Do You Make The Cut?

The following short quiz consists of 4 questions and will tell you whether you are qualified to be a professional manager. Let’s see how you do:

1. How do you put a giraffe into a refrigerator?

The correct answer is: Open the refrigerator, put in the giraffe, and close the door. This question tests whether you tend to do simple things in an overly complicated way.

2. How do you put an elephant into a refrigerator?

Did you say, Open the refrigerator, put in the elephant, and close the refrigerator?

Wrong Answer.

Correct Answer: Open the refrigerator, take out the giraffe, put in the elephant and close the door. This tests your ability to think through the repercussions of your previous actions.

3. The Lion King is hosting an animal conference. All the animals attend… except one. Which animal does not attend?

Correct Answer: The Elephant. The elephant is in the refrigerator. You just put him in there. This tests your memory. Okay, even if you did not answer the first three questions correctly, you still have one more chance to show your true abilities.

4. There is a river you must cross but it is used by crocodiles, and you do not have a boat. How do you manage it?

Correct Answer: You jump into the river and swim across. Have you not been paying attention? All the crocodiles are attending the Animal Meeting. This tests whether you learn quickly from your mistakes.

Letting Go

I still have over 500 deleted emails in my storage bin. Not junk emails either. I’m talking tender remembrances from flesh and blood people; personages I know. I ask you: does that make me a pack rat?

Sure they’re clogging the system, but to hit that ‘dump’ button seems so, well, final.

Here goes.

*CLICK*

(”Your bin is empty”)

Ah, the airy spaciousness of…freedom.

(pat self all over) Still here.

(peer outside bedroom window) Nope, the world didn’t blow up.

Thank the Lord, we all survived.

Oh, shoot a monkey! Why oh why didn’t I remember to save that one?

(don’t laugh; it might be yours.)

Say, what’s clogging up your system?

"Who Is This?"

John Frye has a thoughtworthy post at his site, “Jesus, The Radical Pastor.”

I was blown away by it.

Play It Loud

If you took a listen to my IPOD today, you’d find an eclectic mix of Christian music with artists like SCC, Michael W. Smith, Derek Webb, Avalon, Jaci Velasquez, Jeremy Camp, Brooklyn Tab, Lincoln Brewster, Mark Schultz, Matthew West, Chris Tomlin, MercyMe, Michael Card, Steve Camp, NewSong, Passion, Petra, Steve Green (only time you’ll see the last two in the same sentence!), “Voice” (thank you, John Piper) and Wayne Watson. There’s even a smattering of Josh Groban (one song) and Mandy Moore (one song). I suppose the most heady music I have is some downloaded songs off U2’s “How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb.”

Yeah, that kinda baffles me, too.

I have to say, however, that I can really worship to some of the stuff on this album, especially “Yaweh.” Just peruse these lyrics and tell me there’s not solid Truth in them. Yeah, Bono and The Edge are ‘out there’ and their lyrics can be artsy, methaphorical and layered with meaning, but I believe I have picked up on a not-as-subtle surrender ballad here. Think of it as a “Take My Life And Let It Be” for the postmodern generation.

Take these shoes
Click-clacking down some dead end street
Take these shoes and make them fit.

Take this shirt
Polyester white-trash, made in nowhere
Take this shirt and make it clean.

Take this soul
Stranded in some skin and bones
Take this soul and make it sing.

Yaweh, Yaweh
Always pain before a child is born
Yaweh, Yaweh, still I’m waiting for the dawn.

Take these hands
Teach them what to carry
Take these hands, don’t make a fist.

Take this mouth
So quick to criticize
Take this mouth, give it a kiss.

Yaweh, Yaweh
Always pain before a child is born
Yaweh, Yaweh, still I’m waiting for the dawn.

Still waiting for the dawn…sun is coming up
Sun is coming up on the ocean
This Love is like a drop in the ocean
This Love is like a drop in the ocean.

Yaweh, Yaweh
Always pain before a child is born
Yaweh, Yaweh, tell me now
Why the dark before the dawn?

Take this city
A city should be shining on a hill
Take this city if it be Your will.

What no man can own, no man can take
Take this heart
Take this heart
Take this heart
And make it break

I know it’s a style, a method of communicating, but I like it a whole lot better when I don’t have to read between the lyrics to find out where someone’s faith lies. Gleaming cities on hills are pretty evident to everyone, not at all vague or opaque. They’re loud, too. Lives lived in the key of heaven tend to be noticed and the residents of such a city like to rock the house and wake the neighbors.

A city should be shining on a hill, indeed.

I'm Older Than I Think.

I just found out that I should’ve been born seven years earlier—or that I act seven years older. Either way.

You Belong in 1953

You’re fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in!

What Year Do You Belong In?

Holmes and Watson Go A-Camping

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson went on a camping trip. After a good meal and a bottle of wine, they lay down for the night and went to sleep. Some hours later, Holmes awoke and nudged his faithful friend. “Watson, look up and tell me what you see.”

Watson replied, “I see millions and millions of stars.”

“And what does that tell you?” Holmes asked.

Watson pondered for a minute. “Astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo. Hierologically, I deduce that the time is about a quarter past 3. Theologically, I can see that God is all-powerful and that we are small and insignificant. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Why, what does it tell you?”

