Archive for September, 2005

Wow. So I’m coaching a peewee football team (ok, so it’s Monticello Junior League football), but they still look pretty small to me. It’s 3rd and 4th grade, and Sam is on the team. It’s been a real blast to coach them – though I never played. Something about my mom saying my asthma would act up, I’d turn blue in the face, and due shortly thereafter probably convinced me not to. In hindsight, however, I kinda wished I’d played.

We’ve got a great group of folks helping me coach, from dads to other friends, so we’re covered. The amazing thing has been watching these kids learn the basics, work hard in practice (though we’ve had to run them a lot to work off PFS – Playstation Fat Syndrome), and then bring it all together in the Saturday a.m. games. We’re 1-1 so far. Won the first game vs. Maxwell’s Green Machine 6-0, and dropped last week’s game vs. Griffin Heat 0-6. We match up against the unbeaten Ryburn Mustangs this weekend. Their coach is a member of our church, and the momentum has been building up to this weekend’s titanic matchup…. (Yes, I know it’s peewee football, and “titanic” may be going overboard, but hey, we live in Monticello where there’s only a Wal-Mart, so I stand by the description).

One thing I’ve learned so far about coaching these great kids… you can’t ever get too involved in your community.

I’ve met folks doing this that I never would have otherwise, and it’s been a great way to nudge me out of my cocoon. I think we all do it. We make our homes our private castles and entertainment capitals, so that we don’t have to actually relate with our neighbors or get involved in our communities.

That’s definitely not the way that the God I worship encourages us to live from His Word. He describes His people as a “city on a hill” and “light” and “salt.” All three images evoke influence on your surroundings. So why do we cocoon ourselves into our homes with 3 TVs and 1.8 DVD players? And why do we repeat the withdrawal from society by creating churches that serve only their members?

Go figure. Me, I hope what I’m learning right now by being involved (and yes, it’s a sacrifice of time, energy, and commitment) will continue to propel me into the lives of my neighbors. We could all use some touch up work in our commitment to our communities. Me, I’m focusing on “touchdown” work! :0

In the last two weeks, I’ve head and seen a lot of different accounts that seek to reveal the nature of many of the people who took refuge in the LA and TX domes after Katrina. These are not meant in any way to be sweeping generalizations… (I’m just reproducing the accounts I’ve read or received), but I’d like you all to reign in… which are more accurate?

FROM A HOUSTON VOLUNTEER (being passed around the internet, author unknown)

I arrived at the astrodome only to find out that there are too many volunteers and that volunteers were needed at the George R. Brown Convention Center. As I was walking up to the Convention Center I noticed a line of cars that wrapped around blocks filled with donations. These where ordinary Houstonians coming with truckloads and trunks full of water, diapers, clothes, blankets, food, all types of good stuff. And lots of it was NEW. I felt that warm fuzzy while helping unload these vehicles of these wonderful human beings. I then went inside the building and noticed approximately 100,000 sq. ft. of clothes, shoes, jackets, toys and all types of goodies all organized and ready for the people in need. I signed up, received a name badge and was on my merry way excited to be useful.

I toured the place to get familiar with my surrounding; the entire place is probably around 2 million sq. ft. I noticed rows as far as the eye can see of mattresses, not cots, BLOW UP MATTRESSES!!! All of which had nice pillows and plenty of blankets. 2 to 3 bottles of water lay on every bed. These full size to queen size beds by the way where comfortable, I laid in one to see for myself. I went to look at the medical area. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing!!! A makeshift hospital created in 24 hours!!! It was unbelievable, they even had a pharmacy. I also noticed that they created showers, which would also have hot water. I went upstairs to the third floor to find a HUGE cafeteria created in under 24 hours! Rows of tables, chairs and food everywhere – enough to feed an army! So that was the layout: great food, comfy beds, clean showers, free medical help, by the way there was a library, and a theatre room I forgot to mention. Great stuff right????

Well here is what happened on my journey -
I started by handing out COLD water bottles to evacuees as they got off the bus. Many would take them and only 20% or less said thank you. Lots of them would shake their heads and ask for sodas! So this went on for about 20-30 minutes until I was sick of being an unappreciated servant. I figured certainly these folks would appreciate some food!!! So I went upstairs to serve these evacuees some GOOD food .
Evacuees came slowly to receive this mountain of food! I tell them that we have 2 types of great deli sandwiches to choose from – ham and turkey. Many look at the food in disgust and DEMAND burgers, pizza, and even McDonalds!!!! Only 1 out of ten people who took something would say “thank you” the rest took items as if it was their God given right to be served . They would ask for Beer and liquor. They complained that we didn’t have good enough food. They treated us volunteers as if we where SLAVES. No not all of them of course…but 70% did!!!!!! 20% were appreciative, 10% took the food without any comment and the other 70% had some disgusting comment to say. Some had the nerve to laugh at us. A Needless to say I was in utter shock. They would eat their food and leave the mess on the table… some would pick up their stuff many would leave it for the volunteers to pick up.

