dead. By all appearances, he was about to hang himself, as Brooks had done. Then, at the morning cell check, a guard exclaimed something one might hear at the realization of a resurrection: “Oh my holy God!”— a close paraphrase of what Thomas had said, when he confirmed that Jesus had risen from the dead (“My Lord and my God!,” he said).

We then learn that Andy is not dead. Instead of finding him expired in his tomb—I mean, in his cell—we find that Andy has actually escaped and is alive. Miller says about this event: “The film infuses Andy’s escape with the symbolism of new birth. It proceeds through a woman’s womb [the poster of Raquel Welch], and ends with him slipping head-first from the other end.”

This symbolism fits into what we had seen earlier in the film: prisoners entering Shawshank like newborns—naked and coated in white. With Andy, his escape signifies a born-again experience, as he becomes a new man, with a new identity and new wealth: what had been set aside for the corrupt warden.

While Andy’s escape is an echo of Jesus’ resurrection, The Shawshank Redemption goes a step further. It shows us why it matters.

What is meant by the redemption at Shawshank? Miller says the meaning is seen in Andy’s friend Red. It’s witnessed in Red’s ability to let go of his care of being a free man or not, in relation to the walls around him, because he had become free on the inside.

With Andy on the outside, Red suddenly “no longer cares whether he remains [within Shawshank] or goes, whether he lives or dies; the world outside no longer concerns him. Because Andy lives, he can face what the future holds.”

* * *

A character in a movie is given new hope, because his friend, thought to be dead, had apparently been resurrected. Yet, Andy and Red are but characters in a film, whereas you and I are indeed real and our Savior—more real than the atoms in my fingers—is a resurrected friend of ours. Jesus is more of a friend to us than Andy was to Red, because he laid His life down for his friends.

Our friend Jesus entered the earthly prison we’re now in, joined us for a time, and died alongside other prisoners—but for a short time. He rose again to live again—for a very, very long time—and to give us New Hope. As the song says:

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.
Because He lives, all fear is gone.
Because I know He holds the future,
And life is worth the living, just because He lives.

—Kevin Hutchins

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

Speak Less, Love More

So also the tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great things. How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire! (James 3:5)

Ahh, for the days of purity and simplicity. I long for them.

The Apostle Paul longed for them. He feared for the Corinthian church, that they may have been led astray from what he called “the simplicity and purity of devotion to Christ” (II Corinthians 11:3, NASB).

The 15th-Century religious cleric Thomas à Kempis said of these things: Purity and simplicity are the two wings with which man soars above the earth and all temporary nature. If he’s right about this, and I believe that he is, the question the statement begs is, “What are we soaring toward?”

A better rendering of the question might be: “Toward whom are we soaring?” That’s because, while we’re obligated as Christians to be truth-seekers, we need to recognize that, first and foremost, the truth lies in a person, in He who declared Himself to be the truth (John 14:6).

It’s one thing to be devoted to the truth. It’s quite another to be devoted to the author of truth.

To seek Jesus, one must have a degree of tunnel-vision. We must refuse to be distracted by the issues of life. We must remember that the main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing.

Jesus is the main thing. We ought not to be distracted from Him.

A works-based theology distracts us from entering, by grace, what the author of Hebrews refers to as the “Sabbath-rest for the people of God” (4:9). Likewise, we should be careful not to be distracted from pure and simple devotion to Christ.

Yet, my lamentation persists. “Ahh, for the days of purity and simplicity.”

I lament because the times in which we live are political, polarized times. It seems that everywhere we look, especially since this is an election year, politics is everywhere—especially that of a particular stripe and color.

Camps that had been formed well before the death of George Floyd are now expressing their grievances in various ways—some of which are productive, others not so much. Outside the church, people are now, in the most literal of ways, at each other’s throats—or brandishing weapons, either to defend themselves or to intimidate others. Inside the church, the greater Christian church, I think that what had been a sanctuary may become its own tinderbox, if we’re not careful.

