Keep Going

February 28, 2021

“Be not weary in well doing,” St. Paul admonishes us in Gal.6:9 and 2 Thess. 3:13. I wish he had stated it a bit differently. I am feeling weary today, and I still have at least two hours to go before I can slow down. If he had said, “Don’t be weary of well doing,” I could manage it. I don’t mind trying to do good; the effort doesn’t tire me out, but I do get tired in the middle of doing it. As it is, this word is God standing behind me, giving me a bit of a shove, and telling me to not quit. 

In the workout routine I follow, the leader often says, “When you can’t do anymore, give it another fifteen seconds.” I think God often does that with his children. We think we’ve had enough; we’re ready to pack it in, and God says, “Don’t quit. Give it fifteen more seconds. Don’t be weary in well doing.” Too often, we only do what we think we have strength to do. When we come to the end of our strength, we say, “Enough!” and in so doing, miss what God can do when we’re at the end of our rope. If I want to see God work, I have to get beyond what I can do in my own strength and in my own wisdom. That’s not where God operates. Only when we push through our weariness, when we step out where we have no map, when we are in over our head, are we giving God space to work in our lives. 

Years ago, someone told me, “When you’re in over your head, it doesn’t matter how deep it gets.” So weary or not, I’m getting up and going back at it. I’m sure the Lord has something in mind. I wonder what it is?

 

Fearing God

 February 27, 2021

“The LORD of hosts (armies), him you shall hallow; let him be your fear. Let him be your dread.” —Isaiah 8:13. 

A lifetime ago when I was a candidate for ordination, the interview team of the Board of Ordained Ministry was critiquing the theological paper I had submitted in which I spoke of my “fear of the Lord.” This phrase caught the attention of the interviewers, one of whom tried to explain to the others that I was speaking of having a healthy respect for God. I broke in.

“That’s not it at all. What I meant was, literally having a shaking-in-your-boots fear, knowing you are in the presence and hands of a holy and almighty God who could snuff you out in the blink of an eye.” The room was suddenly strangely silent. 

As my interview concluded, one of the interviewers commented that I seemed unusually calm during the process, and asked why that was. “I know God has called me into ministry,” I responded. “I just don’t know where. You know Methodism; I don’t (I came in as a Baptist). It’s your job to decide whether or not I fit. If I don’t, I’ll just go somewhere else.” Apparently my theological aberration in this regard wasn’t enough for them to give me the boot, for here I am, fifty years later, still (often uncomfortably) a United Methodist.

This text from Isaiah still challenges me. We don’t hear much talk about the fear of the Lord, unless it is to water it down into a mushy, toothless “respect.” But Isaiah doesn’t allow such thinking. He had had a vision of the LORD, high and lifted up, which caused him to say, “Woe is me! For I have seen the LORD.” He knew he was in dangerous territory. So two chapters later when he tells us to hallow the Lord of hosts and to let Him be our fear and dread,” he is speaking of more than giving a nodding affirmation of an abstract theological principal. 

If my fear of the Lord is not greater than my fear of anything in this world, it means I am worshipping at the wrong altar, and am able to be dislodged from my position in Christ. I’ve often said that I don’t worry for me; after all, my life is mostly behind me. I have also said that I fear for my children and grandchildren, but this too, is wrong. These children and grandchildren were born with God’s purpose etched into their souls. He knew them from the womb; they were born for such a time as this. It is into this world at this time and place where they will find their calling and fulfillment in Christ. That they are here is no accident.

When the LORD asked, “Who will go for us,” Isaiah responded, “Here am I. Send me.” (6:8). Two chapters later, he intensifies that affirmation, saying, “Here am I, and the children the LORD has given me. We are for signs and wonders...from the LORD of hosts.” (8:18). I cannot claim to be available to God if I will not bring my family with me. In calling me, he has also called them, and together we will stand, surrounded by the heavenly armies of which the LORD is the commander. As Jesus said to Satan during his temptation, “Fear God and him alone shall you serve.” Yes, we will...with confidence and joy, even if we have to stand alone (8:11).

What Might Have Been

 February 26, 2021

“What might have been” can be the four most debilitating words we speak, or four of the most empowering words we speak. 

Young people seldom utter these words. They haven’t had enough life to look back on to wonder how things might have turned out differently. But to old people, these words are stock in trade. We’ve lived long enough to recognize and admit the mistakes we’ve made (unless perhaps, we are politicians), and to wonder how those mistakes have shaped our lives and the lives of those we’ve influenced. We see opportunities missed, love lost, sins committed, and ponder how much better life would have been had we chosen differently. Oh, we had our reasons, our excuses, our justifications, but time has a way of stripping away the veneer of arguments, exposing the reality that we could have done differently. 

