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I used to be a tough college athlete‚ but recently I injured my index finger scrolling on the wheel of my mouse. This isn’t what I imagined being an adult would be like. Life comes at you fast. And it doesn’t always live up to our expectations. In Just Show Up: How Small Acts of Faithfulness Change Everything (A Guide for Exhausted Christians)‚ Drew Dyck writes about the goodness of ordinary faithfulness. The book could be described as an exposition of Paul’s admonition to “not grow weary of doing good‚ for in due season we will reap‚ if we do not give up” (Gal. 6:9). It’s encouragement for Christians to persevere in ordinary life when faithfulness doesn’t feel radical. Dignity of Ordinary Faithfulness We often conceive of faithfulness as doing big things for God. Dyck’s understanding changed when his wife asked him to list the people he most admired. He realized his list “didn’t contain one person who was powerful or famous” (15). Instead‚ they were people faithful in the crucible of ordinary life. The book begins with what Dyck‚ an author and editor‚ calls a “midlife manifesto” (11). He contrasts the idyllic‚ world-changing dreams he had as a young man with his decidedly narrower life in middle age. Life is now about diapers‚ Zoom calls‚ “fancy dinners” at Olive Garden‚ a mortgage with a yard to mow‚ and time with his wife squeezed in among work‚ chores‚ and parenting. This brief book’s dozen chapters explore what showing up looks like in different areas‚ such as encouraging in-person service to others‚ letting things slide when necessary‚ and remaining faithful in the face of doubts. Each chapter is concise‚ clearly written‚ and the right length for someone to read in the waiting room before an annual physical. Small Truths We Need Many of us get discouraged by what we could call “faithfulness envy‚” which social media incubates. We don’t only want someone else’s life—whether their house or hair‚ their career achievements or washboard abs—but we envy the God-given callings other Christians have received. To borrow Paul’s metaphor‚ the foot feels pressure to be a hand and the ear feels shame for not being an eye. Just Show Up reminds us that “the parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable” (1 Cor. 12:22). The book repeatedly illustrates “just showing up” as being faithful to what God has put in front of you‚ not what God has put in front of others. Be faithful to what God has put in front of you‚ not what God has put in front of others. For example‚ Dyck tells us about his father‚ a man who struggled greatly in school‚ especially in seminary. It would have been easy for him to give up because the academic side of training for ministry came with difficulty compared to his peers. But he kept plodding. And because he did‚ he became a wonderful pastor. Dyck writes‚ “Every church he led—from the tiny rural congregation to a large‚ prestigious church in the city—flourished” (21). In a world that celebrates heroic achievement and judges the weary and burned out‚ Just Show Up is a reminder that persistent faithfulness matters more than flash and talent. Humorous Encouragement Just Show Up is salted with Dyck’s humor. Much like his social media persona‚ this book is playful‚ family-oriented‚ and self-deprecating yet serious about Christ and full of love for the local church. Imagine if Jim Gaffigan were a thoughtful Protestant evangelical. For example‚ Dyck pokes fun at himself because a smelly homeless guy sits next to him in a coffee shop‚ and Dyck wonders how long he must sit there before he “can leave without hurting his feelings” (39). But the book doesn’t merely entertain; it encourages. In the providence of God‚ Just Show Up showed up in my life at just the right time. While it’s often lighthearted‚ I frequently wanted to cry as I read it—the good kind of cry‚ the kind of cry by a father who’s about to send his oldest daughter away to college. The kind of cry when he knows he’s left much unsaid and undone and has little time left with her and yet all the while has so many other duties clamoring for his attention that he can hardly keep up with all the places he needs to be and the things he needs to do. As I preach each week to a church full of ordinary and exhausted Christians‚ I remember I’m an ordinary and (sometimes) exhausted pastor. Our church just planted a church‚ which is great‚ but it took a ton of work to keep all the regular ministries going while preparing to send away a pastor and 50 people. Sometimes showing up takes a lot of willpower. A cynic might argue that “just showing up” is a coping strategy for those of us who haven’t made it to elite status. I disagree. And so does the One who says‚ “Well done‚ good and faithful servant‚” to the man who earned two talents instead of five (Matt. 25:23). Practical Application In another era‚ church attendance might have been the act of faithfulness a Christian author could presume as he went on to write about other ways to serve Christ. But that day is long gone. For all the ways we can show up‚ I appreciate that Dyck gave a whole chapter to gathering in person with your local church‚ what Matt Smethurst calls “the ministry of attendance” (104). A cynic might argue that ‘just showing up’ is a coping strategy for those of us who haven’t made it to elite status. I disagree. As I think about my congregation‚ there’s a faithful fraction that participates in meaningful ways nearly every Sunday. These are the ones who seem to progress more steadily in their sanctification‚ find the most joy in the gospel‚ best weather seasons of suffering‚ and make the largest difference in their community because they just show up. Dyck’s book doesn’t invent a new paradigm for ministry faithfulness. It doesn’t present any theological innovation. But it’s the sort of book that feeds the soul in a desert of discouragement.

