Remembering Karl Kutz (1962 - 2025)

I was in the first class Dr. Karl Kutz taught at Multnomah University in the fall of 1996. My best friend, Jill, and I sat near the front in the middle of the long row of chairs bolted to the floor with built-in desks in L101. The class was “History and Poetry,” where we studied the Old Testament books of Joshua through Song of Songs. It was a lot of ground to cover, and Dr. Kutz was fresh from his PhD program at the University of Madison, Wisconsin. He gave us copious notes on every book in this section of the Bible, always with charts. We were his guinea pigs. He was finding out in real time what undergraduates could handle and what he could expect of us. At the same time, we were finding out what we were capable of learning.

My most vivid memory—and even this is fuzzy 29 years later—was the day he taught about the Song of Songs. I can’t recall which approach he took to the book—whether he read it as an allegory for God’s love for Israel or as a human love poem. What I remember is that Jill and I raised our hands and asked lots of questions of whichever view he took, skeptical of whatever he had just taught. We had a good rapport by that point; our questions meant no disrespect. We were engaging in the kind of sparring that he welcomed in the classroom. What happened next I will never forget. Dr. Kutz tipped his head to one side and said, “Well, I’ll have to think more about this.” We moved on to the next topic. The next day in class, Dr. Kutz handed out new notes on the Song of Songs. He had spent his evening rethinking his view and changed his mind completely. His new handouts reflected what he now believed to be a better way of reading the book.

I was stunned. I grew up in a family where, when challenged, we doubled down to better prove our point. Karl modeled humility, curiosity, and teachability. He was not threatened by our questions. In fact, he was grateful for the way they made him think.

Karl was so devoted to teaching well that he was constantly revising the charts and timelines he made from scratch. These became overheads, thin plastic sheets paired with laser printed paper and fed through a machine that burned the ink into the plastic so it could be projected on a screen hung at the front of the classroom. Never one to waste, in years to come, Karl would give me the overheads he had updated for his own lectures. Eventually more than a foot of space on my bookshelf was devoted to 3-ring binders with his class notes and cast-off overheads. I’ve kept them all.

Karl invited me to be his TA. For several years I graded tests, created handouts, edited documents, and recorded grades in spreadsheets. Once he asked me to read through Chronicles alongside Samuel and Kings, highlighting any differences between them. Another time he gave me the entire semester’s worth of Greek reading for fourth year Greek (a class I had not taken). My assignment was to underline all the words I didn’t know so that he could create a glossary of unfamiliar words. Since I had taken 3 years of Greek, I was in exactly the position the average student would be entering that class. It was a sensible plan, since Karl had difficulty remembering that not everyone knew as much as he did. He regularly assumed that others contained mental dictionaries in multiple languages and that we had retained everything we ever read or heard in class, the way he did.

One day Karl and I talked about the possibility of me going on for more schooling. His advice was clear and direct. “Carmen, you should not pay for a PhD. By the time you get to that level, someone should be paying you to go to school.” That seemed terribly unrealistic. I thought he had again forgotten that we were not all as brilliant as he was. But he was right. He understood the academic world better than I did at that point. And eventually, someone was paying for my PhD and offering me a stipend besides.

Karl arrived at Multnomah having mastered Greek, Hebrew, Aramaic, Syriac, Akkadian, Ugaritic, German, and French. I remember when Karl began teaching himself Chinese so he could read a manuscript related to martial arts. When I was a student he taught fencing as a PE class. Karl’s curiosity to learn new languages and skills was unquenchable.

As brilliant as he was, Karl was patient, others-centered, an encourager. And oh, how I’ll miss his infectious laugh! He and Laurie traveled all the way from Oregon to Colorado for our wedding at their own expense. He prepared a toast for the reception in true Karl fashion. Never one to work off the cuff, Karl had categorized all the “I” words in the English dictionary according to their part of speech (noun, verb, adjective, etc.). Then he composed his toast using almost entirely words that began with “I” for Imes. That’s just how he rolled. 

One day a couple of years later we sat at his computer—I had pulled up an extra chair beside him—while we scoured a website of Hebrew baby girl names. I had graduated by then, and was pregnant and auditing his Hebrew class with my free alumnus audit. He found the name Eliana, which we both loved. My husband and I had lost our first child to miscarriage, and it devastated us. Karl sat with me in that sacred space of emerging hope that our second child would be born healthy. The name Eliana means “My God has answered”—such a meaningful name for the child who was an answer to our anguished prayers.

Eliana was born during spring break. I spent the rest of the semester recovering and adjusting to motherhood, so I wasn’t there on the day classes resumed after spring break. Students filed into the classroom nervous to find out how much Hebrew they still knew after a week away. Karl put a Hebrew passage on the overhead for them to translate together. They struggled through the unfamiliar words and expressions—“after only one-and-a-half hours in pain of childbirth in the house of the sick . . .”—until they gradually figured it out. [Note: I labored much longer than this—about 22 hours—but Eliana was born just 90 minutes after we arrived at the hospital.] Recognizing that all the students would want to hear the news, Karl had composed a birth announcement for Eliana entirely in Hebrew. A few years later, Eliana sat astride the rocking horse in his living room while we visited—a horse he carved himself as a gift to his wife.

