Sabbath

“Observe the Sabbath day by keeping it holy, as the Lord your God has commanded you. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work...” - Deuteronomy 5:12-14

Me, on a normal day. Kinda busy, right?

I have a confession to make. Actually, it's probably not much of a confession, because I think most people already know this. But anyway, it turns out that maybe I'm a workaholic.

Just maybe.

The truth is, I tend to spend a lot of time at my office, at the church, at the hospital. Meetings, sermons, Bible studies and classes, administrative stuff (yes, even pastors have to shuffle papers and organize things), visits both planned and unplanned.

There are lots of reasons (or excuses) for my work habits. I'm not the best time manager, so I probably am not as efficient in my use of time as I should be. Also, the nature of my work lends itself to unscheduled conversations—people stopping by to say “hi,” or phone calls, or someone needing prayer. The truth is, you can't put people's feelings and needs into a tidy schedule. I'm also a poor delegator, so I end up doing things that others could share.

If I'm honest, the most compelling reason behind my workaholic tendencies is a fear of ever being labeled as “lazy.” It's a fear that arises from dealings I have had with other churches in my role as a conflict mediator for the presbytery. When I have had conversations with people in other churches, sometimes they have complained that they never see their pastor doing anything. So I have been driven by the desire to avoid that accusation.

Anyway, all this serves as background to let you know that I feel ill-equipped—and yet also convicted and compelled—to write about Sabbath.

Sabbath. You know, rest. Ceasing to work, for a little bit. It's been something that I have wanted to write about, but I've been too busy.

After Easter, my wife surprised me with a week at the beach. The season of Lent had been a busy one, culminating with five worship services in four days. So Carol thought I needed some time off. She didn't ask me; she told me, “We're going to the beach. Pack your bags.”

I'm glad she did. Very glad.

It was a “forced Sabbath.” I started out the week feeling a little guilty. I had put some things off until after Easter, and now I was going to have to put them off another week. But the feeling of guilt gave way to feeling refreshed and renewed. We really had no agenda. We took early morning walks along the beach. I took a lot of pictures. We took walks along the marsh. I went running. I read something for pleasure, not because I had to. And we took more walks at the end of the day, taking in beautiful sunsets.

At the end of the week, I felt like a new person. It turns out, God knows what he's telling us when he commands us to take a day off. Every week. This Sabbath thing is a really good idea. I highly recommend it.

I discovered a couple of things in my week of “forced Sabbath,” that I would like to share with you.

One foggy morning. Eerily beautiful

For one thing, I got an opportunity to notice a whole new world outside of work. There's so much beauty in our world—right where we live. We don't have to go a long way away; we just have to open our eyes to what is all around us all the time. The world is teeming with beautiful and fascinating things, if we just stop to take time and open our eyes.

One of the coolest things Carol and I saw when I let life slow down for a few days, was a rookery of heron nests in a pine grove across a pond, with a half-dozen or so baby herons. If I had not been forced to slow down, I would've missed one of the highlights of my spring. That, and the leatherback turtles swimming offshore.

I think—actually, I'm pretty sure—that Sabbath time makes me a better husband. Carol and I easily logged 20 miles that week, walking together. We actually sat out on the beach, which is something that we have only done three or four times in the 12 years we've been on the coast. It was a gift of time, this Sabbath was.

I also know that Sabbath is good for me as a servant of God. I didn't realize how tired I was after Easter. I thought I would just take a day off, and then back to work. But this extended “forced Sabbath” was needed, because I had neglected a regular Sabbath for weeks. Even the days I had not gone to the office, I hadn't totally disconnected from my work.

I now know why God commands us to observe Sabbath. God commands it because we need it, and we might not take it if it weren't something that God says we HAVE to do. But don't look at it as a duty you have to fulfill, because that kind of makes Sabbath-taking, you know, a form of work. Instead, look at Sabbath as a gift, even if it is a mandatory gift.

When Jesus said, “The Sabbath was made for people, not people for the Sabbath,” he was reminding us that God has a great purpose in this command: It is to make us better people, in every way.

So, here's the deal: I hope you will find Sabbath time every week. God desires the very best for you. And in order for you to be an amazing child of God, you need to take time to tend to you every once in a while; and take time to focus on other things than work.

