You and I were created to learn. Our brains work such that, from the very moment our eyes open to the world we begin to observe, comprehend, explore, and makes sense of what we see. Young children do this without giving it a second thought. Not only are we made to learn but I believe, deep down, we all enjoy learning. We like gaining understanding about the world, others, and ourselves.

But somewhere along the road we stop. Often what keeps us from learning, and enjoying learning, is some experienced where, in our learning, we were shamed.

We didn’t get it right and were told we were stupid.
People laughed at us.
Someone didn’t believed in us.
We were labeled.

And the joy was sucked out of learning. Worse than that, it became painful.

So we stopped learning. Or we refuse to learn in front of others. Many of us try and do things only if we know we won’t fail. Going through life becomes a big exercise in doing only the things that will make us look good, or at least won’t make us look bad because we know learning, trying on new ideas and taking on new skills, comes at a risk. Rather than taking the risk, we just avoid it.

I’m learning – and learning in public. I began this blog with the intent of continuing to learn. Writing is a means by which my ideas become more real to me. Once the words hit the screen they become more than just something I feel. I can see them, and by seeing them, I know what I think.

But I diverted from that. Let me be the first to admit that I got caught up in suddenly having a “platform.” So I blogged, not about what I was learning and what God was forming in me, but against others. And listen, that get’s you traffic. When you jump into the fray during a social media storm, you will get some traffic and it is fun to watch the numbers rise. It is. No way around it. It is fun. It feels good. It feels affirming.

But it is so dangerous to your soul. Oh, so dangerous.

Writing in such a way that people will want to read what you write is a talent. Talent will build a platform. Talent will build a church. Talent will make an organization successful. Talent can make a lot of things happen.

But talent does not equal character.

We all know this. How many pastors are talented in all the ways necessary to build a church but their character is lacking? Or CEO’s? Or presidents of non-profits? Behind their “success” is a wake of bodies, broken relationships, and questionable practices. So it is easy to see that talent and character are not related. You can maximize the use of your talents to their fullest and neglect your character.

The other day I blogged about a tweet that garnered a lot of a response in Christian social media circles. The blog post was less than gracious to the originator of the tweet, and for that I apologize. I stand by the theology and conclusion of the post, but the manner and tone of the post is not who I want to be. I need to acknowledge my error for the sake of soul.

So I’m learning. In public. Which is hard. But I think the risk is worth it.

What are you learning?

Please note:  I have edited this from its original form for a couple of reasons.  One, John Piper released a follow up tweet that brings more clarity to what he was trying to communicate.  It is included in the body of the post.  I think his point was muddled in trying to communicate a large idea in 140 characters.  Two, I want to be gracious.  I think the fire in my bones led me to be more indignant than necessary.  Three, I do not want to miss-characterize Piper’s position and argue a strawman. 

We pray for Oklahoma and those affected by the tornadoes of May 20, 2013.  We mourn with those parents who didn’t get to put their kids to bed that night.  We unite with a community of people whose lives have been laid to rubble.  We even marvel at the swift compassion humanity is capable of as  individuals and organizations began mobilizing efforts of compassion.

And we pray.

This makes it absolutely incomprehensible that, just hours after the images began rolling across my computer screen, I saw this tweet from John Piper.

I’m not sure what bothers me more about this.  That in the face of loss and tragedy Piper callously quotes a random scripture to make a point I cannot fathom, or that 50 (since I imported this picture I saw another that had 65!) people retweeted it.

Granted, Piper did take the quote down rather quickly.  But I cannot for the life of me figure out what he was trying to communicate.  Was he trying to say that this stuff happens because God ordains it to happen?  Was he trying to make a cause and effect connection between people’s sin and God’s judgement as he has in the past?  Or did he find a verse that reminded him of the days events and so just tweeted it out?  I can’t figure it out.

It doesn’t matter.  It should never have been there.

Now, I never meant for this blog to be about horrendous tweets coming out of the neo-Reformed circles of Evangelical Christianity, but my goodness.  The pastor/theologian/disciple of Jesus in me feels like Paul calling out Peter for not eating with Gentiles.  Please, stop the insensitive espousing of theology.  There is no glory in it!  Christ is not glorified in this use of scripture any more than he is glorified by a church sign in summer asking, “You think it is hot here?”  This use of scripture is reminiscent of those who “studied the scripture in vain” for they missed Jesus.  God is not glorified by how well we can quote the Bible and then forget grace.  Dogma devoid of love is useless.  Christ is glorified when we love well.  When we sit with those who mourn and are burdened with grief.

