It was the day after the evening Passover celebration. That day before was ugly enough. Three men had been executed for their crimes. Roman executions are always ugly. But these men deserved it. Two were common thugs; good riddance to such scum! One was sentenced and executed for being "King of the Jews." For those Pharisees and Sadducees who so longed for Jesus' death, this title was a slap in the face. Even in his death Jesus defied them, the established authorities of the Jews.
But they were rid of the pest now. He is in the renegade Joseph's tomb. Yes, renegade. Joseph has jumped ships. He has declared himself to be a follower of this would-be Messiah.
For the tens of thousands who live in Jerusalem and the surrounding area, now it's business as usual. There is a big mess to clean up. Scraps from the Passover preparation need to be thrown out. Scores of carcasses have to be disposed of. Gehenna will burn hot for several days with all this garbage.
The leaders of the Sanhedrin sigh with guarded relief. Pilate has believed them and has placed a sizeable guard over the tomb of Jesus. They believe that if they make it one more day, then life will go on; it will be business as usual. Their great concern now is to repair the temple curtain, ripped from top to bottom. They think it was an earthquake that did it. There was an earthquake. If they had had eyes to see spiritual things, perhaps they would have seen the hands of God shaking the earth. Perhaps they would have seen angels of God grabbing that curtain on each side, and tearing it in two. But they did not; they could not see it. They are spiritually blind. For them, the business is cleaning up the ugly mess this man Jesus created.
Hidden away, out of sight of the rest of the world, are many frightened, confused disciples. Nothing has worked out like they thought it would. Their minds are riddled with questions. Where was God when Jesus was arrested? Where was God when Jesus was tried? Where was he when they nailed him to the cross? Didn't even Jesus cry out and ask why God had forsaken him? Where was he? Why didn't he stop this? Why did he let this happen to begin with? How can he be quiet while these miserable excuses for men go on, business as usual? Now nothing will be the same. Rumor has it that even Peter has gone back. Someone said he even denied Jesus.
In another realm, in another place, it is anything but business as usual. This Jesus is disturbing the established order. He is standing tall and strong. He is not bound! He is preaching to the entire realm of the dead. Those who walked by faith listen with joy. Those who walked in unrighteousness cringe in fear. Demons huddle, cowering. The one they conquered has actually conquered them. It can never be business as usual here ever again. Jesus has snatched up the keys of death. He has raised them high and, with a lion-like roar, declares victory over death's dark domain. It won't be long before Jesus is raised from the dead and demonstrates to his grieving friends and followers that God's plan was a perfect one. Now they can be freed from the chains that bind them. They can be empowered to follow Jesus like they said they wanted to.
Here we are, some 2,000 years later. We are watching the world around us. For too many, it is business as usual. They have never even been allowed to hear the name of Jesus. They are completely ignorant of who Jesus is, much less what he did for them. Life goes on. It is business as usual.
Others know something of this Jesus. They will even appear in some religious festival. Then they will disappear into their business. As usual. It won't even make a difference for them, other than perhaps appeasing their consciences for one more year.
What about us? What will this weekend mean for us? Will it be business as usual? Or will it become an opportunity to snatch someone from the kingdom of darkness? Or perhaps a time of intimate communion, sitting at the feet of our Master Jesus, just as Mary once did? Whatever it is, don't let it be business as usual.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Monday, April 02, 2007
Life as We Saw It, in Three Acts
I don't know how to describe the past two days. I have seen a little of everything, in terms of what you can see on the mission field in South America. I was moved by all of it. I was stirred beyond words. All I can do is try to carry you to a point you may be able to envision somewhat the scenes we not only witnessed, but participated in.
