Hallow the Name

Earlier this summer, my wife, Betsy, and I had the opportunity to travel to Israel for a second time with the faculty and staff of Holland Christian Schools under the guidance of Ray Vander Laan—who we affectionately all know as RVL. The trip involves learning with our feet by trekking through the southern deserts of Israel, the region of Galilee, and finally Jerusalem—all the while building our understanding of the “big story” of the Bible: God’s efforts to bring his Shalom to the Chaos of this world and inviting us to be his human partners in doing so.

One of our early days on the trip was spent climbing Mt. Timna in the Sinai Desert, where RVL taught us about the Lord’s covenant with his people after he brought them out of Egypt. On the way up, we stopped to reflect on Moses’ encounter with God at the burning bush. After God commanded him to bring the Israelites out of Egypt, Moses asked, “Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what shall I tell them?”

God’s reply is famous to our ears: “I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I AM has sent me to you.’”

I have several titles that could be ascribed to me: Superintendent, Husband, or Father to name a few. But my name is “Dan.” In the same way, we have titles for God like Lord, King, or Father; but it’s his actual first name (I AM WHO I AM) that he tells Moses, and in Hebrew it’s captured in a breathy series of consonants: JHWH. 

In the ancient Near East, your name was your identity. It carried your reputation and said something to everyone about who you were and what they could expect from you as a person. The Hebrew people so revere the first name of God that they won’t utter it. They simply call it “The Name,” or Hashem in Hebrew.

Fast forward to the giving of the Ten Commandments. In most of our English translations, the third commandment states that we should never take the name of the Lord in vain. Usually, we interpret that as a call to avoid swearing or using the words “God” or “Jesus” too casually. While those aren’t bad ideas, they don’t capture the full impact of God’s command for his people.

Jesus gave his disciples the Lord’s prayer, and early on in those words, we hear “Hallowed be your name.” This is closer to the meaning of the third commandment. The Lord desires us to fill his name—his Hashem—with meaning . . . not just by what we say, but by every single choice we make and every action we live out. After all, we are his representatives and his image bearers.

In Hebrew, the term for pouring meaning into God’s name is Kiddush Hashem (ki-DOOSH ha-SHEM). This perspective focuses on what we are doing to make God look good to those we encounter—to make them ask, “What king do you serve, and how can I join you?”

As the Holland Christian administrative team reviewed our school policies this summer, we saw this concept as a powerful framing for the guidelines we have and the perspective we desire from ourselves, our students, and our school families. In every interaction, choice, and relationship, we have an opportunity to either add meaning to the very name of God or to show the world that he’s a phony. With that mindset, we shift our thinking from “How far can I go and still be ‘in bounds’?” to “How can I speak or dress or interact with others in a way that will show people what God is all about?”

It’s our hope that as you approach the school year ahead with your children, you’ll have an opportunity to talk about these ideas with them and use them as a framework as well.

And may we all Kiddush Hashem this year!

Our Return to Israel - Day 1

Two years ago, my wife and I had the opportunity to travel to Israel with members of the faculty and staff of Holland Christian Schools, under the guiding of Ray Vander Laan (RVL for short). Nothing we have done together has changed our lives more, and this year we had the chance to go again! I'll be blogging my way through the trip, but maybe even in a different way than last time. We'll just have to see.

"Who are you? And what are you doing here?"

Assembling for devotions at the start of Day 1

Those questions framed our first day of hiking (about 9.5 miles worth, according to my Apple Watch). God's story in the Bible answers these questions for us, and it lays out a spectacular invitation for us to participate. It's not a story that happened; rather it's a story that is still happening, and we are meant to be a part of it. That narrative tells of a God who identifies Chaos—disorder, brokenness, hurt—and seeks to bring His order, fullness, and flourishing to all things—what in Hebrew is called Shalom. And in His infinite wisdom, He has called on human partners to participate in that powerful work.

We were spending time in the Shephelah region of Israel. The Shephelah (pronounced "shfay-LAH") is the region of foothills in Israel that bridges the gap between the coastal plain along the Mediterranean and the Judah Mountains further inland. The vast majority of Israel's history in the Old Testament takes place in the Judah Mountains or the Judah Wilderness, but certain tribes of Israel lived in the Shephelah as well. The Coastal Plain was inhabited by Pagan tribes, like the Philistines. So, what's unique about the Shephelah is that it served as a sort of in-between place, a place where the people and things of God would meet the people and things of the world.

We started hiking up to a Tel called Gezer, a strategic location because of its ability to serve as a military choke point along the world's most important trade route of the time, the Via Maris. I say that we hiked up, because Gezer is quite literally, a City on a Hill. You may remember Christ's words in Matthew 5:14, "You are the light of the world, a city on a hill can not be hidden."

We stopped to discuss that passage a bit, and it highlighted on of the primary functions of our trip. There's a difference between the way our Western minds seek to understand the world and the way that's done for Easterners. We prefer abstract truths and philosophical treatises—creeds and doctrines when it comes to theology. Easterners prefer metaphor and concrete ideas to illustrate their beliefs. And since the Bible was originally written in and to an Eastern perspective, it behooves us to put ourselves into that same mindset to understand the full richness of what the Lord has to say to us in His great story.

