Retirement…

Last Sunday, after serving for thirty years as pastor of Alice Drive Baptist Church, I announced my intention to step down once a new pastor has been found. 

This whole experience has been a bit unreal. First, the average pastor in North America stays about five to seven years. One friend of mine is currently in his fifth pastorate – and he is ten years younger than me. I never dreamed I would stay at one church this long. I’ve had opportunities to go elsewhere but never felt led to go.   

Second, to stay at one church for thirty years means I am thirty years older. This does not seem possible. I began serving Alice Drive when I was thirty-four. I had two small children. My youngest was born in my second year at the church. Back then, we had two other children in the nursery. A baby boom followed. Some of the kids born in my first years are now married and have children of their own. How could this be? In my mind, I am still in my early thirties, no matter what my mirror says. 

Third, people refer to this as “retirement.”  When I shared this news with our church, several people my age who have already retired told me, “You will love retirement.”  I am sure I will enjoy having great control of my schedule, but I really don’t have a model for retirement. My stepfather retired after thirty-seven years with S.H. Kress, then went to work the next week at the ranch, where he worked another thirty years. My father-in-law went to work every day up until a few weeks before his death. So, I am not thinking about retirement; I am thinking about this as the beginning of another chapter. 

I plan to write more, spend more time with the cows, and do some consulting – after I spend the first month sleeping. But that will have to wait until a new pastor arrives. 

People told me the new pastor will have big shoes to fill. I replied, “Not really. I wear a 10 – wide.”  I know they mean well, but I am not one of those guys who wants his successor to fail so he can prove how valuable he was. I think a new pastor will bring new ideas and new energy. I look forward to being his greatest encourager. 

What will I miss most about being a pastor? It’s hard to say. Since I will still be in my role for several more months, my tasks and schedule will not change much for now. I do enjoy seeing people take their next steps toward Jesus, whether it is a child professing their faith and saying they want to be baptized, an adult who is struggling with faith stepping through the doors for the first time, or a couple who begins to lead a LIFE Group and discovers this is their ministry. I enjoy preaching and teaching the scriptures; especially when I can help people discover something about God they did not know. I feel truly blessed that over my thirty years as pastor, I have walked beside people in some of the most important moments of their lives. I’ve celebrated their marriages and the birth of their children. I’ve been at the hospital when they faced injury or illness (the stories I could tell). I’ve tried to counsel them through tough moments in life and marriage. I’ve walked with them to the final resting place of their loved ones. No seminary professor ever explained how sacred these moments are when you sense and feel the holiness of God. 

I do have regrets. Too often, I put the church ahead of my wife and my children. I wish I had developed better ways of taking care of myself physically and emotionally. I was far too sensitive about what people said about me instead of listening to what God wanted for me.   

Strangely, I also regret running out of time. There are things I wished I’d had a chance to do that I won’t. There are still sermons I want to preach, ministries I want to launch, and people I want to tell about Jesus. Of course, I will still be able to do some of those things, but not as a pastor. I recently told my wife, “I just realized Alice Drive will be the last church I will ever pastor.”   

My friend Dave Travis, who works with large churches in their transitions, tells me the average church takes about eight months to a year to find a new pastor. I’ve got some time. In these last months, I am going to enjoy my job. Psalm 126:3 says, “The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.”

 The truth is, there is a time limit on all of us. Solomon told us in Ecclesiastes that the best thing we can do is enjoy our work while we can. It has been a joy to serve the people of Alice Drive, and I look forward to our last few months together.

Storms…

Trivia question: What place on Earth has more thunderstorms than any other? 

Answer: The Tampa Bay area in Florida.  As the crow flies, it is forty-eight miles from the ranch to Tampa.  We get our fair share of thunderstorms.  As people say, in the summer, you can set your watch by the storms: every afternoon at about four, lightning pops and rain falls.

Even as a child, storms fascinated me.  I would go out on the screened-in porch and watch the rain pour off the steep roof of the Old House.  For some reason, lightning didn’t scare me.  It should have.  The lightning rods on the Old House were not grounded.  Lightning would hit the rods, run down the cable, and then arc into the ground.  I thought it was cool.  I remember the thunder shaking that frame house built by my great-grandfather.

At night, we could see storms dozens of miles away.  We watched the lightning arc across the sky and then stab at the earth.  The light show was better than the snowy picture on the TV. 

The Old House had a tin roof and no insulation.  Fat raindrops would beat against the roof, accelerating into sheets of rain sweeping across the house.  The best rain came at bedtime.  If you have never fallen asleep to the sound of heavy rain on a tin roof, you have never known true deep sleep.

Losing power was common.  We were literally at the end of the line.  There was no such thing as home generators in those days.  We had flashlights and candles.  If we lost power before bedtime, we’d play cards by candlelight.  I learned the basics of gin rummy by age five.  No power meant no water because we were on a well.  That meant we used the bathroom sparingly.  My brother and I had to stand on the back steps and … well, you know. 

I learned there was power in the storms.  After strong storms, we had to pick up limbs and pinecones.  Thankfully, God engineered oranges and cows to be able to withstand most thunderstorms.  Cows turn their backs to the wind.  Oranges stay on the tree until the wind gets over about fifty miles an hour.  Then you lose fruit.

One day, I was patching the fence.  I could see a storm coming about a mile away.  I was trying to finish when lightning struck about half a mile away.  I was holding onto the barbed wire, which caught the charge and traveled down the wire.  I was grounded, but the tingle that passed through me made my hair stand up.  I am convinced my hair loss began that day.

To this day, when a storm comes, I love to sit on the porch, feel the wind, and see the rain.  There is unexplained power in the storm.  I confess I envy Jim Cantore of the Weather Channel, standing out in the hurricanes.

Psalm 18 describes God coming to David’s rescue, riding on the storm.  He parted the heavens, dark clouds under his feet.  The dark rain clouds covered the sky around him.  Hail and lightning announced his presence.  God thunders from heaven and great bolts of lightning scatter David’s enemies.

David saw all God had done for him and knew there was an unexplainable power at work on his behalf.  He saw the storm served God; God did not serve the storm.  Maybe that is why Jesus was able to sleep through the violent storm on the lake that night.

 Job demanded to see God, and God appeared in the storm.  Have you ever heard how loud a storm can be?  God thunders out a reply to Job in the storm.  Job heard the voice of God, but more, he felt the power of the wind, the sting of the rain.  He felt the power and presence of God.  When the storm was over, he said, “I have heard of you with the hearing of the ear, but now I see you.”  You can’t explain a storm to someone who has never seen one.  You can’t explain God completely, but when you experience him, it changes your life.

Maybe that’s why I love storms.  It is the fresh wind of God, reminding me he has the power to do what I cannot do.  He is the powerful one, not me.  To see the storm is to marvel, praise, and respect him. 

Next time the wind blows, the thunder rolls, and the lightning strikes, pause.  Praise the God whose power cannot be explained.

Flies…

The flies on my cows are bad right now. On my bull, they are a thick blanket. I’ve got to get some fly dope on them to kill those flies. 

Flies are bad for cattle. First, they annoy cattle. Annoyed cattle don’t eat. Cattle that don’t eat get skinny. That’s not good. Milk production goes down. Calves don’t grow as well. Horn flies suck blood through the hide. That’s not good either. Cows, like humans, need all the blood they can get. 

In the old days, cows would go through the dipping vat. The dipping vat was exactly that: a vat filled with diesel, insecticide, and water. The cows would come down a lane and would be forced to jump in the vat. The insecticide would kill the flies and ticks. The cows would swim out (yes, cows can swim), head up, and walk up a shallow ramp. 

Once, a newborn calf went into the dipping vat. It struggled to swim and looked like it would drown. My Uncle Dow jumped in, cradled the calf in his arms, and swam it to the shallow ramp. Funny, Uncle Dow never was bothered by flies after that. 

By the time I came along, we had switched to spraying the cows. My Uncle Earl would spray the diesel/insecticide mix on the cows as they ran back and forth in the pens. The flies would die or flee. Unfortunately, the fleeing flies would land on the horses and on the cowboys. We could spray the horses to give them relief, but we cowboys had to beat the flies off with our hats. The truth is, I’ve swallowed more than a pound of flies while the cows were being sprayed. 

Now, we pour an insecticide directly on the back of the cows. It repels the flies and keeps them away. We also ear-tag the cows with a tag that drives the flies away. You must alternate the tags because the flies build up resistance. It is a constant struggle to keep ahead of the flies. 

Interestingly, one of the ancient gods was named Baal. Baal was the god of the storm, god of rain. The farmers of the ancient world worshipped him because they needed the rain to grow their crops. But the rain also brought the flies. The people of God called Baal “Lord of the Flies,” a term of disrespect. 

When Pharaoh refused to let God’s people go from slavery in Egypt, God sent a series of plagues to get his attention. The first plague turned the water of the Nile into blood. You would think Pharaoh would be impressed, but he wasn’t. His own magicians did the same.

