Seth Lewis's Blog, page 11

Top Books Of 2023

I’d like to finish the year out by sharing the six best books I read this year, and some recommendations from my family as well. These are not books that came out this year—some of them are old, but I read them this year and enjoyed them. You might, too.

The Air We Breathe by Glen Scrivener
Where do our modern values like freedom, kindness, progress, and equality actually come from? We may assume them and take them for granted, but Scrivener shows that the value structures of the western world used to be very different. What caused the change? Christianity. This was a reread for me, which is rare. It’s just that good. It’s an easy read, and so important. I wish everyone would read this.

Digital Liturgies by Samuel James
We live in an internet-saturated world, so this book is necessary. In it, James explores how the internet reshapes not only the content we consume but even the way our minds process information and how we view and think about the world around us. It’s a real eye-opener, and manages to stay positive and hopeful in spite of raising a number of serious issues. If you want to navigate the digital age thoughtfully, this is the book you need.

Death On The Nile by Agatha Christie
It’s a classic for a reason. The master of mysteries does not disappoint. My only question is why did it take me so long to get around to reading it?

The Rise And Fall Of Christian Ireland by Crawford Gribben
I really enjoyed how Gribben traces the history of Christianity in Ireland through hundreds of years, complex changes, political intrigues, and social upheaval. The story of Christianity in Ireland is fascinating, and there’s much we can learn from it.

The Phantom Tollbooth by Juster Norton
My children read this and told me I had to read it as well, so I did. They were right. It is fun, lighthearted, and witty, and yet manages to make lots of profound points along the way. One warning for any of you who are not dads: this book is chock-full of puns. I loved it.

Spy The Lie by Philip Houston, Michael Floyd, and Susan Carnicero
I picked this book up on a whim in a tourist shop in DC last summer because it looked interesting. I didn’t regret it. The three authors are all former CIA officers. They share fascinating insights into the system they developed to identify lies, and show how to implement the system in ordinary life. In our world, that’s a good skill to have.

My wife Jessica reads much more than I do, mostly because she reads about three times as fast. I asked her to share a few of her 2023 favourites with you as well. She gave these three:

Atomic Habits by James Clear
A fascinating book about the science of forming and keeping new tiny habits that can lead to significant life change. It works, too!

Into His Presence by Tim Chester
This is a beautiful collection of prayers and meditations from the puritans. It is deep and rich, meant to be read slowly and thoughtfully. It is one that can be read over and over again.

The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis
It’s satire, its social commentary, its epistolary novel, and it’s a classic for a reason. It’s both insightful and entertaining.

Our children are great readers as well, so I asked them to recommend a few. Daniel and David are 16 and 14, and these are their favourite reads from 2023 (these are for teens):

The Faithful Spy by John Hendrix
This is a graphic novel (with plenty of text) that shares the real-life adventures of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor and author during WWII who participated in a plot to assassinate Hitler.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke
This book is very unique. Our children describe it as gripping, haunting and well written. It is refreshingly original.

Everything Sad Is Untrue by Daniel Nayeri
Nayeri’s story of growing up in Iran, having to leave because of religious persecution, becoming a refugee and finally settling in America is full of twists and turns. His Persian-style story-telling is gripping, as is the story he tells.

Our daughter Rebekah is 11, and a passionate fan of fantasy fiction. This is a series—actually two series—that she’s been reading and re-reading this year:

The Green Ember Series & Green Ember Archer Series by S.D. Smith
Rabbits with swords. Need I say more?

If you’re like our family, who likes to make a queue of interesting books ready for the reading, you may want to check out some of these for yourself. We’d love to hear your recommendations of books you’ve enjoyed lately as well!

A Christmas Selection Box 2023

It’s Christmas, and in Ireland that means chocolate selection boxes are multiplying everywhere. It’s a great tradition—who wouldn’t like a box filled with a variety of different chocolates to enjoy over the holidays? Today I’m joining in with the spirit of this tradition. I can’t give you chocolate, but I’ve collected a variety of treats for you from around the internet. Enjoy!

