John's Blog
A very Happy Advent Season to you!
Last month I reached out to you to ask your help meeting our budget by the end of the year, and I wanted to thank all of you who are able to send in a financial gift! We are so grateful for your generosity! And now all of us are, one way or another, navigating the coming holidays. I don't like the pace that I'm running at this morning. I didn't sleep well last night, and so when I finally did conk out, I overslept, woke up late, and ever since I’ve felt behind on everything. I rushed through breakfast, dashed out the door to get to some meetings, and now I'm rattled. I don't like the feeling of being rattled. And I don't like the consequences of it. When I'm rattled I'm too easily irritated and frustrated with people. I don't have the patience to listen to what my wife was trying to say this morning. I find it hard to hear from God when I’m rattled, and I don’t like feeling untethered from him either. I notice now in my rattled state that I want to eat something fatty and sugary; I want something that is going to make me feel better. And it’s the holidays, so there is fatty, sugary stuff everywhere. (Nobody sends out boxes of carrots or alfalfa sprouts as Christmas gifts.) When we are rattled, it’s human nature to seek some sense of equilibrium, a sense of stability, and I wonder—how many addictions begin here, just wanting to feel a little bit better? Soothe ourselves. The fruits of being rattled are not good, but honestly—I think most people live in a state from “slightly rattled” to “fried” as their operating norm. And so we who would want to find a better life in God would want to make it a practice to avoid living rattled. Which is especially difficult around the holiday season. Late morning, I finally do what I should have done from the beginning—I pause. I get quiet, settle down. I give myself some breathing room to come back to myself and to God. My breathing returns to normal. A little bit of space begins to clear around me, and in that space I know I can find God. Suddenly, somewhere outside, someone has just fired up a leaf blower— one of the great pariahs of the human race, the enemy of all domestic tranquility. My body tenses, the stress is returning, and because I am paying attention I can see that the constant stimulation causes us to live in a state of hypervigilance. And thus we look to all our “comforters” to calm down. But I know my salvation is not in the eggnog frappuccino, nor the peppermint fudge. So I close the window against the screams of the leaf blower, and return to a practice that has become an absolute lifesaver for me: The One Minute Pause. (I mentioned this briefly back in March, but maybe you’ve forgotten it since then.) I simply take sixty seconds to let everything go, and be still. As I enter the pause, I begin with release. I let it all go—the meetings, what I know is coming next, the fact I’m totally behind on Christmas shopping, all ot it. I simply let it go. I practice “benevolent detachment” as I pray, Jesus,I give everyone and everything to you. You’ll know in the moment what to give to God—a person, a conversation, a project, the world. I give everyone and everything to you. I keep repeating it until I feel like I am actually releasing and detaching. And then I ask for more of God: Jesus, I need more of you; fill me with more of you, God. Restore our union; fill me with your life. We all need more of God. Whatever our circumstance may be, if we had more of God in our life right now, I guarantee you things would turn out better. It follows that if we can receive the grace God is providing us for the restoring and renewing of our souls, we will both enjoy the fruits of happy souls (which are many and wonderful) and also be in a place to receive more of God (which is even more wonderful). We would find the vibrancy and resiliency we crave as human beings. So I practice the pause a few times each day. I begin with release. Jesus, I give everyone and everything to you. I keep repeating it until I feel like I really am releasing. Then I ask for more of God: Jesus, I need more of you; fill me with more of you, God. Restore our union; fill me with your life. Honestly, you can do this in a fairly simple pause—in your car, on the train, before and after you get on your phone. Especially after Christmas shopping. And the fruit of it will be wonderful! I could have written about Christmastide, or the Incarnation, the faith of Mary and Joseph, the joy of the shepherds. But I know that what will prove far more helpful to you this month is to set before you again The One Minute pause. Because it will rescue you, and bring you back to your own soul and to God. From there, you’ll be much better situated to navigate the holidays. May I also suggest making time this December to listen to our Advent podcast series? It’s one of my favorites from years past—with Craig McConnell and I sharing the disruptive, holy invitation of God in this season. On behalf of the entire team, a very Merry Christmas to you, friends. We love being partners with you in this great hour! Love, John Download the Wild at Heart December Newsletter here.
John Eldredge
Our Mission Statement
On the wall of our Outpost is our mission statement. The first three sentences read: Recover the Lost Treasure of the Gospel Transform the Lives of Men and Women as Men and Women Teach them to Live in the Kingdom of God So much in such simple sentences. Allow me to unpack it a bit… The Gospel is the most exquisite treasure chest in any story or fairytale, ever. The dignity and power of femininity and masculinity; the essential place of the human heart; hearing God’s voice for yourself; the war all around us; the power of Jesus to actually heal hearts, souls, memories; the hope we have in the Renewal of All Things. Treasures that get lost, and stolen. And we are treasure hunters. Transforming lives is so different than merely inspiring, or motivating. Transformation is deep and lasting; transformation means the recovery of the original glory God intended for men and women, the glory he meant for each unique son and daughter. Restoration would be an appropriate synonym. The treasures of the Gospel transform, restore, release. Jesus is all about transformation! Third, the Kingdom of God is something we learn to live in; but there are so few teachers to show the way. How prayer actually works; how to practice stillness, the role of beauty; how to use the victory of Christ to break soul ties, curses, dark strongholds; the difference between wounds and brokenness, and how to re-integrate shattered places in our personality; how each member of the Trinity has a unique role in our lives; on and on we could go. Oh, I wish you could read the mail we get, hear the stories of restoration taking place all around the world. Let me share a few with you now… “I was reluctant to engage in a men’s retreat but once I arrived the invitation turned into a four day flood. Agreements and lies being named and broken. God spoke and I filled a journal. On the last night, my soul was restored and I was given an intimate name from God. I’d never known the longing in my heart to hear that… Since that weekend the message and resources of Wild at Heart have been at the forefront of my relationship with God, my wife, my daughters, and my ministry to others.” “Absolutely blown away by the impact it had and is having on me. For the first time in 20 years, you gave me permission to be the man I am designed to be. What enormous freedom!” “I will be forever grateful for Beautiful Outlaw. As a Christian counselor I recommend this book over and over and it continues to transform everything about how my clients see Jesus! I mean...AMAZING freedom and breaking of bondage for so many people!” “Last Fall my husband of 18 years left me for no clear reason and I’ve been dealing with all kinds of difficult emotions. The Holy Spirit has been using your book Captivating to propel me into a new and beautiful place with Jesus. I couldn’t read it fast enough. :-) And, when I got to the very end I cried.” “Prior to Wild at Heart, I was controlling, striving, driven, selfish, living for the world, critical of others. I was a hard man to be around. I had so many wounds pressed down, and buried under years of striving, posing, and controlling. God has healed so many areas of my heart, has literally changed me as a leader in my company, it has saved my marriage and it has set me on a wonderful path to raise a son who loves Jesus." “I came to the retreat a profoundly wounded woman. Molested as a child. Abusive husband. Drug addiction. I did not think there was anything good about being a woman; I did not think there was anything good about men. My life and my relationship with God have changed forever because of the retreat! Praise God he never stops restoring lives!” Oh friends—it is working. IT IS WORKING!! With such glory and power, in such far-reaching ways we can hardly take in the beauty. And we need your help. None of this takes place without your love, your prayers, and your financial support. We are a non-profit; part of our budget is met by our income through conferences and resources. Part of it comes through the generosity of our friends. And you have been so generous! So faithful! We need to raise over a million dollars by the end of the year. I’m not worried; God is faithful. I simply want to ask if you would consider a gift to us in the next few weeks. I know if we all do what we can do, Jesus will take care of our needs and the mission will carry on! Thank you. Thank you for all your love, and prayers, and generosity. Together we are recovering the lost treasure of the Gospel, transforming the lives of men and women, and teaching them how to live in the Kingdom of God. What better thing could we partner in than that???! With love, and thanksgiving for you, John Download the November 2018 Newsletter here.
John Eldredge
Low Power Mode
Dear Summertime Friends, I confess it—I have an iPhone. A love-hate relationship with my iPhone. Love the photo and video quality. Love a few of the apps (particularly the FIFA World Cup app this summer). Hate the fact that I feel tied to it as do most people in the world today. The expectation now is that we are available anytime, anywhere, all the time, and we should respond within moments. There used to be something called a “land line;” these were the only phones, and when you weren’t near one, no one could reach you, text you, find you, ask anything of you. It was wonderful. We actually had down time between work and home, travel and play. Most folks don’t even know that down time is a thing. We are constantly “on.” So hard on the heart and soul, not to mention the body. The iPhone is a clever device; among its many features it has one called “Low Power Mode.” If I’ve run down the battery shooting videos of my grandchildren or watching the recap of the semifinals (sorry, England), or more likely I’ve simply forgotten to charge it, the phone asks me if I want to go into Low Power Mode. In which case it operates on a subsistence diet, trying to conserve the last remaining power. According to Apple support, “Low Power Mode reduces the amount of power that your iPhone uses when the battery gets low…When Low Power Mode is on, your iPhone will last longer before you need to charge it, but some features might take longer to update or complete.” When it happened again this week I thought, If only our souls had this feature. Some regular reminder to us that says, “Hey Dan, Susie, Jack—your battery is running low. Shut down all unnecessary activity. Don’t drain yourself any further. Go plug yourself back into the Source.” You’ll notice that human beings have a certain amount of capacity; we all have a “battery,” and it is limited. Not unlimited, as we would like, but extremely limited. You have to sleep, every night. You have to literally shut down your systems for six to eight hours every single day of your life. I recognize some people have difficulties with that, and some people seem to be able to get by with less (seem to), but this is the way God made human bodies and souls. We need to go into Low Power Mode on a regular basis, and summer is the perfect time to do it. There is even a kind of cultural permission to do so (if we needed it). What I wanted to put before you this month is the very simple question: Have you asked Jesus, What is the rhythm you want for me right now, Lord? He might have some things he’d like to say to you about that. Not in the negative sense, but in lovely directions towards life. It was another hot day the other day (Colorado has been scorching this summer), and I was inside waiting till things cooled off to go tend to our horses. Jesus whispered, You should go now. “Now?” Yes—now. So I got up, and went. I noticed cumulus clouds building overhead (I love those great summer clouds) and soon as I got to the barn it began to rain. So I slipped under an overhang, and spent the next thirty minutes simply watching the wind in the tall grasses and the rain falling across the valley. It was absolutely lovely, and so restoring. I would have missed it all had I not listened. The rain let up, I tended our horses, and Jesus said, You should head back now. I didn’t want to go back; but I obeyed. Soon as I got back to house, a real gully-washer let loose. A simple story. Nothing dramatic. But a beautiful picture of how God really does want to lead us into rest, beauty, and restoration. You can’t just live “on” all the time. When is your Low Power Mode time? So while summer is still here, and the park is gorgeous and flowers are blooming and the river is perfect temperature for swimming—or whatever your joy is—my goodness, go on Low Power Mode for heaven’s sake. Ask Jesus what he has for you. Go plug yourself back into renewal by letting him lead you to what he has for you. Offered in love, and now I’m going on Low Power Mode, John Download the July 2018 newsletter here.
