First Sunday in the new building. I wasn't wildly excited. I wasn't giddy. I wasn't freaked out. If anything I was tired. Like William Wallace standing on a victorious battlefield surrounded by fellow combatants waving and shouting only to calm down, look around, and assess their injuries, the dust has settled, and here we are. Not that I have any injuries, mind you. With the exception of some new calluses (which will come in handy for guitar playing) and a nagging ache in the back, I'm pretty well off. As for the rest of the crew? I feel honored to have worked along side of (and at the mercy of) some mighty fine people. I think there's a whole barrel of spiritual gifts that we have overlooked here. In Exodus, God identifies a guy by the name of Bezaleel who, He says, is filled with His Spirit and the evidence of it is that Bez is gifted in all manner of workmanship and understanding. God delegates to him, the task of building the temple. As if by some logical wisdom, God doesn't tell the prophets, priests, or tribal leaders to do the job. He sovereignly gives a strange guy on the fringe the gift and call to build His house.
I wonder if in this day, in which God dwells in houses made of flesh, that He is once again calling those sovereignly chosen, regular folks, to bring the Gospel of the Kingdom to mankind in a real, relevant way. Strange people on the fringe, just like us.

Turkey day approaches. What's that drug in the turkey again? Trip-to-something... Supposed to put you to sleep for an hour or so. I plan on an overdose. I'm going to head to the lake, savor the bird and the pie, and recline on the dock with a hot cocoa in one hand and a fishin pole in the other. No bait on the line of course. I don't actually want to catch anything. That would take effort and I've got about 359 sabbaths that I'm squeezing into this day. Now this brings up an interesting thought. Some people go fishing to fish. Some go fishing to catch. I mostly prefer the latter, however this week I don't have a desire to catch anything but a nap. To all my friends and enemies (some of which are actually the same people), have a happy Thanksgiving.

How is it that I arrived here? Have you ever driven somewhere only to think back on the journey and realize, in a Clinton moment, that you can’t quite recall how you got there? I think this is why grace is so important. When we arrive at a masterful accomplishment we often outwardly take credit but inwardly we wonder how in the world we got there. On the converse side of things, I believe there are those unfortunate among us who tonight sit on a cot in a cell bunking down with a large reprobate whose name happens to be the same as a popular brand of power tool, who are also wondering the same thing. How in the world did I arrive here? In both cases grace is glaring in it’s intensity to both pardon the criminal and purify the proud. Truth is we arrive at those locations one small step at a time and your guide determines the destination. From familiar accounts of the saints of old, we find that often those on the wrong side of the law, along with ‘Mr. Blackndecker’, were many times in the midst of the wild will of God. Paul and Silas, for example. At the same time those who were often getting a lap dance from luxury were a blasphemous breath away from a divine spanking. Herod the Great, for example. In either case, the party whose guide was grace found favor with God. I believe that when we reach heaven’s throne room and stand before God we’ll all gaze upward in bewilderment wondering, “How is it that I arrived here?” I think of the words of an old hymn. “There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Emanuel’s veins. And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains. The dying thief rejoiced to see that fountain in his day. And there may I, though vile as he, wash all my sins away.” Amen and amen.

I've met some fascinating people in my short life. I recall the brief stint as Sandra Bullock's house cleaner. Our first conversation... (Me cleaning an antique coffee table) "I'm sorry but I don't think I can ever get this thing to look new again." (Her reaction) "Heheheheh, that's funny." Far more intriguing was the unique cast of characters I spent the summer with in London, England in 1988. This was an evangelistic trip with Teen Missions and those 35 people were some of the most colorful personalities that God ever crafted. There was Joel Lawler, who was sure Sid Vicious was still alive. Steve Bakos who did a three month long impression of the church lady. Tammy Prochnov, who new way too much about my character, or lack thereof, from the bus ride from Des Moines to Daytona. Michelle from Georgia, who could make you laugh just by saying the word "head", which in Georgia, has three syllables. Cameron Friesen, a Canadian fireball who got fed up about mid July and headed home. He was my friend and I was sad to see him go. Tami See, who was a rock of common sense in our hurricane of hormonal hedonism. Kim Feenstra, a beautiful girl whose blond hair competed with her smile for 'brightest feature'. Her spirit outshined them both. I broke her heart and mine as well. Then there was Bonnie Penner. A lone soul who, among us all, seemed to know the reason we were on this evangelistic adventure. I was aware that Bonnie both knew God and she loved Him. It's far more rare than you think. We say we love but we can't even love each other and we say we know but most of us haven't even figured out who we are. I respected Bonnie with an angry, seething, brutal respect. I wasn't interested in truth and she seemed intent on making me stare at it every now and then. The painful reflection of loving chastening from a peer with the Spirit's power behind it provoked conversations I'll never forget. At the time I dismissed her by pondering the vast number of people with good hearted zeal I had encountered who, over time, allowed the fire to subside and called it maturity. Imagine my surprise when I decided to take a look online and see where Bonnie had settled down. Surely her youthful passion for the lost had, by now, become a mere memory.
In November of 2002 in the Lebanese city of Sidon, Bonnie was killed by a Muslim gunman. The morning light greeted her opening the orphanage that she worked in and on those steps her life ended for sharing the Gospel of peace with Muslim children. God has chosen mankind to be the lamp by which His light shines in the darkness. With Bonnie's martyrdom, the world lost a lamp that never lacked oil but only shined brighter with each moment. I had begun to fear that my zeal for God, His Word, and His House, would naturally subside over time and that there was little that could be done about it. Bonnie has proved me wrong.