 The second plague was a plague of frogs. People found frogs in their beds, all over their houses, in the ovens, and mixing bowls. Again, Pharaoh was not impressed because his magicians were also able to produce frogs. It wasn’t hard for them since frogs were already everywhere. All they had to do was scoop up some frogs and say to Pharaoh, “Look what we conjured up.”   

The third plague was gnats. Aaron stretched out his staff and struck the ground, and gnats covered Egypt. There were no insecticides. I imagine everything ground to a halt. Who can work when you are trying to wave flies away? When you lay down at night, the gnats were everywhere. When you ate your meals, the gnats covered your food. Just like cows, people were irritated, distracted, and probably got sick.   

This was the one that tripped the magicians up. When they struck the ground to bring forth gnats, all they brought up was dust. The magicians realized this was not a magic trick; this was a power they had not. They tried to warn Pharaoh. They told him, “This is the finger of God.”   

This is one of those funny, ironic moments in the scripture. The magicians were not impressed by turning the Nile to blood or by the plague of frogs. It was the flies that convinced them. I wonder if God smiled when they said, “This is the finger of God.”  Maybe God thought, “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” 

Pharaoh’s heart was still hard. A better translation might be, “Pharaoh’s heart was still closed.”  God was trying to send him a message. He refused to listen. 

I wonder if God sends us messages, and we refuse to listen. Maybe, like Pharaoh, we think we still are in charge of our own little worlds, masters of our own domain. Or maybe God’s messages don’t fit our agenda. We think if we ignore them, we can thwart God’s plans. Good luck with that. Or maybe we have developed selected deafness. We listen to God when it suits us and ignore him when we don’t like the message. 

Think how different Pharaoh’s life would have been if he had listened to the message of the flies: “There is a God, and you are not him. Let his people go.”  Egypt would have been spared destruction. His son would not have died. And he would not have had to swallow any flies. 

Pay attention to God’s messages, even if they come in the form of flies.

Spewing Liver…

I realize most of you grew up in tasteful families with genteel manners, where everyone was born knowing which fork to use for dessert and which fork to use for salad. I grew up in a family that was proud to have forks. 

We did have some couth. Chewing with your mouth open or smacking your food meant you were sent to your room without finishing supper and without dessert. “That’s disgusting,” Mamma would say. 

At this point, I should inform you that I hate liver. As far back as I can remember, someone has been encouraging me to eat liver. I was told, “How do you know you don’t like it unless you try it?”  I’ve never tried self-performed surgery either, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like it. It did not matter if the liver came from a chicken or a cow; my parents thought there was some virtue in consuming it. 

Mamma finally decided on a fool-proof plan to make me eat liver: she would fry it like fried steak. Mamma made the best fried steak south of the Suwanee River. She would flour it with salt and pepper mixed in and slide it into an iron skillet of hot Crisco. Then, she would cook rice and homemade milk gravy (this was before cholesterol). Green beans that had simmered all day with a ham hock and homemade biscuits with butter completed the meal. 

I came in from a hard day of running around being a boy. Being a consummate consumer of Mamma’s fried selections, I knew this was not fried chicken. I asked Mamma, “What’s for supper?”  She said, without cracking a smile, “Beef! Now, set the table.”  I neglected to ask which part of the cow would be served, and with mouthwatering, I set the table.   

We said the blessings and used our single forks to spear a piece of crispy brown meat. I quickly cut a piece, lifted my fork to my mouth, and let my lips capture the prize.   

My taste buds registered surprise. The crispy fried outside was familiar, but beyond that thin layer was a meat of unknown origin. Instead of the sweetness of round steak, there was a bitterness, like burnt motor oil (don’t ask how I know burnt motor oil is bitter). My brain began to frantically search its memory files. With amazing speed, my neurons went back into the cobweb-covered taste recollections. The taste fit the profile of “liver.” 

I promise I did not do this intentionally. It was an involuntary reflex. My brain sent an emergency message to my lungs, my tongue, my cheeks, and my lips, saying, “Expel this heathen substance!”  I spewed the half-eaten chunk of liver out of my mouth into the atmosphere. It landed on my brother’s plate. He yelled my name: “Clay!”  My brain had moved on to other things, like chugging my glass of sweet tea to wash that nasty taste off my taste buds. 

There then ensued a great family debate. My brothers insisted I be banished from the table because I had been caught chewing with my mouth open. I insisted I was innocent because: 1) I had not repeatedly chewed, only moving my jaw once; 2) Spewing a deadly substance out one’s mouth is not a violation of Amy Vanderbilt’s Rules of Etiquette, but a survival tactic; and 3) My Mother lied to me. 

Mercy prevailed, and I filled up on rice and gravy (which was good, even if it derived from liver). 

Jesus said to the church at Laodicea, “I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other!  So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I will spew you out of my mouth.” 

Jesus cannot stand people or churches that are apathetic and disengaged. To him, they taste like liver. Jesus can handle opposition. He loves passion. He loathes passivity. 

When I was an adult, I told a doctor about my aversion to liver. He said, “I don’t blame you. Never eat another animal’s poison filter.” 

Are passive Jesus followers and passive churches bags of poison that Jesus will spew out of his mouth?   

Or maybe the better question is, “Is Jesus about to spew me out of his mouth?”

Holding on for Dear Life…

When I was a little boy, rodeos had calf scrambles.  To give the adult cowboys and cowgirls a break, they would call for all the boys to come into the arena for the calf scramble about midway through the rodeo.  The boys were paired up, and then about twenty or so light calves were turned loose in the arena.  The idea was the boys would run after a calf, tackle it, and then pull it back across a line of chalk.  The first ones across the line were the winners.

It was supposed to be an even match: four legs against four legs, two-hundred-pound calves against two one-hundred-pound boys.  That was the theory.  In reality, the calves had the advantage.  Their four legs were coordinated, but the boys’ legs were not.  In addition, school-age boys have not yet learned to cooperate.  More than once, I saw a boy pushing one end of the calf while his partner was pushing the other end.  The calf was getting squeezed in the middle.  Finally, the boys had to chase the calves, catch them, and pull them across the line.  All the calves had to do was avoid the boys.  Advantage: calves.

The calf scramble was the comedic highlight of the rodeo.  I remember my cousins James and Kelly grabbing one of the larger calves and being drug to the far side of the arena.  My brother Steve and our cousin Bubba were both small.  They got ahold of a small calf and were pulling that calf to the line when the calf broke out its secret weapon: it pooped.  Steve and Bubba, so close to the prize, let go at the same moment, and the calf got away.

The calf scramble I remember most was when one of the younger boys (it might have been Kenny Sanders?) and his partner got ahold of the calf.  His partner had the calf in a headlock, and Kenny had the calf by the tail.  They were pulling the calf backward toward the line when, for some inexplicable reason, the boy let go of the head, leaving Kenny holding onto the tail.  The calf, sensing some freedom, found new strength and set out of the opposite end of the arena, with Kenny still gripping the tail. 

The sensible thing to do, of course, would be to let go of the tail.  Seven-year-old boys are not sensible.  Kenny held on with a death grip, perhaps fearing what would happen if he let go and landed in one of the piles of, shall we say, “processed grass.” The calf drug Kenny around that arena four or five times.  Kenny wouldn’t let go, and the calf couldn’t shake him.   While our eyes were all on Kenny, two other boys managed to get their calf across the line.  My memory here is a little hazy.  I can’t remember if Kenny heard the horn and gave up or if he was still holding on when one of the adults came over and told him to let go.  Kenny did not win, but the calf did not win either. 

Not too long ago, I talked to a man who had lost his wife, his mother-in-law, and four other relatives to Covid.  He was left with two teenage children.  I asked him how he survived.  He said, “I just held on for dear life.”

I do not believe there is any such thing as a charmed life.  Trouble comes to everyone.  Everyone I know experiences floods of trouble when it seems like one crisis piles on top of the other.  In those moments, it feels like all you can do is hold on for dear life.

Sometimes, the crisis is so strong that it feels like our grip is slipping.  We believe we can manage more than we can.  People believe they can shut down their emotions.  Maybe they can for a while, but emotions have a way of bursting out at the most inconvenient times.  Instead of holding on for dear life, people say, “I am barely hanging on.”

Maybe our way of thinking about this is all wrong.  Instead of trying to hold on for dear life, maybe we need to be held.  There is a great promise of God in Isaiah 41: 13 – “For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.”

To have God hold our hand means we face nothing on our own.  Even if life is dragging us around the arena, God has us.  We may grieve, we may hurt, we may be angry.  But our Heavenly Father says, “Don’t be afraid.  I will help you.  What you need, I have.” 

When you find yourself holding on for dear life, remember who holds you.

(Kenny, if my memory is faulty, and it wasn’t you who held onto the calf’s tail, I apologize)

Should We Add Anything to the Bible?

