I've read tonight about a children's play performed in Missoula, Montana in which the children sang about beheading Sarah Palin, and noting "no one would miss her."
There are turning points in a nation: historical moments when you know life can never go back to being the same. The assassination of Abraham Lincoln was such a moment. So too was Pearl Harbor and the dropping of the atomic bomb. Without question, so was the attack on the World Trade Center. Events of this kind are so large they cannot be ignored. Everyone agrees that life changed on those days.
But other events are not so obvious. It's hard to miss something the size of the atomic bomb, but other events are quite small - and yet their effect is every bit as large.
I suppose hardly anyone will notice a children's play in Montana. I hear Missoula is a lovely place and the mountains are breathtaking. But Missoula is so remote, it could go on forever and most of America would never notice. That's unfortunate because America needs to notice.
The play I read about, thanks to a post from Greta Van Susteren, is something we all should take note of. America has taken another turn and it's not for the better.
In the long and not terribly proud history of American politics, there are lots of examples of politicians saying and doing all sorts of sordid things about their opponents. But I can't recall any time when American children were taught and cheered to sing about beheading a former governor. The real problem is that the people doing the teaching and singing are not politicians who are used to saying and doing just about anything during a campaign and then forgetting all about it the day after. This is the general public.
When the general public begins to teach its children to kill Christians, we have turned a new corner. And let's not fool ourselves. The most irritating thing about Sarah Palin to her enemies is not that she is a Republican, or that she is a conservative. She is a Christian.
That's why this new low in America's relentless march toward the depths of depravity is so significant. The public's attitude toward one prominent Christian is sure to work its way toward the rest of us. "The servant is not greater than his Master." The principle still holds.
Can anyone doubt that we are rapidly coming to the end of life as we know it? Can anyone doubt that the Lord's appearing is right around the bend?
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Friday, December 31, 2010
Reflections...
As I sit here on the verge of another year, I cannot help but think of all those we've left behind. At least a couple of times this season, I've had opportunity to remember the notables from American life and culture who passed away in 2010. The thing that really struck was how familiar their faces were to me. They were not players from some another era. They were people I grew up with, people whose names and faces I've known all my life.
And now they are gone.
I've lost a lifetime this past year.
It's times like this that really hit home; times that make a person stop cheering with the clock moves past midnight, and begin to wonder who we will lose in the coming year.
Although none of us wants to admit it - we're too busy celebrating - the thing New Year's really demonstrates is our own mortality. One more new year. One less new year we will live to see.
Yet at the same time, it's also one more year nearer heaven, one more year nearer Christ, one more year nearer His kingdom.
The souls who've gone before us, who surround the rainbow throne of God's immaculate glory, do not have calenders as do we, but they do have events. And the next big one for them, the thing they have to anticipate is the rapture and all that follows. The passing years here mean something altogether different to them than to us. They know life doesn't have to end the way it does here.
Some day there will be no more looking back. It can't come quick enough.
And now they are gone.
I've lost a lifetime this past year.
It's times like this that really hit home; times that make a person stop cheering with the clock moves past midnight, and begin to wonder who we will lose in the coming year.
Although none of us wants to admit it - we're too busy celebrating - the thing New Year's really demonstrates is our own mortality. One more new year. One less new year we will live to see.
Yet at the same time, it's also one more year nearer heaven, one more year nearer Christ, one more year nearer His kingdom.
The souls who've gone before us, who surround the rainbow throne of God's immaculate glory, do not have calenders as do we, but they do have events. And the next big one for them, the thing they have to anticipate is the rapture and all that follows. The passing years here mean something altogether different to them than to us. They know life doesn't have to end the way it does here.
Some day there will be no more looking back. It can't come quick enough.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Am I Glad That's Over!
What a year. I am exhausted just thinking about it. 2010 began with our church in some of the lowest lows we've ever known. We finished the year in the best condition yet. Who'da thunk it?
Apparently, God did.
It's not just that the Lord provided for our heavily damaged building and literally saved our church from complete physical destruction. He provided people. We did something beyond all human thought, possibility or comprehension.
We grew. We grew under the worst circumstances. We grew more than we've ever grown in a year before this year.
What caused all this? Quite frankly, I think it is because in the midst of all our troubles we revisited how we were praying, and we learned to pray much more and much better than we have before. The right prayer was not an issue of technique, but of asking the right thing in the right way, and being certain that we were living right all along. And we learned to ask what God wanted us to ask. We prayed with new boldness, new confidence, and we stopped looking at all the rabble around us. That's not much of a secret, but God heard our effectual, fervent prayer and He answered over and over and over again.
