Growing Your Faith

August 31

“He grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God.” In this short sentence, St. Paul reveals the source of Abraham’s endurance in the face of disappointments and challenges the likes of which would have felled lesser men.

I’ve heard people pray like the father of the epileptic boy who responded to Jesus’ challenge that all things were possible to him who believes: “I believe help my unbelief!” I’ve even prayed that prayer a few times myself, but often without much increase in the faith department. Perhaps it’s because I’ve neglected the second half of Paul’s statement: “as he gave glory to God.” When my faith is weak and I’m struggling to locate God in the swirl of events and emotions, I’m not usually giving much glory to God. Like Peter, the storm has a way of diverting my focus from Jesus to the waves that are engulfing me. 

But Scripture is quite clear on the matter. It was as he gave glory to God that his faith increased. Not as he prayed or sang or listened to a sermon. It was as he made the choice to glorify God even if he could see no way out of his dilemma, when he praised God even if he was afraid, confused, or discouraged. It really works! There is just one caveat: we can praise God in the storm, but we can’t praise God if we’re harboring some secret sin in our hearts. We must be clean before God; not perfect, but clean—“confessed” up and open. I am thankful tonight for these little phrases of Scripture that occasionally leap from the page to challenge and correct me, and even help me grow stronger in my faith as I follow its directive.

Lingering with God

August 30, 2018

“He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty...Surely he shall deliver you from the snare...”Because you have made the LORD who is my refuge, even the Most High, your dwelling place, no evil shall befall you.” (Psalm 91:1, 3, 9)

For generations, these words have comforted believers in times of trial. I’ve read them dozens of times, but this morning in our men’s prayer group, that little word “dwell” leapt from the page. A number of wonderful promises are found in this Psalm, but there is a condition for receiving them. We must dwell in the secret place of the Most High, which poses a problem for many of us. We visit that place on occasion, but do we really dwell there? Do we even know what that secret place is, or where it may be found? The mystics and monastics invest hours in silence, in worship and song, that they may find the key that opens the door to that secret place. Instead of a lingering hug, we zip in for a quick kiss on God’s cheek and just as quickly we are out the door and on our way to whatever has grabbed our attention at the moment.

I must confess that it’s been awhile since I really settled in. Dwelling means we’ve made this secret place our home; we aren’t merely houseguests; we belong here. From memory, I can describe almost every inch of our home. I not only know how it looks on the outside; I’ve inched my way through the crawl space under the living room; I’ve seen the studs in the walls, helped pull wires, been into the attic. I dwell here. Sadly, I have to say that the secret place of the Most High is often secret from me. 

The rewards are worth it: deliverance, protection, fearlessness, health, victory over our enemies, answers to prayer, long life, and salvation. Who doesn’t desire such wonderful gifts? And yet, who among us is actually willing to dwell in that secret place, to settle in with God for the long haul? 

I am thankful tonight for this word which challenged me this morning. The old Gospel hymn says it well: “Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it; prone to leave the God I love.” Were it not for the Word of God doing its job of stabbing me in the heart till I bleed for Jesus, I would have fallen by the wayside years ago. Instead, here I am, listening to this word, learning again to lean in to the secret place.

An Ozone Day

August 29, 2018

In the valley, the pungent smell of diesel and non-compliant gasoline engines drowns out all other aromas, but riding the ridge of the hill on the back road, a faint whiff of ozone hinted at the rain to come later in the day. More reliable than the weather app on my phone, that diaphanous electric fragrance couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the rain would come; only that it would come. 

One of the unsung benefits of driving my sidecar is the variety of olfactory delights that bombard you along the way, dead animals excepted. Billowing cumulus in the western sky were far enough away to assure that it would be afternoon before the shower, while overhead, the sun engulfed everything in sight in steamy warmth. It was going to be a beautiful day!

