MV Winter 2024

09 Jan

PERSECUTION? NOT YET, I WAS TOLD

In

Society without great ideals, in which people chew gum and share gossip, can exist,
but I am afraid of such a world. The world has to have meaning.
– Archbishop Józef Życiński

Nineteen sixties. Who are we, I ask myself?

My answer is different today, as it was different when I encountered my personal “persecution” in the early 1960s. I was a freshman in a Warsaw high school, and, according to the educational system, I had to go to school six days a week.

But, being a Seventh-day Adventist, I refrained from attending school on Sabbath. The meaning and best Adventist lesson was when I was hit across my face by my high-school principal. “You will come to school next Saturday,” he shouted. I didn’t oblige him with what he desired. It was an emotional lesson for a kid, as I was.

Was I persecuted. That’s what an informed Adventist would ask? I knew my family and the church prayed that I would be strong. Yet …

Full of tears, I came home and reported what happened. My parents were summoned to the principal’s office and were told that there was no place for a student who belonged to a weird sect.

“Am I being persecuted? The Bible says so,” I argued. My grandmother was quick to explain that real persecution was still to come, and it will not be permanent and tearful, she added. “Not us, but God is in charge,” she told me as she hugged me strongly. Obviously, I needed a Bible study about the Book of Revelation.

Nineteen eighties. It was springtime and I was sitting in a plush office of the Polish Ambassador to the Vatican. I knew his son in-law, but we met once before and he invited me to visit him in his new job in Rome. We were talking about rod fishing, about his new job, his family, and about our famous countryman, John Paul II. He gets up from his armchair and asks me to join him at the window.

The vista hit me hard—St. Peter’s Square in its full glory. And I am viewing the scene from one of the best vantage points in the holy city of Rome.

Ray, just look at this view, he points to the basilica. What do you see? Beautiful, rich in history, yet in my view, stagnant in its medieval splendor. You represent a different church. Your church is a church of hope. You offer quality of life they don’t have. You speak about freedom from bad habits, living healthy lives, fighting social pathologies, having happy families … But let me ask you, why is your church so timid and so quiet about what you have? Perhaps you mainly persuading yourself about the good you have? I wish Adventists replaced all of this, what you see in front across the piazza, and help the world with a life of hope.

More currently. Time for reflection. In my view, to be in an Adventist believer is always timely as it is rich in meaning and expressions. Each decade challenges me to see it differently, yet with the same message—a community created to a time like this, but its Leader never changes. You are my people, God reiterates. His Word is true, and it gives a meaning to the world in which we live.

In his book, The World Must Have a Meaning, Józef Życiński, a clergyman and philosopher, recalls a comment by Victor Frankl, a known Austrian psychiatrist and survivor of Auschwitz Nazi concentration camp, who believed that a need of meaning is the biggest and basic of human needs. Frankl explains how a mother who is watching her sick child does not feel tired nor counts her hours, because she sees a meaning of her vigil. Recognizing its meaning, one can withstand even the fiercest suffering. He further comments that suffering, a feeling of helplessness and impermanence, can be withstood when we have hope. If there is no hope, there is no meaning. Hope is foundational.

For my faith community—in which I grew up—hope was essential. I was a member of People of Hope. I was excited about living in eternity at the end of time which Christian faith offers. I learned about three sisters: faith, love and … hope. I learned about caring for each other, with kindness, recognizing human dignity and freedom to be who I am as a child of God. These values were introduced when I was a kid, and they are there with no expiration date, all because it is guaranteed by Jesus Christ, his death, resurrection, and a promise of his return.

So, persecution, which is still ahead, does not annul my faith. No fear is present in my version of Adventism. My Adventism is celebrated daily. My faith is guaranteed by these words: Behold, I am coming soon! … Yes, I am coming soon (Book of Revelation 22: 7, 20).

Today. For decades now, I was busy communicating hope. Honestly, I often catch myself acting schematically. Yet, the cracks on my face cannot be covered up for long by a “fool-them-again” mascara of pretense, hoping that I will cover my faith.

Because soon they will know. “Here comes a Christian. He thinks we don’t know.”

Rajmund Dabrowski is the RMC communication director and editor of Mountain Views. He is retiring as of January 2025. Email him at: [email protected]

09 Jan

STONES AND STORIES

In

A couple years ago, I went on vacation with my husband and the trip was filled with stones and stories. These stones and stories represented significant people, world events, victories in war, marathon winners, and basically anything people from the past wanted us to remember today.

At every stone and statue were tour guides telling large groups of tourists the stories that went with them.

While we were in Boston, we stopped at this statue and the tour guide said, “I’ve been a tour guide in Boston for 25 years and I have seen this statue go unnoticed. No one saw it important enough to take a picture with, and, honestly, people didn’t even know who it was.” He continued, “But six months ago, the Broadway play came out and now it’s ALL people can talk about, and now this is ONE OF THEE MOST photographed statues in the U.S. all because people started talking about this man again!” You want to take a guess who it was? The statue was Hamilton! Alexander Hamilton.

That is the power of storytelling! Only until someone dusted off Hamilton’s story and started retelling it in a beautiful way did people start taking interest in it again.

So, my question is—when people ask us about our God, our faith, our church … what stories are we telling and how are we telling them?

Let’s go back to the OT (the Old Testament). Have you read the Old Testament recently? Give yourself the gift this Christmas of giving the Old Testament a read! It’s so good! Today I’m going to be paraphrasing and highlighting certain points from Joshua chapters 1-4, but I encourage you to go read those chapters in addition to reading this article—you will be blessed!

Starting with Joshua 1:1-2, we see no sugar coating here. God is straight up with Joshua by saying, Moses is dead.

These three words are enough to truly grip the heart. Moses was the nation’s leader for over 40 years. He led the nation out of slavery and bondage from the Egyptians, he journeyed with them in the wilderness, and whether things were good, bad, or ugly, Moses always directed their eyes back to God. But now he died right before the nation was about to cross over the Jordan River and enter the Promised Land.

Before they cross over, God gives them a few instructions. And not like Siri instructions. Siri gives us the fastest, safest route, giving us every step-in advance and shows us where we can find a Starbucks along the way. God’s instructions are higher than our ways and higher than Siri’s ways. When God gives instructions to His people before a time of transition, He gives heart instructions. And in this case, before they are to cross the Jordan River, they go a little something like this:

  1. Prepare your hearts for what I am about to do.
  2. Let Me go first and follow Me in faith.
  3. Pick up stones along the way and share your salvation stories.

