Icarian Dream: A Sermon on Hubris, Collapse, and the Flight Back Home

 

Text: Matthew 7:24-27, 1 Corinthians 3:11-15, Isaiah 40:31

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I. Borrowed Gold and the Gravity Problem

There is something deliciously intoxicating about soaring.

You start small, of course—dreams tucked neatly into your pocket, ambition no bigger than a spark. But then it catches. It grows. It burns.

And before you know it, you’re flying.

The sky, once so far away, now bends to you. The world, once a cage, now lies at your feet. Look how high you’ve climbed! Look how bright you shine!

But—ah, yes—borrowed gold always comes with fine print.

Because what we fail to consider, what we never want to admit, is that the sky does not belong to us.

And gravity? Well, gravity has never lost a case.

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II. The Wax and Sand Kingdoms We Build

Let’s talk about the great illusion we are all guilty of buying into.

The belief that we can build something permanent in a world designed to shift beneath our feet.

We construct empires—names on office doors, bank accounts fattened with the sweat of our striving, accolades framed and hung like talismans against irrelevance. We chase power, position, applause—whatever makes us feel immortal.

But the problem with illusions is that they don’t hold up to heat.

And oh, the heat is coming.

Because, you see, kingdoms built on wax and hands—they melt.

Jesus spoke of this in Matthew 7. Two men, two houses, two very different outcomes. One built on rock. The other? Sand. Both looked fine—until the storm came.

And the storm always comes.

Fire tests foundations. Wind reveals what was never as sturdy as we claimed.

The real question is—do you even know what you’re standing on?

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III. When the Sun Finds Your Wings

The fall is inevitable, isn’t it?

Oh, we don’t like to think about it. We prefer to live in denial, to convince ourselves that we—unlike all those tragic figures before us—are the exception.

We hear the whispers of warning, but we ignore them.

We see the cracks forming, but we pretend they’re not there.

We tell ourselves, I can handle it. I can hold it together.

Until we can’t.

Until the sun finds our wings, until the heat melts the carefully constructed façade, until the great dream we built collapses in spectacular fashion—leaving us gasping, grasping, falling.

And in that moment, when the ground rushes up to meet you—what then?

Do you cry out? Do you curse the sky? Do you wonder why the wind, once so friendly, has suddenly turned against you?

Or—do you reach?

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IV. The Hand That Catches

Peter knew something about falling.

One moment, he was walking on water—defying gravity, moving toward the impossible.

The next? Sinking like a stone.

Because doubt has mass. Fear has weight. And the moment you take your eyes off the One who holds the waves in check—down you go.

But here’s the thing: Peter reached.

And Jesus caught him.

Because that’s the other half of the story, isn’t it? We talk about the fall. We talk about the failure. But we forget that grace is already in motion before we even hit the ground.

The hand is already extended.

We just have to take it.

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V. The Fire, the Wind, and the Rise

Now, here is where most stories would end.

You fell. You learned your lesson. Maybe you scrape yourself off the ground, carry the scars, try to rebuild with whatever’s left.

But what if—what if—the fire and the wind weren’t just meant to break you?

What if they were meant to carry you?

Isaiah 40:31 speaks of those who wait on the Lord—how they will renew their strength, how they will soar on wings like eagles.

Which sounds wonderful—until you realize what that actually entails.

See, the eagle doesn’t flap its way to great heights. It doesn’t fight against the wind.

It rides it.

The very thing that should have been its undoing—it uses.

So here’s the choice:

You can keep trying to fight the storm, outwit the fire, deny the gravity.

Or—you can step in.

You can let go of the wax, the sand, the fragile things you once thought could save you.

You can trust the fire and wind to lift you, rather than consume you.

Because this is what redemption looks like.

Not escaping the collapse. But rising from it.

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VI. Finding the Icarian Dream

You thought the dream was to touch the heavens.

But maybe—just maybe—it's to belong to them.

To move, not on your own strength, but in the power of the One who calls you higher.

To trade borrowed gold for real glory.

To let the fall become the thing that frees you.

Because you don’t have to be afraid anymore.

No more giving in.

No more flapping your wings in futility, trying to hold up an empire that was never meant to last.

No more striving for a throne made of wax and sand.

You were made for more.

And if you run fast enough—if you step into the fire, trust the wind—

You just might find that you’re flying again.

But this time—this time, you won’t fall.

40 from the Sod: A Sermon on Wasted Time, Forgotten Fire, and the Long Road Back

Text: Ecclesiastes 1, Luke 12:16-21, 2 Timothy 1:6

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I. The Crime Scene That Is Your Calendar

There is a peculiar moment in life when you wake up and realize that time has been robbing you blind.

It’s subtle. It doesn’t kick in the door, gun drawn, demanding your best years in one fell swoop. No, time is far more sophisticated than that. It’s a con artist, a white-collar thief, siphoning off the days in small, imperceptible transactions. One compromise here. One postponed dream there. One "I’ll get to it later" stacked on top of another, until one day you look up and realize—

You’re 40 from the sod.

Now, that phrase? It’s a bit poetic. Forty years from the grave. Maybe you’re a little younger, maybe older, but the sentiment is the same: you are closer to death than you think, and what do you have to show for it?

A mortgage? A job title? A LinkedIn profile that no one actually reads?

Oh, it’s all very respectable. Responsible.

But what about the spark? What about the fire? What about the thing you used to believe in, the thing that mattered?

The dreams, the convictions, the calling—where did they go?

And the most haunting question of all: Did you trade them away?

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II. A Man and His Bigger Barns

There’s a story in Luke 12 about a man who had done well for himself. A self-made success. The kind of guy who would have had a LinkedIn profile filled with buzzwords like “visionary” and “synergistic leadership”.

One year, his harvest was so good that he ran out of storage space. So, he made a decision: "I’ll tear down my barns and build bigger ones. Then I’ll sit back, eat, drink, and enjoy life."

You know, finally relax. Finally enjoy what he worked so hard to build.

Except—he dies that very night.

And God, with the sort of bluntness that cuts straight through the noise, calls him a fool.

Not because he was successful. Not because he had plans. But because he spent his life building the wrong kind of wealth. Because he thought he had time.

But time was not his to keep.

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III. The Slow Death of Conviction

Of course, it doesn’t happen all at once.

Nobody wakes up one morning and says, “You know what? I think today I’ll kill every ideal I ever stood for.”

No. It happens quietly.

First, you get busy. Life gets complicated. You’ve got responsibilities now. People who depend on you. The wild ambitions of your younger self? They weren’t practical anyway.

So, you start making compromises. Not big ones. Just little trade-offs, here and there.

Then one day, you look in the mirror, and the fire that used to burn so hot is nothing more than a faint, flickering ember.

The dreamer? Gone.
The firebrand? Replaced by a man who hits snooze on his own life.
The calling? Sold off for comfort.

It’s tragic, really. But tragedy is rarely loud. More often, it looks like a man slowly dulling himself into irrelevance.

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IV. The Grave in Your Pocket

The Preacher in Ecclesiastes knew something about this. The man had it all—wisdom, wealth, pleasure, power. And yet, he looked at his life and summed it all up in one word:

"Hebel."

Meaningless. A vapor. A chasing after the wind.

You work, you build, you amass wealth, you climb ladders—only to leave it all behind for someone else to enjoy (or squander).

And yet, we keep doing it.

Because somewhere along the way, we bought the lie that says: Success will satisfy you.

And if it doesn’t? Well, you just need a little more of it.

So, we build our bigger barns, climb our corporate ladders, measure our worth by the things we own, and ignore the quiet voice in the background whispering:

"Is this it?"

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V. Digging Your Way Back Out

Here’s the thing: You’re not dead yet.

And that means you have a choice.

In 2 Timothy 1:6, Paul tells Timothy: "Fan into flame the gift of God which is in you."

Fan it. Stoke it. Dig it out from under the years of dust and neglect.

Because the fire isn’t gone—it’s just buried.

You’ve still got breath in your lungs, which means you still have time to make your life count.

You can still:

• Get up from the desk, shake the dust off, and chase what actually matters.
• Rekindle your faith.
• Take back the dreams you buried in the name of practicality.
• Live a life that will matter when you’re six feet under and the only thing left of you is the impact you made on others.

Because here’s the truth:

• God never called you to be comfortable.
• He never asked you to settle.
• He never designed you for mediocrity.

And yet, so many of us are living like He did.

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VI. Run Fast Enough, You Might Not Be Gone

The good news?

You’re not 40 feet under yet. Just 40 from it. And that means there’s time.

