I am not sure how I stumbled across this message. It was likely on Twitter under the #ChurchToo hashtag. I am incredibly grateful for Diane Langberg, Ph.D., for her words of wisdom last year entitled Power, Deception, and the Church.

The entire message is worth listening to, but this quote (around the 31 minute mark) struck me as particularly timely for The Church in the Western World.

Here's some of what Dr. Langsberg said about loving Christian leaders who abuse their power:

"And yes, the abuser - like all of us - is invited to be part of the ungiven [the protective Christian community], but that only becomes possible (and hear me clearly) when the light is shining in the darkness, and the offender falls down before our crucified God knowing that it is against that wounded savior that he has sinned.  And that abuser, who gets to that place, will demand nothing from any human – no position, no place of power, no restoration, no forgiveness. He will acknowledge (she will acknowledge) the inability to live in truth, and know better than anybody else knows that they are not to be trusted and that the actions they committed are theirs and theirs alone.

This is how we love abusers: By letting them be stripped of the trappings that they have used to deceive themselves.”

It seems to me that God is in the process of purifying his Church here in America. Part of that process is bringing many forms of spiritual abuse to light.

I am largely posting this so I can find this for future use, but I hope you find it useful too.

Dear Dr. Frank S. Page,
 
I am writing this letter for a number of reasons. First, it is to express my deep disappointment in your moral failing. Second, it is for the benefit of the church I serve, that they might follow Christ more closely. Finally, it is for the benefit of my friends and family who do not know Jesus.
 
I am a Millennial pastor serving in a small church in Northern Michigan. I was not raised in the SBC but having been serving in Southern Baptist churches for the last twelve years.
 
I can only assume from your follow-up statement to your first resignation that you mean adultery when you say “personal failing” and “personal indiscretion”. If this is the case, please clarify your sin. We live in a culture that uses language to minimize sin. Adultery is not an affair, a fling, or a personal indiscretion. When we minimize sin, we minimize our need for the Savior.
 
Because you have used terms that our entire culture will interpret as adultery, I am responding to your resignation with that assumption.
 
At the very least, I call on you to prorate any monies and benefits you received from the SBC (including travel, meals, conferences, etc.) from the time this relationship began. Please return these funds to the Cooperative Program. Both of the SBC churches I have served in have given faithfully and sacrificially to the CP. My current church is in desperate need of a larger sanctuary. We are growing in leaps and bounds. It is difficult for us to see our massive need to serve more people with the gospel, then look at our giving over the years and see that some of those funds have been used to enable you to lead us while committing grievous sin.
 
Please return the funds.
 
More importantly, if indeed you have committed adultery, your sin goes far beyond adultery. Because of your power, authority, and influence, it is sexual abuse. Perhaps it is not sexual abuse that is illegal but remember that the law is the absolute bottom of morality, not the top. Just because something is legal, does not mean it is moral or acceptable in God’s eyes.
 
King David sexually abused Bathsheba. He used his power to have sex with Bathsheba. When Nathan the Prophet confronted the king, Nathan said the rich man devoured the lamb. While we are not given insight into how David and Bathsheba’s sexual encounter played out in the bed chambers, God – speaking through the prophet – was very clear. What David did in taking the lamb and devouring it was abuse. In a very real way, David destroyed Bathsheba.
 
I found it ironic that on the same Sunday, a popular pastor in America described his sexual abuse of a teenager as a “sexual encounter” our small church was wrestling through 2 Samuel 13 – the rape of Tamar.
 
As we discussed this difficult topic, I communicated to the church that we would not sweep sexual abuse claims under the rug like so many organizations and churches have done. Instead we would immediately separate the accused, contact authorities, and communicate what was happening with the church congregation.
 
Part of my hope with this letter is to bring to light sin so that the congregation I serve does not have to fear that I, or other leaders in the church, will ignore or minimize sexual abuse.
 
While I pray for you and your family’s well-being and healing, I hope the public consequences of your sin are severe. So severe that generations of pastors understand that sin is not worth it. God told David, “You acted in secret, but I will do this before all Israel and in broad daylight” (2 Samuel 12:12). While there is forgiveness to be found in Christ – there are consequences in this life. It is the entire point of 2 Samuel 12. Forgiveness with consequences.
 