I saw many young ladies carrying mattresses and I helped for a while. Then I realized something…their where hundreds of able bodied young men who could help!! I asked a group of young evacuees in their teens and early twenties to help. One said “We just lost our ****ing homes and you want us to work!!” The next said “Ya Cracker, you got a home we don’t” I looked at them in disbelief. If immigrants, who come here, can work and become successful… CAN’T THE MAJORITY OF THE HOMEGROWN DO IT!!! If we continue to reward these losers then we will soon destroy our great country. I just witnessed selfish, arrogant, unappreciative behavior by the very people who need help the most. Now these same people who cursed me, refused my generosity, refuse to help themselves are now DEMANDING handouts on their terms!

I think it’s time that we demand work for relief and stop this cycle of behavior which is going to spread in our city which already has enough of these problems.. It’s this behavior which has caused these ‘REFUGEES’ to be in the situation presently in and they will continue to be ,until they learn that work is rewarded and laziness brings nothing… It’s sickening to hear the press act as if it’s noble to be a poor person. IT’S TIME TO WAKE UP AMERICA!!

A frustrated but wiser Houstonian!!!!

FROM A STAR-TRIBUNE COLUMNIST (written September 15, 2005r 15, 2005
English: World English Bible - WEB


WP-Bible plugin – verifiable)

Gratitude, not anger, comes from Astrodome
Katherine Kersten, Star Tribune
September 15, 2005r 15, 2005
English: World English Bible - WEB


WP-Bible plugin

Jim Lodoen shakes his head at some of the news reports out of Houston. They feature angry Hurricane Katrina victims lodged at the Astrodome who insist they are receiving insufficient assistance. Lodoen, a Minneapolis attorney with the Lindquist & Vennum law firm, just got back from a week as a volunteer at the Astrodome complex.

“That’s not what I saw,” he says.

Lodoen didn’t plan his Houston trip with hurricane victims in mind. He went to visit his sick mother. But before he left, he mentioned to two colleagues that he would be staying at the Holiday Inn, temporary home to dozens of victims. “I told them I planned to make contact with a few families, take them to Target or to a restaurant,” he says.

The two eagerly asked to contribute, and pressed cash donations on him. The next day, as others at the firm heard about Lodoen’s plans, donations poured in. An amazed Lodoen left on Sunday with $3,700, which swelled to almost $8,000 as the week wore on. He used the money to buy $50 and $100 Target gift cards to distribute to displaced families.

Once in Houston, Lodoen made his way to the Astrodome complex, which houses thousands of victims displaced from ravaged New Orleans. He was prepared to find chaos. Instead, he says, he was struck by how well-organized the massive operation was. “There was lots of food, and free stores stocked with clothing, personal items and games. Volunteers on laptops were helping people find family and friends.” FEMA, Social Security and other agencies were out in force.

Lodoen circulated among residents’ cots, striking up conversations. “Everyone has lost their possessions, their jobs, many friends and perhaps some family. No one knows what tomorrow holds.”

But to his surprise, he saw no resentment. People were eager to talk, he says — not about grievance, but about hope and gratitude.

He met a family that had slept in stadium seats for four nights. “I said, ‘That must have been terrible.’ ‘Oh, no,’ the woman said. Instead of focusing on what they lacked, they were deeply thankful for what they had: food, lights, a roof, each other.”

Another family told of fleeing their first home two days after moving in. The mother and father left hand in hand with their children perched on their shoulders, struggling through water up to their necks. They were awestruck at nature’s power, and grateful to survive. Now, at night, the parents plan their future as their children sleep.

After chatting with each family, Lodoen handed out Target cards “from your friends at Lindquist & Vennum.” Recipients responded with tears and embraces. People were grateful, says Lodoen, for each small gesture: a pat on the back, a listening ear, a lift to Target, an outing for ice cream.

For six days, Lodoen heard tales of courage, perseverance and fierce family love. Over and over, people told of risks that relatives, neighbors and strangers had taken to save them.

One grandfather had rescued 200 people from his housing project by floating them out on foam-filled doors he had ripped from refrigerators. Another older man had saved his 20-member extended family with air mattresses. “All their belongings were under his bed in a plastic bag,” says Lodoen. “I gave him three Target cards. He offered to give one back because he didn’t want to take more than his share for himself and his five children and their children.”

Yet another man — now serving as a volunteer coordinator — had lost his house, his business and his truck.

Instead of fleeing New Orleans, he had ferried terrified people to safety until his truck ran out of gas. A plumber, he’s grateful that he has the skills to work and rebuild.

Back at his mother’s hospital room, Lodoen saw television reporters interviewing victims who appeared angry and indignant. “I thought, ‘Where are they coming up with these people? I’m not seeing them.’” He was also shocked at the shrill finger-pointing on the news. “All around us, politicians are focused on the blame game. Yet the victims themselves are blaming no one. I didn’t hear one complaint. In fact, I was overwhelmed by the love, faith, determination and compassion that everyone shared.”

One black woman, says Lodoen, pointedly rejected charges of racism: ” ‘There’s been no racism,’ she told me. ‘There are only kind people helping everyone, black or white.’ ”

In his experience, says Lodoen, two things keep victims going. The first is their families. Often, three or four generations bunk together, making plans to start life anew. The second is religious faith. “Nearly everyone told me their faith in God sustains them.”

One mother of five is typical, he says. At night, she reads her children Bible stories, and prays for Lodoen, his mother, his law firm and others listed in her prayer book.