Time to get up. Time to change course. Time to dig out the fire before you become another tragic soul who lived for paychecks and pensions instead of purpose.

But don’t wait too long.

Because that calendar? It’s still bleeding out. The thief is still working. And time, well—

It never leaves survivors.

Put a Guard on Your Heart: A Sermon on the Slow Burn of Unchecked Desire

 

Text: 2 Samuel 11-12

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I. The King Who Had Everything—Except Boundaries

Let’s talk about David. The golden boy. The man after God’s own heart. The poet, the warrior, the king. The giant slayer. The man who could play a harp and still make it look cool.

David had it all. And more than that—he had earned it. He didn’t inherit the throne; he ran for his life before he ever sat on it. He dodged spears, hid in caves, lived on stale bread, and kept his hands clean when it would have been far easier to take a shortcut.

By the time we meet him in 2 Samuel 11, David is no longer the scrappy underdog with a slingshot. No, he is sitting comfortably in the palace, draped in royal robes, drinking the sweet wine of success.

And that—that right there—is the real danger, isn’t it?

Failure will humble a man. But success? Oh, success will turn his head, soften his spine, and, if he’s not careful, undo him entirely.

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II. The View From the Rooftop

So there’s David.

It’s springtime. War season. But David, the man who once led from the front, now leads from the rooftop. His army is fighting his battles, and David is at home… bored.

And bored kings make dangerous kings.

One evening, while strolling around his palace, David looks down and sees her—Bathsheba. Bathing.

Now, let’s pause here, because this is where we like to ask, “Why was she bathing where the king could see her?”

Which is just another way of saying, “What was she wearing?”

Let’s get something straight: Bathsheba wasn’t putting on a show. She was bathing where women bathed, in the privacy of her home, because indoor plumbing was not yet a thing.

David? He was the one who lingered.

The first look? That’s an accident. The second look? That’s a decision.

And David decided.

Because power has a way of making a man feel untouchable. He wanted her. And when kings want something, they take it.

After all, what’s the point of being king if you can’t have what you want?

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III. The Domino Effect of Unchecked Desire

Now, desire is a funny thing. It doesn’t like to stay small. It doesn’t like to sit quietly in the corner. No, no—desire is greedy. It whispers, “Just this once.” And when you listen? It starts writing checks your soul cannot cash.

David took Bathsheba.

And then came the news: “I’m pregnant.”

Ah. Consequences. That pesky little detail.

Now, David could have come clean. He could have owned it. But sin never stays contained. It sprawls. It starts with a glance, then a decision, then a cover-up.

David calls Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah, back from the battlefield. Uriah—a man so honorable, he refuses to go home while his comrades are still at war. David tries to get him drunk, hoping he’ll sleep with his wife, hoping he’ll cover David’s tracks.

But Uriah won’t do it. Because integrity is a thing.

And so David, the man after God’s own heart, does something he never would have imagined back when he was just a shepherd boy:

He has Uriah killed.

A little battlefield “accident.”

And just like that, what started as a rooftop glance ends with a man in the ground.

David takes Bathsheba as his wife, and for a moment, just a moment, he thinks he’s gotten away with it.

Because when you’re king, who’s going to hold you accountable?

Oh, David. You know better than that.

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IV. The Knock on the Door

Enter Nathan.

Now, Nathan could have walked in, pointed a finger at David’s face, and thundered, “You have sinned, O King!” But no. That’s not his style.

Instead, he tells a story.

"There was a rich man, with more than enough. And a poor man, who had just one little lamb. The rich man took the poor man’s lamb, even though he had plenty of his own. Tell me, O king, what’s the righteous thing?”

And David, the former shepherd, is outraged.

"That man should die!" he declares.

And Nathan? Oh, Nathan just smiles.

"That man is you."

And just like that, the air leaves the room.

The sword David used to cut others now swings back toward him.

Because David knew better. He had written the psalms about God’s justice. He had sung of righteousness. And now? Now his house was burning, and he was the one who lit the match.

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V. The Fallout: House on Fire

David repents. That part is real. That part is raw. Psalm 51 is written from the ashes of his worst failure.

But repentance doesn’t erase consequences.

The child of David and Bathsheba dies. His family fractures. His sons turn against each other. His kingdom, once a picture of order, begins to unravel.

Because sin, even when forgiven, leaves a wreckage.

David sang a new song, but his house was still burning.

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VI. Put a Guard on Your Heart

And so, we arrive at the lesson.

David’s failure didn’t start with murder. It started with a look.

It started with boredom. With complacency. With the idea that he deserved whatever he wanted.

And if the man after God’s own heart could fall like that, what makes us think we’re any different?

So put a guard on your heart.

Because unchecked desire will take you places you don’t want to go.
It will promise you a kingdom and leave you in ruins.
It will write checks your soul cannot cash.

David learned it the hard way. And his house—his legacy—bore the scars.

So guard your heart.
Or it’ll tear your world apart.

And when that knock comes at your door?
Pray it’s just a friend.

And not a prophet with a story.

Gideon’s Revolt: A Sermon with Fire, Fury, and a Fallen god

 

Text: Judges 6-7

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I. The Winepress and the Whisper

Let’s set the stage.

Midian rules Israel. And not in a benevolent overlord, pay your taxes and all will be well sort of way. No, no. The Midianites are parasites. They take everything. Crops? Gone. Livestock? Stolen. Homes? Burned. It’s a seven-year-long mugging, and Israel is left cowering in the caves, praying for deliverance.

Enter Gideon.

Not in armor. Not on a horse. But in a hole. A winepress, to be exact. Threshing wheat—something that should be done in the open air—because he’s afraid. Hiding. Hoping to squeeze out a meal before the Midianite enforcers come knocking.

And then, the angel of the Lord appears. And in what can only be described as divine sarcasm, he greets Gideon with:

"The Lord is with you, mighty warrior."

Now, Gideon, being a practical man, looks around—because surely, surely, this warrior the angel is speaking to must be standing somewhere behind him. But no, the angel is addressing him.

It’s almost cruel. A mighty warrior? Gideon? The guy who’s basically hiding in his own pantry?

And yet, God has a habit of doing this. Calling people what they are going to be, long before they ever live up to the name.

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II. Baal, the Has-Been, the Has-Run, the Has-Lost

But before Gideon can lead a revolution, he has an errand to run. A bit of housecleaning, if you will.

You see, Israel has a problem—one that goes deeper than Midian. Midian is just a symptom. The disease? Idolatry.

Gideon’s own family—his own father—has an altar to Baal in the backyard.

Now, let’s talk about Baal for a moment.

Once upon a time, Baal thought he was something special. He strutted around as the so-called "storm god" of the Canaanites, posturing as a deity of fertility, rain, and war. He had power, once. He sat in the divine council, trying to carve out his own kingdom in rebellion against the Most High.

And how did that work out for him?

Well, he got evicted. Kicked to the curb. Tossed down like a dethroned warlord whose troops abandoned him mid-battle. Whatever power he had was permitted, and once Yahweh withdrew that permission, Baal became what all rebel gods become—an imposter. A fraud. A pretender.

And yet, Israel—God’s own people—was still bowing to this has-been.

So God tells Gideon, "Tear it down."

Not Midian. Not yet. First, this.

And Gideon—brave warrior that he is—waits until nightfall to do it. Why? Because even though Baal is powerless, his followers still have knives. And Gideon is not looking to get stabbed before this whole “mighty warrior” thing even gets off the ground.

By morning, the town wakes up, and Baal’s altar is dust. And the people? They lose their minds. They demand Gideon’s execution.

But then, something hilarious happens.

Gideon’s own father, Joash—the man who built the altar—steps forward and says:

"If Baal is a god, let him defend himself."

Mic. Drop.

And Baal?

Silence.

No fire. No wrath. Not so much as a gust of wind. Because Baal is nothing. He has no power. No voice. No authority. He is a washed-up relic of a defeated rebellion, a powerless ghost still trying to scare people into kneeling.

And now, everyone knows it.

The town, which was ready to kill Gideon, suddenly starts calling him “Jerubbaal”—which means, “Let Baal contend with him.”

Except Baal never does. Because he can’t.

First victory? Not against Midian. But against the lie that kept Israel enslaved.

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III. How to Lose an Army in 10 Days

Now, with Baal exposed, it’s time for Midian to fall.

Gideon blows the trumpet. And for the first time in years, Israel rallies to fight. 32,000 men show up, ready for battle. It’s not enough to match Midian, but it’s something.

