Stories of Faith

Satan The Sifter

2012-02-08T15:40:00.000-08:00

It took me a while to figure out the many ramifications of his misplaced statement, but it finally came to me. We were discussing the concept of how Satan can influence our thoughts, and how we must take every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ. And Peter was one of the examples we were discussing. The story was cited where Jesus said to Peter, just prior to his arrest and trial, “Satan has asked to sift you, but I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail” (Lk 22:31-32).

The comment was made, then, “That’s interesting, because Peter did go ahead and deny Jesus three times. So the prayer of Jesus was not answered.” I immediately challenged the presumption that Peter’s failure was what Jesus had prayed for. I said, “The temptation to fear and cowardice, and the ensuing failure of denying Jesus three times was not the sifting of Satan which Jesus prayed about. Jesus knew Peter would fail, and even told him so. We all fail him. What Jesus was concerned about was that Satan would move in immediately after and begin to mess with Peter’s emotions and thoughts, bringing on shame, guilt, despair, hopelessness, self-loathing, and possibly getting Peter to consider going out and killing himself, as Judas did.” After all, Satan’s ultimate goal is to deceive and destroy. (I Pet 5:8)

Satan the sifter wanted to separate Peter from Jesus, to tear down the trust relationship and cause his faith to fail him. Three full years of discipleship were put to the test that night. The failure of denying Christ was only the catalyst, not the test. The true test was whether Peter trusted Jesus to love him, to forgive him, to restore him. Or would he feel that his failure was cause for despair, believe Satan’s lie, and revert back to hopeless self-condemnation. And to what end would that lead him? However far Satan could take him. That’s why Jesus prayed for him.

As the story of Peter progresses, he does deny his Lord three times, just as Jesus said he would. And after the third time he remembers what Jesus had said. The guilt was immediate, and overwhelming. But Jesus’ prayer was answered. How? By Peter looking at his Lord, and Jesus looking back at him. God arranged for that prayer to be answered by putting the two of them in eye contact. Eye to eye, heart to heart, at the most critical point of Satan’s sifting.

What was communicated in the look of Jesus to Peter. Did Jesus look condemningly at him? Did his eyes say to Peter, “I told you so! You let me down.” No, not at all. Jesus communicated love, forgiveness, repentance, acceptance, restoration. He would not let Peter’s faith fail, the trust relationship was still intact, and it would carry Peter through.

Peter went out and wept bitterly. I am sure that he was terribly ashamed and so very sorry for denying Jesus. That was part of the tears. That was the bitter part. But I think that most of the weeping was the cleansing work of love. It was repentance completing its work, the repentance which Jesus initiated with his look of love. It was an unbridled celebration of grace.

Jesus was far more concerned over Peter’s response after the failure than He was about the failure itself. But the man who sees the failure as the key problem does not understand the heart of God. Jesus doesn’t keep record of failures, he waits lovingly to look at us eye to eye, in grace, so that forgiveness and repentance can restore the relationship. He wants trust to grow deeper through love so that we stand stronger.

Splinter In Her Eye

2012-01-30T16:03:00.000-08:00

The doctor hovered over my little girl’s eyeball with a drill in his hand. I was so tense that my muscles were sore. Neck, back, arms, legs, closed fists. I was holding still for her, I guess. I thought to myself, “What if she panics, or what if she jerks her head away out of fear? And just how sure is his hand?” She was sitting in his surgical room late one evening, responding to a call from the hospital emergency room. The doctor at the hospital could see the splinter in her eye, but could not remove it himself. So he called an ophthalmologist and asked if he could meet us at his office to remove the splinter.

It all started while having so much fun. I had built a nice high tree swing alongside the house. Our daughter loved to go out in the evening and have me push her higher and higher. She was fearless. When she got going really high she would clear the fence and brush up against the leaves and blossoms of an apple tree. Night after night she loved to have her Daddy go push her on the swing, higher and higher.

I got carried away one night, pushing her higher and higher. Too high. She swung up into the apple tree far enough that a branch brushed against her face. It didn’t hurt at the time, but we slowed down a bit so she wouldn’t get hurt. When she got done swinging we went in the house to rest. She complained that her eye hurt, like something was in it. I remembered the branches of the apple tree brushing her face so I tried to look around in her eye to remove whatever was lodged in there. But I couldn’t find anything. She was tough and didn’t want to complain, but I could tell it hurt pretty bad. She was starting to cry. And I was feeling worse and worse. I looked again and still could not find anything around the edge. Somehow I noticed the tiniest little sliver in the white part of her eye, so small that I could hardly believe that it could cause so much pain. But every time she blinked it scratched her eyelid, and she was pretty miserable.

So we headed to the hospital, not knowing what else to do. It was stuck in there pretty good, because they couldn’t get it out with a cotton swab. So that’s when we headed to see the eye doctor. I expected he would have some way to clamp her head still, and use some special tweezers to get it out. But no, he told her to hop up in the chair and started showing her the little drill he was going to use to drill out the sliver. She wasn’t the least bit afraid. She was so trusting, and so very happy. She was confident that this man knew exactly how to get rid of the pain in her eye.

And just like that, he was done. She was smiling, and they were kidding around, looking at the little splinter resting on the tip of his finger.

“How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? First take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye. Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently.” (Mt 7:4-5; Gal 6:1)

Helping my brother to remove sin’s hold from his life is likened to removing a splinter from his eye. The pain of that spiritual splinter can be intense – guilt, shame, failure, discouragement. Whoever would remove the splinter of sin, though, must be like a surgeon, filled with love, skilled in God’s truth, full of the Spirit. Love changes hearts. Truth changes direction.

Inculcation

2012-01-26T15:17:00.000-08:00

I had to look it up in the dictionary when the Holy Spirit told me the word. It might as well have been in a tongue or a foreign language. But the definition in Webster’s was amply clear, and God’s direction was even clearer. He doesn’t need to say much to get across to me exactly what he wants to tell me. In response to my heartfelt prayer, His wise counsel emanated brightly from just that one word. He’s like that, over and over.

Remember Peter? Mr. Impulsive. Spirit led one moment, self led the next. Full of faith and trust, then he would turn around and fall on his face. Loyal and dedicated one day, but tomorrow found him captive to fear. When it comes to professionalism and finesse, the north country fisherman rated kind of low. But who else but Peter would you expect to get out of a boat in the midst of a storm and walk to Jesus. Trust came to him so naturally, He was so teachable. He must have been very likeable, too, the life of the party.

Jesus chose Peter. That amazes me. All twelve of his picks amaze me. Every one of them was rough around the edges, unrefined, disenfranchised. He didn’t pick a single millionaire, not one CEO type, not a single Pharisee or religiously trained scholar. Not one of them was “pedigreed”. I wonder how he knew who to pick, who to call and commission to follow him, who would respond and learn, who would be eager and zealous to fulfill His mission. He knew He was going to invest a whole lot of time and effort in twelve guys for a very limited time.

Jesus had to teach his disciples many of the same things, over and over again. They seldom understood at the first hearing. Jesus taught them patiently, and by constant repetition they learned. That is inculcation. Teaching and instilling by persistent repetition. Those broken, needy, disenfranchised men were the only ones Jesus knew could unlearn their old ways and patiently learn the new. They changed. And the world changed, too.

I was ready to give up leading the men’s group a year ago. I was discouraged, defeated, wondering if the effort was worth it. There was so much to change, so much to unlearn, and it seemed to go so slow. That’s when the Holy Spirit spoke to me, “Inculcation”.

This last week I looked around the room of ten guys, and I sat amazed, marveling at the change in their lives over the last several years. Myself included. Each one has their own unique and marvelous story. I call our group the ‘Fellowship of the broken and needy’. That might be what Jesus called his group of guys, too, at first.

“We urge you, brethren, admonish the undisciplined, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with everyone… Faithful is He who calls you, and He also will bring it to pass.” ( I Thes 5:14, 24; NASB)

Easy To Give Away

2012-01-13T17:58:00.000-08:00

She walked by, with her two children tagging along, and asked him for 20 pesos. With that she could buy a small bag of groceries from the orphanage, groceries and supplies that would cost 40 pesos elsewhere. He told her no, that he didn’t have any money to help her out.

After all, he reasoned, I am down here in Mexico donating a year of my time helping out with this orphanage. That is my service to the Lord. I am giving quite sacrificially already, if you understand, so why should I give more.

As the woman and two children walked off down the dirt road, away from the orphanage, he watched them. She looked very familiar, but he was having a difficult time placing where he had seen her before. Then he remembered. She had come up to the front of the crowd a few nights earlier, at the call of the evangelist. She had given her life to Jesus.

So he ran inside to get his wallet, and went running after her to give her the twenty pesos she had asked for. But he never found her. She was gone. The opportunity had passed him by.

That is when he heard the still small voice inside his heart say so clearly, “When you don’t consider the things you have to be your own you will find it a lot easier to give them away.”

About the same time that I heard this “orphanage” story another brother told me his “tax” story. He had not filed his income taxes for about four years, because he had moved out of town the first year and lost all his tax information in the move. So the ensuing years it seemed wise not to file taxes, either, if he couldn’t file for that first year.

Eventually he moved back to his home town, found the tax records, and tried to ignore them. But God told him otherwise. So he took all his tax info to his tax accountant, expecting to have to pay several thousand dollars in taxes, penalties, and interest. And that was going to hurt, desperately. His wife was in and out of the hospital, they didn’t even have their own place to live in, and now God wanted him to pay four years of back taxes.

Driving around a few days later God told him that when he got his tax refund back he was to give it all away. It took a few minutes to sink in, but he realized that he would not be having to pay out several thousand dollars which he didn’t even have, but instead would be getting a refund. Sure enough, the next day the accountant called and asked him to come in and sign the tax returns. “Oh, and by the way, you will be getting money back,” she said.

He hadn’t hardly told his wife the news when she immediately said that she knew exactly where they should give the money. He ended telling me his story by saying, “It’s easy to give away what you don’t consider yours to hold onto.”

“There will always be poor people in the land. Therefore I command you to be open handed toward your brothers and toward the poor and needy in your land.” (Deut 15:11)

It’s fine that God owns the cattle on a thousand hills, just fine. Just so long as they are on the next ranch, not mine, thank you.

Help Us To Help Each Other

2011-12-14T19:58:00.000-08:00

My prayer last night, as we started our men’s group was this. “Spirit of God, help us tonight to help each other.” I like that word, “help”. We all need help, whether we know it or not, whether we admit it, or not. And we all can offer help, if we are being led by the Spirit of God. Every one of us.

The Holy Spirit lives in each one of us who has chosen to trust Jesus. Fathom that, God’s Spirit dwelling in me. He is there to be my helper. That is the name that Catherine Marshall gives to the Holy Spirit, “The Helper”, interpreting the title that Jesus gave to the Spirit whom the Father would send to us (John 14:16). Others translate the term as counselor, advocate, or paraclete. But I like the name, Helper.

And the Helper doesn’t just help me, but He helps me to help others. That is what the grace-gifts are all about. The Sprit of God in me empowers me and motivates me to help others.

That is why I prayed that prayer. I wanted to turn loose the Holy Spirit in that group of guys that night. And I wanted them to be empowered and encouraged to help one another. And wow, you should have been there to see it happen. I wish you could have peeked in on us.

Following are some excerpts from a recent online article, Why We Don’t Need “Women’s” Ministries. I don't know the author, Sarah Bessey, but some of the things she wrote are worth sharing.

Dear Women's Ministry:

We're choking on cutesy things and crafty bits, safe lady topics, and if one more person says that modest is hottest with a straight face, I may throw up. We are hungry for authenticity and vulnerability…. Some of us are drowning, suffocating, dying of thirst for want of the cold water of real community. We're trying really hard--after all, we keep showing up to your lady events, and we leave feeling just a bit empty. It's just more of the same every time.

We need Jesus. We are seeking deep spirituality. We are seeking fellow travelers. We are hungry for true community, a place to tell our stories and listen to another, to love well. But above all, point me to Jesus--not to the sale at the mall.

You know what I would have liked instead of decorating tips or a new recipe? I would have liked to pray together. I would have liked the women of the church to share their stories or wisdom with one another, no more celebrity speakers, please just hand the microphone to that lady over there that brought the apples. I would love to wrestle with some questions that don't have a one-paragraph answer in your study guide. I would like to do a Bible study that does not have pink or flowers on the cover. I would have liked to sign up to bring a meal for our elderly or drop off some clothes for a new baby or be informed about issues in our city where we can make space for God

We want to wrestle through our theology. We want to listen to each other. We want to worship, we want to intercede for our sisters and weep with those who weep, rejoice with those that rejoice, to create life and art and justice with intention.

Let's be a community of women, gathered together to live more whole-heartedly, to sharpen, challenge, love, and inspire one another to then scatter back out to our worlds bearing the mandate to be women that love.

I'll bring the cupcakes next time (although they likely won't look as cute).

(http://www.churchleaders.com/pastors/pastor-articles/155219-sarah-bessey-why-women-s-ministry-needs-jesus.html#.Tt6516W_Aio.facebook)

The same can be said of men’s ministries. And home groups, too. Don’t think otherwise. Small groups are where church really happens. We have to be real; we have to trust God and others with who we really are. We have to know how to love and minister grace, not just bandy about truth, rehashed and hand-me-down. We have to let the love of God change our hearts, the truth of God change our direction, and the Spirit of God help us with real life issues. Then we can be men and women empowered and focused on helping others.

By the way, just so you know, I bring Chewy Chips Ahoy. My favorite. But then there’s those times that Pete’s wife sends something delectable. Oh yeah!

“The church is only the church when she exists for others.” (Dietrich Bonhoeffer)

Dear Friends And Gentle Hearts

2011-12-07T20:50:00.000-08:00

On an icy January morning many years ago, a man was found collapsed and bleeding in a twenty-five-cent-a-night flophouse, the North American Hotel on the lower east side of Manhattan, New York. He had fallen and hit his head on a sink, shattering the porcelain, causing a severe laceration. Doctors sewed up the gash in his head as best they could, but the wound and the booze had taken their toll. Three nights later he died in his sleep. He was only 37 years old.

A nurse gathering his belongings found a dirty coat with a few personal belongings. In his worn leather wallet, there was found a scrap of paper on which was written, "Dear friends and gentle hearts", along with 38 cents in Civil War scrip and three pennies. Those five words seemed almost like the words of a song, she thought. And she was right. This poor man turned out to have been the songwriter who penned some of America’s most beloved music, including “Swanee River,” “Oh! Susanna,” “My Old Kentucky Home,” and hundreds more. He was Stephen Foster, considered by many to be the father of American music.

He wasn’t always down on his luck, an outcast. Like any derelict, he wasn’t always in that condition. He was once successful, full of promise and hope, happily married, creative and hard-working. But eventually, and way too early in life, he was cut down by the pruning knife of time. A few wrong choices, some unfortunate circumstances, plenty of unrealized dreams, no income from his life’s passion -- all led to the tragedy of an unfulfilled life.

How do we look at the down and out, the man or woman who has lost hope, the hurting and needy? Are we cold and aloof, judging that they brought it upon themselves? Do we think that if they only tried a little harder they could get out of the deep dark hole they got themselves into? Do we say “I’m too busy”, presuming that someone else will help them?

Jesus told the story of “The Good Samaritan” (Luke 10:25-37). A man was beaten, robbed, and left for dead on the Jericho Road. Two godly, respectable, honorable men came upon the beaten man. Certainly the priest or the Levite would be prompted by God’s love to help this man. But no, they walked right on by, crossing over to the sidewalk on the other side of the street to go around him. Then a Samaritan man happened by, a social outcast himself, a man despised by those to whom Jesus was telling the story. The Samaritan man stopped and gave first aid, transported the man into town, and paid for his medical care. Jesus then asked the legalist standing at the front of the crowd, the man who had prompted the story, to tell him which of the three was the “neighbor” to the injured man. He answered, “the one who acted in mercy.”

A friend is one who responds with a gentle heart and acts out of compassion. Dear friends and gentle hearts, let’s go and do likewise.

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.” (Luke 10:27; Deut 6:5; Lev 19:18)

To Love and To Cherish

2011-11-30T15:43:00.000-08:00

Larry and JoAnn were an ordinary couple. They lived in an ordinary house on an ordinary street. Like other ordinary couples they struggled to make ends meet and to do the right things for their children. They were ordinary in another way. They had their squabbles. Much of their conversation concerned what was wrong in their marriage and who was to blame. Until one day. A most extraordinary event took place.

“You know, JoAnn, I’ve got a magic chest of drawers. Every time I open them they are full of socks and underwear,” Larry said. “I want to thank you for filling them all these years.” JoAnn stared at her husband over the top of her spectacles. “What do you want, Larry?”

“Nothing. I just want you to know I appreciate those magic drawers.” This wasn’t the first time Larry had done something odd, so JoAnn pushed the incident out of her mind until a few days later. “JoAnn, thank you for recording so many correct check numbers in the ledger this month. You put down the right number 15 out of 16 times. That’s a record.”

Disbelieving what she had heard, JoAnn looked up from her mending. “Larry, you’re always complaining about my recording the wrong check numbers. Why stop now?”

“No reason. I just wanted you to know I appreciate the effort you’re making.” Nevertheless, the next day when JoAnn wrote a check at the grocery store, she glanced at her checkbook to confirm that she had recorded it right. “Why do I suddenly care about those dumb check numbers?”, she asked herself.

She tried to disregard the incident, but Larry’s strange behavior intensified. “JoAnn, that was a great dinner,” he said one evening. “I appreciate all your effort. Why, in the past 15 years I figure you’ve fixed over 14,000 meals for me and the kids.” Then, “Gee, JoAnn, the house looks spiffy. You’ve really worked hard to get it looking so good.” And even, ”Thanks, JoAnn, for just being you. I really enjoy your company. I’m so glad God me you.”

JoAnn was growing worried. “Where’s the sarcasm, the criticism?” she wondered. Her fears that something peculiar was happening to her husband were confirmed by 16-year-old Shelly, who complained, “Dad’s gone bonkers, Mom. He just told me I looked nice. With all this makeup and these sloppy clothes, he still said it. That’s not Dad, Mom. What’s wrong with him?”

Whatever was wrong, Larry didn’t get over it. Day in and day out he continued to affirm JoAnn and the kids. Over the weeks, JoAnn grew more used to his unusual behavior, and occasionally even gave him a grudging “thank you.” She prided herself in taking it all in stride, until one day something so peculiar happened she became completely overwhelmed.

“I want you to take a break,” Larry said. “I am going to do the dishes. So please take your hands off that frying pan and leave the kitchen.” After a long, long pause, “Thank you, Larry. Thank you very much!” JoAnn’s step was now a little lighter, her self-confidence higher, and once in a while she hummed. She didn’t seem to experience blue moods anymore. She rather liked Larry’s new behavior.

That would be the end of the story except one day another most extraordinary event took place. This time it was JoAnn who spoke. “Larry,” she said, “I want to thank you for going to work and providing for us all these years. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I appreciate it.”

Larry has never revealed the reason for his dramatic change of behavior no matter how hard JoAnn has pushed for an answer, and so it will likely remain one of life’s mysteries. But it’s one I am thankful to live with. You see, I am JoAnn.

(Condensed From Deseret News, February 10, 1985)

I'm So Glad Grandpa's Truck Broke Down

2011-11-16T14:04:00.000-08:00

I took over the driver’s seat from my daughter. The headlights looked somewhat dim and I suspected possible problems. Down the interstate a bit further the gauges on the dash quit working, and the headlights got even dimmer. I figured that the alternator had quit working. So I pulled in behind Tyler’s car and turned my lights off, driving in pitch black, following their taillights. We got as far as Red Bluff and pulled off the highway. The truck died. It was 4:00 in the morning, Saturday morning, the weekend, in a little town in central California.

It was a vacation to Southern California. We had been planning it forever, it seemed. It was a big, big family vacation – Carol and me, four of our six kids, and five grandchildren. We were heading for Oceanside, with every day of the week planned. Beach, Sea World, San Diego Zoo, Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, Lego Land. And then some more beach. Oh, and the pool, in the sun.

We all piled into two vehicles, two SUV trucks, all twelve of us and all of our luggage. We had six drivers amongst us, so we decided to leave at 7:00 Friday evening, drive all night and arrive at our vacation condos on Saturday afternoon.

Everything was going well on the drive down, until Grandpa’s truck broke down. We were pretty disheartened, thinking of how much time we were going to lose. How much time? It was anyone’s guess. Where could we get an alternator, or get a mechanic on a Saturday morning. We called a tow truck. The driver towed the truck to a mechanic’s yard that he knew would be coming in to work sometime on Saturday morning.

Then we all headed to Denny’s. What a treat to sit and eat breakfast together in the middle of a sixteen hour drive. Then we hiked over to the city park to kill time. We played on the playground, walked down to the river, laughed, joked, teased, watched the sunrise, and had fun. Dominick, our oldest grandson, came and sat by Carol and said, “I’m so glad Grandpa’s truck broke down. We would have missed all this fun!”

The mechanic had the truck ready to roll by 9:30, and we were on our way again. Catastrophe was averted, and in its place an enjoyable few hours became one of the greatest memories of that vacation.

Lesson learned: God can break into my plans anytime He wants and I will welcome Him. It may seem like a huge inconvenience, it may be costly, or it may even be painful, but I will look for His grace and not become anxious or angry. I have learned to trust this truth, “all things work together for good to them who love God, who are called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)

Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city”…. Why you do not even know what will happen tomorrow…. Instead you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” (James 4:13-15)

I Still Believe In Running

2011-11-09T20:22:00.000-08:00

Larry’s Dad stood there in dismay. He thought he must have missed seeing his son finish the race. There I was, middle aged youth pastor, crossing the finish line of the 10K run. And the last time Larry’s Dad had checked on the progress of the race his son was well ahead of me. I told him that Larry would be coming in about a minute or two behind me. He couldn’t believe it.

I had fallen behind Larry, a high school cross country runner, to run with another friend. At the 8K marker I decided to pick up my pace and race to the finish. That’s the thrilling, exhilarating part of running. Pushing yourself even harder when you think you’re too tired, and finding out there is a whole new power waiting to be tapped. I caught up to Larry shortly and ran with him a bit. Then I gave him a slap on the back and asked if he wanted to race me to the finish. He gave me that look of disbelief, and I knew his answer. So I took off and ran hard to the finish, the last mile probably pushing a five minute pace. Larry’s Dad had no idea how much I liked to run.

It started in high school, growing up in Arizona. I ran on a cross country team that had the best runner in the state as our anchor. The rest of the team trained hard and was highly motivated. We took fourth in the state meet. After high school I kept running. That’s when it became fun. I ran a marathon, once, and I got some buddies to run with me in a 10K or 5-mile run whenever we had the opportunity. I looked forward to getting up at 6:00 in the morning and meeting down at the high school track with a group of guys, and going for a five mile run. It was great fellowship, intense camaraderie. One particular guy would always be on my shoulder at the four mile mark and we would finish the run in an all out race, pushing each other to our utmost, challenging ourselves to finish strong. It was exhilarating.

I gave up running twenty years ago. The last run I had was at a church picnic, four years ago. I played a few innings in the softball game. I came up to bat and actually got a hit. All the way out into left field. I thought maybe I could stretch it out to a double. I started running to first base and realized I was running in slow motion. Run as fast as I could but each pace was an eternity. Half way to first base I thought how embarrassed my wife must be over on the sidelines, watching me run in slow motion. I got to first base one step ahead of the relay throw from left field. I never made it to second base. And that was the last time I ran.

I still believe in running, I just don’t run anymore.

I’m afraid that’s how it is with grace, too. Far too many Christians still believe in grace, but they no longer live in grace. They started off with joy, with the thrill of discovering a new life. God’s amazing grace transformed their heart, and they knew the presence and power of God. But then the connection with Jesus began losing its joy and intimacy and pretty soon they quite running. They now try to please God by their own self-effort, keeping up the appearance and pretending to still be in the race. Shame and guilt bring their spiritual walk to a slow motion crawl. Broken and needy they forget what it was like to live in grace. They cannot trust God nor anyone else with who they really are. Oh, they still believe in grace, they just don’t live in it anymore.

“Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Sprit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort? Does God give you His Spirit and work miracles among you because you observe the law, or because you believe what you heard?” (Gal 3:3,5)

Swept Away

2011-11-05T12:35:00.000-07:00

As we descended down the muddy road, the rain water began to collect more and more. In little rivulets, then in the ruts, eventually forming little streams. There were three or four of us walking together, not minding the rain, being careful for the puddles and slick mud. We were talking and chatting and enjoying the time together, immensely.

Suddenly, Carol, my wife, slipped and landed face down in a large drainage ditch alongside the road. I expected her to bounce back up, shake off the water like a wet dog, borrow a jacket, and continue on. Maybe a little more hurried than before. But what happened was totally unexpected. Surreal. Horrifying. She did not get up. Instead she was swept along by the current. Somehow the water was not muddy, but rather crystal clear. There she went, swept away, deeper and deeper. Not swept along on top of the water, but under the water, like she was imbedded in the current. I just stood and watched, helplessly.

The swift current swept her through a canyon and carried her under a rock formation, where the stream went underground. I figured it must be a rock grouping that had plenty of crevasses and air pockets, like a lava formation of some sort. So as I ran and climbed over to the rocky mountain and began to search for some way to rescue her. I started looking in crags and crevasses. But I could not find her. I thought I could hear a faint voice crying for help, but I was not sure. So I told the others that I was going to hurry out to get some help. A rescue crew of some sort. It was already past noon, and I knew that daylight would run short if I did not get help real soon.

I came back without anyone to help. Why, I do not know. But when I returned Carol was standing on the rocky crags. I was excited, almost overwhelmed, to see that she was fine. But she was looking very bewildered. Then she told me that Kari, our daughter, was now caught in the watery maze down in the rocks. Kari had stayed behind while I went for help. She had found a way for Carol to escape, but in the process she herself had been swept under.

And then I awakened.

Depression is like that, just like that. It sweeps away its victim in a swift current and carries them away into a cave where they can barely breath. Others stand by and watch in dismay, helpless to avert the descent or to rescue them from the cave. Help is hard to find, oh so very hard. The constant fear is that the clutches of despair might trigger the most dreadful of travesties. And just when you see someone through it, just when they are rescued, it happens again, with the next generation -- from great-grandmother, to grandfather , to mother, to daughter.

If only there was a magic cure. A counselor or psychiatrist who could bring it to an end. A drug that would make it go away, not just lessen the darkness. A prayer for deliverance from bondage.

The poor caregiver, the husband or wife, can not understand why the victim doesn’t just cheer up, get a life, get out and help others instead of being so absorbed with their own little world. They don’t understand how to help, nor how desperately there help is needed. So they run away, find their own solace elsewhere. How do you instill courage, hope, perseverance into a sick person? It seems it should work. Any other sickness and the person usually gets well. But not depression. It just keeps going. And it seems to be the victim’s choice to stay depressed. Oh, but banish that thought, though, if you would help. Love must take on the very character of the Heavenly Father if you will see your loved one through depression.

Lend Me Your Hope

Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Lost and hopeless feelings accompany me daily,
Pain and confusion are my companions.
I know not where to turn;
Looking ahead to future times does not bring forth images of renewed hope.
I see troubled times, pain-filled days, and more tragedy.

Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Hold my hand and hug me;
Listen to all my ramblings, recovery seems so far distant.
The road to healing seems like a long and lonely one.

Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Stand by me, offer me your presence, your heart and your love.
Acknowledge my pain, it is so real and ever present.
I am overwhelmed with sad and conflicting thoughts.

Lend my your hope for awhile;
A time will come when I will heal,
And I will share my renewal, hope and love with others

(Author unknown, copied from Victory over the Darkness, by Neil T. Anderson)

The Great Deception

2011-04-14T13:42:00.000-07:00

The last of seven articles, "Right At The Door"

No one likes the idea of discovering they have been deceived. That they have been misled, snookered, misguided. When I first came to understand rightly the beast of Revelation 13 and 17 it took me awhile to admit that I must let go of the belief system which I had been taught about a pre-tribulation rapture. It was years later that I came to understand that the whole concept of a Great Tribulation was a roadblock to understanding Revelation accurately. So I don’t expect many who hold to dispensational teaching to accept this concept of a great deception easily. That is why I moved this seventh article from its original spot at number one, so it would not be a complete roadblock to considering the other concepts. Go ahead and wrestle with putting all the pieces together. I did, for years.

In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries a great deception captured the “enlightened” minds of scientists and educators around the world – Darwin’s theory of evolution. In that same time frame another deception captured the minds and hearts of the church. And it is no small matter, considering the end to which it leads. It is the doctrine of the Great Tribulation, a seven year period of alluring calm and then cataclysmic judgment, preceding the Millenium. Once this new concept became a foregone presumption, the debate in America amongst churches and Christians has largely revolved around the timing of the rapture, whether it occurs before, after, or in the middle of the Tribulation. Historically, though, debate centered on the Millenium, whether Jesus would return before the 1000 year reign on earth, after it, or whether it is allegorical.

So why is this doctrine of the Great Tribulation important, other than to win an argument. The answer has to do with spiritual awareness, preparedness, alertness to what lies ahead in God’s plan. God said it himself, “Surely the Sovereign Lord does nothing without revealing his plan to his servants the prophets” (Amos 3:7). That is the key purpose of Revelation, stated in the preamble: “The revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show his servants what must soon take place. He made it known by sending his angel to his servant John, who testifies to everything he saw – that is, the word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ. Blessed is the one who reads the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear it and take to heart what is written in it, because the time is near” ( Rev 1:1-3). Revelation is God’s prophetic dis-closure of the end times (and beyond), so his people can know, be prepared, and be overcomers.

Consider, though, that we who are spiritually minded don’t have a real good track record of understanding God’s prophecy. Think back to how effectively God’s people were prepared by the extensive prophecies of Christ’s first coming. Only a minuscule handful of people recognized the baby Jesus to be Messiah. Even when Jesus did signs and wonders in their midst, still they could not correlate the evidence and testimony with what the prophets had written.

The typical Christian who holds to a pre-tribulation rapture says this of Revelation, “I’m just glad that I’m not going to be here.” I wish I could have a dollar for every time I have heard that said. This subtle view might best be labeled escapism, and it stands in stark contrast to being prepared for great distress. Jesus spoke about the signs of his coming and of the end of the age in Matthew 24. He warned of deception (so great that it will deceive even the elect, if that were possible), persecution, turning away from faith, increase of wickedness, love which grows cold, and great distress. He did not say anything about escaping it.

Whether or not the dispensational view of the tribulation is accurate or a great deception, it would be very wise to know and understand from whence it derived. Agreed? John Darby came up with a new teaching of “end times”, ca 1830, the idea to separate the seventieth week of Daniel’s Messianic prophecy from the previous 69 weeks (Daniel 9:24-27). He came up with the novel idea of setting apart this seven year period to the end of the church age, a unique and theretofore undiscovered dispensation. C.I. Scofield picked up on Darby’s idea and popularized the new teaching in his famous “Scofield Reference Bible” notes, first published in America in 1909. Then Moody Bible Institute and Dallas Theological Seminary put this seed to the wind. Today you can hardly find historical premillenial teaching of the Bible in America. Rather, teaching about the end times centers around colorful, detailed charts of the “seven year tribulation”. Only problem is, it’s not in the Bible. But with all the charts, books, and teachers to propagate it, how would anyone know that?

One of the most important things we need to do is think for ourselves…Biblically think for ourselves. There are countless patterns in the American church community that we just follow, without even asking, “Is that the most Biblical way to do it?” We need to test our actions and our beliefs against Scripture, always. Is it really in The Book? If you were to just sit down, read, and study the Bible for yourself, asking the Holy Spirit to show you the truth, without anyone telling you what they think it means, would you come to the same conclusion? If given the opportunity for an accurate assessment, might you be surprised how many of your beliefs and actions are because someone said that to you?

Take a good look at Daniel 9:24-27 for yourself. The Messianic interpretation of Daniel’s great prophecy would suggest that the Anointed One, Messiah, who will be cut off sometime after the 69th week (9:26), by crucifixion, is the one who will confirm a covenant (9:27), the “new covenant”, and the same one who will bring an end to sacrifice in the middle of the seventieth week (9:27; cf Heb 10:1-18). Accordingly, the 70th week follows the 69th week, sequentially, and the middle of the seven years corresponds to the end of Jesus’ public ministry and his unimaginable crucifixion. If that is true, then this prophecy has nothing to do with an antichrist. But what is considered, historically, to be a grand Messianic prophecy, has been categorically transformed into the great prophecy of the Antichrist -- he being the one who would establish a covenant, with Israel for seven years, and in the middle of that period abruptly put an end to temple sacrifice. For those who want to wrestle with this very difficult passage to interpret, the big question centers on the pronoun, “he”, in verse 27. Does the pronoun refer back to the “anointed one” (9:26-27) or to the ruler who will come and destroy the city and the sanctuary (9:27; namely Titus, in 70 AD, who serves as an antitype of the antichrist)?

The biggest hurdle to letting go of the Great Tribulation is probably not wholly doctrinal, but emotional, as well. It’s scary, very scary -- the thought that I may not escape this time of great distress. I’ll admit that one myself. It’s also an uncomfortable step into ambiguity, like being cut loose from your mooring not knowing where the current will take you. Then there’s this hurdle -- admitting I allowed myself to be misled. Ouch! Some may even fear they are being tempted into heresy if they change what they believe. Yes, it’s life-altering in many ways. But don’t be ensnared by wishful thinking, holding onto beliefs because they might be pleasing to imagine instead of appealing to evidence, rationality or reality.

I hope you enjoy wrestling with God’s prophecy, seeking to understand the realities of the rapidly approaching end of the age. America has enjoyed incredible prosperity for over 100 years, and dominated the world scene unscathed since World War 2. And the church in America has been swept along by it. We have not suffered, we have not been persecuted. We have enjoyed freedoms and tax breaks the like of which the Church has never known. We have grown soft, and fallen into a spiritual stupor. That is not the church to which Jesus wants to return. He wants a very special bride. May we be prepared for hardship, and thereby become all the more anxious and ready for the Lord’s return.

Israel Restored?

2011-04-11T15:08:00.000-07:00

The sixth of seven articles, "Right At The Door"

We call him Lord. They call him Messiah. Same Jesus, but different relationship, different expectations, different responses. But he’s not a different Savior. Although God has a unique and different covenant with Israel and the Church, His plan of redemption is not a different plan for two different “chosen” people. His plan is all one long unfolding continuum. God knew that Israel would not accept Jesus as Messiah at the first advent. So the continuum will pick up with Israel once again, when they will see Jesus at His second coming and accept him as Messiah and Savior. Jesus will establish a new era, a Messianic kingdom. King Jesus will reign upon earth for 1000 years, a millennium (Rev 20:1-6).

One of the burning questions of the end times is this, “Where does Israel fit into prophecy?” This question seems to be of great importance to American Christians. There are several reasons for this. First, America is very pro-Israel, due to a strong history of Jewish immigrants, businessmen, entrepreneurs, and leaders in this country. Secondly, we need a strong ally in that region. Israel serves our purposes as much or more so than we serve theirs.

For the church, though, this big-brother support goes beyond the political. The American church uniquely focuses upon Daniel 9:24-27 as a prophecy of a seven year tribulation and the accompanying Antichrist. This has given rise to an unfounded view of Israel’s religious restoration in anticipation of that seven year period. The dispensational interpretation of Daniel 9 says that Antichrist is going to break a covenant in the middle of the seventieth week, a covenant with Israel, and then abominate the temple. This belief leads to several presumptions. Israel’s restoration as a nation is going to lead to their spiritual restoration as well, prior to Jesus’ return. It presumes also that the temple will be rebuilt, that the priesthood will be restored, and that the sacrificial system will be reinstituted, all prior to the tribulation. These are all presumptions based largely on one passage in Daniel 9, the interpretation of which is very difficult, very debatable.

There is much speculation and reports that the priesthood is currently being restored, that materials are being collected for the temple to be rebuilt, and for the priests’ wares to be re-crafted. There are even reports that the ark of the covenant will come out of hiding. How much of this is actually true is difficult to verify. Keep in mind, even if it is true, it doesn’t point to the tribulation, but rather to the Millennium. That is when the temple, the priesthood, and the sacrificial system will be restored -- in the Millennial kingdom, shortly after the return of Christ.

Jesus came to this world the first time, born as a babe in Bethlehem, crucified on a cross for the redemption of mankind. Jesus is returning a second time, to his church, to a bride that is pure and holy, spiritually prepared, and humbly expectant. He is not returning to the chosen people, Israel, in the same way. They are not spiritually prepared, nor are they expecting to be caught up and redeemed. They are still expecting a King, a Messiah, a high priest. God knew that they would not accept the suffering Savior, Jesus, as their Messiah. And His eternal plan took this into account. Jesus will return at the end of the church age and all the saints, both dead and alive will be caught up into the air to be with him. Then he will set foot upon this earth a second time, returning to his beloved Israel, and he will reign from a new, restored Jerusalem, for 1000 years.

When the time of the Gentiles is complete, when Jesus returns for the Church, then He will once again turn his attention to Israel. (Romans 11:25-32). Perhaps the greatest purpose of the Millennial Kingdom on earth will be to “save all Israel”. Paul wrote in Romans 11, quoting the great prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah, “The deliverer will come from Zion. He will turn godlessness away from Jacob. This is my covenant with them when I take away their sins” (Rom 11:26-27). But this is after the time of Israel’s hardening, after the full number of Gentiles has come in (Rom 11:25).

Yes God loves Israel, dearly. “They are loved on account of the patriarchs” -- on account of the promises, the covenants, and the faithfulness of those chosen ones. “God’s gifts and call are irrevocable” (Rom 11:28-29). Israel, the natural branches of the olive tree into which the “wild” Gentiles were grafted, will be “grafted back into their own olive tree” (Rom 11:24).

Jesus will come a second time. Maranatha, come quickly, Lord Jesus. When He comes again He will receive His saints up to meet him in the clouds. We have a name for this glorious event, the Rapture (Mt 24:31; I Thes 4:13-18; I Cor 15:51-52). The saints will immediately be put into service and become the warriors of the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords (Rev 17:14). Jesus will touch down within sight of Jerusalem, the ancient city, at the Mount of Olives (Zech 14:4). He will immediately engage the eighth beast, the Arab-Muslim “nation” (Rev 17:14), defending Israel. Then He will restore His chosen people, and establish his Messianic Kingdom on earth, for one thousand years. His chosen people, Israel, will finally see him, accept him, worship him, as Messiah-Savior. Shalom!

Understand this clearly, when Jesus returns it marks the end of the age, not the end of the world. He returns to redeem his church. That is our blessed hope, “our redemption draweth nigh” (Tit 2:13-14; Lk 21:27-28). At the end of this age, the age of the Gentile church, it will be a transition into another age, the Millennial Kingdom. On the physical scale this transition will be far, far more tumultuous than the transition from Law to Grace (although on the spiritual scale nothing surpasses the crucifixion and resurrection). At the crux of this transition is a great battle, the battle of Armageddon. This great battle serves not only as judgment upon the nations, but it is on behalf of Israel. Jesus will defeat all the enemies arrayed against his chosen nation. It is referred to as the “Day of The Lord” in the Old Testament prophets, also a “time of trouble” and “Jacob’s distress”. (See Isa 2:6-22; Amos 5:18-20, 8:9; Joel 1:15; 2:2,11; 3:17-21; Zeph 1:14-2:3; Dan 12:1; Mt 24:21; and more specifically related to the battle of Armageddon see Joel 2:30-32; 3:1-16; Mic 4:11-13; Zech 13:8-9, 14:1-15; Rev 16:16, 17:4, 19:11-21).

The millennial kingdom is not discussed much in the Revelation of John (only 6 verses), because Revelation is for the Church. The millennial reign of Messiah over Israel is much depicted in the OT prophets. It is often referred to as the “Messianic Kingdom” (see Isa 2:2-5; 4:2-6, 11-12; Jer 30-33; 23:3-8; Ez 37 and 40-48; Hos 2:14-23; 3:5; Joel 2:18-27; 3:17-21; Am 9:11-15; Zeph 3:18-20; Zech 14:16-21). The prophecies of Ezekiel are profoundly predictive and detailed. Ezekiel 37 describes the restoration of the nation in 1949, pictured as a valley of dry bones that comes back to life. Ezekiel 38-39 describes the incredible wars that will be engaged to defeat the enemies of Israel so that the Kingdom of peace can be established. Then Ezekiel 40-48 describes the Messianic temple in great detail, the division of the land for the twelve tribes, and the priesthood and the offerings of the Messianic kingdom. Israel will finally know and understand fully what they so blatantly misunderstood when Messiah came the first time, that Jesus’ death on the cross was the final, once-for-all sacrifice. So the priesthood and sacrifices of the Millennial kingdom will be to celebrate and memorialize (not to atone), using the cultural form that God instituted way back with Abraham and Moses.

So then, Israel restored? Yes. But not in anticipation of Christ’s return. Afterwards. Restored by the one they rejected, when He returns to them in glory and splendor, in love and peace.

Lukewarm And Oblivious

2011-04-10T08:36:00.000-07:00

Fifth in a series of seven articles, "Right At The Door"

“It is not scientific doubt, not atheism, not pantheism, not agnosticism, that in our day and in this land is likely to quench the light of the gospel. It is a proud, sensuous, selfish, luxurious, church-going hollow-hearted prosperity.” (Frederick Huntington, Forum Magazine, 1890)

Someone has said, “we need the gospel every single day if we are to live a cross centered life.” Paul wrote that “in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by faith from first to last” (Rom 1:17). We don’t just start with the gospel and then coast on auto pilot or on our own self righteousness. To be reminded of the gospel daily, to live a cross centered life, is to constantly be reminded that we are in a trust relationship, a love relationship with Jesus. And his love and death for us makes us righteous before God, each and every day. The moment you lose sight of that, you are on your own, whether you know it or not.

I asked a brother in the faith if Christians in America have suffered. He said, “Why yes, when they took prayer out of the schools.” Christians in America have a misplaced concept of suffering because we substitute all the political issues for spiritual suffering. The church is so aligned with the Republican Party and the Conservative movement, so “in bed together”, that we think we are suffering for causes like gun control, tax increases, Wall Street bailouts, green energy, abortion, even bike paths.

The church in America is in a spiritual stupor. Our spiritual sensibility is greatly diminished, dulled, lethargic. Usually stupor is caused by trauma, shock, or drunkenness, but our spiritual stupor is caused by prosperity and self-importance. Under every other “beast” nation other than America God’s people suffered greatly (Rev 13:7, “it was given power to make war against the saints and to conquer them”; cf. Rev 17:6, “drunk with the blood of the saints”). But under American authority the oppression of the saints has been a bloodless coup, deceiving and deluding them by prosperity and an inflated view of their own significance. I actually heard a highly respected television preacher say, “It is the rapture of the church at the beginning of the Tribulation that will bring America to its knees, because over half of the people will be gone, instantly.” I don’t think so.

Jesus said to the Laodicean church, the seventh church addressed in Revelation 2 and 3, a church possibly exemplifying the church at the end of the church age: “I know your works, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish that you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm – neither hot nor cold -- I am about to spew you out of my mouth.” (Rev 3:15-16) In essence, the church was self-deluded, thinking they were rich, but in reality they were wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked – they were in a spiritual stupor. Jesus wished that His church would be hot and soothing, or cold and refreshing, but they were neither. Now get this: they didn’t have a clue. Oblivious!

God’s children can be just as guilty of neglecting God’s glory as the heathen (although we like to point the finger). Consider the passage written by Paul in Romans 1:18-23, pointed back at ourselves. “God is not happy with His church either, much like the godless and wicked men who suppress the truth by their wickedness. Why ? Because the awesome glory of God is so obvious, because He made it plain to see. For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities – his eternal power and divine nature – have been clearly seen, being understood from what he made, so that men are without excuse. For although they know God, they do not glorify him as God nor give thanks to him, but have become spiritually apathetic and their hearts have a dark dull cloud over them. Although they claim to be wise and in love with God, they have become foolishly lulled away, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for crafty distractions – nice cars and computers, wealth, lustful images, religious superficiality, and other such things.”

The following are just a few Biblical indicators of spiritual stupor, the condition of the church today, in America, and also around much of the world:

• Caught in Deception -- “deceive even the elect, if that were possible” (Mt 24:4-5, 11, 24
• Many turn away from faith (Mt 24:10)
• Increase of wickedness (Mt 24:12; II Tim 3:1-5)
• Love of most grows cold (Mt 24:12)
• Self-deluded by riches and significance (Rev 3:14-22; cf I Tim 6:6-10)
• Escapism, just waiting for the rapture (Misinterpretation of Dan 9: 24-27)

Again, I asked some brothers what they think of the American church being deluded by prosperity. And the retort is always this, “What? Would you rather go live in a third world country? God has blessed us, and we should enjoy the riches of His blessing.” Maybe your response is similar, although you would try to be more politically correct, more sensitive to the plight of the world’s impoverished. “We want to be like the nations, like the peoples of the world, who serve wood and stone” (Ezekiel 20:32).

I recently visited a church with an attendance of 3000. They had three services, a choir of 150, an orchestra of 50 and a full time music arranger. I would call their staff producers, not pastors. The building was very nicely appointed. But just last week I heard that they are planning to spend 1.5 million dollars to refurbish the auditorium -- changing to theater seating, new carpet, new lighting, ad infinitum.

I once heard a godly man admit to an adulterous affair. He said that the lust which he had harbored in his heart was unstoppable when it found a willing partner. In the midst of that affair he said that a demon spoke through the lips of the woman, with a sneer on her face, and said, “I had no idea it would be this easy.” That is how the dragon must feel, the dragon that empowers the beast (Rev 13:2,4), as he entices and deceives the saints in America.

If this is an accurate assessment, how then can we respond? Jesus said to the Laodicean church, “I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich, and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness, and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see… if anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him and he with me.” (Rev 3:18-20)

“Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?.... What agreement is there between the temple of God and idols?.... Therefore come out from them and be separate, says the Lord. Touch no unclean thing, and I will receive you. I will be a Father to you, and you will be my sons and daughters, says the Lord Almighty” (II Cor 6:14-18).

The Great Prostitute

2011-04-08T10:44:00.000-07:00

Fourth in a series of seven articles, "Right At The Door"

How sordid history appears from God’s perspective, as opposed to man’s perspective. The contrast could not be more telling than in Revelation 17 and 18. What we see in history as some of the greatest civilizations to have ruled the world, to have “blessed” all the kings of the world, God sees as abominable. The wealth and prosperity -- the economic, commercial, industrial, and technical splendor -- of these seven great nations God depicts as a prostitute, a woman dressed in purple and scarlet, glittering with gold and precious stones, but holding in her hand a golden cup filled with the filth of her adulteries (Rev 17:3-4). Not only the seduction of wealth, but also the seduction to idolatry and sexual wickedness is what God sees in these beast nations. The woman, the great prostitute, is “drunk with the blood of the saints, those who bore testimony to Jesus” (17:6). The title upon her forehead, in John’s vision, was “Babylon the Great, The Mother of Prostitutes and of the Abominations of the Earth” (Rev 17:5).

John was astonished at this vision (17:6), but the angel proceeded to explain it to him. First of all is the explanation of the beast, particularly the eighth beast (17:8-17), the alliance of 10 Arab kings into one “nation”. This eighth beast wants nothing to do with the prostitute riding upon its own back. It is not interested in wealth and prosperity, nor driven by a lust for economic power and control (17:16). Then unfolds the hatred of that eighth beast for the prostitute, specifically, the one that is concurrent with the seventh beast, America. The hatred is so great that this eighth beast, by God’s design (cf, Rev 16:19), will “bring the prostitute to ruin, eat her flesh and burn her with fire” (17:16-17). This destruction is amplified in Revelation 18 (and also Jeremiah 51). There we see, from God’s perspective, the just punishment upon “the great city that rules over the kings of the earth” (17:18), namely New York City.

Two big questions arise in the interpretation of this vision. First, how are we to identify the title “Babylon the Great” as anything other than Babylon? And secondly, what is the imagery of a prostitute supposed to mean? This woman, the prostitute, is said to sit on each of the seven heads of the beast, all seven beast nations throughout history (17:3, 9). (But not the eighth beast.) So “Babylon the Great” played an integral part in the rule of Egypt, Assyria, Babylonia, Medo-Persia, Greece, Rome, and America. If that is true then we can assume that “Babylon the Great” could not be a literal Babylon (compare Isa 15:20), nor could it be a cryptic allusion to the Catholic Church.

“Babylon the Great”, then, is symbolic. What exactly, though, is being depicted of this great prostitute by that symbolism? Babylon, the capital city of Babylonia, stands throughout history as the symbol of wealth, of gold, of prosperity, of luxury, of indulgence. But Babylon has an even earlier history than that associated with Babylonia. One of the great events recorded in Genesis, one which shaped and defined the nations of the world, took place at Babel (Genesis 11). Built in the Mesopotamian valley, where all the descendents of Noah located, this early forerunner of Babylon made an incredible footprint upon history -- from man’s perspective, as well as God’s. Babel was the source of the false gods of all the great civilizations that would spread throughout the world – Sumerian-Babylonian, Egyptian, Phoenician, Greek-Roman. Babel’s arrogant boast against God and her idolatrous worship were the cause of God confusing their languages. Early Babylon serves as the namesake of the great prostitute, “Babylon the Great”. America has her idols and false gods, too, just not Ra, Isis, Baal, Ishtar, An, Dionysus, Zeus, or Venus. Our idols have names like BMW, Wall Street, Microsoft, Playboy, porn, American dream, net worth, NASA, gay rights, 401K, remote control, I-phone, Budweiser, military complex, even democracy itself (the donkey and elephant).

Unique, perhaps, to the seventh beast, two different cities are strategic as seats of power. The city wherein rests the political rule is different from the city that is the hub of the prostitute. Assyria had its Nineveh, Greece had its Athens, in the Roman empire all roads led to Rome, but America has two separate hubs – Washington D.C. and New York City.

The imagery of a prostitute is what stands in such stark contrast between God’s view of these great economic-commercial centers as opposed to man’s view. In simple terms, the great prostitute represents the merchants and priests of each of these beast nations, who exploit and lead astray God’s people and the peoples of the world. A prostitute is a woman who receives money, sometimes lots of money, by exploiting the lustful desire of men, heartlessly destroying their moral soul for her own filthy lucre. With the handsome proceeds from her trade she may be able to wear purple garments, and wear gold and fine jewelry, but in this golden cup of hers are the filth of her adulteries. At the final destruction of New York City, the Great Babylon of the seventh beast at the end of the age, the angel says, “by your magic spell all the nations were led astray.” (Rev 18:23).

I finally found a statistic to support my long-standing thesis that America is predominantly responsible for the horrific spread of pornography throughout the world in the last few decades. Understand that every beast nation has been imbued by the seductiveness of the great prostitute. But the seventh beast, America, has also been empowered by the false prophet, the electronic age. A triumvirate, you might say. Here is the statistic: America produces 89% of porn web pages accessible throughout the world. The internet has exploded in the last twenty years. During the reign of the first six beast nations, sexual sins used to be indulged with temple prostitutes. But with the seventh beast a new day dawned. The day of glossy magazines, movies, and television. And now porn and sexual addictions can be indulged on the screen in the privacy of your own home -- on the computer screen, the television screen, or even on screen in the palm of your hand, anywhere. And 25% of all internet web pages are now pornographic. As of 2006 internet porn was a $100 billion industry in America -- more than Microsoft, Google, Amazon, Ebay, Yahoo, Apple, and Netflix combined. And that did not include magazines, videos, novelties, cable, exotic dance clubs – double the internet porn industry.

We do not view the seductive wealth and sexual idolatry of America like God views it, I am afraid. In fact over 50% of Promise Keeper men, in one survey, had viewed porn in the last week. According to another survey, internet porn is a problem in 47% of Christian homes. God views the prosperity and idolatry of America the beast and the great prostitute, New York City, as ripe for judgment. They have grown rich by exploiting the kings and peoples of the world. The merchants of the world willingly and lustfully commit adultery with her (18:2-3), for they too grow rich from her excessive luxuries. But the greatest horde of “glory and luxury” (18:7) has come to the controller of the world’s commerce – the prostitute herself.

The hatred that the Muslim-Arab world has for New York has already been demonstrated by the terrorist attack of 9/11. But that was but a foretaste, perhaps. Anti-American sentiment has grown beyond our imagination, throughout the world, in the last few decades. Americans do not understand this, for we are part of the culture of the prostitute mentality, enjoying the wealth and luxury, compliments of our commercial henchmen in New York. We thoroughly enjoy the trickle down effect. We view the exploitative filthy lucre of New York as the fruit of our wisdom, ingenuity, and hard work. In fact even the church in America is caught up in this prosperity, deluded by our own self-importance and riches, just like the church of Laodicea, the lukewarm church, the seventh church of Revelation 2-3.

Why is this so hard to see? So hard to believe? Our eyes should be wide open to the out-of-control exploitation of Wall Street, the banking and financial institutions of America, the mortgage industry, and all the profiteers of corporate America. How can it not be obvious that Washington D.C. has sold its soul to the prostitute, New York City? How can we ignore the destructive spread of pornography emanating from America throughout the world, as well as into our own homes? We should grieve for those in our own homeland and around the world who bear the pain for the gain of the prostitute. But instead, many Christians will stand alongside the merchants of the world in dismay and astonishment when the great “Babylon will be thrown down, never to be found again” (Rev 18:21)?

“When they see the smoke of her burning, they will exclaim, ‘Was there every a city like this great city?” (Rev 18:18)

“The thief comes only to steal, and kill, and destroy. I have come that they may have life… abundant life” (John 10:10)

“Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him… Dear children, keep yourselves from idols.” ( I Jn 2:15; 5:21)

The Eighth Beast, Ten Horns

2011-04-07T10:41:00.000-07:00

Third article in a series of seven, "Right At The Door"

Wow, John sure had some weird dreams! Makes you wonder why he recorded those visions in such great detail when he had not a clue what they meant. We can be glad he did, though. They are for me and you today, who live in the rapidly developing last days. “Surely the sovereign Lord does nothing without revealing his plan to his servants the prophets” (Amos 3:7). Actually, I think John understood well the import and the broad meaning of these visions, just not the details that would unfold in a timely manner.