Prayer with some pastor friends and a stop at Tim Horton’s for breakfast was followed by a couple hours at the office before linking up with Debbie for some door-to-door work. Debbie is one of our pastors, a tiny wisp of a woman, diminutive in both size and demeanor. I’ve known her casually for years, but since she came to us in Dunkirk, I’ve developed a profound respect for her. She may be small, but when it comes to matters of faith, she is fearless! We leap-frogged every other house, her taking one while I knocked on the next door. Those who were home and answered our knocks were mostly Latino, which gave me the opportunity to practice my Spanish by praying with a couple women for their pastor who is having eye surgery. 

I hate going door to door! I will do just about anything to avoid it; any lame excuse will do, which is why I need someone who will hold me accountable and if need be, kick me out the door. But I understand that the difference between failure and success is being willing to do what others are not, and most Christians I know are doing the same things, expecting that advertising campaigns, a hip worship band, and a social media presence will grow the church. They may help, but there is no substitute for face-to-face contact with people in the neighborhood. So, like it or not, we are doing it. It was beastly hot, but the rain held off till after I got home in the afternoon. I am thankful tonight for Debbie, and for the opportunity we had to meet and pray with some of the folks in our neighborhood. That early morning whiff of ozone tipped me off; It was a beautiful day!

People Last

August 28, 2018

The Alma church where I started out closed a few years ago. A tiny congregation tucked in the confluence of two valleys in New York’s Southern Tier, they considered it their mission in this world to get young preachers started. They got this one started, and ever since, I’ve been grateful for their patience and grace. I’ve reviewed the sermons I preached and am continually amazed at how they put up with such wretched stuff. But we scoured the valley, visiting door to door, till we had nearly 30 kids with whom we started a youth group, and lo and behold, some of those kids got saved. Nearly fifty years later, we are in communication with some of them, spread out all over the country, faithfully serving Christ.

The mostly Scandinavian people we knew at the Emmaus church in Chicago are all gone now, but the church lives on in a new form as a primarily Hispanic congregation. Those we knew and served had the courage to enable the church to find a new identity matching the changing neighborhood.

The Alabama people scattered in a half dozen different directions when the bishop appointed a pastor everyone knew would be a disaster. Six months after we came to Sinclairville, this once promising congregation of primarily young adults had almost completely collapsed. Today it is a fragile shell of itself, but those young adults stayed faithful to Christ as they served in other congregations, some even pastoring locally and a thousand miles away.

Thirty-two years in Sinclairville—twenty years of growth followed by a near implosion from which we struggled back to health over the next ten years, till we were privileged to hand over a healthy growing congregation to the new pastor, who has continued to lead the church in growth. 

I’ve been around long enough to know that even a healthy congregation can fall on hard times, and success today is no guarantee of anything tomorrow. Through it all, I’ve learned a single ministry lesson: If I seek to build a ministry, I am building on shifting sand. If I choose to build people, they will last no matter what happens to the institution. Institutionally, I have a batting average of .500, better than some, worse than others. And even the two that are presently healthy might not be tomorrow. Even a small misstep could torpedo the entire enterprise. 

But the individuals in whom we invested our lives were transformed by the Gospel and those still living continue to live out their faith in Christ. It is a mistake to elevate the institution above the people in it. They will last; the institution will not. I am thankful tonight for the years that taught me this lesson, and for those who heard the Gospel, believed it, and allowed it to transform their lives. They are my joy and reward.

The Ride

August 27, 2018

As I rode up the hill, the air was heavy with the leftover humidity from the night’s rain, but the road was dry. Breaking out of the valley to the ridge above, I could see beyond the hayfields dotted with round bales, over the valley still swathed in mist, to the forested hills to the west and the old seminary transformed years ago into the Job Corps settlement where at-risk young adults are learning skills for life. It was going to be a pleasant ride.

It needed to be. My stomach was churning as I thought about what lay ahead of me. I suppose in the greater scheme of things it’s pretty minor, but to me, presenting God’s Word to his people is a daunting task. No, it’s not dangerous; once when John Wesley was scouting out a place to preach to the miners who gathered to hear him, he rejected an otherwise perfect setting because it had too many rocks that could become projectiles. I have no such fears; it’s just the responsibility that goes with the job. James said that not many should aspire to be teachers of the Word, because they will be held to a greater accountability. Some day I will stand before the Supreme Majesty of the Universe who will examine me with inscrutable and inescapable piercing knowledge. I expect he will ask but one question: “Did you do your best?” There will be no escape and no excuse. I won’t be able to duck or dodge the issue. 

