Five years ago this week, the spread of Covid-19 hit home in the United States, prompting new restrictions for public gatherings and a wave of “panic buying” across the country.
That weekend, Corina and I went out for a few groceries. As we walked through the aisles, the empty shelves drew my attention. What had disappeared, and why? These questions fascinated me.
What surprised me most was the absence of any meat in both the frozen and refrigerated sections. A few lonely bottles of barbecue sauce stared at me from the shelf. The produce section looked like it had been raided, with empty buckets where potatoes usually sat. Down the center aisle, the only flour that remained was what had spilled out from bags that had been bought earlier. No rice to be found. The pasta section had only a few stray packages left.
The next aisle was a study in contrast: the candy section was overflowing. No shortage of sweets! Kit Kat, M&M’s, Hershey’s—all my favorites where there in all their flavors, packed in large quantities on the shelves.
The contrast between the meat section and the candy aisle reminded me of an important truth: In a time of suffering or crisis, people go for what they NEED most, not what they LIKE most.
In a global pandemic with disruption, distancing, and isolation, no one who ran to the store was thinking about sweets. They were thinking about sustenance.
There’s a lesson here for all of us when it comes to our faith. The temptation in our day is for preachers and teachers, songwriters and artists to try to draw crowds by serving up sweets over sustenance. Just give people what they like the most, whether it’s the catchiest song, or the self-help book or Bible study, or a sermon series that chases the latest fad.
In times of abundance, it’s easy to forget the fundamental truths: the goodness of creation, the holiness of God, the reality of sin, the suddenness of suffering, the inevitability of death, and the need for salvation. We create the illusion that we are in control, and we expect the church to come alongside us with tips for better living, something that will sweeten the life we’ve cooked up for ourselves.
But what people like is not always what people need. When suffering hits and exposes our weakness—when we encounter the frightening diagnosis, the sudden accident, or the death of a loved one—sweets don’t satisfy. The candy aisle cannot sustain us. And unless our spiritual diet contains something more substantive, we will confront these challenges with spiritual anemia instead of strength.
What we need most is meat-and-potatoes Christianity. We need sustenance that will get us through the trial. We need churches that remind us of the fundamental truths we so easily ignore.
John Owen once said, “Christ is the meat, the bread, the food of our souls. Nothing is in him of a higher spiritual nourishment than his love, which we should always desire.”
During the next season of uncertainty, why not take an inventory of our spiritual habits and practices?
Why not take the opportunity to dig deeper into God’s Word, to read books that wrestle with the fundamental questions of life, and to cultivate relationships that go beyond superficial pleasantries?
What if pastors were to take a long look at their teaching over the last year, and church leaders were to consider the focus of their activities, to see if we’ve been overly dependent on sweets instead of sustenance, on fads that felt so fresh and relevant instead of truths that are timeless and enduring?
What if we could emerge from the next crisis with a faith that is more solid and more substantive?
Sustenance over sweets.
Five years ago this week, the spread of Covid-19 hit home in the United States, prompting new restrictions for public gatherings and a wave of “panic buying” across the country.
That weekend, Corina and I went out for a few groceries. As we walked through the aisles, the empty shelves drew my attention. What had disappeared, and why? These questions fascinated me.
What surprised me most was the absence of any meat in both the frozen and refrigerated sections. A few lonely bottles of barbecue sauce stared at me from the shelf. The produce section looked like it had been raided, with empty buckets where potatoes usually sat. Down the center aisle, the only flour that remained was what had spilled out from bags that had been bought earlier. No rice to be found. The pasta section had only a few stray packages left.
The next aisle was a study in contrast: the candy section was overflowing. No shortage of sweets! Kit Kat, M&M’s, Hershey’s—all my favorites where there in all their flavors, packed in large quantities on the shelves.
The contrast between the meat section and the candy aisle reminded me of an important truth: In a time of suffering or crisis, people go for what they NEED most, not what they LIKE most.
In a global pandemic with disruption, distancing, and isolation, no one who ran to the store was thinking about sweets. They were thinking about sustenance.
There’s a lesson here for all of us when it comes to our faith. The temptation in our day is for preachers and teachers, songwriters and artists to try to draw crowds by serving up sweets over sustenance. Just give people what they like the most, whether it’s the catchiest song, or the self-help book or Bible study, or a sermon series that chases the latest fad.
