Jonah

June 30, 2019

Even people who’ve never darkened the door of a church know the story of Jonah and the whale. Apparently getting eaten by a fish and puked up on shore makes for a good bedtime tale. What’s usually missing however, is the point of the story.

Jonah was commissioned by God himself to preach judgment upon the city of Nineveh, capital of Assyria. While few people relish the thought of proclaiming hellfire and damnation on others, it was a particularly odious task for the Jewish Jonah. In more modern times, it would be akin to God ordering a Jew to head to Berlin in 1941 with a message of judgment on the Nazi party, not exactly a cushy calling. So he did what anyone in his right mind would do—he boarded a slow boat going in the opposite direction, and the rest is as they say, history.

What we usually miss is the rest of the story, so I’ll play a little Paul Harvey here. 

Jonah was swallowed by the fish, spit out on dry land, and reluctantly marched his way to Nineveh. He preached, and the entire city from the king to the pauper repented, which didn’t set too well with Jonah. “I knew this would happen!” he complained to God. “You are gracious, merciful, slow to anger and of great kindness.” This is the only time I can recall a preacher being angry when the people he preached to actually listened and repented. Jonah was a bit odd that way. Maybe those three days and nights inside the fish messed with his head. He was so upset at the success of his mission that he wanted to die.

He still held out hope that maybe God was just pulling his leg with all this repentance, so he went and camped out on a hillside to see if fire and brimstone might after all rain down on the city. He even built himself a little shelter to keep the sun off his neck. Here’s where the story gets interesting.

The text says God “prepared” a vine that grew up to provide shade for Jonah. That made him happy. But the next morning, God prepared a worm that chewed the vine, making it wither. That made Jonah mad. Later that day, God prepared a hot east wind that made the sun seem even hotter, to the point that Jonah was about to faint. He was so distraught he wanted to die, which was right where God wanted him. He didn’t know it at the time, but he was in God’s crosshairs.

You see, there were four things God prepared: the fish, the vine, the worm, and the wind. Only one of the four was even the least bit pleasing to Jonah. Three out of four were rather unpleasant experiences, yet it was God who was behind them. Too often when trouble comes our way, we chalk it up to the activity of the devil, when in reality, the irritations, interruptions, and inconveniences of life are tools in God’s hands to prepare one more thing—our hearts. 

The story isn’t about a man who got swallowed by a fish; it’s about you and me, and God’s relentless pursuit of us even when we are running away from him. He prepared these experiences because Jonah needed converting as much as the people of Nineveh. And even today, God pursues people through tragedy, failure, brokenness, and discouragement. He refuses to give up, even when like Jonah in the belly of the fish, his own Son was crucified and buried for three days and nights so we could be delivered from our incessant self-centeredness that keeps us from caring for others as much as we care for our own comfort and well-being. If when facing trials and troubles you ever doubt God’s love for you, just remember Jonah. And Jesus.

Ride

June 29, 2019

A clear mind and peaceful heart can be hard to come by, but a backroads motorcycle ride on a beautiful summer morning has for me  a unique ability to open the door to both. My friend Ken is renovating a house just over the border in Pennsylvania and has finally gotten to the part where he’s ready to lay tile—my specialty. I love cutting and laying tile, and don’t understand those who think of it as an ugly chore. I like the feel of the tile itself, cool and smooth to the touch; the ease with which the blade on the tile saw slices the hard and brittle squares, figuring out the special cuts needed on occasion, laying down the hardee board, mixing the thinset, and floating the grout. Some guys like tearing into motors. I like tile.

It was a good and productive day. Piece by piece, we brought the hardee board in and laid out the pattern on the floor. In spite of the heat and humidity, we hardly disturbed Mr. Garter Snake nestled in the pallet on which the boards had laid, mixed the thinset, and managed to lay and nail two thirds of the underlayment before calling it quits late in the afternoon. Not bad for a couple guys eligible for the senior discount at Tim’s.

But it was the drive down and back that fed my soul today. Sometimes the Scripture reading for the day just doesn’t resonate with me, but today’s ride stirred me deep within. As I rode, I thought of how incredibly blessed I am to live where I do, surrounded by beauty, family, and wonderful people in my life. I am almost 70, a privilege not granted to all; I am in good enough health that I take no prescription medication, have been spared so much of the heartache and drama that is an everyday occurrence for many. So I gave thanks and prayed, offering my blessing to people I know and even ones I’ve not met. The giving of thanks ordered my priorities and my heart, scattering worry and fear, leaving only peace and joy.

PMJ

June 28, 2019

Sitting through a concert is not my wife’s idea of fun, so when one I want to see comes along, what do I do? I enlist granddaughters. We got to the Amphitheater in plenty of time, found seats where we could see the stage, and sat down to wait for the show to begin when an usher approached and asked if we would like to upgrade to reserved seating...no charge! Front and center, sixth row back; they weren’t the absolute best seats in the house, but we were pretty close. 

