new beginnings

The other day I heard a terrible racket. In seeking to find its source, I came across a man using an electric saw to cut a piece of pressure treated lumber. He was in the process of repairing a lamp post I'd seen toppled in the parking lot several days earlier. "Somebody back into it?" I asked. "Nope," he said. "Just fell over." And after a pause added, "Rotted clean through", and nodded his head in the direction of a piece of wood on the ground.

I looked down at the post. He was absolutely correct, it had rotted off right at ground level. "Look at that," he said as he gestured toward another post beside the first. I Looked. It appeared to be a piece of another post- good wood, nicely painted.

"Turn it over," he suggested. And when I did, it revealed a totally different appearance. Its interior had been eaten out by termites. When I touched the wood it broke apart like Styrofoam. "You'd never know it by the outward appearance," the man continued, "but every one of them posts is in the same condition," as he pointed toward the eight or ten other lamp posts in the parking lot.

I couldn't help but think how many churches and Christians are like those lamp posts. On the outside there's every appearance of health and stability, yet the inside core has become diseased, fragile, and broken. And while our first thought is to just slap another coat of paint on the outside and keep on going, what we really need most is to allow God to cut out the part of us that has died, strip us down to the good, bare wood, and rebuild us from the inside out.

In every life… in every church… there comes a time to set the old aside and to start afresh. There comes a time to receive a fresh breath from the Spirit. There comes a time to intentionally and willingly open ourself completely to God's sovereign work in our life. There comes a time for new beginnings…

Isaiah 43:18-19 NASU

"Do not call to mind the former things, or ponder things of the past. Behold, I will do something new, now it will spring forth; will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the desert."

is that coffee fresh?

This past Sunday, as an illustration in my sermon, I compared myself to my daughter. She's a coffee connoisseur- she can go into Starbucks and order something and know exactly what she's ordering! I'm much more like my wife...

[I'll never forget the time we were waiting for a flight in the airport. I went to get us coffee, but came back empty handed. My wife asked, "Where's my coffee?", to which I replied, "The menu was so confusing, I couldn't even tell what they carried, much less how to order." I mean, there wasn't even a small, medium and large anything! And the menu mentioned whipped cream and cinnamon. On coffee?! Anyhow, my wife, desperately needing that coffee, set down her book and started striding toward the beverage kiosk. Her walk had that "follow me, watch and learn" attitude. So I followed. And I was amazed. She glanced at the menu only for a second, and ordered some mysterious concoction as it she'd been drinking it all her life. The attendant, as he began to prepare it, asked a couple quick questions over his shoulder, to which my wife replied "double" to both. She received her coffee, paid the attendant, smiled at me with a wink, and turned briskly back towards her seat and book. I could hardly move- I stood entralled at her prowess in this area which was so foreign to me. And suddenly a pride began to build inside of me. This wise and powerful woman was my wife!

I'd just about made it back to my seat at the gate when I heard the sound. What was that?! There it was again, this time followed by a yowl. It was my wife! What had that wicked attendant done to her coffee? I looked quickly around- where was security?

Then I tried the coffee myself. YEOW!! It was thick... and bitter... and strong enough to pave highways with! She said, "I wonder if it has anything to do with that "double-double" stuff?" "You don't know?" I asked. "Heck no," she said. That sly fox- she was just trying to look cool. She had no more idea what all that stuff meant than I did. "You want this junk?", she asked as she offered me the cup. "You kidding?" I said. She walked to the trash can and dumped it in. $4.50 down the tube... and I bet it ate a hole in the trash can. But I digress...]

Anyhow, I mentioned how I'm such a "non-connoisseur" that I'll often go back to the leftover pot of coffee a couple days later and nuke a cup in the microwave to warm it up. As long as there's nothing growing in it, I figure it's fair game.

Then I met someone from church the other morning for a cup of coffee and a conversation. I sipped my coffee as I talked, and over the course of the conversation went back for a couple of refills. Man, this stuff was good! When I left, I told the young lady behind the register, "That was GREAT coffee! Thanks."

I was about halfway to my car when it hit me. They had prepared their coffee the way it was supposed to be prepared. And it showed. It was really good. At home, I kind of haphazardly measure my coffee into the filter, let it set on the burner for hours, forget about it until later, and then microwave it several times over the next couple of days before I drink it. I'd become so used to the junk I drink that when confronted with genuine coffee I was overwhelmed by its goodness.

And I thought: how often do we become similarly lax in our relationship with God. We forget about Him for days at a time, give Him the leftovers of our time and our attention, offer the quick prayer before bedtime to try and catch up on our righteousness, and then complain about the fact that "religion and church isn't everything it's cracked up to be." But then we stumble upon a genuine experience with God and, just like that fresh, real cup of restaurant coffee, we suddenly realize how special such an encounter is... and we clamor for more. The taste of the real thing should cause us not to settle for anything less- in our coffee or in our relationship with God. (To hear more about such a genuine encounter with God, click here or here.)