I have a lot of Bibles. Occupational hazard. I have my “marrying” Bible, which was a gift from my Aunt Faye, Uncle L.M., Aunt Gloria, and Uncle Willard. It’s the Bible I use when I marry people. I have my “preaching” Bible, the one I use to hold my notes on Sunday (confession – I don’t read directly from this Bible.  I have to print the passages in large, bold print to see them clearly).  I have a large print Bible I use in sermon preparation. I have my “funeral” Bible, which has paper clips marking passages I use at the cemetery. I have my personal Bible, which I read at home. I have a treasured ordination Bible, given to me 42 years ago when I was ordained to gospel ministry by New Hope Baptist Church. In addition to these, I have my Greek New Testament and my Hebrew Bible, which reveal deep truths when I translate the scriptures from the original languages. Plus, I have about a dozen or more different translations that have been given to me through the years, usually by people who want to buy a translation in bulk and distribute them to our congregation. I really don’t need any more Bibles.

I grew up in an era when the King James Version was the standard. In college, we argued over which translation of the Bible was the best. I will never forget asking that question to the President of the American Bible Society, Dr. Eugene Nida. His memorable answer: “The best translation of the Bible is the one you will read.”  I was humbled that day and have repeated his answer many times over the course of my pastoral career. The King James Version is unmatched for its majestic use of English. 

For readability, I like the New International Version.  One of my professors was on the translation team for the Old Testament. When I read certain passages, I think I can see his hand at work. Every translation has strengths and weaknesses, but all of them present the clear message that Jesus was sent by God, died for our sins, rose on the third day, and now offers us forgiveness and grace.

Recently, I heard of versions that are adding material to the Bible. This is not anything new. Throughout the centuries, people have sought to include or exclude material in the Bible. In recent times, there was the “Jesus Seminar” that voted on whether passages in the Gospels were authentic or not. Scholars would vote to exclude some stories and teachings of Jesus in the Gospels that were thought to be later additions. To do this, the scholars trusted their own wisdom, not the wisdom of thousands who studied the Bible long before they were born.

On the other side of the coin, some preachers I know focus on their favorite passage and their favorite interpretation of that passage, to the exclusion of other scripture. Paul declared to the elders of the Ephesus church that He “did not hesitate to preach the whole counsel of God.”  To preach or teach part of scripture and ignore other parts is another way of asserting our authority over God.

The versions I recently heard about have included observations from American thinkers like William Penn, John Quincy Adams, Harriett Beecher Stowe, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  Another version includes the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the Declaration of Independence, and the Pledge of Allegiance. This makes me uncomfortable because of a passage in the book of Revelation. John, inspired by God, wrote these words: “18 I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this scroll: If anyone adds anything to them, God will add to that person the plagues described in this scroll. 19 And if anyone takes words away from this scroll of prophecy, God will take away from that person any share in the tree of life and in the Holy City, which are described in this scroll.” – Revelation 22:18-19. Most conservative scholars agree that John’s words do not just apply to Revelation, but to the entire Bible. The Bible is not under our control; we do not get to add to it or take away from it. 

I heard an old man once say, “I believe every word of the Bible, from ‘Genuine Moroccan Leather’ to the maps.”  I appreciate the sentiment, but I am pretty sure “Genuine Moroccan Leather” is not part of God’s revelation. 

I believe with all my soul the words of the Apostle Paul: “All scripture is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.”   The Bible, as it stands, is sufficient to lead me in the way I should go. I need to study it so I might know the ways, the values, and the truth of God. 

Join me, and let’s read the Bible, pray for the Spirit to guide us, and do our best to be “Doers of the Word, not hearers only.” 

Man in the Crowd …

He was just a man in the crowd. He had come early for Passover, traveling a long way from his home near Ephesus. A devout Jew, he had always wanted to celebrate the Passover in Jerusalem. After saving for years, he finally made the trip.

On Sunday, he was making his way to the Temple when he heard a commotion a few streets away. He went in the direction of the noise, finding a crowd of people waving palm branches, shouting, "Hosanna, Glory to God in the highest." Others in the crowd were spreading their cloaks on the road. A man came by, riding a donkey. The man had seen this before when a Roman general came to Ephesus. He had been treated the same way, except no one was quoting a Psalm. But this man on the donkey was no general. He was dressed in ordinary clothes. There was no smirk on his face, no trace of condescension in his smile. Strangely, he seemed humble yet powerful.

Intrigued, the man fell in behind the procession up the Temple Mount. The man on the donkey dismounted and went into the first courtyard of the Temple. A moment later, there were cursing voices, the sound of panicked sheep bleats, and the clank of metal hitting stone. When the man in the crowd came through the gate, he saw the man who had ridden the donkey turning over the money changers' tables, their coins flying. The lambs available for purchase were running free. The humble yet powerful man on the donkey was shouting, "My house will called a house of prayer for all nations, but you have made it a den of robbers."

That night, in a boarding house near the city wall, everyone was talking about the man on the donkey. The man from Ephesus found out his name was Jesus. Everyone had an opinion about him. Some thought he was a teacher, maybe even a prophet. Some thought he was a threat to stability.   A couple of people wondered out loud if this man could be the long-awaited Messiah. The rumor was he would show up at the Temple the next day to teach. 

As the man from Ephesus lay down in his corner, he wondered who this man Jesus was. He decided he would go the Temple the next day and listen to the man teach, and find out for himself. 

The next day, Monday, he listened to Jesus teach all day. He had never heard anyone say the things this man said. He told stories that revealed the truth. He condemned the religious leaders for their corruption. He answered all the trick questions with questions of his own. He paid attention to people everyone else overlooked, like the widow who put two small coins in the Temple treasury.

The man in the crowd came back the next day and the next. He could not get enough of this man Jesus. It wasn't just that he knew about God; he knew God from the inside out. The man in the crowd could see the crowds around Jesus grow larger. He could also see the religious leaders getting more jealous. The tension in the Temple was thick.

He did not see Jesus on Thursday. Instead, he was making his preparation for the Passover meal at the boarding house. This was to be a highlight of his life. Instead, all through the steps of the meal, he found himself thinking about the man Jesus. What if this man was the Chosen One?

Up early the next morning, grabbing a piece of bread and cheese, he was told that Jesus had been arrested late in the night and right now was on trial for his life at Pilate's palace. He left his breakfast and hustled to the courtyard where public trials were held. As he approached, he heard the cries of a crowd, "Crucify him! Crucify him!" Were they about to crucify this teacher, Jesus? The man arrived in time to hear the crowd cheer and to see Jesus led off by Roman soldiers.

Bewildered, the man wandered the streets of Jerusalem, unsure what to think. He heard the stir of a crowd behind him and stepped aside. There was no cheering, merely troubled sobbing. The man Jesus was carrying a crossbeam for a cross, laboring under its heavy weight. The soldiers were leading him to "Skull Hill," where all the crucifixions took place.

The man from Ephesus followed. He saw the nails driven into Jesus' hands. He heard Jesus' screams of pain. He felt the tremor of fear as darkness fell. He watched Jesus slowly lose strength, unable to pull himself up to breathe. Then he heard, "It is finished," and he saw that Jesus was no longer breathing. The earthquake knocked him to his knees.

The man from Ephesus could stand it no more. Though darkness was coming, and it would be the Sabbath when travel was forbidden, he had to get out of town now. He went back to the boarding house, gathered his things into his backpack, and left Jerusalem as fast as he could.

As he left town, Jesus stayed on his mind. How could this have happened? How could the religious leaders have been so blind? How could people want such a gifted man to die? Who was this Jesus anyway? 

The man in the crowd should have stayed until Sunday. Then, he would have discovered who Jesus really is. 

Jericho…

Jericho was an old city in Jesus’ time. It was a crossroads city where farmers came to trade their goods. It was also a resort town. About eighteen miles from Jerusalem, the elite of Jerusalem had winter homes there. It was also the home of hundreds of priests who could live cheaper and better in Jericho than in Jerusalem.

Jesus must have passed through the town often. There was a heavily traveled road down the Jordan Valley that was the favored route from Galilee to Jerusalem. The road from Jericho to Jerusalem was steep and treacherous. Its twists and turns made it a favorite hiding spot for thieves. Jesus told a story where the road itself plays a part, the story of the Good Samaritan. A man was attacked by the robbers and left for dead. A priest and a Levite (commuting from work to home?) saw the man but hurried by, not wanting to get involved or maybe just looking out for themselves. Only a Samaritan, an outcast, stopped to help.

Ten days before he was crucified, Jesus passed through Jericho for the last time. Word had spread that he was coming. Crowds lined the street. A small man climbed up in a sycamore tree because he wanted to see Jesus. When Jesus got to the tree, he looked up and called the man by name. Maybe Matthew whispered the name to Jesus. Or maybe Jesus just knew. He said, “Zaccheus, come down. Let’s have lunch at your house today.” 

Funny, it didn’t sound like a sermon, but Zaccheus responds like few people ever have. He vows to give away half his wealth and pay back anything he overcharged times four. Maybe he was overwhelmed that Jesus would want to spend time with someone like him, an outcast. Maybe when Jesus called his name, he was simply overwhelmed by grace. 

