More to come

Sorry to all who were looking for days 2-4 from Israel. Our internet access was not as good later in the trip, but more than that those sleepless nights earlier just caught up to me and I just didn't have the patience to sort through all the pictures. I'll post more after tomorrow (the last day of my semester). I appreciate your prayers in the meantime. I am still dragging a bit.

Day 2 - Jerusalem - New City

We had one day in the holy city and we made the most of it. It was an interesting contrast of the ages. We woke to a view out the window of this suspension bridge at an angle and curve. It must be a landmark, but I had never heard of it.

The drive to the old city was fascinating. After trying to make a shortcut, our GPS system took us through some really tight streets in an Orthodox Jewish neighborhood during the morning walk to school/work. I wish I had a picture of it. There were kids of every age all over the place, and it was crazy how closely they walked to the traffic. I got honked at a few times for keeping my speed in check with all the people.

Day 1 - Qumran

(Here's the picture from the Dead Sea)

From Masada we drove north along the west coast of the Dead Sea to Qumran. Qumran is at the at the northwest tip of the Dead Sea. This little village was occupied at the time of Jesus' ministry and until the Romans put down the Jewish revolt in AD 70. Qumran is a little unique for it's interesting aquaduct system that runs through town and even right next to a central dining room of sorts. The aquaduct is pretty small, and there is debate about the function(s) it played. You can see it snaking below.

The aquaduct ran down from the mountains in the background of the next picture. If you look close, you can see a couple of the famous Qumran caves on the hillside. These are two of the caves where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found.

We hiked up to get a closer look at the caves. We found the entrance to one of them, but the big cave you see was pretty far up there. We thought we were getting close, but it was still a good 100 feet above us. There is a marked trail for backpackers that starts at Qumran and goes back past the caves and through the mountains. You can make out one more cave from this picture.

We drove just a little further north and then cut over to the west to come into Jerusalem from the hilly east side. It was tough to see much at night, but still exciting to be in the city.

Day 1 - To the Negev

That is, to the south. That is where we went today, southeast from Tel Aviv to Masada first. It was almost a three hour drive and the terrain looked a lot like New Mexico and Arizona.

Karen will be proud to know that we hiked up the mountain to Masada. (Her guide made them hike the 1.5 miles when she was here) Most people take the cable car up and then some walk down. We took the cheaper option and rode the cable car back down. You can read more about Masada from the link on my last page if you want to. It was an impressive site.

We took a quick dip in the Dead Sea. I wasn't all that excited about this, but I have to confess that it is quite the experience. I felt like a fishing bobber sitting in the water. You just can't sink. If you flip over on your belly your feet kick right back to the surface. Our guide book describes one cruel Roman ruler following some sick tradition of binding and throwing in few men on arrival just to see if they would really float. Sick, but I have to tell you that they would indeed have floated. Even I, with no body fat at all, never even got my head wet.

Erev Tov

Erev Tov!! That is, "good evening" in Hebrew. Or maybe I should say boker tov (good morning). Right now the clock on my computer says 7:30PM and the clock by my bed (in Tel Aviv) says 3:30AM. I slept for a couple of hours this evening, and now I just can't fall back asleep. So I decided to break my blog silence on the occassion of my first trip to Israel.

Most anyone who would check this blog already knows the occassion for the trip, so I will just post a picture of the night sky from our hotel room on this dark and dreamless night.

Tomorrow we are heading south to the sites of Qumran, near where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found about 60 years ago, and Masada, the last standout for a group of Jews who were part of the revolt against the Romans from AD 66-73. Jerusalem was sacked and destroyed in 70, but the group held out on Masada for another three years!

We're staying the night in Jerusalem tomorrow night, and then in Tiberias on the Sea of Galilee the next two nights. More soon...

GMT -8:00

I just finished watching the replay of Padraig Harrington winning “The Open”. It was a replay in two senses – one that he also won last year, and two that I had to leave for church just as Norman and Harrington were making the turn to the back nine. I think this is one of the biggest adjustments for me being on Pacific Time (GMT -8:00) – that the All-Star Game starts at 5pm and the leaders tee off for the British Open at 6am. After Joseph woke up at his usual 5:30 this morning, Mandy turned on the TV in our bedroom (a rare, and unnecessary luxury for us) for us to watch Norman try to become the oldest player ever to win a major. What a great wife I have!!!