Oops... gotta run. The microwave just beeped! :)

"rrr...ri-bit"

One night a couple of weeks ago I got home a little later than usual. I walked up the steps, and as I stepped onto the porch was startled as I almost stepped on a toad. In seven months, that was the first time I’d seen him, and the question in my mind was, “How in the world did he get there?” From ground to porch there are nine steps, each one anywhere from 8-10” in height. And the toad was small. As I tried to imagine him stretched out as long as possible, I couldn’t vision his being able to reach much more than 5 or 6 inches at the most.

After that night, I began to look for him regularly. And he is always there. When I check at 8:00 he hasn’t yet arrived, but when I check back at 9:00 he’s there. So, sometime between 8:00 and 9:00 he arrives. I’ve never yet managed to catch a glimpse of him on the journey. When I look out the door in the morning, around 6:30, he’s long gone. In my simple world, this was a mystery. Where did he come from? How in the world did he manage the steps? And what motivated him to make the journey?

Then it hit me. I looked at the porch just outside the door. It was littered with dead gnats, flies, moths, and the like. And I remembered that every time I go in and out of the door at night they fly all around me. The porch lights attract them, and… and it was this entomological buffet that was apparently attracting my warty little friend. He could sit from dusk ‘til dawn below those porch lights and eat until he was full. And so fulfilling was his feast that he would risk life and limb twice each day to negotiate those steps which separated him from his dinner. The preacher in my head then started thinking…

While that little toad was willing to place his life in jeopardy every night to obtain a meal that satisfied him less than a day, there are many Christians today who are unwilling even to risk personal comfort for the sake of the Kingdom of God. Yet Jesus said, “If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow Me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake, he is the one who will save it.” (Luke 9:23-24 NASU). Dr. Jesse Northcutt, my preaching professor in seminary, would often quote from the book of Philippians. It seemed that his favorite passage was Philippians 2:5-8 (NASU):“Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus, who, although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. Being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” As he used to paraphrase it, he’d say, “A call to follow Christ, is a call… to die.” To die to self. To die to selfish desires. To die to personal agendas. It is a call to surrender all of self to the one we call Lord.

Many churches today could learn a few lessons from that toad- perseverance, tenacity, and sacrifice just to name a few. And if a toad could do that for something as fleeting as a few bugs, how much more should the people of God be willing to risk all for something as wonderful as God’s Kingdom? Can you imagine what could happen if all of God’s people everywhere made that sort of commitment?!

vision hijacking... whoops- there it goes!

I was talking with a colleague the other day. We were discussing challenges faced in churches today, and brainstorming the most effective way to reach today's culture- is it possible to transition a portion of an existing church to become fluent in the language and practice of current culture in order to reach people of that culture, or is the only means of accomplishing the goal to plant a brand new church with the DNA of that culture you're trying to reach? The discussion is not merely academic; it is essential if the church is not to lose an entire generation.

As the dialogue continued, my colleague reminded me of the danger of "vision hijacking", where a church (built on specific beliefs and practices) accepts so many new members with eclectic experiences that suddenly the original vision and purpose are "hijacked" (either innocently or malevolently) by the new majority, and the church becomes something different than it was originally intended to be.

Hmmmmm....

I think back to Matthew 16:18-19 when Jesus commissioned the church. It was to be a bold entity on the offensive against the kingdom of darkness. I look at Acts 2 as it recounts the birth of the church at Pentecost, and see it putting into practice the calling given it by Jesus.

And then I look at so many churches today. WE have hijacked Jesus' vision! We've taken a Body that was created to risk everything as it drew it's power from Christ, and removed the risk and worked to make it safe. we've built large savings accounts for those "rainy days" and tempered our decisions by the filter of "what makes everyone happy". We've chosen our own comfort over a passion for those without Jesus. The vision has indeed been hijacked, and the result is a church sustained by its own ever-weakening power. Why has the church lost its power? What is stifling its growth? As Pogo said, "We have met the enemy, and he is us!"

For an examination of what the church originally was, check this link.

"A Neat Encounter"

We just finished our Wednesday evening program at church- things are scaled back a bit due to it's being summer, but we still have Wednesday Night Dinner followed by a Bible study and prayer time. Normally the group of 20-30 folks is made up of pretty much the same people. That's not a bad thing... I'm just saying that most of the faces are familiar each week. Tonight, a 20-something young lady entered and sat down just as we were finishing dinner, and no one knew her. She happened to sit next to me, and I introduced myself ("Hi, I'm Chuck. What's your name?") She told me. I welcomed her and folks around our table all said hi. We made sure she got a glass of water and a slice of coconut cake.