Whether it was lunch or supper, meals like this were lengthy affairs. The servants had to prepare the meal. Presumably, Zaccheus lived in a pretty nice house; after all, he was a rich man. Jesus and his disciples (I wonder how comfortable they were in this setting?) reclined at the table, probably for two or three hours. There may have been laughter, questions, and teaching. 

Whenever Jesus and the disciples took their leave (did they spend the night?), they left behind a man profoundly changed. Zaccheus would have heard about Jesus’ crucifixion. Did he weep? Did he wonder how it could have happened? He would have also heard about Jesus’ resurrection. Did he slap his forehead and say, “Of course!”  When disciples had to flee Jerusalem, did they stop overnight at his house in Jericho? Was his home where the first gathering of Jesus followers in Jericho met? 

On the way out of town, Jesus encountered a blind beggar named Bartimaeus. Imagine spending all day listening for traffic, calling out for help. On that day, the passing crowd was louder than normal. He asked what it meant, and some kind soul said, “Jesus of Nazareth is coming.”  If you are a blind beggar on the side of the road, people assume you are deaf as well. You hear things. Bartimaeus had heard about Jesus, about his healings, about people’s wondering if he was the Messiah. In his dark world, he had time to process all this. When he heard that the Jesus he had heard about was passing by, he knew this was his moment. He cries out, “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me.”  People told him to shut up, but he shouted louder: “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me!”  Jesus heard his cry and called him over. “What do you want me to do for you,” he asked.

Bartimaeus did not ask to be saved. He probably didn’t get that far in his thinking. He simply spoke his deepest desire, “Lord, I want to see.”  Jesus replied, “Receive your sight! Your faith has saved you.” 

Consider Jesus’ reply. Bartimaeus asks for one thing: sight. He receives two things: sight and salvation. Jesus knows Bartimaeus needs more than sight; he needs to know what to do once he can see. So Jesus saves him. Sometimes, salvation comes in odd ways.

Bartimaeus leaves his old begging station and follows Jesus. Maybe he is in the crowd, shouting “Hosanna!” on Palm Sunday. Maybe he is at the Temple as Jesus teaches and argues with the religious leaders. Maybe he is there at Golgotha, watching the man who healed and saved him die.

Did he go back to Jericho? Did he hear about Jesus’ resurrection? Did he wind up worshipping in Zaccheus’ house with other new believers?

Ten days before his crucifixion, Jesus is going into a sinner’s house, and he is healing a blind man. What is happening in Jericho foreshadows the reason he must go to Jerusalem. He will die on the cross for all who are unworthy, which is every one of us. He will be raised from the dead so we, who are so spiritually blind, can see what real power is, so we can see the real path God has for every one of us. 

To get ready for Easter, stop by Jericho. Hear Jesus inviting himself to your house. Hear Jesus telling you that you are healed. As your eyes open, look full into his wonderful face. And the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace.

Churches, Preachers, and Politics…

The pastor at my home church was preaching one Sunday, and as an illustration, he shared that some senior adults received so little in Social Security that they had to eat dog food.  Then he added this phrase, “I don’t think God likes that.”  Everyone can agree on that, right?

On the way home, one family member said, “I just don’t think preachers should talk politics.”  Maybe I missed something, but how are people getting enough to eat (so they don’t have to eat dog food) politics?

There are people (and obviously some in my family) who think preachers should stick to issues like salvation, heaven, hell, the second coming, and “Did Adam and Eve have bellybuttons?”  There is another set of folks who think preachers ought to preach politics if it agrees with their politics. 

Then there are preachers who believe politics is the way you change the world.  One well-known pastor in Dallas had a TV studio built into his new church so he would be instantly available to news networks to share his opinion.  Preachers have come out endorsing one candidate or another.  Not too long ago, a man pulled me aside one Sunday and said, “America needs help, and I think he has sent us our Savior in the person of …” I won’t tell you the candidate the man named, but I can tell you what I told him: “God already sent us a Savior and his name is Jesus.”

Part of the problem is the way we see the world.  We think faith is just about what happens after you die.  Jesus kicked this idea in the head when he said, “Whenever you visit the sick, clothe the naked, feed the hungry, offer a drink to the thirsty, and visit folks in prison, it is just like you are doing it to me.”  If you really are a Jesus follower, you will care for the least of these.

It’s also a problem when people think their way of thinking is God’s way of thinking.  That’s the way the Chief Priests and Pharisees thought.  They were so convinced of their own “rightness” that they didn’t recognize God in the flesh in front of them.  Before you start telling everyone what God thinks politically, you might want to check with him. 

I am always amazed when preachers think political power is the way to change a city, a state, or a country.  I believe there is greater power on a prayer bench than in a ballot box.  What would happen if Jesus followers spent as much time in prayer as they did on social media? 

I do think Jesus followers should run for office.  I don’t think they should lie or cheat to win that office.  I believe Jesus followers should vote.  We should pray before we cast our ballots.  Sometimes, when it seems like we have no good choices, we need to pray harder so that God will guide us.  But we remember our hope does not lie in our elected officials or the laws they pass.   Our hope is in the power of a resurrected Jesus, who is the King of kings and Lord of lords (and President of presidents, Governor of governors, and Mayor of mayors).

One of the reasons the first part of the Bible – the Old Testament – matters is because it tells us how God’s judgment comes upon nations that sell justice, abuse the poor, reject foreigners, worship sex, and lust for power (of course, none of those issues impact us today).  Jesus followers have a mandate to speak truth to power, no matter what party holds that power.  That is why the church of Jesus should never sell its soul to a political party.  The church never has to figure out whose side it is on; the church puts itself on God’s side.  Everything else falls in place from there.

Jesus followers need to speak with a clear voice that every life and every soul matters to God.  Therefore, every life, every soul, matters to us.

Call it politics if you want.  I call it seeing Jesus in the faces of every man, woman, boy, and girl. 

I think back to that preacher’s statement so long ago, and he was absolutely right to say those words in church.  Jesus said if you feed the hungry, it’s like feeding him.  I wouldn’t serve Jesus dog food, would you?

In the Image of God…

A well-known Texas pastor recently preached a sermon addressing the problems of America, including the immigrant crisis at the Texas border. In the sermon, he said the immigrants at the border were “undesirables,” “garbage,” and “raff.”  I had to look up “raff.”  It is an abbreviation of the phrase “riffraff,” an old English expression meaning “rubbish.” 

I understand the immigration crisis is a real thing. I am not expressing a political opinion about what steps should be taken to solve this problem. I wish there was a bipartisan, compassionate solution. 

What bothers me about this Texas pastor’s remarks is I can’t imagine Jesus labeling someone as garbage or rubbish.  

This is my understanding of human beings. We are all created in the image of God. Every person, whether they are American, Chinese, or Hispanic, is marked by God’s fingerprints.   

Because we all are made in the image of God, every human life matters. This is why we want to protect the unborn. This is why we do not euthanize those who suffer from profound disabilities. This is why we do not stereotype people based on nationality or ethnicity.   

Though we bear the image of God, human beings are also profoundly messed up. Sin mars the image of God. None of us are who we are supposed to be. We take that which is holy in us and drag it through the mud. I suppose, in that sense, we are all undesirable, we are all garbage, we are all rubbish. 

When I grew up, there was no garbage service. We had a trash pile in the back of the orange grove. All our trash, garbage, and rubbish went there. When the pile was big enough, we burned it. Interestingly, one of Satan’s names is Beelzebul, which means “Lord of the Flies.”  Our trash pile attracted flies like crazy. 

Satan wants us on the trash pile. He thinks that is all we are good for. Every human life destroyed by sin makes Satan happy. We are nothing but rubbish to him. 

This is the amazing grace of God: he looks at the trash pile of humanity and sees people worth saving. So he sent his son Jesus to the earth to die for our mess, our sin. Then Jesus came back to life after three days to provide the power we need to get off the trash pile and live the life we were meant to live, to live as children of God, made in his image. 

I recently heard a speaker talking about Christianity in America. Working with marketing specialists, his research discovered that Christians in America are primarily known as angry, self-righteous, condemning, and judgmental people. Then he asked us this question: “Was Jesus known for his anger, self-righteousness, condemnation, and judgment?”   

The answer, of course, is no. Jesus was known for love, grace, forgiveness, compassion, and truth. How did we get so far off course? 

The challenge for us is to see people the way Jesus sees them. We respect the image of God that is in each person. We love them as Jesus loves them. We confess our sin when we judge them. We do regular eye checks to make sure the logs in our own eyes are removed before we seek to remove the specks in other people’s eyes. 

I pray for a solution to the border situation. I pray for God to give wisdom to those who must make decisions and for those who must care for the people involved.   