I am always torn with the The Open as to how to watch the final round. Even out east I miss part of Sunday’s round, but to miss the conclusion of the round was difficult. Though I can honestly say that my excitement to worship this morning at Harbor’s Mira Mesa location easily trumped my desire to watch The Open live.

“The Open”, as the British call it, is my favorite of the majors. The Masters is a close second. I remember watching the Masters when I lived in Ireland and thinking how strange it sounded when the broadcasters called it the “US Masters”. ABC had a great line this year, “the only way to make the British skittish is to call The Open… British”. The Open is my favorite largely because my dad and I played three of the Open courses in 2001 after I finished my seven months in Ireland. I had enough frequent-flyer points to get my dad to Scotland, and we stayed for three nights in St. Andrews and another three in Glasgow. It was a golfer’s paradise.

We had tee-times at Carnoustie and Royal Troon, but the Old Course (St. Andrews) was booked months before we made arrangements. But like most courses, there is usually a way to get on, and we did indeed get to play. We went to the course the first day, put our name on the waiting list, and set out to play “The New Course” (built in 1905). We barely had time to start our sandwich in the clubhouse when they tapped us to tee off in front of the R&A Clubhouse (see the picture above). That tee shot is forever engraved in my memory. I took the picture in the header the day after we played the course. The funny thing is that the owner of the B&B where we stayed put our name on the list for the Old Course for the next day, and we got the nod again. But we passed on the second time to give others the opportunity we enjoyed the day before.

At the time, I remember enjoying the week – golfing with my dad at these historic sites. But I was traveling so much with work that it seemed in some ways like just another vacation. It was no big deal to jump on a plane wherever. I had more airline points than I had time to use them. But now I watch The Open each year and re-live one of the highlights of my life – playing golf with the guy who taught me to play in the place where golf first took place. Here’s to the 137th Open Championship, and to the Irish who now have a back-to-back champion.

Commentary - Valley of Shadows

I just received my professor's comments on the short story posted below. Before I say anything else, I need to say that my professor - Dr. David B. Calhoun - is regarded by most as an exemplar of the pastor-scholar. I whole-heartedly agree. Unlike many seminaries, Covenant requires its professors to have pastoral experience as well as teaching credentials. Even among this collection of pastor-scholars, Dr. Calhoun stands out and is recognized as such by his peers.

As for his comments, his primary suggestion was that I add more sensory detail in a few key places - describe the owl nest with more texture and sound, and bring more life to the scene in the hotel bar toward the end of the story. He also said I could add more suspense to build up to the end. Very helpful suggestions. And, truth be told, the suspense was cut short a little by the assignment due date.

I said earlier that I would provide some commentary on my intended meaning. Here goes. The idea for the dam came out of an illustration an old mentor shared with me 12 years ago. He compared sin to alligators in a swamp. He said, you don't really know how many alligators are there, or how big they are, until you drain the swamp. Obviously the reservoir created by the dam is a type of swamp that hides sins.

Beyond that, I wanted to portray two particular ways that I am tempted to create reservoirs and effectively bury my sin. The first is wealth, the second is knowledge. These are obviously personified in the persons of Jack and Prof. Brown. I was considering the question of what happens to people when these reservoirs just continue to build, having little or no outlet to drain the swamp and reveal what is under the surface.

I know that too much interpretation can spoil a story, so that's enough. Thanks again to Dr. Calhoun. And thanks to anyone who read the story.

A Short Story

The following is a short story I wrote for an elective course this semester. We studied some of the creative writings by Christians like Fredrick Buechner, Annie Dillard, Martin Luther, John Bunyan and Flannery O'Connor. This is the first short story I have ever tried to write. Please comment on your interpretation and feel free to offer suggestions. I'll post in a few days and offer some of my intended meaning.

Valley of Shadows

The water coursed through the steel pipes with the power of a freight train, redirected, with intensity foreign to the river's usual flow. With equal force, the project pressed forward. The massive concrete structure from above resembled the shape of a rainbow. Its arc stretched from one ridge to the other, with a limestone glean that reflected the light of the sun with sparkling delight.

To some, the refractions represented the hope of boating recreation, of water provisions for thousands, of electricity for generations to come. To others, the refractions bore no resemblance to the palette of the rainbow. It represented only the disjointedness of nature, the trout caught downstream never to see those upstream again, the canoe route never to be navigated again without portage.

Jack was of the former sort. It was as if those tiny sparkles from the dam collected themselves, and reflected into a gleam in Jack's eye as the four-man helicopter traced the arc and followed the ridge to the pine frame of a new house just a few yards from the drop-off.