And then God, in all His wonderful, terrifying wisdom, says:

"Too many."

Too many? They’re already outnumbered! But God insists:

"Tell anyone who is afraid to go home."

And 22,000 men walk away.

That’s two-thirds of the army. Just gone.

Gideon, now with a mere 10,000, takes a deep breath, recalculates his odds, and steels himself for battle.

And then God speaks again.

"Still too many."

At this point, I imagine Gideon is reconsidering all his life choices.

But God has one last test. A simple one. He takes the men to the water and tells Gideon to watch how they drink. Based on this, God narrows the army down to…

300 men.

A whole valley of Midianites, and Gideon’s got three hundred hydration enthusiasts to take them on.

It’s absurd. But this is how God operates. When victory comes, there will be no question about who won the battle.

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IV. Breaking the Jars, Breaking the Enemy

And now, for the plan.

No swords. No cavalry. Instead?

Torches.
Clay jars.
Trumpets.

Yes. That’s the whole strategy.

Under cover of night, Gideon and his 300 sneak up to the enemy camp. At his signal, they shatter their jars—light explodes into the darkness. They blast their trumpets—the sound echoes through the hills.

And Midian?

They panic.

They don’t just flee—they start slaughtering each other. Confused. Terrified. Running for their lives.

And by morning, it’s over.

No swords needed. No charge into battle. Just obedience—and a God who fights His own wars.

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V. The Revolt Continues

Gideon’s story is not just history—it’s a blueprint.

We, too, have been hiding—from our calling, from our battles, from the enemy who has convinced us we are too weak, too small, too insignificant to make a difference.

And yet, the whisper comes:

"The Lord is with you, mighty warrior."

Not because we are mighty. But because He is.

But before we rise, we must tear down our altars.

We cannot serve two masters. We cannot ask God for victory while clinging to the very things that keep us enslaved.

And when the time comes to fight?

We fight God’s way.

We take the torches—His light.
We break the jars—our comfort.
We raise the trumpets—our voice.

And when we do? The enemy flees. Because no power, no principality, no has-been god who was kicked out of the divine council can stand against the Lord of Hosts.

The battle is already won.

Now, rise.

BLOOD OF THE LAMB

A Sanctuary of Struggle

 

Life offers us moments of serene reflection, akin to a meadow bathed in the gentle light of dawn. Yet, within these peaceful interludes, we often encounter our most profound battles. These are not clashes of clamor and chaos, but quiet conflicts where the whispers of truth face the subtle hisses of deception. It is in the silence of our hearts where these battles are fought and won.

 

The Lamb and the Serpent: A Parable of Innocence and Guile

 

As you contemplate the lamb, consider its significance beyond the pastoral scene. The lamb stands as a beacon of innocence amidst life's complexities. It faces the serpent—age-old symbol of guile—with a resilience born not of ignorance but of an innate strength. Like the lamb, we too are equipped to face life's adversities with an inherent fortitude. The question becomes, how do we tap into that strength to remain unshaken by the serpents in our own lives?

 

The Echo of Redemption

 

The veins of the lamb carry more than life; they carry a story of redemption that resonates with our own. In the lamb’s resistance to the serpent’s venom, we find a parallel to our redemption through Christ. This is not a redemption shouted from mountaintops but one that flows quietly, powerfully within us. It's an echo of an ancient victory, one that whispers to us of a love that is as deep and steadfast as the mountains themselves.

 

The Victory in Our Veins: The Divine Design of Natural Resilience

 

Within the marvels of God's creation, we find embodied lessons that reflect the glory of His design. Take, for instance, the humble sheep, an animal that holds a special place in scripture. This creature, often a symbol of the faithful, carries within it a remarkable attribute crafted by the Creator's hand. When faced with the peril of a rattlesnake bite, a lamb's body exhibits a God-given resilience. The blood of the lamb naturally produces antibodies, which are specialized proteins designed to counteract the venom.

 

This incredible defense mechanism is a testament to the wisdom and care of our Creator. He has equipped the lamb with the means to withstand the serpent's bite, to neutralize its venom, and to heal from within. This natural immunity reflects the strength and protection that the Lord bestows upon His creation, ensuring that even the most vulnerable among us have the means to stand firm against the adversities of this world.

 

In the spiritual parallel, just as the lamb's body is prepared to respond to the threat of physical venom, so are our souls fortified against spiritual threats by the blood of the Lamb of God. This is not an adaptation to life's dangers but a provision by God's design, a safeguard against the serpent's bite of sin and death that has plagued humanity since the fall.

 

Our reflection on the lamb's divinely given immunity enhances our understanding of God's protective hand in our lives. The antibodies in the lamb's blood can be seen as a symbol of God's grace—ever present, ever ready to respond to our need. They remind us that through faith in Jesus Christ, our spiritual immunity is assured. His sacrifice on the cross was the ultimate act of healing, providing us the means to overcome the poison of sin.

 

As believers, we are called to recognize and rely on this divine protection, to live confidently in the knowledge that we are cared for by a loving God. The victory we have through Christ is not a result of our own doing, but a gift from the Creator, just as the lamb's immunity is a gift of God's intricate design. We are to walk in faith, knowing that the same power that raised Christ from the dead is at work within us, equipping us to overcome the challenges we face with the assurance of His victory in our veins.

The Call to Stand Unshaken

 

This imagery invites you to take a stand in your own life. As the lamb stands undaunted, we are encouraged to stand firm in our faith and convictions. The world around us may whisper doubts and fears, but we are called to listen to the voice of truth. This section is a rallying cry for you to hold fast to your beliefs in the face of adversity, trusting in the redemptive power you've been given.

 

The Silent Anthem of Grace

 

The lamb's quiet victory over the serpent's venom is a metaphor for the grace that sings within us—a grace that is soft yet strong, subtle yet certain. This grace does not boast; it does not need to. Instead, it works within us, transforming and renewing us from the inside out. This section of the blog is a meditation on the work of grace in our lives, urging us to live out that grace in every encounter, every challenge.

 

Embracing the Dance of Life

 

Finally, the dance of life is full of unexpected turns and steps, some of which may lead us through thorns. Yet, in embracing this dance, we are called to remember the Lamb—the ultimate example of innocence and strength combined. The blog concludes by reminding us that it is through the blood of the Lamb, through Christ's sacrifice, that our lives are made whole, our wounds are healed, and our paths are gardened with the flowers of His love and grace.

 

A Call to Action: Live Out the Victory

 

As we close this reflection, let it not merely be an intellectual exercise but a call to live out the victory we have in Christ. You are encouraged to find courage in the Lamb's example and to see your life as a part of the grand tapestry that is God's redemptive plan. Let the truths discussed here move you to action—to love more deeply, to forgive more freely, and to stand more firmly in the face of life's serpents, all the while rejoicing in the silent, victorious anthem of the Lamb's blood that has made you free.

A FAITH INKED IN BLOOD

 

Faith in the Modern Tapestry: Echoes of Ancient Sacrifice

 

In the quiet moments that bridge day and night, where shadows blend with the fading light, there unfolds a story that transcends time. It's a narrative deeply rooted in sacrifice, yet it resonates with the rhythm of our contemporary lives. This saga, a covenant sealed in the most profound of manners, speaks to us of a faith inked in blood, echoing through the silent whispers of our modern existence.

 

The Struggle Within: Contemporary Gethsemane Moments

 

In the solitude of our personal Gethsemanes, amidst the bustling noise of daily life and the silent battles we face, we encounter moments that test the depths of our faith. Just as a figure once knelt beneath ancient olive trees in a garden of old, we too find ourselves facing the zeniths of obedience and the nadirs of human dread. Our modern-day supplications, "Let this cup pass from me," reflect not weakness but a profound submission to a purpose greater than our own, where love and pain intertwine in the indelible ink of grace.

 

The Cross We Bear: Lessons from Calvary

 

In the narrative of our lives, the rugged beams of Calvary find expression in the challenges we face, the burdens we bear for the sake of love, truth, and justice. Each struggle, each act of selfless love, mirrors the weight borne upon ancient wood, under skies that would proclaim the dawn of a new covenant. In the mystery of every small resurrection we experience—moments of hope, forgiveness, and new beginnings—we find the essence of a faith inked in blood.

 

Silent Nights, Sacred Echoes: Finding Solace in Sacrifice

 

Even in the darkest nights of the soul, when our world seems draped in silence and sorrow, we can find solace in the enduring story of sacrifice. The crown of thorns, a symbol of the suffering endured for love's sake, invites us to embrace our own thorny paths, knowing that each step taken in love brings us closer to the rebirth of hope. Our pains and trials, when borne with love, become the medium through which our faith is deepened—a faith inked in blood, our fortress in times of turmoil.