All that is running through my mind as I drive. The beauty that surrounds me is comforting—the One who will examine me is the same God who lavished beauty and intricacy upon the hills and valleys, fields and forests; the same God whose love offered his own Son on the Cross for my sins. Grace is my only hope, and this beauty reminds me of it, calming my soul as I close in upon my destination—a pulpit—with gratitude for the ride, the beauty, and the grace.

Possible

August 26, 2018

There really is no excuse for living half-heartedly, dragging ourselves through days and nights repeatedly stumbling into the same snares. Peter tells us that God has given us everything we need for life and godliness through the knowledge of Christ (2 Peter 1:3), which means the provision is there if we will just take advantage of it. Paul expands upon this in his prayer for the Ephesian Christians in the first chapter of his letter by that name. Listen to what he prays:

“That the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give to you the spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of him, the eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that you may know what is the hope of his calling, what are the riches of the glory of his inheritance in the saints, and what is the exceeding greatness of is power toward us who believe, according to the working of his mighty power which he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places.” 

That is quite a mouthful, but it boils down to three things Paul prays for the Ephesian Christians: He wants them to know (1) hope, (2) riches, and (3) power. In other words, he prays that we have the motivation, the resources, and the ability to live the life God has called us to live (vv. 18-19) All this comes through knowing Christ, as he prays in v. 17 that God the Father give us wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of him (Christ). 

I have to admit that in me Paul’s prayer has too often gone unanswered. Like someone who stubs his toe walking through a darkened room instead of turning on the light so he can see where he is going, I’ve failed to turn on the switch, and consequently have stubbed many a spiritual toe in the darkness of my heart. It’s not necessary. All I need for life and godliness is available simply by knowing Christ. I want to be the answer to Paul’s prayer, and am thankful tonight that it’s within reach, if I will simply believe and stretch out my hand.

Training camp

August 25, 2018

“Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” —Proverbs 22:6. If there is any better incentive to keep doing the hard work of parenting, I don’t know what it could be. It’s never easy. The job requires consistency, patience, and persistence. There are times when it seems the child will never learn; times when they challenge everything the parent says, times when they break your heart. 

Too often, parents wimp out. It’s easier to let the child get away with bad behavior, harder to model and insist upon hard work even when it is inconvenient or difficult. Discovering what motivates each child takes diligent listening, paying attention to the little clues that others miss.

Linda and I operated by a simple mantra: “If it won’t be cute at fifteen, it’s not cute at five.” That simple sentence saved us a lot of heartache over the years. Laziness was not an option; our boys still talk about having to weed an “acre” of garden before they were allowed to play with their friends. So sad. 

One of the challenges of parenting young children is taking advantage of their natural desire to help, to be a part of whatever the parent is doing. As anyone with teenagers knows, those years fade all too quickly, till we wonder who switched kids on us when we weren’t looking. The irony of it is that they want to help when their help means more work for us, but by the time they actually can do the work, their interest has disappeared like the early morning mist.

So, today when I got the phone call asking how to remove the old cast iron bathtub in the bathroom, I said, “I have a special tub removal tool; I’ll bring it over.” Jeanine was eager to see this magical instrument, and I loved the look on her face when I showed up with my sledgehammer. As Matt went to work on the tub, I noticed ten year old Nathan poking his head in the door. “Give him a crack at it,” I mentioned to Matt. 

The weight of the hammer was a bit much for Nathan, but with his dad encouraging him to hit it again, he kept swinging until he knocked out a piece of cast iron. The grin on his face was worth it. Training camp today; life tomorrow.

Choose Life

August 24, 2018

It’s a very short trip from content to discontent, and it all depends on what we’re looking for. The irritations, disappointments, and just plain ordinariness of life are like tiny pebbles in a shoe; not much to them, but they make every step painful. You can shake your foot and try to move it where it won’t bother you so much, but until you make the decision to stop, take off the shoe and tip it upside down, that tiny irritation will continue to make life miserable for you.

