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Casting a Long Shadow: Discipleship’s Call to Carry A Cross

As I sat listening to the speaker address a room full of teenagers, I was mesmerized by his message. On the table before him were placed multiple types of crosses. A rugged six foot cross made from tree branches. A dainty necklace pendant. A table-top cross suitable for an executive desk. A bookmark with John 3:16 written on it. A decorative wall hanging with the name, Jesus, as the cross beam.

Referencing Luke 9:23, the speaker called the young people to pick up their cross and follow Jesus. One by one individuals from the audience came to the speaker, accepting the invitation with a desiring passion to pick up their cross. But when the speaker showed them which cross they had to bear – the one with their own name on it – none were willing to carry that cross. The petite girl wanted to wear the necklace, not carry the six foot cross; it was too heavy. The burly young man was hoping to muscle the big cross, but his name was attached to the book mark; he didn’t like reading. So one by one the individuals responded to the call, but they each wanted to pick their own cross. Each wanted to follow Jesus on their own terms.

And isn’t that where we live? We want to follow Jesus, as long as we set the conditions. We’re willing to give, but unwilling to sacrifice. We talk about forgiveness while harboring ill will toward individuals. We discuss submission scenarios while demanding our own way. We demand attendance to the assembly takes priority until it’s no longer prioritized in our lives; everything else in life takes precedent. We cry out for mercy, but demand justice when looking at others. We say we embrace humility while our pride stands in our way. We’ve convinced ourselves that we can gain the whole world and have Jesus at the same time. We’ll take up a cross as long as we get to choose which cross, when to carry it and where we’ll take it. When we do that, it’s not the cross we’re carrying, it’s just a shadow of the cross.

So the speaker continued his message, and refused to randomly hand out crosses that belonged to someone else. Fleshing out the Lukan context, he told us how Christ had to suffer and face a horrible death at the hands of the Jewish leadership. He then added the irony of those saving their lives will actually lose it, but those who lose their lives for Jesus will save it (Lk. 9:25). Jesus had to pick up his cross and he’s asking us to pick up ours. The speaker ended by reminding the audience that we don’t set the terms for discipleship, Jesus does.

I sat there enthralled by the message. Captivated. As a sixth grader I was still too young for the youth group. My presence at the assembly came because my home congregation was hosting the event and my mom was helping with the food. I sat on the floor next to mom as if I was sitting on the edge of a chair, soaking in every word being spoke. Some 40 years have passed but that moment is as clear in my mind as if it happened 40 days ago.

As the high school students rejected the cross, I remember thinking to myself, “I’ll carry it. I’ll carry the cross of Jesus! I don’t care what the cross looked like or felt like, I’m willing to carry any cross for Jesus.” That’s what was running through my mind, but something else was telling me that the message was preplanned. Those volunteering had rehearsed their roles to help drive home the speaker’s message. So I just sat there in my innocence, watching the events unfold before me. Secretly, I wanted to come forward to get my cross.

Sure enough, the same individuals relented and repented. One by one they came back to the speaker. Humbly and with contrition, they were willing to pick up the very cross that had their name on it. With broken pride, they claimed the cross Jesus wanted them to bear. They were now following Jesus, not on their terms, but on his terms.

While the messages ended with resolution, as it should, we live with the tension. Are we following Jesus on our terms or his? Maybe that’s why Luke adds the word “daily” (Lk. 9:23) to the charge to pick up your cross. For every day, and even every moment, we decided if our following Jesus is genuine or coming with conditions. One is substance. The other simply casts a long shadow on our discipleship.

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

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It’s the Middle of the Night, Charlie Brown

The sounds of silence in the middle of the night. The clock ticking. The house creaking. The wind whistling. The shadows coming to life. A mind racing. A brain active. A guilty conscience screaming. 

Something about the middle of the night arouses our minds as we either replay events which unraveled during the day or anticipate events about to unfold in the morning. I’ve been there too many times to count. So have you. Schulz drew from that well, which never seemed to run dry, and I can imagine he wrote many of those strips in the middle of the night. 

Charlie Brown lies awake to ponder life’s greatest questions, and “Life” always had an answer for him, though the answer was never quite the answer he was seeking or expecting. 

● “Sometimes I lay awake at night and ask, ‘Is life a multiple choice test or is it a true or false test’?’ Then a voice comes to me out of the dark and says, ‘We hate to tell you this, but life is a thousand word essay.’” 

● “Sometimes I lay awake at night and ask, ‘Why me’?’ Then a voice comes to me out of the dark and says, ‘Nothing personal. Your name just happened to come up.’” 

● “Sometimes I lay awake at night and ask, ‘Where have I gone wrong’?’ Then a voice comes to me out of the dark and says, ‘This is going to take more than one night.’” 