We started our Bible study, and as a good discussion began, I heard an unfamiliar voice join in. It was the new young lady I'd just met. She contributed to the discussion several times over the next thirty minutes, at times somewhat passionate about the topic at hand. When everything was wrapping up, I had a chance to speak to her one-on-one. She's a busy person- full-time student with full-time job. I told her about our Sunday worship and Bible study, and invited her back to Wednesday evenings. I really hope she'll return.

But what impressed me the most was that she came all alone to a place she'd never been, to a setting which provided little if any anonymity, and she joined right in. I mean, it was like she was one of the family. I hear and read a lot today about "seeker sensitivity" in churches- how focused we must be on making things suitable for the guests who might come our way. Sometimes we give that so much attention that we might overlook the fact that the Holy Spirit is still at work in the hearts of people who are honestly seeking. And especially for those He brings our way, for those who are seeking a God-encounter, we just need to "be" the Body of Christ. I think that happened tonight, and it was a neat encounter to witness.

Google this!

At least once a week, I check the report statistics for our website (www.chuckandlari.com). I'm interested to know where the visitors come from, what they're viewing, and what they're downloading. Saw something the other day that was new to me- it showed searches people had used to find the site. Thought that was interesting. Fact is, using some of their search phrases, it's a miracle they even found us!

It reminded me that often we have no idea what people are looking for when their path crosses ours. The smile on their face might not indicate the brokenness in their heart. Their gruff manner may reveal no clue of their desperate search for a loving relationship. Their seemingly arrogant confidence may offer no hint of the uncertainty that plagues them. They're looking -we're all looking- for something. Sometimes, we're just the only one who even has a clue what we're looking for.

As a pastor, it's easy to become driven to address the needs of the "seekers" who come your way. But just as with my web page, I never really truly know exactly what search has brought them to us. So rather than flip-flop back and force trying to address something I can't even define, I try my best to offer a consistent, balanced diet of what I believe God would have us know- that He made us, He loves us, and He's on a mission to get us straying sheep back into His fold. If someone comes one week, they may hear a message heavy on the loving part. Another week what they would hear might stress the restoration part. But show up regularly, and you'll hear the entire message presented many different ways.

Be yourself. Be real. Be consistent. And be ready to help whoever God brings across your path.

Say What?!

All throughout our married life, we've been plagued by clutter. Nothing big, at least nothing big the way I see it. But enough that it frustrates the heck out of my wife- a half-finished book tossed on a table, a kayak magazine (or two... or three) placed on the dining room table, a notebook computer on the kitchen table. You get the idea. It seems like we're always working on the clutter, but it seems to multiply on its own. It's been all we can do just to keep relatively even with it.

So I've been working out of town for a while recently. Got back this week. When I came in the house, something seemed different, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. The next morning I sensed the difference once again. I paused and studied everything around me. The clutter. It was gone! Wow- everything looked great. Some stuff had been thrown away; some had been neatly put away where it belonged. But the clutter was gone. And everything looked really nice.

Then I woke up this morning, and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Halfway there it dawned on me. The house was clean... clutter was gone... because I had been away. My presence was tied to the clutter. Everything else was the same; my absence had been the only change. Bummer! What a stinkin' bite! (I shared my insight with my wife immediately, and paused to apologize and promise to try harder.) I still couldn't believe it. ME? ClutterMan?

A lot of times we start griping about the bad run of luck we've had in life. The deck seems stacked against us. Everybody's out to get us. If only...

But the fact is, we're often the greatest cause of what goes wrong in life. The Bible calls it "sin". Wherever we are, "sin" is too. And it clutters our life with ugliness. Somewhat like my wife while I was gone, when God is able to guide life on His intended course, things go well. But as soon as we get back in the picture, sin's clutter returns. We're the cause. Talk about a bummer...!

Thank goodness God offers a new start and a do-over to all those who turn to Him for help. The help He offers is called forgiveness, and the power He gives to follow His direction is the Holy Spirit who promises to take up residence in our hearts and guide us in the "way everlasting". Ready to get your life uncluttered?

"Warning! Warning, Will Robinson!"

Did you ever watch the series (or the reruns) "Lost in Space?" Pretty cheesy (can you believe that network, looking for a Sci-fi series, picked "Lost in Space" over "Star Trek"? What were they thinking?!). But the way Dr. Smith always got the family into trouble just as the episode wound to a close always left you with that cliffhanger feeling that brought you back again the next week to see how it worked out. My favorite character was the robot. I loved how his disjointed arms would wave wildly, the antenna on his head would spin crazily, and his multi-colored lights would flash alarmingly while his mechanical voice cried, "Warning! Warning, Will Robinson!" That little guy Will was lucky. He had someone to alert him to every impending disaster.

Wish I'd have had that the other day...