So, you may heard it preached or taught that a City on a Hill has something to do with being a shining example . . . and that's not necessarily wrong, but it can lead to an incomplete understanding of what Jesus meant. We can begin to think that the City would be envied or admired for all that it had done, earned, or developed; and that might naturally lead to a mindset of protecting that reputation or those achievements from the rest of the world.

But in the ancient near east, which operated largely as groups of city-states, the City provided much hope and care for the poor and marginalized people who lived outside of it—protection during war, food, water, etc. So when Christ tells his followers that they are to be a City on a Hill, he is exhorting them to be hope-bringers to those who need it.

The main gate of Gezer (far side of the sewer ditch)

Up in the ruins of Gezer, we learned about City Gates—the location where so much of this hope-bringing happened. It was in the gates that judges would sit and provide justice; in the gates that the hungry could receive food and provisions; in the gates that the strong defense to military assault took place. We are to be City Gates for others today.

Another short hike took us to a different area of Gezer where we encountered huge stones set up vertically as a type of monument. These particular stones dated to the pagan era of Gezer, but creating these types of displays was something God commanded of his people as well. In Hebrew, one of these stones is called a masseva, and a group of them is called massevot. The idea was that these standing stones would serve as a remembrance of something God had done and that when people would encounter them, they could ask, "What happened here?" and be told the story of God's greatness in return. In the New Testament (1 Peter 2:5), we read that we are to serve as Living Stones today—that in our actions and lives, people would say, "What happened here? What God do you serve that compels you to be this way?" We are called to be standing stones for others, and we were encouraged to think about people in our own lives who have modeled Christ for us.

A standing stone at Gezer

The location of Gezer itself (along the Via Maris) brought up another great point for us. God didn't place the nation of Israel in some far-off, far-removed land where they would never have to interact with anyone else. Instead, he placed them along a trade route that would see 15-25 million people pass along it every year. The Shephelah is "the land between," and God's people have an opportunity and a calling to engage the world for Him.

We are to be city gates and standing stones at the crossroads of the world.

Later in the morning, we traveled to the Valley of Sorek, the place in which the finest vines and grapes were grown. When God refers to his people as a vine, it is the Sorek vine that the Hebrew denotes. On the hills above this valley lived the tribe of Dan, one of the twelve tribes of Israel, and the most famous member of that tribe was Samson.

We dove into the Samson story to discover the ways in which his actions demonstrated a blurry-at-best understanding of his Nazarite calling, but that God used him anyway, flaws and all. A person who would take the vow of being a Nazarite was saying, "I'm All In! I am going to dedicate every fiber of my being to God and pursue His mission for my life with everything I've got."

In Beth Shemesh, a small Tel and current archaeological dig nearby, we learned about the different layers of excavation and what those yielded from Pagan times, the times of the Judges, and the time of King Hezekiah. We learned about the presence of animal bones, namely pig bones, in each of these levels of the dig. In the lowest layer of the dig (the pagan era), there were thousands of pig bones found, but in the layer of the judges (when Israelites controlled that Tel), far fewer pig bones were found—indicating a stronger following of Kosher law. Finally, in the next layer up, from Hezekiah's era, there has yet to be a pig bone found. The point is that our witness to the world is strongest when we are following God wholeheartedly and unwaveringly.

We need to be all-in for God, and no pig bones.

The mill stone of the olive press

After lunch, we added some "puzzle pieces," as RVL likes to call them, that will be good visuals for places later in our trip. We visited an olive press (a gath-shemanim in Hebrew) so that we could understand the process of squeezing out oil from the olives and how that metaphor will apply to Christ's night in the Garden of Gesthemane—something we will study when we are in Jerusalem.

The log and weights are the press itself

We also hiked to a 1st Century Roman-era tomb that would have looked very much like the one in which Christ was laid. We learned about the process of preparing the body for burial, the three-day waiting period before officially declaring someone dead, and the 40 days of mourning that were meant to follow the death of someone you love. All of these visuals and practices will help us understand and appreciate the power of Christ's resurrection—again, something we will study in Jerusalem.

The angel of the Lord came down from heaven, and going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it.

We are to be City Gates and Standing Stones at the crossroads of the world.

When you enter God's mission, you need to be all-in, and no pig bones.

Day 1.

The Words of the Stone

Almost 1 year ago, I was on my first trip to Israel.

After hiking through the deserts and the wilderness of the Negev and the Dead Sea region and after walking in the steps of Jesus and his disciples around Galilee for 11 days, we finally arrived in Jerusalem late one afternoon. We made our way through the Damascus Gate and the bustling marketplaces of the Muslim quarter, and then we crossed over into the Jewish Quarter and emerged in a square facing the Western Wall—the base of the Temple Mount. 

Notes filling the cracks of the Western Wall in Jerusalem

For centuries, God's people have placed written notes or prayers into the cracks of the wall, and today well over 1 million notes per year make their way into those crevices. As individuals, we can speak or pray to God anytime or anywhere, but there is something powerful about the visual reminder of one's words joining with those of so many others who have come before—not to mention the tangible experience of placing your hands on the stones that so many hands have worn smooth in supplication.

