Author: Jon Partlow

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Unregulated Joy

One of my favorite memories is Christmas morning at my Aunt Eunice’s house. Maybe it was because a child’s memory is bigger than the event itself, especially on Christmas. Or maybe it was because Aunt Eunice served us Danish sweet rolls and hot chocolate out of her Santa Claus mugs. And those sweet rolls were like a delicacy eaten only at her house on Christmas morning. And just thinking about them right now, my mouth is salivating, and I’ve gained five pounds.

You should know two things about Aunt Eunice. First, she never married, never having children of her own. Her nieces and nephews were her children, and I’m not sure she understood children. Secondly, Aunt Eunice was not my aunt but was my dad’s aunt. By the time I knew her, she was more like the stately and reserved grandmotherly kind, and was certainly not the “cool” aunt who wanted to take you on the wild trip against your parents’ wishes.

This leads to a pet peeve of Aunt Eunice. She meticulously wrapped each present, and before people thought about recycling, she was into saving wrapping paper to use again for another occasion. Thus, she wanted everyone to unwrap the present just as meticulously as she wrapped it. For an adult that’s easy. For an eight-year-old boy, impossible. And that’s what I mean by her not understanding children. As I was about to tear into the present, you can almost hear her yell, like Elsa Raven from Back to the Future, “Save the paper! Save the paper!”

There’s something about a child’s joyful enthusiasm for life that gets chaffed as we age with time. Such gusto cannot be regulated or shaped by rules but is a natural expression of a wholesome outlook on life.

If you have never seen a child,
               Tear wrapping paper to shreds,
               Or jumping up and down on their beds,
Then you have never seen one embrace the wild.

If you have never seen a girl,
               Splashing around in rain puddles,
               Or spend an afternoon chasing bubbles,
Then you have never seen one give it a whirl.

If you have never seen a boy,
               Play with a truck or a car,
               Or watched him as he ran really fast and really far,
Then you have never seen one in pure joy.

If you have never seen a kid,
               Ride the bus for the first time,
Or dress up for Halloween as a superhero to fight crime,
Then you have never seen really go off the grid

Children capture the enthusiasm and joy of life. They are all in all day, and either fight sleep with just the same effort used throughout the day or embrace sleep and are out all night.

Embracing the enthusiasm and joy of life as a child is one thing. Maintaining the enthusiasm and joy of life throughout adulthood is something else altogether. We get blunted. Or worse, we want to regulate and contain the gusto, only to realize too late that such regulation siphons whatever joy remains.  

As the apostle Paul was motivating the Corinthian church to fulfill their commitment to complete the collection for those suffering under drought conditions in Judea, he could have brought the hammer and forced them to give. He could have regulated an amount for them to give. He could have guilted the church and shamed them for failing. He could have sung all 147 verses of Just As I Am. Instead, he went for the enthusiasm of life where regulation has no place.

First, he drops some bumper sticker statements. He says, “Whoever sows sparingly, reaps sparingly” and the opposite is true too, “whoever sows generously will also reap generously” (2 Cor. 9:8). Drawing from the farming analogy, however much you are willing to plant, it will determine how much you will harvest. There is no guarantee of a bumper crop just because you plant generously. The fact is too many uncontrollable factors are in play like the amount of sunshine and heat versus rain and cold. That said, if you are not generous in sowing, the planted harvest cannot be generous.

The other bumper sticker statement is a classic, “God loves a cheerful giver” (v. 7c). The total times this verse has been quoted before praying over a church collection cannot be numbered. Despite its overuse, it does not negate the fact that God adores the childlike innocence of a person sharing what they have. Instead of Paul forcing the people to give, his desire is that they give without feeling reluctant or under compulsion (v. 7b).

Secondly, Paul enmeshes his exhortation to give with Scripture. In verse six, when Paul talks how sowing generously leads to reaping generously is likely a reference to two verses in Proverbs (11:24-25; 22:8-9). There the passages speak of generosity and a willingness to help others. While neither passage speaks directly to raising funds, both passages lay the groundwork for Paul exhorting generosity with others, especially for those lacking daily needs. In verse seven when Paul mentions giving what his heart has purposed, he likely has in mind Exodus 25:2. With Israel at the base of Mt. Sinai, construction on the tabernacle was in play. Instead of taxing the people and forcing them to give, Moses leaves the amount open based on what each person’s heart prompts him/her to give. This was a freewill offering from Moses, which Paul draws from to motivate the Corinthians to give. Then, Paul directly quotes Psalm 112:9. The Psalmist is extolling the virtues of the righteous man, who is generous and lends generously. While the Psalm lifts God up as this “righteous man,” Paul hopes the Corinthians will follow God’s lead and emulate his generosity.

Finally, Paul avoids mandating or regulating generosity by omitting passages from the Old Testament about giving God a percentage of the income to help others. This is a freewill offering, and regulating percentages prevents it from becoming one’s free will. Also, Paul not only may be trying to avoid limiting Corinth’s generosity but fueling a joyful enthusiasm for being generous. Thus, binding and regulating an amount may very well get the funds collected, but it will be devoid of the cheerfulness God is seeking.

One of the many lessons Dad taught me was to “lay by in store” (1 Cor. 16:2). Every week he gave me an allowance and told me to take ten percent of the allowance as a gift to God. I remember my starting pay level was ten pennies as I put nine of them in my little piggy bank. One penny was placed next to the bank as a visual reminder that that money belonged to God. Looking back now, I wonder what would have happened if Dad had said to me, “Here is your allowance. Decide in your heart how much to give to God and how much to keep.” I’m pretty sure the lesson of saving for the future and regulating gifting to God would have been lost on the five-year-old. I would have dropped all ten pennies into the collection plate, for no other reason, because it made a loud noise. More so to the point, the joy of a child’s generous heart would overshadow the need to regulate giving.

The story is told of a wife who for thirty years suffered abuse at the hands of her husband. Every morning, her husband wrote a “to do” list out on paper before going to work, expecting his wife to complete the list in his absence. Wash the dishes, do the laundry, make up the bed, do work in the yard, pay the bills, and have dinner on the table when he walks through the doors at night.

Out of fear she completed the list the best she could. Sometimes she was successful. Other times she failed. When she failed, he verbally attacked her, and at times physically attacked her too. When she completed the list, it was rarely completed to his satisfaction. Thus, he humiliated her for a lack of competence. Simply put, he was a mean person. And over time he drained the joy out of her.

After thirty years, the man suffered a heart attack and died. He wasn’t a good husband, but he was her husband. Mourning her husband, she packed everything away and put it in the attic.

Time passed. Scars heal. Memories soften the pain.

The woman met man who was anything but her husband. He was kind and gentle. He encouraged her independence and appreciated her as a person. They fell in love and married, and they were both very happy. She found a deep contented peace in her husband and all the hurt and pain were washed away. Joy began to return to the woman.

Years later, it was time to downsize. As they were going through their things, she grabbed a box forgetting it was her first husband’s things. Opening the lid, she saw a piece of paper sitting on top of his things. It was one of his lists. Why she kept it she had no clue. She read the list. Shocked at seeing the list, she read it again before a flood of emotions swept over her. The dams broke and the tears fell like a waterfall. When she finally gained composure, she realized that all the things she did for her first husband, she was doing for her second husband. Only this time, she was driven by joy, not anxiety. She had enthusiasm, not terror. She wanted to make the bed, do the laundry, cook the meals for him. She was no longer driven by fear but compelled by love. She now realized this truth that when she gave of herself first, everything else falls into place, including an enthusiastic joy.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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The Giving Me

In the backyard of my childhood home – the purple house for those who know – was a some forty-foot-tall cherry tree that in my memory stretched to the highest peaks of the sky. For a hundred years the tree produced the best Rainier Cherries, provided shade from the heat, and offered a home to the birds that nested in her branches. To everyone who saw her, she was a magnificent tree of great beauty and strength. To me, she might have been my closest friend.

She was the home-base when the Partlow children were playing hide-n-seek. She was a secret hideout for our G.I. Joes to climb in their latest adventure. She was a refuge to get away from life. Sitting on her branches we could read, think, dream, and pick her sweet cherries to snack on through the summer months. She was trusted with our deepest secrets, like hiding our baseball cards and candy that David and I bought before sneaking them past mom into the house. And to be sure, she allowed Patches, our dog, to mark her as his territory.

I remember the day my sister, Deanna, and I were in the tree, and got stuck. We called for dad who grumbled under his breath as he got the ladder out of the shed and came up to retrieve us like some old lady’s cat needing rescued by a fireman. I remember when bees made a hive in the trunk of the tree, and dad had to evict them. I can still hear mom’s promise that if we kids would pick and pit the cherries, she’d bake the cobbler. Mom made the best cherry cobbler. Ever. Yes, I recall the day Lehman Hall, being forewarned of the possible pits in the pie because elementary kids pitted them, bit into his serving only to discover the pit. He laughed and spat the seed out and, without reservations, finished his pie.

Years after selling the home, we found out that the owner had the tree cut down and removed. It was a sad day. She was old and her limbs were frail and known to fall, so I understood the rationale. But never once did she think of her own needs as she selflessly produced fruit, welcomed children to play in her branches, and even allowed a dog, and some boys, to pee on her. But that is, by her own nature, who she is.   

If you crossed the bridge to Shel Silverstein and his beautiful story, The Giving Tree, then you’re probably not a bridge too far. In the story Silverstein walks the reader through a lifetime relationship between a boy and a fruit tree. The boy has wants and needs, and the tree’s only longing is to give the boy whatever he desires: shade in the hot sun, fruit to satisfy his hunger, branches to build a house, his trunk to build a ship, and finally a stump as a place to sit, to think, and to reflect on life. While some might criticize the book for the selfishness of the boy, the focus is on the selflessness of the tree. It is called The Giving Tree for a reason. The tree gives the boy everything, because the tree gave of herself first. It is, by nature, who she is.

