The view is a gift. Spectacular at times, really.
Every morning upon arriving at my downtown office, I usually glance out an east-facing window toward the 100-story John Hancock Tower, the Chicago skyline and beyond. For more than two decades, I have relished a city view of sunrises, sunsets, lightning and snowstorms. Better than that, I have seen the lake.
Amazingly, through two office moves, I have managed to hang on to a sliver of the nation's third largest body of water. There is never a time when Lake Michigan is less than awe-inspiring. I will miss it.
The rumble of machinery across the street and ten floors down assures me that my personal scenery is about to change. Footings are now drilled and poured. A central cement core that will not be denied rises steadily off the street. Already, the red wire of a crane cable dangles over my lake view.
The signs are everywhere, as they are unstoppable. The window is closing.
I had a parallel epiphany recently. A wise and trusted friend suggested the rumble of America's cultural machinery is about to change the moral scenery for Christians—in specific and drastic ways.
The signs are everywhere, as they appear to be unstoppable. The window on our long-cherished views of freedom of religion and speech is closing.
What, then? Shall we circle the wagons, hunker down and bemoan our loss?
No.
The landscape is changing and we may not like the darkened view. But as shadows lengthen, Paul says, “prove yourselves to be blameless and innocent, children of God above reproach in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you appear as lights in the world” (Philippians 2:15).
Here's praying that as America races further into a tunnel of moral and spiritual darkness, you and I will be found on the other side—still shining.