As a result, when I now go out in public, I half-expect that because I’m of a certain demographic, I’m to be hated by other demographics. Or, at the least, I expect that they’re expecting that I’m going to be hating them because of their demographic. The culture and the media have uncomfortably shaped my expectations, twisting them in ways I had never anticipated.

These aren’t real expectations, but I nonetheless feel programmed. No particular inter-racial/ethnic interactions that I’ve recently had have made me feel that way; those interactions have actually been quite wonderful.

No, It’s due to what the media has been feeding me, in the last month. As much as I’d like to cheer on one side or the other, the fights have lately been bloodier than ever; it’s well beyond rhetoric, at his point. Lives and livelihoods have been lost. And, more than ever, my stomach has been turning.

So I’ve tamped down the media; I’ve tried to simplify my thought processes. I’ve tried to eliminate the things that distract me from pure and simple devotion to Christ. As I inwardly seek to upwardly connect with God in a more singular fashion, I try and outwardly love others with greater purity and simplicity.

Yet, multi-directional simplicity is somewhat challenging, these days. As I’ve mentioned, we’re repeatedly being told to look at things through a certain lens. As this challenge keeps presenting itself, I keep going back to purity and simplicity, in all three directions: in relation to God, to others, and within myself.

I’ve resolved to push aside political agendas and love simply—with all the purity of heart that I can muster, with all the devotion with which God may enable me.

With this in mind, while some are calling for us to talk more, I’m calling for us to talk less. To be clear, I’m not telling anyone to “Shut up.” I’m simply asking for us to dial down the rhetoric.

While some would say that greater talking is constructive, I’m calling it destructive. While others will exercise their intention to talk more, I’m going to exercise my intention and talk less.

* * *

Andy Stanley is all about intentionality. The Christian Post quotes him, here, telling his congregation to ,“Look for an opportunity to love unconditionally someone with whom you disagree politically.”

His message sounds good, on the surface. But, as I’m hearing the Apostle Paul, Stanley’s message distracts from the idea of purity and simplicity. With too many words, he goes beyond looking for opportunities to love unconditionally and instructs others on what ought to be the direction of their love.

My reaction is this: To stop the command at “love unconditionally” leaves room for the Holy Spirit to direct the heart—whether it be toward someone with whom we might disagree politically, or toward another. To add to the command distracts from the apostle’s message.

Morgan Freeman seemed to agree with the apostle. In a 2005 interview with Mike Wallace (available here), he was asked about the subject of racism and what should be done about it. Though he wasn’t speaking on the subject of devotion to Jesus, he did suggest the need—at least in relation to one another—to simplify our language, and therefore our thought-processes.

Freeman’s answer to racism: Stop talking about it. He went on to explain that our lives need not be complicated by the hyphenated labels that some insist ought to be attached to our identities.

Of all the radical ideas being pushed in the culture—and, yes, even the church—Freeman’s may be the most radical. (Not that he is even pushing it; he only said so in response to a question.)

That’s because, while so many are ratcheting up the volume from so many speakers, from so many various perspectives, Freeman asks that we do something different: instead of trying to drown one another out, with more and more takes on the political climate, consider actually turning the volume down.

We might say that Freeman was speaking during a different time, a different era. I would then say that, in the larger sense, his message is timeless. It’s as timeless as Paul’s message of grounding us in simplicity, for it encourages us to do the same with one another—specifically, to consider speaking less and loving more.

And I have found, especially in relationship with my wife, that to consider saying less is to first consider feeling less about what I might consider important and instead consider looking for more common ground. I’ve found that when I consider putting my feelings aside, I can love more effectively.

I wonder if we can’t consider doing this more, within the culture. But I think the answer is that we can’t, because we’ve been more polarized and more radicalized than ever. I’m starting to think that the culture is irredeemable and is too lost for this to any longer be a relevant question.

The month of June may have turned me into a cynic, at least in relation to the greater culture in which we live. I hope this feeling doesn’t persist; I’m open to God directing me otherwise.