Holmes was silent for a minute, then spoke: “Someone has stolen our tent.”

Lighter Fare For Saturday

Going to see Captain Jack this weekend?

Arrrrrr! Better read about it here first. Savvy?

And from a consistently better trilogy…

I AM FRODO!

You are most like Frodo. You’re very friendly, and you have a great personality. Although you like to have fun, you can also be pretty serious at times. It’s pretty hard to get you mad, but once you’re mad…everybody better look out! Keep that temper under control and realize that you’re better off than you may think.

What LoTR Character Are You?

Brothers, Something's Wrong

Theologically speaking, I am closer to Wesley than I am to Luther or Calvin, the same way ‘3′ is closer to ‘1′ than, say, ‘10′ is. I’m sure this will surprise or even disappoint some of my fellow theologues out there but there it is. Once upon a time I was a strict dispensationalist. A cessationist. A fundamentalist (note the emphasis is on the last syllable). I still adhere to the fundamentals which include the virgin birth, the vicarious death of Christ, His victorious resurrection and visible return to earth and the veracity of the holy scriptures . If you notice from that list I have conveniently alliterated it, showing my homiletic roots from which I can never stray very far. Tragically, there are more than three points, however, and no poem.

Well, you can’t please everybody.

Some time ago, the Lord had me all in knots over Paul’s first missive to Timothy when he wrote under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit the startling prediction that “in the last days MANY will depart from THE faith…” This taxed me to no end especially when I laid it alongside Christ’s sobering conclusion to His famous Sermon (“MANY will say to Me on that day…”), my neatly packed world began to writhe and sway. This tumultuous “sword drill” further rocked my world when God added more beef to the stew through this interchange between Jesus and a seeker:

“Lord, are there just a few who are being saved?”
“Strive to enter through the narrow door,” He replied, “for MANY, I tell you, will seek to enter and will not be able…”

I see little ’striving’ these days. I garner that such a message has been deemed non sequitur by moderns and we evangelicals have retooled it so we can help God turn the “few” into “many.” Sorry, Lord, but we think we can get You bigger numbers with some favorable repackaging. Whaddaya say we tone down the Gospel a smidge, hide some of its dicier demands, and make it easier to get in? Hey, I know, let’s get people to pray a quick prayer, shake their hand and tell ‘em they’re saved? Forget the aisle or public confession, just have ‘em pray it silently in their seats with no one looking around! Wouldn’t want ‘em to feel self-conscious…even if they don’t connect with a faith family, no matter. They’re in. It’s all done.

If Barna’s right, then there’s not a whole lot more to do in America because 8 or 9 out of ten polled people consider themselves heaven-bound. Hooray! Our way has worked!

Oh, sorry, Jesus…uh, You’re still Lord and everything…

When it comes to evangelism, the church in our era is more like the proverbial hare, like a rocket out of the gate and hurry-scurry across the countryside, and Jesus’ style is more like the tortoise, plodding, purposeful and particular. And terribly effective.

When I was a teenager in the 70s, our youth group at church would go door-to-door witnessing on Thursday nights in area neighborhoods. I, however, would board a church van with three or four other guys and we would be taken into the seedier side of town, amid drug deals and shootings, to share the gospel on street corners. We were the ‘preacher boys.’ Our goal was to get as many saved as we could, so our presentation went something like this:

“How many of you want to go to heaven when you die?”

There was always a group of ten, fifteen, or thirty curious listeners, mainly children, and mostly puzzled by upper middle class white guys converging on their turf. When the question was raised, so were the hands. Even some adults lifted an arm to the air. Immediately, we knew we had them.

“If I could tell you that you could have a mansion one day, walk on streets of pure gold and live forever, would you be interested?”

They were hooked. Mostly by the mansion thing, but hooked, nonetheless. By now, some more children were filtering our way and they, too, were betaken by visions of fairies, angels and huge marble palaces. And gum. Not hard to see, really, when the streets we proclaimed this gospel from were not golden and lined by rows and rows of shanties. Well, anyway, I would hurry through the death, burial and resurrection part of the gospel because you couldn’t stay on these matters too long or you’d lose them. They were in it for bigger game. How do I get a mansion, mister? So, I would wrap up the “sermon” part and reel them in.

“So, if you want to live forever and have your very own mansion, repeat this prayer after me…”

Many did. We’d count the noses then report back to the van our great success. Never did know what became of those noses, however. The difference between our method and the first century understanding of the gospel was that we’d count noses and jump for joy! Those early disciples would make disciples and change the world.

Though the above scenario is absolutely true, I realize that I’ve caricatured to an extent and culled something from a different time, but over all I see very little in the western church that reflects the last sentence of my previous paragraph. Going back to those earlier texts, I am greatly burdened by a man-centered gospel that is powerless to save and weak against the kingdom of darkness. I fear for a people who are basing their salvation on “greasy” grace (slide in on a wing and a prayer), a little prayer and handshake, a raised hand during an invitation long, long ago, a gospel about heaven and not Him and who are unwitting targets for the great falling away.