In Revelation 17 we are given insight into an eighth beast. It will supplant the seventh beast at the very end of the age, but only for a very brief time (for “one hour”; Rev 17:12). The identity of the seventh and eighth beast could not have been anticipated or interpreted until recently, namely the 20th century. The seventh beast has been around for a while, and is described in detail in Revelation 13. The previous six can be deduced, if you understand what a beast really is. The beast is not the antichrist, as falsely assumed in Revelation 13. The beasts are world-ruling nations, nations who oppress God’s people, whether Jews or Christians. At the time of John’s vision (ca AD 70), five beast nations had fallen, one was in existence at the time, and the seventh had not yet come (Rev 17:10). The one in existence at that time was Rome. In Daniel’s vision (Daniel 7) there were four beast nations revealed – Babylonia, Medo-Persia, Greece and Rome. So there were two before Babylonia, most probably Egypt and Assyria. The seventh one, the one to come, the beast of Revelation 13 is America. The seventh beast would last “for a little while” (17:10).

But then there arises an eighth beast. Revelation is full of “sevens”, including the seven beasts. And all of them are a neat tidy package of sevens. But this seven, the seven beasts, spills over into an eighth beast. But it exists for such a short time, and is of such a different nature than the previous beasts, that it is considered an “addendum”.

So, now, consider the eighth beast. This beast is signified by the ten horns (17:3,7,12). The beast, as pictured in an overall perspective (upon which the woman, the great prostitute sat), has seven heads and ten horns. The seven heads represent the seven great world powers mentioned previously, while the ten horns represent the eighth beast. This is made clear in verses 11 and 12. The ten horns represent tens kings who will give their power and authority to the beast (17:13). In other words, ten kings will unite as one, forming the eighth beast. This beast “nation” will then make war against the Lamb (17:14), but will be defeated. This is at the time of the Lord’s return, a cataclysmic battle we know as Armageddon (Rev 16:14-16; 19:11-21, and Joel 3). The identity of this ten-king union is most likely the Arab nations of the Middle East. With the fall of many pro-American monarchies in North Africa and many Arab nations, the new governments will undoubtedly be strongly Muslim. Arabs have historically hated Israel, but Muslims have a spiritual vow to destroy them. In short order there will develop a strong, unified alliance of the Arab world, culminating in their attack upon Israel, where Christ is prophesied to return. How long until this develops and occurs is not knowable. God tells us what is going to happen, not when. But the handwriting is on the wall. The footsteps are right at the door.

There is another interesting identifier that God gives in this vision. The statement is made that the inhabitants of the world will be astonished to see this ten-horned beast arise, “who once was, now is not, and will come up out of the abyss” (Rev 17:8). That identity is restated two more times, again in verse 8 and then in verse 11. “Once was, now is not, and yet will come.” That description of the eighth beast fits the Arab nations well, for at the time of John’s writing the Arab nations were not a factor. The Arabs are descendents of Ishmael (who was the father of twelve rulers; Gen 17:20; 25:12-18), of Lot (the Moabites and Ammonites; Gen 19:36-38), and of Esau (the Edomites, Gen 36). They hated the Israelites, the descendants of Isaac and Jacob, and were a constant enemy. But with the conquest of western Asia by Alexander III and the spread of the Greek empire, the Arab peoples lost their identity. There was a distinct hiatus in their affect on Israel and the middle east during the Roman empire, the time of John’s writing. But the Arabs would rise once again, starting about 700 AD, concurrent with the rise of Islam, eventually coming to great power. Astonishingly, at the end of the church age they will be right back where they were at first, opposing and warring with the chosen nation of God, Israel (Rev 17:14, and warring against the Lamb). When God said, “Jacob have I loved and Esau have I hated” (Rom 9:13), that will be played out in world history, soon.

(This identifying description, “once was, now is not, yet will come”, is different from the description of the seven heads of the beast in Rev 17: 10, “five have fallen, one is, the other has not yet come.” The second identifier describes the fact that five beast nations have existed previously, one is now ruling the world, namely Rome, and another is yet to come, America.)

Consider this scenario, now. What about America, the seventh beast? When the eighth beast dominates the world scene “for one hour”, it is most likely that the seventh beast will be deposed. America will no longer dominate and control the world. That is extremely difficult to imagine, for America has prospered and ruled for so long that we cannot conceive of it being otherwise. But once the dollar is dethroned as the world currency, and the full weight of our incredible debt crumbles our economy, America will become easy prey for beast number eight. The terrorism of 9/11 may look like small potatoes, if you consider New York to be the Babylon that falls in Revelation 18 (compare also Jeremiah 51).

Want to guess or predict which ten kingdoms will form the eighth beast alliance? Consider this list: Iran, Egypt, Jordan, Syria, the Palestinian territories, Lebanon, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Yemen, and Kuwait. Or possibly Libya, Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco (farther west in Northern Africa).

I think I can hear the muttering and murmuring of many readers. It’s growing louder and stronger with each new concept. “This can’t possibly be true!” they say. Most people assume that what has become normal will continue. America will always be great. We will always rule the world. We can control terrorism. Our economy will never collapse. War and disaster will never come to our homeland. This normalcy bias causes people to underestimate the possibility of a disaster occurring and its possible effects. In a mental state of denial, they conclude that since a disaster never has occurred that it never will occur. And when it does occur they are unable to cope with it. They also tend to interpret warnings in the most optimistic way possible, seizing on any ambiguities to infer a less serious situation.

I was once given some wise counsel. “Know what you believe, but hold it loosely.” Some of us become so entrenched in our beliefs that God couldn’t incline to us his interpretation, his knowldege, his wisdom, even with a lightning bolt. Keep this in mind as you read the next article, “The Great Prostitute”.

666 -- Sign of The False Prophet

2011-04-06T10:54:00.000-07:00

Second article in a series of seven, "Right At The Door"

Everyone knows the number 666. The legendary “mark of the beast”. Mentioned right at the end of Revelation 13, 666 is the “name of the beast or the number of its name” (actually, a second beast in John’s vision; 13:11, 17-18). This beast is integrally linked with the first beast, more specifically the seventh head of that beast, America (13:1-10). If you were to look in Biblical footnotes and commentaries of years gone by they would assert that the number 666 refers to the coming Antichrist. Various men might be suggested, based on the numerical value of the letters of their name -- Nero Caesar, the Pope (Vicarius Filii Dei), Hitler, Mussolini, for example.

But chapter 13 of Revelation has nothing to do with the antichrist. Nor is this false prophet a person, either. This second beast of Revelation 13 is similar to the earlier beast in the chapter, grammatically (though very different in nature). So the pronoun referring back to this beast should once again be the neuter, “it”. This second beast is identified as a false prophet in other references to it in Revelation (16:13; 19:10), but it is not a person. It is not a “he”. Got that?

“It had two horns like a lamb, but it spoke like a dragon. It exercised all the authority of the first beast on its behalf, and made the earth and its inhabitants worship the first beast… It performed great and miraculous signs, even causing fire to come down from heaven to earth in full view of men….It deceived the inhabitants of the earth. It ordered them to set up an image in honor of the beast… It was given power to give breath to the image of the first beast so that it could speak…It also forced everyone to receive a mark on his right hand or on his forehead, so that no one could buy or sell unless he had the mark…” (Rev 13:11-17, NIV, “it” substituted for “he”).

To identify what this second beast really is, what this false prophet actually is, it helps to work backwards in the chapter. That is because the number 666 has become so clearly identifiable in just the last few decades. The number 666 is generally believed by many seeking to interpret prophecy to refer to the UPC barcode (the Universal Product Code). The UPC barcode was first used in Troy, Ohio, in 1974. If you look at any barcode you can readily see that the very first bars, the middle bars, and the last bars are all two skinny bars, just like the number six appears within the bar code. Those three sets of bars are guard bars (or sentinels and separator) serving to help the scanner start the reading of the barcode, from either end, and to establish timing for the scan. The middle guard bar serves to alert the scanner that the middle of the code has been reached, because the numbers on the right are encoded inversely to the numbers on the left. While the three guard bars are not truly a six in binary code, they appear as a six, (but only the six on the right hand side of the code). This six is the only encoded digit that the guard bars resemble, therefore appearing as 666.

This identifier, 666, is only visible on the UPC bar code, but the technology of encoding information is much bigger and broader than just that. We have magnetic stripes (bank cards, airlines, driver’s license, gift cards, telephone cards, food stamps, access badges). We also have smart cards (both integrated circuit and RFID), smart labels, and microchip implants. It is easy to see how this false prophet could force everyone to have a mark on his right hand or on his forehead, a mark needed to transact business, to track and locate, or to be identified. What is now voluntary could easily become regulated.

So if 666 is actually the name or number of this beast, then it leads us to assume that this false prophet must have to do with computers, electronics -- electricity itself. The advancement of technology in the last two centuries has been astronomical, off the charts in the last few decades with the advancement of computers, internet, etc. This all began with some major steps in the discovery of electricity by Benjamin Franklin (1752), Michael Faraday (electromagnetism, 1821), then the many inventions of Thomas Edison, especially the incandescent light bulb (1879). As more and more inventions developed, based on electricity, it enhanced the importance and position of America throughout the world. Prosperity increased, too, enviably. I suppose you could say it “made the earth and its inhabitants worship the first beast”, America (13:11). Inventions stemming from the developing technology related to electricity were on the scale of “miraculous” (13:13) – phonograph, lighting, telegraph, electric motors, talking motion pictures, telecommunications, batteries and generators, radio, hydro electric dams, radar, aviation, space exploration. And eventually atomic energy. This beast finally pulled off the greatest, most fearful sign imaginable, “causing fire to come down from heaven to earth” (13:13), the two atomic bombs deployed upon Japan. And this great event did not happen in a way off place or time where the news took weeks to travel the globe. Movies and pictures were transmitted almost immediately, so that this event was “in full view of men”. This single event brought the great war to a quick end, and established America as a world power that would not be challenged for more than 65 years, now (see Rev 13:4).

In John’s vision he speaks of the false prophet setting up an image of the beast, America, and being given power to give breath to that image so that it could speak and cause all who refused to worship the image to be killed. Is this yet future, or is it already happening? Consider the extent of American military deployment and the breadth and depth of anti-American sentiment throughout the world.

Now back to the initial scene that John describes. He sees a beast coming out of the earth, which had two horns like a lamb, but it spoke like a dragon. In John’s wildest imagination he could not possibly have envisioned the concept of electricity, nor the infinitely far-reaching implications, consequences, and power that it would create. So God showed him a lamb-like creature with two horns. But it was a dragon in sheep’s clothing. The two horns are probably an attempt to help identify this beast as electricity. We all know that electricity depends upon positive and negative current. The end of the plug has two horns, the car battery has two horns on top of it. Computers also work on a binary system, with 0 and 1 being the programming codes. Perhaps the statement that the beast came up out of the earth might refer to the need for grounding to effect electric current. Anybody ever driven a 10 foot ground rod into the earth?

This may seem strange. Absurdly difficult to buy. But how else could God have envisioned something for John so unimaginable, and so incredibly unique to the end of the age? Electricity has dominated the world scene since the start of the industrial revolution (which had most of its origins and impetus in America). The onset of the computer age has been even more staggering in its implications. We take it for granted, eagerly waiting for the latest I-phone or upgrade. But it is of utmost import to the end of the age. America rules the world, and the beast that empowers it to do so is something of a false prophet. A false prophet is one who purports life and truth, but delivers bondage, captivity, and deception. The computer age seems so innocent but it is full of deceit, temptation, control, and coercion. A dragon in lamb’s clothing.

The “mark of the beast” has taken on an identity larger than life almost. It has come to focus solely on the “implant” in the wrist or forehead, a sinister plot of the theoretical Antichrist. To what end that technology will actually play out is yet to be seen (cf Rev 14:9-12). But 666 is not just the mark of the beast, but it is a name, a number, an identifying sign of the beast, the false prophet. It is something to be calculated, or reckoned, with wisdom, that we might understand the end of the age. To help us see past the imagery and understand this thing concretely, God gave us a sign, so we could reckon-ize it. “This calls for wisdom. If anyone has insight let him reckon the number of the beast, for it is man’s number. Its number is 666.” (Rev 13:18)

America The Beast

2011-04-05T09:09:00.000-07:00

First in a series of Seven articles, "Right At The Door"

To even suggest that America is the beast of Revelation 13 would raise the hackles of most Christians in America.. Them’s fighting words. Or the ranting of a liberal America basher. I can just hear the retort of the small Sicilian guy in Princess Bride. “Inconceivable!” The fact of America being the Beast is something I have understood and believed for so long now that my dear wife has to remind me how preposterous this concept comes across.

I actually gave up several years ago trying to explain it to anybody, because I never convinced a soul. I only succeded in making a silly fool of myself, most of the time. No one in America wants to consider that America is a “beast”. Although they do want America to be mentioned in prophecy, because they sense and know that the power and prestige of this nation in world history and end times is significant. But, for pride’s sake, I think, they do not want the Biblical prophecy of America to be negative.

I can only anticipate, all too well, a reflex-like rejection of this notion, America the Beast. I am suggesting something radically new, for most, and it contradicts entrenched norms, beliefs, and paradigms. There is actually a name for this, the Semmelweis reflex. It gets its name from Ignaz Semmelweis, who discovered that childbed fever mortality rates could be reduced ten-fold if doctors would simply wash their hands with a chlorine solution to disinfect them. Incredulously, his hand-washing suggestions were rejected by his contemporaries. Although you may reject what I have to write about America the Beast, nevertheless, you really must consider it.

Let’s look at Revelation 13, little by little, to understand what John’s vision was prophesying. First of all, perhaps the most profound consideration centers on a simple little pronoun. Throughout the chapter a pronoun is used to refer to the beast. Unfortunatley, in several translations the pronoun is translated “he”. In the Greek text, like many other languages, the masculine pronoun also serves as the neuter pronoun. Context must determine whether the pronoun refers to “he” or to “it”. In this case, the beast is neuter, and the pronoun should be translated “it”. Why is this important? Because the pronoun “he” lends itself to the erroneous interpretation that the beast is refering to a man, namely the Antichrist. That is the first big, big hurdle to get over. The beast of Revelation is an image of a nation, just as in the vision of Daniel (chapter 7), where he also saw four beasts, representing Babylonia, Medo-Persia, Greece, and Rome (cf Rev 13:2 – leopard, bear, lion). Incidentally, if you remove Revelation 13 from your source material to describe the Antichrist, you are not left with much. Not much at all. He is not the super, incredible, monstrous, evil, despicable one-man ruler of the Tribulation that has emerged from the dispensational view of the Great Seven Year Tribulation. Sorry to burst that bubble. You might consider doing what I have done. Go through Revelation 13 and cross out every “he”, and replace the pronoun with “it”.

What exactly is a “beast” nation? It is a world ruling nation, for one. But it is a beast, primarily because it oppresses God’s people, first the Jews and then the Christians. The beast gets it power and authority from the dragon, Satan himself, who is picutred in Revelation 12 as hell-bent on destroying God’s people. That was the purpose of Daniel’s vision (ca 540 B.C.), to inform the Jews of the kingdoms that would rule and oppress them for the ensuing several centuries. The two beasts that preceded Daniel’s vision of the four would most likely be identified as Egypt and Assyria. This gives a total of six, with the seventh to emerge in the end times (see Rev 17:9,10). The beast has seven heads and ten horns (13:1). The seven heads represent the seven nations, and the ten horns represents an eighth beast that will arise for “one hour” at the very end of the age (Rev 17:12).

Now what identifiers do we find in Revelation 13 to help interpet the vision, to identify the seventh beast (or seventh head of the beast) as America? First of all, it arises out of the sea (13:1). (This follows the statement that the dragon stood on the shore of the sea.) America was founded by the many countries of Europe, who sailed and immigrated across the Atlantic. Many have looked at the feet of clay and of iron, with ten toes (Dan 2:41-43), and tried to identify the ruling nation at the end of the age as the revived Roman empire. That is partly correct, but it is the Roman empire revived and transplanted across the sea. America – made up of English, French, Germans, Italians, Irish, Swedes, Greeks, etc. “This kingdom will be partly strong and partly brittle. And just as you saw the iron mixed with baked clay, so the people will be a mixture and will not remain united, any more than iron mixes with clay” (Dan 2:42-43).

A different vision, with a different view of America, is presented in Daniel 7. In that vision Daniel is most interested in the fourth beast, Rome, pictured as a terrifying nation (Dan 7:19-24). It has ten horns, representing ten kings, ten nations that emerge out of that empire. Among the ten horns a little horn emerges and subdues three of the other horns. This ancient prophecy foretells America, a nation that emerges out of the old Roman empire, and as it emerges it subdues three kings of the old Roman empire, namely England, France, and Spain. But don’t miss the further description of the little horn. “He will speak against the Most High and oppress his saints and try to change the set time and the laws. The saints will be handed over to him.” (Dan 7:25, paralleling Rev 13:5-10).

Back to Revelation 13. In verses 3 and 4 there is a description of one of the heads of the beast receiving a fatal wound. That head represents one of the seven beast nations, the seventh to be exact, as the passage will diclose. So what was the fatal wound to America? A wound from which the nation recoverd and was healed? A “healing” so astonishing that the world followed the beast and stood in awe, afraid to wage war against America? That would be the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor (Dec 7, 1941), most likely, the destruction of almost the entire Pacific fleet of the U.S. Navy. America’s ability and resolve to recover from that devastating attack and win the war in the Pacific was an incomparable feat in military history. It established the indsiputable greatness and power of America. Of course it helped immensely that America developed the atomic bomb and used it to destroy Nagasaki and Hiroshima. That, too, is included in the description of America (Rev 13:13), “causing fire to come down from heaven to earth in full view of men.”

America was founded by Christians fleeing Europe to find religious freedom. It was founded as a Christian nation. We have a great Christian heritage, and that is not to be discounted or besmudged. Over time, though, the spiritual climate has changed, both in God’s foreknowledge and by Satan’s cunning. Much like the beast nation Egypt, whose Hyksos dynasty started out hospitable to the Hebrews in the day of Joseph. But shortly pharoahs arose who knew not Joseph, and severe oppresion began. So understand America, that when those early Christian settlers came across the sea, there was a dragon waiting on the shore. His plan and intent was to give power and authority to the new nation that would form, and create a beast. Satan had done it six times before, and he would do it again. It took him several centuries to get America to that point, but it did happen. We are no longer a Christian nation, contrary to what the religious right would have us to believe. The description of America the Beast in Revelation 13:5-10 is frightening. Read it. It is not the picutre that most of us have in our heart and mind of our homeland, but it is the picture that God has of this nation, now. “He who has an ear, let him hear” (13:9) “This calls for patient endurance and fatihfulness on the part of the saints” (13:10).

Right At The Door

2011-04-04T11:42:00.000-07:00

Introduction to Seven Short Articles About the End of the Age

“When you see these things you know that it is near, right at the door.” (Matthew 24:33)

“When E. F. Hutton speaks, people listen.” Remember that commercial from a few years ago? When God speaks, though, people seem to get confused. So they turn to the experts. But just look at all the books, all the different opinions, interpretations, and speculation about the end times. So they tune it out. I can relate. Or worse yet, they are presented one view, and one view only. And they are persuaded to never doubt it. “Don’t confuse me with the facts, my mind’s made up.” But this is not the time to be complacent. Or confused.

What if the guesswork is all over? What if the prophetic visions are now coming into perfect focus? When God speaks, when he foretells the future, He is not playing games. He’s not presenting riddles. And He’s certainly not looking for the million dollar winner, someone who lucks out and guesses correctly. He wants His people, with wisdom and patience, to see and understand the events unfolding before their very eyes, and to be able to correlate and verify them with what He foretold and decreed. The stated purpose of Revelation is “to show his servants what must soon take place” (Rev 1:1).

Why? To what end? So that we might understand world events from God’s perspective, rather than man’s, and adjust our hopes and plans accordingly. So that we might become gracious and powerful agents of love and hope in the midst of turmoil and confusion. And lastly, to stir us to trust Him, to worship Him, moving our heart and mind toward Him in affection (Rev 19:10).

My friend, the end of the age is near. Very near. Right at the door. We have to see the big picture in short order. The visions of John’s Revelation were given to him in imagery so that their interpretation would be hidden until the proper time. Now is the time. There are footsteps right outside the door. And what lies ahead is not what most Christians are anticipating, I’m afraid. Get ready for turmoil, not rapture.

Please read with a brave heart. The bias to hang on to the status quo is very strong. I am not asking you to be cavalier in re-thinking these prophecies, but courageous.

“About the time of the end, a body of men will be raised up who will turn their attention to the Prophecies, and insist upon their literal interpretation, in the midst of much clamor and opposition.” (Sir Isaac Newton). Will you join this body of men?

Seven Short Articles About the End of the Age

1. America the Beast (Revelation 13)
2. 666 -- The sign of the False Prophet (Revelation 13)
3. The Eighth Beast, Ten Horns (Revelation 17)
4. The Great Prostitute (Revelation 17-18)
5. Lukewarm and Oblivious (Revelation 3)
6. Israel Restored? (Romans 11)
7. The Great Deception (Daniel 9)

Best Taffy On The Block

2011-03-11T08:42:00.000-08:00

The sign in the window caught my attention. Don’t know why. We were just strolling down the sidewalk of Depot Bay, leisurely scoping out each little shop, making our way down to the tiny little inlet to watch the fishing boats go in and out. The sign read, “Best Taffy In the World”. I was still new to Oregon, and was not really aware that coast towns have a unique claim to fame when it comes to salt water taffy. Every beach town in Oregon has at least one prominent candy store, maybe more.

We were on our first little trip to the Oregon coast since moving to Oregon. It was kind of a second honeymoon. So we had lots of time to see the sights. I bought a couple dollars worth of the taffy from the candy store, probably two or three of each and every flavor. We continued down the sidewalk looking in windows and going in a few stores. We happened onto another store with another sign in the window. This one read, “Best Taffy in Oregon”. We got a good laugh. Which sign was really true? We crossed the highway and sat on the seawall and watched the waves crashing on the rocks. And ate a few pieces of our new found Oregon treasure.

Eventually we went back and finished our stroll down the street full of small store fronts. And wouldn’t you know, I found another sign in the window of yet another candy store. This one read, “Best Taffy on the Block.” I stared in amazement, not knowing whether to laugh at it, or admire it. I called Carol back to look at the sign, too, and she was just as amused as I was.

I went into that store and bought a whole pound of taffy. I really can’t say if it was better than the other. I couldn’t tell. I gave away what was left of the first candy, the “best taffy in the world”. I found a true treasure – “The Best Taffy On the Block”!

No big claim to fame, just a humble hard-working candy maker. In fact, I stood there in his store and watched as he pulled the taffy and made the candy. I look back, now, and wonder if the other two stores even made their own candy. They probably imported it from Tennessee or New Mexico, then put a sign in their window claiming to be the best.

Consider this little known medical fact: “The person most at risk for heart disease is not the high-powered executive, it’s the frustrated janitor stuck with existential despair.” Don’t worry about being the best in the world, or best in the state. Just make the best taffy on the block and people will be blessed. God is not impressed, like we are, with big numbers, fancy shows, or our self made claim to fame. He is pleased with his servants who are faithful, even in the small things. Do not despair, my friend.

“Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant… Therefore God exalted him to the highest place” (Phil 2:5-9)

“Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave – just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Mt 20:26-28)

Burned Biscuits

2011-03-02T21:01:00.000-08:00

When I was a girl, my mom liked to make breakfast food for dinner every now and then. I remember one night in particular when she had made breakfast after a long, hard day at work. On that evening so long ago, my mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage, and extremely burned biscuits in front of my dad. I remember waiting to see if anyone noticed! Yet all my dad did was reach for his biscuit, smile at my mom and ask me how my day was at school.

I don't remember what I told him that night, about school. But I do remember hearing my mom apologize to my dad for burning the biscuits. And I'll never forget what he said: "Honey, I love burned biscuits."

Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy good night and I asked him if he really liked his biscuits burned. He wrapped me in his arms and said, "Your momma put in a long hard day at work today and she's real, real tired. Besides... a burnt biscuit never hurt anyone!"

I never forgot that little “life lesson”. Life is full of imperfect things... and imperfect people. I'm not the best at anything, and I forget birthdays and anniversaries just like everyone else. What I've learned over the years is that learning to accept each others’ faults, appreciating everyone’s best effort, and choosing to celebrate each others’ unique gifts, is one of the most important keys to creating healthy, growing, and lasting relationships.

So...please pass me a biscuit. And yes, the burned one will do just fine!

“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger. The tongue of the wise commends knowledge, but the mouth of the fool gushes folly…the tongue that brings healing is a tree of life (Prov 15:1,2,4).

“Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification… Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you” (Rom 14:19, 15:7).

(Author unknown)

Mary, Did You Hear?

2010-12-20T16:10:00.000-08:00

She was so young when it all began. Betrothed to be married, yet still a teenager. Mary… a woman more to be esteemed than any other in history. “Highly favored by God”, said the angel, Gabriel. But it was no easy task, nor was it glorious, to be the center piece for God’s greatest miracle, the incarnation.

Mary, did you hear what the angel said to you? “You will bear a son, a baby conceived not by Joseph but by the Holy Spirit of Almighty God. The boy will be named Jesus, Savior of your people, but he will come to be known as the Son of God. Believe it, Mary, for nothing is impossible with God.” But how could she believe? Never before had a virgin given birth. She had never heard the Rabbis and teachers speak of Messiah coming in such a way. To whom could she confide when the pregnancy began? Who would believe her? Perhaps, she thought, her aunt, Elizabeth.

Mary, did you hear what Elizabeth said to you? “Mary, Mary, my dear Mary. You are so blessed. But why me? Why am I so favored to have someone so special come to my home, the mother of my Lord?” Oh Aunt Elizabeth. Through tears of joy Mary hugged and rejoiced that someone understood. Someone believed. Someone knew that it was true. Elizabeth’s unborn son leaped for joy in her womb, and that was enough for two women to believe. Mary stayed there until her pregnancy began to show. Just long enough, too, to witness the birth of Elizabeth’s baby, John, who would one day be the forerunner and baptizer of Jesus. Then she went home, to face family and friends. And to tell Joseph.

Mary, did you hear what Joseph said to you? “When you first told me you were pregnant I planned to divorce you quietly. It was impossible to believe, what you told me. But I was not willing to disgrace you, though that is what the law required of me. But while I considered this, I had a dream. God told me the same thing the angel told you. The baby is truly of the Holy Spirit. And God told me to marry you, and not be afraid of what everyone else would think. He told me, too, to name the boy Jesus. I do not understand, but I do believe. This baby, Jesus, will save us all from sin. Mary, I love you. And I believe.” Now there were three who believed. Three pillars of faith. And Mary could only marvel.

Mary, did you hear what the Magi said to you? “We have come from the east, following a most unusual star. It led us to this home, to this child. Your baby is King of the Jews, a Son of the Most High God.” They bowed before the baby, and worshipped. They left precious gifts, too. But it was because of this visit that the young family moved to Egypt, to escape the sword of Herod. What to believe? Must many baby boys be killed, all because Jesus was born? By a dream, another dream, Joseph knew to leave.

Mary, did you hear what Simeon said to you? She went to the temple, in Jerusalem, for her own purification, and for consecration of her firstborn. The Holy Spirit moved Simeon to take a stroll through the outer court, where a woman with a small baby might be found. Finding and recognizing the promised Messiah, only forty days old, he asked to hold the babe in his own arms. “This child will be extraordinary, causing many to stumble and fall, but others to be raised up into glory. He will reveal the very thoughts of men’s hearts. But, my dear Mary, your heart will be pierced, as by a sword, because of this child.” Through all the confusion, the turmoil, and the broken heart times that Mary would endure, she clung to the belief that her son Jesus was truly God’s redemption for mankind. Simeon, along with Anna, so simple yet faithful, were added to Mary’s growing group of believers.

