I’ve been told a number of times now that if I really want to promote a more biblical, historical, and confessional understanding of the sufficiency of Scripture that I have to prove my bona fides by critiquing secular models of psychology. So, at the risk of writing the least-read blog posts in history, in the coming weeks I plan to analyze the delights of Freudianism, behaviorism, Rogerian therapy, existential therapy, gestalt therapy, and so on. If anyone reads the whole series, let me know, and I’ll send you a voucher for the therapy of your choice. My students usually sleep through my lectures on this subject. Sometimes, I do too. Regular readers and normal people, don’t worry, I’ll only be doing this once a week.
My husband struggles with same-sex attraction. Like me, Sam came into this world with an innate and insatiable desire for things that bring death. Like me, he came into our marriage bearing the weight of pain he didn’t ask for and the scars of choices he can’t change. And like me, he has chosen to trust Christ—not to make him heterosexual, but to make him holy.
It’s tempting to mock the movie industry for such blatant hypocrisy. They frequently preach to us about their superior values; meanwhile, they were overlooking abuse in their midst. But instead of gloating we should consider what we as Christians might learn from the horrific, decades-long cover-up. Numerous lessons could be learned, but here are four specific takeaways we should consider.
I’ll admit that in my darker moments and dumber times this verse is discouraging to me. Or perhaps I should say the painful reality of this verse is discouraging to me. Permit me a bit of foolishness for a moment, so that I can show the amazingness of the gospel and it’s power later. That verse is difficult because what it means is that in certain seasons those who preach a truncated gospel will have tons of results, while those committed to sound teaching will feel like they are preaching to posts.
Over the next few months, when I would talk with her parents, I could see a question in their eyes. The question is a common one. It’s the same question those who have been affected by the recent hurricanes might ask. It’s the same question I hear in the understandable exasperation of many minorities in our country. And it’s the same question survivors of the Las Vegas shooting are left asking.
The question goes something like this: If tomorrow is as difficult as today, or is even harder than today, how will I go on? Maybe you have felt the weight of that kind of despair.
Before my wife became my wife, I had to court her. The primary obstacle to a successful courtship—other than my being broke, under massive school debt and my physique—was the distance between us: she in Denton, TX and me in Birmingham, AL. We had no mobile phones with “free” long distance. We could not afford conventional long distance calls. We grew weary chatting on AOL. So, I got creative.
Technically, I got crafty.
A favorite from the archives:
As more and more stories of women’s encounters with Canadian radio host/musician/producer Jian Ghomeshi have come to light (and sparked an investigation by police thanks to at least three women coming forward to file complaints), Emily and I have spent a great deal of time talking about this situation in specific, but assault in general. The other night, I asked:
Why aren’t more women reporting these types of crimes?