Near-Death Experience

“The problem with a living sacrifice is that it keeps jumping off the altar.”
–Warren Wiersbe

“Gethsemane” (Hebrew, gat shemanim)—oil press, place of crushing

Someone ran my wife off the road today. She’s okay, but there was eighty-some dollars worth of damage to the front passenger tire which had been replaced only days ago. That’s all well and good, in the grand scheme, especially since my dear one is safe. What stewed my tomatoes was when she told me that the lady (really, I ask, should women ever have the wheel?) who ran her off the road laid on the horn to let her know for future reference and under no circumstance should Sandy ever be in front of her when she wants to change lanes. The mercury rose in my neck as I pictured my beloved being rammed into the sharp corner of some highway curbing by someone who evidently staked some kind of claim to said road.

I have to admit what my head was screaming when I got the full story. Lord, let the woman get stopped for moving violations five times between here and her home. May she just try to mouth off to one of those officers and spend a night sitting in a rank jail cell sandwiched between a throw-up drunk and a crazy person who claims to be Jesus and the easter bunny.

May her best friend betray her, Lord, and her favorite pet run away. May her mortgage company foreclose on her loan and may all four of her tires fall off her car for no apparent reason in the middle of a rainy night far from cellular service and may a sweaty, toothless guy named Tiny pull over to help her…

You see how depraved my mind can get when given ten seconds for unsupervised playtime?

And last night, at our weekly prayer fellowship, one of the guys praying was really digging in and said, “Lord, I thank You that in Your economy we don’t need to wait upon a Joshua for direction but we have all been made priests and Your instruction can come for this church from anyone…” My heart was amen-ing the context and truth of his prayer but immediately the specter of old Adam rose up in me and I found myself in a soulish struggle. Well, that’s true and all, but why can’t I be the ‘go-to’ guy? I like going to the tip of Sinai and bringing the people their instruction…oh, why do I still do it? Why must I repeatedly make sure I come out ahead? Why must I keep clawing through the sod so a dead man can get some air when what I really want is to be laid to rest in the death of Jesus? Why must I insist that the plan be mine, the credit be mine, that the roadmap be in my hand, the itinerary be according to my schedule, that the crowd come to me and not to so-and-so; why must I hurt so when I am rejected or passed over?

That’s me sleeping in Gethsemane when Another has sweat out blood. I’m content to loiter in this garden when I should be pressing in. I can barely keep my eyes open when all around me so much hangs in the balance, when there is so much at stake. What with my track record these past 24 hours, it seems I’d rather stretch out on a garden bench near the fountain, if possible, so the sound of gurgling water might lull me to sleep, if not cover the moans and sobs and bitter wails of the One who goes for me. I cannot die His death but I must die my own. There is a cup for me.

Trouble is, the process of such a death is so hard. Death, I’m okay with. Near-death, I can do. Dying, not so enamored with. It’s telling that the process of harvesting oil from olives is three-fold: crushing, pressing and separating. First the olive is crushed into a paste, then pressed to release its liquid form and finally, the pure oil is separated from the waste. During any of these steps I may cry out and recuse myself from the millstone. It gets too hard.

Hard enough that at the first signs of blood oozing from my sweat glands, I run to take a shower. If the battle within gets too hairy, I succumb to narcolepsy. To the tune of hobnailed Roman shoes marching my way, I am prone to tuck and run.

It pains me to say I prefer my death to be near-death, with someone who knows CPR standing close by. However, I must hasten to add that those same disciples who slept in the Garden, as I am want to do, also changed the world. They got sick and tired of being revived only to live after the flesh and the day came when each saw it through to its messy, glorious end. Crushed, pressed and separated. With self-will crushed and soulishness squeezed out, the result was the fragrance and flavor of Christ. One hundred percent pure E.V.O.O.

I’m just fool enough to believe the same might be (one day) said of me.

PRAYER: Lord, you have brought me to this garden, not to watch You die, of course, but that I might. You know my heart cries, finish the work! You know that my desire is for complete death and complete union with You. And, like Abraham, I know my Isaacs—Your Isaacs—will rejoin me on the journey and it will be old Abraham that will stay dead on that mountain. I call upon all available grace to see this through to the end, knowing You are with me, not asleep in the far off. I love You and long for the day when it is a reality that it is “no longer I”. In Jesus’ Name, amen.

It Must Be Armageddon

I found this on Wittenburg Door’s website. And, in the interest of public decency I will not be posting ANY accompanying photos…

By Steven Scheer

JERUSALEM (Reuters) - U.S. restaurant chain Hooters, known for waitresses in low-cut blouses and short skirts, will open its first branch in Israel this summer, in the Mediterranean seaside city of Tel Aviv.

“I strongly believe that the Hooters concept is something that Israelis are looking for,” Ofer Ahiraz, who bought the Hooters franchise for Israel, told Reuters Monday. “Hooters can suit the Israeli entertainment culture.”

At Hooters, waitresses the company calls Hooters Girls serve spicy chicken wings, sandwiches, seafood and drinks.

Ahiraz said a specific location in Tel Aviv, Israel’s most cosmopolitan city, had yet to be chosen, but he said it would not open restaurants near large religious populations, and they would not be kosher.

He said his plan was to open as many as five Hooters restaurants in the next few years, including one in the southern resort city of Eilat.

The Tel Aviv version of Hooters is expected to mimic most of the chain’s other 430 restaurants in the United States and in 23 countries including China, Switzerland, Australia and Brazil.

Ahiraz said, however, he expected some minor modifications to meet Israeli tastes since U.S. chains have had a mixed response in Israel. Food chains such as Starbucks, Dunkin’ Donuts and Hard Rock Cafe failed, Kentucky Fried Chicken closed many locations, while others such as Burger King and McDonalds have thrived by altering their offerings to suit the Israeli market.

“It shows that if you are flexible and listen to your customers you can be a success story,” Ahiraz said.

The opening of Hooters in Israel is part of the chain’s global expansion. Privately held Hooters said it planned to open 17 restaurants in Colombia, Dubai, Guam, New Zealand and India in the next two years.

“International expansion is a major focus for our company, and we are very excited to add Israel to our family,” John Weber, executive vice president of franchise operations for Hooters of America, said in a statement.

© Reuters 2007. All Rights Reserved.

Okay, just one picture…

I warned you…

Strangely Warmed By Strange Fire

Dan Edelen, over at Cerulean Sanctum, posted this gut-check article which he has entitled, “Big Box Altars.” The whole article is worth the read but I share this portion of it as it called to mind the sons of Aaron who brought “strange fire” to the Lord. Much of what we call worship in our corner of the globe is nothing more than a stained-glass charade. It’s man’s best coming to the Lord by man’s own way, by his own rules, rife with self-indulgence and self-effort. Such worship is too neat, too pretty, awfully scripted and hollow. And it fizzles.

Does our worship even come close to what is shown in Scripture? Could you fall on your face in the aisle next Sunday without disrupting the agenda? Could you dance (not you Pentecostals…I’m talking to the Methodists) like David danced without getting eyeballed like David got eyeballed? Can you weep between the porch and the altar? Can you get so lost in worship that you forget there’s anyone else in the room? Hey, here’s one: when’s the last time you’ve seen an adult run from his car to the front door of the sanctuary just because he was excited to come in to the house of the Lord?