It was the worst of years, it was the best of years, and God brought us through. Unforgettable.
Apparently, God did.
It's not just that the Lord provided for our heavily damaged building and literally saved our church from complete physical destruction. He provided people. We did something beyond all human thought, possibility or comprehension.
We grew. We grew under the worst circumstances. We grew more than we've ever grown in a year before this year.
What caused all this? Quite frankly, I think it is because in the midst of all our troubles we revisited how we were praying, and we learned to pray much more and much better than we have before. The right prayer was not an issue of technique, but of asking the right thing in the right way, and being certain that we were living right all along. And we learned to ask what God wanted us to ask. We prayed with new boldness, new confidence, and we stopped looking at all the rabble around us. That's not much of a secret, but God heard our effectual, fervent prayer and He answered over and over and over again.
It was the worst of years, it was the best of years, and God brought us through. Unforgettable.
On Review ...
When I crossed the barrier from middle age to the Big 6-0 and Semi Senior Status, I couldn't help but begin wondering if maybe, just maybe I was beginning to approach retirement age. For a few fleeting moments my wife and I began to consider what retirement would look like. But a funny thing happened on the way to the rest home. We ran across the personification of the energizer bunny: a missionary who is ready for anything but quitting. Never mind that he's up into his eighties.
When this dear brother began to preach at our church, he detailed how the mission board had "retired" him sixteen years ago. That's sixteen years of continual travel, Bible teaching, preaching and assorted other items of ministry past his "retirement" (a dirty word).
Suddenly, I feel like a teenager.
The ministry is that odd occupation where one never really becomes good at it until his hair is white enough, or so it seems. Yes, I know Spurgeon was about eighteen when he began preaching at New Park Street Chapel, and yes, he was a roaring success from the beginning. But even Spurgeon confessed to still learning how to preach well up into the years of his ministry. And he died before age sixty. Maybe Spurgeon was just ahead of his time.
All I know is that notions of retirement have died. Not that I know how long I'm going to pastor our present church. I really don't know how it's going to work out, or how long the work will take. I would like to bring the church to clear stability and let someone else take it forward.
But then, what would I do? All I can say is that I'm definitely going to do something. Preachers have to preach, and this preacher is not about to quit just when I'm beginning to get the hang of it.
After all, I'm only sixty, and "retirement" is a dirty word.
When this dear brother began to preach at our church, he detailed how the mission board had "retired" him sixteen years ago. That's sixteen years of continual travel, Bible teaching, preaching and assorted other items of ministry past his "retirement" (a dirty word).
Suddenly, I feel like a teenager.
The ministry is that odd occupation where one never really becomes good at it until his hair is white enough, or so it seems. Yes, I know Spurgeon was about eighteen when he began preaching at New Park Street Chapel, and yes, he was a roaring success from the beginning. But even Spurgeon confessed to still learning how to preach well up into the years of his ministry. And he died before age sixty. Maybe Spurgeon was just ahead of his time.
All I know is that notions of retirement have died. Not that I know how long I'm going to pastor our present church. I really don't know how it's going to work out, or how long the work will take. I would like to bring the church to clear stability and let someone else take it forward.
But then, what would I do? All I can say is that I'm definitely going to do something. Preachers have to preach, and this preacher is not about to quit just when I'm beginning to get the hang of it.
After all, I'm only sixty, and "retirement" is a dirty word.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
A Death in the Family
When our dog died last week, I experienced all the feelings of losing a member of the family - because in a very real sense, that is exactly what it was. I still can hardly believe the dog is gone. I find myself yet hearing the tinkle of her collar and looking for her automatically when I come down stairs in the morning. I buried Champ in her collar, wrapped in the pad where she lay when she died. She was the best. I will never own another dog the rest of my life.
Saying goodbye to the family dog after twelve years could not help but generate thoughts about her and bring back questions I've heard from other people who've lost pets. Now, the questions are personal and very close to home. Will we ever see our dog again? Do all dogs go to heaven? I used to answer those questions in the negative and usually I was quite certain. I have a reason now to be a bit more careful and reflective. Maybe I was wrong.
The Bible is very silent about the destiny of animal life in eternity, which, if you think about it, is rather fascinating in itself. I'm sure people in the Bible had pets and that people in the ancient world domesticated animals. I'm sure they had all the same questions when their pets died. So what's the answer?
