Monday Morning Music Ministry

4-15-24

This week I received a shocking response to a routine e-mail I sent to a friend. He told me that he had been sick and underwent surgery during which cancer in another organ was discovered. Factors have prevented chemotherapy treatment, and other palliatives evidently have failed. No number of his LOLs could mask the prognosis: perhaps mere months to live.

I pray, of course, that the diagnosis and timeline may be wildly off. But the news rocked me; and – as sometimes happens, “bad news coming in bunches” – I also learned this week of the passing of two professional associates. Sad for the quick and the dead, sad for their families. Sad for myself… as we tend immediately to internalize such news.

Thinking of mortality, I remember another friend who recently sustained two heart “episodes” that were dangerous and still threaten her. And I had a flashback to my own experience last Fall at an appearance for my new book, where I collapsed in front of some dignitaries and C-SPAN cameras (not yet rolling). I am fine, yet I still dwell on mortality, especially again this week.

Mortality is the title of Abraham Lincoln’s favorite poem. He committed William Knox’s verses to memory during one of his melancholic periods. Some of its quatrains are:

Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud? / Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud / A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave / He passeth from life to his rest in the grave….

Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain / Are mingled together in sunshine and rain; / And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge / Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.

‘Tis the wink of an eye – ‘tis the draught of a breath / From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, / From the gilded salon to the bier and the shroud: / Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

The poem indeed reflects Lincoln’s periodic and famous melancholia. He committed many things to his memory; we all do – for instance, song lyrics. I suppose we are attracted to lines and sayings because they appeal to our natural inclinations. This basically applies even to Bible verses. We are intrigued, or sometimes by God’s providence convicted, by passages. We not only want to, but need to, “hide them in our hearts.”

To return to the concept of mortality. I think it is true that when we hear of a friend’s bad health or mortal illness, or death, if we are honest, our thoughts are in a sense “selfish.” Self-ish. We have regrets for things we might have done. Or words never spoken. We think of chances we missed. Lost opportunities for visits or trips. We think of how we will miss the person. Our perspective.

I am reminded, especially this week, of resolutions I have broken: There are conversations – such as with my friend who shared his news – I never got around to having. There are calls I didn’t make and notes I had wanted to send to my children and grandchildren, that I postponed… again and again. There are relatives, and old friends, I have wanted to connect with, even for no specific reason.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn into…

It is a short step from having mere regrets to condemning ourselves, which is the devil’s greatest trick. It is easy for any of us to fall into a mindset where we think we are lazy friends or bad parents. Self-condemnation can turn into self-fulfilling identities. It is the path of least resistance to keep traveling those byways… but those paths are really two-way streets. God allows U-Turns, as my friend Allison Bottke calls her ministry.

Don’t fall into the trap of thinking you are unworthy of family or friends, or yourself, or our Lord once we have accepted Him. Because that acceptance makes us worthy. You are issued a new ID card when you invite Christ into your life.

A new friend, Heather Renea Heaven, this week shared a truth: “God did not make a mistake when He created you.” Wow. Sit up straight!

Yes, God created you. You are His handiwork. He created your family members and friends too. It is your job – no, your glorious opportunity! – to fill in what is “in between” you and me and others. So many gaps to fill! Friendships, relationships, fellowship, concern, sympathy, support, nurture, encouragement, love.

We lose many things in life, sometimes forever… including a lot of things that we do not have to lose, yet we do. Money, we can cope with and regain. Jobs? We move on. Homes? We re-locate. Health? More serious, but we often can forestall, or manage, or battle. But…

Time – and some “relationships over time,” as the phrase goes – cannot be retrieved. When gone, forever gone. Does our priority become clear?

Cherish. While you can. Cherish what you have, who you are, and those whom you have. Hold them close, let them know. While you can.

And do not let loose the most important relationship of all. You might lose your friends, a great sadness. But remember that you will never be alone. You have a Friend who never leaves you… and that is a start toward redeeming what was lost!

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Click: Never Alone

4-8-24

America once was called the Land of Many Churches. In many places, it still looks like that.

Whether it is the Land of Many Christians, compared to the past, however, is an open question. I will not count or recite statistics about how previous standards have fallen, or that fewer people believe in God these days. But the dissolution of traditional faith among the general population is one matter. That traditional faith has declined in many churches and denominations is something to note with alarm.

Whether the decline in faith has brought societal decay, or vice versa, is open to question. It ultimately is a silly question… or I should say frightening, because it is a condition, not a riddle, that confronts us. Nevertheless it is interesting, especially considering the historical sweep of Christianity, that the Christian faith might be retreating in Europe, the UK, and America; but it is growing and thriving south of the Equator. Contrary to common belief, it is, for instance, growing faster in Africa than Islam is.

Further, it is the case that African churches are sending missionaries to Europe, the UK, and America – the opposite of centuries-old paradigms – seeing mission-fields needing to learn about Christ.

This situation in America occurs to me when I receive letters or when people talk to me, usually in response to blog essays I write. I am eager to talk to people who have fallen away from their faith; reaching such people is one of my goals. Sometimes when people have spiritual crises, it is not because of intellectual debate, or other varieties of belief, or the siren-calls of the world’s temptations. It grieves me that there are people, and I’m afraid a lot of people, who have been turned off by… churches themselves, and other Christians.

Many churches, and whole denominations, have abandoned the essentials of the faith. Relativism, secular values, and the denial of Biblical truths – even the Virgin birth and Christ’s divinity – have crept into pulpits. Many churches conform to the world instead of trying to redeem the world. Of course people will begin to wonder, “What’s the point?” and children will ask, “What’s so special about Christianity?”

Is this not everywhere? No, it is not. But it should be nowhere.

Worst of all, however, is an age-old cancer on the church that is virulent today. Its adherents think they are defending orthodoxy and spiritual purity – and sometimes they do – but very often they show themselves as judgmental, censorious, exclusionary, and hateful. In our midst as Christians, we have today some very learned and influential leaders who argue – yes, sometimes, hatefully – about fine points of theology.

Quickly, I say that matters of faith – regarding salvation, sin, sacraments – are essential. But angels dance on the heads of pins when Christian leaders thunderously intone against “wayward” beliefs about when the Tribulation will take place… whether History unfolds as literal Dispensation we can discern from Bible study… whether the Gifts of the Spirit were valid only in Apostolic days. None of these things – or, more pertinent to many people, social policies and current events – affects anyone’s salvation. That is, knowing Christ, and knowing that your eternal home will be in Heaven.

A letter I received, responding to a recent Easter essay here, illustrates how these malignant attitudes are repelling people, not drawing them, to Jesus. I summarize the heartfelt letter:

The Old Testament followers rejected him because they were expecting a military-type leader, not a forgiving, all-inclusive loving teacher. I’m afraid many so-called Christians today have reverted to the earlier kind of thinking. They say Jesus of the New Testament is too wimpy and “woke”. They are not following Christ. I realize I am opening myself up to angry criticism. So, bring it on, Haters. I hope, rather, that you may immerse yourself in serious introspective thought with the utmost of humility and God’s Grace.

I was compelled to respond. Summary:

My own experience through all the years is that there are probably roughly equal percentages of people who love Jesus but can be “mean,” even haters, and those who hate Jesus and can be “nice,” each by the world’s definitions.

One problem with religion is that people frequently use it as a tool – or a weapon – to attack others according to their settled prejudices. As if they know, or really care, about what Christ said, or taught, or died for, or Who He was. One-tenth of the effort to criticize the “other” side in such arguments, if channeled instead to love, would lead to a better world and better people, more harmony. More forgiveness, more understanding.

But life (literally) is about more than peace and understanding. It is “all about,” or should be, what Jesus said, and Who He is: not what people want to weaponize, even friendly tools like social harmony. Another Easter comes and goes with so many people using Jesus… instead of surrendering themselves to be used BY Him.

There are Christian haters, sure. As with the religious leaders in Jesus’s day, they can be as vipers. Whited sepulchers. I have often stated that organized religion, not only self-righteous leaders, might have sent more people to hell than half of Satan’s demons. Hypocrites abound in our churches.

But… there is always room for one more. It is a tragedy when it becomes easier to hear the Haters than to see the Loving Savior.

Do not reject Christ because some of His followers are flawed. Do not avoid faith when some people practice their faith badly. Do not cheat yourself of the blessings of walking with the Savior when you might feel so empty… and He is opening His loving arms

Remember the words of Jesus, who still suffers abuse in His name:

A new commandment I give unto you, That you love one another as I have loved you. By this shall all people know that you are my followers (John 13: 34,35).

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Click: They Will Know We Are Christians By Our Love

3-4-24

Jesus.

Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

Jesus.

Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

Jesus.

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Immediately after a devastating tornado hit his house, but with his family safe, a Kentucky man was able to praise the Name of Jesus.

Click: There’s Something About That Name

2-26-24

I am going to take you on a brief tour of some surprising places. I have had the wanderlust all my life, and have discovered that some legendary places (the “Room with a View”) can be mundane; and some very memorable sites greet us unannounced.

For instance, strolling around Venice (yes, one can walk around that city), I once turned a corner and came face-to-face with a plaque identifying a modest building as the birthplace of composer Antonio Vivaldi. It seemed to me like holy ground.

In Rome I stood in the plaza in front of the meticulously preserved Pantheon, where once stood the Temple Agrippa. Inside are the tombs of the artist Raphael and the composer Arcangelo Corelli (I think one of the most beautiful names ever borne by a person) but the plaza is where St Paul, having arrived in Rome by foot along the Appian Way, first shared the Gospel in the seat of the Roman Empire. I stood where he stood. Holier ground.

In Ireland, at a roadside stop by a modest chapel, I saw in its even more modest cemetery the gravestone of the great poet William Butler Yeats… revealed by no special markers nor arrows. By pure serendipity I found myself on holy ground, as it felt to me; secular – but you may know what I mean.

I had a similar experience at the other corner of Ireland, so to speak. A friend and I had traversed, roughly, the perimeter of that wonderful island over two weeks. Near the vacation’s end we sought lodgings outside Belfast. Rather by chance – without, that is, any premonition of another “holy ground” experience in the offing – we found ourselves in a little village called Crawfordsburn in County Down. There was an ancient Old Inn (it calls itself), rambling and half-timbered. It had charms and, most importantly, a room to rent and a restaurant.

I was startled to read an unpretentious plaque on the wall when I registered. It stated that decades ago members of the legendary Inklings group occasionally met there (otherwise, more famously, in Oxford, in England). That was the famous circle of literary friends that included C S Lewis and J R R Tolkien. Moreover, since its establishment in 1614 the Old Inn had been a meeting place for writers including Swift, Tennyson, Thackeray, and Dickens. Holy ground, of sorts, for me, a writer.

Most pertinent, or compelling, according to the plaque, was that the Old Inn was where C S Lewis and his wife Joy Davidman spent their honeymoon.

Most readers will be quite familiar with Lewis’s classic stories in the Chronicles of Narnia books. I had not read them (almost alone among my friends and my own children). I hope that you readers are familiar with Lewis’s life and his tragically short marriage to Joy; there have been books and movies about them. Married late in life, Lewis was a former atheist who came to a saving, and influential, relationship with Christ. He fell in love with Joy, an American Jewess who died of cancer only four years into their marriage. Shadowlands is one telling of their remarkable and bittersweet life together.

The feeling of a presence on “Holy Ground” was scarcely related, I have said, to The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe or such classics. But C S Lewis was also known for his writing (and BBC broadcasts) as one of the greatest of all Christian apologists of any era; he was gifted to explain the Gospel in logical, layman’s terms. (By the way, Lewis’s favorite poet was Yeats; what a trip of “coincidences” that was for me!)

I am only one of millions whose faith has been awakened, challenged, informed, illuminated, inspired, and fortified by the simple truths C S Lewis powerfully explained and gently shared. Of his many works in the field (The Screwtape Letters; A Grief Observed; Surprised by Joy) the thin collection of essays Mere Christianity is the enduring classic.

I can paraphrase his powerful refutation of the common human tendency to acknowledge (really, dismiss) Jesus as “merely” a great teacher:

I want to prevent anyone from saying, “I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept his claim to be God.” That is the one thing you cannot say! A man who was merely a man but made the claims Jesus did would not be a great moral teacher; he would either be a lunatic – like a man who says he is a poached egg – or evil. Or the biggest of all liars.

You must make your choice. Either this Man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon… or you can fall at His feet and call him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher.

He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.

Such is the beginning – perhaps, even, the culmination – of arguments you can make about this Jesus with atheists, agnostics, skeptics, scoffers, and, actually, your own self when you have moments of doubt.

C S Lewis brilliantly allowed us to relate to the Incarnation of God Almighty. Mighty? Yes. Distant, unapproachable? No. We can know Him as the Lover of our souls.

And, knowing Him… we can stand on holy ground.

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Click: Jesus Lover of My Soul

1-29-24

These thoughts were shared by a friend of a friend a few years ago. They are perspectives on a timeless thought about the Ultimate Friend:

One day Satan and Jesus were talking. Satan just went to the Garden of Eden and he was messing and laughing, saying:

Yes sir. I just took a world full of people out there. More than I ever have! I set them up, used all sorts of bait. I knew they couldn’t resist. They are all done!

What are you going to do with them? Jesus asked.

Oh, I’m going to have fun with them, Satan replied. I will teach them how to marry and divorce, how to hate and abuse each other, drink and smoke and do drugs, and of course I will teach them how to invent guns and bombs to destroy each other. I’m really going to have fun!

And what will you do when you get tired of them? Jesus asked him.

Oh, I’ll kill them, Satan said with a look full of hate and pride.

How much do you want for them? Jesus asked.

Satan answered: Oh, You don’t like those people. They are not good. Why would You want to take them? You take them but so many hate You. They will spit in Your face, curse You, and kill You. You don’t like those people!

How much? Jesus asked again.

Satan looked at Jesus and answered sarcastically: All Your blood, Your tears, and Your life.

Jesus said, done!

And that’s how He chose to pay the price.

God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. – Romans 5:8

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Click: Mozart: Ave Verum Corpus

11-13-23

I was talking with a new friend this week about worship – how it has changed in the church; radically changed, even in our lifetimes, but also radically through the centuries. Does worship follow the culture… and should it? should it readily conform to contemporary trends? There is the legitimate caution that if a worship style slavishly follows styles of music and communication and – dare I say it? – entertainment, then a church risks alienating as many people as it attracts.

Is the function of worship music to attract worshipers? Or is it the role of worshipers to gather, and seek God, and praise Him, and celebrate His worth-ship (a theory about the word-origin)?

I have long been tempted to wonder if contemporary worship music is scarcely neither worship nor music. That extreme view can be found in the virtual book, Rick’s Epistle to the Curmudgeons. But I am far from alone. My late wife and I were… well, literally late for a service at a church we attended in San Diego. As we passed through the lobby, we saw an elderly lady sitting alone on a bench with her walker. We asked if she need assistance to enter the service, which was loud enough to indicate it had begun.

“No,” she said. “Every week I wait out here until the music is finished. It is too loud; I can’t understand the words; and the leader always insists we clap and jump. I cannot manage.”

This poor lady was robbed of a worship experience because she was, frankly, made to feel unwelcome for a part of the service. Alone, in fact. And she was alone. Was she, in a way, outnumbered, or out-voted? I began to notice that many people in the congregation (there and at many churches I subsequently visited) seem uncomfortable with reading from screens, jumping on cue, smiling when the worship leader says, “Good morning! Say it louder, like you mean it!!!”

There was a time in church history when people gathered to worship in diverse ways. Sometimes believers gather to “be still and know that I am God.” Sometimes to bow heads, or lie prostrate before the Lord, and not jump or wave. Sometimes to cry; not always to laugh.

How many people, in churches today, are more focused on the worship than the One who should be worshiped? Or respond to the music – the instrumental riffs, the drum beats – more than the message? Or who regard the entire service as entertainment? – how many leaders, not only the “audience” – feel that way?

I think what is at play is that the contemporary church recognizes a pervasive problem in modern life – let us categorize it as alienation – but reacts in a completely inappropriate way. Megachurches, “big box” churches, mass worship are superficial attempts to draw people together… have them share experiences… bond with each other. Yet, largely, these types of gatherings merely assemble strangers as at a pep rally – prompted to cheer, respond in unison, be audiences and not congregations, and applaud when the show is over.

Contemporary worship accelerates the problem, instead of solving it. And it is a problem. The church should resist these tendencies, not perpetuate them. These church services often can be gatherings of people who gather “as one”; but many of them are rooms full of people who feel terribly alone, even sandwiched in the seats. Worse: feeling as alone when they leave, as when they arrived.

Alone. Ironic in busy churches. Ironic in a mass culture. Ironic in crowded cities and neighborhoods, schools and offices. It is recorded and reflected in statistics: More and more people seek counseling because they feel unconnected. Murderers and criminals invariably are ID’d in press reports and police statements as “loners.” We jostle people on city sidewalks and packed lunchrooms, yet unprecedented numbers of folks desperately turn to internet dating sites, or “virtual” web friends, looking for fellow strangers… other lonely people.