Enough of me, here’s Mr. Edelen’s thoughts:

I’ve got to believe there’s something wrong with a Church where week in and week out there’s no weeping before the altar of the Lord. If a man can go through an entire church year without once falling on his face weeping, without soaking the church carpeting with his tears, something’s desperately wrong with his church.

I’ve got to believe that a church will never amount to much for the Kingdom if it never once sees someone get up and dance during worship. I’ve got to believe that a church filled with people who just sit and nod their heads will be asleep when the Bridegroom comes. The Holy Spirit’s missing in a church that goes through the emotionless motions.

How can an unstirred church reflect anything resembling the abundant life?

In C.S. Lewis’s masterful book, The Great Divorce, he posits a heaven so substantial that all of life this side of it resembles a vapor. Massive, unearthly Christians fill that dense heaven, giants, heroes that shake the foundation of the world with their conquests. How then can it be that so little life fills believers today? Why is it that we cannot find succor for our souls on Sunday, but instead find our hearts strangely warmed—if only for a passing moment—by a 60″ plasma display rocking with the Final Four?

Have we Christians rendered Christ so inconsequential? Have we denied the power of YHWH for the power of LG?

What happened to passion and fire?

Choir In Chains

This comes from the Persecution Blog at Voice of the Martyrs. Take heart and hope in the Lord in the midst of your suffering, and remember those in chains:

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PRAISE IN PRISON

“Why is it that so many Christians sing only once a week? Why only once? If it is right to sing, sing every day. If it is wrong to sing, don’t sing on Sunday.”

The pastor had spent several horrifying years in prison at the hands of the Communist authorities. He was jailed for his belief in Christ, and though he remembered the tortures there, he did not focus on them much. Instead he spoke of the times of joy in the presence of his Lord. He and his fellow Christian prisoners formed a community of praise—in the middle of prison.

“When we were in prison we sang almost every day because Christ was alive in us. The Communists were very nice to us. They knew we liked to praise God with musical instruments, so they gave every Christian in prison a musical instrument. However, they did not give us violins or mandolins—these were too expensive. Instead, they put chains on our hands and feet. They chained us to add to our grief. Yet we discovered that chains are splendid musical instruments! When we clanged them together in rhythm, we could sing, ‘This is the day (clink, clank), this is the day (clink, clank), which the Lord has made (clink, clank), which the Lord has made (clink, clank).’” What a joyful noise unto the Lord!

To those who have yet to experience it, persecution seems to focus entirely on loss. The loss of freedom. The loss of hope. Even losing one’s life. However, those who have suffered for their faith in Christ overlook what’s missing and focus on new discoveries. They relish what little freedoms they have instead of regretting what they lack. In this story, Communist captors robbed believers of most of life’s freedoms and dignity. However, these stout believers focused on what remained—their joy in the Lord. If it is good to sing to the Lord when you have everything—it is good to sing to him when you have lost it all, too. What will you do today to make sure you do not lose your Christian joy?

–Stacy L. Harp

Ten Ounces Of Rice

Sorry to be the fly in the ointment as we all begin our work week and presumably increase our wealth, but…

Economists tell us that nearly half the world’s population (2.7 billion) lives on ten ounces of rice and two dollars per day. Many of these are our brothers and sisters in Christ.

My fellow Americans, we live as kings! Even if you live in a lower-scale neighborhood with bills spread out on your kitchen table, you are still the “big dog” on the block of humanity. And though we have our mitts on 90% of the world’s wealth, we still opine for more. But when is enough, enough? According to the World Bank, Americans are numero quatro in the world at per capita wealth, coming in at $513,000 per adult per year. How does it feel to be a half a millionaire? And if you rub your greenbacks with your spouse’s, you can call yourselves millionaires!

But before you crack open a bottle of Bordeaux, think about this: God’s vision for His people is “that there will be no poor among you since the Lord will surely bless you in the land…if only you listen obediently to the voice of the Lord your God to observe carefully all this commandment which I am commanding you today. If there’s a poor man with you, one of your brothers, in any of your towns in your land…you shall not harden your heart, nor close your hand from your poor brother…” (Deuteronomy 15:4,5,7).

So today, let’s give thanks. Sure, of course.

Then, let’s give.

And with what’s left over, let’s give again.

Kings can afford to do that after all.

About Those Men Of Yours...

What if it had been man’s job to choose the disciples…

To: Jesus, Son of Joseph
Woodcrafter’s Carpenter Shop
Nazareth 25922

From: Jordan Management Consultants

Dear Sir:

Thank you for submitting the resumes of the twelve men you have picked for managerial positions in your new organization. All of them have now taken our battery of tests; and we have not only run the results through our computer, but also arranged personal interviews for each of them with our psychologist and vocational aptitude consultant.

The profiles of all tests are included, and you will want to study each of them carefully.

As part of our service, we make some general comments for your guidance, much as an auditor will include some general statements. This is given as a result of staff consultation, and comes without any additional fee.

It is the staff opinion that most of your nominees are lacking in background, education and vocational aptitude for the type of enterprise you are undertaking. They do not have the team concept. We would recommend that you continue your search for persons of experience in managerial ability and proven capability.

Simon Peter is emotionally unstable and given to fits of temper. Andrew has absolutely no qualities of leadership. The two brothers, James and John, the sons of Zebedee, place personal interest above company loyalty. Thomas demonstrates a questioning attitude that would tend to undermine morale. We feel that it is our duty to tell you that Matthew had been blacklisted by the Greater Jerusalem Better Business Bureau; James, the son of Alphaeus, and Thaddaeus definitely have radical leanings, and they both registered a high score on the manic-depressive scale.

One of the candidates, however, shows great potential. He is a man of ability and resourcefulness, meets people well, has a keen business mind, and has contacts in high places. He is highly motivated, ambitious, and responsible. We recommend Judas Iscariot as your controller and right-hand man. All of the other profiles are self-explanatory.

We wish you every success in your new venture.

Sincerely,

Jordan Management Consultants

A Slumbering Giant Rouses

An Anglican bishop is speaking up. Tired of his church’s perceived impotence and irrelevance while England’s evangelical roots are being duly pulled up and supplanted with seeds of tolerant inclusivism, this Jack is shimmying up the beanstalk. Bishop Michael Nazir-ali of Rochester is taking off the proverbial gloves and serving notice to satan’s dark kingdom that it is high time for England to again reassert her Christian identity. Amid a “multi-faith mish-mash” the good bishop sees the bludgeoning and erasing of his own.

And it’s just plain ticking him off.

He is calling for the evangelical population to rise and be counted, to resist neutrality and irrelevance and is even calling out Prince Charles for wanting to be known as the “Defender of Faith” (i.e., all faiths) instead of guarding the sacred trust handed down to the Heir of the Throne as “Defender of THE Faith.” Ahem, Christianity.

