Category: Manna In The Morning

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Masquerade!

Like an intermission to a stage play, the owners of the Palais Garnier Opre House felt the reprieve from the ghost who intimidated them. Incompetent in their management of the production and property, they decided to boost morale by throwing a party. A ball. A masquerade ball. Intended to be a prelude to the hopeful peace of the new opera season, it unfolded more like an interlude to the escalating fear terrorized by the phantom residing beneath the opera house.

As the cast gathered in a festive mood, wearing costumes and masks, they sang of “paper faces on parade” and “(hiding) your face so the world will never find you.” Yes, they were hiding, but for different reasons. André and Firmin were hiding their ineptitude management skills hoping to make a profit. The cast were hiding their deepest fears, knowing that cost cuts were driving productions, while dreading that the mysterious phantom might return. Christine and Raoul were hiding their engagement. The Phantom, whose hideous facial birth defects were hidden by his mask, would finally come out of the shadows to hide no more.

Masks and costuming have always been a popular feature, a way to conceal one’s true self. From children dressing up to “trick or treat,” to actors on stage performing for an audience, to the popularity of the Comic Cons, we love to gussy up to pretend to be something we’re not. The masquerade appeals to our inner child and creative imagination. When used as a chance to escape and make-believe, while innocently roll-playing, that’s one thing. When used sinisterly to hide one’s true shadowy character, as a tool to manipulate others, that’s a darker scenario. A whole lot darker.

Within the shadowy darkness a costume masquerading as hope and trust emerges to gain confidence, only to victimize the vulnerable. They are, as the tale of Aesop says, only a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

A lone wolf was sitting on a ridge overlooking a flock of sheep. He was hungry and tired, wanting to sink his teeth into a juicy leg of lamb. He salivated at the thought of such a hearty meal. But he was tired, and harnessing the energy to stalk and pursue one of the sheep took more than the strength within him. Still, he was famished, determined to feast on lamb chops by dinnertime. But the “how” evaded him.

His stomach growled while he imagined the meal before him, until he noticed a sheep’s skin behind a bush. Looking at the fleece before him and the flock in the valley, an idea began taking shape in his mind. “What if,” he thought to himself. “What if I wore the skin and infiltrated the flock before sunset? I could choose the choice of the litter.” With renewed energy, the wolf began phase one of his plan: wear the sheepskin. While he was able to put the skin on, it was clear that he wore a size forty-long, and the sheepskin was a size thirty-six regular. Awkwardly completed, he moved to the second phase of his plan: infiltrate the flock. If he had to look the part, he also needed to sound the part. It took him a while to capture the bleat vocalization, though it still sounded more like a wolf cry. “Bawooooo” echoed on the hills overlooking the flock of sheep. It would have to do, besides the sheep were not known for being the brightest of animals.

The wolf crept into the flock’s vicinity and began to casually eat grass, nearly choking while he was grazing. If the sheep were aware of his presence, they showed no concern. The wolf’s plan was in play, unfolding even better than he hoped.

When evening came, the shepherd herded the flock into the pen and locked the gate. The excitement from the wolf was almost more than he could endure. As he hoped, he had the pick of the litter, and he wasn’t going to waste it. He inspected each one. “This one was too small, that one was too old,” he thought to himself, “but this one was just right.” As he was about to sink his salivated teeth into its flesh, he heard the gate behind him unlock. Soon, the voice of the shepherd was heard. “Time for dinner. Which one should I fix?” As he inspected his flock, the wolf heard him say, “This one is too small, and that one is too old. This one,” reaching for the wolf, “looks just right.”

It was at this time that the shepherd discovered that his sheep was not a sheep but a wolf, while the wolf learned a little too late that pretending to be something you are not, is very dangerous.

The threat within the church at Corinth was real, a threat like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a destructive evil masquerading as religious charisma. Like cancer it was metastasizing throughout the body. Between the undermining and character assassination of Paul presented through the magnetic charm of those infiltrating the church, shifting loyalties were felt. Paul began to push back in some of his strongest words yet.

While dripping with sarcasm, he had previously called them “super-apostles” (2 Cor. 11:5), as if they were some heroes of faith. Paul wasn’t serious, and they weren’t super. They weren’t apostles either, at least not by the same definition Paul used. Instead, Paul ups the ante as he calls them “false apostles” and “deceitful workmen” (v. 13). Instead of being shaped by God, they shaped themselves. These men marketed themselves as great faithful protagonists in God’s story, when in reality, they were the evil villains intentionally preying on the goodness and weakness of the church. “Intent” is the key word. They weren’t naively misinformed but deliberately encroaching on Paul’s ministry.

 To underscore the deceptive nature of this threat Paul drops the word “masquerade” three times, unveiling the true faces behind their masks. First, they are masquerading as apostles of Christ (v. 13). Unlike an apostleship ordained by God’s will (1:1), Paul questions the authenticity of their calling, advertising something they are not. Seeking financial support from the Corinthians may be one of the keys to understanding their exploitive nature. Paul, while accepting support from others, consistently refused money from Corinth. On the other hand, these antagonists came to Corinth with their hands wide open. Greed, not generosity, was driving their ministry.  

Secondly, with a direct line to the source of evil, Paul calls out Satan as one who masquerades as an angel of light (v. 14). Hope is a beacon of light as it cuts through the darkness of sin, guilt, and shame. Jesus himself is light who calls his followers to be a light bringing glory to God (Jn. 8:12; 9:5; Mt. 5:14-16). Scripture is filled with the angels of God on errands of mercy. Yet, as Satan so easily does, he comes appearing good and pleasing to the eye, only too late do we discover the dark monster behind the angelic light. Discernment on the part of the church is not only needed but required. Not all that looks good is good.

Finally, Satan and these antagonists are linked together as they masquerade as servants of righteousness (v. 15). The two are joined at the hip, teaming up to spread their corruption throughout the church. By now the only question at stake is whether or not they really know that they are working for Satan. Only in their arrogance do they live in denial.

When I began my ministry in the 1990s, a friend pointed me to a book by Kenneth Haugk entitled, Antagonists in the Church: How to Identify and Deal with Destructive Conflict. The book was filled with advice and horrific stories of church members who were abusive and vindictive to the body of Christ. Key elements to the book include that not all conflict is destructive since it’s normal and can even be healthy. Also, if someone is antagonistic outside of church, they will certainly be antagonistic within the church. Finally, never give voice or authority to those who stir up trouble, for they will divide and destroy the congregation.