Brothers, something’s wrong. And we’d better address it.

One-Sided Dialogue

Ever been in a conversation that could’ve gone on without your presence?

I get the feeling that is what the Sovereign Lord bemoans when He enters into dialogue with His church. He’s wanting the church to ‘zig’ with Him but all she seems capable of doing is a nice little ‘zag’ maneuver and then audaciously pats herself on the back thinking the Lord Christ is wowed by her dexterity and suaveness (yes, it’s a word). The things that are on His heart have not seemed to be captured in the weekly homilies coming from our pulpits. We’re on a whole ‘nother plane altogether (as in: get your seat cushions ready, we're in a nosedive) and though God is wanting to talk about His Kingdom, we want to checkmate Him with ours.

So there I was on a recent Saturday night, while all other pastors are on their faces begging God for a sermon or on the internet getting a “ready-made” one, I was taking a different tack altogether. Because I had the Sunday “off” I thought I might see what the religious channels might be serving up (warning, heavy satire ahead). First up was a pastor from the midwest and he was talking about “seed” and “prosperity.” I actually heard him say this:

“Wouldn’t it be great if all we had in our church were millionaires and billionaires?”

Okayyyyy…that’s quite a dream you got there, sir.

And then:

“I’ve always taught that God wants you to be wealthy, but now I’ve changed that. God needs you to be wealthy.”

So, God has fallen on hard times? Hey buddy, can you spare a dime? Guess that’s to be expected after millennia of blessings pouring out of the windows of heaven. I mean, how rich could He be? Really, now, let’s be serious…

“It’s been true that the wealth of the nations is laid up for the righteous,” he continued, ramping up his argument because, obviously, papa needed a new set of golf clubs, “but that is changing. The wealth of the nations is now in the hands of the righteous!”

Really, now? Tell that to the little old lady who has given fifty percent of her fixed income to the Lord for years and keeps the carpet in her prayer closet warm with her arthritic knees for missionaries around the world. I found it interesting that as the camera panned over the crowd, many of the faces it found were puckered and tired as if this dead horse had been beat on one too many times. Time to go…

I fumbled for the the clicker nearby and quickly terminated the hound out of that charlatan and switched to another well-known religious station. Warmly greeting me there was a man with a Clark Gable mustache and an Armani suit (are those expensive?) sitting in a makeshift study which was outfitted in late-20th century ‘tasteful gaudiness.’ His massive complex is in another midwestern state (what is it with the ‘American Gothics’?) and with gleaming white teeth, perfectly straight and balanced, introduced his topic as we went into the sanctuary as: “Seeding For The Billion Flow.” Mm-hmm.

Click.

Thank God the next station offered more meaty fare: Adrian Rodgers. But the kicker here is, he’s no longer with us! Not wanting to sound irreverant here, but is the only real message the Lord co-mingling with to His church coming from a dead guy? C’mon the church pews are filled with lost, unregenerate people dazed by a deception, a false security, that is leading them on a path straight to hell! And all we can think of to say is that Jesus really was rich because the Greek word for carpenter can also mean He was a lumber tycoon? Is that really relevant to a generation who needs the Gospel in its purest form?

What do you think the church should be talking about?

Manna and Mammon

bou-lim-i-a [boo-lim-ee-uh, -lee-mee-uh, buh-] a serious eating disorder, characterized by compulsive overeating usually followed by self-induced vomiting or laxative or diuretic abuse, and is often accompanied by guilt and depression

Fallen, fallen, fallen
Is Babylon
Fallen, fallen, fallen
Is the City of Doom
The queen of every dark desire
Fallen by famine, plague and fire
Fallen is Babylon
Fallen is the City of Doom!

–Michael Card, The City of Doom

We christians are something. We binge and purge our way through the world like a bunch of spiritual boulimics, pining for and dining on Egypt. Trouble is, Spirit doesn’t mix with Egypt and sonship and onions make a lethal cocktail. Mixing leeks and manna sours the stomach and fouls the breath, yet we say it is the way to stay relevant; so we pull up our chairs at the pub, get tipsy on Nile water, not as drunk as the pagan in the next stool mind you, but tipsy enough to coherently give ‘em the Romans Road in a bar ditty.

How ironic that we fight for things like blended worship to make everyone happy when there is a much more pathological issue of blended worship going on among those who name the name of Christ: Jesus said it was like trying to serve both “God and mammon” (you say mammon is money but it is really anything that steals our devotion from the Lord and thus opposes Christ). Light and dark. Egypt and the Promised Land. The broad road and the narrow road. Babylon and Zion. Manna and mammon.

Sadly, too many of us swallow Egyptian food then regurgitate it because, while we may like its taste, we don’t want the curse that goes along with it. Quoting from a friend, we’re “buying real estate on the Nile River” instead of packing our bags for the wilderness. We choke down leeks and onions along with our Passover Lamb even though the Death Angel is just down the street.

Let me tell you where all this ranting is coming from. It is on me. Me, I tell you! Although I am a saved man I confess I still dabble in Babylon. The other morning when I should have given the earliest hours to the Lord, it was more important to me to see to some other tasks and the Lord called me on it. And while we’re on the subject, Scott, he added, what’s the deal with you watching that stuff on TV last night? Do you enjoy sitting through a movie that curses My name?