Nazir-ali’s England now embraces “rooms for reflection” instead of hospital chapels and spaces previously set aside for Christian worship are known as “multi-faith venues.” The Bishop of Rochester is from Pakistan and knows well the price to be paid for being born Muslim and converting to Christ. It’s not for the faint of heart. And he knows all too well that too much blood has been spilled in the soil of his adopted homeland and the hallways of its history still echo with the voices of brave and gallant warriors of the faith.

Time will tell if his co-mingling voice will fall on deaf ears. There is more. A law may soon be passed making it illegal in England to refuse any kind of service to gays (are you paying attention, evangelical America?). If one’s moral and spiritual code compels them to refuse to rent a room to a gay couple at their bed-and-breakfast, the government will shut them down. If a pastor refuses to marry a gay couple, he will be fined and imprisoned. If a church school refuses to include curriculum that endorses the homosexual lifestyle as a viable alternative, there would be recriminations.

I guess the point of this is: what might God be stirring over there in the stiff-as-a-board Anglican institution? Bishop Nazir-ali is not alone. Other clerics are now joining ranks and crying from the rooftops. Could it be that satan has awakened a Sleeping Giant? Is a Wesley right now stomping the sleep out of his legs? Is a Wilberforce now rising to challenge the status quo? Is a Cranmer ready to cast off compromise and offer his hand to the fire? Is there a new Latimer begging to be lit on fire for God? Is there a William Wallace itching to “pick a fight”?

We can only pray.

This Is Me, Folks

I found a very interesting test online that maps your “personality DNA.” The graph below shows you who I am, and yours truly is amazed at how accurately it reflects my me-ness. According to its findings which cover a wide array and range of topics, I appear to be a “Generous Visionary” (I said generous, not genius). Honest, I’m not making this stuff up…

Here’s the graph (each square represents one of 13 various character traits):

Generous Visionary

Note: the top boxes, left to right, are: Very High Empathy, Very Imaginative, and Slightly High Authoritarianism (doh!)…next row down, l to r: Average Attention To Style (!), Aesthetic (of course), and, finally, (and you’re gonna love this!) Slightly Low Masculinity!!!!!!! But I am rescued by that ‘olive’ box in the lower right which reflects a Slightly Low Femininity. All this means I walk with only one limp wrist, wear clothes from Wal-Mart, Daydream a lot and carry a big stick…but apologize profusely when I have to use it.

And here’s how my Generous Side and Visionary Side break down based on my answers to the survey:

You Are A Visionary:

• Your imagination, self-assuredness and knowledge of the world combine to make you a visionary
• You have clear notions of how things could be, and the confidence to try to make them that way
• You enjoy having a routine and prefer comfort and familiarity to risk and adventure
• Not needing others’ approval to forge ahead, you are confident in your designs for the future
• Your imagination allows you to envision the world as a better place
• You are better at thinking of the big picture than you are with details, and you can see wonder in abstract things
• Style and appearance are important to you and you have a good eye for beauty
• You are somewhat rigid in your beliefs which come from both confidence and an aversion to change (?!?Me?!?)
• You are good at creating works of art in forms with which you’re familiar
• You’re not the one to force your positions on a group and you tend to be fair in evaluating different options
• You tend to believe that things happen for a reason, and that not everything is under our control (Duh!)

If you want to be different:

• Appreciate the earthly, functional element of things
• Your clarity of vision sometimes prevents you from being open to new ideas. Try expanding your horizon of experiences and experimenting with novel ways of doing things

You Are Generous:

• Your awareness of those around you, along with your nuanced perceptions of the world at large (ooooh, ‘nuanced’…aren’t I special?), makes you the generous person you are (well, thank you, thank you very much)
• You value time to yourself and how rich your private world can be (AMEN!); you know that you don’t have to go wild to have a good time (well, let’s not go overboard)
• You are more excited and energized by ideas and often enjoy things more through observation than through experience
• This tendency gives you an appreciation for different perspectives and opinions about the world
• Being aware of others as you are doesn’t mean you find it easy to trust them immediately—this is something that happens more slowly for you
• Despite this, you are aware of the complexities of many situations and are reluctant to pass judgments on others
• Although you have fewer friendships than some people, those that you have are meaningful and are important to you
• You value spending time alone—it is while reflecting on the world around you that you often learn something new about yourself or begin to understand something that’s been bothering you

If you want to be different:

• Given how attuned you are to others’ thoughts and feelings, you might find that trusting people more is a way to broaden your perspective even further
• While you know how much can be learned by observing the world around you, remember that much of life can be lived by experiencing it, not just by understanding it

Now perhaps my church can understand me better and have sympathy on me. What about you? Why not take your own test?

Give Me Jesus

No, that’s not a Beatle. That’s Fanny Crosby, looking fly with the dark specs. Though blind from the time she was six weeks old, she wrote nearly 8000 hymns during her ninety-five years, asking the Lord that her songs be instrumental in saving a million men’s souls. In her later life she lived among the slums of New York, ministering to those poor souls whom life had spat upon. Once, a minister wondered why God would not give her sight when she had been showered with so many gifts. Fanny responded, “Do you know that if at birth I had been given one petition, I would have asked to be born blind?”

Amazed, the man of God asked, “Why in heaven would you have asked that?“

“Because when I get to heaven,” she stated simply, “the first Face that shall gladden my eyes will be the Face of my Savior!”

Kick back and give a listen today to this simple yet haunting melody that will stay with you through the day. The song is “Give Me Jesus” which she wrote for schoolchildren and probably best sums up the affections of her heart toward the One who was her lifelong Light and Vision.

Sign Of The Times...

No 'Gangsta' In This Rap

When David called for the singers and instrumentalists to make a joyful noise to the Lord in the Temple, I’m not so sure he had in mind the rapping and scratching of hip-hop in the House Band. For that matter, I’m not sure Paul envisioned the felt-needs-based, market-driven, seeker-friendly ministries emerging all over the modern landscape either. But, hey, I’ve been wrong before.

Which is why this post: when I happened upon this jaw-dropping testimony of a modern-day Christian rap artist, I had to rethink the David thing. The sweet singer of Israel may have given this guy a go on his worship team after all. Believe it or not, one of today’s most respected conservative pastors did.

Curtis (a.k.a., “Voice”) Allen, itinerant preacher and rapper, has found a way to propagate his Calvinist theology with the thumping baselines of hip-hop. One of the lyrics he belts is, “I been exposed to bright lights, the doctrines of grace, I’m elected, imputed perfected, becuz of the power of God resurrected and his gift of faith, that when we see his face we’re not rejected.”

And you thought you’d heard it all…

Don’t judge a book and all that, because Mr. Allen’s (’scuse me: Voice) true heart for Christ is seen all over this article he wrote for Boundless Webzine. I may just become a fan of the rap genre after this. “I’m a get-down preacher and a true God seeker, rollin’ with my wife cuz you know that I need her, been paralyzed for twenty-five years but ain’t no lie that He’s always been here…”

Am I white, or what?

Okay, okay, I won’t give up my day job…or maybe I’ll tackle the Arminio-Calvin genre of heavy metal, or bluegrass…yeah, bluegrass…

The United Church of Soccer

I’ll probably get some stern looks and cold shoulders for posting this, but, hey, I just calls it likes I sees it, even though I didn’t write it. But I should have.

