God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children. And because you are children, Cod has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” — Galatians 4:4-6

In the spring of 1998, shortly after Easter, my wife, Karen, and I traveled to Guatemala to meet our first child, Magdalena. We sat expectantly in our hotel room that morning, talking and praying, trying to quiet our hearts caught in the sway of so much emotion. At noon there was a knock; in walked our lawyer, our translator, and Maria, Magdalena’s foster mother.

Maria placed three-and-a-half-month- old Magdalena in Karen’s arms, and we both shed tears of joy and relief. Maria had dressed Magdalena up for the occasion and wrapped a white ribbon around her head. She was beautiful.

When we sat down to talk about things like bottles and diapers, Karen took notes while Maria sat next to me with Magdalena on her lap. Magdalena and I locked gazes and seemed to recognize each other immediately, father and daughter. She smiled. I was in love. “Go to your papa,” Maria said, presenting her to me.

This meeting heralded the end of a long wait. We had submitted our application at the beginning of Advent, making the anticipation of the Christ child very special that year. The story of Mary took on new meaning for me; she was a young woman who conceived a child out of wedlock.Joseph married her, never mind social stigma or scorn. He loved Jesus, and adopted him as his son. Our Savior was not born into ideal or fortunate circumstances. I understood this more deeply now.

Magdalena was born on New Year’s Day. We were notified shortly afterward. The wait until our spring meeting seemed interminable; we could hardly bear it.

But during that time a friend, also an adoptive father, said to me that our way of building a family mirrors the gospel. The Old Testament, he suggested, is about biology, who begat whom, the salvation of Israel and the Jewish people. The New Testament is about adoption, the grace of God extended to all of us as a free gift, regardless of the circumstances of our birth. God woos us to come, see His face, and find our true identity. We all can become God’s children.

We repeated the adoption process four years later when our son, Teodor, came to us and completed our family. When I look back, I see that as I anticipated my children’s homecomings, I might have had a small glimpse of God’s yearning for each of us.

Greg Halvorsen Schreck,Chair and Associate Professor of Art, has taught photography at Wheaton since 1989, in addition to accepting commissions as a fine art and portrait photographer He and his wife, Karen Halvorsen Schreck ’84, and their two children, Magdalena and Teodor, live in Wheaton. (Wheaton Magazine, Autumn 2006).

One need not be well-versed in the intricate details of rules of etiquette to know some basic truths about the unspoken rules of “polite” conversation. There are two topics that a polite guest never broaches at a dinner party: politics and religion.

Why might etiquette books warn people to steer clear of these subjects? Why are discussions of religion and politics so often taboo? It seems to me that the answer is quite straightforward: many individuals have very strong, deeply held beliefs about both.

Conversations about religion and politics tap into core values and beliefs, so these discussions can easily become deeply personal and polarizing.

Consequently, far too few people engage in open and honest communication that crosses religious and ideological lines.

As a scholar of American politics who teaches at Wheaton, I constantly examine the intersection of religious and political worldviews. Although tackling these subjects is not always comfortable and easy, such conversations are not only valuable—they are essential. To understand American politics today, one needs to understand the ways in which religious values and beliefs inform political behavior. To enter political debates about candidates and public policy, one needs working knowledge of the structure and limitations of American government.

I often hear people voice frustration with public discourse about Christianity and politics. From mainstream media portrayals that often fail to “get” religion, to the caricatures of Christians as single-minded ideologues, popular notions of faith and politics are often oversimplified and flawed. Compounding this problem, some churches preach ideology and single-issue politics instead of training parishioners to think biblically and theologically about politics and public policy. American Christians have very few resources to help them develop a thoughtful and informed approach to political issues and elections.

During my sabbatical next year, I will be writing a book tentatively titled Before Left and Right: what Every Christian Needs to Know about American Politics. Instead of repeating dogmatic arguments from the political left or right, this project will describe key elements of the American political system and help Christians apply their faith to their voting and civic participation. Drawing upon themes from 1 Corinthians 12 and 13, I build a case for politics as a means of demonstrating love in action and building the body of Christ.

This book will not claim to provide the only Christian interpretation of politics and political issues; instead, it begins with two central assumptions: first, that we all “see through a glass, darkly” and therefore should exercise humility when discussing politics; and second, that the diversity of the body of Christ makes room for Christians to disagree on many political matters. My hope is to educate and inform readers so that they will be equipped to serve Christ and His kingdom in the public square.

