Seth Lewis's Blog, page 5

How To Avoid A Midlife Crisis (an open letter to twenty-somethings)

Dear young adult,

I know you’re not thinking about having a midlife crisis right now. I know the concept feels far away and foreign, the domain of grumpy gen-Xers and geriatric millennials who drink too much coffee and still complain about being tired all the time. I know you’re probably tired of people telling you to enjoy your stage of life because it all goes so fast. You might not believe me, but the reason almost everyone says this when they reach a certain age is because stages of life actually do go quickly. In fact I can prophecy with confidence that you’ll be saying the something similar in about twenty years time, to the tolerant nods of your juniors. Twenty years probably feels like an eternity to you right now. I get it. But eventually the speed of life catches up with you like a marathon runner who loses sight of the starting line and suddenly realises that the impossibly-distant finish line is actually real and not so distant after all. The difference is that a marathon runner wants to reach the finish line, whereas in life most people don’t. Thus, the midlife crisis. And apparently, I’m due for one. I’ve slept through enough nights and celebrated enough birthdays to qualify for such things, even though no one can tell me what the true mid-point of my life is with any degree of certainty. The specifics don’t matter. My life is clearly passing by, and I’ve reached the stage where this fact can no longer be hidden or ignored. This is the driving force of the midlife crisis—the sudden intrusion of truths we like to push away for as long as possible. At some point they come in anyway, and make themselves at home.

I’m writing to you, dear young adult, because you have not reached that stage yet. If you want to, you can keep the truth locked out of your mind for a little longer. You might know, technically, that life is limited and that you are mortal, but you might not feel it yet. That’s ok. You don’t have to feel the truth to recognise it and start living in the light of it. Here’s a secret that is more valuable than you probably realise right now: having a midlife crisis is not mandatory. It can be avoided.

I’m not saying you can skip midlife. You can’t. If you are fortunate enough to live then you must live through every stage, including the middle. What I’m saying is that the middle of life does not have to be a crisis for you. And I’m telling you now because if you wait to start thinking about avoiding a midlife crisis until you reach midlife, it will be too late. You can learn lessons from the crisis, of course, and it can make you better—but wouldn’t you rather learn the lessons in advance, and skip the crisis? Here’s my advice on how to do that:

Live in the truth of your humanity. Whether you feel it or not, recognise the fact that your life is limited, your time is limited, your strength is limited, and your health is limited. I’m not saying you should be morbid and sour about this—on the contrary—you should enjoy and leverage the gifts of youth while you have them. I’m starting to play trombone with the things I read, just to see the letters. Your eyes probably adjust properly, instantly, and you might be able to run fast without constant training and stay up late without crashing your system hardware. Enjoy that! Recognise where you are in the timeline of your entire life—you have strength and vitality right now, and you can leverage it to grow in the areas where you have gaps: like gaining knowledge and getting experience and the wisdom that comes with it. Learn from those who have gone before you what really lasts, what is really good, and train your heart to love those things more than the constant shouting immediate pleasures that suck away your time, your focus, and your energy and give you almost nothing in return. Don’t try to drown the truth out with distractions for as long as you can. Let it in now, and live in it.Discover God’s purpose for your life. Living in the truth that your life is passing quickly can make some folks terribly depressed, but it doesn’t have to. The key question here is: what are you living for? If you’re only living for your own pleasure, then yes, it will always be depressing to think that your strength is going to fade, and fast. If, however, you are secure in Christ’s promises of forgiveness and love and hope that outlasts death itself, then your happiness is already safe in God’s hands and you can start focusing your life on generously sharing all that He has given you with the people around you. This is the purpose you were made for: to be close to God and reflect his goodness and truth to everyone and everything around you. If you start living for this now with all your heart and soul and strength, then you won’t need to re-think the purpose and meaning and direction of your life in your middle years. You can just carry on.Start planting what you want to reap. In Galatians 6:7, the Apostle Paul warns us: “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows.” It’s possible for us to be deceived because, as in farming, there is often a delay in life between our actions and their natural outcomes. This can be bad—some destructive choices might take years to catch up to you fully, but when they do, they bite with a vengeance. The opposite is also true: some of the richest blessings in life can only come after years of slow growth. Take friendship, for example: you can make a new friend quickly, but to experience the comfortable freedom, stable refuge, and undercurrent of joy found in old friendships, you’ll need to invest time and effort. Lots of it. There are no short cuts. The same is true in developing community, or growing a family. It’s true in careers, and any skill you want to develop. Anything you commit to, and invest yourself in, will grow with time. And the longer it grows, the greater the harvest will be. Just think of what your abilities could become, what your community could become, what your relationships could become if you didn’t hold back from them to preserve your freedom. Listen: all the freedom in the world is useless if you don’t use it for something. So think carefully, choose wisely, and commit yourself early in life—especially in building strong relationships, which are far more important than our noisy, busy, stressed-out world will ever tell you. The earlier you commit to friends, church, community, marriage, and family, the longer you’ll have to reap the blessings that can only grow with time. 

