Grace

 March 8, 2022

It often amazes me how, having read a Bible text perhaps hundreds of times, every so often something new pops out at me. This morning I was reading Galatians 5:4–“You have become estranged from Christ, you who attempt to be justified by law. You have fallen from grace.” 

It is no secret that Paul was a champion of grace. After all, he considered himself the worst of sinners for having persecuted followers of Jesus in his younger years. That Jesus should appear to him as he was on his way to Damascus for the purpose of hauling some of them off to prison was a source of constant amazement to him. He was chosen, and he knew it, and it had nothing to do with any goodness in him. He knew the depths of depravity in his own heart from which he had been snatched by grace, and was not about to let anyone minimize his experience. 

So his words to the Galatian Christians were particularly strident. This is Paul’s only letter that didn’t begin with some sort of commendation. Even his epistle to the corrupt and decadent Corinthian church opened with words of praise. Not so here in Galatia! Infighting, sexual depravity, desecrating Holy Communion was nothing compared to abandoning grace! For Paul, any attempt to justify ourselves by our fidelity to the law deserved the most damning condemnation. He knew from personal experience how zealotry for a cause can be perverted into the most destructive behaviors.

Even if we acted with the most circumspect manners, trusting in our own goodness can profit us no more than the earthly praise it garners. Worse, it separates us from Christ himself. Whenever I imagine I haven’t done enough, or when I think I have, I step away from grace. Even God cannot justify the person who insists on justifying himself!

How often I’ve carried guilt over not measuring up to even my lax standards, let alone the Law of God! How often I’ve figuratively patted myself on the back for my good behavior! Either end of this spectrum takes me out of the realm of grace, mercy, and forgiveness, and plants me firmly in the rocky soil of guilt and pride. May God once more grant grace to us who so desperately need it, and lift us by it into the presence of his glory with angels and archangels, and all the saints redeemed by the blood of the Lamb!

Skunk

 March 7, 2022

If you come to our house tomorrow, you might want to wear your mask. No, it’s not about COVID; Emma tangled with a skunk. In reality, the mask will do you about as much good as it did to ward off the virus, but you’ll feel better about yourself, and you’ll send a message to those who care.

There was no hint of this intruder when I let Emma out at 6:00 this morning, but the pungent aroma filled the air as I opened the door to let her back in. She herself didn’t smell too bad…at first. It didn’t take long for the stench to kick in, despite two baths, the latter in a combination of Dawn dish soap and baking soda; a trick we learned from Nicole, who lives with Nate and Deb. Right now, Emma smells pretty good for a dog, but enough of the skunk oil must have gotten into the entry room to make it quite aromatic.

Years ago when Linda was growing up, her father ran over a skunk’s nest while mowing the field behind their house. He had read somewhere that if you hold a skunk by its tail, it can’t spray, so he started chasing his girls around the field holding a baby skunk by its tail. Apparently the skunk hadn’t read that part about not being able to spray when held by the tail, because it sprayed him right up his arm. They buried his clothes, and for weeks afterward, every time he took a shower, he smelled of skunk.

Believe it or not, there’s a lesson here, and it’s more than about skunks. The Bible says we are to bear the sweet aroma of Christ to the world around us. To some, it will seem the aroma of death, but to others, the fragrance of life:

“Now thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place. For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing. To the one we are the aroma of death leading to death, and to the other the aroma of life leading to life.” —II Corinthians 2:14-16 

It’s about impossible to escape the pungent odor of skunk, and likewise, the fragrance of expensive perfume is hard to miss. God intends us to be noticed in the world. Jesus told us not to hide our light under a basket, and St. Paul in his letter to the Corinthians is saying much the same thing. If we are living as we ought, some will sniff and turn up their noses. A holy life is as repugnant to their souls as skunk is to our noses. Others will catch a whiff of the fragrance of Christ and be captivated by its beauty. The difference is in the olfactory, not the air. I imagine skunk smells pretty good to another skunk.

Emma is snoozing before the fire, almost aroma-free. The bath did its job. May the bath of the Holy Spirit washing his children clean produce a heavenly fragrance that sticks around like skunk, but smells like roses to those around us.

Humility

 March 5, 2022

Eighteen years ago to the day, I began to learn humility. I know the date because it began on the night when our eldest grandson was born. The details I’ve outlined before, and though they engulfed our lives back then, they are really unimportant today. The bottom line is, I thought I knew a lot about growing a church. Eighteen years ago, I began to discover just how little I knew. 

The literature on church growth is quite extensive; it began back in the fifties with a missionary by the name of Donald McGavran. While serving in India, he noticed that some ministries flourished, while others barely limped along. What was interesting to him was that it didn’t matter whether the work was thriving or diving, those involved chalked it up to the hand of God. If the ministry was thriving, it was because God was blessing it; if it was struggling, it was because they were being faithful to the Gospel.

