Category: Faith

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We Are Not Home Yet!

In the wake of the 1997 Heath High School shooting in Paducah, Kentucky, Steven Curtis Chapman released a song entitled, Not Home Yet! How much the song was written in response to the mass shooting is unknown. Chapman himself was reflecting on the themes of heaven and aimed at writing a song for those facing difficult trials to provide hope for their journey. In the song Chapman describes life as a pilgrim on a journey. Sometimes the view is breathtakingly spectacular, and the steps are easy as your feet are light as a feather. Other times, the view is hidden from sight. Storms hit and hit hard. Your shoes feel like concrete blocks, inching forward is all but impossible. You cannot take another step, and each step feels closer to the storm that drives the hopeless fear in you. So Chapman writes, “So close your eyes with me • And hear the Father saying, ‘Welcome home’ • Let us find the strength in all his promises to carry on • He said, ‘I’ll go prepare a place for you’ • So let us not forget • We are not home yet.”*

Max Lucado believes that deep within us lies the tiny Whipporwill who sings of eternity. His songs remind us that we are not intended for the temporary but for one day to be joined by the everlasting. His beautiful and soft melodic voice resonates with our soul. Too many times, though, his voice is drowned out by the noise around us, while other songs focus on the present not the future. The songs clamor for our attention to be satisfied. They play for our egos to be stroked. They thirst for our power to be quenched. They woo us for our affection to be fulfilled. But their competing songs do not and will not endure. They fade away like that last echo in the mountains. The Whipporwill, in the words of Lucado, says that “Out of the gray he sings a golden song. Perched in time he chirps a timeless verse. Peering through pain’s shroud, he sees a painless place. Of that place he sings.”** When he sings, we are reminded that we are not home yet.

Sunday mornings is a time of renewal and refocus. For six days we journey through the “here and now” until we come to worship where the focus is on the “then and there.” We live in the temporary, but we long for the Eternal. Sunday morning is that reminder that the real world is not the one that unfolds throughout the week, but the one that engages us on Sunday morning, as we peer with faithful eyes to what will be, not to what is. We read, “In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go . . . I will come back and take you to be with me . . ..” (Jn. 14:2-3). When we’ve read those words, we sing, “Oh, the land of cloudless day • Oh, the land of an unclouded sky • Oh, they tell me of a home where no storm clouds rise • Oh, they tell of an unclouded day.” As we are renewed and refocused, then return to our houses, we are also reminded that we are not home yet.

Hidden beyond the message of 2 Corinthians 3:7-11 is this home, a theme Paul will explore further in chapter 5. For now, Paul takes the readers back to Sinai where Moses receives the Covenant while Israel, camping in Sinai’s shadow, is doing everything they can to shatter any hope for a covenant with God. By using the word “ministry” instead of “covenant” Paul contrasts the difference between what Moses mediated and what Christ provides, noting that both ministries bring their own glory. Paul drops the word “glory” eight times.

He says the ministry at Sinai came with glory (v. 7) and that Moses’ face shined with glory (v. 7). Contrastingly, he says the Spirit’s ministry is more glorious (v. 8). In a “how much more” question Paul shows that the ministry that condemns is glorious, but that the ministry that brings righteousness is more glorious (v. 9). What was then glorious, referring to Sinai, has no glory when compared to the surpassing glory of this ministry with Jesus (v. 10). And finally, with the glory of Moses’s ministry fading away or faded away, the new glory of Jesus will endure forever (v. 11).

All that “glory” may be a bit much to absorb without slowly working through verses 7-11. But it is verse 11 that drew my attention when Paul writes, “And if what was fading away came with glory, how much greater is the glory of that which lasts!” For fifteen hundred years the glory of Moses’ ministry permeated and sustained Israel. And one might say that it sustained Israel in spite of themselves. But Moses’ ministry was finally coming to an end. As glorious as Moses’ ministry was the clock had been ticking and what Moses was offering was soon running out.

On the other hand, the ministry brought by Jesus has an enduring quality about it. The glory of Jesus’ ministry is not only its power, but that it will endure. Whatever you do in the name of Jesus will not be in vain or ultimately leave one empty handed. Jesus’ ministry brings meaning and substance to life as people are changed and transformed into his likeness (v. 18). In essence, what Paul is saying is that the closest we find our home on this side of eternity is experienced through the glorious ministry of Jesus. And that home or ministry lasts, no matter what.

The tension between the ministry that occurs in the “here and now” and the ministry that takes root and grows into the “then and there” is present and felt. Too often, with limited vision, all we see is what happens in the “here and now” without clear sight on the “then and there.” It gets frustrating. It feels like we are always estranged from home. When that happens, we all wonder, “What’s the point? What good have I done? Who really cares?”

We care for our patients. STNA’s minister through bathing them. Nurses minister by checking on their vitals. Social Workers minister by calming their financial worries. Spiritual Care ministers by leading them closer to God. Visitation Coordinators minister by providing team support while they suffer. Patients come and go and sometimes the eternal gets lost in the daily grind, the temporary, day-to-day visits, as we check off who we’ve seen and who we need to see next. I get it. I do too.

