Original Ramblings

Albert Pujols- Man of Faith

2011-03-08T15:00:00.001-08:00

I have to confess to a personal bias as I review this book. I’m a Chicago Cubs fan, and should pan any book about a player for our arch rival, the St. Louis Cardinals. However, I laid my baseball (and his recent contract negotiations) aside and read the book Pujols. Somewhere in all the stats is a story but I had a hard time finding it. That Pujols is statistically one of the greatest hitters in baseball is indisputable, and the book follows the year-by-year progression of a player who hit over .300, drove in over 100 runs, and hit over 30 home runs in his first 10 seasons. Lamb and Ellsworth take us deeper; into the faith that motivates Pujols. The narrative is strong in baseball history but really skims the surface of Pujols’ life, marriage, and family. The authors assert Pujols faith and its evidence in his life and in baseball. ”Speaking to Posnanaski, Pujols laid it all out on the table for us to see: ‘You know how I want people to remember me? I don’t want to be remembered as the best baseball player ever. I want to be remembered as a great guy who loved the Lord, loved to serve the community and who gave back. That’s the guy I want to be remembered as when I’m done wearing the uniform. That’s from the bottom of my heart.” It’s difficult to argue with the expressions of Albert’s faith, but the narrative of his life is sorely lacking in details. Pujols’ daughter was born with Down’s syndrome. How did he and his wife feel when they learned the news? What did Albert feel when he held his daughter in his arms, as he watched her grow up? The book's most telling stat may be that 92% of those who find out they are having a child with Down’s syndrome abort the baby. The book does well in letting the reader know what a great player and strong Christian Albert is yet manages to do so without letting us really know Albert Pujols, the man. Maybe if I knew more of that man I could put my baseball bias aside and truly believe in him, and maybe others would be able to read this book and believe in Him. While the book holds up statistically I did not find it particularly inspiring and would be hesitant to recommend it to others as a testimony. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.

Sabbath by Dan B. Allender

2011-01-23T04:54:00.000-08:00

Sabbath is one of the books in the Ancient Practices Series and focuses on God’s command to “remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy”. Allender look at the way we view Sabbath today, seeing this day as a day we have to go to church and (if you were raised in the same tradition as me) required nap time. Yet Allender points out that the Sabbath is so much more, a day we set apart from all the other days to rejoice and spend time with God. “Many who take the Sabbath seriously and intentionally ruin it with legislation and worrisome fences that protect the Sabbath but destroy its delight”. Sabbath is more than a day off work, more than a set of do’s and don’ts, more than tradition. Sabbath should be a time we delight in God and in the world God has given us. This delight leads us into worship, not just at a worship service, but in all that we see and do on our Sabbath. Sabbath is a day we spend in the presence of those we love, listening to them, sharing with them, serving them. Sabbath should be a day of joy, yet what differentiates the day for believers is whether “we will invite God to join us in Sabbath joy, to dine with us and celebrate”? Many people see Sunday as the Sabbath, church as our answer to the call for worship, and the Sunday afternoon nap as answering God’s call to rest. Allender helps us realize that our Sunday’s can become Sabbath days, set apart for our good and God’s glory. I confess that in my life this is a great challenge, and as I look at some of the ways the author spends his Sabbath I wonder if those things would ever be possible in my busy world. Yet I also know that the description of Sabbath given by Allender is an echo of the true Sabbath, when we will stand in the presence of Christ and truly celebrate. I would recommend this book to others. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.

The Least Among You

2010-12-04T09:41:00.000-08:00

The film The Least Among You is inspired by a true story, a dramatic presentation of an age-old theme, racism. As part of an unusual probationary requirement, Richard Kelly is sent to an all-white seminary. If he completes two semesters his charge is dropped and he is a free man. Kelly is the only person of color in the seminary and is met with obvious disdain by his fellow students. However, over time he befriends them, overcoming some of their personal racist barriers. An underlying story is the pull of Kelly’s old life, particularly of his friends and family. This story is interesting but frankly just couldn’t hold my attention throughout. The pace is slow, the cinematic use of back flashes confusing, and the characters too shallow. That’s probably the part which I struggled with the most; I didn’t really care what happened to the characters, even Kelly himself. This film captures some tough themes and doesn’t shy away from some of the violence in Kelly’s background. Yet other films have handled this theme so much better that I would find it hard to recommend this one. I received this DVD free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.

Pursued by Grace

2010-09-07T20:09:00.000-07:00

Captured by Grace by Dr. David Jeremiah.
I found this book to be biblically accurate and powerful. Dr. Jeremiah is best when he explains “grace is an act.” More than goodness or righteousness, grace is God turning His face towards us just because He loves us. “God pursues us, relentlessly.” Tracing the parallels in the lives of both John Newton and the Apostle Paul, Jeremiah shows us the depths of that grace in their lives and in ours. The message of the book is somewhat obscured by the amount of visuals the author uses. It reminds me of a preacher who uses too many illustrations and by the time he’s done you have to go back to remember the main point of the message. Jeremiah uses the outline of the song Amazing Grace as well as outlining the book with a timeline (grace past, grace present, grace future). Throw in his use of multiple illustrations and it’s easy to lose the main point. In spite of this the book does manage to bring that point across, that God pursues us, not because we are so pursue-able, but simply because He loves us so much. Grace is that unmerited, undeserved love and favor of God, His acting in our lives every minute of every day. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.

Resurrection in May

2010-08-01T14:10:00.000-07:00

May Seymour was searching for something meaningful and not finding it. Literally picked up from the road by an elderly black farmer after a night of drinking, their friendship becomes the beginning of the end of that search. An invite from the local priest sends May to Rwanda where her she grows spiritually, But her time there ends in horrific, life-changing tragedy and she returns to her old friend’s farm, scarred both outside and in. Is there hope for May Seymour? Tumbling into a reclusive life, burying memories deep, relying on only a few people and friendly farm animals to survive, May claws her way back to God only to find that He was right there waiting all the time. Samson writes a story with a slow southern pace, with some quick plot turns that appear so suddenly you wonder if they truly happened. She reminds us that faith, hope, and love are best lived out in relationship, even if those relationships are not particularly normal. The characters in Resurrection in May are well-developed, particularly May, yet at times the situations seem a little far-fetched for someone living in a small southern town. Like any good slow story the pace quickens at the end, and the reader is pulled along to a satisfying conclusion. I enjoyed this book, but the slow pace of the story did cause it to drag at times. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.

Love On A Dime by Cara Lynn James

2010-06-23T13:25:00.000-07:00

If you’re looking for swelling bosoms and ripping bodices, then this is not the book for you. But if you’re looking for a good period-piece romance with characters challenging themselves to submit all areas of their lives to God’s leading, even their romantic feelings, you can’t go wrong with this book. Fannie Cole is the author of “dime novels”, loved by the common person but often shunned as inferior literature by the more elite class. Yet Lilly, the real writer behind the Fannie Cole stories and a member of that elite class, works hard to pen stories with strong Christian morals. True to her Christian nature she donates all of the proceeds to a charity she supports. When her old beau Jack reappears after a long absence her romantic feelings are rekindled; but what about her fiancé’? The author creates interesting characters who waltz slowly through the story, and an underscore of various subplots keeps the reader spinning until the last dance. The final chapters pick up momentum and lead to a satisfying ending along with a few surprises. Christian romances aren’t my normal genre but I found the writing to be smooth and solid. I would recommend more books from this author if you are interested in Christian romance novels. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.