Post-Modern Jukebox was formed in 2011 with college friends playing together in the basement of jazz pianist Scott Bradlee. Musicians rotate in and out, more than fifty of them so far, playing vintage and jazz versions of popular songs. The singers and instrumentalists are consummate performers, giving us a wonderful evening of outstanding vocals and virtuoso instrumentals.

Singing in the shower is ok, but music is best when shared. I got to share it tonight with two young ladies who appreciate it as much as I do, and am grateful to have them nearby for the summer, and willing to spend an evening with their grandfather. How many grandfathers get to hear a grown grandchild say, “This was the best evening I’ve had?” When I count blessings, Alex and Abi are at the top of today’s list.

Saving Myself

June 27, 2019

Five years ago when I retired, I was pretty well spent. I knew pastors who had been able to take sabbaticals of up to a year, but never pastored a church that had an endowment or extra cash lying around that could pay me and whoever would replace me during such an extended time away. Not having tried it, I can’t say whether or not I would have been more effective or a better pastor had I done so. But after nearly forty years of almost nonstop work broken by vacations of only a week or two, I was ready for a break. For three years, I had it, and it was glorious. Two Julys ago, I received a call from the Superintendent’s office asking if I would fill in for a week or two in Dunkirk, and the rest, as they say, is history. I’m still there. And enjoying it. The opportunities and challenges are exhilarating, and the people I’ve met and had the privilege of working alongside are wonderful. I almost get itchy thinking of the possibilities; I have no idea how to do what I see needs to be done, but surrounded by such great people, we are taking the plunge.

Today was somewhat of a lazy day. Up at five for our men’s prayer group, puttering around until noon, when Linda and I met some dear friends for lunch. Somehow the early morning crept up on me and I was exhausted, so I actually snoozed for a bit in the afternoon. Granddaughter Alex came over for supper after which I began sanding and taping in preparation for staining the new bannister we had installed on the living room stairs. 

I took time to read my Bible and pray, but the reading for the day didn’t grab me, so I reviewed the sermon I wrote for Sunday. The text from Jonah 2:8 keeps running through my mind, and I remembered one of the reasons I keep doing what I do: preaching keeps me digging in Scripture, and digging keeps my soul healthy. I suspect that without the discipline of preaching, my natural laziness would take over. I would keep reading, but perhaps I wouldn’t take the time or make the effort to dive in for what Paul calls “the meat of the Word.” Someone once claimed that many preachers preach to save their own souls. I believe it...at least for me. Though there are times I dream of actually laying aside this mantle, I am thankful to still be able to do what I do. I don’t preach to the congregation; I preach to me, for it is I who needs salvation the most.

First Night

June 26, 2019

“You look tired!” He spoke in broken English, pointing to his eyes, then at me. “You should go home and sleep.” Pastor Olivo doesn’t know my eyes are perpetually baggy, giving me the look of someone who’s been without sleep for the past 36 hours. Glasses usually hide most of it, but apparently they sagged a little more than usual tonight. Problem is, I wasn’t really tired. Not at all.

The day began early enough as seven of us pastors met for prayer and planning. The weekend kickoff block party had gone well, and we were looking forward to the first of nearly a dozen Wednesday evening recreation times with the neighborhood kids. Before the morning was over, I had given out two of the door prizes to young mothers who had won the drawing. I reminded them of the recreation time tonight, and they both promised to be there. They were.

Fifteen to twenty kids showed up for kickball, noodle hockey, cornhole, and crafts. Each of the churches had at least four or five adults to help keep things running smoothly, and the evening was all I had hoped it would be. Word will spread, and God will give us a foot in the door to people’s lives. We just need to stay aware of the opportunities and not be timid about talking with people. 

At one point, I talked with Oscar, an Hispanic man who was sitting on a park bench as I walked by. We greeted each other, and I told him what we were doing. He was enthusiastic; “The city isn’t doing anything for the kids,” he replied. 

“Well, we’re trying to stand in that gap,” I told him. “Come and join us.” 

“Maybe I will,” he intoned. I hope so. It’s been a good day, and two and a half hours after it ended, I’m still not tired, despite my baggy eyes. I am however, quite thankful for the opportunities I am being given to step into a new world with people much different than me, yet much the same. Their skin color and language and life experiences are different, but our hearts are the same. We both love our children, want a better life, and have a longing deep inside for God, even if we don’t know it. I know it, and am looking for those moments when I can share with them the One who can fill that inner longing as no one else can.

