“Enjoy life with the woman whom you love all the days of your fleeting life which He has given to you under the sun; for this is your reward in life and in your toil in which you have labored under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 9:9

I was at a night of blessing for Randy Eilders Friday, a young pastor who recently completed an internship at our church and is getting married in about five weeks.

About 45 men were there to pray with him and encourage him. And one of the recurring themes was the importance of spending times with our wives.

Our associate pastor, Rob Stewart, has just been married one year. He said that the discipline of making Monday “Lindy Day” had been more rewarding than he could have expected.

He works Sunday, of course. But on Monday they just make time to be together. She is happy when he does this.

And he can tell she is not happy when he doesn’t. Not in any mean, self centered way, of course. They are newlyweds after all. But when he makes other plans he sees an almost imperceptible shadow on her face.

This is very wise man. And he encouraged Randy, who is also a pastor, to make a time like this, especially in his first year of marriage.

Creating such times early in marriage is the most common advice I give young men. I urge them to make it a pattern of their lives. Such time has to be scheduled. And quite frankly it has to be sanctified. Set apart. Holy.

To set such time aside is to create a sanctuary. It is to create a sacred space we treasure and desire. Even after 38 years of marriage, I want it as much as I did before we were married.

But for me, and for most of us, after just a few years of marriage it had disappeared into our careers and children. Or worse into the shadow of the Fall. We both learned to push each others buttons, to avoid troublesome conversations, to protect ourselves from jokes and comments that wound our hearts.

And this with someone I could not have imagined keeping secrets from just days before our wedding. Nor could I have imagined hurting her as much as I often did. Or sometimes do.

The trip back to the garden of delight is always a trip back to sanctuary. We find our way back to a safe place where we can be vulnerable and unafraid, back to the place where we can be naked and not ashamed.

I don’t think any man who claws his way back to this refuge will regret it. He will find, most likely, a woman wiser than the one he married. I did. As Proverbs says, “House and wealth are inherited from fathers, but a prudent wife is from the LORD.”

And on Katie’s birthday tomorrow (Sunday) I am more grateful for her love than for any earthly treasure. I remain grateful for the time we make each day to share our lives together and to rest in the providence of God.

No man needs a castle when he has a sanctuary.

It’s transition time at the university. As a new semester begins my Capable Assistant and I are pushing to get new students into the online program I manage.

And face-to-face classes are starting as well. There are syllabi to prepare and advisees to meet. There are other transitions too, both at home and at church. Long, busy, stressful days.

But nevertheless I was surprised to find myself standing in the suite outside my office, absentmindedly drinking day old tea.

Let me acknowledge first that my relationship with tea is complicated. I was weaned on sweet tea down south, tea sweet enough to pour on your pancakes, even if it wasn’t thick enough. As a kid I could feel my mother’s sweet tea coursing in my veins.

But age, diabetes, and living in Michigan 25 years had pretty much cured me. Or cursed me, depending on your point of view. And the tea you get in a restaurant up here is so weak it barely registers on the tongue.

Everyone knows you can’t dissolve sugar in ice water, even if the waitress did wave a tea bag over it. So I’ve learned to drink my tea without sugar.

But life improved when my wife and I started drinking hot tea a few years ago, loose leaf tea of a much higher quality than the Luzisanne tea bags of my youth.

Brewed loose leaf tea is a European thing—something we picked up in Sweden and perfected in Ireland. Our adult kids have, for the most part, joined in. Even led us.

So each month Katie and I travel to the TeaHaus in Ann Arbor, where Lisa and her staff let us smell and taste exotic teas before we bring them home to enjoy.

We share a pot of Darjeeling every morning before I go to work, reading and talking together. It is an essential ritual. And often when I get to work my much appreciated assistant Terri and I brew another pot as we plan how to solve the problems of our very small world.

So I was surprised to find myself pouring day old Sikkim Timi into a Styrofoam cup. Terri was there and I think she gasped.