I immediately fell into repentance and confessed to My Master that I can be such an ‘Egyptophile’. I said, Lord, the man You saved does not want or need the bells and whistles, comforts and conveniences, luxuries and bounty of this world. The man You saved wants YOU! He wants YOU at the loss of all other things this world has to offer. Babylon is fallen! Fallen! Why in heaven’s name would I want a world that has a life span?

My prayer to the Lord that morning continued (I often write my prayers to the Lord),

The man you saved is a violent warrior. He is looking ever and only to the Commander and seeks to please Him. He is faithful to Sandy, never looking at another. He is a Lover and a Leader. The man You saved is a friend to all and will freely give his shirt and coat to one in need—even though he has his own needs. The man You saved lives the Sermon on the Mount lifestyle. He isn’t entrusting his soul to a prayer he prayed or an aisle he walked but to the Person of Christ. He is a “Lord’s Prayer Man” not a “Sinner’s Prayer Man.” Thy Kingdom come, Lord, and let it come in me!

I know this man is alive, Lord, and every once in awhile I can actually see him. So why do I still feast at ‘Pharaoh’s Diner’? Why do I do it only to look in the mirror later and disgust myself? If this man, this saved man, can muscle up to the head of the line and punch the lights out of this other entity who passes himself off for me, I know he will never choose Egypt and its crap (’scuse the language, used only for effect) because he knows, (a) it is never palatable, and (b) it is passing. This saved man will never forage for a half-eaten Wendy’s burger covered in maggots in some dumpster but will sell all he has for the Manna from heaven.

That’s what got me on this soap box today. I sincerely hope I didn’t needlessly offend you but every once in a blue moon I need a swift kick in the derriere to jolt me back into kingdom reality when I catch myself eyeing the green of Egypt. And I suspect you do too. So, c’mon, brothers and sisters, let’s stop the retching. The bags are all packed, the wilderness is calling, and the Lord is wooing us to our inheritance. Giants will fall. Kingdoms will perish. And we will not look back, by the grace of God, but forge ahead. What’s to miss, after all?

Someone please pass the manna…

Picture To Make Your Day...

…and, quite possibly, save your marriage.

They call this the ‘Marriage-Saver.’ Use it. You’ll thank me later.

Sidenote: Fortunately, this is NEVER a problem in my home…23 years and counting, guys…

Writing Faux Pas

We’ve all been tripped up by these Ten Grammar Mistakes That Make You Look Stupid so I thought we’d clear up any insufferable quandaries that might plague you (or is it ‘may’?).

Also, in the comments section below, feel free to add any other grammatical ‘pet peeve’ that should herein be included. Oh, and while you’re at it, why not fess up to the one(s) that getcha all the time. Spelling-wise, I oftentimes get stumped by ’sheriff’ or ‘terrific’. Do you blanch and sweat bullets at the ‘i’ before ‘e’ thing? Except after ‘c’?

1. ‘Loose’ for ‘lose’

No: I always loose the product key.

Yes: I always lose the product key.

2. ‘It’s’ for ‘its’

No: Download the HTA, along with it’s readme file.

Yes: Download the HTA, along with its readme file.

No: The laptop is overheating and its making that funny noise again.

Yes: The laptop is overheating and it’s making that funny noise again.

3. ‘They’re’ for ‘their’ (or ‘there’)

No: The managers are in they’re weekly planning meeting.

Yes: The managers are in their weekly planning meeting.

No: The techs have to check there cell phones at the door, and their not happy about it.

Yes: The techs have to check their cell phones at the door, and they’re not happy about it.

4. ‘i.e.’ for ‘e.g.’

No: Use an anti-spyware program (i.e., AdAware).

Yes: Use an anti-spyware program (e.g., AdAware).

Note: The term i.e. means “that is”; e.g. means “for example.” And a comma follows both of them.

5. ‘Effect’ for ‘affect’

No: The outage shouldn’t effect any users during work hours.

Yes: The outage shouldn’t affect any users during work hours.

Yes: The outage shouldn’t have any effect on users.

Yes: We will effect several changes during the downtime.

Note: Impact is not a verb. Purists, at least, beg you to use affect instead:

No: The outage shouldn’t impact any users during work hours.

Yes: The outage shouldn’t affect any users during work hours.

Yes: The outage should have no impact on users during work hours.

6. ‘You’re’ for ‘your’

No: Remember to defrag you’re machine on a regular basis.

Yes: Remember to defrag your machine on a regular basis.

No: Your right about the changes.

Yes: You’re right about the changes.

7. ‘Different than’ for ‘different from’

No: This setup is different than the one at the main office.

Yes: This setup is different from the one at the main office.

Yes: This setup is better than the one at the main office.

8. ‘Lay’ for ‘lie’

No: I got dizzy and had to lay down.

Yes: I got dizzy and had to lie down.

Yes: Just lay those books over there.

9. ‘Then’ for ‘than’

No: The accounting department had more problems then we did.

Yes: The accounting department had more problems than we did.

