I've been too busy to visit my own blog, and those blogs that I try to read each week. That's not bad; that's good. It's all for the glory of the King. The King of whom I speak is none other than King Jesus. I have news for those rejoicing in James Cameron's latest boast that he found Jesus' real tomb, along with the coffins of his wife and child: Jesus is alive! And he is King. And he was not in the least distracted by Satan's latest messengers.
On the contrary, King Jesus has been occupied. He has been interceding for all believers, even those whose faith may have been temporarily shaken by Cameron's insistence that he found Jesus' real tomb and "bone box." He has been moving people from the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of light. Just last Sunday I saw him do that. I watched as a young lady wrestled with her lostness until she finally turned to the only one who could save her. And he did, so far as I could tell.
King Jesus has been busy calling out men and women who will go and share the good news about him in all kinds of lands. He knows the prince of this world wants to hold as many captives as he can. But King Jesus sends out messengers, too. And they share the wonder-working power of Jesus with others.
King Jesus has been busy encouraging his discouraged workers (yes, missionaries often fight discouragement). He urges them to look to him and keep a steadfast gaze upon him.
There are plenty out there who will delight in Mr. Cameron's recent repeat of an age-old lie. There are plenty who wish Jesus was really dead; after all, if he was dead, they could put away those nagging doubts about eternity that plague them. If Jesus is alive, however--and he is, then those who reject Jesus have to grapple with their eternal destiny outside of Jesus' kingdom.
But, if you are not a believer in Jesus, I am so sorry (not really) to tell you that Jesus really is alive. He did not just ascend spiritually, as some say. He died for our sins, he was buried, and he was raised bodily from the dead. Over five hundred were gathered together and saw him alive. He appeared to many, many others. The legal witness of his resurrection outweighs Mr. Cameron's ossuaries.
If you are not a follower of Jesus, what you need to do is turn your life over to him. You need to repent of your unbelief and your sinful ways, and you need to invite Jesus to be the master of your life.
If you are a follower of Jesus, ignore the claims of a madman. Don't let Satan shake your faith by a misguided producer and a rogue archeologist.
If you have misunderstood me, I say it again:
KING JESUS IS ALIVE!
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Living Sacrifices
I intended to write this from high in the Andes Mountains. I was at a conference in a mountain town of about 60 thousand. Time conspired against me. Or maybe it was divine intervention that slowed me down.
I learned something about sacrifice in the past several days. It was one of those observation lessons. I may have sacrificed something by traveling to 4 different places in a three-week period; but compared to what I saw, my little bit of sacrifice was nothing at all. Half of my travel was by land, the other half by air. When I was traveling by land, I was in an air-conditioned, smooth-riding vehicle. The little walking I had to do was for short distances. I slept in a comfortable bed. I had good meals. All I really "lost" was a little sleep and time with my wife and daughter.
But I saw men and women who paid the price to be in two of the conferences in which I participated. Some traveled precarious roads in busses that are famous for their unpredictable, and at times unsafe, trips. Some of them traveled for 35 grueling hours to be fed the word of God. Some walked great distances. All stayed in housing that provided basic shelter, but little else.
One man I taught in a conference I led last week stands out in my mind. He is a fisherman. He has to get up every single day before 4 so he can get to work by 5. Yet there he was, showing up for the conference every night at 7. I did not feed them anything more than a soft drink and cookies. He stayed with us till 10, before he and the rest of the group left together for their 2-hour ride back to their houses. That means he got to bed at midnight, was up at 4, and back with me at 7. He told me he could do it every day, if it meant growing in his faith.
So I had to ask myself, "When is the last time I was willing to live on 3 or 4 hours' sleep and no food to glorify the Lord?" When was the last time you were willing to take a 35-hour trip for the glory of God? What sacrifice will you make this next week? When you attend your worship services, will you have heating and cooling at your disposal? Will your pews be contoured and prepared to make your experience a delightful one? Will you even think it was worth sitting there while someone struggled to break through the barnacles the world attached to your soul, and feed you a half cup of the word of God? [Yes! Half a cup! Because too many of us get full too quickly for a full meal of the word.] How many meals have you missed so that you could feed from the Master's table?
Thank God for the sacrifices my Latin American brothers and sisters are willing to make to be fed! These men and women embodied some of Romans 12: 1--the living sacrifice. They seem to better understand what "the fellowship of His sufferings (Phil. 3:10)" means. May we be humbled and so ready to sacrifice for Christ's glory!
I learned something about sacrifice in the past several days. It was one of those observation lessons. I may have sacrificed something by traveling to 4 different places in a three-week period; but compared to what I saw, my little bit of sacrifice was nothing at all. Half of my travel was by land, the other half by air. When I was traveling by land, I was in an air-conditioned, smooth-riding vehicle. The little walking I had to do was for short distances. I slept in a comfortable bed. I had good meals. All I really "lost" was a little sleep and time with my wife and daughter.
But I saw men and women who paid the price to be in two of the conferences in which I participated. Some traveled precarious roads in busses that are famous for their unpredictable, and at times unsafe, trips. Some of them traveled for 35 grueling hours to be fed the word of God. Some walked great distances. All stayed in housing that provided basic shelter, but little else.
One man I taught in a conference I led last week stands out in my mind. He is a fisherman. He has to get up every single day before 4 so he can get to work by 5. Yet there he was, showing up for the conference every night at 7. I did not feed them anything more than a soft drink and cookies. He stayed with us till 10, before he and the rest of the group left together for their 2-hour ride back to their houses. That means he got to bed at midnight, was up at 4, and back with me at 7. He told me he could do it every day, if it meant growing in his faith.
So I had to ask myself, "When is the last time I was willing to live on 3 or 4 hours' sleep and no food to glorify the Lord?" When was the last time you were willing to take a 35-hour trip for the glory of God? What sacrifice will you make this next week? When you attend your worship services, will you have heating and cooling at your disposal? Will your pews be contoured and prepared to make your experience a delightful one? Will you even think it was worth sitting there while someone struggled to break through the barnacles the world attached to your soul, and feed you a half cup of the word of God? [Yes! Half a cup! Because too many of us get full too quickly for a full meal of the word.] How many meals have you missed so that you could feed from the Master's table?
Thank God for the sacrifices my Latin American brothers and sisters are willing to make to be fed! These men and women embodied some of Romans 12: 1--the living sacrifice. They seem to better understand what "the fellowship of His sufferings (Phil. 3:10)" means. May we be humbled and so ready to sacrifice for Christ's glory!
Thursday, January 18, 2007
On Being Light
Yesterday an IMB media team and I road the streets of this megacity in South America. We walked among the destitute and lonely. We laughed with little children. We hugged and kissed the residents of two different communities. We looked for ways to be the light Jesus told us we were.
While both places we spoke with people were delightful, I was particularly impressed with one area where some of my colleagues work. I am their supervisor. It was my first visit to this new preaching point. Spiritually speaking it was a dark place to visit. I discerned this as soon as we stepped out of the relative safety of our Mercedes Benz van.
The media team and I stood on the streets, observing the residents of the community. It was a bitter-sweet sight. To our left stood ramshackle huts that the residents called "home." In front stood a newly-painted church, the building of the predominant religion; it was surrounded by run-down buildings people used for other homes and businesses. Children rode bikes and roller-bladed in the streets, not worrying much about cars because few could afford one. And those who could would not venture into such a neighborhood. Men and women of all ages sat on park benches in the small, unkempt park we approached. The trees were beautiful; the grass was in sore need of a good ole Yazoo lawnmower (pardon my Mississippi roots).
One cameraman rolled film. Another photographer snapped photos. Another group took notes as I explained the history of our involvement there. Soon a policeman approached, as I watched a tattoo-covered youth stroll by, staring with a hard look. The policeman told me we were being scoped out and that we were in danger. I told him I had seen the potential trouble-makers and appreciated his interest in us. He assured us they were there to help. When I translated this to my group of American visitors, they decided we should pray. I told them I agreed, but that I would be praying with my eyes wide-open. After all, thieves use the element of surprise; and I don't handle surprises very well.
We decided to leave the place of darkness. But I wasn't quite finished. I took a couple of steps toward three people sitting on a park bench. I greeted them, told them who I was and what I did, and asked if they had ever encountered my two colleagues, a husband and wife, who labored there. When I described them, they told me they knew who they were. I asked if they would do me the kindness of taking care of them, of not letting anything bad happen to them when they came. In the course of this conversation, God opened a door for me and I began to preach on the light and hope that is in Jesus.
I looked intently into the eyes of the man. He was amused, perhaps even mocking me with his eyes. I looked more closely at the woman at his side. The scratches and bruises on her face suggested that this man was probably abusive. The fear in her eyes, the deep hurt I saw, said even more. I looked to the young lady beside her. She tried to look non-chalant, cool, unattached; but you can't hide from the Holy Spirit. He was tugging at her heart, too. The more I gazed at her, the less confidence she showed.
I turned to my left. There sat tattoo-man, perched on a bicycle. On the seat behind him was another man scowling ever so fiercely. Before I knew it, about twenty people--men, women, and children--were gathered around me. The police were now very concerned. They sent two motorcycles and one car over towards us, motors running. I kept on preaching, telling this instant congregation of the one true hope they have in Jesus.
I looked at tattoo-man and saw two words inscribed on his right bicep: amor eterno--eternal love. I reached over and did the unthinkable. I touched those two words as I told them those words were exactly what I was referring to. Tattoo-man's eyes opened wide in surprise. A touch will do that, you know. A touch will bring people to a different level. The hard, suspicious look melted away. He grinned; it was a genuine smile. Something else happened, too. When he smiled, the police drove away. My suspicions were confirmed; he was their chief concern.
My chief concern was the darkness that enveloped tattoo-man and the others. I kept preaching, pleading for them to turn to Jesus. I helped them to pray, but everyone here prays. So I had to explain that they would find Jesus when they searched with their whole heart. Even tattoo-man nodded in agreement.
We turned to leave. I discovered most of my media team was standing close by the van that brought us there. My cameraman was still by my side, grinning a million-dollar grin. He felt what I felt. He knew we had shined the light in the darkness. As we left, we shook hands, hugged, and kissed the residents. They waved a friendly wave. The man with fierce scowl? He just grinned and said in English, "Thank you."
I cannot say this prophetically; but I believe we saw the birth of a church yesterday. And it happened just by being light in a dark place.
While both places we spoke with people were delightful, I was particularly impressed with one area where some of my colleagues work. I am their supervisor. It was my first visit to this new preaching point. Spiritually speaking it was a dark place to visit. I discerned this as soon as we stepped out of the relative safety of our Mercedes Benz van.
