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But God

Following the death of my father the empty void in my life felt like a black hole encompassing me, often suspecting I’d never escape to the light. On a dark spring Sunday morning, while finalizing my sermon, I was on the cusp of giving up. I didn’t know where the strength or courage would come, not only for the sermon, but also for the long rugged road ahead of me. I prayed. I prayed for God to send me comfort to grant me the strength and courage I needed to preach. More so, I prayed for endurance as I was wandering through this season of spiritually barren wasteland and deserted wilderness.

As worship was beginning I found myself in the foyer of the church to welcome members who were still arriving. Terry entered the building. We shook hands and “small-talked” just for a moment before he headed toward our sanctuary. As he reached the closed doors he turned back to me and said, “You are the bravest man I know,” then proceeded to enter the sanctuary.

I was beat down, depressed, and my cup of anxiety was fizzing to explode like I was a shaken Coke bottle. To say I saw myself at the end of my rope was an understatement. But almost like the rainbow breaking through the clouds, Terry broke through my despair. Certain that I was not as brave as he claimed I was, his words offered hope. Without him knowing the ramifications he gave me the strength to move forward. It was a moment where I was at the end, “But God” comforted me with Terry’s words to remind me, “It’s only the beginning.”

Paul had his own “But God” moment in 2 Corinthians 7:6. The relationship between the church in Corinth and the apostle had all but disintegrated. The church he planted had turned on him, rejecting his leadership and message. He tried an intervention only to be run out of town (2 Cor. 2:1-2). Afterward he wrote a letter, outlining his expectations for the church, and sent it by Titus (2 Cor. 2:3-4). Then he waited. He waited some more. In the silence he waited. Without all the modern conveniences like “snail” mail, email, texting, or a phone call, Paul was forced to wait. We know about the waiting in the silence: an unanswered, sensitive text or phone call forces us to start filling in the gaps with our anxious details. Those details are always the worst-case scenarios. Always. In that waiting, Paul fought all the negative messaging of his mind where his anxiety overcame and conquered his peace. I can almost hear his second guessing, “Poor Titus. Why did I send this lamb to the wolves for the slaughter?”

We usually don’t think of Paul as having doubts and fears, do we? We normally hoist him on a pedestal of strength and confidence, untouched by the fallen world around him. He’s an apostle who travels the world to plant churches and is a prolific writer as well. We think anything bad happening to him almost seems to roll off him like water off a duck’s back. Yet the biblical story speaks otherwise. Paul says he comes to Macedonia worn out with no rest (2 Cor. 7:5). Then he adds how much he has been harassed at every turn. Not only was he having a bad day, but every step he took was one continuous bad day after another bad day. It was worse than Alexander’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

In a run of bad days, Paul in 2 Corinthians 7:7 describes these days in two ways. First, there are “conflicts on the outside,” a likely reference to the antagonism he faced for preaching the gospel. Imagine speaking a message counter to the culture where pushback just might be physical. Then again, his preaching is in conflict with the very church whom he planted and nurtured their faith. He’s almost waving his arms and hands at the church saying, “Hey guys! The conflict and breakdown in our relationship is tearing me a part.” Conflict with people is common and we’re constantly navigating friendships to keep them afloat. Conflict with people you love and have invested yourself tend to keep you unsettled and awake at night reliving the breakdown over and over in our minds.

Secondly, he describes, “fears within.” Such fears are the second guessing, doubts, anxieties and is certainly based on the fallout with Corinth. If you are continually putting out brushfires, you will eventually get burned. Paul was up at night with his head spinning and his stomach in knots over the conflict with Corinth.

Paul faced this battle every day: outside conflicts and inside fears giving him no rest. Why not? I don’t think I would either. Relationships that fall apart coupled with inward anxiety create a perfect storm that guarantees no peace, no sanctuary, no rest. His lying awake, night after night, worrying about the friends in his church was tearing him apart, leaving him no more than a wounded warrior.

The seventeenth century theologian and historian, William Fuller, once said, “It is always darkest just before the day dawns.” If the meaning conveys that things are at their worst just before they get better, then two questions remain? How dark will it get before the light comes? And, how will God bring the light when it does come?

As if Paul was anticipating the answer, he wrote these two small words, “But God.” The shift was felt. Good news appeared like it was the rainbow stretched across the grey clouded sky.

Let’s allow those words, “But God,” to wash over ourselves for a minute. Something changed, and changed like it turned on a dime. Paul was having a few bad days, but God was about to change all of that. Paul was experiencing stressful anxiety, but God was about to bring comfort. Paul was at the end of his rope, but God provided a safety net. Paul was undergoing a worried-fueled insomnia, but God was about to bring him into peaceful rest.

Here’s the thing – God won’t be performing some miracle to deliver Paul from his trials. God is not removing Paul from his conflict, nor will he deliver him from his fears. God could, but God won’t. The truth is, he’ll do something simpler. In the end, the something unadorned will be just as powerful as a miracle, and maybe even more beautiful than a miracle.

Basing God’s action on his character, Paul describes God as one who comforts the downcast. To say it another way, when we are spiritually cold, God is the comforter blanket that brings warmth. For Paul, God comforts him by sending Titus (I told you the solution would be simple). The silent void is now filled with the return of Titus. Not only is Titus present, but he brings even better news as the Corinthians, bathing in a repentant spirit, long to see Paul. Titus’s arrival was the “But God who comforts the downcast,” as Paul says in verse 8, because you never know when simply showing up is the comfort someone has been praying for.

Not long ago I was visiting a patient. I sat in her living room listening compassionately to her stories. Finally, toward the end of the visit she confessed, saying, “Jon, do you know what I was doing before you arrived?” Since my gift is not foresight, I told her I didn’t know. She continued, “I was in my room praying that someone might come by to visit me today. I was so alone, and I felt abandoned by my family, and did not want to be by myself. I prayed to God to send me someone, then you showed up.”