First up, a spoken word from Glen Scrivener about the different ways we celebrate Christmas—a good one for all the Charlie Browns and Cindy-Lou Who’s out there who are questioning what Christmas really means:Going deeper, here’s an article exploring the reality at the heart of why we celebrate: Does the Incarnation Really Matter? And here’s some wonderful pictures of the Irish coast. I know they aren’t Christmassy, but this kind of beauty is always in season: Love your coast photography competition winners 2023 Next up, a lovely Christmas song from Celtic Worship (based in Scotland):And how about a Christmas quote from the man they called the “Prince of preachers”, Charles Spurgeon:

“But, now, when the new-born King made his appearance, the swaddling band with which he was wrapped up was the white flag of peace. That manger was the place where the treaty was signed, whereby warfare should be stopped between man’s conscience and himself, man’s conscience and his God. It was then, that day, the trumpet blew—’Sheathe the sword, oh man, sheathe the sword, oh conscience, for God is now at peace with man, and man at peace with God.’ Do you not feel, my brethren, that the gospel of God is peace to man? Where else can peace be found but in the message of Jesus?” – If you’d like to read more Christmas quotes from Spurgeon, you can find some here.

Finally, here’s a flashback to a Christmas post I wrote several years ago: I Refuse To Be Content With Shorthand Reality This Christmas

Christmas Should Humble Us

Christmas is wonderful. The lights, the decorations, the music, the cookies, the nativity scenes, all of it. And in the nativity scenes, a baby. A baby who was the High King of Heaven. In a feeding trough. It’s a shocking picture, really, when you think about the humility of Christ. To step down from the literal throne of Heaven itself, take on our humanity, and enter our world as an infant born into poverty among an oppressed people is hands down the most extreme display of humility in all of history. Nothing else comes close.

“He made himself nothing
by taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
by becoming obedient to death—
even death on a cross!” – Philippians 2:7-8

The fact that God would go to such extreme measures to save us clearly shows that his love is more extreme than we can comprehend. But that’s not all it shows. The fact that such extreme measures were necessary to save us shows that our sin is much more serious than we like to believe.

Christmas shows us more than Christ’s humility—it also shows us our own.

Christmas is a celebration reminding us that we could not save ourselves. We could not climb up to God on a ladder of good works. We could not satisfy his righteousness and justice with a regiment of payments or pious rituals or penance for our failures. When God’s perfect standard is broken, God’s perfect justice must fall. How else could it be perfect justice? But the glory of salvation is that Jesus took on our humanity on purpose so that the justice we deserve could fall on him and he could offer us full forgiveness and his own life that never ends. That’s why he came to earth. That’s why we celebrate his coming every December.

Christmas is a rescue story. Jesus is the One who comes to rescue, and we are the ones being rescued. Being rescued is a reason for joy, certainly, but not a reason for pride. When the bells ring for Christmas, they ring out loud and clear our deep and desperate need for a Saviour. There’s no sense pretending otherwise. This is a humbling holiday, but that doesn’t need to stop us from celebrating: God knew our need. He did not wait for us to reach up to him. He came down to us and gave us exactly what we needed:

“Today in the town of David a Saviour has been born to you” – Luke 2:11

Ring the bells with humility. And ring them with joy!

Don’t Let All The Conspiracies Be Evil

The headlines are usually bad. Nations conspiring against nations, scandals and corruption in governments, corruption and abuse in charities, organised crime, businesses cheating the system, people cheating each other, and so on. It seems there are a lot of people in this world working hard to devise evil plans and then working together to carry them out. Which is nothing new. Isaiah wrote about the same thing hundreds of years before the first Christmas:

“…the schemes of the schemer are evil;
He devises wicked plans
To destroy the poor with lying words,
Even when the needy speaks justice.” – Isaiah 32:7 (NKJV)

