INCARNATION!

We saw King Kong yesterday—that’s right, this is another movie report from your favorite cinema aficionado.

So my brother, my nephews, and I made the pilgrimage to the local house of celluloid. The thing was three hours long. And loud (my brother complained that it was so noisy, he couldn’t sleep—his modus operandi in movie theaters!).

The mutant beast was fabulously and realistically portrayed by CGI (computer-generated imagery), with help from Andy Serkis (of Gollum fame). Remarkable the special effects achievable in silico! Very impressive. Like you’re almost in the presence of that fearsome creature.

The gargantuan gorilla was quite strikingly “human”—anthropomorphized, shall we say, portraying facial expressions, gestures, and, seemingly, even thoughts akin to those of the species Homo sapiens. Though not one of us by a long shot, KK appears, nevertheless, to have fallen in love with Ann Darrow (Naomi Watts)! And, if falling in love weren’t enough, the gorilla is privileged to sit on one of the apices of your classic love triangle—the other male in the tournament corner being Jack Driscoll (Adrien Brody). Can’t get much more humanoid than that! Or … can it?

After one kinda gets used to the “persona” of Kong, the animal is, towards the end of the movie, killed atop the Empire State Building. I wasn’t sure if the storyline could correctly be labeled a tragedy, but it had all the ingredients of one. One almost felt sorry for “Mr.” Kong at the end. If only Ann and the rest could have communicated with it (him?) better …. If only those humans could have spoken gorilla-ese …. Or even transformed themselves into gorillas, at least temporarily …. Communication across species lines just doesn’t cut it: Ann dances, KK roars; she juggles, it grunts; the lady does cartwheels, the gorilla thumps its chest. Not much of a gripping tête-à-tête dialogue.

King Kong an appropriate theme for Christmas? You bet!

The amazing thing about our world is that once upon a time, about two millennia ago, God did invade it and become one of us! He burst into His creation, becoming fully human (skin, hair, nails, … —the works), and speaking human-ese, so that our own story wouldn’t crumble into an eternal tragedy. What an incredible scenario—God becoming man, eternity intersecting time—a plot that transcends all comprehension, that outclasses and outsoars by far, any other narrative of any kind, anywhere, any time!

God, Jesus Christ, became human, one of us—fully. And died on the cross and was resurrected, paying the price for our sins—fully. My sins. And yours.

“… you shall call His name Jesus,
for He will save His people from their sins.”
Matthew 1:21

He made Him who knew no sin
to be sin on our behalf,
so that we might become
the righteousness of God in Him.
2 Corinthians 5:21

For God so loved the world,
that He gave His only begotten Son,
that whoever believes in Him
shall not perish,
but have eternal life.
John 3:16

For believers, eternal life with God is assured. A purposeful life now has begun. What movie can beat that plot! The Greatest Story Ever Told! Indeed!

Rejoice! He is come! And … He is coming again!

Have a blessed Christmas!

UNSAFE!

I had been expecting to hear it. Eagerly awaiting the first installment of The Chronicles of Narnia on celluloid, I’d been keenly anticipating hearing one of my most favorite lines in the entire seven-volume saga.

As I saw the movie yesterday with dear friends, the Morgan family, I waited, with bated breath, for Mr. Beaver’s classic line in reply to Lucy’s question as to whether Aslan, the Lion, was safe.

Here it is as C. S. Lewis tells it …

“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. … “Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

It wasn’t there! That line wasn't in the screenplay (unless you count Mr. Tumnus' somewhat truncated comment, towards the end of the film, that Aslan was no tame animal). Though I thoroughly enjoyed the movie—cinematography, computer graphics, great acting by the children, the queen, the professor—I was disappointed in the absence of what I consider one of the most significantly theological affirmations creation can ever make of the Creator.

As the prophet Malachi asked rhetorically (and as Handel affirmed so powerfully), “But who may abide the day of His coming? And who shall stand when He appeareth? For He is like a refiner’s fire …” (Malachi 3:2).

God is not safe. But He is good!

Lewis comments later in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: “People who have not been in Narnia sometimes think that a thing cannot be good and terrible at the same time. If the children [Peter, Edmund, Susan, and Lucy Pevensie] had ever thought so, they were cured of it now.”

Have we ever been in Narnia? Do we know a God who is “unsafe,” “terrifying,” … and good? God’s goodness we are eager to make capital out of. But may we, at the same time, never forget that this is the God of whom the writer of Hebrews labeled “a consuming fire” (Hebrews 12:29, quoting Deuteronomy 4:24 and 9:3).

How is it possible, one wonders, to love a God who is not only good, but also one whose wrath is renowned for its incendiary nature, directed against sin, and Satan and his hordes, the final end of which unholy alliance will be consummation in a ceaseless conflagration?

It is a strange dialectical tension, indeed, paradoxical and enigmatic, but believers are called both to love and to fear God. Deuteronomy 6 makes that clear:

You shall love the LORD
your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.

Deuteronomy 6:5

And not many verses thence ….

You shall fear the LORD your God ….

Deuteronomy 6:13

Good and unsafe! Gracious and jealous! Loving and wrathful!