I had just been thinking, "It's probably about time to back up the "My Documents" folder again." I try and remember to do that every couple of weeks. But a phone call here, a drop-in there, and the day was over and I never gotten around to making that backup yesterday. I turned off my perfectly functional computer last night, turned off the office light and headed home.

This morning I came in, turned on the computer, went downstairs to get a cup of coffee, and came back up to the office to read my email while I drank my coffee. I clicked on the desktop icon and glanced over some notes on my desk. When I looked back the screen had frozen, and the mouse had locked up. Control-Alt-Delete did nothing, so I hit the reset button. I waited through the boot-up process again (I get so impatient at times!), only to have the same thing happen. Reset button! It locked again! Reset! Lock! Reset! Lock! AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!!

I put in my Norton SystemWorks CD and rebooted, hoping to be able to boot directly into Disk Doctor. No joy. Now I remember... it boots only into Norton Antivirus. Sweat was beginning to bead on my forehead and I could feel my face starting to get flushed. I had just spent four days building a new web site for our church. Although I'd successfully uploaded it to our host, all my files were on my computer. WHY HADN'T I DONE THAT BACKUP WHEN I THOUGHT ABOUT IT?!

I found a couple of diagnostic applications that could run from the command prompt, but they all said that my hard drive was in proper working order. Must be a corrupted file, or a conflict with a driver. Man, was I starting to feel sick...

Then I remembered about "Safe Mode". So I booted up- ONE... MORE... TIME, hit F8, selected "Safe Mode", and almost jumped up and shouted for joy when I saw my desktop, even in it's deformed state with all those over sized, pixelated icons in that antiquated 640x480 display mode. Okay, I was "in". Now what? I knew the answer was right in front of me, but so help me, I couldn't remember it. With uncharacteristic patience I scrolled through every program and utility under "All Programs" until... THERE IT WAS! "System restore"! I selected a system restore point from earlier this week, clicked on "Next", and waited anxiously. IT WORKED! I was saved. I'd been given a "re-do". As soon as the boot-up sequence completed, I pulled out my trusty external USB hard drive and made that backup. I'm not nearly as stupid as I may look.

Sometimes... no!- "often" in life we know what we should do, but fail to do it. As a result, all seems lost. We wish so desperately for another chance. A fresh start. A new beginning. You know, don't you, that's exactly what the Bible promises? "Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come." 2 Corinthians 5:17 (NASU) Don't ever be tempted to throw away life- no matter how bad the disaster. God's ready to give you a fresh start if you just turn to Him (don't believe me? listen to my "Words of Hope: But God"). Whatever you do, DON'T GIVE UP! Drop me an email and let me know if I can help you with that process.

Patiently endure it...

So I'm talking to someone this week, and he says to me, "Being a pastor has been the source of some of my greatest joys in life. It's also been the source of some of my greatest heartaches. But the thing is, I don't do it because it makes me happy any more than I'd stop doing it because it makes me sad. I do it because that's what I believe God has called me to do; the results to me personally become irrelevant. Don't get me wrong- I definitely like the joys better than the heartaches. Even for a pastor, that's a no-brainer. But this week has been an especially tough one. A roller coaster ride of ups and downs. As I try and step into the shoes of the folks I deal with, sometimes I just can't connect with where they are. There seems to be such a disconnect between what they say, who they claim to be, and what they do. The inconsistency drives me batty."

I know what he means. Been there; done that; have the t-shirt (and the scars under it). This Sunday we'll be observing the Lord's Supper at our church. I plan to share a brief message before we approach the Lord's table. It'll be based on 1 Corinthians 6:19-20

"Don't you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God? You do not belong to yourself, for God bought you with a high price. So you must honor God with your body."

Holy Bible, New Living Translation ®, copyright © 1996, 2004 by Tyndale Charitable Trust. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers. All rights reserved.

As I've been reading, studying and praying this week, the truth of that passage hit me hard. The personal agendas we push? The petty grievances we bear? The grudges we hold onto so tenaciously? The ugly things we say in revenge for the sole purpose of hurting others? They're all so wrong. We lost the rights to those actions long ago when we accepted the salvation Jesus purchased for us when He was put to death on that cross. He paid the price for our sins. He purchased our freedom. We no longer belong to ourselves. We are not our own. We now belong to Him. And when we act otherwise it calls into question the reality of that transaction in our life. I guess we all live to varying degrees in a constant struggle. Christ on one side, our self on the other. In the middle is our heart... our soul... our being. Jesus extends His hand for it, for He has purchased it with the shedding of His own blood. Yet we grip tightly and refuse to relinquish it. We want it both ways- we want the life He offers, but we also want to continue to live it our way. The fact it, we must choose. We can't have it both ways.

I told that pastor, "Do what you can to help others see the light. The ultimate choice will be theirs- but so will the responsibility for the outcome of that choice. You do what God leads you to do. It is His right to call the shots. Trust Him to protect and provide. He's faithful to the task."