I’m hoping we can speak less within the church, and leave behind the divisive encumbrances of politics and other division. I hope that we would instead consider that we are one, as Jesus and the Father are one, and that Jesus wants us to be brought into complete unity, so that, in this oneness, the world would know that Jesus was sent by the world to redeem it from all division (John 17:23).

* * *

I hope that pure and simple devotion to Christ would, above all else, be that which unites us. I fear that, once we lose sight of that, then the church is in as much danger as the culture and we may be about to fracture beyond repair. I hope to not become a cynic in relation to the church, as well.

I pray that God would heal our wounds, that reconciliation on all levels would be sought, and that every ounce of division would set aside. I pray for pure and simple devotion to Christ. Paul didn’t think that was too much to ask. Neither do I.

—Kevin Hutchins

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

In Praise of George

I’m glad that Living Faith Alliance Church has pastors who listen to God and have made themselves available to him. Take, for example, our executive pastor, George Davis. He is, on the one hand, known for having a “slightly skewed sense of humor,” if I may quote his LFA staff profile (here). On the other hand, he’s quite spiritually insightful.

For example, a week ago, he preached the exact sermon that my new wife, Ellie, and I needed to hear. His message—found here, on YouTube—touched on a few things, including the parable of the virgins, as recorded in Matthew, Chapter 25 (here). The parable discusses those who were found to be wise and others found to be foolish, those prepared for the bridegroom’s arrival and those who were not.

Pastor George asked us to consider which kingdom is the source of our strength and joy. In terms of the parable, the answer is: those who were eagerly anticipating the bridegroom’s arrival; those who had the King, Himself, as the source of their strength and joy—because the bridegroom is the coming King and the church is His bride.

And guess what day it was that our pastor had shared this message? It was on May 17th, which was to be the date that my wife and I had been eagerly anticipating to be married—that is, until a little thing called the COVID-19 pandemic.

On Sunday, the 17th, we had plans for a late-afternoon wedding at LFA; a reception at the Inn at Sugar Hill, in Mays Landing; and a honeymoon in the Poconos. But for the pandemic.

As it turned out, my wife and I were married in another state, back in March, right before the statewide lockdown had begun (I say, “Back in March,” as if that was years ago, because, by now, it seems like we’ve been married for years). There was no fanfare, reception, or announcement, aside from a Facebook post that made me wonder if the governor would be watching and we’d be investigated for unauthorized travel.

So, May 17th was somewhat bittersweet for me and mine. Though, as we were reminded, without any of the above happening for us, George’s message became a chance for us to remember that there’s more to be focused on here than a public wedding and reception. Without the realization of our original plans, we now had the opportunity to focus on another wedding; we had the chance to consider a much greater, more glorious wedding feast.

George asked us to set our eyes on another prize: a bigger, better wedding—the Marriage Feast of the Lamb. He asked us to consider an event where, unlike the foolish virgins of Matthew 25, the bride has “made herself ready, … arrayed in fine linen, clean and bright, for the fine linen is the righteous acts of the saints” (Revelation 19:7-8, NIV, here).

As much as we were looking forward to our wedding day, with all the trimmings, Pastor George helped us adjust our minds. And he helped me to remember that, when I was young in the Lord, a singer/pianist named Keith Green gave me a heart for the great Marriage Feast.

Keith—whom I’ve been missing, ever since his untimely death in a plane crash, at age 28—wrote a song to his parents (found here, on YouTube). He wrote the song hoping to tell them that one day there would be a feast and only those responding to the invitation would be allowed to enter in. He said:

Close the doors, there're just not coming!
We sent the invitations out a long, long, long time ago—
We're still gonna have a wedding feast,
Big enough to beat them all!
The greatest people in the world just wouldn't come
So now we'll just have to invite the small!