The summer of 2020 is memorable for many reasons‚ none of them positive: COVID-19; the death of George Floyd; and social turmoil across many Western countries‚ focused particularly on the colonial past of Europe and the United States. Amid all the chaos‚ the term “critical theory” (CT)—specifically in the form of “critical race theory”—entered common parlance. While CT was once a highly specialized phenomenon of little interest outside postgraduate seminars in the humanities‚ suddenly everyone—especially those with Twitter accounts and personal blogs—was an expert in the field. Most surprising of all was how many Christians seemed eager to be in on the action. So CT moved into the mainstream‚ becoming a point of conflict at school boards; higher education institutions; and churches‚ both locally and at the denominational level. It became a shibboleth‚ a tribal marker‚ with the question “Are you for it or against it?” requiring a simple yes or no answer as a test of orthodoxy on both sides of the discussion. Yet CT isn’t a unified phenomenon‚ nor is its literature easy to understand. With one stream of CT finding its roots in Hegel and the other in French post-structuralism‚ the field is rife with rebarbative prose‚ opaque arguments‚ and slippery conclusions. The highly politicized role CT has come to play in current cultural discussions makes it hard to find a reliable guide to the issue or‚ more importantly‚ a sound proposal for a Christian response and alternative. Christopher Watkin seeks to address this lacuna in his major book Biblical Critical Theory: How the Bible’s Unfolding Story Makes Sense of Modern Life and Culture. Guided by Augustine CT has two basic goals. It strives to expose the contingent nature of the reality we as human subjects experience and in which we participate‚ and it aims by so doing to alter the way we think and relate to the world around us. Further‚ at the core of CT‚ whether of the Marxist variety associated with the Frankfurt School or the post-structuralist variety connected to Michel Foucault‚ is the notion that power and manipulation lay behind the apparently natural but in reality socially constructed world we inhabit. So understood‚ CT has clear affinities with Christianity. Christianity claims the world and our perception of it are distorted by sin‚ that we live according to lies‚ and that all human relationships are marked to some degree by selfishness. What Watkin does is build on these and other affinities to move beyond knee-jerk and simplistic “Boo!” or “Hooray!” alternatives and to mark a path forward. Watkin moves beyond knee-jerk and simplistic ‘Boo!’ or ‘Hooray!’ alternatives to mark a path forward. The guiding light of Watkin’s project is Augustine‚ whose City of God is arguably the first and greatest example of what a Christian CT might look like. In the course of that work‚ Augustine debunks the myths Rome told about itself‚ often by way of what later critical theorists would dub “immanent critique‚” exposing the contradictions of Rome’s own narrative as a means of clearing the ground. Augustine uses the biblical plotline to provide a grand explanatory scheme for his relativization of Rome and his assertion of the superiority of the gospel‚ something the contemporary theologian John Milbank refers to as “out-narrating.” Watkin deploys all these elements in his development of a biblical CT. Using the overarching biblical metanarrative to frame his analysis‚ he moves deftly from Christian doctrine to critiquing the most pressing issues of our day. Much of what the book contains will be familiar to TGC readers as it’s solid biblical theology. The discussions of creation‚ fall‚ redemption‚ and consummation follow familiar lines‚ along with discussions of key biblical genres‚ such as prophecy and wisdom. Indeed‚ it’s in his discussion of the prophets—the great exemplars of biblical CT—that Watkin excels. If‚ as Marx’s Theses on Feuerbach state‚ the point isn’t to describe the world but to change it‚ then the prophetic imagination is surely critical. Key Framework: Diagonalization So what is it about Watkin’s work that makes it “critical” and not simply a re-presentation of standard biblical theology? The answer lies above all in his deployment of what he calls “diagonalization.” If a broadly covenantal scheme shapes the narrative‚ it’s diagonalization that drives the analysis. This is the idea that many of the things human beings tend to conceptualize as opposites can be overcome when viewed from a biblical perspective that refuses to accept the (humanly constructed) opposition. Many of the things human beings tend to conceptualize as opposites can be overcome when viewed from a biblical perspective. In one sense‚ this is a repackaging of a perennial problem: How does one reconcile the one and the many‚ being and becoming‚ freedom and determinism‚ autonomy and dependence? These questions have preoccupied philosophers since the era of the pre-Socratics. Watkin’s approach is to begin with God‚ in whom things dwell in perfect harmony—even though we sometimes place them in opposition to each other (his love and his justice‚ for example). Watkin then demonstrates how modern culture demands we either affirm one or the other or adopt a synthesis of the two that produces an unsatisfying compromise—a tertium quid‚ or “third thing‚” to use the technical theological term (“neither fish nor fowl‚” to use