The media team and I stood on the streets, observing the residents of the community. It was a bitter-sweet sight. To our left stood ramshackle huts that the residents called "home." In front stood a newly-painted church, the building of the predominant religion; it was surrounded by run-down buildings people used for other homes and businesses. Children rode bikes and roller-bladed in the streets, not worrying much about cars because few could afford one. And those who could would not venture into such a neighborhood. Men and women of all ages sat on park benches in the small, unkempt park we approached. The trees were beautiful; the grass was in sore need of a good ole Yazoo lawnmower (pardon my Mississippi roots).
One cameraman rolled film. Another photographer snapped photos. Another group took notes as I explained the history of our involvement there. Soon a policeman approached, as I watched a tattoo-covered youth stroll by, staring with a hard look. The policeman told me we were being scoped out and that we were in danger. I told him I had seen the potential trouble-makers and appreciated his interest in us. He assured us they were there to help. When I translated this to my group of American visitors, they decided we should pray. I told them I agreed, but that I would be praying with my eyes wide-open. After all, thieves use the element of surprise; and I don't handle surprises very well.
We decided to leave the place of darkness. But I wasn't quite finished. I took a couple of steps toward three people sitting on a park bench. I greeted them, told them who I was and what I did, and asked if they had ever encountered my two colleagues, a husband and wife, who labored there. When I described them, they told me they knew who they were. I asked if they would do me the kindness of taking care of them, of not letting anything bad happen to them when they came. In the course of this conversation, God opened a door for me and I began to preach on the light and hope that is in Jesus.
I looked intently into the eyes of the man. He was amused, perhaps even mocking me with his eyes. I looked more closely at the woman at his side. The scratches and bruises on her face suggested that this man was probably abusive. The fear in her eyes, the deep hurt I saw, said even more. I looked to the young lady beside her. She tried to look non-chalant, cool, unattached; but you can't hide from the Holy Spirit. He was tugging at her heart, too. The more I gazed at her, the less confidence she showed.
I turned to my left. There sat tattoo-man, perched on a bicycle. On the seat behind him was another man scowling ever so fiercely. Before I knew it, about twenty people--men, women, and children--were gathered around me. The police were now very concerned. They sent two motorcycles and one car over towards us, motors running. I kept on preaching, telling this instant congregation of the one true hope they have in Jesus.
I looked at tattoo-man and saw two words inscribed on his right bicep: amor eterno--eternal love. I reached over and did the unthinkable. I touched those two words as I told them those words were exactly what I was referring to. Tattoo-man's eyes opened wide in surprise. A touch will do that, you know. A touch will bring people to a different level. The hard, suspicious look melted away. He grinned; it was a genuine smile. Something else happened, too. When he smiled, the police drove away. My suspicions were confirmed; he was their chief concern.
My chief concern was the darkness that enveloped tattoo-man and the others. I kept preaching, pleading for them to turn to Jesus. I helped them to pray, but everyone here prays. So I had to explain that they would find Jesus when they searched with their whole heart. Even tattoo-man nodded in agreement.
We turned to leave. I discovered most of my media team was standing close by the van that brought us there. My cameraman was still by my side, grinning a million-dollar grin. He felt what I felt. He knew we had shined the light in the darkness. As we left, we shook hands, hugged, and kissed the residents. They waved a friendly wave. The man with fierce scowl? He just grinned and said in English, "Thank you."
I cannot say this prophetically; but I believe we saw the birth of a church yesterday. And it happened just by being light in a dark place.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Make the Main Thing the Main Thing
Happy New Year. Once I discovered how to persuade my newly-installed internet filter to allow me to access blogs, I proceeded to read some that I particularly enjoy. One of those blogs presented an interesting apologetic regarding the direction of the SBC (I intentionally left out the name and address of that blog). As I waded through this man's observations, I kept coming back to a fundamental problem, one that supercedes the potential ones that I read about.
The problem that prevails in my mind is the fact that far too many Southern Baptist churches did not baptize anyone last year. Far too many more only baptized a handful. Here is what I see and think: the local churches have fallen out of love with Jesus. I am not convinced a man is called to a church to make that church appealing to his community. We are in a struggle against the darkness, against the world. A pastor is not around to make his church attractive to the world. He is called to a church to lead that church to win the lost, disciple those converts, to expand the kingdom of God through missions, and to glorify the King of kings. He is called to be salt and light, and to fill the salt shaker so that more of that salt can be scattered around the world.
That impacts me down here in South America far more than some may realize. At some point in the next 15 years, someone will be called upon to take my place. If we are not winning more, who will come stand in the gap in places where the gospel has yet to take root?
I believe that one of the many things that must take place in the SBC is a renewed passion for Jesus, which will result in a renewed passion for the lost. When David should have gone to battle, he stayed behind. The result was his sin with Bathsheba. When Southern Baptists should be going to battle for lost souls, we are spending a lot of time inspecting one another's baggage. Nothing positive will come of it.
I appreciate and share the concerns for the best future for the SBC. But let's get on with making the main thing the main thing.
The problem that prevails in my mind is the fact that far too many Southern Baptist churches did not baptize anyone last year. Far too many more only baptized a handful. Here is what I see and think: the local churches have fallen out of love with Jesus. I am not convinced a man is called to a church to make that church appealing to his community. We are in a struggle against the darkness, against the world. A pastor is not around to make his church attractive to the world. He is called to a church to lead that church to win the lost, disciple those converts, to expand the kingdom of God through missions, and to glorify the King of kings. He is called to be salt and light, and to fill the salt shaker so that more of that salt can be scattered around the world.
That impacts me down here in South America far more than some may realize. At some point in the next 15 years, someone will be called upon to take my place. If we are not winning more, who will come stand in the gap in places where the gospel has yet to take root?
I believe that one of the many things that must take place in the SBC is a renewed passion for Jesus, which will result in a renewed passion for the lost. When David should have gone to battle, he stayed behind. The result was his sin with Bathsheba. When Southern Baptists should be going to battle for lost souls, we are spending a lot of time inspecting one another's baggage. Nothing positive will come of it.
I appreciate and share the concerns for the best future for the SBC. But let's get on with making the main thing the main thing.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Don't Look Back!
The frightened family packed up in the middle of the night. They could only get out with what they could carry, nothing more. The messenger gave them one stern warning: don't look back. In the bedlam and meelee surrounding them, the four of them wormed their way to the edge of the city. There were no cars to be found. There was no bus to take. This family would have to walk. Onward they trudged, fumbling and stumbling down the unlit road.
Before long, the family heard the commotion behind them. They heard the horrid screams as men, women, and children died under the fire bombs that pelted the city. When they hesitated for a moment, Dad suddenly rebuked the family, "Don't look back!" As they maneuvered through the darkness, the nameless wife and mother could stand it no more. She had to look. Most of her life had been invested in that city. Her friends were there. Her house was there. Her furnishings were there. So she dared look back. And in that one instance of regret, Lot's wife became a pillar of salt, forever frozen in time. Why? Because she craved and delighted in what she no longer had. And it cost her. It cost her two daughters. It cost her husband.
To my knowledge, that scene has never again been repeated. But how many times do we look back with remorse over what we had, not taking time to take stock and think about what we have?
Many among Israel, those who left Egypt with Moses, looked back with longing for the flesh pots of Egypt. It was symbolic of craving the sinful life. They died, wandering in a wilderness never intended for them.
Jesus said that a man, having put his hand to the plow and looking back, is not a worthy disciple; he said that man is not even fit for the kingdom of God (Luke 9:62).
That is looking back with remorse. There are those who also look back with delight. Paul wrote of this in Philippians 3. He spoke of all he had before he knew the Lord. He spoke, correctly so, of his bragging rights. Then he said he would forget that which was behind and press forward. Sometimes that is incomprehensible to me. Other times I think I can grasp a little of it.
One of my friends was driving my wife and girls to the airport one day. As he turned to the right at the corner, a bag in the back seat began to totter towards one of the passengers. He looked back while he turned, grasped the bag, and tried to right it. He forgot he was turning a corner. The truck continued right; this is a mechanical law regarding steering wheels. Much to my friend's dismay, the journey was suddenly interrupted by a large tree that stood in the way of the truck. Now to be fair to the tree, it was on the sidewalk. To be fair to the sidewalk, it did not extend into the right-hand lane. It is what happens when you drive while you are looking back. That is looking back with carelessness.
I know a Christian woman who had one story to tell me each time I visited her. She was in her 60's by then. She still had a lot of physical and emotional strength; just ask her family. Yet, when it came to spiritual things, this woman could only look back. She could only tell me what she used to do some 30 years earlier. She had not done anything since then. I wanted to shout to her, "Don't look back!"
What does that have to do with missions somewhere in South America? It's kind of simple, perhaps too much so. Some of us have bragging rights. We have done well. We have seen a lot of professions of faith; we have planted some churches. We could be tempted to relax and rest on what we have done. If we are wise, we won't look back.
Others of us did not do too well, if you measured things statistically. We tried; but, based on some definition of "success," we were anything but successful. If we look back, we could be tempted to discouragement. We could succumb to those voices that accuse us of failure. If we are wise, we won't look back.
Where should we look? Wherever Jesus is! Look there. Fix your vision on him. And go where he says to go. You may not turn into a pillar of salt by looking back; but you could find yourself running into a tree. So don't look back!
Before long, the family heard the commotion behind them. They heard the horrid screams as men, women, and children died under the fire bombs that pelted the city. When they hesitated for a moment, Dad suddenly rebuked the family, "Don't look back!" As they maneuvered through the darkness, the nameless wife and mother could stand it no more. She had to look. Most of her life had been invested in that city. Her friends were there. Her house was there. Her furnishings were there. So she dared look back. And in that one instance of regret, Lot's wife became a pillar of salt, forever frozen in time. Why? Because she craved and delighted in what she no longer had. And it cost her. It cost her two daughters. It cost her husband.
To my knowledge, that scene has never again been repeated. But how many times do we look back with remorse over what we had, not taking time to take stock and think about what we have?
Many among Israel, those who left Egypt with Moses, looked back with longing for the flesh pots of Egypt. It was symbolic of craving the sinful life. They died, wandering in a wilderness never intended for them.
Jesus said that a man, having put his hand to the plow and looking back, is not a worthy disciple; he said that man is not even fit for the kingdom of God (Luke 9:62).
That is looking back with remorse. There are those who also look back with delight. Paul wrote of this in Philippians 3. He spoke of all he had before he knew the Lord. He spoke, correctly so, of his bragging rights. Then he said he would forget that which was behind and press forward. Sometimes that is incomprehensible to me. Other times I think I can grasp a little of it.
