The Great Banquet

 "On this mountain the LORD Almighty will prepare a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine - the best of meats and the finest of wines. On this mountain he will destroy the shroud that enfolds all peoples, the sheet that covers all nations; he will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign LORD will wipe away the tears from all faces; he will remove the disgrace of his people from all the earth." 

I recently attended a community Great Banquet hosted by our church (Calvary Presbyterian). Seventy-two hours of communal living. Worship. Communion. Sharing. Fun. Tears. Laughter. This type of retreat is not really my "thing" but I was thankful for the experience and the unexpected blessings that came from it. 

I was reminded of something as I gorged on some of the best meat lasagna and cheesecake I have had in a while. Food is part of fellowship. And rich food is part of rich fellowship. 

I've been worrying about whether I'm going to like the kingdom of God when it comes. I was fearful that salads were going to be my lot for a thousand years plus eternity. I know that God can change my palate but I was thinking about a world without fried chicken or ribs. And once again the Lord heard my concern and directed me to a passage that brought joy to my heart. Isaiah. A banquet. And meat. 

Okay...I'm not that shallow and I actually have thought a lot about this as a teacher of Revelation on multiple occasions. The food may be real but the richness comes because of why we are eating it - fellowship with our Lord and immense thanks for the provision before us. And I'm not talking about the table. I'm talking about the no more tears, the no more death, no more sin for those who have been redeemed. 

I think of two dishes that come to mind from both of my grandmothers. My Grandma Lute made the best homemade egg noodles. Thanksgiving and Christmas packed in around all my aunts and uncles. Celebration of family. Being together. 

My Grandma Cains made the best Christmas ham. She always saved out a pineapple that had been marinating on top of it for hours and when she cut it in slices she would always save me an end. Celebration of family. Being together. 

Both of those lovely ladies have since passed into glory but in Christ I will see them again. But every time I go to some homestyle restaurant or buffet and those delicacies are set before me, it's not the noodles and the ribs that I'm thinking about. It's about the joy of having those ladies in my life and sorrow of not having them here. 

Imagine chairs and tables as far as the eye can see filled with the richest of delectable food. Beautiful table settings and decorations. People seated on each side. Stories being told of how the King saved us. Actually, I think its going to be more than I could ever expect or visually imagine. I was reminded this weekend of how much I long for this celebration? 

Save me a place at the table, Lord. 

Until then, I'll make sure my memory is stirred as I smell the grilled chicken and BBQ ribs. 

Fallen

"You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes." (James 4:14) 

Just as summer turns the corner and the leaves of Autumn begin to turn and fall, we were reminded this weekend of the words of Solomon, "there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heaven: a time to be born and a time to die...a time to kill and a time to heal...a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance...a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace." 

I was only at my new church in Alpena, Michigan a month when the September 11th terrorist attacks hit our beloved country. I remember it well. I remember being glued to the television, to the site. No words. Silence. Unbelief. Grief. They were not my family members, but they were. 

I am at my new church in Logansport, Indiana, less than a year...when a young marine was honored by his city for giving his life trying to save civilians from the barbaric lifestyle of the Taliban. I will remember it well. 

Black, White, Hispanic, Asian, young and old...no ethnic divide this past Sunday. No strangers. The human family gathered to pay respect and in some way to release some anger at an unnecessary loss. 

I've never been in such a massive crowd where tears streamed down the faces of those gathered and silence blanketed the event. An uneasy but necessary quiet. Somber reflection. No cheers. No laughter. No jokes or flippant conversation about the weather. Solemnity. This was not a parade. This was a funeral march for a native son. Grief for a suffering mother, father, and siblings. Grief for our nation. 

And then the roar of thousands of motorcyclists - patriots who support the act of remembrance and honor. Men and women who could barely drive their bikes because of the overflowing tears, the unexpected support, the community sorrow. He was not my family, but he was. 

All I kept thinking was, "I hope they know and feel loved." An unusual sentiment for those you do not know. Perhaps it is my own internal desire. To know that I am not going through a tragedy alone. 

He was not my family, but he was. 

"Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn." (Romans 12:15)

Overwhelmed. 

Tears. 

Love.

Family. 

Golden Leaves

 "Also at your times of rejoicing - your appointed feasts and New Moon festivals -  you are to sound the trumpets over your burnt offerings and fellowship offerings and they will be a memorial for you before your God. I am the Lord your God." (Numbers 10:10)

I was listening to the local radio station in Logansport. The secular one. I know. I'm a pastor. I publicly confess my sin. It just takes me back to a simpler time of Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, the Everly Brothers, Doris Day, Dave Clark 5, and...the king...Elvis. 

Memories. No, I mean, Memories, as in the song that Elvis sang. 

"Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind.
Memories, sweetened through the ages just wine.
Quiet thoughts come floating down and settle softly down to the ground. 

Like golden leaves around my feet, I touch them and they burst apart with sweet memories." 

I am writing a bit in advance since I will not be able to submit a blog post next week. Rosh Hashanah or Yom Teruah, or the Feast of Trumpets (can be called all three) will begin on September 7th. It begins the Fall Feast series or the Fall Appointed Feasts of the Lord. 

I have always been fascinated with these feasts for the reason that they are all associated with some aspect of the ministry of Jesus. 

Spring Feasts: 

Passover - Jesus is our Passover Lamb

Unleavened Bread - Jesus is our sinless sacrifice

First fruits - Jesus is the first fruit of the dead

Pentecost - Jesus gives to the Church the Holy Spirit. 

Fall feasts: 

Feast of Trumpets - coming of the Messiah

Day of Atonement - the recognition that Jesus is the true Messiah and the people repent

Feast of Tabernacles - celebrating the Messiah's provision and eternal dwelling with his people.

There is a sense of mystery with the Feast of Trumpets and, I have to confess, a bit of nervousness. It is the least understood of the feasts because it is the least described by way of purpose. Trumpets announce. Trumpets call people to assemble. Trumpets call people to attention. To announce what? To call people to assemble for what purpose? To call people to attention for what? Mystery. Memories. 

All that we know is that it is a time of great rejoicing and a time to stir up memories of God. But I believe that encased in this feast is a great sense of expectation - which is where the nervousness comes in to play. The expectation of the coming of the King for his people and later, the expectation of coming back with Him as the Bride of Christ to be revealed to the Jewish people. Rapture and Second Coming. 

I know that other followers of Jesus may disagree with me on this point. It is not something I will break fellowship over.  

I think we can all agree to rejoice and remember what the Lord has done for us. I'm going to try and be more mindful of such things as I see those golden leaves around my feet. 

Sweet memories. Glorious expectations. 

Maranatha!

 

Is That All There Is?

"'Meaningless! Meaningless!' says the Teacher. 'Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless." (Ecclesiastes 1:2)

I was reminded of an old Peggy Lee song as I was reading the above scripture: Is That All There Is?

Chorus: "Is that all there is? Is that all there is?

If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing. 

Let's break out the booze and have a ball. 

If that's all there is."

Last verse:  "I know what you must be saying to yourselves

If that's the way she feels about it why doesn't she just end it all?

Oh no, not me. I'm not ready for that final disappointment.

Because I know just as sure as I'm standing here talking to you

That when that final moment comes and 

I'm breathing my last breath, 

I'll be saying to myself, 'Is that all there is?'"

It's a great song. But it is a very sad song, a hopeless song. And it reflects the universal sentiment of meaningless and a sense of the absurdity of life that many have at present. 

We exist. And then we don't. The product of the evolutionary teaching of man. We are stuff, a product, material in a consumeristic world, a pawn in whatever political games that are being played. Heroes one day; villains the next. Essential one day; expendable the next. Who can make sense of it all?

 It's why the suicide rate over the last year and half has been exponentially higher. It's why spousal and child abuse is at an all time high. Alcohol. Drugs. Gun violence. Why not just be done with it all?  

I would like to say, "No, Peggy. That's not all there is." But...perhaps for the type of person the song is singing about...it is. Life lived without purpose. Life not lived for the greater eternal good. Not realizing that there is an eternity. Sad. But an opportunity. 

