"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens." (Eccl. 3:1 NIV)
Thanks for your kind words and responses. They have kept me writing when I often wanted to quit.
Until we meet in the air...or God calls me back to the blog.
Blessings
Rev. Dr. Daniel D. Lute the 1st
"Do not fret because of evildoers or be envious of the wicked, for the evildoer has no future hope, and the lamp of the wicked will be snuffed out."
(Prov. 24:19-20 NIV)
It reminded me of the first time our youngest daughter went through a car wash. Strapped into her child protection seat, also known as "the chair," with no escape, she watched as I put my dollars in the machine, put the car in neutral, and waited for the unknown. I could see her through the rearview mirror. No expression until the roller caught the front wheel and we entered into hell itself.
What started out being fun turned into panic as I saw her eyes widen, the lip started to quiver, tears began to well up, and her little arms grasped "the chair."
I quickly turned and said, "It's okay. It's just washing the dirt off of the car." Sometimes we need to see things through a child's eyes.
Often, I'll go through a car wash and turn to Deb and say, "I bet this is pretty scary for a kid." Within seconds, not being able to see because of the spray. Then giant octopus like arms slapping at the windows and every other part of the car. Moving but not knowing where we are going. Something begins to spray from the front. You can hear it coming over the top of you but because you are incarcerated, you can't see if it is coming behind you. And... it does...over the top again. Then the giant sound begins. You're not sure what it is but it begins blowing so hard that the windshield wipers lift off of the glass and....it's coming backward toward you! You...restrained in "the chair" with no way of escape. (Wow! I think I pee'd myself a little just recounting it). And then, as quickly as it started, it was over. The beast puked us out. The trauma will last a lifetime.
I often feel like this little child. Fretting because of the unknown. Nervous about what I see around me. Being pulled into something where I had no choice or input. But the Lord reminded me this week that I shouldn't fret because of the wickedness of the world around me. The evildoer has no hope. But I do.
This stress is not new to me or humanity. It is the purification process, the cleansing process. A reminder that God needs to remove the worldly filth in my life in order to be a useable vessel in his hands. It is about trusting the Father and hearing the words, "It's okay. It's just washing the dirt off."
I never thought of myself this way, but I think I'm working at the car wash.
"I rejoice in your promise like one who finds great spoil." (Ps. 119:162 NIV)
They are promises of God to his people. Anchors for a storm. Stable foundations when it quakes. Deeply rooted trees for hurricane winds. Certain. True. Trustworthy. Hope filled. Positive and negative. Blessings and curses. Seldom memorized. Seldom referred to. A great treasure that remains buried because very few are willing to work hard to uncover it and claim it for their own.
I have been struggling with a promise lately and hungering for another: The promise of Jesus' coming and the promise of a new heaven and earth. Peter wrote about both in 2 Peter 3:4 and 13.
The first is the struggle of waiting, of anticipation, of not falling prey to the scoffers who say, "Where is his coming? It's been two thousand years." It reminds me of the man with a demon possessed son who said to Jesus, "I believe; help my unbelief." My spirit of late. The second is the hope, the longing of what is to come. Escapism. Of course, and proud of it.
The first is a patient endurance as things become worse and worse. "The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise as some are but is patient, not wanting anyone to perish but to come to repentance." The second is the motivation for hanging in there and staying at the work.
I often think of all the prior post-cross generations that longed for Jesus's coming. They longed for it but didn't see it. They died in anticipation - holding on to a promise.
And we, the generation that has seen the establishment of Israel, who are now seeing all the evil actors forming an alliance (Russia, Turkey, Iran) that will end up being the Ezekiel 38/39 war, Jerusalem being once again recognized as the capital of Israel, high inflation, government collapses, shortages of food, etc..., we, have more reason to believe in the fulfilled promise of Jesus' coming than any generation. And yet are still struggling with the fulfillment.
Perhaps it is just war weariness. I am reminded of Proverbs 13:12, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life."
A present sickness with a certain cure.
The promises of God.
"You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. 7 Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places. 8 All these are the beginning of birth pains."
(Matt. 24:6-8 NIV)
It feels like things are off kilter. My nation is hell bent on killing babies and supporting debauched lifestyles. We are changing definitions of words, like "woman", "man", "recession" to fit certain political agendas but it's all evil. It all goes against the truth of the Scriptures.
It feels like the end-time baby is coming. Russia and Ukraine. China and Taiwan. Iran and Israel. North Korea and...everyone. Nation against nation. Kingdom against kingdom.
That darn Chinese virus keeps coming around and around. The Monkey Pox or LGBTQ Pox is being unleashed as HIV was in the 1970's. And look for more juvenile heart and overall health complications from parents jamming these untested vaccines into their kids before school starts.
It has been oppressively hot...everywhere. I about stroked out power-washing one side of my house Saturday. Hurricane season, which begins soon, is slated to be unusually active this year. Note the political connection of this with any president trying to divide Jerusalem (Republican or Democrat). Floods in Kentucky and Missouri. Forest fires out West. I told my bride, "Wait for the earthquake. It's coming. And it won't be a little one that rumbles a bit. It will collapse cities."
As my brother-in-law so eloquently stated it, "I'm not trying to be negative. Actually, the total opposite. 'When you see these things coming, look up, and lift up your heads, for your salvation is very near.' Jesus is coming for his church and that ought to excite every believer."
