Not Cutting; Just Running

For weeks, I had been locked into a time for my weekly half marathon (about 1:40). Perhaps my routine had grown tired. I was tired (no perhaps about it). And my thrice-weekly Insanity routine certainly zapped my legs.

Last weekend, there was two Rock and Roll half marathons in the States, so many of us did two half marathons over the course of the weekend. Last Saturday, I did my first half outside (impossible at my old post) and got 1:51. Two days later, when my legs still should be shot, I altered my strategy on the treadmill (breaking it up into pieces and immediately resetting the clock, as well as constantly variating speeds based on a predetermined pattern). I got 1:42:15 and smashed my prior best.

Five days later (tonight), I employed my new strategy again and got 1:39:15. We often hit plateaus and need to be patient until we work past them. I think I've finally hit my stride.

I just slipped past all of our top Canadian runners and am now the second fastest half marathoner here, after our crazy Canadian 100 mile runner (who runs a six minute everything).

This is quite satisfying, and I am very grateful to God, as I am reminded with each stride that He fashioned my body and every muscle necessary to running. It also moves me closer to my physical deployment goal, which is to come back and run a 3:30 marathon.

More important than all of these, it gets me more emeshed within a vibrant run culture out here that enables me to help coach and engage other runners. For example:

Immediately preceding the Ragnar Relay next weekend, two dozen of my soldiers will be doing a 5k ruck run together. Most people will be running in teams of 2-4. I convinced my unit to do one mass formation with someone calling cadence. Hooah!

Several of us will then join the 60 or so other runners half an hour later to begin the Ragnar. It will be an epic battle as the team captains drafted their teams from the slowest captain to the fastest, so the team with the slowest captain has the deepest roster, while the team with our supersonic captain is slower as a whole.

I'm still getting about 10-20 runners doing the half marathons each weekend, and this is on top of the 20 or so that I recruited at my previous post that (I presume) are still running it.

Later this month, we'll be doing a shadow marathon for 13 runners, using medals leftover from last year's Rock and Roll DC Marathon. I'm hoping to also plan an obstacle run, where every mile loop is completed with a hardcore exercise (50 pushups, 20 pullups, 50 squats, etc.). Those who complete the 10k, 10 miler, or half marathon all get leftover shirts or awards.

I never thought that PT would be my God-given vehicle with which to engage a wide variety of soldiers (I was the scrawny kid growing up). But God delights in manifesting His strength in others' weakness. I'm just glad that he chose this vehicle and not eating, or surf and turf night would be the end of me.

Five Ways to Care for Your Pastor

I met for coffee with my future ministerial colleague today for coffee, as I do each week. We continued to work through Dangerous Calling, describing the real risks and dangers posed by the ministry.

This time was immediately proceeded by coffee with a Baptist pastor who serves as a civilian worker out here. He is a bit of an "undercover" minister here, and after a long and distinguished military career, uses this civilian work to minister to populaces under the shadow of tyranny. This pastor-missionary described the many struggles faced by the pastor of his home church in the States.

From that meeting, I went straight to our service project event, followed immediately by dinner (it was a busy day). At dinner, some of my tablemates were talking through pastoral struggles that they had witnessed or knew of. I detected a theme that needed to be addressed.

The pastoral ministry is truly a dangerous calling. A sinner is called, through no work of His own, to occupy the position of God's ambassador to His people, though he be horribly ill-equipped for the task in and of himself. He must minister to fellow sinners who are often incredibly messy (like he is), but beloved by God. He also has a spiritual bulls-eye on his back, as Satan loves to run amuck within the sheepfold of God's people, and taking down the undershepherd is the easiest way to do so.

And the pastor is just as vulnerable to Satan as anyone else because he is still as much a sinner as anyone else. The only problem is, everyone else can go to the pastor for counsel and care, as well as to the rest of the body. The pastor often doesn't feel enabled to access these same means of grace. The people expect him to be a preacher and counselor, not a fellow sinner in need of grace. He imposes this same deception upon himself, often with catastrophic consequence from him and his family.

Here are a number of ways we can care for our pastors:

1) Pray for him. This is always everyone's first response and can seem cliche, but it is not less true and powerful. When we recognize our spiritual neediness, we approach the throne of grace. The pastor is in a place of incredible neediness and needs our prayers for the same grace. Pray for him before the service, and pray for him and his family throughout the week.

2) Encourage him. This can easily tend toward flattery. Do not deceive with false praise or puff him up with exaggerations. After a sermon, tell him some of the things that struck you (not just "good message, pastor"). Ask him what is was about those truths that convicted/comforted him in the past week. Also avoid the opposite of encouragement--slander and gossip. If you have a problem with something the pastor says or does, bring it to him immediately. And love him by giving him the benefit of the doubt.