The book of Jeremiah opens with a recollection of the moment of his call. He has a reluctant conversation with God much like a teenager with a parent. God says to him, “Do not say, “”I am a youth””. In effect, God tells him that what appears to be a fact is, in fact, not a fact. Ultimately God’s eyes see differently and, safe to say, with far more accuracy. God’s view and vision is about as foreign to us as a bikini in Baghdad and often far more shocking. Psalm 32 features a verse in which God declares, “I will guide you with my eye.” No wonder so much of His leading makes so little sense. As believers, we humbly succumb to be led by his sight and thus begin a journey that boldly goes beyond the boundaries of normative thought, ideas, and action. Jeremiah, though told in chapter 1 that he has power to overthrow kings and kingdoms, never gets the chance. The power that God places in him never seems to get fully unleashed on the world. But it’s unleashed in Jeremiah for his heart turns out to be the very kingdom that God wants to conquer the most. So this man of power, pride, and priestly position turns into the “weeping prophet”. I often think of the self esteem style teaching regarding the spiritual authority that has been placed in our lives to subdue and conquer kingdoms and yet we ourselves remain lawless and without restraint. After reading Jeremiah I’ve come to the conclusion that God is far more interested in taking the time to subdue the kingdom of a single man’s heart than to merely use him to subdue what our eyes see as kingdoms. In fact those are kingdoms made by men and, as the Scriptures say, are as dust before Him. It makes sense that the Creator is far more concerned with His creation itself than what His creation has created. Like a child who comes home from school with a crudely beautiful sculpture of popsicle sticks and macaroni and the parent admires it but only because his child has created it. The artwork is destined for the trash can but for now it hangs in a place of prominence. The kingdoms of this world seem so prominent, but in God’s eyes they are as solid as popsicle sticks and macaroni. Our destiny, however, is that the power of the Spirit within us will eventually bring us to a place of obedient submission to His perfect will and we will be conformed into the image of Christ. That’s a fact.

As an evangelists kid, I wasn’t burdened by material wealth nor the want of it. But the few things that I did have were treasures. One of the treasures I had was a travel brochure about Disney World and I loved it because inside it had a map of the park and I meticulously studied the layout. The combination of their facts and my vivid imagination made this simple brochure worth more than gold to me. It’s amazing what we attach value to. Sitting in Grandma Bert’s house one evening, a terrific thunderstorm rolled in with all of the subtlety of a sledge hammer. The wind tore at the house and all two stories creaked and croaked under the strain. My Dad loved storms, at least I thought so, because when there was a storm dad would stand out on the porch with his coffee and take it all in, lightning, thunder, hail, and a chorus of wild wind. I guess it was better than tv because it was interactive entertainment at it’s best. Much to the chagrin of mom I would join him and this night I had in hand my brochure. I stepped onto the porch and saddled up next to Dad and just as I did, a gust of wind sucked the magazine out of my hand and into the black air. Before I knew it, my dad did something totally unexpected. He ran out into the yard and disappeared within the sheets of rain. Mom yelled at me to get in and in terror I curled up on the antique claw-foot couch next to her. I thought he’d be right back but he didn’t come and I shivered with each strike of lightning. My uncle Joe got worried and putting on his coat announced his intention to head out and find dad. More time passed and the wind grew louder. Finally, the door broke open and dad and uncle Joe stumbled in, tired, cold, and soaked to the skin. Dad leaned against mom who had stood up to hug him for being so wonderful and scold him for being so crazy. When he wrapped his arm around her I couldn’t believe my eyes for clutched in his fist was my brochure. It was soaked and ruined but I didn’t care. I don’t remember what happened to it. For all I know, we simply threw it in the garbage that night at Grandma’s house. But I cried hard and held tightly to Dad. Not over the magazine, but over the sacrifice that he made. There’s a huge difference between cost and value. Never cry over anything that can’t cry over you.

