I'm better than you . . .

Well, that's not really true, but I am "published" now. (Although, Cassie, I think you stole my thunder in the race to be the first '04 MSU grad among us to get something sciency published. Blast!) That is, of course, only if you consider the Michigan Science Teachers Assocation Journal as being "published." It's really low-key. But I'm excited nonetheless. This past summer I spent six weeks working in a lab in the Plant Biology department at MSU studying a group of single-celled, photosynthetic freshwater algae called euglenoids. They're incredibly ancient--one of the first known eukaryotes (organisms whose cells have a nucleus) and, accordingly, incredibly diverse. As a side project I developed these activities as a (hopefully) fun and interesting way to allow students to learn about animals' response to their environment. Check it out, y'all: http://www.msta-mich.org/publications/index.php - Then click on "Phototaxis in Euglenoids."

Coincidentally, I find it interesting that I split the bill with yet another piece concerning the teaching of evolution through natural selection and of Intelligent Design. I am becoming increasingly critical of Darwinian Evolution, because not only mathematic probabilities but also the rules of scientific empiricism are violated by a number of the claims its adherents (often unnecessarily) make. Yet I am actually in favor of rejecting Michigan House Bill 5251, as is the MSTA. There is no need to single out Evolution and global warming as targets of critical study as to their arguments' strength or weaknesses, though I do plan on using Evolution as an area of greater scrutiny with my students.

Beauty

It began this weekend in Rome--a new opening of my eyes to see the beauty God has been working into his creation, that is. Because our visas here are only valid for three months, we have to leave the country to renew them. I ended up choosing Rome over Budapest, and I was not disappointed. Within the limits of my current experience, Rome is hands-down the most beautiful city in the world. It seems as if architects and fashion designers alike have thrown things such as restraint, efficiency, cost, or even functionality to the wind in favor of form, beauty, class, excess, and pure aesthetic pleasure. Probably the best part for me was St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican. In and of itself it is awe-inspiring, but being there during evening Mass made it even better. The Latin chants and melodies echoed in an eerily beautiful way, giving me the impression that the sanctuary was no longer filled with air, but with a physical manifestation of the music. I wanted to pray and be near to God. And I was, as always, thanks to his Spirit whom he has given to dwell inside the sanctuary of my own body.

With my teammates at the Colosseum

This weekend was easy on my eyes. But is there beauty everywhere? That remains to be seen (pun intended). But three things on my flight home today spoke of the beauty of God reflected in his creation.

On the return flight from Rome to Zurich, I sat next to a girl named Natalie, who is studying brass arrangement at the Berklee School of Music. After trading pleasantries and sharing our musical interests, we were both captured by the view of the Apennines, over which we cruised at 500 mph. Winter there had long begun its semi-permanent residence, leaving several thousand feet of mountainside above the treeline decorated for the Advent season in its finest white. Their jagged peaks spread for miles, like so many tents set up by an army of titans, contrastedly sharply by the flat, blue surface of their immediate neighbor, the Tyrrhenian Sea (or perhaps it was the Ligurian Sea at that point).

The lower cupola atop St. Peter's at dusk

But as I gazed out the all-too-small window past Natalie to the mountains below, I noticed how pretty her full, soft lips were. And later, when she bent over to get something from the shoulderbag at her feet, my eyes were drawn to the elegant curves of her back underneath her black cotton shirt. A new thought arose in my gray matter: her back was perhaps one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. I probably would never have said that girl's back could be her most attractive feature, or that which I look for in determining her beauty. I forgot about the Apennines.

According to the Genesis account, God made man and woman last of all, the pinnacle of his creation. The inner beauty of the human mind and heart aside, even the physical form of us humans ought to be atop the list of physical creation in which to revel, far above the Grand Canyon or autumn in the Catskills. For that moment today on the plane, that truth was clear. I suppose the Romans had it right, after all: for over two millenia, their art has been fixed upon the human form, although sometimes eschewing the graceful slopes of Grecian art for defined musculature. But the attention their artists have paid to the details of even toe and tendon, bellybutton and eyelid speaks a strong word nonetheless.

Michaelangelo's Pieta. I admire this greatly for how one can see that every last ounce of life has been exhausted from Jesus' body, now lying in his mother's arms. "And a sword shall pierce your own soul, too."