Yesterday began early, relatively speaking. We went to a new church. It is a traditional church, for what I could see. At least, the worship was traditional. We met in a converted garage. The pastor told me there were 76 present for worship. I do not know if that included me, my wife, and my daughter. I do not know if it included the little ones in the nursery, separated from us by a wall made of heavy nylon screen material. There the people loved us; they hugged us. They asked to have their photo taken with us. Seldom have we been greeted in that way. God moved in our midst. I could not say how many prayed to receive Christ at the public invitation. That is because as soon as they raised their hands to indicate they wanted to know Christ, counselors all over converged on them and took them into another part of the building. That alone was impressive to me. Equally impressive was the fact that this was their third Sunday to meet. They have grown from a dozen to over 75 in three weeks. What an exciting thing to witness!
At three I headed back to the southern part of our city. There, we seek to minister to a community called The Oasis. It is anything but that, believe me. The community of over 3,000 families was built upon a garbage dump, now covered in sand. Literally. Their houses are made of straw mats. The image above is one shot of those houses.
In the past week, the third section of this community have taken down their houses, brought in heavy equipment, and leveled much of the area. The result has been sad, in a way. Large sections of old garbage have surfaced. The area has an unpleasant stench of rotting garbage all around. There is no water. There is no electricity to speak of. Families who lived inside cubes made of straw now lay their mattresses on the garbage-infested ground. They erected makeshift tents made of one sheet of plastic or one section of matting. There the entire family sleeps. On one mattress. I showed up on this scene for the second time this week. I had hoped they would be back to "normal" by Sunday. I was wrong. They were frightened, even worried that they would lose their little plot of land.
God may use it for good. I was able to pray with over one hundred men and women, asking God to bless their endeavor to eke out a living in that small corner of the world.
Today I went to yet another community. It was not much better off than Oasis. They at least lived in houses made of thin plywood. That is better than straw mats. But this community is on a steep, barren hillside, at 1,100 feet above sea level; and the sea is only about 3 miles away. While I waited for the man I went to visit, I watched the community life go by. It was something to behold. As I looked out over the ravine at other communities in that area, I watched the water trucks make their way up the hill. They would blow their air horns, giving a long, loud blast that echoed across the rocks.
Soon one of the trucks made it to where I was. I went down to watch them unhook a hose and fill 40-gallon trash cans or barrels with water. To everyone's surprise, there was only enough water for one person. I asked what they would do. The ladies standing there told me that another truck might come later that day; otherwise they would have to wait till the next day and hope there was enough water then.
But there is a hitch to the water thing. The water is on ground level. Most of the houses are in rows above where the water truck deposited its water. The ladies and children had to come down the hillside with 5-gallon buckets to carry the water as much as 200 feet up the hill. But they are desperate for water. They have to carry it. They need it. It is life for them.
We are there because they need the water of life far more than they need the liquid stuff. My heart is burdened for them. There they are: hundreds of them. And they have no church. There is a small evangelical presence. But it is not felt. Few understand what it means to be born again.
In all three cases, we plead with the Lord of the Harvest for laborers. We long for them to know the true Lord. We dream of the day that they become water-bearers, bearing the water of life to others.
In all three cases we were reminded of the one singular truth that drives us: Jesus is Lord. And he loves these people enough that he died for them.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Vision
I have seen it; you have, too. We have seen someone's vision, as it plays out in life. I saw it last week on three different fronts. In one case, it was an old vision. In a second case, it was a new vision. In another case, it was a growing vision. Please let me explain.
In one case, as I wrote a few weeks ago, I was invited to preach at a traditonal church. It was the close to a month of missionary emphasis. I remember the church from years gone by. I remembered, as I sat there, the original vision of the founders of the church. The church was to have a particular focus; it was to reach a particular population segment of the city. That was way back in the late '80's and early '90's of last century. What happened? Did they accomplish their vision? They did not. The church began well, in terms of reaching its target group; but it has not continued well. More about that in a moment.
Last Sunday we snuck away to another church. It was amazing to see God at work. The founders of that church had a vision. The pastor had a vision, too. It was a continuation of the vision of the founders. The associate pastors had a vision. The laity involved in the nuts and bolts operation of the church also had a vision. And it moved forward, flourished, changed with the times, yet maintained its original concept. They actually tried to transplant this church's vision in other parts of the world. One of the original "visioneers" admitted that their attempts were not well-received.