I couldn’t help but reflect on my morning before this particular afternoon visit. I was trying to decide who to see and who to delay their visit for another day. This patient was a potential visit, but I kept wanting to bump her visit to the next day. The next day would have worked better for me. The next day would have made more sense for me. But something else was tugging at my heart, telling me to see her today. So I did, and in the end, and only in the end did I realize, that I was being used to be her “But God” moment. She was lonely with feelings of being abandoned and forsaken, but God answered her prayer and led me to visit her.

This morning as you make your way through contacting patients and walking into their homes and re-engaging lives, remember that there has been a moment, an hour, or even entire day or more when you have lost contact with them. Time has passed since you last saw and talked to them, and who knows what has transpired since your last visit. So keep this in mind. As you step back into their lives you just might be the “But God” moment for them where their prayer has been answered by your arrival.

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

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A Place In The Heart

When Hollywood gets it right, the church should applaud, even when it means admitting or confessing we’ve missed the mark.

The 1984 movie, Places in the Heart, was an Oscar winning picture with a star studded cast staring Sally Fields, Ed Harris, and Danny Glover. The setting is the Dustbowl, Depression Era of 1935 in Central Texas. The movie opens on a Sunday afternoon with Sheriff Royce Spalding at the railyards. Whylie, a cheerful black teen, accidentally shoots and kills Royce. Spalding’s body is gently and respectfully returned to his wife, Edna. Wylie is dragged behind a truck and then hanged.

The movie unfolds with Edna, a widow with two kids, trying to navigate life and to save the farm. Mr. Will, her blind brother-in-law boards with her as well as Moze, a black man who works for Edna and offers wisdom (he’ll be run out of town by the local KKK). Wayne Lomax has an affair with the school teacher, Viola.

The final scene of the movie bookends the opening scene as it occurs on a Sunday, this time at a church worship service. Viola and her husband, in an attempt to start afresh drive away, passing the church. As the camera moves past the doors of the hallowed building you see it open as if inviting Viola to come back, as if the answers to their marital problems lie here and not there on the road. Inside the building the choir can be heard singing, “This Is My Story.”

As the scene shifts to inside the church itself, the preacher reads from 1 Corinthians 13:1-8 during which Mrs. Lomax reaches for her husband’s hand. The choir begins singing In the Garden with the preacher reading the communion passage from 1 Corinthians 11. As the camera pans the spars congregation, we the pews suddenly filled with their faces coming into focus.

We see Moze. Moze? “Wait! Wasn’t Moze run out of town? How and when did he come back?” As he takes communion he passes the tray to Enda’s children, who passes it to their mother, Edna. Edna takes the tray and passes it to her husband, Royce. “Hold!” Royce cannot be present because he was shot and murdered in the opening scene of the movie, wasn’t he? Then he takes the plate and passes it to Wylie as the camera holds its gaze on the boy until it begins to fade with Royce’s final words, “Peace of God.”

Trying to make sense of the ending is part of the journey. Is this scene a dream? Is this scene an alternative reality?  Or maybe, just maybe what we find is a peek behind the curtain where everything gets reconciled at the Table.

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

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Treasures in Jars of Clay

Sometimes it feels like we’re not good enough, strong enough, brave enough, or talented enough for God’s service. Even worse, sometimes we feel like we’re damaged goods, easily broken or even broken beyond repair. The truth is, we are, but we are held together by something stronger than ourselves.

Keith was one of my childhood friends. He lived about three blocks away, but maybe only a block if I cut through my neighbor’s backyard. We spent many hours at each other’s homes pretending to be going on adventures. His own long rectangular shaped backyard included a small wooded section, a shack, and a garden. While I have no memory of the plant-life in that garden, I do remember the clay jars.

You know the kind of jars I’m talking about. The dirty brown jars you can purchase at Walmart, Lowes, Home Depot or any lawn and garden store from two to fifteen dollars or more depending on size. Or better yet, they’re dirt cheap at a garage sale. Keith’s mom had a stack of them laying in the garden, right next to a small boulder-stone. Let me set the stage: two ten year old boys looking for something to do find a stack of a dozen potting plant jars next to a huge rock . . . what could possibly go wrong? After we smashed four or five of the jars, Keith’s mother bolted from her house like a greyhound racing dog bolting from a starting gate. While Keith was used to being in trouble by his mom, I wasn’t. She sent Keith to his room; she sent me home. If she told my mom, I didn’t get punished for it and I certainly never confessed my sin to my mother.

 We treated the clay jars like they were disposable, insignificant, fragile, meaningless, and cheap. To be honest, they were. Two kids raised in a throw-a-way society were handling these clay jars with the exact value we placed on them. They were a dime-a-dozen, destined for the trash anyway, so we thought. We thought wrong, but looking back on that day, we had a point.

When Paul describes the powerful moment God partners with us in ministry, he notes the imbalance. Let that sink in for a moment. God wants to work with us in his ministry. The All-Powerful holy God teams up with the frail fallibility of humanity. Mind blowing, right? It’s like God taking something of value and giving it to the insignificance of someone else. Oh, and guess what? It is.

Here is what Paul says in 2 Corinthians 4:7a, “We have this treasure in jars of clay . . . ”  

Treasures are to be safely locked up in a secure and sanctified vault where moth, rust, or thieves cannot get access. God should have taken the gospel and kept it safe and secure in heaven, next to his throne. In doing so he would have prevented it from being perverted, twisted, devalued, and destroyed. If he maintained control of the gospel in heaven, every hundred years or so, he could have removed the gospel from his heavenly vault and provided a world tour to remind us the beauty of this treasure. We could have purchased a ticket to gaze our eyes upon and marvel at this prized treasure. Instead, he freely entrusted it to us.

