The Beautiful in the Dirt

Written by Holly Paulette

[Note from the author: This piece was written in September 2018, shortly after Hurricane Florence hit the East Coast. We thought the sentiments were relevant for this time in history, too.]

My sister and brother-in-law live near the beach. It’s idyllic—walks on the beach before work, dinners on the water, early morning surfing, and weekends on the ocean. My sister has always dreamed of this life, and her husband was created for the water. Life at the beach is a calm life, and I yearn for a rhythmic peace that looks like their days. 

But then a hurricane hits. 

That picturesque scene is unimaginable in the wake of this storm. As I’m writing this from the comfort of our mountains, my sister just texted me, “Part of Oak Island pier is gone.” Water once tame is flexing its power as it swirls and rushes and floods and, quite simply, demolishes. It was already there, though. That power. That strength. Dormant beneath the façade of calm and beauty, the ocean is strength personified. If God wants it to roar, it roars. A hurricane wakes up that power. 

The thing about a hurricane is that it follows no pattern. The damage isn’t done to a specific group or targeted area. 

Natural disasters strip us of the assumed predictability of newsworthy, widespread tragedy. We’re becoming used to distant reports of wartime destruction and bombs that wipe out neighborhoods and beyond. But the annihilation that a natural tragedy such as a hurricane has the power to commit isn’t targeted. It just simply destroys everything in its path.

In the unpredictability of a natural disaster, God is sovereign and in control. I think that we struggle so deeply with understanding the “why” of this weather because we want to maintain control. We want to be able to forecast our futures and predict our demise. We want to sit in our westernized ease and expect no harm. A natural disaster is a wake up call to God’s power, His strength, and His glory.

I’m not sure there’s a better picture of our smallness than the effect of a hurricane. 

So what do we do? I don’t know about you, but I am a doer. I can’t not. I want to fix. I want to be part of change. But for us fixers, we’re tiny compared to this mess. 

So we pray. Cynicism doubts its power, but oh I know it works. I’ve been the recipient of what feels like thousands of prayers recently, and I’m convinced He hears and He acts. It’s who He is.

In Shannan Martin’s book, Falling Free, she points us to the cross:

“What I’m beginning to see, though, is that God doesn’t fix my weakness by making me strong. He becomes my strength in my perpetual weakness. He takes over. Constantly. He swoops in, ruffles my hair, and says not to worry, then charges to the top of the mountain I’m facing—the king of every hill I’ve ever stood upon with shaking knees. I am weak, and he is strong. He’s all the strength I need, and my weakness doesn’t have to flee in order for His presence to reign.

“God is enchanted by my frailty. It’s why I need him. It’s why he showed up and never stops.”

One of my very favorite children’s books, Last Stop on Market Street by Matt de la Peña, has my charge following this storm. The main character, CJ, gets off the bus with his grandmother in a rougher part of town.

“How come it’s always so dirty over here?”

She smiled and pointed to the sky.

“Sometimes when you’re surrounded by dirt, CJ, you’re a better witness for what’s beautiful.”

Let us follow his grandmother’s instruction and see the beautiful in the dirt. Watch for the helpers, as Mr. Rogers once said. 

And pray. Pray expecting God to show up, because He never stops. Because His glory is the beautiful in the dirt. We’ll see it soon—I’m sure of it.

Habits of a Gospel-Centered Household

Written by Pete Schemm
[This booklet was originally published in Trained in the Fear of God.] 

Introduction: The Spirit of the Christian Household

I once thought that the defining mark of a Christian home was “family worship” in the living room every evening. I would not have put it that way at the time, of course. Yet I have since realized that I was far too invested in performing the act of family worship as a measure of my success as a father. I possessed the spirit of a Pharisee—and few attitudes are more unhelpful to the gospel of Jesus than such a spirit. It is the spirit of one who works to impress God and others through religious achievements. It is the spirit of self-justification. It is not the spirit of a Christian household. 

By the spirit of the Christian household, I mean something closer to what Dallas Willard suggests in his book The Spirit of the Disciplines. He says,

 “The spirit of the disciplines—that which moves us to them and moves through them to prevent them from becoming a new bondage and to deepen constantly our union with the heart and mind of God—is [our] love of Jesus, with its steadfast longing and resolute will to be like him.

Spiritual habits and disciplines are hollow apart from a genuine love and affection for Jesus Christ. They tend to take on a “new bondage” and become a means to seek an evil and enslaving endpoint instead. 

