What If My Church Isn't Growing?

When I came on board at Sterling OPC about three years ago, it was with a firm confidence shared by our senior pastor that this precious little flock of two dozen would grow to over 200 at this point.

We are not there. Not even close. And I am consequently humbled and forced to ask the oft-painful question found in the title.

As I have meditated on this question amidst a season of renewed meditation upon God's Word, in His grace, I have come to a few initial conclusions.

1) What kind of question is THAT?

My initial question is incredibly misleading. It is false on the very surface of things--the reality is that we are now regularly drawing 65-75 attendees, which is something to rejoice over! But even if that was not the case--even if we were still around two dozen members--my question concerning growth is absurd.

What is growth? Can it not be qualitative (depth of faith and growth in grace) as well as quantitative (number of butts in the pews)? If one person more regularly attends morning worship, is that not growth? If a young teenager professes her faith, is that not growth?

More than that, can I read the heart? This gets to the more important question: Who grows the Church? In Acts 7-8, there was something of genocide being perpetrated against the fledgling New Testament people of God. Yet that genocide was used to spread the Gospel to the surrounding lands and even precipitate the miraculous conversion of Saul of Tarsus.

The story of the book of Acts and of the Church in general is the story of King Jesus building His Church by His Word and His Spirit, often in contrast to worldly appearances. Where the Gospel is proclaimed, the Church is always growing, and the gates of Hell will not prevail against Him who grows it.

2) Visible growth does not equal real growth.

I find that I am often looking for the same sort of growth that every other sector of society wants--growth in numbers, regardless of means of attracting them and the end for which they are sought.

If a pastor grows his church by a couple of hundred people, he can write a book. If he grows it by thousands, then he can speak at conferences and perhaps even be broadcast on the radio or TV.

I live in a culture that celebrates celebrity over all else and I am a sinner to boot. I want a blog post that gets over a hundred views and a book with back cover plugs by Piper, Horton, and Keller.

But visible growth does not equal real growth. The Second Great Awakening in America was filled with celebrity pastors with renowned methods and often with virtually no Gospel message. Their pews were packed--a generation later, they were abandoned.

When I consider my role as a shepherd of God's people, I need to count the cost and not count the heads. If I am flattering myself with what we in the military call "good news stories," and am not dying to self for the sake of Christ's sheep, then I am out of step with the calling Christ has placed upon me and need to repent (again and again!).

Christ is lavishing blessing upon unseen blessing upon His people. Every time I have the gall to question whether one of His sheep is bearing fruit, I am really questioning whether Christ is bearing fruit. Imagine the fruit I could more tangibly bear in the time I wasted on such judgmentalism!

3) I need to love the one I am with, not the one I wish to have.

I have often been frustrated with our people's perceived lack of engagement with the surrounding culture. Do they not care for the salvation of their neighbor, co-workers, or others in their community? Do they not understand that this is a biblical imperative and an essential (not optional) part of the Christian life? And each question like this that I ask, I further cement my status as a self-righteous, judgmental jerk.

Jonathan Leeman, from 9 Marks, had a good article on this state of pastoral disillusionment on The Gospel Coalition site yesterday. We live in a real world, not an ideal world. This gets at the heart of the Gospel--Christ died for a real people, not an ideal people. He is the ideal--the only one who perfectly obeyed the law of God in this life and was without sin, the only One who was willing and able to conquer death, and did just that. He did this, not before a crowd of those who celebrated His heroic humiliation, but who mocked Him, condemned Him, and killed Him. He had every right to smite all mankind--He is justified in His judgment--but instead, He cried out for mercy. His love for His people and for the glory of God carried Him to the cross for a world that hates Him by nature.

And I part of the crowd, not above it. If our people were failing at their calling to share the Gospel (and they are not), then it would merely be a reflection of my failure as a shepherd. But Christ does not fail, nor does His work in His sheep. When I strip off the petty, self-righteous veneer of my judgment, I find a precious people, beloved by God and doing grace-infused work for His sake.

