For the Luv

What Good Am I?

2010-11-28T19:57:00.006-06:00

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” - Howard Thurman

I recently discovered a song from the 1980s that speaks volumes to us all.

What good am I, if I'm like all the rest?
If I just turned away, when I see how you're dressed
If I shut myself off so I can't hear you cry
What good am I?

What good am I, if I know and don't do?
If I see and don't say, if I look right through you
If I turn a deaf ear to the thundering sky
What good am I?

What good am I, while you softly weep?
And I hear in my head what you say in your sleep
And I freeze in the moment like the rest who don't try
What good am I?

What good am I, then to others and me?
If I've had every chance and yet still fail to see
If my hands tied must I not wonder within
Who tied them and why and where must I have been

What good am I, if I say foolish things?
And I laugh in the face of what sorrow brings
And I just turn my back while you silently die
What good am I?
- Bob Dylan, Oh Mercy, 1989

As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. - Ephesians 4:1-6

What a great question. Would that I would be alive. Not only to the needs of the around me, but to my own as well.

4theluv

The Only Thing We Have

2009-10-17T22:04:00.009-05:00

“Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.” - Angela Monet

I love my deck.

Its not much, really. Some comfortable chairs, some floral arrangements and greenery. Surrounded by woods.

Its quiet. Occasioned by the sounds of the distant neighbors dogs barking at imaginary bogey men. My iPod plays out my favorite songs du jour. I can drink my favorite adult beverage. My wonderful wife usually joins me for a while and we talk. Sometimes its just me, or just me and the dogs.

From my deck you can see nothing. But from my deck you can see everything.

Good weeks and bad weeks both find their homes on my deck. Sometimes its triumphal relaxation. Oftentimes its reflection and planning. Sometimes, its nothing more than relaxing and de-stressing.

This past week could fairly well be said to be one of those "what-just-happened-to-me?" weeks. The week started with an unplanned trip to the dentist (which can never be good) and was finished with the yearly physical with my family doctor (something every middle age man dreads). These wonderful events sandwiched two fifteen hour days and a third trying to get caught up. Nothing, but nothing, went as expected. Especially the visit with my family doctor.

I like my doctor. He reminds me of "House", except his humor isn't quite as sharp.

I'm not the type to worry too much about my health (a fact you can probably tell) but his congratulations to me for beating out 25% of my compatriots made me stop and think. Typically, that would be a good thing. But he was referencing the fact that the first symptom 25% of people with heart disease have is sudden death.

Come again, doc? Hmm.

That will wake you up some. My ticker, he says, is making a sound that it shouldn't. Instead of "tic-toc" its saying "tic-ta-toc." Think that clicking sound under the hood when your teenage daughter thinks driving the car with the oil light on is a good idea. Its one of them things that make you go, hmmm....

The good news, he said, is that its still making a sound. So I win something, just not quite sure what. He says its some new doctors in my not too distant future. Won't Blue Cross / Blue shield love that?

I'm sure I will tell them they same thing I tell my family doctor: I'm the best patient you will ever have; I know I am going to die, your job is to keep it at bay so I can live.

So back to my deck. What does this have to do with my deck?

"What does the worker gain from his toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him." Ecc. 3:9-14

The Teacher caps off his famous "for everything there is a time, and season for everything under heaven" passage with this simple observation. Clearly, the Teacher had a back deck. And clearly, he sat in the stillness to appreciate all that God had done already. He knew the rest that the writer of Hebrews spoke: a rest that says we may approach our God in the quietness of the deck and find mercy and grace in our time of need. (Heb. 4:16)

From my deck I can see into the master bedroom and my wife working hard at her job. I can see into the living room as the kids watch TV and dogs play. I can hear the sounds of the trees, and look into the sky. I can try to fathom the things of God, and laugh at my failure. And I can relax in the moment. And think of nothing. And everything.

In those moments the world is right.

Perhaps blogging about it shows that the doctor's news bothers me. But I really don't think it does.

As I sit here on the deck I can see the most important people in my life, that which I toil for, and I feel the presence of God. From the deck I can see how He has provided for me while I have been living my life. And I have no doubt that will continue.

If anything, my deck reminds me that no matter the outcome of any medical exam or work experience, I can refocuses my mind on the things and places and people that are really important.

These are the things I frequently lose sight of. And something God quickly brings back to my attention.

For when I lose sight of that which is ultimately important I cease to live anyway, and merely begin to exist.

And that would be something to really fear.

4theluv

Fads, Fictions and Faith

2009-04-12T21:20:00.002-05:00

"A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it." - Oscar Wilde

Are you willing to die for what you believe?

That was the bold statement of a Christian of his personal committment to Christ in a local community forum while discussing Christianity with a professed forum atheist. It was a typical amateur religious debate. But the thread caught my attention. It dealt with how persecuted Christians are (or at least believe themselves to be) in the current liberal media culture, and how being a Christian is such a challenge with the current shift in world views in our society.

Now, religious debates can often be quite amusing, mostly because of the seriousness that each side takes in their positions, and the fun to be had in attacking the other's position. Local community forums are often the hot bed of such amateur joustings and forays into expressing beliefs and opinions on all things godly (and ungodly). But they usually devolve into parrroting the latest dispensational sermon they heard, of the most recent airing of Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity.

I must admit that in my younger days I relished such experiences, and felt as if I was defending not only the one and true faith, but also the one and true God. Such is the naivete of youth. Little did I realize that the true and living God got along quite nicely without my aid for many an eternity.

And, unlike the professional debates, like the recent one at Samford between John Lennox and Christopher Hitchens, the amateur debates tend to ultimately devolve into "God said. I believe. And that settles it." A kind of Madalyn Murray O'Hare vs. Bob "Chaplain of Bourbon Street" Harrington, round 34. Usually the Christians involved begin to talk about how they would willingly die for the cause of Christ, and strangely how they fear that America is turning so godless that martyrdom will be a real issue facing Christians in this country in the not too distant future if Christians don't act now.

Now mind you, I am all for hyperbole, and don't mind using it myself to make a point, but the analysis of current American culture, godless and liberal, does not even begin to suggest to me that Christians in the country will face a persecution that will end in death on any kind of noticeable scale. And, ultimately, would it be such a bad thing that our society would so despise Christians that death would be quick and sure for those who follow Christ?

But really, is dying for Christ really the test of one's Christian beliefs? And by making such grandiose claims do Christians really believe they will win the world for Christ?

I don't think so. Shall we ever forget that in the early morning hours of September 11, 2001, 19 men, armed only with their religious convictions and box cutters, hijacked four airplanes, killing 3,000 people and themselves? These men, like so many of their brethren, were willing not only to die for their convictions, but kill for them as well. Christian, Muslim, Hindu (!) and other world religions have all had their share of dying and killing for their convictions.

Ultimately, as a test of truth, death tells very little of the veracity of one's convictions. And how absurd it is to use it as a test in a society where the chance of martyrdom is so remote as to be nonexistent.

The other answer often promoted in such debates is a willingness to live for Christ. The "WWJD" mentality. That is most often translated into some moral life lessons on what a Christian should "look like". What positions Christians (or at least, white middle class Christians) should take on godless issues confronting society, how they should confront ungodliness and godless people, make daily devotions and prayer, and register church attendance and giving. It means learning the appropriate head wag at the sins of others, while whitewashing our own sins. It means Peter Pan outfits and plastic smiles. And "purposefully" learning this year's "Prayer of Jabez", whatever that might be, in the Basement.

It is attaining the a form of godliness, but denying its power.

But then, if martyrdom is not in my future, what is the test of my Christian faith? Is it defending God in the forums? Fighting for the political cause du jour? Learning the latest Christian fad? Gaining positions of power to make the face of Christianity less absurd and more accepted? Is it living, and dying, for Christ?

I think Christ had the answer to that question. In his parable of the sheep and the goats, Christ made clear at least a part of His answer to the question.

Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.' "Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you? The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me. Matthew 25:34-40.

Of note in the parable is the nonchalance of the sheep. They did their acts of charity not for the rewards of heaven, and not in their search for deeper Christian meaning, but because of who they were, where they found themselves, with whomever they came into contact, and because of who He had transformed them into.

So casual and unassuming were their loving deeds, that they did not even notice they were doing them, and thought nothing of doing them because they were simply the right thing to do, the loving thing to do. There were no "purposeful acts" or ulterior motives, nor seeking of enlarged borders. They were simply being sheep. His sheep.

Paul, I think, said it well. "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." (I Cor 13:13).

The older I grow, the more I truly realize there is nothing I can add to an already perfect God, or the work completed by His perfect Son, Christ. He needs no defense. And my death will complete none of His work. That doctrine becomes real, that head knowledge becomes real, and more and more becomes heart knowledge. I can add nothing to what He is doing in my life I must simply trust that He is, and He will do with me His purpose.

The older I grow, the more I realize that the real question, at least for me in this society, is not "Am I willing to live, and die, for Christ." It is, "Am I willing to love because of Christ?"

And that is a much harder question.

Happy Easter.

4theluv

It Always Rains on Wednesday

2009-02-12T20:19:00.016-06:00

“There is no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.” - John Ruskin

Its Wednesday, it must be raining.

The garbage has to be at the curb by 7:00. AM. But its raining. And I've already showered. But the garbage has to be at the curb by 7:00. Maybe I can miss it this week? But we'll be overrun with garbage by next. But its raining. And its Wednesday.

It must be raining.

Late night last night. Bills to send, letters to write. Still not finished. Wished the weekend was longer. Wish the weekend was here. Drop kids off at school. Drenched. Drive to work. Drenched. I look at the sky.

Its Wednesday, it must be raining.

Still drenched from pushing the garbage to the curb. Clients calling to push theirs on me. Late night last night. Clients calling. Clients to call on. Wished the weekend was longer. Wish the weekend was here.

Its Wednesday, it must be raining.

Lunch time. Finally dry. Not hungry. Clients calling. Clients to call on. Lunch meeting, work to be done. Couldn't they come here? Its Wednesday, don't they know? Mad dash to the car. Wished the weekend was longer. Wish the weekend was here.

Its Wednesday, it must be raining.

Drenched as I drive. No parking place close! The handicap don't go out on Wednesday, do they? Its Wednesday, you know. Surely they don't. Better not risk it. The cops know. They look at the sky.

Its Wednesday, it must be raining.

Drenched as we talk. I force a smile. Wonder if I got the garbage to the curb on time? I look out the window as we talk. Wonder why the sun never shines on Wednesday. Or does it, and I just can't see? I look a the sky.

Its Wednesday, it must be raining.

Clients talk. Sometimes too much. Lunch is too long. Don't they know its Wednesday? Wished the weekend was longer. Wish the weekend was here. I'm sure clients are calling. So many clients to call. Finally dry. Parked so far away. Mad dash to the car. I look up.

Its Wednesday, it must be raining.

Drenched as I drive. No parking place close! Late for the next appointment. Don't they know its Wednesday? Mad dash to the office. I'm drenched. Clients calling. Clients called. Clients to call on. I'm drenched. But force the smile. I look out the window as I talk. It looks like Wednesday.

It must be raining.

Its late. Its night. Again. Finally dry. Where has the time gone? Wished the weekend was longer. So much to do. Wish the weekend was further away. I look out the window and see that its Wednesday. Time to go home.

Its Wednesday, it must be raining.

Mad dash to the car. Drive home. Drenched. Its late. Its Wednesday. Did they pick up the garbage? Yep, left the lid open too. Again. Don't they know its Wednesday? Dump water from garbage can. In the rain. I'm drenched. Again.

Its Wednesday, it must be raining.

Look out from the garage. At the rain. Its Wednesday. Head inside to see the mail. More calls to make. Issues. Wished the weekend was longer. Wish the weekend was here. Wish the weekend was further away. Not enough time tomorrow. Clients calling. Clients to call on.

Its Wednesday, it must be raining.

Forgot to read this morning. Understandable. Its Wednesday. And its raining. Again. Find my Bible.

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." (Matt. 11:28-29 "the Message").

He doesn't know my schedule. He doesn't know who I have to call. He doesn't know that the garbage has to get to the curb. He doesn't know the clients calling. Or the ones I must call on. He doesn't know the unbearable lunches. The weekends aren't long enough. The weekend is too close. Why would He dare say such to me. Doesn't he know its Wednesday? Doesn't He know its raining?

Yes. He does.

Look at my calendar before bed. What's tomorrow?

4theluv

A Shot to the Nose

2009-01-24T08:49:00.012-06:00

"Erected to the memory of John Phillips. Accidently shot - as a mark of affection - by his brother." - Gravemarker in New England.

In the early 70s my family lived in Aurora, Colorado in a quiet little neighborhood much like many of the older towns here in Alabama. I came across it the other day looking up old places I lived on Google Earth. (The address is 986 Dearborn Street, Aurora, Co if you want to see it yourself.) The center of the neighborhood was Ford Elementary School, which, from our little home on Dearborn Street, was literally over our back yard fence. During second and third grade I walked to school, and went home everyday for lunch.

Next door to us, on the corner, lived the Crofts. Mrs. Croft was a folk guitarist, and, looking back, probably had much more of a sixties mindset than my family had. In my mind I can still hear her playing her guitar and singing "Blowin' in the Wind", and, while at the time I didn't know who wrote the song, stands as my first ever memory of any Bob Dylan song. Her son, Taylor, and I are the same age and played together regularly in those days. Those were the days when G.I. Joes were full size dolls, and, with their great king fu grip, Taylor and I played G.I. Joes for hours like most 6 and 7 year old boys of our time.

However, this quiet neighborhood was broken up occaisionally by the neighborhood bully. I am sure that every neighborhood has them, and this quiet little neighborhood was no different. Unfortunately for us, ours lived in the corner house directly across the street from Taylor. His name was Jeff, and though only a year older, was much, much bigger than either Taylor or me.

I don't know that Jeff was your typical bully. I don't recall him ever beating me or anyone else up. I don't recall him yelling or taunting us. All I remember was being intimidated by him and his size and if he wanted to come and play with our G.I. Joes he did - and we didn't question or fight back. We viewed ourselves as powerless, helpless and weak to his greater power and authority. And I have never forgotten that feeling of intimidation and weakness that Jeff caused just by his presence. Bullies take because they can and hurt because they will. While justifications for their harm may be offered, justifications are not necessary.

Fast forward a few years to another quiet neighborhood in another town. At the end of Hahn Ave, the street where we lived at the time, moved a new family, the Coles. They have one son, Marc, who is approximately the same age as most of the other boys that live in our little section of the neighborhood. Marc wore thick glasses, and was fairly skinny and lanky.

By the time they moved in, the boys in the late pre-teen early teen years were already friends in the neighborhood. There was me, Eric, Van, Chris, Greg, Michael, Rob and Mark, all of us within a year or two of each other's age. For some reason, when the Coles moved in there was some collective consciousness among us that we would not accept Marc into our "group" and would treat him with contempt. And pour it on we did. For absolutely no reason, as certainly Marc had never done anything to any of us other than to look weaker than us, he was chosen during those years to be the outcast, the focal point and butt of our jokes, the target for snow balls in the winter, and verbal assaults in the summer. And, like the immature children we were, we could justify our actions toward Marc if they were ever questioned.

In truth, Marc was a decent guy just trying to get along, and we, me included, were nothing more than bullies, making his like miserable for our own pleasure. In later years, toward the end of high school, Marc, the Van Halen devote', was finally accepted in our "group" of Pink Floyd and psychedelic rock listeners and would hang out and listen to music with the rest of us on Van's killer HiFi. But those early years were clearly hell for Marc, and they were that way because of me.

As I look back on those two times in my life, it is scary for me to see how quickly I went from bullied to bully, not learning the lessons of my earlier days, and forgetting the empathy that adversity and trial should inevitably bring, but for some reason doesn't deliver. But I look back and see, that is how the world works - the strong, by force of might or deceit of mind, prey on the weak as if they are not persons, or at least persons worthy of their presence and friendship. The strong justify their own actions as either being entitled to behave in such a manner, or that the weak deserve such treatment. The weak are something to be used for the amusement of the strong. That is the way of the world. It is the way to hide their other weaknesses and insecurities.

John tells us "But whoever hates his brother is in the darkness and walks around in the darkness; he does not know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded him." (1 John 2:9).

Like a shot to the nose, those words ring out against me. They convict me. They condemn me. They beat me up and bully me, calling me to examine my own heart and attitude and actions, even as I witness the heart and attitudes and actions of others. How quick I am to judge others in relation to myself, all the while over looking my own weakness, failings, and faults. And how blinded by the darkness I am when I fail to love my brothers and sisters in all their weaknesses. When I sit by quietly and permit the strong to prey on the weak.

Often I see, even within the church, the sense of entitlement that strength and power bring. I witness, among my brothers and sisters, and even within myself, an attitude of contempt and derision of those who are weaker in the faith, weaker in the body, and weaker in the soul. I witness the weak bullied by the strong, I know God is not in those actions, and Christ is not honored therein. I see the fragile souls entrusted to our care, and the wreckless and careless manner in which they are treated. And how, like poor John Phillips, they get caught in the cross fire of their brother's "affections". I see how we often suffer it to be so by inaction and inattention.

And I witness how quickly we forget that it is not our strength which unites us, but rather our weakness. How we are each sinners struggling through this world, completely and totally relying on the power of Christ to save us, and not our own. And how we forget how desperately we need the love of each other, as brothers, as sisters, just to find our way.

I am glad to be a part of Community Prebyterian Church, a place where the Marcs and the Jeffs can commingle, and each recieve the care and love of Christian brothers. And hopefully find the peace and acceptance and respect each deserves. A place where we want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead. (Phil 3:10-11). And while we are by no means perfect, we are a place where we try not to shoot our brothers, not even by accident.

To the Marcs in my past, my present and in our church, I seek your forgiveness. Both for my actions, and for suffering the actions of others.

To Jeff's of my past, my present and in our church, I offer mine.

And to each know that we have tried to put away our childish behavior and cannot and shall not withdraw our love.

God, help us to continue to learn what it means to love one another.

4theluv

Look What's Missing

2009-01-10T21:39:00.009-06:00

"Many of us believe that wrongs aren't wrong if it's done by nice people like ourselves." ~Author Unknown

Over the Christimas break the 4theluv household received one of the worst domestic cleaning tools ever produced - the Bissell Spotbot. This little "jewel" boasts that even the toughest carpet stain is no match for its specialty formula cleaning solutions and its whirling brushes and water suctioning.

While they still look pretty good, as with every American family that has children and pets, the carpets at the 4theluv house show their wear. Through the years, things get spilled, pets have accidents, kids have accidents, parents have accidents and things get tracked through. While looking skepticly at the Bissell Spotbot and all its boasted claims, the 4thluvs decided that the worst of the stains had to go. After all, it couldn't make it look worse.

So what the heck, we thought. Let's give it a try. We filled the little machine with its "magic" formula, some recommended oxy-clean formula, set the machine over the stain we wanted gone, "set it and forget it". The whiring sounds set in motion, the high pitched whining, the back and forth of the brushes in its six inch circumfrence was a sight to behold. And ten minutes later this mechanical demon beeps its maniacal, almost satanic beep that it is finished.

Moved off the spot, the remaining carpet was still a bit damp and circularly brushed, but you really coudn't tell much. So you do what every self-respecting Bissell Spotbot owner does - you move it to the next spot and repeat. And of course, you repeat this action four times on four different stains, as that is about how many you can do on one tank.

The problem only appears after the spots dry. The problem, of course, is that all the hype and claims of the Spotbot are true. Absolutely true. 100% true. Way too true. The thing works better than it claims. There is no longer stains where the Spotbot was at work. The carpet looks brand new - fresh from the carpet mill. So soft and fluffy and fresh you wold lay your newborn baby on it, as long as your baby is smaller than six inches.