But then again, the people of Israel know a longstanding connection between stone and faith. 

In the days of the Old Testament, the Lord commanded the Israelites to set up stones from the bed of the Jordan River as a reminder of bringing them safely to the Promised Land. The Hebrew word for those stones is massevot, and the idea was that as children would walk past the stones with their parents they would ask, "What happened here?" Those moments would invite a recounting of God's faithfulness that would, in turn, inform the faith of those who heard. Eventually, the word for the stones became synonymous with the question they invoked—much in the way that Xerox means to make a photocopy instead of just serving as the brand name of a machine. 

Massevot? 

What happened here?

In the New Testament, Peter takes this practice a step further when he tells the people of the early church that they are Living Stones and that their lives are meant to invoke the same question. What happened here? Why did you behave that way? Those questions become chances to recount the stories of God and His faithfulness anew.

Our stone—standing in the middle of Main Street
at Holland Christian High School Today

The past twelve months have been incredibly trying for Holland Christian Schools, where I serve as the superintendent. They have been full of grief and mourning based on the loss of three students and two staff members. Our beloved friends and colleagues have tackled health issues and battled against cancer. We've asked people to step outside their comfort zones on a great many fronts, and that's never easy.

So today, as we closed out the year with our staff, we took some time to give collective voice to our prayers, our wrestlings, and our praise. We took time to talk to God and each other about the support we've been thankful for and the ways we've seen the Lord's Kingdom expand amidst and even because of the difficulties we faced.

And then we wrote down those prayers and shoved them in our own hybrid version of the Western Wall and a massevot. 

It was personal.
It was physical.
And it was powerful.

As we depart from this school year and go into the summer . . . and as we look ahead to the future, it is my prayer that the words of the stone will be on our lips and in our hands and feet—that we will be ready to share about why we live the way we do, ready to demonstrate God's love and the ways of His Kingdom to others. I'm incredibly blessed to serve with a group of people who dedicate their lives to bringing about flourishing and Shalom out of Chaos, sin, and pain. 

We have a collective story to tell, and the words of the stone point to the life that is truly life.

A Sisyphean Task

I love legos.

I loved them as a kid, and over the last few years, I've rediscovered my enthusiasm for the interlocking building blocks with seemingly limitless possibilities for projects. Anyone who visits my office will see a collection of some of my creations on the shelves behind my desks. 

Legos are a nice diversion from some of the stress of work, but I also find that building a set helps me think through problems carefully and methodically, sometimes coming to a solution I wouldn't have considered otherwise. The more lego sets I build, the more interested I am in trying more complex assemblies and free-form ideas. 

Enter Sisyphus.

I just completed a mechanical Sisyphus sculpture that's not really an official lego set. You have to scour the internet for parts before putting together this great design by Jason at JK Brickworks.

In Greek mythology, Sisyphus was the founder and first king of Corinth. He was savage and vicious, but also crafty and cagey. He tricked and angered the gods in a variety of ways so that when they finally brought him to the underworld, he was given a truly cruel punishment. He was sentenced to push a massive boulder up a hill so as to take every ounce of effort he had in his body. As soon as it was at the top, the boulder would roll back down, and Sisyphus would have to start all over. 

Like that, for all eternity.

That story gives way to the term, "a Sisyphean task," which refers to any undertaking that is arduous and seemingly never ending.

So. 

Without going into details, I've had a challenging couple of weeks—the kind that really test your patience and perseverance. The kind where the right course of action may be easy to identify but incredibly hard to carry out. The kind that stir up all the wrong emotions and attitudes, even when you know what the correct ones should be.

We are commanded by God to do incredibly non-instinctive things that take all of our human notions of self-interest and self-preservation and turn them upside down. 

Because that's how the Kingdom comes. 

Turn the other cheek. 
Forgive seventy times seven. 
Carry your oppressor's gear for two miles if he asks you to carry it for one mile. 
Love your enemies. 
Pray for those who persecute you. 
And the list goes on and on.

When I was a kid, I used to think that the disciples must have been pretty dumb. It seemed they could never understand what Jesus was telling them or how he was instructing them to live. I thought, "boy, if I was alive back then, I would have just done what he wants them to do!" And then, on our trip to Israel this summer I had an epiphany—that it probably wasn't that the disciples didn't understand Jesus' stories or metaphors; it's that what he's asking is so hard.

This is why the prosperity gospel is so troublesome in my opinion. It seems painfully obvious that the clear promise of Christ is that if we truly follow him and reject our basest, earthly desires, we can be assured of hardship. Our hope comes from knowing that we have the Holy Spirit with us as our Counselor, and God has proven time and time again that he will always give his people "just enough" to make it through the Chaos they are facing. It's why a common prayer for the Hebrews was to give them feet for the path, rather than to make the path smooth and easy.

Galatians 6:9 says, "Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." I have been spending a lot of time in Galatians 5 and 6 lately, and I'm blown away by how much I see Paul's words speaking into my situation and calling me to a higher model of interaction with others. 

