Lincoln - A Good Politician

Imagine a casual conversation with a stranger at the bus stop.
You're sitting across the street from a statue of Abraham Lincoln and you comment on what a transformational role he played in world history.
"Well, he was a good man and effective politician, certainly," comments the stranger.
"And much more than that," you clarify, sensing some reticence on the stranger's part. "Lincoln boldly stood for human rights and freedom, to the very point of his own assassination. All this, after persevering from very humble beginnings to become a wise leader and hold the republic together through a civil war. That's been affirmed by millions of people still paying their respects at his tomb for over one hundred years."
"As I said," the stranger repeats with no hint of cynicism or disrespect, "I believe he was a good man and politician. However, I don't think it's provable or important that he was assassinated. In fact, I'm sure another of his followers was actually killed that night at Ford's theater. It may even be one of them in his tomb. And really, whether he played a pivotal role in the civil war is much debated. Lastly, we'll never know of his family origins exactly - poor or rich - and I suspect his mother may have been rather promiscuous. That said, I do hold his father up as a man who knew how to raise a good child. Indeed, I hold his father in very, very high regard."

His father in high regard? After a conversation like this, I couldn't help but question whether we were talking about the same Abraham Lincoln. How could things so significant and well documented as his death by gunshot be deflected and reinvented? Not acknowledging the defining moments of the son, how could this stranger have any credible familiarity with Lincoln's father?

"If anyone does sin, we have one who speaks to the Father in our defense--Jesus Christ, the Righteous One. He is the atoning sacrifice for our sins," 1John 2:1

"For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form," Colossians 2:9

"I and the Father are One," John 10:30

Most people would consider my Lincoln story silly, because who would try to remake Lincoln - and his family - in this outrageous way? Isn't it demeaning, even insulting to Lincoln's memory, to think that labels like "good man" and "effective politician" could mask the intent to rob him of his true nature and accomplishments?

I regularly dialog with people - even friends and family - who very adamantly maintain that they pray to the Father of Jesus. "We all pray to the same God," they tell me, with the required exception that Jesus was merely an historical figure of merit. Sure, he was probably a good man and philosopher - maybe even a prophet. But that "Son of God, born of a virgin, crucified on a cross for sins, raised from the dead, redeemer of believers, stuff...certainly not. But does it really matter, they ask, if we can agree that he was a good man and philosopher? We can unite over our deep respect for his father, can't we?

I still love and enjoy people with whom I disagree, but I don't sincerely think we're talking about the same family.

What do you believe?

Through the Glass Darkly

This past winter (which isn't that long ago where I happen to live) we chose a really, really cold Sunday to go visit this beautiful old church. Stupid-cold, we call it. As in, you have to be stupid to leave your house to go out in the cold. There we were, jogging along the sidewalk and up the steep steps to the huge, creaking doors. As soon as we shivered our way into the sanctuary, I realized something was wrong. Everything looked uncharacteristically dull.

Dang! I'd forgotten to take off my sunglasses. My prescription lenses would work fine, but I'd miss the festive, bright colors of the Advent season. No way I was going back to the car, so I had a dilemma. Wear sunglasses in church to see accurately, or take them off to drink in the fuzzied colors of marble, mosaic and paint? I took them off and it was an interesting experience.

The open expanse of the main church and rotunda were recognizable. The main altar and sermon pulpit stood out from the background as well. Even the pastor's robed shape, though blurred, was discernible against the contrast of gleaming gold candles.
But I missed a lot. I knew from past holiday visits that there were many specific Bible events depicted in the art. Live plants and trees are arranged to complement and soften the mammoth architecture. Thoughtfully placed statuary of Jesus and the saints bring a third dimension into view.
I could see it, but I couldn't. I appreciated the wonderful worship and community, but it was an incomplete experience whether viewed blurred or more crisply through photo-grays with anti-glare protection.

"Now we see in a mirror, darkly, then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part, then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."
1 Corinthians 13:12

Many people have health related vision problems that cannot be corrected in this life, but that's not the message.
Me, I could have braved a little personal discomfort to dispel the darkness and fully engage in what God provided there.
Even then - even with all the wonderful glory of senses and season clearly revealed - God's coming glory will make even that seem like a dim reflection.
As though we saw the most spectacularly enriching events of this life in a mirror, darkly.

To know fully, and to be fully known.
For that, I would gladly run back to the car for my glasses. Even in the stupid cold of our winters.
For that, I would believe on the name of Jesus.

What do you believe?

Compassion for Burn Victims

I had quite a scare with our propane gas grill last weekend.
The grill was still hot when I had to swap an empty tank. Somehow there was enough residual propane in the connector hose to blow out, ignite and flash back over my face and arms.
My beard and hair were singed and my face and arms immediately turned a bright and painful shade of red.
Very fortunately for me, the worst pain and swelling was over in about 36 hours. Since then I've been applying antibiotic ointment and tending to the few remaining blisters.
It could have been worse. A lot worse.
I immediately had much, much more compassion for truly serious burn victims. I just never realized. As I laid awake that first night my heart was breaking to think of families in burn wards and their terrible struggle to recover or endure. Especially parents agonizing over their children. It was not difficult to pray heartfelt prayers for people unknown to me. I could better appreciate their condition, even though I was spared the worst of it.

Jesus really did experience our condition. He walked around in sandals and lived without plumbing. He saw what it was like to have sin burst back in your face without warning. He actually suffered the insults and hatred of people whom he knew were miserable in their own right. He was not spared the worst of it.

God knew what mankind would say, sooner or later. "How can a higher power have any idea what we are going through? How can she have any sense of this pain, that heartbreak, those diasters, or these failures?"

Jesus is the Word made flesh. God among us. The ultimate act of a supreme being willing to take hold of genuine compassion.

I felt my flesh burn last weekend and believe me, I understand it a lot better than I did the day before.
Jesus put his flesh on a cross and let them drive nails through it after they'd beaten him bloody for performing miracles and preaching forgiveness.

I think he understands us a whole lot better than we like to think he does.

What do you believe?

Unclog the Worldview Filter

Back in our previous home, we had to buy a new air conditioning system, or "heat pump" as things are done south of the snow belt.
I've always been diligent about home maintenance like air filter replacement. A clean filter keeps the air flowing (you stay cooler), keeps the condensing coils clean (the system works more efficiently), and extends the equipment life (doesn't have to "work" as hard).
After a few months with the new system, I notice the air conditioner cycle ran longer than it should. Then I noticed frost build-up on the condenser coil. I called the equipment company and the first thing they asked was, "have you changed the air filter?"
"Of course," I answered, "once a month like clockwork, but it hasn't been the least bit dirty - that can't be the problem."
Imagine my surprise when the technician came out to the house, walked up to the system and pulled out a very dust covered and clogged air filter. He gave me a questioning look, aware of how adamantly I claimed to clean it.
"But that's not the air filter I've been replacing," I said with an embarrassed blush. "It's over here." And I slid out a pristine looking air filter to regain some credibility.
"That's from the old system," he explained with mild amusement. "They should have explained that the new unit bypasses that old filter. That's why you've got this one." He meant the filthy clogged one that was inefficiently overworking the system.
I could have changed that other filter every day and every hour, but it would never have protected the AC equipment, or kept our home in proper condition. I had to stop the clogging dust and debris where it came in and would do the damage. First, I had to know where to find it; then I had to deal with it. And from that point on, the "old" filter was actually irrelevant.

That's very much how my life changed upon reading the Bible and beginning a more personal relationship with God.
Until then, I thought my worldview efficiently filtered out good from bad. But that worldview filter was not in the right place. It was favorably placed where I accepted information and decision flow from university life, a relativistic church home, public media, movies and my favorite song writers. So when I did a self-check, the filter seemed to be in great shape. My lifestyle and decisions were consistent with the worldview filter I'd fashioned. Why then did I sense a spirtual disconnect? Why was I having to work harder to find God's presence in my life?
When I started reading the Bible and committing my spiritual life more accountably to prayer and community, it was if the technician (Holy Spirit) said, "You've had your attention on the wrong air filter; you should be looking over here."
And He was right.
Good and bad, valued and value-less. Mercy and Grace. Temporary and eternal. My worldview filter was incapable of detecting these contrasts with objective clarity.
What spiritual purity did exist in my life had to fight its way past all kinds of conditional dust and debris. My outlook was getting more clogged as each year went by. Thank God there were people willing to tell me I had my eye on the wrong air intake for spiritual matters.

Jesus said,
"You are those who justify yourselves before men, but God knows your hearts. For what is highly esteemed among men is detestable in the sight of God." Luke 16:15

I don't need a worldview that justifies me before men or women, but before God.

What do you believe?