This is such a good Word for Joshua and the Israelites. But what does this have to do with us as believers today?

We are all about to transition into a new year, the year 2025. And although may not be a lot of changes from December 31st to January 1st, there is a great opportunity to be embraced in the close of one year and the opening of another. I believe that opportunity is for us as believers in Jesus to follow these same three heart instructions that God gave His people back then.

1. Prepare Our Hearts for What God is About to Do (Joshua 1)

Before crossing into the Promised Land, Joshua commands the people to get their hearts ready, to prepare their hearts for what God is going to do for them, so they do not miss the miracle!

Similarly, we are able to come boldly before the throne and ask Jesus to position our hearts so we don’t miss what He’s about to do in us individually and as a church. Now is the time to get our hearts in alignment with His will and prepare for the goodness of God in the new year ahead. Let’s not miss the miracle!

2. Let God Go First & Move Forward in Faith (Joshua 3)

The Israelites face the Jordan River—an obstacle that seems impossible to cross. But God instructs Joshua to tell the priests to step into the river with the ark of the covenant, and, as they do, the waters of the Jordan get pushed aside. The Israelites walk through on dry ground, a miraculous revealing of God’s power, promise, and provision.

Just as God parted the Red Sea and parted the Jordan River, God is able to make a way for us in THIS generation, too. Our part is to let Him go first and we simply step forward in faith. Because even when we don’t know what the future holds, we know who holds our future. Dude, Yes and Amen to that!

3. Pick Up Stones Along the Way and Share Our Salvation Stories (Joshua 4)

Finally, the people are instructed to take twelve stones from the middle of the Jordan River and set them up as a memorial. These stones represent God’s faithfulness in bringing them through the river and into the Promised Land. These stones represent how God keeps His promises—He’s a man of His word.

For us, let’s carry the “stones” of God’s faithfulness from 2024, moments where God showed up; moments where God pulled through for us; moments where God went into the pit with us; moments of victory; moments of healing; moments of growth, moments of provision; moments where God showed up in the nick of time.

These are the million little miracle moments that we can hold onto as we step into the new year.

Reader, Friend, Believer,

When people ask us about our God, our faith, our church, what stories are we telling? And how are we storytelling?

Are we telling them the list of things Adventists don’t do? Or are we telling the stories of why we are jazzed and blessed to be Adventists?

Are we telling stories that make it seem like our God is still in the grave? Or are we telling stories that show our God is alive and active?

As we wrap up 2024 and open up 2025, let’s position our hearts in expectation and faith for what God is about to do in us, through us, and for us. Let’s be in a heart posture of anticipation and courage, ready for what God has in store for us as individuals, as families, and as a church!

Let’s allow God to go ahead of us every step of the way—let Him be our Waymaker—trusting that He will make a way even when the path ahead seems dark, uncertain and impossible. Why? Because, yes, nothing is impossible for our God.

Let’s carry our stones of remembrance and share our salvation stories from this recent year, giving hope and encouragement to one another that we have a God who does not slumber or sleep, He’s not on vacation, and He’s certainly no longer in the grave—that’s right, we serve a RISEN God who is fully alive and active.

If we truly believe our God is no longer dead, let’s start telling stories like He’s alive.

Mollie Dupper is the associate pastor at Boulder Seventh-day Adventist Church. Email her at: [email protected]

09 Jan

THE OFFERING OF THE SEVENTH-DAY ADVENTIST CHURCH

In

Years ago, American Express had a series of commercials with the tagline “Membership has its privileges.” It was clever marketing that I remember still. The same tagline could be utilized by the Seventh-day Adventist Church as being a member of one of our local churches certainly brings a sense of community and purpose that is somehow larger than the local church itself.

I was not raised as a believer, much less an Adventist, but I had an encounter with Jesus and an open Bible after a series of poor life choices as a young adult. A local Adventist church community became a place of first rebirth, secondly it was a school of learning spiritual truths about God and me, and lastly, yet equally as important, it was a safe place to build lasting friendships with quality people.

Our churches offer hope. Hope was something I desperately needed back then and something I dare say folks still need today. The primary focus of the message we embody as a church is chiefly a message of hope for daily living and a promise of hope eternally. As visitors enter one of our local gatherings, they need an experience that offers them hope as well. Having visited many of our churches in many different cultures and countries, I have heard many messages of hope from the pulpit and the pew.

Our churches also offer clear Biblical teaching. When I first entered a Seventh-day Adventist Church, I was a complete novice in terms of spirituality and biblical knowledge. Engaging in Sabbath School classes and conversing with passionate members in an environment where asking questions was encouraged really helped me to sort through the myriads of teachings that exist within the realm of Christianity, and it deepened my understanding of God’s love and his plan for humanity. The God of scripture revealed through these engagements compelled me to embrace the grace and forgiveness that Jesus was offering me. Clear teachings presented in the context of love change people’s lives.

Our churches offer friendship. We offer a point of contact to our communities through service projects and selfless giving. Through the years, I have seen so many amazing church members give of their time, effort, influence, and finances to foster growth and connection within the local church and intentionally reach out a hand of help outside the walls of the worship space and into their respective communities. One thing I have gleaned from all of these in-reach and outreach events is that we best represent our church when we intentionally extend a hand of fellowship to one another and to those in our community. There is no us and them, its simply us. We are all in this together.

Our churches also offer a global connectedness that is rare. Sure, the internet connects us all in some ways, but knowing that there are 23 million other people all across the globe who belong to the same faith community of believers as I do, makes the world seem smaller and somehow less scary. I know that when I travel most places in the world, I don’t have a hard time finding a place to worship on Sabbath that is filled with friendly people who will greet me with a warm smile and invite me to worship with them gladly.

That is one of many other benefits that is hard to fully understand unless you have experienced it. It’s like I said earlier, membership has its privileges.

Brandon Westgate is the RMC youth director. Email him at: [email protected]

09 Jan

WHEN ADVENTISM SAVES YOUR LIFE

In

Depending on your conversation partners, you might know several reasons why you should avoid being a Seventh-day Adventist. Whether from those outside the denomination who look on Adventists with suspicion, or those inside the denomination who bash various theological or cultural pieces of our Adventist identity, it seems any number of reasons can be marshalled for why you should not be an Adventist. This can even be the result from efforts of those who love the denomination and, in that love, seek to call out its shortfalls, deficits, and inconsistencies: sometimes a friendly critique of Adventism can sound or feel like an exercise in denigrating Adventism. Any legitimate critique of Adventism needs to be coupled with a robust celebration of Adventism and being an Adventist.