The baby (Jesus) is coming but we have some pain to go through first.
Make sure you have good batteries for your flashlight, and some extra spaghetti noodles in the pantry.
And enjoy the flowers...no matter if they are out of season. It is always a sign of hope.
"Ascribe to the LORD the glory due his name; worship the LORD in the splendor of his holiness." (Ps. 29:2 NIV)
First of all, my apologies for being inconsistent in my writing; it's summer. I should just stop at the end of May and start after Labor Day like many of my church members 😎.
A few weeks ago, Deb and I had the privilege of attending Billy Graham's Evangelistic Training Center in Ashville, North Carolina. A beautiful facility in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Twelve hundred acres of holiness and serenity. I needed it.
It has been...whew...I honestly can't remember when I have had an opportunity for a ministry break to be ministered to. A common hazard for those of us in full-time ministry and the cause of many a burnout. I was desperately in need of something/someone.
I had always wanted to go to the Cove. With Covid, Deb and I have agreed, with the exception of seeing our parents in Florida, that we would keep our travels to driving and to an eight-to-nine-hour journey. The Cove fit the parameters.
I am also not a person that goes to "pastor's conferences." I find them boring and usually a one-up exercise. "So how big is your church?" "How many staff members do you have?" "Is your wife blond and does she play the piano, lead VBS, head up the Women's Missionary Society, and always participate in bake sales and funeral dinners?" "Now tell me again, what school you graduated from?" "Hmmmm...never heard of it?"
I sometimes tell them that I am from the Celestial Universalist Unitarian Non-Conformist, Non-Religious Church of the None's. They only hear the last part and think I'm Roman Catholic. They move on. Leper! Leper! Unclean! Unclean! Humorous.
As I was looking at the Cove schedule, I noticed that Dr. R. T. Kendall was speaking. Dr. Kendall was the pastor of Westminster Chapel in London, England, the successor to the great Dr. Martin Lloyd Jones. Amazing...since I thought he was dead. He turned 87 the week we were there.
I heard him speak in the 1990's when he was going through a very pivotal change in his ministry and in his walk with the Holy Spirit. It captivated me. Like listening to Leonard Ravenhill or Duncan Campbell. Riveting. Convicting. Motivating.
I did my early registration and looked forward to the time away with my bride sitting at the feet of a Christian great.
Double blessing. Speaking of Elisha...but for me it was having Marty Goetz lead us in worship before every session. Three times a day he brought us into the presence of the Lord.
I didn't realize how lacking this aspect of my life was. I knew it mentally. Most of the churches I had been in since my days at Word of Life have been... no offense intended...ones that have just sung songs. It has been a long, long time since I have truly worshipped. Oh...how I missed it. How I was reminded that this is what I was created for. Most of the time I couldn't sing for my spirit welled up inside of me and the tears flowed. Tears of joy. Tears of sorrow. Tears of future hope.
I wonder how many churches suffer from the same malady - a good song service.
Marty Goetz does a home worship service with his wife and sometimes his daughter Misha on Tuesday and Friday nights at 8 eastern (MartyGoetz.com). He invites us into his home but more importantly, he invites us into the presence of God through our worship.
Sometimes our heroes, we find, are just men like us. It might sound a bit prideful, but I didn't learn much, and the Q and A I could have handled easily. There were nuggets I gathered, but I think my time away was to remind me that for all of the "brain" time I put in, my heart needs just as much attention. Probably, more so...
A heart of worship.
May I encourage you to do the same.
" Unless the LORD builds the house, the builders labor in vain. Unless the LORD watches over the city, the guards stand watch in vain." (Ps. 127:1 NIV)
We met in the vacation destination of Ohio; Akron to be exact. Why? Because it was about halfway for each and there was something of interest there: The Stan Hywet Hall and Gardens.
"Stan Hywet" is an Old English name for "stone quarry" of which the site was located. It was the home of the Seiberling family since 1915. A small 64,500 square foot cottage with a lagoon, 70-acre lawnscape, vegetable and flower gardens. It has 21,455 panes of glass and 23 fireplaces.
I've been to the Biltmore in North Carolina. This is small in comparison. But I left the mansion thinking, "It felt like a home."
It's been a few weeks since I've been home but in conversation with others about my experience, I think I know why I felt that way. It was because the house was full of photographs. Christmas parties. Easter egg hunts. Community events. Weddings. New Year's Eve parties. Rooms where Will Rogers stayed. Bedrooms where Helen Keller and Shirley Temple slept. Guest rooms for royalty as well as musicians and poets and playwrights. Plaques telling stories about cigars and Brandy and Billiards (which I learned was quite different than Pool). Messy working desks and kitchen menus for the day. It felt lived in and I can't think of a better way to use an Old English Tudor cottage.
It's not about the building, but the people you shared it with. Like "Sam" and "Jill" or was it, "Dick" and "Jane"?
May our mansions be the same.
"Let your hand rest on the man at your right hand, the son of man you have raised up for yourself. 18 Then we will not turn away from you; revive us, and we will call on your name. 19 Restore us, LORD God Almighty; make your face shine on us, that we may be saved." (Ps. 80:17-19 NIV)
It was called a "revival" but technically it is a "renewal" service. To "revive" something is to bring it back to life. As far as I know we're not dead...yet.
It's been nice to hear brothers and one sister share the words of the Holy Spirit on this topic. I have been amazed at the direction each of us has taken and the styles in which we present.