In these chapters, love and humility reign, even when we're tasked with calling out each other's faults. We see the list of the Fruit of the Spirit, and we're reminded to "put off the acts of the flesh." To our English ears, "of the flesh" prompts sexual connotations almost immediately, but included on that same list are hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions, and envy.

When I'm hurting, it's really tempting to start in with those acts of the flesh to recapture personal power or control over the situation. 

But I'm pretty sure that's not what dying to self is about.

It's not what the way of Christ is about.

So it shouldn't be what I'm about.

Lord, help me treat my brothers and sisters with respect as fellow image-bearers of God. Give me the ears to listen with empathy. Give me words clothed in humility to express my thoughts. And through it all, may you be put on display for the world to see.

Let us not become weary in doing good.

A Sisyphean task, to be sure, but it's how the Kingdom comes.

My Advent Prayer

Brothers and Sisters,

This past Sunday marked the beginning of Advent, the church season in which we take on the "expectant waiting"—the anticipation—of Christ's birth. In the centuries leading up to the nativity, Jews were expectantly waiting for their Messiah as well—the exalted one who would deliver them from their oppressors with fanfare, might, and power.

But they were so wrong. That's not how or why Christ came at all.

Over the last few weeks, I've been called on to speak out on behalf of Holland Christian Schools about the presidential election, our country's reaction to it, and the way we've seen those reactions play out in our own school community. I've been told by people from both sides to denounce the words and actions of the other. And that pains me because I know people on each end of the political spectrum who are committed Christians and genuinely believe that their faith is properly informing their politics.

I've written at least seven different drafts of this message, spanning a wide range of emotional responses to what has happened, but every time I get ready to publish or hit "send," Scripture just keeps smacking me in the face. I read:

Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against one of your people, but love your neighbor as yourself.  Leviticus 19:18

You have heard it was said, "Love your neighbor and hate your enemy," but I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.  Matthew 5:33-34

But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.  Matthew 5:39

If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles.  Matthew 5:41

That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.  2 Corinthians 12:10

In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God,did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross!  Philippians 2:5-8

In the Lord's grand plan to bring Shalom to the Chaos of this world, He decided to use human partners for this work. The nation of Israel was set apart as a Kingdom of Priests whose job it was to use their actions to show the world who God was. In all that they did, they were to put Him on display. When God created that covenantal relationship, He designed it independent of political structure. In fact, Israel was not to have a King or a ruler at all. Even when they clamored for one so that they could "be like the other nations" (1 Samuel 8), God warned them about the effects of aligning themselves with earthly power—the way it would bring them pain and ultimately compromise their witness to the rest of the world.

But they wanted it anyway.

Let's avoid the same mistake.

I understand that there are hard feelings about what has transpired in our country over these last months. 
I understand that some of us have directly felt the sting of cruelty as a result. 
I understand that there is righteous indignation swelling up inside many of us that makes us want either to gloat in triumph or to protest powerfully. 
And there are certainly injustices in our community, our nation, and our world that need to be addressed. 

But I'm hoping that we can loosen our collective grip on resentment and that we can cling to our identities in Christ before our political affiliations.

Because we are the new Israel, and "Love your enemies" isn't a metaphor. Jesus actually means that the people who make our blood boil deserve the level of respect, the benefit of the doubt, and the magnanimous kindness that we normally reserve for our families, for those who agree with us, and for our good friends. We can't wrap our human minds around how crazy that sounds, but that's exactly God's way. He takes our notions of how the world should work and flips them on their head in His model of the Kingdom. 

I'm willing to put my personal agenda aside for your sake.
Your needs are more important than mine.
I am less and you are greater.

It's incredibly difficult to enact these perspectives, but what would it look like if we were willing to live out the gospel's call to "the large and demanding life" as Eugene Peterson writes? What if we marched out an army of cheek-turners, extra-mile-walkers, self-emptiers, and enemy-lovers?

I have a feeling that interaction by interaction, relationship by relationship, and community by community we would see a radical expansion of God's Kingdom here on earth. We'd be doing exactly what priests are supposed to do: putting God on display.

I pray that this Advent, the community of Holland Christian Schools gets it right. Because after 500 years of failed King experiments, Israel still didn't understand. So God sent His Son to earth to take on the mantle of the ultimate loser.

He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Like one from whom people hide their faces he was despised, and we held him in low esteem . . . He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.  Isaiah 53:3&7 

This is the Messiah we are eagerly anticipating this Advent. This is His example to us. Not a desperate grasp for power, but an emptying of self for the good of others. A person who reaches out a hand of unity where society wants to entrench division. A person willing to lay down His very life for us.

Please join me in living out our expectant waiting of the Messiah by doing the hard work of empathy. Let's have more "we" conversations. Let's bring some Shalom to the Chaos we've been experiencing.

In doing so, we'll make space for God that He will come and fill.

Merry Christmas to you all. 