Lodoen acknowledges that hurricane victims need government aid. “But volunteers can do something more. With hugs and kind words, they can let people know that someone — an actual person or group of persons — cares.

“That makes the victims feel like we’re all in this together. And we are.”

I’d be interested in any of your observations and stories…

A couple of conclusions I’ve already reached…
1. It’s obvious that there are thousands of people that need LOTS of help, and in any disaster, emotions and tempers can flare. We do not get along with one another very well in times of routine. We shouldn’t expect heaven on earth in times of crisis.
2. Yet in times of crisis, the character of people is revealed. Some step up to the plate, and do what is needed, for hours on end, tapping into reserves of faith and inner courage. Others, it seems, spill out what was in their core character already: bitterness, hatred, jealousy, anger, etc.
3. A disproportionate amount of people of one socio-economic class wound up as refugees in the domes. They brought with them their life experiences, attitudes, and worldviews.
4. Our nation’s system of “helping” those who are poor and disadvantaged often does little to address their true needs: self-respect, integrity, initiative, and desire to belong.

Just some thoughts… What are yours?

In the past few years, there has been much talk about the “emerging church.” It’s become quite the talk among many leaders and circles in evangelicalism. While it has many outspoken proponents, it also has attracted some nay-sayers (and some pretty respected ones at that!) What is the emerging church, and what’s the big deal?

First of all, it’s a pretty much self-described label for a group of churches and leaders who are seeking to bring authenticity and passion, as well as a deep connectedness with the past back to the evangelical church. I say self-described, but you really have to be “in” with this group for the moniker to fit. I couldn’t just up and say, “Hey, my church is an emerging church” and suddenly get on the speaking circuit and get a cool article written about Journey Church in CT (Christianity Today).

Before you scratch your head in complete confusion, let me point you to a definition on Wikkipedia cited here. (It’s a great article, and a good first stop in getting a handle on what we’re talking about. Here’s the definition: “The emerging church or emergent church is a movement which arose as a conversation in the late 20th century in Western Europe, North America, and the South Pacific. The emerging church is concerned with the deconstruction and reconstruction of Protestant Christianity in a postmodern cultural context.”

Basically, that means that this group of leaders and churches are deeply concerned about perceived errors, apathy, and tradition-made-doctrine in the evangelical church. They call themselves a “movement” (but is a movement a movement just because you call it one?) and seek to bring a new reformation to the church through numerous spiritual emphases.

Before I go further, let me say that there are lot of points that the leaders in this circle make. I am impressed with the remarkable ministry of many of their churches and the love for the Lord that they demonstrate. However, I’m a little concerned by a few things:
? The tendency to create a closed circle of fellowship where there are some who are “in” and some who are “out.” It smacks of a country-club, elitist attitude in many ways.
? The tendency to put forth passion and relevance to culture above ancient truth. (They have a deep desire to connect the contemporary church with the ancient church, but it seems to be more so from a methodologial and philisophical approach than an objective-truth approach.)

Here are some great links to investigate some of what the emerging circle is saying about itself:
? Some good stories from different leaders and churches @ emergingchurch.info. They’re big on “stories” in that a good narrative communicates better to people in our culture these days than propositional truth. (But that doesn’t make the story carry more weight than the truth does it?)
? emergentvillage.com. This is one of the main sites. Here you can actually find out about emergent events. Presumably if you attend enough, and network enough, you too might become part of the emergent movement or “conversation.”
? CT article on emerging churches from November 2004 issue
? vintagefaith.com demonstrates their desire to connect the current church with the ancient one… the more I’ve read it, the more I keep sensing that whatever is written or said that is “cool” or “relevant” suddenly becomes NEW and GOOD.

As you see what they’re saying about themselves, I encourage you to balance that with what others are saying….
? Another good definition of emerging church – “a label that has been used to refer to a particular subset of Christians who are rethinking Christianity against the backdrop of Postmodernism. Emerging Church groups have typically contained some or all of the following elements:
– Highly creative approaches to worship and spiritual reflection. This can involve everything from the use of contemporary music and films through to liturgy or other more ancient customs. …
– A flexible approach to theology whereby individual differences in belief and morality are accepted within reason.
– A more holistic approach to the role of the church in society. This can mean anything from greater emphasis on fellowship in the structure of the group to a higher degree of emphasis on social action, community building or Christian outreach.
– A desire to reanalyse the Bible against the context into which it was written.” Sourced here.
? DA Carson, a great thinker and writer has critiqued the movement here.

TO SUM UP
If you’ve read this far, I’m impressed. One of the main reasons for this post tonight was simply because of the growing frustration I’ve sensed within myself over this “movement.” It seems very trendy, faddish, and “edgy,” and while there are some extremely valid points from its leaders, I do not think that identifying yourself as “an emergent church/leader” is a healthy way of creating needed change. It almost paints an us/them paradigm, which automatically puts people on the defensive.

Rather, I remember that the disciples of Jesus expressing their concern about “others” who were doing miracles in Jesus name. Jesus replied, “Do not forbid Him… for he who is not against us is on our side.” (Mark 9.40) I think both “sides” of this current conversation should take heed.