Pardon me while I go check to see if I have any guts…

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“THE NEW FAMILY TRUMP CARD” (Family Time v Church Time)
by Albert Mohler (www.albertmohler.com)

Is “family time” encroaching on “church time?” Leadership, a publication in the Christianity Today family of magazines, surveyed 490 pastors last year, asking them about church life and family. A major theme — parents are taking their kids to soccer games rather than to church.

The soccer games are only an illustration, of course, but team sports loom larger and larger in the lives of many kids and families, often leaving little time for anything else.

From the Leadership report:

The phenomenon of overprogrammed kids in the last decade or so is well documented–to the point of satire. (A recent sitcom showed an alien begging off an invasion of Earth because his kid had “a thing.”) What isn’t so well documented is the effect this legion of extracurricular activities has on church life.

The pastors we surveyed report the overall busyness of families is keeping families away from church. Asked whether people are spending more discretionary time on family activities or church commitments, 76 percent said the scale tipped toward family activities. This contrasts with the perception of 62 percent of respondents that a generation ago, free time was more likely spent on church commitments. The balance has shifted.

(Read more)

(evangeli)ST. Patrick's Day!

AN IRISH BLESSING

May your neighbor respect you,
Trouble neglect you,
The angels protect you,
And Heaven accept you.

Oh, while you’re celebrating (hopefully without beer!), check out the story of the REAL St. Patrick here. Not Irish, nor was he Roman Catholic, Patrick the Evangelist was a British Celt who brought the Gospel to Ireland.

A Warrior's Final Battle

Take a moment and read this entry in John Piper’s journal that narrates his father’s recent passing. It is quite moving…you might want to have a hankie handy…

HELLO, MY FATHER JUST DIED

Tuesday, March 6, 2007. 2 a.m.

The big hospital clock in room 4326 of Greenville Memorial Hospital said, with both hands straight up, midnight. Daddy had just taken his last breath. My watch said 12:01, March 6, 2007.

I had slept a little since his last morphine shot at ten. One ear sleeping, one on the breathing. At 11:45, I awoke. The breaths were coming more frequently and were very shallow. I will not sleep again, I thought. For ten minutes, I prayed aloud into his left ear with Bible texts and pleadings to Jesus to come and take him. I had made this case before, and this time felt an unusual sense of partnership with Daddy as I pressed on the Lord to relieve this warrior of his burden.

For the rest of John Piper’s journal entry, click here.

*photo courtesy of Josh Harris’ website

A Marked Man

“A marked man.” Tonight at our weekly prayer fellowship, I heard these words take on life down deep. While others were offering up their petitions around me, these three little words were hatched in my spirit. I can’t say I heard them out loud but I can say with certainty that the “Still, Small Voice” found me yet again.

What could these tri-monosyllabic words mean? My mind did a google of its own and immediately snagged a couple of Scriptures found in its vast storehouse of information. I believe the Spirit illuminated these texts and they hung there before my heart, flapping in the breezes of holy wind, awaiting my capitulation.

RORSCHACH AND ABEDNEGO?

First up was the reference that describes a holy man dressed in linen holding an inkhorn at his side. To this man, the Lord commanded he “go through the City and find those who cry and weep over the abominations of the land, and who seek Me, and put a mark on their foreheads.” The inkblot would stay the hand of judgment and let the wearer go free.

It is significant that the word “mark” in Hebrew is tav, the last letter of the Hebrew alphabet. The man was told to “put a tav” on their foreheads. Literally, put a cross there (written as an ‘x’ or ‘t’). It is also telling that in the midst of judgment (the six men) is this interlude of grace. The foreheads of these faithful ones were God’s canvas on which to paint His mark of redemption. When judgment came near, it was asked, “What do you see in this inkspot?” and if it saw the mark of a crucified life, it would pass on.

It would be easy for us to say: everyone who has raised a hand and ‘accepted’ Jesus as Savior will have the mark of the Cross and will thereby be spared any and all judgment. But the Scripture is clear that saving grace is NOT mental assent and ‘happy-as-you-please’ until the ’sweet-by-and-by’, but it is for those upon whom the cross has done its work. In short, those who “take up their cross”, who live in the grace of a crucified life, and who believe on Jesus and go on believing in Him by the grace of abiding, will stand. Those who pass the ‘Rorschach’ test are those whose lives have evidence of their life in God.

Who can abide the Day of the Lord? Who indeed will stand? The pattern in the Old Covenant will be realized in the New: those who bear the mark of the Cross in their life. I long to be a ‘marked’ man…

HE SAYS ‘JUMP’, I SAY…

The next ‘mark’ I glimpsed was what Paul said of himself as one who bears the “brand-marks” of the Lord Christ. Behind Paul’s ministry that emphasized grace came some interlopers who preached that holiness was the way to Christ. Nuh-uh, Paul said. Holiness is not the way to Christ; the true Gospel is that Christ is the way to holiness! And, as such, Paul had cast off any and all restraints of the Judaism he once espoused and said “I am a willing slave of Christ! See His brand(s) here? I belong to Him!” The word, of course, is plural. Slaves of the Roman Empire could be passed from owner to owner and each time branded with the new owner’s mark. Paul was saying, in essence, that every scar, wound and bruise on his body testified to his One and only Owner, Jesus Christ. “So don’t try to reclaim me,” he challenged the “dogs” who dis-graced the Gospel.

This ‘mark’ is found on the one who offers his or her life as a bond-slave of Christ and attracts all manner of negative attention. The pull is great; the sway of the world is super-charged. Family can quickly become a cross to bear. Close friends will abandon you. Only Timothy is here with me…You will be misunderstood, written off, maybe even crucified. At times, you will be lost on an ocean of despair. All alone. You will die daily.

Despite all this, Paul has the gumption to say, “I bear…” In the Greek text, it is an ongoing, repeated action. IOW, Paul is telling you, the reader, he will do it all over again. Again and again. And then again if necessary. For Jesus.

In the very next verse, he says, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit…” and it doesn’t get lost on those with even a modicum of reason: he’s inviting us to the share in the same adventure. Whew boyyyyyy….

The two marks I was shown tonight have distinctive characteristics. One mark repels judgment while the other repels the world, no matter the cost. In a tattooed world, each stain broadcasting its own value, treaty and treatise of the kingdom of darkness, there is the need of those who stand apart with a new mark, legibly designated as a True Son and Daughter of the Lord. But beware…

…That kind of thing’ll mark you, but good.