And so it is with details: Natalie and I parted ways after landing, and I caught my second flight. Istanbul beckoned. Having a window seat all to myself with no black-clad beauty to intervene, I was afforded more time to take in the sun-bleached eastern regions of the Alps before they gave way to the drab brown of the less-chiseled Caucus Mountains. The armies were still encamped, only with their tents pitched a little bit higher. Soaring at 30,000 feet affords perks such as this, but as a result, the clouds between the moutains and Swiss Air flight 1804 put an end to my alpine viewing. But these were no ordinary clouds. These blinding-white, billowy masses were cousins to the fiery ones that provided last night's backdrop to my evening viewing of Rome from atop St. Peter's. This was the Transfiguration.

The clouds over northern Rome at sunset

Each cloud had its own shape, like a heavenly fingerprint. This is owing to the fact that each cloud is an amalgamation of an uncountable number of water droplets that have, through static electrical forces, adhered to dust particles swept into the sky by the wind. Each droplet is made of perhaps trillions of molecules of water, each containing four hydrogen atoms and two oxygen atoms (water doesn't exist as H2O alone). Within each oxygen atom, a core of eight protons and eight neutrons is 'orbited' (and I use that term loosely) by sixteen electrons moving at speeds that make no sense even to computers, let alone our own minds. "'Nature,' said Thoreau in his journal, 'is mythical and mystical always, and spends her whole genius on the least work.' The creator, I would add, churns out the intricate texture of least works that is the world with a spendthrift genius and an extravagance of care. That is the point."* Don't even get me started on that whole 'no-two-snowflakes-are-identical' bit. I'll lose my mind.

From the dizzying, buzzing complexities of subatomic particles to the hulking masses of mountains and everything in between--the curves of a woman's back included--beauty is everywhere. May the Lord grant us all inquisitive, perceptive eyes to see it and grateful, wondering hearts to cherish it. Yes, even here in Istanbul. Or Detroit. Or Modesto. But everything we see here is only a dim reflection of what we'll see in God's face in heaven.

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*Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (New York: Harper Collins, 1999, 128).

Zechariah 3, part 2: God will remove guilt in a single day

As we've seen in my last post on Zechariah's 4th vision, God has spoken in favor of Joshua and Jerusalem in spite of his utter wretchedness. He now, the symbol of the priesthood through whom all Jerusalem could enter into God's presence, gains hope through hearing these words. How could his heart help but burn within him upon hearing God speak of his gracious approval (v. 2)? Yet his head still hangs low as he stands before the altar in service to God. When this vision was preached in February 519, Haggai had already delivered a stinging rebuke of the priesthood months before (Hag 2.10-14). Will God accept him and his offerings? He is still dirty and helpless.

But God comes and removes his filthy garments, saying to him, "See, I have taken your iniquity away from you and will clothe you in festal robes." The priesthood has been restored! The hands of God have removed his guilt and clothed him in bright white, in new robes radiant with the splendor reserved for God's own attendants in the heavenly courts. Ah, such grace! We who are equally powerless and defiled have our sins washed away by Christ's blood and are wrapped in pure garments, those of Christ himself, in whom we are hidden before God (Is 1.18; Rev 7.14).

The priesthood has been restored. There is gracious renewal. These are the words of God, the defining characteristics of his actions in history. Is it a wonder that the Bible only contains two chapters on creation, one on the fall, and two on recreation? Everything in between is the story of his redemptive work in history in spite of man's failures.* And here the priesthood is restored: now right sacrifices can be made, paving the way for the God of glory to again dwell with his people (cf. Ex 29.44-46). Hope springs anew for the people of God in light of his incredible mercies.

But sinful, human priests can offer only the blood of goats and calves, which can never fully atone for man's sin (Heb 10.11). If the scope of God's forgiveness and reconciliation are to be in accord with his revealed nature, there must be something better to come. Isaiah spoke of a servant, a tender shoot, who would come and bear Israel's iniquity (52.13 - 53.12). Those words of his were focused on things yet to come. And here God again calls his people toward a blessed future hope: "Now listen, Joshua the high priest, you and your friends who are sitting in front of you [the other priests]--indeed they are men who are a symbol, for behold, I am going to bring My servant the Branch. For behold, the stone that I have set before Joshua; on one stone are seven eyes [or facets]. Behold, I will engrave an inscription on it ... and I will remove the iniquity of that land in one day.