I Am Hutterite by Mary-Ann Kirby

2010-05-18T17:56:00.000-07:00

I Am Hutterite is a fascinating, funny, poignant look at life in a Hutterite community. Mary Ann Kirby’s memoir helps us understand what it is like to live in a cloistered community, a community where men and women know their place and all work toward the common good. But even in this secluded life politics and pride creep in causing her family to "weglaufen" (run away) and head out into a world that is as ill-prepared to receive them as they are to fit in. Kirby does a good job helping us see this challenge through the eyes of a young girl struggling to adjust to this strange life she now finds herself living. The faith that has been deeply ingrained in her heart and life helps her through the transition from her Hutterite life to becoming English. “And every year, by the grace of God, we inched forward.” The beginning of the book is a little slow, recounting the life of her ancestors and providing background into the Hutterite world. Once Ann-Marie is born the story picks up momentum. The book, much like the Hutterite community, is filled with humor, sometimes self-deprecating and often hilarious. Kirby does a good job helping us feel the tension between the Hutterite community and the world at large. I Am Hutterite is a coming-of-age book in two worlds, the secluded world of the Hutterites and the wider world where being different can be a challenge. The story also reminds us that sin affects even the most set-apart societies and that the devil does his most powerful work by hurting relationships. I would recommend this book. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255

Wonders Never Cease by Tim Downs

2010-04-29T09:03:00.001-07:00

Does Leah truly see angels or are they figments of a damaged mind or an over-active imagination? Do angels even exist, and if they don’t, why are people so excited to read about them? Liv Hadyen’s best-selling novel It’s All About You is a run-away success, but the story behind the novel is one of greed and stupidity in a tale of both selfishness and hope. Tim Downs’ carefully-crafted characters are easy to both like and dislike. From the mysterious Emmett to the irascible Kemp, Downs creates people who come alive as you read. While the twists in this book weren’t all that surprising they were no less satisfying. And the premise of Liv Hayden’s successful novel leads to the comparison of a self-centered life (it’s all about you) to the one Rick Warren shows us in The Purpose Driven Life (it’s not about you). This is the first Downs novel I have read and I found myself checking out the other titles at the end of my edition. I would recommend this novel to anyone. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255

Eating the Word

2010-04-19T09:10:00.000-07:00

How do you read your Bible when you are doing devotions? Recently I read the letters of Paul in chronological order. I’ve noticed, though, that I have a pre-determined way to read them; by chapter. Big chapter or small, I read a chapter at a time and stop.

We often view our Bible that way, by chapter and verse. We’ve been brought up to follow the breaks in the passages, breaks inserted by those who edited the Bible. We even preach that way, taking small passages rather than entire chapters or books. Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase The Message broke through some of those barriers, yet for many it’s difficult to get past the structure of the Bible. Unfortunately, that structure can sometimes get in the way of the Spirit's speaking.

I had an interesting conversation with an employee at my work last week. He had been looking a little tired, so I asked him if he was OK. He told me he had not been getting enough sleep lately, so I asked him why. He said, “it’s an interesting story if you have a minute.” I hate to pass up good stories, so I took a few minutes to listen.

“I was born and raised as a Catholic in the Dominican Republic. As children we were never allowed to have a Bible in the house. Only priests could have the Bible. The only time we heard the Bible read was at Mass.

One summer I attended a Vacation Bible school offered by a Protestant organization and as part of that program they gave me a New Testament. I began to read it and couldn’t put it down. I had to hide it from my parents; we weren’t supposed to have Bibles in the house. I would wait until I went to bed, then pull the covers up and read the Bible underneath them. I knew if my parents found the Bible I would get punished and have it taken away from me.

I couldn’t stop reading. I didn’t worry about chapters and verses, I was reading whole stories. I would start reading and sometimes would read through the whole night. By the time I was in eighth grade I knew the entire New Testament, having read through it several times.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t getting enough sleep and it was beginning to show at school. The teacher called my parents and they determined that there must be something mentally wrong with me, so they sent me to a psychologist. I knew then I would have to admit what was going on; I told the doctor about my Bible-reading. Of course, he made me tell my parents.

From that time on I have had a voracious hunger to read God’s word. I don’t just read a few verses or chapters; I sit down and read whole books at a time. I don’t’ think people realize what a blessing it is to have the freedom to read your Bible anywhere, anytime.”

Our conversation made me wonder; how big is my appetite for the Word? If I’m honest with myself I have to admit, I fill myself up on other things and don’t leave room for the Word. I fool myself by thinking “it’s a Christian book with Bible quotes, that’s the same as reading the Bible, right?” Reading Christian books can expand our spiritual horizons and challenge us in our daily life, but it can’t take the place of reading the Bible.

I pray that God will give me the appetite for His Word that my co-worker has, and that I may read it with the same passion, understanding that in it I find the very words of God.

Lady in Red

2010-04-16T09:04:00.000-07:00

She kneeled on the stairs in the front of the sanctuary, her low-cut tight-fitting red dress clinging to her dark black body like a scarlet letter. Her bright dress and dark skin stood in glaring contrast to the subdued hues of the sanctuary and mostly-white tones of the congregation. She kneeled with eyes squeezed shut, hands upraised, ready to receive the benediction as if it was forgiveness.

No one left their seat but there was little doubt that most eyes were watching her; she was hard to miss. We stayed seated, confined to our pews, wondering who she was and why she was kneeling up front, questioning how she came to be in our church that Sunday morning. Imagining without knowing the kind of life she must lead and filling in the blanks with all kinds of sordid details.

The Spirit nudged me, spoke to me, prodded and pushed me. Go kneel with her. Kneel beside her so she is not alone. Kneel beside her so she knows the church is really people, not the preacher or the building but people who live in God’s forgiveness. Kneel beside her because you’re no better than she is, need to surrender your life as much as she does, need the same measure of forgiveness.

The Preacher began the benediction.

“May the Lord bless you and keep you and cause His face to shine upon you…”

Everything in my heart and soul said go up there, do it. But my head said no. If you go up there every one will stare at you. You’re not supposed to leave your pew. Just wait it out, the benediction will be over and we’ll sing the closing song, “bless the Lord oh my soul and all that is within me bless His holy name.” All that is within me was struggling, longing to have the courage to kneel with this woman and make her feel welcome in His presence.

I felt no peace and never left my seat. “…and give you His peace. Amen.”

We sang the doxology and I walked out of church.

I wonder what happened to that woman.

