Dan Olinger

"If the Bible is true, then none of our fears are legitimate, none of our frustrations are permanent, and none of our opposition is significant."

Dan Olinger

 

Retired Bible Professor,

Bob Jones University

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“The Aeronauts”: A Case Study in Controversy, Part 2

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Part 1

As I noted last time, there are some historical inaccuracies in the film “The Aeronauts,” inaccuracies that I’ve called significant. What are they?

Two big ones.

First, the scientific community did not dismiss Glaisher’s idea. The British Association for the Advancement of Science (which is different from the Royal Society) endorsed his flight.

Second, and much more obvious, Glaisher’s pilot was named not Amelia Rennes, but Henry Coxwell.

If that sounds like a man’s name to you, you’re right.

Thus the two primary conflicts in the movie—the opposition of the scientific community and the cultural prejudice against Glaisher’s pilot simply because she was woman—are fiction. The writers themselves noted that they wanted to “reposition the narrative to be more progressive”—“I wanted it to not be two middle-aged men in a basket. I wanted it to be reflective for a contemporary audience.”

The same article notes that the Royal Society has expressed regret that Coxwell’s significant story has been brushed out of the film.

So.

Should we be upset?

Should we start making some memes? Maybe boycott the movie? Publish the writers’ home addresses, and pictures of their children? Warn them about where liars go?

Well, let’s think about this for a minute. (PSA: Thinking about things for a minute is wise, unless someone’s life is in immediate danger.)

On the one hand, there’s no question that the event didn’t happen as the movie portrays it. The writers had an agenda, and as soon as the word progressive shows up, some people are going to get upset.

But on the other hand—

  • The writers have freely and publicly spoken about what they did and why they did it.
  • Both the movie and the trailer prominently state that the plot is “inspired by true events”—and established tradition tells us that such wording indicates at least some fictionalization. That language is precisely what led me to learn the real story.
  • Accurate historical accounts are readily available—it took me less than 5 minutes to find them. Nothing is being hidden from the viewing public.
  • None of the fictionalization is fantastic—that is, complete fantasy. The Royal Society was in fact considered “elitist and conservative” by the founders of the British Association, including the well-regarded and significant Charles Babbage; there were in fact female balloon pilots, who were discriminated against, one of whom had a husband, also a balloonist, who died in flight; even if there had been no female pilots, the Victorian view of feminism is a matter of historical record; and while I wondered about the scientific accuracy of their going as high as they did without oxygen, [SPOILER ALERT] the fact is that Glaisher and Coxwell did set the altitude record without benefit of oxygen. How they managed that, I have no idea.
  • The movie is a work of art. The photography is stunning—any pilot will agree that the tops of clouds are always far more beautiful and awe-inspiring than the bottoms—and the plot is engaging, with moments of suspense that are as intense as any other movie scene with which I’m familiar. Well-done art should be recognized and commended, as one more evidence of the image of God in humans—even humans with whom God himself might have significant disagreements (Gen 9.6)—and I hasten to add that I have no knowledge of the spiritual condition of the writers. It’s worth noting that there are regenerate “progressives.”
  • While the introduction of a female character in the piloting role does introduce some implied sexual tension to the story, it is not at all explicit, and there’s no obvious romantic relationship between the two in the basket. I’d consider the movie perfectly safe for kids, if they can handle the depictions of danger.

So.

Some things we ought to fight about. But much more often, we disagree about things and get unnecessarily upset.

Watch the movie, or don’t. Know the facts. Live your life.

Pick your battles.

“The Aeronauts”: A Case Study in Controversy, Part 1

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Like most teachers, I have a break of several weeks over Christmas. As a family we’ve done different things with the time over the years—one year Pam and I went to Germany to see our daughter—but this year was one to just stay home and have minimal plans. I laid out a reading schedule, in preparation for a couple of new-to-me courses this next semester, as well as a couple of writing projects, and progress on those fronts has gone well.