We welcome the first and wince at the second, don’t we? But the biblical balance must be maintained, the dynamic respected, the contraries equipoised. We must see with Narnian eyes that a thing can be “good and terrible at the same time.” We must love God, and we must fear God—reverentially, respectfully, with awe, with adoration.

He is Father. He is also almighty God, the supreme Creator, the self-existent Sovereign, infinitely Holy! As Mr. Beaver proclaimed, He is the King!

May we learn daily to love and to fear Him. Good, but not safe!

FOCUS!

Some time ago, Warren asked me, in the middle of a conversation, “Any ministry opportunities out there in Scotland for you, Abe?”

I replied, rather ruefully, “No. I’ve been here less than three months; they don’t know me from Adam. Why would anyone give me a ministry opportunity?”

That snippet of dialogue, however, got me thinking.

I don’t know if you’ve had the experience of a “dislocating” move. Dislocation it sure was, for me, this September. It’s not like I was passing through a foreign land; it was not like I was taking a brief vacation; it was not like I was on temporary assignment. I had moved … to live here! And I’d no idea what I was doing.

I had trouble understanding the language (English?)! I couldn’t recognize the coins and couldn’t keep track of my change. They wouldn’t let me open a bank account: I had no credit, they said. I still haven’t gotten used to the weather. Driving on the left side of the road. Fumbling with writing the dates first, and not the month. Confused with electric switches that turn “on” the “wrong” way. I didn’t even know how to make a phone call!

Lost. Bewildered. Muddled. What was I doing in a foreign land?

After two plus months, I’m still struggling. You should have heard me yesterday trying to negotiate my way through the process of obtaining car insurance. I must have had to spell my name, all my particulars, the license plate number, and the details of the car a million times to that dear lady, who was, thankfully, patient and tolerant. Indeed, because I couldn’t understand her, she had to spell everything out for me as well. Sounded like we were having a spelling-bee between ourselves.

At my wits’ end. In the dark. Beyond my depth.

(And no JIF!)

All this to say that I was completely out of my element, conducting a nonplussed, JIF-deprived, clueless existence. And the consequence? A loss of identity. Who was I? No longer a dermatologist. No more a preacher. No teaching for me. I have to wait for days to get an appointment to see a general practitioner to obtain a prescription for a steroid nasal-spray for my sinuses. And no one’s asking me my opinion of a sermon, either.

This is where I’m supposed to have ministry opportunities? Me? A “nobody”?

Who am I really? Is my identity all wrapped in my profession, my ministry, my DFW persona?

Or am I truly a “child of God,” an identity in comparison with which all other criteria and parameters, all other achievements and priorities, pale into inconsequentiality? So much so, the child of God can assert, “I am only, exclusively, this—a child of God; all else that I purport to be in this temporal life is dispensable, negligible, nonessential, in the light of eternity. In Christ!

Made me think, it did. Thanks, Warren.

And if I am only a child of God, then what must I be doing in this place, far away from it all? How am I to live?

I resolved to myself: Since I am here for a singular purpose, may God give me the grace to focus on that individual goal, that solitary aim, with all my being, to the best of my ability, for the glory of God. Everything else—confusing coinage, unintelligible utterances, insignificant “identity,” jarring JIFlessness—is not for me to worry or perseverate about.

In Christ, our call as believers is to be focused on serving Him, everywhere, always, and in everything we do.

… I am single-minded:
Forgetting the things that are behind
and reaching out
for the things that are ahead,
with this goal in mind,
I strive toward the prize
of the upward call of God
in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 3:13–14

Therefore we also have as our ambition,
whether at home or absent,
to be pleasing to Him.

2 Corinthians 5:9

“Pleasing to Him.” Our ambition. One ambition. Only ambition.

Not “ministry.” Not “identity.” Not being “somebody.”

But pleasing Him. Let that be our focus. All the days of our lives!

COINCIDENCE?

The strangest thing happened to me the other day.

So here we were, four of us students, this particular Tuesday, congregated in the hall in front of Prof. Francis Watson’s room, waiting for it to strike 4:00 before barging in for our weekly Hermeneutics Seminar. David joins us, bringing with him a fellow-Irishman, a childhood friend of his.

“Guys, this is Mark; he’s looking into doing a Ph.D. here in Aberdeen,” announces David.

The rest of us respond in amiable fashion, welcoming the new “chap.” “I’m Rich.” “Tom.” “Jake.” And, I too, declare my identity: “I’m Abe.”

There was a sudden flash of recognition in Mark’s eyes; he pointed at me and said, “Abe, I know your brother, A.K.”

I was stunned, to say the least. I hadn’t realized I was famous (or was it infamous?). Here in another continent, where I knew no one and no one knew me (or so I thought)! And, at least as far as I could tell, until now, I didn’t know anyone here who knew my brother!

It was 4:00. On to Augustine’s De doctrina Christiana. But I ... I am perplexed and flummoxed. “He knows my brother?”

It was not until an hour-and-a-half later that the wraps were taken off Mark’s sphinxian and enigmatic proclamation.

Mark, though Irish, had moved to the U.S. with his family several years ago … to Greenville, S.C.! Where he had been attending North Hills Community Church! Where my brother, A.K., is an elder! And it also so “happened” that A.K. and his family were among the first ones Mark met there. Mark had since moved to Chicago but, apparently, he had heard of my planned move to Aberdeen, and upon my being introduced to him now, he had made the connection. “Wonderful family,” Mark gushed about them, several times. (They must have fed him, I thought: good Indian home-cooking can do that to you!)

