The Playground…

We took my grandson to the playground not too long ago. Because of my recent surgery, I could not chase him around the playground. His parents would do the chasing; I did the watching. 

If you are depressed, I recommend you visit a playground on a Saturday morning. It is hard to believe children can have that much energy on the weekend. They were climbing on, over, and under all the playground equipment while their parents sipped at their Starbucks. There was laughter and cries of “Mama, watch this!”  The kids took turns; there was no shoving or pushing other kids out of the way. One little boy fell down; an older girl stopped her play to help him up. 

One set of grandparents chased a little girl around for an hour. They looked tired. The little girl did not. She ran from slide to slide, from climbing rope to ladders. Another couple, who I judged to be older parents, pursued their two little girls. One was the tomboy; the older daughter wore a dress but soon put away her ladylike behavior to run after her sister. 

I’ve always admired the way kids can make friends so fast. “You want to swing? I want to swing too! Let’s be friends.”  There was no inquiry about which church they went to or who they voted for. It was just, “Let’s be friends.”   

Two or three kids simply played in the wood chips. They seemed fascinated by the sticks and leaves. Where I saw something that needed to be raked, they saw objects of awe. Another little boy hung on the fence that enclosed the dog park. No climbing or running for him; he was taking in all the dogs playing and chasing tennis balls. His Dad stood behind him, just looking at his son, enjoying his canine fascination. 

Sometimes the kids would wear out for a minute. They would amble over to Mom, get a snack or a drink from a backpack, and then bound off again. One girl took her Cheetos bag up to the highest spot on the slide and then proceeded to polish off the bag. I’m not sure if the height enhanced the taste or if she was protecting her treasure from her siblings. 

None of the kids seemed worried about the economy, the war in Ukraine, or the increasing military might of China. Those worries were left to the adults. The kids ran from place to place, doing whatever caught their fancy. 

In the midst of all this was my grandson, the most adorable of all the kids (naturally). I could not help but grin at him. It was amazing to see him figure things out, which muscles to move to get where he needed to go. He is the most amazing child. I think I smiled for a solid hour, just looking at him and taking in all the scenes around him. 

I am often asked what heaven is like. Some people imagine it as a big family reunion. The Bible does not describe it that way. The main event of heaven is not reuniting with your loved ones; it is meeting Jesus. In heaven, we will finally understand the depth of his love and the full extent of his grace. That is why we will praise him. 

Heaven is also not full of leisure activities. We will not spend our time golfing or fishing. We will spend time marveling at how good our Heavenly Father is.   

But as I surveyed the playground, I wondered if heaven might be a little like the playground. Maybe we will experience an indescribable joy of being secure, of being safe, of knowing our Heavenly Father has taken care of all our anxieties and has defeated our greatest enemies. Maybe our Heavenly Father will watch his children play while he smiles upon them, simply delighting in them.   

Jesus said unless we become like little children, we cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Scholars speculate about what Jesus meant, but I don’t think they were at a playground when they wrote their commentaries. Perhaps Jesus meant to tell us we need to learn to accept our Heavenly Father’s love and forgiveness and discover how much our Heavenly Father smiles as he watches us.   

I think the children have something to teach us: live life in the security of your Heavenly Father, for he delights in you. Maybe you should visit a playground and imagine how God adores you like a grandfather adores his grandson.

Unequal Relationships

“Your relationship with another person is not the same relationship he or she has with you.”  I heard Andy Stanley say this in his recent message series, “The Weight of Your Words.”  I wish had heard it decades earlier.  It explains so much of my life, my frustrations in friendships, and my frustrations as a leader.

The truth of Andy’s statement is obvious when we think about our relationships with our parents and with our children.  These are not relationships of equals.  Most of us start our marriages by believing we can be equal partners.  The truth is I don’t want my wife to be my husband and she certainly doesn’t want me to be her wife.  We try to keep power dynamics out of our marriage, but we have a different relationship to each other.

I have been in several relationship triads.  Three of us were close friends, but there are times when I felt like the third wheel. Our relationships were not the same.  The other two in the triad had been friends longer and had more shared experiences; I was the newcomer they let in, but was always having to hear about experiences they had before I knew them.

In the first church I served that had staff, I thought we were a team and I would be first among equals.  It took me about fifteen years to learn that would never be the case.  As the pastor, I was the leader.  I often felt left out of the social moments on staff retreats.  I would walk into a room for a meeting and the laughter would stop.  I was not one of the guys.

I made the dynamic worse by trying to be “one of the guys.”  I would cut up and joke, and then get mad when everyone wanted to keep joking around and I was ready to be serious.  That was my fault. I didn’t help matters by getting mad when the staff didn’t respond to my agenda swings.

Our executive pastor reminds me my words weigh more than anyone else’s on the team.  I might make a sarcastic comment in some attempt to be funny, not realizing I just wounded someone.  A flippant idea might be taken seriously when I meant for people to simply think about this as a possibility and report back if it feasible. 

I often see this with Student Pastors.  They want to be “Buddies” with the kids they lead.  If a person takes this approach, they will fail.  Students need leadership.  Yes, you have relate to the kids, but kids can sniff out a phony faster than a pig can find a strawberry.  A student pastor’s relationship with his or her students is not the same as their relationship with him.

Edwin Friedman reminds leaders they are different than the people they lead.  He calls this “the self-differentiated leader.”  You do not depend on others for your sense of self.  You cannot expect others to understand what it is truly like to sit in your chair.

Jesus understood this.  When James and John asked to sit at his right and his left when he came into his Kingdom, Jesus responded, “You do not know what you are asking.  Can you drink from the cup I am about to drink from.”  They responded, “We can.”  Jesus, maybe with a smile on his face, said, “You will, but to be seated at my right and my left is for my Father to decide.”  I think that was Jesus’ way of saying, “ You will experience the thrill and pain of leadership, and it won’t be like you think.”

If you are a leader, own it.  Your relationship with the people you lead is not the relationship they have with you.

When You're Flooded...

It was one of those uncomfortable moments in the store.  A young mother with three small children was trying to get her shopping done.  The middle child by size (about two, I’d say) was not happy.  She was ready to go home.  I understand that feeling.  After about thirty minutes in a store, I’m ready to go home, too. 

Two-year-olds have surprisingly big voices in little bodies.  This little girl started to tear up and scream, “I want to go home!  I want to go home!”  Everyone in the store heard her.  Everyone within a ten-mile radius heard her.  Everyone knew she wanted to go home. 

Her mother tried all the standard techniques: “Shhh!  Be quiet.  We will go home in a few minutes;” “If you stop crying, I will buy you some candy (that would work for me);” and, as the mom felt the stares, “Will you stop crying!” 

None of the strategies worked.  The little girl upped her decibels.  Dogs began to howl outside the store.  I think I saw a jar of pickles start to vibrate.  More people were coming around the corner in search of this child in distress. 

The young mom had reached her limit.  She pulled out the nuclear option phrase: “If you don’t stop crying this instant, I will give you something to cry about.”   

The two-year-old looked at her mother with non-comprehending eyes.  You could read her thoughts on her furrowed forehead: “I already have something to cry about!  That’s why I’m crying.  What part of ‘I want to go home, Momma’ do you not understand?”   

My heart went out to the little girl and to her overwhelmed Mom.  How do you reason with a two-year-old whose emotions have torn her away from whatever reasoning ability she has? 

I have lived those intense moments of emotion when my soul was flooded, and reason left me.  I have felt the loss of someone I love so deeply that it seems all I can do is weep.  I have been filled with anger and said words that are mean, and I meant them, yet I didn’t mean them.  I have been so afraid I was paralyzed, not knowing what to do or say.  But sadness and grief is the emotion that floods my soul the most. 