I also pray for my fellow pastor in Texas. From first-hand experience, I know I sometimes write and say things that are misunderstood. More than once, I’ve let my own passions carry me away from the gospel. I pray God will give this pastor wisdom about his words. 

But this story reminds me to see everyone as Jesus sees them. I pray God will help me see his image in every person. I pray God will stop me from making fun of people different than me, of belittling people I disagree with.   

One of the hardest commands Jesus gave us was, “Love your enemies; do good to those who persecute you.”   My enemy is someone who I perceive as a threat. What will probably help me love my enemies is remembering, “Greater is he who is in you than he who is in the world.”

Direction Not Intention…

I was in Oklahoma City for a conference.  I stayed downtown, but the conference was at a church about 20 minutes away. 

I had gotten up at 4:30 AM to make my early flight out of Columbia.  By the time I got to the hotel, I was ready for a nap, and I had about a two-hour window to squeeze one in.  My room, however, wasn’t ready.  I occupied myself in the lobby catching up on emails and then was paged to the front desk.  My room was ready.  I went up, set my luggage down, and went to the bathroom.  I flushed.  The water rose like the flood of Noah.   

I called the front desk, and they sent up the building engineer, which is a fancy way of describing the hotel handyman.  He tried to use the plunger but couldn’t move the clog.  He got an auger.  No joy.  At this point, he kindly suggested I call the front desk and request another room. 

The clerk was gracious and sent up a bellman with the key to the new room.  By this time, forty-five minutes of my nap time was gone.   

They put me in a room across the hall from my old room.  Finally, I had an opportunity for a nap.  As I lay down, however, I could still hear the plumber working across the hall.  I heard a drill, then the sound of a saw.  I didn’t really want to know what he was doing.  I finally drifted off. 

I had set an alarm, but when it went off, I was so groggy I turned it off and rolled over.  Ten minutes later, I jerked awake.  The conference was going to start in twenty minutes, and I was late.  I got ready in a hurry, got my rental car from the valets, and punched in the address of the host church… or I thought I did. 

I jumped on the expressway, going as fast as I dared.  I had been to this church once before, and the route didn’t look familiar.  But who am I to question Google Maps?  According to the time estimate, I was going to be ten minutes late, but I thought I could still sneak in without causing too much of a disturbance.   

I arrived at the location.  I knew this because Google told me, “Arrived.”  But the building looked different than I remembered.  There were no cars in the parking lot.  I thought, “Everyone must be around back.”  I drove around the parking lot, and there were no signs of life except for two kids shooting hoops on portable goals.  Then it hit me – I was in the wrong place.  The church hosting the conference has multiple locations across Central Oklahoma.  Because of my fat thumb, I had selected the wrong location.  I looked up the right location: seven miles and twenty minutes away.  Now I was going to be very late. 

As I steered back into traffic, heading in the right direction, I was reminded of a powerful saying from Andy Stanley: Direction, not Intention, determines destination.  My intention was to go to one campus of the church, but my direction determined my destination: another campus. 

People intend to improve their marriage and wonder why things aren’t getting better.  Their direction is still away from each other, not toward each other.  They never reach their destination. 

A man intends to be a better father and then wonders why his relationship with his kids still is not good.  He never changed the direction of his behavior, his investment of time, or his listening.  He never reaches his destination. 

I think about Peter, Andrew, James, and John.  When Jesus called them, what if they had said, “Lord, we really want to follow you, but can we just stay here and keep fishing?”  Their direction would not have changed.  They never would have reached the destination of being disciples of Jesus. 

What about Zaccheus?  What if he had said, “Lord, sure, come on by the house, but I’m going to keep my money.”  He would never have reached the destination of generosity. 

I wonder if the reason you might be stuck in your relationship with God is that direction, not intention, determines your destination.  Is God asking you to make a change in direction because he wants you to arrive at a different destination? 

Maybe this is what Jesus was saying when he asked, “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul?”  Direction, not intention, determines the destination.

Reasons Not to Believe…

When people say they do not believe in God, they have a reason.  They may not have thought very much about the reason, but an unconscious reason is still a reason. 

Sometimes, the reason is hurt.  They expected God to do something, and they were disappointed.  They prayed for healing, but there was death.  They expected God to resolve a relationship, but the relationship broke.  The hurt of unmet expectations turned them away. 

Sometimes, the reason people don’t believe is they want to do something they think God won’t approve of.  The easiest way to deal with God’s disapproval is to stop believing.  A kid grows up in church, participates in the student ministry, then goes off to college or joins the military.  A new lifestyle presents itself.  It looks fun and carefree.  The kid decides the church people were wrong.  There is no god, so that means the new lifestyle can be embraced.  You get to do what you want to do if there is no god. 

Sometimes, the reason people don’t believe in God has to do with unexplained suffering.  When Steve Jobs was a child, he asked a pastor to explain why God would allow a child to starve in Africa.   The pastor couldn’t answer the question, and Steve Jobs began to doubt.  If God is good, why is there so much suffering in the world?  The suffering can be more personal.  You lose a parent or a child, and you wonder how God could allow such tragedy.  Why does God allow something to happen that causes so much pain for you? 

Sometimes, the reason people don’t believe in God is because, intellectually, they can’t reconcile God with existence as they understand it.  Evolution, on its face, seems to make more sense than God speaking the world into being in six days.  Stories in the Bible fly in the face of logic and reason, or so it seems.  God seems to be an ancient myth unsophisticated people embraced to explain the unexplainable. 

Sometimes, the reason people don’t believe in God is because they are angry.  Neglected or abused as children, they conclude there can’t be a god.  Angry at their dysfunctional families or parents, they rebel against any authority, including God.  Anger gets tied to other reasons people don’t believe in God.  If you feel God hurt you, you get angry and decide God must not exist. 

Sometimes, the reason people don’t believe in God is because they once did believe.  They were choked by the rules and regulations of religion, the certainty of dogma that left no room for doubt.  The hypocrisy of those who said they believed but lived differently introduced a cynical acid to their faith.  Often, another god – logic – presented itself.  More predictable and orderly, it became a more attractive path of faith. 

Sometimes, the reason people don’t believe in God is because they haven’t really thought about it.  Something else occupies their mind: success, money, pleasure, family.   Often, people will label themselves as “agnostic,” but they functionally live as if there is no god. 

Confession: some of these reasons make sense to me.  Sometimes, it would be nice to believe there is no god.  No rules to follow, no intellectual rigor to fight for, and no more stupid battles over things in church that don’t matter.  If you believe life is a product of random evolution and, thus, there is no god, then you get to make your own rules. 

But I can’t make that leap.  Each of the reasons not to believe also requires faith.  It takes faith to believe that a sophisticated human body evolved without someone guiding the process.  To not believe in God because of your hurt means you place your faith in your pain.  To not believe in God because you are angry with God might make sense emotionally but not logically.  How can you be mad at someone you don’t believe exists?  To not believe in God because you want to live the way you want to live really means you have faith in yourself and your own ability to make moral judgments. 

So why do I believe?  There is too much order in the universe to be random.  There has been too much grace poured into my life to be accidental.  I’ve felt the grace, forgiveness, and peace of God in my own soul.  I’ve seen too many lives changed by Jesus to believe He is just a myth. 

As much as there may be reasons not to believe, there are also reasons to believe.  To be honest with yourself means you must consider those as well.  Consider this: there is God who loves you so much he will not force you to believe.  He gives you the privilege of denying his existence. 

Before you say you don’t believe, you might want to consider some reasons to believe.  Those reasons might change your life.

Courage Is…

Whatever happened to courage? 

Today, we make decisions based on what the insurance company might think.  We stand silent while people speak authoritatively about things they know nothing about.  We prefer the simple thirty-second sound bite over complex reality.  We are ruled by fear of disapproval.  We are frozen into inaction. 

Why do we lack courage?  Somewhere in our recent past, we became risk-averse.  We were told too often that if we lived a certain way, bought certain products, and voted for certain candidates, our lives would be comfortable and no longer threatened by fear.  So, we stopped risking, confronting, and facing the uncomfortable.  Instead of believing our child was capable of meanness, it was easier to believe the teacher was unfair.  We listened only to the news that agreed with our view of the world.  It was more comfortable to see ourselves as victims instead of taking responsibility for ourselves, our communities, and our country. 

Whatever happened to courage? 

Courage is doing the work to find the truth.  It requires engagement, not checking out.  It means measuring what you hear and see by an objective standard.  Courage is having enough detachment to see the world as it is, not as we wish it to be.  Courage requires us to know our own limitations to accept we might be wrong in some of our views and assumptions. 

Because courage seeks the truth, it requires curiosity.  It is courageous to listen to someone else’s story.  I have only lived my life.  My perspective is limited.  When another person’s journey is different than mine, I want to listen courageously so I can understand why they have their views.  One therapist has a sign in her office: “More curiosity, less judgment.” 