A. A. Milne said “A Proper Tea is much nicer than a Very Nearly Tea, which is one you forget about afterwards.” This was not even Nearly Tea. It was a Great Desecration, and I hope I can forget it immediately. Or at least never repeat it.

And in Styrofoam, no less. Lisa probably won’t let us back in the store.

Because a Proper Tea is not only memorable, it is restful. The whole process slows you down and invites conversation. The making of tea is the unmaking of stress. One must take these matters seriously.

Tea may “amuse the idle,” but it also “relaxes the studious,” as Samuel Johnson once observed.

Mine is a heritage literally steeped in tea. And whether it is served hot or cold, I’m pretty sure it is not meant to be served a day old. If you don’t have time to make a new pot, you probably need to take the time.

Simple things are to be savored, after all.

But they can rarely be saved.

______________________

See also relearning to linger

Universities are in trouble these days, so while I haven’t blogged here for a few days I have been writing about my vision of higher education over on my other blog. So if that sort of thing interests you, check out my Immodest Proposal.

And if it doesn’t, stay tuned. We will return to our irregularly scheduled programming later this week.

It is long, even my my essay length standard her. But if you do read it, however, please comment. Commendation or criticism are welcome. Or send it to a friend who might be interested in such things.

I believe higher education is in a desperate, unsustainable state. I also believe in the liberal arts. Being part of the solution is important to me.

Klout and Kred are two services that measure your influence. Or at least your online influence.

This requires you to be online, of course. But if you are, and you have an “@” name on Twitter or Facebook, they are keeping track of you whether you like it or not.

My Klout score is 42, out of 100, and according to the Klout people I influence people about publishing and Christianity. I probably do, but of course they didn’t ask me.

Kred measures social influence (Twitter only) on a 1000 point scale (mine is 522) and you can actually see who has retweeted or mentioned you. You can see who retweeted or mentioned me too.

Unless you specifically make your Facebook and Twitter accounts private, you agreed when you signed up for them to loose your updates into the world. Kred and Klout are simply analyzing pubic data and what you had for breakfast is part of it.

But that’s really not the scary part. OK, it’s scary. But the more immediate scary part is that these scores are becoming part of how college students and others will be hired. Yes, employers look at your Facebook account.

But increasingly they are looking at your ability to influence others, easily quantified by these social media metrics. Your influence is now a commodity. And students are already being encouraged to put their social media scores on their resume.

“Sorry, friend. We can’t hire anyone whose Klout is less than 60.”

No, it’s not that bad. Yet. But the quantification—and commodification— of our social influence is dangerous for at least two reasons.

The first is that there is a tendency to confuse influence with reputation. Reputation can be good or bad, influence can be small or great. None of these tools measure a moral dimension. But reputation has a moral quality. To measure how many people read or share does not measure the value of what we think or do.

People can be widely read for being idiots. Neither novelty or stupidity are virtues. Many shallow celebrities have many shallow followers. But influence is a shame virtue, one that depends more on its shadow than its substance.

The second problem is that once we have quantified our influence we have invited our vanity. My two oldest sons have higher Kred than I do, so I will have to stay up all night tweeting to get ahead.

It is easy to see all the ways people will attempt to manipulate these scores; The truth is, you can buy followers. You don’t have to have any influence at all to know this will not end well.

Already, if you are proud of your score you can put a “badge” on your website. Get a social media business card too. Buy them in small quantities so you can keep your number of followers updated. Better yet, get social media trading cards—like baseball cards only they have your social media stats.

You too can be famous for being famous.

Unfortunately, as François de la Rochefoucauld has observed, “If vanity does not overthrow all our virtues, at least she makes them totter.”

And pride, we know, comes right before the fall.

Both my mother and my mother-in-law routinely carried off ketchup packets and coffee creamers. And you may too, or know someone who does.

An article over at eatocracy says there are psychological reasons for this. One psychologist says, ““It’s easy for some people to say – to rationalize – taking these items is not going to have an impact.”

