Brainwaves

School's out! Headed south for five days to attend my granddaughter's wedding. What's brewing in my mind isn't ready for a post. If I get a chance and can find a computer while we're there, I may yet get it together. Peace to all.......

Blog Rodent has an interesting post prompted by a lady questioning the Baptism of the Holy Spirit as defined by Charismatic/Pentecostals. The first part of her query concerns itself with the evidence of “sin” that manifests itself in those who claim to have been “endued with power” to overcome all things. To be truthful, I almost laughed in reading her earnest plea for an answer. I did, in fact, smile. While Rich did a nice job with his explanation, my own reply would have been a little different. For it all comes down, you see, to one’s definition of the terms; and the problem is not so much about one bunch “messing up” more than the other bunch. Let’s face it. We’re all human. The “miscue”, then, has to be in the message we preach. And I see that in two areas: (1) Sin isn’t some sort of denominational list issued to all constituents; and (2) the indwelling of the Holy Ghost, no matter how greatly manifested on occasion, does not permanently transform us into “super saint”……………

If the Bible indicates anything at all on the matter, it is the fact that, in God’s eye, there is no graduation of severity. To think is to lust. To slander is to murder. To tell a lie is as wrong as committing adultery. I sat this weekend with a woman whom I highly respect and watched her deeply grieve, having just learned the kids attending our church school danced at their prom. If such view seems silly, try to remember it’s what has been preached to her for nearly five decades. While I’m of the opinion that we have, indeed, in recent years, introduced a lot of vulgarity into such activity, I also feel it’s a good example of “swallowing the camel while straining out the gnat”, the “camel”, of course, being who we are as individuals in the first place. The fact that there is none righteous, “no; not one”, gets lost in the shuffle while we focus on whomever has failed in whatever. In fulfilling our own idea of the Gospel, we think we, ourselves, have somehow become pillars of the faith………………

Whether one speaks, then, of being so immersed in His presence that the initial evidence of “tongues” serves as a witness to achieving a desired goal, or of afterwards possessing a private “prayer language”, the “proof is in the pudding”. The power with which we have been endued is even as the authority given unto us. We are not suddenly capable of walking on water, but are merely vessels through which Christ might come forth. As we allow and as His wisdom dictates. It is when we are weak that we are made strong. It is recognizing how short we yet come that we reach where He would take us. It is in knowing the fullness of His grace that we find assurance enough to testify of Him. His reality seals the whole arrangement, not our little chapter and verse totem we’ve created out of our own understanding. In other words, if it doesn’t work, it’s because there’s no Life in it………………

If I sound critical, it’s no less than what I use to gauge myself. You follow His voice, knowing your own often gets in the way. You stumble. He picks you up; and you take another step. From faith to faith. From glory to glory. He remains the anchor of all that I am…………

In 1950, commercial use of the Ohio River was almost non-existent, its depth in many places not allowing passage of larger vessels. The federal government, therefore, built a system of locks and dams which actually turned the stream into a series of connecting “pools” whose ownership was then deeded to the state in 1958. Thursday, two of our Fifth Grade classes visited such a facility positioned on the Kentucky side. A local university is utilizing that particular location to instruct some of its students how the health of our environment can be determined by merely examining the populace therein. Our kids were treated to a trio of “lessons” requiring them to identify small fish and macro-invertebrates indigenous to the area. Touching dead animals to observe markings and fins was a bit repulsive to some; but discovering one to be someone’s discarded pet piranha recently caught nearby was quite the thrill to all. What amazed me, however, was to learn that, world-wide on a daily basis, a species of some sort becomes extinct…………..