I was among the small group of students who sat around the lunch table with the two of them at the Old Spaghetti Factory to celebrate Karl’s 40^th birthday. Our birthdays were just one day (and 14 years) apart. He wasn’t quite old enough to be my father, but he was like a much older brother or fun uncle.

Karl was honest about his struggles. His wife’s health challenges absorbed much of their married years and made it impossible to think of having children. I remember those years as a dark cloud hovered over their home while they tried one unsuccessful treatment after another. Karl loved children, and it broke his heart not to be a father. He channeled his energies into his niece and nephew—his pride and joy—and into his students, counting us as part of his family. At his memorial service, his colleague Becky Josberger read a message he wrote to all his former students, telling us that we were like the children he never had.

Karl and his wife supported us monthly when we became missionaries. Later, when I entered fully into academic life we enjoyed catching up at conferences. I remember one such occasion when we sat on the floor in the conference center for a long talk. It was 2012. I think he had divorced by then. I remember him sharing openly with me about his wrestling with God. I don’t remember Karl teaching me in class about lament, but he lived it in a way that taught all who knew him. He was intellectually honest, which meant he had nothing to hide from his students.

Some seven years or more after I had graduated from Multnomah, I was reading a book in seminary whose approach to Genesis 1 was revolutionary. I wrote to Karl asking if he’d ever read the book or heard of this approach. I needed it to pass the Karl test before I embraced it. I knew he would not be threatened by a new idea. His response to my email was straightforward: “Yes, that’s how I’ve pretty much always read Genesis 1.” My jaw dropped. How had I studied and worked with him so closely for at least four years and not known this? How had we never talked about it before? The reason was simple. He arrived at Multnomah during my Sophomore year, after I had already taken Pentateuch.

Later he gave me a full set of his notes on the Pentateuch, just in case they would be useful to me. Now that he’s gone, I’m grateful that I’ve kept them all these years.

I was sitting at my desk at Biola University the day I got Karl’s email with his diagnosis and bleak prospects. I let out a cry of dismay and the tears started flowing. My husband responded to my plea instantly, coming across campus to my office to hold me and let me cry. Although Karl and I have rarely had the chance to see one another these past 10 years, just knowing he’s there for me has been enough. He believed in me, trained me, hired me as his TA, supported us financially, and cheered me on every step of the way. Karl never doubted that I would get a PhD and follow in his footsteps. When we saw each other at conferences he told me how proud he was of me. But after that initial email about Karl’s diagnosis, I never saw him again.

During the last year of Karl’s life, he stewarded all the energy he had left between chemo and radiation treatments for writing. In the week before he entered hospice care, he completed his commentary on Isaiah. At his memorial service, Becky shared the story of how on the day Karl announced he would no longer be able to send or respond to emails, his publisher had an emergency meeting. They offered him four contracts for books he had already written, which he signed on his deathbed.

The world of publishing has changed considerably in the almost 30 years since Karl started teaching. An author must not only be smart and able to communicate well, but they must have a public platform with a built-in audience. Not only was Karl nearly silent on social media, but now he’s no longer living. The fact that a publisher was not only willing to offer him one contract, but FOUR is a testament to the impeccable quality of his work and of his character. Karl wrote by teaching on paper, creating clear and helpful synopses of what he saw in the biblical text. He poured out his life for the sake of those around him, giving generously whatever he had. I’m so grateful that we’ll be able to continue learning from Karl in the years to come.

For most of his academic career, Karl studied the book of Job. He also lived it. His years of lament gave him strength of character and depth of empathy as well as a keen sense of his own need. Becky shared that in his last year on earth Karl finally felt like he was experiencing the end of Job’s story—seeing fruit where he had long waited empty handed.

Karl has been part of most of the major milestones of my adult life—our dating and engagement, our wedding, our miscarriage, the birth of our oldest daughter, our work as missionaries in the Philippines, my PhD journey, when I began teaching as adjunct faculty at Multnomah and we were finally colleagues, my move into a full-time position in Canada, the publication of my books. I received tenure just a couple of weeks before he died. In the week he died, Multnomah closed its doors forever.

The death of my alma mater will now perpetually be linked with the death of one of my dearest mentors. The tragedy of Multnomah’s closing means that I’ll never have to see what would become of Multnomah without Karl. His absence there is unimaginable to me.

How I would love to be a fly on the wall as Karl asks the Lord all his questions. I picture them walking through gardens, talking and laughing, and stopping to investigate each new discovery. By the time you and I arrive, Karl will have a 3-ring binder waiting with timelines and charts of all the things about heaven that he thinks would be helpful for newcomers to know. He’ll start with an apology for the things he got wrong in his class notes and then excitedly show us how things really are.