Joshua, the now-"sinless" mediator, points ahead toward God's servant, the Branch. But just who is he? Walter Kaiser points out how all four occurrences of the Branch (Heb. tsemah) correspond with the portraits of Jesus of Nazareth in each of the four Gospels: tsemah as King (Jer 23.5; Matthew); tsemah as Servant (Zech 3.8; Mark); tsemah as fully Man (Zech 6.12; Luke); and tsemah as fully God (Is 4.2; John).** And he is also a stone (cf. Ps 118.22-23; Dan 2.35, 45) with seven facets, which could easily represent either the sevenfold Spirit given to the Messiah (a 'shoot' and a 'branch') in Is 11.1-2, or it could be a poetic representation of the completeness of the coming Messiah in whom is no deficiency. He is wholly competent to save, something Paul is quick to point out in his letter to the Colossian church.

History has revealed that this Branch has been fulfilled in the King of the Jews, the Son of Man and of God, who came to serve and to give his life as a bloody ransom for many. In his death upon barren Golgotha, he bore in his own body the guilt of God's chosen ones, his Jerusalem (Zech 3.2). He now gives us the fulfilled promise of acceptance by God in spite of being lifelong sinners. The removal of guilt and shame in that seems implausible in man's eyes, both to the remnant returning from exile and to us, has taken place and is a true offer to all to be received by faith (Rom 3.25-26). Through Christ, our great and enduring high priest, our sins have been taken away for all time (Heb 10.12).

This gospel leads us to live out our duties to God and to others (and is not the latter inseparable from the former?) "in view of God's mercy" (Rom 12.1, NIV). Christian living in holiness and obedient service to God must always be preached as the result of God's grace toward us, not the other way around. Notice how the charge to Joshua (v. 7) comes after God's forgiveness of him. Anything else is deadly moralism, which benefits us none.

Zechariah's message was for a community and was to result in communal encouragement and peace. What, then, is the communal result of such blessing and comforting grace? "In that day ... every one of you will invite his neighbor to sit under his vine and under his fig tree" (Zech 3.10). The result is a sharing of blessing, an extension of received grace to others in need. And so it goes in the kingdom of God. Oh, for the day when faith shall become sight!

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* This was pointed out by Kevin DeYoung in his sermon "A Survey of Genesis", delivered at University Reformed Church, East Lansing, Mich., on February 6, 2005.

** Walter Kaiser, The Preacher's Commentary: Micah - Malachi. (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1992, 334-35).

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Ghosts

Yesterday afternoon I stayed back from campus in order to pray for my teammates and their time on campus. While I was sitting on the rocks along the Moda shoreline, I saw what appeared to be a large layer of scum floating atop the water. Because the Bosphorus is filled with all kinds of junk, I shrugged it off. But upon closer inspection, I noticed it was actually a large school of jellyfish. Yup, the Bosphorus is chock-full of these guys. Now, being a biology teacher, I am absolutely fascinated by them, and I eagerly search for jellyfish every day on the boat. There are two types I see here: a large (10-14"), dense one with purple gossamer lacework along its edges, and a smaller (5-8"), more translucent and less-featured variety.


In the jet-black water, their translucent whitishness stood in stark contrast. Gliding smoothly as they were gently lifted and set down again by the incoming waves, they appeared to me as if they were scores of ghosts floating through the moonlight night. It was both an eerie, haunting sight, and yet it possessed a strange beauty that beckoned me to draw ever nearer. I probably watched them for ten minutes. (Sad, huh, how to us Americans that's a long time.) If it weren't for the steep, wet, algae-covered rocks and my uncertainty as to their harmlessness (although they were tentacle-free), I would surely have ventured into the Sea of Marmara to grab one and examine its delicate features.

Upon seeing a similarly beautiful sight of a frenzy of sharks, author Annie Dillard wrote: "We don't know what's going on here. If these tremendous events are random combinations of matter run amok, the yield of millions of monkeys at millions of typewriters, then what is it in us, hammered out of those same typewriteres, that they ignite? We don't know. Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery, like the idle, curved tunnels of leaf miners on the face of a leaf" (Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, pp. 10-11).

