Cancer Versus Easter

Marisa VanderVeen is a young mother of three small children and happily married to a husband who adores her. Marisa, who plays a mean piano, also has cancer which she and her husband, Mendelt, are taking head on by the faith they have in Christ. Reading their website, it is clear to see that while Marisa may have cancer, cancer certainly does not have her.

As evidence of this, on Easter Sunday of this year, Mendelt wrote a “letter to cancer”, which Marisa has graciously given permission to post here. Be blessed. And pray.

Dear cancer:

You probably thought of the nights and how they would trouble us. Because that makes sense.

You probably thought of the sadness we have wondering if we are going to be able to teach our 10 month old how to hit a three pointer. Because that makes sense.

You probably thought of the physical suffering we are going through. Because that makes sense.

You probably thought of our psychological and cognitive suffering. Because that makes sense.

You probably thought about our parents and how the idea of their child leaving before them must shake them to their core. Because that makes sense.

You probably thought about our four year old who asks “when is cancer finished?” Because that makes sense.

However………

You couldn’t have thought of a guy named Jesus who went through all of this and more and who goes through all of this and more with us. You couldn’t have thought of that. Because that doesn’t make sense.

You ain’t going to win, cancer. You ain’t going to win. Easter made sure of that.

MdH

Did You Know?

Did you know…

• if you are ‘one in a million’ in China, there’s 1300 others just like you
• the 25% of the people with the highest IQs in China is more than the total population of North America
• China will soon become the largest English-speaking country in the world
• In roughly five minutes, 60 babies will be born in America; 244 in China; 351 in India
• According to U.S. Dept. of Labor, high school grads in America will have 10-14 different jobs—by age 38
• One out of four workers in America is working for a company for whom they have been employed by less than a year
• the top ten jobs in 2010 will not have existed in 2004
• we are currently preparing students for jobs that don’t yet exist, using technologies not yet invented in order to solve problems we don’t even know are problems yet
• 1 out of 8 couples married in the U.S. last year met online
• there are over 106 million MySpace users (9/06); if MySpace were a country, it would be the 11th largest in the world (between Japan and Mexico)
• there are over 2.7 billion searches done on Google each month—to whom were these questions addressed before Google?
• the number of text messages sent and received each month are greater than the total population of the planet
• there are 540,00 words in the English language—5 times as many as during the era of Shakespeare
• today, a week’s worth of information found in the NY Times is more than was available during the lifetime of a person living in the 18th century
• it is estimated that 1.5 exabytes (1.5 x 10 to the 18th power) of unique new information will be generated worldwide this year
• that number alone is more than all the information generated in the previous 5,000 years
• the amount of new technical information is doubling every 2 years
• this means that for a student beginning a four year technical or college course of study, half of their education will be outdated by their third year of study
• it is estimated that by 2010, it will double every 72 hours
• predictions are that by 2013 a supercomputer will be built that exceeds the computation capability of the human brain
• by 2023, when today’s first graders will be 23 and beginning their new careers, it will only take a $1,000 computer to exceed the human brain’s capability
• by 2049, it will take a $1,000 computer to exceed the capabilites of the collective brain of the entire human race

Source: Cynthia Ware; see more in her highly informative video @ Digital Sanctuary

She Fought Back

She goes by “Sue” publicly now and her story is straight out of a horror flick, only it wasn’t scripted or produced in Hollywood. Some time ago this woman and her seven year old daughter were in their home in the evening, she was cleaning the kitchen and her little girl was playing games on the computer. Suddenly a man in a ski mask and brandishing a gun burst into their home with only evil on his mind.

The horrific events that unfolded are too gruesome to tell but the PG-13 version is that he brutalized and raped the mother. After raping her he held a gun to her head and pulled the trigger. Remarkably and clearly by the grace and providence of God, the gun jammed. When he was finished he told the woman to call for her daughter as he wanted to “have his way” with her too.

This is the point her maternal instincts kicked into overdrive and she boldly refused. Somehow she escaped his clutches and ran into the kitchen where she retrieved a butcher knife and for the next thirty minutes, she fought her attacker with every fiber of her being, all for the sake of her daughter. Sue was stabbed 25 times and as her attacker fell on her to deliver the final, fatal blow, she began praying. The man mocked her, saying, “Where is your God now?” She replied, “He’s right here” and suddenly something lifted the man off of her, an invisible force, and when he lifted, the knife was in her hands and held straight up. The attacker came back down on her but the knife went straight into him and he died.

It’s the only time in the history of this metro Atlanta county where an attacker was killed by his female victim. Sadly, the little girl witnessed most of the attack. You can visit Sue’s website and read more about her terrifying experience and of the Hand of God who delivered her and her daughter.

Tonight I was driving home and listened to her story on a local radio station. While she was being interviewed, someone visited the studio and presented her with an amazing gift. The visitor was an Army Ranger who had fought in both Afghanistan and Iraq and had been wounded and subsequently been awarded two bronze stars for his bravery and sacrifice. He had heard her story and wanted to be there when it was aired so that he could present Sue with one of his bronze stars. It was a truly moving and memorable segment and left this listener gasping and praising almighty God for His sovereign watchcare over this mother and child in their hour of desperation.