The book was written from the perspective of the pastor. Haugk wasn’t wrong, and his analysis helped other pastors navigate the sometimes-difficult, if not toxic, waters of church life. People can be difficult, but so can church leaders. The book needs to be updated to unmask church leaders who abuse their own congregations. Stories abound of senior pastors hiding church funds, and youth pastors grooming children, and church board members using intimidation tactics to keep people in line, while a cult of personality fuels the climate. Instead of serving the people, the church is only a pawn for the leadership to exploit and to abuse.

If Paul were addressing such issues, he might call them out for the masquerade they have embraced. Ultimately, he would neither pull punches, nor worry about his poll numbers. The wolf in sheep’s clothing would be laid bare, reiterating the serious words of the apostle, “their end will be what their actions deserve” (v. 15b).

When Frodo arrived at Bree, he expected to find Gandalf waiting for him. Instead, he’s given a letter with instructions. Contained within the letter is the Riddle of Strider, a poem written by Frodo’s uncle, Bilbo, which reads in part, “All that glitters is not gold.”

Mesmerized and drawn to something bright that sparkles, appearing like gold, is a continual temptation. Failing to recognize the value beneath appearances forces many to miss the true worth of an individual. Charisma often overrides character, and Corinth fell for that trap like it was sprung for them. Frodo would be tempted to ignore Strider’s significance because Rangers had chosen a life in the wild, a life others look upon in distrust, even though they were working in stealth to keep communities safe. Even more, beneath the Strider Ranger masquerade was Aragorn, heir to the throne of Gondor. The gold in Strider never glittered, until one realized the gold beneath the character was the king in waiting.

Maybe J.R.R. Tolkien could have addressed this crisis in Corinth. Maybe. Assuredly, the mask we wear or the glitter that sparkles may only be a façade before us. As Tolkien notes, and Paul warns, to ensure that what we are drawn to is of real substance, and before it’s too late, we must discover the character that drives the charisma. If we don’t, we’ll may find that we are nothing more than prey for the wolf beneath the sheepskin.

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

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The Why

Every year Heartland Hospice conducts a “Why” campaign. Material is produced. Education is provided. Buttons with the question, “Ask me about my Why” are worn. Personal testimonies that led to service in the hospice profession are encouraged. Out of those stories a common theme emerges. A nurse or nurses’ aid often have cared for a loved one at life’s end like a parent or grandparent. So moved by their experience, they devote themselves to caring for others traveling on that part of life’s journey.

My own journey into hospice chaplaincy had no profound “why” moment, as I never intended to segue from the pulpit to another ministry. At least not till I was seeking a post-retirement ministry. But life shifts, and with the stress of church work in the context of political toxicity exploited by navigating through COVID, the door on fulltime pulpit preaching closed. And as I was piloting uncharted waters, a friend sent me a link to Heartland Hospice who was looking to add another chaplain to their team. Within a couple of weeks of redesigning a resume, posting it on the link, and interviewing, I found a new, and hopefully final, profession. Hospice Chaplain.

Within a couple of years of making visits, phone calls, and sitting with families while loved ones passed, my “Why” began to materialize. Though not as explicit as others, the purpose was discovered through the interaction with those facing end of life realities. Having the privilege of sharing such intimacy, I found purpose in walking with the patients and families as we made this final journey together, ensuring along the way that God’s comforting presence is felt. Sometimes that journey has been filled with more joy than sorrow, while other times the sorrow overwhelms the joy. Either way, providing spiritual support through the journey has solidified my purpose for hospice ministry. My “Why,” and the motivation to show up for work every day, is to act as a fellow companion with a patient or family offering hope as they face their end-of-life journey.

Paul’s conversion story played a significant role in his “Why.” While on the road to Damascus, where he was seeking to arrest followers of Jesus, he was confronted by the one whom he was persecuting. Experiencing the resurrected Christ (Act. 9:4), he pivoted from being the greatest threat to the Church to being its greatest advocate. While the encounter began to shape his character, it was not the only source of motivation for his ministry. Something else was in play.

As Paul was fleshing out the temporal and frailty of life in 2 Corinthians 5, and how our goal in life is to please God, he offers a sobering reminder for the deeper “Why” in his ministry. At one point in the future, he says all of us will assemble before the throne room of Jesus where we will appear before his judgment seat (5:10). The “judgment seat” is a raised platform where the throne of a king is positioned. If standing before a king is not intimidating enough, towering above his subjects only creates more fear and trepidation. And that is intentional.

The story is told of a professor who held an open-door policy for students to challenge the grades he assigned. The catch was when they entered his office, he offered to let them sit on a soft cushioned couch. While they sank in the sofa, he towered over them while leaning against his desk. It was a gentle power move which intimidated his students who often backed down from any complaint they had about his grading.

Cile and I once had a similar experience. In a “meet-and-greet” Sunday afternoon where I was interviewing at a church, a couple came to spend time with us. He was one of the deacons, and out of the goodness of his heart, he offered us the better seating. We sat on a soft comfortable couch. And it was comfortable. We spent over an hour sharing dreams of that church and the potential it had. Overall, the visit was enjoyable, except for one small detail. He was a big man, and whoever sat on the couch sunk in the cushions. We spent the time looking up to a man who, though was a gentle giant, his presence overwhelmed us. Yea, we felt intimated. We laughed about it later, but we were not laughing at that moment.

If we can be intimidated so easily by a big man on a chair, or a professor in his office, how much more intimidating is it for a King, or in this case the King, to position himself on a throne built on elevated steps. In his entire majesty, he looks down on those brought before him to grant approval or disapproval. Yes, very intimating moment indeed.

Within this judgment seat imagery, Paul includes two phrases that are easily missed but carry heavy weight. First, while the apostle writes to the church, he is inclusive of who will stand before the judgment seat. “All must appear,” he says. “All” does not divide groups into believers or non-believers, saved and unsaved, or faithful and unfaithful. The ease to point fingers by saying “They will be held accountable” but “we won’t be” fails to comprehend the message of 2 Corinthians. By now, enough of the pot has been stirred in that church, the divisiveness and attacks against Paul, that he must remind them that no one is exempt from the judgment seat. Not even himself.

Secondly, at the judgement seat, we will receive what we rightly deserve. Accountability will be upheld. No favoritism. No loopholes. No more appeals. No chance to corrupt the judge. Talking our way out of a hole or threatening retaliation will be useless. Instead, we will be righteously adjudicated. God will look over our lives and evaluate what we have done, the good and the bad. By focusing on what we have done, Paul bypasses thoughts or motives. Here, God is not interested in our theology or our doctrine but driven by our actions possibly born out of our theology and doctrine.