The problem with what might have been” is that it takes us down a dead-end road to a fantasy land where nothing real exists. It paralyzes us, preventing us from corrective action, shackling us to those mistakes while we fantasize over the life we will never know. “What might have been” can be debilitating.

On the other hand, “What might have been” can empower us with the life-giving energy of gratitude. I’ve been going to physical therapy for a problem with my left hip. It’s not debilitating; more of an irritation that I wanted to address before it got worse. As I was waiting to be called, I noticed a particular woman in the waiting room. I’m guessing her age to be somewhere in the late forties or early fifties. She wasn’t very tall, but was very obese, belly hanging to mid-thigh and barely able to waddle down the hall to the therapy area. I wondered what had happened in her life to bring her to such a state, and thanked God for my health. I’ve worked at it, but so much of it is a gift that I didn’t earn nor deserve. The family genes were given to me. It could have easily been me waddling down the hallway. 

“What might have been” moved me to gratitude, to prayers of blessing for this woman, and a deeper realization of the debt I owe to God and even to society, as I hold the health I have as a stewardship to be treasured and managed to the best of my ability. When I think of some of the decisions I almost made, and the consequences that would have arisen from them, “what might have been” humbles me and drives me to my knees.

I’m getting old. I don’t have time to wander down the dead end of “what might have been” regrets. I want instead to walk the endless path of “what might have been” thankfulness.

Life Support

 February 25, 2021

In the 1950s, Donald McGavran began writing about mission work. While a missionary in India, he noted that some efforts proved very fruitful and others not so much. When he asked why, those who succeeded invariably said that it was because they were being faithful to the Gospel. When he asked those whose ministries struggled, they too said it was because they were being faithful. Success was seen as a sign of God’s blessing upon their faithfulness, but failure was also seen as a sign of faithfulness, except that they were being tested. McGavran decided to look deeper, and in doing so, discovered that there were commonalities to success and different commonalities to failure. From these observations, he eventually headed the school of missionary at Fuller Seminary in California.

I read McGavran and his many students who were on the cutting edge of the church growth movement in the 80’s and 90’s. Putting this learning into practice, our church experienced unprecedented growth in rural Western New York—not exactly the epicenter of congregational potential. In 2003, it all collapsed. I’m still not sure if it was because I got lazy and stopped doing the things necessary to growth, or if we were just putting our trust in human ingenuity. 

One thing I do know: fruitfulness doesn’t come from programs, but from life. Jesus didn’t tell us to follow the right programme, but to abide in him. Like a trellis that supports the vine, programs and the right organization can put structure to life, but cannot produce life. Only Life produces life. I want to be fruitful in life, so I make sure I am connected to the Vine. I also make sure I structure the life God has given me with daily prayer and Bible study, weekly worship, faithful stewardship, and regular service. None of these can produce life, but they do support it.  My nightly writing is part of my spiritual trellis, forcing me to think when my mind would rather be lazy. I am thankful for the Life, and also for the support systems that help with fruitfulness. After all, that’s what Jesus is looking for: “I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing.” —John 15:5

Crap

February 24, 2021

There are times when the more colorful language of some of my friends has just the right edge to communicate what I really want to say, but my upbringing still keeps a guard on my lips, if not always my thoughts. I suspect I’m not the only pastor caught in this bind, although I know some pastors whose language is often almost indistinguishable from my less fastidious friends.

Years ago, a close friend who was also a good storyteller told me about the time his brother rear-ended a car. The driver hastily exited his vehicle to confront the brother, who was quite a formidable hulk of a man. The gentleman whose car was hit threatened my friend’s brother, who promptly dropped him to the ground with a right cross. The smaller man jumped up and started dancing around like a boxer, shouting, “You...you...you,” whereupon the brother dropped him again, ending the incident. Turns out, the other guy was a pastor who either didn’t know the right cuss words, or didn’t dare use them. I know a few, but choose not to use them.

But sometimes... 

Last Sunday, the pastor spoke about Jesus’ parable of the Sower and came to the part where the seed was choked by the thorns. Jesus said the thorns represent the cares and worries of this world. The pastor said, “Life often throws a lot of crap at you.” (This is where I thought the more earthy language of my friends might have served him better, except for the people in the pews who would have been aghast). He continued, “When life throws crap at us, we often hold on to it. We need to let it drop to the ground, because the crap fertilizes the ground so it will bear a good crop.” 