For thirty years I gave my life to ministry. In the process, like most church ministers, I’ve worn a lot of hats. I welcomed babies at hospitals, taught the young, married couples, worked with the aging, and overseen funerals. Outside of caring for churches, I’ve volunteered for civic organizations. I led Cub Scouts, helped with Boy Scouts, coached baseball teams, was an ongoing presence the schools where my children attended. At the end of it all, what did it get me? If what I see in this temporary is all I see, then I’m not the only one to feel the weight of disillusionment. Others have felt it as well, including Samuel Morrison.

In the early days of the Twentieth Century, Samuel Morrison decided it was time to go home. For the past twenty-five years he had given his life as a missionary to the African people. At the end of his tenure, he had nothing to show for it. He was broken. His finances were broken as he had run out of support and barely had enough money to return Stateside. He had no retirement. His heart was broken as he had buried his wife in Africa. His spirit was broken and had nothing left to give. With no fanfare, he left the mission field behind and boarded an ocean liner for the United States.

By happenstance one of the passengers on that ship was the President Teddy Roosevelt who was returning from a successful hunting expedition in Africa. All the excitement and fanfare kept the ship a buzz during the journey. But it was when the ship docked in New York Harbor that Samuel Morrison saw that the entire city of New York came out to the harbor to catch a glimpse of the President. Banners were raised. People were cheering. Choirs of children were singing. Balloons were floating in the air, flashbulbs were popping, cameras were recording the President’s arrival. Bands were playing. As the president departed the ship confetti and ticker tape showered on him like summer rain.

Samuel Morrison watched the spectacle unfold as one more broken moment sank in. He quietly exited the ship. No one greeted him as he was a nobody, a ghost. Alone, he slipped through the crowd hoping, to no avail, to find a cab. As walked the streets of New York, he prayed to the only one listening, if he really was listening, “Lord, the president has been in Africa for three weeks killing animals, and the whole world turns out to welcome him home! I’ve given twenty-five years of my life in Africa, serving you, and no one has greeted me, or even knows I’m here!”

Samuel Morrison continued to walk in his own silence. But in the quietness of his heart, a gentle, loving voice whispered, “But my dear child, you are not home, yet!” You are not home, yet!

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

* Steven Curtis Chapman, Not Home Yet, 1997.

** Max Lucado, “The Song of the Whipporwill” from When God Whispers Your Name, 1994.

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Out of the Bubble

There once was a village nestled under a great mountain with a bluff overlooking the town. The villagers lived a modest life in their agrarian setting. They farmed and bartered goods among themselves with very little contact with the rest of the world. Occasionally, visitors and peddlers ventured their way which always drew crowds as new faces and voices provided variety to their lives, and news of the outside world.

One day a stranger came to the village and spoke about holiness and purity. He warned the villagers to avoid wealth, but to live modestly. He cautioned about hording possessions, instead, be generous and to share with those in need. He counseled them to treat people fairly, not to exploit, manipulate, or to create transactional relationships. More so, he advised them to protect their heart, for out of the heart comes the worst of evil desires. A number of the villagers gravitated to his teachings, and before he left the village, they swore an oath of obedience to the things he taught.

The teacher’s followers regularly met to discuss his teachings and to encourage each other to remain pure and holy. But they were worried about other villagers who either rejected the teacher or failed to embrace him. They fretted of being tarnished by those who were not following the teacher. In time the villagers moved away from the village believing the separation was vital to remaining pure and holy. But as time passed they witnessed the influence of the village as they still had to trade goods and interact with them. So they relocated their village far up in the great mountain on the bluff. Finally, they were away from the villagers and their influences. But they could still see the village below, and feared some might want to return to the village. Meeting together, they decided to encase their community’s presence by constructing a huge bubble protecting them – some might say isolating them – from the outside world, as they no longer could see or hear anything but themselves. They began the process of building the bubble and sealing themselves inside so no one could leave or have contact with the outside world.

Years passed. Those nestled in the village below looked up at the bubble on the bluff and wondered what had become of the separatists. One day a group decided to go investigate and to see what had become of their fellow-villagers in the bubble. Without finding a natural entrance, they broke in only to discover that everyone had died. Upon further investigation, they realized that the villagers failed to install a proper ventilation system, and tragically, everyone in the bubble had suffocated.

As people who are called to walk in holiness, we often struggle to engage the world for fear of being contaminated by the ungodly. The temptation to withdraw to a protective bubble is real.

I was a teenager when my mom provided an illustration to warn my sister and me of the danger of ill-chosen friends. She took a glass of pure fresh water and dropped a little dirt in it, and began to stir. Suddenly, we witnessed the fresh water morph into dirty, undrinkable water. No matter how much clear water mom added to the glass, it only diluted the dirty water, never sanitizing, purifying or cleansing the water.

Her point was that some of the people we engaged with will taint or dirty our souls, and nothing on our part can purify what has been tainted. We needed to be careful of who we connect our lives to. The irony, of coursel, is that the vast majority of kids we encountered were connected to church as we attended three times a week and were enrolled at a private Christian school. We kinda lived in a bubble, leaving one to ponder, if you can’t trust your Christian friends, who can you trust?

Paul was quite explicit when he told the Corinthians, “Do not be yoked with unbelievers” in 2 Corinthians 6:14. The strong and forceful language draws from the Mosaic Law (Dt. 22:10). One may yoke two donkeys together or two oxen together, but they were never to yoke a donkey with an oxen. The pure size and strength of the oxen would drag the poor donkey into the dirt and kill him, unintentionally, but unmercifully. Paul is saying that believers yoked with unbelievers lacks equality, and someone will end up getting hurt. Really hurt.