 

Dawn of Renewal: Rolling Away the Stones

 

In the narrative of our faith, the stone sealing the tomb represents the obstacles and despair that seem insurmountable. Yet, just as the dawn breaks and the stone is rolled away, we too witness the breaking of barriers that once held us captive. The light that shatters our darkness speaks of new beginnings, of stones rolled away in our lives, making way for a renewal of faith, hope, and love.

 

Living the Faith: The Symphony of Grace in Everyday Life

 

This faith, inked in blood and woven into the fabric of our daily existence, calls us to live out a symphony of grace in every interactaion, every challenge, and every moment of joy. It's a narrative that invites us to be part of something greater, to contribute our voices to the chorus of redemption that spans across time.

 

In our stories, in the hymns of our hearts, and in the symphony of our shared humanity, the resonance of this faith inked in blood invites us to find strength in the enduring love of the King of kings. In this love, we discover not just solace but the courage to face each day with hope, to bear our crosses with dignity, and to live out the melody of grace that has been entrusted to us.

Failed Attempts: Embracing Grace in Our Imperfections

The Neon Glare of Aspirations

Life often feels like a stage bathed in the neon glow of our dreams and aspirations. We step into the light, fueled by ambition, only to find that the path is fraught with more challenges than we anticipated. These "Failed Attempts" are not just setbacks; they are part of the intricate tapestry of our journey. They remind us that in our quest for success, we must embrace our vulnerabilities and learn from each misstep. It's through these failures that we are shaped, molded into more resilient and compassionate beings, capable of understanding the depth of human experience.

 

Lost in the Forest of Life

Navigating life's vast landscape, we sometimes lose sight of the bigger picture, focusing too intently on the obstacles directly in our path. We crave a script, a definitive guide to lead us through the complexities of our story. Yet, life is unscripted, filled with unexpected twists and turns. Our moments of despair, when we find ourselves on our knees, are not signs of defeat but of humility. It's in these moments of surrender that we find clarity, realizing that life's beauty lies in its unpredictability and our capacity to adapt and grow.

 

The Chorus of Our Lives

Our life's chorus often repeats the theme of "Failed Attempts," a refrain that seems to define our struggles and setbacks. Yet, within this repetition lies a deeper melody—a song of perseverance and resilience. Falling down doesn't mark the end of our story but rather a pivotal moment in our journey. It's a call to rise, to learn from our failures, and to continue forward with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. This anthem of resilience becomes our rallying cry, pushing us to find strength in our vulnerability and courage in the face of adversity.

 

A Broken Record of Promises

Like a broken record, our promises to change and improve can become a repetitive loop, each iteration echoing with the hollow sound of past failures. This cycle of ambition and disappointment, however, is not a solitary experience but a shared human condition. It reflects our innate desire for growth and transformation, even in the face of recurring challenges. Acknowledging this pattern is the first step towards breaking the cycle, allowing us to move forward with genuine intent and a commitment to real, sustainable change.

 

In the Shadows of the Average Joe

Life is not a competition, yet we often find ourselves keeping score, measuring our successes against our failures, our triumphs against our defeats. This constant comparison can cast long shadows, obscuring our true potential and worth. Recognizing that we are all "average Joes" in one way or another liberates us from the weight of unrealistic expectations. It allows us to embrace our ordinary moments as opportunities for extraordinary growth, finding contentment and strength in our shared humanity.

 

The Anthem of Resilience

"Failed Attempts" is more than just a refrain of defeat; it's an anthem of resilience. Each failure, each fall, is a testament to our enduring spirit and unwavering will to persevere. The darkness of defeat is punctuated by the light of potential growth and renewal. It's in these moments of struggle that we discover our true strength, learning that the essence of resilience lies not in avoiding failure but in our capacity to rise from it, time and time again.

 

The Bridge to Transformation

Our journey through life is marked by numerous bridges—transitional moments that offer opportunities for profound change and growth. Each failed attempt, each setback, is a bridge leading us toward self-discovery and transformation. These moments of failure are not endpoints but catalysts, propelling us forward into new realms of understanding and possibility. Embracing these opportunities for change allows us to move beyond the confines of our past mistakes, evolving into more empathetic, resilient individuals.

 

The Symphony of Life

Life's symphony is composed of a complex arrangement of experiences—moments of joy and sorrow, triumph and defeat. This rich tapestry of human emotion creates a melody that resonates with the depth of our shared experiences. Our "Failed Attempts" add depth and texture to this symphony, reminding us that it's through our imperfections and vulnerabilities that we connect most deeply with one another. In acknowledging and embracing our failures, we open ourselves to the grace that underlies our journey, finding strength and solace in the knowledge that we are not alone in our struggles.

 

A Toast to New Beginnings

Let us celebrate the stumbles and near-wins, the moments of reflection, and the courage to start anew. These "Failed Attempts" are not merely setbacks but stepping stones towards greater understanding and compassion. In the symphony of life, each note of failure contributes to the harmony of our collective experience, enriching our journey with wisdom and resilience. Here, in the acceptance of our imperfections, we find the true essence of grace, a force that gently guides us towards new beginnings, filled with hope and the promise of renewal.

A Modern-Day Josiah: Becoming Beacons of Truth in Our World

Embracing the Josiah Within

 

In the heart of our fast-paced, neon-lit world, each of us has the potential to walk as Josiah did—distinct, purposeful, and grounded in truth. The question isn't whether we have the capacity to be a beacon of light in our urban jungles; it's whether we're willing to embrace that inner Josiah, to take a stand for what is true and right amidst the chaos and noise of modern life.

 

Standing Against the Current

 

Josiah's journey wasn't marked by going with the flow but by the courage to swim against the tide. In our lives, this might mean challenging the status quo, questioning where society places its values, and daring to live by a different standard. It's about recognizing the "high places" of our time—those glass and steel monuments to materialism and self-gratification—and choosing a path of authentic faith and integrity instead.

 

Key Actions:

Reflect on Personal Values: Take time to consider what you truly value and whether your life reflects those values.

Challenge the Status Quo: Don't be afraid to question societal norms and explore how your faith calls you to live differently.

 

Living Out Loud

 

Josiah's faith was not a private affair but a public declaration. Our faith, too, should not be hidden away but lived out loud, influencing our actions, decisions, and interactions with others. This means having the bravery to let our lives speak of our beliefs, to be examples of love, compassion, and justice in every arena we enter.

 

Key Actions:

Be Visible: Let your actions visibly reflect your faith in your community, workplace, and social circles.

Speak Up: When opportunities arise, share your perspective and convictions with gentleness and respect.

 

The Power of Love in Action

 

The core of Josiah's message was a love that dared to engage with the world's brokenness. This active love challenges us to not only care for those around us but also to stand up for justice, to offer grace, and to be peacemakers. It's a love that doesn't shy away from difficult conversations or situations but sees them as opportunities for healing and transformation.

 

Key Actions:

Engage in Social Issues: Get involved in causes that align with your faith and advocate for justice and compassion.

Practice Grace: Offer forgiveness and understanding in your personal and professional relationships, even when it's challenging.

 

Navigating the Modern Maze

 

Like Josiah, we are called to navigate the complexities of our world with wisdom and discernment. This means being informed, staying grounded in our faith, and using our influence for good. It's about being a light in the darkness, a source of hope and truth in a world that desperately needs it.

 

Key Actions:

Stay Informed: Keep abreast of current events and issues, understanding them from a faith-based perspective.

Be a Source of Hope: In your conversations and actions, be someone who points others toward hope and faith.

 

Joining the Movement

 

Josiah's story is not just an inspiring narrative; it's a call to action for each of us. It's an invitation to join a movement of people committed to living out their faith boldly and creatively. Together, we can make a difference, tearing down walls of division and building bridges of understanding and love.

 

Key Actions:

Connect with Like-minded Individuals: Seek out communities and groups that share your desire to live out your faith actively.

Be a Mentor: Offer guidance and support to others on their faith journey, just as you seek wisdom from those further along the path.

 

In embracing our inner Josiah, we step into our role as modern-day prophets and reformers, tasked with the sacred mission of infusing our world with the light of truth, love, and faith. Let's rise to the challenge, with open arms and hearts ready to serve, lead, and love in a world that awaits the hope we carry within us.

