Author: Jon Partlow

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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!)

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The Lies We Believe

We live in a world of lies. We are either convinced by them or are being convinced of them. The result is that the lies we believe are the lies we embrace, and the lies we perpetuate will shape our character.

Years ago, I walked into the office of a church member who I was scheduled to have lunch with. He was on the phone. I waited in the lobby, but I could see he was deep in a serious conversation with the person on the other end of the line. I waited as the conversation felt like it was part of a “never-ending story.” When he hung up the phone, he came toward me. Shaking hands, we began to exit his office, and he said, “They’ll lie to you, Jon. They’ll lie to you.”

To this day I do not know what the nature of the conversation was, nor who the person was on the other end of the phone. I do remember his words and that they remain crystal clear today, “They’ll lie to you.” And they will.

Lies come in all shapes and sizes, and colors too. They infiltrate our society and our lives, not only becoming part of our vernacular but framework and mindset to understand the world. If unguarded, lies will fester like a cancer and before we know how deceived we are the prognosiswill be terminal. The problem is that we are so easily deceived.

Just ask the radio listeners in 1938 to Orson Welles’ Mercury Theater on the Air program, who believed that Martians were invading the world. Radio then was today’s version of YouTube or TikTok, and with Wells purchasing the rights to HG Wells’ novel, The War of the Worlds, he set about presenting it in dramatic fashion. As the program unveiled landing sites with play-by-play destruction, pandemonium broke out across the nation. People were reacting to events based on a lie.

Or, just ask the Enron employees who were encouraged to reinvest back into their corporation. Believing their company was sound and profitable, they lost everything in less than six months. Actually, the money believed they had in stocks never existed. Kenneth Lay and Jeffrey Skilling developed a means to exploit loopholes in their accounting to hide billions of dollars in debt from shareholders. Employees invested, not in their future, but in the CEO’s lies.

Or, just ask the good German Christians who supported the Nazi Regime. Following the demoralizing defeat of World War I, Hitler used his charisma and vision for a new and improved Germany. The Jews were not only excluded from their “New World Order” but were scapegoated and blamed for their nation’s problems. The Jews were criminalized, dehumanized, and victimized. Tapping into the anger of the people, Hitler called the Jews, “parasites,” “race-tuberculosis,” “blood suckers,” and “vermin.” How could good German Christians be accomplices to the genocide of an entire race of people? Allow a big lie to be told over and over until you start to believe it, then rationalize it, then act on it.

Andy Andrews might have said it best when talking about one of his childhood friends, “The truth has no chance against such a convincing lie.”* He may be on to something.

The big lie of the ancient world is so foreign to the contemporary American culture, it’s often minimized and mocked. The big lie? Idolatry.

We don’t understand it. By either caricaturing the wood and stone carvings or over-simplifying it to hours watching TV or electronic devices, we reveal our ignorance. While idolatry offered lies about answers to life issues – such as explaining the turning of the seasons or why tragedy strikes – their fake answers were that the gods were angry with humanity or in a battle with each other and the fallout impacts life on earth. By removing the mystery of the universe, they felt they had more control over their lives. All of this is and continues to haunt us today. It was all a lie, but it felt like the truth to them. If we were honest, we’d fall for it too.

From the Ancient Near East to Greco-Roman times, three factors helped drive idolatry. First, sex sells, and it has always been marketed. Fertility rituals ensured successful crops and were always coordinated to temple prostitution. If you can imagine a modern-day marketing firm selling idolatry and linking it to religion and sensuality, then you can begin to understand the draw. Secondly, money talks. Ensuring that the right amount of rain will fall on the land is essential for an agrarian society. The rain makes the crops multiply. Rain allows grass to turn green and to grow so that herds and cattle may graze. This rain, they believed, was controlled by the gods. In our sexually saturated society, consumed with money and building wealth, we can understand the temptation to trust anything to increase pleasure and profit. Finally, politics warps. When a king imposes his idolatrous worldview on the people, this leaves very little room for resistance. From King Ahab to Nebuchadnezzar to the Caesar’s’ imperial worship, the pressure to fall in line removes the wiggle room for the individual to ignore or even protest. Standing against a king held deadly consequences. These reasons – sex sells, money talks, and politics warps – fueled the big lie of idolatry.