This particular section in 2 Corinthians has two unique characteristics. First, it’s held together by Paul’s pleas of reconciliation. On the front end, he claims he has opened his heart to the Corinthians (6:11-12). On the back end, he has been honest and open with them (7:2). Now he implores them to open their hearts to him (stated in 6:13 and repeated in 7:2). But in order to do so the Corinthians must come clean, breaking the yoke they’ve made with “unbelievers.” They must break the yoke of idolatry before they can be yoked once again to the gospel, and to Paul.

Herein lies the second unique characteristic of this passage. Paul asks five rhetorical questions in verses 14-16, constructed in a way that he expects the negative answer.

● “What do righteousness and wickedness have in common” (v. 14b)? Not anything.
● “What fellowship can light have with darkness” (v. 14c)? None.
● “What harmony is there between Christ and Belial” (v. 15a)? Only dissonance.
● “What does a believer have in common with an unbeliever” (v. 15b)? Zilch.
● “What agreement is there between the temple of God and idols” (v. 16a)? Nothing. Absolutely, nothing.

Clearly the answer Paul is seeking to each of these questions is “No.” Thus, his command “not to be yoked with unbelievers” means that the pagan temple is no setting fit for those who are themselves the temple of God.

The Corinthians struggled with idolatry, so much so that Paul spent three chapters in his first letter addressing the issue (1 Cor. 8-10). It’s clear that they have yet to break free from the grips of the temple worship of Aphrodite, Apollo, and Poseidon, a participation in total contrast to the gospel of Jesus. So in order for the church re-forge their bond to Paul, they must break their bonds to idolatry.

Herein lies an important truth. Paul is not telling them to separate from all society, but a segment of society that is rooted in idolatry, a very false reality of the divine, driven by power, manipulation, money, and sex. Yoke is a strong word of identification. From the context, they must break the yoke that ties them to such a false reality of life since they are yoked to Jesus.

If we were to expose the idolatrous environment today where we are unequally yoked, we might delve into individualism at the expense of community, or the desire for transactional relationships, or presuming that wealth is a sign of God’s blessing and that poverty is a sign of God’s rejection , or gravitating toward celebrity charismatic leaders who lack character, or the animalistic sexual identity mainstreamed since the 1960’s, or the cult-like church culture where probing questions are a threat to the control-driven leadership. Paul might tell us to separate ourselves from these environments, but he does not tell us to separate ourselves from the world.

I once preached a sermon where I used the glasses of water with dirt as an illustration of sin. I created the tension of being pure and holy people while absorbing the sinful stains of society. I hit this message hard, saying that the world will contaminate what God has made holy, and when that happens, I didn’t know what we could do to rectify it. I allowed the moment of hopelessness to sink in and unsettle the church.

With proper prep work and instructions, my middle-school son broke the silence and spoke up. “I know what to do, Dad.” He took the glass filled with dirty water and left the sanctuary only to return with the glass filled with clear, pure water. I asked him what he did, and he said, “I washed the cup clean.” He washed it clean, something God has done and continues to do for us too. God washes us clean.

In 1976 John Travolta starred in a movie about a boy who was born with Immune Deficiency Syndrome. Travolta’s character, Todd, could not live without some form of air filtration system. A simple cold might turn into irreparable pneumonia and kill him. Thus, Todd lived his entire life in a sterilized environment where his living quarters were protected by sanitized tarp, or a plastic bubble.

The good news is that Todd grows up and gets to live a life. The bad news is obvious, is being caged up in a plastic bubble really living? Of course not. So by the time he reaches his teenage years, Todd looks for a way to escape his sterile environment so that he is no longer the boy in the plastic bubble.

God never calls for us to pull away from the world, to isolate ourselves from the influences of the world, or to build a bubble of protection. No, we are to engage the world, society, and people on a regular basis in all of its sins and filth. Yes, it can be challenging. Yes, it can be scary. But what’s the alternative? We cannot engage the world if we’re living inside of a bubble.

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

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Christ, Christians & COVID-19: Where Do We Go from here?

Unlike Pearl Harbor, President Kennedy’s assassination, the Challenger explosion, or 9-11, the COVID-19 pandemic did not have a defining “Where were you when” moment. In December of 2019 we started hearing reports of a new virus in China, but like other news stories, it was emotionally discarded and soon believed to be long forgotten in the news cycle. But it wasn’t. More stories and reporting was highlighting the disease.

Three weeks into January 2020, the city of Wuhan went into lockdown. This was no rural town, but a metropolitan epi center boasting of modern technology and eleven million in population. I remember seeing workers in protective suits spraying the city streets down with disinfectant chemicals while citizens were in isolation/quarantine. By February the government, with amazing speed, built two new hospitals in Wuhan to treat the overflowing number of people suffering from this disease. By all accounts they were taking the virus seriously.

This was the defining moment for me. I began contemplating, “What if the virus comes to America?” “Will we go into lockdown” and “What will be the plan if we do?” Even more so, “How will the church adapt and respond?”

On March 15 Taylor and Lilly were riding home with me from worship services. Rumors were swirling that American cities were going into their own lockdown. Basketball tournaments had already been shelved with baseball’s season on the brink. I didn’t know what kind of travel bands might be activated. With Taylor’s husband deployed, I suggested she decide on one spot to live with us or her in-laws. She chose to live with us and did so for the next four months. And as it turned out March 15th was the last in-person worship service Sunshine experienced till June.