My pipes are groaning. Whenever you turn off the shower this groan aches loudly in the walls of the house for a minute or so. Still, indoor plumbing beats an outhouse. If you’ve never used an outhouse you simply haven’t lived. Grandma Alberta lived in Bushnell, SD (population 75 give or take) for most of her 98 years and resided in a house that looked pretty much like the barn across the yard. Unlike the barn though, the house had a paint job and that was in sorry shape so Dad and I set out to give it a fresh coat of whitewash with lime green for the trim. The house didn’t have indoor plumbing so dad hooked a motor up to the old long handle pump in the front yard. When Grandma needed water just plug in the motor and you’re ready to go. The glass in the windows was so old that it wasn’t remotely flat and clear. It warped the view outside because it was wavy. Grandma had this odor about her that was an unmistakable cross between Ben Gay and liniment with a splash of prairie air. Dad said it came from the time she fell in the outhouse. The outhouse was a classic two holer. The narrow door hung crooked and, unlike the cartoons, had no clever carving in it like a crescent moon or whatever. It did, however, have a doorknob made out of an empty wooden spool for thread. In the outhouse hung a sears catalog. The shiny pages were always saved for last for obvious reasons. If that didn’t suit you, a bucket of corncobs set in the corner. Those you could recycle. One summer afternoon a prairie tornado came through as they often did. Everyone had a storm cellar. We called them basements and they are a Yankee’s best kept secret. I say this because somewhere between Oklahoma City and Dallas people just stopped digging them. For some reason these Texans educate their children to protect themselves from an F5 twister by getting in the bathtub. People don’t die too often from twisters in the Dakotas. Know why? Cause they’re in the basement, not in the bathtub! Anyhow the twister came through and grandma headed to the basement till it blew over. Except for a few dozen trees (that were piled up into the best fort a kid ever had) the only thing that was affected was the outhouse, which was upside down in the field. Grandma came up from the basement but didn’t bother to go out to inspect the damage. After all, there was chicken frying on the stove. Evening came and, as per the routine, she took a stroll to the outhouse before turning in for the night. The combination of her poor eyesight and brisk walking proved tragic this night as the classic two holer had now been transformed into a one holer. One big hole. I’m not sure how she managed to get out. That’s always been part of the mystery. All I know is that every time my pipes groan, I think of the outhouse, corn cobs, Grandma Bert, and the farm, and I’m thankful.

It's hard to get to the computer these days. I've been spending most of my minutes learning a trade. The fine art of framing. I've never framed anything but a picture (and a cousin, but that was a long time ago). Just kidding there. It's amazing how everything is tied into everything else and a single mistake or weakness can have a dramatic negative effect on the whole structure. At the same time the structure holds itself up by load transference. When there is a weakness (such as when we ran into a supporting wall with a scissor lift) the entire frame creaks and groans but didn't buckle because the load was evenly supported in many areas. Life is like that. There will always be areas of weakness to fix or correct and though the entire structure may creak and groan the load transfers onto the points of strength. How many points of strength do you have? Mine have names. Traci, Shannon, Randy, Chris, Mark... the list goes on and on. Bear one another’s burdens. Seems I read that somewhere. In this way we maintain a health in the 'body' and not just maintain, but build, construct, reconstruct, and finally we are made complete. Amen.

Think about two words here. 'Job' and 'Purpose. If I were to ask you why you have a job you would likely answer, "For a paycheck, sir, and aren't you depriving a village somewhere of an idiot?". Most people work two jobs just so they can have enough money to be broke but ultimately the purpose of the work is to live. Now jump to the kingdom of God. If there's one question I get asked often these days it's, "What does God want me to do?" As Christians we've got things turned around for us because grace is freely given and now our lives are lived in a response of gratitude for the gift. The paycheck's already in the bank so now I just have to live worthy of it, right? So we often focus on the job since we figure the purpose is fulfilled. But it's not. Oh yeah, your salvation is sealed, but that's not what we're talking about. So what's your purpose? The Scripture says that we are "...predestined to be conformed into the image of His Son." That's the purpose. For "when we see Him, then we shall be like Him for we shall see Him as He is." Beyond salvation you embark on a quest that will likely entail a multiple of 'jobs'. Each one with a different description but a single purpose. That you be conformed to the image of Jesus Christ. Don't get hung up on the job. "Walk in the Spirit" today and "whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all of your might." Hey, knowing that in everything God is shaping you, even the job of village idiot is ok.