Other than answering and repenting of your sin, please do not enter again into public ministry. You can serve the Church in many wonderful ways, behind the scenes.
 
On a final and personal note, you know that pastoral ministry is hard. It is becoming increasingly hard. You have made it harder for all of the SBC churches you were supposed to be serving. Your sin terrifies me. Not because it is so foreign and unthinkable, but because it is very near to me. While I have never committed physical adultery or fornication, I know that I very well could do so. I know that sexual sin frequently comes knocking on the door of my heart.
 
So, I too need to repent. I repent in the hopes that I will rely on the strength of God the Holy Spirit and not myself. I repent, trusting that the sacrifice of Christ is not only enough to forgive me of my sins, but to keep me from falling.
 
And I repent in the hopes that God will somehow use this fallout for His glory, for your good, and that many sons and daughters will enter into the Kingdom of God through our Lord Jesus Christ.
 
Because of Jesus,
Pastor Nathan J. Norman
 
njn (at) nathanjamesnorman.com

A letter has recently gone viral on the Internet. I saw it on Yahoo! News first. In essence, it is a letter from a Dad disowning  his daughter  for kicking out her homosexual son.

This letter is receiving praise in nearly all the articles I’ve read. This morning I also saw George Takei  (yes, I follow him on Facebook) had posted the letter and wrote “This grandfather is amazing.”

Here is the entire text of the letter:

I think the wide-spread praise of this letter reveals the culture’s current philosophy: “Hate those who hate.”

Now, what the mom did was wrong. If this letter is accurately portraying what happened, this mom hated her son… and that’s wrong.

But then the grandfather turns around and pours hate on his daughter for her hate. He criticizes his daughter for disowning her son, then turns around and disowns her . This is also wrong.

The current philosophy of our culture is “hate those who hate.”

But Jesus said “You have heard that it was said, Love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:43-44 HCSB).  

This letter breaks my heart. It breaks my heart that a mother would disown her son. It breaks my heart that a grandfather would return hate with hate. It breaks my heart that so many people praise returning hate with hate.

We all need to be transformed by the gospel of Jesus Christ . . . so that we can return hate with love. Love for this mom. Love for her son. Love for this grandfather. And love for a people who celebrate the things that should break their hearts.

The worst day in my life was October 20, 2009.

I have experienced much pain in my days on earth. Illness, disease, deep depression, persecution, hatred, scorn and torment. But no pain that had come before or since can compare with October 20, 2009.

Several weeks prior, I met Kristin for lunch at the Red Robins in Valencia. After we ordered (I had a teriyaki burger with pineapple) my wife handed me a tube wrapped in Christmas paper.

I smiled.

I knew what it was. “This is a pregnancy test isn’t it?” To this day she still has a hard time surprising me.

We’d been trying to get pregnant for only a short while, and in that moment, as I pulled out the digital test and read the word “pregnant” I was a father.

I was also a health-code violator because I was waving around a tainted instrument in the middle of an eating establishment . . . but no one seemed to care.

The next few weeks were a flurry of events. Doctor’s appointments, early pregnancy classes, decisions about moving to a new home, vitamins, boys names (I liked Hrothgar), girl’s names, excitement, energy, and exuberance!

Then Tuesday came. It was a bright and sunny California day. I spent the morning in our one bedroom apartment studying Hebrew concepts I’d need for my class later in the day. As I tried to focus on the very peculiar text, Kristin called my name from the bathroom. Her voice shook. She didn’t scream but I heard fear in her voice.

I turned the corner down the hallway and what I saw looked like a murder scene.

Blood was everywhere.

Because we had Kaiser Permanente (a sort of uber-HMO), we had to drive outside of the Santa Clarita Valley over to Studio City. Spotting was normal in early pregnancies wasn’t it? I remembered that much from my anatomy and physiology classes. We sped as best as we could, and I cannot recall anything that may have been said in that thirty minute car ride, but I know I prayed and I thought over and over and over, It’s going to be okay . . . It’s going to be okay.

We arrived at the hospital. It’s going to be okay. We waited. It’s going to be okay. And waited. It’s going to be okay. The doctor who saw us told us she needed to perform a rather invasive ultrasound. I watched the screen and held Kristin’s hand. It’s going to be okay.

The screen was dark.

The doctor left the room, then came back in. She said, “I’m very sorry but you are not pregnant.”

