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.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
"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 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.
Friday, May 11, 2007
"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.
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.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, May 7, 2007
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?
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?
Friday, May 4, 2007
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.
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.
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