That blows my mind. I mean: Is that 365 distinct, individual, created strands of life a year gone forever, or no more than some Darwinian, evolutionary process de-cycling on the other end? The last unicorn, they say, just missed the Ark. Nowadays all some poor squirrel has to do is get in the way of progress. Adapt or abdicate, my furry friend; we need the space for condos. Indeed, right here within my own community, I can remember when grasshoppers were plentiful. I’m betting, though, my grandsons have never seen one. Bullfrogs bigger than my fist used to inhabit a creek nearby, but no more. Box turtles are rare. Those dusty brown, bumpy-looking toads have all but disappeared. Have they all just retreated into the woods farther south; and, if so, how did volume affect the former residents? Is there a pond out there somewhere so full of illegal amphibians that there’s no room for anybody to breathe? Seems to me like, unless the insects all retreated to that very same spot, a lot of Kermits are going to go belly-up with nothing to eat……………

I went to a graduation ceremony Thursday evening. Sixth means you have entered the realm of Middle School and another educational institution is ready to receive your skills achieved. I will miss not only my three charges, but many who have been part of “this time around”. I’m almost to the place where, if the good Lord allows, I’ll be working with some I’ve known since their entrance into Kindergarten. Indeed, as the old church went through the same ritual last night and my oldest grandson became a freshman, seniors I can recall in diapers excitedly now went forth into a world quite different than the one I was familiar with in the late fifties; and, sadly, society has lost a whole lot more than biology along the way. People remain people. Life takes its course and the “old guard” passes the baton to the next bunch. Humanity, as it were, doesn’t surprise me. Hope, as I see it, lies in Him; for, in Him, it springs eternal. If my prodigy can but make a strong connection with that reality, then His promise will see them through whatever comes………….

I live in my brain. Well, maybe it’s more like I live in my head, seated at the keyboard of that particular part of my anatomy. It “feels” that way, anyhow. In some ways, of course, it is my gray matter that runs the show, “directing traffic”, running my motor skills. I don’t even have to think about my heart beating, taking my next breath, or just putting one foot in front of the other to walk across the room. At the same time, this amazing computer continually gathers information and stores it for later use. Some, I, myself, intentionally feed into its memory banks; other, it simply absorbs along the way as I motivate through my daily routine. After nearly sixty-five years, I suppose it’s easy to understand that some files seem to have gotten lost in the shuffle. All in all, though, it has served me well and any character flaws in the man I am have more to do with the computer operator than the “machine”, itself……………

Yesterday I was submerged in a submarine with a Fifth Grade class exploring an underwater canyon just above Greenland. Not really. We weren’t in a canyon. We weren’t underwater. It seemed like it, though. For the last two years, our school has participated in NAVOPS, which is a government program teaching children the “ups and downs” of such vehicles. Like most types of transportation, these machines do not drive themselves. Then, even with someone to steer it, there is also a balance to be maintained and a depth to be considered. We’re talking pilot, navigator, a couple of plotters, a captain, and a safety officer just for starters. Divided into four teams and working in a windowless room designed to look like “the real deal”, the kids were a bit nervous at first, but quickly adjusted. On their own, they ventured “where no kid has gone before, their lives depending on their ability to work as a unit………….

Last night I sat in a Bible study, of sorts, where we tossed around three different film clips that dealt with people’s views of the following: (1) Are you a good person?; (2) Is there life after death?; and (3) Were we created in God’s image or just the top dog in evolution’s chain of events? The first inquiry set the tone for me, as I listened to others in the sanctuary match answers with “the world”. While I strongly believe in the Book, yet I am also amazed at how we create our individual security blankets out of chapter and verse as if our interpretation of any portion settles the matter. We hold them up like miniature shields, cliché phrases which secure our salvation, learned at the feet of some television evangelist rather than forged out of life in the trenches. We attempt to breath into the Word, ourselves, rather than allow the reality of the Holy Ghost to bring it to pass in our life……………...

I wanted to ask, last night: If “righteousness” is not achievable by our own means, then why do we chase the condition rather than pursue the One within us who embodies the term? It was not my boat, however. Not my place to start a mutiny………….

