Monday Morning Music Ministry

5-30-22

America has become so secularized that we are stripping our traditional religious observances – Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving – of spiritual distinctives, re-branding them in schools, public squares, and the media as Winter, Spring, and Fall Fests, and more innocuous labels when they can be found.

Even worse, our secular solemnities also are being neutered. The greatest of presidents whose lives are inspirations have been consigned to virtual snow-globes and shaken up as flakes in a generic “presidents day” flurry, lost among unfortunate and forgotten nonentities. Fireworks and parades on the Fourth of July are symbols that largely have yielded to barbecues and reunions. All of those former commemorative days have morphed into excuses for long weekends and cheesy TV commercials.

Suffering not the least in this rush to homogenize our cultural heritage is Memorial Day. I thank God that some people still recall and honor the origin of the patriotic day, originally “Decoration Day,” established for visits to graves and monuments of fallen heroes.

We can be thankful for small favors, but I generally curse the impulse that kidnaps Memorial Day and uses it as an excuse to “mark the beginning of summer” and inspire weekend sales at furniture outlets and used-car lots.

My dad served in World War II (he overflew D-Day in a Weather Squadron) and came home; so “his day,” as with millions of others, and from other wars, was Veterans Day. Memorial Day honors those who sacrificed their lives.

Military service always incurs sacrifice, whether men were drafted or men and women who volunteer. And no less (to the nation’s shame) spouses and children who often sacrifice greatly too. From my perspective, and what inhabits my desire to memorialize and hold these dead in awe, is what motivated those service personnel whom we honor.

In every war through history, combatants sometimes have been motivated by hate. It manifests itself in all sorts of ways, from summoning bravery… to action “beyond the call of duty”… to, occasionally throughout history, savagery and atrocities. The range of motives and performance is wide – but I have always believed that the essence of hatred, if it could be distilled and measured, routinely is stronger in civilian leaders than in the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines.

Largely this is due to the underlying causes of many wars. As a historian and as a Christian, I will unfurl the flag of my cynicism. Wars have been fought for noble reasons, including defense and rescue operations. Many also have been fought for territorial gain or commercial advantages – often brutal, yet arguable extensions, as von Clausewitz wrote, of politics and diplomacy.

Cynicism joins the battle, so to speak, when we recognize how many wars have been fought, and lives lost, over hollow objectives; futile suicide missions; changing war goals; civilian slaughter; friendly embraces of recent enemies; abandoned rationales for “why we fight”; and neglect of gold-star families and veterans’ needs.

Should I mention such things on a Memorial Day? I cannot help it; but in my mind such memories inspire a greater motivation – indeed, a necessity – to honor the dead. If not the wars, memorialize the dead.

Most fallen soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines, I believe, have not fought and died out of hatred, even against malign enemies… but more out of love.

They love their homeland. They love their families, their Main Streets, their heritage. They love their flag. They love peace, the ultimate goal. More – and here is what leaves me awestruck and deserves our “memorialization” – they love service. They love serving. They love and accept and embrace sacrifice.

How many people have that “DNA” any more? Thank God for the “few and the proud” in all military branches… and we surely can wonder whether the “few” are growing fewer in society. If America’s shores and cities and towns were invaded, would regular citizens be willing (or able, if guns are confiscated) to rise up in defense?

I truly wonder whether the ghostly echelon of the fallen – whose graves I hope we all will visit on Memorial Day, even if the cemeteries and the gravestone names are unfamiliar – would have been so dedicated if they could have looked ahead and could have seen what has America has become. I won’t start a checklist of horrible transformations in our society, but if you have read this far, you probably agree with me. If not… well, the right publicly to disagree, which is threatened, remains one of things our fallen heroes died to protect.

Salute. Shed a tear. Raise a prayer. We honor fallen heroes for wearing the uniform, embracing the flag, and sacrificing “their lives, their fortunes, their sacred honor.” Let us honor them too for America’s dwindling (God forbid) spirit of service and sacrifice.

Let us pray that not one of them, after all, did not die in vain.

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Click: Memorial Day – Taking Chance

5-23-22

It is one thing that you and I occasionally ignore God’s Commandments; too frequently we break the laws of God outright and defy His will. We will sin and rebel and disobey, even in our “best” times and despite good intentions. Occasionally? Actually, countless times; but who’s counting? (Oh. God is.)

We have sin natures. Accepting Christ’s atoning work on the cross – that He accepted the punishment we deserve as sinners before a Holy God – will not completely erase our tendencies to sin, nor acts of sin.

A mighty change in the situation, however, is that we are forgiven when confessing the finished work of Jesus, the Message of the Cross.

But I wonder: It is one thing that we tend to defy His will for our lives and ignore Jesus’s teachings about duties as devoted believers in Him…

We might ignore His commands. But how often do we ignore His blessings?

This is a serious question, because it is a serious matter. As sinners, we need forgiveness, and that is why God became Incarnate. He became flesh, dwelt among humankind, knew our temptations and sorrows and pain; He suffered death but overcame it that we might live as He did, and does.

That is theology: We all have sinned and fallen short of the Glory of God. Jesus redeemed us.

Jesus did not come that we learn Gratitude. He did not die in order that we break out in Thanksgiving. It was not necessary that He go to the cross as the way for us to voice Praise.

… those attitudes will follow the saved sinner, born-again Christians. But our focus should be Jesus’s focus: the remission of sins.

However.

I believe that God is grieved when we do not experience Gratitude, or express Thanksgiving, or sing praises to Him. We do not want to grieve God. But it always amazes me when Christians do not exhibit unbridled joy when considering Who God is, and What He has done!

… perhaps it is because we simply do not think about it? Do we take His gifts, and His love, for granted? God forbid!

It is not that He has been shy on the matter! Give thanks to the Lord for He is good… He promises joy unspeakable and full of glory… The JOY of the Lord is my strength… Praise the Lord, o my soul; and all that is within me!… Praise the Lord in song!… Let the redeemed of the Lord say so!… Give thanks to the Lord for He is good; His mercy endures forever… Come before His presence with thanksgiving!…

…Through Jesus, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise.

You know the Bible verses, and many others. If these are not commands, they are recommendations! Seriously, they are, even more then recommendations, a checklist of natural responses we should have to the Love of God.

We all have been where I have been lately. There are times when believers – who know the truth, who have accepted Jesus – just get to places where it somehow is difficult to summon that gratitude, and thanksgiving, and praise. The world closes in; circumstances oppress us; the enemy taunts.

Well, that is the time to do what that verse says: offer a sacrifice of praise.

You don’t feel like doing it? That’s why it’s called a sacrifice: it’s not supposed to be easy… and would not be worth much if it were easy. There can never be a moment, or something that you can think of, that you can not thank God for. Begin: A minor thing; a silly thing; a little thing.

Your mind will move to bigger things. Fuller blessings. Greater thanks. The devil will stop taunting and the Holy Spirit will start whispering to you; then, shouting. You will move into a place where your attitude is adjusted. You will not only be praising; you will be happy; you will be joyful, a different thing; you will be grateful. And so will God.

He is worthy of all praise. And you will sense that you have entered the Courts of Praise with thanksgiving!

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Click: Thank You

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

5-9-22

Readers will know that I am not skirting with blasphemy in the essay’s title, but rather surrendering to proper reverence.

And I will not even mention the cliché, at Mother’s Day, that all days are mothers’ days. Whoops, I just did. The value of clichés, since they inherently are true, can dissipate if applied to every day of the year, so let Hallmark have its fun… but do not lose sight of what we properly should pause and cherish.

God ordained the family unit. Fathers are responsible for provision, leadership models, and authority (I Timothy 3; Ephesians 5; etc) – heavy responsibilities. Women are different, and different beyond the evident characteristics. Mothers, more so.

That there is a qualitative difference between motherhood and fatherhood is axiomatic, not original to me. Those people who have mothers and fathers (so that includes most all of humankind, by my count) instinctively know this. The bonds between mothers and children simply are different than the case with fathers, despite dads’ roles as models and teachers, examples and disciplinarians. The bonds that tie us to mothers involve strength and tenderness; instruction and forbearance; rules and forgiveness.

Fathers can seem weak when they violate rules they set down; but somehow mothers are at their best when they bend; understanding, hugging, smiling. And, somehow, mothers’ work in this regard ultimately is more effective.

Through all of animate creation, the unique aspects of motherhood have the same invisible bonds, tender but strong; gentle but formative.

No wonder they have their special day.

And how interesting it is in these times, this current Mother’s Day, that such thoughts are pertinent to controversies that bizarrely rage in public discourse. Theodore Roosevelt, whom my readers know I quote slightly fewer times than the Bible, once said in typical wisdom, about the role of women in modern life: “Equality of rights does not mean equality of function.” How prescient, although I doubt that even he could have foreseen the popular delusions and madness of crowds that has gripped an approximate half of the American population.

He held these truths to be self-evident, that there are two sexes; that there are physical differences between them; and that (as careful reading of relevant Bible verses hold) no denigration nor subjugation nor modified rights may be deduced from such facts of nature.

The absence of common sense that reigns today reflects a pathology that transcends feminism, ignores physical realities, and is, in the end, a revelation of self-destructive tendencies… even self-loathing, self-hate. American civilization has devolved into a Culture of Death. A healthy nation cannot perpetuate itself nor survive when it tolerates the destruction of the nuclear family… when divorce is a casual and common thing… when drug abuse and alcoholism are rife… when child abuse and spousal abuse are similarly common… when crimes are not prosecuted, and nihilism is excused… when homosexuality and other gender disinformation is tolerated and encouraged – the very definition of a death-culture, the impulses contrary to procreation… when aborting babies is encouraged by the sanction of law.

Some people, of course, call those babies “collections of cells” or “blobs,” yet fingers, faces, and feelings are evident by photographs and other means… as if we need such science. (Recently, for a season, people of faith were painted as enemies of science.) And abortionists sell bodies parts and tiny organs from these collections of cell and blobs: interesting. A commercial impetus, perhaps, for elected officials who advocate abortions until full term and even after birth. A step from euthanasia; “mercy killings” with scant mercy.

Because of current legal debates, this aspect of the Culture of Death rages once again. It is a political litmus-test like no other, this dogmatic commitment, almost a maniacal frenzy, to abort babies. To force people to assent, no matter their moral beliefs. To require every citizen to pay for the deaths of those babies, the decisions of those mothers. Even the underpinning is fungible: “our bodies,” except when it comes to vaccines, or schoolchildren’s minds…

By the way, regarding my terminology here, even the President of the United States — unintentionally uttering the truth, going off the abortion-lovers’ script — this week talked about “aborting children.” Not blobs of cells, not fetuses. But intellectual schizophrenia of these people should not be a surprise. At one moment they defend women; at the next they claim (as a Supreme Court nominee did) inability to define a “woman.” They work fervently to deny and destroy many aspects of being a women. They are feminists who regard femininity as shameful; they invent privileges but reject the natural (and beneficial) perquisites afforded to women.

Sixty-million children have been killed (or insert the attempts at use euphemisms like “terminated.” What a schreckliche term, if you know what I mean) since Roe v Wade was decided. At one time I was casual, even an advocate, of the procedure. I have regretted that and spent many sleepless nights and raised many pleas for forgiveness… and so have many others. Part-mothers and almost-fathers: many have seen the light and know that God “does not despise a broken and contrite heart.” He offers mercy and forgiveness.

In the meantime, we face the possible re-adjustment in this contemporary practice of infant sacrifice; the contemporary style is to sacrifice children to the gods of convenience and numb morals. We also face the prospect of another season of civil unrest. We hear the hysterical predictions – that women will lose the right to vote! that segregation will return to water fountains!! that slavery surely will return!!! Home addresses, phone numbers, and personal information about the wives and children of justices and senators are being published, to enable physical intimidation or worse.

The “end” of abortions is not threatened, however, except in the “minds” of the shock-troops of this Culture-of-Death revolution. To the surprise of some people and the dismay of others, the complete rejection of Roe will not abolish abortion in America. Each state will decide that question. So, fasten your seat belts.

The United States is one of only seven nations (out of 198) on the entire globe to permit abortions after 20 weeks of pregnancy. Good company: the enlightened gulags of North Korea and Communist China are in our club. Even Ruth Bader Ginsberg wrote in a lengthy law review article that she thought Roe was wrongly decided; and she predicted the turmoil we currently endure. Almost 20 years ago I interviewed Norma McCorvey (the “Roe” of the case). The tale of her early manipulation, and fear, and regret, was heart-rending. Life-long, she was a pawn in this deadly game – not game of life, as a saying goes; but of death.

To my original point – the “nub” of Mother’s Day. Speaking as a man who completely cherished the love of my mother, the joy of my wife giving birth and rearing our precious children, the unspeakable pride, seeing my own daughters becoming nurturing mothers – I am, in a way I cannot fully express, admiring of those Human Havens, moms.

Why women pretend not to be women; why they despise the precious and unique gifts they possess; why they insanely invent new genders and regard Rights as Wrongs and vice-versa; why they cannot tolerate other women who want to be women, and wives, and mothers… is inexplicable.

Except that they are committed, active soldiers in this corrosive Culture of Death cult.

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Please take a moment today and watch this tender music video. Three Kleenex for me.

Click: A Mother Like You

5-2-22

The Shroud of Turin is back in the news. New scientific tests and findings; new “expositions” – displaying of the actual cloth and exact replicas; 3-D formations; analyses of the cloth, even minerals and pollen found in the fibers.

Old mysteries, new debates; old debates, new mysteries.

A summary for those who have not heard of the Shroud or followed its occasional appearance in news stories. The lengthy piece of cloth (approximately 14.5 feet by 3.5 feet) is reputed to be the burial cloth of Jesus, or in any event a man who was laid upon the cloth which then was brought forward to cover the front of the body. That is, not wrapped like a mummy.

The Shroud was imputed to be that of Jesus because there is a faint yet detailed image of a man fitting the details of a body abused as described in Bible accounts.

Mysteries immediately present themselves:

Why have people thought the man was Jesus? First, the man’s features are that of a Palestinian Jew, with beard and hair in the style of Jesus’s time.

Further mysteries: there are apparent bloodstains and wounds and hematomas, and many of them. That the Shroud did not hold an average prisoner or random tortured criminal (besides the fact that the condemned would not have been afforded careful and honored burials in such shrouds) is another evident mystery: a great number of the evidences of the man of the Shroud correspond to Jesus’s Passion and death.

The mysteries of those bloodstains: Bloodstreams from thorns thrust on the head. A wound on the side (Jesus was pierced with a spear between the ribs). Other “stripes” – evidence of whippings and scourging as recorded in the Bible. Bruises, particularly on the face, correspond to the accounts of how Jesus was beaten.

There have been accusations and suspicions of forgery which skepticism is a reason the Shroud is frequently in the news: the wounds where spikes would have held the body on a cross are through the wrists, not hands. For centuries, Christians traditionally assumed that nails pieced Jesus’s hands – which is only the case in a general or poetic sense, but not by correct anatomy. Relatively recently, researchers nailed corpses to crosses; through the hands, the body’s weight ripped through the hands and the bodies fell. But because the wrist has many bones, the bodies were upheld. The man of the Shroud shows nail wounds through the wrists. Ancient forgers, if there were, did not depict that; innumerable artists  of ancient times depicted the crucified Jesus with nails or scars in the hands.

The biggest mystery is the image itself. It is faint; it shows a man as described in the Gospels, brutalized and naked. Through the centuries, people wondered, however, why the image appeared in sepia tones and “almost” real. But somehow “backwards” or reversed. Why? When the Shroud was first photographed in the late 1890s, its photographic negatives startled the world: HERE was a virtual photograph of a man fitting the Bible’s descriptions.

A mystery: the Shroud was a virtual photographic negative! What? Why? How?

Books have been written, and will be; but I will try to condense and summarize the facts, doubts, proofs, tests, and… mysteries. Ownership of the Shroud could be traced back only to about 1300. It was either forged then, or, as claimed, was hidden, cherished, then kept from Moslem invaders of churches in Turkey that claimed to possess such a relic.

How was the image made? It is not of paint or dyes; the image does not permeate the cloth; and (years before the atomic age) the idea was advanced that at the moment of Resurrection, a supernatural burst of some sort scorched the Shroud, transferring the image we see.

There are strange patches on it today. They were sewn when a fire occurred in a church where it was housed centuries ago, and its silver reliquary melted and burned in the folded cloth. Speaking of its being folded, the Shroud might explain the mystery of “Veronica’s Veil,” an ancient legend of a cloth that mysteriously took on the face of Jesus when a sympathetic woman wiped his sweat as the cross was carried to Golgotha. The Shroud in ancient times evidently was displayed in folded form, showing only Jesus’s face… perhaps inspiring that legend.

So the Shroud evidently was seen and venerated for decades after the Resurrection… went missing through persecution and wars… and for a thousand years has been traced in castles and churches, now residing in a basilica in Turin, Italy.

Skeptics have demanded proofs; and even the Vatican is neutral about its authenticity. Historians, doctors, experts in geography, agronomy, fabric analysis, and forensic science have debated. On both sides. Mysteries arise and are stoked: disagreements on the types of cloth weaves… the explanation for pollens on the Shroud from the area around Jerusalem (that is, not in a European forger’s studio)… measurements of the anatomy of the man of the Shroud… explanations for the absence of paints and the presence of blood serum. And so forth.

Back in the 1970s, when many discoveries were made and hotly debated, I became very interested in the Shroud, and researched all I could. I acquired rare publications from the 1890s, when the world became curious; I purchased documentary materials and even delivered lectures with a slide show. “The Mysteries of the Shroud.”

The church’s handlers allowed for a small portion of the Shroud to be cut, and undergo Carbon-14 dating analysis… whose conclusion (without explaining the manner of the image’s transfer and other mysteries) was that the Shroud was about a thousand years old, not 2000 years. Yet mysteries were compelling.

For instance, new technology has enabled the formation of 3-D models based on scans of the image on the Shroud. I was present at its display – a perfectly formed body of a man, every aspect in perfect proportions. Imagery even identified details on the coins placed on the body’s eyes… but that are disputed by others. Pollen, tiny seeds, the fabric composition, so much more, was explained… or explained away.

Meanwhile, Carbon-Dating has been found often to be unreliable, and easily contaminated. Some mysteries might have been answered this week, from a new technology that has dated the Shroud as from the time, and place, of Jesus’s life. Specifically, almost an exact match with fabrics from the siege of Masada, 74-55 B.C., in Israel.

“Wide-Angle X-ray Scattering,” or WAXS, measures the natural aging of flax cellulose. A scientist from Bari, Italy, described its superiority to carbon-14 spectrology: “Molds and bacteria, colonizing textile fibers, and dirt or carbon-containing minerals, such as limestone, adhering to them, in the empty spaces between the fibers that at a microscopic level represent about 50 per cent of the volume, can be so difficult to completely eliminate in the sample cleaning phase, which can distort the dating.”

As I said above, we have old mysteries, new debates; and old debates, new mysteries.

I invite you to think about the mysteries as much as about the Shroud, compelling as that is. Whether old or half-old, authentic or forgery, plausible or impossible… it is a matter of faith. And what is that “matter” of faith? – only something that can excite our curiosity and engage our interest.

At best – and I write as someone who is quite persuaded that this actually held the body of Jesus Christ – the Shroud is a relic. An object. As a relic, let it not persuade you (as relics have, sadly, throughout history, persuaded people) that it is holy; that it can save your soul; that it can heal you; that you should venerate or pray to it.

I have been to many sites in Europe where relics are housed and displayed: fingers of saints; locks of hair; skulls of martyrs. A favorite church near my favorite hotel in Rome, the Basilica of St-Paul-Outside-the-Wall, as it is known, has a wall of boxes and shelves with many of these “holy objects.” If all the “pieces of the True Cross” in European churches were put together, it would look like a redwood forest…

If I am dismissive, why have I pursued and maintain an interest in the Shroud? Very simply, because it is a graphic display, miraculously detailed, of what our Savior endured for us. It illustrates how He was tortured. It reveals everything He experienced. It documents, life-sized, every detail of humiliation, rejection, suffering. Eyes closed, somehow at peace – released – it visually explains what He allowed Himself to go through…

… to suffer and die as a substitute for the punishments we deserve as sinners. I cry when I think about what Jesus did for us; I cry when I look into the face of the Man of the Shroud. I rejoice that it exists – to remind me of the Cross and what He did for us.

I believe the Shroud survived to be that Holy Reminder for us. It explains what the Bible’s words tell. A Forgery? If so, why, then, didn’t forgers manufacture dozens of fake shrouds, instead of only one? Skeptics says that the image on the Shroud must have been “borrowed” from the way Byzantine artists depicted Christ – meanwhile never considering that, on the contrary, those countless painters depicted Jesus according to what they saw on the Shroud. Mysteries, yeah.

The real mystery? To me, it is that people can keep themselves from being moved by the story of His death on the Cross. And it is a mystery that people venerate relics instead of the Truth behind them.

In these days between the observances of the Resurrection and Jesus’s Ascension to Heaven, contemplate what is not a mystery – that the Creator of the Universe loved you so much that He sent His Son to live among humankind to suffer like this, and miraculously rise to life again. And all of which we can understand more powerfully through the Shroud. It is, literally, the Message of the Cross.

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Click: Rise Again

4-25-22

It is commonly asserted that religion is on the decline in the United States, in the West, and indeed around the world. The polls affirm this; Christians decry the figures; and the growing numbers of secularists in established centers of power and influence celebrate.

The trend is noted about Christianity, but is widely applied to other faiths as well. Islam’s imperialism often is as much military as militant, and of repressive, societal goals. Eastern religions often have faded into traditionalism, and the billions of people who live under Communism endure the illegality of religious practice.

Yet I maintain that the 21st century is one of the most religious eras in the history of humankind.

It is not a word game to invite you to understand the distinctions. Words and definitions are important in an essay, and vital to proceed in our daily lives. Approximately 2.5-billion people in the world are Christians. Roughly one in three souls in the earth’s population profess a belief in Christ. Islam is second in total numbers.

Many people assume that Islam is “on the march” in places like Africa, and Christianity is in retreat. But in fact Christianity is gaining adherents at a faster rate throughout the continent, and it is no coincidence that Mohammedans have turned many areas into bloody battlegrounds. Frequent attacks on Christian schools, Black girls kidnapped and raped, is part of the campaign to intimidate and stifle the spread of Christianity.

There would not be such savagery – or similar attacks in India, Southeast Asia, and China – if Christians were docile, if the faith was in retreat by itself.

… like it is in America and Europe.