I wish the story ended in June, but it didn’t. As we came into fall, the number of COVID cases surged. Hospitals were overrun and the medical personnel on the front lines were physically and emotionally depleted if not traumatized by the death toll reaching a half a million people – and just in America alone. The constant isolation and general fear was wearing society out. On my own Homefront Cile was recovering from her own COVID infection; we canceled our yearly trip to Tennessee for Thanksgiving and Christmas. But with the New Year, the vaccine now in play and places of worship meeting for in-person services, hope is on the rise.

While God is the only one who holds tomorrow in his hands, we move forward with every step taken. Yes, we take him by the hand, but sometimes we’re stumbling around to find our way. Where we go from here is cautious, but filled with renewed faith.

First, we begin recognizing how vulnerable and fragile we really are, as Rich Mullins sings, “We are not as strong as we think we are.” COVID didn’t create dilemmas as much as it exasperated and exposed problems already present. For instance mental health issues were present before 2020, but the isolation and shutting down of needed social relationships created more room for anxiety to take hold. Marriages that ended this past year didn’t just happen to go bad. They were well on the divorce road before COVID hit. The anxiety and stress of a pandemic was the final straw. Peter looked really brave and strong as he stepped out of the boat, but all that was stripped from him when the waves took his focus off Jesus (Mt. 14:29-30).

Secondly, we have a deep desire to break the social distancing by re-engaging with each other. We miss the interaction of the in-person community. Still, getting together continues to feel like porcupines snuggling. Renewing relationships look good on paper, but acting it out still feels like a pipe dream. The political and ideological divide is widening as distrust on both sides of the isle escalates. Finger pointing and name calling is eroding the very foundation for which relationships are established and maintained. Paul warned the Galatians of “biting and devouring each other” and predicted destruction unless they began allowing the Spirit to control their lives (Gal.5:13-15, 22-26).

Finally, we’re called to display a sacrificial love for each other even though we’re very selfish at heart (1 Jn. 3:16-17). Jesus demonstrated his love for us by sacrificing himself for mankind. He gave up his rights, his positon and his power to die for us, calling on us to do the same (see 1 Pet. 2:21-23). Like preschooler children lining up for a drink at the drinking fountain, we demand to be first. We have to have it our way. Following 9-11 an elder commented to me that America was not in a position to sacrifice again like it did for the War Effort. He may have been right. We’re so consumed with our own personal rights, we fail to consider how our personal decisions are damaging and destroying those around us.

Where do we go from here? We take hold of Jesus and keep our eyes fastened on him, even with the waves crashing around us. As we’re nurturing our relationships, we allow Jesus to be the unifying factor, not our personal ideology. Then we follow him, emptying ourselves for each other. Such steps are far from easy, but when we arrive at our destination, it will be worth it.

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

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The Righteous Will Live By Faith

Two words come together like a perfect marriage: Righteousness and Faith. Because both are a running motif through Scripture, they’re the basis for a relationship with God. One could argue that they’re crucial for a relationship with each other.

In regards to righteousness the Old Testament views it as twins to Justice; they’re often seen together. One might say the role of righteousness is to bring justice or to make the wrong right. In the New Testament, Righteousness and Justice are born out of the same Greek word. Anytime you’re reading the New Testament and come across “righteousness,” you can substitute it for “justice” and you won’t be wrong. In regards to faith, it may be the foundation of our relationship with God (Heb. 11:6). The unseen God calls us to see him which forces us to view him and this world through an invisible prism or reality. Thus, we read, “the righteous will live by faith.”

Surfacing four times in Scripture, first in the Old Testament and three times in the New Testament, God beckons his righteous ones to live their lives out in faith. Let’s take a look at each time “the righteous will live by faith” appears in Scripture.

● Habakkuk 2:4 When the prophet Habakkuk steps onto the stage, King Josiah has been killed in battle and his evil son, Jehoiakim, begins an eleven year policy of reversing all the reforms of his father. The gains under Josiah are quickly lost. In Habakkuk’s complaint to God, “justice never prevails (while) the wicked hem in the righteous” (1:4). Essentially, Habakkuk asks God, “What are you going to do about the injustice in Judah?” God’s answer was beyond belief (1:5-6), as he was cultivating the Babylonians, raising them up to punish Judah for their sins. Such a move even surprised the prophet as he stood before the Lord in disbelief. Then came God’s comfort, “the righteous will live by his faith.” When the political forces, even fueled by God’s will, bring destruction and death on your own nation so that the temple is razed and citizens are taken away in captivity, those who continue to trust God are the righteous and their faith will be rewarded. As Peter might say, “Where will we go? God has the words of eternal life” (Jn. 6:68).

● Galatians 3:11 In one of his first written epistles, if not the very first one, Paul combats the false teaching that circumcision is necessary for salvation, or that law-keeping is a prerequisite for Kingdom entrance. Not only does Paul question their legalistic logic as it misaligns with their experience (3:1-5), but he also points to Scripture: Abraham’s faith made him righteous (Gen. 15:6; Gal. 3:6-7), not his law-keeping or his circumcision. To drive his point home, Paul goes to Deuteronomy where those who live under law are under a curse (27:26) because the law is about performance where, when properly graded, we’re deemed a failure. Instead, quoting from Habakkuk, righteousness is about faith. For the Galatians once they embraced circumcision and rule-keeping as a mandate to justify themselves before God, they stopped living by faith.