2010-04-15T18:15:00.000-07:00

Christmas Contrast

2009-12-28T11:37:00.000-08:00

Karl reached for his fourth sugar packet, a furtive stretch while Kerry was giving their order to the waitress. Having snatched a packet and he slowly moved his hand under the table. Out of her watchful sight he tore the top off the packet, waiting for an opportune time to add it to his cup. They were eating at Russ’s. Again. While his wife chatted amiably with the young waitress he chanced it and quickly poured the sugar into his coffee. As if the added sugar could sweeten his sour mood.

When she had ordered their dinner Kerry turned back to her husband. She noticed the empty sugar packet tucked under his plate but said nothing. She might mention it when he complained about gaining weight over the holidays. But it was Christmas, and he was her husband, and she loved him.

“Karl, I don’t know why you are so upset about this. People have a right to believe or not believe whatever they want.”

“He just ticks me off, that’s all I’m saying.” Karl stirred his coffee as he spoke, a frost of vanilla creamer swirling in the cup. “Every year he sits out on the Christmas party. Every year he refuses to be part of the gift giving. Every year he gives his little speech on how not everyone believes in Christmas, how we have to be respectful of other people’s points of view.”

Kerri could see he was getting cranky, but she spoke anyways.

“Well, people do have the right to believe what they want, and we should be respectful of their beliefs. He seems to be OK with you believing.

“Oh, I’m respectful,” Karl replied. “If he wants to be an idiot and not believe in Christmas, I can respect that.”

Karl could feel the anger rising in him. He stirred his coffee harder, sloshing it over the side and onto the table. His blood pressure must be up again. Try as he might he just could not understand it; Silas was a normal guy, how could he not believe in Christmas? If he was Jewish or Muslim or something maybe it would make sense, but he said he just wasn’t religious.

Christmas carols played on the overhead speakers. The waitresses wore Santa hats and had Christmas pins on their blouses. Christmas lights were strung throughout the restaurant and a beautifully decorated tree stood in the foyer. The mood of the others in the restaurant reflected a general feeling of good will among men.

Night came early and Silas settled back in his easy chair. He hit the menu button and scrolled past all the Christmas specials and programs. He finally came across a Discovery Channel special on the origin of the universe. He was always fascinated with these types of programs. A bowl of soup and a chicken salad sandwich balanced precariously on a tray on his lap as he settled in to watch. He had picked up a couple of packs of those Christmas Jingles cookies. They were 50% off at the Market around the corner. He planned to have a couple for dessert later that night. That would be the closest he would come to celebrating Christmas.

Karl checked the bill to make sure the amounts were right. Not bad, $16.50 for the two of them.

“Kerri, what’s 15% of $16.50?”

She smiled at him. She knew he was horrible at math, and notoriously cheap.
“Five dollars.”

Karl flinched momentarily, his wallet open. “Seems like a lot. You sure?”
“Yes, Karl, I am sure.”

Karl reluctantly left a $5.00 bill on the table and left to pay the bill. Kerri caught up with him by the register. When he turned to put the change into his pocket she stopped him and pointed to the small canister on the counter. He dropped the coins in the canister and pocketed the bills. Without hesitation she reached into his pocket, pulled out the remaining $3.00 and slipped the bills into the canister.

Silas watched the special, noting the beauty of the pictures and the strength of the theory. He was amazed at minds that could make sense of the complexity, could help understand how such order came about after such a massive explosion like the Big Bang. Having finished dinner he made some tea, then listened to NPR while he nibbled on his Jingle cookies. One good thing about Christmas; he got good cookies. Snow fell softly outside his window. Colorful lights from the neighbor’s house illuminated the banks of snow in his back yard. The quiet and beauty of the night calmed him.

They drove home, their favorite Christmas CD in the player. Kerri snuggled up close, her hand in Karl’s. She quietly hummed along with the music. Snow was falling in soft, wispy flakes. Colorful stockings outlined in white lights hung from each telephone pole along the road. The quiet and beauty of the night calmed even Karl’s sour mood. Don’t believe in Christmas; too bad for Silas. He didn’t know what he was missing. Tomorrow morning they would go to church and listen to the Christmas story. That afternoon the kids and grandkids would stop by. He loved to watch the grandkids eyes as they opened their presents. Karl was notoriously cheap (frugal, he liked to say) but not when it came to the grandkids. Their wish was his command.

Silas read a chapter in his book before getting ready for bed. After a shower and a good tooth-brushing he headed off to bed. Visions of exploding stars and swirling galaxies filled his head as he drifted off to sleep.

Tomorrow was Saturday.

Arriving home Karl and Kerri watched a little TV. Its A Wonderful Life was on again and they sat on the couch together to watch. When the movie was over the switched off the TV and headed to bed. Kerri put on the nightgown she had bought for herself, elegant and soft, and surprised Karl with a kiss in the hall as he headed to the bedrooms. Karl had visions in his head, and they were of more than sugarplums as he followed her into the bedroom. He left the Christmas tree lit so it would greet them the following morning.

Tomorrow was Christmas day.

UnChurch

2009-03-04T16:53:00.000-08:00

I just finished the book UnChristian, following Pagan Christianity a few months ago, and I wonder, can church as I know it ever reach the Busters and Mosaics?

What would that church have to look like? What would be core values?

To battle the perception of the church as antihomosexual a core value would have to be not accepting or rejecting a person due to their sexual orientation. The church would have to be a community that opens it's arms to everyone, understanding that we are all in different places in our faith journey, and providing opportunities for everyone to use their gifts in loving obedience to God.

To battle the perception that the church is judgemental a core value would have to be the ability to accept everyone, working to develop vibrant personal relationships between all of its' members. It's ministries would have to be intentionally multi-generational, fostering relationships between all ages, races, and genders.

To battle the perception that the church is hypocritical a core value would have to be honesty and integrity, modeled in leadership, reinforced in teaching, and expected of everyone. Members would have to be willing to hold themselves accountable to each other.

It would have to be unlike any church I've been to, willing to lay down what it has always seen as "church" in the interest of reaching those for whom Church is a dirty word.

I wonder what it would look like. Would there be sermons, homilies, teaching times, shared teaching? Would there be sacraments, and if so, which and how? Singing? Band? Internet, videos, powerpoint? Where would it meet, a home, a public building, a coffee shop, a sanctuary?

The challenge is huge and somwhate frightening and exciting and stimulating, the goal to create an UnChurch to battle the UnChristian label. And yet if what Kinnaman and Lyons have learned is true, do we truly have a choice?

And Hope Will Never Disappoint

2009-01-01T15:57:00.000-08:00

I live in the great state of Michigan, a state where the economic emergency is having it's full affect. It's difficult to read the news every day, wondering if it will all collapse. Are we heading for another depression?

It's New Years Day and Israel and Gaza are lobbing bombs back and forth at each other. The TV shows tanks lined up, ready for an oncoming invasion. Neither side is backing down. Will there be no peace?

AIDS has gone from being a gay disease to an epidemic that is wiping out fathers and mothers from millions of children if Africa. With all of the advance in medicine can't we end this epidemic?

Our young people are leaving the church in droves, finding it irrelevant or unable to satisfy their desire for freedom. Truth is a relevant thing, not a given. Are our children really destined to repeat every mistake we've ever made?