Along the way, I saw a few ads on my phone about a new Amazon movie called “The Aeronauts.” I’ve been a fan of flying from way back, since my days as copilot, navigator, and general right-seat companion to my father, who was a private pilot. This movie was about ballooning, which I’ve never done but would love to, and the trailer looked pretty interesting, so I gave a couple of hours one evening to watching it on my daughter’s Amazon Prime account.

I enjoyed it a lot.

It’s “inspired by true events” from 1862, a story about a young British scientist named James Glaisher, who’s always loved the weather. He wants to study it with a view to learning how to predict it; in other words, he essentially wants to invent meteorology. He figures the best way to study air is to be up in it, where you can take readings and look for patterns. There are no airplanes in 1862, of course, but there are balloons. He’ll need funding to hire one, so he appears before the Royal Society of London for Improving Natural Knowledge. The gathered men scoff at the idea that the weather can be predicted, and they walk out of his presentation.

He meets a young woman, Amelia Rennes, who is a balloon pilot and a widow. (She and her late husband, also a balloonist, were trying to set an altitude record when he died in the attempt. To avoid spoilers, I won’t tell you the specifics.) She understandably doesn’t want to fly anymore, but young James convinces her, and they get commercial support for the flight from a showman who hopes to recover his investment by selling tickets.

On the appointed day, with the stands full of paying spectators, the weather looks foreboding, but the two launch anyway, thereby breaking the Most Important Rule of Aviation, as my father often reminded me.

They ascend through a thunderstorm, with all the chaos you’d expect, but eventually break out over the cloud layer. Now’s it’s a matter of seeking to break the current altitude record of 23,000 feet. As those with flying experience know, anything above 14,000 feet is an oxygen level dangerously low for human consciousness, so now the primary conflict is a battle not with scientific close-mindedness in the Royal Society, or the sexism of the day, but the raw elements of nature.

Again, no spoilers. You’ll have to watch it—or read the Wikipedia article—to find out if they make it above 23,000, and/or if they survive the attempt.

But I really, really liked the movie.

As I’ve noted, the film is “inspired by true events,” and that got me thinking: what “true events” inspired the movie? What was the real story?

So I set out to discover what actually happened.

I learned that there are some differences between what really happened and what was portrayed in the movie—differences that most would agree are quite significant.

Now, everybody knows that there are people who make something of a career out of criticizing the way a movie changes a fictional novel (there’s some controversy about that right now with a new release of Little Women) or a historical event. The question of “artistic license” has produced some really heated arguments.

And it occurs to me that this particular example might be useful in helping us think through what’s worth fighting about, and what isn’t.

So next time I’ll tell you what the significant differences are, and we’ll think a little bit about how upset we should—or shouldn’t—be.

Part 2

On a New Year

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This is my 65th New Year. The first few I was completely unaware of, but since then, like a lot of other people, I’ve enjoyed the sense of excitement and optimism that our culture associates with the date. There’s something bracing about turning the page, starting out fresh, doing things better this time around.

Sometimes those among us who have half-empty glasses feel the need to point out a couple of things about the new year—as a public service, of course—

  • There’s really no such thing as a new start, you know. We carry with us the consequences of our previous sins and failures and misjudgments.
  • If the past is any guide, your good intentions are going to fade in a few days, and statistics show that pretty soon you’re going to be back in the same old rut.

As someone whose glass is perpetually half full—with contents that are quite tasty, thanks—I’ll observe that while those two statements are technically true, they’re practically false by virtue of their incompleteness. Let me explain.

First, it’s true that we carry with us the consequences of our past failures. The founder of my university used to say that if an inebriated bar patron loses an eye in a bar fight, and then gets gloriously converted, he’ll be forgiven, but he’ll never get his eye back. There are consequences of our sin that are inescapable.

True enough. But let’s not forget that he does get gloriously converted, and that’s nothing to slough over. And with conversion comes a whole raft of change and empowerment that will certainly affect the path that the convert takes for the rest of his life.