It has been exhilarating. It has been exhausting. It has reminded me that we are not in this fight alone. It has reminded me that there is only so much that we can do together. Unity is a nice theological desire but the practical outworking of it is incredibly difficult. Honestly, I'm not sure what the end desire was to be. It's not like we were fighting with each other.
I have a feeling many in our congregations think that unity is not just the absence of conflict but the desire to serve one another, encourage one another, support one another. They would be correct. But dividing issues can still be present in separation over "pen and pencil" issues as one speaker put it.
Blood binds us but pen and pencil issues separate us or should I say, creates limiting barriers. Even then I'm not sure that I am in agreement that this is a bad thing. Unity is not uniformity. Unity is oneness in diversity. I think we have shown that this week. We are not going to come to an agreement to close down all our churches and meet in the high school gym and share speaking responsibilities. It's not feasible nor is it desirable.
I have an old Puritan preacher in my library, John Owens, who said that when a church gets close to a hundred people start another one. One man can only care for around a hundred people.
I think this is what was missing in the conversation. It's really not about the preaching. It's about the care.
Was I revived? No. Was I renewed? No. Did I gain from meeting new pastors and new brothers and sisters in Christ? Absolutely. Perhaps this was the divine purpose all along. Perhaps there will be a greater purpose as things get more difficult for the Body of Christ. This is my prophetic internal rumbling.
The week was a good reminder of the old hymn:
"We praise thee O God, for the Son of thy love,
For Jesus who died and is now gone above.
Hallelujah, Thine the glory! Hallelujah, amen!
Hallelujah, Thine the glory! Revive us again."
"Will you not revive us again, that Your people may rejoice in You." Psalm 85:6.
It has, indeed, been a week of joy but also a hint of prophetic anticipation.
"Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?" (Matt. 6:25-26 NIV)
During the reign of King Solomon, silver and gold were as common as road stones (1 Chronicles 1:14). Fragrant spices were of more demand - more value.
I had two value moments this past week. The first was on my daily morning walk. Traveling at almost the speed of light my eagle eye caught something shiny in the middle of the street. A treasure. Why has no one else seen this? Why has no one else picked this up and claimed it for themselves? A new penny. As I say to my bride, "One cent closer to our Hawaii trip." Now if I could only find a Buffalo Nickel and a J. F. K. half dollar my summer would be complete.
Is a penny worth anything? Of course. One cent. One tenth of a dime. One one-hundredth of a dollar. Is a penny worth anything...to someone else? For most...probably not. Not worth the effort of bending over and picking something up.
Perhaps I grew up in a time where even pennies had value, a time where you didn't waste food, where you wore out your clothes and then patched them. Does anyone else remember going down to the local grocery store and buying, "penny candy"?
Do pennies have value? If nothing more than to put them on the railroad track and smash them (which I found out later was a felony crime - I was in hiding until Junior High from the Treasury department).
I still have some of my penny collection books. Part of my massive inheritance that will be left to my daughters. Fifty or so coins that have an estimated value of around fifty or so cents. But it is the thought that counts. I won't even mention my stamp collection that is in some cigar box that my grandpa gave me.
Value.
My second moment was on a bike trail with my granddaughter this past weekend. She was telling me about her latest read, "Charlotte's Web." She's ten.
She told me the whole story. I asked questions. "What did the spider spell out in her web?" "Why did she do that?"
"To save the pig, grandpa. But then she dies in the end after she lays her eggs."
"So what do you think was the point of the story?" I asked.
I could tell that she had never been asked the question before. Parroting facts is the standard pedagogy at present. Not much thought goes into "why" something was written. What's the point?
"I don't know, grandpa." "It's really hard to communicate." "I think it's about the value of friendship."
Value.
"So, what about it was of value?"
"Well, she was a spider and he was a pig so that's not a normal friendship. So, maybe being friends with people that aren't like you is important. Maybe caring for people that aren't like you that are in trouble is important. Maybe that's why the story was written."
Value.
A penny and a story.
A penny and a conversation with a young girl about things that matter.
By the way...there's still a coin shortage. My penny is up to $100 (Biden inflation adjustment = I owe the government $5).
By the way...there's a conversation shortage.
Priceless.
"The LORD God made all kinds of trees grow out of the ground-- trees that were pleasing to the eye and good for food. In the middle of the garden were the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil." (Gen. 2:9 NIV)
My writing this week reflects two things: the murder of children and a book that I'm reading called, "Defeating Sin: Overcoming Our Passions and Changing Forever" by Fr. Joseph David Huneycutt (Eastern Orthodox).
The first time we see the word "evil" in the Bible is Genesis 2:9. Nothing "evil" has happened...yet. Nothing to connect the word to any event or thought or action. It is simply listed as part of the dual fruit of one tree: the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
Adam and Eve were forbidden to eat from this tree. But why? I'll get to that in a moment. For right now, I want you to simply consider that it existed. In the beginning God created and everything was good, including this tree. I'm not saying that evil is good or good is evil. We are living in such confusion at present.
In the beginning God created and everything was good, including a tree where knowledge could be derived about moral issues: the tree of the knowledge...of good and evil. Knowledge is good. The source of knowledge is God. God is good. The determiner of what is good and evil is God's character.