This past Sunday’s morning service was a “bummer” for me. The worship songs somehow seemed more about singing than they did worship and the message brought forth fell short of punching my “exuberance button”. That’s not to say there was anything wrong with either portion of the program, or that God wasn’t ministering to someone else somewhere in the sanctuary. I’m not speaking about needing some loud display of emotional whatever before I consider it “church”. To be truthful, my lack of enthusiasm probably had much to do with not sleeping well the night before; but there are a lot of reasons why such things happen from time to time. All I know is: after breakfast and a short nap in the recliner, I went with my group to the Detention Center and “heaven came down”………

There was but one girl in our congregation. Maybe forty-five boys. I began with three verses that were on my heart and then the young fellow with the guitar poured himself into one. He was once incarcerated in such a place for trying to burn down an assembly, has a great witness with these kids, and, actually, was able to bring them into a short “repeat after me” altar call as he finished. Big Bob would talk to them a few minutes about “finding security”. Tony enlightened them on what it meant to know love. Another song; and I had about twenty minutes left to make known to them the great difference between “believing” and believing that He “is”. When we went to prayer this time, tears were flowing. An inner connection had been established and the body was one…………

I don’t find my contribution to the event any more anointed than the rest. I do admit that my “self” was more invested into this gathering than it had been at the earlier one and often that’s a big piece of what it takes to step into the river. It was, in fact, a vital element of what I had just “preached”. If you want to get hold of the reality of God, you’ve got to surrender all control, look down deep inside at your need of Him, and then face the truth. He’ll meet you every time. Think you’ve made too big a mess of things and there’s no way out? Try just being honest. It’s where you start. It’s where you return to again and again. And it’s not for me to demand you make the interim journey exactly as I do. Let me, instead, be there for you. A drink of water when you’re thirsty for Him…………

The phone rang yesterday afternoon, bringing me the news that one of the groups had cancelled for Sunday afternoon’s service at the Detention Center. Did my bunch want it? Silly question. My thoughts are yet dealing with the young man in tears as we had to leave the place two weeks ago. “I want Him, but I don’t know how to get Him” he wept, showing me wrists that bore evidence of an attempt to self-destruct. We prayed, of course; but was there any connection? Did he receive? The guards were shuffling everyone else back to their cells, waiting for us to depart via the other side of the room. This particular facility is but a “holding pen”. Kids pass through it on their way to different institutions, although some do remain maybe a month or so. Administration doesn’t authorize our getting familiar with them. I’m hoping he will still be there and praying that walls, if they haven’t already been demolished, will come down for him…………….

Within the framework of Christianity, a lot of people see things very differently. Most of us smile at each other in passing; but, within the sanctuary, are very definite about tenets we consider to be absolute in their demand. Some of us, in hinging salvation on “our” way being the “only” way, go to war with whomsoever, sometimes giving the appearance that the real burden we carry has more to do with proving we’re right than it does with the other guy’s soul. There is a verse in Hebrews, however, that speaks of how those who come to God must first believe “that He is” and, as far as I’m concerned, that’s my “target”. The question is, though, what do you say, what do you do, to help the other fellow find that point within himself? Is there some magic formula that guarantees success? Do you simply take them down “the Roman Road”, having them “repeat after me: one, two, three”, the count your coup and walk away another one won for the kingdom?......................

No. I’m convinced that those three words go a whole lot deeper than just some mental image we have pasted together out of our own reasoning. There is a encounter where His presence is made known unto us and the gulf is spanned, a place where, hidden in the rock, we catch a glimpse of His glory and begin to follow. In stumbling down that path afterwards, “what” we believe could never encompass truth in its totality; but if we have connected with the reality of “who” He is, it is a “hook in our belly” giving direction through His Word. My own course, then, is to first get "me" as small as possible. Something John the Baptist once said about “decreasing” that He might “increase”. I can save no one. Nonetheless, if up out of my well an overflow of His Spirit comes forth, maybe my prayer partner will fall in that river of all that He is and surrender unto His love. It does take, you know, surrender. For it is still his choice, his life; and God honors that……………..

Last night was our monthly worship service down at the local rescue mission. While I wouldn’t classify the fellows down there as having reached “the end of the line”, it’s probably true some of them have reached “the end of their rope”. This morning, then, the wife and I drove to Winchester to view the other end of the spectrum: our granddaughter was graduating from kindergarten. As I watched the l’il diddles sing of having learned their ABC’s and the days of the week, it struck me that, somewhere back there, the first bunch had likewise once received their diplomas and set off with no clue where life would take them. The question is: What happened in-between? A matter of bad choices? Bad environment? Is it possible, at THIS point, to turn it all around? All I really know is: I like “doing church” with these guys. God is in the mix; and they feed me every bit as much as any of us feed each other. We don’t dwell too much on the past. We don’t try to predict the future. We just decrease that He might increase and, in that, find hope…………..