One of my friends was driving my wife and girls to the airport one day. As he turned to the right at the corner, a bag in the back seat began to totter towards one of the passengers. He looked back while he turned, grasped the bag, and tried to right it. He forgot he was turning a corner. The truck continued right; this is a mechanical law regarding steering wheels. Much to my friend's dismay, the journey was suddenly interrupted by a large tree that stood in the way of the truck. Now to be fair to the tree, it was on the sidewalk. To be fair to the sidewalk, it did not extend into the right-hand lane. It is what happens when you drive while you are looking back. That is looking back with carelessness.
I know a Christian woman who had one story to tell me each time I visited her. She was in her 60's by then. She still had a lot of physical and emotional strength; just ask her family. Yet, when it came to spiritual things, this woman could only look back. She could only tell me what she used to do some 30 years earlier. She had not done anything since then. I wanted to shout to her, "Don't look back!"
What does that have to do with missions somewhere in South America? It's kind of simple, perhaps too much so. Some of us have bragging rights. We have done well. We have seen a lot of professions of faith; we have planted some churches. We could be tempted to relax and rest on what we have done. If we are wise, we won't look back.
Others of us did not do too well, if you measured things statistically. We tried; but, based on some definition of "success," we were anything but successful. If we look back, we could be tempted to discouragement. We could succumb to those voices that accuse us of failure. If we are wise, we won't look back.
Where should we look? Wherever Jesus is! Look there. Fix your vision on him. And go where he says to go. You may not turn into a pillar of salt by looking back; but you could find yourself running into a tree. So don't look back!
Friday, December 22, 2006
Merry WHAT?
This post is not for the politically sensitive; if you are of that persuasion, build a bridge now. I am about to say the two most-dreaded words of the season:
Merry Christmas!
Feliz Navidad!
I think even the politically-challenged, those who have regularly feasted on revisionist history, will agree that I have the Constitutional right to say Merry Christmas. After all, even the ACLU (American Communist Liar's Union) defends the right for me to express myself on my own blog.
I have the historical right to say Merry Christmas. It is only in the most modern of our history that some logger-head politicians and activist judges have dissuaded Americans from shouting those words. Christmas in America trumps Kwanza, Ramadan, the Hajj, and a whole bunch of other things.
And I have the theological right to say Merry Christmas. My God, the sole creator of this universe, dissected the curtain of time, conceived his son in a virgin named Mary, and thereby forever changed the world. That single event set into motion a series of events that culminated in the salvation of millions, well over a billion, of men and women over the past 2,000 years.
Salvation is exclusively through Jesus. That is precisely why the politically-challenged fear, shun, spurn, and scorn the idea of a Christmas that celebrates Christ. They may clothe their arguments in the garments of tolerance and even equality; but make no mistake: they are fearful of the idea of only Jesus as Lord.
It won't change a thing, though. I plan to have a Merry CHRISTmas. I will delight in his presence with me. And I will make room at my table for all who wish to do the same.
So, Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas!
Feliz Navidad!
I think even the politically-challenged, those who have regularly feasted on revisionist history, will agree that I have the Constitutional right to say Merry Christmas. After all, even the ACLU (American Communist Liar's Union) defends the right for me to express myself on my own blog.
I have the historical right to say Merry Christmas. It is only in the most modern of our history that some logger-head politicians and activist judges have dissuaded Americans from shouting those words. Christmas in America trumps Kwanza, Ramadan, the Hajj, and a whole bunch of other things.
And I have the theological right to say Merry Christmas. My God, the sole creator of this universe, dissected the curtain of time, conceived his son in a virgin named Mary, and thereby forever changed the world. That single event set into motion a series of events that culminated in the salvation of millions, well over a billion, of men and women over the past 2,000 years.
Salvation is exclusively through Jesus. That is precisely why the politically-challenged fear, shun, spurn, and scorn the idea of a Christmas that celebrates Christ. They may clothe their arguments in the garments of tolerance and even equality; but make no mistake: they are fearful of the idea of only Jesus as Lord.
It won't change a thing, though. I plan to have a Merry CHRISTmas. I will delight in his presence with me. And I will make room at my table for all who wish to do the same.
So, Merry Christmas!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Whom Shall We Send?
I just returned from a relatively new community in the southern part of our city of about ten million. The community is called "The Towers in the Corner." I kid thee not. I had been warned to not go to this part of town. Gangs roam the streets, both day and night. But I serve the One who can calm any storm. So off we went.
The ride alone was an adventure. To be sure of where I was going (I had never been to this particular community), I asked a local friend to take me. We went in his compact Hyundai, bouncing along roads that were not friendly to his car, or to my backside. We dodged pot holes, some of which looked like craters. We "enjoyed" the exhaust of a hundred busses. We challenged three-wheeled moto-taxis for the right of way.
It wasn't long after turning off the paved road that we were privileged to enjoy the fresh fragrance of the local hog farms. Hogs inside the city? Yes, hogs. And to make things more interesting, the good people were out burning the garbabe that had piled up. I quickly surmised that their garbage service was lacking; it made me more grateful for the part of town where I live.
Soon we arrived at our destination. We drove till we couldn't, then got out and walked up some recently-poured steps. Lots of steps. And then we walked a little more, this time on slippery slopes. There we met with local leaders who have asked for our help with some human needs projects. We are only too happy to help them. But we have ulterior motives. Did I just say that?? Yes, our motives run deeper than the skin and the belly. We aim for the soul!
I stood and looked out over this part of the city. Across the rugged hills men and women had dug into the rocks and built primitive homes. Some were made of plywood. A very few had some brick structure to them. Others were made of straw mats. There were at least 50 communities of 80 homes each. These communities, like The Towers in the Corner, are church-less. I did not say there are no believers there; there probably are some. But the vast majority are predominantly unchurched.
And that brings me back to my motives. We want God to plant a host of churches in this part of the city. We will minister to a perceived need so that we can get to the real need: people need the Lord.
And that brings me to yet another dilemma. I have a small pool of trained workers. God wants the gospel of Jesus to penetrate these lost, unchurched communities. I can hear him asking, "Whom shall we send, and who will go for us?" Pray, please that someone in this massive city will cry out, "Here am I! Send me."
The ride alone was an adventure. To be sure of where I was going (I had never been to this particular community), I asked a local friend to take me. We went in his compact Hyundai, bouncing along roads that were not friendly to his car, or to my backside. We dodged pot holes, some of which looked like craters. We "enjoyed" the exhaust of a hundred busses. We challenged three-wheeled moto-taxis for the right of way.
It wasn't long after turning off the paved road that we were privileged to enjoy the fresh fragrance of the local hog farms. Hogs inside the city? Yes, hogs. And to make things more interesting, the good people were out burning the garbabe that had piled up. I quickly surmised that their garbage service was lacking; it made me more grateful for the part of town where I live.
Soon we arrived at our destination. We drove till we couldn't, then got out and walked up some recently-poured steps. Lots of steps. And then we walked a little more, this time on slippery slopes. There we met with local leaders who have asked for our help with some human needs projects. We are only too happy to help them. But we have ulterior motives. Did I just say that?? Yes, our motives run deeper than the skin and the belly. We aim for the soul!
I stood and looked out over this part of the city. Across the rugged hills men and women had dug into the rocks and built primitive homes. Some were made of plywood. A very few had some brick structure to them. Others were made of straw mats. There were at least 50 communities of 80 homes each. These communities, like The Towers in the Corner, are church-less. I did not say there are no believers there; there probably are some. But the vast majority are predominantly unchurched.
And that brings me back to my motives. We want God to plant a host of churches in this part of the city. We will minister to a perceived need so that we can get to the real need: people need the Lord.
And that brings me to yet another dilemma. I have a small pool of trained workers. God wants the gospel of Jesus to penetrate these lost, unchurched communities. I can hear him asking, "Whom shall we send, and who will go for us?" Pray, please that someone in this massive city will cry out, "Here am I! Send me."
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Taking Every Thought Captive
I read an online article last week that claimed that 9 out of every 10 e mails is now spam--junk mail. I believe it. Already this morning, in less than 30 minutes, I have received 4 pieces of junk e-mails. When I lived in the United States, my mailbox would fill up with junk mail, each piece clamoring for my individual attention.
That mail that comes in does all it can to tempt me to open it. It's like those ads on some websites that say, "You are the umpteenth billionth person to access this site! You have definitely won something!" So you take a (ahem) minute to look and 30 minutes later you realized you are late for some meeting, or your tea boiled over, or your beans burned.
My junk e mail says things like, "Are you tired of looking fat? Try our new product, guaranteed to make you look slimmer." It must be an ad for one of those trick mirrors they use at the county fairs, or maybe in certain dressing rooms at certain stores.
And by now you are thinking, "This guy needs to learn about spam control." You're right! Now read on. . . .
There is another kind of junk mail that arrives more often than spam on my computer. It's worldly and devilish thoughts. Those come like an avalanche on some days. They come as loudly as a marching band; or they can slip in as softly as a sunset. But they come. And before I know it, I am dwelling on some thought that God never intended for me to consider.
Our God has given us Christians a powerful weapon. We, through Jesus Christ, can take every thought captive to the obedience of Christ. We can consecrate our thought life. We can tell the devil where to get off.
Turn on your spam control. Don't let your mind become a dumping ground for the devil's and th world's defeatist thoughts.
That mail that comes in does all it can to tempt me to open it. It's like those ads on some websites that say, "You are the umpteenth billionth person to access this site! You have definitely won something!" So you take a (ahem) minute to look and 30 minutes later you realized you are late for some meeting, or your tea boiled over, or your beans burned.
My junk e mail says things like, "Are you tired of looking fat? Try our new product, guaranteed to make you look slimmer." It must be an ad for one of those trick mirrors they use at the county fairs, or maybe in certain dressing rooms at certain stores.
And by now you are thinking, "This guy needs to learn about spam control." You're right! Now read on. . . .
There is another kind of junk mail that arrives more often than spam on my computer. It's worldly and devilish thoughts. Those come like an avalanche on some days. They come as loudly as a marching band; or they can slip in as softly as a sunset. But they come. And before I know it, I am dwelling on some thought that God never intended for me to consider.
Our God has given us Christians a powerful weapon. We, through Jesus Christ, can take every thought captive to the obedience of Christ. We can consecrate our thought life. We can tell the devil where to get off.
Turn on your spam control. Don't let your mind become a dumping ground for the devil's and th world's defeatist thoughts.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Shine the Light!
Last night I participated in the 5th anniversary of a local church, located in the southern part of our city. It was a moving experience. I was moved when I arrived; I was early, even though the announced beginning time had come and gone. So I sat in the car and used the reading lamp to go over my notes for the message I intended to preach that night. I read and I watched the activity around me.