The good that we do will be applauded. Nothing is more satisfying than the opportunity of seeing a warm smile break across God’s face, while hearing him refer to us as his “good and faithful servant” (Mt. 25:21). Knowing God loves the good we do drives us to continue doing “more good,” which brings honor to him. On the other hand, facing God, while he outlines all the “bad” we’ve done, is a fearful moment of trepidation.

At this point the ease of pivoting to a fearful exploration of hell might be made without resistance. It’s not, but some might make that shift. Many often do as their message is seeded by fear mongering. Far too common to find congregants being motivated in discipleship that has been driven more by fear than by faith. Fear of the culture. Fear of our neighbors. Fear of other denominations. Fear of the government. Fear of not following every commandment God listed. Fear that one will miss out on salvation because, though they clicked “I agree,” they failed to actually read the “Terms and Conditions” for salvation. The irony is that fear, instead of faith, tends to permeate throughout the messaging of those claiming faith.

The biggest use of fear is the image of the fires of hell as an eternity of never-ending torturous punishment, which hovers over any discussion of Judgment Day. Turning up the thermostat is almost a prerequisite to preaching, and preachers seem to thrive on the heat. Fear does bring positive results, and at best, they are short lived. The long-term effects are detrimental to spiritual health. Using fear has proven to be a poor tool of motivation, carrying with it unwanted guilt and shame. Dangling people over the flames of hell only reinforces the angry God image instead of one who is compassionate and forgiving. Or for 2 Corinthians, a God of all comfort (1:3). At times it almost feels like the saved celebrate the destiny of the unsaved. Almost.

In both 1 & 2 Corinthians Paul is silent on hell or eternal punishment. Of all the churches known for their dysfunction and rebellion, the church in Corinth leads the way. If any church needed a thorough exploration of hell to get them back on the right path, it was Corinth. Yet, Paul neither speaks of hell nor hangs their eternal destiny over them.* Never. Likely, Paul held such an assurance with God and salvation that driven by fear of any kind was beyond his comprehension.

What happens after meeting Jesus at the judgment seat is left unanswered. With the focus now unshackled from the fearful eternal destiny tied to heaven or hell, it’s on the moment of reckoning. We will come face to face with God who will either be pleased or not pleased with what we have done in our lives. For Paul, at least in this passage, that is the farthest he will surmise. He will go to the judgment seat and go no further.

While fear is not Paul’s “Why,” others seem driven by it. Instead, Paul’s “Why” is that he will stand before Jesus to report on all the good and bad he has done, and so will we. What separates Paul is his faith as he anticipates a time when God will praise him for the good he has done. A praise, not as a means to earn salvation, but as an evaluation of what we did with the salvation God gave us.

So out of faith, not fear, we go out and continue to do good. We use our words to uplift, encourage, and support those feeling the weight of the world on their shoulders. We speak hope to the hopeless. We appreciate the smallest of kindness. We buy someone coffee because we know they are facing a difficult day. We mow our neighbor’s lawn because the illness they face keeps them indoors. We give some food to those standing on the corner because it’s the least we can do. We buy extra groceries to give away. And maybe, just maybe, in the end we’ll not only discover our “Why,” but baste in the smile that breaks across God’s approving face.

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

*See 2 Cor. 10:13-15

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The Strength and Beauty within Us

Suffering is interwoven with the tapestry of life. It’s hard to appreciate the picture without seeing suffering as a complementary shading or outline. Remove one single strand of suffering and likely nothing changes in your tapestry or life. You probably couldn’t tell the difference in the picture. Remove all the strands of suffering from your tapestry, and the image on the tapestry is distorted beyond recognition leaving the wall-hanging in shreds. What once was beautiful is now ruined.

Suffering, some believe, plays a significant role in character development. We are who we are because of the fires that we endure. Once you remove something from your life, for good or for ill, those experiences no longer shape you. Something else does. Who’s to say but that that “something else” would be better than what the suffering produced?

An urban legend tells the story of a man who stumbled upon a chrysalis in which a caterpillar was beginning to break itself from a chrysalis to emerge as a butterfly. He watched the process unfold as the creature struggled and painfully broke free from the chrysalis. The creature anguished over the process of breaking free. The newly born butterfly finally found its freedom and majestically flew away with the beautiful colors on its wings. The man found a second chrysalis and couldn’t bear to rewatch the struggle. So, he pulled out a knife and cut some slits in the shell-casing so that the butterfly could easily emerge, devoid of all the painful struggle. To his horror, what emerged was a disformed creature unable to survive outside of the chrysalis. It died shortly thereafter. Part of the struggle to break free gives the butterfly its strength and beauty.

While I am no Entomologist, apparently a lot of truth is wrapped up in this story. In the struggle the butterfly’s body releases certain chemicals to its body giving it the beautiful wings and strength to survive outside the chrysalis. The message is clear in that pain and suffering help create strength and beauty, not only in the butterfly, but also within us. If we want to embrace the transformed beauty, then we must also embrace the pain and suffering that helps form our beauty.

Western thought, particularly in America, struggle with the theology and praxis of the enduring pain and suffering. We tend to avoid any discomfort by looking for alternative approaches. We medicate or self-medicate. We throw ourselves into entertainment or leisure just to escape reality, even for a moment. We marvel at our grandparents or great grandparents when we hear their stories of the Great Depression, or how the Jews endured the horror of the holocaust and the concentration camps, which is beyond our ability to comprehend.

A mindset of avoiding pain and suffering eventually undermines a healthy theology for pain and suffering. God is directly linked to the source because we fundamentally believe good things happen to good people, while bad things happen to bad people. Suffering, then, is the result of bad choices or being a bad person. If you experience pain and suffering, then the supposed reason is that you have, at worse, done something wrong in your life and now you are being punished for it, or at best, you are being taught a life-lesson. Good luck trying to find an answer to the lesson you’re being taught. The problem, of course, is that Job’s friends used that same argument to accuse him of a secret sin. In the end God was not buying what they were selling.

So maybe pain and suffering are linked to sin and are used to punish us. Maybe, but not always. And maybe pain and suffering are acting like a schoolteacher teaching us a valuable lesson on life. Again, maybe, but not always, and what’s the lesson to learn? Maybe pain and suffering are developing character within us. Sure, as long as we are willing participants. Or again, maybe dark forces are at work in this world, and we are the pawns and casualties of their overreach. Possibly, and sometimes likely. And sometimes God is inviting us into a participation of Christ’s sufferings, for as both Paul and Peter both state, if we get to share in the glory of Christ, then we get to share in his sufferings as well (Rom 8:17; 1 Pet. 4:13).