I heard another message this week, preached to an older group of graduates. These “kids” were part of a church school I helped establish about twenty years ago. The thrust of the sermon rang accurate enough and, considering the uncertainty of what tomorrow holds, was one we all could benefit from remembering. The mercy of the Lord endureth forever. Good to know when things haven’t quite evolved as you thought they might. Good to experience when all you’re sure of is how miserably you’ve failed. What’s more: it happens to all of us. You’re not exempt because your childhood was nurtured inside a sanctuary. You don’t always make the right decisions, not even in Christ. Humanity remains humanity, you grow as you go, and even then there’s no such animal as a believer who’s got it all together. This isn’t about accomplishing perfection. We just aim at it, trusting that, in coming up short, His promise remains an anchor for our soul; and it is that moorage, not our religiosity, that gives us hope…………..

Most of our life, we walk by two things: (1) the idea that we are able to do it all by ourself with no need of anybody else; and (2) a fear of what the other guy thinks of us. Throw into that our emotional makeup and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. What Jesus gives unto us is a “plumbing connection”. It isn’t foolproof, in the sense that we’ll never stumble after having received it. It isn’t even reliable in the sense that we have authority over it. The flow is ours to seek, but not ours to command, its availability like a witness in our belly that reminds us He is near. We walk “from faith to faith” and, in that space between, the righteousness of God is revealed. Mostly by our learning ours doesn’t come close to His. From “glory to glory”, times when His presence so overflows you that you find yourself somehow “transformed” into His image. Then once more that interim where there’s little doubt your feet still trod the earth. Like the wind, His love blows through us, confirming His Word, giving evidence that He, alone, is hope…………..

In April of ’64, I returned stateside from a two-year tour in the Mediterranean, purchased a 1962 black “spider” Corvair Monza, and married the girl next door. Almost immediately, after leaving the altar, we climbed into that car, pointed it toward California, and started driving west along old Route 66. We had been but neighbors during school, corresponded regularly while I was overseas, and so, in reality, it was more like taking off on a blind date than departing on what would turn out to be a lifetime together. She knew me; but she didn’t “know” me. A few days later, however, high in the Rocky Mountains with an icy, cold wind blowing a blanket of snow at us at about 6:30 in the morning, she was introduced to the real me. One of the tires had just blown and, pulling to the side of the road, I began to curse my luck. Anger, indeed, possessed me as I popped the trunk, threw the spare and all the tools to the ground, jacked up the front end, and made the exchange. It wasn’t till I went to get back inside that I learned what all that ranting and raving had earned me. There was nothing wrong with the front tire. It was the rear one that needed a transplant…………

The distance between the head and the heart is only about eighteen inches, but I’m not so sure what one finds on either end of that spectrum has a whole lot to do with the “me” that emerges every now and then. While the brain may, indeed, be “computer central”, it’s the fellow sitting at the keyboard that is responsible for what he does with the information provided. That muscle which pumps blood throughout my body has absolutely nothing to do with my emotional frame of mind. Rather, I find the Bible correct when it speaks of me possessing both a spirit and a soul; and, while I disagree with most theologians’ assessment of which is which, it yet remains I believe that these two elements do represent the source of who we are as individuals. Still, in letting our mental process to be fueled by our emotions, it stands to reason we can be driven by wrath as well as compassion; and if we simply dismiss all feeling to walk by what we perceive, the result is just as prone to error. Granted: some of us consider ourselves to be better than the other guy in bringing it to pass. Granted: some of us may BE better at it. Nobody’s perfect, though; and me? I need all the help I can get……………

