Miles to Go Before I Sleep

August 31, 2016

If we didn't have mirrors, we'd never know what we need to do to look presentable. I get up in the morning, stagger into the bathroom, turn on the light, and look into the mirror. On the best of days, it's not a pretty sight. If you've seen me after I've cleaned up, you can imagine the fright I give myself first thing every morning. James says that Scripture is like a mirror that shows us what we look like where no glass can reflect - in our hearts. No matter whether we're brand-new Christians or old hacks, that divine mirror will do its work if we but pay attention.

This morning I was reading from Luke 7, where Jesus has been invited to a dinner party at the home of Simon the Pharisee, one of the highly respected religious class of the day. As they sat down to dinner, someone crashes the party, and that someone happened to be rather well-known around town for her somewhat unsavory reputation. She was "a sinner," a woman of ill-repute who somehow managed to get by the butler. She threw herself at Jesus in a rather scandalous manner. Weeping at his feet, she undid her hair, something no self-respecting woman would ever do in mixed company, and with it, rubbed some very expensive perfume on him. This was not the sedate, measured act we learned in our Sunday School lessons. It was highly erotic, perhaps the only way she knew how to relate to a man. Jesus remained fixed where he was, quietly receiving this attention.

Jesus' host said not a word, but clearly was not impressed. Jesus read the look on his face and proceeded to tell a story that ended up revealing his host's critical and judgmental attitude. Well, not only his host. Me, too.

To me, the amazing part of this story is the mere fact that she came. She just knew Jesus wouldn't reject her. By contrast, how many "sinful" people in my life would think of coming to me for acceptance? No matter how desperate the circumstances, I cannot imagine anyone with a similar reputation feeling safe enough to do so. Church people sadly are not often known for their compassion. I'm afraid I am more like the Pharisee, judging perhaps not openly, but like Simon, in my heart. This woman didn't come to Simon, but to Jesus. Am I ready to receive with compassion those whose life decisions have been disastrous? Am I ready to receive them with compassion, recognizing their hopeful faith and offering forgiveness? I fear I am more Pharisee than Christian, more ready to judge and criticize than to receive and forgive. May God remove from me this heart of stone and replace it with a heart of flesh that beats love and compassion for those rejected by the world and the Church (Ezekiel 36:26).

I looked in the Mirror this morning, and didn't like what I saw. Thank God for the Mirror. Now for the hard work of making myself presentable, not to the world, but to God.

The Importance of Wild Places

I couldn't get this to post yesterday. So here it is today.

August 29, 2016

Luke 3:1-3 is one of my favorite Scriptures. With its strange list of names, it may seem strange at first, but to me it is one of the most significant texts in the Bible.

"In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar—when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, Herod tetrarch of Galilee, his brother Philip tetrarch of Iturea and Traconitis, and Lysanias tetrarch of Abilene—during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.
He went into all the country around the Jordan, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins."

We tend to exaggerate the importance of the high muckety-mucks in life. Back in the day, it was Caesar, Pilate, Herod, Philip, Lysanias, Annas, and Caiaphas. These were the movers and shakers of first century Palestine. Everyone knew that anything of real significance that happened, happened in those halls of power. Things haven't changed much. Everyone looks to Washington, especially in an election year. There's just one small problem: the word of the Lord came to John in the wilderness. And it's to those in the wilderness that the word of God comes today.

Few people love the wilderness. It's harsh, unforgiving, and dangerous. It can kill you, and even if it doesn't, it will throw you to the ground and pummel you till you cry "Uncle." Most of us do everything we can to avoid the wilderness or to get out of it as quickly as we can. The wilderness is not a fun place to be. But it is in the wilderness where God reveals himself to his people. Abraham, Moses, David, Elijah, John the Baptist, Jesus, and Paul all met God in the wilderness. Our God is a wilderness God. He loves wild places and the wild people who inhabit them.

There's more. When the Word of God comes, the people of God go. Those who stay put are rarely messengers of the One True God. This text hints at a side of the story we too often overlook. Church people love to talk about places of safety and security. Jesus for them is the gentle Shepherd who protects his people, not the Lion of Judah who leads his people into battle. But here we have God, wild and uncontrollable, who bypasses all the conventions of this world to speak to John in the wilderness.

Don't despise those harsh places, those times that threaten to tear your soul apart and reduce you to ashes. Those are the places, the times when you are most likely to encounter the Living God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. I still don't like deserts. I much prefer watered gardens. But I know where God lurks, and it's rarely where "the dew is still on the roses." And I am grateful tonight for this reminder that I trust will hold me in good stead the next time I find myself in a desert.