Friendship

June 25, 2019

It’s payback time. Five years ago when we bought our present house, we stripped it to the bone, removing crumbling lath and plaster and old insulation before remodeling rooms and leveling floors. As long as everything was opened up, upgrading the wiring was a no-brainer, and fortunately, I have two good friends who are much more knowledgeable about such things than I. Harry and Ken pulled wires, attached outlets and switches, pulled more wires, and hooked it up to the panel box. Everything is up to code because of these two men who remained friends even after all I put them through.

Ken has been renovating a fixer-upper he bought awhile back. Last year, I helped with some of the demolition he needed, and helped pull the radiant floor heating lines last fall, but whenever I asked if there were work to be done, Ken would smile and say, “Not yet. I’ll call when I need you.” A couple weeks ago, he called and said, “I’m ready.” He knows I like tiling, so he was waiting till it was time. When renovating, everything has to be done in a certain order unless you want to do it twice. Tiling has finally worked its way to the top of the list, so today I drove down to his place ready to work. Turns out, it wasn’t quite time for the tiling, but there was a wall in the basement that needed to come down, and shelving that needed moving. Of course, the shelving was full, needing to be emptied before we could tear it down and reassemble it in the right location. 

Removing the drywall and moving the shelving doesn’t sound like a big job, but it took the entire day. It’s done, and Saturday I’ll finally get to do the prep work for the tiling. It’s dirty, messy work, but I’m looking forward to it. All I’ve got to do is convince these tired old bones to pony up and get going. I’m weary, but thankful tonight for such a good friend and for the opportunity to give back a portion of the blessing he bestowed on me those years ago. I pity those whose friendships are so shallow that there is no real give and take. Those who never get to serve or to be served are missing out on treasures money cannot buy.

Rest for the Soul

June 24, 2019

“The law of the LORD is perfect, converting the soul; The testimony of the LORD is sure, making wise the simple; The statutes of the LORD are right, rejoicing the heart; The commandment of the LORD is pure, enlightening the eyes; The fear of the LORD is clean, enduring forever; The judgments of the LORD are true and righteous altogether. More to be desired are they than gold, Yea, than much fine gold; Sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb. Moreover by them Your servant is warned, And in keeping them there is great reward. Who can understand his errors? Cleanse me from secret faults.”

Psalms 19:7-12 NKJV

There is often a weariness that floods over my soul, threatening to engulf all that is good and edifying. It sometimes steals in upon the trail of great joy and victory in Jesus; at other times, it accompanies having given the latest news a bit of my time and ear. It usually silently sneaks up on me when I’m alone, caressing me with tentacles instead of fingertips, shrouding my heart from the light of life. It whispers of the pain and suffering in this world, and seeks to obscure the joys, the innocence, the laughter, and the glories of the Gospel. Today is such a day. The weekend has been filled with Spirit-led events, but like Jesus when the woman touched the hem of his robe, I feel power leaving me. 

The only sure-fire recharge I know is to prayerfully soak upthe Word of God—the Holy Scriptures. They put things in perspective, fortify me to serve, encourage me to stay the course. Whether received in tandem with others or in a one-on-one with God, they are the sole means by which God promises salvation in Christ. I struggle to keep my eyes open, but my heart is wide awake, and I am listening tonight. “Speak Lord, for thy servant heareth.” (1 Samuel 3:9).

The Giving Side

June 23, 2019

It’s been quite a weekend. Yesterday morning and afternoon five churches worked together to host a block party for our neighborhood, and in the evening I got to hear some great preaching at a tent revival meeting. Also, our my eldest son turned 47, and today he and his youngest daughter are enroute to the mission field to visit friends and serve, after participating in the groundbreaking for the new addition at Park church. This evening after sending a granddaughter off to visit friends from college, Linda and I had our best friends over for coffee and conversation.

The days have been full and busy with good things that fill our hearts with joy, making us all the more aware of circumstances that are bringing grief and pain to others. Close friends battling cancer, another battling addiction, a third trying to make sense of her mother’s death, a woman trying with all her strength to stay strong after losing her livelihood and home, and still others grieving over choices being made by loved ones; this world is, as has been said, a “vale of tears.” 

While at times we revel in the joys of this life and the blessings God so graciously bestows upon us, at other times we are puzzled by the mysteries of life and the struggles that seem so overwhelming to others. Of this however, I am sure: God placed us here at this time and in this place to live generously and expansively and to bless those whose paths we cross with whatever help we can offer, especially the Good News of the Father’s love and Christ’s sacrifice offered to bring us into relationship with him. We’ve been given much, and to whom much is given, much is required. Tomorrow it will be time to pay up. One thing I know: it is better to give than receive. Being on the giving side of life is a great privilege and responsibility. I am humbled and thankful in the mystery of God’s will to be on the giving side.