Stick a pin in that thought as we will come back to it . . .

In 2 Corinthians 4:10-12 Paul oscillates between death and life when he says,

We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death . . . so then death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

Something is going on with death, while at the same time something is happening in life. Those two concepts are working together in tandem, not necessarily working against each other.

Focusing on the word death, our English translations provide only one possible generic understanding while the Greek has two words to signify two meanings. The difference is nuanced. The first Greek word for death is Thanos, a word made popular in the Marvel Cinematic Universe as the villain in Avengers: Infinity War and Endgame. With the Infinity Gauntlet holding the Infinity Stones, Thanos snaps his finger to kill half the population of the universe. He is appropriately named. Thanos, or Thanotos, appears in Romans 6 when Paul talks about dying to sin. It’s a specific point in time like when our nurses call a Time of Death.

The other Greek word is Nekros, a word given to a James Bond henchmen and assassin in the movie, The Living Daylights. Nekros, in the Greek, sets itself apart from Thanos, as the process of dying. Instead of a specific point in time, Nekros is a duration of time. To say it another way, my mother died (thanos) on July 5, 2024, but looking back it was clear she was dying (nekros) since March when her health started declining. Thus, in our hospice ministry, while we engage our patients in death, far more times it is in Nekros than it is in Thanos.

Come back to that pin as the analogy embraces suffering.  

Imagine for a moment stepping into the first century and providing care while your loved one is dying. Morphine and Ativan are centuries away from being discovered. Water downed alcohol is available though not always effective as a numbing agent, while certain narcotics were known and used, but not for the general public. No effective means existed to manage pain or numb the body. Your loved one is transitioning, and instead of a quiet peaceful dying process, it is filled with moaning from pain and fear for what is happening. Through death your loved one is suffering. And that is Paul’s point.

Paul roots everything in Jesus. Here it is no different. The death he speaks about is his participation in the death of Jesus. Yes, the apostle will eventually be executed, but that is not the death he has in mind. He views the sufferings that he endures as his participation in the sufferings of Jesus, and to that end he dies a little every day. The phrase, “. . . we are being handed over to death” (v. 11) sounds eerily like the gospels description, “they handed (Jesus) over to be crucified.” The life, then, is not about Jesus’ thirty years on the earth, but about his resurrected life. The suffering and death Jesus experienced was never the end of the story, but a way to demonstrate that life is lived beyond suffering and death. Therein lies the hope and beauty found in suffering. Paul may die a little every day, but Paul endures suffering in order to model a resurrected life. Said another way, “I am suffering, but I am still here with you, and I remain here until that day when God calls me home.”

As hospice employees, we live in a context of death, both in Thanos and in Nekros forms. How we deal with the suffering that comes with death speaks to both who we are and the faith we hold dear. Sometimes we succeed. Other times, we fail.

I remember visiting a church leader in the hospital. While the hospital staff did their best to serve him, he was a difficult patient to deal with. He was “that patient,” being rude to the staff by making one derogatory statement after another. He demeaned the nurses and demanded immediate attention and satisfaction. Honestly, I was embarrassed by his behavior. I believe his family was too. For while he was suffering, he sucked the life out of everyone who entered his room. I’m sure they were glad to see him discharged.

Over the years, my mother and I had many heart-to-heart conversations, and one of those was how she approached suffering, especially if she had to enter the hospital. In short, mom tried her hardest to avoid being “that patient.” She painted a smile on her face, even when she felt like weeping. She raised the pitch of her voice to compensate for the depression she felt. She thanked the nurses and staff, often befriending them. Mom could often be a difficult person to deal with, but she also wanted to represent Jesus in the best possible light for people who might never meet him otherwise. Thus, she breathed life into her context of nekros until the day God brought her to thanos.

Pain and suffering help create strength and beauty within us. If we want to embrace the transformed beauty, then we must also embrace the pain and suffering that helps form our beauty. For if we want to experience life, then we must also endure death. How we do so speaks volumes to who we are and to our faith.

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

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When All Is Right with the World

One of my memories burned deep into my childhood comes from church singing the hymn, My God and I. Being an A Cappella church, the singing without instrumental accompaniment meant that voices were showcased. Sometimes it sounded like heaven, and other times . . . well . . . it didn’t. But when large groups of people were present, we sang this hymn as the sopranos led the verse first, the altos came in with the second verse, and the bases carried the third while the entire congregation sang the reframe.

“My God and I go in the field together • We walk and talk, as good friend should and do • We clasp our hands, our voices ring with laughter • My God and I walk through the meadow’s hue”

The lyrics draw a peaceful picture capturing an idyllic scene drawn from the Garden of Eden. Though the line should appear in Genesis 2, we find the line appearing as a set up for the fall of man. Adam and Eve have tasted the forbidden fruit and felt the shame and guilt of their sin. They were exposed, in more ways than one. It was then that they heard the rustle of leaves and the voice of God, calling to them as he was “walking in the garden in the cool of the day” (Gen. 3:8).

Since the beginning, God sought out companionship with the man and woman. Try getting your head wrapped around that concept: the Creator of the universe stepped into creation; the infinite visited the finite; the transcendent one engaged the ordinary; the incomprehensible became incarnational so that he may fellowship with the man and woman. They were usually waiting for him, and that’s worth highlighting. God came to the couple because he wanted to share, to laugh, and to embrace the moment with the two. When together, all was right with the world. That oneness was severed, but not because God wanted it to end.

Fast forward a few generations and we’re introduced to Enoch, the great-grandfather to Noah. The Genesis pattern for genealogies is to present the person, tell how many years he lived before fathering a child, then reveal how many more years he lives before he dies. The pattern holds consistently until Enoch is centerstage. At age sixty-five, Enoch became a father and then lived another three hundred years. Instead of facing his death, Scripture tells us that, “(he) walked with God, then he was no more, because God took him away” (Gen. 5:24).

As Fred Craddock describes, one day Enoch and God were enjoying an afternoon walk. At some point they noted that it was getting late and had failed to realize just how far they had journeyed. God, who was thoroughly enjoying his time with Enoch, because all was right with the world, turned to Enoch and said, “We could turn around and go home.” After a pause, he continued, “but since we are so close to my home, why don’t you just come home with me.” And he did.

Jumping ahead, Abraham and Isaac would endure their own walk together. I cannot even begin to the fathom the journey the father and son made as they trudged up the mountain. Their feet must have felt like lead. They carried fire and wood, but no sacrificial lamb. If Isaac, the child of laughter, wanted to talk and inquire of his father, I sense that a quiet silence encompassed Abraham as he was speechless, trying to comprehend God’s command to sacrifice the boy. Even if God would resurrect his son (Heb 11:19), how he could drive the knife into his son’s chest, was beyond belief.