So yes, you do bring some baggage into this new year, and you can’t pretend that the baggage is weightless. But if you’re a believer, you have the Spirit of God indwelling you, changing your thinking, enabling you to act on that new way of thinking, and surely and powerfully bringing you, over time, into conformity with the Son of God (2Co 3.18). This new year is another step in that sure process.

Divine enablement is a powerful, powerful thing. If your New Year’s resolutions involve spiritual progress, they come with serious momentum behind them.

Now about that second point. Let me note first that statistics don’t “show” anything about the future. They show tendencies about past activities. But rare things do happen.

It’s demonstrably true that most people accomplish less toward their New Year’s resolutions than they intend. But that says nothing about how you’ll do on yours. The fact is that a minority of people do make and maintain significant changes. Somebody’s going to succeed; why can’t you be part of that group? Set reasonable goals, lay out a plan, pray for grace, and go for it.

Maybe you’ll accomplish less than you intend. Fine. But you’ll accomplish something. Refer to point 1.

So much for the naysayers.

My experience also tells me that some new years seem to hold more promise for change than others. In my lifetime, the Big One was Y2K, which involved the potential End of Civilization As We Know It and turned out to be, well, a dud. (Yeah, I filled some containers with water so we’d at least be able to flush the toilet after the End. Can’t hurt to make simple provisions.)

This one is 2020, which is a new decade, and a balanced number, and carries the connotation of clear vision, so who knows? Might be a big year.

But we make too big a deal about Big Years.

Of course our lives include major events—birth, marriage, parenthood, maybe a championship of something, or some other form of public recognition—but the important stuff, the really important stuff, is typically all about simple consistency and attentiveness and faithfulness. The wedding is a Big Deal, but the marriage involves simple daily kindness, gentleness, and thoughtfulness. The birth of your child is a Big Deal, but parenting is a daily slog that is sometimes difficult and frustrating but in the end leaves delightful memories.

So this year, steward your goals, and make them achievable. Make them less about the fireworks and more about faithfulness in the shadows. And watch God keep his promises for your growth in him.

Happy New Year.

Photo by madeleine ragsdale on Unsplash

My Personal Top Ten

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As I commented last year at this time, I’ve noticed that rants get a lot of hits. I understand why that happens—it’s pretty much the same phenomenon as onlooker delay at traffic accidents—but I don’t really like to rant, and I don’t admire people who rant all the time, first, because if they’re genuine, they’re living under the burden of an angry spirit, and probably fear, and second, because if they’re not genuine, but just ranting to get hits, then I don’t trust what they write.

I don’t want to be that guy. You know, the Talk Radio morning host.

Some things deserve rants, but ranting isn’t much of a lifestyle, and a society that feeds itself constantly on it—like ours—is pathological.

Most writers like some things they write more than other things, and the order of like-itude usually isn’t the same as their audience’s preferences—especially if they’re not just writing for the money or the recognition.

So as a thought experiment, here’s a list of the posts, in no particular order, that I personally like the most—some for reasons of content, some for esthetics, and some just because.

Photo by HENCE THE BOOM on Unsplash

2019 Top Ten List

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In the tradition of bloggers everywhere, here are my top ten posts for this past year.

10. On Church, Part 1

  • Biblical concepts about why Christians need to commit to and serve their local assembly

9. On Fear

  • What we should fear, and what we shouldn’t

8. Top Ten List

  • Last year’s list, making this year’s list …

7. On Coffee

  • Or rather, how a simple beverage teaches us a lot about how we ought to treat one another

6. On White Nationalism, Part 1

  • Let’s put this nonsense to bed.

5. On My Time in Jail

  • Yep. Guilty.

4. “No Peeking!”

  • I’ve learned a lot of theology since my kids were born.

3. On Cold-Call Evangelism and Cultural Appreciation

  • Obeying the Great Commission effectively

2. It Is. And It Does.

  • Meditation on the death of a friend

1. For My Angry Friends, Part 1

  • Depolarizing

And just for good measure, here are the all-time top ten posts that aren’t already listed above, in ascending order.