Clearly, something else was going on, and McGavran was determined to find out what it was. Over time, he learned that successful ministries had certain things in common, as did unsuccessful ministries. He began publishing the results of his research, and the Church Growth Movement was born. When I learned of his teaching in the late ‘80’s, I became a disciple. 

The church grew, and I knew the things I was learning were responsible. I had the right motives—it wasn’t just about numbers; it was about bringing people to Christ; I had the right methods—I went to conferences, bought books, was mentored by some of the best. They were heady days. But on this date eighteen years ago, it all began to unravel.

Ministry involves methods, but they aren’t the foundation for it. I had the right methods, but missed some key spiritual components that blindsided me. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was trusting the false god of methods instead of the One True God. And when I thought I knew what I was doing, pride began to infiltrate my heart. Did you hear how I said that? I thought I knew what I was doing—no matter how much I spoke his Name, God can’t be found in that statement. So God decided to do something about it.

The church I knew how to build, the devil knew how to destroy. It all fell apart, but in the process I learned how much I didn’t know. I still don’t. If you were to ask me today how to build a church, I would tell you, “I don’t know.” What I do know is that I have a wonderful Savior who never gives up on his children, a God who knows where to find every broken piece of our shattered dreams, and how to put them together again…but stronger. I wouldn’t say much about building a church, but I would say much about building deep relationships with Christ and others. And I would do my best to simply point you to Jesus, because even though I don’t know how to build a church, he does. 

“And I also say to you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build My church, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it.” —Matthew 16:18 

Freedom

 March 4, 2022

It’s late; we just got home from dinner with friends after a busy day. So here’s a blast from the past—this same date, but in 2016.

Yesterday morning I was sitting in the back room reading when I heard a thump on the sliding glass door. Getting up, I looked out to see a sparrow sitting in the snow, wings spread out, apparently dazed. Being the Good Samaritan that I am, I opened the door, scooped up the bird and deposited it on a table where he just sat there gathering his composure. Leaving the room for awhile, I took Linda breakfast in bed, completely forgetting the bird in the meantime. Suddenly remembering, I told Linda we had a problem. "What's that?" she inquired. 

"I can't find the bird." 

"You can't find the bird?" she said, in that tone of voice that only an experienced wife can assume. I told her the story, ending with our having a bird sitting on the table in the back room. "In a box, right?"

"Not quite. Just sitting on the table." She gave me one of those looks, so I went back downstairs Sure enough, the table was still empty and the bird gone. There's only so much room where he could go, and I looked high and low, to no avail. Worry that our cat might start looking too is what made me  'fess up to Linda so she could join the search. The good news was, there were no telltale feathers lying around.

I finally found the critter hiding in a corner by the door, and picked him up. He had however, recovered enough to escape my grasp, which he did. Unfortunately, the same can't be said about the cat's grasp. It amazes me how that lazy cat can move like lightening when sufficiently motivated. I guess lunch fits into that category. I chased the cat into the kitchen and managed to grab it, whereupon he dropped the bird. Tossing the cat out into the entry room, now we had to locate the bird again. It was a bit easier this time; all I had to do was follow the trail of feathers. I found him in the corner of the dining room, but when I reached for him, he jumped up and flew straight into the dining room window. Stupid bird! When Linda picked it up, it seemed a bit perkier than I thought it might be, given that it had collided with two windows and barely escaped being cat food. 

"Now what?" Linda asked.

"Take him outside and toss him into the air." This would be the acid test of our rescue skills. If he just flopped to the ground, we could always open the entry room door and let the cat have the snack for which he had worked so hard. All's well that ends well, and when she tossed the bird, it flew away. A bit erratically, but  it did fly. I guess I'd be a little erratic too, if I had nearly knocked myself out running into a window and almost been eaten. All in all, I'd say it was a lucky bird. 

Often, life seems to be one problem after another. We go from a mistake in judgment to unexpected rescue to near catastrophe in short order. We wonder where God is in it, never dreaming that he delivers us, not to lead us into disaster, but to demonstrate his ability to transform even the worst of our situations into blessing and freedom. Like that bird, we fly into unseen obstacles, knocking the wind out of our sails, only to experience deliverance, only to find ourselves in an even worse situation. But God is faithful, and gently picks us up and sets us free to fly again. And for that I am very thankful tonight.

Overcomer

 March 3, 2022

Linda and I spent the evening in the bleachers cheering on our granddaughter’s basketball team in their semifinals. Sadly for us, they lost a squeaker. There was a terrible call at the end of the game which in all likelihood would have changed the outcome. On the other hand, the team gave up a first quarter lead with a second quarter when despite their best efforts, they couldn’t get the ball in the hoop.

When our children were little, I thought my main job as a father was to protect them from harm and even disappointment. A few of life’s hard realities soon divested me of that notion, and I realized instead that the most important thing I could teach my children was how to overcome adversity and injustice. I couldn’t prevent bad things from happening and hurting, but if I didn’t teach them how to come back from defeat, to overcome evil, to pick themselves up when life beat them down, I would have failed them as their father. 