Outside, under the dull, dust-covered, yellow street lights, people walked to and fro. Significantly, many of the young men and women I watched were gang members. That was not a surprise; I knew it. It's something a person better know if he or she is out in this part of town.
The pastor of this church knew it, too, when he decided God was calling him to plant this church. It was a community rife with gang activity. But he pressed on with dogged determination. His original target was the meanest gang leader there. And he won the young man, now a leader in his little church. Then he won most of the other gang members that young man belonged to. One gang down, a dozen more to go.
Pedro continues to reach into the gangs. Some of them came last night. They were mildly timid in front of me, all the while eyeing my car. When they weren't eyeing the car, they were checking out the girls. But they stood in the door and listened to the message of Christ. Pedro's wife told me they were on the verge of turning it all over to Jesus.
These gang members, by the way, are all under 18. Some won't live to see 18. Gangs often have wars in this part of our city. They pull out guns, machetes, rocks, bottles, and anything else that can hurt their rivals. The gangs don't think twice about hurting one another. And someone almost always dies.
So Pedro is there, telling them about someone else who died for them. It's a story he loves to tell. It's a light that shines brighter than those dull, yellow, dusty street lights. That light shines brigher than the sun. It's a light that penetrates the tough facades these guys put up.
So I tell Pedro and his church, "Shine the Light!"
And they will.
Outside, under the dull, dust-covered, yellow street lights, people walked to and fro. Significantly, many of the young men and women I watched were gang members. That was not a surprise; I knew it. It's something a person better know if he or she is out in this part of town.
The pastor of this church knew it, too, when he decided God was calling him to plant this church. It was a community rife with gang activity. But he pressed on with dogged determination. His original target was the meanest gang leader there. And he won the young man, now a leader in his little church. Then he won most of the other gang members that young man belonged to. One gang down, a dozen more to go.
Pedro continues to reach into the gangs. Some of them came last night. They were mildly timid in front of me, all the while eyeing my car. When they weren't eyeing the car, they were checking out the girls. But they stood in the door and listened to the message of Christ. Pedro's wife told me they were on the verge of turning it all over to Jesus.
These gang members, by the way, are all under 18. Some won't live to see 18. Gangs often have wars in this part of our city. They pull out guns, machetes, rocks, bottles, and anything else that can hurt their rivals. The gangs don't think twice about hurting one another. And someone almost always dies.
So Pedro is there, telling them about someone else who died for them. It's a story he loves to tell. It's a light that shines brighter than those dull, yellow, dusty street lights. That light shines brigher than the sun. It's a light that penetrates the tough facades these guys put up.
So I tell Pedro and his church, "Shine the Light!"
And they will.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Who Am I?
This article says it for us. We knew it; but this lady confirmed it once again. Women and men are different. Duh, who'd of thunk it?
The writer was a feminist. She spoke of how much women spoke compared to men. Now, I could play with that for a long time. And it would be fun until my wife read it. Then I would have to change my blog to "Home Alone on the South Pole." So I won't go there. Well, not too far.
A woman complained her husband never said that he loved her. He told her, "Dear, the day we married, I told you I loved you and if I changed my mind, I would let you know." Some men think saying something once a year is enough!
We know women arrive in Heaven 30 minutes after men do. The Bible says, "There was silence in heaven for about 30 minutes."
There is one thing that needs to be pointed out. The writer said, "Dr Brizendine, whose book is based on her own clinical work and analyses of more than 1,000 scientific studies, added: 'There is no unisex brain.
'Girls arrive already wired as girls, and boys arrive already wired as boys. Their brains are different by the time they're born, and their brains are what drive their impulses, values and their very reality.
'I know it is not politically correct to say this but I've been torn for years between my politics and what science is telling us.'" (emphasis mine)
Do you see the implications in that? Where is there room for the claim that, "God made me gay?" Simply put, it is not there! For once, a feminist got it right. We are wired from the womb to be men and women, each distinct from the other. And I, for one, am glad I am different from my wonderful redhead.
The next time someone wants to make you wonder who you are, remind them of that. More important, remind them of God's promise that he formed us in the womb. We are God's wonderful handiwork! And God does not make junk or mistakes.
The writer was a feminist. She spoke of how much women spoke compared to men. Now, I could play with that for a long time. And it would be fun until my wife read it. Then I would have to change my blog to "Home Alone on the South Pole." So I won't go there. Well, not too far.
A woman complained her husband never said that he loved her. He told her, "Dear, the day we married, I told you I loved you and if I changed my mind, I would let you know." Some men think saying something once a year is enough!
We know women arrive in Heaven 30 minutes after men do. The Bible says, "There was silence in heaven for about 30 minutes."
There is one thing that needs to be pointed out. The writer said, "Dr Brizendine, whose book is based on her own clinical work and analyses of more than 1,000 scientific studies, added: 'There is no unisex brain.
'Girls arrive already wired as girls, and boys arrive already wired as boys. Their brains are different by the time they're born, and their brains are what drive their impulses, values and their very reality.
'I know it is not politically correct to say this but I've been torn for years between my politics and what science is telling us.'" (emphasis mine)
Do you see the implications in that? Where is there room for the claim that, "God made me gay?" Simply put, it is not there! For once, a feminist got it right. We are wired from the womb to be men and women, each distinct from the other. And I, for one, am glad I am different from my wonderful redhead.
The next time someone wants to make you wonder who you are, remind them of that. More important, remind them of God's promise that he formed us in the womb. We are God's wonderful handiwork! And God does not make junk or mistakes.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Wisdom from South America
A retired missionary to Peru sent me this. It is obviously compiled and adapted from other sources; but it makes for good, light-hearted reading.
Some more missionary Wisdom
1. Don’t squat down in a cane field on the Pan American Highway without looking around you real good.
2. If you’re leading a group of brothers take a look back every now and then to make sure that they are still there.
3. After getting a new church started, a missionary felt so good that he kept bragging about it until the devil came along and tore it all up. The moral; when you’re full of it, keep your mouth shut and give God the glory that belongs to Him.
4. Never kick an empty garbage bag on the side of the street in Lima on a hot day.
5. There’s two theories to arguin’ with Nationals. Neither one works.
6. Never slap a “serrano” who’s chewin’ coca leaves..
7.. It don’t take a very spiritual missionary to spot a goat in a flock of sheep
8. When you give a lesson in meanness to a fellow missionary, don’t be surprised if they learn their lesson.
9. When you’re throwin’ your weight around, be ready to have it thrown around by somebody else.
10.. The quickest way to double your money in Perú is to fold it over and put it back in your pocket.
11. There are three kinds of missionaries: Those that learn by reading. Those that learn by observation. And the rest of us, that have to learn the hard way by being “airheads”.
Hermano Jaime Boswell
El Mismo
Some more missionary Wisdom
1. Don’t squat down in a cane field on the Pan American Highway without looking around you real good.
2. If you’re leading a group of brothers take a look back every now and then to make sure that they are still there.
3. After getting a new church started, a missionary felt so good that he kept bragging about it until the devil came along and tore it all up. The moral; when you’re full of it, keep your mouth shut and give God the glory that belongs to Him.
4. Never kick an empty garbage bag on the side of the street in Lima on a hot day.
5. There’s two theories to arguin’ with Nationals. Neither one works.
6. Never slap a “serrano” who’s chewin’ coca leaves..
7.. It don’t take a very spiritual missionary to spot a goat in a flock of sheep
8. When you give a lesson in meanness to a fellow missionary, don’t be surprised if they learn their lesson.
9. When you’re throwin’ your weight around, be ready to have it thrown around by somebody else.
10.. The quickest way to double your money in Perú is to fold it over and put it back in your pocket.
11. There are three kinds of missionaries: Those that learn by reading. Those that learn by observation. And the rest of us, that have to learn the hard way by being “airheads”.
Hermano Jaime Boswell
El Mismo
How true, Jaime; how true!
KDS
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Booze, Bullets, and Blessings
Dickens said it quite poignantly in Tale of Two Cities: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
The past week was both. God opened doors we never dreamed possible. We have managed to have a blessed reception in a new settlement of three thousand families. No church exists there. A few believers can be found there. Those with whom we spoke were excited at the thought of having a church in this brand new community. Two men are headed there at this very moment. They hope to begin inviting men and women to a Bible study, where they will be introduced to the greatest news in the world.
As the week melted into the weekend, I found myself on a plane headed to the southern part of this country. My role was to ordain a new man into the gospel ministry. I also intended to visit a struggling church and try to encourage them.
On Saturday night I looked into the eyes of a group of men of different ages. Most were hurting. They hurt because their church hurt. They needed healing. The ordination of a new pastor was a new prayer of hopeful healing for this group.
On Sunday morning those hurting eyes were multiplied by ten. The building was full. The atmosphere was electric. These were my friends. I had worked alongside many of them for almost ten years. Now I was there as a guest to try to help them overcome some devastating moments in their church's history. The day was a blessed one.
On Sunday night I stood before yet another group of believers. It was so distinct from the morning. Instead of pain, I saw indifference. Instead of hope, I felt heaviness. I preached a full hour here. This was no time for a wimpy, 3 points and a poem kind of message. It was time to try to wake up a sleeping church.
Unknown to me, back in my own city a tragedy had unfolded. It began Saturday night. A young man, one of our helpers in our city, had gone home after a day with the youth from the small church he helps us with. The group included two of our missionaries. The man told the two ladies that he hoped his friends would let him sleep; he was so tired from a hard day. They did not.
His friends showed up sometime that night. Some told us they had been drinking. Drugs may also have entered that picture. Some were flirting with girls that had ties to a local gang. So they brought a gun into the house. Our Christian brother, the only Christian in his family, was concerned over that. He asked if it was unloaded. They said it was. Someone pulled the trigger and our Christian brother was swept into the presence of Jesus.
Monday morning greeted me with that terrible news. The man is now buried. But the feelings his death evoked are clawing on the surface of the hearts of too many people. The tragedy has plunged its talons deep into hearts of believers and unbelievers alike. This man was a promising young preacher. None of us can make sense of it. The young men who woke him and insisted he sit with them during their party are hiding in shame.
This is what I know: the same Holy Spirit that was moving in the southern part of this country, blessing me, guiding me, and encouraging both me and the believers I was with--that same Spirit was here, consoling and calling to the men and women affected by this terrible, sensesless tragedy. He seeks to glorify Jesus in this, just as he sought to glorify Jesus where I was ministering.
I know that booze impairs judgment. Even one small shot impairs judgment. Even one glass of wine. Even one beer. Booze is bad news. God said give to those who are perishing. It is not for kings and princes. It is for dead men. It is not for believers; it is for the lost.