Praying for Christopher Hitchens

My first couple months of Junior High were miserable.

There was this clique of roughneck kids who instinctively knew I was easy prey. Like nature's predators, they probably sensed my discomfort and fear. The "smart" kid who just wanted to stay out of trouble and be left alone. So they knocked books out of my hands between classes, taunted me, and made threatening gestures. I got shoved a few times, and though nobody actually hit me, the psychological blows were enough to give me nightmares and a sense of dread every morning on the way to school.

Eventually, I found my niche in athletics and music. The roughneck kids lost their interest in me, and I, my concern for them.

About 6 years ago, after we'd moved back in state, I had occasion to hire a lawn care company. It was a particularly dry summer and I stopped to chat with the person applying fertilizer. It only took a second to recognize one of my chief tormentors from those miserable school days. He recalled my athletic success, and neither of us mentioned the rest. He still seemed a bit rough in language and manners as we briefly discussed the interim decades. Our attention turned to the tormented lawn and I politely pressed him for better results in the months to come. The lawn didn't improve, and by the next spring I had hired a different service.

I dwelled on my decision a little bit, reasoning that it had nothing to do with his presence on the account. The lawn soon rebounded and I didn't given my decision much thought for the next few years.

But last year was another dry one and last fall I told the ‘new’ lawn care company to shape up and revive the sickly looking turf by this coming fall. I realized that I gave them more generous recovery time than I'd given the last company and account manager. It gave me pause. Had I really let my long ago hurt influence something so petty as lawn fertilizer? Was that turning the other cheek? Honestly, I'm really not sure, though the lawn does look better now.

Tonight, I listened to a radio interview with Christopher Hitchens. He's a bright, articulate and witty columnist. A conservative, by the way. He's also the author of "God is not Great," a maddeningly manipulative diatribe on God and religion from his atheist point of view. His many radio and webcasted debates with Christian representatives are thoroughly provocative and enjoyable, partly because he's so well spoken and cogent in his dismissively misguided positions. He's a modern day bully and tormentor of people who are not confident or prepared enough to meet him head on.

Tonight though, I'm praying earnestly for Christopher Hitchens and I hope you'll do the same.

He's got cancer. He's undergoing treatment, but he is concerned that they found it later than is best for assured recovery.

I'm praying for his full recovery, no different than I would for any other friend. Cancer is no good for anyone to suffer through and I'd wish it on no person. Separately, I'm also praying for his salvation, cancer recovery or not. I sincerely hope that Christopher Hitchens will have a chance to receive and appreciate the love of God, whom he does not believe exists. I have no question of my own sincerity on this one. It's heartfelt and real. God is for everyone. Even for a man who has done his best to intimidate and divert other people from their relationship with the Creator.

Tonight, Christopher Hitchens has done me a favor. I'm not just praying for him. I'm praying for the roughneck kids who gave me nightmares and dread all those years ago. I’ve never thought to do that. I might not do anything about the lawn service change - but I’ll be awake tonight to pray blessings and prosperity for that kid who tormented me.

What do you believe?

Tornado in our Town

My daughter and I stood out on the front porch and watched a lightening storm last month.

It was an amazing light show, spanning one horizon to the other. At times you could trace the zig zagging bolts from the sky right down to the ground. Thunder boomed continuously and a steady summer rain was silouted against the street light. We just leaned against the porch rail and enjoyed the extravaganza.

About the time that mosquitos corraled us back into the house, we heard the local storm siren.

"Is that for a warning or a watch?" I asked my daughter.

She went up to bed, and I clicked on the TV weather channel. Red and purple blotches covered our entire dopplar radar map, which was nothing new. But I had never seen the little red circles clustered over an area before. The weather man calmly explained that radar considered those to be circling air masses that either looked like, or were tornados. And like little red balloons, they were drifting right towards our part of the map. Like thousands of people, I watched transfixed as the circles made there way closer toward our home. The gentle summer rain turned ugly and our trees bent and whirled in the confused air mass outside.

Just one town away, more than one hundred homes were lost. Miraculously, no one died.

Usually I sleep right through a storm. Had it not been for the siren or TV, I would have had no idea how close we came to our poor neighbors' fate in the next town.

I wonder what else I've slept through while others suffer personal tragedy in the next town, or neighborhood, or office. Last month, our neighbor across the street quietly packed up their belongings and moved out of state. They gave us a few things and we exchanged contact info. Only after they made the move did we learn that they were going through bankruptcy, just as he retired from his job. How long had the little red circles been drifting over their lives as we slept, oblivious to their troubles, across the street? We'll never know.

I'm going to try and pray more diligently for my neighbors. For problems known and unknown, spoken and unspoken. Around here, people are taught to run to the basement when tornados approach, so we get separated at the peak of danger. Maybe I need to hang out on the porch more - when we're just talking about the weather, instead of hiding from it.

What do you believe?

Safe with my Dad

I took my first wilderness canoe trip with my dad when I was 10 years old.

We portaged our canoe and camping supplies three different times before settling in on a remote Canadian fishing lake.

When we crawled into our sleeping bags and the gas lantern hissed out, I remember falling into an exhausted, but contented sleep.

I had no concerns for the next day's weather or food. I didn't fret or wonder if we could ever thread our way back through the myriad twists and turns of islands and open water back to our starting point. My dad knew what to do. He had everything taken care of.

Or so it seemed to a ten year old. Years later as I started to lead trips of my own, I learned that his easy going confidence came from good planning, reliable equipment and a safety-first brand of common sense. He made it look easy, and I put my full trust in him. When you really think about it though, peril was never far away. Bear attacks happen to prepared people. Bad storms or fires can roar through and crush reliable equipment. My dad's strength shielded me from those worries, but the risks were no less real.

I watched a documentary of the Apollo astronauts last month. They had gorgeous archived film footage of the blue marble sphere of our earth.

We take lots more for granted every day on this planet than I ever did as a kid on those wilderness trips with my dad. Our earth is tilted precariously at an angle that rides the literal edge of destruction between seasons around an explosive gas ball. We're way more than three portages deep into this universe. One degree here or there and we freeze or burn. Carbon gases are laughable compared to a rogue sunspot.

But I have deep confidence in my Father in Heaven, the Lord my God.

He is my shield and protector. I believe in his plan. While storms rage and vicious predators lurk, I draw comfort from His wisdom and strength.

Listen though - this part is important: I do not stray far from Him in camp.

As smart and strong as my dad was, he could do nothing for me if I were to wander off into the woods on my own. I kept within earshot. He taught me to establish visual landmarks that would lead me back if I got confused on a trail. There were some things, like navigating fast water in a canoe, that you simply did not do alone.

I stick within a prayer's distance of God. He renews strength and comfort when I return to camp each Sunday. I try never to enter dangerous waters of temptation on my own. Keep the Bible compass nearby. And there are established landmarks of Salvation and Grace if I get confused on the trail.

Not everyone had a role model like my dad, but everyone has a Father who loves them and will get them there and back.

What do you believe?

My Cab Driver and Jesus

True story, this is the conversation I had with my cab driver just last week in Boston. He was driving me to Logan airport and I guessed his accent as Russian. He laughed easily.

Driver: Not even close, my friend. Much farther south.

Jesusworldview (JWV): Middle East?

Driver: Algeria, it is in North Africa.

JWV: I know the geography, my father was stationed in Morocco during the war. He loved it there and made many friends.

Driver: It is a beautiful area.

JWV: I've read recent articles that Morocco is expelling Christians. What do you think of that?

Driver: This is not true!

JWV: I've read the articles, you've not heard any of this?

[Read Time article here, or search online for "Morocco Christian" ]

Driver: These things are said by the media. In my country we have a very beautiful Church, Notre Dame. You must see it if you come. We even have Jews. We have no problem.

JWV: But that is under Sharia law?

Driver: No! No Sharia law. We are, what is word? We are moderation.

JWV: Moderate?

Driver: Yes! Very moderation. Listen my friend, you go to a street corner in my country, you will see beautiful women, no scarves, no head covering. Very sexy. No trouble.

JWV: Well, let me ask you this. If I go to a street corner in your country and wave my bible, and say, 'Jesus is the Son of God,' will there be trouble?

[Long pause]

Driver: Well, you may not want to do that. But why would you? Listen, it is not Saudi Arabia. There, they would not like this. But listen, we respect Jesus. He was a prophet. We say he was a good man.

JWV: Well, you may say that, but the Koran says differently. The Koran says he was not crucified on the cross and was not born of a Virgin.

Driver: No, we believe he is a good man, a prophet. Listen, have you read the Koran?