That same logic ran through my mind two years ago while watching the sun set in Ocean City, NJ: If all we are is the product of a process and not a Person, from where does our ability to see and long for beauty come? And if my life is dictated, ultimately, by the rules of the 'survival-of-the-fittest' game, why didn't I instinctively shrink back from the potentially harmful marine life I observed today? If there is no creator of this world, it would require the denila of all I have ever felt upon hearing the sound of a November wind or upon feeling the coolness of the morning dew upon my bare feet, upon watching damselflies mate or spiders spinning their webs in hopes of catching a passerby unawares. God must be.

Zechariah 3, part 1: We're free from accusation because God has chosen us

Upon a wall in the Wartburg Castle in Saxony, Germany, is an infamous ink spot where, according to legend, Martin Luther hurled an inkwell in an argument with the devil. Luther said he had a dream in which Satan unfurled a scroll upon which were written all of his life's misdeeds, for which he stood eternally guilty before God's holiness and justice. In a 1521 letter to Philip Melancthon, Luther wrote: "I do see myself insensible and hardened, a slave to sloth, rarely, alas!--praying, unable even to utter a groan for the Church, while my untamed flesh burns with devouring flame."* Accused and attacked by Satan, Luther knew the depths of his sin and unworthiness before God. He knew he deserved the flames of hell.

The reality of wrath and anger as the outflowing results of offenses to God's holinesswere perhaps even better known to the community of Jews returning from the exile, to whom Zechariah preached. Their infidelity to God's covenant had resulted in bloody slaughter, the tearing open of pregnant women, being skinned alive, and even famine so bad that people ate their own children. In the first three night visions given to Zechariah recorded in 1.7 - 2.13, God reassures his remnant of his love and his exceeding passion for them. He is sovereign and aware of their plight and will by no means leave wrongs undone. The day of his glorious return to his people is coming. But how can an unworthy people possibly be met favorably by the God of glory? They knew his manifest presence in the temple was dependent upon holy sacrifices offered by consecrated priests (Ex 29.44-46; 38.28; Lev 16.21). But what happens when even the priestly mediators are now grossly defiled? Is there any hope for man?

The fourth night vision comes like a healing salve. The high priest Joshua ("Yahweh is salvation"), whom we will see more fully in chapter six, is seen standing before God in "filthy" garments. The Hebrew word here is related to the words referring to human excrement and vomit. Such is the vile stench of the priesthood's sin before God! The Accuser (Heb. satan) stands beside him to point out his every shameful deed to God, and rightly so (cf. Rev 12.10).

But look! God doesn't nod in assent or wag a judging finger. No, he says, "The LORD rebuke you, Satan! Indeed, the LORD who has chosen Jerusalem rebuke you! Is this not a brand plucked from the fire?" Oh, what beauty is in these words! For God is not against such sinners, but he is for them! Why? First, we see God has "chosen Jerusalem." Mercy to the uttermost will be shown upon filty Jerusalem because of God's election. Wherever goodness and mercy flow, they must come from a Source, whose decision to release them must always be prevenient. Because God's mercy rests upon his choice and not our cleanness--"God demonstrates His own love for us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us" (Rom 5.8)--we can therefore rejoice along with Paul in saying, "If God is for us, who is against us? ... Who will bring a charge against God's elect? God is the one who justifies; who is the one who condemns?" (Rom 8.31, 33-34).**

Second, we hear God say that Jerusalem is a "brand [a burning stick] plucked from the fire." The sovereign God who holds the nations in his hands never planned to totally consume the remnant of the Jews, but rather to refine and purify them for service (esp. the priesthood; see Mal 3.3) and turn them back to himself from their bankrupt pursuits (Zech 1.1-6). We who trust in Christ alone have the same assurance: God "has not destined us for wrath, but for obtaining salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ" (1 Ths 5.9). We can never know for sure why painful trials come in our lives, but we can know they are not for judgment; rather, they always come to cause us to fall upon our Lord in helplessness and in need of his abudant mercies.

