Seeking God

A writer admits that secularism still hasn’t found an alternative to belief in God. Lauren Jackson writes, “I knew the potency of believing, really believing, that I had a certain place in the cosmos. That I was eternally loved. That life made sense. Or that it would, one day, for sure. I had that, and I left it all.

I spent my 20s worshiping at the altar of work and, in my free time, testing secular ideas for how to live well. I built a community. I volunteered. I cared for my nieces and nephews. I pursued wellness. I paid for workout classes on Sunday mornings, practiced mindfulness, went to therapy, visited saunas and subscribed to meditation apps. I tried book clubs and running clubs. I cobbled together moral instruction from books on philosophy and whatever happened to move me on Instagram. Nothing has felt quite like [the religion of my childhood].

Jackson concludes:

But I don’t feel I can go back… I’ve been steeped in secularism for a decade, and I can no longer access the uncritical belief I once felt… [But] my spiritual longing persists — and it hasn’t been sated by secularism. I want a god… I still want it all to be true: miracles, souls, some sort of cosmic alchemy that makes sense of the chaos.

For years, I haven’t been able to say that publicly. But it feels like something is changing. That maybe the culture is shifting. That maybe we’re starting to recognize that it’s possible to be both believing and discerning after all.

The movie, Barbie (2023), is a fantasy/comedy about a group of dolls who live in the perfect world of "Barbieland." One night, the dolls are having a dance party when Barbie starts thinking about the uncomfortable reality of death.

All the barbies are dancing to pop music in the barbie dream house saying, “Oh, isn’t this the most beautiful day! Aren’t we the most beautiful people? Doesn’t it feel like this is just going to go on like this forever?” And then the main Barbie, Margot Robbie’s character says, “Do you guys ever think about dying?” and the record scratches and the music stops. The other Barbies stare at her aghast and angry, as if to say, that topic doesn’t belong in Barbieland. And Barbie kind of covers it up and says, “I’m just dying... to keep dancing!” and the music plays and the Barbies go back to their fantasy world.

The next morning, Barbie wakes up with bad breath, cellulite, and flat feet. The rest of the movie is about her quest to discover what it means to be alive outside of perfect Barbieland.

Preaching Angle: Just like in Barbieland, it can be uncomfortable to bring up the topic of death. But we need to face the reality of death to grow spiritually and emotionally.

Clip available here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImFQpKImJqQ

Billy Collins, the former poet Laurette of the United States, was recently asked by The New York Times Book Review, "How has the internet changed your writing?" Collins responded:

The internet asks us to speed up. Poetry invites us to slow down. I write with a pencil and paper, then use the computer only as a fancy typewriter. So, no change really, except in [the internet’s] role as the most persistent distraction in human history.

Possible Preaching Angles:

(1) Distractions; Prayer—Of course there are many other distractions that can keep us from slowing down and being with God. (2) Bible reading and meditation—The Bible also invites us to slow down and listen to God speaking to us.

In a culture that feels increasingly disconnected, here’s something surprisingly encouraging: Nearly half of Americans still pray every single day.

According to new data from Pew Research, 44% of U.S. adults say they pray at least once a day, and another 23% say they pray weekly or a few times a month. That means two-thirds of the country still turns to prayer with some regularity—a practice that remains deeply embedded in American life.

Prayer habits also vary by race, gender, and age. Black Americans are the most likely to pray daily (64%), while women are more likely than men (50% vs. 37%). Older adults continue to lead the way in daily prayer, while younger generations are less consistent—but still showing up.

For many Americans, prayer isn’t just a habit—it’s a lifeline.

As pastor and theologian Tim Keller once wrote, “Prayer is the way to experience a powerful confidence that God is handling our lives well, that our bad things will turn out for good, our good things cannot be taken from us, and the best things are yet to come.”

In a time when faith trends often point to decline, this data is a reminder that spiritual rhythms haven’t disappeared—they’re just shifting.

The billionaire Elon Musk has recently been invoking Christianity as he discusses core beliefs. Raised Anglican in South Africa, young Musk got an early taste of differing religious views attending a Jewish preschool. “I was just singing ‘Hava Nagila’ one day and `Jesus, I Love You’ the next,” he jokes.

As he grew older, Musk has said, he turned to the great religious books—the Bible, Quran, Torah, some Hindu texts—to deal with an existential crisis of meaning. And he looked to philosophers such as Arthur Schopenhauer and Friedrich Nietzsche.