Consider This A Warning

beloved these are perilous days
when your culture is so set in its ways
that you will listen to salesmen and thieves
preaching other than the truth you’ve received
because they are telling lies
for they cannot circumcise your hearts

beloved there is nothing more
no more blessings and no more rewards
than the treasure of my body and blood
given freely to all daughters and sons

–from Derek Webb's Beloved

We are in perilous days, beloved. It is clear from acerbic toxins that are polluting our culture that Christianity is being targeted by postmodernists as an extremist religious outfit whose intent in America is to wreak havoc, threaten the “liberties” of society and kill any and all who get in its way. Think that’s too over-the-top? Trot on down to your local Border’s and look up some of these titles (and some are best-sellers!): American Fascists by Chris Hedges; American Theocracy by Kevin Phillips; The Baptizing of America by James Rudin, et al (see other titles in Brent Steeno’s alarming post here)

This tactic of the enemy parallels what was instigated in Rome during the first century when the “cult of Christianity” was subjected to close scrutiny and suspicion. They were seen as ‘counter-cultural’ because they refused to pledge allegiance to Caesar and were thereby added to the list of undesirables and insurgents. Each year, all Roman subjects were to enter a temple and pay homage to the emperor, declaring their undying support of the empire with the words, “kurios kaisar” (Caesar is Lord). But those heroic saints, called ‘christians’ (followers of Christ) as opposed to ‘caesareans’ (worshippers of the emperor), knew who the real enemy was.

Two words. The confession could be said so quickly and confessor could be done and out the door for the year. They could even be whispered so long as a temple attendant could hear and attest to it. Two simple words. What damage could such a diminutive phrase do? And yet, many bold faith-walkers would never cave.

Among a litany of heroic accounts, there is one about a mother who refused to engage herself in emperor worship. She was thrown in jail until she would confess. And to make sure she would, they put her newborn baby in a cell next to hers. All night long her hungry child cried and all night long the guards would plead with her to confess. “Just confess, lady. As soon as you do, you can get out and attend to your baby. Come on, just two words. Say them.” She wouldn’t and as the night wore on, her baby’s cries became hoarse and less frequent and in time, died away all together. Two words she would never say, even if it meant her child’s end, which, sadly, it did. The mother’s anguish did find solace when she too met her death in the jaws of hungry lions.

Would modern evangelicals stand under such a climate? Would I?

Forget Global Warming…there is a coming fire against the Church—and we’d best wake up. Let me make a statement here: since the church will not come under God’s authority to purify her, He is going to use the world to do it. We will call it ‘persecution’ but it will actually be judgment. Think not? Read 1 Peter 4:17. Go ahead, I dare you. I won’t even give you a link to it so as to weed out the scoffers from the true seekers of Truth.

There was a flowering garden planted among the cesspool that was first century Rome. Its blooms were peaceful, loving, sacrificial to one another and to their unbelieving neighbors, worked hard in their secular employ, obeyed their masters as unto Christ, rendered to Caesar, turned their cheek when slapped, when asked for a shirt they gave their coats as well, visited those in prison, fed the hungry, offered shelter to the homeless, touched lepers–and all the while, they were violently opposed to the Kingdom of Darkness and shook its foundations with their prayers.

With their prayers, mind you. In no instance were they to breathe out violence against any human counterpart. Never, no never, was it in their doctrine to impose and subjugate. Never would they even think of legislating righteousness but rather it was their conviction to live it. They stormed heaven with their prayers against the TRUE enemy, satan; and Heaven, in turn, sent a firestorm of retribution against the principalities and powers of the air. In short, Heaven opened up a can of…well, you know.

Today, the enemy is using the same tactics. While we sleep, he is sowing tares and plotting terrors against the Church. In the coming days, there will be all sort of heinous things said about the Church and many will start believing what is being reported. Very soon and critical mass will be reached and we will be seeing pastors sent to jail for preaching Truth. Strike the shepherds, and the sheep will scatter.

In the last days, there will be a great falling away. When judgment comes, who can stand? I am reading a lot of arrogance out there by men of God who brag on their hard preaching and expect the day will come when they will be carted off for it and they say, bring it on! It’s as if they want you to think have been recruited by Heaven to be its champion. Let’s check our pride. Let him that thinks he (will) stand, take heed lest he fall…The fight isn’t against flesh and blood, as hard as that will be; it is against devils and satan himself. And ultimately it’s against God who is a consuming fire.

Consider this a warning. Will you listen?

Chasing Father

Sometimes dates can sneak up on you and smack you on the behind. This week I had two red-letter days and both of them hit me at the last possible moment; and, ironically, they each represent similar scenarios. Well, sort of. Let me explain.

On Wednesday I had chatted it up with a ministry friend who was taking his wife out for their anniversary that evening. (No, don’t get ahead of me…it’s not what you think…well, sort of) I hung up from that conversation happy as you please and not a clue in my head. A bit later another friend called me up to tell me he had tickets to a Derrick Webb concert on the other side of Atlanta for that very night. I asked him to give me thirty minutes to see if I could clear my calendar, check with Sandy, etc. (and not in that order, either) Still, no clue. I’m obviously hitting the snooze button on my mental alarms that were relentlessly going off trying to get me to remember. Think, Scott. This is vital to your relationship. It’s why you have a relationship.

*snooze*

My friend calls back to tell me that the concert, it turns out, is not in an accessible location for wheelchairs, so, no dice. Bummer. Oh, well, I didn’t think it would work out for us at the last minute anyhow. Welp, thanks for the thought, and all that. Not a clue. The mice in my head are taking a siesta ’cause it still hasn’t hit me…but wait…wasn’t there something?…hmmm…now, what is it that is trying to come up for air in my noggin?…I return to the work on my desk and rifle through a couple letters when—finally—a light bulb goes on over my head. I quickly reach for my cell phone and dial the all-too-familiar number.

“Hey, Babe.”

“Hi. What’s up?”

“Do you know what happened twenty-four years ago today?” I put it suavely as if it had been my plan all along.

Sandy brightened at once. “I was hoping you’d remember!”

Yes, it was our anniversary, but, no, it wasn’t the anniversary of our wedding. It was the anniversary of my asking for Mr. Summerford’s permission to marry his daughter. We were in college and Sandy was bringing me to her home in Florida for the weekend so her parents could meet me. Thaaat’s right. Hello, Mr. Summerford. Nice to meet you. May I marry your number two daughter? I know her Dad knew something was up but he made me chase him around the house all weekend because every time he found himself in a room alone with me, he would find something else to do and out he went. That’s disconcerting when wheelchairs don’t chase very well and the clock is ticking away before the weekend is over and we return to campus ten hours away.

He didn’t leave all the time. Sometimes he stayed and talked about work and stuff ad nauseum without so much as taking a breath, making certain I couldn’t get a breath in edgewise. When there was a lull, ever so slight, I would take a deep breath and begin forming the words. It’s like he knew. As I was drawing a breath to speak, he would rise from his chair and gallop out of the room leaving me sucking air.

Cutting to the chase now (pun intended), Sandy’s mom could feel my frustration so she made sure I could make my play one afternoon with the four of us in their Florida room. He was caught and he knew it. Sandy’s mom just smiled the sweetest smile when I cleared my throat and began: “Mr. Summerford, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you…”

The other red-letter date this week was just today. Thirty-two years ago today I surrendered my life for the ministry. It was the punctiliar moment that brought to an end a long, harrowing season of begging God to select me for service. I had done a poor job of “selling” myself to the Lord over the previous weeks, sort of like an enigmatic used car salesman giving you every reason not to buy a car.

Lord, I probably don’t have a shot, but…

Lord, I don’t have much to offer…(well, that’s true of any of us!)