Seriously, he had a lot of good things to say about my sibling, my sister-in-law, and their two boys. They had clearly made an impression upon Mark, in the few years he lived in Greenville. It was evident he thought much of them. Their magnanimity, generosity, and hospitality had had a striking impact upon this young man.

A good name, they had made for themselves.

Ecclesiastes 7:1 tells us A good name is better than a good ointment (and I could tell you a thing or two about ointments!). The Book of Proverbs adds its voice, extolling the value of a good name, urging us to seek it.

A good name
is more to be desired than great wealth,
Favor is better than silver and gold.

Proverbs 22:1

I wondered why the Sage would exhort his readers to aim for something so “secular” and “worldly” as a good reputation.

A cursory search in the Bible for “good” and its juxtaposition to “name” revealed that God was the only one who possessed a “good” Name.

I will give thanks to your name,
O LORD, for it is good.

Psalm 54:6

And I will wait on Your name, for it is good....

Psalm 52:9

No wonder Solomon was challenging us to develop honor and esteem. This was not some people-pleasing endeavor to title, fame, popularity, and credit. Not at all. To have a “good name” was to be like the One who alone, bless His Name, is GOOD!

To be like God and adopt His goodness. To have “a good name.” Not only in God’s eyes, but also in the eyes of our fellowmen, as we seek to live in the will of the only one with the Good Name.

Let’s be good … and be called “good”! Like Him!

THANKSGIVING!

It was not a holiday in the U.K. There was no turkey, no stuffing, no mashed potatoes, no cranberry sauce, no candied yams, no pumpkin pie, or any of the other highly calorific entities. Not in this part of the world.

To be perfectly honest, most of the “dawgs” (see an earlier blog “CANINES!” for the genesis and exposition of the term) didn’t particularly miss it. And I’m not much of a turkey aficionado myself, I must confess.

This lack of an affectionate disposition towards the flesh of the species of fowl that gobbles did not, however, preclude us from giving thanks. Minus the bird! What we Americans (and most of us are from the South) missed was … Mexican cuisine! So here we were celebrating Thanksgiving last week with tortilla soup, tacos, and the rest (and varieties of shortbread—a nod in the direction of our newly acquired Scottish heritage!).

And give thanks we did! Especially since one of the motley crew, David, had just successfully emerged from a grueling viva voce—the two-hour oral interview that constitutes the final rite of passage towards a Ph.D.—earlier in the week. This “dawg” was now, for all practical purposes, a “doctor”! And, after four years in the hallowed, medieval halls of University of Aberdeen’s King’s College, after four years of doggie-life, he would be leaving us for Brazil, his homeland, in a few days.

Thanksgiving, tinged with the pain of parting. The way it always has been, is, and will be, in this less-than-perfect world. Pain and pleasure. Bane and blessing. At least for now.

There are few permanent things that we can give thanks for. Not many, are there? But there are some. Some magnificent reasons for giving thanks. Some eternal reasons for giving thanks. For which we will always be giving thanks, now and forevermore. Amen!

For the sovereignty of the Father who loves us. For the grace of the Son who gave Himself for us. For the empowering of the Spirit who binds us all in koinonia. We give thanks!

For our time here that is short. And for our future there that is eternal. We give thanks!

Nevertheless, despite the fleeting temporariness of this life’s pleasures, thanks we must give, even for today’s transient and temporal joys. Even for the smiles streaked with tears.

For the impermanent things we experience here, are nothing but the glimmers of the permanent things we will enjoy forever! Grace that breaks through the dark clouds that often gray the skies of our lives. Glimpses of glory irrupting into the gloom. Rumors of Another World, as Philip Yancey titled his latest offering.

The foreshadowing of the abundant and overflowing. The adumbration of the bliss of fellowship. The preview of things to come. The trailer of our inheritance ….

Blessed be the God and Father
of our Lord Jesus Christ,
who according to His great mercy
has caused us to be born again to a living hope
through the resurrection of Jesus Christ …,
to obtain an inheritance
which is imperishable and undefiled
and will not fade away,
reserved in heaven for you
who are protected by the power of God ….
through faith for a salvation
ready to be revealed in the last time.
In this you greatly rejoice,
even though now for a little while, …
you have been distressed by various trials ….

1 Peter 1:3–5 (NASB)

Let’s always—always—be thankful for God’s blessings that bespeak a glory to come, far beyond compare.

Postscript: Another “dawg,” scheduled to finish his Ph.D. next month, donated his car to me last week. For free! A ’92 Volkswagen Golf. (See picture: Das ist ein anderes gutes deutsches Auto!) A car that had been bestowed upon him by another canine several years ago! And so the blessings continue. He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again!

Thank You!

OMNISCIENT!

I had just gotten off the phone with her. The cold weather, I had just told her, was positively affecting my research: it was forcing me to work and work and work, since I had nowhere to go and nothing else to do. So she knew I was at my computer pretty much all day, reading, writing, ….