3) Befriend him. Not all of us are called to be friends with our pastors, but some of us need to be. He needs what every other part of the body of Christ needs--the ability to be a sinner in need of grace within a community that reminds him that grace is ever abounding in Christ Jesus. In other words, like the rest of the body, he needs to be safe.

4) Minister to him. While there is a difference between the public and private ministry of the Church, this private ministry is no less valuable to the pastor than the rest of the body. You can preach to him or administer the sacraments, but you can invite him into your home for a meal. You can ask him to be part of a small group in which he is not the leader, and even better, where he isn't looked to for the answer to every single question. He can sit back and enjoy the Word and prayer as communicated through his fellow believers.

5) Serve his family. If a pastor cannot adequately care for his family, he cannot adequately care for the church. Make sure he has plenty of time with them. Don't foist his wife into a role that you have defined for her--let her figure it out in accordance with her own gifts. Take their kids and give them date nights. Have a secret fund at the ready in case they ever need marriage counseling.

These are not selfish requests for pastors. The reality is that the pastor-congregant relationship is much like that of a husband-wife (the former is compared to a body, the latter is "one flesh"). The more the pastor and his family are protected and cared for, the more they will be able to care for the rest of the body.

Padre Kevin and the Importance of Love

It's funny--Australian and Canadian soldiers call all chaplains "padre," even though I am neither a Roman Catholic nor do I in any sense physically approximate more than a kid brother.

We do have a Canadian chaplain here who goes by the title Padre Kevin. He has a wife, several kids, loosely Pentecostal theology, and loves Jesus Christ.

He normally preaches at the contemporary services on Sunday nights. On occasion, he is happy to let me preach in his stead. He is persistently encouraging, humble and deferential. His humor is self-deprecating and though he talks even more than I do, is very interested in how people are doing.

I am sure that I disagree with him on many things, but I happy to learn from the sanctified wisdom that God has given this gentle man after a couple decades in the pulpit and he is happy to share it.

There is also a lieutenant colonel here who grew up in the OPC and now goes to a PCA near his home station (when he's not deployed). He has a ranger tab (passed ranger school) and was prior infantry. And he couldn't be more kind. He has given me all of his contact info here on post and let me know that if I ever need any sort of support or someone to talk to, please come to him.

By God's grace, No BS BS has grown into a regular group of about eight or so gentlemen (most of whom I didn't know when I first got here). Today we talked about the the importance of Jesus' virgin birth and corrected misconceptions about it. These folks come from a variety of evangelical backgrounds and understand the important of submission to the lordship of Jesus Christ through His Word. There is a vibrant sense of unity in this regard.

As much as we talk nowadays about unity and love, none of them really matter without the overriding meaning that comes with truth. If out on a boat, I can love someone by serving them a drink and I can unite with my fellow passengers in recognizing that it is a beautiful day. But if the boat is sinking, and no one heeds the obvious truth that we need to be rescued, we are dead.

When I was younger, people labored extensively to share the truth with me, though I wouldn't have it. There is something about watching someone on that sinking ship that overrides there hostility and still makes you compassionate. You desperately want them to live secure upon the rock of Christ.

It is somewhat humorous that my newly-Reformed buddy has the early part of Philippians 2 memorized (Do not be filled with selfish ambitious or vain conceit, but consider others more significant than yourself...) while I have the latter part memorized (Christ...did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking on the form of a servant...). He focused more on Christ-like living; I focused more upon the life Christ did live.

Together, we will memorize the whole passage through, because both are sorely needed. I must daily depend upon the grace of God to make my life a labor of love, but must always ground such love in the fact that Christ traded His crown of glory for a crown of thorns. I will never live like Jesus lived. I can never do what He did. But when I consider his perfect life and atoning death out of love for His whole Church, I am gratefully compelled to love and seek unity, rooted in the cross.

Tragedies and the Need for Heroics (Book Review)

Life in Black Mountain, NC is tender, if also a bit tragic, for the Masterson family. John, a widower, bravely combats sorrow in the years after his wife's death while he cares for his two daughters and mother-in-law. This in itself could be the foundation of a poignant story about life, death, and love.

But One Second After, by William Forstchen, is much more ambitious in its scope than a simple survey of one family's suffering and hope. It consider the very reality, but rarely discussed, possibility of an attack against America using an EMP (electromagnetic pulse). Nuclear weapons inevitably carry with them an EMP, but the power and placement of such a weapon, if used, perhaps makes an EMP more dangerous and destructive than the nuke itself. As chronicled in numerous studies and congressional reports, if a nuclear devise with a strong EMP is set off at a certain height in the atmosphere, it can send a society back to the stone age.