JWV: I have. The sura says he did not die on the cross and a later one that he was not the Son of God. Is that right? [note: Sura 4:154-158 and Surah 4:171]

Driver: He is a prophet, a good man. We believe he is returning.

JWV: But a prophet cannot lie, and Jesus claimed to be the Son of God. Is he a liar?

Driver: He did not say that. He was a good man, a prophet.

JWV: If he was a good man, he would not lie, and he claimed to be the Son of God. I believe that is true - that he is the Son of God.

[We continued in this circular logic for several minutes; eventually driving into the airport, where he asked me what airline to stop at. We pulled over and I paid him.]

JWV: I have read the Koran, have you read the bible?

Driver: No, I have never had a bible.

JWV: If I give you my bible, would you read it?

Driver: I would read it, sure.

With that, he pulled my suitcase out of the trunk. I dug my pocket bible out of my backpack and handed it to him. Without hesitating, he held out his hand to shake mine. I smiled and said, "I enjoyed talking to you, I hope we'll meet each other again." He smiled back and nodded his head. It was a warm, thoughtful smile.

"Then Philip ran up to the chariot and heard the man reading Isaiah the prophet. "Do you understand what you are reading? Philip asked.

"How can I," he said, "unless someone explains it to me?" So he invited Philip to come up and sit with him." Acts 8:30-31

What do you believe?

Who gets the lifeboat?

An atheist, a Darwinist and a Christian survive their unfortunate plane crash in the middle of the freezing, churning ocean.

They quickly assess the situation and their unsettling alternatives: Just one of them can practically fit onto the single, precariously floating piece of wreckage. With hypothermia and sharks closing in, only one of them will survive.

"I would dearly love to live and spread the Gospel," admits the Christian. "It's possible that many more people could learn of God's love and have an eternal life in heaven, if I were to meet them and share my faith in the years to come."

The other two start to retort, but the Christian holds up her hand to quiet them.

"Still, I'm in a better state than you two are. At least I know that in death I'll be assured of my heavenly home, thanks to God's Grace and my belief in Jesus. So, as much as I love life, I yield my place to both of you. Perhaps there is still time for at least one of you to get right with your Maker."

Not to be outdone, and before the other survivor can speak through chattering teeth, the atheist speaks up.

"I, too, would dearly love to live, if for no other reason than to refute everything you say and believe about 'god.' I would gladly spend all my remaining time and money just to follow wherever you go and cast doubt upon anyone weak minded enough to listen to you."

A wave crashes over his head and he spits out a mouthful of salty brine.

"But by you forfeiting your place," he shouts above the wind, "you save me the trouble. Let us both perish and we will soon learn who is right, after all."

It takes only a moment for the Darwinist to seize his chance and scurry onto the unsteady piece of wreckage.

"Thank goodness!" he cries out. "While you two were blathering, I stayed focused on what matters more than anything else - survival! Now my genes will survive and yours will not. Even more important, my ideas will go forth and inform others of the truth of evolution. Who knows, because of this horrendously close call, my body may even now begin to transform and pass along an inclination to survive long periods in the ocean. I may become the precursor to a line of humans with gills to breath and a thicker layer of skin to stay warm. Forgive me if I have no remorse for your passing, but natural selection has rightly done its job in deeming me fittest to survive. And survive I will--me and generation upon generation of my kind."

Another wave crashes, pushing the atheist closer to the Christian. Despite the peril, he looks her in the eye and chokes out a few more words.

"Alas, the dignity of your own decision has made this insipid lout seem all the more unworthy. Would it offend you greatly if I were to reach up and pull him back into the waves to die beside us?"

She gasps and slips below the water, but the atheist bravely reaches down and pulls her back up.

"Not all all," she manages to sputter in reply. "In fact, we should still have a few moments left to speak of forgiveness."

"Very well," the atheist shouts, reaching up to take hold of the Darwinist's leg, "but I am no more interested in forgiveness now than I was during the rest of my life."

A flash of lightning cracks ominously overhead.

"Not for you," she replies, a smile barely formed on her frozen lips.

"You mean..." he smiles back in one final, accepting, enlightened moment of understanding.

"Yes," she sighs peacefully, "because I was about to do the same thing."

And less than a minute later, with the thunderous crash of a gigantic wave, three new souls were greeted by the warmth of heaven.

What do you believe?

"That not the way we play it"

I know this is an imperfect analogy. There's nothing remotely game-like about the seriousness of Spiritual matters. But I think, therefore I write...

We had out of state guests visiting last weekend. After two busy days visting local sites, we decided to spend a quiet evening at home.

I suggested an easy-to-learn card game that works well with a larger group. Two of our five visitors recognized the game by a different name and soon the cards were shuffled and ready.

We briefly explained the object of the game to the others.

"Oh, that's not the way we do the scoring," one guest said, as I explained the point system.

We compared notes and the basic outcome would be the same, so confusion resolved.

Several other times during the game we stopped and discussed for the same reasons,

"That's not how we learned it," or "that's not the way we play it back home."

But each time we cordially worked through the detail, realizing that our differences didn't actually alter the game's core purpose or outcome. In fact, some of their traditional elements were very appealing to me. I'd even like to incorporate some of their ways the next time I play.

The apostle Paul encouraged,

"Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit--just as you were called to one hope when you were called--one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all."

Ephesians 4:3-6

The Bible instructs us to be humbly considerate...while remaining true to our core beliefs.

If our guests were to have said, "We play this with 32 pieces resembling medievel characters on an 8 by 8 checkered board," they would have described a totally different game and core outcome. If they had said, "We play the very same game by the very same name, but in addition to the deck of cards, we must also have domino's and dice on the table," I would be wary and scrupulous to determine whether the same name masked critical differences.

My belief in Christ is rooted in His own words of encouragement and instruction in the Gospels of the Bible.

"One Lord, one faith, one baptism."

Give thoughtful and prayerful consideration when people speak of a different Way.

What do you believe?

Customer Service Discipleship

I'm an Apple computer fan. Ipod(s), Mac-mini, Itunes, iPhoto...they're all part of my Apple digital lifestyle.

I've been especially complimentary of Apple service. Tech's I've spoken to on the phone have been pleasantly helpful. Even the local Apple store - though impossibly crowded - has provided reasonably trouble-free experience...until last week.

Walking past tables full of i-ware and i-shoppers, I headed straight for a blue shirted salesperson. He greeted me and I explained my need for a document scanner.

"We don't sell them here," he advised quickly.

Ok, I said, I had wanted to make sure I purchased something that was Apple compatible.

"You might want to look at Best Buy or Office Max, something like that," he offered indifferently.

Any Apple software revisions coming soon that might affect scanner features?

"None that I know of."

Within 2 minutes I was off Apple's shiny hardwood floors and back in the mall. I felt worse off than when I had walked in. At least on the way in I had hope. Here was a place built on solutions and collaboration. But somehow I had asked a question not solved with the use of Apple i-anything. I had wondered into an i-nostic zone of sorts and been summarily redirected back to the world "out there" in the i-less mall.

In fairness to Apple, I've had similar experiences with Google staffers on work projects. Instead of calling back to return phone messages, they send an email telling me where to click on the Google site for further information. But, that's why I called a human being...

Uh-oh.

Are we doing the same thing to people who have Spiritual questions?

What if people walking into our churches aren't exactly "ready to buy?" (ready to decide) Maybe they just have questions and want to talk something through. Sure, you can sign up for a 1:1 session with the Apple Store's "Expert Bar." It's free.

But maybe I'm too shy to sign up for that bible class. Or maybe I've mustered all my courage just to walk onto the churches hardwood floors, filled with hope - because this is the place that has answers to my non-digital lifestyle (I can visit Apple for the digital part).

But then the church service representative (usher, greeter, musician, pastor?) that I encounter can't think of a single outreach group or audio tape to address my paricular need -- will I find myself back out in the parking lot faster than an Apple sales person can deflect a scanner question?

Each one of us (I'm the musician) has to be ready to meet, welcome and help the person walking into the door of our church, or bible study, or neighborhood.

They're not always going to ask for the plan of Salvation. It might start with a question about software compatibility and support services...

What do you believe?

Servants, Guitars, Church Parking Lots

I've been playing church music since I was in the 6th grade.

Back then we had to haul a bass violin from the school and back again. What a workout!

Fortunately for me, electric guitars came into favor and I only had to carry the slim silver case and a small Fender amplifier.

Over the years, it became two acoustic guitars (Martin 6 string and 12 string), a keyboard (so my daughter could play) and an ever changing assortment of microphones, cables, speakers and mixers. Oh, and the music. Those binders are heavy!

Don't get me wrong. I absolutely love making music for the Lord. It's a privilege. A gift. I've known more sublime moments of Spiritual connection to God in the midst of fellow musicians than on my knees in the pew.