We have choices in life. We can look at all the ways people don’t measure up to our expectations, at the plans that went awry, all the things in life that are beyond our control, or we can look for the unexpected blessings, all the minor miracles that continually come our way. The problem for many of us is that we don’t actually have to complain or criticize for negativity to darken our path. Just dwelling on them in our minds or talking over legitimate grievances with a friend can be enough to cloud the skies that are otherwise clear blue.

Choose life! Today and every day. That short trip from content to discontent is not a one-way street. Contentment is mostly a matter of choosing to dwell on better things. It’s a lesson that took me too many years to learn. I’m thankful that I finally did.

Biblical Realism

August 23, 2018

Psalm 90 which used to be a staple of Christian funeral meditations has fallen upon hard times lately. It’s not quite culturally appropriate to say that God “turn(s) man to destruction,” or to say, “We have been consumed by your anger, and by your wrath we are terrified...all our days have passed away in your wrath.” Even many Christians cringe a this kind of talk.

But it is there in Scripture, and no amount of explanation can make it disappear. A Christian might be tempted to say, “We’ll, that’s Old Testament. The wrath of God was satisfied when it was poured out on Jesus on the Cross,” and in a way, that is true. The problem is, this psalm rings true to life as many people experience it. Their expectations lie unfulfilled, their dreams broken in the dust.

The Bible is true to life. It doesn’t sugarcoat or soft-sell it. Disappointment, perplexity, suffering and loss are just as much a part of life as are joy, love, and peace. Even for those who love and are faithful to God. Having faith doesn’t mean everything is always “happy, happy, joy, joy.” What it does mean is found later in this psalm where the writer says, “So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom,” and, “Let the beauty of the LORD our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands.” These sentiments are two sides of the coin. We pray for wisdom as we consider this often difficult life, and we ask God to establish our efforts apart from which those efforts are transitory at best. 

I am thankful tonight for the realism of the Bible and for its down-to-earth approach to life’s challenges that give believable hope for those who struggle with those difficulties.

Pre-work

August 22, 2018

Sometimes before you can begin the work you have before you, you have to do the pre-work that prepares the way and makes possible the real work. In case that sentence is confusing, here’s what I mean. Our son and daughter in law need to remodel their downstairs bathroom. The floor is spongy and the decor is shopworn; a total overhaul is necessary. But before we could begin ripping things apart, we needed to install a shower in the upstairs bathroom so they could maintain some semblance of cleanliness during the project. Since we had to run new plumbing upstairs and the old plumbing was a patchwork of hodgepodge mismatched tubing, we decided that rather than try to cobble into such a crazy system, it would be better to replace the whole thing right from the meter. Of course, being the experienced plumbers that we are, this entailed numerous trips to Home Depot for fittings, and will result in one last trip to return all the stuff we thought we needed, but didn’t. 

Today, it’s done! The shower is officially installed and working, and there don’t seem to be leaks anywhere in the system. These first-time plumbers rock! But the entire last two week’s work is all preliminary. Only now are we able to really begin the work we set out to do.

A lot of life is like that. Before the real work can begin, we must do the pre-work. Before preaching, study and prayer are necessary. Before performing, the musician invests untold hours practicing. Before teaching, there is much lesson preparation. Before presenting in court, the lawyer spends hours preparing the case. The work everyone sees is the culmination of a lot more work that remains in the background, unseen by most. But without it, that which is seen is revealed as shoddy and substandard, unworthy of honor or acclaim. Tonight, I am thankful for the behind the scenes effort revealed in quality products, whether buildings, education, music, mechanics, or preaching. Our lives are enriched by people who are willing to do the unsung work behind the scenes, making what is seen a work of art.

Rekindle the Flame

August 21, 2018

Last night, for the first time in months, I got to play my string bass before a crowd. It wasn’t much—just two simple songs, but it rekindled a joy that had been dormant since last spring when our New Horizons Jazz Band played a couple numbers in a recital. Plucking strings is not a world-shaking matter; events are playing out all around the world that impact hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people. Natural disasters, political intrigue, personal and national violence and injustice—the list goes on and on. 