Numbers of professing believers in Christ have declined annually for years. Many mainline denominations, churches, and colleges increasing deny the Divinity of Christ. The inerrancy of the Bible is widely renounced. In the view of government, courts, and schools, Biblical standards are rejected – a steady secularist evolution from the beliefs and practices of the Founders.

And so forth. Consistently, people who argue against these points do not defend our spiritual foundations and heritage – they largely and happily welcome the changes; but rather maintain that the trends should cause joy throughout the land.

They are, of course, doomed to repeat the lessons of history, as per Prof. Santayana’s dictum about those who do not learn. It is arrogant nonsense, indeed suicidal foolishness, to think that we have become the first society to successfully experiment with licentiousness, toleration of greed and dishonesty, sexual laxity, corruption of youth, imperialism, and rejection of spiritual values.

Why, then, do I claim that we live in a high-water period of religion?

The distinction I invited early concerns the difference between religion and Christianity.“Religions” are systems of human creation – systems, rules, customs, patterns, laws, inclusions and exclusions. I believe that religion possibly has sent more people to hell than any other external forces.

The difference with Christianity is that (despite the lazy terminology we all employ) it is not a religion. It sounds like a bumper strip, but Christianity is not a religion – it is a relationship. Christ had few “rules”; in fact He was quite clear that the way to find salvation, acceptance by God Almighty, was to believe that Jesus is His Son; that He paid the price, the punishment we deserve before a Holy God; and that He rose from the dead. Believe in your heart, confess with your mouth. That’s it.

Rules, robes, memberships, committees, sacrifices, tithing, memorization, candles, doctrines, all count for nothing in terms of being accepted by God – being a follower of Christ. Oh, we will be motivated to do and share many of these things… but in their proper order! “Seek ye first the Kingdom of God.”

So – again – why do I call this era the most religious of times?

Because of what religion is. As true Christianity declines in America and Europe, religion – remember my definition: belief in human-created rules and regulations – has risen. In this sense, America and Europe live in a post-Christian Age.

But a religion of Secularism has supplanted Christianity. We have secular popes. We have worldly commands and “Thou Shalt Nots” aplenty. There is a common “salvation” according to secular views. Some people anointed – the new “saints” and others are demonized.

The new gospels are agreed upon and advances by Hollywood, Big Media, the Educational-Industrial Complex. Political Correctness provides the new Ten – or more – Commandments. Surely, more and more, people (those with traditional values and Christian standards) are excommunicated: from jobs, schools, neighborhood associations.

It is surprising, really, how the new Secular Religion is counterfeiting many aspects of Christendom. Greta Thunberg is cast as a contemporary Joan of Arc. Activists who discern sudden rights to indoctrinate children act like they have divine revelations; those who resist are cast as heretics. Books are burned by the Politically Correct – an up-to-date Inquisition. Those who impose mandates, or assert that men can declare themselves female, and who legalize abortions and euthanasia… are frankly, declaring themselves gods.

As the Bible prophesied, we live in a time when humankind practices a form of godliness, but denies the power thereof. New England, for instance, is still dotted with beautiful old churches, but many have become literal whited sepulchres – community centers of feel-good and do-good. Maybe people do feel good and do good… but how many throughout America and Europe still preach the Gospel? Accountability for sin? Personal encounters with the Risen Savior?

I am not worried about Jesus – I am not being flippant – but I am worried about His People, His church, the precious heritage we squander. I have peeked ahead to the end of the Book, and… God wins. But that does not at all mean that America wins. Or survives. At the current pace, we don’t deserve to.

We are doomed unless revival comes to the land. I have heard many Christians pray for it, but it is not in God’s nature to bless a wayward generation, the willfully sinfully, so to speak.

Rather it is our task to bring revival, “going forth into all the world,” which in these times means our very neighborhoods. Then we plead for His blessing on the revival we spark. It is useless and false otherwise, much like the charade of godliness this nation has adopted.

Who shall prevail? Is it too late? Is the coming generation too uninformed and misinformed? Is it drugged in bodies and minds? Are the powerful too powerful? Do we have the will to fight – do we know Scripture; do we seek the Lord – in order to defend and counter?

For Christ’s sake, it is all too important.

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A musical allegory of the grief we face. From the 1600s, but regard it as a dirge for Western Civilization, if we do not redeem ourselves.

Click: Dido’s Lament

4-18-22

We have just passed through the darkest days of humankind’s history.

I don’t mean the headlines and videos of the war in Ukraine, or the travails and statistics of our contemporary challenges. I don’t mean, in sweeping reference, to the bloody horrors of the last century.

As we recognize events and commemorate moments of history, whether we learn from the past or pretend things did not happen; whether we honor people or invent heroes of distant days; whether we celebrate fictional events or ignore noble events – I think the most horrible… the coldest… the loneliest… the most confusing… the most frightening days of humankind were the days between the death of Jesus and His rise from the grave.

He died.

The life was gone from Him. The Roman guards pierced his side to make sure, and blood flowed from His heart. He was taken from the cross, and His dead body was cleansed, prepared for burial, covered in a shroud and placed in a donated rich man’s tomb, secured with a heavy stone. His mother and others tended to His burial. Officials placed 24-hour guards at the tomb to make sure that zealots, or His enemies, did not steal the Body.

At the moment that Jesus breathed His last breath, there arose stormy skies and winds. The earth shook. A giant veil in the Temple spontaneously ripped, ceiling to floor. Reports of citizens and contemporary historians, not only Scripture, told of these things.

Turbulent nature was reflected in the minds and hearts of His followers. Distraught that their precious Friend was tortured and killed – taken from them – was compounded by confusion. And terror.

Would they be next?

What of their “movement”?

Not remembering the prophecies of Scripture, or Jesus’s predictions – or His comforting promises – they wondered whether the past three years were a bad dream. Or a ruse, a plot, or a fraud.

They scattered in fear.

What to do? Where to go? Hide? Pretend the Man from Nazareth was a mere teacher, a persuader only, unreliable about all the wisdom He shared?

How to explain all the miracles… the healings, the supernatural wisdom, the changed lives – their changed lives???

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Those few days – after Jesus suddenly had been ripped from their lives and hopes and dreams – must have been the emptiest, coldest hours anyone could experience. Women weeping, men crying for blood, authorities threatening, and… His friends huddled, hiding, shivering in fear.

One disciple said that He had believed Jesus was going to start a revolt against the government. Another said He was sure that Jesus was going to strike the religious leaders and the Roman authorities dead. Another must have doubted that Jesus was the Messiah after all, as they had come to believe.

Surely some – certainly His mother Mary, at least – must have remembered Scriptures, like the symbolism of Jonah in the great fish for three days; or what Jesus said, confusing at the time, about the Temple: if destroyed, it would be restored in three days.

Then the women went to the tomb.

The women intended to honor the dead Jesus, leave perfumes and oils if they could.

The women found the guards gone. The women found the tomb empty. The women saw the burial cloths that had covered the Body… but there was no Body there.

The women returned to the cowering Disciples, sharing what they had seen. All ran, entered the tomb, and saw what the women had reported.

They returned to where they had been hiding, and began to discuss, and plan, and remember things Jesus had foretold, and, and… what? Was Jesus in fact alive? Where was He? Is there hope? Was this not a catastrophe, as they had feared? Was this not — God forgive them for their suspicions — all a strange game? Or was God doing something supernatural, again, in their midst?

Mary Magdalene, however, returned to the tomb. While weeping, a man asked why, and she wondered if “they had stolen” the Savior’s body. She assumed the questioner was a gardener… but she turned and recognized the transformed, resurrected, living Jesus.

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She and the women became the church’s first evangelists. The good news was shared with the Disciples, and then the groups of followers, then the city of Jerusalem and countryside of Galilee, then the world.

Supernatural? For the next 40 days, Jesus appeared spontaneously to individuals and crowds. Walking through walls, performing more miracles, dispensing more wisdom. And now He gave His followers “marching orders,” different than advice about merely how to act. He issued “The Great Commission” – that believers in Him should “go into all the world sharing the Gospel [literally, the good news] and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit; and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.”

Not that Jesus’s ministry was ever a game, but henceforth being a follower of Christ became a serious life-commitment.

He challenged His followers: Do you love Me?

He commanded His followers: Feed My sheep.

He promised His followers: Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.

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Were they ready?

Are we ready today?

Are you ready?

The Life of Jesus is not a mere story. The ministry of Jesus was more than performances to impress crowds. The torture and death of Jesus is more than a lesson. The Resurrection of Jesus was more than proof that He overcomes death. The Ascension of Jesus will be confirmation that He was Divine. That He is one with the Father.

The world might still ignore Him, reject Him, deny Him, explain Him away, persecute Him (and us), in fact hate Him. And us.

The world can be savage against us – because of the Jesus who lives in us – or it can dismiss us; trivialize the Savior. It can call Christianity a game.

Let them do so. We can turn around and call the “game” Jesus played as something He virtually said that Easter morning:

“Here I come… ready or not!”

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Click: He’s Alive

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

4-4-22

In one of my former lives – not that I believe in reincarnation; I mean I have had several and varied careers – I was a writer of Walt Disney comics. Numerous treatments and scripts for Mickey, Donald, Uncle Scrooge, and the rest of the gang.

When I was hired, I was given a “story bible” – note the small-b – which instructed artists and writers how to handle the characters. My essential requirement was to “write like Carl Barks and Floyd Gottfredson.” These were the men most responsible for the Donald and Mickey, respectively, we knew from comic books and strips. These men were heroes; as a fan and scholar I already knew them personally; and of course it was a dream assignment. (Carl had even created the Uncle Scrooge character.)

I have copped a few awards and plaques through the years, and they are on my office wall, but they are arranged around my framed membership certificate from the Mickey Mouse Club, 1955. Dearer to me. “Ricky Marshall,” printed in red, around which those trivialities orbit.

I was, in childhood years and in grownup-childhood years, Mickey’s pal. Uncle Walt’s pal, really; of course I went to the theme parks and collected toys and went to the Disney movies. To kids in America for almost a century now, Mickey has been part of our DNA, in our blood.

Suddenly we are diagnosed with a blood infection, however.

The dissolution of the Magic Kingdom’s magic, the betrayal of Uncle Walt’s vision and ethos, have not been precipitous, but recently have accelerated with a vengeance. At the parks and in cartoons and movies, the words “Ladies” and “Gentlemen” and “Boys” and Girls” literally will be proscribed. A Princess is an endangered species because girls who might not dream of being princesses must not be offended nor have such awful visions planted in their hearts.

Mickey and Tinkerbell have been dethroned as Disney spokespeople; “Goofy” would be more appropriate; I hereby nominate him. Or Cruella.

Today, I would refuse to work for the transformed Disney, this counterfeit colossus. I knew a delightful lady, Virginia Davis, who as a little girl was a neighbor of the unknown Walter Disney in Kansas City. When the ambitious cartoonist dreamed up a concept of a live-action girl in an animated world, which became the silent cartoon series Alice in Cartoonland, Ginni played the role. And when the series became a success, Disney moved to Hollywood to produce more, and the Davis family followed. Decades later, when I invited her, out of retirement in Boise, Idaho, to comics conventions here and in Europe, she recalled uncountable stories of Walt… who, several years after Alice, created Mickey Mouse!

Ginni Davis remained friends with Walt’s widow Lillian. Even 25 years ago, I was told, Lillian was very unhappy with what the Disney “brand” had become; and she thought Walt would not have recognized, or liked, it either. And that was before the studio’s PC-pledges, this week, to sanitize its vocabulary and to make a corporate commitment (as per the Disney website) to design half of the studio’s characters to “come from underrepresented groups.”

Disney’s President of General Entertainment Content Karey Burke confirmed the policy. Despite her title, she claimed in a Zoom call to employees that she was shocked to realize that there were only a “handful” of “queer” lead characters in Disney productions. Odd, since she proudly said that she has two “queer” children herself. Technically, one “gay” and one “pansexual,” a category whose meaning eludes me (as do a couple of the letters in “LGBTQIA+”).

The spark that ignited this latest bit of lunacy was the Florida legislature’s law to prohibit the discussion of topics like transgenderism – including counseling and invitations to role-play – to students from kindergarten to second grade. The governor signed the bill; the growing “woke” elements of the nation’s “virtuous” elites erupted in protest; and Walt Disney World in Orlando – the sprawling megalopolis that enjoys tax and regulatory privileges from the state – went public with its dissent, and initiated political threats.

“Underrepresented,” for those of you who have not been following the map, navigating this new Fantasyland, does not mean creating characters with disabilities, or are Amish or Orthodox or Pentecostal, or albinos, or kids with developmental challenges, or birth defects, or cerebral palsy or Down Syndrome. No conjoined twins, sightless, nor (literal) dwarfs. No, the vast Disney “universe” will be populated 50 per cent by characters representing the minuscule portion of the population with rare sexual attributes like gender dysphagia. Pandering, that is, to a different audience in a particular demographic pool.

Disney’s declaration of war on traditional culture and America’s spiritual and social heritage is a pop-culture version of Russia’s brutal visit to Ukraine. American childhood is the innocent, unsuspecting landscape. This not only represents a serious matter; it is a serious matter.

Speaking of wars, they can be lost, or won. Any of us can go broke or lose a job, but we get a new job, we recover. Couples split up, and get back together… or don’t, but we find new loves eventually. Friends move away; we make new friends. Someone might betray us, and it hurts; but time heals the wound, or we forgive; usually we forget. In awful situations, we get sick, and recover, or cope. Wounded soldiers manage and, increasingly, are supported by those who love and appreciate them. Pets die; we get new pets. Life is a wheel.

But there is one thing that cannot be restored, or repaired, and certainly not redeemed when violated or lost. That is the innocence of a child.

“Kids grow up too fast,” we often hear, and that seems true, but I address more than that. As life has become too loud, too rude, too new, too strange, and, yes, too fast for adults… it surely has for children. Do technology and new media rob children of imagination… or maybe encourage imagination? I suspect it will take generations for that judgment.

But I am not inviting us to think about imagination. I am talking about innocence.

Aspects of sex and sexuality ought to be the domain of parents within the family setting. Similarly, matters of morality. Values. Standards. But teachers, teachers’ unions, liberal politicians and judges, the “entertainment” industry, and the talking animals and prancing fairies at Disney theme parks – they mostly agree that parents are the last people who should inculcate knowledge and wisdom to their children.

Maybe, next, they will propose that parents can be the responsible parties for reading, writing, and arithmetic, since those disciplines are no longer the priorities of schools.

Train children in the way they should grow, and when they are old they will not turn from it (Proverbs 22:6).

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Click: Slumber My Darling

3-28-22

In these busy days, crowded about as we are with wars and rumors of wars, turmoil seemingly on all sides – the economy; trans-national health crises (or not); political and social recriminations; crime; challenges to traditional values that threaten to turn our world upside-down – a news item this week barely peeped amid the din. What it represents is in inverse proportion to its significance.

The poll revealed that for the first time, a minority of the population of the Netherlands claims adherence to a religious faith; membership in a church; belief in God. The majority claims to be atheist or agnostic.

To my suspicious point of view, this perhaps is the “first time” in the history of polling, but not in the history of our contemporary Western Civilization (what used to be called Christendom). We long have been living in a post-Christian society. I do not need to begin rants, no matter how valid, about “God being taken from our schools” or the Establishment’s war on Christian values, or the growing categorization of the Bible as “hate speech.”

I think what has been polled in Holland – the site of such fervent theological studies and activities in generations past, where English Pilgrims lived before sailing to the New World – is true throughout America and Europe these days.

The “Christian West” no longer holds Biblical truths as a priori components of society, government, law, justice, and relationships. This devolution seems to have happened during our lifetimes, but secularism, virtually a religion in itself, is a symptom, not the cause, of liberal theology, of pluralism, of modernity. The Enlightenment was not the first crack in our spiritual foundation, but actually the last gasp of the Theocentric view of life. Despite what many schools teach, the great Enlightenment thinkers were Christians who sought to reconcile, not separate (or “liberate”), the role of God in the world.

God’s place in the world has never changed, and cannot change. The role He plays can change, because it is what humankind practices and grants Him. When Nietzsche said that God Is Dead, he meant in the sense that society failed to acknowledge Him any more.

I frequently remind myself that Martin Luther, back when the Renaissance was evolving into Modernism, maintained that “Reason is the enemy of Faith.”

That is hard to accept. But it is impossible to refute. The intellectual anarchy from which we suffer is the result of 500 years of futility: the culture’s vain attempt, whether benign or hostile, to reconcile Reason and Faith. “Yes, but…” many people will be quick to say. But we must recognize that “progress,” as we routinely identify it, is difficult to define,. And it is a false god in any case.

Some truths need not be improved upon, because that reveals that… they are not truth at all. “Truth” – Biblical truth, Absolute Truth – is not conditional, relational, nor of any other qualification. The deadly temptation of humankind, and a sin of organized societies, is to think that we can without peril discard Biblical standards. Frankly, this started in the Garden: our problem is the sin of pride – our belief that we know better than God.

I write these words during the Lenten season. And part of my Lenten devotion brings these thoughts to my heart, more than usual.

Lent has become, to many Christians who even think about it, a vaguely religious version of New Year resolutions. At best, to some people, a way to remind us of Christ’s sacrifice. In fact that is not why Lent entered the Church calendar. I confess that this will seem glib, but it suggests that Jesus Himself, our model, might have avoided the cross by giving up chocolate for 40 days.

No, if Lent has real meaning and efficacy, it was commended to followers of Christ as a discipline in order to repent of sin. “Successful” denials of habits or entertainment can be, rather, celebrations of self. Even fasting can be self-centered, when we should seek to know God more than please God. Lent was meant to be a time to find Him anew, not hope that He will notice our obedience.

I am not disparaging motivations, but I do want us to focus properly. My own experiences includes a week once spent at a monastery. All comforts (like phones) were banished; silence was mandated; and I lived among monks. On the grounds were Stations of the Cross, and – as I hoped would be the case – I could do nothing day and night but pray, read, and meditate.

At the end of a week that was planned to draw me closer to God, I felt like I knew less about Him. However, I felt closer to Him than I ever had. A mystery, really — but with God many mysteries are to be cherished. The difference, perhaps – an important distinction – was that He seemed to draw closer to me, rather than vice versa. That is how I felt; the solitude and study allowed that.

Lent ought to be (and, God help us, not only confined to the Lenten season!) something like that experience. I am trying this year to meditate, contemplate, read the Word, and pray… and I realize more than ever how contemporary life robs us of quiet time and the ability to consecrate moments. “Yes, but…”

The Lord will manage, as He always has, with wars and rumors of wars, and all the challenges in the headlines. As if we can change, in major ways, the course of human events.

Christ came to earth – and Easter, which lies before us – not so we can save the planet, but so God can save us.

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These essays offer to “put songs in our hearts” to start the weeks. But not all songs are pretty tunes, much as such anointed music can bless us. During Lent, in the spirit not of duty but of humility, repentance, contemplation, spiritual sorrow, intimacy with God, re-dedication, and obedience, there are other forms of Christian music.

If there be a “song for our hearts” during Lent, we might adopt “Lachrimae,” a lute song pavane written by John Dowland around 1600. Its melancholy tune was set to words of a forlorn theme titled Flow, My Tears.

Click: Lachrimae: Flow, My Tears

3-21-22

We can think about Easter all year, and we should. But the Lenten season invites us, makes us ready. The Truth of Jesus’s incarnation… His teachings… His miracles and healings… His willingness – or determination – to be sacrificed for the sin-penalties we deserve… His arrest, imprisonment, and torture… His betrayal… His suffering and crucifixion… His death… His Resurrection… His Ascension: there are things that should be true to us on any and every day of the year.

I mean, Easter is not just for Easter; Christmas is not just for Christmas. The importance and relevance of every moment of Jesus’s life, and the Gospel, should burn to us and through us, every moment of our own lives.

So if we contemplate the details of Holy Week and Easter during Lent, it is a good thing. We can do the same thing around, say, May Day or Hallowe’en too; but here we are. I often find myself imagining what it would have been like to be one of the Disciples. The streaming series The Chosen – the fellowship of Jesus and His followers – is doing a good job of that.

It has always amused me when skeptics and agnostics say that they would find it easier to believe in Christ if only they could see Him; have some tangible proof that He lived and was the Son of God. Why am I amused? Because the Disciples themselves – never mind the multitudes who were taught, fed, and healed – lived every day with Christ. They saw Him walk on water, feed multitudes, heal the sick, raise people from the dead; more things than books could hold. For three and a half years! Day after day, week after week!

… and yet when Jesus was in jeopardy – as He even foretold, just days before – these Disciples fled. They scattered like dry leaves on a windy street. And we think that we would act differently?

I have further guessed that compared to the beatings, torture, whipping, thorns pressed down on His head and nails hammered through his wrists and feet… that the worst suffering felt by our Savior was the betrayal of His friends, their abandonment of Him.

We fool ourselves – and dare to fool God – if we believe that we would have been any different than the Disciples in those days before the Crucifixion.

“Different” is the operative word. Let us understand that Jesus chose the Disciples because they were not different. They had different talents and backgrounds, yes; but they were ordinary people – no celebrities, no dignitaries – and they were no different than you and me. So we can identify. We can learn from their experiences, admirable and cowardly and… human.

A great lesson, drawn from the actions of the Disciples that week, is presented by the different choices of two of them, Judas and Peter.

Judas, from the little we know, was sort of the treasurer of the little group, at least handling affairs as Matthew also did. As is well known, Judas betrayed Jesus by accepting a bribe from Roman authorities to reveal Christ’s whereabouts, and further to identify Him by embracing Him, on cue, before centurions. Jesus was then arrested and thus began His “trial” and execution.

He betrayed Jesus.

Soon remorseful, he scattered those 30 gold pieces and hanged himself.

Peter, during those same hours of turbulence, was asked by authorities if he were associated with the Man who called Himself the Christ. Three times Peter denied even knowing this Jesus. When he heard a rooster, he was thunderstruck and remembered that Jesus recently had predicted, “Before the cock crows three times, you will deny Me.”

He denied Jesus. He knew Him… but denied knowing Him. Was it much different than betrayal? I don’t think so.

Peter, to me the most impulsive, sometimes random, and always most human of the Disciples, was remorseful too. But he did not hang himself. It is not recorded that he was at the cross – Jesus’s mother, Mary, remained faithful – but we know that he huddled in fear after Jesus died, with the remaining Disciples. He endured, avoiding the self-abnegation of Judas and the skepticism of Thomas… and he met the Resurrected Christ.

