Want to hear something interesting?

Over the past few weeks I have been reading about the history of education (that’s not the interesting part), and I began to notice a strange trend. For a significant bulk of Western history, philosophers have agreed that an essential goal of education is the formation of ethical people. Until somewhat recently, everyone from Plato to Rousseau emphasized morality and character as a central purpose in education.

I think this is fascinating because it is so different from today. Not only has ethics been jettisoned from school curriculum, but much of education today is about job preparation, not moral transformation. Whereas the old model changed the self, the new model is more oriented toward serving the self.

Of course, old models of education should not be overly romanticized, nor should all schools or educators be characterized with such broad strokes. Nevertheless, I do think a shift has occurred, and I also believe it says a lot about the larger historical moment. Hard work, disappointment, and failure are not exactly part of the American dream. As our Declaration of Independence reminds us, the American prerogative is the “pursuit of happiness,” not moral fortitude. The kind of character transformation described by earlier thinkers can only be had by labor, discipline, and sometimes a little pain. I’m not sure our culture’s emphasis on happiness and self-esteem coheres well with those older notions of the good.

Now my intent here is not to deliver a treatise on the modern ills of our culture or the failings of our educational system. If anything, I offer the above description of American culture as a reflection on my own heart, as a product of this culture. As I have thought about my future, I have noticed an idolatrous attachment to happiness, one that always prefers comfort over growth. And in no area of my life has this become more apparent than in my thinking about having children.

This year I have come across numerous studies and articles that pit family against happiness. According to one professor of sociology, “marital satisfaction decreases after the birth of the first child and continually decreases over time.” Meanwhile, a study in the Journal of the British Psychological Association found that parents report significantly lower levels of happiness. In fact, one scientist wondered if couples make the decision to have children by deluding themselves and focusing on the positive, ignoring all the evidence to the contrary.

Studies of this nature are certainly dubious. Aside from the fact that I have many friends who love (LOVE!) being parents, happiness itself  is a relative term. It is relative to both the person and the moment. Even the most adoring parent has had an unhappy day. Even so, studies like these are discouraging to non-parents like me.  They don’t exactly motivate me to jump on board the baby train.

Add to these studies the mountains of Mommy Blogs that seem devoted to commiserating over the woes of motherhood. The more I hear about how tiring and how difficult the job is, the more my inner happiness-worshiper wants to run away from it all.

In all honesty, the prospect of having children is scary to me. And on those freak-out days, the above statistics certainly don’t help. However, as I have thought about the future and searched my own heart, I’ve had to remind myself that happiness is not really the end game. In the same way that educators have long recognized character formation as a superior good, God Himself is not content to leave us the way we are. There is richness and depth and beauty to be had by growing into His likeness. As the saying goes, God loves us too much to leave us they way we are.

Happiness is a funny thing. An undue emphasis on it thwarts our attainment of it. So while I have no doubt I will  fall utterly in love with my kids, their purpose is not to serve my happiness. God created the family, not simply because it is good and wonderful, but because it makes us better. It makes us more like Him.

And in case you’re wondering, I am NOT pregnant. These are just the honest reflections of someone committed to God and committed to human life, but still imperfect and in need of God’s grace. Just another reason why on-going transformation is such an essential part of the Christian life!

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

- Romans 12:1-2

Hello friends! Today I would like to introduce you to a new friend of mine named Caryn Dahlstrand Rivadeneira. Caryn (pronounced Car-in) is a writer I met shortly after moving to the Chicago area, and she is a rather accomplished one at that! Over the years she has written for Christianity Today in various capacities, and she has now published two books. In addition to her many gifts, Caryn is also one of the funniest women I know. Her sense of humor seriously gets me every time, and it translates perfectly through her writing.

In her newest book, Grumble Hallelujah, Caryn strikes a unique and effective tone as she blends her laugh-out-loud humor with an exploration of the challenges of life. Subtitled “Learning to love your life even when it lets you down,” Caryn has found a way to discuss heavy issues in a manner that is not only substantive but is up-lifting and even fun!

