Let me start out by saying this: I think most Christians would agree with me that being tempted is not a sin in and of itself (if you hold that being tempted is sinful by nature, you need to be asking the question, “Since Christ sinned, what does that mean?”) Outside of that concession, opinions on temptation seem to vary quite a bit, both as to the mechanics of an actual instance of temptation and as to temptation’s overarching purpose.

So, I’d like open a dialogue about temptation. What is the purpose of temptation? What is temptation actually? What does Christ being tempted and never sinning tell us about Him? What does our failure in the face of temptation tell us about ourselves?

Anyone want to take a shot at it?

Anyway, last week we were covering point three of chapter five and we got off on an interesting rabbit trail. The question was asked, “Could Christ have chosen to sin, and if not, does that mean that he was not tempted in every way that we are, and does that therefore mean that He can not identify with us and understand our position?”

One of the interesting side effects of having discussion like these is that you are very quickly made aware of how difficult it is to articulate anything, much less topics that depend on prior topics and concepts being defined. You also find that the very act of articulation changes the way you understand the subject.

So here’s what I’m proposing: I’ll let this sit until Thursday of this week, possibly longer if there is some activity, and I invite anyone and everyone to leave a comment describing their take on this subject. Be as brief or as verbose as you like. But understand something, saying what you mean so that someone else gets it is harder than you think. (Man, I hope that made sense.)

I know myself what others know far better — how unfailingly courteous Lewis was in answering letters. I think I corresponded with him on three or four occasions… But there was a reply every time — it might be quite brief, but it was always written for you and for nobody else. I think this was his greatest secret. He hated casual contacts; human contact must, for him, be serious and concentrated and attentive, or it was better avoided. It might be for a moment only, but that was its invariable quality. That is not only why so many people have precious memories of him; it is also why he couldn’t write three words without the reader’s feeling that they were written for him and him alone. It’s why his massive books of scholarship read as delightfully as his children’s stories, and why he’s one of the few preachers who can be read without losing their message.

Having read this, I find myself ashamed at the thought of my own inattention to others, at the very lack of effort I put into achieving quality in a shared experience. I find that I am vain and self-absorbed, wholly committed to the selling of myself on the stock market of the moment, more concerned with how I am perceived than with how I truly am. Even now, as I read back through this, I find myself thinking, what will people think of me when they read these things? Will they think me genuine? Perhaps if I tell them that I’m thinking about it they will… My only consolation is that I am not alone in my depravity, and that is almost no consolation at all.

How do you rate compared to Lewis?

Is it just human to behave this way? To only say what we feel when there is a lesser chance that we will hear our own words?

Does this makes its way into our worship? Or is it rather, quite the other way around? Is our ability to show ourselves, and to even know ourselves, tied up in our love for God? Are we unable to speak truly of ourselves because we unwilling to speak truly of Him?

What do you say?

This is a love story. There is a girl. There is a boy. It is traditional.
I should warn you though, you have already been lied to.

She is twenty-one and she is beautiful. This is necessary.
Eighteen is no good, it’s too young, twenty-five is a bit too old.
She could be twenty-three, and things would probably end the same,
but even then, she would be less than perfectly prepared for what will happen to her.

She is unnoticed.
I said that she is beautiful, and that is true. She is fairy tale beautiful.
She is pale and thin with soft dark eyes,
and her black hair falls in what a poet could not fail to call “raven tresses”.
How could she be so beautiful and go unnoticed, you ask? A good question.
Ask the city. Ask the world. Ask yourself.
There are girls more beautiful than she in your own town.

Her apartment is tiny. Her walls are white and bare.
She lives alone – no pets, no friends. She calls her mother once a week and leaves a message on her answering machine. Her father is dead.
She has not cried since she was ten.

She has one pleasure in her life. She reads. Classics mainly, but contemporary works as well. She goes to the library every day at lunch, and most days after work.
She sits in an empty alcove and reads until closing time. She goes home. She falls asleep with a book on her chest.

Her story begins here, written in flaming letters and spoken with a tongue of fire.

What happens next. Where goes the tale?
Ask the city. Ask the world. Ask yourself.
There are girls more beautiful than she in your own town.

It was sometime after midnight as I was leaving his room, that the doctor that was proctoring me at the hospital stopped me and said quite simply, “Charles, I would not, at any time, turn your back on that man. You don’t know anything about him, and he may be quite dangerous.” And I did what any young, naive fool would do: I said, “Yes sir” and “Thank you” and immediately forgot what he had said.

It was maybe an hour later that he called me over and warned me a second time, and though I cannot remember his exact words, the idea of what he said has stayed with me to this day, and is the core thought that I want to leave you with. He said, in effect, “Charles, I was serious when I warned you before to not turn your back on that man. When you look at him, you think that because he is smiling, he is smiling at the sort of things that you might smile at. But he is not sane, and you have no idea what might make him smile and laugh.”

I still think about those words. Lately, when I am with my wife and children at the mall, it is no hard task for me to remember that we live in a world gone mad. The man that I nod to as he holds the door for me and my family, the man who is wearing the Chicago Bulls sweatshirt and who is smiling at me as we pass, he may very well be smiling at the thought of the pornography that he will watch tonight. The cashier at the fast food place, who may be stealing from his boss or his parents, wears, often enough, a smile on his face as well. The woman who almost runs into me, her arms loaded down with bags and boxes, she may be smiling about the affair that she is having, her face brought alive at the thought of the pleasure that sin provides for but a season.