Since I’ll have one more post before year’s end, I’m going to use that one to list my ten personal favorites. Writers do have them, you know.

Photo by HENCE THE BOOM on Unsplash

On Mary

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As my Christmas post this year, I’d like to share some thoughts about Mary.

The first thing I notice about her, which may surprise some people, is how ordinary she is. Like you and me, she has difficulty understanding and even accepting God’s plan. Like any other woman, she’s puzzled by Gabriel’s announcement that she is to have a son (Lk 1.34). I’m not criticizing her; my point is that her response is completely understandable—completely ordinary. At the visit to the Temple for the baby’s circumcision, she’s surprised by Simeon’s exalted blessing over the child (Lk 2.33). When Jesus is 12, she questions his respect for her and Joseph, drawing a mild rebuke (Lk 2.48-49). At the wedding where Jesus will perform his first recorded miracle, she appears to have priorities that her son needs to correct (Jn 2.3-4). And in the most surprising episode of all, Mark, writing under Peter’s direction, seems to suggest that Mary and her other sons thought Jesus was mentally unbalanced (Mk 3.21, 31)—something consistent with John’s direct statement that during his earthly ministry, Jesus’ brothers did not believe on him (Jn 7.5).

Mary appears to respond to her unique situation pretty much as we would. It’s all pretty confusing; there’s a lot she doesn’t appear to understand.

There’s no evidence in the Scripture that Mary herself is immaculately conceived, or that she was perpetually a virgin—as though sex isn’t something really holy people do (Heb 13.4)—or that she is sinless. Yes, she is said to be “full of grace” (Lk 1.28), a statement that has given rise to the idea of a “treasury of merit” into which she and other “saints” have deposited (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1477); but the same Greek expression (charitoo) is used of all believers over in Eph 1.6. We’re all “full of grace,” by God’s grace.

So she’s ordinary, like us.

But.

In her confusion and wonder, she trusts God and consequently pleases him.

When told she’s going to have a child out of wedlock without having done anything wrong, she agrees to the arrangement (Lk 1.38). She knew there would be significant negative social consequences for this; virgin births were no more common in her day than they are in ours. Nobody would believe her. Indeed, 30 or more years later Jesus’ enemies threw his “illegitimacy” back in his face (Jn 8.41).

She treasured Jesus’ words even in confrontational situations (Lk 2.51). After her son’s mild rebuke at the wedding in Cana, she instructed the servants to hear and obey him (Jn 2.5).

She was a woman of grace and dignified accession to the will of God.

And where did that come from?

We don’t know anything about Mary’s childhood or upbringing, but we can see evidences of it in her speech. When we carefully study her most famous statement, the “Magnificat” (Lk 1.46-55), we find an apparently extemporaneous speech astonishingly filled with Scripture: she quotes
or alludes to about 19 different verses in 5 different Old Testament books from all 3 of the sections of the Hebrew canon—Genesis and Deuteronomy from the Law, Isaiah from the Prophets, and Samuel and Psalms from the Writings. This in spite of the fact that it was common for Jewish girls in that day to be illiterate, and even if she could read, she certainly did not own copies of the Scrolls, which were prohibitively expensive. Most likely she listened at synagogue—from the women’s section—and committed those passages to memory, deeply meditating on them to the point where she could weave them—artfully—into an extemporaneous expression of gratitude to God in the midst of deep social embarrassment.

With all of our education and all of our copies of the Scripture, few of us today could do something even remotely similar.

Mary kept things in her heart (Lk 2.19, 51). She treasured the words and works of God.

What a rebuke she is to our shallow and reactionary thinking.

What a model for all of us to follow.

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Believing Prayer

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The prophet Isaiah is receiving visions from God that open to him the long corridor of future time.

The message is mixed.

The first 39 chapters of the book contain a lot of really bad news. The current bogeyman on the world stage, Assyria, is going to be replaced by another equally bad one, Babylon. And Babylon is going to be the hammer that brings judgment to Judah for its persistence in the very sins that have already brought God’s judgment on Israel through Assyria—

  • idolatry
  • mindless ritualism in worship
  • social injustice

And there’s no doubt that this judgment will come.