But not until the boy discovered science fiction, he says, did he begin to find what he was looking for. In particular, he says, it was the lesson he took away from the “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” that the purpose of life wasn’t so much about finding the big answers but asking the right questions.

“The answer is the easy part,” Musk said during a public event. “The question is the hard part.”

Recent tweets have included: “Jesus taught love, kindness, and forgiveness. I used to think that turning the other cheek was weak & foolish, but I was the fool for not appreciating its profound wisdom.”

And: “While I’m not a particularly religious person, I do believe that the teachings of Jesus are good and wise.”

Describing himself as “cultural Christian,” Musk indicated his guiding belief goes back to that of seeking greater understanding. “That is my religion, for the lack of a better way to describe it, it’s really a religion of curiosity,” he said. “The religion of greater enlightenment.”

An article on the website First Things advocates one simple way to improve your prayer life—stop multitasking. David Ousley writes:

Multitasking is not your friend. The whole idea of multitasking as something good is based on the assumption that life is about getting things done. I admit that the world often operates as though this were the case. ... But it is false. Human life, and Christian life, is more about love than about accomplishments.

If we cultivate distractedness, as, for example, by multitasking, then we will bring distractedness to our prayer. If, on the other hand, we cultivate attention, this will bear fruit at the time of prayer. I would suggest therefore that we renounce multitasking, and strive to do one thing at a time, so far as that is possible.

Every year, YouVersion announces which Bible verses are the most shared, bookmarked, and highlighted by its users. The list often includes the classics like Jeremiah 29:11 or John 3:16, but this year, the app announced that Philippians 4:6 took the top spot.

The Scripture reads: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”

Yeah, that checks out for 2024.

YouVersion founder and CEO Bobby Gruenewald believes this verse’s popularity shows that people are regularly turning to God when they face stress and daily struggles.

Gruenewald said, ‘In many cases, our anxiety comes from holding onto worries that we aren’t meant to carry. To me, this verse being sought out the most this year is an illustration that our community is seeking God in prayer and choosing to trust Him to carry their burdens—and we’re seeing that supported in the data.’

It had cluttered up Jack Harris's dining table for almost eight years. Nevertheless, the 86-year-old was determined to finish his five-foot long, 5,000-piece jigsaw. And when he thought the painstaking process was complete, he stood back to admire his work, only to find one piece was missing. Mr. Harris has searched his home for the missing piece but his family fears one of their two dogs has swallowed it.

They have even asked the puzzle's manufacturer if they could provide a spare, but Mr. Harris has taken so long to complete the jigsaw that Falcon Games has stopped making it.

His daughter-in-law, Eve Harris, who gave him the jigsaw as a Christmas present, said she thought it would be a challenge for the retired businessman. Mr. Harris is given a new jigsaw every year, and usually finishes them by spring. But this puzzle was to prove different.

He said he started the jigsaw, which shows the 19th century oil painting The Return of The Prodigal Son by James Tissot, as usual. But eight years later he was still struggling to finish it.

Eve said,

We got him this one as a bit of a joke really, because he always boasted he could get them done so quickly, he's a bit of a whiz with them. It was marvelous to see it finally completed. But when we saw there was a piece missing from the middle, we just couldn't believe it. He was just so disappointed when he found one bit was missing. It's sad really because now it will never be completed.

Possible Preaching Angles:

There are at least three possible ways to use this illustration: 1) Maybe as a wince-inducing look at disappointment in life. 2) Maybe the whole "building a life yet there's a God-shaped hole" sort of thing. 3) Maybe even as a metaphor for Body life (every part is important).

Admit it. We’ve all dreamed of escaping our daily routine and walking off into the wilderness to explore the great unknown. The truth is, we all need a bit of time by ourselves every once in a while, and that’s exactly what luxury travel agency Black Tomato are offering.

Their “Get Lost” service is the ultimate trip for anyone looking to get away from it all—especially if your idea of fun is being deposited in the middle of nowhere with only a backpack, a GPS tracker, and a toothbrush. Travelers are then tasked with the daunting job of navigating their way back towards civilization—a challenging but ultimately rewarding experience for those hoping to embrace their inner nomad.