And the man who is at the mall with his family, the one who holds his wife’s hand tightly and who holds her with his eyes, the one who looks at his children and wonders what they will become, and who prays for them all, the same one who even now is typing this very post: why is he smiling? We live in a world gone mad. A world where every man has deep within him, a darkened heart that is full of wicked things. Most days, we can scarcely afford to forget it.

Master, Moses wrote unto us, If a man’s brother die, and leave his wife behind him, and leave no children, that his brother should take his wife, and raise up seed unto his brother. Now there were seven brethren: and the first took a wife, and dying left no seed. And the second took her, and died, neither left he any seed: and the third likewise. And the seven had her, and left no seed: last of all the woman died also. In the resurrection therefore, when they shall rise, whose wife shall she be of them? for the seven had her to wife. And Jesus answering said unto them, Do ye not therefore err, because ye know not the scriptures, neither the power of God? For when they shall rise from the dead, they neither marry, nor are given in marriage; but are as the angels which are in heaven. And as touching the dead, that they rise: have ye not read in the book of Moses, how in the bush God spake unto him, saying, I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob? He is not the God of the dead, but the God of the living: ye therefore do greatly err.
(Mark 12:19-27)

Then read this:

Brethren, I speak after the manner of men; Though it be but a man’s covenant, yet if it be confirmed, no man disannulleth, or addeth thereto. Now to Abraham and his seed were the promises made. He saith not, And to seeds, as of many; but as of one, And to thy seed, which is Christ. And this I say, that the covenant, that was confirmed before of God in Christ, the law, which was four hundred and thirty years after, cannot disannul, that it should make the promise of none effect.
(Galatians 3:15-17)

In these passages, Jesus and then Paul expound on doctrine based on what would (at first) seem to be insignificant details. In the first example, Jesus establishes the fact (before the unbelieving Sadducees) that there is a resurrection by pointing out that God said to Moses, “I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob”. Then, in the second example, Paul reveals that in Genesis 22:18, God was referring to Jesus Christ and not to Isaac and his descendants because the singular Hebrew word for seed was used and not the plural.

So think about this the next time you hear someone questioning the precision of the Word of God. And also tell your children that, yes, grammar is important.

Every story that has inner beauty,
That strikes a note and holds it
In our hearts and minds,
Is an echo of the one Story—
Wild and frightening and wonderful.

As a writer there can be nothing more depressing than slaving over words and putting them out for the world to see and then hearing nothing in return. So do him this kindness: go there and read the poem and then leave him a comment. It doesn’t have to be long, in fact, it can even be disagreement. You should also bookmark his site while your there. It’s a great read.

It’s midnight
and I’m lying in my bed,
trying not to think about you.
I close my eyes
and I see your face
your smile turned on me full force
and your dark eyes
staring into mine
as deep as the night sky
and full of their own constellations

I remember how we began…
with a quick and startling glimpse,
into each other’s lives.
Little pieces of conversations, emails,
and late night phone calls,
beginning the gentle process of my life slipping into yours,
and your life flowing into mine; of our hearts, teaching one another,
that love is not a dream.There is no end to love like this,
For I loved you before I knew your name
You are the love I thought I’d never find,
The part of me I thought, would never be complete,
You are my heart, my life, the better part of me.
There is no end to love like this…
How could there be?

Do I love you?
I have asked myself that question a million times
…afraid of speaking before hearing your reply,
…knowing yours and waiting still,
…knowing mine and holding back my voice,
…knowing the question like an old familiar friend,
and wondering at times,
if asking
isn’t just a part
of loving.

I love you, and I live in your eyes
I wear you, as the smile on my face
you are, so very much a part of me
not something added in haste
but something I have needed
from the day I first drew breath

Diary of an Early American Boy
Any boy (or girl) interested in post-colonial American life will love this book. Based on accounts from a diary kept for the year 1805, the book follows the diary’s author, Noah Blake and records the significant events of that year. The author of the book, Eric Sloane, took great pains to embellish these events both with beautiful hand-drawn illustrations and detailed, well-researched descriptions. Themes in the book include: blacksmithing, engineering, bridge building, coopering, early American harvest festivals, carpentry, farming, early-American architecture, religion, and courtship.

Carry On, Mr. Bowditch
Staying in the vein of early American life, Carry On, Mr. Bowditch, tells the story of Nathaniel Bowditch, a young man born a few years before the Revolutionary War, who would have a significant impact upon the world. The book follows Nathaniel as he is trained in his father’s cooperage, indentured as a bookkeeping apprentice to a ship chandler, and finally serves as a crew member and later the master of his own ship. Themes covered in this book are: Christian childhood, manhood, mathematics, sailing, navigation, scholarship, courtship, marriage, Christian love, life purpose, and death.

There are more books that I’d like to add to this list, but in the meantime, you can also use this handy form to search my book library. It’s set to search books based on tags, so searching for “boys” will give you books for boys, and “girls”, will give you books for, well, if you can’t see the pattern that’s forming, I sincerely doubt that pages of exposition will make a difference. Here’s the form, give it a try. As always, comments and questions are encouraged.