Corinth had its own struggle with believing the big lie. Paul had already warned his church to stay away from born-again Christians who worship idols (1 Cor. 5:9). With further questions, Paul spent three chapters helping the church navigate the culture of idolatry (1 Cor. 8-10). Unfortunately, the issue moves beyond the big lie, to the role and place of the pagan temple in the lives of the people. It wasn’t just a place of worship but served as the community center for the people as well. Banquets were held at the temple. Weddings took place in the temple, and if your neighbor invited you to his daughter’s wedding, what are you going to do? Work guilds held meetings at the temple, and if you were a member of the fishing or hospice guild, and you didn’t attend, you could be blackballed. What do you do? The struggle was real and the temptation to buy into the big lie was always present. Always.

Paul tackles idolatry and its lie one more time with the Corinthians, and he pulls no punches. First, he frames his argument in 2 Corinthians 6:14 by prohibiting the yoking of believers with unbelievers. The use of yoke takes the reader back to Deuteronomy 22:10 where Moses forbade yoking oxen to donkeys. Foreshadowing our own “cruelty to animal laws,” the oxen’s size and strength would overpower and kill the donkey. The two are incompatible. Paul views such yoking as a real threat to the life of the believer using words like “purify” and “holiness” while avoiding anything to “contaminate the body and spirit” (2 Cor. 7:2).

Secondly, Paul poses a series of five rhetorical questions (6:14b-16a) where he basically asks what truth has anything to do with lies. Clearly, the answer is “nothing.” Idolatry is the big lie and Jesus is the Truth, and the two merging is like food contaminated with salmonella poisoning. Even though the idolatry draw is so magnetically powerful, and the lie feels so right, Paul wants Corinth to fight and resist its pull.

Finally, Paul quotes a series of Scriptures in rapid fire. The quote in 6:14b is particularly interesting. “Touch no unclean thing, and I will receive you” is from Isaiah 52:11. It’s the hopeful instructions to Israel as they see the day when they will return home from exile. The very lie they believed was that lie that shaped their character, which led to their destruction, which ushered them into exile. That lie is the one Isaiah says to avoid at all costs. The warning to the Corinthians is that something more is at stake than a home in Jerusalem, but a home with God.  

We swim in a world of lies. They are all around us, enclosing in on us while suffocating the truth. Like an onion, the more layers of lies we peel off, the more painful they become until our eyes water and our hearts break. If everyone has their own truth, then it’s likely everyone believes their own lie. The struggle to find the truth is real. Herein lies the hope. We can take steps to curb the onslaught of lies, many of which we likely believe.

First, open our eyes to how many lies are woven into the fabric of society. Simple awareness goes a long way in stopping lies from shaping our character and defining who we are. Secondly, if it’s too sensational to be true, then it’s likely a lie. Lies will lead you into a rabbit hole till you are lost in its caverns with no way of escape. Their magnetism will suck you in convincing you how everyone is involved in its plot. But if you cannot pull off a surprise party for a family member, how can you expect the whole world to be involved in a lie? If it’s too good to be true, it is. And finally, realize that sex, money, and politics fueled idolatry in the ancient world, and it continues to fuel the new form of modern-day idolatry. We need to live with this tension that all three are necessary for living. That said, all three will distort reality making you believe you’re serving God when in truth, you are really serving something evil. Something very evil.

It’s the lies we believe as my friend reminded me, “They’ll lie to you, Jon. They’ll lie to you.” Or, as Andy Andrews once said, “The truth has no chance against such a convincing lie.”* He may be right. But Jesus countered, promising, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (Jn. 8:32-32). And it will.

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

* Andy Andrews, Baseball, Boys, and Bad Words.

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A Vision Where the Content of Character Counts

On a hot and muggy summer day in 1963 some 250,000 people gathered on the Mall in DC for the March on Washington to bring awareness to the civil and economic rights for people of color. America was in the throes of the Civil Rights Era, and the movement would reach a climax at this gathering. Ten keynote speakers, largely forgotten overtime, addressed the crowd prepping them for the final speaker who delivered the concluding keynote of the day: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. And deliver, he did.

Historians rank King’s I Have a Dream speech as one of the greatest orations ever delivered. He waxed, but never wanned, as his words echoed through the crowds and throughout history. The imagery and rhetorical savvy was unprecedented. King walked a thin line by honoring the Founding Fathers, the Declaration of Independence, and the US Constitution, while calling out the oppressive and abusive actions of America for over a hundred years. All along sowing seeds of hope.