I know that bullets don't kill, in and of themselves. Neither do guns. But foolish young (or old) men, whose judgment is impaired by booze and drugs, tend to make stupid decisions. By the way, angry young men (or women) can have impaired judgment and make stupid decisions. But booze makes it easier than anger to make stupid decisions.
And I know that now is the time to reach those young men. It may not yet be the time to reach the parents and brother of this believer. But I believe it is time to reach the young men involved in this thing that has ransacked a small church and stolen one of its workers. They will listen now. So we will go. We will try to share the one hope for all mankind. That would be Jesus, by the way.
Somehow, someway, God will be glorified in this. Let it be so!
The past week was both. God opened doors we never dreamed possible. We have managed to have a blessed reception in a new settlement of three thousand families. No church exists there. A few believers can be found there. Those with whom we spoke were excited at the thought of having a church in this brand new community. Two men are headed there at this very moment. They hope to begin inviting men and women to a Bible study, where they will be introduced to the greatest news in the world.
As the week melted into the weekend, I found myself on a plane headed to the southern part of this country. My role was to ordain a new man into the gospel ministry. I also intended to visit a struggling church and try to encourage them.
On Saturday night I looked into the eyes of a group of men of different ages. Most were hurting. They hurt because their church hurt. They needed healing. The ordination of a new pastor was a new prayer of hopeful healing for this group.
On Sunday morning those hurting eyes were multiplied by ten. The building was full. The atmosphere was electric. These were my friends. I had worked alongside many of them for almost ten years. Now I was there as a guest to try to help them overcome some devastating moments in their church's history. The day was a blessed one.
On Sunday night I stood before yet another group of believers. It was so distinct from the morning. Instead of pain, I saw indifference. Instead of hope, I felt heaviness. I preached a full hour here. This was no time for a wimpy, 3 points and a poem kind of message. It was time to try to wake up a sleeping church.
Unknown to me, back in my own city a tragedy had unfolded. It began Saturday night. A young man, one of our helpers in our city, had gone home after a day with the youth from the small church he helps us with. The group included two of our missionaries. The man told the two ladies that he hoped his friends would let him sleep; he was so tired from a hard day. They did not.
His friends showed up sometime that night. Some told us they had been drinking. Drugs may also have entered that picture. Some were flirting with girls that had ties to a local gang. So they brought a gun into the house. Our Christian brother, the only Christian in his family, was concerned over that. He asked if it was unloaded. They said it was. Someone pulled the trigger and our Christian brother was swept into the presence of Jesus.
Monday morning greeted me with that terrible news. The man is now buried. But the feelings his death evoked are clawing on the surface of the hearts of too many people. The tragedy has plunged its talons deep into hearts of believers and unbelievers alike. This man was a promising young preacher. None of us can make sense of it. The young men who woke him and insisted he sit with them during their party are hiding in shame.
This is what I know: the same Holy Spirit that was moving in the southern part of this country, blessing me, guiding me, and encouraging both me and the believers I was with--that same Spirit was here, consoling and calling to the men and women affected by this terrible, sensesless tragedy. He seeks to glorify Jesus in this, just as he sought to glorify Jesus where I was ministering.
I know that booze impairs judgment. Even one small shot impairs judgment. Even one glass of wine. Even one beer. Booze is bad news. God said give to those who are perishing. It is not for kings and princes. It is for dead men. It is not for believers; it is for the lost.
I know that bullets don't kill, in and of themselves. Neither do guns. But foolish young (or old) men, whose judgment is impaired by booze and drugs, tend to make stupid decisions. By the way, angry young men (or women) can have impaired judgment and make stupid decisions. But booze makes it easier than anger to make stupid decisions.
And I know that now is the time to reach those young men. It may not yet be the time to reach the parents and brother of this believer. But I believe it is time to reach the young men involved in this thing that has ransacked a small church and stolen one of its workers. They will listen now. So we will go. We will try to share the one hope for all mankind. That would be Jesus, by the way.
Somehow, someway, God will be glorified in this. Let it be so!
Monday, October 30, 2006
Water Bearers
My daughter and I went on a road trip on Sunday. Yes, instead of sitting in a nice church building, listening to some good preaching (albeit in Spanish, our second language), we chose to drive to the south part of this megapolis and do some investigation. We were on a hunt for churches.
Our trip took us to a place I have always wanted to visit: Sea Bass Hill. I am not kidding; we went to Sea Bass Hill. The drive was so steep, the road so sandy, I had to put the truck we used into 4-wheel drive to make it up to the top. Even at that, I had to wait. In front of me was a three-wheeled moto-taxi. The driver made it halfway up the hill before her motor bogged down. She made it the rest of the way by leaving it in gear and hitting the starter button. The little engine would kick over and the wheels would turn just enough to move forward about one foot. Over and over she repeated this innovated mountain-climbing till she made it to a point the motor would once again pull the machine she drove.
We climbed on to the top of the hill, looking at the small plywood houses on either side of us. At the summit, we were blessed with a view that I had hoped to see. There, across the busy Pan-American was the Pacific Ocean, glimmering, waves rolling slowly onto the rock beach. The hill we stood on rose some 200 feet, or more, above it.
On the side of the hill facing the ocean a cluster of houses seemed to claw their way into the hill. I looked more closely; most of the houses were made of woven material-- straw mats, if you will. These are among this city's poorest; many only make about $50 a month. I don't recall seeing electrical lines of any kind. The steep trails down to the houses were worse than any cow trail I have ever seen. Children peered up at us, curious. It's not every day that they see gringos in their neighborhood. We decided not to venture down there without an invitation.
We heard a commotion behind us. I turned to see a water truck rolling up the same hill we had just come up. I made sure our truck was not in his way. The water man went to the edge of the hill and whistled down to the kids who were watching us. Soon one of them climbed up to the top. Every few minutes the boy shouted, "Agua!" Water! Come get your water! Folks would have to line up with buckets and pans, dip their water out of barrels at the top of the hill, and wind their way back down the steep trails to their houses.
I asked a passerby if there were any churches down in that community. No, there were not. The water of life had not made it down that hill. Their souls were as barren as the sandy hillside. If they want to worship, they still have to claw their way up the hill to one of the few churches in that part of the city. Perhaps a few of them would do that; most will not. They will live and die in the squalid poverty that characterizes their spiritual lives. Their desire for the water of life won't be so acute as to drive them up the hill to one of those churches. It's up to us. We, who have the water of life, must go and let rivers of living water flow from us and into them.
We want to do that. We want to go and be water bearers. But we have some 8 thousand unchurched communities that we need to reach. What we need are some water bearers. We need more men and women, committed to God, willing to let the rivers of living water flow through them and touch others. God give us water bearers!
Our trip took us to a place I have always wanted to visit: Sea Bass Hill. I am not kidding; we went to Sea Bass Hill. The drive was so steep, the road so sandy, I had to put the truck we used into 4-wheel drive to make it up to the top. Even at that, I had to wait. In front of me was a three-wheeled moto-taxi. The driver made it halfway up the hill before her motor bogged down. She made it the rest of the way by leaving it in gear and hitting the starter button. The little engine would kick over and the wheels would turn just enough to move forward about one foot. Over and over she repeated this innovated mountain-climbing till she made it to a point the motor would once again pull the machine she drove.
We climbed on to the top of the hill, looking at the small plywood houses on either side of us. At the summit, we were blessed with a view that I had hoped to see. There, across the busy Pan-American was the Pacific Ocean, glimmering, waves rolling slowly onto the rock beach. The hill we stood on rose some 200 feet, or more, above it.
On the side of the hill facing the ocean a cluster of houses seemed to claw their way into the hill. I looked more closely; most of the houses were made of woven material-- straw mats, if you will. These are among this city's poorest; many only make about $50 a month. I don't recall seeing electrical lines of any kind. The steep trails down to the houses were worse than any cow trail I have ever seen. Children peered up at us, curious. It's not every day that they see gringos in their neighborhood. We decided not to venture down there without an invitation.
We heard a commotion behind us. I turned to see a water truck rolling up the same hill we had just come up. I made sure our truck was not in his way. The water man went to the edge of the hill and whistled down to the kids who were watching us. Soon one of them climbed up to the top. Every few minutes the boy shouted, "Agua!" Water! Come get your water! Folks would have to line up with buckets and pans, dip their water out of barrels at the top of the hill, and wind their way back down the steep trails to their houses.
I asked a passerby if there were any churches down in that community. No, there were not. The water of life had not made it down that hill. Their souls were as barren as the sandy hillside. If they want to worship, they still have to claw their way up the hill to one of the few churches in that part of the city. Perhaps a few of them would do that; most will not. They will live and die in the squalid poverty that characterizes their spiritual lives. Their desire for the water of life won't be so acute as to drive them up the hill to one of those churches. It's up to us. We, who have the water of life, must go and let rivers of living water flow from us and into them.
We want to do that. We want to go and be water bearers. But we have some 8 thousand unchurched communities that we need to reach. What we need are some water bearers. We need more men and women, committed to God, willing to let the rivers of living water flow through them and touch others. God give us water bearers!
Thursday, October 26, 2006
The American Church: A View from Within
The following is an article from the Baptist Press News Organization. I apologize for the length of it. Writing from down here in South America, Dr. Drace's observations cause me to ask you, the reader, if he is on target. Please read on:
FIRST-PERSON: Observations of an evangelist
By Jerry DraceOct 25, 2006
JACKSON, Tenn. (BP)--Since February 1975 when God led me to establish the Jerry Drace Evangelistic Association He has allowed me to preach in more than 1,000 churches across our nation. In His divine providence He has placed me in the company of some of His choicest servants as well as some who seek to be served. Throughout the past 31 years I have kept notes and observations on each of the pastors, staffs and churches where my team and I have been privileged to present the claims of Christ. I am sure some of these observations will be misunderstood, others will be embraced. I wish to share only 13 in hopes they will serve as a catalyst for your own reflections:
-- I have observed the lowering of the standards of holiness from the pulpit to the pew. It appears we are seeking to develop happy churches, but not holy churches. One pastor stated that he wanted his people to leave the Sunday morning worship feeling "affirmed, approved and applauded". Whatever happened to leaving feeling confronted, convicted, confessed and cleansed? Spurgeon put it in perspective years ago when he said, "Of all the griefs the church ever feels, the keenest is when those who once stood in her midst dishonor the name of Christ by unholy living."