Jesus once encountered people who were weeping because their friend Lazarus had died.  Jesus, who could have healed him, hadn’t come in time.  Now Jesus was on the scene.  He could feel the accusing eyes and read their message: “He was your friend.  Where were you?  You could have done something.  You could have healed him.”  Jesus does not tell them, “Don’t cry.”  He does not tell them he will give them something to cry about.  Instead, he joins their grief.  In the shortest verse in the Bible, we told one of its great truths: “Jesus wept.”   

This is the grace of God: he weeps with us.  Jesus understands the moments in your life when you are overwhelmed with emotion.  Jesus, with infinite patience, stops to feel with you.  He shares your tears.  But he also will share your joys, your anger, your anxiety.  To your joy, he brings song; to your anger, perspective; to your anxiety, peace.   

The theological word for this is “Incarnation.”  It means God dwells with us; he has taken on flesh.  God so loved the world that he became one of us so we could know that he knows us. 

I give the young mom credit.  Realizing what she said and how it sounded, she stopped her shopping, picked up the two-year-old out of the buggy, and held her while she cried.  She let her daughter cry out her frustration.  Then she tickled her and made her laugh. 

I think that is what Jesus does.  He holds us when we are flooded with emotion.  He cries when we cry.  Then, when we least expect it, he brings something good; he brings joy.  Jesus is the God of the morning when night turns to joy.  Whatever your tears, he will hold you.  And joy will come.

Leadership Lessons from the Surgery…

I had knee surgery two weeks ago.  I’m progressing well, thanks to a good surgeon and good physical therapists. 

I’ve thought about my orthopedic surgeon and what he taught me about time management.  Prior to my surgery, I was given a list of instructions and what I needed to take care of prior to surgery.  During my pre-surgery visit, the surgeon sat down and explained what the surgery would entail, what recovery would like, and answered my questions.  He was giving information that only he could give.

The day of my surgery, I met with the usual round of nurses, anesthesiologists, and aides.  Then my surgeon came in, spoke words of encouragement, marked which knee would be replaced, and prayed with me (a very kind gesture).  Then I was wheeled into the operating room.  One man was mopping the floor, which I was glad to see!  Nothing discourages you like the bone fragments from the last surgery.  The nurse was getting me up on the operating table, the anesthesiologist was giving me my spinal block, and then… I don’t remember a thing until I woke up in the recovery room.  I was glad the spinal tap worked!

The recovery room nurse’s job was to tell me to move my toes.  It’s a weird feeling to have toes, to see them, and not be able to move them.  Eventually I was able to wiggle them and get up to my room.

So what Leadership Lessons did I learn?  First, good leaders prepare people for what they will face.  No one likes surprises.  People are more likely to trust a leader who tells them what’s ahead.  Even more, good leaders assure people they have been through this before.  I could tell this was not the first rodeo for my team.

What if it is your first rodeo?  That’s when you “rent” an expert.  When our church decided to relocate, I was 38 years old and had never been through anything like a complete relocation.  But a relocation consultant was recommended to me.  He had consulted with 30 churches about relocation.  He came in for a weekend, then stayed with us through the design and move in stages.  People trusted his experience and in time, came to trust me.

Second, a good leader has a good team.  While the surgeon was important, so was the transport guy, the shave guy (don’t ask), the guy mopping the operating room floor, and all the rest.  Imagine if the surgeon had to do all these things!  A good leader makes sure his team knows their role, trains them in their role, and then gives them room to do their jobs.  The surgeon was not checking behind the team; he trusted them to do their jobs and they honored his trust.

Finally, I admired my surgeon’s time management.  He was focused on doing what he did best.  What he did best was surgery (and I was glad).  It made me rethink my schedule.  What am I doing out of guilt?  What am I doing that someone else could do better?  Where can I add the most value to our church? 

Every leader needs a “stop doing” list.  You may not be able to stop doing everything at once, but you need to have goals of what to stop doing and a timeline to shoot for.

My main leadership lessons from my surgery?  A good leader prepares people for what is coming; a good leader develops and is part of a good team; and a good leader focuses on doing what only he or she can do!

The Knee Evangelist...

I had a total knee replacement a couple of weeks ago.  It was not a surprise.  I had a meniscus repair three years ago, and they told me then I was just buying time.  A wise friend told me when I stopped doing things I enjoyed doing because my knee hurt, it was time to have the knee replaced.  The surgeon did a great job, the physical therapists have been great, and my recovery seems to be going well. 

In the meantime, I have turned into a knee evangelist.  I mean, I am talking a lot about my knee.  In my limited getting out, I am walking with a cane, mostly in fear that one of my physical therapists will see me without it and rain down curses upon me.  When you walk with a cane, everyone feels free to comment.  I’ve gotten everything from “Did your wife kick you?” (to which I wanted to respond, “No, did yours?”), to “Are you in terrible pain?” (If I am not screaming, the pain is tolerable). 

One man stopped me and asked where I put the oil in for my new knee.  I told him it was factory sealed.  A woman looked at my leg and then proceeded to tell me how terrible her second cousin’s wife’s surgery went when she had her knee replaced.  Why is it people want to tell you stories about other people’s surgery? 

A couple of people have bent down to look at my scar.  I wanted to tell them to open wide so I could look at their teeth.  I have new empathy for pregnant women who suddenly find their swollen abdomen community property.   

One encounter, however, stands out.  We were out to eat ( a cherished escape from the house) and were leaving our table.  An older lady stopped me and asked if I had a knee replacement.  Sensing she was genuinely curious, I told her yes.  She then told me her doctor wanted her to have both knees replaced, but she was scared.  Without me prompting her, she told me she was scared of the pain of the surgery, scared of the pain of physical therapy, and scared she would be worse off than before.  She shared she had just about decided to live with the pain of what she had rather than risk the pain of knee replacement. 

It surprises people that, by nature, I am an introvert.  This time, however, the words poured out of me to this stranger.  I told her I was completely out during the surgery and that the worst part was getting the spinal block.  “Oh,” she said, “You are just a big baby.  I had those when my children were born, and they were nothing.”  I replied, “Well, it was something for me!” 

I told her about my post-operative pain and how it was controlled; how the pain from physical therapy was not overwhelming at all; how the worst part was sleeping at night because I woke up so often from moving in the bed.  She said, “You didn’t get up very much with your babies, did you?”  I looked a little sheepish and admitted my wife did most of the getting up. 

I told her about looking forward to getting on the floor again with my grandson, walking with my wife, and being able to work outside without wearing out.  I could see the dreamy look in her eyes when I told her about all I wanted to do as my new knee was integrated into my body. 

As I talked, I felt like I was delivering a sermon for knees: “Come and be restored so your knee can bend!”  As our conversation drew to a close, she said, “You know, after talking to you, I believe I am going to have a talk with my doctor about this surgery.”  I wished her well and made my way out to the car. 

I thought about our brief encounter.  This woman was controlled by her fears.  She was holding onto her old pain, afraid something new would be worse.  She needed to hear the story of someone who had been through what she had been through, came out the other side and was finding life better.  She needed a knee evangelist. 

I wonder how many people let their fear keep them from coming to Jesus.  Do they hold onto their pain, their addiction, because they cannot fathom what a new life with Jesus would be like?  Do they need someone who has been through it to share his or her story, that the change is worth it? 

Ezekiel spoke for the Lord and said this: “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will remove your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh...”  Everyone you see needs a heart replacement.  Your story might give them the courage to ask God to make the great exchange.  If telling a story about a knee replacement can give a stranger courage, imagine telling the story of how Jesus changed your life could give someone the courage to let Jesus change their life.

The Asbury Revival…

The big news in the Evangelical world lately has been the Asbury Revival, which is occurring on the campus of Asbury University in the town of Wilmore, Kentucky.

A normal chapel service has turned into an ongoing time of praise, testimony, confession of sin, and deep awareness of the Holy Spirit.  People are being drawn from across the country to visit Asbury and experience this revival themselves.  This is not the first time such a revival has occurred at Asbury; a similar movement of God occurred in the 1970’s.   

