"THAT'S REALLY WHO HE WAS!"  One of the family members said that to me as we stood by the casket of her relative in the funeral home.  Lying in repose, he was dressed in the uniform he wore every day at the filling station where he worked.  In one shirt pocket there was the shiny metal tire gauge that he always carried.  In the other, his pack of cigarettes was neatly tucked away.  She said, "Everytime you saw him, that's exactly the way he looked.  It wouldn't seem right to see him in a suit.  I don't think he ever wore a suit in his life."

 

Unusual?  I guess it was, at least a little.  But it was honest.  And he was an honest man who was quick to help others.  Somehow, it was comforting to see him in his "every day" clothes, just the way we always remembered him.  He wasn't one to "put on airs," so it seemed right to dress him in the manner he dressed himself for all those years.

 

Unfortunately, I was officiating the funeral service, and while I knew him to be an honest man, I could not say whether he was a saved man.  I had observed his geniality and industry, his affection for his sister, etc., but I knew his vices as well.  His language was salty and sometimes off-color, and he had been known to overindulge in alcohol, and he didn't mind speaking disparagingly of the Church.  I couldn't identify anything about him that revealed a personal relationship with the Lord Jesus.

 

I can't preach anyone into heaven, and I will never consign anyone to hell.  The all-wise God makes those decisions!  Besides, it's His right, since He's our Maker, knows our every deed and thought and is the "sole proprietor" of both heaven AND hell (He holds the keys!).  I have no problem leaving those decisions to Him. 

 

I read once about a man whose brother passed away.  The deceased was a wicked person, cheating on his wife and stealing from people and behaving in cruel and abusive ways to just about everyone he knew.  His brother was just like him, but he was a powerful man in the community and used to getting whatever he wanted.  Before the funeral, the brother spoke to the minister.  "Listen," he said, "I know my brother was no saint, but if you'll say that he was, I'll pay you $10,000."  The minister was appalled.  "Sir, everyone in this town knew what kind of man your brother was.  If I say anything good about him at all, they'll know I'm lying and my reputation will be ruined."

 

The brother replied, "I'm telling you, I want my brother to have a decent burial and I'll pay you handsomely to say that he was a saint.  If you can't do it, tell me now and I'll find someone else who will take my money."  Ah, yes, the money.  The preacher hated to lose the $10,000, even as he struggled in his soul with the need to tell the truth, but finally he said, "Alright then  I'll do what you've asked," and he left to prepare his message.

 

At the service, the surviving brother looked forward to hearing the good words the pastor would utter.  Everyone else had been wondering, ever since the man's death, how the pastor would find anything kind to say.  So the message began, and the pastor proceeded to outline all the evil things this man had done -- how he abused his wife and children, how he defrauded his creditors, how he brought shame on his parents from his early adolescence, how he took the Lord's name in vain and showed total disregard for all the moral instruction he had received from teachers and pastors and others.

 

The surviving brother was livid, of course.  He had paid good money to see that his sibling was commended highly.  But then the minister declared: "However, compared to his brother, this man was a saint!"  One thing is certain.  The Lord knows who we really are.  It's not how we dress ourselves...the front we put up...the things people say about us.  In the end, the Lord knows, and the Lord decides.  Blessed be the name of the Lord!

NO POINT SPENDING TOO MUCH TIME ON THE OUTWARD APPEARANCE--GOD LOOKS AT THE HEART!

DO YOU EVER FEEL LIKE YOU LIVE ON A MERRY-GO-ROUND?  Like your world is spinning, spinning, spinning and you're out-of-control dizzy?  And yet, you're not sure you would know how to function if it all suddenly came to a stop?

 

My world is like that much of the time.  For years, I have had a practice of journaling.  It's something I do faithfully, usually at the end of each day.  The end of my day is often very late...technically, it's often early the next day...but there I am recording thoughts about the day I've just lived.  Sometimes it's astonishing to me when I review all that transpired in the previous hours.  However, my life is not so different than yours, I'm sure.  My "issues" might be different, but you probably feel as stressed out and overwhelmed by your responsibilities as I do by mine.  What a frantic pace we live!

 

And "merry-go-round" is an apt description  We had one of those on the playground at First Ward Elementary School.  (Mossie doesn't like for me to say I lived in "First Ward."  She says it sounds like I was in a mental institution.  Then again, that would explain a lot.)

 

We would pile on that flat-bottomed contraption and cling to the thick iron rails and then an older kid or adult would begin to push the merry-go-round...faster and faster and faster and faster...until everything was a blur and our muscles strained with the effort to hold on.  In seventh grade, the first time I used a centrifuge in science class, I bonded with the experiment immediately.  I had a very personal identification with the concept.

 

There was an inherent thrill in the ride, of course.  We called it "fun" then, although now I wonder if there wasn't something masochistic about it.  Those old merry-go-rounds are nowhere to be found these days.  I figure too many promising lads and lasses were flung into the brick walls of the nearby schoolhouses.  Merry-go-rounds might well have been the single most influential factor in ushering in the modern era of litigation.  I should research that to see for sure.  Who knows?  I might discover that it was some sick and sadistic personal injury lawyer who actually invented this playground apparatus, diabolically designed to maim innocent children just to create actionable causes.

 

Then again, there could be another explanation.  These contraptions were found, after all, on the playgrounds of schools.  Maybe it was all meant to be part of our education.  Maybe someone in the bastions of higher learning had decreed that every child should discover that life is lived in a whirlwind, a maelstrom with an improbable admixture of terror and hilarity -- and often a confusion as to how much of which -- and that sometimes when you think you're having the greatest time of your life you're really only inches away from serious mutilation or even sudden death, and that we expend a great deal of effort and energy just trying to hang on....

 

Well, whatever we were supposed to take away from the experience, I know this: it's only gotten worse.  Those merry-go-rounds seem to have disappeared, but today's amusement parks offer roller-coasters that just get higher and higher and faster and faster.  We are a thrill-seeking society.  And the ways we amuse ourselves seem to parallel to a degree the way we live our everyday lives...always in a rush, always at the edge of ruin, always barely within the boundaries of control, always hanging on for dear life.  Except that , as adults in the work-a-day world, we don't usually scream out loud...and it doesn't feel like "fun" anymore.

 

More and more, we would just like to find peace.  Which makes the Lord's promise so meaningful: "Come to me...I will give you rest" (Matthew 11.28, NIV).

AT LEAST ONCE A DAY, USE THE "BRAKE" OF PRAYER TO STOP YOUR MERRY-GO-ROUND OF LIFE! 

MY AUNT VELMA PASSED AWAY LATE LAST WEEK at the age of 84.  I conducted her funeral service on Tuesday.  She was my father's only sister, one of four children born to my grandparents, Harlan Isaac and Will Mina.  Velma was a gentle and loving soul, and I have many wonderful memories of her.

 

Last May, I gave the message at my Uncle Clifford's funeral, on the maternal side of my family, and now this service on my father's side.  The passing of these dear relatives sets one to thinking.  I'm blessed with a very loving extended family...aunts and uncles and cousins who are dear to me, even though we are miles removed and too seldom have opportunity to see each other. 

 

Aunt Velma had a son, Danny, who was near my age and we were very close when we were kids.  He passed away of prostate cancer in his 40s and has been gone for more than a decade.  With his mother's death, I couldn't help recalling some of the fun Danny and I shared.  We played basketball together, participated in all the youth activities at church, wrote notes during church services and giggled over silly things...until my father would sometimes stop in the middle of his sermon and glare until he got my attention. 

 

I always enjoyed staying overnight with Danny at the farm near Uffington.  We would climb up to the hayloft in the barn and jump into the hay below.  Sometimes we "helped" Uncle Johnny milk the one cow they kept.  We would hike through the woods and ride bikes on the back roads and explore the abandoned Weirton Mine property.  That property was a boy's fantasy playground with all sorts of places to investigate.  It was very run down and it gives me shivers now to think back to those times when we inched our way across rickety catwalks that were 50 or 60 feet off the ground.

 

My first hunting experiences were on their property, although my only success was the giant red squirrel that I nailed as it jumped from one tree to another  However, I vividly recall the day a huge buck stood up in front of dad as we walked across one of the fields.  He was hunting with a seven-shot, bolt-action .410 gauge shotgun loaded with "punkin' balls."  He emptied his gun firing at that buck while it disdainfully trotted away.  Dad was so upset that he went straight to town to Montgomery Ward on High Street and bought a Winchester 30-30 lever action rifle.  I still have that gun. 

 

When I think of those times at Aunt Velma's, I can almost hear the bacon sizzling as she made breakfast for us, with fried eggs crisp around the edges and thick pancakes slathered in syrup.  Her kitchen was a mess, but it was a place of laughter and warmth and perpetual good cheer -- an extension of her own personality.

 

No wonder we call them "precious" memories!  I cherish all that I recall of those wonderful times with family, and those memories become ever more dear as the years pass.  My Aunt Velma valued family and would have been delighted to see so many of us gathered at her funeral.  In fact, she might have said, "If I had known that dying would get all of you together, I would have done this a long time ago!"

 

I mention all of this just to say, treasure your time with your family.  Make a special effort to preserve good memories of your own.  Many folks have hurtful, dismal memories when they think of family.  Pray God's help in making yours the kind that children will cherish  Don't hesitate to make the sacrifices that are required to build a good heritage for those who come after you.

THE FAMILY LOVE THAT WE KNOW HERE GETS US READY FOR OUR "FAMILY REUNION" IN HEAVEN!

A CLOUD OF GRIEF HANGS OVER WEST VIRGINIA this week.  Across the nation, people followed the Sago mine tragedy, hoping against hope that the trapped miners would be found alive.  We have been anguished by the way the story unfolded, first with word that 12 miners were found alive, then the wrenching news that in fact only one miner survived.

 

One woman expressed her anger toward God: "He gave us 12 miracles and then He took 11 of them away."  Sure, let's blame God.  Let's blame Him for the miscommunications that led those above ground to think that their loved ones were found alive.  Let's blame Him for the inability of the rescuers to get there in time, or for the conditions in this man-made mine that might have turned it into a death trap for these men.  Let's blame God.

 

But just for a moment, let's look at this event from a different perspective.  One of our church members is a mine inspector and has been in the Sago mine.  In fact, he knew some of those who died.  Yesterday, he emailed me with some of his thoughts, including the following:

 

"I knew some of the victims.  One...was a good Christian, and from reports on TV maybe others. Apparently they had some time to reflect about life while they were behind that brattice cloth barricade....  Maybe when Randy McCloy recovers he can tell us how much time they had and what they talked about.  But I know all things happen for a reason, and one may be, some could have been saved behind that curtain.  That is my hope.  I know when these things happen and men are confronted with life and death, the conversation turns to God."

 

Think about that for a moment.  We assume that loss of life is the worst possible tragedy, but worse still would be to die without the assurance of eternal life.  We look at the Sago event and think, "What a horrible way to lose one's life, waiting to be rescued, trapped underground, slowly giving up hope."  We might even say, "It would be better to die in a sudden explosion than to be entombed for all those hours." 

 

But would it, really?  While we grieve this awful loss, we need to be reminded that God was not absent during the final minutes or hours that these men lived.  Perhaps it was a "divine appointment."  Perhaps the Lord placed at least one believer there so that others might hear the Gospel and have a chance to repent of sin and enter into eternal life before their final exit from this world.  If so, isn't that grace? 

 

I know this, if I had been in that mine those final hours I would have wanted to be sure that I was right with God.  If someone there could share with me the plan of salvation, I would be very interested to hear it.  If the Holy Spirit illumined my mind to understand my sin and my need of a Savior, I don't think I would have wasted time.  I would have confessed my guilt and prayed for forgiveness and invited Jesus into my heart.  Then I would die with a grateful heart that I had that opportunity to prepare myself before meeting my Maker.

ONCE I WAS LOST IN SIN, THEN JESUS TOOK ME IN, AND OH, THE JOY THAT FILLS MY SOUL!

WHEN I LOOK OUT THE SLIDING GLASS DOOR of our kitchen, I see a number of branches on the ground, the result of recent snow and ice and strong gales of wind.  Some of the limbs are large.  I've got a lot of cleanup work to do.

 

Of course, not right now.  Besides having too little time, I just don't want to get out there when the weather is still cold and the ground is wet.  Spring isn't that far away, despite what Punxsutawney Phil and other prognosticators might say.  I'll put this off for a warmer day.  In the meantime, more branches will fall and the size of the job will grow.  That's what procrastination gets you.

 

Remember when our parents taught us to "pick up after" ourselves?  It's a valuable lesson that needs to be learned early.  We need to be taught personal responsibility: Why should others have to clean up the messes we have made?  Another purpose is to teach diligence and perseverance: If you don't pick it up now, there is always even more to pick up later.

 

For some weeks, I have been preaching a series of messages on the spiritual disciplines.  A key component to success in the pursuit of godliness is, of course, the practice of "staying at it."  What isn't done today is sometimes even harder to do tomorrow, both because the task seems to become bigger and more difficult the longer it's put off and because the weight of inertia seems to increase as each day passes.

 

Inertia is an interesting thing.  It works both ways, you know.  A thing that is motionless is hard to kick into motion because you're battling all the forces that hold the object in place.  However, a thing that is already in motion is easier to keep in motion because the object is now moving and is disposed toward continued movement.

 

I just had dinner with a young person who is waiting upon the Lord to reveal a career direction in ministry.  He has become more intentional about his devotional life and wanted my recommendation for a 40-day devotional study.  He commented on the fact that he has found it easier to maintain his walk with the Lord when he has a set objective in view, so he is trying to set 40-day goals that are attainable.  When he completes that stretch of study, he has a sense of achievement and fulfillment, and he has further deepened a habit that continues to strengthen his devotional practice.

 

Wise young man!  Maybe you started your New Year with a refreshed effort at a daily devotional life.  How are you doing today, on the 23rd of the second month of the year?  Have you already broken that resolution?  Or is it becoming difficult to sustain the practice?

 

Let me encourage you: Don't give up!  If you started reading through the Bible, maybe you're getting to some "dry" sections about now and all those upcoming months seem to stretch out interminably.  Try dividing your remaining commitment into smaller, more reasonable segments.  Fix your eyes on what is just ahead, finishing the book you're currently in, or getting to the end of the Pentateuch, whatever.  Remind yourself why you're doing this in the first place; rejoice in the fellowship that you have with the God of the universe as you are spending time in His Word.  Ask Him to help you maintain this commitment!

 

Actually, it's not such a bad day today.  Maybe I'll get out there and pick up SOME branches this evening....

A SONGWRITER REMINDS US: "EVERY DAY WITH JESUS IS SWEETER THAN THE DAY BEFORE!"

THE MONTH OF MARCH IS FINALLY HERE!  I won't say that this is my favorite month, although it's certainly a candidate.  It's the month of our wedding anniversary, and it's the month that our son Nathan was born.  And it's the month that Nathan married Tara, ON the very same date that Mossie and I were married, so we now share our wedding anniversary with our precious children.

 

However, the main reason I'm glad to welcome March is simply relief!  After the long months of winter I find myself longing for the return of the sun and warmer temperatures.  I actually enjoy the distinct seasonal changes that we experience in West Virginia, and I don't mind the snow and cold so much, but the lack of sunshine seems to get to me after a while.