Mary, did you hear what Jesus said to you? There he hangs, on that despicable cross. Disgraced. Humiliated. The lonely road that began with an angel’s visit now seems to end at the edge of a deep, dark precipice. But through his unbearable pain and anguish your son whispered something to you. Mary, did you hear it? “Dear woman, here is your son. John, here is your mother.” Joseph was gone. Her other sons were yet to believe. But here is a new pillar, one who knows and believes. Such love, tending to his mother Mary, while in the very moment, the very climax of the eternal plan of redemption. Such incredible love. Love born in a stable, nurtured in the home of Mary and a simple carpenter, now crucified on a cross.

God’s perfect plan, and the astounding love of Jesus, the only peace for our troubled souls. Do you believe?

The Seven Cow Wife

2010-12-01T19:58:00.000-08:00

Someone once said, God gave to women beauty, and to men He gave strength. The following story illustrates the truths of Ephesians 5 and I Peter 3, truths for men and women, husbands and wives. It is not my own story. It is a story from my “top ten list” of favorites.

The Seven Cow Wife

Johnny Lingo is known throughout the islands for his skills, intelligence, and savvy. If you hire him as a guide, he will show you the best fishing spots and the best places to get pearls. Johnny is also one of the sharpest traders in the islands. He can get you the best possible deals. The people of Kiniwata all speak highly of Johnny Lingo. Yet, when they speak of him, they always smile just a little mockingly.

A couple days after my arrival to Kiniwata, I went to the manager of the guesthouse to see who he thought would be a good fishing guide. "Johnny Lingo," said the manager. "He’s the best around. When you go shopping, let him do the bargaining. Johnny knows how to make a deal."

"Johnny Lingo!" hooted a nearby boy. The boy rocked with laughter as he said, "Yea, Johnny can make a deal alright!"

I wondered. “If he’s all you say he is, why does everyone laugh at him behind his back?"

"Well, there is one thing. Five months ago, at fall festival, Johnny came to Kiniwata and found himself a wife. He gave her father seven cows!"

I knew enough about island customs to be impressed. A dowry of two or three cows would net a fair wife and four or five cows would net a very nice wife. "Wow!" I said. “Seven cows! She must have beauty that takes your breath away."

"She’s not ugly, …" he conceded with a little smile, "… but calling her ‘plain’ would definitely be a compliment. Sam Karoo, her father, was afraid he wouldn’t be able to marry her off. Instead of being stuck with her, he got seven cows. This price has never been paid before. She was skinny and she walked with her shoulders hunched and her head ducked. She was scared of her own shadow. All of the cousins urged Sam to ask for three cows and hold out for two until he was sure Johnny would pay only one. To their surprise Johnny came to Sam Karoo and said, ‘Father of Sarita, I offer seven cows for your daughter.’ "

I wanted fish and pearls, so the next afternoon I went to the island of Nurabandi. I wanted to meet this Johnny Lingo. As I asked directions to Johnny’s house, I noticed Johnny’s neighbors were also amused at the mention of his name. When I met the slim, serious young man I could see immediately why everyone respected his skills. However, this only reinforced my confusion over him.

As we sat in his house, he asked me, "You come here from Kiniwata? Do they speak of me on that island?"

"Yes. They say you can provide me anything I need. They say you’re intelligent, resourceful, and the sharpest trader in the islands."

He smiled gently. "My wife is from Kiniwata. What do they say of her?"

"Why, just … ." The question caught me off balance. "They told me you were married at festival time. They also say the marriage settlement was seven cows." I paused. "They wonder why."

"They ask that?" His eyes lighted with pleasure. "Everyone in Kiniwata knows about the seven cows? And in Nurabandi, everyone knows it too." His chest expanded with satisfaction. "Always and forever, when they speak of marriage settlements, it will be remembered that Johnny Lingo paid seven cows for Sarita."

So that’s the answer, I thought: Vanity.

Just then Sarita entered the room to place flowers on the table. She stood still for a moment to smile at her husband and then left. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The lift of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin, and the sparkle in her eyes all spelled self-confidence and pride. Not an arrogant and haughty pride, but a confident inner beauty that radiated in her every movement.

I turned back to Johnny and found him looking at me. "She … she’s gorgeous." I said. "Obviously, this is not the one everyone is talking about. She can’t be the Sarita you married on Kiniwata."

"There’s only one Sarita. Perhaps, she doesn’t look the way you expected. You think seven cows was too many?" A smile slid over his lips.

"No, but how can she be so different from the way they described her?"

Johnny said, "Think about how it must make a girl feel to know her husband paid a very low dowry for her? It must be insulting to her to know he places such little value on her. Think about how she must feel when the other women boast about the high prices their husbands paid for them. It must be embarrassing for her. I would not let this happen to my Sarita. You say she is different from what you expected. This is true. Many things can change a woman. There are things that happen on the inside and things that happen on the outside. However, the thing that matters most is how she views herself. In Kiniwata, Sarita believed she was worth nothing. As a result, that’s the value she projected. Now, she knows she is worth more than any other woman in the islands. It shows, doesn’t it? I wanted to marry Sarita. She is the only woman I love. But, I wanted a seven-cow wife."

The original story was copyrighted by Patricia McGerr in 1965, and a similar version printed in Reader’s Digest (February. 1988)

A Seed Tree

2010-11-10T20:21:00.000-08:00

He was a logger with years and years of experience. I tried to learn from him as much as I could during the few weeks he worked for me harvesting my timber. He pointed to one exceptionally large Douglas Fir tree and pointed out how much taller it was than all the surrounding trees. There were eighty other exceptionally fine trees harvested within 500 feet of it, but that one tree was stronger, taller, broader, better. He explained how it would be a good seed source for starting good strong seedlings, trees that would grow up with the same genetics.

Tree farming often turns my thoughts to ministry and to leadership. Why does one teacher stand above the many others of his time or locale? How is it that a few teachers are capable of starting huge followings? Jesus, the ultimate teacher, trusted the propagation of his seed to twelve convinced, well-trained disciples. And Christianity has never stopped its spread.

Others have seeded similar followings, but not by the providence of God. Mohammed started the Islam faith in 610 AD and Muslims now constitute the second largest religion in the world, and arguably the fastest growing. Joseph Smith, in the 1830s and 1840s, persuaded a few disgruntled Christians to believe his visions and new ideas, and the Mormon religion has been growing ever since. Ellen G. White, with her prolific writings, laid the groundwork for the start of the Seventh Day Adventist group in 1863, and it continues to grow and to thrive. A friend of mine attends an SDA church and says that whenever they teach they usually teach directly from Ellen White’s writings, not from the Bible. “The Bible is confusing and hard to understand, but she always says it so clearly.”

Even within evangelical Christianity we have teachings that grow widespread, but are a seed born from a suspect tree. Consider the “seed tree” of the teaching of the Great Tribulation. John Darby came up with a new teaching of “end times”, ca 1830, the idea to separate the seventieth week of Daniel’s Messianic prophecy from the previous 69 weeks (Daniel 9:24-27). He came up with the novel idea of setting apart this seven year period to the end of the church age, a unique and theretofore unknown dispensation. C.I. Scofield picked up on Darby’s idea and popularized the new teaching in his famous “Scofield Reference Bible” notes, first published in America in 1909. Then Moody Bible Institute and Dallas Theological Seminary put this seed to the wind. Today you can hardly find historical premillenial teaching of the Bible in America. Rather, teaching about the end times centers around colorful, detailed charts of the “seven year tribulation”. Only problem is, it’s not in the Bible. But with all the charts, books, and teachers to propagate it, how would anyone know that?

By the way, that enormous seed tree was left standing by the logger. With his keen eye he noticed a barely detectable scar on its back side, about 40 feet up. He told me that the wood of the tree was worthless. Someday I’ll cut it down for firewood. Lots and lots of firewood. What a crash it will make when it comes down.

“Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire… by their fruit you will recognize them.” (Matthew 7:19-20)

“Not many of you should presume to be teachers, my brothers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly.” (James 3:1)

Let's Go Get Some Water

2010-09-15T13:21:00.000-07:00

After singing a few songs for a handful of people, some of them asked him if he wanted to go get some water. It was a warm sunny day, so that sounded like a great idea. He carefully set aside his guitar. They handed him a bucket and said, “let’s go.” He had no idea what he had volunteered to do. He thought he was just going for a short walk to get a drink.

It was a treacherous half hour hike down a steep hill with a five gallon bucket to get water for the family for the evening. When he got down to the water source he found many people there in line waiting to get water. Not waiting, actually, but fighting. In Haiti, after the earthquake, a bucket of water was so precious that people pushed and shoved to get their turn at the spigot.

He reached into his backpack and took out his water bottle and took a drink while watching and waiting. You see, he was an American musician, brought to Haiti by a Food Relief Organization, to see the need and carry the message back to America. He was supplied with water. The poor destitute people of the island were not. While waiting he noticed a young boy sitting patiently waiting his turn. The boy would just wait until all the fighting was over to get his turn. So the music man took the boy’s jug, along with the five gallon bucket he carried down the hill. He fought his way to the water pipe and filled them up. He handed the jug back to the boy, and then turned to head back up the hill with his few Haitian friends.

The climb down the hill had been difficult. The climb up the hill with an open pail of water was almost impossible. An hour later he made it. As they continued their walk back to the village he noticed the boy with the jug. He had climbed up just behind them. He was told that the boy had yet another hour walk back to his family. He made the trip every day, five or six hours, to get one jug of water for his family. One jug of water. The same amount of water we flush down the sewer every time we use the toilet in America.

When the music man returned to America he quickly got back into the hustle and bustle of his many responsibilities. He was stuck trying to sell his house during the recession that hit America. He complained to his wife about it. He was also concerned what to do with his investments, since he was taking a beating there, too. He went out into the yard to do a little yard work, set down, and remembered the trek for water in Haiti. It caused him to consider how far he would have to walk to get a drink. About ten steps. In fact, he counted up eleven different sources of water in and around his house where he could get a drink, in just a matter of minutes.

The music man told this story to the crowd at his concert. In summation he said, “We in America never ever give an ounce of energy thinking about where we will get water for our daily sustenance. We are blessed, we are truly, truly blessed.”

But I thought to myself differently. A different conclusion to the story. A different word. Perhaps, in reality, we are spoiled. Truly spoiled. I was reminded of the time I took a group of people to Monterey, Mexico to minister for a couple weeks. As soon as we crossed back into Texas we headed for McDonalds, and then half of the group checked into a motel for a cozy night’s sleep. The weeks before we had used toilets which we could not even flush for lack of water. We put a brush arbor roof on a poor widow’s home. We held an evening worship service in the poorest of poor communities, the City of Pigs. How soon we put it behind us. Peanut butter sandwiches weren’t good enough. Sleeping in tents at the KOA campground wasn’t good enough. We are spoiled. And we don’t even have a clue.

If wealth and ease of circumstance were God’s primary concern for me how perverted my heart would become – turned from love, and grace, and peace, to wanton selfishness. Nevertheless, that is what we want and expect from Him. We think, “I deserve it.” And then we wonder why our service and spiritual destiny are so fleeting and fruitless.

“Give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?” (Proverbs 30:8-9)

Handprint of the Holy Spirit

2010-08-04T16:23:00.000-07:00

It might seem like just any ordinary effort to meet human need with an organized plan. An orphanage. But when Zoila ran from Terry in tears it proved to be a “God thing”. In fact, the handprint of the Holy Spirit showed up everywhere.

We marvel at God’s handprint in creation -- the beauty and wonder of the galaxies, the splendor of mountain peaks, the intricacy of living cells and human anatomy. But do we marvel at the handprint of the Holy Spirit in the events of our lives? Francis Chan, author and pastor, poses a question to ask of ourselves, “When was the last time I undeniably saw the Spirit at work in or around me?” (Forgotten God, p. 35)

Hogar De Gozo is an orphanage in San Pedro, Sonora, Mexico. It is a home of joy for some twenty children rescued from despair and desperate home situations. Its beginning, in the year 2009, is a marvelous story to consider.

A missionary in Sonora for some twenty years, Terry Lingle has helped to start several churches, an orphanage, a drug rehab center, and a camp. Pedro and Zoila were raised in the first orphanage he started. They were married and began to raise a family. While working for the Sonora state police Pedro also served as pastor of a church. He approached Terry and offered to help in any way needed, in appreciation for the years of loving care he had received at the orphanage. He helped with the camp, he helped with church ministry, and he helped with a new church plant that Terry began.

While canvassing for the new church plant Terry was alerted to a home where three children were locked in, unfed, and uncared for. He located the mother and talked to her, but there was no way to help, since the orphanage was already full. So he and his wife, Lori, felt it was time to begin praying earnestly about starting a second orphanage.

Two weeks later, in April, at a street concert to help launch the church, Terry approached Pedro and Zoila. He asked them if they had ever considered the possibility of directing an orphanage. They did not respond… could not. Zoila burst into uncontrollable tears and turned and ran from Terry. He apologized to Pedro and assumed it must have been a poor time to bring up the subject.

A week later they got together again and Zoila apologized to Terry. Then she explained. When they had married they committed to God their desire to someday run an orphanage, similar to the one in which they had been blessed. They told God that Pedro would work as a policeman for ten years. By the end of that time they wanted God to clearly open the door for them and bring someone to them who would ask them to run an orphanage. They entrusted to God this desire of their heart, but told no one else. Then she said this, “last week was the first day of the tenth year. We prayed that morning and reminded God of our commitment and of our request that the Holy Spirit would make it manifestly clear by bringing someone to us. Nine hours later you asked us if we wanted to direct a new orphanage. That is why I turned and ran in tears.”

They decided to take two years to allow God to unfold his plan, waiting upon Him for direction and provision. But by June they had already found a perfect home, in the very community where they had wanted to start a second orphanage a few years earlier. That time, though, God shut the door. This time the house they found had a large ballroom added on the back, perfect for turning into two large dorms and a family room. They made an offer. A business man in Idaho loaned them the money, interest free. They closed on the property in September. Ten days later they had their first children, eight to start with, including the three that had been found locked in a home, alone. Pedro and Zoila live there, with their two children, plus many more, directing the new orphanage, House of Joy.

“After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort? Does God give you his Spirit and work miracles among you because of your great effort, or because you trust Him?” (Gal. 3:3,5, with a bit of paraphrase)

Moses, speaking to God: “How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?” (Exodus 33:16)

We may as well face it: the whole level of spirituality among us is low. We have measured ourselves by ourselves until the incentive to seek higher plateaus in the things of the Spirit is all but gone… We have imitated the world, sought popular favor… and produced a cheap and synthetic power to substitute for the power of the Holy Ghost. (A. W. Tozer)

Loves Me, Loves Me Not

2010-07-26T21:11:00.000-07:00

When I was a boy we used to get a flower and pull the petals off, one by one. And as we pulled the petals we would say, alternatively, “She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not.” And the last petal would be the verdict. If it ended with “she loves me”, then the girlfriend of the moment was in love with us. But if the last petal ended with “she loves me not”, then we were out of luck. If it was someone we really, really liked then we would do it over and over until it ended the way we wanted it to end.

Why is love so difficult, so fleeting, so choosy? Why is it said of Christians that they are the only army that shoots their own? A young applicant for a summer camp ministry team was recently asked by the director, “Have you ever worked in ministry before? You need to know that we tend to eat our own.”

The story is told of a man walking across a bridge one evening, who happened upon another man, sitting on the railing, planning to jump off into the river below to end his life. The man on a stroll asked the despondent man some questions, hoping to calm him down and gain his trust, so as to help him out of his despair. He asked if he was a man of faith, and he was. He asked him what church he attended and they discovered that they were both Baptist. He asked which branch of the Baptist he was and again they found they were the same. So they began to rejoice, and drew close, like long lost brothers. They he asked him if he was in agreement with the view of the Southern Synod on the issue of ecclesiology. The man answered firmly, “No, I am not. I hold to the view of the Western Synod.” And with that the first man shoved him off the bridge.

Love is the greatest. The greatest gift, the greatest fruit, the greatest evidence, the greatest empowerment. But we tend to turn it on and turn it off at will. We pour it on when convenient, or when it is to our advantage. Then we turn it off for those whom we choose.

One of my favorite movies is “Princess Bride”. It has some classic quotes in it. “Never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line.” Or the one I have on a t-shirt that my wife got for me, “Inconceivable!” But the best ones have to do with love. “As you wish.” Or the doctor saying over the almost dead Wesley, “True love, now that’s a noble cause.” The movie appeals to me because it tells a story of true love, love that cannot be deterred or defeated, not by years as a pirate, not by torture or the deceit of a competing paramour, nor even by the duty and mission of war and revenge. Love is the greatest.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails…. These three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” ( I Corinthians 13)

My prayer is this. “Lord, you told us to love our enemies. But sometimes I find it easier to love my enemies than to love my brothers. And I am appalled at myself. Not great big moral differences, but simple little irritations cause me to avoid loving. I become negative, pessimistic, biting, or just plain silent. So help me Lord to love. To love like you love, full of grace and encouragement. When I get to the last petal of the flower it is not a 50/50 chance of love, but a choice. I choose to love.”

Makor

2010-07-10T16:45:00.000-07:00

“Always go to the source. That’s my rule. Always go to the source.” He was a lawyer. We were talking, trying to sort out a “character assassination”. What he meant was that unless, and until, you go to the source you will have only opinion, rumor, misinformation, and confusion. “Go to the source.” And I never forgot his advice.

Makor is the Hebrew word for source, usually applied to a fountain, a spring, a well, a source of fresh, living water. This source has nothing to do with getting accurate information, though. Rather, it has everything to do with spiritual life. But the advice is the same, “Go to the source.”

I woke up from a dream with a single word, makor, the focal point. In the dream a group was reading and studying Revelation. Spontaneously, everyone got excited and started pointing at a verse, thumping their Bibles, and exclaiming, “Makor, Makor.” The context of the dream wasn’t important, but the word was, I knew for sure. So I began to study and research the word. It turned out to be a Hebrew word, and I have never studied Hebrew. After several weeks, and many pages of “bunny trail” notes, my wife Carol got up early one morning and interrupted my study and told me that she just had a dream.

She was driving along a highway and crossed over a beautiful, inviting stream. She stopped her car, got out, and went to the stream. Others were there, and they said that the stream was a natural spring-fed stream, and very refreshing. So she knelt down and scooped up several handfuls of water to drink. As she started back to the car, her curiosity drew her to want to go up to see the spring. But there was no road, only a trail. So she had to hike. Alone.

When she got there she found a large cave with a pure lake of water inside of it. The stream flowed from the cave. She walked into the large cave. Inside she noticed a red and white pickup truck parked beside the lake. Behind the truck was an opening into a smaller cave, from which flowed water into the lake of the large cave. A man walked out from the smaller cave and began to talk with her. He said that it was his job to take care of the spring, to watch over it. He enjoyed having a visitor and had lots to say about the spring water. He enjoyed explaining and sharing his knowledge. He said that he wished others would come up to learn about the water, the source of the stream.

When she finished telling me her dream I was both amazed and relieved. Excited to have a word picture of “makor” In jest, I said to Carol, it’s not fair that I study for weeks to know what God is trying to get into my pea brain and you get a beautiful word-picture dream in ten minutes. The other thing I said was to ask her, how did that man get a truck up there in the cave if there was no road? Before she could respond I answered myself. “Well, I guess if you’re the Holy Spirit you don’t need a road, you can just plop down your pickup wherever you want to.”

Psalm 36:9 – “For with you is the fountain of life.”

Jeremiah 2:13 – “My people have committed two sins: they have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.”

John 4:14 – “Whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

John 7:38 – “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him. By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive.”

I Corinthians 10:4 – “They were all drinking from a spiritual rock… and the rock was Christ.”

Revelation 7:17 – “For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their Shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water.”

Revelation 22:1,17 – “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb… Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes let him take the free gift of the water of life.”

Here are some questions to ponder:

The vision John records in Revelation 7 is of the throne in heaven. Why will the Lamb still be leading the white-robed saints to springs of living water? Is eternal life not a done deal when we get saved, a guarantee of unending existence? Or is it something more, not merely a temporal concept, but a quality of life which must be continually refreshed, a relationship with the source from whom we draw “life”, through love, through fellowship, and empowerment?

The concept of “fountains of living water” is common throughout the Bible. Do we understand it as a word picture, an illustration of spiritual thirsting after the source of abundant life, namely, Jesus and the Holy Spirit? Or do we view it as a label on a bottle of tonic water, something to be ingested through the mouth? Did you notice, in Carol’s dream, that she never even took a drink from the source of water flowing from the small cave, but rather she fellowshipped with the mystical man of the red and white pickup truck? If I, Jesus, came to you personally, how would you drink of the living water I continually offer you? How did the woman at the well of Sychar (John 4) drink of the living water I offered her? Or did you miss that fact (John 4:39-42)?

Which seems more living? A drink from a spring-fed stream several miles from its source, after it has flowed through stagnant little eddies, and through pastures polluted by animal waste and other contaminants? Or a drink from the source of that stream? Is the hike up the little trail worth it, away from the highway and group watering hole? Or worse yet, how often do we seek to satisfy our spiritual thirst with cistern water, pots of water drawn from the stream but stored for quick and easy access? Is it even possible to store up the source of life in a putrid cistern?

How often do you ever get thirsty? With water instantly available at the turn of a faucet can we contemplate and appreciate how valuable the wells were that Isaac and Jacob dug in the land of promise? Can we even relate then to the word picture of spiritual thirsting for the source of living water? For what do you thirst in your inner being? How often do you drink of Jesus, joyfully and worshipfully reliant on Him and upon the Holy Spirit, whom Jesus poured out in us in power and love, a river of life?

Are you one who thinks that fellowshipping with the man in the cave by the red and white pickup is far too mystical? Do you view the Word of God as the only source of living water? Then you must ask yourself, in all honesty, is the Word living and powerful to you (Hebrews 4:12), or has it become lifeless, a mere icon? Have you allowed the incessant verbiage of books and teachers to shape your inner person rather than the living truth of the living Word of God? Is it possible that the Word of God can become an end in itself rather than a conduit to the Source (see John 5:39-40)?

You are not full until you are overflowing. First you must thirst, then you must be filled, then the fountain of living water will flow out of you (John 7:38).

A Tale of Two Farms

2010-06-23T14:12:00.000-07:00

Jacob’s farm was the best. For miles and miles around it was the best. Choice piece of land – level, fertile, and accessible. Fenced and cross-fenced, with plenty of roads. Roads that were graveled, not muddy, well drained and maintained. Big beautiful barns – some for equipment, some for storage, some for processing. Immaculately manicured. Nice new tractors. Plenty of wells and water rights. And productive. Buyers, sellers, employees – a bustling, busy productive farm.

Ben was a farm hand for Jacob. It was a great place to work. Ben was happy, well-cared for, satisfied, almost pampered. He had no reason, no need, no ambition to look elsewhere or otherwise. Jacob was known for miles around, just like the farm. He was the best. He knew all the facts and procedures, kept a tight reign, and paid promptly. He really had his act together.

But one day that all changed. Not the farm, but for Ben. It’s amazing how one letter, a single mystery could change the whole course of one’s life. He had heard recent accounts of a few brave souls who had begun to settle in a wild valley over the mountains in the next great watershed. But he thought they were foolish to leave the comfort, the ease, the security of working for the great plantation farms such as Jacob’s. But what slipped out of the envelope that day was a deed. A deed for eighty acres, written out in his name. A half section of land was his, for free. The letter with the deed simply read, “Please accept my gift. You can do it. I know. I’ll be looking in on you. The land isn’t the only thing that will change. Take courage, my friend. Blessings!”

Ben wrestled and debated, deep in his heart, struggling to make a decision. He hadn’t a friend or confidant on the farm whom he could trust to give him counsel, for they would all consider it foolish to accept the deed and start from scratch. But out of struggle and turmoil arises courage and determination.. His life was set upon a new mission, a destiny hatched by a mysterious letter with a gracious deed.

When the day came to announce his decision and bid farewell, Jacob begged and bartered with Ben to stay. The offers were enticing. But Ben’s heart was unshakeable. So Jacob told him he was always welcome to return. “Come back anytime,” he said, fully expecting that he would see him again soon.

The task that Ben set upon was daunting. The work was hard. Trees to fall, stumps to remove, brush to clear, earth to prepare. It seemed that the process was so slow. Piece by piece, acre upon acre. But sometimes it felt as though he was making no progress at all. Others in the valley were doing the same, and they would help each other out constantly. The friendship that developed was so kindred that Ben wondered if he had ever really had a true friend back at Jacob’s farm. Each day Ben would pause to reflect upon what was transpiring, starting with the deed, resulting in an unquenchable sense of hope, of adventure, and purpose. Each morning he seemed to be renewed with power and guidance. What seemed impossible he found he could accomplish. What he had always been told to do by Jacob he now had to figure out for himself – the why, the when, the how. Crop selection, planting, tilling, herbicides and pesticides, thinning and trimming, hiring and training, harvesting, marketing.

There were times, you must know, when Ben made mistakes. Costly, blundering mistakes. And times when he sat on a stump and just let the tears pour out. There were even times when the memory of Jacob’s farm overwhelmed poor Ben. One time he even drove up to the hilltop to gaze down at all the beautiful farms, all laid out so nice and orderly, with various crops, farmers, foremen, and laborers all doing their part. He dreamt of going back, but only momentarily. Then he closed his eyes and thought back to the mystery that started him on this new venture. He was so thankful for the deed, for the donor, for the land, for the progress. But most of all for the mystery of the envelope that had long since morphed into a greater mystery, a heart that was totally reliant on a living source of strength, peace, hope, and purpose. Yes, even an intangible sense of love. An inwardly empowering love and an outgoing love that encouraged everyone that came into his circle – neighbors, employees, family, and clients. No, his farm was not easy, and it was far from perfect. But this wild valley farm was his joy, his life.

And The Winner Is

2010-06-09T09:02:00.000-07:00

There’s a saying, “He who dies with the most toys, wins.” And another, “The difference between a man and a boy is merely the size of his toys.”

I watched in amazement, over the course of several years, as my grandparents grew older and eventually passed on to be with the Lord. My grandfather was a rugged logger in Washington, back in the day when they cut down old growth trees that were six to eight feet in diameter. He homesteaded a property near Elma, clearing the land, with primitive tools and horses. And he built a barn and home by his own two hands. No chainsaws, no electric power tools, no nail guns. Maybe some dynamite. But no excavator. Eventually he moved to the big city to work for Lockheed, building airplanes.

When I really got to know him was when he retired to Kingman, Arizona. He wasn’t there long because he moved back up to his “home”, near Elma, and bought a modest little house with a big shop and several acres to plant trees. At eighty years of age he still felt compelled to plant fir trees, knowing that someone else would someday be the benefactor of harvesting the lumber.

When he got to the point that he couldn’t keep up with the little farm they sold it and moved into an apartment in Olympia. They had a huge estate sale to get rid of so, so much of their tools, furniture, housewares, and belongings. In just a few short years my Grandmother passed on. So Grandpa got rid of more stuff and moved into an assisted care center. He wasn’t there long before he went back to Arizona to live with his daughter, my mother and father.

The memory that made such an impression on my mind was when he boarded the plane to leave his home state of Washington to live his last few months or years in Arizona. He had with him one suitcase. All his worldly possessions were whittled down, step by step, to just one suitcase.