The opportunity is to teach people to live with life's paradoxes. In the midst of the upheaval of life we can still find things to enjoy, to give thanks for, to celebrate. Joy is often found in the simple and the taken for granted. 

In the mist of the temporary, we need to remind each other of the present value of people we love and who love us. In this temporary world, we need to point people to Jesus, to the Way, to the Truth, to the...Life...abundant here and eternal there. 

If we live like this, our last breath won't be a disappointment, Peggy. 

Forget the booze but I'm gonna dance with the wife, love on my kids and grandkids, love and serve my Lord and church family, enjoy the cardinals on my back deck, visit with my neighbor, Ron (who knows all things neighbory), take a walk down by the river, and have a ball.

What a great life...if that's all there is. 

Afghanistan

 "Do not oppress a foreigner; you yourselves know what it is like to be foreigners, because you were foreigners in Egypt." (Exodus 23:9)

It was a long, hot, autobus ride down to a small village in southern Lebanon - a known Hezbollah area (terrorists). We arrived at the American pastor's home who was endeared by all and called, "Papa" by the locals (6 foot 6 inches tall with a full and neatly trimmed all white beard; more fluent in Arabic than the locals). We split up into two vans. I went with the pastor. We were going to visit a man and his family to share the gospel. It was not a good day. 

We arrived to this house made of leftover 8 inch cinder blocks with a metal roof and tiled floors - no bigger than my living room but housing at least ten people. Simple fabric separating living and sleeping quarters. Cooking was done outside. There was yelling and screaming in Arabic. The father had basically sold his oldest daughter into marriage to a Hezbollah officer who was three times her age. She refused and said she would commit suicide rather than to be a slave. All her hopes and dreams shattered in one decision by her father. It was no idle threat. My heart broke. What could I do?

Others in the small community that were even of different Muslim faiths, e.g. Shia or Sufi, were denied jobs or given jobs no one would want to do. So sorry to inform the reader but most of the world does not have antidiscrimination laws. And the Christians...we toured a very scary re-education center (nice words for prison where they torture or kill you and your family). I couldn't wait to get out of there. What could I do?

All of these memories came flooding back this week as my eyes were on Afghanistan. Already the systematic killings/beheadings are taking place. I thought about my Christian brothers and sisters. Trapped. Terrified. Caught. Concerned. 

This was all brought home when I received an email from one of my co-laborers from the International Student, Inc., ministry that I was involved with at George Fox University in Newberg, Oregon. She sent out a note a few months ago from one of her students who I had met and then remembered who was from Afghanistan. Two months ago...she asked for financial help to get her family out of the country. Two months ago word was already out the the U.S. was pulling out of the country. Two months ago she was already in fear for her families' lives. What could I do? 

Men heading for execution. Wives raped and indentured or killed. Girls as young as 9 and 10 (prepubescent) being "married" off to men as old as 50 or sold into the sex slave trade, boys being sold into hard labor slavery or forced to be a soldier. What can I do?

I was convicted this morning as I was reading through some of the "exilic" writings (those written during the exile to Assyria and Babylon). God has a huge heart for those that are refugees - foreigners pushed out of home and life because of external conflict. They aren't seeking a better life. They are seeking to live. 

My passion for mission has inflamed. My hunger to go has resurfaced. My spirit aches. What can I do? Holy Spirit lead. 

Me.

Us.

Pray.

Dust to Dust

 "For dust you are and to dust you will return." (Genesis 3:10b). 

I've been thinking about death lately. Not my own but the recent homegoing of family members - two cousins in the same family and an aunt on my side of the family and on Deb's. Brother and sister were cremated and lie in separate decorative boxes next to each other. 

I was asked to officiate for the sister. What an honor. But I haven't seen her in almost 40 years. I just remember that she was quiet, seldom smiled, and had really long hair. It's the distinguishing phrase, "I knew of her" rather than "I knew her." Hard words to say about one's own extended family but...such is the transitional life we all lead willingly or unwillingly. 