The Genius of the "And"

I'm fascinated by the way God can take a bunch of different pieces of inspiration and bring out a unified idea. In my case, the last six months have led me to: 

• Andy Crouch's awesome book, Strong and Weak
• James K.A. Smith's You Are What You Love
• Bill Dagget's Rigor and Relevance Framework
• Steve Carter's brand new This Invitational Life
• A trip to Israel with Ray Vander Laan that opened up a whole new perspective on scripture for me 
• And a 30-week Innovation Management Certification cohort at NewNorth where my instructors and classmates brought the gift of Design Thinking into my life.

All of these experiences, readings, the resulting discussions with friends and colleagues have helped shape a point of view in me—a vision for what Christian education should look like. Last week Thursday, I had the chance to share that vision with the employees of Holland Christian Schools during my address for our week of orientation activities. I'd like to share it with you all, and I'd love to hear your thoughts and reactions:

Today I’m here with you standing on this stage in this nice, air-conditioned auditorium feeling quite comfortable. But 66 days ago, I was in a very different place.

It was the second day of our Israel Trip, and we were hiking in the middle of the Negev Desert.

It was about 110-degrees.

The loose rocks meant I had to be watching carefully where I placed my foot for each step.

My backpack was loaded with my notebook, some snacks, sunscreen, first aid supplies, and about six liters (or 13 pounds) of water to help me keep walking until lunchtime.  

Take a good look at that land—its barrenness and desolation. In the minds of the people of the Ancient Near East, the desert represented Chaos:

The place where life was hard. 

Where it was easy to get lost.

Where the barren desolation didn’t exactly bring to mind the abundance and flourishing of God’s creation.

We were hiking through Wadi Zoar. A wadi is a dried up riverbed that snakes its way, canyon-like, through the desert, providing nomadic families an “easier” way to get around. Before highways and roads, wadis united cities and even served as trade routes.

But there is a portion of the year when additional danger makes its way into the wadis. During the rainy season, if there’s precipitation up in the mountains or foothills (even far away), it can make its way down to and through the wadis very quickly resulting in flash floods. With only 8-10 seconds of warning, getting stuck with a flock of sheep or a family with young children becomes a real risk. Churning, rushing, uncontrolled water like this was another image of Chaos for these ancient cultures, so you can imagine the foreboding and the fear of situations where desert and flood unite. 

Now, think about the story of the wise and foolish builders at the conclusion of the Sermon on the Mount . . . You know, the one where “the rains came down and the flood came up?” This is the kind of place that Jesus is talking about. 

If you dig up a handful of sand from the wadi floor, you’ll find something very different than the wonderful soft sand of the Lake Michigan dunes. Its coarse, big grains resist sticking to each other when they are wet. You aren’t going to be building any sandcastles in these spots. Water just scatters the sand. 

Jesus said, “But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”

And we all know the other half of this teaching: “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.”

Now, stop and think for a second about what this story doesn’t say. 

It doesn’t say, “The foolish man builds his house in a flood zone.”

It doesn’t say, “The wise man stays out of the wadi.”

It doesn’t say, “Those who follow God’s commands will stay away from Chaos.”

In fact, it reinforces just the opposite.

The wise man’s house is right there in the wadi, with the floodwaters rising and the winds beating against it. It’s right there, amidst the chaos. The only difference is that it is built on the rock. As Christians who are called to be a Kingdom of Priests in this world, we are charged with bringing peace, order, fullness, flourishing—bringing Shalom—to Chaos in all its forms.

But there’s a tension to this, and I think that it often comes out through an inappropriate dichotomy—one that sets us up as either being in the middle of the world’s chaos or being holy.

We feel that tension in Christian education too. 

We know we’re supposed to prepare kids for a life of engagement in the world so that they can “transform [it] for Jesus Christ,” as our school’s mission statement says. But there’s also a protective instinct in us as parents and mentors who know how difficult the real world can be—an instinct to preserve our kids’ innocence and keep them safe just a little while longer.

It’s easy to start thinking this way: Chaos or Holy. 

Worldly or Safe.

It’s a linear, one-dimensional approach to understanding that leads us to a false choice because it eliminates the possibility of paradox—the chance to turn our world upside down in favor of a true Kingdom view.

Because the opposite of engagement with the world is actually withdrawal. 

And the opposite of holiness is really wickedness.

So a more appropriate way to frame our lives in this instance is a 2 x 2 chart—one that embraces the paradox of holiness and engagement with the world . . . and perhaps helps us discover that having the fullness of one requires the fullness of the other. 

The parable of the wise and foolish builders says that God doesn’t want an either/or people in this regard. He wants a both/and people. 

Engaged and Holy.

Certainly, He wants us firmly rooted in His word, knowing what the right path is. But as we walk that path, it needs to take us into the Chaos. It needs to take us into the midst of people’s hurts, into the midst of challenging conversations about our marginalized brothers and sisters. 

And those places aren’t easy. 

But they are exactly what the world needs, aren’t they?

The tyranny of the “or” . . . and the genius of the “and.”

A paradoxical call to live like this can seem overwhelming to us because it’s hard to make room for nuances in our theology. It’s demanding to bring an empathetic approach to each interaction we have with another person. It’s tough to live this way! 