Five times King declared that he had a dream, followed by a descriptive verse envisioning a time beyond the racism in America. The most quoted dream statement is likely the one involving King’s own children, believing that one day they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

Character. Who the person is on the inside matters. The admirable qualities driving a person’s decisions carry far more weight than their job, position of power, or wealth. Truth. Faithfulness. Courage. Perseverance. Humility. Kindness. Discipline. Respect. These, and other qualities, are the virtuous lenses that Martin Luther King, Jr. was hoping society might view one another. Hoping, by the way, is a virtuous quality in and of itself.

By the end of the 1980’s the general sentiment was that the moral and ethical behavior in students was not only declining but freefalling. Believing public schools had abandoned their post of teaching the importance and virtues of character, the Josephson Institution formed the Six Pillars of the Character Counts program.

The first Pillar was Trustworthiness: being honest without deceiving others, while having integrity and keeping promises. The second Pillar was Respect: following the golden rule and accepting difference of others, while being considerate of people’s feelings. The next Pillar was Responsibility: doing your best, being self-disciplined, and learning perseverance. The Fourth Pillar is Fairness: playing by the rules without taking advantage of others. Another Pillar was Caring: being kind and compassionate. The final Pillar was Citizenship: making your school and community a better place. This curriculum was taught in many schools exposing children to the importance of its premise: character really does count.

In 1989 Steven Covey wrote a run-away best-selling book entitled, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. Seeing a trend that has metastasized today, he warned about the dangerous tendency of embracing personality ethic over character ethic. Noting, prior to World War II, most American leaders were chosen because they held certain qualities in their character. No, they weren’t perfect, but their lives held a balance by their pursuit of a high level of moral and ethical qualities. Since World War II the trend has been to choose leaders owning a personality ethic. Simply put, someone with a personality ethic holds charisma that draws people and crowds to them. They look good and sound good on stage, but they very well may be morally and ethically bankrupt. Covey raises the concern of what happens when businesses, schools, churches, and the government are led and fueled by people who are charismatic without character. For him, character doesn’t just count, it matters.

Paul may have foreshadowed the tension when he wrote 2 Corinthians. Charismatic leaders infiltrated the church in Corinth, and instead of serving the church they looked for ways to control, manipulate, dominate, and selfishly squeeze the church for everything it’s got. Like the smell of a new car, they looked good. Once you looked under the hood, they weren’t that new but refurbished as their inner corroded lives were exposed for all to see.

Oh, their stories of unlimited accomplishments were told at great lengths. Their preaching drew a crowd. They healed the sick. Visions and revelations were the norm. They boasted of God’s power working through them, while noting Paul’s stage presence was lacking. Paul was weak and soft.

Paul wasn’t, at least according to their standard. He healed people, even bringing someone back from the dead (Act. 20:10). Jesus spoke to him on more than one occasion, too (Act 9:4-5; 18:9-10; 23:11). More importantly, Paul experienced at least one vision, a powerful vision, where he saw and heard things he could not express or explain (2 Cor. 12:3-4). As overwhelming his experience was, he gives us very little detail, leaving much to the imagination. He does not even fully understand what happened. He does so for very good reasons.

First, he blunts his experience by speaking in the third person (12:2-4). He says, “I know a man who was caught up to the third heaven” (v. 2). Using third person language, Paul deflects attention off himself, even when needing to share his experience. With his own credibility on the line, Paul, talking about someone else’s vision, makes no sense for the argument before him. He’s willing to share what happened to him, but, unlike his distractors, Paul is not the center of his own universe.

Secondly, Paul tells us that this experience occurred fourteen years earlier (12:2). Those in the know tell us that this vision occurred sometime between his conversion in Acts 9 and his first mission trip in Acts 13. Two conclusions can be drawn by this date. For one, if Paul had to reach back fourteen years to recount this story, then this experience was the anomaly, not the norm. And another, this very well may be the first time the Corinthians heard about his experience, which means he’s not going around trumpeting his encounter. They are, but he’s not.

Thirdly, Paul is the walking wounded (12:7). Because he experienced such a vision, a thorn in the flesh was given to keep him humble. Whatever the thorn was, and we are not told, the need for it was a reminder for Paul to trust God’s grace and not his own strength. With a knowing wink, Paul may be saying, “If I’ve had such an experience which caused me to limp away, why is their gate fine?”