And when we leave this earth, bound for eternity, we won’t be taking even a single suitcase.

In America, land of the free and the brave, the wealthiest nation ever to live on planet Earth, we view possessions and ownership far different than most other people. I was only twenty-five years old when a church sent a man to Oregon to move me down to Arizona to begin ministry there. We nearly filled up an entire U-haul truck. His comment to me has stuck with me ever since. “I’m impressed with how much stuff you have – tools, collections, furniture. That tells me you must be quite a guy.” Rather than flattering me it humbled me. It caused me to change my heart, and begin to try to buck the culture. I would rather God be impressed than men – impressed by how much I give away and by how much I share, not by how much I possess.

“So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 6:31-33)

“I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” (Philippians 4:12)

My Gift of Love, A New Vacuum

2010-05-07T15:50:00.000-07:00

I don’t know what I was thinking. Mother’s Day was coming up and I wanted to get something really special for Carol, my wonderful bride of only a few years. And now a Mom, with our first little girl. Housework was a big part of her life, her lot in life, you might say. And she often mentioned how poorly the vacuum cleaner was working. So I decided that it was the perfect opportunity. An opportunity to show her the magnitude of my love. Not just something ordinary and mundane. Not something that would wilt and be thrown out onto the compost pile in a week or two. Not some chocolates that would soon be eaten up and have nothing left to remind her of my nice, loving gift. Instead, a new vacuum cleaner. Besides, I could kill two birds with one stone, turning a necessary purchase into a “gift”.

I was sure she would be elated. Her work would be made easier. Her wonderful husband splurging to get her this fine piece of machinery. I could hardly wait until Sunday to give it to her.

Surprise! Oh, not hers, but my own surprise. Dismay. She wasn’t nearly as overjoyed as I had anticipated. In fact, there was not even a smile, not even a smirky little fake smile. No big hearted gratitude. Merely a curt, obligatory thank you. I still didn’t get it. Not until a few days later when she had the courage to explain to me how she felt. A vacuum cleaner, as a gift, meant to her that my love was conditioned upon her worth as a housekeeper. There was no love or romance expressed in receiving a vacuum cleaner.

I really don’t know what I was thinking. I got her some belated flowers, or candy, or something. But it wasn’t the same. The damage was done.

Carol is not even my mom. But she is the mother of my children. An incredible mother, I might add. So now I try to give her a gift expressive of my true love. Flowers, for one. My son Jon always gives her flowers, too. He didn’t learn it from me. He’s smarter than his Dad. Not just flowers or chocolates, though, but also a card. Always a card that says, “Love always!”

In the children’s book, Sidney and Norman, by Phil Vischer, two pigs are invited to Elm Street for a meeting with God. The one pig, who is neat, fastidious, and highly disciplined is told by God, “I love you. But you must stop being so critical of everyone else who can’t perform like you do.” The other pig is ashamed to meet God, but musters up courage and overcomes his fear. And this is what God had to say to him. “First of all, I want to tell you that I love you. Secondly, I want to tell you again, I love you. And thirdly," after a long pause, "I love you.”

There is power in love. And vacuum cleaners, I now know, have nothing to do with love!

By love alone God changes our hearts. He told me that one time, and I believe it.

Grand Canyon

2010-05-01T21:35:00.000-07:00

There’s nothing like it. The grandeur, the majesty, the panorama, the colors of the Grand Canyon. Unless, that is, you decide to hike down to the bottom instead of just stand on the rim and take it all in. And that’s exactly what we decided to do.

“Could you please be quiet!” The other campers down in the bottom of the Grand Canyon were very upset at us for making our dinner. We got into Phantom Ranch about 6:00 in the evening and did not understand their reaction. Climbing down the Kaibab trail took only three hours so we left from Phoenix in time to hit the trail by 2:00. The next day we would climb out of the canyon on the Bright Angel trail. We planned it such so we could enjoy different scenery. And being a much longer trail it was therefore less steep.

We were novices at hiking the canyon, we found out. Carol and I had only been married six months. My younger brother, Don, went along, too. He is quite the venturous soul, having rafted the Canyon several times since. But this was our very first venture to the bottom of the Canyon. I have never been into serious climbs, like Mount Hood, or hiking the Pacific Crest trail. So I was unaware of the difficulty of the hike that was to be our fate the next day.

When we woke up at sunrise the next morning we looked around the campsite. For sure, we didn’t want to make any noise and bother anybody again. But we were the only people left. Everyone was gone. Long gone. On their way up the canyon. Well before sunrise. Then it made sense why they were so upset at us the night before, making noise getting our dinner ready while they were desperately trying to get to sleep.

Climbing out of the Grand Canyon is about a mile vertical climb. That’s a greater climb than Mt Hood, from Timberline to the summit. No ice to contend with, though, just dry hot sun, sweat and dirt. The trail was nearly twelve miles of switchbacks -- switchback after switchback. So much for the scenery. By the middle of the afternoon we were worried whether we would make it out before dark.

We enjoyed a nice dinner that evening, in an air-conditioned restaurant with a wonderful view of the canyon, lit up by moonlight. It was amazing how our two day adventure made that view far more meaningful than ever before. We marveled at what we had accomplished. Despite our ignorance and lack of planning, it was a conquest, never to be forgotten.

“I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me…. Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:12-14)

Pipe Wrench

2010-04-20T10:14:00.000-07:00

It was the highlight of my week in Hermosillo. We were sitting in a little restaurant on Saturday evening listening to Terry Lingel, the host missionary, as he told us a few stories of God’s leading him to Mexico. Terry is very unassuming, and it took quite some effort to settle the chatter of the group and draw him out. But the stories were priceless. Jewels of faith.

We were there in Hermosillo to help Terry get a bunch of work done on a house he had purchased, by God’s provision, to start up yet another orphanage. Casa de Gozo, the House of Joy. In just a few months he had twelve children, already, and a wonderful Mexican couple to direct the orphanage. We were there to install all the toilets, sinks, showers, fans, electrical, and lighting in the new dormitory part of the building. We put in “miles” of conduit and wiring, a new panel, and tied in the old part of the house with the new. The day we left, with room to grow, they received five additional children. Terry and Pedro were afraid they wouldn’t be able to cap their number at thirty, because the need was so great.

Terry grew up in Idaho. Hardly ever ventured very far. But shortly after marrying Lorie they took a vacation to California. Since they were so close they ventured on down to Mexico. That was the beginning of God’s stirring their heart. Back in Idaho he encouraged the youth pastor to consider a mission trip to Mexico with some students the next summer.

The pastor was afraid of such a venture, so Terry took him on an exploratory trip. They wanted to meet up with a pastor and makes plans for the upcoming summer. When they arrived at the church on the appointed day, at the appointed hour, there was no one there to greet them. After waiting an hour they eventually met someone from the church. They were told that the pastor would be there soon, just to wait. After another hour they asked again when the pastor might arrive. They were told that he had gone down south for a funeral and would be back in about two weeks. Just wait.

So they headed for Kino Bay, and found another church. They asked around for the pastor, and once again they were told, “just wait”. Soon, though, the pastor did arrive. They began to make plans to come down and help him with his building and his ministry that summer. In the process they had to come up with a place for the students to “live” for the time they were there. They came up with a rustic setting. But one thing missing, which they must have, was working plumbing. They asked a man of the church, an expatriate American, if he could get the restrooms up and ready by the summer. The man said that he could, if only he had a pipe wrench. There was only one pipe wrench in the entire community, and it was in big demand, and cost much to rent.

Terry had taken all his tools out of his van before leaving Idaho. He brought with him only a few emergency tools for the road. Four blocks from home, though, he stopped and turned around. He went back home and picked up one more tool to take with him on the trip. A pipe wrench. He gave it to the man. With tears in his eyes, the pastor said that the pipe wrench would be an incredible blessing for their church families, and for the community. He promised to have their little “camp” ready by summer.

Kino Bay soon became the Lingel’s new home -- site of their first church, a camp for orphans, and a base from where they helped start several orphanages, a rehab center, and several other churches.

“Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, This is the way; walk in it.” (Isaiah 30:21)

Fireworks

2010-04-16T10:52:00.000-07:00

The border guard took only two minutes to search, and he turned to me and said, “Sir, I’d like you to come with me.” He even threatened me, right in front of all the students – threatened to throw me in jail and impound the bus. I felt humiliated. But I also felt betrayed.

We took our youth group down to Rocky Point, on the northern tip of the Baja California. From Phoenix it was about a four hour trip that provided a couple fun days of camping and romping on the beach. One of the big attractions in going to Mexico was buying cheap fireworks. Firecrackers, bottle rockets, M-80s – big stuff, loud stuff, the kaboom kind of fireworks. Even though I warned them clearly and sternly that they could not take any of the fireworks back across the border, I knew the desire to try and sneak them in anyways. I was younger once upon a time – been there, done that, got the t-shirt. And in the old days you could get away with smuggling them out of Mexico. The American border guards didn’t really check all that thoroughly.

But things were different when I started making the annual treks as a youth pastor. The search was becoming more serious. I was having to be more careful. So I came up with a great idea. The last night of our trip I instigated an all out fireworks war. We divided into two teams. We assigned points for all sorts of things – rockets over the back defensive lines, end around attacks, big points for a rocket hitting the enemy cache and setting off a major explosion. I don’t think anyone ever did it, but it was fun trying. Mainly, it was a way to blow off all that they had left before heading home the next morning.

My mistake was to be too trusting, too naïve, and not check for fireworks myself before heading for the border. I assumed that the students would all heed my warning and obey my instructions. But that was not the case. As the border guard boarded the bus to inspect he was congenial. But I could tell quickly that he was all business, too. He went to the back of the bus and began to check through some of the luggage. It wasn’t two minutes into the inspection that he pulled out some fireworks. That’s all he needed to make his point. He came to the front of the bus and spoke clearly and loudly, so everyone could hear it. He threatened to impound the bus, detain me, and maybe throw me in jail. I was embarrassed. We went inside and he proceeded to question me. I felt so betrayed by my students that I don’t even remember what he asked or what he said. Looking back, after the fact, I realized that he was making a statement to the students as well as to me. They got all their fireworks and turned them over when we returned to the bus. He didn’t even have to inspect. And they learned from someone much more authoritative than me that rules were rules, and they were not to be broken.

I often look back at that experience and marvel at the feeling of betrayal. And I wonder what God must feel like when I so often ignore his advice and wisdom, and betray his authority. But I also remember the grace that the border guard showed to me and the students once there was a sense of repentance. It’s a good thing he didn’t just go by the law, and throw the book at us with all its punishment and consequences. It would have turned one fun trip into a hell, never to be forgotten.

“The law was added so that the trespass might increase. But where sin increased, grace increased all the more, so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” (Romans 5:20-21)

Turmoil At The Tomb

2010-04-02T09:08:00.000-07:00

The crowd was beyond imagination. The audience at the tomb was innumerable. But we all assume that no one was there except a few guards posted by the Roman governor. The Jews were afraid someone might come to steal the body of Jesus, crucified that Friday. He hinted that he would rise again in three days. So they wanted to be sure that his determined little band of followers could not heist the body and keep that rumor growing. In reality, the few loyal followers of Jesus were devastated, alarmed, and hiding in fear. All their hopes and dreams were dashed. Utterly confused by the crucifixion, they thought their faith and trust in Jesus was for naught.

But God’s eternal plan had its vortex in those three days. All spiritual hell broke loose and all heavenly power was displayed. Despite the earthquake, the darkness, the curtain of the temple torn in two, those in Jerusalem saw only what was observable on the surface of things. The Jewish leaders thought they had put to death a false prophet, a great blasphemer. While for Jesus’ followers hope seemed dead. Along with the man they thought was Messiah.

God said at the beginning of time a truth that was fulfilled in those three days. One who would come from the seed of Eve would have his heel bruised by Satan, but that promised one would crush the head of the serpent.

Some years ago a girl whom we were helping to be set free from serious demonic possession had a particular demon manifest to her outside the high school one afternoon. He tricked her into looking at a demonic object, a sigil of sorts, and let her go on. As she continued her walk to the church to come for some counseling a snake slithered out in front of her. She stopped to watch it. Suddenly its head crushed. It exploded, she said. She told me about both things when she arrived. I told her of the prophecy of Genesis 3:15, and explained the profound image God had just shown her. Several days later a poor innocent little snake walked across my own path. Reluctantly, but with purpose, I stepped on its head and crushed it. And as I did it I spoke out loud to Satan and his spiritual realm. “Satan, you are defeated and sealed for destruction. You and all your hosts. By God’s grace you have no authority over me, or over anyone who stands against you in the name of Jesus.”

So now picture the crowds, the innumerable throngs of beings who were congregated all around the tomb. The hosts of demons, the legions of misguided and duped beings who chose allegiance to Satan. They knew the prophecies. They knew what Jesus had said. Yet they thought they had won. They thought they had put to death the Son of God. They thought that God’s eternal plan of the ages was foiled. God, they were convinced, had underestimated how effective they could be in persuading the hearts and minds of the Jewish leaders, the political figures, and the throngs of the descendants of Abraham who trusted those leaders. They had won. They were celebrating. Dancing, slapping each other on the back, congratulating. Getting drunk in their own blind glory.

But then came Sunday. All of creation had been in turmoil for two days, but the third day dawned eerily quiet. A hush fell over the legions of Satan’s minions. They watched and waited. And waited. And when God’s power broke forth in all its eternal glory it was witnessed only by this horrible throng. The tombstone moved. It wasn’t visible at first. But they heard it. It creaked and groaned as it ground, ever so slightly against the rock of the hillside. The groans grew steady and the stone began to roll. They could see it. Little by little it rolled back. They stood in silence, disbelief, and defeat. Then the unthinkable. Overwhelming dismay. Bright, glorious, alive, and victorious, Jesus walked out of the tomb. He didn’t float, he walked. He wasn’t mere spirit, he was alive. They fled. Every last one of them. Yelling, screaming, accusing, back stabbing, disgraced. Celebration turned to turmoil

On the cross Jesus said, “It is finished”. The price was paid, the blood shed, our sins forgiven, redemption accomplished. They, the host of demons, did not believe it, nor could they comprehend it. In front of the tomb Jesus declared, “It now begins. Death is conquered. Grace is real and it is full of power. Try all you want to come against my saints, now, but they are mine. And your doom is sealed.”

Turmoil at the tomb. So, so much more than what met the human eye. Power that creaked and slowly rolled a stone the distance of some five or six feet. Then the vortex of eternity was fulfilled. Jesus stepped out from the grave. Our hope, our eternal life. our forever salvation. Ours, by trust alone. Do you believe?

Savior, He can move the mountains,
My God is mighty to save, He is mighty to save
Forever, author of salvation,
He rose and conquered the grave, Jesus conquered the grave.
(from the song “Mighty to Save”, by Hillsong)

Techno Development

2010-03-30T09:35:00.000-07:00

I can remember when my family got their first television, when I was a kid. Before that I used to sit and listen to programs on the radio. Danny Orlis stories, on Saturday mornings, were my favorite. For years and years the picture on the TV was black and white. Color TV and color movies were quite the invention. I learned to type on an electric typewriter at school. But at home we still had a manual typewriter. In my first car, a 1964 Chevy pickup, I installed the latest, greatest new sound system, an eight track tape player. A few years later it became hopelessly outdated so I updated to a cassette player, and then several more years later, a CD player. The centerpiece of my first prized home audio system was a belt-drive turntable. It played music off of a big round black vinyl disc with grooves in it.

I had been a pastor for over ten years before I got my first computer. It was so slow I would turn it on in the morning and go make a pot of coffee and come back to see if it had booted up yet. All it did for me was word processing. I suppose it could have run other programs, too, but I was slow to get on board. I don’t know that I ever got on the internet until about the turn of the millennium, when I came to work at Eagle Fern. I had heard about it, and everyone was incredibly excited about the newest revolution in techno electronics.

To make copies in the old days we used a spirit duplicator machine, or a mimeograph machine if you could afford it. The first copy machines were like an invention on par with the first printing press. Then came color copiers, fax machines, e-mail.

But, wow!! Technological development in the last ten years has been incredulous. Dial up internet went to high-speed internet, analog gave way to digital. Fiber optics move information at the speed of light. Search engines put information, images, and videos within the click of a mouse button. Much of it extremely helpful, but much of it morally destructive. Cell phones have replaced home phones. Texting has become the norm. High speed became 3G, then 4G. Laptops, wireless, skype, Ipod, Ipad, Iphone, broadband, paperless, google, high definition, self-publishing, blogs, twitter, video games, youtube, social networking, eCommerce, online banking, cloud computing – the development is like a tsunami. Not one wave, but wave after wave, after wave.

And most of us, particularly the younger generation, think that this is normal. That this is the way it’s always been. That this kind of invention and development is how the world has always progressed. Not so. This is unparalleled. And it is scary, too, if you think of all the ramifications upon our youth and young adults, all the hideous uses of this technology, all the driving forces behind this development, and all the potential for government and global control of commerce and enterprise.

Is this unparalleled development foreseen by the God of the universe? Was he aware that the incredible intelligence and creativity of the human mind, which He created, could lead humanity into a culture so dominated by electronic and technological advances? Did he foresee and foretell this very era?

Yes he did. Somewhat cryptic and ambiguous. But yes, God told us it was coming. In apocalyptic, symbolic visions, God revealed it to John, the apostle. Revelation 13:11-18 is that prophecy. And we would be wise to see it and to understand it, and to heed it. Not in fear and isolation, but in hope and in holiness.

“This calls for wisdom. If anyone has insight, let him calculate the number of the beast, for it is man’s number.” (Revelation 13:18)

Lessons From A Soccer Son

2010-03-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

He was only ten years old and he brought a hush over the entire crowd as he executed a perfect bicycle kick from the sideline to a team mate in front of the goal. A few years earlier I can remember him as a pee-wee player. He waited patiently as his team was getting beat goal after goal after goal. Finally the frustration got the better of him. He took the ball to himself, didn’t think of passing to a team mate, wove and dribbled through the other team and went down and slapped a shot into the net. But only once. Out of frustration he had to show the other team, and his own team, that it could be done. We can score. We just have to want it. I kind of wanted him to keep doing it, to dominate the game, to show he was the best player out there. Maybe so I could strut after the game and say, “That’s my boy!” But he didn’t. He settled back down, preferring that his team do it together.

In high school he began to excel at defense. In his very first year his team went to the state playoffs and in three games the opposing teams could not score a goal. His team advanced and won 3rd place in the state, winning several games in a shootout. His team mates selected him and the goalie as their MVP for the season. Throughout high school he helped several more teams, both school and club, go to state playoffs, state semi-finals, and state championship games. His first and only year of playing college soccer his team came one game short of going to the national play-offs. When his coach called to see whether he was going to continue in college he told me that he would miss him greatly. He said that he was probably the best entering freshman he had ever recruited in over twenty years of coaching. I marveled at times. He had an innate ability to help his team play above their ability. He didn’t know he was doing it, he just wanted the team to excel, and helped lift them up.

Teamwork, simply stated, is this: Less of me, more of we. No stealing the show to yourself. No room for pride. No slacking off and expecting others to carry your load. Rather, striving to make others excel. Seeing the whole picture, not merely your cubicle. Helping and encouraging the weaker team member. Sharing the success and glory with every team member. Covering the back of the one who falters. Trusting others to cover your back. Playing to the strength of others and not criticizing their weakness. Sacrificing so that others may succeed and improve.

One of the greatest thrills this Dad has enjoyed were the many, many soccer games I’ve watched my sons play. But beyond the thrill was the realization that even I was learning a lesson, the importance of teamwork, while watching my soccer son.

“In Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. (Romans 12:5-6)

Easter Fire

2010-03-18T12:03:00.000-07:00

Old lady Leary took a lantern to the shed,
And when the cow kicked it over
She turned around and said,
There’ll be a hot time in the ole town tonight.

I wasn’t planning to invite them, but they all showed up. Half the town of Estacada, it seemed. Now it’s typical for a few folk to show up at a fire. But here’s how to get a mob. Call 911 to report a fire while the fire department is hosting an Easter egg hunt. The whole community, all the kids and their families, were in the local high school football stadium for the big event. The news spread like wildfire.

It was the day before Easter, April, 2004. There was a stiff east wind that day, probably 20 miles an hour, steady, at times. The kind of wind I had grown to dread. I had burned more burn piles and slash rows that winter than any tree farmer in the county, I am certain. But I hadn’t burned any piles for several weeks, not since the last big scare.

That Saturday morning I was working with the tractor moving piles of firewood and cleaning up brush. It was a good thing that I happened to be there working that day. Really, really good. I noticed smoke coming out of the old burn pile that had burned two weeks earlier. That pile had been about the size of a small house when I first lit it up, when it first gave me problems and tried to go out of control. But this was two weeks later. And here it was smoldering and getting stirred up again. Soon I could see some flames and I knew embers must be blowing in the wind. So I decided to go over and check on it. I took my shovel and went to inspect and quickly noticed that the embers were blowing downwind and starting lots of little spot fires -- in old rotten stumps, in dry grass, and in lots of ground duff left over from logging and clearing. I ran around with the shovel trying to throw dirt on them but they were spreading way faster than I could control them. But I kept trying, kept running from fire to fire. It was futile. Pretty soon I saw some spot fires down the ravine heading for the neighbor’s woods. So I ran up to the renter’s house, bolted inside, and found their phone. Even they were at the Easter egg hunt. Fortunately they had left the house unlocked.

I also called home to have my boys come quick and help me control the fires. The fire department got there first, in time to spray foam on all the spot fires. I ran about showing them all the hot spots that they were missing. Pretty soon I collapsed from exhaustion and someone gave me a bottle of water. Then I noticed the boys, standing out of sight from the crowd. They didn’t know what to think. They didn’t want anyone to know they were related to that crazy guy who almost started a forest fire, the Estacada version of Old Lady Leary’s Chicago Fire.

All’s well that ends well. Right. It sure has made for some good stories.

“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles. They shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31)

I knew weary that day. Exhaustion. How many fires do I try to put out in life? When God has pumper trucks full of foam and the “manpower” needed to deal with any and every situation. Teach me Lord to wait upon You.

Missed The Fire Call

2010-03-08T10:48:00.000-08:00

The siren went off at 2:00 in the morning. I decided to stay in bed and skip the fire training exercise. I thought Chuck was taking it way too serious to do a training run in the middle of the night. The other guys in my staff cabin got up, threw on their clothes, and jumped on the truck as it passed by. An hour later, when they all came back, I found out I had missed out on a real fire. I missed the most exciting event of the summer.

Our camp, ten miles south of Prescott, Arizona, had a fire truck. And it was on call for the many cabins and the community nearby. We trained once or twice a week to be ready for a call. We would practice shooting a long stream to knock a fire out of the top of trees, or in a building. We practiced with a fine spray to put out brush fires. We practiced holding the nozzle, handling the hoses, manning the truck. One hot afternoon, while tending the truck valves, I decided to open an extra valve on top of the tank to get a drink. The pressure was so great it threw me back, I lost my balance, and had to jump off the top of the truck. The other guys laughed so hard they didn’t even think to check if I was hurt.

They laughed at me again when they go back from that 2:00 fire call. They had actually had the thrill of putting out a house fire. Probably the only time for any of us that we would ever have that opportunity. And I missed it.

I have often thought back to that missed fire call, and let it be a reminder to me to make the most of every opportunity. Both for life’s enjoyment, and for the kingdom of God. Every opportunity. You never know when it may be the only opportunity of your life.

Be very careful, then, how you live – not as unwise, but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord’s will is. (Ephesians 5:15-17)

Like A Child

2010-03-01T15:39:00.000-08:00

She took me to the toy aisle and pointed out exactly what she wanted for her birthday. And I took note. She willingly and quietly came along with grandpa to do some grocery shopping. I even let her arrange things in the shopping cart. And she got to pick out the onions.

So I asked her, last thing, if there was anything she wanted in the store before we checked out. She first picked out a little tiny doll figure, then she asked me if she could show me one more thing. Her birthday was in just a few weeks, and she was looking forward to gifts. And what grandpa wouldn’t like to know exactly what his little girl wanted?

How refreshing it was to see the joy, the anticipation, and the humility of wanting and receiving a gift. When we get to be adults we become self-reliant, or we expect to earn everything we receive. Or we feel obligated to give something in return. But little Brianna was elated when she received that toy parrot that wiggled and danced with glee whenever a baby bottle touched its beak.

How do we receive God’s gift of love and grace? Or how about his gift of righteousness and redemption? Are we as humble and trusting as a child? Unpretentious? Full of hope and desire, of joy and satisfaction?

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. (Matthew 18:1-4)

Not by merit do we impress our heavenly Father. Nor by our “greatness”. Rather He is pleased when we simply and humbly trust Him.

Like a child, I humbly receive your precious love.
Like a child, I rest and trust in your strong embrace.
Like a child, I am who I am in your courts above.
Like a child, my only hope is to live in your grace.

On The Hot Seat

2010-02-20T17:17:00.000-08:00

It couldn’t be as bad as everyone made it out to be. Kids would sit on the hot seat, the camp leader would push a little button switch, and Zap! The kid would be jumping and screaming, flying off the hot seat, while everyone else would be laughing and enjoying the fun. It was a simple stool, with a six-volt battery attached under the seat. Wires went up to a metal screen on top of the seat, covered by a pretty piece of fabric. Seemed harmless to me. So why the shock, the screams, the writhing pain? Come to find out the six-volt battery was attached to a Model-T voltage booster.

I got the bright idea that one of us should give it a try. Those of us who worked on the camp staff seldom got to join in the fun and the activities. We watched from a distance when we had opportunity. But this hot seat really caught our attention. We all dared each other to sit on the seat after lunch one day, after everyone had left the dining hall. No one was willing. So I decided to be brave and try it. I really thought it couldn’t be all that bad. Everyone was just playing along with the gag, I concluded, to thrill the crowd. But just in case, I decided that I would push the button, not one of my buddies. That way I could make it short and sweet. I wasn’t going to let them fry my back side.

We took a break from washing dishes to test my bravado. I sat on the seat, held the button in my hand, and everyone counted down. Three! Two! One! Zaaaaaappppppp! I couldn’t let go of the button. I was soaking wet from doing dishes, and the button had a short in it which had been mini-zapping the leader. The current went through me in a continuous circuit. My hand was frozen stiff and I couldn’t let go of the button. I couldn’t even scream. I just sat there and winced in pain. And fried! And all my buddies stood there laughing and screaming in delight. They didn’t know I was in trouble.

I figured the only thing I could do was lean over and fall off the stool. I don’t know how I had the presence of mind to figure that out, but it worked. Thud. I landed on the stage floor, probably looking white as a ghost. Then they all came running to see if was electrocuted. After they figured out what had happened they started laughing again, even harder.

I felt pretty foolish. Worse than a guinea pig. Duped and hoodwinked. Yes I had agreed to do it, but I had let myself get talked into it.

That’s how it is when we get deceived. Duped and hoodwinked by our adversary, Satan, and all his minions. If we didn’t have enough evil to contend with, standing against our own fleshly desires and the world’s influence upon us. But we have yet another deceptive, crafty voice trying to get us to trip up, step over the edge, push the button. And without realizing it, we take the bait, and we put ourselves in grave danger. Pain, disgrace, embarrassment, and shame.