 

Some people suffer from SAD -- Seasonal Affective Disorder -- as a direct result of not being in the sun enough.  I've never claimed such a diagnosis, but I will confess that by the time I get to dreary February I am sensing a real need for the restorative benefits of getting out in God's world and basking in the warmth of the sun once again.  Before March is completed, I expect there will be some days warm enough to justify a mountain bike ride, and those jaunts seem to rejuvenate my mind and body and soul.

 

I've just been given a book on the topic of Heaven, by Randy Alcorn.  It's a very encouraging tome and I'm reading it during my devotional time.  It occurs to me that my seasonal longing for the return of spring and the opportunity to enjoy the sunshine again is a corollary to my greater longing to leave the dreariness of this world behind so that I might enter into the eternal presence of the Lord.  After all, in that place He has gone to prepare, His very presence cancels the need for either sun or moon.  Think of that!  His glory will eclipse even the brilliance of the sun!

 

Still and all, I don't want it to sound as though I despise my present existence on planet earth.  Not at all.  The life God gives us here is to be celebrated, and it is in this present realm that we have opportunity to glorify Him before those who don't know Him, sharing with others the light of His glory as He abides in each of us.  I rejoice in the life God has given, and I'm not hoping for an "early exit" of any sort! 

 

Nevertheless, I am also well aware that much of the world lives in a perpetual spiritual "winter."  Those who know Jesus have the privilege of introducing the "spring" of His love and grace into the lives of others.  We are surrounded by people who are spiritually destitute and, indeed, very very SAD.   Theirs is a SADness that won't go away with the change of the seasons.  It can only be lifted as they come into relationship with the One who is our joy unspeakable and who breathes His life and peace into our frames.

 

Soon, we will begin to see things "awaken" all around us.  Grass will start to "green up," the first buds will appear on the trees, birds will sing the news of their  vacations to warmer climes, and daffodils and forsythia will speak a hearty "Yellow!"  Each is an "evangelist" of sorts, proclaiming the good news that spring has sprung.

 

Let's be evangelists too.  We have a Good News that is the best news of all.  Let's rejoice in the season and seize the opportunity to share our revived joy in the Lord.  Tell someone about your love for Jesus.  Invite a friend to come to church with you.  Watch for ways to share your faith, especially as April and Easter approach and spring is in full force.

 

Revel in the eternal life that is God's marvelous gift to all who have placed their faith in Christ the Lord!

THERE'S NO PLACE FOR GLOOM AND DOOM WHEN I THINK ABOUT THE JOY OF MY SALVATION!

DO YOU SOMETIMES FEEL LIKE NO ONE UNDERSTANDS YOU?  Recently, I saw a video clip of a TV commercial that really made me laugh.  It was for Berlitz, the people who sell language study aids.  The commercial showed a young man being trained to answer calls for the German Coast Guard and the instruction is in German.  He is then left alone to man the desk.

 

In a few moments, a message comes through in English: "Mayday!  Mayday!  Can anybody hear us?  Can anybody hear us?"  The young man answers in halting English, since that is obviously not his native tongue: "Yes?  This is...the Ger--man Coast...Guard."

 

The distress call continues: "We are sinking!  We are sinking!"  The young man, obviously uncertain of himself, then says, "Yes....  What are you sink--ing...about?"  The point of the commercial is "Improve Your English" with lessons from Berlitz.

 

Perhaps you've seen the Cellular One commercials that say, "Some signals just aren't strong enough."  I love the one that shows the husband who has just returned home.  He enters the door, romantic music is playing, the lights are dimmed and candles are burning, and there are rose petals on the floor leading up the stairs toward the bedroom.

 

He is baffled by the scene, then steps around the corner and reappears with the vacuum and starts sweeping up the rose petals.  How strong does the signal have to be?!

 

I'm thankful that the Lord understands me.  In fact, He understands me better than I understand myself.  So many times I have gone to Him in prayer, crying out to Him for answers, and in that time of earnest supplication He has revealed to me the inner thoughts of my heart that I didn't even know were there.  How thoroughly He knows me!

 

Moreover, I'm glad that His "signals" are strong.  Oh, it's true that I might not quickly discern His will in a given matter, and it might take some time for His direction to clarify.  But with regard to what really matters most, He never leaves me hanging.  Easter is a little more than a month away and my mind is on the cross.  What a signal!  If we want to know whether God loves us, and how much, all we have to do is look to Calvary!

This week a local radio talk show had a guest who claims to be a "horse whisperer."  He believes he can understand and speak the equine language.  I'm not so sure about that, but I know God speaks my language and understands all my heart concerns and inmost needs.  John W. Peterson expressed it well in this hymn:

And as His Spirit fills me and I grow in relationship with Him, I'm learning to speak His language as well.  Talk to Him.  Listen to His voice.  He knows what you are "sinking" and He has answers for every need.

NOTHING IS EVER "LOST IN TRANSLATION" WHEN I'M TALKING TO JESUS, MY LORD AND SAVIOR!

WHY DID JESUS CALL FISHERMEN as His first disciples?  What special qualification did they possess, or was it just that He knew that on a bad day a frustrated fisherman is willing to accept nearly any other invitation?  Of course, He didn't really rewrite their job description, He just called them to fish for men instead of those scaly creatures in the murky deep.

 

A dedicated fisherman will keep casting the net -- or the lure -- again and again and again, no matter how many times he fails to get a strike, until finally there is success.  That's a quality the Lord is looking for: staying power.  A real fisherman doesn't like to walk away with an empty creel.

 

My dad sure loved to fish.  I remember all-night excursions.  I remember how my uncle and I would find other things to do -- tell stories, watch the stars, build a campfire, eat our snacks -- but dad would keep on fishing.  He called it feeshin'.  He just knew there were "feesh" in those waters somewhere.  He would pay no attention to us, except to scold us sometimes for talking too loudly and "scaring the feesh away."  I was never really convinced that they could hear us under the water.  I think it was just that we were disturbing dad's concentration. 

 

And there were some memorable moments over the years.  Once he caught a monster blue channel catfish in the New River, fought it for a long time, then just as he was lifting it out of the water the line broke and it escaped.  We never forgot the look on his face.  Of course, as the years went by that "feesh" grew in size and the story of dad's fight to get it to shore became a tale of epic proportion.

 

We had trips to the Shenandoah when we would catch so many fish we could hardly get all of them on ice, packed in coolers.  When we got home, dad would stay up nearly all night filleting those fish for the freezer.  He didn't believe in "catch and release."  He believed in "feesh" fries, blue gill and bass and trout and catfish rolled in cornmeal and oil and sizzled to perfection.  I believed in that, too, but I was less willing to get my hands involved in the bloody entrails of a gutted fish.  Didn't mind eatin' 'em though.

 

I'll never forget the night he fished by Cheat Lake with his lights on so he could see to bait his hook.  He killed the car battery and he and mom walked about two miles in pitch black darkness with a couple little fellows, till we got to my grandparents' house where we spent the night.

 

On one of his last excursions, his friend Bob took him out in a flat-bottomed boat on a small lake near Morgantown.  The water was only about three feet deep, which was fortunate because dad managed to tip that boat, putting both of them in the drink.  It was a warm and sunny day, so when they got to shore they both took off their pants to let them dry in the sun.  Two old men sitting in their underwear by the lake shore, laughing at their foolishness.  Does it get any better than that?  They enjoyed the memory, and telling the story, and like all good fishermen they became adept at embellishing the details over time.

 

Maybe the Lord chose fishermen as disciples because he knew that fishermen have a zest for living, an enthusiasm about the quest itself, and a deep sense of satisfaction when the outing is successful.  Those are the kind of people the Lord recruits when he wants to "catch" souls for His kingdom. 

 

I'm sure of this: The fishermen Jesus called embarked upon an adventure they never could have dreamed.  Catching souls for Jesus has got to be more exciting than the grandest fishing trip ever.  After all, each one is a "trophy," worthy of display, with a story that will make your jaw drop.

IF YOU'RE IN THE KINGDOM, PERHAPS A ZEALOUS "FISHERMAN" NEVER GAVE UP ON YOU! 

WE WERE FOUR TEENAGE BOYS RETURNING HOME from a summer Christian camp.  Three of us were named David, so to eliminate confusion I'm going to use last names in this story: Bosley, Kennedy, Rogers and Goodin.  I was 15, I think.  Bosley was a senior in high school...it was his last year to attend this camp...and we had traveled together in his beautiful Chevrolet Impala.  How proud he was of that car!  It was a two-tone blue and white, early 60s vintage, with flared fenders and plenty of chrome.  It was Bosley's baby.  He washed and waxed it religiously and I don't think I ever saw it when it wasn't gleaming.  Plus, he had souped up the engine a bit and it had that nice throaty roar that identified it as a muscle-car of the era.

 

The week had been a good one, too.  The Bible classes and evening worship services were stimulating, the weather had been perfect for softball and other outdoor activity, and we had each renewed acquaintances with girls we generally saw only at summer camp.  Now we were on our way home.  Of course, we hadn't slept a lot that week, so we were tired.  Rogers was especially tired.  We hadn't been on the road very long before he fell asleep in the back seat.  Even though Bosley, Kennedy and Goodin were laughing and telling stories, nothing disturbed Rogers.  He was sprawled out beside Kennedy, leaning against his door, sound asleep with his mouth wide open. 

 

That's when Kennedy had a diabolical thought.  On the seat beside Rogers was an open bag of those orange Circus Peanut marshmallows.  Teenage boys never travel without snacks and Rogers had already had a few before he fell asleep.  Now, there he was with his mouth open, completely oblivious to everything going on around him, and Kennedy couldn't resist the temptation.  He picked up one of the Circus Peanuts and gently placed it in Rogers' open mouth.  Rogers began to chew it slowly, kept right on sleeping, and Kennedy and Bosley and Goodin roared with laughter.  After he had consumed the marshmallow entirely, soon his mouth opened again, so Kennedy fed him another, with the same result.

 

We had about a two-hour drive home, and in that time Rogers consumed almost the entire bag of candy.  Kennedy kept shoveling them in; Goodin might have participated a time or two as well.  We thought for sure Rogers would awaken eventually, but he never did.  It took some minutes to slowly consume each peanut, but before long his mouth would fall open again and we would renew the process.  We thought it was hilarious.

 

When we got back to Morgantown and stopped the car, Rogers woke up.  Almost immediately, he said, "I feel sick."  We told him, "You probably slept too much, buddy.  You've been out almost since the moment we hit the road."  He was practically green with nausea at that point.  When he got out of the car, he could barely stand up.  Finally, we had to tell him what we had done.  Of course, we weren't the least bit repentant.  We thought it was the greatest story ever.

 

At that point, Bosley, Kennedy and Goodin probably should have been prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, but the whole incident was overlooked as a "boys will be boys" sort of escapade.  We told the story many times, and even Rogers got a kick out of it.  I'll never lose the mental image of a sleeping Rogers, slowly munching on those sugary Circus Peanuts, sickening himself to the point of nausea without even knowing what he was doing.

 

That was funny.  On the other hand, we have to wonder about the consequences when we are subjected to the same deception with regard to our moral consciousness.  If we are asleep spiritually, who knows what the enemy might be "slipping in" while we are unaware.  In our slumber, we might swallow just about anything, only to wonder why we feel so ill when we come to our senses.  And that's NOT funny!

EVEN THINGS THAT "TASTE GREAT" CAN BE HARMFUL WITHOUT DISCRETION AND MODERATION!

"PASTOR!  SOMEBODY STOLE MY CAR!"  She was obviously agitated.  I had been greeting at the door following a Sunday morning service and nearly everyone had left the building when this dear lady returned, very upset and at a loss to know what to do.  I began to query her.  "Where did you park this morning?  Are you sure you didn't park somewhere else?"  She insisted that she had parked in her usual place and the car wasn't there and it had been stolen and we'd better call the police. 

 

Well, I happened to know that Olga had become increasingly forgetful.  In fact, she was having difficulty taking care of her affairs and several had expressed concern that she had no business driving at all.  My suspicion was that the car wasn't stolen.  I suggested that before we called the police perhaps we should walk around the building to see if the car was in another spot.  She saw no point in doing that, but she followed me out the door and we walked through the parking lot around to the other side of the church.  Voila!  There was her car!  When she saw it she said, "Praise the Lord!"  It was as though the car had indeed been stolen and the thieves had come under such conviction that they returned it while she was looking for the pastor!

 

She drove away while I pondered whether it was safe for her to be on the highway and would she remember where she left her house.  Things continued to decline for this dear soul until she had to be cared for by others.  She's now at home with the Lord and I miss Olga and her spicy personality and her wonderful poppyseed cakes.  She, and others like her, come to my mind whenever I suffer those inconvenient lapses of memory that suggest perhaps I'm losing my faculties.  We're not gettin' any younger, right?!  I've learned the value of making notes, because I can't rely on memory alone.  By the way, where did I leave that note I made....

 

But I assure you that I have not lost my "marbles."  Some years ago, my mother took a few of the marbles from my childhood collection and had an artisan split them and create a handmade kaleidoscope.  The rainbow of colors is brilliant, and when mom gave it to me she said, "Now you can never say that you've lost your marbles."

 

Memory loss is disconcerting, but I'm thankful that some of the really important stuff seems to be indelibly printed on our (diminishing) grey matter.  Conscious appreciation of the love of those who are near and dear seems to linger, even when other memories have faded.  Fundamental morality and integrity seem to prevail.  And perhaps most comforting of all, assurance of salvation and some working knowledge of scripture often remain even when other dimensions of functionality slip away.

 

A precious member of our church recently passed.  A good while ago, Howard no longer recognized family members or other visitors.  Still, when our Pastor Miller would visit and read or recite a scripture passage, Howard would often chime in and recite the same verse.  "I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you" (Psalm 119.11).

 

The Apostle speaks of the things that are permanent...and they aren't the things of this world!  Appointments might be forgotten.  Perhaps I can no longer recall much of what I studied in the classroom.  Maybe I've forgotten some significant events in my life.  I might even come to a day when the familiar faces of others are no longer familiar to me.  But perhaps all of that forgetfulness is just clearing the way for the moment when I behold the face of the One whose image was stamped on my heart when I accepted Him as my Lord and Savior.

 

After all, my eyes are fixed on "what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal" (I Corinthians 4.18).  Maybe seeing Jesus for the "first time" will really be like "deja vu all over again."

GO AHEAD AND FORGET EVERYTHING ELSE, BUT DON'T FORGET (OR NEGLECT) THE KING OF KINGS!

I HAVE "BELONGED" TO THIS AND TO THAT over the years.  I'm talking about memberships or associations.  At present, I am a member of the Board of Directors of my denomination, and I serve on several other advisory boards for certain ministries.  I'm on a number of boards and committees in my local church.  In seminary and law school and college I "belonged" to certain honorary societies and other groups.  In high school I was a member of Hi-Y club and in junior high I was a member of the band.

 

When I was in the 5th grade, I joined several other fellows in forming a "Misogyny Club" -- no girls allowed -- and we drafted a set of bylaws and held secret meetings in an enclosed space under one of the boy's back porch.  It was our "clubhouse," a private sanctum where entrance was granted only if you knew the password...and were male.  We were proud to be "haters of women."  We were 10 and 11 years old, self-exalted in our ignorance.

 

I'm sure you belong to a number of groups, organizations, ministries, etc.  And many of us belong to a church, whether as formal members or as regular attendees.  We might even say that we "belong" to the Body of Christ.  We mean, of course, that we are members of the larger family of faith, gathered under the name and Lordship of the very Son of God.