Now the 4theluvs consider themselves educated people. We tend to think through issues both theoretically and pragmatically. But the theoretical and pragmatic problems of the Spotbot escaped us both - perhaps because we didn't expect the claims to be true. The clean circles on our carpet now ridicule the dirt and grime on the rest of the carpet - carpet that didn't look too bad before we began. Now it looks like it should have been replaced years ago.

To say the least, Mrs. 4theluv was not happy. She wanted to know what we were now supposed to do with the crop circles in our carpet - the clean spaces. Those little round wonders of soft downy carpet pure as the driven snow. My only suggested was that we could show off our holes when people came to visit. (The couch was comfortable that night.)

And that's when it hit me - how many Christians live their lives showing off their holes? The things that they don't do. Those grand statements of how hole-y they are. Jesus had something to say about that:

He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and treated others with contempt: "Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, prayed thus: 'God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get.' But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, 'God, be merciful to me, a sinner!' I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted. - Luke 18:9-14.

I have no doubt the Pharisee was not those things he said. He was defining righteousness by what he was not, and what he was. He was the display of perfection, a legend in his own mind. His holes were brilliant - he had hole-iness he could spout off and proudly display. And all of us repulse at that notion because we know that self-righteous arrogant jerk found sadistic pleasure in putting other people down.

It is so easy to condemn the Pharisee. But stop and think for a moment: don't each of us define "righteous" as those things we personally don't do, and those things we personally do or want to do better? And don't we gage the spiritual health of others by the standards we created for own righteousness? Isn't church about comparing our clean spots and learning how to accentuate them - all the while trying to cover up how dirty we are in other places?

Like my carpet, our "clean" spots only serve to highlight how desparately hopeless our situation is without Christ. But it also serves to showcase the promise and glory of the gospel - that our sins, though like scarlet, will be washed whiter than snow, and though crimson, will be as wool. (Isa. 1:18) Without Christ, there is no hope for any of us, no matter what we don't do.

I am glad, and hope it will always be so, that Community Presbyterian Church is a place that honors people not for the holes in their lives, but the Christ within them, our only hope. And perhaps all of us, the next time we are tempted to point out those sins we don't commit but others do will remember the lesson of the Spotbot.

Happy New Year.

4theluv

PS - at the next yard sale for the church, there may magicly appear a Bissell Spotbot for sale. Feel free to buy it at your own risk. Just remember - it works. You have been forewarned.

A Matter of the Heart

2008-12-24T04:36:00.002-06:00

“I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses.” - Taylor Caldwell

STABAT Mater speciosa iuxta faenum gaudiosa, dum iacebat parvulus.	BY, the crib wherein reposing, with His eyes in slumber closing, lay serene her Infant-boy,
Cuius animam gaudentem laetabundam et ferventem pertransivit iubilus.	Stood the beauteous Mother feeling bliss that could not bear concealing, so her face o'erflowed with joy.
O quam laeta et beata fuit illa immaculata, mater Unigeniti!	Oh, the rapture naught could smother of that most Immaculate Mother of the sole-begotten One;
Quae gaudebat et ridebat, exultabat, cum videbat nati partum inclyti.	When with laughing heart exulting, she beheld her hopes resulting In the great birth of her Son.
Quisquam est, qui non gauderet, Christi matrem si videret in tanto solatio?	Who would not with gratulation see the happy consolation of Christ's Mother undefiled?
Quis non posset collaetari, Christi Matrem contemplari ludentem cum Filio?	Who would not be glad surveying Christ's dear Mother bending, praying, playing with her heavenly Child
Pro peccatis suae gentis Christum vidit cum iumentis et algori subditum.	For a sinful world's salvation, Christ her Son's humiliation She beheld and brooded o'er;
Vidit suum dulcem Natum vagientem, adoratum, vili deversorio.	Saw Him weak, a child, a stranger, yet before Him in the manger kings lie prostrate and adore.
Nato, Christo in praesepe caeli cives canunt laete cum immenso gaudio.	O'er that lowly manger winging, joyful hosts from heaven were singing canticles of holy praise;
Stabat, senex cum puella non cum verbo nec loquela stupescentes cordibus.	While the old man and the maiden, speaking naught, with hearts o'erladen, pondered on God's wondrous ways.
Eia, Mater, fons amoris me sentire vim ardoris fac, ut tecum sentiam.	Fount of love, forever flowing, with a burning ardor glowing, make me, Mother, feel like thee;
Fac, ut ardeat cor meum in amatum Christum Deum ut sibi complaceam.	Let my heart, with graces gifted all on fire, to Christ be lifted, and by Him accepted be.
Sancta Mater, istud agas, prone introducas plagas cordi fixas valide.	Holy Mother, deign to bless me, with His sacred Wounds impress me, let them in my heart abide;
Tui Nati caelo lapsi, iam dignati faeno nasci, poenas mecum divide.	Since He came, thy Son, the Holy, to a birth-place, ah, so lowly, all His pains with me divide.
Fac me vere congaudere, Iesulino cohaerere, donec ego vixero.	Make me with true joy delighted, to Child-Jesus be united while my days of life endure;
In me sistat ardor tui, puerino fac me frui dum sum in exilio.	While an exile here sojourning, make my heart like thine be burning with a love divine and pure.
*	*
Fac, ut pulchrum infantem portem, qui nascendo vicit mortem, volens vitam tradere.	Let me bear Him in my bosom, Lord of life, and never lose Him, since His birth doth death subdue.
Fac me tecum satiari, Nato me inebriari, stantem in tripudio.	Let me show forth how immense is the effect on all my senses of an union so divine. All who in the crib revere Him, like the shepherds watching near Him, will attend Him through the night,
*	*
Fac, me Nato custodiri, verbo Dei praemuniri conservari gratia.	Make me by His birth be guarded, by God's holy word be warded, by His grace till all is done;
Quando corpus morietur, fac, ut animae donetur tui nati gloria. Amen.	When my body lies obstructed, make my soul to be conducted, to the vision of thy Son. Amen.

*Removed by 4theluv for doctrinal reasons.

For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel. Luke 2:30-32

Christmas was both the fulfillment of God's promise to send a Savior, and the beginning of the fulfillment of His promise to save us through the death of His Son on the cross.

Merry Christmas to all.

4theluv and family.

iTuning My Heart

2008-12-04T10:20:00.009-06:00

And it's whispered that soon if we all call a tune, then the Piper will lead us to reason. And a new day will dawn for those who stand long, and the forests will echo with laughter. - Robert Plant, Stairway to Heaven

Like most everyone else in the known and civilized world, I have iTunes on my computer and an iPod which carries my music on the road. My iTunes contains 1,246 songs, totaling some 5.2 gigabytes of data. If I set my iTunes to simply play it would take, according to iTunes, 36.9 days to play everything on my iTunes one time.

Burt has always said that you can tell where your heart is by looking at your checkbook. I wonder if the same applies to iTunes? So I decided to look and see what my top played/rated songs are, and what it might reveal about me. Below is my top played songs in order of most played.

You Ain't Goin' Nowhere (Bob Dylan)
Every Grain of Sand (Bob Dylan)
When We're Through (Act of Congress)
Red River Shore (Bob Dylan)
Love Comes for Free (Act of Congress)
The Well (Act of Congress)
I Disagree (Act of Congress)
Wedding Dress (Derek Webb)
The Pilgrim: Chapter 33 (Kris Kristopherson)
Paint It Black (Rolling Stones)
The Battle of Evermore (Led Zepplin)
Stairway to Heaven (Led Zepplin)
Motorcycle Drive By (Third Eye Blind)
Brain Damage (Pink Floyd)
Wish You Were Here (Pink Floyd)
Bohemian Rhapsody (Queen)
Whiskey Lullaby (Brad Paisley/Alison Krauss)
This Too Shall Be Made Right (Derek Webb)
We Shall Be Free (Garth Brooks)
Misery & Gin (Merle Haggard)

Pragmatically, I don't know what my musical tastes say about me. Perhaps it simply reflects my moods at certain times, or a particular style I favor over others, or even a sense of personal musical snobbery. Or perhaps it speaks of something that I want to express myself but lack the talent to express it in such ways.

In looking at the list, I know there is very little "Contemporary Christian Music" (as in none) which I care to listen to on any kind of basis, which some would say is attributable to my poor spiritual condition. (While I am sure my musical tastes is on that list of my spiritual deficiencies, it probably does not rank in the top 5.) I am just not content to listen to the flood of mediocrity and doctrinal error which supposedly passes these days for "Christian" music.

I tend to lean toward music that makes me think, or in some way expresses the fallen human condition. (Though I must admit "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere" is just a fun song.) But most of my musical tastes lean toward the contemplative and the descriptive. Take, for instance, Dylan's "Every Grain of Sand" - written toward the end of his fundamentalist faith conversion. How much truth is there to the lyrics which express, for every believer, periods of doubt and isolation. Says Dylan, "I hear the ancient footsteps, like the motion of the sea. Sometimes I turn there's someone there, other times its only me."

Or consider the Stones "Paint It Black." "I look inside myself and see my heart is black /I see my red door and it has been painted black /Maybe then Ill fade away and not have to face the facts/ Its not easy facin up when your whole world is black." Now Jagger is singing about lost love, and how his world is torn apart, but you can hear the the tale of a lost soul in that song.

As I observed these things about myself, I had to wonder what songs will appear on my iTunes once God has completed His work in me, and Christ reigns supreme. In a very real sense, the gratitude I have in the completed work of Christ frees my heart to sing the songs of salvation. The Apostle John gives us a bit of a hint:

"And I heard a sound from heaven like the roar of rushing waters and like a loud peal of thunder. The sound I heard was like that of harpists playing their harps. And they sang a new song before the throne and before the four living creatures and the elders. No one could learn the song except the 144,000 who had been redeemed from the earth." Rev. 14: 2-3

The day is coming that our hearts will be iTuned to the redemption songs of Christ's completed work. What a song we have to sing to Christ. The black hearts, the bottom of the glass, and the doubts will all disappear. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

I don't really know what my iTunes says about me. Perhaps it says I am a deep thinker deeply in tune with the power of Christ and the truths of the world.

Or perhaps, it just says, I'm weird.

4theluv

The Gamble

2008-11-19T21:31:00.003-06:00

"Now evr'y gambler knows / that the secret to survivin'
Is knowin' what to throw away and knowing what to keep.
cause evr'y hand's a winner / and evr'y hands a loser,
And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep." - Don Schlitz "The Gambler"

One of the interesting parts of my job is the number of people I come into contact with on a regular basis. I have mentioned it before, but I often come into contact with the "Great Unwashed" - a vast collection of those people in our society who have minor problems that need resolution. When you have been doing this as long as I have, you get to know the both the people, that is, the regulars, and the type, that is the regular types of people that come in.

There's the soccer mom, who rarely has problems and is clearly embarrassed by her presence. There's the business man, whose visit is a waste of his valuable time and hates being near the other unwashed - people who are clearly beneath him. There's the high school and college student, kids (yes, kids) whose life experiences lack an appreciation of the repercussions of their actions - both short term and long term. There's the unprivileged, those for whom violence, arguments, fights, drinking and drugs are an every day way of life - and have been their entire lives - and their problems are not their fault but others. And there's the privileged, those whose money and wealth can't buy them happiness, but can certainly stave off their own loneliness - if only temporarily.

Of late, two particular people stand out. I will call them Audrey and Michael (not their real names).

Audrey's story is really not unique. Audrey is a middle aged woman with teenage children. A single mother, Audrey traded on her looks long past the time she should, but still believes her gregarious nature and the wiles can make others overlook a multitude of problems. About 8 months ago, Audrey joined the ranks of the few and the proud i.e., the crowd that I work with a few times a month. Audrey's problem was alcohol. Nothing in her record would indicate that she has an ongoing problem with alcohol, and so a standard course of treatment was prescribed. Six or seven months of working with her, monitoring her and making sure she was following the prescribed plan was all that she needed. And so for six months she did everything according to plan. She was a shining example of complete rehabilitation and the success of the therapy.

And so her final visit was scheduled and it was anticipated that it would be routine. When she called to say that she would be a little late because she was caught in traffic, no one really thought much of it. Her traffic delay was a little longer than she anticipated. She finally made it a little after lunch time but because her appointment was in the morning she stood in front of me demanding to complete her appointment before the afternoon crowd.

Big mistake, as my patience tends to have some limits.

While she was standing there demanding of me, I noticed she wobbled just a bit. Now I've been doing this long enough to know what that means, and you have probably already guessed it - she was drunk.

I don't just mean drunk, I mean tanked. Wasted. Knee-walking. Hammered. Way over the top.

Based on her test given at the time, this woman, who drove herself to the appointment, was two and one half times the legal limit. (For the math challenged like me, that is .20, the legal limit being .o8). This woman had put countless people in danger to come to her appointment, late, to convince us that her alcohol therapy had worked. And that tends to make me angry.

She gambled that we wouldn't discover the extent of her problem. She lost.

Because of our own liability, our protocol said we could not allow her to leave. (Imagine how little faith we have in people to come to their appointments sober that we have an established protocol for a someone who doesn't. Let that sink in.) So we had to sit her down until such time as she was sober enough to leave, but we would not allow her to drive under any circumstances. So we reset her final appointment for two weeks later, and sent her to sober up.

Then this middle aged mother of teenagers had to do something unthinkable - once she had sobered up enough to leave, she had to call her 16 year old son to come and pick her up. How humiliating that must have been for her. How life-changing that event must have been not only for her, but for her child as well. I cannot even begin to imagine the emotions of that moment fo her but more importantly for him.

This woman had no hint of problems. Not one. No inkling of a problem. Nothing in her history to even suggest it. So when she showed up two weeks later for her final visit I knew we would have to discuss the events of the last one.

Unfortunately, that was not possible, for on her next "final visit", just last week, she showed up smelling of alcohol. This time, though, her test only showed .09, but still over the legal limit. And yes, she drove herself again. Once again, we had to invoke our protocol. And once again, she had to call her son to come get her.

Running through my mind were the words of Proverbs 26:11 - "Like a dog to its vomit, so a fool repeats his folly." Working in this environment one can certainly see the truth of the total depravity of man. And it would be very easy, and at times is very easy for me, to fall into the despair. Our lives are set and we can only change ourselves so much, and no more.

Then there is the story of Michael.

I wish I could say that Michael's story is better, and in some ways I guess it is. Michael is 20 years old, lives in an adjoining state, about a three hour drive, works at a Burger King, and is the type of kid that has probably been picked on regularly since middle school, and bullied all through his life. A bit socially awkward, perhaps caused by a slight stutter, but still always made his appointments pleasant and was nice to talk to. Michael and I talked for about 10 minutes about his problem, and he seemed like he was happy to talk with someone about the problem. No sense of anger, or lack of personal responsibility, Michael approached his appointment and our discussion with a sense of relief and joy.

Like Audrey, Michael's problem was also alcohol, though no where near the extent of Audrey's problem. Just simply being 20 years old and drinking alcohol is a problem. And of course, my goal is to see that his problem never gets to the extent of Audrey's. And again, we have our protocols, and our treatments, and Michael's treatment was fairly simple and could be accomplished long distance in the state where he currently lives, with treatment compliance being monitored and concluded without the need for him to return.

As a part of our protocol, we set Michael for a final visit really just to check to make sure we had received everything, but not expecting Michael to show up. But at the appointed time, Michael showed up for his appointment without any evidence of compliance with the treatment plan. Again, we talked for about 10 minutes. He explained that his work and schedule had precluded him from completing his program in the alotted time, and promised that if given another chance he would get it done and send us everything.

Hoping against hope, we set his final appointment again with enough time for him to complete it, and with the hope that he would not have to make the journey again. But, as you guessed, the appointed day arrived and there was Michael, sitting patiently in the crowd, having made the 3 hour trek just to make his appointment. And again, you guessed it, he had done nothing. Again we talked for about 10 minutes about the issues, but coming up with an alternate plan for completing his program, as it was clear that he could not do it from where he was living. He looked a little sad as he left, though. And then it hit me.

As he walked away I realized something about him that he had in common with Audrey, and perhaps most of the other people I see in that place - he was lonely. I always try to treat people decently, even when they screw up completely. And one place he felt safe and respected and treated with some modicum of dignity was at those appointments. Audrey sought solace from her loneliness in a bottle, having found no comfort in her relationships, even with her own children. Many of the people I see in that place truly live what I, in my exalted view of myself, think of as sad lives, seeking solace from sources and places from which they can never find true relationship and peace. Lulled to sleep by things that provide only a temporary feelings of being alive, only to be realize the isolation it actually brings.

We are taught, at least in modern philosophy, that our lives are dealt to us and certain things we cannot change. Our lives are what we make of them. "Every hand's a winner, and every hand's a loser" and you have to know what parts of our lives to throw away and what to keep. But ultimately all we can hope for is to die with little or no pain in our sleep, as if we had never lived. And Audrey's story, repeated far too often, convince me that there is some truth to that. We just need someone to show us the way.

St. Augustine, in his Confessions, made an interesting observation, often repeated: "You have made us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they find rest in You." I see, on a constant basis, restless people - lonely people. People who long for something they know not what and asleep to the truths of the gospel. People, whose only hope is to die in their sleep, numbed to the pain that the loneliness of isolation from Christ brings.

Now I am not naive enough to think that the pat answer of "they need Jesus" is in any way sufficient. Rather, I know that even though I am just like them, I have a hope that there is something better than the hand I have been dealt. And a hope that I pray is displayed in the graciousness and respect of others, and a confidence of contentment with myself.

Peter said, "But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect..." I Peter 3:15.

The verse is often used as a pretext for "apologetics", i.e, arguing people into the Kingdom of God. But a true understanding of the depravity of man, the loneliness of man, the restlessness of depravity, helps us understand that we can not argue anyone into the Kingdom of God. Rather, I think verse teaches us to live life in such a way, that hope, the very power of Christ to bring life, is evident from who we are, our very being. And it anticipates that when people see that hope in us, they will ask the reason why we have such hope.

And it is that verse, that understanding that through Christ loneliness is vanquished, that keeps me going back. I see people who have been rejected in so many places, and so many ways. But I know there is hope, even for them. The hope that if Christ can change me, make me a person who in some way shows that there is hope, and a reason to be alive, to make others feel accepted even when they disappoint, that just maybe I can give them a glimpse of this Christ I know.

Springing up within us is the Hope of the World - hope for the soccer moms, the businessmen, the kids who can't see the future, the unprivileged and the privileged, the Audreys and the Michaels. I have come to realize that God has given to each of us a ministry, a place of service, if for no other reason than to proclaim His hope.

At least, that's the real gamble, the risk I am called to take. That God has put me in this position to display His grace in Christ and that my "ministry" is perhaps exactly the ministry God calls us all to- to show His hope to the world in which we live in.

And that these people, the "unwashed" need the hope of Christ as much as any other person in my part of the world.

And that each of us travel different paths in a world filled with people whose only hope is that they die in their sleep. Indeed. How sad.

4theluv

Riding The Bus

2008-11-02T12:51:00.012-06:00

“Falseness often lurks beneath fair hair.” - Danish Proverb

Almost 53 years ago, on December 1, 1955, a young woman's bus ride began that would land the first black man on the steps of the White House on Pennsylvania Ave, not as a servant, but as President of the United States. Though not the first person, Rosa Parks refused the command of a Montgomery bus driver to give up her seat for a white person, and thus was born the civil rights movement in this country.

Black churches around the country soon galvanized and began to launch staging points for protests, and rallies, and voter turn out, generating both support, but more likely hatred, from the white community. None of us should forget the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church, the water hoses and police dogs, Bull Conner and the beating of the Freedom Riders right here in our fair city.

Nonetheless, the black church now had a mission: To point out and rectify the social, economic, and legal injustice that plagued the country from its founding: slavery and inequality was wrong for all but blacks. Black pastors decried the unjust system from their pulpits, organized marches, and thought through strategies on ways to change the system, sometimes through legal means, and other times through violence.