Pure Evil

Everyone should have a verse of Scripture that speaks to where they are at any given moment. For me, today, it's the one in the second book of Hezekiah that says "Woe to you who install fiberglass insulation". I may have misquoted it there.
Fiberglass insulation is pure evil. It was actually invented by Thaddeus P. Thudpucker in 1836, the year that Texas became the greatest nation in the world. Legend has it that when Tad was a lad that he was bad that his dad got mad and had Tad build a pad. Something thick that would keep out not only the heat, but the sound of the Mariachi band next door. He was a stupid kid and made stuff out of glass and the theory of evolution was finally debunked when, in 2003, stupid people are still using that stuff to keep out the heat and the sound of the Mariachis next door.
There could be some good uses for it though. Having problems with a mouthy kid? No problem. "Here, Junior. Have some cotton candy." Far more effective than soap, I'm thinking. Rapists could be sentenced to have to wear insulated underwear. You can choose the color, yellow or pink. Got a itch on your arm. No problem. Pain is your body's way of crying for attention. Rub some insulation on it. Your body, expecting to be scratched and appeased, will be in shock at the onslaught of pain that you've unleashed and shut up about the itch. That last one is just a theory, mind you.
That part in the Bible that mentions the Lake of Fire is a lousy translation. The word there for fire in the Greek is actually 'fiberglass insulation'. That's eternal torment. A shower of lemon juice and then a synchronized swimming class in the lake of insulation. After a dinner of stale chips, lousy salsa, and no salt, you can enjoy a concert where Liberace plinks out Yanni's greatest hits on an out of tune piano. Oh yes. I'm going to sleep now. (Itch/scratch)

I've got a friend who got a part in the Alamo. That would be the mega film that Disney is pulling off out here in Central Texas. I think everyone in Austin is either in the film or knows someone in the film. Actually not everyone made the cut. Seems the soldiers in those days didn't look like they've grown up on bacon double cheeseburgers and curly fries. They also had to get folks who were keen on letting the pork chop sideburns thicken up. That sent about half of the ladies home. So the cut was of the trim and the untrimmed. Jon is thrilled (as I am for him) that his name, face, and sideburns will be burnt onto celluloid film for all time. It's a great piece of history there, and the grandkids can rent (or download) the film anytime and watch grandpa fight along side of Billy Bob Thornton.
So I was thinking... What will I leave behind? While I have more than I should own, I don't believe that I have that much stuff. (Don't look in the garage) I don't have that much fame. Unless you count the time that I played Rip Van Winkle in the Lake Benton Elementary 5th grade class play. Mom didn't care for it because ol Winkle has act the part of drinking himself into a deep slumber, hence the name "Rip", I guess. I got the lead there and the local paper came out to snap a photo for the front page. It would have been a great photo except I didn't take off the fake beard. Oh well.
A legacy is a funny thing. It's a picture that is bound in the mind and memory of anyone who cares. If you were a generally decent fellow/feline, the memories tend to exaggerate you to sainthood. If you were a scoundrel, you'll be remembered in the same breath as Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson, or Hillary Clinton. Ahh but if you're remembered as a man/woman after God's own heart, there isn't a Nobel Prize winner that can touch that.

Wonder

There's a few items in this world that share the title for the most beautiful things in the universe. A sunset at Pearl Harbor, a praying child, a wild horse at full throttle, the greasy golden bottom of a Pizza Hut pan pizza, and a pregnant woman. No, Traci isn't with child. This isn't an announcement. Two is the limit for us. Not that we didn't want more. We originally had in mind to have about 5. Then I went to Six Flags and realized that an odd number would leave one off the roller coaster. Couldn't have that. Some folks I know that have a van load of kiddos never intended to get there. Spontaneous generation I guess. Seems like things don't often happen the way we plan. I think that's God's way of keeping us from getting blinded by the illusion that we just might be in control. Have you ever seen a child birthed into the world? I didn't remember the hypnotic internal battle that labor is. I was in it with Traci. I wanted to fight it and make all the pain go away. Next to a deep papercut in the webbing of your fingers, helplessness is the worst feeling in the world. Medicine is administered and the battle rages on. The pain is finally defeated by joy. Sheer joy. The sight of the incarnation of love is all it takes. Everything is still hurting but joy takes pain and renders it ineffective. (give yourself about a 5 second pause) I've got a sermon working here and I hope it's clear enough to be seen without any further rambling. "Ahhh, Lord God, You're a wonder."