If knowledge is good, then why were Adam and Eve forbidden to partake of it? We are not told directly, but many of the early Church Fathers taught that Adam and Eve were in a state of untested innocence. Adults but immature. They were not ready for such knowledge. Which is why we don't educate our Kindergarteners on human sexuality or the atrocities of Auschwitz.
Walking with the Lord over the years, understanding Him, understanding the world through His eyes...all this would prepare them for the knowledge of good and the absence of it - which is what evil essentially is - the absence of good, the absence of God.
The question may be asked, "If knowledge of evil was part of the tree, then where did it exist? In another world? No. In another dimension. Yes. Most scholars believe that soon after the creation of the world, Satan rebelled taking one-third of the angels with him. It is this divine awareness of God, this evil, that he is trying to protect Adam and Eve from.
But of course, man's free will and God's sovereign allowance of the Tempter to tempt would enter into paradise, and with dire consequences for all of humanity. What they were to understand in theory, they now understand in personal reality.
No, they didn't murder or steal or commit adultery or lie. They coveted. They wanted something they were told they couldn't have. They fell and took us with them. Sounds benign. Spoiled children. No. Evil. The character of Satan.
Father Honeycutt expounds on the two-tree concept originally written in a theological poem by St. Seraphim the Syrian. But in this example, he uses the tree of the knowledge of good and evil and juxtaposes it with the tree of Calvary - the tree of life that sprouted once again for Jesus.
The tree of the knowledge of good and evil promises life but brings you death. Remember that there was a "Tree of Life" and Adam and Eve were quickly removed from it lest they eat and live in perpetual, eternal separation from God (Hell).
This was a tree of moral awareness. However, the tree is not the issue; it is anything forbidden for our safety and for our well-being. We think with more information we become wise, but instead we deny it and become fools. What we think as light is perpetual night.
The tree of life that came through the crucifixion promises life only if we die to ourselves. We think of that horrible affliction on the cross as humanity's darkest hour, but it becomes perpetual light. And no one who walks in the light will ever stumble.
Evil. Killing a teacher and nineteen eight to ten year-olds just attending school. Sometimes its a simple as that. No excuses. Evil.
The absence of good.
The absence of God.
"Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean. (Matt. 23:27 NIV)
As soon as I said this, I heard a crack and then a cracking, and then that horrible noise of something falling followed by a thud. For a moment I thought my words were prophetic and to be immediately fulfilled, but the sound was not above or near. It was the second section of my neighbor's tree. The first section had fallen over the winter. The other half left to wonder when it too would succumb to gravity and the illness undiagnosed.
Weird. Weird because if you looked at that tree you would have never known that something was wrong with it. Leaves of green. Beautiful shape. Not crowded out by anything next to it. No child or pet abuse. Alone. Strong. Deceptive. It was dying and no one knew it. It reminds me of the person who goes to the doctor just not feeling well and leaves being told they have stage four inoperable cancer. How does that happen?
Jesus alluded to this in the spirit world. People. Religious people. Those with the education, the flowing robes, the community praise and adoration. White-washed tombs that look clean and shining on the outside but are full of dead men's bones on the inside. Self-deceived. Undiagnosed. A spiritual stage 4.
But I think Jesus' words are given not for "them" but for us, for me. Self-examination. Self-deception. I might look good on the outside but is there some rot at the center. Is there still something that I am excusing, something not addressed, something neglected that makes everything else that is good -weak?
I have been studying for my devotions, "The Departure of the Soul According to the teaching of the Orthodox Church." It is a massive two-inch exhaustive work on what happens when you die. I would argue against its biblical veracity and assign it to church tradition and saint testimony. However, it has provoked me to more consistent confession of sins and repentance - a good thing.
Their belief is that when you die and your soul separates from your body, the soul must go through at least twenty "toll-houses" where at each stop the demons accuse you of things done and things not done in order to take your soul to hell. Your Guardian Angel accompanies you and gives testimony of your contrition, your repentance, and your good deeds, much like a spiritual shield until you are finally escorted into the presence of Jesus himself - the ultimate Judge.
Theirs is a works/faith salvation so I disagree with their understanding of judgment. I trust in nothing but the blood of Jesus who has cleansed me from all my sin - past, present, and future.
However, it has made more aware of the rot that still tries to work its way into my life. It reminds me to keep short accounts with a Savior who died for me and covers me with his sacrificial blood. For such exhortations, I am truly thankful.
If a tree is going to fall...let it be in my neighbor's yard and not mine. If you know what I mean....
13 Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. (Col. 3:13 NIV)
This was the story of Sabina Wurmbrand. Her husband, Richard, was a former Jewish atheist turned Lutheran follower/pastor of Christ during the Nazi invasion of Romania and then under the communist dictatorship of Ceausescu. They both established what is now known as The Voice of the Martyrs. Richard would spend over seventeen years in prison, being tortured, being humiliated, for one reason: being a follower of Jesus. But Sabina would have her own story.
Maybe it's the human spirit to survive. Maybe it's the constant amazement of man's inhumanity toward man. Maybe it's the wonder of how some people turn toward God in terrible times while others cast him aside. Whatever it is, I am drawn to such stories.
The subtitle of the movie is "The Heart of the Gospel is Forgiveness." I won't go into all the details in case you would like to watch it on your own, but it provoked me to think about my own willingness to forgive.
It's a normal response for me. One: Oh God, please don't let that happen to me. Two: Oh God, if it does, please let me respond in such a Christ-like way.