These pastors adopted many of the thoughts, theology, and actions of Liberation Theology, a movement originating in the Roman Catholic Church in South America in the 60's and 70's. This movement, a hybrid of Christian Theology and Marxism, held to the tenet that Jesus came to "free the prisoners and release the oppressed." It is the job of the people, and the church, they say, to force its government to recognize and deliver rights to the oppressed, and bring about the equality that Jesus came to give. From MLK's nonviolent marches to the Black Panthers and Weather Underground's violent protests and acts, change was going to be forced on the American people. The revolution was here.

Thus was born the liberal social movement, or revolution, in our country.

This Christian "revolution" would shortly transform the American political landscape, giving us the Rainbow/Push Coalition, the NAACP, Rev. Jesse Jackson, Rev. Al. Sharpton and most recently Rev. Jeremiah Wright and host of other less well known preachers. Race and equality would be subsumed in the larger context of ever broadening "rights" together with correspondingly decreased personal responsibility. The movement ultimately left even its loose theological roots to become nothing more than community organizing for every cause that could bring them to power.

But never fear, for while all this was going on, real Christian Americans, a/k/a white, middle class Christian Americans, moved by the spirit, organized and would not be outdone politically. Strangely silent during the equal rights marches of the 50s and 60s, they were content to maintain the most segregated hour in America, 11:00 AM on Sunday morning. But this liberal social agenda was more than they could bear.

In the late 70s and early 80s, such stalwart and fundamentally godly men like the late Rev Jerry Falwell, TV evangelist Pat Robertson, and men like W.A. Criswell, Adrien Rogers, and others within the Southern Baptist Convention formulated the Moral Majority and Christian Coalition. The marches of the 50s and 60s, and the riot at the '68 Democratic Convention weren't enough to dislodge them from their complacency, but the loss of political power and the rise of threats to the conservative white church made them realize they had to be organized as well.

And so it would be theirs to let America know, through the ballot box, what Christians are against.

Credited with Ronald Reagan's big victory over Jimmy Carter in 1980, the sheer numbers of God's people on the right made a formidable political ally, and opponent, for some twenty five years, culminating with the re-election of George W. Bush in 2004. The work of God through the evangelical right (as opposed to the evangelical left, which is primarily black churches) is to paint the opposing party (ie Democratic) candidate, position, initiative or plan as un-Christian, Marxist, and or satanic. The woes of America, they would proclaim, exist because of godless morality, none more godless than the current political opponent (ie Mondale, Dukakis, Clinton, Kerry, and Obama). Christians had to stand up and tell godlessness to go away, or this sacred country would fall.

They stirred white Christians with the promise that "if my people will humble themselves and pray, then God will hear from heaven and heal their land." Obviously, the United States of America is God's gift to the world, and as Christians it is the Church's job to protect God's gifts. Wrap God in the American flag, and the true American candidate in God, and you have a winning formula. Who would dare vote against God?

Politically savvy, this "Moral Majority" would energize their own base to go vote with a host of initiatives that Christians are against. Christians gave little thought to why ballot initiatives such as gay marriage amendments and readily accessible abortions initiatives appeared on the ballot in swing states at the same time as a presidential election. All they know is they needed to be there to make sure they voted God's way. Oh, and while there, they should also pull the lever for God's man to be in office.

Apparently, God needed a little help to get His man elected, because the power of the heathen left is too much for God to handle by His lonesome.

And in the midst of all this, Satan laughed. The fog of god-talk on both sides left the church in the lurch. So caught up in the politics of the moment the two groups forgot that they each proclaim a common tie: an abiding faith in Jesus Christ. Their political agendas of social liberalism and conservative Christianity had overwhelmed their doctrine.

The right called into question the faith of the left by asking, "how can any Christian be for equality and social justice for people like that?" and the left responds, appropriately, "how could any Christian be against equality and social justice for anyone, regardless of who they are and what they have done?"

The right wanted to turn the church into the country, and the left wanted to turn the country into the church.

But if Christ died to give the world the United States of America, then for over 1700 years, He failed. But perhaps democracy was not what he had in mind after all, but rather a church rooted in Him and built up. Perhaps it was the church He died for that was to be the the place the world should look when oppression and injustice become too much to bear?

Paul said in Colossians 3:11-17, in speak of our duty as Christians:

Here there is no Greek or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all. Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

The church has flourished in times of governmental adversity, and decayed in times of governmental consent. One need only look at the church during the reign of the wrathful Roman emperors and in modern day China and compare it to the Church during the inquisition, the reformation, and World War II. We have reached the day where being a good American and a good Christian are synonymous.

The church, whether on the right or the left, should remember that a resort to politics to bring about the Kingdom of God is a damning statement that the church has failed. It is a damnable statement to say that there is no hope in Christ, only in governments led by failed and corrupt people.

In the violence of the world, the hurricanes of injustice and inequality will ebb and flow. But among God's people, the church, there is to be haven and safety, acceptance and peace. Not to change the world, but rather because of changed hearts that provide shelter.

While the government is important to all of our lives, it is the church, not the United States of America, where one should look to find equality, hope, love, support and wisdom. Our hope is in Christ, and not the constitution.

Regardless of the government, the church should be the one place where something is done because it is the right thing to do.

On Tuesday, November 4, 2008, we have the government-created right to elect a leader of this country, and one which we as God's people should exercise. No matter who it is you vote for, that choice will be a selfish one in which you will decide who will make you most comfortable with the future unknowns.

But in the end, Christ's kingdom is not on the line, and we wield no power over God's sovereign plan for His people. A vote for Obama is not a vote against God, nor is a vote for McCain a vote for God. Our witness to the truths of Christ is not found in our political record, but how we love one another.

Its His bus, and like Rosa Parks, we are just along for the ride.

Perhaps Rosa would have done more for our country by sitting on the front pew of the First Baptist Church of Montgomery.

But then again, perhaps it is easier to find justice and equality in courts and governments than in the church.

4theluv

What It Doesn't Take

2008-09-14T19:18:00.018-05:00

Critics are like eunuchs in a harem; they know how it's done, they've seen it done every day, but they're unable to do it themselves. -Brendan Behan

As a long time Christian, I have sat through many a "concert" designed to build the self esteem of someone in the church. It is important for us to encourage and support our young people at church. ("Young people" is a much broader term now than it used to be.) However, most such concerts and performances leave you thanking God, either that it is over, or that Tylenol can be bought in bulk at Sam's. But you do it because it is the right thing to do.

With that in mind, and after much ado, I purchased the new CD on iTunes from Act of Congress entitled Declaration. Of course, being the great church member that I am, I did so as a sign of support for one of our own, Adam Wright. I've heard Adam sing at church with Stokes and Connie, and seen him lead us in worship while Stoke has been gone. All-in-all, he's got a good voice and a great attitude. So, I thought, what's ten bucks to show the guy some love?

All I can say is, wow, was I wrong. Ten bucks doesn't begin to reward the talent shown by these musicians and vocalists.

As a church, we are blessed with so much musical talent, which starts with Stokes and Connie. And I knew Adam was good, but before this album, I never fully realized the depth of his talent. As a church, we are fortunate to have him with us.

Now, admittedly, I have an affinity for the more philosophical music of Bob Dylan, Roger Waters, John Lennon, Bono and (more recently) Derek Webb, and the pop music of groups like the Eagles, Rolling Stones, and the song writing of artists like Dylan, Kris Kristofferson, Neil Young and Sam Cooke. But if this first album is any indication, that list appears to have grown by one: Adam Wright.

While not perfect, the freshman CD from Act of Congress is better, deeper, and more aesthetically pleasing than 98% of the drivel that passes for music from many more accomplished and acclaimed bands and song writers.

The band as a whole performs the harmonies and melodies on the album with a tightness that showcase their vocal and instrumental talents. The band, an ostensibly acoustical blue grass / rock sound, is at its best when it sticks to its distinctive sound and stays away from the over produced sounds of "Not Crazy" and "In the Middle (Remix)". These songs are catchy, and likable, but the style and sound is overdone by every upstart band that wants to sound "big time." The rest of the album proves AOC can sound "big time" without changing their musical sound so dramatically. These folks are truly talented.

But what really sets this album apart is the song writing talent of Adam Wright. Adam's lyrical and musical writing reveal a musical maturity and Christian doctrinal understanding well beyond his young years. Adam brings a distinctly Christian message without being preachy, and without targeting the WDJC "God squad" audience base.

This is a young man going places. Like the true artist he is, Adam has the ability to paint deep doctrinal truths in pithy lyrics.

Starting with "In the Middle", Adam sets the stage for much of the rest of the album. In it, Adam conveys the idea that when we take an honest look at our own hearts, we really are unlovable .. at least in our own minds. And letting someone in, even Christ, leaves us vulnerable. "What kind of person do you see / when peeking into this heart that is brutally / Beaten down with failures, taunts and insecurities / I'm cynical it seems these days. .. Hearts of stone will never get it / Love will find us if we let it .."

It is the human condition to search for ultimate meaning while pursuing the mundane things of life, or, as Adam says, "I just want peace of mind / and coffee with my cream." (A line, I am sure, that will make Starbucks happy and is somewhat reminiscent of the way Mrs. 4theluv drinks her morning java.)

In "Love Comes for Free," Adam throws you back to the simple sounds of 60s folk music while retaining a distinctly Christian and gospel oriented message. Without a doubt, everyone knows both the "Used car salesman who works around the clock / Selling lies and cashing checks of the people on the block" and the "Wealthy preacher who knows just what to say / and if you give him cash and coin he'll help you find your way". Their "crooked grins" and "hearts of stone" belie their selfish motives. Adam juxtaposes this greed with the selflessness of the man named Jesus "who loved until he died / And after doing nothing wrong took a bullet for his bride."

Ultimately, Adam accurately points out that love is not the response to what others can give you, rather, selfless giving is the response to those you love.

By far, though, the showpiece of Adam's clearly God-given talent is his song "The Well." It is the song of Christ, lovingly calling us to himself. However, it does not typecast Christ in the role of sickeningly sweet but ultimately impotent beggar just hoping we will come to him to solve our problems and make life rosy, but rather as a Parent/Savior to walk with us through the terrors of this world, warning us of its dangers but loving us in our sin. Sung as a ballad, the song tells the story of the fall in the garden, and Christ's redemptive call to his people.

Its richness is evidenced throughout. Consider these words: "I've loved you as long as I've known you / and I've known you as only my own / But you traded my love for watered down wine / And a burden to sleep with alone." Those phrases are so tightly packed with truths that when you contemplate exactly what is being said, you understand the self-imposed isolation of your own sin -- and you can't help but cringe at the truthfulness and isolation it causes.

But Adam doesn't let you off the hook, as he proves he has mastered the one-two punch. He follows those lines, in haunting a cappella, with, "Do not be afraid, your fragile and trembling hand is no burden to hold / For your sins as red as a sea of scarlet, I'll wash 'em whiter than snow." The mental image of holding the hand of my own children as they were scared, crying, and alone, for me was no burden, and for them, a lifeline of safety and comfort. How Adam, a young married man with no children of his own yet, can capture such imagery is beyond me.

From there, Adam moves right into "The Nature of Things." At first blush, the song is about seeking forgiveness for harsh words to his wife, but Adam adeptly understands and conveys that our broken relationships are due to our fallen nature, and they can't be fixed by firm resolve to do better. "Pride has scarred these lips ever since they touched that damned fruit on the tree / and blinded me / Wrong is how my life began / and right is something I have never been".

But once again, Adam does not simply spell out the problem, but leads the listener to the solution, a cry to Christ: "You're telling me that this is normal now / You're silencing fear with your voice in my ear / How can dead men live again? Save me I am yours."

AOC finishes the album with "I Disagree." Though not explicitly Christian, it is a tribute to the value of relationships that are built solely on love. Harkening back to the isolation themes of "In the Middle" and "The Well," Adam writes of longing to let someone in, and the comfort that comes with that action. "Love is something I believe in / 'Cause it makes lonely disappear" is a great statement of what true love does for us.

Now all the accolades on Adam Wright might lead one to believe that the writing of Chris Griffin on the album is somehow deficient. This would not be the case. "Not Crazy" and "When We're Through" are in the pop mindset, and their genre a bit out of step with the rest of the album, but the songs are memorable, well written, well sung, entertaining and fun to sing. Further, "When We're Through" accentuates the bands harmonies and musical abilities, and from a purely audience delight standard, has the "pop" that makes it one of the best songs on the album.

All is not serious on the album. AOC does prove their lighter side with "Five Minutes of Fame", a light hearted look at the popular phenomenon of "American Idol" type shows.

Self-indulgent? Yes.

Fun to listen to? Absolutely.

As I said, these people are talented. The only thing that would have made this album any better would have been to end it with AOC covering Dylan's "I Believe in You" or "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere." They would rock those songs.

Paul said, "Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given us." Rom. 12:4-6.

In many ways, AOC has pulled off the improbable: blending good music with a good message as freshman band mates. They are nearly everything I am not: talented, smart, and gifted. They are a part of the body I wish I was. And, in the end, AOC took my feeble nod of support and countered it with great music, with a great message.

Take my recommendation (for what its worth): this album is worth owning, and even more than that, worth listening to on a regular basis. It is in now on one of my regular playlists.

Its an easy album to like. And $9.99 on iTunes is all it takes to own such a great album.

But what it doesn't take to like this album is an Act of Congress. And for that, you can thank Adam.

4theluv

P.S. - Adam, the "good, bad and gross things" is just a little too pithy.

One Day at a Time

2008-06-01T07:15:00.004-05:00

You run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking / Racing around to come up behind you again - Roger Waters

There is something about summer that annually reminds me of one of the finest books written in the last century - The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway. Each summer I try to read the book as a part of vacation time, and each time I read it, I find myself in its pages.

Though many interpretors of the book have tried to turn it into an allegory for Hemingway's own wrestling with the Catholic faith, I must agree with Hemingway's own words that the book stands on its own without having to read more into it than really exists.

The story revolves around an old fisherman in a Cuban village named Santiago, and a young boy who takes to his dreams and hopes named Manolin. There is nothing spectacular about Santiago. He lived his life chasing the sun. He wakes in the morning. Sleeps at night. Fishes by the day. Only to start it all again.

The book is set at a particularly hard time for the old man, when his routine is interrupted. For 84 days, he has gone through the drudgery of his daily ritual (sleep, wake, fish, sleep) with no results - no fish. And no fish means certain death. The villagers call him unlucky, and young Manolin is forbidden from working any longer with him. The old man tells Manolin that his luck is going to change as he plans to take his small fishing boat further out into the Gulf Stream than ever before and bring back fish.

True to form, the old man, traveling far out in the Gulf Stream, hooks a huge marlin. The ensuing battle between old man and fish goes on for two days, with the third day the old man finally able to spear the marlin. Exhausted from the fight, the old man is both happy and sad in that he finally landed the catch of his life, but the respect the old man has for the fish is like that of a brother.

Finally, though, the old man can return to his village, his bad luck gone, with the largest marlin ever caught. He can almost hear the accolades of the crowds as he heads toward home. His only problem: the fish is too big to fit in his boat, so he straps it to the side and makes for land. Anyone who knows anything about Hemingway knows that happy endings are not the stuff of which he is made. The fish blood trail created by the marlin attracts the sharks, and though the old man battles the sharks, they eventually strip the marlin's carcass to nothing but bones before he can return home.

The old man is, in many ways, allegorical. He happens to be old and poor, but his dissatisfaction with his life is true of people from all walks of life, rich and poor, young and old. Because hs toil has yielded him nothing, he accepts the judgment of his village that he is a failure, and that acceptance forces him to launch into unchartered waters to change his position.

I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him. Ecc 3:12-14

In many ways, I am the old man, seeking not just the fish of the day, but the big one that will set me apart. I often feel as if I am spinning my wheels - just chasing the sun. Never satisfied with the daily toil, always looking for that which will improve the position that I am in. And while seeking to do my best is not in and of itself wrong, I often confuse the satisfaction with my work that God has given me with satisfaction with the results of my work, the fruit of my labors. In the security of my occupation, I often forget the providence of God in my daily life.

May Christ grant me the privilege of resting in the satisfaction of my toil, to be happy and do good while I live, and to take each day as a new gift from Him to complete that day's task.

And when He calls me to, may I launch the boat a bit further out.

4thluv

Forever Young

2008-05-16T07:52:00.006-05:00

"Take care of all your memories, for you cannot relive them." - Bob Dylan

It is funny how age sneaks up on you.

In many ways, 1980 seems like ancient history. And to many of the "kids" in our church, it is. We have deacons who were not even born then, and elders who were still learning how to zip and tie shoes. The year 2000 might as well have been a millenia away, and no one (including, apparently, Bill Gates) worried about Y2K bugs. In the immediate past of that time lay the musical tragedy of disco, and the future held the equally disturbing "hair bands." (Save the comments - you will not convince me that the hair bands were good music.)

For a kid growing up in the farmlands of middle America, the journey to the present now seems completely unlikely. The small (and I do mean small) bedroom community of my youth now seems impossibly distant to me. A kid of 15, in my future lay marriage, children and a host of challenges that, though now in my past, would have seemed insurmountable to me at the time.

Though the memories are hazy, I can recall the days of sitting around at my friend Van's house, listening to Led Zepplin, Pink Floyd, and the Stones. Occasionally, Marc would come over with his Van Halen albums (yes , they were all LP's, vinyl, you know, those large usually black things you had to put on a turntable connected to your HiFi.) and we would humor him and listen to them. There were no bills to pay, mortgages to feed, kids to shuttle.

It is amazing how quickly time passes. Those days you thought would never end are all suddenly gone. And then one day you wake up and life is real. You have places to be, and you are no longer responsible just for you, but for spouses, children, parents, co-workers, and employees. The complexities of the now replace the simplicities of youth.

It would be easy to glorify the life of my youth. I had a good youth, but it was not always simply good times with friends, with no pain or reality to interfere. Even now I can look and see some of the scars that life has given through those years, both physical and mental. I can look at my hand and see a scar I got fighting with Philip Bellew over some girl we both liked. (We were friends again a few days later.) I can see Eddie Carter and Ingrid Collin's faces, classmates and occasional friends who passed away in car accidents during high school. I can see John's face, a much closer friend whose death still fills me with regret and a real sense of personal guilt.

By and large, though, my youth was relatively trouble free and carefree. God has given us the blessing of time, which seems to force us to remember the best, and forget the rest. (Or perhaps it forces us to remember it as better than it was?) And that is why, mentally, it is such a pleasant time to go back and remember, even though those memories have faded.

It is funny, though, how some things can bring those memories flooding back vividly. A few weeks ago, listening to Stokes, Connie and Adam sing a song written by Adam, was one of those moments. Music, for some reason, seems to transport us at times to other places and to other memories. And Adam, Connie and Stoke's singing took me back to those simpler days of my youth. Suddenly, I was vividly the age of 14, sitting in Van's house with the guys and listening to the new Bob Dylan album that Van had bought. And what a great album it was - Dylan's "Slow Train Coming."

I have written about it before, but it is worth me saying again: Bob Dylan, absolutely the most brilliant musical and literary talent in modern history and all around coolest rocker ever, was writing, playing, and singing gospel music. For a kid who liked music for the words and sounds, Dylan's gospel drip would later turn to a river. (Van hated the album, and gave it to me.)

Searching YouTube the other day, I once again had one of those moments. I was transported back to those days. Take a listen to Dylan's "In the Garden" from his "Saved!" album of 1981.

If you watched it closely, you would have noticed that Dylan's back up band for that tour was Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Pretty amazing. The contrast of a dystopian hard rocker Dylan singing about the crucifixion of Christ, backed up by Tom Petty, is to me poetic, and humbling. And what great memories they make.