Mop and Squeeze: The Divine Comedy of Cleansing

Life is a massive mix of different things, with all sorts of problems and wonderful moments all tangled up--but really, it's those extremely straightforward things we do that end up being the deepest. Take mopping for example. It sounds like a job you've must do--but it's actually pretty special when you think about it. Every push and pull of the mop is a tiny performance, scrubbing away old things while you're also mentally dropping any baggage you've been hanging onto.

You know how life tosses a substantial amount of craziness at you? A whole load of foul-ups, haunting regrets, missing of marks, and things you wish hadn't happened sort of get in your way. That’s when we pull out the mop. With every squeeze, we're letting go of what happened before, and clearing a spot for new things to take root.

But hey, it's not focused on the physical dirt on your floor. This is bigger – it's about the icky things inside us. If our mess-ups were liquid spills, then rubbing it wouldn't cut it. We'd need to put in a serious amount of elbow grease and have the patience to deal with it correctly.

So that mop you're using isn't only a tool; it's almost like it has special powers, calling the shots on your chaos. Think of yourself as a hero taking on a serious challenge – but instead of ultra-wonderful dragons, you're up against the mighty mess and grime of life.

Re-fesh Starts With Re-mop-tion

The water's part of it too, not only things to dunk your mop into. It stands for being clear-headed and feeling brand new. Every time that mop hits the water, you're essentially promising yourself that you're moving on and always ready for second chances.

Sweeping Statements: The Handle of Life's Larger Journey

While we deal with life's clutter, we often wonder, "Is this all there is to life?" This isn't only pointless pondering—it shows that we're connected to something much bigger, as if there's a quiet hint that we are part of a much larger story. Even a simple task like mopping has its location in this major narrative. So when we squeeze out our mops, we should smile a little, seeing both the silliness and the wonder in what we are doing. Cleaning isn't only about getting a job done -- it's a way to find clarity, a prep step for whatever's next, a ceremonial dance in life's big party hall.

Re-think-opportunity: Discovering the Joy in the Chore-enriched Life

But life's not only about pushing a mop around. It’s also seen in folding clothes, scrubbing plates, or caring for plants—every action has the chance for deep thought, to uncover joy in the plain things. If we recalibrate our perspective, we realize that each chore offers a lesson or a shot at personal growth.

Doubt might appear, making us question the wisdom of looking for some deeper meaning in routine tasks--but it's exactly when we're unsure that this idea really makes the most sense. By valuing the small jobs, we allow ourselves to discover the greater things that life has to teach us.

Mind-sweeping: Brush up on Your Happiness While You Clean!

 As you go through your day, I encourage you to look deeper than the obvious. Let every sweep and scrub be a chance for focused thinking, a way to practice patience and being in the moment. By doing this, you might not only end up with a cleaner area but also with a clearer head, a happier heart, and a refreshed spirit, prepared to deal with life's big, messy things with a grin and a welcoming attitude.

In the end, if we're to navigate this journey with grace, why not do it with a laugh, a sense of wonder, and a mop in hand?

KINGFALL

In the lush kingdom of Eldoria, where creation sang praises to the Creator and the mountains stood as guardians of ancient truths, King Aelaric reigned with wisdom and courage. His reign, marked by peace and prosperity, was a testament to his steadfast faith and the blessings it brought upon his land.

Yet, beneath this serene exterior, a darkness loomed, a palpable evil that sought to devour light and hope. Aelaric, ever vigilant, turned to prayer, seeking guidance from the One who held all wisdom. In the sacred grove, where the air thrummed with divine presence, the Oracle of Eldoria, a seer blessed with visions from the Holy Spirit, revealed a prophecy that shook Aelaric to his core: "Kingfall."

The term, laden with a weighty significance, consumed Aelaric's thoughts. He pondered its meaning in the quiet of the chapel, his heart seeking understanding in the sacred scriptures. The scholars and wise men of the land debated its implications, but the answer remained shrouded in mystery, a puzzle that beckoned Aelaric to a deeper faith.

As darkness spread, Aelaric's resolve strengthened. Clad in the armor of God, he prepared to confront this evil, not with mere physical might but with the full armor of faith, hope, and love. The people of Eldoria, united in prayer, became a beacon of light, their collective faith a shield against the encroaching shadow.

The battle that ensued was not merely a clash of swords but a war against principalities and powers unseen. Aelaric fought with the strength of Samson and the wisdom of Solomon, his heart anchored in the promises of victory through faith. Yet, amid the tumult, a divine revelation illuminated his soul: "Kingfall" was not a foretelling of defeat but a call to sacrificial love, a love so profound it mirrored the Savior's own. 

With a heart heavy yet unburdened by the clarity of his purpose, Aelaric embraced his destiny. He called upon the divine light of Eldoria, a light that emanated from the very essence of creation, and channeled it into a final, selfless act of love. The brilliance that erupted was a reflection of the Resurrection, a blinding testament to the power of faith.

When the light receded, the darkness had vanished, but so had Aelaric. In his stead, a radiant flower bloomed, the Aelaric Blossom, its petals a symbol of renewal and the eternal cycle of life in death, a poignant reminder of the Resurrection itself.

The tale of "Kingfall" spread throughout Eldoria, a story no longer of fear but of awe and inspiration. It spoke of a king who, like the Christ, chose to lay down his life for his friends, for his people, for love. Aelaric's sacrifice became a legend, not of loss but of the ultimate victory of light over darkness, of faith over despair.

In the annals of Eldoria, "Kingfall" was more than a story; it was a testament to the enduring power of faith and the transformative nature of sacrificial love. It served as a reminder that true leadership is rooted in the willingness to serve and to give all for the sake of others, a lesson that resonates through the ages, calling each heart to embrace the light of love and the strength of faith.

 

One of Hannibal's Elephants: A Journey of Faith and Fortitude

Dawn's First Light: The Call to Journey

As dawn's gentle embrace blurred the lines between dreams and reality, a lone figure set out on a pilgrimage. This wasn't merely a journey across the land but a profound quest within, much like the silent, steadfast march of Hannibal's ancient elephants. Yet, this traveler sought not conquest but the treasure of divine freedom, the kind of liberation that only faith can unlock.

Beneath the Ancient Olive: Reflections on Scripture

Imagine, if you will, a single moment from this pilgrimage—a moment when our traveler paused under the canopy of an ancient olive tree, much like those that might have dotted Hannibal's route. Here, he reflected on a passage from scripture that had always guided him, much like a lighthouse for a wayward ship. He pondered the words of Paul in 2 Corinthians 4:8-9, "We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." This scripture became his mantra, a source of strength as he bore the weight of his questions and doubts, much like the elephants that bore the weight of warriors long ago.

The Fellowship of the Fire: Stories Shared 

Each step of his journey was a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, a silent prayer woven into the fabric of creation. But this journey was not just about the solitude of a single soul; it was a story shared by many, a narrative echoed in the hearts of all who seek meaning amidst the chaos of existence. He met others along the way, fellow pilgrims each with their own tales of struggle and revelation. Their stories, rich with the hues of humanity, were threads in the larger tapestry of faith's journey.

In the quiet of the evening, as he shared his day's journey around a modest fire with fellow travelers, their stories intertwined, forming a mosaic of human experience and divine grace. These moments of fellowship, where laughter and tears mingled freely, were the living embodiment of the message in Matthew 18:20, "For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them." It was in these gatherings that the traveler found the essence of his quest—connection, not just with the Divine but with the echo of the Creator in each human soul.

Echoes of Battlefields: Lessons from History

As the journey unfolded, the traveler's path crossed ancient battlefields, where history whispered tales of valor and despair. Here, the parallel of his spiritual journey with the physical trials of Hannibal's elephants became most poignant. He pondered the resilience of these creatures, marveling at how their silent strength and unwavering determination mirrored his own quest for spiritual fortitude. These historical reflections deepened his understanding of faith's journey, grounding his spiritual quest in the tangible reality of the past.

Under the Starlit Sky: Unity in Solitude

Under the vast, starlit sky, the traveler's heart soared, finding solace in the knowledge that his journey was but a part of a grander narrative. His steps, though solitary, were in harmony with the countless faithful who had walked this path before him. And as he laid down to rest, the peace of Psalm 4:8 whispered in his heart, "In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety."

The Legacy of the Journey: Carrying Burdens with Grace

This journey, with its moments of quiet reflection, shared laughter, and historical wonder, was more than a pilgrimage. It was a living testament to the enduring power of faith, the strength found in community, and the profound connection between the Creator and His creation. It reminded us that, like Hannibal's elephants, we too can carry our burdens with grace, guided by the divine presence that lights our way through history's vast expanse.