Four decades of this now and the weekly load in and load out just goes with the territory. And our current church music department is the best ever. I have only to carry the two acoustic guitars and my music bag. Everything else is in the church. (Thank you Jesus!)

That's why I was a little surprised on Palm Sunday last week.

I was standing beside my car, slipping one guitar case onto my back (its a soft-pack case) and preparing to pick up the other case and the music bag.

I had to stop and juggle for a second because I also had my suit coat and tie on a hanger. I don't usually bring that, but we had a family baptism to attend after the service.

Just then I heard a voice ask me, "Could you use some help?"

I was about to say no (hey, I didn't even have an amplifier), but I was running late so why protest? I turned briefly to this older gentleman to gage his carrying capacity. I handed him the 12-string guitar and locked up the car.

It wasn't until we started walking toward the church that I realized this thoughtful person was my Senior Pastor! We had a nice chat and he amiably went the entire way from the lot, through the side lobby, down the hallway and into the music room. What a kindness!

I've been attending this church - my favorite of all time - for seven years now. No one has ever walked up to me before and asked if I needed help. But our newest, 'highest' church official did.

His role model, Jesus of Nazareth, said:

"You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant...just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." Matthew 20:25-28

What do you believe?

Everest - Name above all Names

Walk into a cafe in just about any city around the world and ask,

"What would you say is 'The' mountain of all mountains?"

Most, if not all would answer "Mt. Everest." At 29,000 feet, it is the highest, grandest peak in the world.

Serious climbers would enjoy a debate about its challenges compared to other mountains.

K2, for example, is considered a tougher technical climb - it requires more mountaineering skill and training. Only 200 have summited K2.

But it is not Everest.

Annapurna has a higher death rate of climbers, almost half of those trying to summit have died (46%) and only 130 have made it.

But it's not Everest.

Everest is the name above all names when it comes to mountains. There is only one highest peak in the world. Its name is Everest.

The bible says of Jesus,

"Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father."

Philippians 2:9-11

It's good to discuss and debate what we believe and why we believe it. Some believe that a relationship with God through Grace, based on unmerited mercy and forgiveness, is too easy. They find more tangible satisfaction seeking God through their works, or through principals of discipline and thought.

In some ways, I believe they'd rather risk Annapurna's failure rate than summit Everest.

What do you believe?

I Remember Jesus

One night I was very, very sick.

I had a fever and lay motionless, miserably studying the yellow light that spilled along the edges of my varnished bedroom door.

Comfort broke through my misery along with the light each time my mom came in to check on me. Her hand felt cool on my forehead and she encouraged me as mother's do. I can still sense what her presence was like beside me. If I were an artist, I could draw the scene in minute detail.

That took place almost 50 years ago. Half a century.

My Grandmother gave me a vivid account of the time she was weeding the family garden in Nebraska and her sister accidently struck her in the head with a hoe. The weather and events of that day played back to me through Grandma's recall like HD TV. That happened almost 100 years ago. A century.

The Apostle John wrote his personal account of Jesus' ministry within 40 - 60 years of the resurrection. The Apostle Paul's memoirs (epistles) earlier than that.

Last month we visited a special museum exhibit of the Dead Sea scrolls. These ancient fragments were discovered in the 1940's near Qumran, on the West Bank of the Jordan river. As it turns out, the Qumran scrolls date back 2,000 years and demonstrate that texts of the Hebrew bible from the middle ages match closely their predecessors of the previous millenium. In short, nothing's been lost in the translation...literally.

Accompanying the exhibit were also copies of early New Testament bible texts. I was surprised to learn that there are copies of Paul's letters in existence that are dated - with some debate - to the late 3rd century. That's the late 200's.

If my daughter lives another 75 years and gives her daughter the account of my grandmother's memorable day in the family garden, it will be as fresh as Paul's record of early Christianity.

My mother's soothing words. Grandma's vivid recollection of the warm blood spilling down her head.

John and Paul had even more stimulous and reason to capture detailed and accurate accounts of their historical record.

"We did not follow cleverly invented stories when we told you about the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, be we were eyewitnesses of his majesty." 2Peter 1:16

What do you believe?

Free Fitness Equipment

I was striding across the main floor of our three story atrium at work.

It's nice, simple architecture with lots of light, a couple of conversation couches and a tree or two.

As I exited to the corridor, a sheet of white paper on the wall caught my eye,

Free Exercise Equipment

This was not an employee bulletin board where you might expect to see personal items for sale or trade. It was the middle of a corporate space, with scotch tape holding the paper to an elegant strip of tastefully stained walnut.

Free Exercise Equipment

I read it again and tried to get the context. It was on a wall immediately adjacent to the open atrium stairway. It's 3 stories of granite steps held in place by an artfully positioned suspension system. For a moment, I considered climbing the stairs just to see what kind of exercise equipment must be on display two floors up.

Then it dawned on me and I smiled. The stairs were the free exercise equipment. You don't need an expensive healthclub membership to climb stairs at work or anywhere else. It's free. What a clever way to associate productive value with something already in our midst.

Free Life-Coach Manual

That got me to thinking - what other titles or printed tent cards might we place next to a Bible?

Free Relationship Restoration Guide

Sometimes people hear or see the word "Bible" and immediately recoil or get suspicious. What is it going to make me do ? What am I going to have to change?

But there is so much comfort and reassurance and affirmation in the Bible. God loves us where we are at - foot of the stairs or top of the stairs.

Free Map to Hope, Joy and Love

I usually take the stairs in that atrium anyway. I'm accustomed to it. It takes a little extra time and cardio, but its more refreshing than standing in an elevator. I actually feel better after taking the stairs. Not everybody thinks so. They might need a little coaxing. Or a maybe just a different way of thinking about it.

It's still the same set of stairs, but once you try it, you're surprised that someone had to talk you into it.

What do you believe?

Me, Worship and Cary Grant

Every year we watch a few favorite old Christmas movies including "The Bishop's Wife" with Cary Grant. In this movie, David Niven, the bishop, is obsessed with funding and building a new cathedral.

Cary Grant, an angel, arrives to answers the bishop's prayers. But in the end, the major donor decides instead to give the money to the poor. Shocked and crestfallen, the bishop asks the angel,

"What about my cathedral? That's what I prayed for!"

Cary reminds him that what he actually prayed for was 'guidance,' wrongly assuming that God shared the bishop's personal drive to 'have' a cathedral.

In my marketing world, we've come through a period of promising people to have things "their way." I saw a huge, building sized banner at a recent tradeshow that promised professional attendees they could, "Get the results...your way," not unlike the old hamburger commercial.

But there is a notable shift in that kind of messaging. In today's gritty environment of cost savings and cutbacks, it appears greedy and unseemly to put a me-need before a value-based outcome need.

A friend reminded me that we might soon see that same shift in spirtual expectations.

It's not uncommon for people to measure church-going satisfaction by what they 'get out of it.' I include myself in the millions of people on any given Sunday who have stayed home or gone for a drive because I just didn't 'feel like' sitting in church that day. Me, me and...me.

But idealizing and repeating the perfect Sunday experience for our own pleasure and fulfillment isn't the goal of worship. We are so fortunate to have a God who desires relationship with us. So blessed to have a communication channel of prayer, and a reference book of scripture. It's God who is worthy of our worship. We "get" to come into contact with Him. If that's inconvenient or tiresome on any given Sunday - or before saying Grace at our next meal - or prayers at the end of the day...then there's a DVD-ready lesson from the bishop in Cary Grant's Christmas movie: Its about us giving God the glory.

"And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfillment; to bring all things in heaven and on earth under one head, even Christ." Ephesians 1:9-10

What do you believe?

Raised Hands are Waiting

In my marketing job, I do a lot of work trying to locate and identify customers who are 'ready to buy.' We ask questions, take surveys and even track what types of email our prospects respond to. It's a very laborious process!

A much more productive technique is to contact customers who have self-declared that they are ready to buy. This bypasses all my detective work and gets right to the person who has specific questions and decision points. We say they've "raised their hand" by filling out a "contact us" form on the internet. Or they click on a Google ad. If I search for "buy speakers" and then click on the Bose ad, you can bet I'm already in the market--so talk to me!

That's how I look at the people who knock on my door or stop me on the street corner to talk about spiritual matters. These are people who have already 'raised their hand' for spiritual inquiry. I don't have to be politically correct or beat around the bush. They are already in the market.

Unfortunately, many of them have bought into the wrong product.

They may be in a cult, or have been convinced that their salvation relies on works rather than redemption and Grace.

I don't ignore them as solicitors...I steer my way directly into their path.