From the accounts, he was the “same” Peter while Jesus showed Himself and ministered and preached and healed for those 40 days after the Resurrection, and before Ascending to Heaven. And he seems to have been the same Peter, huddling in confusion in the Upper Room where Jesus had told them to wait.

Wait for what?

The Holy Spirit is recorded to have come upon them, and others, “as a mighty rushing wind.” After that, people were transformed. They spoke in “strange tongues,” the languages of angels and of foreigners. They were imbued with knowledge and power… and wisdom.

After that experience Peter became a mature leader. He might have remained impulsive, but now it was to establish the Church and plant communities of believers. On that day, the Feast of Pentecost, the Church was born, and lives yet today.

Judas had betrayed more than Jesus; he betrayed the hope of Salvation and Forgiveness that easily could have been his. Peter denied knowing Jesus, but he exercised that glimmer of hope that redemption was drawing nigh.

Are you a Judas, or a Peter? I don’t mean betraying or denying Jesus… because when we sin, as we all do, we betray Him and deny Him.

It is our choice, however, how to react; to be remorseful and turn inward like Judas, or to wait upon Jesus and His promises, His Resurrected power, to come to us. To embrace the hope of Christ’s forgiveness.

Easter is about that hope.

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Click: Whispering Hope

3-14-22

A friend woke up one morning this week more annoyed than usual with a nagging cough and heavy breathing. In quick succession: a visit to the doctor; diagnosis of a “massive blood clot” in her lung; and its dissolution that afternoon.

A new friend told me of a similar story, but in her case a persistent uncomfortable feeling. After diagnosis and almost immediate surgery to remove a “gangrenous gall bladder,” she was also told that a day’s delay might have meant death.

Another friend sustained a double-whammy when she suffered a stroke and was diagnosed with cancer of the spine.

This is not a pity-party, because into all lives rain will fall – not “might,” but “will.” And the Bible reminds us that the rain falls on the just and the unjust. Life’s quality is regulated by how we respond to such things.

How do we respond?

There is not one way, no 12-step emotional program nor spiritual one-size-fits-all guide. The Heavenly Healer prescribes prayer, and trust, and faith, however. I have come to accept the ironic strength of an essential humility when we boldly approach God. He is sovereign; and I cannot think of sending my own list of demands to Him when I have seen Him work in mysterious ways His wonders to perform.

But I have seen miracles in answer to prayer – doctors saying they simply cannot explain a healing or the disappearance of a cancer. And then there are results that we could never anticipate but are blessings nonetheless. My friend learned that we can live, albeit with annoying adjustments, without a gall bladder… but in her case a new diet of healthy, fresh, and wholesome foods has been a remarkable blessing overall.

Another prescription is an attitude adjustment, and I learned about that in a roundabout way.

When my late wife was listed for transplants for her failing heart and kidney, she began a Bible fellowship for patients like her, waiting (and waiting and waiting) at Temple University Hospital in Philadelphia. Well, not every patient was like her, because in her life Nancy also endured diabetes, strokes, cancer, and celiac disease, among other ailments. The fellowship became a family ministry, with weekly services.

It emerged that through the years (because we continued the ministry after her transplants) of the many hymns and songs, one found special favor of the patients. The people were, of course, from all backgrounds, but the Gospel song “Leave It There” was frequently requested, and often evoked tears.

If your body suffers pain and your health you can’t regain, And your soul is almost sinking in despair,
Jesus knows the pain you feel, He can save and He can heal; Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.

Leave it there, leave it there, Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.
If you trust and never doubt, He will surely bring you out. Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.

A sermon in song, surely. After a while I discovered an amazing “coincidence” that none of us had known. That song, maybe a hundred years old, had been written only a few blocks from Temple University Hospital!

C A Tindley, the son of a slave, educated himself, moved north to Philadelphia, secured a job as janitor of a church… and eventually became its pastor. His large mixed-race flock of 10,000 enjoyed his powerful preaching and his moving hymns for years. (One of his hymns, “I’ll Overcome Some Day,” was transformed with different words and tempo into the Civil Rights anthem “We Shall Overcome.”) Tindley Temple United Methodist Church was his “home,” and today there is a C A Tindley Boulevard in Philadelphia.

And there we were, in his back yard, so to speak, being blessed – and in some ways, to souls and spirits as well as bodies.

Now we can fast-forward to other saints among us with physical challenges. Many people know of the husband and wife singers Joey and Rory. The Feeks seemed to come from nowhere and find great success in country and Gospel music. Simple country folks who shunned Nashville’s neon lights, lived off the land on their farm, and won the hearts of a growing number of fans.

Those fans rejoiced when Joey announced she was pregnant, and we briefly grieved when it was discovered that the daughter she carried had Down’s Syndrome. Unlike 90 per cent (these days) of mothers learning this news, Joey determined to keep, and love, her daughter named Indie (for Indiana). Then, soon after giving birth… Joey was diagnosed with inoperable cancer. Rory kept a video diary of her struggles, her faith, and ultimately her death.

One of Joey and Rory’s best friends and performance partners was the amazing singer Bradley Walker. His deep, expressive voice emanates from a thin, still body in a wheelchair: Bradley has muscular dystrophy. This week’s video is of him singing Brother Tindley’s song “Leave It There” at Joey Feek’s humble gravesite.

How does a man with his lifelong challenges sing to the Lord, at the grave of a woman whose life took such unexpected turns? How did my late wife, how do the friends I have told you about, praise God in the midst of troubles?

How does a beautiful little flower sprout and grow between cracks in heavy rocks? How do “fragile” flowers thrive in harsh places? How do colorful flowers sprout and bloom in dark and ugly places?

If you trust and never doubt, He will surely bring you out.

Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.

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Click: Bradley Walker – Leave It There

3-7-22

This aphorism has been attributed to, and claimed by, by many people. Likely first written by the Greek dramatist Aeschylus (550 BC), it strikes a universal chord. Yet for its wisdom, universally acknowledged, it seldom has guided those who could learn from its application, and routinely is shunned until the ashes of wars are sifted.

“Nine-tenths of wisdom is being wise at the proper time,” Theodore Roosevelt famously said.

So, in the war raging on our TV and internet screens, and in the hearts and minds of the world, no less, the first and frequent casualties are truth once again. I am not referring to the most blatant examples – phony statistics, videos of carnage from a decade ago being presented as breaking news, the pledges of invaders being violated as the words are spoken.

These “casualties” are too predictable, and might be outright propaganda or the result of well-intentioned confusion. In the “fog of war,” since these factors are common, I suggest – unless we are victims ourselves, in the midst of bombs dropping – that we ought to step back. If the issues and images are compelling (and they are), and if we can somehow influence events (as we must attempt), it is better that we exercise objectivity.

How can we be objective when we see hospitals destroyed and grandmothers – and grandchildren – crying? Choosing objectivity and seeking truth do not obviate concern, passion, sympathy, and grief. There is enough hatred playing out on our screens without choosing to filter every development through hatred of our own; to determine winners, losers, victims, aggressors, the past and the future… before the news report is over; and from 5000 miles away.

My advice hardly will change things on the ground in Ukraine. But it might change things in our midst. Wars rage elsewhere; they do not need to rage in our hearts. If we cannot, by ourselves, immediately affect a war in Ukraine, we surely can, by ourselves indeed, affect wars that might rage in our own hearts. As a beginning, that would be nine-tenths of the proper time.

Perspective.

The brilliant Russian-born soprano Anna Netrebko was removed from the title role in the upcoming Turandot production at the Metropolitan Opera; general manager Peter Gelb announced that it was unlikely that she would ever perform at the Met again. Her crime was failing to sign a statement repudiating her association with Vladimir Putin, despite her public announcement, “I am opposed to this senseless war of aggression and I am calling on Russia to end this war right now, to save all of us. We need peace right now.” Nevertheless she was fired from other engagements, or withdrew from many other opera companies around the world.

I noted this situation, and a friend wrote that Anna was “less than a human being.” She did not raise a bazooka; rather raises her beautiful voice, and millions of dollars for charities, yet American haters can claim a victory.

Remaining in her artistic field, I am reminded that violinist Isaac Stern vowed never to perform in Germany – former Nazi Germany, of course – yet Leonard Bernstein conducted in Munich and Vienna; and violinist Itzhak Perlman has performed in Berlin. Are they naive, insensitive, stupid? (Surely they are not secret Nazis!) What is the expiration-date, or other mitigating aspects, on hatred?

Russia seems to be employing cluster-bombs and other instruments of mass destruction: worthy of war-crime prosecution. TV’s red areas on maps of Ukraine spread every hour, like blood on the carpet from a murdered corpse. The scenes we behold make me wonder if we might see incendiary bombs (those that cause widespread fire, sucking the air from peoples’ lungs over wide sections of a city), possibly killing upwards of a hundred thousand people.

… yet that happened, at least once before in history. Two months before World War II ended, the “art city” of Dresden, without defenses because it was a city of museums and no factories or barracks (in fact having become a city of hospital beds for refugees) was ordered fire-bombed by Winston Churchill. If England had lost the war, he would have been regarded as a war criminal, and even so within two decades some his pilots defied their orders never to discuss that atrocity.

Am I playing “Devil’s Advocate”?

Precisely the opposite. What is missing these days – and many of the days when wars rage – is people who will play “God’s Advocate.” Where are those voices? I don’t mean charitable groups like Samaritan’s Purse: God bless the dangerous and heroic and loving work of Christian organizations.

I refer to the consequential players, and, yes, each of us at a distance, if we can pray and act and influence the policymakers. Can we search for perspective first?

There is right and wrong; there is good and bad. There are monsters among us. Some of them might even call themselves Christians. There are reports (I don’t know, yet reports are numerous and long-standing) that Putin, in his public adherence to the Russian Orthodox Church, shares the vision of the Moscow Patriarch that all of “Mother Russia” be restored. No matter the cost?

I (knowing something of history) have a little hope, a little fantasy. In 1905 the forces of the Czar were suppressing protests all throughout Russia. In the port city of Odessa, Ukraine, sailors finally mutinied against their officers in bloody clashes. It was a spark that eventually led to the overthrow of the Czar. There are reports (can we believe the videos?) that anti-war demonstrations are taking place in a hundred Russian cities; that prominent citizens and celebrities have criticized the invasion; that many companies have refused to do conduct any more business with Russia; that Russians overseas have sacrificed some positions and privileges in protest…

Odessa redux? Can we hope? Can we pray? Can we act?

If we see our enemies not as madmen but, perhaps, horribly delusional and even evil human beings, we can find our way to confront this awful world better. We can pray, and seek God, with clarity. We need His wisdom.

God’s wisdom, after all, is reliable ten-tenths of the time.

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if you are using a portable device (phone or pad) then click:
this link

Click: “Mass in Time of War: Agnus Dei.”

2-28-22

Jesus left the temple and was going away, when His disciples came to point out to him the buildings of the temple.
But He answered them, “You see all these, do you not? Truly, I say to you, there will not be left here one stone upon another that will not be thrown down.”
As He sat on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to him privately, saying, “Tell us, when will these things be, and what will be the sign of Your coming and of the end of the age?”
And Jesus answered them, “See that no one leads you astray.
“For many will come in My name, saying, ‘I am the Christ,’ and they will lead many astray.
“And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not alarmed, for this must take place, but the end is not yet.
“For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there will be famines and earthquakes in various places.
“All these are but the beginning of the birth pangs.
“Then they will cause you to suffer tribulation, even put you to death; and you will be hated by all nations for My name’s sake.
“Many will be offended and betray one another and hate one another.
“Many false prophets will arise and lead many astray.
“And as lawlessness increases, the love of many will grow cold.
“But the one who endures to the end will be saved.
“This Gospel of the Kingdom will be proclaimed throughout the whole world as a testimony to all nations…
“And then the end will come.”

— Matthew 24: 1-14

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Click: The Day of Wrath

2-21-22

I realize the invitation of this blog is to “start your week with a spiritual song in your heart.” And I further realize that it carries the implication of Uplift; a bright message to commence a positive week.

When we are inspired to be a latter-day Jeremiah – that is, reflecting on troubling signs in contemporary life, or addressing the many crises our culture faces – a realistic message is also a useful, even necessary, way to start our days and weeks, even if “dark.” We should not continuously be “Debbie Downers,” but neither should we be spiritual Pollyannas, thinking everything is rosy, or will be cheery when things soon straighten themselves out.

Jeremiah, as I said, was a prophet whose message was dark and threatening to those who needed to hear it: the whole nation that had gone morally wayward. Noah too. Moses too. Jonah too. In fact… Jesus, too, in many of His sermons.

The sweep of humankind’s history has been marked by the rebellion of individuals, for instance “those to whom much had been given” and much was expected; these notable figures, too often, squandered their gifts and blessings. No less frequently in the world’s history and Biblical accounts we learn of entire peoples – tribes, societies, nations – who strayed.

“Strayed” from what? Generally from the things that had made them great, or successful, or productive – Forgetting their foundational principles. Betraying their inheritance. Losing sight of what was unique to them. Falling out of love with the ideals they once cherished.

Ancient Rome comes to mind. And so does… contemporary America.

This critique is not novel – at least I hope most of you feel the same angst. Recent events brought these thoughts to me. No, not crime nor the drug epidemic nor the runaway economy nor the health scares nor “wars and rumors of war,” despite these news items screaming at us every day.

Sometimes a larger circumstance can be more indicative of our moral crises and spiritual challenges than are passing headlines and statistics. This clarity was apparent when I watched the recent Super Bowl. I don’t mean the game itself – well, yes, I do. Not the brutish contest with strange new rules and blown calls and gladiator-like ferocity, but the “game” behind the game. We now have the nation’s favorite sport (we can still include baseball under this umbrella) where drugs and politics play important roles, in the news and in careers of the players. Fans have come to know as much about salaries and pensions as they do about on-the-field stats.

Salaries spiral ever upward, and… that’s America, right? “Get what you can while you can.” But players increasingly receive contracts worth significant portions of a billion dollars. OK, “if the owners didn’t make it, they couldn’t pay it.” So the owners simply charge more for tickets (multiple thousands of bucks for a seat at the Super Bowl… when the fans in the stands probably watch the action on Jumbotron screens anyway) and charge more for commercial time. ($6-million per minute?) Advertisers pay so much by charging more and more for their products. All of which means the fan gets socked from every angle. Um, for guys playing football and baseball.

We think of Ancient Rome with its “bread and circuses.”

But more troubling to me was the halftime “entertainment,” this year entirely given over to hip hop and rap, which is listened to by only a sliver of the population. An array of performers rolled out their hits, and paid vague homage to Los Angeles, common home to some of the noise and to this year’s Super Bowl. Kendrick Lamar performed “Alright,” famous for its anti-police message… and by the way, that misspelling was his intention; I realize that many performers and song titles and the genre itself is one big typographical error. The one white star, Eminem, took a knee in evident homage to Kaepernick; and the one major female, Mary K Blige, strutted around the stage in the costume of L.A.’s many street-walkers.

An observer, attempting to understand the lyrics, made a list of words and phrases during the halftime show. The unofficial tally: The “N” word, 16 times. The “F-Bomb,” 13 times. The “M-F” phrase, four times. The “B” word (in these days of the Me Too movement), 24 times. Likewise there were obscene gyrations including groping and grabbing of breasts and crotches.

America’s favorite sport. Broadcast in early evening… partly so kids could enjoy the sport. (“Grandma, what’s an igger?”) Overpaid illiterates parading filth, the crowd noise cheering lustily, praised by NBC announcers, paid for by Pepsi. (And you, ultimately.)

Our culture, if such wildly endorsed events are barometers (and they are), is in a Stage Four level of decadence. Among many comparisons I could offer, and really none are necessary as proof, we have arrived at a point where parents are not supposed to have a say in children’s school curricula; where Bible passages are being censored as “hate speech”; but a spectacle like the Super Bowl halftime show is force-fed to 100-million viewers as appropriate.

We have entered a Pentecost of Calamity, and extrication by traditional families and Christian patriots seems daunting. Without God’s help… and a true grassroots revival… and a severe rejection of this Spirit of the Age…

Well… have a nice week.

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I was reminded of the great Gram Parsons song. Written in the late ‘60s by the late enigmatic musical pioneer, Sin City is widely assumed to be not about Las Vegas; not New Orleans; but (appropriately this week) Los Angeles. Or… America and the West as a whole.

Click: Sin City

2-14-22

Many regular church-goers, pious people, folks who study their Bibles and do devotions, who might belong to prayer circles and church fellowships… a lot of us do not fully understand everything in the Bible.

This is not bad, necessarily. At least regarding theology – literally, the study of God – we can study but not know everything… otherwise we would be as God. Even the angels do not know all, see all, nor can be present everywhere. God is God.

But beyond our comprehension and even spiritual and intellectual curiosity, I think we all accept some sentiments and words and traditions without fully understanding them. We find solace in some things as a result. Sort of spiritual security blankets, or comfort foods of the soul.

I am among such folks. Imagery, allegories, symbols… in some things I let the mystery be, because I trust the meanings of passages and the ways of the Lord. If there are texts whose precise meanings elude me… or prophecies that are “seen through a glass darkly…” well, God has made His will known so often and in so many ways, that I surrender to those occasional things God wants to keep wrapped in His poetry.

Yet we should not always exercise sweet surrender. Surely the Lord wants us to understand as much as possible, especially since every word has been imparted, inspired – literally, “breathed” by the Holy Spirit – for our instruction and for reproof. So… we can always try a little harder. That bread cast upon the waters never comes back void.

I was thinking about such things recently when singing the old hymn Holy, Holy, Holy, which has some verses that we sing perhaps automatically without fully understanding them: and the same for Bible passages from which the lyrics are drawn, in Revelation chapter 4.

The hymn:

Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore Thee, Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea. Cherubim and seraphim are falling down before Thee, Which wert and art and evermore shalt be!

Verses from Revelation 4:

Immediately I was in the spirit: and, behold, a throne was set in heaven, and One sat on the throne… And round about the throne were four and twenty seats: and upon the seats I saw four and twenty elders sitting, clothed in white raiment; and they had on their heads crowns of gold….And before the throne there was a sea of glass like unto crystal: and in the midst of the throne…

The four and twenty elders fell down before Him that sat on the throne, and worship Him that liveth for ever and ever, and cast their crowns before the throne, saying,Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power: for Thou hast created all things, and for Thy pleasure they are and were created.

For our attention here I have left out descriptions of beasts and wings and lightning and thunder and lamps, all wondrous – and mysterious – enough. We can study and profit from signs and symbols, and especially numerology and types, in the Bible; particularly in Revelation. And we can discern lessons from these passages, more-than-allusions and symbols as they are.

First, we must realize that, no matter how mysterious they seem, they are descriptions of the Heaven that is, and the Heaven that will be as we see it.

Second, the hymnologist’s use of “Holy” three times is citing the praises of God quoted throughout Scripture: Three always represents holiness. We know that numbers like seven and 40 are repeated in God’s story, all with consistent significance. We will join the angels in singing “Holy, holy, holy…”

Then, I believe the “glassy sea” is to tell us that, contrary to many examples of troubled waters and stormy seas throughout the Bible and in life, before the Throne of God the waters shall be not roiled. Untroubled, placid. A miraculous calm, in His presence. Like a mirror.

The Elders we might correctly assume are the prophets and apostles in Scripture; and perhaps saints and martyrs of the Church. Crowns? The Elders who wear them are worthy – in our eyes, and honored of God – for their service… but are we not told that the least among believers shall be the first? That (conversely, to be sure) that the smallest sin grieves God as much as what we might deem the grossest?

Do we understand that “Elders” earn crowns? Are those the (again) mysterious “treasures” we might store up in Heaven?

I believe the answer is what happens to those crowns at the moment this scene was revealed by Christ to St John. They were thrown down at the feet of God Almighty, the Elders declaring that He is worthy to receive Glory and Honor and Power. In other words, just like our own “robes of righteousness” in which we might cover ourselves, even the treasures and crowns of the most exalted saints are to be cast at the feet of God.

A picture of Heaven? Clearer, to me.

What else will Heaven be like? We have other imagery of shining stones and beauty and mansions and singing and… praising. We will join the angels in forever singing and praising His name. We will not think it boring, even for eternity; for He is worthy. Will we see loved ones? Will our bodies be made whole? Will there be “joy unspeakable and full of glory?”

Yes… but let us remember the “unspeakable” part! Beyond our current ability to understand.

For all the good intentions of believers here, when I hear speculation about how “old” we will be, or being reunited with pets… I find myself wishing that people would be as concerned with getting to Heaven as with what it will be like “over there.”

We can be sure of one thing as we look toward joining that throng of angels – the cherubim and seraphim – before the Throne. The joy we will have cannot be known by them, for they were never graced with life on earth, never able to experience the gifts of repentance and forgiveness, redemption and salvation. Those things are ours!

Holy! Holy! Holy!

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Click: Holy, Holy, Holy

2-7-22

A guest message by my friend Christine Eves, a talented writer and poet.

All of us exercise “human nature” when at one time or other (at least) we dread the trials of life. Many of our prayers are that God might spare us from facing trials, or when they come that He might deliver us from the trials. We are pained further when those we love experience difficult trials.

Yet the trials come.

One way to view the Bible is as a long story of God’s people facing trials… enduring, surrendering, or overcoming trials… and trusting God through the trials. This is life, after all; this is faith. Christine shares God’s wisdom in her poem:

There are so many things to thank God for,
But do we ever stop and say –
Lord, thank you for the trial
That you have brought my way?

Do we ever thank God for the rain –
Or the storms that life has brought?
What about the pain and heartache,
Or the battles we have fought?

If we never knew of pain,
Of heartache or of loss;
If we never went through trials,
Or felt the weight of our own cross;

If we never felt the rain
When we prayed for the sun,
Would we ever truly understand
All that the Lord has done?

He teaches us through trials,
He shows His strength when we are weak,
He catches us when we fall,
And gives us words when we can’t speak.

It’s when we lose –
That in God, we gain;
When we learn to find His Joy –
Even in our pain.

When we are at our very lowest,
And we have no strength left to fight –
When our world is at its darkest,
That’s when we truly see God’s light.

God allows all things for a reason,
And trials can be blessings in disguise.
We must endure pain to ever truly grow,
And go through blindness, to appreciate God’s eyes.

I thank God for all he’s done in my life –
For the sunshine and the rain;
Because I know His ways are best –
Even though sometimes they bring us pain.

When there is nothing I can do,
I know the Lord will see me through;
And when I’m in my darkest place,
I praise God for His love and grace.

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Click: Through It All

1-31-22

A guest message by my dear friend Leah Morgan.

When God did his best work, which admirers still paint and photograph to this day, it was summed up in these words – God said. God saw. God separated.