With the debut of her new book, I asked Caryn to guest post on She Worships and I know you will enjoy her contribution. No matter where you are in life right now, Caryn’s book will encourage you to praise God…even if that praise comes in the form of a grumbled hallelujah.

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One of my all-time, hands-down favorite passages is Habakkuk 3:17-18:

Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines,

though the olive crop fails And the fields produce no food,

though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls,

yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior.

I first underlined this word-gem in my Bible twenty-plus years ago. (So, okay, my nonbudding fig tree first represented the lack of boyfriends in my life. Feel free to roll your eyes. . . .) Since then, however, I’ve reread it a zillion times. The images fly from the page, don’t they? Our noses almost itch in the dry, barren vineyard; our eyes blink at the hay bits flit- ting around the empty stalls. Certainly, the troubling truth of the passage smacks us right upside the head: even when life doesn’t turn out how it’s supposed to be, we need to rejoice.

As much as I love this passage, it troubled me because it seemed to contradict all that I wanted to be true about grief. Until I realized I might want to read backward, to see what came before it. Duh.

And wouldn’t you know it? My favorite passage, this beautiful bit, comes at the end of a book with a structure like this: Habakkuk complains; God answers. Habakkuk complains again; God answers again. Only then does our man H get it. But even then, Habakkuk grumbles his hallelujah. You just know he does.

There seems to be something to this grief thing, something worshipful. God uses it to clear our heads and make room for him. The book of James says, “Grieve, mourn and wail. Change your laughter to mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up” (4:9-10).

In his book In Memoriam, Henri Nouwen says this about the disciples’ extended period of grief after Jesus ascended: “This long period of mourning was necessary before they were able to receive the Spirit. Only after this long and painful grief were they able to receive the great consolation that their Lord had promised them. For it was only after they had given up clinging to their Lord that his Spirit could descend into their hearts.”

Go figure. This is just what James says. And this is exactly what we see lived out in Esau, Jeremiah, and Habakkuk—not to mention Sarai, Naomi, Job, and many others. They grieved, mourned, and wailed—and were lifted up. They experienced long and painful grief and were able to receive consolation from God.

Maybe because of this, I’ve grown to love yelling at God, waving my arms and carrying on a bit. Well, usually I don’t actually yell as much as whisper near-obscenities at him or huff and cluck my tongue or just think mean thoughts toward God. But I love to let him know how and when he’s messing up my life.

Some might question the wisdom of this, but it’s biblical. Not only do we see this in the book of Lamentations, but how about Habakkuk? Remember him? The guy who wrote my favorite passage ever?

My pastor-friend Gregg recently described this book of Habakkuk as “The Difficult Dialogue”: “Sometimes it’s appropriate to shout and sing hallelujah,” Pastor Gregg said. “Other times to lament and complain.” Had I gotten to him first, he might have even said “grumble.”

It can be difficult to wrap our brains around the idea that our grieving, complaining, and grumbling honor God. Since he’s after honest connection and conversation, though, he seems to honor it. Honest griping— from a place of deep grief or disappointment—seems to get us closer to God.

Later in that same service on Habakkuk, the band played, “Better than a Hallelujah.” The lyrics all ring true and lovely, but these words specifically pressed deep into my heart: “We pour out our misery/ God just hears a melody.” The song goes on to say this is because these are “honest cries” from brokenhearted people. And that is what’s “better than a hallelujah.”

I’m not sure that honest cries are better than honest praises, but the point is that whatever we bring to God honestly and with our whole hearts sounds like a melody to him. God wants our hearts, whether they’re broken, crabby, whiney, or filled-up and jolly. As long as we’re sincere.

How great is that? How great is our God?

Adapted from Grumble Hallelujah: Learning to Love Your Life Even When It Lets You Down (Tyndale, 2011) by Caryn Dahlstrand Rivadeneira. Used with permission. For more about Caryn visit www.carynrivadeneira.com

When Ike and I first got married, our personalities landed on very different ends of the spectrum between justice and mercy. While I have always been a “truth speaker”–meaning I see things in black and white, tend to be dogmatic, and speak my mind before pausing to listen–Ike is a peacemaker. He is very intuitive, has a great grasp on the complexities of a situation, and he understands people. Whereas I am quick to cast judgment, Ike is slow to speak and slow to become angry.