That’s just Karl. He was, and is, a gift to the world!

Celebrating 25 Years!

Twenty-five years ago today, I was surprised that I didn't float down the aisle. A wedding seemed like it ought to be the dreamiest day, but when the time came, my Dad and I simply put one foot in front of the other as we made our way toward the front of the church, toward the man who would soon become my life partner. Walking felt so ordinary.

Our Wedding at Third Christian Reformed Church
in Denver, Colorado. June 27, 1998

Don't get me wrong -- the dress and the music and the flowers and the dear friends and family who had gathered were nothing but ordinary. It was our wedding! But as I look back, that ordinary walk down the aisle toward a life filled with ordinary moments seems fitting.

In the classic film, Fiddler on the Roof, when Tevye and Golde reached this milestone, Tevye's urgent question to his wife of 25 years was "Do you love me?" After all, their marriage was arranged, so the question of affection had been irrelevant on their wedding day. But now he wonders..."Do you love me?"

Golde's answer canvases the ordinary days they have shared, wondering whether the question is even relevant:

For twenty-five years I've washed your clothes
Cooked your meals, cleaned your house
Given you children, milked the cow
After twenty-five years, why talk about love right now?

For twenty-five years I've lived with him
Fought him, starved with him
Twenty-five years my bed is his
If that's not love, what is?

But that's the thing about love. It proves itself in ordinary ways. Golde is right -- cooking and cleaning and childbearing and gathering food -- these are the building blocks of a life together. Love is not just a feeling of affection but a commitment to someone else's flourishing.

Our marriage has not been ordinary in the sense of typical. We have moved fifteen times, lived in three countries, raised three children, and earned a certificate and four degrees between the two of us. Much of the love we've shared has come in the form of packing and unpacking and learning to pay bills in a new city or taxes in a new country. 

Our roles may seem unconventional. At the beginning of our marriage I did the laundry, the cooking, the shopping, and most of the childcare. Now our roles are reversed; I vacuum and help with dinner clean up while Daniel manages almost everything else, including most of the taxi-driving for our teenagers.

But I know this: Our partnership in life and ministry has been such a generous gift from God!

Do I love him? Absolutely! 

Does he love me? When I get home from work, I'm greeted by the smell of love: a healthy dinner cooking.

Dinner may seem ordinary, but it's the stuff of legend and of romance. Every day that I find clean socks in my drawers and milk in the fridge or flowers on the table, I don't even have to ask.

I know.

University of British Colombia

Ordinary faithfulness is what we signed up for. We celebrated 25 years of ordinary moments with an extra-ordinary cruise to Alaska. The stunning scenery and delicious food and quality service could hardly compare to the joy of experiencing it all together. 

Glacier Bay National Park

So now we go from glaciers and bears and mountain goats and sea otters back to ordinary -- doctor's appointments and bills to pay and emails to answer and dishes to wash.

Happy 25th Anniversary, Honey! I'm so glad to be spending my life with you. 

Here's to 25 more years of ordinary days ... together.

Becoming Human: My Visit to an SBC Seminary

It was an unlikely invitation. 

Would I travel to Wake Forest, NC to speak on personhood at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary? 

I, who am neither a member of the SBC nor the daughter of a member of the SBC. 

I, a woman who teaches Bible and even preaches on occasion.

It was not my first SBC connection. First, my book appeared in the book store at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, where Al Mohler is president back in early 2020. (Unexpected!) Then, the same book was a finalist for an award from Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Kansas City. (Who knew?!) The next thing I knew, Lifeway Publishing asked me to contribute to a women's study Bible. (Huh.) And then Southern invited me to present my research to their PhD students and faculty over Zoom in 2021. (!!)

And then this. A plenary address at an SBC seminary. What did I have to lose? Plenty, actually.

As I said, I'm not a member of the SBC. But I am SBC-adjacent. I'm close enough to the movement to know that all is not well. I watched Beth Moore walk away (gulp!). I watched Russell Moore make his exit (wow.). I saw the troubling statement released by the six white SBC seminary presidents on Critical Race Theory -- a statement crafted without the input of any people of color or anyone who had even studied CRT (um...). I watched talented African American leaders cut ties with the denomination. I waited on pins and needles while the delegates voted for a new president at last year's convention, and while they decided how to handle allegations of sexual abuse and how to care for survivors. I groaned a few months later when the Executive Committee waffled over whether to submit to outside investigation.

I care very much where things go in the SBC because the denomination wields enormous influence. People's faith and health are at stake. And so is the witness of the church at large.

Here was my conundrum: attending the conference would allow me to learn from the other presenters and work on issues related to my current book project and get feedback. But would taking the stage at an SBC seminary somehow align me with the denomination and its problems? Would it make me complicit? (If you think I'm overreacting, consider that the invitation was issued from a building named after Paige and Dorothy Patterson, the seminary's notorious former president and his wife.)