"Is the construction on schedule?" Barry inquired, gradually breaking the pleasant silence of the last five minutes.

"Just a week behind," Jack responded. "But this is our place for relaxing, so we're not losing any sleep over a week."

"That's a nice place to be," Barry replied. "We've had full court pressure on for the past three months," referring to both the dam construction and the pending court decision on the lawsuit to block the project. "Remember Hetch Hetchy!" were the words that continued to ring in Barry's ears. The chant was as predictable as the chime of the courthouse clock each time he entered Dahlonega for a hearing.

Hetch Hetchy is, of course, the infamous reservoir project that kick started the modern environmentalist movement. John Muir fought hard to prevent a dam project in what is now Yosemite National Park, and in his failure to prevent the dam was borne an enduring commitment to not let history repeat itself. Anyone who has ever been to Yosemite can imagine the beauty of this now lost valley.

And so, with this kind of energy the opponents of the Chattocka dam project kept up their protests, even at this late stage of the game. The dam was slated to open, or perhaps one should say close, in a matter of days. It would take about four years to completely fill the lake, but the spring rain would be enough for the water to rise at least fifty feet at the dam's base. Not much would be covered in that first year, except for David Brown's house.

***

A narrow dirt road traced down the gradual decent of the foothills surrounding the Chattocka River. Though the oaks and maples were bare at this time of year, the dense canopy of pines sheltered David's entrance and blocked those above from seeing much of his modest dwelling.
David was proud of the fact that even if someone could catch a glimpse of his home from above, they would likely scan right past it. The brown of the timber covering the front façade matched the surrounding landscape like a brown toad sitting in the muck beside a pond. Only someone who knew what they were looking for would even notice it. On the back of the house were wood tiles painted brown that added just enough texture to match that of the ripples of the river running just twenty feet below and a stone's throw from the back porch. The house was now 50 years old, and the slate roof had not needed a single repair in all those years.

But the real treasure of David's home lie inside, where his library covered no fewer than three walls in each of three separate rooms. The shelves were all neatly kept. But the rationale of his shelving system could be discerned by no one but David. He knew precisely where each jewel could be found. Which was not surprising given the amount of time David spent either by the fire of his small cottage or on the patio behind. This particular winter day had warmed just enough to afford about an hour on the patio in the middle of the day, though the fire stayed lit inside.

He was reading Dostoyevsky on this particular Wednesday. Of course this had nothing to do with the two literature courses he was teaching at the nearby Berrien Springs Presbyterian College. Both of his classes met on Tuesday and Thursday, and David spent little time on campus outside of those days. Nor did he expel any real energy to prepare for either of the undergraduate electives that he had now taught for more than 15 years. He enjoyed his reading, and that was the motivation for his departure from Emory University just five years after his arrival.

***

The pilot slowly descended and landed on the newly paved street adjacent to Jack's new weekend getaway. The ride had been brief, just enough time to survey the dam and take some photos of the nearly completed structure. The time-lapse series of construction photos circled Barry's office back in Atlanta, reminding him of his two years of commuting an hour and a half to oversee this massive project.

The conversation seemed to come down to earth at about the same time the flying machine touched down. "How often are y'all planning to be up here?" Barry asked. Barry began to reflect on what three hours of commuting had done to his own life – family, church, workout, golf – and he wondered what Jack's strategy would be.

"It's hard to say really. Our hope is at least one extended weekend a month, maybe more. The reality is that most of my friends with these getaways seem to use them half as much as planned, and even then it seems like the wife and kids make at least one leg of the drive on their own. I hope we can be different, but…" Jack trailed off into some introspection and noticed the billowing smoke from the camouflaged cottage below.

During a brief silence he indulged in a surreal, albeit brief, admiration of Prof. Brown in the valley below. He guessed, rightly, that David was sitting on his patio even then, reading Josef Conrad or something of the sort, wondering what kind of darkness this dam project would bring to the region. "I don't think I'll do it again," Barry said, at once snapping Jack out of his schizophrenic thought. [It wouldn't be long until those thoughts would be buried under seventy feet of water.]

"Do what again?" Jack responded before thinking. He realized his error immediately, "sorry, yeah, I know what you mean."

"How are Collin and Rebekah?" Jack asked, only subtly veiling his real question, "How has this impacted your family?" Barry replied, "They are remarkably adaptable. Collin's team is set to do well in the state [basketball] tournament. I'd be surprised if they have much competition before the quarterfinals. He's starting to look at schools, and we will try to hit a couple of campuses this spring or summer. Rebekah is going through that awkward time, though she seems to handle it better than many of her peers. The thing is, from all appearances my absence hasn't had any significant negative impact."

