If you need joy, God promises that it is available to you. Find hope in the truth that nights don’t last forever. One day, the night will be no more, but for now, the sunrise will come. The light and fresh air offer hope and beauty that our souls need. Take heart; the morning is coming soon, my friend.

In his book The Rise of Christianity, Rodney Stark points to the clear contrast between Christian selflessness and pagan self-interest during the Plague of Cyprian in the third century. Whereas pagans retreated to their country villas to escape the plague, Christians stayed behind in the cities to provide medical care, community support, and God-centered conversation for sufferers. Pagans ran away from their neighbors. Christians moved near. Stark argues this singular disposition is the likeliest explanation for why a relatively minor religious group grew to become the Roman Empire’s dominant worldview. I’d argue our world still needs neighbors. If believers will commit to move near as they did in Cyprian’s day, if we’ll foster the same kind of caring relationships in our contemporary contexts, whole communities can be shaped for God’s glory and people’s good. We Have a Neighbor Problem For much of the latter half of the 20th century, plagues were commonly thought of as a thing of the past, something scientific discovery had all but rendered obsolete. But the COVID-19 pandemic highlighted both contemporary epidemic realities and the need for responsive community solutions. Consider, for example, the emerging epidemic of loneliness and anxiety affecting American life. Last year, the surgeon general’s office reported half of adults experience detrimental social isolation with negative effects equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. This report corroborates a recent Rutgers University study, that concluded minimal neighborly interaction leads to lower individual well-being. Americans are becoming dangerously isolated, and it’s evidenced by a real-time collapse of neighborhood life. In his book Fragile Neighborhoods, Seth Kaplan shows how communities previously marked by stability, safety, and belonging are increasingly marked by crime, school violence, family disintegration, and drug addiction. While Kaplan and others can’t pinpoint a cause, the correlation of neighborhood decline with an uptick in mental health issues is alarming. Gate codes, security guards, HOA fees, and other community policies can’t insulate our neighborhoods against loneliness and its ill effects. What neighborhoods need, Kaplan suggests, is good neighbors—the kind who greet us, know our names, and invite us over for meals. This sounds like a job for Christians. Neighborliness in Luke’s Gospel In Luke 10:25–37, a lawyer asks Jesus what he must do to live the good life. Jesus answers by inviting the man to love God and love his neighbor. The lawyer then asks, “Who is my neighbor?” What neighborhoods need is good neighbors—the kind who greet us, know our names, and invite us over for meals. In response, Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan: A priest and a Levite encounter a wounded man but quickly pass by him. By contrast, the Samaritan sees the wounded man but moves in closer to care for him. Jesus turns to the lawyer and asks him to pick the true neighbor out of that lineup. The lawyer knew that a neighbor (plēsion) is a “near one,” but he was operating by faulty logic: When I know who my neighbors are, I’ll be able to love them. This logic led the lawyer to delineate between the “near people” he’s obligated to love and the “far ones” he owes no such obligation. Jesus’s teaching forces him to reconsider: nearness isn’t a matter of circumstance but a matter of the heart’s disposition. A neighbor isn’t simply someone who is near. A neighbor is someone who moves near to provide care and compassion. Moving Near, Practically Speaking Social scientists have coined the term “propinquity” to measure the strength of bonds formed in interpersonal relationships. The term comes from the Latin word propinquitas, which means “nearness.” People tend to form higher-propinquity relationships through frequency of interaction and form lower-propinquity relationships through infrequent interaction. In other words, nearness is somewhat contingent on frequency of interaction. It isn’t enough that you’re near people in proximity. What improves our relationships is that we move near people with frequency. A neighbor isn’t simply someone who is near. A neighbor is someone who moves near to provide care and compassion. Propinquity reminds us that if our desire is to love our neighbors, we must move near them with both intention and frequency. Intentional practices might include writing our neighbors’ names down on a sheet of paper and praying for them in a systematic and regular way. It might include a commitment to greet them any time we see them in common spaces. We may also carve out time in our busy schedules to bring our family and a side dish to a neighborhood block party. But loving our neighbors will require frequency as well. We’ll need to be patient and present with our neighbors every time they show us updated photos of their grandkids. We may need to frequently meet up at the dog park in the hopes our superficial evening chats turn to something more serious. Or persist in inviting people over to share a meal, providing our less open neighbors time to build trust with us. Benefits of Neighboring The idea of being neighborly may seem overwhelming or unrealistic. You may ask, “Is it worth the effort to integrate these practices into my already busy life?” The answer is yes, for at least two reasons. 1. Neighboring protects us from isolation. Moving near to your neighbors doesn’t just benefit them. It also opens new avenues for community for you. The neighbor you befriend today may sit next to you at church tomorrow. She may hear the gospel and start to follow Jesus. He may become your emergency contact. They might bring a meal over when you’re bereaved. In Ecclesiastes 4:9–10, the Preacher reminds us two are better than one, because a friend can help you should you fall down. 2. Neighboring leads us to the satisfaction found only in Jesus. Often, I hear church members and students complain about extending care to the near people in their lives. “I just don’t know if I have it in me to start loving this person.” Here’s the truth: It requires enormous interpersonal strength to love another human being at any level. Often, we don’t have it. But in John 4:14, Jesus describes himself as a wellspring of life: “Whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again.” Jesus never falls victim to the law of diminishing marginal utility. The good news for Christians is that no matter how depleted our neighborliness stores are, Jesus remains a never-ending fountain of love. When we depend on him, he lavishly pours into and through us in a way we can’t possibly bottle up. Because Jesus loves us in this way, we can share his love with others without fear of burning out. This is what the Great Commission is all about. God so loved the word that he came near us. Now, we can go near those around us to care for them.