Paul said it this way: Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Phil. 4:8.

Those moments in my youth, and in my present, are pure moments. And those moments will continue. We will continually build a lifetime of memories. And it is nice to walk those paths every once in a while and recall them, but I would not trade the responsibilities and relationships God has given me now for those days. And I know years from now, I will turn my hearing aid up and listen to some whippersnappers sing or preach, and a smile will come across my face as I rememer Stokes, Connie and Adam's song, and the perfectness of that moment in worship.

As a church, we have much to be thankful for, and many memories are being made in our midst. Memories that will be eternal.

Take care of your memories, because you cannot relive them. Thanks for tolerating me while I share mine.

4theluv

P.S. - Burt - it is time for you to use your Wonder Elder powers and force Stokes, Connie and Adam, at gunpoint if necessary, to record that song and post it in .mp3 on the church website.

My Friends All Wear Bunny Suits

2008-05-06T07:33:00.012-05:00

"Great indebtedness does not make men grateful, but vengeful; and if a little charity is not forgotten, it turns into a gnawing worm. " - Friedrich Nietzsche

I am one of the world's worst at giving gifts. I forget birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, special occasions even for those closest to me. Without a calendar keeping up with it, (and the pesky people around me who insist on reminding me I am another year older) I would forget my own birthday.

"A Christmas Story" is one of my favorite Christmas classic movies, and regular around my house between Thanksgiving and New Years. From the flag pole "triple dog dare", to the back alley bully with yellow eyes and the father whose artistic medium is swear words and "fa ra ra ra ra" are classic. The movie is filled with so many classic scenes of childhood trauma that each of us can identify with on some level, yet still find comfort in the knowledge that a now grown-up Ralphie is the narrator, and turned out quite normal. (No mention is made of the need for huge doses of therapy). For those who know (and like) the movie, even mentioning it brings a smile to your face.

One scene stands out as a universal experience to me: Ralphie's aunt sends 10 year old Ralphie a pink bunny suit for Christmas because she thinks he is a 4 year old girl. It is clear both Ralphie and his dad are both perplexed and disturbed with the gift. How should you respond to such a gift? Well, mom, of course, has the answer: the same way you respond to any gift. Ralphie owes it to his aunt to put on the suit out of gratitude for the gift. The sight of a 10 year old boy looking totally embarrassed in a pink bunny suit is classic.

The scene is classic because it touches on an aspect of society that hits us all. All of us have been given gifts at Christmas, or birthdays, or other special occasions that are as useless as pink bunny suit. Sometimes they are from the crazy aunt or neighbor, sometimes our parents or kids, and, worse case, from our in-laws. But polite society demands a gracious acceptance of the gift and a faux display of appreciation. But if the gift is especially nice, something highly useful or thoughtful or expensive, we immediately begin to finds ways to repay the gift, feeling indebted to the gifter as and feeling guilty that our own gift to them does not measure up to what they have given us.

I often have lunches with friends in my profession. It is quite common that, when out at some lunch, one of us will pick up the tab for us both. Mentally, we keep tabs: he bought this time, I'll buy next time. But this is not true gift giving, it is gift trading. Gift giving is a virtue, no doubt, but it is not truly a gift when it becomes the currency of friendship, to be swapped and traded on a like kind basis.

As a Christian, I am often called upon to be motivated in my Christian life out of gratitude for the gift of what Christ has done for me. In a very real sense, I feel guilt that my sin required Christ to die for me so that I could know and live with God. I cannot understand the truth of God's gift to me without the sense of indebtedness to Him for it. But I constantly have to ask myself the question, "Is either guilt or gratitude a basis for living the Christian life?" Should we really live the Christian life from an "attitude of gratitude at the magnitude" of what Christ did for us? (Lest there were any doubts, now you know for sure I am a former Baptist with phrases like that.)

The story of the exile from Egypt gives me pause in reviewing my motivation. It is clearly written with the intent to evoke the drama of the situation. The tribe of Israel, once free, now lives as slaves in Egypt. And God gives them the great gift of liberation.

God raises up a leader from the very household of Pharaoh, to lead the people out of Egypt and into the Promised Land. The ten plagues, the crossing of the Red Sea, manna from heaven, and water from a rock. The foes of bondage, attack, hunger and thirst had been met with the calm hand and displayed power of God. The spies go out into Canaan and find that there are giants living in the land, with swords and armies, and its Moses plan to attack. The people rebel, saying things like "it would have been better to die in Egypt or the desert than to die at the hands of these swords." God has clearly had enough of these people. But he does not indict them for their lack of gratitude or their refusal to repay His deliverance of them from their bondage with their very lives if necessary. Instead, it is their lack of faith, their lack of trust.

The LORD said to Moses, "How long will these people treat me with contempt? How long will they refuse to believe in me, in spite of all the miraculous signs I have performed among them? Num. 14:11.

Suddenly the motivation, the umph, in the Christian life for me begins to make sense: the response to the gift of God in Christ is not indebtedness, it is trust and assurance that if even sin could not separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus, then neither can any battle I might face, including death. God does the deliverance of his people so that they may trust He will do the same deliverance in the future. He does them not to be repaid, a debt we couldn't repay anyway, but to call us to trust in His care for us despite the circumstances.

Please, don't get me wrong, gratitude is an appropriate response to any undeserved gift. But I am learning that a gift is not really a gift if something is expected in return, be it a thank you, a return gift, a free lunch, or a life of dedication. Such quid pro quo robs both the giver and the gift of its true grace. Perhaps Nietzsche is correct when he says that a great indebtedness makes us vengeful, makes us feel enslaved to our creditor. And though we often sing that message in song, and hear it preached, that is clearly not the message of the Gospel.

Perhaps gifts should be given just to let us know we are friends and the giver will be there with us until the end. Perhaps the gift is evidence of the relationship we have, and its value is in the relationship it represents. And when given freely, it conveys the message that the future is will hold the same relationship.

Thanks for the maroon on green sweater, mom. I'm sure it goes with something I own. Even more, thanks for telling me you will be there with me through the years.

Where did I put that bunny suit?

4theluv

God on the Mountain

2008-05-01T07:47:00.013-05:00

It is not because the truth is too difficult to see that we make mistakes... we make mistakes because the easiest and most comfortable course for us is to seek insight where it accords with our emotions - especially selfish ones. - Alexander Solzhenitsyn

Some days I don't feel like a Christian.

Reading this week's Newsbits concerning upcoming youth functions brought me back to the joyous days (ancient days, according to my kids) when youth retreats were annual events. The trips always included a long bus ride somewhere where us teens, completely hip with our cassette players and headphones (usually playing "contraband" music) would act completely bored, but were secretly excited about the independence a week away from our parents would afford. There was the usual awkward teen interplay between the sexes, closely monitored of course, the camp atmosphere, usually decent food (we all ate more on retreat than we ever did at home), and some sort of day outings to places like putt putt golf, a water theme park, or some similar out of the ordinary experience for most teens.

The retreats were always centered around bible studies and songs, and talks that built a sense of community and fellowship among the participants and evoked the strong emotions of knowing God. These events were intended to bring about more mature thinking about who we are and knowing God's love for us in Christ. They were designed for us to experience God, to know and feel His presence, and His will for our lives. Events like candle-light services, nailing our sins to a cross while singing choruses of "Jesus Paid It All, All to Him I Owe" which, in retrospect seem trivial, but in that moment, at that time, made the presence of God very real and concentrated every emotion we had on dedication to Him.

The retreats would always end with a "Youth Night" at the church, a Sunday night service where we "youth" would lead the church and show forth the community and fellowship and dedication that we had built during the week away. The service would range from anecdotes of the funny experiences of the week, to testimonies of the changes we intended to make with our lives. It would end with a call to the church to be as dedicated to the cause of Christ that we now had.

Even in those days, I recall thinking that the "experience" of the retreat was just that, an experience with God. Emotional, fulfilling, and desired. And absolutely unavailable to anyone who was not a part of it. You simply had to be there. They were, as Oswald Chambers calls them, "exceptional moments." The only thing the church would see was the immediate impact on us, and they could pray for the long term impact on us all.

The response to those exceptional moments was both positive and negative. Positive in the sense that we built community, understood the God of love presented in Christ, and sought meaningful change in our decisions and directions. But negative in that the immediacy of God's presence on those trips led us to believe we were more in tune with God than others, and also led us to believe that the Christian life should be one long "exceptional moment" and euphoric experience.

For many years, my Christian life was spent feeling unfulfilled because I did not feel the immediacy of God's presence and did not live in a constant "retreat high". I had to pay bills, work with people, deal with traffic, including some guy who cuts me off in the middle of my prayer time on the interstate. (A good place to pray, I might add.) Life impeded on my mountain top. And it took me years to reconcile within myself that it was ok to be normal, and real, and to live my Christian life in the ordinary surroundings of modern society.

Paul deals with much of the same issues when he talks about his longing for heaven.

Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now it is God who has made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come. Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord. We live by faith, not by sight. We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord. (2. Cor. 5:1-8).

Paul expresses all of our desires to experience the immediacy of God's presence.In such powerful language, Paul declares that while on this earth "we groan and are burdened". But tucked away in Paul's passage concerning longing to be with God, is a little phrase: We live by faith, not by sight. (2 Cor. 5:7). What Paul is conveying to me is that our present existence and experience are not indicators of God's presence, or lack thereof. We cannot look at what we have, the trials we experience, or the way we feel to determine whether God is present in our lives. We must simply live by faith that He is there.

What I learned from those years of longing for the immediacy and presence of God, the "retreat highs", is that I was not looking for God's presence, I was looking for the "feeling" of God's presence. It was only in those "feelings" that I could feel secure in Him. But the truth is, it was nothing more than my selfish desire to demand Christ reveal Himself intimately to me. Emotional confirmation that He "is", and I am His. It was me demanding of Christ that He conform to the way I want to experience Him. How selfish we are when God's unconditional love for us is arbitrated by our feelings.

Each of these are distractions from the truth that Christ is there, even when I'm cut off in traffic and I don't feel like a Christian. I've learned there is nothing wrong with those moments, when Christ reveals His presence in a unique and fresh way, but there is something in demanding He prove himself repeatedly by inspiration to me in the ways I demand. That is not walking by faith, it is living completely by sight.

Some days I don't feel like a Christian. But that doesn't change the truth that I am. I am learning to appreciate the retreat highs, but find my security solely in the truths of Christ.

Solo fides.

4theluv

April Showers / May Flowers

2008-04-28T08:35:00.004-05:00

"Beware the barrenness of a busy life." - Socrates

For some reason, April has proven to be a downpour of events demanding attention, detail, most importantly, time. Work commitments, family commitments, sports commitments, governmental (read "tax") commitments, financial commitments, etc. Those who know me know the fiendish schedule I have kept (poorly, I might add) since mid March that has now wound its way through April. Such a schedule has a major impact on all of your relationships and time commitments. And April saw me taking a vacation from my blog, as well, to focus on other things equally important to me.

This morning, as I was reading Brian Cosby's blog on the Sabbath rest, I came to realize that rest is something we disparately need, and for me in particular something I really, really, really desire. It alleviated my personal guilt for not getting everything done, and heightened my longing for the rest which only God can give.

What does the worker gain from his toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him. Ecc. 3:9-14

May, then, shall be a time to share a drink with my friends, a laugh with my wife, a catch with my kids, encouragement with my family, support to my pastor, and love and contentment for the life which God has blessed me with.

With the downpour of spurious activity in April it is my prayer that May will see the flowers of rest.

4theluv

Failing Up

2008-03-26T07:12:00.007-05:00

“Marriage is three parts love and seven parts forgiveness of sins.” - Lao Tzu

Wednesdays are garbage days around the Luv house. That is a special day in our lives, as it is the day that Mrs. 4theluv and I get to review the evidence of our passive aggressive natures. You see, to ask Mrs. 4theluv, it is a constant and continual failing of mine that I don't take the garbage out of the house near as much as needed, nor near as much as Mrs. 4theluv desires.

Now understand, the right time to take the garbage out is the source of debate in many households, not just ours. I am sure many husbands face similar failures in their own lives. But that is only the beginning. See, I am a morally conscious individual. I believe that taking out the trash is not just the man's job, that just about anyone is capable of doing it. The skill set required to take out the garbage is fairly limited, and definitely not gender specific. And, being the politically correct and socially conscious individual that I am, I graciously allow Mrs. 4theluv ample opportunity to prove the equality of the sexes by taking out the trash. Its technically not rocket science. If you see it needs to be taken out, you pull the strings on the bag, and walk it the 40 or so feet to the big garbage can outside.

But Mrs. 4theluv takes an opposite position, at least when it comes to regularly taking out the trash. Now she will take it out on the days that she cleans the refrigerator, particularly if broccoli or some similar odoriferous content needs disposing. Then she will bag it, but set it just outside the door in the garage so that as I pass by it in the morning on my way to work I will carry it the other 30 feet and put in the can which is outside.

Normally, though, she just ignores the need to take out the trash (a trait which I allow to take place)and instead just keeps throwing things away in the garbage by balancing various rubbish on top of other rubbish, creating an almost Dada"esque" creation worthy of Kurt Schwitters. The balancing act is always very delicate, intentionally so, I think. She knows eventually I will take out the trash, and that trash sculpture will crumble like a house of cards.

So, come Wednesday morning, as I am trying to get out the door for work, I will always remember the trash has to go out. I will turn to our leaning tower of refuse that is our main garbage area and try to bag it. Of course, looking around, Mrs. 4theluv is nowhere to be found, but as things scatter on the floor I am certain a smirk crosses her face, as she has once again shown her superiority in this game of oneupmanship (oneupwomanship? oneuppersonship?).

So I get the garbage out, saying a few words I probably shouldn't, and spend the rest of the day feeling like the loser that I am. And, like Lucy pulling the football from Charlie Brown, Mrs. 4theluv gets to enjoy the rest of the day knowing she got me one more time. I wish I would at least get a "thank you" but I am sure that would spoil the fun.

As I reflected on the battle this morning, I began to sense the frustration that Christ must feel with me, with the sin that so easily entangles me, and my refusal AND inability to take it out. And I began to sense that Christ does what he does with me, not for the "thank you", and not out of a sense of waiting to see if I will do it myself, but rather because he loves me, and gave himself for me.

Paul reminded us well. Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. [ ... ]Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, (Eph. 5:1-2; 25-26)

I can't get out of mind today how it is that Christ puts up with and carries out my garbage that I pile up for Him. He taught us so many lessons about true love. Forgiveness is an act of love. Service is an act of love. He does it simply because He loves me, and for no other reason. And it is that same love that he calls me to love my wife.

Like many men in our church, I married waaay up. And in that relationship, like every other relationship I am in, like parent, son, sibling, friend, co-worker, I fail consistently. But with relationships built on love, forgiveness is a routine part. And for that, I am the luckiest man alive.

I have received that forgiveness from so many in my life, perhaps I should return that same love. Perhaps I can learn something from the battle of the garbage.

4theluv

Twilight Sunrise

2008-03-24T06:15:00.006-05:00

"In the bonds of Death He lay Who for our offence was slain; But the Lord is risen to-day, Christ hath brought us life again, Wherefore let us all rejoice, Singing loud, with cheerful voice, Hallelujah!" - Martin Luther

As a fifth grader my class took a trip to Mammoth caves in Kentucky. At one point in the tour, the tour guide had us all in one particular part of the cave and turned out the lights to show us what true darkness really looked like. If you have ever been in a similar situation, you know that real darkness, the true absence of light, is pretty scary, and the hope and knowledge that the lights will come back on takes the edge off of the fear, the darkness just an experiment. But in those moments of darkness is the helplessness and fear of a life dependent on someone else for the light of safety and rescue.

Darkness is one of those things which is experienced in isolation. But real darkness is not relegated to the caverns of Kentucky. Light and life seem to go hand in hand in the metaphysic of human existence and experience.

The poet Dylan Thomas wrote his famous poem about the death of his father, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Goodnight, with those same allusions of light vs. death:

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

It is no doubt that the death of those close to us leaves a black hole of darkness from which it is difficult to rise. It is little wonder that at the moment Jesus died there was complete darkness for 3 hours. That darkness must have given temporary pause to the priests, scribes, and Romans who had sentenced Jesus to death, making them question what they had done. But then came the ninth hour, and the lights came on, and all seemed basically right with the world. The sun would rise tomorrow, just like it had every other day.

But not so with the disciples. The black hole created by the death of Christ was huge, and lingered way beyond the temporary darkness witnessed by all. While others went about their passover feasts and festivities, mocking this man that had thought he was the Son of God. Like the rest, the death of Christ had caused those who had believed in Christ to wonder why they had followed such an obviously deluded man. They hunkered down in fear, expecting any moment that those who had killed Jesus were coming for them. In those days, death was their constant companion, and their fear of reprisal for following Jesus was real.

The black hole was particularly tough for the remaining eleven. These disciples were personally as crushed as the dreams of their glory of being the advisors to the new king of Israel. You will recall earlier the Bar Zebedee boys had asked to be on Christ's right and left side when he came into his kingdom. Yet on the day He died, to his right and left were two criminals receiving the penalty of their government for their crimes. Nowhere to be found were the Zebedee boys, having saved their own necks and left Jesus to die.

Little did these disciples know in those two dark days that death would stalk them the rest of their lives, but the fear of it would be a thing of the past. They would meet the resurrected Christ, and know that death is not the end, but only the beginning. So shattering was their meeting with the resurrected Lord, that they went forth, hoping to die for his name. No longer would they hide in fear, for there was nothing the priests, the scribes, the Romans could do to them to hurt them.

Only through the resurrection, the sure knowledge that death has no power to kill, is there true freedom to live. And only when you know the resurrected Christ, can you face the darkness with certainty.

"Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." (I Cor 15:55-57).

Death is no longer the journey into the night. And Easter is the reminder to us that death is as momentary and essential as birth, but is no longer something to be feared. For Christ Himself is our life. The dark caves of Kentucky reveal nothing of the truth of Christ, but the inability to find Him on our own. Thanks be to God, He has gone there before us.

4theluv

The View from Below

2008-03-20T18:56:00.011-05:00

"Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world." - John the Baptist

STABAT Mater dolorosa iuxta Crucem lacrimosa, dum pendebat Filius.	AT the Cross her station keeping, stood the mournful Mother weeping, close to Jesus to the last.
Cuius animam gementem, contristatam et dolentem pertransivit gladius.	Through her heart, His sorrow sharing, all His bitter anguish bearing, now at length the sword has passed.
O quam tristis et afflicta fuit illa benedicta, mater Unigeniti!	O how sad and sore distressed was that Mother, highly blest, of the sole-begotten One.
Quae maerebat et dolebat, pia Mater, dum videbat nati poenas inclyti.	Christ above in torment hangs, she beneath beholds the pangs of her dying glorious Son.
Quis est homo qui non fleret, matrem Christi si videret in tanto supplicio?	Is there one who would not weep, whelmed in miseries so deep, Christ's dear Mother to behold?
Quis non posset contristari Christi Matrem contemplari dolentem cum Filio?	Can the human heart refrain from partaking in her pain, in that Mother's pain untold?
Pro peccatis suae gentis vidit Iesum in tormentis, et flagellis subditum.	Bruised, derided, cursed, defiled, she beheld her tender Child All with scourges rent:
Vidit suum dulcem Natum moriendo desolatum, dum emisit spiritum.	For the sins of His own nation, saw Him hang in desolation, Till His spirit forth He sent.
Eia, Mater, fons amoris me sentire vim doloris fac, ut tecum lugeam.	O thou Mother! fount of love! Touch my spirit from above, make my heart with thine accord:
Fac, ut ardeat cor meum in amando Christum Deum ut sibi complaceam.	Make me feel as thou hast felt; make my soul to glow and melt with the love of Christ my Lord.
Sancta Mater, istud agas, crucifixi fige plagas cordi meo valide.	Holy Mother! pierce me through, in my heart each wound renew of my Savior crucified:
Tui Nati vulnerati, tam dignati pro me pati, poenas mecum divide.	Let me share with thee His pain, who for all my sins was slain, who for me in torments died.
Fac me tecum pie flere, crucifixo condolere, donec ego vixero.	Let me mingle tears with thee, mourning Him who mourned for me, all the days that I may live:
Iuxta Crucem tecum stare, et me tibi sociare in planctu desidero.	By the Cross with thee to stay, there with thee to weep and pray, is all I ask of thee to give.
Virgo virginum praeclara, mihi iam non sis amara, fac me tecum plangere.	Virgin of all virgins blest!, Listen to my fond request: let me share thy grief divine;
Fac, ut portem Christi mortem, passionis fac consortem, et plagas recolere.	Let me, to my latest breath, in my body bear the death of that dying Son of thine.
Fac me plagis vulnerari, fac me Cruce inebriari, et cruore Filii.	Wounded with His every wound, steep my soul till it hath swooned, in His very Blood away;
	*
Christe, cum sit hinc exire, da per Matrem me venire ad palmam victoriae.	Christ, when Thou shalt call me hence, by Thy Mother my defense, by Thy Cross my victory;
Quando corpus morietur, fac, ut animae donetur paradisi gloria. Amen.	While my body here decays, may my soul Thy goodness praise, Safe in paradise with Thee. Amen.