Dear young adult, you don’t have to have a midlife crisis. If you start living in the truth, in the purpose God made you for, and if you begin planting what is good, right now—then in the place of a crisis, you can reap a midlife harvest.

The (Unimpressive) Ambassadors Of Heaven

The American Embassy in Ireland is a big building, but the public (even the American ex-pat public) can only see a small part of it. That part is mostly security guards, fluorescent lights, and bulletproof glass. Somewhere inside of the building I know there’s a ballroom. If I was a Very Important Person I might get to see it, and maybe I’d even meet the ambassador herself. America’s ambassador to Ireland has a very impressive list of credentials, which is to be expected. Nations that are great and powerful (or want to be perceived that way) do their best to be represented by highly qualified individuals who are skilled in the diplomatic arts. People who can make a good impression at fancy dinners in ballrooms with VIPs. People who can move their nation’s interests forward through the ever-changing minefield of political realities.

There are some great and powerful nations in the world today, but none of them can compare to the greatness of the kingdom of Heaven. None of them come close. So if the King of kings, the eternal ruler of Heaven, put up a job listing to become one of his ambassadors, what requirements would you expect it to include? If the application process was anything like the way our nations work, it would probably have a lot to do with who you know personally, who owes you a favour, and how well-connected your family is. You would need to hold the right degrees, from the right institutions. You would need to stand out from the competition—showing somehow that you are more intelligent, more savvy, and more capable of effortlessly embodying the greatness of the proud nation you represent. In a word, you would need to be impressive. So who would the God of Heaven choose to represent him?

This is not a hypothetical question. In 2 Corinthians 5, Paul writes that there really are “ambassadors of Christ” who represent his kingdom and are entrusted with his message, that God is “reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them.” Can you imagine? The God of Heaven, making tiny little humans the official representatives of his eternal kingdom and entrusting them with the most significant message the world has ever heard—that we can be reconciled to God in Christ! It’s a privilege beyond belief. It’s a responsibility beyond belief. To represent God and his kingdom—who could ever be equal to such a task? Who on earth would God choose to represent him? Paul writes the answer to this question in 1 Corinthians 1:26-31:

“Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: ‘Let the one who boasts boast in the Lord.’”

The ambassadors of the greatest kingdom to ever exist are not chosen from the highest, most elite circles of humanity. God is not looking for the ones who can impress him most with their own personal greatness. Honestly, how would you go about proving your greatness to the inventor of stars and galaxies, anyway? Or showing your clever wisdom to the God who designed photosynthesis and the water cycle? When God looks for ambassadors, he seeks those who are humble enough to admit that they need him. People who are ready to depend on him and recognise their need for his grace. He’s looking for the “the poor in spirit” and “those who mourn” (Matthew 5:3-4). His job listing is for “those who hunger and thirst for righteousness”—because he’s ready to fill them (Matthew 5:6). He’s ready to give them a kingdom.