That is the terrifying scenario that unfolds in this book, with the focus paid to one small town's effort to survive in the aftermath. John, a retired Army colonel who gave up his promotion to general in order to care for his cancer-stricken wife, must rise to the fore and try to hold his town together. The affect of an EMP on a society that relies so heavily upon technology is devastating. Cars stop working and people have no way to return home. All communication is cut off. With emergency generators immediately wiped out as well, retirement homes and hospitals quickly turn into morgues.

With worthless currency and paralyzed transportation, supplies of every sort quick vanish. Within weeks, survival is the only thing that most care about. In Black Mountain, thanks to the decisive actions of John and others, maintaining one's humanity is made paramount as well. Martial law is quickly declared, with many freedoms taken for granted quickly curtailed. But this curtailing of freedom is done with public consent, not as a principle, but as a price willingly paid for survival. Justice is swift and severe. An alliance with a connecting town produces greater trade and collective security (with a small militia raised from the local college).

But the line between stability and chaos is a thin one indeed. Particularly on the East Coast, where functional jobs and skills gave way to theoretical ones long ago, and where self-sufficiency was outsourced to government and a global economy, society unravels. The Midwest loses half of its population, but fares but better (the West Coast is largely ignored in the book). With an absence of governance and sufficient law enforcement, cults and gangs quickly fill the vacuum and are unchecked as they run amuck--pillaging, raping, murdering, even cannibalizing. Like America in her brief history, Black Mountain forms an island of humanity amidst a rising tide of utter depravity.

One depressing, but undeniably important, aspect of this book is its realism. Even for those who come together in Black Mountain, their race holds no hope of victory--only the delay of absolute defeat. In a bloodbath, they're able to withstand the assault of a vicious force that attacks them and wipe out the opposing force. But the thousand casualties they suffer merely compounds the loss of the thousands more who die before and after for lack of food, medication, and hope. First family members die, leaving empty hearts. By the end, most families are dead, leaving behind only empty homes.

And death does not keep its grizzly hand from the Masterson family. John suffers loss after unspeakable loss--the last of which (too obviously foreshadowed) squeezes the reader's heart like a sponge. The author knew the power of presenting a heroic father and leader who is simultaneously helpless to protect those who need and love him the most.

Mixed into this ordeal is the author's own psychological involvement within the plotline. The main character clearly is a manifestation of the author himself (a retired military officer, professor, and military historian, with a long career but not combat experience). In the book, the retired officer and professor who never had a chance to pull the trigger in combat now finds himself having to pull it often to protect his town and family. With an egotism that I have displayed in some of my own writings, the author lionizes himself through vicariously living through his main character.

While this egotism is uncharming, it is also understandable. I had good conversation with two of my friends within the unit a few weeks ago (I have done over a hundred military funerals with one or the other of them). One of these soldiers is prior infantry and kicked down doors in Iraq. He has seen ample combat and will happy to never see it again. The other works in personnel and desires to go active in order to "be more of a soldier." The former soldier was incredulous at such a desire. But I understood.

Many soldiers, particularly males, are thoroughly disoriented in modern society. Contrary to what neo-feminism and popular culture espouses, men are wired to protect and provide, fight and defend. That instinct plays out in the war games (like cops vs. robbers) of young boys, though such virtuous activities are quickly being banned in our public education system. We now live in a predominantly white collar, feminized, cubicle culture. Sacrifice is no longer honored, as much as it is parceled out through coercive, mandatory requirements from school system and office place alike.

The military provides one of the last refuges for men to do what they were wired to do--stand in the gap between chaos the women who so valiantly provide the incubator for continued humanity and civilization in the home. That noble desire becomes twisted into egotism for many of my soldiers, for the author of this book, and for myself. Men so desperately want to be valiant, to be heroes.

And what men like me need to realize and remember, and what is notably absent from this book, is that Jesus Christ is the eternal hero who accomplished the most heroic of deeds that can never be replicated--He rescued sinners from the guilt of sin, the pain of eternal death, and reconciled them to their God and Father in heaven. Though a man is called to love his wife as Christ loved the Church, he will never be able to do so. That is why the other half of the analogy is given. In our inability to ever be the hero that people, including those we love, truly need, we look with hope and overwhelming gratitude to the God-man who entered human history and became that hero.