But it’s our calling.

It’s Reformed.

And it’s . . . possible.

Because although the desert is a place of Chaos where life can chew us up and spit us out, it’s also where God draws us close to Himself. It’s no coincidence that the Lord met the nation of Israel in the wilderness to propose His nuptial covenant to them and prepare them to live as His people. It’s no coincidence that Abraham, Jacob, Elijah, David, and the John the Baptist all met God in the desert . . . where He sustained them and shaped them and equipped them to be heralds of His Kingdom.

And Christ Himself . . .

Not 40 years, but 40 days in the desert at the onset of His ministry. Where He too felt hungry and lost. Where He too was tempted. Where He too stood in the midst of the Chaos and affirmed His Lordship and His purpose of bringing Shalom.

In the Chaos . . . and Holy.

The genius of the "and."

----------------------

And it gets me wondering if we don’t set up false choices in other parts of our lives—even in our work as Christian educators.

It seems to me that it might be easy to build an axis in our minds on which we see ourselves as either relational mentors for our students or academic trainers—concerned with reading, writing, and arithmetic; college and career readiness; standardized test scores; and GPA’s.

And this becomes an opportunity for us to show what is distinctive about our work—within the worlds of Christian education and schooling in general. It certainly brings out the overarching principle of my own vision:

We need to embrace the genius of the “and” as educators.

Because the opposite of relational is actually impersonal.

And the opposite of academic is actually ignorant.

These qualities aren’t at odds with each other! We need to know our students and become a part of their lives as we help nurture their faith, modeling for them what it looks like to be all in—to live as Shalom-bringers to the Chaos of this world. Kids need to see in our interactions and our relationships—with them and each other—the fullness that Christian community can be.

And we need to care about building our students’ knowledge 

and skills 

and curiosity 

and wonder

and creativity 

and problem-solving.

Both relational and academic . . . The fullness of one requires the fullness of the other.

We’re talking about the whole child here, and that’s something I think resonates with all of us. We’ve got to be continually pressing up and to the right on the 2x2 chart—toward fullness and flourishing. If we care about our students’ faith and their humanity . . . then we also certainly won’t want to omit their academic training, which equips them with the toolkit they need to exert Kingdom-building change on this world.

And likewise, if we care about the intellectual, creative, and capacitive growth of these students . . . we also wont forget that they are unique image-bearers of God with different life stories, different strengths and challenges, at all different phases of their faith journeys.

Relational education, in conjunction with academic education, points toward flourishing and Shalom. 

The bad news about getting away from a linear point of view and looking at things from this two-dimensional perspective is that now there are actually three ways to miss the mark in our work. We can be solely academic; we can be solely relational; or we can even omit both.

But just like being holy amidst the chaos, pulling off this model of education is entirely possible—not easy by any stretch of the imagination . . . but possible.

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If you can hang with me for just a few more minutes, I want to paint a clearer picture of those words: academic and relational.

Starting with the relational piece:

courtesy of The Loft Board Game Lounge

First, before we can establish the right kinds of relationships with our students and before we can serve as mentors and models for them, we have to make sure that we’re dedicating ourselves fully to our own faith . . . that we’re All In as our school’s theme this year puts it. Or to say it another way, we have to risk something.

Steve Carter in his book, This Invitational Life, says “Trust God by leaving the familiar and stepping into the unfamiliar; risk yourself to align with God’s heartbeat for humanity. Make the difference you were created to make in the world.”

“Risk yourself to align with God’s heartbeat for humanity.”

That’s a beautifully worded, in-your-face challenge, isn’t it?

Are we willing to step out of our comfort zones? Are we willing to live out the world-changing message of the gospel . . . even though it will often be inconvenient for us? Are we ready to consider that every action we take within a relationship either fills or empties God’s name of its meaning?

. . . Gulp.

Sounds like a call to go All In to me.

courtesy of www.gostica.com

Second, being relational is about empathy. It means getting inside someone else’s head, or as Atticus Finch tells Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.” 

Watch your students and each other closely. Notice words . . . but be aware of countenance and body language too. Ask questions. And really listen to the answers. The great thing about empathy is that it’s right in line with Christ’s gospel call in that it’s an intentional effort to direct our focus away from ourselves and onto someone else. 

To put them first.

With that kind of mindset, a relational approach blossoms . . . and this isn’t just about teachers and students. For administrators, aides, custodians, food service workers, support staff, bus drivers, coaches, and any other classification of school employee: you’ve been given the opportunity to bear the fruit of empathy in every interaction you have . . . with each other, with parents, grandparents, neighbors, visitors, opponents on the field or court, donors, and any other manner of person who comes into contact with our community—and, you get to help build the environments in which teacher-student relationships can flourish.

courtesy of www.time.com

And then third, a relational approach to education must have direction. And by that, I don’t mean it should be prescriptive. I mean that it has to be oriented down the right path. If you’ve had the chance to read You Are What You Love, by Jamie Smith, you’ll remember his assertion that we are all beings of desire—or love as he says in other places . . . and no matter what, we are going to love or desire something. The Fall didn’t turn off our ability to love; it simply pointed our loves in the wrong direction.