In times of abundance, it’s easy to forget the fundamental truths: the goodness of creation, the holiness of God, the reality of sin, the suddenness of suffering, the inevitability of death, and the need for salvation. We create the illusion that we are in control, and we expect the church to come alongside us with tips for better living, something that will sweeten the life we’ve cooked up for ourselves.
But what people like is not always what people need. When suffering hits and exposes our weakness—when we encounter the frightening diagnosis, the sudden accident, or the death of a loved one—sweets don’t satisfy. The candy aisle cannot sustain us. And unless our spiritual diet contains something more substantive, we will confront these challenges with spiritual anemia instead of strength.
What we need most is meat-and-potatoes Christianity. We need sustenance that will get us through the trial. We need churches that remind us of the fundamental truths we so easily ignore.
John Owen once said, “Christ is the meat, the bread, the food of our souls. Nothing is in him of a higher spiritual nourishment than his love, which we should always desire.”
During the next season of uncertainty, why not take an inventory of our spiritual habits and practices?
Why not take the opportunity to dig deeper into God’s Word, to read books that wrestle with the fundamental questions of life, and to cultivate relationships that go beyond superficial pleasantries?
What if pastors were to take a long look at their teaching over the last year, and church leaders were to consider the focus of their activities, to see if we’ve been overly dependent on sweets instead of sustenance, on fads that felt so fresh and relevant instead of truths that are timeless and enduring?
What if we could emerge from the next crisis with a faith that is more solid and more substantive?
Sustenance over sweets.
@JeffreyPWiesner@chuckswindoll is the master of manuscript preaching…I have learned so much under his teaching for more than 30 years…and I doubt one could say his manuscript owns him. I agree also about Mark Dever.
The simplest argument against praying to the saints is that Christianity is a revealed religion. We have no authority in ourselves to determine how prayer works. We must look to what God has told us about it. That means looking to the period of divine revelation.
When we do so, we discover that asking for the intercession of deceased people has never been a thing. It is nowhere taught or modeled in God's revelation, despite hundreds of passages about the nature of prayer.
Noah didn't pray to Abel.
Abraham didn't pray to Noah.
Moses didn't pray to Abraham.
David didn't pray to Moses.
The latter prophets didn't pray to David.
The apostles didn't pray to Old Testament saints.
Irenaeus didn't pray to the apostles.
And so on, until gradually, by a slow process of accretion, the surrounding pagan practice began infiltrating the church. This process is gradual, such that in the medieval era you have prayers that would have scandalized the church fathers (petitions for Mary to propitiate Jesus, etc.).
The Protestant position is simple: we have to test these various developments in church history by divine revelation, just as we test a lesser authority by a greater authority, or a copied letter by the original. All we want to do is pray as God revealed we should.
My three favorite biblical prayers: Nehemiah 1, Solomon in I Kings 8, and the Lord’s Prayer (Matthew 6:9-13). All wonderful models for how to pray.
Are you not thirsty?" said the Lion.
“I am dying of thirst," said Jill.
“Then drink," said the Lion.
“May I — could I — would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill.
The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.
The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.
"Will you promise not to — do anything to me, if I do come?" said Jill.
“I make no promise," said the Lion.
Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.
"Do you eat girls?" she said.
“I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," said the Lion.
It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.
“I daren't come and drink," said Jill.
"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.
“Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then."
"There is no other stream," said the Lion.
- C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair
Back in November I shared a story about meeting a new friend & brother, the incredibly talented @boiseholmes who was (& still is currently) on tour playing the role of Dr. Dillamond with Wicked The Musical. I shared about how during some visits/meals together I told him about my song “Living Color”…a song I wrote about my best friend, Carlton Bell, when I was in the 7th grade. Our conversations resulted in Boise creating a powerful & profound “spoken word” response to the message of the song, and a few days later I got to invite him to join me on the @Opry to perform the song…it brought the audience to their feet! It was a really special & powerful moment with my new friend & I’ve been looking for the right time to share a recording of what happened that night! Boise and I agreed that the day celebrating the life and work of Dr. Martin Luther King would be a great day to share this song/performance about unity & the power of friendship.
As you start new resolutions, remember:
Spiritual disciplines are not about making you more precious to God. They’re about making God more precious to you.