I want to believe Piper isn’t really that insensitive. I really hope it was a case of a thought getting muddled by trying to communicate it in under 140 characters. His follow up tweet shows a desire for the compassion and mercy of God to be seen (My hope and prayer for Oklahoma is that the raw realism of Job’s losses will point us all to his God “compassionate and merciful.” Jam.5:11  Desiring God has further explained HERE). It wouldn’t be the first time a person has been misunderstood while communicating via social media.  In fact, the story of Job and the powerful losses he experienced is a source of comfort for those experiencing pain.  It is likely this is what Piper was trying to point to.  However, this tweet falls short.

Admittedly, part of the reason I get so inflamed by the seeming insensitivity of neo-Reformed pastors is because I am Reformed.  I hold to the beliefs of the sovereignty of God in all things. But I also hold to mystery, meaning I don’t know why God chooses to allow somethings.  Like storms.  Like violence.  I believe that the one who spoke the world into being has so much authority over creation that “even the wind and the waves obey him,”  but I also know that at the fall, all things broke.  All things.  Creation included.  Tornadoes, hurricanes, and tsunami’s are evidence of the futility that creation has been subjected to.  These beliefs are all held in tension with one another.  Sadly, too many people who align themselves with Reformed theology take the idea of God’s providence to its theological extreme of hyper-Calvinism (just to be clear, I am not saying Piper is a hyper-Calvinist).  This results in theological self-righteousness, and as we know, it is very difficult for self-righteousness to be compassionate. Sovereignty, mystery, brokenness are all truths balancing and nuancing each other such that I cannot make a definitive statement about whether destruction is God’s judgement or wrath or even a part of his plan.  To do so would be saying that I know the mind of God – which I do not.

So I live in the tension understanding that specific revelation about what is and what is not the wrath, judgement, or plan of God.

I simply know he is sovereign.

And I know that people are hurting and needing the compassion of Jesus and his followers.  So if you are going to quote scripture after a tragedy maybe just use this one.

Jesus wept. 

As those in whom the spirit of Christ dwells, let us humbly weep with those who weep and cry out, “Even so, Come, Lord Jesus.”

Let me lay my cards on the table.  First, I’ve never seen the show Dexter.  My brother raves about it, but I don’t have cable and Netflix and HuluPlus don’t carry it.  Second, I have read a couple of other books with the “The Gospel according to…” in their title.  One was about the Simpsons and the other was (cue the cliche) about U2.  Neither of which were really about the gospel.  Spirituality with a Christian flavor, absolutely.  The Gospel, no.

And that’s where this book differs.  Zach Hoag’s Nothing but the Blood: The Gospel According to Dexter really is about the Gospel.  I’ll admit it, I was a little skeptical about how much this book about a serial killer who kills killers (might have to read that a couple of times) would actually point us to the Gospel.  My cynicism had me believing Hoag would be making giant leaps to connect the plot line of the show to the work of Jesus on the cross.  So imagine my surprise when the connections, were not only seemless, but appropriate.

For example, Dexter is a serial killer.  Not a label many of us wear.  It is also a label that may cause us to believe we have little to nothing in common with someone like Dexter.  This is where Hoag’s ability to use the story line to point to the gospel is to be celebrated.  On this very point Hoag writes:

Fallen human beings are not all serial killers (thank God), but at the root we have all chosen dissocial independence as our life’s direction.  Thus, human history itself is characterized by this dissocial downward spiral of destructive independence, with life ever fragmenting in all directions – in our relationships with God, self, others and the world.

Hoag’s emphasis on the atonement’s ability to reconcile relationship with God, self, others, and the world is what I so deeply appreciated about this work.  For this is the whole Gospel.  In Evangelical Christianity the Gospel has often been reduced to its minimum – through the cross of Jesus we are reconciled to God.  When evangelicals think of the Gospel, this is what we think of.  Don’t get me wrong, this emphasis on being redeemed before God is absolutely important and a part of the Gospel, but to say that is the entirety of the Gospel is reductionist   It is to neglect the resurrection and the coming restoration of all things which is also part of the gospel.  Our gospel presentations cannot end with the cross, but must include the resurrection and the restoration of God’s shalom on earth as it is in heaven.  Nothing but the Blood does this beautifully in a way that conjures up images of Paul in Athens using culture to proclaim the Gospel.