Cynics have quickly taken to social media to declare the revival is nothing but a pile of manufactured emotion.  Others question the theological correctness of what is occurring.  Surprisingly, most of these critics are not from outside the faith but are from people who call themselves followers of Jesus.  The Jesus movement excels at “friendly fire.”  We often attack those we disagree with so we can feel more righteous than others.  It is the same attitude of the Pharisees, who were very proud of their humility. 

I only know what I read, and from the sound of things, God has chosen to move in an extraordinary way, at a specific time, in a specific way.  No one is profiting, and no one is getting famous.  One report I read described a well-known Christian singer contacting the university and offering to come and lead worship.  He was politely told he was welcome to come and participate, but the student-led worship team would be leading worship as they had throughout the revival.  I like that spirit. 

I am old enough to remember when most churches held two revivals a year.  For us, one was in late spring, the other in early fall.  Revivals were two weeks long and often had a morning and evening meeting time.  People would be urged to come and hear the visiting “Preacher.”  There were hopes and prayers that people who were far from God would profess their faith, that alcoholics would give up the drink, and that the church would be stirred to action.  Sometimes, those things actually happened.  I remember an alcoholic being saved one evening.  He did stop drinking, started studying his Bible, and became a bi-vocational pastor.  His other job was running a garbage company, and I remember him saying pastoring and being a garbage man wasn’t that different. 

Times changed.  Revivals went from two weeks to one week, then to four days, then to one day “Special Speaker” events.  It seemed like we didn’t have time to show up every night at church for a week to see what God might do; we might miss “All in the Family” on TV.  Maybe we were less comfortable with the unpredictable.  We still wanted God to move, but we humbly requested that he move during the allotted worship hour.  An Assembly of God pastor friend challenged me with this question: “Would you be willing to scrap your worship plan if the Holy Spirit began to move in a service?”  It is the kind of question that you know what the answer should be, but if you are honest, you must admit you fear the possibility of God showing up in the middle of one of your services.  Maybe that’s why Andy Stanley says, “The reason people don’t go to church anymore is because they have been.” 

I think those revivals of old were about making space for God to move.  You carved time out of life to put yourself in an environment so God could speak to you.  I think back to services where God moved, and it wasn’t that the music or the preaching was so great.  God moved because he chose to move and because there was space in hearts to hear him.  This sounds like what is happening at the Asbury Revival. 

Have you created space in your life to hear from God?  Do you really want to hear him?  I think this is the challenge the Asbury Revival brings to all of us.  Is our prayer, “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening?”

To the critics of the Asbury Revival, I want to say, “Stop it.”  Just stop it.  Nowhere in scripture does Jesus say, “Blessed are the nitpickers, for their correctness will draw people to me.”  Instead, read this story in Mark 9: “Teacher,” said John, “we saw someone driving out demons in your name, and we told him to stop because he was not one of us.”

 “Do not stop him,” Jesus said. “For no one who does a miracle in my name can in the next moment say anything bad about me, for whoever is not against us is for us. Truly I tell you, anyone who gives you a cup of water in my name because you belong to the Messiah will certainly not lose their reward.”

How about we agree to listen to Jesus and follow him, and seek God in our own walk?  Maybe then, the presence of God will fall on us as well.

The Spy Balloon…

A Chinese spy balloon has overflown the United States until it was finally shot down by US Air Force F-22  near Myrtle Beach, SC.  The balloon traversed the United States, overflying some sensitive military installations, including the Air Force Base near my home.  Authorities believe the purpose of the spy balloon was not so much to take pictures but to eavesdrop on sensitive military communications. 

Understanding how such balloons work is far above my pay grade.  However, if the balloon did take pictures while overflying my house, it would have seen sensitive objects I would prefer the world not know, such as the kayak I borrowed from a friend last October, the trimmings from bushes I cut back that I have not yet picked up, and weeds growing out of last year’s garden. 

Several of my friends offered to shoot the balloon down in service to our government.  One was trying to figure out the ballistics of shooting down a balloon with a .50 caliber magnum rifle.  I told him I didn’t think the bullet would reach 66,000 feet.  He replied it would be no problem; he had a buddy who had a Cessna who would take him up to get a better shot.  Rednecks with guns and planes are a dangerous combination. 

The politicians, of course, quickly pounced on the issue.  Those jockeying to run for President quickly said they would have ordered the balloon shot down as soon as it entered US air space.  Keep in mind the balloon was the size of three buses.  If it came down on an interstate highway, imagine the chaos.  The Pentagon leaked that other balloons have been released and have flown over the United States.  Maybe Carl Fredericksen from the Disney movie “UP” had a few escape. 

Spying is nothing new, of course.  President Eisenhower ordered spy balloons to be sent over the old Soviet Union disguised as weather balloons.  The U-2 spy planes regularly overflew the Soviet Union until one was shot down in 1960.  Satellites largely ended the need to fly over enemy territory to gather intelligence.  I’m sure the Chinese have their own reasons why they thought they could send a balloon over the United States, knowing we would notice. 

There are a few stories about spies in the Bible.  Moses sent spies into the Promised Land.  They brought back a report that the land was fabulous, but the people of the land were strong.  The people of Israel chickened out and demanded to go back to Egypt.  The data you develop from spying can psych you out. 

Later, Joshua sends two spies into the city of Jericho.  Word gets out, and they hide in Rahab’s house.  Let’s just say a lot of men went to Rahab’s house because she managed a late evening business.  The spies made a deal with her; she and her family were spared when Jericho was destroyed.  Rahab winds up marrying an Israelite, and later, one of her great, great, great-grandchildren winds up being King David.  This might have been a case of “The Spy Who Loved Me.”        

When David’s son Absalom rebels against him, David sent back Zadok, the priest, and his sons to spy on Absalom and send messages back to him.  He planted Hushai as a spy in Absalom’s court.  Espionage is a very old art. 

God needs no spies.  We are told in Proverbs 15:3: “The eyes of the Lord are everywhere,  keeping watch on the wicked and the good.”   God knows what the Chinese are up to; he decodes the codes faster than they can be coded; the secrets nations try to hide are plain to him.  I am not sure if God has a brain, but if he did, can you imagine how amazing his brain would be?

 Perhaps more frightening is Hebrews 4:13: “And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account.”  God knows what you look like naked, and it does not scare him.   

When I was growing up, my mother tried to frighten me with the thought that God sees everything I do, so I had better behave.  I admit I was scared for a while; however, the power of temptation can make you forget good theology.  As I grew older, I realized God knowing everything was a good thing.  It means God can prepare me for what is ahead; he knows my weakness and strengthens me, and because he knows what is happening in the world, he can intervene on my behalf in events half a world away.  God’s knowledge is one more reason I can trust him. 

Theologians call this God’s omniscience.   To me, it is a reminder I am not doing my life alone, and that my Heavenly Father has a deep and personal knowledge of me and the world I live in.  My life is best when I trust his knowledge and lean not on my own understanding.  My God does not need a spy balloon to know what is going on.

Pacing

We were working cows at the ranch last week.  The cows are penned, sorted, doctored, and then turned out.  I have seen this ballet of work a hundred times in my life, but it never grows old.

When we turn the cows out, one man cracks open the gate just wide enough for a cow to go through.  Another man, either or horseback or on foot, stands in the pen, and gently walks the cows toward the gate.  The cows feel the pressure of someone behind them, and they see the narrow escape route.  They run past the man, and out into the pasture.

Why not let them all out at once?  If all the cows saw the gate wide open, they would rush the gate.  What happens when 150 cows try to go through a twelve-foot gate all at once?  Damage.  I’ve seen too many cows crowd the gate and the gate man lose control.  Suddenly, all the cows are running through and there is the sickening “crack” of wood snapping.  One hundred thousand pounds of beef on the move can crack an eight-inch post in two, and demolish a three-hundred pound gate.  The pace at which you let the cows out matters.