The night is prime for our minds to rest, or to arouse our restlessness. The curtain of the night closes in on the day-time drama. With its darkness comes the quiet. It’s peaceful. The crickets in the background are almost the perfect white noise. After a long day of rushing, and meeting scheduled appointments, and dealing with all the headaches of life, we’re given the night for rest. Yet too many of us on too many occasions are unable to embrace the night’s rest. If we can’t sleep because of our biological clocks, I’m not sure what can be done. If we can’t sleep because our mind is still running, maybe there is something we can do. 

The Psalmist tells us, “Be still and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10). For most of us, our days are filled with too much noise. The children are screaming. The TV is active all day. The radio or iPod is constantly playing. No time exists for the quiet, to listen to the “gentle whisper” of God (1 King. 19:12), until our heads finally hit our pillows. By then, we’ve probably shocked our bodies into the moment of silent quietness. 

Martin Luther King, Jr. knew something about restless nights. As catalogued in multiple sources, during the height of the Civil Rights Movement, people made death threats. Phone calls in the night warned him to leave Atlanta. The phone rings and as he picks up, the caller hangs up on him. And more than one time he woke up to a cross burning in his front yard. While he did pack up his family and move them out of town, he stayed behind until the threats dissipated. Shaken to the core, he felt like leaving as well. He felt the struggle to hold onto his conviction or to give it all up. But something within him wouldn’t stop. He chose instead to spend many, many hours on his knees in prayer. No, he didn’t get his sleep back, but his worries evaporated and his courage was restored. He was able to move forward with bringing justice and equality to the American system. 

When I was a little boy, and was often overcome by sleepless nights, I asked my mom what she did to get to sleep. She told me she talks God. I probed further, “But what if you’ve prayed and still can’t get to sleep?” She smiled and said, “That gives me that much more time to talk to God.”

As an adult, I’ve had more restless nights than I care to admit. Sometimes they arise because with age comes a change in sleep patterns. I don’t sleep like I used to, so I find myself awake when I’d rather be asleep. Sometimes they come because I’m worried far too much about church and family crisis. My family, either by water or by blood, is making life decisions or is rejecting the help I’ve provided in leadership, so I find myself awake when I’d rather be asleep. Sometimes I’m filled with regret, because I’ve chosen words that were cruel or thoughtless or lacked compassion, so I find myself awake reliving that moment the words exited my mouth, when I’d rather be asleep. I either lie awake, and either emotionally beat myself up or try to take my mind off what is worrying me. I get up and read a book, or watch a late night movie on TV. 

I need to recall and embrace my mother’s words. When you’ve tried praying, but you’re still wide awake, trying praying some more. And if you’re still awake after you’ve prayed, try praying some more. So in the stillness of those late nights, when you’re overcome by guilt and worry, or just wired and cannot unwind, and you’re asking questions about life and life events, why not just cast your cares on God, because he really does care for you (1 Pet. 5:7).                   

bonum dolar!
(i.e., Good Grief!)

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Come Back Home

Come Back Home where your feelings are sheltered and secure. A place where danger is kept at arm’s length and safety is maintained for the freedom to express yourself and to be yourself. A place where you belong.

Come Back Home where the food always tastes better than a Martha Stewart meal. A place where the fellowship is always sweeter than an apple pie. A place where fond memories feel like they are relived all over again, just as new ones are being created.

Come Back Home where the void in one’s life is filled by kinfolk and comrades. A place where the line between family and friends is blurred, and that’s a good thing. A place where the water of baptism is thicker than the blood running through our veins. A place where scars and wounds begin to heal. A place where belonging is a piece to the puzzle so that the individual helps create the entire picture.

Come Back Home where home feels right because home is right. A place where your lounging chair is ready for your return, and your bed is made, and your place at the table is always left empty for you to fill.

Come Back Home where the Father’s heart is longing to be mended from the harsh words spoken as his son left the house. A place where he stands at the door, waiting and gazing into the horizon for a hopeful glimpse of his son’s return.

Come Back Home where the prodigal realizes that life away from the “confines” of home is really the liberty to live. A place where the Father not only, no longer holds the past against the son, but is also willing to accept the shame and humiliation his son has brought upon the family name to have his son with him in his presence. A place where the fattened calf is prepared and where robes and rings are fitted once again. A place where the son is willing to be a servant to earn his father’s forgiveness, only for the father to reiterate the role of “son-ship.”

Come Back Home where the “dutiful” son has forgotten his duty. A place where the Father risks more humiliation to plead for his son to join the party. A place where reconciliation is sought as his “prodigal” son is also the “dutiful” son’s brother.

Come Back Home where truth is found in a world filled with lies. A place where negative messaging that turns to despair is replaced by messages underscoring hope. A place where God continues to shape our character and strengthen our faith. A place where God’s Word reorients our lives to true North.

Come Back Home because we’re not just saved from hell, we’re saved for heaven. A place where the waters of baptism not only douse the devil’s flames, but purifies the sickness of sin’s stain. A place where we not only experience the victory of being ripped from Satan’s hateful grasp, but feel the comforting embrace of a loving Father.