Courage requires speaking the truth.  This requires knowing the truth.  I have heard infinite variations of this story: “My professor in college said the Bible was a myth.  It made sense to me.  So, I stopped believing in God.”  My response is the same: “Do your own work.  Why did your professor say that?  Have you investigated scripture yourself?  Have you read books defending the Bible?  Have you read books critiquing the Bible?” Courage dies in laziness. 

If we are to be courageous, we must speak the truth.  This does not mean being the loud, obnoxious individual who interrupts every conversation.  Sometimes, the better part of wisdom is to keep your mouth shut.  Speaking truth means we do not silently stand by when we see injustice.  We do not let lies go unchallenged.  Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people.” 

Following Jesus requires courage.  It is a courageous act to love your enemies and to do good to those who persecute you.  It is a courageous act to pray in the name of Jesus and expect God to hear you.  It is a courageous act to say, “This is sin, and it is destructive to the human soul.”  Too many of us preachers rail against sin and forget to say why sin is a bad thing.  Sin destroys the human soul.  It is a cancer that invades human beings infests human culture, and incinerates the image of God placed in each of us. 

Courage requires movement.  It requires leaving the comfort of life’s present rut.  God calls Abraham to leave his dad and go to a promised land.  God calls Moses to leave his sheep and go to Egypt to tell Pharoh, “Let my people go.”  God calls David to leave his father’s house and go kill a giant.  Jesus calls Peter to leave his boat, Matthew to leave his toll booth, Zaccheaus to leave his wealth, and the woman caught in the act of adultery to leave her sin.  Jesus calls Paul to leave his success and his religion.  If you are not courageously moving in faith, are you even following Jesus? 

The first followers of Jesus were courageous.  They faced crucifixion, torture, imprisonment, and expulsion for the cause of Jesus.  When people abandoned cities because of plagues, Jesus followers courageously stayed to care for the sick.  When told to worship the emperor, they refused, boldly declaring, “Jesus is Lord.”  Funny, isn’t it?  When Jesus followers acquired status and property, their courage dried up.  They became more interested in protecting what they had instead of asking, “Lord, what do you require of me today?”

What would happen if Jesus followers were courageous?  Would we stop seeing ourselves as victims and see ourselves as people on a mission?  Would we face the giants and declare that we have nothing to fear because we come in the name of the Lord?  Would we finally believe having God’s power is better than having political power? 

These are times that require great courage.  Listen again to God’s words to Joshua: “Be strong and courageous.  Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.” 

Courage, my friends.

Faces in Need of Grace…

He struggles with memories of a sin committed in college… She feels guilty about an abortion… He is scared when Mom and Dad fight… She has a doctor’s appointment this week about a lump she discovered… He wishes he could summon courage enough to ask a girl out on a date… She hopes no one discovers she is living with her boyfriend… 

He doesn’t hate people of another race anymore, but feels guilty about things he said in the past… She keeps sinning but calls it “just a little harmless gossip” … He criticizes others for being judgmental but can’t see the log in his own eye… She had an affair seven years ago, her husband doesn’t know about, with a man who showed up to visit church this morning… 

They feel guilty because the truth is neither one of them wanted their fourth child… She married her second husband on the rebound and thinks she made a mistake… He lost his temper last Thursday night and cussed his boss – then he lost his job… They have a special needs son who is twenty-five, and they wonder what he will do when they are gone… She is raising her great-grandchild… He found blood in his urine all last week but hasn’t told his wife… They had a fight on the way to church about her drinking too much last night at a party… She wants to leave her husband, who is cheating, but doesn’t know how she will support herself… He is in denial that his kids are troubled… She doesn’t know how to tell her husband that she has run up $25,000 in credit card debt he doesn’t know about… 

His wife caught him looking at porn last night… No one knows that her father abused her... They just found out they were pregnant… Their teenage son was arrested this week… Their six-year-old daughter told them yesterday that she wanted to ask Jesus into her heart… 

They just celebrated 45 years of marriage – 39 of them happy… He checked the obituaries this morning, didn’t find his name, and decided to come to church… She just finished a week of working two jobs, trying to raise two kids by herself, and was just asked to volunteer in the preschool ministry… 

He fell off a ladder last week but doesn’t dare tell his wife it was because he fainted…  She grew up in church but has never been able to shake her attraction to other women… She wonders why other children make fun of her red hair… 

She is fourteen and just had sex for the first time last Friday…  He is terrified to tell his parents he didn’t get into med school…  She got a call from her mother this morning, blessing her out for not checking on her…  He is wondering if he can pop the question this afternoon after their picnic in the park…

He hopes no one sees the bruise on his cheek, put there by his Dad…  She is hungover from the party she went to last night…  They are heartbroken because the pregnancy test came back negative again…   

She is angry because last week, her husband told her he was being deployed for the third time this year… His wife died five years ago, and he still misses her… She wonders if she turned the stove off and then wonders if dementia is setting in… 

They worry their child still isn’t potty-trained…  He has $10,000 worth of bills due at his business and only $2,000 in the bank…  They haven’t heard from their oldest son in thirteen months and pray tonight is the night he calls…. 

She is wondering if she is good enough to be baptized… He is screwing up the courage to ask the pretty woman in the singles group out to lunch… He feels guilty because he volunteered to help out on a church project yesterday and forgot to show up… 

He wondered what beer tastes like and snuck a bottle of his Dad’s Coors Light out of the refrigerator last night…  She doesn’t like to fly and is nervous about her upcoming business trip…  He has a PET scan this week and is scared about what the results will be.   

The ghosts of her childhood haunt her nightmares every night… He is frustrated that his employees don’t seem to get it… He has questions about faith that the preacher never seems to answer in his sermons… 

Just faces at church.  Just people needing a place of grace.

If You Want to Change the World…

Each week, I do a Zoom call with other pastors.  One of the pastors this week invited a pastor from Ukraine to join us.  For obvious reasons, I won’t share his name or where he is located. 

We asked him to tell us about what was really happening and about how God was at work.  This pastor told us before the war, his church was growing and had a regular attendance of about 800.  Now, he said, members of his church have fled the country.  His congregation is dispersed around the world, but some have remained.  They continue to care for each other and reach out to their city. 

He told us that six months prior to the Russian invasion, his church debated about buying a generator for emergencies.  Being a typical church, there was much discussion about whether this was needed or not.  Finally, a vote was taken, and by a narrow margin, the motion to approve the purchase of the generator was approved. 

When the Russians invaded his city, they targeted the power grid and knocked out power.  Cell phone batteries quickly ran out.  The church cranked up the generator, set out power strips, and offered people a place to recharge their phones.  People were able to stay connected, check up on loved ones, and stay informed.  God had prepared this church to serve through the gift of electricity. 

The most powerful story he told, however, occurred when Russian troops and tanks were moving through the city.  Three hundred and fifty people had taken refuge in the church.  Churches are supposed to be sanctuaries in times of war.  Not this time.  Russian troops smashed the windows of the church and threw in a grenade.  There was no need for this.  The people in the church were not combatants.  They simply wanted to be in a safe place. 

When the grenade came through the window, people screamed, ran, and ducked under the pews.  Nothing happened.  The grenade was a dud.  When the Russian troops saw that the first grenade had not exploded, they threw in another grenade.  It, too, was a dud.  What are the chances that two grenades would be duds?  Or could it be that God was protecting the people in that church building? 

The pastor shared with us that President Putin had now declared the churches may no longer evangelize outside of their buildings.  This step was necessary, according to Putin, to eliminate the church as a terror threat.  I doubt that is the real reason. 

The pastor concluded his sharing not by asking us for money but by asking us to pray for him and for his church.  His request was humbling.  It was a reminder to trust the power of God over the power of any earthly force.  This pastor was changing his world, little by little, by being light in the darkness of war. 

In our little corner of the world, it is easy to forget the daily evil people deal with around the world.  I confess I think more about ranch decisions than about the war in the Ukraine.  Or the war between Israel and Hamas.   

Evil is real.  According to the Global Slavery Index, over 50 million people are slaves in the world.  That’s evil.  Between 15,000 and 50,000 people are sex trafficked in the United States each year.  That’s evil.  In 2023, 170,000 people died in wars and conflicts around the world.  That’s evil.  According to Forbes, $100 billion each year is lost in Medicare and Medicaid fraud in the United States.  That’s evil.  Approximately 10% of the American population abuse drugs.  That’s evil.  I spoke this week with three women.  Each had been in a toxic, abusive marriage.  Evil is not always accompanied by a statistic.   

Jesus’ brother James wrote, “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”  The antidote to evil is simple: transform the human heart so good flows outward instead of evil.  Laws may restrict evil deeds, but laws do not change human hearts.  That requires the power of God. 

My brother pastor in Ukraine reminded me that God can work when his people are willing to do good.  Doing good means sharing what we have.  It means praying with fervor and trusting God to do what we cannot.  Doing good means letting God continue to transform our hearts and minds through our Lord Jesus Christ. 

If you want to change the world, change your heart. 

Dark Places…

Back in seminary, I made a visit to Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. My reasons for making the trip were not pure. A cute girl was going, and I thought I might have an opportunity to get to know her. 