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Dr. Amy E. Black, Associate Professor of Politics and International Relations, who earned her Ph.D. from M.I.T., specializes in American politics and currently serves as the vice president and president-elect of Christians in Political Science. She and her husband, Dan Treier, assistant professor of theological studies at Wheaton, have found that religion and politics can indeed make an excellent combination. (Wheaton Magazine, Spring 2006)

As a cultural anthropologist, people often find what I do very interesting. They like to hear about my time in the Philippines or subsequent travels to “out of the way” places. But even though it is interesting, many still think it is not terribly relevant.

I’ve come to believe that anthropological knowledge is more than interesting—for the Christian, it is imperative.

We can often see the benefit of anthropology for missionaries; but what’s the relevance for “the rest of us”? The fact is, most evangelical Christians now live outside of North America or Europe. They are not to be relegated simply as subjects of mission, but our brothers and sisters in Christ. Understanding what God is doing in these places is not about “them,” it is about us—the global church. Sure, we can live “good” Christian lives with no knowledge of other Christians whatsoever, just as we can come to a saving faith by simply reading Romans and nothing else. But God desires that we would know the richness of His Kingdom (Eph. 2.7), not just the minimum.

Moreover, increasing numbers of people are in contact with “cultural otherness,” whether through short-term service trips, or among cultural minorities in the U.S. Can we demonstrate love to people if we aren’t even sure how to communicate? A big hug and using first names are good ways to tell Midwesterners they are loved, but for a Christian in Zambia, or Hungary, or China, what is that big hug going to mean? More importantly, are we equipped to find out?

Most critically, anthropology has long held to the dictum that only in understanding others, do we understand ourselves. White Northern Americans are no less steeped in culture than the brown nomad living on the plains of the Sudan. Even our understanding of God’s revelation is inexorably linked with our cultural context. Wheaton alumnus and anthropology major Billy Graham ’43, Litt.D ’56 once said that if he could go back, he would have gotten a Ph.D. in anthropology to understand race relations and inequality in the United States. (When students ask what to do with a major in anthropology, I love saying that it can lead to a career in worldwide evangelism.)

Understanding the relevance of anthropology to the whole church is coming slowly in Christian circles. Only five of 115 schools in the Council of Christian Colleges and Universities (CCCU) offer a major in anthropology. But when a student leaves my class understanding that the U.S. church is culturally unique, but not perfect; knowing why we should learn from those who, though they are culturally different from us, are still our Christian siblings; and realizing that culture is part of God’s design, not a consequence of sin—I know again why He brought me to Wheaton.

Dr. Brian Howell, Assistant Professor of Anthropology, holds a Ph.D.from Washington University in St. Louis and joined Wheaton’s faculty in 2001. He specializes in global Christianity and has published work from his research on Baptists in the Philippines in various journals in addition to presenting it at international conferences. He is often asked to address student groups on topics such as cross-cultural ministry, gender, and popular culture. He and his wife, Marissa Sabio, have three children. (Wheaton Magazine, Spring 2005).

Mark Lewis

As the lights dimmed to black in Arena Theater’s last play of 2005, the audience was left with the image of a young couple gazing at one another across a divide, their future together suspended in the distance between them.

Discussions following this production, The Cover of Life, by R.T. Robinson, have been engaging. What happens to that couple? It seems that the playwright does not intend us to know.

Furthermore, as the director of the play I was committed to creating a final image that would leave all of us squarely in the middle of the question.

Why? I am sometimes asked why so many of the plays we produce in Arena Theater do not resolve neatly, or sometimes even positively. Why not offer our audience encouragement by doing plays that offer more definitive resolutions? Are we trying to discourage or frustrate the faithful friends who come to support our work?

No, nothing could be further from my intent in choosing and directing plays. But I am fervent in this belief—”theater” operates or works most powerfully at the level of our shared and ongoing questions. There is immense value in evaluating a play not only by what message or moral it might offer, but also by the quality of the questions it leaves us asking.

So much of what we call “entertainment” is not meant to affect us in this way. Questions, if there are any, are beautifully crafted to resolve completely. One can practically know what time it is in an hour-long television drama by the story’s proximity to its resolution, which is usually very simple. When we are fed a steady diet of this type of ending to a story, what becomes of our ability to trust God in a world where endings so often seem, from our human perspective, to be unresolved or ambiguous?

Theater is intended to land differently—to leave a different kind of impression. It relies absolutely on writing that demonstrates honest conflict springing from opposing points of view. If a play is to succeed, these opposing views must be brought to life by actors advocating honestly for their character’s choices.