Have you caught a glimpse of the new Jesus film, "Passion"? Directed by Mel Gibson, the trailer alone makes whatever brutality you endured in Braveheart seem like a hangnail by comparison. So begins the inevitable debate within the sphere of the Kingdom, namely, should this be done? Is it right to expose people to this level of reality? In all honesty I believe we do a greater injustice when we do it wrong. That is to say, do it right or don't do it. The barely bleeding piety we've seen in the past does a great disservice to the entire message of the Gospel for it doesn't touch the fact that our sin was the cause of that punishment. If the punishment were going to fit the crime then most crucifixion scenes would suggest that my sin wasn't all that bad. The sacrifice must be carried out in such a way that the sin of the entire world for all time, and all of the evil that goes with it, could be heaved into the sea of forgetfulness on a single set of shoulders. A few squirts of fake blood are not as brutal as the sin of a single teenager much less the whole of humanity. So if you're going to show it, show it right, so all the world will know the extent of the evil that Christ endured to bring salvation. On the other hand, (because there are always two you know), there is a strange, Babylonian, Romanesque, sense to the world at the moment. For the depravity has hit lows hardly seen by previous generations. We always point to Sodom and Gomorrah as the benchmark but Sodom didn't have the Scriptures, churches on every corner, Christian TV, Christian radio, Christian bookstores, or even a dozen believers within it's walls. To whom much is given much is required. When Billy Graham got on worldwide TV and proclaimed the timeless message of Jesus Christ something happened. Ignorance was no longer an excuse. When this film comes out and people are finally exposed to the closest reality they have experienced yet regarding the message of the cross what will they do? What are we to do with the immense knowledge, understanding, teaching, revelation, and outpouring of grace given to us? Sodom did nothing with nothing and their judgment was total destruction. I fear that if we, as the church, do nothing with something, our judgment will make Sodom's look like a hangnail.

In Acts 12 you find the familiar story of Peter in prison chained between a couple of guards when an angel smacks him (no really) and tells him to get his sandals on and head out the door, which he does. Smart guy. When Peter finally gets outside of the prison and comes to himself he exclaims that God has delivered him from the clutches of Herod and from the expectations of the Jews. The first one isn’t too hard to figure out. Herod represented the invading enemy. But that second one… He’s talking about his people here. It’s odd how Peter was so burdened by the expectations of those around him. We know he gave in to low life peer pressure round the campfire before the crucifixion. But after the resurrection he was a different guy. Or at least that’s what it seemed like. He seemed strong, bold, unshakable, unaffected by the expectations and influence of others. But in Acts 12 he reveals that he was in desperate need of deliverance, not only from the bondage of the enemy but from the bondage of his own people. Expectations make pretty stout chains and those within the household of faith can forge some expectations for you that seem challenging at first but may prove to be the very thing that challenges your freedom and liberty in Christ. If it does, don’t be afraid. An angel may smack you awake one night when you least expect it. Personally, I’m keeping my sandals on.

Went to an old style revival recently and I've got to say that the song service was about as current as the hoop skirt. But you know, there's something rich there. Not about hoop skirts, but about the 'old paths'. At one point during the singin, a guy that was a couple of steps from a long nap in a deep ditch took up the mic and kept the Parkinson's shimmy away long enough to bellow through three verses of 'Blessed Assurance'. I wept. I smelled the aged vinyl of mom's old purse and felt it under my head as I lay on the floor of the Nazarene church in Deland, Fla. I was three years old all over again.
At the time I didn't know or care much about the song, but now, to hear it sung by a seasoned pair of passionate lungs is worth more than gold. I watched, however, as an elderly man sang it as if his life depended on it. I guess it does, and he knows it. Truth is, that we tend to let things age to the point that they offer nothing to us anymore except for dead memories from a rusty recollection. But truth worth knowing is worth remembering. The truth in the lines like, 'Blessed Assurance Jesus is mine, oh what a foretaste of Glory Divine, Heir of salvation, purchase of God, born of His Spirit, washed in His blood' or 'filled with His goodness, lost in His love' these make me realize that the truth that took so long to realize was right in front of me all this time. Divine revelation ages far better than temporal things. All that is Holy wears well as if the suppressive power of time has no authority to diminish the gleaming beauty of that foretaste of Glory Divine. All that is temporal simply succumbs to the forces arrayed against it and, unlike truth, turns to dust. That reminds me. I guess it's time to get mom a new purse.

If you ever decide to spend a night sitting awake in a car (or in my case, a truck) pick a night when the sky is clear and the moon is full. The church is getting a skillfully applied coat of Texas limestone this week and since we have had some trouble with rock hounds moving pieces of ma earth from one place to another it has become necessary to have someone guarding it during the down time. It was surreal to say the least. Sitting on the hillside with the room temp evening breeze blowing just enough to make your hair slowly lean. The glow of the moon made the dusty ground turn an illuminating blue gray and the building seemed to loom up toward the sky as a part of the natural landscape. The dark outline of movement could be seen on the hillside across the road. The deer grazed in the twilight, unafraid and unaware while the occasional set of oncoming headlights blended into the tranquility like a pair of fireflies in a drag race. In the silence, nature's choir was in full chorus as crickets joined in what seemed like a sonic festival of distorted harmony. God's creation is certainly a marvel. You know that stuff about God never sleeping? It's very true. It was a great place to pray.