We must beware of the darts of the evil one. Darts that he shoots into our mind. Flaming darts. We must extinguish them, taking every though captive to the obedience of Christ. We must put on the whole armor of God. And pray in the Spirit. Then stand firm. Stand strong. (See Ephesians 6)

Oh, and one more thing. Get some buddies around you that you can trust to keep you off the hot seat.

“The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” ( II Corinthians 10:4-5)

That's My Boy

2010-02-15T15:52:00.000-08:00

He was hired to lead the worship band, but his brief testimony touched my heart almost as much as any of the other four keynote speakers. Dave paused between a couple songs near the end of the Men’s Conference, in front of 1200 men, and told his story.

He met the girl of his dreams when he was eighteen. She was a cheerleader for the hockey team. Yes, hockey. I guess in North Dakota hockey teams have cheerleaders. His dream was to become a big-time musician in a big-time rock band. She made plans to go overseas for a short-term service. Before she could leave, though, she got pregnant. Both their plans were derailed. They got married, the right thing to do. But six months into marriage it was over. Almost. Several counselors tried to help, but to no avail. They visited with a pastor, who patiently and carefully let them air their complaints. He told them that their marriage had no hope. “Only one out of two marriages survive, and that’s when they have something going for them. Yours has no hope”, he said. Then he got up and went to Dave, knelt in front of him, pointed his finger in his face and said, “unless you, young man, determine to hope.”

Hope rekindled helped them to grow, and to mend. Their marriage healed and began to thrive. Four kids later they wanted to celebrate their tenth anniversary with a second wedding, a renewing of their vows. They staged it on a beach, at sunset. As the ceremony progressed Dave was overwhelmed with God’s grace that had flowed into his life, his marriage, his family. Grace that had rescued, grace that had forgiven and healed, grace that had salvaged and recommissioned a broken life. He felt God looking down on them and saying from heaven above, “that’s my boy. Yes sir, that’s my boy!”

Stories of God’s grace, his powerful grace, stir my heart and bring tears to my eyes. I’m not sure everyone felt the same. I’m sure that for many men the spiritual how-to advice was much more significant. But another comment, made by Don Miller, helped to bring context to my feelings. “Apart from failure and pain,” he said, “apart from adversity, or sorrow, or temptation, we would not have an appetite for the grace of God.” And in God’s redemptive plan, whenever there is hunger He will satisfy. Whenever there is an appetite for his grace he will fill it abundantly.

Many may agree that adversity or sorrow should direct us to God’s grace. But failure? Failure is grounds for disqualification, not grace, some would say. But for God, failure is an opportunity for the first step, or a renewed step, on the "narrow path" of grace, an opportunity for his powerful grace to love, to forgive, to repent. To redeem and to restore. An opportunity, once grace has done a marvelous work, for a proud Father to say, “That’s my boy!”

“Now he has reconciled you by Christ’s physical body through death, to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation.” (Colossians 1:22)

Heresy Trial

2010-02-12T17:29:00.000-08:00

They came back with a verdict in twenty minutes. I thought it would take hours. After all, I gave them thirty pages of testimony, or more, and an extensive, humble, and heartfelt explanation. How could I have been so naïve? So blind and gullible, not to have even seen it coming? But then, maybe there’s not much difference between naivety and innocent faith?

Never, in my wildest dreams, would I ever have thought I would be the center of a heresy trial, and be kicked out of a church. They called it a Prudence Committee. The denomination called in five or six men from around the state to hear the evidence, weigh it, and give a recommendation. I really was naïve not to understand how seldom a committee like this is ever called. And when it does occur it is to fire the pastor, not to weigh testimony.

I had been helping a girl in the youth group to be set free from demon possession. It had gone on for many months. All along the way I felt, in good faith, that we were on the right track, not misguided. I kept the pastor and a few board members informed. But there was not a lot of support, except from two board members, alone. An associate pastor ridiculed the entire effort. The senior pastor died of cancer in the process, adding to the confusion. The fear and oppression upon the remainder of the board was incredulous, but of course never understood.

At the heresy trial my poor wife, Carol, sat up in the balcony by herself, dreading the process and the verdict, and ashamed of the flood of accusations and confusion. After the verdict she came to talk to me, in tears, and only could say, “They used against you your most favorite scripture in all of the Bible.”

I was told to pack up all my books and ministry belongings and be out of the office in 24 hours. That’s when it hit me, it really is over. All over. I am out of ministry, out of a job. It was in 1984, and the economy was in shambles. We lost our house and years of savings and equity. No biggie, though. I prayed, “Lord, you called me to ministry. But my reputation is smeared irreparably, now. Will I ever again be in ministry?” To my surprise he answered me, “within six months, by April 1”. Like Mary, I kept that hope, that secret, hidden in my heart.

Out of the pain, the disgrace, the lowest point in my personal and professional life, there arose one of the most beautiful and blessed opportunities. A group of three men took me under their wings, supported us through the lean time, and began to pray with me for God’s leading. One of them had been kicked out of the church along with me, and the other two left out of sympathy. No spite, just matter of fact, “God we did what you asked, and here we are in the fiery furnace. What do we do now?” God led us to begin planning to start a new church. He led us in so many incredible and specific ways. We decided to start getting together on Friday evenings for home meetings while we waited upon God for leading. The very first home meeting was on March 30.

My favorite Scripture, found in Philippians 2, was probably an early church hymn. It encourages humility, submission, and yielding personal rights: “Have this mind in you which was also in Christ Jesus, Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross. Therefore God highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name… Jesus…. To the glory of God the Father.”

The Most Important Thing

2010-02-09T17:10:00.000-08:00

Oh, what a night. Dinner in a beautiful restaurant overlooking the beach, right next to the turnaround in Seaside. We were celebrating our anniversary, Carol and me. A holiday at the beach, right after the new year, and less than a week late for our actual anniversary. But at least we got away, together, and alone.

In the restaurant there were only two couples having dinner, and one of them was us. We overheard the waiter talking to the other couple, and heard that they were celebrating their anniversary also. We called our daughter while waiting for dinner to tell her how we were celebrating, and where. She was excited for us.

After dinner we got up from the table and walked over to the other couple to greet them and congratulate them for their anniversary. They said that it was their 47th anniversary, only three shy of their golden anniversary. They asked us what anniversary we were celebrating. They must have heard us on the phone. We told them it was our 37th. We chatted, and compared dates, and talked about where we lived. But as we were about to leave the best part of the conversation happened.

Carol thoughtfully asked the other lady, “So what is your secret to a long and happy marriage?” She answered quickly, and with conviction, “Always make sure that he is the most important thing in your life!” Carol smiled and said, “Oh, he’ll like that.” Then she turned to me and said, “And she’s the most important thing in your life.” We all want to be the single most important person in the whole wide world to someone. We all have a deep desire to be totally accepted, wholly affirmed, and utterly precious to someone. That’s the longing of every heart – unconditional love. True love.

Your spouse is not just the most important person, but the most important thing, above all else. Not just the best person, but the only one. “The most important thing.” It was a great reminder. Great wisdom.

“Each one of you must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.” (Ephesians 5:33)

Son Of Thunder

2010-02-03T16:34:00.000-08:00

Our fifth child was born with a full code hospital alarm. That should have been a signal to us that there would be more to come. Much, much more. Carol says that life turned into a storm that day in March, 1989, and has not slowed since. Behold, our son of thunder.

He slipped through the rail of his upper bunk, hanging by his neck (age 8).
He got hit in the head with a golf club, not once, but twice -- multiple stitches, same eye.
He lost his hair in splotches (age 10) – Doctor said it was due to stress. His stress or Mom’s?
He had a case of the shingles (age 15) -- Doctor said it was unheard of so young.

One afternoon I was riding ATVs at the camp with Michael. We came racing down a hill, around a curve. As I slowed down a bit, to wait up, his ATV came driving past me, without a rider. I looked back to see him laying in the gravel. He had rolled it on the curve, got thrown off, and away went the ATV. That was one of several ATV accidents. One rolled over him, backward, and required stitches. Another time he rolled it in a drainage creek up at Goldendale. It landed on him and pinned him underneath. Had there been more water he may have drowned.

What was I thinking? I let him get a driver’s license and drive a car. Two days after his sixteenth birthday he totaled his Mom’s car. The first time. She got a phone call, “Can you tell Dad to come pick me up, the car got in an accident and is dented bad enough that I can’t drive it home.” A neighbor picked up Carol, then picked me up where I was working, and we drove to the accident. Our hearts almost stopped. Fire trucks, ambulances, and sheriff cars galore. I didn’t know they had that many emergency vehicles in Estacada. He had turned left from behind a slow moving panel truck, directly into the path of an oncoming SUV. His car was so mangled it didn’t seem he could have survived. The fire chief said that if it weren’t for airbags in both vehicles they would have both been dead, or on Life Flight.

Then there were the many calls from the sheriff, asking us to come get our son. Bone-headed, risk-taking, stupid stunts. I sometimes joke that I got on a first name basis with a few local deputies. But we all survived a few humbling court appearances, some big lawyer bills, and some gut-wrenching lessons learned.

Several men told us how proud they were of Michael’s testimony when he got baptized in 2006. He admitted to his failures, but rejoiced in the grace of God. There would be more ups and downs, after that, but faith grows slowly with some. Especially a son of thunder. But like the first sons of thunder, the two disciples of Jesus (Mark 3:17), our hope is that God spared his life so many times because He wants to draw him close to His heart, for the glory of His incredible grace.

After the storm comes the sunshine. And with the sun, comes the rainbow -- the promise of God.

“There are two kinds of people -- those who say to God, "Thy will be done”, and those to whom God says, "All right, then, have it your way.” - C.S. Lewis

“Above all else, guard your heart (i.e., the way you think and feel), for it is the wellspring of life.” “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.” (Proverbs 4:23; 3:5,6)

Ant Is As Ant Does

2010-01-28T16:20:00.000-08:00

A highway in the sky. The ants were marching in a line as far as I could see. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. One line came up the wire, and another line went down the wire. Their highway was a power line that dropped in from a power pole to a masthead on the back of the roof. I was working on the roof that summer, as a contractor, replacing the shingles. Part of the job was to cut a hole in the roof to replace a furnace in the attic, while we had the roof torn off. And while the roof was opened up I went into the attic to find the nest where the carpenter ants were dwelling and spray it, destroying their home. But in the process, I was saving the home of my customer.

Before destroying them and their home I decided to sit on the roof, by the masthead, and observe. They were incredible. I marveled at their determination, their orderliness, their persistence. After all, it was a march of 80 feet on the wire to get to the power pole, then a climb down the pole of another 30 feet, and then out and about to forage for the queen and her workers back in the nest. And how many times a day did they make that trek? Rain or shine! From the moment the sun came up until the lasts rays of sunset. They never stopped, never rested. They didn’t even slow down, not even to pass one another on the wire. Busy, busy, busy. So diligent, so reliable, so punctual. So much so that Solomon praised their work ethic in one of his proverbs.

I decided to talk to the little critters that so captured my amazement. (Okay, perhaps I was just daydreaming.) I asked one of the ants if he ever took a break. He said, “Nope. I got six legs. Work, work, work. All day long.” I asked another if he ever talked to any of his buddies, or the Queen, or the worker guys in the nest. He said, “What? Stop and talk? Are you kidding? Just work. Anyone get out of line they get their head bit off.” So I asked one other if he was a happy little critter. He snapped back at me, “Happy? What’s that? Ant is as ant does!”

A little later in the day I sat in the shade of a tree to eat my lunch. I noticed a butterfly floating by, carefree, and so very, very beautiful. I couldn’t help but think of the ants and the butterfly, in comparison. That butterfly had once been a caterpillar, with many, many legs. But it didn’t work, work, work like the ant. It did do enough work, albeit, to fill its belly with food, build a cocoon, and wait for a change to happen that would be incredible beyond imagination. I think that butterfly was happy. I didn’t ask it, but I think it was. It enjoyed a relationship with its creator that was so unique, so full of grace.

The butterfly’s metamorphosis is like repentance, God changing our heart and making us a new creation. The ant is like the Pharisees and legalists that work so hard to please God, to present themselves righteous and acceptable, all the while traveling the broad road to destruction. Self righteous. Unhappy. Keeping the rules. And the traditions. The butterfly, on the other hand, it found the narrow gate, and the narrow path. The Way. It lived in love. And freedom. It trusted someone bigger than itself to bring it into its destiny. Grace is so very, very beautiful.

“We know that a man is not justified by observing the law, but by faith in Jesus… I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing…. Did you receive the Spirit by observing the law, or by believing?.... After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort?... The righteous live by faith.” (Galatians 2, 3)

Tried So Hard. Failed. Then Grace

2010-01-18T13:00:00.000-08:00

The magazine had a contest, asking readers to describe their best birthday in six words. The next month, their favorite vacation, in just six words. So I thought to try to write my testimony in just six words. And this is it: “Tried so hard. Failed. Then grace.”

Now this was at the age of 57, mind you, and a lot of water had gone under the bridge. In fact I had written my testimony many times before, at different stages of my life, and a different theme captured my message each time. But this one says more than any other about me, about my life, about what God has done in me. It’s not easy to tell, but it’s real. The story is humbling, on my part, but glorious on His. For you see His grace is truly amazing. Almost scandalous. Had I not failed so miserably I may have just kept trying so hard. And the depths of the nature of God’s grace might have eluded my finding out.

I was a pastor for many years. Without knowing it, though, I was trying to make myself pleasing and acceptable to God by all my own effort. He saved me, yes, but after that I had to present myself righteous to Him. So I tried. Tried so hard. Then one year the effort was not enough. I caved into temptation. I had an immoral relationship with another woman. I resigned from the church and wondered if I could ever be healed or ever draw close to God again. My wife wrote in her journal, “What I could not imagine would ever happen, it happened.”

For several years, then, I lived in guilt and shame. I didn’t tell anyone what had happened, not unless I felt morally obligated to do so. Otherwise, I kept it quiet. I put on a bigger mask, one that not only hid my failures, but also my guilt and shame. Let me be clear, it was not my wife, Carol, who kept me in guilt and shame. She told me just once the incredible depths of her hurt and pain, and I shall never forget it. But she didn’t hold it over me, didn’t constantly harangue me. Her love and forgiveness, in time, were incredible. She is one precious gift.

Admittedly, I am a very slow learner sometimes. It began to dawn on me that God still loved me. Yes I had failed him. Miserably so. But Jesus makes me righteous, not Dave Eymann. By trusting Jesus, simple as that sounds, God sees me as righteous. He loves me, really truly loves me, even when I fail. I could not be good enough, let alone perfect, no matter how hard I tried. All I could do was trust His love. I figured out that it is by His love alone that He changes my heart. It’s that powerful. Then it got through to my head and my heart that he forgives me for my failure. Apart from His forgiveness, shame and guilt would be my life and my destiny. But I had the sense that forgiveness would not be complete unless I could confess, unashamedly, that I had failed and that I was forgiven. Oh, but that nasty shame, it kept me bound up and afraid.

While God’s Spirit was slowly teaching me these truths two things developed. I heard Bill Thrall1 teach on grace, and it gave shape and form to all these heart-felt concepts. They were true. They were real. There is hope. Grace really is all it’s cracked up to be. And more. Then I sought out a group of men to meet with. I was desperate for some guys to trust, someone who could help me take off the masks, to be real, who would still love me, and help me walk in grace. I told them later that I had planned to give the group a try for two weeks and if there was no realness then I had my excuse already prepared to quit. But there was a tinge of hope. After six months of building relationships and pushing for authenticity, I finally told them my story. I’ve told more since. Why? Because it’s important that Christians know that grace isn’t only good for salvation, it’s our every day meat and potatoes. We can’t repent and turn ourselves around 180 degrees. How often had I tried that, and failed every time. By trust, always and only, we live and walk in His love, His forgiveness, His repentance. That’s the power of grace.

“For in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by trust relationship, from the first to the last, just as it is written, my righteous ones will live by trust relationship.” (Romans 1:17, my paraphrase)

“Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Spirit are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort?” (Galatians 3:3)

1 Bill Thrall, along with two colleagues, has written two books about grace, True Faced, and Bo’s Café.

Life Cycle Of A Giant

2010-01-12T10:39:00.000-08:00

They took the sign down, and replaced it. Now it just reads, “Klootchy Creek County Park”. The old sign read, “Largest Sitka Spruce Tree in United States”. I can remember the first time I saw the tree, with Paul and Milt, on a trip to Canon Beach for a camping conference. We were awe struck. It was 17 feet in diameter, and 56 feet in circumference. It stood 200 feet tall. It was the largest tree in Oregon, and considered to be the oldest living organism in the entire state, of any kind, nearly 700 years old.

December 2, 2007. Hurricane force winds swept up the Oregon Coast and came inland near Seaside. Large swaths of trees were blown down, like toothpicks. Millions of board feet of timber. That wind storm brought down the top of that Giant Sitka Spruce, leaving only the base of the tree, 80 feet tall. It was sad. So much so that reporters on the TV news were choking up with tears.

If you were to pull into Klootchy Creek County Park today you would find a display sign which is now titled, “Life Cycle of a Giant.” It describes the time when the tree sprouted from the ground before Columbus discovered America. By the time it was 200 years old it had reached its height of 200 feet and would spend the rest of its life “bulking up”. Now that it is toppled it will stay in place as a nurse log to encourage native habitat and new trees to grow. The life cycle of that giant carries on to sustain the next generations.

Two times I have stopped to look at that tree, what’s left of it, and I still marvel at it. It reminded me, this last time, of one of my heroes of the faith, Samson. He was a giant in the early years of Israel. He was a judge, a warrior, a deliverer. He kept the Philistines at bay, and kept the Israelites safe. His birth was pretty special, too. An angel told his mother that she would give birth to this son. The angel told the parents that he should drink no wine, eat no unclean food, and never cut his hair. Samson observed that Nazarite vow faithfully throughout his life, one of only three men we know of who did so. He was pretty unconventional, it can go without saying, but he fulfilled God’s calling, with God’s blessing and anointing upon him. He must have been quite a guy, bulked up, with arms and legs of steel, and braids of hair down his back. I would have loved to hang around with him. And then there were the many times when the Spirit of God stirred in him, and anointed him with power. Wow! What a giant!

But the hurricane wind came through and toppled the giant. Her name was Delilah. But an amazing part of that story is often missed. The historian’s account of Samson’s life ends at the close of Judges chapter 15. The account of succumbing to Delilah, and of his eyes being gouged out, is an addendum. It is his own story, a self-disclosure. After three years in a Philistine prison his hair grew back. God wasn’t obligated to renew his part of the vow, but he did. That’s grace. Samson was a giant of faith, and God anointed him again. And he took 3000 God-mocking Philistines to their grave in his last epoch act as deliverer.

Samson’s personal testimony of his folly, his shame, his pain, and his restoration is an integral part of his grand story of faith. He trusted God, and God loved him. I have heard Bible teachers say, “The only reason that Samson’s story is in the Bible is to teach us how we should not live.” One time I wanted to stand up and scream, “No, no, no! His story is a story of faith!” It is an epic story of one of the great giants of faith.

That Bible teacher I wanted to scream at is typical of modern day “Pharisees”, who want to control people’s behavior by fear and guilt. They think that it’s more effective to coerce obedience than to teach how to walk in faith, in trust, and in grace. They presume that righteousness can be mustered up by self effort, rather than coming through the redemption of Jesus – always and only. Only those few “teachers” really think they can be perfect enough to make themselves pleasing to God, but sadly they lead so many more down the broad road of self-righteousness. Most of us, though, know we are more like Samson and need to be taught how to live in faith so that we can know God’s love, forgiveness, and repentance. Only his love can change us. Yes Samson failed. Miserably. But in his blindness he believed God. Anew, and deeper. That’s why he is a giant of faith, whose weakness was turned to strength (Hebrew 11:32-34). Never trust anyone who does not walk with a limp.

The life cycle of this giant, Samson, nurtures generations upon generations, for all who would understand faith. God doesn’t want us to be perfect. That’s impossible, anyways. He wants us to be real, honest, and humble. The opposite of sin is not virtue, but rather faith. To me, Samson’s faith is as thrilling to look at as that giant Sitka Spruce tree, what’s left of it.

Healing The Car

2010-01-07T11:51:00.000-08:00

They knocked on my door and asked for help. Their car wouldn’t start. It was parked over in the church parking lot, and I lived only two doors away. So they came and asked me for help. Me, the mechanic who is only good for opening the hood and saying, “Yep, sure doesn’t sound good!”

On the walk over to the church they began to chide me a bit, making comments about my newfound quest to try to understand the grace gift of healing. I didn’t claim to be an expert at healing, not even a mini-spurt. I was only searching out the unknown reaches of my faith. Not theologically, but practically. And these few guys thought I was kind of looney. So they jokingly said to me, “Hey, why don’t you lay hands on the car and pray. See if God can heal it?”

So I did. I really, really did. What I mean is not just really, really, I did it. I mean I really, really, really did the very thing they mocked, believing God wanted me to quietly and graciously be the agent to demonstrate His glory and power. Not to put them in their place, but to marvel at the goodness, the graciousness, and the unlimited power and glory of God.

I wasn’t sure God would heal the car. If not, then the chiding would only intensify. But, oh well, what’s new? And if he did then I would be out the trouble of having to stand around for an hour in the rain and diagnose the problem, go get jumper cables, or who knows what.

They stood back and watched as I stood in front of the car, put my hands on the hood, and prayed. At least they were reverent enough to be quiet while I asked God, “Lord, please make this car to start, for your glory. Amen.” I then told them to go try and start it. Varooom!! It started right up. They were surprised, almost shocked, but not wanting to appear such. I gave each of them a little hug, directed praise to God, and sent them on their way with God’s blessing.

On the walk home I thought to myself the same thing I knew most others would think whenever I told this story. Just maybe there was nothing really wrong with the car. Or maybe it was just an intermittent problem that just happened to correct itself on that turn of the ignition. Well, maybe. But I concluded that God truly had been in on it.

About that time I had another healing I was praying for. I helped out as a volunteer in physical therapy where my wife worked as a nurse, Providence Child Center. It is a facility for the most medically fragile children in the state of Oregon. One particular little 10 year old girl that I worked with each week got my attention. God whispered in my mind one day, “this one can be prayed for, for healing.” She was in a prolonged coma, and partially paralyzed. It had started mysteriously on a family vacation.

Every week I prayed for her as I helped with therapy. I prayed during the week, too, asking God how to accomplish this healing that He had suggested. But nothing ever happened. I came up blank. She was never healed, not that I know of. Only loved, and prayed for. God bless her.

“Seek the Lord while He may be found; call upon him while he is near…. For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55: 6-9)

Fly Like An Eagle

2009-12-30T12:19:00.000-08:00

I stepped to the edge of the scaffolding ready to fly down to the floor of the water tank and get some more paint. The paint was a heavy, gooey sealant and my paint tray ran out quickly. It smelled so strong that we were working in shifts to come out for fresh air. But I must have been in long enough that I was beginning to hallucinate. It was an exhilarating feeling to think of how I would glide down and land right by the paint can. But as I held onto the scaffolding I somehow realized that I wasn’t safe flying, that I needed to climb down. Then I came to my senses a bit more and decided to climb out of the tank before I lost all sense of reality. I called for help and the ground crew came up top and climbed in to pull out the other two. They had been in longer than me and were pretty far gone. When they got them out on top of the tank I told the rescuers to hold them down and not let go. Otherwise they would try to fly off the tank.

That was the biggest event of the summer at Prescott Pines Camp that year. After the scare was over we would sit around and talk about the desire to fly, and the emotions of power and freedom that it evoked. I wondered why it was that so many people dream of flying, and why flying is such a common sensation when hallucinating. Is the desire to fly symbolic of man’s desire for freedom, or is it a foreshadowing of something real, yet to come.

In the Bible there are a few accounts of people moving in the sense that we call transporting. Enoch and Elijah were caught up to be with the Lord, similar to how Christians will be caught up at the Rapture. Then there is the unique account of Phillip being transported by the Spirit after talking to an Ethiopian eunuch about Jesus (Acts 8:39). And I am sure that when we leave this life and enter the heavenly eternal we will be free from the limitations of time and space, and transporting about will be common. But flying is different.

The Wright brothers pursued the desire of flying. For over a hundred years now man has been able to fly, but artificially. It began with the exhilarating desire to escape the confines of two feet firmly planted on the ground. But flying has become quite utilitarian for most, a means of getting from one city to another in less time. There are a few, though, like my good friend Tex, for whom flying is still a thrill.

I remember reading a book when I was young, Jonathan Livingston Seagull. It was forbidden by our church leaders, which made it all the more exciting to read. It really made me think about the freedom we have in the Spirit, a freedom too seldom realized. Joseph Bayley wrote a similar story, a brilliant parable about a Christian who could fly. He went to a school for flying and was told to quit flying around and showing off. Everyone at the school studied aerodynamics, but no one flew. He finally gave up flying, too, and walked.

When I get to heaven I look forward to flying. Not just transporting. I want to enjoy the view, and be thrilled by the power and dynamic of gliding, swooping, diving, taking off, and landing. I wonder if that is not prophetically alluded to by the prophet Isaiah, an eternal reward for waiting upon the Lord.

“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31) The first phrase might also be translated, “Those who hope in the Lord will exchange their strength…” Teach me Lord, to wait and to hope.

I fear that those in an eternity apart from knowing and loving God will not enjoy the freedom of flying, but rather an eternity of being bound by the restraints of time and space, and by the chains of selfish desires never relinquished. Heaven and hell – eternal freedom or eternal bondage.

High Flight by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds...and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of...wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

Jamal's Story

2009-12-25T10:19:00.000-08:00

The city was buzzing. People were running about, all over town. Preparations were being completed for the holy day. In just a short time it would be sundown and everyone would settle in to their homes for the most sacred feast. Jamal was no exception. His sons, their wives, and their children were gathered in his home to celebrate the Passover with him.

As the Passover meal progressed the visiting and the banter were the most enjoyable event of the year. But then it came time to tell the story of the passover in Egypt. Grandpa Jamal told of the salvation of the sons of Jacob when the death angel passed over the land. Jamal took the cup in his hand and everyone around the table became silent. He held the cup for the longest time as he drew them in close and continued the story.

“Listen my sons, Jamal has a story to tell you that you have never heard before. Four days ago the man Jesus rode into our town on a donkey. Many people think he will set free the Jews from Roman bondage. But the priests and rabbis fear him, desperately, and I am afraid they will try to have him killed. But I must tell you about this man. I must tell you the story of this man, Jesus.”

“Over thirty years ago I was helping my father, my uncle and my brothers to shepherd a large flock outside of Bethlehem. We were gathered about the fire telling stories. About the time my uncle quieted us to say the prayers we were overwhelmed with light in the sky above us. An angel came down from the light and came near and spoke to us. He said to us, “Tonight, in the city of David, Bethlehem, a savior is born, he is Christ the Lord. Go look for him, and do not hesitate to bow before him in worship. This will be a sign for you, to help you know the babe. You will find him wrapped in cloths and lying in a feed manger, in a stable.” That angel slowly withdrew from us and a host of angels joined him and they all spoke in anthem, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom God’s favor rests.”

“They all were anxious to go in to Bethlehem, that very night, to look for the babe. I was the youngest, only fourteen, barely old enough for my father to trust me to watch the herd while they were gone. This much of the story I have already told you. And I have told it to others. In fact, our doctor over in Jericho, Luke, wrote the story down when I told him a few years ago. But this part I have never told anyone. I am afraid that the priests and the teachers would scoff at me. But you must hear it, and you must understand.”