I like nothing better than 15 minutes with two people and their pamphlets on my front porch.

Rather than argue over confused theology, I simply take the invitation of their inquiry to explain the Gospel of Grace. "You and I are sinners. Jesus died to redeem our sins. We can have forgiveness and eternal life by believing on His name." And repeat, perhaps with prayer and reference to Ephesians 2:8-9 or Romans 10:9, until they take their leave.

From there, God does the heavy lifting. If they are open to the Truth, it will set them free of whatever else has enslaved them.

Look, some of the people that call out from the street corner are actually my brothers and sisters in Christ. They are boldly proclaiming Jesus and I love it ! I smile and encourage them.

But take a closer look from now on - before you slam the door or say something derisive. Are you dis-missing an annoying cultist, or missing the raised hand of someone seeking Truth, who has yet to meet Jesus?

"And you also were included in Christ when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation. Having believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God's possession - to the praise of his glory." Ephesians 1:13-14

What do you believe?

Gas Lamp Evangelism

We took a ferry boat from St. Thomas to get to our campground site on St. John in the U.S. Virgin Islands. We packed little (cheap) for this guys 'winter' camping trip. The national park there provided cooking utensils and a few other items for our tent site.

One very pleasant surprise was an LP gas tank with a 2-mantle lantern, mounted on a pole beside our picnic table. We learned in a hurry that inky darkness blankets the forested island, especially with no "city glow" from the horizon.

All you had to do was open the LP valve and light a match beside the cracked glass lantern top.

With good humor, we realized that our rusty lantern had only one broken mantle on the dual gas spigot, but we lit it anyway. It glowed reddish orange and cast a few dark shadows within a few feet, but not much else.

The next day we told the park office and by nightfall there were two new lantern mantles on the same crusty apparatus. We lit the mantles and for a few glorious seconds our entire site was bathed in clear, bright light.

Three grown men cheered spontaneously on an island in the middle of the ocean! Hurrah!

Then the lantern sputtered. Then one mantle burned out and the other glowed its same dismal reddish orange from the night before.

It was late, and only a few more days on the island anyway. We could navigate by flashlight. We were also very aware that only a few hundred miles to the north, people were suffering horrendous life and death issues in the earthquake aftermath. Our needs were miniscule.

I went ahead and told the park office, and upon returning to the site later, we found a brand new, shiny lantern with two fresh mantles on our old LP pole. I tentatively placed a match to the globe and cheery bright light spread over our little patch of dirt and tree roots.

What nice fellowship we had at that picnic table for the remaining few evenings. And how much easier it was to see our way around trees, equipment and packs.

You can get by with a dismal red glow and convince yourself that it is sufficient; it may even sputter brightly for a brief moments now and then. But once you see the real Light, you recognize the counterfeit is a poor substitute.

Jesus said, "If the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!" Matthew 6:23

What do you believe?

Golden Doodle Preaching ?

We attended church at the beautiful downtown basilica this morning.

Much of the basilica worship experience is what you would expect at a cathedral of this import.

The organ music is superb. The cantor and choir voices are angelic. The visual backdrop of marble and mosaic majestically transcends the bland, carpeted super-churches of suburban sprawl. All in attendance were worshipful and respectful (except maybe those two restless gradeschoolers in the pew behind us...).

On another level I was disappointed. While the preacher at our mid-morning service had a very calm, soothing voice, I heard no passion for the gospel. No energy. No enthusiasm. He sounded like the guy I'd want trying to resolve a contract dispute. Smart, well studied, non-aggressive.

I'm a little embarrassed to share the next image that crept to mind, but it's true.

A sister in law has one of these new hybrid dogs. Part golden retriever and part poodle. Golden Doodle, they call him. Very, very sweet companion. Calm, quiet, even tempered. He pads into the room, doesn't jump on you and never barks. As a matter of fact, he is so bland, that after a few minutes you wonder what his role could be with the family. Almost like a rented pet. No evident basis for commitment on either side. Neither hot nor cold. Of course that's not a fair assessment to make in such a short visit to another church, and I repented.

As we departed the basilica we walked over to the huge creche scene. It's rough hewn wood beams occupy several steps of the side altar and the figures are probably half scale. We marveled at the wonderful expressions carved uniquely into each face. Mary's joy. Joseph's relief. The shepherd boy's reverence. A little village girl's delight. All eyes on the baby Jesus. And each one - in their wordless, lifeless form - exuded the stupendous miracle of God's incarnation and redemption. More than humans had this morning.

Jesus deserves better from us than passive Gospel Golden Doodles. Even an artist's masterpiece - no matter its divine inspiration - cannot fully embody our personal testimony of God's love.

"When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told." Luke 2:17-20

What do you believe?

Jim Ryun - Got the Gold

Jim Ryun was one of my boyhood heroes.

Running sub-four minute miles while still in high school and later setting the world record at 3:51, some of his high school records for 800, 880 and 1,500 meters were still standing 40 years later! While setting a U.S. mile record in 1965, still in high school, he actually defeated the reigning Gold Medal Olympian of the day, Peter Snell. That's like a high schooler beating Tiger Woods at the Masters.

I was crushed, like most U.S. sports fans, when he placed second at the 1968 Olympics a few years later. Ironically, he actually beat his goal-time by 1 second that day, but Kip Keino of Kenya was better. As my sister - who witnessed the race in Mexico's Olympic stadium that day - and I mused, he didn't 'lose' that race, but successfully earned a Silver Medal while doing his best.

Ryun had some tough times amidst all the glory. My dad recalls seeing him drop out of a mile race on a chilly, rainy day at the Drake Relays, a premier collegiate track event of the time. After a fall at the '72 Olympic Games in Munich, Ryun left amateur racing, and eventually became a U.S. Congressman for the state of Kansas.

I met him under much different circumstances, almost 20 years after Munich.

We were attending a stadium size Christian prayer conference in Indianapolis. On the final evening, as a demonstration of unity across all the denominations represented, the youth ran through the aisles of the packed dome, bearing small lights. They were noisily and enthusiastically following a trim, smiling gentleman with a torch held high in his hand. A Mr. Jim Ryun.

Until that moment, I'd no idea what ever 'happened' to Jim Ryun. No idea that the final fall at the '72 Olympics had been the turning point of his faith and an open door to Christian ministry.

Like a starstruck teenager, I made my way through the crowd afterwards, easily recognizing his unchanged profile. With no entourage blocking his access, I simply walked up to him and extended my hand, gushing something about being his biggest fan.

He warmly and kindly accepted my praise, as I clumslily searched my pockets for something to autograph.

"Here, I've got something," he said gently, as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

From a blue hip pack, he pulled a small, folded card and began writing with a pen slipped from the same pack. We made some additional smalltalk and then I yielded to others who had discovered the former Olympian standing there.

Reading my prize later, I realized that Jim Ryun had signed his name to a brief account of his journey to faith in Jesus Christ, and the turning point of falling down - then getting up.

Jim Ryun is still one of my heroes, but for reasons different from my boyhood admiration.

What do you believe?

Get a new Parachute

I took a parachute jump for one of my milestone birthdays.

You shuffled through a one day class, signed some release forms and then jumped out of a perfectly good airplane on purpose. Happy birthday!

There were only three or four basic things to remember.

Wear the chute correctly, jump clear of the plane, check the chute when it opens, and then land safely.

Easy enough when you look at it like that.

Since we were first timer's on a one day lark, our rip cord was clipped to the plane's floor. It had about 15 feet of extra strap. When you jumped out and reached the end of the cord, it yanked your chute open. They call it a static line jump, vs. a free fall where you pull the cord on your pack.

But that doesn't guarantee a flawless chute opening. Lots of things can go wrong. The lines going up to the parachute silk can get tangled. Most common, some of the chute sections might collapse or not open. I recall our rectangular parafoil having about nine of those cells across the top.

This is the part they really hammer home. If some of your chute cells don't open, you lose the lift that is slowing and controlling your fall. So, you look up as soon as the chute opens, twist your lines free and count the cells. If two or more (can't recall the exact number now) were collapsed, you could decide to "get a new chute." Simply stated, if the main chute isn't working right, you reach to your chest and pull the rip cord on the reserve chute. The instructor said this countless times during the course of the day. "If it's going bad, just get a new chute."

When you pull that cord to "get a new chute" the old one is released. You are left with the reserve chute and no further options.

It's a decision you have to make in split seconds as you hurtle towards the ground at 100 miles per hour. Do I go with what I have, or do I put my full trust in the alternative that I cannot see?

If the main chute is tangled or collapsed and useless, I imagine the decision is much easier than if just one or two or three cells are bad. Maybe I can survive that, maybe not. But at least I know what this chute looks like.