I'm growin out the do. The hairdo that is. People can't seem to figure this out. "Why are you doing that? What's the purpose? What's he trying to say? What statement is he making? Is he doing the Jesus thing? Since he turned 30 he's getting that Messianic look there. Or is he trying to reach the lost?" As if the lost all have the same haircut. That's how we can tell who's lost. "Or maybe he's trying to regain his fading youth. It's an early-mid life crisis. He'll grow out of it. Maybe he's trying to cover up the fact that it's falling out. I have noticed his forehead gaining altitude. Oh he's really a hippie at heart. It's just his personality." Sigh... I have no profound explanation except to say that I walked into a haircut joint a few months ago and saw the prices and haven't been interested in dropping 18 bucks to get a trim. When I throw down 18 bucks (or even ten) I want to give em something to do. I likely would have gotten a snip awhile back but watching people philosophize about what I'm trying to 'communicate' is really amusing. Maybe I am trying to say something... Ahh, the mystery continues.

I grew up on the road in a less-than-one room house. My world, however, was not the 26' fiberglass 1974 GMC motor home with lime green interior and an 8 track. My world was whatever greeted my eyes from the other side of the windshield. I have in my mental filing cabinet a host of sights, sounds, and smells that conjure up images and stories that are, for me, an attic full of treasures. Having no attic to store collected 'stuff' in I only have my mind and have found that to be sufficient. When I would wake up and feel the chigger bites on my legs (the only bug unhindered by the screen) and taste salt on my lips, I knew we were in Florida. When I smell 'OFF' I am suddenly back a t Strawberry Lake in the woods of northern Minnesota. When the smell of sweating cattle hits me, I recall the dairy farms of Wisconsin, The past is more fond to me now than it was when it was the present. The future is an untraveled road that always looks like a long but exciting climb. But the present is where I live or at least where I eat and sleep. There's a line that every parent of an elder teen knows. "You just eat and sleep here." A kid gets restless with the present and fights its confines and truth be told we never grow out of that.

As a teenager, I viewed the Scriptures as an account of what we must do to attain God’s favor. Close examination reveals that the Scriptures are an account of what God has already done and we are simply acting in response to it. This provides a much more difficult task than paying one’s dues to receive a ‘ticket to paradise’. In this case the tickets have been offered freely. How then do we pay for what we cannot purchase?
Man has been led to believe that value lies in what a thing cost to attain it. What a thing costs, though, depends upon the demand. Could it then be that people are so burdened in life that they can’t imagine being free? So burdened that they don’t wish for life to continue? Could it be that our apathetical response to the grace of God is due to the fact that eternal life has little value for us? Our ignorance of what's to come is much like our ignorance of a foreign country. Our imagination rarely matches the reality so we may view eternity with a negative eye. Like receiving tickets to a place nobody wants to go. Have we so entangled ourselves in the pursuit of pleasure only to find that we really have moved from a previous freedom and dependence of childhood, to the bondage of independence that wearies us to the point that eternal life (as we know it) holds no attraction? No wonder men don’t offer everything they own to gain eternal life anymore.

I love fireworks. Have ever since I was a kid. There's something about explosives. The smell of the imported cardboard and gunpowder. The crude graphics and the wild adjectives used to describe them in titles that were obviously slapped on with tongue in cheek sarcasm. Pyro Power, Wild Weasel, Inferno Explosion, Twitter Glitter, Monsters, Mini Monsters, Mega Monsters, Massive Monsters, you get the idea... The thing is that you could get these things for pennies when I was little and now I watch with strange fascination as people shell out 2, 4, or 6 hundred bucks for this stuff. I make a lousy salesman because I want to grab them by both ears, make forced eye contact, and say, "Are you SURE you want to spend five hundred bucks on a box of twitter glitters and wild weasels???" But they do. So I give em what they want. I watched as a buyer crossed the four-lane road in front of the stand to shoot his 'stuff' off in the parking lot of an adjacent apartment complex. His money became my show. I watched, enjoyed, and smiled wide eyed toward the sky at the show. All for free. But I really didn't care. It wasn't my desire to possess the product or participate in its ignition and display. I watched with indifference. But he was passionate and pleased with the process that he was into, no matter what it cost. There was joy in that. Here's where I'm going with this. Desire is a gift.
Someone once said that the two greatest tragedies in life are not getting what you want and getting what you want. One is desire without relief and the other is lethargic indifference, which is the price of the relief of desire. There's a powerful motivation in desire that either produces life improving passion or destructive criminal behavior. It all depends on the outlet. Men fantasize about the woman they can never possess. They might wake up and realize that their own wife is worth loving far beyond what they can see, or they may become cold to their spouse. In extreme cases they may act out an act of criminal passion. Women dream about the product they can't afford. They may learn to appreciate what they do have or may become angry at the perceived inferiority of what they do have and give it away hoping to justify their upcoming purchase. In extreme cases they get caught on hidden cameras stuffing Hermes scarves into oversized purses. Children imagine lands and wonders they can't see with their eyes. They simply use cardboard boxes, couch cushions, and towels to transform their room into what they dream. We want everything to be better than it is because our desires are an appetite that can never be satisfied. But desire is not an enemy to be killed. It cannot die. It can only move and when it does it moves you too. Desire is a gift to be guided in the right direction. The Psalm says, "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want." This is not that he takes away your ability to want. He uses it to move you. Thank God for the gift of desire. I will learn to see it as a force that can move me to where I want to be. Closer to the heart of God.