Black Tomato introduced the concept—a kind of a blind date for vacations with “Survivor” elements—in 2017. Cofounder Tom Marchan, who came up with the idea of getting clients “lost,” thought of it as he considered ways to help people truly relax in an age of digital distractions. He said: “Could we create an experience that requires total mental and physical focus? By being totally distracted, it’s almost impossible for them to think about the day-to-day, everything at home.”

With Black Tomato’s guidance, travelers can choose how lost they want to feel, and how surprised they want to be by their destination. In most cases, travelers don’t know where they’re going until they receive flight information; if they fly private, they might step off a plane with no clue where they are.

For Esther Spengler the only requirements she had were going somewhere warm and far away from the United States. Spengler saved up for the 10-day trip to Morocco, which she said cost roughly $13,000. Her adventure began when she flew to Marrakesh and continued by car into the mountains. After a couple of days of training—learning navigation, fire-starting, and how to put up her own shelter—Spengler was on her own for three days.

Despite bloodied toenails and a tricky time setting up her tarp shelter, Spengler was thrilled with the experience. “It turned out really, really incredible and so much more than I could imagine,” she said.

Possible Preaching Angles:

1) Experiencing God; Trusting God – God often calls us to step out of our comfort zone into unknown territory and trust in him alone—Abraham was called to a place he did not know (Heb. 11:8); Peter was called to step out of the boat and walk on water (Matt. 14:28). 2) Solitude; Seeking God – We also need times of solitude and withdrawal from life’s busyness to focus on God alone (1 Kings 19:12; Psa. 27:8).

Brian Grazer, Hollywood producer of such movies as Apollo 13, Splash, and A Beautiful Mind, writes:

More than intelligence, or persistence or connections, curiosity has allowed me to live the life I wanted. And yet for all the value that curiosity has brought to my life and work, when I look around, I don’t see people talking about it, writing about it, encouraging it, and using it nearly as widely as they could.

Curiosity seems so simple. Innocent even. Labrador retrievers are charmingly curious. Porpoises are playfully, mischievously curious. A two-year-old going through the kitchen cabinets is exuberantly curious—and delighted at the noisy entertainment value of her curiosity. Every person who types a query into Google’s search engine and presses ENTER is curious about something—and that happens 6 million times a minute, every minute of every day.

Possible Preaching Angle

Brian Grazer writes about curiosity in a way that might remind us of how Jesus habitually piqued curiosity in others, whether it was the woman at the well or the disciples imagining a camel squeezing through the eye of a needle. Curiosity can be what enables the searcher to find the life they are looking for in Jesus Christ.

We may sometimes toss around the expression "faith like a child." Maybe we should ask South Carolina toddler Sutton Whitt what she thinks of that phrase. Sutton's parents put her to bed without saying bedtime prayers with her first. There was a championship football game on, and they were in a bit of a hurry to say goodnight and get back to the TV.

So, what did Sutton do? She said her prayers herself. Sutton's mom told CNN that she and her husband "started hearing noises upstairs," so they turned on the baby monitor to discover Sutton praying and thanking God for all sorts of people: grandparents, parents, Santa Claus. Her prayer closed "with a resounding 'Amen.'" It's a beautiful example of how "to give thanks in all things."

You can watch the video here.

One icy night in March 2010, 100 marketing experts piled into the Sea Horse Restaurant in Helsinki. They had the modest goal of making a remote and medium-sized country a world-famous tourist destination. The problem was that Finland was known as a rather quiet country, and the Country Brand Delegation had been looking for a national brand that would make some noise.

The experts puzzled over the various strengths of their nation. Here was a country with exceptional teachers, an abundance of wild berries and mushrooms, and a vibrant cultural capital the size of Nashville, Tennessee. These things fell a bit short of a compelling national identity. Someone proposed that perhaps quiet wasn’t such a bad thing. That got them thinking.

A few months later, the delegation issued a slick “Country Brand Report.” It highlighted a host of marketable themes, (but) one key theme was brand new: silence. As the report explained, modern society often seems intolerably loud and busy. “Silence is a resource,” it said. It could be marketed just like clean water or berries. “In the future, people will be prepared to pay for the experience of silence.”

People already do. In a loud world, silence sells. Noise-canceling headphones retail for hundreds of dollars; the cost of some weeklong silent meditation courses can run into the thousands. Finland saw that it was possible to quite literally make something out of nothing.