The spirit of the Christian household is inspired by the love of God whom “we love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19). It is a disposition that consistently reflects God’s love through grace and forgiveness. This disposition moves us to and through the habits proposed below. Our habits and disciplines, founded on the love of God, become a good means to a greater end. They form and transform our families into redemptive communities. These habits and disciplines train not only children but also fathers and mothers, to repent of specific things such as anger and demanding expectations. Paul Tripp describes it this way: “As we—parents and children alike—face our need as sinners, the family becomes a truly redemptive community where the themes of grace, forgiveness, deliverance from sin, reconciliation, new life in Christ, and hope become the central themes of family life.” In a word, the spirit of the Christian household is a spirit of redemption. 

Habits of a Gospel-Centered Household 

What habits, then, should be practiced in the context of this redemptive community? The following six habits help us to learn, remember, and practice the gospel regularly. They are intentionally theological and reflect a rich heritage that ties us to the Christians of previous generations. They are simple habits that require no advanced training. And they are helpful at every stage of life—for children and young adults, for parents and grandparents alike. 

1. Reciting the Apostles’ Creed Together 

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the Holy Spirit, and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again. He ascended into heaven. and is seated at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty. He will come again to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy universal church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.

Christians have historically recited many creeds to express their faith. My favorite is the Apostles’ Creed. It is the oldest creed in common use among Christian churches today. Its trinitarian structure, following the pattern of Father, Son, and Spirit, as well as its detailed summary of the gospel of Jesus Christ explain why it has served the church so well for over 1,500 years. 

Confessional Value of the Creed 

The English word creed is related to the Latin word credo, meaning “I believe.” The Apostles’ Creed begins this way because it summarizes the faith, or belief, of the apostles who followed Jesus. That same faith—according to the specificity of each line of the Creed—has been once for all delivered to the saints. We join with all who have made this confession of faith in Christ by saying, “I believe.” So when recited as a true expression of one’s heart and mind, the Creed serves well as a confession of faith in Christ. 

It would be a mistake, however, to assume that the Creed is only for those who presently possess faith in Christ. It also serves well to cultivate faith. In other words, learning from an early age to say “I believe” in the triune God and his gospel cultivates a grammar of faith that may one day be invested with genuine, saving faith. And, in addition to preparing one for faith in Christ, it serves to sustain and deepen genuine faith. Christians are as frail and forgetful as anyone. The Creed reminds us all, young or old, to live in accordance with the gospel of God. We never mature beyond saying “I believe.” 

Historical and Communal Value of the Creed 

There is also a historical value in the use of the Creed. Retrieving the tradition of the apostles, through the Creed, enriches our understanding of the gospel. It is well suited to form a “transgenerational” understanding of the gospel because it situates our faith in a rich and lasting heritage. It helps us to realize that ours is an ancient faith, a time-tested faith that crosses geographical and cultural boundaries. All over the world, others believed the gospel long before we did. 

This rich sense of heritage and tradition serves to correct the “Me” generation’s radical individualism and deep-seated sense of entitlement. The Creed helps us to redeem the fallen self through a sense of holy community. It provides a context of community for the individual, so that the “I” of faith is no longer detached but embedded in the common “I believe” of “the communion of saints.” This is the language of a shared tradition.

The way the Creed helps us to think about the gospel is all the more significant when we realize that it combines an economy of words with faithfulness to the biblical text. Every line of the Creed was crafted around biblical language. Other than Scripture itself, I know of no better summary of the gospel with which to train our children. 

Working the Apostles’ Creed into the Life of Your Family 

1. Memorize the first of the Creed’s three main parts. 

2. Recite the first part as a statement of your faith at the beginning or end of a meal-time prayer. 

3. A week later, add the second part of the Creed a few phrases at a time. 

4. A week or two later, add part three.

[Continued next week.]

Communion in the Covid-19 Crisis

Written by Rhys Bezzant

We all have to make sacrifices. So communion has got to go. Let me explain.

I love the Lord’s Supper – it is a big part of my personal spiritual discipline. It joins all the dots for me: a focus on Christ’s atoning death, personalised address from my minister, taking part in community life, a challenge to stand up and be visible as a believer, getting ready for heaven’s banquet. I find it encouraging to hear familiar words week by week from the prayer book but I recognise that won’t be everyone’s experience. A friend once said that he got to know me in a new way when I explained why I love communion so much. As a single man, going to church more generally, and communing with the Lord more particularly through bread and wine are profoundly encouraging rhythms in my life. I have felt the sadness and confusion this week as friends have debated the role of the Lord’s Supper during the COVID-19 crisis. Yet my personal grief can’t be understood in emotional terms alone. It has to be understood within a theological and social framework as well.

