Seth Lewis's Blog

It was the middle of September when Jessica and I went on our first date, while we were in university. That was twenty-three years ago, and ever since our lives have been woven together in too many ways to count. That’s what this poem is about:

Threads

I walked by
and her smile caught and
pulled at the edge of me like a thread
snagging on the zipper of my coat

I saw her in class
and she asked me a question
and somehow her voice
knotted up my insides

I asked if I
could hold her hand
and my heart got caught
in the tangle of our fingers

I asked if she
would be my wife
and now every morning
and season and sickness
and child and coffee and smile and Christmas
is weaving my life into her
and her beautiful threads into me
and I’m not even sure anymore
which ones are mine

and that’s fine

Nobody likes to talk about it, but the decline is coming. I’m not talking about economics, western culture, or common courtesy. I’m talking about us. You and me. Life is a mountain with two sides, and no matter how high you climb, you’ll still end up at the very bottom someday. Even the god-like pharaohs landed there, and the treasure in their tombs was eventually plundered. That’s how it goes. If you’re lucky, you’ll live long enough to experience the decline as a gradual downward slope. For others, it’s more like a cliff. One thing is certain: decline is coming.

It may be your strength. It may be your beauty. It may be your mind. It may be your influence, the relevance of your work, your notoriety, or your social prominence. Eventually, it will be all of the above. I guess it makes sense that we don’t like to talk about this. It sounds dire, doesn’t it? And yet I’ve witnessed people living out the years of their decline with a strange, luminous joy that refused to track with their diminishing abilities and strength—on the contrary, it actually grew stronger and brighter as they weakened and let go. How is this possible? I want to know, because I want that joy.

Everyone declines, but not everyone declines with joy. It feels backwards and counter-intuitive that this should even be possible, but that’s only because we live in a society that defines our value and worth, our meaning and purpose and identity—our everything—by the height of our ascendancy. I’ve noticed a common denominator among the people I’ve known who have declined with joy: they reject this metric. They simply do not live for their own glory, status, success, or standing—so when it comes time to let go of these temporary treasures, they’re able to do so freely, without being destroyed in the process. Instead of prioritising their own success (which will inevitably end), they live beyond themselves—for God, whose glory does not wane, for his kingdom, which is rising even now like a sun that never sets, and for the enduring happiness of lifting up others. This is the joy of Jesus, letting himself be cast down from the highest throne to the lowest grave in order to lift his children all the way up to heaven (Hebrews 12:2). This is the joy that accepts decline, even rejoices in decline, so that others may rise. This is the joy that multiplies and expands far beyond the tight limits of self-focused happiness because it genuinely, wholeheartedly rejoices in the ascendancy of others.

If you can really and truly enjoy other people’s victories, you’ll always be in a good position to be happy. There will always be others around you that you can invest in and build up—and the more you invest, the more joy you’ll find in their success. Better yet, when the happiness in lifting others is combined with the security of seeing beyond your own decline to the eternal inheritance waiting for God’s children, the result is even more powerful. I’ve seen it. I have met people who lived in this confidence, and died in it. I have myself been lifted by those who were experiencing their own decline. I have seen the joy shining in their eyes as they leveraged their own waning strength to increase mine. And as thankful as I am for the strength they gave me, what I want even more is the shining joy they found in giving it away.

We went on a foreign holiday this summer and amidst all the uniqueness and differences, I noticed one thing that was all too familiar: we still had to dodge people who were too busy looking at their phones to notice where they were walking. I rolled my eyes at them, but then I remembered that one of the first things I looked for in our airbnb was the wifi password. Like it or not, the internet is ubiquitous, and even when we’re not using it our minds can easily turn to the things we’ve seen there, or the things we might post later. This is the way our world works now. But that doesn’t mean we should simply accept the internet’s new role in our lives without thought, or blindly take it on its own terms. There are still decisions to be made, and they are not insignificant. One of the biggest choices is where we will build our lives.