If you want to represent the King of kings and his eternal kingdom today, you don’t have to have impressive credentials. You don’t have to have a large platform, the right education, or the insider connections. You just have to admit that you need Jesus and trust your life—with all your weakness, foolishness, and sin—entirely to him. His grace will do the rest. He will take your weakness and need and make you a living, breathing display of the wisdom and power of God—“our righteousness, holiness and redemption”. All you need to represent the kingdom of God is need, brought to God, and fulfilled by him. That’s how our great God chooses to display to the whole world the greatness of his grace, his love, and his power.

“…as it is written: ‘Let the one who boasts boast in the Lord.’”

Wanting What I Already Have

There are strings of lights and stacks of chocolates growing in the shops, and the annual question is already hanging in the air: what do you want for Christmas? Mind you, the answer is meant to be something that fits neatly inside of wrapping paper, under a tree or in a stocking. ’Tis the season to assess what we all have and (more specifically) don’t have so that we can give each other good gifts that are actually wanted. I’m all for it. Social pressure to think about other people’s desires and happiness is a good thing, and if other people are thinking about my desires as well, that’s not bad. But as we all think hard about what everyone wants and doesn’t have yet, I’d like us to pause for a moment and remember a truth that can easily get lost in the flurry of festivities: it is possible to want what you already have.

If someone asks me what I want, my mind goes straight to the gaps—the things, the experiences, the accomplishments I haven’t tasted yet, especially the ones that look like they might improve my life or expand it in some way. The things I already have, or have already done, are disqualified for consideration. I seem to have a built-in working assumption that wanting and having are incompatible categories, that once I possess things my desires are automatically required to expand beyond them. The more I think about this assumption, the less I agree with it.

My children once asked me what I wanted most when I was growing up. As I sat at the dinner table looking at my wife and children looking back at me I remembered my childhood dreams for my life and the answer was suddenly obvious: “This. Exactly this.” I’m not saying that everything in my life has gone perfectly to plan—it certainly hasn’t. I’m not saying that there aren’t things I’m working for, striving for, that I haven’t reached yet—there certainly are. But when I pause long enough to think about it, I have to admit that I already have so much. Should I stop wanting these blessings just because I already have them? Of course not. To say the question out loud is to realise how absurd it is. The trouble is we don’t say it out loud. We don’t ask the question—we just assume and act as if the only way for us to be truly satisfied is to have just a little more of this, a little more of that, always just a little more of something.

You can want what you already have. You can enjoy it, appreciate it, and be content. It is possible. So what if we gave our gifts and held our celebrations this Christmas not just wanting what is new, but wanting even more what is already provided, what is already right in front of us? The biggest, most precious gifts have already arrived. The whole reason we celebrate Christmas is because God sent his Son to save us. No greater gift is possible. And we’re here, right now, enjoying his gift of life. There are people around us, friends and neighbours and family, and there’s the flavour of chocolate and the fun of sharing gifts with each other. This Christmas, what I want most is to want what I already have more than ever.

“Godliness with contentment is great gain” – 1 Timothy 6:6

The Leak (a poem)

Today I have a poem for you that is inspired by true events in our home. We recently discovered that a slow leak behind the shower had done enormous damage inside our bathroom walls without us realising it. As I considered what had happened I noticed a connection between our home and our hearts. That’s what this poem is about.

The Leak

Silently
the water creeps
behind the tidy
tiles, seeps
into the wood
and insulation
slow and patient
devastation
working hidden
in the dark
drip

by

drip

without a stop
it softens all
the sturdy studs
without requiring
major floods
as day and night
and out of sight
a rot is growing
inside out
until the walls
are so far gone
the tidy tiles
are torn down
and all the hidden
rot revealed

and do I think
that sins concealed
and compromises
year by year
drip

by

drip

within my heart
won’t slowly
tear my soul apart?

A Personal Update (With A Book Update, Too)

I woke up the other day thinking about the list of normal things I was going to do that day, which is not unusual. But it struck me that I’ve been waking up like that for years and years, and the list of normal things I’ve thought about has changed dramatically. For example, recently I’ve been taking our oldest child out to practice driving. This is normal now, but it wasn’t a year ago, and it’s a sign that our family is entering another new and different kind of normal. Next year our youngest will join her brothers in secondary school and our normal will change again.

