Mad No More (Post Script)

I’ll bet you thought the story had ended. And, for the most part, this chapter has, but I thought I would add some interesting developments. The two boys in the drama, my son and his best friend, are going back to Honduras! Within hours of Graham’s return to the Atlanta airport where a large gathering welcomed the Team home, my boy heard that the missions group that had sponsored their odyssey was organizing another foray into the central American country in just a couple of weeks.

Graham lit up! He came to us and said he would do anything to make the trip, that he believes the Lord has some unfinished business with him there, and begged us to let him leave. How could we say otherwise?

The past seven days have given us the roller coaster ride of seeing mountains moved, confessions made, the very best and close-to-the-worst in the Family of God, accusations, rumors, gossip, reconciliations, healings, amazing forgiveness, support and restoration. Last night, my son and I prayed out by our swimming pool in the backyard, holding hands and crying. When I asked him to pray at a pizza parlor tonight, he removed his hat (I just fixed a typo: I put an ‘e’ on the end of that last word…imagine that?) then my son commenced to thank God for His undeserved grace and marveled that he and his friend are now moving aggressively in the flow of the HOLY Spirit (and not under the influence of the other) and asked that God would forever keep them on His path.

Tonight, we watched “Cars” at the theater and laughed as a family more than we had in the past six months, maybe longer. A few times, I sat and listened to the music of the spirit set free in my boy and breathed numerous praise offerings to our Deliverer.

When we got home, Graham got a call from his friend (oh, for goodness sake, I’ll just say his name: Jacob) and he listened as Jacob told him that he had met with a friend who was struggling and when the friend was about to leave, Jacob said, “Why don’t we pray about this together?” Graham beamed into the phone, and exclaimed, “Sweet!” which is kind of a trademark for him (hence, his nickname, “Sweet Graham”)

I just shake my head and marvel.

Oh, and the Lord has done another miracle. When I took Graham and Jacob to Waffle House (?!?) the other night, I made a singular statement. I told Jacob I wished he could go with Graham to Honduras. Welp, wouldn’t ya know? Turns out there is one slot left open for the July Team and Jacob is going. I think God has some unfinished business with Jacob out there too.

Thank you for reading these posts. By the stat meter, they’ve broken all kinds of records for my blog. Usually, I get around 10-15 hits a day but these have rung up 175 in the past couple of days. Writing is therapeutic for me. I have not really reached out to many while my emotions have bottomed out recently but these writings about the amazing workings of our Almighty God have pastured my soul and I am in ‘rejoice mode’! Yeah, God!

If perchance the Lord lays it on your heart to send an offering toward this mission venture, Graham and Jacob need to raise a total of $2600 between them (not each) and because the Team leaves two weeks from tomorrow, there isn’t much time. Even though I’m a pastor, I am not really very good at appealing for funds, but I believe there will be some who want to tangibly touch the miracle in this way. You may send your checks to:

New River Community Church
3464 Fairburn Road
Douglasville, GA 30135
(Just put ‘Graham/Jacob Honduras Mission’ in the memo line)

More than anything, please pray for the boys July 14-23 and ask that the Lord gives them a fuller and deeper measure of joy and satisfaction in Himself that will mark all the days of the rest of their lives. Jacob is so reconciled to his family that he has not stopped talking—he has missed a lot of precious moments with them and is making up for lost time.

Graham is a different personality altogether. We offer our praise to You, Father, for having him tattooed to Your palms and never forgetting Your enduring covenant of love with our boy. We stand with Graham and are glad to go with him through whatever comes.

Pray also for me. As a Dad, I flubbed up so many times these past three years. I angrily scolded his behavior, not taking the time to shepherd his heart. His antics (wrongfully) embarrassed me in ministry but that is all under the blood today, as I too have put my being mad at the foot of the Cross. And Sandy? Well, sir, she has absolutely been the glue that has kept us a family all these years, even though she has had to endure two very mad “boys”. But, praise to the Holy One, we are mad no more.

Mad No More (Part Three)

Sambo Creek, Honduras

La Canadien Hotel, Monday, June 19, 2006

Picture this: while a gangly group of teenagers huddled for prayer in a palm and straw-covered grotto in central America, an insistent group of parents circled together in a metro-Atlanta church thousands of miles away, praying for their kids. Only bits and pieces of information had come out of the Honduran highlands. The one thing they knew was that the Team had safely arrived back at their hotel after days of isolation in the most primitive region of the country.

Several thousand feet above sea level, the Team had brought medicines, food and the love of Jesus to people who had never heard the name of Jesus. Their primivity was such that they did not even have words in their dialect for husband, wife, family, love and a host of other basic-life words. However, after the visit from the strangely clothed white missionaries, many of the Tolupane Indians not only knew the Name “Jesus” but they now knew Him!

The bedraggled but victorious Team came together for worship, prayer and sharing of stories the following Monday evening. It quickly lost momentum and was about to break up when one of the leaders stepped forward. “I don’t think we’re finished here,” he said. “I think God has something more He wants to do, so let’s stay and see this thing through…”

New River Church, Douglasville, Georgia

The prayer meeting intensified as hearts began praying the will of the Father. Suddenly, a name formed on the lips of the intercessors and the few at the altar began to press in and make their appeals on behalf of a certain young man. Strangely, he was not with the Team in Honduras but the Lord made His will for the boy evident to those praying. With great emotion, the group went into warfare prayer for a teenager who had strayed far from God and family and was in spiritual bondage. The Deliverer intended to set the boy free. After a season of taking him to the Throne of Mercy, the group began standing in the gap for Graham and crying the heart of the Lord out to the Heavens. The two young men were very best friends and in a whole lot of spiritual trouble.

