The Heavens Declare His Glory

July 31, 2015

Our galaxy has 150-200 billion stars, and the Milky Way is but one of 150 billion galaxies in the universe. On the molecular level, the number of stars in the universe is smaller than the number of H2O molecules in ten drops of water. In 1966 Carl Sagan announced that there were two important criteria for a planet to support life: the right kind of star, and a planet the right distance from that star. Given the number of planets in the universe, it seemed likely that there were about a septillion (1 followed by 24 zeros) capable of supporting life. But as our knowledge of the universe has grown, it has become clear that there are far more factors necessary for life than Sagan supposed. Today there are more than 200 known parameters necessary for a planet to support life, every one of which must be perfectly met, or it all falls apart. For example, in our own galaxy, the gravity of Jupiter's enormous mass draws away asteroids; a thousand times as many would hit the earth if Jupiter were not there.

Scientists now are saying that the odds are against any planet in the universe supporting life--including the one we inhabit. On top of all that, if the ratio between the nuclear strong force and the electromagnetic force were off by the tiniest fraction--even by one part in 1,00,000,000,000,000,000--no stars could ever have formed. All this was just a part of my reading today, and it put me in awe.

Some would argue in the light of all this that it is incredulous that there would be a God who would be personally interested in what happens on this tiny speck of matter in the vastness of the universe; if indeed there were a God behind it all in the first place. As to the latter, the immensely delicate balance of factors necessary for the existence of anything, let alone life, is so incredible that it requires either more faith or more naiveté to believe that it all happened by chance than it does to believe in design. But if there is a God who made all this, why would this God pay any special attention to humans on this insignificant little planet? Isn't such a belief the height of arrogance?

This I believe, is to get things backwards. It is certainly humbling to think that the God who made all that is cares for humanity enough to send his own Son to die for our redemption, but the significance of the enormity of the universe has nothing to do with our own smallness, but rather with the greatness of God. "The heavens declare his glory," the Scripture declares. Some believe that the more we know, the more God recedes to the margins. They understand "God" to be the language we use to explain that which we don't know or understand. In reality, the more we know, the greater our God appears. Psalm 34:3 says, "O magnify the LORD with me, and let us exalt his name together." Think of a magnifying glass. It doesn't make anything bigger; it only makes the object appear bigger so we can see more clearly. When God is magnified, he doesn't get any bigger; we just see him more clearly and in our minds and hearts we see that he is greater than any problem or circumstance we face. When I go outside tonight and see the stars, knowing that what I see is but a infinitesimal slice of all that is, God's glory is manifest, and I get to magnify him; to see how much greater he is than...anything. For this, I give thanks.

God Answers Prayer

July 30, 2015

I didn't hear it myself, but our kids who were sitting at the picnic table in the spruce grove caught the full brunt of it. The swimming hole at the south end of our property is quite the gathering place when the days are hot and muggy. It's not uncommon to see four or five vehicles parked along the road, and a dozen or more people camped out on our lawn, replete with lawn chairs, blankets, coolers, and even the occasional portable grill. It goes with the territory, I guess. Most of the time it doesn't bother me. The ones who come to swim and picnic invariably are a bit more hardscrabble than we're used to. If they could afford a swimming pool, they would probably have one in their backyard. They can't, and don't, so they come to our yard.

Sunday afternoon, the language wafting on the breeze wasn't exactly of the same sort as we had heard in the morning, if you get my drift. F-bombs were exploding all over the place, so I made my way down to explain the house rules. Most of the people who frequent the swimming hole aren't even aware that it is on private property, so when I state the facts, it tends to calm things down. On this occasion, Shaun was the vocalist in question, and became quite apologetic when I informed him that we had little children around and would appreciate his toning things down a bit. He explained that his ex son-in-law was threatening his daughter, which made his choice of words understandable, even if not acceptable. Hey, he doesn't know Jesus; I can't expect altar boy language from him. Of course, the four or five beers sloshing around in his stomach probably didn't help any.

This afternoon, he and his family (minus the ex son-in-law) were back, blankets on the ground, kids in the water, and he apologized all over again. I told him it was over and done with. Period.

In between Sunday's encounter and today, someone was kind enough to throw a pig carcass off the bridge into the water at the base of the falls. Yesterday when I was down meeting some new picnickers, one of them pointed it out to me. They had fished it out of the water and now it laid on the abutment under the bridge. To say it was gross is a bit of an understatement. It was partially decomposed, covered with flies, and stunk to high heaven. So this afternoon, after greeting Shaun and his family and meeting two new friends of his, I grabbed a garbage bag, a shovel, and a potato fork to deal with the carcass. Shaun followed me down the abutment, and held the bag while I speared the head and then the body. A few ribs and assorted other parts fell off as I was putting them in the bag. Instead of waiting for me to spear them again, Shaun grabbed them in his bare hands, tossed them into the bag, and that was that! Did I mention I'm beginning to really like this guy?