And I had just disconnected from her, when Amy called right back. “Hey, how do I get to 777 N. Central Expressway? I’m lost!” she declared. She was on her cell phone, calling from her car.

777 N. Central Expressway? Never seen it. Never been there. Don’t know what it is. Don’t know where it is. Probably somewhere along N. Central Expressway, was my perspicacious and profound pronouncement! In North Dallas, I added, for emphasis, just in case.

Compounding this problem of my abysmal geographical ignorance was the fact that I was 4,500 miles away from this dear lady! There she was, on the labyrinthine layers of asphalt in North Dallas, clueless and disoriented in her Honda Civic, with only a cell phone for company. Here I was, all wrapped in swaddling clothes by a blazing fire, and drinking hot tea, while reading philosophical hermeneutics and, between spoonfuls of peanut butter, jotting idle—but nonetheless profound!—thoughts on my laptop, in my flat in Aberdeen.

But Amy knew one thing—I was by my computer. And I had broadband internet access.

maps.google.com to the rescue!

Instantly, I had pinpointed her location and her destination. I knew where she was and I knew where she was headed. “OK, you’re lost!” (I guess I am prone to making profound remarks!) “Make a U-turn at Arapaho, and head south now.” She complied, informing me of her progress. “Alright, now pass the light at Beltline, and make another U-turn at the next light—Spring Valley—and head back north again.”

It sounded, I admit, suspiciously like I was leading her around in circles—“two U-turns,” “head south,” then “head north”! But to her credit, she dutifully followed my instructions.

“Now 777 N. Central Expressway should be the … let me see … 1 … 2 … 3 … 4 … yes, the fifth building on your right, just off the access road.” I could even see that venerable concrete hulk—“777 N. Central Expwy”—on the satellite image on Google!

Amy made it!

Here I was, thousands of miles away, a whole ocean away, several time-zones away, directing someone to a precise location on another continent. In real-time, live! Technology!!

But you know what? There is One who doesn’t use Google to know where you are, or where I am. I strongly doubt if He uses a laptop. He’s certainly not connected to the internet—no dialup, DSL, cable, or fiber-optic! And He doesn’t keep track of His creation with GPS either. Oh, no!

But He does deal with a lot of lost people, though. The marvelous thing is, He knows how to get us discombobulated folks back on track.

There are times, I’ll confess, when I wonder if He knows what He is doing. But our omniscient God sees! He knows! He cares! And being God, He knows what He is doing. Inscrutable, He might be. But unerring, He defintely is. He knows what He's doing.

Thou dost know when I sit down and when I rise up;
Thou dost understand my thought from afar.
Thou dost scrutinize my path and my lying down,
And art intimately acquainted with all my ways.
If I take the wings of the dawn,
If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
Even there Thy hand will lead me,
And Thy right hand will lay hold of me.
How precious also are Thy thoughts to me, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
If I should count them,
They would outnumber the sand.
When I awake, I am still with Thee.

Psalm 139:2–3; 9–10; 17–18 (NASB)

What a relief to know there is Someone who sees and knows and cares!
We can trust Him for His sovereign direction and control of all things. What a blessed relief!

What a great God!

EAVESDROPPING!

I am still buying books. The “disease” is incurable. Besides, now I have a good excuse—I need them for research!

One of my more recent acquisitions was Models of Interpretation of Scripture, by John Goldingay. I purchased this one off the web, from an online used-book store in the US. Thinking I wouldn’t need it immediately, and not wanting to incur the high cost of shipping to the UK, I had them send it to the home of a friend, Dave, in Dallas. But I was mistaken: I did need it sooner than I realized, and so Dave FedEx-ed it to me.

The tome was in great condition for an item that was second-hand. And second-hand it was, for on the flyleaf was another’s name.

And that’s what caught me by surprise. It was a name I recognized!

“Walter M. Dunnett”

Probably doesn’t mean much to most folks, but I know that name. Prof. Dunnett is a fairly well known theologian who used to teach at Moody Bible Institute (and elsewhere). In the late 80s, he was President of the Evangelical Theological Society. Author of several books (and I have at least one of them).

Fancy that, I thought. Dunnett’s personal copy of Goldingay. I flipped through the pages with interest, hoping for annotations and marginalia that would be revelatory. However, not everyone, I realized, reads books the way I do, visibly interacting with the author by means of scribbles and scratches, staining and scarring the pages as I go through them! Walter was a more gentle reader. Underlining—discreet and discriminating. Lines in the margin to demarcate paragraphs of interest. A few check marks on other pages.

Still, to go through a book owned by a scholar was quite an experience. I felt I was eavesdropping on a personal conversation between Goldingay and Dunnett. A private correspondence. A confidential communiqué, now violated by the barbaric invasion of a used-books junkie armed with a pencil. Eavesdropping!

There are many who claim that’s what we do when we read the Bible. It’s simply a correspondence from someone to someone else in some other situation in some bygone era, they assert. Eavesdrop, by all means, they urge. Just don’t take it seriously, because it’s got nothing to do with you, they declare. Paul wrote to the Romans, not to the Texans; and, of course, those polemics directed to the Israelites, Edomites, and Ninevites, those epistles to Timothy, Titus, and Philemon, all rightly belonged to those respective worthies. Spurgeon once wished the Hebrews had kept the book to themselves!