Early on in our relationship, this difference created problems. I accused Ike of failing to speak on matters of truth. I pushed him when I thought he needed to be pushed, and I became even angrier when he didn’t share my sentiments. “How does this not upset you?” I would ask. Of course, my criticism only provoked defensiveness in him, and the conversations unraveled from there.

This difference in our personalities has resulted in more arguments than any other issue in our marriage. My criticism of Ike’s graciousness betrayed a lack of trust in his judgment, and that was hurtful to him. My criticism was also ineffective. No matter how firmly I stated my case,  no matter how crystal clear I believed the truth to be, Ike was not to be moved by force. Rather than convince him, my strong-arm method neither changed his mind nor endeared me to him. In fact, it did just the opposite.

Which is why I slowly began to change. Because conviction and argumentation had proven to be fruitless methods of persuasion, I adjusted. I noticed the strengths in Ike’s personality, and how it won him the respect of everyone he knows. I noticed the manner in which Ike’s humility and gentleness draw humility and gentleness out of me, even when we’re arguing. I realized that, through his patience and his willingness to listen, Ike’s words have a kind of weight and authority that cannot be won with superior skills of reasoning or numerous educational degrees. He has all of those things, but it’s not the reason people respect and love him.

Meanwhile, I recognized the weaknesses in my justice-oriented thinking. It’s not that justice doesn’t have its place–Ike would tell you that God has used me to make him a bolder man–but truth without mercy is only a hammer.

I therefore worked to change my ways, and my personality eventually followed. If you ask anyone in my family today, they will tell you that I have changed. Because of the way God uses Ike, I am a different person now than when I got married.

This change has had repercussions outside our marriage as well. As I have changed, the way I do ministry has changed also. In the same way that I assaulted Ike with truth, I am tempted to do the same with Scripture. When someone’s life is out of line, my instinct is to call it like it is–SIN. I can get pretty judgmental pretty fast.

Fortunately my marriage to Ike has resulted in pastoral growth. I am learning to listen and to meet people where they’re at. I’m learning to be patient with others and journey with them as they grow, occasionally screw up, and grow some more. I am learning to be more humble, and to get out of the way to make room for God.

Before I met Ike, I desired a marriage in which my husband and I could serve God better together than apart. Years later, God has answered that prayer beyond what I could have imagined. I truly am a better disciple because of Ike. Working through our every day interactions in the privacy of our home, God is making us into better servants of the world outside.

How has your marriage changed you?

Well it has finally happened. I have joined Twitter!

For some of you reading this, you’re a little stunned that I waited so long to join Twitter. As a writer, Twitter is a great promotional tool that I have willingly avoided thus far. From a marketing standpoint, it was about time.

For others of you, it is remarkable that I joined Twitter at all. As many of you know, I have written a number of posts exploring the pitfalls of Twitter, one specifically explaining why I had yet to join. I have challenged Twitter users on Ed Stetzer’s blog and I have written about it on Christianity Today’s blog for women, Her.meneutics. Although I never condemned Twitter itself, I suspect some readers perceived me as being outrageously anti-Twitter.

However my intent was not to reject Twitter wholesale. Drawing on the language of 1 Corinthians 10:23, it was never an issue of whether or not Twitter is permissible. As a technological tool it is, by and large, morally neutral. Instead, I have wondered how it might be beneficial. Knowing its many misuses, how might I use Twitter in a way that is productive?

As one who struggles to tame my tongue in daily conversation, I am sobered by the public nature of Twitter. As a Twitter user, I am only a few taps of the finger away from miscommunicating or mis-speaking in front of an entire audience of followers. The knowledge of this temptation has been a great deterrent.