The next year, the Finnish Tourist Board released a series of photographs of lone figures in the wilderness, with the caption “Silence, Please.” Eva Kiviranta, who manages social media for VisitFinland.com, explains “We decided, instead of saying that it’s really empty and really quiet and nobody is talking about anything here, let’s embrace it and make it a good thing.”

Possible Preaching Angle:

The Bible also emphasizes the need for occasional restful silence in our pursuit of God. Prayer (Luke 5:16), seeking God’s will before making decisions (Luke 6:12), and rest from a busy ministry (Mark 6:31) all led Jesus to model withdrawal to quiet places (Matt. 14:13).

Kenneth E. Bailey, who spent 40 years living and teaching New Testament in Egypt, Lebanon, Jerusalem, and Cyprus, writes:

While living in the south of Egypt, a group of friends and I traveled deep into the Sahara Desert by camel. As our trek began, the temperature soared to above 110° Fahrenheit in the shade, and there was no shade. On our way, one goat-skin water bag leaked all of its precious contents. With consumption high due to the heat, we ran out of water, and for a day and a half we pressed on while enduring intense thirst.

The goal of the excursion was a famous well named Bir Shaytoun, deep in the desert. Our guide promised us that it was never dry — ah, but could we survive to reach its life-giving liquid silver? My mouth became completely dry, and eating was impossible, because swallowing felt like the rubbing of two pieces of sandpaper together. My vision became blurred, and the struggle to keep moving became harder with each step. We knew that if the well was dry, our armed guards would probably have forcibly seized our three baggage camels, and ridden them back to the valley, leaving the rest of us to die.

As I staggered on, my mind turned to this verse ["Blessed are those who … thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled"]. I knew that I had never sought righteousness with the same single-minded passion that I now gave to the quest for water.

Editor’s Note: The group did manage to stagger to the well, and it was full of “the wine of God,” as water is named by desert tribesmen in the Middle East.

In an article written by Neil McArthur at the University of Manitoba, he said:

We are about to witness the birth of a new kind of religion. In the next few years, or even months, we will see the emergence of sects devoted to the worship of artificial intelligence (AI). The latest generation of AI-powered chatbots have left their early users awestruck —and sometimes terrified — by their power. These are the same sublime emotions that lie at the heart of our experience of the divine.

People already seek religious meaning from very diverse sources. For instance, there are multiple religions that worship extra-terrestrials. As these chatbots come to be used by billions of people, it is inevitable that some of these users will see the AIs as higher beings. There are several pathways by which AI religions will emerge:

First, some people will come to see AI as a higher power. Generative AI that can create new content possesses several characteristics that are often associated with divine beings:

1. It displays a level of intelligence that goes beyond that of most humans. Indeed, its knowledge appears limitless.

2. It is capable of great feats of creativity. It can write poetry, compose music, and generate art.

3. It is removed from normal human concerns and needs. It does not suffer physical pain, hunger, or sexual desire.

4. It can offer guidance to people in their daily lives.

5. It is immortal.

Second, generative AI will produce output that can be taken for religious doctrine. It will provide answers to metaphysical and theological questions, and engage in the construction of complex worldviews.

Third, generative AI itself may ask to be worshipped or may actively solicit followers. We have already seen such cases, like when the chatbot used by the search engine Bing tried to convince a user to fall in love with it.

Finally, AI worship poses several notable risks. The chatbots may ask their followers to do dangerous or destructive things, or followers may interpret their statements as calls to do such things.

Possible Preaching Angle:

False Religion; Idols; Idolatry; Technology – Since the Garden of Eden humans have been vulnerable to being lured away from worship of the true God. The sad history of mankind is filled with the creation and worship of idols made by human hands.

Claire Diaz-Ortiz was born and raised in Berkeley, California, a town famous for its leftist political history. She was eager to find people who shared her faith, but her small Presbyterian church seemed to lose members every Sunday.

But I had (church) camp. Every summer my parents shipped me off to Westminster Woods among the redwoods of Northern California. Those weeks of music and fellowship kept me grounded in faith.

For several years at camp, I had learned about what it would mean to accept Christ into my heart. I had heard, but I hadn’t been ready. Until the summer I was 12. One night, wondering what it would mean if no God existed at all, I made my decision. A simple solo prayer on the steps of my cabin sealed the deal.

For the next dozen years, Claire’s faith rose and fell. Some years she felt connected to God. Other years she just went through the motions. She continued going to church and attended a small group Bible study, but Claire said, “I still wasn’t all in.”