Frankly, I don't know and I won't know until I get to heaven. The only near answer I have is the one supplied from Romans 8:21: "... the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God." If creation itself is redeemed by the death of Christ, perhaps animals go to heaven when they die. There certainly will be room enough. Any place in eternity that can hold more people than we could number can also hold more animals than we could number.
But I don't know. I can't know. I would like to see Champ again. Being reunited, being able to see her bound up to me again with that perpetual smile would be one of the sincerest delights in the sheer joy I will have of being reunited with all my loved ones. I miss them all, and I look forward to seeing them all again.
Why not the dog too?
Saying goodbye to the family dog after twelve years could not help but generate thoughts about her and bring back questions I've heard from other people who've lost pets. Now, the questions are personal and very close to home. Will we ever see our dog again? Do all dogs go to heaven? I used to answer those questions in the negative and usually I was quite certain. I have a reason now to be a bit more careful and reflective. Maybe I was wrong.
The Bible is very silent about the destiny of animal life in eternity, which, if you think about it, is rather fascinating in itself. I'm sure people in the Bible had pets and that people in the ancient world domesticated animals. I'm sure they had all the same questions when their pets died. So what's the answer?
Frankly, I don't know and I won't know until I get to heaven. The only near answer I have is the one supplied from Romans 8:21: "... the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God." If creation itself is redeemed by the death of Christ, perhaps animals go to heaven when they die. There certainly will be room enough. Any place in eternity that can hold more people than we could number can also hold more animals than we could number.
But I don't know. I can't know. I would like to see Champ again. Being reunited, being able to see her bound up to me again with that perpetual smile would be one of the sincerest delights in the sheer joy I will have of being reunited with all my loved ones. I miss them all, and I look forward to seeing them all again.
Why not the dog too?
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
The Importance of Sticking With It
A funny thing happened to our church people this past Sunday. They showed up. All of them. At the same time. There was no special event Well, we did have a carry-in dinner, and food does have a way of bringing out even the most obstinate, backslidden Baptist. But aside from food, there were no other enticements. Things like that don't happen to often in the average church of any denomination.
When I looked out upon the congregation the two thoughts immediately occurred to me: first, that we actually have a decent number of people who attend our church. I can't recall the last time I had an opportunity to see all of them at once, so I was impressed with this revelation. Second, I was reminded of the importance of not quitting.
All churches go through slow periods and droughts. Things happen that slow down church life. People become ill, people die, people move, people fall into sin and away from the Lord. All these problems converge to discourage members and pastors alike. I can testify to the fact. Last December 12th, our church roof collapsed and much of our enthusiasm with it. We were stuck in the adult classroom for our church services while the insurance claims adjuster and various contractors sparred, estimated and debated. There was a time when we just didn't know if the building - indeed the whole ministry - could be saved.
But as the saying goes, what a difference a year makes. More to the point, what a difference the Lord makes. We had the largest regular service attendance yet this past Sunday with only one new visitor; someone who, oddly enough, came in part because he has been tracking us through this blog. If he is reading this post, this is my opportunity to tell him how much I appreciate him both as a person and for his returning to church. Christmas came early for me when he walked in.
All of this goes to prove a couple of points. For one, you never can tell what God will use to bring someone to church or to Himself. You just never know. And for another, the Scripture is proven again that in due season we will reap if we just hang in there. Don't quit. At some point, all the work will come together. Somewhere down the road, the people show up and we get to discover that all the effort was not wasted.
So here is some encouragement to anyone reading this who is ready to throw in the towel. Don't. Just hang in there because your Sunday is coming too.
When I looked out upon the congregation the two thoughts immediately occurred to me: first, that we actually have a decent number of people who attend our church. I can't recall the last time I had an opportunity to see all of them at once, so I was impressed with this revelation. Second, I was reminded of the importance of not quitting.
All churches go through slow periods and droughts. Things happen that slow down church life. People become ill, people die, people move, people fall into sin and away from the Lord. All these problems converge to discourage members and pastors alike. I can testify to the fact. Last December 12th, our church roof collapsed and much of our enthusiasm with it. We were stuck in the adult classroom for our church services while the insurance claims adjuster and various contractors sparred, estimated and debated. There was a time when we just didn't know if the building - indeed the whole ministry - could be saved.
But as the saying goes, what a difference a year makes. More to the point, what a difference the Lord makes. We had the largest regular service attendance yet this past Sunday with only one new visitor; someone who, oddly enough, came in part because he has been tracking us through this blog. If he is reading this post, this is my opportunity to tell him how much I appreciate him both as a person and for his returning to church. Christmas came early for me when he walked in.