On the other hand, I have spent the last several months praying over my writing ministry and thinking about how I can better serve the church. Although I use my blog as a teaching platform, I would like to do more with it. I am the steward over a tiny corner of influence, and I am not content to steward that corner with writing alone. Using my blog, I want to be a more tangible example of the truths I teach. This means giving a voice to the voiceless, promoting powerful ministries, and supporting other Christians and Jesus-centered causes. In addition to those resources and partnerships, I want you to know about my writing on other websites, but I have been limited to promoting these sites through Facebook. Twitter allows me to do all of these things.

With those desires in mind, I have set a ground rule for myself, and I give you FULL permission to hold me accountable to it:

The primary purpose of my Twitter account is ministry and the up-building of the church. It will not be a running log of my daily activities. You will not know when I am stuck in an airport or on a date with my husband. You will know if I hear an encouraging quote or read a great Bible verse. You will know when I come across a great cause or  a great book. You will know when I have posted a new blog, or written for another website, or hopefully the day I publish my first book!

That is not to say that I will not respond  if someone Tweets something to me or about me. I will, especially if it’s encouraging! But I also need a margin of privacy in order to continue in an authentic life of Christian discipleship. I do not cast judgment on those who use Twitter differently, but knowing myself it will be difficult to remain authentic before God and others if I am constantly tweeting my life before a host of watching eyes. I fear my life will become a performance.

That is also not to say that my Tweets must be stuffy and self-righteous. In laying these ground rules I’m not trying to be legalistic about this; I just know my weaknesses and I want to be wise about it.

With all of that in mind, you will notice some other changes on my blog as I attempt to use this space for greater purposes. In doing so, I hope to exemplify the content of this blog, rather than simply writing about it.

Hope to see you on Twitter!

What are women free to do?

I’ve been thinking about that question a lot lately. Depending on where you’re standing, this question can sound like a loaded one. For some, it is a political question. For others, an ecclesiological one. I have been thinking about it from a different angle altogether.

Over the last few weeks I have been studying freedom from a philosophical perspective. As much as we talk about freedom in this country, it’s a very complex issue that means different things to different people. In fact, I would argue that the American understanding of freedom is somewhat different from the Christian understanding of it. But I have also been thinking about freedom as it relates to women in the church. More specifically, I’ve been thinking about the purpose of women’s ministry, and what it means when women in the church are truly free.

Amidst my research thus far, one idea that has really captured my imagination is that of negative and positive freedom. For those of you who are unfamiliar with these two concepts, they can be summarized as follows:

Negative freedom = freedom from. It is freedom from external restraint, such as freedom from an oppressive government, freedom from slavery, or freedom from an abusive relationship. It is essentially about freedom of opportunity.

Positive freedom = freedom to. This kind of freedom has a more internal component to it. It characterizes an inner freedom that manifests itself in free action. For instance, Catholic philosopher Charles Taylor used the example of someone who is so paralyzed by a fear of breaking with the norm that his actions always conform to the status quo, rather than reflecting his authentic self. Such a person might possess negative freedom, but he does not possess positive freedom.

Both negative and positive freedom are important for Christians. By advocating for the victims of oppression–whether the oppression is overt or subtly systemic–we demonstrate signs of God’s good Kingdom. Likewise, Christians also emphasize positive freedom. In Christ, we press beyond the liberation from external restraints to a liberation from fear, insecurity, or hate.

In the realm of women’s ministry, both types of freedom are valued and promoted. We could be doing much more on both fronts, and there are still some major issues that have yet to be confronted, but women in the church are undoubtedly finding freedom from both external and internal oppressors. That work is happening, and we need to continue it.

Which leads me to my main point. As much as we talk about freedom for women, as many books out there encourage freedom from legalism or shame, there is an action component to positive freedom that I fear we have missed. Positive freedom is not merely an internal version of negative freedom. It is not just another type of freedom from. Rather, there is an operative function, whereby women do something with their freedom.

This leads us back to the heart of my opening question. For me, the emphasis in the question is not on the “what” but on the “do.” Now that you are free, what are you doing with that freedom? How are you using your freedom to serve God? Are you using that freedom from shame to live a comfortable existence, or to run full steam after God? Now that you are free from the expectation that your house and hair must always look perfect, how are you using that extra time to serve your church, your community, or the world?