● Romans 1:17 Underscoring the saving power of the Gospel (1:16), as God reveals his righteousness, Paul links righteousness and faith together in the Habakkuk verse. If Romans was written to a church struggling to keep the Jewish and Gentiles Christians together and unified, then the focus of the gospel’s power is about ethnic diversity in the church. Salvation is for everyone who believes and the Christian life is one rooted in faith from beginning to end. So Paul’s concern is not about how righteous people live, which is Habakkuk’s concern, but on how sinful people become righteous regardless of ethnic background.

● Hebrews 10:38 For fear of the faithful shrinking back from their faith, the Hebrews writer offers a homily of encouragment (13:22) to keep them on track. As the writer nears the end of a section by recalling earlier days when this community of believers stood their ground in faith, he worries they will throw it all away (10:32-36). So to build a bridge that leads to a discussion of faith for those who endured (11:1-4), the writer quotes from Isaiah and Habakkuk. Isaiah 26:20-21 has messianic overtones and quoting it here may reference the Second Coming. Attaching Habakkuk 2:4 to Isaiah means that the righteous ones continue to persevere, patiently waiting for God to act for the good of his people. Specifically, believing Jesus will return one day, even if he delays or difficult days lie ahead, they continue to live, act and walk in faith.

So we find ourselves as the “righteous living by faith,” and wherever our journey is taking us at the time depends on how we view faith. If our national, political infrastructure falls apart, or we fear it’s falling apart, then we trust God to hold us together (Hab. 2:4). If we reject the tallying of rule-keeping as a means for salvation and accept righteousness on faith, then we trust God to save us, not ourselves (Gal. 3:11). If we give our sinful life over to God then he’ll make us righteous (Rom 1:17). If we continue to endure hardship in faith while awaiting his return then we live in faith (Heb. 10:38).

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

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No Turning Back! In the Face of a Fast Forwarding Faith

Where we cast our eyes is generally where our bodies tend to follow. So Jesus tells his disciples that looking back makes as much sense as a farmer plowing a field, who instead of looking forward keeps turning around to see where he’s been (Lk. 9:62). A straight line will never be plowed if the farmer keeps looking behind him/her. So we keep our eyes looking forward.

When Lot fled Sodom and Gomorrah, the angels told him not to look back, instead run to the hills. But too much was going on behind them as a sulfur fire hailed down on the twin cities. Their past was calling to them louder than their future was. Lot’s wife couldn’t fight the temptation. She slowed her pace and turned her head so that her eyes and heart was now in sync. Immediately she was turned into a pillar of salt (Gen. 19:26).

When the Israelites crossed the Red Sea it was supposed to be their own burning of the bridges back to Egypt. And for a while it was. But wilderness wanderings was difficult. Hot in the sun with the heat escaping at sunset to significantly cooler temperatures, especially in the winter, conditions were far from ideal, even for nomads. With the wind blowing, sand of plenty and water’s scarcity, it’s not farfetched to believe that Egypt then was viewed better than the Promised Land there. For their short-sighted rebellion, God gave the next generation the Promised Land (Num. 12).

A magnetic force pulls us to keep looking back. An addict longing to be clean keeps going back into the pills, the porn, or the booze. A small child at camp painfully begs for her parents to come get her, even though they try to convince her to stay. A Christian seeking grace cannot get untangled from the legalistic doctrine ingrained in their minds. The abusive wounds of the past keep haunting us as we relive those moments in our minds, instead of allowing for healing to take place. We make a clean break from our past only for our past to keep enticing us, luring us, guilting us to come back to them, while God continues calling us to a better promise.

Because we’re so inclined to turn back and look, Paul reminds the Philippians to keep pressing forward. Our future is before us, not behind us (Phil. 3:12-14). So important is it to move forward that he tells them (i.e., us) twice to press on. Part of moving forward is to forget the past – not to ignore it, but never allowing it to control us. We accept a memory wipe. Neither the bad we’ve done or experienced nor the good we’ve embraced define us. Because we’ve failed doesn’t mean we quit, and when we’ve succeeded, it doesn’t mean we’ve arrived. We just keep pressing forward.

On the Columbia River Gorge, about thirty miles east of Portland, is Multnomah Falls. With a reach of 600 some feet, it’s the tallest waterfall in the continental United States (I’ve often imagined what Lewis & Clark thought when they first laid eyes on her as they rafted down the Columbia River). A path has been carved and paved from the bottom of the falls to the top of the falls. The two plus mile hike weaves back and forth and takes the hiker about forty-five minutes to complete the course. The view is beyond spectacular.

When Cile and I visited my family in 2002 we went to The Falls but never attempted the climb. Jonathan and Matthew would not have made it. Nine years later, we found ourselves in Portland with the goal of making the trip to the top. But even with Matthew being twelve years of age, the climb was still steep and hard. Scattered along the path were benches to rest and catch a view of God’s handiwork along the Gorge. We took full advantage of those benches. We were often tired and easily worn out, if not discouraged. But we pressed on and refused to turn back. We came not to quit half way up the path, but to reach the summit of The Falls. And once there, every single step was worth it.

