The Man Who Kept Two Mailboxes

In 1943, a Norwegian farmer named Halvor Knudsen maintained two mailboxes at the end of his lane outside Trondheim. One bore a small Norwegian flag sticker. The other displayed the emblem of the Nasjonal Samling, the Nazi collaborationist party. When resistance fighters passed his farm, Halvor spoke warmly of Norwegian freedom. When German patrols came through, he offered them coffee and smiled beneath their banner. He told himself he was being prudent, keeping his family safe. His neighbors had a different word for it.

One October morning, both groups arrived at the same hour. Halvor stood in his doorway, mouth open, saying nothing. His silence told everyone exactly where he stood — nowhere at all. The resistance never trusted him again. The Germans never fully trusted him either. By trying to belong to both sides, Halvor belonged to no one, not even himself.

On Mount Carmel, Elijah looked out at a nation doing precisely this — maintaining two altars, hedging every spiritual bet, limping between Yahweh and Baal like a man with one foot on the dock and one in a drifting boat. "How long will you waver between two opinions?" he demanded. And the people, like Halvor in his doorway, said nothing. Scripture reminds us that the most dangerous place to stand is nowhere — that the God who sent fire from heaven asks not for our caution, but for our whole heart.