She and a friend spent 2006 traveling the world. They visited 19 countries in Asia, Africa, and Europe, including climbing to Everest Base Camp. There altitude sickness struck her and she had to descend to a lower altitude to regain clear-headedness. But that didn’t stop Claire and her friend from attempting to climb Mount Kenya, the second-highest peak in Africa.

In Nairobi they decided to move on to a guesthouse near the base of the mount which was cheap and owned by a nearby orphanage. The next morning, Claire was surprised to see that the orphanage had sent a bus, their only vehicle, on the eight-hour journey to bring them to the guesthouse.

When we arrived, we were told that the elders had invited us to lunch. It was in the middle of lunch that life as I knew it changed. I had felt the stirring of something I couldn’t explain. I asked to use the restroom.

Looking into the bathroom mirror, I asked God to come into my life and heart again, as I had done all those years before. Then I went further, asking him a question: “If you put this orphanage in our road for a reason, will you open my eyes so I can see the way forward?” In that Kenyan bathroom, all the power of God’s presence entered my heart, telling me to trust. An hour after that, I began to believe that God was telling me to stay at the orphanage.

That moment at the bathroom mirror set my life on an entirely new path—one that led to starting a nonprofit (Hope Runs) and joining a then-tiny startup called Twitter. By sending my first tweets from that orphanage in Kenya, I placed myself early on at the nexus of Twitter. In 2009, when Twitter cofounder Biz Stone offered me a spot at the company, I leaped.

Throughout it all, I have often thought back on that moment in the orphanage bathroom. The moment I became the Christian I was born to be. The moment where I fell, headlong. All in.

Editor’s Note: Claire Diaz-Ortiz is an author, speaker and Silicon Valley innovator who was an early employee at Twitter. She was named one of the 100 Most Creative People in Business by Fast Company.

In the horror of 9/11, Charles H. Featherstone turned from Islam to Christianity. In an issue of Christianity Today he shared his story:

Although both of his parents were raised as Lutherans, his mother never had much use for religion, and his father lost his faith in God in the jungles of South Vietnam. When his father left the army, the family settled down in Southern California where Charles attended school. He writes:

I had been on the receiving end of my father’s intense but sporadic violence for years. I learned to both fear and hate him. School quickly became unsafe as well: I was bullied, terrorized, and abused regularly. There was no one to trust. I was frightened, incredibly alone, and increasingly angry. Would anyone ever love and value me?

Searching for something to do with his life he began studying journalism at San Francisco State University. Charles said: “That’s where I found Islam. A friend introduced me to the Qur’an, and I was entranced by its words. The Muslims who first taught me welcomed me as no one else had before.”

But Islam also provided religious and political fuel for his anger. At one mosque he fell in with a group of jihadis. They discussed the texts of revolutionary Islam. One brother went to fight in Bosnia, and Charles wanted to join him. But there was Jennifer, whom he’d met at San Francisco State. There would be no one to care for her. He said, “I belonged to her, and she to me. This was a turning point. The anger that had burned in my soul was beginning to burn itself out.”

He started a journalistic career which eventually took him to offices in Lower Manhattan, right across from the World Trade Center. He was there on the morning of September, 11, 2001.

In the chaos and terror of the streets below, as I looked up at the burning twin towers and watched people tumble to their deaths, life-changing words came to me—words I suddenly heard inside my head: “My love is all that matters, and this is who I am.” I knew then that everything I understood about God, about sin and redemption, about the whole human condition, had changed. What happened was the kind of divine intervention that drove Abraham to leave home, trusting in God’s promises. The kind of force that struck Saul blind on the road to Damascus.

Charles and Jennifer began attending a church in Virginia.

The people showed me that it was the risen Jesus Christ who had spoken to me. They taught me the gospel, proclaiming the forgiveness of sins for the entire world. This is who I had met that horrible day in September. It was Jesus Christ who, in the midst of terror and death, assured me that his love is all that matters.

I belong to Jesus. He saw me and told me to follow. I left everything and obeyed. So, I trust God. For the first time in my life, I know who I am. I know whose I am. And that is all that matters.

Editor’s Note: Charles H. Featherstone is the author of The Love That Matters: Meeting Jesus in the Midst of Terror and Death .

Each morning Alexander Chu awakened to the smell of incense burning offered in front of Buddha statues. His home was like a temple. On each wall hung a Buddha portrait, totaling more than 30 deities throughout the house.