Pastor George also looked at the work of the prophet Zechariah (shown below, in Michelangelo’s mind, on the Sistine Chapel). In Chapter Eight of the prophet’s work, we’re told that Jerusalem will be filled with:

Old men and old women [who] will come back to Jerusalem, sit on benches on the streets and spin tales, move around safely with their canes—a good city to grow old in. And boys and girls will fill the public parks, laughing and playing—a good city to grow up in. (v. 4-5, The Message, here)

George encouraged us to consider this passage as something that the Bride of Christ has to look forward to. That is, believers—those who consider themselves the bride, the Lamb’s wife (Revelation 21:9-21, found here)—can look forward to peace and safety within the walls of the New Jerusalem, and actually become Jerusalem, herself. Within this Jerusalem, where everyone is playing their part, will be all that is needed for the young to grow up in safety and the old to be well-taken care of.

Pastor George might have known that I was to be married on the 17th of May, as this may have been shared among the pastors, as a group. But he couldn’t have known about Zechariah, Chapter Eight, and that my wife and I had studied this passage just the day before his message. So, it was fresh in our hearts, from less than a day earlier.

How could his sermon, as a whole, be so in sync with the place that Ellie and I were, that very weekend? He couldn’t have known. He couldn’t have addressed us so specifically, had not the Spirit of God been with him to confirm to us God’s message to our hearts. Yet, he did address us quite specifically, speaking to us just what we needed to hear—by being the vessel we needed to speak to us, that day.

***

We are thankful for Pastor George. We’re grateful that he was available to God on the 17th of May, to share with us a comforting message. We appreciate that he was there for us, to tell us God knows of our disappointment and understands our hearts. We’re blessed to have a pastor who would share a message that would tell us we will always have another wedding date, one that cannot be cancelled.

I’m grateful for a man of God, such as Pastor George Everett Davis, one with a sense of humor at least as skewed as mine. I’m happy that, because of his sense of humor, I can get away with titling this post “In Praise of George,” because he knows that I know better than to actually praise him, where the praise really belongs to God. (Sorry about that; I had to get the reader’s attention! 😉)

I’m grateful for the God of all comfort. I’m thankful for He who would use a humble man like George and reach down to my wife and I, in our disappointment, and encourage us.

I’m blessed to know that God would turn to us and assure us that any wedding plans we might have had in mind—or still have, for that matter—cannot compare to all that God has in mind, when his Son, betrothed to the church, finally invites us all in to celebrate with Him the union of us, his people, with His Son, the Lord our God.

—Kevin Hutchins

Join the Son by the Sea

While this will be published after Easter, I’d still like to share with you an experience that my brand-new wife and I shared during Holy Week. We watched an interesting film: 2018’s Mary Magdalene. The Internet Movie Database (IMDB) says about it: “Twelve men heard and spread the message of Jesus. Only one woman understood it.”

Very little to go by, there, I know. That terse summary is actually true, and it does present Mary as the protagonist—i.e., the central character, who propels the story forward. But it also presents a unique vision of who Jesus is: one not at all seen in classic Hollywood productions.

The film presents Mary’s story, and says very little about the story we already know, that of the Gospel of the risen Jesus. The film assumes we’ve already got His story embedded in our heads and paints a unique picture of Jesus.

Before and after the resurrection, He’s not the classic, well-kept, well-combed Jesus we’ve all come to recognize from films like The Greatest Story Ever Told or Kings of Kings. No, this Jesus has a rather slovenly appearance. Compared to the apostles, and unlike what we’ve seen elsewhere, this depiction of Jesus is one where He is physically indistinguishable from those around him.

The Jesus of the Mary Magdalene film is one of us. He is a man who is approachable. Other than when he is confronting an afront to His father—the turning of the temple from a house of prayer into a den of thieves (Matthew 21:13)—he is soft-spoken. He listens to those who seek him, and he’s not in a rush to get anywhere.

As one of us, Mary Magdalene presents the Lord as the Prophet Isaiah presents him: one who has “no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him (Is 53:2).

