• 19 Aug 2008 /  Christianity, Religion, faith, history, quote

    Shocker, right? But I never really considered how important it was that we don’t live Luther’s life. The great reformer and had a tremendous faith and courage, but it was nothing like our faith and courage. Not to suggest that it was necessarily better or worse. Just different.

    I read a quote from Dr. Heiko Obermann in Albert Mohler’s new book Atheism Remix. Obermann was a historian of the late Medieval and early Reformation eras and he had this to say:

    “I can see that you do not understand what I am saying to you. What I am saying to you is that you do not live life as Martin Luther lived life. You do not wake up in the morning as he did, nor do you go to bed at night as he did. You need to understand something about changed conditions of belief. Do you not understand that in the time of Martin Luther, almost every single human being in European civilization woke up afraid that he would die before nightfall? Eternal destiny was a daily, hourly, minute-by-minute thought. Every night, as the late Medieval or early Reformation human beings closed his eyes, he feared that he would wake up either in heaven or in hell. You do not live with that fear. And that means your understanding of these things is very different from Martin Luther’s. That’s why he threw ink pots at the Devil, and you close your notebook and sleep well at night.”

    Modern people, even Christians, are conditioned, on some level, to embrace doubt. Somewhere in the back of everyone’s mind rests the possibility, the plausibility that maybe, just maybe, we’ve got it wrong. It’s culturally ingrained in most everyone, whether we like it or not.

    As much as I love classic theologians and preachers and have a deep respect and admiration for them, a sizeable portion of their words lack a very important sense if relatability. They can’t take modern culture’s doubt into account, because in no way did they share it.

    Thank God for the enduring relatability of His Word.

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  • Shelley_Church-History I read Bruce Shelley’s Church History in Plain Language before I started keeping this website, so I never wrote a review for it. Late last night I was recalling how much I enjoyed the book and decided that I should share my thoughts.

    Among the first things that should be noted in writing about Church History is Shelley’s purpose in this work. Shelley states clearly that this book is an “introduction” to church history and is designed for the everyday Christian; layman and congregant alike. If we were to evaluate this book with the same rubric as collegiate books on the topic, we’d find this book severely lacking. But if we grade this book according to its own claims, we’ll find a rich source of encouragement to further understand the earlier branches of our faith.

    In the interest of readability, no references are found anywhere throughout the text, however recommendations for more scholarly reading can be found at the end of each chapter. For me, this helped keep the reading liquid. It helped me to engage the history as a story that I was interested in hearing and on some level felt a part of, as opposed to something dry and sterile.

    I began reading Church History before I had become more confident and consistent with my extra-biblical reading, so coming at about 550 pages this endeavor was an ambitious one for me. However, besides being a novice at reading anything this scale, the writing made it easy to glide through while still understanding the text.

    In Church History Shelley takes us though 2000 years of church operation, starting right after the ascension of Christ all the way through to 1996. Church history can become a sticky subject, with heresy after heresy, then division after division. Things can quickly become confusion. Any writer planning to take on 2000 years ecclesial webs is either going to have a very, very long book when their done, or is going to need excellent organizational skills to scale so vast a wall. In this instance, Shelley just so happens to be a well organized writer. In the text, after the first four centuries of history things began to get a little bit confusing. Simple the sheer madness of political and religious shifts could send anyone’s head spinning. But Shelley does a better job than many at keeping things straight.

    The practical organization of the text is such that it helps a reader forget the size the literature he’s taking in. The book is broken down into “ages” (i.e., The Age of Jesus and the Apostles, The Age of Ideologies, etc.), each one coming in at around 50 – 75 pages. Each age is broken into much smaller, more digestible chapters of around 8 pages. In the interest of clarity, not all chapters are strung together in perfect chronological order.

    Throughout history, there have been many disagreements in the church. The most notable probably being during the time of the reformation. In that context, it is easy for folks to fall to one side of theological lines or the other. In this instance, most of Shelley’s words read unbiased, simply retelling the history, with little of his own commentary.

    Here’s the skinny on this book: you’re not going to finish this book and be a church history genius (well, maybe you will, I don’t know). But what likely will happen is when you put this book down you will most likely have a more cohesive snapshot of church’s history. It will probably help you to understand how we got from the time of the Apostles and the church in Acts, to today. For me, it helped to challenge my ideals as far as church organization and methods are concerned. Seeing, quickly, how things were spread out helped me not to see myself as being the first to try and figure this stuff out, but in a way, knit me together with the people who have gone before me.

    This book was encouraging, and enriching. I recommend it to anyone desiring to enrich their faith and more specifically, anyone interested in the subject.

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  • 01 Dec 2007 /  history, humor, photography, travel

                When I was about ten-ish my family took an eight week cross country vacation in an RV. It was exciting for me, but somewhat devastating for my oldest sister who just so happened to turn eighteen while we were on the road. I have what feels like a bottomless goodie bag of exciting, funny or humiliating stories from that trip. I’m not going to tell any of them right now. There is an insignificant story, however, sparked by the surfacing of a roll of film that I would like to share.

                 You see, because of my father’s job, he wasn’t able to join us for the first half of the trip. That meant it was just my mother, two sisters and me on the road for about a month before he showed up. My dad is a planner he’s the kind of guy who spends fifteen or twenty minutes planning out his rout to the grocery store. So keeping this in mind, he knew we would want to take pictures of all the things the trip would bring us to (not to mention spending a ridiculous amount of money on it; he wanted proof it ever happened). So, in all of the planning, a small detail was to keep the RV stocked with about two and a half tons of disposable cameras so that at any moment, we wouldn’t have to reach more than three feet to put our hand on one.

                For me, who grew up around my dad always taking pictures, it was like the heavens shown open and revealed my destiny. I woke up, accidentally, very early on one of the first few days of our trip. I believe we were in the Carolinas somewhere, probably at a RV park, or maybe just bumming hospitality off a liquor store or something. Outside it was gray and rainy and probably pretty cold. There were seagulls all over the place on the beach nearby. My ten year old delusion was, “this is my chance! National Geographic, here I come!” I supposed I would capture, perhaps, the rare mating habits of the western common seagull, never before seen by human eyes. Yes, and right here in the parking lot; and of course, all with this fantastic disposable Kodak camera.

    A few weeks later, when a batch of cameras was dropped off to be developed (we always ordered doubles), my mother was handed a stack of about sixty-four mystery photographs of seagulls and the flagrantly boring Carolina coast at 6:30 am. A self portrait of myself in the stack eventually gave me away.

    So the point? The point was really to give a back story and reason for sharing these, the first ever (known) photographs taken by me:

    Sorry they couldn’t be bigger; but you get the idea.

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