Numbers

December 31, 2019

They are just numbers on a page: 12/31/19, but they represent all that has happened this past year, as well as wistful hopefulness for the next. What is it about this particular date that we want to remember and reflect...and look forward to a better year to come? Why not August 31 or the spring solstice? Whatever the reason for the date, we seem to be hardwired to do it; we NEED to reflect, and to dream. 

Linda and I were talking this afternoon about life. It seems to me I’m not accomplishing all I had imagined I would once retirement fully kicked in. Things I want to get done lie untouched. She reminded me I spent the day assembling furniture for the Options Care Center, but it still felt like I should have gotten more done. Even my writing isn’t what I want it to be. When I look back at things I wrote two or three years ago, I often say to myself, “that was pretty good; why am I writing such drivel today?”

The trap is subtle, but effective. When we look only at what we have or haven’t accomplished, we locate our source of joy and satisfaction, our well-being in ourselves, in our abilities and talents, which may or may not be sufficient to meet the challenges of the day. Simply put, my best efforts cannot adequately justify my existence, which is why St. Paul tells us we are justified only by faith in Christ. He alone is adequate for the challenges we face; he alone can atone for our failure to meet those challenges successfully.

Whether it’s ringing out the old or ringing in the new, when our adequacy is rooted in our ability, we are in trouble. My faith is in Jesus Christ, not James Bailey. He alone can adequately affirm the successes of the past year, forgive the failures, and provide the wisdom and strength for the new. I am thankful tonight that I’m still here (at 70, I have my “threescore and ten”), and that  all rests in the hands of a wise and loving God.

From the Well

December 30, 2019

One of the benefits of having been a preacher for nearly 50 years is a well of experience that is much deeper than when I first began. Back then, the well wasn’t much more than a muddy puddle. Today, when I’ve run dry, I have a backlog of writing to draw on, and in retirement, I need that. I’m not mixing it up with people to the same degree I once did. Sometimes it feels like I’m just marking time, not accomplishing much of any importance. When that happens, I know it’s time to go back to the well, so that’s what I’m doing tonight. I am very thankful that the well is deep and the bucket doesn’t leak. So...here is a blast from the past.

December 30, 2014

Driving home from town today, I poked the button for the radio and was greeted by a PBS discussion of a novel about the shallowness of the gaudy wealth of the kingdom of Dubai. I tuned in mid-conversation where they happened to be talking about the plague of prostitution and of social media in this Islamic city state. It was a strange juxtaposition of thought that immediately caught my attention. The author commented that life there was oddly disembodied, that the sense of personhood was disconnected from the physicality of the body, whether it be in the disengagement of two people in the prostituted sexual act or in the disembodiment of the online community, the phrase "online community" being somewhat of an oxymoron in itself. 

People were calling in, commenting on different parts of the conversation, but no one seemed to pick up on the theme of disembodied people, which I find to be both significant and saddening. Our culture is increasingly obsessed with sex, but not as it inhabits the marital bed. I cannot remember the last time a sexual scene, or the suggestion of one, included two happily married people. It is almost always people who are either living together without benefit of marriage, or two people who just happen to land in one or the other's bed for the evening. And of course, the obligatory presence of a homosexual couple, while not yet being portrayed so openly sexual, is fast becoming the new norm. And that's just broadcast and cable television.

People are obsessed with the the attachment of bodies, but strangely silent at the disengagement of the soul and spirit. It's apparent in the way sex is treated in the media, but it's also evident in the social media itself, which has in many cases become a cesspool of people's disappointments, resentments, vindictiveness, and retaliation. The slight or the offense given in private is now broadcast for everyone to see, but only from the perspective of the offended person who posts his or her grievance. It's all done from a distance, and from the relative safety and often anonymity of a social media persona that may have no real connection to the personality of the person behind it. Comments are disembodied, and more and more people are living these body-less lives through their cellphones, laptops, and tablets.