The pace of change in an organization matters too.  Some organizations never change because the gate isn’t even open.  Sometimes, the gate is not open enough for people to see a better future on the other side of the gate.  Sometimes, there is not enough pressure to move people toward change.  If there is not a compelling reason “why,” people respond by saying, “Why change?”

If a leader is conflict adverse, they may not wish to build the case for change.  It requires extra work, extra research, and extra risk.  It may be easier to keep all the cows in the pen, but eventually, the cows will die from lack of food and water.

Some leaders want fast change.  This usually is not because of a crisis, but because of the leader’s inward sense of urgency and ambition.  They push hard, and the change happens, but a lot of damage is done in the process.  I heard one pastor described like this: “He gets things done, but he leaves behind a lot a bodies.” 

The environment of your organization is factor in pacing change.  In general, city dwellers are more receptive to change than rural dwellers.  Before attempting change in a small-town organization, you have to earn trust.  People trust people they have known for decades before they trust people they have known months.

Your church or organization itself has internal dynamics that impact change.  Older, established organizations change slower than newer, leaner organizations.  Both businesses and churches have power blocks that must be considered.

I never had a class that taught me about the pace of change.  Knowing the pace of change is more caught than taught.  The only way to pick it up is to be the man on the gate and get run over a few times.  Or be the man in the back and have the cows turn back on you.  One of my favorite quotes from Teddy Roosevelt is from his “Man in the Arena” speech at the Sorbonne:  “…the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds, who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause…”

Get in the pen, learn to pace change.  Your organization needs it.  Your church needs it. 

Tyre Nichols…

Tyre Nichols was a 29-year-old Black male who moved to Memphis in 2020. He worked the second shift at FedEx, loved skateboarding and photography, had a four-year-old son, and suffered from Crohn’s Disease. On January 7th, he was stopped by a “Scorpion” unit of the Memphis police, a unit whose purpose was to crack down on violent crime. The preliminary police report indicated he was stopped for reckless driving, though a review of the police dashboard camera revealed no evidence to support that claim. After stopping Mr. Nichols, the police ordered him from his car, tazed him, pepper-sprayed him, and verbally threatened him.    

Mr. Nichols then ran from the police toward his mother’s house a few blocks away. The officers pursued him, again subdued him, and began to beat him with their nightsticks. The police issued 71 commands in a span of 13 minutes, including commands that were impossible to obey. For example, one officer told Mr. Nichols to show his hands while another officer was attempting to handcuff Mr. Nichols. In the videos, Mr. Nichols is never shown resisting the officers; the video records him calling for his mother. Mr. Nichols lost consciousness, and paramedics were called. According to reports, Mr. Nichols did not receive treatment for his injuries until sixteen minutes after the paramedics arrived. He succumbed to his injuries on January 10th. The preliminary autopsy indicates his death was caused by blunt force trauma to his head. 

The five officers on the scene have been fired from the Memphis Police Department and have been charged with murder in the second degree. All five officers are Black. Three Memphis Fire Department employees – two paramedics and one lieutenant, have been fired for failing to follow department guidelines in the treatment of patients.   

Having seen the video, it is clear to me that Mr. Nichols should not have died. If he was guilty of a crime, he should have been cuffed and taken to processing. One wonders why the five officers perceived him as such a threat. 

Law enforcement officials around the country have reviewed the tape and declared this incident should never have happened. My hunch is they are praying it never happens in their department. Because the officers and Mr. Nichols are Black, it is hard to say the crime was based on race. But Mr. Nichols death should not be dismissed as “Black on Black” crime. Perhaps Black officers can assume all young Black males are threats. Prejudice can be easily adopted. 

God warned Cain that sin was lurking like a lion, waiting to devour him. I wonder if Cain intended to kill Abel when he invited him to go out into the field. His jealousy and anger were simply brewing in his soul. Maybe Cain just wanted to rub Abel’s nose in the dirt or beat him up good to send him a message. Abel was doing his work when Cain’s anger came to a boil. Cain struck him and killed him. When God asked Cain where his brother was, Cain responded, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”  God replied, “Your brother’s blood cries out from the ground.”  God doesn’t miss anything. 

Most of us want to believe such violence could never live in our hearts. We think we would never raise our hand to take someone’s life. I doubt the five Memphis police officers went out the door to work that day saying, “Good-bye Honey. I’ll be beating a man to death later on, so I might be late coming home.”  Jeremiah tells us, “The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Who can know it?”  Jeremiah is telling us we lie to ourselves about our own righteousness, our ways of thinking are twisted, and we don’t even know ourselves. 

I think this is why we need to regularly pray, “Search me, O God, and know my heart; Test me and see if there is any wicked way in me.”  Until you know you have the capacity to commit evil, you will not deal with the reality of evil in your life. 

I wonder how different January 7th might have been if each of the five officers, before they went to work, had prayed, “O Lord, today, guide me in what is right. Search my heart and clean out anger, bitterness, and hate. May I treat others as I want to be treated. Amen.”  I wonder if Tyre Nichols might still be going to his job, his son would cry out, “Daddy!” when he came home, and he might be tasting his Momma’s good cooking. 

Then I wonder how different my day – and yours – would be if we paused and prayed, “O Lord, today, guide me in what is right. Search my heart and clean out anger, bitterness, and hate. May I treat others as I want to be treated. Amen.”

Household Budget Guide

This is link to a Dave Ramsey Form for budgeting. Once there, click on Monthly Cash Flow Plan

All Things Come to an End…

The church I pastored in Louisville recently merged with another church.  I say it merged.  The truth is, the congregation had dwindled over the years, the neighborhood had changed, and the church was on the verge of closing its doors.  A larger church in the city offered to take over the building, to re-staff the church, and to make it a satellite location.   

Part of me is glad.  The good people of that church, through the years, served and sacrificed for Jesus.  Their legacy will live on as the new church builds on their sacrifices.  But part of me is also sad.  In the five and a half years I served that church, we rekindled hope, we reached people, and we did some whacky things.  We closed the street in front of the church one Sunday to celebrate the church’s 65th anniversary.  If the weather was nice, we would roll the piano out to the front porch, move some chairs, and hold Sunday night church on the sidewalk.  I had a little Ford Ranger truck (they were made in Louisville, a few miles from the church), and every year we had a challenge to fill the truck with diapers and paper towels for the local food closet.  Those days are long gone and the days of that church being an independent congregation is over. 

All things come to an end.  One day I will no longer be the pastor of the church I’ve served for twenty-eight years.  That will be a change in my identity.  One day my health will decay, and I will not be able to keep my cows.  One day I will die, and my family will mourn.   

There is something about things coming to an end that bothers us.  We don’t like to think about our death or the decline of our health.  Older folks regularly tell me, “I never thought I would get old.”  I wonder, “Did you ever know someone who didn’t get older?”  A friend of mine with young children told me, “One day, I know my youngest son will no longer want to take a nap with Mom.  I will cry a lot that day.  So right now, I take all the naps with him I can.”   

When something ends, I am sad.  I feel the loss, the comfort of the familiar.  I want to hold onto the memories, the good stories.  Maybe that’s why I write so many columns about the past; it is a way to deal with the sadness. 

Some things end, and I am mad.  I get angry with people who make stupid decisions and cause great harm to others and wind up destroying something I love.  It angers me when people will not accept reality and adjust their decisions.  I have seen strong churches, businesses, and families destroyed by people’s selfishness, and it makes me mad. 

I have been left holding the bag to clean up someone else’s mess more than once.  I prayed and asked God, “Why me?”  Often, I feel like God’s response is, “I trust you to clean this up the right way.”  Like Corrie ten Boon, sometimes I wish God did not trust me quite so much. 

When people die, we hold a funeral or a memorial service.  We don’t have funeral services when a marriage dies or a company goes out of business.  We have retirement ceremonies, but they seem a little hollow when everyone else goes back to work and we load the last box from our office into the truck.  We don’t know quite how to mark such occasions. 