John Eldredge
Kindness
I’ve been enjoying something from Ephesians lately, and wanted to share it with you. Allow me to begin with a passage from the opening of the letter… All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ. Even before he made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in his eyes. God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure. So we praise God for the glorious grace he has poured out on us who belong to his dear Son. He is so rich in kindness and grace that he purchased our freedom with the blood of his Son and forgave our sins. He has showered his kindness on us, along with all wisdom and understanding. (Ephesians 1:3-8) Now, there is SO much in this opening passage I can’t possible address it all here. Chosen. Made holy. Every spiritual blessing. Can’t take it all in right now. What I would like to point out is the use of the word “kindness” twice in the last two verses—God is rich is kindness, and he has showered kindness on us. This is so lovely and life-giving, we need to pause and reflect on it. Kindness is such a simple virtue, it often seems to take a back seat to more dramatic qualities like bravery or holiness or love (kindness sort of feels like the younger sibling to love). And yet, kindness is such a wonderful thing to receive. Don’t you love it when people are kind to you? I sure do. In a world that seems increasingly angry and hostile, a little bit of kindness can make your day. You’re trying to merge into busy traffic and instead of cutting you off, the driver ahead pauses and waves you in. You’re returning some item to the store and after waiting your turn behind several customers, you get to the counter only to realize you forgot the receipt. “No worries,” the clerk says, “we can take care of this.” Such simple gestures can totally change your day. Or how about this one—you are in a hurry to get home because you promised some friends you’d take care of their dog and you get pulled over for speeding; the officer hears your story and says, “I understand. How about you take it slow the rest of the way,” and doesn’t give you the ticket she could have. Kindness is simply wonderful. Now, the place I want to take us in this reflection is actually even more overlooked than offering kindness to one another—I am struck by the power of offering kindness to ourselves. I’m working on a deck project this week. Specifically, I am installing some deck railing. We haven't had any for years, but now Stasi and I are grandparents (2 little girls entering full-on toddlerhood, and a new little grandson), and suddenly I realize we need deck railing so that our little adventurers don’t take a plunge. Anyhow, I’m out there for hours this morning trying to get one particular rail in place. It’s not going well. I’m getting frustrated. But I’m kind of a push-through-it guy, and even though the temperature on the deck is in the upper 80s, I keep at it another hour. No success. Finally, I realize what is needed—I need to walk away. I need to let it go. I need to come in and cool off and have lunch. I am learning to practice simple kindness towards myself. The fruit of it is really good on my soul; the ripple effects are good on everyone else around me. A friend was in town last week. I felt I ought to invite them to come over. But before I sent the text, I paused and asked Jesus. Not a good call, he said. You are utterly exhausted. And it’s true—I was wiped out from a week of meetings and mission and work and I was about to spend my only evening off on further giving, had Jesus not intervened. His counsel didn’t come as a command; it came in the gentle spirit of kindness. Don’t do that to yourself. Now I have a week of vacation. (It’s summer, folks! Woo hoo!) But I am keenly aware that I also have a book due in September. I begin to make plans to work on the manuscript even as my vacation begins. I wouldn’t if I were you, my kind Lord says. You first need sabbath; then you can think about the book. Simple kindness. What I wanted to put before you this month is the question, “What would practicing kindness towards yourself look like right now?” It might be in the way you talk to yourself—especially when you blow it. It might be in the pace you are currently living. It might be in expectations, or in the “to do” list you have for yourself this summer. Kindness. Remember—the way you treat your own heart is the way you will end up treating everyone else’s. That’s not meant to be a shaming statement; it is another way of realizing that the practice of self-kindness will spill over into kindness towards those around you. Okay. That’s really all I wanted to say. I could keep pressing on trying to come up with witty or powerful embellishments, but the truth is that wouldn't be kind to myself. After all, I’m on vacation. God is rich is kindness, and he has showered kindness on us. I want to live more into that. I want to receive it as he offers it; I want to practice it towards myself. I want to extend it to others more generously. Kindness. Offered in love, John Download the June 2018 Newsletter here.
John Eldredge
Union With God
Dear Friends, I write these letters, for the most part, to people who want to have a richer life with God. (A richer life period, which we know only flows out of a richer life with God.) We want to draw closer and closer; it is the yearning and inclination of the soul that loves God. For “When Jesus is near,” wrote a Kempis, “all is well and nothing seems difficult. When He is absent, all is hard. When Jesus does not speak within, all other comfort is empty, but if He says only a word, it brings great consolation.” Thus our soul yearns for nearness. But I think it yearns for something more—we yearn for union with God. He is the Vine, the source of all our life, and we are but branches aching and thirsting to be united with the Vine, so that Life itself might flow through us. In the introduction to Albert Magnus’ medieval classic, Union with God, the editor begins, “Surely the most deeply-rooted need of the human soul, its purest aspiration, is for the closest possible union with God.” My soul says, Yes and amen. The closest possible union. Now, when I look at the popular books, podcasts, sermons and conferences being offered right now in Christendom, I’m struck by how infrequently the topic is union with God. Either they are things to do: “This is how to help your kids grow in their faith,” or, “Do this for your community to share the love of Christ,” or, “Take action to bring justice to the world.” Or they are inspiration: “Be a better you! Live a braver life! You too can overcome!” There is a place for these things, of course, but I think they are misleading, because something else is needed first. Our energy and vitality, our strength and endurance, all the virtues like patience, loving-kindness, and forgiveness—these all flow out of our union with God. When the soul tries to produce any of these things on its own, it tires very easily. “We are vessels of life,” wrote MacDonald, “not yet full of the wine of life; where the wine does not reach, there the clay cracks, and aches, and is distressed.” So you would think our primary goal—and thus topic of conversation—would be union with God. “I am praying not only for these disciples but also for all who will ever believe in me through their message. I pray that they will all be one, just as you and I are one—as you are in me, Father, and I am in you…one as we are one. I am in them and you are in me.” (John 17:20-23) This is not quite the same thing as saying we believe in God, or that we are listening to God; not even that we are obeying God. Union, oneness, is something far higher and richer. I realize that in this abused age any sexual metaphor is potentially troubling, but the scripture uses it and therefore we should not abandon it. Referring directly to marriage Paul says, For the married woman is bound by law to her husband while he is living; but if her husband dies…she is free from the law, so that she is not an adulteress though she is joined to another man…you also were made to die to the Law through the body of Christ, so that you might be joined to another, to Him who was raised from the dead, in order that we might bear fruit for God. (Romans 7:2-4 NASB) And now you are united with the one who was raised from the dead. (NLT) It’s simply helpful to differentiate: believing in God is not the same thing as union with God, doing various God-activities is not the same as union with God, obeying God isn’t necessarily union with God. These things can all be done while there is a kind of distance between our soul and God. You can read all about Italy but that is very different from actually living there. You can do things for your spouse but that’s not the same as being united with them. Okay then. What I want to suggest is, that the basic things we do, the things that are at the top of our “To Do” lists, are things that help us find union with God. Step 1 is understanding that God wants union with you, that union is the purpose of your creation, and that it is the priority. That’s a good starting point. It is a massive re-orientation. Because it leads quickly to Step 2, which is presenting ourselves to God for union. I do this every day: “I present myself to You, God, for union with You.” We pray for union; we ask for it. Step 3 (and this is not science, folks, it’s poetry; these “steps” are simply for clarity’s sake) is to release everything else that is taking up room in your soul. “I give everything and everyone to You for union with You.” And then, I have found it very important to ask God to heal my union with him: “Father—I pray you would heal our union. I pray your glory would fill our union.” This is critical because the enemy is always trying to harm our union with God, and it needs healing and repairing on a regular basis. Jesus, Father, Holy Spirit—I give myself to you to be one with you in everything. I pray for union and I pray for oneness. I pray to be one heart and one mind, one will, one life. Restore me in you; restore our union. I give everything and everyone to you in order to have union with you. Heal our union, God; restore and renew our union. I pray your glory fills our union. I pray for a deeper union with you, a deeper and more complete oneness. It is a very quiet and gentle thing. Sometimes dramatic, but maybe only about 5% of the time. Most of the time the union of our soul with God is something that is very gentle and life-giving. And therefore you have to be gentle and tuned-in to be aware of it. But I think you will love the fruit of this. So I thought it would be good to put this back in front of us as the priority for each day. Offered in love, John PS. We are airing a two-part podcast series on union with God in June! Make sure you tune in! Download the May 2018 newsletter here.