ERASING HELL - New Book By Francis Chan

Francis Chan talks about his thoughts on his new book Erasing Hell due out in July 2011.

RELEVANT Magazine - Who Should Lead the Church?

RELEVANT Magazine - Who Should Lead the Church?

COSMIC SANTA: PART ONE "HAS ANYONE SEEN MY MAGIC LAMP?"

Cosmic Santa: The Quest for the Magic Lamp

In a world where wishes often mask themselves as prayers, there's a narrative that's quietly unfolded within the realms of faith, nudging the boundaries of what we dare to ask from the heavens. It's a tale, not just of desires and dreams, but of a deeper quest, one that perhaps, we've all embarked on at some point in our journey. The story begins with a lamp—a magic lamp, if you will—lost amidst the clutter of our wishes, our wants, and our whims.

 

 Imagine, if you can, a cosmic Santa, not clad in red nor riding a sleigh but bearing the grandeur of the divine, tasked with a list not of toys, but of human desires. This cosmic figure isn't bound by the constraints of time or space but by the very essence of our hearts' cries. "Has anyone seen my magic lamp?" becomes more than a question; it's a reflection, a mirror held up to the soul of Christendom, revealing a tapestry woven with threads of divine wish-granting and human longing.

 

This cosmic narrative unfolds in a backdrop where tears and prayers intermingle, where "I surrender all" is often whispered more in the hope of divine reciprocation than in the true spirit of surrender. It's a realm where scriptures are twisted into wish-granting incantations, where John 14:14 and Matthew 7:7 become not so much promises of divine presence but tickets to the grand cosmic lottery.

 

But what of the lamp, you ask? The magic lamp is more than a mere object; it's a symbol, a metaphor for the divine power we seek to harness for our ends. It's as if the divine has been reduced to a genie, bound to grant our every wish, our every whim, with a nod and a magical wave. And yet, amidst this cosmic bargain, the essence of true faith, of true surrender, becomes obscured, lost in translation from the divine to the human.

 

The narrative takes a turn with the character of Guido, from the musical Nine, who embodies the human paradox of wanting it all, of being everywhere and everything at once. Replace the universe with the divine, and you find a character not unlike many within the folds of Christendom, seeking not just blessings but a divine endorsement for every earthly desire.

 

 

Yet, as the story unfolds, it confronts us with the harsh light of scriptures that challenge this cosmic transaction. James 4, James 5, Proverbs 23, 1 Timothy 6, and Matthew 6 emerge not as mere texts but as divine stop signs, cautioning against the perils of a faith rooted in greed and selfish desires.

 

As we delve deeper, the narrative doesn't just question the legitimacy of this cosmic Santa mentality but also the very essence of our relationship with the divine. It's a tale of contrasts, of the thief who comes to steal, kill, and destroy, and the Shepherd who promises life in its fullest. The story challenges us to examine the place of wealth and possessions in our lives, to question whether our blessings have become our idols, whether our divine genie has replaced the God who calls us to a life of faith, of trust, and of surrender.

 

In this cosmic tale, we're invited not just to find the magic lamp but to understand its true nature. It's a journey from seeing God as a cosmic Santa, a divine genie, to embracing the fullness of a relationship grounded in faith, trust, and surrender. It's a story that doesn't end with wishes granted but with hearts transformed, with lives lived in the fullness of divine love and purpose.

 

So, as we turn the pages of this cosmic narrative, let us ask ourselves, "Has anyone seen my magic lamp?" Not in a quest for wishes granted, but in a search for a deeper, more authentic faith, one that seeks not just the gifts but the Giver, not just the blessings but the Blesser. For in this quest, we may just find that the true magic lies not in the lamp, but in the light it reflects—the light of a love that transcends our deepest desires, our wildest dreams, and our most fervent prayers.

Did Adam And Eve Have Belly Buttons? (An exercise in theological navel gazing)

By Peter Merz

It's a question that has plagued both contenders and detractors of the Christian-Judeo Faith throughout the centuries of man. Theologians have wrestled with it and artists have been branded as heretics or saints all because of a stroke of a paintbrush. The answer to this question has been the catalyst for controversy and strife within the halls of Christendom. For some the resolution to this theological dilemma is more vitally important than the ABC's of Salvation and Predestination and Freewill. So what is this question that creates strife and division when it rears its ugly head? It is simply did Adam and Eve have belly buttons (or navels)?

Yes, I know this question in and of itself seems very silly and not worth the tax it takes on the human mind to even bother with an answer. But the answer to this question has serious implications and equally serious ramifications.

After doing some reflective navel-gazing and some research I found it just how surprising how vitally important it is for the framework of one's theology whether or not Adam and Eve had navels. The answer one chooses to this question has the potential to open many a Pandora's Box of viewpoints of our point of view on our God and selfsame Creator. The question boils down to a three camps of belief on the topic. One camp contends that Adam and Eve were created beings and as such had neither an innie or an outie , but rather had no belly button feature at all (that would come as a standardized feature on later models). Another camp says that Adam and Eve were not direct creations of God, but rather the result of "fill in the blank" number of years of natural evolution; and as natural beings that would have had a natural birth they would both have to possess belly buttons. And then we have the thinks outside the box think-tank that says, "Sure, Adam and Eve had belly buttons. Not because they went through the process of natural childbirth but instead because God performed plastic surgery on them and gave them belly buttons." So nice to have your cake and eat it too, isn't it?

Okay before delving further into this exercise in navel-gazing, there first is some housekeeping that needs to be attended to. What is the purpose of this mark on the human anatomy that we have so eloquently dubbed the navel (or belly button, if you prefer). The umbilicus (aka: belly button or navel) is the indentation (often called an "innie") or protrusion (often called an "outie) that eventually forms as a result of the removal of the umbilical cord from a newborn child. As a fetus develops and matures within the mother's womb, it is suspended in amniotic fluid and connected to the mother via a life-line that we call the umbilical cord. The umbilical cord is a flexible tube that carries oxygen and nutrients to the growing fetus from the mother, and that whisks the byproducts away from the baby so that the mother's body might eliminate them. When the baby is born, the baby now assumes these functions for itself, and so the tube is removed. The belly buttons marks the spot where one was previously attached to one's mother, and is also a visible testimony to the fact that one was the product of a natural birth. Okay, everybody on the same page so far? Good.

According to the Bible (yes, that's right I'm referring to the Bible in explaining a topic that has its roots in the Hebrew Scriptures) Adam and Eve were not products of natural childbirth, but were instead direct creations of God.

"Then the Lord God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being (soul)" (Genesis 2:7).

According to the Genesis time-line woman had not yet been created this is also reaffirmed by the Apostle Paul:

"For man does not originate from woman" (1 Cor. 11:8).

So if this is the case how could it be possible for Adam to have had an umbilicus? Still an even greater question to ponder would be: would not the very presence of an umbilicus be a visible testimony to an utter and sheer falsehood? The mere appearance of an "innie" or "outie" on Adam would be a visible sign that Adam came into being through the process of natural childbirth, when in fact he did not. If God had chosen to put any such sign upon Adam it would have been a false witness and testimony to a lie. To put it more clearly, if God had chosen to create an artificial umbilicus on Adam then it would mean the God (that the Scriptures declare cannot lie) was in fact a liar.

Now the same problem exists also with Eve.

"So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and he slept; then He took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh at that place. And the Lord God fashioned into a woman the rib which He had taken from the man, and brought her to the man. And the man said, 'This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man'" (Gen. 2:21-23).

Eve like her husband (Adam) was not the product of natural childbirth but was a supernatural creation. For God to have placed an umbilicus upon Eve would have been a declaration of a falsehood. Forsooth, an artificially-created umbilicus would be a visible statement of a contradiction to Eve's creation by her matchless Creator.

Sure, sure, many of you may be going this is all just frivolous blathering with very little merit as a topic point. But think on this: The question as to whether or not Adam and Eve ever possessed such a distinguishing mark has not only fueled debate in the religious world for centuries, but has also reached its way into the United States Congress! Over 6 decades ago in 1944, a subcommittee of the United States House of Representatives Military Committee (chaired by Congressman Durham of North Carolina) refused to authorize a little 30-page booklet titled "Races of Man," that was to be handed out to U.S. soldiers, sailors and airmen fighting in World War II, solely because this little booklet had a drawing that depicted Adam and Eve with belly buttons! The members of the subcommittee ruled that showing Adam and Eve with navels "would be misleading to gullible American soldiers."