Here we are nothing more than a clay jar. We’re easily broken, damaged, disposed of, and insignificant as we’re just bargain-basement humans filled with flaws, shortcomings, sin, pride, and anxiety. We are fragile, both mentally and physically, not-to-mention spiritually. Some of us, if we’re honest, feel like we’re broken beyond repair. And we wonder. Why in God’s vast universe would he take the great and precious treasured gospel and give it to us to for safe keeping?

A good question, answered by Paul as he not only confirms we hold this treasure in jars of clay, but also “to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” God gives us this power of the gospel so that he can display his great work in and through us. It’s not our power, but our impotence. It’s not our strength, but our weakness. It’s not our greatness, but our insignificance. In the end when something incredible happens: God gets the credit for the work he does, not us.

Thus, it’s not about us. It never has. It’s all about God. It has always been all about God. He glorifies himself by showing his great power working through the frail and broken people as if we are clay jars. It’s called grace.

That’s how we roll. All of us are damaged goods, wounded and broken by life and situations. We’ve been wronged by people as much as we have wronged people. The scars maybe evident to all, or covered up by our masks, good works, or false pretense. But here we are the walking wounded entering people’s homes or lives to minister, to care, and to bring healing. We do that, not by our own power but through our own weakness – our own brokenness. The strength we exhibit comes from God.

Sometime back I was attending a funeral visitation for a dear friend. He was a gentle soul filled with joy, love, and grace. His nephew pulled me aside to share a story in which his deceased uncle had helped shape his perspective, a perspective he is trying to pass on to his children and grandchildren. He told me he was a young teenager when a close relative passed away. The passing was a blow to the family and they were mourning. They were hurting. In his youthful pride he told his uncle, “We need to be brave for the women.” At the time he was like thirteen years old, attempting to be the “man of the house,” convinced that being tearless was the manly and adulating behavior. His uncle gently reminded him, saying, “You know, Jesus wept at a funeral too.”

It’s not about the strength we think we have, but about the strength we have in God. It’s not about how well we hold it together, but how well God holds us together.

The late Christian song writer, Rich Mullins, may have captured it best when he wrote these words:

Well, it took the hand of God Almighty to part the waters of the sea ● But it only took one lie to separate you and me ● Oh, we are not as strong as we think we are ● And they say that one day Joshua made the sun stand still in the sky ● But I can’t even keep these thoughts of you from passing by ● Oh, we are not as strong as we think we are ■ And the Master said their faith was gonna make them mountains move ● But me, I tremble like a hill on a fault line just at the thought of how I lost you ● When you love you walk on the water, just don’t stumble on the waves ● We all want to go there something awful, but to stand there it takes some grace ● Oh, we are not as strong as we think we are ■ We are frail, we are fearfully and wonderfully made ● Forged in the fires of human passion ● Choking on the fumes of selfish rage ● And with these our hells and our heavens so few inches apart ● We must be awfully small and not as strong as we think we are.

The truth is we’re not. We are not that strong. Such lyrics drive home to the truth of Paul’s image that we are   like fragile, disposable clay jars: easily damaged, easily demolished, easily discarded. But herein lies the good news for those who feel like they are spiritually falling apart, for maybe the point Paul is making is that God acts like the duct tape holding us together.

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

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Reconciliation: The Need for a Vision-Check

I wish I could see clearly. I have trouble with blurred and double vision, especially when fatigued – I have to take my glasses off to read. Not fun. Not fun at all. I also have trouble with perspective, which often keeps me from seeing clearly as well. But don’t we all? Between my own anxiety and blinders things seem blurry or distorted. Sometimes, we just need a vision-check. My own vision-check came by a fella I nicknamed, Hank.

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Almost six years ago I was hired to preach at a local church in Scioto County. A month into my ministry, Hank hobbled into my office. Time was not kind to him as his well-worn faced aged him. His clothes hung from his frail thin body. Cancer was a major set-back, but he credited God for his healing. He was the victim of a hard life and was filled with anger and bitterness, sometimes spewing unkind words about people, some of whom were those closest to him. His bent body reflected a bent anger. On top of his head was a black cowboy hat with a thin woven leather band. He wore it everywhere he went. As he sat in my office looking at me, he promised we were going to be close friends because he and my predecessor, according to his story, were close friends. I was skeptical, filled with doubt that a friendship could be sustained between the two of us. He was angry, opinionated, and we had nothing in common. My predecessor died of cancer after a twenty-plus year ministry. My predecessor presented Hank with a Bible he cherished like it was an Olympic Gold Medal. I couldn’t compete with that memory. No, it wouldn’t work and the friction between us was real. I didn’t trust him. If I was honest, I didn’t like him very much, either. Oh we were friendly, but we weren’t friends.

Time passed. A few months later Hank hobbled into my office wearing his black cowboy hat with the think woven leather band. I expected the worst; he was going to unload on me and let me have it. I braced for the assault, only to hear his rough voice say, “Jon, I think we got off to a bad start,” then he added, “I really do want to be your friend.” And from that moment, we were. We talked more. He drove me around the county, and took me to dinner at his favorite restaurant – some gas station on the Kentucky side of the Ohio River. He showed me the covered bridge made of timber from my home state of Oregon. We were friends knowing that he had my back, and in turn, I had his.

Oh, he was still angry and bitter, sometimes saying words that made me cringe or shake my head. But I was blinded and he helped me see clearer, as I started viewing Hank as my friend, not my enemy.

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Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians is really about Paul exhorting the church to reconcile their relationship with him. This is a church he started a handful of years earlier. By the time Paul writes this letter, everything he had work for had blown up. For one, a seed of resentment from Corinth was planted when Paul refused to accept pay. For us, that’s a great deal, but for a Greco-Roman world, that was almost a faux pas. They didn’t trust Paul. Secondly, an antagonistic group infiltrated the church promoting a success oriented style of ministry and Paul looked like anything but success. Loyalties to Paul and the message of the gospel he preached was in jeopardy. Writing 2 Corinthians was his attempt to call the church back to him, back to God.