It's enough to drive a man to despair. Yet it's the words of a guy named Paul that bring us light in this darkness. In a letter to the church in Rome he wrote "Suffering produces character, and character perseverance, and perseverance, hope. And hope does not disappoint."

May those be the words of your New Years resolution. Always hope, never be disappointed. Let that hope lead you into the new year in 2009.

Jesus for President, or, is the Bible Hard to Understand?

2008-09-20T08:52:00.001-07:00

I am reading Jesus for President by Shane Clairborne and Chris Haw. I can't say I am really enjoying it, but I am reading it. In my reading I stumbled across something that makes me wonder, how difficult is it to really understand the Bible?

The authors revisit a story told by Jesus, one that you probably heard if you've spent time reading the Gospels. Jesus is talking about our response to our enemies. Broken down, it looks like this:
If your enemy slaps you on the left cheek, turn your right to him to be slapped.
If your enemy takes your outer garments, give him your underwear, too.
If your enemy forces you to walk a mile with him, walk and extra mile.

Clairborne and Haw lean towards an insight from Walter Wink on this passage. Wink looks deeper into the Jewish background and history of the time this passage was written. His deeper insight looks like this:
If your enemy slaps you on the left cheek, turn your right cheek to him, also. In doing so he will have to look you straight in the eye if he is to slap you. You no longer assume a pose of a humiliated slave; you say to him "I am on the same level as you, are you really going to slap me?"
If your enemy takes your outer garments, give him your underwear, too. When the two of you stand before the magistrate to settle your debt, you will be naked. This will shame your enemy, that he would take what you have and leave you naked.
If your enemy, probably a Roman soldier, compels you to walk a mile with him, carrying his equipment, walk an extra mile. To be seen in the company of a Jew will bring insult to the Roman soldier, stepping beyond the law that allows him to command you to carry his gear.

There's little doubt that Wink's insights add depth to the passage. And I don't question them; he's done a lot more exegetical and historical research than I have ever done. But is it too much? Couldn't the passage stand as a powerful response to our enemies, just as it is? Clairborne and Haw take it further, pointing out that the enemy is most likely the Roman soldiers and citizens, and again, probably very likely it could. But the speech isn't directed toward the Roman government. It's not the speech of an insurrectionist or political motivator.

All of the responses in Wink's interpretation seem to turn the table, raising the oppressed, offering a passive form of resistance. This passive resistance then becomes a basis for a Christian philosophy of non-violent resistance. Again, probably so. But what type of passive resistance is it when a man let's himself be tried in a fixed trial and murdered by crucifixion? Martyrdom?

But I think it is more likely that Jesus is teaching a simple lesson to a simple people. You call your enemy out by offering him the most unlikely of responses:
If your enemy strikes you he expects you to strike back. Turning the other cheek makes him think about his actions and motivations, perhaps making him realize what he has done.
If your enemy takes your cloak he expects you to either wrestle it back or try to get it back through the justice system. Offering your underwear is bound to throw him for a loop.
If your enemy compels you to carry his stuff a mile, go two. Perhaps your extra help will open a conversation or relationship with him that will break down the walls that separate the two of you.

I'm not arguing that we shouldn't look deeply at these historical and cultural views in understanding the Bible, but we should be careful when the meaning seems fairly clear that we are not reading too much. I can't imagine all these things passed through Jesus mind; instead he was reacting as the grace-filled Son of God.

Psalm 23

2008-08-26T12:24:00.000-07:00

A Modern translation of Psalm 23, written shortly after I learned the transmission in my car will cost $1,200 to replace:

The Lord is my auto repair man;
I’m not worried about my car.
He steers me onto smooth pavement;
He makes sure my muffler is secure.
He fills my gas tank completely.
His GPS leads me where I have to go,
To the right places in my life,
The places that give Him glory.
Even though I walk through a valley of broken gears
It does not scare me.
For You are my Mechanic.
Your wrench and your socket comfort me.
You repair a transmission before me
Regardless of my doubts.
You pour gear oil over my head;
My fluid levels are full.
Surely smooth shifting and good mileage
Will be mine from now on.
And some day I’ll park this Neon
And walk on holy ground
Forever.

Lessons

2008-08-22T13:11:00.000-07:00

So, I cancel our Genia Small Group for Thursday night because of stress from personal and work situations. Seems like the right thing to do, take a little time to gather myself together, relax with my family, a little devotional time. Then someone asks me one of those questions you just can’t ignore, the kind of question that sticks in your brain and in your heart and in your soul. The question was “doesn’t it seem to make more sense that we do get together and pray about these things?”

The answer, of course, is yes. I resisted, yet I knew then and know now that the answer to this question should always be yes. And truthfully most of the time we just don’t do it.

Look at my statement above; I needed to take some time for me to gather myself together.

When push comes to shove, spiritually and emotionally, most often I do everything in my power to fix it myself, and when that fails (as it often does), and only when all that fails, do I turn to God.

If the definition of sin is that we miss the mark, that there is truly something wrong with us, then this desire to solve it all myself is an obvious sign of sin.

We are all sinners, and of them I am often the worst. I know now what the Apostle Paul was talking about. And it's not a case of poor self-image; it's a case of understanding what a mess sin has made of everything, including us.

Pray. Pray bodly, pray loudly, shoot up arrow prayers, pray in desperation, pray Scripture, intercede, petition. But pray.

Lesson learned. At least for now.

I Turn My Eyes to the Mountains

2008-07-10T14:20:00.001-07:00

When you are in Boulder, Montana, it's impossible not to turn your eyes to the mountains. They are everywhere. Some look more like rocky hills with tall pines and lots of grass. Others are definitely more mountainous, with large rock outcroppings. Some lift above the tree line, baring granite faces. Others rise so high they are still covered with snow, even in mid-July.

The Psalmist writes about the mountains. I lift up my eyes to the mountains, he says, and I know that feeling. Every time I step out the hotel room or the mine office I look up. I wonder if people who live here all the time experience the same feeling, the same desire to look to the hills.

I don't know why I do it; do I expect to see something I've never seen? Do I expect something to come rolling down the mountain? Do I expect a dramatic change in scenery, a sudden snow squall or intense lightning storm? No, I think I look up because of an inbred desire to do so. We look up. We turn our eyes to heaven. We lift up our eyes to the mountains. When the world drags us down and we hang our head in sorrow and shame there's a force in us that causes us to look up.

There is a certain peace and serenity in these mountains, in all mountains, that just isn't found elsewhere. I've stood in the warm waves of the Atlantic and the gold-tipped waves of the Pacific, and not felt that peace. I've stood in the cold waters of the Mediterranean Sea, the sea Paul sailed on and was shipwrecked in, and still haven't felt that peace. I've wandered through forests and prairies and meandered my way through big cities, to no avail. Peace, peace, they cry, but there is no peace.

I look to the hills, the Psalmist says, and where does my help come from, where does my peace come from? My help comes from the One who made these mountains, who spoke them into being, who separated them from the waters and shoved them up into the sky.