I also hope you will hold me to Sabbath-keeping, as well. Because I want to be the best pastor, best husband, best father, best child of God I can be.

As I write this, it's Friday evening, and the sun has gone down. You know what that means.

It's Sabbath. I gotta rest. God says so, and I agree.

All Day, Every Day, Total Praise

“From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets, the name of the Lord is to be praised.”Psalm 113:3

People who see my pictures on Instagram (@RevSHW) or Facebook know that I love to take pictures of sunrises and sunsets. Even though the sun always rises in the east and sets in the west, no two sunrises or sunsets are ever the same. Each sunrise and sunset is a unique creation given to us by God, specific to the day and where we live.

I think that is pretty amazing.

One day recently, I took a picture of the sunrise, and then later on that same day I took a picture of the sunset. Both pictures were taken from within a few hundred yards of each other, just in opposite directions at the beginning and end of that day.

At the end of the day, I thought of the verse from the psalm, “From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets, the name of the Lord is to be praised.” (Note: “From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets is an ancient Hebrew way of saying 24/7)

Two things came to mind for me. First, on a personal level it means that my life should be dedicated to praising God from the moment I awaken until I go to bed at night. All day, every day, I should make it my goal to praise God in what I say and by the way I live my life.

The other thing is that it should be our prayer that the earth is immersed in praise for God, from the farthest point east, to the farthest point west, and every point in between. It makes sense, when you think about it, especially in light of the verse that says, “The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it.” (Psalm 24:1)

Praise should be our default. Praise doesn't necessarily mean we're always happy or glad. It just means that we give God the very best our heart can offer. Praise means we should be in awe and wonder at God's mysterious ways. Praise means giving glory to God in all things. Praise means saying, “Isn't God amazing?!” even when we don't fully comprehend all of God's ways. Praise means we acknowledge all that we have and all that we are comes from God alone.

A favorite song that our late music director loved to use in choral performances was “Total Praise,” by Richard Smallwood. The refrain goes like this:

You are the source of my strength.

You are the strength of my life.

I lift my hands in total praise to you.

The Westminster Shorter Catechism opens with the question, “What is the chief end of man?” The answer is, “Man's chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.” Assuming we can get past the archaic language and its propensity to state everything with masculine pronouns, don't you think that is a wonderful vision and mission statement for us all?

Glorify God, and enjoy God forever.

From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets, the name of the Lord is to be praised!

Easter Benediction

"Jesus said, 'Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you." 

John 20:21

I cannot finish these Lenten devotions without expressing my joy and gratitude for the experience. When I decided to write a daily devotion as my Lenten discipline, I had no idea what I had really committed to do. I thought, "Heck, I'm a pastor. It should be no big deal to put together a few thoughts every day."

It turns out, I was mistaken. That's nothing new, though.

There were days when I wasn't sure what I would write. There were times when my vision for what the devotion would be was nothing like the end product. Sometimes I wondered if what I had written would mean anything to you. There were also days when the words flowed so naturally, I can only attribute it to divine inspiration.

Actually, it was all divine inspiration. God provided the words and the thoughts; I was simply a willing participant.

It was sheer joy to witness how God used these devotions to speak to you -- and to me. I am so deeply moved and humbled by the feedback that you, the faithful readers of this blog, gave to me. When I doubted the impact of what I was doing, someone would share something that let me know that God was saying something to you. I appreciate that so many of you took time to "share" these blog posts on your own Facebook wall, thus inviting others into my faith perspectives.

As a daily discipline, this blog kept my heart focused and attuned to God; it made me listen to God every day, so I could discern what God would have me write. And so on a personal level, I have experienced something wonderfully spiritual through this journey.

People have encouraged me to continue doing this, and that is my plan. I love capturing inspiration through the lens of my camera, and I love coupling that inspiration with God's word. This blog is something I want to continue.