This flock is filled with ordinary beauty that I am prone to miss while pursuing my misguided dreams of grandeur. I have seen brothers and sisters weep over their sin and endeavor anew after righteousness for the sake of their Savior. I watch little lambs mature into full grown sheep, fulfilling God's covenant promises. Our precious little flock has been stretched by the Gospel over the past several years and have taken on a new shape as a result. In ordinary and unassuming ways, our people are offering themselves as living sacrifices as their worship to the Lord. And these are just the visible things!

The goal of the under-shepherd of Christ's flock is not to browbeat the sheep into fulfilling certain quotas and the unrecognized dreams of said under-shepherd, but rather, is to heed Christ's call to Peter: Do you love Me? Then feed my sheep.

As my young, foolish heart heeds this call anew, I not only find myself loving my Savior-Shepherd more, but His precious flock as well. I need not worry about my church's growth as much as my own.

I look at Sterling OPC--our little corner of Christ's Kingdom--and find myself in love with His Bride.

Remembering a Husband (and a Hero)

I must confess that these last several days have been trying for my family.

On Friday night, our little boy puked on me during what was supposed to be our first night out in quite a while. After we went home and I showered and changed, he puked on me again. Physically and emotionally, he was a mess throughout Saturday. On Sunday, he let up just enough so that I could preach in the evening (he tends to up his game for Sundays and social time).

On Monday, Lindsey awoke to find our boy awash in his own vomit in the crib. His giant monkey was one of the casualties, and he (the monkey) is now facing an uncertain future at Monkey Hospital (the dry cleaners). Lindsey took him to the doctors and he was diagnosed with a virus (our boy, not the monkey).

Aside from my normal sermon prep and pastoral visitation times, these past couple of days were also supposed to be spent preparing for a ship-naming ceremony today in honor of CPT David Lyon, killed in Afghanistan just over a year ago. Instead, Lindsey and I, both feeling elements of our boy's virus, both spent the last couple of days caring for him with what little strength we had. We gratefully received help from several members of our church family, which included groceries and meals. A neighbor friend also brought us some helpful items for our boy..

My first real meal (i.e., included meat) in several days was last night. It didn't sit particularly well. I had a banana and half a cup of coffee this morning while looking up final directions and instructions. I got into the shower five minutes too late, left five minutes too late, and arrived at the metro station five minutes too late for my train.

I was held up in part while looking for a parking spot and ended up parking in a spot that was reserved until 10, through it was only 9:35. I intentionally parked near the police officer who was inspecting cars and writing tickets so that I could ask him if I was okay. He saw my dress blues and told me he didn't have time to go back and check my row again anyway.

As you might expect, the five minutes cost me. The next train came 15 minutes later, at which point my entire window of extra time was swallowed up. It was 9:50 and the ceremony, after fifteen stops and a transfer, as well as navigating the city that is the Pentagon, would be at 11 sharp. I spent the metro ride switching off between prayers that God would help me arrive on time, panic, and rehearsing my invocation. I tried calling my contact at the Pentagon. No answer.

My transfer cost me another twelve minutes. In that time, God convicted me on a simple but vital truth: This day is not about me. It is about Dana and her grief and the Lord and His grace and glory. I started praying more for those more precious things. By the time I arrived at the Pentagon, it was 10:46. By God's grace, my heart had found greater peace.

Another seven minutes were lost processing through the visitor's entrance, though a security man helped me get through the gate in a more timely fashion. At 10:53 (remember that in the Army, ten minutes early is "on time"), I stood puzzled before the map of the Pentagon, having no idea where to go.

At that moment, a female Army Captain appeared, asking if I was looking for something, I gave her my room number and off we went. She was still holding her dry cleaning, but through sheer kindness (and sympathy for a fellow confused captain in the world of general-level brass), she walked double-time with me to the room. I arrived at 10:58, thanked her profusely and gave her my contact info.

I walked into the room, crowded with generals and colonels from the Navy and Air Force, and was almost immediately greeted by a woman who seated me in the second row. I soon found out that Dave Lyon's parents were watching the ceremony live from an Air Force base in Spokane, WA. Dana's family was sitting in the front row. A moment later, everyone rose and in walked the Secretary of the Navy, Secretary of the Air Force, and seeing her for the first time since Afghanistan, Dana.