My help doesn't come from the mountains, from gods of the hills or some mysterious force mountains seem to possess. No, my help and peace comes from the Maker of Mountains, from the Head of the Hills, from the Ruler of the Rocks.

He will watch over me day and night, protecting and providing. He never sleeps; He never slumbers. He will watch over me always, today and tomorrow and forever. As long as these mountains stand and these rocks hold fast, and even when they crumble to the dust from which they came, He will watch over me.

Maybe the pull to look up is more than the desire to enjoy the beauty of the mountains. Maybe the pull to look up comes from God. Lift up your heads, don't walk looking despondently down, the King of Glory has come in, in flesh and blood and bone.

Our help is in His name.

In the Mines in Montana

2008-07-09T16:09:00.000-07:00

I'm blogging from the small town of Boulder, Montana. This is my third or fourth year here, but my wife's family has been coming here every year for a lot longer. Our purpose for our visit is pretty clear; to get better, to get healing from some of the ailments we suffer. Some of us struggle with arthritis, some with fibromyalgia. I have a long-standing battle with psorisasis.

The cure is pretty simple; we spend several hours a day in the shaft of a healing mine, breathing in radon that is produced by the breakdown of uranium. The mine is named the Free Enterprise Health Mine and it has been open for a long time.

I know, you're freaking about the radon, but don't. There is tons of sustantive evidence that the radon gas scare is just that, a scare. The amounts of radon we would need to inhale to actually harm us is immense; we would have to live in a mine for several decades.

The owner of the mine is Pat Lewis; her father was the original owner. The history of healing that goes on here is amazing, cataloged in large books in the Mine office. Even more amazing is the story those who are here have to tell, people who have seen the healing take place, people who also come back year after year.

We've got about 14 hours of treatment in and the psoriasis on my knees is gone. My ears have healed and the scales have flaked off my elbows. I can see that all of us are moving better, sleeping better, getting better.

It just reminds me of the amazing healing properties God has built into our bodies, and how we often forget about them, getting lost in our world of pills and drugs.

Most Embarrassing Moment

2008-06-24T09:18:00.000-07:00

Someone once asked what the most embarrassing moment of my life was, and I must confess, I had so many to choose from I couldn’t pin one down at the time. Truth be told, I do a lot of stupid things, so many that they sometimes they don’t even embarrass me any more. I just go right along as if they had never happened and let people stand there slack-jawed and amazed at my stupidity.
Yet given time to dwell on things there is one moment that stands out above the others. I was a freshman at Trinity Christian College and was singing in the Chorale. We had a new director that year, Dr. Jerry Hoekstra, a guy who grew up in my neighborhood. He was a big fan of Early American music so our first concert was music from the 1600’s and Colonial period of history.
One piece in particular captured the spirit of that time, a piece entitled The Funeral Dirge of George Washington, the dirge played at his funeral. The chorus was actually familiar to me; dum dum de-dum, dum de-dum de-dum de-dum (I think we plugged in words “pray for the dead and the dead will pray for you”).
One day in practice we concocted a practical joke to play on the new choir director. Since the song was a funeral dirge we thought it would be funny to have two of us fall over as if we were dead on the last note of the song. They chose me and Hendrick Bruinsma, another freshman, to be the victims because we stood at the ends of the back row and it would make it more dramatic.
The day of the concert arrived and the plan was still in place. We sang in the school cafeteria, and it was a really good concert. This was my first concert at the college level, singing more complex music, and I really enjoyed the challenge. But I have to admit, while some of the pieces were beautiful I didn’t share the same passion for music from this period as Dr. Hoekstra did. Finally we arrived at the Dirge, the final song of the concert, and I was ready to go. The song had several verses, all ending in that familiar chorus. I sang with all my heart and the on the last note of the song I grabbed my chest, let out a loud groan, and tumbled off the risers to the floor.
As I lay on the ground with my eyes shut I was extremely conscious of the silence in the room. Suddenly I heard someone talking to me, telling me to relax, things would be OK. I opened my eyes to find a doctor that went to our church kneeling over me. He had unbuttoned my shirt and was checking for a heartbeat along my neck.
I had two choices here; jump up and say “hah, hah, it’s just a joke” or lay still as if I had really passed out. I used wisdom and took the second choice. They brought me a glass of water and after a few minutes I sat up, then stood and exited the room, I think to applause (but that might be an imaginary embellishment.).
It never occurred to me that I had been set up. I was sure we were playing a joke on the director. I asked Hendrick why he didn’t fall over and he gave me some song and dance that I was so realistic that he was stunned into silence; that he thought I had really passed out. I asked him if he didn’t find it a little coincidental that I would pass out at that precise moment; he did find that a little odd. I learned after the concert that when I went down my Mom was sure that I had died.
In retrospect, it was a pretty stupid prank, whether it was directed at Dr. Hoekstra, me, or both of us. And it probably the most embarrassing moment of my life.

Graceful Eyes

2008-06-13T09:17:00.000-07:00

Something amazing has happened to us. We have been looking for a new house for a long time, almost a year. Every Sunday afternoon, rain or snow or sleet or hail, we grab a paper and begin checking out Open Houses. But we want more than a house. We want a house that we can afford and that would allow us to keep our old house and rent it out to someone, someone who needs the same kind of break we got to get their first house.
We set our criteria; master suite so we don’t have to walk downstairs to use the bathroom in the middle of the night; main floor laundry; a minimum of three bedrooms and two bathrooms; a basement; a room big enough to hold our small group if everyone comes. Pretty tough criteria, and the only houses we have found that met those criteria are only in our range if we sell the old house.

And then we got real lucky….

We had driven past a house near the library many times but finally arranged with our agent to do a walk-through. The house was priced well below its assessed value and was empty. I was thinking we would have to compromise with a smaller house. Yet when we walked inside we were shocked; it was big and it was beautiful and in wonderful shape and we couldn’t believe our eyes. It met all of our criteria. And we could afford to buy it and still hold on to our old house. How lucky can you be?

Or God is awesome…

Turns out the house has been up for almost 9 months and has sold twice, but both times the financing fell through. We’ve driven by many times but the house originally would have been near the top of our price range. It not only meets our criteria, it has so much more. The house has character; it has the feel of a country farm house. There’s a kitchenette in the basement. We get two refrigerators, two stoves. The basement room will fit us all; so will the living room upstairs. The driveway is a circle driveway so everyone from group can park their cars in the driveway instead of on the street. The family that’s going to rent our house was blessed with a big paycheck and opportunities for overtime that will make it possible for them to move into the home. We put an offer in on a Tuesday night and it was signed with no changes as of Wednesday morning.

It comes down to perspective. We choose to look through the glasses of grace. Without the perspective of grace we are just really, really lucky people. With the perspective of grace we are really, really blessed people. And to quote my favorite poet Robert Frost “and that has made all the difference.”

The Great Weaver

2008-05-31T08:55:00.000-07:00

On a recent vacation to Texas I witnessed another one of those times when God weaves things together. On Sunday morning we traveled to the Crestwood Baptist Church in Beaumont, Texas. We had stayed at this church the last two years when we had come down for mission trips and my friend's cousin is married to the Pastor so we have some connections. It was wonderful to walk into a church you hadn't been to in a year and feel the welcome of people you knew or recognized.