I concluded that I could not participate without addressing the problems as I see them. I refuse to pretend that all is well. It would be irresponsible to talk about the biblical doctrine of the image of God without pointing to the myriads of ways that evangelicals as a whole and the SBC in particular have failed to live these truths. That would compromise my integrity.

So I took a deep breath, said yes, and submitted this title:

The Rise and Fall of the Imago Dei?: Assessing Evangelical Theology and Practice

My title intentionally evoked the long-form journalistic podcast produced by Christianity Today that investigated a particularly egregious form of "evangelical" ministry with a narcissistic leader. I took my cues from Mike Cosper, who demonstrated the value of evangelical self-critique. Here is my abstract:

Evangelicals all agree that human identity and vocation are rooted in the creation accounts of Genesis, but the particulars are often a matter of debate. We’ll consider the recent work of several evangelical scholars on the imago Dei—Ryan Peterson, John Kilner, Catherine McDowell, and Richard Middleton—each of whom has clarified Old Testament teaching in profound ways. Building on their work, we will reassess the priorities of the contemporary evangelical church and suggest ways of embodying practices that align with Scripture’s clear teaching on the imago Dei.

Carmen Imes speaking at the Exploring
Personhood Conference sponsored by
the Bush Center for Faith and Culture
(Photo: Chip Hardy)

The first half of my presentation drew out insights from the four scholars named above, with a bit of extra nuance from me in the area of gender. But then came the scary part -- I addressed head on the ways that evangelicals have failed in three broad areas: sanctity of human life (ahem, after birth), partnership of men and women, and creation care.

My talk will be posted soon on the Bush Center for Faith and Culture's website, so there's no need for me to repeat the litany here. It's enough to say that I pointed to examples of racism, ableism, sexism, LGBTQ-related issues, inhospitality to singles, failure to protect and advocate for victims of abuse, and neglect of creation care. I hit all these hot topics, issued a clear call for change, and cast a vision for a different way of living out what we say we believe. With my integrity intact, the question became 'would I lose my voice?' Would this be the first and last opportunity to speak on this campus?

I've been mulling over all of this for months, reading widely, and imagining how this might go. I asked people to pray and I prayed about it myself. I sought advice and wondered if this was career suicide. In the end, I said what I felt I must be said with as much love and empathy as I could muster. One thing is true -- of all the possible reactions I imagined, a standing ovation was not one of them. Everyone clapped, and more than half a dozen stood in solidarity.

Conference Panel Discussion
(Photo: Bush Center for Faith and Culture) 

This message struck a chord with so many, who thanked me with tears in their eyes. Faculty, students, and guests alike shook my hand and new friendships were born. To be clear, the warm reception is not a sign that all is well, of course. It's a sign that the problems I listed truly are problems. On that we agree.

And this is what gives me hope.

Because agreeing on the problem is the first essential step toward finding solutions.

So now the real work begins. Now we must invest our energies into the work of listening to new voices, reexamining how we do things, building new alliances, and prayerfully finding new ways forward. Change takes time, but the road is not so lonely as it seemed.

This conference taught me something about human personhood that was not on the stated agenda: Caricatures are difficult to maintain in person. I'm under no illusion that 48 hours on campus gave me an accurate picture of the SBC as a whole, or even SEBTS in particular. But it reminded me of the value of embodied community and courageous conversations. It showed me that the loudest voices on Twitter do not always (or even usually?) represent the majority. I found far more allies than I dared to hope. I'm relieved that a bridge has been built, rather than burned.

As we learned from Dr. Justin Barrett, compared to animals, humans are immensely social creatures capable of shared attention, mental space, expertise, and cooperation across a remarkably large group of unrelated humans. I saw this in action at Southeastern. 

Father John Behr and Dr. Jeff Schloss both talked about the telos of love, helping us think about the uniquely human capability of self-sacrifice for another. According to Behr, it is in laying down our lives for another that we truly become human. I felt this in the way people thanked me for saying hard things, and in the way Dr. John Hammett offered loving pushback to each of us.

If Behr is right, then all of us who participated in this exchange became a bit more human this week.

For that I am profoundly grateful.

Racial Injustice Today? (Part Four)

It's a small thing, writing these blog posts on racial injustice. It's no replacement for action, but action starts with awareness, and to that end I write. May these words nudge us toward greater awareness, and may our hands and feet follow.

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During this Holy Week, we reflect on the Cross, reminded of Jesus' suffering at the hands of an angry mob whose fervor was fueled by rumors and half-truths whispered in dark alleyways by those who clung with white knuckles to power they neither deserved nor used for the benefit of others. Jesus played scapegoat to their fear. He was made to pay for crimes he did not commit so others could walk free.