NOTE: on her website is a button for contributions and the website will explain Sue and her daughter’s present need. I have given to the cause and encourage all my readers to do the same.

Sacred Seduction

God loves love. He is love. Ever notice how the Scriptures contain so many references to this subject, not only with regard to the concept of love but love as the core foundation of romance. That’s right, our God is romantic and delights in the affair of the heart. He is the ultimate Suitor and Seducer, and for those who just got a little uneasy at that last comment, take a moment to read among one the Bible’s many love stories these words:

“Israel, I, the LORD, will lure you into the desert and speak gently to you.”
(Hosea 2:14, CEV)

The word translated “lure” has the meaning of ‘deceiving’ for good purposes, to lure away from (other lovers) by seduction. We’re not talking Desperate Housewives stuff here. No, this is love pure and square. The story in which it is found involves a prophet, a whore and unconditional love. This is God enjoining the stuff of heaven, stuff of earth for our benefit, showing us He is a God who pursues, who loves, who romances, and, according to Genesis, even takes pleasure in matchmaking.

Right out of the gate, we learn how marriage, romance, union and procreation are really important to God and endemic to the human experience. In the True Account of the Origin of Man we have God creating and setting His Man in the earth and, in time (a week? day? minutes? years?) bringing forth from Him a Woman, a Bride, and Man says upon seeing her, “Aha!”* In modern vernacular, it would sound something like this: “Whoooo-boy!” or “Boo-ya!” She’s like me and yet there are some obvious differences…Me likeee…May I have another? (that last bit’s the Joseph Smith version, BTW)

We know that the First Adam and Woman began the humanesque cycle of lust of the eyes, lust of the flesh and the pride of life, bringing upon the whole of the human race the seedy issue of fallenness: spirits dead and unresponsive to the Creator. Tumbling out of the sacred pages henceforth are the symptoms of the fall: greed, jealousy, murder, incest, rape, polygamy, sadism and a litany of other lawless deeds, all of them pointing to the capital ‘S’ Sin which was the First Adam snubbing God and opting to rule himself instead.

But there’s still a Tree of Life. There’s still a Garden.** And God still loves love. So He sets to work refining His Love Story by inserting two young kids into the narrative who are head over heels in love with each other. Forget that a scandal tries to tear them apart. No, not these two. As a foreshadowing of the Love to come, theirs was a delicate melange of justice and mercy.*** As their married life starts out, amid all the whispers and prejudice, they happily raise a Child who is the Last Adam, the Lover from whom will come His “Aha!” And, as the Second Man****, He is the progenitor of a new race, a heavenly race.

The whole of the Bible is the telling of this Sacred Romance. It starts out with God’s Man from whom will come a bride (guess who?). There’s a whole book dedicated to the art and act of marriage and its call for monogamy in a world of polygamy. Perhaps after a few readings of the Song of songs, the dutiful reader will discover its bigger picture, the ethereal Love of One who will not relent, and His Bride who will save herself for only Him.

Yeah, Scripture is chock-full of the good, mushy amore. There’s the tryst between Hosea and Gomer, as I alluded to earlier, which is a killer-good love story if there ever was one. Isaac getting his bride and Jacob working for his. David and Abigail. Ruth and Boaz? Are you kidding me? Harlequin only wishes for a storyline like that one. And there’s the not-so-subtle inclusion of Christ’s first miracle taking place during a wedding. There’s Paul, raising the bar on what is expected of a husband in the Roman world. Then, as the canon of Scripture closes, we find a Bride making herself ready for her Husband and making an entrance surely powerful enough to elicit an “Aha!” from her Bridegroom (Rev 21:9-ff), even though I somehow believe the Bride’s “Aha!” will reflect far more wonder.

Well, there you have it. Not exhaustive by any stretch, but adequate to swoon in the facets of such Love. Put yourself in the stories. You are Gomer. You are Abigail. Rachel. Rebekah. The Shulamite with brown skin and longing heart. They’re not just good stories. They were meant to tell THE story: God is love and His scepter is extended to you.

*Gen 2:23
**Rev 22:2
***Matt 1:19,24
****1 Cor 15:45,47

Half-Mast

Three days after the shooting on the Virginia Tech campus, Sandy and I passed through Blacksburg on I-81 en route to visit our son who is away at school in northeast Pennsylvania. The weather on last Thursday was indicative of the mood: overcast, chilly and heavy. Looking out the driver’s side window, I caught this in the viewfinder of my cell phone’s camera. The lone flag stands near the VT campus as a silent sentinel and is an ominous reminder of the horrific events that transpired there recently. Tragically, events that remind us all the world we live in is far different from the world viewed from the windshield of our Dad’s Oldsmobile.