For a tree to grow strong, it needs sunshine and rain. Trees also need pruning and for their fruit to be picked for consumption. Giving is an essential purpose, not only for life in general, but specifically trees. Jesus once condemned a tree for acting like it was willing to give its fruit, only to discover it was not bearing any fruit to begin with.

Paul very well could have used the analogy of a giving tree to underscore his message to the Corinthians. He didn’t, but he could have.

The Corinthians needed to make good on their promise to collect funds for the Christians in Judea suffering under a great famine. The church had promised but was now backing off from their commitment. Paul wove some beautiful words together to help motivate them to jumpstart the collecting process. In his first move, he linked grace and joy together as if they were best friends (2 Cor. 8:1-2). He says, “the grace that God has given has welled up into overflowing joy.” Grace and joy in the Greek language were homonyms as they sound alike. By linking joy and grace together with giving, the message is clear in that giving is not only a joyful expression of grace, but that it is rooted in God’s character.

As I reflect on God’s gracious giving, I cannot help but be drawn to Deuteronomy 8:3-4. Moses is preparing Israel to enter Canaan after their forty years of wandering. Those wandering years were driving by Israel’s defiant lack of faith. They constantly tested God’s mettle, even at one point revolting against Moses to elect new officials to return to Egypt. Nevertheless, for forty years they woke up every day to find bread, or Manna, on the ground to collect for their daily meal. Every single day. Then, at the end of their forty-year journey, Moses noted that their clothes never wore out. Sure, children would grow out of their sandals, but they never wore out. Both are signs of God’s gracious giving, for he offered to Israel not what they deserved but what they needed. One could say that because God gave of himself first to Israel, the gracious gifts followed with joy.

Back to Corinth, Paul propped up the churches in Macedonia, not only as an example of those who give, but also as an example of those who allowed God’s joyful grace of giving to work through them. Comparatively, the Macedonians were impoverished. Yet, they begged Paul to participate in this ministry (2 Cor. 8:4). Paul was not about to burden them with this gift, but they forced Paul’s hand. When they did give, they shattered the glass ceiling of expectation, giving far more than even Paul expected.

Paul attributes the key to their generosity in 2 Corinthians 8:5 by saying, “. . . they gave themselves first to the Lord and then to us in keeping with God’s will.” When one empties of him or herself, filling themselves with God’s Spirit, what follows is gracious generosity of giving which becomes second nature.

A couple of Scriptures highlight this principle. For instance, when Lydia opened her heart to the Lord, she opened her home to Paul and the others with him (Act. 16:15). When Paul outlines the Fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5:22-23, one of the qualities is “Goodness.” Suffering from the tradition of an early and weak translation, the word rightly means “Generosity.” We might say a good person is a generous person. Paul might say that someone filled with the Spirit is a generous person. When Jesus saw an impoverished widow giving her pennies, which was all she had, into the temple collection, he noted that she had put more in the collection than the wealthy who gave simple leftovers from their abundance (Lk. 21:4). The often-overlooked indictment from this story is that Jesus accuses the wealthy teachers of the law of devouring the homes of the widows (Lk. 20:47).

I remember my Kentucky church hosting a fish fry to raise funds from a flood that wiped out homes and devastated the community. We raised a lot of money because people arrived with open generosity. One elderly couple came to the fish fry. As he wheeled his cancer-ridden wife up to the table where we had a collection box, I watched him pull out a couple of twenty-dollar bills to drop in the box. We should have given him some money as he was in dire need. But his heart was too big, and his generosity had overcome his own needs. For when we open our hearts to the Lord first, then generosity has no limits.

My wife is known for her homemade sourdough bread. It tastes like bread from heaven, and the biggest complement we’ve been given is that it was coined “Jesus Bread” by some in the office when I began working at hospice. Some have asked why we haven’t marketed the bread and sold it. We could have, and that option is always on the table. But here’s the thing: we love giving away the bread. We love the joy of blessing others with our gift. We don’t want to take that away from us or from those we give the bread to.

Wes and Kelsey started dating in high school. On their one-year anniversary, Wes chose not to bring her flowers. Instead, he brought a tree sapling that he planted in Kelsey’s mother’s backyard. Every year, the tree grew and so did their relationship, posing before the tree for an anniversary photo opt. When Wes proposed, he did so at the tree. When they got married, they took wedding pictures with the tree. When they renewed their vows, they did so at the tree. When they were expecting their first child, a photo was taken at the tree. And now with the tree grown, dad Wes hung a swing to its branch to swing their daughter from the tree. With all the changes that are thrust upon us, and the world pulling us in all directions, Kelsey’s comment about the tree says it all, “It’s the roots that give us the wings.”

Did you catch that? The tree is all about giving because when you give of yourself first, then giving anything is easy. With the Spirit’s help, it is who we are by nature. No, we are not a giving tree, but we are a giving me.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Words Matter

Jesus was confronted by the Pharisees and teachers of the law. They tried cornering him. They pointed their judgmental finger at him and his disciples, accusing them of breaking their longtime standard of washing hands before eating a meal. They weren’t concerned with sanitation and germs, but holiness expressed in a traditional practice. Their created rule to wash hands before eating was an attempt to keep people holy before God.

Jesus wasn’t buying what they were selling. He pushed back. First, he accused the religious leaders of breaking God’s law commanding (adult) children to honor their parents. They were all in for their own rules but failed to keep the important rules. Secondly, he made a profound statement that it is not what goes into a person’s mouth that makes them unholy, but what comes out.

The pig and the pork entering the mouth do not make a person unclean before God. Instead, it’s the words and phrases that exit the mouth that do. The anger words. The sensual words. The lying words. The hypocritical words. The fraudulent words. The hateful words. The manipulative words. The racist words. The shaming words. The slanderous words. The dehumanizing words. The divisive words. The evil words that rise from the heart and pass over the lips spoken by the tongue are the words that reveal our true self. And let’s be honest, it’s not very attractive.

Words matter.

What we say matters.
Ask anyone who has been hurt by a spoken lie,|
Or has experienced a broken promise.
Words matter.

Words carry weight.
Ask anyone who has been bullied and verbally abused,
Or anyone who has been in a meeting when the person with the power stymies all
forward progress by words chosen to intimidate others;
Words matter.

Words are not without meaning.
Ask anyone who knows a second language,
Or anyone who had to defend themselves by saying, “That’s what I said, but not what I meant;”
Words Matter.

The pen is mightier than the sword.
Ask anyone who has been trashed on social media,
Or has a paper returned from the teacher highlighted in red;
Words Matter.

Words will never harm me.
Ask anyone whose husband has told her, “I don’t love you anymore,”
Or that child whose classmate insults him for the “umpteenth” time;
Words matter.

We live in a time when words are overused, filled with cliches, drowned out by the noise around us, and have often lost meaning. Like truth, it feels like words can convey anything we want them to say. Thus, words struggle to take root in the heart of people as they bounce off the heart like a superball ricocheting off the street. We find ourselves dismissive of the words spoken to us for if we heard it once, we’ve heard it all before. Didn’t Solomon once say himself, “Nothing is new under the sun.” Maybe so.

Words matter.

The Bible is filled with words. In a society that is shaped visually and where attention span is as long as goldfish’s memory, God’s Word contains over 700,000 words. That is a lot of words. In the middle of those words, we find Psalm 119:105, “Your word is a lamp to my feet, and a light for my path.” The Psalmist believes that God’s word, Scripture, will help guide the reader through life clearly and safely.

Sprinkled throughout the Old Testament like seasoning, we find the phrase, “The word of the Lord.” One hundred times this phrase will surface to make the reader cause to pause. Sometimes the phrase signifies that God is communicating information or insight to a person. Other times, it is used to signify the validity of the prophet’s spoken word.

The Gospel of John opens his Jesus story by drawing the reader back to Genesis 1, “In the beginning.” This time, though, John tells us that it is the Word who was with God, and in fact was God from the beginning. The very Word of God who called the universe into existence is the Word that now dwells among us in the form of Jesus. John writes in wonder if his readers will heed such Word or turn a deaf ear.

James, who was Jesus’s brother and an important leader in the Jerusalem Church, speaks to the words we use. Unlike animals, our words have never been tamed. We speak sweet praises to God while poisonous words ooze from our mouths against those made in the image of God. James shakes his head because mixing streams of fresh and salt waters are incompatible and may even be combustible.

In Exodus 20 Moses comes down from Mt. Sinai with two tablets, tablets known as The Ten Commandments. That title was coined late from the Bishop’s Bible (C.E. 1568) which the King James Bible picked up on to popularize. The Hebrews called them the 10 Words. 10 Words. And the nineth word in that list addresses words directly: “Thou shalt not bear false witness against your neighbor.” At the core of the Hebrew moral and ethical law is the use of our words. You do not lie and make up stories or accusations against someone or a people for any reason. For any reason. The Hebrews bearing a false witness is criminal. Our American word, perjury, hardly does this justice.

Words matter.  

Let me tell you a story about a local enterprise,
There’s one in every town, no matter what its size;
It doesn’t bring a profit or bring any revenue,
It’s good for one thing and that’s the damage it will do,
It’s called, The Rumor Mill.

The people who work there are all volunteers,
Their only qualification is a mouth and two big ears;
If the story’s not clear enough, that OK,
They’ll just doctor it up and then send it on its way;
It doesn’t matter who’s involved or who is gonna hurt,
As long as folks are listening, they’ll keep shoveling dirt
At the The Rumor Mill.