Photo: C Imes

James Cone's The Cross and the Lynching Tree invites us to consider the dark side of America's not-so-distant past in light of the cross. Jesus' innocent death on the cross, with its trumped-up charges and false witnesses, is echoed again in America's shadowy history, where a sideways glance could get a man (or boy!) tortured and hanged without a fair trial -- if he was black. Cone's book holds the potential of awakening us to what we have missed.

In some yesterdays, lynching happened under the cover of darkness, with murderous faces obscured by white hoods. Community leaders by day -- elected officials, doctors, judges, businessmen, pastors even -- and the ghosts of white supremacy by night.

But in other yesterdays, lynching became a spectator sport, highly publicized and attended by young and old alike, who jeered as victims were openly burned, beaten, and hung, "crucified" outside of court without a trial. Gawkers brought picnic lunches. Wore their Sunday best. Bought postcards to send to those who missed the big event. Some lynchings drew massive crowds.

Julius Bloch, "The Lynching," 1933

The Emancipation Proclamation was a start, but it did not abolish the narratives that allowed slavery to flourish. Like water running downhill, when blocked, those narratives simply changed course, finding new and insidious ways to channel white fear and subjugate black Americans. Blacks could no longer be owned, but they were still not considered fully human. Blacks were beaten down in a thousand other ways. Curfews. Segregation. Discrimination. Abuse with impunity. They were denied services. They were prevented access to education, health care, the right to vote or hold office, the right to buy or rent housing. They were lynched.

Lynching outlasted slavery, gathering speed as it flowed downhill.
Lynching outlasted legalized segregation (though de facto segregation persists today).

Generations of Americans, especially in the South, viewed lynching as "an efficient and honorable act of justice" (5). Even children were tortured beyond recognition and lynched (65).

The Lynching of Thomas Shipp and Abram Smith, 1930
Notice the crowds of men and women spectators.

Just as the end of slavery was not the end of racial injustice, so the decline of lynchings did not result in equality. Cone writes that in the early 1950s (my parents' lifetime!), "spectacle lynching was on the decline," but racial discrimination was merely brought indoors under the guise of the law, replacing white mobs with all-white juries, judges, and lawyers who "used the criminal justice system to intimidate, terrorize, and murder blacks" (49). We could expand this list to include law enforcement. Sundown towns persisted in some areas until the mid 70s.* Since then, our legal system has worn deep ruts in the business of sending young black men to jail. At the writing of this book, "one-third of black men between the ages of eighteen and twenty-eight are in prisons, jails, on parole, or waiting for their day in court" (163). One third.

The war or drugs continues to apprehend, convict, and incarcerate black men at a far higher rate than white men, although the use and sale of drugs is about equal among whites. And the uneven application of the death penalty illustrates that we have a long way to go to ensure that our justice system is truly just. Consider these statistics, cited by the Death Penalty Information Center:

• Jurors in Washington state are three times more likely to recommend a death sentence for a black defendant than for a white defendant in a similar case. (Prof. K. Beckett, Univ. of Washington, 2014).

• In Louisiana, the odds of a death sentence were 97% higher for those whose victim was white than for those whose victim was black. (Pierce & Radelet, Louisiana Law Review, 2011). 

• A study in California found that those convicted of killing whites were more than 3 times as likely to be sentenced to death as those convicted of killing blacks and more than 4 times more likely as those convicted of killing Latinos. (Pierce & Radelet, Santa Clara Law Review, 2005). 

• A comprehensive study of the death penalty in North Carolina found that the odds of receiving a death sentence rose by 3.5 times among those defendants whose victims were white. (Prof. Jack Boger and Dr. Isaac Unah, University of North Carolina, 2001).

These are hard facts to swallow, especially when you look at the dates of these studies. We're no longer talking about the decades before we were born. We're talking about now. Bryan Stevenson offers a plethora of other recent examples in his book Just Mercy, which I'll unpack in my next post in this series. The focus of this post is to highlight Cone's work connecting the cross and the lynching tree, and to suggest that the narratives of white superiority under which slavery and then lynching became part of our American past have not yet been fully replaced. They have simply found other means of expression.

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*Have you ever heard of a "sundown town"? The concept dates back to the early days after the Civil War. These are towns in which a black person was risking his life if he was caught there after dark. According to Cone, "whites often lynched blacks simply to remind the black community of their powerlessness. Unemployed blacks passing through an area with no white man to vouch for them could easily find themselves on a prison chain gang or swinging from a lynching tree" (12). However, sundown towns were not just a feature of the deep South. DuPage County, IL, home of Wheaton and Downers Grove, is likely to have been a sundown county. Oregon City, Oregon, was a sundown town. In 1926, the only black resident of Oregon City, a business owner, was threatened with lynching and run out of town. In 1980, none of Oregon City's 14,000+ residents was black. By 2000, only 150 blacks lived in Oregon City, though the population had swelled to over 25,000. In Grants Pass and Medford, Oregon, "sundown" signs were not removed until the late 60s or early 70s, in spite of the passing of the Fair Housing Act in 1968.