How To Grill Des Grenouilles

Is it just me or am I hearing the loud silence of acceptance of the rising gas prices lately? I spotted the large sign up the road, blaring the news that gas had risen to two and three quarters’ bucks per gallon, unleaded. My, how things can change in a year. Twelve months ago when the prices had risen to nearly three dollars a gallon in my hometown, the consternation was palpable; people were calling their congressmen, the governor stepped in, and angry mobs with torches and pitchforks were marching on filling stations. But that was last year.

So, what’s that I hear today?

*crickets*

Guess those anger management classes have worked wonders. Or perhaps we’ve all gotten sheepish after all those empty threats of showing the gas companies by not driving. If memory serves, our lust for the road didn’t downshift one iota, so we ate our crow and found that silence is the better virtue. Or maybe we just got conditioned to the frenetic oil market and what was once a crisis is now commonplace, redolent of the proverbial frog in a kettle. Mmmmm, yeah, a nice warm bath after a hard day…hey, do you smell something? Smells like chicken…

The church too has been conditioned by the elements around her and rather than jumping out of the fryer, she has gotten comfy in the nice warm liquid bubbling all around her. She’s made agreements and concessions with the world, looked the other way and sold bits and pieces of herself to the lowest bidders. And with each rising degree she adapts. She thinks she can win the world so long as she stands one half-step away from it even though she sloshes around in the same putrid waters the world splashed in just a half-step earlier.

“Stockholm Syndrome” has invaded the church. She has become sympathetic and friendly to the same world system that has abducted her and would see her die. In various parts of the world today, where the heat is the strongest against the church, 150,000 are martyred yearly. This is overt persecution. What we have in America today is another type of persecution altogether. It has been called “warm” persecution (as in the temperature slowly being raised and the church’s being oblivious to it until it is too late) or “passive” persecution, which elicited this comment from a visiting Chinese pastor who was eyewitness to the seductively damning culture of America, “It would be very difficult to stand for Christ in the face of such persecution.”

While America burns, the church is up in her palaces playing the fiddle with her eyes closed, not once taking into account that those same fires will soon consume her as well. It is clear the church is making no impact on modern society here in the west. Instead I have this peculiar picture in my head that the collective society, from media to man on the street, stands over the pot like diabolical schoolkids giggling at the frog. Poke him, Ernie, see if he jumps…no, no, turn the knob…

Five years ago, George Barna wrote, “It is quite astounding that although Protestant and Catholic churches have raised - and spent – close to one trillion dollars on domestic ministry during the past two decades, there has been no measurable increase in one of the expressed purposes of the church: to lead people to Christ and have them commit their lives to Him.” In 2005 his reporting showed that despite higher levels of creativity, glitzier marketing, savvier productions, cheekier technos and slicker services, spirituality has not deepened and our cities still puke out the fumes of the dark kingdom that rules over them.

And here we are, doing the backstroke, not feeling the burn. Hey, I ask you, my reader, is there hope? Is there not a cause? Is this thing salvageable? What is the application of all this for YOU? (hint, hint, I’m asking for comments)

Always Mr. Wright?

I like John MacArthur. I really do. I can say without overstating the facts that the Lord used his teaching ministry in fair measure to get me back on the right path to God when I had gone astray a number of years ago. While I understand he’s taken a lot of heat of late from his own reformed camp with regard to his views on eschatology, that is not the reason for this post.

In a recent sermon, well, not so recent but one that I recently listened to, he colored N.T. Wright in a less than favorable light (a poet and don’t know it), saying that the famed bishop in the Church of England writes in such a way as to suggest that his explanations and apologetics for our faith are more accurate and convincing than the entire body of conservative Biblical writing up till now. Okay, that may be well and good. I know Wright should be on my list of reading, but I confess I am one of the (apparently) rare ministers who have never read from the good bishop. He may be a deceiver of the elect, I don’t know (somehow I don’t think so). I cannot answer to MacArthur’s quip.

And yet, at the close of his sermon, the Grace to You broadcast went immediately to commercial where Dr. MacArthur advertised a couple of solid resources for spiritual understanding and growth in the Christian Life. One was his very own study Bible. I have one and, I admit, got a lot out of it a few years ago when I used it for my personal time with God. I read every note, every chart, every line and gleaned much. Believe me, the man is a gifted teacher and student of scripture and I respect his place within the community of faith quite adoringly. So far the Pyromaniacs love me. Are you sensing a “but” here?

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, and now I am aware that if I meet some Pyros in a dark alley henceforth, I may get beaten to a pulp. But I’ll risk it. When the good Doctor spoke of his own study notes and New Testament commentaries, he used such glowing language you would think they were the lone resource for our edification and that he had it all figured out. Every doctrinal ‘t’ crossed and every hermeneutical ‘i’ dotted just so. One would also think he had come to the place, dare I say, of accumulating and disseminating all truth. Granted, his scholarship compared to mine is such that you probably should click off my site right about now, but I just think one should be careful so as to not give the impression that they are deserving of apostolic equivalence. Given his position on the charismata and the five-fold ministry gifts, I would think this would horrify him to no end.