La Canadien Hotel, Sambo Creek, Honduras

Thousands of miles away and in the very same hour as those standing in the gap at that church altar for the two teenagers, a spontaneous prayer meeting also broke out among the Team in Honduras. The sister of one of the two boys broke down and wept for her brother, missing him and begging God for a rescue. Others joined in and the wails for the boy sirened out into the balmy night air. One of the kids leaned into Graham’s ear and whispered, “If anyone can reach him, Graham, you can…”

Graham found himself facing the ground, pressed there by an invisible force and began interceding for his friend. Oddly, lyrics of songs began pouring out of the young man’s soul that turned into prayers. He later said that he opened his mouth and words began flowing under no control of his own. “Remove the scales from his eyes,” he cried. “No more lies!” he shouted into the night. Then the weight of his own sins bore down on him as he fell under the conviction of the Holy Spirit. Another friend whispered to him, “Graham, you know that I love you…”

At some point during Graham’s confessions for both he and his friend, he felt a Presence invade their space. The earth at his feet became Holy Ground. The heavenlies opened to him and he saw a white-robed figure standing in the middle of the room where the Team was praying. The robe was the purest white he had ever seen and he knew in that instant it was the same Person whom he saw all those years before as He kneeled at his dad’s feet, holding his ankles.

Graham’s eyes shot downward and he cried, “God I know You are here and I am HORRIFIED!” Quickly, his eyes were drawn upward again and he was looking into the Glory-shrouded Face of the Lord. Weeping in fear and joy, he watched as the vision suddenly switched.

Graham was now in the very bedroom of his best friend. He looked around and saw the same posters on the wall and clutter in the floor. His friend was asleep on his bed and Jesus was looking in his direction. There was an oddness about his friend’s repose. He was not sprawled on the bed with arms and legs akimbo, but lying very tight and eerily still. Quite suddenly, his friend’s eyes flashed open and they were wide and fearful, locked onto the gaze of the Lord. Graham watched from the other side of the bedroom as Jesus reached out to his friend and the frightened youth reached toward Him and took His Hand.

It was as if his friend had been lying on the bed in deathly stillness and the Redeemer had brought him to life!

As the prayer meeting continued, the visions snapped shut but Graham was acutely aware of the Presence of Christ still with them. He sensed the Lord moving from each little prayer group, waiting and listening, laying His hand on shoulders and praying along with them.

In his final journal entry in Honduras, Graham recorded, “I did another devotion today and God showed me how big His love really is. I love Him! This is what I am here for…”

After reading all of this, I am not sure what some of you might be thinking. I know these events I’ve recounted have challenged the theology of some and others might read with cautious skepticism. That’s okay. I believe with not one whit of hestitation that the Lord graciously met with my son and while the road ahead of our family may meet us with more difficult miles, there is One who walks close by, revealing Himself in both dramatic and subtle ways.

Graham came home to face the music of his choices. There has been soul-draining confession of sin in its saddest scale and the magnitude of his deception and the awfulness of what was inflicted upon him has brought sorrow down hard upon us. But through this epic ordeal, the One who Loves, Heals and Restores stands ever by, supporting and carrying us.

In case you’re smelling something about now, just know you are invited to a party. Two fatted calves sizzle and baste on spits, one for each of the two families whose teenage sons have been away for some time in a far country. And now, praise God, they have come home.

Mad No More (Part Two)

June 2006, Somewhere in Honduras

Barely a week before, he didn’t want to be here, but here he was, trudging up the narrow trail of a Honduran mountainside. Finally warming up to the idea a day or two before the Team’s departure from Atlanta, and with each weary, well-placed step, the young man was leaving more of his past behind and drawing ever closer to his destiny. The mountain he now climbed with thirty others was nothing compared to the size and scale of the mountain God was taming in his young heart.

In my wife’s quiet time the other day, she came across the quote, “Hurt people hurt people” and that pretty much summed up the bent of this young man’s soul. Hatred of God, himself, family and ministry was the fruitless harvest of deep woundings which set him on a course of inner and outer destruction along with the secret pursuit of the world’s stink. But miles and years of hate would supernaturally fall away like a mudslide and God’s grace was the rainstorm that would wash it all away.

The young man’s mountain was much like an iceberg. Most could see barely the tip, even his parents, but God could see it all. And soon, very soon, He would prove faithful to answer the prayer of those who cried out, “Please, God, remove this mountain and cast it from his heart…” (see Mark 11:23)

It was here, mostly isolated (only one-half of one percent ever go to such a primitive part of the world) and captive to the will of God, separated by thousands of miles from a mess he had left behind in Georgia, the Lord began to minister into the deep crevices of his pain. The Balm of Gilead (Jer. 8:22) began to take the fractured parts of this boy’s soul and work His healing into the tragically broken places. The anger that had eaten holes through his life was especially on the Divine Healer’s mind.