This is par for the course in Oregon, a state which outlawed slavery in 1844, but also banned African Americans residents altogether. The laws excluding blacks were not repealed until 1927. Laws against interracial marriage were not repealed until 1951.

a chat with Jesus

I merged into the morning traffic on 205 northbound, headed for the library at Multnomah. Since the car I was driving lacked a stereo, I thought I'd have a chat with Jesus to pass the time. This was one of those rare moments sans kids, sans distraction, where I might have called Oma. But I can't do that anymore. I began to pray, and then a happy thought struck me -- I could call Joanne! In retrospect, it was a chat with Jesus all the same.

Joanne is a treasure. We used to be able to see her home from our back window in Charlotte, and we often ran into her on her daily walks through the neighborhood. We were thrust together, really, since we both worked for the same organization, and lived so close together in the same neighborhood. Ron suffered a stroke not long after we moved in, which meant he could no longer drive. Joanne had spent most of her adult life as a missionary in Africa and had never learned to drive. At almost 80, she felt it was too late to learn the skill, and so they walked or rode with friends. Sometimes we did our grocery shopping together.

A Birthday Party for Jesus with Ron and Joanne (2009)

Easter with Joanne, Ron, Phil, and Julie (2011)

During the 4 1/2 years we lived as neighbors, Joanne exuded joy, no matter her circumstances. Ron's health continued to decline. After a time she could no longer leave him home alone while she took her daily walk through the neighborhood. He came along and they walked to the end of the block and back. As her walks got shorter and her world got smaller, Joanne's faith only grew. Some months ago when I called her, she reported that they were no longer able to go to church. It was just too hard on Ron. This was a huge loss for her, as she readily acknowledged, but responded in faith. "Carmen, you know what? God's grace is sufficient. We've had many happy years in church, and now our world is shrinking. It will be okay."

I often think to call her in the evening, but the time change between us makes that impossible. A morning commute was the perfect time to catch her. She sounded so delighted to hear my voice (I imagine that adult conversation lends a little bit of sanity to an otherwise trying day). I asked about Ron. Joanne is careful to honor her husband, when he's in earshot and when he's not, but reading between the lines . . . I could tell things were getting pretty tough. He's gone way downhill. Confused, I gather. And easily frustrated, perhaps? I ask Joanne if she's able to manage on her own. She pauses, trying to find the right words. When she does, they are life-giving, "Able? I don't suppose that's the best word. No, I'm not able. But I'm 'enabled.' He gives us everything we need, doesn't he?"

Joanne doesn't want to talk about herself, except to say how sweet the Lord is, or to read me a bit of poetry she came across that enlarged her soul, or perhaps to confess the ways that God is convicting her of sin and challenging her to grow. She wants to know how we are. How is Danny's work with Sports Friends? How are the kids? How are my studies? It feels strange to tell her about the opportunities, the open doors, our adventures ranging far and wide. But there is no hint of self-pity on the other end of the line. Only celebration, and the sense that she is somehow living large through me.

In addition to raising kids and keeping a home, Joanne spent her years in Africa teaching Bible while Ron worked for the mission in finance and accounting. This combination of gender/career paths is obviously not the norm, and certainly not for their generation. I'm sure this is a big reason why we bonded the way we did (think about it: wife Bible teacher/husband accountant). We are kindred spirits, 40+ years apart. When I told her the news that I'll be teaching at Multnomah, and that I chose as a textbook the book she was the first to tell me about, Joanne was thrilled (Lynn Cohick is a family friend of hers). Within moments, she had other ideas about books I should find in the library that had been a great help in her own understanding of the gospels.

And so we talked. We sighed. We praised. And we prayed our way up 205 together. And when I hung up the phone, I was utterly convinced that I had just spent the drive in the presence of Jesus.

remembering Dr. Reeve

Dr. Pamela Reeve, age 96

A giant of a lady entered into glory last Saturday.

Dr. Pamela Reeve couldn't have been more than 5 feet tall, but she exuded strength and compassion more than twice her size. She had the special gift of making people feel completely at ease. Nothing you said could shock or dismay her. With Dr. Reeve you felt safe to share anything. She treated everything you said as a treasure — something truly precious.

Danny and I had the privilege of taking Dr. Reeve's "Intro to Counseling" class during the semester we were engaged to be married. What better time to work on interpersonal relationships! Dr. Reeve supplied us with the perspective and the tools we needed to build a healthy foundation for our marriage. Fifteen years later, we're still thinking about the lessons we learned in that class—lessons about brokenness, suffering, faith, respect and caring.

Dr. Reeve pioneered the first ever women's ministry program in the nation and mentored generations of  men and women during her 49 years of service at our alma mater, Multnomah University. I count it a privilege to have been one of them. All praise to our God for Dr. Reeve's lifetime of ministry!