 

I've been thinking about that this week.  It's "Holy Week," that very meaningful time of the year when we recall the death and burial and resurrection of the One who "gave Himself up for us" so that our sins would be forgiven and we might enter into the eternal life that is the legacy of those whose hope is in the Lord.  All the benefits of the cross and the empty tomb are mine, to the extent I have trusted in Him.  If I "belong" to Jesus...if I "belong" to His Body...then I am an heir of everything that belongs to Him.  He is all my hope and righteousness.

 

But belonging to Jesus is so much more significant than any of the other "memberships" I might profess.  When I say that I have identified myself as His disciple or follower, I'm saying that He is my Lord and Master.  To identify with Jesus is to lose my identity in His, in a sense.  I don't mean that I forsake the God-given personality that is mine, but I do mean that I resign the old self -- I put it to death, in fact -- so that the new nature of Christ will become evident in me. 

 

What I'm saying is, in every other "identification" in this life, I can belong to something without losing anything of who I am.  I don't have to renounce self to belong to a board or committee.  But when I come to Jesus and say, "Lord, I would like to wear your name.  I want to be your disciple.  My desire is to assume your identity." ...well...something pretty drastic is unfolding.

 

To identify with Jesus -- to say I "belong" to Him -- means admitting the truth that I am a sinner.  It means repenting of that sin, not just confessing it but actually renouncing it and turning from it.  It means forsaking my former way of life.  It means taking up my cross.  It means following my Lord.

 

I "got over" my 5th-grade misogyny, by the way.  It was always rather impractical and illogical.  Boys have mothers, after all, and not one of us in that club had a problem with that.  And as I got a little older, strangely enough girls didn't seem to be the same despicable creatures they had been when I started 5th grade.  But I've never "gotten over" belonging to the family of God through faith in Jesus Christ.  Don't expect I ever will.

NOW I BELONG TO JESUS...JESUS BELONGS TO ME...THE RISEN LORD IS ALIVE IN MY HEART TODAY!

WHEN SOMEONE HAS A SEEMINGLY IMPOSSIBLE TASK to complete, you might hear them describe it as "like trying to herd cats!"  In other words, it can't be done!  Cats are skittish and independent anyway, and they certainly do not have a "herd mentality." 

 

We have a cat, the imperial Pooh, and he pretty much does whatever he chooses.  I can't imagine herding that one cat, much less a whole group of like-minded felines.  In fact, Pooh is more likely to herd me.

 

In the mornings, while I'm getting the dog's food and water, Pooh will complain the entire time.  It's not really a "me-ow."  It's more like a "me...me...me...me."  He's very insistent...outraged, really...as though he's saying, "How dare you make me wait for my breakfast!  Stop giving your attention to that stupid dog and take care of ME!" 

 

Now understand, it's not as though this cat is starved.  He weighs just shy of 20 pounds.  He could miss a few meals before anyone would even notice.  One of Nathan's friends will sometimes come to the house and ask, "Where is that morbidly obese feline?" 

 

Recently, there was an article in the sports section of the newspaper about a hunter who bagged a bobcat.  Said it was a good-sized 18-pounder.  I thought, "Wow!"  Then I thought, "Hey, wait a minute...."

 

So, I take my time feeding him.  I do have a stubborn side, and I almost enjoy this little game we play.  Truth is, this is the nearest thing to exercise this cat ever sees -- walking to and from the feeding bowl.  If I can make him pace a few minutes, maybe that counts as his morning "cat calisthenics."  While he voices his impatience and paces all around, I take my time filling his water bowl, cleaning his litter box, etc, then finally..."Oh, do you want some food, Mr. Pooh?"

 

Finally, when I'm ready to get his food, he scurries over to the container, still loudly announcing his displeasure -- wae...wae..wae -- until I actually get the food in his bowl.  And no matter how many times I've fed him, it's as though he thinks I've forgotten where I put the food.  He has to run ahead of me to show me where it is.  I guess he's "herding" me in a sense.  "Here it is!  In this bucket!  Now open it and give me the biggest scoop possible!"

 

The instant I deposit the food in the bowl, I become a non-entity.  It's as though I don't exist.  His sole focus is consumption.  There is no pause to thank me for once again satiating his hunger.  There isn't even a brief moment to say "grace."  You'd never know that this cat lives in a Christian household.  It's just gobble, gobble, gobble, after which he does the only other thing he is proficient at...sleep until the next feeding time.

 

Pooh is probably pretty typical as cats go.  I wonder, though, if my prayer life isn't sometimes all too similar.  Insisting on God's response, right now, whether or not He has other things more deserving of his attention.  Trying to "herd" Him in the direction I want Him to go, without a thought of what His agenda might be for me.  Focused solely on getting my needs and wants supplied, and seldom expressing to Him the gratitude that ought to match the provision.  Then going away to forget about Him until it's time for another "feeding."

 

Oh, dear!  What is amusing in a pet is appalling in a proclaimed disciple of the Lord Jesus.  Shame on me!

 

NOTE: If you are getting more than one copy of Thursday Thoughts, please let me know.  Tell me the preferred address you wish to use and I'll check to see if I have multiple listings for your name.

LORD, YOU'RE SO KIND TO "WAIT ON" ME.....GIVE ME PATIENCE AND GRACE TO WAIT ON YOU!

I'M STILL THINKING ON THURSDAYS!  Honest, I am!  However, I'm having a hard time finding an opportunity to share any thoughts with others. 

 

I'm in a stretch right now where Thursdays are especially difficult for me.  Last week I attended our annual District Conference, in Ohio.  (On the way back, Pastor Scott and I stopped at Harry London's chocolate factory to pick up some sweets for our sweeties...but I digress.)  I thought I would be able to get a Thursday Thoughts message out when I returned that evening, but I was swamped with "catch-up" work to do. 

 

This week and next I have Thursday commitments that make it hard to find time to type out a message.  Nevertheless, I'm trying to get this brief word out to you this week, but I'm making no guarantees about next Thursday!

 

If you didn't know...or you knew but had forgotten...tonight is a great opportunity for some quality instruction by several of the nation's top religious leaders.  At 6:30 this evening, in the sanctuary of our church, we are hosting a Maximum Impact Simulcast designed to emphasize the biggest challenge that faces the Church: How to reach our world for Jesus.

 

The line-up includes some pretty big hitters.  Leading off is Henry Blackaby, author of Experiencing God and one of the most respected names in the modern Christian community.  Ted Haggard, president of the National Association of Evangelicals, will speak, along with John Maxwell of INJOY Ministries, and Bishop Dale Bronner of the Word of Faith Family Worship Cathedral.  Spencer Tillman, well-known athlete, author and CBS sports analyst will wrap it up with the topic, "Scoring in the Red Zone."

 

It's an evening that is sure to inspire and uplift, and I strongly encourage you to come out and join us.  You'll be glad you did.

 

I also solicit your prayer for the event tomorrow, an outreach to the business community with an all-day simulcast produced by Maximum Impact Ministries.  While this seminar is open to believers and non-believers alike, we are very hopeful that this will be a "threshold" experience for some in the business world.  Pray that some who come will come back, to a worship service or other event at our church, perhaps even to the musical this Sunday.

 

In fact, the musical is a perfect follow-up.  Our choir and orchestra will present a program based on the classic devotional by Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest.  What a succinct expression of all that we should be about!  Every person who walks this planet was created by God and for His glory.  That's why we exist!  That is our supreme calling!

 

Whether you're a businessman or a babe in arms, you were made to praise the Lord.  Your soul finds its greatest satisfaction -- indeed, its only true satisfaction -- when you discover your purpose in praise.  And praising the Lord means devoting all your strength and energy to His work, in accord with His will, so that the Lord is exalted and the Lord alone.

 

That's what I'm thinking about!  I was made for Him.  And so were you!  May the Lord perfect us in His own image so that we might, throuugh Him, bring all glory to God our Father!

I'LL LIVE FOR HIM .... WHO DIED FOR ME .... HOW HAPPY THEN MY SOUL SHALL BE!

LIVING UP TO YOUR NAME is a fundamental component of character and integrity.  People want to know if you are who you say you are.  Anything less is dismissed as hypocrisy.

 

Someone needs to change the name of the treadmill I run on when I'm in Colorado Springs.  At home, I have a Nordic Track.  It has been a trustworthy machine and its calculations of speed and incline and calories are reliable.  I try to use it fairly regularly, especially since my knees protest when I run outside on hard surfaces. 

 

At this stage in my life, I run to burn calories more than to reach a certain distance or attain a certain speed.  My usual goal is to burn 600 calories in an hour, and I will adjust the incline and my speed to reach my objective.  Most of the hour that I'm on the machine, I will run with the incline set at 4.5 or 5%.  Based on other calculations that I have read regarding how much activity is required in order to burn how many calories, I have a great deal of confidence in the accuracy of my treadmill's calorie counter.

 

Not so when I go to Colorado Springs.  That machine greatly inflates the numbers.  Last week, I ran for 40 minutes and never increased the incline more than 3% (a slight concession to altitude).  The calorie counter said I burned 1485 calories!  Last month when I was there I ran 60 minutes and burned about 2200 calories! 

 

Now I'll admit it feels pretty good to think you've burned 2000-plus calories in an hour of running.  In fact, after a session like that you're ready to go eat a hearty fat-filled meal with a gigantic dessert to top it off.  When you're burning calories at that pace, you HAVE to eat aggressively or you're likely to waste away to nothing!

 

Except...I know the machine lies.  If it was off just a little, even by a hundred or so, I might suspect that it is my Nordic Track that is mistaken, but this treadmill in Colorado is off by so much that I simply have to  dismiss the count as pure fiction.  As a general rule, I divide whatever the counter says by four and I figure that's in the ballpark.

 

So, I was telling this to Mossie and the kids the other day and we were laughing about how obviously off-base these totals were.  Then Mossie said, "What's the brand name of that machine?"  I thought a moment and then laughed.  The name of the manufacturer is TRUE.  But it isn't!  It should be named FALSE!

 

The story is told of a young soldier who was brought before Alexander the Great.  The fellow was guilty of cowardice in battle and the revered king and military conqueror was to decide his punishment.  As the young man cowered before the mighty potentate, Alexander the Great asked him to state his name.  With a timid and quavering voice, the young man responded, "Alexander."

 

He bore the same name as the powerful ruler who would decide his fate!  Alexander the Great was incensed, outraged that this miscreant shared the very same name, and so he roared, "Young man, change your conduct, or change your name!"

 

It's no less important for those who wear the name of the Lord Jesus.  If we are followers of Christ, we need to live up to the name.  If we refuse, we aren't deserving of the designation.  If people call you Christian, live up to the name of Christ and allow Him to reign supreme in your every thought and deed.  Anything less just isn't acceptable...and certainly isn't TRUE!

EVERY ONE OF US NEEDS A LITTLE ENCOURAGEMENT...BUT WE DON'T NEED TO BE TOLD LIES!

SO WHO DRINKS THE MILK IN THE FRONT OF THE CASE?  I know I don't.  I'm one of those people who moves jugs around to get to the freshest gallon, in the back of the dairy case.

 

Early last week I bought a gallon of milk at Kroger.  The containers at the front had a "sell by" date of 21 May and I knew Mossie and I would not drink a gallon of milk in just five or six days, so I checked for the jugs that were at the back and sure enough the "sell by" date was 28 May.  Perfect!

 

One time, I was doing this same thing when a fellow in the back handed me a gallon of milk!  He didn't say anything.  He just handed it to me and I took it and there was no exchange of greeting or other pleasantries.  I never saw his face, just his hand and forearm.  Even though he didn't say a word, I could imagine what he was thinking: "Here, buddy, this is as fresh as it gets.  If you keep reaching around back here you can pat the rump of the cow I just milked for you."

 

I was reminded of the TV commercial where the lady is reaching into the case for fresh orange juice, while from the other side a harvester is reaching out of an orange grove to hand her the freshest carton of orange juice she could ever hope to get.

 

Fresh tastes better.  Fresh lasts longer.  So who buys the milk at the front of the case?

 

I guess if you have a large family you don't worry about it so much.  Mossie is one of eleven children.  I doubt that her mother ever took the time to reach for the milk in the back.  They probably went through milk so fast that the "sell by" date was pretty much irrelevant.  I don't know about all her brothers and sisters, but I know that Mossie is a milk lover to this day.  Her mother tells stories about lining up several bottles at a time in Mossie's crib when she was a baby.

 

I think part of my search for the freshest milk is a result of the concessions I have already made with respect to taste.  I grew up drinking "whole" milk.  It seems to me the word "whole" connotes that which is complete...that is, "real."  "Whole" milk meets or exceeds the commonly held definition of "milk." 

 

Then someone had to go and mess with it.  Now we even have "soy" milk.  It's not milk.  You can't milk soy.  And what in the world is acidophilus milk?!  Sounds like a Sesame Street Muppet, and I refuse to drink anything milked from a Muppet.

 

Anyway, Mossie decided it would be healthier for all of us if we did not get all that extra fat in our diet, so we started drinking 2% milk.  I grudgingly went along with this, not realizing that it was, in fact, a slippery slope.  Once she got me accustomed to 2%, she started buying 1%, then it was just half a percent...now it's "skim" milk.

 

What is that?!  Did they take the "real" milk and just skim off the part that appears to be milk?  When I first started drinking it I thought it looked suspiciously similar to the stuff I wash out of my brush when I paint the ceiling.

 

I drink it.  I guess it's good for me.  I've even gotten used to it.  But I promise you this: If I'm going to drink skim milk, at least it's going to be the freshest I can buy.  So I'm going to the back of the case, every time.

I'M GLAD GOD'S MERCIES ARE "NEW EVERY MORNING" -- ALWAYS FRESH, AND JUST WHAT I NEED!

AREN'T YOU GLAD YOU CAN PRAY?!  It's something we take for granted I suppose, and a privilege that some seldom exercise at all, but we should be grateful that our Father warmly entertains our most desperate petitions...and has promised both to hear and to answer (I John 5.14-15).  This is a time of year when public prayer has greater prominence due to the many school graduations.  It's no longer politically correct to pray at graduations, of course.  A couple Saturdays past our daughter-in-law Tara graduated.  The commencement exercises were lovely, but I was amused when I saw that the program listed an "Opening Meditation" and "Closing Meditation."  Is "prayer" a dangerous word now?  But some thought had gone into the preparations.  The English professor who led the meditations also had a Master of Divinity degree.  The powers to be apparently regarded his theological training to be appropriate qualification for this moment of undefined reverence.

 

His Opening Meditation was tastefully non-specific -- good wishes for the new graduates, but not the sort that would necessarily be dependent on the will of a supreme being.  The remarks were vaguely reminiscent of prayer, and the prof concluded with a rousing invitation: "Let all the sisters and brothers say Amen!"  The "Amen" is the vestigial remains of something that was once an institution at all such functions: the Invocation.  I read of a high school graduation at which the seniors recited a poem by Robert Browning called "Prayer."   Hmmmm....  That's a creative way to dance around the issue: We can't actually speak to God, but we can read a piece of literature in which the author purports to speak to Him.  Interesting.  Then again, if the reading had been from the Bible rather than from Browning you can be sure there would have been an objection.