The year I turned 30, after a lifetime as a secular Jew, I experienced a crisis that led me to investigate in earnest the existence of God. As any card-carrying academic would do, I read a lot of books. I read such Christian apologetics as C. S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity (which was intriguing), Tim Keller’s The Reason for God (more powerful), and N. T. Wright’s majestic The Resurrection of the Son of God (most powerful of all). Ultimately, my conversion moment came overnight—literally, as I was stuck in the Amsterdam airport, with a copy of the Gospels to keep me company, on my way home from an academic conference. That moment also didn’t feel intellectual at all; it felt like an out-of-body experience—which, I suppose, it was. Considering in retrospect how thoroughly Protestant my approach was, I was surprised to read in Gavin Ortlund’s book What It Means to Be Protestant: The Case for an Always-Reforming Church that “on the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox side (especially Catholic), there is a huge body of literature, social media presence, and apologetics ministries that are unmatched on the Protestant side” (xv). In this book, he sets out to balance out the field. Apology for Protestantism What about the massive number of books like those of Lewis or Keller, and so many other works of apologetics written by Protestants? Their purpose is different from the kind of apologetics Ortlund does here. Lewis and Keller wrote to skeptics—to people like me at age 30. Their invitation was to mere Christianity, as the title of Lewis’s famous apologetic book indicates. But Ortlund’s audience is different. Rather than skeptics, he addresses Protestants who feel confused and are questioning not God or Christianity but Protestantism, wondering if Roman Catholicism or Eastern Orthodoxy got things right. Both traditions had been around for nearly 1,500 years by the time Luther nailed up the Ninety-five Theses. What if Luther was wrong? Ortlund addresses Protestants who feel confused and are questioning not God or Christianity but Protestantism. Considering how many prominent converts from evangelicalism to Roman Catholicism dominate the current intellectual and political scene in the U.S. (including J. D. Vance, the vice-presidential Republican candidate), it’s clear something is afoot. Is this something, though, based on truth? This question is at the heart of Ortlund’s popular YouTube ministry, and it undergirds this well-researched book. Convinced the Bible and history provide a clear case for Protestantism over both Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy, Ortlund has put a sort of FAQ into this readable and compact volume. This isn’t an academic book that presents an exhaustive analysis of any of the many key doctrines he discusses, on which educated people have vehemently disagreed over the past 500 to 2,000 years. Rather, the strength of this book is that it doesn’t get lost in the weeds; it recognizes that people can investigate those further for themselves. Reformed Catholicity Though Ortlund is obviously arguing for a robust Protestantism, part of his mission is to pursue Reformed catholicity. He argues the reformers weren’t trying to do anything new but instead stripped various accretions and abusive practices (e.g., the selling of indulgences) that had corrupted the medieval church. Rather than trying to split the church and attack its spirit of togetherness—the original sense of “catholicity”—Protestantism aimed to restore wholeness and truth by pointing people back to God and the gospel. Thus, Ortlund argues, “This is the single greatest contribution of Protestantism to the Christian church: its insight into the gracious heart of God revealed in the gospel, by which God offers to us as a free gift the righteousness we cannot attain through our own efforts” (68). The church’s source of authority is at the heart of the Roman Catholic/Protestant divide. Ortlund argues for the authority of sola scriptura over and against the papacy and apostolic succession. There are certainly efficiencies in that model of church government, but we must understand they’re not present in the Bible and arose in fits and spurts. He quotes Anthony Lane’s point: “Sola Scriptura is the statement that the church can err” (72)—but obviously, Scripture can’t. One of the pressing concerns of papal authority against Scripture’s primacy is the obvious development of new Roman Catholic doctrines over time. Ortlund provides two detailed case studies of Catholic doctrines that were historical accretions: the bodily assumption of Mary and the veneration of icons. The novelty of these doctrines provides a potent counterpunch to Roman Catholic accusations of Protestant innovation and to arguments that the papacy functions as a buttress against doctrinal change. Evenhanded Critique What It Means to Be Protestant is obviously making an argument that Protestant Christianity is to be preferred. However, this is no anti-Catholic screed. Even while making the case for Protestantism, Ortlund joins thoughtful evangelicals like Tim Keller and Mark Noll in the affirmation that some Roman Catholics are brothers and sisters in Christ. No less important, in my view, is Ortlund’s discussion of how some contemporary Protestant churches miss the mark. He writes, Many critics of Protestantism will immediately dismiss the interpretation of the Reformation as a historical retrieval and a removal of accretions because of the general sense of historical shallowness in many contemporary Protestant churches. This brings up a point that represents a theme of this book: We must distinguish between particular contemporary expressions of Protestantism versus Protestantism as such. (147) Apologetics as a method of strengthening faith leans on facts and persuasion based on information—not feelings or vibes. This requires educating God’s people much more thoroughly in both theology and history. We need to show Protestantism’s connection with the true center of the Christian tradition. Better biblical literacy is essential too. We need to show Protestantism’s connection with the true center of the Christian tradition. And yet vibes and feelings too often carry the day for decisions in the 21st century. Anemic evangelical understanding of theology got us here, as surveys like Ligonier’s “The State of Theology” remind us. My mantra lately in response to so many contemporary crises has been this: we must all become better theologians. For any evangelicals seeking to understand Protestantism better, Ortlund provides a valuable resource.