Last week I woke up at a camp centre in the country where my wife and I were leading a youth camp for almost 50 15-18 year olds. We’ve done this every October break for years so I guess that makes it normal for us now, too. Yesterday we attended the funeral of Ruth Smyth, a farmer’s wife who helped found and run these camps for more than 50 years. Her normal life was given constantly to help others know the love of Jesus. She never had a large platform and never drew attention to herself and there’s no way you could ever measure the eternal impact of her life—the churches in our area are literally filled with people whose lives have been changed forever as a direct result of her quiet ministry to everyone around her.

Speaking of church, that’s another new normal that’s beginning to take shape for our family. We recently held our second monthly service for our soon-to-be launched church in Carrigtwohill. God willing, we’ll launch fully sometime early in the New Year. We’re very thankful for the support of our mother church in Midleton as well as our cooperative network of churches in Counties Cork and Kerry, and especially for the fantastic group of people now gathering in Carrigtwohill. It’s exciting to see how God is bringing things together!

There is something else I’m looking forward to in the New Year—I’m delighted to be able to share with you that my new book is scheduled to release on the 1st of May, 2025! The title is The Language of Rivers and Stars: How Creation Speaks of the Glories of God. I’m honestly so excited about this project. It was an absolute pleasure to research and write, and the process has changed my view of creation and its Creator forever. If you’ve ever been stunned to silence by a thunderstorm or overwhelmed by the number of stars above you on a clear night then you’ll know the strange power that nature possesses to communicate directly to our souls. This book is all about helping us see, interpret, and respond to that communication—to hear what God is saying to us in all that he has made and (even more importantly) to respond to our Creator.

Here’s the cover:

You can preorder the book now at:
The Good Book Company UK
The Good Book Company USA
Amazon.co.uk
Amazon.com
And other bookstores as well. Maybe it will change the way you see the world, too.

The Past Is More Than A List Of Problems

It’s often said that those who don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. The unstated assumption in this saying is that the past is full of problems—which is obviously true. Learning from the mistakes of the past is a big job because there are just so many to choose from. Our learning is also complicated by the danger of over-correction—of fixating so intently on avoiding one problem that we fall easily into another. After all, we’re just as susceptible to cultural blind spots, overlooked abuses, and self-serving justifications as anyone who went before us. Have you seen the internet lately? So we must learn from the mistakes of the past, and we must apply our lessons carefully. But I think we sell history, our ancestors, and our own selves short when we only see the past as a litany of problems to avoid. Our forebearers certainly had their issues—plenty of them—but they also had their successes. They were often wrong, but sometimes they were right. And what if we were humble enough to admit this? What if we learned from history not only by critiquing it, but also by letting it critique us?

We live (like everyone before us) on the edge of history, the culmination of the ages. Our tools are better now than they have ever been, thanks to the accumulated knowledge of our ancestors. Better tools, however, do not necessarily make us better people, or guarantee that we have better wisdom in how to use them. The internet may display for us the knowledge of humanity, but it also highlights our foolishness and frivolity. Our heavy machinery may enable us to build skyscrapers with efficient functionality, but they feel cold and soulless compared to the cathedrals and cityscapes created in what we now derisively refer to as the “dark ages”. What did our ancestors know about beauty and humanity that we have forgotten? Or consider my grandparents’ generation, who had the moral clarity and courage to sacrifice their own comfort and security and even their lives to protect the vulnerable, preserve freedom, and end the holocaust. Could we do the same today? Are we using the freedom and democracy, the science and technology, the infrastructure and blood-bought peace and security we have inherited well, or have we let the wealth of the ages make us proud and entitled, selfish and decadent?

We should not assume that just because we are the latest generation on earth, we are the greatest. The ancients believed that the wisdom they needed for living well was most often found with the old, not the young. They assumed that the ages before them knew important truths that they also needed to learn and apply. They were right. If we really want to avoid the selfishness, tyranny, and abuses of the past we must look at more than just the ancient wrongs that continue to plague us. We must also seek out the good and right, the ageless wisdom and courage and faith that have always stood against evil, the virtues that have cultivated our world, the convictions that have built up and beautified it. Our ancestors have shown us many ways to fall and fail, certainly, but they have also at times shown us the path of grace and glory. Let us not only learn from their problems. Let us learn from their wisdom.