And I am thankful to be playing the bass. An ordinary, uneventful thing. But this morning en route to a funeral, I thought about this woman who lived an ordinarily faithful life, and of the people who were touched by her life and witness. Linda and I talked later about friends with whom we were once close, but now it’s almost as if we lived in different worlds. For some, it was as simple as a physical move that took us in different directions. The years have passed and we’ve lived our lives in different places. Others chose to distance themselves from us. Either way, it’s the shared everyday, ordinary events of life that bind us together. If the sharing and the communication ceases, we drift apart. Our lives are not primarily built upon major events, but on the little events repeated with almost monotonous regularity. 

Tonight, I am thankful for those daily building blocks of relationship that bind me to family and friends. And like playing my bass, every so often I find that I’m missing someone and need to rekindle the relationship with a conversation, perhaps coffee and a prayer. When I do, just like playing my bass, I am filled with a special joy that fills a deep place within me that I hadn’t realized was empty until I picked it up once more.

Cushion

August 20, 2018

Of the Ten Commandments, perhaps the fourth is the most broken by Evangelical Christians in our frenetic activity fueled by a mistaken belief that the conversion of the world depends solely upon the amount of ministry we undertake. Don’t get me wrong—I believe in Jesus’ Great Commission to “Go into all the world and preach the Gospel,” but I also believe in the inviolability of the Ten Commandments. It is that Fourth Commandment—to honor the Sabbath day and keep it holy—that we neglect to our own hurt. After all, no less than Jesus himself said that the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. It isn’t given as a restriction on our freedoms, but as a relief from our labors.

This summer has been for me, almost non-stop activity. It’s been good stuff, and I have been deeply blessed with all that has gone on. But all that activity has a price, and lately, I’ve been feeling pressed. I’m not frustrated or frantic...just pressed. I’ve been trying to come up with the right words to describe how I’ve been feeling, and today it came to me. It’s a single word: CUSHION. It feels like the cushion is gone; that little bit of leeway that provides just a bit of breathing space, a little softening of the day. 

Knees and hips that lose their cushion grate and growl, and hurt enough to limit movement. The cartilage wears out, and we get knee and hip replacements that have some cushion built in. And if we are in a car accident, we are grateful for those airbags that cushion the blow, preventing serious injury. When someone brings bad news, we appreciate them trying to cushion the blow with gentle and kind words.

Cushion makes the difficulties of life a little more bearable, and when we are constantly busy, we deprive ourselves of the cushion that enables us to respond to life with resiliency. In short, without cushion, we wear out. 

I have mixed feelings about this. It doesn’t take much of a look around me to see people who have much less cushion in life than me. They are stretched and stressed to the max, and I often wonder how they do it. I watch parents of young children or teenagers, chasing all over the countryside trying to provide every advantage to their children, making sure they attend every game, concert, and production the kids are in. And in the church, instead of helping people choose wisely the activities they may need to abandon in order to serve God, we simply tack Christian stuff onto all the other things, till we live on the edge of collapse. We just have to keep the wheels turning.

Pastors often are the worst with this. I heard a pastor once say, “We’ll, the devil never takes a day off, so why should I?” The answer should be obvious: Since when is the devil supposed to be our example? Maybe we should take a page from Jesus’ playbook. He was sleeping in the back of the boat in the height of the storm, and instead of hurrying to Lazarus’ side, he took his time getting there so the greater glory of God could be revealed. I wonder what greater glory we miss because we were in so much of a hurry to do God’s work that we outpaced God himself.

There are seasons to life, and this summer (and especially this week) have been pretty busy. The farmer needs to make hay while the sun is shining, and there are times we just have to keep going. But tonight, I am thankful for the wisdom of Jesus and the command of Scripture that give me perspective and remind me to make sure I build a little cushion into my life. It can’t happen for a couple more days, but I’m going to make sure it does. And when that day comes, I’ll kick back, breathe deeply, and thank God for the Sabbath he has commanded.