He might as well have been writing about our world today. The question is: what do we do about these ever-present schemers with their wicked plans? Do we focus on protecting ourselves from them, or exposing their wrongs? Both of those responses can be good. But Isaiah takes a different direction in the next verse:

“But a generous man devises generous things,
And by generosity he shall stand.” – Isaiah 32:7-8 (NKJV)

In other words, he’s telling us not to leave all the scheming to the wicked. While they make their plans, let’s make our own. Let’s get busy devising generous things. Conspiring good plans, that will benefit and provide good for others. Shouldn’t we give at least as much thought and attention and effort to building the world up as the wicked give to tearing it down? Yes, the selfish plans of selfish people are always hurting others, especially the poor and needy. So what plans can we make to benefit them? Organised crime is more effective at evil because it is organised. So let’s be organised in our good. Won’t we be more effective that way? Let’s be intentional and work together at it. As the writer of Hebrews puts it, “let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds” (Hebrews 10:24). This Christmas, let’s form a conspiracy. Let’s make some generous plans and carry them out. After all, isn’t Christmas when we remember how Jesus came to save us according to God’s eternal plan? He devised a generous thing, and carried it out. What generous things can we devise?

Hot And Cold (a poem)

Thanksgiving is an American tradition that our family will never, ever give up. The feast is amazing, but so is the logic: a holiday especially made for giving thanks! You have to give the pilgrims credit: they were clever. Giving thanks is one of the healthiest, happiest things you could ever do. Not just with a feast, and not just on the fourth Thursday in November—it’s a habit that can reshape our perspectives and grow contentment in our hearts all year long. That’s what this poem is about:

Hot And Cold

I think I prefer
(When the weather is cold)
A sun that is blazing and hot.

I think I would choose
(When I’m sweating profuse)
Some clouds that are snowing—a lot.

And when in the Autumn
The temperature’s right
I complain that the colours
Are good, but not quite
What they were in the past—

And why can’t I find some
Contentment that lasts?

I think what I have
(When I count it all up)
Is far beyond what I deserve.

I think that my life
(When I take every breath)
Is a gift by the grace of the Lord.

I think if I counted
And thought to say thanks
For these blessings
Instead of just
Making complaints

Contentment would find
In my heart
(Not too cold)
The perfect conditions
To grow.

Finding A Bigger Story

This is a guest post written by my friend, Isabel Quinlan. She shared her story with our local Bible study group last week, and I asked her to write it up for you as well. Isabel writes a blog at https://isabelquinlanblog.wordpress.com

“Ruairí wants to go in there” my 2 year old said excitedly, prodding the picture of a farm in the board book i was reading him. I had a jolt of realisation, struck by the profound nature of stories. My 2 year old doesn’t yet know that this little farm is fictitious, but he instinctively knows that stories contain little worlds. Little imaginary offshoots of our own world.

I grew up with a Christian worldview. A view of our world as the creation of a being outside it, a 3D offshoot of his imagination. Through my teens my view changed. Like many other young people in Ireland at the time, I shed the narrative of a creator and dove into atheism, and began to view our world not as an imaginative creation spoken into physical existence, but rather as a collection of matter, governed by laws of physics.

Without an author, there was no overarching storyline unfolding, but rather atoms crashing into each other. There was no author, no narrator declaring the goodness, value or purpose of physical matter.

As a child I read constantly. Night after night I’d stay up too late, devouring stories. I wanted to be a librarian until I found out they didn’t actually get to sit around all day reading. I discovered fantasy at a young age and grew to love the beavers of Narnia, the elves of Rivendell and the Weasley family. As my atheistic worldview developed, my love for stories developed a melancholy edge. It wasn’t obvious to me at the time why this happened. I’d finish rereading the Harry Potter series and feel a deep, hollow sadness. Sadness that the Burrow didn’t exist. Sadness that the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s army didn’t exist. I wasn’t waiting for my Hogwarts letter but felt somehow their world made much more sense than our own. Even in the darkest chapters of the stories of Middle Earth, there was a palpable purpose, a hope, a reason to persevere and my favourite thing of all – a fellowship.