It All Takes Time

August 30, 2016

Sometimes it pays to read between the lines. Reading Matthew's gospel, or Mark's, we get the impression that as Jesus was strolling along the shore of the Sea of Galilee he out of the blue called Peter, James, and John and they just up and followed him without any forethought. Luke tells a different story. Jesus had been preaching throughout the region, had already stirred up controversy in the Nazareth synagogue, cast out a demon in Capernaum, and stopped by Peter's house where he healed Peter's mother in law, whereupon people started bringing to him the sick and oppressed to be healed.

In other words, Peter, James, and John were no strangers to this preacher. He had already gathered a bit of notoriety, was somehow on close enough terms with Peter to have singled out his house for an after-synagogue dinner. These three had opportunity to observe Jesus up close for some period of time before Jesus called them to follow him. Even then, it was only after a sermon from Peter's boat, a command to launch out into deep water and cast the nets, and the resulting catch that Jesus called them. He spent time preparing them, grooming them for the call he knew he would offer.

Conversion rarely happens instantaneously. I've only seen it happen two or three times in over 40 years of ministry. Even in those cases, someone years before had sown gospel seeds that just happened to germinate and sprout before my eyes, seemingly without effort. It takes time to bring life into the world. Nine months for a baby human, a couple weeks for a squash or radish. Life doesn't happen instantaneously. So when we get discouraged with how long it takes to cultivate and grow a genuine disciple, it helps to remember that even Jesus didn't cold-call Peter, James, and John. He took his time, let them hear his preaching and watch as he healed people. And he showed them in one last catch of fish the possibilities that were ahead if they were willing to lay down what they knew in order to trust him with what they couldn't even imagine.

Linda asked me tonight how she could best pray for me. I asked her to pray for my integrity and for faithfulness in pursuing God's present call on my life. It's one thing for me to talk about "Men, Money, and Mission;" it's quite another to actually map things out and begin working on it. I'm grateful that Jesus takes his time; that he has given me time to sort things out so I could hear his call once more, and that he has given me Linda to help me keep faith with that calling.

A Good, Good Day

August 28, 2016

Every so often something happens that confirms my decision to retire two years ago. Today was one of those occasions. Park church sponsored its first annual "I Am Free" event which included worship in the village commons, a chicken BBQ, backpacks filled with school supplies for the kids, back to school haircuts, a dunking booth, face painting and games for the kids, a classic car show, a $20 clothes voucher at Old Navy, all of it absolutely free. It took an enormous amount of work in planning and execution, most of which I had nothing to do with. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have thought of it or would have thought it too much work and expense for the probable return. It's good for the next generation to take over and for me to be in a support role.

Thanks to pastor Joe's vision and compassion, and to so many Park church people who labored for months behind the scenes, the event was a huge success, with over 450 dinners given out, nearly 300 backpacks with school supplies, scores of haircuts, and a park full of people blessed by the generosity of our people and the love of Christ. I am grateful tonight for a new generation of people who have caught the vision to reach our community for Christ and are engaging in innovative ways of proclaiming the Gospel in word and deed.

Unexpected Joys

August 27, 2016

From a swim team breakfast at Applebee's to a delightful wedding of some dear friends, our Saturday has been full. The hours were full, but so was the joy of supporting our granddaughters and their team, and our friends. The hours are gone, but the blessing of relationships being strengthened and deepened will last forever.

We got home about five o'clock and I started working on the woodshed I've been wanting to build. While I was measuring, sawing, and screwing the frame together, the shouts of children approaching made me look up to see Jo, Nathan, Mattie, and Eliza tooling down the driveway on their bikes. After a few minutes gathered around the swing interrupting Linda's reading, they head for the pond. Our fishpond has become a haven for frogs which become in turn, the target of the grandkids armed with nets and buckets. Almost every day they show up ready for froggy war, complete with squeals of joy which turn to squeals of surprise when I plug in the fountain that they've turned off while they wade in the pond stalking their prey.

Little Nathan wants to drive the old 8N again, so I get it out for him to take a couple turns around the yard before they're all off for home. I walk down to the swimming hole to invite the swimmers to tomorrow's worship in the park, free chicken BBQ, and games for the kids. Later, with the night's work done, we sit on the swing, marveling at our good fortune. How is it that we have been so extraordinarily blessed? We've had our share of trials, but tonight they all seem so small and distant. We take none of it for granted, knowing that life can suddenly turn on a dime. But I remember the words pastor Joe spoke at the wedding; words I've spoken countless times myself: "for better, for worse." Marriage and life contains both. Over the years we've experienced some of the worse, but today we have the better, and it's good.