At the conclusion of the movie Deb said to me, "Do you think you could do that?" My response was, "I hope that I would."
When I think about Sabina's ordeal, although slightly different, I am reminded of Daniel in the Bible. He was captured and taken into exile, brought into the elite group to learn the language, the culture, the plan. But he never lost who he was even through persecution.
So, I think, "I hope that I would" reflects and inner desire to be prepared, to do the hard work now of being like Jesus, of responding in tumultuous times like he responded.
I think, "I hope that I would" realizes that true Christ-like character does not show up on a written quiz. It's not a school exam, pass or fail. In fact, you may never know if you've understood what it means to follow Jesus until you have to put it into practice.
A dear friend of mine, teaching on faith, said, "Dan, faith is just a noun, a word, until it is tested; then it becomes a verb.
You'll never know if you are a true follower of Jesus until you are severely tested. Until then, we prepare and when asked if we could forgive our enemy, our torturers, we respond, "I hope that I would."
"Father, forgive them for they know not what they are doing?"
Praying.
"Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight." (1 Pet. 3:3-4 NIV)
A cosmetic salesperson was demonstrating how a certain makeup would change the appearance of a woman's face. A middle-aged woman who was very plain came up to her and asked, "Do you think that it would make me radiant?" She replied, "The only way that a woman is truly radiant is if it comes from within, but I'd be glad to sell you whatever you want as a backup."
I was talking with my bride this week about how beautiful our yard was at this time of year. We have several Eastern Redbud trees - dark purple, light purple, pinkish red. We have a few Magnolias, a Flowering Dogwood, some Red River Birch, and a Blooming Pear (which she hates because it stinks). My comment was, "It's such a shame that their beauty fades so quickly." What starts out with such brilliant color quickly turns to green leaves.
But upon further thought, if those flowers did not turn, then where would the needed summer shade be? It turns out that beauty comes in different forms and in different seasons. Just as I know in about five months another type of beauty will unfold with orange, and reds, and browns, and burnt yellows. My favorite time of the year.
As I reflect on Mother's Day this weekend, I am reminded of the many seasons that I have observed in my mother's life. When I was little, I used to love to go into my mother's room as she was preparing to go out for the night with my dad. Putting on her earrings and necklace - a little perfume. I used to love to look at her in the mirror and look down at her senior picture that she kept on her dresser drawer. I can remember saying, "You were pretty when you were young." A compliment...I thought. She knew what I meant. Seasons.
Now she is in her twilight years but still going strong. Kids all grown. Grandkids and great grandkids getting there as well. Memories of Fourth of July's, Grandma's porch, listening to the organ and piano, playing cards, working in the garden, mowing the yard with that unique orange John Deere riding mower, hanging up laundry outside, roast on the stove, caregiver, newlywed, bowling, Bachi ball player...
My mother was beautiful when she was young. She still is. It's just Fall ~ that's all. My favorite time of the year.
Happy Mother's Day to all the ladies in my life! May the Lord grant you beautiful seasons.
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)
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.
"If the ax is dull and its edge unsharpened, more strength is needed, but skill will bring success." (Eccl. 10:10 NIV)
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.
"Jesus wept." (Jn. 11:35 NIV)
"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.
12 "I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. 13 That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil-- this is the gift of God." (Eccl. 3:12-13 NIV)
I was slouched down in the love seat for two working on my horrible posture, watching a prideful Peacock team from New Jersey get trashed by North Carolina in the NCAA madness, when I turned to my bride and said, "We live a boring life."
She said, "Is that bad?"
I said, "No." But we can do better. We both know this is true, but not sure what that looks like. We have both experienced intermittent shifts in schedules this year and it has brought needed respite. Sanity in the unscheduled. Frosted sweet rolls in a world of daily oatmeal. Nice for a change but you wouldn't want a steady diet of it. Sometimes you just have to have something different.
I will turn 60 this year and I'm not sure if I had my mid-life crisis yet, so I thought about getting a sportscar or a twenty-something girlfriend. Can't afford either. Probably couldn't keep up with either. Both scare me to death and would give me a heart attack.
Deb has spent her entire adult life getting me to the point where I am the perfect husband, and I just don't have the energy to go back to relationship school to be retooled and reprogrammed. It is already exhausting trying to live up to that high expectation.
We are like most married couples. We romantically gather our phone calendars on Sunday night to see what the week will bring. Deadlines. Meetings. Bible studies. Deadlines. Meetings. Rinse. Repeat. TGIF.
We haven't quite fallen into the "Wheel of Fortune is on and then Jeopardy" phase of life but we are inching our way there. It feels like life is organized and navigated by TV shows except our life is such that we say, "This is being recorded on Monday, this on Tuesday, this on Wednesday, perhaps we can watch this on Friday or Saturday and the week is filled with watching what has been recorded. Getting things in as if our world will shatter if we miss a show or God forbid, the in-TV recorder gets full. TV deadlines. So much to watch, so little time. I can't wait to retire so that I can watch television all day long...death.
I'm not complaining. We both like the shows we watch. They are an escape from the day's obligations, a needed timeout from the mundane, a vicarious reach into some other place with new people, often in historic times.
I am reminded of being young and married looking forward to "The Love Boat," "Fantasy Island," and a series of other 1980's and 90's shows that filled the evening space. TV deadlines. We need to be home by 8.