Reading

June 20, 2019

What do a biography of Julia Grant, wife of U.S. Grant, the instructions for a fancy espresso maker, passages from the Bible, and a sign on the wall of a zoo enclosure have in common? Well, for starters, they were all a part of my day today, starting with the Scriptures. The signs were part of a day’s outing with littlest granddaughter Gemma, a wondrous privilege I had accompanying her and her best friend Olivia on their last school field trip of the year. The instruction manual was for the espresso machine Linda bought me for Father’s Day, (a gift I like and appreciate more than I thought I would), and the biography for pleasure. 

Every one of these pieces of my day were possible courtesy of my ability to read. I was raised with books, taught to love and respect them almost from the cradle. One of my earliest memories is of reading from the old Dick and Jane readers. “Look, Dick, look. See Sally run. Run, Sally, run.” On this particular day in first grade as we took turn reading aloud, I stumbled over the word “said.” I had missed the previous day of school when that word was taught, and had to slowly sound it out. Learning how to sound out words was the key that unlocked an entirely new world to me, taking me from elementary readers to graduate level theology. Along the way, I wandered oceans in a pirate ship, scaled mountains in Switzerland, fought alongside Bluecoats at Gettysburg, and discovered new worlds in microbiology—all because I could read.

Words—squiggles of ink on paper—became a constant companion, to the point where I receive threats of bodily harm if I bring home another book without first divesting myself of one already lurking about the house or garage. They became my life’s work, writing sermons, articles, and perhaps someday, a book or two. This one single gift has enriched me with wisdom from ancient bards, laughter from modern humorists, perspective from other cultures, tender words of love from my wife. I am so very thankful tonight for this wondrous, amazing ability to read.

Peaceful Place

June 19, 2019

When we bought the place, it needed major renovation, which we did, gutting most of the interior, revising some of the floor plan, and with the help of some dear friends and family investing money, sweat, and time into making our house our home. The exterior had only recently been redone, but the landscaping had to wait. Bit by bit, we tackled it, digging out tree stumps, taming the overgrown gardens, exhuming buried flagstone walks. 

Between the front entrance and the door to the back room was a trapezoidal space about sixteen feet long by twelve feet on one end and six on the other. It had been a garden at one time, but was now overgrown with ferns, ivy, and weeds. The remnants of two wooden barrels that had served as planters rose out of the ground like the humps on a Bactrian camel. Other than planting a couple of small yews in the space, it went untouched until last year when I collected truckloads of paving bricks. I dug it all out, spread a ton of sand, and started laying bricks. Granddaughter Eliza helped, and soon we had a patio. A couple of patio chairs, a small table, and it was almost done. Monday I ran power from an inside receptacle, installed a weatherproof box, and hung tiny white lights along the front of the house. 

Early morning coffee, or late night conversation, weather permitting, it’s our perfect place. We sit and watch the traffic, trace the flight of the hummingbird that visits our feeder, and thank God for the blessing of a peaceful place and peaceful hearts.

False Worship

June 18, 2019

“Therefore the king asked advice, made two calves of gold, and said to the people, “It is too much for you to go up to Jerusalem. Here are your gods, O Israel, which brought you up from the land of Egypt!”” —I Kings 12:28 NKJV

The kingdom of David and Solomon split in two under the ill-informed leadership of Rehoboam. The unified kingdom had from the beginning been a rather tenuous affair, and with Jeroboam at the head of the northern faction, it completely unravelled. The recently completed temple in Jerusalem was the one remaining unifying factor that posed a threat to Jeroboam’s rule, which he understood completely. Official worship was sanctioned only at the temple, so in order to secure his rule, Jeroboam decided to co-opt the temple by establishing two rival centers of worship in the northern kingdom. His strategy was brilliant. Instead of establishing a rival religion, he had two golden calves commissioned—an appeal to an ancient tradition going back all the way to the giving of the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai, and said, “These are the gods who brought you out of Egypt,” identifying them with the One True God. 

The most pernicious form of idolatry is not the outright denial of God, but the substituting of a lesser, more convenient god that suits our purposes, all the while claiming it’s the One True God. The Church has done this repeatedly through history, and continues doing it today. We don’t like admitting it, but most of us prefer a god who confirms our biases and blesses what we have already decided to do, but a convenient god is no God at all. The Scriptures are our only protection against our proclivity to create God in our image. I am grateful for the guidance and correction they give to all who seek God as he is, instead of as they want him to be.

Hearing

June 17, 2019

I’ve told the story before, but today it wings its way back into my consciousness unbidden, but not unwelcome. 