-- I have observed the seductive fashions of the world being worn in the worship centers of our churches. Teenage girls and sometimes their mothers wear clothes to church they neither could wear to school nor in the workplace. The same applies to the male gender. We have developed such a laxity in our attire the result has numbed the spiritual senses of being in the presence of Deity. I am fully aware that God looks on the heart, but clothing, or the lack thereof, should not distract from looking into His face.
-- I have observed more and more churches having fewer and fewer revivals. Of course, the rural church will always hold a revival, whether they actually have one or not, the third week of August. Vance Havner once said, "Preachers speak of 'holding revivals'. Somebody ought to turn one loose!" Real revival -- which takes prayer and preparation and sees scores ushered into the Kingdom and church members rekindling the fire within -- is quickly giving way to one-day events. We have stopped singing "Take Time To Be Holy," because we don't have the time.
-- I have observed more and more churches decreasing from mortification rather than increasing due to salvation. There is more life outside in most church cemeteries than inside on the pews. At least in the cemeteries the grass grows and the flowers bloom. If there is not a revival in our land many of our rural churches will become bed and breakfast inns and our larger churches will be turned into antique malls. If you don't believe this, visit Great Britain.
-- I have observed more and more churches growing by transferring letters rather than transforming lives. It doesn't take a genius to build a church numerically. Given the right staff and programs you can fill a church. However, there is an eternal difference between filling a church with people and filling the people inside the church.
-- I have observed more and more pastors and evangelists preaching someone else’s sermons rather than studying and preaching their own. The call to preach has been replaced with the desire to succeed. Being an expounder of the Word requires time alone with God. Being a mouth for God to the people of God is an awesome responsibility. Preaching someone else's anointed sermon doesn't guarantee your anointment. If the sermon isn't gathered and set ablaze in the pastor's heart it likely won't spread to the hearts of the church members. Some of the greatest proclaimers of the Good News are seldom heard because they neither pastor a mega church nor are the featured speakers on Christian cruises.
-- I have observed unethical and even immoral conduct by religious leaders with little or no remorse on their part once their deeds were made public. The graveyard of compromise is filled with those who listened to the sirens of the world. Accountability and integrity were sacrificed for personal gain and puffed-up egos. When Christian leaders become legends in their own minds the ice has already broken.
-- I have observed the policies of the community dictating the policies of the church, especially in the area of sports. We now schedule the events of the church around the athletic calendar of our schools or recreational departments. We have surrendered to the god of sports. Many of our parents allow their children to play their favorite sport on Sunday morning with the rationale, "What can we do about it?" These same parents wouldn't allow their children to skip school for a church event. We even close our churches on Sunday nights if it is a national holiday. Good thing God doesn't cancel His services.
-- I have observed more and more churches teaching the latest trends in church growth rather than the doctrines of the Scriptures. We have churches full of people who can quote from the latest church growth guru, but for the life of them they can neither recall nor defend any of the doctrines of the Bible. We can be seeker friendly and purpose driven, but if we fail to seek Christ and find our purpose in Him alone all the books, seminars and mega conferences will only impede the salvation of the lost and the disciplining of the saved.
-- I have observed us becoming a people who enjoy the expression of worship without encountering the experience of worship. No one enjoys beautiful choruses more than me, yet with the freedom of style which this has ushered into our churches we must be careful not to allow our performance to overshadow His presence. Celebration without commitment leads to worthless worship.
-- I have observed religion becoming big business. Christian recording artists are now referred to as superstars and certain pastors are touted as religious CEOs. Religious leaders have evolved from troublers of society to trend-setters in society. We have religious personalities who are known as much for their political creeds as their theological convictions. Simple statements from the Bible are marketed into multimillion dollar enterprises. An executive in a Christian publication company once told me, "It's all about the buck." You half expect to see certain religious organizations listed on the New York Stock Exchange.
-- I have observed a few proclaimers who have comprised their call because of a cowardly commitment to the truths of God's Word. This brings about a deceitful delivery of devilish doctrines. The end result is a man who panders to the people and prostitutes the proclamation in the process. When wickedness enters the doors of the church it soon spreads throughout the land without any opposition. Satan himself could not have better allies than pastors who refuse to preach the truths of the Scriptures and church members who refuse to live godly lives.
-- I have observed a righteous remnant in every church who have a hunger and thirst for experiencing God to the fullest. It is this group, both young and old, who will pass on the teachings and doctrines of Holy Scripture to the next generation. Praise God for ministers and members who are not driven by fashions and trends, but remain faithful and true to fulfilling the Great Commission.
Jerry Drace is a past president of the Conference of Southern Baptist Evangelists. In addition to revivals and area wide crusades, he and his wife, Becky, conduct Hope for the Home conferences. They live in Jackson, Tenn. More information about the Draces is available at www.jdea.tn.org and www.HopefortheHome.org.
Copyright (c) 2001 Southern Baptist Convention, Baptist Press901 Commerce StreetNashville, TN 37203Tel: 615.244.2355 Fax: 615.782.8736 email: bpress@sbc.net
FIRST-PERSON: Observations of an evangelist
By Jerry DraceOct 25, 2006
JACKSON, Tenn. (BP)--Since February 1975 when God led me to establish the Jerry Drace Evangelistic Association He has allowed me to preach in more than 1,000 churches across our nation. In His divine providence He has placed me in the company of some of His choicest servants as well as some who seek to be served. Throughout the past 31 years I have kept notes and observations on each of the pastors, staffs and churches where my team and I have been privileged to present the claims of Christ. I am sure some of these observations will be misunderstood, others will be embraced. I wish to share only 13 in hopes they will serve as a catalyst for your own reflections:
-- I have observed the lowering of the standards of holiness from the pulpit to the pew. It appears we are seeking to develop happy churches, but not holy churches. One pastor stated that he wanted his people to leave the Sunday morning worship feeling "affirmed, approved and applauded". Whatever happened to leaving feeling confronted, convicted, confessed and cleansed? Spurgeon put it in perspective years ago when he said, "Of all the griefs the church ever feels, the keenest is when those who once stood in her midst dishonor the name of Christ by unholy living."
-- I have observed the seductive fashions of the world being worn in the worship centers of our churches. Teenage girls and sometimes their mothers wear clothes to church they neither could wear to school nor in the workplace. The same applies to the male gender. We have developed such a laxity in our attire the result has numbed the spiritual senses of being in the presence of Deity. I am fully aware that God looks on the heart, but clothing, or the lack thereof, should not distract from looking into His face.
-- I have observed more and more churches having fewer and fewer revivals. Of course, the rural church will always hold a revival, whether they actually have one or not, the third week of August. Vance Havner once said, "Preachers speak of 'holding revivals'. Somebody ought to turn one loose!" Real revival -- which takes prayer and preparation and sees scores ushered into the Kingdom and church members rekindling the fire within -- is quickly giving way to one-day events. We have stopped singing "Take Time To Be Holy," because we don't have the time.
-- I have observed more and more churches decreasing from mortification rather than increasing due to salvation. There is more life outside in most church cemeteries than inside on the pews. At least in the cemeteries the grass grows and the flowers bloom. If there is not a revival in our land many of our rural churches will become bed and breakfast inns and our larger churches will be turned into antique malls. If you don't believe this, visit Great Britain.
-- I have observed more and more churches growing by transferring letters rather than transforming lives. It doesn't take a genius to build a church numerically. Given the right staff and programs you can fill a church. However, there is an eternal difference between filling a church with people and filling the people inside the church.
-- I have observed more and more pastors and evangelists preaching someone else’s sermons rather than studying and preaching their own. The call to preach has been replaced with the desire to succeed. Being an expounder of the Word requires time alone with God. Being a mouth for God to the people of God is an awesome responsibility. Preaching someone else's anointed sermon doesn't guarantee your anointment. If the sermon isn't gathered and set ablaze in the pastor's heart it likely won't spread to the hearts of the church members. Some of the greatest proclaimers of the Good News are seldom heard because they neither pastor a mega church nor are the featured speakers on Christian cruises.
-- I have observed unethical and even immoral conduct by religious leaders with little or no remorse on their part once their deeds were made public. The graveyard of compromise is filled with those who listened to the sirens of the world. Accountability and integrity were sacrificed for personal gain and puffed-up egos. When Christian leaders become legends in their own minds the ice has already broken.
-- I have observed the policies of the community dictating the policies of the church, especially in the area of sports. We now schedule the events of the church around the athletic calendar of our schools or recreational departments. We have surrendered to the god of sports. Many of our parents allow their children to play their favorite sport on Sunday morning with the rationale, "What can we do about it?" These same parents wouldn't allow their children to skip school for a church event. We even close our churches on Sunday nights if it is a national holiday. Good thing God doesn't cancel His services.
-- I have observed more and more churches teaching the latest trends in church growth rather than the doctrines of the Scriptures. We have churches full of people who can quote from the latest church growth guru, but for the life of them they can neither recall nor defend any of the doctrines of the Bible. We can be seeker friendly and purpose driven, but if we fail to seek Christ and find our purpose in Him alone all the books, seminars and mega conferences will only impede the salvation of the lost and the disciplining of the saved.
-- I have observed us becoming a people who enjoy the expression of worship without encountering the experience of worship. No one enjoys beautiful choruses more than me, yet with the freedom of style which this has ushered into our churches we must be careful not to allow our performance to overshadow His presence. Celebration without commitment leads to worthless worship.
-- I have observed religion becoming big business. Christian recording artists are now referred to as superstars and certain pastors are touted as religious CEOs. Religious leaders have evolved from troublers of society to trend-setters in society. We have religious personalities who are known as much for their political creeds as their theological convictions. Simple statements from the Bible are marketed into multimillion dollar enterprises. An executive in a Christian publication company once told me, "It's all about the buck." You half expect to see certain religious organizations listed on the New York Stock Exchange.
-- I have observed a few proclaimers who have comprised their call because of a cowardly commitment to the truths of God's Word. This brings about a deceitful delivery of devilish doctrines. The end result is a man who panders to the people and prostitutes the proclamation in the process. When wickedness enters the doors of the church it soon spreads throughout the land without any opposition. Satan himself could not have better allies than pastors who refuse to preach the truths of the Scriptures and church members who refuse to live godly lives.
-- I have observed a righteous remnant in every church who have a hunger and thirst for experiencing God to the fullest. It is this group, both young and old, who will pass on the teachings and doctrines of Holy Scripture to the next generation. Praise God for ministers and members who are not driven by fashions and trends, but remain faithful and true to fulfilling the Great Commission.
Jerry Drace is a past president of the Conference of Southern Baptist Evangelists. In addition to revivals and area wide crusades, he and his wife, Becky, conduct Hope for the Home conferences. They live in Jackson, Tenn. More information about the Draces is available at www.jdea.tn.org and www.HopefortheHome.org.