In addition to asking that question of ourselves, women need to ask that question of their women’s ministries as well: What is the point of women’s ministry? Does it simply exist to help women be free from pain? That is a worthy and crucial function, but it is also too small. The ultimate goal for women should not be passive freedom, but an active freedom that changes the world for God.

I will close with a passage from Hebrews to which I have already alluded. These verses are especially relevant because of what the author does with his freedom. He throws off everything that entangles for the purpose of running harder and faster toward the goal. It is also worth noting that the goal is not himself–it is not comfort or even healing, but Christ. That is, ultimately, why we cast off hindrances–to live a life defined by an all-out pursuit of Jesus.

Let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.

- Hebrews 12:1-2

Last week I shared Part 1 of an excerpt from Amy Julia Becker’s new memoir A Good and Perfect Gift. Below is the compelling conclusion to that excerpt. I hope it will stir you as much as it did me.

Two quick items before I leave you with her story. Amy Julia will be guest blogging on the New York Times’ parenting blog, Motherlode, some time later this week. Keep an eye out for her!

Also, you may or may not have heard about an emerging trend of lawsuits in which parents cite a “wrongful birth” or “wrongful life.” In these cases, parents of children with disabilities sue their doctors for not informing them of their babies’ health problems, claiming that they would have aborted their children had they been properly informed. These lawsuits, quite honestly, make my stomach turn, however Amy Julia recently wrote a response that was a check on my spirit. Her words were so filled with Christlike grace and love that I was instantly humbled. It is a must read.

Now with out further ado, the conclusion to an excerpt from the beautiful book, A Good and Perfect Gift:

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I didn’t have time to try to articulate my thoughts. Peter wheeled Penny back in just as Mom and Dad walked through the door. She was fast asleep and swaddled tight. They crowded around. Her skin was smooth now, with a hint of olive underneath her pink cheeks. Peter picked her up and handed her to Dad. “Here you go, Grandpa.”

On the surface, we were introducing the firstborn grandchild to her grandfather. Big smiles. Oohs and aahs about how cute she was. But there was an undercurrent of hesitation. How do we say, Congratulations and I’m sorry? How do we celebrate and grieve at the same moment?

Dad lowered himself into a chair with Penny. I couldn’t remember seeing him with an infant before. He held his body stiffly, shoulders hunched, using only his arms to hold her. He looked the same as ever—khakis, loafers, a buttoned-down shirt with a frayed collar, a blue wool sweater with a few stains. But I had to wonder if he would become someone different, now that he was a grandfather. Now that Penny was his granddaughter. She slept without stirring, and he smiled.

A new nurse walked in and started talking to Mom. “Just so you know, Penny’s bilirubin level is still higher than we want. That’s why she looks a little jaundiced. But as long as it stays where it is, we’re in good shape.”

Mom interrupted, “Um, Penny’s mom is right here.” She pointed to me.

“Oh!” the nurse said. “I’m sorry. You look so comfortable for a woman who just gave birth. I thought you were one of the sisters. I heard there were a lot of them.”

“Two more on the way,” I said.

“How’s your pain?” the nurse asked.

Labor and delivery had been a lot easier than I had expected. “I’ve been taking the Motrin and using ice packs. It’s really not that bad.”

Kate said, “She comes from a long line of stoic New England women.”

The nurse gave a short laugh. “All right. Well, call if you need me.”

Soon enough, we were sharing memories of the past few days, as if they had happened a long time ago. Mom talked again about how she had known something was wrong, how Penny had looked so floppy on the examining table. Kate mentioned her tears. Dad said he hadn’t been able to sleep on Friday night. “I’ve got a cold sore,” he noted, pointing to a bump on his lip.

I felt a strange urge to apologize, although I knew that none of them were looking for consolation, especially not from me. With Penny in the room, beautiful, peaceful, there was also a sense that it had been a false alarm, that all the fear and stress and sadness was for nothing.