But they didn’t. Neither did any of the other recipients, thank God!

Not only were these writings inspired, God by fiat appropriated these utterances as His own and they were recognized as such by His people. Personal notes they might have been. But “divine discourses” they are now. (Check out Nicholas Wolterstorff’s terrific book Divine Discourse.) The New Testament is replete with instances of “eavesdropping” upon Old Testament “conversations.” At the same time, it perpetuates this practice of “listening at keyholes” (“I adjure you by the Lord to have this letter read to all the brethren,” writes Paul in 1 Thess 5:27). For what was written aforetime is now applicable to us.

All Scripture is inspired by God
and profitable for teaching,
for reproof, for correction,
for training in righteousness;
so that the man of God
may be adequate,
equipped for every good work.

2 Timothy 3:16–17 (NASB)

Let’s keep “eavesdropping.” For God is talking—divinely discoursing—to you, to me!

PRAY!

My brother and I have downloaded Skype on our computers in SC and here in the UK.

(For the uninitiated, Skype—www.Skype.com—is a terrific piece of free software that enables those with broadband internet connections to “phone” one another anywhere in the world—for no charge! We speak into our computer mics and listen on its speakers.)

A week or so ago, Susan, my sister-in-law, “Skyped” me. The funny thing was, I could hear her loud and clear, but she couldn’t hear me. Unbeknownst to her, my nephew, John, who’d been tweaking the sound on their computer earlier, had apparently shut its speakers down. So I resorted to instant-messaging (IM—writing in real-time) my replies to Susan.

There she was in the US—reading my IMs and speaking her responses. Here I was in the UK—listening to her and writing my responses. Trying hard to maintain a semblance of normal “conversation,” struggling to keep up with the speed of a back-and-forth exchange, my jottings were necessarily cropped and somewhat cryptic.

It was, indeed, a strange way to communicate with another! And in the background, I could hear my father wondering what was going on—his daughter-in-law seemed be to carrying on a one-way conversation with her computer! From his perspective, this already strange exchange was even stranger! We didn’t continue very long.

She was reading a written message. She replied by speaking.

Was there someone truly there at the other end of the line? Was the other listening? What was he thinking? Feeling? Except for those somewhat enigmatic written lines from across the divide, there appeared to be no clue that the other actually was present in that "conversation." Was this really working? Or was it all a waste of time? One risks looking mighty foolish speaking to someone who may or may not be listening, if they are there, in the first place.

To another doubter, a long time ago, Jesus said, “Because you have seen Me, have you believed? Blessed are they who did not see, and yet believed.”

[And, yes, sir, sometimes those written messages are mighty cryptic and enigmatic. That’s why we need “hermeneutics”—the science of interpretation. But I’ll save that for another aBeLOG!]

Verily, there is nothing like conversing in the very presence of the other, tête-à-tête—a true dialogue.

We will. Soon. But until then …

[Be] always of good courage, … knowing that
while we are at home in the body
we are absent from the Lord—
for we walk by faith, not by sight—
we are of good courage, I say,
and prefer rather to be absent from the body
and to be at home with the Lord.

2 Corinthians 5: 6–8

Let's keep reading His stuff. Let's keep speaking to Him. He is there. He is listening.

CLOCKwise!

The other day the goods that I had shipped from Dallas finally (after 3 months—but that’s another story!) got here. Books, books, (and a few more books) are on bookshelves. Pots and pans (for the gourmet cook that I am) are in cabinets. Clothes in closets. Pictures on the wall. And the clocks ….

Two of them decorate a wall in the living room of my flat. Two clocks. Two time zones. Greenwich Mean Time and U.S. Central Time. Aberdeen, Scotland, and Dallas, Texas. School and home.

It’s not just the peanut butter. Nor is it my now-sold house, or my garaged car. It’s not the blistering summers either, though I’ll take that any day to get away from the frigidity of this place.

Home is where my heart is, my family is, my friends are: the ones I’m accountable to, the ones I’m responsible for; the ones I pray for often, the ones I love. Brothers and sisters in Christ alongside whom many a battle has been fought, and with whom many a victory won. Where I know I am being prayed for, thought about, loved …. home!

Where I want to go ... soon ... home!

So … two clocks! One to keep me on time to go to school; the other to keep me in sync with “home”!

As I was putting these timepieces up, I couldn’t help but think of HOME—the Real One, where my mother is, where the saints of yesteryear are, where the ones I love will be, where I'm headed, where my “dwelling place” is, where there will no longer be any death, mourning, crying or pain, where my Savior is—the One who loved me and gave Himself up for me, so that it is no longer I ….

Two clocks. Temporal and eternal. Bound to earth, but heaven-bound. Two clocks.

Therefore if you have
been raised up with Christ,
keep seeking the things above,
where Christ is,
seated at the right hand of God.
Set your mind on the things above,
not on the things that are on earth.
For you have died
and your life is hidden
with Christ
in God.

Colossians 3:1–3

Two clocks. Straddling two time zones. Two places. Already, but not yet.

Hang in there. We’re going HOME … soon ... and very soon! Be CLOCKwise!

"CANINES!"

We call ourselves “The Dogs!”