It’s a family inheritance. I’ve worn hearing aids for nearly twenty years; it was getting increasingly difficult as I turned fifty to hear conversations, especially in the registers of women and children’s speech. Linda often said I had more of a listening than a hearing problem, but that was probably just the husband in me coming out. My paternal grandmother was so deaf in her last few years that not being able even to hear herself talk, her speech was reduced to mumbling. My father followed suit, and although he had hearing aids, they were only the analogue kind, and didn’t do much except squeal with feedback. Over the years, not being able to converse except with great difficulty, we watched helplessly as he struggled to make sense of conversations of which he could only hear bits and pieces. Eventually, he pretty much gave up. Having experienced much the same as he, I understood, but there wasn’t much I could do.

In March of 2012, he was fitted with new digital hearing aids. It was an amazing sight to behold as he suddenly came back to life, participating in conversations that had been all but impossible just weeks before. 

On Father’s Day, he was at his place on the lake with my mother, my brother and his family, surrounded by grandchildren, eating The Zweigle’s white hots he loved so much. I called him and had a wonderful conversation that we couldn’t have had the year before. I can’t remember the conversation itself, except that I told him I loved him, how much I appreciated his faith, wisdom, and guidance over the years. He said he loved me, and we hung up. 

A couple hours later, we got a call from one of my nephews. Dad had laid down for a nap, and my brother’s eldest son called to wish him a happy Father’s Day. When dad answered the phone, his speech was garbled and incoherent. They took him to the hospital, we rushed to his bedside, where he died a few hours later from a massive brain hemorrhage, never regaining consciousness. 

People have often told me how sad it must be to have lost my father on Father’s Day, and I always respond, “Not really. I had this marvelous conversation with him that would have been impossible just months before. We told each other of our love. How can I be sad for that? He was surrounded by those he loved and who loved him, only to be ushered into the presence of his Heavenly Father. What better Father’s Day could there be?”

In Christian circles, I often hear people speak of visions. They want to see God, to have some supernatural visitation that transports them in waves of ecstasy, but the most common Biblical word used to describe our relationship to God is not “to see,” but “to hear.” Christian faith is more auditory than visual. God spoke, and the worlds came into being. We are instructed to hear the Word of God, and St. John begins his gospel with “In the beginning was the Word, the Word was with God, and the Word was God...and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us...” (John1:1 & 14). When it comes to God communicating to us, hearing trumps vision every time. 

I would not wish to lose my sight, but if I had to choose, I would relinquish it before my hearing. Inability to hear isolates perhaps more than the inability to see. I am thankful tonight for my hearing, and for the assistance I receive for it with my hearing aids. They keep me connected. I am thankful for those three months of hearing toward the end of my father’s life seven years ago, and for that last Father’s Day conversation we had. I am thankful too, that years ago, I heard God speak words of forgiveness and love that my heart heard and to which I responded.

Fatherhood

June 16, 2019

It had been a great afternoon and evening, waterskiing, swimming, bonfire on the beach, and i was finally time to head home. When I got to the car and boat trailer, ‘I felt the color draining from my face; something wasn’t quite right. I was sure I had locked the car, but the back door to the station wagon was ajar, and my father’s toolbox was gone—a wonderful day suddenly spoiled. The wagon was full of my teenage friends, but I  drove home in silence, dropping them off one by one till there was only me.

Facing the music is never as much fun as making it, and tonight was no exception. I didn’t know what to expect; my father was not one given to temper, but I had never lost a few hundred dollars worth of his tools before. It was late, but like always, he was waiting up when I walked in. I swallowed hard and told him my tale. I was actually hoping he would lash out—verbally, physically—it didn’t matter, but he just sat there saying nothing. I was crushed.

The Bible says we are made in God’s image, and I saw it clearly reflected in my father that night so long ago. My father quietly bearing the cost of my carelessness was worse than any punishment he could have meted out. I learned that night as I saw the pain in my father’s eyes that forgiveness is costly, just as it was for our Heavenly Father who bore in himself the cost of our sin. There is no retribution, no angry histrionics, just pure, unmeasured, and undeserved forgiveness. 

Martin Luther once confessed that it took him years before he could say the Our Father because his own father was such a brutish man. I understand how that could be, but it wasn’t my experience. If I ever wonder what my Heavenly Father is like, all I have to do is remember my earthly father, for whom I give thanks and honor tonight.

Mind Games

June 15, 2019

She studies the pieces with intense concentration, trying to figure out the pattern that will enable her to move her little ship from one side of the board to the other. “Stormy Seas” is a puzzle game I picked up some years ago. The older kids played it occasionally, but it has sat untouched on the shelf in our living room closet since we moved here five years ago. This morning, seven year old Gemma picked it up and brought it to me. I showed her how to set it up, arranging the pieces to form different mazes according to the patterns on the deck of cards  that came with it. The beginner set was right up her alley, and she dove into it with enthusiasm, first with my help, and then all by herself.

