There is a frustrating inconsistency in the way we, as Christians, view the history of our faith…one which I see often, and have experienced myself on several occasions.

You see, I have lost count of the number of times that I’ve heard a reference made in conversation to all of the “horrible things” that have been done “in the name of Christianity.”
Sometimes it’s verbalized by a Christian, who hangs his head slightly, and mumbles with a touch of embarrassment as he concedes that such is indeed the case. Other times, it’s an atheist or agnostic friend, who points somewhat self-righteously to the fact that religion clearly is not an answer if it is capable of being so atrociously perverted and utilized for such unjust ends.

I will not deny that atrocious things have been done in the name—or under the auspices—of Christianity. The Crusades are perhaps the most well known of the abuses perpetrated in the name of the community of faith, but for hundreds of years, Christians and non-Christians alike took part in other practices which have today been criminalized in our society, such as slavery, or the open demonstration of anti-Semitism.

Let’s be a little bit realistic, though. If things which our “modern” society now considers to be horrific have been done in the name of Christianity in the past, is this a reason to vilify the belief system itself? Are atheism or agnosticism better philosophical systems, if we base that judgment strictly on the effect which each system has upon mankind?

What legacy –what lasting imprint on the face of humanity—has been left by atheism?

While this is a question we may not often ask, it is a sobering one to answer, because in truth, atheism has left a bigger trail of human carnage in its wake than Christianity ever has or ever will.

There are the scars left by Hitler’s Third Reich…the legacy of the Nazis…the silent horror of the millions of men, women, and children who lived and died in the hells of Auschwitz, Dachau, Belzec, Chelmno, Majdanek, Sobibor, and Treblinka.

There is the ghastly reality of Russia’s Red Army…the anguish in the tears shed by the tens of thousands of innocent Russian citizens starved to death and brutalized under Stalin’s merciless political regime.

There is the legacy of Mao Zedong, the revolutionary under whose leadership 40 to 70 million Chinese men, women, and children were slaughtered.

There is the brutality of the genocides committed in nations like Burundi, Rwanda, Pakistan, and others…mass murders which have claimed unimaginable numbers of human lives, and left millions more homeless, destitute, maimed, and broken.

Have awful things been done in the name of Christianity? Sadly, yes. And worse things have been done in the name of atheism.

But this is not evidence for the defectiveness of Christianity as a belief system. It is rather a testimony to the brokenness of the human soul and the darkness of the human mind. I grieve for the fact that humanity is so badly broken. But I do not apologize for God...and I am not ashamed to call myself a Christian simply because, in the past, broken humanity has done tragic things in the name of a faith it did not understand.

Counting the Costs

It is seemingly a cruel stroke of fate and one of the incongruous realities of existence that it is those whom we most love that we are, in fact, most capable of hurting deeply.

I have thought on this long and regretfully during the past year…and again during the past week. Sometimes I marvel sadly over the fact that we can wound someone more profoundly than we know through something as simple as a careless word, a thoughtless action, or a disrespectful attitude. How is it that, knowing all that I know, I still haven’t learned not to damage those around me? How is it that I still inflict wounds on my fellow man? Still mar those who have been—like me—made in the Divine image?

How we view others is perhaps largely a function of how we view God…and how we view ourselves.

Today I hurt someone that I love…because I lost sight of who God is, and I allowed my focus to shift to myself, my needs, my feelings, my insecurities…my rights. And according to the rules of my myopic, self-focused little world, I was justified in my impatience, in my lack of compassion, in my judgmental attitudes…in my lack of love.

What I so often fail to realize is that in my myopic, self-focused world, there is no room for others…and there is no room for a loving, compassionate, forgiving, and gracious God. There is room only for one flawed, sinful, broken individual…and there is no healing and no hope.

I wish sometimes that I could turn back the clock…that I could undo the thoughtless deed, the hasty word, or the judgmental glance, and replace it with something Christ-like. But the reality of it is that we can’t…that what is once done can never be completely undone, and what is once uttered can never be unspoken.

And so it is with humility and a keen sense of my own inadequacy that I echo the words of David tonight when he says in Psalm 19:14, “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, O LORD, my strength and my Redeemer.”

After all, it is our words which expose us for who we truly are…as Christ says Himself, “A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.”

May our words and our actions consistently bear testimony to the treasure which is within our hearts…and may we have the humility to admit when we are wrong, the grace to ask for forgiveness, and the persistence to seek reconciliation of damaged relationships...

The evolution of human development throughout the life cycle is nowhere demonstrated so clearly as in our conversations. I was musing on this the past week as I observed a number of subjects, all of them at different points in the age spectrum.


At one point, it was a couple of toddlers squawking exuberantly at each other, waving their pudgy arms emphatically, and stamping their little legs to add meaning and emotion to their incoherent babblings. Both children were completely unaware of the fact that this sophisticated process was communicating approximately nothing to their audience.


Then there were the groups of giddy, giggling teenage girls. For this particular age group, every conversation must apparently be punctuated by laughter, whispering, or shouting, or it is much less meaningful to them, and naturally, much less fun as well.