"Where's that mulch pile?"

One of the neatest things I get to do as a pastor is to give a children's sermon in worship. This past Sunday's theme was "rest" and I asked the kids, "What do you do that tires you out?" They shouted out responses- "HOMEWORK!", "chores", running", "baseball", and such. Then I asked, "How do you recharge? How do you get new energy?" Their answers included things like "sleep", "quiet time", "eating", and the like. Then one precious little girl raised her hand and waited until I called on her. "Yes?", I asked. She went into a long answer- so long, in fact, that I wasn't sure where she was going. I thought perhaps she'd misunderstood the question. Little did I know; she was just laying the foundation. "So...," she said as she concluded, "when I get really tired and need to get refreshed, I go outside and just lay back on my dad's mulch pile, and I feel all better."

Mulch pile! How cool is that?!

In a world where we try to fit 36 hours into each and every 24-hour day, we give evidence that we've forgotten that God commanded us to observe a "sabbath" rest. A time to refrain from work, and to focus on Him, our family, and ourself. I mean, how many of us really take the time to even get to know ourself? This little girl had found the secret of life... and it was the mulch pile.

Next time you start working on the yard, you might consider not spreading out all of that shredded bark. Leave a little over in the corner of the yard, maybe under that big shade tree. And when no one's looking, after that busy day, take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and just lay back and rest. It'll do you good.

"You have learned well, Grasshopper..."

Remember the old "Kung-Fu" series with David Carradine? When he was in the monastery, learning his discipline, his mentor constantly referred to him as "Grasshopper". The mentor modeled and taught, and "Grasshopper" learned. It's a cycle that has been repeated throughout history. At different times in life, and in different settings, we each fill roles both as learners and as mentors.

So have I mentioned how much I enjoy the outdoors? When I was younger I used to run- everywhere, all the time (R-u-n, For-rest! R-u-n!). Then I got into bicycling. Then paddling. I've enjoyed paddling the most, and it's stuck with me the longest. I started off with a canoe (for about ten years), then tried a kayak- and liked it so much that I went home and sold my canoe. I've been kayaking now for about four or five years, and have bought and sold a number of boats (my wife complains that I've "bought" more than I've "sold"!). I love it so much that I can't wait to introduce others to it. In fact, within a couple of weeks of the day our first grandson was born I bought a used child's kayak for him (hey- I got it really cheap at a moving sale!). It's been hanging in the garage waiting for him to get big enough to paddle it on his own.

He turned three several weeks ago... still not quite big enough for his kayak, but plenty big enough to go paddling with his dad and me. So the three of us went paddling. I was in "Mr. Tippy" (yes- there's a reason for the name, but that's another story...), and my son and grandson were paddling together in a sit-on-top.

While my son and I were putting on our PFD's, we sat the grandson in one of the boats still pulled up on shore. When I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, I turned to see him (paddle in hand) going through the motions of a pretty good paddling stroke, singing "Row, Row, Row your Boat." How did he know to do that? (see a short video clip) As we paddled out on the lake, I watched lovingly as Andy spoke to Aaron, telling him what he was doing, why he was doing it, and pointing out sights you could only see from a boat- fish swimming by, baby ducks following their mom through the cattails, a turtle's head popping above the surface to see what was making all that racket. I saw him place the paddle in Aaron's hands and then place his hands over Aaron's, guiding him through the motions of a perfect stroke.

Although in different venues, everyone does the same thing- we teach someone to play tennis, play the piano, cook, sew or sing. We seem so purposeful in making sure that we faithfully pass on whatever we know to another who is willing to learn. And I wondered, "Are we as intentional in passing on our knowledge about God?" I doubt it. Not for the majority. Whether we consider it too personal, or ourselves too un-knowledgeable, we are often silent about what is ultimately most significant.

I can't begin to tell you how excited I am that my grandson is displaying an interest in, and aptitude for, kayaking-because I love kayaking. I plan to do everything I can to continue to foster that interest. But even more, I pledge to do everything that I can to make sure that he grows to know about God, too. Because I love Him infinitely more than kayaking.

"Come, walk with me, Grasshopper. I want to tell you about someone I have come to know and love..."