Jesus was not afraid to talk about the end of things.  Three times he told his disciples he would be crucified.  He talked about the end of time, how one would be taken and the other left behind.  He foretold the end of Temple worship in Jerusalem, which would take place forty years after his death and resurrection.   

Why was Jesus so at ease talking about endings?  I think it was because he knew how all things end.  He knew at the end of time there would be a great final battle that he would win.  He knew there would be a new heaven and a new earth.  He knew the former things would pass away.  He knew Satan would be hurled into a pit, and those people who wanted to live their lives without God would join Satan there.  He also knew that people who love him, who accept his gift of grace and salvation, would join him in heaven, where there are no more tears, no more pain.   

When you know the big ending, it reminds you to bring all your emotions about the little endings in your life to Jesus.  Ask him to let you see the big picture.  Trust your grief into his hands.  Though all things may end, the love and grace of Jesus never end.   Make sure your own ending is given to him.

The 5Cs of Hiring

Five NFL teams are looking for head coaches.  Here is the scary reality: the decision will rest with the owner, who may or may not have a good framework for hiring.  More than one NFL coach has been signed to a multi-year contract worth millions based on his past record with another team, or his record in college, and an hour or two with the owner.   NFL owners are very rich, successful people and fall pray to what I call “The Gut Fallacy:” The more successful a person has been, the more they trust their gut, instead of trusting a process.

A simple process I use is the 5Cs of hiring.  The first C is Competency.  Can they do the job?  Do they have the training or experience?  If not, do they show evidence of thinking like a person in that position?  Shane Beamer had never been a head coach, or an offensive or defensive coordinator.  When he interviewed with South Carolina Athletic Director Ray Tanner, he handed Tanner an iPad that contained a detailed plan of how he would run the program if he was the head coach.  Tanner was convinced that Beamer had the Competency to do the job, even if he didn’t have the experience.  Two years into Beamer’s tenure as Head Coach, he has proven he knows how to be a head coach.  Make sure your candidate can do the job.

The second C is Chemistry.  I discussed this in last week’s blog post.  Chemistry is about how well a person fits with the team.  Recently we interviewed a candidate for a position.  We all agreed we liked him.  However, we could not picture him on our team.  It was hard to say “no” to him, because he had done nothing wrong.  But we realized if we hired him, we would introduce abrasion to our team that would slow us down.  Wrong chemistry slows you down.

The third C is Character.  Character is both a person’s integrity and his or her personality.  We use several personality inventories that help discover who a person is.  While the Enneagram profile is popular now, we prefer a test called the Caliper test.  It is expensive, but we have found it to be the most accurate portrayal of a person’s personality.  A person’s integrity is difficult to assess, but this is why you should follow up with references.  I once received a phone call from an irate woman, wanting to know why I lied to the search committee of her church. A former employee of our church had taken a position there and apparently had upset people.  She assumed I had lied when the committee called me for a reference.  After a few minutes of letting her express her feelings, I told her that I would glad to confess I lied to the committee if I had done so, but the truth was the search committee never called me.  There was silence on the other end of the call, then she thanked me and hung up.  For the record, I would not have lied to the search committee if they had called me.  Do all you can to find out the real character of the candidate.

The fourth C is Capacity.  Does the candidate have the capacity to grow?  Are they coachable?  We interviewed a candidate who began to tell us how to fix our Groups at church in the first interview.  We had not even shared with him our perspective of our challenges.  Needless to say, we realized he was not coachable.  A parallel question is “Do I have the capacity to coach them?”  I like to think I can coach anyone.  I have several hiring failures to demonstrate I can’t.  Some people make it clear they need lots of social time.  Don’t have that capacity.  Some people are very wounded and need me to counsel them every week.  Not in my wheelhouse.  Some people insist they don’t want to be micromanaged, but are really saying, “Leave me alone and don’t hold me accountable.”  Not going to happen.  Don’t hire someone until you know if they have the capacity to grow and you have the capacity to coach them.

The final C is Call.  We use this word because we are a church and it is good Biblical word.  Jack Welch called this “passion.”  In the secular world, it means, “Will this person see this as more than a job?  Will they commit to your mission?”  In church world, we pray for God’s leadership and direction about who we hire.  We take Call seriously.  No matter how talented a person is, if they do not sense a call to serve this church, this mission, this community, we take a pass.

There are lots of grids out there to use.  The 5Cs work for us.  If any NFL owners would like me to guide them through the process, my fee would be very modest – a lot lower than what it costs to buy out a coach’s contract!

Lost Papers…

If you no longer follow the news, you may have missed the stories about the lost files of Donald Trump and Joe Biden.  The quick summary is this: Top Secret files were found at Mar-a-Lago, President Trump’s home in Florida.  Weeks later, Top Secret files were found at President Biden’s office from his Vice-President days, and later, in his garage and at his beach house.  Naturally, the media is having a field day with this story.   

I get it, however.  Not being the most organized person in the world myself, I looked at the pile of papers on my desk and decided to investigate.  I want to make sure I have not overlooked any Top Secret documents. 

My first discovery are notes from a meeting held last month.  Definitely belongs in the trash.  Then I find the outline of an article I meant to write two years ago and never started.  A file folder for a workshop I was to lead but was canceled by COVID is the next thing unearthed.  

Digging deeper in the pile, I find a message series I outlined five years ago.  Looking at it now, I am glad it never saw the light of day.  There is an empty file folder for a teaching assignment long past, an outline of my leadership philosophy, and a folder full of sermon ideas, some of which date back to the 1990’s.   

Getting toward the bottom of the pile, I found a newsletter from August 4, 2000.  My picture is on the newsletter, offering proof I once had hair.  At the very bottom is a spiral notebook from a seminar I attended.  The information it contains is valuable, but I don’t know where to put it.  It doesn’t fit on my bookshelf, and it is too big for my file cabinet.  So it sits in my paper pile, slowly decaying. 

My paper deluge is amplified by the fact I have three desks.  I was describing the desk in my study; my office desk is neater, mostly because that office is where I meet people.  I do have a stack of books on that desk; however, they have not yet made it to my study.  These are books I feel obligated to read because someone gave them to me, or they are books I am not interested in, but they were free.  I find it so hard to throw away a free book. 

My desk at home is by far the messiest.  It is also the smallest.  One stack of papers contains articles about the orange and cattle businesses.  Another stack of papers is the beginning of my tax documents for the year.  Still, another stack is for my little herd of cows in South Carolina.  This desk can feel claustrophobic. 

I am a long way from being President of the United States.  I can’t imagine how much paper the President deals with in a day.  Given the breadth of our government, even the number of Top Secret files the President sees every day must number in the dozens.   

Most Presidents hate to leave the White House.  Bill Clinton hated to leave so much, on the night before George W. Bush’s inauguration, he said he was opening drawers and dumping the contents into boxes with no thought of organization.  No wonder Top Secret files get jumbled in with regular stuff.  I can imagine aides of the President in those last hectic days picking up a stack of files and dumping them into boxes with that familiar lie: “We will sort through all this later.”   

Then I think about all God has to keep track of.  Do you realize God never has to write anything down to remember it?  There is no angel who transcribes God’s meeting notes.  He remembers it all.  That blows my mind.  God has never misplaced a star nor lost a comet.  According to Jesus, our Heavenly Father is aware of every sparrow and knows the number of hairs on our heads.  It is estimated that some 117 billion people have lived throughout human history.  It is also estimated the average person has 100,000 hairs on their head.  When I tried to calculate this on my computer, my calculator app whimpered and then gave me an answer of 1.17e+16.  I have no idea what that means other than God has known a lot of hairs in his day. 

Your Heavenly Father also never loses sight of you.  He knows where you are, what you struggle with, what brings you joy, and what sin keeps you down.  Our Heavenly Father can remember your childhood, and he knows your future.  This promise, I think, is the basis for the old hymn, “Safe in the Arms of Jesus.”  He knows you and holds you safe. 

It does make me wonder, before a President leaves office, if he or she should pray, “Heavenly Father, please show where the Top Secret files are, so I can turn them in before I go.”  It couldn’t hurt.