I wholeheartedly agree that the evangelical church in the States is in deep trouble. I too believe we’re embraced a dead orthodoxy rather than a vibrant love relationship with Jesus. I appreciate many of the emergent leaders’ emphasis on the Word of God as the source of truth, yet in practice they seem to elevate experience to the same level as revelation.

It’s not our way or your way. It’s HIS way. He is the Master; we are just the servants. In our effort to reach the most people possible and to revive the sleeping church, may we work together!

What is occurring in evangelical churches today is may be another turning of the wheel. Things that were on top are rolling underneath for a time. It’s the swinging pendulum. The height of the swing has been reached in othodoxy and propositional evangelism, and the needed corrective is taking place. But let’s be careful that we don’t simply move to the other side of the swing. Peter Drucker, a noted futurist from a business perspective said this in The Post Capitalist Society (1993): “Every few hundred years in Western history there occurs a sharp transformation…. Within a few short decades, society rearranges itself–it’s worldview; its basic values: its social and political structures; its arts; its key institutions. Fifty years later, there is a new world. And the people born then cannot even imagine the world in which their grandparents lived…. We are currently living through just such a transformation.”

And on a sidenote… if you can start a movement just by calling it one… then who wants to join the “Semi-Balding But Extremely Funny South Arkansas Jesus Lover” movement? It starts today!

The rage has subsided. Our 30-day attention span culture has moved on from Regis’ “I Want to Be a Millionaire.” Meredith Viera now hosts the show (she recently won 2005′s Emmy for Daytime Gameshow Host). Although they’re still giving away money, only wannabe’s and the bored are watching. I confess. I’m a wannabe.

Carolyn and I were in New York last November. It was the first getaway of that nature we’d probably had since our honeymoon. We had a blast, getting to see the surface and touristy features of NYC, as well as being humbled and moved by Ground Zero. But while we were there, we waited in line and got on the “Regis & Kelly Show” (Caro’s insistence), and then the “Millionaire” show.

Who knew you had to take a test to get on the list to compete? Though we got to sit in the audience for the taping, a pre-show quiz was passed out to determine who could compete. We sat next to several repeaters – folks who keep lining up for hours to get in, just to take and pass the quiz, just so they “might” get on the show as a contestant.

And who knew the test would be so cotton-pickin’ hard?! Good grief! Do I really have to know the name of George Washington’s cat to be a millionaire? (OK, they didn’t ask that, but there were some very obscure questions!). Obviously, I didn’t pass the test. And I’m not a millionaire. But I want to be.

I’m not exactly sure what the appeal is for all of us in wealth. Is it freedom? Getting out of the debt mess? Is it to subsidize the lust of our eyes? To be able to fill our pockets, houses, and egos? Why do we get such a temporary high from possessions? From “power?” It is only momentary. Any truly wealthy person will assure you that misery chases them just as it hounds you. Wealth is no path to true peace. (Dangit!)

I believe Jesus shared with us words of supernatural and sublime truth when he simply stated, “He who seeks to save his life will lose it; he who loses his life for my sake will save it.”

Millions may finance a shopping binge, but they won’t satisfy the longings of the human heart. St. Augustine said, “You have made us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.”

It’s not about millions. It’s about meaning. That’s my final answer.

I cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid Aoccdrnig to rscheearch taem at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn ‘t mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Such a cdonition is arppoiately cllaed Typoglycemia :)-

Amzanig huh?

Yaeh, and yuo awlyas thought slpeling was ipmorantt…

OK…. Here goes… I got my Griffin iTalk in yesterday and immediately recorded a first thought or two on it. There’s no significant content in it; I’m mainly trying to figure out how the whole process of recording, converting, and uploading works…!

Download 9-14-05podcast.mp3

Holy cow… I had ordered an iPod for our church, cause I saw that with the addition of a Griffin iTalk, you could record stuff. We’ve been recording our services via minidisc, but it’s a pain to import that real time into my Mac G5, and then convert it to mp3, edit and burn to CD. I figured I could simply drag the mp3 file from the iPod to my Mac and then burn away…

So I got the iPod in today (got it off Ebay…I’m an addict, I confess), and plugged it up to my Powerbook. Wow. And wow. Immediately, I see in iTunes the iPod and so I begin to drag music over to it. Seamless. Delightful. NO problems. Aaaaaaaah. I remember all over again why I’m a Mac user… No driver installation or issues.

Anyway, excuse me while I go wipe the drool of computing delight from the corners of my mouth. I then see an option (still in iTunes) to use the iPod to sync my contacts and calendar? No way. I check it… and voila… the iPod says it’s updating contacts and calendar. 45 seconds later! Bodda-bing-bodda-booom. My little iPod has my tunes, my contacts, and my calendar!

Then it came with this thing called “iTrip” which you plug into the top and supposedly you can broadcast it to your FM radio. I go test it out on the radio in the kitchen, tuning it to 88.5. Suddenly, crystal clear Christ Tomlin bursts out. I scream for Carolyn, the kids, the neighbors, and our hamster to “C’MERE!”

I believe this will suddenly be MINE… ALL MINE… (Wicked laugh). Yup. Got to buy it for myself now… Can I afford it? Nope. Dangit. But can I live without it now? Nope. Do I absolutely need it? Nope. But it’s just too cool, and I’m such a tech geek. Wow.