"Babylon" & the laundromat

I was at the laundromat last week. I used to hate those trips- but now I take a book and a notepad and do sermon study for the hour I’m there. No telephones! But there are sometimes other unique interruptions…

I was sitting near the door reading and jotting down some thoughts on my legal pad, when I heard the “thunk” of the clutch as my washing machine stopped. I hustled over, picked a dryer across from the washer, opened its door, and started tossing my clothes by the handful from washer to dryer. I slammed the dryer door shut, put in three quarters (eight minutes per quarter), and pushed the “run” button. I stepped back, glanced at my watch to make sure the dryer gave me the twenty-four minutes I’d paid for, and leaned back against the now-empty washer to finish reading the article I’d begun. Enter the “unique interruption”…

She was short, probably mid-sixties, with her gray hair pulled back into two of the wildest ponytails I’d ever seen. She was wearing a house coat over what looked like pajama bottoms, with slippers on her feet. And as she threw her stuff into the machine next to mine, she looked piercingly into my eyes and asked, “Is that one of my magazines?” glancing at the booklet I was reading. “Are you the young man who took my magazines?” She got one bonus point right away for the “young man” remark, but as for the magazine question, I was unsure if she was asking or accusing. “Magazines?” I responded innocently. “You look like the man I gave my magazines to last week.” “No ma’am,” I assured her, “I haven’t been here for several weeks.” As she continued talking, it became clear that she’d encountered someone the previous week to whom she had given some magazines to read. I gave her my friendliest smile- the one that says “it’s been really nice talking to you, but in case you didn’t notice I’m busy reading.” Obviously, I’ve got some work to do on that smile.

“No problem,” she said. In a flash she ran outside to her car, and returned with a small briefcase. Rummaging through its contents, she eventually pulled out three small pamphlets. The title on each said “Watchtower.” Oh man…

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I can assure you- you can put those to better use elsewhere.” And then, almost as an afterthought, I said softly, “I’m a Baptist pastor.” What followed was one of the oddest conversations I’ve ever had.

“Then where’s your ‘sword’?” she asked challengingly as she glanced furtively at the booklet in my hand. Guessing she was referring to Ephesians 6:17 (“the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God”), I responded, “It’s in the car.” Then, as she reached into her briefcase and withdrew her Bible, I began to feel guilty at not being able to produce mine. She fanned its pages, and looked at me mysteriously. In a dramatic whisper she inquired, “Do you know about… ‘Babylon the Great’?” And her lingering stare as she awaited my answer was a clear indication that my response would tell her whatever it was that she needed to know about me.

“Revelation is in the apocalyptic genre,” I began. “And while many of its elements remain a mystery to me even after years of study, I believe that ‘Babylon the Great’ most likely refers to Rome.” The words had hardly left my lips when it became obvious from her expression that I had proven myself an infidel who had fallen hopelessly into her trap. She chuckled softly and shook her head- the same way a parent does when after weeks of focused effort, his little son once more jams his finger into his nose all the way to the second knuckle.

What followed was a series of cryptic questions, partial answers, and enticing inquiries which offered no substance and left me feeling hollow and angry. As politely as I could, I wished her a good day and physically extricated myself from the situation by returning to my seat by the door. And I thought…

… in similar fashion, the evangelical church of today has sadly distanced itself from many of the very people it is trying to reach. With a religious jargon known only to its members, it often confuses rather than enlightens. While called to share a message of forgiveness and redemption, it instead offers judgment and condemnation. It befuddles with cryptic questions while offering few real-life answers.

Yet the message we are charged to share is clear- each and every one of us will eventually choose our own way over God’s. That rejection of God’s Will and law is called sin, and the judgment for sin is death. But God loved the world so much that He gave His one and only Son, so that whoever believes in Him might not perish, but have everlasting life.

“Babylon the Great?” I still think it’s a reference to Rome. But thank God my future hope doesn’t depend upon a successful solution to that enigmatic puzzle. I’m a believer in Jesus, and He’s already done all the work to prepare my place in heaven.

"Do not provoke your children to anger..."

I was working late in my office the other night. Sitting at the computer trying to finish a letter, I was startled by a loud commotion outside. It sounded like voices, but I wasn’t sure- so I parted the blinds and looked out. A truck was parked in the parking lot, and a 30-something man was walking ahead of a boy in a baseball uniform who looked to be no more than eight. They were coming from one of the ball fields behind the playground. The loud commotion was a combination of the man’s yelling and the boy’s crying. And as I stood watching and listening, I began to feel as if my heart would break.

The man was screaming at the boy, kicking the gravel and trashing about with the ball cap he tore off his head. They got in the truck, and from the front seat I could see the man turn toward the boy in the back and continue his verbal assault, waving his hands wildly, continuing to yell at the top of his lungs. The only words I could understand were, “…when I say run, I mean run!” Through the truck’s open window I could hear the child sobbing. Gut-wrenching sobs. Then with a quick turn, sudden acceleration and spinning of tires they were gone. It had lasted less than a minute. But the image was burned into my mind to stay. Maybe it stuck with me so long because it reminded me of too many times I spoke in anger to our children when they were young. Never like the guy in the truck, mind you, but much more unkind than they ever deserved.