All of this leads to Paul’s statement that if he spoke about his visions, he would be telling the truth. He is only talking about events in his own life. But he won’t, because, in his own words, “But I refrain, so no one will think more of me than is warranted by what I do or say” (v. 6b). Paul will not allow people to put him up on a pedestal because God revealed something to him. Such a trait is called, “humility,” which reaches to his own core characteristic. Contrast Paul’s words to his antagonists spewing arrogant pride, constantly boasting of their experiences. For Paul, character counts, and without character what you say or do is like offering God a beautifully wrapped present. Yet, once unwrapped and opened, nothing is in it.

We live in an era where we are easily drawn to the power and prestige of celebrity leaders. We’re captivated and captured by their charisma even when such leaders are devoid of character. We’ve convinced ourselves that good things will happen by following the person whose words speak to our hearts instead of to our souls. We expect the world to push back on the virtues underscored in Scripture, and sometimes they do. But when we listen to our own Christian voices mocking the Fruit of the Spirit qualities as wimps, or ridiculing the Beatitudes’ virtues as being soft, or deriding the “turn the other cheek” as weak, then we are listening to the wrong voices. We’re being shaped by lyrics, languages, and lives foreign to the gospel Jesus brought and Paul preached. The truth is the saint(s) who have charmed and enchanted us are really venomous snake(s) ready to bite only to satisfy his/her own narcissistic needs.

The truth is our society is flooded with leaders with little to no character fiber in their bones. At best, they’ve sold-out for fame, for control, or for the path of least resistance. At worst, they’ve abused and profited from the people they are called to love and to lead, while demanding fealty. And you don’t have to look very far to see the fallout in churches, businesses, schools, social organizations, and our own government.

In a recent article by Christianity Today editor, Russell Moore, he may have summed it up best when he said,

If we are hated for attempted Christlikeness, let’s count it all joy. But if we are hated for our cruelty, our sexual hypocrisy, our quarrelsomeness, our hatefulness, and our vulgarity, then maybe we should ask what happened to our witness . . . Character matters. It is not the only thing that matters. But without character, nothing matters.*

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

* Russell Moore, “Why Character Doesn’t Matter Anymore,” Christianity Today, March 22, 2024 (an online article).

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Like the Encroachment of Kudzu

The 1876 Philadelphia Centennial Exposition was a six-month celebration of the hundredth birthday of the United States. Holding a World’s Fair-like presentation, the Exposition showcased the industrial achievements of America. Nearly ten million visitors were exposed, not only to world-cultures through the eyes of America, but more so to its stories of might and ingenuity. The celebration was nothing less than a success.

During the Exposition, the native Japanese and southeast Chinese plant, Kudzu, was introduced to the West. Touted as a beautiful ornamental plant with its sweet blooms and sturdy vines, the plant became a hot commodity. During the Dust Bowl era, vines were planted throughout the south to prevent soil erosion. Its fast-growing vine, up to a foot a day, took hold of the soil to prevent the dirt from blowing and/or washing away. But its “mile-a-minute” growth rate quickly became known as “the vine that ate the South.” Like most vines, this one began choking out every plant and tree for its domination, destroying all life in its path. While cows will eat Kudzu, no western insect eats the plant. The vine was brought to America without a natural predator to regulate it. Quickly, it got out of control.

With no means to contain the plant, the vine encroached on foreign territory, choking the life out of plants and trees, leaving death in its wake.

As Paul was surveying the church in Corinth, he might have seen the Kudzu in the form of the antagonistic group who came to the church to turn them against the apostle. They had encroached onto the church promising life while choking the heartbeat out of the people. Paul accused them of being self-promoting since they went around “commending themselves” for everything they did (2 Cor. 10:12a). Not only were they bragging about themselves, and ensuring everyone knew their great deeds, but they themselves were the standard by which they measured themselves (v. 12b). Once we become the standard, then no one measures up to our expectations. They don’t serve as much as me. Their listening audience is smaller than mine. Their sin is worse than mine. I’m more dedicated than they are. Like ignoring the speed limit on a highway: anyone traveling faster than me is crazy, while anyone driving slower than me is a nuisance. A standardized measurement no longer exists, leading to a “law of the jungle” mentality. Such is the case when people decide to brag about their faith or ministry while measuring themselves against each other.  