So Jesus calls us to keep moving our faith forward. For “though the hills are steep and the valley is deep, and we may be weary with the outlook dreary, the up-look always points to victory.” We press on because what God has for us lays in the future not in the past. We press on because Jesus is leading us. We press on without a U-Turn as the song says, “No turning back. No turning back.”

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

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The Wilderness: Somewhere Between Egypt and Canaan

As Israel journeyed through the wilderness of the Sinai Peninsula, they were hit with two sides of reality. On one side, they were no longer slaves in Egypt. They were liberated while humiliating their opponents as they left town. After 400 years in bondage, freedom felt like a cold drink of water on a hot muggy day. On the other side, they were a long way from their destination, the Promised Land. Sure it was only a ten day journey, but God had other plans. Their stop off was a two year layover at Mt. Sinai. And as we know, their two year stop turned into 40 years of character building.

Forty years is a longtime to find yourself in the wilderness. You’re not bound to slavery, but you’re not home, either. The wilderness is unbearably hot during the daylight hours with little protection from the sun’s heat. But then when the sun sets the heat escapes the sand and it gets cold, really cold at night. Water is scarce as oasis appear as frequently as a gas station on a highway in the open plains of South Dakota. And then there’s the sand itself. It’s coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere. Not like Canaan where everything is soft and smooth.

We’ve often experienced the wilderness. It’s that in between time. The teenage years define the wilderness as the youth is not a child but not quite an adult. You’ve quit your job but you won’t start your next employment opportunity for another month. By placing the ring on her finger means you’ve redefined the relationship for you’re no longer in a dating relationship, but you’re not married either. Our time on earth holds a wilderness feel to it. We live between Jesus’ appearances on earth. We don’t live at the time of his Incarnation, while we long for him to return and claim his own.

Wilderness time is a needed respite. It’s a time to slow down, recharge the soul’s batteries and refocus our priorities. When Israel entered the wilderness, God needed to take a loosely collected family and begin the process of giving them an identity. More importantly, they needed an identity tied to him. So he led them to Mt. Sinai to give them the Law and to establish his covenant with them.

But the wilderness can wear on you. For Israel, they kept looking back at what they left behind instead of focusing on where they were headed. They glossed over the slavery part of Egypt while fixating on the homes they left and the (bad) food they ate. Instead of anticipating the land flowing of milk and honey and living in homes they would not build, they settled for the past. So consumed with returning to Egypt, they staged a coupe before God intervened (Num. 14).

Most of 2020 has been spent in the wilderness. It’s been difficult, lonely and filled with mixed messages. We’ve left behind a life we knew and a life of familiarity. Since then we’ve been staggering, almost feeling like we’re lost. We want to go back. We want things to return to normal. I miss dinner with friends. I miss sporting events. I miss hugs. I miss a building filled with people in worship and fellowship.

But life is always about moving forward, not stepping back. Life drives us to the future, not to the past. God always leads us to the Promised Land, not to Egypt. What will that be like when we get through this wilderness to reach the Promised Land? I can’t say. Will there be a semblance of the life we’ve left? Maybe. I hope so. But what I know is that we need to hear and see more faith from those like Joshua and Caleb, who trust God to move us into the future with him, who reminds us to trust him too.

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

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Problem Solving Life

The art of movie making is a disaster in the mix. With so many variables in play, we shouldn’t be surprised how movies bomb in the theater. Actually, with so many variables I am amazed at how many movies succeed. From studios to actors to producers to directors to set builders to script writers and rewrites, the possibility for something going wrong seems inevitable. That anything comes together perfect like a puzzle is amazing in and of itself.

David Sandberg, who directed the hit movie, Shazaam!, says movie making is really about problem solving. Just getting Zachary Levi’s character to fly through a shopping mall is one problem. So you shoot three stunt guys dressed in blue pushing an oversized “tuning fork” with Levi attached to it running through the mall. Then you painstakingly erase all the blue pixels from the scene only to realize too late that crew members were seen in the scene. So in come the CGI guys who add gift bags and mops to the crew members and suddenly they’re shoppers and custodians. Problem solved.

One of the most powerful moments in all of Star Trek became more powerful by accident. Admiral Kirk witnesses his son being murdered by the Klingons. The scene called for him to step back and stumble into his command chair, uttering his line, “You Klingon (explicative)! You murdered my son!” Instead, Shatner tripped on the stage platform and fell backward. Staying in character, he uttered his line making his appeal even more emotional than he would have otherwise. The scene went to print. Problem solved.

Getting through life is often a disaster in the mix. Anything and everything that could go wrong usually does. A couple step into retirement to spend the rest of their lives together, only to discover life cut short from cancer. A professional’s career is secure until the market turns and he’s left without a job. A friendship parts way, maybe over unmet expectations or maybe over politics, and both mourn the loss. Or maybe a pandemic breaks out and people either fall ill or divide even more so because no one trusts anyone or the government. Unsolved problems.

5000 people followed Jesus and when they were hungry he fed them. A blind man sat on the road and he cried out to Jesus and he healed him. The disciples were fearing for their lives in a boat on the lake when Jesus calmed the storm. A multitude of people listened, wanting answers to living and Jesus delivered the Word of God. The world needed redeemed so the Lamb of God took away their sins. Problems solved.

