Sick

  3 Above all, you must understand that in the last days scoffers will come, scoffing and following their own evil desires. 4 They will say, "Where is this 'coming' he promised? Ever since our ancestors died, everything goes on as it has since the beginning of creation." (2 Pet. 3:3-4 NIV)

 There is a wonderful Bible verse that says, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is like a tree of life" (Prov. 13:12) 

I must admit that I'm feeling a bit sick. As I watch the world that I live in become more and more corrupt especially with designed attacks on the hearts and mind of innocent children through this gender confusion nonsense, I am trying to have a biblical attitude toward it all. 

First of all, I know that it is not as bad as it once was or is going to be. In the days of Noah, the Bible says that "every inclination of the heart was evil." I know that I don't live under Viking savagery or Roman occupation or quite honestly, current Russian hostility. Considering it all, I still live safe and sound with sufficient food and housing, and with the people that I love. I still, for the most part, live free. 

Second, I'm not denying the coming of Jesus. Actually, the opposite. As the Apostle Paul encouraged pastor Timothy...be someone who "longs for His appearing." 

I'm just tired of the wait. More and more I find that Psalm 73:25 is my ongoing meditation and reality. "Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you." The old church Fathers used to call this "dispassion." 

Third, sometimes my sinful doubt rears its ugly head. Sometimes words float in my mind, "where is this 'coming' he promised...everything goes on as it has since the beginning of creation." It's like a parent who keeps telling his child that something wonderful is coming but after a while the child shrugs his shoulders and moves on with life. "I'll believe it when I see it" or "that's nice but life moves on without it," or "you are always saying stuff like this, but nothing ever comes to pass." 

Fourth, I continue to read the words of Peter. Just like in the days of Noah...suddenly the world was engulfed with water and destruction covered the earth. Only eight were saved. God has a plan and a timing that goes with that plan that I do not understand. 

My neighbor, Ron, down the street (not Ron, who knows everything neighbory), is suffering from prostate cancer. He's in his 80's and will probably die of something else first. Ron is a believer and sometimes we stop and have theological discussions while his dog chases rabbits. Ron said something likeminded the other day that I came into agreement with - "I don't know what the Lord is waiting for. Let's get out of here!" Waiting for the uptaker not the undertaker. 

Last, while I wrestle with staying, God is being merciful to those not yet ready to go. My impatience is selfish to some extent. Admittedly so.  

Still sick but feeling better about it. 

Holiday Lulls

 "If the ax is dull and its edge unsharpened, more strength is needed, but skill will bring success." (Eccl. 10:10 NIV)

I hate to say it but I'm glad Holy Week is over. I hate to say it but I'm not glad Holy Week is over. Make up your mind, Dan! 

I'm glad it is over because it was a very stressful week. Banquets, Maundy Thursday, Community Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Resurrection Sunday - a lot of planning and execution. Exhausted but couldn't sleep. Sugar levels out of wack. Almost passed out on the platform on Good Friday - now that would have been memorable but not "good" Friday. Still struggling with sleep and levels but getting better. 

You would think that I would be relieved, but it doesn't feel that way. I have settled down into "the routine" again - no pressure, no added deadlines, no pre-mature heart attack possibilities. I sort of miss it. Adrenaline is a dangerous thing. I've come down from my Rocky Mountain High to the less exciting valley. 

It seems that I have a choice between death by exhaustion or by boredom. I condemn myself with my own words. I fail to see the other options. 

As I think through this yearly cycle to which I would like to break, I am reminded that the Resurrection is a story about life - receiving life, bringing life, experiencing life, enjoying life, anticipating eternal life. Everything about that story should chase away any sense of boredom and quiet any sense of unrest. Easier said than done but the focus to which I must pursue. 

I know through the testimony of those who attended last week's services that lives were changed, broken people were healed, new life was offered and received. The journey didn't stop on Monday. It began anew with renewal. I want more of that Holy Spirit movement. I want more stories - more changed lives, more people recommitted to Jesus. I want Holy Week to be every week but not with all of the creative exhaustion. I want my routine to be renewed, revived. To see in the things that I do on a weekly basis as having the same outcome that the compressed week of holiness had. 

Can one have the one without the other? 

Heaven.  

Cry Baby

 "Jesus wept." (Jn. 11:35 NIV)

I grew up like any other farm kid - working hard, playing hard. Many a time I used to stay overnight at my cousin's house which was right down from the farm. We used to play Stratego or Battleship or some war game together after supper. Amazing in itself, because we also beat each other up during the day until one of us would cry. 

"You big cry baby!" usually came after one of us was made to eat dirt or had a small, metal, farm implement thrown at our heads resulting in a trip to the medicine cabinet. You learned not to cry. You stuff that cry baby stuff in and be tough. Masculine trauma. Boys becoming men. Unfortunately. For me...unsuccessful. "A tender shoot coming up from the ground..."

As I get older it only gets worse. My grandchildren love to watch Disney films not for the movie but to watch my uncontained blubbering. "You mean Bambie's mom wasn't captured and taken to a zoo where later on she was reunited with her son? You mean she was..." "But why would they separate Dumbo from his mother? That is so cruel." As Deb would say, "Moms and their boys. What is up with that?" Hardened woman. 

I have once again been reminded of the emotion of loss this past week. No...no one has died. Perhaps the better word is "lost." Watching college senior athletes weep as they go off the basketball court. Towel over their head. It's just a stupid game, right? Watching the Spring Baking Championship with my bride. "The baker going home is..." It's a stupid baking competition, right? Tears. From them and...from me. 

I turned to Deb and said, "Isn't it amazing that even as adults we cry when we lose. It's a game. It's a contest. It's a reflection - warranted or not. But the wonderful thing is that we cry with them. We sense their desire to play well, to bake well, to be the best, and when that doesn't happen there is a unity of empathy that comes over us all. Their loss is our loss. Their hurt is our hurt. A collective recognition that we could have done more, we could have done better. A group confession of "We all fall short of the glory of God...and of man." 

On the path to Palm Sunday, Jesus wept. For the baker going home is..." No. That can't be right. Crying.