In the early days of the adventure, the young man journaled, “This is my next chapter in the Honduras trip (his third trip with our church youth’s missions team) and I am scared because I don’t know what I am here for…so far the trip is not turning out as planned. I feel like I am being attacked and for some odd reason I feel like I’m just as bad here as I am there.”

And then this: “Please God, do something! I am asking You with all of my heart, do something before I give up.”

On another day, as the journey neared an end and still nothing dramatic had occurred, Graham added these heart-wrenching words to his journal: “…The trip is going very slow. Maybe that’s a good thing but not now because nothing is happening to me. What am I doing wrong?…God, show me what you want to show me. Tell me the things you want to tell me and don’t hold back from breaking me in half…”

On the final leg of the odyssey, after descending seven thousand feet from the mountain home of an unreached people group and back into civilization, the wiped-out but jubilant kids were ready for some down time before heading home. Graham too, even though the why am I here? God, why don’t You show Yourself? kept thrumming in his soul.

Then, on Monday night, the Lord finally broke through.


(Check back in tomorrow for the rest of this story…I still shake my head in amazement)

Mad No More (Part One)

March 2003

The air was electrified. Intercession was reaching fever-pitch as the faithful numbers gathered around their pastor, praying for his healing. The Lord had issued a call to His people to enter into a faith they had not known before and His body, with few exceptions, was united in its approach to the Throne of Mercy on his behalf. A man stood on the platform, leading the congregation in its righteous appeals for God to reveal His Hand and stand the paralyzed pastor on his legs. No small feat, the pastor had been paralyzed for twenty-two years and yet most prayed with one eye on the pastor, fully expecting the mother of all miracles.

Groanings too deep for words could be heard vibrating among the throng. To hear the young crying out for their pastor's healing was a sight to behold and a sound that would raise the hairs on one's neck. A singular young man, not yet fourteen, stood off to the side observing the proceedings with the most expectation of anyone. He was convinced the man would get up and walk away from his wheelchair any moment. He had a vested interest. The man being prayed over was his dad.

The minutes crept agonizingly by and each swipe of the clock's hand brought with it a reduction in faith. The swell of intercession tapered as the pastor's body remained resolutely fixed to the chair. Still, the faithful fought on and there were moments when hearts rallied, especially when the man of God asked the pastor to respond in faith by rising from the chair. As the pastor pushed up on the armrests of his wheelchair and struggled to lift his heft on two equally impotent legs, the crowd watched intently and the chorus of intercessions cascaded like the sound of many waters.

Fighting to hold himself up, the pastor never felt the fire of healing course through his legs, nor was there a shot like a thunderbolt to free him from his condition. In the few moments the pastor held himself aloft, all he could think of was how disappointed the young and the baby Christians would be. He himself may have had the slightest hint of disappointment, but it would quickly give way to a measure of peace that gave wings to his spirit. Still, he was worried for those who wanted so desperately to see God do His thing.

Balancing in the air with the strength of no one else save himself, the pastor finally succumbed to gravity and fatigue and sat solidly back on the cushion of his wheelchair. It was silent, almost imperceptible, but air went out of the room in that moment as from a balloon. The crowd still stood in the posture of prayer but no one was praying. All seemed flat, deflated.

My son! he thought with sudden misgiving, my poor son! Just that morning his son had had such expectancy for the miracle that he told his dad to be sure to put the regular captain's chair in the back of the van before they left for church. Why? the father queried.

"Duh, Dad. You'll need it 'cause you're gonna be healed today. And you won't need the wheelchair anymore, so you can sit in a regular chair!"

Oh, Graham; my poor, poor Graham...

What the father did not know until later that day was that the Lord was giving his son the best miracle of all in those agonizing moments. Just when the teen's heart was getting ready to fly out the doors in disappointment and retreat, the boy witnessed a miracle unlike anything anyone else in that room would see that morning. He saw the Lord.

Coming in from the back of the auditorium and wending His way through the crowd--and not touching a single soul--the boy's young eyes watched in a vision as the Son of God walked deliberately up to his father, then kneel. He reached His glorious Hands to the lame man's ankles then turned and looked in the direction of the doubting son. The face was obscured by a brilliance of light so much so that he could not ascertain any features, but there was no doubting in his young mind Who this was.

The events I've just described did, in fact, occur, and I, as you may have guessed by now, am the "unhealed" pastor and the boy is my son.

Although Graham was shown such a merciful picture of the Glorious Presence (and I believe that he truly did see it), my son has been so angry at God for the past three years. He believes that God tricked, deceived and walked away from His obligation to heal his father. God failed him, therefore, he would go on a dark spiritual rampage to pay Him back.

And all of it--every single ugly ounce of it--God has been using to redeem our son. All the pain my boy has brought into this family, every sleepless night and joyless day; each rebellion and embarrassment, along with the aggregation of lies and deceptions, defiance and untruths--all of it has become as moldable clay in the Hands of the Potter. God is expertly taking the mess that our son has made of his life and is bringing forth a beauty that may take a long time for us to see in its fulfillment, but it is coming forth indeed.