As the approachable one, we see Him inviting us to “approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need” (Hebrews 4:16). Here, we’re reminded that because we have “confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus … [we may] draw near to God with a sincere heart” (Hebrews 10:19-22). We’re convinced by this film that we who are weary and burdened can come to Him who can give us rest (Matthew 11:28).

Mary Magdalene presents us with a Jesus that, if you want to hear his voice, you have to listen to Him closely. This presentation reminds us of the God who is soft-spoken, the one who spoke to Elijah not in the wind, not in the earthquake, and not in the fire, but in the gentle whisper (I Kings 19:11-12).

This film reminds us that God is a listening father. It echoes the Psalmist who says, “The Lord hears when I call to him” (Psalm 4:3), who also says those who call out to God in their distress are heard by Him (Psalm 55:17), and that the needy are heard by one who does not despise his captive people (Psalm 69:33).

As one in no rush to get anywhere, this film’s Jesus reminds me of the nature of God. This depiction helps me to remember that “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens” and that “He has made everything beautiful in its time” (Ecclesiastes 3:1,11), that our times are in His hands, not our own (Psalm 31:15).

Indeed, we are living in some crazy, uncertain times, right now. We’re in a time of captivity, when we must remember some key things that will help us to survive:

·    We must keep our focus steady upon He who died and rose again, on our behalf

·    We must remember that we have a heavenly Father who loves us, who, exemplified in His son, is approachable, in our times of need, and must be closely listened to

·    We need to recall that God is in no rush to get anywhere and is in no rush to get us anywhere, either

The final scene of Mary Magdalene was the most touching, for me. It shows Jesus risen and—again, in no rush—just sitting on a rock overlooking the Sea of Galilee. Mary approaches and she also rests with Him there, overlooking the sea, and they talk about the Kingdom.

If we can imagine Mary representing the church, we can also consider ourselves, as part of the Kingdom. We can imagine ourselves sitting and resting alongside the sea of our lives, with He who became one of us; we can recall the approachable one with the listening ear, He who is in no rush to get us anywhere, yet ready to fill us with more of Himself and take us from place to place—in His time.

Maybe, in this time of imposed pause, we can recall that God has a place beside the sea prepared for us to commune with Him. He was here with us and is here, again, sitting and waiting for us to join Him.

—Kevin Hutchins

I Can't Get Through to You

I can’t seem to reach my son. He lives a couple of states away, in Maryland, so I can’t just drop by and say Hello, like I used to. He says that there’s an issue with his phone. I call and I call; he doesn’t call me, and I can’t get through to him.

The only way I’ve been able to have a conversation with him is if I call him while he’s at work. Once I can finally speak with him, the conversation usually starts off like this:

“Hey! I’ve been trying to reach you. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” my son will say. “No one’s been able to reach me; I think I need to get a new phone. It’s been fritzing out on me.”

“Oh, good. I was beginning to wonder if you were avoiding me, or something like that.”

“No. I’ve been meaning to get something done about the phone. I’ve probably just been lazy about it.”

“Ahh. That’s okay,” I’ll say. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you at work. I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“No. You’re fine,” he says.

“So, there’s been something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

… and then I can chat with him for a few minutes. Just a few minutes, since he’s obviously, justifiably preoccupied.

This has been our pattern for the last few years.

Please don’t think that I haven’t complained to God about this scenario, because I have. When I did, He answered to the effect, “I’m so glad that I’ve gotten your attention!”

That is, two things are at work here.

First, there is the longing in my heart—which I regularly experience, nowadays—to reach my son. Not necessarily to impart to him some golden nugget of wisdom, but just to reach him, so that we can spend a few minutes in each other’s presence.

As I’ve mentioned, those moments are far and few between. For my part, the more that I’m without him, the more that I long to share a moment with him. I actually become anxious, after some time, wondering if he has some grievance against me.

Then, when we do talk and he says that it’s him and not me, I’m relieved. I had been feeling a little starved, hungry for his presence; then I feel relieved, then satisfied, then hopeful that we can talk again, soon.