John Eldredge
Choosing what is Real
My awakening began with two simple experiences. The first came through touching wet granite. I am a writer by trade. Add to this occupation the average person’s basic online consumption, and the result is, I find myself in front of screens for long periods of my day. While finishing a recent book project, I kept wandering outside, simply to touch real things—stone, pinecones, the juniper bush. This wasn’t a cognitive decision; it was a compelling, something I felt I had to do in order to come out from a weird ether-space, come back to myself. Laying my hand on a wet boulder, feeling the cold, examining the granite crystals, I realized, I need reality. The second, far more startling, moment came when I stepped into a small, local bakery. Normally when we need a loaf, I do what nearly everyone else in the West does—I go to the store and choose something from the racks. There is no smell of bread; there is no oven nearby; you see only factory-made products neatly packed in colorful plastics. It is an entirely detached experience, and often what comes in that plastic bag is barely even a food product. That was my normal, and so stepping into an actual artisan bakery was a thunderbolt, like suddenly finding myself on the open ocean. Soon as I walked through the door, I was engulfed with the aromas of dough, baking bread, and burnt crust. I felt the hot ovens. Instead of plastic rectangles, I beheld racks of naked loaves in ordered disarray: baguettes, boules, ciabattas. It was so real, so sensual. I wanted to grab several loaves and a jug of wine, find a meadow, and take a two-hour lunch. I wanted to dive in a river and run through the forest and never, ever go back to my office. My soul was awakened by an encounter with the Real, and I found myself wondering, If this is how the human race dealt with something as basic as bread for thousands of years, what have I gotten used to? What have we gotten used to? The average person now spends 93 percent of their life indoors (this includes your transportation time in car, bus, metro). Ninety-three percent—such a staggering piece of information that we should pause for a moment and let the tragedy sink in. You live nearly all your life in a fake world. Artificial lighting instead of the warmth of sunlight, the cool of moonlight, the darkness of night itself. Artificial climate created by the thermostat replaces the wild beauty of real weather; your world is always 68 degrees. All the surfaces you touch are things like plastic and faux leather instead of meadow, wood, and stream. The atmosphere you inhabit is now asphyxiated with artificial smells—mostly chemicals and “air fresheners”—instead of cut grass and wood smoke and salt air (is anyone weeping yet?). In place of the cry of the hawk, the thunder of waterfall, and the comfort of crickets, your world spews out artificial sounds—all the clicks and beeps and whir of technology, the hum of the HVAC. My God—even the plants in your little bubble are fake. They give no oxygen; instead, the plastic off-gases toxins, and if that is not a statement, I don’t know what is. But the worst part of it all is this: We have come to prefer it that way. Like laboratory rats or the slaves still tied into The Matrix. You live a bodily existence. The physical life, with all the glories of senses and appetites and passions—this is the life God meant for us. It is through our senses we learn most every important lesson. Even in spiritual acts of worship and prayer, we are standing or kneeling, engaging bodily. God put your soul in this amazing bodily life, and then put you in a world perfectly designed for that experience. He forever exalted the bodily life through the Incarnation, when God himself chose to dwell in a body. Forever. The implications for young men are critical. As we have tried to articulate a thousand ways here at And Sons, the initiation of the masculine soul takes place through our training in the Real World. Thus the quote—variously attributed to Churchill, Will Rogers, and Reagan—that “The best thing for the inside of a man is the outside of a horse.” Because when the young man encounters the horse, he is thrust into a constant, dynamic encounter with the Real. It calls things out of him, not only fears, anger, and impatience to be overcome, but intuition and presence and a sort of firm kindness no Xbox game can ever replicate. There is no switch you can flip; you must engage. Reality shapes you. I love March Madness. I can watch hours of it in a stretch. But I feel like crap afterwards. Just compare how you feel after binge-watching hours of screen anything—TV, video games, YouTube—with how you feel when you come off a mountain bike ride or a swim in the ocean. Living in an artificial world is like spending your life wrapped in plastic wrap. You wonder why you feel tired and numb and a little depressed, when the simple answer is you have a vitamin D deficiency; there is no sunlight in your life, literally or figuratively. Our body, soul, and spirit atrophy because we were made to inhabit a real world, to draw life and joy and strength from it. To be shaped by it, to relish in it. The world we inhabit substitutes real community with artificial community through social media. Now, I do understand the benefits. But having a “friend” on Facebook is nothing like having beers with an actual human being, and eons from taking a road trip together. They’re not even in the same universe. No text, no post, no update can ever replace engaging a person in person. But we have come to prefer the quick text, even quicker emoji reply. Because of the convenience. Our ability to relate is atrophying by the hour. The world tries to make up for its artificial hollowness through spectacle and hype, trying to make small stories seem like big stories. Watch any pro sports—the media surrounding it, the graphics, the pounding music, the “drama”—all trying to make it seem important, when the truth is, it’s inconsequential. Who cares who won the Superbowl last year? Thus we accept artificial meaning over a real life. Is it any wonder that men now prefer artificial sex to a covenant relationship with a real woman? All the rest of their life has taught them to prefer the artificial, so they are sitting ducks when it comes to their sexuality. It’s quick; it’s easy; it requires absolutely no masculinity whatsoever. But it provides an artificial feeling of being a man. Junk food is easy, tasty, and addicting. It will also kill you (anyone seen Fast Food Nation?). It’s not real. Pornography is sexual junk food. The artificial world lies and cheats. It seduces us with the worst of all lessons: that life is easy, and comfort is the goal. Thus it kills initiation at every turn. It cheats us of nourishment and strength and the very training we need. The answer is not only online filters. The answer is to choose a life where you prefer the Real over the artificial everywhere you possibly can. Reality was meant to shape us. The artificial is built almost entirely around our comfort and ease. Take back your soul. Re-engage the process of your initiation by choosing the Real everywhere you can. Get outside, every day. If you work out in a gym, take it outside with a run, bike, swim, hike. Encounter the weather whenever you can. Walk around outside your office building every day. Turn off the A/C and roll down the windows in your car. Turn off your screens and do something with real things. Change a tire; change your own oil. Learn to sharpen a knife. Plant some vegetables. Eat real food. Cooking is a surprising access point to the real—an encounter with textures, with heat and cold and spices—and it shapes you. Brew your own beer. Have a look around your world; notice how much is artificial. Begin to choose against the comfort and ease of the fake for the bracing trueness of the Real. You will love it! I was on a two-week business trip recently; it began with an overnight flight, 10 hours in a tube. From there it was airports, hotels, cars—an entirely artificial existence. Everything was fake—weather, lighting, sounds. I found myself increasingly wanting to drink, eat chocolate, watch TV. The artificial was wearing me down, poisoning me, and my soul was looking for quick relief. On the last night, a massive thunderstorm let loose in the city. My car was parked two blocks away. Instead of trying to avoid the rain by calling a cab, or cringing and moping at the fact that I would get utterly soaked, I relished it. I rejoiced the entire two torrential blocks; I whooped and shouted and let the rain utterly douse me. After days upon days in the artificial, it was a cleansing baptism in the Real. C. S. Lewis said, “[Christians], of all men, must not conceive spiritual joy and worth as things that need to be rescued or tenderly protected from time and place and matter and the senses. Their God is the God of corn and oil and wine. He is the glad Creator. He has become Himself incarnate. The sacraments have been instituted. Certain spiritual gifts are offered to us only on the condition that we perform certain bodily acts….To shrink back from all that can be called Nature into negative spirituality is as if we ran away from horses instead of learning to ride….Who will trust me with a spiritual body if I cannot control even an earthly body? These small and perishable bodies we now have were given to us as ponies are given to schoolboys. We must learn to manage: not that we may some day be free of horses altogether but that some day we may ride bare-back, confident and rejoicing, those greater mounts, those winged, shining and world-shaking horses which perhaps even now expect us with impatience, pawing and snorting in the King’s stables.”
John Eldredge
The World
I’ve been thinking quite a bit about “The World” lately. Not the world as in planet earth; not meaning global affairs. Rather, The World as Scripture speaks of—The World it has some fairly strong words about. In fact, it was passages like these that really caught my attention: Do not love the world or anything in the world. 1 John 2:15 Anyone who chooses to be a friend of the world becomes an enemy of God. James 4:4 Those are stark warnings; almost offensive, if they weren't from the God who gave his life for us. What is he so upset about? I think we have a pretty good idea how dangerous the devil can be; and we are only too familiar with the trouble our “flesh” or sin nature can get us into. But this thing called “The World”—what is it? That’s what got me thinking, and it led to a six-part podcast series we are starting this month. So I wanted to share a few highlights here with you. Generations past have tried to define The World as things like dancing, card playing, drinking, going to movies, women wearing pants. Looking back, those seem absurd now. Sexual mores have always been the other prime target, and that is getting closer to the issue. But God is very specific when he warns about sexual immorality; here he is clearly turning our attention to this other thing called “The World.” The team began kicking this around in preparation for our series, and what we first noticed is that The World we have created is a world utterly committed to convenience. Why else would there be Starbucks on every corner? (A spoof in The Onion announced a new Starbucks opening in the restroom of an existing Starbucks). You can do all your banking, correspondence, appointments, travel arrangement—even turn the lights in your home on from your phone. Vegetables come bagged, ready for the microwave. The next level up appears to be self-driving cars. We can’t even drive our own cars anymore? What is with humanity’s craving for an easier way? The trouble with this value system is that the soul is not shaped, nor is character ever formed, through comfort and convenience. Any parent knows this. “Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it” (Matthew 7:13-14). “Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us” (Hebrews 12:1). The Christian life requires strong and resilient souls; the soul is compromised by a life of comfort and convenience. The World we now live in also constantly assaults our attention. Taxi cabs, elevators, airplane seats, gas pumps all have TVs in them now, spewing ads at a captive audience. Anytime you go online, Google knows your buying patterns and sends to your screen tailor-made videos and advertising. Push notifications, alerts, “click bait”—everything in our life is constantly trying to grab our attention. We barely have space to think. So much so that we have come to prefer distraction; people check their mobile devices more than 80 times a day. If you think I’m overstating this, just try putting your phone on “do not disturb” for a week; you’ll see how much you want to check it. The outcome is further erosion of the soul; we have become so easily distracted. This is dangerous because scripture says our transformation depends on our ability to give lingering attention to God: “They looked to Him and were radiant” (Psalm 34:5); “fixing our eyes on Jesus” (Hebrews 12:20). As we look to him, Paul says, we become like him (2 Corinthians 3:18). Souls committed to comfort find it very uncomfortable to spend time with God; easily distracted souls simply cannot give God their lingering attention. Thus The World poisons us without it looking “immoral” or blatantly evil. A third observation we made is that The World as we now have it prefers the Artificial to the Real. With medication, spas, and surgeries, a woman of 75 can now look 35—artificial youth. Social media creates a sense of connection (and hear me now—I do enjoy photos of my grandchildren). But it is artificial community, as is watching a church service on TV artificial church. We use emoticons—little cartoon images—instead of actually saying how we are feeling, or better, having an actual conversation with a real human being. We create artificial meaning by constantly trying to make small stories seem like big stories (witness the Super Bowl—such hoopla over nothing, really). Men fall prey to artificial sex. There is so much more to say, but let me summarize it this way: The World as scripture warns of is mankind’s Flight from Reality. We run from God to create a world where (we think) we don’t need him. We deny reality and say “this is all there is,” so we are fixated on the present. We distract ourselves; we choose artificial meaning and community. We demand greater freedom and less responsibility. No wonder the Desert Fathers fled The World of their day! As Thomas Merton explains, The World “was regarded by them as a shipwreck” from which every person “had to swim for his life... they believed that to let oneself drift along, passively accepting the tenets and values of what they knew as society, was purely and simply a disaster.” In this way, you can think of discipleship to Jesus as swimming lessons. I’m sorry we’ve run out of space here; we do offer more insight and many practical suggestions to take your soul back from The World in our podcast series; I do hope you will tune in. Offered for your soul’s welfare, with love, John Download the April 2018 newsletter here.