The night before, Linda rounded up all the grandkids for a rousing hour of whiffle ball in the side yard. She pitched and I as permanent outfielder made myself useless when I couldn’t run and could barely bend over to pick up the ball hit in my vicinity due to a catch in my back that reminded me I’m almost seventy. We did have a good time, though, and everyone was so tired that the older ones didn’t even watch their usual episode of Monk before going to bed.

With all sorts of mindless games available on tablets and phones, games that offers both tactile and mental stimulation is a rarity that many kids would dismiss without thought. Not Gemma. I watched as she thought, moved her pieces, made adjustments, and finally, the exhilaration of success. She played through three different mazes before moving on to something else. 

Combined with a couple other table games this morning, we had an enjoyable time, and I had the pleasure of witnessing a young mind at work. I am thankful that her parents who are quite technologically savvy understand the importance of direct interaction, and for the opportunities Linda and I have twice each month to be a part of it with our grandchildren. Proverbs 17:6 says, “Children's children are the crown of old men...” My crown gleams with jewels, and I wear it on my brow with pleasure.

Devotions

June 14, 2019

It was known by two different names when I was growing up; devotions and quiet time, and was instilled into me from the earliest days after I had professed faith in Jesus Christ. We were taught to read the Bible, to reflect on it, and to pray; it was best done early in the morning, preferably before breakfast, but some admitted to waiting till bedtime for them. Ten to twenty minutes each day was adequate, and skipping a day was almost a mortal sin. 

Some people think this regimen to be somewhat legalistic, and of course, it can be. but I never saw it as such, even when it was difficult to maintain the pattern. The danger in all this was more a matter of turning it into a list of things to be done each day that could be checked off like a grocery list, even if only done by rote and without any real thought. There were of course, times when devotions was just that—something to be checked off a list, and the quicker, the better. 

That temptation is still with me. I’ve subscribed to a number of Bible reading plans over the years, and when tired or facing a particularly busy day, it’s easy to breeze through the scheduled reading, close the Book, and call it good. Of course, it isn’t good and doesn’t accomplish anything of significance. Devotions...Bible reading and prayer require our full attention to be effective, and I battle with distractions, busyness, exhaustion, and plain laziness all the time. The struggle is not accidental or incidental. There is an Enemy of our souls who is more intent on keeping us from the Word than we are about getting into it. And if he can’t keep us from the Scriptures, he will settle for second-best: allowing us to be satisfied with the system instead of the Savior. 

My goal in reading and prayer is to listen in such a way that I hear what others do not and see what is beneath the surface. It doesn’t happen every time I open my Bible, but I remember that the Word of God is food for my soul, and I don’t have to get a Bible buzz every time I read to profit from it. I don’t instantly feel stronger when I eat a good meal, but I know that if I miss too many of them, I’ll get sick. I trust the process of digestion even though I don’t feel it. I trust also that the Word of God will as Scripture says, accomplish that for which it was sent forth, to the salvation of my soul.

Legacy

June 13, 2019

Today’s Scripture reading from 1 Kings 11 highlights the problems of King Solomon’s excess and self-indulgence. The writer attributes the difficulties of Solomon’s reign to his insatiable sexual appetite, with the words, “Solomon loved many foreign women.” Indeed, he is said to have had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines, i.e. women who didn’t have the status of marriage, but were kept for sexual favors. 

He learned his lessons well. His father’s lack of self-control led him to rape, murder, and lie. David’s sons followed in his footsteps, Solomon being the worse perhaps only because he had the wherewithal to live a completely profligate life. 

But there is something else going on in this chapter of 1 Kings. Neighboring countries had been (often brutally) conquered and suppressed by Solomon’s father, and by Solomon himself. On top of that, although this was considered the Golden Age of ancient Israel, the burden upon ordinary citizens was staggering. All was not well in Never Never Land. Upon Solomon’s death, his son, who had none of the wisdom of his famed father, exposed his political ineptitude which allowed age-old tensions that had been smoldering for generations flamed to life. The violence and corruption that plagued the royal dynasties of both Saul and David came back to haunt the latter’s grandson.

There is always a reckoning. David was a violent man. Although his name means “peace,” Solomon wasn’t much better. And neither of them would have won any prizes for chastity or self-control. I am not a young man anymore, but the lesson is not lost on me. No matter what age I attain, failure to maintain integrity, generosity, and simple kindness is likely to have devastating effects, if not in me, then in those who follow in my footsteps. I am thankful that my father was a man of peace and faithfulness. He was not perfect, but his example of faith and sacrifice for my mother and our family has remained with me all these years. I am blessed beyond measure and beyond most men’s experience, and hope I can pass that same legacyon to my children and grandchildren.

Weary Praise

June 12, 2019

It’s been a busy day drawing on whatever physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental resources I possess, which granted, may not be very formidable. Nonetheless, I am tired, and the day’s work won’t be over for another two or three hours. It is all the more important then, that I turn my mind to gratitude. When one is weary, it is tempting to see everything in a negative or bland mindset, which is poisonous to the soul. 