Over and over, for six days, He repeated these actions. He said, He saw, He separated. The separating was part of the process necessary for success and optimum function.

He separated light from darkness.
He separated the waters of the heavens from the waters of the earth.
He separated dry ground and land from waters and seas.
He separated day from night.
He separated birds in the sky from beasts in the sea.
He separated work from rest.

And He built within His creation the power of reproduction. Seeds that will produce the kinds of plants and trees from which they came (Genesis 1:11). A chance for the cycle of life to continue.

And finally, God created the perfect counterpoint to man, and He crafted woman. More separation, as part of the perfect union. He separated Adam from his rib. He took something away to bring him something better. Then, God spoke to the couple about more separation. This union of turning two into one, God explains, is why a man separates from his parents (Genesis 2:24).

As if God said, “If a man is going to enjoy an ideal union with his wife, he needs to mimic My pattern of creation. Say; see; then separate. Say it. Speak up! Your words have power! Take the authority I’ve placed in your tongue. Then take a moment to sit back and look at what you’ve spoken to life. Enjoy it and appreciate it. Then… get out. Leave your parents. Your mom’s patterns, your dad’s habits, your family’s hang-ups. Separate. You will never live in a Garden that thrives if you’re not willing to separate from your parents. They no longer have dominion over you. If they do, then darkness and light, day and night, sky and sea have no boundaries. There’s a reason the sea needs to stay out of your back yard, and the night needs to get out of the afternoon sky. It’s the same reason your parents’ needs were relegated to their own homes with their own opinions.”

Seeds will produce the kinds of plants and trees from which they came (Genesis 1:11). Sometimes, newly married seeds decide they don’t want to produce the fighting and temper tantrums and insecurities and manipulation of the plants and trees from which they came. They want a Garden built on trust and peace and kind words. They’d rather laugh and be silly than throw cruel insults around.

To newlyweds and longtime married couples: Garden it up! Say; see; and separate.

And then get naked. And stay naked. That’s Bible-talk for good marriage. Now the man and his wife were both naked, but they felt no shame.

God gave Adam and Eve the best chance for happiness when He created them without pockets. No place to hide anything. They were naked. And not embarrassed.

Our relationships begin to disintegrate when we start sewing pockets, places to hide things. We hide our past. Our spending. Our habits. Our wounds. Our hurt feelings. Men feel they can’t acknowledge having their feelings hurt; they can’t be naked about their feelings. That would make them… what? An Eve? So they hide that pain. Stuff their pockets full and make more pockets when they run out of room for all that they need to hide. But with the hiding comes the shame. And with the shame comes wide, wide gulfs of separation.

We are meant to be naked. Hiding nothing. Marriage is the place we keep it all out in the open. We don’t stuff our feelings, we don’t keep quiet about our opinions, we don’t tiptoe around bad moods. We don’t hide purchases and credit cards. We are naked and hide nothing. That’s the Garden ideal. A safe place for being real and honest and imperfect and beautiful and fun.

The Garden withers and good fruit begins to rot when we begin to dress up God’s ideal. He keeps it simple. True. Plain. Honest. No pretense. No sneaking around. No covering up. Owning it all. The knobby knees, the wobbly gait, and the imperfections. There is freedom in coming clean.

It is how God engages in relationship with us, written in Hebrews 4: 12,13: The WORD OF GOD is alive and powerful (SAY). It is sharper than the sharpest two-edged sword, cutting between soul and spirit, between joint and marrow (SEPARATE). It exposes our innermost thoughts and desires. Nothing in all creation is hidden from God. Everything is naked and exposed before His eyes, and He is the one to whom we are accountable (SEE).

Our relationship with Jesus is healed in the Garden when we come out of hiding and stop being ashamed to be naked and seen by our Creator. I am the true grapevine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more. Remain in me and I will remain in you (John 15:1,2,4).

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Follow Leah’s beautiful, powerful, and inspired thoughts at leahcmorgan.com

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Click: When He Calls, I’ll Fly Away/I’ll Fly Away

1-24-22

I shared this message on Facebook this week, and now will here, with you. It has been nine years since my wife Nancy died. Heart and kidney transplants were supposed to give her another three to five years… but she lived 16 more years, mostly healthy till the very end.

She inspired people and devoted herself to a ministry serving transplant recipients, donors, and those on life’s edge, including families.

This week was Sanctity of Life Week also, capped by the March For Life in Washington DC. President Trump, like many of us, once was pro-abortion, or at least neutral; then became the only president personally to address the March. President Biden, like many Catholic friends, claims adherence to the church teachings but rejects them in practice.

Life – living, protecting, honoring life – ought be the concern of all. This should be axiomatic… but in this world it is not even automatic. The devil wants to destroy our lives; governments want to control our lives; but God gave us life and Jesus sacrificed His life that we might have life and life more abundant.

Some years ago I edited the magazine Rare Jewel. We published a Sanctity of Life theme issue, and I asked Nancy to write about her experience and perspective, facing death and cherishing life. Edited, I offer it here. She also endured, besides the heart and kidney transplants, diabetes, strokes, cancer, celiac disease, amputations, and other challenges. Her story in part follows:

I was diagnosed with heart disease two months after my 41st birthday. My three children were 15, 14, and 11 at the time.

I also learned that I had had a silent heart attack sometime the previous summer, and that I had coronary artery disease and congestive heart failure (CHF), meaning that the arteries supplying blood to my heart were narrowed. There was no blockage that surgery could correct by bypass.

In the first diagnoses, the doctors thought that with medicines my heart disease could be kept under control and in 10 years or so I would have to consider the prospect of a heart transplant.

But after two more heart attacks in 10 months—and not so “silent” these times—the doctors told me that I would not survive a fourth heart attack. This news came on my 42nd birthday. Within the month I was transferred from our local hospital to Temple University Hospital in Philadelphia and put on the transplant list for a heart and kidney.

Events moved quickly, and I really didn’t have much time to think about what was ahead. As a diabetic, I had assumed that at some time I might need a kidney transplant—I had never thought about needing a new heart! I also assumed that the whole process was like changing a battery: take out the old and put in the new.

Not quite. Because my doctors could not guarantee my survival at home for longer than two weeks, I had to stay in the hospital, with heart monitors attached to my chest, and an IV tube continuously feeding me medicines that kept my heart working at its maximum possible efficiency.

In the beginning of this process, I think most patients in my “group” of potential organ recipients were, like me, a bit naive. We didn’t know about some of the complications associated with the surgery. Strokes, blood clots causing the loss of limbs, and blindness were just some of the problems. Our group of approximately 16 patients was relatively healthy or at least stable, but every now and then reality would strike.

Without warning, people “coded” (heart stopping); sometimes they could not be revived. Other times those who had received transplanted organs would return to the hospital with rejection (the body trying to destroy the new organ).

We all know there are no guarantees in life, but no matter how young or old, we tend to take some things for granted. However, when hospitalized in a heart-failure unit, never knowing what the next minutes might bring, I developed a deeper sense of what was important to me.

I prayed for more time—time to be a mother to my children, for us to be together as a family. I cried out to God, How much longer? He answered in the words of I Peter 5:6,7: Humble ourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him; for He cares for you.

And I learned to trust Him. Just as He was taking care of me, He would take care of my family. And each time I asked “How much longer?” He would remind me of a promise I made to Him that I would stay for as long as He wanted me to. And God gave me His total peace.

In all ways my hospital stay—18 weeks before organs became available; then three weeks after the operation, until I could go home—was a good experience. I came to know God in a more intimate way, to learn to trust Him and His ways, and to appreciate all that He has given me. I began praying for the other patients on the floor; first for those on their way to the ER, then weekly Bible studies, then prayer support groups. We started a family ministry that lasted more than seven years.

I have seen all three of my children grow up. Heather is a youth minister in Michigan; Ted is a television news producer [now in Washington DC] and Emily moved to Ireland after doing missions work [and has started her own business of American-style foods.] And, I have four beautiful grandchildren. I am very proud of them all.

At one time I did not have real hope, leaning on my own view of life. But as Psalm 119:50 says:

My comfort in my suffering was this: “Your promise preserves my life!”

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Click: I’ll Have a New Life / Everybody Will Be Happy Over There

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

1-10-22

Everything Has Its Time.

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 harvest 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.

These words from the third chapter of Ecclesiastes, a book of wonderful wisdom, are familiar to us. They describe life as it confronts us, but also are meant to instruct us as we confront life going forward. I believe it is not presumptuous to be guided by the dualities – attributed to King Solomon, describing God’s sovereignty and timing – and make inferences, or indeed additions and applications, for times such as we live in now.

Of course all the circumstances we face in life are implicit in those eight verses, yet we can ask the Holy Spirit to guide us, so we may discern dualities in the unique challenges facing believers today.

It is appropriate that we apply these modes at the turn of a New Year.

We face manifold crises, and for all their variety of evident origins and apparent differences, our crises are all spiritual at their sources. Spiritual problems never can be overcome, nor successfully even faced, except by spiritual means. Anything else is futile.

We will not list the crises in the church, the West, the nation, the culture, our homes, families, and selves – partly (and sadly) because they seem too many to list at this moment of our existence – but we all sense them. Whether on grand, civilization-wide, historical contexts; or in the deep recesses of our emotions, souls, and consciences. At most times in history, there have been present and impending crises, but I believe we now are at an unprecedented inflection-point.

In the manner of Solomon’s dualities, Christian patriots must, as never before in our lifetimes, be committed to peace… but be prepared to do battle.

There is a time to defend, and a time to attack.

A time to listen, and a time to require that others listen to us.

A time to practice tolerance, and a time to stop tolerating certain things.

A time to be “accepting,” and a time to be a righteous irritant.

A time to compromise, and a time to assert truth at all costs.

A time to hold opponents to the Truth… and hold our selves and our allies to it also.

Things are going to get worse in this world before they ever might get better. I have read ahead to the last chapters, and there is a happy ending to all this. But… there is tribulation ahead, first. Likely more persecution and grief.

Yet before joy triumphs we are not merely urged to resist, but we are commanded to fight. We must fight for our families and our future, for our souls and the faithful – for God.

Happy new year? Oh, yes. This is a glorious burden. Take heart. We are on the winning side, after all. And we should start acting like it! Realize something, that God must trust us exceedingly that we were born in a time such as this. Review all the strong and brave defenders of the past, Christians and patriots both, and how our challenges – our responsibilities – are more awesome than theirs.

Take heart, take hope.

At the moment, even with uncountable Bible promises overflowing my heart, and whispered inspirations from the Holy Spirit in my mind, I can be encouraged even by words of a secular song that rings in my ears –

Beyond the blue horizon is a beautiful day!

Goodbye to things that bore me; Joy is waiting for me!

I see a new horizon, my life has only begun! Beyond the blue horizon lies a rising sun!

I think King Solomon would approve! Do you?

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Click: Beyond the Blue Horizon

1-3-2022

I have imagined that if God composed an employment search, it might read “Wanted: Nobody.”

Wait… what a way to start the new year. An ambiguous phrase. God doesn’t want Nobody (what another way to start the new year — ambiguous grammar). Properly stated, of course, God wants everybody.

He created us all, so it is obvious that He wants us all… to be saved, to commune with Him, to find joy, to experience salvation, to be free from the bondage of sin. Why else create us? He grants us free will… but we nevertheless rebel… and yet He offers us a way to redemption.

He loves us. So much that He allowed His incarnate Son to assume our sins unto Himself and pay the penalties we deserve.

Well, that is the Gospel message. It is His desire that not one should perish; “no, not one.” That the Creator of the Universe should care about you and me is astonishing. Yet astonishingly true. A New Year’s resolution for all of us (any year!) might be to contemplate, meditate, and appreciate that humbling but joyful truth.

So in His own way, thank God (um, literally) He doesn’t need Nobody — He is God, so can do as He pleases. (In fact, most of the people in Bible accounts are “nobodies,” not the powerful or celebrities, whom He chose to do His work. That can be another message.)

But He tells us that as much as we need Him in our lives… He needs us. He needs us. He needs us! Astonishing. Why else would He have created the heavens and the earth — and us? To watch us suffer and die? To cry and wander helpless? To curse each other and curse Him?

He desired instead to commune with us — to fellowship, in prayer and by service. To be an ever-present help in times of trouble. To receive the praise and glory that is due Him, and which will be our fondest desire for eternity. (I can’t wait to join THAT party!)

Yes. Shame on me. What I really mean is that, in God’s job search (so to speak) He wants EVERYBODY. Nobody is too lowly or too high. Nobody has messed up so much as to be out of God’s loving reach. Nobody is too dirty who cannot be cleansed and given a robe of pure white.

And, astonishingly, nobody is beyond Jesus’s sacrifice that serves to wash away all of our sins in God’s eyes. Best of all — you don’t need to take a bath in order to be washed by the shower of Christ’s work on the Cross.

Salvation is a come-as-you-are party!

Well, the proper wording for God’s “employment” search would be, and has been throughout history, Wanted: Everybody.

That is not ambiguous. And that is a way to begin the year, and every year.

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Click: You Needed Me

12-25 and 27-21

Christmas

“It’s your fault!” “No! It’s your fault!” “You started it!” “No, you did!”

We hear exchanges like these yelled back and forth in the schoolyard, or playgrounds.

Or in diplomatic debates. In politics. On cable news. Or on bloody battlefields.

Humankind seems not to have “advanced” much through the centuries; and neither with children nor adults. We congratulate each other, and fool ourselves, that “progress” is the hallmark of our times. Yet the bloodiest death toll from wars, in any century of the earth’s existence, was in the Twentieth Century; and more than in all previous centuries combined. We brag that we – “civilizations” – have finally ended the scourge of slavery; yet there are greater numbers of slaves today than ever in human history. The numbers now are not the faces that flash in our minds, bondservants; but all manner of children, women, minorities, homeless, voiceless, migrants, the anonymous.

As long as there are power elites; as long as greed outpaces love; as long as hypocrisy can always find a nicer name, humankind will be (in the Bible’s phrase, Proverbs 26:11; II Peter 2:22) like dogs returning to their vomit. Think about what changes have occurred, really, when science develops new ways to save lives… as it also invents new ways to end lives. What a spectacle, when people march to save baby seals and whales, and march for the right to kill babies.

Well, Merry Christmas, anyway. Let the holiday sing.

Is society’s spoken wish of the season an empty phrase? Or is there a spark of hope when we manage to pause at Christ’s Mass, to think, or sing, or worship around the meaning of that word Incarnation? That concept – Emmanuel; God With Us.

Once in our latter days it was manifested; only briefly, in a unique setting; and it is largely forgotten by history. Not many people know about the Christmas Truce. It was a virtual miracle during the first Christmas of the “Great War,” World War I, surely the most useless of history’s many useless wars.

A few months after war was declared in Europe, by almost every big and small nation, almost a million soldiers had already been slaughtered. Christmastime was come, and soldiers were mired in trenches that were to become so established that for more than two years the battle line never moved more than 30 miles one way or another. In that unlikely hellhole a miracle did occur.

Minor details differ but the dispositive facts are acknowledged: Peace broke out.

Soldiers of Germany, England (Scotland, actually), and France, at night, spontaneously sang Christmas carols… and were joined by “enemies” who could hear across No Man’s Land… nervous soldiers climbed from trenches to greet their foes, and shake hands… gifts were exchanged, even little trinkets, but also pastries and wine sent from home. They shared pictures of wives and children… more hymn singing… fireworks, intended to illuminate battlefields so to aim the cannons, were now shot skyward in celebration. There were tentative, but successful, attempts to communicate.

Of course they communicated. The languages that night were hymns and Bibles and chocolates and cigars. Handshakes and smiles and tears.

A Merry Christmas. A Holy Christmas. Peace on earth… at least in that narrow 27-mile-long battle line, south of Ypres and east of Armentieres, site of the song about les Mademoiselles, that night.

A British soldier recalled the Christmas Truce almost two decades later: We stuck up a board with a Merry Christmas on it. The enemy had stuck up a similar one. … Two of our men then threw their equipment off and jumped on the parapet with their hands above their heads. Two of the Germans done the same and commenced to walk up the river bank, our two men going to meet them. They met and shook hands and then we all got out of the trench.

We and the Germans met in the middle of No Man’s Land. Their officers were also now out. Our officers exchanged greetings with them.… One of their men, speaking in English, mentioned that he had worked in Brighton for some years and that he was fed up to the neck with this damned war and would be glad when it was all over. We told him that he wasn’t the only one that was fed up with it. (Frank Richards, “Old Soldiers Never Die,” 1933)

Another history records: [The British] Brigadier General G.T. Forrestier-Walker issued a directive forbidding fraternization: “For it discourages initiative in commanders, and destroys offensive spirit in all ranks. … Friendly intercourse with the enemy, unofficial armistices and exchange of tobacco and other comforts, however tempting and occasionally amusing they may be, are absolutely prohibited.” (Stanley Weintraub, “Silent Night: The Story of the World War I Christmas Truce,” 2001)

How much different would the next day have been – how much different would the world be today – if the Truce had held?

Note that chocolates and cigars were only the presents. The GIFTS were hymns and Bible verses – they brought the soldiers out of trenches; not the prospect of snacks or smokes or a soccer game in the snow.

Christmas. God did not intend for Jesus’s Incarnation, the spirit of that Christmas Truce, to be a one-time miracle, but to be everyday life.

He intended that we know-and-show that love and fellowship can be normal, not rare.

We can be changed by the Holy Day, not be annoyed by yet another holiday.

“You started it!” “No, you did!!!” Wouldn’t it be great if we all exchanged those words happily, about starting love, sharing affection, and living in Heavenly Peace?

Who “started it”? God did.

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If you are using a mobile device (pad or phone) please copy the URL and paste into browser – https://www.youtube.com/embed/-cSrqRdlFeo?t=3s because of improper person hacking blog music!

Click for an excerpt of the motion picture: Joyeaux Noel

12-20-21

We know that the ways of God are mysterious. He works in mysterious ways, we tell each other, but His story, history, also overflows with blessings that surprise people, challenges that somehow bless people, and surprises that challenge humankind – always, mysteriously, drawing us closer to Him.

That He would “empty” Himself and “become flesh” and dwell amongst us is the greatest of mysteries. It was foreordained – prophesied in diverse ways by numerous people through the ages until the Incarnation itself. In Isaiah Chapter 53 Jesus was predicted and described; His place and manner of birth was foretold; His ministry was reported beforehand, as was His eventual suffering and death; the meaning of His life on earth was told, and His resurrection explained.

Yet Immanuel, God-Becomes-Man, is a mystery to us.

Humankind could have confronted its sinful rebellion by obeying laws, but didn’t.

God might have sent a Ruler in a burst of terror to confront the wicked, but didn’t.

Humankind might have understood a Holy warrior, a righteous reformer, a rebel with a cause. But God chose to come as a… baby.

Mysteries. It is useless to confront God for reasons and answers. And more useless to want to question His love.

Let us step back for a moment. Christmas cards and carols and gift wrap and pretty ornaments make us forget some of the truths of Christmas. Shepherds: why shepherds as the first to behold the Savior? A manger: rough straw with livestock spittle? Mysterious scenarios, yet God’s choice of arrangements.

Did the world welcome the Savior? – Of course not. Humankind’s inclination to sin was the reason God acted through the Incarnation. Our hearts are dark; such is humankind’s reaction to free will.

Was the “first Christmas” a time of rejoicing? – Hardly. The innkeepers turned Mary and Joseph away (I am tempted to think it really was because she was a pregnant virgin…). The Roman authorities, knowing Scriptural prophecy too, ordered babies younger than two to be slaughtered in the land. Mary and Joseph and Jesus fled to Egypt to escape a deadly and hostile situation.

And the birth of Jesus: was Mary full of joy? – Not completely, of course. As a mother she was blessed, yet she knew the sorrows, rejections, suffering, and death that lay ahead for her Baby.

Mysteries. These things had to be. Let us remember such truths.

Yes, we want to celebrate a Holy Birthday Party. Yet the seeds of a funeral were sown at His birth – in fact from the earliest events in the Garden. Jesus did not come to us to teach and do good deeds, tra la, before things went wrong for Him, despite His loving ways.

Jesus came to earth to die.

His ministry was to teach; His blessings included healing; He acted to fulfill prophecies; yes. But He came to die. As “fully man and fully God,” He would struggle with betrayals and pain and death – mysteries again, how God “emptied Himself” – yet He knew that is why He was born in human form.

Kids and trees and presents and smiles aside (and I am not saying to be forsaken), we should remember the Easter message, too, at Christmastime. I believe the baby Jesus did. When He first opened His eyes, I believe He looked into the face of His loving mother, and shepherds, and angels, and, yes, some lowly animals.

And I believe He also looked up from His mother’s arms and somehow – mysteriously – saw the cross too. And the (empty) tomb.

Let us rejoice for all these sweet mysteries of our loving God.

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Click: What Child Is This

12-13-21

Certain holiday songs are appropriate on certain holidays, naturally; and others seem inappropriate at any other times of the year. “I’m Dreaming Of a White Christmas” might soon be labeled as Politically Incorrect, but in the meantime would be out of tune, so to speak, if sung in the middle of August. But… we always can dream.

Similarly odd, or anomalous, is the incidence of songs that are relevant at any time of the year but are relegated to one season only. Shoved into the storage closet, as it were. Handel’s The Messiah is an oratorio about the entire life of Jesus, from prophesies 700 years previous to His birth (in Isaiah) to His Incarnation, crucifixion, resurrection, and Ascension. Its performance is appropriate at any, and all, times during the year. But it is consigned to the Christmas season, and seldom heard otherwise, even in parts.

And some holiday music, church hymnody, shifts outside its logical boxes.

One of the most significant musical pieces (and indeed, sermon topic or cited prayer) is what has come to be called, from its Latin name, the Magnificat. It is the very simple, very brief prayer offered by Mary concerning one of the most profound events in the history of humankind: the Incarnation. God became man to dwell among us.

The angel Gabriel visited Mary and told her she was chosen to to bear the Savior, who would be conceived as a miracle by the Holy Spirit. Overwhelmed, humbled, and full of Grace, she knew the prophesy that a virgin would conceive, and… her prayer was a reaction that the Messiah would be her son.

Her cousin Elizabeth, herself pregnant with the future John the Baptist, visited her. As recorded in the first chapter of Luke:

When Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, [her] babe leaped in her womb; and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit… “As soon as the voice of your greeting sounded in my ears, the babe leaped in my womb for joy.”