But the ending of story was rewritten as God now knew Abraham loved and obeyed him more than his only son. God provided a lamb. And now the father and son came down the mountain together. If I could have, I would have had a drone fly above them to zoom in closer to hear their conversation. We might hear their joyous laughter, their steps lighter, and Abraham’s assurance of the goodness of God, for in the moment, all was right with the world.

My dad worked thirty years for Greyhound Lines; twenty of those years were spent in the downtown Portland, Oregon terminal. We were a one car family, so he rode the city bus, Tri-Met, from home to work and back again (we lived over five miles from the depot). Tri-Met didn’t go by our house, so he had to walk to the bus stop, usually on 55th and Belmont, a good half mile from home. 

I remember being too small to walk down the stairs to our street to wait for dad, so I sat in the front yard as he emerged from the steps that led from the sidewalk to our home. When I was a little older, I sat on the retaining wall at the sidewalk to wait for dad. I remember the first-time mom allowed me to walk to the corner, where I stood on 55th and Oak Street to wait for him to emerge around the corner from Stark Street, a major traffic thoroughfare. When I was older, I was allowed to venture around the block (actually cutting through our neighbor’s yard). Without crossing the street, I sat on the sidewalk on Stark Street, watching what looked like a mountain before me, waiting for dad’s image to appear on that hill. Finally, the day came when I was old enough to cross Stark Street and climb the hilly 55th Street to Belmont and wait for him to step off the bus to escort him home. Dad always greeted me with the biggest smile and wave.

The anticipation of waiting for dad was like waiting for Christmas. Every second felt like an hour. While standing at the bus stop on Belmont, you could see the bus half a mile down the road. Sometimes the bus wouldn’t stop, or if it did, dad wasn’t riding that bus. I’d have to wait another ten minutes before the next bus came by. As the time passed, all I could do was think about seeing my dad. 

When he finally emerged from the bus, dad’s joyful expression on his face was as bright as the sun, and his smile stretched from ear to ear as if this was the first time he saw me. At that moment he was bigger than life itself, and I was the center of his universe. I’d take his lunch pail; he’d take my hand. And with a bounce in our steps and without any care in the world, we’d walk home. I don’t remember anything we talked about, but that doesn’t matter. For the fifteen-minute walk from the bus stop to home, all was right with the world.

And in the background, you might be able to hear the echo of the chorus singing,

“And he walks with me and he talks with me • and he tells me, ‘I am his own’ • And the joy we share as we tarry there • none other has ever known.”

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

* While I often made this trip alone, other times my sister, Deanna, joined me on this adventure.

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According to God’s Grace

They called him “Skipper,” and I was his Gilligan. Ed Black was six feet two inches and weighed in at some three hundred and fifty pounds. He worked security down at the Port of Portland, and anyone who encountered him, at work or on the street, was intimidated by his presence. Especially me. With his cigarette in hand, he unbashfully used his words to increase his intimidation, words often reserved for the sailor. For years he frightened me. His wife, Sandy, on the other hand, was a gentle soul who couldn’t hurt a fly. Their daughter was a childhood friend of my sister and me. They called Ed, “Skipper,” not just because I was his little buddy, but because he dwarfed over me. As a child, I was all but fifty pounds of raw nothing. His shadow weighed more than me.

Ed took a likin’ to me. To this day, I don’t know why. Maybe I was the son he never had, or maybe I was cheap labor. Your guess is as good as mine. He hired me out to do odd jobs around his house. Sometimes it was mowing his lawn, in which his big power lawnmower outweighed me by a ton, and mowing his bank felt like I was mowing on a slope at ninety-degree angles. He was meticulous about his lawn, and in the end, he’d mow most of it himself. Sandy had me weed her garden, and I worked hard at pulling all the weeds. All of them. I was well into adulthood before I confessed to her that I had mistaken the bulbs for weeds, to which it now made sense, she realized, why those flowers never sprouted. Once I was positioned on top of his house with a sprinkler hoping to cool the temperature of his home. He was barking orders. I did the best I could, but it just sounded like a trombone and Shultz never offered subtitles to me. Rigging the sprinkler failed, no doubt in part because of my lack of ingenuity to carry out his vision for creativity.

Conventional wisdom said to cut me loose. I wasn’t worth the time or the effort. I made the jobs harder for him to complete, not easier. Yet he kept bringing me back, giving me a list of chores to complete. All the way through high school, he’d have me over at his house to work. And at the end of the day, he paid me. He paid me well. While the going rate for the minimum wage was $3.25 an hour, his generosity was at $5.00 an hour or better. Nothing I did told Ed to pay me so well. But whether Ed understood – and I don’t think he did – he paid me according to grace.

At the climax of the first National Treasure movie, Nicolas Cage’s character, Benjamin Franklin Gates, finds himself face to face with the law. The trail ended with the treasure located ten floors below Trinity Church in Manhattan. Sitting in the sanctuary with the fugitives – including his father Patrick Henry Gates, love interest Dr. Abigail Chase, and loyal friend Riley Pool – Gates began negotiations with FBI Agent, Peter Sadusky. Gates voluntarily returned the stolen Declaration of Independence, demanded Dr. Chase’s record expunged, and wanted the credit of the treasure-find to go to the entire Gates family with the assistance of Riley Pool. Finally, in confessional tones, he admitted, “I’d really love not to go to prison.” Agent Sadusky, shook his head, lamenting, “Someone has to go to jail, Ben.”

The harsh reality of living in this world is the conventional wisdom that someone must go to jail. Do the crime, pay the fine, and do the time. And when that motto spills over into our spiritual lives, it gets messy very quickly.

Some act like their lives is spot free of sin, though it’s likely a front for the evil they’re covering or hiding. They are haughty, proud, and arrogant. They have simple answers to difficult and complicated questions. They are quick to judge and have the stones ready to throw at those who fall. Like the man praying at the temple, they say, “Thank you, Lord, I am not that guy!” (Lk. 18:11). It’s not that they’re free of sin, they’re not. They are actually overcome with guilt and shame but are too arrogant for humility. Someone has to go to jail, and with a raised eyebrow, they know who.

Others live with false guilt. What they have done is bigger and “badder” than anyone in the history of the world, believing they live beyond the reach of God’s mercy. They walk through their day carrying the baggage of shame from the wrongs committed throughout their life. They are the ones who, if they do pray, open their words like the other guy at the temple, saying, “I beg you, God, have mercy on me” (Lk. 18:13). Someone has to go to jail, and with a defeated disposition, they know who.