The Rumor Mill (And you’re manufacturing lies)
The Rumor Mill (The truth is disguised)
The Rumor Mill (Where reputations are crushed)
The Rumor Mill (Where nothing is untouched)
If it can be twisted, you can be sure that it will,
‘cause there ain’t nothin sacred,
At the Rumor Mill.

Now listen, my children, to this warning I make,
We’ve got a lot to lose, there’s a lot here at stake.
The Bible plainly states you’re gonna reap what you sow,
And you’ll be shown mercy by the mercy you show.
So shut your mouth and ask your friends to kindly do the same,
For you’ll end up as a victim with no one else to blame
At the Rumor Mill.

Words matter.

While I was at home caring for my mother, the hospice chaplain came to visit. Since he and I were in the same profession, we got off to the side to talk shop. He told me that his whole approach to his hospice chaplaincy changed when a patient said something to him. She looked at him and said, “Why haven’t you given me any words of hope?”

I questioned what I have been doing for the past three years. Have I used words to bring hope to my patients? Preachers tend to use a lot of words. We say something, but do we say anything worthwhile? Do we use our words to offer hope, or are they empty phrases filled with filler notes or cliches, or worse, negative words that lead to despair? Moving forward, how will I engage with my patients so that I will be more intentional with words of hope?

Words matter.

Billy Graham was a no-nonsense preacher. Stadiums overflowed as he proclaimed words of warning and salvation to the audience. His credibility and crafting of words led thousands to the alter in dedication or rededication, and prime-time television showcased his crusades. When Billy Graham spoke, people listened.

Martin Luther King, Jr. painted pictures with the words he uttered. Where Bob Ross used paint, paint brush, and a canvas to bring something to life, King used his poetic phraseology. The finished product of his words ignited a flame that swept through America known as the Civil Rights Movement. Mind you, how beautiful his words were, they were often hard to swallow. Even today, some sixty years later, his words are still hard to hear and just as hard to swallow.

Words from the mouth of Hitler is another verse. Fueling the hatred for the Jews, they were called unmentionable names in order to blame and scapegoat them for their nation’s problems. Hitler’s words dehumanized the Jewish people, making it easier to view them as less than human. If they weren’t real humans and part of society’s problems, then it would be that much easier to remove them like an exterminator removes mice and roaches. Hitler’s words tapped into Germany’s fear and ignited a hatred that led to the extermination of six million people. The only thing worse than Hitler’s words are the words spoken by the Holocaust deniers.

Words matter.

One day a woman was caught in the very act of adultery. The intimacy was exposed for all to see. As her accusers were dragging her through the streets leaving her dignity behind, Hank Williams was playing loud and clear in the background. If you listen carefully, you can hear, “Your Cheatin’ Heart” echo throughout time. The scene was ugly, like someone capturing the moment on TikTok for the whole world to see. And the whole town was witnessing the humiliation of the moment.

They brought her before Jesus and the gathered crowd, displayed like it was a reality tv show for ratings. The Pharisees forced Jesus to embrace the law of Moses which called for the execution of the those caught in adultery. In their hands were the rocks ready to be thrown. But Jesus spoke no words, and the silence was deafening. It doesn’t take a New Testament scholar with a PH.D. to ask the simple question, “Where’s the man?” If they caught her “in the very act of adultery,” then the missing guilty man means she’s been framed and is a pawn for their show. Suddenly, this story is getting creepily dark.

Jesus knelt on the ground and began to write. Did he doodle something? Did he write words? My curiosity is captured because I want to see what he was writing. And isn’t that the point? All eyes are now squarely focused on Jesus, and not on the woman. For a moment, her guilt and shame dissipate, as the crowd is more interested in what Jesus is doing than in what she has done.

But the instigators persist and press Jesus for a ruling. So, he rules, stating that anyone without sin casts the first stone. He then bends back down on the ground to write, while all eyes are now fixated on the provocateurs. And in an unexpected plot twist, the rocks begin dropping from their hands as they walk away from the scene, the oldest to the youngest.

And with the crowd still watching, Jesus looked up and questioned the woman. “Where are your accusers? Is no one here to condemn you?” Looking at the one sinless man with the right to condemn, she said, “No one.” And with words, he removed the guilt and shame as he kindly dismissed her. As she walked away you could almost hear Hank Williams singing, “I saw the light.”

 Words matter.

“May these words of my mouth, and this meditation of my heart, be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer” (Ps. 19:14).

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

* The Rumor Mill words by Jon Mohr.

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Reflections on 9/11

My guess is that you know exactly where you were when the news broke on that dark day in 2001. I know I do. 

I was starting my day in my office of the church building in Kentucky when one of my members, a parent whose child was in our church’s preschool, burst into my office declaring, “I just heard on the news that a plane has flown into one of the Twin Towers.” Bewildered, denial set in as I knew those buildings were too tall for such a foolish mistake. That someone might intentionally fly a plane into the buildings was beyond the scope of believability. My guess is that it was for you, too. I checked numerous online news websites and discovered headlines confirming the report, but since the articles were being written in real time, I was unable to access any of the details.

My memory of the following days is a blur. Stories of heroism were overshadowed by stories of despair. Since Cile and I did not own a television set at the time, it would be two weeks before I saw actual footage of the planes flying into the buildings. We were visiting her mother when I saw the video; my heart sank, and my gut felt sucker-punched. I was two weeks behind the emotional trauma everyone else experienced.

On the immediate Wednesday night following 9/11, our church held a prayer service. The three elders and I reflected on both the events and Scripture, trying to shed some light on this dark event. On Sunday morning our church prayed for those directly and indirectly impacted by this terroristic act of war. Drawing from a shared empathy, I relayed to the church that somewhere in the surrounding New York City area lies a church with a vacant pew. The previous week someone(s) was part of the visible community of believers, while this week they are forever part of the unseen worshiping community. That church has an open wound that will not heal easily or quickly.

I also thanked a Canadian family who moved to the States years earlier and were members of our church. While I had no official authority to speak on behalf of our nation – and they had no official authority to offer any response – I did speak. I thanked them for the Canadian government clearing air space and opening their airports so that American planes, who could divert their course, could find a safe harbor. Canada, like the rest of us, did not know what dangers lurked by such a gracious move. They authorized the move anyway. Our congregation of 200 applauded our Canadian family.

Twenty-three years have passed since that dreadful day changed our lives. In some ways the hole has not been filled. We’ve had plenty of time to process the events while much water has rushed under the bridge or over the dam.

As I reflect on the nightmare of that day, I find at least three things worth sharing, all of which is rooted in Scripture. First, “Let your light shine” (Mt. 5:16). A year after 9/11, I took my first doctoral course. One of my fellow students had been in the grocery store getting food and snack supplies for the nine days we’d be on campus. He happened to have picked up a magazine from the checkout line. As he stood before the class holding the magazine he started sharing with us his 9/11 experience. He was in the Denver airport when the planes hit the towers. The terminal shut down cancelling all flights. He spent the next few days waiting for air space to open, flights to be rebooked, and opportunities to return home. The magazine in his hand was a one-year commemorative magazine of 9/11. As he was in the check-out line, he said, he picked up the magazine and started flipping through the pages to find that a photographer had shot a candid picture of himself with a group of people sitting against the wall. He showed us the magazine and said, “This is me.”

People are watching. People are always watching. They notice the deeds we do and the words we say. They witness the acts of kindness or our darker deeds. They observe how our talk harmonizes with our walk or creates dissonance. Jesus wants us to capitalize on that dynamic. Since people are watching, then, he encourages us to let our lights shine in those dark places to brighten the way home, and where God gets the glory due him.

Secondly, “As far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone” (Rom. 12:18). Following 9/11 voices emerged expressing concerned that fear and distrust might create an unrepairable “us against them“ mentality. Until 9/11 Americans perceived itself as secure, invincible, and that war carnage happened elsewhere. After 9/11 America’s perception began to shift. Suddenly, our nation’s security was breached, we felt vulnerable, and war’s carnage was not hidden in our backyard but hanging on our clothesline for all the world to see.

With the internet unleashed, the world immediately shrunk. As a mobile society, we found connecting to each other a great blessing. Facebook and Twitter meant we could communicate with friends all over the world. But social media came with a dark side. A very dark side. Instead of unity and community, people began spouting hard core beliefs without any concern for the hurtful words attached to them. No one had to look into the eyes of the people as they hid behind a computer screen. Those without a voice or venue found a place to express themselves, almost priding themselves on promoting hateful or divisive ideologies and themes. Adding to the mess has been the bad faith people and “bots” whose singular purpose is to stir up conflict, turning people against each other. The chasm continued to widen.

How COVID played in the division of society will be studied for years on end. Suffice to say, social distancing came with a relational price tag.  

Hear this warning: from politicians to preachers to practitioners, too much messaging has been divisive and has fueled the “us against them” perception. Words matter, and shrouding the words beneath ideology or religion never justifies divisive rhetoric. Instead of hiding behind a computer screen, we need to look into the eyes of our neighbors and recognize that we are all Imago Dei, made in the image of God. Instead of hanging onto our pet peeve issues or political rhetoric or ideological individuality, we need to hold onto each other. Instead of looking for a reason to divide, we need to passionately pursue the reason to unite. Or as Paul might say, if there is going to be unrest and conflict between people, make sure you are not the cause.

Finally, if “the end is near,” then make it a glorious end (1 Pet. 4:7-11). Peter entertains the possibility that the world’s story is about to close, though I suspect he probably has Jerusalem’s fall in mind (C.E. 70). Any catastrophic event feels like the world coming to its end, from the Stock Market crashing in 1929, to the bombing of Pearl Habor in 1941, to 9/11. With such a terrorizing end in sight, Peter refuses to prey on people’s fears. He doesn’t go into how bad it will get, nor does he exploit people’s anxieties by dangling hell over them. Instead, he tells his church to keep doing what they have always done, and what they have always done best.