It won't be every day, though. Probably once or twice a week is what I will be able to sustain on a long-term basis. I will share the posts on social media (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter) as I write them, so I hope you will keep an eye on your accounts. Also, in the top right hand side of this blog page, there is a space for you to put your email address, and the devotion will be sent to you via email whenever I publish a new blog entry. (Note: if you are viewing this on a phone or similar device, you might need to click on "view web version" in order to see the place to enter your email address)

I would like to leave you with a benediction written by Ann Weems, from her book, From Advent's Alleluia to Easter's Morning Light. Carol showed it to me, and I think it is a fitting way to end this initial Lenten series (By the way, Carol has been a HUGE inspiration and support throughout these past 40 days. I couldn't have done this without her).

"Benediction"

by Ann Weems

Go now with faithful stamina into your courtyards

to answer whether you know him or not.

Go knowing that he who said, Follow me, will stand up with you.

Go knowing that when you falter, he will hold you up.

Go knowing that when you fail, he will forgive you.

Go knowing that when you say I know this Jesus,

you will dance with the angels on Easter morning.

May you know the peace of faithfulness,

the joy of community,

and the love of grace.

In the name of Jesus, we pray. Amen.

Thank you for accompanying me on this journey.

Easter

"The angel said to the women, 'Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here, he has risen..."  

Matthew 28:5-6

Only three words are necessary:

He has risen!

Nothing else need be added to that.

Have a blessed Easter.

Darkness

“For the wages of sin is death...” 

Romans 6:23

Saturday.

For Jesus' friends, this is the Sabbath. It's supposed to be a day of rest, a gift from God. But today, not so much. This Sabbath day certainly doesn't feel like a gift.

Because Jesus is dead. Sealed in a tomb.

No matter how beautiful the day may be, it will be a day of darkness for Jesus' friends.

Darkness is the appropriate metaphor for the day. In the tomb, there is nothing but darkness, deep darkness. And for Jesus' friends, it is a dark night of the soul, a time of profound grief.

And for people everywhere, darkness is an all-too-familiar reality:

For the person whose spouse has just said, “I don't think I love you anymore, and I don't know if I ever did,” there is darkness.

For the person whose pay envelope this week contained a pink slip, there is darkness. 

For the person who is losing the fight against cancer, there is darkness. 

For the person struggling with mental illness, there is darkness. 

For the person laying flowers at the grave of a loved one, there is darkness. 

For you and for me, in whatever circumstances we find ourselves, there may be darkness.

Darkness is a terrifying reality. Nobody wants to be in the darkness. In the darkness we feel all alone. In the darkness we can't see our way through, and we feel lost.

In the midst of your darkness, though, you should know this: YOU ARE NOT ALONE. Jesus is right there in the darkness, with you. Jesus knows exactly what you're going through, because he, too, has descended into the deepest darkness the human soul can experience.

You see, it was necessary for Jesus to suffer all the consequences of human sin—including abandonment by God, and death; it was necessary, because only humans have sinned and therefore a human must pay the price. Jesus, who had no sin, took our sin upon himself. Jesus, who had no sin, took our entire range of human experience so that he could redeem every single bit of brokenness in us. In order to redeem us from all our troubles, from all our darkness, Jesus had to experience it all himself.

Jesus knows what your darkness is like, because he's been there.

Jesus knows what your darkness is like, because he's there with you right now.

I'm going to resist the temptation to jump ahead to Easter. If I were to offer a “don't worry be happy” word, or a “God works all things for the good” word to you, that would fail to acknowledge how very real your darkness is. And so today, Saturday, I'm going to have us remain in the darkness. Darkness is too serious to take lightly.

But know that you are not alone. Because Jesus is in the darkness with you.

And he will bring you light.

Were You There?

"They brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha... And they crucified him." 

Mark 15:22, 24

From the Cathedral of St. Francis of Assisi,
Santa Fe, New Mexico

No stories today. No tales of Scotland. No memories of our trips to Colorado. No glorious sunrise or sunset or moon pictures. Certainly no flowers.

Not today.

Because today is Friday. The day they crucified our Lord.

Today is a day of somber reflection of our sin, and of God's love. today is a reflection that what happened on Calvary HAD to happen, for our salvation and our reconciliation with God.

In our hymnal, the hymns for Christ's crucifixion carry a somber mood to them. Beautiful music, to be sure--and in the end, the cross becomes a beautiful thing. But somber, as well--deeply, gravely somber, because the cross was a horrible, tragic necessity.