And yet, when you think of it, my take-away from his own high praise advert is similar to his take-away from Wright’s writings: so is he the final and ultimate authority on all things scriptural? Has he plummeted the eternal depths of God’s revelatory word and because he has devoted his entire life’s ministry to discovering “all truth” that anyone who disagrees with him on any point is guilty of un-rightly dividing the Word of Truth?

Lest you think I am bashing this distinguished pastor, far from it. I am devouring one of his books now, have a library shelf full of his writings, will continue to read his stuff as well as listen in on him when the mood strikes. I just get jittery when I sense the man of God is putting himself out there for our consumption when it’s the Lord on whom we are to feast and His Spirit on whom we are to imbibe. Oooh, did that sound too charismatic?

Thank God for men like John MacArthur who cause us to want to hear from Heaven. But I’d still buy a commentary from a guy who said, “this is what I believe the Lord has shown me, but I also understand I do not have all truth. I can support all I say herein by scripture but readily admit there will always be a chance I may have misinterpreted something, but I remain ever teachable. Even if I hear something of God in a ‘N.T. Wright’.”

I could hang out with a guy like that. And knowing that I could set him straight when his ‘i’s’ don’t cross like mine is just the coolest thing ever!

Here, Kitty-Kitty

Apparently, this apocryphal ‘tail’ explains the origin of cats. It is also another in a long line of examples demonstrating that (confound it) they do, in fact, manage to always land upright. So, for all you feline lovers out there (would an interjected ‘why?’ work here?), this one’s for you:

It is reported that the following edition of the Book of Genesis was discovered in the Dead Sea Scrolls. If authentic, it would shed light on the question “where did pets come from?”

And Adam said, “Lord, when I was in the garden, you walked with me every day. Now I do not see you anymore. I am lonesome here and it is difficult to remember how much you love me.”

And God said, “No problem! I will create a companion for you that will be with you forever and who will be a reflection of my love for you, so that you will know I love you, even when you cannot see me. Regardless of how selfish and childish and unlovable you may be, this new companion will accept you as you are, and will love you as I do, in spite of yourself.”

And God created a new animal to be a companion for Adam. And it was a good animal. And God was pleased. And the new animal was pleased to be with Adam and he wagged his tail.

And Adam said, “But Lord, I have already named all the animals in the Kingdom and all the good names are taken and I cannot think of a name for this new animal.”

And God said, “No problem! Because I have created this new animal to be a reflection of my love for you, his name will be a reflection of my own name, and you will call him DOG.”

And Dog lived with Adam and was a companion to him and Eve and loved them. And Adam was comforted. And God was pleased. And Dog was content and wagged his tail.

After a while it came to pass that Adam’s guardian angel came to the Lord and said, “Lord, Adam has become filled with pride. He struts and preens like a peacock and believes he is worthy of adoration. Dog has indeed taught him that he is loved, but no-one has taught him humility.”

And the Lord said, “No problem! I will create for him a companion who will be with him forever and who will see him as he is. The companion will remind him of his limitations, so he will know he is not worthy of adoration.”

And God created Cat to be a companion for Adam. And Cat would not obey Adam. And when Adam gazed into Cat’s eyes, he was reminded that he was not the Supreme Being. And Adam learned humility. And God was pleased. And Adam was greatly improved.

And Cat did not care one way or the other.

Revising The Gospel

A great post and quote from JR Woodward over at Dream Awakener and worthy of a listen. May God convict and deliver us from a convoluted, adulterated, watered-down Gospel. Is this what so many have given their life-blood for?

For the life of me, I can’t see it.

The following thought was written in 1984: “Many evangelicals here [San Jose, Costa Rica] have commented on the implications of the fact that, when one of our best evangelists held a campaign a few years ago in Nicaragua, President Somaza gladly helped defray campaign expenses. Such a fact - hardly an isolated instance in Latin America - raises the suspicion that something has gone wrong with our comprehension of the gospel.

When John the Baptist preached the good news of the kingdom, the Roman government (quite superior to that of Somoza) imprisoned and beheaded him. When Jesus preached his good news to the poor, he was crucified. Peter and Paul were always getting carted off to prison.

But when we preach our revised, apolitical version, dictators and tyrants are eager to help us cover the costs! This anomaly has even the fundamentalists and dispensational theologians in Latin America starting to ask whether our “made in the U.S.A.” version of the gospel has not changed and emasculated the message in some way.

Everything we say may appear exceedingly good and biblical. But instead of ‘making low the mountains and elevating the valleys’ have we managed to bury the ’stone of stumbling’?”

- Thomas D. Hanks For God So Loved the Third World

I'm Saint Melit-Who?

Here’s another one of “those tests” for you…but, really, why bother?
Just, if you decide to take this short quiz, do not; I repeat, DO NOT, sit near anything red.

You’re St. Melito of Sardis!