By chapter five, he really starts driving home the message of the gospel in terms of reconciling relationships. To do so, he offers a vision-check in verse 16 as we no longer view people from a worldly perspective. We stop focusing on status, wealth, power, race or even build relationships around manipulation like “what I can get out of it,” instead of “what can I offer.” We stop viewing each other as enemies or competitors or as problem people, but as a new creation in Christ. Therefore, he tells us five times in verses 18-20 to be reconciled, either to God, to Paul, to each other or to all three. We call the truce. We wave the white flag of surrender. We take the hit and loss. We stop the fight and battle while laying down our arms to embrace each other in peace. No longer holding grudges, we forgive. No longer building walls, we build bridges. No longer looking for division, we seek for unity. No longer war mongering, we pursue peace. At. All. Cost.  Why? you ask? Because, as Paul says in verse 19, “. . . God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men’s sins against them.” So in our reconciling mode we do the same: we stop counting or holding the sins of people around us against them.

Such language is so important that Paul describes this ministry of reconciliation doled out to us as if we were ambassadors sent from God to lead in reconciliation. As ambassadors, we speak and act on behalf of God. As ambassadors we have the authority to act for God. As ambassadors we do not have the right to act beyond our mandate, for Paul clarifies in the verse 20, “We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: be reconciled to God.” No, as ambassadors, we model reconciliation.

On a side note, those of us in Spiritual Care take the lead in this reconciliation. When we perform an eval on our patients, we probe their lives to uncover whether reconciliation with their children, family members, or neighbors is needed. Later visits hopefully uncover those needs where we can lead them to reconcile with their needed people. Clearly, nurses and aids play a huge role in this as patients often reveal deep needs to those they trust the most.

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Sometime after I shifted my profession from church oriented work to hospice, Hank’s health took a big hit. His cancer returned with a vengeance. He entered our services and once more, I was his minister. The last conversation we had was at his house. He sat in his recliner refusing to sit or sleep anywhere else. I sat down from him on his couch. Next to me was his black cowboy hat with the think woven leather band. I picked it up and put it on my head, asking him, “How do I look?” His tired, old, wrinkly face was broken by an affirming smile. “You look great,” as he chuckled. Then he added, “When I die, you can have my hat.” And sure enough, Hank was true to his word. At his memorial, his family presented me with his hat, the same black cowboy hat with the thin woven leather band I wear today.

If you were to ask me why I wear this black cowboy hat with the think woven leather band, I’ll tell you it’s for two reasons. One, it keeps my balding head warm. And two, it reminds me that almost any relationship can be reconciled. Such a reminder that my friend Hank helped me understand so that I could see clearly. 

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

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Memorial for Eugene Crisp

PBPWMGINFWMY – is an acronym for “Please Be Patient With Me God Is Not Finished With Me Yet.” The slogan began picking up steam and made its way around churches through buttons, posters, and bumper stickers about the time Gene and Esther started dating. Maybe, just maybe, PBPWMGINFWMY foreshadowed some things to come.

The acronym slogan makes two pleas: First, I am able to grow and even change as I’m not the same person today as I was yesterday. Secondly, will you extend to me the grace and time to change? The slogan is not an excuse for behavior, but a promise – with God’s help – to continue to work toward being a better version of yourself. Gene seemed to capture the essence of this slogan.

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Scripture is clear that God, not only calls us where we are, but that God also expects us to change our behavior, our thoughts, and our disposition so that we reflect Jesus in all areas of our lives. The Apostle Paul labels this process as Formed, Conformed, and Transformed.

● Formed > Galatians 4:19 says that Paul is sticking by his Galatian churches while they struggle against the legalism being imposed on them by outside forces. He’ll walk with them “until Christ is formed in them.” Obeying rules may provide guard rails, but will not change us until God begins forming Christ in us.

● Conformed > Romans 8:29 has Paul making a beautiful declaration that God is working for the good of those called according to his purpose, and those he called  are counted on to “conform to the likeness of Christ.” The expectation is clear as we are to be shaped in such a way that everything about us looks like Jesus.

● Transformed > 2 Corinthians 3:18 says the external markers of Christianity are not what
God is looking for in us. However, as we engage God, his glorious radiance begins emitting from within us, coupled with the working of the Holy Spirit, we are then “being transformed into Christ’s likeness.”

The call goes forth, but too many of us ignore it like water crashing over hearts of stone. We justify our pattern of sinfulness: our anger, manipulation tactics, pride & arrogance, shallow understanding of who God is, as the spiritual denial and smugness oozes from within. In our shame we compare ourselves to others and hide behind our sin by saying, “We’re just not that bad.”

So many of us who grew up in church have failed to take seriously God’s call. Surveys continue to show that those of us who are “Churched” are no different, morally or ethically, from the “Unchurched.” We have blurred the line between believers and non-believers, so that we make no difference in the world resulting in God’s power becoming impotent. All the time the world sits back confused in wonder instead of being mesmerized by wonder.

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Enter Gene Crisp, an unbeliever who in 1978 was described by the family as being harsh, impatient, indifferent, unappreciative, and even unconcerned about the people around him. But this unbeliever ran into a force he had to reckon with when he met the believer, Esther.

Their introduction was by two teenage friends, Henry and Dave. The boys, sons of Esther and Gene, seeing something in each parent, devised their own Parent Trap to get them together. But there was a hitch, as this was real life and not a Disney movie: Gene was not a Christian and Esther was not interested in being unequally yoked to a non-believer. To her credit, not only did she have her faith to consider, but her children as well. Out of the boys’ hands, and even out of Esther’s hands, God began to act. God worked through Esther so that Gene might be Formed, Conformed, and Transformed.