The kind of relational approach to education that we need to take helps orient students in the right direction. Our connections with others should serve to point them to God and to the life that is truly life.

So, embrace the relational aspect of your job. Pour effort into this work . . . And know that we don’t all go about building relationships in the same way. There’s room in this model for introverts and extroverts; for lions and otters and golden retrievers; for cholerics and phlegmatics, . . . for the unique personalities and gifts that each of you bring to the table.

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But remember, there’s more: we need to be doing academic education too.

And when I say “academic,” I’m not using it to differentiate between certain types of classes or subjects we offer. I’m including our core disciplines along with the arts, PE, industrial arts, technology, and so on.  I only have two key points to remember when it comes to what should mark this academic piece of our educational model.

courtesy of 123rf.com

The first is rigor, and I think this word suffers from a connotation problem . . . because it’s often used as a synonym for “harder” or just “more”—as in, “Hiking uphill is more rigorous than hiking on level ground” or “Writing a 10-page paper is more rigorous than writing a 5-page paper.”

I’d like to steer us away from those definitions toward one of depth. When we talk about rigorous academics, I think it means bringing about higher order thinking in our students. We need to have kids applying their skills and knowledge in new contexts. We need to have them digging down and asking great questions—so as to find the root causes of problems that need solving. It’s our job to build our learners’ capacity to identify the connections that unite separate ideas and events at work in the world around them.

These are deep activities. This is the kind of learning that will allow our students to break free from so much of the mindless vitriol that sadly divides whole segments of our population today. It will equip them to be informed decision makers who can become shapers of society—all the more when empowered by a robust faith.

Now, I certainly recognize that there are foundational pieces that must be a part of a child’s learning . . . and even—to some degree—that the developmental ages of our students determine just how deep we can dive at any given time. But regardless of the point we’re at in a child’s education, if our teaching stays in the shallow end of the pool—if we don’t progress beyond identification and recall, beyond the parroting back of facts or ideas—then I would go so far as to say that our approach is devaluing the very image of God that each child bears.

So avoid the temptation to plow through content . . . and take time to wade deeper with your students. You can reach out your hand to serve as an anchor point for them as they learn to identify the rushing waters of the Chaos around them and take their first steps out into it.

courtesy of 123rf.com

And finally, academic education should be relevant.

During our accreditation self study, we challenged ourselves with the question of whether our content, our teaching, and even our school culture is the right fit for the world as it exists today. Relevant academics will always be tied to the context of society—its opportunities and its challenges.

I’d like for our schools to be known as places in which students are both equipped and challenged to apply their learning in ever-broadening ways:

• Within their subject area

• Across disciplines

• To the more predictable situations in the real world

• And finally to new and un-predictable situations

So as we think about the essential questions of our classes . . . as we plan out the focus of our units . . . as we develop and structure opportunities for students to put their learning and their faith into action . . . let’s do so in a way that doesn’t leave our kids wondering, “What’s it all for?” but instead boldly answers:

“It’s for this time and this place. 

It’s for these people and for these problems—

To bring about this Kingdom here on earth.”

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Relationships marked by risk, empathy, and direction. 

Academics marked by rigor and relevance.

Relational and Academic.

Holy and Engaged.

Rooted and in the Chaos . . . The fullness of one requires the fullness of the other.

The paradoxical genius of the “and.”

But paradoxes are difficult. It’s easy for me to stand here or for you to sit here today and say, “Yup! Sounds great!”

But what about those moments when frustration comes? What about the gravitational pull back to the status quo? What about when our comfort zones get breached and our defensive mechanisms go to DEFCON 1?

It’s going to take a whale of a commitment to get us where we need to go. No dipping our toes into the pool to check the temperature. It’s cannonball time. 

Hmmmm . . . if only we had some kind of theme that tied into this idea . . . 

Oh wait. We do.

But being all in isn’t something that we have to do alone. 

Our last big hike in Israel was up Mt. Carmel—the place where Elijah had his showdown with the prophets of Baal and called down fire from heaven. 

It was really steep. 

I had been struggling with leg cramps for a few days, after unknowingly brining myself by floating in the Dead Sea for an hour and a half and sucking all the moisture out of my body. So on this hike, every one of my steps was pretty small.

And my friends, Dirk and Tom, came along side me and helped drag my sorry behind up that mountain—going so far as to point out where to place my feet and which tree branches to grab during the final steep ascent. 

I couldn’t have done it without them. 

And although that story is about physical effort, it’s a beautiful picture of what we do for each other as the body of Christ. This is how we encourage each other and strengthen each other in our faith and our work as Christian educators.

So think about your fellow employees and look into each other’s eyes. They are your team. They are your crew.

Brothers and sisters, let’s be all in together—for our students, for their families, for each other, and for the glory of God. 

Israel Trip - Day 9 (The Morning)

The Jordan River.

No other geographic feature is mentioned more frequently in the Bible than the Jordan, and it's where we began our hiking on the morning of Day 9.