But starting with chapter 40, the tone and message change dramatically. Words of comfort. Promises of restoration and blessing. A Messiah. A Servant of Yahweh.

Near the end of the book there’s a passage that seems to get odder the longer you think about it.

1 For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent,
And for Jerusalem’s sake I will not keep quiet,
Until her righteousness goes forth like brightness,
And her salvation like a torch that is burning.
2 The nations will see your righteousness,
And all kings your glory;
And you will be called by a new name
Which the mouth of the Lord will designate.
3 You will also be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord,
And a royal diadem in the hand of your God (Is 62.1-3).

There’s the promise of blessing, which will surely come to undeserving Jerusalem. But the part that really catches my eye is the first verse. This blessing, this restoration is so critically important to God that he will not stop talking about it. He will not rest until he brings it to pass.

That sets us up for an even more remarkable statement a bit farther down the passage:

6 On your walls, O Jerusalem, I have appointed watchmen;
All day and all night they will never keep silent.
You who remind the Lord, take no rest for yourselves;
7 And give Him no rest until He establishes
And makes Jerusalem a praise in the earth.

God orders his people to hold him to his promise—to badger him, to nag him, to hector him—to “give him no rest” until the promise is fulfilled. And the exclamation point on all this is that he himself has appointed those “watchmen” with the specific task of hectoring him.

God’s really, really serious about keeping his promises.

You’re probably thinking about the implications of this principle for our prayer life, and you’re right to do so; Jesus himself endorses that application.

In Luke 18 Jesus tells a parable about an unjust judge who doesn’t care about the people or the cases they bring before him. But there’s this woman who just won’t quit bothering him about her case. Eventually he rules justly, not because he cares for justice, but because he’s sick and tired of the woman’s hectoring. As he puts it, “by continually coming she will wear me out” (Lk 18.5)—literally, “give me a black eye.” No mas, he says.

Unfortunately, some Christians have assumed from this parable that God is like the unjust judge—that he needs to be convinced to help us, that we have to beat him down and wear him out to extract his begrudging grace. But as my colleague Layton Talbert has wisely and reverently noted, this kind of thinking misses the whole point of the passage.

Jesus is not saying that the Father is like the unjust judge; to the contrary, his point is that the Father is not like the judge. This is an a fortiori argument, one from the weaker to the stronger: if even an unjust judge will do the right thing when asked—enough, and with enough force—how much more will your heavenly Father do the right thing when we ask him? If a judge will do this for someone he doesn’t even know or care about, how much more will our Father, who cares for us as his own children, do for us when we ask? (Lk 18.6-7).

God is the kind of person who listens to his children and responds to them generously. He even appoints people to nag him until he keeps his promises (Is 62.6-7), even though he’s completely focused on their good and doesn’t need to be reminded (Is 62.1).

Go ahead and ask.

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“No Peeking!”

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When I arrived home after work one evening, one of my daughters, who was perhaps three or four years old at the time, met me at the door with delightful words.

“Daddy!  I have something to show you! Take my hand, and close your eyes, and no peeking!”

So I took her hand and (mostly) closed my eyes and let her lead me through the house to show me the surprise she had prepared for me.

All these years later, I don’t remember what the surprise was. I’m sure it was one of those things that, in truth, is a bigger deal in the eyes of the child than in the eyes of the parent. I do recall keeping one eye slightly slitted open, because I was pretty sure that she wasn’t thinking about doorframes, and I didn’t want to get knocked out.

Now, why did she want me to close my eyes?  Because even at her young age, she knew that joy is heightened by surprise, and surprise is intensified by anticipation.  And why did I go along with her?  Because I know and love her; because I trusted her to lead me to something good; and because I wanted her to enjoy seeing my joy when the surprise was unveiled.