During the week I had the privilege of attending the opening day of a local seminary. It's a new seminary. The truth is, I think many would call it a Bible institute; but that's not the point. The rector of this seminary pointed out their vision. Since the seminary is new, we can assume the vision is relatively new, too. At the present, the participants, both faculty and students, are pumped. And the seminary is operating according to the vision the rector proclaimed.
In each case, there was a vision in place. In one case, the original vision could not even be seen. In another, the original vision was in place, yet modified to accomodate the hour. In the third case, the jury is still out.
There is someting important that stands out to me: carrying out a vision is hard work! The first church I mentioned did not lose its vision; it was just too hard to continue that vision. It was easier to allow the vision to quietly disappear and to allow the church to become whatever it could become. When the founders left, instead of seeking like-minded leadership, those present accepted whatever came along (don't take that in terms of doctrine, only in terms of vision). So the original vision eventually died. As in the case of the Hebrews in Egypt, "There arose a pharaoh who did not know Joseph." When one visits that church now, aside from its location, there is no evidence of the original vision. They do not reach the original target population segment. They are so far-removed from that original target group, that only a miraculous move of God would make it possible.
In the second case, the founders' orginal vision is still operating, but growing. The pastors have worked hard to continue the vision, but with the proper adjustments to be able to communicate the vision in today's realities. This church is actually older than the first church I mentioned. Yet it is far more vibrant, looks and feels less tradtional, and has an influence that reaches far and wide. They keep things simple, yet they work very hard to keep things flowing (in accordance with the Holy Spirit's presence, as well as their vision).
Something else is obvious to me: when vision is not communicated often and in the simplest of terms, it tends to degenerate. Look at today's church. Everywhere we turn, someone is lamenting today's church. Someone bemoans the fact that today's church doesn look anything like what they believe the church looked in the days of the Apostles. In other words, the original vision degenerated and something else took its place.
Someone once told me that such programs as Evangelism Explosion or Continuing Witness Training have a life of three generations. They degrade after the second one. Why would that be? Answer: the workers tend to fail to communicate the original vision. I think that is one reason why "new" programs are invented.
We are speaking a lot on different blogs about simplifying the church. That's fine. I won't argue that point either way. I will say this: whatever form the church takes, if it is to be effective, the church's vision should be simple, communicated simply, and the leaders must work hard to ensure that all they do fits within that vision.
In one case, as I wrote a few weeks ago, I was invited to preach at a traditonal church. It was the close to a month of missionary emphasis. I remember the church from years gone by. I remembered, as I sat there, the original vision of the founders of the church. The church was to have a particular focus; it was to reach a particular population segment of the city. That was way back in the late '80's and early '90's of last century. What happened? Did they accomplish their vision? They did not. The church began well, in terms of reaching its target group; but it has not continued well. More about that in a moment.
Last Sunday we snuck away to another church. It was amazing to see God at work. The founders of that church had a vision. The pastor had a vision, too. It was a continuation of the vision of the founders. The associate pastors had a vision. The laity involved in the nuts and bolts operation of the church also had a vision. And it moved forward, flourished, changed with the times, yet maintained its original concept. They actually tried to transplant this church's vision in other parts of the world. One of the original "visioneers" admitted that their attempts were not well-received.
During the week I had the privilege of attending the opening day of a local seminary. It's a new seminary. The truth is, I think many would call it a Bible institute; but that's not the point. The rector of this seminary pointed out their vision. Since the seminary is new, we can assume the vision is relatively new, too. At the present, the participants, both faculty and students, are pumped. And the seminary is operating according to the vision the rector proclaimed.
In each case, there was a vision in place. In one case, the original vision could not even be seen. In another, the original vision was in place, yet modified to accomodate the hour. In the third case, the jury is still out.