The book ends with glimmers of hope that are still entombed in unmistakable grief. The pastors and chaplains in the story offer Christ the placebo, not Christ the hero. The heroic role is left for the main character--the novelesque embodiment of the author himself. But, captive to his own well-intentioned conceit, the author cannot help but leave his main character impotent in the face of the most crippling and intimate of tragedies. He cannot wipe away tears, let alone their cause, death, nor its cause, sin. But Christ can do these things. He did do these things. And even if survival is measured by days rather than years, if are lives are bound to Christ as our hero and savior from sin, then we are safe.

In response to charismatic extremes...

A number of Christian soldiers have come to me recently with concerns they have regarding some services and studies offered by folks of a more "charismatic" persuasion.

A few considerations with regard to the modern charismatic movement:

1) If they have a biblical view of Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior from sin, then we should rejoice. Either if some of their other views are erroneous, we should celebrate that they will join us in  heaven.

2) That said, there is a certain portion, and a number of prominent leaders, of the modern charismatic movement that do not have a biblical view of Jesus. These folks argue that there is no Trinity--the Father, Son, and Spirit are merely different roles that Jesus plays. This is the ancient heresy of modalism and should be roundly condemned.

3) The fact that such a view is held by a significant minority does not mean we can paint all with the same brush. Remember that there is incredibly divergent views within the charismatic movement.

4) God's final, only, and authoritative revelation is the Bible. Anybody who claims to have a definitive "word from God" that is not text from the Bible is blaspheming God. We are warned never to take from or add to His Word (Rev. 22).

5) Likewise, God does not speak with two tongues. His Word and His Spirit are never in dispute, but are always confirming one another. If someone disregards a clear teaching of Scripture in the name of some sort of sanction by the Spirit, then they are in a state of rebellion. We all must submit to His Word.

6) As such, when the apostolic band of the New Testament spoke in tongues, they were speaking the Word in different languages--again guided by Word and Spirit together to bring the Gospel to the nations. I do not believe this occurs anymore, but this is a fundamental litmus test for anyone who believes they have this gift. Such speaking in other languages was used to spread the Word--to reveal, not confuse. And God's authoritative revelation to His people in  His Word.

Just a few thoughts...

Book Review: Unbroken

I expected Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand, to be an exciting read, but I had no idea how it would plumb the depths of human depravity and the heights of redemption.

Hillenbrand wrote that she never thought she would be as captivated by her subject as she was when writing Seabiscuit, but that all changed when she met Louis Zamperini. I can understand why.

This book, and the life of "Zamp" can basically be divided up into four parts: life as an emerging superstar runner, life stranded on the sea after being shot down in WWII, life in a series of tortuous POW camps, and picking up the pieces of a life shot apart.

The first part of the book has the exhilirating feel of non-fictio sports book, tracking the rise of a team or individual to unparalleled heights. We meet a young, mischevious Zamp who is quickly descending into hooliganism before his brother channels his energy into running. Zamp excels to such an extent that he makes the Olympics, as a teenager, running a race distance that wasn't his preferred distance after only training for a few months. By all appearances, it looks like Zamp will be the first man ever to run "the perfect mile" (under 4 minutes).

That is before he gets sucked, along with the rest of the country, into WWII. He serves as highly-proficient bombardier, involved in a number of missions, before his plane goes down over the Pacific. What follows on the ocean is a case study in the importance of an optimistic framework vs. a pessimistic one. While Zamp and his best friend strove to survive in dire circumstances, another crew member resigned himself to an inevitable death. Their experiences on the ocean are harrowing.

After surviving a record-breaking ordeal on sea, one would think that the story would have reached a fitting conclusion. But the survivors weren't rescued, but taken prisoner by the Japanese. Thus began the long saga experience by allied POW's in Japan--one of unspeakable suffering, torture, and tragedy. Like the rest, Zamp is starved and routinely beaten into unconsciousness. Each day was a new feat in survival and hope against all foreseen odds. Along the way, Zamp has his leg broken.

Like most POWs, when Zamp returns to the States, he is markedly different. Certain triggers would produce flashbacks and freak outs. He developed a dangerous temper and rampant alcoholism. He married, but so demeaned his wife and made life dangerous for their baby that she was on the verge of divorcing him. On top of all else, as Zamp refocused himself on Olympic running and began nearing his previous feats, his bad ankle fell apart. One of the sports great lights would forever be dimmed. He would never run the perfect mile.

I have read so many books in the past year that follow a dark trajectory that I believed the same would occur here. Sure, there might be a few rays of hope, but they would be obscured by the pervasive fog of tragedy that besets man. I was expecting a divorce, a suicide attempt, life in a psychiatric ward, followed by a few waning days of relative peace doing some obscure job.