Finally, it was the group of old men sitting in the corner at Hardees. They were very seriously discussing something of great interest, such as whether cows would ever have the capability of producing purple milk…but every sentence on the part of one member was followed by puzzled looks and several loud “Huh? What was that now?” comments from the other members of the group as they all reached up to adjust their hearing aids again.


Ah, humanity! What on earth would we do if men were truly islands? Failed attempts at communication are the spice of life.

Two claw-like hands grasp my arm tightly, maybe because she’s unable to let go, or maybe because she’s afraid that she’s going to fall over as soon as she attempts to stand up. Her shriveled face is gaunt, with a vacant expression, while her body is stiff and permanently bent.

As I look at this woman, my mind automatically goes back to what she must have been before…before her mind left, before her body was wasted and crippled, before she was reduced to a helpless invalid with a child-like mind.

I have never seen her when she was other than what she is now—a shriveled, stiff old woman incapacitated by an invisible disease that slowly eats away at her mind and daily lessens her physical capabilities. But there were those who knew her then—when she was a capable doctor who organized departments, mobilized teams, ran her home, and raised her family.

Is she really the same person? I wonder, smoothing her hair out of her eyes and gazing thoughtfully at the gaunt, vacant face. What makes a person a person? If we become severely ravaged by disease…if our mind is gone…do we cease to be—essentially—who we once were?

In caring for this woman, there are many questions that have been raised in my mind. What is it to love someone forever, for better or for worse? This is a question that I often ask myself as I see her husband’s frustration with her. It saddens me that he seems to blame her for her current state—that he’s passively aggressive, or even openly aggressive, in the way that he responds to her increasing physical needs.

Could I do any better? I wonder quietly. Am I selfless enough to serve someone like this year after year without recognition or prospect of relief? Maybe not.

Is it ever right to starve yourself to death to avoid being a burden on someone else like this? Is this what old age is really about—being helpless, incompetent, dependent…to be a shadow of what you were, to be out of your mind, to waste away gradually and exist as a pitiable wreck? Why do I dread that? Are dependency and helplessness the worst things possible? When someone is in this state, is God using the condition to sanctify them, or to build character in others? When two people vow to each other to stay together for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death separates them…does that mean that you fight to keep your spouse’s body alive long after the mind has gone? What makes the person who they are? How do you practically cope with being married to someone who is nothing like the person that you married?

All of these are things that I wonder…and sometimes the questions themselves frighten me, because I can’t always answer them. But in caring for this elderly man and his ailing wife, these are, nevertheless, questions which cross my mind...

It’s an overcast, cold, windy afternoon, and the sidewalks of Liberty University are bustling with thousands of students, most of whom are clearly absorbed in their own little world.

Yes, I confess—I watch them. It’s fascinating to me to observe the ways that students interact—or don’t interact—as they jostle through their daily routines. Often times, they’re elbow-to-elbow with hundreds of other men and women just like themselves…men and women whose names they don’t know and whose faces they probably don’t even recognize—because sadly, college campuses are home to some of the most sobering incongruities of our generation. College students are daily demonstrating the fact that it is entirely possible—maybe even probable—to live in close physical proximity to thousands of other individuals who are in approximately our same stage of life…and yet be incredibly isolated—almost as completely alone as Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, the sole human occupant of a lonely island, whose isolated stretches he wandered alone for years.

As college students, we spend prodigious amounts of time talking—moving our mouths—and very little time communicating. We long to be heard—and yet we rarely take time to truly listen and ask thoughtful questions. We yearn to be considered intelligent, significant, sophisticated, mature, and respectable—and yet we feed our minds with trivialities, mediocrities, and frivolities, and are completely oblivious to the fact that what comes out in our behavior and our words is a reflection of what we put into our brains in the first place.

We are eager to find people we can follow—people who will lead—because we ourselves lack direction. We want others to make all or most of the important decisions in life for us—because we are mortally terrified of failing…of messing up…or—horrors!—of having to reap the consequences of our own actions. We desperately seek for intimacy—for that magical someone who will love us unconditionally—and yet we fail to understand that we ourselves lack the capacity and the maturity to love in the ways that we demand others should love us.

We point angry fingers at the Church, and accuse her of frightful shortcomings and egregious moral failures—and yet we are incognizant of the inconsistencies and shortcomings in our own spiritual lives…and oblivious to the fact that we ARE the church…ignorant of the reality that truth must be lived honestly before it can be spoken powerfully.

Does it frustrate me to witness this on a daily basis? Sometimes. Does it hurt to see humanity wrestle—and often fail—in their struggle to begin to understand what it means to live in community—to live fully, and joyfully, and righteously, and well? Yes. But that’s probably the wrong question.

Maybe what I really need to be asking is, what part do I play in all of this? Am I part of the problem or part of the solution? And what does it look like to be a part of the solution?

It costs us nothing to point fingers. It solves nothing either.

But what would happen if we talked less…listened more…read more…thought more…asked more questions…realized that it’s ok to mess up as long as we’re willing to get up and try again?

I guess the only person that can really answer that for me is…me. And the only person who can really answer that question for you is...you. But I’m willing to venture a guess that when we make the decision to live as we would have others to live around us…life looks a lot different, both inside and out.

Are we willing to be the change? To live the difference?