Secularists often scorn the Christian's supposedly puritanical protection of sex within the bonds of marriage. "You see the body as evil and dirty; that's why you are afraid to celebrate your sexuality," they say. To the contrary, we are the only ones taking the body seriously enough. We understand the connection between "sarx" and "psuche," body and soul. Only as the body is taken seriously as an integral part of who we are, and as we refuse to detach the body from the inner life of the human being, can we begin to understand what it truly means to be human. I am grateful tonight to have listened to a conversation that made me ponder anew the mystery of this life we live, as St. Paul said, "in the flesh...and in the spirit." And I am grateful for my Christian faith that is concerned with the redemption of the entire person, body, soul, and spirit. This redemption of the entire person is my only hope, and although I may be misunderstood to say so, I cling to it with holy desperation.

Hard Blessings

December 29, 2019

“From the Jews five times I received forty stripes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods; once I was stoned; three times I was shipwrecked; a night and a day I have been in the deep; in journeys often, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils of my own countrymen, in perils of the Gentiles, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false brethren; in weariness and toil, in sleeplessness often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness— besides the other things, what comes upon me daily: my deep concern for all the churches.” —II Corinthians 11:24-28 NKJV

The weather so far this December has been unsettled. Cold and snow has given way to a cold rainy drizzle; tomorrow is supposed to hit 50F before plummeting below freezing on New Year’s Eve. I’ve often said I prefer a hard snow to a freezing rain; the rain somehow goes right through me, chilling me to the bone. Today’s weather made me think of St. Paul’s words about all he endured for the sake of the Gospel. The weather is what it is; we live with it, but don’t often place ourselves in its path for any purpose, let alone the Gospel. Tonight I sit in our back room before a cozy fire and a lazy dog. Whatever is happening outside, inside I’m quite comfortable. 

Paul recounts times of persecution and torture, in danger from people, and struggling for life in circumstances that would prompt most of us to retreat to safer and more comfortable surroundings. Towards the end of his list he speaks of cold and nakedness, and I can picture him shivering in the rain, praying for morning and a break in the clouds. When I was much younger, my sons and I would canoe in Algonquin Park in Canada...in October. I remember well shivering through the lengthening nights, wondering if morning were ever going to come so I could get up, build a fire and try to warm my hands and feet and everything in between.

This morning, our pastor invited us to give voice to the blessings we’ve received in 2019. Health, friendships, family were all mentioned. I didn’t chime in, but I am thankful for the hard blessings of the cold that helps me appreciate the warmth, of the disappointments that highlight by contrast the fulfillments, the feeling of God’s absence that helps me enjoy all the more those times when I feel his presence, the struggle to understand Scripture that fades in the light that explodes in my head when I finally see and understand. 

Without the cold, we cannot appreciate the comfort, without the persecution, we cannot fully know the peace, without the conviction of sin, we cannot fully know the joy of salvation. Not only for the good times, but for the hard and bad, I give thanks tonight.

To and On

December 28, 2019

“Therefore by the deeds of the law no flesh will be justified in His sight, for by the law is the knowledge of sin. But now the righteousness of God apart from the law is revealed, being witnessed by the Law and the Prophets, even the righteousness of God, through faith in Jesus Christ, to all and on all who believe. For there is no difference;” —Romans 3:20-22 NKJV

For anyone burdened by guilt at not quite ever measuring up, these words of St. Paul are like a fresh breeze in the desert. Our working more or trying harder to do the right thing may be admirable, but the Enemy of our souls is always at hand to sow seeds of doubt. “How much is enough? You’re working hard today, but remember how badly you screwed up last week?” No amount of good deeds can undo even the tiniest of bad ones. They remain like an ink dot on an otherwise pristine white page. The overwhelming whiteness is unnoticed as the attention is drawn to that single spot of ink. Paul asserts however, that there is more to the story.