They put it out for me, didn’t they? I’m just going to use it later. Such rationalization stems from both the entitlement expectations of current culture as well as Depression era anxiety among the elderly.

So they end up hoarding and, well, stealing. Because there is a little kleptomania in all of us, a guilty pleasure in collecting condiments even if we do throw them out when we finally clean the refrigerator.

But theft it is. Some restaurant owners report spending 1% of their operating costs on table condiments. And they literally have to budget for the amount that walks off, in chains sometimes into the hundreds of thousands of dollars.

The reason we pump our own ketchup at McDonald’s now is so we can’t take it home with us. There is even a patent for a theft resistant condiment container.

So it’s not just a psychological issue. It’s an economic issue. And it’s a moral one. Pilfering is stealing small things, but it is still stealing. The list is a long one—condiments and plastic forks at the restaurant, blank papers and paper clips at work.

It’s really unnecessary. They sell duck sauce at the grocery store, you know. We don’t have to take it home from the Chinese restaurant.

And all those entitled teenagers? They went out to eat with grandma, so there may be a little unfortunate cause and effect going on. We have blurred the lines and don’t understand why our children can’t see them.

They can count the taco packets in our glove compartment, however. And they want a little guilty pleasure of their own.

It is the little foxes that steal the grapes.

But it was grandma who stole the grape jelly from the diner.

Just for the record, I’m a teetotaler.

And my reasons are personal, not biblical. Although I grew up in a church that did not approve of drinking at all, I’m not sure a case can be made for that position.

Even in Scripture wine is appropriate for both celebration and health. And anybody who tries to convince me that Jesus turned water into grape juice is on a fool’s errand.

My personal reasons have more to do with the devastation of alcohol on my extended family—alcoholic grandparents, broken families and two fatal accidents. I spent one summer during college with my grandfather who was suffering from delirium tremens when he misused his medications from the VA to treat his alcoholism. It’s not pretty.

So I chose a long time ago not to go down that road. Not even by a single beer. But it’s not a standard I extend to others.

I feel quite differently about drunkenness, however.

New numbers from the Center for Disease Control indicate 1 in 6 adults in the United States binge drink, usually 4 times per month, and consume an average of 8 drinks per occasion.

The CDC defines binge drinking as more than four or five drinks on an occasion and says 90% of all alcohol consumed by young people is consumed in this way, contributing to traffic deaths, domestic violence, unplanned pregnancy, venereal disease and, of course, alcoholism.

Frankly, the degree to which even Christian young people have embraced alcohol as integral to their life style is a cause for concern if not alarm.

No wonder the Apostle Paul said not to be drunk with wine but filled with the Holy Spirit. Seriously, anyone who says a few drinks won’t affect their moral judgment has already begun to rationalize debauchery. And any Christian who first seeks solace or good cheer in a few beers has forgotten how and why to pray.

The Scripture clearly warns against drunkenness. Both New Testament lists of things that keep us from inheriting the kingdom of God include it. (See Galatians 5:19-21 and 1 Corinthians 6:9-10.) In another place we are told not even to eat with someone who is “guilty of sexual immorality or greed, or is an idolater, reviler, drunkard, or swindler.”

There are, in fact, more warnings about drunkenness and biblical stories where it ends poorly than about almost any other sin. Here is one of the warnings:

Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has strife? Who has complaining? Who has wounds without cause? Who has redness of eyes? Those who tarry long over wine; those who go to try mixed wine. Do not look at wine when it is red, when it sparkles in the cup and goes down smoothly. In the end it bites like a serpent and stings like an adder. Your eyes will see strange things, and your heart utter perverse things.

Binge drinking is not just a party game. Or a way to spend a lonely evening. It is an evil by which thoughtful people lose their judgment, their coordination and their reputations.

And perhaps their souls.

This is the stuff of romance novels and chick flicks, of course: there is one person for you, and you will know them when you meet them. Unless you don’t.