(Note to other impulse buyers and those struggling to get out of debt…. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!)

Gotta go and do the iTunes/iPod dance in my living room.

11:54 PM

I was in Pasadena earlier this year for the Perspectives conference (awesome experience!), and while there Phillip and I went to Hollywood. It was my first time on the west coast, so I figured, let’s see something worth seeing…

I was struck by how trashy Holly Boulevard is.. We saw the Capitol Records building, the Hollywood sign, the Chinese Theater and a few other landmarks, but interspersed throughout this strip of American pop culture and history were lewd bookstands, storefronts, and adult video stores. I just wasn’t prepared. You see, I LOVE movies. I do the Netflix thing since our local Movie Gallery charges like $17 per movie rental (though it’s only $5, it’s still ridiculous!). So I may watch a coupla movies a week.

So I was excited about seeing Hollywood. I guess its rundown and less than glamorous condition is really indicative of all us. We all pretend to be more than we are, presenting our best sides, hiding the real us. I took this picture of two jokers dressed up as my favorite comic characters…

I realized how much their masquerade resembles our own. So many people spend their entire life working desperately to keep their real identity hidden. They’re fearful that we might like the “real them.” But just the opposite is true. There’s no need to dress up, conceal, or keep yourself hidden. We all are refreshed by those few authentic people in our lives. People who can laugh at themselves, let it all hang out, and simply enjoy LIFE without a manic need to be someone they’re not. THOSE are the kind of people that are the real heroes. No costumes needed.

Be you today. Enjoy being the persont that God made you to be. And if you haven’t yet discovered your real God-given identity, investigate the words of Jesus Christ – the ultimate “real” person. He said, “I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of.” (John 10.10)

It’s our Sunday ritual… after returning from church/lunch with friends, Caro and I usually crash and just hope the kids don’t burn down the house. Sam was recently given an old iBook by my mom, and Adelyn got a Barbie laptop for her birthday on Saturday. I rolled over from my nap on the couch today to see this picture…

Rather frightening.

Sam has been obsessed with the NFL games on today. This is his first year with a fantasy football team… As soon as he saw I was awake, rather than a cheerful, “Hi, Dad! Glad you had a great nap. I’m ready to serve and obey you!” … he simply said (rather gleefully, I might add) “Dad, you’re losing.” Grrrr.

Last time I checked, I was losing in all three leagues that I have a team in. Nice way to start the season. At least our peewee football team that I’m coaching won Saturday! Here’s Sam blocking for his team “Exterminators.” (Mr. Bug is our sponsor)

Nuff said for now!

Hey everyone…

I’m new to Typepad (having used iBlog mostly, as well as Blogwave Studio) and have spent this evening copying and pasting posts from my old blog into this new blog.

Therefore, even though all the posts you see are dated today (September 10), they are all old.

I’m committing myself to blogging regularly (yea, right!), so we’ll see how that goes.

HURRICANE RELIEF
Our town of Monticello (southeast Arkansas) has been the temporary home to some incredible people from Louisiane over the last two weeks since Katrina hit. I’ve been amazed to see the outpouring of support and help for them from dozens of different avenues. However, it’s been my observation that in town after town across the south, it’s been the churches who have mobilized this most amazing relief effort.

We have less than 10,000 folks here, but the churches have united the city in their effort to serve the displaced people here. At one time, we were feeding more than 300 daily at the First Assembly of God Church and Immanuel Baptist Church.

Our church (Journey) distributed bags with laundry detergent and rolls of quarters for washing as well as helped host a catered catfish dinner at our city park.

While relief efforts and rescue has been massive in MS and LA, I almost believe the bigger story is the hundreds of towns across the south who have opened their homes, doors, kitchens, churches, closets, and wallets to serve and help our due-south neighbors.

I am confident that only a people with an ingrained Christian-ethic would operate such a massive mobilization of compassion. Think about that.

At McDonald’s this a.m., I was without a pen, so I opened my Bible to Romans 8, and I felt the leadership of His Spirit speak softly, instructing me to being again in Romans. To dive in, chew deeply.

I also read some more of “The Purity Principle” – compare Jesus’ radical measures for ensuring purity: gouge out an eye, cut off a hand – to our whiny, self-serving, non-sacrificial way of living in a polluted world: “But I have to have ___________ (cable, internet, TV, Sports Illustrated, etc.). We are unwilling to give up anything that threatens our purity, or for that matter, give up anything period. How can we comprehend Jesus’ words and life without the discipline to turn our heads, avert our eyes, turn off, put down, refuse to buy, attend, unsubscribe, etc.?

In Romans 1.1-6, I noticed right away Paul’s descriptions -

• a servant of Christ Jesus
• called to be an apostle
• set apart for the Gospel

A servant, called and set apart. That gospel was promised. beforehand, it says. Nothing can be promised after the fact. Then it is not a promise, but simply an observation.

Our Father knew and saw and planned redemption. And He informed His servants the prophets “in the holy scriptures.” They are the location of the promise of God for all of us who did not have the grace to hear the prophets ourselves. Did the prophets know what they were preaching? (the full extent of it) Did they realize the full implications of their Messiah for the Jews and for the Gentiles? For all the nations?