Peter highlights some of the core tenants of the Christian faith.* He tells them to be clear-minded and to keep praying (v. 7). Someone, like Chicken Little running around stirring up the pot because he fears the sky is falling, is not clear-minded, and I doubt that person is praying. In the next chapter Peter will exhort his readers in prayer to “Cast all your anxiety on (God) because he cares for you” (5:7). God really does care for you. Secondly, he tells his readers to love deeply (v. 8), a love that stretches a person to the limits. Some people are easier to love than others, and everyone is hard to love at some point. When we throw ourselves into love, the multitude of sins gets covered because love leads to forgiveness. Thirdly, he says to continue practicing hospitality (v. 9). Opening one’s home in the first century not only provided a place where the church could meet, but ongoing lodging for those passing through the area. Opening one’s home, though, is hard work so Peter takes the grumbling part off the table. Finally, he says to use your gifts to serve others (v. 10). The center of the universe is not you, but you can use your gifts to minister to others, and through that action serve the true Center of the Universe.

Not a lot of excitement in this list and I doubt that it will be very marketable. But in a world where fear drives conversations, the everyday mundane Christian service keeps us well-grounded. The result is that fear is kept at bay.

As we bring closure to this reflection on 9/11, I am reminded that in the spring of 1870, the Connecticut Legislation was in session. During the meetings, dark ominous clouds formed and closed in over the Capital in Hartford. With many legislators still rooted in a pre-modern era world-view, they believed the end was upon them. A call for adjournment was made and it looked as if everyone was going home. However, one man, Abraham Davenport, opposed the motion to adjourn. Addressing the legislators he said,

“I am against adjournment. The Day of Judgment is either approaching or it is not. If it is not, then there is no cause for an adjournment. If it is, I choose to be found doing my duty. I wish therefore candles be brought.”*

Davenport wanted “to be found doing his duty.” Whether we are in a time of peace or in a time of war; whether we live in a context of fear or a context of faith; whether we are living in an abundance of freedom or the freedoms have been stripped away; whether we are flourishing in a time of unity or in the splinter of division; whether we are reaping another Great Awakening or sowing in spiritual apathy; or whether we are basting in the brightness of light or the ones bringing light to the darkened world, we chose to be found doing our duty. Therefore, let’s call for the candles, and then go light this world by being found doing our duty.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

* See my book, The Lord of All Things (published through Amazon.com, 2024), 182-185.

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Beyond the Senses of Sight, Smell, and Sound

Thomas Anderson had stumbled onto a new reality, the Matrix, but he could not get his head wrapped around its ramifications quickly enough. Federal Agents were hunting him down. A simple computer programmer, Anderson was also a cybercriminal going by the alias name, Neo. Thus, Federal Agents leaving their calling cards is not what someone like Neo wants to encounter. Federal Agents, though, weren’t the only ones interested in Neo.

In the movie by the same name, the Matrix is a computer-generated simulation, like a virtual reality, created by intelligent machines to trap and control humans in a dystopian future. In essence what we see every day is the Matrix. Unbeknownst to us, the reality is that our bodies are trapped in a cocoon and its energy is used to feed our captures, the Machines. Neo’s discovery brought unwanted attention to him. Those hunting him were not from the Government, they were facsimiles of the Machines.

Morpheus, a leader of an underground freedom movement, was looking for Neo as well. Since Neo had inadvertently broken the code to the Matrix, Morpheus wanted to recruit Neo’s help. In meeting him and explaining the backstory of the Matrix, Morpheus offered Neo two pills. The blue pill returns Neo to the Matrix forgetting his encounter with Morpheus. The red pill takes Neo down the rabbit hole to experience a new truth. A darker dystopian truth.

The premise of the movies entertains the possibility that our senses betray the greater hidden reality revealing itself around us.  

The Bible often speaks of a dual reality. The physical existence around us appeals to our senses, while the spiritual realm experienced through faith is beyond sight, smell, and sound.

Elisha was in Dothan when the king of Aram sent his troops to capture him. Rumor had it, God revealed to Elisha Aram’s secret military plans, and in turn disclosed those plans to Israel. Like the 2019 Houston Astros or Bill Belichick’s New England Patriots, the prophet was stealing signs. In retaliation the King of Aram sent his entire army to capture Elisha at Dothan. When Elisha’s servant saw the massive army, he was in fact rightly nervous. Reassuring him, Elisha said, “Those who are with us are more than those who are with them” (2 King. 6:16). I can see the servant doing a head count. “Well, there are two of us and a gazillion of them. How can you say we outnumber them?” Elisha prayed for God to open his eyes to reveal the truth. Reveal, God did. Suddenly, the servant saw that the hills swarmed with the army of God. What we see before us with our eyes is not always reality.

The first three chapters of Revelation reveal dark times for the churches in Asia Minor. Roman Imperial propaganda was either attacking the church for being unpatriotic or seducing the church to accept Roman cultural. With the pressure on the church to conform or to face retribution, Christians were facing a dark reality: churches were buckling under the weight of persecution or selling-out under the pressure to compromise. Chapter four opens with John being invited to look into heaven, and for the rest of the book he discovers the reality behind this world. What goes on down here has an impact on what goes on up there, and vice-versa. In short, God will fight for his church against any force that either seduces or persecutes his people.

Both stories highlight an important message. Something beyond our senses of sight, smell, and sound is happening around us.

A preacher was shaking hands with his members following a worship service. Whatever the topic of the sermon was, it challenged the way people perceived the world around them. One fellow told the preacher, “That sounds really good in a church building, but in the real world, it doesn’t work that way.”

He has a point, doesn’t he? Themes like forgiveness, kindness, gentleness, and grace don’t work well in a “dog-eat-dog” world where we are, in the words of Norm, “wearing milk bone underwear.”

The preacher addressed the member with his own gentle-kindness and grace by reminding him, “What we do here on Sunday morning is the real world, and what we do the rest of the week is a shadow of this reality.”

It’s likely that in 2 Corinthians 4:3 Paul is being accused of a veiled gospel, keeping people from knowing the truth. His opponents believed that Paul was purposely holding out on the Corinthians the complete gospel message. Paul flipped the narrative telling his church that it was not him who is veiling their sights, but the veil is on those who are perishing. Those who refuse to give the gospel serious attention are the ones who are veiled. In essence those who tune-out Paul’s preaching and tune-into his antagonists’ preaching are operating under a veil. They cannot see or perceive the truth around them. Thus, their reality is distorted.

Ultimately, a third party is at work, and he’s very crafty at what he does. Paul says, “the god of this age has blinded the minds of the unbelievers” (4:4). The phrase, “the god of this age” is clearly a reference to Satan, the Adversary, who works against Christ to stop the gospel from penetrating the darkness. Satan has always been at work, and while Paul calls him the “god of this age,” he works in any age to veil the people around him. The “unbelievers,” as Paul notes, are those perishing because they turn a blind eye to the gospel. That said, those who are unbelievers and perishing could also be aligned with Paul’s opponents, who stand in opposition of the gospel message he preaches. They believe a gospel message, but they do not believe the message Paul preaches, a message where the power of the gospel is displayed in the weakness and frailty of humanity. Such a message is the alternative reality to their way of thinking.

In a world of darkness, the answer is not to embrace more darkness but to allow the light of God’s gospel to shine through us (4:6). In our brokenness we bring healing. In our humility we bring confidence. And in our pain, we bring a balm. As Paul will conclude, “For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake” (4:6). It is not about us, but about Jesus. And when our role is noted, it is the servant’s role who seeks no glory nor attention, but who simply point toward Jesus.

Such an approach to ministry is counter intuitive. Those who rely on their sight, smell, and sound will believe that successful ministry has a charismatic preacher (or dynamic worship), who is eloquent with words, and shames those who are a challenge to their position of power. Serving one another in humility is like Neo grappling with the Matrix. In the real world, it can’t work. But who said we are to measure success by the world’s standard?

Years ago, at a small university in the Midwest, a student was getting frustrated by the lack of attention the community bathrooms were given by the university janitorial service. The toilets were unclean. No, they were disgusting. He reported his displeasure to the R.A., but no action was ever taken. The R.A., frustrated himself by the situation, assured the student that he had filed the proper paperwork and completed the correct requisition forms. After a month of dealing with the unsanitary environment, the student went over everyone’s head to the President of the University. He made the appointment.

On the day of the meeting the President greeted the young man and listened intently to the complaint of the student. He asked for clarification, like “how long this problem has been going on” and “who has he talked to about the situation.” The student knew he had the listening ear of the President, and at the end of the meeting, when the President assured the student that the bathrooms would be clean, the student believed him.

Sure enough, the next morning as the student got up to go to class, the bathrooms were clean. Not just one toilet either, but all of them, and the sink, and the floor. The student was thrilled and thought that he should send a thank-you card to the President. He never did, but he thought about it. In the meantime, the bathroom was never dirty again.

On the last day of the semester, the student set his alarm early so that he could get a good night’s sleep and get up to review for his hardest final. As he ventured into the bathroom, he could not believe his eyes. Bending over the toilet with a scrub brush in his hand was none other than the University president.

The world we live in limits our vision and feeds us misinformation about who we are and what we do. Our selfish egos are stroked and fed. The world that calls to us is beyond our senses of sight, sound, and smell. It is in that reality we are unveiled and step into the light to embrace Paul’s words, “For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake” (4:6).