You might think the family lived on a street in Thailand or China yet his home was in Lawrence, Kansas. His father was a science professor with a Guggenheim Award, and his mother was a so-called “tiger mom” who kept the pressure on Andrew and his two sisters for straight A’s.

My Taiwanese family lineage includes generations of Buddhists, so religion was destined to be integral to my identity formation. Yet outside our home, our neighbors pursued an entirely different faith. Somehow, I managed to go through 18 years of life without ever hearing the Good News of Jesus.

In the mid-1990s, Andrew arrived at the University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign. His dorm was full of fervent Christians. These InterVarsity Christian Fellowship students were the first Asian American Christians he had ever met. Andrew said, “Living with them, I began to realize that the Buddhism of my upbringing was not in my heart.”

Growing curious about Christianity during his sophomore year, Andrew asked a friend if he could join him at an IVCF gathering. There for the first time he heard God’s promises declared in worship songs and saw men and women praising him. He joined GIG (Groups Investigating God) and began studying the Gospel of John. Andrew said, “The authority with which Jesus spoke amazed me; it’s as if his words jumped off the pages, addressing me directly.”

Before I could place faith in Jesus, I needed to know there was a rational basis for Christianity’s foundational truths. I attended a retreat sponsored by InterVarsity, where I took an apologetics track. I heard well-founded explanations of the inspiration of Scripture, the problem of evil, and the uniqueness of the gospel. I found that Christianity was the most intellectually stimulating worldview I had ever encountered.

During my junior year I started reading John Stott’s pamphlet “Becoming a Christian.” While reading, I grew convinced of my sin and need to be forgiven. I knelt down committed my life to Christ. I had grown up in a sea of deities, yet never had a relationship with any of them. On that day, I experienced the living God, Emmanuel: “God is with us.” A peace overtook me. That night I became the first Christian in our family’s lineage.

For months he prayed about how to tell his parents what had happened. When he was at home for winter break, he sat in the living room to read Following Jesus Without Dishonoring Your Parents. His father was stunned by his reading choice, but also pleased by the dutiful title of the book. When he asked why Andrew was reading it, he told him that he had become a Christian. His parents insisted that the family religion was Buddhism. Both parents held out hope that he would come to his senses and return to the Buddhist faith.

As the years passed, I started to discern a call to vocational ministry. My parents said that if I followed through with this plan, they would cut me off. Sensing disunity in our home, I decided to stay and care for my father, who was battling heart disease. My presence and devotion built mutual respect and helped preserve our relationship. In God’s timing, my family softened to my hopes of becoming a pastor. My parents continue to share their Buddhist experiences with me, and I continue to share my faith with them. My mom regularly prays to Jesus to bless and protect me.

Editor’s note: Andrew now serves on staff as pastor of outreach at a multisite church in the Chicago suburbs.

Rich Gilson and his wife, Suzanne, purchased a house in Wildwood, New Jersey, about four years ago, and they have been working on additions and renovations to the home during that time. Gilson, who works in home inspections and renovations, was able to start working on the driveway of the house in the area in front of the home’s garage.

Gilson said, “So I start digging. I’m hitting concrete. I'm hitting rock. I'm hitting glass. Then I found these two things, and they look like root balls. I throw them in the soil pile, both of them, thinking they’re just roots.”

As he continued his work outside on Sunday, he came across one of the cylindrical objects again. “I pick it up, and I'm thinking what is this? Why are these things following me, right? I look at the edge, and I think ‘I can see something there.' It looked like paper. So, I started tugging at the edge, and I knew immediately what it was. I thought ‘this is money.’”

The money was wrapped in brown paper. Gilson and his wife began pulling the cylinder apart, and it amounted to rolls of $10 and $20 bills, totaling $1,000. That money would have been worth a lot more at the time: $1,000 in 1934 is the equivalent of more than $22,000 today when accounting for inflation, per the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics.

Gilson said, “So I start to think, OK, either somebody robbed a bank because all these bills came from the same lot,” or he believes that someone may have taken their money out of a bank during the Great Depression in the U.S.

Gilson added that he’s still curious about the money’s story, where it came from and whether someone simply forgot about it. He also hopes that people who see his discovery don’t come looking for more of the money. Gilson said, “Please don’t come to my house with a shovel. I’m trying to finish the house, not make more work for myself.”