And Mary said:

“My soul magnifies the Lord, And my spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior.
For He has regarded the lowly state of His maidservant; For behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed.
For He who is mighty has done great things for me, And holy is His name.
And His mercy is on those who fear Him From generation to generation.
He has shown strength with His arm; He has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
He has put down the mighty from their thrones, And exalted the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things, And the rich He has sent away empty.
He has helped His servant Israel, In remembrance of His mercy,
As He spoke to our fathers, To Abraham and to his seed forever.”

Many thoughts and blessings and lessons can be inspired by that simple but profound prayer. Imagine her thoughts… her humility… her responsibility… her coming sorrow (for she knew the whole of prophecy, from Scripture)… the favor of God Almighty.

One aspect we might note is how the unborn child in Elizabeth’s womb leaped for joy at the mention of the coming Messiah. A lesson, surely, to those who deny the humanity of the unborn.

I mentioned the “shifting” days of observance in church and holiday music; surely Mary had nine months until the birth of Jesus; yet Advent, properly named for what is profitable to contemplate, is an appropriate time to think about the Magnificat – how Mary confessed that her soul “magnified” the Lord.

Just as deceptively simple but utterly profound – in a musical context – is the Magnificat by Johann Sebastian Bach. If you are not familiar with it, and if you have ever listened to Handel’s The Messiah, I really urge you to open the video performance linked below. Very much shorter than Handel’s oratorio – surely an “oasis” you can find amid holiday busyness – it is a miracle composed by the greatest of humankind’s music masters.

I devoted attention to its multiple aspects in my biography of Bach (who has been called “the Fifth Evangelist,” and, had he been Catholic, would have been declared a saint). And I spoke about this work at the magnificent 150-year-old St Paul’s Episcopal Church in Flint MI at their Bach Festival some years ago.

As a musical genius but also as a Bible scholar, Bach’s exegesis of Mary’s prayer, employing no other text, sometimes focuses on one word (e.g., “Magnificat”) or two; “Omnes Generationes” takes Mary’s awe-struck realization that “all generations” will call her blessed. Groups within the choir sing “all generations” over and over, high and low, over each other, in tender harmony… and one has the impression of the hosts of Heaven raining down praises.

Any mere description is unworthy: it must be heard. Bach composed it in 1723, shortly after his appointment to St Thomas Church in Leipzig. Our video features a performance in an old church, and on period instruments of Bach’s day.

May I suggest, in this Advent season, assisted by the supernal music of Johann Sebastian Bach, that we pause to contemplate the miracle – and God’s miracle plan – of this season. The Creator of the Universe emptied Himself to become human, to remind us that He knows our sorrows and joys and hurts and hopes; and that He offered this Son as a sacrifice against the price justly required for our rebellion and sins.

No, I don’t fully understand it either. But God is LOVE, after all.

And when I hear it, I leap for joy too.

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Click: Magnificat

12-6-21

How can a loving God permit school shootings? … or genocide? … or painful illnesses? … or abuse, human trafficking, family turmoil, betrayal, cruelty…?

We hear these questions all time. And, perhaps, we often have asked these questions ourselves. We are only human.

“We’re only human” is part of the answer. When we choose to sin, or so often (and euphemistically) make mistakes, we are part of the old, old story of allowing corruption, enabling error, and inviting sin into the world around us.

The comedian Norm MacDonald died recently. He succumbed to cancer after a 10-year battle during which he told nobody about it. His death was a surprise even to his closest friends. He was brilliant, and presented himself as a bundle of contradictions. He pretended to be unlettered, but was an intellectual and well-read. He acted impulsively, but was a student of his craft. And despite occasional coarseness, he was a Christian who frequently professed his faith.

He did say that he struggled with the question of a loving God “permitting” horrors in our lives… this vale (valley) of tears.

Believe me, there are things I do not understand… but I have come to realize that God asks us to obey, not understand. Translation: to have faith. There is sin (brokenness, disease, corruption, heartache, tears) in the world because, well, we sin. If we ask “why?” to some of these dilemmas, maybe we should pray in from of a mirror, and “understand” a better perspective. Because when we pray such prayers at times of disasters, we are – in effect – blaming God.

Time out.

Job, who endured much personally; that is, not as an observer, nevertheless declared “Though he slay me, I will put my trust in Him.” God, after all, is not only God at the end of the storm, but through the storm. Yet, though we walk through the valley (remembering Norm MacDonald’s question) of the shadow of death… God is with us. Can He deliver us… can He plunk us on a mountaintop trail instead?

But His promise to be with us is the best. God not only promises the best for us, He is the best. We must trust in His plan for our lives. The beautiful, talented quadriplegic Joni Eareckson Tada once said to me, “God permits what He hates, to accomplish what He loves.” Her life proved Him; my wife’s ordeal and ministry lived that; by grace, through faith, believers are saved.

Have we answered the question about a loving God and school shootings or genocide? My soul is satisfied, despite many, many things in life I don’t understand. As much as I might regret it, I never will understand.

When we lost our first child near full-term, I didn’t understand it, nor how God “allowed” it. In my stupid rebellion, I did not stop believing in Him, but I remember praying defiantly, “OK, I will obey You, God, from here on; but I cannot love You any more.”

By His mercy, I failed at both promises. The first because I am human, and He granted me free will, mercy, and forgiveness; and the second, because He is that persistent, mysterious, tenacious lover of my soul.

Maybe we instead should ask, How can a righteous God permit flawed sinners like me to gain forgiveness and salvation? Huh?

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Click: How Can I Keep From Singing?

11-29-21

This essay might change your life, or many things about your life – your priorities, decisions, preoccupations.

Or, of course, not: I do not pretend that any thoughts of mine would have that effect on anyone. I mean my thoughts alone. But I do eavesdrop on God, so to speak, and take note, and notes, on what He said in His Word.

Have you thought about what your last moments of life might be like, if you “pass away” quietly? Perhaps strange, but I never really have – and here I invite you to do the same, especially if you never seriously have done so. It might, as I have suggested, cause you to make some life-adjustments.

I will suggest scenarios that might be easy to imagine.

Will an active, successful business owner think back on the deals he could have made; maybe one more sale or acquisition?

Will a sports enthusiast or athlete regret the one game or match that might have been won; that a little more practice might have meant another trophy?

Will a mom or dad think back in sadness over home remodeling that never was finished, landscaping plans unfulfilled, the car or vacation that didn’t happen?

Will a hobbyist regret the collectibles that never were bought? Will someone with “wanderlust” spend the last breath sad about never seeing Paris? Will a politician regret that one more law was not passed when there was a chance? Will the accountant or lawyer or doctor be bitter over not designing that new promotion that might have attracted new clients?

I think all these answers would be NO. And if any would be yes, please join me in feeling pity for lives that conclude with such regrets. And let us pray, further, that you and I die with no regrets of these kinds.

More probable, however – and this should sadden us all – is that many of us, in our last moments, might indeed have regrets of some sorts. But they would not be things of this world, because the list we just imagined would make little difference in the world, or, ultimately, those peoples’ lives.

What are the things many of us might regret in our last moments?

The extra times we could have told our children we loved them… or hugged our parents more often… or spent those additional times, or made phone calls, to parents and kids… or told someone we forgave them… or asked, sincerely, that someone forgive us… or materially assisted someone instead of “thinking good thoughts,” or letting the government take care of, well, everything… or helped a troubled teen or an abused mom… or withheld judgment when a hurting person needed an “ear”… or encouraged a child… or shared an experience of yours that might have brightened someone’s day… or actually prayed with someone instead of saying “I’ll pray for you”… or really asking God to bless someone instead of mouthing “God bless” in their direction…

God forbid if any of these regrets are things you would recall in your last moments.

Maybe people, maybe even family members or neighbors, are precisely those who populate lost opportunities. Strangers, too; you would not know… but God does.

He knows. And He has a plan for each of us that we can, and should, seek to know. He has a will for our lives. What we might realize at the “end” are things He knew all along – the things that are important, and things we should have known were not so important. As the song “Until Then” said – The things of earth will dim and lose their value; Just remember, they’re only borrowed for awhile.

Can we change our lives now? Should we, when we think about such things? Every day we face questions, as I opened above, about priorities, decisions, preoccupations. We deal with uncountable such questions all the time.

Is it time we have different answers?

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Click: Please Forgive Me

11-22-21

Many Bible passages provide blessings over and over – meanings that are fresh, have new relevance, no matter how many times we read them. After uncountable translations through the ages, the Word of God proves itself “inspired.” Literally, God-breathed.

As we are taught, it is alive and active, sharper then a sword… judging our thoughts and attitudes, but also encouraging us and uplifting. All things for all people, if we allow it to be.

My daughter once did an exegesis of Psalm 46:10, dividing and finding a separate meaning in each word or phrase, as well as the entire verse – Be. Be still. Be still and know. Be still and know that I Am. Be still and know that I am God.

This week, thinking ahead to Thanksgiving, I did a similar thing with the “Doxology,” the traditional musical prayer of the church, so named because it was Number 100 in an ancient hymnal. Meditate on it:

Praise God from Whom all blessings flow. Praise Him, all creatures here below. Praise Him, above, ye Heavenly host, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

My parsing of those words was a little different. I challenge you, too, to think what is the most significant word or phrase in the prayer. I will quickly say that there is no right or wrong answer, which is my point about God-inspired passages being multi-faceted.

What I dwelt upon was the word “all.” All blessings. God, from whom all blessings flow.

We need, I think (I need, all the time), to be reminded that God does not send only a certain percentage of the blessings we enjoy. Given our own tendencies, we think that some good news, windfalls, happy events, successes, are from our own cleverness… or someone else’s generosity… or good luck. Or dumb luck.

God forbid that we think that way.

All blessings are from Him. And as the Master of time, He knows what will flow (think upon that word too!), even before we pray. Or don’t pray. The Lord of the Harvest did not retire when most of His children didn’t need to physically plant and cultivate and gather, as in the Pilgrims’ day. We all still reap and sow, in every conceivable way.

All blessings… all creatures.

Thank God, too, that there are no “loopholes” or nuances in that truth. We are part of the Family of God.

And as His children, in this Year of our Lord, let us praise Him for His manifold blessings on our land… and remember to ask His forgiveness too for our many national sins. Could the Pilgrims, in that first formal gathering we envision, have looked into the future? Would they have given thanks for what America has become? Not our material harvests, for they are many; but our spiritual state? Do we offer praise to Him, as they solemnly did?

… Do we have that deep sense of Thanksgiving? Gratitude? Thankfulness?

And knowing Whom to thank?

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Click: Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow

11-15-21

Charles Dickens opened his book A Tale of Two Cities with the famous words, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” William Wordsworth assayed societies’ turmoils and wrote, in The Prelude, “Bliss was it, in that dawn, to be alive; but to be young was very heaven!” And the author of Ecclesiastes, probably Solomon, wrote “There is nothing new under the sun,” less philosophical than Dickens; and more fatalistic than Wordsworth.

We live in times now that are fraught with turmoil. From major power struggles around the world, “wars and rumors of wars” – to acrimony in Washington and even echoes of hatred and destruction in unlikely settings of school-board meetings and downtown neighborhoods.

Do we live today in such a zone of a dichotomy? – are these the “best of times”? Well, things are generally more prosperous than in the past; literacy has increased; medicines and procedures are saving lives. These things are mostly true in our country and around the world. We have sent humans to the moon and maybe, soon, to Mars.

Signs of progress are all around us.

But what word should we apply to other “signs of the times”? – unrest around the world; revanchist empires; slavery and human trafficking; genocide and abuse; religious and political repression; increased drug use; divorces, suicides, and homelessness; broken homes… REgress? Surely not progress.

Humankind needs a different yardstick, or a different dictionary – or a different value system – when science concocts ways to protect and prolong life… and develops means to end life before birth, and with the elderly, in advance of natural death. Governments seek life elsewhere in the universe, yet encourage the snuffing of lives in the womb. Or deny that a heartbeat in the baby is life.

And so forth. “Vanity, vanity; all is vanity,” Solomon continued in his indictment. “Meaningless.”

If we – humankind; not merely our immediate neighbors – ever are to redeem our species, what we call Civilization, it will require a revolution (or counter-revolution, actually) of our souls, our standards, our values. Values: what is valuable to us?

This week I was corresponding with friend Nicole LeBlanc, a gifted pianist, who issued challenges for people to list favorite works of Beethoven in several musical genres. Next came thoughts of the reasons for our affections; and then of the interpreters of his works. I have internalized such questions, the reason why I have several recordings each of all the works of Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert. We respond to differences in instrumentation, tempi, dynamics, interpretation.

How can we listen to the musical miracle that was Bach, or be moved to tears by works of Mozart – who first composed at age five, and wrote supernal melodies as easily as other men perspire – and think that the world has progressed beyond them?

Such thoughts returned me, from a different route than beholding the spread of nihilism, to a consideration of “progress.”

Question: Which scenario leads to greater enjoyment, richer appreciation, more satisfaction to your soul and mind: hearing Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony (or insert any great work of art) only once in your life as often was the case in centuries past; or having access to DVDs and videos by the dozens, and listening to the music several times a year, for years and years? It is a challenging question, with implications.

In fact, in the question we can substitute any work of art, fine wine, or travel adventure. Does saturation equate with increased enjoyment, intellectual enrichment… progress?

I am a free-enterprise capitalist, and I endorse democracy (like Churchill, I suppose: democracy is the worst form of government unless you consider the rest. I suppose.) Yet since I recognize that human nature is corrupt, I regret civil architectonics such as capitalism and democracy that let humankind work its will. Eventually they must produce harm.

Potential great artists and composers spend their careers designing advertisements and writing commercial jingles to seduce our better judgments. Their works will remain in the culture about long as the fortunes they accumulate producing the ephemeral material. Ah! Some might say that daVinci and Michelangelo also spent their lives and their talents on commercials, too – advertisements for God, commissions for the church. Is it any different?

Yes, is the answer; yes.

We return to the question of standards and value-systems. It is worthwhile to devote your life to an ideal; a noble truth. It is the proper calling of humanity to praise God for the gifts He has given us… to return those gifts, in my view. We advance humankind by recognizing what is true, what is noble, what is right, what is pure, what is lovely, what is admirable. We should think about such things.

These things that are excellent and praiseworthy, and not selfish or short-sighted, these things will save the earth and benefit our fellow creatures. This is progress.

Finally, I return to “creativity.” In so many ways we are like the animals, but… we have the spark of creativity. And that is why it is a shame to waste it on the promotion of transitory things. We are to be “imitators of Christ,” Thomas à Kempis urged, writing of spiritual ways.

I wrote here recently that we actually cannot create anything, as God has created all, and this is a finite world: maybe we can only rearrange. Yet, in what we call creativity, we can in a way imitate God. A solemn privilege! We can imagine, we can dream, we can explain. We can take blank paper, white canvases, and rough chunks of stone… and bring forth works of art and beauty and understanding. We can not, and need not all be Beethovens. But we must, all of us, dream and “create.”

We too can touch souls, and change hearts. To appreciate other artists, and to translate God’s profound messages and love for others through our works – and not to cheapen our talents, throw them away, or use them for selfish and hurtful ends here in the 21st century – now, that would be progress.

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Surprise! You might be expecting a passage of Baroque music or a great poem. But I am going to share a country song, one that expertly captures the essence of creativity – from loneliness to sacrifice to devotion to resonance. We can all relate! The Christian songwriter sings of the iconic 16th Avenue in Nashville, home to studios, publishing offices, and dreams. The songwriters around him relate, too, by their expressions.

Click: 16th Avenue

11-8-21

It seems like everywhere we turn these days we meet “virtual” things, “bots” (robots and robotic actions), and automated actions. When I was younger, the prospect of such things were called “labor-saving devices,” and promised a future of… saving labor.

Car washes led to driverless vehicles, in a way. Now we can read newspapers when going to work. Of course, when I lived in California, crazy drivers on the freeways read newspapers instead of paying attention to speeding cars in the dozen other lanes. Now, a few years later, there are no such things as newspapers any more. This is all called Progress.

On our computers, the program will finish our sentences. Algorithms predict, with high degrees of accuracy, what we want to buy and where we would like to travel. No matter, because commercials and subliminal messages mold our desires anyway.

So modern life is telling us what to do. Modern life increasingly also dissuades us from pushing back; prevents us from asserting ourselves.

We are at a precipice in history. These things are not momentary fads, but Brave New modes of living. Candy, of sorts, that will cause cavities in our souls, I fear. The Romans lulled the population into subservience by giving them “bread and circuses.” We remember – we should remember – that Benjamin Franklin wrote, “Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.”

I have found myself lately wishing that modern life could provide us with virtual Volume Controls. Can’t we all just get along at a quieter level, a slower pace, normal surroundings?

I think it was Patsy Clairmont who said that in her life these days, “Normal” is nothing but a setting on the clothes dryer. In its own way she rivals Franklin’s profundity. There are many dangers in contemporary life, seriously parlous trends and signs. Some who are not alarmed are welcoming of the tremors and coming disruptions (at their peril, I think). And some people merely are distracted by the shiny toys and sweet candies, so to speak, and media propaganda and guilt trips and…

Combined with wars, inflation, crime, corruption and so much else, we might wish we could turn the clock back. Except for Daylight Standard Time, that is something we cannot do. We are being told that we can do almost anything we set our minds to… except to say “No thanks” to some of these rapidly changing elements of contemporary life.

My essays of late have careened from grim to glib and back again. So will this one, all by itself.

I am much worried about the state of affairs in America and the West, in popular culture, in government, and everything in between. I lament, and blame, the institutional churches in large part. And I try to rally Christians to assert their faith, their freedom, and their fates – that is, our civic duties and prerogatives – as our heritage is being erased and our liberties eroded.

But then I tell myself, and remind you of the fact, that we can peek ahead to the final chapters of the Book. There will be travail; trials; and literal tribulation. What we currently endure might only be a shadow of persecution to come. Yet we know that God reigns, Jesus has defeated the enemy, and the Holy Spirit has been given to strengthen and guide us. “Gospel” means “Good News.” There will be a happy ending to all of this.

I was sarcastic about the concept of “Progress” above. Yet I harken to the book I have read many times, The Pilgrim’s Progress, reportedly the second best-selling book in history after the Bible; and deservedly so. We are pilgrims and strangers in this world, but headed somewhere as we all must. But keep to the Road called Straight, enduring twists and turns, and climb upward to the Celestial City. You like “virtual” things? Bunyan’s book is a virtual picture of reality!

This week I have had moments of crying tears of grief, for friends. Both Christians. A friend whose dear husband died, I believe of Covid or symptoms brought on or exacerbated by the virus. Creative people, united in love of Christ and each other. And a friend whose son committed suicide – as is often the case, sudden, surprising, a mystery. My friend is new to me, a “Ted-Head,” devotee of Theodore Roosevelt; our friendship further informed by a common love of Jesus. The Lord gives my friend the strength to bear up and share a positive witness in these days following. I cannot pretend to think I could be able to do so, as he is doing.

So. What’s important in life?

Yes, these controversies threaten us, and when evils attack us, maybe we turn the other cheek. When they attack our families… or when they attack the Savior… Well, we remember to pray; we ask the Spirit’s wisdom. Sometimes we turn down the volume, if we can. Sometimes we may answer in kind. The Bible does lay out the “whole armor of God.”

But something else came to my mind this week, and it was not an accident to “find” it. It has centered me, and ministered to me. I pray it does for you too.

Another new friend, Daryl Coats, is the grandson of the composer of Gospel songs J B Coats. J B wrote some of the greatest songs of the past couple of generations. You might know “Where Could I Go But To the Lord” and “Winging My Way Back Home.” And many scores of others.

He also wrote one of the most beautiful, sentimental Gospel songs ever – “The Sweetest Gift, a Mother’s Smile.” Do you know it?

One day a mother went to a prison To see an erring but precious son;
She told the warden how much she loved him; It did not matter what he had done.

Her boy had drifted far from the fireside Though she had pleaded with him each night,
Yet not a word did she ever utter And though her heart ached, her smile was bright.

She left a smile, son, you can remember; She’s gone to heaven, from heartaches free.
Those walls around you, could never change her. You were her baby and e’er will be.

She did not bring to him parole or pardon, She brought no silver, no pomp or style;
It was a halo sent down from heaven, The sweetest gift, a mother’s smile.

Can we remind ourselves that amidst the fears and fights and threats and hate and dangers, that we have our heavenly faith, the love of Jesus, the promises of God… and each other?

Cherish your family members, and your dear friends in Christ. This simple song reminds us of, yes, a mother’s smile…  and God’s unconditional love.

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Click either (or both!) versions of this song. One by an elderly mother on a mountain cottage porch; one by the great Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, and Linda Ronstadt.

The Sweetest Gift – Jan Clark

A Mother’s Smile – Dolly, Emmylou, Linda

10-31-21

Christian Patriots in America increasingly seek a figurative wishbone. But it is a backbone, not a wishbone, that we need, faced as we are by contemporary challenges.

The end of October has been appropriated as a secular holiday despite its origin as Hallowe’en, the holy evening before All Saints’ Day. It is not a national or a legal holiday, of course, but it rivals the others – I believe every month but May has a “legal” holiday that allows for three-day weekends and used-car sales; and most have been shoved to Mondays for such reasons.

Reverence and reflection are no longer justifications for these holidays. Easter and Thanksgiving have been sanitized and renamed on school calendars. The birthdays of Washington and Lincoln have been subsumed by a “presidents’ day” that equally honors Millard Fillmore and Warren Gameliel Harding. And October’s real bank holiday is being changed from remembrance of Christopher Columbus to any ethnic group with a pulse except White people.

The national neutering of meaningful observances has not quite reached the other significant event related to the last weekend in October: Reformation Day. It has been reduced to a relatively obscure celebration in America, although October 31 is indeed a national holiday in many European countries.

Reformation Day is associated, of course, with Martin Luther. October 31 was not his birthday, nor the day he cited as having a revelation that the Christian Church had become corrupted in certain ways that required reforms consistent with Bible tenets. It was the day, rather, that the professor and monk finally was motivated to list his critiques – there were 95 of them he called “theses” – and affix them to a cathedral door in Wittenberg, Germany. It was a common practice to post announcements and invitations to public debates.

Most people know the outlines of his story. He was not the first devout Catholic to dissent from some Vatican practices. Popes had mistresses and children; political intrigues and nepotism were rife; and the sales of “indulgences” promised alleviation from punishment for souls not quite good enough to enter Heaven.

Holy hucksters actually used the slogan, “When the coin in the coffer rings, the soul from purgatory springs.”