At 17 I packed my bags and headed to University College Cork to study International Development, with a strong desire to do something good in the world. I eventually left this course but not because I don’t think it’s a noble cause. The opposite is true. This course is what started to unveil the sandy foundation of atheism and what it offered. In researching abuses of women’s rights globally, I was even more determined to help. To uphold some light in a world that only offers darkness and cruelty to so many. However, I began to realise that in a world without authorial intent, imposing seemingly ‘good’ values on other cultures was merely the extension of moral colonialism. I couldn’t consistently tell people they were absolutely wrong about how women were being treated, while at the same time holding the belief that there are no objectively right ways atoms should interact. Atoms don’t have the right to tell other atoms how to exist. This was a major turning point in my life. Over the course of a few months I began reading the Bible again and found a rock solid basis for human value and human rights. My inner conflict crescendoed. To accept this solid foundation meant accepting that I was a character in a story written by someone outside of our world. To paraphrase fantasy author N.D Wilson, rejecting God because there is evil in the world is tantamount to Frodo saying there’s no J.R.R Tolkien because orcs exist.

I embraced the worldview of my childhood, turned my back on my past wandering and sought forgiveness from the one who spoke our world into existence. I found forgiveness in Jesus, and along with that, the greatest story.

I didn’t anticipate it, but one of the gifts this change brought about was that the stories from my childhood came to life again. The great battles of light against darkness, the sacrificial lives of my heroes, the unfolding of stories in which perseverance against all odds and ultimately the triumph of good over evil became real.

I realise now that these stories, especially the really good ones (written by fellow Christians Tolkien and C.S Lewis) are not more excellent than our own world. They’re reimagined offshoots of it. The great fall of humanity into darkness, the great sacrificial redemption of a saviour, the fellowship and shared purpose of those who believe in good, this story has been unfolding since the beginning.

And our role in this story? We should want to be great characters, but we can’t do that without first being great readers. We need to recognise the narrative arc of the story we’re in, the chapter our lives are in now and the type of character we have the opportunity to be. A character on the hard won road to glory, in the company of a great fellowship. So let’s read our world without the fogged-up glasses of atheism, secularism or any other pair of befuddling spectacles for that matter. Turn the pages and look forward to the ending when in the words of Samwise Gamgee (spoiler alert), “everything sad becomes untrue”.

He Didn’t Have To Promise

What do we have that God didn’t give us?

Our bodies are the work of his hands. Our hearts beat with his gift of life. Our lungs fill with his air. Our minds are aware with his gift of consciousness. Our strength and abilities come from him. Even the abilities we work hard to develop ourselves come from him, because what are we developing except his gifts, using the strength and life he gave us?

Look around with the eyes he gave you: you’ll see his trees, his sky, and the mountains he made. The animals and the grass they walk on and the plants they eat were designed and crafted by him. Or maybe you’re inside: look at the building you’re in, or think of the vehicle that got you there—what are they except re-arrangements of God’s many varied gifts? Steel mined from his mountains. Bricks hardened from his earth. Copper wires and channeled electricity, PVC pipes and running water, the fabric on the sofa, the glass shelf in the refrigerator—yes, we’ve mastered many techniques for processing the raw materials of earth into all kinds of useful combinations, but all of the materials we have to work with are only what God already made. You could put a label on every item in the shop: “This product is made from 100% recycled gifts of God.” It would always be true, every time.

That’s why Paul wrote to the Corinthians, “What do you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you boast as though you did not?” We need to remember that everything we have, we owe to our Creator. There’s no point pretending otherwise. He doesn’t depend on us. We depend on him. He doesn’t owe us more gifts. We owe literally everything to him.

And this being so, isn’t it amazing that God makes promises to us?