The righteousness that is unavailable through our efforts to do good is given to us in Christ. Here, Paul says, “to all and ON all” who believe. It is not only a gift to us, but it rests on us. Elsewhere, Paul reminds us to “put on” righteousness. And John tells us that the white robes the saints wear as they worship around the throne of God are the righteousness of the saints. When God looks at the believer, he doesn’t see the sin-stained rags we once wore; he sees the holiness of his Son. So why then do we keep looking at ourselves as we were before Christ? Is that not self-defeating? When I put on work clothes, I don’t care if they get dirty, but when I put on a suit and tie, I live up to the clothes and take care not to get them soiled. Maybe if we saw ourselves clothed in the righteousness of Christ, we would be more careful how we act in this world, and be more confident of the world to come.

Everett

December 27, 2019

“There are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are differences of ministries, but the same Lord. And there are diversities of activities, but it is the same God who works all in all. But the manifestation of the Spirit is given to each one for the profit of all: for to one is given the word of wisdom through the Spirit, to another the word of knowledge through the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healings by the same Spirit, to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another discerning of spirits, to another different kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues. But one and the same Spirit works all these things, distributing to each one individually as He wills.”

I Corinthians 12:4-11 NKJV

It was nearly 40 years ago when I was first introduced to Pentecostal/Charismatic theology of the Holy Spirit. It may be hard to believe, but growing up as an independent Baptist in the ‘60s, I had never learned of the Azusa Street revival, of Aimee Temple McPherson, Smith Wigglesworth, Kathryn Kuhlman or any of the other  Pentecostal preachers from the early 20th century. When I was assigned to a church that had nearly split in two by a pastor who had experienced a “second blessing,” I had to learn quickly. I devoured everything I could get my hands on that dealt with such matters, and it turned out, there was quite a bit of available material. 

As with any theological inquiry, it was not a straightforward path. Even amongst the Charismatics and Pentecostals, there was quite a bit of diversity regarding the necessity of speaking in tongues as evidence of being “baptized in the Spirit.” Some encouraged me to simply empty my mind and let the syllables flow, while others told me I needed to practice repeating gibberish, and still others asserted that I didn’t need to do it at all. It was, to put it mildly, a bit confusing. I finally dug more deeply into the Scriptures, and amazingly, the whole matter cleared up. 

Paul’s first letter to the Corinthian church was written to correct some false teaching and bad practices that had crept into the congregation. By the time he gets to the twelfth chapter, he had dealt with factions, sexual immorality, and desecration of the Lord’s Table, or Eucharist. Now he turns to spiritual gifts, and states quite explicitly that we all have different gifts, and by implication, insisting that a particular one is necessary for everyone is simply false teaching. Did you catch his repetition of “to another?” This was quite a relief to me, as was when the leader of the charismatic element in the church said to me one night, “Jim, you don’t have to speak in tongues. Your gift is preaching. Go with it.” That confirmation from a dyed-in-the-wool charismatic of what I read in Scripture set my mind at ease.

Recently, I was asked to teach on the gift of prophecy to a group of Pentecostal pastors. How weird is that? I responded by telling the one who invited me that I would be happy to do so, but my teaching might not be quite what he would be expecting. But I plan to do it. If my spiritual gift is as those I trust have confirmed, it should be a profitable time, even if it doesn’t meet their expectations, or perhaps especially if it doesn’t. Either way, I am thankful tonight for Everett Scofield and his wise words to me nearly a lifetime ago, and that I don’t have to fit into anyone’s mold for authentic Christian living except that of Christ himself.

Walking

December 26, 2019

For the merest of moments, Christmas gave us a reprieve from the unending political drama that’s been playing out in Washington for the past three years. I’m not naïve enough to imagine that the warring sides have come to any semblance of peace, but with multiple worship services, gatherings, and family celebrations, I’ve been too preoccupied to pay attention to any of it. It’s been rather nice, actually. Listening to the commentators (there aren’t any actual reporters anymore—they’re all commentators), no matter which side you take, the world is coming to an end if the other side wins.