Here’s my only disappointment with the book.  Many will not read it because Dexter is a show that, because of its main character, is gritty and gruesome.  Many will not read it because they don’t know the show.  And that is too bad.  But for those who are fans of the show, this will be a great read.  It is also wonderful example of how to use culture to tell of the beauty of the gospel.  I firmly believe that Christians do not need to fear culture and retreat from it.  In the spirit of this book, we can engage culture, discern the times, and be agents of reconciliation and restoration.

There’s a certain innocence I would love to recover. I watch my son wonder at the world and I envy him. In his mind, bugs and dust floating on sunbeams and wet paint are marvelous wonders of a world that is, at its core, simple. Maybe that is what I really miss – a simple world. A world where the complicated nature of adult lives is once again black and white.Things are good or they are bad. I used to believe that, but I am not so sure anymore. That isn’t to say I don’t believe in evil. Nor is it to say we can’t call things out as wrong. I know some people will take issue with what I am saying, mostly because, deep down, we want the world to be as simple as black and white. But isn’t. Yes, goodness and rightness exist against a backdrop of evil and wrong. But between them is a world of gray.

My son doesn’t know that. He knows colors and bubbles and puddles of water. Even thinking about him jumping joyously into a puddle makes my heart warm. Those are his days. They are not moments in a day filled with to-do’s, phone calls and explaining one’s thoughts and actions. They are entire days filled with engaging the goodness of a sandbox. I used to know that world, now I know of that world. I see glimpses of it around me. But they are moments in the middle of hurried gulps of coffee and tasks.

I often wonder what happened. But I don’t need to wonder long for the answer is all together too simple. I grew up. You grew up. We grew up. When we grow up the world loses innocence and simplicity and becomes complicated and painful. Years of wounds, harsh words, arguments, and struggle push the innocence into the deep recesses of our souls only to appear in quiet moments where we are caught off guard.

Doesn’t it seem that way? That we are caught off guard by the beauty and wonder of the world as adults? We don’t seem to expect beauty; we are surprised by it. As adults beauty and wonder do not exist under rocks and with the splash of a stick in the water. To see them there would require us to slow down and lower our guard. To put aside our cynicism and lay down our fears. We know too much about the world and it’s cruel way of forcing us to compromise our beliefs. I do not believe in ending life, and yet my wife and I had to end a life to save hers. And rationality will give good cause, but the world is gray and my son knows nothing of that world yet. God, do I want to protect him from that world. But I can’t. I shouldn’t. I won’t. Because shielding him from that world would be to treat him as fragile and weak. He is not. I am not. We are not.

Saying we are not weak is not to say we are stoic. I believe our strength is seen in our ability to enter into the fullness of all that we feel. Joy, grief, hope, despair, compassion, empathy, and fondness are all signs of strength. Teaching my son to embrace the full range of human emotion with courage of heart is more than just a task of mine as a father, it is a way of engaging the world I hope to model and pass down.

The world will come. My son will grow up. I will grow up. We will grow up. And we will fight for innocence. Not ignorance, no, that is something entirely different. We will fight for the innocence that comes from embracing all life throws at us. Ups and downs. Right turns and wrong turns. Start ups and fall downs. We will embrace all of it together. Which seems to take us beyond hope. For we don’t just hope for goodness and beauty when we are innocent. We expect it. Innocence, it seems to me, is the assumption and expectation that all is safe and good. I find myself hoping for, not just a beauty that washes over the world, but a return of innocent expectation devoid of cynicism and resignation that washes over me.

I don’t know that I can protect my son from the cynicism and resignation I often experience. Years of experiencing disappointment and the ugliness of the world have robbed my innocence. But there are glimmers of its return. This evening I had a water fight with my son in the backyard. I laughed, without a shadow of cynicism, as he chased me and threw water over me. We danced to a rhythm of squeals and laughter as we baptized each other with the fresh water of a spring day’s innocence. And then, before we went in to share a meal, I got down on my knees with a bucket of water before my son and washed his feet. I dipped my hands in water and rinsed off the grass clippings and dirt, and in that moment, beauty abounded.

My prayer is not that my son is protected from the world. Nor is my prayer that my son is unaffected by the world. No, the world will bump him and bruise him. But he is strong. I am strong. We are strong.

My prayer is that his strength allows him – and you and me – to see through the grayness of life to the beauty and wonder that abound.