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Ida Partlow Eulogy

First a story: The Mines of Moria were dark, dreary, and dismal. The stench was almost nauseating. Moria ran under and through the Misty Mountains and the heart of the kingdom lay beneath three great peaks of the that mountain range: Cloudyhead, Redhorn, and Silvertine. A long history exists in Moria where the Longbeard Dwarfs lived and mined its treasures, including the valuable gem mithril. But dangers covered the lands of Moria, for deep withing its depths was Durin’s bane, the Balrog, who destroyed Balin and those serving him.

Frodo was unaware of Moria’s long and treacherous history. He was only concerned with his future. The Fellowship was forced to enter Moria, and after the long journey of winding through the stench-filled halls, they came to an impasse. Three archways stood before them, and the Fellowship sat waiting for a revelation as to the direction they should go. With Gollum tracking their movements, and a distraught Hobbit already feeling the burden of carrying the evil Ring, Frodo lamented to his mentor, “I wish the Ring had not come to me.”

Frodo’s lament is our lament as we try to define or change the context of our life’s situation. Seeking a means to alter or understand a deeper meaning to our current reality is always tempting. We cry out, “I wish the Ring had not come to me.” What we are offered is Gandalf’s wisdom, in one of Tolkien’s best lines ever written, “So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

What do you do with the time given, especially if the time is cloaked in darkness. Tolkien was very aware of such time coming to him. He was orphaned as a child, abandoned by his family because his mother converted to Catholicism, and just when he reached the height of human optimism – both in era and in age – the most dehumanizing, demoralizing, and devastating war broke out. Other than Tolkien, only one of his Oxford schoolmates came home from World War I. Instead of pouring himself into self-pity, he poured himself into creating an entire legendarium which captured the imagination of so many readers, including our mother, to remind us that hope prevails, evil can be defeated, good still exists, and it’s worth fighting for.

Ida Pearl Mathews Partlow knew something of the struggle to decide what to do with the time, when so much of her “time” in her formulative years was shrouded in darkness – a darkness not unlike the kind covered by Middle-earth. We will never know her whole story, but the highlights include divorced dysfunctional parents, raised by her father not her mother, abducted by her mother and boyfriend passed off as an uncle, and forced to testify against her mother. Traumatized, neglected, abused do not begin to uncover the darkness mother experienced. Like an iceberg on the waters, what I’ve described is only its tip, and its bad enough. What is darkly disturbing and dangerously depraved lies beneath the waters, and we will never know that story. But it’s there. Similar to Frodo carrying the One Ring, mom never could shake what those years had done to her and were still doing to her. Maybe her greatest fear, just maybe, was devolving into Gollum, or something worse. Something a lot worse.

She fought the magnetic pull into darkness with all her strength, and everything she did seemed to be a fearful move to keep her from the darkness instead of embracing the freedom of the Light. So, as a teen she wrote Psalm 1 on paper and mounted it to the ceiling of her bedroom to read first thing in the morning and last thing at night in an effort to help form and shape her character.

As a founding member of the Ontario, Oregon Church of Christ, mom was not about to face the world or church alone. Her best friend was Pat, whom she invited to church and eventually led to Christ. She may have been the first person mom studied with, but she certainly wasn’t the last. After high school Mom and Pat packed their bags to seek their fortunes in Portland, though mom’s plans were really to enroll at Abiline Christian College. Having secured room and board at the home of Clayton and Alma Towell, the two single women were barely unpacked when a knock at the door came. Before them were two young troubadours holding guitars ready to woo the girls. One of those wide-eyed young men was our father, Dean Partlow. He was almost everything mom could hope for in a man. Almost. But the one thing he really lacked became more than mom ever imagined. She wanted, or better yet, needed a man who loved God and loved her. By their forty-seventh year together no one could have loved both our mom and God more than our dad. Part of that is attributed to dad. Part of that is attributed to mom. All of it can be attributed to God’s reckless pursuit of both.

Whatever motivation kept mom away from the darkness, she chose to serve people and found great pleasure in fulfilling the role of a servant. She used her sewing to make hospital gowns sent to Chimala Mission Hospital in Tanzania, Africa specifically for mothers and their newborns. By taking used men’s dress shirts, she cut off the collar, sleeves, and buttons before sewing the bodice together for the gown. Taking the sleeves, she made a smaller version of the gown so that the mother and child would have matching outfits when they go home.

For ten years she served the students of Columbia Christian Schools as their librarian, where a segment of the students found a solace from the world in the library with Mrs. Partlow, and likely many more appreciated her presence after graduation than before.

And mom may have been in her element when she opened her home for guests. Dad might as well have installed a revolving door; he might have been served well to charge admission. From mom’s Mystery Dinners to neighborhood children like the Van Horns to the dozen or more individuals who found a second home because they needed temporary shelter. Mind you, the purple house on Oak Street had one bathroom, so opening our home was no easy task. But that didn’t stop mom. Not a lot stopped our mother’s forward progress.

And finally, the work dad and mom invested in the Asian congregation may be unmeasurable. Friendships were established, relationships built, and people were led to Christ because of mom and dad’s hospitable presence, love for Jesus, and daring to live by faith.

If I could share with you one TikTok moment of mom – a Snapchat that highlights the very best of mom, it was on a Sunday summer afternoon in 1974. Deanna and I were playing under the dining room table. It wasn’t a normal place we found ourselves playing, but here we were doing something in our imaginary world, while conversing under the big wooden table, and of all the topics to discuss, we were talking of our church experience only hours earlier.

As it turned out, our third/fourth grade Bible teacher was a no-show, and if truth be known, so was everyone else in our class. So, Beverly Van Horn told us to go to the next class, which had no teacher either. By-passing the fifth and sixth grade class, we ventured to the junior high class in the far reaches of the old Central Church of Christ building on Stark Street. Climbing those stairs to an attic room, like Quasimodo climbing the cathedral steps of Notre Dame, we reached the room. As we opened the door, mom was sitting on a chair with the children around her in a semicircle. She was teaching class.

I cannot remember the lesson for the day. Maybe it was the little boy David down by the brook gathering five smooth stones as he prepared to face Goliath. Maybe it was Gideon, her favorite story, leading his men down to the river, not to pray, but to drink or lap like a dog, only for ten thousand soldiers to be discharged and sent home. Or maybe it was the scene in the garden, Gethsemane. And if you listen closely without falling asleep you can hear the words Jesus prayed, and if you looked intently, you could almost see his sweat dropping from his face as he was experiencing the spiritual version of the olive press. Such was the experience when mom taught Bible class.

I wish I could recall the Bible lesson, but I can’t. I do remember that as Deanna and I sat under the dining table, we were talking about Bible class from that morning. And one of us turned to the other – and who turned to whom, I can’t remember that either – but said, “You know what the best part about mom teaching Bible class is? She makes you want to be a better person.”

Allow that statement to wash over yourself for a moment. For if the gospel message we proclaim does not stir within us the passion to allow the Spirit of God to form our lives (Gal. 4:19), to conform our actions (Rom. 8:29), and to transform our behavior (2 Cor. 3:18) so that we are shaped by Christ instead of the world, then we have failed the gospel. Failed. Instead, we are to be formed, conformed, and transformed into Christ, and anything less than that is a shadow of the reality. As the prophet said, “If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make a change.” If not, we might as well lust for the One Ring of Power and use its evil purpose for our corrupted good.

Mom felt this tension, especially in her relationships with those closest to her. She struggled to maintain clear, healthy, and proper boundaries which led to hurt and harmful moments. At times she found that friendships were informal, fun, and felt like their finality might last forever. At other times, as Galadriel warns the Fellowship, “(It) stands on the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all.” We felt that. We were witnesses of her failed attempts to maintain her relationships. And if all of us are honest, we all have felt that. Possibly driven by fear instead faith, she – or we – fail to fully keep functionally the friendships God has graced us with. I know this was mom’s struggle, to the very end.

On Friday afternoon, July 6, Steve, Tim, David, Deanna, and myself gathered around mom one final time. We invited Dick Ady to lead us in prayer. Dick asked Ida if she had any questions. Not sure what Dick was seeking or what mom might say, I moved closer. The Partlow family friendship with our minister reached back sixty years, and curiosity caught me wondering what she might say. From her own insecurity, broken woundedness, and fear of failure, she into Dick’s eyes and asked, “Wwhy do you like me?”

If we’re really honest, her cry is our cry. Her insecurity is our insecurity. Her fear is our fear. On this side of Eternity we struggle to love each other, much less like each other. But on that side of Eternity, it’s a different story, or we might say, a different song. For God heals all wounds so that the scars no longer define us or hurt anymore – and we are never the cause of hurt, again. So if you listen closely, you can almost hear her sing – because in heaven, everyone sings like an angel, even mom. From the woman who now experiences full healing, her verse to us might reverberate in humble, confessional tones:

I never meant to cause you any sorrow
I never meant to cause you any pain
I only wanted to be some kind of friend,
I only wanted to see you laughing
I only wanted to see you dancing
In the Purple Rain!

It was Dick Ady’s reassurance, an assurance promised by God, coupled with her five children gathered around her, to hold her hand, to laugh and to sing, to affirm our love, and to say goodbye. It was that reassurance she so desperately needed to drift off into a restful sleep as she ventured into the forever Undying Lands.

So to mom, we say . . .