John Piper on interracial marriage

John Piper and I don't always see eye to eye. But I, like many others, have learned a lot from him, and I'm grateful for his ministry. His has, time after time, pointed the church to the vision of God's Glory.

Today I simply want to share a link to a wonderful chapel message he gave at Wheaton on October 3rd on interracial marriage. Piper was honest about his own racism while he was an undergraduate student at Wheaton, and during his growing-up years in the 50s and 60s. But his story includes several key moments where that racism was challenged. Now he insists that the Bible does not condemn interracial marriage, and neither should we. In his words:

"Our oneness in Christ is profound and transforms racial barriers into blessings."

"Few things - I think - are more beautiful than when a Christian couple across racial lines, overcomes every racial prejudice, every ethnic slur, every gospel-contradicting fear, and then display in a marriage the covenant-keeping commitment and love of Christ for his church. That's what marriage is for."

"Marriage is mainly displaying to the world the covenant keeping love of God between Christ and this church and this church and Christ (Ephesians 5). Dream that dream, and it will profoundly affect whom you marry."

"Christians are people who move towards justice, who move towards beauty. They don't move towards security at every point."

"Don't underestimate the challenges of marriage. . . .When it comes to interracial marriage, celebrate the beauty of it."

In the end, Piper called interracial marriage "good for the church, good for the world, and good for the glory of God."

Amen to that!

a woman called "blessed"

Somewhere in Colorado a very dear woman is watching the sun set on her special day.

To the one who began as my mother and became my friend . . .

Happy Birthday! 

On this your 60th birthday, I am thankful 60 times over for you.

60. THANKS for a happy childhood
59. filled with books
58. and games
57. and camping trips
56. and family work days
55. snow ice cream and green pizza
54. and long hours to play outside.
53. THANKS for sewing me dresses
52. and teaching me to sew.

51. Thanks for doing my hair hundreds of times
50. for cutting it
49. for teaching me how
48. and for lending your talents for special hair-dos ... like for my wedding and high school plays.
47. Thanks for cleaning the house
46. and not just physically,
45. for feeding my body
44. and also my soul,
43. for teaching me how to cook
42. and teaching me to pray
41. and for praying. A lot.
40. Thanks for cheering me on
39. and for telling me I was wrong
38. for letting me go (overseas at 14 years old!)
37. and for coming to see me (overseas some 14 years later!).
36. Thanks for your financial support
35. and for hosting open houses.
34. Thanks for modeling frugality
33. and resourcefulness
32. for being content and making do.
31. Thanks for making sure I had piano lessons
30. and a Christian education.
29. And thanks for being there when I got home.

28. Thanks for making birthdays special,
27. for being a friend to my friends,
26. for back rubs
25. and phone calls
24. for memories saved from childhood.
23. Thanks for your creativity,
22. for crafts with me
21. and teaching me art
20. and scrapbooking.
19. Thanks for eating healthy
18. for giving cheerfully
17. and selflessly
16. for working hard and giving me chores.
15. Thanks for the example of your faith in God
14. and faithfulness to Dad.
13. Thanks for bearing me for 9 months
12. bringing me into the world
11. for knowing me
10. and loving me warts and all.
  9. Thanks for loving my husband
  8. and making our wedding such a special day.
  7. Thanks for loving our kids
  6. and for supporting us as parents.

  5. Thanks for your encouragement in hard times
  4. and your example in suffering.
  3. Thanks for being available
  2. and for listening.
  1. Thanks for being my friend.

Thanks for being the kind of Mom who makes it easy to make a list this long.
What a gift you are to me!
I love you, Mom!

spouse appreciation day

I just stumbled across a gem in the preface to a book by Frank Thielman entitled Paul and the Law. I almost always read the preface because it tells me so much about the author and what is most important to him or her.  After listing all those who helped in the writing of his book, Thielman says this:

"More than from anyone else, however, the time and energy to write this book were a gift from my wife, Abby.  Her constant love and unselfish concern for the advancement of the gospel make my work possible.  If the book clarifies to any extent the shape of Paul's theology, it is largely because Abby's unselfish help with my other responsibilities gave me the time to think about Paul and the law.  We will both be satisfied that the long hours were worthwhile if the result edifies the church and brings glory to its King and Head." (13)

This captures so beautifully how I feel about my work as a Christian scholar. It is a joint effort, Danny's as much as mine.  This morning I successfully defended my masters thesis entitled "Treasured Possession: Peter's Use of the Old Testament in 1 Peter 2:9-10" with Danny by my side. In the acknowledgments I say this:

"Though his name will not appear anywhere on the following pages, this thesis is as much as product of my husband's hard work as it is mine.  Not only has he arranged our schedule so as to maximize my study time, but Danny has managed to make this a joy-filled journey for all of us.  How many wives have the blessing of returning to a clean and peaceful home, with a hot meal on the table or the children bathed and tucked in bed? Danny has given me this gift more times than I can count.  It is with joy that I dedicate this work to him and to the precious children God has given us."