There are no records or indications in any of the research on the ancient Near East that people worshipped the river itself. Instead all of the references to it are as a barrier to be crossed. Given that reputation, I expected a wide, deep, daunting river that could sweep us away if we weren't careful with our footing. 

Maybe at certain times of the year, but not today.

Our spot on the Jordan

Instead, we were greeted by a pleasant little stream. From a sheerly practical standpoint, had the Israelites found it difficult to cross the Jordan on their way into the Promised Land, they simply could have waited until the drier season for an easy path. That's certainly the way our Western minds would look at the situation.

But as you can read in Joshua 3, the Jordan was at its flood stage when the Israelites crossed over (And that's no joke. See the video above.), so there must be a reason—a more narrative or symbolic reason—for why they proceeded to this place at this time.

RVL helped trace a recurring narrative for us, one that involves water at key times in the Bible. There's a six-part framework for this narrative that begins and ends with the same element, thus taking things full circle:

1. It starts with Chaos (represented by untamed water)
2. God is present 
3. God speaks
4. Shalom comes to the Chaos
5. God's people do something out of step with His command
6. The situation reverts back to Chaos

In creation, for example, we see this framework playing out when initial Chaos is represented in the formless waters. God's presence hovers over the waters in His Spirit (or Ruach in Hebrew). God speaks the words of creation, "Let there be . . ." and Shalom comes about in the beautiful, amazing world that springs up. The Fall occurs with Adam and Eve's sin, and the world gets thrust back into Chaos. 

That Chaos builds until the Flood, and we see the framework play out again with Noah. The next time this narrative comes out is when the Israelites are standing at the shore of the Red Sea on their flight from Egypt. And about 40 years later we see the same pattern when God's people are standing at the banks of the Jordan.

1. There's the Chaos that comes with the enemies and uncertainties waiting for them in the Promised Land on the other side of this flooded, rushing river.
2. God is present in the Ark of the Covenant carried by the Levitical Priests.
3. God speaks to His people through Joshua (see Joshua 3:9-13), essentially telling them to, "Get in!"
4. Shalom comes as the raging water is stopped and the Israelites all make it safely through. They set up an Ebenezer to commemorate and share the story with their children and future generations. They are committed to God, and they conquer the city of Jericho by following His commands.
5. Achen led the Israelites off course by disobeying God's command for dealing with the people they encountered in this new land.
6. That resulted in defeat and Chaos once again for Israel.

But beyond this narrative framework, what is going on in the story of the crossing of the Jordan? God stopping the waters is not so much about His people getting across. Remember, they could've just waited for the drier season. Instead, it's about Him claiming Lordship over this new, fertile land they are about to experience. The natives of this area worshipped Baal and credited him with the abundance of crops it produced. God wants to make sure that His people know from whence their help comes. 

In His previous water-saving story with Israel at the Red Sea, God parted the waters for them. They needed Him, and He acted as a way to build their faith. But they have now spent 40 years in the wilderness—a land of Chaos, but also the place where God draws His people close to Him. They have taken their marriage vows for the new covenant at Sinai. They have received manna for sustenance and learned what "just enough" means, like the sheep in a shepherd's flock. And now they stand on the banks of the raging Jordan, and God says:

Get in!

As a people who have matured in their faith and their relationship with God, He calls on them to demonstrate that faith by getting their feet wet. I was there for you. Will you now put my name on display for the world? There's a common teaching that emerged in the Rabbinic tradition that says, "God acts when our feet are wet."

God wants to know if the nation of Israel is all in. It's the same thing He wants to know of us today. And we need to recognize that His true might—His true Lordship and power—won't be revealed to the world until we are able to answer a resounding, "Yes!" to His question. Anything less, and He won't act in the same way.

I thought about that for a long time on the banks of the Jordan. Do my actions and attitude really have some say or control over the way and the timing of the coming of the Kingdom of God? And I realized that when I compare my version of the Christian life to that of Christ and His disciples, I'm nowhere near as willing to be uncomfortable or risk as much as they were. How could twelve nobodies from some backwater towns in Israel live lives whose effects are still shaping the world today?

Because they were willing to be a whole lot more all-in than I am.

What would the world today look like if I was truly willing to get uncomfortable in doing my part to bring the Kingdom and put God on display? Am I willing to use my platform as the leader of a school community to this end? Am I willing to risk upsetting people—even people I care about—to bring Shalom? Am I willing to put my own wants and desires second to others'? 

Am I all in?

These were the kinds of questions RVL challenged us with on the banks of the Jordan. Were we willing to take our lives in a different direction, a more dedicated one? If so, we could plunge ourselves into the water, literally getting all in. Not so much a baptism, for our belonging to God's family was not in question, but a mikvah—a commitment of our devotion to a new path.

Doing so was an emotional experience for all of us, and one that bound us tightly together—certainly as Christians, but especially as co-laborers in the work of Christian education at Holland Christian Schools. Sitting there in the waters and listening to the songs of praise that we were lifting up presented a little glimpse of what the Kingdom of God feels like when His people are united by a powerful commitment to a common purpose.

It was a powerful morning to be sure.