It makes sense for us to promise ourselves to him, because everything we have is from him and our very lives depend on his generosity. Promising ourselves to him is exactly what we ought to be doing. But over and over again, all through the Bible, all through history, what we see is that God constantly makes promises to people. Some of his promises are for all humans, everywhere, like his promise to continue providing the seasons and sunlight and rain that we need to survive and his promise to never again destroy the earth with a flood (Genesis 8-9). All of humanity receives the benefit of these promises, even those who reject God and misuse his gifts (Matthew 5:45). But most of God’s promises, and definitely the best of God’s promises, are for those who come to him in repentance and faith, acknowledging our dependence on him, our sin against him, and our need for his forgiveness. To them, he promises the forgiveness we need (Ephesians 1:7), but he doesn’t stop there—he also promises a place in his own family (1 John 3:1)! And he doesn’t stop there, either…

He promises: “I will never leave you nor forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5).

He promises: “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die” (John 11:25).

He promises that the day will come when “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21:3-4).

There are so many promises like these in scripture, and he didn’t have to make any of them. All the obligation is on our side, not his. But he promises anyway. And the promises themselves are a part of the gift: he doesn’t make us guess if he will love his children the same way tomorrow as he did yesterday. We don’t have to wonder what he’s thinking, or what he’s working towards. If we are putting our trust in him, we have his promises.

He didn’t have to promise. But aren’t you glad he did?

I only given a few examples of God’s promises. What promises have been especially encouraging to you? Put them in the comments so we can be encouraged as well.

Around The Web

Today I’d like to share a few articles from around the web that I’ve enjoyed recently. Maybe you’ll enjoy them, too.

Add A Little Extra Beauty

I love this thought from Tim Challies. I think it’s more important than we usually realise.

Learning To Speak Chickadee 

I had no idea that chickadees could communicate so much to each other with such a complex language. This is a fascinating look into the world of bird songs, with some encouraging application for our lives as well.

The Last Word In The Book Of Ruth

Our pastor recently finished a sermon series on the book of Ruth, which was a real blessing. It struck me that Ruth and Boaz saw God’s provision in their lives in amazing ways, but they did not live long enough to see how God was worked through their story to provide in much greater ways for his people—and for us. This article draws out some of that.

You Probably Have A Good Pastor

There is, sadly, no shortage of horror stories about terrible spiritual leaders these days. Some pastors do awful things, it’s true. But this article helps balance our perspective and, hopefully, better appreciate what we have.

Bonus Link: We’ve Inherited More, But That Doesn’t Make Us Better

This last link is a flashback to one of my own, from a couple of years ago. It’s about how we should not assume we’re better than our ancestors just because we have more than they did.

How Satellites Changed How I See The World

I grew up on the edge of a new world. I was the first of my friend group to own a mobile phone—an indestructible Nokia that could call and text, but I didn’t use it to text because that was expensive and who would I text anyway? No internet. No satellite navigation system. 

I was 16. My parents gave me the phone because we lived in the country and I had just gotten plastic proof of my adulthood: a full driver’s licence. I drove our little Toyota pickup truck with a tape deck that was so old the tapes would play faster or slower according to the engine rpms—so the tempo of the music changed every time I changed gears. It was hilarious. And really annoying. That truck was mostly reliable, but only mostly. I remember it breaking down on top of a mountain and how thankful I was that I could just barely coast into the driveway of the first house after miles of forest. I didn’t know the people there, but they helped me. I couldn’t always depend on the car, or the phone signal, so I had to depend on strangers. Gradually, as the cellular towers sprang up and the satellite networks became more reliable, our family breakdown stories changed. Helpful strangers began to feature less often in them.

Cars still break down, of course, but now everyone has their own reliable way to call for help. If you see people stranded on the side of the road, you can safely assume that they won’t be for long. You can safely drive on without worrying or interrupting your day to lend a hand. I remember when stranded people were really stranded, when stopping to help change a punctured tyre was part of what it meant to use the roads well. Those days are gone. That’s one less way that we get to be human.

