Tent Pegs

Moving Day

2006-12-29T20:14:00.000-05:00

Tentpegs is now found at www.patrickmead.net/tentpegs. Please re-set your bookmarks. See you there!

Post Christmas Blues?

2006-12-26T11:08:00.000-05:00

[Note: sometime in the next week or two, this blog and patrickmead.blogspot.com will be moving to patrickmead.net, a new site run by theobloggers]

So, the papers are in the trash, half the gifts are broken or being returned, and the leftovers are piling up in the fridge. Welcome to "Christmas: the day after." In the UK (that's 'United Kingdom, not 'University of Kentucky'), this is Boxing Day. It gets that name because.... well, I'm not sure, but it's still a holiday and that counts, bucko.

A lot of people feel letdown about now. The perfect holiday they wanted didn't come to pass, or they had a good day but now the real world is pressing in on them, demanding their presence at the office, reminding them that the tree and lights will need to come down soon, and that summer is a long, long time away.

When I was a boy my father felt that Christmas was an evil pagan, Catholic plot. Even to this day he preaches against it. I tried to talk to him a few times about it, but that didn't go well. If people sent us Christmas cards, they were thrown in the trash or returned to sender. If someone from the church or my school gave me a present, it had to be given back with a sermonette on why Christmas was evil. I adored the lights, trees, tinsel, and songs but felt like I was making God sad by doing so. I can remember sneaking a few minutes of TV, watching "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" or bits of the Andy Williams family Christmas special. I wanted to live in those stories. I wanted to be adopted by the Williams.

For those of you who spent Christmas alone, for those who are sad and depressed today, and for those who mourn how poorly your family gets along with each other, let me say "let not your heart be troubled." Take some steps to get out of the funk you find yourself in. Turn the lights on -- Christmas lights, sure, but especially the house lights (remember the posts on Seasonal Affective Disorder of a couple of months ago?). Eat well, take a multi-vitamin, and find time for a few minutes of walking and a few minutes of fun every day -- even, especially, silly fun. Moderate your intake of junk food and junk media. Go ahead and enjoy silly TV and songs, but lay off the dark, downer stuff. And remember -- media isn't real.

Not even Andy Williams' Family Special. When I was between six to ten I had a terrible crush on Andy's wife Claudine Longet. She was a French beauty and, to my preadolescent eyes, what a woman should be. But she was unhappy. How could she be unhappy??? She had Christmas and she got to cavort around a series of fun sets with fake snow, Christmas songs, and smiling kids! Her acting career was doing okay ("Hogan's Heroes", "Twelve O'Clock High") and her LPs were selling, if slowly, but it seemed that she just didn't like the Williams family as much as I did. She left. The next thing the world heard from her was when she accidentally shot and killed her lover. This was quite a shock -- how could this perfect family have problems?

Enter the Book of Ecclesiastes. All things are universal -- including joy, despair, loneliness and laughter. When we experience these things we must not assume that we are alone, that we are singled out by God for punishment, or that God has chosen to ignore us.

No, we are merely on another part of our long journey. Allow the tentpegs to pop up and move along, move to the next season, the next holiday, the next project. Know that the good and bad we go through is common to everyone, even the highly coiffed and made up celebrities we secretly wish we were. Sometimes I smile when I hear someone breathlessly going on about the latest celebrity marriage, divorce, or outburst. I don't think any Hollywood star would like my life, but when I compare it to theirs... no trade. I'm keeping this one.

Remembering that helps get you through these post-Christmas days. Maybe, just maybe, your life isn't that hard after all.

Lessons Learned from Travel

2006-12-18T10:32:00.000-05:00

I get to stay home for the next two weeks -- all the way through Christmas and New Years. I couldn't be happier. Travel kicks in January 2nd when I leave for Colorado Springs and the National Youth Minister Conference (or whatever it's called). I'll speak for one day and then fly back the next. Looking at my schedule for 2007 reminds me of lessons learned in travel.

A Dave Barry quote: "I would say that the single most important conclusion I reached, after traveling through Japan, as well as countless hours reading, studying and analyzing this fascinating culture, is that you should always tighten the cap on the shampoo bottle before you put it in your suitcase."

I'll share some of my lessons from the road and then wait for yours. I just returned from Indianapolis. It's the only sane thing to do if you find yourself there.

I think it was Mark Twain who first stated "A small town is usually divided by a railroad, a main street, two churches and a lot of opinions."

I thought about living in Florida. The problem is that the average age is, well, dead. I was in my hotel listening to the sound of the waves hissing on and off the beach... until I realized that was just the sound of the Depends rustling under the Sans-A-Belts of passing walkers. Besides, in Miami, drivers will actually try to pass you on the inside of a carwash. But they're seniors so they have their self-entitlement meters pegged on "Self referential" so there's no talking to them. Besides, are they beaches or are they ashtrays in their wild state? I've thought about going down to the beach and burying metal objects that have "get a life" printed on them. Just another service I provide...

I like cruises. Yes, you have to be careful about the boat. They have the Fantasy and the Ecstasy. Those are good. I'd avoid the Hysterectomy.

There's a lot of nice things about Oklahoma City. I just don't, for the life of me, know what they are.

Why do people in Seattle insist they really don't get that much rain? The rest of the nation knows it as "America's Bladder."

There's a small town in Alabama that has a fashion show. Well, really, they just open up the Penney's catalog and point. Sometimes the road less traveled got that way for a reason.

When the guy at the custom's shack ask you if you have any weapons, the WRONG answer is "Whaddya need?" I assure you -- and I don't want to discuss this in detail -- that, after the third or fourth time, body cavity searches lose their charm. We still write, though, so that's something positive.

Can you believe it? The Vatican doesn't have a Hard Rock Cafe. Talk about missing a great chance to enhance the revenue stream...

There's nothing wrong with Southern California that a rise in ocean level wouldn't cure.

Don't want to get searched at the airport? Dress like an iman and mutter under your breath, casting angry looks at people. In our PC world you'll get waved right through. (and a shout out here to United, the one airline that actually -- are you sitting down? -- cared about passenger safety over political correctness. You guys rock)

And France? Don't get me started. Charles de Gaulle once said "How can you be expected to govern a country that has 246 kinds of cheese?" thereby showing the determination, sense of purpose, and backbone that has forever been the hallmark of the French.

Chicago? Richard Jeni says "Chicago was started by a bunch of New Yorkers who said, "Gee, I'm enjoying the crime and the poverty, but it just isn't cold enough."

The only pleasure trip I took last year was when I took my mother in law to the airport.

So... what have you learned by traveling?

Black Balloons

2006-12-14T11:50:00.000-05:00

There is a black balloon in my office. It says "Oh No, the Big 5-0." I walked into my staff meeting yesterday only to find black balloons, the afore mentioned one with "50" on it, and a cake with a tombstone that played "Happy Birthday" in a dirge like tone.

Whoopee.

Some of the staff took me out to a pub for lunch (yes, church people do that). I had the traditional Irish lunch drink, Diet Coke, along with potato and leek soup and chips (that's "fries" to you Colonials). They were interested to know how I feel about turning 50... even though that's not until the 16th.

Well, let's see. Fifty is when you know that you are no longer considered a sexual being or a sexual threat. You are a safe person to be around. When a pretty girl smiles at you, you assume that something is unzipped or that you remind her of a kindly uncle who is now in a nursing home in a distant land. I'm really not that old. I was just born before a lot of people. In the race to get to the planet, I beat out most of them.

Yes, I've seen changes. When I was a kid the wonder drug was alcohol. (in that neighborhood, it still is) My Social Security number only has six digits. And it's in Roman numerals. I can remember, when I was young, wanting to change the world. Now I only want to change the young. I find myself using words like "spacious, roomy, and comfortable" when buying underwear. I can remember when the Dead Sea was only sick.

Besides, it's all relative. If every year had twenty months instead of 12, I'd only be 30 this weekend. I wish they hadn't discontinued my blood type, but what are you going to do? For a while I learned something new every day. Now I unlearn something every day. I call that "a balanced life."

And who wants to live to be a hundred anyway? The only way to get there is to give up everything that made you want to live that long in the first place! And while it's true that the hands on my biological clock are giving me the finger, I'm okay with that. I'm not bitter. I figure it's not what happens to you that counts, it's how you choose to deal with it. I find Prozac, Vicodin, or a killing spree works best.

There are advantages. I'm old enough now to personally identify every object in an antique store. Sure, there are disadvantages. I pulled my left shoulder out putting peanut butter on a bagel (hey, it was chunky!). I pulled out my right shoulder putting Ben-Gay on my left shoulder. At least I'm not as old as the teller at my bank. She's 812 years old. If I counted the rings right.

I'll be here without my wife on my birthday. She flew to Texas for a cousin's wedding. Don't feel bad -- birthdays don't mean that much.. and it could be worse. I remember when my parents surprised me with a car on my sixteenth birthday. They missed me, but it was still quite a surprise. Besides, some of my surprise parties have really been interventions, so...

Fact is, birthdays used to be a big deal. That was when you would get a present -- something you wanted but could never, ever get the money or time or chance to get on your own. Now I can buy what I want (as long as I don't want much). Birthdays were also mile markers; each one opening up a door to another possibility, another step up the ol' maturity ladder. Now, birthdays mark the end of things and warn of coming slow downs and closed doors. I have four months left with my son before he ships out. My daughter is married to a good man. Christmas changes, then. So do birthdays. Sometimes the family will be together but...

Sad? Nope. Melancholy? Nope. I'm ready for this. I've been a traveling man all my life. Raised by missionaries, moving from one new frontier to another, and finally having to leave Scotland behind as I returned with my wife to America. I know I can't live in Scotland again (there isn't a good reason to, plus it is very expensive, far from any grandchildren that might be born, and the politics annoy me) but I miss it terribly. I know every day that I am on a road from this place to another place. This mile marker doesn't bother me. It just means I'm closer home. One day I'll be in a place where my Christian friends and I will all be together and where the days aren't marked by black balloons. If this Saturday means I'm one day closer to that... bring it on!

God of the Details

2006-12-08T11:29:00.000-05:00

Jesus told us that God loves us more than sparrows; that He knows even the number of hairs on our head. That is amazing... and a little unbelievable if you don't know science. Here's a "for instance."

If mites infect the next of a house finch the hen protects her sons by laying eggs containing males later than those containing females. When there are no mites the eggs are laid in a more random fashion with equal chances of male or female eggs being laid first. Why do things change when mites show up?

Males are more sensitive to the mites than females. Mothers minimize their son's exposure to mites by laying male eggs later than female eggs. As a result, the males are in the nest fewer days. How does she know to do this? She doesn't. She didn't decide to do it that way, nor could she have evolved this in a step by step basis over thousands of years. For one -- we would not have finches since the mites would have killed off the males within a handful of generations. Second, the process that changes the order of eggs laid is a very complex one.

Exposure to mites (any bite or irritation) causes a hormonal change in a breeding finch's body. The change is multi-stage and very, very complex. It accomplishes several things. One -- it effects the egg laying order. Two -- and this is very cool -- it accelerates the in-egg development of the males so that they are much farther along by the time they hatch and, therefore, ready to leave the next much sooner.

This is the first documentation of "maternal ovulation of both ovulation and growth" in the animal kingdom but scientists are certain they will begin finding more now that they know what to look for. They are already spotting changes in finches reacting to local conditions, seasonal changes, predator risk, food abundance and, yes, parasitism.

[details are available at the online edition of the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, September 18, 2006 edition. The study was done by the University of Arizona and a good, short article on this is available in the popular magazine "Bird Talk" which you can get in most bookstores, January 2007 issue]

A God who thinks of the safety and comfort of finches and who, according to Jesus, will not even allow a bird to die alone, will certainly be with you today. He will care about you. He knows you and loves you anyway! You can take ANYTHING to this God in prayer -- even the little things, for He has proven that He is all about those little things, too. A young lady told me last week that she "sucks at prayer." I wondered who (physical or spiritual) told her that. All you have to do is show up. Talking is good but, as we saw with Job's friends, it certainly isn't everything. Just come into His presence... for He has already come into yours. He cares, even about the small stuff.

Professor Jack

2006-12-06T21:16:00.000-05:00

JoAn Dillinger is doing well. After an eleven hour + surgery yesterday she was sitting up and talking today. Talking about what? Talking to her surgeons about their need for Jesus and the power of prayer! Amazing.

I spent part of today on the phone with a dear man whose young daughter is dying of lung cancer. They think radon caused it for she has never smoked... but no one knows for sure. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

Professor Jack was one of the most fascinating and wonderful men I have ever known. He touched us and loved us and we learned from him. And then his addictions took him away -- forever away from us. Please read stephcorp.blogspot.com and karagraves.blogspot.com to hear more of the story of this remarkable man. We want to go down to Cass Park and pass out thousands of cookies in his name. Read their posts and you'll know why. Keep Kara and Stephanie and Josh in prayer. This has hit our giving, serving community hard.

On a happier note, I am on the way home Thursday. They are predicting snow showers the whole way -- 330 miles. I plan to stop on the way at a large guitar shop. Unfortunately, that means I will lust, covet and envy and, therefore, have to repent on Sunday. Good thing I'm already standing up front, huh?

Keeping death in the back of my mind makes me hug my wife and kids a little tighter, have more patience with Scooby the wonder parrot, and not fret so much about lost guitars and broken appointments. God gave us lots of gravel but we don't value it. He gave us few diamonds and little gold so we treasure it. We only treasure that which is limited. Life is limited. Treasure it. Every moment.

I'll hit the road. God bless and cheerio.

Death in the Back of Your Mind

2006-12-05T22:15:00.000-05:00

I've been blogging about JoAn Dillinger at patrickmead.blogspot.com but wanted to move the discussion over here since this is a family and mental health blog. JoAn's surgery began with anesthesia around 5:30AM and ended with suturing at 7:15PM. At 2PM the doctors came out and told the family that there was more cancer in JoAn than they had thought. It looked bad. They admitted that they would normally just sew a person up in her condition but they were taking into account her relatively young age, good health, and the fact that so many were praying for her... and decided to continue the surgery. After the surgery, the doctors told the family that they were amazed that they were able to get all the cancer. Aggressive chemo will need to be done and they warn that JoAn will probably only have two or three years with us... but they aren't certain on that last point. As one of the doctors said (and I heard this third hand so this isn't a quote) "I'm not sure I believed in prayer until today. Now, I think I do."

Before her surgery JoAn wrote the doctor a letter informing him that hundreds of people were praying for him and for her. She then made a point of telling him that personally. It seemed to have made a real impression on him.

I wrote recently about Tim and Nancy Milligan; especially concerning Tim's faithfulness and love for Nancy. She was taken to hospital on Sunday and told she has a new brain tumor and the family is having a hard time with that news, but they remain optimistic that God will intervene once again and give her more time with her family.

As I approach my 50th birthday this month I wrote a new will, made a new Living Will, and Power of Attorney. Morbid? I don't think so. I believe those things need to be done a long time before you think you might need them. You never know. I believe that it is good to keep death in the back of your mind. It makes the days we have that much more special. We understand that holding hands with your wife is special because there will be a last time. Even traffic jams would take on a new glow if we knew that we would never drive that way again. Every day is a celebration when we keep in mind that life is not forever.

Kami and I have talked about life and death issues since we were married 28 years ago. She knows that if I were to come down with certain cancers or diseases I would refuse treatment. I have seen too many people fight for miserable, pain filled years and then die. There are many cancers that I would fight because the chances of a good life are there, but that isn't always the case when other cancers strike.

So here is the question: knowing that we are headed toward heaven and that all of us must make that journey, how hard should we fight mortal illnesses? That is an intensely private and individual decision, to be sure. It can be affected by the desire to see grandchildren, or to see a child married, or a hundred other things.

But would you fight if the illness had a zero or near zero long-term healing rate? Why or why not? Keep your answers brief and do NOT criticize or critique the answers of others.

As for me: I have been traveling all my life. I am looking forward to being home in heaven. That is a highly attractive thought -- so much so that I have made my pledge that, should certain specific situations arise -- I would not go through miserable treatments for a few more months of life. Yet... if the same disease occured to my children when they were young or to my yet-to-be-born grandchildren I know my mind would change and I would make a different decision.

We all make the journey. How hard would you fight to delay it?

Act or React?

2006-11-27T12:39:00.000-05:00

In every circumstance today you will get a choice: will you act or react? Most people never give it any thought. They go through life as if they were a ball in a pinball machine, reacting to this and that all day, every day, never in control of their path. Others make a decision about who they are, what they will do, what they will not do, and how they will honor their belief system regardless of any "action" in their way. They are faith heroes. And you can be one.

Look at Hebrews chapter 11. It is considered the faith chapter, the honor roll of faith. You might know the chapter very well but I would like for you to check something out: look for the verbs. When you do, you discover that the chapter is a primer on HOW to live by faith. Real faith has a verb attached to it; a purposeful, decisive action.

11:4 -- by faith Abel offered...
11:5 -- by faith Enoch pleased God...
11:7 -- by faith Noah prepared...
11:8 -- by faith Abraham obeyed...
11:9 -- by faith he dwelt...
11:11 - by faith Sara conceived...
11:17 - by faith Abraham offered...
11:20 - by faith Isaac blessed...
11:21 - by faith Jacob blessed...
11:24 - by faith Moses chose to be known as a son of Israel... forsook Egypt... kept Passover...
11:29 - by faith the Israelites passed through the sea...
11:30 - by faith the walls of Jericho fell...
11:31 - by faith Rahab received the spies...
11:33 - subdued kingdoms, worked righteousness, obtained promises, stopped mouths of
lions, quenched violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, went from the
weakness to strength, became valiant in battle, drove away the invaders, the dead
walked again...

These people did not merely believe (as some weak form of intellectual assent), but they matched that faith to a verb and so became great heroes. The scripture tells us that God honored their choice to act by:

1. God Himself witnessing that they were righteous.
2. They became heirs of righteousness.
3. They did not see death.
4. They received the inheritance.

You have a choice today and every day. You can either act or you can waste your life in reacting. Once I was partnered with three non-believers during a golf match. My opponent took every opportunity to curse, make noise while I putted or teed off, and never gave me a putt regardless of how close it was to the hole. In response, I helped him look for his errant tee shots, gave him putts well outside the normal range, and gave him every compliment on his good shots. The other two players in our foursome watched this almost the whole match before finally coming over to me. "Why are you still giving him putts and treating him so nice? He's cheating! He's rude!" and so on. I responded, "I decided before I left my house this morning what kind of person I was going to be. He doesn't get to change that decision."

I learned that from Hebrews 11. Faith means nothing without a verb. Choose your verb. Don't let the world choose it for you.

The Spirit At Work

2006-11-22T10:17:00.000-05:00

Last Sunday I celebrated my fifth anniversary as the preaching minister for the Rochester Church. I am supremely thankful that the Lord allowed me this opportunity. This is a remarkable congregation full of people with a real heart for the Lord. That was evidenced by last weekend's flurry of service and sacrifice.

On Saturday, over a hundred volunteers staffed our warehouse of clothes, food, toys, and household items called God's Helping Hands. GHH has garnered national attention with an interview on NPR last year. This year, on this one day, over 330 families were fed, clothed, and supplied with gifts for Christmas. Volunteers were on site before 8AM and didn't leave until the last person was served at 10:45PM.

While this was going on, we also had a funeral and a wedding, two social events at Rochester College... and a concert by Bar12 of Soul Space, our ministry to the corners and shadows of our culture. The tattoo shop will open at the end of this month, Lord willing, but a cash infusion was desperately needed so the boys -- Josh Turner and Lance Handyside -- did a concert at the church building. We heard tunes from Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Ben Harper, and Stevie Ray Vaughn all done in Bar 12's unique and powerful style. Our crowd was tiny due to all the other events going on (including the biggest religious event in the area -- the Michigan/Ohio State football game) but so far nearly $4000 has been raised. Praise God!

This was our Harvest Sunday. We have been falling behind on our budget and found ourselves in a deep hole. Some of this is because of the economic climate of Michigan (49th in the nation and falling), some because our people are mainly new and not quite into the giving habits of older Christians, and, to be honest, because we lost some good givers when we decided to be more free and aggressive in reaching the lost. The elders asked the people to double their normal giving on this day. That would have given us around $42,000 but they gave just under $55,000! Wow.

Plus... we have a Family Fund that helps our members in case of emergency (job loss, burial expenses, etc.) that we like to keep at around $5000. It was completely empty so we placed giving baskets on the stage and in the foyer and asked people to also consider giving to that fund. They gave an additional $16,290 on top of the Harvest giving.

These are new Christians, by and large. Many were unchurched before they came to us. A great number are young couples, some with children, who live paycheck to paycheck. The elders and staff were stunned at their faith and committment to Harvest Sunday... but that wasn't the end of it.

We asked people to bring non-perishable food items and coats, hats, scarves and gloves in very good condition so that they could be distributed in downtown Detroit that very day. They filled the stage with them! Cars and vans were crammed full of goods and, on a snowy day in Detroit, our people pulled up outside the worst homeless shelter in the area and spent the afternoon feeding and clothing all there. They also listened to them and learned from them. Take time to visit Josh Graves and Kara Graves' blogs (links on this page) as well as Courtney's blog at www.xanga.com/RingoStarr25 to hear some incredible, heart warming and heart breaking stories that took place on last Sunday afternoon.

What a wonderful congregation, full of the Spirit, dedicated to Christ and willing to lay everything down for Him. It has been an honor to be with them for five years. When people (who know me and know I hate cold, wet weather) ask me why I moved to Rochester when I could have gone anywhere, I admit that the weather is awful (sometimes) and that there isn't much scenery... but everytime I walk into the doors of this building and see what is going on I remember why I am here and why nowhere else looks nearly as warm and sunny as Rochester Church.

Thank you, Jesus. I didn't deserve the gift of coming to this place, but your grace made it happen. THAT'S what I'm thankful for this year.

Faith Insurance

2006-11-18T11:38:00.000-05:00

I want you to meet Tim and Nancy Milligan. We fell in love with them five years ago when we moved to Rochester. Nancy was a nurse, Tim a real estate agent. They obviously loved each other and their four children. Years of friendship followed. Nancy shared our love for birds and would often birdsit for us when we were out of the country. Their sons are strong, handsome, faithful young men of great character. Their daughters are young, sweet, and kind.

Almost exactly a year ago Nancy was found wandering around the halls of the hospital where she worked. She was confused. Something was wrong. To make a sad story short, tests revealed a brain tumor. The cancer was malignant and very aggressive. The doctors told her that with surgery and chemo she might live a few months. Stunned, thrown into emotional turmoil, fearful of how her family -- especially her little girls -- would survive her loss, Nancy looked about for a way to deal with this monster that had moved into her head.

Surgery was done. The doctors told her to go home and die; it was that bad. The church gathered outside her home in early December and sang hymns in the dark, each of us holding candles, struggling to keep them lit in the harsh winter wind. She came out, held up by her husband, wrapped in blankets, eyes closed, and soaked up the songs and love in her front yard. We sang carols, too, since she'd been told she wouldn't hear them again; wouldn't see Christmas lights again.

Nancy is still with us. She attends most worship services. She has hard days, but has proven her doctors wrong by staying fairly sharp, keeping her personality. Her husband has been a rock by her side. Even as the real estate market tanked in Michigan (we are 49th among 50 states) and their financial situation became desperate, the family stayed together.

I called Tim and Nancy up in front of the congregation on Wednesday as we did one of our "no catch and release prayer nights." [see last post] Tim is a very quiet man, but I convinced him to take the microphone and talk to us. He told us that there were lots of times that their faith broke. They cursed God, were angry with life and religion and everything. They would have fallen, too, had it not been for something Tim called faith insurance.

Faith Insurance was all the time they had put into their walk with God and all the people they knew at Rochester. The people at Rochester never gave up on them. They stayed right there with them, helping them with money, meals, prayers, friendship, and faithfulness. Even on their worst days, Tim and Nancy said they could draw on the Faith Insurance accounts of the members of this congregation.

Wow. Could this be what Jesus meant when he said, "lay not up for yourselves treasures on earth... but place them in heaven"? Could it be that our faithfulness, our active participation in the spiritual life of a community of faith is a way we make deposits into a Faith Insurance account? I know that, personally, the faith of others around me is a HUGE help on my dark days [if you never have dark days, why are you reading this blog??? Go read one about kittens and rainbows or something. You've wandered out of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood].

Tim and Nancy have given me the determination to be a source of Faith Insurance for those around me so that, when it is my turn to need a withdrawl, it is there for me. Tim and Nancy are sources of strength for us even as we serve as a source of strength for them.

Faith Insurance. It's time to make some more deposits. I'd better get busy and do it. See you.

A Psalms Kind of Life

2006-11-07T12:52:00.000-05:00

I turn on TV and there is a gaudily decorated set populated by gaudily decorated people (think -- hair that should never get near an open flame, eyelashes that could grate cheese) backed by a band and choir that looks like Lawrence Welk found a stash of crack and I wonder, is this what following God looks like? I change to another religious program and it tells me that I should be afraid; it is my Christian duty, a sign of my faith, to be afraid. I should be afraid of the moral collapse of the nation, abortion, what they are doing with the Ten Commandments in some school system, the end of the world, being left behind, the Democrats, the Council on Foreign Relations... Is that what following God is supposed to be like? I go to the bookstore and there is a book telling me that there is a verse that, if I pray it, God will have to bless me. It's a rule, a binding contract. Is that what following God is? Years ago when my pain was overwhelming me a man told me that it was because I didn't have enough faith. He told me that if I went to his church they could fix that. Is that what following Jesus is like?

When I go to the Psalms, I approach it in a deeply personal way. It isn't a cosmic medicine cabinet to me (Sick? Read this one. Happy? Read this one) but the story of what it is like to follow God. Unlike other books which are delivered from God to man, this book was delivered from man to God. They are our deepest personal journals, our prayers and fears and praise. They are as schizophrenic as we are.

I am a man who has had several serious complaints against God. I have complained that He stood too close to me and wouldn't let me move or live freely. He trapped me into this path or into that relationship and wouldn't step back far enough to let me breathe. I have also complained that He was standing too far away. I accused Him of not caring that my life was collapsing around me, that my house wasn't selling, that my personal relationships -- those people I counted on to make my life matter -- had failed.

I saw good people being blessed and I complained that it wasn't always that way. I got blessings from His hands and yet I didn't trust Him to keep the taps open. I saw failed missions, failed missionaries, failed marriages and failed churches and asked, "God, how could you?" I saw nation groups that had never heard the gospel and asked "God, where are you? Don't you care?" I sang the old song "Carest thou not that we perish? How canst thou lie asleep?" with gusto!

I knew and believed that God was good, yet I was angry because He refused to explain Himself to me, to reveal Himself the way I wanted Him to, and He wouldn't move at the speed I had declared to be right. I knew and believed that God was good, but I wasn't convinced He loved us. Or me. I was pretty sure He liked His other kids best.

And then I come to the Psalms. They aren't like TV. They're real. They are full of anger, joy, pain, and praise. They can say "surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life" and "I walk through the valley of the shadow of death" all in the same breath. The Psalms remind me of Isaiah and Jeremiah and their prophecies that the people of Israel would suffer, their land would fall, and horrible things would happen to them, their children, and their grandchildren... but that a Messiah would come after all that and make it better. That was supposed to make the people feel better and the strange thing is... it did. They had a long view of history. The story didn't end with them, and they knew it. The world wasn't about them, and they got that.

Jesus dying on the cross should have been a clue, but He supplied us with other clues as well. In Matthew 5:11,12 he told us that when we are mistreated we will receive our reward in heaven. Hebrews 11:13-16 speaks of the great heroes of the faith who died and didn't receive what they had been promised! They saw it from a distance and believed it would come to them later, after they died. For that, they were honored by God.

When I read a Psalm I remember a time when I felt the way the Psalmist felt -- up, down, or schizo. There were days where my heart was light and all was right in the world. There were days, months, and years where I bruised the shins of my soul in the dark, wondering where God was. The memories of those good and bad times help me through today and prepare me for tomorrow. For this is what following God is like. When I move my stiff hands or when my heart sags under the weight of life and the burdens of ministry, I remember that it won't always be this way. God will give me wonderful blessings -- probably now, but certainly later. My day may be like Psalm 22 where I am up, down, up, down.... but there will be dancing, there will be joy, there will be heaven. I have to keep the long view, gird my loins, and keep moving forward regardless of whether or not I can see God. That is what following God is like.

Gone, Baby, Gone

2006-10-27T08:52:00.000-05:00

"But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything in it will be laid bare. Since everything will be destroyed in this way, what kind of people ought you to be?" (2 Peter 3:10,11)

Harsh words -- but profoundly true, nonetheless. Look around you. Everything will burn up one day. True enough, if the world lasts much longer, it will turn to dirt first but eventually the End of Time Barbecue will get it. This shouldn't surprise us... but it always does! A quick glance will show most of us that things change; they get old, worn out, and tossed aside.

When I want to buy a new car, I make myself do something else first. I go and spend a week or two walking around used car lots -- not the nice kind with well lit offices and smiling salesmen, but those that are behind high wire with dogs patrolling the area topped by signs saying "We finance everybody!", "Bankruptcy? No problem!", "Trespassers will be shot on sight!"

The time spent there reminds me that every one of these cars represented a dream for someone. They thought about that car, wanted it so much that they were distracted at work or home, did the research and picked that car. They thought it would make their life happier... and maybe it did, for awhile, but not anymore. Pick up a Penny Shopper or any other local personal sales paper and see how many people want to get rid of the same stuff they couldn't wait to buy not that long ago. The items went from "this will make me happy" to "what will you take for it?" Somewhere there are still closets full of Beanie Babies, Pogs, and Troll dolls someone thought would make them a fortune or, at least, fund their retirement.

There is an echo of this cosmic fact creeping into our culture. When my son takes me into Hollister or Abercrombie and Fitch (this doesn't happen often. The staff usually requests I go elsewhere) I gaze upon the shredded jeans, the shirts with frayed collars and seams, the faded hoodies -- all of which could have been worn by someone run over by a combine harvester -- and it finally dawns on me: this is just Goodwill with better lighting.

[helpful hint: Why pay $4 to have a shirt dry cleaned? Donate it to the Salvation Army. They'll clean it and you can buy it back the next day for $1. Also -- why does our local Salvation Army store have a sign up that says "no $100 bills accepted"? How often does that come up? I asked the guy behind the counter when was the last time he had someone try to pay with a hundred dollar bill. He said never... but he was pretty sure that was because they had a sign]

Change is everywhere. I asked a classroom full of college students yesterday if they had any CDs in their collection they would be embarrassed to admit to. A lot of hands went up. There are still a lot of Backstreet Boys, Debbie Gibson, and New Kids on the Block CDs out there, hiding. Let's keep them that way, shall we?

Tuesday morning I entered my office and realized that something was terribly wrong. The two guitars I keep there were gone. It didn't take long to find out it wasn't someone's idea of a joke and that no one had borrowed them without permission. They were stolen, heisted, gone, baby, gone. I thought "Heck." (for those of you who don't know, "heck" is where people go when they don't believe in "gosh.") My first suspicions were that a music critic had heard me play them and sworn to better the world by removing the WMDs (metaphorically speaking) from my office. This concept was shot down when I saw that the thieves left two ukuleles behind.

I sensed: this is a test. Do you really believe in 2 Peter 3:10,11? Can you let them go quietly with the full realization that they were just kindling for the end of the world anyway? I sat down and read Matthew 6:19-21 again where Jesus tells us not to store up treasures on earth, but to put them in heaven. What most of us hear is the first part -- not the second part. I've been told all my life that "you can't take it with you" but that's not true. We can't take physical things, but we can take our experiences, the relationships that changed us, our gains in knowledge, and our desire to love and serve with us from this world to the next.

You take there what you've made of your life here. Heaven seems to be a busy place -- not some eternal cosmic worship service, but the next and final stage in our service. What we learn and do here will help us up there. When I get to heaven, I will still light up at the thought of my daughter, son and wife. When I see them I will run to them in joy for, you see, I will take my love for them with me. This almost became a reality yesterday as a woman in an SUV didn't see that the light was red and barreled towards me at 60mph. When I saw her realize the coming disaster (she was close enough that I saw her eyes popping wide), I saw her tires light up as she stomped her brakes. She skidded this way and that and I had to punch the accelerator and run the light as she came spinning behind me -- not stopping until she was eighty feet past the light she'd failed to notice until it was almost fatally too late.

What would I have taken with me? Not the guitars, that's for sure. I would have taken my love for my family, for the church universal and local (bye, Rochester!), and for the Lord and His goodness. You see, some things will NOT burn up. Some things will NOT turn to dirt. Who we have become and the good works we do, our prayers and our love, THAT remains forever in the storehouse of heaven.

Take some time to review 2 Peter 3. I need to go now. I have to pick up some things I can take with me... and set in place some things that will remain after I am gone.

How Powerful is Love?

2006-10-23T10:26:00.000-05:00

Just over a week ago I went out to Indiana and did a men's retreat on spiritual warfare. The men met in a YMCA camp just north of Lafayette. One warning the men gave me ahead of time: "the college kids probably won't be there. They think this is something for us old guys." I could understand that; when I was in college I am not sure I would go sleep in modified chicken coops for two nights and spend my weekend listening to lectures.

But that's not what happened.

Some college kids and teens came -- not many, but some. One of the first through the door was Rob. Rob was one of our Rochester kids. He grew up here in a Christian family. Sadly, in his last few years of high school, his family went through a terrible time. His father, formally a faithful leader, active in the church, went well off the rails. He got involved in gambling and that led to one vice after another. A divorce followed a long period of pain... but it didn't end the pain. Rob's mother stayed faithful to Jesus and continued to be marked by love and strength... but his father told him that the pleasures of the world were there for him. He had only, to coin a phrase, "take it and eat."

When Rob didn't go to one of the Christian colleges many wondered if he could stay faithful. He was an exceptionally bright young man and had a great future ahead of him if he could stay focused on his studies (he is in materials engineering, therefore Purdue is a good place for him), but his financial and professional future weren't our first concern. Would Rob stay faithful? I know the odds... and they aren't good.

But Rob walked through the door, smiling, personable, equipped with his Bible and marked by the love and faithfulness of his mother. He led songs, read Scripture, and was a natural leader among the men -- most of them two or three times his age. He was optimistic and had the heart of a servant (and the brain of an Einstein). On Sunday morning I watched with pride as he and his friends sat right up front. They arrived early, spent time greeting each other and people from other age groups, participated in the worship and were unfailingly polite.