You have a great love of history and liturgy. You’re attached to the traditions of the ancients, yet you recognize that the old world — great as it was — is passing away. You are loyal to the customs of your family, though you do not hesitate to call family members to account for their sins.

Find out which Church Father you are at The Way of the Fathers!

Things I...

Things I am wrestling with:

• giving away credit for things I want credit for
• leaving “putting difficult people in their place” to God and loving them with all my heart anyway
• laying my life down for the brethren

Things I am blessed by:

• People who seek me out just to spend time with me; it’s even better when it’s minus a task list, no agenda, just two guys sitting down over a great cup of Starbuck’s peppermint coffee (yes, peppermint), fomenting and sealing a lifelong camaraderie
• children who are never too old to get a hug from their “Pasture”
• The stirrings I am sensing signaling that the Bride is coming forth in the earth; she is making herself ready for her Bridegroom

Things I better get a handle on:

• Carpe diem, as there is so little time left to waste
• The Gospel of the Kingdom, which is the Gospel of the reign of Christ, and which distinguishes the professing Church from the “possessing” Church
• The Truth that “the church can’t rise until she dies.”

Things I want more than anything right now:

• For my wife, son and myself to “go out to Him, outside the camp” arm-in-arm, dying to know Him together
• For my life to be a prayer to my Lord, every breath, shut away in the closet of adoration
• To know Him intimately and to be His ‘marked man’

Seeing Red

Educators, you may not want to wear that red blouse on exam day if you want to give your students a fighting chance at passing. According to a recent study done by researchers at the University of Rochester, introducing the color red—even a “hint” or “flash” of it—prior to administering a test can negatively affect your students’ performance.

These researchers have bridged the color red with “avoidance motivation” which means the aesthetic value of the bold color may cause the brain to go into hibernation. Red is associated with danger, blood-letting, stop signs, not to mention that ugly red marker teachers are so fond of using. While red uniforms give a psychological edge in sports, sitting next to a person who is wearing red while taking a test may do anything but.

Here’s what I’m thinking: if you find yourself in a test situation drink some Red Bull beforehand because we all know what happens when a bull sees red.

You know, just in case.

Sunday's Comin'!

S.M. (Shadrach Meshach) Lockridge, known for his sermon, “That’s My King!” is also credited with another well-known inspirational message, “Sunday’s Comin’”. Thanks to Igniter Media Group, it can be heard along with wonderful visuals…

Take a listen (look) here, and read along:

It’s Friday
Jesus is praying
Peter’s a sleeping
Judas is betraying
But Sunday’s comin’
It’s Friday
Pilate’s struggling
The council is conspiring
The crowd is vilifying
They don’t even know
That Sunday’s comin’
It’s Friday
The disciples are running
Like sheep without a shepherd
Mary’s crying
Peter is denying
But they don’t know
That Sunday’s a comin’
It’s Friday
The Romans beat my Jesus
They robe Him in scarlet
They crown him with thorns
But they don’t know
That Sunday’s comin’
It’s Friday
See Jesus walking to Calvary
His blood dripping
His body stumbling
And His spirit’s burdened
But you see, it’s only Friday
Sunday’s comin’
It’s Friday
The world’s winning
People are sinning
And evil’s grinning
It’s Friday
The soldiers nail my Savior’s hands
To the cross
They nail my Savior’s feet
To the cross
And then they raise Him up
Next to criminals
It’s Friday
But let me tell you something
Sunday’s comin’
It’s Friday
The disciples are questioning
What has happened to their King
And the Pharisees are celebrating
That their scheming
Has been achieved
But they don’t know
It’s only Friday
Sunday’s comin’
It’s Friday
He’s hanging on the cross
Feeling forsaken by His Father
Left alone and dying
Can nobody save Him?
Ooooh
It’s Friday
But Sunday’s comin’
It’s Friday
The earth trembles
The sky grows dark
My King yields His spirit
It’s Friday
Hope is lost
Death has won
Sin has conquered
and Satan’s just a laughing
It’s Friday
Jesus is buried
A soldier stands guard
And a rock is rolled into place
But it’s Friday
It is only Friday
Sunday is a comin’!

99 Balloons

This comes from the files of the “you thought your trials were hard” department…

“Eliot was born with an undeveloped lung, a heart with a hole in it and DNA that placed faulty information into each and every cell of his body. However, that could not stop the living God from proclaiming Himself through this boy who never uttered a word.

In the midst of heartbreaking tragedy, the Mooney family found the presence of God strengthening, comforting, and guiding them. Their story reminds us to seek God and endure our struggles rather than blame Him for our hardships.”

(from the Igniter Media Group website)

For the 6-minute video, click here—and be in awe of God’s sustaining grace through this couple’s bittersweet journey of hardship.

Yireh

Despite his old age, the muscles of his arms were like steel cables as he held the knife aloft, so great was his determination. His brow was slick from the sweat of such travail. In that seminal moment just before plunging the knife downward, he closed his eyes so as to gather the inner resolve to carry out his assignment. It made no sense but still he knew he must go through with it. It was the will of Yahweh.