In 1 Samuel 30, David ran into a bit of bad luck. While away from home, a raiding band of Amalekites attacked his home city, hauling off whatever plunder they could carry, including the wives and children of David’s men, who were so unhappy with the situation they talked of mutiny. Verse 6 tells us David’s response: he “strengthened himself in the LORD his God.” The text doesn’t go into detail as to what David did to strengthen himself, but we know from the psalms he wrote that whenever he found himself in distress, after he had finished pouring out his woe to God (his version of a pity party), he found something for which to give thanks and praise. 

Focusing on the problems is a necessary evil. We can’t solve problems until we examine them carefully to determine a course of action. But if all we do is focus on the problems, sooner or later, they will get the best of us. At some point, our attention needs to shift to God, who is always bigger than our problems. Failure to do this often results in a spiral of emotional and spiritual despair. But if in the midst of the problem we learn to praise, we take command over our emotions and even our situation, which even if it does not improve, gets placed in perspective by our praise. So tonight, I praise and give thanks. It will not fail because God is the object of it, and he does not fail.

Foundations

June 11, 2019

My United Methodist denomination is experiencing what may be its death-throes. For the almost fifty years I’ve been a pastor, we’ve been studying, debating, and voting on various facets of human sexuality. Each General Conference (the only body that can officially speak for the denomination, meeting every four years to do so), the vote for acceptance and approval of same-sex unions, and eventually a full alphabet of sexual identities, creeped toward the magical flipping point. Until 2016, when the tide turned back as the African and Philippine delegations voted solidly for traditional Christian sexual ethics. 

Since our denomination is global, with equal (more or less) representation from the global church, the liberals who were used to gaining ground for the first time saw those gains, and the hope that “this would be the year” for full inclusion, evaporate. I predicted then that the next step would be to resort to ecclesial disobedience—a refusal to obey the Discipline (our book of law), and an attempt to make the whole system grind to a standstill by overloading our Judicial Council. That has been exactly what happened, and the special session of General Conference that was held last February tightened the rules even more. For the first time, I began hearing liberals talk of exiting the denomination. 

At our Annual Conference last week, we experienced the full wrath and organization of the liberal wing as they managed to completely lock out any conservative from representing us at the General Conference to be held next year. Since one General Conference cannot bind a future one to any actions it takes, their hope is to be able to overwhelm the voting and win back the gains they lost. It could succeed. Attempts to limit the influence of the international Church have been made, and will likely be made again. So much for inclusiveness. The growth of the African Church alongside the continuing decline of American United Methodism may be the only roadblock in the way of liberal success. 

This morning my Scripture reading included Psalm 11, of which the third and fourth verses say, “If the foundations are destroyed, What can the righteous do? The LORD is in His holy temple, The LORD’s throne is in heaven; His eyes behold, His eyelids test the sons of men.” The foundations haven’t yet been destroyed, but they are surely feeling the shockwaves of attack. It is tempting to throw up our hands in despair; after all, if they foundations are destroyed, what CAN we do? We can remember verse four: “The LORD is in his holy temple.” He sees, he tests, and our God will win the victory. Our hope is not in winning this fight. Our hope is not in the preservation of the institution. Our hope is in the LORD, and in his promises that no matter how badly the foundations falter, he will not. For this, and for his great mercies, we can be thankful today.

A Deceitful Heart

June 10, 2019

In the Biblical book of 1 Kings, Solomon dedicated the newly-constructed temple with sacrifices and a prayer which included these words: “When each one knows the plague of his own heart, and spreads out his hands toward this temple: then hear in heaven Your dwelling place, and forgive, and act, and give to everyone according to all his ways, whose heart You know (for You alone know the hearts of all the sons of men),”

I Kings 8:38-39 NKJV

In our self-affirming culture, these are foreign-sounding words to most of us today. “The plague of his own heart” is the kind of language that is being expunged from public discourse. “How can any modern person utter such words?” we wonder. If a public school teacher talked this way, she would be fired. And yet, the evidence is all around us. Violence, corruption, greed, and a host of other ills are not merely the product of society requiring social engineering to eradicate it. History provides us with a steady stream of evidence regarding human depravity. It would be bad enough if our jails and prisons were the only evidence for depravity, but it is as easily found in the halls of justice, in the privileged offices and homes of politicians, media personalities, professionals, and corporate heads who walk the streets freely. Human hearts are home to the plague of many a sin and vice. We won’t learn this listening to CNN, Fox, or in the halls of the Ivy League. We learn it from the Holy Scriptures which lean on thousands of years of human experience.