As I sit here, I feel the tug at war within myself between the one who condemns others with the one who condemns himself. Does someone really have to go to jail? Isn’t there another option on the table? Isn’t there a way to flip the script so that we can operate according to grace?

Paul finds another way.

As he engages the church in Corinth, he could choose any path or write any script. Why not? The Corinthians had hardly taken the high ground with the apostle. They accused him of breaking his promise to visit (2 Cor. 1:15-17). They embarrassed and shamed him at his last visit (2:1). They claimed he was too fragile to be a good leader (4:7). They charged him with being two-faced, bold on paper but timid in their presence (10:1). All those bad events happening to Paul couldn’t really mean God is with him (11:23-29). They had their tape measure, and Paul wasn’t measuring up. What is Paul to do? They were burning bridges, and if it was up to me, I’d say, “Let them burn.”

Instead, Paul begins by letting them in on his secret. Knowing they are all about bragging rights, Paul reveals that he likes to boast as well. Except his boasting is not about himself, not in this case, it’s about them. Like a parent bragging about their child, or a coach boasting about her team, or about a teacher knowing her students finally got it, Paul is the pastor who loves his church and treats his church in holiness and sincerity (1:12).

Stepping back to see the larger picture, Paul points to the end. In Judgement Day-like language, his end goal is a mutual boasting, where they brag about their pastor, and he brags about them. I can image all of them gathered at the feet of the Lord, hugging and holding each other, telling the Lord how each has blessed and benefited from each other. He captures that statement when he writes, “. . . you will come to understand fully that you can boast of us just as we will boast of you in the day of the Lord Jesus” (v. 14b).

By pulling back the perspective to see the big picture or the end-product, then we can begin to view each other not through the lenses of the daily cycle, but through the lenses of the end-product. The ebb and flow of life is filled with ups and downs, good and bad, bonding and breaking, harmony and dissonance, clarity and vagueness, cohesion and friction, and attainment and disappointment which tend to distort life. One bad moment in time is all that is needed to destroy and wipe away a relationship years in the making. It happens, at least in part, because we act in accordance with the “go to jail” mindset instead of according to grace. One way to act according to grace is to look at the final day of the Lord where full reconciliation, restoration, and restitution are realized and start acting now like we will act then. Instead of looking to see who has to go to jail, start looking to pay people according to grace.

Jesus might say it like this: “Thy Kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven” (Mt. 6:10).

Imagine for just a minute if our mode of operandum was derived from “according to grace” instead of “someone has to go to jail.”

The Civil Rights movement has clear markers that can be traced in its history. Those markers bleed with a “someone has to go to jail” mindset. On a Montgomery, Alabama bus in 1955, Rosa Parks refused to vacate her seat to a white passenger. At the New Orleans William Frantz Elementary School in 1960 Federal Marshalls escorted six-year-old Ruby Bridges to the all-white school. Between those two markers was the Little Rock Nine who in 1957 tested the new desegregation laws at Little Rock’s Central High School. The students, escorted by the 101st Airborne, entered the school by the crowds calling for lynching and told to “go back to Africa.” Throughout the year, these students were punched, spat upon, and hit with eggs and vegetables. As I said, someone needs go to jail.

One of the victims was Elizabeth Eckford. A famous picture was taken on that first day of school with fifteen-year-old Hazel Bryan over the left shoulder of Echford.  Bryan’s face was blood curdling angry and appeared to be spewing all sorts of hateful and discriminatory comments. Bryan became the face of the racist deep south Jim Crow era. She was also a Christian, a member of a local church, active in her youth group. Somebody needed to go to jail, and it wasn’t Eckford.

At the end of the school year, Elizabeth Eckford moved to St. Louis but returned to Little Rock when she was 21. While visiting the city, she received a phone call from Bryan. Instead of the hateful speech, Bryan had a change of heart offering an apology to Echford for her behavior in 1957. The picture of her screaming such vile words was a constant reminder of her own guilt and shame. It was not the picture she wanted to be remembered by history.

 Either lady could have continued to play the “someone has to go to jail” card. Instead, at least in the moment, they reconciled and acted according to grace. And grace is a far better marker for your life than the condemnation of jail.

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

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Focus On God

Attention span has been decreasing for at least fifty years. We struggle to stay focused and to keep our eyes fixed while sacrificing the long game for the immediate short yardage. We chase butterflies when they come within our peripheral or are distracted by the clouds. We stop listening. We cease paying attention. We’re easily distracted. We ignore what is around us – a flower blooming or a child laughing – as if nothing is new to what we’ve always seen. Sometimes it’s intentional, we’re just not interested. Other times, we’re being pulled away like the riptides on the Oregon coast, and no matter what we do to fight our shrinking attention span, we’re swept away like the beach’s soil erosion.

The battle rages within me on a constant basis since I am an undiagnosed victim of ADHD. Growing up, psychologists did not know what to do with or how to treat kids like me who could not keep their attention, or learn like other children, or comprehend what they read. They told us we had to work harder to overcome our struggles. Since then, my reading has improved, but it’s still comparatively slow and I don’t always retain what I’ve read. I love to write, but it’s a gift that takes forever to unwrap. Don’t get me started on my prayer life and the lack of focus while talking to God. Some of us overcame our ADHD, but for me, it always felt like the climb to the top was self-defeating.

In 1985 Neil Postman published his book, Amusing Ourselves to Death,* in which he raised a red flag that the public was self-medicating themselves through television entertainment. Take the news for instance. He believed that television was not the best medium for a serious forum of discussion as the staging took precedent over the substance. Soft lighting, appropriate music, perfect voice to accompany the face, and interjected with commercial breaks meant that for him, the news media could not be taken seriously. Cue the 1968 Presidential Debate between camera ready Kennedy overcoming camera inept Nixon.

The printed word, Postman argued, is a better venue for serious studies in part because you can spend time absorbing and reading the document. That said, one of the side effects of television’s influence, he noted, was the audience’s decreasing attention span. People were failing to stay focused. He documented the decline, which came before the rise of MTV and the digital age, where images changed every few seconds, creating a freefall in attention span.

Postman pointed to the Lincoln-Douglas debates of 1858 as a test case in attention span. In those seven debates, the candidates spoke for hours on end to their audience arguing about slavery and tariffs while the spectators were captivated by the words. The crowds sat for the speeches, staying focused on the arguments of the speaker. Compared to today’s ninety-minute debates that often lack substance, which by now I’m sure I’ve lost your attention.