The answers surely are explained by psychoses, not demographics. When the landscapes were sparsely settled, and before towns became teeming cities, people are recorded in history as being relatively alone, but not lonely. Folks dealt well with distant neighbors. It was only in the Twentieth century that social scientists began to recognize the “Lost Generation” and “Disillusioned Youth”; pervasive cynicism, ennui, and resignation. Then, the “Beat Generation”; radicalization; the secularization of society. How many people today really know their close neighbors? Or want to?

I think it is all a symptom of the condition that Contemporary Man simply does not like himself. And the church neither recognizes it, nor tries to solve it, except by superficial and futile means.

My friend told me about her church which institutionally encourages neighborhood groups that meet for fellowship, study, and… worship. Meeting regularly, in small groups, arranged by interests, professions, personal challenges, geography, whatever. But common care is visceral; bonding happens, and fellowship is genuine.

This was a paradigm of the First Century church. It was real. It was precious. Did it “work,” as church leaders today would calculate the numbers of “people in the pews”? Oh, yes. Christianity grew and spread, People wanted what it had.

Let’s pray, church friends, for common sense. If feeling alone is today’s deep-seated cultural problem – how is that best overcome? In a mass setting where people are instructed to worship like robots… or in circles of friends who develop authentic, intimate relationships?

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Click: No, Never Alone

10-23-23

Two weeks in a row, a “life story” with a practical message and a spiritual meaning. This one obviously is personal, so I should get it right, despite being barely conscious during some of it.

Some of you know that I write more than a weekly blog. Other blogs; roughly one magazine article a month; newspaper columns and op-eds; and books. It was my seventy-fifth published book that took me to New York last week. I have been doing interviews, recently the Charlie Kirk and Rita Cosby national radio shows / podcasts. The semi-official Book Launch of The Most Interesting American, Post Hill Press, my third book on Theodore Roosevelt, was scheduled on the campus of Long Island University / C W Post College. Close to Sagamore Hill, the Oyster Bay home of TR.

In addition to LIU, the events – press conference, reception, book signing, speech, public Q&A – was to be covered by C-SPAN for broadcast on its Presidential Books series. The events were co-sponsored by Theodore’s Books, the terrific Oyster Bay shop run by former congressman Steve Israel. For all the resourceful people involved, the real angel was Bernadette Castro, one of the nation’s great natural resources – furniture heiress; onetime New York candidate for the US Senate; 12 years the New York State Parks Commissioner in charge of historic preservation; and an amazing role-model of civic virtue and activism.

In short: I woke up woozy the morning of the events (forgive the technical and medical terms), but I had not eaten much in several days except for a grand dinner the previous evening; I had flown a hurried trip the week before; deadlines plagued me… who knows. It could not have been “stress” about my speech, because I have always said that I could talk about Theodore Roosevelt in my sleep. Inadvertently, here was to be my chance.

At the event, I stumbled in late; I half-realized I was signing my name one and a half times, or just scribbling; I needed help getting to the dining room. It was all a strange sensation, but more so for those who beheld this, ahem, esteemed author. I am sure that the guests (many and distinguished) thought I was drunk or having a stroke. Bernadette assured them that I was quite sober, and if I were sentient I could have assured them… well, in fact, I was not sentient. Medics arrived; then an ambulance; and I blinked back to consciousness in the loving arms of St Francis (the wonderful hospital bearing his name in Port Washington, NY).

When the dust had settled, so to speak, the consensus was not demon rum (I scarcely drink) nor a stroke but a “simple” case of hypoglycemia. My blood-sugar level had dropped to 37. I am on two meds as a pre-diabetic (“pre”? I am never early for anything) and maybe the disruptions of the previous days put those meds into overdrive.

(I only had problems with hypoglycemia once before, but that was in a spelling bee in sixth grade. Seriously, my late wife had diabetes since age 13, so I should be aware of some of the collateral issues. I am more aware, again. I am dropping jokes here as often as nurses who wake you up to ask if you are asleep… but for the first time in my life I thought I was going to die.)

Several days in the hospital; canceled appointments to see old friends and hoped-for business partners; and, having been rushed from my events, no books or papers or laptop or even a phone-charger. But the word had gotten out, and almost 700 well-wishers reached out, between phone calls and texts and e-mails I eventually received. In my case, “well-wisher” usually means people who wish I would fall down a well; but this was very special, really touching.

Among all the outreach, my daughter Emily called from Ireland, once for 45 minutes. And my son Ted drove up from Washington DC, where he is a TV news producer, to “hang with Pop,” and drive me to the airport after a day in Manhattan, just like old times.

To the impatient reader who wonders where is the “practical message, the spiritual meaning,” it is here, thicker than a dose of glucose syrup. Jesus was real to me through this. Not only my faith and grounding, nor that I was in a Catholic hospital. He truly was present in myriad ways.

I had a friend who was a professional skeptic (a.k.a. wiseguy) who once challenged me after some troubles I had. He said, “You keep giving Jesus the credit for the help you got. That wasn’t Him… it was all your friends! Wake up!”

OK. Chapter 2: For all of our conversations about politics and TR, and common work on causes like fighting the attack on historic statues… my greatest bond with Bernadette Castro is when we share personal stories, frequently centering on faith. She showed her character again this week.

This week could have been National Anti-Cliché week, because many of those messages and e-mails were from people who left fervent prayers and shared encouraging verses… as we all are to do, sincerely; not throw off Hallmark-like “Feel Betters” in circumstances like these.

A new friend in Michigan had volunteered to drive me to and from the airport (of course not knowing these things would transpire), saving me parking fees for a week and – surely – a shaky solo drive home, otherwise. A blessing. A friend from another state, who had sent a “love offering” to help with expenses… could not have known how useful that card would be. A blessing.

The hospital staff… well, ‘nuff said. I had interaction with so many people those days who showed Jesus, it was a reinforcement about the Healer, our Ever-Present Help in times of trouble. The Holy Spirit, you see, is the means and the motivator when we share the Jesus who lives within us.

So, Chapter 3. To skeptics like my old friend who said it was not Jesus but merely nice friends who show themselves in such crises (and as he, sadly, must have learned by now) –

It is Jesus who “works” in these situations. The Savior often chooses to work through His people. What better way? – win-win for everyone who is touched. I was ministered to; friends yielded themselves to share Christ’s love; and – I pray – others who hear this Gospel message may be blessed.

Yes. Let’s “wake up!” indeed.

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Click: Where No One Stands Alone

10-16-23

This following is not a parable; not at all. It is a true story I heard and pass along with names changed to protect the innocent, and blessed, parties.

I will call the principal figure Charlie, who just observed his 50^th anniversary with his wife Sally, as we will call her. Their sons threw an elaborate and surprise anniversary party. There were guests old and young, from old times and recent, attending from far and wide. There was a lot of love in the restaurant room.

This story – remember where you are reading this – has a spiritual component. This aspect was not planned, nor even noticed by all the guests. But it is an example of how God does not always shout – He often whispers. The Holy Spirit can virtually shove us sometimes! But He can also tenderly, gently tug at our hearts.

Charlie and one of the “farthest drive” guests were college roommates all those years ago, and were not particularly religious. At the party they shared some of the fun times, funny stories, and practical jokes. In the subsequent years Charlie’s friend Rich as we shall call him, has grown in his faith and sometimes shares encouraging messages with people.

Among the memories that popped up was a recollection from those college days about another friend named David, let us say, who in intervening years experienced a crisis; and that Charlie suggested that Rich talk and pray with David. It seems this was an uncharacteristic thing for Charlie to do, at least back in the day. But evidently those prayers had some impact, and since then David has been following Rich’s occasional encouraging messages. Now they are brothers in Christ.

Charlie had, and has, a real brother who could be called George and is known as an impressive brainiac, sharing the love but not the politics nor faith of Charlie. Nevertheless, as Rich learned in surprise, Charlie has been forwarding his messages in those two areas… and George made a point, at this party, of expressing his appreciation and discussing some thoughts. Charlie the evangelist? Some would be surprised.

In another story, or backstory, Charlie and Rich had never met each other’s children through the years. Yet Charlie was so upset at the rupture in the relationship of Rich and one of his daughters that he often volunteered to call her out of the blue and try to heal the situation. Which eventually he did.

That is not the most surprising aspect of that particular story. Charlie’s niece, who could be called Connie, is one of the most active Christians in that family. She works, through her church, with missionaries. Making friends with Rich, she spoke of a concern for Uncle Charlie’s faith. But she was surprised to hear the story of his intervention in the father-daughter problem… and especially her uncle’s reassurance, through the years to Rich, that he “prays for them every night and for their heartache.”

To the extent that Connie was surprised is the main reason I am sharing this story.

Friendships endure, or grow cold. Families grow closer, or drift apart. Seeds of faith are planted, and sometimes sprout and grow; in fact that often happens – no surprise. But as all this – for the lack of a better term and for the sake of this story, let us call it life – happens, deepening faith and learning to share Christian love, gets manifested in myriad ways.

This Charlie fellow is not like the cousin of a friend of mine whose own faith has been growing despite (or because?) of a great crisis with her son. My friend’s cousin is a Christian of comfortable means, and gives greatly to charity. How do we know that? He brags about it. Oh, it comes out in small talk, or anecdotes, or references to details… but everyone knows how “good” he is.

The Bible – our Lord Himself – firmly tell us not to be like that man. Have you heard the words? Not to let the left hand know what the right hand is doing (don’t do things for praise). Not to utter the loudest prayers in places of worship. That the widow’s mite is more meaningful than ostentation. When Jesus talked about not hiding one’s light under a bushel, He meant that our faith should shine as a glowing candle; but works, our deeds, may be in secret.

Who sees the good works? The giver, who surely is blessed; the recipients, who benefit; and God, who knows.

Well, as stories were loudly shared during that anniversary party, so also were stories of different sorts — privately, of faith and witness and love. No surprise: that’s how life ought to be. A mosaic of experiences, friendships, memories. Often, memories that bring tears to our eyes.

But it sounds like at that surprise party for Charlie and Sally, there were two kinds of tears flowing. Some of them like showers of blessing. We also have an illustration of the saying that we should always “share the Gospel… sometimes even using words.”

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Click: There Shall Be Showers of Blessing

9-25-23

The Holy Bible is comprised of many books written by many hands over many centuries in many locations. Most of the writers did not know each other; neither did they dream of how their texts would be joined or bequeathed through subsequent history.

In fact some of the books were written frankly to record events; some were written to inform and instruct other believers; some were written in the clear belief of writers that they were transcribing God’s words and warnings and commandments.

All the writers, however, were inspired. Consider that word literally: in-spired; as per respiration and other words, the root is “breathing.” So the Holy Spirit of God, by common belief of all the scribes, believed that the Lord “breathed in” to their hearts. As our Creator-God, He did such things. In these later times and by other ways, He still whispers His truths to us… He speaks to us in answered prayer, and inspired thoughts. Like no other deity in other “religions,” His words are confirmed multiplied times over, through the ages.

The “harmony of Scripture” and “unity of the Gospel” are therefore truths that reassure believers, and astonish mathematicians, among others. Think about the probabilities of disparate people agreeing with others whom they did not know; or confirming facts about which they had no tangible clues; or sharing predictions and prophecies that happened, as it turned out, “to the letter.”

These people “recorded” as the Spirit of God dictated to their hearts, things that sometimes made no sense, or seemed irrelevant at the times… but of course have powerful relevance to humankind. Scientists and archaeologists today are discovering places and persons in ancient Scripture that were recently thought to be poetry or fantasy or fiction… but – we discover that those kings, those battles, those cities were real.

The Bible tells us so.

So, despite the stubborn secularists and agnostics who regard it all as a fable or insider-conspiracy or poetic nonsense, we stand in awe of the Holy Bible as history (“His story”); as wisdom and guidance; as a Love Letter from God Almighty. Between its covers are not random contents and disputes and admonitions, but exceedingly precise, intentional words for our comings-and-goings. And for our lives.

There are nit-pickers, some of whom seem sincere, and some of whom have huff-and-puff scholarly manners, who tell of minute differences between, say, accounts in the Gospels – just how many things did Jesus say when hanging on the cross? Or renewed skepticism when their “proofs” against, say, a Great Flood or the actual existence of an ancient Biblical kingdom, have been upended. If they spent one one-thousandth of the time studying the truths in God’s Word, as they do searching for contradictions…

They, and the world, might be better off.

If we look hard enough, anyone can see what they want to see, or miss what they want to miss. I was on the editorial team of the republication of the 1599 Geneva Bible, which was in fact the translation of John Calvin that (among other significance) Pilgrims brought to the colonies; not the King James version. It lives in history as the “Breeches” Bible because translators handled the account in Genesis 3:7, where Adam sewed fig leaves together to cover his nakedness, and called the garment “breeches.” Somehow mankind seemed to pay as much attention to that, as to the entirety of Scripture.

There are other tempests in teapots – or angels dancing on heads of pins. The Apocrypha is, or is not, regarded as canon; and portions of Daniel and Esther are regarded by some Christians as “Deuterocanonical” – added or discovered at dates later than “accepted” Scripture. Martin Luther doubted the authority of the Book of James. I recently have been studying the movement of the early church father Marcion, who held unorthodox views on the relevance of the Old Testament, and establishment of the Apostolic church, to Christ’s mission and message. Some view him as heretical, but without his movement, we might not have some of New Testament Scripture and traditions.

Again, my point – and my willingness to raise such issues – is that we as humankind are face-to-face with God’s existence, Jesus’s reality, and the Holy Spirit’s essential role in our lives. Yes… the devil can be in details, sometimes.

We need to keep our eyes on Heaven, and our feet on the ground.

I know Jesus is real because I have met Him. He mightily has intervened in my life, and that of my family. He has worked miracles that no other person, no other power, could do. Can I explain this to skeptics. No, not really… it is for everyone to experience. And I would say that it is not so important that we love Him – it is to our salvation; yes, but what is most important to grasp is that He loves us.

If we had to order a priority (and it is not really a priority: both things are true and essential), but I would plead to those who have not yet accepted Salvation to grasp the fact that God so loved the world that He allowed His Son to take our sins upon Him… that we may be one with the Father. That makes the Bible – however else the world debates it – a thousand translations; the source of debates; the essence of holy wisdom; a handbook for conducting one’s life; a record of miracles; prophecies of end times – when all is said and done, a love story.

I think we cannot fall in love with God fully until we are aware of the awesome fact that the Creator of the Universe knows and loves you and me. The Bible is God’s love letter to us; love is in every word, every verse, every chapter, every book.

Yes, Jesus Loves Me. The Bible tells me so.

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Click: Jesus Loves Me

4-24-23

This weekend marks an anniversary in my family. Usually that word “anniversary” connotes a happy date but in this case it was associated with much sadness. My niece Liza died on an April 22^nd, after a difficult birth, a severe case of cerebral palsy, an eventual three-month mental maturity level, a prognosis of perhaps three years of life but ultimately well more than two decades of these conditions. Her sweet smiles masked the tragedy of her daily life.

My sister Barbara was a single mom who battled this situation bravely and lovingly. After some years, at a certain point she stumbled and sustained her own individual health problems and myriad other challenges, some virtually nightmarish. Many people might have thought her situation could not possibly have been worse. And then Liza died.

Recalling all this on the phone this week, Barbara, still facing challenges, spoke with perfect peace. So many past memories have been replaced, she said, by the joy and hope – no: the knowledge – that one day she will be with Liza in Glory. And they both will be whole. And that now, she knows, Liza is in the arms of my late wife Nancy, also the victim of many ailments in her own painful journey on earth. What a reunion that will be!

It can be an empty phrase, or a cruel joke, to say that we can choose joy despite life’s pitfalls. On the other hand, many people who know the truths of God’s promises nevertheless choose despair and depression and sorrow. Excuse me, but those choices are empty, cruel, and joyless.

Among the choices that my sister Barbara made along the way, and that made all the difference, was to accept Jesus. I quickly say that “accepting Jesus” is another phrase that we frequently hear, or say, but it has many deeper shades of meaning. Something so profound cannot be reduced to a phrase, and if you are a Christian who deals honestly with your faith walk (or even if you are not) you know how many steps there have been, and will be, on that “walk.”

Even a lightning-bolt conversion, the “road to Damascus” experience, is never the whole story. We all have progressive revelation… we see through glasses darkly, then with increasing clarity… we experience doubts… we learn lessons… we rebel and return… we hunger for the Word… we grow bold… we receive spiritual chastisement… we feel the peace that passes understanding… we “know that we know that we know”…

Sometimes these experiences are stretched out over years. Sometimes they can all seem to come in one day of spiritual yearning! And everything in between. Faith is a living thing, growing; almost breathing. In fact, the Holy Spirit does breathe into us the profound truths of God – literally in-spiration.

So Barbara cannot really be described as suddenly “accepting Jesus.” As her brother who prayed for her and with her, it has seemed to me more like she gradually realized Jesus had been there with her all the time. And then the realization that Jesus had accepted her, not just the other way around.

Then that “walk” didn’t seem so lonely anymore.

In all these ways a miracle can take place – for it is miraculous that amid horrible conditions and seemingly hopeless situations such as this mother and daughter experienced… joy and peace can come out of it. The world cannot give that, and the world cannot take it away.

And the devil cannot take away an anniversary that, somehow, is a Happy Anniversary after all.