One of the hymns that we sing in our Good Friday service at church is, "Were You There". It is a song that takes us to Calvary and, through the persistent asking of the question, "Were you there?", it holds us firmly at the foot of the Cross.

Where you there when they crucified my Lord? It's a rhetorical question, because the implied answer is, Yes.

Yes, you were there. We were there.

You see, what happened on Calvary was more than simply an historical event that occurred in a particular time and place. What happened on Calvary was the unfolding of the great divine drama in which God is acting to reconcile a rebellious human race to him through the sacrificial death of his Son. The cross is the intersection of both our stubborn and persistent rebellion against God and rejection of God, and God's loving redemption of us.

On Good Friday we include in our liturgy a litany called the Solemn Reproaches of the Cross. The reproaches are a reminder that God is infinite in his goodness toward us, yet we have repaid his goodness with rejection and disdain and scorn. Through the liturgy we are taken on a journey through the biblical narrative, reminded of God's goodness and grace and compassion and deliverance and mercy, and also reminded of our own propensity to turn away from God at every opportunity.

From the Cathedral of St. Francis of Assisi,
Santa Fe, New Mexico

"O my people, O my church, what have I done to you, or in what have I offended you? Answer me. I led you forth from the land of Egypt and delivered you by the waters of baptism, but you have prepared a cross for your Savior."

"I went before you in a pillar of cloud, and you have led me to the judgment hall of Pilate. I scourged your enemies and brought you to a land of freedom, but you have scourged, mocked, and beaten me. I gave you the water of salvation from the rock, but you have given me gall and left me to thirst. And you have prepared a cross for your Savior."

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

"What more could I have done for you that I have not done? I planted you, my chosen and fairest vineyard, and I made you the branches of my vine. But when I was thirsty you gave me vinegar to drink and pierced with a spear the side of your Savior. And you have prepared a cross for your Savior."

Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?

Were you there when they pierced him in the side?

Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?

Yes, we were there.

We were there in Judas, betraying our friend for a few pieces of silver. We were there in Peter, too afraid to own up to our love of the man who was being put on trial. We were there in the Roman soldiers who flogged Jesus with the cat-o-nine-tails and who beat Jesus and who mocked him with a purple robe and a crown of thorns. We were there in the person of Pilate as the reluctant instrument by which Jesus would be legally but unjustly put to death. We were there in the crowd that had been whipped into hysteria and cried "Crucify! Crucify!" We were there in the anonymous executioners who pounded the nails in the hands and feet of Jesus and who raised him up on the cross. We were there in his mother Mary as she looked on in horror at her son dying on the cross. We were there in his beloved disciple John, agreeing to care for the mother of the man on the cross. We were there in the soldier who pierced him in the side to determine that Jesus was dead. We were there in the Roman centurion who whispered in awe, "Surely this man was the Son of God." We were there in Joseph of Arimethea and Nicodemus, asking permission to give Jesus a proper burial.

We were there.

We were there.

Because the cross is the place where the Son of God met all the sin, the hurt, the brokenness, the fear, the despair of the human race, and he took it all upon himself.

The cross happened because of us. We were there.

But the cross also happened FOR us.

"Jesus himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that we, free from sins, might live for righteousness; by his wounds we have been healed." (1 Peter 2:24)

From the Cathedral of St. Francis of Assisi,
Santa Fe, New Mexico

It was a dark, dark day indeed. And we were there.

But here's the deal: So was God. God was there.

We were there, and God was there.

And that, my friends, is why the Friday of the cross is called "Good."






Excerpts from the Solemn Reproaches of the Cross are taken from the Book of Common Worship (Louisville: Westminster / John Knox Press, 1993)

Like Frightened Sheep

“I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.”

Matthew 26:31

When we were in Scotland... I know, you're really getting tired of hearing about it. But bear with me (at least) one more time.

When we were in Scotland, we came across a flock of sheep grazing in a pasture near a road. While we were walking by, something frightened the sheep, and they began to run in different directions. We didn't see anything in particular that looked dangerous, but something scared the sheep.

It doesn't take much to scare sheep, it turns out. Their main defense is to run. I've been told that a mother sheep will even run away and leave her lambs behind. Now, I haven't looked that up on the internet, so I can't verify its truth.

Anyway, sheep get scared easily. And when they get scared, they run.