So shifting gears . . .

The teenager girl stepped onto the stage on a hot summer night at church camp. She was part of a skit performed by her cabin. She demonstrated spiritual focus by repeating the phrase, “Focus on God. Focus on God. Focus on God” with her hands to her temples like they were blinders. As she continued her reminder, a friend entices her to go to a party and she changes her phrase, “Focus on parties. Focus on parties. Focus on parties.” But she calls herself back to her true focus which was on God. As she continues to focus on God, another friend comes by, inviting her to go shopping. Her attention begins shifting from “Focus on God” to “Focus on shopping. Focus on shopping. Focus on shopping,” until she calls herself back to “Focus on God.” Finally, another friend comes holding a basketball, inviting her to join them in a “pickup game.” Her “focus on God” changed to “Focus on basketball. Focus on basketball. Focus on basketball.” As she is about to join her friends, she calls herself back to her speech. You can hear her as she exits the stage, “Focus on God. Focus on God. Focus on God.”

While there is nothing wrong with going to a party, going shopping, or playing basketball, the point of the story is to show just how easy it is to pull our focus off God and onto other things. It happens. We are all victims of this ploy. All of us suffer from spiritual ADHD trying to follow Jesus with a faith focused on God.

I doubt that the apostle Paul was burdened with ADHD, but I was drawn to 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 because it speaks to my struggle.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

The phrase, “fix our eyes” (v. 18), draws my attention. The very thing ADHD victims are struggling with is the thing Paul exhorts readers to do. We fix our eyes. We focus our attention. We fasten our thoughts. And therein lies the battle. We cannot hold our gaze that long. Paul is calling us to do the impossible, or else it feels like it’s impossible. And as my doctors told me in middle school, the advice is disheartening, “You just have to work harder.” And that just seems like the kind of “fairness” I’ve always experienced.

But maybe we are missing a piece of the puzzle. For if following Jesus was based on our ability to overcome ADHD, we have no hope. Instead, Paul’s refusal to “lose heart” is not about working harder, though clearly working with all our heart is hard work. Paul seems to have two different events in mind.

First, he says “we are outwardly wasting away.” The time clock of our bodies is winding down, and we know it. Just watch a child run circles around their parents as they try to keep up with that child’s energy. Now watch that same child run their grandparents into the ground. All that energy bursts forth from the child where the adult has to play tag-team to match energy for energy. As a grandparent, I know. No matter how much I miss my granddaughter, when she goes home from a visit, Cile and I need a week to recover. We are worn out. The strength of our youth fails. But Paul’s promise is that while physically we weaken, inwardly we gain strength. Faith is not dependent on age, time, or physical prowess. Faith continues to churn within us so that while we age, peak, and begin the decline, something else within gains strength. Faith, according to Paul, strengthens even when our physical bodies worsen.

Secondly, Paul says that the suffering we face now is no match for the glory we will experience then (e.g., Rom. 8:17). They say life is hard and things happen in our life to erode our trust, love, and faith in each other and in God. Paul references “momentary troubles,” which is a general statement that could include persecution, heartache, disappointment, sickness, death, etc. They are momentary as compared to the eternal, and the word “trouble” does not minimize suffering. But the promise given is that all the bad things we experience now are nothing compared to what the good will be like then. The suffering now leads to glory then. So, for example, the distance runner keeps running not because of how he feels during the race, but how he will feel at the finish line. The mother endures all sorts of childbearing pain, not because it’s enjoyable, but because when she holds her baby in her arms the pain will all be but forgotten. The Christian endures, not because we are sadists, but because the end goal will make all trials and tribulations worth it.

The “fixing of our eyes,” then, is not about compensating our being ADHD or by being forced to work harder than everyone else whose faith seems to come so easy. On the contrary, “fixing our eyes” is the focus to recognize the eternal in the midst of the temporary both in us and in the world around us, even when what is happening in and around us is filled with suffering. Our focus in the temporary endures the hardship, molds our character to be Christ-like, and prepares us for an eternal filled with celebration.

Paul says that what is seen is temporary while what is unseen is eternal. The temporary calls to our ADHD nature to divert our focus off God and onto other things. The eternal calls to the Spirit within us to free us from the burden of distracted living, so that we can distinguish between the temporary and the eternal.

What is seen is temporary; what is unseen is eternal. Suffering is temporary; jubilation is eternal. Harboring anger and resentment are temporary; offering forgiveness is eternal. Death is temporary; resurrection is eternal. “God has forsaken us” is temporary; “God is among us” is eternal. Wealth is temporary; generosity is eternal. Political unrest is temporary; Kingdom business is eternal. Chasing conspiracy theories is temporary; pursuing God’s Word is eternal. Notoriety is temporary; anonymity is eternal. Relationships that are transactional are temporary; relationships that are mutually reciprocal are eternal. Engaging your phone is temporary; engaging that person is eternal.

So in a world that feels so temporary allowing an ADHD to live, what do we do? We focus on God. Focus on God. Focus on God.

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

* Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves to Death: A Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business (New York: Viking Penguin Press, 1985).

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Buyer’s Remorse

That feeling you get in the wake of making a large or extravagant acquisition has a name. It’s called Buyer’s Remorse. A person purchases a house, or one that is more expensive than was budgeted, begins second guessing the investment. Buyer’s remorse. The memory of the best vacation ever begins washing away once the bills start piling up. Buyer’s remorse. Investing in a huge diamond ring to present to that special someone when your gut and your friends tell you it’s a mistake, and in a moment of doubt you think they might be right. Buyer’s remorse. Or buying a vehicle where the smell of the new car quickly evaporates when something goes wrong with it, and you have no extended warrantee. Buyer’s remorse.

My dad might have experienced some form of buyer’s remorse when he traded in our family Ford station wagon for the Buick version of the same car. The 1964 Ford Country Squire was a practical and steady car for a family of five kids. The best part of the car was the tailgate window. Dad placed a makeshift third row seat in the tailgate that faced the back window. The seat was wooden and covered with Naugahyde, and never included seat belts. Deanna and I, and sometimes David, sat in the back and watched the road behind us. For long trips, Dad packed the tailgate so that old couch cushions were positioned for Deanna and me to play, read, fight, or sleep. I have good memories of that car, but eventually a car needs a replacement.