I can't wait to share the rest of this story. It is one, as they say, for the books. Sandy and I do not kid ourselves into thinking that it is over, forgotten and beaten. There will surely be more painful miles to travel, but we will do it as a family, sharing them with a son who has seen the Lord not once, but three times (oh, yes!), and, by the grace of God, he can now put the burden of his hate at the foot of the Cross. And leave it there.

(Check again for the rest of this story in a day or two; how Glorious is His Love!)

The Hard Place

The best place is often the hardest place of all. There. I've said it. I don't like that I've said it but know in my heart that it is true.

C.S. Lewis wrote, "We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be."

How true.

I'm posting some lyrics from Third Day's "Tunnel" today because (and for reasons I cannot go into here) Sandy and I find ourselves in a tunnel of sorts. I awoke this day humming this song and grateful for the encouragement in it. Though it does not mention the Lord (much to my dismay), it is understood that the only real hope is found in Christ Jesus.

Of the many reasons for trials is the perspective that God allows us to pass through the fire to show His body and the world how His love and Life can come through in vessels that are consumed. Sandy and I found out about 4:30 yesterday afternoon that our faith is on trial (1 Peter 1:7; 4:12). Some will be watching and judging along the way. God forbid, they will have their opinions why we face this recent drama. Some, sad to say, just enjoy seeing the calamity in others. Still others are dying to see Jesus in it and our prayer is that we will show them Jesus. Pound us into dust, Lord, and consume us until we are no more. We want the Life of Christ to be carried on through our dying! (2 Corinthians 4:10,11)

In that same chapter, the Apostle Paul speaks of a tight, constricted place. A tunnel, perhaps, that narrows the deeper one descends. "We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed..." he wrote. Literally, 'we are squeezed on every side but we are NOT stuck there...' (v8) How wonderful! In Christ there is always a way out, a way up, and a way through!

In conversation this evening, Sandy and I were blessed by the Spirit of God who reminded us: often when we find ourselves in a hard place, we give all our attention to the circumstances at hand and forget that all we go through--ALL of it--is to prepare us for eternity! This, too, will pass. And in glory, it will not be remembered but the blessing that comes from it will shine on from glory to glory! (please read Romans 8:18; 2 Corinthians 3:18)

Those of you who know and love us, lift us to the Lord to remember these things. May your prayer be that the Life of God will come through Sandy, Graham and me. That what we face is undoubtedly a Tunnel of Love; that here is a place with no wriggle room so the Father can once again renew His covenant of chesed (Hebrew, 'loyal love') with His children. Praise Him in the Hard Place!

HOPEfully, you too will find His strength through these words to carry on. Indeed, child of God, there is light at the end of your tunnel for you...


Well I won't pretend to know what you're thinking
And I can't begin to know what you're going through
And I won't deny the pain that you're feeling
But I'm gonna try and give a little hope to you
Just remember what I told you
There's so much you're living for

There's a light at the end of this tunnel
There's a light at the end of this tunnel for you
For you
There's a light at the end of this tunnel
Shining bright at the end of this tunnel for you
For you
So keep holding on

You got your disappointments and sorrows
You ought to share the weight of that load with me
Then you will find that the light of tomorrow
Well it brings new life for your eyes to see
So remember what I told you
There's so much you're living for

There's a light at the end of this tunnel
There's a light at the end of this tunnel for you
For you
There's a light at the end of this tunnel
Shining bright at the end of this tunnel for you
For you

So keep holding on
Keep holding on...

Give thanks to God for this Pasture of Peace he has provided for us to lie down upon today...

Peace, Be Still...

The following is an excerpt of a sermon preached by the late C.C. Lovelace, a little-known African-American preacher. The sermon was preached around sixty years ago in Eau Gallie, Florida. Let his dramatic retelling of the calming of the storm by our Savior remind you of His infinite power over the gales you might be going through or, perchance, heading into…for the Christian, it's always hurricane season…

"And one of the disciples called Jesus:

"'Master! Carest Thou not that we perish?'

"And He arose

"And de storm was in its pitch

"And de lightnin' played on His raiments as He stood on the prow of the boat

"And He placed His foot on the neck of the storm

"And spoke to the howlin' winds

"And de sea fell at His feet like a marble floor

"And de thunders went back into their vault

"Then He set down on de rim of de ship

"And took the hooks of His power

"And lifted de billows in His lap

"And rocked de winds to sleep on His arm

"And said, 'Peace, be still.'"

A Confession for Today

Went to see "The DaVinci Code" last night. I thought that with all the attention I've given it, I may as well see it for myself. As I had expected, I found myself chuffing and chuckling at certain points–and not just at the less than inspired acting–and I couldn't wait to reconfess my allegiance to Christ and all He stands for. I am among those who believe that persecution is at the gates for the confessing Christians in America. To believe that Jesus is THE way, etc. is fast becoming the sword that will divide the peace asunder (see Matthew 10:34).

Jesus said, "He that taketh not his cross, and followeth after Me, is not worthy of Me." (10:38) Are you ready to be baptized with the baptism with which our Lord was baptized? Ready to drink from the "holy grail"? (see Matt. 20:22)

The following is a noteworthy confession to be unapologetically held adoringly against our hearts. Study it carefully. The comments at the end might surprise you…

Article 29: The Marks of the True Church

"We believe that we ought to discern diligently and very carefully, by the Word of God, what is the true church– for all sects in the world today claim for themselves the name of 'the church'.
"We are not speaking here of the company of hypocrites who are mixed among the good in the church and who nonetheless are not part of it, even though they are physically there. But we are speaking of distinguishing the body and fellowship of the true church from all sects that call themselves 'the church'.