“This is what the Lord says:
“Stand at the crossroads and look;
ask for the ancient paths,
ask where the good way is, and walk in it,
and you will find rest for your souls.”

– Jeremiah 6:16

Assisted Suicide And The Meaning Of Life

Our representatives in Dublin are voting this evening on whether to approve recommendations for assisted suicide in Ireland. This is only an indicative vote, a first step towards changing our laws, but it is a step that will pave the way for official legislation to be brought forward in the future. The argument in favour of this change is usually framed in the language of compassion and choice—that those who are suffering greatly should be able to end their suffering—and their lives—on their own terms. There are, however, many significant concerns raised in the debate as well. For example, there is the unspoken (or perhaps spoken) pressure to die that allowing this option places on good-hearted people who hate to be a burden on others. Is that really a free choice? Or consider the obvious cost-cutting incentive that assisted suicide gives the health service to end lives rather than provide expensive palliative care. Does that really promote compassion? These concerns are reason enough to oppose assisted suicide, especially in light of the heartbreaking evidence from countries who have already started down this road. But I have another more fundamental objection. I know that the one great benefit and argument for assisted suicide is that it ends suffering. This is true enough. The trouble is that it ends suffering not by treating or managing it, but rather by ending the sufferer. In doing so, assisted suicide creates a new category for our culture—a category of human life that society agrees is simply not worth living. 

Assisted suicide is built on the assumption that increasing levels of suffering, pain, and dependence on others serve to decrease the value of living—and that when these levels reach a certain threshold, life is no longer meaningful enough to continue. This raises a question: if some human lives have lost their meaning, what criteria can we use to assess which lives continue to retain their meaning, and why? And whatever criteria we use, whatever line we draw between lives that are worth living and lives that are not, once that line exists what can stop it from shifting along with the winds of popular opinion or political power? 

Where does the meaning of our lives come from? That’s the real question. If it can be lost through suffering and dependence, is it created by happiness, comfort, capability, and independence? If so, then healthy, comfortable people who are more capable and able to be more independent must possess more meaning and value to their lives than those who suffer or depend on help from others. This is the logic of assisted suicide. But telling people that their lives are only meaningful when they are healthy and comfortable is not a logic of compassion. It is a logic of despair. 

Where does the meaning of our lives come from? Thank God it does not come from our ability, so it cannot be destroyed by our inability. It does not come from our health, so it cannot be destroyed by our sickness. It does not come from our comfort, so it cannot be destroyed by our pain. It does not come from our independence, so it cannot be destroyed by our need for help. The meaning of our lives comes directly from the God who created us with purpose, who came himself to bear our suffering, who valued us in our helpless need for salvation, restoration, and resurrection. There is no such thing as a human life devoid of meaning. That category does not exist. Life is a precious, sacred, and meaningful gift, even when it is hard. Even when it is ending. We did not create our meaning, and no matter what our laws may become or our culture may believe, nothing can remove it. Our society will not be improved by laws that teach our elders, and our disabled, and those who live with depression or suffer in any other way that some human lives are simply not worth living. We don’t have to deal with suffering this way. It would be far better to invest our resources, our energy, and ourselves in the very best palliative and social, mental and physical and spiritual support possible and recognise the unchangeable value of every life, all the way to the end. 