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Click: What a Meeting In the Air

1-21-23

In this weekly blog I have been writing for almost 14 years I occasionally feel presumptuous on your attention as I attempt to share His messages. Eavesdropping, I consider it, on words that the Lord whispers and sometimes shouts to His children.

Today I will be more personal than I sometimes am. One more “share,” but with a lesson for others, I pray.

It was 10 years ago, January 21, 2013, that my wife Nancy died. She led a remarkable life, touching many people while she lived as she reflected joy, through her manifold sufferings; and since her death.

I had come home after college graduation and was promptly volunteered to be Sunday School Superintendent at my little church; I was introduced to Nancy the nursery-school teacher. She immediately struck me as the most beautiful girl I could ever meet, and that was a prophecy fulfilled – also her outward beauty.

Her nature can be illustrated by the first Sunday morning I visited her classroom. Utter chaos prevailed, kids screeching and climbing and doing everything possible. In their midst was gentle Nancy, urging, “Simon says sit down…”

Our first date was one month later to the day (a George Jones and Tammy Wynette concert) and one year later to the day I proposed. After we left the Chinatown restaurant Nancy called her family from a phone booth (kids, ask your grandparents what that is), and then I called a disk jockey I knew at WHN, the New York City radio station, and asked if he could maybe announce our news on the air. He did better, to our surprise. He invited us to the station. It was after midnight, and he instructed the guard in the lobby to let us enter, and he interviewed us on the air!

Fast-forward, another “to the day” anniversary.

A lot happened, of course, in between. We had a three-week European honeymoon. We had three wonderful children – Heather, Ted, and Emily – proud of them all; and four grandchildren. We lived in Weston, Connecticut; suburban Chicago; suburban Philadelphia; San Diego; and Michigan. We visited many national parks, had family vacations in Florida, Palm Springs, Europe, and points between. Many ups and a few downs.

Among the “downs” was her health. Diabetes had hit her at 13, and was the direct cause of eye troubles (virtually losing her sight twice), kidney failure, amputation of toes, and several strokes and heart attacks. She had heart and kidney transplants. She also endured celiac disease, was diagnosed with thyroid cancer, and when her new kidney was failing, early signs of dementia. Nevertheless she lived 16 years subsequent to the transplants, after being told she had “gained” possibly three to five years of extended life.

Nancy was not defined by her afflictions, however. She had a strong faith in God, and Jesus became her best Friend. Congenitally shy, she had a spiritual-heart transplant, so to speak, and became bold about sharing her faith. She started a family ministry at the hospital, all five of us holding services, visiting and praying with patients.

It is not true, nor fair to others with ailments, to say that she was never discouraged; eventually she grew sick and tired of being sick and tired. But, mostly, 15/16ths was a good record of defiance against defeat. She said, rather, that she would not choose to go through again what she had… but she wouldn’t trade her “walk” for anything. She inspired uncountable people.

Her Bible – well worn, full of highlights, notes, margin comments – has, underscored, Romans 14:8: “For if we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord.”

I have claimed as a personal anthem of ours the words of the Gospel song The Far Side Banks of Jordan:

I believe my steps are growing wearier each day;
Still I’ve got a journey on my mind.
Lures of this old world have ceased to make me want to stay,
And my one regret is leaving you behind.

But if it proves to be His will that I am first to go,
And somehow I’ve a feeling it will be,
When it comes your time to travel likewise, don’t feel lost
For I will be the first one that you’ll see.

Through this life we’ve labored hard to earn our meager fare,
It’s brought us trembling hands and failing eyes.
So I’ll just rest here on the shore and turn my eyes away
Until you come, then we’ll see Paradise!

And I’ll be waiting on the far side banks of Jordan;
I’ll be sitting, drawing pictures in the sand.
And when I see you coming, I will rise up with a shout
And come running through the shallow waters, reaching for your hand.

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Click: Far Side Banks of Jordan

11-21-22

Occasionally around this time of year I challenge friends, or groups to whom I speak, to take notice of something and keep informal tallies of something related to Thanksgiving.

Have you noticed that “thank you,” as a phrase, is on the way out? To say “thank you” is not quite formal or stuffy, so not yet obsolete; but listen for the numbers of “thanks,” “thanks a lot,” and substitutions like “I appreciate it,” are taking its place. We all do it; and on TV and radio a forced informality has taken hold. And that’s why it takes an effort to notice it.

But more interesting is how “You’re welcome” seems consigned to the Endangered Species list. See: say “thank you” – or even “Hey, thanks!” – to someone this week, and see how many of these replies are returned:

“No problem.”

“No prob.”

“You got it.”

“Sure thing.”

“You bet.”

So on and so forth. An odd thing, really. Personally, I would prefer replies that we often hear turned into jokes… but should not:

“Thank you!” “No… thank you!”

This little exchange – depending on what is being exchanged or acknowledged, of course – gets to the essence of what’s behind the social and conversational convention. Thanking someone, and saying so, indicates gratitude and praise, in fact a very civilized way of sharing outreach of some form. And “you’re welcome,” (and even more so “thank you”) in a little way seals a bond of mutual respect and good will. It is what we call a social grace.

And it has a spiritual aspect too. The origin and observance of Thanksgiving is peculiarly American as a national holiday. From the first days on these shores, Pilgrims who sought religious freedom designated a day to thank God for their protection and the harvests that sustained them. As part of the tradition handed down to us, Native Americans participated too, of course in a spirit of gratitude for provisions, but as well the spirit of amity that was established with the new settlers.

That spirit survived and thrived through the establishment of other Christian communities; the guiding principles of the foundation of the Republic, and – after Abraham Lincoln, who first named and proclaimed a National Day of thanksgiving, praise, and prayer – presidential proclamations until recently have sounded more like sermons than political documents.

In Lincoln’s first proclamation, he wrote: “I desire to be observed by all my fellow-citizens, wherever they may then be, a day of thanksgiving and praise to Almighty God, the beneficent Creator and Ruler of the Universe. And I do further recommend to my fellow-citizens aforesaid that on that occasion they do reverently humble themselves in the dust and from thence offer up penitent and fervent prayers and supplications to the Great Disposer of Events for a return of the inestimable blessings of peace, union, and harmony throughout the land which it has pleased Him to assign as a dwelling place for ourselves and for our posterity throughout all generations.”

In my own prayerful study I have been moved to see Thanksgiving as more than a one-way path of rendering thanks to God. As with every Holy Day, commemorations are on particular days of the Church calendar, of civic anniversaries, etc. But without exception they ought be observed throughout the whole year, to be remembered on every day. Celebrated; contemplated; revered. Not allowed to become taken for granted.

Further, a thought about Thanksgiving in general and the first Thanksgiving that inspired all subsequent Thanksgiving Days. I have said it should not be a one-way affair. Giving thanks to God, of course, is essential. But I think we can have a richer appreciation of Thanks-giving as a concept if we consider that maybe God inspired Christian Pilgrims to receive thanks as well as the heavenward offerings.

That is, the bountiful harvests and safety and amity wherewith God blessed the Pilgrims might plausibly have been His grace and gratitude extended to a people who honored Him, who dedicated a new land and their individual communities, to Christ. To their burning desires to worship Him in a place of freedom. To the incorporation of Biblical principles into the early governing documents of the settlements, colonies, and country.

Isn’t it possible that the blessings for which the Pilgrims were grateful were bounties and gifts that were one of God’s ways of expressing thanks to His faithful people? It happens… when we serve and honor God.

“Thank You!”

“No… thank you!”

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Of many hymns and songs about Thanks, this classic Ray Boltz songs always brings tears to my eyes. Especially so because, mirroring the lyrics, my own daughter was around eight when missionaries visited our little church and she promised God that she would pursue missions work. She eventually served in Africa, Russia, and Northern Ireland.

Click Video Clip: Thank You

10-17-22

Grace is something that has a special meaning for me.

It was my mother’s first name, and is my granddaughter’s middle name. More than that, and to be serious for a moment, grace is something we should practice more than we do, and that can be addressed to anyone in the world who has a pulse. Because Christians are the recipients of grace – as special a gift as any God bestows.

For by grace we are saved through faith, the gift of God; and not by works, lest anyone boast.

It is that passage from Ephesians that hit the monk Martin Luther like a thunderclap, and which understanding – and expository viewpoint, through sermons and writings – that changed the course of Western Civilization.

“Grace” routinely and properly is defined as “unmerited favor.” We sin against a holy God, and cannot redeem ourselves or “earn” our way to Heaven, even by good deeds or spiritual merit badges. The only “work” required of us is to believe that Jesus is the Son of God; that He died to take our punishment on Himself; that He rose from the dead and is One with the Father. If we believe in our hearts, and confess with our words, God’s Grace is upon us.

Salvation cannot be bought – it was paid for by Jesus at a great cost – but therefore is free to us.

That is amazing grace.

I read a story this week that explains Grace better than my poor words can. It appeared in the e-mail newsletter Mikey’s Funnies, a free and wholesome source of chuckles by my old friend Mike Atkinson. He shares one-liners, several-liners, and shelf-liners… no, no, I mean sometimes poignant messages. And wisdom. Great stuff to impress your friends; or slip into your own e-mails so you can pretend to be as funny as Mikey. Sometimes, however, you’ll need a Kleenex or two… as the story he passed on from another source:

[This is a true story that happened to one of our readers years ago in a Youth Ministry college course. — Mikey]

I left work early so I could have some uninterrupted study time right before the final in my Youth Issues class. When I got to class, everybody was doing their last-minute studying. The teacher came in and said he would review with us for just a little bit before the test. We went through the review, most of it right out of the study guide, but there were some things he was reviewing that I had never heard. When questioned about it, he said that they were in the book and we were responsible for everything in the book. We couldn’t really argue with that.

Finally it was time to take the test.

“Leave them face down on the desk until everyone has one and I’ll tell you to start,” our prof instructed.

When we turned them over, every answer on the test was filled in! The bottom of the last page said the following:

“This is the end of the Final Exam. All the answers on your test are correct. You will receive an ‘A’ on the final exam. The reason you passed the test is because the creator of the test took it for you. All the work you did in preparation for this test did not help you get the A. You have just experienced… grAce.”

He then went around the room and asked each student individually, “What is your grade? Do you deserve the grade you are receiving? How much did all your studying for this exam help you achieve your final grade?”

Now I am not a crier by any stretch of the imagination, but I had to fight back tears when answering those questions and thinking about how the Creator has passed the test for me.

Discussion afterward went like this: “I have tried to teach you all semester that you are a recipient of grace. I’ve tried to communicate to you that you need to demonstrate this gift as you work with young people. Don’t hammer them; they are not the enemy. Help them, for they will carry on your ministry if it is full of GRACE!”

Talking about how some of us had probably studied hours and some just a few minutes but had all received the same grade, he pointed to a story Jesus told in Matthew 20. The owner of a vineyard hired people to work in his field and agreed to pay them a certain amount. Several different times during the day, he hired more workers. When it was time to pay them, they all received the same amount. When the ones who had been hired first thing in the morning began complaining, the boss said, “Should you be angry because I am kind?” (Matthew 20:15)

The teacher said he had never done this kind of final before and probably would never do it again, but because of the content of many of our class discussions, he felt like we needed to experience grace.

Have you thanked your Creator today because of the Grace you’ve experienced?

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Click Video Clip: Grace Medley

8-15-22

A friend and neighbor of mine, Gary Mueller, died this week. He was in his 80s – a sweet, enthusiastic, generous white-haired gentleman of my church who became a buddy when I was a newcomer. We shared a hundred coffees in McDonald’s; we shuffled around farmer’s markets together; we talked religion and politics (agreeing, happily); I have laughed endlessly with his wife Edith; and I met his grandson Matt from Texas. We worked grills at many VBS days.

But mostly (in my memory, now) Gary loved Jesus. And it showed: he “reflected” the Savior. Gerhard was born in Jaegerndorf in central Europe; his German family had been separated and passed through West German towns, escaping Communism, working as they could; then to the United States. He met Edith, who had a similar life-path, and they were grateful to God and to America for the freedoms wherewith they were blessed.

Gary was always hale and healthy, on his jobs and especially, after retirement, in our church – anything that needed doing, it seemed that Gary was there before pros were called. But he got sick recently, and had a cancerous kidney removed. My late wife had a kidney transplant, so my prayers were focused (not that God requires the use of medical terms and medicines). As I understand it, he returned home somewhat uncomfortable and requested a follow-up. Cancerous tumors were found elsewhere through his body. All so quickly, Gary died.

It might seem odd that my grieving over Gary’s death brought me to think about selfishness, but please stick with me – and be merciful to me, as I have asked of God. I honor Gary; I grieve for Edith; I am grateful for our friendship. In fact, a week ago I wanted to hand-write a letter to Gary telling him (reminding him) of how I loved him, and what he has meant to me as a friend. But I never got around to writing that, much less mailing it (e-mails pretend to be personal, but never will be).

I have book deadlines. I had meetings. Yada yada, I had “things to do.” Hours turn into days; days turn into weeks; weeks…

When you are too busy to write a friend, or call; when you are too busy to connect with a friend, or to re-connect with an old friend; when you are too busy to “just say Hi”; when you are too busy to say you appreciate someone, or share a Jesus-moment, or ask “How are you?” and really mean it…

… you are TOO busy.

But this is not about scolding myself or anyone. Gary is gone, and maybe he never would have seen that note anyway. I was not trying to impress Edi. No, I found myself consumed about MY thoughts, MY regrets, MY tardiness. And eventually, MY grief, MY loss that I will feel. I realized I was being selfish. “Why are MY feelings so important?”

As I prayed for wisdom, I realized how strange grief and mourning are – when our loved ones are in the arms of Jesus, healed and glorified. Isn’t our grief, somehow, actually a bit of mourning for ourselves? How we will miss the husband, the grandfather, the friend?

And if so… is that bad?

Self. This life is not a dichotomy of self versus the rest of humanity. Not “either/or.” Not us and everyone else. God wants His children to be thinking of us AND everyone else. When Jesus went to the cross it was for all of humanity; all of the sins of “whosoever.” He looked into your eyes and mine. We as individuals were as important to Him as… all the other individuals! We should not feel guilty about our feelings, hurts, regrets in that view, because Jesus did not lay that on us. We must bear each other’s burdens, as He bore ours.

I am not talking about sins of omission. I am talking about a proper discernment of what God would have us do. That is, to DO — not obsess over what was missed. “Look out for Number One”? If we are effective ambassadors of Christ, we cannot drag baggage around on our missions.

We can be faithful stewards if we serve God by serving others. And rely on the Bible, not Rules of Etiquette. I am talking about being bold for Christ who lives within you.

Think ahead and imagine the end of your life, without being morbid of course. I mean – do not let yourself be in a position where you had been too busy to to write a friend, or call; or you were too busy to connect with a friend, or re-connect with an old friend; or when you were too busy to “just say Hi”; when you were too busy to have said that you appreciate someone, or shared a Jesus-moment, or had asked “How are you?” and really meant it…

Jesus cares for you, not only “humanity.” Take heart, and take action.

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Please watch and be blessed —

Video Click: Does Jesus Care

8-8-22

I am risking censure to say that I am not an automatic fan of NGOs and a type of charity work that has become prevalent in our society. In fact I have a major problem with it.

So I must explain: first, I am not against charity per se, the impulse that God planted in our souls, Jesus taught us to act upon, and the Holy Spirit encourages. There are myriad commands, and many examples, of common people and sainted people in the Bible extending love.

Saint Augustine’s interpretation of “the poor ye always shall have with you” is not accepting the plight of unfortunate folks, but a reminder that others will always need our attention and compassion and action. And love.

We can find those folks in our very neighborhoods. And usually within our circles of friends, even our families. If we feel led to reach out to the lame, the halt, the blind; the needy, the sick, the endangered in other countries, there are amazing mission groups and charities that we can locate with little trouble. We can be Samaritans walking paths and encountering the abused and abandoned. Of course, vulnerable people are our neighbors in faraway lands too.

I have grown uncomfortable with corporations and governments, however, who decide on charitable works – perhaps quite commendable ones – without asking us. Sometimes there might be causes we decline to support; often they are handled by agencies without accountability; frequently we “donors” know little where the funds and efforts end up.

Enormous sums of government money are sent to victims of hurricanes and diseases, yes; but also as “aid” and “charity” to unknown destinations in unspecified places, with foggy accountability. “Oh, it’s for a good cause…” And how many TV commercials and product labels tell us that “a portion of every purchase…” will be sent who-knows-where; or “every sale will support..” such-and-such.

My objections are those of Augustine, and of Jesus. These myriad and coercive actions by government and the corporate world are as much about their marketing and public relations as about genuine charity.

Basically, day by day, year by year, they rob us of fostering our own charitable impulses. When governments take our money without permission and send it here or there, that is not the act of a caring public but, at best, a lazy public. When corporations earmark a portion of money we pay them, again without asking… it masks a sweet-sounding surcharge for their own tax breaks and image-campaigns.

In both cases people should be allowed to make their own donations as they see fit, and who soon will rediscover the beautiful impulses to give… to act… and to love.

The real definition of “charity,” after all, is love. In I Corinthians 13, Paul wrote: “Now abides faith, hope, and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.” In the original translations, the word was “love.”