Come Back Home where God is the center-piece of our relationship. A place where singing and praying is both praising him and encouraging us. A place where a table is present, Jesus sits at its head and we break bread together. A place, even in the midst of a pandemic separation, we can step into each other’s lives again. A place where tears are felt and laughter is heard. A place where the circle will never be broken.

Come Back Home where the sinner is restored to a saint. A place where the wrongs of our past are made right again. A place where confession and repentance is the norm, as we expose our own sinful secrets. A place where forgiveness is as common as the air we breathe.

Come Back Home.

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

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Blessed Assurance or 101 Things to Do with a Blanket

“I found it!” Like the shepherd who found the lost sheep, or the widow who found the lost coin, I had found it. 

I had been visiting my parents in their new home, shortly after they moved in, and was going through boxes and boxes of “treasures” when I found two precious items. The first was my dad’s antique Lionel Train set he had as a little boy. Dad thought the movers had “sticky” fingers and knew the set was gone forever. He was relieved to know I had “found it.” 

However, the big find wasn’t the antique train set, but my childhood stuffed Snoopy plush doll. True, Linus had his famous security blanket to comfort him when he felt lonely, anxious, fearful, or vulnerable. I had Snoopy. Linus’ blanket was versatile. He had 101 things he could do with it: it was a Shepherd’s scarf, an ascot, a sport coat, felt for his new pool table, a kite, and to protect himself, a whip. I had a Snoopy doll I got for Christmas when I was 3, and I slept with him every night. He brought enough comfort to me that when I entered the hospital for an ulcer (I was 10 years old) I wanted him with me. (He was so worn and dirty with love, that mom was ashamed to bring him to the hospital, so she bought me a new “knock-off” Snoopy instead). 

Except for Franklin, Linus may have been the most adjusted child among the Peanuts Gang, despite his constant need for his security blanket. He always went into withdrawals when it was wash day, or when grandma threatened to take the blanket away from him. When Charlie Brown chastised Linus about his need for the blanket, Linus quickly responded, pointing out, that while he needed a blanket, Charlie Brown needed a “psychiatrist” for his insecurities.

The older I get, the more brilliant I find Schulz. His assessment of humanity, combined with his own projected feelings, were spot on. In a world filled with danger and uncertainty, both from within and from without, we long for comfort and security. We fear ourselves and our own inadequacies. We fear that our nation is tearing itself apart. We fear that since our world is smaller, the terrorist attacks feel like they’re now in our own neighborhoods. 

Certainly, the anxieties and insecurities of life carry over into our relationship with God. Our view of God, and our understanding of doctrine, either heightens our anxiety or calms it. If we believe that God is looking to condemn us, we probably need a blanket, or at least a stuff plush doll. If we believe that God is gracious and compassionate and forgiving, then we simply rest in his assurance of his love for us. 

The Fellowship of believers I’m associated with has struggled in the security section of Scripture. Since we believe that salvation can be lost (an Armenian view of 1 Cor. 10:18-22; Heb. 2:1-4), we tend to believe that salvation cannot be assured either. We cannot find the middle road between the extremes. Since we’ve focused so much on establishing the “right doctrine,” many feel they cannot trust their baptism was done correctly; hindsight tells them they didn’t get it right the first time.

I once re-baptized a friend who was in her late thirties. We met and talk at length about baptism and God’s grace. She was smart, capable and insightful. She told me about how much more she understood Scripture and God’s will today versus when she was a teenager, and this time she was getting baptized for the “right reason.” I tried convincing her she didn’t need baptism, for she was growing in the grace of God (2 Pet. 3:18). However, when push came to shove, I relented and I baptized her. It was her third baptism. I wondered, at the time and even today, how many more baptisms will she need before she will finally get it right, and that God will forgive her?

Thus, enough of us doubt we’re saved, and have convinced ourselves that God’s looking for any reason to condemn us. Where can we find security without running for a blue blanket, or a stuff plush doll? 

John 3:16-17 has God looking for every reason to save us, not to condemn us. Jesus’ cry is for “All to come to him who are heavy burdened and he will give you rest” (Mt. 11:28). John reassured his readers when he wrote, “I write this things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God that you may know that you have eternal life” (1 Jn. 5:13); he didn’t write, “. . . you might have eternal life.” And if our weekly partaking of the Lord’s Supper says anything, it should answer the question, “how much does God love us;” this much, as Jesus stretches out his hands. 

I may not need my Snoopy doll today as a point of security, and you may not need a blue blanket either. I do find that the above Scriptures help in my security, and it doesn’t hurt to sing songs like Blessed Assurance either.

By the way, the original Snoopy doll I found in a box, covered with thirty years of age and love, was used by my mom and her sister as a pattern to clone an identical Snoopy. In fact, they made one for me and for each of my three children. I’m glad I found it. More importantly, I’m just glad Jesus found me. 

bonum dolar!
(e.g., Good Grief!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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