 

It's a bit silly, if you ask me.  Still, a part of me understands the objection to prayer at public functions.  First, I despise perfunctory prayer; I suspect God loathes it.  We are waned against "vain repetition."  Prayer that is little more than "window dressing" is worse than useless.  It borders on blasphemy.  Second, in a pluralistic society there is an inevitable trend toward prayer that is vacuous, offered to no one in particular and expecting no particular response.  When prayer is offered at public functions these days the "pray-er" is likely to be instructed to be mindful of the non-Christians present and to avoid any mention of Jesus since that might offend someone.  To be frank, I'm more concerned about offending Some One.  When I'm asked to pray at a public function I inform the event planner that as a Christian I will pray in Jesus' name.  If that's a problem they can find another person to pray.

 

I would rather forego public prayers altogether than to cheapen the meaning and purpose of prayer by offering supplication that is vain and vacuous.  So maybe it's not a bad thing that public prayer is vanishing from American cultural experience.  But then again....  I can't help but lament the loss of both the institution of public prayer and the remarkable instructional moment that it provides.  In bygone days, a prayer at a graduation meant something.  It was a conscious recognition of entire dependence on an all-wise and all-loving God, and it provided a moment of collective humility to say, "Lord, these young people have worked hard, but they will go nowhere and do nothing apart from you."

 

I fear that the passing of public prayer corresponds to the general coarsening of society that has left all of us in a state of moral and spiritual deficiency.  That grieves me.  It doesn't bode well for the future of our nation.  But I rejoice in this: Public prayer might wax or wane, but no one can stop me--or you--from crying out to God in private.  And in our prayers, let's continue to ask for the Lord's soon return and the coming of the day when the Lamb is the light and our conversation with Him is as natural and unlabored as breathing the air.

 

NOTE: There will be no Thursday Thoughts the next three Thursdays.  I'm out of town next Thursday, then I leave with the rest of the team for the Costa Rica missions project.

INDULGE YOURSELF!  NO ONE CAN STOP YOUR PRIVATE PRAYER, SO MAKE A HABIT OF PRAYING!

"YO TENGO BRI-BRI!"  Our Costa Rica missions team just returned and I'm fighting some sort of respiratory affliction.  We spent our second week in a village named Bri-Bri in the southeast corner of the country, and I insist that "Bri-Bri" sounds more like a tropical disease than a place name...so I think I have "Bri-Bri." 

 

Then again, maybe I'm thinking of beri-beri, the vitamin deficiency disease caused by inadequate bodily stores of thiamine (vitamin B1).  I've been known to get confused before.  But I'm not the only one.  Bill Swineford came home feeling ill, and I'm waiting to see how many others manifest the same symptoms. 

 

The truth is, a whole group of us have "Bri-Bri."  Not a respiratory illness, but a heart now burdened for some precious children and adults we met in an out-of-the-way corner of the globe.  We enjoyed nearly a week of ministry in the midst of some beautiful, loving people.  A genuine affection developed between the people of this remote community and their American guests.  I know we will never forget each other.

 

Of course, the question is, "What does that mean?"  Does "never forget" mean only that I will have an album of pictures to share with others, and stories to tell of the heat and humidity and the simple clapboard structures that lined the dusty road leading to the church?  There has to be more.

 

In 1993, Mossie and I were on a missions trip to Indonesia.  On the island of Bali our hearts were captured by the ministry of the Baithel Christian Children's Home, an outreach to disadvantaged Muslim children.  We decided to support that ministry personally, and we specifically undertook the financial care of a little fellow named Kariawan.  He was in the second grade, the same age as our youngest son, and we pledged to provide his support through high school.

 

Over the years, I prayed many times for Kariawan.  We lost track of him, in part because the school was so consumed with care for their students that they didn't really communicate very often or well with their sponsors.  Nevertheless, I have always had a confidence that Kariawan is in the care of our Lord.  I trust and pray that he came to a personal knowledge of Jesus Christ as his Savior.  I want to believe that he is serving the Lord somewhere, and that one day we will meet again in heaven.

 

"Never forget" probably means something like that.  When an experience is so profound as to be transformative, we alter future behavior to reflect the change that has occurred in us.  We give more of ourselves.  We pray more intentionally.  We look for hands-on opportunities to respond to the need that has become known to us.

 

When we can get the team together -- summer vacations are challenging! -- we want to tell you why we will "never forget" Costa Rica.  You'll hear about the Vacation Bible Schools that were taught in San Jose as well as Bri-Bri, about the children in the orphanage, about the expectant mothers who received health care and pre-natal vitamins, about the construction projects and the obstacles we had to overcome...maybe about the interesting accommodations we stayed in and the pot-holed roads and the painted palms and the howling monkeys (that we heard but never actually saw) and who knows what else.

 

But mostly you will hear about why our hearts have been touched, about the needs we saw, about what we hope to do to influence that part of the world for Christ...through prayer, gifts, future work teams, whatever.  You see, we have "Bri-Bri" now.  It's an affliction we can't shake.

THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD NEEDS JESUS -- LORD, ENLARGE MY HEART FOR SOULS YOU LOVE!

"DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU'RE GOING?"  That's what he asked me, and he was a genial fellow with a bright smile.  If he hadn't been wearing an orange vest with the word SECURITY emblazoned on it, I might have expected him to hand me a gospel tract and start explaining the way to heaven.

 

In fact, he was simply directing folks to the temporary entrance to the hospital.  A major renovation project has begun and the old entrance is closed.  This gentleman was offering assistance to those who might not know how to find ingress to the hospital without some help.  I knew my way, so I thanked him and continued on.

 

It's a stimulating question, prompting any number of responses.  Do you know where you're going?  "Well, yes, right now I'm headed to the grocery.  Gotta pick up some milk and a few other items.  Later, I'm meeting a friend for coffee, and this evening we're attending a concert.  Pretty full day, actually."

 

Someone else might say, "I'm going to work.  Can't talk right now."  Or maybe the answer will be, "For vacation? Oh, I'm going to the coast.  I love the beach, the sun, the sound of the waves.  Can't wait to get there!"  Ask a college student and she might say, "Not really.  I've got several graduate schools in mind, but I haven't decided where I'm going."  A four-year-old might exclaim, "I'm going to grandma's house, and grandpa is going to take me fishin'!  " 

 

In fact, if you ask this question very much you'll soon realize that just about everyone is going somewhere.  There are very few people who are just "sitting around" with nothing to do and no place to go.  We're an active crowd.  But...do we know where we're going?  When all the other frenetic activity subsides...when we near the end of life's journey,,,when we're all done with schedules and plans...when everything familiar is stripped away and we stand alone in the midst of a vast, dark, mysterious spiritual universe...do we have any idea where we are going?

 

The truth is, some people don't have a clue.  Navigate a course to God?  Please!  There are thousands of options, after all.  Every religion imaginable.  No wonder people have satisfied themselves just with being "spiritual," whatever that is.  After all, how can one even know the truth?

 

Well, that's the beauty of our Christian faith.  It's not about rules and regulations at all, but about a Person, the only Person who ever lived, died and rose again to die no more.  The only Person who ever demonstrated beyond all challenge His ultimate authority over all creation by taking upon Himself our flesh and our sin, then conquering sin's penalty by His victorious resurrection from the grave.  Jesus is without equal; He has no peers.  He is Lord and Savior and there is none like Him.  And faith in Him secures our destiny.  To know Jesus is to know where you're going.

 

According to the Scriptures, we're all going somewhere.  The Bible says there are two options.  Either we go to be with the Lord forever in a place and a state called heaven, or we exist eternally apart from Him in the torment of hell.  God has placed some witnesses along the way.  Every so often we run into one of them, wearing a smile and offering the "Security" of a personal relationship with Jesus Christ -- "Do you know where you're going?" 

 

I'm thankful for the Christian heritage into which I was born.  I'm glad I heard the question at an early age, and often, and I will forever be grateful to those who showed me the way.  Let me be more explicit.  They showed me The Way -- they introduced me to the One who is the Door to eternal life, to Jesus, who is the Author and Finisher of our faith.  Because of the witness of those who were faithful, I know Jesus and I know where I'm going.

SOMEONE IS WAITING FOR YOU TO SMILE AND SAY, "DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU'RE GOING?"

I HAVE WONDERFUL MEMORIES OF VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL!  This week our church is hosting its annual VBS and we have kids everywhere.  I'm not sure how young I was when I first attended a VBS, but I know I always looked forward to it.

 

I have encountered people whose only exposure to the Gospel was in a summer Vacation Bible School.  Often, they grew up in unchurched homes and their parents never took them to church...but in the summers they went to VBS.  VBS was free and allowed mom and dad some "alone time."  For the kids, there were crafts and games and refreshments and interesting stories from the pages of Scripture.  All in all, a winning combination.

 

So many children today have never heard about Jesus...or been invited to a VBS.

 

When I was young, VBS usually ran two weeks.  It's been a long time since I've heard of a church doing a two-week program, and some only do a 3-day event, but I assure you that even a few days of good biblical instruction in a loving environment can make a eternity of difference.  Literally.  Some child might find Christ as personal Savior just because he or she was in a Vacation Bible School.

 

In my first church, a couple came to an evening revival service.  At the end of the message, they walked down the aisle, knelt at the altar and committed their lives to Christ.  As I began to inquire into their backgrounds, I learned that they were both in their early 40s and had never attended church a day in their lives...except for VBS.  In both cases, they had gone to VBS over a number of summers in their early childhood years.

 

As adults, they began to sense an emptiness and longing in their lives.  They didn't really know what was missing, but they had a vague feeling that it might be something they could find in church.  Based on that slim exposure to the Gospel in childhood, they responded to our newspaper advertisement about revival service, came to that first meeting, and opened their hearts to the Lord. 

 

They became very active in the church.  both were baptized and I will never forget finding out, after the fact, that she had such a fear of water that she went to the YWCA for weeks and took swimming lessons to overcome her fear so that she could be baptized.  That's a transformed life.

 

Of course, our VBS is almost finished...for this year.  But you don't have to wait 12 months to have an impact in some child's life.  You can do a "backyard Bible club" in your neighborhood (Child Evangelism has great resources), or you can invite a child to come to Sunday School with you.  You would be surprised how many children will jump at the chance.  And if you have formed a friendship with parents, they might be delighted to send their child to church with you even though they do not choose to attend themselves.

 

Who knows?  A little child might lead them!  A man told me once that he started going to church because his daughter, when she was 5 or 6, started asking about "those building with the funny thing on top."  He explained those were called churches, and the "funny thing" was a steeple.  "What's a church?" she asked.  He told her it was a place where people were taught about God.  Then she said, "Why don't we go to church." 

 

He basically decided it easier to start going than to try to convince her of a good reason not to!  So he and his wife started bringing her, and both came to Christ.  Wonderful!  Your most effective evangelism might be with the smallest acquaintances in your neighborhood or family circle.  And what a marvelous legacy you could build!

 

THIS SUNDAY we continue studying the fools found in Proverbs.  In the Evening Praise Service we will consider God's laughter in Psalm 2 

DON'T PREVENT THE LITTLE CHILDREN FROM COMING TO JESUS -- BRING THEM ALONG WITH YOU!

BOY, DID I GET A SURPRISE when I started up the mower!  I never knew a Briggs and Stratton could sound like that.  It was more like a Kawasaki "muscle bike" raring to scream down a long stretch of asphalt.

 

Unbeknownst to me, a certain person who shall not be named in these paragraphs had filled my gas can with the mix he uses in his two-stroke dirt bike engine.  When I got ready to mow, I filled the tank with this mix, and when I pulled the cord I was quite unprepared for the results.

 

Number one, I can't remember that old mower ever starting so easily.  Number two, I know it has never run so fast.  I tried to throttle it down with the little control on the handle -- you know the one, with the rabbit at one end and the turtle at the other.  No chance.  That engine was fully engaged in one high-pitched howl no matter what I did. 

 

I pondered, while my ears rang.  I had only a limited amount of time to get the grass cut.  Besides, the boy had apparently used the gas I had in every other can, so I had nothing to substitute.  Meanwhile, my rattle-trap of a mower sure sounded impatient.  It has never been so ready to "level the playing field" as it was that day.

 

So, I decided to give it a try.  Never having run such a mix in a pushmower before, I really didn't know what to expect.  Would the engine simply blow up, like a human heart pumping at about 270 beats a minute?  Would the handle vibrate off the deck?  Would the mower blade fly off and take my leg with it?

 

I cut the grass at a near-gallop, but I learned something else in the process.  That mix of fuel burns a whole lot faster.  Usually, a tank of gas in that mower will do all of the front lawn, including the bank on the upper side, as well as the back area that is nearest the house -- probably about two-thirds of an acre.  This time I only made it through half of the front lawn and the tank was empty.

 

But the engine hadn't yet blown, the handle was still attached to the deck, and no appendages had been lost due to parts flying off the machine.  I filled 'er up and started again.

 

Keep in mind, this is a rather tired old machine that runs a very sedate pace and, until now, has pretty much refused to be "throttled up" no matter how I might coax it.  Often, I have to go back over a spot because it will fail to cut a blade here or there, or will just knock a dandelion over instead of trimming it down.  If I walk too fast, there will definitely be missed patches.

 

Not this time.  That blade was spinning so fast, I imagine every clump of grass was getting hit by about 70 revolutions.  Nothing was left standing.  I expect the insects that flew out the discharge are now living somewhere in Pennsylvania. 

 

When I finished, I released the safety bar on the handle so that the engine would stop, which it did after about a minute and a half.  As I stood there marveling at the whole experience, I realized that my hands were tingling with a sensation like a swarm of bugs just crawling all over me.  This continued for half an hour, and it's entirely possible that I have done permanent nerve damage.  Who knows?  A wisp of smoke was still rising from the engine for about 15 minutes.

 

I don't know if that mower will even run the next time I try to start it, but if it doesn't at least I'll know she went out in a blaze of glory.  Wonder where I could get some of that octane for my spiritual life?

 

THIS SUNDAY continues our study of the fools found in Proverbs.  In the Evening Praise Service our interactive worship looks at several of the "royal" Psalms. 

 

LORD, FILL ME WITH THE FUEL OF YOUR HOLY SPIRIT AND LET ME BURN WHITE-HOT FOR YOU!

I HAVE BEEN ADVISED TO PRINT A RETRACTION of at least some portion of what I wrote in last week's Thursday Thoughts. In that "e-pistle" I told you about my experience with my mower.  I attributed the super-charged performance of the mower to a "certain person" filling my gas container with the mix that he uses for his dirt bike.

 

Oops.  A short time after sending out my Thursday Thoughts, that certain person called me about another matter and I said, "Oh, by the way, I discovered you used my gas container to mix your fuel for your dirt bike."  He said, "What are you talking about?"  I told him about the mower, to which he responded, "I never changed your gas.  I don't know why the mower did that." 

 

"Really?" I said.  "Well, I just wrote about it in my Thursday Thoughts, and I blamed it all on you."  Of course, I've never actually mentioned him by name, even to this very moment.  That's going to be my defense when he takes me to court for libel and slander. 

 

Needless to say, I was surprised...and chagrined.  I had assumed he was the culprit since I couldn't think of any other likely explanation for the way that mower behaved.  Now I was confused. 

 

Well, I had my Mower Doctor take a look at the thing.  This is one M.D. who still makes house calls.  As soon as I started the mower engine he immediately told me to shut it off.  Didn't want to blow the engine.  He agreed that what I wrote last week was no exaggeration, and in his professional opinion it's a wonder I didn't blow the thing up in the time it took to mow the lawn. 

