Note: Others far more eloquent than I have probably expressed the sentiments below, but I do not write out of a sense of the originality of my thoughts, but because these issues have been weighing on my heart.

I fear that the Reformed church is far more in danger of being Christian in name only than any other. Calvinism has become a philosophical system to be proclaimed from the pulpit or debated over post-sermon coffee, yet seems to have little bearing on the lives, thoughts, actions, ambitions of its disciples. Granted, my experience with the Reformed church is limited to a few churches within a few denominations, but what I have seen troubles me. It is so easy to point fingers at evangelicals for their abuses of worship, their false ideas of the character of God, their man-centered soteriology – but when it comes down to it, in the last day, will God commend an armchair theologian who has spent his days pondering supra- and infralapsarianism over an Arminian missionary who has brought countless souls to the foot of the cross? I don't know at what point a perverted gospel ceases to be gospel. I can't tell you whether the salvation that evangelicals believe in has enough of Bible truth in it to make them true Christians. But I do know that, in spite of their corrupted knowledge, they are doing what God has commanded His children to do, striving to be like Christ in everything, their zeal and humbleness unheard-of in Calvinistic circles. I long for Calvinists to embrace the living reality of their beliefs, to make their religion of the mind the more powerful religion of the heart.

More to come.

Aaaaaah!

Just bought me one of these. And one of these. And one of these.

Living in a Mormon household is, shall we say, interesting. Tonight, three missionaries stopped by unexpectedly, and they perked up considerably upon finding fresh meat in the house to prosyletize. At some point or another one of them asked, jokingly, if Presbyterians prayed. I bit my tongue on a “no, God talks to us personally.” I would have dearly loved to see their reaction. They are invited to Saturday night dinner, which is a shame as I will miss the chance to needle them.

Ah, well. Montana, here I come.

I've been ruminating lately about the place that learning/intellectualism should have in the aspirations of a Christian. I confess I've only witnessed the dangers of over-emphasis on erudition; naturally, I can't help but feel it is more perilous to err on that side than the other. Some Christians are deathly afraid of being ridiculed as ignorant by the world and sadly end up adopting its inflated views of academia. I was one of them. Some can balance great learning with great humility and servanthood, but for me it is only a crippling source of pride.

I still don't understand the interface between our responsibility and God's sovereignty. I don't think I ever will. It seems to me that there are things that God has commanded me to do, that these things could very well take up most of my time, and that, if I make them my focus, I won't have time to wonder whether God will use this or that questionable activity to His glory. Khrist Kirk would call me a legalist -- but I can't see how drawing a hard line on this would be to my detriment if its result is that I spend more time in pursuit of God, more time in worship, more time in service, more time in amassing knowledge of Christ, of God's grace, of His love. Knowing God could consume every ato-second of my life and still leave me panting for more. What better pursuit could there be on this earth?

This is not to say I succeed in placing Him first in my life -- this is more me preaching to myself than anything else. How easy such things are to write -- how hard to do! My prayer is that my focus will always, only, be conformity to Christ and more love to Him. Let me know Christ and be ignorant in everything else.

I had bread and water for dinner. It's not so poor a ration as some might think.

Walking out of the 329 building is like emerging from underneath Antartica's hundred-foot-thick ice into Death Valley's noonday sun. My phone, awakening from its hibernation, tells me I have voicemail in no uncertain tones. I always think that it could be you, as though you were the only person who would call me -- even when you're really the last person who would want to. I'll never get over you.

Just posting so I can edit the template. How's that for a first post?