Chemistry...

This morning’s New York Times featured an article about New York Giants head coach Brian Daboll.  For those of you not tuned into the NFL, Coach Daboll has taken the Giants from a team that finished last in wins and losses in the NFL for five straight years, to a berth in the playoffs this year.

The article focused the chemistry of the coaching staff and Daboll’s hiring method.  Most head coaches in the NFL hire people they have met on the coaching journey: friends, buddies, people who shared the vagabond life of a coach.  Daboll has focused on chemistry and competence.  Chemistry is how people mesh on the team.  Competency is “Can they do the job?”

Daboll involves his coaching staff in the hiring process.  They get a chance to interact with candidates.  Daboll askes them to vote; if the vote is a tie, he says, “Let’s think about this a little bit.”  Position coaches participate in the hiring of their bosses, the coordinators.  This approached created chemistry for the existing staff; their voice was heard, their opinion mattered. 

Daboll believes that strong chemistry among the coaches leads to strong chemistry among the players.  He said, “When you’re bringing people in, as a leader, you’re also looking at how everybody meshes.  Because just as important as players are to team chemistry, I’d say the coaches are as important and they have to set the culture and the chemistry.”

The leader is responsible for the chemistry of the team!

My neighbor recently complained about his church staff team.  “They are two good people who refuse to work together,” he said.  That’s a chemistry problem.

In church world, where hiring is often done by committee, the leader must be part of the process.  He or she must be courageous enough to speak up and say, “I do not feel a connection with this person.”  Otherwise, bad chemistry is headed your way.

Firing might be easier in the corporate world, but hours will be wasted in frustration and decision making.  A wise friend told me, “You are better off wanting someone you do not have, than having someone you do not want.”

How do you know if you have good chemistry with someone?  Personality tests can give language to the comfort and the discomfort you might feel in the interview.  Spend time with people.  Patrick Lencioni suggests spending time with people outside the normal interview environment (see The Ideal Team Player).   Involve your team in the interview process.  Respect their feedback.

Chemistry is an accelerator!  It helps your team win!

Peace …

Some people are not interested in peace.  As I watched the drama unfold in Washington about the election of the Speaker of the House, I realized some of the people involved were not open to compromise or finding a middle ground.  They saw themselves as disruptors, eager to derail the election of Kevin McCarthy as the next speaker of the House.   

The whole scene was familiar to me.  I am a Baptist Pastor, and in Baptist life, the congregation votes on many decisions of the church.  In one church I pastored, we would present a proposal, and a certain individual would be opposed, mostly for the sake of being oppositional.  Since the church had an unhealthy tradition of requiring unanimous votes, nothing ever changed in that church.   

I have done enough marriage counseling to recognize the disruptor pattern.  Either the husband or the wife controls the marriage by demanding his or her partner give in to the partner’s desires.  If not, the threat is thrown down that divorce will ensue.  Sometimes these marriages survive for a long time, but there is not much intimacy. 

You will find disruptors at work, too.  They excel at pointing out flaws but seldom offer solutions.  Wherever you find disruptors, you can be sure their goal is not health and progress but control. 

This may be hard to hear, but I am not sure a true Jesus follower can be a disruptor.  This is not to say Christians must agree on all matters.  I also believe Christians do need to stand on the truth and advocate for it.  We need to lovingly challenge one another about our walk with Christ.  As the Proverb says, “Iron sharpens iron.   

There are others, however, who disrupt to gain control, who destroy relationships to show how important they are, who refuse to find a way to get along.  Are these folks really following Jesus?  The apostle Paul told us, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”  Of course, Paul understood there would be times peace does not depend on you.  Others choose war, and you must respond.  But the principle holds: If I am a true follower of Jesus, I need to find a way to live in peace with everyone. 

On the night before Jesus was crucified, he told his disciples, “Peace I give to you; my peace I leave with you.  Not as the world gives do I give to you.  Do not let your hearts be troubled.  Do not be afraid.”  The peace Jesus was referring to is Shalom peace, a deep sense of well-being.  The absence of conflict is not peace.  It can be a temporary lull in the war.   

Is it possible to live with a deep peace?  I believe it is.  I wish I lived this way every day.  On the days I let the deep peace of Jesus rule my life, I know that no matter how I fail, what thoughts and emotions I have, how my body is feeling, or how my relationships are going, I know I am profoundly and deeply loved by my Heavenly Father.  I am not doing my journey alone.  I know the peace of my soul is not determined by outside forces but by the inner calm of the Spirit.  Every day I live this way is a good day. 

I wish and pray that people had this peace.  I think how different the world would be.  Putin would stop the war in Ukraine.  Kim would stop launching missiles at Japan.  Congressmen would stop posturing for the cameras and try to work together.  Church business meetings would be respectful, and the church would make progress.  Marriages would have more intimacy.  The world really could be different if the peace of Jesus inhabited more hearts. 

Why don’t more people hunger for the peace of Jesus?  Maybe Christians, like myself, have failed them.  If we do not show the peace of Christ in our lives, people will wonder if it is real. 

I never met Dallas Willard, but people who knew him described him as the most peaceful soul they ever knew.  Dallas was a philosophy professor at the University of Southern California (the other USC).  He was also a devote follower of Jesus.   

Dallas would speak and not worry if he connected – he left the results in God’s hands.  If he missed a flight, he would ponder why God gave him the opportunity to wait.  When a student challenged him in class with sophomoric logic, Dallas would pause and then dismiss class, later telling his TA, “I am trying to practice the discipline of not having the last word.”  Someone said of Dallas, “I’d like to live in his time zone.”   Dallas lived with the peace of Jesus. 

Pause.  Think about the peace Jesus offers you.  Embrace it.  Your days, your years, and your eternity will be better.

Daddy’s 104th Birthday…

January 2nd was my father’s 104th birthday. My father, of course, was not here to celebrate. He celebrated his 42nd birthday and died five months later.  

For years, my brother, sister, and I would call each other on Daddy’s birthday, just to remember. They had stories to share that I did not have; I was only eighteen months old when he died. I don’t remember when we started the tradition of having a steak on his birthday, but each of us, whether in Wauchula, Kissimmee, or South Carolina, would eat a steak in honor of Daddy. I suppose other people might hoist a beer in memory of their father, but steak is better. 

My brother and sister are gone now, and I am the only one left who remembers January 2nd is an important day. No one told me that a hard part of growing old is being the last one to remember. My stepfather, Lawrence (Who was my father’s nephew. We are a complicated, Southern family), was the last of his siblings to survive. He told me he felt like the last of the Mohicans. Now I know what he meant. Even though I have no memories of my own, I have memories of memories.   

Most everyone is gone now, the people who remember my father bulldogging a steer in Avon Park in 1.8 seconds. Google says the world record is 2.4 seconds. My Daddy did this in 1943. No one remembers him winning All-Round Cowboy at the Arcadia Rodeo. In those days, the cowboys used to race each other in the 40-yard dash and bet on who would win. My Daddy was sneaky fast. He was so big no one believed he was fast. But he would win the race every time. I think my cousins Marcus and Ross and me are the last ones who remember the stories of how fast Daddy was. 

I try to explain to my children why the ranch means so much to me. While Southerners, in general, are obsessed with owning land (from Gone with the Wind:  Gerald O'Hara: “Do you mean to tell me, Katie Scarlett O'Hara, that Tara, that land doesn't mean anything to you? Why, land is the only thing in the world worth workin' for, worth fightin' for, worth dyin' for, because it's the only thing that lasts.”), the ranch is a physical remembrance of my father. When I ride the pasture, I remember he rode that same land. The cow pens are where he wanted them to be because he thought his sister would sell him her land. He was the one who set out the groves in their rows. The land is the tie between my father and me.  