Paul, on the other hand, is willing to boast, but not like his opponents. Paul boasts only within the limits God has provided (v. 13), limits that include the Corinthians. Having invested heavily in the church at Corinth, Paul seeks their best, even at the expense of himself. He brought them the gospel and began nurturing their faith. He lived with them. He worked with them. He spent time with them. He wants desperately to see their faith grow and develop (v. 15), in part so that they can help Paul expand his ministry to other places. Paul wants to brag about the Corinthians, not about himself.

Here is one of the differences between Paul and the antagonists. Paul will not take credit for work completed by others. Oh, they will (v. 15). By encroaching on the territory Paul already established, they will come in and claim it as their own. Like classmates taking credit for an assignment written by someone else, or a coworker pitching a stolen idea to his/her boss, these antagonists were trying to take credit for the work Paul did at Corinth. And we know the endgame: such leaders do not want challenged or questioned and eventually pull away from the very people they are called to shepherd.

Some might think they are jealous of the apostle, though Paul was not jealous of them. He’s willing to share. As he himself once said, he plants, Apollos waters, while God gives the increase (1 Cor. 3:6). They, though, are willing to exercise a hostile takeover of Corinth to fulfill their own passions. Paul will not play such games. He will not take credit for ministries completed by other people and in regions he has not tread (2 Cor. 10:16b). Instead, all boasting will be done in the Lord (v. 17).

Very few of us can say we are staking out new territory. Most of us are building off people who have come before us. As the Deuteronomy author said, “We drink from wells we did not dig” (Dt. 6:11).

When I moved to Minford to preach, I followed a pastor who spent twenty-two years preaching and ministering for this church. Sure, I have my own style and personality and will naturally leave my imprint on the people as my legacy. That said, while I was their preacher, I did what I could to honor and respect his family and ministry, valuing what he had built and knowing his ministry was built on the ones that came before him.

When I arrived at Heartland almost three years ago, I joined a team who was already doing good ministry. Yes, I have my own style and personality which will naturally leave its own imprint on the company, but I, like you, have tried building from what others have constructed without taking credit, and certainly without tearing it down.

We do this because we’re not kudzu encroaching on someone else’s territory.

As Paul is writing these words to Corinth, he has his Bible open to Jeremiah 9:23-24. In that section the prophet is taking the people of Jerusalem to task over what else? Boasting. Jeremiah declares that the wiseman should not boast about his wisdom, or that the strong man boast about his strength, or that the rich man boast about his wealth (Jer. 9:23). Jeremiah takes on the arrogant people who beat their chest and set themselves up as powerful individuals who control or manipulate the masses. Not only are people drawn to such definitions of success, but those in power tend to flaunt what they have. They let you know they are the smartest, strongest, and substantially loaded person in the room. And they care less for the people and more about themselves. For the record, I also know people who excel in each of those categories but are too humble to intimidate or brag. And isn’t that the difference? It’s not having wisdom, strength, or wealth, but how you perceive to use it is the difference.

Jeremiah’s solution does not include stopping the boasting, but to redirect the bragging toward the Lord (9:24). In this form of boasting, Jeremiah gives three descriptive words worthy of boasting regarding God. First, speak about him exercising kindness. Kindness, here, is far more than God performing random acts of kindness as we know it. We think of kindness as maybe holding a door for someone, or helping clean up a mess, or volunteering to help sit with a patient. Kindness here, can also be translated, “loving kindness” or “steadfast love.” Such kind love is the word to describe God’s loyalty to the Covenant he made with Israel. Where Israel broke the terms of the Covenant – from the golden calf to the rebellion in the desert to corruption in Jerusalem at the time of Jeremiah – God never broke his Covenant with Israel. He kept his word. He preserved his promises. He refused to be guilty of breaking his Covenant. That is something worth bragging about.

The second and third descriptive words are found together in the Old Testament like they were best friends. You rarely find them separated from each other. In the New Testament these two concepts are rooted in the same word: justice and righteousness. Sometimes context can help distinguish which one the author is intended. Both terms are relational in nature and rooted in the character of God. Biblical justice is about treating people fairly, regardless of wealth, power, status, or wisdom. One of the reasons God has a heart for the marginalized and the poor is because society will not act with justice. He will, and his desire is for us to as well. The third descriptive word is righteousness, which means a person stands in a right relationship to God who he himself is described as righteous. Sometimes righteousness has a moral and ethical element to it. Other times it has religious piety attached to it. Still other times, it is linked to how people treat the poor and marginalized. Someone like Mother Teresa was a righteous woman, if for no other reasons, she chose to remain in poverty with the people of Calcutta instead of a lucrative position somewhere else. Bragging about a God who treats people the same regardless of stature, wealth, strength, and wisdom is something worth bragging about.

