Christian Living

The phenomenon of “cultural Christianity” is not a new one. The label “carnal Christian” has been bandied about regularly in literature and in the blogosphere. Christians of every theological stripe know “carnal” or “cultural” Christians.

Pick whichever label you like best, or even invent your own—you know these people.

They claim repentance from sin and salvation through Christ alone. They come to church more or less regularly…sort of! They sit more or less attentively in the pews and may even tithe faithfully. They go through the motions. And yet…there is no discernible joy of Christ in their lives. There is no growth. To borrow a phrase from Paul Tripp, there is a “gospel gap” in their lives. Their Facebook pages abound with worldliness; perhaps you’ve even secretly hidden them from your news feed! Their children walk and talk like everybody else. There is no concept of separation, holiness or imitation of God in their lives. They are indistinguishable from normal, everyday, unsaved “good people.”

These folks are legion. Some are undoubtedly saved, others are undoubtedly not. I’m not interested in debating that issue right now. What is significant is that too many Christians have little conception of who Christ is, what they were saved from and what their calling as Christians is. We’ll look at what Paul had to say on this very matter.

The nation of Sudan was ravaged by civil war from 1983-2005. For years, the Islamic government of the north instigated a reign of terror against the largely Christian and African traditionalist populations in southern Sudan. Over two million Sudanese died in the conflict (which is far from resolved). Millions more were displaced from their homes.

Among the refugees were over 20,000 orphaned boys, mostly of the Nuer and Dinka ethnic groups. Refugee aid workers began calling them, “The Lost Boys of Sudan.” One of these boys, John Bul Dau, was just twelve years old when mortar shells rained down upon his peaceful Dinka farming village. John fled for his life into the night. In one terrifying moment, everything John had known was stripped away. He walked over 1,000 miles across God-forsaken terrain in search of hope. Thousands of boys on the same journey died of starvation.

Through a series of events, John eventually found refuge in the United States. As an adult, he chronicled his ordeal in an acclaimed documentary film produced in 2006 and a book published in 2007. Both works bear the arresting title: “God Grew Tired of Us.”

You might have noticed that I haven’t written a post lately. This has been due, in large part, to the fact that I’m steadily (frantically?) working on a manuscript that’s due in six weeks. Like any good writer, I’ve successfully managed to make my work expand to fit precisely the amount of time I have to do it. It’s a gift really.

How does one celebrate twenty-five years of marriage? It’s not as if that particular milestone on one’s marital journey is innately distinct from the year before or the one hopefully to follow. Yet our culture nods sternly toward the expectation that any couple who has made it this far, and is not in the midst of divorce proceedings, ought to do something special to mark the achievement.