Why am I a Seventh-day Adventist? What has Adventism given me that nothing else ever provided? An Adventist identity has provided me with three absolutes that have grounded my personal identity and sense of mission. First, Adventism introduced me to Jesus.I’m a fourth generation Seventh-day Adventist, but I was not raised in an Adventist home. My father was a Southern Baptist-turned-atheist, due to religious abuse in his home, and he did not want religion in the house while I was growing up. My mother was a lapsed, non-observant Seventh-day Adventist, and she kept her Adventism private to keep the peace at home. Such a home was not conducive to meeting Jesus.  So how did I meet Jesus? Adventist education!  My mother sent me to the Adventist school in Aurora, Colorado, hoping that I’d get my dose of Jesus there. My mother, however, got more than she bargained for.

The now-shuttered Aurora Adventist Elementary School introduced me to a God who loved me so much that he became a man to save me from my sins and reunite me with himself. I had heard from other Christians that Jesus was God because he could do miracles, but it was Adventism that helped me understand that Jesus showed his deity the most clearly when he died a torturous death on a cross for me. Likewise, my Baptist and charismatic family members talked a lot about Jesus’ resurrection, but mostly as an absentee landlord: Jesus had to go away and now we’re here while he is, well, somewhere else. Adventism introduced me to a different way of thinking about his resurrection: Jesus rose again and ascended into heaven so he could prepare a place for us, which is why he is coming back very soon. While my various Christian family members lived with the impression that Jesus had abandoned them, Adventism invited me to wait for Jesus while he was making sure we would never be parted again! At times when my home life became chaotic with family drama and dysfunction, the Jesus that Seventh-day Adventism introduced me to took away my anger and replaced it with his peace.

The second pillar Adventism provide me was a sense of meaning and purpose. Ever since I was a child, I’ve always felt that life had to have a meaning and purpose. My father’s evolutionary approach to life and my mother’s creationist beliefs often left me wondering what reality and the truth were, but I was always convinced that life had to have a meaning and purpose. I just wasn’t sure what its meaning and purpose were supposed to be. Adventism gave me a meaning and purpose I had only encountered in my dreams when I longed for an undefinable “something more.”

My first exposure to meaning was in the concept of the remnant, which simply meant that I mattered to Jesus. The remnant was not a group of spiritually elite people, but rather a group of people who are deeply loved by Jesus and are moved to love Jesus back. Similarly, the idea of discipleship was revolutionary for my sense of purpose. My Christian friends in other denominations worshiped Jesus, but they often acted like Jesus wasn’t alive. Adventism not only told me continuously that Jesus was alive but also invited me to apprentice under a living Savior: to sense his presence with me, to pour over his commands and teachings in the Gospels, to consider myself just as much a student of Jesus today as his original disciples were two thousand years ago. Within this framework, I felt beloved by Jesus every day. I could share Jesus with others because I knew Jesus was with me. And I could look forward to his second coming with excitement, because Jesus was my best friend! At a time when I so desperately needed confidence and self-worth, Adventism pointed me to the Jesus who freely gave them.

The final pillar Adventism secured for me was a radical and heart-transforming conversion to Jesus, his way, and his priorities. Adventism first introduced me to Jesus, for which I’ll be forever grateful. But I eventually lost sight of Jesus while being an Adventist. Over time, I experienced what a lot of Adventists do: I felt my Adventism was more important than being a Christian. Whether my problem was that I became legalistic, viewed myself as a Pharisee, lost my first love for Jesus, didn’t fully embrace the 1888 message of righteousness by faith, or some other spiritual ailment, what was true was that I succumbed to the temptation to consider my version of Adventism to be God. The irony of Adventism, however, is that it contains the seeds of its own transformation.

Whenever I tried to make Adventism about the law, the sanctuary, the Sabbath, spiritual gifts, or anything else that was good but was not Jesus, Adventism spoke to my heart about Jesus’ goodness. Alternatively, whenever I tried to make Adventism about the church, evangelism, baptism, our remnant mission, or any other Adventist identity factor that was good but was not Jesus, Adventism gently pointed me to a compassionate Savior. Adventism told me a story about a God of love: that God is a just and merciful deity, who loves me and wants good things for me; that God desires obedience, loyalty, and trust from his best friends, but that this same God gives his best friends the gift of obedience out of his tenderness and kindness to them; that God constantly puts his reputation on the line and exposes himself to the harshest criticism and ridicule by human and supernatural agencies alike in his endeavors to save us, simply because he cares more about our wellbeing than maintaining his status as unquestionable; that the God who is the King of the universe chose to answer satanic charges against his character by wrapping himself in littleness and lowliness as a human baby, grow up as a poverty-stricken Jewish peasant in a backwater province of the first century Roman Empire, die on a cross as the crucified God for us, and give us immortality by his resurrection from death as a glorified man—and this God is our best friend!

Such an Adventism is shockingly and beautifully alarming, because it melts even the coldest heart and softens even the most trenchant resistance. This kind of Adventism continually reintroduced me to Jesus as the one who can heal my wounded soul, carry all of my sorrows, and assuage all of my fears, because he knows what it’s like to go through the darkest of nights and experience the utmost loss and terror. The Jesus of Adventism is entirely compassionate, gentle, and strong, because he’s aware of our pain and hurt, and able to give us the joy and peace we’ve always hoped for but were never sure we would receive. Encountering the Jesus of Adventism and spending time with him has perpetually helped me love and accept myself, as well as love and accept others, because the Jesus of Adventism loves to share his compassion and grace with everyone.

There is much to celebrate about Seventh-day Adventism.  Adventism is more robust than we could possibly imagine.  It is more stable than many other Christian denominations I know, primarily because it hooks us up with Jesus, the one who is stability itself. Likewise, Adventists often struggle with emotional and spiritual health, but Adventism has always served as a source of emotional strength and health because it speaks to us of a God who loves us in our brokenness and is making all things new.

While Adventism has often been taken over and used for unkind, uncharitable, and un-Adventist purposes, Adventism itself possesses the breadth and security to allow for different flavors, experiences, and expressions among Adventist Christians, as well as the dynamism and vitality to eventually overcome and conquer any attempts to domesticate it.