Note: Here’s a sub-peeve. When a sentence construction begins with If, you don’t need a then. Then is implicit, so it’s superfluous and wordy:

No: If you can’t get Windows to boot, then you’ll need to call Ted.

Yes: If you can’t get Windows to boot, you’ll need to call Ted.

10. ‘Could of’, ‘would of’ for ‘could have’, ‘would have’

No: I could of installed that app by mistake.

Yes: I could have installed that app by mistake.

No: I would of sent you a meeting notice, but you were out of town.

Yes: I would have sent you a meeting notice, but you were out of town.

White Carnation

Today I keep a white carnation in my heart for the woman who gave me life, cleaned up my messes, cried for my soul, sacrificed herself for her children always, was always home when I got off the school bus, hugged and kissed and slobbered all over me, dressed me for church, kept long night vigils for me when my life hung in the balance, let me cry when I was bullied, walked me home from school when the deep snow scared me and I wasn’t sure I’d find my own way, wanted only the very best for me, made home the place I always wanted to come back to, and who battled cancer heroically and showed us what a good death looks like. I owe you, Mom. I miss you.

If you wear a red carnation today, thank the Lord. And call your Mom. Don’t take her for granted because she’s a hero. If your Mom has passed, walk through the hallways of memories and thank God today that you were blessed to know such a woman.

As I walk through the museum of my memories,
I owe you—for your time. Day and night.
I owe you—for your example. Consistent and dependable.
I owe you—for your support. Stimulating and challenging.
I owe you—for your humor. Sparky and quick.
I owe you—for your counsel. Wise and quiet.
I owe you—for your humility. Genuine and gracious.
I owe you—for you hospitality. Smiling and warm.
I owe you—for your insight. Keen and honest.
I owe you—for your flexibility. Patient and joyful.
I owe you—for your sacrifices. Numerous and quickly forgotten.
I owe you—for your faith. Solid and sure.
I owe you—for your hope. Ceaseless and indestructible.
I owe you—for your love. Devoted and deep.

–Charles R. Swindoll, Strong Family

The Lesson of the Twig

“Aren’t two sparrows sold for only a penny? But your Father knows when any one of them falls to the ground.”
–Jesus Christ, Matthew 10:29

“What we need is a desire to know the whole will of God, with a fixed resolution to do it.”
–John Wesley

“My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed.”
–David, Psalm 57:7

While it is true that the natural man cannot understand the things of God, it is also remarkably true that nature gets Him. The seas clap their hands at the mystery of their Creator, the trees sway and render their wave offerings, the hills dress themselves in their Sunday best, atoms hold together in fixed obeisance, flowers curtsy and, in hopes this may be the day of His arrival, gloriously spread themselves out as a carpet for the Holy One. The stars wink at a dark world as if holding a secret to the Treasure’s whereabouts, the rains dapple a hard ground with the signature of His benevolence and the wind follows the course of His good pleasure, fortuitously touching fevered brows with the kiss of His nearness.

Nature ministered to me just this week as I was on retreat with the Lord. A bird—I will call her Doreen ’cause she looked like one—flitted into the lens of my awareness, lighting on the ground a few feet away. I don’t know my birds very well but this one was common to our Georgia backyards, I’m sure of it. Let’s just say Doreen was a sparrow. She was carrying a twig in her beak almost too cumbersome for her little body and I sat by and watched her as she hopped a few steps then dropped it. Doreen just stood there for a few moments, still as stone, then dipped her head and snatched up the delicate little branch. She hopped four or five times and again dropped the twig, but standing over it as if to dare anyone to take it away. With graceful swiftness, Doreen then picked it up and hopped some more. This happened several times and I found myself mesmerized and pulling for this mother bird who was obviously on a mission to complete a nest for her young. Nothing was deterring her although she was tiring easily.

Suddenly she took to flight and landed in a branch nearby. No, not home. Not yet. A few huffs and puffs then Doreen was gone again, making a taut line to a bush some fifty yards from her temporary perch. Ah, I thought to myself, she’s made it. Good for her! In a very mundane way, Doreen was showing me what determination looks like. She was resolved to fulfill her calling, not resigned to it like we tend to be. All that was in that little head of hers was her babies needed a home and she was bulldogged if she was going to let them down.

Each of us have a calling, a cumbersome piece of wood, we are to carry through life. We may tire along the way and stop for a breather but it is ours to see this thing through, whatever it is. I told the Lord that I am in many ways that little bird, dropping its twig too often, too weak to fly the distance, needing far too many pit stops. But my labored hops are not missed by One who watches over me and in those sacred moments I found myself calling on the only One who can give the strength and impetus to see this all the way through to the end.

I love how Richard Foster puts it:

If we fall down—and we will fall down—we get up and seek to obey again. We are forming the habit of obedience, and all habits begin with plenty of slips and falls and false starts. We did not learn to walk overnight. Or to play the piano. And we do not condemn ourselves unduly when we stub our toe or play a wrong note, do we? We must not condemn ourselves unduly in the spiritual life either. At first it will feel like we are doing the work, that we are the initiators. But in time we will see that it is God who inflames our heart with a burning craving for absolute purity. A.W. Tozer writes, “We pursue God because and only because, He has first put an urge within us that spurs us to the pursuit.”*

Take a lesson from Doreen. I did. There is a prize, a holy habitation, and hop, drop, stop or fly, just do it. See it through. Finish. Whatever He has called you to do, whatever you must bear in this life, don’t quit. It’s worth it, child, more than worth it.