The sad fact is, way too many families probably communicate like that on a daily basis. Worse yet, the pattern for communication that boy saw his father model is a pattern he will likely follow with his own children when he becomes a father. It is the only way he has seen a father and son relate. He will most likely continue the cycle. Families develop “systems” for relating and responding, and those “systems” (whether healthy or unhealthy) are often passed down unchanged across the generations. Unless someone makes a conscious effort to break the cycle. I want to remind you that the Word of God has the power to change lives. It can break destructive cycles and give a fresh, new start.

"The clock is ticking..."

So we're trying to sell our house. We've lived there about eleven years. Most of the last year we've been doing the usual "fix-up" you do before you try and sell- painting, spackling (not necessarily in that order!), cleaning, planting, etc. You know the routine. Out of the blue, my wife says, "I've been talking to my dad, and he says that a hot water heater only lasts about twelve years. We ought to replace it since we're nearing that twelve year mark." What?, I'm thinking. Has she lost her mind? We've had hot water heaters last fifteen or sixteen years before. Replace something before it's broken? Does she think we're made of money? It'll last until the house sells. Besides... "we've got plenty of time." I can still hear the echoes in my mind of me saying those fateful words.

I've been working out of the area lately, and as I was having my nightly "goodnight chat" with my wife the other night, she suddenly screamed into the phone, "Omigosh! The carpet's soaked!" I could tell by the emotion in her voice that the situation was critical- but separated by many miles, and being limited only to what she could tell me over the phone (and partial information from a hysterical woman does not help troubleshoot a problem via long distance!), I had no clue what was happening. It was nearly 10:30 in the evening. With her becoming mroe and more frantic and my having absolutely no clue as to the true source of the problem, I packed a bag, filled the car with gas, and hit the road. I walked into the house a little before 1:00am.

Come to find out, the tank in the hot water heater had sprung a major leak, and the leaking water had run under the wall from the utility closet in the garage into the bedroom which adjoined it, and saturated about half of the carpet in the bedroom and closet. I turned off the gas and water to the water heater, and hooked up a garden hose to the drain valve in order to empty what was left of the water in the tank. Between a shop-vac and a carpet cleaner, we managed to suck up most of the water from the carpet. We put fans and a de-humidifier in the room, and within thirty-six hours everything was pretty much back to normal- except our bank account. Have you priced parts and labor for a gas hot water heater lately?! Oh my gosh!

Sure, my wife was probably right about giving some attention to the water heater before it became an emergency item. Yeah, I'm a tight wad, and it came back to bite me in the rear. But that false assurance of thinking "we've got plenty of time"... well, that's something that bothers me most. Because we all tend to take that dangerous line of thinking and apply it across the board in too many areas way too often.

I heard a commercial on TV years back. It said something along the lines of "if there's a 50% chance of rain, we'll carry an umbrella; if there's a 70% chance that lightening will strike where you're standing, you'll move." Fact is, there's a 100% chance that each of us will die- yet how many fail to act at all, much less plan in a timely manner?

The Bible says that "God doesn't wish that any would perish", and that He "loved the world so much that He gave His one and only Son that whoever believes in Him might never die, but live forever." Are you banking on time that you may not have? If that's something you'd like to talk about, drop me a note at yakerchuck@gmail.com.

the "Burden Bearer"

In a small village far, far away, secluded from the world in a beautiful vale surrounded by high mountains, there lived a man. He was not old, but he appeared much older than his years. He was stooped over as if carrying a heavy load, and he seemed always weary. He lived alone outside the village, and had few friends. He had no name that anyone could remember. He was simply known as- the Burden Bearer.

Each morning he would wake and begin to go about his tasks- for he had responsibilities as did everyone else. But just as he would start, he'd hear the bell on his gate- "tingle-ingle"- and he would grimace. Another burden was about to be placed on his shoulders.

He didn't really mind- really, he didn't. He was glad to be of help. They would come to him complaining and sad, and leave relieved and renewed, free of their burden. But the burden had not truly been removed... it had only been transferred. To him.

Some would come to him in a state of despair so great that he feared they would not survive long enough to rid themselves of the problems they bore. For these, he would gladly add to his already heavy load- just to see joy on their faces as he lifted their weight. As they sat and wept, he wiped their tears, reminding them that all would be well. As he took their problems as his own, he also helped them understand what had brought them to this point. From those, he seldom ever had to carry more than a single burden. In his taking their load, they also learned how to avoid future problems. These experiences helped give meaning to his suffering.

But there were others. For them his suffering carried no meaning. There was no hope of relief for him any more than for them. Being relieved of one burden only meant that they were free to take on another. And they came to him over and over, never seeming concerned about resolving their problems- only finding personal relief as they heaped their troubles on his already broken shoulders. In these experiences there was no meaning. And the meaninglessness of the suffering made even the Burden Bearer weep.

One day he was in his garden. So consumed had he been in recent days that he'd almost missed the planting season. He took a seed and painfully bent over to place it in the ground. "Tingle-ingle". He grimaced, then sighed. Would it never cease? Did no one care?