He grabbed the bag of pig parts while I had the shovel and fork, and we walked to my truck where he tossed it into the bed. "I have some hand sanitizer in the truck," he explained, but I insisted he come inside and wash up. When he was done, he asked if it was OK to use the towel that hung on the wall. Now I'm really impressed! He may be hard core in his habits, but his heart is tender.

When I think back over the years, we moved to Cassadaga because fifteen years ago when the church decided to stop having a parsonage, there was nothing for sale in Sinclairville. In the meantime, Pappy and Dora both died, leaving this house empty until their daughter finally decided to sell it. The timing was perfect, and we are living in a home we never would have dreamed would be ours someday. Our kids used to swim down here, and now other people's kids are doing so. As I've said elsewhere, I'm enough of an introvert that engaging total strangers is not something you'd see me doing very often. But God keeps dropping these people in our laps; the very ones that fifteen years ago I prayed Park church would be able to reach. I don't even have to go door to door; they just keep coming to us. I think I'm seeing a pattern here. It looks like God wants me to begin answering my own prayers. So each afternoon, I wander down to the swimming hole, introduce myself, talk with our guests, and invite them to church and to Jesus. And tonight, I'm going to bed thankful that those prayers I've been praying for fifteen years are being answered not just by extroverted pastor Joe with the people he meets and introduces to Christ, but even by me, the introvert.

Forgiveness

July 29, 2015

“Whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father also who is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.”—“Love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return.”—Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles.—Do not repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless, for to this you were called, that you may obtain a blessing.—If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.—Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you."

This morning's reading from "Our Daily Light" drilled me right between the eyes. In more than 40 years as a pastor, I've had plenty of occasions to counsel people about forgiveness, and plenty more to exercise it myself. And even more to receive it. Forgiveness is a topic we love to hear about when we've wronged someone else; not so much when someone has wronged us. I cannot recall how often I've heard people say, "I can forgive "X," but this is too big to forgive." This misses the whole point. If it's not big, get over it. Forgiveness is precisely for the big stuff.

And it's not optional for the Christian. It amazes me how Christians can continue to hold grudges against a brother or sister for some real or imagined slight. It's like they never read the parable of the Unforgiving Servant who was forgiven an enormous sum, but refused to forgive a picayune amount owed to him by a fellow servant. It's found in Matthew 18. I believe that the reason he refused to forgive is that he hadn't really believed he himself was actually forgiven, and so had to exact every penny out of a fellow servant in a vain attempt to raise the cash to pay his unpayable debt. Unfortunately for the unforgiver, Jesus is crystal clear: If we don't forgive, God won't forgive us.

Contrast the unforgiving attitude we encounter so frequently here in America, the land of the Perpetually Offended with that of the Coptic Christians who forgave the ISIS jihadists who murdered dozens of their brothers "because Jesus commanded us to forgive."

I wish I could say this topic is academic, but it's not. It's personal. Most of the time, it's not an issue for me, mostly I suspect, because I've not been in situations where it's necessary. I've not had to bury a child, victim of a gang shooting. I've not had someone steal my identity and clean out my retirement fund. But I have had people betray friendship, do their best to destroy the work to which I had devoted my life, and years ago at a time when I could least afford it, I had someone borrow a significant sum of money he never returned. Pretty small stuff when I think about it, but it's real to me, and Jesus' words are pointed and convicting. As a Christian, I have no choice but to let these things go, every time they rear their ugly heads in my heart. Left to myself, I would hold onto the offense, which ultimately would destroy my own soul. Tonight I am grateful for Scripture that cuts to the core, refusing to let me off the hook. Even when it's hard and I don't like it, forgiveness is the only way, and once again, I choose to let go of the offenses because God let me go free, and I don't want to forfeit that freedom by returning to the bondage of the grudge.

Redeemed!

July 27, 2015

Whatever you think of Donald Trump, there's no question that he knows how to make news. His bid for the presidency probably won't go any further this time than it has before, but he certainly makes things interesting. Just this morning I read an article about him in which he was asked if he ever asked God for forgiveness. His answer was that he never recalled having done so.

 “I am not sure I have. I just go on and try to do a better job from there. I don’t think so.” Then he added, “I think if I do something wrong, I think, I just try and make it right. I don’t bring God into that picture. I don’t.” Trump went on to admit that he did participate in Holy Communion: “When I drink my little wine—which is about the only wine I drink—and have my little cracker, I guess that is a form of asking for forgiveness, and I do that as often as possible because I feel cleansed.”