Kate went over to Dad and said, “All right, Grandpa, hand her over.” She put her face close to Penny and bumped noses. After she sat down, she said, “Did any of you hear them on Friday night in the room next door?”

I had a vague recollection of shouts of praise through the wall.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “They had a baby girl a few hours after Penny.”

“But did you hear what they said?” Kate asked. “It was right after we’d gotten back from dinner. I walked into this room to see Age crying, and I knew there was something wrong. And just a few minutes after you told us, there was all this happy shouting next door. I heard someone say, ‘She’s perfect! She’s perfect!’ over and over. It was so weird.”

I hadn’t heard those exclamations. I looked at Penny in Kate’s arms. All the medical terminology implied anything but perfection. Birth defect. Chromosomal abnormality.

Kate bumped Penny’s nose with her own again and gave her a kiss.

“What I want to figure out is whether Down syndrome is a mistake,” I said. “I know that scientists and doctors would say that it is.” I gestured toward the papers on the table. “But how do I think about it in terms of God? Is it a manifestation of sin in the world? Is Penny less perfect than that little girl who was born next door?”

The room stayed silent. I thought back to the moment I first felt Penny kick. We were in Rome, living in a dorm room. Peter was there on a Fulbright scholarship with twenty other high school teachers. At least once each night I got out of our bed and walked across the linoleum floor to the communal bathroom. One of those nights, in mid-July, I couldn’t fall back to sleep. And that’s when I first felt her move. A flutter below my belly button. And then another. And three more. Hello, little one.

How could she be a mistake?

I looked up when Mom spoke, in her gentle, level voice. “The only evidence of sin that I see in Penny’s birth is in how we respond to her.”

It was as if I had been looking through a kaleidoscope and it turned a notch. All the same pieces and parts, the same colors even, but a totally new pattern. A new way of seeing.

For the first time in months, I remembered those words in the car before Penny was born. But if you had waited, then you wouldn’t have had this child.

This child.

Ladies, I have a special treat for you today!

One of the greatest blessings of this past year has been connecting with other female Christian writers. Since becoming a regular contributor to Her.meneutics, I have grown to love and admire the other regular contributors (among whom I am the LEAST impressive!). Each one has a special message that God has given her to share, so I hope you will pay attention to them!

As these new friendships have grown, I realized it is silly not to share the incredible writing that they are producing, so I have decided to begin featuring their new books on She Worships. In doing so, I hope to provide you with additional resources that are not only BRAND NEW (ie. cutting edge–Now you can be one of the cool kids who gets to say, “Oh I read that book way before it became a New York Times Bestseller!”) but also spiritually solid.

With that in mind, it is my privilege to introduce you to Amy Julia Becker, who just released her memoir titled A Good and Perfect Gift: Faith, Expectations, and a Little Girl Named Penny. Amy Julia’s daughter, Penny, was born with Down syndrome and this book recounts the details of Penny’s first year of life.

A Princeton grad, Amy Julia is as sharp as a tack but she also writes with power, emotion and careful theological reflection. Her book is already garnering a LOT of praise, and I should also add that her last book, Penelope Ayers: A Memoir, was among Andy Crouch’s favorite books in 2009.

Today I am posting Part 1 (Part 2 to follow) of an excerpt from Amy Julia’s book. These two excerpts give us a window into the happenings of Amy Julia’s life two days after Penny was born. I know you will find yourself both moved and challenged by her words, so keep your eyes peeled for Part 2 of this excerpt from A Good and Perfect Gift.

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Everyone in my family was due to return that day. Kate arrived first, her long blonde hair swept back in a ponytail, no makeup, red eyes. Suddenly I felt like an older sister again, as she brushed away another tear with the back of her hand. I stood to greet her with a long hug.

After a loud exhale, Kate squared her shoulders and said, “Mom and Dad will be here soon. They’re just parking the car. How’s Penny?”

“She’s great,” I said, as we both sat down. I pulled my legs towards my chest. “They say her heart is fine and her temperature is starting to get more stable. And she’s nursing well. She’s great.”