 

It was obvious the machine needed special attention, so I took it to the Mower Doctor's clinic.  This is where he performs triage on desperately ill machines, determining chances of survival, urgency of care needed, et cetera.  When he took the motor housing off he discovered -- lo, and behold! -- that a mouse had built a nest inside there, which prevented the throttle from closing.  That engine was simply running wide open.  It wasn't the gasoline at all.  And I had falsely accused a "certain person" who, in fact, was completely innocent of any malfeasance.

 

I felt badly, although not too much so.  I couldn't help but recall the incident in Tom Sawyer when young Tom was punished by his aunt for something he didn't do.  Even though he was innocent in that instance, he didn't hold it against his aunt because he reasoned that there were plenty of other times when he had been guilty but wasn't caught, so he figured he was deserving of punishment anyway.  I have a high degree of confidence that the same principle applies here.

 

But still, I realized that I had just blamed a thing on this certain individual which, in fact, he had not done, and that I had published this accusation to literally hundreds of people.  So, I need to confess that I falsely indicted one whom I love, and ask forgiveness of all.  Even though it made a good story.

 

So what lessons have I learned?  One, that I have a pest control problem in my outbuilding.  (Is a nest in a mower housing the equivalent of a mouse condo or high-rise?)  Two, that my old mower has been holding back on me; obviously, it's capable of a higher level of performance than I ever imagined.  Three, that assumptions almost always get you in trouble.  And four, that the only appropriate thing to do when you find out you're wrong about a thing is to say, "I'm sorry.  Please forgive me."

 

That's my retraction, and I'm sticking to it.

WHEN I THINK OF ALL THE MISTAKES I MAKE, I AM AMAZED TO THINK THAT GOD MAKES NONE!

DON'T YOU WONDER HOW TV WEATHER FORECASTERS EVEN LIVE WITH THEMSELVES?  I mean, they are just about the least dependable people on the planet.  They wave their arms excitedly and predict a 70% chance of this and a 50% chance of that when they know very well that they are right about 10% of the time.

 

Do they actually have a degree in meteorological studies, or is it a degree in prevarication and confabulation?  It's the perfect job: You can be wrong all the time and still pick up your check.  Apparently, no one holds these people accountable.  What do their spouses think?  Wouldn't you lose all respect for someone whose calling in life is to get up every day and tell the world a big fat lie?  Wouldn't you just be disgusted with that person after a while?

 

Wouldn't it be better to stick with what they know to be true?  "Thick darkness overnight, with spreading light toward morning.  There is a high probability that the sun will rise tomorrow and, if it does, it will be to the east.  The sky will be blue except in those places where it is obscured by cloud cover.  During the morning rush hour there is a 100% chance that it will rain somewhere, although we can't say whether it will rain where you are.  If it does rain, we predict roads will be wet and you should exercise caution on your commute."    Truth in forecasting!

 

I'm course, I'm speaking tongue in cheek.  Meteorology is a respected discipline, even though it is an inexact science.  As the scriptures observe, the wind blows where it will.  The weatherman (or woman) just has to deal with that reality.  There might be a threat of rain (or snow, or sleet, or hail) but entire weather systems can quickly shift and what was supposed to come our way could end up someplace else altogether.  We all know this, so we are inclined to be forgiving toward those who attempt to discern the data and predict the weather future.  But still, it's a bit disconcerting to find that the Farmer's Almanac, which predicts a whole year of weather in advance, is just about as accurate as your local 7-day forecast.

 

Here's the bottom line: The meteorologist studies the weather, seeks to determine its patterns and what might be expected next, and then attempts to report to us a prognostication that is at best an educated guess.  The meteorologist does not control the weather.  In the last analysis, the weather forecaster is totally lacking any authority.  And we are forgiving because we know this.  We understand the limitations.

 

When farmers experience drought, they do not call a convention of meteorologists to discuss what might be done to alleviate the dry conditions.  They certainly don't carry signs and picket their local TV station.  What does the farmer do?  Well, waiting is one response.  Sooner or later it will rain again.  And if that farmer is a God-follower, he will pray.  Why is that?  Because he knows that God IS in control.  Man is not -- even the meteorologist who knows so much about weather and dares to predict its patterns -- but God actually determines where the clouds go, and where the rain will be deposited.  It isn't random; it's providential. 

 

This is precisely the authority God claimed for Himself in His conversation with His servant Job.  "Who cuts a channel for the torrents of rain, and a path for the thunderstorm....?  Who can tip over the waterjars of the heavens when the dust becomes hard and the clods of earth stick together?" (Job 38.25, 37-38, NIV). 

 

I'm as curious as the next person.  I watch the weather on the evening news, with some modicum of hope that I might be able to plan my week accordingly.  But when I'm looking for authority I go to the Maker of heaven and earth.  I talk to the One who holds the universe in His hand.  He rules the weather and He rules my life.  I can't make a move that is not permitted by Him, and am comforted in the knowledge that no plan of His can be thwarted (Job 42.2).  He's in charge!  Carry on, weatherman!  My trust is in the Lord!

THE WEATHERMAN SPEAKS AND I'M NEVER SURE -- GOD SPEAKS AND I KNOW FOR SURE!

I DON'T THINK ANYONE WILL ARGUE when I say that we live in a fright-filled world.  We try to achieve a certain sense of "normalcy" in everyday activity, but at every level we are reminded of the significant dangers that confront us. 

 

This past Sunday I came upon an accident on I-68 as I drove home from Morning Worship.  I later learned that a man died when he lost control of his convertible and rolled it several times.  Recently, two more ATV deaths have pushed our total for the year closer and closer to the record of 40 that West Virginia set last year.  Last month, my wife was first on the scene of a tragic drowning in Cheat Lake just a mile or so from our home.  In each instance, these persons were enjoying life one moment and taken out of it suddenly in the next.

 

We watch the news out of Israel and Lebanon and hear of more death and destruction.  I have missionary friends who for years have lived and labored in Beirut with a daily expectation of bombings.  From our own congregation, serviceman Will Johnston has just had his Army assignment to Baghdad extended several more months, just as things seem to be "heating up" there again.  In the shadows lurks Iran, pulling the strings of Hezbollah and orchestrating mayhem against Israel.  The whole Middle East seems to be a powder keg ready to blow.

 

Then there is just the general suffering that plagues the planet.  My soul grieves every time I read of the atrocities in the Sudan.  Countless lives have been lost and the world community has looked the other way through most of the genocide that part of the world has endured.  In other places there is famine or disease or the crushing injury wrought by natural disasters. 

 

In our own country we are about to observe the first anniversary of Katrina.  Everyone wonders whether this year's hurricane season will be anything like last year's; imagine the anxiety of those in Louisiana and Mississippi who have already lost so much. 

 

In addition to all these fears, we find ourselves worrying about the economy.  Will gas prices soar to $10 a gallon, as some have gloomily predicted?  Will I be able to live on my retirement income?  And even if the economy holds, what about health?  Heart disease, cancer, diabetes...what affliction is waiting to "get me," and is there anything I can do to prevent it?  On top of everything else, what about global warming?!

 

I hope I haven't ruined your day!  The truth is, we could easily be consumed with fear and anxiety and incessant worry...and some people are.  Some people are immobilized and incapacitated by their alarms. But the scripture offers a better way.

 

First, the Bible tells us to take our worries to the Lord (Philippians 4.6-7).  When we commit all our ways to Him, He gives us a peace that passes understanding, and that peace guards our hearts and minds in Christ even when we do not yet know the outcome. 

 

The Bible also tells us that the One we really should fear is the Lord Himself (Isaiah 8.13-14).  After all, He is the One in charge; He governs all the decisions of world rulers, all the timing of earthquakes and tsunamis, even the manifestation of physical affliction.  And He is our ready sanctuary in a world that is fallen and subject to all manner of disorder and harm.  Flee to Him for refuge.

 

What do we do when we are afraid?  We trust in the Lord who is our salvation and strength (Isaiah 12.2).  Trust Him always; trust Him completely. 

 

THE LORD WILL NEVER FAIL US WHEN WE PUT OUR WHOLE TRUST IN HIM!

WHO IS ON THE LORD'S SIDE?  That wonderful old hymn by Frances Ridley Havergal redounds with both challenge and encouragement.  It's hard not to become enthused as you sing it!

The tune is bold and forceful.  Who wouldn't want to be on the Lord's side?  Who wouldn't want to serve the King and be His helper, bringing others into the Kingdom?  Even if it means leaving the world, facing a foe -- Lord, I'm ready!  I'll go! 

 

And make no mistake: This is a song that calls for decision -- Now!  The invitation is downright relentless.  In fact, Havergal is presumptuous enough to assume your assent:  Each of the stanzas ends with a refrain like this one:

Several observations leap to my mind.  First, I know that I have already made my decision.  It seems like a long time ago now.  When I walked down the aisle in a revival service at the age of eleven, I wanted assurance of salvation -- I wanted to know that I would go to heaven and not hell when I died -- I wanted whatever it was that people spoke of when they said that Jesus will come and live in our hearts...but I also wanted to sign up for Kingdom-service.  I understood that I was taking on an awesome responsibility: I was dedicating my life to the service of the Lord.

 

Second, I have learned that this is a decision that must be renewed, even daily.  The fact that I gave my heart to Jesus at age eleven did not prevent me from straying away in later years.  The shameful truth is, I went back on my word.  I abdicated responsibility and forsook the One who died for my sins.  Later, I repented of my rebellion and renewed my devotion, but still today I know that I must resolve each day to serve the Lord or else I will abandon my consecration and spend my energy on selfish pursuits.  This is perhaps the very best reason to make morning prayer a daily discipline, even if the morning is not your favorite time for extended devotions.  We need to start our days reminding ourselves that we belong to the Lord, and receiving from Him our orders for that day.

 

Third, I have become so very aware that my devotion is really not the product of what I do at all.  In truth, I am on the Lord's side solely by His grace.  There is no other explanation.  I'm too spiritually dim and far too self-absorbed to ever end up in God's camp...but in His mercy and love He redeemed me and made me His own.  Since this is true, I dare not ever -- Ever! -- take credit for what God has done in saving my soul and making me one of His servants.  It is by His grace that I stepped into His service, and it is only His grace that keeps me there.

 

Are you on the Lord's side?  Do you remember that first decision to turn from sin and invite Him into your heart?  Have you renewed that decision -- Today?  Have you thanked the Lord for making you His own?  What joy it is to walk with Him and talk with HIm!

I'M ON THE LORD'S SIDE!  I AM HIS, AND HE IS MINE!  (BUT THAT'S ANOTHER HYMN!)

PRACTICING THE PRESENCE OF GOD has become a life-long adventure for me.  I don't know about you, but it has been my consistent experience that life is full of distractions.  Some of those distractions bear the label of "responsibility" -- the sorts of things that I think I must take care of and no one else can -- and in my slavery to duty I lose sight of the One to whom I owe my soul's allegiance.

 

Maybe you have heard of Brother Lawrence, the 17th century monk famous for his little book, The Practice of the Presence of God.  He was French and his actual name was Nicolas Herman.  After being wounded in military service, he joined the Order of Discalced Carmelites in Paris and took the religious name of Lawrence.  For 15 years he served as cook in the monastery kitchen.  Sciatic gout made it difficult to stand for hours, so he then became a sandal-maker (for the barefooted Carmelites -- go figure!) until his death at the age of 77.

 

Brother Lawrence was attracted to the contemplative life, but he discovered that the disciplines of the monastery didn't satisfy.  For him, the rigid methodology of prescribed times of meditation and silence and prayers seemed unnecessarily complicated and personally ineffective.  He didn't find himself drawn closer to God by these means.  He chose instead to devote himself to "the practice of the presence of God."  What he most needed and desired was a constant, abiding sense of the gracious company of his loving Father, a ceaseless awareness of God's nearness and influence.  He wrote, "I devote myself exclusively to remaining always in His holy presence.  I keep myself in His presence by simple attentiveness and a general loving awareness of God that I call 'actual presence of God' or better, a quiet and secret conversation of the soul with God that is lasting."  In another writing, Spiritual Maxims, Brother Lawrence observes, "The holiest, most ordinary, and most necessary practice of the spiritual life is that of the presence of God.  It is to take delight in and become accustomed to His divine company, speaking humbly and conversing lovingly with Him all the time, at every moment, without rule or measure, especially in times of temptation, suffering, aridity, weariness, even infidelity and sin."

 

Does your heart resonate with these sentiments?  I want more of God.  I want my experience of Him to be palpable.  I want to live and move and have my being in Him on a moment by moment basis.  There are times of spiritual aridity (dryness) when He seems distant...times when I am weak and weary and therefore inattentive to Him...times when I am overwhelmed by the cares and the enticements of this life...even times when my transgressions create a barrier that blocks correspondence with my Lord.  But as I "practice" His presence, reminding myself that He ever loves me even when I neglect Him and that He is never far from me and that He refuses to leave or forsake me...oh, the glorious joy of delighting in His "divine company"!

 

Why is this on my mind?  This Sunday I will begin a series of three messages under the title Lord, I'm Listening.  In the first message, I hope to impress on you that God has something to say...to you, to me, to anyone who will open the ear and hear...and that His conversation with us is daily and ongoing.  I'll tell you a story that I think you will agree is a remarkable evidence of the Lord's whisper of His will into our lives.  In the following weeks, I want you to grapple with the Lord's desire to draw you into nearer and dearer relationship with Himself -- something we call the "deeper life" in The Christian and Missionary Alliance -- and His call to serve in His Kingdom.  Each week, I challenge you to agree with me: Lord, I'm listening.  And Lord, I will obey.

 

Practicing the presence of God assumes awareness of, and assent to, the absolute authority of the One with whom we commune.  God is God.  There is none like Him; He gives His glory to no other.  When we acknowledge and begin to live with the conscious awareness of God as immediate reality in our daily existence, we also affirm the essentiality of total obedience to His will.  He will make His will known to you...if you're listening.

REMEMBER, WE WALK BY FAITH -- DON'T LET WHAT YOU SEE "BLIND" YOU TO WHAT GOD CAN DO!

BEYOND THE SHADOW OF A DOUBT I am confident of my Father's love.  I mean that.  The longer I live, the more convinced I am that God really IS love and that He really does love me.  My conviction is based on a growing understanding of His essential nature, but also on my keen awareness of how unlovable I am.

 

The first part of that last sentence is easier to explain than the other.  When I speak of God's essential loving nature I mean, quite simply, that it is impossible for Him to do anything that is not expressive of His love.  Perhaps you want to argue with that, wondering how God's wrath can be reconciled with His love. 

 

Volumes have been written on the subject, so I won't even attempt to exhaust it here, but for my purposes it suffices to say that even the wrath of God -- which is itself the necessary expression of His holiness when righteousness comes into direct conflict with sin -- is explained by love.  I ask you, would it be loving for a holy God to refuse to punish sin, when sin is the root cause of all our disease and discontent and despair?  Keep in mind that the wrath of God is more than mere anger.  You and I become irritated over a thing and respond in anger, often with impatience and caprice, but God's wrath is the deliberate and considered and entirely rational response of One who purposes not only to rebuke sin but to eradicate it.  The wrath of God confirms His purity, and His absolute determination to purify His fallen creation.

 

But enough on that side of the ledger.  What about my unlovability?  How does that prove the love of God?