Instead, the trajectory Zamp's life, and the book, took was startling and dramatic. Like the movies of that era, the storyline dramatically turned mid-plot and life, beauty, and hope was retrieved from the jaws of death, decay, and despair. As this twist proved a delightful surprise to this jaded reader, I will not reveal it and allow others the same experience.

For years, the meteoric rise of Zamp was interrupted by this dismal doldrums of passing through the valley of the shadow of death. When the war ended, Zamp took the shadow with him and enfolded those he loved within its horrid wings. But death and depravity never need the final word over life.

The Simple Things

I had a chance to eat lunch with my former roommate at my prior post recently (and his wife is friends with my wife). I asked what he most looked forward to when he got home. His little girl. I asked about a more simple, everyday pleasure that he anticipates. Chick-fil-A.

People might be surprised, but soldiers aren't eagerly awaiting fancy things. We have most of our conveniences met out here, including a PX, basketball court, and coffee shop. The food is never great (especially for a self-identified foodie/fast-foodie), but is also never bad. Lacking anything? A soldier can buy it on Amazon and have it arrive faster and cheaper than anything sent from home.

Does that mean that it is a cakewalk out here? Of course not. There is always the threat of insider attacks and the possibility of getting hit by an IED on the road. And, as often mentioned, the separation from family is usually the hardest part.

So what soldier miss most often are simple reminders of home. I like to see my boy playing with his toys on Face Time. I like to see the bookshelves and the individual titles on them, as well as the woods across the street from my house. I like to see my wife eating her hippie food.

My wife asked me what I would most like to eat when I get home. It's easy, and it's the same as most young soldiers out here. Chick-fil-A. Nothing crazy. Just an original crispy sandwhich on toasted buns with two pickles, kept heated in its fancy foil packaging. The waffle fries, while not as good as McD's, would round out the food nicely. A refreshing drink would come in the form of either a light lemonade (with ample pulp), or a half sweet/half regular tea. No milkshakes. Not even deployment and their inherent deliciousness could tempt me to take the thousand calorie plunge. For all the good and pure, no milkshakes. (With the possible exception of mint, in which case I'll still probably split it with the wifey and go for a walk with her afterward.)

No fancy wine either. Just give me the $3 Whole Foods variety, with the savings going toward the occasional wine-tasting adventure with the Mrs.

Soon after getting back, I'll grab my running buddy from down the road and go for a run through the woods and onto the forbidden island on the Potomac that has two-three miles worth of running trails. I've never been one to sit and stare at nature (beautiful, but boring--don't tell the wifey), but nothing will grow your hankering for trees and running water like living in a lunar landscape filled with befouled water and toxic fires.

I'm going to bring back the family daycations that me and the wifey enjoyed in the early years of our marriage, when we could afford neither the time nor money for a vacation. This time, I can take the boy with me to investigate cool historical landmarks while the wifey admires architecture and peruses antique shops.

Either a pull up bar or rings will be attached to our new deck, so I can take bit of my new workout regimen home with me. While I do my super sets, I can watch the little one play in the grass (and probably eat it), as all little boys should do.

I'll build on our relationships with friends within the community. My wife  has done a wonderful job of doing so in my absence. People in modern suburbia are desperate for friends and community, and I delight in offering both, by God's grace. I will invite folks from the neighborhood, Mommy Boot Camp, my Army unit, the local movie theater, etc. over for summer cookouts and to join us at church, where folks can hear relationships reconciled with God in Christ.

Speaking of the summer, I look forward to steam spiced shrimp (everything is fried out here), crabs cakes in Old Bay, and raw oysters (all on the East Coast). When visiting Puget Sound (the giant lake in Washington), I look forward to outdoor smokers, flank steak, rain, and vino culture.

I recently saw pictures of my sister's new baby. It was a surreal experience--I don't even remember her being pregnant (I was gone for virtually all of it). In a sense, my world is changing while I am outside of it. In reminds me of an incident I just read about in the Laura Hillenbrand's gripping historical book, Unbroken, about a WWII pilot who survived forty plus days on a raft in the ocean and then the horrors of Japanese prison camps. After two and a half years apart from his family, an emaciated and barely sane Louis Zamperini finally got a few pieces of mail from his family, which relayed ordinary details of a world he no longer belonged to.

Nothing in my relatively cushy experience here compares to the horrors he endured, but I can imagine a bit of poignancy of being reminded that this now-foreign world of his past is still somewhere present and may one day be a newly-realized future.

I do not regret a day of this deployment. God has called me to care for and share the Gospel with soldiers. But after a lifetime of running away from home, I find myself finally running toward it.