She never once said miscarriage. Some of what she said lacked good bedside manner, some it made us angry . . . but then she said, “God is with you in this and I know that this won’t comfort you now, but at least you know that you can get pregnant.”

We drove home.

In my shock I realized that I had just enough time to go to Hebrew class, so I said goodbye to Kristin and got in my car to drive down to Talbot. I started the car, and the serpentine belt fell off.

I stayed home with my wife.

We were depressed. We knew that we were depressed. And we weren’t willing to “put a good face on" in the midst of our grief. But life had to go on. So, I told the staff at the church where I served as a youth pastor about what had happened. I also told the adult volunteers. I spoke with a number of the professors at Talbot, friends and most certainly our family members.

One person proceeded to tell us about the miscarriage in their family which eventually pulled everyone apart.

Another, told us that their miscarriage was the best thing that had happened to them, because they didn’t really want another kid.

Still others told us that maybe it was God telling us that we weren’t ready to be parents.

One of my mentors in seminary, after hearing the entire ordeal said, “That’s the problem with all these early pregnancy tests. Before we had them, a women would just think that she was just having a heavy period.”

And of course, everyone quoted Romans 8:28 – “all things work together for the good of those who love God . . .”

I’ve never wanted to punch people so much in my life. And these comments are just representative of the typical responses people gave to us as we grieved the loss of our unborn child.

Three people in particular consoled me, though. I know Kristin had some good people comfort her too, and there were others who comforted us, but these three in particular comforted me.

1. My pastor at the time, Mike Cobb, listened to what had happened, then got up from behind his desk and threw his arms around me and said, “I’m sorry. I know this hurts.” Tears were in his eyes.

2. My Hebrew professor, Dr. Rigsby said, “I’ve never had to go through the pain of a miscarriage, but my daughter-in-law has,” tears started streaming from his face, “And I don’t know why this happened, Nathan, but just like David said when his child died he cannot come to me, but I can go to him.” Then we were both crying. “Your child cannot come to you, Nathan, but you will one day see this child again.”

3. My pastor’s wife, Terri came into my office a few days later and we talked a little and I actually said, “We weren’t all that far along.” But she corrected me and said. “It doesn’t matter. As soon as you see the word pregnant you are a parent.” And we both cried.

Pastoral Insight

Because I’m a pastor, I need to comment on how people consoled us in our grief. When someone near you is grieving anything, whether a miscarriage, a death, a divorce or other tragedy:

• Don’t tell a story about something similar that happened to you. (This puts the focus on yourself, rather than consoling those who are hurting. If you've gone through a similar pain, you can acknowledge it, the feelings you felt in your grief, but avoid making the conversation about yourself).
• Don’t tell a story about yourself or others who went through a similar situation but turned out okay in the end. (I know you’re trying to give hope here, but to a hurting person this sounds like “suck it up and stop being sad, it’s going to work out you big baby.”)
• Don’t make promises on God’s behalf that God hasn't made. (God promises to comfort through the pain, he has not promised perfect marriages, obedient children, or fertile families. Telling an infertile couple that they’re going to get pregnant is reckless . . . you don’t know.)
• Don’t quote Romans 8:28! (Romans 8:28 is a verse about trusting God. In the midst of tragedy, many of us are trusting God, while simultaneously experiencing pain! Trusting God does not mean we don’t experience pain in our grief. When you quote this verse to a grieving person you harm them twice. First, you fail to acknowledge the legitimacy of their pain. And second, you accuse them of not trusting God.)

Instead of doing these sort of (typical) things, you should:

• Acknowledge their pain and grief. (i.e. “This hurts. This is horrible. I’m sorry.”)
• Sit with them, spend time with them, ask questions, talk about the tragedy or be silent.
• Read a Psalm or passage about comfort. (Psalm 13, 22, 23 are good starting places! The grieving process is not the time to try and perfect a person’s theology.)

It’s about four years later. October 20th didn’t turn out okay. We haven’t become pregnant. We’ve had no real foster placements to speak of. It feels like our life is on hold.

But still . . .

Still we trust in the hesed, the loving-kindness, the faithful love of Yahweh – The One Who Causes Things To Be The Way They Are.

I'm at VBS (Vacation Bible School) right this very moment.

I just finished "being" the Apostle Paul for the third night. And for the most part it's been a blast.