But I once again resort to my favorite singer, Peggy Lee, "Is that all there is? Is that all there is? If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing."
However, the mundane has also allowed us to appreciate the blessings of the extraordinary - going out to eat with good friends, spending time with our children and grandchildren. It has allowed us to be home to watch said TV programs. To rest. To be with each other. There is something wonderful about being bored...together...as long as we also keep dancing.
"A grateful heart is one that finds the countless blessings of God in seemingly mundane, everyday life." (Anonymous)
24 "Sovereign LORD, you have begun to show to your servant your greatness and your strong hand. For what god is there in heaven or on earth who can do the deeds and mighty works you do? 25 Let me go over and see the good land beyond the Jordan-- that fine hill country and Lebanon." 26 But because of you the LORD was angry with me... (Deut. 3:24-26 NIV)
I stepped out in faith asking for prayer for "God's team" to win and it almost looked like they were going to do so. Three minutes to go. ND up by 4. "Just hold on guys...just hold on." A bad call on the referee's part that took away a legitimate basket and about three or four "superstar" dribbles from a freshman point guard with the number "0" - aptly numbered - that ended in three or four turnovers - led to a final defeat.
I will humbly hang my head before the remaining Purdue supporters in my men's bible study, and publicly confess my sin of presumption. Notre Dame has "goal post Jesus" for goodness sake! How could they not go all the way and take the national championship?
But alas...we have come to the biblical dilemma of answered prayer and the will of God. Why does God answer certain prayers and not others? From a finite creature's perspective, it is quite perplexing. God is supposed to give us the desires of our heart, right? Not quite. If I am walking with God, he changes my desires so that they are His. Sometimes my motives are wrong. Sometimes God has other things He is doing that I am totally unaware of. Sometimes my sin clouds my eyes and stuffs up my ears so that I cannot hear. I presume. An answered prayer. A miracle.
Moses desired to go into the Promised Land. God said, "no." He and Aaron had robbed God of his glory by smacking a rock instead of just speaking to it. The result was the same: water came out for the people to drink. But the ramifications for Moses and Aaron were dire. Neither would experience what they had so desperately longed for, prayed for: the Promised Land.
When I was reading Deuteronomy this morning, I couldn't help but see that Moses, in his recounting of that event, had not repented of this sin. He still blamed the people. "Because of YOU the Lord was angry with ME." Classic blame shifting.
Perhaps it wasn't the initial sin at all but the lack of repentance that caused the harsh ramifications. Moses wasn't right before God and he wasn't right before the people. God's glory had still not been restored. Prayer hindered.
Moses should have changed his heart and mind toward God and those he was to serve. Glory restored. Blame accepted. Victory acquired? Prayer answered? Lesson learned?
As for my "Fighting Irish"...
Stupid refs.
Incompetent point guard.
Poor end of game coaching.
I repent.
Football starts in five months. Go Irish! In prayer...
Still workin' out that lesson 😏
"God will stretch out over Edom the measuring line of chaos and the plumb line of desolation." (Isa. 34:11 NIV)
But this year Deb and I decided that we needed to once again venture out. I suggested Saudi Arabia as I have been repeatedly invited by a friend who lives there and ministers to Syrian refugees. We talked it over and agreed that we would go to Florida. My mother was to turn 80 and Deb's parents were down in the Orange Lake area - a two-fer. "Saudi Arabia would always be there, but your mother only turns 80 once." That's what Deb told me. She's so wise. Maybe next year.
We heard the nightmares. Flights being canceled last minute. No rental cars available. No peanuts midflight. Needing to wrap your face in a turban to avoid whatever round of Covid we are in. Flight attendants with tasers. Dogs trained to smell out the unvaccinated. We would normally fly but we chose to see the beauty of the United States of America via ground packaging instead. After all gas was at $3.85. 😎
It's amazing how one has an excited energy leaving the driveway but an hour later you're thinking: "I should have flown." Four hours later your thinking: "I would have been there by now." Six hours later your thinking: "You're a blasted idiot!" Eight hours later and you're looking for that next Cracker Barrel and your hotel exit as your body aches from sitting for what seemed like nine hours. (That's because it was!) Which, by the way, has been the extent of our view of the United States of America through the windshield on any interstate. Rest stops. Gas. Cracker Barrels. Lodging. If I could make this easier for the reader: Pee. Pee. Pee. And..pee.
"Georgia. Georgia. Georgia on my mind. Like an old sweet song. I've got Georgia on my mind." I just forgot that I have to drive through Atlanta on...I-75...the next day.
I-75. Is there no other way? No. I-75. Straight down. Buckle up Bucko. Put your big boy pants on. You can do it.
Atlanta. 9:30 a.m. Great timing. Still Atlanta at 9:30 but no worse than Chicago or Philly or Logansport at that time of day.
"Oh...there's a big church." Deb shakes her head in unbelief that through all the stressful lane changes I seem to lock eyes on a church with my peripheral vision. "Only you, Dan. Only you..." I think it was God's gentle reminder for me to pray. He knew what was coming my way.
"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone. Only darkness every day." I-75. Florida. OMG. Chaos. Cell-phone driving idiots at 80 miles per hour. Pray. "I know...I know...I know...I know...I know...I know..." (It's the Bill Withers song in case you're trying to find the tune.)