We had gotten there early so we walked the grounds. Last year the new sanctuary hadn't been completed but now it was so we took a look inside. Actually it's not the sanctuary; that's a later part of the building plan. It was called the worship center. Just before we entered I noticed a newly-planted tree and a memorial that read "In Memory of Caroline". It seemed out of place; the church did not maintain a graveyard and I had never noticed anything like this in our previous visits.

That morning a middle-aged guy got up during worship to speak. He began to tell the story of his daughter, who had died of cancer exactly one year earlier. I recognized him because he had given us directions into Houston the year before to visit with our niece who was at M.D Anderson fighting leukemia. Our niece had passed away in the fall. His daughter had passed away shortly after we had gone back home the previous year. His daughters name was Caroline.

I'm not too quick on the uptake sometimes but I put two and two together. I listened, bawling, as he expressed the pain of losing her yet the joy of knowing she was in heaven, healed. I didn't realize it at the time but we were sitting in the row ahead of his family and his remaining three kids struggled hard as their dad spoke. He wasn't an eloquent speaker; his speech was down-to-earth but powerful. His theology may not have been exact but his ability to show hope in the midst of tragedy spoke volumes.

I felt something break loose and begin to heal in me that morning, a pain that had been there since Jessica had passed away. He spoke the very questions we had asked; why, God? Why didn't you heal her? Why did she have to suffer? Why her of all people? What did she do, what did we do, to deserve this? As he spoke he put the words in my heart and mind.

There was not a dry eye in the house when he finished. Rather than following him up with a sermon Brother Larry simply offered an altar call, then played the piano as he led us in singing "God Will Make a Way" and "This is the Air I Breathe".

As we left the service I realized how the Great Weaver had been at work that morning. Through that simple connection of getting directions the year before I was able to open my heart and mind to the beginning of emotional healing in Christ. Through a Pastor who barely knows who I am, who sees me most likely as my friends friend and would be hard-pressed to remember my name, the Holy Spirit began the work of understanding hope.

Thank you God, for the threads you weave in each of our lives.

Tale of Two Worships

2008-05-01T06:20:00.000-07:00

This past Sunday I had the interesting experience of attending two different worship services in the morning. One of them was in the church we had attended for over 20 years but no longer attend, and the other was in the church we have been attending since.

It was a dramatic shift in church for us, moving from a small church struggling with growth barriers to a large church struggling with space issues. We went from a church where 150 would be a full house to a church where 1,500 is the average attendance at a service. We moved from a church with limited leadership resources to one with an over-abundance of gifted people. We left a church where “involved” was our middle name to a church where we don’t need to be involved at all if we chose.

I attended the old church to support my daughter and our friend. They were still involved in the girl’s ministry there and their girls group, GEMS, was participating in the service. I had not been back since we left at the end of the year except to attend a mid-week funeral. I did not feel out of place; this is, after all, still my church. Many people came up and welcomed me, let me know they missed me, asked when we were coming back. There were lots of hugs and lots of handshakes. I felt that warm sense of family that we initially felt when we began to attend this church.

I sat with one of my friends during the service. It was a typical worship service, following the order of worship carefully. The Pastor gave a good sermon, not very emotional, but carefully following the text. The girls sang well but definitely were reflecting the quiet mood of the crowd. Afterwards I hugged my daughter and her friend, chatted with another old buddy then drove home to pick up my wife and son and head to the other church.

We got to the other church early enough to find seats on the main floor. No one hugged me, only the usher shook my hand. People were friendly but not beyond your normal friendliness. Then the worship began and led us in powerful ways into the presence of God. The music was solid and contemporary and meaningful, led by gifted musicians giving their best to God. The worship leader could feel the flow and let the music and spiritual mood continue a little longer. Prayer time there was emotional and moving. By the time we got to the message we felt like the doors of our hearts had heard Christ knocking and had been opened to him. We left the church with almost no one speaking to us personally.

I reflect on those two services and I ask myself; which was more meaningful worship? Both are valid forms and styles of worship, both have the potential to be meaningful, but which was more meaningful to me? That led me to another question; what am I truly looking for when I go to church? I loved being hugged and welcomed but the worship left me flat and uninspired. I loved being lifted up in powerful spiritual emotions but it would be nice for someone to recognize us; we have been going here consistently for 4 months.

Which brings me to this understanding; Rick Warren was right, it’s not about me. It’s about God. God was glorified that morning in the small, family church that morning. And God was glorified in the large church, too. Too often we define worship as good or bad based on whether we liked or disliked the service. We need to redefine our definition; what did God think of the worship service? Was it done to his glory? Did people bring the best of what they had to worship Him? Was there evidence of the Spirit in worship? Did it stir up a deep longing in your soul for the imminent return of Christ and fuel the desire to stand in worship for all eternity?

The question isn’t one of style, it’s one of substance.

Lessons in Living

2008-04-19T09:35:00.000-07:00

It's been one of those weeks. Taxes were due, bills mounted. Seemed like every time I turned around I had to get something else done. And my wife is gone for the week, which typically leaves me in a little more of an unstable emotional state than usual.

And I ran into reminders. I cleaned off the mail on one of the cabinets, and in doing so came across an old announcement from my sister-in-law. It was the graduation announcement for my niece, Jessica. Something moved in my heart, a flutter of pain, the first step towards tears.

I kept cleaning and came across another document mentioning Jessica; her funeral bulletin. Just over 6 months ago Jessica, at a way-too-young age of 22, lost her battle with leukemia but won the victory. That flutter of pain became a stab of grief, opening a wound I tried hard to keep bandaged, and I cried hard tears. Just can't make sense of it, just can't figure out why God didn't just swoop down and heal her.

I'm reading a book called When the Game is Over It All Goes Back in The Box by John Ortberg, In one chapter he tells the story about his uncle Dale who fell off a roof and ended up in a coma. Amazingly, he came out of the coma and returned home to his family. Yet those events helped Ortberg, and us, to understand that...

"One thing is much clearer to everyone; that life is a gift, that every day is an unpurchased miracle, every second is overtime. I do not know why life works the way it does. I do not know why some people recover and others die. I do not know why some prayers get answered and some (seem to) go unheeded. But I do know that life is a gift. I know that it is not something we earn, create, control, or sustain. I know that one truth about us is that we forget that we are going to die. The other truth is that we forget we are alive."

Remember this day that you are alive, that God loves you and there's nothing you can do, nothing better, nothing worse, that can change that fact.

Live life.
a

Tax Day and Trust

2008-04-17T09:19:00.000-07:00

April 15th, and it’s time to pay my taxes. Most years I cut it pretty close but this year I messed things up a bit and I owed quite a bit more than usual. But I had a plan. In February I worked on the budget, increasing the savings so we would have the money in the bank by today. I knew there would an occasional bump in the budget road, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

I had it all figured out.