Last Sunday morning at the Detention Center, a young man desperately cried for prayer. Showing me the scars on his wrists, he declared both his desire to get hold of God and his seeming inability to make it happen. My short “sermon” unto them has concerned itself with the idea that the message of Christ was not so much about heaven or hell as it was about the “now”. Calvary was accomplished for the purpose of re-connecting us with our Creator, establishing a “beachhead”, if you will, where the Holy Ghost could set up headquarters and go with us through whatever life throws at us. Now this young man wanted that. Tears streamed down his face as he looked at me pleading to know the reality of what I had spoken. Conversation appeared to be un-necessary, so we just began to pray. I didn’t “feel” a break-through. I don’t “know” if we had success. There is yet an urgency within me to petition his cause. What I trust in is God’s Word that promises to receive whomsoever will. I may not always do it right, but He is an anchor-line in my belly, leading me as I go. He will not abandon His sheep, be it me in my failures or this boy in his plea to be saved from himself……………

This past Wednesday evening’s service was given unto a discussion on the subject of mortality. We were shown a ten-minute clip of Rob Bell speaking on his experience of losing a close friend. Pastor then led us, as a group, in discussing encounters we, ourselves, have had with death taking our loved ones. It was time well spent, but I was a bit shocked at so little said about Christ’s presence making a difference. My father survived WWII only to die unexpectedly at the age of forty. A wrench dropped from the rafters by a co-worker struck him in the head and it hemorrhaged on his morning drive but a few days later. I was eighteen at the time and the memory of hearing my grandmother’s wailing at the hospital is still fresh, even as the un-escapable realization of there being nothing one could do to change the situation feeling like a knife in my belly. I hurt, deep down inside; and the only thing that I possessed in that area to assist me in my pain was me, myself, and I…………

The exact location of that point expressed is beyond my ability to grasp. I only know it was nearly twelve years later before the knowledge of its existence once again surfaced to be openly displayed in my life. It had long been used as nothing more than a storage closet, a “silent, dusty tomb” as I would describe it hence in song. All my secrets, sorrows, and fears, all my pain and inferiorities, were buried there every bit as much as the room, itself. After awhile, you’ve denied its reality enough that all you recognize on a daily basis is the ache in your heart, the dissatisfaction of just getting up to face another day, and the feeling of walking around under a heavy load. On March 27th, 1972, however, in the middle of my living room, when I sunk to my knees at about one-thirty in the afternoon and emptied the whole kit and caboodle into His hands, the rear wall of that inner crypt came down and that which was lost in the Garden was restored unto me.………….

As believers, we put a lot of definitions to Biblical terminology. I’m not out to convince anyone of my own particular viewpoint. Nonetheless, I can tell it no other way than how I see it. Grace, to me, isn’t just a benefit bestowed upon me; it is a Reality Who meets me at that point of connection. Once encountered, it’s been known to overflow the vessel, bringing with it all that the Reality is. Created in His image isn’t a matter of me looking like God or vice-versa. It is an on-going action that takes place when I decrease that He might increase. No permanent transformation, of course; but, as one friend put it, the more we pray “into that truth, the more He will be revealed in our lives and churches”. To Him, not me, be the glory. Being used as a point of contact, a witness unto others, is to find purpose; swimming in His presence out of nothing more than His love unto us is mind-boggling; but sensing that anchor in your belly as you walk day by day through a world gone mad is beyond words…………

School is getting down to the “nitty gritty”. Thirteen days left for us and the knowledge of sweet release holds the entire population in an anxious grip. Teachers, as well as students, are smelling summer break. Yesterday, for the first time in nearly two weeks, we actually had a few regular classes where we attempted learning something new. Mostly, lately, it has been one educational field trip after another and a juggled schedule that’s had us inventing games using information already conquered. I loved the written declaration of a little Third Grade girl asked to describe her future. Besides her marital status, number of kids, and occupation, she was asked to inform the reader what she thought her greatest success. Her answer? Long division. Then, too, in the process of creating an ABC book for the kindergartners, my three Fifth Graders were stumped on what should come after “N is for nut”. Not for long, however. The one little girl’s eyes suddenly smiled as inspiration hit her. “I got it!” she announced; “O is for OOOOprah!”………..