Mammoth Cave is the largest known cave system in the world, with over 426 miles of the system mapped. I had never been in a cave before, but how scary could it be? 

It was scarier than I thought. We were with a guide who led us through Grand Avenue, Frozen Niagara, and Fat Man’s Misery. I was much thinner then, but Fat Man’s Misery was indeed miserable. I am not claustrophobic, but I was beginning to feel closed in. 

We were in one of the larger rooms of the cave when the Ranger guiding us told us she was going to turn out the lights. Big deal, I thought. I wasn’t scared of the dark. Besides, this was the opportunity I had hoped for. Maybe the cute girl would be scared and grab my hand.   

The lights went out. I have never been in such darkness. My eyes tried to adjust to the darkness to let the light in, but there was no light to let in. Whatever black is beyond pitch black, that’s how black it was.   

Maybe you have been in such a place. Maybe it was a literal cave, or maybe it was a stage of life or a crisis. I remember dark places when a girl I truly cared about broke up with me. There was a dark place when I came very close to being fired from a church I pastored. After a professor ridiculed me in front of a Ph.D. seminar, I walked out into the sunshine with my soul in darkness. The days my sister and brother told me they had cancer were days of darkness. 

Everyone, I think, has his or her own story of a dark place. Adults who were abused as children carry that darkness. The man or woman who never wanted a divorce finds themselves walking out of court in a dark place. The day you get fired is surely a dark day. 

We create some darkness ourselves. Addicts pile up in dark places. They have sworn for the thousandth time they will not go back to their addiction, but they relapse. The shame and guilt lead them back to the darkness of believing they are unworthy, unlovable, and powerless. Other people cross a boundary and think no one will ever know. Then the secret comes out. Maybe for the first time, they realize their choices impact others and damage themselves. 

If you do what I do, you see dark come upon people when they least expect it. I’ve been with the family when the Dad was told by the doctor that the tumor is inoperable. I’ve had to wake the woman who doesn’t know she is a widow, but her husband has died in the night and is still lying beside her. I’ve stood beside the hospital bed of people in intense pain and had them ask me, “Pastor, when will this pain end?”  That is a question from a dark place. 

The dark places of the soul have a claustrophobic effect on the soul. Your flaws and miseries are magnified. You long for escape. People numb themselves in dark places so they do not feel. Suicide looks attractive in the dark; it seems like an easy way to end the pain. 

What I remember in that darkness of that cave was a hand touching my arm, then making its way down to my hand. The other hand grasped my hand, longing for a connection, longing to know that someone was there.   

There is a story in the gospels of Jesus reaching out his hand to a man who knew about the dark places. He was a leper, cut off from family, community, and faith. His life was a dark place. But Jesus reached out his hand to say, “I am not afraid of your darkness. I will come to you and heal you and give you hope.” 

This is the great love of God – he reaches out to us. Our darkness does not frighten him. The blood of Jesus has covered over every darkness, and the resurrection of Jesus brings us light in our darkness. 

That day, in Mammoth Cave, as the unknown hand held mine in the dark, I hoped it was the hand of the cute girl. Then, the Ranger told us she was turning the lights back on. I blinked hard, and once more, I was in the light. 

Turned out that the hand that reached for me did not belong to the cute girl, but a macho guy who was part of our group. Even macho men get frightened in the dark. 

On the way back to Louisville, the macho man and the cute girl rode in the back seat, holding hands. I wound up in the front seat with my friend, who was driving. The day, however, was not a total bust. I had been to the dark place, but I had come out to the light.

Schedule…

My life runs by the schedule. There are things I can’t change like Sunday coming every seven days. I have meetings, lunches, and appointments throughout the week. If my assistant, Kelly, ever turns against me, I am toast. 

Interruptions happen, of course. When someone dies, you can’t say, “Sorry, I have a meeting at that time.”  You move things around and make it work. If a crisis occurs and takes up two days of your time, people still expect a fresh word from God on Sunday.   

Mine is not the kind of job where I can say on a whim, “I’m going to take a few days off, starting tomorrow.”  I must arrange for someone else to preach, cancel or reschedule meetings, and block out time on the calendar well in advance.   

I realize most people live this way; I am no one special. Like many of you, I have returned from vacation to find work piled up. I feel like I work more hours the week before and after vacation than in “normal” weeks. Sometimes, I think, “Why bother taking time off?” 

Because I manage our family ranch as a side gig, I must make regular trips to Florida to check on things, to check in with people, and to work cows. I made this trip recently, intending to work cows with a crew we had lined up two months in advance. 

The ranch has received a lot of rain recently. It had been dry, but now everything was muddy. It was supposed to rain on the day we were to work cows. Several folks asked, “Are you going to work cows as wet as it is?”  I had moved my schedule around, made space in my life, and flown down to work cows, so yes, by golly, we were going to work cows as long as the water wasn’t over their heads. We drove around the pasture in my rental Jeep and made it through most places just fine. I thought we’d be okay. Then it started raining again. 

Maturity, I think, is realizing you are not the smartest person around. Maturity means listening to people who might know a little more than you do.   

Greg, our cow crew gatherer, advisor, and wise man about cattle, called me Monday afternoon. He had gone over to the pasture to see how things looked. His heavier pickup truck had gotten stuck at the second gate. I know what this meant: a heavy truck, pulling a gooseneck trailer full of calves, would not make it out. If we worked cows, we would have to hook a tractor up to the truck and pull everything through the mud. Not a good scenario. 

Greg said, “Clay, I think if we work cows tomorrow, we will wind up tearing up a piece of equipment, or killing a cow, or getting somebody hurt.”  I told him I was willing to risk his body if he was. He was silent for a second before I could explain I was joking. We agreed the wiser thing to do was to call it off. I admit I was bummed. I had rearranged my entire week to come down, and now the main reason I was there wasn’t going to happen. 

The next morning, I woke up to thunder and heavy rain. If we had worked cows, we would have been out in it. The mud wasn’t getting wetter, but it was getting deeper. We couldn’t have worked calves with the ground that muddy, and I was sure we would have a rodeo getting cows to do what we wanted them to do in this weather. 

John Chancellor, the former anchor of the NBC Nightly News, once said, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.”  That is why James, the brother of Jesus, told us to say, “We will go to town tomorrow if the Lord wills.”  This led to the old expression, “The good Lord willing…”

 What did I do instead? I took care of some paperwork I had put off. I went to the insurance agency to persuade them my brother and sister really were dead. I visited with some relatives and had some good conversations. I stopped in the Pioneer Restaurant (where the elite meet to eat) and ran into half of the cow crew. I bought their lunch. I celebrated my cousin’s anniversary. It was not the day I had planned, but it was a good day. 

When God interrupts your schedule, remember to ask, “What do you want me to do now, Lord?”  God always has some ideas about how you should handle interruptions, crises, and vacant time. Remember, nothing catches him by surprise. 

That is a good place to start, even if our schedule is full for the day. Pray this: “Lord, this day is a gift. Nothing that happens will surprise you. Please show me what to do. Lead me to rest. I give you my stress.”   

Maybe this prayer will help you never to feel behind schedule.

Leaps of Faith…

When I was a child, I had a succession of one-eyed Shetland ponies.  My Uncle Larry was a veterinarian.  He was often called out to carnivals when a Shetland pony had a cancerous eye.  Uncle Larry would cut out the eye, and then the carnival owner would give him the pony instead of paying him.  Children who wanted to do the pony rides at carnivals did not want to ride the one-eyed Shetland ponies. 

These ponies were not fond of children.  They spent their lives plodding in circles while the kids pulled their ears or manes or kicked them repeatedly to go faster.  I supposed if I went in circles twelve hours a day, being abused the whole time, I might not like children either. 

We - my sister, brother, and I – had all been given one-eyed ponies in our childhood.  Our parents were advocates of the “Get on him and show him who’s boss” method of training.  It didn’t always work.  One day, my brother got off his one-eyed Shetland pony to open a gate for the adults on horseback.  The adults went through it.  My Daddy yelled at Steve to come on, and Steve hollered back, “I can’t, Daddy!  My horse is standing on my foot.”  One-eyed Shetland pony – 1; six-year-old boy – 0. 

I had one pony who hated being ridden.  He didn’t mind being saddled.  But as soon as you got on his back, he got stubborn.  I had to spur him just to get him to move.  The only time he would run was when we were pointed in the direction of the barn.  He knew he would be unsaddled, brushed, and fed.  Then, he would break into a trot, sometimes even a run. 

Steve had graduated to a big horse by then.  We saddled up after school one day and went riding (I could ride a horse before I could ride a bike).  Of course, my pony lagged after his big horse; he had to take four steps for every one of the big horses.  I was about five years old and felt like I was finally gaining mastery of my pony until we turned for home. 