Gene was willing to study with Esther, and was open to being mentored by people like Harry Woodsworth. All this fell in line with a man who could see discipleship as an extension of his own discipline. From the guy who chose to eat spam and an oatmeal cream cookie for lunch. Every. Single. Day. Choosing that instead of Esther’s cooking. Or the fact that he went to bed every night at 11:00 – and sent everyone else to bed too. This discipline kicked in and he studied with Esther and he began buying into what she was selling. By 1981 Gene was a Christian man marrying a Christian woman.

But change wasn’t easy, because change, if it were to happen, is never easy. Gene and Esther were blending two families while figuring out how to follow Jesus. It was hard, harder than any of us ever realized. But Esther’s patient strength won out Gene – for the woman he loved helped him transform into the Gene we know today.

Gene credits his transformation to the respect he had for Esther. In a journal connected to a men’s class at church, discovered by his family and was composed some ten years in after his wedding day, Gene made clear the source of his change. In his own words, he writes,

“My moral, spiritual, relational standard has been affected greatly with the help and guidance of my wife, Esther.”

Or this one:

          “What I would put on my tombstone is not what I think but what others think of me. It
          would be nice if someone put on my tombstone, ‘Here lies the body of Gene Crisp,
          his soul has gone to heaven.’”

And finally, this one:

          “My Esther has influenced me for the better, my whole outlook on life has been
          completely turned around. I now give more thought to my answer and more of a
          Christian response in all my actions, thanks to her evidence in my quest to live a
          Christian life.”

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When I think of Gene, I won’t think about his love of Candy Corn, or his fifteen minute of heroic fame at the end of World War II, or his kind smile when he played with a small child. No, I’ll remember him sitting by Esther’s side at SOMC while his bride was recovering from a fall. While he sat by her side he gently held her hand, patting the top of it. I didn’t know then, but I know now that I was witnessing the end product of God working through Esther to Form, Conform, and Transform Gene so that . . .

his harshness gave way to gentleness,

his impatience surrendered to patience,

his indifferent submitted to compassion,

his un-appreciativeness conceded to thankfulness,

and his unconcerned mindset yielded to a caring man.

It’s a good thing that PBPWMGINFWMY can be applied to Gene, because of that we’ll always remember him as a truly changed man.

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To Buffet or to Buffet My Body: The Power of a Disciplined Life to Say No

The eight years I spent in competitive running demanded discipline and sacrifice. Friends wanted to hang out, I had to train. Unhealthy foods calling to me were ignored. “Early to bed and early to rise” was the motto overriding the desire to either stay up or sleep in. When an athlete is in full training mode, unless significantly gifted, discipline and sacrifice are essential components for any success.

Looking back on my running career, I feel like discipline and sacrifice were often short changed. With the amount of miles I was running combined with a high rate of metabolism, I could eat almost anything I wanted with very little consequences. I went to bed early, not because I rose early to run, but because I liked going to bed early. Since running was my identity, I never really saw myself giving anything up. I was sufficiently gifted to enjoy enough success to coast through the off seasons. Overall, I loved running. I had friends who were runners. Whatever sacrifices I was making seemed minimal compared to the gains of high school and college competition. In hindsight I do not believe I comprehended the sacrifice of a truly disciplined life. Thus, I was never genuinely disciplined.

Paul knew what it meant to keep the careless desires at bay, and so did the Corinthians. Paul used the athletic image of a runner running to win the prize and a boxer who does more than simply shadow box for victory (1 Cor. 9:24-27). Since Corinth hosted the Olympic-type events called the Isthmian Games, the church was well versed in the dedicated sacrifice of the athlete. Successful athletes embrace training that cost them something in life (v. 27) in order to achieve something greater. They controlled their lives, instead of their lives controlling them.  

Paul’s use of the athletic imagery (1 Cor. 9:24-27) appears in the middle section of three chapters dedicated to addressing whether or not meat sacrificed to idols should be eaten by Christians (1 Cor. 8-10). By chapter 8’s ending Paul stated that if eating such meat causes a brother/sister to sin, then one should avoid eating the meat altogether (8:13). Turning the page to chapter nine Paul anticipates the pushback from the church as they demand their rights to eat the food. So Paul, dealing with rights, makes two strong points. First, he models giving up rights. He not only elects for a single life, but he refuses pay from the Corinthians for his preaching (9:3-6). Secondly, and to his point, giving up rights is an expression of the disciplined life as saying “no” manifests itself as a sacrifice. The athlete in training undergoes a strict regiment of diet, exercise, and sleep. In order to say “yes” to training he/she must say “no” to certain foods, to skipping workouts, and to sleep deprivation. Regardless of the pull to break training, the athlete leans into the power of a sacrificial discipline by saying “no.” In order to maintain control and discipline in his/her own life the athlete must say “no.”

I never quite understood this as a high school and college athlete. I was young and full of energy with a high metabolism. Much of that has changed. As I am staring down at the sixty year marker, not long ago, I experienced a health scare which forced me to alter my diet. I made changes that involved saying “no.” No to sweetened drinks and processed foods, while red meat and fried foods were far from my first choices. Sugar and salt intake were scaled back as I needed to drop significant weight. The disciplined life came into clear focus the day I craved a Sonic burger. I usually don’t crave Sonic burgers, but I did early on in this transition. I discovered that if I broke my fast and had the burger (with tater tots, yummm) I would satisfy my craving, but the hope of losing the weight and ruining my long term health were jeopardized. I came to realize that sometimes one just has to say “no” so that one remains in control and not being controlled by certain cravings. Even now, living with a clean bill of health, I’m pressed with the power that one must occasionally say “no.” Sometimes I succeed, other times I fail.