It is time to decentre communion. In many Anglican churches we celebrate the Supper weekly, or more often. Since 1937 when The Parish Communion was published, Anglicans have increasingly given priority to weekly celebrations but this was an innovation in local churches at the time. Formerly (and in some circles even today), Anglicans’ primary service was Morning Prayer, with communion for some happening before or immediately after that service. But in the present crisis we seem to have forgotten much of that history. It has been great to see how many clergy have been chatting online about how communion will work under new conditions, but we need to remember that we don’t have to have communion regularly at all. The prayer book only asks us to participate in the Lord’s Supper three times a year, which is (as it turns out) much like the experience of Christians before the Reformation. OK, monks and nuns did participate in the mass more often! But in the sixteenth century, Protestants, even if they wanted to participate in the communion weekly, often only managed it monthly. In the Scottish Highlands, there weren’t enough ministers or churches to offer communion more than perhaps four times a year. In the American colonies, believers in remote locations had to go without the bread and the wine for long periods of time. John Wesley broke the rules by ordaining men for the Methodist church in America so that those on the frontier could partake with more predictability.

In the present crisis, there will be lots of pressure to confect some kind of online experience of the Lord’s Supper because we have grown used to regular communion, and as consumers (or “communers”?)  the customer is always right. Some churches will film the minister celebrating the Lord’s Supper and taking the elements on behalf of those watching. This is sometimes known as spiritual communion. Some churches will use the words of institution, the words that Jesus used on the occasion of the Last Supper, and expect that those watching will have their own bread and wine available to partake. Still others will encourage family groups to do their own thing. In some circumstances the minister might lead a communion service in someone’s home or garden on their visitation rounds if it is safe and legal. I understand that there will be quite a range of responses, each with differing outcomes and regional variations. I take it that the way we conduct the Lord’s Supper is a matter of secondary importance – during a crisis or even under normal conditions! Though I have committed myself to Anglican discipline in these matters, I recognise others as brothers and sisters despite our differing practices and theology.

But here I want to make the case that it is better to forego communion for the time being than pursue a practice which might have dangerously unforeseen consequences after the crisis has passed. Do we really want to become observers of the priest taking the bread and the wine? How will this change our theology when the crazy time has passed? I can genuinely see why some might want to encourage small groups to conduct communion services in their own homes. But this changes the purpose of communion, such that it is reduced to individual preference, without factoring in the long-range good of the fellowship, learning to wait on each other, or to build up the body. In Anglican churches celebrating communion is tied to a relationship of accountability with the minister and the bishop, which promotes the godly notion of being part of the church catholic, and so for this reason Anglicans believe that communion is a function of ordained ministers alone. If communion is about celebrating the deep unities we share, with the Lord and with each other, any kind of arrangement in online settings will be impaired, for part of the rite is not just remembering some theological truths but is more profoundly a corporate enactment of the story of salvation as a result of Christ’s command. Some people will no doubt uphold the view that a compromised experience is better than no experience at all. But I am not persuaded.

Clearly for the time being, we have to reconcile ourselves to the fact that our goal in online settings cannot be to replicate all that the church should be, because these are weird days. A ministry of the Word and prayer, highlighting the promises of God, is better suited to digital communication. Words can travel great distances and not be compromised. Promises are primarily received by the ears. God’s power is communicated first of all through the witness and words of the Scriptures. We are not short-changing our people by offering sermon, songs and supplications alone. But communion is different from – though dependent on – the ministry of the Word. Tongues and touch require proximity to be effectively engaged, and how great it will be, at some time down the road when gathering on Sundays returns, when we get to pass the peace, embrace one another and receive the bread and wine in our own hands! Standing up in a public setting to own the new covenant is not easily transposed into the private and domestic sphere. There are warnings attached to participation in the Lord’s Supper in 1 Corinthians 10 and 11, but nowhere in the New Testament are warnings attached to non-Christians hearing a sermon. We would love for outsiders to listen in to a sermon through an online service, but I don’t want unbelievers to mock up a communion service in their loungeroom. I agree with the Articles that theologically the Protestant church is focused on a ministry of Word and sacraments. But sacrifice is something Christians should be good at as well. To sacrifice the sacraments temporarily in a period of national crisis does not mean that I have failed in my Reformed convictions. Instead, I want to preserve the deep purpose of the sacraments and not give in to panic and pragmatic pressure in the first weeks of not meeting together. Compassion for our people can be expressed in ways other than by offering them the bread and the wine. Too much is at stake.