I understand the impulse. I consider myself a romantic. Candles. Flowers. I get it.

But the search for some harmonic transcendence is nonsense. It is mathematically difficult, of course. If one person marries the wrong person, then two other people have to marry the wrong person—then four, then sixteen—you get the picture.

But it is especially nonsense when your “soul mate” happens to be married to someone else. Or you see your spouse as they really are and you want to start over, searching for someone more perfect. It is also nonsense when young people can make no commitment at all, “hooking up” and waiting as it were for the perfect match.

The perfect match is a fantasy, and I’m speaking as one who has a strong, committed marriage of 38 years. We have a good match. A strong match. We balance each other. We love each other.

We are not soul mates, however, and we both prefer it that way. Our imperfections keep us from being boring.

Other than the fact that we don’t like the same music, we don’t like the same food and we don’t like the same books, we manage to maintain a unity of purpose which is rooted in biblical values and responsibilities.

And did I mention joy? There is a lot of that, and more and more the longer we stay with it.

We have learned so much together, but only because we have been faithful in difficult times, clinging to the grace of God as the world careened around us and forgiving each other as God has forgiven us.

Our differences made it work because our commitment made us stay. You don’t need a soul mate to be happily married. You need a covenant. Then all you have to do is get up in the morning and engage the difficult but rewarding work of loving each other.

On the other hand, take the whole package of Hollywood contrived, Disney reinforced and romance driven never-ending bliss and you have a recipe for disaster. No one can live up to this standard. No one can sustain it. And no one can grow in it.

And theologically, it borders on idolatry. As Harry Blamires has observed, Christian romanticism is ”an acknowledgment that beauty, nature, sex, the passions of youth, are good creations of God and point to an eternity beyond this world.” But we are clearly in trouble when we seek the pointer more than the One pointed to.

Who needs God if you have a soul mate? How do you learn to forgive or to wait when you already know and serve each other perfectly? How can someone be perfect for you when you are clearly not perfect for them?

Honestly, once you find, pick and marry a spouse, you find that being a husband or wife is responsibility enough, without the added burden of being a soul mate. Pick up your socks, take out the trash and lay down your life.

It’s that simple. And it’s that hard.

Certainly the mystery of being “one flesh,” of knowing and being known, is the work of God. He gives us discernment and peace as we find each other.

But if He gave us the fairy tale, He would not give us what we need.

That’s because what we really need is Him.

I wouldn’t call her a kid sister, of course. It’s been a long time since that was appropriate.

Toy (real name) is instead a woman who has friends who want to canonize her, four mostly adult kids who depend on her, and a husband who loves and takes care of her. He is the strong, silent, safety conscious guy I never was.

But these responsibilities are no indication of how hard she has worked and how much she has grown since I was changing her diapers. We are preacher’s kids and we were brought up on adult conversations and over-sized expectations.

We learned stuff and then we did stuff. We cut our teeth on ministry. And my mom, whose many gifts were not particularly domestic, leaned on us to take care of each other and of our younger sister, Joy.

It turned out Toy would need all this experience. And wisdom. This blog is no place to describe the details of her life. But she is not a complainer. I wouldn’t call her a survivor either. I would call her an overcomer, which is what God would call her too. 1 John says “For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith.”

Church splits? We’ve been there and done that. Few things get as ugly as disagreements between people who think they have divine authority for their contradictory opinions.

Family crisis, unemployment, long-term care-giving——these have been her battles and grace has been her shield. It makes me feel bad about taking the biggest scoop when I dished up the ice cream.

I’ve not always been the big brother she needed. I was in college when she was just entering high school and probably needed me the most. I lived at home, but it’s not like you are paying attention to your little sister while you are sorting out your own life.

I did have a huge paper route in college and every other week she or Joy would get up at 4:30 and help me stuff the Chattanooga Free Press in plastic bags and deliver them to homes and apartments. I don’t think she helped because I was such a kind and gracious big brother. It was the $25 a month and all the Christmas tips.