Sometimes God meets us at the door, so to speak, and he asks us to take his hand, and close our eyes, and “No peeking!”

Most of us respond to that by drawing back and saying,  “What?  Where are you taking me?  Is this gonna hurt?”

Don’t we know him?  Don’t we trust him? Do we think he’s going to run us into a doorframe?

How hurtful do you suppose that is to him?

Why do we insist on seeing where he’s taking us?

He doesn’t hide the future from us to frighten us, or to disguise some evil and hurtful thing he has planned for us. He hides the future from us because he loves us—because he wants us to know the increased joy of anticipation and, eventually, revelation of the great things he has prepared for us, in both this life and the life to come.

And we should go along with him, not complaining and not asking accusatory questions, because we know him, because we trust him, and because we want him to enjoy seeing our joy when the surprise is unveiled.

When my daughter said, “OK, Daddy, open your eyes!” I looked first at the surprise—but then I looked immediately at her face, because I wanted to see her joy at my joy.  That’s a priceless experience, to see unrestrained joy in the face of someone you love.

Instead of worrying about where God may be taking us—and deeply hurting him in the process—we should prepare to see his face and the joy that we have placed there by simply taking his hand, closing our eyes, and not peeking.

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Christ. Alone.

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God has made us in his image (Gen 1.27).

Because of that, we’re compelled to know and worship him; we’re driven by our very nature to seek him.

Over the centuries, humans have sought God in lots of places—

  • In natural revelation, the works of God’s hands. He does reveal himself there, but we know the world is broken by sin (Rom 8.22) and is not designed to be worshiped (Ro 1.25). Pantheism and animism don’t bring us to God.
  • In good works, the salving of our conscience. Our conscience is indeed a gift of God, and when properly informed it’s a valuable tool, but like nature, our conscience is broken too, and it can’t reveal God to us in any way we can trust. Further, our good works cannot be compared to God’s complete perfection (Is 64.6).
  • In ourselves, which is where the predominant worldview today seeks meaning. Not surprisingly, since creatures are unworthy of worship, current secular philosophy denies that we are creatures—and in so doing dooms itself by beginning with a false premise.

Where, then, do we find God? As I’ve noted recently, we find him perfectly revealed in Christ (Heb 1.1-2). Norman Geisler notes that in Colossians 1, as in no other passage, are concentrated “many characteristics of Christ and His deity” (Bible Knowledge Commentary). It’s certainly worth our time to think through this rich passage.

Paul describes our ongoing relationship with God as beginning in knowledge (Col 1.9) that expresses itself in a worthy walk (Col 1.10), for which we are strengthened by the Spirit to endure the difficulties that come from walking worthily (Col 1.11). This climaxes in a heart of gratitude for what God has done in Christ (Col 1.12): he has qualified us (Col 1.12) and transferred us to the Son’s kingdom (Col 1.13). As Paul meditates on this work, his focus shines like a laser beam on Christ, whose work has brought our salvation. How pre-eminent is this One Who has taken interest in our helplessness!

Christ manifests himself as pre-eminent in several ways—

  • In the cross (Col 1.14). He becomes man because no other man can do what needs to be done for our rescue. He redeems us, liberating us from our abusive master (Col 1.14a) and the power of his grip on us, and he forgives us, liberating us from the guilt of our sin (Col 1.14b).
  • In creation (Col 1.15-17). He is “the firstborn over all creation” (Col 1.15)—I’ve written on that before—because he is the powerful creator (Col 1.16). And he faithfully upholds and directs all that he has created (Col 1.17)—that’s what we call providence. He made it all and runs it all. That’s pre-eminence.
  • In the church (Col. 1.18-23). He is the head of the body, the church (Col 1.18a) and the source of its life (Col 1.18b). In the end, he is the one who reconciles to God all who are in that body (Col 1.19-22a), upholding us through life’s journey until we dwell in his presence (Col 1.22b-23).