Jeremiah’s point, which Paul picks up, is that if someone is going to boast, then they need to boast about God. And if one is boasting about him/herself, it is likely that they do not know God. They are boasting about what they know. Themselves.

Back to Paul in 2 Corinthians 10, he quotes a portion of Jeremiah 9:24 to drive home this important point. If they are bragging about themselves while taking credit for Paul’s ministry and participating in a hostile takeover of Paul’s God-given territory, then one thing is clear. They don’t know God. Oh, they smell like a pleasing fragrant flower and their blossoms are beautiful to admire. But they are nothing more than a pesky vine that will quickly encroach on the land and choke out everything that lives, leaving spiritual death in its wake.

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

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Measuring the Depth of Love

Exiting his study off the sanctuary, Reverend Paul Ford mounted the pulpit. Perched high above his congregation, he looked down on them like a vulture eyeing his prey or like a judge about to pronounce sentence on the guilty. His deep, baritone voice boomed and echoed throughout the church like thunder. Lacking compassion, fear reverberated throughout the congregants; even the chandelier shook when he spoke. Seeing the worst in his members, all he seemed to encounter was jealousy, scandals, and backbiting. Unleashing the wrath of God, as he tapped into their greatest fears, he led the church to the edge of hell’s fires declaring, “Death comes unexpectantly!”

“And now he will deal with you. Now the great King of Heaven and Earth will abolish and annihilate this pride! Will crush the hardened wretch of the polluted infinite abomination, and rain on him a deluge of fire and brimstone! And where is their strength, then? Where are the great leviathans who defied God, then? Where is their courage, these proud spirits? Yes . . . Death comes unexpectedly.“*

The irony is clear enough. Reverend Ford preached about arrogant pride never realizing that he himself was struggling with the very same sin. For the Reverend the condescending barriers kept him from his church. He believed that since he only had his people in church for one day, he had to inoculate them against the other six days of exposure to sin. His inoculation, instead of offering himself to them, was to bring the fires of hell closer to them. He preached without tears because his heart was far from the people he ministered to, evident that while the church was worshiping, the Reverend secluded himself to his study. In his haughtiness he looked down on them, not just physically, but spiritually as well. Ultimately, his harsh words, instead of broken tears, reflected the depth of love – or lack thereof – he had for the church.  

Around 1980 a ten-year-old-boy claimed his fifteen minutes of fame by embracing the street preacher persona at school. He dressed in a suit, held a big black Bible, and quoted Scriptures at the top of his lungs. Talk show hosts like Oprah, Larry King, and Salley Jesse Rafael lured him and his parents onto their program and sold tickets to the audience like he was a freak show for their carnival. Raised in North Carolina, and fearful of the public school’s influence on racial integration, evolution, and sex education, the boy began standing outside his school and shouting Scriptures he had memorized to his fellow students. Without offering either exposition or hope, he quoted Scriptures underscoring condemnation and hell’s fires.

Multiple problems arose from this situation. Not only parents allowing their son to be exposed to such national scrutiny, but also adults finding a warped venue of entertainment to generate an audience to fuel the greed for television ratings. More so is the caricature of the preacher who pronounces condemning judgment on his people without first identifying with them or showing any signs of compassion. In short, he shed no tears over the sins of the people he was preaching to.

Jonah was a great prophet, but he was no role model for preachers. He was called to preach to his nation’s enemies, but his national loyalties were stronger than his obedience to God. He ran away, until he could run no farther. God re-sent him to Nineveh. When he finally showed up, he gave a powerfully simple sermon, “You have forty days to repent!” (Jon. 3:4). A short, effective sermon preached over and over that omitted hope mixed with the grace and mercy of God. Still, repent the people of Nineveh did. And when God relented by showing compassion, grace, and mercy, Jonah fumed. He wanted them to burn. He envisioned how it would end. He hoped their nation would fall at the hand of God. He planned their punishment with courtside seats for the event. Jonah lacked tearful compassion, and as God pointed out to him, Jonah cared more about his own selfish needs than he did for the people he was trying to save.  