Secondly, for his part, he comes clean, and apologizes (in effect), though I wonder how truthful he really is about his phone—which I’m happy to be wrong about. We then pick up the conversation as if we had been speaking every day. There’s no friction, no memory of any issue, and he’s happy to chat.

~~~

The group The Second Chapter of Acts has a song (here) that speaks of the frustration I sometimes experience, in relation to my son. It places that same frustration squarely within the heart of God. The song tells me that He who created heaven and earth, He who can still move heaven and earth, is unable to get close to the heart of those who don’t have time for Him.

Yes, there are some things that God cannot do. Reaching those who don’t want to be reached is too often beyond the purview of God. The unlimited God indeed has limits, when it comes to our hearts.

The writer of the song, Annie Herring, invites the listener into God’s presence, saying, “Open your heart; here’s a new start.”

This lyric seems to speak of the sinner who never met the Lord. But it may also apply to us, who know Him and know that He wants us living lives in His presence—while we walk around preoccupied with life, with work, with good works, or even act spiritually lazy or lie to ourselves, saying We’ve got enough God in our lives.

I know that I’ve done and said all of those things, at various times, in various ways. And yet, whenever I reach out to my God and Savior, the response from His heart to mine is as my own heart to my son: Let’s pick up where we left off; let’s enjoy the moment and look forward to the next time.

So, can we not ask ourselves: Is my phone ringing? Is it turned on? Are we calling our Father back?

~~~

I can’t get near you,
Even though I died for you.
I can’t get through to you,
Even when those nails went through,
In pain.
All I tried to explain
Is my love, all of my love,
That I long to give you—
A love you can live through,
A love that is free, perfectly free,
To heal all your sorrows,
For all your tomorrows.
So open your heart,
here’s a new start.
I love you, but I can’t get near you.
All I tried to explain is my love.

Annie Herring

—Kevin Hutchins

The Super Bowl and Paul

The 2020 Super Bowl opponents are now set. The first-seeded San Francisco 49ers have beaten the second-seeded Green Bay Packers for the NFC Championship, while the second-seeded Kansas City Chiefs beat the sixth-seeded Tennessee Titans for the AFC Championship.

These teams will meet in two weeks, at Rock Hard Stadium, in Miami Gardens, Florida, at Super Bowl 54, on February the 2nd.

With the NFL playoffs essentially over, but for one final game, it’s a good time to harken back to another playoff game—this one ten years ago, during the 2010 NFC Wild Card game, between the Seattle Seahawks and the Super Bowl-defending New Orleans Saints.

One play that occurred on this day forever marries one player, Marshawn Lynch, with his nickname: Beast Mode. That play is monumental for a number of reasons:

·    It has a nickname of its own (the Beast Quake).

·    It has its own Wikipedia page.

·    The resulting celebration at Qwest Field (now Century Link Field)—in Seattle, Washington—actually registered on a nearby seismograph.

·    Lynch broke nine tackles to get into the end zone.

·    The win that resulted from the play enabled the Seahawks to become the first team in NFL history with a losing record to win a playoff game and to dethrone a defending Super Bowl champion.

Wait! you say. What does this have to do with me? I’m struggling to walk this Christian walk. I don’t need to know about some NFL running back!

Watch the play, here, and I’ll get back with you. Have you seen it? Did you see what I saw?

I saw utter, absolute relentlessness. I saw a man who would let no one, no thing, get in his way as he struggled toward his goal—that of simply carrying an inflated one-pound leather ball 68 yards, over a wide white line drawn on a green field.

In that run, I saw an example of what our Christian walk ought to look like: one full of determination; one that would let no opponent get in the way; one that would throw off an opponent, if necessary, in order to accomplish that which he had set out to do.

As Christians, what have we set out to do? Oh, quite a few things. For example:

·    Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind regard one another as more important than yourselves.

·    Do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others.