The NGOs (non-government organizations) I question are not the completely independent agencies, or even those who do work on the ground independently (increasingly, governments have bureaucratic and ideological strings attached…) – but there are many individuals and groups who are in all ways independent. They answer to their donors, to their consciences, to the recipients, and to God.

One such is Garden of Innocents which has many local chapters across America. Its volunteers provide dignified burials and memorials – sometimes “naming” ceremonies – for abandoned babies and children. “Dumpster babies” is the distasteful term but is the truth in many cases. The volunteers arrange with local cemeteries to apportion a dedicated area of a cemetery; the volunteers make the custom little wooden caskets themselves; and burials with markers honor those most helpless among us.

Another, of many I know, is Grand Staff Ministries, whose hearts are turned to eSwatini in Africa, the former Swaziland. It is a country of a million people with the highest incidence of AIDS in the world, perhaps half of the population with the disease. About 200,000 children have been stripped of their parents – fending for themselves, often with no adult to feed them or send them to school. Becky Spencer and her husband Tracy visit the land from their home in Kansas, supporting schools, ministering to health needs, and… providing love.

In the United Kingdom there is an organization that promotes awareness, does not engage in high-pressure fund-raising campaigns, but compels our attention… and our hearts. Missing People is a Not-For-Profit organization that focuses on the appalling number of children, who disappear or “go missing,” and the families and communities who miss them. There are hundreds of thousands in England each year, and millions, horrific to say, in the United States. Runaways? Abductions? Trafficking? Violent ends? Mental or emotional issues? Ill-advised escapes from family turmoil? – Any and all of the above.

Anguished loved ones suffer for these Missing every moment, sometimes years and years later. Missing People reaches out to the friends and families, engages in education and publicity, coordinates searches; and helps the “Left Behinds.”

Remembering the charitable/loving impulses we need to discover and cherish, all of us need to feel for abandoned and murdered babies; orphans enduring poverty and AIDS; and the runaways or trafficked, and grieving families. But we ought to extend that charity and love to ongoing needs in our midst, too, that perhaps are more prosaic.

A widowed father whose children have moved away and maintain sparse contact; grandchildren he seldom hears on phone calls or has seen in years despite living close by. His nightly tears are almost as bitter as parents in worse situations. The Gospel song says “Tears Are a Language God Understands,” but every morning is cold.

Troubled children – rather, children in troubled situations – might figure that running away can provide solutions. But we should be just as concerned with bringing peace to families while they are together, as much as grieving when they split apart. And the same should pertain to marriages.

Burying dead, anonymous babies is a precious act. But our society should be just as dedicated to preventing those tragedies; ministering to mothers before they make those decisions. Overseas ministries? Giving – to not-for-profits – is admirable, of course, but most agencies need volunteers too; workers; helpers; prayer partners.

We talk, here, of the vulnerable, the abandoned, the missing. Life. What we need to remember – and not let governments and corporations steal from us – is that our Savior Jesus Christ came to remind us of the same things, the same people.

In fact He came not only to have us love such people, but to see that we ourselves are such people. In so many ways each of us has been, or is in a larger sense, vulnerable, abandoned, missing.

Jesus looks for us. He finds us. He loves us. What is our response?

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Video Click: The Missing People Choir

7-18-22

Almost all of us know the story of the adulteress brought before Jesus. Almost all of us have not considered the myriad aspects and many lessons, nor asked – much less answered – the questions it presents.

From The Gospel of John, Chapter 8.

Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. Early in the morning, He came again to the temple. All the people came to him, and He sat down and taught them. The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery, and placing her in the midst they said to Him, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now in the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?” This they said to test Him, that they might have some charge to bring against Him.

Jesus bent down and wrote with His finger on the ground. And as they continued to ask Him, He stood up and said to them, “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.” And once more He bent down and wrote on the ground. But when they heard it, they went away one by one, beginning with the older ones, and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before Him.

Jesus stood up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She said, “No one, Lord.” And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.”

And Jesus spoke to the Pharisees, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life”…

I will share some thoughts I have, among many, from this story about that scene. I trust you will have more. Needless to say, I discern messages for our time, and for our lives, my life directly, as always happens when the Bible opens itself.

• Jesus did not minimize the woman’s sin. He maximized repentance and forgiveness.
• Religious leaders sought tricks to corner and twist and block the righteous. (They still act the same way today.) It is clear that the Pharisees, the professional religious hypocrites, were less concerned with the Law of Moses or even the woman acting justly, than trying to trick and discredit Jesus.
• Jesus FULFILLED the law, and did not seize upon it to condemn people. The harsh punishments of Old Testament rules were abolished by the Person and the Ministry of Jesus the Christ. Adherence to those laws was impossible, and righteousness is now found in true fellowship with Jesus.
• Jesus was writing in the sand with his finger. What was He writing? The Bible does not say. I believe He was not drawing doodles nor scribbling nonsense. In my mind’s eye He was writing the numbers 1 to 10 for all to see. Why? So the people might begin thinking about the Ten Commandments… and how many of those laws each of them had kept… or broken.
• The woman was face-to-face with her Savior. As He freed her, forgiveness flowed. How powerful is God’s forgiveness, and its “reach” into our lives? Jesus forgave before she asked… just as Christ gave His life for us while we were yet sinners! Our response then is to resist the sin nature, working to “sin no more” in life as the Holy Ghost enables.
• When He said, “Go and sin no more,” it closely followed the absolution… but the next verse indicates that the hypocritical Pharisees remained close by, and that message was directed to them too. And to us: Go and sin no more.

You might think I will relate this incident and its lessons to events that swirl around us today. You might be right.

I don’t have to do this, because the messages of the Holy Bible, and the Words of Jesus, stand on their own with applications for all people in all places at all times. Yet we are commanded to apply these truths.

Contemporary debates about abortion, and court decisions, and laws, relate to the incident of the woman… as well as to the attitudes of those who condemn her. Deeper is the motivation of the religious hypocrites: they hated Jesus and schemed to silence His message; and they had no compassion for the woman or her situation.

Her dilemma (and many Bible scholars believe that she specifically was unmarried and pregnant) is described as a consequence of her adultery. Jesus did not criticize her past actions, but lovingly sent her back to her home with the admonition to change her ways.

The abortion “debate” today is clothed in everything from cries for freedom to love for babies not yet born. Freedom and love somehow morph into violence and hate. Myself, I am not equating the two sides, like people who say “at least they’re sincere”: I believe abortion is murder.

Yet I see some sort of resolution to the current maelstrom of malice by returning, if we can imagine it, to that spot in the shadow of the Mount of Olives where the religious leaders tried to corner Jesus, and used the woman as a pawn.

Jesus identified the crisis of that confrontation. It was not mere adultery; it was sin. To the crowd, He defused their fury by confronting them with their hypocrisy. After her encounter with the Savior, she could not undo her sin… but she could repent, and she could change her life.

That is all Jesus asks when we accept Him.

And those numbers 1 to 10? If that’s what He wrote, it is significant that they were written in the sand. Irrelevant? No! But written by, explained by, and fulfilled by, Jesus Christ.

Let us go and resolve to sin no more.

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Video Click: Take My Life and Let It Be

https://youtu.be/qQfxc_zhlvA

6-20-22

Recently, here, on that other Hallmark Holiday (Mothers Day) I presented a view of motherhood that I fear is being lost in the shuffle of modern culture. To our cultural and physical DNAs, the role of mothers and the bonds between – let me be Politically Correct – between “Birthing Units” and their Tax Deductions are immutable.

I argued against the tugs of the Post-Modern lunacy that reigns today. The radical elements of the French Revolution actually tried to change clocks and calendars, not only religions and governments. Today’s revolutionaries attempt similar social atrocities. They are in our midst, not, as in “the best of times, the worst of times,” in barricades and city squares on the other side of Paris. They already run our government, the media, the entertainment industry, the education-industrial complex, and thanks to our electronic hypnotists called the internet, our minds.

… or nearly so, which is why we need yet another Great Awakening.

Before commencing a counter-revolution, and essential to it, is a basic rediscovery of our Christian heritage, and from a secular perspective at least, a commitment to its core values and disciplines. “To go forward we must first look back,” a Classical Italian thinker wrote. We are lost enough as a people without furthering the self-swindling lies that we can, and should, discard old values and discover – or invent – new ones.

I am not talking about… excuse me: I am not only talking about the Athenian Republic; nor Roman laws; nor the “Germ Theory” of self-governance that arose in Germanic forests; nor the Magna Carta; nor the Renaissance of art and thought in Florence; nor the mercantile and capitalist systems that arose in Augsburg; nor the Reformation explosion of literacy; nor the Enlightenment and Great Awakenings that inspired bourgeois revolutions and prosperity…

As magnificent as this March of Civilization has been, it seems incredible that a persuasive portion of our contemporary establishment despises its thrust. Liberal secularists seek to overthrow the basic premises of Christian society (not only to distort Christianity itself). As with most revolutions and revolutionaries, the proponents know what they hate; are dedicated to destroying institutions; and, typically, have an inchoate idea of what will constitute their brave new world.

So their imperative is to… CANCEL. Cancel what they can, tear down indiscriminately.

At the moment, in much of the world, especially Europe and America, they are quite successful. Are they clever, or are Christians, traditionalists, patriots lazy and defeated in spirit?

I began these thoughts by revisiting my Mothers Day message, and for a reason. On this Fathers Day. There is little that is more elemental to our essential selves than parenthood. The ties with our mothers and fathers. And for those so blessed, with children of the next generation. I tried to express my ineffable amazement of motherhood, the psychic (and all other) forces that exist, fierce, tender, and everything in between. That truth is what should make us despise and defeat those disordered social malefactors among us who want to destroy families, “change” sexes, and play God in uncountable ways.

But this is Dads’ Day. I did not, of course, disparage fatherhood by pausing to savor the role of mothers. But how unique is the inheritance fathers can bestow – literally, a patrimony. How special are the roles and duties God ordained: leading, providing, instructing. God Almighty has self-identified in Scripture as a He (which I am willing to concede is likely a construct of language’s limitations more than a description He must transcend as He does all matters of understanding) – which ultimately means that we are to look to His qualities with His children to form our relationships with our children.

So as a “point of personal privilege,” I am going to spill some attitudes of the best human father I knew, and share my appreciation and what I learned from his examples.

His own father was born in Germany (as were all my forebears) and was a gentle old man, yet I saw the razor strop in the closet by which he enforced discipline.

My father loved jazz as a boy, and his father let him listen and play (he was to perform with ensembles) but Sunday was the day restricted to hymns and… opera. My father developed a passion for Classic music too; as I did – through his example and the ubiquity of the music in our house, But never forced.

My father was a polymath, member of Mensa, interested in myriad things. I would not have become an obsessive collector, I think, without his example. On Saturdays he would bring me to Book Store Row in Manhattan, those ghettos of used-book stores. I caught the bug!

Dad never wrote, but when I became a journalist and author (now almost 80 books) I never have finished a piece without wondering what he would think or say.

He never drew, but he collected cartoon books and subscribed to a dozen papers so he could read – and save – the color comics. He charted my course without intending it, as cartoon work became a vocation.

He was a chemist, but never urged that profession on me (to the world’s relief, believe me). We used to argue politics until my mother cried – but it was never substantive: Mom never understood how we always flipped a switch to chat about Jack Benny or the latest best-seller. He taught me disputation, and to defend my ideas. And have them. (He became a conservative…)

He was a dedicated churchgoer, a Lutheran. Our family prayed daily and attended church weekly, but like many ‘50s families my parents smoke and drank and partied in suburbia. When I was to leave for college I told Dad my faith was getting shaky, and I wouldn’t want him to think that college would be changing my mind. “Oh, it’s just a stage,” he said. “You’ll stick with Jesus.”

At the time I thought he was a lazy Christian or indifferent about my soul! But I knew it was his brand of confidence-building. I soon did appreciate the quiet endorsement, his style.

I could go on, but most of you did not know him; maybe do, a little bit, now. I rolled out these snippets for a reason beyond nostalgia. I hope you all have similar stories, similar touchstones, and can identify through memories of your own.

There are two things to do with the collective memories we have of our fathers. We realize that we cherish not only their faces or personalities, their jobs or hobbies, even their successes or shortcomings. Those aspects combine to make one single, and singular, person. Especially if it is too late to say it to them, we must cherish our fathers.

But more, we must cherish the motive force behind fatherhood – and that is an aspect ordained by God. The continuum of family lines… our spiritual inheritance… responsibilities and joys…

With our fathers (and of course as I have said, mothers in different and special ways) we are not mere individuals thrown together by accident. And a family is not a club; a house is not a home. God has ordained the family unit, and as He is our Heavenly Father, must look to – and be – examples of the special nurturing only fathers can provide,

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The gifted songwriter Steve Goodman wrote this emotional tribute to his father. Don’t skip it!

Click: My Old Man

5-16-22

According to the calendars, Winter is long past. Yet around these parts I was still turning on the heat overnight, and across swaths of the continent there have been strange late-season snowstorms. Where it hasn’t been chilly or snowy, we have had rainstorms and floods and, devastatingly, postponed baseball games.

Only last week a friend and I were walking, noting the lack of flowers and leaves and even buds on trees in the neighborhood. One of the joys of Spring is to see the light-green fuzz that appears like mists on seemingly dead trees and bushes. Spring fragrances in the air are overdue, too; like half of America perhaps they, too, have moved to Florida.

Winter has its charms, of course; but when it overstays its welcome it can affect our moods.

Perhaps my own mood is really affected by a confluence of events. Occasionally in these essays I have been inspired by coincidences: several friends enduring similar crises or illnesses; odd similarities in news stories; prayer needs for health or finances or family matters addressed to me.

Neither God nor the cosmos is trying to tell me something; certainly not at the expense of others’ lives. Sometimes, I believe, we all simply happen to notice things we otherwise overlook. And of course there are coincidences. So it is not morbid, but merely clinical, to mention that I recently have been aware of people dying, including more than during a typical week.

I am writing a book about the cousins Jerry Lee Lewis, Jimmy Swaggart, and Mickey Gilley, and conducting interviews. This week Mickey, 86, died. A situation shared with me, a friend diagnosed with a brain tumor previously regarded as an eye affliction. The father of a close friend died this week, a few days after my friend and I had dinner. An old, dear friend who has devoted her life to caring for a daughter who was suddenly disabled decades ago shared that she faces her daughter’s seriously declining health. My sister called and urged that we discuss our wills, for logical reasons.

And so forth. There are other reminders. One becomes more aware of, not desensitized to, stories of homicides and suicides in the news; body-counts in foreign wars and breached borders; of statistics of aborted children.

But we have just come through a season where we contemplated death… and life. Easter, that is. Jesus’s willing sacrifice of His life, something fairly overwhelming to comprehend, was immediately assuaged two thousand years ago — and each moment we meditate upon it today: the affirmation of life.

He overcame death. He rose from the dead. He lives today.

We need to contemplate; we need to meditate. Do not “check the box” – “Yes. Son of God. Died. Rose. Miracle. OK, is Easter over?” How often do we miss the lesson of the Resurrection?

God planned this scenario not merely to prove the Divinity of Jesus Christ. The miracles suggested that, and His Ascension would confirm that.

The Resurrection of Christ occurred not only to show us that He overcame death… but to illustrate the promise that we can overcome too. Accepting Christ as your Savior promises that you, too, will “conquer sin and death.” Those who believe “will have eternal life.” More than life in Heaven’s Paradise, you will live in virtual mansions; Jesus promised, “If it were not so, I would have told you.”

Life is not the negation of death, but triumph over it.

The horrible aspects of this world will be left behind. And what awaits? Our loving Father; eternal peace; joy unspeakable. Also awaiting us will be the people we love. And have “lost.” Those loved ones, the Bible promises us, who suffered pain and disease and infirmity, will be whole again.

When we gain Heaven ourselves, we will not only see the King… but we shall see our loved ones too. In perfect bodies. Well, and whole.

People on earth, even His children, do not live forever. And, because there is sin in the world, there is disease. And corruption. And affliction. And suffering. Some of these problems brought on by ourselves; some because the physical realm which includes sickness, cruelty, and sorrow, makes war upon us. These are other reasons to look upon our great Hope and to trust His promises.

So we look to the Life ahead. We trust in God’s mercy and, as my friend I mentioned above reminded me, grace. It is a gift we cannot manufacture ourselves, but we can seek it and accept it. Grace, grace, God’s grace. What do some people call it?

Oh, yes; amazing Grace. Even the angels do not know Grace, for they have not overcome the trials of this life nor the bonds of death. But we can savor it!

Suddenly, today, I realized I heard birds chirping this morning at dawn. Nature’s alarm clock! I took another walk, and the air had that special fragrance of renewed life. There was green fuzz on trees and bushes. Welcome back! The grass will need mowing soon! Seemingly overnight, the dogwoods burst forth in their brilliant flowery branches.

Death might seem to surround us, but life always returns, life prevails, life embraces us. Like seedlings that emerge from cracks in giant rocks, life wins – examples of the promise we have, as that old Gospel song says…

“There ain’t no grave gonna keep this body down!”