When he had received the drink, Jesus said, "It is finished." With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit. (John 19:30)

Would it be that we not forget, the sin that cost us God, nor the God who bought us back, nor the price - His Son, our Lord. Amen.

4theluv

* Stanzas removed by 4theluv for doctrinal reasons.

Springs Without Water

2008-03-17T06:45:00.017-05:00

“It never troubles the wolf how many the sheep may be” - Virgil

Teeth, capped white with porcelain, contrasted the tanned skin, tightened face and coiffured hair of the Anointed as he set about the task of completing the sacred mission of the day. Firmly facing the red eyed cyclops the anointed showed no fear, confident in his ability to soothe that beast and bring it under submission. Behind the red hot eye lay the prize set before him: the blessing that only the anointed can know, that only the anointed can enjoy. He commands some more anointing.

Surrounded by tens of hundreds of witnesses, the freshly pressed and tailored Italian wool suit shines under the glistening lights but belies the hunger that rages in his belly. He speaks. And with his speech come the thunderous sounds and rapturous howls of the anointed, deftly using sacred secrets to whet the appetite of the cyclops, to lull it to a sense of safety and security, knowing that by his power they can ride this monster to the buried treasure.

He speaks to the cyclops. "I know the secret things," he says, baring his teeth in the sly grin that can easily be mistaken for sincerity. "I have the secret things to make you handsome, make you rich, and make you wise. He bled, in seven places, so that you know no suffering, and have all your hearts desires. The Jews had it right - buy this, and I can show you the secret laws that control God. Listen to me and learn to control God. Buy this cloth, and wear it over your head when you pray, the evils spirits will have no authority over you. You can be like God."

Across town, the same wool covers the different anointed seeking to tame the red one-eyed beast. His wool covering is darker, and less tailored, and the softness and soothing of his voice lulls the beast to give its treasure. But the same sly grin of sincerity persists. "God has set these rules," he leers. "You're better than you think you are. You must set your mind to new heights. It matters not if you are Jew or Gentile, Christian or Muslim. Your belief will bring your best life." God set this world in motion, and gave these secrets.

Half a world away, the leader of the pack speaks. His wool covering, reminiscent of Dr. No and Kamal Kahn, radiates in the spot light with the power of his magnetism. His voice powerful, and old worldly. He speaks to the monster, and shows forth his power. He bears his perfect teeth, and snarls "Slain in the Spirit." And the red eyed cyclops bleeds forth its wealth.

Their names are irrelevant. They could easily be called Valentinian, Marcion, Jefferson, Larry, Joel, Rod or Benny. The wool suits they wear barely hide the wolf within. They prey on the wallets of the weak by appealing to the fleshly needs and desires - greed and despartion are their weapons, and their vices. They tell stories of great healings and miracles to cover the carcases of so many lambs, being sure to keep the facts vague, and untraceable. They trade in secrets, "truths" they call them, for a price. But all they deliver is disillusionment and broken lives. They appear sometimes in packs, with the knowing glance that one will help the other bring down their prey, and not expose the truth.

These men are springs without water and mists driven by a storm. Blackest darkness is reserved for them. For they mouth empty, boastful words and, by appealing to the lustful desires of sinful human nature, they entice people who are just escaping from those who live in error. They promise them freedom, while they themselves are slaves of depravity—for a man is a slave to whatever has mastered him. (2 Pet. 2:17-19).

Like bartenders with short shots and short change, these charlatans are a monument not to the overarching schemes of Satan, but rather to the unmitigated depravity of man. Their excesses and abuses, Mercedes and BMW's, Mansions and jets are testaments to their greed, and their followers' desperation. And all of our desires to be like gods.

But the wolves don't worry how many sheep there may be. All they know is there are plenty to go around. It does not take a prophet to see that they whore the gospel, and pimp the revelation of God, while using the language of love. And the day that you eat thereof, you shall die.

Today, in that town, someone will point out that these men (and women) have nothing to sell, and nothing from God. To repeat their refrain of greed, "Might as well be me."

4theluv

Foundations

2008-03-10T07:22:00.009-05:00

Many try to stop me, shake me up in my mind / Say, "Prove to me that He is Lord, show me a sign." / What kind of sign they need when it all come from within, / When what's lost has been found, what's to come has already been? - Bob Dylan, Pressing On

Keith Green, was an early contemporary Christian artist of the 1970's and early 80's. A fallen teen heart throb and proficient pre-teen song writer, Green had searched through such things as Buddhism, drugs, and agnosticism before His love broke through. Green influenced, some would say paved, a whole genre of contemporary Christian music. While he and his "Last Days Ministry" was strongly influenced by the Vineyard Christian Movement in Southern California, and his theology was not always "spot on", he wrote and sang from his personal experience, and the change he experienced when he met the living Christ.

Keith Green died with three of his children in a 1983 private airplane crash while circling his Last Days Ministry property.

In 1978, singer / song writer / poet / philosopher and guru of all things hip, Bob Dylan experienced a personal and musical transformation which he attributed to coming to a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. There is no doubt that Dylan was the voice of the 60s and 70s for a world of musicians and people, and the firestorm surrounding his conversation was both huge and expected. And there is no doubt that God gifted Bob Dylan to be one of the greatest and most talented men to ever write and perform music.

As a result of this transformation, Dylan recorded and released two exclusive gospel albums, Slow Train Coming and Saved. His song, You Gotta Serve Somebody made it into the rock and pop charts in 1981 in both the United States and the United Kingdom. "Slow Train Coming" was classic Dylan with a Christian twist, but his best song, in my estimation, was "I Believe in You."

But when both Green and Dylan moved toward Christian music, they each turned to one man who had long traveled the worlds of Christian rock music and rejection from both the church and the world - Larry Norman. Known for such Christian hit songs as "I Wish We Had All Been Ready" and "Why Should the Devil Have All the Good Music?" (If you watch no other video but this last one, watch it.), Norman was never fully accepted by anyone, sacred or secular, outside of the musical world. But inside that world, some of the greatest names in music recognized his talent and genius and sought it out. Eric Clapton, Paul McCartney, Brian Wilson, Glen Frye, and yes, Bob Dylan.

For his part, Norman kept a certain amount of distance between himself and his Christian followers. In speaking of being Christian before it was popular, Norman told Contemporary Magazine, "I did not particularly feel comfortable with the Jesus Movement. I was not one of the kids who had recently become a Christian. I did not have any scintillating 'testimony' of getting high on Jesus and then giving up drugs, girls and the pursuit of material possessions.... In fact, I felt that I was neither part of the 'establishment' [n]or part of the alternative lifestyle enclave which felt itself so superior to their parents and our civic leaders."

Norman was just an ordinary guy who loved rock music and loved Jesus. He sought to be known as an entertainer and artist who was a Christian, and not a "Christian entertainer" or a "Christian artist". He didn't really care if people liked his music or not. Preferring not to sell the truth, he often gave his music away for free. He didn't pay much attention to trying to be somebody. He never proclaimed himself a "super-Christian", a superior theologian, nor the voice for God. And he would be the first to tell you he was none of those things. He only sought to help other's see his spiritual journey through his music. His life was spent wanting to make music to the God of creation, in the genre of his generation. Norman's God given musical talents used for God's glory, through Norman's personality. And in the process, he incidentally shaped an entire musical generation, including a kid from a small farming town known as 4theluv.

Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth,
burst into jubilant song with music;

make music to the LORD with the harp,
with the harp and the sound of singing,

with trumpets and the blast of the ram's horn—
shout for joy before the LORD, the King.

Let the sea resound, and everything in it,
the world, and all who live in it.

Let the rivers clap their hands,
Let the mountains sing together for joy; let them sing before the LORD,
for he comes to judge the earth.
He will judge the world in righteousness
and the peoples with equity. (Psalm 98: 4-9)

Because of my love of great (and perhaps not so great) music, I frequently talk with people in their 20's and 30's who never listen to or know they GREAT music of the 60's and 70's. Late Generation "X"ers don't really know the great music I had growing up. The secular philosophical lyrics of the music of the 60's and 70's is rivaled in Western culture only by the sacred hymnology born from the Reformation in the 16th and 17th centuries. And of these "kids" I talk to, I dare say none of them heard of Larry Norman.

For me, a kid growing up in the 70's and 80s, hooked on English bands like Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, and the Beatles, Bob Dylan was one of the few true American talents I owned. When I first heard Slow Train Coming, the Christian wheels began to turn. Dylan led to Green, whose musical style was very much in the early 70's vein but message was decidedly different. Green led to Petra, an 80's Christian rock band. But all of them pointed back to Norman, the pioneer in Christian Rock.

Paul said it well. "Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with God's people and members of God's household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit." (Eph. 2: 19-22).

Larry Norman passed away recently after a lengthy illness, but his legacy will remain for quite some time. Norman lived his life with personal integrity and incredible musical talent. Norman properly viewed his life as an alien. While here, we are only visitors to this dying planet, witnesses to its greatness, and it baseness. We are in it, but not of it. And that greatness (and baseness) can be seen in the sacred, and the secular. Norman could see the brilliance of great secular musicians, and combine it with the truths he found in Christ.

It amazes me how some Christians discount brilliance and talent because the one possessing those gifts is not "Christian", or even not Christian enough. As Christians, we are too quick to discount the sparks of truth that radiate from believers and non believers alike like a July 4th sparkler. While our theology should never be based on music, we can see the majesty of God in musical expression. We can express our own journey in music like in no other medium. We can learn something of the God who gave mankind eyes to see the world around him, and express what he sees through song, as we experience that world through the eyes of believers and unbelievers alike in song.

And people like Norman are a unique reminder of God's providence in so many ways around us. Larry Norman's last word, written the day before he died, say it so well:

Goodbye, farewell, we'll meet again
Somewhere beyond the sky.
I pray that you will stay with God
Goodbye, my friends, goodbye.

Goodbye, Larry. You impacted people you never even knew, in ways you never dreamed you would.

And perhaps, that is the point.

4theluv

Blinded with Science

2008-03-04T07:36:00.008-06:00

"If a dishonest creep wants to tap dance, give him the spotlight ---- and a mirror." - Vonna Bonta

The past few weeks I have been chugging through the first half of Dawkin's The God Delusion. Chugging is the appropriate word. It is a heavy word, pregnant with all the intensity this haughty book deserves. But, four weeks after purchasing it, I'm only half way through it even though I have sat down for countless hours to chug through it.

To bring you up to speed, Dawkins is an evolutionary biologist who holds the Charles Simonyi Professor of the Public Understanding of Science at Oxford University in England. (Now that's a big business card!) His progression through his scientific pursuits has led him, he believes, to the inevitable conclusion that a supernatural being, such as we call God, in the highest sense of probability does not exist. On his scale of 1 to 7, 1 being that God definitely exists, and 7 being that God does not exist, Dawkins characterizes himself as a "6". I guess you would call him a 6 point atheist. He does this on the basis of his collective intellect and reason, which, he claims, neither demands nor needs a god.

His book is condescending, calling atheists "smart people" and religious people "lower educated people." He even quotes the statistics to back it up. His reported stats show that the average intellectual and academic degrees of proclaimed atheists is higher than those who identify themselves as believers in any form of god. This, he concludes, is proof that high intelligence breeds atheism and, apparently, is superior to religious believers who have lower intelligence. (I think to be fair to Dawkins, "intelligence" is best understood as mental acumen coupled with rigorous training and thought, and expounded systematically, consistently and rationally resulting at a minimum in agnosticism but inevitably atheism.)

In response to great scientists of the past like Newton, Pascal, Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo and Mendel, who were trained theologians and expressed personal faith in Christ, Dawkins dismisses them as men of their times for whom, without the lip service to the church, would not be able to ply their trade and indulge their intellect. If they were avowed atheists, they would lose their funding.

Earlier academics and scientists were overwhelmingly professed Christian but that was because they had to be in order to do their science? But, modern academic studies show overwhelmingly that scientists are either atheists or agnostics?

Really, Mr. Dawkins? Let's be consistent.

Your positions suggests only that "intelligent" people of the past were mere con men, but "intelligent" people of the present are now honest and free and have integrity. (Let's forget for a second what religious cost Galileo paid for his scientific endeavors.) Could it be that modern "intellectuals" cannot show faith because to do so would sound the death knell of their careers? Would they lose their academic funding in a society of academics which disdains faith? Would they face the scorn of men like you who would view their achievements as suspect for nothing more than that they are people of faith? Or, perhaps, is it because the intellectuals of today are much smarter than the intellectuals of yesterday? At the same age you were learning to drive a car and hit on girls, Pascal was completing his treatise on theoretical geometry.

It is mighty cavalier to dismiss the beliefs of an entire class of learned men by excusing their "ignorance" as "men of their times." Your statistics only suggest that modern scientists are "men of their times" and to extrapolate further is inconsistent. Excuse me, but your snobbery is showing.

Dawkins makes too short a work of the "reasonable proofs" for the existence of God as set forth by such people as Thomas Aquinas and Blaise Pascal. (I do acknowledge that Dawkins is writing a populist piece, not a detailed philosophical exposition of these matters.) For instance, he dismantles, not quite appropriately, Blaise Pascal's "Wager".

Pascal, one of my favorite 17th century scholars, was known as the father of modern economics and of geometry, the later of which he had written his foremost treatise by the ripe old age of 16. Pascal was a man whose intellect Dawkins (and I) only wish he had. Nutshelled, Pascal's "Wager" placed probabilities on the existence of God being low, but the consequences of betting against his existence were exceedingly more dreadful (eternal damnation) than the consequences of betting he does exist. Therefore, Pascal would say that even though the probabilities are low of God's existence, a person should still believe because the trouble of living as though you do believe and being wrong is less than the trouble of not believing and being wrong.

Dawkins correctly hits the problems with "the Wager," but adds nothing new to the observations. Pascal's Wager incorrectly assumes that we have the power to create faith in God on the basis reason by the weight of probability and bad consequences, and further, the Wager by itself incorrectly assumes that the god you should believe in is the Christian god, which is an illogical leap from the premise of the Wager itself.

Dawkins asks a correct question about the Wager, which god should you believe in if you take the bet? What if he bet on the wrong God and it is actually Baal, or Vishnu, or Krishna by a nose and he (or she) is pissed? Wouldn't he be better off not believing in any god than believing in the wrong one?

But Dawkins is no theoretical statistician. He incorrectly makes the assumption that if god exists, there is no evidence that he would reject a person who failed to see him and therefore the probability of dire consequences is even lower than the probability of the existence of god. In short, he doesn't believe in God, but if he exists, the probability is low that he would give eternal damnation to human creatures who were relying on the natural order to understand who he is.

Really, Mr. Dawkins? Let's be consistent.

We shall grant you the latitude to not believe in the god you choose not to believe in, even a god who probably doesn't exist and probably doesn't send people to hell. But be consistent. Probability must be based on some known variable, and while the probability of God's existence you concede is based on known unknowns, the probability of his attitude toward nonbelievers in him is an unknown unknown and thus not subject to probability. You cannot know the nature of a god you claim you cannot know.

Dawkins finds many supporter for this view in theological circles. It is not an uncommon theological trend in this day is to say, "I don't believe in a God who would send people to hell." Now, certainly, it is not fair to discredit those who hold this view by lumping them with Dawkins. But certainly they share the sentiment of Dawkins' attack on Pascal, and fall into the same predicament. Each makes god into the image they want him to be.

For Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the gospel—not with words of human wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power. For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written: "I will destroy the wisdom of the wise; the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate." (I Cor. 1:17-19).

Perhaps much to Dawkin's consternation, so far the book leaves me not doubting my faith, as both the proponents and opponents of the book have suggested as a probable outcome of reading the book. Rather, it leaves me doubting Dawkin's snide apologetical outline of the religion of Reason, one that is passing away even as we speak. Perhaps, in the second half of the book, Dawkins drops his bombshell. Somehow, I doubt it.

Dawkins makes some good points that are well worth pondering, particularly in the realm of creative design and some particularly bad arguments made by Christians. But, for the sake of boredom of those who are reading, I will pass on elaboration right now but do more in the future.

Here's your mirror, Mr. Dawkins.

4theluv

The Sound of Silence

2008-02-27T07:08:00.010-06:00

“Quietude, which some men cannot abide because it reveals their inward poverty, is as a palace of cedar to the wise, for along its hallowed courts the King in his beauty deigns to walk.” - Charles H. Spurgeon

One of Mrs. 4thluv's favorite places to visit is New York City. The Big Apple. Broadway and Times Square. The Empire State Building. People. The hustle and bustle of millions of people going about their daily tasks in close proximity to one another is exhilarating to her.

I don't really like New York City. I have been there for both business and leisure. The people are kind enough. Even going to a Braves game at Shea stadium wearing a Braves jersey didn't upset them too much. New Yorker's probably get a bad rap for their manners.

Now to be fair, I have only been to Manhattan and Queens, two of the nicer boroughs of the city. (I was warned to stay out of the Bronx when I wanted to go visit Yankee Stadium). But I still don't like New York City. To me the city smells of Bourbon Street on a hot summer day. The traffic is like 285 in Atlanta at 3:00PM. The buildings so large that often you can't see the sky. And when you do, it is gray and smoggy.

Those things aside, it is the noise that really gets to me. Cars honking, workers shouting, subway trains going by, jack hammers rattling, cranes lifting, ferry whistles, sirens blaring, planes flying over. (Some find these sounds "thrilling" - you can have them.) To tune out the noise you would have to tune out life. The noise goes on 24/7. New York is not my kind of town.

But you don't need to travel to New York City to be filled with noise. New York City comes to us. Today's society is filled with way too many noises. TV's have to be left on, music playing, cell phones ringing. The noise gives to us a "sense" of being connected to others, so we do not feel alone.

One thing you don't hear a lot of is quiet. This society finds "quiet" disturbing. Perhaps it is because of the the fear of being alone with ourselves.

I can recall growing up in the 1970s and early 1980s that quiet was easier to come by. In those days, there were no 24 hour news channels, in fact, until I was in high school, there were no 24 hour television stations. Daytime afternoon TV was all local programing, usually kid's shows poorly produced. Prime time shows were limited to 3, whatever was on ABC, NBC or CBS.

Until I was 11, our family had only one TV in the house, and it was in the living room. As a result, TV shows were decided by popularity (i.e., what the parents wanted to watch), and the loser (ie., those who didn't like that show and me). Being the youngest of three children, I either had to learn to like what someone else liked to watch, or I would have to go find something else to do, like read. And I read a lot.