“Concerning this salvation, the prophets who prophesied about the grace that was to be yours searched and inquired carefully, inquiring what person or time the Spirit of Christ in them was indicating when He predicted the sufferings of Christ and the subsequent glories. It was revealed to them that they were serving not themselves but you, in the things that have now been announced to you through those who preached the good news to you by the Holy Spirit sent from heaven, things into which angels long to look.” 1 Peter 1.10-12

How awesome to think that I know what Jeremiah and Isaiah and others longed to fathom. What is history to me was mystery to them. But the history of Jesus Christ’s death and resurrection for me is no less grand, majestic and mysterious that it was to the prophets as they looked forward through the prophecies and promises.

Posted: Wed – May 12, 2004 at 09:51 AM

I get together with a group of college-age guys each week to encourage them and challenge them in their spiritual growth. Most of the time, we pick a book to read through and dialogue about. Right now, it’s John Piper’s Don’t Waste Your Life.
We were all pretty floored by chapter 7. Piper recounts the battle of Iwo Jima in the Pacific. Here’s an excerpt:
“The hard statistics show the sacrifice made by Colonel Johnson’s 2nd Battalion: 1400 boys (many still teenagers) landed on D-Day; 288 replacements were provided as the battle went on, a total of 1688. Of these, 1511 had been killed or wounded. Only 177 walked off the island. And of the final 177, 91l 177, 91
English: World English Bible - WEB
Izbrano poglavje ne obstaja!

WP-Bible plugin had been wounded at least once and returned to battle….
“The Marines fought in World War 2 for 43 months. Yet in one month on Iwo Jiima, 1/3 of their total deaths occurred. They left behind the Pacific’s largest cemetaries: nearly 6800 graves in all…”

Chiseled in stone outside one of the graveyards is this:
When you go home
Tell them for us and say
For your tomorrow
We gave our today.

The point Piper goes on to make is that others have given their lives for us. However, the ultimate cause and sacrifice is the one that Jesus Christ proclaimed and made. True freedom comes only through Him. Whether you are a Christ-follower or not, you must acknowledge that there have been great sacrifices made for our freedom. Yet we get frustrated with a long line, a slow internet connection, or a steak not cooked just right. Is this what they died for? For our convenience? I think not.
Jesus Christ died on a Calvary hill 2000 years ago. For what? Our comfort? I think not.
Can we pause our pursuit of self-satisfaction long enough to consider how we might help bring freedom and hope to others? It’s not about you.

Sunday I taught from Philippians 2.13-14. One of the things that has continued to be evident from the study of Philippians that I’ve been doing is simply the concept of OTHERS. You can’t read the New Testament (or even the OT, for that matter) without being struck by the “one anothers” in the Bible.
The Bible is primarily a book guiding our relationships with the Father and our relationships with others. We are told to “work out” our salvation, and I think that primarily means to get out of you what is put in you by God. When we trust Jesus to be our Lord and commit to follow Him with our lives, we given so much by Him. The rest of our life becomes a great struggle to allow what God has put in us to be worked out of us. Our default is to just keep good things to ourselves. It’s the epitome of selfishness.
So, try this this week:
? On Sunday afternoons, create a “Focus List.” Put on the list everything that is coming up for the next week – meetings, classes, appointments, etc. Then simply write “OTHERS” on that list. Begin to think and meditate on how you might shape your week and your days to include others in them. Write a note of encouragement to someone, send someone an anonymous financial gift that you know is struggling, make a phone call, mow a yard while someone is away, etc. Just begin to tear down the throne of self and replace it with a healthy, Christ-centered love for others.

Tom Nelson is one of my favorite Bible teachers. He says that when God reaches down and touches his finger into the stagnant pool of humanity that it sends ripples across the surface for immeasurable distances. In my experience, that distance is approximately 1300 miles..

Tom Nelson (of Denton Bible Church, Denton, TX) is one of my favorite Bible teachers. He says that when God reaches down and touches his finger into the stagnant pool of humanity that it sends ripples across the surface for immeasurable distances. In my experience, that distance is approximately 1300 miles.
Carolyn’s mom gave her a set of fruit note pads. Some were in the shape of plums, some apples, and some… bananas. It was the banana note pad that peeled back the ordinary in our lives one extraordinary day in Monticello.
I’d find them about the house – one-dimensional, bright, canary-colored, banana-shaped notes that could instantly bring a smile or a grimace, depending upon the message they carried. They could be as innocuous as: “So-and-so called. Call them at such-and-such a number.” Or they could be as self-defeating as: “You’ve got to do our state taxes!” Or they might be delightfully surprising as: “You’re the funniest person I know. Love, Caro.” (OK, maybe that’s a stretch, but it could happen)
On this particular day, however, Carolyn was preparing a grocery list or something like that. She was the master of the banana pad. She’d removed it from the side of the fridge by a magnet on its back and stripped a banana from its bulk to jot down her note when she happened to glance at the banana that now lay exposed to the world, ready for the next note…
Someone had already written on it! “How strange,” she thought. But her casual curiosity quickly transformed to unconcealed astonishment by what it read – actually she couldn’t read it at all. For there, handwritten on the next banana was 3 lines in Chinese.
In an instant, her mind accepted and discarded dozens of possibilities for what it might say or be:
? “Congratulations, you’re the lucky winner in our Publisher’s Clearing House Sweepstakes. Please notify us by January 1, 1998.”
? “Help! I’m being held prisoner in a pad factory in Beijing!”
? “Your pad is running low. You may reorder another pad at www….”