What A Photo Cannot Capture

August 26, 2016

We took lots of pictures for back then, but nothing compared to what photographers do in this day of digital cameras. I can't remember the last time we looked at our wedding photographs. They're in an album somewhere in the basement, memorials to an event that changed our lives. These days, besides the requisite formal poses with the wedding party, parents, and pastor, there are myriads of candids, hundreds of photos of the preparations, the wedding itself, the reception, and assorted others that the bride, the groom, and parents believe to be necessary.

We attempt to encapsulate significant events on film, not realizing that the event itself is a spiritual happening, the essence of which cannot be captured. This is particularly true of Christian weddings, which are in fact, worship services. We review the pictures, hoping to experience again the joys, the depths of emotion, even our sense of the presence of God, usually to no avail. Photographs, and even videos can record the appearance of the event, but not its heart.

Still, I wish I had thought to take a picture of today's lunch with Abi at Steadman Corners Coffee Shop. Abi is particularly close to her sister Alex, she loves coffee, and I love Abi, so believing that the day after Alex's going to college might be difficult for her, before Alex left for college yesterday, I had made arrangements for Abi and I to have coffee together. After swim practice this morning, I picked her up and we drove to Steadman Corners. The building was formerly a General Store back in the late 1800's, has had a few reincarnations without ever really changing the building itself, and today is a quaint coffee roasters and shop where you can get a light lunch, coffee, and atmosphere. Abi loved it, and I reveled in the opportunity to bless her and to listen to her heart as we talked about life, her hopes and dreams, and the challenges before her.

I forgot to take a photo, but it's OK. A photo cannot contain the spirituality of the occasion. The afternoon is firmly in my mind and even more firmly in my heart, which is filled with gratitude tonight for the privilege of sharing an afternoon coffee with my granddaughter.

When the Cat's Away

August 25, 2016

When Linda was a little girl, she loved spending time with her father. When he would come home from work, she'd be sitting on the front step, baseball mitt in hand, waiting for him to throw the ball to her. He would throw it as hard as he could till it stung her hand, but she wouldn't let on. She loved her special times with him, and was the only one of the girls allowed to drive his tractor. She tells of the time they were cultivating the corn with an old horse drawn plow hitched to the drawbar of the tractor. She was driving while he guided the plow. When they got to the end of a row, she would let off the throttle, turn the tractor around and press in the clutch while he maneuvered the plow. Once he was ready for the next row, she would put the tractor in gear, let out the clutch, and away they would go. Except one time when she wasn't paying attention.

She was singing as she popped the clutch, mistakenly throwing it into fourth gear instead of first. Her father was only about 5' 4", and when she hit fourth gear, his short legs were given quite a workout as he ran along behind the tractor, taking the row in great bounds, shouting to no avail. When they got to the end of that row, he breathlessly asked if she was trying to kill him. She wasn't, of course, but they both told and retold the story many times over the years.

He was fussy over that tractor. I got to drive it once, when he was laid up with a bad back while in the middle of tearing down the old barn. He was worried that the north wall would collapse and hurt someone, and I was as surprised as anyone could be that he let me hook it up to the wall and pull it down. That was the only time in the forty years I knew him that he let me drive his tractor. When he died, Linda inherited it. It sat in Nate's barn for a couple years until we had a place to store it. I'll never forget the day I drove it home.

It's as old as we are, a 1948 Ford 8N, and it can be somewhat crotchety about starting. In the winter it's almost impossible, and in summer only slightly less so. I tried three times this week before managing to get it going this afternoon. Once it starts, it runs like a champ.

Little Nathan and his sister Madeline were visiting for the afternoon; Linda had taken Madeline to the library while Nathan sat sprawled on the couch watching Veggie Tales. When I leaned in the door and asked if anyone in the room would be interested in driving a tractor, it was as if Nathan had been launched from a cannon. At eight, he's a quick study, and after a couple turns around the yard with me behind him operating the clutch, I told him it was his turn. His first try was a bit jerky, but after I had him start and stop it a few times, he was handling it like a pro.

His sister soon got in on it, and we sent them home with ear to ear smiles. Being able to give them an experience like this is a gift to us as well as them, and tonight I am content.