I spent hours as a kid reading things that boys normally read - the Hardy Boys series, Boy's Life, Mad Magazine (what a great magazine), Sport's Illustrated, and the Sunday funny papers. And it was easy. I could go into my room, open the window and listen to the quiet sounds of the night, and read. I solved the all the mysteries with Frank and Joe, wished I was Fran Tarkington, Bob Griese, Ken Stabler or Wilt Chamberlain (glad the last one never came true), laughed time and again at Spy vs. Spy and Alfred E. Newman, and couldn't wait until Sunday to see what Beetle Bailey, Snuffy Smith, and Marmaduke were going to get into. (I know, you are not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition. My apologies to Mrs. Lykins.)

I don't read those types of books and magazines much anymore. (Though Sports Illustrated is till a part of our yearly subscriptions.) But I still like that quiet, the solitude those memories bring back. That "not-having-to-be-around-people-and-deal-with-more-problems" space. I'm not a real emotional type person, anyway, and for me quiet time reading or studying is relaxing and introspective. (Some, like Mrs. 4theluv, prefer the term "moody" which is probably as good a term as any to describe me). But I do like my quiet - my alone time.

Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody. (I. Thes. 4:11-12)

I used a quote by Henry David Thoreau a few weeks ago as a comment on Scott H.'s blog. “Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing it is not fish they are after.” That quote made me think of Scott and his fishing trips, and his reflections on situations he has been involved with in the church. But it is also true of us all - we need time to reflect on our relationships, particularly with Christ. It is not the fish, the books, the magazines that we need, it is the time to touch base with ourselves and our God.

Sometimes, after we have tended to our business, worked with our hands, and won the respect of others, we need some time to reflect on ourselves. To think. In quiet. And reflect. To learn to be ok with ourselves, and to like the person that Christ is teaching us to be.

I think that is why I won't fair well in New York City. I can't get alone, away, and I can't catch my breath.

In the quiet, away from everyone else, I know its ok to be ordinary. It is away from the TV, the cell phones, the cars, the sirens, the music, that I find myself. And it is there that I understand my relationship with Him. Quietude, as Spurgeon calls it, reveals our inner poverty - but also allows the King to walk its hallowed corridors.

And, to quote Robert Frost, that has made all the difference.

4theluv

The Poll to the Right

2008-02-24T19:33:00.004-06:00

Each week I try to write and publish two posts in differing literary styles. While this blog is mainly intended as an outlet for me and as an expression of my personal journey of faith in Christ, it is a joy to know that others take heart in my journey and walk with me, as we are not called to walk alone.

While I always write about things important to me, I have chosen four posts from the month of January which have meant something special to me. I would love to know if they have meant something to you.

To review:
1) Faces - The stories of people in my life whose memories I honor and cherish.

2) Singing With the Midnight Choir - My reflections on the song "Midnight Choir" by Larry Gatlin.

3) Potsherds and Goats - The story of my grandfather.

4) The Sweet Smell of Righteousness - The story of a man whose smell taught lessons.

Feel free to leave comments below.

Lines of Silver

2008-02-20T07:04:00.002-06:00

“Much that we call evil is really good in disguises; and we should not quarrel rashly with adversities not yet understood, nor overlook the mercies often bound up in them." - Horace Mann

It was Sunday morning. The clouds in the sky gathered with the coming violence predicted by so many meteorologists. The local guru dus wetters was in suspenders, showing the oncoming and impending doom one viewing area to the south, that, within a scant few hours, would crash its way through the Birmingham, Alabama area. The skies themselves acted as if they would spill their contents at any moment, pregnant with the rain so disparately needed in the area.

Inside the 10:45am worship service was beginning on time, in spite of, or perhaps in defiance of the dire predictions and prognostications of the weather. The weather, together with the fact of it being President's Day weekend, gave all the signs that the only people in attendance would be the "hell or high water" gang. Those, who like the prophetess Anna, are in the sanctuary day and night. The dependable faces who sit in the same places week after week. But given the weather and the holiday, even some of the high water gang would be missing, and no one would blame them.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about worship time that day. No children's presentations, no ordinations, no combined worship service, no special concerts or guest speakers. No drama presentations, or fancy dancing. Nothing to bring in doting grandparents, proud families, or hoodwinked worshipers. Except for the pending violence outside, it was just an average Sunday at Community Presbyterian Church. And despite the bad weather, and threat of it being even worse, the Sanctuary was full. And it was pretty full. Even regular attenders of the late service would have a hard time sorting the regulars from the visitors. And this day the deacons had to put out extra sets of chairs.

It was a scant short 6 weeks ago that the elders made the disturbing announcement to the congregation that one of our own had abused the trust placed in her and taken sums of money from the church's accounts. A hurt and stunned congregation watched as the elders gathered around the sinner, and prayed - offering the forgiveness that Christ has given them, and extending the love of the gospel to all in attendance. Publicly airing the ragged clothes of sin not for the benefit of those who were hurt, though they had the right to know, but for the benefit of the sinner whose sin had affected the relationships with the whole church. And to publicly say, so the world can hear, and see, that more grace abounds greater than any sin.

To say that the event was earth shaking is quite an overstatement. For a church that preaches both the total inability of man to please God, and the unconditional love of God in Christ toward His people, it should be no surprise that when real sin happens in their midst that those who believe the Gospel will respond with the same grace that God has given them in Christ.

But deep in the heart of hearts, and if you are true to the suspicions and doubts of your heart, you *are surprised* when the Gospel claimed to be believed is actually lived out in your midst toward people whose sin is real, and whose relationships are tattered.

Perhaps you are even surprised by your own reaction to it.

When sinners publicly can find acceptance, love and hope, it is antithetical to everything known to fallen humans - to love those who hurt you, to love them even through the hurt and despite the sin. You expect disillusionment. You expect disappointment. You expect shouts of hypocrisy. You expect anger. You expect striking back and striking out. Real sin demands real punishment. And, even if not from you, you expect a rejection of the sinner. That is the lesson the world beats into all of us - you deserve what you get, and get what you deserve.

But this Sunday morning, six weeks later, with so much against it, saw the worship service full. Far from the disillusionment so many churches have experienced in similar situations, this church has seen no falling away, and indeed have seen more people come to the congregation looking for and knowing that they too can find the love of Christ.

That day six weeks ago taught this church something about itself. That hope abounds there, even while the storm outside rages. That love abounds there, even in a world of selfish self-promotion at the expense of other. That where one sins so personally against so many can find hope, love and forgiveness, so can those whose sin maybe impacted fewer people and less deeply, or more people and more deeply.

To paraphrase the church's pastor, like moths to flame, the Gospel preached and lived out draws His people to it. Christ draws his people.

Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. (Col. 3:12-14)

The raging storms gathering outside are not the lightning and thunder and winds of a Spring time weather shift. They are not the floods of torrential rains. That day was but a microcosm of the truth we find in Christ. The real storm from which we seek shelter is the rejection and hopelessness of this world, and a sense that everywhere else we turn we will get what we deserve. The storm of unrealistic expectation, that, for those in the church, sin is no more.

And the real shelter is that found in Christ, demonstrated through His people, where we can be accepted and loved despite our sin, and despite our damnable good works. If not in His church, where can any find His shelter?

In those clouds, we find the lines of silver. We find safety in Him.

4theluv

Free At Last, Part Deaux

2008-02-17T13:16:00.013-06:00

“I do not at all understand the mystery of grace - only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.” - Anne Lamott

Stoke's presentation at Community Presbyterian Church's 10:45 worship hour this morning of Derek Webb's, "I want a New Law", led me to reflect even further on the grace that we share in Christ, and more firmly resolve to proclaim the freedom and grace we truly have in Christ.

It is always reassuring to know there are others whose walk is similar to mine, but who are more eloquent at expressing it. I can't say it better, so here it is:

I Want a New Law

Words and music by Derek Webb

Don't teach me about politics and government
Just tell me who to vote for
Don't teach me about truth and beauty
Just label my music
Don't teach me how to live like a free man
Just give me a new law

I don't wanna know
If the answers aren't easy
So just bring it down from the mountain to me
I want a new law
I want a new law
Gimme that new law

Don't teach me about moderation and liberty
I prefer a shot of grape juice
Don't teach me about loving my enemies
Don't teach me how to listen to the Spirit
Just give me a new law

What's the use in trading a law you can never keep
For one you can
That cannot get you anything?

do not be afraid
do not be afraid

do not be afraid

How easy it is for us, for me even, to want a list of things "to do" to prove my worth to God and his kingdom. To be told what to do, where to go, how to stand and what to say such that I will become pleasing to God. To be told, "if you do these things, you will look like Christ." But that is not the Gospel of the New Testament (or the Old). The Gospel is a change that comes from God, through Christ, by His Holy Spirit in us. Living by grace, in freedom, is so much harder and demands so much more from me.

For he (Christ) himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility, by abolishing in his flesh the law with its commandments and regulations. His purpose was to create in himself one new man out of the two, thus making peace, and in this one body to reconcile both of them to God through the cross, by which he put to death their hostility. He came and preached peace to you who were far away and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access to the Father by one Spirit. (Eph. 2:14-18).

The song was a powerful ending to Burt's powerful sermon on our call as missionaries. Our worth is found in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. (Rom. 5:8). Thank you, Derek Webb for reminding me once again. Thank you Stokes. More importantly, thank you Jesus. May I never again seek the easy things, the laws, the rules, the words, but instead, seek the things of Christ.

I had numerous observations during our morning worship service, some of which I will share later. But this focus on grace was indeed powerful for me, and one of the observations I could not keep quiet.

4theluv

Thank you, Sir. May I have another?

2008-02-13T07:20:00.008-06:00

“If you look closely at a tree you'll notice it's knots and dead branches, just like our bodies. What we learn is that beauty and imperfection go together wonderfully.” - Matthew Fox

Seventh grade is never easy for any kid, but in my junior high it was especially hard for the guys. The seventh grade P.E. coach was a man named Coach Williams. (I don't know for sure, but I think his first name was "Mister"). Coach Williams was an NCAA collegiate sprinter turned marathon runner turned marine drill sergeant turned junior high gym coach and track and field coach. (O.K., I made up the "drill sergeant" part - but he would have been a good one.) Coach Williams knew two things about athletics - running until it hurt, and running through the hurt. Want to play dodgeball? What are you? A girl? Want to play kick ball? Go change your panties. There was no such thing as basketball, baseball, football or soccer, apparently none of which were invented until I was in eighth grade. Nope, Coach Williams knew running. And pain. And fear. And pain.

For a solid year, Boys P.E. consisted for us of dressing out in sprinter speed - you had three minutes from the time the bell rang to be lined up at the rally point. (God help you if you forgot your gym clothes - you would run in your tighty whities) This would be followed by exactly 8 minutes of stretching. This was the most peace you would have the entire fifty five minutes.

The next fifteen minutes would be followed by "two-twos" - two sets of two each sprints of 25 yards, 40 yards and 100 yards. The class was divided into 3 groups, as Coach Williams called them, the "slow", the "slower" and the "slowest" (sometimes referred to as "women", "ladies" and "girls"). The slow group would sprint 25 yards, followed 3 seconds later by the slower group, who was followed three seconds later by the slowest group. They would then turn around and sprint back in the same order. This would be followed by the 40 yard sprint, and finally the 100 yard sprint, each in the same grueling fashion. THEN would come the first "two" part - we did the entire circuit again. All of this in the space of fifteen minutes.

The next fifteen minutes was distance running. I say fifteen minutes, because that is what Coach Williams expected you to do. You had fifteen minutes to run two miles. That averages 7.5 minutes a mile. For two miles. Fifteen minutes. Now, this was not timed. Coach Williams didn't really care how long it took you to run two miles. You were going to run two miles. But considering there was only 25 minutes left in the class, and you still had to cool down, get to the locker room, clean up, change clothes, get your books, and get to your next class, fifteen minutes was what was allotted. (I am sure that the teachers who had us after him disliked him as much as we did - but they were too scared to say anything as well. At least if they were smart they didn't say anything.)

As clear as anything else in my life, I can still hear Coach Williams yelling at us, "No pain, no gain!" He taught us "ladies" his philosophy of life. You work hard. The harder you work, the better you are. The more you get. If you want something, you work hard for it. You dedicate yourself to it. You achieve it by your talents and sweat. If you are not willing to push yourself, you don't deserve anything. Run until it hurts. Then run through the hurt. Get what the runners call their "second wind". And run some more. You gotta work hard to be a man. No softies allowed.

But life has taught me that Coach Williams was wrong. Good things don't always come to those who work hard for them. The early bird does not always get the worm. And we don't always get what we deserve. One need only look around at the poverty of the world, at the poverty in America, at the poverty in Alabama to see that is not the case. The truth is that life is filled with disappointments and gratuitous offerings to the just and the unjust, the hard working and the lazy. Good hard work and talent does not insure success for anyone, including the Christian.

But in those disappointments and unexpected outcomes are some of Christ's greatest lessons.

Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons. For what son is not disciplined by his father? If you are not disciplined (and everyone undergoes discipline), then you are illegitimate children and not true sons. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of our spirits and live! Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. Heb. 12:7-11

Coach Williams preached the worldly gospel of self-discipline, which only sometimes results in obtaining what on the surface appear to things of great value. We can train ourselves to be great. We can beat ourselves to work hard and gain whatever we want. We can gain the whole world, and in the process we can lose our soul. (Matt. 16:26). Like all deceptions, it is only half-true.

Now, make no mistake, hard work is necessary. A man who will not work, shall not eat. (2 Thess. 3:10). But what glory is there in knowing you have provided for yourself? What faith is shown when you have kneaded your daily bread? What blessing can exist, when what you have is the product of your own hands? But the blessing of God-discipline, that is discipline from God known through those lessons of hardship and disappointment, produces something that is not measured by bank accounts, 401(k)s, cars, and trophies. It is measured in peace and righteousness.

Like a master sculptor, Christ chips away those things about us that don't look like Him. It is only in our failures, our disappointments, our down right discipline from God that we find true meaning. That process is painful. It is hard. It is long. And it is worth it.

Our lives can show forth our glory, or it can show forth His glory. And when life is about showing off our abilities, our talents, our hard work, it ceases to point to Him. Perhaps that is why Christ strips away so much of us - because He loves us too much to let us glorify ourselves. We really are not that great when you boil it all down.

I can only pray that my age shows His face.

4theluv

Free at Last, Free at Last

2008-02-08T08:36:00.000-06:00

"There's no problem so awful that you can't add some guilt to it and make it even worse." - Calvin (and Hobbes).

Hi, my name is 4theLuv, and I am a recovering Baptist.

Like many in our church, I come from the largest Protestant denomination in the South. It is through that tradition that the Gospel of Christ was first presented to me, and in which I began to understand who I am in Christ. It was that tradition that I learned to trust the Scriptures, read the Scriptures, and follow the Scriptures. If you have read anything in the many posts, it is that I cherish the journey of my life that Christ has put me on.

Coming out of that background, I maintain many dear and good friends who are still within that tradition. Pastors, deacons, evangelists, lay persons, coworkers, the list goes on an on. They are, for sure, strong Christian friends - trusted friends. Friends who, to this day, I could call and talk to about most anything, and whose spiritual insights are always welcome. Many of my Baptist friends even read these posts.

Now I mean no slight to my Baptist brethren, and those who know me know my heart in that regard. I would never seek to intentionally hurt nor attack my friends. I could easily be speaking of a number of Protestant denominations, including some in the PCA. But Baptist is the background I come out of, and the one I am most familiar with.

For me, guilt and fear seemed to be the main motivating factors for living the Christian life while I was a Baptist. The constant message was that the Christian life should be lived because Christ died for you (guilt) and you owe it to Him, or because we would have to give an account for our actions (fear). There was a list of sins (real and contrived) that Christians don't do if they are really committed to Christ - (drinking and smoking come to mind immediately), and a list of things you must do - Sunday night and Wednesday night worship, visitation, Sunday School. The measure of my Christian life was summed up in lists of things I did and did not do. Far from helping me grow in my relationship with Him, it actually hindered my growth in Christ. I was never sure if I was good enough, or faithful enough, or spiritual enough to prevent backsliding. Legalism, quite simply, left me empty.

Legalism is a means of instilling guilt and fear. And guilt and fear are, at best, short term motivators. They make us want to be something, do something, want to change ourselves into the image of Christ. But once the guilt is gone and the fear is soothed, there is a void of the enthusiasm we once knew.

Further, it took me a long time to realize that legalism leads us to put on false facades. Fake fronts, put on for our Christian brethren so that, because we can't convince ourselves of our worth before God, we can at least convince others we are worthy. Yet at the end of the day, there is an emptiness to it. It is a hollow feeling stemming from an uncertainty that I have done enough to make God happy.

It took me a while to learn that there is nothing wrong with these legalistic "to dos", but there is nothing right with them either. For each thing on the list is completely possible to do without knowing Christ at all. And if they can be done without knowing Christ, then they are meaningless in bringing about a relationship with Christ. The concept of Grace was not a part of my spiritual life.

C. H. Spurgeon, a great 19th century Baptist preacher from London, when attacked on his enjoyment of cigars responded, "There is growing up in society a Pharisaic system which adds to the commands of God the precepts of men; to that system I will not yield for an hour. The preservation of my liberty may bring upon me the upbraiding of many good men, and the sneers of the self-righteous; but I shall endure both with serenity so long as I feel clear in my conscience before God. "

It has taken me years to unlearn some of the legalism. Most importantly, it has taken me years to realize that God's love for me in Christ is unconditional - it has no strings attached. It is not because I am so good that He respects me. I'm not. It is not because I have rooted out all the real (and imagined) sin from my life. I haven't. It is not because I work so hard on my relationship with Him. I don't. It is simply that He loves me, and sent His Son to die for me. There is nothing to add to that. There is nothing *I* can add to that.

It took me a while to learn the truth that the God who saved me back when, did so fully knowing every sin I would commit in my life - and He did it anyway. Nothing I can do will take him by surprise. I had to learn the truth that we are simultaneously far more sinful than we ever dared imagine, yet far more loved and accepted than we ever dared hope for. And therein was the freedom.

Paul said, "It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery... You who are trying to be justified by law have been alienated from Christ; you have fallen away from grace. But by faith we eagerly await through the Spirit the righteousness for which we hope." (Gal. 5:1, 4-5)

But that is not the end of the story, and if I ended it here, I would do a great disservice. Christ did not come to give us life *and* the ability to have a beer without guilt. That trivializes the Gospel and the sacrifice of Christ to the point of meaninglessness. Rather, God taught me that freedom, even freedom in Christ, comes with a duty to exercise it responsibly.

That point was driven home to me recently in what I considered a surprising way.

I was having a conversation with a dear Christian friend. We were discussing grace, and freedom in Christ. In the course of the conversation the topic of alcohol use came up, and this dear Christian friend commented that she would not tolerate alcohol to enter her home. I thought it odd that a person who conveys such a deep understanding of the grace of Christ, and the freedom in Christ, to be so set against alcohol. So I asked her about it. She explained that, many years ago, alcohol had nearly destroyed her marriage. I know her husband, and he is a man I deeply respect as well, whose own graciousness and spiritual maturity is immediately evidenced by those who know him. But alcohol was, for him, an area where he battled in his own life an abuse of it. It was not that alcohol was wrong, in itself. It was that alcohol in her home was wrong because of his temptations and struggles.