It won’t, of course. It might get plenty worse, but it’s not the end. Not yet. Jesus told us there would be wars and rumors of wars, that nation would rise against nation. The Bible tells us that people will have itching ears to hear only that which they want to hear. They will call good evil and evil good. People will betray one another. Poverty, violence, injustice will abound. Nothing new here. It’s not much different than when Jesus was born. But that night, a Light came into the world, and St. John says, “the darkness cannot overcome it.” We thread our way through that darkness by the glow of that Light, one step at a time. It’s not a searchlight that floods the way with a blinding brightness. The Light doesn’t illuminate the last steps we take; instead, he told us that even he didn’t know the day nor hour of his appearing. Instead, we walk...sometimes haltingly, sometimes confidently. 

Occasionally, we run the race, and at other times, it’s all we can do merely to stand. But mostly, we walk, step by step, one foot after the other. And while walking, we pay little attention to all the voices clamoring in our ears from the sidelines, promising success, happiness, wealth, fame, or safety if we just follow their siren call. But the Spirit whispers in our hearts, “if anyone will come after Me, let him take up his cross and follow Me,” and we shoulder that cross once more, shifting its weight and haltingly lift a foot and start out, guided by the light of his Word and the Light of the Holy Spirit. If we stumble, he is there to catch us and set us on our way. 

Through pleasant valleys, rock-strewn paths in the desert, up narrow mountain trails, and thickets that threaten to hide the way. We walk, and I am thankful tonight for tomorrow’s strength, grace, and wisdom. Tonight we rest. Tomorrow, we walk!

Merry Christmas!

December 25, 2019

“Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.” —Luke 2:19 NKJV

Most nativity sets show the Baby Jesus lying in a manger surrounded by the adoring figures of his mother, Joseph, a shepherd or two, three wise men, and assorted animals—all overseen by a watchful and protective angel. Of course, it wasn’t quite like that. Those critics bothered by the historical inaccuracies of the scenes are quick to point out that the wise men likely didn’t show up for another year or two, and that nowhere in the Biblical story does it tell us there were three of them. Some will even complain about the star. Astronomical research has led to all sorts of speculations about the star; it likely wasn’t particularly bright; it was probably a certain conjunction of planets that those ancient astrologers would have noticed and taken as a sign. On and on it goes, 

Then there’s that persistent angel hovering over the scene. According to the story, from the time just prior to Mary’s conception until some time after his birth when Joseph was warned in a dream to flee into Egypt, there were no angelic visitations for the Holy Family. Angels appeared to the shepherds in the fields the night of Jesus’ birth, but there’s no indication Mary and Joseph took notice of it. They had more pressing matters to attend to. As far as we know, inside that stable (if indeed they managed to find refuge in a stable; all it says is that Jesus was laid in a manger, mentioning not a single word regarding shelter for the family), it was dark and smelly and crowded. There were no beams of soft light shining upon the Baby. 

Joseph and Mary were a young couple all alone in a strange village, trying their best to care for this baby in the midst of discouraging circumstances. God had spoken decisively to them both, but that was nine months ago; since then, just silence. Is that how God works, giving a message so clear it cannot be mistaken, then leaving us to wonder and weep when everything falls apart?

The shepherds, having the message of the heavenly host still ringing in their ears, stopped by before going on their way bearing the news of the Savior just born. Not Mary. Tonight she wasn’t a messenger; she was a mother, and she simply pondered. 

I wonder what she thought. Was she wishing she had a better place to lay her newborn? Was she remembering the Annunciation nearly a year before, trying to figure out how this night could possibly fit into such a visitation? Was she worried for the future, or just filled with the wonder of this new life she held to her breast? We may never know, but if the story says anything to me, it tells me that while there are times to joyously proclaim the Good News with the shepherds, there are other times, just as important, when it is right to just sit and ponder with Mary what God might be up to in the crazy, convoluted mess of the life we’ve been given.

Merry Christmas!