Additionally, theater demands that an audience struggle with its own presuppositions. Unlike film or television, where a camera focuses our attention for us, we decide where to look and whom to incline to. We may disagree completely with a character’s point of view and the actions it leads her to, but a good play asks us to lend our attention to that character’s story, and to consider it, for better and for worse.

Hamlet says, “The purpose of playing was and is…to hold a mirror up to nature, to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image.” We need to be open to seeing our image in both parts of that mirror if an experience in the theater is to fulfill its potential to reflect and challenge us.

Wheaton Magazine (Autumn 2005)

“Tell us your impression of the U.S. Is there anything that strikes you?”

As a visitor from “Old Europe,” I am often asked this kind of question. Actually, I have seen very little of the country. I’ve only caught a glimpse, through the Wheaton window.

What I have glimpsed, however, may be worth mentioning. I have been struck by the amount of self-deprecation in current discourse (not within College bounds necessarily), having heard and read a lot of self-critical talk, concerning American ways and values, especially “individualism,” and, in Christian circles, concerning evangelical tradition, or lack of tradition.

Self-criticism is praiseworthy—one hesitates to criticize it! Self-demeaning, to some extent in all cultures, and in some cultures hyperbolically so, it belongs to polite demeanor. It oils the wheels of social exchanges. Since every human group or institution tends toward inflated images of self, often bordering on idolatry, correction is salutary.

Individually and collectively, the ability to acknowledge weaknesses and faults reflects maturity. Combating pride, the ever-present enemy, is always timely-for pride disguises itself as loyalty or gratitude. (Remember the account in Luke 18:9-14. The Pharisee’s thanksgiving met the outward expectation of religious life, and yet, he did not go home justified.) But cannot self-criticism itself become a disguise? When we criticize our tradition, don’t we secretly feel that we thereby raise ourselves above what we censure?

We say “we,” and mean “they.” Of course, I realize that this boomerangs on me just now. Intellectuals in our societies, as they disparage established orders, often vent their frustration and resentment for not wielding power. (Nietzsche was not wrong on all counts.) Blaming the status quo, of which one is a part, relieves hidden anguish and projects the subject’s existential discomfort onto the world. An upcoming generation conveniently makes room for their own ambitions, brushing predecessors to the side. Not waiving their claim on the estate, they become “self” critical. In any case, as a general phenomenon of perception, attention is always drawn to what does not work properly, thus fostering exclusively negative assessments, and failing to honor that which is praiseworthy.

What are the marks of sound self-criticism? Balance and nuances, and recognizing that which is valuable and must be maintained—these are hopeful signs. Slogans or catchwords, conformity to fashions, ready-made generalizations, are all red signals. Critics are open to suspicion that keep enjoying the benefits of what they condemn. If it is truly self-criticism, it will entail some concrete steps of action.

The heart, however, is so crooked, “deceitful above all things,” that discernment ultimately belongs to the Lord, the Lord alone (Jer. 17:9). His Word is the “critical” (kritikos) agent, to which only we will turn for true and healing criticism (Heb. 4:12).

Dr. Henri A. Blocher, Wheaton’s Gunther Knoedler Chair of Bible and Theology, was born a Frenchman in Leiden, Netherlands. He studied at Gordon Divinity School and in Paris and London. He has taught in the Faculté Libre de Théologie Evangélique, Vaux-sur-Seine, since its founding in 1965, and currently chairs the Fellowship of European Evangelical Theologians. His books include In the Beginning, Evil and the Cross, and Original Sin. He and his wife, Henriette, a psychologist, have three children and seven grandchildren. (Wheaton Magazine, Autumn 2004).

I love maps I can spend hours poring over the details of a terrain that I have never seen and probably never will see. So when I travel somewhere, I am not content with a generalized map of the area; nothing less than a Delorme atlas with every gravel road marked will do.

How nice it would be to have such a detailed map of our spiritual pilgrimage—to have every decision clearly marked and the road for years ahead clear and straight. Some Christians try to get that kind of information out of their Bibles. They search for verses that will tell them what job to take, whom to marry, what school to attend. Of course, they are doomed to be disappointed—or worse yet, to think God is giving them specific direction in a verse that means nothing of the kind. Other Christians simply give up: since God has not told me anywhere what job I should take or what school to go to, it does not matter what I decide.

Both these responses miss the true nature of God’s guidance of us through Scripture. God has not given us a Delorme spiritual map revealing every twist and turn of our lives What He has given us instead is a revelation of Himself. Who He is, what He has done, is doing, and will do, and what He values most in His people.