As she excitedly showed the writing to me, she was also a little skeptical. She actually accused me of writing it. Maybe she thought I had been sneaking away every night to learn Chinese on the sly for this elaborate prank. I guess it was my track record. I had to play the “Yes-this-is-real.-No,-I-promise-I’m-not-pulling-your-leg” routine several times.
After I’d convinced her of its authenticity, we enjoyed several minutes of some the finest deductive work Monticello had seen in recent years. I was Sherlock Holmes, and she was my trust Watson. Or maybe she was Velma, and I was Shaggy. At any rate, it was decided that she would run the now decidedly Chinese banana by the “Fortune Cookie” cookie the next day to see if anyone there might translate it for us.
We may never know exactly when God disturbed the surface of our pond, but for once in our lives, we could measure the distance that the ripples travelled. You see, it’s about 1300 miles from China to the “Fortune Cookie” restaurant in Monticello, Arkansas. That was where the gentle but incessant ripples pushed a seemingly trivial memo pad note ashore.
For Carolyn took the note the very next day to the restaurant and explained to the teenager behind the cash register what we wanted. She was English, but she took the note to the kitchen, and after several minutes, the teen returned with one of the Chinese young men who worked there.
He asked Carolyn in halting English, “You write this?” When Carolyn said no, he related to her, “Oh. Well, this say, ‘Jesus Christ is God.’
Thank you very much.” And with an intrigued but polite smile, he returned to the kitchen.
Carolyn was dumfounded, but the teen behind the counter was ecstatic. She quickly informed Carolyn that she’d been praying for her employers for some time, that they might come to understand the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Our banana was a cannonball in the deep end of the pool at the Fortune Cookie that day.
We may never know when God stirred someone’s heart in a factory in China to write a note on a banana pad that would be shipped to the U.S., bought by my mother-in-law, given to my wife, stuck on our fridge and finally used to deliver a message of life and hope and truth to another Chinese person in Monticello, Arkansas. We just know He did.
For us, those ripples traveled 1300 miles. But if God uses the message to touch your heart, they’ve traveled still further. Why don’t you step down a little closer to the water’s edge and… have a banana.

I stood. The colors leapt off the shelves in front of me. With my head cocked sideways, my eyes hungrily devoured the vertical titles, one after another. I needed another book like I needed a black eye. Yet, they beckoned.

No, Carolyn will kill me. I don’t need another book. About the time I have fought off the temptation to buy, I noticed his new book. It glowed.

Boy, that looks great! I know full well that I have yet to read his last three on my shelves at home, each as attractively packaged as this beauty two feet away.

Then I did the unthinkable. I retrieved it from its niche, and I opened it. The crisp white pages had a fragrance somewhere between fresh cut grass and a cake right out of the oven. The smooth linear black type marched efficiently across the spread, leaping the gutter effortlessly.

I left the bookstore $15 poorer but happier for the future knowledge I would one day find time to absorb.

As I reflect on that day (and other days like it) in the bookstore, a startling thought sacks my conscious like an angry linebacker. Those books that most appealed to me were a silent indicator of my current frame of mind, my mood, and my attitude. Could a trip to the bookstore really be indicative of how I am? Well, at least that day it did. The books I looked at and the one I purchased told me something. They told me that I hurt.

It is an alarming revelation, and one for which I cannot simply slap the snooze. Not only was I hurt, but I was hurting. Much like that vague awareness you have that the faucet in the kitchen is dripping, I believe I was aware of my hurt, but for whatever reason, I had chosen to be martyred by emotional pain.

This account may or may not be for you. It is a record of my journey. It may or may not echo with familiarity. It’s a multi-faceted story with many twists and turns. It is the story of the lost sheep and his desperate search for his shepherd. It is also the story of the sheep’s failure and the shepherd’s success.

Life was good. I was a seminary student in Fort Worth, Texas, and a minister in a large, metropolitan church. My faith was vibrant and alive. I had a never-a-dull-moment, just-trust-the-Lord, everything-works-out, isn’t-being-a-Christian-exciting outlook on faith and fully expected the next Great Awakening to occur on my watch. My vision was boundless, and my head was in the clouds.

I was so intent on seeing the star of Bethlehem and its glory that I forgot the stigma of the cross and its shame. I knew in my head that bad things happen to good people and sometimes life doesn’t work out like you want it to, but if the rain really did fall on the righteous and wicked alike, I had stayed dry under a relatively large umbrella of idealism. That is, until the phone rang.

I was at my desk at Tolar Baptist Church then. I was the Associate Pastor/Minister of Youth. Carolyn and I had been engaged just a few months.

“Jeff, it’s cancer,” she said as we learned about Hodgkin’s Disease for the first time in our lives. Three months of radiation treatment later, her Hodgkin’s was halted, and the doctors declared my fiancee cancer-free – just in time for our wedding.