“How are you?”

“Better,” I said, realizing as I spoke that it was true. I hadn’t cried much the day before. Those hours had held a frightening calm, like the eye of a hurricane. It was different now. The calm felt peaceful, not ominous. “I think we’re going to be fine. I’m starting to learn about Down syndrome—” I motioned to the papers nearby—“and Peter’s doing a lot better . . .” I trailed off.

“You’re crazy,” she said. Her tone was gentle, with a hint of humor. “I spent the whole day crying yesterday. I cried the whole ride down here. And here you are in real clothes, acting so normal, like having a Down syndrome baby is no big deal.”

I shrugged. Kate knew me well enough to understand that I had to think for a while before I would be able to feel much of anything. More tears would come, and probably some anger and hurt and guilt and fear. I could predict the emotions, but I couldn’t access them. For now, I had to work it out in my head. I had to construct a plan. And I needed some answers. Some of my questions were practical. The pediatrician had said Penny would need physical therapy—How do we set that up? Will insurance pay for it? And I wanted to meet all the other Downs babies—or, as the information packet would have it, babies with Down syndrome—in the area. Where were they? And then there were the health concerns. How would we find the right doctors? Who would check her hearing and her eyesight and everything else?

There was another set of questions, questions that weren’t so easily answered by phone calls or a reference book. I hadn’t realized it until we received Penny’s diagnosis, but I had come into the hospital with a grid that ordered my sense of how the world worked. I believed that all people were created in the image of God, that every human being bore the mark of God’s goodness and light. But I also believed that everything that went wrong in the world was a consequence of sin. I didn’t think that God was doling out tornados or cancer or malaria as punishment for us doing bad things or something like that. I just believed that ultimately all the pain and injustice in the world could be traced back, somehow, to the human refusal to love God. The first human choice of self over God sent suffering and discord everywhere, like a fault line tearing through the universe.

Before Penny was born, I would have assumed that an extra chromosome was just that, a crack in the cosmos, evidence of the fractured nature of all creation. But how could I imagine such a thing about my daughter? I couldn’t figure it out.

On September 11, 2001 I was a junior in college. My brother had just moved to New York City to begin his freshman year at NYU, and he could see the Twin Towers from his dormitory. That same morning, hundreds of miles away, my roommate’s boyfriend sat in his office at the Pentagon while a plane slammed into the building. All the while, many of my classmates were panic-stricken as they tried to contact parents who worked in the World Trade Center. Like most Americans, I was personally connected to the events of that day.

Everyone remembers where they were on 9/11. We remember when we first heard the news, and when we saw the planes crash into the buildings. We remember who we called, and what we said. Ten years later, I can still feel the fear and the disbelief that shook my body that morning. At one point my roommate and I collapsed on our couch in tears and held one another’s hands as we prayed and cried out to God. It was an indescribably horrific day.

That day was also a turning point in our nation’s history. Just think about all that has changed in our country since then. Travelers can no longer pass through airport security without a ticket. Our government issues daily terrorist threat levels ranging from green to red. We have initiated two different wars.

But there has been another change in our country that goes beyond practice. September 11 changed our national psyche. Not only did 9/11 unite us, but it also shattered the illusion of our invincibility. We were attacked on our own soil, opening our eyes to a vulnerability we never knew we had, and injecting a new type of fear into our culture. This newly introduced fear is perhaps why the war in Afghanistan was popularly called the “War on Terror.” America wasn’t simply going after Osama bin Laden; America was going after fear itself.

With the 10 year anniversary upon us, I’ve found myself reflecting on 9/11 quite a bit, and my mind keeps gravitating back to that term: war on terror. It is a label full of meaning, but it is particularly poignant for Christians.

For most people in the world today, the “war on terror” refers to an American military campaign. But for Christians it can mean something entirely different. As Christians, we know there is only One capable of waging a war against fear. There is only One who can storm the gates of Hell and triumph over death and destruction. There is only One who can truly wage war on terror, and win.

His name is Jesus.