"The true church can be recognized if it has the following marks: The church engages in the pure preaching of the gospel; it makes use of the pure administration of the sacraments as Christ instituted them; it practices church discipline for correcting faults. In short, it governs itself according to the pure Word of God, rejecting all things contrary to it and holding Jesus Christ as the only Head.

"By these marks one can be assured of recognizing the true church– and no one ought to be separated from it. As for those who can belong to the church, we can recognize them by the distinguishing marks of Christians: namely by faith, and by their fleeing from sin and pursuing righteousness, once they have received the one and only Savior, Jesus Christ.

"They love the true God and their neighbors, without turning to the right or left, and they crucify the flesh and its works. Though great weakness remains in them, they fight against it by the Spirit all the days of their lives, appealing constantly to the blood, suffering, death, and obedience of the Lord Jesus, in whom they have forgiveness of their sins, through faith in him.

"As for the false church, it assigns more authority to itself and its ordinances than to the Word of God; it does not want to subject itself to the yoke of Christ; it does not administer the sacraments as Christ commanded in his Word; it rather adds to them or subtracts from them as it pleases; it bases itself on men, more than on Jesus Christ; it persecutes those who live holy lives according to the Word of God and who rebuke it for its faults, greed, and idolatry.

These two churches are easy to recognize and thus to distinguish from each other."

The chief author of the above confession was Guido de Bres of the Reformed Churches of the Netherlands, both north and south, which included Belgium. This is why it was called the "Belgic Confession." It is the oldest Confession of the Christian Reformed Church. During the 16th century, these Christians were under the severest forms of persecution by the Roman Catholic government; to protest against such cruel oppression and to prove that these followers of Christ were no mere rebels against authority, they added a document to it declaring that they were law-abiding citizens who professed the true Christian doctrine.

As proof of this, the following year, a copy of the Belgic Confession was sent to King Philip II together with an address that the petitioners were ready to obey the government in all things lawful but that they would "offer their backs to stripes, their tongues to knives, their mouths to gags and their whole bodies to the fire" rather than deny the truth expressed in this confession.

It did not remedy the persecution immediately and de Bres ("The Glorious Heretic") was among the thousands who gave the Lamb of God the reward of His suffering through martyrdom.

The year was 1561.

Boring Our Youth to Death--Or To Just Go Away

Hopeless romantics unite!

I come to you a la Sally Field standing on a table holding up a sign in all directions to rally the willing (what did it say? 'Unionize Now', or 'Unite', or some such). It is my sad misfortune to inform you that there is a movement afoot to systematically disparage the musical stylings of one Barry Manilow.

(I knew that would get your attention)

I am aghast. I heard it myself on the radio the other evening. It was our weekly Friday night date night for Sandy and me and I was doing what any caring, sensitive, romantic husband would do while his wife was shopping in the mall. I was sitting outside in the parking lot in my van, listening to the radio. (Hey, it's not like that! She likes me, she really likes me!)

The John Tesh program was on our local Christian music station and in one segment, the tall blonde Adonis-like Tesh read a piece about some hamlet or village in Australia having a problem with kids--teenagers--loitering around public properties. Their solution? Pipe Manilow tunes over loudspeakers in some of their favorite haunts and hang-outs, the idea being that the music is soooo boring it will drive them away, or just plain loony. (Hey, I've been listening to Manilow since 1976 and it hasn't affected me one bit, although it used to drive me crazy for a decade or two wondering who Linda is–but, with some crisis counseling and painful family intervention, I finally got past that; I'm six years and eight months sober now)

But I digress.

It seems that in another not-so-long ago era and place they tried it with Bing Crosby croonings and it worked, so why not give this a go? Pray tell, am I that old? Barry is boring? Oh, thou fickle infatuations and shifting winds of pop culture.

All this has got me wondering: has the church become a sending-away agency of our youth as well? According to some rather odious statistics, young people from evangelical homes are leaving the church in droves after high school graduation (see article: http://www.worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=48001). A staggering 70 percent? And pollster George Barna says that a paltry four percent of America's youth classifies themselves as evangelical Christians, which is down from ten percent in 1995. A prevailing reason that many youth give for this trend is that they are frankly bored with church.

I ask you: is it the hymns that bore them? Forty-five minute sermons? Which is it? I would like to venture another theory. What if it was neither? What if, for the sake of argument, a goodly sum of high schoolers are eyeing the exit doors of our churches because they have yet to see the good that our sermons, songs and creeds are doing in the lives of their parents?

You've probably heard the illustration that if a way-future team of archaeologists dug around in our church's left-behind archives, what clues might they uncover about our civilization? "These were a sincere and religious people," they might surmise, "but over time their values were shaped more by the exterior culture that surrounded them. Perhaps this syncretism explains its end. There were no distinctives to distinguish and nurture its survival…"

Not so long after Joshua and the elders of Israel who had brought Israel into the Promised Land had passed from the scene, a generation lived and died not knowing of its own heritage of place and prominence in the world. Gone were the stories and successes tying them to the Great Story and Grandpa's ramblings about yesteryear were ignored by and large by a people who lived in the shadows and afterglow of "another time."