"I know," Jack replied, not needing to say any more. Jack and Barry had been good friends prior to the Chattocka project, but as Jack would come up every few weeks for planning they would meet up fairly often for dinner at one of the handful of local establishments where they were confident that no ash from a chef's cigarette would make it to their entrée platter. Needless to say, this wasn't the project culture typical of Barry's past.

"The campus visits should be a good time for you and Collin," Jack added. "Will it be just the two of you?"

"I expect we'll make it a family event for at least one of them, if for nothing else to make up for lost time with everyone. But I do want to make one of the trips just the two of us. We need to have that time together before he's on his own. What about John and Jacob?"

***

David was startled by the mechanical ring of his rotary phone hanging by the back door. It didn't ring often. His reluctance to answer was only broken by the piercingly loud ring coming from just a few feet away. It was enough to shake him to his feet, and momentum carried him the rest of the way.

"Hello", he answered, not divulging any more information.

"Hi dad", was the controlled response from the other end. David's interest increased.

"Matthew. How are you doing?"

"Not bad. We're a few weeks into the semester, so things aren't too busy yet." Matthew continued on with some facts about school and such, then continued… "One of my electives is on Shakespeare's comedies. The professor reminds me a lot of you." He said, briefly letting go of his controlled tone.

His father replied, "That was a great time, when everything was still so fresh and vibrant. I know you will find it to be richly rewarding. How have you adjusted to campus life?"
"My first semester here was somewhat lonely. I didn't really expect it. I've met plenty of people, and have some good friends from high school who are up here. But I think I miss the family time back at home. I know you weren't really a part of that, but it was nice. It was really nice."

"Don't feel guilty about my not being a part of that. I understand how loneliness feels. But it is a phase, and you'll get past it. Just keep doing what you enjoy most up there, and get your mind off of the other things."

"Actually, I was hoping to make a weekend trip down to visit your place before it's underwater. It's been two years. I can't believe it's been two years." Matthew faded in his voice. His father wasted no time in his reply…

"You name the time and I'll be here."

"How about weekend after next?" Matthew asked.

"That's fine. I'll still be here, though they are trying to get me out of here as we speak. You'll still be able to make it down here, though."

"What's the latest on the trial?"

"Tomorrow looks like the day. We'll see, but my guess is that our protests have run their course. Even the last of the holdouts are packing their trucks." David somberly reported.

"And what's your plan?"

"I've become the symbol of this fight. I can't leave." Dr. Brown was both proud and sad as he closed the conversation with these words. He was legitimately torn on what to do next, but his die had been cast.

"I'll see you in a few days", Matthew said. He waited a few seconds for a reply, and hung up the phone.

***

David needed to get away from the house. He started down the riverside path, heading away from the dam. It paralleled the river for about half a mile and then started up the ridge, switching back one time along the way. He knew the path like he knew King Lear. For eight years he walked it at least once a day with his chocolate lab, Ridley. Though, since Ridley died he had walked it much less. Still, his feet just seemed to fall in a familiar place with each step. As he ascended the ridge, there was no need to even look down as he followed the natural steps carved out of the rocks and worn by decades of hikers.

His attention was drawn to the natural surrounds much more than in recent years. In the bare winter trees, he noticed an owl's nest perched in one of the many cyprus trees at the path's ascent. It had been there for years, but he couldn't remember the last time it caught his eye. Nor could he remember his last evening on the porch when he would just listen for the sound of the barn owls.

He wondered how much he had missed in recent years, as the lawsuits had piled up, and as he found solace in his reading like an alcoholic finds in a bottle. He noticed the vultures flying overhead, and wondered if they were just waiting for him to trip up and become an availed carcass just in time for supper. He thought for a second that it might be more befitting for him to be taken by the massive birds rather than the vultures circling their SUVs in the subdivision cul-de-sacs on top of the ridge.

How fitting a thought that was, as he turned the corner of the switchback and saw Jack and Barry starting down the ridge. Jack and Barry immediately noticed their adversary as well. Much had been said in the courtroom, but somehow they never seemed to cross paths in the wild.