No one lives forever. While I am not planning on dying anytime soon, as the old-timers used to say, my time will come. I pray to live long enough to tell my grandson some stories about his great-grandfather. I don’t expect him to remember my father’s birthday, but I hope he will remember some of the stories. That is one reason I write some of these columns, in hopes that my grandchildren might read them one day. I hope memories of my father will not die. Maybe I feel that way because his life was cut so short; surely, his memories deserve to live on. 

I wonder if that is why we make headstones out of marble and bronze. Is it our way of crying out, “Don’t forget me?”  Isn’t that why rich people give millions away to have something named for themselves? Aren’t they saying, “Hey, I was here! I made a lot of money! Remember me!” 

When Jesus was dying on the cross, one of the men who was being crucified with him made a simple request: “Lord, remember me when you enter your Kingdom.”  He wasn’t asking to be saved from a horrible death. He wasn’t asking to go to heaven. He simply did not want to be forgotten. He wanted someone to remember that he lived, he breathed, he laughed. Maybe he even ran a race or two.   

Jesus told him, “Today, you will be with me in paradise.”   Jesus saw in the man’s request enough faith that he was saved. I think about how busy Jesus was that day. He was dying for all the sins that were ever committed, that were being committed, and that would be committed all at once. He was in pain. He knew after his death there would be work to do: descending into hell, getting ready to be resurrected. But in his last hours, he made a promise to a man that he would remember him and that remembrance would lead him to Paradise. 

I often visit New Hope Cemetery, where my people are buried. When I stand by my father’s grave (probably the only headstone in America with the name “Kong” on it), I think about Jesus and the thief on the cross. And I have hope. Even if everyone else forgets, God remembers.

The Faith of Christmas…

Most of the people involved in the Christmas story were puzzled when they heard what God was up to. 

Mary was minding her own business as a small-town girl, getting ready for her wedding, and her life as a carpenter’s wife, when the angel Gabriel appeared to her.  Gabriel tries to start the conversation gently: “Greetings, you who are highly graced!  The Lord is with you!” 

No matter how gently an angel begins a conversation with you, it is still a shock.  Angels do not appear every day.  Mary was agitated by Gabriel’s words and wondered what would come after a greeting like this.  Her agitation must have increased by what followed: “You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to call his name Jesus.”  If that wasn’t shocking enough, Gabriel filled in more of the story.  This baby Mary would have would be the son of the Most High God, the Messiah, and would establish a Kingdom that will never end.  Clear enough, Mary? 

Mary splutters, “How?  I’m still a virgin.”  Gabriel responds, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.  So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God.”  Did Mary think, “Thanks.  That really clears things up.” 

After a few more words, Mary says, “I am the Lord’s servant.  May it be to me as you have said.”  To accept this mission, Mary had to have faith.  There were unanswered questions about how to break the news to Joseph and her parents.  Mary lived in Nazareth, and every good Jewish boy and girl knew the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem.  How would that work out?  Faith meant saying “Yes” without all the answers. 

Joseph was learning the ways of a carpenter, looking forward to his marriage with Mary.  They had known each other since childhood, the way everyone knows everyone in a small town.  Since the marriage arrangement had been finalized, there had been a few private moments:  quiet walks to the town well, glances at synagogue, and conversations at the front door of Mary’s home. 

Mary must have told Joseph about the pregnancy, about Gabriel appearing.  When he heard her account, did he wonder about her sanity?  Did he believe the worst about her?  He must have doubted her account because he resolved to break the engagement quietly.   

A dream changed his mind.  It was a dream with an angel telling him not to be afraid, that Mary’s pregnancy was God’s work.  Joseph was told the baby was a boy and he was to be named “Jesus” because he would save people from their sins.

When Joseph woke up from the dream, he must have wondered if an angel really spoke to him, or was it all in his head?  He believed the dream and married Mary.   

Joseph must have had questions.  How, exactly, do you parent the Savior?  Do you try to explain this to your friends?  What will everyone say?  If Joseph had any foresight, surely he must have realized for the rest of his life he would have to hear gossip that Jesus wasn’t really his boy, that he must be the dumbest man in Nazareth to go ahead and marry Mary.  Faith means people will not understand your actions; they will question your judgment, and you will feel some pressure about doing God’s will. 

It took faith for the shepherds to believe a baby born in a stable, laid in a manger, was the promised Messiah.  It took faith for the wise men to believe a poor couple, displaced by government decree, could be the parents of the King.  It took faith for Simeon and Anna to believe a baby, not that different than all the others at the Temple that day, could be the promised one of God. 

Faith is part of the mystery of God.  He allows us room to doubt and to believe our doubts.  Faith is the courage to have questions, to know a tough road lies ahead, and to take that next step anyway.   

This Christmas, is God asking you to take a next step of faith?  To move forward, even though you have questions?  To risk being misunderstood?  To believe God can do things that you think are impossible?  To make Christmas the most wonderful time of the year, take a step of faith.  Take that step and see what God will do.

In the Days Before Christmas…

In the days before Christmas, the man who owned the stable was coping with his overcrowded home.  Relatives had poured in from everywhere, answering Caesar’s demand that all of the Roman empire be taxed.  He wasn’t sure who was a cousin and who was pretending to be family.  He had taken pity on one poor relation, a young couple fresh from the upcountry.  She was pregnant, due to deliver any day.  He had no idea that in a few days, his nighttime slumber would be interrupted by shepherds bustling around his barn, eager to see a new baby.  They babbled on about angels and a Savior being born.  How could he know the hope of the world was lying in his feed trough, in his barn? 

In the days before Christmas, the shepherds were out in the fields, guiding their sheep to fresh grass, making sure they had fresh water, and keeping watch at night for predators and thieves.  Their job sounded more romantic than it was.  The nights were long and tedious; the days were repetitive.  They had no idea in a few days the tedium would change.  An angel would burst into view, scaring them to death.  There was good news, the angel said, for a Savior was born in Bethlehem.  Then the sky filled with angels, proclaiming, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, good will toward men.”  They would leave their flocks and go to find their Savior, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.   

In the days before Christmas, the wise men were deep in their books, trying to divine the mysteries of the universe.  In the evening, they scanned the heavens, seeking to fathom both the past and the future.  They had no idea in a few days, a star would appear.  There was something remarkable about this star; it seemed to call them.  They had no idea they would be saddling up for a fifty-day journey, that nights would be filled with discussions about the new king and what he would mean for history, or that once they arrived in Judea, they would meet the evil King Herod, and a baby in a humble house, who would be the hope of the world. 

In the days before Christmas, Herod was secure on his throne.  Many had died to provide him that security, including his own son and one of his wives.  Herod had been in control of his corner of the Roman empire for a very long time, and in his old age, his paranoia grew.  But for the moment, he saw no threats on the horizon.  He had no idea that in a few weeks, the wise men from the east would show up, looking for the one born King of the Jews.  Their simple inquiry at the King’s court fueled his paranoia, and his insecurities raged.  He ordered the death of all the infant boys under two in Bethlehem, determined to eliminate any contenders to his throne. 

In the days before Christmas, Simeon showed up at the Temple, as he had done for years, wondering if today would be the day he would see the salvation of the Lord.  God had promised him he would not die until he saw the Messiah with his own eyes.  God made that promise but was not specific on the timing.  Every day Simeon scanned the line of parents and babies coming to offer sacrifices of redemption.   But God had not yet said, “This one.”  He had no idea that in a few days, scanning the line, the Spirit would say to him, “That couple.  That baby.  He is the salvation of Israel.”  In just a few days, God would keep his promise. 

In the days before Christmas, Mary knew.  So did Joseph.  So did Elizabeth and Zachariah.  They knew God was doing something extraordinary, that the one who would “Save his people from their sins” was growing inside the womb of Mary.  Mary and Zachariah had seen angels.  Joseph had a dream.  Elizabeth heard the news from Zachariah (once he could speak again) and then had it confirmed by her own baby leaping in her womb.  They knew an amazing child was going to be born and all four of them were part of what God was doing. 

