And now for something completely different.

Or maybe it's just another facet of the same jewel.

The Westminster Shorter Catechism, in all its Britishness, can be rather lofty and metaphysical and impersonal, as can I. Hence, it begins with the question about the "chief end of man," out there in the universe somewhere, rather than a question about me. Hence, I struggle with knowing God personally and "enjoying him forever."

But Westminster was not the only assembly in the reformation that sent its confessions to the New World. The Heidelberg Catechism was the first to reach the shores of Manhattan in 1609 because it was the part of the doctrinal standard for the reformed churches in Holland and Germany. As compared to the stiff upper lip of Westminster, these questions and answers are like personal letters, sometimes love letters, from The Almighty. All the questions are addressed to "you," and all the answers are from "I" and "my."

The first may be my favorite:

Question 1. What is thy only comfort in life and death?

Answer: That I with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ; who, with his precious blood, has fully satisfied for all my sins, and delivered me from all the power of the devil; and so preserves me that without the will of my heavenly Father, not a hair can fall from my head; yea, that all things must be subservient to my salvation, and therefore, by his Holy Spirit, He also assures me of eternal life, and makes me sincerely willing and ready, henceforth, to live unto him.

I'll probably write more in the next couple of weeks to break this down into bite-sized pieces, but for now, notice how many times you see the words, "I" and "me" and "my"--indeed the notion that God has made "all things" in the universe second place to your personal salvation.

I was thinking about it tonight, and it reminds me a little of when I first read "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" from the Chronicles of Narnia to my daughter. She was only 4 or 5 at the time and barely up to paying attention to a chapter book night after night. But the thing that hooked her in was when I substituted her name for the name of Lucy, the youngest of the children in the book. It is Lucy, the youngest, who discovers the wardrobe, who remains steadfast in her faith in the magic when her siblings doubt her, and who remains faithful to Aslan, the Lion, even in his sacrifice and death. With my daughter's name in the book, the story became personal.

And that's kind of the point. Your name is in The Book. It is personal. It is your story. It is as if the book says,

"If God is for [me], who can be against [me]? 32He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for [me]—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give [me] all things? . . . 38For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate [me] from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:31-32, 38-39.

If God created us to glorify him, he also has made us the center of his own, personal love story. And we are redeemed as a result. Why? How, exactly? Why not some other way or some other person or creature? That's way above my pay grade, I'm sure. But even my little child brain can pay attention when I know I'm in the book.

Now, go run. See you next week.