I had an unusual and unexpected experience on Sunday—one that struck me as rather significant. I have been doing quite a bit of preaching at Grace Fellowship Church and elsewhere and knew that Sunday marked the last time I would have to prepare a fresh sermon until the end of the calendar year. Somehow this made me feel like I would be crossing a finish line when the service came to a close. It was a milestone I was looking forward to as it will allow me to focus on some other things for a while (good things, ministry things, but not preaching things).

I finished the sermon—quite an emotional and difficult one for me—and, after the service, was greeting people and then doing whatever else needs to be done at the close of a service. Very suddenly, and very unexpectedly, I was faced with a temptation to sin—to commit a sin to which I am particularly prone. I will not tell you what that sin is because I fear it would detract from what I am writing here. It could be envy or lust or fear of man or idolatry or any of the sins we find ourselves particularly drawn to. It is a sin for which I have experienced the Lord’s grace so that I am usually able to redirect my heart, at least in the moments that I am eager to honor God. And that is what I did. I saw the temptation to sin and immediately directed my heart to something better. 

But then something happened. I don’t even know how this can happen, but in just a brief second, less than a second, a thought flashed through my mind. It was something like this: “Come on now. You’ve finished preaching, so go ahead and indulge. God won’t punish you now.” It stopped me dead in my tracks for a moment. It was an ugly thought and one that somehow seemed extrinisic to me. I truly don’t know where it came from. At least, I don’t think I’ve ever thought that before.

Evangelicalism has a strange obsession with the Amish. The Amish are the theme of countless novels and they also appear in cookbooks, books of moralisms, books on the virtues of the simple life, and on and on. They are held up as models of cultural and theological simplicity, people who can point us to better days. The problem, of course, at least as it pertains to theology, is that this is simply not a true representation.

Ira Wagler grew up Amish, spending his childhood in both Canadian and American communities. He recently released a memoir that has made its way onto the bestseller lists. Growing Up Amish (a title that pretty much says it all) records his memories from childhood all the way to his mid-twenties when he eventually broke free of his family and community. 

Wagler is truly a gifted writer which makes this memoir beautifully crafted and wonderfully poignant. He draws the reader into his world as he grapples with his identity, as he leaves the community and returns, leaves and returns again, and as he tries to understand who or what he can be if he forsakes his Amish identity. His experience of truly being converted is the turning point of his life—perhaps an unexpected climax for a man raised in such a moral and religious atmosphere.

Here is a particularly poignant scene where Ira’s youngest brother walks away from his family and his Amish tradition once and for all:

Finally Nathan emerged from his bedroom and walked up to Dad, who was sitting in the living room. "I'm leaving," he said shortly, abruptly. Dad looked up at him, uncomprehending. Then it slowly dawned on him what Nathan had just told him. "What? No, you should not do that," he said, his face darkening into a serious frown. Nathan just grunted and walked out, duffel bag in hand, and shut the door behind him. Dad rose from his chair and followed him to the door. He stood there, looking out, unsure of what to say or what to do. And then Nathan approached Mom, working outside the washhouse. From a distance, I watched. I could not hear the words he spoke to her. Her face, at first turned up to him in a smile, suddenly collapsed in sorrow and fear. No, no. She mouthed the words. Spoke them. I drifted nearer. Then Nathan turned and walked away from her. Down the gravel drive, the long half mile to the road. He had gone only a hundred feet or so when she began to call his name, beside herself with horror. Fear. And love.

Even now, many years later, Wagler seems occasionally trapped between revulsion and admiration as he reflects on all the years he lived among the Amish. 

It has been fascinating to witness the rise of Halloween in recent years. What was at one time a day for kids to spend a couple of hours going door-to-door to collect candy and coins has morphed into a true holiday where kids and adults alike celebrate. Recent trips to costume stores show that the shelf space given to adult costumes now outweighs the space given to children’s costumes. I actually wonder if the trajectory of the holiday is such that the children will soon be forgotten altogether.

It’s fascinating to me—and more than a little repulsive—that on Halloween you can walk into a legitimate, professional workplace—a bank or real estate office where millions of dollars change hands every day—and find women dressed in ill-fitting, sexy costumes. You can find men dressed like skeletons or superheroes. Just for one day we can all act in ways that any other days would get us fired (or institutionalized). 

I’ve often wondered why it is that Halloween has transformed from what it was to what it is today. Along the way I’ve developed a theory. It may seem a little far-fetched, but hear me out and let me know what you think. First I’ll give two background factors or forces, and then get to the heart of my theory.

There is no doubt that, culturally, we are in a time of immaturity. There is little expectation of maturity for children and adults alike. As I’ve written in books and often shared at conferences, many people seem trapped in perpetual adolescence. Once thought to last for only a year or two, many people now believe that adolescence—that time that falls between childhood and adulthood—should now last for decades. There are some out there who honestly believe that you cannot rightly be considered an adult until your mid-thirties. It is a disturbing trend and I think it plays into the obsession with Halloween. Immaturity and dressing in costumes seems to go hand-in-hand. That is not strictly true, but certainly playing dress-up has more to do with childhood than mature adulthood. I’m not saying that you have to be immature to dress up for Halloween; but it helps.

So there is one cultural force that lies behind my theory.

I was looking through Edward Donnelly’s book Biblical Teaching on the Doctrines of Heaven and Hell and came across a really powerful quote about all that we are not able to do and understand and accomplish in this life. Read it and be blessed!

The prospect of living forever in a renewed universe answers the frustration we feel over the brevity of earthly existence. For human begins have always felt that, at its longest, life is too short. There is so much in this world to discover, such a variety of experiences to enjoy, yet so little time available. How many places there are which we will never visit, books we will never read, great paintings at which we will never look, how much music we will never hear! It is tantalizing to see such wealth slipping away from us with every tick of the clock.

How little we know about even our close friends! What untapped reservoirs they are of character and insight! But it would take so long to learn all that we could about them. And what of millions we have never met—their personalities and their stories? We would be enriched beyond measure by their acquaintance. But we will never be—not on this earth.

In ourselves we are conscious of undeveloped gifts and resources, talents and qualities of which we are only dimly aware. A friend of our family was once asked if he could play the violin. “I don’t know,” he answered, “I have never tried.” He was being facetious, but in a sense he was right. There is more in each of us than has yet appeared. No one has ever seen the real you. We do not even know ourselves properly. But we will not be here long enough for our potential to be discovered.

After a lifetime of studying the Bible, it is simple realism, not mock humility, to acknowledge that we are still paddling in the shallows of revealed truth. With regard to prayer and communion with God we are the merest beginners. As yet we are novices in Christian living. We want to be better people, kinder and more unselfish, but we wrestle with damaged personalities and are disfigured by the scars of the past. Circumstances have stunted our development. Opportunities afforded to others have never come our way. There is so little time for it all!

Do you feel these frustrations? Do you not hunger ravenously for more and more of life? Does not your heart ache at the too swift passage of the years? Is there not a nagging sense of unfulfilment, no matter how happy you may be? Such beings as we are—in such a world—with so little possible!

Praise God for heaven! For every good longing within us is an intimation of immortality, an echo of eternity in our souls, a pointer to everlasting life. We were not created for seventy short years, ‘not born for death,’ in the poet’s words. Our Creator did not design beings of such complexity and capacity for a mere handful of decades. ‘He has put eternity in their hearts’ (Eccles. 3:11) and we have not been redeemed to be frustrated. ‘Life here is too short, too circumscribed, to be the end for man’s marvelous divinely given endowments and aspirations. He scarcely more than gets his preparations made for full and intelligent living until his time comes to leave.’