We're all hurtling toward the ground that signifies the end of our lives.

If we're at 30,000 feet of middle age, it seems like there's a lot more time to decide. But as the decades go by and the ground gets closer, the decision to change chutes seems more and more urgent.

I see people testing new chutes all the time. New spiritual beliefs, new philosophies, new lifestyles. They pull the cord and get a new chute. Most of them are tangled or only partially filled. Or they fail to open at all. So they pull it again. And again. New chute after new chute.

The apostle Paul said,

"If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation, the old has gone, the new has come! All this from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ..." 2Corinthians 5:17-18

When my chute opened, I was so relieved! Everything was in order. No twisting, no lingering doubts of bad cells. And after my trust was confirmed, I felt free to look around me. It was beautiful! The ground wasn't rushing at me so fast after all. The frantic wind was now the breeze that I literally floated on. I still wondered what exactly the landing would be like - but I was no longer afraid.

What do you believe?

Situational Integrity

Back in 2005, one of the world's largest companies articulated what they considered to be an ethical stand on embryonic stem cells. They would "only" use embryonic stem cell lines that had been approved by the then-Bush administration, or any other national agencies in which they worked.

They were careful to say that they would not be involved in the primary harvest of the stem cells - someone else would kill the embryo - they would only use the resulting cell lines. And, they were careful to leave the door open for the future; should national guidelines change, they would change. In March of this year, the Obama administration OK'd federal funding for embryonic stem cell research. Within months, this same corporation, still consistent with the guidelines they'd established in 2005, also evolved their business model to join a commercial venture potentially selling tissue developed from these approved stem cells. They would not sell the stem cells, they reminded in the press release, only helpful tissues (liver tissue for example) created from those stem cells - which again, were originally created by scientifically stopping the life process of a developing human.

Now, the Obama administration is hopeful to change the federal stem cell guidelines to add more "lines" from more...embryos.

The corporation - their name doesn't matter, because we're all complicit in this; we're all allowing it to happen, and I'm still a stockholder, and both Republian/Democratic administrations allowed stem cell lines - the corporation was careful to affirm that they conduct their research in a scientific and ethically sound fashion. In fact, this same company prides itself in setting an internal tone for personal ethics and integrity in the workplace. They are widely and consistently recognized for playing by the rules.

But cleverly worded guidelines and one-step-removed policies don't change facts.

When King David committed adultery with Bathsheba, it was convenient to do away with her husband, Uriah. But David cleverly stayed one step removed:

"Put Uriah in the front line where the fighting is fiercest. Then withdraw from him so he will be struck down and die." 2Samuel 11:14

Then David's friend Nathan "called him" on it, not accepting the obsfucation:

"You killed him with the sword of the Ammonites," Nathan clarified for David. 2Samuel 12:9

As surely as he had swung the sword himself.

Adult stem cells have now proven to have more promise than embryonic stem cells - integrity requires that we openly explain and act upon that difference.

David's stock went down after his indiscretion - so did the corporation's - so has our culture. But David repented, and the wisdom of Solomon, his son, followed.

What do you believe?

3 bucks and the Miraculous Staircase

We visited three churches in historic Santa Fe, New Mexico.

The oldest, San Miguel, is an adobe brick structure with rough hewn wooden beams over its head-bumping doorways. It's in relatively poor condition, but that only adds to the charm and authenticity of it's 1610 origins, built with the help of local Tlaxcalan Indians.

The most magnificent is St. Francis Basicillica, built in the 1800's with Romanesque grace and stone arches over what was originally another 17th century church site.

But most people will ask if you've visited the Loretto Chapel.

Just down a side street between the basilica and San Miguel, Loretto's sturdy 1870's gothic structure is no longer actively used for church services (although it does rent out for weddings).

In fact, its attached to a very nice hotel and for $3 you can walk in to see...the circular staircase at the back of the church. It circles tightly, twice, as it ascends from floor to loft. Very nifty workmanship done with only wood pegs and well balanced symetry--there are no braces to the side wall.

The noteriety of the staircase comes from it's mysterious carpenter, having passed through town after the church was already built, and supposedly working for free before quietly slipping away again once the work was completed.

The Loretto brochures are careful to place the word "miraculous" staircase in quotes, sensitive perhaps to the fact that the "chapel" is really a "former" church and mostly a tourist attraction now. I dutifully took pictures of the staircase and admired the craftmanship. Then I turned to the front of the church to study the hand carved altar and two very thoughtful, sculpted statues. The stations of the cross on the walls are some of the most beautiful I've ever seen.

I couldn't get too close at first though, because a family of five was sitting on the altar railing, backs to the altar and staring toward the rear staircase. This wasn't just a couple of kids waiting to be shoo'd away by a museum docent. This was mom, dad, uncle harry AND the two kids. Chattering away, oblivious to any sense of reverence the rest of us exhibited to the scene behind them.

It took me a full minute to think through my emotions. I was offended by the blatant disrespect for the alar and its symbol of salvation on the wall behind them. On the other hand, it was technically a museum, this "miraculous" chapel. And they did pay their 3 bucks like everyone else. I don't know, though. Could you ever grow so cavalier about an act of redemption--involving the cruel crucifiction of an innocent man for your sake--to turn your back and snap cell phone pics of some nicely done cabinetry instead?

The founding Sisters of the Loretto chapel sold it in 1968 when their education facility closed.

I suspect they had definitely ruled out any "miracles" involved with the renown staircase by then, otherwise no earthly price could have been set.

But I wonder. Was there not enough of a miracle involved with the story behind the altar, at the other end of the church? Would people not walk in off the street to hear the story of the man who actually did perform documented miracles in a far away place before his astounding resurection from death and subsequent reappearance to 100's of people just like them?

Just around the corner, the slowly decaying adobe structure of San Miguel still has a worship service every Sunday night at 5 o'clock. Several of the people we saw touring there were seated quietly in the ancient pews, meditating thoughtfully and respectfully.

San Miguel also tells the miracle of a carpenter who came to town, solved a problem, and then mysteriously left again.

"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith; who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." Hebrews 12:2

What do you believe?

SantaFe from 20,000 Feet

We just got back from a quick trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Lovely place.

There's lots more to do than wander the art shops and museums that surround the centuries-old plaza. Don't get me wrong, its an intoxicating pastime. We admired everything from priceless religious art and Georgia O'Keefe's to original oils and sculptures by lesser knowns along Canyon Drive. Some of the most exquisite gallery pieces were priced anywhere from a year of private college tuition all the way up to suburban starter home. I'm not kidding.  "Most of our buyers contact us through third parties, or over the internet," one proprietor allowed, as though pardoning us for merely browsing without a checkbook (or loan officer).

We soon discovered that our favorite art treasures weren't locked up in any of the lovingly preserved adobe dwellings. In fact, we drove over 700 miles in less than 4 days, covering a good portion of the Northeast quadrant of the state. It's in the high desert that you see the most spectacular palette of colors. Fire-bright cottonwood yellows and quaking aspens tucked between rough-barked Ponderosa pines. Brick red cliffs and shimmering streams that catch the late afternoon sun, just so.  The artists along tony Canyon Drive were good, but they weren't that good. No disrespect intended.

We followed mile after mile of winding highways, stopping constantly to snap photos or walk out to an overlook. We gazed across one vast caldera, trying to fathom it's size from one edge to the other. We knew there were pine trees miles and miles across the grassy meadow, but they were a blur of green, too far off to see detail. Then we spotted a collection of dots in the middle of the expanse. They were moving, but I couldn't image what they might be. Dogs? Sheep? I brought out the binoculars and said to Angela, "you're not going to believe this."

It was a herd of elk. Huge, lumbering elk lost in a vast sea of caldera grassland surrounded by thousands of feet of towering Jemez mountain range. No canvas or brush could be clever enough to capture the thrill of that moment, or the sweet smelling breeze that rustled through the grass.

Two mornings later our plane took off from the Albuquerque airport and quickly climbed to 20,000 feet. "We're flying right over the section of Jemez mountains that we drove through," I said. Sure enough, we could see where the scenic highway left the main road and started it's winding assent through the pass. It surprised me, as the plane continued climbing and we recognized landmark after landmark from our travels, that the high desert section had very finite boundaries. We had driven through the very highest, most scenic section. But from the plane we could see that within 10 or 20 miles in either direction was scrubby, treeless lowland. And that vast, seemingly endless caldera with the elk was merely a drop of  spilled milk on a banquet table.

I smiled and wordlessly thanked the Living God. "You are an artist's artist," I offered up with quiet praise.

Century after century people have come to that area and re-created--or interpreted--on animal skin and canvas what they see and sense.  What they recreate, He first created.