Religious people have long been debating what it means to be the people of God.  During the time of Jesus there was a lot of debate about just this under the oppressive rule of the Romans.  Some thought that in order for the them to be the people of God they had to keep all the commands of God.  In order to do this, this developed rules to help them keep the commands.  For example, in order to keep the command “Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy,” they developed rules stating what work was and what it wasn’t.  At some point a task force was formed (not fact, but I know how churches work and can only assume synagogues of antiquity functioned similarly) and determined that taking more than 3,000 steps and carrying more weight than half of a dried fig was considered work.  And so for these people, being the people the people of God meant keeping the rules.  For others it was siding with the Romans.  For others it means a violent revolution to reestablish the throne of David.  Still others decided that in order to be the people of God they had to retreat from society and live in communes in the desert.

On this scene Jesus come seeking to settle the debate.

In Luke 6 Jesus says, “Then your reward will be great and you will be children of the Most High.”  In other words, you will be the people of God.

So what is it that Jesus said will make us children of the Most High?

Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.  If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. -Luke 6:27-30

Honestly, this is one of those texts we prefer not be in the Bible.  No one really wants to live into this.  I don’t think I have met the person who naturally lives into this command.

Typically, we argue that Jesus isn’t being literal here.  And there is some truth to that.  One commentator says this,

It goes without saying that the example and even the principles given by Jesus are not to be taken over-literally.  If v29b were so taken, ‘the issue would be nudism, a sufficient indication that it is a certain spirit that is being commended to our notice – not a regulation to be slavishly carried out. -I. Howard Marshall

Since Jesus isn’t advocating nudism, it is reasonable to assume he isn’t being literal here.  Upon hearing that, everyone lets out a collective sigh of relief and gives this ridiculous directive little more thought.  And that’s the problem.  In our subconscious understanding that Jesus is not calling us to literally live out this command in the world, we brush it aside because, ultimately, it is offensive to our understanding of what it means to survive in this world.  But Marshall goes on to say,

What Jesus here says is seriously, even if not literally, meant; and his followers have the task of manifesting the spirit of the injunction in the varied situations which arise in the actual life. (emphasis added)

As followers of Jesus we have the task of manifesting the spirit of this command.  That’s where the real work begins.  We cannot simply brush it aside because it wasn’t meant to be taken literally.  We must faithfully enter into the spirit of the command as we go through life and encounter people who hurt us, mistreat us, mock us, and would consider us enemies.  This is what sets us apart from the world.  The world understand loving those who love you and doing good to those who do good to you.  What it doesn’t understand is a community of Amish people going to the funeral of the man who killed their children in cold blood.  That makes no sense.  But it makes complete sense in the kingdom of God.

Loving our enemies sets apart the children of the Most High God.  It is the mark that distinguishes his followers from the rest of the world.  This value makes absolutely no sense in the world.  You don’t love your enemies.  You repay them.  If they hurt you, you kill them.  If they mock you, you destroy them.  This is what our world knows and values and encourages.  Loving your enemies, giving grace, showing mercy – turning the other cheek – these are signs of weakness according to the world we live in.

Loving your enemies is not a sign of weakness.  Loving your enemies requires a strength and quiet fortitude the world finds repulsive.

And that is why it sets us apart.

This is what we see Jesus do.  He loves his enemies.  When humanity rebelled against the creative intentions of the Creator, the one who spoke the world into being stepped into time and put on flesh so he might reconcile with those who marred his creation.  The way God decided to do this was through the work of Jesus on the cross.  But before Jesus even got to the cross he healed the ear of one of the men who came to arrest him, he turned and offered his other cheek when slapped, he remained silent when mocked, he did not retaliate when spit on, and after the nails were plunged through his hands and he was suffocating under the weight of his own body he cried out, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

No, the call to love our enemies is not a call to be a weak doormat.  The call to love our enemies is an invitation to participate in the life of the divine.  It is an opportunity to subvert the upside down values of this world and join the Creator in saying, “There is something more beautiful than grudges and war and violent words and it is grace and mercy and forgiveness.”

No, there is nothing weak in that what so ever.  Because that’s one of the hardest things to do.

I don’t experience God like I used to.

That isn’t to say that I don’t experience God.  I do.  But not like I used to.

My heart used to speed up.  Excitement would make it nearly impossible to sit still.  Strangers would hear my enthusiasm for what Jesus meant to me.  I have vivid memories of talking very loudly in a 7-Eleven so everyone could hear how much I loved Jesus.  I was a 22 year old man-child of excitable joy as I treated most experiences in life as a game.  Jesus was simple.  He was my friend.  He was with me.  He made things better.  When I experienced Jesus a smile came to my face and I became an annoying bundle of energy fueled like a chipmunk on crack.