I couldn't wait to get back home to Rochester and tell his mother: "Your love worked. He is marked with faithfulness and love because you never quit, you never gave up." His mother is a hero to me. I still shake my head about this nine days later. Here is a young man who is offered the world, given permission to do any forbidden thing, but who chooses righteousness because that is what he saw modeled by his mother.

It made me take a good look at myself in the mirror. I had to consider my ways and see if they matched Rob's mother's. I determined that I would remember to out-love everyone I met, to be the most loving person in any room I find myself in, and to remember that what I say and do in public and private will have long term effects in the lives of my daughter, son, and wife.

Later this week I will go shooting with some friends. I have several powerful weapons in the gun safe. Yet, even as I settle down behind this or that rifle I will remember -- this is nothing. This is not powerful. Rob's mother's love? THAT is powerful. And the cool thing? It is available to all of us who decide to love -- no matter what.

It matters.

A Pathway to Strength

2006-10-17T11:17:00.000-05:00

This blog deals mainly with matters of mental health, family life, and related matters. Awhile back I wrote about SAD, seasonal affective disorder. On a day like today when the clouds have closed in and rain and wind lash the streets it might be in order to discuss another pathway to strength; one which is ignored by the majority of Christians.

Take some deep breaths first and make youself promise to read all of this article, not turning off your brain when you see this word..... fasting.

I know the knee jerk responses. I've heard them all. People jump to state that Jesus never commanded us to fast. You're right. He assumed that we would fast ("...and when you fast..."). Others will say that when we fast we aren't supposed to let others know about it. No.... we aren't supposed to trumpet it about and brag about it like the Pharisees. Sometimes fasting is easier when others join you -- a fasting clug for mutual strength and service.

What is a fast and why does it help us? Fasting can be going without all food and just drinking water. It can also be going without food and drinking juices (lots of health benefits for that one). Fasting can also be giving up one particular food -- a favorite food -- for a season (many do this during Lent). When we read Isaiah 58 (go ahead. I'll wait. Back already?) we see that fasting can be the laying aside of self-centeredness and selfishness in order to bring grace, justice, and fairness into the world.

Fasting helps us in many ways. The first way is that it teaches us how to look at something we may have, that God created for us, and saying "no." The word "no" is such a powerful word. We want to tell others "no" but rarely tell ourselves as often as we should. We can fast from going to the mall, from buying online, from TV and the internet, from cursing, from driving too fast or too much... the list goes on forever. And the fast is a time that we give ourselves over to the Lord, to pray, to serve, and to reach out to others.

I fast daily. You see, I was an angry, bitter man who felt that I was called by God to enforce the purity of church doctrine at any cost -- up to an including splitting churches and tossing out the nonconformers. I shudder to think of how morally corrupt I was while at the same time I attacked others for this or that doctrine. When I finally realized what I was doing and how sinful it was (long story), I knew I needed a sign, a daily reminder that I was no longer a predator in God's flock. I stopped eating meat (yes, that includes chicken. I will eat seafood once or twice a month). Understand this: I love meat. I miss it everyday. There are times I go hungry because I'm on the road and there isn't much available that isn't meat-based. But that's good for me. It makes me remember my vow to God. It gives me time to think of those who truly experience hunger -- physical, emotional, or spiritual hunger. It reminds me that this world isn't about me.

There are other reasons to fast. Those who saw Morgan Spurlock's "Super Size Me" saw a quick interview with an MD who talked about the addictive ingredients in some fast food. I know it is easy to pooh-pooh that idea, but it is true. In fact, most foods can become addictive if consumed in great enough quantities over a long period of time, but some fats are especially addictive. The doctor uses one example of using a drug usually reserved for treating treat heroin and morphine addicts treat their cravings on people who are craving chocolate or fast food... and seeing their cravings stop. Through the use of PET scans we can see the same centers of the brain lighting up in the addict and the fast foodie! Why feed the addiction?

Consider doing something like this: two days a month, go on a juice fast. One week a month, do without a favorite food or activity. One meal a month, take the money you would have spent on that meal (ingredients, cost of preparation, cleanup) and give it to the church or to a local charity or mission. Get out your planners and do it now. Then, fast as in Isaiah 58 -- chose a mission, charity, or matter of justice and get involved in it in the Name of the Lord. When the dark days come -- and they DO come -- make yourself get up and serve anyway, pray anyway, fast anyway for it is not about you -- it is "unto the Lord", it is your sacrifice on His altar.

And you will gain strength as He pulls alongside of you and blesses your covenant. Warning: fasting can be very unpleasant at first. Stay with it and you will see a wonderful, wonderful power grow in you. Be strong.

Let's Go For A Walk

2006-10-09T09:03:00.000-05:00

When I first met my wife I was so poor that we couldn't go out and eat or see a movie more than once a month. Our dates were me sitting at her dining room table and playing my 12 string guitar as she studied her homework. The greatest thrill, the highest honor, was getting to take a walk with this wonderful woman.

When I read the Bible, I see a theme, a motif, running through it. At the very beginning, in the Garden of Eden, God comes down and walks with Adam and Eve every evening. When the Flood is declared as punishment on the earth God partners with Noah -- one builds the big box and the other brings the animals to it. Shortly afterwards (if not in time, at least in terms of chapters), God comes to Abram and invites him on a walk to a distant land. When the Israelites are enslaved in Egypt, God steps in and attacks each of that land's gods in a series of plagues. When they are all subdued, God invites the people on a walk -- one that would last 40 years instead of one because of their rebellion. When Jesus comes, he does the same thing. He tosses out demons, gets the people's attention by healing and teaching, and then says, "Follow me." In other words, "Let's go for a walk."

Try to find examples where God found people and encouraged them to stay in place. He calls us forward, onward. He tells us that it is time to put on the yoke. While his yoke is easy, it is still a yoke and you NEVER yoke oxen so that they can stay where they are! You yoke them to move, to go to work.

We are made for movement. When we don't physically move, our muscles and joints get stiff and eventually lose their elasticity. Our spirits were made for movment, too. We weren't made to do mindless things in mindless places. Risk, learn, move, grow.... walk.

We are, according to 2 Corinthians 3:17,18, being transformed into ever increasing glory. Those are action words -- movement words -- walking words.

Some young couples in our subdivision take a walk together every evening. Those are the marriages that will last. Some of the young mothers take their kids for walks a few times a day, especially now that the weather will soon turn bad. Those are good mommas. Exercise scientists tell us that walking five miles burns as many calories as running five miles and with less stress on the joints. Sure, it takes longer, but that gives you more time to think and talk.

The whole of Scripture can be read as an invitation by God to walk with Him. In one instance, God tells Abram to "walk before me." That doesn't mean that Abram led and God followed, not at all. It was sweeter and more wonderful than that. It was God saying, "Let me watch you walk. Walk with me and let me rejoice in your walking." You have a Father who wants to watch you walk today. It's okay -- He loves you! And He will walk with you.

The Present is Presence

2006-10-03T11:48:00.000-05:00

Abram was an old, old man. God had promised him a great and wonderful family that would fill the earth. He promised him that he would not only be blessed, he would BE a blessing to everyone (Genesis 12:2,3). Now, as his eyes grew dim and his body grew stiff, he was wondering when or if God would fulfill His promises to him.

In Genesis chapter 15 God says something very profound to Abram. Maybe he caught it, maybe he didn't. "Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield, your very great reward." While I would like to go on and on about God being our shield, I want to call your attention to the second phrase.

God is our reward. Our reward isn't what God can and will do for us. Our reward isn't found in the provision of God, but in His presence. He promises to walk with us, to live with us, and make a way for us to live with Him one day in a place where we can stay forever. Presence is our reward.

When a man and woman marry, they often don't understand this. My wife and I play with this and act like our wedding vows were much more complicated than they really were. I will look at the bowl of cereal in front of me and say something like, "Didn't you promise to love, honor, obey and make biscuits and gravy every morning?" She will assure me that wasn't in the vows. Later she might say to me, "Didn't you promise to love, honor, obey and make sure the grass doesn't get over knee high?"

This is a game for us, because we understand what our vows were.

Many enter marriage thinking of what they can get out of it. They think, "I can have more consistent sexual activity, brownies on the counter, a steady paycheck coming in..." etc. ad nauseum. These people are going to be very disappointed. You see, life happens and it changes things, including your mate.

The vows promise presence. The benefit I received in marrying Kami was: Kami. I get to be with Kami. That's it. And that's wonderful. She is complex, interesting, mysterious, changeable... an enigma in a pretty wrapper. THAT is my present.

I know this will upset the Prayer of Jabez people or the Prosperity Gospel folks, but the presence of God is my present. My only reward is that He will walk with me and not turn away when times get rough (see Psalm 139). When I don't get the job I want, when a monster walks into a school in Colorado or Pennsylvania and kills sweet little girls, when my health shudders and breaks, or when financial disaster closes in on me, I have my reward -- the presence of God. He didn't promise me endless provision. He isn't some cosmic vending machine to dispense treats on a regular basis. He is my reward because He is there with me and that is enough.

How would your life be happier and how much more content would we be if we didn't look for provision as a sign of love or acceptance? What if we just accepted His presence as our reward? Ahhhh. That feels better already!

Are You SAD?

2006-09-24T15:13:00.000-05:00

As cooler weather comes to Michigan and cloudy days with rain are the order of the day my thoughts turn to those friends of mine who suffer as the light leaves the sky. We live close to Ontario where, due to a confluence of factors including water, irregular landmasses, and jet stream the days are even darker than they are in Michigan. Mental health professionals have known for some time that the further north you go the more seasonal depression you will find.

Seasonal Affective Disorder was first described in the 1840's but it wasn't until the 1980's that it was officially recognized as a distinctive form of depression. It is, as its name suggests, a depression that hits during the darker, colder, winter months. The worst months for SAD sufferers are January and February and there is much more of it in Canada and the northern tier States than there is south of Tennessee. The best guess is that it is caused by internal clocks not adjusting to the change of seasons; think "jet lag" with no relief for months.

Treatment starts with light therapy. It is important that anyone with SAD have a lot of light in the rooms where they work or spend most of their days. The light needs to be full spectrum light (lamps and bulbs available online or in most large department stores), NOT standard or flourescent. An hour's walk in bright winter sunlight is as effective as two hours of artificial light. If you cannot control the light in your workplace, make sure you have a good "light bath" for thirty minutes every day as a minimum when you get home. Lights are a cheap and effective way to ameliorate the symptoms of SAD.

Some antidepressants are also effective. It usually only takes a low dose if the individual is also using light therapy. An over the counter remedy is melatonin, especially when combined with B6. Don't go nuts -- standard doses are safe; higher ones can cause headaches the morning after. Ginseng and a multivitamin each day is a good idea, too.

Interesting, isn't it, that Jesus spoke of his work as light in the darkness? The Book of John uses that motif throughout. Zechariah spoke of the joy of God as light that would appear at twilight -- right when you think that darkness is coming, God brings light.

Keep depressing things away from you during this time. This isn't the time for dark books, dark music, or annoying relatives. This is a wonderful time for reading devotional literature, spending time in fellowship with Christians, walking, and serving others.

Suffering from SAD? You are not alone. Find a support group starting with the best support group of all -- the church.

Who Should We Blame?

2006-09-10T15:30:00.000-05:00

Republicans and Democrats are going nuts attacking each other over who is to blame for 9/11. Of course, it should be self-evident that bin Laden and Islamofascists are to blame, but they don't bring that up very often. They wonder who failed to see it coming. When ABC made a movie about it for TV, the sides were quickly formed again with one side wanting the movie to be stronger and the other wanting it canceled completely.

Sigh....

Re: that ABC movie about 9/11, to hear Bill Clinton lecturing a reporter that we need to make sure we are always telling the truth about historical matters... is truly stunning. What does he see when he looks in the mirror?

I believe that understanding your past and your nation's past is a very valuable thing... but blame isn't. Blame allows us to channel our anger -- our energy for change -- into useless cubby-holes. People love to throw blame at parents, life, government, God.... anyone but themselves. That absolves them of the need to change present behavior or attone for past behavior.

There is only a certain amount of energy available to any of us. Why spend any of it blaming? Having a lousy childhood is no excuse for being a lousy adult. We have choices. We can choose something different.

Some churches blame "our fallen world" for the prevalence of sin... but Jesus proved you could live here without sin so where is the point of blaming some pre-existing loaded dice for the play you're making today?

Don't get angry at the traffic if you're driving in it. You're part of it -- so any blame tossed out the window will blow back on you. Don't get angry at sex and cursing on TV if you're watching it. Again -- if you didn't watch, they wouldn't keep putting it on.

Live your life without the need to affix blame for whatever went wrong. Practice saying it after me: it is what it is, but God is still God, and God is still good.

Ahhhh..... that feels better.

Wellsprings of Despair

2006-09-02T20:05:00.000-05:00

Pop Quiz: what command did Jesus give more often than any other? It was this: "Fear not." We are told time and time again that fear is not to be our default response for "perfect love casts out fear."

So why are we so afraid? Much of it has to do with television. Don't stop reading, yet! I have TVs, enjoy them, and one is one right now. It is a 20/20 program about the honor killing of a young Sikh girl by her uncle for the crime of not marrying a man 40 years old than her when that man was handpicked by her tribe.

Did you know about honor killing? It might be important to gain a basic understanding of what it is and how it has entered our society via Mideastern and Eastern religions. But how much do you really need to know about it?

How much did you need to know about the wacky weirdo that claimed he loved, then killed, Jon Benet Ramsey? Regardless of whether or not you were interested in him, Captain Highpants was on every newscast, in every newspaper, and discussed in every radio newsbreak for two weeks.

Did you really need to know about Ernesto? It was a rain storm. That's it. Yet, we had weather people standing on beaches decrying the approaching 30mph winds. Well, 15mph but sometimes they gusted up to 30!!!! And rain! It was going to rain, too! Some. I have lived through six hurricanes and I enjoyed them at about a root-canal level, but this was silly.

Here's a flashback for you: when I was kid, evening news ran twenty or twenty five minutes with a five to fifteen minute local news segment attached. That was it. No talk radio, no 24/7 news, no more than one or two newsmagazines floating around if you looked for them (but they were mainly photos -- remember "Look" and "Life"?). You were told some of what was going on around the world, but there wasn't time to mine stories for the worst possible spin, for ways to frighten you, or for ways to get you outraged.

News is out there, but only the bad stuff is interesting enough to broadcast because happy stuff won't keep us watching. American soldiers have distributed nearly a million dollars of clothes and food -- this year alone -- that was sent to them by their hometowns and families. They clothed Iraqis, gave them school supplies, fixed their homes and plumbing, etc. but that doesn't make the news. What makes the news are things like bombs, fear, pessimism, hurt, anger... that is what we have to see and talk about ad nauseum. That is why Cindy Sheehan is on our TVs but the parents of those Marines who died with him are not. They are at peace with their sons' service and Cindy is not. Anger and unrest leads... especially if it bleeds.

When it isn't fear-mongering, TV wants you to be uneasy about your life, your appearance, your weight, health, and financial future. It, along with billboards, Sunday circulars, and radio ads, tell you that people won't like you if your hair isn't right, if your breath isn't great, if your clothes aren't right, and if you don't know what bands are cool and what ones aren't. You are never allowed to rest, never allowed to be at peace. Many ads for pharmaceuticals don't even tell you what the medicine does. They just tell you to "ask your doctor if *** is right for you!" (oh, if only those interminable ads for ED meds were as discreet)

Here is something to think about. If fear, unrest, and discontent is a part of your life, monitor what you watch and what you listen to and make adjustments as necessary. Skip reading the ads in the paper. Mute the commercials on TV. Move away from talk radio and substitute music of your choice, online sermons from edifying speakers, or simple silence. Cancel your newsmagazines if they are bothering you, keeping you at "Alert" about issues here, there and everywhere. (I can see my email now, so let me answer them before they come in: stay informed about current events and vote your faith and conscience... but do so in moderation and take breaks from being so entangled in the affairs of this world).

And when it all gets too much to bear, start a "fast" from media, take time out, and serve someone. Make them cookies or fudge, mow their lawn, help them care for an elderly parent, sit and read for someone... you get the idea.

The media has become a set of wellsprings of despair. Like anything else that can be good for you in small doses and deadly in large ones, monitor your intake carefully and react quickly when you find your joy slipping away and your fear increasing.

"Be still and know that I am God...." "The Lord is in His holy temple. Let all the earth keep silence before Him..."

The Pegs Pop

2006-08-26T17:35:00.000-05:00

Some more tentpegs popped this week. Last week's unity meeting between the black and white churches of Christ in the metro Detroit area were a wonderful first step and there are signs that the churches here meant what they said and will follow up with mutual aid, events, and love.

One opportunity to show our love came today. John R. Flowers, a giant of a man in the black fellowship and the father and mentor of many, many preachers and elders, passed away at age 98. Today was his funeral. The event was held at the Elmwood Park Church of Christ all the way down in Detroit about a mile and a half from Ford Stadium. I got up early and put on a suit and tie -- on a Saturday! -- found my way forty miles down I-75, down Gratiot towards the river, and found a place to park in a crowded lot. Inside, the pews were packed.

A word needs to be said about the African American brethren in metro Detroit. I haven't been to all of their congregations, but I could not be more impressed with each and every one I've visited. I have wondered how to describe them to people outside this area and four words keep coming back: wisdom, grace, warmth, dignity. A couple of months ago I traded pulpits with Dallas Walker, the esteemed preacher for the Wyoming Avenue Church of Christ. I am hear to openly attest this: there is no more grace-filled welcome anyplace in the world than you will find at Wyoming Avenue. Period. Everyone should travel there and see how you are wrapped in grace and love from the moment you walk in until long after you leave (you see, they will say nice things about you forever once they meet you!).

Why "wisdom"? Again, it is a danger to overstate situations or fall into stereotyping, but my experience has been that our black brothers and sisters know their Bibles far, far better than my white brethren (alas, I have had so little contact with Hispanic and Asian congregations I cannot bring them into this comparison). Not only do they have knowledge, they know how to apply it, hence, "wisdom."

At the funeral, at least thirty and maybe as many as forty individuals came up to me to thank me for coming or for speaking at last week's unity event. The warmth in their beautiful faces revealed their true hearts. I was, frankly, touched and deeply encouraged.

Some might lampoon the dignity and formality of their funeral services and worship services, but I would caution you: when a people has been stripped of dignity, formality, ceremony, and recognition for centuries it is an sweet and beautiful thing to see that these dear children of God know they are made in His image, that they are loved by Him, and that their lives mean something. While many of my white brethren -- including me -- seem to rush away from formality and dress down for Sundays, I think there is something healing in seeing the reverence and esteem for the Holy in black churches.

When the minister called to tell me details about the upcoming service he referred to a "Homegoing Ceremony." I apologized to him for my ignorance and told him I didn't know what that was. "Brother Mead," he said, "that is what we call a funeral when the one who passed is a child of God." How wonderful! During the Homegoing Ceremony nine or ten preachers preached and each one who referred to resurrection day called it "Gettin' up morning."

I have much to learn from these, my precious brothers and sisters. I hear tentpegs popping. Brother John R. Flowers has pulled his tentpegs up and moved on to glory. Those of us who remain behind are pulling up deeply driven pegs so that we can move our tents closer to each other.

God give us the courage to keep moving toward Him and each other.

What Is In Your Hand?

2006-08-23T09:53:00.000-05:00

When Moses was tagged by God for the great mission of freeing the Jewish people from Egyptian slavery he wasn't as keen about it as you might expect a Bible-type hero to be. He would have been primed, locked, loaded, and ready to rock when he was 40. Back then he was strong, active, and driven to help his people. Now, forty years later, he was 80 (note how quickly I did that math) and for the last several decades he was head of Sheep, Sinai Division. That's it. God called him into battle and, after Moses offered one excuse after another, asked him "What do you have in your hand?"

God is never interested in why we can't do this or that. He is very interested in what we have in our hand. What is available to you? What are your talents? Resources? What kind of backup do you have in place financially, socially, personally? What gift or gifts might you have that would help?

When people come to me who are depressed, or who have lost their job, or whose health is broken, or who have just had to take in aged parents while their kids were still not grown... one of the questions I ask them is "what resources do you have?" We work on this, sometimes for weeks for the answers do not always surface quickly. I have found that almost everyone has a lot more resources than they realize. They see the empty places, the lack of talents and support, rather than seeing the good things. This is normal. We all do it.

Want to test it? You have fifteen seconds to think of an embarassing or painful moment in your life. Didn't take that long, did it? You now have fifteen seconds to think of something wonderful, a moment where you shined and the world was a terrific place to be. Hmmmm.... takes longer, doesn't it? That is understandable. When you enter a room and see a snake on the floor you don't immediately counter by thinking, "But look at the huge expanse of snake-free floor!" However, when all we see are the snakes, we sometimes forget we have a hoe to kill them with!

When I think of the talents I don't have, the people who don't like me, the churches that write me (and Rochester) up, or my not-so-good health I make myself begin a list of the resources I DO have, the things with which God has blessed me. First and foremost, of course, are my darling wife, my dear princess of a daughter, and my towering, strong, and noble son. I'll leave you with their photos as I sit back and think about what God has already given me. "Count your many blessings... and it will surprise you what the Lord has done."

The Secret

2006-08-16T08:38:00.000-05:00

Want to have a happy life? Want to find joy even in the hard times? Here is the secret:

Like what you've got. Want what you have.

That's it. Admittedly, this goes against culture's tidal waves of commercials, enticements, and created needs, but if you can work with this, learn it, and live it, you will find peace and contentment. "Godliness with contentment is great gain," says Paul (1 Tim.6:6). If Paul could find a way to be content when he was pursued by hordes of his own brethren, mocked, beaten regularly, and marked for death... maybe he knew a secret we need to know!

Some will say that they can't be content because, unlike others, they were dealt a terrible hand. Okay -- some people seem to have less stuff, more pain, more disaster, and fewer friends than the bulk of mankind... but what of it? Or, more correctly, what are you going to do about it? You can only play the cards you've been dealt. How can you make the best of it?

Look at your mate -- the one you've complained about (at least silently). Women marry men hoping they'll change, and they don't. Men marry women hoping they won't change, and they do. Yikes. Over time, when passion is allowed to fade and life intrudes, we tend to find fault with our mate... but look at them. Please.

They're beautiful. Maybe not Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue beautiful, but beautiful nonetheless. He's handsome, maybe not Mel Gibson before he went nutso handsome, but handsome nonetheless. There are things to admire in their bodies and personalities. There are gifts there, if you are content to receive what they can give. Make your life together a voyage of discovery, where you are dedicated to helping them develop, grow, enjoy their life, and feel free to give their gifts in return. Learn about them. There are no boring or useless people. Everyone has something special living in their minds and hearts. Search for it and enjoy the search as much as you enjoy the finding.

Experience the joy of giving away, rather than buying. Since you want what you have and like what you've got, you really don't need or seek for anything more. Take one of those things that have blessed your life and give it to someone else so that they, too, can be blessed.

Experience the joy of serving the ones you have -- up to this point -- liked least. Find out what they like, what they need (or think they need), and what interests them and supply that as much as you can. If they fail to react, so what? The joy was in the doing. We aren't looking for a payoff. We do what we do because we are content and at peace with God.

Want what you've got. Like what you have.

Wow.

Decision in Marriage

2006-08-08T14:59:00.000-05:00

You only own one thing: your power to decide. All your possessions can be taken from you by an army, an illness, or an attorney. Your health can disappear overnight. Your reputation can be trashed by your own behavior or by the entirely specious claims of another.

But you can always decide how you will react, what you will do.

On my other blog I mentioned that I wanted my marriage to be passionate, risky, joyful, etc. and one of the comments asked me how did I keep that going when I or my wife are tired?

I decide to.

As a man, I believe it is my job to give first, serve first, and love first. If I have had a bad day (as someone with chronic pain and a few health issues, this happens!) and my wife has had a bad day (this, too, can happen) it is MY job to bring joy back into the day. I find that if I get my butt off the couch, ask her what I can do for her, hug her, smile at her, treat her, that that usually changes the course of the day. Does it wear me out or make me even more tired sometimes? Yes, but no more than the grind of joylessness would have. I can be tired and unhappy or tired and happy. Guess which one I choose? When it is in my power to decide, I will decide in a way that brings joy back into the marriage/day.

Does it cost me something? Sometimes. Okay, usually, but who cares? I have a choice. I can decide. I choose love, joy, and life. Yes, it is against my nature. My personality is more suited for a lighthouse keeper or a lone gunman, but I can decide to rise above my DNA and so can you.

Men -- love your wives even -- especially -- when they are not lovable. Love your children and spend time with them even -- especially -- when you don't feel like it. Serve your God and spend time in prayer even -- especially -- when you feel distant from Him and reluctant to speak to Him.

You can do this. You have the power to decide. You have the power to choose.

And if it costs you so much that you get worn out sooner and so see Jesus sooner... tell me, where is the downside in that? So you don't get to spend some time in the hospital dying of nothing in particular... where is the downside in that?

Stand up. Show up. And make a choice. THAT is something no one and no circumstance can take from you. No matter what happens, you get to decide what you will do in response. Maybe it won't be the response you'd like to make. Maybe it won't be the perfect outcome. But it is the best one you could find and you have made a choice.

And that changes everything.

Goals, Plateaus, and Progress

2006-08-02T09:50:00.000-05:00

The old saw says that "if you aim at nothing, you'll hit it every time." We've heard that a thousand times, but we act as if we haven't. Case in point: what are you aiming for with the children in your family? In your church? Let this serve as a plea to develop congregational targets for each age group, and for each individual within each group.

For example, we could have as a target that every one of our 3rd graders would know the books of the Bible, where to find the parables of Christ, the names of the patriarchs, etc. By the sixth grade, each child should know the major doctrines of the church (I'll let your church decide which ones those are!), the different kinds of Psalms and how they are used, and how to defend their faith.

You can take this and run with it. It will require a great amount of discussion, prayer, and effort to graph out knowledge goals for each level all the way through high school but it is worth it! When a child comes into the church late, there is still time to catch them up with special attention and with materials, perhaps shared with the family. Families would know what is expected of their child -- and this would give them a starting point on family devotionals, moving them along until they become a Deuteronomy 6:4-9 family.

But there's more. Other goals are service goals. By the second grade, the children should be expected to be involved in serving others. That could take many forms and those forms might change as the child gets older, but every child -- and every family -- would be expected to be at work in the kingdom. In our congregation that includes (this is by no means an exhaustive list) sorting clothes and food at God's Helping Hands, sitting with the people who come in for help at that warehouse, mowing lawns and doing errands for people who are sick, in the hospital, or on a mission trip, writing letters to missionaries, raising funds for mission or charitable work... all the way to joining a short term mission work -- at least once -- before graduating from high school. Volunteering at Christian camp or at inner city missions/camps/sports is also part of the list of goals we've set for our teens.

Set goals for your children, for all children of the church, and for the families. Be flexible and realize that not everyone can do everything, but help them do as much as they can and honor them publicly when they achieve their goals. Let part of your gathered worship on Sunday be a time where we celebrate and encourage the kids on their pathway to spiritual maturity.

Because, if you don't, you are aiming at nothing. And we know what that means!

Mixed Signals

2006-07-31T09:34:00.000-05:00

We were standing at the airport awaiting the arrival of our bags when I nearly snapped. Not really -- I'm not sure I'm "snappable", but allow me the hyperbole anyway. For those non-Detroit people who read this, I need to explain Smith Terminal. The main terminal at Detroit is McNamara. It is new, modern, beautiful, very well designed, and about the nicest large airport anywhere (the nicest small one has to be in Fort Smith, Arkansas). The other terminal -- soon to be replaced -- is Smith Terminal. Think "Bosnia-Lite" with "eau de Kosovo" oozing up from the carpet competing with the aura of despair and meaninglessness coming from the baggage claim area and various TSA personnel.

A woman was beside me, turning around constantly and yelling at her kids. To be fair -- the kids needed yelling at. They were out of control and causing quite a scene. The woman would yell, threaten, plead and then start again, almost without taking a breath. Knowing that I might offend some, it must be said: this woman was demanding her children be disciplined when everything about her indicated she was not disciplined herself. Her clothes, hygiene, voice, language (and on and on) were all indicative of a person who had never made a hard choice, chosen a discipline and stuck to it, or lived a life of self control. The pile of duty free liquor boxes at her feet were just a plus, a metaphysical underlining of my initial take on the situation.

So... why didn't her kids listen? Because the signal was mixed. The kids were seeing one signal lived out in front of them and hearing another signal. That second signal had no chance of success for the kids had never seen an example of it lived out in front of them.

On the cruise ship some very young girls wore super tight T-shirts advertising their sexual availability with slogans or by their snugness. Others wore far too little cloth covering only the legal necessities as their "swim suit." We're talking 9-14 year olds, here. Moms and dads had to buy that clothing, had to pack it, and had to allow them to wear them in public. These would be the same moms and dads that sat in the restaurant and complained about how unruly and disrepectful their kids were. Hmmmmmm.....

Other parents embarassed themselves and their children by the heaping plates of food they hauled back to their table at every opportunity. When the chocolate buffet came out on Thursday it went from farce to tragedy. By that I mean that I used to think the most dangerous place on the planet was between a TV camera and Jesse Jackon or Harry Reid. Nope. The most dangerous place was between some of the parents and that chocolate. Walking through a little later you saw heaps of food left on plates, wasted, good only to be thrown away by the third world workers whose hearts had to ache with memories of poverty back home. Where were the parents? They were out by the pool yelling at their kids to behave. Their efforts failed. Wonder why?

Children have to SEE disciplined lives lived out in front of them. My kids helped us write the checks when we paid our bills. They saw how much we gave the church. I arranged my study time to take place while the kids were up so that they could see that daddy really did read and pray every day. I took them with me when we did good works, made visits, mowed the lawn of a neighbor who was in the hospital, etc. I need to stress this: this was not natural for me. It was hard to remember that my little ones needed to see Christianity lived out. I am as selfish and narrow minded as any of you... but I know that Jesus wants something better from me. He lived it out, too. There was no mixed signal from Jesus. He lived out the fruits of the Spirit every day, in good times and in bad, and stayed faithful to who He was even while on the cross; offering forgiveness, taking care of his mother, and talking to His Father.

The lady at the terminal doesn't have a pleasant life. In pursuit of her own joys, pleasures, and peace, she has ended up in a place that guarantees she won't get any of them. My heart breaks for her and for her children. She did me a favor, though. She reminded me how important it is that my life gives off the right signals. People notice. Twice on this cruise, couples came up to us and asked us about our faith. They had noticed something different. We are in contact with two of the couples and hope to help them find their way to Jesus. Kami and I don't always send the right signals, but we want to!

Lord, let our lives match what we say we believe.

The Bible's PDR

2006-07-21T07:22:00.000-05:00

[NOTE: I leave in just over an hour for a cruise with my wife and won't be back until the evening of July 29th. You may leave your comments, but they won't be posted until then. I had to take that action after some less savory types were leaving offensive comments -- blog bombs -- back a few months ago. Sorry for the inconvenience]

Doctors have a very large blue book in their office. It is the Physician's Desk Reference, commonly known as the PDR. It has a full description of every prescription medicine available in the United States along with indications, contraindications, side effects, chemical makeup, metabolism rate, etc. It has a central section with photographs of each pill so that stray medications can be identified. Reading the PDR can be unsettling as the side effects of medications can be frightening. For example, people take Valium for depression and anxiety and the side effects of Valium are... you guess it... depression and anxiety! Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

The Bible has a PDR. We call it the poetry section of the Old Testament: Job, Ecclesiastes, Psalms, Proverbs. Let's look at Psalms this week while I am out of the country. If you are suffering with depression, anxiety, or stress; if you are working on getting through your days and want to arrive at tomorrow with a modicum of sanity, here are some ideas to get you started in your search of God's PDR.

1. Read through the Psalms, but only the first two or three verses of each psalm. Do it quickly and notice how the effect is somewhat like an amusement park ride. He's up, he's down, he's confident, he's angry, he's joyful, he's depressed.... keep reading. See that God is fully aware of how squirrelly we are and how we swing from one mood to another based on a wide variety of internals and externals. "He remembers that we are dust..."

2. Think of someone you know: a woman who is pregnant for the first time, someone experiencing the empty nest and not taking it well, a person who just got the job they wanted, or the man who just lost one... you get the idea. Happy or sad, new experiences or situations, think of that person. Now, go through the Psalms, turning pages, reading a line or two here and there. You will find that some passages leap out at you and speak directly to the emotions of the individual you were thinking about. It's uncanny. Give it an hour and see what happens.

3. Read the paper or watch the news and then go back through the Psalms. You will find that they speak directly to people who are suffering the events the news recounts. Think of a young girl in Haifa as the rockets fall around her. In the 60's (the Psalms in that section) you find prayers that speak of evil falling down around a terrified person, fires in the night, cries and chaos in the city. The Psalms work from that point to a place of faith and strength. Try it once a day and see what insights come to you.

4. Can't or won't read? Get the Psalms on CD or MP3. Use them instead of music or talk radio for two weeks and see what happens to you. You will be amazed.

5. When you find a Psalm that speaks of your heart and mind that particular day, use it in your prayers. Read it out loud to God, sing any songs that it brings to mind, and end your prayer with a time of quiet meditation -- just a few minutes.

Thank God for understanding us and giving us this rich source of emotions linked to words so that we could find a way to speak to Him -- and understand ourselves -- as we walk on this often perilous journey. Check out God's PDR and we'll see you at our next appointment -- in a week.

What About Those "Church People"?

2006-07-18T15:03:00.000-05:00

[NOTE: after Friday morning, the 21st of July, I will not be able to moderate comments here until the 31st. I am going away with my wife and we will be away from phones, email, and news. ALSO -- we are doing another cruise for missions in 2007. Next February we will take an eight night cruise on a wonderful ship and make stops in Panama, Costa Rica, and Belize. Worship at sea, daily devos, etc. and part of the cost goes to help two great mission works. Contact your sister in Christ, Sue Yanaros, at sue@escape2sea.com for more information. We want to meet our blogging friends!]