Adventism always gets us back to the one necessary thing: Jesus and his love for us. I think this experiment called Adventism is from God, and for that I am most grateful.

Nathaniel Gamble is the RMC Public Affairs and Religious Liberty director and pastors four churches in Colorado. He is currently finishing his PhD from Calvin Theological Seminary and is married to Alexandria. Contact him at: [email protected]

09 Jan

THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO POPEYE

In

I’m going to reveal a truth about myself that will be shocking to no one.

Ready? Here it is.

I cannot squeeze an unopened can of spinach until it bursts open at the top, launching the spinach out of the can, into the air, and then into my mouth.

Believe me, I’ve tried. As a kid. Not last week.

But I very much wanted to. Popeye the Sailor Man could do it, and therefore I wanted to do it. Who wouldn’t want to gain super strength from eating a plant that is readily available? I know I do.

Did. I mean, did.

Ahem.

Unfortunately, it was all a lie. Even above average strong people can’t pop a closed tin can with one hand. And spinach doesn’t give you superhuman abilities.

I know, shocker.

But as a kid watching cartoons, we all wanted it to be true, even if we knew it wasn’t. It did not, however, stop us from eating spinach. In fact, it made a lot of people want to eat spinach. According to a number of reports, the “Popeye the Sailor Man” cartoon caused spinach sales to rise by 33% in the 1930’s.

That is a pretty impressive marketing feat. All this from a cartoon that, while enjoyable at the time, was full of inaccuracies, did not promote healthy relationships, and did promote violence as a solution for most problems.

Oh, and it made me believe that I didn’t have to pay for hamburgers till Tuesday.

But even though it was a thinly veiled marketing vessel full of problems, there are a couple truths that stand out to me even to this day. One, it turns out that spinach is actually pretty healthy for you. Even if the entire spinach narrative they pushed was wholly inaccurate, it’s a smart food choice.

And two, Popeye has accidentally promoted a very healthy psychology of how one should view one’s self.

“I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam!”

I am what I am.

That is surprisingly healthy. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t want to grow or improve and seek to better ourselves spiritually and otherwise. But being able to embrace who we are, find peace in that, and THEN move forward into growth as we attempt to become the best and highest versions of who we are is a pretty healthy thing.

Popeye as a cartoon may be pretty flawed if one decides to scrutinize it, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t value to be found there if one was willing to see it.

My question, then, is: Does a thing have to be perfect for it to impart good and healthy things into one’s life?

Maybe I should ask it like this also: Can a deeply flawed thing still impart good and healthy things into one’s life?

If I were to start singing the praises of Adventism, those of you who have read my articles in the past might cry “foul.” I’ve been hard on Adventism. In part because,
as a spiritual leader, it is my duty to be an advocate for whatever needs advocating. Also, because Adventism has some deep flaws.

To be clear, so does every other belief system on the planet. I am deeply flawed. The things I believe are almost certainly deeply flawed. We live on a planet full of flawed things, people, and ideas.

But I want you to read this next sentence very carefully.

“Flawed” is not the same as “bad.”

Imperfect, yes. Evil, no.

I owe a lot to Adventism. I have gratitude for some things that, if not for Adventism, would not exist in my life and I would be lesser for that.

I know how to eat and live in a physically healthy way in part because of Adventism.

Advocacy for Religious Liberty is a tremendously important endeavor that Adventism has been a loud voice in since its inception. The value of this can’t be understated. If this value is allowed to erode, we are all in deep trouble.

Present Truth is an essential spiritual AND philosophical principle that is core to any good growth and learning pursuit. The idea that it is OK to learn new things, AND that it is OK to let go of old things is powerful. And, that the Spirit of God will guide us in that is an important detail therein. It gives us permission to never stop seeking and growing, and it gives us permission to recognize that maybe we got it wrong somewhere along the way and we can let that cherished belief go. Without this principle, we would remain closed to the working of God in our lives.

We have a vast healthcare system that is renowned for its quality. Adventism does real service for communities through that system. Saving lives in real time should not be undervalued.

Adventism has a huge education system. I have experienced the good and the not so good of it, but if it wasn’t for the Adventist education system, I would be someone else.

I went to Union College, er, I mean, Union Adventist University. It was one of the best experiences of my life. For the era I was there, it showed me a healthier and more loving version of Adventism than that which I grew up with. The friends I met there contributed largely to me becoming a better human.

And I found belonging for the first time in my life.

I also met my wife there. She has walked with me through some dark times. And if not for walking those times with her, we would not have met our daughter, and I wouldn’t give up that event for anything.

I went to Andrews Theological Seminary. I met friends there. I gained the tools I needed to seek and learn more intentionally. My life is what it is in part because of Adventism.

I am what I am, and without Adventism, that might be very different.

Adventism is imperfect and I’ve experienced some pretty awful things as a result. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the correct place for me. It doesn’t mean that truly good things didn’t come out of a flawed system. I enjoy good community and friends, and I’ve met the people I needed to meet in order to grow.

Adventism isn’t perfect. But it’s not evil. Most of the people in it are good people seeking God.

I am one of those people. The seeking part, I’m not always sure about the good part. But because of Adventism and seeking the Spirit, I have been able to embrace the gospel according to Popeye, and more importantly the gospel according to Jesus, and accept that I am what I am.

And what I am is a child of the creator, loved, and whole as a result of that love, and more than the sum of the flaws in my life.

I am what I am.

And you are, too.

And that is a very good thing.

Tony Hunter is a Seventh-day Adventist pastor and a hospital chaplain working for UCHealth. Tony, his wife Nirma, and daughter Amryn live in Firestone, Colorado. Email him at: [email protected]

09 Jan

FAITH BINGO: THE REDEMPTION EDITION

In

So, my faith experience as a youth is one that I believe a fair number of people can relate to. Allow me the brevity of this journey as I equate it to the game of Bingo.

As a young Christian, my faith scorecard was laid out with the wonderful gifts of being part of a long-legacy Christian family and faith community. I placed many chips on my scorecard. I was baptized, I regularly attended “Sunday School” (I was not raised in the Adventist faith), I regularly fulfilled my youth church duties, and I declared giving my life to Jesus at 12 in front of the whole congregation.

I even had some extraordinary squares I could put a chip on … During five summers, I spent a week each aiding the underserved communities on the American West’s Indian reservations with my church youth group. These service ministries were my first recollection of feeling God’s presence, solidifying that he abounds even now and was not just a historical figure from the Bible.