But not tonight.

Tonight, one of the questions Paul asked the kids (as we hid in a room from an "angry mob") was: Have you ever been in a situation when believing in Jesus or talking about Jesus caused you a problem?

And every single group, with the exemption of the fours and under, had a story to tell.

The twelve, ten, seven, six and five year olds all went on and on about how they were excluded, made fun of, ridiculed and shamed by their friends, family members, coaches and teachers for believing in Jesus.

There was no prodding here. There wasn't the usual two minutes of silence waiting for the kids to answer. There was no "parroted tales." Their stories jumped to life immediately. They varied greatly.

And in the darkness of the room, lit only by little electronic tea lights, I found myself wiping tears from my eyes . . . .

It seems to me that during tragedies Psalm 7 is a good text to pray through.

During these times of national and personal calamities we experience a plethora of emotions. We feel scared for our safety. We feel anger toward those who committed the evil. We feel vulnerable. We want justice. We want answers. We ask: “Why?”

Today, like so many other days, none of us have answers to satisfy our aching hearts. But we can pray. Please pray with me today this prayer adapted from Psalm 7. I think this psalm covers a wide range of our emotions today.

Pray:

Lord, God we seek protection from you,
keep us safe from violent people.
Rescue us. Rescue Boston. Rescue our country.

Lord, this was evil and we’re scared.
But we’re also angry that this happened.

We know that evil acts also anger you
because you love justice.
Please let justice come swiftly,
and peace return to the injured,
the families of the dead,
the city of Boston,
and our country.

Be our shield and protection.
Everything you do is right.
Search me, search us
and transform us into upright people in Jesus Christ.

We turn away from our selfishness,
and turn our hearts, minds and souls to you.

Bring your justice quick.
Let those who seek to do evil,
be undone by their own schemes.

Thank you Lord.
Fill us with the hope that even though it doesn’t seem like it
in Jesus,
every wrong will be made right.
Amen.  



Psalm 7

A Shiggaion of David, which he sang to the Lord concerning the words of Cush, a Benjaminite.

Yahweh my God, I seek refuge in You;
save me from all my pursuers
and rescue me
or they will tear me like a lion,
ripping me apart with no one to rescue me.

Yahweh my God, if I have done this,
if there is injustice on my hands,
if I have done harm to one at peace
with me
or have plundered my adversary
without cause,
may an enemy pursue
and overtake me;
may he trample me to the ground
and leave my honor in the dust.  Selah

Rise up, Lord, in Your anger;
lift Yourself up against the fury
of my adversaries;
awake for me;
You have ordained a judgment.
Let the assembly of peoples gather around You;
take Your seat on high over it.

The Lord judges the peoples;
vindicate me, Lord,
according to my righteousness
and my integrity.

Let the evil of the wicked come
to an end,
but establish the righteous.
The One who examines the thoughts
and emotions is a righteous God.
My shield is with God,
who saves the upright in heart.
God is a righteous judge
and a God who shows His wrath
every day.

If anyone does not repent,
God will sharpen His sword;
He has strung His bow
and made it ready.
He has prepared His deadly weapons;
He tips His arrows with fire.

See, the wicked one is pregnant with evil,
conceives trouble, and gives birth
to deceit.
He dug a pit and hollowed it out
but fell into the hole he had made.
His trouble comes back
on his own head,
and his violence falls on the top
of his head.

I will thank the Lord for His righteousness;
I will sing about the name of Yahweh
the Most High.

My wife and I share a love for the British TV show, Doctor Who. Actually my wife turned me onto the show, if you can believe it.

Recently, we’ve been going through some of the key episodes from the years of the ninth and the tenth Doctor. As the tenth Doctor’s time on the show nears an end I just re-watched one of the most tragic and personally terrifying stories I’ve ever experienced.

Spoilers (as River Song would say) are ahead.

One of the Doctor’s travelling companions, Donna, began her journeys with the Time Lord as a strong-willed, outspoken, self-important and somewhat mean-spirited woman. As she travelled with the Doctor, she became a better woman. She became compassionate and caring to others. She could selflessly put herself in harm’s way for the good of others. Donna became more intelligent as well. She hadn’t been stupid before, but she just refused to apply herself. She was lazy, and under the doctor she became wise. She was still, of course, strong-willed and outspoken . . . but these attributes became a force of good instead of selfishness.