Lord, I’d probably blow it big time…

You know, the full gamut of excuses. Odd, but it was a lot like the Moses thing, only in reverse. God calls Moses and Moses says, I don’t think you have the right man. For me, I started off with my sad-sack of excuses, then God said to my glorious delight, you’re just the man I’m looking for…

For those who dare stay with me in this long post, I’ve described that March night in 1975 elsewhere: “…from my earliest memories I wanted to be a preacher. As little kids, my two sisters and I would hold mock church services in the girls’ bedroom, complete with hymn-singing and a fire-and-brimstone sermon from the young reverend. So a few years later when the Lord saw the possibilities and took me up on it, I answered the call.

Not that it was that clean and easy. To play pretend-parson in a bedroom is one thing but to have a definitive calling to do it for real was quite another. The preachers I knew sauntered in rarified air. They dressed well and spoke with parchment voices and were famous and terribly gifted. I, on the other hand, was a certifiable nobody with a sad dearth of discernible talents. Never popular, I didn’t have a following so how in heaven’s sweet name, could I command a flock?

Mostly overlooked in life, mine was a face in a sea of faces and little more.As a youth, my nightly regimen was to kneel by the bedside and open a well-worn, marked-up Bible to Isaiah 61:1 and beg God to call me, all the while knowing He probably wouldn’t. Why would He? I was convinced God was searching for a certain someone that would never be me, but even still my begging found no rest.

That would change in March of 1975 when I felt pulled to the altar following a message by a guest speaker in our Decatur, Georgia church. All the way down the aisle I couldn’t get a fix on what the pounding in my heart was all about. Perhaps a sin needing confessing or a recommitment to some dusty vow; but whatever it was I just knew I had to beat a path to the altar and get on my face before God. Many others had responded to the speaker’s appeal so by the time I got to the front, I had to climb the orange-carpeted steps, adroitly averting some of the pentitent before finding an unclaimed patch of carpet–right at the feet of the speaker.

As I cried out to the Lord, giving myself to him wholly and humbly, some audible words began to rise about my pleas. The speaker was saying,

“I believe God is dealing with a young man here at this altar. Young man, whoever you are, God wants you to know that He sees your heart, He has heard your cries and wants to assure you that you are His man.”

I cocked my head in the direction of that Sinaic voice and wondered if its owner was looking at me. He wasn’t. His eyes were searching elsewhere, out into the audience, but I am certain to this day that those very words were put into his heart to speak over me. When I went back to my seat that night, the issue of my preaching was finally put to rest and the Lord has since confirmed His call on me that night multiplied times over.

I settled into the pew with the conviction that if I was to be God’s man for my generation then so be it and, come hell or high water, the fire that was blazing in my heart would be sufficient to withstand the onslaught of man or devil.

I was a nobody but God called me out anyway. Others may have raised their eyebrows or pondered wonderingly, but I had something no potential detractor had: God’s calling and His anointing. Truly, in my case, the man with an argument was at the mercy of a man with experience.

“The Lord has anointed me to preach…”

Amazing. What was really cool was that I was getting to do on my anniversary exactly what my life has been called for: preaching on the tough demands of commitment to Christ to the people of Christ. Well, sir, I had to chase God down and tell Him every reason not to call me, but, in the end, I got what I wanted. Or is it, He got what He wanted.

Now that’s just doubly amazing.

And Joel Likes It Too!

I fell out laughing at this…and that’s not a good thing when you are in a wheelchair! You can find this and other ginormously funny parodies and satires at tominthebox.blogspot.com

(Pastors, RUN, don’t walk, to buy this book!)

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It’s every pastor’s nightmare; the town infidel dies and he is called upon to preach the funeral. Perhaps the man was the town drunk, a drug dealer or a notorious womanizer, but the pastor is expected to “say something nice.”

Now, the Reverend Al Sharpton reveals his secrets of how to preach anyone into heaven, no matter how they lived their life.

Sharpton teaches his methods using real life examples from his years in the ministry, during which time he has been called upon to preach numerous funerals.

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-Joseph Stalin: Yes, You Can!
-Intolerance: The Only Unforgivable Sin

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Jesus Is My Nightlight

Jesus Is My Nightlight

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Something weird and a bit unsettling happened just moments ago. Snugly nestled for the night, the house all peaceful and still with Maybell (our accidental canine) tucked in and Sandy at her late-shift place of work, I sighed and laid my head back. All alone. Suddenly from the front of the house, I heard a faint sound. I lifted my head off the pillow and craned my neck to listen more closely and a growing sickness rose within as it dawned on me what it was.

The CD player in the kitchen began playing.

There were the diminutive sounds of a piano at first, then the airy rising of the woodwinds—signature classical sound. Only, I wasn’t enjoying the music. My stomach knotted and my heart raced as I pictured a hockey-masked intruder with murder on his mind having some fun with a handicapped man. Too many gory thrillers from my youth, I know. As I peck this out, the music is still playing and I am still uncertain because this has never happened before. But I think I know what is going on. Sandy must’ve put a CD in the carousel and inadvertently programmed it to play at midnight. No, she is not a prankster, and, yes, she will be horrified to know she caused her husband untold fright. It’s all okay. I’ve got Jesus here with me and He’s my Nightlight (Ps 27:1). But not only that, He’s also my Bodyguard.

I could be wrong, but I think He likes classical music.

G’night…

P.S. The music just quit, and so did my heart. I’m not kidding. Just like that.

P.S.S. It’s now 2:30 a.m. and I’m being serenaded again…well, isn’t that just grand…

Well, Someone Had To Say It

…Might as well be a Baptist preacher…

The following is an important article posted in a recent issue of Christianity Today. It is both daring and courageous, and I, for one, am glad someone had the guts to address this lingering issue in modern evangelical Christianity–or at least what passes for it.

JESUS AND THE SINNER’S PRAYER
What Jesus says doesn’t usually match what we say
David P. Gushee

Is it permissible to reopen the question of salvation? If we do, how will Jesus’ teachings stand up to our inherited traditions?

These questions came to me acutely not long ago. I was getting ready to preach. As the worship leader was finishing the music set, he offered some unscripted theological reflections. He said something like: “The only thing required of us is to believe that Jesus’ blood saves us. Nothing more. It’s nothing but the blood of Jesus.”

In my Baptist context, we’ve heard these thoughts a thousand times. The problem was that I had in my pocket a message in which Jesus himself had a very different answer to the question of salvation.

The Big Question

In reading through Luke, I had discovered that twice (10:25, 18:18) Jesus is asked, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

In the first passage, Jesus turns the question back on the lawyer who asks it. The lawyer replies with the Old Testament commands to love God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind, and to love your neighbor as yourself (cf. Mt. 22:34-40). Jesus affirms his answer: “You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.” The lawyer then tries to narrow the meaning of neighbor. So Jesus tells the unforgettable parable of the compassionate Samaritan, who proved to be a neighbor to a bleeding roadside victim.

In Luke 18, Jesus responds to the same question, this time from the man we know as the rich young ruler, by quoting the second table of the Decalogue, forbidding adultery, murder, theft, and false witness, and mandating honor towards parents. His questioner says that he has kept these commandments, and Jesus proceeds to call on him to “sell all … and distribute to the poor.” Jesus assures him, “You will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” The “extremely rich” ruler won’t do this, and Jesus goes on to teach his disciples about how hard it is for the wealthy to enter the kingdom of God.