The article goes on to wonder how Trump, a self-professed Presbyterian, could have missed the prayer in the "Service for Repentance and Forgiveness:

"Merciful God,
we confess that we have sinned against you
in thought, word, and deed,
by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved you
with our whole heart and mind and strength;
we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.

In your mercy forgive what we have been,
help us amend what we are,
and direct what we shall be,
do that we may delight in your will
and walk in your ways,
to the glory of your holy name."

I bring this up not as a criticism of Trump. He receives plenty of that without my help, and besides, he is far from alone in his failure to see his need of forgiveness. Reading this article at the beginning of the day, I gave thanks that God in his mercy has forgiven me. Christ died for our sins, and God credited me with the righteousness of his Son. How incredible is that? It took a long time for me to really grasp the significance of Christ's atonement, but I am living in the light of it every day. This liturgical prayer is just as apropos today as it was the day I first prayed it years ago. Repentance and forgiveness makes life worth living. The Christian group Big Daddy Weave says it about as well as anyone:

"Seems like all I could see was the struggle
Haunted by ghosts that lived in my past
Bound up in shackles of all my failures
Wondering how long is this gonna last
Then You look at this prisoner and say to me "son
Stop fighting a fight it's already been won"

I am redeemed, You set me free
So I'll shake off these heavy chains
Wipe away every stain, now I'm not who I used to be
I am redeemed, I'm redeemed

All my life I have been called unworthy
Named by the voice of my shame and regret
But when I hear You whisper, "Child lift up your head"
I remember, oh God, You're not done with me yet

I am redeemed, You set me free
So I'll shake off these heavy chains
Wipe away every stain, yeah, I'm not who I used to be
Oh, God, I'm not who I used to be
Jesus, I'm not who I used to be
'Cause I am redeemed
Thank God, redeemed."

How could I not go to bed thankful in light of this amazing grace?

A Living Bible Story

July 26, 2015

This morning I had the privilege of hearing what I believe to be pastor Joe's best sermon yet. He was passionate and to the point as he dealt with the Biblical story of David and Bathsheba. Actually, Joe is always passionate and to the point. If anyone doubts where he stands on almost anything, they just aren't paying attention. But tonight, it's time for my own Bathsheba story.

About ten years ago, I joined my good friend Richard Smith on a mission trip to Nepal. It was my fourth and sadly, final trip with him. Circumstances were such that we weren't able to work together again, which I truly regret. Richard is the best when it comes to organizing and leading mission teams, and his influence is largely responsible for my love of missions and the mission culture of Park church.

Our trip began in Delhi, India, where we worked with the national missionaries for Every Home for Christ, then took a train to see the Taj Mahal, which is even more impressive in real life than the photos and travelogues can portray. From Delhi we flew into Kathmandu where my story takes place. If you've ever read National Geographic or seen a documentary on the Hindu culture, you've seen photos of the exquisite stone and wood sculptures that adorn all the religious buildings and many of the ordinary ones. But if you've not been there yourself, you wouldn't know how much these carvings are censored for publication. In short, they are explicitly pornographic, and they appear everywhere. The small hotel at which we stayed had shingled awnings that wrapped around the building. These awnings had angled wooden supports, and each one of them had a carving depicting a different sexual position.

Early one morning after rising and showering, I looked out the window at the rooftops where laundry hung and Buddhist prayer flags fluttered in the breeze. Suddenly, a door to the neighboring roof opened, and a young woman stepped out. On the roof before her was a big tub of water. She proceeded to disrobe and climb into the tub, but not before she checked to see if I was watching. As the sari she had been wearing dropped to her ankles, the story of David and Bathsheba popped instantly into my mind, and I looked away. I thought to myself, "This is how it all started." The story begins in 2 Samuel 11 with the narrator telling us that it was "the time of year when kings went to war," which makes me wonder why David was in Jerusalem instead of out in the field with his men. Were the years catching up with him? Was his affair with Bathsheba some sort of mid-life crisis where David was trying to recapture the illusion of youth? Whatever the reason, he wasn't where he should have been, and when he saw what I saw, he didn't turn away. He kept looking till he was inflamed with illicit desire.

Before it was all over, he was not only an adulterer, but a murderer. This incident marks the zenith of David's reign. Before this, everything kept coming up roses for David; from this moment on, his reign and family life was one disaster after another. He was forgiven, but he and the nation paid a high price for his indiscretion.

I cannot claim to be more righteous than David. Unlike him, I had an example to warn me, and thankfully, I listened. St. Paul tells us that the Scriptures were written not as an example of how to live a holy life, but as a warning to avoid the mistakes and sins of those who have gone before. I never expected that one day I would find myself in the exact same situation as David, but I am grateful that on that day, I remembered, I resisted, and I was rescued by the mercy of God.