Lay down your sweet and weary head • The night is falling • You have come to journey’s end • Sleep now and dream of the ones who came before • They are calling from the across the distant shore • Why do you weep? • What are those tears upon your face? • Soon you will see (that) all of your fears will pass away • Safe in (His) arms • You’re only sleeping

What can you see on the horizon? • Why do the white gulls call? • Across the sea a pale moon rises • The ships have come to carry you home • And all will turn to Silver glass • A light on the water • All Souls pass

Hope fades into the world of night • Through shadows falling out of memory and time • Don’t say, “We have come now to the end” • White shores are calling • You and I will meet again and you’ll be here in my arms, Just sleeping

What can you see • On the horizon? • Why do the white gulls call? • Across the sea • A pale moon rises • The ships have come to carry you home • And all will turn • To silver glass • A light on the water • Grey ships pass into the West

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If They Would Have Been Faithful

The story of Joseph is filled with tragic betrayal. His brothers plotted to kill him, opting instead to sell him into slavery. For twenty years he was held in an Egyptian prison, forgotten and feeling his soul was eroding day by day. But what if Joseph and his brothers loved and respected each other, instead of being driven by jealous rage? Joseph remains in Canaan, but the family starves from the seven years of famine. Thus, sometimes the bad in our life opens doors to something better.

The story of Daniel is filled with horrific separation anxiety. He was part of the first flight of Israelites exiled to the foreign pagan land of Babylon. If Israel stays 70 years, Daniel must have been 12-15 years old when ripped from his home where he spends his life in service to an arrogant pagan king who raped and desecrated the Holy Lands. Something to ponder is that if Daniel had stayed behind in Jerusalem, he never would have been the good influence on Nebuchadnezzar. Thus, sometimes the bad in our life opens doors to something better.

The story of Paul is filled with prison sentences, though this time the setting was likely a house arrest. Given the choice, he’d much rather be out on the streets preaching, or in the Synagogue debating, or in the marketplace sharing the gospel. Instead, he found himself chained to his seat and his only audience was an uninterested guard, forced to waste the day away listening to his prisoner’s ongoing ranting about a death-row Jew in Jerusalem. But if Paul was to experience his freedom, it’s possible that the whole palace guard might never had heard the gospel. Thus, sometimes the bad in our life opens doors to something better.

The story of Jesus is filled with the One releasing his grip on power. He was God but refused to grasp or cling to that status at all costs. Instead, he embraced humility and service while submitting to the gruesome cruel death of a crucifixion. Had Jesus remained in heaven, not only would our sins go unforgiven, but he would not have defeated death and ushered in the power of the Resurrection. Thus, sometimes the bad in our life opens doors to something better.

JRR Tolkien coined the word, “eucatrastrophy.” An oversimplified definition says it’s means “a good catastrophe.” Something really bad happens and we lose hope. But suddenly, out of the disaster, something good or wonderful happens that we were not expecting (which is not an “ everything happens for a reason” theology, but a God “redeeming the bad” theology), because sometimes the bad in our life opens doors to something better.

One of my favorite bands is Chicago, which is fresh on my mind since my family recently saw them in concert. Chicago has been around most of my life. Songs like “Make Me Smile,” “Saturday in the Park” and “Alive Again” were part of the playlist of my childhood. “25 or 6 to 4” was on the Set List of my high school’s pep band, and I can still hear my brother’s trombone carrying the introduction theme line. One of the most creative album covers ever is their Greatest Hits which humorously shows the band members trying to paint their logo on a building as chaos ensues. The songs matched the quality of the album artwork.

Their seventeenth album skyrocketed with hits like “You’re the Inspiration,” “Hard Habit to Break,” and “Along Comes A Woman.” They rode success as easily as John Wayne road a horse. Sort of. Sadly, internal feuding led to Peter Cetera’s departure. When Chicago 18 arrived, it was good but not a great album. “Will You Still Love Me” hit number three, but a remix of “25 or 6 to 4” polarized fans.

That said, the song that grated my nerves was, “If She Would Have Been Faithful.” It was a breakup song written from the man’s POV, making the song suspect to begin with. The song reveals how girl cheated on the man. Landing on his feet, he finds another love who ends up being a better person to spend his life with. Cueing the song, if she would have been faithful to the man, they never would have broken up. Never breaking up means he never would have met the current girl and he never would have found new love. Now he has discovered true love. Ugh! The cheesy song broke the top twenty, but if it pops up on my playlist, I’m likely to skip it.

A year ago, I was driving down Highway 823 when the song started to play. No, I didn’t skip it – probably should have. As I was listening to the song, the words suddenly took on new meaning. Instead of a breakup song between a man and a woman, I saw me as the victim of a breakup – not with a girl, but with a church.

In short, felt like the church leaders chose to make big issues out of small differences of opinions. Instead of working through the uncertain void, or pursuing the situation through a principled prism, they chose instead to live without the tension. They broke up with me.

No words or song lyrics could capture how crushed and wounded I was by the decision. I was hurt far more than most people realized. I was damaged, not just from this one moment in time but from the accumulation of thirty years of service to the church.

But time passed, and time has a way of healing wounds. More so, sometimes the bad in our life opens doors to something better. I began working as a hospice chaplain. Some of my skill sets easily transferred from work to hospice care, but new skills were needed and developed. The context was different from working in a church environment to a business setting. I made the transition. Sometimes I succeeded while other times I struggled. But given time, I adjusted to my new profession.

 So I was driving down Highway 823 when this Chicago song, I so hated, started to play. Instead of skipping it, I decided to allow it to play out.  Instantly, I experienced an epiphany as I saw myself the victim in the song – if they would have been faithful and not broken up with me . . .

  • I’d still be preaching;
  • I’d still be struggling to overcome deep depression and astronomical anxiety;
  • I’d still be worried that the other shoe was still about to drop;
  • My children would still be carrying with them the burden of being “preacher kids;”
  • I’d still be vastly underpaid and overworked, with no real financial future.

If I they would have been faithful; if they would have been true, and I stayed there like I wanted, I never would have discovered another love, maybe even a better love. If they would have been faithful, I would have missed out on you (i.e., Heartland Hospice). I never would have applied to Heartland (I didn’t even know it existed). George Vastine would never have called to vet me, and I never would have interviewed and accepted this position. I never would have made new friends, some of whom mean more to me than simply co-workers. Clearly, what I have learned in the past three years is that sometimes the bad in our life opens doors to something better. A lot better.

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The Measure of Sincerity

Nine years into Charles Schultz’s Peanuts strip, he introduced us to an off-panel character who captured the imagination of his readers. While this character never made an appearance in the strip itself, nor did he have any speaking or trombone lines, he inspired many strips and even one TV special. The part religious messaging and part myth-making character was the Great Pumpkin. And Linus Van Pelt was at the center of the story telling as the Great Pumpkin’s greatest advocate and prophet.

Sure, the whole world held onto Santa Claus; Linus held onto the Great Pumpkin. The world embraced Christmas; Linus embraced Halloween. The world looked to the North Pole; Linus looked to the pumpkin patch in his own neighborhood. Santa never disappointed; the Great Pumpkin . . . well, he kind of smashed the hopes of Linus like the comedian Gallagher smashing pumpkins.

You likely know his story. On Halloween night the Great Pumpkin rises from the Pumpkin Patch to deliver toys to all the good little children of the world. The line between Santa and the Great Pumpkin is razor thin, but brilliantly written. The key difference between the two is “sincerity.”

The Great Pumpkin chooses the “most sincere” pumpkin patch from which to rise and then to deliver his gifts. Sincerity. It’s not the most measurable attribute. If Linus told us that the Great Pumpkin chose his patch from the biggest pumpkins, then size is measurable. If he told us that The Great Pumpkin chose the patch with the most pumpkins, then volume is measurable. As it stands, sincerity is difficult to measure, even if Linus claims otherwise, as he says, “I don’t see how a pumpkin patch could be more sincere than this one. You can look around, and there’s not a sign of hypocrisy.” Yea, I’m convinced, and I’m sure you are too.

Sincerity is the absence of hypocrisy, deceit, and pretense. Sincerity is infused with genuineness. A small child wraps their arms around you, or offers you a bite of their candy, or invites you to a tea party is working from a place of sincerity. We don’t question motives. We don’t wonder if there is an agenda. However, when a child starts to grow and mature into adulthood, depending on our perception of the child, when they do something that looks kind, we start to wonder if there is some hidden motive.

In the TV show, Leave it to Beaver, no one really questions if Beaver did something nice or said something kind to someone. Beaver had a tender heart and wasn’t poisoned by hypocrisy, or deceit, or pretense. That said, when Beaver’s brother’s best friend, Eddie Haskell, smiled and schmoozed adults, his hypocrisy was like a flashing neon sign. He had an agenda. He was covering up something. We knew it and the adults on TV knew it too, they just allowed him to play out his plan. Normally, we can spot a fraud. Normally.

The Corinthian church was infiltrated by a group of outsiders who attacked Paul’s credibility. They, the antagonists, leveled accusations against him that he lied, had broken his promises, and was untrustworthy. Paul pushed back. He wasn’t the one lacking sincerity, they were.

Paul tells the Corinthians, “Unlike so many, we do not peddle the word of God for profit. On the contrary, in Christ we speak before God with sincerity, like men sent from God” (2 Cor. 2:17). It’s clear that the “so many” is the antagonistic group that had infiltrated Corinth. The phrase, “peddle the word of God for profit,” is an afront to the deceptive practices of these people. It’s hardly flattery. His insult was a backhanded compliment.

“Peddling” holds a negative connotation for Paul. He is not against someone selling his wares, as even Paul himself worked as a tentmaker in Corinth (Act. 18:3). Earning an honest wage is commendable. That is not what is happening with these outsiders getting access to the church. What they are doing is darker. A lot darker. “Peddling for profit” was an ancient marketplace term for vendors who tipped the scales or water downed their wine, employing fraudulent means to increase profits. For the antagonists, they were hawking their wares and using their ministry as a cover for shady business practices – it was a sham. What they were peddling was not tents or dry goods, but the gospel itself. They were compromising the gospel of Christ, and at its root of such insincerity was greed. It’s always greed.