And just when we conclude that our vantage point has empowered us to see from one edge to the other of his creation, it only takes a plane ride and a few thousand feet to realize that there are still countless horizons beyond our vision.

What do you believe?

An Extra Chair - An Extra Guest

My brother-in-law's funeral came six weeks after my mom's. My sister and her boys bravely greeted arriving family friends at the front of the church. I was in the back with my friend Ed by the pipe organ, tuning my guitar. There was an old folding chair by the wall, and I planned to sit there during the service, knowing Ed would use the organ bench. The church filled up quickly and I was a little rushed, getting sheet music organized and microphones set. My other sister came by and we chatted quickly about a harmony I though she could add to one of the communion songs. We hadn't rehearsed it or sung it in many years and she wasn't confident enough to wing it under the circumstances.

"What about Mary?"

An old family friend with an angel's voice, and a best friend of our grieving sister, Mary was attending the service. With only a few minutes to spare, Mary tested the harmony and very kindly agreed to help.

"May I sit here?" she asked, pointing to my designated folding chair.

"Of course," I agreed and strode quickly back out to the church hall to rustle up another chair. Seeing none, I pulled one of the funeral directors aside and asked hurriedly, "can you get a chair for me in the back of the church?" She was busy too, but its part of the director's job and she didn't hesitate, saying it would be done. I left her and went to wash the equipment dust from my hands.

Emerging from the rest room I bumped into a young high schooler carrying a chair.

"Is that my chair?" I blurted out. He looked confused.

"The chair for the back of the church--did the funeral director ask you to get that?"

I was speaking fast and must have looked as anxious as I felt, so he wordlessly, reluctantly handed me the chair. I raced to the back of the church where Mary was already seated. To my surprise, another chair was already in place, obviously placed there by the director. I just kept walking and placed the extra one next to it, wondering now why that young man had gotten a chair for me.

Almost immediately the congregation was instructed to stand for the opening hymm and I glanced over to my left. There he was, my young friend, wrestling another, bigger chair into place at the end of a back pew. It was for him, and he was seated beside an overflowing pew full of our nephew's friends.

I felt bad for the mix up, realizing I had caused extra grief and stress for the young visitor. But only a few minutes into the service I heard the side door to the church scrape open and bright light poured in from the alley. An embarrassed gentleman stepped into the church. He was obviously late, and he hurriedly scraped the door shut again.

There was nothing he could do. He was committed now and with the layout of the church--two opposing halves of the church face each other across the altar in the middle--half the people there were aware of his predicament. Not a space to be found, except...

"Would you like to sit down?" I walked over and whispered, gesturing to our vacant chair.

He nodded gratefully and settled in beside Mary and me for the remainder of the service.

Afterwards, I tracked down the young man with whose chair I'd absconded.

He looked a little apprehensive, perhaps wondering if I had another reason for him to chase the wild goose. But I quickly recounted the story and as soon as I got to the part about the man stepping into the church without a seat, his face lit up.

"The chair!" he exclaimed. Yes, the chair. And despite the sad occassion, we enjoyed a shared moment, realizing that even the littlest things we fret over are often used by God to accomplish his own way.

"In all things God works for the good of those who love him, those who have been called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28

What do you believe?

Jesus and Genesis

Our pastor talked about divorce during the sermon a few weeks back. One of the new testament Gospel readings referred to Genesis in the old testatment.

"Jesus replied, 'But at the beginning of creation God 'made them male and female.'' "

Mark 10:6

An interesting reminder,

Jesus believed in, and taught, creation.

He didn't equivocate.

Coincidentally, there have been a few recent "findings" concerning the theory of evolution.

As always, these theories are inconclusive, using pieces of bone fragments to tell a story their discoverers would prefer to believe.

Click to read an update on Lucy (this was before the newest find of 'Ardi')

Jesus didn't think creation was a story.

What do you believe?

"I'd rather wait for a wider path..."

Just a year ago this fall, my wife and I were walking through a remote section of state park along Lake Michigan. It's an ungroomed backpacking area away from bike paths and asphalt. There was a lot of thick overgrowth and many false forks. Any trail markers or signs were few and far between. Still, we'd hiked even more remote areas (there was that time in Alaska...) and we'd easily be back long before nightfall. Plus, what better orientation than knowing a Great Lake was somewhere off to our right, for crying out loud!

Oops.

About the time we expected to meet up with a return loop to the trail head and our car, the winding trail veered sharply from the lake shore and we soon lost sight (and sound) of the water.

The path shrunk until neither of us believed that the thin ribbon of dirt beneath our feet was the real "trail." And looking backward in the fading light, we realized we could wander endlessly in circles trying to retrace our steps to the lake shore (no compass!).

With the temperature dropping rapidly, our light hiking clothing would make for a very miserable night in the forest. Brrrr!

So we both rejoiced when a few more twists and turns of that tiny path spilled us back onto the main trail and an arrow to the parking lot. Yes!

Even in the dark, we could safely navigate back from there. What a relief.

Clear direction.

There was only one path home that made sense to us.

Neither one of us said, "this is insulting, there should be more options."

It didn't occur to us to say, "I don't like having to take this path with the arrow, let's wander back into the overgrowth where we're in full control."

Instead, we were happy - and grateful - to have a way out of the dark and to the reassuring comfort at the end of the trail.

It's really not so bad accepting a single, narrow path to the assured solution.

Or is it?

What do you believe?

What Makes a Big Church ?

I grew up attending this little church on a quiet residential street in our town.

In it's day--the 60's--it was a bustling place. Thriving Sunday school, pot luck dinners, fund raisers. We were small, make no mistake. Even after our big "expansion" program, the modest new church addition had painted cinder block walls and a concrete floor. But we filled it every Sunday.

That is, until the 70's and 80's when many family's drifted off, some to larger venues.

I drifted off too. On to more evangelical beliefs, and yes, to larger, more active congregations.

I wondered what kept the little place going. Besides my parents, there were a dozen or so 'core' families that hung in there. And when we did visit for a Sunday service, they--the 20 or 25 people in attendance--were always kind and attentive to us, and to all their members. But do the math. Is that a sustainable...church? Sometimes I just smiled and shook my head, wondering how they hung on.

When my mom died this August, there was a lot to prepare for the funeral service and luncheon. I had no idea. But church members, my parents' dear friends, immediately mobilized to take on tasks without asking. Tables were set up in the church hall. A team assembled to handle kitchen and clean-up. Ushers were on duty. The organist and pastor were at our disposal to plan the service.

And once again we filled that little church.

Not just with people, though every square inch of pew was occupied. It brimmed and overflowed with love and the Holy Spirit. Honest to goodness pipe organ music rose and rang off those cinder block walls. Prayers and remembrances were clear and heartfelt. People were comforted and consoled.

It was the fullest, most glorious celebration I could imagine for my mom, or anyone.

And bustling back and forth behind the scenes throughout the day were those same "core" people who were always so kind and attentive whenever I returned home for a visit. Unnoticed for the most part by visiting guests, they were just glad to do something for my mom, and their church.

They ministered to all of us. They acted in faith, with a foundation built on the love of Christ.

Six weeks later, my sister's husband also passed away from cancer and we were right back in the same welcoming arms. The same people rallied together without a hesitation and quietly, selflessly did it again.

I don't know how they've kept that little place going all these years. Or, maybe I do.

What do you believe?

Waiting on the Re-organization

We've had a big project going on at work this year.

We're taking several independently run profit centers and combining them into a single, encompassing entity.

Most companies call it an "integration" or a "reorganization."

It's natural that most of us employees have an ongoing twinge of distraction throughout the course of an effort like this.

There are many unanswered questions that hang out there for months and months.

"Will my job change? Will I have a new boss? Will my office move?"

But there is nothing you can do to rush the process, and no single document exists to explain every single change that is going to occur. So you wait, wonder and keep doing your daily work as best you can. That's all anyone really expects of you. All they can expect.

"That is how it will be at the coming of the Son of Man. Two men will be in the field; one will be taken and the other left. Two women will be grinding with a hand mill; one will be taken and the other left. Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come." Matthew 24:39-42

Keep at God's work every day, sharing the Good News, and loving his people. That's all anyone really expects of you. All they can expect.

What do you believe?

Nice work, is it new?

I finished a simple electrical project in our house during the holiday weekend. It had been partially finished for quite some time, but I wanted to do the work when neither air conditioning or heating would be a dire necessity -- just in case I had trouble with the breakers or anything.

After my wife and daughter returned from their travels, I accompanied them to the basement to show off my handiwork.

They stopped and inspected the wall plug and metal conduit running up the wall, where I had now plugged in our storage freezer. Ooh's and ahh's for the professional looking work and convenience of having an extra 20-amp plug.