Don’t ask about the picture. I just thought it was spectacular.

But I don’t experience Jesus like that anymore.

That isn’t to say I don’t experience Jesus anymore.  I still do.  They are deep experiences where intimacy and nearness are experienced, but they aren’t the same.  And I am thankful for that.  I believe that means I am growing.

I can’t tell you the number of people who sit in my office telling me they don’t feel, hear, or experience God like they used to.  If that is you, please know you not alone.  It is a common feeling for many people.  At one time I worried about the fact that I didn’t experience God like I used to, but I have moved passed that and embraced the ways in which God reveals himself to me.  In many ways I experience God in ways that are more rich.  They are more nuanced.  Because they are no longer rooted in emotionalism.

During college I went to a charismatic church.  It was a drastic departure from the conservative, liturgical church I grew up in.  I didn’t rebel in college with drugs, alcohol, or bad grades.  I rebelled by raising my hands in worship and going to church where they danced in the aisles.  While much of it was refreshing and helped me see the third person of the Trinity was not in fact “Holy Scriptures,” I also found a lot of emotionalism.  It became difficult to discern whether I experiencing God or a feeling of elation as people around me ecstatically shouted to the Lord.

And then the engagement to my fiancé at the time fell apart.

Suddenly I needed God to be near when I didn’t feel joy.  I didn’t need ecstatic feelings of elation, I need to be comforted when I wept.

I am thankful I don’t experience God like I used to.  Because that wouldn’t be enough.

Luke, in chapter 9, tells the story of the transfiguration of Jesus.  Peter, James, and John go up on a mountain with Jesus to pray and before their eyes Jesus is transfigured.  The text says the appearance of his face changed and he clothes became bright like flashes of lightning.    Peter, James, and John respond by wanting to build tents.  In other words, “This is an awesome experience!  Let’s stay here so we can experience it over and over again.”  Staying on the mountain, would have been a horrible mistake.  They would have missed out on the rest of Jesus life and the, more incredible than what they just saw, the empty tomb.

Or as Dallas Willard said:

It was not easy, however, for me to see that our most sacred experiences often blind us.  The light that makes it possible for us to see may also dazzle our eyes to the clearest of realities and make it impossible for us to see what lies in a shadow.

I have begun to wonder if our inability to hear from, feel, or experience God isn’t more rooted in us wanting to stay on the mountain.  And when Jesus gets off the mountain we are left standing there wondering why we can’t get the feeling back.  So we sing the same songs we used to sing.  We reread the old books.  We make sure and have the quiet time like we used to.  We change churches to reignite the flame.  We do what we used to do when Jesus was close hoping they will work, but all too often we are left wanting.

Maybe Jesus is calling us to something new.

 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child.  When i became a man, I put childish ways behind me.  Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.  Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

I think there comes a time when we need to grow up.  I don’t say that to be demeaning, but to acknowledge that Christ doesn’t want us to stay where we are.  He wants us to grow up into his likeness.  Not only does he want us to grow up, but he wants us to see face to face.  If I only experienced my wife physically you would not say we had intimacy.  In the same way, we cannot know God intimately if we experience God in one way only.

There is a park near our house with a very large play set.  To get to the highest slides on the play set you have to climb a ladder into this “nest.”  Last year we would take my son there and we would follow him diligently around the structure making sure he didn’t fall and bounce on the recycled tire ground below the broken-arm-marchine/play-structure.  Today I took him to the same structure.  I followed him up once, and then let him go.  Yes, I stood at the bottom and let my son climb and slide and climb again all by himself.  Why?  Because I think it would be weird if I stood on a ladder next to him when he was 23.  At some point he has to do things on his own and I have to let him experience my support and protection differently.  So today, my son experienced my cheering him on and directing him from the ground rather than having my hand on his back supporting him.

I do not believe God ever leaves us.  But I do think he changes where he stands.  Sometimes he is next to us with his hand in the small of our back.  Other times he is on the ground yelling support.  Other times he gently whispers into the quiet places of our soul.  There are moments in which we are overcome with joy and emotions.  Who doesn’t get a push/shove in the back at times?

Other times he hides behind something we are holding on to.  Ezekiel 14 says, “When any Israelite sets up idols in his heart and puts a wicked stumbling block before his face and then goes to a prophet, I the Lord will answer him myself in keeping with his great idolatry.”  In other words, “I’m standing behind this thing in your heart and when you remove it you will see me.  But I haven’t gone anywhere.”