There were more bumps than I anticipated, more than I ever imagined. Every time I got money into savings something would happen and I would pull the money back out. Sometimes we were our own worse enemies, not paying enough attention and having to cover budget overrun with savings. A deer ran into the car, and though insurance covered most of it I still would have to pay more than I had anticipated. No problem.

I had it all figured out.

The car went into the shop on April 14th, with payment due this week. I reconfigured the budget and moved all the bills to a later paycheck, opening up this entire check to pay the car and the government.

I had it all figured out.

Then I filed my taxes and they were rejected. Apparently I messed up on my son's return and as a result could not claim him as a deduction this year. I reconfigured my taxes and the amount I owed doubled. All of my plans fell apart; all of that careful manipulation of the budget went for naught. Savings would be wiped out and our plans to buy a new house stalled for awhile. I was depressed. My stomach hurt, I couldn't stay out of the bathroom. I could feel another panic attack coming on and was sure I would end up in the hospital.

And God said, do you trust Me?

Yes, I trust you, but this is not the way it was supposed to go! I HAD IT ALL FIGURED OUT!

Do you trust Me?

Yes, I trust you, but it's not fair. How am I going to be able to pay this? I began to think about putting it on a credit card, still trying to figure it out myself.

And God said, stop. Do you trust me?

And I stopped, and I listened. Yes, I trust you. I have no choice. You have provided for us our entire life. Why would I think you wouldn’t provide now? You gave us the means to pay without having to use credit. You’ve blessed us financially in ways we couldn’t imagine. You’ve never failed us. You knew the plans for us, you drew them up, plans with hope and a future. If your worried about the sparrows nesting under my air conditioner unit, your worried about me.

On this day, Tax Day, I make this declaration.

Father, I trust you.

Pagan Christianity II

2008-03-25T05:46:00.000-07:00

I’ve finished the book (Pagan Christianity), but it took me a long time. Normally I just plow through books but this one was hard. It wasn’t Hemingway-hard, where you have to read and reread paragraphs to make sure you understand what was written. No, it was hard because the basic premise seems like such a slap in the face. After finishing the book the simplest sentence to capture what I felt is: “We’re right and you’re wrong. Our way of doing church, an organic church that meets in homes and has no defined leadership, is the only viable and truly biblical form of church. All other types of churches and worship are based on pagan practices and should be discarded.”

And I don’t agree. I believe a variety of churches meet a variety of spiritual needs. Paul himself says that “he will be all things to all people”, so that Gospel will be proclaimed. I think the same thing applies to churches.

There’s a place for the mega-church with a focus on reaching the seeker and ministry resources that can be astounding. There’s a place for the middle-size church, where members learn to stretch and grow their faith in serving God, each other, and those outside of the church. There’s a place for the small church, where those who don’t have a spiritual family can feel at home, and where those who have been hurt can find a place of peace.

There’s a place for traditional worship, choirs and litanies and ecumenical creeds. There’s a place for contemporary worship, where freedom in worship is explored and experienced. There’s a place for blended worship, a place where the glory of traditional worship blends with elements of contemporary worship. And there’s a place for home churches, growing together like the early church.

The Holy Spirit works through all these things to call hearts and souls to God.

Bless the authors for causing us to ask difficult questions, and shame on them for making the rest of us feel guilty.

The Sorrow of Saturday

2008-03-22T05:04:00.001-07:00

It is finished.

They had watched him breathe his last breath, had cried in agony as the blood and water flowed from his side. Their grief was so great they barely noticed the darkness at midday. The trembling of the earth was nothing compared to the trembling of their souls.

It is finished.

They took his dead-weight body down from the cross, laid it out, pressed for time. Joseph had a tomb they could use, borrow, really, but of course they didn’t know, had no idea it was a temporary arrangement. They did what they could, washing away the dirt and blood and spittle, salving the body with ointment. There was more to do, but sundown approached, the Sabbath was near. Tears mingled with the preparatory spices and oils.

It is finished.

They wrapped his body and laid him in the tomb. . And they did what we do when our loved ones die. They mourned. They stayed up through the night, in disbelief and denial. It cannot be. He was young and strong, and his teaching pure and powerful. Had he not as much said he was the One, the Messiah? What happened to the disciples, those men who had walked in his footsteps, who had followed in the dust of the rabbi?

It is finished.

Sabbath was filled with sorrow rather than joy. The traditions and meals and rules all seemed so empty and useless. Gathered around the table, they swapped stories. Remember when he blessed the little children? Remember when he healed the blind man? Remember how he set those self-righteous white-washed tombs called Pharisees straight? Remember when he raised you, Lazarus? Word came to them; the authorities had blocked the entrance to the tomb with a large stone to keep his followers from stealing his body. Stealing his body? The burden of grief was so great that every little action, rising to serve, answering the door, took conscious effort. Who had the strength?

It is finished.

They spent the afternoon getting ready for Sunday. They prepared the rest of the spices and ointment they would put on his body. They wondered out loud how they would ever move that stone. They held each other and cried, ugly grief, grief that distorts your face, which weakens your body. And then they tried to get to sleep; they had to be up early the next day. Jesus was waiting.

Who Will Love a Little Sparrow

2008-03-16T18:03:00.000-07:00

I have sparrows living in my window. Actually, they live around my air conditioner. They've lived there for a number of years now. Due to their presence and what many perceive as my soft heart, the air conditioner stays in the window, even during the cold Michigan winter months. I just can't kick them out.

I've tried a few times but after the last attempt I can't do it. I had shaken the air conditioner to chase them all away, then lifted the upper half of the window. As I began to pull the machine into the house one of the sparrows landed on the top and stared me down. I don't know if he thought he could hold it in place or whether it was an act of intimidation, but he did not move until I finally pulled the thing inside.

Now I just leave them there. Sometimes we sing together. I noticed one day that when I sang in the bedroom the sparrows would sing back. I went to the window and began to sing and two of them popped up to the top of the air conditioner and sang back, twisting their tiny heads to see the giant bird on the other side. I am not making this up; my wife has witnessed this very thing!

When I am working in the yard the sparrows will sit on the wire and watch me. I firmly believe that I am their human, and that they like to show me off to their friends and relatives. Often they will sit in the bushes just a few feet away from me when I am sitting in our shady front yard reading.

It's an odd bond, this connection between me and the sparrows. Yet the Father cares about each and every one of them. How much more He must care about me.

Thoughts on Pagan Christianity

2008-03-05T16:43:00.000-08:00

I've been reading Pagan Christianity by Frank Viola and George Barna. I have to tell you, I'm not too sure about this book. Granted, I'm only 3 chapters in, but if there premise is 100% on the mark I may as well stop going to church.

But first, a gripe. Is it evenly humanly possible to make the footnotes any smaller? I'm not as young as I used to be and I don't even try to read them. It's a shame because with the amount of footnoting that went on here it would be neat to follow the research trail.

Is church the way we do it wrong? Have we simply incorporated non-Christian (pagan) culture into our buildings and our worship services? Viola likes to use the term "organic" church. What precisely does that mean, and will I find out later in the book?