·    Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus, who, although He existed in the form of God:

·     Did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but

·     Emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men.

These are just a few goals that we have as Christians, according to Philippians, Chapter 2. In the following chapter, Paul talks about pressing on, as the running back had pressed on. He says:

Not that I have already obtained it or have already become perfect, but I press on so that I may lay hold of that for which also I was laid hold of by Christ Jesus. Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

Paul, like Lynch, had a goal. In his case, it was the prize of the upward call of God.

Paul’s prize ought to be our prize, as well. We ought to be heading toward the upward call.

Our goal needs to be one that empties us of our selfish conceits and enables us to press on toward holiness. Our call enables us to fulfill the great commission and evangelize the lost.

It is the call of winning the prize of ultimately being with our Lord and Savior when once our goal is ultimately met in Him, when we shed every earthly encumbrance that might try and hold us back, even as we see Marshawn Lynch shedding would-be tacklers.

When Lynch completed his run, what did we see? We saw him surrounded by a cloud of witnesses—those who ran with him and those who had cheered him on. The writer of Hebrews says:

Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

When you watch the Super Bowl, recall Lynch, recall his Beast Mode performance. With every run you watch, recall that with all the determination you may see in the runner, it’s only an example—a microcosm—of our walk with Jesus.

Our goal is to create a seismic shift in the world around us, as Lynch had done, and influence the world around us for the Gospel, for the team around us, and ultimately for our Mighty Team Captain who died for us to make this race, this personal Super Bowl run of ours, possible.

Run in such a way that lets no opponent get in the way. Fun full of determination, throwing off every opponent, pleasing your team captain at every turn.

—Kevin Hutchins

God's Nearness

“O my dove, in the clefts of the rock,
    In the secret place of the steep pathway,
    Let me see your form,
    Let me hear your voice;
    For your voice is sweet,
    And your form is lovely.”

~ Song of Solomon 2:14

Can we comprehend God’s ultimate purpose for our lives? Is it possible to believe that He wants to actually be intimate with His people?

My inclination had, at first, been to discount this notion. Now, after many dangers, toils and snares, I’ve come to believe that God wants to be with me in every moment—no matter how fun, mundane, or difficult.

What follows is a rumination on this thought, based on the above verse from Song of Solomon, as he considered his bride. Realizing that God considers me His bride has enabled me to understand that I’m truly loved by an infinite God and that, whatever else I may face in life, I belong to Him and that I’ll never be alone again.

Yes, guys—we, too, belong to the Bride of Christ. Consider this thought, men and women, and rest in the knowledge of Jesus’ love for you.

You and I belong to each other.
     What’s mine is yours;
     what’s yours is mine.
     all that I’ve overcome is not yours to bear;
     I have borne it all for you,
     and I still bear your burdens.
    all you can’t face is now mine to face for you.
     This is what I will teach you
     when you are in my presence.

With me, you’re no longer alone,
     you’re no longer ill-equipped.
     you’re no longer a foreigner,
     you’re no longer a stranger or an outcast.
     Instead, you’re a part of me;
     you’re a part of all that I have,
     a part of all that comes from being mine.

You are therefore safe; you are protected;
     You are welcome; you are fully endowed,
     Empowered, provided for, armored, commissioned,
     Made my personal heir, a personal conqueror,
     Overcome and daily overcoming.

I would spend our days together
     teaching you to hear my voice,
     to know, as the bride knows,
     that my voice is as gentle, flowing waters,
     not the angry falls that throw you down.
     I’m here to tenderly proclaim my love for you;
     mine is not the face of disappointment,
     but of my unique care for all of you:
     all that you are; all you do, think and feel.

This is how I would be known by you,
     for my purpose in you is to
     dispel the conditioning of the world
     that would try and tell you otherwise,
     the programming that would attempt to
     cancel my work on the cross,
     on your behalf, for my beloved.
    Wrath is reserved for those
     who do not belong to me.
     wrath is not reserved for you.

—Kevin Hutchins