I also put a chip on the square of experiencing the Holy Spirit during a near-fatal car accident at the age of 16. But that is a longer testimony for another time.

So many chips on my faith scorecard that I could have probably “won the game” thrice over … but I couldn’t even see one B-I-N-G-O.

Much of my very blessed childhood was spent being very bitter for all of the things the world said I didn’t have. While my family was never in want, I was markedly “poorer” than the majority of my school peers. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see the beauty of God’s creation but just a horribly gawky, frail little body. I was not class president, nor the varsity hero.

And I had plenty of affirmation from the world that I was not enough by its’ standards. To my hurting little self, I was in the shadows beyond God’s light and grace. I wondered why he would create such a pitiful, odd little creature to suffer.

But if there was one gift God gave me, it was a plucky spirit.

Let’s rewind a little to my near-fatal car accident as a teen. After spending my life until then loathing my existence in God’s creation, I vowed that I was not going to waste His gift of more time in a “pity party” any longer. I wasn’t going to let the have-nots weigh heavy on me anymore, and I was going to go out and live the full human experience. Do everything I didn’t do or was too afraid to do or thought I couldn’t do.

Sounds empowering, doesn’t it!

And it was. So empowering, I thought I could go it alone. After all, what “good” had it done me when I was a simple, humble little Christian girl. And not to mention growing up in time when news of the evils and abuse within faith communities was starting to flood the mainstream media, how could you, with good consciousness, follow these wolves in shepherds’ clothing. So, alone I went.

Well, the good, the bad, and, unfortunately, the ugly ensued.

I attended two universities in two countries and design school. I had interesting employment in which I gained a multitude of skills and experiences. I traveled the world, meeting people of all walks of life and seeing the vast diversity of the world God created. I found love. And I was blessed to become a mother. The good.

I participated in worldly fun, and self-satisfaction was the goal. The bad.

I “self-medicated” rather than turning to the true healer, Jesus Christ, for help when things in life got difficult, as it always does. I stopped praying. I stopped putting Jesus in the center of my focus. The ugly.

Two decades after celebrating God’s gift of time, I felt, once again, a pitiful creature left to suffer. Countless high and low points and I felt hollow, each next high point not finally providing satisfaction.

So, I wish I could say that I ran with arms wide open back to Jesus. Alas, it was more a slow shameful wade into the healing waters. And it started with a simple postcard advertisement.

My sons were approaching school age, and we received a postcard from a local Christian school. It reminded my husband and I that we really needed to evaluate our faith and surround our children with the love of Christ through a Christian community. We stepped back into the waters with the registration process.

That ordinary parental act of school registration was the push into regrowing our relationship with Jesus and set us on a trajectory to keep going forward into the pool.

Feeling the joy from the love and support of our new church school community led to our search for a new church home. Ready to shed our childhood church “baggage,” which I can only praise the Holy Spirit for, we happened by a local Adventist church.

Now, my husband was raised in the Adventist Church, but I was not. I had had little exposure to the Adventist community, and I struggled with the misinformation I had read about our denomination. But I wanted to honor my husband’s request to return to his roots. While we had intended to visit a few Adventist churches to find the right community fit for us, we found what we had been yearning for at the first stop. The church was going through the struggles of revolving pastors, but the church community remained strong and loyal through the trials. That kept us engaged until two new pastors arrived that profoundly impacted my journey.

They were loving and supportive as I transitioned into my new faith community and made me feel very comfortable and welcome through the process. This journey was also supported by many others in the church that were genuine and vulnerable with their walk with Christ. The conversations around Biblical truths and Christ’s love stimulated not just my heart but my intellect. My faith became living and not just a tepid historical lesson. I had found a group of Christians that held my hand and walked forward with me into full submersion in the waters with Christ.

While I wish I could look back with pride at all aspects of my life, I cannot. Who is to know, other than God Himself, the effect of the intricacies of every event He has woven in all of our stories, from a willingness to be open to a postcard ad to a church Google search. But I can now undoubtedly look at my faith scorecard filled with chips as an Adventist and shout a resounding BINGO!

Liz Kirkland is the RMC communication assistant. Email her at: [email protected]

09 Jan

REWIND, PAUSE, FAST FORWARD

In

November 5, 2024, is a date that will stay with me, like 9/11 or January 6 or December 8, 1980—the date of John Lennon’s murder outside the Dakota, his residence in New York City. These moments are hard, unyielding, like a row of spears making up a fence between nations.

November 5 is different from those. They were catastrophes, from the Greek for a sudden down-stroke, like the slash of a sword. By contrast, the time leading up to November 5 was a steady downpour, experienced as both dread and hope, daybreak revealing either the wreckage of a flood or the blessed end of a drought.

Adventists often view the news through a projector that throws today’s events up on a world-screen. Karl Barth’s advice to begin the day with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other is surely true for many in our community, me included.

In the weeks following the election, I read analyses of “what went wrong” and “where do we go from here?,” the worst of them in a told-you mode that only exposed how trite their second-hand observations were. The best of them were thoughtful, if rueful, about what was taken for granted before and what could be lost after. I kept reading them, painful though it was. The Washington Post, The New York Times, The Atlantic, The Guardian, Christian Century—there was no lack of commentary from sources that made an effort to be truthful and accurate. Collectively, we were on rewind.

As a counterbalance to the news, I follow the Bible texts of the Lectionary in my daily devotional study, looking, I suppose, for some connection between Scripture and current events. More than that—some revelation from beyond the scrum of politics and commerce. In The Second Coming, William Butler Yeats’ poem, he warns, “The best lack all conviction, while the worst/Are full of passionate intensity.” And then the cri de coeur: “Surely some revelation is at hand;/Surely the Second Coming is at hand.” My Adventism instinctively sniffs the air at those words.

Lately, texts from 1 and 2 Samuel have been part of the Lectionary readings, passages which, in their generality, sound like today. Malfeasance in high office, betrayal of sacred trusts, the violence of those driven by greed and ego. Walter Brueggemann, in his commentary, says the Books of Samuel stand midway between the brutality of tribal life in Judges and the oppressive social order of First and Second Kings. While they offer scant comfort, they cause me to confront that parallel universe without pride or prejudice. And, in spite of the darkness of those days, God never gives up on His people.