I thought that was a pretty good word picture that would have had even more punch had he been free to use more colorful language. To tell the truth, I would have said it the same way, but you get my drift. And even with milder language, what he said rings true. When we hold on to crap, it only makes us stink. But when we let it drop, those very words spoken against us, the troubles that buffet us, the injustice hurled our way, enrich the soil of God’s Word in our hearts, and tilled in by the Holy Spirit, bring a fruitful bounty of love, grace, and endurance in our lives. 

It can be hard work dropping all that crap (or whatever you prefer to call it), but I’m grateful tonight that God wastes nothing, and the difficulties and challenges of life are piling up in his spiritual compost heap. When he forks it into the garden of our souls and tills it under, it will by the Holy Spirit produce a harvest of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness that can feed many a hungry soul.

 

Linda

 February 23, 2021

A little more than eight years ago, began writing about the things for which I was thankful. It turned out to be one of the most transformative disciplines in which I’ve ever engaged. The melancholy which had dogged my steps for most of my adult life slowly faded away, and has only occasionally reared its ugly head in the years since. When it does, I know how to send it packing: thanksgiving.

During these past eight years, I’ve given thanks, but my musings have also morphed into reflections on Scripture, the Creed, theology, and life itself. Tonight I return to simple gratitude. It’s my wife’s birthday, and apart from the gift of salvation in Christ, she is the best gift God ever gave me. I never could have imagined more than fifty years ago how one person could so completely fulfill another as she has done for me. It’s not always been easy; we’ve had our share of disagreements. After all, we are very different. For one thing, one of us is male and the other is female. If that isn’t enough, one of us is quiet, the other not. One of us is more musically minded, the other more sports minded. One of us likes to travel, the other would prefer to never get far enough from home that would require an overnight stay. 

Here’s what I know: my life would be infinitely more impoverished were it not for Linda being front and center in it. She has taught me more than anyone else about compassion, patience, people, grace, and love. She was the key to any success I had in ministry. I preached, but she has the pastor’s heart for people. Her love, forgiveness, patient endurance, sarcasm, and just plain goodness have blessed me beyond measure.

Before we were married, we talked about how we wanted to order our lives. One of the things that was important to me would get me branded as a hopeless chauvinist, but when we talked about a career, I told her we would need to sort out how that would work when the children started coming. I said, “I want you to raise our children; if I wanted someone else to do it, I would marry someone else.” She never thought of herself as good with children, but I could see what she couldn’t. She remains the wife of my dreams, the mother any child would be lucky to have, and the grandmother of all grandmothers. Thank you, Lord, for this woman you gave me. Thank you Linda, for the life you’ve given me. I love you and am so grateful you chose me, even if it was only for because you liked my eyes.

Weeds

February 22, 2021

The problem with weeds is that they’re so prolific. Vegetables or flowers or weeds, they all compete for the same water and minerals. According to the Biblical story, one of the results of Adam’s sin was the cursing of the soil. Where previously it brought forth abundantly, now, 

“Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat food from it all the days of your life. It will produce thorns and thistles for you, and you will eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.””

—Genesis 3:17-19 NIV

Weeds always have a leg up, and we have a lot of work keeping them at bay so we can reap the harvest of beauty and nourishment. Weeds suck from the soil the nutrients needed by the plants you want.

What is true in the world around us is also true for the world within us. God has provided for us “everything we need for life and godliness through the knowledge of him who has called us...” (2 Peter 1:3). The soil of salvation is deep and rich, but the weeds of jealousy, greed, lust, hatred, pride, criticism, gossip, insecurity, and a host of others, suck from it the nutrients needed for the fruit of the Spirit to bear abundantly, the love, joy, and peace, the patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control God intends us to have and share with others. 

The sins we hide and often cherish deep in our hearts don’t only hurt us, they cause the spiritual harvest God is looking for to be stunted and deformed. God has given us the tools we need to till the soil and pull the weeds, but it is up to us to take tools in hand and get to work. Prayerfully searching both Scripture and with it our hearts, corporate worship, service, and fellowship are all tools God provides us to tackle the weed problem in our hearts. Just as in gardening, the weeds will keep growing. It’s a never-ending battle, but must be fought if we want a harvest. My grandfather was quite the horticulturalist, and once gave me some sound advice for gardening and life. “Take care of matters early,” he said. “With weeds, quarter inch, quarter hour; half inch, half hour; one inch, all day.” Spiritual weeds are no different, so in our men’s Bible study tonight, we’re going to pull some weeds. I’m thankful for it. It’s one job I don’t like, and pulling them early sounds mighty attractive.