“After my father and brothers left me I sat alone, wondering and marveling. I could not make sense of it. A savior? Worship a baby? The Christ, born in a stable? Then the angel came back. He was dressed in the clothes of a shepherd, this time. But I knew it was him. I knew his face, and I knew his voice. He told me what my father and my brothers were finding. Then he said to me, “This baby is God’s Son, the promised Messiah, Immanuel, spoken by the prophet Isaiah. One day he will come to Zion, he will enter Jerusalem, and he will free his people. But he will not lift a sword. As swords come against him, he will not even speak a word. He will give his life, like one of these lambs, slaughtered for sacrifice. By his death he will redeem. Freedom will be for all people. Most will reject Him, though. They will not recognize the Messiah. They will choose to remain under the law of Moses, forever trying to please God by their own righteousness. They will never know the peace and grace that this baby boy, the Messiah, comes to give.” Then the angel walked away. When my father returned he told me what they had found, and it was just as the angel had told me.”

“I have heard this man Jesus talk, and he does claim to be God’s Son. The preacher, John, out at the Jordan was about to baptize Jesus, and I was there. John said of him, “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” Then a voice from heaven said, “This is my son, whom I love.”

“So I am convinced, I am sure, that Jesus is the Messiah. You must believe my story, and you must believe about Jesus, no matter what anyone else says in the next few days. Messiah was born that night, and we have seen him. He is our Savior.”

Jamal ended his story. He took a sip from the cup. He passed it around the table. One by one, they all took a sip. Then they all bowed in worship. Jamal led them in a prayer of praise for God’s salvation, “This Jesus, may he conquer sin and death, for each of us at this table, and for all who will believe. Amen."

One Big, Big Hug

2009-12-18T16:23:00.000-08:00

Forty hours of hell. And that’s only what I felt. It was even worse for my son, I’m sure. After all, he was the one in jail, not me. But like the father in the Luke 15 story I was searching, desperately yearning for my son. My emotions were everywhere -- shock, anger , frustration, desperation, resolve, love and forgiveness, hope, and finally grace. The anger and frustration were primarily due to the criminal system. The shock, fear, and hope were directed toward my son.

My son was arrested. He worked at a 24 hour gas station. Not a good situation at all. One night, in the early hours of the morning, a couple under age guys came in and badgered the store clerk to sell them some beer. After an hour, or more, my son caved in and told them he would leave the back door open, so they could go in a get a case of beer. So the two guys did just that. Helped themselves.. They loaded their car full of beer, energy drinks, and pop. It wasn’t hard for the owner to figure out what had happened. There was a camera in the back warehouse, too. My son was fired. He didn’t tell us for a week, but we knew things weren’t right. By the time he finally spilled the beans he already had plans to run off and hide out in the forest. He had his Jeep packed with gear and groceries. One last stop at a friend’s house, on a Sunday afternoon, when suddenly the sheriff cars pulled up, surrounded him, and made their arrest.

He called me that night to tell me. I was frantic -- never been through this before, and didn’t have a clue what to do. But I told him I would stand by him and do all I could. I called a good lawyer the next morning who helped in so many ways. He was at the court house at noon to represent my son at the arraignment. By television he told my son at the jail that his father was seated in the court room with him. What a gesture. I was assured he would be released that evening, and a trial would be pending. I called the jail several times that afternoon to find out when he would be released so that I could pick him up. I kept getting the run around. When finally I went down to the jail to wait for him I found out they had released the prisoners earlier. I made such a scene of disgust and frustration that I was afraid the desk sergeant might come out and arrest me. I just could not understand why the criminal system had to treat every person like a hopeless, worthless criminal and destroy their dignity.

So we started driving all over town looking for him. We found a few other guys released that night, hanging out at the nearby mall. They remembered our son. They said he had boarded a bus. We never found him that night. He had got on a bus that went into Portland, got lost, and had to stay the night at a stranger’s apartment.

All this time I was sorting out my emotions -- disgust, fear for my son’s well being, and hope that such a dramatic event would bring him up short, get his attention, and change direction in several areas of his life. But most of all I realized how fearful of me he had been through the process, because of how I had been treating him for several years. I tried to make him keep the rules. I chased him down when he was in trouble and he would run away. He avoided me. I yelled and made a scene instead of talking reasonably, gracefully, and fatherly. I tried to make him be righteous the same way I tried to make myself righteous. Keep the rules!!

So finally, Tuesday morning he called his Mom, and she went to pick him up. Carol called me at the office and told me to come up to the house, that my son was home. I couldn’t get there fast enough, it seemed. When we saw each other across the room we just gazed, until the tears began. I walked over and took him in my arms and hugged him for the longest time. No words, no yelling, no lecture. Grace had done a marvelous work in him. But more importantly, it had done a marvelous work in me, too.

“He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6)

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and unspeakable love.” (Washington Irving)

The Worst Birthday Ever

2009-12-09T15:22:00.000-08:00

Happy birthday, Carol. July 25, 1980. Where better to celebrate than Havasu City, Arizona. Home of the London Bridge, they say. She’ll never forget that one.

We had been on a canoe trip down the Colorado River for four days, starting at Bullhead City. We had about twenty high school students, one bus, 115 degree weather, and brutal sunburn to watch out for. We had fun splashing and swimming our way down the river, 15 miles a day. The first two days we were absorbed with watching for a child that we were told was missing, and presumed drowned in the river. Every little piece of wood, every trash floating in the river we would row up close and frightfully inspect. Now that was a trip!

Each night I would hitch a ride back to our starting point to retrieve the bus, and that way we were able to shuttle our way down the river. The third day, though, was disaster. The bus blew a rod out the side of the engine. It was done. And we were nearly 200 miles from Tucson. We had the bus towed to a storage yard to deal with later, and called the church to recruit a driver to bring out another bus to pick us up on our last day. Somehow we continued our shuttle and finished our trip.

When we got to Havasu City, our destination, we turned our canoes over to the outfitter, and went to find a nice cool McDonalds to sit and wait for the bus. Carol and I took turns waiting out on the highway to flag down the bus. (Remember, this was pre-future -- no cell phones.) We expected it to arrive about 6:00 PM. That’s when I told them we would be ready and waiting. But it didn’t come, and didn’t come. The driver they recruited was one of the school drivers, and there wasn’t a lot of love between the school staff and the church programs, even though they were “one in spirit and entity”. She waited till after work to depart Tucson, and must have been oblivious to our plight. The kids started getting restless and I had to stay with them to keep them happy. So Carol ended up sitting out on the highway, almost till midnight, in the brutal heat – hot, dirty, sweaty, and exhausted.

When we finally got settled in for the trip home, Carol leaned over to me and said, “Do you know what today is?” I had forgotten. Totally forgotten. She told me, “it is the worst birthday ever.” Every year now she asks me, “Remember Havasu City, my worst birthday ever?” I’m never sure if it’s a statement, though, or a question. At least now we can look back and laugh together. Just a bit.

“This is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it.” (Psalm 118:24)

My Precious

2009-12-03T16:11:00.000-08:00

My precious, tormented little girl. What have I done to her? Only twelve years old – this cute, vivacious, young, red-headed daughter of mine. She cut her wrists. So tormented that she would think of trying to end her life.

The police car drove up in front of the house and I walked out to see what he wanted. He told me that he had my daughter in the car. He had picked her up down at the grade school, a few blocks away, where some other kids had found her bleeding and cutting her wrists. She was safe, the wounds were not serious, he said, but he was taking her to the hospital.

When we got to the Emergency Room we were in a daze. Who do we ask? What do we do? Where is our daughter? The policeman just watched me as I wandered around. I felt like he was sizing me up as the perpetrator, rather than a concerned Dad. I already felt like a failure of a father, and he made me feel all the worse.

Starting about six months earlier she had started cutting herself, and would tell classmates of her thoughts about suicide. It became such an issue that the Christian School where she attended asked us to withdraw her before the end of the school year. The next year she started attending Junior High at a public school. She gravitated toward some friends of whom I didn’t really approve. And it was one of my harsh confrontations with her over these friends that precipitated the actual suicide attempt.

The hospital admitted her and kept her in the psych ward for a week. We visited and got some advice and counsel on how to help her. Over time she was actually diagnosed to suffer with Borderline Personality Disorder. But more importantly, we were put in contact with a crisis and adolescent counselor with whom the three of us met for quite a long time. He was a Jewish man, very wise and skillful. Our daughter healed slowly, as we became aware of our own needs to change in helping her through some very difficult years.

We made a definite decision to keep our daughter out of school, and teach her at home. Carol enjoyed finding books and curriculum to have her read and study. And then she got interested in horses. As that interest grew and blossomed it gave her an objective to pursue and an outlet to express herself.

Several years later she surprised us. We could tell at the family Christmas get together that she wasn’t quite herself. We walked her out to her car after everyone else had left. She said she had something to tell us. But she kept us on pins and needles for 24 hours, until finally she told us that she had gotten married a few weeks earlier. I guess we had learned not to be shocked or startled. In fact, we were actually able to be happy for her. The next evening we went out to dinner to meet her new husband. They now have two wonderful children. The oldest is another cute, adorable, lively little red headed girl, my precious grand daughter.

“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom… And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus… Fathers, do not embitter your children, or they will become discouraged.” (Colossians 3: 16, 17, 21)

Ministry Prep School

2009-11-23T17:13:00.000-08:00

Seminary is where my head got filled with facts. Hinson Church is where I learned the skills of ministry. From the one school I received a degree. But it was the other that I would call a ministry prep school.

When I went to seminary I had as my goal to prepare to become better equipped to pastor, to shepherd, to help people. I didn’t have a desire to become a theologian, to be trained to be a professor. There is a saying about grad school. If you can’t do it, then teach it. I had no desire to fall into that trap.

So I chose a shorter program than most, one that would allow me to study New Testament Greek. I avoided the M.Div program and the Th.M programs, because I didn’t want to study homiletics and Hebrew and a whole host of doctrinal courses that I was convinced would only sit on the shelf in the back of my brain and be of little use in helping people with real problems in a real world. That’s just me, though.

While at seminary, back in the 70’s, we attended Hinson Church. In the three short years that we were there I plugged my self into as many programs and training situations as I possibly could. Many of them Carol was right there along side me, even though she was finishing up her nursing degree. We were in the choir for awhile. We helped with the discipleship classes for a while. Then I went through the evangelism training program. Then we worked with the Junior high program. Yes, junior high. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt!

Many of those pastors I would consider my mentors – Larry, Brian, Dick, and Dave. I learned from them the heart and how-to of ministering to people.

Perhaps one of the least understood concepts of church leadership is the art of mentoring -- leaders reproducing themselves in others and trusting them, encouraging them, empowering them, and then releasing them. Rather than preparing others to serve, to teach, and to reach out, too many pastors do it themselves. And then wonder why new leaders don’t develop. Why they are so burnt out. Why church growth is so elusive.

“It was he (Christ) who gave some to be apostles, some to be prophets, some to be evangelists, and some to be pastors and teachers, to prepare God’s people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up…” (Ephesians 4:12)

“Kick Me! Hard!”

2009-11-20T13:46:00.000-08:00

No one could believe that I would really do it. But I did. Right in front of Sayler’s Steak House. With lots of people standing around watching. I guess I knew I had that kind of relationship with him that we could be that real. So I kicked him. Hard. A swift boot to his behind as he leaned over the hitchin’ rail.

We were in Portland visiting friends and family. We had moved to Tucson a couple years before, after living in Portland for about four years. It was about the time when Mt St Helens was erupting, because I can remember shaking all the ash out of some little fir trees in my brother’s front yard. One evening we decided to go out for dinner, and chose to go to Sayler’s, the famous steak house in the southeast part of town.

After dinner we walked outside and were standing around on the sidewalk enjoying the nice summer evening. And out of the door stumbled my old neighbor. All the while we had lived in Portland I had spent lots of time with Mick, my next door neighbor. He invited me over to have a beer and watch the Cassius Clay fight on TV. I said I would come join him, but bring along my own soda. He reminded me of that often that I would accept his invitation, even though I had one slight reservation. One time we had a Halloween haunted house in our basement for the church Junior High group. We did a test run and let his daughter go through it. It scared her so much I don’t think Halloween was ever the same for her. And again, he never let me forget it. We had tons of great memories.

But that night at Sayler’s, when Mick walked out the door kind of drunk, he broke into tears when he saw me. He missed me. And all the times we had talked about spiritual things must have bore fruit. In his guilt and shame, but mixed with hope and remembrance, he came to me and said, “Kick me. Kick me, Dave. Kick me hard!” And so I did.

He wanted to get together the next morning, and I agreed to come over. He called me at 6:00 AM and asked me if I could come earlier than I had said. So I was on my way. We talked, and reminisced. Mostly, we remembered important things, not just the fun things. And soon he was on his knees and prayed to receive Jesus into his life. I was so proud of him, and so thankful that finally, unexpectedly, all the years of friendship had born fruit, fruit that would last for eternity.

Jesus told some stories of a lost sheep, a lost coin, and a lost son, the point of which was this, “I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” (Luke 15: 7, 10, 32)

Asmodeus

2009-11-15T19:11:00.000-08:00

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the door knob turning. Slowly. Subtly. Stealthily. I was sitting at the dining table, in the room next to the front entry, reading the newspaper. It was 9:30 PM on a Sunday evening. Carol was putting the two girls to bed. We were finally done with a long, busy, fruitful day of ministry. I was ready to relax, to finally slow down and enjoy a few moments catching up on the news.

But the door knob – it was definitely turning. How strange. I slinked over and checked to be sure the deadbolt was locked. It was. But the doorknob was not. That’s why someone outside on the porch could be turning it. But no one had knocked or rang the bell. I was scared to even look out the peephole to see who it was. It took a moment to get my courage up. But I had to. My family was in the house. I had to see what danger lurked.

What I saw was frightening. The girl standing outside my front door was in a definite demonic trance, with a knife in her hand. I could even recognize on her face which demon it was. Asmodeus. The violent one we had confronted earlier in the week. I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea what to expect. Before I could make any plans she slowly backed off the porch and began to shuffle down the sidewalk and around the south side of the house. I yelled for Carol to call the police as quickly as possible. I knew where the demon was taking her. Around to the back of the house where a door enters the garage. I heard the glass shatter and the door open. She was in the garage. Asmodeus was in my garage, and only one more door separated him from my home. The kitchen door entered off the garage. It was deadbolted. I went and leaned against it with all my weight to keep it shut. But with the first kick at the door I knew that nothing was going to stop this situation. Another kick and the door and jamb were both splintered hopelessly. One more kick and she was going to be in the house. But that was when the police cars pulled up in the driveway, sirens blaring.

She backed away from the door and I heard footsteps going back out the garage. I ran outside and directed the police around to the back to help secure the situation. I stood amongst them and yelled to them, explaining the situation, hoping desperately that they would restrain their force and allow her to come out of the trance without hurting her or shooting her. She just stood there and glared, motionless. One officer walked around behind her. She turned (it turned) and glared at him. He backed off. She turned back to face the other four standing with me. The officer in the rear moved in close enough to hit her hand with his club, trying to dislodge the knife. It didn’t even phase her. I could tell they were all very alarmed and very scared.

Fortunately, God was in control. (Although in my naiveté I was really wondering just how much a demon could actually get away with.) At that moment, when the situation could have gotten indescribably out of hand, the demon left her and she fell limp on the ground, weak, almost comatose. The police called her mom to come and get her, to take her to the hospital to check her wrist to see if it was broken. They inspected the house and marveled at the damage a teen-age girl could inflict. They left, amazed and befuddled. I was confused, yet thankful she had remained safe.

The next morning I went down to City Hall to ask for a copy of the police report. The police chief told me that it was the lengthiest, most extensive report he had ever received. I still have the copy, from back in 1983. I saved it in case anyone ever wanted to compare stories. Whatever the demons intended to accomplish that night, I do not know. Fear, I suppose. That is their ace number one deterrent. Bodily harm, I’m not sure. What I did know, though, was this. My faith and courage increased. My fear was conquered. The battle was on.

“You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good.” (Genesis 50:20)

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the
Lord your God will be with you.” (Joshua 1:9)

Round and Round and Round

2009-11-09T11:12:00.000-08:00

How did that happen? I got off the wrong exit of the freeway. In fact I didn’t even remember taking the exit, but there I was on the south side of town, instead of the north. It was late at night, but I wasn’t tired, so I hadn‘t dozed off. In fact I had been singing praise songs and praying and rejoicing all the way home from Salem. I had heard Charles Stanley speak at a ministerial conference, and I was pumped. I mean, really pumped! (But that’s another story.)

It was shortly after midnight. It was no big deal to get to my home in Gladstone by way of the south exit, rather than the other. It just wasn’t my normal route. So it hadn’t happened absent mindedly, either. My only conclusion was that it must have somehow been a God thing. I told myself to keep my eyes open all the way home to see if God had gotten me off that exit for a reason.

Sure enough. There it was. That must be it. There was a car driving around in a circle around a light pole in the Thriftway parking lot. Round and round and round. I pulled into the parking lot and got out of my car. Carefully I walked to the inside of the circle to try to talk to the driver. But the car kept going -- round and round – while I patiently stood there. Finally it stopped. The driver rolled down the window. A young lady looked up at me, distraught and forlorn looking. Ashen, almost deathly looking.

I asked her to please tell me how long she had been driving in circles, and why. Slowly she began to talk. She had been driving in circles for about an hour, she said. She was trying to get her courage up. Courage to go out on the freeway and drive into an overpass abutment to end her life.

Wow, God. What a rescue. At least I hoped so. We talked for a long time that night. Finally, I felt comfortable she would be okay. She sensed love and concern, and showed signs of new hope. I wasn’t sure, though. Not being a suicide counselor, I did the best I could. I invited her to come to the church office the next morning and talk some more, leaving to go on home and watching as she continued her driving. Round and round and round.

The next morning she showed up at the office. We talked for several hours. We read the Bible. She told me her story, her failures, her despair. But God was opening her heart and understanding. She prayed and asked Jesus to come into her life.

I knew that her salvation was the only the first stride out of the starting blocks. She had a long race before her. But she was in the race.

I wish that was the end of the story. But things don’t always end glorious and pretty. Parts of her story that she told me prompted me to ask her a question. “Do you hear voices in your mind?” She was startled, dumbfounded that I would ask. She said, “Yes! They scream it over and over and over.” In the native tongue of her foreign father, the voice screamed, “God is dead! Long live Tuvo!” Her biological father had been a high priest in the satanic, occultic religion of the Central American country where she was conceived.

That young lady consumed my time and energy trying to help her be set free, but she was never whole-hearted after God. She was deceptive, divisive, and disruptive. As I look back, now, I wonder who really got me off that freeway exit? Was it God? Or was it a demon? Round and round I go in my mind, wondering. I may never be sure.

"Sir, didn't you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from? " "An enemy did this," he replied. (Matthew 13:27-28)

Riding Jeep, Holding A Grudge

2009-11-05T12:01:00.000-08:00

How could he make my life any more miserable than this? I had to spend the whole day riding with Chuck, jumping out occasionally to go change the direction of the blade on the front of the Jeep so that he could plow the roads that were rutted and washed out by thunderstorms. I was trying to give him the cold shoulder, trying to avoid talking to him, or letting him talk to me. I was mad. I was holding a grudge half the size of Yavapai County.

I worked at Prescott Pines Camp, in north-central Arizona, each summer of my high school years. Chuck was our boss, our father figure. In hind sight I can say that he was one of my favorite mentors of all time, certainly in the top five of my whole life. But I was blind to his tactic, to his skill, to his loving determination on this occasion. I was just plain mad.

It all started a few nights earlier. Two of us staff guys decided to go into town for the church youth meeting. We invited a couple staff gals to go along with us. We thought we had permission, that none of us had any duties to keep us at the camp. But when we drove back into camp about 9:30 that evening we saw in the beam of our headlights, Chuck, standing in the middle of the road. He was quite upset with us, it became obvious. The girls were supposed to have run the snack shack that night, and he didn’t know we had left.

The next morning at breakfast Chuck read off the work list for everybody. He made a big deal of my assignment, making me an example to everyone, I guess. He announced, “And I have a special job for Dave today, one that I have been saving for over a year, now. Dave, you’ll be cleaning out the root cellar.” I had worked there a couple years already and I didn’t even know we had a root cellar. I knew all about the maggot pit, where we dumped all the garbage. I knew plenty about the sewer lines and drain field. But nothing about a root cellar.

In short order I found out. It was full of rotten potatoes and onions. Someone had loaded it up a couple years earlier, and never used the produce. All the wire mesh shelves were loaded with rotten, drippy, smelly mush. And I got to haul it all out and clean it up. That was the worst job ever. The whole day my anger was smoldering and brewing, thinking I was being punished for a wrong that I didn’t even know I had done.

So then, it was the next day when Chuck decided to have me ride along in the Jeep. He knew how mad I was. And he wanted to lovingly draw me out of my bitterness and “fix” our relationship. I know I didn’t make it easy for him. But he didn’t give up. Why? Because he had grown to love and appreciate me, I think. And me him, too. But I wasn’t going to let love do any magic that day. No, I had a grudge to bear, and I wasn’t going to let go of it.

Holding a grudge used to be my worst enemy. It chewed me up inside. It made me bitter and spiteful. I would dream and imagine of all kinds of ways to get even, to settle the score. And if getting even wasn’t possible, which it usually wasn’t, then I would make real sure that anyone who hurt me would see and know how much I despised them. Wow! But I was only hurting myself. And oh my! I must have been a jerk of a guy to like, sometimes.

“Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry…. Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” (Ephesians 4:26-32)

"He's With Jesus, Now"

2009-10-30T11:29:00.000-07:00

We rushed back to Phoenix as quickly as we could. The phone call was to tell us that my grandfather had only a short time to live. We had decided to go ahead with a long-planned vacation to Portland. We stopped in San Jose to pick up my sister to go north and visit my brother. My mother even traveled with us. My father stayed in Phoenix, though, to be with his father, who was failing quickly from cancer. We had no idea how long he would live, but we felt confident that he wouldn’t go down hill so rapidly that a quick vacation couldn’t be squeezed in.

But as cancer so often does, when the end was near, it came quickly. We were actually on our way south from Portland when we got the phone call. We decided to keep driving straight through to Phoenix, making only a brief stop in San Jose to drop off my sister’s husband.

We arrived in Phoenix and together, my sister and I, went directly to the hospital. My father was there at the bedside with his mother, my grandmother. Grandfather was pretty much in a final coma. Quietly, almost reverently, we all talked. Mostly grandmother kept talking to grandfather and to God, like a three way conversation. We just listened, and waited, and wept, and hoped with her.

Within just a few brief hours my grandfather finally passed away. My grandmother knew instantly when he had breathed his last breath. With a big gasp, and through a flood of tears, she said it. Quietly, but with the most profound assurance, she exclaimed, “He’s with Jesus. He’s in heaven, now, with Jesus!”

Her simple, yet profound faith, made an incredible impact on my young mind and heart. I was already a youth pastor. I was graduated from a theological seminary. The fact of eternal life and the blessed hope was already part of my message. But it changed. With deeper faith, more passion and clarity, my message would never be the same. Because I made it back from Portland just in time to see, to hear, and to experience the deep, deep faith of my grandmother as she helped to issue her husband from this life into the presence of Jesus.

I heard another story recently, of another elderly widow, one who had lost her husband only just the day before. A good friend was talking with her, trying to be supportive and understanding, and encouraging. But this godly woman said to him, “yesterday is the day that he had been looking forward to since the day he trusted Jesus.”

The apostle Paul wrote it, and we can all agree, “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” (Philippians 1:21)

"The Fuel Pump"

2009-10-26T12:11:00.000-07:00

Stalled. In the worst of all places. In 5:00 traffic on the ramp from I-405 to the Sunset Freeway, in downtown Portland. We were on our way to the beach on a Friday afternoon, for a weekend retreat with some friends. And that’s when our van decided to stall. Horns were honking. People were glaring as they squeezed by us in one lane. People stopped and volunteered to call a tow truck. I didn’t say it, but I was thinking, “if I can’t afford to get my van repaired, I certainly can’t afford a tow truck”. Besides, I knew that given ten minutes and a gallon of cold water I could probably get it to running again.

How did I know that? Because this wasn’t the first time the van had stalled. And I had figured out that I could pour water over the front of the engine and cool it down enough to get it to start again. I had no idea what I was really doing. I lucked on to that. I never know what I am doing when it comes to auto repairs, it seems. But I was way too poor to take it to a mechanic and have it diagnosed. The one time I did they simply said, “Sorry, we can’t diagnose a problem when the problem isn’t acting up.”

Eventually the van stalled, and it wouldn’t start again. I was sitting in a store parking lot that time. Frustrated, at wits end. That’s when I finally decided to pray about it. I just sat there and told God how frustrated I was, how helpless and hopeless I felt, and asked him what I should do. Call a friend? Hitch a ride home? Tow it to a mechanic? That seemed pretty logical, since it was definitely acting up, so they should be able to diagnose the problem, now.

That’s when he told me the most simple, practical advice. He said, “the fuel pump.” I even got a picture in my mind how to test it to confirm for sure that the fuel pump was the problem. I got out my tool box and disconnected the fuel line from the fuel pump, on the side going to the carburetor. If I turned the engine over a few seconds the fuel pump should squirt gas out on the ground. If it was not working, no gas would squirt out.

Guess what? No gas. Problem solved. I put a new fuel pump on the van and no more stalling.

I learned a lesson that day. The Holy Spirit is not so spiritual that He can’t be practical and useful, too. Very practical. Very useful. I guess I had fallen into the trap of thinking that the Holy Spirit is only good for spiritual advice and understanding, for spiritual correction and rebuke, for spiritual guidance, and most importantly, for spiritual sealing for redemption.

I found out differently. Cars are my nemesis. I hate mechanical work, unlike most normal men. So I needed some help. All I had to do was be still and know that the God of all knowledge really is the God of all knowledge. And that he cares about my very real needs.

“Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)

“Cast all your cares on him because he cares for you.” (I Peter 5:7)

A Teeney Wittle Miracle

2009-10-21T11:37:00.000-07:00

Breakthrough! It happened at 3:00 AM in the morning. The sanctuary was empty except for the four of us – the girl, Danny, my wife Carol, and me. All night we had been helping this girl with demons, intermittently teaching and counseling with her, and sometimes dealing with the demons as they manifested.

Then came the miracle. Now you have to realize that miracles can come in all shapes and sizes. And this was one of the greatest, most unique miracles I can remember. Yet it was so small and simple.

One particular demon, who took the name Sangthesin, had repeatedly been a thorn in our side. He somehow concocted a putrid blood. It was brownish red, and it smelled rancid. We came to understand that blood to be called ectoplasm. I had never heard of it before. It is a demonically manifested substance, somewhat common in the occult. It would come up out of the girl’s mouth sometimes. One time the girl spewed it all over a pastor friend who had come to help me. That was a first for him. The demon would write threats on mirrors, on notes, on her Bible, using this blood. One time the demon flung it all over the walls of a board room where we were meeting, to “anoint” the room and annoy us to no end. We had to stop and clean it up with soap and bleach for an hour.

So when this demon started drooling this ectoplasm out of the girl’s mouth, at 3:00 AM in the morning, I decided that we were not going to put up with this anymore. Rather than clean it up, as usual, I said to the other helpers, “No, don’t clean it up. This is the last. The Holy Spirit will deal with it once for all.”