July 25, 2015

It is somewhat of a challenge being an introvert and an evangelical Christian. The Gospel mandate couldn't be clearer: "Go into the world and make disciples of all peoples..." For extroverted Christians, this is like feeding sugar to an ADHD kid; pretty soon they're bouncing off one sinner right into the next one, like a religious rubber ball. But people like myself are seriously challenged by Jesus' command; we don't like it, but we can't escape it.

This morning I went to a bike blessing and ride sponsored by the Panama UM church. About thirty people showed up, ate breakfast, received pastor Steve's blessing, then took off on the ride. The day was perfect; sunny but not too warm, and the bikes stretched out before and behind me, half a mile either way. In one sense, a ride like this is just what the doctor ordered for people like me. We can be together, but on a bike, you're all alone; an introvert's definition of perfection. But the gathering time is difficult, trying to strike up conversations with people I don't know.

Linda tried to make it better by telling me that God made me just the way I am, but we must be careful with that kind of talk; it's the same argument offered by the LGBT community: "God made us this way." What I do and do not do cannot be solely dependent on how I feel about it. The command of Christ is as clear as it can be; his call to go into the world with the Gospel is not a suggestion. It is a command. So I lean on conversation starters. My sidecar motorcycle is a conversation starter. Whenever I'm parked somewhere, inevitably someone stops to inquire about it. So I wrote a Gospel tract giving information about the bike and my testimony concerning Jesus Christ.

This afternoon when I got home from the ride, our side yard was filled with people; adults with blankets spread out on the grass, and kids swimming in the creek. I went down to introduce myself and to let them know they are welcome to swim and have a good time, but we appreciate when they pick up all their rubbish before they leave. I've met more people at the swimming hole this summer than I encounter in almost any other way. Being an extrovert, Linda is better at it than I am, but we both are using our swimming hole as an evangelistic opportunity. God is dropping people in our laps. The least we can do is tell them about Jesus and invite them to church. I'm still not as bold about this as I'd like to be. The Scripture says, "The righteous are bold as lions." I'm working on the righteous part, trusting that the closer I get to the mark, the more boldness God will give me. As I work on it, I am grateful for these tools that open doors this introvert would normally pass by without even knocking. Introvert or not, Jesus said, "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men." It's pretty clear: if I'm not fishing; I'm not following. My bike and my yard are the bait. It's up to me to cast the line and see what's biting.

Universal Language

July 24, 2015

The King's Brass consists of three trumpeters, three trombonists, a tuba, percussionist, and keyboardist. Led by Tim Zimmerman who has led the group for 35 years, they performed for two hours, playing hymn arrangements, contemporary Christian music, pop, classical, and big band music with flair and technical expertise that had the audience on its feet for three encores. I am amazed whenever I listen to an individual or a group that performs at such a level, enthralled at how people can move their fingers so fast, with such precision, and in perfect rhythm and harmony with each other. They started out with a fanfare worthy of royalty, and ended with Glenn Miller's "In the Mood," and LeRoy Anderson's "Trumpeter's Holiday," both of which require a level of skill achieved by only a few.

When I was in fifth grade, I began taking saxophone lessons. I can still remember that first afternoon when I dragged that tenor sax home, assembled it in the spare bedroom and let loose with a "blaaat" that would have stopped an amorous bull moose in his tracks. I practiced diligently, developing pretty good tone, but never able to wiggle my fingers fast enough to attain first chair, even though there was only one other tenor sax player in the band. I ended up on baritone sax in the jazz band, and bassoon in the concert band, orchestra, and woodwind quintet. The quirky nature of the bassoon appealed to me, and although my folks bought me a 1964 Selmer Mark VI tenor, the Rolls Royce of saxophones, I was never able to do it justice.

What I did learn was an appreciation for good music. Even with my hearing loss, I can pick out the different instruments of the band, and appreciate musical nuances that unmusical people miss. Listening to music of the quality I heard tonight puts me in a quandary, suspended between a renewed determination to practice more and get better and just putting the instruments up for sale, knowing I'll never come close to attaining the kind of musical perfection demonstrated by this group tonight. No, I'll not quit; the New Horizons Band of which I am a member pushes me to do my best, even if it's not very good. I am grateful to live near Fredonia State College, with its excellent music program, including this band organized for those who never before played and for those who just want to get back into the instrument they played years ago. Music is as they say, the universal language. It is also one of God's best gifts, combining the mathematical precision of rhythm and of the scales themselves with a breadth of emotional expression that combines both hemispheres of the brain as few disciplines can do. Tonight we experienced the best of this universal language and praised God for it.