A good question was raised by Tina -- why does it seem that the church can be the first to reject the depressed, the unlovely, the uncool, the square pegs? This is not a new problem. I get questions from businessmen asking me why they can do business with outsiders much easier than they can members of their own churches. Moms and dads will tell me their kid is dating a nonChristian because they were so badly treated by a couple of Christians in the past. What is going on here?

First things first: it isn't God's fault and it isn't even the fault of the church (in the worldwide sense). Many local churches are dysfunctional for a very easy to understand reason: they are full of dysfunctional people. Why does this or that church make it so hard for depressed or broken people to play a part in its ministry or family life? Because it, too, is full of depressed and broken people. Some of them know they're broken. Others don't. But the fact is that churches cannot be perfect because we let people like us in!!! The church isn't a group of holy, perfect, and wise people -- though I have found plenty of those people resident there. It is a group of people who need Jesus and that means it has more than its share of messed up, freaked out folks.

Another reason we often are disappointed in the church is that we think it has a job that, in fact, it does not. We have encouraged this error whenever we create special ministries for every little group. There is a ministry for the seniors, high schoolers, middle schoolers, single mothers, divorced men, bored housewives, timid husbands.... etc. ad nauseum. Soon, we think that the church is there to make us feel better, give us a group of like minded people to hang with, and take care of our needs.

Nope. Hey, it can happen... but when it does that's just gravy, folks. Jesus did not go to Calvary so I don't have to go to the movies by myself.

If your gifts work better outside, in the marketplace, the neighborhood, or academia then take your gifts and use them there! Jesus didn't stay in the temple precincts and, although he attended synagogue and participated there, he didn't spend his teaching and serving time there. His community traveled with him as he moved around and -- more often than enough --he left them behind and went off on his own. On his own he confronted demons, comforted women, stared down angry men, cured sick children... all of those he came to save and serve. And then he said... are you listening? Are you ready for this? ... "Follow me."

We do not need to turn churches into social clubs for the religiously inclined. We do not need to look at it as a hospital, either (Oooohhh.... listen to the knees jerk! They sound like crickets!). Hospitals exist to make us feel better, be healed, and ready to re-engage our previous lives. Emergency Room waiting areas don't look like heaven to me (more like... you know...).

Church is where we go to worship the God who didn't leave us in the ditch, who created us in His image, who gifted us and placed us as He desired, and who then gave us other people on the same road with whom to pray and whom we can serve. When no one serves us, we follow Jesus... and serve anyway, in and out of the body.

I love my brethren, even those who write me hate mail (Cut it out, Mom!). It's just another reminder that God has saved all kinds of sickos and freaks in the past and will continue to reach out to those who need Him most. And who needs Him more than us, the ones who bear the scars of our past and who reel in shame at our inabilities and paltry attempts at spiritual growth? And who are we to complain when we find ourselves in the middle of a lot of other people just like us who God, in His mercy, gave the same grace He offered us?

The Unlovely, The Uncool

2006-07-13T20:21:00.000-05:00

A wonderful question was left as a comment on my last blog entry here. In it I created a teaching scenario where people attend a party and contrasted the behavior of someone who is depressed vs. someone who is wallowing in self-pity. It wasn't intended to cover all possible situations and it didn't Someone wrote in asking what to do when people reject you or refuse to let you be a part of the party.

Ahhhh... why are some people easily accepted into groups and conversations and others, despite their most earnest attempts, find themselves, at best, tolerated or, at worst, rudely rejected? Now you're talking about my life! I find myself at a stage of life where I am well liked, in demand as a speaker, and considered a fun -- if eccentric -- guy to be around. It wasn't always that way.

I was one of the unlovely, the uncool. Some of that was due to my parents who wouldn't let me go to parties, have a girlfriend, or have any say about each day's schedule, what I would study, when I would study, or even if I would have a job. This was part of the reason I was terribly socially awkward -- I was never given any chance to make friends or conversation. I could go on and on but the point is: my social life was nil and the harder I tried to find a way to work my way into any circle the worse it got.

Add to that -- I was never (and will never be) tall, muscular, or handsome. I was born with a slightly crooked back, poor lungs, and I walk like a duck. When I try to run it reminds onlookers of the time the mule got in the fermented apples. I was never allowed to play sports since I was expected to be at the beck and call of my dad, but had I tried for sports it would have been a bad day in Black Rock. A bad day, indeed.

Hang on... I have a point coming....

So, from one of the unlovely and uncool, here are some observations and ideas.

1. Being uncool is probably temporary. Unfortunately, it might not be. I believe Psalm 139 tells us that God built us on purpose, forming us in His mind before He forms us with His hands. That means you are not a mistake. God needed you, built just as you are. Remember: nobody gets all the gifts, but everybody gets at least one. Remember this, too: You get the gift God needs you to have, not the one you might have chosen for yourself. Remember the parable of the talents? What matters is that you play the hand you're dealt as fairly and righteously as you can.

2. Most people grow out of being uncool. They find people who will accept them and, in that environment, they lose the traits that made them socially awkward. What traits? The lack of social eptitude, the inability to read people, the low level panic that others may realize you're not one of them... you get the idea. Problem is, when you are fourteen or twenty three you can think "this is it, this is the way it will be the rest of my life." Usually, it isn't going to be like that.

3. What if it IS permanent? Then it's not time to shut things down, but to reboot and reframe. I'm not talking about a makeover, but a decision to listen to the question God asked Moses when Moses was convinced he could never do what God wanted him to do: "What is that in your hand?" Make a list of the things you "have," your qualities, talents, interests, and abilities. Be honest and do it right. Now you have something to work with. There are groups, activities, and clubs that would interest you (and you, them). The list is the set of muscles you have to work with. Get better at those things. You will also get more interesting and more powerful as you do so. Think about Bill Gates. Look at him. You think recess wasn't hell on earth for him? You think he got out of high school without being dumped by every girl in the tri-county area? But who's laughing now? Take the highest paid basketball star or hip-hop recording artist today and they're paupers compared to Gates. Hmmmm....

4. If you ARE at that party, here are a few tips. First off, don't try to be interesting. Find other people interesting instead. Ask them a few questions about themselves and react carefully, kindly. Don't keep asking questions, though. Just create a place where they are free to talk about themselves or free to walk away. If they are free to go they often choose to stay. If they feel trapped they WILL find a way to get away from you. Keep your distance, physically and emotionally, unless and until you are invited to step closer. Be the kindest, gentlest person in the room. It will pay dividends. Eventually.

5. Yes, the prettiest girls often go with the worst guys, but most girls don't stay dumb forever. Create a reputation -- you are the person who is steady, kind, and reliable. Boring? Sure! But after a few disasters, boring begins to look pretty good. (you think I'm Mister Exciting? Bah! My spiritual gifts are (1) sitting still and (2) losing my train of thought... but I still got the prettiest girl ever!). And ladies, it is true that men are so full of hormones and so full of themselves that they overlook your inner beauty and charm. I'm sorry, but the fact is that men are idiots. We all know it. Most will get tired of cotton candy and marshmallows eventually. Those who don't tire of fluff aren't the ones you want to be around anyway.

6. Those who accept who they are and then accept others for who they are usually find friends. Proverbs is full of advice on how to chose friends, form community, and keep from being foolish. Read it -- a few verses at a time. When you find yourself in there, make the necessary corrections.

You know what? Even though I am a popular speaker with some bookings as far away as 2009 (but not many), I still don't go to parties. I found out something: I'm not that kind of person. It took a few decades but I found out that I was really pretty happy being who I am. I don't "do" buddies and pals. I like walking with my son, my wife, and Jesus. I like talking on the phone with my daughter and I like to read. I like blowing raspberries on the belly of my parrot and listening to her laugh herself silly each time. I like people as long as they stay back a little bit. Odd, isn't it? For years I was upset that people wouldn't let me into their groups. Now I don't want in. Maybe God was trying to tell me something all those years ago: I'm not a group person.
What is God trying to tell you? Start with the way He made you, with the gifts He gave you, and with whatever is in your hand. Go from there with gentleness, humility and grace.

Support for the Depressed

2006-07-07T16:04:00.000-05:00

[NOTE: from time to time I issue this reminder: everything I write at this blog or over at my personal blog (www.patrickmead.blogspot.com) is free of copyright and can be copied, edited, used or reprinted free of charge, regardless of whether or not you choose to give me credit. Freely received, freely given. And worth every penny]

Churches can do a great deal for the depressed, but nothing at all for those who suffer/enjoy self-pity. Depression is a real and serious illness that requires treatment outlined in the last two editions of this blog. Self-pity is a power move by someone, often claiming depression or some mystery illness, but, in actuality, it is a "heart" disease that will lead to spiritual death.

Scene One: a party. Two or three dozen people of roughly the same age are talking, laughing, sharing some punch and snacks. A depressed woman (not to be sexist here, but depression strikes women more frequently than men) tries very hard to fit in; keeping up her bit of conversation, smiling or laughing at appropriate times. In the car on the way home, she feels small and alone. She cries herself to sleep. (alternatively, she is so depressed she doesn't come to the party at all)

Scene Two: a party. Two or three dozen people of roughly the same age are talking, laughing, sharing some punch and some snacks. Someone with self-pity notices that she isn't being noticed enough. She has no control over the crowd. Rather than trying to fit in, she finds a way to get noticed. She sits down on a couch in the center of the room and sighs heavily, looking mournful. She traps a couple of people in the kitchen and drops hints and rolls doleful eyes until they are forced to ask her if she is all right. She will say she is, but in a way that leaves no doubt that she is put-upon, burdened, a martyr in the making. On the way home, she will review her performance and critique how poor this or that person was in helping her. What terrible people! she'll think to herself.

If a church feeds a person's self-pity, they are helping her/him lose their soul. If a church FAILS to help and reach out to the depressed (when they know about the depression. Depressed people are often experts at hiding their illness) they are failing to be the community of Christ.

Depression is strange. It can be caused by the weather (Seasonal Affective Disorder is a real thing, boys and girls. It isn't imaginary. Real chemical events are occurring in the brain and blood). It can be caused by situation, physical illness, or genetics. While churches are rarely equipped to directly treat depression, they can assign shepherds or members to watch and pray with the suffering individual. If possible, engage them in active ministry. It is amazing how often having a mission and sacrificing for others can bring a person into a happier place. Help them grow in ministry, prayer, and community and do not forget to encourage them to find professional treatment.

Those who use sinful coping mechanisms to deal with their depression, or those who use their self-pity as a club and lasso to keep others in line must be confronted -- in love -- by their community of faith. Every confrontation must be undertaken only after several people have agreed, after much prayer, that it is needed. Also -- and this is critical -- only confront someone if you are willing to stand beside them and help them make the painful, slow changes in their lives that are required to get them back on track. Confrontation shouldn't be fun. If it is fun, you are really just jumping on someone when they are down and -- just maybe -- you are a bullying jerk. So.... softly, softly. Reach out to each other in humility and tears with heartfelt and solemn promises of support and unconditional love.

For we are the community of faith, right? Be the church.

Depression, pt. 2

2006-07-02T18:24:00.000-05:00

There is a simple formula for dealing with depression; simple, that is, to understand and remember. It can be anything BUT simple to actually work the formula.

1. Face it: One of the most important parts of the pathway to wholeness is to admit that you are depressed. Too many look at their depression as a personal failure or a spiritual weakness (or even a sin!). That makes most people reluctant to seek help for depression. Others aren't even aware they are depressed. They miss the warning signs or assume they are just tired or maybe they have some mysterious disease... and it results in the suffering individual not getting the help they need.

2. Trace it: Why are you depressed? Do a survey -- preferably with the help of a trusted professional -- of the chemical, structural, and emotional aspects of your life, present and past. While being depressed is not a sin, sin can play a part in becoming depressed. When we have done something terrible, our guilt is compounded by how disappointed we are in ourselves. We thought we were better than that! Or, that we should be better by now! In my experience, sin is a causative factor in only a minority of cases of depression. Most people are depressed because of life, their chemicals or, perhaps, their genes, but not because they are evil or have done evil. Whatever the causes are (there is almost always more than one cause) they need to be traced and revealed.

3. Erase it: This is the step everyone thinks is the hardest... and it can be, but it often is much easier than the first two. As they say, your mileage may vary. Here is where the medicine and talk therapy kicks in. Generally speaking, to achieve healing, a change of mind, a different viewpoint, a new way of understanding will have to be brought to light and then accepted, owned. Medication might be required to give the sufferer enough strength or peace to get this viewpoint-shifting work done.

So where do you find a good counselor? The best way is to go to the Yellow Pages... but not to the therapist or counselor section. Go to "Churches" and call every church (any tribal affiliation) within your personal driving distance. People in rural areas might need to look at a one hour driving radius or more. Ask the secretary or pastor who that church trusts. Ask both about counselors/therapists and psychiatrists. Write every name down and highlight those who are mentioned by more than one church. Alternatively, go to www.aacc.net and get recommendations there by typing in your zipcode.

A note about medication: one of the most frustrating aspects of dealing with depression is the unlovable fact that finding the right dose of the right medication is mainly a crap shoot. Doctors generally go with the drug that has worked for their patients most often. They guess at a dose, usually going as low as they think they can go. Some people feel an immediate benefit from the medicine -- but they are the minority. Most people have to try three (on average) medications or dosages before the right combination is found for them. It can take a year to get it right. A medicine which worked wonders for 90% of those who took it might make the other 10% worse... and there is no way to know how it will work in your body ahead of time. Please, please, please be patient. Your doctor isn't failing on purpose. He/She wants to get this right as badly as you want them to get it right!

Other things you can do for yourself? That's for next time. Remember: depression is not sinful. God isn't disappointed in you. Your salvation is not in jeopardy. And if the devil tells you that you have failed or reminds you of your past, remind him of his future and walk on.

Depressed?

2006-06-25T21:16:00.000-05:00

Depressed? That's not surprising. Depression is the common cold of mental illness. We call it that because everybody gets it from time to time and it is usually self-limiting; meaning, it goes away by itself with no treatment.

But if it doesn't? What if it lasts for two weeks, three weeks, or more? When is it time to get help? There are three areas of life that, if affected seriously, are your tripwires, your early warning signals, your wake-up calls.

1. Intimacy: if depression is affecting your closest relationships (spouse, children, parents, friends), if you are walling yourself off from them or driving them off, or if you have emotionally walled yourself from them.... get help.

2. Meaning: if you are questioning your value or standing as a human being; wondering if you are important or necessary, wondering if the world would even know you are gone.... get help.

3. Responsibility: if you are shirking your responsibilities around the house (parenting, upkeep, etc.) or at work... get help, especially if it continues for more than a couple weeks.

What kind of help should you get? Here is where it gets complicated. We are made up of three different components:

1. Structural: this is our DNA. This is our genetic inheritance, our bodies. Some forms of depression are genetic and can be passed onto our children (though not to all of them or even most of them). If your genetics are misfiring on you, you will need to get medical help. There is NO shame in that. Genetic faults are a reality we have to face in a world far removed from Eden.

2. Emotional: this includes our spiritual, metaphysical, and emotional makeup along with the complex matrix of our knowledge base and belief systems. This is the usual target of counseling. Everybody gets screwed up emotionally from time to time. Most of us make some adjustment to our knowledge base (learn something) or adjust our belief system and move along. Some pray or seek comfort in religious ritual until the crisis passes. If it doesn't pass, a professional can often help by supplying another viewpoint. To be fair, a community of trusted friends can often help just as well as a pro.

3. Chemical: this is not only the incredibly complex soup of chemicals in our system but also the foods we eat, the air we breathe, and what we drink. It is always a good idea to check your diet when you are depressed. Some depression (but not most, by far) can be linked to food allergies or a lack of B-complex vitamins or even to eating too much of the wrong food and too little of the right food. Usual things to jettison first are sugar, red wine, and white flour. To be fair, most people will need to add exercise and medication if their depression has a chemical cause.

Notice something? The chemicals can be bad because your genetics are making the wrong ones or not absorbing the right ones. So now your depression has two causes. But wait: "thinking" is accomplished by a myriad of chemicals and electrical impluses that can be caused by faulty belief systems, bad genetics, or lousy chemicals.

Help!

Here is the simple truth: when depression gets serious it is time to get help from someone who knows how it works. A psychiatrist is a medical doctor who specializes in psychopharmacology. He is the only mental health expert who can prescribe medication. A Licensed Professional Counselor or psychotherapist (or Marriage and Family Counselor or a dozen other names) is the best choice for talk therapy. Talk therapy is effective when done right. Most psychiatrists don't have the time or talent for it, but counselors are experts at it.

There are others who counsel, too. Some of them are good and some are horrible. Some States allow anyone to call themselves a psychotherapist or healer or spiritual advisor, etc. Some States have no laws governing what a clergyman or clergywoman says or does. Buyer beware.

In every study done, those who got medical help AND talk therapy got better much, much faster than those who got just one of them. Second best? Talk therapy/counseling... but it was not a close second.

More on depression in further columns. Know this: depression is NOT a sin (though it can be caused by sin, guilt, or shame). Some of God's favorite people were depressed or suffered it many times in their lives including Job, David, Jeremiah, Elijah and Jesus. Yes, Jesus. Isaiah said he would be known as "a man of sorrows and well acquainted with our grief."

Sometimes being depressed is just proof that you are paying attention! When you STAY depressed after conditions change or time moves on, then get help. It isn't a sign of weakness. Getting help is a sign of wisdom.

Truth or Not Truth?

2006-06-19T15:24:00.000-05:00

When someone starts a blog they have several decisions to make. They have to determine what level of honesty and exposure they will establish and maintain; what risks they will take with their life and reputation. When that blogger has a congregation of 1200+ and speaks all over the US and much of the world, that decision isn't an easy one to make -- or keep.

So what should this blog be? Should it be a series of platitudes issued by a spiritual leader, full of pat answers, simple solutions, and nonoffensive stories? Should I reveal any personal struggles, weaknesses, biases, foibles? Or should I pontificate from a distant place as if none of the earth's dirt gets on me?

When Rochester hired me five years ago I promised them (warned them?) that I would live my life out loud and out in front of them. I wouldn't hide behind our plexiglass pulpit. I would share the bits of my life that shame me as readily as I would those parts that give me joy. I grew up listening to preachers roundly condemn most of what I was doing (or wanted to do) but they never shared stories about themselves unless they put them in a good light. Even when they "confessed" or "fessed up" to making a mistake it was in a humorous context so that we could all laugh a little and shake our heads saying "Things like that can happen, can't they?"

I don't play that game. An example: Twelve years ago some people called me, asking me to meet them for lunch. I was supposed to hold them a meeting and they needed to go over some things with me. My spidey sense was tingling -- I've never had a good day start with hearing "we need to have lunch." When I arrived the two men said, "We've received a letter about you that makes some rather serious accusations." The letter was unsigned (figures!) but of sufficient weight to bring us to the meeting that day. As one man began to open the letter I placed my hand over his, stopping him. That, alone, shocked him for men don't touch that way outside of Brokeback Mountain unless they're checking for a pulse. I said this: "I don't know what is in that letter. I can't even guess at it. But what you need to know before you even open it is that it is nowhere near as bad as the truth."

They were stunned. I wasn't going to hide behind ecclesiastical robes or reputation. What was the letter going to say? (I never got to find out. They pitched it. We had a good lunch and, later, a good meeting where several came to Christ) Was it going to say I was lazy, greedy, lustful, tempermental, tactless, wishy-washy, or a spiritual cripple? If so -- it was right. I am the least of God's servants and I have never made a secret of that. I am proof of His grace and love -- for He should have left me in the ditch. He had every right to do so. I am also proof of His power for He has done many mighty things around me and through me and I know I don't have the spiritual/physical or moral power to light a light bulb... but He has taken my half a fish and a few crumbs of bread and done wonderful things with them.

Some were upset about me mentioning weight and size in the last column. Most of the emails I got were very charitable and kind. Some weren't. Some thought I shouldn't notice or mention such things. But why? You are hereby allowed to notice bad things about me (there are plenty to choose from, ladies and gents, step right up and take a handful, no pushing, please)! I am a short guy (5-8. I used to be taller but that $#%%$ gravity stole some) with round shoulders and a slight hunch (from birth, uncorrectable) and possessed of a voice that sounds like Mickey Mouse got in the helium again. Two major battles have consumed my life over the last twenty years -- my weight and my anger.

So... I went on a fast. And I am still on it. I gave up meat years ago. While I might eat fish once or twice a month, that's it. I LOVE meat, but I will not eat it again. I had to have something in my life to remind me --every day -- that I was no longer a predator and I would not attack my brethren or neighbors again. It also reminded me that not all food is good for me and I needed to make better choices about what to eat and how much of it I could eat. This is not a diet -- it is a spiritual commitment.

Am I allowed to notice or comment when someone is huge? I think so. I could lie and act like it never crosses my mind but is that the kind of minister-blog you want? Maybe you should go to the card store and read Helen Steiner Rice verses instead. My favorite comedian is John Pinette (his CD "Show Me The Buffet" is hilarious). His comedy centers around his considerable size. He joyfully admits it isn't a glandular thing; he just loves eating. For those who are overweight due to genetics (a very small percentage) I know what you are going through. See above: I'm not a handsome dude and I get teased a lot even now (and I take it because I know it isn't done maliciously. I'm glad my family and friends can be comfortable and secure enough to tease me). If your weight is caused by other conditions such as medication, the inability to be mobile because of an injury or disease, etc. then my heart goes out to you. When I lost the ability to walk for awhile (I'm okay now) my weight ballooned. But if your weight is due to overeating and lack of movement -- change your life. Make a vow. Keep it. I know it's not easy, but it CAN be done.

In the meantime, this blog will continue to be honest and open even at the risk of being unlovely. Because, really, would you want it any other way? Like me, hate me, love me, revile me... but at least you will know who I am before you decide!

The Executive Mailing Tube

2006-06-16T15:02:00.000-05:00

I just flew in from Oklahoma City last night. On Sunday, I fly to Omaha, rent a car, and head to York to speak the next six days at Soulquest. When I get back, the next morning I drive down to Detroit for that is the Sunday Rochester switches pulpits with one of our larger black churches in the area. After that I have one Sunday here and then fly to New Jersey for a four day meeting.

Why am I this busy? It's not because I'm good. I think it's because I'm cheap.

Most of these trips require flying. I hate flying. I hate having to drag out my laptop, take off my shoes and belt, and balance my boarding pass and ID all at the same time while some angry, bored, and impatient TSA agent starts staring at me while slipping on the latex gloves. I hate the smell of airplanes -- a distillation of sweat, BO, perfume, dirt, fear and despair. I hate the fact that airline seats were designed for leprachauns with masochistic tendencies. I hate the fact that every other preacher (I'm going by their sermon illustrations) has deep spiritual conversations with their seatmates and all I want to do is survive mine. I hate the noise -- engines, a dozen conversations, kids who evidently hate the plane as much as I do -- and I hate the fact that it costs a bundle and you can't even get pretzels or peanuts on most flights any more.

And I hate getting butt-whacked. This last flight, for example. The plane pushed away from the gate and stopped (that way, they can log it as an on-time departure even though nothing went anywhere). After twenty minutes the pilot came on and asked us to move around. It seemed the weight and balance figures for our plane weren't good and we were nose heavy. They asked the people in the first two rows to relocate further back. They didn't move. They refused to move. I could see why. Three of them were women approximately the size of York, Nebraska. I don't say that to be unkind -- merely stating facts here. One carried a gallon Tupperware jug full of sweet tea (I know it was because someone had drawn those words on the side with a magic marker). In the two seat row on the left, she touched both external armrests. It reminded me of the time that I saw a 300 pound woman in the mall with a T-shirt saying "Guess." I went with "thyroid disorder."

Each of the heavy women and two heavy men had to use the facilities a few times during flight. Each time I, sitting on the aisle, couldn't lean away far enough and therefore got well and truly butt-whacked (or should I say derriere-drubbed, rear-rapped?). I'm used to the drink cart catching my knees and businessmen swinging their laptop case around like it was a bolo, decking everyone in a four foot circle and acting like they don't notice... but I draw the line at butt-whacking. It's not only painful and embarrassing -- it seems immodest and impure somehow.

The devil knows this. He likes airplanes. I think he is the CSO (Chief Sulphuric Officer) of Northwest at least. Maybe Delta, too, since they have their own little separate purgatory terminal in Cincinnati. He knows he can get me in a bad mood in zero point zero seconds in an airplane. Then -- I spew out of the plane with the rest of the rumpled and stinky herd and head to a religious gathering. It usually takes me a few songs before I can join in.

I wonder if Paul was a good traveler? I wonder if he got sick on the boat when he was in a storm. I wonder if the apostles ever got fed up with the snacks served on Oxcart West. I wonder if Jesus got migraines.

All I know is this: if God can use me after I've been on an airplane, then He is truly God of Gods and Lord of Lords. As long as He wants me to travel and speak, I will, because I love Him and want to share the good news.

Just don't expect me to be happy about the journey. And where are my $@#& pretzels!

Chairs of Hope

2006-06-13T14:57:00.000-05:00

I am in Oklahoma doing a youth rally at Oklahoma Christian University. I left behind 70 degree weather with blue skies and low humidity and arrived to blast furnace-style heat complete with wet-rag/warm-towel humidity. Knowing it was only going to get hotter this week, I left my hotel early this morning and went downtown to spend a good amount of time around the Oklahoma City Memorial.

It was just over eleven years ago when the nutcase McVeigh (with help from others -- some caught, some not) blew the front off of the Murrah building killing 168 people and injuring 700 more. Where the building stood is now framed by two large, black memorial arches connected by a long eternity pool, a reflecting surface. Some of the walls of the Murrah building are as they were that day -- shattered, broken, rebar poking through ragged holes. A survivor tree is circled by a memorial to the responders -- professionals and average citizens -- who charged in again and again to find and save anyone caught inside.

A field of empty chairs is on the other side of the pool, 168 of them to represent those who died. It is an effective and moving monument. Frankly, I was unprepared to discover that people are still bringing flowers, leaving wreaths, notes, stuffed toys, and letters of love and loss at one end of the memorial. It was moving in a way that took me by surprise. I paid my $8 and went into the museum next door. It walks you through the opening hours of that day, shunts you into a room where you hear a recording of a water board meeting that was in session when the bomb went off. When the sound of the bomb comes over the tape, the lights dim and you hear the cries of people organizing each other in the midst of the unknown, looking for a way of escape.

As if the museum were not touching enough -- with its piles of keys, children's toys, shredded appointment books, shoes and briefcases -- there is also a traveling exhibit attached for a limited time. It is "Terror in America -- the enemy within." It would be easy to forget that we have always had terrorism in America. From anarchists (who killed two American presidents), German saboteurs, communist radicals, the Weather Underground, the Animal Liberation Front, and so on to the islamofascists and white power and black power advocates of today, this nation has always faced enemies from within and without.

And sometimes they leave 168 empty chairs.

Before I could descend into despair, though, I remembered last night. In the Judd theatre I spoke to an enthusiastic and tuned in crowd of teens. I can't remember the exact number I was told were in attendance but I believe it was.... 168. They sat there in chairs, singing praises to God, praying to Him, listening to my little set of stories about our reliance on Christ and salvation by grace. Afterwards, they came up and hugged me, smiling, full of life and hope and faith.

Empty chairs, made that way by a madman. Full chairs, made that way by faith.

He has not deserted us. He is not far from us. He walks with us, even in the shadow of grim arches and twisted rebar.... and faith rises up and fills the chairs again.

Readdressing the Concept

2006-06-08T08:40:00.000-05:00

When I named this blog "tentpegs" I explained, in the first column, that the word refers to our tendency to put down roots, make ourselves comfortable, and not continue our journey from here to heaven. In my own life I can often hear the tentpegs give as one more part of who I am and what I do moves on; my tent folds up and the journey continues.

As our congregation moves from being a one-location-many-services church to being a multi-site, missional, many-services church I can hear a lot of tentpegs popping out of the ground. Such is as it should be. God never wanted us to be comfortable and "at home in the world." We settle for far too little. We settle down far too quickly.

Thanks for your kind words about Duncan. He took the ASVAB test (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery) on Monday and scored 82. Average is less than 55 and it takes 74 to qualify for application to NROTC so he is a very happy man. He gets up at 6AM each day and goes running before coming home to take a quick shower and head for school. His work ethic and dedication humble me. [thanks to all who recommended Frank Shaeffer's books "Keeping Faith" and "Faith of Our Sons." We got them, read them, and are buying other copies to send to everyone who knows us and wonders what got into Duncan and how we are handling it]

We signed the papers on Monday. Kami and I sat at a small desk in a tiny room and signed the papers that allow Duncan to make his own contract with the Marines and enter whenever he wants to. He is 17. We heard the tentpegs pop out of the ground. Life is changing, never to be the same again.

I feel somewhat like I felt when I left Kara at Lipscomb six years ago. Her mother and I cried for the first hour on the drive home, unable to speak. We did the same thing when we put our son, then aged 9, on a flight to Guyana to help his grandfather in medical missons deep in the interior... and with Hurricane Mitch on its way. It was similar to the feeling I got when I walked over to my daughter -- who stood there nervously, radiant in her wedding gown -- offered her my arm and said, "It's time. We will do this well. Let's go," and nodded to the people ahead of us to open the door and let us march down the aisle.

Tentpegs popped out of the ground.

Tentpegs are our security blankets. They are our chains. They lock us into a place of comfort and security, allowing us to build palaces for ourselves while God lives in a tent, a shack, under a bridge.

What if the children of Israel thought about things for awhile and decided they didn't want to go to the Promised Land, but stayed around Mount Sinai instead? Forget about what God might have done to them: think about how tragic their loss would have been and how they would never have known it.

We were built to move. We weren't built to make our homes on this planet. As we move towards God He builds change into our lives: seasons change, jobs begin and end, and children grow up and put on a wedding dress or camoflauge.

And the tentpegs pop. Let each pop remind us that we are not at home yet. May the old songs remind us that we are pilgrims and strangers, just travelin' through this wearisome land. But we have a home in that yonder city that is not made with hands!

Concerning Daughters

2006-06-02T15:11:00.000-05:00

I am proud of the fact that my daughter and I are still very close. She is beautiful, delightful, wise, and faithful. She is also incredibly interesting with many hidden depths, full of surprises. That is the way of women. Remember that Solomon, the wisest mere man that ever lived, said that he couldn't figure out women... and he, like a good scientist, had run nearly a thousand experiments in understanding women by the time he said that!

Women are more complicated than men, physically and mentally. Men's sexual anatomy is simplicity itself but women's is so intricate it's hard to know where it begins and ends. Their minds are built for multi-tasking. For you computer geeks out there, think of it this way: women are Windows, men are DOS. Men are designed to pursue one thing at a time, but women are experts at knowing what is going on in a wide variety of arenas all at the same time.

To raise these incredible gifts from God, moms and dads need to emphasize certain traits in the same way as we emphasized the three traits for our boys to become men. Here are our target traits:

WISDOM: our girls must be encouraged to use the wisdom God wired into them. It is not an accident that wisdom is personified as female in the book of Proverbs! Praise them when they think things out. Show them they have gifts in academia, yes, but also in common sense, in interpersonal relationships, etc. The world is attacking this aspect of women, trying to convince them that they are merely consumers or sexual objects and nothing more. Every measuring indicator the world offers them involves sex or possessions. A Christian response to this is to praise our daughters for their intelligence.

PURITY: We must also counter our world when it tries to make women like men sexually. Men have always been more than willing to have sex with anything or anyone who is available, but women understood the costs of sexual activity and so regulated it to ensure that someone would be there to help them, protect them, and provide for them and their children. The world is trying to strip this away from our girls and make them like the disposable women on MTV and BET, not to leave out prime time TV like Desperate Housewives, etc. When girls are taught to honor their bodies and their futures, to value purity and to offer that purity as a gift to the world -- wow! What does it mean "to offer that purity as a gift"? It means that women's far reaching wisdom and their innate understanding of the value of their sexual being can control others when they forget God's law and get out of control. It is women who can disapprove of something their child or husband plans to do and, so, change it. We want their approval. We need their reminders that some things are not pure, not safe, and not for us. They can remind us to be pure.

SHEPHERDING: Women are far more aware of the feelings of others than are men. Our daughters can be trained to regard their natural abilities in this regard to be a blessing to the planet. It is the women who know where the children are, who notice who was left out of an event, who see the person sitting alone, and who remember to send sympathy or thank you cards. My wife -- God bless her -- is a very busy woman with a successful interior design business. She often has to travel to Lansing to speak with legislators about new laws and protections... and yet she will turn to me and ask me what kind of dinners we would like to have this week. I never give it any thought, but she is already concerned about and in action concerning what we should eat this week, day by day, and who wants what. That is a gift that women can bring to the equation and most men can't. We need to encourage our daughters to use that gift of concern, love, and care for everyone around them. They are natural shepherds, leaders, and teachers.

JOY: Men can get silly far faster than most women, but girls have joy built into them, too. When our daughters are taught the love of playing for its own sake, for laughing and dancing, and for rejoicing in silliness, they can infect the whole room with joy. You've seen the T-shirts than say, "If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!" The reason is, we all want the approval of women. We want to see their joy and smile. I am never happier than when I see my daughter -- 23 years old and married -- collapsing in a pile of giggles, pulling off a great one-liner, or dancing around her apartment in her pyjamas. Women are the bringers of light, the windows of heaven. Let them play. Let them wear silly sparkly things or play with their hair.

There is more, but this is the basic framework we used with our daughter and which we have taught at over 200 churches in the last twenty years. It is very, very cool to get letters and emails from people who took our advice and who thank God for the relationship they now have with their daughters. It is even more gratifying to see these young women grow up and take their place in the Kingdom, bringing their wisdom, purity, shepherding, and joy to the whole church. What wonderful beings are women! Thank God for His kindness and wisdom in providing them.

A Framework for Sons

2006-05-27T18:43:00.000-05:00

We went shooting this morning. Along with us we took several young men who had never fired a weapon before. Before long they had graduated from .22 rifles to AR-15's, a .308 sniper rifle, a .45 pistol and a Glock in .40S&W. A good time -- and a safe one -- was had by all. My memory of the day is colored most by the behavior of my son as he gently and patiently taught each boy, helped them handle the many new skills they were learning, and how he never flinched when something went "boom!" I was proud of him.