This one God-Man has done it all. He has created and directs the entire cosmos in which we live, move, and have our being; he has solved the infinite problem of our sin; and he enables and empowers us through our life of service to his purpose, finally reconciling us completely and eternally to the God from which we came.

We ought to live for him.

Who is He on yonder tree  
Dies in grief and agony?  
Who is He that from the grave  
Comes to heal and help and save?  
Who is He that from His throne 
Rules through all the world alone?  

’Tis the Lord! O wondrous story!  
’Tis the Lord! the King of Glory!  
At His feet we humbly fall;  
Crown Him! Crown Him Lord of all! 

– Benjamin Russell Hanby 

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On Being Quiet

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We live in a noisy age. It seems that everywhere we go, noise fills the pauses and even runs constantly in the background. In stores and restaurants, the music is constant and often quite loud. (How do people carry on any kind of meaningful conversation in those places?) In the elevator, there’s music—that’s even an official genre, apparently. Go to a professional sporting event, and every pause in the action is filled with the output of the stadium’s DJ. I’m told that what he’s playing is allegedly music. When you get into your car, you automatically reach over and turn on the radio, to fill your environment with music or, worse, people talking—people who quite clearly don’t know what they’re talking about.

I know I sound cynical. I’m not. But I do want to make a point.

Human beings need quiet as certainly as they need exercise. We need time to think, to reflect, to evaluate. To pray.

I’ve noticed that in many of the students I teach, quiet is disturbing. Too quiet. Distracting. Even our library has loosened up on the stereotypical quiet rules as an accommodation to the students’ professed need for background noise—think Starbucks—in order to study.

Our lives are often noisy in ways other than decibels. Many of us pride ourselves on how busy we are, how little time we have. That means, you see, that we’re important, that we’re making a difference. I’m busier than you.

Nyah, nyah, nyah.

My friends, these things ought not so to be.

Now, I know that sometimes we’re unavoidably busy. Some people have to work 3 jobs in order to pay for school. Some people have bedridden relatives or friends, and there’s nobody to share the burden. For most of us, there are seasons of life when we’re simply busier than normal and we have to just grit our teeth and try to get it all done without dying of exhaustion.

But busyness is not a lifestyle we are meant to choose.

We need quiet. Time to think. Time to meditate.

Meditate in your heart upon your bed, and be still (Ps 4.4).

Meditation isn’t emptying your mind, after the fashion of the Eastern religions. When you empty your mind, it’s like leaving your wallet sitting on the sidewalk; somebody bent on mischief is likely to show up.

In the Bible, meditation is focusing your mind on something and giving it your investigative consideration, turning it over and savoring it as you would good food. My colleague Jim Berg says that if you can worry, you know how to meditate; meditation is just the process of worrying without the pathological aspects.

So what should you focus your mind on? The Bible gives at least 3 legitimate topics:

  • Meditate on God himself (Ps 63.6). Who is he? What is he like? What do those attributes say about how you should think, feel, and live?
  • Meditate on God’s works (Ps 77.12; 143.5). What has God done? What is he doing today? What will he do in the future? What do those actions say about how you should think, feel, and live?
  • Meditate on God’s Word (Josh 1.8; Ps 1.2; 119.15, 23, 97, 99, 148). What has God said? What do those words say about how you should think, feel, and live?

I note that in order to meditate on God’s Word, you really have to have it in your head. You can’t think about something that isn’t there. I’ve written on that topic before; if you find the prospect of life-changing meditation appealing, that post might be worth reading again.

Recently I’ve been consciously not turning on the radio when I’m alone in the car. It’s a great opportunity to think, to muse, to meditate. I’ve also been cutting out late-night activities so that I can get enough sleep and still get up earlier, when the house is quiet.

There are lots of demands on us, and they deserve our attention and care. But most of us don’t need to be as busy as we are. Maybe we can’t be philosophers sitting on mountaintops or monks chanting in the abbey—in fact, we’re probably a lot more useful as we are—but we can be more thoughtful, more reasoned, more contemplative.

More quiet, to a useful end.

Photo by Wes Grant on Unsplash