Be careful, however, that the exercise of your freedom does not become a stumbling block to the weak. For if anyone with a weak conscience sees you who have this knowledge eating in an idol's temple, won't he be emboldened to eat what has been sacrificed to idols? So this weak brother, for whom Christ died, is destroyed by your knowledge. When you sin against your brothers in this way and wound their weak conscience, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if what I eat causes my brother to fall into sin, I will never eat meat again, so that I will not cause him to fall. (1 Cor. 8:9-13)

I have long wondered what Paul was talking about when he called us to restraint in the exercise of our freedom. And I think the answer to that is at least partially in our relationships. We are called to be in relationship with each other, as brothers, as friends, as fellow believers. The limits of our freedom in Christ are spelled out by our relationships with each other. And in those relationships we are charged with knowing each other's weakness.

It is not our duty to keep from drinking alcohol. That is legalism. It is our duty not to tempt our brothers with anything, alcohol included, that we know is a weakness and struggle for them. I have a duty as a Christian brother not to put before him, or any other person I know struggles with some thing, any thing that he has proven will enslave him. But it also means I need to be in such relationships with my brothers and sisters in Christ that I know their weaknesses, and thus my responsibility to them.

Lord, help me to exercise my freedom in light of the relationships You have given me. May my freedom in Christ never lead me, or another, to sin against You.

My name is 4theluv, and I am recovering Baptist.

4theluv

'Tis the Season

2008-02-05T07:23:00.000-06:00

"If you want to build a ship, don't herd people together to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea." - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Relegated to the parking lot of the Pinnacle in Tutwiler is the Lifeway Christian Bookstore. For those not familiar with Lifeway, they are the new name for the old Baptist Book Store that used to be downtown on University. Primarily a single purpose store, Lifeway's book collection is limited to current Christian pop trend books, usually priced higher than their not-so-cloistered competitors, and a smattering of classic Christian treatises and devotionals. The diversity of thought sold there is usually little more than nuanced Christian themes, many of questionable theological integrity, mass marketed to the Christian culture. Rarely (ie., never) do I find anything, or anyone, in that store that will challenge the truths of the Gospel. In short, really just overpriced Christian choir books. As a result, I rarely shop there. I am not much of one for making a buck off of being the "Christian" place to shop and my personality is such that I find the premise distasteful.

However, I recently visited the other storied chapel of collected human wisdom at the Pinnacle known as Books-A-Million. Contained within those four walls is the literature of the great, and the not-so-great. The moment you walk in, you know you are no longer in the safe confines of a monastery, but are challenged with the competing ideas of modern America in a post-modern world. You are greeted with biographies of Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, and Harry Potter. Its books range the gambit from the atheistic philosophy of Bertrand Russell to the deistic drivel of Joel Osteen. Often within arms reach of each other (and even closer philosophically).

I don't often enough have the time to go and browse there. I am usually there solely to purchase a book I either haven't read, or haven't read in quite some time and want to read again. On this particular visit I was there to buy a copy of Richard Dawkins The God Delusion, which was finally out in paperback. (I admit it, I'm cheap - not wanting to pay for a hardbound copy of the book.) Dawkins is a biologist by training, and well respected as a scientist. The heir apparent to Carl Sagan, Dawkins is an avowed evangelical atheist, preaching his message of atheism as a way of life with all the enthusiasm of a Benny Hinn camp meeting. To summarize Dawkins' mission, his call is to announce liberation from religious repression and call all closet and practical atheists out of hiding and into the light. He is for atheists what Gloria Steinem was to the National Organization for Women - a crusader. This is a book I want to read.

I locate the book in the "Sciences" section of the store (a nonfiction area) and immediately begin perusing it and realize this is going to be a fun read. I make this selection and another (Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 - a book I have never read) and head to the check out to purchase the books. Behind the counter is a young, mid to late 20s guy with tattooed arms and a biker build. This tattooed biker guy (as I call him) engages me in conversation about my choice of books, calling both "great works of fiction". He recommends to me, in his conversational tone, that he found C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity to be really good and I realize this guy is trying to witness to me. He has presumed, by my book choices, that I am an atheist buying my choir books. I have run into a fellow believer seeking to witness to me by offering an alternative to my purchase. (Never mind that I presumed by his looks he was not a believer.)

My initial reaction was to be offended - why would buying a learned treatise by an atheist call into question my Christian conviction and belief? I immediately realized that his Christianity was subsumed for the moment with Christian choir books, and that Christians need only fill their mind with more and more of those thoughts and must fight to keep out any questions, and doubts, and and fears. In short, a Christianity whose faith should not be questioned or tested, or as Dawkins calls it, a belief in belief. My knee-jerk reaction was to test him and his faith, to see if what he believed could really stand up to the heavy assault of people like Dawkins and survive, both intellectually and spiritually.

But then I remembered the very reason I was buying Dawkins' book:

But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander. (1 Pet. 3:15-16).

Sometimes, being prepared to give an answer means not just being prepared to answer those who attack our faith, but also to realize that those who need the choir books need hope as well. Those whose faith is not yet ready to be tested by anything other than choir books, need that nourishment for maturity. I could have, probably fairly easily, tested the biker guy's faith and made him look foolish and me look smart - but I would have damaged a brother, and done nothing productive for the cause of Christ. So I did the nice thing, the right thing - I recommended to him C.S. Lewis' The Abolition of Man as a good philosophical treatise from Lewis, and particularly his essay in there entitled Men without Chests. Not easy reading, for sure, but necessary reading. It is my hope that biker guy will long for the sea, will look forward to the day that his faith can be tested without breaking.

Is Lewis the answer to Dawkins? I doubt it. As Thomas Aquinas so aptly put it, "To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible." But in that place, at that time, during that season, Lewis was the answer to biker guy.

4theluv

The Day the Old Man Died

2008-02-02T08:49:00.000-06:00

"Poverty is like punishment for a crime you didn't commit." - Eli Khamarov

The church was full as worship began. A simple glance at the congregation showed all the usual types of people were present. The wealthy and the poor, the sincere and the casual. There was even the crazy old guy who claimed visions from God, and the poor widow woman whose presence at the church was noticed only if she was not there. Poor people are so needy.

The church itself, though big and full of people, had long since kept on keeping on. Once vibrantly focused on God, the worship through the years had moved to catering to displays of individual expressions of righteousness and political agendas. The church was the center of religious and political life in the city, and to it the population looked to find the answers to decay and depravity that rampant in society. The church was aware of and used its influence and power to promote its political ideas. And politicians curried the favor of the church, and they could play the congregation like a piano, with rousings speeches about God and t heir own personal walk with God. The solution, the church thought, to the evident moral decay was for the church to use its political influence to radically alter their society. The politicians just knew that the church was but one key to the city, and needed its people to find their power.

The church had lost its focus of committment to God, and learned that it was a powerful force for creating the world it thought God wanted. Message over substance. Action over committment.

It was used to strangers in its presence, and normally paid little attention. The dregs of society came in,, whether for hand outs, or from a sense of duty, their presence was barely acknowledged. Certainly, few noticed the young unmarried couple with a new born baby, and those that did quickly dismissed them as they had so many others. The people who needed to be known in the church were already known, and this young couple, obviously poor, were not likely candidates to promote the agendas of the church or useful in advancing its mission. They had nothing to offer, and were only in need.

This worship time, though was to be disturbed. A commotion started in hushed tone - the crazy old man had collapsed in the church, and people were rushing to give medical attention. It seems while no one was looking, he had greeted the poor young couple, even holding their newborn when he collapsed. In the midst of the commotion the baby was separated from his parents, and found himself safe in the arms of old widow until he could be reunited with his parents.

In their midst, amongst all the diginitaries and politicians with all their schemes and plans for making society after their own image, was the hope of the world. What they could only talk about, God delivered into their midst in the child of a poor, unmarried couple.

When the time of their purification according to the Law of Moses had been completed, Joseph and Mary took him to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord (as it is written in the Law of the Lord, "Every firstborn male is to be consecrated to the Lord"), and to offer a sacrifice in keeping with what is said in the Law of the Lord: "a pair of doves or two young pigeons." Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord's Christ. Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying: "Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel."

The child's father and mother marveled at what was said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: "This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too."

There was also a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, and then was a widow until she was eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem. (Luke 2:22-36)

And the church moved on, and with all its influence and power, 30 years later crucified our Lord. How quickly we forget.

Lord, help us all to see that the answers to this world's issues are not found in better government, but in that One Child, Your Son, who You gave for the redemption not only Jerusalem, but for all of Your people. Your Son, who we miss because we look not for You, but instead for that which we think You want.

Happy Candlemas.

4theluv

If I were God

2008-02-01T07:29:00.000-06:00

"If you wish to know what a man is, place him in authority." - Yugoslavian Proverb

In this day of presidential elections, I thought of my campaign promises if I were running for the job of God:

My list of priorities if I were God:

1. SPAM email would be no more. Those who send SPAM email would immediately be sent to hell, with their only hope of salvation being finding the one email with the answer to their predicament - scattered amongst all the SPAM email that has been sent since AL Gore invented the internet.

2. Parking spaces would be big enough that cars don't get dinged.

3. Third world poverty would be erased.

4. It would never rain on your birthday.

5. There would be no wars except those against the ungodly people who reject me.

6. No child would ever be separated from loving parents.

7. No parent would ever have to bury their child.

Of course, if I were God -

1. Possessions would be more important than people.

2. There would be none in need for my people to offer a cup of water in my name.

3. The world would live in a desert.

4. I would be at war with every person.

5. I would never have to experience the pain of letting my child go into a harsh and demanding world.

6. I would never have sacrifice my child for the salvation of others.

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Rom 5:1-7)

Don't vote for me. I really don't know what I'm doing.

4theluv

(Oh, God, the SPAM thing is a good idea.)

Potsherds and Goats

2008-01-28T07:08:00.000-06:00

"The strength of a man's virtue must not be measured by his efforts, but by his ordinary life." - Blaise Pascal , Pensees 352

The scene is early August, 1998. Shelby's wasted and withered body lays in his hospital bed. The cancer, or perhaps the cure for it, had taken its toll. No morphine to cut the pain, this 81 year old man's family gathers around him to provide what comfort they can. His daughters, and their children and grandchildren come in from all over the country to make vigil at his side, knowing that the end will be soon.

In his younger years Shelby was a hard man. An over the road truck driver in the 40's, 50's, 60's and 70's, Shelby drove Highway 78 from Atlanta to Birmingham, then on to Houston, Texas. The days before the interstate system meant that Shelby had long hours of hard driving. For Shelby, hard driving also meant hard living. He knew the watering holes and used them often, frequently being thrown out of them for fighting. In the 40's and 50's this was what being a man meant, and Shelby was truly a man.

His family lived a couple hundred miles away, his wife Olive raising his four daughters as best she could, seeing her husband on weekends. His daughters knew the man on weekends, a father who drank as hard then as he did during the weeknights. He asked his teenage daughters to drive him to the tougher parts of town to the local watering holes to buy moonshine and other forms of liquor for him. The daughters grew up and moved on, still calling him daddy but never forgetting the man of their childhood.

His grandchildren faired some better. Never seeing him drink in front of them, Shelby kept his beer in the boat shed and would frequently slip off to cut the edge off of his day. The grandkids knew when Bigdaddy's nose was red, which it frequently was, he would be in a good mood.

In 1980, Shelby retired and came home to his wife and the remains of his family. The itch to be gone, though, continued, and Shelby took a small driving route for a local bank, driving daily between branches in a small Nissan truck provided by the company. From 6:00 am to 6:00pm five days a week Shelby was once again free to drive the roads.

His wife and family had been members of 8th Street Baptist Church for 40 years or better, but in 1980 Shelby began to attend regularly. He and his wife became friends with the long time preacher and his wife, the couples began to make trips together, Shelby, of course, acting as chauffeur. They traded their small house on 40th street for a small new house next to the preacher and his wife. During these years, his drinking became less and less, whether from the necessity of age, or the realization that a man can be defined by things other than how he holds his liquor (or fails to). His church attendance increased, and he began carrying his bible to church. This hard living man was granted at least a partial repreave. He could begin to repair his relationships with his wife, his daughters, and his grandchildren. And though not perfect, he made the effort even in the ordinary things he did.

Fifty one years earlier and half a world away, a Bedouin boy named Mohamed Ahmed el-Hamad was looking for some lost livestock in a mountainous region of the Dead Sea. While throwing a rock in a high cave, the boy heard the distinct sound of breaking pottery and went in to investigate. What he found was numerous unbroken clay pots through out the cave dating back some 2,000 years. But as if finding ancient pots was not enough, contained within those pots were the Dead Sea Scrolls - Jewish writings from the time contemporary with the times of Jesus.

The find was incredible. Eleven caves containing thousands of manuscripts. Ancient copies of Old Testament books, including one 27 foot scroll containing the entire book of Isaiah, commentaries on various books, pieces of other books, and a treasure map some believe contain the locations of the Temple's furnishings before its destruction in 70 A.D. All wrapped in linen and stored in ordinary, run of the mill, clay pots. The find advanced biblical understanding of not only Jewish thought at the time of Jesus, allowing us to step back in time and walk with the people who Jesus walked with, and enter their minds to better understand the Scriptures.

What does the Dead Sea Scrolls have to do with Shelby?

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. (2. Cor. 4:7).

When Paul spoke of treasure in jars of clay, he spoke not of scrolls hidden in the hills of Qumran, though he might have known about them. He spoke of us, and that while the outside vessel is ordinary and common, rough and chipped, the treasure inside is far surpassing that of the Dead Sea Scrolls. For in us, His people, there is a treasure that reveals the all-surpassing power of God.

It is amazing how God uses the ordinary, and perhaps the unlikely, to show forth His power. A hard living truck driver, with a body broken and emaciated by its many years of exposure to the elements, spoke simply "I love you" to his wife, daughters, grandchildren and great grandchildren and went to sleep. The pot was broken, and the treasure revealed. The Shelby of 1979 was not the Shelby of 1998 in that hospital bed. And the treasure revealed in those final days of his life revealed more than the all the Dead Sea Scrolls combined.

We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. (2. Cor. 4:10-11).

My Bigdaddy did not teach me how to live as a man, but he did teach me how to die as a believer. And for that, I am thankful.

4theluv

Singing with the Midnight Choir

2008-01-25T07:14:00.000-06:00

"Nothing ain't worth nothin', but its free" - Kris Kristofferson

In the 1970's, Larry Gatlin wrote a song which many Christian found offensive. (Strange, because Gatlin himself, even then, professed a strong faith in Christ.) When you really read the words to "The Midnight Choir", it is both convicting and troublesome:

The doors to the mission open at seven.
And the soup will be ready about nine.
Right now its six-thirty, they're ragged and dirty,
they're standing, and sitting, and laying in line.

First they'll do a little singing,
then hear a little preaching.
Then get saved for the third time this week.
A bowl of soup later and a pat on the shoulder,
and by midnight they're back on the street.

They walk to the corner of Fourth Street and Broadway,
then take the first alley on the right.
One of them asks a stranger, "How 'bout a hand",
and he gives it one finger at a time.

Then they spot an old buddy with a bottle of heaven,
then pass around what means everything.
One bottle for four, thank God, someone scored!
Now the Midnight Choir starts to sing...

"Will they have Mogen David in heaven?
Dear Lord, we'd all like to know.
Will they have Mogen David in heaven,
Sweet Jesus, if they don't, who the hell wants to go!"

On many levels, this song is convicting. It portrays the world view of the homeless and alcoholic men and how they see what others do to them. Well meaning people open the soup kitchen to feed these men. But that bowl of soup comes with strings attached. They are expected to accept Christ. For the problems of these men have a simplistic solution - what these men need is a good sermon, a good invitation, a bowl of soup and a pat on the shoulder and their world will be changed. You can almost here the Sunday report, "We had fifteen saved this week at the shelter!" as if what happened that week was a powerful show of the Gospel. Then they are sent back into the harsh realities of the world to face the cold nights and the rejection of society.

In reality, or at least in my realty, Christians are often seen as only willing to invest a few hours of time to assuage their own guilt toward those who are beneath them socially, and completely unwilling to invest their lives for these strangers in any meaningful and long lasting way. They have given them nothing of value, but the warmth of a bowl of soup on a single night and pronounced them whole. (You can start feeling guilty now.)

You can also see how these homeless men view salvation, or at least the profession of it, as a ticket to their nightly meal. Sufficient numbers of them must profess Christ each night in order that all may partake in the soup that will be offered at the conclusion. In short, profession of faith is the price of admission to dinner, much like the waiter bringing the check to the table after dinner.

While I realize the song is fictional, it is convicting for me of my attitude toward those in need. I often overlook their immediate needs (dinner, a clean bed, a bath, a friend, etc.,) for what *I* think they really need - which is, obviously, a profession of faith in Christ. At least, I can say, I have done something for their eternal destiny even if I ignore their immediate destiny - a back alley at Fourth and Broadway.

I also realize that I am often the guy, who when asked to give a hand, gives it one finger at a time. I can honestly say I have never flipped off a homeless guy. I also don't tend to judge them. (I am smart enough to realize that they are not stupid enough to be in the position they are in without at least trying something different.) When I see them downtown, I often wonder about their past and what they have experienced that led them to the point in their lives where they accepted the fate to live under the overpass. But I must also confess that I have never helped a homeless guy off the street, nor tried to help them to reach a more stable way of living. Yes, I can be made to feel guilty and convicted for how little I do to ease the problems of those less fortunate than me. But there is no way that I do enough (whatever "enough" is).

But the song is troubling to me for this reason: While these fictional men are concerned about the deep theological question of whether there will be "Mogen David" in heaven (serious theologians know its going to be Dom Perignon with caviar chasers ), I constantly wonder what it is that would keep me from wanting to go to heaven. Is accepting Jesus just really seeking to get my nightly bowl of soup? Is my acceptance of Jesus the means for me to gain heaven, or is Christ the point of heaven?

I confess that in my early Christian life, heaven was the "anti-hell". (You know the sermon as well: "Hell is terrible. It is awful. The fire never quenches. The teeth are always gnawing. Its painful. Its awful. It smells bad. Bad people will be there. You want to avoid hell for sure! If you don't accept Jesus Christ, you will go there."). No one wants to go to hell, so for sure I want to do whatever it takes not to go there. I constantly thought about what I was saved from.

Then came the next phase, what I like to call the "Southern Gospel phase". ("My mansion, just over in glory, in the city built four-square, on streets of gold, with gates of pearl, and jasmine walls, yada yada yada.") How heaven would be like living in Mountain Brook, only, everybody there is rich and has nice things. I, too, can have all those things I have always wanted here but couldn't afford! Makes me feel so much better about my current lack of stuff by knowing in my deepest spiritual sense, "I have laid up my treasures in heaven". God is going to compensate me for not having all those things I covet here on Earth but don't have. Except for the hope of those things nice things, I wouldn't really like heaven (except for the fact it was the "anti-hell", in which case I would be content with just a cabin somewhere up there, but if I work hard enough on Earth and have enough personal righteousness God has to give me a mansion).

But as I have grown more (not that I am by any means mature - just ask my wife), I have realized that heaven is not about avoiding hell, or gaining mansions, or streets of gold. Those are my "Mogen David". Rather heaven is about being with the God of Eternity who gave Himself for me in Christ, that I could be what He created me to be - to enjoy and glorify Him forever.

I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far;... Phil. 1:20-23.

There are many things I want to be in heaven - I disparately want my family there, my children and wife, my parents, my siblings and their families. My friends, my co-workers, the people who come to me for help (well, most of them anyway). The drunks on the streets. Many of these things are my unspoken "Mogen David" and very dear and important to me. But, while at first blush it is blasphemous, for the Christian, of all the people and things possible to be in heaven, if Christ is not there, who the hell wants to go? We have placed all of our trust in Him and His work. We have committed our life to Him. As Christians, we have earned nothing of ourselves, but we owe it all to Him. And to Him belongs all the glory.

Lord, as hard as it is, please remove my Mogen Davids, and help me to focus on Your love for me, and Your presence in my life for all eternity.

Look for me on Fourth and Broadway - first alley on the right.