He heard a slight whimper from the lad and instinctively opened his eyes. Standing stock-still in the same aggressive pose over Yitzchak, he gazed upon his son with a gathering sorrow unlike anything he had ever known. His mouth slackened, his lips quivered and those aged eyes suddenly pooled with tears, making viscous trails down his weather-worn cheeks. His lungs filled with the pain of fire and he dared not breathe. Yahweh stood nearby and to deny Him this sacrifice was unthinkable. But the lad, my son! My beloved son! It was harrowing to see the abject fright in the boy’s eyes and yet submit with an irrepressible trust in his father. Had there ever been a time in all of human history when so much was asked of a parent?

Even so, friendship with Elohim meant everything to him and he had faith that a merciful God would resurrect his son. Yitzchak was blessed Seed, the guarantee of nations, the Promise of Messiah. He was the lone seed that must fall into the ground and die but from which would yield the providential harvest. The conflicted patriarch closed his eyes in reverence as a sudden warming peace took hold. All is well, Avraham. You and the lad will be joined again but for now you must give him to Me. Can you not trust Me?

He was suddenly aware of the knife again. Held against the slate gray of the overhead sky, it had seemed almost imperceptible but now it took on a more pronounced hue. Avraham sighed deeply and looked upon his only begotten with an odd mixture of pity and relief, sadness and release. His grip tightened. Yitzchak braced. Yahweh waited. The old man’s arms stretched to their full extension.

“My father! My father! Why have you forsaken me?” Yitzchak’s shrill voice pierced Avraham’s very soul.

Though his own tortured heart was breaking asunder, the fury of obedience held its own. The knife reversed at its topmost point and such velocity for an old man was a sight to behold. The blade hurtled through space, tracking its course without deviation, determined to strike at the heart of Avraham’s dreams. And it was Avraham who himself would strike the blow, so great was his love for Yahweh.

“Avraham!”

The aim was true. Resolve deepened.

“Avraham!”

An unseen Hand stretched and caught Abraham’s arm. The gnarled hands unclasped and the wrists relaxed. The knife curved back, away from the lad, and bore deeply into a stick of wood, mercifully guided away from his only son. When Abraham turned toward the Voice, he heard another voice, the grunting of a male sheep, caught in a nearby thicket, and knew at once this was the Sacrifice. I AM Yireh, he was told. You leave it to Me. I will see to it.

As someone has quipped, “God spared Abraham’s heart a pang He would not spare His own.”

The overarching Truth is, no Divine provision can be gained with hands already full. When the child became the “delight and idol of his heart” (Tozer), God went into action. He set out to test Abraham’s affection. He wanted to make dead sure His servant loved Him above all else. And he passed.

“The old man,” A.W. Tozer wrote, “stood there on the mount strong and pure and grand, a man marked out by the Lord for special treatment, a friend and favorite of the Most High. Now he was a man wholly surrendered, a man utterly obedient, a man who possessed nothing. He had concentrated his all in the person of his dear son, and God had taken it from him. God could have begun out on the margin of Abraham’s life and worked inward to the center; He chose rather to cut quickly to the heart and have it over in one sharp act of separation. In dealing thus He practiced an economy of means and time. It hurt cruelly, but it was effective.”

The combination-name of Yahweh-Yireh (Jehovah-Jireh) in Genesis 22:14 is the same Hebrew that is used in the Shepherd Psalm where David says, “The Lord is my Caring Shepherd (and He will see to it that) I have everything I need” (Psalm 23). Hagar also used the word when she called God, “the One who sees me.” The name Yireh means much more than Provider. It means “HE WHO SEES”. Yahweh is able to see how we cry to Him, how we turn to Him, how we depend upon Him and how we will treat His Sacrifice. Genesis 22 is the Gospel of God. In this short narrative we have passion, sacrifice, death, resurrection, substitution, efficacy, appeasement, election and justification. There is Lordship and reign.

It is true for us that God is able to see what we will do with His Sacrifice, so He will make provision for us. He sees to it that we will be included in His great plan and covenant of mercy. The catch is that we will never truly know Him as our ‘Yireh’ until we come into the “blessedness of possessing nothing.” (Tozer) We must come to Him with empty hands. We must come to Him with a heart-throne reserved only for Him. We enter through a narrow gate, meaning we must dis-possess ourselves of everything just to get through. If we give Him our Isaacs, we may be able to keep our Isaacs, but they will no longer be ours to possess. If we give Him our Isaacs, we will surely get His Son.

Abraham’s—and Isaac’s— salvation was in a ram caught in the thicket. Our salvation is in a Lamb nailed to a Cross.

And The Award Goes To...'Mrs. Butterworth'

I’ve laid low for the week, for the most part, as this has been Spring Break around town. Sandy, however, has had quite a week for herself where she works. For my many readers who are not so intimately acquainted with our lives, my beloved dons many caps: wife to yours truly, the pastor’s wife to our church family, mother to our one son, called friend by many, manages to fit ‘caregiver’ for her disabled husband in her life, and is also a 14-year employee at UPS where she works five nights a week at an Atlanta hub.