the untechnical‚ nontheological expression). Finally‚ he moves to showing how the truths that exist harmoniously in God are manifested in the gospel‚ albeit in an unexpected way. The obvious example is the cross. Fallen human beings often place mercy in opposition to justice or develop a synthesis that’s neither just nor merciful. The cross binds both together‚ but‚ as the reactions of Greeks and Jews show‚ it does so in a way that’s unexpected and incomprehensible outside the context of faith. There are many other places where this can be seen throughout Scripture. Watkin ends his book with a discussion of attitudes to culture‚ noting the West tends to see itself as normative and superior while others make all cultures equal. The gospel refuses this dichotomy‚ however‚ proposing a transcultural message that places under judgment all human efforts to make God in man’s image. Limitations This is a rich volume on a complex subject‚ and any complaint that “the author missed this topic” risks sounding gratuitous. Nevertheless‚ the book provoked several thoughts in me that the reader might wish to reflect on further. First‚ it’s odd that little to no attention is paid to the Frankfurt School. This is no doubt a function of Watkin’s work in French studies and his familiarity with and skill in expounding French critical thought. Further‚ as there are a number of affinities between the two streams‚ this is in no way a serious flaw. Yet the Hegelian Marxist stream has much to offer any discussion of CT‚ and its commitment to the dialectical movement of history is helpful in understanding why‚ for example‚ culture changes over time and the oppositions Watkin identifies shift and morph. Redemptive history has clearly differentiated epochs‚ each with its own theological logic. But profane history is messier‚ and analyzing how concepts such as love and justice are understood in different times and places is a historical task. Watkin does cite Terry Eagleton numerous times‚ and he has certainly drawn positively from the early critical theorists and Frankfurt School associates‚ particularly Walter Benjamin‚ but it’s odd there isn’t more interaction with this stream. This raises a second area of interest. Diagonalization seems to work best where the categories being “diagonalized” are both morally equivalent and stable. Yet often neither of these applies. As to equivalence‚ I wonder‚ for example‚ if “conservative/evolutionary progress” and “progressive/revolutionary transformation” are really parallel (554)‚ given the latter has accounted for incalculable suffering and bloodshed compared to the former. Watkin may not intend to indicate moral equivalence‚ but the reader could be forgiven for drawing that conclusion. As to stability‚ given there’s often no agreement (and there’s sometimes fierce debate) about how terms such as “justice” and “racism” should be understood‚ the possibility of diagonalization seems to be put into serious question as a practical strategy. Further‚ human beings are complicated‚ inconsistent creatures. Nobody is a pure individual or completely subsumed by the community. All of us live in different realms—family‚ workplace‚ geographic location‚ online. Life doesn’t consist of polarized opposites but of overlapping identities that sometimes reinforce each other and sometimes contradict each other. Life‚ in short‚ is complicated. And that means there’s always a danger a theoretical model can become not merely a helpful heuristic device but a tool for eliminating necessary complexity. For instance‚ Watkin’s reference to Brexit‚ dividing the sides into those who prioritized the local and the particular over those who prioritized the universal‚ is far too simplistic (363–64). Issues of geography (London versus the rest)‚ economy (those who do well out of globalization versus those whose jobs have been eliminated or jeopardized by it)‚ workplace (the so-called laptop class who can work anywhere versus the worker who has to be in a certain location)‚ and politics (those who prize technocracy versus those who value democracy) were all part of the Brexit phenomenon. To simplify it into local versus universal is naive‚ misleading‚ and not actually “critical” at all. The analytical model seems to function here not to illuminate but to demand a complicated issue conform to a procrustean bed predicated on uncomplicated categories. It left me wondering if a critical theorist of a different stripe might not accuse Watkin’s diagonalization of being exactly what he insists it isn’t: an inoffensive “third way” that serves primarily to bolster his own kind of evangelicalism (19–21). Ongoing Conversation None of this is meant to detract from Watkin’s remarkable achievement. This is a learned book‚ replete with stimulating arguments and ideas. These criticisms are intended not to highlight fatal flaws but to indicate‚ as Watkin himself urges‚ that the conversation about CT in Christian circles should continue. This is a learned book‚ replete with stimulating arguments and ideas. Indeed‚ his hope in writing Biblical Critical Theory is to make it “just a little easier for others to come after [him] and do the real labor of deploying a range of biblical figures as they carefully and painstakingly work through complex social questions” (605). And so‚ as that important task proceeds‚ we can be grateful it will now do so enriched by Watkin’s graceful volume.