Barna says of THIS generation: "…less than one out of ten churched teenagers has a biblical worldview. The result of their involvement at a church is that they can recite some religious facts, they made some friends, and they had fun. That's wonderful, but we also find that most of them have neither accepted Christ as their Savior nor altered the basis on which they make their moral and ethical decisions in life. For most teenagers who have spent years attending church activities, their faith is not integrated into who they are and how they live. Most of the young people who claimed they developed an understanding of the Bible that enables them to make decisions based on biblical principles show no evidence of using that understanding in relation to the core beliefs and lifestyle choices that we studied…" (emphasis mine)

In other words, to amend a coined phrase, "they may've been stirred a few times but not changed."

It's been said that children don't do so much what we say, but they will do what they see. Are we so foolish as to look at our kids and say, "what's wrong with them?" all the while not realizing they are watching us as we talk a good game but when it comes to taking sides in matters of eternal importance, more often than not, they see us doing deals and signing our contracts with the world.

Maybe our generation is like Manilow tunes in the ears of the young, or, or, maybe even like Charlie Brown's teacher ("wa-wah, wa-wah, wa-wah"), and while they'd like to stick around to hear the punchline, they just as soon's walk away. They just can't stomach the dissonance and annoyance of good words but bad music. I don't know, what do you think?

Then there are those youth who have front-row seats to heaven's symphony (minus the 'phony') and they still head for the exits where just beyond them lie the fast cars and wide avenues of Vanity Fair…

You Get What You Pay For

Thought I'd knock back and chill with a few tunes on my IPOD the other day. Okay, I'm well aware I'm within eyesight of fifty and here I am sounding like I'm retreating (almost said 'digressing') back into my youth. Let me back up. I made the conscious decision a few days ago to recline and enjoy some music as it was piped through equi-distanced conduits of technology and disgorged into my ear cavities. Oh, the beauteous strains of melody reverberating against the walls of my ear canals!

Suddenly, I jerked up with a start (hard to do when you're in a wheelchair). So help me, I'd listened to that song for years and I never heard that instrument before! It was a tinkling sound of some sort and I took the ear plugs out to see if it had come from somewhere around me. Nope. I zipped the song back about twenty seconds and listened again. Closely. There it was again. That tinkling, cow bell-y kind of sound. It dawned on me that I'd been listening to this particular selection through the seventies, eighties, nineties and oh-tees, with eight-tracks, cassettes, transistor radios ('scuse me, what?!), and even CDs and I had never known that instrument came in the song at that point.

What was the difference? Simply this: my IPOD ear buds had given out so I invested in a much more frilly pair (did you know you can spend upwards of fifty dollars on those ear thingys? I didn't…and it's a good thing because my wife reads these). The moment I put them in my ear, I could tell a ginormic difference. The sound was spilling out with such clarity, liveliness and strength! And depth. Boy howdy, they made me feel like I was sitting in the dress circle of an orchestral concert.

I've reflected on that experience and an idea has begun to take shape having to do with hearing God.

I know God speaks today as I have learned to listen for and hear His voice. I opine that I do not hear it more readily or clearly but that can be easily explained by a failure to do His bidding or when I seek my own way. He will not talk to people who are too busy talking themselves, or, worse, walking out of ear-shot of Him! No, the ones who hear His still, small voice are those who pay the extra wad of cash (alert: metaphor) for a pair of ear buds that can tune into the still, small stuff—His hidden strains and quiet refrains and the delicate tinklings of a higher frequency.

Jesus said, "My teaching is not Mine but His who sent Me. If anyone is willing to do His will, he will know of the teaching, whether it is of God or whether I speak from Myself." (John 7:16,17)

A friend of mine says of this passage: "those who hear the Lord are the ones willing to put the 'amen' in front of their prayers as well as at the end." In other words, when we surrender our need to know and give up our 'right' to choose whether what He says is for us or not, then the Lord will speak with great clarity and frequency.

Jesus also said, "My sheep hear and distinguish My Voice." (John 10:27) How does a Shepherd speak to his lambs? "This is the way" or "Follow Me!" and He even calls them by their pet names. When Saul was converted and blinded, God spoke to Ananias and gave him specific instructions as to where to find him, even giving him the address (see Acts 9:11)! You just have to have cleaned-out ears.

Charles Spurgeon said, "Note well that we must hear Jesus speak if we expect Him to hear us speak. If we have no ear for Christ, He will have no ear for us. In proportion as we hear, we shall be heard.

"Moreover, what is heard must remain, must live in us, and must abide in our character as a force and a power. We must receive the truths which Jesus taught, the precepts which He issued, and the movements of His Spirit within us; or we shall have no power at the Mercy Seat." (Spurgeon, The Cheque-Book of the Bank of Faith)

Did you know that God sings? Zephaniah 3:17 tells us that He "rejoices over us with singing." Imagine what that sounds like? To paraphrase, "He that hath ears to hear" let him listen through the costly means of obedience and sacrifice. With a duddy pair of earphones ('nother metaphor), you'll miss some of the most beautiful music God has to offer you.