Most of the people in the Christmas story had no idea that in just a few days, Jesus would be born, and their whole world would change.  An innkeeper would host a miracle.  Shepherds would hear words of hope.  Wise men would feel compelled to investigate what God was doing.  A despot King would feel threatened.  An old man would see the promise of God come true.   

Sometimes we wonder if God is listening to our prayers.  Sometimes we wonder if God is taking action to make right the wrongs of this world.  Sometimes we wonder if we wait in vain.  “Wait on the Lord,” Isaiah said.  “Your strengthen will be renewed.”  If you feel hopeless, exhausted, or just worn out, I have good news for you: Hold on, a Savior is about to be born.

Where Did That Go?

Every year when Christmas is over, I put the decorations in red or green tubs, label the tubs, then put them in their special places in the attic and in the boat barn.  After the last tub is stored, the mischief begins. 

People tell me this is not possible, but I know it happens.  Sometime over the next eleven months, the tubs open, and the contents gleefully change places.  Ornaments migrate to the light tub, garland that was neatly wound dances itself into a tangle, and light strands that worked perfectly when put away decide to die.  The tubs themselves get in the act.  They mingle with the kid’s memory tubs and hide behind the air handler unit.  Big red bags holding artificial Christmas trees bury themselves in the attic insulation, never to be seen again.   

The outdoor decorations are stored in the attic of the boat barn.  The boat barn attic is the perfect size for people under five feet tall.  I try to place the Christmas décor in a place where I do not have to stand up and walk.  Over their hibernation time, the big tubs will move to the furthest spot in the attic.  I do not know how they do this because I check on them throughout the year, and they seem to be right where I left them.  It is only when I go to get them that I discover their relocation.  I am forced to move like the hunchback of Notre Dame across the rafters and then drag the tubs to the pull-down stairs. 

Like many of you, after Thanksgiving, I began the great Christmas decoration hunt.  When I pull the tubs and boxes down, the mischief of the tubs is revealed.  The lights on the middle sections of the artificial trees don’t work.  We can’t find the box with the artificial garland.  The Christmas tree stand is missing two screws.   

I can’t find the box with the outside lights.  This means I have to go back up into the built-for-short-people-boat-barn-attic to look for that tub.  I find it cowering behind an old rocking chair.  When I open it, a jumble of extension cords that had been neatly coiled are tangled in a joyous riot.  Half the lights I used last year don’t work.  This necessitates trips to several stores to find lights that match the ones we already have (why can’t someone invent an LED light that matches the old-fashioned soft lights we have?).   

Half of our light-up wreaths don’t work.  Buy new wreaths?  They are over $60 a piece and don’t match the three that do work.  Solution?  Back to the store to buy more lights, wrap the non-functioning wreaths with these strands, and find out they still don’t match.  Go back to the store to buy more lights and wrap the perfectly good wreaths with new lights.   

Inside the house, a similar story unfolds.  We have a very special Hummel nativity set, given to me by my favorite aunt.  One year, we could not find it.  We looked everywhere.  Finally, we gave up.  I’m sure no one else noticed, but to me, it felt a little less like Christmas without that special nativity set.  I found it when we were putting the decorations away.  The tub was sitting in the middle of the attic walkway, plainly labeled “Christmas Hummels.”  Don’t tell me those tubs can’t move at will. 

One year my wife said, “Where is the box with the special ornaments?”  I told her I had gotten all the boxes down.  We looked in the attic, and not a Christmas box was to be found.  Christmas was approaching, so we went out and bought some more special ornaments and grieved the loss of some ornaments that held special memories.  The new ornaments were put on the tree, and the next day we found the special ornament tub.  It furtively made its way under a bed in the upstairs bedroom.  When we opened it, I thought I heard a faint giggle. 

Every year is like this.  Sometimes we throw decorations away or give them away.  When we open the tubs the next year, like “The Brave Little Toaster,” these decorations have made their way back, hoping to still be used for Christmas.  How do they find their way back? 

When I think about God, I marvel that he never misplaces anything.  He never forgets where any of his children are.  There are no mislabeled people for God; he knows every person, and he loves them all.  Even when people get tangled up or don’t work quite right, God patiently untangles the mess people make.  When we hide from him, he seeks us out.  Never, not once, has God ever said about you or me, “Where did I put him?”  Our Heavenly Father always remembers you.

Stuck. Help is on the Way...

Our tradition, after the big Thanksgiving lunch, is to take a quick nap and then go for a ride in the pasture to look at the cows. This year we got a late start but made our way out about thirty minutes before sundown. My niece, her husband, her mother-in-law, and her son, Smith, were with us, along with my son, daughter-in-law, and my grandson. We slogged through a muddy spot, but I made it through with no trouble.   

Smith is four; my grandson is two. To their eyes, the pasture is a wonderful, marvelous place. They saw lots of baby calves, a wild hog, and a bunch of broad-winged hawks. Darkness was coming, however, and there was fried turkey waiting for us back at the house. 

In the fading light, we turned around and came back to the muddy bog. I had come through once, so I knew I could make it through again. Life lesson: just because you succeed once does not mean you will succeed again.   

It was the time of dusk when it was hardest to see. The headlights do not really give definition, and the natural light has faded, so you can’t distinguish what is to the right or left. As I came back to the bog, the truck started slipping and sliding. The kids were thrilled. Why take them to Disney when a ride in the mud is more exciting? I knew there was a certain spot I needed to go through to make it to drier ground. I misjudged where the spot was, and my tires began to spin.   

People who drive in the woods know when the tires begin to spin, you do not push harder on the gas. This will simply dig you in deeper. Instead, you “rock” the truck back and forth. I put it in reverse and went backward until I began to spin; then, I put it in drive and accelerated, hoping to get over the boggy spot that blocked me. I was already in four-wheel-drive, so I knew “rocking” was my best hope. After five or six back-and-forth attempts, I could not go either direction. My tires were spinning, and the truck was resting on the frame. I was stuck – again. 

Fortunately, we were not too far from the barn. A ten-minute walk, and I could get the tractor and pull out the truck. My niece’s husband and my son argued with me about going, citing my bad knee as a reason to let them make the hike. I asked them which way the barn was. They pointed in opposing directions, neither of which was toward the barn. I asked if either of them knew how to run the tractor. After an awkward pause, my son spoke up and said, “You better go, Dad.” 

By this time, darkness had descended. Every one took refuge in the cab of the truck, and I started to walk out. I knew the way; I had been walking in these pastures and orange groves since I was a toddler. Still, the recent hurricane had washed new gullies in the pasture and had washed out middles in the orange groves. Going was slow. 

After a few stumbles, I got back to the barn and got in the big tractor. I cranked it and started looking for the lights. I had never driven this tractor in the dark, so I never needed the lights before this. This tractor was orange, not green, so it had been made overseas, and the lights were not where they were supposed to be.   

It is possible to drive a tractor in the dark through an orange grove, but you have to go slow. I did not want to practice Braille driving: hit a bump and turn. Searching for the lights, I accidentally hit a knob, and behold; there was light! I even found the work lights. Now able to see, I accelerated. 

I got down to the bog, backed up, and fished out a chain I keep in the bed of my truck (experience teaches you to be prepared). After a couple of false starts, we got the chain secured; I tightened up the chain and started to pull. The tractor popped the truck out of the bog like a cork out of a wine bottle. I kept pulling the truck until we got to the high ground. Inside the truck, there were cheers and laughter.   

We all got back to the house, and I had to take a shower from the sweat and the mud. Cleaned up, I asked my daughter-in-law if anyone was scared. “Not at all,” she replied. “The boys watched a video, and the adults were grateful to be away from the mosquitoes and in the air conditioning. Besides, we knew you were coming for us.” 

Advent, the days leading up to Christmas, is knowing the hope that Jesus is coming for us. He is coming to pull us out of the bog of sin. If you are bogged down, do not wait in vain. Wait in hope. His grace is more powerful than any tractor, and his love is stronger than any chain.