But he heard no whining, none of the usual crying or demands. Had he only imagined the bell at the gate? He shifted his weight, pushing off against the soft moist earth with his hand. Oh, his back ached so badly. But before he could fully turn, he felt a hand on his shoulder. And then another. Two strong hands gripped his arms and gently, oh so very gently, lifted him until he stood facing the kindest face he had ever seen. In those eyes he saw a warmth and love deeper than he could ever have imagined.

"Let me help you," the stranger said, in a voice that stirred the heart of the Burden Bearer. "You have more here than you need to carry alone." And with those words the stranger stooped. "Place your burdens here," and he offered to the Burden Bearer his back.

"No, I could never...," began the Burden Bearer, tears beginning to flow down his cheeks. But as the stranger turned his head and the Burden Bearer once again looked into his eyes, the sentence was never completed. He reached to his back and ever so gently slowly lifted the very lightest load and haltingly moved to place it on the back of the gentle stranger. "I am so sorry," he said and laid it down. "I would never do if it were not for...", but he was interrupted by the voice of the stranger. "The burden is now mine. You are released of it. Now, another."

The Burden Bearer, weeping heavily now, still slowly, yet with increasing speed, moved to take the next burden... and then the next... and the one after it, chastising himself for the growing feeling of joy within him as the weight was removed from his shoulders. "More," said the stranger. "More, please. Let me carry your load."

And suddenly the Burden Bearer stood, erect and strong for the first time in years. With a thrill in his heart he tilted his head up to the sky and stretched his arms out as if he would reach to heaven itself. Oh, it felt so good. But while the Burden Bearer was rejoicing at his new found freedom, he was startled by a moan, and turned quickly to look at his feet. There the stranger lay, struggling to rise beneath the load which had only recently been his. He reached to help, but was lovingly pushed away. "You have carried burdens that were never yours, and you have carried them faithfully for so long. They are now mine. You are free." And with that, the stranger painstakingly stood, and began to walk away. "Tingle-ingle", and he was gone.

The Burden Bearer stood there looking until he could no longer see the stranger, whether due to the growing distance between them or the tears in his own eyes. In fact, he was still so deep in thought that he almost missed it- "tingle-ingle". He turned to look and saw a familiar face, with another problem anxious to unload. He bowed, and smiled with a genuine joy and love, and said,"Here," offering his back. "Place it here. You have carried it for so long. It is mine now. You are free." The Burden Bearer had found all the meaning he needed.

where IS that connection...?

Remember, I'm a pastor... and I started a new ministry position in early January. It's at a wonderful church (as I understand it, the "church" is the people who gather- the building is just the place where the church meets) in a rural, but growing, community outside of Richmond, Virginia. Our previous house hasn't sold yet, so I'm staying in "temporary quarters" about twelve miles outside of town. A beautifully restored older home, it affords all the conveniences you'd need... except broadband access. Actually, since I use my cell phone for verbal communication, I don't even have dial-up! AAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH! I feel so cut off from the world! Anyone who's ever had high speed internet and lost it can feel my pain. You're never satisfied with anything less; much less satisfied with nothing!

So I'm getting ready to use the "A" word- here's the application. I wonder how many folks get as distraught when their connection with God is lost. I mean, it happens. At least I know it happens to me. I get busy- really busy- and I skip one day of my quiet time with God or rush through it just to check the box. Then the next day is even worse than the one before, and the next worse than that one. You know how it goes. You've been there. Before you know it, you've almost forgotten that you'd ever even been connected. God misses us when that happens; don't ever doubt that in the least. But He's not the one who loses out. We do. The strength, the hope, the power that He provides for dealing with the new challenges of each day become a thing of the past. We become like drained Ray-O-Vac's in desperate need of a charge. And that's a miserable way to live.

I miss my broadband. But I'd miss my "divineband" even more if I was without it. How do you keep your connection alive? When you lose it, how do you reconnect? Any thoughts you'd like to share?

Have you ever been "assimilated"?

A beginning thought...

If you're familiar with STNG, the Borg were perhaps the most formidable opponents ever encountered by the Federation of Planets. They had this knack for "assimilating" any- and every-thing. They were a smorgasbord of spare parts and unlikely combinations. One Borg would corner someone, and then there were two Borg. The two would corner two others and suddenly there were four! You get the idea. Each Borg became a part of a much larger body- the "Collective". Their tagline was always the same- "Resistance is futile. Prepare to be assimilated!" And with that, they added new spare parts to their conglomerate.

Well, I'm as unlikely an addition to the perfect Kingdom of God as you'll find. But one day God got me in a one-on-one and "assimilated" me into His family. Resistance was futile. I couldn't even think about resisting. He had me, and I'm a part of His "collective now". And you know what? There's no place I'd rather be.