I hesitated to tell them at first, and allowed a bemused smile to break out on my face.

"What's so funny?" my daughter asked?

"Well," I answered, "that's not what I did this weekend. That wall plug and conduit have been right there for the last two years. All I did was connect it to the breaker box...on the other end of the basement."

They both had a hard time believing they had been walking past the nicely done, but power-less electrical receptacle for more than two years.

We shouldn't be surprised if people don't suddenly recognize a change in us whenever we've experienced a new Spiritual insight or heard a great sermon. They're just walking past the same receptable (you/me) that was there yesterday. Looks nice, can't really use it.

But plug into the breaker box and get some power - now they can see the actionable value in their midst - you can safely plug in the freezer unit instead of haphazardly draping a wire from the light socket in the midde of the room.

I've done a lot of "nice work" on my spirtual life in past years - more Bible study, more prayer - looks nice and tidy on the wall there; but the real results are where God's power has taken action and transformed it to accomplish his good intentions: service, love, compassion, mercy, forgiveness.

You've got to plug the conduit into the power box.

What do you believe?

Twitter and Scripture...Scriptter ?

I read recently that an historical society is publishing old diary entries from John Quincy Adams. They realized that he wrote in the brief (less than 144 characters), pithy format necessary for tweets.

I've also been experimenting with Twitter. Initially, I posted a Spiritual topic or concept and linked it to a scripture--but you had to click on the link to see the scripture verse. Then I posted a few actual verses from scripture, adding my insight or reflection at the end.

Then I read one and laughed at myself! (never hurts to do that)

Sometimes there's just no need to add to perfection. No need and no way, in my case.

So now I've just been sifting through many of the highlighted verses of my Bible, the one kept open here on the table. It's amazing how much God says to us in less than 144 characters!

And something else. It's drawn me back to read the un-highlighted verses as well. You can't read and re-read your Bible too often! There is always something to learn, to reflect on, to delight in.

I love the Lord my God, and I'm grateful that he thought to leave his Word for our benefit. Even for a twittering world!

What do you believe?

Who do you say he is?

Jesus' core team knew what was being said of Jesus - and he asked them for the feedback.

Very complimentary answers...he might be one of the prophets returned to life...Elijah, Jerimiah. Or maybe John the Baptist. Pretty cool.

"But who do you say that I am?" he asked them. Matthew 16:15

We (I) sure do squirm when we have to answer that direct question in public, don't we?

Jesus didn't ask, "who do you believe that I am?" He asked, "who do you say that I am."

It should be the same answer, right? We say what we believe. Not just at church on Sunday. Anywhere.

Timothy said to be straightforward "when convenient and not convenient." 2Tim 4:2

But somehow all sorts of prefaces slip into the mix..."well, I can only speak for myself..." and, "I realize there are many different paths to the truth out there..."

It's because the stark, unprefaced answer--that we should give without shame or embarrassment of our spiritual diversity, is so far off the perceived culturally acceptable mark.

Simon Peter answered clearly, "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God." Matthew 16:16

Peter said that immediately following Jesus' question. Jesus asked, Peter answered. No lead up or dilution.

Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God.

What do you believe?

What do you say?

He Said, "Come, follow me."

My friend Ed stopped to talk to me the day of my mother's funeral.

This was at the end of several stressful days--the sadness of losing mom, and then the myriad of details and decisions involved with her funeral and church service celebration.

Ed very gently let me know that he would be hosting a church service with lots of special music about 3 weeks from that day, and might I think about joining him and playing guitar?

Despite my steadily growing fatigue and numbness, I had not even a moment's hesitation.

"Ed, just tell me the time and place, and I will be there." That was our conversation.

3 weeks later, when I arrived at the church for the pre-service rehearsal, there was a stellar ensemble of people who had also answered Ed's call--musicians of a caliber whom I was humbled and just a little intimidated to join. They had also said yes to Ed. And they were in their chairs quietly taking direction from him and smiling to each other as each song took sumptuous shape and texture. As we each knew, Ed would gather us into his musical vision and call upon our unique, individual talents in ways that said, "I know you, and I know a special way that you can be a part of this."

It's been that way every time I've worked with Ed for the past 40 years. Every time.

All Ed has to say now is, "come, follow me."

The apostles didn't have 40 years of proven experience when they met Jesus. And yet, the Gospel's explain how Jesus gathered his group of leaders,

"Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men." At once they left their nets and followed him. Mark 1:17

I know how a musical service is going to turn out when I work with my friend Ed.

But how did the apostles know? And yet,

"Jesus called them, and immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him."

Matthew 4:22-23

Jesus knows you and will involve you in ways that celebrate the unique gifts with which you've been blessed. I say, 'Lord, just tell me where and when!'

What do you believe?

Mom's Passing

[My mom's struggle with cancer ended this week, about a month after celebrating her 60th wedding anniversary with my Dad. I can't describe how much I will miss her. These are the words I spoke at her funeral yesterday. Please keep my Dad in prayer.]

"Well, I gotta tell you. Things in heaven have gotten a whole lot more organized this week…One of the angels saw St. Peter himself, helping to dust the pearly gates, and the angel says, “Looks like Dolores must finally be on her way up.”

King Solomon wrote about my mom in Proverbs 31, he said

“A woman of noble character, who can find her?

She is worth far more than rubies.

Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value.

She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy.

She is clothed in strength and dignity, she can laugh at the days to come.

She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.

Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her.

Give her the reward she has earned, and let her works bring her praise at the city gates.”

My mom worked hard and she played hard.

She had movie star good looks, but she never considered herself pretty.

She typed parts manuals for WW II Army Trucks, and she typed term papers for her kids.

She changed diapers, and she changed lives.

She had a tender heart – and she let out robust, heartfelt laughter.

She played Rummy Royal and Dress Up with the Grandkids.

She drove across Europe and she camped her way across the Rocky Mountains.

She was quiet and genteel – but she was no pushover.

I will never forget the time I watched, in shock, as my 5’ 2” mom stood toe to toe with my towering, brick laying, stone-mason of a Grandfather, and she said, “You….are an ornery, stubborn old Dutchman!”

But that was the exception.

99.99% of the time she was the loving friend, the kind neighbor, the playful grandma, and most endearingly, the soul mate of my dad, Jerry.

The two of them have been inseparable since their last names – a “W” and a “Z”, put them in the same classroom in high school. Dad called her Spunky in some of the letters they exchanged while he served in the Navy – and he called her his tiger as she battled her own war with cancer.

And after 60 years of marriage they were still going strong in the house they built together – same phone number, same locks on the door, same maple tree in the front yard.

3 kids, 5 grandkids, hundreds of friends and countless memories of love and happiness.

My dad did a heroic job of keeping up with mom’s cancer treatments and taking care of the household this past year. But in the past few weeks, little by little, we knew that mom was failing, and it appeared as though the 60^th wedding anniversary celebration was her final milestone. We would have all loved her to be with us forever, year in and year out. But as my sister said, God is God, and we are not.

A cousin wrote a brief note to my mom before the anniversary party, and I love the way she summed things up.

“Auntie, you have always been an example of class, dignity, kindness, honesty and what a real woman is all about. I know everyone around you feels the same way.”

I’ll close with one last thought.

My mom knew she was going to heaven, because she believed in Jesus as her savior. You can know that too.

So I asked mom one day a couple months ago,

“When you get to heaven, who would you like to see first, your mom, or Jesus?”

Close family and friends knew that my mom lost her own mother when she was only 13, so seeing her again was a common theme over the years.

It didn’t surprise me too much when she said, “You know, I’ve been giving that more thought recently.” “And…?” I asked.

She said, “I don’t know if this sounds funny, but I really think I’d like to see my mom first, and then go see Jesus.”

Fine with me.

My surviving Aunt, big sister by several years to my mom, had yet another conversation with my mom and the two of them forged an agreement. If my mom didn’t meet up with their mom as she planned – she was going to round up a few people in heaven and roll some big thunder!

Tuesday morning at 3 a.m. we were gathered around my mom’s bedside, holding her hands and praying with her. We read some scripture (John 14: 1-6, John 11:23, Psalms 23 and 121) and my sister sang a beautiful lullaby. We told mom we loved her. We told her that she had prepared us for the life that is still before us.

And then finally, my dad said, “It’s ok if you want to go now. You go on now and be with your mom.”

She did, and we didn’t hear any thunder.

Right now, I know those two ladies – and a whole host of other family and friends, are celebrating a very, very joyful reunion of mother and daughter and Savior. That’s the image I’ll keep in mind in the days to come. I know my mom is smiling, and I know Jesus is smiling, too."