Only yesterday we had reviewed the framework on which we have built our lives. I'll borrow terms from Brad Miner and briefly describe them for those who you who have young sons and who are looking for a template to use that is flexible enough for boys of all personalities and abilities yet rigid enough to create a man of honor and courage.

All men are to be made up of three parts. While we may excel in one and struggle in another, all three must be present. Those who check each part each day will remain true to themselves and to the Lord who made them.

WARRIOR -- Not all men will learn how to fight, nor will all men want to fire a gun or jump out of the back of C-130. That's fine. However, every man must understand that he was placed here by God to provide for his family and to be a place of safety for them and for anyone in his sphere of influence. He might wage war in the courtroom, or with a pencil as a developer of programs that help people out of poverty. He might wage war with a tongue depressor and a stethoscope, or with a sermon designed to help people defeat the evil one. And he might put on a uniform -- military or police -- and actively place himself in harm's way so that others might live. But all men are called to step up and serve as God's man. When you enter a room, the people in it may relax for you are there. They know you will treat them with respect, dignity, and love. Not only will you not mistreat them, you will allow no one else to do so, either.

LOVER -- All men must learn how to be kind and friendly to women in a non-sexual way; viewing them as persons and not prey. No man misuses a woman's body for his own desires; animals do that, but not men. Men take time to listen to children, to comfort someone who is crying, and to serve those around him. He loves his friends, his family, his God, and the strangers he meets on the streets or in the mall. What he does, he does for love. When he makes a covenant with a woman to be her husband, he dedicates himself to learning about her so that he might be her lover for life, saving himself only for her regardless of any changes in her body, mind, or health. He is not afraid to buy a valentine, to show up with flowers, to tackle laundry or cleaning when it means the woman he loves is given a time of rest and joy.

MONK -- Every true man must spend time alone with his God. He must be a man of prayer, of study, and of personal discipline before the Father. He is a wandering friar, a religious brother, a reflection of faith to anyone placed in his path by Providence. He wears no religious habit, but he is a man of religious habits. He enters each place with a prayer asking God to reveal His will and to bring to him anyone who might need a word from Jesus.

Dads, model these for your sons -- even when they are infants. When they are older, make a covenant with your son so that you can both hold each other accountable to these things. It makes a huge difference in the way you live your own life and in the way he learns to live his.

Duncan's Creed

2006-05-20T19:29:00.000-05:00

Because of the number of requests, I secured Duncan's permission to print here the letter he dashed off almost a year ago and gave to his friends who asked him why he would want to go into the Marines. Please remember that these are the heartfelt words and emotions of a then 16 year old young man. Now that he is 17 and signing the Delayed Entry Program papers in a few weeks, he tells me he stands by them. If anything, were he to write it today, he says it would be a longer and stronger statement. The rest of this post consists entirely of his words.

***

Everyday, people ask me why I want to join the military and, everyday, I stuggle to give them an answer they can understand. And, everyday, I fail. It's not because I want to get lots of shiny medals or handshakes from the President, and it's not because I want to make anyone proud. It's a feeling that has haunted me my entire life, the feeling that it's the right thing to do, the feeling that it is there that I belong.

The fact is: I am willing to stand between you and the people who are trying to kill you. I intend to place myself in harm's way for you. So why do you look at me like I'm crazy? Why do some people despise me because of what I intend to do? Why does everyone want to talk me out of this? I know: you don't understand me. Fact is, I don't understand you, either.

Honestly, how can you watch television and watch photos of war and slavery and then go on eating your dinner like nothing's really going on? What has made you stop caring about the world around you? Are you aware, even a little bit, of the sacrifices being made every day to keep you safe and comfortable in America. The nation that forgets its defenders will, itself, be forgotten and lost one day. If you aren't able to realize and appreciate the sacrifices made for your freedom, you don't deserve to be free.

I'm not doing this for my family and, in some ways, I' not doing it for my country. In fact, I will still do it even if I don't get support from either of them. So lead me, follow me, or get the hell out of my way. No matter where or when, Marines have an obligation to each other, to the Corps, and to our country and those who cannot defend themselves. We take that obligation with us everywhere we go. I will protect these ideals with my life.

The reason I write this is that I want my family and friends to understand why I want to fight. Do you honestly believe I WANT to put myself in harm's way? No, but I am willing to stand in the gap if no one else will. Isaiah 6:8, "And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Who shall I send? Who will go for us?" And I said, "Here am I. Send me."

Semper Fi.

***

Leave a Hole

2006-05-17T12:01:00.001-05:00

Warning: I can be a very blunt individual. It may indicate a lack of kindness, but I hope that isn't the case. I prefer to think of it as one individual defined diplomacy: "warfare by other means." This column about children, church, and Christians might seem harsh... but I'm writing it anyway!

A couple was furious with our church. We had gone to see what happened to them after someone noticed they'd been gone from our worship assembly for some time. "We aren't coming back," the husband said. "That is an unloving, cold church that claims to care about people but doesn't." I asked him on what basis he made that judgment and he replied, "We were gone four weeks from that church before anyone there even noticed. What kind of church doesn't even notice something like that?"

I replied, "What kind of person are you, that you could be gone for four weeks and the no one in the church could tell?" They were shocked by this 'attack' so I pressed on. "What work suffered because you stopped your ministry? What mission work ground to a halt because you withdrew your funding, prayers and support? Could it be -- just imagine with me a moment -- could it be that you never really were a part of the church? Could that be why your departure was unnoticed?"

I tell people -- and mean it -- that the Rochester Church is the warmest, friendliest, and most talented congregation I have ever worked with... but we don't make it easy to be a member here. All who come to be a part of us are called into the ministry and work of this body. They are expected to give and live as disciples, to be deeply involved in our work, and to be available to any other member who needs prayer or backup.

Kami and I built this into our children at an early age. As I have written before, we would often end the day with two questions: "Where did you see Jesus today?" and "What did you do for Jesus today?"

Let me rephrase this: make your life necessary. When you die, as we all will, you can either fill a hole or leave it. Your choice. I have no interest in filling a hole. I have a great interest in leaving one. Make you life something that gives, serves, and leads in such a way that when you are gone, it matters!!! I ask my staff and my children -- but mostly I ask myself -- "what difference did it make that you lived today? In what way did you do something that would have remained undone without you? Did your life matter today?"

Did you pray for someone fervently? Did you sacrifice some money or pleasure for another's benefit? Did you offer kindness and courtesy to someone everybody else ignored? Did you look for those who have been robbed and beaten by life and offer to them everything you had to help them as did the Samaritan?

People ask me how we raised our daughter to be such a sweet, dedicated, serving Christian and how we raised our son to be a noble, honorable, courageous man who is headed towards the officer's ranks in the Marine Corps. We challenged them to make each day an opportunity to make their life count. My son has written extensively on why he is going to serve in the uniform of the Corps. I will not quote that extensively here, but the gist of it is that everyone lives, but not everyone matters. Everyone dies, but most never lived for something bigger than themselves first.

And everybody fills a hole at death, but not everybody leaves one.

Simple Steps

2006-05-13T17:01:00.000-05:00

Just a short blog for today; for the steps here are not difficult to understand. Carrying them out requires effort and creativity, but if you are dedicated to raising your children in the Lord, you can apply the required effort with His help.

1. Get your children to every appropriate church function. Get them to Bible class, ask them every time about their class, what they studied, who was there. Make it an event that is important enough to discuss at some length. When the children have a special program to put on, get your child involved in it. When the teens have a youth rally, get your teen there -- with their friends -- and make it worth their while by giving extra blessings to them (a stop by the ice cream shop? A run by Blockbuster? Be creative) as your thanks for their involvement in Christian things.

NOTE: I was a youth minister for one year (I was terrible at it). We had a very large youth group and I loved those kids. Now, decades later, the kids who are still faithful are those -- without exception -- whose parents made sure they got to every event and were involved in planning and execution of events. The parents who had other priorities, who let their kids roam away from church activities, find that their children are no longer in worship... and neither are their grandchildren. Tragic.

2. Say a good thing about Jesus every day. Find a way to compliment Jesus in front of your children every day, in a way they can understand the comment. It doesn't need to be big and dramatic, but it needs to be a part of your normal speech and lifestyle. Start early enough and it will become a part of their language, too.

3. Find a family mission. It could be a child you 'adopt' via one of the great agencies out there that help children in third world countries. It might be a missionary that you and your children write, prepare CARE packages, etc. for on a regular basis (allowing the kids to have input). It might be a local soup kitchen, homeless shelter, or a shelter for battered women. Whatever it is (and you might need to change it from time to time), it needs to be a part of your family identity. "This is who we are. This is what we do." It doesn't have to be a huge thing. For small children, letting them help make cookies and then distribute them at a nursing home is an easy way to get them caught up in the joy of doing good.

4. Remind your children that you, too, are under the command of Christ. When you have to bite your tongue, or adjust your spending, or turn off a TV show because of content, let them know that you have had to modify your behavior because of who you are in Christ. Discipline yourself or you will never be able to discipline your children.

5. As soon as they can write legibly, get them to help you pay bills. They can fill out the checks, enter the deduction in the checkbook, and do the subtractions as you go through the pile of "payment due" missives we all receive. That lets them see where the money goes and that you aren't made of money. Because we did this, our kids never asked for the hugely expensive things other kids had. They knew our money situation because they were involved in it. By the way, when you write that check to the church and to charities regardless of how poorly you are doing that month, that is an incredible lesson your kids will not soon forget.

More later. Enjoy your children. Especially the difficult ones! Remember -- they get to choose your nursing home.

TEENAGER !!!

2006-05-08T10:46:00.000-05:00

[NOTE -- personal, theological, and political matters are now discussed at www.patrickmead.blogspot.com. This address is for family and mental health matters]

We have a gas station near us that still pumps it for you. Really. No kidding. They pump everybody's gas -- no self service allowed -- at the same price as the no name brands down the street so I show up there as often as possible and let them! I want to get the fellow that pumps my gas to come to worship with me one day. It will be a long courtship between now and then, I fear. He lives with his girlfriend and her kids (his own daughter is now 24 and on her own), one of whom has just turned 13. He asked me today, "How and why does a sweet 12 year old girl turn 13 and suddenly become Sybil? I saw it in my own daughter and now I see it in my girlfriend's daughter. How does this happen? Why is every 13 year old Sybil?"

For those who don't get the reference, "Sybil" was the name of a young woman who had quite a few multiple personalities (the disorder is now called DID and not MPD). Sally Fields played her in a powerful movie a couple of decades ago.

The reason teenagers can be so difficult is that it is a manufactured stage of development. Most nations and cultures still do not have an "adolescence." They go right from child to adult, usually via a public ceremony. Even "childhood" as a distinct age of development, began to be distinguished in this country around the time of the Industrial Revolution -- the middle 1800's. Before then there were no child labor laws, no mandatory school attendance laws, and children were looked upon as part of the family/community workforce. While rare, 10 and 11 year olds did fight in the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. The first distinction other than infant/adult is found in a book written in the 1600's that divided the life of man into: infancy (0-7), childhood (7-14), youth (14-28), manhood (28-50), gravity (50-70), and old age (70+). It was not a popular concept at the time, but as technology progressed and the world became smaller and more complex, the concept was forced upon us by reality.

Children became adults early for several reasons. Often, the father died before the last child reached fourteen (that was the norm in the US as late as 1900). Agrarian living was the norm and every mouth that was being fed had to pitch in or the family starved. Most cultures on the earth are still like that to this day.

In the 1920's the idea of adolescence was floated for the first time as a separate stage. It was the period between puberty and adulthood. An "adult" can function independently of its parents (which makes you wonder what to call all these 30 year olds who never left home or who have moved back home). As the world got more complex, the length between puberty and the ability to function independently grew rapidly -- but our biology didn't change! We were programmed to reproduce and make our own decisions by the way God wired our brains and bodies, but we now live in a world where it is foolish in the extreme to let 15 year olds loose to live on their own!

Yes, grandmother might have gotten married when she was fourteen, but she lived within sight (usually) of several family members. They were still a community, but she was free to make decisions, have sex, make babies, and move along if she and her husband wanted to. There wasn't much she HAD to know before she got married. She learned about the facts of sexual behavior by living on a farm and by living in a house with ten other people, some of them adults, separated at best by very thin walls. Other than Cow 101 and Sewing 102, there weren't a lot of courses she needed to take before she could make a home for her family with that young man she married (who was also within sight of some of his relatives).

But now... things have changed. There can be 10-15 years between the time one's hormones and brain kicks in and the time you can successfully leave home. Every nerve ending you have is screaming to get out, live free of your parents, and establish your own place and family. Your testosterone (or estrogen) is screaming "be fruitful and multiply!" but your parents, the church, and society -- some of it, anyway -- says "not so fast, Bucko." It is a very difficult, and artificial time. It puts stress on everybody, but it is a fact we have to live with. The days of an 8th grade education being adequate are long gone in our culture. I am not quite 50 and can remember people telling us to stay in school and get that high school diploma so we'd have a good education. Many of you know that even a Bachelor's degree is not sufficient in many fields to get you in the front door, much less to help you get started in a career.

So how do we live between 13 and the time we can launch into the world? By the constant application of Christ's teaching and example. We have to sit across from each other and acknowledge the problem. "Susie, I know you want to stay out with your friends until 1AM, and I understand why. If I were you, I'd feel the same way. Problem is, both you and I are under orders from God. You are required to shine with the love and grace and purity Christ gave you. I am required to protect you -- even against yourself -- while getting you ready for the day when you can be gone and report where you are and what you are doing to no one but God. I'm going to have to give you some rope and you're going to have to be very, very careful what you do with it. I'm going to have to reel you in sometimes and you're going to hate me for it; almost as much as I hate having to do it...

"But here's a promise: I won't do what most parents do. I won't look at you as a problem. I won't treat you like a child when it suits me and then demand you act like an adult when it suits me. I'm going to remember, every day, that you are in a very stressful, artificial time of life. I'm going to try to help you through it and give you to tools to be successful at it. I'm going to listen to you first and think and pray before I decide to correct you or say 'no.' I'm going to ask you to listen to me first and think and pray before you say anything, too. I give you permission to remind me of what I've just said a dozen times a day if you want to. And I'm going to remind you of what God has said -- maybe a dozen times a day if I have to...

"Remember, Suzie, this stage of life is temporary, but your soul isn't. Don't make any mistakes that last forever. I'll try to help you with that. When you fail, I will still love you and offer you grace. I'll ask the same from you when I fail. Deal?"

More to come...

Please Make A Note

2006-05-05T20:52:00.000-05:00

This blog is splitting in two. For family issues, child rearing info, and mental health matters stay right here at tentpegs. If you want to follow my work at Rochester and on the road, my ramblings about theology, politics, and life, please go to www.patrickmead.blogspot.com.

Twice the blogs... and yet, no increase in price! What a bargain. Proof once again that this blog isn't run by Exxon.

Discipline, part two

2006-05-02T11:09:00.000-05:00

[note: very shortly I will be splitting this blog into two parts. This one will deal with family issues or mental health issues. The other blog will deal with things religious, personal, and political. Stay tuned]

Anytime you speak of discipline the subject of spanking gallops into the room. Remembering that discipline is not the same as punishment, let's examine the subject of spanking -- even though doing so is guaranteeing that I will upset quite a few people.

There are three key terms used in scripture: chasten, chastise, and rod. (using KJV terms here since they are so locked in and traditional)

"Chasten" means to instruct or train. It is found, among other places, in Psalm 6:1; Proverbs 94:12, Proverbs 19:18; Job 5:17; and Revelation 3:19. It can mean physical punishment, but quite often it does not. It is a broad term that refers to all forms of training and discipline.

"Chastise" is a completely unrelated word. Yes, in English it is a kissing cousin, but not in Hebrew or Greek. It clearly means physical punishment. It is sometimes translated "punish" or "scourge." We find it in Deuteronomy 22:18; 1 Kings 12:11; Luke 23:16. NOTE THIS: it is NEVER used in a discussion of children. It is always used in reference to the rebellion of adults or nations. God administers this chastisement through His law. Parents are never given permission in scripture to "chastise" their children.

But what about "Rod?" I hear you cry. Fair enough -- let's look at this. Many words are translated "rod" in our English versions but the most common is the Hebrew word "shebbete" meaning a teacher's pointer, a shepherd's crook, a king's sceptre, or the body of law (aka "canon"). Read Proverbs 22:15 and 29:15-17 and ask yourself what is being discussed -- a stick to hit someone with or law and teaching? It becomes obvious that the rod -- a symbol of law, authority, and teaching -- is not a beating stick. See also Proverbs 13:24 and ask the same questions.

Discipline is ALWAYS more a matter of example and teaching than it is punishment. Punishment can be required, but when it is the first resort, or the preferred method, that is a sign of laziness. It is easier to hit than to teach. God calls us to more difficult level of service than the animalistic "I'm mad, therefore I hit" mentality.

So is spanking always wrong? Not in the least. Some physical intervention is required when a child is in physical danger or is placing someone else in physical danger. When a child is reaching for a pot of boiling water it is no good to say "Now, Johnnie, remember our song about hot and cold?" Grab the kid! If needed, smack a hand and tell them "no!" The kid who rode their bike into traffic should be grabbed and lifted back into the yard with an urgency that impresses on their mind that something extraordinary and wrong has just occured.

But no harming the child, no marking them, and no terrorizing them. Ever. Stay very, very calm and in control. Don't over-react. Here are some examples: I was downstairs in my comfy chair when I heard my then four year old daughter talk back sharply to my wife. I left my chair, went upstairs, entered the room and told my wife that I would take it from there. I lifted my daughter, took her downstairs, and sat her on the dining table as I leaned in close to her face and said -- evenly and low -- "no one talks to my wife like that. Not my father, not the elders, not a policeman -- no one, ever, gets to talk to my wife like that. Understand me? I knew her before I knew you and one day when you are gone she will still be here. She is mine and I am hers. Got it?" Guess what? She did. I had a girl who went through her teen years without rebelling against her mother. She might disagree with her mother or even be very frustrated by her, but she knew there were strict limits in place and DAD was still roaming the house to protect his wife.

One day my son, then aged eight, got out of control. He was having one of those days when nothing was going right for him (we all have them) and I actually felt sorry for him. But when he spoke sharply to his sister and puffed himself up physically as if he was going to strike her I whacked him on the leg with my hand and told him to back off. We then went into another room and I listened to him tell me of his terrible day. I talked to him about how to handle those kind of things and we got it sorted out. No harm, no foul.

But maybe you try to discipline your kid and it doesn't work. There might be some real reasons why. We'll examine those next time.

Discipline, part one

2006-04-26T09:48:00.000-05:00

[Thanks to all who want me to write a book. These blogs are super-edited versions of public and church seminars I've taught through the years, combined with general stories from our lives with our children. I don't know any book publishers at this point. If I run across one, I'll consider the book. Okay?]

When a new parent finds out that their child is a different person with their own mind and preferences, it can be a shock. All of a sudden that sweet, sticky, smelly bundle of joy stomps their foot and yells "No!" Parents tend to overreact or underreact because they weren't prepared for it. Who knew their kid would mimic the brats that live down the street?

It's discipline time! But what does that mean, exactly? Discipline is more a matter of teaching than it is punishment, and it is a form of teaching that is lived out more than it is spoken. We are the "play of God" acted out in front of our children. They learn self-control, love, dedication to God, loyalty to family, and submission to Christ by watching us. If we are not true to our convictions, they will sense it early, absorbing that lesson and learning to disregard what we say. Or what the church teaches.

Sentences such as "this is the kind of people we are" or "the way we do things is this" can combine with referrals to family and religious heritage to create a sense of identity and place for the child. They NEED to be special and they NEED to be different. Giving them a heritage that is lived out openly gives them both. Orthodox Jewish families keep most of their kids, even though their dress and life is so very out of step with the world. How? They inculcate a sense of identity from an early age, backed up with traditions, routines, and reasons.

When punishment is required, be creative. There are many different forms of punishment and very few of them require laying a hand on your child. Speaking of "the laying on of hands," let's look at some of the rules concerning physical punishment of any kind.

1. Never touch your child in anger.
2. Never mark your child. In all 50 States, that is considered abuse.
3. If the child is terrorized, they will not learn the lesson you intend for them to learn. They merely learn that you are dangerous and their position in your life (or in life itself) is tenuous.
4. Physical punishment only works when it is designed to get the child's attention so that the lesson can commence, or if it is to quickly remove the child from danger.
5. Children's bodies are not well developed. Grabbing them, shaking them, yanking them along behind you is a good way to dislocate joints, cause permanent soft tissue damage, or serious brain damage. A blow that is "minor" to us can cause serious damage to a child.
6. If a little spanking didn't fix the problem, a big spanking won't, either.
Continuing to do what you've always done, even when it didn't work, and hoping that it might work now is a sign of insanity.

Appropriate punishments can be anything that the child doesn't like, but which is not psychologically or physically harmful. Think of things such as:

1. Separation: boredom is a horrible thing in a child's life. Make them bored for punishment. Take away a favored toy, or all toys, for a time. Put them in an area that is boring -- at a kitchen table, in a chair away from friends and entertainment, etc. General rule of thumb is to not separate them like this more than two minutes for every year of their age.

2. Taking away priveleges: TV, games, playtime. Again -- boredom is the aim.

3. Grounding -- again, boredom.

4. Matching the consequences to the behavior: break your sister's toy, you have to do without your favorite toy/item until you have worked enough to "pay" for a new toy for your sister. Mess up daddy's screws, nails, and tools? While others are playing, you have to straighten up the tools to daddy's satisfaction. Play your stereo too loud? After a warning, you do without your stereo for the rest of the day.

More later....

God is Smart... or... the "duh" factor...

2006-04-20T21:44:00.000-05:00

So how do you raise children without constant rule-making? Some of you have written comments or sent me emails asking how we got our kids to go to bed at a decent time or come back home at a good hour without making bedtimes and curfews. Here's the way we did it:

We instilled very early in our children the concept of consequences. Within age appropriate limits, they were able to make decisions but they also had to bear the consequences. Consequences have largely been removed from our children's actions and that is a shame. Once upon a time if the child responsible for maintaining the fire failed at his duty, the house was cold, food was uncooked, and he had to deal with the disapproval of his family until the situation was rectified. Bring consequences and God back into the mix.

When God is entered into the equation, children learn that there is a metaphysical as well as a physical component to every decision made. If a child stays up too late, they still have to get up at the right time in the morning, go to school (or begin homeschooling), and show progress in their studies. If they could not maintain their grades or alertness, we removed benefits and extras. For instance, while they may not have had a bedtime set, the TV, computers, game machines, etc. were stopped at the same time each night. Quiet time then ruled. They could read, do homework, perhaps join in a family game, but there was no electronic stimuli to keep them up. Usually, once the noise was disconnected, the yawns set in and they went to bed. If their grades didn't stay at a decent level, we would work passages from Proverbs on work, rest, and growth into our discussions and devotionals. (and when they succeeded at school, raised grades, or did well we celebrated lavishly!)

And here's another key: we bound ourselves to the same rules. If the children saw us being slothful, not following through on promises, and not studying or improving ourselves they had every right to bring it up!

We also taped shows (no Tivo or DVR back then, kids) that we normally wouldn't watch. We would then play them back with the kids and hit the "pause" button repeatedly and ask questions: what if people really acted like that? Would you be their friends? What's going wrong here? This all started when my little girl was watching a rerun of Magnum PI with me one day and Magnum shot a guy. "He just shot that guy," Kara said. I allowed that he had done that very thing. "Why did he shoot him?" she asked. I told her that the man was a bad man. "So we're supposed to shoot bad people?" she asked again. I gave that a good think and decided that she had put her finger on a real issue with the show. It was a short step from there to watching an episode of "Friends" and asking: would you be friends with someone, or want to date someone, who has sex with that many people? We did research to show that to live in those apartments in NYC and have those clothes and that lifestyle, each of the Friends would have to make over $250,000 a year. Every unreality, we emphasized. We talked about what the consequences of their behavior really would be. (With that many sexual partners, we would have STDs, a lot of embarassing moments at the grocery store when you ran into old lovers, broken hearts, anger and violence, etc.)

Covering it all were words from the Bible to show that God is smart. He decreed a way of life that included work, rest, play, joy, worship, and growth. His law also prohibited things that hurt us; things which He handily arranged into lists such as Proverbs 6 and Galatians 5 (things God hates, fruit of the flesh). For each item that God hated, we asked "why" and found out that God was smart -- everything He prohibits is something that really, really hurts us. That's the "duh" factor. God is smart, kids. Well, duh!

We even used I Love Lucy reruns: what is making their life one crisis after another? A lack of God. If they just treated each other kindly and told the truth every single crisis would be averted (the same works for Flintstones and a lot of other shows). We would play a "how would having God in the house solve this problem" games with TV shows. The more we did this, the more the kids learned that God really IS smart and the more we listen to Him, the fewer crises in our lives (at least, self-inflicted crises).

Use the Proverbs. Use the Psalms. Use the lists of sins and graces throughout the New Testament. Apply them to everyday life. More examples as we continue. May God bless you as you journey towards heaven with your children.

Decisions, decisions...

2006-04-17T10:44:00.000-05:00

Duncan and I have been on our own for this week. Kami is visiting her last living grandparent, a dear lady who lives in Boise, Idaho. She was concerned about us: would we eat right? Would the house be okay? I told her, "We'll be fine and happy. You'll come back to see us both sitting on the couch in our underwear watching TV while everything in sight is covered with a fine layer of Cheeto dust." For some reason, that did not comfort her.

Since this was also Duncan's Easter break I thought I'd rearrange my schedule so we could do guy stuff -- golf, shooting, topping up our cholesterol levels -- but that isn't the way it turned out. He got one of his birthday presents early -- a custom made radio for his 74 Ford Gran Torino complete with MP3 player and extra speakers. It fit in the old slot so it was supposed to be a simple switch out... but it wasn't. After several false starts we drove it over to Best Buy. It took them 5 hours but now Dunk has tunes!

Other plans had to be changed on the fly. It all reminds me that we are not in charge of much. Duncan is a man -- six foot four and 190 pounds of pure muscle. Kids love him and run up to him at church. They know he'll be gentle with them. Girls know they are safe around him. Guys know he'll treat them with respect. I'm proud of that, but it also means he has lots of friends and sometimes that interferes with the plans I make. We haven't golfed yet, or gone shooting yet. We went to see Ice Age 2 (very good) and we've done a few things like that, but he is a busy young man. And I'm giving him freedom to be who God wants him to be and to make the network of friends he will need in the next few months or years.

Tomorrow evening we go have dinner with the Marines. He will talk to them about the Delayed Entry Program and the Platoon Leader Option. We've known he was a warrior for a long time now. When people see what he is planning many of them come to us and ask how we can let him join the Marines (not that we could stop him). Won't we be worried? Won't we be terrified?

Sure. But we will also be proud. Decisions have costs. If he decides to be a Marine he will not be... well, a lot of other things. If you go to Lipscomb that means you can't enjoy Harding's campus life or football weekends at the University of Michigan. Decisions are not neutral.

And letting him grow, letting him go, is our decision. It hurts sometimes. I sometimes miss the little boy who followed me everywhere, but Duncan is not my puppy. He is God's son. God gave him his talents, personality, body, and mind. Duncan has decided to use it in the best way he can.

When parents make the decision to give their children leave to find and fulfill their mission, the parents usually suffer. But that's all right. Decisions are not neutral and sacrifice is the name of the game when it comes to parenting. It's not about us. It's not even about them. It's about standing in the place God gave you when He planned you and wove you together in that secret place before delivering you to two people -- parents -- who are commissioned to teach you, hone you, and then deliver you up.

We are all Abraham and our children are all Isaacs. We have to take them to the mountain of God and give them back to Him. Thanks, God, for letting me have Kara and Duncan for a time. Even though the gift wasn't permanent, it was wonderful.

The Safety Valve

2006-04-11T11:39:00.000-05:00

NOTE: this begins a long, meandering, frequently interrupted series on raising faithful, happy children. I've done 20 seminars a year on child and family matters -- as well as another 20 on other subjects. I hope these will be of some use to those of you still raising your children or grandchildren.

My son turns 17 in a week. He is a fine, strong Christian gentleman. My daughter is 23 and married to a minister. She sparkles with the joy and love of the Lord. People ask us how we did it and, when we tell them, they scratch their heads and wonder "That can't work, can it?"

Yes. Yes, it can.

When I was a boy, my father and mother canned a lot of the food we ate. My father worked as a missionary and a church planting minister so money was always very tight. We'd often be paid in vegetables or other produce. I spent many, many evenings in front of a tiny black and white TV as I snapped bushels of beans. Then dad would bring out the huge... heavy... scary pressure cooker.

Our pressure cooker was approximately the same size and weight of an NFL linebacker. The thick steel and the heavy screws that secured its lid were impressive, but I was fascinated by the dial on top. It showed the pounds per square inch of pressure that was building up inside the steel pot and the top of the arc was red: danger. Dad told me that if the needle moved up into that area the pot was in danger of blowing up. The shrapnel, he assured us, would kill us all. Yikes!

Then he would point to the tiny little valve sticking up in the middle of the lid. It was a safety valve. If the pressure got too high that valve would pop up and release steam quickly, but safely. It might be noisy and hot, but it was preferrable to having a steel and green bean grenade go off in the kitchen.

Most homes fall into one of two categories. Some try to "can kids" in a cooker with no lid. The kids have no limits, the parents have no spine (or interest in the children), and therefore the children are raised by happenstance and the current culture. The result is predictable and tragic.

The second category is of the parent who've seen the flotsam and jettsam of their neighbor's kids and says "not in my house." They put the lid on their kids and screw it down tight. Rules are not only made, they multiply both in number and in restrictiveness. Rules and controls are mistaken, in this family, for spiritual instruction. The result is not as predictable, perhaps, but it is every bit as tragic. The pressure builds and, for a time, the child is safe and forms into something good and special. But with no place to release steam, an explosion occurs, the child rebels, the family is broken.

In my own family, I saw it happen again and again. Argument or dissent was not allowed. Disagreement on any point - even the smallest point -- was viewed as open rebellion. Walls were built around us, our behavior, and any desire to be or do something other than that which had been decided for you was viewed with horror. The result? Half of my siblings want nothing to do with God and very little to do with the family. There was no valve. The pot exploded. I barely survived it myself and find that I often put God and family at arm's length even to this day.

When we had our daughter we determined to do things differently. Both of our children were raised with a philosophy that had several parts, a few of which are these:

1. Our job is to prepare these children to live without us. That means that -- while we must have some rules -- it is far more important for the child to learn the reasons for rules, the ability to think, and the skills necessary to find their own way in a dangerous world.

2. Never say no when you can say yes. Allow them the maximum amount of freedom possible while maintaining our Christian ethos. If it is a matter of sin, stand and fight. If it is a developmental, cultural, or situational matter -- negotiate. Use wisdom, grace and humor -- but do not paint your child or yourself into a corner. Make sure that, if they need to run, they know it is safe to run towards you.

3. Allow your child to be who God made them to be, realizing that His dream for them may very well clash with yours. Will I spend sleepless nights as my son enters the Marines? Did I worry about what my daughter would major in and what she would do after graduation? Sure. But if God makes my son a warrior, then he is a warrior. If He had made him an artist, minister, or businessman I would have supported that.

4. Encourage independent thought, using every discussion as a teaching time about truth and consequences. Negotiate freely so that they feel free to speak to you about anything, and so that they can work things out verbally right in front of you without fear of ridicule or punishment. We (and here we will lose some of you) never gave our children a bedtime after the age of six, nor did we give them a curfew. Because we had trained them how to make their own decisions, neither of them ever abused that trust. Not once.

There are more bits and pieces we want to share with you in months to come. However, here is the payoff: because they were allowed to release steam in small amounts, they never felt the need to blow up. Did we disagree with some of their decisions? Yes (but, to be honest, that didn't happen a lot). But if Kami and I were to die today we know that Duncan has all the skills he needs -- even at 17 -- to make his way forward from here without us. Kara is already a godly woman, and a very wise one, who would miss us terribly... but she has all the skills she needs to move on without us.

Knowing that, we are at peace. Raising your children to be thinkers and to live in freedom is scary. Some say it is like a walking a high-wire without a net. We say "no. It's more like a pressure cooker with a safety valve. Things might get noisy and messy... but nobody dies."

The New Priests

2006-04-08T15:29:00.000-05:00

For centuries, people turned to the clergy to answer their questions about the universe and their place within it. The deepest metaphysical questions were added to mundane queries and their priests, prophets, and pastors answered them -- some correctly, some not. Since Darwin -- and we are simplifying things here -- that changed; slowly at first, then rapidly, and now, slowing again.

Scientists are our priests and their Eucharist is macro evolution. It is the shibboleth that shall not be questioned. Social scientists, biologists, psychologists, linguists, geologists, educators, and political scientists are all required to tug their forelocks and genuflect before the Agreed Upon Story of evolution and state -- and re-state -- their switch to the new and improved priesthood of science.

Doubt me? Let one example suffice. Let's say you're feeling a bit unwell. You go to the doctor's office but you are not allowed to see the Great Healer. You must approach a representative of the doctor but, even there, you may not directly speak to them. You speak through a glass, darkly, and make your case as to your worthiness to be seen. If you are granted a measure of acceptability you are directed to enter the Place of Waiting where no one is allowed to know the day or hour of the approach of the healer.

Eventually, a door opens to another realm and a name is called. One of your number stands as others watch in wonder, awe, and fear. The time comes -- it is your name. You enter a long corridor of light and are told to move along it to Another Place. Even there, no healer appears. You are directed into another room of waiting -- a hades of sorts. There, you are directed to doff the clothes of sickness and put on the paper gown of embarrasment. You are then directed to sit upon the cold table of surprise and wait once more. No matter how faithfully you watch and wait you will still be surprised when the door suddenly opens and a being dressed in white wafts in.

You know your time is limited. If you are not heard by this One there will be no healing. You speak respectfully, quickly, trying to get the facts of your case out before you are dismissed or the One leaves. You have no control over the situation. If you are blessed and the Healer decides to offer you aid, he will write on a special tablet that you -- not one of the priests -- may never own. He will use a strange language only readable by other scholars and priests.

You must take that sacred script with you on a holy journey across town past dangers and trials (ever driven in Detroit?) and enter another place where you find other priests dressed in blue, living in an elevated position. You hand up your sacred scroll to them and patiently wait for them to interpret it and supply to you the medium of healing.

