not another blog, v2.0

My five-year-old daughter, Zoë, will be baptized in a couple of weeks.  Amy told her Grandma this the other day, and Grandma responded with “Is it one of those ‘infant’ baptisms, or is it a REAL baptism?”

After getting angry, calming down, and then thinking about it, I think that the answer is “yes”.

(Obviously, Zoë’s not an “infant” at five, but for the sake of this discussion, her upcoming baptism falls under what most people call “infant baptism” — that is, baptism given to the children of believers, usually soon after their birth.)

Baptism — whether it comes after someone has made a profession of faith or it comes after someone’s being born into a Christian home — is baptism.  The bifurcation between “infant” baptism and “believer’s” baptism is the creation of a false dichotomy.  Both are covenant baptism.

I think I’m going to pick up where I left off in the long-forgotten series of posts on Baptism to flesh this out.

Okay, so I lied. Heidelberg’s been sitting there at one post for three weeks now (along with the rest of the blog, really).  Truth be told, I’ve personally been a bit out of whack lately.  Stress has been unusually high and energy has been low for a multitude of reasons, and it appears that one way I deal with that is by closing off from others and being quiet.  (Blame my INFJ personality, perhaps.)  I’ve also noticed that those others who I tend to close off from include Jesus and my family, so this is unhealthy.

If you have a minute, pray for me. I’ll get back to blogging soon.

My wife Amy has decided to kick off her 29th year of life by starting a blog of her own.  About time!

Check out her (hilarious) inaugural entry: Snow Cones and Ovens. Drop by and leave a comment (and a birthday wish) or two.

(Also – I’m well aware that it’s been two weeks since Day 1 of Heidelberg Musings. Day two is coming tomorrow. Seriously.)

Q1: What is your only comfort in life and in death?

“Comfort” – in some sense or another, comfort is probably the most fundamental human desire.  More fundamental than our desire for love and relationship, for food, for wealth, for pleasure, for anything.  In fact, meeting any of these desires is just a means to an end: our comfort.  Whether we’re having a long talk with a good friend, popping pills, going to the shrink, or drinking a latté, we’re ultimately doing it for our comfort.  We hate to be uncomfortable in any sense, and everything that we do is designed to get us back to that place of comfort.  I guess that’s why the writers of the Heidelberg Catechism decided to address comfort in the very first question.  It resonated with their first readers in 17th-century Holland, and it resonates with us today.

A1: That I am not my own, but belong with body and soul, both in life and in death, to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ. He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the tyrrany of the devil.  He also preserves me in such a way that without the will of my heavenly Father not a hair can fall from my head; indeed, all things must work together for my salvation.  Therefore, by his Holy Spirit He assures me of eternal life and makes me willing and ready from now on to live for Him.

Jesus, in every sense imaginable, is the definitive answer to our discomfort.  We can rest in him, knowing that we are his, our debts are forever paid, and that even in the midst of doubt and suffering, he sovereignly orders our steps (and others’) and works them together for our good and his glory.

Q2: What do you need to know in order to live and die in the joy of this comfort?

It’s one thing to be comforted.  It another to have “joy” in being comforted.  Joy requires a constant awareness of just how bad-off you were beforehand, and an equally constant awareness of how great your comfort is now.  Those two things not only naturally produce joy, but thankfulness.

A2: First, how great my sins and misery are; second, how I am delivered from all my sins and misery; third, how I am to be thankful to God for such deliverance.

I really like the Heidelberg Catechism — a lot.  In my opinion, it’s one of the most complete pastoral summaries of Reformed Christian doctrine in existence.  So, to maintain and/or improve my writing and theological chops, I’ve decided to blog through it.  All 129 questions.

These “Heidelberg Musings” will be little meditations/devotions through each question . . . just as I’m personally processing through them.  While I’m not promising anything too profound, I hope and trust that these will be helpful to some (myself included).  When the Catechism was first produced in the 1600s, it was divided into 52 sections, one for each Lord’s Day of the year.  That’s how these will be divided as well, with each “Lord’s Day” being at least one post (maybe more, depending on how many questions are specified for a particular day).