John Eldredge
Pause
February turned out to be an especially busy month for us; among other things God is really increasing our reach internationally. But I am trying to practice a more sane life, a soul-friendly life. Those two things usually mix like oil and water—busyness and living a sane life. So, what I am learning to do is to let go what I can let go of during busy times, and in February the newsletter turned out to be one of those things. Which actually leads me to what I’d like to share this month—living a sane life, a soul-friendly life. A few small choices that will make a big difference in our life with God. We all need more of God. Every one of us. No matter what our circumstance may be, whether the current pressures are emotional, financial, career, health, relationships—if we had a greater measure of God in our life right now, I guarantee you things would turn out better. He is the source of all provision, healing, and life; all love and guidance and every other good thing we can think of or need. “More of God!” is the cry of every human soul. Now, if that’s true—if more of God is what we most deeply need—you would think that we would be arranging our lives to do those things that allows our soul to find more of God. If you live in a desert, you plan your day around finding water. So my question for you is simply this: What is it that you are doing on a regular basis to receive more of God? An awkward question; the room often goes silent when you ask this question. Because most of us are waiting for God to invade our busy lives, rather than making room for him. If God is our deepest, most pressing need, you’d think we’d all be arranging our lives to do those things that bring us more of God on a daily basis. As our highest priority. So—what I’d like to offer this month are a few things you can do to create some soul space, and find more of God. Things which are simple, accessible, and sustainable. (Because if they are not simple, accessible and sustainable, we won’t do them.) By way of example, let me offer The One Minute Pause… I noticed that during my day I simply go from thing to thing to thing, without pause, from morning till night. (I am eating lunch at my desk as I write this letter.) I finish a phone call, and turn back to email. I finish this letter, and go find someone I need a meeting with. There is no pause in my day. No sacred space at all. So what I have begun to do is look for the One Minute Pause. After I finish a phone call, and before I start something else, I simply pause. When I pull into work in the morning and when I pull into my driveway in the evening, I pause. I literally lay my head down on my steering wheel and just pause, for one minute. It sounds rather simple to be a practice that brings me more of God, but it’s very effective. Because what it does is open up soul space, breathing room. And God is right there. This pause has become so important to our life at Wild at Heart that twice a day monastery “bells” ring out at 10:00 and 2:00 on our office sound system, reminding every team member to stop what they are doing for one minute and just make room for God. It’s simple; it’s accessible. Here’s another—do not look at your phone, or any technology, first thing in the morning. Don’t check texts, or Facebook, or email. Push back all technology for a few waking moments, to just allow your soul some room. Pray a little. Play a worship song. Let God have the opening moments of your day, rather than letting the clamor of the world in. Touch Nature. I’m serious—every day, your soul needs to engage Creation. Nature is the world your soul was made to live in, and for most of us, Nature is the first thing to go. We live in artificial environments, going from apartment or home to vehicle to workplace, and never even noticing what Nature is doing. But everyone can get outside, in some way; take a 5-minute walk around your building. Notice the weather; let the sun or rain or breeze touch your skin. Dear friends, technology drains us. Research is revealing a direct correspondence between rising levels of anxiety and depression, and time spent on social media. More and more data is emerging to say that “screen time” is not good for the brain, let alone the soul. Technology—where most people live their lives—is draining. Nature is healing. So reduce one and increase the other. You’ll find God there. Now for a simple act that will transform your life (every one of these things is available in even the busiest life). We learn the practice of Release. Every night before I go to bed, one of the things I pray is, “Jesus—I give everyone and everything to you.” Everyone and everything. Your soul was never meant to carry it all, dear ones. If you want to make room in your soul for God, you have to let go of all the things that are currently filling your soul. You might be surprised by how much is filling your soul. So we give it all back to Him—we give everyone, and everything back to Jesus. The fruit of this practice has become so life giving, I do it now several times a day. Now, yes—there are more substantive spiritual practices. Lingering prayer. Scripture. Times of private worship. Spending a day with God. But if you will begin with simple, accessible, and sustainable things, they will lead you on to other practices that create sacred space in your life, which allows you to find more of God. (If you’d like to hear more about this, and other practices that are readily available, listen to our February 26 and March 5 podcasts. You will love them!) Friends, we cannot ignore our souls, let alone God, and then go on to try and make a life. God is the source of all life: “For with you is the fountain of life” (Ps 36:9). We need to turn there, often, for a good, deep drink. Therefore, what we need to do is to arrange our lives to make room for those things that bring us more of God. Honestly—it’s that simple. And utterly life-changing. John (Download this, the March 2018 Newsletter here.)
John Eldredge
Five Agreements That Are Killing Millennials
I fear the worst has happened. You are losing heart, may have already lost it altogether. No more terrible loss can be suffered. For once we lose heart, everything else follows—our ability to live and love, to find joy and happiness. Without a rich life of the heart, we cannot sustain friendship or meaning or purpose or any of the things we once enjoyed. But the loss happens subtly, over time, like cancer—so that only when we are emaciated do we begin to realize what’s happened. I believe this loss of heart, now sweeping an entire generation, is deeply linked to some core beliefs that have crept in. I call them “agreements” because they are ideas which have secured a deep agreement in your heart without you really stopping to consider the implications. We all breathe a cultural air; the assumptions we absorb are the very things that seem to us to need no explanation. Which is good news, actually, because it means you can fight your way out; you can get your hope and your heart back. Agreement Number 1: Doubt Is One of the Highest Virtues You may find this statement overstated; but that is actually helpful to you. If the exposure of an agreement isn’t at first startling, we probably haven’t gotten to the core issue. Your generation has many beautiful qualities, among them an openness to the views and opinions of others and a strong defiance of authoritarianism—especially religious authoritarianism. On a daily basis you and your peers are subjected to yet another exposé of some respected figure, policy, or organization who, it turns out, has been lying to the public for some time. Too much of this and suspicion becomes a mode of survival. Who do you trust anymore? Certainly not the banks or government, not political leaders or church denominations or even the universities. And so doubt has become a virtue, a means of rejecting intolerance and oppression. Doubt is your millennial membership card; suspicion is your posture towards everything. Harold Bloom saw this coming when he wrote The Closing of the American Mind: Openness—and the relativism that makes it the only plausible stance in the face of various claims to truth and various ways of life and kinds of human beings—is the great insight of our times. The true believer is the real danger. The study of history and of culture teaches that all the world was mad in the past; men always thought they were right, and that led to wars, persecutions, slavery, xenophobia, racism and chauvinism. The point is not to correct the mistakes and really be right; rather it is not to think you are right at all. Laid-back relativism is a moral requisite for millennials. Do not dare to think you are right. But the danger in making that agreement is that your capacity to believe—one of God’s greatest gifts to you—is being eroded hour by hour, and when you cannot hold fast to strong belief, your life is cast adrift on an ebbing tide of meaninglessness. If you feel the true believer is the real danger, then nothing really matters, because we can’t trust anything. The tragedy is, you cannot live with faith, hope, and love when you abandon belief. Jesus understands doubt; he has mercy for it. But he never, ever leaves a person stuck there. He certainly doesn’t praise it. “Stop doubting and believe,” was his position. The erosion of your capacity to believe is something to be fought tooth and nail, fought with every ounce of your being, as if your life depended on it. For it does. Agreement Number 2: Offense Is the Worst You were nursed almost exclusively on the milk of Tolerance; it is one of your highest values and the last Absolute Truth. I say this with compassion. I think Agreement 1 snuck in through the door of the very legitimate desire to avoid blind dogmatism. Agreement 2 has crept in through the door of wanting to be seen as a kind and accepting person. But the minefield of social sensitivities you must currently navigate has become psychotic, labyrinthine. Make no slight against whatever gender angle someone might be, or their politics, certainly never against people of color—though at any given moment in this shifting sea you have no idea what the offense of the day might be. You have to become a contortionist in order to find the posture every possible people group, party, faith, or unbelief will find kind and accepting. It is like playing a game of Twister with an octopus; the octopus will always win. This agreement is particularly seductive for Christians, who in this age of hatred want very much to represent Christ as a gracious and accepting person. And so we at first hide, then slowly surrender convictions that might put us at odds with the Culture of Tolerance Above All Else. But, good-hearted millennial, even if you surrender every conviction, you cannot possibly avoid offense in this hour. You live in the culture that prizes and rewards victimhood; this is the culture of the Offended Self. “Do not offend” is not only a weak personal ethic, it is impossible to live out. Tolerance is simply not a strong enough virtue to build your life on. By all means love. Love is the highest call. Love is the measuring rod of all other things. But of course, Scripture urges us to speak the truth in love—not abandon the truth in order to love. Suddenly we find ourselves faced with a choice between saying nothing, so as not to offend, and the higher call of speaking truthfully in order to love. Jesus, who in most circles is still regarded as a loving man, passed on to his followers something awkward indeed—the offense of the Cross. But having made Agreements 1 and 2, it is understandable that Number 3 is all that you have left. Agreement Number 3: Justice Is the Best Expression of the Gospel Not only has yours been the first generation raised on the media of exposé (thus your suspicion of everything), you have also had the heartache of the world set before you like no previous generation. Ever. Tragedy, violence, and oppression from every remote corner of the globe is delivered to you, daily, moment by moment, on your phones. In a beautiful response, your generation has risen to champion the suffering of people groups and causes your parents never imagined. Witness how deeply this has taken hold: if you are not up-to-date on every issue of injustice from the latest corporate scam to the plight of hidden people groups, you feel a little embarrassed. For the good millennial must know and care about everything. “Really—you didn’t know that the chocolate you are eating promotes slavery?” “You didn’t know the shoes you wear are made by a company that dumps toxic waste into Chinese rivers?” “I only wear clothing made from organic cotton by women rescued from trafficking.” To be ignorant on any point of justice is a kind of moral failure. Compassion fatigue is inevitable. The burnout rate of