That’s a rather odd name. Not that I have anything against the canine species, but that title did sound a bit pejorative when I first heard it.

These are the guys—I should say, rather, “we,” since I have joined the ranks of this beastly contingent—who, in the midst of a rather spiritually sterile academic atmosphere here in the School of Divinity, seek refuge together in the haven of prayer. Every Monday, the 6-10 of us (last week was a sparse one), congregate at Tom’s flat for fellowship, food, and much prayer.

We’re there at noon weekly, some with their sandwiches (others with our desserts—guess who brings what) (Hey! You ever tried Cadbury’s Milk Chocolate that comes in the Turkish Delight flavor? If you haven’t, you ain’t lived yet!!!). After about an hour of feasting and frolicking, we pray for one another.

Incidentally, the crowd is mostly American and entirely evangelical. Apparently that species of Christian is subject to some amount of disapprobation and disparagement in the environs of the School (what’s new?). This, I am told, explains the animalian appellation that we bear.

Dogs, indeed! Why, once upon a time, YHWH noted His appreciation of those who behaved like dogs! (See Judges 7 for more on this.)

It has been a joy to be a part of this bunch of guys. Wonderful to hear oneself being prayed for. A privilege to pray for one’s brothers. An honor to share one’s needs. A thrill to be bonded together in Christ, despite the obvious differences in our backgrounds, cultures, races, and ethnicities.

[That’s David next to me—DTS man; Robert—from Houston; Gregor—our token Scot; and Tom—who is Swiss-Filipino; others —from India, Nigeria, and the US—weren’t there that day.]

There is no doubt that God provides and provides abundantly. Wherever we might find ourselves stationed, God is faithful to keep us in community, within the tender care of His people and under the protective cover of the Body of Christ. And Aberdeen has been no exception for me.

I have more than I can ask for.

I said to the LORD,
“Thou art my Lord;
I have no good besides Thee.”
As for the saints who are in the earth,
They are the majestic ones
In whom is all my delight.”
Psalm 16:2–3

A hearty “Amen!” to those words of David—especially to that last clause.

May we never forget to thank God for our brothers and sisters in Christ.
Indeed, “How beautiful is the Body of Christ!”

ANCIENT!

The other day, while on my way to church with a friend, we passed by this unusual assemblage of stones on the side of the road. Noticing my quizzical eye, David commented, “Yes, that pile of rocks is as old as you, Abe.”

Now, I know I’m getting to a point where I’m developing considerable antique value, but I wondered aloud what he meant. We got out of the car and David pointed me to a tiny plaque almost completely hidden by the overgrowth of shrubbery.

Bieldside Cairn
This burial cairn is about 4000 years old
and was built by
prehistoric hunters and farmers.
It is protected by the Ancient Monuments Acts
and it is an offence to remove stones
or otherwise damage it.

“4000 years old! Gosh, that is indeed as old as Abe [not I, but my more illustrious Biblical forbear],” I exclaimed.

David agreed, noting wryly that his kids used to play atop it, when they used to live in Bieldside.

It is mind-boggling to look at and stand beside something today that might very well have have been around during the days of the patriarchs!

If there is one striking feature of this place—Aberdeen, Scotland, and perhaps all of the United Kingdom—it is its very evident age. Not that other places aren’t this ancient, but to live in such a land where artifacts such as this cairn attest to the presence of humanity in these locations for millennia, causes one to take an extremely realistic view of one’s own lifespan.

As for the days of ourlife, they contain seventy years,
Or if due to strength, eighty years,
Yet their pride is but labor and sorrow;
For soon it is gone and we fly away.
Psalm 90:10

Life is short, isn't it? Perhaps, for some, that is a reason for joy. In any case, we often wonder how we should watch the sand pour out of our hourglasses. How can we make our lives matter? What should we do with our time? How best can we utilize the brevity of our days?

Moses continued in his Psalm ...

So teach us to number our days,
That we may present to Thee a heart of wisdom.
Psalm 90:12

May God help us, believers, to be wise with our time, utilizing our days, weeks, months, and years, to serve Him to the best of our ability, glorifying Him, furthering His Kingdom, and edifying His people, for the sake of Christ.

HOMEsick!

I was sworn in as an American citizen over a year ago, but the day before and the day after my swearing-in didn’t seem overly different from each other. Though I had been in the U.S. for about two decades at that point, I didn’t realize how much of the U.S. was in me, until I moved from that land. Maybe it was the loss of home and friends, used book stores and CD outlets, tolltags and taxes, dermatology and preaching, .... Maybe even the food. Correction: Definitely the food.

The week that I arrived in Scotland I paid my respects to the local purveyor of items grocery related, and picked up a jar of what appeared to be peanut butter—at least it was labeled as such. Even the brand had the look of the genuine article: it said “Route 66 Peanut Butter.” How much more American can you get?

Lots!

After consuming one spoonful of the aforementioned "stuff," I dumped the entire bottle. Woe was I! What kind of a land was I in, without peanut butter worth the name? I determined to catch the next flight home!

NOT!