We now have the option for the first time in history of building our lives primarily online. This option appears to have advantages. It’s much easier to shape your image online. Pleasures are instant, work is efficient, and relationships require less commitment. For all of these reasons and many more, it’s tempting to give our attention to building an online life for ourselves first, rather than focusing our energy on the slower, more labour-intensive and frustrating work of offline living.

As a Christian, I believe there are problems with this approach. God is the one who created our physical reality, and he made it to be more than merely a mechanism for our survival. It is a gift from God, the setting he crafted for us to live out his priceless gift of life. This is why many of the commands of our Lord in Scripture are impossible to fully keep through remote connections. For example, online worship might be personally edifying, but our relationship with God was never meant to be only personal—he made us part of his family, the community of faith, and he’s been very clear in his Word that his intention for us is to live in close contact and committed relationship with our brothers and sisters. And although I’m sure there are ways of showing hospitality and helping each other in times of need online, they are severely restricted compared to the welcome and help you can give in person. As we learned painfully in the pandemic, texts and emails and Zoom meetings are not a good replacement for face to face communication. There is still no substitute for lending an actual hand or offering an actual shoulder to cry on, and we all desperately need people who are close enough to see past our curated online profiles to the reality of our lives. The real world is not something to retreat from. Christians should be known as people who put in the hard work to live fully in the real world, and then bring the wealth of that experience to our visits online—not the other way around.

Jesus said, “My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one. They are not of the world, even as I am not of it” (John 17:15-16). He wasn’t speaking about the internet, but it certainly applies. Let’s be people who are in the World Wide Web, but not of it. Not conformed to the pattern of its assumptions, ethics, and anger, but transformed by God’s word (Romans 12:2). Not fighting for good using the internet’s manipulative methods, but relying on the power of God’s Spirit (2 Corinthians 10:3-4). If we can learn how to be in the internet without being of it, we’ll have a much greater impact on it. The world doesn’t need more influencers and trolls. It absolutely does need more people who are willing to go all-in to the messy, difficult work of living and loving in the real world, following in the footsteps of Jesus.

I hear English and Italian
And (I think)
a bit of French
As I’m sitting (one more stranger)
In the airport
On a bench
This assembly
Of the transient
People moving (yet we’re still)
Thrown together
For a moment
With a layover to fill
This collection
Of humanity—
The tired
Sad
Excited
Proves that
Being in proximity
Is not the same at all
As being in community

I’m glad I’m going home

As my wife and I were walking, we caught ourselves identifying wildflowers beside the path—or at least as many as we could. There are a lot of wildflowers in Ireland, and it’s hard to keep all the names straight. As we wondered about some of the varieties, we also began to wonder if such wondering about flower names is a sign of getting older. We feed birds in our garden, after all, and keep track of which kinds of songbirds visit us. Caring about such things is often associated with age, isn’t it? If so, we’ve decided that this is clearly a benefit of aging, not something to be avoided. Noticing the beauty God put around us is always a good idea, and if it’s associated with getting older then I reckon that’s a sign that older people are generally wiser and have figured out more about what is really important on this planet. It’s not only the old who notice these things, either.

My friends told me that their little granddaughter was fascinated by everything in the garden. Her first word was “Wow!”—a word she used liberally as she held her grandparent’s hands and looked at the flowers, the trees, the chickens, the grass, and the rhubarb. She didn’t know the names of any of them. She couldn’t identify which plants were tasty, which flowers were weeds, or what varieties were native to Ireland. She just looked at them all and said, “Wow!” Which was, of course, the correct response to the wonders God has surrounded us with. If we really took the time to notice the things we’ve grown so accustomed to, we’d be compelled to offer the same response: “Wow!”

I don’t think the young are naive to be impressed by the world. I don’t think the old have their priorities wrong in seeking, planting, and naming the beauty around them. Somehow most of us in between tend to forget just how full of wonder the world really is—but it’s never too late to start remembering. Even if you only have one word for the world, it can be enough:

Wow!