I know, because a little birdie taught me.

*Richard J. Foster, Prayer: Finding Your Heart’s True Home, p71

The Miracle of Margaret

Patricia Bauer with her husband, Edward Muller, and their children, Margaret and Johnny Muller, in June at Margaret’s high school graduation in Massachusetts. (Courtesy Christina Overland)

America? It’s like we’re living in 1930s Germany. Rising fascism, suppression of Christianity, hate crime laws, euthanasia and a climate more open to the prescribed disposal of the ‘undesirables’. Case in point, prenatal testing is now pushing parents to see the abortion of a disabled fetus more their duty and not just their right. Ethicists even go so far as to say it is a parent’s “moral obligation” to terminate pregnancy. Poor child. Why subject them to a life of inconvenience? That would be morally reprehensible. I suppose it’s better to just torture them slowly by pulling them apart, cutting them up, shredding them, scraping them out, crushing their skulls, burning them alive or suctioning them to pieces.

Tragically, it is estimated that as many as 90% of those babies who have been prenatally tested with Down syndrome are aborted. But there are some miracle stories out there and thankfully, Margaret is a living testament to the compassionate mores of her parents. Patricia Bauer, Margaret’s mom and a former writer for the Washington Post, has written a stirring article addressing some of cultural roadblocks they face as a family and we as a nation.

She writes,

Imagine. As Margaret bounces through life, especially out here in the land of the perfect body, I see the way people look at her: curious, surprised, sometimes wary, occasionally disapproving or alarmed. I know that most women of childbearing age that we may encounter have judged her and her cohort, and have found their lives to be not worth living.

To them, Margaret falls into the category of avoidable human suffering. At best, a tragic mistake. At worst, a living embodiment of the pro-life movement. Less than human. A drain on society. That someone I love is regarded this way is unspeakably painful to me.

This view is probably particularly pronounced here in blue-state California, but I keep finding it everywhere, from academia on down. At a dinner party not long ago, I was seated next to the director of an Ivy League ethics program. In answer to another guest’s question, he said he believes that prospective parents have a moral obligation to undergo prenatal testing and to terminate their pregnancy to avoid bringing forth a child with a disability, because it was immoral to subject a child to the kind of suffering he or she would have to endure. (When I started to pipe up about our family’s experience, he smiled politely and turned to the lady on his left.)

While there are less and less children with Down syndrome being born today—not because of the miracle of medicine but because of the narcissism of man—Margaret is alive, beautiful and productive, and a high school grad who is attending college. Just imagine what this family—this world—would have been like without her.

And what of America? Not so much the land of the free anymore, and, as it turns out, we gotta be a lot more brave just to make this our home these days.

A Final Toast

I ran into a chum tonight quite by “accident” and both took time to update each other’s lives as it had been a long arc of time between connections. My friend is in real estate and purchases old homes, fixes them up and resells them for a tidy profit. He was telling me about a house he had just closed on, its previous owner obviously a buyer of fine wines based upon the stash he found. The man had passed and his daughter was needing to sell it and my buddy was only too happy to oblige, considering the price of said home too good to pass on.

Going into its basement, he found it stacked and stocked with fine wines, each one gathering dust from years of neglect and non-use. The owner, he had learned, had traveled the world visiting some of the finest vineyards and purchasing huge draughts of wine. My friend also found receipts among the ruins where the old man had run up some pretty serious tabs pursuing his life’s passion. Trouble is, the old man is dead and the wine lies in state, corked and wearing coats of mold and dust. Untasted. Suddenly it hit my friend: this could have been what Jesus had in mind when he said, “What profit is it for a man, if he should gain the world and lose his soul?”*

Of course, we know nothing of the man’s spiritual standing in life but how sad it is to spend your life and coffers on transitory things whose undignified ending is to occupy a place in a cold dark cellar, unseen, untouched and untasted.

On the drive home I heard that we Americans are spending less time sleeping, working longer hours, stalking the “dream” at the expense of our families, our bodies and our souls. We’re giving away FAR less, building our barns bigger** so we can sit around, I suppose, bragging to the Joneses that our barns, for pete’s sake, have vaulted ceilings, wrap-around decking, eight-tractor garages, bonus rooms, dormers, atriums, finished basements, plasma TVs in every stable, spreading manicured lawns, high palatial walls to keep out the riff-raff and that we’re working on drawings for further expansion. Our ‘barns‘, mind you.

How much wood can a woodchuck chuck? Forget that. How about: how much wine can a connoisseur drink? And for that matter, how much is too much or more than enough? Tolstoy wrote a short story on that very subject entitled, “How Much Land Does A Man Need?” and here is its summary as found in a Wikipedia entry:

“After slowly accumulating more and more property, a greedy Russian named Pahom hears that the Bashkirs, a minority race in Russia, are practically giving their land away. He decides to visit them and they offer him as much land as he wants, provided he can walk its perimeter in one day. Pahom agrees and goes out on his trek, but when the sun starts to set, he finds he has walked too far. Running back, Pahom collapses at the starting point just as the sun disappears behind the horizon. The Bashkirs try to congratulate him, only to find him dead. In answer to the question posed in the title, the Bashkirs bury him in a hole six feet long by two feet wide.”