those serving on the front lines of justice causes is catastrophic. What does this tell us? Your soul is finite; you simply cannot care about an infinite number of causes. You cannot know about so much suffering without it actually doing harm. In fact, there is evidence that to be exposed to so much trauma is in itself traumatizing. So—doesn’t justice then require that you end the trauma you are being subjected to by regulating how much trauma-news you take in? The game of Twister I mentioned above has become dangerous and complex. A second weakness of the Justice Gospel is that helping is not always helpful. Did you know a majority of women rescued from the sex trade return to the industry of their own choosing? The reason being, unless you heal the human soul of the ravages of trauma and release it from the darkness that enters into those fractures, you will not in fact rescue those women. Justice is needed, but justice is woefully insufficient to heal humanity. Which leads us to the deepest, most entangled, and emotionally volatile weakness of the Justice Gospel… The simple, alarming fact is that the primary mission of Jesus Christ is not social justice; it is to save mankind from their sin. The brilliance of this approach can be seen in the fact that the global sex trade would collapse in one month if every man and woman purchasing sex had a change of heart. The trade will not cease so long as depraved humanity provides a robust market for it. This change of heart, this internal moral revolution Scripture calls repentance—this is the core of the Gospel. Given her wealth and influence, Oprah will do far more for the justice movement than you or your church ever will. But you have something Oprah does not apparently offer the world: you have Jesus Christ, and him crucified. So, is telling the world about Christ crucified central to your work? Even your motives? Alas—having become entangled in Agreement Number 2, many millennials are paralyzed here. “Can’t we just do good and let that be our witness?” What distinguishes your work from the secular NGOs doing the same? Let’s be honest: the attraction of the justice movement is that it allows people to demonstrate their good will without having to enter into that difficult task—so well-known to the prophets, the apostles and Christ himself—of telling the world that much of what it believes and how it behaves is flat wrong. But of course, in our world, telling someone they are wrong is now considered an injustice. Which puts you in a terrible bind. Friends, the world is a heroin addict committing crimes to feed its habit. It doesn’t just need compassion—it needs intervention. It needs to be courageously told to sober up. Yes, it needs help doing so; but it also needs to be called out, held accountable, confronted. I know, I know—we are going to be criticized for even saying this. “We are winning a hearing for the Gospel because we are involved in Justice!” I think that can be a legitimate strategy. My only question is, “Do you speak the Gospel of repentance of sins as clearly and as frequently as you provide other services?” I believe justice is a fruit of something deeper, larger, grander. I believe it is an outcome of the kingdom of God advancing on the earth. If that’s true, if that is a far more coherent and sustainable strategy, then wouldn’t helping people learn to live under the influence of Jesus and his kingdom be our number one priority? Agreement Number 4: Gender Is a Construct This is where the debate currently rages regarding our view of human beings and the design God has for their happiness. But sadly, this subject is so volatile and reactionary, so filled with accusation and vilification, that reasonable conversation has become impossible. (The octopus in your social game of Twister is now wielding poison daggers in all eight tentacles.) I will therefore only point out something I feel to be helpful to the person wanting to take the teachings of Jesus Christ seriously: Jesus believed humanity has a design to it. He said we are made in the image of God—a truth that would do wonders for the cause of Justice if the world embraced it. He also believed that gender was part of the created order, teaching that we were made “male and female” (Matthew 19:4). Now, whatever else that implies, Jesus clearly felt that gender is something woven into our created being, not a thing of our own making. The starting point is this: human nature is something designed by God, and only by finding his design can we flourish. Once you abandon this, you will find you need to distance yourselves from Scripture as a whole, or rewrite it or reinterpret it in ways that are compatible with the current cultural milieu. You can do that, of course. I simply want to point out that once you abandon the reliability of the Gospel witness of Jesus Christ and abandon with it the high view of Scripture Jesus clearly built his whole teaching on, you will no longer have anything resembling Christianity or Christ. Agreement Number 5: There Is Nothing Epic About My Story Yours also was the education shaped by “deconstruction,” now a marginal philosophy. But it did its damage, like a high-speed automobile accident. Sure—it’s over, but you are now missing a limb. The general impression of your peers is that no story really has any claim over any other (thus Agreements 1,2,3, and 4). Simply notice how much you need to couch your opinions in any social setting: “But that’s just how I see it…I feel that for myself...In my own personal journey….” Not only that, anyone who steps forward with what they claim to be The Story explaining all stories is the very person every millennial in the room moves away from. Don’t want to be seen with them. The reason I saved this for last is because the deadliest agreements are those which open the elevator shaft to the abyss of meaninglessness. You can try to keep up with the yoga contortions of social sensitivity; you can stand for justice though your own heart drowns under the accumulated grief of the world; you can remain silent on human design. But when you come to believe that your life has no real purpose or grand design, what else follows but depression, then despair? Why else has suicide become the second leading cause of death among millennials? And here is the tragic irony—only the epic worldview will explain your life and the world to you; only the epic worldview will see you through it. Only the strong belief (there goes Agreement 1) that you are an essential part of a beautiful and powerful Story will provide you with the bearing you need to navigate the world. Do you think it coincidence that in this very moment of unbelief and laid-back relativism, we’ve seen the resurgence of the bazillion superhero movies and the Star Wars canon? The world is aching for epic meaning. We live in a moment in time when everything, absolutely everything, is either at stake (see Agreements 1-4) or already lost. Truth is lost. Beauty is lost. Goodness is lost. Humanity is lost. How much more epic do you want? Small little life with some self-constructed meaning is not going to cut it, dear ones. Your coffee-roasting, beanie-wearing, socially aware buddy is not going to save himself from a massive loss of heart. God bless the heart—it refuses to be neglected or cowed before false gods. It rebels. It cries out in the form of anxiety and aimlessness; it protests in the form of hopelessness, depression, anger, and despair. We would do well to listen. If any of these agreements have rung true for you, if you find that you have made even the smallest concession to them, the first matter of business is to renounce them. Kick them out of your heart and life. Reject their every attempt to rule or return. Embrace the opposite. It will not merely save your psyche; it will allow you to get your heart back. And with it, everything that makes a life worth living.
John Eldredge
Everything We Needed
I have a beautiful story to share with you. One that I hope will encourage your hearts and your faith, which would be lovely as we all begin a new year. In order to tell this story well, I need to take you back to the founding of Wild at Heart. Now, I’m not going to burden you with the ministry equivalent of watching home movies of our children. But I do want to share the wild goodness of God. Back in 2001, I was working a couple of jobs. I had a full-time “day job,” and during evenings I was building my private practice as a therapist. My books had not yet become well-known; no one really knew who the Eldredges were and what you now know as Wild at Heart did not exist. I remember one evening Jesus telling me very clearly to quit both jobs, and start out on this venture with him. We had no donors; we had no real plan. We did have several long weekends of prayer and fasting with key advisors, and we knew beyond a shadow of a doubt God was speaking. So like Abraham and Sarai, we set out for an unknown future. I quit my jobs. I wrote a book called Wild at Heart. We started doing retreats for men. But it was all very small and full of the unknown. In fact, for the next two years, Stasi and I had no idea where our weekly paycheck would come from. We had no health insurance. And mind you – we had three young boys at the time! Now, I am NOT suggesting this is what you ought to go do. You must be very, very sure God is speaking before you launch out on something so wild as that! Too many signs and confirmations came to us to recount here, but I do recall that at our very first retreat we had booked a camp for 350 men on our own checkbook, hoping we would have men show up. We had no mailing list; Facebook didn’t even exist back then. We simply put the word out, and told folks if they wanted to come to mail us a check for their registration (there was no online registration in those days; we didn’t even have a website). Exactly 350 checks came in. Those early days were filled with stories like that; we were living completely by faith. There were weeks when we did not know where the groceries would come from. Then, a bag of food or a tray of lasagna would just show up on our doorstep. God came through. And he has kept coming through. In larger and larger ways. Once you have a ministry with some global impact and reputation, the temptation is to shift from a faith-based approach to grab for security in more worldly ways. Organizations pad their bank accounts; they hire marketing gurus to conduct aggressive fundraising campaigns. But when they do, they lose something of the trueness of walking with God. We never wanted to become that. So each year, our leadership team sets a budget based on what we believe God is asking us to do. We look for about 40% of our income to come in through our events and resources, leaving the other 60% to come in through the gifts and support of our friends and allies. These days, many people wait until the last weeks of December to make their decisions about their charitable giving. And so each year we find ourselves waiting in hope and faith for the groceries to “show up on the step,” waiting for the mail and our online giving to see what will happen. Last month, we needed $937,000 to come in through donations. In the final week of December, we needed $509,000 of that amount to come in. And it did. With a few dollars to spare. (I have a huge smile on my face as I write this. It is such a wild and HOLY story!) This has been happening for 17 years now. Even though our budget grows each year, as we reach out to more and more people in more and more countries, we still see God provide exactly what we need—through your generosity and your walk with him. What is so beautiful about this story is that we don’t raise 150% of our budget; we don’t even raise 120%. Each year, God provides exactly what we need with a touch of margin to allow us to carry on. And we wouldn’t have it any other way. You notice we don’t do aggressive fundraising. We don’t have capital campaigns, or trusts, or solicit grants. I wrote you in November asking if you would help us, and then we waited to see what you and God would do. Everything we needed came in. It is a beautiful, wild story. I just couldn’t let January go by without sharing it with you. I don’t want to be like the people Jesus healed who never came back to say “thank you.” From the bottom of our hearts, thank you!!! Your support matters—right down to the nickel! Now we start again. We will live by faith this year, and walk with God. We will follow him into the missions he has for us; we will do our best to avoid the seductive lures of the world. And we will trust him to guide, and provide, as he has been doing for the last 17 years. I love sharing this with you. I hope it encourages your own faith journey. Here’s to a powerful and meaningful 2018! John Download the Wild at Heart January 2018 Newsletter here.