4theluv

Most Likely to Become a Nun

2008-01-23T07:55:00.000-06:00

"We make a living by what we do, we make a life by what we give." - Winston Churchill

I have always been a good student. Through high school and college I rarely had to crack a book to make goods grades, and in college even failed to bother buying many of the books for my classes. By the end of college, my dream, much like many college kids, was to retreat into a monastic world of intellectualism and Christian thought where I could reflect deeply on the things of God and not be bothered with the things of this world. I could easily have become a nun. (Though, I really don't think I would look good in those dress thingys). How much easier and more pure my life would be if I could be in the world as little as possible! And how much more godly I would be as a result of being separated from so much temptation. Convent life is for me! No temptations with the flesh (only the mind) and no confrontations with a sinful world. And you can study and daydream about God all day long!

But reality set it. It was during those same college years that I begrudgingly worked numerous jobs to pay the the bills. By far, though, the hardest physical job was one I held on 10th Ave North in Birmingham. I worked in warehouse that sold nuts and bolts and washers, and similar type fasteners all over the Southeast. A huge warehouse, I had to know the difference between and location of Grade 2, Grade 5 and Grade 8 bolts and screws, with matching washers and nuts. I had to climb racks of bolts, each sorted by diameter, grade and size to piece together orders. I had to maneuver a forklift in tight areas, load and unload semi-trucks. The summers were sweltering, as there was no air conditioning in that building. The winters were equally harsh, though we did have a few gas and diesel space heaters we would gather around when the chill got too bad. All this for the whopping total of $4.25 an hour. And besides, I got to learn a lot of interesting new linguistic combinations from that bunch of blue collar guys with whom I worked. (I had no clue that a particular cross species mating combination was even possible, but apparently when you drop a keg of bolts on your foot it brings it to mind.)

As I think back on it, I'm glad I worked with bolts, rather than nuns. I am still not sure how I managed to work 40 hours while taking a full class load in college. That company was good to me, allowing me to be gone for class, but demanding I be there all other times. This gentile intellectual (mental is probably a better word) boy from a middle class family went to college with grease under his fingernails and wearing a blue collar warehouse uniform. (Rich preppy college chicks really dig that.) I learned that hard physical work is not beneath anyone and certainly honorable, but also not something I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

Since then, there have been numerous jobs I have held, some paying better than others, but each with its own difficulties commensurate with the pay. But of all the things I have done to feed and house my family, what I do now is probably the most demanding. The stress is huge. One mistake and bad things happen. The hours are long and hard, the work load cyclical, the people I deal with at times are obnoxious, and the time it calls for me to be away from my family overwhelming. I have missed sporting events and school concerts, holidays and birthday celebrations all in the pursuit of the vocation in which I participate. Make no mistake, those are big sacrifices, not only for me, but for those who I care about and who are closest to me.

But along that way I have met people in need, worked with people in need, and played with people in need. I saw real hurts and real joys of real people expressing themselves without regard for what others mights think. And those people have had the opportunity to see a Christian where they least expected to find one. (Not that I have always been the best example.)

Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose. Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life... (Phil. 2:12-15).

As I grow older I understand more and more what it means to "work out my salvation with fear and trembling". It doesn't mean to hide in the cloisture of the convent, or create a sacred bubble that the world cannot penetrate. (Failure to sin from lack of opportunity is not the same thing as being sinless.) It means, at least for me, to be in the path of this crooked and depraved generation, shine like the stars and hold out the word of life. It is facing the temptations and knowing that through God's strength they hold no power. It means coming into contact with people from all walks of life and showing them the Gospel of Christ in me.

If I fail in this world, there's always the nun thing. Just call me Sister For The Luv.

4theluv

Playing God

2008-01-17T07:08:00.000-06:00

"People don't come to church for preachments, of course, but to daydream about God." - Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

A few years ago, Burt made a comment in a service that has stuck with me. "What would you do if you won the lottery?", he asked. "I would be able to give a lot of money to the church, and to various ministries, and Christian causes. How great that would be for the cause of Christ! And I would get to play God, deciding what God wants supported, and what he doesn't."

Burt's point was a good one. We should not play God. But as illustrated recently to me, there are many ways we try to "play God", and they always end tragically.

The church began, I am sure, with the best of motives. It set out its goal "to evangelize the lost, and reach the multitudes, in response to the command of God in the Great Commission." Who can argue with that?

But God's blessing, this church thought and taught, was seen in growth, and to grow, you have to give the "lost world" what it wants - programs that meet their perceived needs. And that is what they set out to do - children's choirs complete with hot dog suppers, youth programs and trips, men's clubs and women's clubs, fifth Sunday singin's, that Old Time Religion preachin', a bus ministry (for the poor, of course) and a smug sense of "this is what it means to do church, to reach people, to really minister." They counted the nickels and the noses, and measured their success by these really important things. It was evident to all that God was blessing them. Their programs were really active, and the juggernaut they created could now build upon itself.

Though not the "top tier" church, younger pastors would still drool over the opportunity to lead such a "vibrant congregation" to show their talents in growing it larger, and better, and put on display their skill at church growth, and allow them to step to the next level in their careers. However, the pastor was treated like a coach at the University of Alabama: when a pastor didn't deliver enough nickels and noses, the "parking lot committee" was quick to vote him out and look for someone who could. (You know the parking lot committee: that is the committee that meets each Sunday in the parking lot to have the pastor for lunch.) If God wasn't blessing enough, it was surely the pastor's fault, because he promised he could deliver.

And the people expected a show. Each Sunday, as the people came in, they were treated to their show du jour. Like an episode of Dr. Phil, the people were called to daydream over their relationship with God, feel guilty, sometimes even for sin, and invited to make it all right with God by walking the aisle and giving tearful confessions. The services were intentionally designed to play to the emotions. By the end of the show, everyone was made to feel better about themselves (or worse, depending on how you analyze it), complete with new resolutions to do better until next Sunday, when they would start it all over again. The cycle was seemingly endless.

But scandal hit in the early 90's, and the bubble of godliness was busted, because, as everyone knows, among God's people, there can be no "real" sin. That would be hypocrisy, and when hypocrisy is exposed it is truly the unforgivable sin. Disillusioned, members left in droves to other churches where the programs were better, and the music was better, and the preacher was better, and their children were cared for better, and their parents could play in junk bands, and where the illusion of godliness was once again paramount to the reality of sin.

All that was left was the shell. The building, a parking lot, and a sign where cute and witty quips would be replaced every four or five months with other cute and witty clips, except twice a year it carried the words "Revival - Everyone Welcome." The remaining members took the pastors they could get, as opposed to the pastors they wanted. Theology and soundness were no longer important, they needed someone in their pulpit if they were to have any hope. So they kept attempting the illusion, but no one was willing to daydream with them any longer.

In 2007, they finally threw in the towel, and sold their property. The building sold for quite a bit of money and they needed to distribute those proceeds appropriately and fairly. A few wanted it paid to the remaining members for being faithful through these years, taking their "portion" guised as "benevolent" fund distributions. But most knew their obligation to give it away and this was their final chance to "play god". After much contention, they chose to divide it among numerous programs of other churches and several nonprofit charities and TV preachers. They had fun fighting for and picking out their favorite things to do with "God's money", all the while lamenting the death of their church. But in talking to those remaining members, the real question is whether it was ever alive.

You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see. (Rev. 3:17-18).

If Christ's words to the churches in Revelation mean anything, it is this: Christ is the center of the church, and the reason for its being, the focus of its worship, and the One who draws his people to it. Charles Spurgeon, a Baptist preacher, summed it up. "Jesus said, 'Preach the gospel to every creature.' But men are getting tired of the divine plan; they are going to be saved by a priest, going to be saved by the music, going to be saved by theatricals, and nobody knows what! Well, they may try these things as long as ever they like; but nothing can ever come of the whole thing but utter disappointment and confusion, God dishonoured, the gospel travestied, hypocrites manufactured by the thousands, and the church dragged down to the level of the world."

Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst. But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on him and receive eternal life. Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory for ever and ever. Amen.
(1 Tim. 1:15-17).

I am not trying to be judgmental of the methods and tactics of others to "reach the lost." But the cautionary tale of this church is one I have seen many times over. The Gospel is not methods and tactics. The Church is not programs for our kids and seniors, or productions each Sunday, and "revivals twice a year". It is not nickels, or noses. It is not preachers. And we are not called to paint for this world the illusion of God in our midst to be attractive and active for them. That is playing God. Rather, the church is the fellowship of believers, acknowledging the saving work of Christ in their lives together, and proclaiming it to the world through those very same lives. It is the work of the Holy Spirit. It is the irresistible Grace of God which calls us to fellowship, and not our programs and personalities. To make it the latter is to "play god".

I, for one, am glad that our church does not rely on gimmicks, programs or theatricals to proclaim the Gospel of Christ, nor is it centered around charismatic individuals and personalities. That is a big and real temptation we have fought off.

Thank you, Lord, for our church. Help us to be your light and salt to those whom you are continually calling. Keep us from our own illusions of You that usurp Your authority, and help us not to eye with envy the illusions of others.

4theluv

Faces

2008-01-14T07:04:00.001-06:00

"A man finds room in the few square inches of his face for the traits of all his ancestors; for the expression of all his history, and his wants." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Face One:
John grew up with a very troubled childhood, sexually and physically abused from the age of four to the age of 12, when he was finally removed by the authorities. Relief came for him in the form of government intervention and caring Christian couple willing to take this troubled boy in. To see John's face in his teens would belie the terrible history he had. His face always smiled, and voice always cheerful, his countenance always lifting. John became active in their church's youth group. He did not have an easy fit, and developed only a few close teen friends. He talked very sparingly of his past, and few of his close teen friends knew his past and current struggles. Time passes, like it always does, and youth grow up and move off to college, and those friends were off to begin their own lives. All except for John. The history of abuse and an uncertain future filled with loneliness, scorn, and nonacceptance took their toll. On Good Friday, 1984, John took his own life.

Face Two:
Ray was the minister of education at a fairly good sized Baptist church. He, together with his wife Pat, were a young married couple planning their family and their life together. Ray is a big man, or to hear him tell it, "he grew out instead of up". His laugh was sure to brighten your day and his willingness to listen to you without judgment was self evident. His wife was equally accessible, and together they modeled humor and acceptance. It was this couple that, early in their marriage, was called to take in a young troubled boy named John, and they did it without ever a hint to others of either John's problems or any resentment of their calling to clean up this mess created by someone else. They did it with the same joy they approached every other aspect of their life. To see Ray's face was to see joy and hope in all of life's situations. Except for that night. The 15 second announcement must have seemed an eternity, and just as vivid now as the day it was made. The congregation, gathered to remember the death of Christ on Good Friday, 1984 was darkened by the untimely death of a valuable soul. The announcement added lines of sadness to that face that were not evident before.

Face Three:
Lelton was working class man, whose face carried the lines of many years more than his fifty some odd years. He had raised his children in Birmingham, during the height of the racially torn times of the sixties. Though he rarely talked about it, he had taken Japanese lives in the Pacific theater during World War II, and seen some of his own comrades die. He was part of the aptly named Greatest Generation. A good father, grandfather, and husband, he made a living by working hard his many years selling educational supplies to schools and libraries. Money was not always there, but being a child of the depression, both he and his wife Margaret knew the value of frugality and how to stretch every dollar to meet the needs of the day. As an educational book salesman, he knew his product, but his intellect was much higher than the educational books he sold, or the job which he worked, both of which seemed beneath a man of such intelligence. While traveling, Camel cigarettes and WAPI talk radio were his constant companions. A deacon in his church, Lelton would work his weekends repairing appliances and "piddling" on things that needed to be done for the church. It was no surprise to anyone that Lelton and Margaret took into their home a young man from 500 miles away who moved to Birmingham to go to college, giving him a home away from home.

Face Four:
Julian, together with his brother, owned a construction company that repaired fire damaged homes for insurance companies. There were no fish symbols on his business card, no Scripture verses on his fax cover sheet. He didn't need them, as his life spoke volumes. His face showed the humility of a man deeply committed to Christ. He enjoyed his work, and treated people ethically, modeling his business after another Carpenter who lived long ago. In and out of the church, Julian was the model of a gracious and humble man, his face always with a smile and a word of encouragement, or willing to meet and pray with anyone concerning the need of the day. When there was a need, and Julian was able to help in any way, he would quietly and unannounced do it. Julian neither wanted nor desired to be the center of attention, and shied away from it. Julian was the type of man whose face reassured you things were going to be ok, not by what he said, but just by his presence.

Face Five:
As I stare into my own mirror and shave each morning, I notice more and more lines appear in my middle aged face. The face I see in the mirror is not just mine, but the composite of so many people who have entered my life and impacted who I am. Those lines reflect for me the years of living that make up a life shaped by so many others, more than even mentioned here. When I look in the mirror I see John's face, teaching me the value of friendship, the need for community and acceptance despite our problems, the value of being there when people need the physical touch of our Saviour, and that sometimes the face of youth can hide the pain and fear that will surely show years later. I see Ray's face, teaching me laughter and joy, even if punctuated with pain and disappointment, and that our faith in Christ carries us even when we feel as if we have failed. Though the face of the college boy he took in has changed, I see Lelton's face, reminding me that life is more than things, it is people, family, and community. I see Julian's face, reminding me that true Christian commitment should not be confused with, nor relegated to the relatively few truly called professional ministers. I see the face of my children, who look to mine to find safety, comfort and answers to life's questions. I see a face that stands in the gap, not just for the future of those who will follow me in the faith, but in honor and memory of those who have gone before me. I see many more lines on this face than mentioned, and many more faces that have shaped my own.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. (Heb. 12:1)

If I don't wear this face well, I owe an explanation to each of these for failing the lessons their faces have given to me. More, I owe it to Christ, who put each of them in my path to shape how I look.

Thank you, Lord, for the lines on my face, and the great crowd of witnesses who put them there.

4theluv

The Sweet Smell of Righteousness

2008-01-10T07:35:00.000-06:00

"The thing that really separates us from God is not so much our sin, but our damnable good works." - John Gerstner

In my line of work, twice a month I come into contact with a vast gathering of many different type of people - a collection of people I jokingly refer to as "the Great Unwashed". From all walks of life, these people with relatively small problems filter into my life, some with the swagger of bravado, but most with a bit of fear. Dressed in jeans, shorts, flip flops, beer shirts, golf shirts, button downs, "urban" attire, and thrift store clothes. Some are climbing the social ladder, some already have climbed it, some are still in school, and many come clearly beaten down by life, by drugs, by alcohol, or by spouses. It is literally a room full of ordinary people, each believing their problem is more important than everyone else in the room, and for them that is true. Of all the ways I could describe those two days a month, like long, busy, tiring, interesting, they are never dull.

Before you think me some kind of saint for working here, understand it is not only a part of my job, but I view it as a distraction from the other rather mundane parts of my job. I view a part of my job there as helping the Great Unwashed in some small way leave changed people, having either assuaged their fear, or removed their bravado. I'm pretty good at both, I think, and usually gentle about it. And the people provide a relatively endless supply of interesting stories and humorous anecdotes. (Not much saintly in that last statement, now is there?)

But yesterday something interesting happened. An older man (by older, I mean say mid 60s, which is really much younger now than it used to be) walked in, dressed in his coat and tie, nice pants and shoes, carrying his briefcase, carrying himself with his own sense of style and debonair. He sat there all day, surrounded by the rest of the Great Unwashed, looking relatively out of place by his style of dress. To look at him in the room you knew he was a bit different, if not by the way he dressed, then by the casual way he sat in the room. I knew who he was, having been at least partially prepared for his visit in the weeks since his problem began, and his emails started. So I had advanced notice this gentlemen thought himself better than most, and more clever than me, seeking to justify his actions that led to his problem by casting blame on others, and combat was going to be inevitable.

Late in the day it came his turn for me to deal with him. As he approached and we began to discuss his situation I noticed an odor. That might be a bit weak a statement. I noticed a stench. A disgusting stench. The kind that makes you gag just at the memory of it. Like a bad mixture of dog feces and weeks of body odor rolled into one overpowering smell. So strong was the odor that the person helping me had to leave her position, not trying to be rude, but understandably trying to avoid the odor. (Besides, there was little she could do to help me anyway.) I could not hear his story for his smell. Not that I would believe it anyway, but I could not get past the smell. The more I sat there, forcibly locked into conversation with his combative personality, the more I just wanted to get rid of him, or at least find some way for him to get away from me. I was successful. One more story for the water cooler, and another inside joke with the other people I work with.

On the drive home, though, it hit me. This gentleman was obviously oblivious to this odor. He didn't smell it, or surely he would have washed. Am I just as oblivious to the stench of my well dressed and presented righteousness to God?

John Gerstner once said, "The thing that really separates us from God is not so much our sin, but our damnable good works." What a truth. How can God ever get past the stench of my righteousness? What have I done, or can do, to make God stand up and take notice of me and be impressed? God allowed me to see that man was like me presenting myself to Him.

All of us have become like one who is unclean,
and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags;
we all shrivel up like a leaf,
and like the wind our sins sweep us away.
- Isaiah 64:6

What hope is there for any, much less for me? I am by no means Mother Theresa. If you were to know me, you would know that is true. But every once in a while, in my callous world, God reminds me that even if I were, it wouldn't be good enough for Him to get past the stench of this righteousness I call mine to hear an argument about myself that is useless and untrue.

What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.
- Phil. 3:8-11.

Thank you, Paul, for speaking the obvious. Ditto, God.

4theluv

True Worship and Love

2008-01-08T18:19:00.000-06:00

"Love is something more stern and splendid than mere kindness" - C. S. Lewis

Worship has always been for me a thing to attend, and the Gospel mere words on a page that I believe. But the power of the Gospel Sunday in our worship was literally overwhelming for me.

The music was, great, the message was, exemplary, the setting, ornate. Often in our worship service I have seen God's presence in each of these: the music stirring a song of joy, or reflection, or of peace; the Message, bringing hope in a particularly dry time in my life; the prayers, offering me a window into the soul of the pray-er, and transporting me into the presence of Almighty God. Often I have seen Christ in the pieces, much like a guitar played on only one or two strings. But Sunday was different. I saw Christ in the SERVICE. Not like a well-played six string guitar, but rather like a harp in the hands of an expert, played to the tune of the Gospel He died to bring us, displaying the grace of God His Spirit imparts to us, as shown through His people, in concert, live, for the world to see.

The service was not pretty. In fact, it was the most painful worship service of my life. To the backdrop of the church's Elders, the announcement was made that a trusted member of the church, the finance secretary, had taken money from the church's accounts. The finance secretary stood at the podium and confessed her sin, and simply requested forgivness. The hurt was evident in the faces and voices of the elders who spoke, and the congregation who listened. And the easy thing for everyone would have been to express their anger, and explain how bad this sin was, and go away disillusioned and angry. The tension in the service, the reality sinking in, lead me to wonder was this really a good idea to make such an announcement. How would this congregation respond? Would they treat her with kindness, or, as the Gospel dictates, would they treat her with love?

Paul said it well: Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. (I Cor. 13:6-7). In that service, in the face of the very people who should be offended, there was LOVE. All those things Paul said about it, they were there. Love, for Christ, love, for her, love, for His church. She stood before us, exposed and vulnerable and found a congregation of God's people willing to protect and walk the journey with her. You see, she was not a weeping sinner, trying to make it right with God on display for our amusement; she was a sister, trying to make it right with us, the very people she offended.

Only the Spirit of God can do that. In the surreal moment of that long service, sin was not on display. Rather, God's love was on display through His people. This time not just the musicians, the pray-ers, or the preacher. All of God's people displayed it.

What hope I have, that despite my sin, I am loved. I felt safe. I felt protected. I felt loved. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Rom. 8: 38-39).

Community Presbyterian Church is properly named. We are truly are a Community of God's people.

4theluv