Since the election, I’ve talked to or heard from friends on both sides of the aisle, so to speak. Some are fervent in their praise, thanking God for placing his servant in the White House again. Others, those with whom I agree, are devastated by what lies ahead and do not see God’s intervention in the results of the election. Still others believe that God tipped the scales in favor of election winner in order to drive the country to repentance in preparation for the Second Coming.

This is tricky business, this extrapolation of God’s intentions from current events. Yeats echoes the natural impulse of many to forecast the Second Coming from the moral catastrophes of the present. There was a time as a teenager when I, with some reluctance, fell into line with those who were sure the chaos of the 60s meant that Jesus’s return was just around the corner.

Even though it seemed some end was near, some rough beast “slouching toward Bethlehem,” I had only to remember all the catastrophes throughout history, each of them bringing the end for millions, in order to step back from thinking this was the end to end all beginnings. After all, what of the genocides throughout history, the persecutions of Christians under Nero, the Crusades, any version of the “slaughter of the innocents,” the Holocaust? In all times and places, there have been those who lived through the end times, suffering because of their faith or suffering alone, apart from any faith whatsoever.

By comparison my personal life was easy, my future comparatively secure. There were always, it seemed, so many suffering more than I, so many seeing their worlds ending while mine was just beginning. My grandparents passed away in their nineties, disappointed that they had not lived to see Jesus return on the clouds of glory, but sure in their faith that they would rise to meet the Lord in the air.

Adventists know disappointment. After all, we celebrate behind our hands October 22, our Great Disappointment, when we learned that “we do not know the day nor the hour,” and that no human knows this, not even Jesus. That should help to clear the underbrush around disasters and catastrophes, no matter how severe. Charts and tables aside, what really matters in the midst of present apprehension and disappointment, this pause between past and future?

Recently, I learned that disappointment derives from Middle French, desappointer, meaning “to remove from office,” and from Classical Latin, punctum, for “a hole made by pricking.” It’s a vivid image. To disappoint someone is to remove them from their position of authority by puncturing them like a balloon. It would be fascinating to trace how “I disappoint you” changes from a threat against someone to its opposite, so that now we say, “I’m sorry I disappointed you,” meaning that we let another person down in a way we now regret.

Here’s what matters to me in these days of disappointment. First, I need to accept that, for millions of people in this country, the election brought them what they fervently wanted. I don’t fully understand it—I don’t think I ever will—nor will it change my deepest convictions about how humans should live with each other and with the world. But humility covers a multitude of sins, as Thomas Merton said. And it is the beginning of knowing.

Second, this is, for me, a real test of taking Jesus at His word. The kingdom is among you, he said. I have to believe that and act on it, live and breathe it. This is the most important thing I will do with my life. It’s the kingdom of God, not some version of Christian nationalism or another utopian vision. And “though the wrong seems oft so strong/God is the ruler yet.” Going forward, we enter the country where God already lives—and for that I am profoundly grateful.

Here’s something else I’ve learned. I found it in Freeing Jesus, a book by Diana Butler Bass, that my Believers and Doubters class at Sligo Church is studying. She suggests we substitute “kin-dom” for “kingdom,” recognizing how foreign that metaphor may be for us. Kin-dom means family, those we have responsibilities toward as well as ties of love. This impossible, beautiful, redemptive state in which the barriers and chasms between people become the reason for bridges. What we must build daily as we long for eternity.

Barry Casey is the author of Wandering, Not Lost, a collection of essays on faith, doubt, and mystery, published by Wipf and Stock (2019). His recent work has appeared in Brevity, Faculty Focus, Detroit Lit Mag, Fauxmoir, Humans of the World, Lighthouse Weekly, Mountain Views, Patheos, Pensive Journal, Rockvale Review, Spectrum Magazine, The Dewdrop, The Purpled Nail, and The Ulu Review. He holds a Ph.D. in Philosophy of Religion from Claremont Graduate University. He writes from Burtonsville, Maryland. Email him at: [email protected]

09 Jan

THE SHAPE OF ADVENTISM

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The outstanding gift which Adventism has given to my life is shape. Shape in many senses. For that I am enormously grateful.

* * *

My journey towards the Adventist church originated really before I was born, in a theatre of war. My father had served in the British army in WWII in the Mediterranean. I was born a year or so after he returned. He came back wanting to find something which would make some sense of what he had so recently witnessed. He wanted to find some strength to live in a difficult post-war world. Not finding it in the local Church of England, he happened upon an evangelistic meeting run by Seventh-day Adventists, who were at the time a marginal sect in the UK. The very name was a problem.

Nevertheless, the church provided some sense of place in the grand scheme of things. He had just had first-hand experience of a world-wide conflict. The meetings highlighted the rise and fall of nations and empires in a biblical context. He was impressed and eventually joined the small group of Adventists. More than that, the Sabbath provided a resting place after the rigors of war and a shape for every week.

The church also provided a small local community to which to belong in an anonymous suburb of London. It was a safe space. To be sure, there were some eccentrics among the 60 or so members but there were serious and friendly people too. My father, like so many others, was hungry for some warmth in an impersonal, shell-shocked, decimated world. And so, we became Sabbath observers at a time when it was a very strange thing to do. My father believed the benefits outweighed the costs. My mother was less sure—especially about the 10% church ‘tax’ when money was very short. But, in time, the church became our happy place.

The Sabbath School lessons took the whole business of studying seriously which suited my studious nature. The mission stories told of exotic places which might just as well have been on another planet. But they slowly lifted my sights beyond the horizon of my neighborhood. I liked the singing too. I was shy and these people were gentle with me. I came to see a difference from my Monday-to-Friday world in state elementary and high schools.

Some of what I heard seemed a bit crazy. Some of the behavioral norms were a bit restrictive. But there was a trade-off between pros and cons and usually I found that the pros won. This was because the people were non-judgemental. I was accepted for who I was.

And then, gradually, there were the occasional excursions into the larger Adventist world. A few camps, some regional get-togethers. There I got a wider perspective on what Adventism was all about. And I met some Adventists of my own age, in my stage of education, with similar interests. It was a relief after being in a small church with few peers. The high point was a great excursion on a church-run touring camp to Norway. Fjords, towering mountains, the clearest mountain water, pure air. A whole new world. A new shape. I wanted more.

By this time, I was in my second year at a secular university. No question of an Adventist education. Not another Adventist in sight among the thousands. And slowly I came to feel that the church was not growing with me. It was precisely at this critical moment I met Helen. At a time when my grip on the church was slackening, I met the one who was to become my soul mate for life. It was just two weeks after my father died—too young. The Lord gives, the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

* * *

I mention all this not because I think you will be particularly interested in my life story but because readers may find echoes of their own. A safe personal space. A place which gave some meaning to life. A place which took my serious self seriously. A window on a larger world beyond my London Street.