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Click: Ain’t No Grave

4-11-22

By the reliable accounts, both historical and Biblical, there were few people gathered on the Jerusalem hill called Golgotha (“the Place of the Skull”) around Passover when three condemned men were put to death. Roman centurions, mostly; and scattered relatives of the criminals. Even friends generally were afraid to be present, as the condemned were outcasts sentenced to die by the most heinous manner the Romans devised – bodies nailed and hanging on wooden crosses – and guards likely were looking for associates of the criminals.

This day we now call Good Friday. Accounts differ about the name’s origin: an evolution of “God’s Friday,” or Good because it was, in fact, good that Jesus died for our sins.

As “fully man and fully God,” He could have halted the execution. He could have caused Pontius Pilate and the Jewish Elders to drop dead instead of their engineering His arrest and trial and torture. He could have summoned ten thousand angels to halt the crucifixion, and swept Him from the cross.

But instead Jesus submitted. It was, after all, the main reason for the Incarnation – why God became man and dwelt among us; why He fulfilled prophecies in uncountable ways; why He proved His divinity by wisdom, by miracles, by healings. Why He had to die.

In fact, for all intents and purposes, Jesus did not avoid, but figuratively climbed up that cross.

I have noted that experts consider crucifixion to be one of the most torture-laden forms of execution. Beyond the pain of spikes driven through the limbs, and hundreds of splinters slicing the body that hanged on the cross, the crucified victim actually died of suffocation, as the weight of their sagging bodies, and pericardial fluids, choked the heart and lungs.

Under Roman justice, the condemned usually were beaten or crucified, not both. Jesus was bound, whipped, tortured, spat upon, beaten about the face and kicked; and had a crown of thorns thrust on His head. He was flogged with the Roman whips that had sharpened bones or filed metal tips on the thongs, so with each of many scourges, the skin was shredded. Jesus was made to carry His heavy cross (the patibulum to which His wrists would be nailed) through Jerusalem’s streets.

When on the cross He suffered yet more. When He said He thirsted, a sponge with vinegar was thrust in His face. A mocking title was affixed over His head. He was goaded to save Himself, since He claimed to be the Son of God. I have written that the worst part of His suffering that Good Friday might have been the fact that His disciples, who had lived with Him for three years and seen the evidence of His divinity… deserted Him; hiding, not even around the foot of the cross.

Among the few there was His mother, Mary. “Behold your son,” He was able to say to her. Through tears, their eyes met.

If you and I could have been there, we would have seen how few people were present. Some artists, and recent movies like The Passion Of the Christ, actually have presented an accurate depiction of the ugly hill, the forsaken site, the three crosses (other condemned criminals on either side), the centurions, and scattered onlookers.

In a real sense, however, you and I were there. We, and all of humankind, were there during Holy Week, in fact. We would probably have welcomed Jesus on what we now call Palm Sunday; and we probably would have been part of the crowd several days later screaming for His crucifixion. Do you think you would have been any different than the average people in the city, driven to frenzy by lies, hate, and the leaders’ persuasion? The effects of “Cancel Culture” are not new.

Also, we probably would have denied, betrayed, and deserted Jesus just as the Disciples did. I received mail after I recently wrote that. “Not me!” some wrote… but even Peter, who had spent a thousand days at Jesus’s side, yet swore three times to officials that he didn’t know this “Jesus.”

No, you and I virtually were there, because when we sin, we offend God and justly deserve punishment. A perfect God cannot welcome us to His Heaven except that we are sinless… and that is what we become in His eyes when we accept Jesus’s substitution. A “Good” and loving plan of salvation for us… all the more exquisite when we realize the agony God designed by having His Son take upon Himself all the sins of the world. But in the meantime every sin is a nail through Jesus’s hand.

It is no stretch to picture ourselves as present during Holy Week; gathered around the foot of the cross. We were there. We can imagine, quite easily, that this miracle-man, the Son of God, looked down from the cross, and through the ages, at each one of us.

He meets our eyes. He knows us.

And we look up. We meet His eyes. Do we know Him? There are times in our lives we have avoided His gaze; we too have denied Him, even betrayed Him. He has knocked on the doors of our lives, and we have not always answered or let Him in.

But He offers forgiveness. All He has ever asked is that we believe He is God’s son and – as we see – is the sacrifice for our sins. And that He will be raised from death. His Blood, which we see in this imagining, is the payment for our guilt. This Calvary scene is, rather than awful, one of love – joy unspeakable and full of glory.

You have heard this: We ask Jesus how much He loves us; He says, “This much!” and spreads His arms wide; and then they nail those arms to the cross, and He dies.

An old Negro Spiritual recreates the scene, and the urgent message to our souls:

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?

Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.

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Click: Were You There When They Crucified My Lord

1-17-22

We try to “get through” to people.

Sometimes we succeed, often we fail.

Other times we give up.

Do we really care, if we give up?

If we pray to God about something over and over, is that faith?

Or is praying once, and believing Him… is THAT faith?

There is no correct answer.

We should pray in the Spirit, and by the Spirit.

God will guide us.

Circumstances.

He already knows the burdens of your heart.

But He wants to hear from us.

He desires that we seek Him, earnestly and fervently.

That is why He instituted prayer.

A conversation.

Between friends.

When you want to “get through” to someone, is it because you care?

Does that person know you care?

Do YOU care… about whether you care?

If you want to “get through” to someone, is it worth your trouble?

Can you imagine being “too late”?

Will you be satisfied, then, by saying, “I didn’t have the chance…”?

Because we always DO have the chance.

However, we do not always TAKE the chance.

Love is taking that chance.

Again.

And again.

And all the “agains” you need.

You might say “I love you very much,” and mean it.

But never let it be said that you didn’t love well enough.

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Click: Sometimes I Cry

10-18-21

To reassure the curious, or assuage the indignant, I want to state that if this message were a foreign movie, the translation of the title (that is, my real meaning) would be as follows:

All of humankind has a need for a Savior. As Orson Bean, the comedian, said when he became a Christian, he realized that God designed us all as if we had a sort of hole in the middle of our emotions – something that needed to be filled. Which is the reason that all people, at all times and in all places, have sought a god or found God. We have an innate yearning for something better, and Someone better, in our lives; an answer to the questions we cannot answer ourselves. As my new friend Janet said recently, the comfort of knowing someone Someone who does not only have the answers, but IS the answer.

That is Jesus, of course.

And, yes, with that “hole” in our lives – which can be anything from loneliness to horrid desperation and everything in between – we look for it to be filled. The usual detours are dissolution, alcohol, sex, drugs; we know all the varieties.

But we are all alike in one basic way: our need for a Savior. “Wise men still seek Him,” as the Bible says; or maybe it is a Christmas-season bumper strip, I forget. But it is true.

So what in the world do I mean, in my title, about a “futile” search???

What I mean is an important component of the Gospel message and, I think, essential to getting to know this Jesus, this Best Friend, this Savior, this “Answer” to all our needs.

Salvation is not futile, of course. The Savior, the Son of God, Himself does not represent futility in any regard. Of course. What’s left in my title is the “search.”

OK, when we are in a dark place, or deep in a figurative hole, or feeling completely lost, or clueless about whom to trust, what to do, where to turn, how to act… of course we go into the search-mode.

But my point is this. The nature of Jesus is that we don’t have to SEEK Him. He is always there. Always with us. He is not Someone on speed-dial; not found by a spiritual Google-search. When you accept Him, acknowledging Him as the Son of God, and believe that He took your sins upon Himself, and after dying for your punishment, rose from the dead… then He lives in your heart. No “searching” needed; He already searched us out.

Your new brother, not anymore a mere concept of a Savior. Closer than a shadow.

Jesus promised that when He arose to Heaven, God would send the Holy Spirit to be the indwelling presence of God, to both comfort and enable us to be the Children of God.

So that hole gets filled. Jesus is the ever-present help in the times of trouble. In fact, even gently, but always, He will not leave us alone. Heavenly nagging for which are grateful! Never letting us feel again like we are in that dark place, or deep in a figurative hole, or feeling completely lost, or clueless about whom to trust, what to do, where to turn, how to act.

But my point is about peace and reassurance. The “need” to search for Him, when we are told about it, actually is a problem, a stumbling-block, with a lot of “religions.” That we need to start searching puts it on us, as if all the work is ours. We have to seek Him out? We need to learn where to look? Do we need a road map? What do we first need to do before we start the search? What if we’re not good enough? And so forth…

The “point” of Jesus is that He already has searched us out.

He “came to earth and dwelt amongst us”; we don’t have to squint toward Heaven or perform lists of good deeds to impress the Lord, to earn salvation.

Every other religion is about reaching out to a god. Christianity is the only faith where God has reached out to us.

It is human nature, sadly, to believe that we are so lowly that God cannot accept us without virtual 12-step programs our denominations and churches have devised. Organized religion can send more people to hell than a squad of demons could. We are lowly, without Christ, yes; but that’s the point.

We can search… and search, and search. And get addicted to the search. That is futility.

He’s already there next to you. Sit still, stay put, and let Him put His arm around you.

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Click: He Reached Down

6-20-21

A guest column today by my friend Kent Kraning. I had the honor of helping him put together a book on “parenting” and particularly about the essential and precious relationships between fathers and sons. This passage is from that terrific book. Kent and his wife Robin “have been married for more than 38 years and have raised six sons; have three daughters-in-love, and 9 grand-lambs.” Together they have served in ministry most of their lives, including co-pastoring a church in Cool, California; and directing family camps and other adult conferences at Forest Home Christian Camps in the San Bernardino Mountains. Kent now serves as the Marriage Life and Senior Ministry Pastor at Friends Church Yorba Linda; and also as a Chaplain for the Orange County Fire Authority.

As Father’s Day approaches, I am reminded of a missing piece in my life. My father passed away on Palm Sunday 2020, right at the front end of the pandemic. He didn’t die of COVID 19; his heart just grew tired from working so hard to keep him alive.

However, because of the lockdowns we were unable to gather. So last week, days before Fathers Day and 14 months since he graduated to heaven, we finally held his Celebration of Life.

My father loved to tell stories. And he didn’t really care if you had already heard it. It didn’t even matter if he had told you this one before, he would tell it again because he just loved the telling. Then, once he had finished the story, he would say, “I still remember that.” We would often add, “We do too, dad.”

More than five years ago my father and I began writing a book about parenting. It is a collection of stories from our lives and the lessons we learned from them. I am grateful that we finished the book and placed a copy in his hands while he was still able to enjoy it. There is one story from the book in particular that seems to strike a chord with dads.

It is a reminder of how vital it is that we are people of our “word.” Especially when we give it to our children. We need to be people of integrity. We need to be fathers who place a high priority on our families. We need to see the high value of our children and keep our commitments to them above all else and at any cost.

Here is that story, an excerpt from our book, Dirt Grenades. I hope you enjoy it too.

My Dad grew up in Indiana. As a boy, he and his dad often went fishing and hunting. One particular day his dad, my grandpa, made plans to take him fishing in a local pond called Fennel Lake. It wasn’t the first time they had gone together. Dad loved fishing, and any day spent drowning worms with his dad was a great day.

He had been looking forward to this particular day for some time. As they were heading out the door the phone rang. Grandpa answered; it was the school. He was the principal at what is now Lima Brighton School in Howe, Indiana. Evidently something had gone wrong, and presence was requested. My dad heard Grandpa begin to argue gently but firmly with the person he later learned was the vice principal.

Dad could tell that this man needed my grandpa to go to the campus… and he could feel his best day slipping away. Then Grandpa said, “Well, you need to handle this. I made a promise to my son that I would spend this day on the lake with him, and I need to keep that promise. When I return, I will come in immediately.” Then grandpa said goodbye, closing the conversation abruptly. In a moment, my father walked out the back door with a reassuring smile from his dad who said, “Let’s get out of here before someone else calls.”

They had a great day on the water! When they returned home, Grandpa dropped Dad off and quickly headed for school. My father never knew what happened, what problems needed to be solved, or if Grandpa got in trouble for refusing to go in. All he knew was that they had a great day at the lake. I don’t know what that cost Grandpa, but my dad learned two things that day: He was more important to his dad than the job; and Grandpa was a man who would keep his word even if it cost him.

In Psalm 15:4 David says, a man of God “keeps his oath even when it hurts.” That was Grandpa, and that became my dad. In many families, a little boy and fishing would fall to second place after career and responsibilities, and become a lesson that the child must learn – understanding the importance of Dad’s job. However, to my grandfather of far greater importance was the lesson of integrity.

A child will never forget when a dad breaks his promise – no matter what the reason. My dad and my grandpa had many days of good fishing, but the day he kept his promise was one my dad would never forget.

From Dirt Grenades and Other Explosive Parenting Moments by Kent Kraning with Bob Kraning. It is available on Amazon.com at $14.99 for the paperback or $2.99 for the Kindle version. For further information regarding the content of this book or to contact the author visit www.oursixsons.com or e-mail the Kranings at hello@oursixsons.com

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Click: The Best Day of My Life

4-4-21

He’s Alive.

Those two words are the most consequential in humankind’s long history, or ever will be.

He’s Alive.

For Christians, these words overshadow everything, for if there be no Resurrection, our faith is in vain.

He’s Alive.

For believers in any, and every, other religion, there is not one founder or leader about whom it is claimed that once dead, that figure came back to life.

He’s Alive.

For agnostics and atheists, you simply must confront the Biblical record, eyewitness accounts, and words of people like the historian Josephus, who recorded acts of the risen Christ.

He’s Alive.

For the skeptical, if you think the life, ministry, and resurrection of Jesus was a hoax, tell us how Christianity spread like wildfire after the Resurrection; and why so many people – including 11 of the Disciples – would endure their own torture and death… for a hoax.

He’s Alive.

For the wise, study His words, and explain how Jesus was anything but one of these: a brilliant swindler; a delusional fool; or… the Son of God.

He’s Alive.

For the logic-minded, calculate the odds of multiple hundreds of prophecies and predictions, written over centuries by many hands in many lands, that came true to the finest detail and timing.

He’s Alive.

For those who don’t “believe in miracles,” like the acts He was recorded as performing, or that He fulfilled by rising from the dead, start counting the number of other things you can’t explain in life, but “take on faith.”

He’s Alive.

For those who are tempted to think that this God or this Jesus might have been real once upon a time, and acted 2000 years ago, but not now…

Talk to someone whose life has been transformed;

Talk to someone who suffered awful depression, but now lives joyously;

Talk to a sinner who has turned from his or her ways;

Talk to someone who endured a fatal disease or injury… and has been healed;

Talk to an addict who now is “clean”;

Talk to someone who hated… and has learned to love;

Talk to someone who could not forgive, and was touched by someone else’s forgiveness;

Talk to someone who carried oppressive burdens of guilt, but now feels free;

Talk to that little baby who smiles back at you;

Talk to…

Well, talk to Jesus. He will answer you if you listen. He will lead you if you need. He will love you as if He has known you all along.

… because He has. He’s been waiting. When He left that tomb, by some sort of miracle, He came out looking for you.

He’s alive.

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Click: He’s Alive

3-29-21

I hope the words of that title, and the kiddie-pop version of all we hold dear does not remind you of “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town.” But in our cultural cocoon it would not be surprising if some children grow up thinking that the Easter Bunny was at the manger scene; or Santa Claus went to the cross.

Exaggeration, perhaps, but I will not cop to sacrilege… except as our whole culture has become sacrilegious; secularized; post-Christian. And include most of our churches themselves as complicit in the apostasy.

Palm Sunday used to be universally celebrated in Christian churches. Now it is barely observed. Catholics would burn the palms and save the ashes for the subsequent year’s Ash Wednesday. When I was a boy our church and Sunday School were festooned with palms that were distributed at the end of services; and in our house, anyway, we arranged them behind the picture frames with Jesus and Bible scenes.

Why palms? They were symbols and reminders of the palms – and flowers and garments – laid before Jesus as He entered Jerusalem for the Passover. No power to salvation, they survived the centuries as spiritual Post-It Notes: This is how the people received Jesus as His power and glory became known in that city.

For three years he had performed miracles. Walked on water. Healed the sick. Raised the dead to life. Read minds. Forgave sins.

He had followers, slowly growing in numbers. The word spread, just as the Word spread. Yet through the small towns in the region of Galilee, after more than three years of such ministry, His adherents were numbered as a cult following. Skepticism? A lot of it. Suspicions, too, that he was a magician or prophet at best. Or the “miracles” were exaggerations or coincidences or swindles…

By the time He entered Jerusalem, Jesus knew it was His final visit. He knew the word-for-word prophecies from Isaiah and other Scriptures that would be fulfilled a hundred times over before the week was out. Followers, even Scribes and Pharisees, did not connect the dots.

The city fairly went crazy to welcome Him. A virtual parade. His path strewn with elements of welcome. Music and cheering; crying eyes; workers and housewives taking time to welcome the Messiah.

But my question today is, Do you ever think back, either because of (or in despite) Jesus movies, or Sunday-School bulletins? Have you imaged the scene? “Why is He on a donkey?” “He asked for one!” The mystery was lifted when people eventually realized that it was another puzzle-piece of prophecy from 700 years earlier.