If there's one thing I've learned, there are a lot of very different and very valid forms of worship. This past weekend we were at Acquire the Fire in GR. I love ATF because it's one of the few times I have the freedom to dance in worship. It's not a pretty picture, but it's joyous freedom. Why can't I do this on a Sunday morning?

I'll continue in the book, but I am reading with reservation. I think that's fair. Just because the book makes definitive statements about the pagan origins of church doesn't mean they are right. The authors are, after all, not inspired, just good researchers. And I'll continue to worship on Sunday morning, not as a spectator, but as someone who stands in awe of being part of this communion of the saints.

Or have I been wrong all these years?

I'll keep you posted.

Here I Am to Worship

2008-02-24T13:16:00.000-08:00

Woke up excited and ready for church. It was 6:00 a.m. and since we go to the 11:00 a.m. service I had to fill in some time. I spent a little time reading a book, surfing the net, and catching up on the local news.

As the morning progressed I got more and more excited. I read the passage for that Sunday in Luke and watched worship videos to prime my spiritual pump (He's going to pump...me...up).

Finally we were ready to go. Man, was I ready to go. And I was not disappointed. The worship was beautiful, the music heart-strirring, the message soul-moving.

What a joy to look forward to church, to wait on it, to eagerly expect it's arrival. It has been a long time since I had that kind of expectation of worship. Seems like all I've had in the past was the job of trying to produce that type of worship. Now I simply show up each Sunday and leave the worship producing to many, many gifted people and God.

Maybe that eager expectation for church is just a sliver of the eager expectation we should feel as we wait on the new creation.

Mild at Heart

2008-02-23T05:27:00.000-08:00

The church I am now attending is offering a Men's Bible study based on books by John Eldredge, the author of many books including Wild at Heart. I read that one and I have to admit something to you.
That's not me.
Not that I haven't dones enormously stupid things in my life, particularly when I was youngish. At times I took tremendous risks with little thought to the consequences, like climbing rocks in Palisades Park along the Mississippi or along the banks of Devils Lake in Wisconsin. Like straddling the edge of the waterfall in a State Park in southern Illinois, a place where later that same day someone fell and got seriously injured on the rock face below.
Great story. While traveling back down along the trail at the Palisades I found a cave in a rock that let you enter on the top, descend inside, and emerge 30 feet below. Being youngish at the time I took the short-cut and emerged out the bottom. But I was unaware that my twin brother was on the top of the rock engaging in one of those time-honored guy things, dropping stones. You guessed it, I stepped out and took a stone to the noggin.
Aynways, I'm not youngish any more and when I read John's book I thought, that is definitely not me. I don't want to whitewater raft without paddles or a canoe; I would rather swim at a local pool with lifeguards all around. I no longer have the desire to save the damsel in distress; I won my princess years ago. My battle lust has left me; I've slain enough dragons (often unwillingly) in my life and am tired of the mess.
I would rather make sure my flower garden is weed-free. I can't think of anything more enjoyable than snuggling with my new granddaughter Megs and playing "who's got the binky". I love to snuggle with my older grandchildren Em adn Luke watching a movie on a cold Michigan morning than be out snow-shoeing in this mess. I love my Saturday morning breakfast at Bob Evans with Mary. When I go fishing it's at the local quarry and I am more interested in catching some relaxation than fish.
I want to start a new movement, write a response to John Eldredge, called Mild at Heart.
Will you joing me?

Cross-generational ministry and loving it.

2008-02-21T18:52:00.000-08:00

Met with our small group, Genia, tonight. We used a Nooma study from Rob Bell and spent some time talking about the need to get unstuck and become the people God has called us to be, to experience all of the blessings he has to offer.

This group is truly unique. We intentionally brought together a group of people from different age ranges and in different stages in their life. Some are young children and pre-teens, some teens, the majority young adults, then some of us older folk.

It's challenging to meet the demands of all of these different people. Yet they are committed to each other. Friendships are growing within the group, friendships that weren't there before. We lean on each other when we are in trouble and laugh with each other in good times.

It's extremly difficult to find study material for this type of group. We use a lot of videos, interspersed with some "typical" studies, to try to reach everyone at some point. Visual is definitely the best learning medium; it transcends the age gaps and causes everyone to focus together. With all of the kids focus can be an issue.

I truly love these people. It's my hope and prayer that they will all continue to grow in love for God and for each other, that they will learn to unselfishly serve others, and that they never forget that life should be fun.

It's up to God. They're Yours.

Cubs Fans and Hope

2008-02-20T12:35:00.000-08:00

I've been a Cubs fan my entire life. Is there anyone who understands the concept of hope better than a Cubs fan? If they fail to make the Big Show again this year it will be 100 years, a full century, of futility.

Steve Garvey did it to us in 1984. Milking out one more year in baseball to pay his huge alimony he jumped ship and went to the Padres. Still had a bat, too, good enough to beat us and send us home so his team could get swept by those Tigers.

Everybody forgets 1989, when we came oh so close only to fail again.

Nobody forgets 2003, especially Steve Bartman. What, Moises Alou never learned to go into the stands to go after a ball, even at that level of the playoffs? And Alex S. Gonzalez boots a grounder? Don't blame Steve, and surely don't hate him for doing what we would all have done.

No, nobody knows hope like the Cubs fan. Spring training, pitchers and catchers reported already. And once again Cubs fans are talking about this year, our chances, will our pitching hold up, can we score runs in the late innings. Hope springs eternal in a Cubs fans breast.

And in October we will be home, just like all of our Cubs players, watching someone else get demolished by what could be the greatest Detroit Tiger team ever. (They may sweep the World Series in 3 games because the other team will just give up and forfeit). And once again our hope goes unfulfilled

And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us. (Romans 5:3-5; American Standard)

That's us, Cubs fans. exulting in our trials, persevering, real characters, filled with hope that does not disappoint.

Think Jesus is a Cubs fan?

Rythmless

2008-02-19T14:58:00.001-08:00

I stand in church, the music is powerful, my arms are lifting up and my body is swaying and I want to (can I say it) dance! But there's two problems here.

First, I am rythmless. That's right, this guy who can sight-read almost anything and who sings all the time can't keep rythm. When I sang in church they would hand out instruments to everyone, handbells and triangles and tambourines. Everyone in the group got one except me, for I have no rythm. This is not a guess, this is born of years of factual evidence, beginning back in the disco era. Sure, I looked good in a tan leisure suit, but I couldn't dance a lick. I can't dance I can't dance I can't dance...

Second, I was raised in a church that didn't let you dance, and definitely absolutely never in a church service. Do you know why? Because dancing leads to sex! Everyone knows that all the slutty girls started off on the dance floor. Just look at those moves, tell me that isn't simulating something! No dancing, little hand lifting, and occasional clap. Mainly organ music anyways; tough to dance to the way it was played.

And yet I want to dance in church. I want to spin and twirl, I want to lift up my hands and give up my inhibitions and just dance before Him. I want to strip myself of all the delusions of grandeur and in pure joy dance before the Lord, just like David did, just like the greatest king ever.

I'm so close. One of these Sunday mornings...I can dance.