I don’t experience Jesus like I used to.  And I’m thankful.  It means I am growing up.

More importantly, it means I know God more fully.

I don’t normally blast off a blog in response to a tweet, but this one has me fired up. As I nonchalantly swiped my thumb in an upward motion to keep my tweeter feed rolling I started noticing a number of tweets quoting @PastorMark (Mark Driscoll’s twitter account name) from the Catalyst conference.

Naturally, I stopped to see the trainwreck.

“I know who made the environment and he’s coming back and going to burn it all up. So yes, I drive an SUV.”

Let me be the first to admit I am not an environmental junkie. I do own a Nissan Pathfinder which would be considered an SUV. However, I am a conservationist who believes the Bible has given us a responsibility to and a responsibility for the condition of creation. Regardless of whether you believe global climate change is a reality or if you believe it is part of the political agenda of some group of people, Christians must take responsibility for the condition of creation. It is what it means to be stewards. It is what it means to be created in the image of God who feeds the birds of the air and clothes the flowers of the field.

But the lack of sound theology regarding creation isn’t what has me hot in Driscoll’s tweet.

It is the sheer lack of Biblical theology.

Granted, Christians disagree on what is going to happen to creation when Christ returns. Scores of people have read the Left Behind series believing they are a blueprint for what is to come. Far too many (according to my preferences) regard Revelation as literal rather than figurative; fact rather than symbol. So I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that I disagree with Driscoll. I probably disagree with a lot of people when it comes to this stuff. But when he speaks, so many people listen.

So many.

To say that when Jesus returns he is simply going to burn it all up (meaning earth and all that is in it) is to disregard a theology of resurrection, restoration, and shalom. At running the risk of sounding combative, Driscoll’s tweet is more infused with Platonic philosophy than Biblical theology.

Let me give you one example. Romans 8 is a well known passage where Paul exhorts us to endure our present sufferings for the coming glory. In verse 19-21 he writes,

The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons and daughters of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it. In hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.

If you believe what Driscoll said, then this passage makes absolutely no sense. It would mean that creation is waiting for the sons and daughters of God to be revealed so that it can burn. So it can be annihilated. The liberation from decay and the “glorious freedom” awaiting the creation at the revealing of the adopted sons and daughters of God is that it would be thrust into the divine furnace and torched.

I don’t think that is what Paul was getting at.

Now some will point to the passage in 2 Peter 3 that says, “That day will bring about the destruction of the heavens by fire, and the elements will melt in the heat. But in keeping with his promise we are looking forward to a new heaven and a new earth, the home of righteousness.” Two things about this passage. One, when Peter tells us there will be a fire, think refiner’s fire (you can sing the song to an acoustic guitar if you want) not destructive fire. Two, we know we are to think of a refiner’s fire because of the Greek word Peter uses in verse 13 for “new.” In Greek there are two words for new. One means “brand new” and the other means something along the lines of “newly renovated.”

Guess which one Peter uses? The one for “newly renovated.”

We could go on. But I don’t need to. Everything I know about this has been learned from people much smarter than me. Check out N.T. Wright’s Surprised by Hope, Michael Wittmer’s Heaven is a Place on Earth, or C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce.

It is important for us as Christians to think about these things. Orthodoxy matters as right thinking impacts how we act. Orthopraxy doesn’t just happen. I know there has been a push in recent years to say that right living precedes right thinking and there may be some truth to that. However, Paul does not say we are transformed by the renewing of our behaviors. It is the renewing of our minds. Right thinking matters.

Here is why this means so much to me. I woke my three year old son from his nap and took him fishing this afternoon. Today was one of those beautiful spring days in which the sun and the clouds take turns dominating the sky. When the sun was out and the wind died down, it was hot. But when the sun went away, it was just the right kind of cool. We grabbed our fishing gear and walked to the end of our cul-de-sac and cut through the neighbors yard. He pointed at birds, asked why God made fish to eat worms and stopped to pick dandelions. We sat down on the grass next to the pond and he took a worm and gave it to me so I could bait the hook. We watched the bobber together and it rose and fell with the small ripples created by the wind. We caught some fish. He laughed as the fish fought him through the rod and line. He held the fish after I took the hook off and threw them back. Some made it to the water. When it was time to walk home, we packed up, Luke stopped to pick up a rock and throw it in the water, and I started walking. He ran up and, as he got to my side, grabbed my hand and held it.

I want that to mean something. That’s why this matters.