Such things appalled the theological student Luther. He was informed by Bible passages that faith alone, not works or devices of humans; and that Scripture alone, not added rules and schemes, assured people of their standing with God. As a monk he could read the Bible (in Latin, the only language the Church allowed), and everyday worshipers were forbidden to read it.

For a hundred years other reformers had similar observations, but people like Jan Hus, John Wycliffe, Thomas A Kempis, Peter Waldo, and Geert Groote spoke their minds, and were routinely excommunicated, persecuted, and often tortured and burned at the stake or dismembered.

Luther wanted to reform the Church, not start a revolution. He wanted Roman Catholicism to be purified, and did not intend to start a denomination. But his cause was taken up by other clergy members, and by princes who wanted to be free of Rome’s political control.

I desire here to do more than honor the beneficial spiritual and cultural revolutions Luther indeed inspired, which included translating the Bible into the language of the people, writing memorable hymns, and animating the movements that spread literacy and promoted democracy – for the responsibilities of the Individual were seeds he planted that sprouted in Enlightenment thinkers and republican governments.

What I want to recognize, honor, and emulate is the towering figure of Martin Luther, the example he set as a man of conscience who exercised integrity when he was threatened.

When he was a called before ecclesiastic judges in the city of Worms, he was aware of his lost position as a priest and a professor; his excommunication form the Church; and the likely sentence of death. In Washington’s Museum of the Bible is a letter he wrote the previous night, addressing his impending execution. He had been chased, accused, condemned, and charged with heresy and causing civil unrest.

Luther was given a “lifeline”: to retract his writings, withdraw his complaints, recant his beliefs… renounce his conscience and the truths of the Bible. Like Galileo, he could have acceded to ignorant lords and fallible fools, and continued his life and work. But… “I can not, and I will not, recant. Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me.”

At that moment uncountable forces of Christianity and Western civilization were in a crucible. The course of history would have been very different if that brave man had compromised.

His example, his answer, “Here I stand. I can do no other,” should be a watchword in the battles we face today. That example, that answer, must be our response… no matter what issues confront us, threats we face, sacrifices we risk, or costs we must pay.

You refuse to compromise your position on racist trash in schools? “Here I stand. I can do no other.”

You deny the government’s demand that it asserts control over your body? “Here I stand. I can do no other.”

You oppose new standards of sexual morality and threats to our children? “Here I stand. I can do no other.”

You dare believe that abortion is murder?” “Here I stand. I can do no other.”

You are willing to risk the criticism of family and neighbors, to be called a “hater,” to hurt peoples’ feelings? “Here I stand. I can do no other.”

You will speak out against churches that are “accepting” of new religion or no religion, bending its message to excuse sin? “Here I stand. I can do no other.”

Some brave protesters – “protestants” – lost their jobs and friends and sometimes their lives. Some, like Luther, were protected by people inspired by his integrity. Some lived to take his message to the arts and philosophy and governments as they formed themselves.

… and some, today, lament that Luther’s integrity – his examples, his answer – is a thing of the past. Have people of faith, parents, citizens, patriots, given up?

Would you renounce the things you believe, the things you once thought were true? Would there be enough evidence of your beliefs that would even let the world accuse you in matters of right and wrong? What is worth losing your integrity for – in the end, what do you stand for? Or will Christian Patriots learn to say:

“Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me.”

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Please watch this clip of Luther’s answer, from the powerful 1953 movie:

Click: Here I Stand.

10-25-21

In honor of the World Series, we have a lesson that can be derived from the greatest game that God ever invented. Not quite a parable, which is supposed to be an earthly story with a heavenly meaning. This is more like a heavenly story that is revelant to a people that sometimes seems to in the ninth inning of our lives, with two outs and a full count…

I have never done this, here, but it is a story that has bounced around on the web. Someone wrote it – I wish I could discover who, because it is well told (or told about someone else’s message) – and it has passed from site to site, as these things do. I have edited to its essence. It is called “Seventeen Inches”:

In 1996, Coach [John] Scolinos was 78 years old and five years retired from a college coaching career that began in 1948. He shuffled to the stage [of a sports dinner] to an impressive standing ovation, wearing dark polyester pants, a light blue shirt, and a string around his neck from which home plate hung — a full-sized, stark-white home plate….

“You’re probably all wondering why I’m wearing home plate around my neck,” he said, his voice growing irascible. I laughed along with the others, acknowledging the possibility. “I may be old, but I’m not crazy. The reason I stand before you today is to share with you baseball people what I’ve learned in my life, what I’ve learned about home plate in my 78 years.”

Several hands went up when Scolinos asked how many Little League coaches were in the room. “Do you know how wide home plate is in Little League?”

After a pause, someone offered, “Seventeen inches?”, more of a question than answer.

“That’s right,” he said. “How about in Babe Ruth’s day? Any Babe Ruth [League] coaches in the house?” Another long pause.

“Seventeen inches?” a guess from another reluctant coach.

“That’s right,” said Scolinos. “Now, how many high school coaches do we have in the room?” Hundreds of hands shot up, as the pattern began to appear. “How wide is home plate in high school baseball?”

“Seventeen inches,” they said, sounding more confident.

“You’re right!” Scolinos barked. “And you college coaches, how wide is home plate in college?”

“Seventeen inches!” we said, in unison.

“Any Minor League coaches here? How wide is home plate in pro ball?”… “Seventeen inches!”

“RIGHT! And in the Major Leagues, how wide home plate is in the Major Leagues? “Seventeen inches!”

“SEV-EN-TEEN INCHES!” he confirmed, his voice bellowing off the walls. “And what do they do with a Big League pitcher who can’t throw the ball over seventeen inches?” Pause. “They send him to Pocatello!” he hollered, drawing raucous laughter. “What they don’t do is this: they don’t say, ‘Ah, that’s okay, Jimmy. If you can’t hit a seventeen-inch target? We’ll make it eighteen inches or nineteen inches. We’ll make it twenty inches so you have a better chance of hitting it. If you can’t hit that, let us know so we can make it wider still, say twenty-five inches.’”

Pause. “Coaches… what do we do when your best player shows up late to practice? or when our team rules forbid facial hair and a guy shows up unshaven? What if he gets caught drinking? Do we hold him accountable? Or do we change the rules to fit him? Do we widen home plate? “

The chuckles gradually faded as four thousand coaches grew quiet, the fog lifting as the old coach’s message began to unfold. He turned the plate toward himself and, using a Sharpie, began to draw something. When he turned it toward the crowd, point up, a house was revealed, complete with a freshly drawn door and two windows. “This is the problem in our homes today. With our marriages, with the way we parent our kids. With our discipline.

“We don’t teach accountability to our kids, and there is no consequence for failing to meet standards. We just widen the plate!”

Pause. Then, to the point at the top of the house he added a small American flag. “This is the problem in our schools today. The quality of our education is going downhill fast and teachers have been stripped of the tools they need to be successful, and to educate and discipline our young people. We are allowing others to widen home plate! Where is that getting us?”

Silence. He replaced the flag with a Cross. “And this is the problem in the Church, where powerful people in positions of authority have taken advantage of young children, only to have such an atrocity swept under the rug for years. Our church leaders are widening home plate for themselves! And we allow it.

“And the same is true with our government. Our so-called representatives make rules for us that don’t apply to themselves. They take bribes from lobbyists and foreign countries. They no longer serve us. And we allow them to widen home plate! We see our country falling into a dark abyss while we just watch.”

I was amazed. At a baseball convention where I expected to learn something about curve balls and bunting and how to run better practices, I had learned something far more valuable.

From an old man with home plate strung around his neck, I had learned something about life, about myself, about my own weaknesses and about my responsibilities as a leader. I had to hold myself and others accountable to that which I knew to be right, lest our families, our faith, and our society continue down an undesirable path.

“If I am lucky,” Coach Scolinos concluded, “you will remember one thing from this old coach today. It is this: If we fail to hold ourselves to a higher standard, a standard of what we know to be right; if we fail to hold our spouses and our children to the same standards, if we are unwilling or unable to provide a consequence when they do not meet the standard; and if our schools & churches & our government fail to hold themselves accountable to those they serve, there is but one thing to look forward to …”

With that, he held home plate in front of his chest, turned it around, and revealed its dark black backside. “We have dark days ahead!”…

And this is what our country has become and what is wrong with it today, and now go out there and fix it!

Sister Wynona Carr recorded “Life Is a Ball Game” in 1952, a hit that resonated with the general public. As the National Pastime (yes, still America’s Game) is as fresh as old black-and-white film clips are exciting, so do the messages of Coach John Scolinos and Sister Wynona Carr speak to us today.

The game is not over till it’s over. And, remember – don’t widen the plate in our lives!

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Click: The Ball Game – Sister Wynona Carr

(And click on some of the archived Christian blogs of retired pitching great Jeremy Affeldt toward the end of the list of Recommended Sites links to the right.)

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

10-11-21

One of the most familiar and quoted American poems of the Twentieth Century – after advertising jingles – is Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.”

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both / And be one traveler, long I stood / And looked down one as far as I could / To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there / Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay / In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh / Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Frost’s poem, at least the first and last phrases, frequently are quoted. And it often is misidentified as “The Road Less Traveled,” which title lends an air of misty fatalism instead of melancholic speculation… or a dozen other meanings. Not that Frost intentionally invited more analysis than depicting an everyday happenstance common to humanity. But one scholar, Dr David Orr, wrote a whole book deconstructing the poem. At the other end of the spectrum (and not likely addressing Frost) Dr Yogi Berra stated his unique view: “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.”

I have been thinking about Frost’s ubiquitous imagery and symbolism (for surely he intended to evoke larger contexts). In our contemporary world, especially in America, there is so much argumentation and accusations and anger that an observer might assume that neat and clear Divisions reign amongst us; that there are two camps continuously at loggerheads. Friends or enemies, black and white, right or wrong.

Yet society’s divisions are not bifurcations – not dealing with “two sides to every story.” In practice these days, many issues are rhetorical reticulations: multi-faceted, as discernible as little cracks in a windshield, as easy to trace as strands of cotton candy. To return to our analogy, roads in a yellow wood that are overgrown by tangled brambles and vines. Most “debates” I hear these days are subsumed by ferocious tangents.

I try to keep Christ’s example as my lodestar; not to be judgmental, but for discernment, or to learn new viewpoints, or perhaps have an opportunity to witness. Even, or especially, when non-spiritual questions arise. It’s not always easy. A friend this week asked my opinion about whether to attend the funeral of an estranged in-law. Two roads diverge? Ask Yogi Berra. Not all questions are right or wrong from a Christian perspective. We can try to apply that perspective, however.

More seriously, a dilemma was shared with me recently. A friend who is an airline pilot and opposed to the Vaccine is threatened with dismissal and all that would portend, if he does not submit. This is more than a question of conscience: it is a question of livelihood. Athletes on charter flights take off masks in the terminal, and on the field, as do tens of thousands of spectators. Their jobs are not threatened. Two roads diverge in a yellow wood.

His is not necessarily a Christian dilemma, although proponents of the two alternatives might make cases. America has gotten to the point where people argue about a thousand little things, then torture themselves over two clear choices. I have many friends, from congenital skeptics to my own doctor, who vehemently oppose the Vaccine. The System is forcing us to make excruciating choices despite ourselves. And we are threatened.

Some choices we make willingly or with insouciance, even on matters recently regarded as grave. Another friend whom I have admired, and assisted, on public issues we zealously pursued, just abandoned them because they “have not gained traction”… with hardly a test of traction. I cannot criticize those choices, when a hundred factors might be at play. People are choosing, in political matters, whether to compromise or resist. Increasingly, we come to roads diverging on our pathways that once seemed straight and clear.

It is not only COVID but dozens of issues. Local school board meetings have become battlegrounds, and our own government is calling concerned parents “terrorists.” The internet should be allowed to censor and spy? We are to be under suspicion for having more than $600 in bank accounts? Can we call politicians murderers when they want to allow babies to be killed? Oh, that’s hate speech… but all we’re doing is trying to love babies.

The Lord knows I do not condemn my friends with whose choices I disagree. I have made tough decisions, and probably am making some wrong decisions right now. That is one reason God instituted prayer; and a reason that we have friends, and cherish friendships. Let us be charitable and generous to each other in these awful times.

But for Christ’s sake, literally, let us think and pray when we come to moral forks in the road.

Do you remember that old saying about not understanding someone unless we can walk a mile in their shoes? We should imagine others’ choices, not only our own, when the roads of life diverge before us.

And maybe, more often than we are used to, we can walk down those roads together.

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Click: When I Get To The End Of The Way

10-4-21

Warning label; truth-in-packaging: I don’t have the definitive answer to this eternal question about God allowing evil in the world, but I believe I have come the closest I will ever come to being satisfied. It is, of course, a challenge that has confronted every person who ever has drawn breath.

We first must acknowledge that there is an aspect to the question Why does God allow evil in this world? that essentially is a word game. It is similar to the question Can God create a rock so heavy that even He cannot lift it? Those are questions framed, but also limited, by the constraints of logic. Logic is something we think is a tool that will explain all things. But ultimately it is a mere construct on a par with intuition, perceptions, deduction, traditions, and superstitions. Even Science frequently is disproven by Science; facts become fiction. The pertinent quickly can become impertinent.

Regarding questions that are as flimsy as a child’s curiosity about nature or as “profound” as a philosopher’s life-work of deductions – which, in their contexts, are questions of equal validity, substance, and weight – we must be humble. If we question Almighty God, or have questions about His sovereign ways, we can do no other than put on cloaks of humility.

A step toward clarity is to view the sweep of humankind’s history and recognize that life – Creation, the universe, the “in the beginning” – originally was innocent and perfect. And that life – the “New Creation,” the end of time, Heaven – will someday again be peaceful and perfect. Paradise lost and paradise regained. In between, it pleased God to created humankind, and it pleased Him to endow us with intelligence and free will.

You might have noticed that human nature, thus set free to follow its inclinations and choices, invariably has ruined the Plan. All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. When everyone chooses rebellion, we can expect corruption in our world. Sin is a stain that spreads through individuals’ lives, and poisons the well of humanity in every aspect, every time, every place.

“Who is perfect?” and (after the Jesus-answer) people often think of Mother Teresa as a great example. St Paul called himself chief among sinners; as he wrote, “None is righteous, no, not one.” Martin Luther was overwhelmed by the consciousness of the sin nature. And Mother Teresa herself strongly disclaimed any special possession of righteousness as she would stand before God.

So between Creation and Heaven – when God left us in charge, so to speak – we humans messed things up, and still do. The devil only tempts, but does not force anyone to sin. And as God in His dispensation sent Jesus to be the means of redemption and salvation, the promises of humanity’s past and the promises of humanity’s future were manifest. And still, the world rejected Him.

To our original question, some answers include:

Jesus came to us, not to eliminate sin, but to free us from the bondage of sin and its punishment.

The Holy Spirit was given so that we might have the power to resist the devil and all his ways. (I wonder if “evil” is the root of “devil.” I mean in philology.)

Confronting the question directly – and allowing for the technicalities of language and limitations of our “logic” – it is not really the case that God allows evil. God allowed humans to make choices in life… and, by making choices to sin, WE “allow” evil. Again and again we allow it, exercise it, encourage it, perpetuate it.

How dare we blame God? He “allows” evil? He “permits” it? HE created it?

In further examples of impertinence against the Holy God, we invariably tend to judge Him by our puny standards (which is the sad aspect of human history, our pride being the subtext of the Bible’s entire story). By this arrogance we sin and expect no punishment. We permit evil and then blame God.

For misery and death, for disasters and sickness, there are indeed mysteries under a sovereign God… and the consequences of the corruption we ourselves have unleashed on the world. That God is Lord of all does not mean that He is the Master Puppeteer; He lovingly created human children, not robots.

For those of you who are mathematically inclined, think of how many times each day you might sin (“minor” or serious) or permit evil (allowing misconduct or tolerating injustice). It’s not hard to do – Mother Teresa herself calculated such things in her life. Then multiply that number by seven days; then by the weeks in a month; then by the months in a year; then by the years in your life. Those are a lot of sins; that’s a lot of evil.

How quickly will people then continue to maintain that God allows evil?

Not to avoid an answer to our question, but to draw closer to an answer, we should revisit what I mentioned about judging God by our self-righteous and self-delusional standards. We love free will until we need to shift the blame for the sins we commit and the evils we cause.

Let us not ask how God can allow evil in this world… but how we can allow it.

How and why do we allow evil? How and why do we permit the evils of sin, hatred, injustice, abuse, intolerance, unforgiveness? Throughout history a rebellious human race has blamed God, and not ourselves, for these things.

Why does God “allow” suffering in life? Let us think more, and more often and more seriously, how in the world we allow suffering in this life.

God Himself awaits our answers to this question.

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Click: Nearer, My God, to Thee

9-27-21

“The only things in life we can be sure of are death and taxes.” Well, those are not the only things. One more is that stupid, lying saying itself. We hear it a lot, which doesn’t make it truer.

We can be sure of many things. King Solomon said that there is nothing new under the sun, and he was famously wise for such clarity. We can be sure of death, yes; and sickness, disease, sin. Broken promises, lost love. Not so quick – we can also be sure of life, birth, new life, and re-birth. Love. Happiness, joy, innocence, forgiveness, redemption. Salvation.

The good side of the ledger is longer, and more profound, than the dark side.

We can read those good items off the list, and we can write them. We can live them, and share them. But none of it is automatic. Sometimes the gloomy list of things in life seems written boldly, in large letters. And sometimes – too often – the cheery words and promises seem hard to read… the letters small… the words smudged.

But they are there. Move your eyes closer; turn up the light; focus.

Focus. Things like death and taxes, hard times and false friends can seem indeed like the stark, sure things in life. And sometimes the blessings and good can seem distant and obscure. Well, God promised us many things, but not always a silver platter – we are better off when we focus, concentrate, pray, seek, and find.

I recently “discovered” a place called Pictured Rocks on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. The UP is a strange and large place that once welcomed workers who felled all its trees (it is dense forestland again) and copper (mostly removed) and iron ore (largely mined). Now it is a remote and, despite its spurts of past exploitation, a sparsely populated forestland.

Its soil is not pure dirt, if there be such a thing. It still has traces and veins of copper, iron, and other minerals. But just as fermentation can be a curse or a blessing in foods, so do these random minerals in the soil – not enough to mine successfully any more, and perhaps annoying to farmers – “redeem” themselves. Along Lake Superior are sandstone cliffs, beaches, sand dunes, waterfalls, inland lakes, a deep forest, and a wild shoreline of cliffs. The minerals, exposed to the sun and air and moisture, present rainbows of copper-oranges and oxidized greens and all varieties of colors. Rust actually can be beautiful.

Dig a little and discover the good that lives in surprising places.

Yeast, wine, cheeses, black tea, penicillin, and a thousand things that “turn”… are transformed to good. As people, we can “turn” too; and even circumstances can turn to good. You know the song: tadpoles to bullfrogs; caterpillars to beautiful butterflies. Rusty rocks to unlikely rainbows.

Turn the pages of life if you have to. There is beauty everywhere in God’s world, and treasures in His plans. Focus; you will see them.

You can be them.

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Click: This Is My Father’s World

9-20-21

A message from your friendly neighborhood Christian Curmudgeon. Actually, I am risible about some aspects, many aspects, of corporate worship these days, but it is not related to my being a reactionary about many other things. “Reactionary” might be too strong; but I have been called a moon-calf, a fuddy-duddy, a jabbernowl. Perhaps with justice, but I must first grab a dictionary.

I honestly (and earnestly) think that many forms of contemporary worship divert the focus from God and the Christian message, all in the name of – here we go – “relevance,” “inclusion,” “being welcoming,” “attracting youth,” and so forth.

The Italians have a phrase that I remember hearing, or rather I remember the meaning which is very wise. I think it was something like “Per andare avanti, guarda indietro,” and its meaning is, “Before moving forward, one needs to look back.” That is: remember; build on the past; respect your heritage. Further, using another Italian word, “ritorno” can be a palliative. That is: return to values before you lose what is valuable; preserve what carried you to a good place.

Can these stern prescriptions apply to worship and music in the contemporary church? Yes, and applicable to many, many larger aspects of life these days.

You don’t have to be a mossback to recognize that our world is spinning out of control. Specifically I mean “our” world of Western Civilization — Post-Christianity, secularized and hedonist, materialist and moral-relativist. Whether virtually worshiping “science” or finding value in no-values, our world thinks it has found the formula for success in the pursuit of happiness.

We seem to believe that every generation, every society, every belief system in all of human history had it wrong. Contemporary society has figured it out, it tells us: the best religion is no religion; the best standards are no standards. “Imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can. No need for greed or hunger, A brotherhood of man.” The theme song for a generation was really a funeral dirge of self-deception.

Somewhere along the way, their karma ran over our dogma.

Our puppet-masters dance more madly with each other, inspiring the suicidal, incestuous, relentlessly aimless “life” we are forced to live amidst the ruins of religion, order, respect, reverence, law, and learning.

And what of my original choleric indictment of church worship? A minor factor? I don’t believe the trends and modes in Christendom today are peripheral, but are squarely indicative of a rudderless society. Indeed, the general drift in contemporary churches – thank God, not all: I acknowledge that – are mirrors of what afflicts our “civilization.”

So I will address my thoughts to malignant trends in many churches today.

*The mad rush to “run” more and more people into pews is an admission that churches don’t believe the sweet Salvation message is sufficient.

*The transformation of music and “doing” church to be “contemporary” and “relevant” tells those who hunger for Eternal Truth that fads of the moment are what really matter to the clergy.

*Many churches act as if traditional hymns are illegal and printed hymnbooks and prayer books are toxic. Except for the (rare) great old hymns, who knows the words or can sing more than those new songs’ seven words repeated 11 times?

*Performances on stages, with worshipers as mere audiences, now are substitutes for congregational participation.

*Hosts challenge people to smile and grin and yell Good Morning – “Louder! I can’t hear you!” – when in fact some people seek church in order to weep and seek God and listen for Him.

*I am not against instruments other than organs and pianos, but many people leave church services more in love with guitar riffs than with Jesus Christ.

*I have seen uncountable youth pastors, in their 30s and 40s, wearing cargo pants, sporting tattoos, and dying their hair in order to relate to their Middle Schoolers. Kids today don’t need idiot adults pretending to be kids who have classmates and friends already. What kids need are Christian adults to be role models.

*Sin frequently is not addressed in many contemporary Christian churches. To ignore our sin nature and the stain of sin in our life is to deny what Jesus came to defeat, and the Holy Spirit sent to empower our resistance.

*Do we know the prayers of the church any more? The Commandments? The Creeds that summarize our faith? Do we know the distinctives of our denominations, or do differences make no difference? Really?