Some of this world's greatest artists have also wrestled with this demon, as did the Roman Catholic Church. In the year 1646, Sir Thomas Browne, a doctor and philosopher from Norwich, published his work titled, "Pseudodoxia Epidemica" in which he sought to expose some of the "vulgar errors" then present in society. Browne devoted an entire chapter to "Pictures of Adam and Eve with Navels". He pointed out that such notables as Raphael and Michelangelo were guilty of such "vulgar errors." The Catholic Church as a rule seemed to be against artists depicting Adam and Eve with navels in their paintings, so this posed quite a conundrum for a number of artists who didn't want to antagonize the church. More than a few chose the easy way out and simply painted the first couple with strategically placed foliage, long hair, or forearms blocking the abdomen. And yet Michelangelo had the gall to paint Adam with a navel, an on the ceiling of the Cistine Chapel, no less! Some theologians of his day accused Michelangelo for heresy for these defiant strokes of his paintbrush.

Okay now back the "think outside the box" think-tank group who insist that God created navels for Adam and Eve. As to when God performed this retouching work (perhaps with a divine airbrush) upon the apex of His creation is the subject of debate. This strain of thought is known as "The Omphalos Argument," and it is sub-divided into three basic theories: Pre-, Post-, and Mid-Umbilicism. The word "Omphalos" is a Greek word meaning "knob," and was the Greek word typically used to describe the navel.

Pre-Umbilicism

 
The theory that at the moment of creation Adam and Eve were given navels by their Divine Creator is known as Pre-Umbilicism. Some of Pre-Umbilicism's theories can get pretty bizarre in their wild speculations. Some adherents to this theory actually believe that Adam and Eve were connected to their Creator by some sort of cosmic umbilical cord. They also insist the reason that Adam and Eve have navels is because they were made in the image of God and God Himself sports a navel. They speculate that the God of the universe was at some point in eternity past some sort of giant fetus floating out there in nothingness, attached to some gigantic placenta-like blob. The "point of severing" (a critically important term for them) was when this blob exploded ("The Big Bang") and cut loose. Sometime later He awoke, complete with a navel, to realize that He was God, and then set out to create a universe out of the remnants of the mass that exploded. How anyone could debate this type of ludicrous malarkey with a straight face must be a sight to behold.

Mid-Umbilicism

 
Mid-Umbilicism suggests that Adam's navel was created when God took away his rib and created Eve. God chose to pull the rib from the center of Adam's blank abdomen, creating a puncture wound. The visible sign used to prove that the woman had come from the man. These same proponents of Mid-Umbilicism believe that Eve had no navel but only Adam had need of one. Some in this camp get far out with their theories teaching bizarre theories that advocate male supremacy and purport womankind of being mankind's temporary slaves and that only man was destined for immortality but not so for woman.

Post-Umbilicism

 
This final theory places the umbilicus on both Adam and Eve after their sin (all over some bad decisions regarding a certain tree), and at the point of being driven and banned from the Garden of Eden. This group believes the umbilicus was a mark and a scar to remind Adam and Eve of their being "severed from" their God, much like a baby who is severed from its mother when the umbilical cord is cut, with the navel being a constant reminder of that previous connection now forever severed.

Let's face it this cadre of people are right up there with the "Flat Earth Society". Sorry "think outside of the box" think-tankers, I have no choice but to flush your illogical and crazy theories down the toilet.

The conclusion of the matter is this: To insist however passively or passionately that God crated navels for Adam and Eve (beings that he directly created and who were not born of natural childbirth) is to say that God was guilty of a gigantic hoax and grand deception upon humanity. And such an assertion goes against the very nature of God revealed to us in the Holy Bible. However, on the other hand, the absence of navels on the first human couple would be a powerful, long-lasting witness to creation itself and power of a Divine Creator.

Where the Blind Lead the Blind

by Peter Merz

The other day I visited a church that I had attended for maybe about a month when I first moved to the New England area. It was one of those Charismatic churches, with high-spirited, rock praise and worship music. The church didn't have a lot of people there – I mean maybe 50 people tops. When I had attended services there nearly seven years ago the sanctuary had been much fuller with people than that. One thing that sticks out about this church is that it doesn't really look like a church. It looks more like an academy, or a compound, or some private school – but nothing like one would expect a church to look like. There's not even a cross on top of the church anywhere to quietly announce to the people who drive by that this is a church. Before walking into the church I quietly marveled at this recalling an old Steven Curtis Chapman song and whispered, "But the cross cannot be found." I said this more in jest than in any serious judgment upon the church.

After the music faded and the choir took their seats, the pastor took to the pulpit. The sermon was on honor or at least those were the gargantuan words that appeared boldly upon the screen behind the pastor. The pastor went into this dissection of what it meant to honor someone, that honor had to do with giving honor to the person apart from that person's actions. He quoted number five on Moses' "Top Ten Do's and Don'ts for Israelites." The one that goes:

"Honor your father and your mother, as the LORD your God commanded you, so that your days may be long and that it may go well with you in the land that the LORD your God is giving you."

He went on talking about how basically even if your mother or father had committed the actions of a Hitler, or a Mussolini, or even a Saddam Hussein that we should still render them honor for being our parents. He said that we didn't have to agree with their actions in order to give them honor as a person. He didn't actually say, "Even if they committed the actions of a Hitler, or a Mussolini, or even a Saddam Hussein" – but that was pretty close on the mark to what he was trying to convey. He actually said something more along the lines of no matter what your parents actions are we still are obliged to give them honor for the role they played in bringing us into this world, that we did not have to agree with everything they did or even everything they said – but that we should honor them because by doing so we will be blessed by God. He then went on beyond what the commandment actually stated and started going on about how we should giving honor to all people –if for no other reason that they were created in the image of God.

I thought about this line of reasoning silently as he continued with his message. I thought well based upon the Scriptures he is quoting that are a bit of a stretch, but I suppose there is at least some truth to that. The pastor continued with his contrast of honor and respect. He then started extrapolating about the power of our words and how the term "you will eat those words" had to do with saying something negative and then eventually those negative words coming to pass. He talked of how we can speak good words and bad words – that we can either eat good words or bad words – either words of life or words of death. He went declaring that the Church had spoken so many bad words for the last few decades or so and that was to blame for all the ills in society. Abortion, homosexuality, teenage pregnancy, the destruction of the family – it was all the Church's fault for speaking bad or negative words for decades.

I puzzled this out for a few moments. I thought well yes I am sure many Christians have spoken negative words over the past few decades (in reality over the past couple thousand years) but am I to believe that Christians as a whole only spoke negative words over the past few decades and no positive or good words? The pastor's logic started to seem to me to be imbedded in rash generalizations that didn't quite add up. I thought well there is some truth to what he's saying, but I certainly wouldn't go as far as he is taking this. Not by a long-shot.

Next this pastor made some big to-do about how the Gospels are part of the Old Testament – that until Jesus died on the cross and then was raised from the dead that everything written in the Gospels falls under the jurisdiction of the Old Testament – and that it wasn't until the Last Supper that Jesus instituted a New Covenant. As he expounded on this idea suddenly he threw out a curve ball. He was talking about how two of Jesus' disciples (James and John) asked if Jesus wanted them to call fire down from heaven to judge a certain town in Samaria.

"As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem. And he sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem. When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, "Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them? But He turned and rebuked them, and said, "You do not know what kind of spirit you are of; for the Son of Man did not come to destroy men's lives, but to save them." And they went on to another village" (Luke 9:51-55).

Then he started explaining how James and John had gotten this idea from an Old Testament story about Elijah the prophet.