Ok here's something worthwhile, unlike my writing from yesterday which was about as desperate as a Michael Bolton impersonator looking for work. The following started the tear ducts working after a long dry spell the first time I heard it (about 7 years ago). I was really beginning to lose faith in the power of words to communicate creatively. Oddly enough I was working in a Christian bookstore at the time.
Poetry by a guy named Bill Malonee. A portion of a piece called 'Parting Shot'.

There's a question forming out here in the dark and a heavy air all around my heart
Now laden with consequence, chain link fence, and shot though with all manner of lies
I've been trapped in and caught
And the world like a tempist in your ears doth roar
And the flesh wants to dress up and play the whore
And the devil wants to cast all manner of doubt on the real lover with the key dying to let you out
Of the bars that you fashioned with your stolen clout
When the great divorce happens hide me in your song
Though I don't deserve it and I don't belong
Well I may be confused but I'll play my hunch,
Did it feel like a kiss or a counterpunch?

I've been neglecting the site for the past few days to devote time to the annual church fireworks stand. Most of the time the company makes the time pass with brevity and levity. Yesterday, though, was about 105 degrees in the shade which made working the stand as fun as being a proctologist in a leper colony. Don't take me too seriously here today. My brain has been scrambled into a cream cornball of insanity by the heat, dust, and gunpowder. Right up there with climbing Everest, running with the bulls in Pamplona, swimming the English Channel, and tipping cows, is working a fireworks stand in Texas in July with 'Sweet Home Alabama' playin in the background. Add to that a fine game of dominos with a buddy who happens to be a card carrying member of the NRA, and you've got an experience that is worth writing about on a weblog that nobody reads. I just looked in the mirror and sure enough, part of my neck is turning red. Bright red.

(A rare moment here. I actually allow another page out of one of my personal journals to leak into cyberspace. Read at your own risk)
For the first time in a great while, I'm bored with life. I've turned 30 and I've become boring. I'm boring myself, for cryin out loud. My quick wit has grown dull and my scathing humor has eroded into chronic irritability. I have no earthly idea why. I still soak in the Scriptures and, by God's Holy Spirit, profound truth occasionally raises it's fearsome head. This is a condition that I have to deal with. I'm not so interested how I went wrong as much as how to get right. Perhaps therin lies the problem. Unless I take a couple of mental steps backwards I may blaze a trail to a greater darkness. When you come to a cliff, only the hopeless or stupid step forward. Optimistic progression steps back to get a clear perspective from a safe vantage point - with the understanding that while the goal still lies ahead there is a way to attain it without plunging to your death. In addition if one dismisses the risk and therefore forfeits the goal, then another death of sorts has occured. This death is far less forgiving because it's a death you have to live. No wonder zombies are so angry. Like other believers I press toward the goal of 'Christlikeness'. People's response to Jesus was to cheer him on one day and kill him the next. Is that what I really want? I want to serve and for that service I would prefer their positive response over the negative. I guess I have to resolve that in fickle people just like me, one is married to the other. So I've come to the cliff. I think I will choose to..."

Spiritual Hypocrites and Jars of Clay

What happens when you admire the teaching of a teacher but the actions of their personal life don't seem to mesh with it? Plainly put, how do you deal with a spiritual hypocrite?
If truth's reality depended upon the character of the messenger we would all be very confused. There is tremendous comfort in knowing that the cure for the sickness of sin retains its potency regardless of the filthy hands that deliver it to me. Their decision to (or not to) reflect what they teach has no effect upon my acceptance of that truth unless my eyes are focused on man rather than God. If I look to man's character to validate the truth he proclaims I set myself to err. For men of character can also proclaim a lie. With sincerity and passion, they can deliver a deception. So truth that is of God must be spiritually discerned. Ultimately since we have this treasure in earthen vessels, dig out the truth and the treasure and let God deal with the vessel. That's spiritual discernment. Open the eyes of my heart, Lord.