This week she learned she was Employee of the Month for her Atlanta hub! This is actually her second such award in her years there and I am so blessed in that my wife has let Christ’s Light shine through her in such a tough workplace. Some of her workmates call her “First Lady” which is the African-Americans designation for ‘pastor’s wife’. Mostly, she’s called “Miss Sandy”. Not long ago, her workmates asked her to join them for an after-shift breakfast at IHOP and were amazed by how zany and goofy she could be. “Miss Sandy, we had no idea how funny you were!”

She also has another nickname. And on a night she learned of her dubious distinction as Employee of the Month, and also got a check for backpay (she wasn’t aware of), she also got one of the highest honors for being “one of the gang.” You see, Sandy goes from her regular job as sorter to another job for overtime pay (to help on our son’s boarding school bill). At this other job, she wraps up T-Mobile phones to be sent back to the company for repairs and such. Hundreds and hundreds of phones. The men who work in the area enjoy the art of bequeathing nicknames but you really have to prove yourself to them to earn one.

They have dubbed the manager who works their area, Casper. Obviously he is caucasian, but he is also, evidently, a ‘friendly ghost.’ Up until the other night, they called Sandy the “T-Mobile Lady” but assured her they would be thinking of one that really fits. On Wednesday night, they came to her and said, “We’ve got it.” After much thought and effort, they conveyed to her the honorable nomenclature “Mrs. Butterworth.”

Mrs. Butterworth?!?

“Yes,” they told her, “it’s because you are a woman of respect and deserving of respect. And you are also very sweet to all us old guys…” After the explanation, she has settled into it and wears it well.

That’s my baby. My Mrs. Butterworth.

Do It Again!

The following is a famous quote from G.K.Chesterton, Christian philosopher and apologist. It succinctly captures the creative and redemptive ways of God—Our Heavenly Father whose heart is stamped with the eternal playfulness and reckless abandon of a child!

A child kicks its legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.

But perhaps God is strong enough… It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again,” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again,” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike: it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.

Imagine also, the profound glee of the Father as He mirthfully wills the Holy Spirit to draw another seeking soul to Life in His Son: “Do it again!”

And again.

And again.

Our Lord just loves the miracle of resurrection…

For the choir director. A Psalm of David.
I waited patiently for the LORD; And He inclined to me and heard my cry.
He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay, And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm.
He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God; Many will see and fear And will trust in the LORD.
How blessed is the man who has made the LORD his trust, And has not turned to the proud, nor to those who lapse into falsehood.
Many, O LORD my God, are the wonders which You have done, (Do it again!) And Your thoughts toward us; There is none to compare with You. If I would declare and speak of them, They would be too numerous to count.
Psalm 40:1-5

Extravagant Love

Can you see your face in this picture? Can you feel the Lord’s hand of forgiveness and assurance on your head? Oh, Hosanna! Jesus the Christ be praised! He alone can forgive and set the captives free!

One of the Pharisees asked him over for a meal. He went to the Pharisee’s house and sat down at the dinner table.
Just then a woman of the village, the town harlot, having learned that Jesus was a guest in the home of the Pharisee, came with a bottle of very expensive perfume
and stood at his feet, weeping, raining tears on his feet. Letting down her hair, she dried his feet, kissed them, and anointed them with the perfume.
When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man was the prophet I thought he was, he would have known what kind of woman this is who is falling all over him.”
Jesus said to him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.” “Oh? Tell me.”
“Two men were in debt to a banker. One owed five hundred silver pieces, the other fifty.
Neither of them could pay up, and so the banker canceled both debts. Which of the two would be more grateful?”
Simon answered, “I suppose the one who was forgiven the most.” “That’s right,” said Jesus.
Then turning to the woman, but speaking to Simon, he said, “Do you see this woman? I came to your home; you provided no water for my feet, but she rained tears on my feet and dried them with her hair.
You gave me no greeting, but from the time I arrived she hasn’t quit kissing my feet.
You provided nothing for freshening up, but she has soothed my feet with perfume.
Impressive, isn’t it? She was forgiven many, many sins, and so she is very, very grateful. If the forgiveness is minimal, the gratitude is minimal.”
Then he spoke to her: “I forgive your sins.”
That set the dinner guests talking behind his back: “Who does he think he is, forgiving sins!”
He ignored them and said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”
(Luke 7:36-50, The Message)

My Time In The Majors

Braves at Fulton County Stadium

Baseball season is underway. Anyone else feel like it just ended last week? I’m sure the Yankees will have their place, as will the Mets or Cards, so (yawn) wake me when it’s over.

However, in the interest of America’s Pasttime’s grandiose return, I thought I’d tell you about my brief stint in major league baseball. It’s not what you’re thinking, but stay with me anyway. As some of you, my loyal readers, know, I suffered an accident in 1981 that rendered me paralyzed and caused me to tool around in a wheelchair for the last twenty-five years. The testimony of that incident is so amazing I’ve been asked to share it literally thousands of times. In conversation, before corporate staffs, at youth retreats, in churches, civic events, stadiums, television, you name it.