For three fourths of our lives now we have lived in different towns and taken different paths. But she is glad to hear from me. She still welcomes me. She still loves me. She has taught her kids to respect me. And she has honored me for every achievement along the way and bragged about me at every opportunity.

So today, Toy, I want to honor you. Thank you for your faithfulness to God and to your family. And thank you for your service to your friends and to your ministries, which have been many.

You are creative, resourceful and resilient, a credit to our father’s legacy and a joy to our heavenly Father’s heart.

Happy birthday.

And I’m sorry about the ice cream.

It may be wildly romantic. Or it may be tainted by disappointment or even fear. But some where, another one will make out for the first time. Or have sex for the first time.

And at this point she will join the depressing large number of those who promised themselves they would wait who don’t. One recent poll found that 80 percent of unmarried evangelical young adults (18 to 29) said that they have had sex, only slightly less than the 88 percent of unmarried adults generally.

The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.

And yes, every young woman makes her own choices. But I’m mostly concerned with Christian young men who have not learned how to care for a young woman, to protect her reputation, or control their own impulses.

A first kiss is rarely spontaneous. The guy, and in some cases the girl, has been dwelling on it, sometimes for days. And after that, rationalization reigns in our hearts.

I’ve written before of how immature young men can be, and how the church has failed to provide instruction about matters of the flesh. And a young woman who fails to keep her own promises to herself tonight will do so because some guy will take advantage of her instinct to trust him or her desire to please him.

With Christian young people it is often even more complex. We quickly spiritualize it. We prayed together or went to church together. It must be God’s will.

Yes, there are signs everywhere, but we don’t read them very well. And we ought not read them at all without respect to biblical principle. The Scripture is pretty clear about this:

For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust like the Gentiles who do not know God; that no one transgress and wrong his brother in this matter, because the Lord is an avenger in all these things, as we told you beforehand and solemnly warned you. For God has not called us for impurity, but in holiness. Therefore whoever disregards this, disregards not man but God, who gives his Holy Spirit to you. I Thessalonians 4:3-8

I misread the signs as a young man. I took advantage of my girlfriend because we went to a prayer meeting and held hands as we prayed and decided God must have been bringing us together.

For three years this mistake stunted my growth and weakened my faith. It wasn’t the first kiss that hurt me. It was the lies I told myself to keep them coming that destroyed my character and robbed her of her innocence.

I didn’t have sex before marriage, thankfully. But this is no tribute to my virtue. I eventually learned to be careful about raising expectation, both physically and emotionally. This was only by the grace of God. And by lessons learned in the flames of failure, self-indulgence, disrespect and impatience.

I hope each single young Christian woman who reads this understands her knight in shining armor lives under the shadow of the Fall. And I hope ever young man who reads it creates the boundaries he needs to keep him—and his girlfriend—safe.

It is his privilege to protect her in this way. To care for her requires him to limit his freedom. To cherish her requires him to die to self.

New Year’s Eve is as good a time as any to learn this.

And to insure a Happy New Year.

wait for a re-run of
Christmas without asking
too many questions about
what Jesus did when he grew up
or whether there’s any connection.

We celebrate the innocence of children on Christmas, of course, but very soon Herod slaughtered the innocents of Bethlehem and the reality of evil pervades.

So it is helpful to remember how the story ends. Like this:

Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems, and he has a name written that no one knows but himself. He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood, and the name by which he is called is The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, arrayed in fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron. He will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of kings and Lord of lords. (Revelation 19:11-16 ESV)

And we celebrate that today, too, the sovereignty and authority and majesty of our God. The story has been written. The end is known. The glory of God will appear again and again, and the Baby will be the King.

Every Herod will be swept away, mere footnotes in a story that is larger than us all. And

Of the increase of his government and of peace
there will be no end,
on the throne of David and over his kingdom,
to establish it and to uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
from this time forth and forevermore.
The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this.
(Isaiah 9:7 ESV)

Hallelujah and amen.