John Eldredge
The Great Story
Dear Friends, Comrades, Fellow Pilgrims, A very happy Christmastide to you. December is upon us with a rush, and soon the holidays, and then, perhaps, a breath before 2018 gets underway. The swift passing of the days—and even that feeling, “Where did 2017 go?”—all this is reminding us that this Story is racing forward; we are being carried along towards some great moment. Story. It is one of the greatest gifts the Jews gave the world. For before them (and in many places, long after) the world and its religions did not think of life as a Story at all. Most pagan peoples saw human experience as an endlessly repeating cycle of birth and death, headed nowhere. Through the Jewish people, and then the early Church, God gave us our bearings, gave us meaning and direction and above all a breathtaking hope by revealing to us the Great Story he is telling. Story is, therefore, how we orient ourselves. I was enjoying some pieces of The Lord of the Rings trilogy the other night, just snatches here and there to remind me what it is like to live in an epic tale. I love the part where dear Sam Gamgee reminds Mr. Frodo of the critical importance of story. Frodo is about to give up, under the weight of it all: “I can’t do this, Sam.” To which Sam replies, I know. It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something. It is the power of the Great Story that gives us heart to carry on. Life is not, as Macbeth lamented, “A tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” It is not an endless cycle. This is headed somewhere; we are racing towards a breathtaking climax. And so Christians around the world will repeat The Story to one another this month, in pageants and liturgy, sermons and carols. We repeat the most beautiful moment thus far—the Invasion, the Incarnation. Our rescue. We need to repeat it, for like Mr. Frodo we bend under the weight of our own heavy burdens, and evil of this hour. One of the ways we rehearse the Story in our family is by reading favorite passages and poems to one another. We love John Donne’s Divine Poems, a series of rich stanzas that are so beautiful and compact, you have to take them slowly. I thought I’d share a few snippets here, my Sam to your Frodo. The first stanza—La Corona—ends with the lines, “Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high” (there’s the telling of the Story), “Salvation to all that will is nigh” (as the first Christmas approaches). Stanza two—Annunciation—speaks of the mystery of Christ in Mary’s womb, ending with the gorgeous line, “Immensity, cloistered in thy dear womb.” Stanza three—Nativity—starts with the same line, and then carries us into and through Bethlehem: Immensity, cloistered in thy dear womb, Now leaves His well-beloved imprisonment. There he hath made himself to his intent Weak enough, now into our world to come; But O! for thee, for Him, hath th’ inn no room? Yet lay Him in a stall, and from th’ orient, Stars, and wise men will travel to prevent The effects of Herod's jealous general doom. See'st thou, my soul, with thy faith's eye, how He Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie? Was not His pity towards thee wondrous high, That would have need to be pitied by thee? Kiss Him, and with Him into Egypt go, With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe. So much is captured in these lines. But can’t you also feel the Story moving forward with an irreversible power and thrust? Christ is born, the Magi arrive just in time to rescue him from Herod’s genocide, and the angel has Joseph whisk the family off to Egypt. Every event, great and small, has meaning. And continuity. It is so good to be reminded of that as well—this Story is moving forward with power towards its glorious climax, or at least, the great finish of this chapter. For like Mr. Frodo we also wonder why evil has so much sway, and if it really matters how or if we carry on. But it does matter. The Kingdom of God is winning; the Invasion worked and it is working right now. Magnificently. And we each have our role to play. So tell each other the Story this Christmas season. Drink it in. Believe every word. We are racing towards the finish of this chapter, and what a finish it will be. Then…the feast. And all things made new. Merry Christmas friends, from your friends here at Wild at Heart. Download the Wild at Heart December 2017 Newsletter Here.
John Eldredge
Our Reach Across the World
Dear Friends, I have a beautiful picture I want to share with you… Our team has been praying for some time now, asking God what His next move is on the earth, and the role He has for us to play. (We have this growing conviction, a strong sense that He is moving, and about to move in a deeper way, upon the earth.) In several different prayer times now, over the course of several months, we have seen a picture of “fires” igniting all over the map, all over the world. You are starting those fires, He said. Those are your people—that is your message. That picture fills our hearts with excitement and passion. It brings us such joy and happiness! Deep in the DNA of every friend of Jesus is this same passion, to be a part of his mission on the earth—to see lives rescued, restored, to see redemption, to bring about beauty from ashes. I know that’s deep in you, too. How exciting to think that God is about to do something powerful! One of the sweet gifts during the last Captivating retreat here in Colorado was not only to witness the restoration of women, but to hear from them the ministry of Wild at Heart around the world. A woman came from Guatemala because her church developed a ministry to women based on Captivating. A woman started an online outreach to teenage girls using our message; she already has 17,000 followers. Another woman came privately to Stasi to report healing in her gender identity; she said, “I think Wild at Heart has a really deep ministry to the LGBTQ community.” One life is worth rescuing. One heart is worth restoring. But God wants to show us something more—a stunning outreach across the world. Because our work is so intimate and deeply personal, healing the hearts and souls of God’s beloved, that is what we tend to talk about. So you might not be aware of these fires that are popping up all over… Several different ministries have been birthed to fight human trafficking through people whose lives have been transformed by Wild at Heart. We recently sat with one couple now serving in Thailand, and heard the beautiful stories of little boys and girls rescued from prostitution through their work. I just got an email from another ministry telling me about two girls they saved. A man came all the way from South Africa to our boot camp in Colorado, where he gave his life to Christ, and upon returning home he started an orphanage to rescue refugee children coming south from ravaged African nations. “I was fatherless,” he said. “Now I am father to hundreds.” Friends in Switzerland developed a program to disciple young millennials in this message, over a one-year experience. I love the photos they send of these young people—eyes bright, faces glowing. Especially when you know suicide is epidemic with our young people. Earlier this year we shared communication with the persecuted church in Syria (!), thanking us for our message and our resources—which they are drawing strength from, and using to strengthen others there. Holy. An email came last week from a pastor in Zimbabwe, telling us his plans to use Wild at Heart and Captivating to help the young people understand who they are. An earlier letter from Liberia reports on their work, using Becoming Myself with young girls. I could go on and on. Colombia. Poland. Norway. The UK. These are the “fires.” You are those fires! And we sense from God that he is wanting to increase the movement, deepen the discipleship, strengthen existing fires and light many new ones! Wow. Just ...wow. Twice a year I reach out to ask your financial help. We don’t manipulate; we don’t raise more than we need. We simply let you know we have a real need, and ask if you could help. Now is that time. Our international work does not pay for itself; we do it as an offering to those countries, those allies. We love being generous! We know you do, too. We do need your help. We need to raise a little more than half our budget before the end of the year. Would you be able to send a gift our way? You can send in a check. Or, you can give online at our website www.ransomedheart.com. Your gift will reach out across the world! You are supporting a beautiful work of God when you support Wild at Heart. And that work is growing! Breathtaking! Thank you so much for partnering with us. For being those fires. For helping us light new ones! With you for the Kingdom, John PS. We are doing our first Captivating retreat in Australia December 1-4. We know that fire will start many others. There’s still space to attend there, so let your friends “down under” know! Download the November 2017 Newsletter here.
John Eldredge
Cousin Dwalo
So—you’ll notice that most of the articles in this issue begin with or pretty quickly refer to some conversation we’ve recently had with another guy. We put that in there to send a message: hanging out with other guys is a good thing to do, and paying attention to their questions is an even better thing to do. Maybe also to let you know we’re listening; we want this journal to be massively helpful. Here’s how this conversation went… There was in fact a real group of guys who’d gathered for some trap shooting, cigars, and conversation. (We do this like once a year, sometimes every other year, so don’t get the impression we live on The Island of Manly Happiness and Camaraderie). We were sitting around afterwards, chatting about this and that, when one guy shared that he’s really been enjoying all those Navy SEAL books/biographies that have come out in the past few years. You could feel the conversation shifting in the direction of significant; more than half the circle nodded because we’ve all been reading them, too. Right—the life of Real Men was the new mood in the circle. But then he said, “So I have a pretty good idea what a warrior looks like at war, but what does it mean for me with a job and young kids?” For about 20 seconds, nobody took a bite, a drink, a drag on their stogie. We all just sat there like men hit with a pail of cold water. We went from the epic of heroic lives to the threat of mundane in ours. Before we could offer something—anything—in return, the man next to him said, “Yeah. You guys talk about ‘knowing your story’ and ‘finding a story worth living’ and all that, but I feel like Frodo’s cousin who didn’t even make the movie. There’s nothing about my story that will be worth telling. No—really.” There was some awkward laughter, but I think every guy was taken from the thrill of looking at other men’s epic stories to their real life, and diminishment was descending upon the circle like a cloud. I couldn’t shake the conversation for days, especially that bit about, “Where is the heroic in normal life?” and, “What makes a life meaningful?” When so many young men are ending their lives by suicide, we know this generation is facing a massive crisis of meaning. One thing that struck me was that this crisis is in part the fruit of being exposed to the amazing, way too often. Surely you’ve seen Danny Macaskill’s little film The Ridge. (At 53,819,468 YouTube views, I’m guessing you have.) Macaskill is a bicycle stunt rider from Mars. In this film, he first rides his mountain bike up this ridiculous knife-edge ridge on the Isle of Skye—bouncing on his back tire over chasms and hopping on his front wheel up boulders by some unknown power. Then, for the heck of it, he comes racing back down at inhuman speeds, ending the ride by hitting a sheep fence and doing a perfect aerial 360 to simply keep riding. The wow factor is way up there. But when you’re done, you don’t feel like going out and taking up mountain biking. Because the bar was just set somewhere on the rings of Saturn. We could name a jillion more—all those unbelievably impressive feats we’ve seen “regular” dudes doing on all those millions of videos that have gotten passed around. Heli-skiing. Base-jumping. Flying suits. Motorcycle stunts. I think the effect is actually toxic; I think it makes the average guy feel, perhaps subconsciously, My life sucks. There is no way I will ever be amazing. A few days later I was reading an essay on spiritual acedia, or spiritual malaise/sloth—a sin our fathers seemed very keen on warning us about. (It is one of the Seven Deadly Sins.) This leapt out at me: Our lives are made into a succession of episodes, in which any fulfillment or happiness will largely be an accident, at best a coincidence, and in either case will be of little account to us or to anyone else. In fact, we can give only the barest account of them, for there are to be no narratives to our lives, no intelligible threads running through them… (Henry Fairlie) Even before I finished, I knew I’d hit upon the millennial malaise. Acedia. (We will devote more to this in a coming issue and podcast, ‘cause it’s big, guys.) For now, the takeaway is this: When you subtly make an agreement with a loss of story, you cannot escape the slide into a loss of meaning—losing your life’s meaning. Despair quickly follows. Now—God did not make us all Navy SEALs or even Macaskills. So the truly meaningful life can’t be, “Go out and do something epic like Danny Macaskill or one of those SEALs.” It just can’t. It took me days and days to think of what I wish I’d said back in the cigar circle (doesn’t your clarity always come later?). But it goes something like this: We live in a catastrophic world (add stronger language here). This world is seriously broken; nothing is as it ought to be. We also live in a time of evil unleashed on the earth (surely you see evil ravaging humanity). Therefore, in a climate like ours, with a total loss of meaning, with brokenness all around and even within, as evil rampages, any series of choices towards the good is heroic. In a world of hatred, any choice to love is heroic. In an age of staggering unbelief, any commitment to faith is absolutely epic. In a world built upon the False, any ongoing commitment, however faltering, to choose the Real is heroic. And in a world totally stripped of gender, to choose the narrow way of masculine formation is utterly heroic and epic. Honestly, I’ve been in some pretty gnarly wilderness situations where we survived through heroic