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*As found in Walter C. Kaiser, Jr., The Preacher's Commentary, Vol. 23: Micah - Malachi (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1992, 330).
**On vv. 1-2 John Calvin writes: "Let us therefore know, that God is not simply the enemy of Satan, but also one who has taken us under his protection and who will preserve us safe to the end. Hence God, as our Redeemer and the eternal guardian of our salvation, is armed against Satan in order to restrain him. The warfare then is troublesome and difficult, but the victory is not doubtful, for God ever stands on our side.
"But we are at the same time reminded, that we are not to regard what we have deserved in order to gain help from God; for this wholly depends on his gratuitous adoption. Hence, though we are unworthy that God should fight for us, yet his election is sufficient, as he proclaims war against Satan in our behalf. Let us then learn to rely on the gratuitous adoption of God, if we would boldly exult against Satan and all his assaults. It hence follows, that those men who at this day obscure, and seek, as far as they can, to extinguish the doctrine of election, are enemies to the human race; for they strive their utmost to subvert every assurance of salvation" (John Calvin, from his commentary on Zechariah-Malachi located at http://www.ccel.org/c/calvin/comment3/comm_vol30/htm/TOC.htm.)

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faith:response

When I first began this blog back in June or whatever, I gave it the title Beloved Before Time. Why? Because, as you can see in the little description thingie to the right, I am coming to see true life as being something already fully accomplished, things that are "done deals." Wait a second, you ask, I've (hopefully) got many years yet to come. How can you say this?

Well, in reality, the Bible makes it clear that when it comes to being accepted by God and being loved by him, or living a God-honoring life in sync with how we were meant to live, everything is a matter of hearing God speak about what he has already done, is doing, or will certainly do, or what he has declared about us, and simply embracing its reality. God decided to adopt us as his children before time began (Eph 1.4-5). The covenant of blood securing our justification before God is equally ancient (Heb. 13.20-21). The decisive moment in history in which evil, sin, and the world were declared bankrupt of any lasting authority happened 1970 years ago upon a barren hillside outside of Jerusalem. Our sanctification is already complete (Heb 10.14). The apostle Paul even speaks of our future glorification in the past tense, a done deal (Rom 8.29-30). When Jesus cried out upon the cross, "It is finished," he wasn't talking about his life. Rather, he was talking about the moment in history to which all other moments point; the moment upon which all of the world's history past, present, and future will either be pierced unto death or unto repentance and life overflowing.
What God calls us to do is simply to embrace these realities. On the past event of the cross, we see the judgment of sin and the fact that God loves and forgives us. In the past event of the resurrection and ascension of Jesus, we see that eternal life is a reality to accept. It goes on like this. Even when Jeremiah was called into his prophetic role, he didn't hem and haw and fret nervously over what he should do. No, he learned that even before he was born God knew him and declared him to be a prophet to the nations (Jer 1.5). He found his life by responding to the already-conceived and declared word of God. Is this not the same for all of us?

I could wax about the beauty of the sacraments and they give our faith new life by serving as concrete symbols pointing us back to the cross and the purification purchased therein. Or I could go on with how I've been seeing this work out in the visions and oracles given to Zechariah--and I will. But until then I'll leave you with some related words from one of my favorite observers of life, Eugene Peterson:

Worship is the essential and central act of the Christian. We do many other things in preparation for and as a result of worship: sing, write, witness, heal, teach, paint, serve, help, build, clean, smile. But the centering act is worship. Worship is the act of giving committed attention to the being and action of God [not ourselves!]. The Christian life is posited on the faith that God is in action. When we worship, it doesn't look like we are doing much--and we aren't. We are looking at what God is doing and orienting our action to the compass points of creation and covenant, judgment and salvation (Reversed Thunder, pp. 140-141).*

The cry for and questioning of God's judgment, "How long?" is now established in its proper context, the act of worship. Judgment is ... experienced as the long-ago launched, deeply worked out, thoroughly accomplished action of God which we entered into through our baptism, the consequences of which we share in our salvation, which we participate in by means of our worship, and the completion of which we already celebrate by means of word and sacrament (ibid, p. 144).

*Eugene H. Peterson, Reversed Thunder: The Revelation of John & the Praying Imagination (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1988).

Zechariah 1.7-17: God is aware and cares!

In the year 519 B.C., the prophet/priest Zechariah ("Yahweh remembers") delivers a series of visions and oracles given to him by God sometime in the past (Zech 1.7 – 6.15). His goal is on one plane, like his contemporary Haggai, to encourage the temple rebuilding; but it is also to point the people toward the need for personal and community renewal in order to embrace the totality of God's redemptive work among his people.