Solving the equations in our life is a part of life that comes naturally. Some things are forced upon us, of course, but much just comes with the journey. Inquisitiveness, for the most part, is built into us. Some of us are more curious than others. Then there are those who estimate their value, not merely by what THEY know, but also by how much MORE they know than the other guy. If you’re talking mechanics or nuclear physics, it’s understandable, of course, that education indeed does often increase your earning potential. Theology, though, in so far as your theoretical analysis of the Creator, doesn’t work that way. They stoned the prophets. They crucified Christ. And if nobody seems interested in your revelation, it’s only evidence that nothing’s changed. The trick is in not getting your feelings hurt, living by what God has spoken to you, and remembering that He, alone, is in charge of the program. He illuminates. He eradicates. He puts things in order by His wisdom, not ours. Our responsibility is but to walk in that flow………….

In reality, all of us yet “see through a glass darkly” and truth, in any area, is but a glimpse we catch of Him as we go. If we can just learn that lesson, then our “greatest success” could very well one day translate to some simple operation in mathematics conquered along the way. All of God into me equals too much for me to comprehend at any one sitting. Any answers found always seem to be like those on a calculator where the digit begins to infinitely repeat itself. I may be as close as I can get to being “correct” (if I didn’t actually hit the wrong key and mis-punch the problem in the first place), but perfection is eternally out in front of me. And rather than argue with you over whose alphabetical brainstorm makes more sense, rather than allow my feelings to get hurt because you don’t approve of my linguistics, I much prefer to follow His voice within the veil for whatever piece of the puzzle he offers next. Even if that means discovering my last enlightenment came through a little fuzzy…………..

My wife collects the newer quarters and also saves all our spare change in a glass jug. Over the weekend, therefore, I reached into my pocket and extracted those coins accumulated during the last few days. Rotating a twenty-five cent piece in the palm of my hand, I asked her if Nevada was of any interest to her. She replied in the negative, so I then further inquired as to which of the states was next in line to be minted. “Mexico”, she said with no hesitation; “but illegally, of course”. Others may or may not enjoy her sense of humor. I laughed. This country has become inundated with falsified green cards and, while I can appreciate a man’s desire to give himself and his family a better life, at the same time I find myself living in a day when terrorism is not a Middle East singularity. If we are going to open our border to all comers, it seems to me that we at least need a better system capable of identifying just who IS under that sombrero……..

The Fifth Grade students here at River Ridge Elementary have studied much this year about the Underground Railroad and what it was like to be a slave before the Civil War. Last Wednesday we visited the Freedom Center in Cincinnati, knowing that, in following the “Drinking Gourd”, those who had fled the South eventually found themselves crossing the Ohio River at this very juncture. We were shown a short film clip illustrating how such experience was accomplished and noting two local residents who risked their own lives to ensure success. The opposite side of that story, though, was represented by an authentic, restored “slave pen” reassembled within the foyer. Originally utilized just a few miles from here, it once served as a storage cell for one prominent business man’s “merchandise”. Black humanity was but a profitable commodity to him and he could hold 150 units in that 20x20 ft. log frame to sell later downriver……...

In sharing with another teacher an exhibit noting two of the men who signed our Declaration of Independence had indeed gained part of their wealth by this sort of enterprise, I was told many of our forefathers, because it was a legal activity, didn’t believe it wrong to make a few bucks in such manner. When you consider, though, that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, in that tiny enclosure other than a dirt floor, barred windows, and a loft toward the rear, surely you’ve got to ask yourself how anyone’s conscience could so permit people to be treated as animals. If a sense of morality doesn’t trump legality, then Darwin was right. We are but educated apes. Still, any society that dismisses the very rules by which it is governed is doomed to destruction from within. When a nation defines freedom as a blank invitation for whomsoever to violate its regulations concerning that very privilege, I suspect that, behind it all somewhere, is the love of money, not any great concern for our fellow man……….

All the Fifth graders were loaded on appropriate buses today and taken for a two-hour visit to the local Middle-school they will be attending next year. From “cubby-holes” to lockers. From big-shots to low-on-the-totem-pole. It’s a scary move and this day helps to reduce some tension, provide excitement, and enable all interested to enroll in various activities that begin over the summer. My own interest was to scan those groups assembled in the gymnasium to greet us. I was looking for familiar faces; and, sure enough, standing at the rear of the band and shaking a tambourine next to the drums stood Rosie. If her timing was a bit off, no one seemed to notice. She turned at one point, saw me, waved, and her smile said it all. She was part of something special and doing well. Sixth was about to be conquered. That same glow of achievement was evident in Sarah’s eyes as she participated in the Glee Club’s offering of several Disney tunes. They were proud and they wanted you to be proud of them. As she descended from the stage to make way for the people in the drama skit, Sarah cried out to her former homeroom teacher, “I love you, Ms. Holt!”……………….