The Canadiens are out here making moves

The date was July 10 — days before Donald Trump was nearly assassinated and Joe Biden suffered a Harris coup in all but name. I wrote that the near-animatronic Biden — a perfect candidate for digital augmentation or replacement, already the public face of a Borg’s worth of apparatchiks, managers, and functionaries — was beginning to look like America’s last human president. Now, a bit over a month later, the whole election feels increasingly posthuman: a phony, a placeholder — just maybe a simulation. Many technologists and members of the tech fandom like trying to convince you that life itself is one big simulation. It’s easy to do for several reasons, including not only the power of circular logic but the reality that so much of life is occupied with participating in different kinds of simulations (that is, model-based games, both entertaining and serious). But the descent of the most important election of our lifetimes into a simulation grows more terrifying because, with each day that goes by, it makes all the more sense that only a simulated election would arise amidst a simulated existence. What did you expect? Yet the main reason the simulation hypothesis is so potent is that so many people would like to live in a simulation — even if their goal is to try to control it or break out of it — because the spiritual challenge of actually beginning to live properly in a world created for our dominion by a loving God seems too daunting, strange, and lonely. An excellent example of this sad situation is the presidential election itself. Consider how the Harris campaign is openly and transparently committed to running on “vibes,” “joy,” choreographed dancing, etc., and how enthusiastic — how relieved — so many supporters in the grassroots and in the media appear to be. It’s beyond fakeness. The energy surrounding and permeating the campaign comes from the attitude that the old reality has been substituted away with a new artifice, one that takes up all the space where the reality used to be. But the Harris campaign is just one piece of evidence among other facets of today’s uncanny and unsettling campaign season, all of which militate in favor of the hypothesis that the whole election is a simulation. In a real election, Donald Trump’s near-assassination would receive wall-to-wall coverage. We would know everything about the shooter, his past, his associations, what he ate, what he did on the internet, everything. The seriousness of the reality of the situation would weigh like a heavy blanket on the race and the public mood. Heads would roll. Public officials would be up in arms. Instead, the only significant proof that Trump came within a hair’s breadth of his live on-air murder is that he is now encased behind bulletproof glass on the campaign trail — a turn of events that makes the famously visceral Orange Man resemble an action figure in a plastic casing or a crisis actor on a greasy screen. Like the mentally absent bank teller behind the mandatory wall of inches-thick see-through barricade, Trump is becoming less a person and more an idea, a notion, an avatar — much as Biden did during his previous “basement campaign.” The oddly contingent character of the rest of the election’s major figures generalizes the effect. Something is fundamentally off about Tim Walz, compounded by the rumors that dark revelations will force him off the ticket. The not-altogether-thereness of Walz presents JD Vance with a baffling scenario where he can’t really go toe to toe against his opposite number and must endure a disorienting wave of can-they-be-serious attacks driven by mid-00s photos of his youthful self goofing through that bizarro decade. And then there’s Harris herself, who does seem to be publicly drunk as a rule, come to think of it — a damaging issue to wrestle with because … if she’s not drunk … what else is causing this behavior? A vibe of letting Harris twirl while the party scrambles behind the scenes hangs over the whole affair, giving it an outlandish, implausible tenor, all veneer. But what could they be scrambling to do? Isn’t Harris there because only she can tap the Biden war chest? Isn’t it impossible at this late date to make the nomination process any less “democratic”? Do the Democrats even want democracy any more? And, after all, who is really in charge? Anyone? The simulation itself …? Ronald Siemoneit/Getty Images This is the path to madness, no doubt about it, and it’s widening, spreading, appealing to more and more people, from the bottom of the socioeconomic system to the top. Ever more Americans find themselves in the position of merely waiting, for the something that can happen before November to wipe all this pantomime away. And as the waiting drags on, they find themselves hoping … But the descent of the most important election of our lifetimes into a simulation grows more terrifying because, with each day that goes by, it makes all the more sense that only a simulated election would arise amidst a simulated existence. What did you expect? “Welcome to the desert of the real,” Morpheus famously echoes Jean Baudrillard, the grand French theorist of simulation. We’ve succeeded in terraforming so much of our given reality from a garden into a desert. And from a desert we must learn to nurture reality back once again — beginning with the acceptance that it, along with all we have and all we are, is indeed given by a Lord we can never exceed, escape, destroy, or replace.