There is someting important that stands out to me: carrying out a vision is hard work! The first church I mentioned did not lose its vision; it was just too hard to continue that vision. It was easier to allow the vision to quietly disappear and to allow the church to become whatever it could become. When the founders left, instead of seeking like-minded leadership, those present accepted whatever came along (don't take that in terms of doctrine, only in terms of vision). So the original vision eventually died. As in the case of the Hebrews in Egypt, "There arose a pharaoh who did not know Joseph." When one visits that church now, aside from its location, there is no evidence of the original vision. They do not reach the original target population segment. They are so far-removed from that original target group, that only a miraculous move of God would make it possible.
In the second case, the founders' orginal vision is still operating, but growing. The pastors have worked hard to continue the vision, but with the proper adjustments to be able to communicate the vision in today's realities. This church is actually older than the first church I mentioned. Yet it is far more vibrant, looks and feels less tradtional, and has an influence that reaches far and wide. They keep things simple, yet they work very hard to keep things flowing (in accordance with the Holy Spirit's presence, as well as their vision).
Something else is obvious to me: when vision is not communicated often and in the simplest of terms, it tends to degenerate. Look at today's church. Everywhere we turn, someone is lamenting today's church. Someone bemoans the fact that today's church doesn look anything like what they believe the church looked in the days of the Apostles. In other words, the original vision degenerated and something else took its place.
Someone once told me that such programs as Evangelism Explosion or Continuing Witness Training have a life of three generations. They degrade after the second one. Why would that be? Answer: the workers tend to fail to communicate the original vision. I think that is one reason why "new" programs are invented.
We are speaking a lot on different blogs about simplifying the church. That's fine. I won't argue that point either way. I will say this: whatever form the church takes, if it is to be effective, the church's vision should be simple, communicated simply, and the leaders must work hard to ensure that all they do fits within that vision.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Twenty-nine Years and Counting
March 12th was my 29th anniversary in the Christian ministry. It came and went without fanfare, only a realization that time flies, whether you are having fun or not.
It has been an exciting 29 years. I have seen some of everything.
I have been blessed to see scores repent and turn to Jesus in one meeting. I have been blessed to see revival and spiritual awakening in a sleepy community in South Mississippi. Yes, it was such a powerful thing that men and women would break out weeping when they saw me drive up with my chosen evangelist for the week; they would tell us how all day and night God dealt with their hearts and how they had hoped we would come by.
I watched God perform miracles of healing, of answered prayers for rain during a drought, of salvation for the most recalcitrant of men that I had ever seen.
I have been blessed to preach on two sides of the equator. I have enjoyed watching new believers from at least three countries open the word and discover for the first time the wondrous riches of God's word.
I have stood in communities where men and women had never seen a foreigner before (especially one as pale as I am). I have watched them wrestle with the gospel of Jesus Christ, before finally surrendering to him.
I have seen spiritual victory and suffered spiritual defeat. I have been on the proverbial mountaintop and sunk into the lowest valley. I have shouted in joyful glory of the overwhelming presence of the Holy Spirit; and I have shrieked in painful demonic attack, when it seemed that God had hidden his face.
We have suffered death, robberies, rejection, and who can remember what else? We walked through the wreckage of a downed airliner, searching for the remains of a fellow missionary. We wept with others and laughed with many more.
For most of my 29 years, I have been a voice crying in a desert--quite literally. Most of the places I have lived since 1989 have been cities in a desert in South America. There, God has taught me much. There, God has sustained me and my family.
There we were, as we watched our children grow; there we learned our first grandchild had died. There we learned the simple lesson that Jesus will never leave us ,or fail us, or abandon us.
If I live another 29 years, I hope they are at least as exciting as the last 29 have been.
May God give you as much joy and fruit--and more--as he has given me!
It has been an exciting 29 years. I have seen some of everything.
I have been blessed to see scores repent and turn to Jesus in one meeting. I have been blessed to see revival and spiritual awakening in a sleepy community in South Mississippi. Yes, it was such a powerful thing that men and women would break out weeping when they saw me drive up with my chosen evangelist for the week; they would tell us how all day and night God dealt with their hearts and how they had hoped we would come by.