I love science. I have two doctorates in science. I read it for fun (sad, but true). Yet, the way that science has closed its ranks to any dissension, elevated itself to priesthood status, and demands the destruction and humiliation of any who question its Received Wisdom is deeply troubling. As one columnist has noted recently (http://worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=49655), they have taken the role of The Church against any modern day Galileo who questions their Divine Theory.

In a world where professors and department heads at major universities are seriously considering rescinding the doctoral degrees of any former graduates who later are found to be creationists; where Scientific American fires an award winning columnist in the field of electronics for privately believing in creation (he never wrote of that belief), and where churches and churchmen rush to agree with newsmagazines and tabloid reports of the significance of each supposed new link in the chain of our crawl from the premordial soup... God bless the rebels who refuse to bow to the new priests, who keep their minds open to truth -- untainted truth -- from God and nature, and who believe, not in the new priesthood, but in the One God.

Men of Grace

2006-04-06T10:15:00.000-05:00

Last night, in place of our usual Wednesday evening seeker service called Connections, we had a concert by the Men of Grace. All of these men are former addicts who have completed or are completing a year long rehab program at the Grace Centers of Hope in Detroit. Grace Centers of Hope has homes for the men to live in, a clinic to treat anyone who needs help, and an ethic of work, prayer, and dignity that has proven miraculous to many, many men.

Most of the men are African-American (as is most of Detroit). Some were raised in believing homes and then -- for a variety of reasons -- they fell all the way down to the street. One by one, they told us their stories. We sat there transfixed by the pain they had experienced and by the ABSOLUTE and total lack of self-pity in their voices. They constantly praised Jesus for healing them and bringing them back to sanity.

And they sang. Lord, how they sang. When you realize what a man has gone through and how far back the journey was, when he sings "And I'll cherish the old rugged cross" there isn't a dry eye in the house. It was wonderful and we hope to have them back again.

Something needs to be said here: we have the bravest and coolest elders on the planet. You see, Men of Grace are not from "our tribe or tradition." Most of their songs require the use of instruments and (for those of you who stumbled onto this blog from other traditions) that has always been a super big no-no for our church. We went to our elders and asked them if we should ask the Men of Grace to sing only acapella and our elders said, "Why bring them here if we can't let them be who they are?" They went on to say that this was a good work, these were honorable men, and we needed to support and encourage them. "Let them sing and play as they usually do, and we will love them openly." They did, and we did, and God was praised throughout the evening.

At the end of the concert I asked the men and their pastor to line up in the middle aisle of our family room (that's what we call the auditorium). The people them gathered around them, laying hands on them as we prayed. One of the men was overheard saying to another one, "Man, I really feel loved here!"

Thanks, elders. And thanks, Men of Grace. For a quick laugh and a bit of fun, check out what someone with too much spare time has put together on www.songleaderrevolution.com. Then, go to http://gracecentersofhope.org/html/men_of_grace.shtml and see what the Men of Grace are doing now.

Jesus on Trial

2006-04-03T11:24:00.000-05:00

[Thank you for your prayers. I got back safely and had enough energy to preach the three morning services yesterday. I'm even in the office today!]

When I was a kid I heard a lot of sermons about Jesus on trial. They would go over the injustices down to our Lord and, truth be told, there were a lot of them. Legal experts have crawled over the Misnah for centuries and been shocked at the number of violations that took place during that series of trials. I found books that listed from 12 to 27 different serious violations of Jewish law. That's impressive. Those sermons, however, didn't motivate me to live a better life; they just made me angry at those old Jewish guys and Pilate! I'm not sure how helpful that was.

To me, that was the failing of "The Passion of the Christ." I am glad Gibson made the movie. I think it needed to be made. However, it emphasized the injustice, pain, and gore without emphasizing the love, grace, and hope of the Christian message. I know, I know -- one movie can't do it all. I'm just saying...

I can remember wondering, when I was a kid and listening the Trial sermons, "Why did they think they could get away with this?" It wasn't until I was older and read Matthew 21:33-45. It has to be the most bizarre parable Jesus ever taught. Think about it: a group of tenants ambush and kill those sent to collect the rent. When a larger force is sent out, they kill those men, also. When the Lord of the harvest sends out his son, he assumes no one would dare touch him, but the tenants think -- and here's the weird bit -- that if they kill the son THEY will inherit the land! That's sick. Yet.... when the chief priests and Pharisees heard this, they knew he was speaking of them.

Even though the NIV strips the passage of its power, Luke 20:70,71 shows another important aspect of this matrix. When Jesus is asked if he is the Son of God, he reveals that those questioning him have said, privately, that he was! They KNEW he was the Messiah and they killed him anyway. Why? Refer back to Matthew 21. They were relying on their special relationship with God to get them through this. They were certain that if they rejected Jesus, as they had rejected so many of the prophets, God would -- perhaps after a suitable punishment -- restore them and send them someone else; maybe someone more after their liking.

As sick as this is, it is exactly what we do with Jesus. Jesus is on trial every day in our lives -- and so are we. He told us not to lay up treasures on earth, to give to the poor, to be people of prayer, to be faithful to God in our words and deeds... and we would rather have Caiaphas. Caiaphas' job as high priest was to maintain the temple, keep the worship going, and keep the people in line. That seems to be the goal of most churches today! Jesus' goal was to overhaul people, destroying anything in them that kept them from God. That's scary stuff.

Example: a man sat in my office. I was working with him, trying to get him to take his Christianity more seriously. He responded, angrily, "If I tried to run my business according to the Sermon on the Mount I'd be broke in a month!" I shrugged and said, "So? Go broke." Unfortunately, he -- and most of us -- agreed with Caiaphas in John 18:14 that it was better for Jesus to die than for the whole social framework to die.

So, we keep our power, position, and comfort zones at the cost of Jesus, all the while relying on our special relationship with Jesus to change God the Father into God the Grandfather; sweet, understanding, saying "Aw, shucks, it's okay." The people in Matthew 7:21-23 thought they had a special relationship with God that would let them get by the gates of heaven. And they were wrong.

Jesus is on trial. Every time we choose a phrase to use to speak to our spouse, everytime we write a check, everytime we choose an entertainment, everytime we choose to pass our neighbors by rather than reaching out to them... Jesus is on trial. We cannot let his teaching die in our lives and then expect our special relationship with God to save us. "No one comes to the Father, except through me" he said. I think he meant it. If you doubt that, ask Caiaphas.

Vrrooommm!

2006-03-29T21:46:00.000-05:00

I'll blog more later. Just to give you an update, tonight I finished a seminar on parenting. The folks at St. Clairsville couldn't have been nicer. They've known me for years. When I came back to America I worked in Lancaster, Ohio for just under nine years and then went to Morgantown, West Virginia for eight more. St. Clairsville is between those two towns. They know I'm an Isaac so they bring me in, have me speak in the evenings, and leave me alone during the day. I eat with their small groups in the evening, speak, and then retreat. I wish all congregations were that understanding.

I leave in the morning for Winchester, Virginia. I am to give six talks on Christian Evidences there, ending on Saturday around noon. Then... I get to drive all the way back to Lake Orion, Michigan, a distance of around 520 miles. Adding to the difficulty factor there is the loss of an hour that night due to the time change. Keep me in prayer! I hope to be back in time for a few hours sleep before I preach our three services the next morning.

And after preaching... I'll do the Isaac thing and go home, sit quietly, read, and not interact with anyone other than my dear wife, son, daughter, and son-in-law. Oh, and Scooby, The Wonder Parrot. They know I'm Isaac and they love me. Thank you, dear God, for such a family.

So why does an introvert, loner, Isaac-type individual hit the road so often? Look at the last sentence in the last paragraph. It's gratitude, baby; pure, sweet, gratitude. Thank you, Jesus, for not leaving me in the ditch. I'll do what you want and go where you want as long as you want. Promise.

Call Me Isaac...

2006-03-23T22:54:00.000-05:00

Something was wrong with Isaac. Look at his father and you see a giant of the faith. Abraham had his faults -- serious ones -- but his faith is what we remember. Look at Isaac's son and you see a rascal, but we remember Jacob for working an extra seven years for Rachel, for being the father of the sons whose names would mark the tribes, and for a life that made his name into a synonym for Israel.

What happened to Isaac? I wonder if it wasn't that long trip up Mount Moriah and the aborted sacrifice at the top. There are a lot of wonderful spiritual lessons to be learned from that event, but I wonder about its long term effect on Isaac. Isaac seemed to keep God at arm's length throughout his life. He didn't write long psalms of praise. He believed in God and followed Him, but at a distance.

Call me Isaac. I wish that wasn't my name. A childhood, adolescence and early adulthood in a rigid, cold church might be the reason. Maybe its just my DNA.

I am in awe of many of the bloggers I read each week. They think about God all the time, write about Him, discuss six, seven, or twenty of the latest books on evangelism, theology, church issues, or spiritual growth. They have lives centered around their congregation and the greater church. Their cars rattle with CD cases emblazoned with the names of dozens of Christian music superstars. They go to seminars... and take notes.

Confession time: one of the reasons I am a preacher is because of gratitude... but there is another reason. While I am thrilled that God didn't leave me in a ditch by the side of the road (which would have been His right and no one would have blamed him,least of all me), one of the reasons I work in a church setting is so that I'll show up on Sunday. You read that right: I am not sure I would attend if I didn't have to. Church is hard for me. Interaction with God's people is good for me and I know my soul needs it... but it has never felt natural. I don't get excited about church events and I struggle to fit in.

Church or college lectureships? I almost never go. When I do attend I am surrounded by people with notebooks, bags of the latest books and CDs, going from group to group to talk about speakers, subjects, church issues, etc. That world is as strange to me as the world of a Tibetan monk. I recently read a series of blogs and articles admonishing church people to ease a little out of their shells and the substitute culture of the religious. I couldn't relate. I don't listen to Christian music (don't send me stuff. I've tried it). I read two to three books a week -- mainly a mixture of history, politics, sociology, mysteries and thrillers. I make myself read ten to twenty religious books a year but it is a struggle. I keep asking my id "are we there yet?"

Don't get me wrong: I love my Lord. I will follow Him anywhere. But I can't feel at home in preacher-culture, church-culture, and if you drop me into a religious bookstore I don't know what to look for. Put me around an atheist, a homeless guy, or a confused student and I know what to do. And I do it. But tomorrow, around the metaphorical water cooler in the church office, while the other ministers may be discussing this or that hot religious author, or some leadership conference they attended, or the cool new song by whatever-their-name is... I'll be quiet, smile every now and then, and move along.

I am Isaac. For some reason I cannot draw that close to the things that matter to everyone else. I admire those people. I envy them. And I will never be one of them. While others are at Tulsa (and God bless them and the workshop) I will be speaking to two small churches, one in Ohio and one in Virginia. During the day I will be reading quietly, walking around, calling to check on my wife, son, daughter -- my family. I WON'T be hanging out with the brethren or doing all that other preacher stuff. I've tried to...but it comes off as fake to everyone around me, because it is.

All of this, perversely, makes me love Jesus even more. If He will let someone like me, who cannot draw closer, work for him, share the good news, and bring his meager talents to the table -- what a wonderful savior He is! He even loves people like me: his backward kids, the underachievers, the kid who never makes cover of "Perfectly Adequate Preacher Monthly." Thanks, God. You're just what I need. Call me Isaac if you want to, Lord, but keep calling me nonetheless.

Questions for your family...

2006-03-20T19:35:00.000-05:00

I was only able to watch "The Passion of the Christ" once, but the scene that stood out in my memory was a quick one, easy to miss. Inside a small room the table is set for Passover. Mary, the mother of Jesus, the younger Mary, and John are there when they hear the shouts of angry and violent people outside. Jesus' mother is unaware that her son is in trouble, but they are fearful nonetheless. The younger Mary asks, "Why is this night different from every other night?"

That is one of the four traditional questions that the youngest observant asks the host during the Passover meal. In response, the host would go through the history of God's people and how God led them out of Egypt.

It is also one of the questions I ask myself and my son each day. Why is this day different from any other? Why hasn't the world ended yet? If it hasn't, then God still has a purpose to work out here. This day is different because it has never happened before and there is something to be done today. Who knows? It could be that the entire history of the universe was leading to this day. Be prepared to live out your part of it.

Another question -- which I borrowed from a long forgotten source -- is asked at the end of the day: Where did you see God today? Was it in the eyes of a kind nurse as you made your rounds? Was it in the homeless man you gave $5 to? Was it in a kind, encouraging email you received? You will only see God if you are looking for Him. Knowing that the question is coming makes you more alert for Him during your day. Look for Him, Look for His angels.

A question I ask God every day is one I got from the roll-out of Windows 98: "Where do you want to go today?" I ask the question of God -- what do you want to do today, God? Where are we going? Remember the old song "Lead Me To One Soul Today"? Maybe I got the idea from that instead of a Windows commercial, but the idea is one that works for me. It keeps me on track, on message.

Another question: Who needs Jesus? Yes, yes, we all know that everyone needs Jesus but that's not the point of the question. Let me use a story to illustrate it. If my father goes to Wal-Mart to buy something today he will hesitate before he goes to a check out lane. He will first pray silently, without giving an outward sign: "Lord, who needs encouragement? Who needs something from you?" He will then get in the lane of the person who seems the most tired, harried, or un-blessed, even if that line is the longest (and full of people who plan to use coupons and write out of town checks). Who needs Jesus? And to whom can I be Jesus?

Warning: these questions will lead to bizarre behavior. They will lead people who love one place to live in another. They will lead you to give away your lunch money. They will lead you to stop when everyone else is rushing forward... and ask questions. I -- who am the least social person I know -- am made to stop and help someone who is struggling with their luggage, or with English, at the airport. And as I leave them and wave off their thanks I have been known to say. "It's all right. Jesus just wanted you to know he loves you. He wanted to say hi" and then just walk away.

They will lead you to bring your children along with you on this bizarre and wonderful ride. You can't honestly ask yourself these questions without changing things, step by step, as you go from here to heaven.

1. Why is this day different from every other day?
2. Where did you see God today?
3. God, where do you want to go today?
4. Who needs Jesus today? To whom can I BE Jesus today?

Try it. But first, buckle up. It's gonna be a wild ride.

"Invisible Children" Update

2006-03-16T19:04:00.000-05:00

We had a great night last night. We didn't get a hard count but we believe 780-800 were in our building for the showing of the "Rough Cut" video. Our people have already been captivated by this effort on behalf of the children of Uganda (see www.invisiblechildren.com) as Josh and I did a short introduction last year. Last night we had several area churches -- some from our fellowship and some not -- send representatives to see what this was all about. They reacted very positively to both the Invisible Children video and to our congregation; several commenting at how wonderful it was to see a church so deeply involved in missions all over the world and locally (whichis true: this weekend a large group is going back into one of Detroit's most blighted neighborhoods to feed people and clean up trash).

I cannot really guess the number of our small groups that have invited their friends and neighbors into their homes and then screened the IC video but it is a significant number.

The merchandise table was swarmed for an hour after the presentation ended. Another table was set up by our ladies to raise money for Invisible Children by selling cookies and muffins for donations. The ladies were stunned that people kept coming by and giving them five and ten dollars for a cookie, waving away any change.

We have several dozen of our people already signed up for the walk on April 29th. We expect to have a hundred of our members sleep overnight, outside, in Lansing. And remember -- it is not uncommon to have snow in late April in Michigan!

Side note -- and one that may prove more controversial than I want it to: Six or seven people came up shaken by the experience and asked me why America doesn't just send in Delta or Marines to "take out" Joseph Kony, the psychopath who abducts and kills so many children in Northern Uganda. While I am known for supporting the military and the use of violence to protect the innocent, I am not sure it would work in this area. But more puzzling and troubling to me is this: we don't intervene in Africa. When the Rwandans were being slaughtered, we stayed away. We haven't done anything for the people of Zimbabwe who are being intentionally starved by Mugabe. We haven't stepped in to protect the Christians who are being slaughtered by the Muslims in Sudan. We went in briefly to Somalia but the President who sent us in made it a humanitarian mission that, predictably, failed so the next President made us run away.

Is it because they aren't the right color and that they have no resources we need? I pray to God that that is not the case, but the idea keeps me awake at night. I told the questioners that in the Psalms we see the people praying for the death and destruction of their enemies and that in 2 Peter we are told that some people become brute beasts, born only to be destroyed. If that is true, I told them, it is all right to pray that Joseph Kony die. (Yes, I would love it if he could be reached by the gospel but I fear it is far too late for him. Forgive me for my lack of faith)

Agree with me or not, please do something for the children. God bless you.

Children and Charity

2006-03-15T11:02:00.000-05:00

A few comments made on posts recently bring up a question that might need answered. People have wondered if our longing for heaven -- specificaly my "I'm just a passin' through" attitude -- would lead us to forgo charity and good works down here. The theory goes like this: if we are waiting for heaven to come at another place and time we will not be working hard to make earth a better place. Those who believe that fear that we will tell the poor, the slaves, or the downtrodden to wait for heaven; that Jesus will make it all better somewhere over there.

Sorry, but that doesn't follow. I won't deny some might think that way, but most Christians don't. Find charitable works anywhere on the planet and you will find that the majority of them are founded by, staffed by, and funded by Christians. Look at the roots of anti-slavery movements of the 19th century and today and you will see Christians at the helm. Every spear thrown at worldwide injustice -- with a few exceptions -- finds Christians at the pointy-bit.

And most of those Christians believe that this earth will pass away one day; that it is temporary. So do I. I know some loyal readers of this blog think God will remodel and remake this planet, but I don't. Not that I care. He can do what He wants to. I just can't find any evidence in Scripture that this planet or our cosmos was supposed to be permanent. God wasn't caught by surprise when we sinned and messed up everything. He knew all about it before He launched His plan and that's what makes His love so overwhelming.

So why, if this world is temporary, do Christians work so hard to help people? (Yes, yes, I know that some professional critics will slander the whole of the church as uncaring, ungiving, materialistic, shiny happy people but that is not my experience).
I think we work so hard to fix things and fix people BECAUSE we think it's temporary and we are moving on. Got money? Got stuff? Give it away, dude, because it's going away anyway! See people who are suffering or people who don't know the Lord? Get moving on that, buddy, because the cosmic clock is ticking and nobody gets to see how much time is left on the calendar.

So go on missions, give to the poor, bring people into your home and show them hospitality, hug a kid and let go of your stuff. Get packing for the big trip, guys, because God's bus is parked somewhere outside and He's coming for us in His own time. Endtimes? I don't know if these are the last days or not. More than that: I don't care. Why should it change the way I live if I think the world is going to end tomorrow? I should be living as if things are temporary anyway because... they are.

This evening we have the team from Invisible Children coming to our church. Josh Graves (www.joshgraves.blogspot.com) and I did a presentation of the situation in Northern Uganda and the work of Invisible Children last October, but we wanted to do more. The team pulled up in their RV yesterday and we will show the documentary tonight to a full house and encourage them to give and then DO SOMETHING to stop the horrible mistreatment of children that is ongoing in Africa. If you haven't gone to invisiblechildren.com and seen the trailers, do so now, buy the DVDs and show them to everybody you can.

Yes, this world is temporary. But that's no excuse for quitting! Get to work. Clock's ticking, you know?

Wade In The Water

2006-03-12T20:09:00.000-05:00

[Warning: this is a long post. It is a condensed version of a lesson given at Rochester during Connections, our weekly Wednesday seeker service]

The Israelites came up against the Jordan River for the second time. They were fully aware that their forefathers failed this test almost forty years previously, dooming them to death in the wilderness. Unlike other ancient people, they did not worship rivers. The Jordan was not a god to them but a barrier -- and a very serious barrier -- they had to cross to receive their promised land.

But other people worshipped that river and they lived on the other side. Baal was, among other things, god of water and floods. The Philistines believed that Baal would use the river to protect them and that any enemy who approached it would be drowned. Even the Israelites, who believed their God was the Supreme God, would have been very, very nervous at approaching this demonic barrier. They believed that those minor gods -- known to us as demons -- had power and could bring death and harm if Jehovah did not rise up to save them.

Let's leave them there and go back to another story...

The Creation story has a very interesting passage in it that we miss: "Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters." Let's look at that in the Contemporary English Version: "The earth was barren, with no form of life; it was under a roaring ocean covered with darkness. But the Spirit of God was moving over the water."

We miss the drama in that passage. The ancient Jews -- as well as many other peoples in that day and age -- believed that spirits lived in the water and those spirits were not good. These desert people and their love/hate relationship with water is puzzling to us, but it was an important part of their theology. Whoever pleased the gods of the water would have life and be safe from the chaos of floods. Here, in the Creation story, we have chaos with an empty earth covered with stormy, roaring, terrible waters... but the Spirit of God had come!

The Philistines felt safe behind the shield their god of water provided. The Israelites were about to discover that their God was God of the desert AND water. The Psalmist would celebrate this fact while referencing the old stories: that God had destroyed the monsters of the deep. "But you, O God, are my king from of old; you bring salvation upon the earth. It was you who split open the sea by your power; you broke the heads of the monster in the waters. It was you who crushed the heads of Leviathan and gave him as food to the creatures of the desert..." [Psalm 74:12-17]

What monster? Who's Leviathan? The Jews didn't write a great deal about Satan or demons, but they knew that there were invisible beings behind the evil found in the world. They viewed those beings as gods -- powers inferior to the One True God -- who tried to wrestle control away from God even at creation. There, as God created the earth and began crafting humanity, the demons threw chaos against Him and His work. Water was the symbol of that chaos.

When the Psalmist was depressed, he portrayed God as allowing the waves of the sea to wash over him [Psalm 42:7]. When the Psalmist is rescued from what seemed to be certain death he used water imagery again: "The cords of death entangled me; the torrents of destruction overwhelmed me... He reached down from on high and took hold of me. He drew me out of deep waters..." [Psalm 18:4-17]

Isaiah used this same symbolism to describe what happens when God removes His protection and the demon-gods are let loose [Isaiah 5:30]. Again, God is pictured as beating back the gods of the waters: "You are mighty, O Lord, and your faithfulness surrounds you. You rule over the surging sea; when its waves mount up, you still them. You crushed Rahab like one of the slain..." [Psalm 89:8-10] Isaiah references Rahab again (one of the demon gods that inhabited the water) in Isaiah 51:9,10 and says that God had to pierce it and then dry up its habitat before it was defeated.

All of Psalm 124 is a story of how God delivered us from the evil brought upon us by "the flood." In that psalm, the waters did not go peacefully and God had to war against the pounding, raging, foaming waters. [also Psalm 93:3,4]Those of us in trouble are to run to this Almighty God -- the one out of reach of the demons of the water. "Let everyone who is godly pray to you while you may be found; surely when the mighty waters rise they will not reach him." [Psalm 32:6]

Think of the number of water miracles and water stories in scripture. They are everywhere! The creation story, water from rocks, crossing the Red Sea and Jordan, storm stories in the Gospels, walking on water during a storm, a miracle at a sacred pool of water where an angel comes to trouble the water... on and on and on.

Maybe there is something here we should learn.

Before the people of Israel could claim Israel again, they had to step into the Jordan. They had to confront their personal demons and show their faith in the living God. When you carried the Ark of the Covenant, the place of honor was the front. Would you accept that position when it meant you would have to put your feet in the water first? The water controlled -- you'd heard -- by Baal? Water that was in full flood and bursting its banks?

Would you wade in the water? [here we played the Blind Boys of Alabama's version of the first song I learned on the 12 string guitar years and years ago in Alabama: Wade in the Water. Look it up, read it and listen. It's meaning will become clear after reading the above]

The Churches of Christ has a lot to offer the larger world of believers. One of the prime things we have to give is that we have understood and restored the place of baptism. Remember the baptism of Jesus? He went into the water and then what happened? Just like in Genesis chapter one, the Spirit of God was over that water and descended on him.

We go into the water with him. And when we do, the Spirit of God comes to us [Acts 2:38]. We enter our Jordan, taking all our sins with us into the water, leaving them there in the water. When we come up out of the water the Spirit of God hovers no longer -- but comes to us. He takes up residence in us who have come through the water. We fear no false gods, no demons -- not even death itself, for God is now with us -- the God of desert, water, fire and light.

We have been through the water and met the Spirit of God. We can now claim our promised land, leaving our sins, our past, and the gods of this world behind us. For we have been through the water and met our Lord.

Bingo, Buses, and Bullets

2006-03-07T10:33:00.000-05:00

My last post brought a lot of comments via private email and a few who posted. My thanks to all. Yet, there needs to be some clarification of exactly what I meant when I talked about the creation of programs that enslave. Some thought I was referencing welfare, etc. but my brush was painting a much wider swath than that. Some believed that Jesus would certainly support governmental social programs and that it was sinful not to vote for more of them.

Let me say this first: I am not claiming that Jesus and I are all of the same mind on this question. I have found that Jesus is claimed by every slice of the political piechart and I am fairly certain he did not intend to form an earthly kingdom so -- I will try not to make this a matter of salvation, an avenue of grace, or anything more than just the way I see things at this particular point of time. I have been wrong before. In fact, I'm pretty good at it. It might be my spiritual gift.

Let me tell you a story: in Morgantown, WV where I spent a wonderful eight years, the announcement came down from city government that they would have to cancel weekly bingo games at the senior citizen's center downtown. Their reason was that the bus company that brought seniors from out of town was giving notice that they would no longer do so. They complained that there was not adequate parking for the buses, therefore the drivers had to drive a long way away and park at the city limits, returning to pick them up later. Without a space to park the buses downtown, the company said, they could no longer offer the service. The city and county government looked at the issue and found that it would cost in excess of two million dollars to make a parking area for the buses; and they did not have the money so the games -- as enjoyable as they were to many -- would be stopped.

The seniors went ballistic. They demanded that the government pay for the creation of bus parking. Some of the city fathers and county supervisors agreed and pushed through a spending bill. The 30,000 residents of the town now had to find another two million dollars so that some could play bingo. If they refused to pay? What does the government do to people who will not pay their tax bill?

I think we can all agree that that was a silly example -- even though it was a true one. Let's do another story. Yesterday, a man came into my office looking for help. This happens quite a lot as we are on a main road and we have a big building so we're easy to find. He wanted help paying for prescriptions, for gas to get home, and he wanted to move himself and his eight children from the hotel they were staying in now to a cheaper one. I am not sure how much of his story was true or how deep his need was. However, as my habit is, I pulled out my own wallet and gave him money. I think it is what Jesus would do. Maybe he would have done more, but I am certain he would have done something! Note what I did NOT do: I did not go from door to door requiring the rest of the ministry staff to give him money, too. Nor did I, when someone refused, confiscate their property and threaten them with prison until they gave.

It is my responsibility to feed the poor, to offer the cup of cool water, to clothe the naked, etc. I am never given the right to require others to give, to name the amount, and to override any of their objections with bullets. Remember -- paying taxes is not optional regardless of what you might read on the internet, and the IRS is the only court in the country where you are guilty until proven innocent and the whole burden of proof is on the accused.

I am all for food stamps for the needy, free medical care for those who can't pay, new roads and sewers for depressed areas, etc. ad nauseum. However, where is the moral authority to force others to pay -- at the point of a gun -- for any program the majority wants? Where is that justified in scripture? The majority is not only NOT always right, sometimes it is evil and stupid.

Some social programs will have to be established because we are a fallen world and there is much we need to do to help each other along the way. But I submit that every social program falls into one of a few categories:

1. It is a result of the failure of the church to be salt and light. It is a result of the failure of the church to lead in giving, sharing, caring and driving back the darkness that invades our lives.

2. It is the result of pandering to a vocal minority, to posture for the cameras, and to insure re-election regardless of the immorality of forcing others to pay for programs they do not want.

3. It is the least efficient way to handle the problem. On the Gulf coast to this day (I've been several times recently as have my son and teams from this congregation) we see that billions of dollars spent does not mean any improvement made. Every single person we helped -- every one of them -- is still waiting for that first FEMA contact. They would walk us down the line and show us that every home that was repaired, every area that was cleared, was cleared by volunteers (almost always church groups) and not by government even though the money was allocated and taxpayers have been sent the bill. While honest people disagree over figures, most would agree that running the program through the government wastes between 20-40% of the money. Yet, if a citizen decides not to pay because of wastefulness or because they do not approve of the program (such as sex ed, free needles for addicts, funding for homosexual parades, etc.) they stand in very real danger of losing their homes, income, and freedom.

My reluctance to support parties (and Republicans are as bad at this as Democrats. The issues they push may be different, but they send the bill to the same people) is not that I don't want to do good. It is that I want to direct that good as I see fit after prayer and after receiving guidance from my elders and others I respect. I will not discuss this but suffice it to say that my family and I give until it hurts and then we give more (it eventually feels better). We love giving and will not stop. We just wish we got to choose where more of our money goes. And we will not support the unethical taking of money from those who do not want it taken, especially when their refusal puts their liberty at danger.

Now... are the waters muddy enough? Wouldn't it be great to be out of here and in heaven? One day. One day soon.

Politics and Passing Through

2006-03-04T15:45:00.000-05:00

There's a lovely old hymn that declares "this world is not my home; I'm just a'passing through." I love that song. I'm thinking of it while I wait in the Fort Lauderdale airport for an evening flight back to Detroit and my family. In the last two months I have gone back and forth from far south to far north: Detroit-Jamaica-Detroit-Louisiana-Northern Ontario-Florida.... and, while I have enjoyed meeting my brothers and sisters, I know I am not home.

Nothing against Florida, of course. I love the weather. I even enjoy listening to the Spanish language radio stations even though I know almost no Spanish. It sounds wonderful, doesn't it? Sitting in a strange place, waiting to go home is just another reminder of our lives -- we are all just passing through.

Nowhere is this clearer to me than in the world of politics. I know that many people think they know my politics, but the truth is far more complex than any generalities they might imagine. I vote in every election. I study the issues, read voraciously, pray, and then vote. But what party am I a member of?

I could never be a Democrat. In the name of compassion they create slave states where workers have to labor half the year to pay for entitlement and government programs. And if they choose not to pay? They never hesitate to bring the power of the State down on the protestor and squash them like bugs (think Ruby Ridge, Waco, Elian Gonzales, etc. ad nauseum). They pull away too many personal freedoms in the name of the State, community, and conformity.

I could never be a Republican. While I stand with them -- most of the time -- on the moral ground they say they hold, the fact is that most of them in public office do not live moral lives. The number of them who commit criminal or questionable acts is just too large for me to be comfortable wearing their name. I am repulsed by the slickness and greasiness, the corporate club-like nature of their policies, and by the lack of spine they show when push comes to shove.

I could never be a Libertarian (with a capital L) even though I am a libertarian (with a little l) at heart. While I agree with them on so many issues, they use their conventions to attack faith and morality; making abortion a holy grail. While they shout for liberty it seems that liberty is to apply to them far more than to others: they actively fight teaching intelligent design and against any public statements of faith.

So I am a pilgrim politically as well as bodily. I am just traveling along. I will continue to study, read, pray, and vote but I do not foresee a day ever coming where I will vote a straight ticket. My allegiance to Jesus makes it difficult to have an unquestioning allegiance to anything else. I don't regret that: it is the way it is; the way it is supposed to be. Just as I have never found an earthly home, I haven't found a political one, either. As a Christian and a pilgrim, an alien in this land, I will live as faithfully as I can -- including my participation in the political process. But I will not rely on any earthly party for my salvation. They aren't able to deliver on that, regardless of their promises. Instead, I will rely on Him who is faithful. And I will wait for the day when I can finally go home.

Go... then send....

2006-02-27T12:48:00.000-05:00

"Where did you go on mission trips last year?" I get asked that question a lot. While I do a lot of work with small churches in the US and Canada, I know what the questioner means: "what countries did you go to and did you have any adventures?" Fact is, in the last few years I haven't gone overseas very often. I went from a life hopping from one mission work to another to a life where I send others rather than going myself. Am I wimping out? No -- it's part of a plan.

Before I go on a mission trip I ask myself if that is the best use of the money we have. Wouldn't the missionaries rather just have the money -- which most of them desperately need -- rather than another visit from me? When I ask the mission churches that question they nearly always say "No! We need to see people from back home. We need their on-site encouragement and we need to show others what we are doing." That brings up a completely different question: should that visitor be me? The answer I give myself is "probably not." The reason? I have lived on the mission field a lot of my life. My photo books are full and so are the pages on my latest passport. Our funds are limited so we need to come up with a plan for missions where those few dollars can do the most good. And we think we've found that plan.

We send our members. And their children. And their friends. Kami and I and our kids will always be mission-minded. We will always be global in our view of God at work in His Kingdom. We want to "infect" others with the mission virus. We can't give to everybody -- or even to most -- but when we can scrounge up another $20 or $50 or more, we write a check. The more of us who go on short term missions, the more people there'll be who will support missions the rest of their lives. They will be so changed by the experience they will want to share it with as many as possible.

Take your next vacation in a mission field and serve for that week or two. You will NOT regret it. Then, take that money you were saving for something special and get it into the hands of others, sending them on a short-term mission. This is "paying it forward" in an eternal sense. The love of missions -- which really means the love of God's children -- is infectious but it can only be caught by direct contact. Let's arrange our personal budgets so that this epidemic of love and sacrifice is maximized.

Be creative. Sometimes missions are traditional meetings and campaigns. Other times they are clean-up and repair trips to the Gulf coast or digging wells in Western Africa, or teaching women health care for themselves and their children in Central America. It is doing good in the Name of Jesus. And "doing good" is never, ever a waste of time or money.

This week alone, we have one team returning from the Gulf (you can see photos of them at work at www.xanga.com/jasonsteckel) and another one going (this one from Rochester College, next door to us). We have one worker returning from Honduras and a team going to the Bronx. Kami and I don't have much money and we live from check to check, but it gives us more joy than we can express to know that each of these teams went with some of our money and all of our prayers.

Go. Then send. Repeat. And to God be the glory.

Northern Exposure...

2006-02-20T12:12:00.000-05:00

God bless the Meaford Church of Christ. Meaford is a tiny town on Georgian Bay in Ontario, Canada. The church has been there for 150 years, faithfully serving even though geographically and culturally isolated from most of their brethren. Most of the members have gray hair but that doesn't stop them from hosting a wonderful youth weekend every year. This year I was honored by being asked to speak. So, while my son headed for Winterfest in Tennessee (and now is in Mississippi working for Katrina survivors) I went the other direction, crossed the bridge into Canada and headed north. Way, way north.