I was flooded with memories and emotions. I was transported back sixteen months ago, when I spent the evening shepherding a zealous baby Christian named Dave. He was so excited to know Jesus Christ and was thrilled to have time with a chaplain for the first time on his deployment. His eyes lit up whenever he talked of his wife, Dana, who was deployed down south. He was due to return home several months before her, but refused to come home without his wife, so a number of people helped him extend his deployment.

I was transported back to just over a year ago, when our post shook like a slammed door for a moment and the sirens started to a blear. Our security force ran for their posts while other soldiers, contractors, and civilians made for shelter. The next day, one of my airmen came into my office in tears--his friend, Dave Lyon, had just been killed.

I was transported to a month ago, when Dana included me on an email string with important people at the Pentagon. They were naming a ship after Dave and were having a ceremony in his (and her) honor, but they weren't planning on having a chaplain. She not only asked for a chaplain, but she asked for her chaplain, and Dave's chaplain. Me.

As soon as Dana and the two dignitaries alongside of her sat down, I was called up to give the invocation. I was nervous. Dana wanted me there because I was their chaplain and shared with them the hope of Jesus Christ. At the same time, I was surrounded by the top brass from an increasingly politicized military that frowns on anything having to do with an unapologetic Christianity.

I had even prepared a defense if I was confronted afterward: "Sir or Ma'am, this day is not about you or me, but about Dave and Dana. This was the hope they had, and that still sustains Dana today."

I prayed something along these lines (though it is partially lost in fog):

"Almighty God and Heavenly Father,

You who are powerful in Your mercy and merciful in Your power--
we thank You for the life and legacy of Captain David Lyon.

We thank You for his service to his country and his more important service to his wife,
who he was called to love and serve as Christ loved and served His Church.

I thank you for the hope he had and the hope he now enjoys in full with Jesus,
and pray that the same hope will continue to bring comfort and peace to Dana,
who, though she now walks through the valley of the shadow of death,
still shares that same hope which brings the peace and comfort she needs.

I pray this in Jesus' name, Amen."

Both the Secretary of the Air Force and the Secretary of the Navy gave touching remarks to the gathered assembly afterward, followed by Dana. She spoke of the honor of having a ship, devoted to protecting our country and its freedoms, named after her husband. She stopped for a second at one point and looked up and said "You know, that's what I miss most about him. He was my protector." She quickly looked down, took a deep breath, and composed herself.

She is like the biblical widows of old, finding her trust, refuge, and strength in the Lord alone.

Teary-eyed from that point on, I was one of the first in line to greet Dana and her parents afterward. She gave me a hug and said "Thanks for coming, Chaplain. It means a lot to me because you knew Dave. And thank you for sharing our hope in your prayer."

This being the first time I have talked with her since Afghanistan, I told her what I have wanted to personally say for a year now--that I don't remember him as a hero first, but as a husband. His eyes didn't light up for his country (though he loved it), but for her. He didn't stay in Afghanistan for his country, but for her. He knew that Dana was worth every bit of his life. As I told Dana's parents a moment later, he fulfilled his Ephesians 5 calling (as much as a sinner saved by grace can--only Christ was able to die and rise for His Bride).

To the rest of the gathering, I was a stranger, so I quickly made my way out. I walked back through the bustling corridors to the metro, tired and on edge with emotion. I almost missed my transfer point as I stared off into space. Most of the metro ride was spent in deep thought and short prayers of gratitude to God for getting me to the ceremony in time. I thought of Dave and the life of blessedness He now enjoys, and of Dana, and the life of simple joys in Christ that will sustain her until she sees her best friend once more in glory.

I checked my windshield when I got back to my car. There was no ticket. Simple joys, indeed.

Random Army Tidbits

I will soon be assigned to a military intelligence unit and I am excited for the change.

I will miss the 55th Sustainment Brigade, but by God's grace, I have accomplished all that I sought to do with them. Most of them are my friends (and I care about all of them), and I am satisfied that they have had the whole counsel of God shared with them over the years. My final goal before moving on was to deploy with this unit, and now I am content.

My new unit will be quite different from the old. We do have SF, airborne, or infantry units in the Reserves. This is the closest we have. Some call our MI folks the "JB's" of the Army--the James Bonds, Jason Bournes, and Jack Bauers. Not only will I have the opportunity to love on a new type of soldier, but will have more opportunities to expand my training and experience (i.e. jump school, combat medical ministry school, etc).