I asked God a lot of questions in those days: Why did this happen to us? I had sold a promising advertising business to come to seminary, and this is the reward I get, God? Just show us that we’re on the right path… Thanks for helping us through this, but don’t do this again, OK?

I still tackled my ministry with starry-eyed optimism, but I no longer felt invulnerable. God had allowed life to happen to me. The beginnings of cynicism pitched a pup tent on the outskirts of my consciousness and planned a longer camping trip later.

The Winnebagoes of disillusionment wheeled into my life for a protracted excursion two years later.

The following is an excerpt from my journal on October 31, 1994r 31, 1994
English: World English Bible - WEB
Izbrano poglavje ne obstaja!

WP-Bible plugin:

Two days ago, the doctors told us that Carolyn, my wife of two and one-half years, has Hodgkin’s Disease again. Hodgkin’s is cancer of the lymph nodes. We go Saturday at 6 p.m. to get a CAT scan.

The slap of the news is numbing. I had holed up in the library at seminary to digest a dozen different opinions about Paul’s theology before my evening doze, I mean dose, of Systematic Theology. I casually glanced at my Donald Duck watch only to have it quack back at me about my immanent tardiness.

My book bag leapt to my shoulder, as I drained the last of my Diet Caffeine Free Dr. Pepper. I breezed by the pay phone on my way to Scarborough Hall. A faint impression gently nudged me, and I did an about-face, picked up the cool black plastic receiver. Purposeful punches soon rang a phone an hour away in Garland, Texas. My wife answered. I intended simply to see if she needed anything on the way home.

“Hey there, hon,” I said.
“Jeff… hold on.” Her voice was not right, but she clicked over to her other call to say goodbye before I could decipher it. My intuition screamed. Just as suddenly, she was back. And she was sobbing.
“It’s cancer,” she said.

Another phone call with the same script. The cancer was back. I hung up and drove myself downstairs to my car. I had been in the world’s largest theological library. Surely the answer to our sufferings and an intelligent explanation of God’s perspective lay in one of its many volumes, but how do you search for answers when life won’t give you time?

I couldn’t focus on my work at the church, now First Baptist Church of Garland. I had forgotten about the “Basics for New Baptists” class that I was supposed to teach on Wednesday night. Its members were gracious to understand my absence. Thank the Lord it was Friday now. Surely the weekend would help me catch my breath and my bearings.

I sat at my desk, straightening it again when thunder clapped. The antique car that was a pencil sharpener clinked as the rumbling vibrations intruded into my office. Channel 4 had been right – a severe thunderstorm had violated the complacent afternoon and promised to snarl Friday’s rush hour traffic unforgivingly in the metroplex.

By the time I left the church to walk the two blocks to our home, the drenching had slowed to a drizzle. It had been three days since we learned about Carolyn’s cancer.

I stood in the chilling fall rain waiting for the Garland Fire Department. My house was on fire. The gray smoke defied the rain. It billowed from pipes on the roof and seeped from under the eaves. I laughed in disbelief as the relentless drizzle slowly conquered my dry clothes. Was this really happening, I wondered? I thought, “At least this will take our minds off the cancer for a while…”

Two weeks after the fire, three after Carolyn’s diagnosis. With the diligence of Sherlock Holmes, I examine myself emotionally. Nothing. Nada. It’s like staring into a black hole. We were staying at La Quinta Inn, and rather enjoying ourselves. Our insurance agent had taken extra measures to see that we were treated like royalty. Our belongings had been shipped off to a warehouse somewhere in Dallas to be treated for smoke damage. We had found another rental house for less money and were preparing to move in.

It was during this time that I bumped into God. It wasn’t a particular moment. I didn’t burn my hand on a flaming bush. I saw no star. But I felt His presence. He cared. He loved me. And He would see us through the days of transition, chemotherapy, and stress that were to come. He promised. And through circumstance after circumstance, His rod and staff guided me in his ways. His voice was unmistakable.

Though my “tough” questions remained unanswered, I discovered with joyful reassurance that it wasn’t answers I wanted after all, it was Him. My pride had led me to demand my Shepherd work in my prescribed ways. He refused and continued to tend his flock as I, His sheep, wandered.
Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t leave the faith or curse God. I just began meeting my needs my way instead of letting my shepherd do it. Everything looked fine from others’ viewpoint, but I was lost. I had strayed and didn’t know my way home.

Scripture told me that the Lord was my shepherd and I should not want, or need anything else but Him. When King David wrote that, he was writing after the fact, I was sure. He had found God to be that way. His confidence haunted me. I felt more like, “If the Lord is my shepherd…” I knew he was, but I felt like he wasn’t.

And that’s where my account ends. You may have been expecting some Lucado-type conclusions that would blow your socks off, but it is hard to conclude powerfully when my experience taught me the value of meekness. I learned how to be a sheep. Sheep are meek.

Carolyn was declared cancer-free for the second time after her chemotherapy treatment which ended in July 1995. We live daily in God’s grace that it will not come back. We are expecting our first child in March 1997, a miracle in itself. My confidence in my shepherd is stronger now than ever, not because I found Him to be trustworthy, wonderful, holy, or compassionate, though He is all those things. My confidence is strong not because I found Him to be anything, but because in my confusion and doubt, He found me.