The murmur of praying voices coming from the various corners of the room brought a warm sense of peace to my spirit. This was one of the few times in the week that seemed safe, when I could relax my guard and relish the fellowship of other Christians, a rarity in the corner of Asia in which I found myself for the summer.
I focused on the prayers of the middle-aged man beside me—asking for our protection, asking for provision. His words stopped suddenly, and I opened my eyes to look at his face. It was twisted, lips pursed, jaw tight, brow furrowed, trying to regain control over the powerful emotions that brought moisture to the corners of his eyes. I did not remember anything in his requests that would evoke such emotion.
After a few seconds of silence, his composure regained, he continued. Father, let your kingdom come in this place.
I must admit, I was a bit taken aback. This was the request that had gripped his heart. This was the thought that had brought this strong man to tears. Never before had I heard or seen someone pray so passionately for the Father to bring his kingdom to earth, “as it is in heaven.” Never before had I thought about the power of that request.
Read moreMy husband and my father spread out on either side of me in the thick shade of the trees, slowly scanning the forest floor. I carried a long, misshapen stick I’d grabbed along the trail, and now I used it to guide my eyes, scanning along the arc of its tip as I moved it back and forth in front of my feet. I gently pulled back clumps of crispy brown leaves, the hearty survivors of the winter’s snow. They made our task more of a challenge, blanketing the ground and matching the shade of the hidden gems we sought. We were hunting morel mushrooms, rare woodland treats of the rural Pennsylvania of my childhood.
My shoulders and neck ached from stooping over for a better view of the ground, and my eyes blurred from the pallet of brown and gray. I looked for small growths rising from the moist earth, little conical protrusions with twisted ridges and irregular pockets, like the texture of a sea sponge—or a small brain.
Back in the kitchen, we’d soak them in salt water and coat them in a bed of flour, then place them in a pan of spitting, sizzling butter. Crunchy, salty, buttery wild mushrooms—with the distinctive flavor I always forgot how much I liked.
Read moreMartin Luther. He is the colorful and dynamic man whose brilliant mind, pastoral heart, and witty pen ushered in the Protestant Reformation nearly five hundred years ago. His fresh interpretations of Scripture shattered the paradigms of his day—creating momentous shifts religiously, culturally, and even politically. Any of us who attend a church other than the Catholic or Orthodox have Luther to thank.
We hear stories about Luther nailing the Ninety-Five Theses to the door of Wittenberg’s Castle Church (although whether the nailing actually occurred is still up for debate). We hear of his brave stand at the Diet of Worms, lifting up Scripture as his ultimate authority of truth and conduct. In these episodes, he plays the part of the fearless leader—strong, bold, sure.
We do not often hear stories of his life as a monk and priest, before his Reformation shift. Luther once said, looking back, “If ever a monk got to heaven by monkery, I would have gotten there.” The young monk Luther took the religious life seriously, doing all that was required and more. He was even chastised at times by his mentor for confessing too minute of sins and adhering to too strict of penance for them. He was obsessed with living a holy life. And he was terrified.
Read moreI find it incredibly easy to criticize the Israelites. I marvel, incredulous, at their obstinacy, lack of faith, and thickheadedness. How could a group of people be so dull?
You have just watched a sea split open and walked across a stretch of dry land that just a short time before was covered with water, trapping you from escape. Your enemies, who outnumbered you, and could have slaughtered your family and friends, were wiped out behind you, through no effort of your own. You’ve been fed by miraculous food that appears on the ground overnight and have had your thirst quenched by water spout from a rock, in spite of your complaining. Then, after all of this, you create a calf of gold, with your own hands, and bow down to the god you’ve created for yourself - and this is only the beginning.
After seeing God’s faithfulness and provision, how could you doubt that He would meet your needs? After watching him crush your enemies, how could you be afraid of another foe? How could you forget so easily? How could you turn away?
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