"After the death of Ahab, Moab rebelled against Israel. Now Ahaziah fell through the lattice in his upper chamber in Samaria, and lay sick; so he sent messengers, telling them, 'Go, inquire of Baal-zebub, the god of Ekron, whether I shall recover from this sickness.' But the angel of the LORD said to Elijah the Tishbite, 'Arise, go up to meet the messengers of the king of Samaria, and say to them, 'Is it because there is no God in Israel that you are going to inquire of Baal-zebub, the god of Ekron? Now therefore thus says the LORD, You shall not come down from the bed to which you have gone up, but you shall surely die.' So Elijah went. The messengers returned to the king, and he said to them, 'Why have you returned?' And they said to him, 'There came a man to meet us, and said to us, 'Go back to the king who sent you, and say to him, Thus says the LORD, Is it because there is no God in Israel that you are sending to inquire of Baal-zebub, the god of Ekron? Therefore you shall not come down from the bed to which you have gone up, but you shall surely die.' He said to them, 'What kind of man was he who came to meet you and told you these things?' They answered him, 'He wore a garment of hair, with a belt of leather about his waist.' And he said, 'It is Elijah the Tishbite.' Then the king sent to him a captain of fifty men with his fifty. He went up to Elijah, who was sitting on the top of a hill, and said to him, 'O man of God, the king says, 'Come down.' But Elijah answered them, 'If I am a man of God, let fire come down from heaven and consume you and your fifty.' Then the fire of God came down from heaven and consumed him and his fifty. Again the king sent the captain of a third fifty with his fifty. And the third captain of fifty went up and came and fell on his knees before Elijah and entreated him, 'O man of God, please let my life, and the life of these fifty servants of yours, be precious in your sight. Behold, fire came down from heaven and consumed the two former captains of fifty men with their fifties, but now let my life be precious in your sight.' Then the angel of the LORD said to Elijah, 'Go down with him; do not be afraid of him.' So he arose and went down with him to the king and said to him, 'Thus says the LORD, 'Because you have sent messengers to inquire of Baal-zebub, the god of Ekron—is it because there is no God in Israel to inquire of his word?—therefore you shall not come down from the bed to which you have gone up, but you shall surely die.'" (2 Kings 1:-1-16).

 
This pastor then went on to claim that that was how God did things under the Old Testament but he doesn't do that anymore. That we are now under the Grace of God. He then gave proof of this by saying, "Jesus didn't come to the world to judge the world but to save the world – he was paraphrasing John 12:47 when he said this. I started thinking wait one minute. I thought you just said the portions of the Gospel prior to the death and resurrection of Christ were under the jurisdiction of the Old Testament not the New Testament? But Jesus said this before His death and resurrection! How can you reconcile that contradiction? The pastor boldly declared that God never brings judgment on people today because we live in the Age of Grace of the New Testament. That yes God will judge again but that's not until the Day of the Lord and that is only one day!

This is where this pastor's train of thought derailed for me. The book of Acts tells of the events that took place after Christ's death and resurrection and there was a Christian couple named Ananias and Saphira who lied about how much money the got from the sale of their house and claimed to have given all of the money to the apostles when in fact they had kept some of the money for themselves. When the Apostle Peter confronted Ananias he fell dead, when his wife came in later not knowing what had happened to her husband and when the Apostle asked her if she and her husband and really given all of the money from the sale of their house then she, too, fell dead! (Acts 5:1-11). Someone sitting at the end of my pew started speaking up as if reading my mind and asked, "Then how do you explain what happened to Ananias Saphira." The pastor ignored him and continued his message. This man asked several more times still no response from the pastor. However, a black woman sitting one or two pews over responded by saying, "They lied to the Holy Spirit." As if that statement accounted for the apparent contradiction in facts versus what the pastor was teaching.

I started thinking to myself that this cannot be happening. But this pastor was not through on this bizarre journey of reinterpreting the Bible, facts, and even history. He went on about how those who think God ever uses calamity to judge people or to get people to repent are totally wrong and that those people need to repent. He said that calamity and even trials always drive people away from God and never cause them to seek God or get closer to God; and that trials only serve to show us what's already in our hearts.

Now I pondered this in my heart and thought, well not only are there multiple biblical supports for God using calamity and trial to bring about repentance – but the facts of history do not jive without this man is saying. It is well documented that during the days following 9-11 that there were far more people in church weekly than just prior to 9-11. Sure there may be as fraction that might turn hard and bitter against God for trials and calamites but that in no way is the norm. He then went on to claim that God never punishes the righteous with the wicked using the story of Sodom and Gomorrah as proof of that because God had told Abraham that He would not destroy Sodom and Gomorrah as long as there were as few as ten righteous who lived within twin cities of great sin (Genesis 16:16-33). He claimed there were more than a thousand righteous in New Orleans!

Well now, I started thinking I am not saying that God necessarily sent a hurricane to punish the people of New Orleans nor am I saying that God sent earthquakes and Tsunamis to punish the Japanese because of their Buddhism. But to say that the righteous never perish with the wicked? Are you telling me that there were no righteous in Jerusalem when the Babylonians conquered the place and killed and captured the Jews living there? What's more in the a letter to the Corinthians the Apostle Paul discussed a man who was committing "incest" and told the leaders of the church to make this man leave the church and that he had asked that that man be chastened by the adversary so that he might repent. Paul then writes in his second letter to the Corinthians about how that same man had repented and was now a part of the fold of Corinthian believers once more. Even Paul being blinded by a light that dropped him to the ground and left him blind for three days was a form of direct punishment from God?

I began thinking that over however many thousands years of human history humankind has instinctively and more often than not universally gravitated towards God – or at the very minimum their idea or concept of what they thought God or religion was. I thought of island natives who in order to try to appease the angry volcano that threatens their village would try to offer sacrifices to it. Or take any number of people who when life starts getting ugly make vows to God. "God, if you will just get me out of this jam, then I will…." I pondered how many of those fill in the blanks did those wits end prayers were answered and of those that were answered how many who offered those wits end prayers actually followed through with their promises to God?

No matter how many times I tried to do the math, the things this pastor was teaching just did not compute. He was reasoning without a foundation of logic or prevalence. And it seemed except for maybe one or two visitors that the congregation as a whole was completely oblivious to this. The pastor was dishing out his reasoning that defied both the Bible and historical facts and the congregation was eagerly gobbling it up. Part of me half-expected for the Kool-Aid Man to crash through the wall of the sanctuary shouting, "Oh yeah!" Kool-Aid for everyone! This of course did not happen. But had that happened I am pretty sure that most of the congregation would have lined up for Kool-Aid.

Towards the end of the pastor's message he went through some spiel of how anyone who has thought God uses calamity or trials to draw people closer to Him should repent. He then began to redefine repentance. Repentance is not the weeping of heartfelt tears or even brokenness – repentance is just a changing of the way that you think. He claimed that when the John the Baptist baptized repentant sinners that there were no tears, no brokenness just a nice and clean changing of the way that those people thought. I started to question whether I was in a church service or an Amway meeting. Now this pastor was going all Ron Popeil on everyone! Within minutes this pastor had reduced a powerful soul-changing concept like repentance into a clean and painless easily marketable product. He seemed to be offering salvation and discipleship without any cost or sacrifice. The words of that Steven Curtis Chapman song came back to me once again:

"There's a preacher in a nice church
Anchored in the heart of town
People flock to hear his eloquent delivery
He talks of Jesus how he can please us
But the cross cannot be found
Makin' theory out of facts until they're all deceived
And the lost lead the way
And more hearts are led astray

These are the days when the blind lead the blind
And there's one narrow way out of here
So pray that the light of the world will keep your eyes clear
'Cause it's a dangerous place here where the blind lead the blind"
(from "Blind Lead the Blind" by Steven Curtis Chapman")

 
After the closing prayer and dismissal, that black woman who had piped up about that the reason Ananias and Saphira had bought the farm was due to lying to the Holy Spirit come over to my side of the pew and began trying to work damage control for the pastor. She tried to link Ananias and Saphira to blaspheming the Holy Spirit. But that's not what the book of Acts says. It says they lied to the Holy Spirit nothing there about blaspheming the Holy Spirit. I cited numerous other Post Resurrection of Christ examples that did not compute with what the pastor had relayed to the congregation. Examples like one of Herod the Great's sons being struck by God and killed by internal worms, Saul of Tarsus being blinded by a light and left blind for three days, Saul now (the Apostle Paul) afflicting a false prophet named Elymas with blindness for a season, the Apostle Paul stating that if anyone brought a different Gospel to Christians that there was to be a double curse upon them, the writer of Hebrews saying that if we are not chastened by our heavenly Father then we are illegitimate children. I also cited historical examples of how trials and calamity can cause people to turn to God. Time and time again she would keep telling anyone objecting with the message that they needed to get the pastor's other sermons and study them. Never once then should tell anyone to turn to a section of the Bible but kept referring me back to the teachings of her pastor. Finally I asked her how is that after 9-11 that there were more people in church than the days that preceded 9-11? At this she walked off waving her hands in disgust.

I spoke to one of the ushers and he at least listened but he, too kept trying to direct me to obtain and study the pastor's other sermons as if the teachings of this pastor would magically erase the blatant errors and contradictions of the pastor's Sunday sermon. I could help but be reminded by a certain passage in an epistle that the Apostle Paul wrote Timothy:

"For the time will come when men will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths" (2 Timothy 4:3-4).