I make that statement, not as a partisan political commentary on America’s defense strategies, but as a uniquely Christian hope. In a world where September 11th happened, it is easy to be fearful. It is also easy to respond to that fear by grasping for greater control, control over our lives and the chaotic world around us. When we face that temptation, when we face September 11, it is therefore important to remember that the war on terror has already been fought and won.

As we observe this 10th anniversary of September 11, it is right to mourn and it is right to remember. But we need not fear.  Although 9/11 changed our country, it did not change our God. Our God is not the author of fear, but the vanquisher of it.

This week I was researching a topic for work when I discovered an interesting tidbit of church history. Apparently, birthdays used to be a big deal for Christians, and not in a good way. Early in the church’s history, birthday celebrations–particularly those of emperors or kings–were associated with pagan culture and were consequently condemned.

For instance, early church theologian Origen (ca. 185-254 ca.) wrote rather scathingly,

Indeed one of our predecessors has observed that the birthday of Pharaoh is recorded in Genesis and recounts that it is the wicked man who, being in love with the affairs of birth and becoming, celebrates his birthday. But we, taking our cure from that interpreter, discover that nowhere in the scriptures is a birthday celebrated by a righteous person.

At that time, Roman society was big on birthdays. You might even remember that John the Baptist was beheaded in celebration of Herod’s birthday (Matt. 14). The early Christians therefore rejected this practice as a sign of distinction from the surrounding pagan culture. As a result, Christians did not formally observe Christmas for the first 300 years of the church’s existence.

Today, the rejection of birthday celebrations sounds rather silly. Few of us have a lot of theological stock invested in this practice. However, this type of historical eccentricity is not uncommon. Throughout the history of the church, each generation has grappled with issues that were pressing at the time, but became less central or even marginal by subsequent generations.

For another example, consider Christian music today. There are more Christian recording artists than I can count, and worship pastors frequently lead with songs they have written themselves. The present-day church is producing new music every day.

But it has not always been so. Isaac Watts, who famously wrote “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross” and “Joy to the World” created quite the scandal with his hymn writing. Born in 1674, Watts lived at a time when the only acceptable hymns came directly from Biblical poetry. Watts bucked this tradition by writing “original music,” a decision that invited tremendous criticism and character attacks. His music was described as “flights of fancy” and “Watts’ whims.” He was accused of arrogance, and his introduction of this new hymn tradition resulted in church debate and division. Today, we take this practice for granted.

For a final example, consider re-baptism. I have heard countless evangelical pastors encourage church members to get baptized on the grounds that the first one wasn’t “meaningful” or “you didn’t really know what you believed at the time” or “you did it for the wrong reasons.” Plenty of modern day Christians would be shocked by this language (in fact, I myself profoundly disagree with the theology behind those statements) but our disagreement is nothing compared to the horror such words would have elicited in the Protestant Reformers.

In his work “Concerning Rebaptism,” Martin Luther decried the above reasons for re-baptism as “godless and hypocritical” because they place greater emphasis on personal faith than on the free grace of God. On the grounds that re-baptism was the equivalent of re-crucifying Christ, many Anabaptists (which means “baptize again”) were executed for their beliefs.

Although baptism, as a central component of the Christian faith, is of far greater importance than birthdays or hymns, I think we can all agree that the Reformers’ response to re-baptism was, in the most extreme cases, wrong. No matter how much I may disagree with another Christian about their views on baptism, I am not prepared to kill them over it.

As you can see, it is easy for a generation to lose perspective. Whether the issue is small or large, our circumstances can magnify a problem in such a way that we cannot grasp its true perspective. Learning this lesson from church history, we do well to remember that spiritual stumbling blocks come in all shapes and sizes. They are not limited to sinful temptations. A theological truth can just as easily become a stumbling block as money or sex.

The church’s track record should humble us. It should also press us to wonder about our own generation’s theological stumbling blocks. What current debate will cause later Christians to snicker or grieve? What are our greatest theological or missional blind spots?

While I have my own suspicions, I also wonder how I can ever be sure. Either way, I think the very asking of these questions is bound to shape us in edifying ways.