As Bonhoeffer so eloquently said in the opening of Life Together:

‘It is by God’s grace that a congregation is permitted to gather visibly around God’s word and sacrament in this world. Not all Christians partake of this grace. The imprisoned, the sick, the lonely who live in the diaspora, the proclaimers of the gospel in heathen lands stand alone. They know that visible community is grace. They pray with the psalmist: “I went with the throng, and led them in procession to the house of God, with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival” (Ps. 42:5). But they remain alone in distant lands, a scattered seed according to God’s will. Yet what is denied them as a visible experience they grasp more ardently in faith.’

Discovering Community in our Present Crisis

Written by Vince Oliveri

This might be an odd time to write about community. Most of the world is quarantined and isolated in our homes in an effort to slow a growing pandemic. Along with facing the more dire threats to our lives and livelihoods, we might also be facing the growing angst and loneliness that come with the loss of normal relationships and social rhythms. 

Perhaps, in this time of social distancing and shelter-in-place, we feel more acutely that God has made us as social creatures, designed to flourish within meaningful relationships. And perhaps, more than ever, we need to remember that the community of the church is central to God’s heart. God is not merely in the business of rescuing individual people in Christ. Rather, God is ultimately in the business of reconciling and restoring a lost, broken, and diverse people—the very people of God—into one body, one family, one company of the gospel called the Church. 

So, I want to offer a few words of encouragement about community, drawn from a snapshot of the first church in Acts 2. In this season of social distancing and longing for community, I believe local churches can follow the example of the first gathered New Testament church and find abundant shared life as they commit to postures of awe, fellowship, and service.

A Community in Awe of God (Acts 2:42–43)

As churches who are scattered rather than gathered, we can remember it is the gospel that unites us—we are made one through the life-saving work of Christ and life-giving work of the Spirit. Churches today, like the first church we encounter in Acts, are communities of people who have been cut to the heart by the gospel and have come to believe in and belong to Christ and his people. As the gospel changes our hearts, we devote ourselves as a community to the Word, to worship, and to prayer. And in this new community, we discover a new posture toward God—awe. This was the Godward posture of the first New Testament church: “awe came upon every soul” (Acts 2:43).

As we sit in our own homes, participating in church services while listening, singing, and praying through the screens of our computers, tablets, and phones, we can still be communities of one heart, drawn together by the gospel, sharing a common awe at the greatness and goodness of God toward us in Christ. This global crisis presents us with the opportunity to renew or develop new rhythms of worship and devotion together in this season of separation.

A Community in Fellowship with One Another (Acts 2:44–46)

As church communities who love God, we grow in our love for one another, even when we aren’t together face to face. Our posture of awe toward God shapes our posture of fellowship with one another. The church in Acts was so devoted to God that they delighted in one another through Christ. They “devoted themselves to the fellowship” and “were together and had all things in common,” (vv. 42, 44). They so loved one another that they daily attended the temple together and broke bread in their homes together with glad and generous hearts (v. 46). Doesn’t that sound wonderful right about now?

While we can’t gather together as the church or have others over for dinner like we desire to, we can still experience fellowship with one another. Whether you have suspended many of your normal rhythms of fellowship or perhaps you haven’t really experienced meaningful community in a long time, I want to encourage you to take this season as a unique opportunity to press into creative expressions of fellowship. My community group through our church, like so many other communities, has taken this time to start meeting together over Zoom calls. Almost counterintuitively, this might be the easiest time to jump into Christian community. Through a simple video call, you can see each other’s faces and hear each other’s voices, still wear your comfiest sweatpants on your own couch, eat some ice cream, discuss a Psalm, share and laugh and cry about how you are trying to cope with this season, and pray. 

A Community in Service to Our Neighbors (Acts 2:45–47)

In addition to a posture of awe and fellowship, the first church in Acts had a posture of service toward others. They had open hands and open homes, generously giving to the needy and hospitably welcoming others into their homes. Their generous, hospitable community was a visible witness to the gospel, which God used to draw many lives to himself and his church.

In this season, though we must wisely prioritize safety and distance, we can also be in service and mission to those around us. We can pick up groceries for our needy neighbors and drop them off on their porch, we can call and listen to our friends who might be suffering from loneliness and anxiety, we can give financially to our churches and ministries that are serving the poor and struggling, and we can pray for our neighbors.

While our present forms of community might seem like shadows of the shared life we miss, take heart: this light momentary separation is preparing for us the glory of one day sharing life face to face again. Even more, this season of distance is better training our longing hearts for the next world where we will be with Him face to face. 

Coping With Anxiety in the Age of COVID-19: Five Steps To Managing Anxious Thoughts

Written by Dan Martinson

[This article was originally posted on Psychology Today]

We are living in a time of unprecedented anxiety. We have constant access to news of outbreaks and economic turmoil. We are experiencing social disruptions. We have lost social supports and routines.