If you have thought about that jubilant scene, you likely did not see yourself as a scoffer or skeptic or hater. These types were hard to find! As we know, the Roman officials tried to ignore the whole “Jesus thing.” The only opposition, and bitter it was, came from the religious leaders. Not the Jews in general, not at first, because the cheering crowds were Jews. It was the religious Establishment who hated Him.

Rejecting Jesus as Messiah, but also nervous about their own positions and security, they ignored Scripture and colluded with the political Establishment. As we know.

You might have pictured yourself in that adoring, welcoming throng. Of course! But how often have you pictured yourself in that crowd beneath Pilate’s balcony only a few days later… screaming for Barabbas to be pardoned and Jesus to be executed?

Have you pictured yourself as a member of the mob who watched, approving, as Jesus was scourged to a bloody pulp?

Have you pictured yourself as someone in the crowd along the Via Dolorosa, as Jesus was forced to carry His cross; were you, too, jeering, spitting on Him?

And after your love had turned to hate, were you then so indifferent to this innocent Man’s suffering that you wandered away from Golgotha? – Probably so, because most of the Disciples were not there at His feet with His Mother Mary.

WHY would any of us think we would have been any different that the population of Jerusalem? Happy welcome? Join the party. “Crunch time”? Spit on the Great Pretender. Fair-weather faithful.

Manipulated by the mob… when you are part of the mob. Swayed by the Establishment… and its version of the news of the day. Knowing Scripture… to the extent it could be cited to justify your changing but comfortable notions. Doubting, disbelieving, rejecting. God forbid we do such things again!

I have been asking if you ever pictured yourself “there” during Holy Week. But you don’t have you. Jesus Himself pictured you there. At every event that week, from jubilation to tortured death. He looked into the crowds, but saw the faces of you and me.

Beyond our faces, He looked – and still looks – into the hearts of you and me.

On Palm Sunday, however, we commemorate His entry… into Jerusalem; into fulfilled prophecies; into our lives. No turning back! And, for us, no ignoring Him.

More audacious, really, than a Virgin birth, or the astonishing miracles, or the timeless wisdom He left us… is the very thought of the Incarnation: that the Creator of the Universe became flesh and dwelt among mankind. That He LOVED that much.

That He LOVES that much. Humankind should rush toward Him, yet He came to us.

They sang “The King is coming!” But He is still coming, still wanting to enter our lives, our minds, our hearts. He’s coming for you. Will you welcome Him? Can you picture that?

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Click: The King Is Coming

3-22-21

Last week’s message on addiction excited a greater number of responses than I usually receive. I hoped that it would present a somewhat different perspective on this topic than we routinely hear; and perhaps that struck a chord.

I had not thought of this until I wondered at the feedback, but in a society where “victimhood” virtually has become a religion, it is refreshing to assert that we often are responsible, ourselves, for “challenges” we face. And, as should follow, that we can take responsibility as well for their solutions. Such resolutions represent more than coping, but rather liberation… second chances… new starts… a fresh excitement about life.

Several readers, and friends I have made in recent years, surprised me (and were glad to do so) with stories of their own redemption, of kicking addictions. My way of putting it with friends: moving from Alcoholics Unanimous to Alcoholics Anonymous; and, of course, other things than alcohol, which was the larger point of my essay.

There is another story about my unnamed friend from years ago whose situation inspired that message, and I will share the follow-up again, in a way of closing the circle.

It is a little more personal, to me that is. There was a tough period some years ago for my family – toughest most of all for my late wife Nancy. She had faced health challenges (what euphemisms we use) most of her life. She was an early diabetic, and that was the source of many ills, but not solely. When we met she monitored blood-sugar levels with test strips, and she (or I) would administer insulin shots by needle.

Eventually pumps and remote monitors were developed. During that technical evolution, her physical problems, some caused by the diabetes, raged. She virtually lost her sight twice; a miracle restored it once (unquote, incredulous doctors) and another by laser treatments. She had several heart attacks; and several TIAs, or minor strokes. She developed celiac disease, and had to avoid wheat, oats, rye, and barley; besides sugar, of course. The diabetes attacked more places than her eyes, and she had toes amputated. Cancer was discovered in her thyroid gland, and although one lobe was removed, it was devoid of cancer cells (another miracle, doctors could only call it). There were more medical problems too, like broken bones – all these before and after a heart transplant and a kidney transplant.

Nancy worried, more than about herself, for our three children. But they took strength from her faith and strength. We started a hospital ministry that lasted almost seven years… and might have have blessed us as much as the patients and their families.

We were without insurance, with me as a freelancer and she having (duh) pre-existing conditions. Things were tight, and emotionally stretched. At this time (while Nancy was in hospital, listed for compatible organs) my mother was dying, in hospice, in Florida, and I made the difficult decision to be there in her last hours. Driving to the train station in Philadelphia, my car was T-boned at an intersection and totaled. I was OK, and two days later I took that train. My mother lingered longer than expected; I returned home for Christmas, and got the message that she died while I wended north.

The transplants went well – in fact, she was almost like a poster child; no rejections, and living 16 years instead of the projected extra five. Until I could get a new car, our pastor lent us his van. Friends helped with watching the kids, and with meals. Neighbors helped with housework and chores. Our ministry continued, and my freelance schedule enabled me to take Nancy to the many follow-ups and lab visits.

We return here to my friend who starred in last week’s message, and was mentioned above. I related this litany to him with the appropriate “thank Gods” and gratitude to friends and neighbors. The whole “before and after” tale.

Ever the skeptic, he took the opportunity to teach me a lesson, to shake me back to reality. “You’re always thanking God for this and that,” he said. “But listen to yourself. It wasn’t Jesus who took your kids in when you had to go to Florida. It wasn’t Jesus who lent you that van. It wasn’t Jesus who brought you meals and cleaned your house… They were just friends and neighbors!”

My response came immediately, inspired by Someone else, because I wasn’t that clever myself: “You’re wrong. It WAS Jesus… working THROUGH our friends and neighbors.”

This truth is a way that God works, and a way that He often chooses to work. Not a fallback, but His intention. It is the reason Jesus came to earth… and, more, the reason He left.

But I tell you I am going to do what is best for you. This is why I am going away. The Holy Spirit cannot come to help you until I leave. But after I am gone, I will send the Spirit to you (John 16:7). And we yield to the Spirit.

We should be reminded here of bumper-strip theology that can have impact as it distills the Truth:

~~ You might be the only Jesus people ever know.
~~ Always share the Gospel – sometimes even use words.
~~ Be doers of the Word, not hearers only.
~~ Love one another, even as I have loved you,.
~~ Be imitators of Christ.

Of all the experiences, trials, and acts I have mentioned here, none is too big for us to assume it need not be done. And none is too small to have a life-changing, eternal impact. It’s funny how God works that way.

Especially when it’s through us.

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An example of “how small” an act can be is in this song by Ray Boltz. It reminds be of a visit by a missionary family to our little church, and their slide-show about their work overseas. My little girl Emily was so affected that she decided then and there to go into missions work. Which she did.

Click: Thank You

This message, and this song, would seem like orphans if I didn’t invite you to visit the site of Grand Staff Ministries Grand Staff Ministries – Becky and Tracy Spencer’s remarkable missions program to the people of eSwatini (formerly Swaziland) in Africa.

2-1-21

When you “accept” Jesus – and His invitation; when You believe He is the Son of God; that He died to take the punishment for your sins upon Himself; that God raised Him from the dead –

What brought you to that moment?

Were you guilty beforehand? Regretful? Remorseful? Curious? Troubled? Desperate? Lonely? Confused? Hungry? Unforgiving? Weary?

At that moment, God never says –

“It’s about time!”

“It took you too long!”

“OK, it’s a good start.”

“Let’s see if you are serious…”

“You have too much baggage.”

“I can’t overlook some of your sins.”

“Here are things you must now do…”

“You’re too late!”

He just says –

“Welcome home!”

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Click: Softly And Tenderly

8-31-20

My late wife and I had a formula for dealing with matters that helped contribute to a happy marriage. I would concentrate on the big issues that arose; and she would handle all the minor matters.

Therefore, I addressed things like nuclear disarmament, the World Trade Organization, and amnesty for illegal border crossings. Nancy handled the small things like household budgets, car insurance, and the mortgage.

It actually worked out well. Behind most jokes and pathetic confessions in life, as this is, there are principles that represent truth and tangible benefits. “Tangible,” in my analogy, is the lesson that life is made up of “big” and “small” matters – a cliché in itself – but meaning that we often are seduced into thinking that correct decisions about “big” challenges are sufficient to bring success.

Ignoring or dismissing the “small” matters in life is like building a house on a foundation of sand. Both types of challenges are essential to address, but the “small” matters comprise the mortar that holds the bricks of our lives together.
This too is an old chestnut, you might think, but I saw these clichés in a new light as I prepared the annual “kids leaving home” message here. This year, the pesky virus turns that topic on its head too – children going away to college, or other Rites of Autumn. Some kids leave, some stay, others will be somewhere in between this year.

I have observed about children growing up under our care that the days seem to drag… but the years whiz by. And they are gone before we know it. Life shouldn’t work that way, but life seldom follows our scripts.

I see my two grandchildren in Northern Ireland a couple times a week, and even so “I can’t believe how they’re growing!” – which is great, but a distant second to in-person contact. You can’t hug a Skype screen, which how we visit. I have two other grandchildren 45 minutes from my house, but because of an argument whose details I totally forget, I have not seen my daughter or them for three years, except briefly once by a mistake. Life shouldn’t work that way, either.

I have been touched by a song since before the first of my three kids even went off to college, and I share it every leaving-the-nest season. Now all three are in and out of college, in professions, successful and busy. I have grandchildren, as I say, and for all these factors, there is another script I cannot write, nor would want to – that life could switch itself into reverse gear. It is great to see children leave, and a great and proper fulfillment, unto lives of their own. And, I suppose, they will have bittersweet tears when their own children leave their nests.

When we stop and think – when we stop to think – the “big” moments in a family’s life can make us smile with pride or chuckle at significant milestones. But the “small” things, the mortar that holds us together, things like drawings from grade school, lamps in the attic, toys from birthdays past, memories of little joys and (ultimately unimportant) childhood crises… those are what we cherish best and miss the most.

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest.
A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to tear down and a time to build up.
A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones. A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
A time to search and a time to quit searching. A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time to tear and a time to mend. A time to be quiet and a time to speak.
A time to love and a time to hate. A time for war and a time for peace.

There is a season – turn, turn, as the song puts it. I understand. I have read the script. But sometimes these old bones find it a little harder to dance to the script’s music.

Thank God for all things. But remember to savor the small things.

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Click: Letting Go

6-15-20

These messages here, especially in the past three weeks, have evoked letters from readers who asked virtually the same questions.

How did you know I needed those words at this time in my life?

The Holy Spirit must have guided your hand. You answered questions that were eating at me lately!

I found your site by accident… but it was no accident. Your message brought tears to my eyes.

When I receive messages like this, I am reminded that this is all worthwhile. Sometimes (I hope all the time) I write by inspiration. But who reads; who is impressed of a Godly message… that is out of my hands.

Christians sometimes obsess over what impact we have. We think we have to close every deal when we share the Good News. To borrow from recent messages, that is the Holy Spirit’s job. Our job is to bear witness to the Truth. The Holy Spirit will work on peoples’ hearts.

We plant seeds. The Holy Spirit cultivates and harvests.

When I speak at Christian writers conferences I make a point of pointing to random spots in the audience, or sometimes making eye contact here and there, and encouraging the discouraged as well as the hopeful – that is, reminding every writer and aspiring writer of the consequential opportunities they have; and the responsibilities.

“Something you wrote last week might seem like it died without being noticed. But perhaps one person read it and was touched and saved the clipping. And next year might share it with a distant relative. And that relative might pass the thought along to a stranger who needs those words at that very moment. And that person might change his or her life because of that thought, which can then spread to family members and neighbors. Hundreds, or thousands, of people can find truth and beauty and salvation, all because of something you wrote, and maybe thought a failure or a waste of time.”

Or I share variations of that very plausible scenario. Or that this pertains not only to things we write, but things we might say. Or a way we acted when challenged a certain manner. Or how we reacted, maybe when we thought nobody was looking.

Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us (Hebrews 12:1).

Many times I have thought of the time a small family of missionaries visited our little church when my daughter Emily was a young schoolkid. Their testimonies and stories and slideshow impressed her so much that she broke out in spontaneous prayer, and told my wife later that day that she wanted to be a missionary – that God told her she would serve in the missions field. She did. She went to Bible college; joined missions trips to Russia and Mexico and Ireland. She went to Ireland a second time to do street ministry, more training at a Bible college, and did church work.

I often think what might have happened in her life, or not happened, if she had skipped church that day, or was not open to that message from that family.

But we should all think about the pictures from life’s other side. What if that family had not been open, themselves, to the Holy Spirit’s leading? What if they had grown weary, and not visited that church that morning? What if they had checked their passion at the door, and shared a mere travelogue instead of the powerful stories of lives changed in a faraway land of hurting and needy people?…

The Bible chapter preceding the one cited above – Hebrews 11 – sometimes is called “The Hall Of Fame of Faith.” It contains a long list of the Bible’s heroes who believed, and stepped out, and persisted, and fought the good fight for God’s truths, or “ran the race” well. By the way, they did not all achieve their “goals.” But they are honored in God’s eyes, and in history, for being faithful… as witnessed by uncountable angels, the heavenly host, the “great cloud of witnesses,” and by us today.

You see, God does not require success; only obedience. The Holy Spirit takes the baton to finish our race for us.

For that reason (and as the attached music video powerfully illustrates) we need to be aware of those who watch us. Not to be paranoid, but to be encouraged! Be aware of who watch you – God; the heavenly “great cloud of witnesses”; angels; your spouse or children; your neighbors.

And, sometimes, people you will never meet.

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Click: Thank You For Giving To the Lord

5-11-20

Sometimes, life’s circumstances can be like viruses. Appearing suddenly… not foreseeable… hard to pinpoint, harder to fight, often impossible to overcome – an invisible enemy.

My daughter Emily (yes, in whom I am well pleased!) in Ireland, with her family, has been a victim of life’s circumstances. Except that she has never fully seen the situation that way.

Onslaught? Oh, no question. She was a missionary, went to the “troubled” streets of Derry / Londonderry on the border of Ireland and Northern Ireland… lost her missions support… fell in love with a local lad in church, Norman McCorkell… married… went to Bible School together… jobs in church and running a retreat center near Dublin… setbacks… Norman’s epilepsy… with two great children, helpless but not hopeless for a spell, virtually homeless but for friends… returned to the Derry area.

Mr and Mrs Job, eh?

Don’t shed tears. Emily merely has pivoted, and pivoted again, starting an American-style food business (BBQ!) that has been well accepted in the city, her jars and bottles selling to stores and homes; her smoked meats selling via food truck to fans and to groups via catering. Emily has been on radio, in newspapers, magazine covers, billboards. She and Norman, a great team in the prep, production, and deliveries, were about to open a storefront… and then, you guessed it, the pandemic hit like a storm. The city is closed down.

What to do, especially with the insane PP rules? One thing not to do was retreat or moan or wait for things to resolve themselves. While making small batches of BBQ specialties to loyal (and hungry) customers, for non-contact pickups, she pivoted again. With sympathy for healthcare workers in hospitals and clinics, thinking the patients and the doctors should have other “angels,” she inaugurated a program for people to donate food – mostly packaged and easy-to-prepare – for the kitchen spaces in hospitals and clinics. For the workers and the over-worked on shifts, tired when they get home, to make their meals faster and special, and their days easier.

The response was immediate and enormous, after a little publicity and word-of-mouth. Individuals, cafes, stores, opened their cupboards; her garage was filled each day with donations. (As I write this, Emily reported that a man she doesn’t know heard about her “Pantry” campaign and ordered 87 Pounds, about $100, of foods from a shop to be delivered straight to her center.) She and Norman, and little Elsie and Lewis, pivoted to encouragement, thanks, deliveries. People were blessed – both givers and recipients. In interviews, again, Emily explained it all: “It’s what Jesus would do.”

All of these activities, pivoting to new activities, is what businesses call Entrepreneurship. It is what Jesus called “Doing unto the least of these.” The least? Taking care of one’s family is proper, prioritized. Then serving others. Good value and good taste and good service when times are good; good discernment of people’s needs and good organization and good charity – many untold stories, the time spent, the generosity of so many – when times are tight.

All in the space of a couple months. Emily will continue to serve the sometimes-forgotten workers. She is taking orders for no-touch BBQ orders for fans of her meats every Friday. She and Norman are looking again at a food truck with which – lockdown or no – they can deliver foods and be alongside events. Lo+Slo, her little operation, is not little, really, and cannot be suppressed!

How, in the face of health and job and housing and now pandemic opposition, does she thrive? She has a saying – maybe not original? Too good to think others have not used it too. It has become her slogan during lockdowns and isolation:

I Can’t; We Can.

Brilliant, really. An inspirational rallying-cry. As I thought of my daughter, admiring her from afar but talking daily on the phone, I thought of Jesus too – but not only of His admonition that we be charitable; He fed the hungry and said that we should exercise love to the needy.

No, let us think of the larger Christian meaning, a lesson, really, inherent in that phrase I Can’t; We Can.