*Finally, how many American Christians are taught about the history of the church, about the defense of the faith – from schisms within, or from periodic Muslim invasions over 1500 years? How many of us know about, and take inspiration from, the martyrs who died for their faith?

… I believe if we don’t know about all the martyrs who died for the Faith, we surely will die for our lack of faith.

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Click: The Old Rugged Cross

9-13-21
Nine-Eleven ~~

Think back on 20 years ago, September 11. How many victims of terrorism were there?

Most people will cite around 3000.

That is wrong. On September 11, 2001, there were approximately 3000 victims of murder at those three American locations.

But there were 300-million victims of terrorism. And still are.

Words are important. They can point to the truth; they also can obscure the truth. They inform us; they deceive us. Humankind is persuaded that words and language elevate us over the rest of animate creation; but in truth, “communication” is only useful according to the character of the user – and the discernment of the hearer – and otherwise camouflages the baser aspects of human nature.

“Terrorism” does not need adjectives and modifiers. Have you noticed TV news reports of, say, a school shooting or a planted bomb exploding, and the reporter says, “Officials have not yet determined whether it is terrorism.” Idiots. People are terrified – that suffices to be Terrorism.

America has been on a war footing – a wartime economy, busied with large and small wars, newer and newer weaponry – since World War II and the Depression it overcame, so we live in an Age of Terror. Afghanistan became boring to many Americans after 20 years, but we forget that history is replete with Hundred Year Wars and Thirty Year Wars. Not only wars: for centuries, people lived under constant threat of Black Plagues, Yellow Plagues, and other mysterious pestilence.

Of course I do not minimize the current waves of Terror, and of course I mourn the murdered and honor the brave rescuers. Searing emotions. But for our nation to lull itself into thinking that 9-11 was a “one-off,” or that life can be “normal” again… invites another shocking news story interrupting our regular programming. We want Terrorism to be a limited series and Terror incidents to be sound bites. Transforming evil into banality is seductive… and ultimately deadly.

I was a boy at the dawn of the “Nuclear Age,” when schools had bombing drills. Herded into hallways by the gym, or taught to kneel with hands over our heads, under desks, in order to protect ourselves, we were told we protected ourselves from a possible thermo-nuclear attack. I had nightmares.

My son was an intern at MSNBC (when it was a different cable-news operation) on 9-11. Its studios are in New Jersey, across from lower Manhattan; its parking lot affords a superb view of the Statue of Liberty, and, on that morning, a clear view of the flaming, smoking, collapsing towers. Working three straight emergency shifts, he edited raw footage of bodies falling and people dying that have not yet been widely seen. My late wife was afraid he would be emotionally scarred; but he, young professional, has not had nightmares.

The truth is we are all scarred, and scared. We all have nightmares – of different sorts, but… the world is different, more dangerous than it was 20 years ago.

We were attacked because we were a Christian nation thriving on freedom and private enterprise. Have we doubled down on those values, or moved away from those values, after 20 years?

Why my doom and gloom on this anniversary? I remember; I do not forget; I honor the brave; I grieve for the lost and their families. We commemorate on the anniversary. But… it is a kind of American trait to seize upon anniversaries so that we may turn the page. And move on. And lie to ourselves about persistent challenges.

We cannot let that happen.

Twenty years ago, would you have thought there would be no “major” Terror attack on our soil for two decades? Answered prayer.

But who would have thought that brave police forces would be cursed and defamed today? Who would have thought that “unity” – so real while the dust was still in the air – would today be a cruel joke and a false slogan? Who would have believed that after thousands of service casualties overseas, and billions spent on arms, today the cursed Terrorists once again would be in control of their vast base, brandishing “Made in USA” weaponry; and an American president cavalier about the situation… a situation that includes dead and abandoned US citizens?

Ah, but words are employed by some people to describe those facts differently. Propagandists at podiums and on cable news engage in “newspeak.” Their training manuals are not so much the writings of Marx and Lenin… but Orwell and Huxley.

This is an essay devoted to Christian encouragement; I have not forgotten. More than Marx, Lenin, Orwell, and Huxley, the training manual we need to be reading is the Holy Bible. The problem with words is not always with the words themselves, but in the deceits of the speakers and the ignorance of the hearers. So we should remember important aspects:

One, that Jesus is the “Word of God.” The world was spoken into existence. We are told in John 1:1, In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

Second, the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart (Hebrews 4:12).

Finally, since I have mentioned the power of words to deceive as well as inform, remember that the Bible tells us that No man can tame the tongue. It is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison…. Out of the same mouth proceed blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not to be so (James 3:8,10).

Discern things clearly on this anniversary. Those poor 3000 souls were victims of murderers. The rest of us were, and still are, the victims of Terrorism. That fact has not changed. Is our response changing?

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Click: Dido’s Lament

9-6-21
Labor Day Weekend
In whatever way you spend the weekend holiday, pause a moment and pray something from your heart.

Like the ancient Roman empire, this world is doomed to fall
And it’s much too big a thing for mortal man.
Just take a look around and see the writing on the wall.
Somehow we’ve got to find a helping hand.

This world has never been in the awful shape it’s in,
And people scorn the things our leaders do.
It’s time a prayer was spoken from the heart of every man.
Jesus, take a hold and lead us through.

The mighty roar of gunfire is now a local sound
And our city streets are filled with angry men.
Law is now a mockery throughout our troubled land
And destruction seems to be the current trend.

This world has never been in the awful shape it’s in.
And our leaders seem in doubt as what to do.
It’s time a prayer was spoken from the heart of every man.
Jesus, take a hold and lead us through.

Jesus, take a hold and lead us through.

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Click: Jesus Take A Hold

8-30-21

This week I called upon my personal prayer partners (not a closed group – adv.) to lift up a family of friends whose 16-year-old son had died suddenly of a brain aneurysm. Since I might minister in words in a small way, I also coveted prayers to fight through the fog of grief and anguish.

Christians never play one-upmanship in these circumstances, but a shared experience can be a palliative. A dear friend in Colorado has endured much, and wrote the line I use as the title of this essay. Actually her words were: “I am praying. I’ve written obituaries for my son, my daughter, my step mom, and now my little brother this year…. God is good but yes, life is terribly hard.”

The order of words has a shadow of meaning, but only as we recognize reflections of what our emotions see in our moments. Life is real, Longfellow wrote; life is earnest. But life ain’t nohow permanent, as Pogo Possum said. That is, God is eternal, and we are pilgrims and strangers passing through this world.

(Longfellow’s full quatrain was: “Life is real! Life is earnest! / And the grave is not its goal / Dust thou art, to dust thou returnest, / Was not spoken of the soul.”)

The service for Nehemiah, my young friend who died, was held this morning, as I write this. It was impressive and ultimately uplifting, as all “homegoing” services should be. A celebration. Nehemeiah is, after all, in the arms of Jesus – which was the fervent young believer’s goal and destination in his life.

Are we touched by irony? The degree of sadness and grief we experience when loved ones die, technically is selfish, no? We miss them; we think of what they could have been, where they might have traveled; we have only memories.

Well, these are not anomalies except in relation to our poor power to calibrate our lives to the ways of a God who loves us outrageously and with a depth and in ways we cannot fathom. But I am struck by another irony – speaking very personally, and asking your indulgence as I share theological questions during these days. AND I think, at the same time, of those lives lost in an instant in faraway Afghanistan.

Christians often speak at times like this of God “taking someone home,” and “God’s timing,” and “God’s purposes.” Speaking very personally, forgive me, but sometimes I wonder whether we occasionally give the devil a pass at certain moments. God welcomes His beloved home, of course. But “taking” them is something I struggle with.

It is the evil one who roams about as a roaring lion, seeking whom to kill and destroy and devour. There is evil in the world, the cause of sickness and disease, death and heartache. To acknowledge that a sovereign God “allows” things is a world of difference from what unfortunately many people persuade themselves to believe, especially in certain moments, that God ordains terrible things.

Theology that challenges us. But it is more useful – and correct, I believe – to rather turn to a proper exegesis of Romans 8:28: All things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.

Yes, we must love God; yes, we must be attuned to His call on our lives. But this verse does NOT say that all things ARE good. Plainly, many things in life are not good – from a teen’s brain aneurysm to military personnel being killed by a car bomb as they help people escape to freedom. But it is our job to make all things work for good… for God’s glory; to the devil’s disgrace; to serve Jesus in the midst of trials. It is not the number of our days, but what we do in them, that matters. Jesus sacrificed all He had for us!

Yes, life is hard. But, yes, God is good.

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One of many uplifting moments in the service occurred when the question was asked, how many youth belonged to Bible Bee (a nationwide club and movement that challenges youth to memorize Scripture), as Nehemiah was a member. Perhaps 200 teens came forward, and sang a hymn. Joyfully.

Hope for tomorrow? Yes! How many communities have a young population with such spiritual dedication and commitment?

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I cannot fail to add – addressing sudden deaths at any age and by whatever cause – that we all must be ready at all times. Ready to receive salvation. Life is real; life is earnest, yes. This is a song (written in 1894) with a grim but loving reminder about our very lives being at stake. A few words from it… and please listen to the full vid clip:

I dreamed that the great judgment morning Had dawned and the trumpet had blown. I dreamed that the nations had gathered, To judgment before the White Throne.

And oh, what weeping and wailing As the lost were told of their fate, They cried for the rocks and the mountains, They prayed, but their prayers were too late

The great man was there, but his greatness When death came, was left far behind. The angel that opened the records, No trace of his greatness could find.

And the souls that had put off salvation Said “Not tonight, I’ll get saved by and by. No time now to think of religion” – But at last they’d found time to die.

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Click: The Great Judgment Morning

8-23-21

Mournful… weeping… tearful. There are translations of the Latin word that encompasses grief and bitter sorrow. It does not represent regret nor repentance, for those are emotions we might have brought upon ourselves, or can hope to solve as we are able.

When a person or an event is lachrymose it implies a helplessness, a situation reflecting doom in spite of ourselves; what secular poets have addressed as the world or universe being against us. And we are lachrymose in response; sad, full of sorrows, impotent.

You can tell that I have been casting about, trying to define my reaction to the “situation” in Afghanistan. Heartbreak, horror, anger are feelings we all share. But I might offer some new thoughts – at least aspects that the talking heads on TV have largely neglected.

Before you read on, or even afterward, I don’t expect you to agree with my points of view (although I can hope so, or 12 years of these essays have wasted a lot of electrons…). We all bring personal attitudes to complicated issues and events; and despite whatever foundational beliefs we might have, our opinions often change.

For instance, I bleed red, white, and blue, yet I was against the first Gulf War and every expansion of it; the United States has been wrong to transform itself from a Republic to a democracy to an empire; and American foreign-policy motives have not always been pure or noble. I was afraid that our adventurism in the Middle East would end up as Vietnam did – blurred mission; ultimate lack of support for our military on the ground; defeat.

Let me know how the latest chapter is turning out.

I stipulate that I am in awe of our people in uniform, their service and sacrifice. In awe. More so since the brass and civilian masters have transformed them into pawns and targets… which should make us all more cynical, and angry.

Bad enough, the lost blood and treasure. But the nature of America’s rout – unfolding hourly, and sure to continue as “breaking news” for months and months – is astonishing. And depressing. Lies, bizarre orders, abandoning partners on the ground, lack of basic communication with key allies… a nightmare from which none of us dissenters can take an ounce of satisfaction.

My particular focus these days, however, extends beyond servicemen and women, the widows and families, the disabled and disfigured veterans, the betrayed and abandoned allied governments and individual Afghans who chose to help us. (By the way, who can confidently assure any potential allies, or governments like Taiwan, to trust the United States now? Only fools would make that assurance; and only fools would believe it.)

My thoughts are with missionaries.

We hear virtually nothing of them on the news. In Afghanistan there are many Christian aid workers and missionaries, many of whom have been there for many years. If people with American passports, and Afghans who chose to be translators and aides, are being assaulted, dismembered, and killed – and they are – it is all the more likely that Christian missionaries are targeted by the Taliban. As we observe these blood-red horrors on our TV screens… come our lachrymose feelings.

So. How can I be against “nation building,” as currently defined, but support proselytizing and converting Afghans to Christianity? That is today’s easiest question.

If you had a cure for cancer, you would share it, earnestly, with anyone you could, especially those who might have the disease. If you believe Jesus is the only way to Heaven, you will orient your life, and your work, by that belief. Especially if you love someone; and even if your love extends to great numbers of the “lost.”

Inevitably, some people push back with the remark that “we” should not impose such values on others. A frequent response – from people who care more about rhetorical points than the souls of people. See my point about a cancer cure – and realize that sin, and separation from Jesus, is a cancer of the soul.

Further, it is my experience that people who condemn “imposing Christian values” on others often are the people who decreed that the “gay” flag fly from the US embassy in Kabul. And who demanded rights for women, and American-style “democracy,” and American town-hall “pluralism” on an ancient and traditional culture. As noble as policymakers in the US think those goals are… why should they be imposed, but missionaries condemned?

Jesus commanded that we go into all the world and share the Gospel. That is one-on-one discipleship. He did not command His followers to invade countries, topple governments, and turn traditional societies into American suburbia.

I have five friends who know or support missionaries in Afghanistan, as I do; all different families or missions, by the way. Many have texted or videoed the jeopardy they face. Most are determined to remain. One was able to return to the US, but wants to go back. These missionary-servants are marked for torture and death… and America has exacerbated and accelerated such fates.

I will not name my friends or contacts, nor the missionary organizations on the ground. I do not trust the all-seeing eyes of Facebook, or the government – the Taliban or the American. Our political establishment and the current Administration have earned that opprobrium. Things we share can lead to peoples’ persecution or death.

Very obvious groups who are open and effective can be trusted resources for news and assistance, however: Voice of the Martyrs and Open Doors and Franklin Graham’s Samaritan’s Purse.

And in the meantime – as China surely prepares to invade Taiwan, confident that America has lost its moral compass and its will – I ask you to follow these events more, not less. Do not let lachrimosa paralyze you. What can we do? Distrust our government, is at the top of my list. Support groups who can assist; double down on your support.

And pray. Pray for the believers, pray for the martyrs, pray for wisdom. Pray for that land; pray for our land.

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Click: Lachrimosa  (Please double-click on this title for full-screen video)

8-16-21

The thoughts I want to share here are important, I think. They are to me, and I think should be to patriots and people of faith. Reflections on a theme are what constitute essays (rather than articles or sermons) and this week I also share a little diary of reading-matter that have paralleled and fueled my thoughts.

… I could say my “angst.” For many of us share an apocalyptic view of the current condition of America – of the West, of the cultural period in which we live, post-Christianity. Overall, we are encouraged since we have peeked at the end of the Book and know how our story ends. But we are in an awful place now; growing worse by the day in myriad aspects; and there will be torment before the End of Time. The Book of Revelation also makes that clear. A glorious spoiler, as it were.

I was talking with a like-minded friend this week, crying in our beer (seltzer water, actually) about the state of things. The virtual impossibility of turning things around. How can we resist? Fight back? Redeem? Rescue? How to insulate? What is next? Where is safe? Who is sane?

I have been re-reading the poetry of Edwin Arlington Robinson, an enigmatic American who was personally reclusive but simultaneously specific and universal in his free verse about everyday people and their character. Pessimistic, said some; fatalistic. He invented a town that was his setting, Tilbury Town. Edgar Lee Masters did the same with Spoon River, but of a different flavor.

Theodore Roosevelt, who “discovered” Robinson and gave him a government job with the instructions to think of poetry first and paperwork second – his lone exception to bending Civil-Service rules! – admitted that he did not always understand Robinson, but he recognized his genius.

In his poem “The Dark House” Robinson wrote,

Where a faint light shines alone, Dwells a Demon I have known.
Most of you had better say “The Dark House,” and go your way.
Do not wonder if I stay….

There he is who was my friend, Damned, he fancies, to the end–
Vanquished, ever since a door, Closed, he thought, for evermore
On the life that was before….

There’s a music yet unheard By the creature of the word,
Though it matters little more Than a wave-wash on the shore –
Till a Demon shuts a door.

So, if he be very still With his Demon, and one will,
Murmurs of it may be blown To my friend who is alone
In a room that I have known.

After that from everywhere, Singing life will find him there;
And my friend, again outside, Will be living, having died.

Before the poem was published in The Children Of the Night Robinson sent the poem to Roosevelt, who replied – mirroring its poetic and metaphysical tone, rare for Roosevelt – “There is not one among us in whom a devil does not dwell; at some time, on some point, that devil masters each of us; he who never failed has not been tempted. But the man who does in the end conquer, who does painfully retrace the steps of his slipping, why, he shows that he has been tried in the fire and not found wanting. It is not having been in the Dark House, but having left it, that counts.”

An undying truth, even if seemingly banal. Whether he was trying convince Robinson to look upward – or convince himself – it is a moral watchword. I memorized those lines as a boy and called upon them often. Roosevelt, for all his ebullience, knew about the Dark House, or at least was not unrealistic about the perils of life and our national destiny. In a remarkably revealing story, we are told that he entertained the writer H G Wells at Sagamore Hill and gloomily surveyed the challenges facing America in the future.

But he grabbed Wells by the lapels and fiercely said (again, probably more to himself): “But, it… is… worth… the… fight!”

Yes, America is worth the fight, not the least because we are trashing our foundational commitments to Biblical principles and Christian values. America has evolved from facing challenges, to learning from failures… to penalizing success.

I also read this week the very provocative essay by Charles Pépin, “The Virtues Of Failure.” Its refreshing combination of realism and honesty make an encouraging case for optimism. Translated, I hope well, from the French:

“As a teacher, I often see pupils mortified by the bad grades I dispense. Apparently nobody has informed them that human beings can fail. But it is a simple concept: we can fail…. Animals cannot fail, because their behavior is dictated by instinct. In order not to be wrong they just have to obey their own nature. Every time the bird builds its own nest it does so perfectly. Birds do not need to learn from their own failures.

“Being wrong, facing failure, we manifest our truth as humans — we are not animals determined by instinct; nor perfectly programmed machines; nor gods. We can fail because we are men and we are free. Free to make mistakes, free to correct them, free to progress.”

And here we diagnose the cancer that afflicts us. “Free” is becoming a dirty word. “Freedom” is being canceled. We have accelerated the slide from “cradle-to-grave” welfare to government answers for everything. Light bulbs to sneezes. Encouraging children to choose their gender – as if they could – before they can spell the word. Killing babies. Paying people not to work. Inviting hordes to invade our land, no health screening, no terrorist checks. Equating the Bible with “hate speech.” Reviving race-based bigotry.

And – from government, to the news media, to mass entertainment, to the healthcare industry, to churches themselves – teaching Americans in uncountable ways to look anywhere other than churches, the Bible, and God Almighty for answers to our dilemmas. (And, oh, do we have ‘em!) “No problem, you religious nuts! We’ve got it all covered!”

The government big enough to give you anything you want, is big enough to take away everything you have. Look around you. While you still can.

If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive. I John 1:9

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Click: I Know the Master of the Wind

8-9-21

God can do many things – in fact He can do ALL things – but sometimes He chooses not to. Certainly not according to our schedules. We have desires, but God knows our needs.

When our prayers become demands, our hopeful perception of God might become that of an all-powerful wielder of a magic wand. The Holy Spirit is there to nudge us back to spiritual humility – the realization that God answers prayer on His time… or in ways we didn’t prescribe… or sometimes with a “No.”

Simply, God is sovereign. The fervent prayers of righteous people avail much, yes. Yet our priorities must be to bow to His will, not persuade Him of our views.

God forbid. And He does.

Yet many prayers are answered. Yet we pray in the Spirit. Yet we are told to pray without ceasing. Welcome to the wonderful waters of God’s love – water as a Type of His Holy Spirit; waters where we may bathe and be cleansed; living waters we can drink, never to thirst again. But… mysterious waters they are.

Very recently some of my dear friends have encountered challenges and crises of the sort that sometime cause skeptics to scoff at believers.

We regard God as a good-luck charm, scoffers say. We mostly pray when things go bad, they say. Our “trust” gets shaky when things we desire do not materialize, they say. We rely on feelings, not faith, they say.

What “they say” is too often true of Christians! Can we blame them if they see too many instances of inconsistent faith? Some of the rotten timbers of modern life are “outcome-based” assessments, performance, marketing, ethics, and education. No right, no wrong, only judge by results… which means, of course, pre-determined goals. Outcome-based.

God doesn’t work that way (and neither should we).

But as pilgrims and strangers going through life, we see the rain fall on the just and the unjust. We see sinners prosper. Yes, we seek to please God and not humankind; yes, we know our rewards are in Heaven. But, back to my anguished point, do the righteous have to suffer so much? Is God letting His children (or us, as observers – let’s be honest about our reactions) down?

Not that it would be gossip, but I will refer obliquely to some friends’ recent situations; their identities do not matter. God knows them.

A dear friend who has written a book and built a ministry around coping with a spouse’s fatal disease… has now contracted that disease too. Three different friends who seemed to have “1950s-TV perfect families” are dealing with ugly ruptures. A new friend shared the horror of her parents being murdered, and a few years later her daughter shot to death. A friend, the picture of health and activity, pillar of his church and a great husband and father, underwent emergency heart surgery…

I know that this could evolve into a contest of tales of people we all know, or of ourselves. My point is not how unfair these events are, or how rare. My point is that they are indeed common.

My point is also that such “rain” that falls into our lives should not make us shrink, or fade, or wilt. It is not WHAT happens to us in life, but HOW we deal with things, that matters.

I have shared, here, that my late wife endured trials in her life that would have tested Job, as the saying goes. Job, that is, if he were very sick. Nancy had diabetes, heart attacks, strokes, kidney failure, cancer, celiac disease, went virtually blind (before miraculous healing), broken bones, amputations, heart transplant, and kidney transplant. By God’s grace her faith was strong, and she could say through it all, “I would not choose to go through it again… but I would not trade the experiences for anything.” Why? How?

Her faith grew; her witness – an example to others – was strong; and she learned to lean on God.

“Does Jesus care?” is a question that to those crazy skeptics is at once pertinent, and irrelevant. In a world where we might be surrounded by a cloud of close friends, family, prayer warriors, medical experts, therapists – you name it – I’m afraid we can also feel VERY alone in times of crisis.

No offense to all those people, but humanity has limits. I believe God has programmed Life so that, at the most difficult moments, where can we turn but to the Lord?
“Caring” is a buzzword that can be as counterfeit as it is facile. A substitute for action, assistance, succor, substantial resources… and even then, with human limits. When Jesus cares – I mean, when we KNOW He cares, because He always does – we have peace that passes understanding; health to our spirits maybe more than our bodies; an ever-present help in times of trouble.