Copyright (c) 2001 Southern Baptist Convention, Baptist Press901 Commerce StreetNashville, TN 37203Tel: 615.244.2355 Fax: 615.782.8736 email: bpress@sbc.net
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Absolutely!
I'm going down an old road today. In fact, it's as old as mankind. It starts there. It's an insidious thing that dominates every culture among every people, everywhere you can go. It's that old lie. It's that old promise that can never, ever be fulfilled. Here "it" is: moral truth is relative. Stated in other terms, there are no moral absolutes.
Someone said that a statement like, "There are no moral absolutes," is an absolute in and of itself and therefore contradicts its very premise that there are no moral absolutes. Whoever said that is a wise man or woman.
As I said, all this begins with Adam and Eve. There they were, living in perfect harmony, within a perfect garden, in perfect peace, with a perfect eco-system, and with nothing to fear. No lions roaming the area would have given thought to attacking them or any of the other animals in the garden. No poisonous spiders to bother them. No scorpions to attack them. Just peace, perfection, and a pleasant life.
They had one, and only one, prohibition: they could not take fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. It was the one thing God placed off-limits to them. Along came the serpent, complete with his persuasive arguments that God was withholding something from them. Yes, God was depriving Adam and Eve of a special treat that this serpent knew they could have: the right to believe whatever they wanted. The right to be their own gods. Adam and Eve took the bait. They swallowed the lie, one that was sweet to the mind, but bitter to the spirit. And thus began the march of moral relativism.
If God and God's words are not absolutely true, why do we have prisons? Why are we dismayed and disgusted by the likes of Sen. Mark Foley? Why is Iran a problem for us? Why is Osama Bin Laden the bad guy? Why is Chavez or Castro a threat?
If God and God's words are not absolutely true, why does death sting us so? Why do we cave under the news that we or a loved one has a terminal disease? Why do we stop them from terminating their lives? Why is murder wrong? Why is pedophilia wrong?
If God and God's word is not absolutely true, then what I am doing somewhere in South America? Why do men and women launch out, seeking to influence others with the claims of Christ? Why not just live and let live?
But God is true. His words are true. And his solutions to life are true.
We need absolutes as surely as a navigator needs a compass. Without them, we have no clue where to go. We won't even know if we have arrived.
One college student said he did not believe in absolutes. His professor asked if the young man was sure. He replied, "Absolutely!"
May we be so quick to respond about God's absolutes!
Someone said that a statement like, "There are no moral absolutes," is an absolute in and of itself and therefore contradicts its very premise that there are no moral absolutes. Whoever said that is a wise man or woman.
As I said, all this begins with Adam and Eve. There they were, living in perfect harmony, within a perfect garden, in perfect peace, with a perfect eco-system, and with nothing to fear. No lions roaming the area would have given thought to attacking them or any of the other animals in the garden. No poisonous spiders to bother them. No scorpions to attack them. Just peace, perfection, and a pleasant life.
They had one, and only one, prohibition: they could not take fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. It was the one thing God placed off-limits to them. Along came the serpent, complete with his persuasive arguments that God was withholding something from them. Yes, God was depriving Adam and Eve of a special treat that this serpent knew they could have: the right to believe whatever they wanted. The right to be their own gods. Adam and Eve took the bait. They swallowed the lie, one that was sweet to the mind, but bitter to the spirit. And thus began the march of moral relativism.
If God and God's words are not absolutely true, why do we have prisons? Why are we dismayed and disgusted by the likes of Sen. Mark Foley? Why is Iran a problem for us? Why is Osama Bin Laden the bad guy? Why is Chavez or Castro a threat?
If God and God's words are not absolutely true, why does death sting us so? Why do we cave under the news that we or a loved one has a terminal disease? Why do we stop them from terminating their lives? Why is murder wrong? Why is pedophilia wrong?
If God and God's word is not absolutely true, then what I am doing somewhere in South America? Why do men and women launch out, seeking to influence others with the claims of Christ? Why not just live and let live?
But God is true. His words are true. And his solutions to life are true.
We need absolutes as surely as a navigator needs a compass. Without them, we have no clue where to go. We won't even know if we have arrived.
One college student said he did not believe in absolutes. His professor asked if the young man was sure. He replied, "Absolutely!"
May we be so quick to respond about God's absolutes!
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Light versus Darkness
I suppose some of you heard about the ruckus over NBC's choice to censor Veggie Tales. Yes, they have decided children will be harmed by hearing positive references to God. Now those same kids can hear negative references to God in many of that historical network's regular programs. In fact, if you watch their shows long enough, you will probably see children themselves taking that holy name and profaning it. But forbid it that children would be exposed to something positive about God! After all, that might make them choose to be one of those pesky little Christians running around out there, making life miserable for the rest of the world! Only radical Muslims are worse! Right? Well, okay, maybe we could throw in a radical Hindu, or two, just to be fair.
What surprised me most about that article about NBC's actions (which I am sorry to say I cannot hyperlink you, the reader, to) was that the Christian writer was surprised by such a thing. Why, pray tell, would we ever be surprised by such as that? Have we forgotten what John said? Please let me remind you: "And this is the condemnation, that the light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil." - John 3:19
It gets better in John 3:20: "For everyone practicing evil hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his deeds should be exposed."
There are two phrases there that I want to reiterate: "men loved darkness," and "everyone practicing evil hates the light." Darkness refers to cover for evil deeds. Men love darkness. Since The Fall, men, as well as women, always have loved darkness. Darkness has a way of hiding evil. Just as cobwebs are not easily seen in a dimly-lit room, evil deeds are more difficult to spot in a dimly-lit society.
Down here in South America, in the part where we live, that darkness is far more pronounced than other places where Christianity once prevailed. There is less light. So there is more evidence of evil deeds. As the light grows dim in North America, more evil deeds are becoming evident there, too. Wicked men are bolder in their wickedness. Few are in the closet anymore. Most have come out, proudly parading their contempt for God and for righteousness.
So what are we to do? We are to do what we are called to do: be light. Jesus told us in Matthew that we are the light of the world. If we Christians are the light, all we have to do is ensure that we are in a place where we can shine and be seen by others. Some will flee. They hate light. Others, however, will be drawn to the light that shines through us; they will want Jesus as Lord.
Instead of being surprised, we should take NBC's sad choice as a warning that American Christians no longer shine with the brightness they once emanated. The evil deeds of men are becoming more and more rampant. Darkness is more prevalent; so much so, darkness feels comfortable telling the light that it can no longer shine.
It's time to get back on the hillside and shine out over America's cities.
What surprised me most about that article about NBC's actions (which I am sorry to say I cannot hyperlink you, the reader, to) was that the Christian writer was surprised by such a thing. Why, pray tell, would we ever be surprised by such as that? Have we forgotten what John said? Please let me remind you: "And this is the condemnation, that the light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil." - John 3:19
It gets better in John 3:20: "For everyone practicing evil hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his deeds should be exposed."
There are two phrases there that I want to reiterate: "men loved darkness," and "everyone practicing evil hates the light." Darkness refers to cover for evil deeds. Men love darkness. Since The Fall, men, as well as women, always have loved darkness. Darkness has a way of hiding evil. Just as cobwebs are not easily seen in a dimly-lit room, evil deeds are more difficult to spot in a dimly-lit society.
Down here in South America, in the part where we live, that darkness is far more pronounced than other places where Christianity once prevailed. There is less light. So there is more evidence of evil deeds. As the light grows dim in North America, more evil deeds are becoming evident there, too. Wicked men are bolder in their wickedness. Few are in the closet anymore. Most have come out, proudly parading their contempt for God and for righteousness.
So what are we to do? We are to do what we are called to do: be light. Jesus told us in Matthew that we are the light of the world. If we Christians are the light, all we have to do is ensure that we are in a place where we can shine and be seen by others. Some will flee. They hate light. Others, however, will be drawn to the light that shines through us; they will want Jesus as Lord.
Instead of being surprised, we should take NBC's sad choice as a warning that American Christians no longer shine with the brightness they once emanated. The evil deeds of men are becoming more and more rampant. Darkness is more prevalent; so much so, darkness feels comfortable telling the light that it can no longer shine.
It's time to get back on the hillside and shine out over America's cities.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Clearing the Air
I just read an article about Muslims burning an effigy of the Pope over some comments he made regarding Mohammed. While they burned the effigy, others spoke of how peace-loving Muslims are. Is anyone out there confused over the whole image? This group insists on acceptance and tolerance, yet reacts with violence towards any and all who disagree with them. Yes, there are moderate Muslims, some of whom have been condemned by some of their own. What does that earn them?
Peace-loving, or not, here is the plain truth: only Jesus Christ saves. No man's religion will save him. No woman's works will save her. Faithfulness and strict adherance to one's beliefs will not save. ONLY JESUS CHRIST SAVES! It's not about being Baptist, Methodist, or any other "ist;" it's about that personal relationship with the Son of God.
We must return to boldly proclaiming the truth of the Gospel. Away with our modern-day softness! Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own eyes.
Jesus is Lord!
Peace-loving, or not, here is the plain truth: only Jesus Christ saves. No man's religion will save him. No woman's works will save her. Faithfulness and strict adherance to one's beliefs will not save. ONLY JESUS CHRIST SAVES! It's not about being Baptist, Methodist, or any other "ist;" it's about that personal relationship with the Son of God.
We must return to boldly proclaiming the truth of the Gospel. Away with our modern-day softness! Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own eyes.
Jesus is Lord!
Friday, August 25, 2006
The Pied Piper Is Playing Our Song
I watched America slip this week. No, that's not right. I watched America skip happily down the road this week. The trouble to me is that it's not a road I want to be on.
This week the FDA approved what is known as "Plan B." All kinds of people are hailing it as a wonderful thing. Even our so-called Evangelical president supports it. You can read about it here. It's almost a non-story. I am not seeing much dust in the air over it. Few seem to be lamenting this disastrous decision. But they should.
Please let me paint the picture with clearer strokes. Suppose your teenaged daughter or son decides to become sexually active. Many are; may yours not be among them! As a result of their foolish choice to circumvent God's perfect plan, they decide they need extra protection. They can now go to their local drugstore and purchase a pill known as an abortifacient, now known as "Plan B," and ensure that a pregnancy does not occur. They don't need a prescription if they are at least 18. It's an OTC for them: over the counter.
The proponents of this stupid action by the FDA insist that one must be 18 to purchase it. Well, duh! Do they think that teens under the age of 18 don't have friends over the age of 18 that can make that purchase? If so many have friends over 21 who purchase booze for them, why do we think a little hurdle like an age limit is going to present a deterrent for those hormone-driven children that seek it?