 

Have you ever heard someone say, "He's got a face that only a mother could love?"  It falls in the category of insults that begin,  "You're so ugly that...."   But behind the insult is an affirmation of mother's enduring love!  No one else could love that face, but mom can't help herself.  He's still her boy.  She has to love him regardless.  That's what I have come to understand about my Father's love for me.  It is truly unconditional.  I can be ever so spiteful and ungrateful...His love endures forever.  I might wander ever so far from the paths He has chosen for me...His love endures forever. 

 

The psalmist had exactly this in mind when he said, "He does not treat us as our sins deserve...." (Psalm 103.10, NIV).  There is simply no way to explain God's longsuffering with His errant child except that...He loves us!  Paul declared it:  "God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5.8, NIV).  Demonstrates!  He doesn't leave us guessing.  There is nothing ambivalent or confusing or unfinished at the cross.  There on that tree, on that hill, on that infamous day in history the evidence was eternally recorded: God loves ME!  He loves me so much He caused His Son to die in my place.

 

And the evidences of his love for this vile and undeserving creature abound.  I am surrounded by His declarations of affection.  Every breath I draw, every morsel of food I consume, every time a muscle in my body contracts, every single thing that I dismiss as mere "good fortune"...all this is evidence of the ceaseless flow of His love. 

 

But what about the bad things that happen?  How is that loving?  Listen, what right do I have to complain of "bad things" when Christ my Savior endured the "worst thing" imaginable so that I might have eternal life and everlasting peace with God?  In fact, don't the bad things remind me of just how undeserving I am of even the smallest blessing from above?  Aren't the bad things what I really deserve?

 

Shouldn't I be asking myself, "How does God ever find the grace, the patience, the kindness to bless me with anything that is good?"  Oh, yes.  Now I remember: It's only because He is love, and He loves me.

 

JESUS LOVES ME, THIS I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW!  THE BIBLE TELLS ME SO!  IT'S HIS WORD!

YOU CAN GO AS FAR AS YOU WANT...Just remember that you have to get back!  That's a pretty iron-clad rule whenever you go mountain-biking.  It's of special significance when you ride one of the railroad beds that has been converted into a biking trail, because the trail goes in one direction, away from wherever you parked your vehicle, and eventually you have to come back to that point.

 

When I ride, I tend to push the limit on how far I want to go...but I always have to get back, no matter how tired I might be or how much my legs might be cramping.  There just isn't a choice!

 

I haven't been able to ride very often this year, so I'm really not in shape for longer excursions, but on Labor Day I enjoyed a nice trip from Star City to Prickett's Fort.  Since I plan to do several days of riding at the end of the month, I was pushing myself a little bit on the first half of the trip in an effort to condition my legs for later on.  Maybe I did too much.

 

It was an enjoyable ride, and the first time I had been on that section of trail since they completed the lighted tunnel just beyond the Fort.  I had been on the bike 25 and a half miles, all the time headed south toward Fairmont, which meant I had precisely 25 and a half miles to ride back to my van in Star City.  And there are no shortcuts on the trail.

 

On the way back I encountered some stiff wind in my face several times, stiff enough to make me really work, almost like riding up a hill.  Now, anyone who rides knows that in truth it always seems like you're riding into a wind, but this was different.  It really was noticeably more difficult to pedal.  But let's see...what are my options again?  Oh, yes, I remember:  THERE ARE NONE.  I must keep riding, all the way back to where I began.

 

With every mile your shoulder muscles ache a little more, your backside is a little more sore, your legs a little more cramped...but you must keep going.  And if you let yourself slow down, or if you take more frequent breaks, you're only extending the total trip time, so you keep pushing...pushing...counting the mile markers...giving yourself mental pep talks...promising to use a little more discretion next time.

 

Are you wondering how this qualifies as fun?  Good question.  Don't have space to address that one today.

 

But there is an application that has been on my mind.  There have been times in my life when I set out on a jaunt of my own choosing, one that took me away from the place where the Lord would have me to be.  Every one of those trips had this in common: As long as I stayed on that course I was being led away from my Savior.  There's a seductive sense of self-satisfaction in the whole experience, of course.  You're actually going somewhere, or so you think.  As long as you're still moving forward, it feels like progress.  But if your journey is taking you further and further from the One who is your ultimate reference point, and to whom you must return, then you're not "progressing" at all.

 

When I have wandered from the Lord there was only one remedy: Turn around and go back the way I came.  There are no shortcuts that can resolve such meanderings.  There is no way to make it easier.  Often, the return is painful in myriad ways.

 

I can't help but wonder how many times my heavenly Father has watched me pedal away from Him, perhaps reflecting in His longsuffering wisdom: You can go as far as you want...just remember that you have to get back!

IT'S GOOD THE LORD IS LONGSUFFERING BECAUSE I CAN SURE GET A LONG, LONG WAY FROM HIM!

TEARS WERE STREAMING DOWN MY FACE as I listened to the African pastor from Uganda.  It was the spring of 1974, I was in my last semester of law school, and this pastor was describing the horrors experienced by Christians living under the brutal regime of Idi Amin. 

 

He recounted story after story of people being dragged from their homes in the middle of the night, ordered to recant their faith in Christ and, if they refused, being gunned down on the spot.  Men, women and children were slaughtered indiscriminately.  Whole villages were massacred in some instances.  The depth of this dictator's depravity is nearly impossible to fathom.  It is estimated that 300,000 or more people died under his cruel hand.  One news account reported, "So many corpses are thrown into the Nile that workers at one location have to continuously fish them out to stop the intake ducts at a nearby dam from being clogged." 

 

Idi Amin was known by several names.  The people of Uganda called him "Big Daddy."  Newscasters referred to him as the "Butcher of Africa."  He liked to call himself the "Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Sea."  Such incredible arrogance!  No wonder he saw Christians as a threat to his rule, since they served and worshiped another whom they called "Lord of All."

 

For the eight years that he was in power, Amin lived in opulence while his subjects endured poverty.  He had four wives and 30 mistresses and everything that money could buy.  Anyone who dared to oppose him was summarily eliminated, usually along with his family.  Even Amin himself could not have calculated the amount of blood that was shed by his command.

 

The pastor I heard was regarded as an enemy by Amin, and therefore had to flee the country while the rest of his family was in hiding.  Several times, this pastor re-entered the country to meet with church leaders who continued to hold worship services in clandestine locations.  He earnestly sought the prayers of God's people for his homeland and for the Body of Christ as they endured so much.

 

And I could not help myself: I wept.  I tried not to be obvious.  It wasn't "macho" to sit there and cry so uncontrollably.  My tears were evoked in large part by the sheer enormity of the crimes being committed, but also because I was appalled to think that I, 24 years old and about to graduate from law school, was so completely ignorant of the reality that Christians were suffering such atrocities in some parts of the world.  How could I be so out of touch?!  Here I was, comfortable in my American church while other brothers and sisters in Christ were being maimed and killed for their faith in Jesus.  It was a devastating enlightenment.

 

No one had ever told me these things.  Subsequently, I learned that more Christians died for their faith in the 20th century than in the previous 19 centuries combined.  And the persecution continues.  If the first years of the 21st century are any indication, and if the political and social realities of our current world order remain in place, this century will far outpace the last in the total number of those slain for declaring faith in Christ. 

 

This experience, half a lifetime ago, is one reason why I value the yearly Missions Conference that we hold in our church.  It's not just that I want  to be here.  I need to be here.  I need to know what the Lord's servants are encountering in distant lands.  I need to know what fellow Christians are enduring.  I need to know how to pray for the family of God, especially for those who live and serve in difficult places.

 

I invite you to come to these services, to hear what God is doing among the nations.  You'll be so glad you did.

 

THIS SUNDAY our annual Missions Conference begins; meetings continue each evening.  In the Evening Praise Service the Children's Missions Musical will be a special delight and incentive to praise! 

 

PSALM 99.2 -- GREAT IS THE LORD IN ZION; HE IS EXALTED OVER ALL THE NATIONS. 

DO WE STILL HAVE A BURDEN FOR THE LOSTNESS OF MANKIND?  By "we" I mean those who profess to be followers of the Lord Jesus Christ, those to whom He said, "You shall be my witnesses" (Acts 1.8).

 

As a pastor in The Christian and Missionary Alliance, I am very much aware that the origins of my denomination are deeply rooted in the "modern missionary movement" that arose in the latter decades of the 19th century.  The 1800s spawned several great spiritual movements, including the "Second Great Awakening" and the "Laymen's Revival" among business leaders.  The Young Men's Christian Association (YMCA) was founded during these years and was strongly evangelistic.  Catherine and William Booth mobilized the Salvation Army to minister the Gospel in the context of compassion.  J. Hudson Taylor founded the China Inland Mission.

 

The list could go on and on, and it includes the founding, in 1887, of what is today The Christian and Missionary Alliance.  The renowned missiologist Donald McGavran once wrote, "The Christian and Missionary Alliance is without doubt the leading missionary society of the 20th century."  High praise!  I'm proud to be part of a missions-minded church...but I wonder whether we are losing our passion for sharing Jesus with lost souls.

 

In the early days of the Alliance, believers across the spectrum were gripped with a burning desire to carry the Good News to the ends of the earth.  Some historians have referred to the entire 19th century as "The Evangelical Age."  Even then, there were numerous denominations (though not as many as today!) but most followers of Christ agreed on certain fundamentals: the divine inspiration and authority of scripture, the unquestioned sovereignty of God, the sinfulness of humanity and our inability to save ourselves, the essentiality of faith in Jesus Christ and the "new birth" of His Spirit, and the experience of personal holiness as evidence of a life transformed by the indwelling Christ. 

 

Most or all of these "fundamentals" came into question or were abandoned in the latter half of the 20th century, and today it is very difficult to identify a commonly-held understanding of what Christianity really is.  Not surprisingly, the zeal for winning the lost that characterized the Church 100-150 years ago seems to have greatly waned today, even among those who still consider themselves to be "evangelical" in faith and practice.

 

We are in the midst of an excellent Missions Conference week.  Our speakers represent Brazil, Guinea and the Middle East and their messages have stirred my heart and incited me to pray more fervently and faithfully than before.  And yet, as I review the political scene that prevails in so much of the world today, I wonder whether we will ever again have as great an opportunity to share the Gospel as we have had in recent years...and I wonder whether Christians even care as passionately as they once did.

 

Paul begged the church at Colosse to pray "that God may open a door for our message" and that he would proclaim it clearly (Colossians 4.3).  He urged believers to "make the most of every opportunity (4.5).  A bold witness for Jesus is an increasingly dangerous proposition in many parts of today's world, and hearts are closing even where religious freedoms are still honored.  We must seize every chance to represent our Lord!  You've heard the stories of people donating watches and jewelry in order to send missionaries.  Young people braved all manner of hardship and loss just to respond to the Savior's call to distant lands.  They were driven by a deep love for Jesus and a conviction that people were passing into a Christless eternity apart from Him. 

 

The need is urgent still.  Will we answer the call?  Will we Pray, Give, Go and Send that others might know?

 

THIS SUNDAY concludes our Missions Conference with a morning emphasis on "creative access" countries where traditional missionaries cannot go.  AND...In the Evening Praise Service we will experience "Guinea-style" worship on the grounds of the Jack Roberts Park in First Ward (next to the Chinese C&MA on Madigan Ave.)  On-line sermons and other info may be found at www.cmachurch.net.

 

THE LORD SAID, "WHOM SHALL I SEND?"  AND I SAID, "HERE AM I.  SEND ME!"

 (ISAIAH 6.8)

DO YOU RECOGNIZE OPPORTUNITY WHEN IT PRESENTS ITSELF?  Are you ready to seize the moment and take action before the opportunity is lost?  It's easier said than done.

 

I'm not a very impulsive person.  I don't buy on impulse, I don't change plans or direction suddenly, I'm not inclined to make rash decisions.  I'm very deliberate and contemplative and, well...slow.  This is often a problem.  Mossie will tell you that it drives her crazy when I hesitate to answer a simple question.

 

A waiter will come by the table and ask, "Would you like more coffee, sir?"  First, I take a look at my cup.  Don't want to rush into anything.  Hmmmm....  It's slightly more than half full.  It's probably still warm.  Then again, it's not as warm as I like it, and he might not be back for a while.  But do I really want to drink that much coffee?  Or maybe I'll wait and have it with dessert....

 

Mossie is ready to scream.  "Just take the coffee!  You don't have to drink it if you don't want it!"

 

I once saw a picture of a sculpture from ancient Greece.  It was a statue of "Opportunity" depicted as a man running.  He was bare-naked on his backside but covered with hair on his front.  The obvious lesson was that opportunity must be seized quickly.  It passes by in a hurry and then there is nothing to grab.

 

In my recent sermon series on listening to God, I sought to encourage the practice of having an ear and a heart receptive to the voice and leading of the Lord.  He is speaking all the time, but we don't listen so well.  He is instructing us, cajoling us, entreating us -- yes, commanding us -- but our hearts are hard and indifferent and we do not respond as readily and willingly as we should.

 

He is also offering opportunity to us.  Sometimes our indecision is due to the complexity of the circumstances.  Unlike my hesitation about whether to have another cup of coffee, we might find ourselves evaluating pros and cons and weighing potential outcomes and calculating financial implications and asking ourselves what so-and-so is going to think....  It can become so confusing that it's immobilizing. 

 

We might even say that these are "hairy situations."  But could it be opportunity as well?  If a choice is not immoral, illegal, obviously foolhardy, or plainly disobedient to the Lord and therefore dishonoring to His name then it might just be "risky."  And risky isn't bad.  In fact, since we are commanded to walk by faith and not by sight, we should expect risk to be part of every day's adventure with Jesus.  And we will never learn the full measure of His provision until we dare to take the risk.

 

I just met a man who is traveling from Kentucky to Maine.  He has completed 25 years in prison on a charge of second degree murder.  It is obvious he still has anger issues, even though he accepted Christ in 1985 as a result of a prison ministry out of our Alliance church in Lexington.  I know the man who was the pastor then.  This ex-con has received two college degrees while in prison, one in theology, but as I spoke with him I could see he has a lot of rough edges that need smoothed and I was very direct with him about the challenges he faces as he transitions back to the society that is now so foreign to him.

 

In the end, I felt led to give him some assistance.  (Don't applaud me for my generosity.  I used money from our Benevolent Fund that we keep on hand for these sorts of needs.)  You could say, "Pastor, that sounds like a pretty hairy situation."  Sure does.  I kind of felt like it was opportunity knocking.

 

DON'T BE A WOULD-A, SHOULD-A, COULD-A PERSON -- BE READY TO SAY "YES, LORD!" RIGHT NOW!

"UH-OH...THAT PROBABLY WAS  NOT A VERY SMART MOVE!"  That's what I was thinking.  We were in the store, looking for something else actually, when I saw a refrigerator/freezer that might interest Mossie.  She was nearby, looking at something else.  I went and got her -- I have no one to blame but myself! -- and said, "Honey, come and look at this."

 

I knew she wanted a new refrigerator.  We've been planning for it for quite some time, and as soon as she laid eyes on this unit she was smitten.  I could see it was love at first sight.  The sheen of the stainless steel could not match the gleam in her eye. 

 

But there was a problem: I also knew this monstrosity would not fit in our kitchen in the same location as the present appliance.  That meant some changes in cabinet placement, a new water line for the icemaker, etc.  As she stared at this inanimate object with a glazed-eyes look of awe, I imagined dollar signs flashing and could almost hear the alarms sounding.  What in the world had I done?!  Too late.  There was no going back now.