Such a sacrificial disciplined life stretches into our spiritual well-being. In a world that tells us to spend money and to embrace consumerism, sometimes acting in “no” helps reinforces contentment without forcing us into (more) debt. At a time when we’re bombarded by electronics and the need to mindlessly look at our phones, saying “no” frees us from all the negative social media platforms. In a culture driven by fast foods saying “no” might lead to a healthier lifestyle. Might. With an overly sexually stimulated society, saying “no” secures us from a deadly addiction with devastating consequences – not only to ourselves, but also to those we love the most. And for those who pride themselves on their own self-control, such self-control may simply be another cloak actually controlling you.

During the 1980’s FLOTUS Nancy Reagan initiated an anti-drug campaign called, “Just Say No.” Ultimately, the program failed because the producers underestimated the complexities of America’s drug problem (remember, the opioid crisis was still another generation away). The problem was individualized instead of empowering society. By treating the symptom of fighting peer pressure in the short term, they failed to provide concrete tools to resist drug use over the long haul.

What Paul is advocating is something far more encompassing than a political or social war on drugs. The discipline to say “no” is different in 1 Corinthians 9 than the “no” combating drugs. Paul is protecting the church from the arrogant as his community plea outweighs the individual rights. His message may be simplified by this axiom: you control it so that it does not control you.

I remember watching Rikki-Tikki-Tavi as a child and failing to understand why the mongoose refused the temptation to eat the entire banana. With danger lurking, the hero had to stay fit and sharp. Something was stalking, preying in the garden and far more pressing than Rikki’s personal desire and appetite. He had to stay in control so that the enemy would not gain control over him.

Thus, Paul argues, by saying “no,” we buffet our bodies over buffeting our bodies so that we remain in control so that it does not control us.

Solo Deo Glor
(i.e., Only God Is Glorified!)

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CHURCH: You Have Come

Church attendance in America has steadily declined throughout my lifetime. What was once the bedrock of our society has crumbled into seemingly shifting sands. The reasons are varied and difficult to outline here. Some of the factors are linked to the ever growing secularization of society while other causes are self-inflicted by the church itself. The recent Pandemic seems to have only exasperated the trend, leaving many to wonder the future of the church.

We aren’t the first ones who have struggled with church attendance, but we are the latest to do so. A group of Jewish Christians meeting in either Palestine or Rome became disillusioned by the Christian faith. They were second generation believers (Heb. 2:3) with a storied past. They had endured hard times facing persecution head on (Heb. 10:32-34), but now they were wavering (Heb. 10:35-36). Possibly enamored by the Jerusalem worship, their small house church couldn’t compete with the memories of the extravagant temple worship. Now they were looking to throw their faith away and revert back into full blown Judaism. We simply know this group from the letter to the Hebrews.

While the argument of the anonymous writer centers on Jesus being better than angels, Moses, the Old Covenant, the priesthood, and sacrifices, the apex of his argument is the heroes of faith in chapter 11. Having crested his thought process, the author gives one more compelling image before bringing his letter to a close. He addresses what happens behind the scenes in the assembly. Ignoring what we might know as the “worship wars” issues, he describes a reality we don’t see. He does so by a compare/contrast of two different and familiar places of worship. The writer moves from “You have not come,” to “You have come.”  

You have not come (Heb. 12:18-24) to an unnamed mountain. The writer starts in the negative to describe what is clearly Mt. Sinai and the giving of the Covenant (Ex. 19:10-25). At that mountain the people were forbidden from even touching the mountain. Fear and trembling permeated throughout Israel, even Moses himself was terrified. By reverting back to the Jewish faith, the Christians were returning to Sinai and the deadly fearful holiness of God.

You have come (Heb. 12:22a) to a mountain explicitly named, Zion. He also drops Jerusalem’s name but here he makes a turn. Where we come to is not the physical city of David, but a heavenly one. As we assemble, the physical place transports us spiritually to an entirely different reality.

You have come (Heb. 12:22b-23a) to a multitude of angels joyfully worshiping God. We do not assemble alone, regardless of our size. We are the church of the firstborn, God’s most precious people. First born like first fruits bring a status and privilege we receive from God as our names are written in heaven. Note the confidence of the writer. Our names are written, not might be written, or possibly written, or written only for a select faithful few, or written with disappearing ink. The assurance strikes with confidence: since our names are written in heaven, so don’t bail on your faith now.

You have come (Heb. 12:23b-24) both to God who is the final judge and to Jesus who mediates the new covenant. Drawing from an earlier mention of Abel (11:4) and from Genesis 4:10, where God says Abel’s blood was calling out for justice, Jesus’ blood calls out to something far better than Abel’s cry: redemption.

Right in the middle of these verses the writer says that not only are the multitude of angels present in our assemblies, but so also are the “spirits of righteous men made perfect” (v. 23b). One wonders, who are these men? First, I believe it’s safe to say that the writer is speaking generally of men so that the spirits made righteous are both men and women. Secondly, these are not the heavenly hosts mentioned earlier as he noted for they are the thousands of angels. Since the imagery is of a spiritual Jerusalem surrounded by the angelic hosts, then these spirits made righteous are the men and women of faith who have gone on before us. They are the “great cloud of witnesses” (Heb. 12:1) who are comprised, not only of those from chapter of 11, but also all those who lived by faith even in the face of death. When we assemble, we are not alone. We join the saints whom we’ve loved and respected, but who have already received their reward.

I hear the names and see the faces of all those whom I have admired, and you do too. Some we have personally known and loved. Others we have read about and admired from afar. The Hebrews writer tells us that when we assemble with the saints, we are closer to them then than when we are anywhere. While I’m not sure how much motivation this perspective holds to drive up attendance, the perspective that the assembly is greater than what we see gives clearer motivation to embrace this reminder that showing up for church is beyond this world.