 Knowing the plague of our own heart is impossible apart from the enlightening of the Holy Spirit, but is absolutely necessary if we are to live faithfully before the Lord. Jeremiah tells us “the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.” He goes on—“Who can know it?” He answers that question in the next verse: “I, the LORD, search the heart...”

This morning on my way to work, the words of an old hymn echoed through my mind. The melody is haunting, the words are straight from the Bible. “Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my thoughts. See if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” (Ps. 139:23-24) I am not perceptive nor honest enough to search my own heart; after all, mine is as deceitful as any, so if I am to be even remotely self-aware, this prayer must continually be on my lips and in my heart. Tonight, it is, and I am thankful to belong to a God who cares enough to tell me the truth about myself so I can live in Truth and integrity.

Wisdom

June 9, 2019

“A wise man will hear and increase learning, And a man of understanding will attain wise counsel, To understand a proverb and an enigma, The words of the wise and their riddles. The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge, But fools despise wisdom and instruction.” —Proverbs 1:5-7 NKJV

For generations, Solomon was known for his wisdom. Most of the sayings in the Biblical book of Proverbs are attributed to him, and the book itself begins by extolling the value of wisdom, which seems in this world to always to be in short supply. Wisdom is more than mere knowledge. Education is valuable and worthy of pursuit, but not for knowledge’s sake alone. Knowing is but part of an education; knowing what to do with knowledge is even more important; and knowing God is most important. Too many are book smart and life stupid.

Wise old Solomon is a good example of this. He asked for and received wisdom from God, but didn’t hold fast to that wisdom, allowing his sensual desires to overrule his judgment, which led to the division and eventually destruction of his nation and dynasty. Like most things in life, if you don’t use it, you lose it, and wisdom is like a leaky tire; unless you keep replenishing it, you’ll eventually go flat, and when that happens, everything stops. Progress ends. 

James said, “The wisdom from above is is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy.” (3:17). Like Solomon, many today imagine they can be wise and dissolute at the same time. We cut corners, fudge integrity, toy with immorality. We follow the latest wisdom of the world and are puzzled when it doesn’t work out. Sin blinds, then it binds. I’ve never gone wrong when following Scripture. I’ve always gone wrong when I haven’t. I’m grateful tonight for the wisdom of the Word of God that has often made me wiser than the so-called experts of this world. That wisdom has been a lifesaver more than once, and I expect will be so again.

easy blessings

June 8, 2019

Normally, six hours in a car is not something for which I would give much thanks, but yesterday I had the privilege of accompanying my associate in ministry to her retirement dinner at Annual Conference. She had originally thought she wouldn’t be able to attend, not having adequate transportation, but after coming home from conference for my anniversary, I already had to return to bring home the friend who rode in with me two days earlier. It was a simple and easy thing to do, but it meant a lot to her; she broke down in tears when she received her certificate of appreciation for her years of service. 

It doesn’t always take a great act of sacrifice to make a difference for someone. Often a simple kindness is all it takes. If it had been a great inconvenience, I might be able to take some credit for making sure Debbie was able to attend her retirement dinner, but blessing her yesterday was an easy pleasure, for which we both give thanks.

Anniversaries

June 6, 2019

Seventy-five years ago today, thousands of young men stormed the beaches of Normandy in the face of withering artillery, machine gun, and small arms fire. Operation Overlord, the largest amphibian military operation in history had begun. The planning was done; now it was time for action, and these mostly teenagers and twenty-somethings succeeded, but it was far from a sure thing on that blustery June morning. Supreme Commander Dwight Eisenhower had stuffed into his pocket a note he had written earlier: 

"Our landings in the Cherbourg-Havre area have failed to gain a satisfactory foothold and I have withdrawn the troops. My decision to attack at this time and place was based on the best information available. The troops, the air and the Navy did all that bravery and devotion to duty could do. If any blame or fault attaches to the attempt it is mine alone."

Fortunately, he didn’t have to use that note. Although the allies suffered about 12,000 casualties—with an estimated 4900 U.S. troops killed—155,000 successfully made it ashore, with thousands more on the way. Two years earlier, Winston Churchill had spoken of the Second Battle of El Alamein, “This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is perhaps, the end of the beginning.” With D Day, it was the beginning of the end for Hitler’s Nazi menace. 

It is popular today to label even slight offenses as “Nazi.” Such talk is designed to shut down conversation and debate, but it is an insult to those who sacrificed so much to rid the world of that evil. The freedoms we enjoy today, not only here, but throughout Europe and indeed, the world, have been bought and preserved at great price, and is easily and casually squandered by those who will not take the time nor make the effort to learn and remember. Gratitude is the least we should offer to those remaining from that horrendous conflict.

On a personal note, I am thankful for the years of contentment and fulfillment I have been given through the love, grace, and forgiveness of my wife. Forty-nine years tonight, and I am blessed.