When we crossed the gully, my horse broke into a slow trot.  Then he picked up speed.  Before long, he was running full out.  I was pulling back on the reins and yelling “Whoa” for all I was worth, but my pulling and my words had no effect.  My pony had smelled the barn, and he wanted to get this ride over with as soon as possible. 

Steve saw what was happening and spurred his horse to catch up with me.  He rode up alongside at full gallop and tried to grab my reins, but he was too high up.  I admit I was terrified.  I’d never been on a runaway horse before. 

In a split second, an idea entered Steve’s mind.  “Jump!” he said.  He wanted me to leap from my horse to his.  We had seen John Wayne do this many times, so we both knew it was possible.  How hard could it be? 

In our haste to solve the problem, we neglected reality.  My horse was considerably shorter than his.  I would not only have to leap, but I would also need to get two feet of height from my saddle to the back of his horse.  

My horse was accelerating; the time was now.  I leaped.  The scene still plays in slow motion in my memory.  I bent my knees as far as possible; I left my saddle.  I hit the side of Steve’s horse.  I fell face down on the dirt road, swallowing a pound of sand.  I looked up.  My pony was disappearing around the curve, heading for the barn.  Sputtering, I began to cry. 

I made my way to the house.  My mother sensed this was a teachable moment and told me to drink some water and then go to the barn and unsaddle my horse.  “You’re not done riding until your horse is unsaddled, brushed, and fed,” she said.  I did as I was told.  Steve was gracious and only made fun of me for six weeks.   

There will come a time when God asks you to take a leap of faith.  Leap and forgive someone who wronged you.  Leap and go on a mission trip.  Leap and find a faith mentor who can guide you.  Leap and have a conversation about what Jesus means to you. 

Most importantly, know for sure who is telling you to leap.  I’ve taken a couple of leaps in my life because someone told me it was a good idea.  It turned out not to be such a good idea.  Not everyone who encourages you to leap has your best interest in mind. 

What I know is every time my Heavenly Father has asked me to leap, even if I am scared, he is always there to catch me, so when our Heavenly Father says, “Leap,” leap.

Conversations with Atheists…

Throughout my career, I’ve had conversations with atheists.  I always try to be respectful in these conversations because I know most atheists have run into “buzzsaw” Christians.  I want to know their stories and how they made the decision to be atheists. 

What I often hear is hurt.  One man described his father as abusive, cruel, and very religious.  His father never told him he was loved or cherished; instead, he criticized every mistake and demanded perfection.  Growing up with a load of shame, he could not believe there was a loving Heavenly Father.  He asked me how I could believe in a loving God when there was so much suffering.  I shared I had experienced God’s love and grace in my life, and I trusted that experience.  But I also knew that I had childhood experiences he did not have.  I prayed for God’s love to touch his soul. 

Another man told me he did not believe.  When I asked why, he responded by giving the names of philosophers who concluded there was no god.  I listened to old arguments dressed up in new academic language.  I felt a Holy Spirit prompt to gently challenge him: “I have heard these arguments before, and there is validity to them.  But could it also be true that believing there is no God works for you?  You don’t have to answer to anyone, and you can do what you want.  That seems to be the way you want to live your life.”  He was honest enough to say, “Well, preacher, I’ve never thought of it that way, but you are right.  I like living for me.”  I did not ask him what his wife and kids thought about that philosophy. 

I had a similar conversation with a college-age young man.  He began by asking me about the so-called lost gospels.  I told him we had known about these books for hundreds of years but had only recently discovered copies.  I also told him these books date well after the first century AD and are not considered authoritative.  He said, “Well, doesn’t that mean none of the scripture can be trusted, and the church made up the story of Jesus to protect their power?”  I am sorry to say I laughed.  I told him the church had no power for the first three hundred years of its existence.  It is inconceivable that the authors of the New Testament conspired to create a narrative about a poor Jewish rabbi who turns out to be the promised Messiah, the son of God who is resurrected from the dead.  I asked him when his doubts rose, and he said his freshman year of college.  I asked him if that was when he also discovered beer and sex.  He lowered his head and said yes.  I then asked him if he thought there was a connection.   

I had a conversation with an old Kentucky farmer who told me there was no god.  His statement surprised me because most farmers I know believe, even if they aren’t churchgoers.  I asked him why, and he told me he had once been active in church, taught Sunday School, and had been a deacon.  Then, his ten-year-old daughter was diagnosed with leukemia.  For two years, he watched her battle cancer.  Her body was ravaged by the chemo, and she wasted away.  He told me when he walked away from her grave, he decided that no god would ever allow a child to die like that, to suffer like that.  I was writing my dissertation on Job at the time, and I knew the worst thing to do was to argue with him.  I told him I had no idea and I was so sorry.  I could not take away his pain.  But I could pray for him and asked him if I could pray for him right then.  He said, “If it makes you feel better.”  I prayed for God to heal his hurt, to bring him goodness, and to show himself to be real.  I moved away from that community not long after that conversation.  The new pastor told me later that the farmer had begun to attend church sporadically.  Maybe he was an atheist only for a season. 

So why am I not an atheist?  The reasons are many, and few have anything to do with my job as a pastor.  I choose to believe to have faith because I see things happen around me, and the existence of a personal God is the best explanation for why these things happen.  I believe because I know the evil that still lives in my soul.  It seems like only the power of God keeps it in check and diminishes its power.  I believe because I see God do extraordinary things in people’s lives.   

I try not to judge the atheists I know.  When I hear their stories, I realize I, too, might not believe if I had experienced what they have.  But I also pray for them.  I pray God will show up in their lives so their story can move in a different direction.  I truly believe their story will be better if Jesus writes it.   

Yours will be, too.

What Will You Get Jesus for Christmas?

It starts with a list. The Christmas list.

Making the list starts for us before Thanksgiving. We have conversations with the kids and ask what they really want. One very efficient daughter emails us her list with links to the websites. She makes it easy. The ordering begins in earnest right after Thanksgiving. I remember when we used to go from store to store. I once drove to Florence a day or two before Christmas to be the first in line for a Power Ranger shipment. Those were not the days. Now, almost all the ordering is point-and-click. The UPS and FedEx trucks seem to stop at every house on our street. The Postal Service even delivers packages on Sunday now – for a few dollars more.   

Occasionally, we will remember someone we need to buy for, and in a panic, we order, hoping the gift will make it on time. The kids will change their minds about something, which means ordering something new and then going through the whole process of returning what last week was the “perfect gift.”

By mid-December, we are asking ourselves if we are staying on budget. Usually, we are doing pretty well. It is that last-minute flurry that gets us. Stocking stuffers must be found. There is the mammoth grocery run as we prepare to feed nine people for three days. Double A and triple A batteries must be acquired for the unexpected gift that says, “Batteries included,” but the batteries are dead. A last-minute trip to Walmart on Christmas Eve is almost required. It will make you feel better about yourself when you see people who are starting their Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve.

Gift-giving has changed over the years.   We used to open gifts to each other on Christmas Eve, and then Santa came on Christmas Day. Everything is different now with everyone’s travel schedule. Now, the gift opening is divided into two parts: the grandson’s gifts and everyone else’s. It is a wonderful time to express love by giving gifts.

It struck me the other day that one name is missing from our list: Jesus. Seems strange, doesn’t it? After all, it is His birthday. 

Granted, Jesus is hard to buy for. What do you get the person who has everything?   I mean, literally, everything! He already owns the cattle on a thousand hills and stars by the thousands. What could He want anyway?

Jesus actually has a list. It is found in the book of Micah: “What does He require of you, O man, but to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God?”

This Christmas, give Jesus the gift of doing justice. Justice is about more than being fair; justice is having a standard of right and wrong and measuring our lives against it. Most of us want to create a standard of right and wrong that favors us. To do justice means we accept God’s standard, and we do it. We make decisions and behave in a way that makes God’s standards come alive. We treat each other with respect, stand for what is right, speak for those who have no voice, and do what is right even when it costs us. Imagine a world that gave doing justice to Jesus as a gift.

This Christmas, give Jesus the gift of loving mercy. When someone offends you or hurts you, forgive them. Give grace to the hurried UPS driver and the tired cashier. Be merciful to the waitress who messes up your order. Don’t just tolerate your annoying uncle. Remember, Jesus loves him, so be kind to him. Be patient with the child who pitches a fit because he or she did not receive that one gift they wanted: a working bazooka. Being merciful means loving people when it is hard to love them.

This Christmas, give Jesus the gift of walking humbly with Him.  Admit to Him you have no idea how to live your life. Ask for His help and guidance every day. Walk closely with Him so you learn to be like Him.  Stop where He would stop. Walk past temptations as He does. Climb mountains with Him.  Rest in the valleys with Him. Listen to his teaching. Let his love and grace keep your soul washed from sin. When you are discouraged, hear his gentle whisper: “You matter to me. I love you. Follow me.”

This Christmas, the best gift to give Jesus is yourself. He delights in you and will love the gift you present. Ironically, when you give him the gift of yourself, you receive back the best gift ever: Jesus.