Snow squalls pounded my car all the way up. Roads were closed in front of me time and time again as I tried to reach Meaford. I knew your prayers were with me so I kept pushing forward and, in time, got to Meaford. I didn't get a count of the kids, but it seems to me that sixty or so teens were there that weekend. A lot of adults were there, too. Most of them were grandparent-aged if not older. Meaford is a faithful, loving congregation that is conservative in its traditions, yet it encouraged the teens to sing as they wanted to sing, the songs they wanted to sing, and the older people didn't cringe at the clapping or 'percussion' that came with some of the more upbeat tunes. They gave the kids homes to sleep in, warm meals, a long list of activities in the afternoon (you know you're not in Gatlinburg anymore when the activities are snowshoeing, cross country skiing, hockey....), and, greater than anything else, their loving approval. I was amazed, impressed, and challenged by their dedication to these teens who must, to them, be a strange species indeed.

The teens weren't afraid to sing their songs and pray their prayers with great faith even as they are raised in an aggressively secular culture. Canada is not the friendliest ground for Christians. There isn't any persecution, but the secular state is loud and insistent. But these kids stood firm and proclaime their faith due, in no small part, to the older people around them who 'held up their arms' without judgment and with great sacrifice.

During Saturday night's devotional a man walked in the back. To make a long story short, his name was Wayne and he wanted some food for the next day. I asked him to wait until the devotional was done so that I could talk to some of the members and see what they could provide. He sat next to me and I got him a couple cups of coffee as we waited for the kids to be done. They kept going past the time I thought they would end but Wayne sat there patiently, sipping his coffee, trying to sing or clap with them when songs punctuated the devotional talk. Eventually, I leaned over and asked him if there was anything else I could get for him. He said, "I'd like some peanut butter for tomorrow. It's two ninety nine at the Spar." We had Spar convenience stores in Scotland so I assumed that's what he meant. I looked in my wallet and there were two Canadian five dollar bills. I gave him one. "Will that be enough?" He said yes and thanked me with a smile. I hope he's okay today. I hope he comes back to the Meaford church of Christ. They'll treat him kindly. They are special servants of Christ. I told Wayne he'd come to the right place.

Because of my position and the fact that our congregation is one of the larger ones in the brotherhood -- and maybe the largest in the north -- I get asked to speak at big events and megachurches quite frequently. I enjoy speaking to them, but I spend 90% of my "away time" at smaller churches like Meaford. It is not a sacrifice, for it helps me more than it helps them. I love seeing how God works in churches of ten, fifty, or a hundred. I love seeing His best servants -- the ones on whose faces you can see the Spirit of God's love -- serving so faithfully, but so unnoticed, tucked away in this or that corner of the globe.

Once again, I thank God for the faithful who serve year after year in tiny churches. They get no applause and are never asked to speak at our major events, but they are the heroes of the faith. I am a better man because I know the faithful at Meaford, DeRidder, Jennings, and a hundred other smaller congregations. May God bless them, for they have surely blessed me.

How Many Languages?

2006-02-16T09:49:00.000-05:00

I'm often asked how many languages I speak. Fact is, I'm barely coherent in English. I can manage to get my face slapped in several other languages, but the ones I am studying right now are the languages of Jesus. Now HE knew some languages. Let me explain...

There is a street preacher in Glasgow, Scotland. He stands about a block from Queen Street Rail Station and wears a sandwich board. He shouts at passers-by and thrusts pamphlets at them, demanding they repent. Nobody listens to him except those who stop to laugh at him or take a picture to show the folks back home. The thing is -- he has a point: the people in Glasgow -- and every city -- need to repent and they need Jesus. He isn't connecting with any of them, however, because he isn't speaking a language they understand.

The people who followed Jesus in the early days were looking for a Kingdom. He sat down and gave the Sermon on the Mount; a sermon in the language of citizenship in the new kingdom. That is what they needed to hear and he gave it to them in the language they could grasp and accept.

When the woman caught in adultery was brought to Jesus he spoke to her in a language of forgiveness, grace, community, and restoration. She couldn't have held up under a sermon. A lesson on citizenship wouldn't have done her much good. So he spoke to her in the language that reached her in that moment.

When Bartimaeus -- the blind beggar -- cried out "Son of David, have mercy on me!" Jesus stopped doing church, walked down to him, away from the crowd (these actions gave the beggar privacy and maintained his dignity as a human being) the greatest power in the universe, Jesus the Christ, asked "What is it that I can do for you?" He waited to hear the man's language. As it was, Bartimaeus wanted his eyesight so that is the way Jesus dealt with him. He listened, learned, and then spoke.

The Pharisees liked to speak of law, righteousness, and right and wrong so that is the way Jesus went at them. They would have ignored a sweet communication or anything to do with grace and peace. That wasn't their language. They didn't respect those things. What they DID respect was anyone who knew the scriptures and could argue a hard, painful point forcefully; all the while stripping his opponent of any defense. So that is the way Jesus spoke to them.

The theif on the cross needed to hear the message of forgiveness. His ears were tuned to hear anything that, in that dreadful moment of pain, fear and embarassment, would bring him peace. So Jesus spoke to him in the language of forgiveness, peace, and hope.

I'm learning. As Paul told us that he was "all things to all men" I see now that he was just taking language lessons from Jesus, and that I should do the same. Donald Miller, in his book Blue Like Jazz tells of a time when Reed College -- the most secular and libertarian of all colleges in his opinion -- held their annual week of pagan celebrations. Sex, drugs, alcohol and... well, you get the picture. No rules, no cops, nobody to stop them. The few Christians on campus usually went into hiding, but Donald and his friends built a booth in the middle of the quad and labeled it a confessional booth. They assumed they would be destroyed by the fervent anti-Christian crowd, but they had a plan for that, too. When the first fellow came in to see what in the world they were doing (and to mock them for it) he was shocked. He had come with a language that didn't think of much of Christians and their silly games... and that is the language Miller and his friends used with him. They didn't ask him to confess his sins. They confessed theirs to him. They told him that Jesus told us to feed the poor and care for the broken and that they hadn't done a good job of that. On and on it went and each mocker who came in was disarmed when he heard his language... but that language went a different direction than he/she assumed it would.

Like Philip and the Ethiopian -- he started where he was and led him to Jesus.

When someone speaks to me of their troubled marriage, how proud they are of their kids, the wonder of a new engineering process, the weather, the latest movie/TV show, their love of music, or their hopes, fears and dreams, I need to be able to listen to them long enough to hear their language and then, starting where they are, and at whatever speed they are willing to tolerate, lead them to Jesus. It might take minutes. It might take decades. It's my job to keep speaking the language they can hear until they can see Jesus.

So... as I head up to Canada in the morning to speak to teens (the high here tomorrow and Saturday is only going to be around 20... what's it going to be six hours north of here?) some might think that this will be an easy trip since the US and Canada speak the same language. Nope. I will have to hear the teens speak and then join them in their language -- a language shaped with strange TV shows, hockey, Canada's own style of multiculturalism, politics, fashion and music. With God's help, I'll be a quick enough learner to do some good. God already knows I love them. Now I just have to find the right language -- the one they know -- to show them why I love them.

I love them because He first loved me. He spoke my language until I heard Him. And then He said, "Follow me."

Before and After

2006-02-14T10:57:00.000-05:00

Holly Beach before Rita. A lovely little resort town. And then Holly Beach after Rita. When I visited there last week there was still nothing standing except for one nearly destroyed building and two portable toilets. Some of you wanted to see a before and after photo. I have others. Bear with me as I learn how to post them. I haven't figured out how to post several in one message yet, so they will be in separate comment areas for now.

Periphera...

2006-02-11T10:15:00.000-05:00

Just some quick notes. My son in law wrote a lovely blog about why he loves his wife, my daughter. It would be good for all of us to write and speak more about our husbands and wives. (www.joshgraves.blogspot.com)

I am back in Michigan. Louisiana was wonderful -- if you are referring to the people. The damage from Rita (I was on that side of the State) had to be seen to be believed. And even then... if I knew how to post some photos on my blog I would, but I'm no techie.

After preaching the three morning services tomorrow I will take my family out to lunch, come home, pack, and head out for Columbus where I'm teaching a short course at Ohio State University on Death and Dying. It is just a one day thing and then I should be back home in time for Valentine's Day. Friday, when most of the churches here in the eastern half of the nation, will be sending their kids to Winterfest in Gatlinburg, I'll be driving NORTH to Canada. I'm doing a youth rally in Meaford, Ontario. It is one of the larger youth events in Canada and is very important to them. They told me they had two and a half to three feet of new snow on the ground as of yesterday. Should be an interesting trip and quite a change from Louisiana. I speak on Friday and Saturday, preach Sunday morning and then drive back home (Lord willing). In perfect weather, and with no cranky customs and immigration people, that's a five to six hour drive.

Tomorrow we will be blessing our fourth team to head to the Gulf (three from the church and one from the college). They are leaving next week for Picayune, Mississippi. My sixteen year old son, Duncan, will be with them. He is spending his entire winter break down there helping to repair homes and haul trash. Hoo-ah!

My father returned home last night from Guyana. I haven't spoken with him yet, but hear that he is fine and that many were baptized and helped during his three weeks there. Thank you for your prayers.

Life is an adventure. And so it continues....

I Went To See What Wasn't There...

2006-02-07T18:27:00.000-05:00

I am still in Louisiana. I did a three day youth rally at Jennings, in the south central section of the state. It was a wonderful time spent with wonderful people. Standing room only for Saturday and Sunday. I am still stunned that teens will listen to me. What an honor!

Yesterday, today, and tomorrow I will be speaking in DeRidder, a tiny town in the middle/west of the state. I am speaking for the Community Church of Christ, a small church with a big heart and big dreams.

I spent today and some of yesterday down near the Gulf to see the damage from Hurricane Rita. I have seen lots of photos of Katrina damage; some brought by our teams we've sent into Picayune or Pascagoula, the rest via the media. Seeing it firsthand was different. I started in Lake Charles where almost half the downtown buildings showed serious damage. On the south edge of town one out of three roofs (by my estimate) was broken, covered with blue tarps. Some of the homes were shattered, mixed with tree parts and trash as if placed in a blender.

Further south toward the Gulf... the bayous were not hotbeds of housing developments before the storm. Now they are an empty, ghostly void. I drove an hour and saw no undamaged houses. A large church building had its front half completely ripped off. Trailers had spray paint on them to indicate that they stood where houses and a town used to be: "514 Main Street" or similar. Sometimes it was a pile of trash with a sign painted with a house number on it -- no trailer.

I got down to where Route 27 ends at the Gulf. I was interested in seeing the little town there and how it was doing. It wasn't. It was gone. Not one house stood where a beach resort town once lived. I turned west and drove all the way to Port Arthur, Texas past shattered piles that used to be places like Johnson Bayou. Port Arthur itself was hit hard. Homes, churches, and businesses were torn to shreds. I kept wondering "Where do these people get milk and bread? How far is the nearest store that's open?" Up a bit to Orange and the damage was less severe, but still terrible in the poorest section of town.

I had the scariest flight of my life last week from Memphis to Alexandria as a thunderstorm tossed the tiny plane about. I still have worries and this and that and, oh yes, I had a terrible migraine last Saturday. But I don't think I want to complain about any of that. After what I saw on a seven hour tour today, I think I just want to pray.

Still Tooting That Horn...

2006-02-04T16:09:00.000-05:00

As many of you commented -- on and off line -- the Disaster Relief Agency is not our only well run charity. I know of two dozen or more that are very worthy and there have to be many times that number I haven't heard of yet. When it can be so easy to attack our church for this and that (and I have done that a few times) we need to remember that it is the body of Christ and is doing much good.

Give examples from your own personal knowledge. The Rochester church has a warehouse that distributes food and clothing to people all over the Detroit Metro area. Here are a few sentences from their last report, received today:

" In 2005, we assisted 3,389 families (13,274 individuals) and disgtributed 184,690 pounds of food... we had 650 volunteers... 2005 proved to be a year of breaking records and so far in 2006 we are breaking even more records. In January we helped 300 families which is our biggest January ever. We really need to remain focused in 2006. We need to remember why we exist. We are not helping to feed and clothe people for our own glory but for the glory of God."

A few other churches help support this work and we are grateful to them. Brian and Lisa Cain, who run this work tirelessly, began it after the loss of their son. He was born with birth defects and they slowly and surely took his life. Rather than retreating, they moved forward and, with their two sons -- one profoundly handicapped -- they serve food, supply groceries, and manage a wearhouse full of good quality clothes, books, toys, and kitchen essentials to give to any who have need.

Brag about your brothers and sisters. Tell each other about God's Helping Hands (the charity I've been talking about here), the Disaster Relief Fund, Predisan and so many other good things done in the Name of Christ. We don't hesitate to point out problems. Let's take some time to rejoice at the good that is being done and at the fact that Jesus is getting the glory for it.

To God be the glory!

Reasons to Rejoice!

2006-01-31T09:38:00.000-05:00

I was sitting here thinking of my father a few minutes ago when the thoughts made me smile. Dad is a hard man, fiercely to the right of almost everybody in the church (I remember him taking Ira Rice Jr. to task for being too loose on a couple of points!), but he lives what he believes. You will never be able to call him a hypocrite. At this moment --pray for him -- this 75 year old man is in Guyana doing mission work. I've tried to contact him but failed. He thinks he'll be back Stateside in a couple more weeks. While he and I might not agree on some things, I admire the force of his faith. I know that he will continue to give his time, life and health to the gospel. When he returns, he will not have luggage; he will have given away all his clothes, books, and toiletries.

He lives on Social Security and a tiny check from a tiny church (30 or 40 people, I believe) but he supports Guyanan ministers and orphans everywhere. He lives very, very simply along with my saintly mother and youngest sister (a Guyanan orphan they adopted).

I knew my path would be different from my father's but I always admired him and still do. When I think of that old fellow in the jungles I cannot help but smile and shake my head. Go get 'em, dad.

There is a report on my desk from the Churches of Christ Disaster Relief Effort, Inc. out of Nashville, TN. In 2005 alone they gave (in goods and materials, not counting volunteers and their man-hours) ---

Mississippi $4.85 million (hurricane)
New York $80,000 (flood)
Ohio $78,000 (flood)
Tennessee $145,000 (hurricane and tornado)
Texas $1.7 million (hurricane)
Wyoming $75,000 (tornado)
Vermont $95,000 (flood)
Alabama $1 million (hurricane)
California $1000 (forest fires)
Florida $1.42 million (hurricane)
Georgia $115,000 (flood)
Indiana $486,000 (tornado)
Kentucky $70,000 (tornado)
Louisiana $6 million (Katrina, Rita)

Outstanding! Awesome! Excuse me if I am somewhat proud of my brothers and sisters in Christ. We might fight over this or that and our blogs might catch on fire from time to time, but when people are in need we step up like no one else... and we do it quietly. While the numbers above are impressive (and I rounded them. The official report has them to the penny) they are only a fraction of what the churches of Christ gave for most giving was not done through this agency. And how do you count the thousands of volunteers we have sent into the region? In one area of Mississippi no trucks where being allowed in except for National Guard and FEMA vehicles... and ours. We had already built such a reputation among the rescuers that they waved us through the barricades as soon as they saw the cardboard signs on our dashboard: Church of Christ. Cool!

Bashing your brethren, sneering at the older or younger generation, and attacking "names" has always been seen as a risky, but cheap, way to elevate oneself. Yet, in our brotherhood, at the same time that some publish diatribes attacking the motivations of this or that person; at the same time seminary students launch arrogant missives and blogs at anything in range, and at the same time older ministers bemoan the hopelessness of those same students.... we continue to shine God's light. He has continued to bless us and use us for His good.

My son might one day write a blog about me. I can almost see it now. "Dad and I don't agree on very much, and I think he's crazy to still be out there, but pray for him. He's out there somewhere still doing what he's always done...."

Yea, we might be crazy, but we are Christ's and he loves us. And that is reason to rejoice.

Handy Dandy Decision Making Sheet-O-Rama!

2006-01-27T21:53:00.000-05:00

[NOTE: this is a very abbreviated version of a one hour talk I give; most often to teens or young adults. Use, abuse, edit, or toss as you like. As with everything I do, this isn't copyrighted and you don't have to credit me. Or blame me. Sorry there isn't room to do all the stories that go with this. They're a hoot and a half, sometimes even approaching the rare and elusive double-hoot]

Our lives are a series of decisions. We often fail to make the right decisions because:
1. We think it is possible to make NO decision (but that is, itself, a decision).
2. We adopt the world's standards/definitions of right, wrong, success, etc.
3. We allow others to make the decisions for us.
4. We have never fully committed to God. We claim to be married to Him but we are
flirting with the world.

We need to realize:
1. Every action has a consequence -- now or later. So does every decision.
2. What one person does affects another and another... in a real sense it is NOT your
life, for one life is every life.
3. You don't have to play the world's game. You can opt out of its corporate insanity.

Here are the questions.

Why Do I Want To Do This?
Who -- in the world -- is influencing me? Are they who I want to be? Are they where I want
to end up? Is getting there worth the cost? What are the long term results of being like
them?

Who -- in the spirit -- is influencing me? (Remember Ephesians 6:10-12. Take it seriously)
Am I making this decision with a full understanding that we are not alone and that the
devil has a plan for my life?

Are my reasons for wanting to do this reasonable, valid, and Christian? Could I argue this
before the throne of God? (try it with an empty chair!)

Is This True To God's Dream For Me?

Would Christ be comfortable with this? Would He make the same decision if He were here
with me now? Will doing this advance the cause of Christ or hurt it? Will this violate His
call for me to be distinctly different from the rebellious people of earth? Will doing this
take me where Jesus wants me to go?

What Kind of Place is This?

What kind of environment is it? Conducive for what? Who will control it? Can I control
myself? What is my track record? Can I hear the word 'no'? Could I take Jesus there?

Fashion, Music, Life
Am I looking for the limits? Is my Christianity limited to what is absolutely necessary and
no more? Am I looking to get closer to Jesus or as far away as legally possible (and still
be saved!). Who influenced my choice? Who is behind the advertisement or media push?
Is that influence for my good or theirs?

Am I disguising my Christianity? What am I programming into my mind (thoughts become attitudes which then become actions)? Is that where I want my life to go?

When I pick friends for my life's team, who will I pick first? Where will Jesus come in that
order?

It's all about decisions. Those of us who have put on Christ in baptism have the promised help of His Spirit when we face decisions -- big and small. We also have the right to hand over the decision making process to Him. Whew! That's a relief!

Tub, Two...

2006-01-25T09:27:00.000-05:00

Continuing from the last post...

The Tale of the Tub was a broadside against those who did what they wanted to do and then went to the Scripture to find justification for it. Such twisting of scripture is done equally by the religious right and the religious left. This is a form of scholasticism -- we go to the scriptures to bolster our arguments about what we want to be true ("scholasticism" is a broad term and this is only part of what it covers). When Pat Robertson claims that hurricanes are a sign of God's disfavor he may run to the Bible to bring out plague and storm stories, but he doesn't check the passages that show God's faithful people caught in the middle of trials, storms, pain, and disease. He has a point and he wants to push it.

When people want to be seen as erudite and urbane, up to date in their mores and science they can find lots of stuff in the Bible that isn't there! Theistic evolution (and permission to ridicule creationists), elastic views of inspiration (and permission to ridicule those who believe in inerrancy), and so forth can be found in scripture the same way the sons in "The Tale of a Tub" found hidden permission to change their coats for every season, at every whim.

The Amish can find rules against the use of electricity or zippers. Churches of Christ (my tribe) have often found rules against hair styles, song styles, wearing crosses, etc. that change as culture changes. Examples of this abound across the denominational spectrum.

So... if everybody's doing it, is it all right? Not even a little bit. In "The Tale of the Tub" the Father's will was only examined to see if they could find a way to do what they wanted to do, when the will is there to show what the Father wanted done. While we may differ on issues here and there, we must approach scripture -- not to alter it -- but to be altered by it. That will pull us left and right to get us back into position.

An example: a recent poster indicated that changing views of women's roles in the church were due to a more enlightened view of God at work in society. In some churches that may be the case. I know that our elders at Rochester (God bless them!) studied the issue very, very deeply over a two year period. It consumed them. They brought in experts in Greek, in Church History, and in Theology. They read a ton of books. They prayed and searched the scriptures, not for permission to do what they wanted, but to find what the Lord wanted. At the end they decided they had been wrong to place some of the limits we have traditionally placed on women and those were lifted so that they would remain true to the scripture. Other limits remained in place because it seemed that was what Scripture said. It is not a closed issue as they are still studying -- willing to be altered by the Word again.

Some will search the Bible to find ways to condemn more praise centered worship. They scoff and call it "entertainment." In my searching of scripture (I'm not done!) I can find nothing against being 'entertained' by our worship. In fact, even those who rail against entertainment are, themselves, entertained by their favorite songs, favorite speaker, favorite prayers, and favorite subjects. Searching the scriptures for what we want to find breeds division. Searching it to see what God wants allows for greater diversity among us (see particularly Romans 14 and 15) and a more stable community.

If we are to be honest in our dealings with Scripture (and our history and nature) we have to approach God and His Book as students, ready to learn, ready to be rebuked, ready to repent, and ready to rejoice. Ready -- in short -- to be obedient to the will; unwilling to twist it to ours.

Who Makes The Call?

2006-01-23T20:19:00.000-05:00

Jonathan Swift is best known for Gulliver's Travels but the old English satirist had another masterpiece which is all but unknown today (outside of English departments where dead European white guys are still studied) entitled "A Tale of a Tub." It is a difficult work with many layers addressing many of Swift's concerns about religion and society. Allow me to take just a part of it to illustrate a point begun in the last post.

In "Tale", a man leaves his each of his sons a coat. It is a perfectly serviceable coat and will not wear out. They also have a considerable fortune but it is tied to the coat: they are never, ever to make even the slightest alteration in the coat or they forfeit their inheritance. The sons agree, the father dies, and all goes well until the coats go out of fashion. In the process of their gaining upper class wives, moving upward in society, etc. they make numerous alterations to the coat... but not without a lot of agonizing over it first. For example, when shoulder pads are popular they hunt their father's will until they find a series of statements each of which begins with the letters S-H-O-U-L-D-E-R. They decide that means that their father really meant that they could add the pads. Ratiocination like this takes place repeatedly until their coats are anything and everything they want them to be and they have satisfied their minds that that is what their father really wanted after all.

Swift was criticizing the church and his tale is still an accurate picture of what we do with Scripture. If God condemns something that we want to accept, we try to find a way to bend the scripture to let us do what we want to do or we find a way to cast doubt on the authenticity of the passage so that we can remove its power over us. Doing this, some churches have removed sin and hell from their teaching, turning the church into a social club with psychological and metaphysical health benefits. Others try to out-Christian Christ by accepting those He told us to correct and call to repentance. They say something like "Jesus loves everybody!" and therefore avoid the question of whether love is the same as acceptance (and whether acceptance of a person is the same as approval of their actions).

The very exclusive nature of the church disturbs and offends many within it. When Jesus said he was THE way, THE truth, and THE life he did not mean perhaps, in some circumstances, he wasn't. He was exclusive. When God gave leadership to Moses He did not set up alternative leaders for those who found Moses irrascible and unpleasant.

Our identity must be limited and formed by the boundaries drawn by God. And to be in God's will means that it is possible to be out of it. To be saved means that it is possible to be lost. If you play for the Red Sox you do NOT play for the Yankees. For us to be us, we must also be "not them."

It's offensive to many, but that doesn't make it untrue. When we examine the scriptures to see how we can bend them to 2006, or to America, or to whatever makes us feel better about ourselves we have altered our coats (in the Swiftian sense). We might be able to convince ourselves that we have pleased our Father by ignoring His will... but can we convince Him of that?

It is hard -- and often terrifying -- to learn the lesson of Jesus' words in the Garden. "Nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done."

Proving It...

2006-01-19T08:55:00.000-05:00

Two of the best books I read last year were "Intellectual Morons: how ideology makes smart people fall for stupid ideas" by Daniel J. Flynn and "Hoodwinked: how intellectual hucksters have hijacked American culture" by Jack Cashill. The books detail how people like Ward Churchill can get away with stealing, lying, teaching fantasy as truth, etc. and yet, even after exposure, he will not lose followers, but gain them. Hundreds of other examples are given to illustrate the point that some things trump cold, hard facts. When those things are present, proof is rendered powerless and the best argument will fail.

One of the most powerful trump cards is race. This is not a black and white thing, but a worldwide issue; India's caste system comes to mind as does the Japanese/Korean racial divide. When race is introduced into the equation all other arguments and facts are tossed aside. This week in Detroit a State Trooper was acquitted of murder charges after he shot a homeless man who charged him, screaming and snarling, reaching in his pocket for a weapon. Race was introduced into the situation and people perjured themselves (proven by video tape of the scene) as they lined up divided by race. White people do this, too, when they paint pictures of blacks as lesser, violent, evil, etc. Every time you present evidence to the contrary your proof is trumped by their concept of race (although, have you ever seen a Klan rally or a group of Neo-Nazis stomping down the street and thought "Hey, look, there goes the superior race?" I thought not).

Closely allied to this is identity. We can choose race as our identity, but it is usually more complex that than. We choose identities as sports fans, or intellectuals (while these two are not not mutally exclusive it is exceedingly rare to find a professor of medieval poetry painting his body and wearing cheese on his head in Green Bay), or Christians, or atheists, or movie stars, ad infinitum. That sense of identity trumps proofs offered to us that we might be in the wrong. While in the two books mentioned above the target is the silliness of the left (in the main. Flynn goes hard after the right as well but not as extensively as he does the left) all of us need to do a gut check from time to time to see if our sense of identity (including race and religion) trumps truth. When it does, the results can be comical, farcical, or tragic beyond words.

Think of those who kill in the name of Jesus. Offer them proofs and scriptures and their sense of identity and mission will trump the truth. Offer churches scriptures to indicate that they have misunderstood the gospel and they will turn aside the scriptures as "isolated" and the verdict of two thousand years of Christian teaching as "quaint but outdated." They don't do this because they don't love Jesus; they do it because the Jesus they love is always sweet, always accepting, and always relativistic (relatively speaking). Their identity as Christians is based on that view of Jesus and no proofs offered them will change their mind. Just like a professor being questioned by a student, they assume the other is arguing from ignorance and darkness and that taints the argument before it begins.

It is critical that we get our sense of identity right. It is not enough to say that we are, first of all, Christians and then members of this or that group. We must make sure that the Jesus we are following is truly the one we find represented in Scripture (and in the church and nature -- those other two arrows). We do not get the Jesus we want, but the Jesus who is. We do not get the God we want, but the God who is.

James' word picture of looking into a mirror is still valid. In every argument, in every situation, especially when someone wishes to offer us "proof" that seems powerless or silly to us, we must check to see if our identity is part of the problem. Have we shut out truth to maintain our sense of who we are (including our sense of superiority over others)? Perhaps our prayers should include more "you are the potter and I am the clay" word pictures until we get into the habit of being shaped by God rather than shaping Him by our sense of who He should be, or would be, if He were us.

Twenty Years Later...

2006-01-17T13:41:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting in my office, looking out on yet another dark and rainy day in the metro Detroit area. It reminds me of so many days back in Scotland, twenty years ago. Yes, it has been twenty years now since I returned from Scotland to live in the US. I left a lot of friends behind, but I had learned that I wasn't a very good missionary. I didn't have the personal or organizational skills to do the work effectively and, certainly, didn't have training. I went because I loved Scotland and the people. I still do.

And now we have been Stateside for twenty years. Hard to believe, really. I came back to the States determined to be a faithful member -- but never a minister -- of the church. I had had to face some hard things about myself and they revealed that I didn't have the skills or personality to be a minister. But God wouldn't let me go. Time after time I took other jobs only to have to call back and say "sorry, but I need to do this ministry a little longer..." It was ten years ago when I finally realized that God wasn't going to let me leave the ministry. I gave in to His will, even though, deep in my heart, I am shocked He would use me as anything other than a bad example.

And He blessed me. Oh, how He blessed me! I have a wonderful wife, two faithful, godly children who are much, much better people than I ever was. I have twenty years of successful ministries behind me. I served in Lancaster, Ohio for nine years and stay in touch with many of them. I served next in Morgantown, WV for eight years and just got back from a vacation with many of them. We are still the closest of friends. I had one year on the waterfront in South Carolina before God made it plain that we were to come to Rochester. What a strange trip it has been!

I am in awe of God. I was an unexceptional boy who made unexceptional grades in unexceptional schools. I grew up to be a broken man held together by God's duct tape and nothing more. And yet.... and yet... look what God did with it all.

If He turned against me tomorrow, He would still be good; He would have still blessed me far beyond my expectations. But I don't expect Him to turn against me. What He could not do to me via law, guilt, pain, or obligation He did through love: He won my heart.

So I will sit by the window and think of the road and say, quietly, "Thank you, Father."

Her name is Eva

2006-01-12T20:04:00.000-05:00

We are back from the cruise. Ninety of us worshipped together, prayed and laughed with each other. It was good. And then I met Eva. Eva was one of the two young women who were our guides on Jamaica. As the day wore on I saw her rubbing her temples and muttering about having a terrible headache. I offered her some aspirin which she accepted gratefully. After she took them she looked at us all on the bus and said, "Who are you people?"

Before I go on, a cultural note. Jamaica has more churches and more bars per person than any other nation. It seems you can get the spirit -- any kind of spirit -- of your choice on that island. Unfortunately, at least in the area we explored, the island is dark with crushed hopes, poverty, dirt, terrible shanties where children play in the dirt and beg under bridges, and a general anger that is seen and felt and tasted everywhere. I grieved as our bus tore past some knots of angry, bleary-eyed, lost men for it seemed that the happy Christians were all in the bus.

And that took me back to the last post. We are supposed to be in the world but not of it. I fear that we are of the world -- just like it when it comes to lifestyles, possessions, dreams and desires -- but not in it. We just don't make a dent in the lives of those who need Jesus most. We are very good at running churches and programs, but less effective in taking Jesus to the streets that lie outside our holy bunkers.

I told Eva that I was a minister and all the people in her bus were from a church. She asked what church and I told her that all of us came from different areas, but we were members of the church of Christ. "Ahh," she said, "you are the ones who don't use instruments, right?" I was stunned. This young girl who made $50 a month plus tips as a bus tour guide in a very broken country knew one thing about us: we were acapella. I encouraged her to give us a chance to tell her more about ourselves but she went on. [note: this is the gist of what she said. I cannot produce her quote word for word] "I went to the church of Christ. I am pentecostal, but I like to visit churches, you know? I loved hearing the voices. Sometimes in our churches you only hear the band, but I liked hearing the voices in your church. But during the chorus I got excited and clapped." Here, she mimed clapping loud once and then a second time while looking around in a confused manner. "I was embarassed!" she said. "I just wanted to praise God, but they told me they don't clap there."

We had one chance with Eva. She even came into our chapel. We didn't have to search for her; she visited us! And we blew it. No matter what your position on music or clapping, this has to hurt your heart. We at Rochester may use instrumental tracks to back up a video, etc. but we an an acapella congregation and plan to remain that way. Some of us clap, others don't. But our tradition shut out this beautiful, searching person when she found our tribe on Jamaica and visited the local church.

I prayed for another chance with Eva and kept the conversation going. At one point she said she had a Bible, but it was too big to carry. She wished she had one she could carry in her purse at work. I grabbed paper and pen and got her address. We are going to send her a Bible. The other young lady had a penpal in Detroit so we used our Michigan connection to give her hope when she told us that she wanted to go to college, but she had no money. (in Jamaica, all levels of schooling is paid for by the parents. If you don't have the money for kindergarten, for example, your children don't go to school) We are sending her information on Rochester College plus some learning materials. We will do whatever we can to save these two young women.

We pray our tradition has not killed our chances to bring them to Jesus. It was a horrifying reminder that when we call others to "the more excellent way" we might have to do some traveling ourselves.

There is a Chapel on Iona...

2006-01-03T22:53:00.000-05:00

[Due to my being out of email range from this Friday, the 6th, through the 12th I am taking a break from the current discussion. I will not be able to add your comments during that time, either. I am sure you will live well, dance, and enjoy your life even without frequent updates!]

I took the ferry from Oban to the Isle of Mull, drove across that island on single lane roads that hugged the edge of mountains, dodging tourist buses as they roared past, and made it to the extreme western edge of Mull, the tiny village of Fionnphort. From there I took the short ferry ride to the Island of Iona, a small, featureless, yet beautiful island a long, long way from the population centers of Scotland.

A long time ago -- in 563 to be exact -- a Celtic prince named Columba came to this island. He was fleeing his past which was often violent and full of nightmarish battles and internecine warfare. A cadre of friends came with him. He was determined to live his life as an evangelist in the dark, hidden places of the world from then until he died; a penance for his earlier misdeeds. When he landed on Iona he could no longer look back and see Ireland. He turned his eyes on the kingdoms of Alba, Dalriada, and the wildlands of the painted people, the Picts.

Using Iona as a base he and his disciples took a primitive, yet rich, version of Christianity all throughout Scotland and left a living, vibrant faith in his wake. From time to time they would return to Iona and regroup. Iona became such a holy place in the imagination of the people of (what would later become) Scotland that its earliest kings were buried there.

Eventually, Iona ceased being a base for bold and brave evangelism and became a place of hushed pilgrimage. And so it remains today. I walked from the ferry past a few homes and two shops, past ancient graveyards and into the sanctuary of Iona. Tall Celtic crosses, old beyond imagination, stand guard around it. People from all over the world come to pray, to make donations to the upkeep of the building and its cloisters, take pictures by the sea, and then they leave. But not to evangelize.

Iona is a relic. It is a place you visit, commune with yourself and God, and move along. Only three quarters of a mile removed from the Isle of Mull, it sends no ministers there. It is a holy foxhole, a Christian retreat center, and nothing more.

Unless we take seriously the need to revitalize our faith and re-study it in every generation, unless we are fearless in our evangelism and in the propagation of our faith, every church is in danger of becoming an Iona. Columba made do with simple beehive shaped cells in which to live and pray. Iona's building is now beautiful, impressive, and incredibly expensive to maintain. Now, resources must flow in even though they never flow out.