Like the Thielman's, Danny and I are one in our desire to see scholarship advanced and (most importantly) the church edified by this work.  I am so grateful to be doing this together!

rules or romance?

A lot of you have read and responded to yesterday's post, and I want to add a couple more thoughts.  First of all, a post on "rules" doesn't sound very romantic.  After all, wouldn't it be a better time to talk about passion?  But I'm convinced that having solid boundaries such as these makes it possible to have a passionate marriage.  We both have the settled security of knowing that our spouse is not out there flirting with someone else or griping about us.  So we have total freedom with each other.

And I thought of two more "rules" - one that has been great, and the other that has not been practical.

For years and years now we have shared an email inbox.  Danny set up the computer so that all of our email accounts - work, school, and personal - empty into one inbox on Outlook.  For some professions (pastors, counselors, etc) I suppose that would not be possible because of confidentiality issues.  But it's been great for us.  I see all his emails with co-workers and he sees all of mine with classmates.  It's great accountability to ask myself, "How would Danny feel reading this?"  And it's also nice to have the inside scoop on each other's world.

Another rule hasn't worked out as well.  Someone suggested years ago, perhaps in pre-marital counseling, that if either of us have an acquaintance with a member of the opposite sex we should make a point to know their spouse even better than we know them.  We thought that was a great idea, but there are a few hang-ups.  If I have class for 30 hours in a semester with a professor or a male classmate and I collaborate on a school project, when will I have an opportunity to spend time with their wives?  What about Danny's co-workers who are single females?  There is no spouse to get to know!  And there's no way I will be able to see them as much as he does.  So this one hasn't worked out in practice, but it has been a good ideal to hold out there in our minds.  Whenever possible, I like to meet and get to know my professors' wives.  And I often ask my male classmates about their wives and kids, or talk about Danny.  It's helpful to keep the whole family in view (when possible).  And with single friends of the opposite sex it's important not to become a confidant or relational counselor unless you can do it together as a couple.  It's different, of course, if you are a professional counselor or on pastoral staff, but the same caution holds true.

The Right Rules => The Right Romance (i.e. with your spouse, not someone else!)

twelve ... and counting

Today we celebrate 12 years of marriage!  And while that may not seem long enough to make me a marriage expert, since this is my blog I thought I'd write about some of the keys that have kept our relationship strong through thick and thin.  These may seem like rather stringent 'rules', and they are certainly not the norm.  But our culture doesn't have the best track record when it comes to marriage, so we're not trying to fall in line!

1. No cutting each other down in front of other people.  This includes sarcasm.  This is a nasty habit that's hard to break.  But we agreed to this very early in our dating relationship and it's paid great dividends.  And since we're not in the habit of cutting each other down when we're apart, it never happens when we're together either.  Recently Danny came to a seminary event with me.  It was great how many people said to him, "I've heard such great things about you!"  And a man from Danny's Bible Study sought me out once to tell me how highly Danny talks about me in their group.  Now that's cool.
2. No being alone with someone of the opposite sex.  This is a rule we adopted from our days in Bible College.  Even if you're not doing anything wrong, other people who happen to see you alone together don't know that.  There's never a time when we're not representing Jesus to the world around us.
3. No compliments to members of the opposite sex.  If you've just had your hair cut or have a great new dress, you'll never hear Danny tell you that.  And if you're wearing a snazzy tie, don't expect a compliment from me.  You just can't be too careful when it comes to members of the opposite sex.  Even if you don't mean to be flirtatious, the other person may not be in a place emotionally to be able to handle it well.
4. We make decisions as a team.  From little things like 'What should I do on Thursday night?' ... to 'Should I accept this job offer?' ... from 'Should we switch to organic milk?' to ... 'Should I put more money into this car?', life is something we share together, and we honor one another's opinions enough to check first.  Sometimes we disagree, sometimes we defer to each other, other times we push off the decision, but the important thing is that we discuss it together.  I imagine that Danny has gotten some flack for saying, 'I'll check with Carmen and let you know.'  It doesn't sound very 'manly'.  But our marriage is a priority for him and that is such a great feeling.
5. Divorce is not an option.  It hasn't been an issue yet, anyway, but we made a 65-year committment to each other, and then we plan to re-evaluate. (We figure after that long divorce would not be worth the effort!). :)

I'm so thankful for those who helped us navigate the 'dating' scene so many years ago and who gave us good advice at key junctures.  Reilly and Miriam, Ray, Karl, Mary, Mom and Dad, Bonnie and Wayne, Jeff ... each of you helped us to lay a strong foundation for a lifetime together.  Thanks!

Happy Anniversary, Honey!  I'm so glad you picked me!  I just love being your wife.