One of my fondest memories was to share my “story” for a weekly chapel service at Walk Thru the Bible Ministries, back when my sister was on staff there. In matter of fact, it was she who got me the gig. So there I sat, telling my account before Bruce Wilkinson (”The Prayer of Jabez”) and those wonderful employees and staff, when afterward, my sister’s boss asked to speak with me in his office. I had no clue what was up, but after some minutes of milling around and being introduced to my sis’s workmates, I headed over to Walt’s office.

“I thought your testimony was quite moving,” he said. “How would you like to share it with the Braves and the Dodgers this Sunday?”

Turned out Walt was the chaplain of the Braves and he often scheduled others to speak in chapel services before each Sunday’s home game for both the Braves and the visiting teams. The world champion Dodgers were coming to town and he had been looking for a speaker. I told him “of course” and he gave me the instructions of where to park (the player’s lot!) and where to meet him (in the tunnel of old Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium), where he would take me to the clubhouses of both teams. I felt like I floating in a dream.

In 1982 the Braves were in first place, having set a club record of 13 straight wins to open the season. They had been coasting all summer and the series with the defending champs was causing a buzz in Atlanta. Each game was a sellout. And here was little ol’ me going before the two most publicized teams in baseball in late July. Could the lowly Braves supplant the perennial powerhouse LA squad? This was the Braves of Horner, Murph, Garber, Chambliss, Pascual, Hubbard and Watson. But over in the other clubhouse sat the menace of Baker, Garvey, Sax, Valenzuela, Yeager, Cey and Guerrero.

Walt met me in the tunnel and led me to a door bearing the name “Visitors Clubhouse”. There was a high concrete step, easily negotiable with my Dad’s help, so after a wheelie and lift, we were in. Suddenly I saw guys I only knew from TV, standing in front of lockers lined with the famous Dodger blue. Their famous manager sat at a table over to my left yukking it up with other coaches, swearing profusely. When he saw Walt, whom he knew, he simply nodded then raised the decibels of his swearing. We were directed by an attendant to an area off the dressing room where the chapel service would take place. It was strictly voluntary but Walt told me usually there would be about 10-15 who could be expected to attend. Following the attendant, “the Penguin” passed right in front of me and off to the right stood Valenzuela, he of the upward gaze, laughing and chattering in his dialect with a fellow Hispanic.

Entering the training room, I was taken by the sight of Steve Garvey, almost in the buff, getting rubbed down. He and Walt greeted each other and we passed, my head still swimming in the fantasy of where I found myself, and how so incredibly normal it felt. These guys were not the darlings of television as they roamed the clubhouse in jock straps and towels. They were average workers getting ready for their shift. Everyone was friendly, asking me how I was doing, glad to have me there, see me in chapel, etc.

Walt was just about right. A dozen or so showed up including Dusty, Garvey, Sax, Landreaux, Scioscia and a handful of others. I only had about ten minutes to share but each listened politely and greeted me warmly when it was over.

Over in the Braves clubhouse, larger, plusher and less crowded, we spent some time with the Braves spiritual leader and second-baseman Glenn Hubbard. I was intrigued by his old school glove and he let me try it on, the very glove he would be snagging line shots with just moments away. First year player Brett Butler hung out with us and the conversation was very centered on the Lord and again, I began to see them less as media darlings and more as men I could sit in a church pew with. The Braves photographer got a few snapshots of players and me and then I heard him say, “Joe, will you come get in the picture?” I looked around and drew a breath as walking toward me was the legendary player and coach, the toast of Atlanta, manager Joe Torre. He was quite kind and gracious as he placed his hand on my shoulder, posed for a shot and even chatted a few minutes.

Probably twenty or so gathered for the service, coaches and players, and it was hard not to feel a sense of awe in the crowded weight room. Hall of Famers and all-stars sat all around me, still as stone, listening intently as I shared something totally unrelated to their trade. But for those moments, the Lord was having His say in their lives. Little did I know then that this would be the first in a string of ten years I would go down to the old ball park and participate in major league baseball. The meeting broke up, I got to tell Chris Chambliss that my mom thought he was the “cutest guy on the team,” and he blushed and flashed a gleaming smile. In twenty minutes, he would be hitting a grand slam in the bottom of the first.

I wish I could say my little pep talk worked. The truth is, the Braves were in decline, even though they would hold on and win the west, but lose to the Cards in the playoffs. The weekend I showed up they would go on a 2-19 slide and almost wipe away the record start of thirteen straight wins. They would blame hitting, fielding, pitching, summer heat, even Chief Noc-A-Homa. But as I reflect, it may have been me.

The moral of this story is, if you need a motivational speaker, you may want to go for Lasorda. I caught him on TV a week later at the Crystal Cathedral. The cussing manager sure gave a fine speech.