All three considered turning around to avoid the confrontation. None did. It was a rather immature version of adult "chicken". There was about 10 minutes of walking before any words needed to be spoken. David was silent of course. Jack and Barry whispered a brief strategy. The ten minutes seemed like two as the battlefronts approached their positions. Dr. Brown realized his (position) was inferior, which was appropriately symbolic of his court battles.
Jack offered the first words. "Dr. Brown."

"Mr. Stewart, Mr. Eckstein." David replied, to Jack and Barry respectively.

Barry tried to ease the tension, "This is a wonderful trail. I am truly sorry that we will lose it."
It was difficult to count the number of antagonistic quips that came to David's mind. But he restrained. "I know Jack's been down here a time or two", his awareness surprising Jack a bit, "but I have never seen you down here. Is this your first time?"

"First and, if all goes well tomorrow, probably my last," was Barry's less calculated response. All three knew that the injunctions to stop the dam had run their course. David did not feel the need to posture at this point, standing slightly below the position of his adversaries, but feeling like Jack and Barry could take a regular stride and use his head as a stepping stone. In light of all this, David's composure was quite remarkable.

The three men did not see a need to keep this charade up. Realizing that if they continued as they had been going a second rendezvous would be inevitable, Jack and Barry turned to go back up the hill. David went down.

***

There was a time when Jack and Barry enjoyed an evening at the pub more than any part of the day. That time had passed. But the men found themselves in the lounge at the Smith House in downtown Dahlonega after a short ride back to town. The hearing started at eight the next morning, and neither wanted to risk the traffic on 400 coming out of Atlanta.

The waitress offered another round of scotch. Both signaled that this would be their last for the night. The man checking in at the front desk was the lead counsel for the Sierra Club. He glanced at Barry and Jack, but then quickly signed for his key and left for his room. The hotel employees were no more comfortable with this intra-house battle than the participants themselves, but they kept a straight face about it all.

Both men finished their drink and left for their respective rooms to call their wives. Jack called and checked on his kids, spoke briefly with his wife, and laid down for a night's sleep. But the conversation with David earlier in the day stuck in his head. And the occasional doubts about the whole project flooded his mind, keeping him awake for nearly three hours.

"What would be lost in the valley?" "What is the real gain?" "What is the real cost?" "How can we really know?"

***

At ten after eight the gavel struck and the judge called the court to order. Judge Williams asked each attorney if there was any new information to consider. Each man answered with a brevity that was uncharacteristic of the proceedings that had now drug on for two years. "Hearing none, then, the court has reached a decision. In the case of the Sierra Club verses the Chattocka Dam Project, the petition to block the project is hereby denied. The dam can begin operations on the regularly appointed schedule."

As tersely as the proceedings had begun, they were now over. The victory anesthetized any of Jack's doubts from the night before, and he and Barry descended the courthouse steps without making comment to the dozen or so reporters clamoring for a few words. Each congratulated the other, and Jack left for Atlanta while Barry headed for the dam. Construction was slightly behind on some of the inner hydraulic workings, but the structure was ready to begin the gradual fill at any point. Barry wasted no time getting the pieces in place to shut off the diversion pipes and begin filling the valley. The sooner everything was underwater, the sooner his headaches would be gone.

Dr. Brown had listened quietly to the verdict, expecting it, but still befuttled by it all. He would have only a couple more weeks in his cottage, and he returned quickly to take advantage of the remaining time. His protest would continue, and only a small effort would be made to move the most valuable of Dr. Brown's effects.

***

It was only a matter of three weeks before the waters crept onto that treasured cottage porch and Dr. Brown was forced to evacuate. He had a position picked out on the opposing ridge from which to watch his small oasis gradually submerge forever. He drove up the ridge and across the dam to his perch and watched. It took about five days for most of the house to be covered. Each day David would arrive at his spot with a book in hand and lunch in the car. He left only briefly to teach his classes on Tuesday and Thursday of that week, but the rest of the time he was as predictable as that courthouse clock.

On the sixth day, as the waters rose to almost cover the roof of the cottage, David stood in his usual position. But this day Jack had driven up and took his position on the opposing ridge. Both were in view of the perfect little cottage below. They each watched for more than an hour as the chimney slowly shrunk in stature. Each man was consumed in his thoughts, neither aware of the irony of the whole situation.

Almost at one and the same moment each came to a turning point. Jack, seeing the waters about to bury yet another of his life issues, felt something of a huge release of pressure from his shoulders. Never again, lest these waters recede to an unexpected degree, would the objections of Dr. Brown be a pressing issue. This was not a new experience for Jack. He had found that the reservoir of his own wealth could effectively bury just about any of life's issues. And they would remain buried, just as these waters would bury the small cottage and the nearby town upstream.