I fear dire consequences for America at large. I fear an increase in pre-marital sex. I fear a rise in STDs, including AIDS; after all, we can now engage in unprotected sex with little fear of pregnancy. Worst of all, I fear that God will turn his back on America, close his ear to their prayers, and remove what little hedge of protection we have left.
The Pied Piper is playing our song! Our children are marching, skipping, and dancing happily behind him, completely unaware that their end is close upon them.
May God turn us back!
This week the FDA approved what is known as "Plan B." All kinds of people are hailing it as a wonderful thing. Even our so-called Evangelical president supports it. You can read about it here. It's almost a non-story. I am not seeing much dust in the air over it. Few seem to be lamenting this disastrous decision. But they should.
Please let me paint the picture with clearer strokes. Suppose your teenaged daughter or son decides to become sexually active. Many are; may yours not be among them! As a result of their foolish choice to circumvent God's perfect plan, they decide they need extra protection. They can now go to their local drugstore and purchase a pill known as an abortifacient, now known as "Plan B," and ensure that a pregnancy does not occur. They don't need a prescription if they are at least 18. It's an OTC for them: over the counter.
The proponents of this stupid action by the FDA insist that one must be 18 to purchase it. Well, duh! Do they think that teens under the age of 18 don't have friends over the age of 18 that can make that purchase? If so many have friends over 21 who purchase booze for them, why do we think a little hurdle like an age limit is going to present a deterrent for those hormone-driven children that seek it?
I fear dire consequences for America at large. I fear an increase in pre-marital sex. I fear a rise in STDs, including AIDS; after all, we can now engage in unprotected sex with little fear of pregnancy. Worst of all, I fear that God will turn his back on America, close his ear to their prayers, and remove what little hedge of protection we have left.
The Pied Piper is playing our song! Our children are marching, skipping, and dancing happily behind him, completely unaware that their end is close upon them.
May God turn us back!
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Living in the Light of Code Red
I flew the day after we all heard the words "Code Red." We watched in alarm as they showed long lines in airport after airport. No one wants to embark on a trip with that kind of chaos waiting for the traveler. Not even the airlines wanted us to fly. They offered to let us postpone our trip, to wait. All the signs said, "Don't travel!" But we did. We needed to get back to South America.
We went to the airport earlier than we normally would have. We waited longer than we wanted. But we arrived in our South American city safe and sound.
The security agents were the most nervous. I suspected that there were more air marshalls on our flights, too. Two men parked themselves in front of me, one sitting and one standing off to the side; they somberly and intently watched me and my 15-year-old daughter. I mean, they watched us for several minutes and were unashamed to do so. I was tempted to stare back, but my mother taught me better. Common sense said don't do it, either. If they were federal authorities, I did not want to give them a reason to say anything more to me than the hellos that we exchanged.
Some are put off by the increased security. I am not. I am glad for the concern for my safety. I don't mind spending a few extra minutes going through the checkpoints, unpacking and repacking my carry-ons, and all the other things that must happen to make us safe. I am grateful that, behind the scenes, agents are walking among the baggage, checking that out as well.
I also have a spiritual lesson in this. Peter told us to be on the alert; our adversary prowls about like a lion, seeking whom he may devour. Paul told us to do all we could and take our stand. We must be those spiritual air marshalls, those security agents, watching carefully lest the forces of darkness penetrate our lines and wreak havoc among us. We must rise early and stay up late, defending the weak and strong alike. Our arena is the halls of prayer.
We must go in armed with the Word of God. We must be in full uniform, putting on all the armor of God. I wonder how many times I have gone to battle with only part of my armor in place? We must be diligent and dress for the battle at hand.
Why? Souls are at stake. Eternity is ahead of every man, woman, and child with whom we have contact. Ours is a far greater, much more serious, and a farther-reaching battle. It's the battle for the soul of man.
Today the world lives in the light of Code Red. Christians have lived there since Jesus rose from the grave.
We went to the airport earlier than we normally would have. We waited longer than we wanted. But we arrived in our South American city safe and sound.
The security agents were the most nervous. I suspected that there were more air marshalls on our flights, too. Two men parked themselves in front of me, one sitting and one standing off to the side; they somberly and intently watched me and my 15-year-old daughter. I mean, they watched us for several minutes and were unashamed to do so. I was tempted to stare back, but my mother taught me better. Common sense said don't do it, either. If they were federal authorities, I did not want to give them a reason to say anything more to me than the hellos that we exchanged.
Some are put off by the increased security. I am not. I am glad for the concern for my safety. I don't mind spending a few extra minutes going through the checkpoints, unpacking and repacking my carry-ons, and all the other things that must happen to make us safe. I am grateful that, behind the scenes, agents are walking among the baggage, checking that out as well.
I also have a spiritual lesson in this. Peter told us to be on the alert; our adversary prowls about like a lion, seeking whom he may devour. Paul told us to do all we could and take our stand. We must be those spiritual air marshalls, those security agents, watching carefully lest the forces of darkness penetrate our lines and wreak havoc among us. We must rise early and stay up late, defending the weak and strong alike. Our arena is the halls of prayer.
We must go in armed with the Word of God. We must be in full uniform, putting on all the armor of God. I wonder how many times I have gone to battle with only part of my armor in place? We must be diligent and dress for the battle at hand.
Why? Souls are at stake. Eternity is ahead of every man, woman, and child with whom we have contact. Ours is a far greater, much more serious, and a farther-reaching battle. It's the battle for the soul of man.
Today the world lives in the light of Code Red. Christians have lived there since Jesus rose from the grave.
Friday, August 04, 2006
The Sting of Death
I wish I was writing this from somewhere in South America. The story doesn't even begin there, though. I am well above the Mason-Dixon Line, in the heartland. It is here that my daughter and son-in-law live. And it is here that I experienced a level of pain I have never known.
Kory, my son-in-law, called me the evening of July 27th. His voice forbode bad news. My mind raced to all the possibilities as he asked me if I was alone, and as I closed the office door. I told him I was and he told me of the evening's events.
Michelle had laid her firstborn baby down for a nap at about 4:30. After some time she went in to check on little Grace, now just a week shy of 3 months. And there she lay, not breathing. As easily as you just read this e mail, in a matter of seconds, Grace departed from this world into the presence of God.
We were stunned. We wailed. We wept. We asked why. We walked in circles in the house. We held one another. We gripped ourselves, wrapping our arms around in a tight body hug, trying to keep our heart from exploding.
Pam, Melissa, and I were on a plane the next morning; we made it to Nebraska before midnight on the 28th. Our hearts felt like stones within us, but we did what we could to maintain our composure.
We buried our first grandchild a few days later.
The pain we felt from death's stinger is much abated now. It's still there, to be sure. There are still certain triggers that cause our emotions to overflow. But we do not dwell on the pain. We have a blessed hope in the Lord Jesus Christ.
I once heard of some heretic who went to a Southern Baptist seminary to speak. This pea-brained and dead-spirited man had the gumption to tell that crowd of men and women that he believed babies were divided into two classes. Should they die, one of those classes of babies goes on to heaven; the other goes to hell. The trouble with his shock theolodgy was, aside from the sheer madness of it, there were women and men present whose babies had died in the past few weeks and months. Those men and women had come to chapel for a fresh word of comfort; their hearts were wounded. And this foolish man was Satan's sharp sword to reopen those wounds.
I am far more Calvinistic in my theology than I am anything else. But God help the man who looks me in the face and tells me my 3-month-old granddaughter (or anyone else's) is burning in hell! There is enough pain in death without such heresy being spewed onto wounded spirits.
Life moves on. We are learning to enjoy the sunsets again. We are learning that pain is lessened by "group hugs." We are learning that resting in Jesus is the only sure way to make it through a time like this. We are learning that we have more friends than you can shake the proverbial stick at. We are learning that Jesus also shares his love with us through their love. We are learning the importance of faith, of walking in the Spirit (before calamity comes), and of the power of prayer.
Above all, we are learning that the sharpest part of the spear on death's shaft went into God's heart. We feel a small part of the sting Jesus felt for us. By faith we await the day we will walk the roads of heaven, hand in hand with Grace Elizabeth. Until that day, we let the Holy Spirit rub our hearts with the healing balm he carries in his hand.
Kory, my son-in-law, called me the evening of July 27th. His voice forbode bad news. My mind raced to all the possibilities as he asked me if I was alone, and as I closed the office door. I told him I was and he told me of the evening's events.
Michelle had laid her firstborn baby down for a nap at about 4:30. After some time she went in to check on little Grace, now just a week shy of 3 months. And there she lay, not breathing. As easily as you just read this e mail, in a matter of seconds, Grace departed from this world into the presence of God.
We were stunned. We wailed. We wept. We asked why. We walked in circles in the house. We held one another. We gripped ourselves, wrapping our arms around in a tight body hug, trying to keep our heart from exploding.
Pam, Melissa, and I were on a plane the next morning; we made it to Nebraska before midnight on the 28th. Our hearts felt like stones within us, but we did what we could to maintain our composure.
We buried our first grandchild a few days later.
The pain we felt from death's stinger is much abated now. It's still there, to be sure. There are still certain triggers that cause our emotions to overflow. But we do not dwell on the pain. We have a blessed hope in the Lord Jesus Christ.
I once heard of some heretic who went to a Southern Baptist seminary to speak. This pea-brained and dead-spirited man had the gumption to tell that crowd of men and women that he believed babies were divided into two classes. Should they die, one of those classes of babies goes on to heaven; the other goes to hell. The trouble with his shock theolodgy was, aside from the sheer madness of it, there were women and men present whose babies had died in the past few weeks and months. Those men and women had come to chapel for a fresh word of comfort; their hearts were wounded. And this foolish man was Satan's sharp sword to reopen those wounds.
I am far more Calvinistic in my theology than I am anything else. But God help the man who looks me in the face and tells me my 3-month-old granddaughter (or anyone else's) is burning in hell! There is enough pain in death without such heresy being spewed onto wounded spirits.
Life moves on. We are learning to enjoy the sunsets again. We are learning that pain is lessened by "group hugs." We are learning that resting in Jesus is the only sure way to make it through a time like this. We are learning that we have more friends than you can shake the proverbial stick at. We are learning that Jesus also shares his love with us through their love. We are learning the importance of faith, of walking in the Spirit (before calamity comes), and of the power of prayer.
Above all, we are learning that the sharpest part of the spear on death's shaft went into God's heart. We feel a small part of the sting Jesus felt for us. By faith we await the day we will walk the roads of heaven, hand in hand with Grace Elizabeth. Until that day, we let the Holy Spirit rub our hearts with the healing balm he carries in his hand.
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