God has reached down through history via the inspired Word and prophets and given us guidance and wisdom. Jesus came that we might have life and life more abundant; He taught, and offered salvation. The Holy Spirit was sent that we can have spiritual encouragement, gifts, power.

With all this spiritual help, we are blessed. Surely we cannot fail to be good servants – serving God, serving each other…

Yet. Consider I Can’t; We Can. Not only in the context of the fellowship of the saints and the priesthood of all believers, as important as are those truths. No, the “We” I think God would have us remember – and too many Christians tend to forget – is the We of the Godhead. God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

How many of us have faced a challenge or gone through a severe crisis, and we pray to God, with confidence (and I hope not pride) – “OK, God, I’ve got it from here.”

That is wrong. The more we know of Him and His ways, the more we need Him, and know that we need Him. The more mature our faith becomes, the more we realize how dependent we are on the Lord. In every aspect of our lives.

Our livelihoods, our families, our homes, our businesses, our health, our budgets. Our patience, our sanity, our resourcefulness. Our future.

I Can’t; We Can. I can’t do these things on my own. We – family, friends, fellowships – are important; thanks. But the We who will see us through is waiting for us to lean on the Everlasting Arms.

I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me (Philippians 4:13).

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Click: I Believe; Help Thou My Unbelief

11-25-19

I am usually reminded of the same things each Thanksgiving. That is human nature, or perhaps an infertile imagination. But I don’t mean the Pilgrims and Indians, no. I do mean intentional reflection on God’s grace-filled blessings on me and mine, yes. On us all.

But I have also noticed (some would say that I am obsessed, to which I plead guilty) that “Thank you” and “Thanks” are still breathing in our conversations; however, “You’re welcome” has been displaced, or deleted. On television interviews, in phone calls, in chats around town. “Thank you” is sometimes responded to by silence – that is, not at all. Or “Thank YOU,” or “No problem,” or “You bet.”

Watch and listen; you’ll see. If you wind up thanking me, I will say, “You’re welcome,” I promise. But this development seems to be more than a conversational tic. I believe it manifests a basic unraveling of courtesy in our culture, even the loss of appreciation and thankfulness.

I also reflect on the validity of turning around the order, if not the meanings, of “Thanks” and “You’re Welcome” at this time of year. Yes, we thank God for His blessings. But can it be valid to think that, in the Pilgrims’ case for instance, when they praised God, dedicated their land to Him, and operated the colony by His precepts as a way of thanking and honoring the Lord… that His blessings and bountiful harvests were God saying, “You’re welcome”?

“He loved us, in that while we were yet sinners, He sent His Son to die for us.”

As unlikely as it would seem to be – and remembering that Grace is unmerited favor – perhaps God thanks us preemptively for our humble acts of praise and gratitude.

Circular reasoning can remind us of the miracle of God’s love, and of His wondrous ways. Those wondrous ways include uncountable things we do not understand. And we should not try to, because “such are the ways of the Lord.”

I recently came across the news about Madison Shyanne Keaton, a member of the large and talented Keaton and Collingsworth families. Below is a link to a family gathering, around the piano in the their sun room, exactly one year ago, at Thanksgiving. 

Shy, a beautiful 24-year-old, speaks very briefly about her life – running away from home at 15; drugs and sex; losing her baby and fiancee. She was also in and out and in and out of rehab. With the prayers and help of her friends and family, as she says in the moving video link below, she ought to have died, but did not. Straight and clean, her face beams with joy and faith. As everyone sings “Bigger Than All My Mountains,” she drops to her knees in… thanksgiving.

Only a few weeks ago, Shy was killed in an accident, when a car ignored signals at an intersection and hit hers. 

How can we “Thank”? Where is the “You’re welcome”? Did God have a purpose? – I always answer quickly to such questions at such times, “no, the devil had a purpose.” Our responses to these horrors in life – yes, even an aspect of our thanks and praise – is to remember the verse that “all things work for good to those who love God and are called according to His purpose.” NOT “all things are good,” but “all things work for good”… and that is our job: to turn things around on the devil, and toward the glory of God. 

It is not only the random moments in life when the ways of God are mysteries. Much about Him is mysterious – although He surely has shared a lot in scripture! – but we would be, not as angels, but as God Himself if we understood everything. So we should not try. Rather for us, then, the living, to… have faith. That’s what faith is – the substance of things hoped for; the evidence of things not seen.

The “sacrifice of praise” is something He desires, that we acknowledge His goodness even when we don’t feel it. 

And maybe the essence of Thanksgiving is to thank Him when sometimes it is tough to summon gratitude. It is easy, after all, to say “thanks” when everything is rosy. But you mean “Thank you” when you have to dig deep in order to acknowledge His love and His ways. And that’s when the Master of our souls gently says, “You are welcome, my child.”

And if we don’t quite understand, we have a greater gift, God’s cycle of gratitude. Thanks for things seen and unseen.

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Bigger Than Any Mountain – Shy’s Testimony

9-30-19

Do many people confess this – ‘I Don’t Know How To Pray!’ – or would, if pressed? You would be surprised how many Christians, even, are uncomfortable when called upon to pray audibly, or front of others.

My late wife Nancy’s birthday was last week; and she died almost seven years ago. I have written how she suffered almost uncountable numbers of ailments and afflictions, including cancer, strokes, and heart and kidney transplants. She never stopped attending church all her life through, but her natural shyness plus an upbringing in church and home that did not encourage spontaneous and public praying, brought her seldom to pray in front of others. Even before our family, at mealtimes.

But when she was listed for transplantation, she began a ministry on the Heart Failure floor of the hospital. She saw a need, particularly as – believe it or not – clergy seldom visited and prayed with patients there.

A Catholic priest scurried through once a week, sharing the Host and the Sign of the Cross to Catholic patients on his list, and then moved on; scarcely chatting. Protestant clergy, sometimes from patients’ home churches, occasionally made calls and had conversations more than prayers. In those times, almost 25 years ago, transplant recipients were wired to monitors and telemetry units, so the machinery and poles prevented them from even venturing to the chapel on the hospital’s ground floor.

It seemed curious and, frankly, cruel to Nancy that patients were receiving medical care but not spiritual care.

She started a hospital ministry. She visited rooms. She had us bring Bibles that she could distribute. It became a family ministry, even as our children Heather, Ted, and Emily would pray, sometimes with children of patients. We began holding services on Sunday mornings in rooms, or the lounges, or atrium, depending on attendance.

And attendance grew. Patients were wheeled in; nurses joined as they could; family members timed their visits to the services. We dealt with crises of faith. We saw miracles. We played recorded music, always surprised that rural men fell in love with Black spirituals; faithful Jewish couples lost themselves in the joy of Southern gospel songs; Hispanics sang the traditional hymns in Spanish as we sang in English.

And before we knew it, people prayed with us… and prayed, themselves. Enthusiastically, and spontaneously. People opened up to request a specific prayer, as, they said, they never had done in their lives. Patients shared thanks for things that happened during the week, or for a breakthrough they experienced. Very often, patients or family members were bold enough to ask God questions, in front of all us. (You don’t know how liberating, and Biblical, it is to answer “I don’t know! I don’t know, either! Let’s pray about it!”).

Sometimes widows or widowers, or children of patients who died after transplantation, or during procedures, or while waiting, came to thank us all. And to share peace with their “new” families. Local TV stations, and the Philadelphia Inquirer, did multiple stories on Nancy and this ministry. We continued it as a family for almost seven years after she received her heart and kidney, until we moved to San Diego.

Nancy received more than a heart and a kidney; she had a personality transplant. This woman who was so shy that she seldom audibly prayed over dinner… became a prayer warrior.

“Out of the abundance of the heart, so the mouth speaketh.” Once, a patient’s wife said that she believed her husband was “listed” at that time and in that place, in order that he learn about Jesus from us. He accepted Christ – over which she had prayed for years – but I don’t believe God sends sickness. The lesson, however, is that our job is to turn circumstances around on the devil.

There were many times patients prayed, in front of others as well as the Lord, for the first time in their lives. I still can almost hear the accelerating thump, thump, thump heartbeats on the monitors at those times. Spiritual emotion. Once, on New Years Eve, a sweet hulk of man from the Philly suburbs requested that we all gather in his room. “I don’t know how to pray!” he confessed… but declared that he wanted to do so, for the first time in his life. He did, through tears – his and ours – and his “Amen!” was followed by the biggest smile you could imagine.

Is it possible, dear reader, that you don’t know how to pray? Is it awkward? Either before others, or privately to God?

If so, that grieves God more than you can know. He wants to communicate with us; the Bible says we should share the burdens of our hearts. He knows them… but he wants to hear from you. Is there a guilt that impedes you? Confess it! He knows that already too! Are you so joyful that you think prayer is not necessary? Shame on you! You have extra reason!

All of us live a little south of Heaven and a little north of Hell. We are in a common (even crowded) place from which to approach the Throne of God. You don’t know how to pray, or what to pray?

If your slate is that empty, start by simply praising Him. Thank Him for Who He is, and what He has done. Can’t think of anything? You will. It will start as a “sacrifice of praise” and then start to roll. He will speak to your spirit. Are you getting through? The Bible says that the Holy Spirit will speak, even groan when we are troubled, to God on our behalf. Pray. I pray of you.

You don’t need to be confined to a hospital’s Heart Failure floor, but, believe me… we all need heart transplants.
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Click: Prayer

9-23-19

My friend Gail Torman recently noted that the “She Built New York” project has denied an honorary statue to Mother Cabrini. Saint and Sister Francesca Xavier Cabrini was America’s first ordained saint, summoned by the Pope to help the flood of Italian immigrants pouring into America in 1889.

“While in New York City, she opened 67 social service agencies as well as orphanages, missionaries, day schools, classes in religious education, a nursery, a hospital, and much more across the city,” Gail quotes the National Italian American Foundation. Many parks and monuments and hospitals and projects in New York bear Mother Cabrini’s name yet today.

The stated mission of the “She Built NYC Project” is to create more statues of women to be installed around the city. A public vote was held to select the top female candidates to have honorary statues. Mother Cabrini obtained the most votes with 219 votes, winning by a two-to-one margin and clearly defining her as the winner; the runner-up polled 93 votes, the Foundation notes. The wife of Mayor Bill diBlasio, Chirlane McCray, leads the project. After the poll was taken, McCray formed a panel to review the results and make its own recommendations on the seven winners to be memorialized. Exit Mother Cabrini.

The project is funded by about $5-million in taxpayer money. So – my opinion, putting words in no other mouths – this is a taxpayer-robbing scam to pander to minorities, feminists, and sexual deviants (LGBT “crusaders” popped up on the winner list).

More clearly, this is the latest example of our culture’s war on Christians and white people. Confirmation that, sadly, America is a post-Christian society.

In this New York City situation, we can feel sure that if Mother Cabrini were, say, Haitian instead of Italian, she would lead the pack. Or if she had been a very public atheist. The same might attend the situation of Mother Teresa, with whom many comparisons might be drawn – a European whose mission field was Calcutta. She has entered the language as the embodiment of charity… but contemporary liberals have been ambiguous and uneasy about her since she scolded Clinton and Gore to their faces in Washington about the sin of abortion.

Way beyond the politicization of charity, and racializing public service, is the new definition of Doing Good. Charity (whose roots as a word are shared with “love”) once was regarded as the impulse that moves us to care for those around us. Now, charity is what the government does; no one else need apply… nor ask questions.

“Charity” is a box to check on tax forms. Charity is performed by the government, and enforced by the Compassion Police. Political Correctness precedes acts of charity. To qualify you must be of the proper group; to administer you must not be of proscribed groups.

As St Augustine pointed out, recognizing that “the poor ye shall always have with you” is not a warning of futility, but rather God’s reminder that He wants us to develop, and exercise, a spirit of compassion, of charity, of love, at all times. No pre-conditions.

And about the poor – and sick and persecuted – whom we serve, I have been impressed by something while praying over these things.

A message to those brothers and sisters too: Some people are imprisoned behind bars; some feel bound by virtual chains. Some people are resigned to being poor forever. Some people feel doomed by illnesses, prejudice, abuse, and other circumstances.

The truth is that these factors might keep you in certain situations, for a time.

But a greater truth is that nothing can keep Jesus out.

This should be an encouragement to the oppressed and needy… also to those among us who are spurred to exercise charity… and should be a rebuke to those dictatorial bureaucrats and thought-police whose obsessions are applying, and removing, definitions of our compassion.

As Christians, we will keep our own consciences, thank you. And by the way, the sick and poor among us, as they are served, will be statues enough, in their own way.

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Click: He Reached Down

8-19-19

There are only a couple messages I reprise here during the year. I am not lazy – at least regarding words – but I think the ideas have resonated in my “mind.” So I share with myself, as much as with you.

One of them is about children going off to school, or to the military, or to get married. “Empty nest” is one of the gifts of language that provides a euphemism, or an allusion, from other corners of life. It explains, comforts, distracts, or puts things into perspective. Or reminds us of inevitability. Or futility in the face of our wishes and dreams.

When nests empty themselves there often is a certain innate satisfaction – almost an animal instinct – that evokes pride in fulfilling a role in the process of life. “There is a season; turn, turn…” We ourselves grew and flew; so too our children.

In Ecclesiastes 3, it is written, What happens to the sons of men also happens to animals; one thing befalls them: as one dies, so dies the other. Surely, they all have one breath; man has no advantage over animals, for all is vanity. All go to one place: All are from the dust, and all return to dust.

Words that imply that life is little more than a wheel in a gerbil cage? However, elsewhere in the book of wisdom is found: To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, And a time to die; A time to plant, And a time to pluck what is planted;

A time to kill, And a time to heal; A time to break down, And a time to build up; A time to weep, And a time to laugh; A time to mourn, And a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, And a time to gather stones; A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to gain, And a time to lose; A time to keep, And a time to throw away; A time to tear, And a time to sew; A time to keep silence, And a time to speak;

A time to love,
And a time to hate;
A time of war,
And a time of peace.

There will be some people who read these lines as fatalistic – the glass half-empty / half-full paradigm. (Which I have never understood. Half is half! Fill ‘er up, if you’re thirsty.) But most people, through uncountable eons and circumstances, have rather found comfort in these lines. Whether at grave sites or alone with one’s memories, or reminiscing with family. Remember that Ecclesiastes also tells us – reassures us – that “there is nothing new under the sun.” God sees; God knows; God understands; and we are part of His great plan, a wheel of life that turns.

I have written previously that parents share a feeling about children they rear and say farewell to, that the days drag, but the years fly. Odd. Common, universal; yet counter-intuitive.

It is also odd that the empty places, the holes in the fabric of life, the things you miss about children who leave – when you “let go” it is not the major events or footprints or habits or even the milestones that haunt your emotions. It is the smallest of aspects: funny words; unfinished projects; notes pinned to the wall; scribbles on a pad; bedroom furnishings that seemed so trivial; silly jokes; even arguments that once were hot and then subsumed by obscurity.

“Warp and woof.” Who uses that phrase any more? It is a tailor’s term for horizontal and vertical threads. Lives, like fabric, are comprised of countless threads, often nearly invisible.

And sometimes that fabric of life is rent. Ripped, that is; torn. In those cases – if a child leaves home in anger, and a natural cycle of life is broken – the nest is just as empty. The tears burn just as hot… yet of course it is different. I have a friend whose son only occasionally calls, despite living nearby. His studied indifference hurts as much as if a battle royal had occurred. Another friend has a daughter who is aggressively hostile when she is not merely distant. How cruel if a daughter resents her mother and sister showing up uninvited but unobtrusive, in the back row of the church, at the wedding. Someone else I know has been shut out of the child’s life for years, over a first-time-ever argument; and has not seen the grandchildren over that time. Child abuse or elder abuse?

The bonds between parents and children should not be subject to footnotes. You are tempted to think that it is as unnatural as in the animal kingdom… yet there are some animals who remain in pods through their generations.

We appreciate the difference between vacant nests and empty nests. But both should serve as a welcome-home mats too.

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Click: Letting Go

2-25-19

When Obama ran for president the first time, one of his campaign slogans was “Yes, We Can!” Remember?

I wondered at the time – and still do – why the mesmerized people did not pause to ask, “Yes, we can WHAT?”

Ever the cranky grammarian, it bothered me less as a political postulation than as a sentence with a noun and verb lacking an object. Can What? I wondered why people bought into – or did not question – the lack of a literal object; vision; goal.

We have become a people supposedly more literate than those of past generations… but surely less literal. When our language is imprecise, I think it reflects the lower standards of our beliefs. We are less assured about past assurances. Our values have lost their value.

“Caring” is another word that has been cheapened by over-use and under-appreciation.

Also rising from the political swamps, memes like “I care…” and “They don’t care…” have become weapons, mostly offensive in both senses of that word.

OK, so we should think of “caring” as transitive – that is, caring about something; caring for someone. Not an expressed emotion, merely, but a quality that will have a result. That result can be “successful” or “futile”… but the cause or especially the person being cared for knows whether a cliché or something heartfelt, earnest, sincere is at work.

Obviously – once we start this sort of deconstruction – we think of people like Mother Teresa, who cared and acted. Of Albert Schweitzer, who cared and served. Of Billy Graham, who cared and shared. Of Cardinal Mindszenty, who cared and sacrificed.