I watched God perform miracles of healing, of answered prayers for rain during a drought, of salvation for the most recalcitrant of men that I had ever seen.
I have been blessed to preach on two sides of the equator. I have enjoyed watching new believers from at least three countries open the word and discover for the first time the wondrous riches of God's word.
I have stood in communities where men and women had never seen a foreigner before (especially one as pale as I am). I have watched them wrestle with the gospel of Jesus Christ, before finally surrendering to him.
I have seen spiritual victory and suffered spiritual defeat. I have been on the proverbial mountaintop and sunk into the lowest valley. I have shouted in joyful glory of the overwhelming presence of the Holy Spirit; and I have shrieked in painful demonic attack, when it seemed that God had hidden his face.
We have suffered death, robberies, rejection, and who can remember what else? We walked through the wreckage of a downed airliner, searching for the remains of a fellow missionary. We wept with others and laughed with many more.
For most of my 29 years, I have been a voice crying in a desert--quite literally. Most of the places I have lived since 1989 have been cities in a desert in South America. There, God has taught me much. There, God has sustained me and my family.
There we were, as we watched our children grow; there we learned our first grandchild had died. There we learned the simple lesson that Jesus will never leave us ,or fail us, or abandon us.
If I live another 29 years, I hope they are at least as exciting as the last 29 have been.
May God give you as much joy and fruit--and more--as he has given me!
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Traditional or Simple?
Today I am going to take my family to a church where I have been asked to preach a missions mobilization challenge. It's a traditional church. I was present for some of the original meetings of this church when we first arrived in South America. Now it is moving ahead at its own pace, hopefully under the power of the Holy Spirit.
But, as most of my missionary colleagues who may read this know, traditional churches can be cumbersome. They move slowly. The reproduce (start other churches) at the speed of sound traveling through a tar pit. Traditional churches spend more on themselves and less on reaching others. This particular church is going on 20 years old. I think they have been involved in one other church start, maybe two. And one of those is still a preaching point--a mission that has been in existence for about 5 years. As I said, reproduction is slow.
What is the answer? Guy Muse and his team, in Ecuador, have found house churches to be functional. That's good.
Others have found cell churches to be the answer. That's good, too.
The obvious thing is this: the church in South America needs to assume a simplified form if it is to reproduce rapidly. It needs the least common denominator of life in a given community.
The church needs obedience-based discipleship. They need to be reminded that they are to DO those things that Jesus commands them, as opposed to just learn them.
The church needs empowered leadership. In traditional churches the established, formal leadership often fails to empower the informal leaders of the church. This gross failure costs the church in too many ways, especially when it comes to planting new churches.
And the church needs to rise to the expectation that they are to be intentional church planters. That's part of that "doing" thing I mentioned above.
If you can think of other things, feel free to tag it on.
Jesus is Lord!
But, as most of my missionary colleagues who may read this know, traditional churches can be cumbersome. They move slowly. The reproduce (start other churches) at the speed of sound traveling through a tar pit. Traditional churches spend more on themselves and less on reaching others. This particular church is going on 20 years old. I think they have been involved in one other church start, maybe two. And one of those is still a preaching point--a mission that has been in existence for about 5 years. As I said, reproduction is slow.
What is the answer? Guy Muse and his team, in Ecuador, have found house churches to be functional. That's good.
Others have found cell churches to be the answer. That's good, too.
The obvious thing is this: the church in South America needs to assume a simplified form if it is to reproduce rapidly. It needs the least common denominator of life in a given community.
The church needs obedience-based discipleship. They need to be reminded that they are to DO those things that Jesus commands them, as opposed to just learn them.
The church needs empowered leadership. In traditional churches the established, formal leadership often fails to empower the informal leaders of the church. This gross failure costs the church in too many ways, especially when it comes to planting new churches.
And the church needs to rise to the expectation that they are to be intentional church planters. That's part of that "doing" thing I mentioned above.
If you can think of other things, feel free to tag it on.
Jesus is Lord!
Thursday, March 01, 2007
He's Alive!
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!
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!
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!
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