Anyhow … today I was gifted an incredible treasure. (See picture of me in ecstatic bliss!) A fellow-American and fellow-PG in divinity—bless his kind heart; must be the DTS blood that runs therein—obtained a bottle of the precious commodity for me. Now, if you look carefully, the bottle says “SKIPPY.” Of you PB gourmands, I beg forgiveness. I know, I know, there ain’t nothin’ like JIF—the creamy sort, of course. But this poor beggar can’t afford to be a chooser. Gosh, I’d even settle for a bottle of Kroger’s (not that I’ve anything personal against that venerable chain).

Anyway, as I was saying, it was the feel of foreign soil that made me yearn for home. And as I write this, I remind myself that no matter where I am in this world, it is all foreign soil to me. For those of us who have placed our trust in Christ for our salvation, we can echo the sentiments of the apostle: “For our citizenship is in heaven” (Phil. 3:20). Those sparkles of God’s grace, those glimpses of heaven that we have from this side are what keep us yearning for Home, just as SKIPPY made me hanker for the good ole’ US of A. (I never thought I’d get to a point where I’d compare peanut butter to God’s grace, but I have. So there!)

Soon and very soon …. Until then, may God’s grace strengthen us all to keep on going.


By faith [Abraham] lived as an alien
in the land of promise,
as in a foreign land …
for he was looking
for a city
which has foundations
whose architect and builder is God.

Hebrews 11:9–10

FALL!

BRRRRR…..

(Need I say more?)

Visited a Church of Scotland institution this morning for worship—High Hilton Church. It is one of the more evangelical ones in the denomination. And quite international; apart from the fact that various ethnicities were represented, the sermon was delivered by a visiting pastor from Malawi (and just as he was ploughing his way through Isaiah, the poor guy’s cell phone went off—a preacher’s nightmare! Needless to say our man was mortified and never fully recovered from that tailspin!)

The fellow PG student who gave me a ride to church knew the minister, so the two of us managed to wrangle ourselves an invitation to Rev. Peter Dickson’s house for lunch. Peter and Eleanor are a delightful couple in their mid-thirties with two children, 10 and 11. Eleanor, believe it or not, has a Ph.D. in—of all things—immunology! So we hit off quite well! Plus, she makes a fabulous cheesecake. For those of you connoisseurs of that gastronomic pièce de résistance, this was a “bramble” (i.e., blackberry) cheesecake. The good folks out here don’t seem particularly concerned about calories, so this outstanding creation by Mrs. Dickson was served with ice-cream and (yes, “AND”) double cream (the British version of HEAAAVVVY whipping cream). Of course, I had two slices, washed down with a quart of the aforementioned lethal diary products. (I’ll die soon, but—hey!—I’ll die happy!)

Oh, and this you gotta hear to believe, and even then it will strain the limits of your credibility! I ran into another Indian in the church this morning. Another Keralite (from Kerala, my home state). Another physician—an endocrinologist. And—get this!—he’s related to me! My grandfather and his great-grandmother were siblings, which makes me, essentially, his uncle. I tell you, this is a small world!

Between the bramble concoction and stumbling upon my long-lost nephew, I think God is telling me to stick with High Hilton Church! ;-)

On the academic side, I had my first meeting with Prof. Watson last week; it went well and we are scheduled for another this week. He’s very amicable and indubitably well-versed in the field, with a comprehensive grasp of the relevant (and even the not so relevant) literature; I think I’m going to enjoy working with him.

God’s provision has been evident every step of the way. Friends, church, studies, …. He has yet to fail me! Therefore, I boldly trust Him for the future. Let us all do so—He’s worthy of our trust!

The steadfast of mind
You will keep in perfect peace,
Because (s)he trusts in You.
Trust in the LORD forever,
For in GOD the LORD,
we have an everlasting Rock.

Isaiah 26:3–4

ARRIVED!

“Howdy!” from Aberdeen.

Finally, I’m here! After a thankfully uneventful trip, my bags and I made it upon Scottish soil together.

The bracing chill in the air immediately got my attention! “This sure ain’t Texas,” I said to myself. With temps at night in the 30’s and 60’s during the day, it felt as if I were back in Boston in the Fall. Nice (till it snows, of course!).

I was picked up by a fellow grad student (they call this species of scholars ‘postgraduates’ here), a DTS alumnus, who got me fixed up in my apartment and then proceeded to give me a tour of Aberdeen.

It’s gray! Everything is. It is not for naught that Aberdeen is called “the granite city.” Even the sky is gray much of the day. The ancient buildings, however, are charming and I got to explore a few churches that date back to medieval times. King’s College, where the School of Divinity of the University of Aberdeen is housed, is one of those august structures with an incredible amount of gravitas!

The people I’ve met are very amicable and eager to make me comfortable in new settings. The other Ph.D. students in the School of Divinity, especially, have been very helpful and generous, as also, incidentally, was the American community in town, helping me with everything from cutlery to comforters.

Yesterday, I was privileged to be taken on a trip to the countryside and the coast north of Aberdeen, where we hit a few castles and the odd Renaissance ruin (the picture above was taken at the imposing gates of Fyvie Castle--an hour from Aberdeen), got a résumé of Scottish history (from a Ph.D. student specializing in that rather esoteric subject), and consumed the national staple—fish and chips. Not bad, for my first week, huh? (And, no, I haven’t summoned up the guts to sample haggis yet!)