I had lunch with the current chaplain of my new unit yesterday, and she let me know that she has been praying for me for quite a while now. What an encouragement!

After we ate lunch (at the hospital cafeteria at Ft. Belvoir), we dropped by the chaplain office in the building. I ran into one of my former classmates from my initial chaplain training course (almost six years ago). He deployed to Afghanistan in 2012. When I asked him how he and his family are doing, he said that things are just beginning to become "normal" again--a poignant reminder that we all come back changed and that there is no recipe for recovery but clinging to the Gospel.

In that vein, I think it useful to think past all of the political bluster regarding this whole Bowe Bergdahl ordeal (especially for Christians). My church family has been connected to this saga for a number of years now and have been actively praying for Bowe's release, despite whatever circumstances precipitated his capture. His parents are suffering believers who need our compassion, not our condemnation, and we can hope that both justice would prevail in the civil realm and mercy prevail in the spiritual realm as it pertains to our broken soldier who has come home.

I hope (but am not confident) that many will become convicted of their own prior apathy in this current controversy. How many of you were thinking of those six dead soldiers and their families prior to all of this? Why do we as a country only weep for the loss of these soldiers now? We all become morally-minded humanitarians when we have a political stake in the matter. May we all remember that while we live, others die. This life is but a mist. Perhaps the best tribute we can give those who die in our stead is to make our lives worthwhile--not in mere pursuit of happiness (selfish hedoism is not tribute to the fallen), but to consider our purpose in this life, which according to Scripture, is much bigger than our own personal narrative.

The bigger narrative--that of the triune God redeeming a beloved people throughout history by the person and work of Jesus Christ--is what will make "the things of earth grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace."

Speaking of narratives, Dana Lyon sent me this email recently:

Hi there Ch Roberts,

Thank you for the continued notes of encouragement and prayers... the Body of Christ is helping this child of God hobble along through this grief.  I miss my Dave so so much.  

I know that He has never left me, not even in this time.  He's closer than He's ever been, but goodness, I just want a break from the pain.  I don't know what else to do but worship and sit at His feet, that's where Dave is... I just wish He would provide something more tangible.  He gave me all I ever wanted as a woman, a strong leader and a God fearing warrior for a husband--I feel so weak and vulnerable without him.  I hate being alone and I hate being without my best friend and protector.  We were not made for this pain, we were not made for this world.  

You are right, this is a broken broken world, but The Lord does fight for us, He does provide for us and He will heal this broken heart.  Until I figure out His plan for this life, I keep trudging along day by day...

Thanks again for your prayers and encouragement... 

Dana

Why Soldiers Miss War

I just read an article with an accompanying interview on a reporter who really seems to "get it" with regard to why soldiers miss war: http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/newsmakers/sebastian-junger-why-soldiers-miss-war-122426898.html.

It's not a morbid love of combat or trauma, but more a sense of moral purpose, especially as it pertains to the "band of brothers" that serve together.

Though not a soldier himself, Junger has a heart-deep understanding of this principle through his year embedded in a remote outpost in Afghanistan, his injuries due to an IED blast, and the loss of his fellow reporter, Tim Hetherington, in Libya (the two of them had teamed up on the hit documentary, Restrepo).

Junger's link between survivor's guilt and PTSD is particularly insightful.

Speaking of Band of Brothers, I just watched the whole series for the first time. Certainly wouldn't have appreciated it a few years ago like I do now. It's the psychological portraits that particularly grab me.

There was one lieutenant during the battle for Bastogne, who watched from his foxhole as two of his soldiers and closest friends were both maimed in a bombardment. While the lieutenant wasn't physically injured and had served valiantly since D-Day, that experience broke him and ended the war for him.

Toward the end of the war, another lieutenant almost broke when he received news that his wife was not only divorcing him, but was even taking his dog.

And there was the pervasive sense in the closing days of the campaign in Europe that every soldier must be kept from harm. They were close to going home! And every time a soldier died thereafter, often from stupid things like car accidents, it was an unmitigated tragedy.

Finally, the emotions of the war were stretched upon the withered faces of the veterans who in their old age introduced each episode. A half century after the fact, they still wept for their friends and the war that forever changed them.