Trying to be an honest expositor of the texts in front of me, I told the chapel students that morning that on the two occasions in Luke when Jesus was asked about the criteria for admission to eternity, he offered a fourfold answer: love God with all that you are, love your neighbor (like the Samaritan loved his neighbor), do God’s will by obeying his moral commands, and be willing, if he asks, to drop everything and leave it behind in order to follow him.

I concluded by suggesting that the contrast between how Jesus answers this question and how we usually do is stark and awfully inconvenient.

Getting Radical

In my Baptist tradition, especially, we direct people to “invite Jesus into your heart as your personal Savior,” an act undertaken using a formula called the “sinner’s prayer.” Or we simply say, “Believe in Jesus, and you will be saved.”

But Jesus never taught easy believe-ism. Whether he was telling the rich young ruler to sell all and follow him or telling a miracle-hungry crowd near Capernaum that to do the work of God was, yes, to believe on him (John 6:28-29), he called people to abandon their own agenda and trust him radically. Radical trust calls for both belief and action. (emphasis mine)

I suggest that we tend to confuse the beginning of the faith journey with its entirety. Yes, believe in Jesus—that’s the first step. Yes, invite Jesus into your heart as your personal Savior. Then, empowered by God’s grace, embark on the journey of discipleship, in which you seek to love God with every fiber of your being, to love your neighbor as yourself, to live out God’s moral will, and to follow Jesus where he leads you, whatever the cost.

If Jesus is to be believed, inheriting eternal life involves a comprehensive divine assessment at every step along our journey, not just at its inception. (emphasis mine)

Mediocrity and hypocrisy characterize the lives of many avowed Christians, at least in part because of our default answer to the salvation question. Anyone can, and most Americans do, “believe” in Jesus rather than some alternative savior. Anyone can, and many Americans sometimes do, say a prayer asking Jesus to save them. But not many embark on a life fully devoted to the love of God, the love of neighbor, the moral practice of God’s will, and radical, costly discipleship.

If it comes down to a choice between our habitual, ingrained ways of talking about salvation and what Jesus himself said when asked the question, I know what I must choose.

William Was A Force

The England of William Wilberforce was very much in the ballpark of Dickens’ “best of times and worst of times.” For the wealthy, there was the theater, the clubs, gambling, alcohol and women. Against the backdrop of such affluence were the indignities waged against the downtrodden and outcasts. The Industrial Revolution was ramping up and children were forced to labor in sweat shops for 16 hours a day. Only 25 percent made it to adulthood due to unsafe and unsanitary conditions. Youngsters were publicly executed for stealing scarves and such just to protect themselves against the miserable conditions of life.

And there was the slavery thing. Eleven million Africans were rent from their homeland and shipped across the ocean in four foot by eighteen inch berths. Chained. Covered in feces and vomit. Most died. Women were raped hanging upside down. And the England of Wilberforce was the chief buyer and seller in the damnable slave trade.

As the film “Amazing Grace” opens, you read how in such a time only a few dissented against such practice but even fewer dared speak up. William Wilberforce was one voice that God used to speak Life and Light into such a dark time. Each word from his mouth punched a separate hole in the darkness until, at last, the institution of slavery fell under the weight of Heaven’s veto and was abolished in England once and for all.

Cowper, the poet laureate of England wrote of Wilberforce in a sonnet describing him as bringing “the better hour.” On a plaque where he is buried in Westminster Abbey, it reads:

In an age and country fertile in great and good men,
He was among the foremost of those who fixed the character of our times
because to high and various talents, to warm benevolence, and to universal candour
He added the abiding eloquence of the Christian life…

This was a man who gave away a quarter of his yearly earnings to the poor, tirelessly championed the causes of chimney sweeps, single moms, and orphans and did it all with a grace and humility befitting of such a call. He gave over forty years of his life to campaigning against slavery and, one month after his death, England’s Parliament passed the Slavery Abolition Act, thus granting every slave in the English empire their freedom. Truly, he fought to the end. He fought the good fight. With the passion of the Lord burning inside, he brought to the world a better hour.

Imagine with me, won’t you, what God could do with a single person, or a handful of devoted slaves of righteousness. It just takes one voice speaking what is on the Lord’s heart and the deal is done. Last time I checked, satan’s nefarious power is no match against the will of God and his empire is still marked for destruction.

Amazed By Grace

Went with the Mrs. to see “Amazing Grace” today. For me, the final scene was well worth the price of admission…or, hold on…ten bucks?…(oh, what am I complaining about? It could’ve been twenty except for the fact that Regal cinemas lets my wife get in free as my “attendant”, God bless them)…yeah, okay, I guess it was still worth it. Anyway, the scene I mentioned is a brigade of bagpipes playing the theme song complemented by horns and such…ooooh, can you say ’spine-tingly’?

Amazing that such a song can overpower you with its winding-river grace. I speak, of course, of the old hymn penned by a former slave trader, John Newton (who is also featured on my ‘biography page’). I discovered that Mr. Newton, though marking his own conversion to Christianity in the mid-1700s, remained in the slave industry for a number of years, but finally made a clean breast of things after falling in with the likes of John Wesley and George Whitfield. Afterward he became a preacher of the grace that so gently lifted him from the vomit bucket of the world. That’s right: this venerated clergy-poet had once, during the lowest abyss of his debauchery, offered himself to the service of satan.

It was during a giant storm at sea, Newton testified, that he heard the voice of God speaking to him out of the tempest, calling him to Himself. In the days leading up to the nor’easter, the Lord had been thawing out the sailor’s cold heart for He had him reading a Kempis’ book, The Imitation of Christ. But with the onslaught of the storm, the embittered slave ship captain’s ever so gradual turn to the Eternal Giver of Grace was hanging in the balance. With water filling his cabin and timbers being jerked free from the hull, Newton frantically pumped water alongside his crew but to no avail. Finally he lashed himself to the wheel, hoping to steer the ship through, but at the height of peril cried on the winds, “Lord, have mercy on us!”

In his journal Newton said of this very occasion that he promised God he would be “His slave forever” if only He would rescue them. God in His great mercy did just that. And John Newton, former slave ship’s first mate, former slave himself, and former slave captain, was ardently captured by Grace.

I also learned today (not from the film) that the Cherokee nation considers this song to be a national anthem of sorts as it was sung on the Trail of Tears by their ancestors. Same tune, slightly different words but still a testimony to redemption through God’s Son, Jesus Christ. It was also the most-oft sung hymn during the Civil Rights marches of the 1960s. Through many dangers, toils and snares indeed…

Amazing Grace. Go see it. The tagline of the movie says, “Behind the song you love is a story you will never forget.” How true. It is thought that the melody came from slaves songs which haunted Newton throughout the years of his herding innocent victims. It is a delicately simple tune, built on the pentatonic scale, and played on the black keys. Five notes. That’s it. But what an amazing song whose enduring message can change the world.