We don’t need strangers to see us now, and we don’t need to be careful to see them. We have satellites. We don’t need to see the land, either. We used to tell each other which signs to watch for and what landmarks would help us find the next turn. We used to spread out maps and pre-plan routes and pay careful attention to every bend and hill and file every notable tree and river in our heads. Now I say, “Text me the address” and that’s it. The phone know the way, so I don’t need to. 

This, of course, is very convenient. But it means that I don’t see the road the same way I used to see it. I mean, yes, obviously my eyes are open and I see it, but I don’t pay attention to it the same way. I don’t need to watch carefully for the next turn, or try to measure the distance in my head. I don’t need to remember that it’s a left at the big oak tree, followed by a right after the second bridge. The sat nav remembers for me now, so why would I bother? There’s an oak tree? I didn’t see it. A river with two bridges? I didn’t count.

I love the convenience of the sat nav, but I miss the counting. I miss the feeling of connection I used to develop, studying hard to learn the winding ways of the roads and the lands they took me through. I used to know that if I didn’t study the land well, I would get lost. I don’t get lost anymore. But I do miss the way I used to see on the land. And the people. I miss the unwritten social connection that I used to feel with other drivers—knowing that someone would see my plight and stop for me, if I needed it, and that I would do the same for them. It’s been years since a stranger helped me on the road, or I helped a stranger.

The world has changed, but I still want to see. I want to see the people in the other cars as real people, and count the bridges over real rivers, and see and remember the big, notable oak tree at the corner even when I don’t need to, but it’s harder now. My phone has freed me from needing to notice the world or the people around me. 

That’s what we call progress.

After The Flood

When the children went to school last Wednesday, it was raining. This is Ireland. We’re used to rain. Met Éireann gave an orange weather warning, but that almost always just means a bit of gusty wind or extra rain. I barely noticed. It wasn’t until the afternoon that I realised that this time it was not just a little bit extra—it was a month’s worth of rain, in 24 hours. The ground, so green and lush and well-watered, refused to take any more. The rivers carried away what they could, but they couldn’t carry it fast enough. Their banks broke. The green fields quickly became brown lakes. Then the lakes came into the streets, and the streets became rivers. And rivers don’t knock before they come inside.

The heart of Midleton town was submerged under several feet of water. Restaurants, grocery stores, boutiques, homes. It came too fast to react. Too fast to save anything but the people. The furniture, the refrigerators, the latest fashions, the walls full of wiring, everything was destroyed. Outside, parked cars were lifted and carried away by the power of the current. 

Usually, the rain is a blessing. Usually, it brings life and makes this island the shining emerald that it is. Last week, the rain was too much. It was a curse. 

In Romans 8:22, the Apostle Paul writes that “the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.” The whole creation, groaning in pain. That sounds about right. That is the sound of Midleton now.

This world is so full of beauty and wonder, and there are times when life can be so good in it, that we almost forget how broken it is. When the riverbanks break, we remember. The world is not right. This is not how things are supposed to be. It is a beautiful world, yes, but it is also a world groaning in pain. Paul says, “the pains of childbirth”. 

Childbirth? What does he mean? 

He means that the pain of this world is real, terrible, and acute—but it is not hopeless. Childbirth is painful, but it ends in the arrival of new life. And new life is exactly what Paul says lies ahead for our groaning world: 

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.” – Romans 8:19-21

We are not there yet. We feel our distance from the realisation of this hope especially at a time like this, as we groan with creation, and with those whose homes and businesses have been wrecked by it. But our groans can be more than groans of pain only—although they will be that. They can also be groans of expectation. We can trust that the God who made this world also knows how to re-make it. His patience in leaving it broken right now is a merciful patience: he is giving us every opportunity to come to him, to put our trust in him, to receive his forgiveness in Jesus Christ and enter into the “freedom and glory of the children of God.” Eventually, creation will experience the same liberation that God’s children wait for. Until then, we live in “the pains of childbirth”, waiting with creation “in eager expectation” for God’s gracious promises to be fulfilled. 

Oh Lord, come quickly!