I haven't been home in twenty years so those words would apply to me as well. They all knew of "Danny" but very few know the Reverend Doctor Daniel Lute. Seeds scatter and new lives grow in other gardens. 

I recently read an article of a woman whose husband was a potter. All his life he would talk about the work that fire does in bringing to "life" the dull and vulnerable clay. Fire hardens and beautifies. 

She thought about that as she held her husband's decorative box of ashes. It was all of him -ashes and bits of bones - even the wedding ring on his left had was reduced to its basic components. It was all of him but yet, none of him. His laugh wasn't in this box. His frustrations or joys or celebrations or defeats were not in this box. His love was not in this box. Somehow it was all of him but none of him. Where was the beauty in this?

I thought about this with cousin Pam and cousin Tom and soon to be Aunt Suzanne and Aunt Cheryl. Somehow it is all of Pam, but really none of her. Somehow it was Tom but really none of him. Somehow the body laying before us is Aunt Suzanne or Cheryl, but really none of her - just the shell that housed who she really was. 

I'm not saying that the body is not important. I have a graveside service for a reason. It was the body that we hugged, that we kissed, the hand that we held, the eyes that we peered into, the vessel we recognized in the restaurant or walking through the county fair midway. The body is important and so much so that God will raise it up at the end of days. But it is the soul, the spirit, that brings flesh and bones to life. 

Where is the beauty in this? 

Perhaps it is in the sense that you can bury the body but you'll never be able to separate the memories of the immaterial. I find this in celebration of life moments when family members laugh at something the person would always say or do. Old Christmas or vacation memories. Moments in the relational library that can be pulled up when prompted. The tangible, yellow Polaroids, where everyone wore the same sweater vests with striped 1960's pants, and white belts. Maybe memories are not so great. 

As I put my reading glasses on to see those old photos, to read the dated articles, I was reminded that the most important element of the day was not that which was housed in the box but in my memories. Perhaps this is the beauty that was intended. 

"Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. We commit this body to the grave and the spirit to God from which it came." 

 

Stressed

 "We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to this present time." Romans 8:22

Beside the Wabash River, in Logansport, Indiana, lies the Little Turtle Waterway Trail. A beautiful, scenic, paved trail that hugs the river and gives breathtaking views of the state's proclaimed waterway and exposed bank areas. (I am finding myself humming with the Mills Brothers version - On the Banks of the Wabash Far Away; On The Banks Of The Wabash, Far Away (1943) - The Mills Brothers - Bing video). 

The trail was named after a Miami Indian chief by the same name (Little Turtle) who was an advocate for peace with the many European settlers making their way to the expansive west. It's hard to believe that Indiana was once thought to be the untamed frontier but as I said in a past blog...give it a few years without tending and "Mother Nature" will reclaim what has been tamed. 

Deb and I were walking this trail Sunday afternoon - glad for the respite of high humidity days that consumed us for the last week or so. We came to a particular clearing and we noticed all the dead leaves on the trail. It took us a bit by surprise since Fall is technically a few months away. Perhaps it is coming early this year. I've noticed the subtle color change and dropping of leaves from my Red River Birches in the backyard as well. 

No worries. It's just stress. When trees are exposed to such hot days without rain they begin to get rid of things, like leaves, for self-preservation - anything to save the tree itself. Stressed trees. Who would have thought.  

Nature is a great teacher if only we would be good students. As long as we live in this broken world their will be stress. Jesus said, "In this world you will have tribulation" and with that tribulation comes inevitable stress. 

The tree is smart enough to shed that which it can survive without. If only we had such wisdom. Instead, we cling to the thing that brings about the agony not realizing that it is not essential. We cling in order to retain that which we think we need, but in the end puts greater stress on the trunk. In many cases we know its not even a need but a want that makes life a bit more enjoyable. And yet we cling. 

Like the earth in general we groan, realizing in the depths of our being that something is not right -externally or internally. The earth is waiting for us to be what we have been created to be - fully redeemed by the coming of our Lord. Only then will she rejoice. Only then will she de-stress as well as us. 

Until then...look for more dead leaves and bewildered walkers.