Once More

August 19, 2018

It’s a love-hate relationship. Every Sunday morning my stomach is in knots. I can’t eat; I feel skitterish inside as I pace and pray, feeling totally inadequate for the task that confronts me. I ask myself over and over, “What make you think you can do this?” and I can think of a dozen or more reasons why I cannot and should not. But I can’t put it off forever, and at 10:30 a.m., I dive in, ready or not. And when 11:30 rolls around, I am so glad to be finished once more. 

Then Sunday afternoon, my mind is whirling once more, reviewing the text and wondering what I can bring out of it that has any value for anyone. If I were only delivering a lecture, it would be easy. I could prepare my remarks, get up in front of people, and say what I had to say; end of story. Instead, I’m preaching; trying to faithfully present the Word of God to the people of God in a way that is clear and convincing. A couple weeks ago, one of our ladies paid me a wonderful compliment when she said I don’t talk over their heads like some preachers she knew had done. My first thought was that it is hard talking over people’s heads when you aren’t particularly smart or scholarly yourself, but I understand and appreciate what she was telling me. My second thought was, But that’s my job—if I’m talking over people’s heads, I’m not doing my job.”

In fact, it isn’t easy being plain spoken. I know more than a few preachers who somehow imagine that the more big words they use, the smarter they are. I have to admit, I like language and the nuances that are possible with the right choice of words, but if the words aren’t familiar to the audience, the right choice of words is the wrong choice of words. It’s possible to be correct and wrong at the same time. And it’s easy. What isn’t easy is finding the just the right word to convey truth that can be digested. And that is why I am thankful every Sunday when the sermon is over. I’ve given it my best, studied, wrestled, and prayed over it, and offered it as best as I can. I am glad to be done. And tomorrow, it starts all over again. Love—hate; that would pretty well describe my life. But tonight, I am content and thankful that once more, for now, it’s over.  

Tsoogii

August 18. 2018

It was in 2003 when I first met Tsoogii. We served together on a mission team in his home country of Mongolia, traveling from the capital city of Ulaanbaatar, across roadless steppes to remote villages in the countryside. Tsoogii had been a thug and had served time in prison where he met Tsengel, a woman social worker who introduced him to Christ. He was converted and eventually married her and began raising a family.

We worked together for two weeks and developed a long-distance friendship that has lasted these almost fifteen years. It hasn’t been easy for Tsoogii and Tsengel. He relapsed into some of his old ways before finally turning a corner and settling down. Today, he is a pastor and evangelist, faithfully serving our Lord. It was only recently that we managed to arrange a means of sending him financial support. He sent me photos of the first home they’ve ever owned, a ger of which they are quite proud. He also sends photos and videos of his evangelistic work, and though I don’t understand a single word of Mongolian, it is good to hear his voice again, and to be able to play even a small part in the work he is doing in Mongolia.

One never knows where serendipitous encounters will lead. I met Tsoogii in a roundabout way, beginning when I was having breakfast at a hotel in Colorado Springs six months earlier. A young man approached and asked if he could join me. I welcomed him to my table and we struck up a conversation. Tsoogoo was the Mongolian director of Every Home for Christ which happened to be celebrating the opening of their new international headquarters just down the road. I was out there for some training with a different organization, but Tsoogoo introduced me to Richard Smith, right hand man to Dick Eastman, president of EHC. Before it was all done, we had been invited to join them on a mission trip to Mongolia. Richard and Linda and I hit it off, and I ended up taking several trips with him. Richard stood by us during a very difficult time in our lives the following year, and we have been fast friends ever since.

Tsoogoo, Richard, Tsoogii—it was a circuitous route, but the cords of love and faith that bind us together are stronger than the language, distance, or the years that divide us. Tsoogii is in the middle of an evangelistic campaign even as I write, and wrote to me asking me to pray for him. I do so, joyfully, yet longing to see him again. God is so good, bringing people together in unlikely ways, knitting their hearts as one in Christ; and I am so thankful tonight for that binding, and for modern technology that helps us keep in touch, and for the privilege of being even a small part of his ministry halfway around the world.

Different Perspectives

August 17, 2018

“As iron sharpens iron, so a man sharpens the countenance of another.” 