I’ve only reached middle age, but I’ve already lived to see the world remade by the introduction of personal computers and then remade again as we brought the power of the internet into our pockets with smartphones. It’s now obvious that another transformation is underway in the development of AI. As it was in the early days of other technologies, no one knows exactly what AI will mean for us long-term, but no one can deny that our world and our lives are changing fast. Humanity is always grasping for more power and control over everything we see and touch, developing new and better tools for ourselves, and we’ve been quite successful: no generation has ever had tools as powerful as the ones we wield today. This sounds like it ought to be good news, but most of us aren’t so sure. Humanity doesn’t have a great track record in using our tools well. I came across an observation recently that cuts through our progress to one of our biggest underlying problems:

“The first great fact which emerges from our civilisation is that today everything has become “means.” There is no longer an “end”; we do not know wither we are going. We have forgotten our collective ends, and we possess great means: we set huge machines in motion in order to arrive nowhere.” – Jacue Sellul

What good are tools if we don’t know what we’re making? What good is an engine if we don’t know where we’re going? We’ll only go around in ever-more efficient and stylish circles like ever-improving race cars going around an endless loop, knocking into each other with ever-increasing force. We don’t want to be left behind, so we pick up the pace. Is anyone willing to pause long enough to ask the fundamental question—“why?”

Without a clear end, the impressiveness of our means doesn’t help us. Without a clear end, the power of our means actually becomes a threat—enabling us to drive ourselves more quickly in the wrong direction. The trouble with our tools is not their power. Power can be harnessed for good, and great power can be harnessed for great good. But for that to happen, it is vital—urgent—that we rediscover who we are as humans, and why we’re here. Otherwise, we’ll lose ourselves, or destroy ourselves, with the awesome power of our misdirected means.

It doesn’t have to be that way. God has clearly revealed the truth about himself, and about ourselves, in his word. It is sobering in its realistic assessment of our sin, yet full of hope for redemption in Jesus Christ. It reveals the ends, and untangles the means. It shows us where to go, and why, and even how. It gives us the road markings we need to keep the power of our tools inside true ethical boundaries so that they can be harnessed for genuine good. It gives us real meaning and purpose—a clear finish line for the race of living, so that we can stop going around the same old self-destructive circles. It’s all there. God’s word is the map that directs our means to ends that are true and beautiful, good and glorious. Have you read your Bible today?

Sometimes my thoughts are
scattered
and I have to
go and gather them—I have to
use my feet and walk I have to
leave my seat and clock and
somewhere in the great
outdoors
in open skies
and grassy floors
I find the threads and pull them in
and now the weaving can begin
and when I go back home again
I understand

This week I’d like to share a few songs with you that I’ve been enjoying recently. These songs are diverse in musical style (I know musical tastes are different, so I won’t be offended if you don’t prefer them) yet all of them share the theme of trusting God. Trust is not always easy, especially when God’s ways and times are different than what we want or expect. These songs have encouraged me as I’ve waited for the Lord. Maybe they could encourage you, too.  

This song has a lot going for it. The melody is gorgeous and so are the words, which are based on Ecclesiastes 3:11. What more could you want?

Maybe I love this song because I love poetry, but maybe it’s also just a brilliant song. The imagery is powerful: “I am his poetry, he won’t waste a word.” You don’t have to take my word for it, though:

“Take your time” is a hard thing to say to God while you’re waiting for his provision, but Joseph O’Brien is exactly right. He makes it sound great, too. 

I’ve known of this artist longer than the rest. In fact, I’ve looked up to him my whole life—he’s my older brother. Tim has consistently shown me what it means to live a life of faithful love for the Lord and for others. He’s also an excellent musician who recently released his first album, including this song about steady trust:

I don’t know why the title is all caps. It doesn’t matter. Just wait until the chorus kicks in. 

I hope you enjoyed these songs. Are there any you would add to the list? I’d love to hear them!

There once was a man named John the Magnificent. At least, that’s that he called himself. He lived near our home in Ireland a long time ago. I only know about him because of the effort he put in to proving his chosen name—because his manor house really is magnificent, and is still surrounded by gorgeous gardens that are now open to the public (I’m not sure John would approve of this, but he hasn’t said anything). In John’s day, a garden was a great way to display your wealth. His arboretum includes exotic specimens from around the world, and his greenhouses were so well designed and equipped that he was able to serve his guests home-grown pineapples—in Ireland!