We’ve never quite gotten past Gordon Gekko’s 1997’s Wall Street soliloquy,

“The point is, ladies and gentlemen, that greed, for lack of a better word, is good. Greed is right, greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Greed in all its forms. Greed for life, money, love, knowledge, has marked the upward surge of mankind.”

I’m not sure Hollywood was trying to push the greed agenda or was simply acknowledging the elephant in the room, regarding Wall Street and the American mindset. They don’t need to. Society seems driven by the belief that greed really is good. Look at today’s inflation and compare it to the record profits in the gas and food industry; their profit margins seem to be fueled by greed at the expense of consumers. Note that the financial rift between the workers’ pay benefit to their CEO’s counterpart has widened since 1965. It’s grown some 350%, and whose paying for the chasm? The American worker is. Our TV airways are filled with charlatan preachers bilking their audience for wealth beyond measure, not to further their ministry, but line their pockets. Such preaching ministry is not limited to the big, fancy Televangelists or Mega Church leaders, but includes anyone who holds their naïve followers in the palm of their hands. When the core value is greed, can you really trust their sincerity?

While Paul undermines the antagonist’s sincerity, he reinforces his own integrity. By offering four simple statements, he not only distinguishes himself from his opponents, but also underscores the seriousness of his own calling. First, he speaks before God “with sincerity” as his agenda is pure. He has checked his motives at the door, they have not. One source of conflict between Paul and the Corinthians was his refusal to accept financial pay from the church. Reaching back to his first letter, Paul hints that money was coming between him and the Corinthians (1 Cor. 9:6). In the Greco-Roman world, Sophists went from town to town to share their philosophy of life and were financially supported by their followers. Paul’s refusal to accept support caused a rift filled by the antagonists who expected pay for their services. They passed themselves off, not only as preachers, but as sophists selling a philosophy. Paul was redefining the modern Sophist by refusing a salary. All they were doing was exploiting the church, something Paul never did (e.g., 2 Cor. 12:14-18).

Secondly, he speaks as “from God,” which means his message is not his own, but its source derives from God. Beyond modern day issues of inspiration, Paul may have in mind his ambassador image from 2 Cor. 5:20. He is God’s ambassador, and his role dictates the message he is commissioned to speak. He does not speak for himself, but for God. In the case of 5:20, it’s the message of reconciliation.

Thirdly, he speaks “before God” and “in the presence of God.” Paul is very much aware and in awe of who is present when he speaks to the Corinthians. Throughout this letter, Paul self-discloses his awareness of God in his words. In 4:2 he shares, “We renounce secret and shameful ways; we do not use deception, nor distort the word of God.” In 5:10 he reveals, “For we all must appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that each one may receive what is due him . . ..” And in 12:19b he articulates, “We have been speaking in the sight of God as those in Christ . . ..” Paul is acutely aware of God’s presence in his life and how it shapes not only his messaging, but his integrity.

Finally, he speaks “in Christ” which may very well draw him back to the Acts 9 conversion on the Damascus Road which subsequently united him in Christ. He speaks out of that unique experience.*

These four simple statements reinforce Paul’s integrity, who has no agenda but is sincere when dealing with the Corinthians. The opponents, significantly less sincere, if not plain shysters, cannot be trusted.

During the 1980’s I knew a preacher who was in high demand. He spoke at all the popular gatherings, authored multiple books which were popular among my tribe, preached for a large influential church, and was a leading voice of hope by guiding churches away from legalism and into grace. For that, he wore a target on his back and was often verbally abused by dissenting voices. One time I witnessed a speaker at a forum harshly address him. When I looked to see his reaction, he was smiling and shaking his head. No anger and no thought of revenge. I saw the grace he preached materialize under fire. More importantly, at his large and influential church, he could have written his own check and demanded a greater pay package. Instead, because of his book deals and a family farm income, he refused multiple pay raises from his church, opting for those monies to be redistributed elsewhere. Say what you will, but if greed is the measuring tape for sincerity, he measured up.

The key to measuring one’s sincerity may not be revealed by any one specific action of the person. It may be measured by what a person is willing to give or share verses what they are willing to take or extort from the people around them. One thing for sure, it certainly cannot be measured from a pumpkin patch.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

*These four statements are influenced by Paul Barnett, The Second Letter the Corinthians, New International Commentary on the New Testament.

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On the Back Burner

Sometimes life makes you feel like you’ve been placed on the backburner of the stove in God’s kitchen. Forgotten, whatever is being sauteed in your life is now burning. Smoke rises and sets off the fire alarm, while God does nothing to intervene. At least that is how it feels. You’ve been there. So have I. So has a New York city grandmother.

On a cold winter’s night in 1935, in a New York City courtroom, a tattered old woman stood before the judge, charged with stealing a loaf of bread. The storekeeper was pressing charges. The woman pleaded her case, “My daughter’s husband has deserted her. She is sick and her children are starving.” The shopkeeper refused to back down and drop the charges, saying, “It’s a bad neighborhood, your honor, and she’s got to be punished to teach other people a lesson.”

The judge sighed. He turned to the old woman and said, “I’ve got to punish you; the law makes no exceptions. Ten dollars or ten days in jail.”

And that is life on the back burner. No one listens, not even God. No one cares as hope evaporates like forgotten boiling water on the back burner of a stove.

Would it surprise you if I told you that Paul carried similar feelings?

By 2 Corinthians 2 Paul is in the midst of defending his decision not to visit this church, and his decision did not sit well with certain members who were influenced by outsiders. Instead, Paul dispatched a letter and began the long wait. Here is Paul’s description.

Now when I went to Troas to preach the gospel of Christ and found that the Lord had opened a door for me, I still had no peace of mind because I did not find my brother Titus there. So I said good-bye to them and went on to Macedonia (2 Cor. 2:13-14).

The situation in Corinth had grown toxic. The church attacked him like a rapid dog, and he was still licking his wounds. Having written a letter, which caused him great distress (2 Cor. 2:4), he outlined expected behavior. Without a reliable mail system, he dispatched Titus with the letter in hand to Corinth. He would meet with the church, read the letter to them, and gather a response to report back to Paul. All of that took time and introduced a waiting game. No email. No texting. No phones. Paul wrote a letter. Gave it to Titus who travels to Corinth. Titus reads the letter and allows the church to absorb the message before assessing their response. Then Titus makes the journey to find Paul.

That is a long time to wait. What happens in the meantime? In the void of unknown information, we tend to fill in the gap. No matter how hard we try, we insert information to complete the void, and it’s usually the worst-case scenario. Someone appears to ignore you; you assume they are angry with you. Your child is late coming home, you presume that there has been an accident. The boss calls you into his office and you start thinking, “What have I done wrong this time?” God won’t answer your prayer and you wonder, “What sin is in my life?” You’re arrested for stealing bread in the wake of the Great Depression and the judge with the law stands against you. So now you find yourself on the backburner of life and everything feels likes it’s about to go up in smoke.

Lloyd C. Douglas might have stumbled upon a solution. You might remember him as a minister and writer whose works included The Robe and Magnificent Obsession. As a university student, Douglas

lived in a boarding house. On the first floor was an elderly, retired music teacher, who was now an invalid and unable to leave the apartment.

Douglas said that every morning they had a ritual they would go through together. He would come down the steps, open the old man’s door and ask, “Well, what’s the good news?” The old man would pick up his tuning fork, tap it on the side of his wheelchair, and say, “That’s Middle C! It was Middle C yesterday; it will be Middle C tomorrow; it will be Middle C a thousand years from now. The tenor upstairs sings flat, the piano across the hall is out of tune, but my friend, that is Middle C!”

The old man discovered one thing that he could depend, one constant reality in life. He could have felt like he was on the back burner of life, I know I might have felt like that like. Instead of filling in the gaps with anxiety, lies, or fake truth, he chose something that wouldn’t change. He remembered Middle C. That is what he attached to his life too.*

Troas was the meeting place (2:12). Paul ventured to the city and waited for Titus to arrive with news. Titus never arrived. In the meantime, Paul preached in Troas, to which he claims, “the Lord had opened a door for (him).” Good things were happening in Troas. People were receptive to the gospel. Unlike the Corinthians, those in Troas trusted Paul and made course corrections to their lives. God was working. God was saving. But Paul found no resolution. No Titus. No news. No peace.

We’ve experienced the silence. A text is unanswered. A phone call is not returned. In its spot, anxiety.

With a plan in place, the backup was for Paul and Titus to meet in Macedonia, likely Philippi (2:13). With no clear directions from God, Paul was filled with apprehensive. His pot was simmering on the cusp of boiling over. Uneasiness. Worriedness. Anxious. He left a booming and productive ministry in search for answers he may or may not find. In truth, answers he may or may not want to know. And for now, we’re at a cliff-hanger and don’t know how this situation will get resolved. For Paul, he headed for Macedonia to wait for Titus on news of Corinth.

We live in a world where the forgotten backburner is so prevalent. We walk into people’s lives who feel discarded by society and abandoned by God. They live with broken promises to be there to the end. We bring a smile. We confidently step into their lives offering hope in a moment when they feel hopeless. They have filled in the gap with negative messaging, and we have the chance to redirect their thinking to believe again. To hope again. To love again. So, we sit and talk to our patients. We hold their hands. We listen to their stories, or complaints. We act for their good. We walk with them on a path that is difficult to navigate. And soon the pot that looked to be on the verge of boiling starts to simmer. Peace reclaims its place while hope is restored.