* * *

But there was something else. I was attracted to this Jesus whom they talked about so much. He seemed an approachable and authentic human. Were it not for the Adventist church I am not sure that I would have taken faith seriously. I might have turned up at the parish church sometimes, but, beyond that, I would not have taken Jesus seriously. The Church provided me with a starting place on a spiritual quest which goes on even today and which I expect to continue for the rest of my days.

* * *

By a totally unexpected turn of events, Helen and I, now married, were called to teach at Newbold College. I taught some contentious subjects to a wide range of students: philosophy, ethics, sociology. I had no experience of teaching adults. Looking back, it seems to me that the College board, and specifically the College principal, took an enormous risk on me—or acted in faith, whichever you prefer. I had no Adventist pedigree whatsoever, no Adventist education, I was a secular creature who had found the Gospel, or rather been found by it.

* * *

It was at Newbold College that I came to understand and embrace the Gospel in all its fullness. I was teaching but learning far more than I taught. From colleagues deeply imbued with a spirit of Adventism. From students some of whom had been born into Adventism. Eventually there came invitations to speak beyond the U.K., opportunities to travel in most parts of Europe, tasting the many varieties of Adventism. And then to U.S.A. where Adventism seemed a very different creature from what I had grown up with. Different shapes of Adventism. Opportunities came to further my education at secular universities, specifically London and Oxford, all thanks to the generous investment in me by the Church.

* * *

I cannot say that at every turn I sought God’s will. Helen was more schooled in that way of spiritual reflection. But now in later life I can say that I can see a mysterious Providence at work in my life. A divine shape. Mine was an unconventional route to Adventist College teaching. I tried to bring a little freshness of thinking to my students. Some of them had been right through the Adventist educational system and had jaded palates, glad to hear someone speaking Adventism in a different “accent.” Some were not quite sure what to make of me. But the College board and administration gave me unwavering support, which looks all the more remarkable as I look back on it. The Church has given me shape in life when I might well have gone shapeless and drifted. But this should not suggest that it has been straightforward. This brief expression of gratitude cannot conceal the many ups and downs of my journey.

* * *

One of my watchwords comes from the gospel of John, the story of Jesus’s meeting with Nicodemus. I feel some kinship with this man, this “teacher in Israel who does not know these things.” I have been ignorant of so much. Yet, the Lord, through His people in the Church, have sustained me. I have much to be grateful for.

“The wind blows where it wills and you do not know … ”

So, it has been.

Michael Pearson is principal lecturer emeritus at Newbold College in the U.K. For many years he taught topics in ethics, philosophy, and spirituality. He and his wife, Helen, write a weekly blog pearsonsperspectives.com. Email him at: [email protected]

09 Jan

CELEBRATING THE PAST, LOOKING TO THE FUTURE

In

My church has changed. To me, that is a good thing, because life changes, communities change, cultures change, and we need to change to stay alive. Our physical bodies regenerate cells and change continually, so change is a good thing because change sustains life. Only dead things—and ideas—don’t change by renewal. In that case the only change is decay.

One of the changes in the church I personally celebrate is a shift, at least for me, form seeing God as a “Gotcha” God, to a much more compassionate “I’ve got you” God who seeks to save, reassure, and restore. In my childhood and teens, He was taught—and seen by many—as a God who was always looking to find a flaw, scratch, or shortcoming … then gleefully scream, “Gotcha!” Perfection was up to me. Now I see that He is my perfection, not my persecutor. He is my Advocate, not my accuser.

I have seen my church broaden from a rigid rules orientation to a healthier relationship understanding, where we obey the rules from gratitude for what God has already done rather than obedience to just appease Him and keep Him at arm’s distance. The relationships are both vertical—my relationship with God—and horizontal—my relationship with those in the community and family around me. That makes life much more productive and fun than trying to hide from the “Gotcha! God” view of my past. Think of Adam and Eve and their initial actions. Fig leaves … hiding from God … really? No fun, only fear, in that scenario.

I have experienced my church moving from fear filled anti-intellectualism to a point of both appreciating and encouraging deeper study and more training for leadership and gospel work. While finishing college at Union, the then Colorado Conference president visited the school and called me to come to Colorado to pastor as soon as I graduated. While pleased at the invitation, I told him that my aim was to attend the seminary to get all the training possible in preparation for pastoral work. His surprising response was, “Why do you want to go to the cemetery? Come to Colorado as soon as you graduate.”  A year later, when he visited me at the seminary, he asked, “Now that you have been at the cemetery a year, do you still want to be a pastor?” I could only smile (outwardly) and assure him my calling had not dimmed but brightened by my expanding educational experiences.

Today, after years of gradual change, pastors are encouraged to get all the education they can. This is not to say that only those with higher education can serve. All can serve God, but having a sharper instrument makes cutting through Gordian knots much easier.

I have seen the concept and practice of ministry broaden into wider and new specializations because of the church’s recognition that mission fields are not just in distant countries but are all around us in unique and varied settings. When I went on active duty as an Army chaplain, I was the thirteenth Adventist chaplain serving in all the armed services at that time. It is a good thing that I am not a superstitious person, but I was still aware of the number. Today there are 145 active-duty and reserve  Adventist military chaplains, all of whom have been at the seminary, none of whom are at the “cemetery.” it has been my privilege to see, and help, the various chaplaincies of the Adventist church expand exponentially here in North America, and around the globe. It brings a smile to my face and cheer to my heart.

Not everyone saw my chaplaincy as a positive thing. Several times, different Seventh-day Adventist pastors asked, “What made you decide to leave the ministry?” My standard reply was to ask them who had signed their ministerial credentials. Their response was, “The Union President, of course!” At that, I pulled out my denominational credentials—signed by the General Conference President—and commented that perhaps I was still in ministry after all. Then we could have a hearty laugh together.

Another positive change I have seen our denomination embrace (largely but unfortunately not totally) is the professional ministry of women in both local and wider fields of service. If we honestly believe we have a message to share with the world, including our own local churches and communities, why would we limit potential messengers by 60% because of gender? In North America, 60% of our members are women.

One of the major gifts the church has given to me, and continues to give, is the richness of relationships and friendships that are both decades long, and some only hours long. Those friendships build bonds like none other on earth. The friendships transcend issues and discomforts. They offer a unique stability through time. For that, I am forever grateful.