Sound familiar? Sound frightening? So what shall we do about it?

Peace, comfort, and joy to all who call on His Name.

Three Arrows (the tree thing, part three)

2006-01-02T16:19:00.000-05:00

I don't care much for long posts so I must direct those who want a lot more details on this to our church website (www.rochestercoc.org). You can click on the streaming audio link on the left side of the website and hear the sermon I delivered yesterday that sketched out our direction and the reason for it.

Remember our earlier mention of Joseph and Mary and Nadab and Abihu? The old adage "just read the Bible" didn't work very well there. This is not to lower our respect for Scripture for it is the Word of God. However, the scripture itself tells us that there is more to our walk than just words on a page. Jesus warned that the people around him erred because they didn't know the scriptures or the power of God (or, via The Message, "the way God works."). How can we know the way God works?

God gives us three arrows, all three of which point to Him. There is Scripture, the gathered community of believers, and nature. God warns us not to try to interpret the scripture in isolation for no scripture is of private interpretation (2 Peter 1). When I get what I think might be flash of insight I run it past a couple of our elders and some of the staff first to see what they think. I will not present my ideas, unchecked or unmoderated, to the larger community. What does the community think? When Jesus (John 5) was defending who He was and what He was teaching He referred people not only to the scriptures, but also to witnesses in the community and to what He had done in the open (nature).

So, we ask "What does the Bible say?" and we also work with the community to say "What does the law say? How do you read it?" As Jesus said, we learn to agree with each other along the way knowing that if we agree with each other, He has promised to agree with us (Matthew 18). THAT is why there doesn't have to be a Book of Worship, a Book of How To Pick Elders, a Book of Acceptable Theologians, etc. ad nauseum. The community works out these details.

Paul also told us that what could be known about God could be seen in what He created (Romans 1). Alexander Campbell told us that two books tell of us God; the Bible and the book of nature. "Nature" consists of more than bugs and beasts; it is the totally of what lies outside of our spirits. We can see right and wrong (re: C.S. Lewis' "Mere Christianity"). We can see that life is often "nasty, brutish, and short" and "red in tooth and claw." We can see that earth is a temporary home, that everything is either eating or being eaten, and that what we do -- whether we are people or wolves -- is more often learned behavior than eternal principle. We see that groups survive, individuals don't, and that stragglers are taken first. I could go on and on here (and do in my sermon) but the principle is understandable enough already, I'm sure.

Sometimes we get two of these right and not the third. For example, let's say a church reads the Bible in such a way as to allow abortion and the ordination of practicing homosexuals. That church community agrees that that is what God accepts. But nature doesn't accept it. In nature we see that it is repugnant for a mother to kill her child (with some exceptions which do nothing but shock us) and that homosexuality is a dead end that does not profit the community or the species.

Or, let's say they read nature to say that men just can't be monogamous and their community of believers -- like some of the renegade Mormon sects today -- say that multiple wives is a great idea. We can then reference the Bible to show that, while once allowed, polygamy is not God's plan for man and adultery is never acceptable.

Or.... nature tells us that joy is wonderful. Kids clap and dance, otters play, people thrill and chill when their emotions are engaged. In the Bible we see David dancing wearing -- well, let's just say some found his attire and actions shocking -- and when someone complained, God punished the complainer and accepted the over-the-top celebrator. But then you find a community that looks upon any outward expression of emotion to be suspect and unacceptable... and you have a problem.

All three must agree. I would submit that the Bible is the final arbiter, period, but that it cannot be read in isolation, apart from community and observation. Jesus referred to all three arrows that point to God. Only when all three point the same way can we walk confidently towards heaven.

[and about the Democract comment last time... good comebacks, people! I am neither Democrat or Republican. My politics are selectively libertarian and are viewed as mealy mouthed liberal or slobbering right wing troglodyke according to who's looking. Good thing I don't plan to live down here forever....]

But Is It A Tree -- Part Two

2005-12-29T17:41:00.000-05:00

Continuing from last post....

When we place the bits and pieces of a tree in one place, we don't have a tree; we just have bits. They may be interesting, but they are not alive. My fear is that we might have done just this with our faith and worship. We might have scrubbed it clean, dissected it, and brought it into one place, but is it alive? Is it worship?

We sometimes hear that we should "just read the Bible and do what it says." This is problematical on several levels. What if Joseph, when troubled at finding his brothed pregnant and possessed of a non-standard explanation for said pregnancy, got the advice from others to "just read the Bible and do what it says"? He would have had to take Mary out into a public place and stone her. (for more, see the sermon Josh Graves and I gave last Sunday. It is at joshgraves.blogspot.com) Instead, he listened to God via the angel and Mary was spared, Jesus was born, and you know the rest of the story.

Don't respond by saying "The Jews had lost the right to capital punishment by this time. It was against Roman law for Joseph to kill Mary..." The rejoinder would be that we have always taught that God's law supercedes all laws of man so Joseph is not off the hook!

But I'm glad that he didn't just gather the rules in one place and declare it God. Instead, he was still willing to hear what God wanted done in his life, in his situation. I am comforted by this, but also troubled: in what other situations may we go with the spirit instead of with the truth? (I am using these terms loosely, as has been our tradition)

Or how about this one? I grew up with the teaching that not only was standard among us -- it was one of the reasons we existed! It was that we were never allowed to tweak or modify anything, anytime, anywhere and the flannelgraph figures employed in the teaching were those of Nadab and Abihu. They just switched types of fire -- we were told -- and God killed them. So don't be adding... (fill in the blank here). This was in the Jule Miller filmstrips, VBS literature, and sermons. It was foundational.

But... what about the synagogue? When the Jews couldn't get to to the temple (sometimes for the very good reason that it was gone, kaput, kicked over by the invader du jour) they developed -- without any authority that we can find and certainly none in Scripture -- a whole different way to worship. It set aside pretty much all of Leviticus as priests and sacrifices weren't part of it. People gathered in an egalitarian sort of way and the Bible was read, songs were sung and, when Jesus came, he joined in! Never, ever, can we find God getting upset at this. Makes you think Nadab and Abihu's problem was deeper than getting their fire from Wal-mart rather than Sears.

Maybe it was a heart problem? Maybe their spirits were dead? I've heard some speculate that the boys were involved in some pagan practices. Maybe, but so were a lot of people in the Bible whom God did not kill with fireworks. What was the difference?

It seems to me that the answer to all of this is in our "spirit and truth" discussion. Keith had a very good point in his comments to my last post in that we tend to read the Scripture as law rather than story. He is correct, of course. Is this why we don't have a Book of Worship that lays out which songs are acceptable, when or if raising hands or clapping is all right, etc?

Let's keep this going. Kindness all around, please. Extra points for humility. If I don't comment as quickly as you'd like it is because I am recovering from some tummy troubles. I either had a bug or I ate some Democrat food. Why 'Democrat'? Because it had no problem going in but immediately insisted on finding an exit strategy. I'll say no more than that....

But Is It A Tree?

2005-12-28T10:10:00.000-05:00

C.S. Lewis pointed out that one of the distinguishing marks of the Christian faith was the existence and work of the Holy Spirit. No other religion, he said, has anything approximating the Spirit and His work. A lot of ink and blood has been spilled over exactly how the Spirit works and moves. I will quickly confess to any and all that I don't know the answers. However, several incidents in my life have given me insights you might find interesting.

I had worshipped one morning with a small group of believers in a town in the west of Scotland. They did everything the way we do things -- the five acts of worship, etc. They had even imported American songbooks and sang our traditional hymns. The worship seemed formulaic and there wasn't much in the way of spirit there. No worries, though. I knew that God could do things I didn't know about so perhaps that worship helped some there to get through their week.

That night we were invited to attend a worship service held over a barn in its loft. The people there, we were told, had left denominations and were looking for pure, simple Christianity. I took a member with me and we climbed the steps to the loft where we were warmly greeted. They used an acoustic guitar while they sang. Several danced during the songs. The Lords Supper was offered with wine in the cup and a huge dinner roll as the bread. Tears flowed down their cheeks as they took in Christ's sacrifice.

I left that night very troubled. Raised in a very conservative branch of the church I was still its loyal son, but I could sense a seismic shift occuring as I wondered: We have been told to worship in spirit and in truth. We worshipped in truth this morning, but there was no evidence of the Spirit. They worshipped in the Spirit this evening, but they didn't hold to the old paths and the ways I considered the truth. So... would God condemn them for not having the truth but spare us when we didn't have the spirit?

Somewhat like the scrubbed nativity scenes I discussed last post, I think we have done the same with our worship. We have scrubbed them, made them clean, orderly, clinical and sterile (in every sense as they do not seem to produce baby Christians very often). Perhaps it is because we tried to discover -- in a scientific fashion -- the basic facts and then put them on display in a clear, minimalist way, just as we do the nativity scene. When we do so, do we have worship as God intended?

The mighty redwood tree is made up of less than thirty types of element/compound/ or substance. If I were to isolate those compounds through diligent study, place each in a jar, and then arrange those 28 different jars in front of someone and declare: "Behold! The mighty redwood!" you would fit me for the funny jacket and fling medications at me. I have the elements of a tree... but is it a tree? When we do the same to our faith and worship and bring those elements in front of the crowd and declare "Behold! Worship pleasing to God!" is it really? Just asking.

Without diligent study, though, we can go "all spirit all the time" and end up, not with God's Spirit, but with our own. We are warned to test every spirit to see whether it is from God. While we invite the Spirit into our worship and life (and ask Him to bring life to us, to fill us so that we seem drunk to the world), we must make sure that what we are being led to do agrees with the story of Scripture. God may lead us in many directions, but the devil is also poised to lead us while wearing a poorly designed "God suit." We search the scriptures to make sure that we are hearing the same voice the apostles heard. And then we ask the Spirit to come and revitalize us, take over our sterile and lifeless forms, to kick over the tables where we've kept the jars, and bring us the power and joy of the Lord.

It takes more than the elements. It takes the Giver of Life. Without Him... is it really a tree?

The First One... Wasn't....

2005-12-23T09:47:00.000-05:00

The first Christmas wasn't one. No, this isn't a rant against materialism or the recycling of pagan holidays. This is a collection of some of my reflections this day as we prepare for Christmas Eve and then the big day itself.

1. We never hear about Mary's parents. Did they disown her when she was found "with child" and before her official marriage to Joseph?

2. Was it rumors and inuendo that drove Mary to visit her cousin, Elizabeth? I would imagine that rumors were thick in the air and that they never fully died down. Later writers would atrribute the conception to a Roman soldier. Was Mary ever able to show her face in "respectable" society without being the recipient of smirks and dirty jokes?

3. Being the mother of Jesus probably ruined her life in many ways. Not only did her reputation die in some circles (and we have no idea what happened to that old guy she married. He probably died... but did he just leave?), she had to raise the Son of God -- no easy task -- and then witness the horrible cruelties inflicted on him.

4. Barns stink. Mangers are unsanitary. The first nativity scene wasn't a nativity scene, if you know what I mean. It would have smelt of manure, urine, blood, and straw. The air would have been full of dust and chaff. Without saying more -- have you ever witnessed a birth? There were no backlights or or halos here, no swirling angels singing with harps. The barn held pain, darkness, and confusion.

5. When we scrub the manger scene down with Lysol, place floodlights on the participants, make them white, comb their hair, and surround them with stars and adoring shepherds and animals we make Christianity a Nordic myth and rob it of its true power: for in all that dirt, pain, blood and dust was the Son of God, Emmanuel, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. And that means that our messy lives can still host that same King.

6. Two people have given me Norman Rockwell themed gifts already this year. I asked my wife last night: do we give people the impression this is what our life looks like? Truth be told, it is far closer to the manger scene than anything Rockwell ever painted. But the Messiah is here, so all is well.

7. I love the lights, the trees, the crowded stores. I love the snow (although I am tired of it shortly into the New Year). I love the cards and family letters from people we've known through the years. I LOVE giving presents but am always awkward at receiving them. I love the ornaments. ...but...I always remember that the first Christmas didn't look like this. It looked more like life does. That gives me comfort beyond words.

Oh... and that "recycled pagan holiday" thing so many harp on? Sure -- there used to be some pagan holidays that have some aspects in common with our celebration. But it doesn't belong to the pagans anymore. It's ours. We took it for Jesus and we're not giving it back. We did the same thing to tombstones, wearing white at weddings, wedding rings, the names of the days of the week and a hundred other things. They used to be pagan but they are ours now. Because what happened at that first Christmas changed everything. Forever.

Tidings of comfort and joy, indeed.

A Child Is Born

2005-12-19T09:50:00.000-05:00

"Oir rugadh dhuinne-cloinne, thugadh dhuinne mac; agus bithidh an uachdaranachd air a ghualainn; agus goirear mar ainm dheth, Iongantach, Comhairliche, and Dia cumhachdach, an t-Athair siorruidh, Prionnsa na sithe!"

For those of you who don't read Gaelic, the above is Isaiah 9:6 -- "For unto us a child is born. Unto us a son is given; and the government will be upon his shoulder: and his name will be Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace."

I didn't fully appreciate those words until the day -- over sixteen years ago now -- when Duncan arrived in our world. After the difficult birth was over and I heard the nurse say, "You have a son", Kami was taken away to rest and I walked down to the hospital chapel to pray. Once in, I could only look at the cross on the wall and say, choking back tears, "Thank you," again and again and again. I couldn't believe that God would love us so much to give us another child, a son. We thought our line would die out with me. I was the first son of the first son going back for hundreds of years, but that seemed to be over. We weren't sure Kami could bring another child into the world so we contented ourselves with our wonderful daughter.

And then a surprise. God gave us a son.

A couple of weeks later I sat in the worship services holding my boy. There has never been a man more proud and content than I was at that moment... until I heard the bread break during Communion. It became real to me in that split second. It overwhelmed me that "oir is ann mar sin a ghradhaich Dia an saoghal..." That God so loved the world that He gave his son. He gave his son.

I hugged Duncan more tightly and said, through tears, "not my son." I couldn't imagine giving up anything this precious to anyone but especially to a people who would reject and kill him.

To this day, when I see the flurries, the tinsel, the trees and lights, and hear the carols I think back to what a gift was given us. We have His Son. He gave us His Son. Whether I find myself walking around Great Lakes Crossing mall, driving to the office, or standing on a windswept moor on the Isle of Skye watching the Atlantic waves crash against the rocks I make sure that -- every day -- I remember what God did for us.

He gave us His Son. Joy to the World.

Celebrations

2005-12-14T16:46:00.000-05:00

It is a very expensive time of year for us. My wife's birthday was last Saturday. Mine is Friday. We're not sure when Jesus' is but we've decided to celebrate on the 25th anyway (and we're keeping the church open!). We don't do candles on the cakes anymore due to local open burning regulations, but birthdays are still fun.

I bought my wife a mink coat kit for her birthday. Well, that's what I call it: a roll of Velcro, a hundred hamsters and a hammer. She said it was an upgrade from her mother's day present which was a wonderful entertainment center (well... it was two birdhouses and a BB gun). I'm not that into getting presents for my birthday because I have so much stuff already and if I want more I am usually able to buy it. And if my wife and kids buy it for me they usually use my checkbook to do it so... take it easy, kids!

Reaching 49 is not that big a deal. All you have to do is keep eating and breathing. I think it is the mommas who gave birth to us who deserve the cake, prezzies, and day off.

Last Sunday I went to an open house for Doris Jackson, one of our dear sisters at Rochester. She was celebrating her 90th birthday. As I came in she stood up to greet Kami and me -- and that is humbling in and of itself -- and grabbed me, kissing me on the cheek saying "I prayed all my life that God wouldn't let me live to be ninety. Now I just pray for patience!" What a delightful person.

My family tends to live long but not well. That is some concern for me so I am taking preventative measures such as eating bad food and moving only when absolutely necessary. (I DID run a mile once. Worse three hours of my life...) I have enough money to live the rest of my life as long as I die next Sunday. All in all, I'm living like I'm just renting my body and my stuff. "I am a weary and a lonesome traveler..."

So happy birthday to Kami and Doris and me and Jesus, too. We made it another year. I'm told that Jews, when celebrating the Passover, say "Next year in Jerusalem!" I think I'm going to start saying, on my birthday, "Next year in heaven!" Now THAT would be a cool present.

The Big Living Room

2005-12-13T10:07:00.000-05:00

Last Friday night 260+ of us from the Rochester Church went to see The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe together. Two of the ladies of the church had the idea to approach a theater, arrange for purchasing tickets, and even set up a dessert reception after the movie at the church building where the kids made crowns and shields and the parents ate and visited.

It was a strange feeling to stand near the back of a movie auditorium and see it filled with people I knew. We didn't take every seat so the theater sold the rest of them to people outside our congregation. It was fascinating to watch them come in and freeze, literally stopping dead in their tracks at the tableau before them: people going from place to place all over the auditorium hugging each other, laughing and smiling. They could tell that something very strange was going on but they had no way to absorb it, contextualize it. This was a room full of people who loved each other, who were genuinely happy to see each other, and who hurried to show grace and welcome to each other. Who were these people?

While they wrestled with that, I wrestled with something else. I couldn't make myself sit down until they dimmed the lights for the obligatory twenty minutes of previews. I was near the back and I didn't go from person to person and join in the greeting. I was too busy watching it all... in awe at this preview of heaven. "Is this what it's going to be like?" I wondered. Will it feel like this -- like a huge living room filled with your favorite people -- people who love you and like you and want to be with you?

We don't talk much about heaven and, perhaps, even less about hell. Why? Perhaps we have swung far, far away from the other extreme where we talked about God making it all right "bye and bye" and did nothing to stop racism, poverty, domestic violence, etc. We counseled battered women to hang in there because God would make it up to them in heaven (I am not making this up -- I heard it many times). It seems that we finally realized that Christ wanted us to live righteous lives NOW so we got about to what CS Lewis would have called "the business of heaven."

Have we gone so far in the other direction that we no longer long for heaven? Is it a lack of teaching? Is it that we have so much stuff that we are comfortable HERE and no longer looking for a THERE?

I don't know. But I DO know this: after seeing that group of happy, loving people last Friday, I can't wait to run into heaven's living room and spending eternity with them. Come Lord Jesus.

What's Your Target?

2005-12-08T10:50:00.000-05:00

In the current controversy over the shooting of a man at Miami International Airport, it might be good to review the rules for handling firearms and shooting... and then make the obligatory spiritual application.

1. Consider all firearms to be loaded all the time.
2. Never point your firearm at anything you are not willing to destroy.
3. Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot.
4. Acquire and identify your target.
5. Know what is around and behind your target.

I was actually thinking of these rules this week and working on something when breaking news hit about the sky marshal(s) shooting a man who claimed he had a bomb. My thinking wasn't about shooting something or someone. I was wondering about my target. Had I acquired the right target? Without going into mind-numbing detail on some of my shooting exercises in the past, let me merely say that I, during a practice house clearing exercise at a competition, once turned around and declared a room clear only to have the instructor point out the cardboard bad guy pointing a gun at me from the window. Had it been real, it could have ruined my whole day!

Raised in a hyper-conservative church, my early targets were liberal churches of Christ. I blasted, debated, and chewed my way through hundreds of sermons and letters about them. In my late 20's I went through a five to eight year change of heart and mind about matters religious. C.S. Lewis helped me a great deal with Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters, both of which I read during a particularly painful time of my life.

So I changed my target. I have spent a lot of the last ten years or so preaching freedom in Christ and challenging those who have distilled the gospel into yet another legal system with a church sign out front. Most of my work has been to prove that people were free in Christ and free from tradition.

But I think I need to pick a new target. When I look out at my congregation on Sunday, none of our three services has a majority of people who came from any branch of the restoration movement. In one service the number is probably less than 30%. They don't need me preaching sermons that attack the legalists or traditionalists among us. They don't know those people and have no idea what I'm talking about. They need me to preach about how to live as Christ in a postmodern, and moderately post-Christian, world.

I have spent most of efforts, most of my life, in struggles with my brethren on the left and then on the right when they are not my enemy. My enemy is this aggressively secularist society and its hatred for the absolutes of faith. My enemy is a culture that doesn't mind if you go to church as long as it doesn't affect anything you say or do at school, in business, or about their entertainments.

It's time we began targeting the real threat to Christ's people, and it isn't the church. It's time we redirected our fire outside the foxhole, toward the enemy. The real enemy.

For we have met the enemy. And, this time, it isn't us.

Choose Your Lunch

2005-12-05T20:39:00.000-05:00

There is a strange British expression to indicate that you have really, really messed something up. You are said to have "made a dog's lunch" of it. It's gross, but it means that your efforts ended up like what a dog throws up. Yech, right?

There's another kind of lunch, though. Remember the little boy whose lunch Jesus turned into food for thousands of people? I love that story. There is no indication that that little boy gave up his food willingly. I imagine the apostles bringing him all wadded up in the fetal position attempting to protect the lunch that his mommy had made for him. Out of the thousands of people listening to Jesus that day only one had a mommy who thought ahead to lunchtime. When the apostles decided that the people needed to be sent away to find food, Jesus told them to find food for them. I am sure that the apostles were bringing the little boy to Jesus to show him there wasn't enough food. Jesus found a way to extricate the few fish and bits of bread from the boy and made enough to feed everyone.

And the leftovers? I think Jesus would have sent those home with the boy.

When I look at the few talents I possess and what God has done with them, I thank God he has let me be like that boy's lunch. When the elders hired me at Rochester I told them that if they wanted to write down my skills and positive traits they wouldn't need much paper. I wasn't lying. Yet, I raised a lovely daughter and am still raising a wonderful son. I have a wife who still makes my heart flutter after 26 years of marriage. I have a church of 1000+ people who love Jesus and take good care of me.

How'd this happen? Look at my family and my history and you would think my life would be a real dog's lunch. But Jesus gave me the same treament he gave that little boy's lunch. None of it was due to me. It was him. Love and grace is on offer, it seems, to those who take Jesus up on his offer.

Dog's lunch or boy's lunch. You decide.

The Treasure Box

2005-11-28T13:07:00.000-05:00

I have one. I know that Jack Exum has one, too. I would assume that God has His own version. Of what? let me explain...

Yesterday was a banner day for me at worship. For some reason, at different times, seven little children came running up to hug me. I got on my knees for each one, hugged them back, and thanked them. What a wonderful gift and honor! Then one little girl with the beautiful name "Fonda Lilly" came up, shyly, bearing a picture of Snow White and the Prince that she had colored and 'signed' for me. I promised her that I would have it forever. It would be placed in my treasure box.

In that box (really a series of files) are all the drawings and colored pictures and scribbled 'notes' that children have brought me over the year. My children's work is in there, too. For example, my son recently left me a note saying he was sorry to miss me since I'd been out of town, but he had to go to work. It said he was looking forward to seeing me in the morning. Coming from a sixteen year old, I thought that was wonderful. So it went into the box.

On dark days when things seem to be falling apart I get out my treasure box and go through it. Thank you cards from churches I visited (today, I put one from the Pitman Church of Christ in New Jersey in there. Thanks, ladies!), nice personal notes from people whose parents I helped in their last days, outlines of children's hands -- kids who now have their own kids -- along with hearts drawn with great effort all around the edges. and loving cards from my wife.... all in my treasure box.

I am a man who is painfully aware of his limitations and flaws. I live in a place where clouds and cold rule most of the year... and I get depressed in the cold and dark. The treasure box helps me survive and, yes, even thrive nonetheless. I have no storehouse of treasures on earth; we prefer giving to getting and even refuse to pile up a retirement account. My retirement plan is to die. In the meantime, when I need a hint of heaven, I open the box and remember the pure hearts and sincere hugs all this represents.

I am thankful for them all.

Little Tyrants, Little Kings

2005-11-26T17:54:00.000-05:00

How many kings are involved in your life? Here is what I mean: the bank has a call on my life. It is a king over my life because I cannot just decide not to pay the mortgage. I HAVE to go to work and I HAVE to pay that bill. There are other kings: my wife has some authority over my movements and decisions as do my aged parents and my children. My life is not my own; there are kings involved.

And then there is the problem of Jesus. Problem? Well, yes. I love thinking about Jesus. It is great that he is my savior and I revel in the fact that he actively intercedes for me. I love that "counselor" and "prince of peace" stuff and don't even get me started talking about Jesus as brother and joint-heir! Wow!

But you can't have Jesus as Savior unless he is also King. And not just another king, i.e. king of Sunday morning or King of 10% of your money. He has to be King of Kings. Want Jesus? You have to take him as King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Every other king can only rule you insofar as they, and you, are in submission to the King over all kings.

The problem is that the little kings and petty tyrants in this world will try to chip away at Christ's authority in your life. Sales will try to take your money, glossy ads will try to distract you from quiet time with the Lord, commercials will shout or tease to get your attention, and that god in the mirror is a constant pain. It will take discipline, fellowship, and worship to keep the King of Kings where he belongs -- on the throne of our hearts, minds, and every corner of our lives.

Live so that we can say "Long live the King of Kings" with our lips and with our lives.

Thanksgiving... Now Guilt-Free!

2005-11-21T17:46:00.000-05:00

It is soooo predictable. Here comes Thanksgiving so the reporters run in front of cameras to make sure we know the latest breaking, surprising, shocking news:

1. Thanksgiving dinner has a lot of calories in it.
2. People tend not to exercise much on Thanksgiving.
3. It is possible/probable that you will gain weight.

While this is going on, the intrepid reporters will flash back and forth to other stories:

1. Soup kitchens and shots of the homeless NOT having Thanksgiving dinner.
2. Obese people pushing carts through supercenters at the crack of dawn on Friday.
3. Somebody's getting hurt on Friday in the crush of crowds.
4. Somebody is going to fight over a toy that the kid won't remember by January 15th.
5. More homeless people.
6. Politicians jumping in front of the cameras to feed 4 or 5 people before the cameras move
on and, thusly, so do they.

What are we to make of all of this? Should we feel terrible and guilty for scarfing down the odd bit of fowl, pecan confections, and sweet potato caserole (that is 54% brown sugar and nuts)?

Nope. Not a bit of it. God has blessed us and we will enjoy it and thank Him profusely. Yes, we are concerned about the hungry and we will feed them every chance we get, but He intends for us to enjoy the gifts He gives us. I would as soon feel guilty for having good weather, loving a good woman, laughing with my son, or enjoying worship at Rochester.

No way. I'm going to enjoy it all. Calories? Who cares? I figure if I eat extra pecan pie and stuffing there is an even better chance I will never spend a day in a nursing home. Eat what you like and then stroke out too soon to be shelved and forgotten by family? Cool. I can do that.

I'm not going to crowd the stores on Friday but if you are, have fun! Brag about your bargains and your parking lot battles. Go back and eat more leftovers.

But thank God for His provision. He is good even when there is no food on the table. But when He gives you food -- don't let the devil steal your joy. And don't let the smarmy TV reporters do that, either.

The Devil, You Say!

2005-11-18T11:35:00.000-05:00

I believe in a real being with its own personality and program and whom we know as the Devil (among other names). I take the C.S. Lewis position that the two greatest mistakes we can make are to think that he doesn't exist, or that he DOES exist and that he is behind everything. We seem to be swinging away from a period in our history where we never discussed his work in the present age, on a personal level, to one where we blame him for everything.

Here's a clue: sometimes your roof leaks because it is twenty years old, not because the devil broke it. Sometimes your marriage breaks because you work too many hours away and are a real jerk when you get home, not because the devil jumped in and did something. Sometimes we don't need the devil's help to screw things up royally.

Know your enemy -- but take responsibility for the way you deal with life, including the warfare aspect of life.

Have cancer? I'm truly sorry. I thought I did once but it turned out to be a benign tumor and a couple of operations later I am as fine as I need to be. Was your cancer caused by the devil? I don't know. I do not doubt that the devil can create illness or direct the weather. He seemed to be able to do that, within limits, in Scripture and there is nothing to indicate that in his present, wounded, position he cannot maintain that level of malevolent interaction here. Yet, I believe that most of us get cancer because we live in a broken universe. I believe that we have tornadoes and hurricanes because we no longer live in a garden paradise but on a planet broken by sin and its consequences (including the Flood).

And if you break it, you buy it. All of it. Including the leftover pain of a slowly shredding genetic code that decreases in quality the further we are from the Garden.

We are to put to death the evil desires in our hearts and put to death the fleshly impulses that drive us to follow our lusts... and we are to flee the devil. Nowhere are we given permission to shrug and say "The devil made me do it." Nor are we asked to shake in fear at Satan's presence. Fear is not an option. We are children of the King of Kings. We bear some responsibility for putting this world right (remember invisiblechildren.com?).

A closing illustration: Flip Wilson made the catchphrase "The devil made me do it" popular. For him it was a fun phrase, but not one he accepted as theological truth. When his wife got tired of being married, she left him with the kids. He immediately quit show business so he could stay home and raise them full time. He did so honorably and very, very well. Later, he contracted cancer and died... never once complaining about it, acting helpless or fearful. He knew the devil would do what the devil would do. It was up to Flip to be honorable, good, and strong regardless of the situation in which he found himself.

Don't tell me what the devil is doing in your life. Tell me what you -- a child of the King -- are doing.

Live by faith. Walk on.

Invisible Children

2005-11-15T19:02:00.000-05:00

Go to invisiblechildren.com and watch the trailer. Then order the DVD. For $20 they'll send you two of them. Watch the hour or so movie and it will change your life, if you have a heart and are paying attention. The Rochester Church has is dedicating one Wednesday night to it and many of our small groups are gathering with their neighbors to watch it. What is it?

A few young men, indistinguishable from the average sloucher or slacker you might shrug past in the mall, decided to go to Africa and film what they found there. They stumbled into the middle of child soldiers, abductions, extreme poverty, displacement, and horror upon horror. He found the Acholi people of southern Sudan who fled into Northern Uganda to escape the genocide there only to be set upon by a weird cult called the Lord's Resistance Army (look it up on Wikipedia).

For 17 years this has been going on and governments are doing nothing. So these kids are doing something. They are, first, getting peoples' attention and prayers. Second, they are dreaming big; funding a huge safe village for the children who are fleeing the terror of their lives. They are doing it one DVD at a time, one T shirt at a time, and one remembrance bracelet at a time.

Do this for me for Christmas: no presents, no cards... just watch the video, gather friends and watch it again. Sell cookies to your fellow workers or students and get them to watch it. Gather members of your congregation and watch it. Write your senators and congressman and tell them to watch it.

Care about these children. They are the most beautiful children in the world and they need you. Invisiblechildren.com ...... now.......

Backbones

2005-11-12T21:15:00.000-05:00

I've just returned from my long series of travels. I'm done for a couple of months (thank God!). I appreciate the prayers you've said for me and the kind emails you've sent. It means a lot. When the road gets long and this old body gets worn down there is nothing like getting your kind words of encouragement and love. Full disclosure: there was one snarling email, but that guy/gal sends one from time to time, always anonymously. I'd love to meet with them and find out whatever I've done to harm them (I'll assume it's my fault) but until they grow a backbone and sign their emails I'll just have to keep praying for them and asking God not to judge them as harshly as they judge me.

Speaking of backbones -- and I'm going someplace with this -- the last congregation I spoke at was at Barboursville, West Virginia. They are a lovely group with an attendance around 100 on a good day. Their minister is a fellow about my age named Dave Gladwell and I love that guy. He is a symbol to me of the backbone of the faith. You see, although Rochester is the largest church in the north by some measure, we are not the cradle of faith for the majority of the church. Most of the church exists in small gatherings of less than a hundred, sometimes in old and worn down buildings. They don't have the money for PowerPoint or worship ministers. They don't have huge outreach programs to their communities for the simple fact that they don't have the people or money to man them. Their bulletin boards are full of notices of area meetings, women's Bible class announcements, and perhaps a board with red, white and blue bunting dedicated to "our soldiers."

I grew up on the mission field and couldn't wait to get away from small churches. I didn't want to be stuck in one again... but that's not something I'm bragging about. I didn't understand then what I see clearly now: the small churches that make up the vast majority of our congregations are truly the greenhouse of the faith. The faithful men who preach in them don't have a large staff to help them. They check the baptistry heater, make sure the furnace is on or off, write and print the bulletin, visit the sick, check on the widows and shut-ins. They do all this on a tiny salary with few or no benefits. There will be no advancement, no fame for them. They will not be the sought after speakers for the big events in our brotherhood.

And there are no better men in the brotherhood than these faithful men.

I confess that I often feel guilty when I see the fame and accolades that accrue to me because of a modicum of speaking ability and the grace of God. I am not the backbone of the faith. I do my job as faithfully as I know how -- and without apology -- but I am not better, more spiritual, or more stedfast than the men who preach at these tiny churches. I am rewarded far more than them down here, but I believe they will receive the greater reward in heaven.

I hereby promise, in front of you, my friends, that I will remember these men in prayer, encourage them at every opportunity, and look for any chance to honor them in private and in public. In addition, I want to honor the youth ministers who labor hard with a handful of teens, sometimes part time, with little or no pay and miniscule support. God bless them all. They may never lead at Winterfest or Pepperdine, but they are the ground troops, the grunts, the pointy end of the sharp stick of God. May those of us with position and better pay acknowledge their greater sacrifice and faithfulness.

God Bless The Teens

2005-11-07T19:25:00.000-05:00

Yes, I've seen the papers. I know about the terrible things teens are up to... but I love them. For reasons that I've never understood, they love me, too. I do between 12 and 20 youth rallies a year and keep waiting for the day when they suddenly realize I'm a fossil and send me off the field of play. So far, so good.

So why do I love them and why am I an optimist when it comes to them? Here are a few reasons:

1. They know how to pray. When I was a kid we prayed British Commando prayers -- get in, do your business, get out, no hanging about. Then there were the prayers the old guys prayed. We had those memorized by third grade. Barely audible groans would go up when one or two of their names were called to lead in prayer. Long, formulaic, and dry. Our lips would move along with them; we'd heard them so many times. But today? When I hear teens pray my heart swells. They pray much more passionately than I ever did. They have a relationship with God that gives them purpose and comfort; you can hear it in their voice. Every time I hear them pray, I thank God.

2. They invite Jesus into their lives. We went to church and went home, but these kids are different. They read Christian books, discuss them, trade them, and anxiously wait for the next one by their favorite authors. They have iPods and CD racks full of Christian music and never tire of talking about the songs and the artists. They wear Christian T-shirts and join Christian clubs at school. I look back on how isolated we felt when I was a teen and how we were almost embarassed to admit that we were church people... and I thank God that He raised up this generation to show us the joy in Christ we somehow missed.