What’s left of a man who chases the illusive wind of transitory pleasure? In this case, a dank, dark cellar littered with unused magnums of wine. And we call that living.

*Matthew 16:26

**Luke 12:15-21

God's Spikenard

The odor of your ointments is fragrant; your name is like perfume poured out.
(Song of Songs 1:3, Amplified)

I’d like to testify. And hopefully, you’ll hear me out.

Today the Lord allowed me a means of grace that flowed over this humble recipient providing me with evidence that our Savior is indeed sweet. And real. So real, in fact that I was able even to smell Him. I’ve heard of this phenomenon but I believe I was given a gracious opportunity to experience it first-hand. I was spending some time in His Presence, worshipping Him and listening to Him in quietness and love. The reading of scripture was blessedly edifying as He kept revealing more and more of Himself and His nearness in those hours.

Near the end of my reverie, and out of nowhere, this scent filled my nostrils that, for the life of me, I could not quite place. It was captivatingly aromatic and its sweetness was inviting and filled the van—my holy ground place where I meet with Him. I was alone, there were no flowers nearby and while I jerked my head in all directions to find the person who might be wearing that fantastic perfume, I found no one standing near. There was little breeze to speak of that could have carried the scent to me. It just happened. It stayed for several minutes, and it had me asking the atmosphere about me, “Lord, is that You?” “Lord? Are You here?”

I can remember the thoughts that were in my head when I first detected the scent. I was meditating in the Lord’s Prayer of Matthew 6, particularly the line where Christ instructs us to ask for forgiveness as we forgive our debtors. I was reading from Richard Foster’s book and the point he was making (or that was striking me in the moment) is that our forgiving others’ their trespasses releases something in the heavens. I had just jotted that thought in the margin when the aroma filled the van. Now, I am not saying that it could not have come from some flowers around some corner or over some hill (no hill in sight) or even that a breeze could not have borne the scent of someone’s fragrance toward me (tell me what that scent is, I’ll buy it!). These are possible, of course, but somehow I believe that my Lord was making Himself tangibly evident to me in the moment.

Why right then? Could it be that He was marking those thoughts on forgiveness so that I might see where I still needed to forgive? I admit there was some twinge of conviction over that theme. Or, that His forgiveness is ever near to me. (Without stealing his thunder, my son had an experience with just this very grace recently that left Sandy and me blessed to our toes) Today’s been quite a day. A sister whom I called to bless told me, “You sound good today, Pastor.” Indeed. How could I not when the scent of the Savior was like spikenard poured out from Heaven for me!

Or maybe it was just some wildflowers upwind of me. So what?

Doesn’t He have something to do with the lilies of the field too?

National Day of Prayer

Almighty God, we pause to reflect on Your character as we seek wisdom for such a time as this.

In these unsafe days,
You remain all-powerful and able to protect;

In these uncertain times,
You remain all-knowing, leading us aright;

In the unprecedented events we’re facing,
You remain absolutely sovereign.
Our times are in Your hands.

Therefore, our dependence on You, is total, not partial
. . . our need for Your forgiveness is constant

. . . our gratitude for Your grace is profound

. . . our love for You is deep.

We ask that You guard and guide our President
and all who serve the people of these United States.
May uncompromising integrity mark their lives.

We also ask that You unite us as truly “one nation,
under God.” May genuine humility return to our ranks.

And may that blend of integrity and humility
heal our land.

In our Lord’s name we pray,

Amen.

2007 Prayer For Our Nation
Written by Charles Swindoll

Heather's Faith

I’ve been unable to walk since the Fall of 1981. My normal bodily functions from armpits down were greatly interrupted by an accident which resulted in paralysis those twenty-five long years ago. The injury is considered ‘complete’ in clinical terms as opposed to ‘incomplete’ where there might be some patches of sensation or movement below the point of injury. Complete, as you might surmise, means there is no sensation, no movement whatsoever.

And that’s all okay. Praise the Lord anyhow!

I have oftentimes run into folks who were injured just like me yet never lost sensation or ability to walk and I have rarely, if ever, felt even a tinge of jealousy. One thing that was settled with me epochs ago is the comfort of God’s supreme sovereignty, that His will is being performed in me and the glory is His. I’ve given my years of disability to establish the truth of a God who cares in a world that hurts. That He wastes nothing. That suffering is mostly redemptive and the glory and grace of God is more brilliantly, incandescently and accessibly revealed in our trials.

I could say all these things, and do, but I cannot for the life of me figure out how to speak these matters into the church ANY better than what I’ve recently posted and read. Marisa’s story and her husband’s “letter to cancer” is catching fire all over cyberspace so whenever I’d go to my dashboard page and see who was clicking in, I noticed a plethora of hits from a site called ‘EspeciallyHeather’. Hmmmm. So I went there and found myself weeping, praying and marveling at this young 32-year old preacher’s kid, worship leader and mother of three kids, the youngest of whom lives with extreme autism. Like Marisa and Mendeldt, she and her husband Mark are true warriors of the faith and visual aids to the church of God’s superlative wisdom and ever-reaching faithfulness to His own.