Then the teeny wittle miracle happened. The drool of blood dried up and went away. The demon, who was silent as he tormented us, spoke up. “Who’s doing that?” That’s all he said. We smiled and looked at each other and rejoiced. HSP once again. Holy Spirit Power.

Demonic stories can be so surreal and spectacular. Satan’s power is real, and it can be very theatrical and very frightening. Demons love the thrill of putting on a show, of instilling fear. But that is the sum total of their power -- a few scares and fleeting displays of power. Far greater, deeper, and more profound is the quiet power and authority of our God through His Holy Spirit. His power is timely. It is superior. For it is borne of love. No show, just real!

“Greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world.” (I John 4:4)

Cozying Up, For Power

2009-10-16T12:38:00.000-07:00

“The easiest place to get power is in the church.” Too often we think of sex and greed as the worst of the three great temptations. But power is the third, and usually overlooked. And sadly, the church itself is one of the most active venues for power grabbing. Quite the opposite of Jesus, who came to serve, not to be served.

We had only arrived in Tucson days earlier. I came there directly out of seminary, and Carol fresh out of nursing school. I was anxious to begin a church ministry as youth and worship pastor. The senior pastor seemed to be a gem of a man to work with. The anticipation of beginning a team ministry with him, and being mentored by him, was exciting. And time would prove that hope and assessment to be correct. He was the best ever.

Within days of our arrival one of the board members, a deacon, came to me and asked if he could fill our freezer with beef. Subtle red flags were raised in my mind and heart, though. Maybe it was the body language. Maybe it was the barely distinguishable fanfare, rather than just simply doing the deed, anonymously. Somehow I could read into the offer a bid for power, a demand for loyalty, a snare that said, “Now remember, you owe me one.” I don’t think I even offered to pray about it and get back to him with an answer. As poor and needy as we were, I graciously replied to his offer with a simple, “No, I think we’re fine, thank you.”

Again, my assessment was correct. He was the worst ever. Or depending on how you look at it, he may have been the best ever. The best at cozying up to leaders. The best at being a spiritual con man. A few years later the church was in search of a new senior pastor. I watched the power struggle develop as the committee laid out a plan to search for a new man of God. This same deacon offered to the committee to fly anywhere in the country to observe and interview a candidate, at his own expense, if the committee would like him to do so. The same red flags went off. To my amazement, though, the committee took the bait. I said to myself, “he just bought himself the right to hand pick his own man.” And that is exactly what happened.

Oh how ministry changes when people cozy up to leaders, when leaders are charmed, when alliances are formed, when power is bartered. The cause suffers, rumors fly, accusations abound, trust evaporates, and relationships disintegrate. The wolf in sheep’s clothing often goes unnoticed, sitting in the fold nice and cozy, seemingly impeccable spiritually, and glowing with praise and adulation. Even highly favored. They don’t wear red flags.

It was on a television special report that I heard the quote, “The easiest place to get power is in the church.” The subject of the report was a spiritual con man who had bedazzled his way into a church, developed a following, and eventually had his “cult” murder a group of dissenters. A sad story, and extreme, yes. But his statement is a telling observation.

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves.” (Philippians 2:3)

“My brothers, don’t show favoritism….” (see James 2:1-13)

A Man From Far Away

2009-10-12T20:38:00.000-07:00

It was uncanny. Amazingly uncanny. A handwritten note describing a dream that she had about two years earlier. It was dated, it was crumpled, it was out of sight, fallen down behind a drawer in her desk where we were fortunate to even find it. She had forgotten the dream. But as she read it she remembered it vividly. And as Danny and I read the dream we were stunned to see that God had prophetically foretold two years earlier the very situation we found ourselves in at that very time.

The written account of the dream was this. “Last night’s dream seemed too real. Everything too detailed. I mean the feelings. Oh well. Here I go. I grew up, but I had an illness no one knew about, and it wasn’t noticed till I got older. This man who discovered it had left because people were dying in another place. So these other doctors tried to help, but couldn’t do anything. I was getting sicker and was hurting. Then this one guy came from far away to help. He helped me for a long time. He was kinda attracted to me, but didn’t know why. I was afraid to like him because I knew what was going to happen, and I couldn’t imagine that. He was twice as old. I did get better and was learning how to make others better, with the similar sickness, from the doctors that helped me. Then I started helping him and we hurt a lot but like it. I think we were married. It was like we together make one whole, smart, perfect.”

She was sixteen years old, a sophomore in high school. She was very bright, and a promising athlete. She had started coming to our youth group a year earlier and accepted Jesus as Savior. She began to manifest problems, and came to our youth intern for help. She was cutting herself, having poltergeist happenings in her room, seeing apparitions, and missing classes due to trance-state wandering about. She was demonized, but it took awhile for us to figure that out. We took her to many different counselors and psychologists, seven in all, while slowly beginning to probe and try deliverance. Demons manifested as we prayed and rebuked. But the problems increased. She had to drop out of high school; she was in trance so much that she was seldom in class. Threats were written on her mirror in blood. I became desperate for help. I called everyone I knew in ministry and leadership. One Christian school teacher, Mike, knew someone in California who he had watched doing deliverance a few years earlier. I called him to ask advice. His name was Danny.

Danny agreed to drive to Portland to assist with the girl’s deliverance. Carefully he helped us to see and understand the nature of her problem. We went to her bedroom, with her mother to help, to look for any and all objects that might have demonic power over her. After a very thorough search, after collecting a box of things to burn, that’s when we found the letter, the dream letter.

That dream became powerful in the girl’s deliverance, for it was God’s prophecy of the very deliverance that we were in process to accomplish. She did get well. Danny made several trips up from California to help with the deliverance. He was 35 years old.

Oh, and about that line in the dream account, about marriage. We always blushed about it, and ignored it, because it was inconceivable. But wouldn’t you know, even that part came true. They fell in love, eventually got married, made their home in California, and have four children.

“I am God, and there is no other.... I make known the end from the beginning.... I say: My purpose will stand, and I will do all that I please.... I summon, from a far-off land, a man to fulfill my purpose. What I have said, that will I bring about; what I have planned, that will I do.” (Isaiah 46:9-11)

Just One Sheep

2009-10-08T09:02:00.000-07:00

What’s the big deal? It’s just one sheep. He had ninety-nine others, safe and sound. Besides, sheep are expendable. In business you have losses, and you accept that. So what in the world is the big deal?

Jesus told the story, in Luke 15, about a shepherd who had 100 sheep, but lost one. So the shepherd went out to find that lost sheep. I can only imagine how much work and risk it might have been -- walking, searching, calling, and hoping – in the dark, without a flashlight. He refused to give up on that one sheep. It just wasn’t an option.

Although that story is about repentance, I like to apply it to ministry and shepherding. How easy it is for those in ministry to count the number that are in attendance, and feel successful, all the while ignoring the ones who are missing, lost, lonely, disconnected. That lost person is simply rejected, ignored, cast aside, and forgotten. Like a business loss.

That fact could not have hit harder than the time Martha came to our home to tell my wife Carol that she no longer wanted her to be a part of the women’s ministry at the church. You see Martha had built a large, successful ministry, reaching across the whole community, gathering in women from many churches and neighborhoods. She taught a session to nearly eighty women each Thursday morning. Then the women split up into groups of ten to discuss, encourage, and pray together. Carol was a leader of one of those small groups.

But I had been going through a deliverance ministry with a young girl. Unfortunately, misunderstanding amongst the staff and board grew to a point that they held a “heresy” trial. They decided to ask me to leave the ministry of the church.

That’s when Martha came to our house. We expected her to ask Carol how she was doing in light of the painful events, and discuss the ramifications. We expected a shepherd to tend her lost and broken sheep. But instead she asked her to step down and not be involved in the “Bible Study”. The group was more important.

Martha went on to become famous, an author and speaker to hundreds upon hundreds. Since then, my wife, in large part due to that major rejection, has become reluctant to trust shepherds and shepherding. Her wisdom and service, except in the most guarded and safe situations, is on a shelf, broken.

Like my buddy says, tongue in cheek, “Ministry would be fun if it weren’t for all the people.” Sadly, though, that’s true for many shepherds. The program is more important than the person. We don’t see the tree because of the forest. That episode became a forever faith lesson – it’s never okay to sit in the fold with the 99 sheep, and let the wolves devour the lost sheep.

In Jesus’ very first sermon He said: “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of Lord’s favor.” (Luke 4:18-19)

Perhaps that should become every shepherd’s “Hippocratic oath”.

An Angel I Want To Meet

2009-10-05T10:55:00.000-07:00

The surface of the water was glass smooth. It must have been ten minutes, six or seven at the very least. Why had I waited so long to respond to the phone call? Why didn’t I just hang up on the other phone call and say I had an emergency to tend to? Why hadn’t I drained the baptistery last night after the baptism? How could this happen? How could God let this happen?

The girl laying under water in the bottom of the baptistery had been there nearly ten minutes, judging by the fact the surface of the water was now glass smooth. I had received a “signal” phone call, alerting me that the girl was in danger. Whenever the demons put her in a trance and did something dangerous with her I always received a phone call, with no voice. It became my signal to go find her and rescue her. I called Gary to drive over and help me. But I was in the church office alone that day, and got a second phone call immediately after the first, regarding funeral plans for the recent passing of our senior pastor. I couldn’t ignore the call.

When I finally got off the phone I began to run to all the phones in the church complex. The “signal” call had come in on the second church line, so I knew the girl must be on site. The first phone I came to had wet footprints on the carpet where she had stood in front of the phone to make the call. But it wasn’t a rainy day. I quickly remembered the baptism from the night before and went running to the front of the sanctuary. When I looked in, that is when I saw the horror. I feared the demons had finally been able to take her life. I didn’t stand there arguing with God why he would let this happen. I jumped in to pull her out. Gary arrived right then, as I was wrestling her out of the water. Fortunately he knew first aid. He felt for a pulse and couldn’t feel it. Her body was cold. He started CPR. Within a few short minutes she began breathing and her pulse got stronger. We wrapped her in blankets and she recovered. What a miracle. But God, that was too close for comfort. Way too close.

Some time later, in another situation altogether, we learned the secret of the “signal” phone calls. Whenever demons put this girl into a trance and began to do something life-threatening, an angel would usurp their position and indwell her. The angel would then make the phone call, but never speak. And it was that angel that indwelt her that afternoon in the baptistery. He slowed down her heart to a crawl, stopped her from breathing and filling her lungs with water, and kept her alive until we could rescue and revive her. I didn’t know that then. Had I known of the angel all through the deliverance I might have been unduly intrigued, and got my focus off of Jesus and the manifest power and guidance of the Holy Spirit. The angel was simply God’s agent.

But someday, in heaven, I have an appointment I plan to make. I want to meet that angel -- sit down and have a few cups of coffee at the Golden Café, and reminisce.

“Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation?” (Hebrews 1:14)

Busy, Busy, and Clueless

2009-09-30T20:57:00.000-07:00

Half way there Carol told me that she would not go on to Prescott with me where I was going to lead a large college retreat. My wife wanted to stay in Phoenix with my parents for the weekend and I could pick her up on the way back, she said. I didn’t understand why she would want to change plans, why she did not want to go along to be part of the “big event”. But clueless as I was, I didn’t even ask her why, I just dropped her off and went on my way. Or maybe I did ask her and she quietly refused to tell me so as not to worry me or disturb all my “big plans”.

On the way home I stopped to pick her up. For the first time I noticed that she didn’t look like she was feeling well. Quietly we began our two hour drive home to Tucson. Slowly, in broken, tearful words she told me that she had lost the baby. She was pregnant with our second child when I dropped her off in Phoenix, but while I was off to conquer the world she had miscarried.

Her emotions were a world different than mine. She had lost a child she hadn’t seen, didn’t know, but loved deeply. And her man hardly knew the pain she had anticipated, then endured. Me. Oh it hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt like a jerk. A stupid, clueless, unloving, unsupportive jerk. I probably didn’t say much. Didn’t know what to say. Oh I probably said all the appropriate things – “I didn’t even know. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be with you. Are you alright? We can have another baby. It’ll be okay.”

What I was really feeling and thinking was this. I was mad at God for having to always be so busy about His work that I was clueless of my wife’s needs. But I knew it wasn’t His fault, so I was mad at myself. And I was mad at my senior pastor for being so demanding, even though I thrived on the energy and vision he exuded.

I am sure I had not settled down from fuming and arguing with myself when we finally got home and drove into the driveway. And there in the middle of the carport was my turntable, my prized stereo component, a belt-drive Dual turntable. What in the world was it doing in such a strange place? Then it hit me. It came from inside the house. We went into our home and found it totally burglarized. Everything was off the shelves, out of the drawers, strewn everywhere. Everything we had owned that was of value was gone. Jewelry, coins, silver, stereo – everything.

Talk about a double whammy. God got my attention. But you know, it’s still hard to change. It was easier to give up the earthly possessions than it was to give up the mindset that God needed me for His kingdom more than Carol needed me for our love relation. It took me years to learn to give her the attention she deserved, even though I desperately and lovingly wanted to give it. She helps now by gently clueing me in whenever I get clueless. I’m still improving. Slow but sure. Oh yes. And twenty-five years later I finally got smart and replaced the jewelry with one nice ruby necklace. Her birthstone. And she wears it all the time.

“Each of you also must love his wife as he loves himself.” (Ephesians 5:33)

“I liken you, my darling, to a mare harnessed to one of the chariots of Pharaoh. Your cheeks are beautiful with earrings, your neck with strings of jewels.” (Song of Songs 1:9-10)

I Am Lord Of My Church

2009-09-25T17:16:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I look back at things and evaluate how important they were by the degree to which I remember them. They are indelibly implanted on the front of my brain, a beacon light in my memory that always guides me and draws me back to the true course.

One of those indelible memories is when God spoke to a group of four men, as we were waiting upon Him to guide us in how, when, and where to start a church which we knew undeniably that He called us to start. There were many different things He told us to guide us, many ways that he made the path open up before us. But one time as we prayed and sought His face He drew us to read and contemplate the first chapter of Revelation. Then Jesus said to me and to the other three, “I am Lord of My Church”.

That statement was packed with meaning. Packed! Jesus wanted every decision to be brought before Him. Every desire, every ambition, even every message to be delivered to His people under my care. Every appointment, every relationship, every prayer, every conversation was on His behalf, and empowered and blessed by His Lordship.

Church and ministry simply are not run like a business. That is a mistake too often made -- board decisions, worldly wisdom, corporate strategy, church growth how-to, all blessed by a token prayer. No, people know and sense when their leader is in tune with the mind of Christ.

A pertinent illustration comes from an interesting story in the life of Nathan, prophet of God to the Israel of God (I Samuel 7). King David talks to Nathan and suggests that he would like to build God a temple. Nathan, being a wise man of God, says “Go ahead and do it, whatever you have in mind, for the Lord your God is with you.” As the saying goes, open mouth, insert foot. There is something that trumps even wisdom, and that is a word of God from the very mind of God. God told Nathan to go back to David and tell him, “This is what the Lord says, Are you the one to build me a house to dwell in?....” Thankfully, David was humble enough to accept a “change in itinerary”, and allow God to be King of His kingdom. Likewise, we must not presume to conclude that wisdom is always and ultimately supreme, nor that the desire of our heart, noble as it may be, is necessarily God’s desire.

Jesus is Lord of His church. And He wants to be Lord of our life, too. Thank you, Coach. I want to be on your team. It’s a winner. Your kingdom rocks!

“He is the head of the body, the church… so that in everything he might have the supremacy.”
Colossians 1:18)

“I saw seven golden lampstands, and among the lampstands was someone ‘like a son of man’…. In his right hand he held seven stars, and out of his mouth came a sharp double-edged sword.” (Revelation 1:12-16)

Now Can You Hear Me?

2009-09-20T08:20:00.000-07:00

So that’s what it’s like to hear God’s voice! I was driving down the road in my van one afternoon totally discouraged. I was putting in hours and hours of time ministering to a high school gal, with the help of my wife and a few others. Her needs were proving bigger than our knowledge, and beyond our experience and expertise. And each step we took proved more and more controversial. But I couldn’t just quit and leave her in the condition she was in. I knew deep in my heart God was at work in her life. But all the other pastors and the deacons were making it quite clear that they felt I was looney tunes. I really, really felt all alone, out on a limb, about to snap off and go tumbling.

Counselor after counselor, seven in all, were consulted and none could help her. The police had been involved. The newspaper had written a story. The church wanted to keep its respectability and reputation intact, I was told. But I didn’t feel God telling me to quit. So I was torn. Miserably. Desperately.

At each turning point, each new outburst, I would choose again to keep helping. But the support grew thinner and thinner, the criticism more and more pointed. That’s when it happened. The statement was so clear in my head that I could not have missed it. Nor could I have mistaken it for my own thought. It was clear. God said to me, “ I called you to help, and you alone. Don’t expect anyone else to understand.”

I had to pull off the road. I cried and cried. Tears and emotions poured out me. It wasn’t just what He said to me, it was the fact that he knew and understood fully what I was in the midst of. And He wanted me to know that my gut feeling was correct. He was indeed leading me, wanting me to continue to help this gal. He even said he “called” me to this very task, this unique and extended ministry. Furthermore, the misunderstanding and criticism was also part of the calling.

Netzero had an ad on television for awhile. The guy would walk around and say, “Now can you hear me?” He would take a few steps and say again, “Now can you hear me?” That first recognition of God’s voice was like that, a response to that question and that yearning in my heart.. I had worked with others who heard the voice of the Holy Spirit clearly, and I knew and trusted that God was actually really talking to them. But now I could say, “Yes Lord, I hear you! Thank you so very much for being so very real to me.”

If you talk to God you are considered spiritual. But if God talks back you are considered crazy.

“Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I, send me.” (Isaiah 6:8,9)

“My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.” (John 10:27)

David, You Are Now Responsible

2009-09-18T16:16:00.000-07:00

Would you like to know what is the most lasting memory of my wedding day? After 35 years, now, much has faded away. But there’s one thing I will never forget. It made more of an impression on me than the wedding itself. More than seeing my beautiful, wonderful bride come down the aisle. More impressive even than having the governor of Arizona attend the wedding. And it certainly helps me forget the memory of stepping on Carol’s gown as we walked down the aisle as husband and wife.

It was actually the next morning, as we were driving out of town for a few days of honeymoon. I was driving my very special 64 Chevy pickup (short wide bed, tuck and roll upholstery, rebuilt V-8 engine, shiny moon hubcaps, and an 8-track tape player). Carol was sitting right close beside me, and I had a box of Dunkin Donuts on the far end of the seat. Then this incredible feeling of responsibility came over me. It was more of a feeling than a voice from God, but I knew it was from Him. I felt impressed upon me the enormous responsibility for this woman next to me. I was no longer a boy dating and courting a young lady. I was not to treat her as a woman that I now got to merely enjoy have living in my home with me. She wasn’t some cute little Barbie doll, sex object. Not even just a good friend to hang out with. I was now taking a big huge step in growing up. I was now responsible to love her, care for her, protect her, encourage her, provide for her. All of that came over me and sunk into me. Without words. Just an overwhelming sense of responsibility. And I have never forgotten it.

Whenever I talk about the roles of husbands and wives I offer my commentary on Ephesians 5. “Husbands need to love their wives enough to die for them. Wives should love their husbands enough to live for them.” But I recently heard a wise godly man say something that sheds even greater light on that statement, especially for the husband. He said that the purpose of marriage is crucifixion. When we men are young and full of testosterone we think the purpose of marriage is to have sex with a beautiful woman, a bride just for me. As we grow older we progress to a bit more noble concept, that marriage is for loyal companionship. That is what the Creator acknowledged of Adam’s need when he created Eve. But this idea of crucifixion kind of caught my frontal lobe. He said that God designed marriage to help heal us men of self-centeredness and to make us grow up. To be the head of the household means to be first to the cross.

“Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” (Ephesians 5:25)

To Be A Good Wife And Mother

2009-09-16T15:14:00.000-07:00

She came to me, my first born daughter, to ask her Dad if she could get married. She was a senior in high School. She wanted to get married in the summer soon after graduation. I was a bit surprised, to say the least. Kari and Tyler had been best friends for a long time, and I must have been oblivious to the fact that they were this deeply in love. He was a fine young man, I must say, the son of one of my best friends. But to think of my daughter getting married so young was a major hurdle to overcome. It was kind of an unspoken Christian standard that sharp, intelligent, respectable Christian young people go to college and wait for marriage until they are well grounded and mature. Whatever that means.

But that is what I expected. I was caught up in the mold. She was a 4.0 student, valedictorian of her graduating class. And I had visions of all the possibilities that lay before her. Choice of what college she wanted to go to. What career she might pursue. What great achievements she might accomplish.

This, though, was the clincher. The thing that captured my mind and heart. That which pulled God into the middle of the question, rather than allowing my Christian community to determine the answer. She asked me this. “Dad, I am convinced that God wants me to be a good wife and mother. Isn’t that what you have always taught me? Isn’t that what God wants of me?”

Perhaps it was God who thrust the dagger of truth into my heart, rather than Kari. Or at least made the truth light up like a neon light. I told her that I would have to think about it, and turned to walk away. In reality I went into another room, closed the door, and cried big huge tears of joy and thanksgiving for her incredible faith and understanding, and tears of submission to God’s plan for my daughter.

Well, the news got out that she was engaged, and still in high school. I had more friends and peers question me and my wisdom than you can possibly imagine. I was shocked, but held it in. This was a God thing, and no one was going to steal my joy, nor hers. At the Christian school where Kari attended there was but one teacher who congratulated me for my daughter’s plans. Just one. And I shall never forget that dear old wisened saint.

Well the wedding came and went. And even in the midst of the ceremony my Kari reduced me once again to a puddle of tears by having her mother sing a song that I had written for our wedding 24 years before. And now the years are starting to pass by and I can look back to evaluate the sincerity and maturity of her request and my decision. She has put her all, her absolute all, into being a loyal and supportive wife. And now she is raising three wonderful children. Because of her spiritual heart and wisdom they will one day go to their mommy and daddy and say, “I think that this is what God wants of me. What do you think?”

“He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what the Lord requires of you. But to act justly, and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8)

Drive North on 138th, Look to the Right

2009-09-15T16:43:00.000-07:00

God can be so precise in His guidance. It was simply directions at the time, but looking back at the whole situation, it was utterly amazing to realize how precisely He guided us.

Four men, including myself, were moved by God to start a church. We met and prayed and waited upon the Lord for months. He slowly taught us to depend upon His guidance -- to move forward with our hopes and dreams, yet trust Him to lead us, both in small matters and in big strategic ways.

We chose four different regions of the greater Portland area to consider -- three of which were booming areas of growth – Tualatin, Sunset corridor, and East Vancouver. After much research, debate, and prayer, God helped to clarify not only the choice, but to tune our hearts to follow after His heart. He said, “I want you to focus on the needy”. That settled it. Parkrose was the fourth choice, but it became the only choice.

We began looking at the area, looking for homes, and for a site to rent for starting the church. We knocked on a few doors and came up with a list of possibilities. Then we decided to fast and pray for a season and come together to see if God would help direct us. That’s when he spoke to Perry, one of the four men, and told him simply this, “drive north on 138th and look to the right.”

Two of us set out the next day, map in hand, to do as the Lord had directed. We started at Burnside and drove north on 138th, wherever it showed up on the map. We got up to San Rafael and there was one little cul-de-sac left. We decided to skip it so that we could cut over to go around to the north side of the I-84 freeway. There was a good stretch north of the freeway, with some good possibilities we had already scoped out.

We drove a few blocks away and both looked at each other and said, “no, no, we better go back and see what is on that little residential cul-de-sac.” We turned the corner and there was a house on the left and a house on the right. But there were no houses directly in front. The road dead ended into a large field, part of a larger campus of some sort. We looked to the right and there was a building which we felt might be the one God was leading us to. We drove around and into the campus of Western States Chiropractic College. We went into the building and asked a few people who might be in charge. We talked to the business director and he said he had been thinking for some time about renting the gym and classrooms on Sundays to a church group.

I think of Acts 9 where Ananias was told by God to go visit a religious zealot, Paul, who was blinded on his way to Damascus. He told him exactly where to go, and that Paul would be expecting him. God still works in wondrous and precise ways when we choose to trust Him wholly and listen for the voice of the Holy Spirit.

The Lord told Ananias, “Go to the house of Judas on Straight Street and ask for a man from Tarsus named Saul, for he is praying. In a vision he as seen a man named Ananias come and place his hand on him to restore his sight.” (Acts 9:11-12)

You Will Have A Third Son

2009-09-09T21:32:00.000-07:00

One by one they came to tell me of a dream that they had. The dreams were all the same. Identical. Three different ladies in the church told me they had a dream that Carol and I would have a sixth child, and it would be a boy, our third son. None of them knew that others had the same dream. But each felt it important enough to come and tell us. And whenever dreams, or spiritual “signs”, come in a group of three, I knew to pay attention, because God was in it.

One small problem, though. I wasn’t excited to hear such news. Quite the opposite. I was disheartened. We already had five children and we were more than a bit overwhelmed. Like any other American family, three kids was plenty, thank you. Perhaps four. Our fifth was a surprise. But we never dreamt we would have a “quiver full”, six kids.

In fact, I was so distraught over the prospect of another child I did the unthinkable. I got down on my knees to talk with God, I wrestled with him to try to understand why He would do such a thing to us. This was after Carol had become pregnant with number six. So I asked Him, the giver of dreams, to take that child away, because we just simply could not handle that much more stress.

I don’t know what God was thinking to give in to such a foolish request, but He did. Carol miscarried. We lost that baby. I felt so ashamed. Disheartened, ten fold more than before.

Then confusion set in. I always reconciled God’s providence with man’s free will by saying that God calls us to be partners, co-creators of sorts. But I never bargained for my half of the partnership carrying more weight than His half. He should not have listened to me. He should have saved me from that ugly deed and the ensuing guilt and shame.

But His grace is far more powerful than His sparing me from my selfish, foolish, request. In a season of prayer for forgiveness and repentance he revealed that the child that was lost was Susanna. Not the son. Some day perhaps we shall see that unborn child, in eternity. What a calling of God that her heart would beat for just a short time to be to me a lesson of accepting God’s will, and also of the power of God’s grace.

Some time later our third son was born, just as God foretold in three dreams. Samuel, if ever there was a son of promise, a son prophesied by dreams, then it is you. Your mother wanted to name you Daniel. But when we held you in our hands that first day I said to her, “No, his name will be Samuel” (I Sam 1:20). By His amazing love God took me through an emotional, spiritual maze and changed my heart. I prayed a new prayer, and He answered it. He fulfilled the dreams and gave us the son. God, your grace is amazing, and the way you sometimes impart it is beyond imagination.

“In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.” (Proverbs 16:9)

“God does speak – now one way, now another… in a dream, in a vision of the night…” (Job 33)

Two Steps Forward, One Back

2009-09-08T10:06:00.000-07:00

Walking in sand is difficult. But walking uphill in loose sand to get to the trail made me wonder if I was going to make it. I had my grandson, Isaac, on my shoulders. Two steps forward, one step sliding back; two forward, one back. When I got to the top I turned to gaze back at my path of progress.

That's how my faith progresses. Trusting Jesus is relational, from first to last. I trust Him more and more -- His grace and love, His wisdom, His truth and knowledge, His timing. And He lovingly brings me along. Even patiently -- two steps forward, one back, two forward.

So here are some of my stories.