On with the first Lord’s Day (in the next post). Please, let me know what you think . . . good and bad.

It feels kind of strange to be writing a “review” for a Bible, especially as someone who affirms Scripture as authoritative, God-breathed, inerrant, etc. The word “review” gives off a connotation of standing over God’s Word with a critical eye or something, like “hmmm . . . The ‘Bible’, eh? Never heard of it. How’re the sales at Amazon and B&N?” Rest assured, though . . . this is a review of features, not content.

So, Crossway recently released their English Standard Version Bible in a new format, the “Personal Size Reference” (PSR) Bible. After seeing that it had some features I like and some favorable reviews here and there, I went ahead and ordered one from the Westminster Bookstore. It arrived today.

This review will be scored, per feature, on a WIN/FAIL basis. (A few of you might get that. )

Continue reading →

Dr. King said . . .

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”

I wonder how many of my fellow African-Americans voted for Senator Obama primarily for his color (and rhetorical skill) rather his character (and policies). Of course, no one’s actually allowed to say this. If you’re white and you say this, you’re labeled a racist. If you’re black, you’re a self-hating Uncle Tom.

Ah well.

She’s a little too good at busting out the poses when a camera’s around, IMO.

(BTW, I totally need to call my dad. I just realized I haven’t done that in forever. Dad, if you’re reading this, I’ll give you a call tomorrow!)

. . . and get the one pictured/linked here. Seriously fantastic stuff.

Unless, of course, you like your kids learning their Bible stories as simplistic, poorly-illustrated morality plays with absolutely no connection to the person and work of Jesus, that is.  Then, by all means, keep the one you have.

Zoë’s loving hers, and so are Mommy and Daddy.

(* Feeding to the dog or shredding for use as rodent bedding are acceptable substitutes for burning.)

(This particular entry has been started, stopped, deleted, restarted, and re-written a few times already. Not that the version that gets posted will end up being the best, necessarily.)

I’ve been thinking recently of how broken we can (or should) show ourselves to be before eachother — how much of a mess we can admit to being.

See, I had this tendency a few years back to be brutally honest about myself with others, whenever a wave of introspection hit.  Sins and struggles were confessed, and doubts about life and God were publicly hung like laundry set out to dry. I was broken and messy and wasn’t afraid of telling everyone and their mothers. The catharsis that naturally comes with dumping your baggage at the feet of others was gratifying, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t relish the “Rae, your honesty is so refreshing” accolades I occasionally received (particularly when they were from cute girls). There was even this weird, ironic arrogance that cropped up in me . . . as if I was somehow more “together” than others just because I gave voice to my issues. The 29-year-old me of right now would kind of like to punch the 20-year-old me of back then, actually.

[Don't be fooled — this kind of honesty only came in online forums (kind of like . . . what I'm doing right now). Actually seeing another's reaction to the crap you've just laid before them was a step I just wasn't too interesting in taking. Didn't seem safe enough.]

That tendency seems to have disappeared over the past few years, probably for a combination of good reasons (for instance, protecting the privacy of my family and myself) and bad reasons (for instance, thinking that real men don’t give voice to such things). I’d be perfectly satisfied with closing everyone off and putting up the “Perfect PCA Elder and his Perfect PCA Family” front if that pesky Apostle James hadn’t written that whole bit about Christians needing to confess their sins and struggles to one another . . . and since that happened to make into something we call “God’s Word”, it’s probably pretty important that I heed that advice.

So, how do we set our mess out before everyone without falling into despair? On the other side of that coin, how do we do it without becoming satisfied and comfortable with being “messy”? How do we create safety for others to be broken with us, and at the same time, have the courage to lovingly encourage them to get out of the junk that they’ve become so comfortable sitting in?

I don’t know yet. Any thoughts?