Heather’s story is this: some time ago, while suffering from an inner ear infection, she was checked out and to everyone’s shock, a tumor was found in the front of her brain. Heather is in Rochester, MN right now getting ready for the tumor’s removal on Thursday. The doctors have told her there is a strong possibility of partial paralysis on her right side, loss of voice and even death. If you peruse her posts, you’ll find a sister-believer who has a strong faith, refreshing transparency, and giddy gusto for life. The body of Christ is better, much, much better with people like Heather and Marisa in it. Thank you, Lord.

All her posts are quite touching and real but this excerpt got me. Me, a grown guy sitting at a table in a (where else?) Starbucks, crying like a baby with people all around me. Who cares? My God is good, eternally loving and wise beyond my understanding. Thanks, Heather, for being a “weak” vessel in whom we can clearly see the Treasure of treasures. God is with you…

There are things that you talk about with your spouse that you would never talk about with anyone else in times like this. Not because they are so personal and private, but because they are so amazingly honest. Mark and I were talking about the risks of the procedure- death being one of them; He looked me square in the eyes and said “If you die, I will be so angry”, he paused and then said “because you will get to see Christ before me”. Having a husband who truly gets it- truly understands what this is about is so wonderful. This isn’t about me- never was.

Last night while we were coming up the elevator, he asked how I was feeling- and I told him that I was nervous. And I am. But at this point I have no control over what Thursday holds for me. I can cry and flip out and waste these next 48 hours on what ifs and fear, or I can enjoy them knowing that whatever the outcome on Thursday- I lived my life to fullest. I laughed, I loved so very deeply, and more than anything I tried to share Christs love at every opportunity these last 3 weeks. Come Thursday, all I can do is lay my antibacterial washed head down on that table and find peace in the knowledge whatever happens at the end of the day-

He’s already there.

He Walked With God

I’ve known only a few ‘great’ men in my life and Dr. Lee Roberson truly has a place among them. This man truly lived what he preached and it is my family’s honor to have called him ‘friend’ during a season of great trial. I will also never be able to forget the emotion I felt when Dr. Roberson broke protocol and hugged me as I crossed the stage in my wheelchair to receive my diploma. This man was special. To be in his presence one could easily sense the nearness of the Almighty and his deep love and sharp mind along with his strong faith in Christ will always be remembered the most.

Dr. Lee Roberson, age 97, former pastor of the Highland Park Baptist Church, Founder and Chancellor Emeritus of Tennessee Temple University and Man of God, passed into the presence of the Lord Jesus Christ whom he had served faithfully since the age of fourteen, on Sunday, April 29, 2007.

Dr. Roberson was born November 24, 1909 on a farm near English, Indiana. He was led to the Lord at age fourteen by his Sunday School teacher, and he accepted the call to preach the ‘Good News’ of the Gospel at the age of eighteen.

He studied as vocal music at the Cincinnati Conservatory of Music and was a graduate of the University of Louisville and the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville. Beginning in 1932, Dr. Roberson served as a pastor and evangelist before accepting the pastorate of the Highland Park Baptist Church of Chattanooga in November of 1942. Tennessee Temple University was founded as a junior college and Bible school in July 1946. TTU is now an accredited four-year college, graduate school and seminary.

Dr. Lee Roberson was preceded in death by daughter Joy Caroline and wife, the former Caroline Allen. He is survived by son, John C. Roberson and wife Donna, daughter LeeAnne Nichols and husband Dr. L.W. ‘Buddy’ Nichols, daughter June Ormesher and husband Bill, eight grandchildren and by the countless thousands who accepted the new life of salvation under his ministry and the subsequent ministries of the thousands of men and women who he faithfully led, taught and encouraged at HPBC and TTU.

The family is asking that any memorial gifts be sent to the Lee Roberson Foundation, 2327 Red Tail Lane, Chattanooga, TN 37421 or online at www.LeeRoberson.org.

Dr.Roberson’s favorite Scripture verse was Romans 8:28 - “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”

Dated August 1, 2006 at the age of 96, Dr. Roberson published what he called his farewell letter and final testimony “to give encouragement to pastors, evangelists, and full-time Christian workers.”

“I believe the Bible! I believe in the promises of God regarding our future life! I believe ‘to be absent from the body, to be present with the Lord.’ I believe the future will hold some of the most glorious blessings that one could ever conceive. We will be present ‘with the Lord.’ The Apostle Paul said ‘this is far better.’ The future is bright! I know the Lord may come at any moment - He has promised ‘I will come again.’

“Continue in His great work! Give attention to the winning of souls and exhort yourself to a close walk with God.”

Dr. Lee Roberson, “absent from the body, present with the Lord,”

April 29, 2007.

Passion: Hope For The Hokies

Through May, Louie Giglio and Passion have made available a downloadable EP of songs to inspire hope in the wake of the Virginia Tech debacle. The songs are free and are terrific.