Thursday evening a buddy and I visited a former classmate. We graduated together in ’59 and then went our own ways for over two decades. Bill had been one of our basketball stars, would battle alcoholism for many years, and then pop in and out of my life a few times here and there involved in street ministry. When I changed churches awhile back, his name was in the church bulletin, but until he recently retired, we never did connect. Stan had been president of that bit of Senior hopefuls, involved in many extra-curricular programs, and a Baptist almost from birth. His wife also fits most of that description and now she was there at his bedside, the room filled with children and grandchildren. The diagnosis: terminal cancer. We talked awhile of old times. High-school pranks. Good memories. Shared with each other some events that time in-between had brought. You could see the pain that the thought of separation soon to come induced as we spoke of that issue; but the strength of their faith, forged in their journey together, was also just as evident. The final act. Exodus. A step into eternity. And yet, somehow, the scene not all that different from the one above………………….

I read a couple of quotes this morning that bore witness with where my thoughts are. The first, from Vladimir Nabokov: “Neither in environment nor in heredity can I find the exact instrument that fashioned me, the anonymous roller that pressed upon my life a certain intricate watermark whose unique design becomes visible when the lamp of art is made to shine through life’s foolscap”. The second, Thomas Merton: “Life is this simple: we are living in a world that is absolutely transparent and the Divine is shining through it all the time”. Both, it seems to me, are ”right on”. While so much that happened in my childhood may have indeed shaped who I am more than six decades down the road, are the events, themselves, responsible or the mettle of the individual who walked through them? I don’t know. A friend of mine, though, who is quite fascinated with shadows and reflections in photography, asks how often we snap photos and do not realize “what lurks unseen in the viewfinder”. So this I do know. In the end, as well as all along the way, what counts is: the connection…………………

This week’s Wednesday evening service was set aside to allow interaction with those who recently returned from a missionary excursion to Ecuador. When the change in schedule was announced Sunday morning, my original intentions were not to attend. So much of what I’ve encountered in this area of outreach has been beyond my ability to comprehend. Just recently, one fellow dropped by to visit our assembly who, feeling a “call” to such agenda, has attached himself to a college campus in Belgium in an attempt to convert all the atheists who attend the institution. Needing funds to support his efforts, he was back stateside seeking donations. Me? I passed on that one. Hearing the group testify to their experience in the Galapagos, however, did give me a bit of insight as to why our group might have spent so much money to minister off the coast of South America…………..

The fellow who leads these expeditions is a good friend of mine. A Navy Seabee in his younger days, he’s had experience in construction. When he tried to recruit me some months back, I turned him down voicing my questions about the wisdom of such adventure. Pictures shown to the congregation upon their return had done nothing to altar my opinion. As he stood before us now, though, witnessing of building not only a “church”, but also a relationship with the people, what did make sense to me was the love that poured from his heart. Others spoke in tears of having those who possessed so little being so full of Christ that the exchange between them could not be forgotten. As I sat there on the pew soaking it all up, I realized that, indeed, the bond created was as much of what it was all about as anything else. It’s just that, for me, it takes place in a small rescue mission about twenty minutes from my home………….

Several sites have linked lately to an old post the preacher put forth concerning a conversation with one of his daughters. It’s one of his older works. I’m not sure why it’s suddenly re-surfaced, other than the fact that, as usual, it’s good, down-to-earth humanity that relates to us all. What he expresses is that which bonds me and, by now, at least a few thousand others to his writing. The man is a pastor, while never forgetting he is her father, while always concretely sure which role holds the greater responsibility. No longer the “little girl”, she sits with him in Starbucks talking of where she presently is in her faith. She’s struggling and looking for feelings to confirm what she wants to believe. He’s learned not to trust in that aspect of the journey. So he listens. He listens with his heart. “When someone is giving you their theology, their God words”, he says, “you should listen hard and be very gentle. The time to deliver your God words is when you are asked.” I like that………….