3. They are ministers. At rally after rally I find teens who have been on mission trips to Africa, Europe, Mexico, Central America -- some of them many times. When I go down to one of our food or clothing distribution centers I find teens enthusiastically helping out. They sit with the needy, love them, hug them, and make friends with them. No classism or racism. Just Christianity in action. Ask them to host a dinner for the seniors and they jump on it with alacrity. Very impressive.

4. They like church and love to worship. You always get slouchers and slackers, of course, but I see a steady growth of teens sitting up front, taking notes, following along in the Bible, and coming up to thank the speakers afterwards. Very classy and heartwarming. Our teens have taught us how to sing again. Us old guys can teach them some of the old majestic songs, but they teach us the songs that rejoice in relationship and in salvation. Good stuff.

5. They are building a better church. Many of the arguments that filled our days, times and pulpits aren't interesting enough to get more than a shrug from the teens. They are all about worship, relationship, scripture, fellowship, and friendship in the Name of Christ. I think I should be jealous that they and their children will have a better church than I had... but I'd not. I'm just so, so happy for them.

Thank God for teens. They are truly a gift to us all.

Random Stories from the Road

2005-10-31T10:56:00.000-05:00

I'm in the Philly airport waiting for a flight to Detroit. Looking around me I am reminded of that question that plagues every writer, cartoonist, or songwriter: "Where do you get your ideas?" Stories are all around us.

1. An Air National Guard sergeant is sitting beside me. Four people have come up to him in the last half hour and thanked him for his service, shaking his hand, and sincerely wishing him well. He responds that he really isn't someone to thank, that he is "just" in the guard. People wave his humility away and thank him again, tenderly. What kind of man has six stripes on his sleeve and yet considers himself a minor player?

2. One woman was helped over to speak to him. She is elderly and tells him, in a soft voice, that she was a nurse in World War II. He treats her as kindly as if she were his beloved grandmother and she looks at him as an honorable descendant. What stories tie these two together?

3. An Amish woman is walking down the concourse with three little girls, all in dresses and bonnets. They all hold hands. The mother keeps her eyes straight ahead but one of the girls can't help but look all around her at these strange people, foods, clothes, and lifestyles. What is she seeing? What difference will it make in her life? Where are they going? How hard was it for them to get their bishop's permission to fly? Will this trip lessen or confirm their fear of outsiders?

4. Across from me is a young man and woman, both around thirty. She is reading a book on the wonders and blessings of being a stay at home mom. He is reading a book on economics. They stop every now and then and share passages they just read with each other. They smile when they do so, show interest in the other and their reading or insight. From time to time she lays her head on his shoulder. What is their story and how many people in this crowded concourse would give their new Lexus and Rolex for a life like theirs?

5. I spoke at two churches in New Jersey this week. At Tabernacle the teens gathered excitedly on the front three rows every night. They were bright, friendly, and articulate. Their parents beamed with pride over their teen's behavior -- and rightly so. A man who only knew me from the internet drove in from Pennsylvania to hear me in person and remarked that he had never had his hand shaken so many times, been greeted so warmly, and made to feel so welcome as at this little church in a rural area of south Jersey. What brought them to this place? What impact will their simple kindness have on his life?

6. At the Pitman church I saw heroism and Christianity alive and well. The preacher's wife is fighting two kinds of breast cancer and yet is full of smiles, hugs, and welcome. The preacher himself is a lifelong evangelist; one of the best I've ever met. The congregation is a blend of white, black, and Hispanic all living in love and harmony -- perhaps the best example of this I have ever seen. One recent baptism was of a former go-go dancer, now in her sixties and finally home with people who love her. Two others were baptized yesterday. A woman had been in the hospital with a member of the Pitman church who was terminal, yet that woman's faith so affected the other that, after the believer's death, she and her husband came to the baptistry and gave their lives to that same Lord. How many other stories like this are in this church? What kind of spirit lives there?

7. Little stories abound around me. A young African American woman dozes alone in a chair, holding a bouquet of a dozen pink roses. Somebody loves her. What is her story? An older white man, perhaps in his nineties, sits alone, quietly. Does he have someone to help him get to the bathroom or to buy him a soda at the shop across the walkway? Wait! A woman in her thirties has just sat down beside him. Someone is there for him. A woman empties trashcans and has the prettiest face and smile in the whole airport. I speak to her briefly about the nice weather and we both say "God bless you" when we part. Have I just met a Christian? What is her story? What brings her joy in this dark and dusty airport?

I sit here in my Maxwell Smart Edition Cone of Silence and watch God's children all around me. For a brief moment I wonder what God thinks of these people. I know He loves them, but for some reason I am convinced that He is proud of them, too. I cannot articulate why that idea brings me such joy, but it does. May He be proud of me, too.

Timing and Tapestries

2005-10-24T21:38:00.000-05:00

It is twenty inches high and 230 feet long. Woven into the tapestry is the story of the events leading up to the Battle of Hastings, 1066, when everything changed forever in the British Isles. But that's a different story. The story is the tapestry. It is a work of art, stylish, detailed and complete...on one side. On the other side, it is a tangled mess. It is always that way. Look behind lovely weavings and you see a tangle, a confusion of colors and lines. Which brings me to laughing in church and spontaneous figure skating.

Let me explain.

We laugh every Sunday and Wednesday at Rochester. It's not a non-top laugh-fest, of course, but we find at least one reason to smile when we gather. I have been accused of trying to make sermons a stand-up comic routine and several have suggested that I should really leave the pulpit and go around making people laugh, but that presupposes that I have control over my one liners and tall tales. I fear it is somewhat like figure skating.

Let me explain.

My wife was a figure skater before I married her and ruined everything. She loves to watch figure skating to this day and I, the loyal and faithful husband, sit and watch with her. She will oooh and aaahh when a skater does some frippery move and I will protest, "I can do that!" She gives me the look so I go on: "I just don't know when it's going to happen. I walk out in the rain to get the mail and -- boom! -- a triple toe loop and a double something else!" I can do it... I just can't plan it. The timing is just as big a surprise to me as it is to the neighborhood. The same with my humor. It isn't planned. It just happens... and I am usually as surprised as everyone else (like the Wednesday night when I said that Michael Jackson makes me love America, for in what other country can a small black boy grow up to be an old white woman? C'mon -- does that comment show any evidence of pre-thought?).

My life seems, to me, to be a tangled mess of lines and a confused jumble of colors. Sections of my life are corded in a relentless darkness while bursts of bright color and light fly in from outside my field of vision. What it all meant was a mystery to me until I saw a poem on a bulletin board of a facility that housed and helped adults with Down's syndrome and similar handicaps. It was written by that world famous poet "author unknown" and read thusly:

My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He works so steadily.

Oft-times He weaves in sorrow
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I, the underside.

Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the tapestry
And explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needed
In the weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.

There's a lot in my life I don't "get." There are large sections of it where I can't see the hand of God and other sections that I wish I could forget. The soundtrack moves from comic calliope to Slavic dirge and lights and shadows flit in sequences that defy logic or pattern... but I am only seeing this side of the tapestry. I believe God is weaving something beautiful, adding in the dark and light as He sees fit; as the Master Weaver.

Last story: my mother loves those puzzles with a thousand pieces. I am not so good at them, though I am proud that I finished one recently in less than a week when the box said "four to six years".... but I digress. When she gets stuck and can't find a piece or see where a piece fits she will step away, go to another part of the room, climb on a chair, or sit down low, changing her perspective until suddenly the reason, the place, and the pattern become apparent. I am down here with one point of view. He who can see all, who knows all, and who is love has a different perspective. As I told a teen class recently: you see before you a man who is nearly 49, fairly short, without much in the way of muscle or beauty.... but I assure you: I'm gorgeous! You can't see it, though, 'cause you're standing on this side of the tapestry.....

Shrink Wrapped

2005-10-18T21:15:00.000-05:00

I am SO not qualified for ministry. I frittered away my college years getting two doctorates that had nothing to do with theology, ministry, or baptistry maintainence. What was I thinking? Actually -- I can tell you: I always knew that one day I would need a shrink so I became one so that when that day came I would be there for me. When I am on the couch, eyes closed, arm over my face, I tell my wife that this is not napping: this is therapy. Leave me alone -- I'm near a breakthrough. One more plus about being a shrink: the inkblots mean whatever I say they mean.

It's also pretty cool being in an elders' meeting thinking "I could sign a couple of forms and these guys would be in a padded room and never eat with a fork again." Not that I would really think something like that. Really. Never crossed my mind.

Having the degrees helps when I am called to speak on this or that. I am leaving tomorrow for Indiana where I'll do three days on angels and demons. After a couple of days at home I go to New Jersey to do three days on Christian evidences and then one day (at another church) on a standard Bible-type topic. Right after I get back to Detroit I have to go to Phoenix to do three days on marriage and family issues. When I get back home I have to take off for West Virginia to do three days on mental health issues.

I get to meet interesting people -- many of whom need a shrink, or a minister, or both. I'll overhear enough conversations to feed my sermon illustrations for a few more months. I'll eat 3.5 miniature pretzels per flight which is good because I'm going to need my strength to fight Mongo in the seat beside me when he tries to take over the armrest that God, Stevie Wonder, and Ray Charles can all plainly see belongs to me by right. The stewardess... sorry... flight attendant will not be helpful as she can't manage to get her walker down the tight aisle and, besides, her oxygen tank only has a twelve foot long tube and I'm sitting back in the "let's slaughter a chicken for lunch" section among the rolled up prayer rugs.

Not that I'm complaining.

Shrink humor: when someone tells me their dream I like to scream and run away. I had one guy ask me if I thought he was paranoid. I said, "That's what everybody's saying." Another guy said he thought he had an inferiority complex. I said, "Yes, but it's not a very good one." Another time two extremely whiny people came in and after a painful twenty minutes hearing them complain about each other in tones that only dogs could hear I told them I couldn't help them as I was never trained in child psychology. I'm not proud about that one. (okay -- a little)

I never said I was a good shrink. I said I was cheap. There's a difference. Here's the good news for you who get to stay at home and worry about who gets kicked off what reality show: if you could get in my head you would pay money to get out.

A New Culture

2005-10-15T18:27:00.000-05:00

The Nation of Islam is marching in Washington this weekend. Neo-Nazi's and gang members are fighting each other in the streets of Toledo, Ohio as I write this. And here in Detroit -- the most segregated area in the United States, according to the census bureau -- around seventy men and women met at Rochester College to discuss how we can break down the walls between black and white churches. JC Thomas and David Fleer planned this gathering and it was heartening to see how enthusiastically church leaders of both races embraced their dream. We listened to impassioned speeches on "White Apathy" and "Black Anger" and then broke into small groups -- mixed by race, age, and gender -- to discuss a list of provocative questions. We sang with each other other, ate with each other, and hugged each other.

While the world outside our doors seemed to be degenerating into racial incidents both farcial and tragic, we were able to speak to each other -- not at each other. (Note the continued use of "each other." It's almost as if we were in the book of Hebrews....) I said to our group leader, an African American minister, "I have far more in common with you than I will have with almost any white person I will meet later today. We serve the same God and have a common speech. However, when I go into the inner city and speak with a group of troubled black youths, they have a language I just don't understand. If I can't understand them I can't empathize and draw alongside them. How can a middle aged white man make the journey from here to there?" My comment was initially misunderstood to mean that I didn't understand them linguistically. After a few clarifying comments it was clear that I meant that I would never be able to understand what went on in the mind of a black man since I have been white all my life (!!!).

They agreed and said that they would never know what it was like to be white. Our stories, backgrounds and experiences are different. So what can be done? After a morning thrashing this out only one solution presented itself: since I cannot entirely move into black culture and since blacks cannot entirely move into my culture, we must develop a different culture. Rather than wasting time trying to fix black or white culture (and it is silly to speak of either race as if they were monolithic, isn't it?) all of us must come to an alternative culture -- the culture of Christ. As if this weren't enough, we would also have to continually monitor ourselves to make sure that we were not creating a white or black god and calling all to him. We agreed that the god most of us worship lives in the mirror and likes what we like and thinks as we think.

We are holding each other accountable, praying alongside each other, and working with all our might to establish a culture of Christ, a brotherhood that transcends race, gender, age and socioeconomic status. If we are true to our word, God is sure to bless this effort and one day we, or our children, will see a city set on a hill, a light in the darkness here in southern Michigan. May God help us.

Part Three -- High Noon in Action

2005-10-09T15:43:00.000-05:00

She was a high school senior with a 4.0 and was bound for a good college when she got an "F" on a major test in advanced biology. Her fellow teens at church alerted us (ministers and elders) concerning the reason why: she had defended her belief in creation. Her teacher was an aggressive evolutionist and had given them a long, hard test requiring ten short essay answers. She had supplied the "evolutionarily correct" answers and then added her objections and counter arguments; effectively doubling the amount of work on her test. The teacher did not deny that she had learned the material and could spout it back on command, but gave her an "F" since she "clearly did not understand it."

Our elders were at the school the next day. They were kind, soft spoken, and respectful as they spoke with, first, the principal and then the teacher. Later that day they also spoke to the superintendent of schools. The grade was changed two days later to an "A." The elders took her original paper, complete with red "F" and laminated it, hanging it in a prominent position of honor in the church building.

I could also speak about the new band teacher who upon coming in immediately changed practice from Thursday to Wednesday night and made it mandatory. When two of our teens tried to explain that they had church they were told: show up or drop the band. Our elders once again went into the school -- gently and with a Christ-like spirit. The practice was switched back to Thursday.

Or the time that a single mother who struggled against all odds to raise her children ran up against school regulations and an uncaring employer. She wanted to be at her kids' school for the parent teacher conferences but her employer -- a manager at McDonalds -- wouldn't give her the night off. The elders volunteered to go to the conferences in her place but the school wouldn't allow it. State law said only the parent or legal guardian had the right to confidential info about the child (understandable). One of our elders, who owned stores all over the state and was a very well to do man, went to the McDonalds manager and asked him personally to release the woman for that evening. When the manager refused, our elder volunteered to work in her place. He came in three nights in a row to learn her job and then worked that night for her -- for free. By the end of the week the entire town had heard about it. It's hard not to notice when a wealthy man is working at McDonalds mopping floors and cleaning toilets... without a word of complaint.

Each of these people stepped up and stepped out for something bigger than themselves. The teens could have stayed mute, shrugged and said "What can you do?" They didn't. The elders could have tsk-tsked and complained about the state of things today... but they moved in sweetly to change things. No voices were ever raised or threats made. In case you are wondering, this wasn't in some small rural backwater, but in a major metropolitan area. And we don't win them all, but we put them all in play.

Today we sent three of our own away. One of them, a lovely twenty two year old girl, is going to work at planting a church in the Bronx over the next two years. She said she had only 20% of her needed funds, but promised God she would go anyway... and then the money came in. A young couple with three elementary school and preschool children are walking away from their upper middle-class home and great jobs to live in Jinja, Uganda for five years. Why? Because on a visit they saw the need for God in the eyes of those there and determined to take the good news to them.

High Noon moments. Gotta love 'em. Step up and step out. All praise to Him who lets us in the game.

High Noon Moments, Part Deux

2005-10-05T10:33:00.000-05:00

I had an email on this subject that I think speaks more eloquently than can I. Let me share it with you and hear from you about whether or not this strikes a chord in your heart:

"I've thought about your call for "high noon" stories over the past couple of days. the one resounding thought is how few of these stories come to mind. I can remember a few minor ones like when I gave a pro-life speech in a class my senior year of high school. But that was really no big deal -- I wasn't persecuted for it. It shouldn't even be considered a major event. I remember confronting my high school football coach my junior year. However, I don't know that I did it for Jesus as much as for myself. The fact was that his form of motivation (swearing endlessly and belittling you when you screwed up) didn't motivate me, and I wanted him to stop it. It actually worked and his vocabulary towards me changed, but it didn't change towards the rest of the team. Once again, not really a "high noon" moment, but more a moment of me overcoming fear and facing a perceived foe.

"So here I am. I've been a baptized believer since I was 14 years old. Next March will be the 19th anniversary of this event. More importantly, I knew Jesus long before I was baptized as a teenager... So the question I keep asking myself is WHY: Why don't I have more stories like this packed into my Christian journey of faith? What have I really done for Jesus over the last 20 or so years? I've done a lot of "good" things, but these are things that I probably would have done whether or not I knew Christ. They were morally motivated. In other words, they were things that any "good" person would do. They were not things that stand out and say, "I'm different because of Christ!" I'm left with the impression that I'm really a big wimp. I want to be a MAN for Christ, but wimp is what rises to the surface.

"I speak to my children about persecuted Christians. Since I can remember, I've tried to remind myself that I am raising them to be martyrs for the Lord. I don't just mean martyrs in some abstract sense, but actual martyrs who will choose to give their earthly life for our King. More importantly, I try to teach them that living for Him is more of a task at times than actually dying for Him. I teach this but I question whether I am living it.

"More than "high noon" stories, I am reminded of several times when I stood at the crossroads and chose the path of least resistance. These were not monumental moments when I had a gun to my head and [was] asked to deny Jesus or take a bullet. I actually think I would make the right decision in that circumstance. However, it's the little choices that I've let slide by. I'm often prompted to pray for someone I barely know. Instead of immediately praying for them, I talk myself out of it and say that I will pray silently, or pray later, or question how they might respond if my prayers aren't answered in the way that is desired. Other times the Lord will call me to give money or something of value to someone and I dismiss it as some emotional response. I rationalize how it wouldn't be prudent to give money to a person who would not use it correctly. (Like it's actually mine to determine how it is used -- It's God's -- given to me by grace only) Or how about the times when I'm in a conversation with people who don't know the Lord or are at least not speaking in a manner that shows they know Him? Many times I have let conversations continue down wrong paths -- never sharing the gospel -- never letting them know that I am a fanatical follower of Christ! I keep quiet in order to avoid conflict.

"What if it was by Divine appointment that these people crossed my path? What is the message I had to share was their last opportunity to hear the good news?... What if the impracticality of my money gift "in the name of Jesus" actually broke down a wall that previously separated them from His love? What if I actually chose to enter into conflict with my brother/sister and it helped saved their marriage? How many opportunities have I wasted?

"Looking back I see that my fear of man surpasses my fear of God in most situations. But today is a new day! This is a new season of life. The old is past and today I have a choice. A new chance to stand up for Jesus! I recently ended a fast and the overwhelming message I received from the Lord was what Samuel spoke to Saul, "To obey is better than sacrifice!" I was bombarded by this message every single day of my fast. the Lord was and is calling me to obedience. he could care less about my sacrifices. He wants me to jump when he says jump and shut when when He says shut up. I am to obey Him in the little things, as well as the big, in the silly, as well as the sane, in the loud, as well as the quiet, in the things done before the eyes of man, as well as those done in secret. Over the past few weeks I've done some strange and wonderful things just because the Lord told me to. None of these would qualify as "High Noon" moments, but perhaps they are preparing me for future "High Noon" moments. I certainly hope so. I pray that I will be obedient in the little, so I will have no choice but to be obedient in the big! I was to be a man like David -- a man "after God's own heart." I don't want to be a disappointment, a wasted life, a wimp, a self-serving egotist, an unrepentant fool, etc. (you get the idea)....."

I think my brother's email is brilliant. What do you think? Share your stories, comments, and insights. Another High Noon column is coming in a few days.

High Noon Moments

2005-10-03T09:51:00.000-05:00

We have a seeker service every Wednesday we call "Connections." We are doing a series on the intersection of film and faith entitled "Reel Spirituality" and have chronicled lessons from everything from "Napoleon Dynamite" to "O Brother Where Art Thou?" and this week we are discussing the classic Gary Cooper film, "High Noon."

If you haven't seen the film, shame on you -- go rent it now. I'll wait. (sound of humming) Back? Great! Since you've just seen it you know that it is about decisions. Will I do what is right even if I have to do it alone? Will I stand up for whatsoever things are pure, lovely, noble, etc. even if it means that I lose friends and family for doing so?

So here is the question of the day: what High Noon moments have you had? How did you decide to handle them? Want to share them with the group? I'll start:

It was at the University of Alabama in Birmingham back in the middle seventies. I was a scared teenager with an accent (and it wasn't southern) in a morning Anthropology class. There were a total of 147 people in the classroom and, for reasons which will soon become apparent, I will never forget that number. The professor was an aggressive atheist and relativist. On this morning he went on a tear for a full 45 minutes ridiculing the Bible, Christianity, the concept of God, etc. After his spleen had finishing venting and we were up to our frontal lobes in bile he turned to us and challenged, "Does anybody have a problem with anything I've been saying?"

Only one idiot in the room raised their hand. And I have no idea why it went up. I absolutely do not recall telling it to go up, but there it was, my hand, trembling, but raised. Yikes. He turned the full force of his glare on me (I think he must have practiced glaring at home in the mirror because he was -- credit to whom credit is due -- extremely good at it) and said, "And WHAT is your problem?"

I wish I could tell you that I stood up and silenced him with the power of my intellect, razor sharp wit, and a Colt .45 but, alas, it wasn't quite that way. I tried to speak but I had turned into SheepBoy: "W..w.w...welll, uuuuuuuuuhhhh, I... th...th...th...ink that uuuuuuuhhhh...." and so it went. I did what I could but it wasn't impressive and no one was trampled in the rush to the baptistry when I was done. Afterwards, shamed, I gathered my books with my head down and eased out of the room toward my car, intending to skip the rest of my classes when a couple of other students came up to me and said how much they appreciated me speaking up. They told me they agreed with me and were furious at the professor. My response was "Where were you?"

There have been other moments, but let that suffice. So... wanna share a High Noon story? Keep it brief, pithy and to the point. Of course, if no one shares then I will be stuck here in the middle of the dirt street on my own... again... but that's okay. I've still got my badge and my .45.

Empty Houses and Bobbed Hair

2005-09-29T08:30:00.000-05:00

Our long time minister, Jerry Tallman, is selling all his stuff and going on the road full time to do evangelistic seminars. He is a brilliant evangelist and we are all proud of what he and Connie are doing. This last week he sold off his books and paintings -- a bittersweet moment, to be sure. I went through his books, promising myself that I wouldn't buy until others had a chance to get the good stuff, when I came across a book that I bought merely because the title was too good to pass up. Ready for this? Are you seated comfortably? Have you taken all appropriate medication, with food? Okay.

"Bobbed Hair, Bossy Wives, and Women Preachers" by John R. Rice, DD. I mean, c'mon, who could pass this up? I've been looking for new sermon material anyway (just kidding!) so I grabbed it and ran back to my office to peruse my new prize. Inside the front cover is a photo of Rice with his wife and six daughters. No sons, just daughters and lots of them. I am sure they all were sweet people (this was published in 1941) but the women in the photo had that strange look about them that screamed out "Lizzy Borden and the Bordenettes." I couldn't help but wonder how you could grow up in a house ruled by the iron fist of John R. Rice. I decided I needed to do some research.

It seems Rice left the Southern Baptists over their liberalism and wrote over 200 books while serving as Editor for "The Sword of the Lord." I went over to www.swordofthelord.com and found out his group is still going (with a 27 point statement of belief) and that this precious little volume is still in print! (only $4.95) According to the website all of his daughters grew up and married men with the same teachings as their dad and served in the same fields. Maybe they were happy after all. I mean, who am I to judge such things?

Other gems by Rice are (and I am not making this up) "Wild Oats in Dallas -- How Dallas people sow them and how they are reaped" and my personal favorite, "The Dance -- Child of the Brothel, Sister of Gambling and Drunkenness, Mother of Lust and Road to Hell!" (exclamation mark in the original) Say what you want: the man knew how to craft a catchy title.

While his group is still very active on the web and has quite a few churches that continue his teachings it is obvious that most of us have moved on. We love the Bible, read it, treasure it as the Word of God, but, search as we might, we cannot see God getting as heated up as Dr. Rice on most of these matters. It gives one pause to wonder: what arguments do we live for, promulgate, disfellowship over, and write viciously against? Will they seem this silly in fifty years? A hundred? Are we willing to kill (reputation, character, profession) over matters that will be laughed at by our grandchildren?

Sure, some things are permanent and we can, rightly, argue about what those are. The seven ones of Ephesians, the supremacy of love in Corinthians, the person and lordship of Christ -- there is enough in scripture to keep us busy without us having to get bogged down in cultural and political arguments that will not long outlive us.

Have you ever driven down the road in some rural area and seen, far off in a field, surrounded by brush and scrub trees, an old, broken house. At one time it was a beautiful home. Kids played on those floors and its walls witnessed births, deaths, laughter, and tears... but no longer. Once, people dreamed about this home, bought and cleared the land and then built their dream, but that dream no longer lives in any human heart. Did they die without heirs? Did their kids fight over the inheritance until no one could have it? Why did the dream die when it had enough strength, once upon a time, to come to life?

What are we doing with God's dream for us? Will He leave heirs on this earth? Yes, Jesus said so, so let's rephrase this: "Will we be among those heirs?" Only if our dreams are His dreams. Only if we put the energy into maintaining that dream and keeping it alive. And only if we don't destroy that dream by fighting over bits of it among ourselves until no one lives here anymore. The dream of Christ probably had little to do about bobbed hair, so perhaps we should be at work in discovering His dream, building more, and fighting less.

Nothing to brag about...

2005-09-25T18:41:00.000-05:00

Scottish tartans come in a vast variety of colors and patterns, each unique to an individual family. The best known are bright red with stripes of gold and white, such as the Royal Stewart or the Dress MacDonald. The colors have meaning: the more red, the more royalty. Yellow and white are indications of other aspects of power such as clercial standing, land or castle holdings, etc. Those families who were sea powers have light blue woven into the sett, or pattern, of their tartan.

My family was too small to have its own badge, motto and tartan. Don't try to look up "Mead" in Scottish clan directories. We aren't there. Our name wasn't Mead until the first decade of the 1600's when we changed it from the original, hurriedly, due to... uh... pressing legal reasons. Our family was taken in by the Gunn clan and we wear their tartan: green, darker green, one tiny stripe of red. No lands, no castles, no sea power, no royalty. Nothing to see here. Nothing to brag about.

So I can't brag on my standing among the Scots. How about my more immediate family? No... not really. My parents are solid Christians, but that is about it. Most of my family are so non-Christian that they are more likely to show up on "Cops" or "Jerry Springer" than they are to show up in church. Nothing to see here. Nothing to brag about.

I could try and brag about my righteousness, but that would be about as silly a thing as I could imagine. I am the man in Romans 7. Regardless of my best efforts and intentions I am absolutely unable to come up to an acceptable standard if measured by law. I have lived as a legalist and failed. I have tried to find some comfort in the fact that, at least, I knew the Bible well and went all over the world to teach it. But the more I learned the more I realized that my knowledge was imperfect and so was my teaching. Nothing to see here. Nothing to brag about.

I can't brag on my heritage, my family, my righteousness, my knowledge... or anything else. I have no sports skills, no rippling muscles, and my fireplace mantel is disturbingly free of trophies or plaques. I am three months away from becoming 49 and this isn't exactly what I planned to be when I was a kid. I wanted to be a ninja-cowboy-police-superspy-rockstar-football player. Didn't make it. Nothing to see here. Nothing to brag about.

But there is one thing: I believe in Jesus. Because of my faith, He calls me righteous. Because of His grace, I am an heir of heaven. I have a new family, a new name, and a new heritage. And the coolest thing of all? I CAN brag about this! It has nothing to do with me, but now I am surrounded by wonderful things because of the righteousness of Christ. Come see Him, for He is something to see. He is someone to brag about.

(NOTE: last call for going to sea with Patrick and Kami and Duncan Mead. There is one balcony room, one oceanview room, and a couple of inside staterooms left. Get in touch with Susan Yanaros at www.escape2sea.com and book quickly. Plus, we have a single gentleman who needs a roomie and a single woman who needs a roomie. Know anyone who needs a break from winter on January 7th of next year? Remember -- we are raising a lot of money for missions by buying these cabins so you get to be warm, fellowship with about 100 Christians, worship at sea, and support two great mission works at the same time. What a deal!)

Better Than Wide Ties

2005-09-19T20:37:00.000-05:00

Fashions tend to go in cycles. If you hold onto the stuff in your closet long enough -- the story goes -- it will be back in style. At a youth gathering in Denver yesterday I saw kids wearing pin-striped dress shirts with huge white collars, open at the throat, and topped with a haircut that wouldn't have been out of place in Soho, London back in the late 60's. Fashionistas have been trying to bring the 70's back every year recently with only partial success. Sometimes we recycle these things as a symptom of our longing for earlier, simpler times. Other times they are brought in because they are new to the younger among us and passe to the older; guaranteeing that what the kids want to wear won't be worn by their parents -- and that is really the point isn't it? They want to be different from their parents; unique and new in their own way, even if they have to hunt through the old clothes store's bargain bins to get there.

In the late 60's and through the 70's, anytime you saw a gathering of more than four teens, you would find a guitar. Songs were meant to be sung with two voices or more, complete with simple harmonies and catchy tunes. This brought us everything from Simon and Garfunkel to The New Christy Minstrels. Everywhere you looked you saw manic-depressive minstrels playing their six string guitars, trying to look deep, and there beside them would be earnest looking girls singing along. Our songs in church were built on this tradition that sourced in even earlier music.

For the first 150 years of the Restoration Movement, our songs were relics and reflections of the old songs brought to us by our British forebears and kept sacred -- while transformed -- in the mountain fastness of the Appalachians, the Alleghenies, and the Smokies. Flavored, bettered, and respun with the songs of the Delta and songs of the southern, poor, isolated blacks our hymnals rang with four part harmonies that extolled the painful realities of life as seen through the eyes of faith.

The Melungeons, a people unto themselves, gave us shaped note singing, Harp singing, and other forms of mountain melodies. The power of that racial/genetic/historic legacy can still shine through as it did in the Coen brothers' "O Brother Where Art Thou" and the companion DVD/CD that showcased more old time music, "Down From The Mountain." The price of Gibson guitars skyrocketed and a whole new generation grabbed onto it. But why? Perhaps it is because their own music became unsingable (at least, without backup dancers and a producer) and something in them called for a drink from a deeper well.

We have seen this in our assemblies. For some time we were the lone outpost of shaped note singing; four part harmony reigning in our assemblies. We, rightly, had the reputation of being the best singers among the various name-brand churches. When more contemporary songs began creeping in -- against stiff resistance -- one of the complaints often aired was that we would lose the ability to sing in four part harmony and -- praise teams or not -- we have. But is that the fault of singing new songs or is singing new songs a reflection of where our culture has traveled? One generation's music did not speak to the next generation, nor did they know how to sing it meaningfully. They didn't carry their guitars (or other bluegrass instruments for which many of our hymns were written) anymore, had no idea who Peter, Paul and Mary were or what to take if you came down with a Garfunkel. Their music was (over)produced within an inch of its life and relied on stark images in videos for its life. And it was never sung in harmony, but in unison.

Now that the newer music is accepted in many of our assemblies and those in the 30-50 age group relish their victory over the Gaither/Stamps-Baxter/Fanny Crosby songs of the past... the kids are rediscovering old hymns. They are older than the ones their grandparents sang and their voices strain to sound as if they were wafting from a lost and hidden mountain, or they go back further and sing the majestic old hymns of the 1600's and 1700's. Dozens of new bluegrass bands have been started by teenagers and their CD's enjoy good sales in a new subculture.

Each generation must find its voice in the same way that they must work out their own salvation. As they come to Christ, they must bring the overflow of their heart and that might not sound like the overflow of your heart, or your parents' hearts. That's all right. Things change. Some things -- including some hymns -- come back. All in all, they're better than wide ties, shag haircuts, and daisies painted on VW vans. I smile when I think of what it must look like in heaven when some of us gather to sing an old hymn. Does God say "I haven't heard that song in a very long time" and smile? I know in heaven we are going to sing a new song, but to many of our kids, those old songs are new to them.

(and in case you're wondering -- this isn't a call to return to the blue book or Sacred Selections. Those books served us honorably and well, but that isn't what I am talking about. Recent sociological studies have shown that the youngest Christians are showing the most interest in very old songs -- mountain, traditional, bluegrass, or classical -- and that it is now their parents who resist moving away from the "new" songs they fought so long to establish as the church norm. This blog is not making a judgment here; only an observation)

Get Thee WAY Behind Me....

2005-09-14T11:12:00.000-05:00

My dear wife of twenty six years is a wonderful woman. But she can be a very rigid, hardline person. You see, she insists that since I am married to her I am not to flirt with other people. Can you believe that! Of course you can. That is the way it is supposed to be. And yet.... we are the Bride of Christ and how often do we flirt with the world?

I think we mean to be better than we are. We just forget that sin is dangerous. I don't really need the book that came with my lawn mower. It warns me not to put my hand under the deck when the blades are turning. I think I already knew that, somehow. But I DO need reminding that sin is bad, ugly and dangerous. The Israelites had that crude altar built out of uncut stones, soaked with blood and burnt hair and fat; an altar they were never allowed to clean. It stood there as a fragrant reminder of the ugliness of sin. We, on the other hand, call adultery "an affair" or "a fling." We don't say we lied, we say we misspoke. You can think of a dozen or more instances where we have used our language to excuse our behavior by watering down the "bad" word that implied sin and judgment and replacing it with an "oops" word that implies "well, we're only human..."

Saint Patrick was a man like the rest of us. He was tempted with sin every day of his life. One of the few prayers we know he personally wrote is almost entirely unknown today, but I will put it here so that you can see how seriously he took sin and how much he wanted to stay away from it. What would our lives be like if took sin this seriously? How our our words, thoughts, and actions be different today? How would our entertainments change? We will never know until we declare that we are married to Christ and that no other has a call on our affections or time.

Prayer of the Sign of Saint Patrick

At Tara today in this fateful hour
I place all Heaven with its power
And the Sun with its brightness
And the snow with its whiteness
And fire with all the strength it hath
And lightning with its rapid wrath
And the winds with their swiftness along the path
And the sea with its deepness
And the rocks with their steepness
And the earth with its starkness:
All these I place
By God's almighty help and grace,
Between myself and the powers of darkness!

In other words: get thee wwwwaaaaayyyyyy behind me, Satan!