Dad feared that the Ford, which was leaking oil, was not going to pass an inspection. Feeling the pressure, he traded it in for a Buick Estate Wagon. The upgrade included power windows and locks as well as a third row bench facing forward with seat belts. At the time, dad loved Buicks. But the car was a lemon, and my father regretted making the purchase. Confiding in me when I was learning to drive, he said, “Given what I know now, I should have held onto the Ford.” Clearly, what dad experienced was Buyer’s Remorse.  

Paul tells the Corinthians that we were “bought with a price” (1 Cor. 6:20). Such language finds its origin in the marketplace venue of the slave trade. When a slave is sold, either informally to another owner or formally on the auction block, he or she is sold for a certain price. The going rate. That slave now belongs to someone else, and their lives must conform to the new owner’s wishes. Paul’s point is that we Christians were on the market and were purchased by God. We are under new management and the price paid was his Son. More to the point, Paul says that our bodies must be used to honor God, our new owner, and not the selfish self-satisfaction of our own passions and desires.

God purchased us. He took a good long look at us. He kicked the tires and checked under the hood. He weighed his options. He read the warranty and ordered a copy of the Carfax. He even took us for a test drive. When he made his decision, he purchased us, and now we belong to him. That is such good news, except for one problem. He got stuck with a lemon, and when we look at the fine print of our lives, it’s clear that God has buyer’s remorse. At least from our perspective.  

One doesn’t have to go to far away from Corinth to conclude that God had second thoughts. And if he didn’t, he should have. Corinth is nothing but a mess of buyer’s remorse, and 1 Corinthians is replete with examples. The church seemed to find every reason to divide, especially since they quarreled and were filled with jealousy (3:3). Such strong disagreements may be the reason they were so divisive. Each loved their own favorite preacher (1:12; 3:4), believing their pastor was a better leader, communicator, and more spiritual than the others. They supposed that their specific Spiritual Gift was more valued than other member’s gifts, never realizing that the individual parts made up the whole (12:25-26). Besides, love is the gift to pursue (12:31b; 13:8-9). And while they were gathered around the Table for the Lord’s Supper, a table intended to unite the believers, the social economic disparity was clear: the wealthy kept the poor away (11:18-22). And beneath all this divisiveness, two families were airing their dirty laundry, tangled in a public legal court battle against each other (6:1-11).

From there the troubles worsen in Corinth. The members bought into a casual carnal mindset (6:12-20), and it’s possible to directly link it to idolatry (10:21-22). One man was having a sexual relationship with his stepmother, and the church is glossing over it as if it’s normal or acceptable behavior (5:1-2). The marriages were in trouble (7:1-40) while their assembly time was chaotic (14:26-33a). They denied the resurrection of the saints, philosophizing that it had already occurred (15:12-19).

By the time one opens the Second letter to the Corinthians things are certainly no better. The infighting, divisions, and idolatry are still present (12:20-21), while the church had broken its promise to collect monies as relief for the Judea famine (8:10-11). At its core is their rejection of Paul as their leader, believing he had not only broken his promise to them, but also deceived them about the money collected for the Judean famine relief. The very one who introduced them to Jesus and brought them the gospel is now discarded because he wasn’t the flashy celebrity they were seeking.

The church in Corinth was toxic, and clearly the source for church hurt. I would never place my membership there, and you wouldn’t either. And if God called me to minister to them, I just might find the belly of a big fish a safer environment than Corinth. With all the chaos and dysfunction running through the church, I can’t help but think God had his head in his palms, shaking his head, regretting while experiencing buyer’s remorse.

Thankfully, that is not God’s perspective, it’s mine. I can be judgmental. Pointing the finger is easy until I realize that three fingers are pointing back at me. And if someone were to peel back the layers of my life, I’m sure they might have buyer’s remorse. And like the Corinthians – and you – I stand in need of God’s grace and mercy, and not his judgment and justice.

This is what makes Paul’s words so powerful, when he 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).

When Paul talks of “standing firm,” he draws from a marketplace terminology that reflects the validity of a sale.* In this case, we are the product purchased by God. The sale is final and cannot be returned. By dropping three statements** capturing a moment in time, he strengthens the purchase invoice. First, he says, “He anointed us.” The Old Testament is filled with moments where God had prophets, priests, and kings anointed. They were anointed by oil, chosen intentionally and always with clear thought. God knew what he was buying when he anointed someone, and the same holds true when he bought us. Though we were not anointed with oil, but with the Spirit. And dare I add that the word “anointed” is the verb form of the title for “Christ.” Let that sink in, God’s not throwing that term around for nothing. Secondly, “God set his seal on us” to show we are his possession. In ancient times the seal was often a signet ring worn by a king. It was used to certify a document, ensuring that the paper came from the King. In our own western world, we might think of branding cattle to show ownership. Cue Toy Story’s Woody and look for Andy’s name written under his boot. God has placed his seal, the Holy Spirit, on us signifying we belong to him, and he’s not getting rid of his possession. And thirdly, God “put his Spirit in us as a deposit.” A deposit is a down payment that guarantees more to come. God has given us a piece of himself and promises to make good on completely giving us his Spirit. In the future, he will fill us to the full of himself.

The truth is God knows what he is getting with us. He knows our failures, our brokenness, and our sinful shortcomings. But he bought us with his Son and he has absolutely no buyer’s remorse. Next time you buy something, and you regret doing so, remember that you may experience buyers remorse, but God doesn’t.

Eventually, my dad ditched the Buick Estate Wagon. Swallowing his ego, and noting his family was shrinking, he bought a Volkswagen Rabbit. It was the car I learned how to drive. The Rabbit was the VW Bug replacement car, but never as cute or fun as driving the Beetle. It had four cylinders and could go from 0 to 60 in about six minutes on a good downhill grade. Dad loved big cars, and he wore a brave smile driving this little car around town and on trips. I’m sure, deep down, Dad had buyer’s remorse, especially since he could have had a V-8. I would have. But here’s the thing. For a variety of reasons, we experience buyer’s remorse, God doesn’t. God has invested too much time and effort into securing our salvation to worry about if we are a good, worthy purchase.

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

* William Baker, 2 Corinthians, College Press NIV Commentary (Joplin, MO: College Press, 1999), 90.

** These statements are aorist past tense participles, pointing to something that happened to us in the past that holds future ramifications. That “something” is our confession and baptism.

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Unregulated Joy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time passed. Scars heal. Memories soften the pain.

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

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

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

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The Giving Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Words Matter

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

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

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

Words matter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Words matter.

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

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

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

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

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

Words matter.  

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

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

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

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

Words matter.

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

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

Words matter.

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

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

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

Words matter.

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

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

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

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

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

 Words matter.

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

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

* The Rumor Mill words by Jon Mohr.