In my last offering, I discussed, in part, the subject of bringing forth sermons. My reasoning on the matter is probably not taught at any seminary. Any observations so extended are born out of more than three decades of sitting on a pew, plus some involvement in ministry, myself. There are no degrees behind my name, no ordination anywhere along the way. I’ve stood behind the pulpit on occasion, but didn’t find the privilege to be where God would have me. Put this old man one-on-one or in a room full of others who can introduce dialogue to the proceedings. We do a monthly service with both the local rescue mission and a Youth Detention Center. When I taught adult Sunday School, there were three guidelines that took me through over two decades of that particular ministry: (1) Keep the class out of emotional argument; (2) Keep the lesson on track, but follow the Holy Ghost; and (3) Stir up the members’ minds enough to get into the Word for themselves……………..

So it seems to me. The Gospel was never meant to be a coercive force to clone converts, nor a hallelujah chorus for the saved and the sanctified. The “good news” is a resurrected Savior, not my individual slant on the Book. As I just told a friend, I’m of the opinion that where we really miss it is in not allowing new believers some “space” to grow. By that, I mean we demand they think as we think. We present our doctrinal “totem” rather than a risen Christ as the “truth” we follow. I have nothing against programs intended to make disciples. If all we focus on, though, is our version of Scripture instead of His voice, alive unto us, we’ve missed the boat. Indeed, if we think the Bible to have replaced that which Calvary purchased, we’re guilty of teaching our own counsel, not His. No where in this do we “arrive”. Not I. Not you. Not the Church. Not in this life anyway. He meets each of us where we are, and then leads us if we’ll but follow. He, alone, remains the tie that binds…………….

Sunday, for me, began with a bit of humor. I’m usually up at the crack of dawn, while the wife prefers to play games with the alarm clock. Awaiting sounds, then, that would indicate her having surrendered to the idea of leaving the bed, I came across a link to a “King of the Hill” video clip on my computer. Television fodder is not my cup of tea. I didn’t recognize any of the characters; but the plot, itself, was familiar to me. Having left my own assembly awhile back, this bit of comedy about a fellow choosing a new church tickled my funny bone. They had no doubt exaggerated the overly zealous Pentecostal preacher a bit, but I have sat under a few who came close. Indeed, that part may have offended me at one time: people mocking what I held to be sincere worship. We all do it, though, and I realize it is only human to ridicule what we don’t understand. On the other side of the coin, if you just step back and look at yourself through the other guy’s eyes, it really isn’t all that hard, sometimes, to laugh…………..

I didn’t detect any signs of humor, however, at either of the sites to which my original encounter led me. A Charles Colson post in “Christianity Today” concerning his four-minute program having been dropped in order to supply a younger generation the music it demanded brought a reply from one of those who evidently enjoyed the change in scheduling. Chuck had questioned the younger generation’s ability to “read a book or absorb a good sermon”, at one point even taking a shot at “some” advocates of the Emerging Church. It was the latter, I suspect, that evoked response from my other read. This gentleman referred to my age group as the “old guard” and declared that, as a whole, we believe “If you preach it, they will change”. An erroneous assumption, he says, seeing as how individuals “rarely change much beyond their initial conversion”, sermons not having all that much affect on their development in Christ. Solid teaching, he suggested, was but a small part of one’s spiritual formation……………..

In my own experience, I long ago determined that what comes forth from the sanctuary pulpit is mostly “amen” material. While, as one man told me, it may have “fed me at the moment”, what I must also hold true is: that which it nourished was my ego. Granted I have been enlightened here and there along the way, catching another man’s interpretation of chapter and verse. I’ve nothing against a well-grounded Bible expository. Real growth, though, begins by digging into the Word yourself, taking any questions you have into a prayer closet, and then wading through tomorrow anchored in His grace. In that sense, perhaps we’ve exalted the method to much more than it was ever intended to be. Strip the message of the Holy Ghost, add a dose of humanity, and what you get is merely personal opinion. Easy enough to pound it home when most of the congregation is in agreement with you. Harder to sit down with others in the Spirit of what you claim to possess and discuss why your view may not be the only one out there……………..