Go ahead, spend the extra. You'll NEVER regret it.

6-6-06

It's exactly 6:00 by my computer clock on the sixth of June in '06. Didn't mean for it to happen, but it just did. Something else I didn't plan that just happened: I purchased the next volume in the Mitford series by Jan Karon with a gift card from way back at Christmas that still had a balance on it. The bearded, bespectacled gentleman behind the counter scanned the card and smiled.

"There was plenty to cover the purchase," he said.

"Good. I was hoping." I returned his smile.

"And here at the bottom of the receipt is your leftover balance."

He took his ball point pen and drew a sweeping circle around the amount then looked over the top of his glasses at me, grinning with obvious delight. Somewhat puzzled, I waited to see what the joke was all about. I didn't have to wait through a pregnant pause.

"Your balance is $6.66."

I laughed loud enough for several in the store to look up from their browsing and investigate the sudden ruckus invading their cherished revery. Telling the gentleman this would be a story for my friends, I immediately made plans to have the card framed with a caption of the event beneath. If this was the Apocalypse, then the epicenter was a Border's off Barrett Parkway.

Today is causing quite a stir for many, but perhaps you were among the number who woke up this morning not aware of the date's significance and approached it as you would any other early summer day. Or were you as freaked out as those pregnant mothers whom I read about this morning in a friend's post who opted for a C-section on the 5th rather than chance their baby's birth under the Apocalyptic sign?

On today's infamous date:

–The remake of "The Omen" will hit theaters
–The Left Behind series will continue with the release of "The Rapture" on the 6th (but, hey, I thought I already saw it in bookstores???)
–Ann Coulter will unveil her book "Godless" today

CONSPIRACY ALERT…

Consider these mind-numbing statistics that people, who frankly have too much time to sit around between "Star Trek" episodes, have come up with:

–The '777' pattern is found in the London bombings (July 7, 2005)
–The '11' pattern is found in the bombings of the twin towers on 9/11
–The Madrid train bombings occurred exactly 911 days after the attack in NYC (March 11, 2004)

If we combine the dates of June 5th and 6th together (and why would we?), you have:

–222 days since the Muslim riots in Paris
–333 days since the London train bombings
–444 days from the second anniversary of the Iraq invasion
–555 days (hold on to your hats!) from November 28, 2004, which was the 333rd day of that year–33 days from the end of the year
–666 is the date pattern and in the pattern until the end of the Mayan calendar (not sure I get this…)
–777 days since the foiled Sears Tower attack (April 19, 2004)

Has your mind blown a (head) gasket yet? There's more…but I will spare you. You know, all this really has no hold on me. While I do believe there will be an unveiling of Anti-christ during a definitive end-time Apocalypse and that the end of human history will be marked, not by humanistic utopia but by an unleashing of hell's most diabolical furies which will pave the way to the Return of Christ, these things do not move me.

My wife, our church's worship leader, being moved by the Spirit, read to us from Psalm 46 this past Sunday. These words should be the anchor and hoisted sail of the Christian:

"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not be moved, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah. THERE IS A RIVER, the streams whereof shall make glad the City of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the Most High. GOD IS IN THE MIDST OF HER; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early. The heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved: He uttered His Voice, the earth melted. The LORD of hosts is with us…be still and know that I am God…"
(Psalm 46:1-7,10 KJV)

Don't let '666' or '616' or '888' or any of these things move you. God has it all together and He is "very present" and "right early" when trouble surrounds us.

But if I get 666 blog hits before the end of the day, I'm ducking for cover…

The Devil and the DaVinci Code--Part Three

You may be wondering: why are the Mona Lisa's eyes peering at me from the cover of the Davinci Code–a book that is mostly known for its references to Leonardo's The Last Supper? Am I missing something? Was the taciturn Mona somewhere at that supper too? No on both counts. Mona was also a work of the prolific painter and, just as he is thought to have done in The Last Supper, Leonardo purportedly did in his mega-famous oil-on-poplar work too: he embedded certain codes that suggested his worldview. As Grand-Master of the Priory of Sion, Leo (for short) knew some pretty radical things that, were the truth ever disclosed, would shift the rotation of the earth.

What's with the knowing half-smile?

As you already know, The Last Supper ostensibly contains some clues as to the great Cosmic Secret: Jesus was not the Son of God, nobody's Savior, never rose from the dead and had a marriage thing going on with Mary. And Leo got his inspiration, along with other enlightened beings, from a few extant passages in the Gnostic gospels. Among his disciples, Jesus loved Mary best, married her and papal bulled her as the leader of the church.

Which brings us to Mona. Dan Brown hedges nothing in his quest to parade his own worldview which includes the sacred feminine. Mona (meaning 'Lady' in Italian, thus 'Lady Lisa') is thought to be Leo's subtle attempt at androgyny. She has the features of both male and female and her smile is almost identical to the smile he pasted on the face of John the Baptist in his painting of that same title. The 'code' in the slyly smiling face of Mona Lisa is that she knows the power of the feminine mystique. She guards the secret that once upon a time the world was nurtured by a matriarchal paganism and is relishing the day when it returns.