The wounds of war heal, but the scars never fade.

How Do You Grow in Grace?

There is a big debate brewing of the wider Christian blogosphere on the matter of sanctification, or how we are made increasingly holy in Christ. Historically, this debate is not unexpected, as we just through a two decade debate on the matter of justification, or how we are made right with God in Christ. Typically, as in the Christian life, the former follows the latter.

But with every debate, there is an opportunity to refine one's comprehension of biblical truth and grasp the beauty and the power of the Gospel with greater depth, love, and reverence.

First, let's define a couple of terms:

When someone receives and rests upon Christ alone for their salvation, it is because they have first been effectually called. Effectual calling, according to Westminster Shorter Catechism 31, "is the work of God’s Spirit, whereby, convincing us of our sin and misery, enlightening our minds in the knowledge of Christ, and renewing our wills, he doth persuade and enable us to embrace Jesus Christ, freely offered to us in the gospel."

So the Christian life begins with Christ calling us to saving faith, and giving us such saving faith, by His Holy Spirit (Eph. 2:8-9). As with the disciples, He looks upon and calls us before we follow Him (Mark 1). We love Him because He first loved us (1 John 4:19).

WSC 32 then tells us that "They that are effectually called do in this life partake of justification, adoption, and sanctification, and the several benefits which in this life do either accompany or flow from them." Here then our three of the primary facets of the Christian life:

Justification, which is "an act of God’s free grace, wherein he pardoneth all our sins, and accepteth us as righteous in His sight, only for the righteousness of Christ imputed to us, and received by faith alone" (WSC 33).

Adoption, which is "an act of God’s free grace,a whereby we are received into the number, and have a right to all the privileges, of the sons of God" (WSC 34).

Sanctification, which is "the work of God’s free grace, whereby we are renewed in the whole man after the image of God, and are enabled more and more to die unto sin, and live unto righteousness" (WSC 35).

The WSC then tells us that the benefits that accompany or flow from these acts/works of God's grace are an "assurance of God’s love, peace of conscience, joy in the Holy Ghost, increase of grace, and perseverance therein to the end" (36). Don't you love how simply and logically the WSC outlines these basic Biblical truths?

So when Christ calls us and unites us to Himself by grace through faith, we are justified, adopted, and begin the process of being sanctified. All of these are acts/works of "God's free grace."

As mentioned before, we just passed through another healthy season of debates on justification, in which the truth that we're pardoned of all our sins and accepted as righteous in His sight is only for the righteousness of Christ imputed to us. This righteousness is not infused in us, as Rome claims, so that our righteousness is made acceptable to God. Nor do we add any righteousness of our own, since it only constitutes filthy rags in the sight of God (Is. 64:6).

Sanctification is a more tricky animal, in the sense that it is an ongoing work, and thus a practical struggle in our daily lives. Like justification, we confess that sanctification is wholly of God's free grace, but what are the means of that grace that enable us to "die unto to sin, and live unto righteousness?" (cf. Rom. 6).

Is it not Christ, operating by Word and Spirit (Acts 1) through the preaching of the Word (Rom. 10) and the sacraments (Acts 2; 1 Cor. 10-11)? But, acknowledging our own responsibility in this regard, are we not called to "meditate on the Word day and night" (Josh. 1:8; Ps. 1:2) and set "our minds on things above" (Col. 3:1-4) in prayer?

Brothers and sisters on both sides of the sanctification debate will likely respond in the affirmative to both of those questions. But there is a more specific question that seems to be at the nub of this debate: How is God's Word to be preached and other utilized for the growth of God's people and the glory of His name? Do we focus on the Gospel to spur sinners on toward good deeds, or do we focus on the Law?

On The Gospel Coalition website, Tullian Tchividjian (grandson of Billy Graham) is arguing for the former, while Kevin DeYoung and Richard Phillips are arguing more for the latter

They all agree that the Law should be used to convict sinners in order to drive them to the cross ("Second Use of the Law") and to instruct Christians in the duties that God requires of them ("Third Use of the Law").

Tullian argues that it is only the Gospel that transforms Christians and that it is the Gospel, and Christ's perfect obedience to the Law on our behalf, that should be stressed in preaching. The others would argue that the Law is meant to give Christians a good kick in the pants and can also be used for their conviction and growth. They also question whether Tullian firmly believes in the third use of the Law.