Still, sometimes life makes you feel like you’ve been placed on the backburner of the stove in God’s kitchen. Forgotten, whatever is being sauteed in your life is now burning. Smoke rises setting off the fire alarm, while God does nothing to intervene. At least that is how it feels. You’ve been there. So have I. So has a New York city grandmother.

On a cold winter’s night in 1935, in a New York City courtroom, a tattered old woman stood before the judge, charged with stealing a loaf of bread. The storekeeper was pressing charges. The woman pleaded her case, “My daughter’s husband has deserted her. She is sick and her children are starving.” The shopkeeper refused to back down and drop the charges, saying, “It’s a bad neighborhood, your honor, and she’s got to be punished to teach other people a lesson.”

The judge sighed. He turned to the old woman and said, “I’ve got to punish you; the law makes no exceptions. Ten dollars or ten days in jail.”

And that is life on the back burner. No one listens, not even God. No one cares as hope evaporates like forgotten boiling water on the back burner.

However, the judge that evening was no ordinary judge, but the sitting mayor. Having dismissed the judge earlier in the evening, Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia – yea, that LaGuardia who has an airport named for him – was the sit-in judge. And while he was pronouncing sentence, LaGuardia reached into his wallet, took out a ten-dollar bill, and threw it into his hat with these words, “Here’s the ten-dollar fine, which I now remit, and furthermore, I’m going to fine everyone in the courthouse fifty cents for living in a town where a person has to steal bread so that her grandchildren can eat. Mr. Bailiff, collect the fines and give them to the defendant.”

The following day, a New York newspaper reported, “Forty-seven dollars and fifty cents were turned over to the bewildered old grandmother who had stolen a loaf of bread to feed her starving grandchildren. Making forced donations were seventy petty criminals, a few New York policemen, and a red-faced store-keeper.”

It’s a reminder to us that no matter how we feel at the time, to God, we are never a forgotten pot on the back burner.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

* A story by Max Lucado.

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The Freedom to Play in Grace

Anyone who has been around sports knows that a coach has favorites. Right or wrong, he trusts certain players to play. Those players, who perform under the favor of the coach, play without fear. They know that their coach will not remove them from the game no matter the errors they commit. Other players, who are not under the coach’s grace, play in fear. You can see it in their timidity. You can see it in their eyes after committing an error. They look directly at the bench to see if the coach will send in a substitute. When the coach does substitute, the player steps off the court or field in shame, as their chin rests upon their chest. How much better will a player play knowing the coach will not yank him off the field for making mistakes?

My collegiate coach was the epitome of success. By my senior year our cross-country team had won the conference meet seventeen years in a row and twenty-four out of twenty-five years. Oddly enough, his background was basketball, not running. When he began his coaching career, he coached basketball. As much as he loved to play the game, he hated coaching because he despised taking kids out of the game for committing errors. He hated seeing the fear in their eyes. Loving the value of sports, he shifted to running where each runner could excel on his/her own merit. He taught self-discipline and inner motivation. He encouraged us to keep our moral and spiritual lives as disciplined as our running, for he understood the stranglehold that guilt and shame have on people and its debilitating impact on athletes. He wanted us to run in grace, not guilt.  

In a performance-based environment, success is tenuous. Fear, guilt, and shame tend to hold the upper hand and fuel motivation, a fuel like using diesel to a car needing unleaded gas. Fear gnaws at people believing something dangerous will occur or that failure is around the corner. Guilt, real or imagined, captures the emotional aftermath of failing. Shame is the painful feeling of humiliation. All of these are real, and we’ve all experienced them at one time or another. Fear: ask a child who has seen the anger in a parent about to respond to their defiance. Guilt: ask anyone who has ever been pulled over by a cop. Shame: ask anyone who had to make the amusement park “walk of shame.” Fear, guilt, and shame are interwoven into the fabric of this world, and no matter how hard we try, we cannot escape those feelings.

Church is supposed to be a different story. Jesus never motivated out of fear, guilt, or shame, instead he motivated people out of freedom and grace. They had a choice. We always have a choice. The younger brother in Luke 15 was allowed to walk away while the father never shamed him for leaving, or for that matter, for returning home. Zaccheus was never guilted into giving away his wealth but did so in freedom and grace. It wasn’t the fear of Jesus that caused Peter to sink into the sea, but the fear of the waves. Still, the church has used fear, guilt, and shame to motivate members to attend services, to participate in ministries, to keep them on the straight and narrow, and to give their lives to Jesus. Let’s be honest, if you provide too much freedom and grace, what’s the end result? Oh, that question in an of itself is rooted in fear.

The Corinthian church needed motivation to change. It was a mess. A big, dirty mess. It’s not the kind of church you want to bring home to meet the family. The church was imploding from division. They divided over their favorite preacher. They divided over spiritual gifts. Their divisiveness exploited the socio-economic tension, of all places, at the Lord’s Table. At least one family was embroiled in a lawsuit against another family. They saw themselves as wise when they acted foolishly. They prided themselves on embracing a man who was sleeping with his stepmother. Idolatry held the church in its clutches. They demanded their rights while claiming to follow a Savior who gave up his rights. That’s just Paul’s first letter. His second letter may be even worse. Idolatry still had its claws clenched into their lives. They had bailed on promises made to Paul to collect monies to send as aid to the Jerusalem church. They allowed a third party to come between them and their preacher, maligning Paul’s character in the process. What I know about the Corinthian Church is that I wouldn’t want to preach for them, much less be a member of that community. And if you were honest, you wouldn’t either.

Paul could have employed fear, guilt, and shame. He could have. If I was in his shoes, I would have. I would have reached deep into the Jonathan Edwards sermon that we are nothing more than being held in the hands of an angry God, standing on the very fringes of hell’s fire. More fear. More guilt. More shame. More control.

But Paul is not me. He confronts the sin in Corinth head on, but always as a pastor who loves his flock. And here, while he is defending himself against the accusation that he breaks his promises, he appeals to a promise-keeping God who himself creates an environment of gracious freedom by removing the fear, shame, and guilt from the equation. He’s not bringing in a substitute, he’s playing the team he’s called. Here is what Paul says,

Now it is God who makes both us and you stand firm in Christ. He anointed us, set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come (2 Cor. 1:21-22).

Paul tells us that God makes us stand firm. We do not secure ourselves, but God makes us secure and steady in Christ. It’s all on God. At our strongest, we are too weak to play or to fight. To underscore this, Paul gives us three descriptions of God’s power. He does so in very strong, definitive wording that is unmovable.

First power: God anoints us. Anointing was common for healing. More importantly, prophets and kings were anointed as being set apart for service under God. The word used here for anointing is the same word for Christ, carrying with it Messianic overtones. One might say, since we are anointed in Christ we are linked to him for his purpose. All of God’s promises are fulfilled in Christ where we are the recipients.

Second power: God puts his seal of ownership on us. A seal is an official emblem by a lord, governor, or king. By placing his seal on us, likely a reference to the Holy Spirit, we now belong to God. We are now in his possession. Remember the Toy Story moment when Woody checks the bottom of his boot to find Andy’s name? Woody knows he belongs to Andy. More importantly, Andy realizes that Woody belongs to him because his name is on his boot. Essentially, God is looking to see if he has sealed us with his Spirit, and those whom he has belong to him. No one else.  

Third power: Paul uses marketing or banking terminology of earnest money. Suppose you are shopping for a car, and you find it. Your dream car. You want it, but don’t have the money. In a bind, you make arrangements to secure the car with a downpayment. The dealer or owner holds the car until you come back with the complete amount. The downpayment guarantees full payment. Similarly, God giving us his Holy Spirit is only a down payment guaranteeing that when he returns, he will make good on his payment, and we will be filled to the full with his Spirit.

All of this effort by God to anoint us, to seal us, and to giving us a deposit guaranteeing what is to come is the means for us to play in grace. If Paul argues to the dysfunctional Corinthian church that God is creating the freedom to succeed, what does that say about you and me? It’s like we can’t fail.

The summer after I graduated from high school, I worked for a man who owned a gas station about a half a mile from where I lived. His little gas station had a good reputation in the community and for all accounts he was a successful businessman. He was a Korean War vet who ran his business like a min-military unit. He barked orders and made his employees toe the line; mistakes were not tolerated. He had mystery shoppers who came to the station for service just to report back to him. In Oregon self-service pumps were banned and attendants pumped the gas for the customer. We had to wash every windshield and ask to check the oil. The station had to be kept neat and clean, and when it wasn’t he let us know in no uncertain terms his expectations. We kept busy, and if we weren’t busy, we created work to do or looked busy because attendants sitting around was not a look he wanted. When our tills were short, he took it out of our paycheck. I was the recipient of numerous berating’s that summer. I learned a lot from him, I grew to appreciate and respect him, but if truth be known he operated out of fear. His employees, those hired to pump the gas, did not respect the man and often feared losing their jobs at any given moment.

Four years later I spent the summer in Nashville, Tennessee living with my brother to spend more time with Cile. My summer job was working for a small cookie company. The owner discovered his grandmother’s recipe for chocolate chip cookies and began to market them. By the time I was hired they had moved to a small warehouse and made a half-dozen kinds of cookies: chocolate chip, white chocolate, butterscotch, peanut butter, et.al. With convection ovens and industrial mixers, my job was to mix the dough and bake them. The owner of the company expected and anticipated that mistakes would be made. Cookies break and recipes get botched, and the boss would simply say, “I’ve ruined plenty of batches, you know where the garbage can is.” I loved working for this boss and because his work environment was built-in with a freedom to fail, I gave him my best.

As evident from these verses from 2 Corinthians, God is more like the second boss than the first. He has created an environment for us to play with freedom in grace so that we can give him our all without fear of failure. Even when we do fail him.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)