decisions. But those are far easier than living back in the world, where we are so severely tested and never really see we are so severely tested, nor do we see the epic consequences of our small decisions. Loving, believing, and persevering are more epic here because it is a life we are talking about, and because it is so deeply opposed. Especially with diminishment. I just released a book called All Things New, a book about Hope, because we live in a time of such sweeping hopelessness. One of the things I try and speak to is this “Frodo’s cousin” issue, this What is the meaning of my life? Allow me to quote a bit: “As we prepared for Craig’s memorial service this summer, I was struck by the gross inadequacy of an hour or 90 minutes to meet the need. How do you tell the story of a human life? How can you do justice to all the hidden sorrow, the valiant fighting, the millions of small unseen choices, the impact of a great soul on thousands of other lives? How can you begin to say what a life means to the kingdom of God? The answer is, only in the kingdom of God. Only once we are there. Your story will be told rightly. I know the idea has usually been set within the context of judgment, and justice will be served. But the friends of God do not face judgment; for us, the celebration of our lives is clearly put in the context of reward. But each one should build with care. For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. If anyone builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, their work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each person’s work. If what has been built survives, the builder will receive a reward. (1 Corinthians 3:10-14) We know our every sin is forgiven; we know we live under mercy. We know there is no condemnation now for those who are in Christ (Romans 8:1). No condemnation, ever. We will be cloaked in righteousness, and it will emanate from our very being. So if we can remove all fear of exposure or shame from our hearts, if we can set this safely within the context of our Father’s love, it helps us towards a great, great moment in the kingdom: the time for every story to be told rightly. How wonderful it will be to see Jesus Christ vindicated, after so many eons of mockery, dismissal, and vilification. Our Beloved has endured such slander, mistrust, and, worst of all, such grotesque distortion by the caricatures and religious counterfeits paraded in his name. All the world will see him as he is, see him crowned King. Every tongue will be silenced, and his vindication will bring tremendous joy to those who love him! But friends—that vindication is also yours. You probably have a number of stories you would love to have told rightly – to have your actions explained and defended by Jesus. I know I do. I think we will be surprised by what Jesus noticed. The “sheep” certainly are when their story is told: “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?” (Matthew 5:37). What a lovely surprise—all our choices great and small have been seen; and each act will be rewarded. All those decisions your family misinterpreted, and the accusations you bore, the many ways you paid for it. The thousands of unseen choices to overlook a cutting remark, a failure, to be kind to that friend who failed you again. The things that you wish you had personally done better, but at the time no one knew what you were laboring under—the warfare, the depression, the chronic fatigue. The millions of ways you have been missed and terribly misunderstood. Your Defender will make it all perfectly clear; you will be vindicated.”
John Eldredge
Recovering the Romance
I first remember the Romance calling to me when I was a boy of six or seven, just past dusk on a summer evening, when the hotter and dustier work of the farm had given way to another song. Something warm and alive and poignantly haunting would call to me from the mysterious borders of the farm that was my world. I would walk toward it, past the corrals where our milk cows rested, down through rows of dark green corn that towered far above my head. The corn, imperious in its height and numbers, presented its own kind of Enchanted Forest. Every leaf that gave way before my outstretched arms offered possible mystery… There in the moonlight I would squat down on my heels near the water's edge, letting my toes sink into the cool sand. In that place I was in the middle of the singers. The voices of crickets, katydids, and cicadas would come to me, carried above the sounds of the creek and mingled with the pungent odor of tannins. Tens of thousands of stream-side musicians sang to me the magic stories of the farms and forests. –Brent Curtis Twenty years ago this spring I published a book with my dear friend Brent titled The Sacred Romance. Many people still mistake it for a marriage book, I’m sad to say. It is a love story, but far older and much more reliable than matrimony. Rather, it is the story of how God has pursued our hearts ever since we were children. A shocking, massive revelation for many people to hear that God cares about—even yearns for—the life of our hearts. That our hearts even matter to God is one of the greatest, most hopeful turns of faith that can come into our lives. But I am not going to make that case here; it is made far better in the pages of that book, even better still in the pages of Scripture. I am after something else at the moment. To realize God has been wooing our hearts ever since we were young, through the very things we love, is an equally startling revelation, life-changing if you’ll let it be. That, too, is an assumption I am making rather than defending, for what I want to get to may matter even more to where we are today. But permit me to catch you up on the story. The “Romance” began for me during summers on my grandfather's ranch. I grew up in the suburbs of southern California during the 1960s and ‘70s. One vast, sprawling, uninterrupted concrete and asphalt metropolis, about 10 million people at the time. Not many places for a boy to chase pollywogs or wander through cornfields at dusk. My grandfather, however, had a cattle ranch in eastern Oregon, near where the Snake River forms the winding liquid border with Idaho. It is high desert country—hot and dry in the summer, transformed by irrigation into an vast, green agricultural quilt. Potatoes, onions, sugar beets, and mint, along with cattle pastures and the alfalfa fields needed to feed them through the cold winters. As I wrote 20 years ago, My grandfather, “Pop,” filled an empty place in my soul at a critical moment. He was my hero, a cowboy and a gentleman in a Stetson and boots. Spending summers on his Ranch was a schoolboy’s dream—riding horses, chasing frogs, harassing the big old cows when I was sure no one was looking. I remember riding in his old Ford pickup, Pop with his cowboy hat and leather work gloves, waving at nearly everyone on the road. Folks seem to wave back with a sense of respect. It gave me a settled feeling that someone was in charge, someone strong and loving. Pop loved me as a boy and called me to be a man. He taught me to saddle and ride a horse—not merely for fun, but to take my place on a working ranch. Together we explored the open spaces of the eastern Oregon sagebrush, mending fences, tending sick cattle, fishing Huck Finn-style with willow branches and a piece of string. Over the years, I have come to appreciate just what a staggering gift and dramatic rescue those summers were. Would that everyone were so lucky. But the Romance can come in many ways, thank God: chasing fireflies, the old library, your favorite books, the first snow, roasting marshmallows, secret forts you built of cardboard boxes. And recovering it—or discovering and then recovering it—can be one of our life’s greatest treasures. Last month, Stasi and I returned to the tiny town of Nyssa, Oregon, for my grandmother’s funeral. It would be the first time back in nearly 30 years. Pop died when I was 17; my grandmother eventually remarried, sold the ranch, and moved to another town. I was very guarded in going back, because I know that the Romance—now even more precious to me than gold—was flowing through those childhood years like the river flowed through the valley, in a story orchestrated by God. It is not forever located in an actual place. Things change. Towns change. I didn’t even know if the ranch would still be there. “You can never go back,” became a saying because cynical though it may be, far too often it is true. Too many broken hearts have tried to go back and only found there the empty shell. Brent knew this himself; as a very lost young man he returned to his childhood farm, hoping to find answers there: I stood there that November day looking down onto a small brown stream bordered in lifeless gray hardwoods and monochromatic fallen leaves. A few hundred yards off to my right stood our old farmhouse, now vacant with a large hole in the roof. The barns and sheds and corrals that had given it a reason to exist were gone. Weeds grew in a tangled confusion where the corn had once stood in ordered wildness. The weariness of it all came together in the silence of those absent August songsters from so many years ago. I remember feeling a sharp pain in my chest that I silenced with cold anger. Only years later did Brent come to understand that the flowing nature of the Romance is situated not forever in a place, but in the living, moving story God has for us. I believe we are in a process of restoration, at the center of which is a recovery of wholeheartedness. I believe that sometimes God will invite us back into treasured memories and special places. And if it is by his invitation, we are safe to go there. He takes us back for several reasons—not only for the feast of memories that comes (some of which needing to be healed), but also to reawaken sleeping places in our hearts. Mostly I think he takes us back to show us as adults all the ways he was wooing us in our childhood, even when we didn't know him at the time. What surprised me was how incredibly rich it was to drive down those country roads again. To smell the onion fields, go into the small M & W Market. A thousand memories came rushing in. And then to pull up on the ranch road bordering my grandfather's place. Yes, it wore the burden of 40 years gone by: the paint was faded and peeling; the pastures were neglected; my favorite cottonwood was gone. But nearly everything else was intact—every barn, shed, and even the old tack room are still there. “I used to feed the horses in that trough,” I whispered to Stasi. “There’s the old workshop. I oiled that shingle roof one summer.” The experience was almost like a waking dream where you get to revisit the best days of your childhood. So many memories. So much of the Romance to be reclaimed. Now yes, we do need to be careful with our hearts as we venture back, either in memory or in actual places. The Romance moves and shifts as we grow, move, and shift. The Romance is not in present-day Oregon for me; it is right here in Colorado now, because this is where God and I live together. This summer it is in the sound of crickets and hummingbirds, the smell of petunias, my granddaughters’ first popsicles. When we mistake the Romance for a person or a place, even a season of our life, it can really break our hearts, because people and places and seasons change and pass away, and if we are not careful, tender places of our hearts can pass away with them. I wrote a new book this year. It speaks of the promise of the restoration of all things (one of the greatest promises of the Romance), which Jesus makes very clear includes actual locations like homes and lands (Matthew 19:28-29). There was an old wooden bridge on my grandfather’s ranch; it crossed a large irrigation canal the size of a good stream, which flowed constantly with milky water the color of well-creamed coffee. Cottonwoods grew in the rich loamy soil along the canal, and their huge boughs covered it in shade all summer long. Even in the dog days of August it was always cool there, and the waters made the quietest lovely sounds as they passed under the bridge. It was a magical place for a boy. Coming in from the fields we would race the last hundred yards, galloping our horses over the bridge which boomed and echoed under our hooves with a marvelous deep sound like thunder, or cannon fire from the deck of a great ship. Swallows would shoot out from under either side, spinning away up and down the canal. As far as I was concerned, in my seven year old heart, that bridge had always been there, and always would be. Wallace Stevens shared a similar experience from his boyhood, Unless everything in a man's memory of childhood is misleading, there is a time somewhere between the ages of five and twelve that corresponds to the phase ethologists have isolated in the development of birds, when an impression lasting only a few seconds may be imprinted on the young bird for life…I still sometimes dream, occasionally in the most intense and brilliant shades of green, of a jungly dead bend of the Whitemud River below Martin's Dam. Each time I am haunted, on awakening, by a sense of meanings just withheld, and by a profound nostalgic melancholy. Yet why should this dead loop of river, known only for a few years, be so charged with potency in my unconscious? Why should there be around it so many other images that constantly recurring dreams or in the phrases I bring up off the typewriter onto the page? They live in me like underground water; every well I put down taps them. (Marking the Sparrow’s Fall) I now understand, some 50 years later, that the bridge under the cottonwoods was filled with “a sense of meanings” and “charged with potency” because the Promise was coming to me through that place. And oh, how I would love to see it again, take my own grandchildren there; charge our horses over and make cannon fire, then sit quietly and dangle our bare feet over the edge, watching the swallows come and go. Yes—I had hoped to visit that bridge again last month. But the ranch belongs to someone else now, and the bridge is tucked way back on private property. I did not feel comfortable trespassing. There were so many gifts in my visit, so many wonderful memories recovered. I felt God saying that my visit to the bridge waits for the Restoration. I drove away, probably for the last time in this life, with a settled heart. I’ll see it soon enough. John Click here for our current issue of And Sons Magazine. And for more about my new book, see this link.