She saved a peoples from perpetual slavery. She saved worlds. She saved the universe.

And then, in order to save her life, the Doctor had to wipe her memory of every second of her time with him. She went back to being a self-absorbed and mean-spirited woman.

To see all of Donna’s growth wiped out like that was among the most tragic, sorrow-filled events I’ve seen in a story. And it speaks strongly to the Christian life because we’ve all seen this sort of thing happen in real life.

We’ve seen self-centered men and women egoists transformed into selfless, wise, and compassionate persons as they travelled with the Great Doctor, Jesus. These men and women became wise, they led others away from slavery to sin and to freedom in Jesus. They loved others, changed lives and brought beauty into the world around them.

And then it all fell apart. They made a decision. They stole. They lied. They hurt people.

They acted just like they had before they had met the Great Doctor. And it was tragic.

This scene terrifies me, though, because as much as I would never want to back-slide and return to a life apart from my Lord . . . I cannot pretend that I am so good that I will never go back to a life characterized by sin.

Donna’s story is tragic and horrifying.

For me, as a Christ-follower, I hold onto the words of the Apostle Paul to young Timothy. He instructed him to always be "having faith and a good conscience. Some have rejected these and have suffered the shipwreck of their faith" (1 Timothy 1:19 HCSB). In other words, always be trusting in Christ and making God-honoring decisions . . . lest you destroy your own life and those around you.

Tragic, terrifying and horrible. Praise God for his forgiveness, empowerment and grace.


Watch the tragic scene here:

My wife and I are infertile.*

It’s generally been public knowledge since I talked about it in my Mother’s Day sermon last year. We’ve been infertile for the last four years. I intend to write more about our journey and struggle on this blog in the months to come.

But today . . . today in all the ups and downs of this road of sorrows . . . today was a particularly sad day.

Last night I received a phone call from the foster agency we’re licensed through. They asked if my wife and I were interested in fostering a six month old girl. It wasn’t a definite placement, but we would have to be prepared to receive the baby the next day. And of course the answer was “yes!” So, last night the Norman household was all a flutter with preparations. We pulled out the baby toys, the playpens, the high chair, the stroller and the crib. We wrote lists of items we might need to purchase in a moment’s notice.  We cleaned and baby-proofed everything . . . even the cats.

We called our families and texted our friends asking for prayer. We went through the foster licensing process almost a year ago and this was our first call!

This morning I woke up early and armed with my M.Div. training, I spent about two hours trying to figure out how to correctly install the car seat into my car. (I might need to go back to seminary for more education because the M.Div. did nothing to prepare me for the complexities of installing a child’s car seat!)

I went to the church office and my wife went to work. I was “on deck” to receive the “yes” or “no” phone call by no later than 11:30am.

11:30 came and went and I hadn’t received a phone call. That was a good sign, right? So, a little after 1pm I called our case-worker: “Oh, sorry I forgot to call you. The child isn’t going to be put into foster care at this time . . .”

I texted my wife (because she was at work) and she called me immediately. I think we were both crying without tears.

And then I had to go through the ordeal of calling and texting and talking to everyone I had asked for prayer. And as painful as that was, I think the most difficult, heart wrenching part of the day, was taking the baby’s car seat out of my car. It had taken hours to install it.

It took less than ten seconds to take it out.


I assume there will be other opportunities. But after a miscarriage. After four years of infertility. After a year of virtual silence from the foster care system. After disappointment. After disappointment. After disappointment. After disappointment . . . I am sad. And tonight I am depressed.

There are no words that can comfort me.

I will not be consoled.

It’s a Psalm 13 kind of day. So I suppose in my depression, and sorrow . . . even though I can’t see God’s plan in all this and I certainly can’t feel it . . . I will decide to trust in God’s faithful love.


*Infertility is defined as the inability of a couple to conceive after trying for a year.

Salon.com ran this article by Mary Elizabeth Williams last Wednesday. You can read the article "So What If Abortion Ends a Life?" in its entirety here.

I am not going to comment beyond this: Whatever side of the debate you are on this, I think Williams adds some clarity of the issues here. And regardless of where you are in your views on abortion, I love you, I care for you and I want to have a positive relationship with you.

Here are some excerpts (underlines are mine):