“Caring” as an action verb.

Taking nothing from saints and sages and relatives and neighbors, honestly, we can be touched by them, savor their work, honor them, esteem them as role models… but (again, no offense meant) their caring can only extend so far.

They were humans. Humans are fallible; or, put another way, their ability to “care” is finite, and usually defined by their ability to act and affect your life, or the problem they address.

You know what’s coming: There is only One – and only one, throughout all of history – who Cares with infinite care. Whose caring can profoundly change the cause of our hurts or problems or grief or sorrow. As He brings peace that passeth understanding, He cares in ways that touch our souls.

Jesus is the only One whose job description is Caring. And to know – to feel – that perfect care can change your circumstances, your day… your life.

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Click: Does Jesus Care?

2-12-19

That phrase, “My elder brother Jesus,” was used uncountable times by the evangelist R W Schambach, whose ministry played a big part in my spiritual revelations and growth. Our relationship with the Savior is multi-faceted, but this is a component that is real, and important, and not sufficiently appreciated by believers. Or acted upon.

The three members of the Godhead have multiple personalities, if I might use a contemporary clinical term in the most respectful way. To people who are skeptical about the existence and nature of God – “What about One True God?” and “Why not thousands of gods like the Eastern religions?” – usually are asked to be bratty, not truth-seeking. There is something to be savored, however, in what I called above the multiple personalities of the Deity.

The essence of the “Old Testament God” (stereotyped as stern and vengeful) did not change when He became incarnate as the Christ: new aspects, new expressions of love and forgiveness (often exemplified in the Gospel of John), were revealed. But God has always spoken, and inspired, His people in myriad ways. When Jesus ascended to the Throne, He said to His followers that it was good that He leave: “In fact, it is best for you that I go away, because if I don’t, the Advocate won’t come. If I do go away, then I will send him to you. And when he comes, he will convict the world of its sin, and of God’s righteousness, and of the coming judgment” (John 16:7,8). The Holy Spirit was present, and active from the beginning of the world, but specifically has been the source of wisdom, discernment, and power in Jesus’s place.

So the One True God has revealed Himself in three manifestations; and acts in uncountable ways, as we noted. More than an everlasting help in time of trouble, He is indeed the Alpha and the Omega – the beginning and the end – literally the Great I Am. “I was formed before ancient times, from the beginning, before the earth began” (Proverbs 8:23).

When we consider the lineage and patrimony of Jesus, we are, or should be, in awe. He was the agent by whom all things were made… and was made flesh to be the agent of our salvation. He performed miracles; stilled the storms; healed the diseased; read peoples’ minds; brought the dead back to life; walked through walls and walked on water.

The simple acknowledgment of Who He is and confessing your belief, He told us, is sufficient to attain eternal life. What a mighty God we serve.

Yet do we sometimes forget the aspect, the truth, of Brother Schambach’s characterization – that Jesus is our Brother, too? There is power in that realization. The shed blood of the cross, after all, is enough to have God overlook and forgive our sins – just as the Passover lamb’s sacrifice was sealed on the lintels of believers’ doors. That is, when we accept Jesus, when we invite Him to live in our hearts, God no longer sees us, but sees His Son. We are “covered in the Blood.”

That does make us kinfolk of the Savior. Children, finally, and fully, of God. Brothers and sisters of Jesus.

I feel the persuasion to carry this beyond clichés. Many of us grew up with Sunday-school bulletins with paintings of Jesus and the little children, sort of a Holy Babysitter. Many of the older movies portrayed Jesus as a moon-faced mystic, serene and floating through crowds. We know that He was angry with the money-changers, and that He wept over the apostasy of Jerusalem; but those are rare glimpses.

As fully God and fully man, however, Jesus did everything we do. He ate and drank, more than when He consecrated meals. The water-into-wine? Surely He drank, as all the guests did. Feeding the 5000? He too would have eaten the loaves and fishes Himself also. There is no record in Scripture, but He would have defecated and urinated as other men and women did. I do not mean to blaspheme – I am not – but we need to remember that Jesus had many mortal aspects.

That is how He could identify with all of us, in all our ways.

For all the portrayals of Jesus preaching and performing miracles; for all the paintings of Him with a halo and an aura; for all the movies where we see Jesus persecuted and in agony on the cross… it would do us good to remember that He is our Brother.

I reckon that as many times Jesus preached and healed, He more often laughed, put His arm around friends and strangers, and was a brother in the best sense. That’s what brothers do.

And that’s what our elder brother Jesus still does.

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Click: What a Friend We Have in Jesus

8-27-18

She’ll take the painting in the hallway, The one she did in junior high.
And that old lamp up in the attic, She’ll need some light to study by,
She’s had 18 years To get ready for this day,
She should be past the tears… She cries some anyway.

I usually trot this song and video out every year around back-to-school time. First, old as I am, manly-man I may be, I get a little pile of Kleenex ready. This song by Doug Rider and Matt Rollings, a chart record for Doug’s wife Suzy Bogguss, is not a gospel song… but it is spiritual.

“Spiritual” in the sense that family bonds are sacred. The lyrics are about a girl going off to college, and they can apply to children leaving home for camp the first time; or boarding school; or military college. I get misty-eyed, even when recalling my own children’s first solo runs to the grocery store…

Oh, letting go – There’s nothing in the way now,
There’s room enough to fly.
And even though she’s spent her whole life waiting
It’s never easy… letting go.

Moms and dads and children. There are bonds that should never be broken… sometimes, sadly, they seem to be broken… but in truth never can be broken. Spiritual? It’s biological too: Family relationships are intertwined with a weave that is so dense and complicated (thank God) that our affections become part of our DNA, just like freckles and buck teeth.

The passage of time, and the rites of passage, whether the years of rearing a family are harmonious or rocky, have the same “bottom line.” Parting or major “breaks” are seldom, if ever, welcome. Pieces of each of us part-and-break, too.

Mother sits down at the table, So many things she’d like to do.
Spend more time out in the garden, Now she can get those books read too,
She’s had 18 years To get ready for this day,
She should be past the tears… She cries some anyway.

A few years ago here I observed that in every family – once again, harmonious or rocky; large or small, nuclear or blended, single-parent or adoption situation – there is hubbub, and crowded moments… silly problems and the occasional real crisis… “major” homework assignments… disagreements with classmates… “first loves” that melt away; and first dates… driving tests and applying for college…

Applying for college??? Wasn’t it last week they could barely climb aboard the school bus? I remember saying in a rare moment of wisdom, that when you manage a family, the days crawl by – and the years fly by. How does that happen?

Oh, letting go – There’s nothing in the way now,
There’s room enough to fly.
And even though she’s spent her whole life waiting
It’s never easy… letting go.

The element that makes the tears sweet, or anyway less bitter, is the pride a parent feels when we do let go. It’s the way life is supposed to work. Spreading their wings. Yes, part of God’s plan, the Family unit that He ordained for His children.

You pray that the children will shed some tears, too, occasionally – but they’re off in their new lives now, busy. And the grandchildren… well, there is a season; turn, turn. Just make an accounting to God, and to your inner self, how you handled His most important assignment in your life, training those little birds to leave the nest.

But I won’t pretend, It’s never easy… letting go.

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Click: Letting Go

5-14-18

I never have had the privilege of being a mother. As closely bound as I was to fathering, being present at the births of our children, then nurturing and rearing them; fatherhood in all senses… I am aware it all is a far-distant second. The special relationship of mother and child – among all species – is a unique and precious blessing.

A birthright, in fact.

For all the good feelings engendered by Mother’s Day, I reserve a portion of contempt for those creatures who denigrate the institution of Motherhood. Not loutish men alone, but women themselves who, ultimately, are self-loathing. Those who deny the privilege – to others, not only for themselves – of sanctifying the foundation of the family; for hating what we love; for hating what is love.

I reserve a portion of pity, too. I must. What I often call in this space the Culture of Death extends beyond the trashing of motherhood and women’s traditional roles. Biologically, homosexuals cannot naturally procreate (pro-create). Abortion fanatics crusade for death – disguising their “advocacy” as concern for “convenience” for the mothers; as birth-control-after-the-fact. And so on. They are to be pitied, and prayed for.

In the meantime, my Mother’s Day is filled with memories of the Mom I knew. I loved her, and love her. She was an example whose nurture appears stronger through the years: seeds, planted, and growing in my life. A servant’s heart, making silent and willing sacrifices. Was she perfect? Smoking and drinking were regrettable but did not affect her salvation. Big deal. My sisters and I prayed for Jesus to turn the wine back into water.

Of vital importance is that she knew Jesus, was active in churches, and related almost every question I ever had to the gospel.

A preacher in aprons. A saint in curlers. An invariable forgiver.

And that example was no less special because it is the frequent role of mothers – not stereotyped, not clichéd, not pressed upon her as a dirty, leftover job – the role of imparting life lessons, of teaching values; sharing love.

Fathers can do such things before mothers do, with their children. Life’s circumstances dictate such things, and some fathers might be the more tender of a set of parents – but we all know that in the vast majority of cases in the Human Family, it is the mother who holds, hugs, shares tears, teaches, and smiles, a little more than the father, or at least a little earlier. And we children remember.

Fathers discipline; mothers forgive. Fathers prod the way forward; mothers welcome us home. Fathers mold us; mothers know us.

I believe God created Woman not only as a helpmeet to Adam, but as an Assistant to Himself. As Mothers, to show unconditional love; to bond in unique ways with their children; to bear the essence of comfort, understanding, acceptance.

Think back to the first song you learned, maybe a lullaby. The first prayers you heard, or memorized. The first gentle nursery rhyme or fairy tale. Chances are that was your mother’s voice, mother’s smiles, mother’s tears. And if not… probably Grandmother’s. This is our DNA, emotions as strong as genetics.

I admired my Dad, oh yes; I still finish every project wondering if he would approve; to be a good professional. But Mom? If I can be as good a man as she was a mother, I will die grateful and content.

There are some women who, by circumstance or infirmity, sadly cannot become mothers. Most women whom I have met from those groups have hearts even more tender for families and for children.

However, sorry to tell all of you radical harridans who hate, you have disinvited yourselves from family reunions – not at ballparks on summer afternoons, or Grandma’s house on Winter evenings – but from that mystical, privileged, and sacred Family that truly is a gift of God.

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Does this essay seem to dwell on old-fashioned things? I plead guilty! There are too many old fashions that we are losing. Here is one: a tender lullaby, a mother’s song, written by Stephen Foster 150 years ago. Recently we shared another tender song by this great American poet and composer. This, sung by Alison Kraus, is equally impressive. And some crazed radicals are tearing down his statue in the town of his birth…

Click: Slumber, My Darling

4-30-18

I pray because I can’t help myself. I pray because I’m helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time, waking and sleeping. It doesn’t change God. It changes me.

This is a line written by C S Lewis, the preeminent Christian apologist; and spoken by Anthony Hopkins’ portrayal of Lewis in the motion picture Shadowlands.

The movie observes its 25th anniversary this year. It is also the 25th anniversary of me being an idiot for never having watched Shadowlands. I revere the Oxford don Lewis and frequently quote him (for instance, in last week’s blog essay); I pass out copies of his humble but monumental Christian books (Mere Christianity; The Screwtape Letters); I had never read his children’s classics (The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe; others of the Chronicles of Narnia series) but my children did, and loved them. My daughter urged the movie Shadowlands on me.

But I never saw it. Sloppy and neglectful. I heard only good things about the biopic, as it were, of a hero.

I made up for lost time (reminding me that his friend Malcolm Muggeridge’s autobiography was entitled Chronicles of Lost Time) and perhaps prompted by last week’s quotation, my friend and I rented and watched. It was profoundly moving, one of the best motion pictures I have beheld.

Readers might recall that last year I described staying a night in the delightful Old Inn at Crawfordsburn in Bangor, County Down, outside Belfast, Northern Ireland. The sprawling, creeky, artifacts-crowded ancient inn had numerous charms of its own, not the least of which was a plaque modestly stating that C S Lewis and his bride Joy Gresham had spent their honeymoon (“a perfect fortnight”) there. Not very odd in itself – though a delightful surprise for me – because Lewis was born in nearby Belfast. Through the years he and his famous literary circle convened there.

Lewis had been an atheist and had traveled the same path to faith, or back to faith, that those literary fellows like J R R Tolkien, G K Chesterton, and Muggeridge did. Fallen-away, agnostic, skeptical, Socialist, atheist… all became not merely orthodox Christians but fervent believers, uniquely sharing the gospel with the world in ways that we categorize as “apologetics.”

Joy Gresham was an American Jewess who also converted to Christianity. During their short marriage she contracted and died of cancer. The agonizingly brief love story, their marriage of blossoming awareness, lasted from 1956 to 1960.

After Joy’s death, Lewis wrote a tender and thoughtful book on spiritual confrontations with death. Pain, grief, and suffering ironically had been major themes of his early lectures. After Joy’s death he wrote A Grief Observed, but he published it under a pen name, so as not to traffic in his loss. It was such a meaningful and profound book that on its publication, many of Lewis’ friends sent him the book as perfect reading to assuage his grief… not knowing he was the author.

The movie takes a few liberties, as movies do. For instance, the glorious and significant irony of that book about grief “cast upon the waters” and returning to him is not mentioned. Their movie-honeymoon was not to Crawfordsburn, but to a Lewis scene of fond childhood memory (imagine the eagerness to see the places of last year’s visit!)

Shadowlands had my memory race back in time, but not only to favorite books or a tourist spot. I hope it would have the same effect on you… even if, as I have pleaded guilty, you might not have not watched it either! When we confront the things that C S Lewis contemplated – the simplicity of Christianity; the overwhelming love of God; the profundity of grief; the essence of love – we savor the unique wisdom provided by those sensitive souls who know how to translate the Gospel from English to English.

That is, to bring us the blessings of seeing better, hearing more clearly, understanding in a richer manner, and feeling in ways you never thought were available to us. What life holds… what God offers. Things that were always there, of course; but somehow we miss. And by seizing them at the late moments of life, they are appreciated not as “last chances” but as sweet rewards.

Lewis had known Christianity, but ultimately came to know Christ: his head met his heart when Joy entered his life. Joy had known about religion, but when she taught her husband how to hold hands (literally), they found their way to the cross.

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Click: Miserere Mei Deus

2-12-18

St Valentine is one of those saints who has become known as much for not having lived as for the sacred ascriptions to his disputed existence. The Catholic Church removed him from its calendar of actual saints some years ago, bowing to the back-canonical aspect of his legend. Like some other former saints, he might have been invented to fill a need.

Or, there having been several priests and martyrs named Valentine during Christianity’s first few centuries, the saint associated with love and high interpersonal devotion might be an amalgam.

In any case – and to the extent we keep in context the elements of remembering loved ones, and the power of love, and the encouragement to love – we can affirm the flowers and cards and hugs. Hallmark and ProFlowers and CandyGrams aside, it is good to revere love in the larger sense.

Love, actually, is not love if considered, and exercised, outside the “larger” context. People have tried to define the distinctions between humankind and beasts – laughing, cruelty, imagination, disco music – but Loving must be the predominant quality. We can receive love; we can offer love; we can act according to love, at least when we are not hating, and this explains a lot of history’s art and music and literature and poetry.

Can we understand it? Not fully, I say… but that is part of its allure and fascinating essence. I also think we are fated to only imperfectly express love: and even then only to the extent we can receive it.

“Love is patient, love is kind… ”

Which gets us face-to-face with God’s love. His love created the world – the universe and all therein. His love supersedes His vengeful aspects in that while we were yet sinners, He sent His only Son to become flesh and dwell among us, and take upon Himself the punishment we deserve for our rebellion. That is love.

As I asked above, Can we understand it? As I answered, not fully. We never will. But we can accept it.

Recently we shared thoughts here about unanswered prayer. Can a loving God say No to our earnest pleas? As God, fulfilling His job description so to speak, He knows what we need, even when we are persistent about things we want. The basis of that (as if He needs to justify Himself… but understanding this helps our faith) is… Love.

The heart is a fist-sized organ with fleshy tubes in and out, chambers, valves, and uncountable pulsations. How this hard-working bloody thing came to be associated by poets and painters, saints and sages, with the tenderest of often indescribable emotions is another thing I will never understand.

Yet we draw heart shapes when we are in love, despite the fact they don’t resemble hearts. We send drawings of them to those we love; we carve them into tree trunks. Even the worst characters in history have loved someone – a girl or guy; their mothers; a pet. It is a disease for which there is no immunity. Thank God.

On the other hand, the human race is not immune to the Broken Heart either. In a way, these sad experiences validate the positive truth and power of romantic love: it is not abstract, not an illusion. To paraphrase the poet: Love is real! Love is earnest!

Returning to the God-foundation of these matters (as He is the foundation of all things), even God has not escaped the reality of a Broken Heart. He identifies with our sorrow, our grief, and to the aspect of love that can “leave a hole” in our emotions.

God Himself? Yes, despite His plans and ordained Will, He knew – He knows – what it is like to lose a Son. But God so loved the world…

Please think of love, then, as more than the cheap theme for a holiday; and don’t let it ever become a cheap theme in your life.

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Click: Open the Eyes of My Heart