According to Aboriginal folklore, the bunyip waits in waterways for passing livestock to devour — and sometimes will feast on women and children as well. The post The Legend Of The Bunyip, The Swamp Creature Of Aboriginal Folklore appeared first on All That's Interesting.

Nancy Pelosi Admits She Put Old Joe Out to Pasture When He Was No Longer Useful

On DNC Night 1, Hillary Clinton Reminds Democrats of What Could Have Been, and What They Hope Will Be

Jill Biden Leads in to Joe Biden's Farewell Speech With a Re-endorsement of Kamala Harris

CHICAGO, IL — In a stunning reversal of their long-standing opposition to border walls, the Democratic National Convention Committee (DNCC) has constructed a massive wall around their convention site in Chicago. The barrier, which spans several city blocks, has led to a surprising realization among Democratic leaders: walls are actually okay—when they’re keeping out the right people. “Let’s be clear, this is not just any wall,” said DNC Chair Jaime Harrison at a press conference announcing the new structure. “This is a wall of unity, a wall of inclusion, and most importantly, a wall of protection from those who might not share our values of open borders and free flow of ideas—except, of course, when it comes to our convention.” The wall, which stands at 12 feet high and is topped with security cameras and razor wire, was erected almost overnight, drawing both praise and ridicule from across the political spectrum. Democratic leaders were quick to clarify that their previous opposition to walls was “totally different.” “Look, the walls that Trump wanted to build were about division and hatred,” explained House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, as she inspected the new structure. “This wall, on the other hand, is about love and security. It’s about keeping out the very few, very bad people who might disrupt our message of inclusivity and tolerance.” The irony was not lost on critics, who were quick to point out the blatant hypocrisy. “So, walls are fine when it’s for their own safety, but racist when used to protect the country? Got it,” tweeted one conservative commentator. When pressed on the apparent contradiction, Vice President Kamala Harris offered her own unique spin. “You have to understand, this is not a wall in the traditional sense. This is more of a ‘vertical welcoming zone.’ People will be gently redirected, with love, away from the convention unless they are pre-approved to enter.” The wall has reportedly been a huge hit among DNCC attendees, many of whom expressed relief at the added security. “I’ve always been against walls, but I have to admit, I feel really safe knowing there’s one around us now,” said one delegate, who wished to remain anonymous. “It’s amazing how something as simple as a wall can make you feel protected—who knew?” Local Chicago residents, however, were less enthusiastic about the wall’s sudden appearance. “They preach about inclusivity and tear down walls, but then they come here and build one in our backyard,” complained one local resident. “I guess we’re not the ‘right kind of people’ to be included in their version of unity.” Despite the backlash, the DNCC is standing by their decision, with plans to expand the wall-building concept to future events. “We’re exploring the idea of portable walls that we can take with us wherever we go,” said Harrison. “Because at the end of the day, walls are about keeping people safe, and who could be against that?” In an unexpected twist, the DNCC has already begun selling miniature replicas of the wall at the convention’s gift shop, complete with the slogan “Walls Work—When We Build Them.” Proceeds, naturally, will go towards funding future wall projects for elite events, while the rest of the country can still expect walls to remain the ultimate symbol of oppression. As the DNCC continues to redefine what a wall means in the context of their own security, one thing is clear: walls may be bad, but they’re also very, very good—depending on who’s building them. The post BREAKING: Walls are okay again appeared first on Genesius Times.