Sandberg admits that “every scene has its own problems to solve no matter the scene.” The job of the director is to solve the problems as they materialize. No melt downs and instead, a non-anxious presence. Sometimes the problems end up creating the best solutions for the movie that the writers never imagined.

Not long ago Andy Stanley was attributed to a post on FaceBook. In it he recalls talking to an 87-year-old who lived through polio, diphtheria, Vietnam protests and is still enchanted with life. In the midst of this COVID-19 Pandemic, one might expect him to feel the anxiety and pressure brought on by this disease. He said, “I learned a long time ago to not see the world through printed headlines. I see the world through the people that surround me. I see the world with the realization that we love big. Therefore, I choose (to direct my own scenes): ‘Husband loves wife today;’ “Family drops everything to come to Grandma’s bedside.’” He pats (Andy’s) hand, “Old man makes new friend.” Problem solved.

So life is not about solving problems, it’s about framing your life. But most encounters we experience bring on problems. And we have a choice. We can easily become exasperated and discouraged, throwing our hands up in the air in despair. Or we can make do and reframe the scene to capture a better moment. And who knows, maybe the problems we face create the best solutions for our life that we never imagined.

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

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The Dangerously Necessary Journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

Sheep are vulnerable. Without protection they’re easy prey for predators. Without guidance they’ll break from the flock and find themselves lost in the wilderness. Without green pastures and quiet waters starvation is imminent. Without oil poured on an open wound infections will set in. Sheep are defenseless.

Valleys are dangerous. Predators hide in the shadows. Narrow paths make for treacherous journeys. Food and water may be scarce. Finding the sheep pinned in offers no escape route if attacked. With the long journey, sometimes you wonder if you’ll ever make it. Valleys are perilous.

Still, shepherds lead their flocks of sheep through the valley of the shadow of death. They must in order to secure greener pastures and fresher water for their flocks.

The valley of the shadow of death is a real place. Faith is challenged. Fears are exposed. Loneliness prevails. Danger is heightened.

We’ve all walked through this valley. You’ve been there and so have I. It’s never our first choice, but it’s an inevitable place to journey. Sickness. Death. Abandonment. Joblessness. Poverty. Backstabbing. Finances. Such a journey tests every fiber of our faith because every fiber of our faith needs testing.

When we find ourselves walking through the valley of the shadow of death, we remember how God’s rod and staff bring comfort. The rod was used to fend off predators, while the staff was used to gently prod and guide the sheep. With its hook at the end of the staff, it could be a rescue device for the sheep. Thus, with the Shepherd’s protective rod and staff present, the sheep will not fear the lurking evil.

When we find ourselves walking through the valley of the shadow of death, we recall how Jesus endured this same valley. As he prayed in the garden, he prayed for the cup he started drinking from to be taken from him (Lk. 22:42). Like sweat drops of blood, the anxiety took hold of Jesus. Instead of removing the cup, God sent an angel to strengthen Jesus (Lk. 22:43-44). While hanging on the cross, Jesus quoted Psalm 22:1, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mk. 15:34) to express the status of his faith. Even the Hebrews writer commentary on Jesus is that his suffering helped make him perfect for our eternal salvation (Heb. 5:8-9). So while we’re called to the valley, we walk a road he himself has walked.

When we find ourselves walking through the valley of the shadow of death, we recount the presence, not only of the Shepherd who leads the sheep, but also our fellow sheep who walk with path with us. The Psalmist is clear that the Shepherd leads the sheep. Shepherds have flocks, not a single sheep. Safety thrives in numbers. So we walk this path with the shepherd and with the flock, knowing many other sheep have come this way. We walk paths others have trod. We face the same danger. We endure the same struggles. We are on this journey together.

We are vulnerable and defenseless. The road we walk is often dangerous and perilous. But we are not alone. We have each other. We have those who have gone before us. And we have a Shepherd. And we are going to make it to greener pastures with fresher water.

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

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When the Righteous Wear the Ring of the Evil-One

When JRR Tolkien set out to write a sequel to The Hobbit, he ran into a couple of obstacles. First, he never intended to write a follow up to the story and felt like he had no place to go. That said, his public was calling for more information and stories about Hobbits and Middle-earth. Secondly, his background of Middle-earth, The Silmarillion, was never a great narrative, and without a cohesive plot, it kept getting bogged down. His publishers were not excited about going to press with it.

Backed into a corner, Tolkien began thinking creatively how to write another Middle-earth novel. He began wondering about the ring Bilbo found in Gollum’s cave. What if that ring was far more important than just a magical ring, allowing its bearer to turn invisible? So began the backstory to his trilogy novel, The Lord of the Rings.

Briefly, Sauron is the villain who learns the craft of forging rings by the elves. He himself made a series of powerful rings to present them as gifts to the rulers of Middle-earth: men, elves and dwarves. Then, in the fires of Mt. Doom, he forged the One Ring of Power. In it he poured all of his malice, hatred and wicked evil. As long as he wore the One Ring, he controlled all of those who wore the rings he gave as gifts.

The Ring, though, had been lost. As Tolkien began writing his sequel, he decided that the simple ring Bilbo found in Gollum’s cave was the One Ring of Sauron. Because it was in the possession of Sméagol/Gollum, it gave him an unnatural long life and lived some 500 years with the Ring. But the Ring’s “unnatural long life” corrupted Sméagol and malformed him into the hideous creature, Gollum. When Sméagol found the Ring he was one of the river folk like a Hobbit, but after 500 years of holding onto the Ring, he was the nightmarish creature, Gollum. Bilbo, who carried the Ring for sixty years, was on the same path as Gollum. It was giving him an unnaturally long life, but it was already beginning to rot Bilbo from the inside.