                                                                                   —Proverbs 27:17

A conversation with a pastor friend the other day brought this proverb to mind. We were talking about why we do what we do—why we’re in ministry, and got to discussing the theological foundations for pastoral ministry. It’s something that doesn’t happen often enough. You’d think that pastors would do this kind of mutual introspection on a regular basis, but in more than 40 years of ministry, I could count on my fingers how often I’ve actually talked seriously with another pastor about the theological underpinnings of what we do.

The fact is, we need each other if we are to engage life seriously. One of the dangers of the increasing prevalence of online education is the tendency to become isolated from the people and conversations we need to keep from stagnating and straying from our calling. This is true not only of Christian ministry, but also of life in general.

This morning I had a wonderful conversation with a woman in our writer’s group. Today was my day for a group critique of something I had written a couple weeks ago using some of the Biblical imagery regarding gardens. She had questioned my use of a particular text, but later apologized, hoping I wasn’t offended. I wasn’t, and told her so, and added that I valued her perspective as a Jewish person on the Old Testament texts I referenced. We grow best if we are not planted in monocultural fields, and this week my iron was sharpened by two conversations that stretched me and made me look with a more critical eye upon my own perspectives. For that, I am thankful tonight,

Prescriptive or Descriptive?

August 16, 2018

A frequently ignored principle regarding Bible study is being able to distinguish between a description and a prescription. Allow me to explain. 

When Jesus told Nicodemus that to see the kingdom of God he must be born again, he was using prescriptive language. “Must” is pretty definitive, and the way Jesus speaks, everyone is included. The same is true for Peter’s response to those who heard his preaching at Pentecost and asked, “What must we do?” (Acts 2:37).

“Repent and let every one of you be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins; and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.” This is prescriptive language, telling us the requirements for salvation.

But earlier in Acts 2, we find descriptive language when the Holy Spirit comes upon the believers in the upper room. It says that there was the sound of a mighty rushing wind, tongues of fire descended upon them, and they spoke in other tongues (or languages, according to the context) that they had not learned. Nowhere is it intimated that this is intended to happen to everyone in this way. Some Christians have asserted that the speaking in tongues is prescriptive, that is, it is normative for every Christian. 

St. Paul’s own words in 1 Corinthians 14:5 are telling: “I wish you all spoke in tongues...” indicating that they did not. Even more, he wished they all could prophesy, again indicating that they did not. But Paul’s desires do not necessarily mean everyone should do this. He himself used the various members of the body to illustrate the necessity for diversity in the Body of Christ. 

Too often Biblical language that is descriptive is taken to be prescriptive, with the result that many faithful Christians are made to feel like second-class believers who are missing out on God’s “perfect will” for them. The irony of it is that often prescriptive language is taken with a grain of salt, with the resulting destructive disobedience that such misunderstanding brings. 

I am thankful tonight for both prescriptive and descriptive language, the one that is intended to universally apply to all, and the other that instead reveals the many ways God’s work in our life is manifested.

Life’s Schematic

August 15, 2018

Trying to figure it out in my head just doesn’t work. I tried it, and now have to go back (literally) to the drawing board. Remodeling projects have a way of sneaking up behind you with the unexpected and smacking you alongside the head. When the walls are opened up, you find all sorts of nasty stuff lurking in the shadows. In Matt’s case, a lot of it was out in the open...sort of. Like today, he showed me the downstairs toilet which instead of being secured with a regular toilet flange, was bolted through the floor to a pair of disc brake pads on the underside of the sub flooring. The former owner was a master of make-do!

The plumbing is a hodge-podge of copper tubing; not code-approved copper pipe; the tubing is a mixture of half inch, three-eighths, and sometimes back to half inch again, cobbled together by an assortment of fittings, but no shut-off valves. We decided that as long as we were remodeling the bathroom and adding an upstairs shower, this would be as good a time as any to replace the entire system with the right stuff. So this morning, I trolled the internet to find out what I needed to know about installing a Pex system before going out and buying the needed fittings. 

I had drawn up a rough diagram of the system, but missed a few items. So tonight, it’s back to the drawing board. 