The last Sunday my dad attended services, he broke routine. Usually, mom dropped him off at the door where he walked in and occupied their pew at the front of the auditorium. Mom parked the car then came and sat with dad. On this day mom walked into the auditorium and could not find dad. She sat down, waiting with concern because dad’s health was failing. When services started, he finally joined her on their pew. When pressed as to his whereabouts, dad said he was greeting people. Dad hadn’t greeted anyone for a while. His vulnerability to diseases kept him from shaking people’s hands for some time. Mom realized later that dad was not saying hello, he was telling everybody goodbye.

Now, given the context of Hebrews 12, I wonder. I wonder if dad was not just telling people hello or goodbye, but was in fact, saying, “I’ll see you next week.” And if that is true, it changes everything about the assembly.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., Only God Is Glorified!)

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Greetings from Babylon

In the summer of 2015 the Supreme Court ruled that the Fourteenth Amendment, originally enacted to protect the freedom of slaves, must now be applied to same sex marriages. The shockwaves were immediately felt. Celebrations and protests were heard almost in tandem. New marriage applications were available while some county clerks refused to issue the license out of conscience. The local newspaper, where I lived, conducted interviews with local preachers asking them their opinion and what they were going to do about the new mandate. As expected they stood against the decision and their sermons the Sunday after the announcement reflected their position.

I chose another route.

The struggle with the shifting culture is the disorientation we feel. We tell ourselves how we live in a Christian society with Christian neighbors and laws that reflect our Christian faith. As soon as laws get passed that conflict with our core value-sets our equilibrium begins to tilt and then spin. Sometimes out of control. We can cry “Foul!” or we complain, but no one listens. No one seems to care. The result always damages our witness to those who don’t believe. We are in a post-Christian era trying to view the world through a Christian era lens. We’ve convinced ourselves that we live in Jerusalem when in truth we live in Babylon. We’ve always lived in Babylon.

The following Sunday of the Supreme Court ruling I announced to the church the fall sermon series. I was preaching from 1 Peter. Instead addressing the ruling, I addressed the response to our culture. Peter’s first epistle gives the best possible way to fix, not the ruling, but our equilibrium.

Peter bookends his epistle with two words that convey the imagery he fleshes out in the body of the letter. The first is “diasporas” (1:1b) a word used to describe the Jews who were dispersed and scattered throughout the world when they were taken into captivity. In those days they found themselves in the heart of pagan territory, hostile to their faith and void of the temple which grounded their fidelity. They found themselves as unwelcomed strangers inhabiting a new land, a land they didn’t want. Peter picks up on that theme to say Christians living in a pagan world experience the same kind of disorientation. The place may be familiar but we do not fit in. We’re strangers. We’re sojourners. We’re pilgrims dispersed throughout the world. While we don’t belong, we don’t lose our faith either.

The second word of the bookend comes at the end of the letter where Peter claims he’s writing from Babylon (5:13). The cryptic message is unlikely literal as no record of Peter going into the city exists. More likely, he’s writing from Rome addressing the church in various locations (see 1:1b). By name dropping Babylon, Peter reinforces his theme of strangers living in a strange land.

The word to describe Peter’s message is exile. Located in a place far from home, living among people who do not hold common values. The exilic person feels ostracized, intimidated, and abandoned. No, we’ve probably never been exiled, but we’ve felt something similar to an exile.

In John Mark Comer’s book, Live No Lies (see pg. xxiv-xxvi), he describes the shared experiences of the exiled. First, a shift has occurred where Christians used to be in the majority, but are now a minority. Fewer and fewer people are identifying with a local church and long term trends are anything but optimistic on changing the trend. Secondly, being a Christian was once a badge of honor but now is often viewed as a prison of shame. Instead of the Church as a place to offer a pathway to solving social problems, the Church has too often been part of creating or exasperating the social problems. We’ve created part of the dilemma we live in. Thirdly, because of the first two, a shift has occurred where society may have been tolerant of the Christian perspective but are quickly moving to being intolerant. The result is that people who identify as Christian are in the minority and are bearing the shame of the title finding more and more intolerance toward such perspective. Comer’s description sounds like we’re exiled in our own land.

If Comer’s assessment is right, then maybe we can start understanding how we’re living in a post-Christian era which looks a lot like the pre-Christian era in which Peter wrote his epistle. We start viewing ourselves as exiles in a forsaken Babylon instead of citizens of safe Jerusalem. Some of the themes Peter touches on include hope (1:3-9), a call to living holy lives (1:15-16), accepting social rejection (2:4-8), suffering like Jesus (2:21-24; 3:3-22), living with an unbelieving spouse (3:1-7), living at the end of time (4:7-10), all while staying alert to the dangers surrounding us (5:8-9).

So when the verdict was handed down by the Supreme Court, I chose not to rail against the decision, though I am sure my congregation wished I had. I chose instead to take a different and difficult route. I began reframing our context. Society is far less friendly to the Christian faith then originally believed. Society has always been unfriendly to the Christian faith when it really mattered. The difference is that foreign soil. We’re being forced to reevaluate what following Christ really means, and that really is not so bad. We have a pretty good roadmap and it includes a letter from the Apostle Peter.  

Solo Deo Gloria!
(i.e., Only God Is Glorified!)

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I Prayed for Ukraine

I prayed for Ukraine
When the Soviet Union fell, folded, divided, and dissolved,
Giving the people more power and resolve;|
ndependence and freedom were ushered into the toast of a champaign.

I prayed for Ukraine
When the spiritually dry, barren, and parched Soviet lands
Received fresh water from the Savior with pierced hands;
Missionaries persuaded the locals to come to the Jesus who reigns.

I prayed for Ukraine
The day my brother and his wife traveled to an orphanage in Aackabo to adopt their son,
And when they saw that the boy was wearing a Snoopy t-shirt, they knew he was the one;
My nephew was chosen as if the moment was somehow pre-ordained.

I prayed for Ukraine
When an untested President was accused of corruption – a victim of being coerced –
And was threatened: “Play our game or the allocated monies for defense won’t be dispersed.”  
As his reputation was tarnished and maligned, he was recipient of the world’s disdain.