Knowing that the Creator of the Universe cares, really cares, about you, puts everything else in proper perspective.

Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty Hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him… for He cares for you (I Peter 5: 6,7).

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Click: Does Jesus Care?

8-2-21

I was talking with a friend this week about canals and rivers and cruises; memories and bucket-list kinds of things; and how different our country would have been if canals had asserted their utility and prominence in the face of railroad and highways. (Cleaner, quieter, more picturesque landscapes, at least…)

I have been blessed to have traveled on the legendary Orient Express train; and to have enjoyed cruises through Europe, those that connect great cities and pass breathtaking scenery on fabled rivers). On my bucket list still is a barge trip through France. On first mention it might not sound romantic, but France is still crisscrossed with old canals; and barge excursions wend their way at slow pace through beautiful countryside. Your “pilot” will stop where you want, and go ashore to acquire local produce, meats, cheeses, and wines so every spontaneous meal he prepares is fresh.

My current research into Theodore Roosevelt’s career taught me about an active movement during his presidency. He was a proponent of something that might have been realized if he had served another term. Basically it would have connected America in imaginative ways – joining rivers, expanding streams, building canals. From the Atlantic Ocean to the foothills of the Rockies, from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico; all would have fed into the Mississippi, making it – and all the other watery constituents – vast, interconnected routes for travel and commerce. Flood protection, irrigation, westward expansion, and trade would be beneficiaries. Locks, reservoirs, towpaths, and muleskinners were legacies.

In Roosevelt’s time a nationwide movement – actually scores of local initiatives, called, in one instance, “Fourteen Feet Through the Valley” – advocated an aggressive, coordinated policy. Unfortunately, lobbies of railroads and highway builders and unions were more aggressive and coordinated. There still are many miles of canals in America, and by greater proportion, around the world, but this grand interstate waterway was not to be. It could have been as consequential, a modern miracle, as Roosevelt’s Panama Canal proved to be. I eventually experienced a canal trip, between two Great Lakes at Sault Ste-Marie (where their levels are different, necessitating canals and locks). Not yet have I been to the Panama Canal.

I will open rivers in high places, and fountains in the midst of the valleys: I will make the wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water. Isaiah 41:18

Otherwise on such subjects, and many others, I am naïve, and I will confess that I realized how provincial city boys can be (I was born in New York City) then when I visited the source of a river outside Angoulême, in the Charente region of France. There was a little lake from which flowed a little river, but it appeared to have nothing flowing into it. Except from below. There was a swell of water, as of a fountain, that revealed the point of the source.

I felt like a hick to be amazed at this. As a kid in New York, the only similar thing I ever saw was water swelling from broken sewer pipes or fire hydrants. Otherwise, I thought water came from… faucets. Oh, yes, upstate reservoirs. Oh, yes, magazine pictures of melting snows in mountains, and great waterfalls. But obviously there are many natural springs; we read about them. They don’t require drilling. Bottled water companies subsist on them. But I was 30 before I ever saw one of these underground springs.

There is a spiritual message; there always is (in life, not only here with me). In the Bible there are many “types” of the Holy Spirit, like oil and rushing wind. And water; frequently water. We thirst for Him; we need oases in life’s frequent deserts; we know these things.

Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” John 4:13,14

The Lord met a woman at Jacob’s Well and impressed her with knowledge of her sins and shame, and the explanation that the water she drew there was nothing compared to what He provides us. The TV series The Chosen remarkably captured that encounter.

Wells that are dug are smaller versions of springs that are sources of rivers. We can be amazed at such sources of water, but do we realize that unless we channel and direct them, neither the source nor the thirsty themselves know where they will lead?

In the case of water, it will flow somewhere. In spite of Greenies’ hysteria about imminent flooding of Kansas prairies, the earth holds just so much water – always has, always will. It might freeze or steam, become rain or alter its courses, even change locations from oceans to deserts over time, but water is finite in its volume. As springs well up, so do vast underground rivers ebb and flow.

As with water, so it is with all components of God’s world. We cannot double the size of the earth; we cannot invent new elements. I celebrate “creativity” but always try to remember the quotation-marks: only God the Creator can create. At best, even in the arts, humankind merely rearranges.

As with water, and springs of wells and rivers, the Source knows not where it will flow, or end, except in God’s omniscience and providence. With the Holy Spirit, the “springs of living water,” we can be refreshed and sustained… but having it become “a well of eternal life” is our responsibility.

Jesus offers to turn the deserts of our lives into gardens. How will we then live? Too many of us choose to become thirsty again, and again, and again, when we can be free of that; and never again be spiritually thirsty.

“There is a river that flows from deep within.” Come to that water.

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I could not decide which of three relevant video music clips to attach today. The inspiration flooded over me to offer three themed songs, of three different traditions.

Click: In the River
In The River (featuring Kim Walker-Smith)

Click: There Is a River
There Is A River – Heritage Singers

Click: Down In the River
Down in the River – Shenandoah Christian Music Camp

7-26-21

I do love mysteries. Books, stories, movies, real-life events. I think we all do; but there is a difference in our next steps. Some people, and I think humankind in general particularly in the past few centuries, love mysteries because there is a passion – almost an obsession – to solve them.

Is this a good thing, a natural impulse? Not necessarily. Mysteries, the unknown, deep challenges, dare us in many ways; and we accept the challenges. Answering the call, thus have diseases been conquered, new lands discovered, and faraway planets visited. Not bad things, and an aspect of humankind’s DNA that grows when exercised.

I regret some negative aspects that inevitably follow. We have been deluded into thinking that we can solve any mystery, in time; which is of course ridiculous. We lose sight of the fact that life often substitutes new challenges when some mysteries (diseases, plagues, natural disasters) are met; for nature and human nature seem immutable. And we tend to equate the passage of time with real progress. Some mysteries merely deepen: we solve mysterious sicknesses but insist on inventing better ways to kill each other. How’s that for a mystery?

No, I love mysteries because they are mysteries. We cannot know everything, or else we would be as God – and I admit my credentials are lacking. But I do not merely settle for being very human; I embrace the mysteries that place me apart from God; that is, subordinate.

His mysteries are wonderful, just as His ways are inscrutable. That leads me to the basis, the definition, of faith. There are things I don’t have to know, because God knows. There are things I don’t have to worry about, because He cares for me. If things seem out of control… I know He is in control. Martin Luther said that Reason is the enemy of Faith. Hmmm.

I embrace mysteries like birth, and the formed fingers and joyful smiles of babies. Of flowers that return after seeming to die; of seedlings that push through rocks. Forgiveness is a mystery. Salvation is a mystery I don’t understand, but I accept. And when all is said and done, love is a mystery.

If we dissect a butterfly to see how it can fly, we kill it in the process. Therefore, many of the mysteries of life – of God – I simply accept and embrace.

Parts of the Bible we need to understand; but parts of it present the mysteries of God without explaining them. That’s fine. “We will understand it better bye and bye.”

For instance, in the Book of Revelations – surely a book that reveals as many mysteries as matters of clarity – we read of the “24 Elders” who fall down before the Throne of God in Heaven, and cast down their crowns before Him. We read of treasures in Heaven. We read in two passages about this scene, the “glassy sea” before the Throne of God.

Crowns and treasures that some might have? The rest of us will not? Aren’t we all to be equal, once saved? Maybe the Elders represent churches, or dispensations, or saints of the ages…?

It is true that forgiven and blood-bought Believers are no more, and no less, “saved,” or Children of God, which is confirmed many times in Scripture. In the same way as the vilest sinner on earth might gain Heaven by confessing Christ at the end of his or her life. Or the most generous charity worker might go to hell if he or she never believe and confess Christ. These things fight against our own logic, but are not mysteries. They are God’s honest truth.

About those treasures and crowns, I have always thought that in God’s plan there have been saints or martyrs, perhaps, who have a place of distinction, not greater favor, in His sight… but before the Throne of God, nothing else will matter except bowing before Him, praising Him forever, gathering with other saints around the river and the beautiful, calm, glassy sea; and placing at God’s feet whatever honors there might be.

Greater service, greater perseverance, greater love will seem like nothing when we behold Him. In proper perspective, we will lay everything before Him.

Heaven – we try to imagine. Do you want to see loved ones again? You probably will. Children want to see their pets? If that thought pleases them here, it might happen there. But our minds cannot for a moment imagine the riches that await us in glory. The words of a great hymn attempt a picture:

Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore Thee, Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea; Cherubim and seraphim falling down before Thee, Who were and are and evermore shall be.

Does this make sense? No matter; let the mystery be. We will see these things.

Some “emergent” churches claim to embrace mystery, but in my experience they embrace candles and incense instead.

For now we see through a glass darkly; but then, face to face. Now I know in part; but then I shall know (I Corinthians 13:12)…

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This hymn of church was a poem by Reginald Heber later set to music by John Bacchus Dykes. The “Holy, Holy, Holy” from Revelation reminds us that the Bible’s frequent use of numbers is significant – three for perfection; seven for completion, etc. Not clues for lotteries, but lessons to learn from. Here, worship with the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir:

Click: “Holy, Holy, Holy” sung by the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir

( If you are reading the blog on a mobile device and have problems downloading, please copy and paste this link — https://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=MFdObQIE4tA — into your browser. )

7-19-21

~~ A guest message by my friend Leah C Morgan, a gifted, spiritual writer whose thoughts always move me. ~~

They didn’t understand what he was saying, and they were afraid to ask him what he meant.

This verse from Mark’s Gospel is eye-opening: it exposes the faulty habits of communication we all share. The passage preceding this scripture tells us that Jesus wanted to get away from the crowd for a while, to spend time alone with his disciples, to teach them, so he kept their location quiet.

His plans were to set aside time for them. Teaching implies understanding.

But this special time apart became a one-sided conversation, Jesus talking and his friends not comprehending. And – does this sound familiar to you? – they didn’t ask for clarity. Whether out of fear or timidity, they did not seek to understand.

Watch the difference in Jesus’ methods. Immediately following this, they walked to a house where they would be staying and when they were settled, Jesus was not afraid to ask what they meant in their private conversation. “What were you discussing out on the road?”

“But they didn’t answer, because they had been arguing about which of them was the greatest.”

What a difference between how Jesus communicates and how we communicate.

How did the disciples model communication? They avoided it:

•They communicated out of their fear. Don’t inquire, don’t seek understanding, don’t ask questions about things that are uncomfortable to talk about.

•They communicated out of their shame. Don’t respond, don’t divulge details, don’t answer, keep quiet about things that make you look bad.

How did Jesus model communication? He ran headlong into it:

•He set aside time alone without distraction. Away from other pressing and legitimate needs He committed to be fully present and to communicate his thoughts. He gave enough information to alleviate fear and to open the door for further discussion. Even when those closest to Him remained mute out of fear.

•He listened when others communicated. During their daily activities He waited for an appropriate time to bring up what he observed, and asked questions of them. Even when the closest to him remained mute out of shame.

Jesus healed the deaf and mute while those closest to him selectively chose too often to be both.

Have you ever said to those closest to you, “I don’t want to talk about that”? It is likely then that you need to talk about that. We continue to carry what we continue to bury.

Is there someone “being Jesus” to you, giving you space to ask questions and allowing an opportunity for you to give honest answers? Choose the uncomfortable now. The disciples were not able to avoid difficulties by avoiding to talk about them.

The disciples referenced were men. There is a culture around manhood that creates the lie: to speak is weak. Jesus dismantles this lie. It takes courage to be vulnerable. It takes incredible strength to talk about uncomfortable things. Look at His boldness, look at His honesty. Jesus is the ideal man; He both asked and answered hard questions.

Silence in conversation often is an effort to retain self-respect. We imagine that truthful engagement would cost us the respect we’ve worked so hard to create. But the more we cling to it the more we strangle it. The paradox is the “letting go.” Respect is earned when people have the courage to be real… not when they master the art of silence.

When these men were transformed by spending time with Jesus, it empowered them to survive the worst of times they weren’t prepared for. They learned to start talking about it!

John later wrote: “I have much more to say to you, but I don’t want to do it with paper and ink. For I hope to visit you soon and talk with you face to face. Then our joy will be complete.” (II John 1:12)

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The disciples’ reluctance to communicate – listen and speak – made them weak in the hour they needed the greatest strength. Here is a song about talking, sung by Sheri Easter. The camera also finds Jeff, her husband; and Reba Rambo, whose mother Dottie wrote this song. Taped at the Cove, Billy Graham’s retreat center.

Click: I Just Came To Talk with You, Lord

7-12-21

We all endure trials in life; and we recently discussed that fact here. Some trials, of course, are more severe than others… some only seem so, and lesser challenges become bigger obstacles… and some trials are “blessings in disguise.”

You have heard that expression, “a blessing in disguise.” Whenever I hear it, I think of the story about Winston Churchill during the London blitz, looking out over a burning city. An aide supposedly said, “Perhaps this is a blessing disguise.” Churchill supposedly harrumphed, “Some blessing. Some disguise.”

We see through a glass darkly, and cannot always know the larger picture. That is one reason why faith, and prayer, and reliance on God, are so important.

These days, I am persuaded, our trials are worse than ever, at least unique at this point in history. I refer to our national trials and trauma – the challenges we face in society, the breakdown of morals and manners, standards and traditions; betrayal by institutions and destructiveness by groups and individuals.

And I also refer to personal trials. How can I know the trials outside my circle of friends and correspondents? Because our society’s crises are causing personal crises. Many of our trials, yours and mine, in the areas of friends, family, finances, security, and confidence flow from the dissolution of our culture. Addiction, abuse, violence, crime, broken relationships, abortion… these are trials we endure in the larger realms of our lives, and the close-up spheres of our existence.

Let us think of one of the most iconic examples of a trial, so famous that it has entered the language, “going through the fiery furnace.”

In the Book of Daniel, chapter 3, is the account of Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar, who constructed a golden idol and commanded that all bow down before it. And anyone who refused would be executed, thrown into a blazing furnace. The king was told that three officials, named Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, refused to worship the golden statue.

They were brought before the king and explained that they worshiped only the God of the Bible, and would not bow down to an idol. Nebuchadnezzar commanded that they be thrown into the fiery furnace, heated seven times hotter than normal. It was so hot that, it was written, the jailers handling them died of the heat. When the king was able look into the furnace, however, he saw the three walking around, not bent, not bowed, not burned. And he saw a fourth figure with them – he said looking “like a son of God.”

Who was the fourth man? Not an angel; not a Holy Fireman except by metaphor. Bible scholars regard the Fourth Man as the pre-incarnate Jesus, as He did appear at times through the Old Testament.

This is a lesson for us today.

Unlike some other nuanced views, this is what I take away:
* There will be trials, always; don’t kid yourself.
* Never compromise with the “world system.” We are surrounded by idols these days. Don’t be seduced; don’t compromise; do not lose faith.
* Don’t bend; don’t bow; and you will not be burnt.
* If God wanted to spare those three men, He could have extinguished the fire. He could have made the furnace crumble. He could have struck down the king and the jailers.
* God had them go through the trial, and then save them, as a lesson in Faith. For us.
* Jesus is with us in trials. He does not want us to pray that “life” never happens… but to trust Him when “life happens.”

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” Notice again that God doesn’t push us toward peaceful detours. But He promises to be with us… so we can “fear no evil.”

The rotten world-system today is our King Nebuchadnezzar. Our crises – and they are real – are our personal fiery furnaces. Are you thinking of a family problem, or at the other extreme, society’s mess? Do you grieve over a friend, the school board, the White House, everything in between? Do not compromise, do not fear, do not bend, do not bow…

… and you will not burn. Look for that Fourth Man. He is with you.

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One of my favorite actors, Charles Laughton, once appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show and dramatically recited, from memory, the story of the Fourth Man. Please watch! (The only mistake was, he called it the fourth chapter of Daniel instead of the third.) By the way, can you imagine a Hollywood star, today, being invited on prime-time TV to recite a chapter from the Bible? Times HAVE changed.

Click: Charles Laughton Shares the Story of the Fiery Furnace

7-4-21

This title might seem blasphemous to patriots. Those who know me and my works and my essays know that for the old red, white, and blue I would cheer three hundreds times, and I have.

There are many among us these days who would offer three jeers for the red, white, and blue. And do so, every day, in many ways.

“My country right or wrong”? Yes, I will defend the flag and our American heritage; and most of you readers do, too. But is not a trio of random colors that we revere, or the mere fabric on which those colors appear. Rather it is the fabric of our republic – the warp and weave, literally, of what made us Americans – that we defend. Or we should.

If those 50 stars represent, instead of separate states, let us say the hallmarks of contemporary America, will we yet rise and defend stars that stand for abortion, loss of free speech, threatened denial of firearm ownership, open borders, censorship of the Bible in public places, government weaponization of tax agencies, legalized drugs, gambling, and perversion, monitoring of “hate speech” and free assembly…?

The Revolution-era Patriots would not have fought for such things. They rebelled against far milder intrusions by the King! Their “lives, their fortunes, their sacred honor” meant more than accepting attacks upon our country, as today’s Christian Patriots go along and get along… not wanting to hurt the feelings of those who despise us. Happy Fourth of July.

This Christian column will turn to Christian things. Many of us have referred to Alexis de Tocqueville’s long visit to America in the 1840s, and his brilliant writings, his analysis of why America is unique in world history. Shame on us, not many of us have read him; shame on me, I did not until recently. But for all of his examination of immigrant groups, laws, fertile resources, and social traditions, he returned again and again to the bedrock strength of the American character: religion.

“America will cease to be great when it ceases to be good,” he wrote in that regard, and how community churches and Christian faith undergirded the American character.

Is Christianity dying in America? Is Christianity an essential component of American greatness? Have our iconic wood-frame churches and beautiful cathedrals become mere social clubs or museums? How many pastors and priests preach “inclusion” instead of the Gospel? How many homosexual rainbow flags fly with – or in the place of – the American flag or a denomination’s Christian flag?

Jacques Rivière once observed to the poet Paul Claudel that “Christianity is dying…. We do not know why, above our towns, there still rise those spires which no longer [host] the prayers of any one of us…. Surrounded by railroad stations and hospitals, and from which the people themselves have chased [the faithful].”

This describes too many churches, too many places, too many people in America today.

These very days we hear government officials bleating for trillions of dollars to take care of those in need. We listen to commercials where companies brag about spending millions (our money, of course) on the poor and disadvantaged. Whatever else these initiatives are – they are battles in the war on religion.

Jesus desires that His children have a heart for the poor. God ordained His church to exercise charity. And the Founders of this nation said – many times, in many ways – that without a religious spirit, a republic is doomed to fail. They would not have dreamed of having a government rob those initiatives from its citizens.

Thank God, the poet Claudel responded to Rivière with brilliant clarity: “Truth is not concerned with how many people it persuades.”

As an aphorism, that is valid; but the question that confronts us on July 4th is, How many people in “Christian America” care about the Truth any more? America no longer argues against Truth, but tends often to ignore it. Truth has become irrelevant. We remember that a lady outside Constitution Hall, as it is known today, anxiously asked Benjamin Franklin as the Framers left one evening, “Sir, what have you given us?”

You know Franklin’s answer: “A republic, madam, if you can keep it.”

Note well: He was not differentiating between the American Constitution and Monarchy. The Framers were careful to design and bequeath a Republic – structured, limited, balanced, representative government. In the style of Athens, Rome, and, yes, the Bible blueprints for a society, as those men frequently invoked.

NOT a democracy, which was despised and feared by Athens and Rome and the wise Framers. There is a difference, and today’s mobs not only blur the distinctions: they have declared war on order, tradition, and the religious spirit – Christianity and its role in our civic life.

I ask again, for serious thought: is this what we should salute as the flag passes by? If we shed a tear, is it for the America of today… or what America used to be?

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Click: Red Skelton’s Pledge of Allegiance

6-28-21

Whoo, what a week. Surely it was not this way with every visitor or reader here, but it seems like everyone I know was coping with problems, challenges, and crises that are somewhere between bad and worse. Friends, myself, acquaintances.

I didn’t make a list, because I don’t have enough pencils, but… relationships; health; financial; a child in peril; employment; betrayal; bitter gossip; a neighbor child’s drowning accident; breakup of a family; addiction; clinical depression. Friends shared so many things with me, helpless but not hopeless; and I cried on a couple shoulders too.

Amazing. Maybe Satan is getting out of the lockdown too. I want to be careful not to wallow in self-pity, and, certainly, I despise “negative confession.” There were blessings this week, too – for all of us – and I, for one was refreshed and encouraged on the faculty of a (Zoom-virtual) Christian Writers Conference. Fantastic reports, the glow of fatherhood, about my son and daughter doing well in their callings.

We must always have clear eyes and remember the right priorities.

If there are times we don’t feel like praising God… let me state the truth, not if but when the times come when we don’t feel like praising God, THEN is when we must do it. Praising Him for, maybe, little and mundane things will lead us to remember greater blessings; and then we will humbly thank Him for the uncountable and unspeakable glories He has gifted us with; and – every time – we will soon enter into His courts with praise.

I have always thought that’s what that phrase means in the Bible – the “sacrifice of praise.” It does work. When you don’t feel like it, DO IT, and you will feel like it, very soon.

God’s arithmetic can be funny – naw; not funny, inscrutable. God’s ways are His own, and unknowable. And, frankly, having to seek the Everlasting Help in Times of Trouble; or trust Him when we cannot know what awaits us… keeps us on our knees, so to speak. Reaching out. Trusting. Exercising faith. Crying “Daddy!”

Here’s what I mean about His arithmetic. As I write this, called away from the closing session of the Writers Conference by the pinging-alarm on my cell phone, I learned there was a tornado warning in my town. I realized, then, I had been hearing unusual sirens. Subconsciously I must have thought that some oaf at town hall had flipped a wrong switch, but it was real. A friend a little south of me called and said there were car parts and a TV set strewn about his area; and a new warning (not watch) has been issued.

At such times we pray, “Keep me safe till the storm passes by,” literally and figuratively, right? And, as the challenges of my friends and me will pass – altogether, or slowly, or barely – it made we wonder how often do we thank God for the problems that never present themselves in the first place? Tornados that don’t touch down? Accidents that don’t happen? Relationships that don’t rupture? Hurts that don’t hurt? Hurtful gossip that is never spoken? Storms that pass by?

Well, it is next to impossible to thank God for things we don’t see in the first place.

… except when we praise Him for all things, seen and unseen; joy unspeakable, as we are promised, and full of glory.

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Click: Till the Storm Passes By

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