Slowly, I’m settling in to the rhythm of life in the U.K., securing a phone, opening a bank account, ordering broadband, prepaying utilities, making friends, attempting to comprehend the brogue (I use “Pardon me” a lot! And I confess, the Scots use the phrase equally liberally with me, too), ….

I plan to get together with my dissertation supervisor, Prof. Francis Watson, this week. Once more, may I request your prayers for efficiency and fruitfulness and that God’s wisdom may be granted me in abundance as I undertake this formidable (but exhilarating) task of completing a Ph.D. in hermeneutics.

A major move like this, in one’s mid-forties, I don’t recommend. But God is gracious; as He prevails upon me to depend on Him in circumstances strange and foreign, I learn, once again, that “‘Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus.”

“My grace is sufficient for you,
for power is perfected in weakness.”
Most gladly, therefore,
I will rather boast about my weaknesses,
that the power of Christ may dwell in me."

2 Corinthians 12:9 (NASB)

DEPARTURE!

Well, folks, this is it. In a few short hours, a new chapter opens in my life.

I fly out tomorrow (Sep 19), at noon, from DFW headed for Aberdeen.

The last few years in Dallas have been so eventful! God has been gracious, especially in allowing my life to intersect with many loved ones and dear friends, all of whom will sorely be missed. Being far away from those whom I care for so much is difficult. One friend likened this to amputation! That might be a rather draconian analogy, but I do I feel the pain, that's for sure. The "goodbyeing" has been quite an emotional drain. But in all things, the grace of our great God is sufficient, and upon that grace I prostrate myself; unto that grace I surrender (2 Cor 12:9). I am thankful beyond degree for all of y'all. God's richest blessings on all of you.

I am looking forward to my time at the University of Aberdeen--the focus on reading and writing, the challenges of producing a dissertation, the change of pace, the learning experiences, the bonny anatomy of the land, making new friends, exploring ministry opportunities in a new setting .... All of this promises to stretch me. Stretching is good! May God enable growth--in more ways than one. Thanks for your prayers.

I will keep in touch: through email, phone calls, and--here's a new one for me--through a blog on http://www.homiletix.org/. My intention is to keep journaling in this fashion on the web (I am calling it the aBeLOG) at least on a weekly basis. At some point in the future, that site will also serve as a clearing house for matters homiletical, especially scholarship in this vital area of pastoral ministry.

As I wind up this dispatch, may I take this opportunity publicly acknowledge my gratitude, again, for lives that have, in incredible fashion, impacted my own. I praise God for you and continue to hope expectantly and excitedly about such impact continuing into the future.



If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
If I settle on the far side of the sea,
Even there Your hand will guide me,
Your right hand will hold me fast.

Psalm 139:9-10 (NIV)

UNEMPLOYED!

I have hereby formally been inducted into the Hall of the Unemployed!

Last day of work was Friday, Sep 9, 2005. A momentous day for me: in all probability, Deo volente, I will not be undertaking the practice of medicine at this level ever again. A sad day, too. I didn't think, when I made the decision to quit--in the early part of this year--that I would miss dermatology. I do, and, even more, the people--patients, staff, coworkers, associate ....

But some things are more important than others .... (And, some things will, I'm expecting, be even more enjoyable!)

So on to Aberdeen ...

I leave Dallas on Mon, Sep 19, at around noon, and get to Aberdeen also around noon, local time, the next day.

Thanks for your prayers all these years. I covet them for the future as well.

Please know that you are being prayed for, too.

Rejoicing with you, in the firm grip of our Master, wherever we might be ...

Abe.


Jesus, Savior, pilot me
Over life’s tempestuous sea;
Unknown waves before me roll,
Hiding rock and treacherous shoal.
Chart and compass come from Thee;
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

Edward Hopper (1871)

HOMELESS!

August 27, 2005

Well, the deed's done (literally!). Signed off the house, money was wired into my account, keys were handed over! I have until tomorrow 6:00 pm to vacate. Cell phone's active until that day, too.

God's been gracious in the less-than-2-week sale of the house. And also for past few years of my life here in 4039 Azure. Momentous and life-shaping five years!

Now for the next chapter .... Thanks for your continued prayers for me. May I make known a few more requests?

Short-term:

Had an external hard drive crash last night--nothing to major lost, except some pictures (which, of course, turn out to be irreplaceable). I am hopeful of getting back some of the data. Please pray that I'll find the right person to do the job. And, usually, I've seen things like this (computer problems) happen as I embark on some ministry venture. This time seems to be no different. So please also pray for protection for me as the days draw closer to my departure.

Apartment in Scotland is not finalized yet. Please pray that it would be, before I leave here on the 19th of Sep.

Finishing up with derm patients--leaving my practice is not as easy as I thought it would be. I am going to miss my patients, staff, fellow-dermatologist .... All the "goodbyeing" is promising to be painful. A "good" kinda pain, but pain, nonetheless.

Settling in to Aberdeen.

Safe transportation of goods.

Longer-term:

Finding favor with supervisor (Prof. Francis Watson).

Expeditious and efficient completion of dissertation.

Ministry opportunities (esp. preaching) in Scotland.

Practice opportunities (to do derm, that is), perhaps in the Eastern US.

Thank you for partnering with me on this enterprise. God's blessings on you!