I prayed for Ukraine
When Russia began its invasion on the pretext of lies;
With buildings being bombed and cities facing undeniable demise;
Refugees fleeing their home, maybe forever, while saying their goodbyes
To the fighting men – their sons, their husbands, and their fathers – amid their tears and cries;
Their food, water, and clothing all in short supplies.
Death hovers like a vulture circling the brave soldiers and innocent civilians caught in the cross-fires,
While on the fringes – at the borders to avoid escalation – are waiting and watching the allies; 
The world saw an untested President refusing to flee, heroically calling his nation to rise,

Hoping that someone in power can put an end to this refrain,

I prayed for Ukraine’s enemies,
The Russian soldiers were told they were liberating the people
Because Putin’s invasion is far from legal,
Where the Imago Dei, instead of gathering in a warzone, should be gathered under a steeple;
For Jesus calls us to be fully stretched and pray for all, including those who are as trustworthy as a weasel;
Calling us through prayer that peace may come from the greatest of the Supremacies.

I prayed for Ukraine.

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

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An Exposed Weakness: When Our Heroes Are Vulnerble

We love our heroes. We place them on victory stands and adorn them with honor. We build larger-than-life statutes because their feats were larger-than-life. They often defied the odds and overcame obstacles where others folded under the pressure. We cheer on their success and then quickly turn on them when they fail. For in their failures they remind us that they are human too.

In the Marvel Cinematic Universe Thor was part of the key inner circle members of the Avengers. Confident, if not arrogant. Courageous and self-sacrificing. Rugged good looks but filled with compassion. He was born to be king and people were willing to follow him. But following his failed attempt to stop Thanos, Thor’s story took a dark turn. He devolved into a coward, hiding from everyone and everything. His only solace was the hard liquor he was consuming. When we find him he’s overweight and just under drunk.

The move may have been a brilliant stroke of genius from the writers with Chris Hemsworth selling his Endgame role. Yes, I hated seeing Thor suffer from PTSD. He was still mourning the loss of his mother and pining away the breakup from Jane Foster. His sister, cut off from the family, released Ragnarok upon Asgaard destroying his home city and planet. His father’s death came with his sister’s return. While a remnant of Asgardians were fleeing as refugees, Thanos appeared. The Mad Titan murdered Thor’s step-brother, Loki, along with his closest friends. Faced with his own defeat against Thanos, Thor showed us that the “God of Thunder” was just as human as the rest of us.

Humanity may prop people up as gods, but even the best of us have vulnerable spots. When those areas are exposed and exploited we feel the pangs of death. Most people downplay and hide those areas of weakness. They try to put on a strong face to mask the pain. For the apostle Paul, he chose another approach. He marketed those very areas as the best he has to offer God.

One of the most powerful images Paul paints is the treasure and clay pot in 2 Corinthians 4:7. Center stage to his entire epistle to the Corinthians is a church that props up leaders who show no fear and display great powerful strength. Paul won’t compete on that stage. Paul can’t compete on that stage. He is frail and weak. He is like a clay jar that is fragile, breakable, and expendable. Fear and suffering mark his faith. He hardly goes through life unscathed. And yet, God has chosen to place the priceless and powerful gospel in someone so frail, broken, and expendable.

What holds Paul together, like duct tape, is God. For the gospel of Christ is lived out in frail humanity. The strength displayed in Paul is God working through him. The power for Paul to preach, teach, and endure is fueled by God. The courage to face the future is energized by God working through Paul. Paul refused to take credit for God’s work, as he says,

. . . to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We also carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be revealed in our body (2 Cor. 4:7b-10).

To say it another way, Paul looked more like the broken Thor from Endgame than he did the mighty Thor of the previous movies. And if the Corinthians, who knew Paul face-to-face, rejected Paul because of his weaknesses, why do we think we, who only know him from history, would embrace him so readily?

Some of this “strength and weakness” theological inner conflict has come to the forefront of my thinking as I’ve been following the 2021 Tokyo Olympics. Simone Biles, reigning Olympic Gold Medalist gymnast, sent shockwaves through the world by backing out of Olympic competition. Making sense of her decision may be an effort in futility, but adding perspective to her situation is possible. While I have no idea of her faith, and based on the treasure in clay jar analogy, Biles is a physically powerful athlete who experienced a crack in her mental and emotional well-being. With that in mind, here are my thoughts to consider.

First, I have only dreamed of competing on such a stage, she has struck gold 23 times (Olympic and World Championship count). She has 31 total medals. Until we have walked in her competitive shoes, we should be slow to criticize.

Secondly, the news cycle, whether it is political or athletic in nature, is a constant barrage of attention. In the age of incessant instant information the news media and social media outlets are constantly looking for a new and breaking story. Constantly. And our athletes are compelled to entertain the reporters. Such attention is unhealthy. I read that Michael Jordan believes even he could not imagine playing under today’s scrutiny.  

Thirdly, never underestimate the effect COVID-19 has had on the athletes. The isolation and lockdown has had negative repercussions on everyone, and the reaction has varied from person to person. Remember, the Games were delayed a year. Had they played last year without COVID protocols, we probably would not have this conversation today.

Fourthly, Biles’ success came in spite of being sexually abused by Dr. Nassar. Never underestimate the emotional and psychological damage trauma Biles has had to work through. Can we even fathom what she (and 250 other girls) have had to endure with the spotlight on them for so long? I don’t think so. By the way, a big reason for her to continue competing was to protect the new gymnasts in the US Gymnastic system.

Finally, she has demonstrated tremendous courage and grace in the midst of her trials and through these Games. She could have run and hid or go home. Instead she cheered her teammates on and reentered competition to earn a Bronze Medal in the Balance Beam.

Come to think about it, she appears quite human after all. And we ought to applaud her for that, too.

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