So comes the decisive moment in Tolkien’s mind, explored at the Council of Elrond. The Ring of Sauron will only destroy and can never be used for good. It corrupts all who wear it because it has one Master. And it, the Ring, is trying to return to its Master. While the story unfolds, those who sought to use the Ring, even for good, were utterly corrupted the Ring, as powerful as it is, can only be used for evil purposes. It cannot save, but only destroy.

Herein, I fear, is where Christians have struggled and even failed. The temptation to wear the evil Ring on our finger is almost irresistible. In our desire to accomplish good, how many times have we chosen evil as the venue for our crusade, and then justified our behavior? Gossip, anger, lies, deception, lust, abuse, backstabbing, etc. have corrupted our so-called, “higher moral ground.” Even more so when we’ve partnered with people and organizations standing against our core values because we fear without their help we won’t win the “war.”

Paul was concerned about such alliances. In a passage often mistaken for instructions on marriage he questions Christians seeking union with pagans. Yes, 2 Corinthians 6 can be applied to marriage, but nowhere does Paul mention “marriage” in the passage. He does ask a question: “What do righteousness and wickedness have in common” (2 Cor. 6:14b). His question is rhetorical, because the answer is “Nothing.” Righteousness and evil have absolutely nothing in common. So when the righteous decide to use evil as a means to for good, only more evil unfolds. When the righteous chose to wear the evil Ring, instead of the good we hope to accomplish, we end up being used by the evil. Once used, destruction always follows in its wake. Always.

So the next time you think that using evil to accomplish good, think about the times Frodo slipped the Ring on his finger. Because when you sat there (reading the book or watching the movies) and was telling Frodo to stop using the Ring, ask yourself why we ourselves are so willing to put it on our finger?

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

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Leap of Faith

Choosing the ideal place for a pickup game of football can be a challenge for any sixth grade boy. Then again, they can turn a living room into a practice field on a count of “three.”

Being raised in Portland, Oregon, given the amount of daily rain accumulating allowed for great football games in the mud. However, getting all filthy during school hours was frowned upon, if not discouraged. So what are a group of boys, in recess on a drizzly day with a football going to do?

My elementary school offered two options for boys to play on a paved surface for a friendly game of touch football. The first was a long but narrow strip in the front of the school. It just wasn’t wide enough for football. The other was the patio in front of the building, where we played foursquare, jump rope and tag. It was wide enough but not very deep. Windows nearby were a potential problem as well as getting the ball stuck up on the patio roof, about eight feet tall.

As fate would have it, a group of sixth grade boys – Rodney, Brooks, Leon, Monte, Waylon – were playing a pickup game of football in a drizzly, wet day, when the ball somehow got booted up on the patio roof and wasn’t coming down. Game over. Ideas were thrown about how to retrieve the ball, including asking the janitor, Mr. Dodds. But he was elderly and wasn’t about to go up there. The best idea was to lift someone to the roof, but they needed someone small, wiry and light weight.

That’s where I enter the story. I was a first grader who fit the bill and just happened to be walking by (probably returning from the bathroom). The boys called out to me, asking me to help them out, to which I was more than eager to lend my service. They hoisted me to the roof where I easily retrieved the football and saved their game. For a moment, I was the hero. But then I had to come down, and that’s where I froze. Time was of the essence and suddenly I was flagged for “delay of game,” and must have become the villain.

From an eye-point vantage, getting up is easy because you’re visually near the target. But coming down looks like your peering into the Grand Canyon. I had two options. First, slide down on my belly to give me more control over the “fall,” but risk pulling the gutters off the building. We rejected that option. Better yet, jump into the arms of the biggest boy in the group. I knew these boys. They were good guys who hung out with my brothers. But they were sixth graders. And the biggest boy was Leon who couldn’t catch COVID-19 even if an infected person sneezed on him.  

So there I was, standing between two choices I refused to make. The boys were calling for me to jump. They reached out their arms. They made their promises. They guaranteed I’d be caught. They wanted me to take a leap of faith, but I wasn’t gonna budge.

Such moments make me appreciate the disciples when they saw Jesus walking on the water (Mt. 14:22-36). They not only had to process the unbelievable: Jesus making strides on the waves as if it was laminate flooring. But they also had to decide how safe it was to step out of the boat, all in a matter of moments. They froze. At least eleven of them did. Peter accepts the challenge until committed, he sees the waves, and then he freezes. But ultimately, that’s what we call faith. Beyond the fear, and before the pride, you trust that the person telling you to jump will catch you. Or you trust the one calling you from the sea that if you focus on him, you can walk on water. And if he’s Jesus, you know you won’t slip through his fingers.

My oldest brother, Steve, walked by and saw the scene. He was a seventh grader and was changing classes. The boys informed him of the situation, how I was stuck up on the roof and wouldn’t come down. He came over, looked me in the eyes, extended his arms and said, “Jump, Jon. I’ll catch you.” Without even hesitating, I leaped safely into his arms. I realized, maybe not then but certainly now, that choosing who to trust in your “leap of faith” is the game-changer for you to live by faith.

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