It seems that they probably agree on about 90% of the sanctification issue, and that is what should be stressed as we consider how it is that we grow in grace:

Just as we are saved by God's grace through faith in Christ, we are grown by God's grace through faith in Christ. As plants in the Gardener's care, we cannot grow ourselves, but can only grow when tended by the sunshine of God's Word and the nourishing rain of His Spirit.

God appoints certain means to grow us, and we should take advantage of those means of grace. God calls us to worship on the Lord's Day in order to feed us upon His grace and send us back into the world. He calls us to constant meditation upon His Word, prayer, and fellowship (Heb. 10:24-25). While we are as helpless as plants in our own growth, God calls us to grown where there is rain and sunshine. And even this call would be impossible for us to heed, unless Christ Himself enabled our wills to avail ourselves of the rain and shine (Phil. 2:13).

All of this should guide us to praise His name. When we consider how much we need His grace, not only for our salvation, but for our day to day living, do we not weep in sorrow at our sin? But in the same vein, knowing that His grace is new every morning, and that the Father of good gifts will never change (James 1), are our tears not mingled with profound hope and joy?

As we experience the painful process of our sanctification that occurs between our justification and glorification (when we will be rid of all sin and live in perfect fellowship with our Savior), are we not filled with mingled grief and gratitude? And does this painful process not lead us to affix our eyes on the throne of grace in prayer, where Christ ever intercedes for us? And does it not affix our eyes to the throne of grace that awaits us at the end of our days, when our petty struggle with sin is finally made a thing of the past? And do we not endeavor after new obedience as a result?

As a final note, perhaps the glue that will bind these debates to greater humility and gratitude is the oft-overlooked and precious truth of adoption. All men have free will, but we our only given the ability to utilize that will in service of God when He captures our hearts by His grace. We yearn after Him--and debate these issues to gaze upon His beauty with greater clarity--because we have been adopted to His family. We take these issues to the Almighty God without fear because He is our Daddy, caring for us in our sorrows and stumbling and delighting in our growth and grace.

Let us place the profound truths of our justification and sanctification in Christ into the cradle of our adoption in Christ, and rejoice that our Daddy will carry us like a father carries a child through this wasting wilderness of sin into the Promised Land of His glory (Deut. 1:31).

Three War-Related Movies to Watch This Year

I think the occasional war movie is a healthy part of one's viewing diet, especially as these movies remind us of the persistent reality of ongoing bloodshed in this broken world and the cost necessitated to maintain order amidst the chaos.

Band of Brothers is always an obvious pick for a list such as this, so I will exclude it for that reason. Here are three movies you haven't watched in a while (or at all) that will be worth your time (all of which are based on true stories):

1) We Were Soldiers. I watched this movie again in one of our B-hut office complexes in Afghanistan. What it lacks in character development, it makes up for in showing the unvarnished emotion of war--both for the soldiers and for the families at home. While the Vietnam War shares many similarities with Iraq and Afghanistan (no front lines, no clear identification of combatants and civilians, risk of ambush, etc.), this movie highlights they type of full warfare rarely seen in the modern conflicts. For me, this movie is all about the psychological impact of soldiers/families.

2) Lone Survivor. I hosted a movie night for all of my redeploying soldiers one of our final nights in country, and we watched a bootleg copy of this movie (perfectly legal out there). While most war movies present the big picture with zooming in on individuals, this account was all about a handful of individuals who fought--and largely died--alongside each other. It neither glorifies war or the combatants (their body armor can take a lot of hits and adrenaline and loyalty can keep a wounded soldier in the fight), nor does it disparage them. It shows the uncertainty of decisions made in that environment, and the consequences that follow such decisions. War is messy. Since this takes place in Afghanistan, you'll get a much fuller flavor of elements of life out there.

3) Taking Chance. This made-for-HBO movie followed a Marine colonel who had never deployed and wanted to support our fighting men and women by escorting the body of a fallen Marine home. The story follows the COL and the fallen soldier home to Wyoming, with touching moments of love and patriotism along the way. You will be impressed by the care the military takes for its fallen heroes, as well as the way such tragedy draws people together in grief and in pursuit of comfort.