Read For God so loved the world‚ that he gave his only Son‚ that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16) Reflect Early in the morning‚ I wake and quietly make my way to the gray wing chair in my home office. I’m determined to be productive in these precious predawn hours. Only a few minutes into my routine‚ however‚ the door next to me slowly opens and my 4-year-old son walks in‚ bleary-eyed. All he wants to do is crawl into my lap and put a tired head on my shoulder. My plans for this moment are spoiled‚ but I couldn’t care less. Why? Because I’m this boy’s father‚ and he’s my son‚ and that’s enough to make me welcome his intrusion with joy. One of the reasons we miss drinking more deeply of God’s love is that we forget to think of him as Father. We may know it’s true because we’ve read our Bibles‚ but our intuitions still imagine God as a more distant figure. This isn’t merely a shortcoming in our thinking; it’s a tragic distortion of our view of God. “Father” isn’t a random nickname for God. It’s who God fundamentally is. He is Father. God the Father has eternally begotten God the Son. Jesus taught us to pray‚ “Our Father.” Why? Theologian Michael Reeves puts it like this: “This is who God has revealed himself to be: not first and foremost Creator or Ruler‚ but Father.” One of the reasons we miss drinking more deeply of God’s love is that we forget to think of him as Father. Not all of us have fathers who loved and protected us. For many‚ the word “father” is a pain‚ not a comfort. God sees this pain. He is the perfect Father‚ the One our hearts were made to know. Understanding the perfect‚ fatherly character of God awakens the love of God in us. Jesus reminded us: if even sinful human fathers can genuinely love their children‚ our heavenly Father is infinitely more eager to shower unfathomable riches of love on us (Matt. 7:11). We’re not tolerated employees or hired hands but adopted sons of the Father (Rom. 8:15). God’s love for his people isn’t something he was manipulated or forced into feeling. God the Father‚ in his perfect‚ insurmountable fatherly compassion‚ sent his only begotten Son to the world to die so that dying spiritual orphans‚ enslaved to sin‚ could become his children and hear their Father singing over them (Zeph. 3:17). Savor your position in the household of God—he delights in you‚ he loves you‚ and he welcomes you into his presence. When we look at the Christmas manger‚ we need to see more than a baby. We need to see a heavenly Father‚ the One who gave his only Son to us so we might become adopted sons and daughters. Could a Father this good‚ who gave this much‚ be anything but perfect for our weary‚ sinful‚ broken hearts? Respond How does knowing God as Father change how you feel toward him? How does it change what you think he feels toward you? Rejoice Of the Father’s love begotten‚ Ere the worlds began to be‚ He is Alpha and Omega‚ He the source‚ the ending he‚ Of the things that are and have been‚ And that future years shall see‚ Evermore and evermore. – Prudentius (trans. J. M. Neale)‚ “Of the Father’s Love Begotten”

What’s special about church? For this final episode of Post-Christianity?‚ Glen Scrivener and Andrew Wilson are joined by Rebecca McLaughlin‚ author of Confronting Christianity and The Secular Creed. They discuss the unique nature of the in-person church as the place where the vertical dimension of worship meets the horizontal dimension of embodied community. Reflecting on the long history of Christianity‚ they acknowledge that the church simply “doing its thing” has a transformative‚ leavening influence on the world. McLaughlin critiques some of our attitudes toward church and personal evangelism and offers encouragement to keep proclaiming Christ even when it feels fruitless. Scrivener examines how our fear of being labeled “bigots” can lead us to disqualify ourselves from sharing the gospel‚ even though our friends might be more receptive than we imagine. The podcast ends on a hopeful note: we’re actually living in pre-Christian times—Jesus is Lord‚ he is returning‚ and summer is coming.

111 years ago today‚ the bust of Nefertiti was discovered in the workshop of the sculptor Thutmose’s workshop by German archaeologists. It has become one of the most widely-reproduced images of ancient Egypt‚ and the woman depicted an icon of feminine beauty. She may have been co-ruler along with her husband Akhenaten‚ but she was […] The post Good News in History‚ December 6 appeared first on Good News Network.

Each year‚ millions of people travel thousands of miles across the globe to see famous landmarks with their own eyes. But for those unconcerned with originality‚ there are plenty of replicas scattered about. While some of them are undeniably tacky—like the reproductions of the Statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower on the Las Vegas […] The post 10 Interesting Replicas of World-Famous Landmarks appeared first on Listverse.

Medicine has come a long way since history was first recorded‚ and even farther in the past hundred years or so. People are living longer than ever‚ medicine is breaking new ground all the time‚ and technology is gaining ground even as we speak. More and more new medical treatments are being experimented with‚ and […] The post Top 10 Overused and Bogus Medical Treatments appeared first on Listverse.