John Eldredge
Summer
Now summer is all around us. I was sitting on the porch early this morning, sipping a cup of tea, enjoying those very early moments before the sounds of the city have ramped up, before I needed to rush into the day myself. In the cool of a summer morning, I was loving the birds singing joyfully, trying to outdo one another in the trees in our yard. Such a hopeful, lovely sound. The fragrance of summer flowers wafted over me from a hanging basket nearby. A butterfly fluttered by in its whimsical “what-are-you-worried-about” careless way. For a wonderful, lingering moment, it all felt brimming with promise. Not just the promise that it’s going to be a good day, but something richer, deeper. The promise that everything is going to be wonderful. You’ve probably felt that promise, too, as you stood in some favorite spot—watching the beauty of the waves, spring flowers in the desert, walking the streets of Paris at night, or sitting in your garden with a cup of coffee. Something keeps whispering to us through the beauty we love; something seems to be “calling” to us through the beauty and goodness summer especially brings. “Many things begin with seeing in this world of ours,” wrote British artist, Lillias Trotter. “There lies before us a beautiful, possible life.” I love summer. I love the lushness of life it brings. I love the sense of promise nearly every summer morning proclaims. But most of us—while we sense the promise—are not really sure what to make of it. There was an old, wooden bridge on my grandfather’s ranch. It crossed a large irrigation canal the size of a good stream, which flowed constantly with milky water, the color of well-creamed coffee. Cottonwoods grew in the rich, loamy soil along the canal, and their huge boughs covered it in shade all summer long. Even in the dog days of August, it was always cool there, and the waters made the quietest lovely sounds as they passed under the bridge. It was a magical place for a boy. Coming in from the fields, we would race the last hundred yards, galloping our horses over the bridge, which boomed and echoed under our hooves with a marvelous deep sound like thunder, or cannon fire from the deck of a great ship. Swallows would shoot out from under either side, spinning away up and down the canal. As far as I was concerned, in my seven-year-old heart, that bridge had always been there, and always would be. Wallace Stevens shared a similar experience from his boyhood, I still sometimes dream, occasionally in the most intense and brilliant shades of green, of a jungly dead bend of the Whitemud River below Martin's Dam. Each time I am haunted, on awakening, by a sense of meanings just withheld, and by a profound nostalgic melancholy. Yet why should this dead loop of river, known only for a few years, be so charged with potency in my unconscious? Why should there be around it so many other images that constantly recurring dreams or in the phrases I bring up off the typewriter onto the page? They live in me like underground water; every well I put down taps them. Some sort of Promise seems to be woven into the tapestry of life. It comes to us through golden moments, through beauty that takes our breath away, through precious memories and the hope even a birthday or vacation can awaken. It comes especially through the earth itself. That Promise fits perfectly with the deepest longing of our hearts—the longing for everything to be good. The experience of this “Promise” is one of summer’s greatest gifts to us. But few know what it means. Does it ever come true? That’s what our hearts long to know—does it ever come true? Why did God put this Promise in the earth, and in the human heart? Part of the answer is revealed in Romans chapter eight: The created world itself can hardly wait for what’s coming next. Everything in creation is being more or less held back. God reins it in until both creation and all the creatures are ready and can be released at the same moment into the glorious times ahead. Meanwhile, the joyful anticipation deepens (19-21). Paul believed that all creation was trembling with anticipation, because nature knows some great secret we do not. Jesus revealed the secret very clearly: “I assure you that when the world is made new and the Son of Man sits upon his glorious throne…everyone who has given up houses or…property, for my sake, will receive a hundred times as much in return…” (Matthew 19:28-29 NLT) When the world is made new. At the restoration of all things. This is the great secret of creation. This is the great hope of our faith. I now understand, some fifty years later, that the wooden bridge under the cottonwoods was filled with “a sense of meanings” and “charged with potency” because the Promise of the restoration of all things was coming to me through that place. It is coming to us in many ways; it is coming to us through the glories of summer. I share this in hope that you and I will begin to understand the whispers of the promise that are coming to us, that these gifts will fill our hearts with hope. “The Spirit of God whets our appetite by giving us a taste of what’s ahead. He puts a little of heaven in our hearts so that we’ll never settle for less” (2 Cor. 5:5). May summer whet your appetite. May it assure you completely of the Great Restoration that is nearly upon us. Love, John PS. Go to allthingsnew.com for a beautiful video of a talk I gave on the Great Restoration.
John Eldredge
Envy
This month, I'd like to pick up on a subject we are discussing on our podcast in May. It's proving to be very profound and very helpful to us, and a lot of our friends. The topic is: Envy. Let me begin with a question: What do the last presidential election, the rampant hatred we see in social media, the passion for justice, and the topic of envy all have in common? I believe part of the answer is, The Triumph of the Offended Self. How quickly offense occurs in this world we live in! When mankind chose against God at the fall, we exalted Self in the place of God. You’ll notice how seriously Jesus takes the matter when he said we must daily die to Self if we would be his followers, if we would be the sons and daughters of God. “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23). We don’t particularly like that part of the Christian invitation; notice the absence of any best-selling book entitled “Die to Yourself Every Day!” It’s the self-life, by the way, that doesn’t like the subject. Now to be clear, what I mean by “the self-life” is the part of us that during a conversation is waiting for our opportunity to speak, our moment to be asked how we are doing; waiting for our opportunity to tell a story. It's that part of us that finds it difficult to rejoice when others rejoice. It's that part of us that is so easily offended when we feel we have even been slightly wronged. The self-life is the breeding ground for envy. Dorothy Sayers wrote, It begins by asking, plausibly, “Why should I not enjoy what others enjoy?” and it ends by demanding, “Why should others enjoy what I may not?” Envy is the great leveler, if it cannot level things up, it will level them down; and the words constantly in its mouth are “my rights” and “my wrongs.” There is good reason envy has been listed among the Seven Deadly Sins for centuries. (This is a list compiled by thoughtful saints on those issues that are especially damaging to the soul.) In fact, envy is second on the list. Now, envy has two directions in our lives. First, there is envy that flows from within us. A good deal of research is emerging to demonstrate that those who spend more time on Facebook experience higher levels of envy (and unhappiness) than those who don't—or the simple reason that you are comparing your life to the happiness that is apparently available in the lives of your friends and acquaintances. I find it so tragic that the number one source of envy in social media is holiday photos. For some of us, simply seeing the joy of another human being is enough to elicit envy in our lives. What has happened to our culture is that we have lost the ability to admire anything that is greater or better or higher than ourselves? But friends, admiration is the language of the Kingdom of God. We celebrate that gifted musician even though we know we will never attain their brilliance. We celebrate that family, writer, leader, or athlete simply because of the glory of God that is reflected in them. We rejoice with those who rejoice. (Notice the difficulty of the older brother in the parable when he sees the Father’s lavish grace on his prodigal brother.) Envy cannot admire. Sayers goes on to say, “At its worst, [envy] is a destroyer; rather than have anybody happier than itself, it will see us all miserable together.” Which brings us to the other side of envy—the envy that comes our direction. It is a very damaging force, much more so than you may have realized. In fact, it is the warfare that envy releases in our lives that actually got us investigating the subject and led us to the podcast series. For not only does envy say “I wish I had what you do,” but it quickly degenerates into, “In fact, I wish that you did not have it since I cannot have it. You have too much.” Envy is a destroyer, and our enemy uses the open door of it as an occasion to come and steal the good things of our lives. Now, you may not think that you are the object of anyone's envy, but let me assure you, your enemy holds an enormous grudge against you and envies you deeply. He envies your position as a son or daughter of God. He envies your relationship with him. He envies the blessings of God in your life. He envies your eternal destiny of absolute happiness and joy. Sadly, many people also give way to feelings of envy (as the research on social media proves). They envy your home, marriage, or children. They envy your position at work, or the fact that you get to live in the city you do. They envy your health or bright personality. But most of all, we envy the blessings and gifts of God in others lives. Spiritual envy—envying the giftedness of another—is doing all sorts of damage in our souls, in our churches, and our Christian communities. It “partners” with the enemy to allow in division, and thievery; offense and backbiting; not to mention unhappiness. That’s why we wanted to shine some light on it. Our culture has embraced the very toxic idea that everyone should look and feel and have exactly what everyone else has. That is not how the kingdom of God works! But boy oh boy is it a breeding ground for offense—the Offended Self. We can choose something so much better—we can choose love! I hope you will tune into our four-part series on envy we offered this month (on the Wild at Heart podcast). You won’t regret it! In fact, this would be a great series to use to introduce the podcast to friends and family. Thank you for rejoicing with those who rejoice. Thank you for celebrating the goodness of God wherever it appears in this world! Love, John Download the May Newsletter Here
John Eldredge