 

So there ensued a small remodeling project and today there is a hole in our kitchen.  Not really a hole, but a space.  A large space, prepared especially for the arrival of Mossie's new object of affection.  Mossie is not a materialistic person, but she does derive considerable joy and satisfaction from certain possessions.  KoKo, her chocolate lab, is at the top of the list, but this new refrigerator/freezer will probably come in just ahead of or behind her king-size bed.

 

But it isn't just Mossie.  I confess that I have been gripped with a sense of rising anticipation as well.  Delivery is scheduled for tomorrow, and I can't wait.  Sometimes at night, I walk into the kitchen and just gaze at that open space and try to envision how the new unit will look.  I imagine opening its doors and beholding a spacious casket of culinary delights.  I'm enthralled by the prospect of a freezer so commodious that I will never again have to worry whether there is room for the multiple flavors of ice cream I want to bring home.

 

In fact, I suspect Mossie and I have differing views of the function of this appliance.  She will delight in it because of its more than ample space.  It will be so much easier to store items and to get them out again, and the larger freezer will allow her to buy quantities of items to hold in reserve until needed.  Around holidays or when we entertain guests, she'll have the room she needs for all the dishes she prepares.  In other words, she's interested in capacity.  It's a storage system.

 

For me, it's a delivery system.  I will open the doors far more often than she does.  This appliance promises to be a treasure trove of all sorts of goodies.  My late night kitchen raids hold greater promise than ever before.  She's in charge of putting stuff in; I will devote myself to taking stuff out.

 

Anyway, all the preparations have been made.  The space is ready.  The only thing that remains is the arrival of the unit, already purchased, already ours, but not yet in its place.  And one night this week I thought, "It's a little bit like heaven.  The place has been prepared, anticipation is building, all that remains is 'delivery,' and that day is almost here."  "Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King!"

 

I'm ready for our new refrigerator/freezer.  I can hardly wait!  And the Lord has prepared a place for me, so that I can be where He is forever.  Imagine His divine anticipation of that moment when He welcomes us to the place He has prepared.  The joy that will be His...and ours.  Just think: It could be today!

 

WHEN THE ROLL IS CALLED UP YONDER, I PLAN TO BE PRESENT AND ACCOUNTED FOR!

"THE MOMENT I WALKED IN THE DOOR I KNEW THIS WAS THE CHURCH FOR ME!" The lady who said this to me was lying in a hospital, facing a grave diagnosis.  Her courage and faith inspired me, and the experience she described was familiar as well.  Her family had invited her to church on a number of occasions, but she always had an excuse.  On a weekend when she knew they were out of town, she decided to pay a visit.  I guess she thought that would be "safe" -- if she didn't like it and didn't want to return, perhaps they would never know she had been there at all. 

 

But she did like it.  In fact, she felt "at home" the very first time she came...and she has been coming to church ever since.  She said, "Most people think it's strange when I tell them this, but somehow I just felt the presence of the Lord and I knew this was where I was to go to church."

 

Well, it didn't sound strange at all to me.  I remember that winter day in 1977 when I decided to visit The Christian and Missionary Alliance Church here in Morgantown.  My parents had been attending for a while and had invited me to come.  I wasn't going to church anywhere and had no interest in church.  I wasn't reading my Bible, I didn't pray, I was distant from the Lord and really didn't care to draw nearer.  It was my last semester of law school and I had "more important" things to do than go to church on Sunday morning.

 

But then the Lord got my attention by allowing certain reversals and disappointments in my life.  I'll spare the details here, but it suffices to say that I decided to pay a visit to the church my parents were attending.  And I will never forget that morning.  I sensed the real presence of the Almighty God the very moment I stepped through the doors of the carport entrance.

 

The experience was remarkable, for two reasons.  First, it was both undeniable and unexpected.  It was as though God had posted Himself at the door as the "greeter" to welcome me into "His" house.  Second, I knew that I was not in a place to discern what the presence of the Lord "felt" like.  I wasn't walking with Him; how would I recognize His presence?  Of course, the credit was the Lord's.  It had nothing to do with how "discerning" I was; rather, He chose to reveal Himself to me in an unmistakable way.  It was all by His grace.  It always is.

 

My experience was no mere happenstance or accident.  I'm convinced I sensed God's presence because the people of God were praying for His manifestation and were living in His grace.  I walked into a realm where God was at work and the people had yielded to His favor and influence.  The building itself was not holy, but the Holy One inhabited the people who worshiped in that space.  I came to church and I met the Lord.

 

It should be the same on any given Sunday.  What this lady found a decade ago...what I found three decades ago...should be the ordinary experience of every person who arrives on our campus and enters our facility.  I pray regularly that when people park their car in the lot they will sense that Jesus is here.  I pray that as they walk our hallways, as they greet others in the building, as they find a seat in a pew, as they open their bulletin and anticipate the worship, as they lift their eyes to the video screen and their voices in praise, as their ears welcome the words that honor Jesus and His Word...that in all these ways they will meet the One who is the Lord of the Church, the One whose Body celebrates in this place.

 

And I enjoin you to pray with me to a like end.  Let's expect to meet God in church this Sunday!  If you do not attend the Morgantown C&MA, pray for the church you do attend.  Pray that every person who comes will say, "The Lord is in this place!  This is where I belong!"

GOD PERFORMS A MIRACLE AS HE LEADS LOST SOULS TO A PLACE WHERE THEY WILL FIND JESUS!

THE SCRIPTURE IS FULL OF FARMING ANALOGIES and I'm sure I miss the full import of most of them.  I'm not a farmer.  I milked a cow by hand once, as a very small lad, and I've been acquainted with a few small garden plots but I wouldn't have a clue how to make a living off the land. 

 

However, even I can "get it" when the Lord says the fields are ripe for harvest (John 4.35) and when He tells his disciples that if the grain is ready it's time to put the sickle to it (Mark 4.29).  When I pastored in Wooster, OH, most of my parishioners were farmers.  I grew in my appreciation for the urgency of the harvest.  I observed that when the time came, there was no delay.  Bad weather or procrastination could spoil months of patient waiting for the grain to ripen. 

 

Hear the urgency in the Lord's voice when he exclaims, "I'm telling you to open your eyes and take a good look at what's right in front of you....  It's harvest time!" (John 4.35, The Message).  Jesus came to seek and to save the lost, and His plan is to employ us as His evangels.  When His Spirit has prepared a heart, we must be quick to take possession.

 

Open your eyes.  Look around you.  Assess the condition of hearts.  Be ready to move quickly and efficiently.  You might be the last person standing between a sinner and his eternal destiny.  You might be the one whom God has appointed to reap the harvest.

 

If we will only "open our eyes," surely we will see the world as Jesus sees it.  In every shopping mall and at every public event, in college classrooms and behind closed doors at night, over the internet or in the next office...people are hurting, hungering, hoping against hope for answers to questions they scarcely dare to utter.  What happens when I die?  Where will I spend eternity?  How can I find genuine and lasting peace?  Does anyone really care about me?

 

If we will only open our eyes....

 

The over-stressed young resident doctor who steps onto the elevator as you are leaving the hospital; the mother with two small children in front of you at the supermarket; the person sitting beside you as you wait for your oil to be changed; the neighbor whose son was just expelled from school for a youthful indiscretion....

 

If we will only open our eyes....

 

In Christ, we have the capacity to see the world as He sees it.  Jesus was a man of the people.  He was no "stuffed shirt" who remained aloof and isolated from the real concerns of the world around Him.  Instead, He was born in a manger and lived in relative deprivation.  He seems to have had no worldly possession beyond the clothes on His back.  By His own admission, He had no place even to lay His head.  Truly, He was humble and lowly.  He was the most authentically un-self-conscious person who ever walked this planet.

 

It's no surprise then to read how He was moved with compassion when He beheld the needs of the crowds who thronged about Him.  He understood them as no one ever had, and He cared as no one had ever cared.  When we have the mind of Christ...the heart of Christ...we will respond to others just as He did.

 

If we will only open our eyes....

 

OPEN MY EYES, LORD, THAT I MAY SEE.... RIPE FIELDS OF HARVEST TO GATHER FOR THEE!

DEER SEASON IS VERY NEARLY A SACRED HOLIDAY for many hunters in West Virginia.  There's an annual ritual involved in preparing for the hunt, scouting where the biggest bucks are moving about and planning time off from work or classes so that no good opportunity is missed.

 

Along about age 11 or 12, I became interested in hunting.  My dad was no expert, but he wanted his son to have the experience, so he took me into the woods on a number of occasions.  He bought a Montgomery Ward 20-gauge for me.  I loaded it with "punkin' balls" for deer season, and it doubled as a very serviceable weapon for squirrel season as well.  Dad used an ancient .410 gauge shotgun, also loaded with "punkin' ball" shells.

 

Neither of us were any threat to the deer.  To my knowledge, dad was never successful in bringing down any game, large or small.  I do remember a story he told of hunting in the Keyser, WV, area as a boy.  Some in the party had circled a hillside to drive deer toward dad and perhaps one or two other hunters.  When a deer came by where dad was positioned, he fired a shot...and knocked the tail right off that deer.  That's as close as he ever came to bagging a "trophy," and I still have yet to even take a shot at a deer. 

 

On one occasion, we were hunting in the Uffington area, south of Morgantown.  As we walked through a large field early that morning, dad taking the lower end and I the upper, a majestic buck with a huge spread of antlers stood up right in front of dad.  It was only about 15 yards away.  Dad brought up the barrel of his bolt-action, 7-shot .410 gauge shotgun and began to fire.  He unloaded all seven shells.  BANG!  BANG! BANG!  BANG!  BANG!  BANG!  BANG!

 

That buck didn't run...he simply trotted away.  It was practically a walk.  His head was held high, proudly displaying that magnificent rack, and with an air of unconcern and disinterest he just left the premises.  Dad did not hit him a single time.  When I got to him, he was apoplectic.  "How in the world could I have missed him at point-blank range?!  He was right in front of me!"

 

For the first time, ever, we inspected that gun and were surprised to find a barrel so warped that there was no way to aim the thing.  That gun was just a noise-maker.  No wonder all dad got was a tail those many years before.  He was so beside himself that we left the hunt right then, drove to town (to the trusty Montgomery Ward store again) and bought a Winchester lever-action .30-.30 rifle.  The .410 was summarily retired.

 

A few days later, there was a big front-page story in the newspaper.  Some fellow in the Uffington area had bagged a huge buck with a 20 or 22 point rack of antlers.  Dad fumed, "That's my deer!"  To this day, I believe that buck became over-confident as a result of his encounter with dad.  He probably thought that if he couldn't be brought down from 15 yards, he was pretty much impervious to danger.

 

Dad never got his deer.  I have the Winchester but I've never shot one either.  However, I have fired the gun a number of times and it does shoot straight.  If I ever get the chance, I least I have confidence in my weapon.  And I learned the importance of having the right resources to do the job.  That's why I'm thankful that my Lord has adequately supplied us with "everything we need for life and godliness" (II Peter 1.3).  That includes His Word, which "is living and active.  Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow...." (Hebrews 4.12).  That Word "is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work" (II Timothy 3.16-17).

 

Choose your weapons well!  It makes all the difference when you go into battle!

 

THE LORD HAS DESIGNED YOU FOR SUCCESS, AND HE GIVES YOU EVERYTHING YOU WILL NEED!

I GUESS I BELONG TO THE ALFRED E. NEUMAN GENERATION!  Created in 1952 (the same year I was born!), he became the iconographic representative of Mad Magazine and, to some degree, the baby boomers who embraced his "What, me worry?" outlook on life.

 

Our optimism knew no bounds.  The economy was roaring full-speed ahead in the middle years of the 20th century, everybody seemed to be "movin' on up" right along with the Jeffersons on TV, and our military muscle persuaded us that we had nothing and no one to threaten our anxiety-free existences.  Alfred E. Neuman even garnered a percentage of votes in a number of presidential elections. 

 

Except that it turned out not to be so easy after all.  Racial strife, the Vietnam War, a steady disintegration of moral values, and a host of other concerns aroused new fears.  Our vulnerabilities were exposed, and many began to seek counseling and medication to help them "cope" with mounting anxiety and disabling depression.  Worry returned with a vengeance.

 

"What, me worry?" sounds like an ill-considered and immature worldview today.  No responsible person endorses such a cavalier approach to life.  In fact, worry has almost become a badge of honor.  The person who is heavily weighed down with concern is the enlightened observer of social ills, the dutiful caretaker of many obligations, the realist who understands the implications of global warming and over-population and healthcare reform and a host of other pressing issues.

 

Personally, I don't even have to turn on the news to find something to worry about.  Worry seems to be written into the job description for parents and pastors...and I'm both!  If I allow it, I can obsess about everything from the financial health of my retirement plan to whether or not the Mountaineers will play in a BCS bowl. 

 

Do you know what worry is?  The dictionary says it means to be anxious or troubled or distressed.  It also refers to experiencing or causing harassment.  A "worry wart" is someone who stresses out over insignificant details, picking and picking at a thing until it becomes more distressing than it already was.

 

The original etymology of the word, however, is still more revealing.  To worry meant to strangle, to choke, to injure, even to kill by violence.  Literally, it meant to bite and tear with the teeth to the death.  Think of that!  A "worrier" is actually the most brutal of persons.  Worry never improves a situation; rather, it is destructive and ruinous.

 

No wonder Paul says, "Don't do that!"  Well, what he actually said was, "The Lord is near.  Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God" (Philippians 4.5b-6, NIV).  The next time worry consumes you, pause to reflect on that admonishment.  Take that text apart, phrase by phrase and word by word, and let the Lord begin to teach you and comfort you and encourage you and inspire you.

 

And He will!  The very next verse says, "And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus" (4.7, NIV).  Now there's a promise!  When I have truly turned the matter over to the Lord, there's no longer any need for me to tear at a thing and "worry" it and myself to death.  Now I have a right to say, "What, me worry?  I don't think so.  My trust is in the Lord!"

I'M LIVING IN THE CONFIDENCE THAT EVERY CARE OF MINE IS THE HEART CONCERN OF MY FATHER!

IT'S TIME FOR MY ANNUAL RANT AGAINST THE EXCESS OF CHRISTMAS!  I'm talking about the rarely challenged assumption that people must enslave themselves to credit card debt in order to enjoy the season. 

 

That is just so wrong!  Take another look at the story of our Lord's birth.  It was indeed a silent, holy night, and the setting was as simple as can be imagined.  A rustic stable, a dirty manger, a few cloths to wrap the infant.  To be sure, a heavenly host announced his arrival and some time later the Magi came with their expensive gifts, but the scene in lowly Bethlehem was a far cry from the Christmas we celebrate today.

 

Maybe the Magi are to blame.  After all, those were pretty costly gifts, the sort you might special order from Nieman-Marcus.  But then again, those gifts were for the King.  It is appropriate to show one's allegiance to a sovereign by presenting a precious gift.  These men from the East were wise indeed.

 

Compare scripture with modern practice.  We make Christmas as gaudy as it can be, giving gifts to each other rather than to the Lord (or to the poor in the name of the Lord).  Most Americans could celebrate Christmas without ever a thought of the Christ-child.  In fact, many do!  Something is wrong with this picture.

 

First, there's the matter of stewardship.  If God owns everything and we are simply the managers of his possessions, do you really think He approves of the excess that defines the holidays?  If we spend ourselves into oblivion, is He likely to say, "Well done, good and faithful servant?"