In the first night vision (1.7-17) delivered on February 15, 519, Zechariah is shown a shadowy, nighttime military reconnaissance mission in which several (likely manned) horses who have returned from patrolling the earth. There is a man, probably the same as the angel of the LORD in v. 11, seated upon a red horse among myrtle trees, an ancient symbol of both Israel's promised restoration as well as the nation of Israel itself. We hear that these horses have been sent from God to patrol the earth. Even though they meet in the shadows of a myrtle grove in a ravine—a place of secrecy—they know the plight of God's people and the relative peace of Babylon and/or Persia (depending on when Zechariah received the vision). This lets us know two amazing things: (1) Even when God seems hopelessly absent, the reality is that he is fully omniscient and aware of what has been happening in the world. The reconnaissance work of God may seem hidden to the world's eyes, but it is most certainly happening. (2) God's presence is still with Israel, who appears to the world and even to herself to be forsaken. Yet the angel of the LORD, a manifestation of the preincarnate second Person of the Godhead, is standing atop his horse in the middle of his people and draws attention to his power put into effect for their restoration.

In verses 12-17 we see the heart of God and the promised future for his people in Jerusalem. In v. 12 we see the angel of the LORD cry out to God, "O LORD of hosts, how long will You have no compassion for Jerusalem and the cities of Judah, with which You have been indignant these seventy years?" (The 70 years refer to the exile in Babylon/Persia, but more generally refer to a person's lifespan, i.e., the time required to purge Judah of the idolaters and wicked majority whose lives brought the exile upon them.) I love this verse for several reasons: (1) It implies that world history and the fate of God's people are in God's hands and control; (2) Just as Christ now lives to intercede for us (Rom 8.34; Heb 7.25; 1 Jn 2.1), we also see his intercession for the saints even centuries before his coming to the earth; (3) it sanctions and even encourages us to lament and express our woes, pains, and unfulfilled longings to God.

The question is answered: Is God gone? Does he care anymore? Was it really true when the psalmist wrote "precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of His godly ones" (Ps 116.5)? Why is everyone else at peace while our lives are in turmoil? God answers the second angel, who is speaking with Zechariah, with "gracious words, comforting words" that are heard in vv. 14-17, but they are developed and laid out in picture and promise in the ensuing visions.

God did, in fact, purpose to bring a painful lesson to Judah and Israel in order to refine them and turn them back to himself (see 1.1-6). However, the nations went too far and sought to bring down the Jews entirely (v. 15), for which they will soon incur his fury (vv. 18-21; 2.6-9; 5.1 – 6.8). God reveals here that he is "exceedingly jealous for Jerusalem and Zion." He desires that people turn to him and find healing, restoration, and fulfillment in covenant relationship with him. Thus his chastisement is always for the sake of returning his people to relationship with himself, not cart-blanche destruction. We must know this when painful lessons arise in our lives.

Then God promises to return to Jerusalem with compassion and rebuild his temple and the city. The return of his presence (in the OT "choosing" of Jerusalem is always linked with God's dwelling there) will usher in an era of prosperity and peace, of personal and communal wholeness and health in relationship with their God and with one another.

As I write this, I'm listening to one of my favorite CD's, Everyone's Beautiful by Waterdeep. Every song points to the sad, fragmented lives we live--but even more to the love of a caring Savior who will not break a bruised reed or snuff a smoldering wick. I see in this a need to seek and find comfort in the community of God. God is "the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort" (2 Cor 1.3, NIV), and here he links his comfort with his presence centered in his temple. We can know and trust that God is ready with open arms to hear our cries of pain and unfulfilled longings, and he promises to comfort us and daily bear our burdens (Ps 68.19; Isa 46.3-4). Jeremiah, plagued by his foes, lamented, "O my Comforter in sorrow, my heart is faint within me" (Jer 8.18, NIV). And we can take comfort in knowing that he is aware of our circumstances and is fully able to change them, as we see in vv. 9-11, although sometimes there may be a seemingly interminable delay. God readily and truly ministers his comforting and strengthening presence to us in personal prayer and reading of the Scriptures, but his Spirit indwells his new temple, the body of Christ, the church. As God's people in community, we ought to be a source of comfort to one another, and we ought to be able to find comfort and help in bearing our sorrows in the listening ears, words, hugs, and helping hands of our brothers and sisters in the Lord. And I don't even know where to begin.