It also reminds me of the many military funerals I have performed for veterans--from performing the honors alongside veterans from other wars, folding flags, playing TAPS, and looking a grieving widow in the eyes. The first two movies on this list survey the battlefield. The last movie will take you where every fallen soldier must travel: Home.

It Should Have Been Me

"I'm not supposed to be here," I blurted out late one night to my wife.

"What do you mean?" she asked, obviously confused.

I tried to explain the feelings that I can barely put my finger on. Soldiers often feel out of place when they come home. I was certainly feeling that. And, no, it's not because we don't want to be home, but there is a sense of forever being caught between two worlds after a deployment.

I feel like those characters on LOST, who, once they returned to society, realized that they should have never left the island. They weren't meant to come home.

Again, all normal soldier feelings. We have lived in another world and can't figure out which one is reality and which one is the illusion.

But death heightens this disconnect and cements it as a semi-permanent feature of life with mingled grief and guilt.

Words were hard for me. It's hard for me to talk and show grief, but it's also hard for me not to talk and show grief.

I finally choked out, "It should have been me, not Dave."

I watched the tail end of We Were Soldiers last night and felt an immediate connection to Mel Gibson's character--the commander--at the end of the movie. He told his reporter friend who survived the battle that he would never forgive himself. When the reported asked him why, he said with tear-strewn face "Because...because my men died and I didn't."

It may seem morbid, but I kind of expected to die in Afghanistan.

When my wife and son seemed to be in grave danger a year and a half ago, I prayed fervently that the Lord would take me instead of them. It wasn't long after my wife was finally healed up that I was given the surprise notice that I would deploy. Four weeks after my little boy was born, I left home, presuming upon God's providence and figuring that my prayers were answered. I would not be coming home. And that was okay. My wife and baby were safe.

I said a number of final "goodbyes" in my heart before I left--to my tough childhood years, summer breezes and mowed grass, college antics and seminary graces, a wife who I enjoyed my best years with, and a little baby boy who would also be a symbol of hope and life amidst death.

My heart was filled with as much gratitude as grief when I left. Even during times of great struggle out there, my heart was still filled with gratitude. Each time I got on a convoy and went outside the wire, I prayed for our team, reflected with gratitude upon my full life, and prepared myself.

I have enjoyed a full life. People desperately cling to life, holding it like a mouse in hand a la Lenny from Of Mice and Men until it is crushed. God had brought me through so very much. When the truth of Christ broke upon my heart like a thunderstorm upon the desert, it changed everything. Life on earth was no longer the whole picture--just a broken glimpse of the greater picture. That would have been enough, but the Lord also gave me a beloved wife and the baby of my dreams.

I was ready to die. Dave wasn't.

He was just 27 and had barely begun to taste the goodness of the Lord in this life. He would go home, Dana would leave the service, and together they would plant a family and watch it grow.

I have always joked about being an old man, but even at 31, the jokes belie the reality. I have a youthful personality, but an old soul.

If I had died at 31, my wife would have grieved tremendously and my boy would've had a better example in death than in life, but would also miss the life he would never share with his daddy. At least I would've had a boy who missed me--an opportunity Dave and Dana will never have.

I know Dave doesn't regret what happened, and it's not because he's dead. He's not dead. He is enjoying the God of glory--the mystery of His providence that would have Dave somehow spend his last few days on this earth in Afghanistan with his wife by his side. And then, in a flash, His greatest earthly joy was supplanted by His greatest heavenly joy and the Savior's welcome.

And here I am, left to sort out a life I barely recognize--that I didn't really think I would return to. I am home, but I have never felt my pilgrim status more than now. Like a fellow pastor--a Vietnam vet--told me, the memories never leave. You never fully come home. And guilt would be the dominating feature if it wasn't swallowed up in the tender love and grace of Christ.

So I will bear the scars, even if not on my body. I'll grieve those we've lost and a world that will continue to squeeze the heart like a sponge until it goes dry, and look with hope to the Day when the river of life and healing flows unabated. Until that Day, may the Lord grant that I would be a more faithful husband, father, and minister of the Gospel than I would be without the scars, looking to Him whose scars brought healing and peace.