Life is like that. Trying to figure it all out in my head just doesn’t work. I need a schematic—a map that lays out before me what I need to get the job done. Fortunately, I have such a map. It’s called the Bible, and it points out the pitfalls as well as showing me the connections, joints, and turns I need to make. It saves me from many a do-over, and makes the business of life go much more smoothly. I am thankful tonight for the old Book, and for the wisdom, grace, correction, and hope it has given me for most of my life. I don’t have to try to figure everything out on my own, and that’s a good thing!

Melancholy and Joy

August 14, 2018

“What if melancholy were as much a gift from God as is joy?” A pastor friend and I were talking about why we are in ministry. We both have struggled with melancholy, and I was commenting on how at times I wished I could feel the joy that just seems to pour out of some people. “But melancholy keeps us anchored to God; sometimes those who are always happy are also pretty flighty,” he said (or words to that effect). 

A Jewish friend joined us. He’s a pretty upbeat, laid back fellow, but doesn’t consider himself religious, so I asked him how he would describe joy. He thought for a minute before deciding on the word “contentment.” 

“I think some of the people who are happy all the time just don’t ever think,” he added. I shared with him my story of melancholy and how I began to win that battle when I started giving thanks for everything.

“I have to choose every day to be thankful,” I said.

“I understand. You have to look for the good. The bad finds you,” was his response. 

This world can be a sad and tragic place. It doesn’t take any brains to see the evil all around us, and it can overwhelm all but the most innocent of people if we aren’t careful. Set your mind on things above,” St. Paul reminded us. The important word here is “Set.” For many of us, our minds gravitate to all that is wrong in life, as surely as water flows downhill. We have to drive a stake into the ground and plant our minds on that which uplifts, because apart from that grounding, our minds will follow the path of least resistance. So again tonight, I choose thankfulness; for conversations with friends that sharpen my own thinking and resolve, and even for the melancholy I fought for so many years. I think it may indeed have been God’s gift to me, to keep me seeking him and helping me avoid flitting from one experiential high to another, seeking an elusive experience of God rather than God himself.

Goodbye, Mr. Melancholy!

August 13, 2018

The melancholy came back for a visit this morning. It had been my traveling companion for most of my adult life until a few years ago, God convicted me of the sin of ingratitude and I made a commitment to focus on (as St. Paul put it) “whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, anything excellent or praiseworthy.” (Philippians 4:8). It was a spiritual detox that took a full year to cleanse my soul from the negativity that was dragging me down. And as in the physical realm it takes continual diligence and watchfulness to maintain health regained, it has been a continual fight to maintain my joy. Like an addict, I have to be more careful about negativity than others because if I allow myself, I’ll go right back to where I was, perhaps even worse. Jesus’ story of the man who was cleansed of a demon but who by not allowing God to fill that place the demon called home ended up seven times worse off is true to life, even for those who cannot stomach the concept of angels and demons (Matthew 12:43-46).

Constant prayer is the cost of continual freedom, but it’s never an easy battle. For those who imagine prayer to be like the old hymn where “He walks with me and talks with me” in a pleasant garden, I would like to remind you that for Jesus, it was a battleground where he sweat great drops of blood in his struggle with the devil. This morning, the battle was enjoined. I read my Bible, prayed, and went to work. The melancholy followed me all the way to Dunkirk and sat down with me at my desk.

But midway through the morning, Debbie poked her head into the office and asked if I would like to talk with a man who had come to the Willow Mission for some food. I followed her to the waiting area where Lynn was sitting and talking with him. Lynn stood up and went into the office area while I greeted and talked briefly with him. “I just prayed to receive Christ,” he told me. At those words, Mr. Melancholy took off running! I am so proud of Lynn and Debbie! They understand that it’s more than feeding people’s bodies; it’s all about giving them the Bread of Life.

Later, Gabriel stopped by and introduced me to a homeless young man he had befriended. He had been traveling with the carnival and stayed behind when the county fair ended, but had no place to stay. Gabe is a young Puerto Rican man who pops in regularly with a smile on his face and a “Praise God!” on his lips. I haven’t managed to get him to church, but we’re working on it. Meanwhile, God is bringing needy people to us, and I can say wholeheartedly, “It’s been a very good day!”