The return trip was worse. I-75 at 7 a.m. Cell-phone driving idiots at 55 only because the torrential rain was coming down so hard you couldn't see. Where is I-10. "Sweet home, Alabama." Thank God we decided to go left. That one-hour delay would have put us into Atlanta at 4 on a Friday afternoon.
Made it safely to Cullman, Alabama just north of Birmingham. What is that strip coming across the telee? "Winter storm advisory....high winds...ice...snow..." No. Yes. You've got to be kidding me. "Now, breakfast is from 6 - 9. Check out is at 11." Perspective.
Thankful to go by all the vehicles in the ditches and guardrails. Especially over all of those water overpasses. Glad to make it home safely and to be equipped as a youngin' to drive in that type of weather. Others. Oblivious. "Look at how pretty the shiny road looks."
Limited chaos. It would be easy to complain but my heart has been heavy regarding my brothers and sisters in the Ukraine, in Belarus, in Crimea, in China, and in Saudi Arabia where 80 people were just publicly executed today. I'm guessing you didn't get that on the morning news.
Imagine living life, going about your routines and then suddenly being thrown into utter uncontrollable chaos.
Ukraine. Imagine no home. No idea where you will live...without your husband...without your father and brothers. Limited food. Limited toiletries. A traffic jam in the midst of a torrential downpour...I-75 every day but far worse. Watching life as you know it be destroyed. Chaos. Desolation. I just can't imagine. May God have mercy.
I know that Jesus said there will be wars and rumors of wars until the end, but it feels like were there. May God have mercy.
After all, I paid $4.29 for my last fill up.
Perspective.
17 "When he came to his senses, he said, 'How many of my father's hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death!
18 I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.
19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.' (Lk. 15:17-19 NIV)
I didn't grow up in a highly liturgical church. I can't really recall getting some dirt on my forehead for any particular religious purpose. It was mainly a daily event for a country kid. So, being exposed to Ash Wednesday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday services has been a blessing. From Methodist to Non-denominational to now Presbyterian and of course Eastern Orthodox through my higher educational studies...I have come to appreciate the coming together of community to go on an adventure together, yet, separate.
I am always drawn to Luke 15 at this time of year: the lost coin, the lost sheep, the lost son. Jesus goes after the lost...lost unsaved and lost saved. I often consider myself the latter.
I love the Lord Jesus dearly but there are times that I just feel lost. If I were honest...most of the time. I keep myself busy with ministry to hide it...to suppress it...to not die from it. It might be because of my own waywardness or because of demonic oppression - as tends to happen at this time of year - either way, it is an unpleasant place to be.
Deb and I will be presenting a song for Ash Wednesday service called "Song of the Prodigal." It reflects my heart well. (Words and music by Jo Boyce)
"The LORD your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take
great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will
rejoice over you with singing." (Zeph. 3:17 NIV)
I started my bible reading this year with the major prophets along with the gospels: Isaiah, Jeremiah, Mathew, Luke, and into Mark. Today: Lamentations or as some commentators rename it: the book of Lacerations, given its focus on the Fall of Jerusalem and depressing nature.
Lamentations...yes, it's a hard one to digest but it also has some great passages of hope. Lamentations 3:19-24.
"I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:
Because of the LORD's great love [mercies], we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, 'The LORD is my portion; therefore, I will wait for him.'" (Lam. 3:19-24 NIV)
So, here I sit reading a very difficult book early in the morning. Eleven degrees outside. Being reminded of God's love and faithfulness in the midst of hardship and what does God bring to me? A bright red, male cardinal beautifully placed in the midst of glistening, frosted branches.
He sat at the top of a cherry tree that is right outside the office window. I couldn't ignore him. He sang...and he sang. I'm sure he was calling for some female company, but he reminded me of the words of Zephaniah (yes, dust that old one off): "[God] rejoices over me with singing." It's the only place in the scripture that describes God singing and it's in the context of those he loves. This, too, is a letter written to those about ready to go into judgment.
I was talking with my neighbor, Ron, who knows all things neighbory and seems to be an expert on birds (birdologist) and he was telling me that during mating season the male actually feeds the female. He breaks open the husk of seeds and then feeds them to her. Then she kills him. Whoops, that's Black Widows and Drone Bees and Praying Mantis, and Bachelor Midges (appropriately named)...wow...girls are mean. From what I gather there is a fine line between flirting and fighting. I'm a guy. I keep telling Deb that I need clarification sometimes.
The female cardinal is ministered to as she feeds and is serenaded by the male. A subtle reminder of God today. Singing in the midst of sadness. Hope in the midst of heartache. Thankfully, not in my current context but something always to be learned from the Word about God's character.
He provides for me in ways that I'll probably never know, and he does something that, in the eyes of most, has nothing to do with my survival - He rejoices over me with singing.
And He graces me with a songbird to remind me.
"You who are young, be happy while you are young, and let your heart give you joy in the days of your youth. Follow the ways of your heart and whatever your eyes see, but know that for all these things God will bring you into judgment. So then, banish anxiety from your heart and cast off the troubles of your body, for youth and vigor are meaningless."
(Eccl. 11:9-10 NIV)
Kamila Valieva. 15. Can't drive yet. Can't sign a legal contract of any sort yet. And yet one of the biggest sport controversies of the last week outside of the face-masking call that didn't happen at the Superbowl that led to a touchdown.