George Younce was the bass singer and frontman for Southern Gospel’s premier group, The Cathedral Quartet. With a sense of humor and comedic timing, George put the audience at ease. He and the other members of the group created a relaxed atmosphere so that their beautiful singing and harmonies might disable any resistance to the Gospel message communicated to the audience during the concert.  Laughter was at the heart of George, but so were the tears he shed as he confessed, “When the eyes leak, the head won’t swell.”

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Paul wrote a letter between what we know of as 1 & 2 Corinthians. While we do not know the contents of the letter – that letter is lost – we know it addressed the incident which he calls a “painful visit” (2 Cor. 2:1). At that visit he was rejected by the church, and essentially “run out of town.” In Paul’s letter he had to address the situation as it was getting out of hand. The antagonists were amid a hostile take-over of the church, and Paul was on the outs. He wrote them, and he spoke openly, honestly, and harshly to them causing them to grieve (2:2). Unlike others, Paul took no pleasure in writing such a letter. Even more, the words of the letter were expressed through great distress and many tears (v. 4). Paul wept while writing them. Where Paul wanted to brag and find confidence in the church (v. 3), they forced him to take the trail of tears, and as he walked that trail, grief accompanied his journey until he finally heard from Titus. Finally (7:7). Only then did he know that the deep love he had for them was finally reciprocated, showing that love is best expressed through tears, not harsh words.  

Until the mid-1990’s I always pictured Jesus as bringing the hammer to the Pharisees when he delivered the seven woes (Mt. 23). Occurring during the final week of his life, after Jesus was grilled by his adversaries but before his prediction of Jerusalem’s fall, it seemed like a perfect time for Jesus to unload on the Pharisees with both guns blazing. He let them have it, while I always pictured myself standing behind Jesus and not in front of him. I viewed myself as teammates with Jesus and I was always on his side. Always. But in the 1990’s Bruce Marchiano played Jesus in the Visual Bible on Matthew. Bruce brought an emotive side of Jesus as one who smiled and laughed with the people. Watching his portrayal of Jesus made one believe that God really did love humanity, and even found joy in being human. So when Bruce reached the seven woes in Matthew 23, he portrayed Jesus not as one who had a hammer to break the Pharisees, but as a Savior who was broken by pronouncing the woes. As his Jesus begins the first woe, his voice began to crack and its crescendo is felt through the last three woes when he proclaimed them through broken tears. The dams broke and broke hard. Such an interpretation makes sense as Jesus concludes the seven woes with his lament,

“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who killed the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing” (Mt. 23:37).

The first time I watched this scene my pride was broken. I no longer saw myself standing behind Jesus, but in front of him as if the tearful broken heart of Jesus was directed at me.

Out in a field, Reverend Paul Ford was rehearsing his Sunday sermon. Little Pollyanna delivered a message to him from her aunt. Reverend Ford was too busy to be disturbed by this little girl, but Pollyanna was too naïve to realize who she was up against. Wanting to dismiss her, she lured him into a conversation by asking if he was glad that he was a preacher. Glad. Her father was a minister who felt like his congregation tuned him out. Not surprisingly, Ford felt the same way. Coming closer to her, he asked if her father ever solved the dilemma. He did, she replied, when he read a quote from Abraham Lincoln which said, “When you look for the bad in mankind expecting to find it, you surely will.” Intrigued, Ford had taken the bait and Pollyanna reeled him in by bringing attention to the 800 glad passages in the Bible like “Rejoice and be glad,” or “Shout for joy,” or “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” She snatched his heart when she innocently said, quoting her father, “If God took all the time to tell us 800 times to rejoice and be glad, then he must have wanted us to do it.” Pollyanna left the Reverend holding the words in his heart.

The next Sunday as Reverend Ford mounted the pulpit, he chose not to be the voice of God, but he found his own voice in confessional tones. His pride was broken. Convicted, he decided to spend more time on the 800 glad passages and to share those passages in his sermons. His deepest regret was his failure to sit and to spend his time with the church as a fellow struggler against sin, for the true way to inoculate people against sin is to walk and sit with them.

What Reverend Ford finally realized was the depth of love is never measured in the harsh words we speak, but in the broken tears we shed for one another.

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

* Pollyanna is a 1960 movie by Disney, with Haley Mills as Pollyanna and Karl Malden as the Reverend Paul Ford. This script was lifted from www.insearchofthesinglechristian.blogspot.com from 2011. Accessed 2-19-24.