Have you ever noticed that when the Bible draws comparisons and uses sheep and shepherds, somehow we are always the sheep? Not very flattering. But I digress.

I mention the sheep story because it has relevance for us today. Today, you see, is Thursday.

Maundy Thursday.

At any other time, Thursday is simply the day before Friday.

But not this Thursday. Not for Jesus, or us.

Jesus was gathered with his disciples in an upstairs room somewhere near Jerusalem. His disciples thought that they were gathering for the Passover meal. But Jesus changed the meaning of the meal, from the deliverance of the Israelites from Egypt, to the deliverance of God's people from their (our) sin.

“This is my body, given for you,” said Jesus. “Take, eat. Do this in remembrance of me.”

“This cup is the new covenant in my blood, poured out for the forgiveness of sins. Drink from it, all of you.”

I'm sure the disciples were a little confused. Jesus had made reference in times past to his impending conflict with the authorities and his death. But Jesus had entered Jerusalem on Sunday with such fanfare—surely those conflict-and-death plans had now changed to something more glorious?

No, there has been no change of plans. Everything that Jesus has said must still take place.

You know how the night ends. It gets real ugly, real fast.

Jesus was betrayed by Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples. The authorities arrested him with a show of force, and Jesus was taken away for a trial. He would be beaten, flogged, scorned and ridiculed.

Then he would be crucified.

In the meantime, where were his other disciples in all of this? They fell asleep while he prayed for another way. They ran away at the first sign of force from the authorities. Peter, one of Jesus' best friends, denied knowing Jesus not once, but three times.

In his time of greatest need, Jesus' closest companions abandoned him. Jesus knew this was going to happen. He even told them it would happen: “This very night you will all fall away on account of me, for it is written: 'I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.'”

When I go to church for our Maundy Thursday service, I'm going to think about what the disciples did. Not in a way that condemns them or points an accusing finger at them. No, I'm going to think about how I do the same thing.

How many ways do I turn my back on Jesus? How often do I choose not to be his friend in front of others?

You see, I think I'm also one of the sheep who scatters when the shepherd is struck. I suspect that you are, too.

I'm not saying this to make you feel bad about yourself. Actually, maybe I am. Because in our weakness we deny our Lord and turn our back on him. And we should feel bad about that.

But I also know this: That Jesus loves us in our weakness. Even when we turn away from him, he will not turn away from us. Not ever. In fact, our weakness is the reason he came in the first place. He went to the cross to save us from our weakness. To save us from ourselves.

I like to think that there is more to the verse about the sheep scattering. I like to think that when the sheep scatter, the shepherd will go get them and bring them back to the fold.

Because that's who the shepherd is.

That's who Jesus is. Thanks be to God.

Choose wisely

"For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God."

1 Corinthians 1:18

On our trip to Scotland, our first stop in the Highlands was Blair Atholl, home to the Blair Estate and Blair Castle. Parts of the Estate are also in the Cairngorms national forest land; there is abundant hiking throughout the Estate.

Carol and I were walking along a creek and had just crossed over an old stone bridge, when we noticed that there was a trail to a place called The Whim. The Whim is a folly built in the 18^th century by the Duke of Atholl. From a distance, The Whim looks a bit like it could be a castle or some significant building on the Estate. But when you get there, all it is is a stone wall with arches, and it marks no boundary nor has any rooms.

It's a fancy arrangement of rocks, jutting out of the forest at the edge of a sheep pasture.

A folly, in case you were wondering, is an edifice with no apparent purpose. The Whim is a folly.

There are scores of follies across Scotland. According to a tour guide who took us around the Isle of Skye, a folly was basically something for the wealthy land owners to put up on their property as a way of boasting about their wealth. The majority of the follies weren't functional at all, except to demonstrate extravagance.

To be fair, some of the follies were built in times of famine, when the farm laborers could not work the land. And so in order to give them a way to earn a wage, the landowners had the follies built.

But mostly, the follies served no purpose, other than to amuse us centuries later.

I translate this image to faith in this way: when people build their lives around any other purpose than to live in faith and faithfulness to the living Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, then life becomes a folly.