All of this goes to prove a couple of points. For one, you never can tell what God will use to bring someone to church or to Himself. You just never know. And for another, the Scripture is proven again that in due season we will reap if we just hang in there. Don't quit. At some point, all the work will come together. Somewhere down the road, the people show up and we get to discover that all the effort was not wasted.
So here is some encouragement to anyone reading this who is ready to throw in the towel. Don't. Just hang in there because your Sunday is coming too.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Golden Buckeyes
In Ohio, "Golden Buckeyes" are not graduates of Ohio State University. For that matter, neither are they national champions - unfortunately.
"Golden Buckeyes" are Ohio's "senior citizens." Allegedly. I think the pivotal age for golden-ation is sixty. I say that because I've been informed already that I am about to receive my official "Golden Buckeye" card, the surest indication that the aging process has reached terminal velocity; and that either my home-going or the Rapture is the next major event on my calendar.
Either way, I'm in a peculiar situation. On the one hand, I could have lived a long time happily without receiving a Golden Buckeye card. Come to think of it, I have. And don't get me wrong. I don't have any problem with going to heaven and being with the Lord. It's just that I don't feel the need to hurry along the process any more than absolutely necessary. I still have lots of preaching left in me and plenty of work left to do around the church. I still have grandchildren to watch growing up, and more grandchildren to anticipate. We still have a son left to marry off, and one of my goals in life is to live long enough to reclaim the basement. My wife and I still have a world full of fun stuff to do that we've not yet gotten around to while raising our kids. In other words, I'm too young to be old.
On the other hand, there are some things about receiving the Golden Buckeye card that are, well, cool. In the first place, there are the discounts. Lots of things, especially restaurants, cost less in Ohio with the ol' Buckeye card. Certain tickets to various events cost less. Given that life isn't growing any less expensive, I confess I enjoy getting those discounts. I enjoy them enough that when I am not offered a "senior discount," I feel rather disrespected. Something like I did in high school when the term "Senior" meant rank and superiority. Like when someone would place a sign on a car that read "Contents: 1 Senior or 53 Freshmen." That kind of superiority.
So when I march into the Land of the Golden Arches, I am expecting the lines to part like Moses at the Red Sea the moment I wave my Golden Buckeye card. Then, with the honor accorded someone of my considerable age and accomplishments, I approach the counter while the cashier does obeisance and humbly declares, "Your discount, Sir!"
As you can see, each of these options is attractive, and I'm having difficulty deciding which I like best. You know what my problem is? I'm trying to find a way to be distinguished without being extinguished.
"Golden Buckeyes" are Ohio's "senior citizens." Allegedly. I think the pivotal age for golden-ation is sixty. I say that because I've been informed already that I am about to receive my official "Golden Buckeye" card, the surest indication that the aging process has reached terminal velocity; and that either my home-going or the Rapture is the next major event on my calendar.
Either way, I'm in a peculiar situation. On the one hand, I could have lived a long time happily without receiving a Golden Buckeye card. Come to think of it, I have. And don't get me wrong. I don't have any problem with going to heaven and being with the Lord. It's just that I don't feel the need to hurry along the process any more than absolutely necessary. I still have lots of preaching left in me and plenty of work left to do around the church. I still have grandchildren to watch growing up, and more grandchildren to anticipate. We still have a son left to marry off, and one of my goals in life is to live long enough to reclaim the basement. My wife and I still have a world full of fun stuff to do that we've not yet gotten around to while raising our kids. In other words, I'm too young to be old.
On the other hand, there are some things about receiving the Golden Buckeye card that are, well, cool. In the first place, there are the discounts. Lots of things, especially restaurants, cost less in Ohio with the ol' Buckeye card. Certain tickets to various events cost less. Given that life isn't growing any less expensive, I confess I enjoy getting those discounts. I enjoy them enough that when I am not offered a "senior discount," I feel rather disrespected. Something like I did in high school when the term "Senior" meant rank and superiority. Like when someone would place a sign on a car that read "Contents: 1 Senior or 53 Freshmen." That kind of superiority.
So when I march into the Land of the Golden Arches, I am expecting the lines to part like Moses at the Red Sea the moment I wave my Golden Buckeye card. Then, with the honor accorded someone of my considerable age and accomplishments, I approach the counter while the cashier does obeisance and humbly declares, "Your discount, Sir!"
As you can see, each of these options is attractive, and I'm having difficulty deciding which I like best. You know what my problem is? I'm trying to find a way to be distinguished without being extinguished.
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