The future is uncertain, but it will likely get harder before it gets easier. It is the perfect recipe for anxiety.

If you Google the definition of anxiety, you will find this: “Anxiety (noun): a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome.”

Are you facing any imminent events in your life right now? Any uncertain outcomes? I think we all are.

Newsflash: It is perfectly normal and understandable to be feeling anxious in the age of COVID-19. In fact, anxiety is a healthy reaction to unfamiliar, possibly threatening circumstances. It can prompt us to pay attention, plan ahead, and keep ourselves safe.

Unfortunately, our over-stimulated minds can easily transform helpful nudges of anxiety into decapitating lashings of panic. Since COVID-19 is “too close to home,” I will use another example to illustrate how this can happen:

Imagine you have a big test coming up. It is very important to you that you do well on this test. Yet when you sit down to study, you find that studying is the last thing you want to do. It makes you feel uncomfortable. You feel overwhelmed by all of the information in front of you. You doubt your ability to absorb it. You are concerned that you will not do well.

Maybe you are experiencing shortness of breath, tightness in your chest, or a pit in your stomach. You get swept up in thoughts of all of the terrible, horrible things that could go wrong. Those possible future catastrophes quickly become inevitable facts in your mind. They go something like this:

1. I will fail the test.

2. I will fail the test after that.

3. I will fail the class.

4. I will not get into the college/graduate program/profession that I want.

5. I will be stuck in some job that I hate for the rest of my life.

6. I will die, alone and friendless.

By now, your heart is racing and you feel close to hyperventilating. You stop studying for the test.

That small, uncomfortable feeling of anxiety was supposed to prompt you to pay attention, study hard, and perform well on the test. However, the anxiety quickly spiraled out of control in your body and mind. It caused you to freeze up, freak yourself out, and avoid preparing effectively.

Thankfully, there is a way you can capitalize on your anxiety so it works for you rather than against you. I will break it down into five steps:

1. Recognize your anxious feelings and thoughts.

Until you can pause and notice what you are feeling in your body and thinking in your mind, you are at the mercy of your anxiety. Once you notice where anxiety is popping up (“Oh, there is that pit in my stomach. And — yep — there is that thought that I will lose my job!”), you are actually in a position to decide how to respond.

This first step is simple, but not easy. Be patient with yourself as you practice it. I hope you would not expect yourself to instantly become proficient in speaking another language or playing a new sport or musical instrument. You should know that these things take patient, persistent practice. The same is true for noticing anxious feelings and thoughts.

2. Slow down and “press pause.”

Do not run away from the feelings and thoughts you are noticing. Stay with them for a minute.

This is where deep breathing can be really helpful. Take slow breaths in through your nose for 3-4 seconds, hold your breath for 1-2 seconds, and breathe out slowly through your mouth for 3-4 seconds. Find a pace that feels right for you. Make sure you are taking deep breaths from your stomach, not shallow breaths from your chest. Keep this up for at least 30 seconds to fully settle into the pattern, and see if you can “get comfortable” noticing your feelings and thoughts while you do so.

Pro tip: Expect that the more anxious you feel, the longer you will have to stay on this step. If you are experiencing a full-blown panic attack, it might be 5-10 minutes before you can really slow your breathing down and get it under control. That is okay. Pull up a deep breathing app as your guide, or call a supportive friend to walk you through it.

3. Ask yourself if these feelings and thoughts are helpful right now.

You are now in a better position to evaluate whether the anxious feelings and thoughts are helping you act effectively and get you where you want to go, or whether they are taking you in an unhelpful direction. If they are seeming helpful, then hold onto them! A mild to moderate amount of anxiety can help you face challenges more effectively than if you had no anxiety at all.

But if your anxious thoughts and feelings seem to be taking you in an unhelpful direction…

4. Step out from under the anxiety spiral.

Take a break. Go for a walk, if safe and possible. Have a conversation with a loved one. Eat something healthy. Exercise. Then get back to doing the things that are important and necessary.

As you engage in these activities, keep your focus fully in the present moment. Do not try to distract yourself from your anxiety. Rather, continue to be open to and aware of your feelings and thoughts. If you notice anxiety building up to an unhelpful place again…

5. Repeat steps 1-4.

Maybe this seems like a never-ending anxiety loop. Some days, it might feel that way. Yet as you continue to practice, you may notice that your anxiety holds less sway over you. Your anxiety may gradually transform from a tyrant that controls you to a companion that helps you.