As I write this devotion, it is Holy Week in the life of the church—that week that spans from Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem, to the Last Supper in the upper room, to the trial and crucifixion, to the glorious mystery of the Resurrection. The events of Holy Week as told in the Bible are of utmost importance. The stories tell of Jesus' speaking truth and justice to the authorities, and the dark conspiracy of resistance to Jesus' way. In the face of everything, Jesus steadfastly forged ahead. He never wavered, because he knew that the only way he would defeat sin and secure eternal life for sinners like you and me, would be to walk the way of the cross.

One of the things I get from Holy Week is that God takes sin seriously. God is dead serious about sin. God is also serious about his steadfast love for the world, a love so great that he is not willing to stand idly by while we perish in our sin.

On the cross, Jesus satisfies the righteousness of God in regard to our sin. And on the cross, Jesus loved us with an everlasting love, because the death he died was our death. The hell he suffered was our hell.

This is how God has dealt with our sin. This is how God has granted us eternal life. God has not made any other provision for our eternal well-being and security, except by the death of Jesus Christ on the cross, and his resurrection.

Any other attempt to secure one's salvation is folly.

Paul says, “We preach Christ crucified...”

The hymn declares, “On Christ the solid Rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand. All other ground is sinking sand.”

Build your life on the foundation that is the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Or build a folly.

Your choice.

Pass It On

“I have been reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also.” 

2 Timothy 1:5

So, back to the flowers again. Carol and I were talking about the beautiful plants in our yard (which we fondly refer to as a “happy place.”). Carol rightly observed that a good number of the plants we enjoy year after year are plants that were already part of our yard when we bought the house in 2005. All the azaleas, the nandinas, a few daffodils and lilies, two beautiful old camellia bushes – they were part of our landscape when we moved in, and we've kept them around. We also have a few clippings that we gleaned from our neighbor's yard before she moved away at the age of 95 years old (she told us to take them, so it's okay; we're not thieves, you know).

Unless you're the original owner of your home, you probably are the beneficiary of some shrubs, bushes, or other perennials that previous owners left behind. Technically, trees are perennials, so even if you have pulled everything out of the garden, your yard still probably bears at least some imprint from those who have gone before you.

I, for one, am grateful for the Puseys (the family that owned the house before us), because much of the beauty we get to enjoy in our yard comes as a result of the seeds, bulbs, and bushes that they planted. Carol and I are the heirs of a legacy

of beauty. We never met the Puseys, and they never knew us; yet they loved their home and they wanted it to be a place where others coming after them could enjoy the fruit of their work.

I think the Christian faith works much in the same way. So much of what you and I get to enjoy comes to us as a result of people who have gone before us. Some of them are people we have known – our parents, Sunday School teachers, pastors, youth leaders, etc. – and who have been intentional about handing off the faith to us. But there are also countless other people who never knew us, yet they loved God so much that they wanted to leave a legacy of faith that would enable others to appreciate God's faithfulness and love. They planted the seeds, but we get to enjoy the fruit.

My heart wells up with gratitude for the faithful generations who invested their lives in the ministry of the church, so that you and I would have a community that would help us develop our own faith in Jesus Christ. Because they gave of themselves so generously – in terms of time and personal resources and commitment – you and I have received a wonderful gift called the Body of Christ.

As one who has been given this amazing treasure called the church, I want those who come after me to possess this same treasure. Certainly that includes my children and grandchildren (when they come, Lord willing). But I also want people whom I will never know to experience the richness of God's grace and love. That's why I am so invested in the church, not so much as an institution, but as a community of faithful disciples sharing the gospel with new generations of disciples.

In his letter to Timothy, the apostle Paul acknowledges that Timothy's faith arose from his spiritual forebears: “I have been reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also.” (2 Timothy 1:5)

Timothy was at least a third-generation Christian (Grandmother, mother, and then Timothy).

I don't know how many generations back my Christian family tree goes; I suspect a long, long way back. But this I do know: For our children, and their children, Carol and I want to be more than just their grandparents by birth; we also want to be their spiritual grandparents, passing the faith on to them. And for countless others whom I will never meet, I hope that the faith that has enriched my life with blessing upon blessing, comfort upon comfort, hope upon hope, will somehow trickle down to new generations.

The beauty of what I have inherited from those who have gone before me, I want for others to experience for centuries to come.

I hope you do, too.