At just that same time, the sun peered its way around the blanket of clouds, and caught just a corner of his slate roof that Dr. Brown saw a light refraction not unlike that which came off of the dam for Barry and Jack just a few weeks earlier. But this light sparked a thought that had long lay hidden in Dr. Brown's own mind. As he saw the last of his home, almost every one of his books and much of his writing, he saw in that house a dam of his own… an unintended reservoir of the most destructive sort. It was the reservoir of his own mind. What he had stored up was not water, but knowledge. And what he had indented to supply to many, through the fountain of teaching, had now become just a drip from a small spigot. The rest just collected, with not even enough flow to break the algae and scum that had collected on the surface of his life.
Dr. Brown wondered if his ascent up the valley ridge just a few days earlier had been something of an emergence from a gradual descent into a subtly growing valley of death. The shadows had become stifling. He thought about how Jack had just buried his sins and considered if in some way his too had just been buried. Was there any difference? The thought swelled in his mind like the waters below.

***

Romans 6.1-14

The Approach

I came across this article – "The Drive to Drive" - last week in the midst of studying for final exams. Its thesis is that in golf the most exhilarating shot is the drive, primarily because of the raw power of the shot. As a golfer, I had to question this veteran journalist's assessment. As a younger man, I would have agreed that there was nothing like seeing a 300 yard drive fly from the tee (though with older technology I'm not sure I ever hit a 300 yard drive). But as I have improved my game I can say without question that the approach shot is far more satisfying (when hit well) than crushing a drive. The feeling of the ball leaving a cleanly hit iron shot, and then tracing a path toward the pin, dropping near the flag with enough spin to make it pull back slightly… it is just a thrill. It is both powerful and gentle. It feels like you are making the golf ball dance with the flagstick.

But I think the best thing about the approach shot is that there is a very specific target you are shooting for. With the drive, you can get it in the ballpark and be alright. Not so with the approach. If you're a little off, two putts and a par. If you're just a little farther off, probably chip/sand and two putts. If you're a golfer, I think you know what I mean. (Golfers – please tell me what you think.)

I found this article worth blogging about because there seem to be some parallels to the way most of us approach the study of Scripture and theology. We want to hit the biggest drive possible, so we take a big whack at it and see where it goes. But theology is a lot more like an approach shot, and the correct understanding of Scripture is like the flagstick we're aiming for. There is both power and finesse involved. And there is a confidence that comes over time (and much practice). Don't hear me wrong, I'm not saying that because I've been to seminary I have the necessary practice or expertise. What I am saying, is that there is a correct interpretation to Scripture, and it is something we aim at – like aiming at the flagstick. And the way we approach Scripture is very important. It is also quite exhilarating.

One of the most important lessons for me from seminary has come from watching the approach that New Testament authors have taken in interpreting and applying Old Testament Scriptures. They do so with an amazing knowledge of the Old Testament, and they cite it often (read through the footnoted OT references next time you have a devotional). I used to think that Paul, Peter, John, and even Jesus, took the Old Testament and just kind-of tweaked it where it was convenient to do so. My problem (not theirs) was that I didn't know the Old Testament very well. And that was a big problem. I am becoming convinced that if I don't know the Old Testament, it is impossible to understand the New Testament.

But it can be challenging to read the Old Testament. Granted, some stories are interesting. But the description of the Temple and the Levitical laws (Exodus 25 – Leviticus) is just tough to get through. I have to confess that last semester I read all the way through that section for the first time… and it floored me. Never before had I seen God as being that holy. And seeing God as that holy gave new meaning to the salvation that is made full by Christ's atoning work. It is a humbling experience to approach the God whose glory was so great that after Moses had stood before him the people could not even look on Moses' face. But that same God came to dwell among his people in the wilderness, and in Jerusalem. And that same God continues to dwell among his people, still holy, and still redeeming his people.

When we approach God, in prayer, in study of Scripture, in preaching – it seems to me that we can learn something from the Tabernacle and from golf. As the Israelites would approach the Tabernacle, they would be reverent, yet expectant, exhilarated, yet sobered by their iniquities. As the golfer hits his approach shot, he/she is expectant, yet sobered by his abilities. As we approach theology, we should be expectant (because Christ has torn down the curtain), but we should also be sobered by the fact that we are shooting at a flagstick that none of us has the skill to hit. But that doesn't make the approach any less exhilarating.