By reading, studying, and meditating on this revelation, we find our very worldview being changed. Paul describes this process in his famous call for Christians to “renew their minds” (Rom. 12:2; Eph. 4:23). It is by this transformation of our fundamental attitudes and values that we will be able to “test and approve what God’s will is” (Rom. 12:2). God desires that we so immerse ourselves in Scripture that its values gradually become our values. These values, built deeply into us, will then guide us in all the decisions of life.

As my wife and I raised five children (now all grown), we were especially anxious to help them develop these renewed minds. We were not so concerned about whether they would agree with us on every lifestyle decision that we made. But we wanted them to make their own lifestyle decisions, not on the basis of the materialistic cultural values of this world, but on the basis of solidly biblical values.

I have a similar vision for the students I teach at Wheaton College. My goal is to expose them to Scripture in such a way that the very roots of their minds will be thoroughly Christian. For if, by God’s Spirit, their minds are being so transformed, I can be confident that they will emerge as strong examples of righteousness in a world that desperately needs such a witness.

Dr. Douglas J. Moo is Blanchard Professor of New Testament and Director of the Ph.D. Program in Biblical and Theological Studies. A relative newcomer to Wheaton, Doug arrived in 2000 after a long ministry at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, Illinois. He holds a B.A. from DePauw, an M.Div. from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, and a Ph.D. from St. Andrews in Scotland He and his wife Jenny live in West Chicago. Three of their children have attended, or are attending Wheaton College. (Wheaton Magazine, Winter 2004).

I love the church. And the older I get, the more I value it. That affection is longstanding because I loved the church even as a child.

I grew up in Omaha, Nebraska, where my family had founded what became a large congregation. I was as at home in that church as I was in the house where I lived. The people there were like family. I was shaped by their stories and views of God.

My devotion to the church is deep and irrevocable. My soul rejoices when the whole family of God comes together to glorify our Lord—to “put God on display,” as J.I. Packer stated in this year’s commencement address. But there is another side to my view of the church. I am concerned, even frustrated, by some of what we do to each other in the name of church life—such as separating people by age, even during worship. Quoting Packer again, this happens because we are “pygmies and invalids” when it comes to seeing God’s greatness and holiness. We fall short of God’s desire and are unaware how truly broken we are as we exchange our biblical identity for cultural relevancy.

Some evangelical churches segregate church life and systematize ministries in ways that now seem normative, virtually eliminating the need for careful biblical critique. Does Scripture say anything about how God’s people should gather? If so, is it relevant for today? I wonder if in our desire to be “developmentally appropriate;” we evangelicals miss some of our Father’s intent for us, His church. Because I teach courses concerning church ministries, I’m able to focus on these issues.

Two years ago the department in which I teach changed its name from Christian Education and Ministry to Christian Formation and Ministry. The more I reflect on this change, the more significant it becomes. The word educate comes with expectations familiar to most: classroom, teacher, students, content. The word formation is different—less familiar, fewer assumptions. It requires pro ass in shaping product. It’s more like “May Christ be formed in you” (Gal. 4:19) rather than “Let me teach you about God.” I’m challenged to alter courses in light of this change.

I must read Scripture with formation in mind—my own, first of all, and then that of others. The opening verses of 1 John excite me. As Eugene Peterson translates them,”… [We] heard it with our own ears, saw it with our own eyes, verified it with our own hands. The Word of Life appeared right before our eyes; we saw it happen! …We saw it, we heard it, and now we’re telling you so you can experience it along with us, this experience of communion with the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ.” Our faith has a sensory dimension—one that can be experienced.

This calls for encounters with the living God. Is that a formational task or an educational one or both? In what ways can the ministries of the local church enable encounters with God through the Holy Spirit? Where do North American churches look for ministry models? Are there principles in Scripture that we overlook or disregard that we should recover, so our faith may be passed on more effectively to the next generation? Because I too am a pygmy and invalid, I humbly acknowledge my need for our Lord’s grace and mercy as I explore ways in which formation happens.

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Scottie May has been an Assistant Professor in the Department of Christian Formation and Ministry since 1998. She has a doctorate in education from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. Her primary research focuses on how children come to faith. Other areas of interest are the effectiveness of ministry learning environments, ways children encounter God, intergenerational worship, and the church as “the family of God.” Scottie has three children and six grandchildren. She and her husband, Robert, live in West Chicago, Illinois. (The above statement was included at the time of publication — Wheaton Magazine, Summer 2001).