Kamila Valieva. 15. Doping female figure skater poised to win gold for the already penalized "Russian" or ROC neutral flag.
Kamila Valieva. 15. Accused of taking heart enhancement drugs that improve oxygen levels and endurance in long programs. Guilty. 15.
I watched her skate in the short team program and was wowed by her skill and her artistry. 15. I don't know about the drug stuff, but it can't get you to do triple sow cows and flying camels and other animal shapes. There is some talent going on here or I'd be in the Olympics. Curler or Snow Cone Design.
But as my two favorite female commentators [Tara Lipinski and Johnny Weir] said, "Cheating is cheating. Anything that gives you an edge chemically that enhances you physically is cheating. She shouldn't be allowed to compete."
I don't understand the sport of ice skating or the immense pressure of competing at that level. I don't understand the pressure of representing your country on a world stage. I don't understand what it means to be a female in that world. But I do remember being 15 (vaguely).
Saving for a car. Working on the farm or with dad in his painting business. Mowing grass. Working the garden. Babysitting my sisters. Figuring out the world of girls and my single action BB gun. Trying to remember my locker combination. Still depending on mom and dad for transportation, for life's provision, and most importantly, for guidance, for safety. 15.
Makes you wonder.
Breaks my heart.
Kamila Valieva.
15.
"Anyone with such a defiling disease must wear torn clothes, let their hair be unkempt, cover the lower part of their face and cry out, 'Unclean! Unclean!'" (Lev. 13:45 NIV)
So, all the numbers were good. Everything was in the right place and the right size (and all God's men said, "Amen"). Then she springs it on me. "You know...you really should have those capillaries addressed on your face before they become problematic. I'm guessing... farm kid, 1960's and 70's. No sunscreen. Multiple sunburns."
I'm glad she went to medical school, or I would have never guessed that was the reason for my very red (or as they say about handsome men in the Bible - ruddy), bloodvesseled (my spell check is fighting me but overriding), often swollen cheeks and nose. I was well-aware of my negligent youth and consequences.
"Easy solution. Face transplant. They just did one in France and he's doing fine." I giggled uncomfortably not knowing if she was joking as she grabbed her Magic Marker. I was thinking more like that old show Quantum Leap where he comes back and goes into this chamber and gets zapped by infrared light which literally kills the entire outside layer of his skin which he just wipes off like a layer of dust. So cool! Nope. Laser.
Now that sounds cool at first but then you begin to think about laser beams that cut through steel or kill alien invaders. She's probably going to tie me to a chair. I'll be brave.
The day arrived. A Friday. Two days before a public appearance preaching before the masses and a family funeral in the afternoon. What could go wrong. At worse I'll be a little red.
"Now you're going to feel a little prick like a little needle stick." I noted the word "little" twice. That means it's really going to hurt. The laser will actually explode each capillary and the blood flow will find another route deeper into the skin. It won't come back again, and you'll have nice clean skin. The problem: I had about a thousand capillaries.
"Doing okay?" she said after explosion 100. Only 900 more to go. She handed me a nice cold roller. Oh, man, did that feel good. "Look, Deb, look how nice that looks. Sometimes it's painful to look beautiful," Doctor Mangala said. Not what I wanted to hear at that point. I was looking for "all done." But that wouldn't come for another half an hour of pure torture.
"How's the pain level - 1-10?" I'm beyond numbers. Let's just get this over with so I don't have to confess that I cried in front of women.
Over. Can't feel my face. 1:30. Hungry. Cracker Barrell. Sitting at the table. "Deb...I think my face is leaking." The water blisters started to emerge. Not a pretty sight. Couldn't wait to get home. Worse on the cheeks and nose where I scabbed up. But I'll be alright tomorrow. Nope. Looks like I skidded on my face in the driveway...multiple times. Swollen like one of those Puffer Fishes. Maybe no one will notice.
Sunday. Left eye swollen. Water pockets under both. Scabs. Water retention all over my face. I looked like a pumpkin. I will never make fun of women who complain about retaining water again. Deb was prepared to be the brunt of my explanations, but I spared her the humiliation of suspected spousal abuse and just went to the vanity/precancer answer. I spent the day "explaining." First at church and then to total strangers who thought I went through the windshield of something. Nope. Just laser surgery. And everyone over 60 said, "Yep. Had that done a few years ago myself. Had this cut off and this cut off and...I was not encouraged but thankful that mine was treatable, a preventable non-cancer issue.
Today, I still look like I was in a street fight, but things are healing. I'm hoping there won't be a round two, but if needed it won't be as extensive and I'll know what to expect.
In times like these I read the scriptures a bit differently. "Unclean! Unclean!" said the leper when encountering another person. The sense of rejection. The sense of shame. Embarrassment. The memory of not being this way. Wondering if it will ever end. No wonder they sought out Jesus. Hope. No wonder they were surprised when he touched them. He saw them. Beyond the skin issues. He saw them. Persons. Valued. Loved. Full of potential. Beautiful inside.
I was reminded of that as people observed this beat up guy in a nice suit. I was still Pastor Dan. Danny. Loved. "We don't care what you look like - we're just glad you're here." "Pastor, we're not here to see you. Just show us Jesus through your words today." Humbled. Thankful. Revealing.
A gracious reminder that sometimes it does take pain to be beautiful - inside.
I close with a wise and truthful saying from a family member, "You can change ugly, but you can't change stupid." For what it's worth...