Possible Preaching Angle:

This story brings to life Christ's parable of the treasure buried in a field. Like the kingdom of heaven, sometimes the most precious things in the world are hidden from view for a while. God has surprising hidden treasure which only the diligent can find. The kingdom of heaven (Matt. 13:44), godly wisdom (Prov. 2:3-5), and the Word of God (Jer. 15:16) are waiting to be discovered by the earnest seeker.

Tara Edelschick was raised in a home that was loving, loud, and fun, but an undercurrent of anxiety coursed through it all. The world was seen as a scary place. Tara said, “The message of my childhood was clear and insistent: Work, play, and love hard. Stay in control at all times, because something scary is waiting to take you down. I heeded that message into adulthood.”

She went to a great college, found the perfect job, and chose a wonderful husband. She thought to herself, “Weaker souls might need a god, but I needed no such crutch. I can orchestrate the perfect life. But that belief was obliterated when my husband, Scott, died from complications during a routine surgery. Ten days later, I delivered our first child, Sarah, stillborn.”

During the next year, she began a search for God. She visited psychics, read New Age thinkers, and attended meditation classes. Her forays into faith were attempts to make sense of what had happened to her and to control a world in which she had far less control than she thought she had.

Then she started reading the Book of John with a friend. Tony was the only Christian she knew who didn’t try to explain away the loss of her husband and baby. He said that if she would just read the Bible, God would do the convincing. So, they read the Bible together over the phone on Saturday mornings.

Tara writes,

I especially loved the story of (Jesus and) Lazarus. Unlike the Eastern philosophies that maintain that suffering is the result of our attachments, this story was about a man who was unashamedly attached. A man who behaved as though death was not natural. As though everything was broken, and that the sane response was to snort and weep. I loved that man.

After months of reading the Bible, Tara had to admit what she had fought so long to resist: She was hungry for Jesus. For the Jesus who hung out with whores, who wept when his friend died, and who claimed to be the Way, the Truth, and the Life. She said, “All of my searching for something in which to place my faith … led me to God who offered me himself in the form of Jesus. I didn’t have to find him or explain him; I just had to say yes.”

After that, Tara returned to school to study childhood bereavement. She married a wonderful man, and they had two beautiful sons. After getting married, she facilitated a support group for surviving parents whose spouse had died, and taught a class at Harvard on bereavement. She often found herself the repository for stories of loss, told in lowered voices at parties and grocery stores.

She says,

I try to listen deeply as people share those stories, nodding in agreement with how awful it is. I bear their story and, in so doing, remind them that they are not alone. These days when I sit with the broken and mourning, I pray for God’s love to do what I cannot: to bind up the wounded places, leaving their scars to bear witness of the power of both loss and love.

In a review of Timothy Keller’s book, Prayer: Experiencing Awe and Intimacy with God, Jen Michel writes:

One summer, my husband and I wanted to teach one of our youngest sons, age 6, to ride his bike. His twin brother, Colin, had already mastered the skill and was nearly keeping up with his older brother. But despite our cajoling—“It’s fun to ride a bike!” Andrew could not see the merit of potentially skinning his knees, and our attempts ended in his vain tears.

Then suddenly, in early August our little boy outgrew his fears. Nearly instantaneously, the mechanics of balancing, steering, and simultaneously pedaling became almost easy. The fears and tears dissolved, and Andrew forgot that riding a bike had ever been hard.

When it comes to prayer, most of us feel clumsy. We don’t recall someone running alongside us, shouting instructions as we learned. Instead, most of us found our balance by a hodge-podge of imitation and experimentation. Once we’ve learned to ride a bike, we can be sure we’re doing it right. Can anything remotely similar be said about prayer?

In his book, Prayer: Experiencing Awe and Intimacy with God, Timothy Keller invites readers to systematically learn to pray. Keller asserts that prayer depends on both grace and effort. He gently reminds us, there are no perfect prayers or perfect pray-ers. He says, “All prayer is impure, corrupted by our ignorance and willful sin.” We should try and yet can fail at prayer—an encouraging piece of news, when we remember that grace is there to sustain us.

As Keller concedes, “[Sometimes] you won’t feel that you’re making any progress at all, [and fellowship with God] maybe episodic.” But when your prayers are lifted toward a God of grace, at just the unexpected moment, you find that you know how to pedal, and that you are headed toward home.