 

Second, there's the philosophical error: Our Christmas extravagance suggests that money can buy happiness, that joy is equated with how many things we have, and yet we know this isn't true.  Excessive giftgiving can foster a kind of idolatry that is very dishonoring to the Lord.

 

Third, there's the reality of lost opportunity.  While we lavish gifts on one another, we are surrounded by a world in need.  Jesus cares for the poor and destitute.  Consider the people with whom He spent most of His time.  Isn't it likely He would want us to be concerned for them as well?

 

I'm not recommending that we become Scrooges.  The birth of our Savior is an event worthy of celebration.  Joyful parties, bountiful feasts, gaily wrapped presents, sparkling lights...these are wonderful ways to express the overflow of our hearts as we welcome His Advent and look forward to His return.  I'm just calling for two things: restraint and a right focus.  Restraint means keeping your spending within the range appropriate to your means.  God never commanded anyone to pay 18% interest on a credit card just so they could say, "Welcome to my world, dear Jesus!" 

 

And focus.  If Jesus cared most about those in greatest need, why not shift the emphasis of your giving this year?  Perhaps your family could choose another family in need, or a particular cause in some desperate corner of the globe, and pool your resources to help those persons instead of buying gifts for each other.  You could still buy gifts for children, although it would be excellent to offer them the chance to participate in this "new" style of Christmas celebration.  And then, on Christmas morning, as you read the story of the nativity again, perhaps the familiar lines of scripture will come alive with fresh meaning.  After all, you will have participated with the Lord Himself in an act of unconditional love.

 

Seems to me that's a whole lot closer to the true meaning of the season than most of what I see.

 

THIS SUNDAY is the First Sunday of Advent.  Come share communion and a lesson on the miracle of God born in human flesh.  There Is No Evening Praise Service this week due to the Fellowship Dinner at noon, followed by the Congregational Meeting at 1:00 p.m.  Go to www.cmachurch.net for on-line sermons and other info.

 

O, THE LOVE THAT SENT GOD'S SON TO EARTH!  O, WHAT A GIFT TO SHARE WITH OTHERS!

SHE HAD A SWEET EXPRESSION ON HER FACE as she took the seat between me and a young man to my right.  I was sitting in the terminal at Denver International on a Friday evening, working on my sermon for Sunday as I awaited the boarding call for the flight that would take me back to Pittsburgh.  Since I was obviously busy, she didn't interrupt my work. Instead, she spoke to the young man.  It was impossible not to "listen in" as the conversation played out right at my elbow.

 

"I guess this is the gate for the flight to San Diego," she said.  He replied that in fact the next flight was to Pittsburgh.  "Oh, but I'm sure this is the right gate," she said, and she checked her boarding pass.  "Yes," she said," my flight leaves from this gate a little later, after your flight to Pittsburgh."  That was sufficient to initiate further conversation.  He asked, "Do you fly often?"  She answered, "Yes, the Lord has allowed me to visit a lot of wonderful places in this world."  He was interested.  "Really?  Where have you been in your travels?" 

 

She began to describe not only the places, but specific ministries she had had in Europe, Australia, South America.  Her conversation was laced with references to the Lord, mentions of church projects she had done, off-hand comments about how God had blessed various endeavors and protected her in all sorts of circumstances.  His curiosity increased and he asked how she became so involved in church work.  She proceeded to tell him how she discovered, in her later adult life, that she could have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, and she spoke warmly of how precious that relationship has become to her. 

 

Imagine that!  He asked her!

 

I didn't interrupt, but I was increasingly more intrigued.  I learned that her name is Giselle (she spelled it for him), and that the young man is 26 (she never divulged her exact age, but she could have been his grandmother).  I promise you, I wasn't being nosy!  It was impossible not to hear, even for a guy whose hearing is poor.

 

I wanted to become part of the conversation, but it didn't happen.  They were engrossed in their talk, then the call came to board.  They parted company, I went my own way.  She waited for her flight, and perhaps her next encounter.  The young man was seated three rows behind me on the plane but we never spoke.

 

What really blessed my heart was the complete lack of self-consciousness demonstrated by this lady as she shared her trust in the Lord.  She wasn't "pushy" with her witness; she simply spoke openly and naturally about her friendship with Jesus.  If she wondered whether I or others could hear what they were saying, she certainly didn't allow that to hinder her.

 

I thought of Peter's admonition to be prepared at all times to give a reason for the hope that lies within us (I Peter 3.15).  He even says we should be careful to do this with "gentleness and respect"--just like this lady!  Sometimes this verse is misunderstood as advocating a very passive approach to evangelism.  Not at all!  The passage assumes that others will hear you speaking of the Lord and see you doing things in His name and will note that your outlook is a hopeful one and then they will inquire: "What's the reason for this?  Where do find your confidence, your peace, your trust, your hope?"  And then you tell them.

 

We often lament that there just aren't enough "natural" opportunities for sharing our faith.  We say, "I don't know how to initiate a conversation about the Gospel!"  Oh, dear.  If we were just a bit freer about including our Master in our ordinary speech, more people would be asking us!

 

THIS SUNDAY the message is A Light in the Dark, a look at the salvation that is proclaimed in the birth of our Lord.  In the Evening Praise Service we will enjoy the musical, Jesus--No Other Name.  Have you invited someone?  Go to www.cmachurch.net for on-line sermons and other info.

THE WHOLE WORLD WAITS TO HEAR YOUR WITNESS -- PLEASE SHARE JESUS THIS CHRISTMAS!

AN APPLE, AN ORANGE, MIXED NUTS IN THE SHELL and an assortment of hard tack candy.  It was a tradition in the small church of my childhood to present each child with a small bag of "goodies" on the Sunday before Christmas.  I remember looking forward to it every year.  When I was old enough to be of some help, I even remember going to the church to assist in putting the bags together, then waiting expectantly to receive one myself when they were distributed on Sunday morning.  The world was simpler then, or so it seemed to me.

 

In that simpler time and place, there was no question in my mind about the "real" meaning of Christmas.  We gave gifts to one another, and there were happy parties to attend, and we enjoyed the bright lights and joyful melodies that announce the season...but in all the merriment we never seemed to lose sight of the truth that Jesus is the One we celebrate when Christmas comes around. 

 

I'm sure the same is true today for those who love the Lord and long for His second advent.  However, the rest of the planet seems to have forgotten Jesus altogether.  In my childhood, it was as though the unregenerate populace gave a respectful nod of deference to the Christian Church: "Yes, we know this is the time of year when you remember the birth of the One you call your Savior.  We respect that, and we will adjust our schedules and plans to honor your sacred holiday."  In that former era, if you asked a pagan to state the "reason for the season" she would probably say, "Why, it's about the birth of Jesus, of course."

 

But where is Jesus in Christmas today?  You'll find him inside the church walls as He is remembered in various Christmas pageants and musicals.  There are a few nativity scenes here and there, which to the non-Christian must seem increasingly quaint and even irrelevant.  But Jesus is largely absent from the general celebration of Christmas.  Indeed, last year there was quite a flap over the efforts of some to remove the word itself, substituting more innocuous expressions like Happy Holidays or Seasons Greetings.

 

Ask the average person what Christmas means and you'll hear some drivel about love, joy and peace and how we should all share with one another and try to get along.  It's a time of year when we are conscious of those who have less, and there is great passion about making sure that every child "has a Christmas" to celebrate, which translates into gifts under the tree.  As though Christmas somehow doesn't exist if there is no wrapping paper to tear apart on Christmas morning!

 

Santa is ubiquitous; Jesus is strangely absent from the public square.  And Santa has a great deal more "curb appeal" anyway -- a bright red suit with a corncob pipe, flowing white beard and a mile-wide smile, topped off with the flourish of his trademark "Ho! Ho! Ho!"  Contrast that image with the picture of a helpless infant in a plain and dirty stable...whose parents were apparently too poor to buy him anything for Christmas!

 

And yet...when all is said and done, it's the simplest of scenes that stirs me most deeply and brings to me the greatest pleasure.  Despite all that we have done to Christmas -- even though it is so easy now to miss its true meaning -- I find myself called back to the place where it all originated, to the simple record of the Gospels, to heaven's pronouncement of a deep and divine love.

 

In my quiet time with the Lord, contemplating the flame of our advent candles and the incomprehensible mercy of my God, I am "carried away" to a former time and place.  There I am, a little boy holding his small bag with an apple, an orange, some mixed nuts in the shell and an assortment of hard tack candy...still awed by the wonder of the Season and the undeniable love of God that sent His Son.  That's my Christmas, and I'm sticking to it!

 

THIS SUNDAY the message focuses on A King Who Cares, the Savior who is both ruler and shepherd.  In the Evening Praise Service we will walk the streets in a time of Neighborhood Caroling, followed by cookies and fellowship.  Go to www.cmachurch.net for online sermons and other info.

 

KEEP YOUR CHRISTMAS SIMPLE AND SINCERE -- KEEP YOUR EYES UPON THE BABE IN BETHLEHEM!

"WHEN THE TIME HAD FULLY COME, GOD SENT HIS SON" (Galatians 4.4).  Was there anyone who really expected it, anyone at all?  Mary and Joseph had "insider information," of course.  And yes, Simeon and Anna were prayerfully anticipating the day -- someday -- but even they were not privy to the actual schedule.  It wasn't until they beheld the child -- "what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and our hands have touched" (I John 1.1) --that they knew: This is the One!

 

But the Father knew.  He had always known.  He ordained the very moment.  He determines the era in which we live and chooses the exact places that we inhabit (Acts 17.26).  He plans all of our days, each and every one of them, before even the first of them comes into being (Psalm 139.16).  Selah -- Meditate on this!

 

God knows the fullness of time.  He ordains our existence.  It's all in His will and subject to His authority.

 

The young couple in my office glowed as they recounted the story of how they met.  It was quite a tale.  A last-minute, unexpected opportunity to attend an event hundreds of miles away, but he had no transportation.  She and her friend were going to the same event.  A mutual acquaintance who knew this asked if they could take the young man with them.  Fourteen hours confined to a car.  The budding of a relationship.  Plans to spend the rest of their lives together.  Who would have guessed?

 

Accident?  Coincidence?  Hardly.  Our Father knows the times and the places.  He ordains all the details.  So why do I worry so much?  Why can't I be like the birds and the flowers (Matthew 6.25-34), simply resting myself in the will of my Creator? 

 

Last night I read an article in the latest issue of Newsweek.  Michael Beschloss penned an intriguing piece on the significance of small events that shape our government and history.  Specifically, he noted the illness of current senator Tim Johnson.  If the senator is unable to serve, the balance of power shifts back to the Republican party.  What might that mean?

 

Well, in 1937 President Franklin Roosevelt was counting on Joe Robinson, majority leader in the Senate, to get certain legislation passed.  Quite suddenly and unexpectedly, Robinson died of a heart attack.  The consequence?  FDR's entire second term was marked by failed legislation.

 

Beschloss points out that had Nixon not been hospitalized with viral pneumonia in 1973 he might have destroyed incriminating White House tapes and thus preserved his presidency.  If he had served two terms, it's possible neither Reagan nor Bush #1 would ever have reached the Oval Office, and very unlikely that our current president would have ascended to that place.  Beschloss observes, "...it is striking how often large historical forces pivot on something so unpredictable as the continued good health of a politician."

 

His point is well-taken.  But is it so "unpredictable" after all?  I can only think of the scripture that says the Lord "sets up kings and deposes them" (Daniel 2.21).  He determines times.  He determines places.  He ordains what suits His will.  No plan of His can be thwarted (Job 42.2).  He is the Sovereign God.  And it is certainly within His prerogative to use illness to effect a "changing of the guard" if it so pleases Him.

 

And when He decided "the time had fully come," He sent His Son.  Praise, Adore and Rejoice!

 

THE GOD WHO CAREFULLY PLANNED THE TIMING OF MAN'S REDEMPTION WILL TAKE CARE OF YOU!

HAVE YOU MADE YOUR NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS YET?  Come on, you know you're going to.  There's something about opening a new calendar year with new possibilities.  It's a chance to "turn over a new leaf," to get a "fresh start," to write on a "clean slate."  Of course, we almost take for granted that our resolutions -- most of them anyway -- will be broken before we make it through January.  We have the best of intentions but not always the strength of will necessary to carry through.  Why is that?

 

I'm preparing to start a new sermon series on the first Sunday of January.  For the first quarter of 2007, we will investigate the life and teachings and miracles of Jesus in chronological fashion.  I'm calling the series, Along the Way with Jesus.  His disciples learned from Him as they traveled about in Galilee.  They listened and observed and soaked up who He was.  As best we can, I want us to repeat that "experiment" for the next several months.

 

Since we have to start somewhere, it seems logical to look at how the earliest followers of Jesus began their relationship with Him.  One thing that strikes me about the calling of the first disciples is that there was both decision and destination in the invitation.  Jesus spoke to them and said, "Come, follow me."  Immediately, they left their fishing nets or tax booth or whatever else they were about and they went with the Lord.  That was a decision.  It was sudden...momentous...redirective...transforming. 

 

But the decision wasn't the end of the matter -- not by a long shot!  There was also the destination.  The decision was the beginning of a journey with Jesus.  They walked where He walked, ate and slept where He did, sat and talked with Him and listened to Him as He taught them along the way.  There was discussion about a coming Kingdom, even some conversation about the Kingdom being "not of this world" and residing instead in one's heart, but it was clear that they were headed somewhere.

 

I wonder if that's why resolutions fail so often: We make a decision but we are not willing to commit to the destination.  Reaching the goal requires patience and steadfastness and the lapse of time.  If you resolve to lose 10 pounds in the New Year, you certainly won't accomplish your goal on the first day of January.  And if you further resolve to keep the weight off, you'll have to commit to some lifestyle changes -- fewer desserts, more exercise -- that will be practiced over the entirety of the coming year.  Making the decision is an essential first step, but committing to the destination is what insures success. 

 

With regard to spiritual formation, the old chorus "I Have Decided to Follow Jesus" captures both elements.  Because I am born in sin and make habitual sinful choices, there must come that moment when I decide, "I'm tired of living like this.  It's time to deal with who I really am, time to confess my sin and ask God's forgiveness."  That choice is critical.  It might mean walking down the aisle to an altar in a church, or simply kneeling by the bed at home, but there has to be a moment of turning, which is repentance.  I turn from sin to righteousness.

 

But what do I do when I turn?  Do I just stand there?  Is becoming a Christian only about changing the view?  Of course not.  Becoming a Christian means that I am now a Christ-follower.  "I Have Decided To Follow Jesus."  After my decision, I begin to put one foot in front of the other and I progress toward the Prize of the upward calling in Christ Jesus.  I fix my eyes on the destination, and I walk steadfastly toward that goal. 

 

Among your other resolutions, join me in resolving to walk more closely with the Lord these next twelve months.  We have His Word to guide us.  As we investigate the record of His life and endeavor to "keep company" with Him more intimately than before, we will surely find His strength to help us keep our resolution.

 

THIS SUNDAY we end the "old year" with a message titled From the Ordinary to the Extraordinary.  In the Evening Praise Service we observe "Communion at the Altar."  Come anytime between 6:00 and 8:00 for a brief time of prayer with one of the Elders. 

 

"I HAVE DECIDED TO FOLLOW JESUS -- NO TURNING BACK" -- FOR 2007 AND BEYOND!