Good News From 'Thessalonica'

Sandy and I have been on pins and needles wondering about our son. Nearly three weeks ago we sent him to a school for boys in a state far away and part of the school’s policy for new arrivals is a ‘black-out’ period for a couple weeks. No calls. No correspondence. It’s been as though he was shot to the far side of the moon and we’ve held our breath through a vacuum of uncertainty. This morning, however, we awakened to the knowledge that today was the day. Our first call; our first news of how he fared.

We were given a window of three hours in which to make a ten-minute call to our boy. I repeatedly held my watch up to the morning light, waiting for the exact minute we could call. Sandy and I both agreed that we would call the first tick of the allowable time because we wanted our son to know we were living for this moment. And indeed we were. With ten minutes to go, we snuggled close, held hands and prayed. I asked the Lord a question. I wanted to know how the tone and tenor of the conversation might go as we had been warned by the headmaster that the first call is often quite horrible. Everything from begging to come home, wanting to know why they had to be sent away, questioning the parents’ love, threatenings to sabotage everything, calling out hateful diatribes and calling down curses. The works.

In the Lord’s gentle way, He answered my query by taking my mind to a particular destination. He shepherded my heart to the story of Paul and his ministry in the troubled little town of Thessalonica. The man of God spent a scant three weeks founding the church there before an eruption of persecution cut his time short. Railroaded out of town, Paul spent long nights and days wondering how those spiritual babies were faring, having had their support system yanked from their lives.

In the Acts account*, Paul decides to send Timothy back to Thessalonica once the smoke had cleared from the atmosphere. There he waited in Athens, tremulously fidgeting, praying, wondering and praying some more about this fledgling church. When Timothy returned, he brought good news: the newly birthed church was thriving. The faith of those babe-in-arm disciples was holding strong. You wouldn’t believe them, Paul; the Lord’s joy abounds in them and they are fastly becoming a model church for the surrounding region!**

I know the fireball apostle must have put his face in the dirt and rejoiced with weeping and laughter. He may have even danced, kicking up dust all around him; perhaps he lifted a hymn of thanksgiving. He certainly couldn’t wait a tick to sit down and write a letter to those suckling disciples with an amazing appetite for steak.

All of that flooded down on me as I prayed and as Sandy and I lay in the bed, head to head in prayer. I told the Lord, “if that is You, we praise Your Name forever. But if this didn’t come from you, Lord, and the call we are about the make is not good or worse than we imagined, we will still praise Your Name forever…” The petition then being ended, I looked again at my watch and saw we had a single minute. I fumbled for my cell phone, flipped it open and dialed the number. “Do you have the code?” Sandy asked. “You need the code to get through.” “I’ve got the code,” I assured her.

The phone rang and one of the staff picked up. “Who are you calling?” I told him my name and who I was hoping to reach. When he asked for the code, I gave it. “Just a moment,” he said. Suddenly I heard the scraping of a chair being pushed back and the echo of a door being opened. Next a voice calling down what I assumed was a hallway, calling my boy’s name. My squeeze on Sandy’s hand intensified. This is it, we thought together. A few more moments of suspended animation then the phone rattling. Someone was picking up.

“Hello?”

It was our son, and in just a single word on speakerphone, Sandy and I knew God had spoken to us and was giving us good news from Thessalonica as we waited nervously for it in our ‘Athens.’ We could hear a gentleness and kindness in his voice, not one stitch of ugliness. No bitter harangues or threats. Conversation poured out like sweet wine and, though the call was only minutes, it was drenched with laughter and glad tears. “Incredible things are happening here, Dad,” he said without divulging any details. No time for it. I just latched on the word Dad. He still calls me Dad.

After what seemed like mere seconds, the call was over. But those moments with our son were like gulps of precious air for someone who had been without. His faith was strong, and that was enough. He was holding fast to the Lord he had for so long felt distanced from and betrayed by. We could see through unveiled eyes washed with tears how God was repairing breaches and shoring up crumbling foundations. It’s Him, all Him, and He knows well how to care for His sheep, no matter where they are.

So, how was your Saturday?

*Acts 17
**1 Thessalonians 1:6,7; 3:5-8

On Finishing Well (Part Two)

“Strive to enter through the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will seek to enter and will not be able.”
(Jesus, Luke 13:24)

“I discipline my body and make it my slave, so that, after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified.”
(Paul, 1 Corinthians 9:27)

“Run in such a way that you may win.”
(Paul, 1 Corinthians 9:24)

…That being said (see previous post), I’m prompted to ask: what are the chances of our finishing well? If you’re tallying from the Bible, not very well, according to a study by Fuller seminary professor of leadership, J. Robert Clinton. From a study done in the early 90s*, Mr. Clinton identified 800 or so leaders in Scripture, for whom there is sufficient data on 100 of these to help us interpret their leadership. He found of the 100 prominent leaders mentioned in the Bible, each faced one of five possible finishes:

1. They were cut off early (Samson, Josiah, John the Baptist)
2. They finished poorly (Gideon, Saul, Solomon)
3. They finished “so-so” (Jehoshaphat, Hezekiah)–he even puts David here
4. They finished well (Abraham, Job, Joshua)
5. We’re not sure (not enough data to determine how they finished)

In short, Mr. Clinton found that barely 30% of all leaders in the pages of the Bible finished well. Thirty percent, beloved. More than two-thirds were sidetracked or shipwrecked by abuse of power, pride, ego, illicit sexual affairs, or improper use of finances. “Two thirds of biblical leaders,” Mr. Clinton reports, “failed to leave behind the legacy of a life well lived.”

This study bears out contemporary leadership woes as well. Some estimate that only 20% of modern leaders in our spiritual community finish well. Most will never reach their full spiritual potential and be able to say at the end of their lives, “Imitate me as I imitate Christ.”**

Mr. Clinton also identified five common factors among those leaders who finish well, both in the Bible and in contemporary churchdom:

1. Lifelong Learner–throughout life these pursue both formal and informal learning opportunities
2. Mentoring–continually seek out people to mentor, and being mentored themselves
3. Dynamic Ministry Philosophy–they pay close attention to and make decisions according to God’s “driving purpose” for them
4. Repeated Renewal–they take time each day, week, month and year to develop personal intimacy with God, reflect and dream His dreams for them
5. Lifetime Perspective–they increasingly make decisions based upon a long view of life

I know these numbers have more to do with leadership in the family of God but are they far off the pace of what is found in the Christian community at large? I wonder. I mentioned a few posts ago (click here) that pastors in our modern era have a ballooned hope in what they think is the percentage of parishioners who live a committed life. Turns out, their balloon is full of hot air. While they assume 70% of their flock count their personal faith walk in Christ as everything to them, that number is woefully overreaching. Barna puts the percentage closer to fifteen percent.

Gulp…

Enough stats already! I hear you. Bottom line: the likelihood of the person sitting next to you where you worship on Sunday finishing well is between a 1-in-3 to 1-in-5 shot. And the person they sit next to (care to guess who?) is left with the same odds. Which begs the question: what is finishing well? Making it to heaven? Or living a life without regret?

Could it be that Jesus would say they are both one in the same?

*from the Clinton Biblical Leadership Commentary CD, Volume 1, 1999; you may find this and other resources at www.bobbyclinton.com

**1 Corinthians 11:1