There were times when like all children, they complained that we weren’t fair in our decisions. “Life isn’t fair,” we countered. “Get used to it.” It seems today that we are raising a generation that expects fairness and wilts into a puddle of despair, tears, and tantrums when they get sucker-punched by reality. I wish life were fair, but wishing doesn’t make it so. 

I suppose in one sense, it’s a good thing life isn’t fair. The Bible tells us that all have sinned and come short of God’s glory (Romans 3:23), that the wages of sin is death (Romans 6:23), but that God took on himself the penalty and judgment that we deserved in order to set us free and give us life (Romans 58). If God were completely fair, I would still be in my sins, without hope, and without a future, but as it is, instead of fairness, God chose mercy and grace. 

I truly wish tonight’s outcome had been different; that these girls don’t have to lay their heads down on their pillows tonight bitter for what might have been, but even more, I hope they don't let this defeat defeat them. I hope and pray that one way or another, they will learn what it means not just to win, but even more, to become overcomers.

Giving Up

March 2, 2022

Ash Wednesday. The beginning of the Christian season of Lent, during which with the lengthening of daylight, we ponder the brevity of life as preparation for Holy Week and Easter. Growing up as I did in an independent Baptist church, we didn’t observe Lent. That was something the Catholics did, but not Baptists. It was only as I slipped my way into Methodism that Lent began taking on significance for me. That’s a story for another time.

The usual Ash Wednesday question asked by those inclined to observe Lent is, “What are you giving up for Lent?” The idea is that we deny ourselves some pleasure so as to help us focus on spiritual matters. Unfortunately, for many, this “giving up” amounts to little more than a minor inconvenience such as giving up chocolate or coffee (I realize that for some, such a sacrifice is not a minor inconvenience, but neither is it a major intrusion into our lives).

This year, I’ve decided to give up three “S’s:” Sweets, Snacks, and Seconds (as in second helpings at the table). My wife suggested another “S” for the list, which puzzles me, as I haven’t played the saxophone in years. I think she was just being funny, but you never know. 

Giving up something can only get you so far in life, so in light of the national and international mess we are in, I think instead of merely subtracting from my life, it would be appropriate to add something, so here is the “S” I’m adding: Supplication. As in prayers for others. Don’t get me wrong; I pray for others all the time, but I think it’s time to get really serious about it; to spend significant time and effort praying for our world, holding before the Lord Almighty the brokenness we are seeing all around us. 

I live in a pleasant area of the world, surrounded by beautiful country, living amongst wonderful family, friends, and neighbors. Gunfire doesn’t lull me to sleep at night, we don’t experience major flooding, wildfires, hurricanes, or earthquakes. I am insulated from most of the tragedy that defines so many people’s lives. Most of these matters I am powerless to influence, but I can bang on the gates of heaven. It’s time for me to do so a bit more insistently. I’ve already begun, and hope I’m not alone in this endeavor. 

 

Photos

 March 1, 2022

This evening as I opened my iPad to write, a photo from three years ago popped up at the top of my screen—one of the apps that happens to run on these machines. I clicked on it and was treated to a slideshow of photos of the grandkids, from winter sleigh rides after breakfast at one of the area sugarbush pancake houses to the Easter egg hunt at our son’s. Intermingled were pictures of friends in Cuba, people I’ve been unable to see for two years, people like family to me, Christian brothers and sisters who have suffered much through the pandemic that has been mostly inconvenient to me, but tragic for them.

Halfway around the world, memories like this are being buried in the terror of bombs and artillery, parents trying to shelter their children in the midst of an invasion they were unable to prevent and may be unable to stop. They fight in whatever way they can because it isn’t political to them; it’s personal. The old saying is true: “Rich man’s war; poor man’s fight.” However hopeless it may seem, when defending one’s own home and family, the gloves come off. 

I look at these photos and see people I know and love, and know that in the Ukraine, parents and grandparents see and pray for people they know and love. Even in Russia, mothers and grandmothers are praying for their sons sent to the frontlines by men who will not themselves taste the bitter tears of their decisions.

It was not my choice to be born here, to know the advantages this country and my family provided me. I am blessed beyond measure, and thank God every day when I wake up for the breath that gives me life, and for the people who give me joy. I thank him for the sacrifice he made for me in the giving of his Son for my salvation; his going to fight a war I could not win against an enemy more powerful than I. He was bloodied for my sake as he stood in the gap and took the blows meant for me. 

Just a few months ago, Ukraine was being pilloried for its corruption. Today it is elevated almost to sainthood for its resistance to Russia’s aggression. Both then and now, those who bear the brunt of the decisions made by the upper echelons are ordinary people who like me, look with affection at photos from years ago, and pray for those whose faces they see. May God hear those prayers and answer in his mercy.