I get it. Change is not always welcome. We get used to the comfort and familiarity of the past. Newness can at times be threateningly uncomfortable. That’s why I still have things in my closet that I will never wear again—and I know it. But it’s comforting to have some relics of the past to remind me of the “good times.” But when I can be aware that—today and tomorrow—are the good times, I am energized and joyful to embrace them while still recalling, and at times laughing, at the past. That mind set helps me see every day as a Divine present, because every day, every current experience, every change, every breath, and every heartbeat are, indeed, presents from a God who whispers, “I’ve got you! Seize the day. I AM with you, always, to the end of the ages.”

I feel His arms embracing my past and opening new doors into the future, and I smile at the warmth of His love that does not change. My hope is that this continues to be true for my church, my family, and my friends too.

That makes me joyful and gives me ongoing hope.

Dick Stenbakken, Ed.D., retired Army Chaplain (Col.), served as director of Adventist Chaplaincy Services at the General Conference and North American Division. With his wife Ardis, he lives in Loveland, Colorado. Email him at: [email protected]

09 Jan

TWO DEGREES OF SEPARATION AND THE MANY CONNECTIONS OF ADVENTISM

In

In our quest to connect with and love our neighbors, my family and I have had many cool and moving experiences, but something that happened just recently left me perhaps smiling the most.

Back in September, an elderly couple in our neighborhood sent out an email to everyone in the neighborhood—via our neighborhood email list—wondering if anyone would be gone during Thanksgiving and asking if they could perhaps “AirBNB” out their home on behalf of their daughter, who would be in town for the Thanksgiving season. After my wife and I chatted about it, we decided we could make it work and offered to rent out our place to the elderly couple during the week of Thanksgiving.

A couple weeks before Thanksgiving, we held an “Open House” in our home, inviting all our neighbors to join us for a night of fellowship and connection. The elderly couple came and I chatted with the husband for a little while. In the course of our conversation, he shared with me that he and his wife had gone to Notre Dame for college, and his wife was from South Bend, Indiana. I told him that my wife and I had gone to college just up the road from South Bend, in a little town called “Berrien Springs,” and he said to me, “Oh, yes. We know Berrien Springs. My wife had some family who lived there, I believe.”

A few days later, when the couple returned to our home so we could show them around in anticipation of their daughter’s stay, the wife, Pam, immediately launched into something she excitedly wanted to ask. “You guys went to Andrews, did you? I had two nieces who went there.” I had forgotten that I had talked with her husband about it a few days before, and was initially confused by her question, not expecting that a non-Adventist neighbor in Portland, Maine, would know anything about little Andrews University in little Berrien Springs, Michigan.

“Andrews University?” I clarified (realizing that I’ve had people in the past confuse it with St. Andrews University). “Yes,” she said with a gleam in her eye. “My two nieces went there. I’m wondering if you perhaps knew them. They were twins.”

Finally, I asked her the names of her two nieces, and when she said their names, I nearly fell to the floor. Not only did I know them, having gone to Andrews with them some 25 years before, I very much had a romantic interest in one of them when I was a freshman (this isn’t breaking news, since I shared this with her 25 years before, and was now explaining it to her aunt 25 years later).

It was such a surreal moment, especially since I haven’t talked with the nieces in almost 25 years! And I very much I realized that the “two degrees of separation” in Adventism had struck yet again.

Incidentally, it’s not the only “Adventist” connection in my neighborhood. I learned the first time I met another one of our neighbors that his dad and step-mom are Adventists as well, who live in Hagerstown, Maryland. I’ve subsequently met the parents when they visited, and learned we have a number of mutual friends, including another one of my good Andrews schoolmates who used to spend a lot of time at their house when he was classmates with their daughter at Highland View Academy.

Of course, none of this is surprising to a seasoned Adventist (though what’s surprising to me is how we’ve made these connections with non-Adventists in one of America’s most secular cities). Whenever I meet a fellow Adventist for the first time, we spend half the time trying to figure out our mutual Adventist connections (“Oh, do you know so-and-so? She graduated from Andrews in 2002.” Or, “You work at AdventHealth? Do you know so-and-so?”), knowing there will almost always be someone we discover we both know.

And that is actually one of my favorite features of Adventism. There are many reasons for it—from our education system to our hospitals to our camp meetings and prayer conferences and religious publications. But, for whatever reason, Adventism is truly one big, global family, allowing us to go just about anywhere in the world and meet someone who knows someone we know. Whenever we travel, we can go to a local Adventist church and have “instant family” (partly because we have instant credibility when we can note our mutual connections).

Of course, to be clear, one of our biggest strengths can also be one of our biggest weaknesses. Because we are so closely connected, many of us can get so comfortable in the “bubble” that we virtually never leave it, at least to any significant degree. We end up only ever spending time with ourselves. We can go to Adventist schools from kindergarten to grad school, then work at an Adventist hospital or school or supporting ministry, and attend an Adventist church every Sabbath, and basically never have to spend any extended time with anyone outside our Adventist “bubble.”

This is a huge problem, in my estimation, that needs to be fully confronted and challenged—and it’s why I’ve not only committed myself to personally busting out of the “bubble,” but also spending the bulk of the time I devote to ministry to Adventists encouraging them to follow suit. Truly, I’ve found so much life and energy and fulfillment in life outside the “bubble,” and believe that God calls us to embody his love to those who aren’t already consciously familiar with it.

With all that said, and despite the ways we perhaps take it a little too far, Adventism has captured—or maybe just fallen into—what I think is the whole purpose of the story that God has invited us into. We were created, I do believe, for community, for fellowship, for connection. This is the whole goal of the gospel project—to restore relationships and bring us into family together.

And this family was to be a multi-ethnic, multi-generational, multi-linguistic community, tearing down the boundaries and barriers that sin has erected. This is, after all, what John sees in his vision of that “great multitude” in Revelation, a group which no person could never, consisting of people from all nations, tribes, peoples, and tongues (Revelation 7:9).

Thus, Adventism, when it’s at its best, epitomizes this grand vision. And it’s this feature of Adventism that I’m most grateful for and excited about.

Shawn Brace is a pastor, church planter, and author in Portland, Maine, and a DPhil Candidate at Oxford University. You can subscribe to his weekly newsletter at shawnbrace.substack.com Contact him at: [email protected]

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