Maybe that doesn’t actually sound so amazing. There are plenty of pineapples in Ireland today. Just pop over to the shop and you’ll probably find one ripe and ready for you any day of the year. If you serve one to your guests this weekend, they probably won’t be overawed. What happened? Did the pineapple change in flavour? Is the work that went in to growing, harvesting, and globally distributing fresh pineapples to your table all year round any less impressive than the work of John’s gardeners? Not really. So why aren’t we impressed? I think it’s because pineapples have become cheap. Accessible. Common. John the Magnificent displayed his wealth with pineapples because they were rare and exotic. His guests had never tasted them before. Now we put them on takeaway pizza. We’ve moved on. We don’t value pineapples anymore, because pineapples are ordinary. We’re impressed by other things—things that are scarce and expensive and hard to come by. If John the Magnificent was alive today, I guarantee you he wouldn’t waste his time on pineapples. He’d probably get a Ferrari.

The truth is that John’s pineapples really were magnificent, and our pineapples are, too. Just think of how they grow from the ground, their patterns and design, their flavour—all from seeds and soil and sunlight. Pineapples really are a wonder. We just don’t notice them anymore because they’ve become ordinary and everything ordinary is easy to overlook. Like life. And people and friendship and love and sunsets and music. The common gifts that are given to all humanity are the greatest gifts of all—we just forget to notice them very often because we’re too busy looking for the rare, exclusive things that are hard to get our hands on.

Never mind that. I’ll take the pineapples, please.

In Ecclesiastes 3, Solomon famously says that “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens”. For example, he says that there is “a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot”, there is “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance”, and the list goes on. It’s a long list, but it isn’t exhaustive, and I’d like to propose another pair that fits the theme:

There is a time to save your strength, and a time to spend it.

We hear a lot these days about looking after ourselves, protecting our schedules, and making sure we don’t over-extend and burn ourselves out. In light of the constant demands of the modern world—the overflowing inboxes and never-ending text messages and notifications and the often unrealistic expectations of others—this advice is important. Burnout is very real. I’ve been there myself. God knew what he was doing when he gave us one day in seven as a day of rest. “He knows our frame, he remembers that we are dust” (Psalm 103:14). Do we remember?

There are times when we must save our strength. The question is: what are we saving it for? Our strength may be limited, but it is real. God gave it to us, and he gave it for a reason. There has never been a shortage of meaningful work to do, people to love, and problems to solve. In all our talk of looking after ourselves, I wonder if we sometimes forget that overprotecting ourselves is at least as dangerous as burnout—it is one of the quickest roads to weakness. Physically, we know that the path to getting stronger is not to save our strength, but to use it. Muscles that are always at rest do not gain power and capability. Quite the opposite. And the same dynamic is true mentally, relationally, and spiritually. Your mind, your heart, and your soul were made to be used, just like your muscles. Of course you can’t use them all at full capacity all the time without any rest. God didn’t make you that way. But if all you do is rest and protect yourself, then your capacity to think, love, and worship will slowly atrophy until your soul can barely wonder, your heart can hardly care, and your mind grinds and freezes like a rusty bike chain that’s been sitting too long in the rain. If you go to the gym, you’ll come home sore and tired—and a little bit stronger. Are you willing to do the same with your love for others? Your service? Your mind? Your worship?

There is a time to save your strength, and a time to spend it.
A time to rest, and a time to wear yourself out.

When you spend your strength, don’t be afraid to spend it generously, with abandon. There’s a time for that. Yes of course you can’t do that forever. No one can. But there are times when giving everything you’ve got is exactly what is needed. So go for it. Give, and rest, and then give some more. There’s a joy in spending your strength for others that you can’t get anywhere else. As the Apostle Paul put it, “I will very gladly spend for you everything I have and expend myself as well” (2 Corinthians 12:15). Don’t forget why God gave you this strength in the first place, why you have a body, a mind, a heart, and a soul. There is a time to save your strength—so that you can spend it more effectively in love and joyful service for God and others.