Rain On The Window (a poem)

The garden is
A liquid blur
But I don’t stir
To close the blinds
The world has turned
Impressionistic—
Like a sad
(But still artistic)
Painter came
And just remixed it
Smudged the lines
And drained the colour
Told the sun
He shouldn’t bother
Wiped the sky
And stars away
And left me only
Endless grey
And as I look
Outside I think
That even when
It’s indistinct
And even when
It blurs my thoughts
And when it rains
And drains
And blots
And even when
It breaks my heart
This world is still
A work of art

The Daily Dance Of Family Life

The electric kettle clicks off. I give some of the water to Jessica for the breakfast porridge and take the rest to warm the flasks for hot lunches for the children. I need a little more, so I fill the kettle again. The children are in the kitchen now, wearing their uniforms and queueing at the refrigerator to pack fruits and vegetables into their lunch boxes. I fill everyone’s water bottles then switch to unloading the dishwasher, working around Jessica who is now preparing breakfast fruit and the children who are laying the table and getting the juice out of the refrigerator (which has hardly closed). As the five of us step around each other and pause and dive in and out of cabinets and counter space to do our various morning jobs, someone observes that our movements around the kitchen are like a dance. We laugh, but it’s true.

The steps and counter-steps of family life really are like a daily dance. Some days it’s an awkward, baltering dance, improvised according to the needs of the moment, which doesn’t always work very well. It’s not unusual in the madness of the morning routine for us to step on each other’s toes—sometimes metaphorically, sometimes literally. It takes daily effort to stay in step with each other and rehearse the movements of patience, forgiveness, and appreciation for the needs and desires of others. But as we practice, we grow. The spotlight of our attention begins to expand beyond ourselves. Our clumsy feet and hearts slowly learn to remember the steps of love and commitment. Together, we move (and are moved), we lift (and are lifted) in ways that simply would not be possible otherwise. Like the movements of well-practiced dancers, the shared life of family members can also grow to possess a mysterious power and beauty that far exceeds the simplicity of our individual steps. Our morning dance around each other in the kitchen may not be much to look at, but it has a kind of beauty of its own. It is the art of moving well in relation to others. It is the daily dance of family life.

A Wide Place

As the youngest of four children, I was always the last to experience the privileges that came with growing up. I remember one year waiting impatiently for my birthday—the day I would finally be allowed to have my very own pocketknife. I wanted it right away. I wanted to carve sticks and notch arrows like my older brother could. But my parents were very strict: I had to be old enough, and I also had to be trained through Scouts in how to use knives properly and safely. I knew that my pocketknife privileges would be revoked the first time I failed to abide by the safety rules I learned. I didn’t fully understand why my parents were so serious about these regulations until my neighbour cut his thumb with a pocketknife badly enough to need stitches. After that, I saw the wisdom of my parent’s rules more clearly. Their strictness was protecting me and freeing me to enjoy the benefits of my pocketknife without being hurt by it. I saw that their commands were actually an expression of their love for me.

Have you ever wondered why God includes so many commands in his word? This is why. It’s because he loves us, and wants what is genuinely best for us. He wants us to know how to use our lives, and the world he gave us, and enjoy all of his blessings and benefits without destroying ourselves. This is why the Bible speaks about God’s commands in ways that sometimes seem surprising. They are not seen as limiting and narrow, but the exact opposite:

“I have seen a limit to all perfection, but your commandment is exceedingly broad.” – Psalm 119:96

Broad commandments? Aren’t rules and regulations restrictive, by definition? In one sense they are. But what are God’s commands restricting us from? Sin, which leads to death (James 1:15). Being restricted from death isn’t so bad, is it? Do we complain when the road has a guard rail to keep us from driving off a cliff? No, because we don’t want the freedom to drive off a cliff. And why would we want the freedom to sin off a cliff? God’s commandments only restrict us from destruction. In following them, we become free to explore the wide, fertile valley of God’s goodness.

“I walk in a wide place because I sought your precepts.” – Psalm 119:45

Obedience is a wide place, an Edenic garden where rich blessings can grow in astonishing abundance—blessings like joy and peace and deep relationships with God and others that are filled with honest, faithful love that chokes out the thorns of pride and sin and selfishness. When our Father gives us commands, he is telling us how to remain in the garden where all of these blessings—and more—grow freely. Why would we ever want to leave such a place? God loves us too much to ignore or affirm choices that he knows will destroy us. Would we really want him to? We may not always understand the logic of his commands, like children don’t always understand their parents rules, but we can trust that our Creator knows what he’s talking about. God is a good Father. His commands do not restrict us from anything good. They free us to live in the wide garden of his generous goodness.