It was Constantine and the leaders of the fledgling Christian church, Brown reasons vicariously through his literary character Teabing, who tried to break the back of the sacred feminine by reversing the cosmic order and putting power in the hands of incapable masculinity. As further illustration of man's power grab, in The Last Supper, while we see Jesus and 'Mary Magdalene' wearing cute matching outfits, we see Peter threatening the fair maiden with a knife!

Goddess worship (to which Brown gives his exuberant consent) is the bedrock of the novel. Supposedly, Genesis pilfered the truth of ancient paganism and gave Christianity its fuel to turn religion from its sacred feminine roots into a male-dominated heresy. "The concept of woman as life-bringer was the foundation of ancient religion. Childbirth was mystical and powerful. Sadly, Christian philosophy decided to embezzle the female's creative power by ignoring biological truth and making Man the Creator. Genesis tells us that Woman was created from Man's rib. Woman became an offshoot of Man. And a sinful one at that. Genesis was the beginning of the end for the goddess." (The DaVinci Code, p. 236)

God must be ticked at the blatant bigotry of the church! Why, from ancient times, He and His female co-equal, Shekinah, ordained that worship of the Divine is to be done through sexual union, that sex was the divine spark by which we achieve sainthood and the more sex the better! The ancients even went to temples to copulate with His priestesses (goddesses) and by so doing reached divine fulfillment. But the church comes along and changes all that! "Sex is bad, of the devil, and dirty." Oh, how this grieves God, er, Goddess! Jesus and Mary worshipped the Divine by entering into the "marriage way" thus sparking Sarah, their love-child. Not to be left out, Langdon and Sophie also worshipped at the altar of the divine feminine.

Had enough? I like what Erwin Lutzer (The DaVinci Deception) says about all of Brown's fancy wordplay and verbal histrionics. He says let's call Dan Brown's bluff and ask him to produce all these so-called ancient documents that bear these things out. The Gospel of Phillip (which allegedly gives the evidence of the Jesus/Magdalene union) nowhere tells of such a thing!

Mona and Mary. Shekinah and Sarah. Teabing and Brown. Sophie and Langdon. Hanks and Howard. No, forget about all that. The one with the axe to grind is the pitifully defeated satan, who sullenly hopes for a re-match with the Son of God. Fat chance. The bell is tolling for him and he has an appointment which he is unquestionably meant to keep.

"And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire…"
(Revelation 20:10)

The Devil and the DaVinci Code--Part Two

How small are we? And just how big do we think we are?

Robert Funk, the leader of the Jesus Seminar, a group of so-called scholars of the New Testament, wrote in his book "The Five Gospels" (which includes the Gnostic 'Gospel of Thomas'): "The Christ of creed and dogma who had been firmly in place in the Middle Ages, can no longer command the assent of those who have seen the heavens through Galileo's telescope." In other words, the idea of God has been trumped by the inventions of man.

The Almighty, who used to loom so large and occupy so much space in the psyche of man, has been brought down to earth, in a manner of speaking, because the might and majesty of man has caught up to Him and passed Him by.

Poor God. Could we send Him a get-well card or something?

Satan wants us to think that Jehovah is like the Wizard behind Baum's curtain–so imposing, almighty and superior with all the smoke and mirrors that His people use to project Him to the world, but He is in all actuality a stubby little man roaring His demands from a stool and squeaky vocal chords. But ol' slewfoot really has it turned around. His great deception is to humanize, belittle and even erase the concept of God, reducing Him to esoteric philosohy at best and archaic myth for weak-minded and gullible people like you and me at worst. Satan is not stupid. He is a liar, but he is not stupid. He is a master at his craft of deception. It is he pulling the levers behind the curtain, roaring and ranting behind toothless gums, not God!

Funk's associates who make up the Jesus Seminar have taken the gospels and determined which sayings of Christ were truly authentic. Their system includes color-coded beads which each uses as a vote on the red-lettered words of the New Testament. Red means that Jesus absolutely said it, pink means He could have, gray means just that, and black is a definite no. Using this elaborate system (he said with a crooked grin), these self-avowed authorities have determined that Jesus said about 18% of what is actually recorded in the gospels.

Glad such erudition still abounds. Mystery solved. The jury is in: Jesus is no more important than the guy who passed you on a sidewalk twenty years ago on a street whose name escapes you now, in a town you barely remember, who may have mumbled a greeting but you can't for the life of you recall much about him. You just know that you had an encounter but it wasn't exactly life-changing.

Funk and Dan Brown have this in common: they have left the Christ who is your everything on the cutting room floor. They do not deem Him significant; or if they do, they'd stick Him somewhere between the crossing guard when you were in grade school and a diplomat from a third-world country. Somewhat more important than, say, the guy who played the 'soup nazi' on Seinfeld but certainly second-fiddle to Mohammed.

That's not my Christ. He is my everything. Long after Dan Brown's novel turns to dust, the Words of the Lord will live on. After the 'Code's' final hiccup of myth has been laid to rest and any vestige of public hoorah's have choked out their final echo, the Christ of the Gospels will still stand in stark contrast to any figure, past, present or future, and will remain Lord of all, eternal and victorious. Have your say today, devil, for you are a doomed villian and will rue the day you ever rebelled against the Christ of Heaven all those many aeons ago.