I often leave a conversation wondering if my silence would have ministered more than my words. Consider the following observation from a true story.
Torn By Grief by Joseph Bayly
"I was sitting, torn by grief. A Christian came and talked of God's dealings, of why things happen, and hope beyond the grave. He talked constantly of things my heart knew were true. I was unmoved except to wish he would go away. He finally did.
I was sitting, torn by grief. A Christian came and sat beside me for an hour or more. He listened when I finally spoke, briefly answered, humbly prayed, and left. I was moved. I was comforted. I hated to see him go."

The legend is that St. Francis was praying in the field one day when a pilgrim came to be edified by his words. The pilgrim sat waiting for quite some time when finally a fellow disciple walked to Francis and said, “Please say something to our brother that he may be edified.” Francis replied, “If he is not edified by my silence, he will not be edified by my speech.”
Look around at the ‘wordiness’ of our world. Signs everywhere begging you to “taste me, touch me, buy me, smell me, drink me, etc”. The ‘word’ has become worthless for we are drowning in them. The result is that the function of the word is no longer realized. The word no longer communicates, no longer fosters communion, no longer creates community, and therefore no longer gives life.
Often it seems that we find ourselves entangled in such a complex series of discussions, debates, and arguments about God or ‘God Issues’ that a simple conversation with God or simply enjoying the presence of God has become nearly impossible.
Silence is the home of the word. Meditation gives strength and fruitfulness to the word. Words are meant to disclose the mystery of the silence from which they come. Human silence is often born out of embarrassment, shame, or guilt. In divine silence, love rests secure.
Unfortunately for us, silence has become a fearful thing. For most people it creates an itchy nervousness. Most people experience silence not as full and rich but as empty and hollow. We have all experienced times when someone has said in church, “Let’s be silent for a few moments.” People become restless like one waits for a fuse to burn down to the powder. I have shunned silence in some services because of the anxiety it provokes. But God is not a God of fear but of divine love. He also is silent more often than He speaks. Allow this time of silence to store up the heat and passion for His presence within you. Convert an empty silence into a full silence. Don’t be disappointed if He doesn’t “speak to you” as you think He ought to. Be content to enjoy a shared moment of silence with the Creator of the universe.

Perspective effects our behavior or reaction to everything. As a child everyone of us has walked with arms outstretched along a curb pretending that we were hundreds of feet from the ground. With a cocky confidence we skip and dance our way from one step to the other thrilling ourselves with our false sense of courage. When suddenly a misstep causes us to tumble into our imaginary abyss but the illusion of danger is shattered by the concrete that beneath our feet. God began gut checking me recently about my own perspective of facts and truth. What's the difference? The facts are something that we see happening in the physical which while feeling very real now happens to be a lie. There are areas of your life that are out of control and things happening that are motions of sin that seem to negate the truth. Plainly put the fact is that we all have problems and issues. The knowledge of that fact won’t set you free for facts are not a solution. Truth on the other hand, has far greater power. The Scripture says You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free. Freedom rarely results from facts. We've often identified a problem by saying, "The fact remains..." But God has sent the 'Truth' to demonstrate that what appears to be fact doesn't have to remain.

It's Monday. The day that preachers shouldn't do anything that requires a mental pushup. For some reason I can teach school all day for five days a week but one single service on Sunday morning drains you like an 800 lb mosquito. Everyone seems to have issues on Monday though. I'm sure we could eliminate preacher scandals if right after every service they threw a straightjacket on him and put em in a rubber room for about 24 hours. I say him because when was the last time you heard of female preacher scandals? The likelyhood of that is as probable as getting a Jehovah Witness to say, “Look we really gotta be going." Nothing against female preachers but some of them have a strut like they went to the Janet Reno school of runway modeling. Speaking of Janet Reno, I just heard she was having prostate trouble. Or was that John Madden? I get them mixed up. Getting the brain to work on Monday is more challenging than organizing a round of twister at the nursing home. To all you intellectual friends, foes, and female preachers who grace my blog, no offense intended. In light of the rest of posts on this site this one is as out of place as a boom box in an Amish colony. I just thought of something else I probably shouldn't do on Monday. Type.

The law of cause and effect is in play all around us. If we throw a ball or fire off a round the result of our action will be felt far from us and this result though caused by us and in spite of our finest aim and best intentions, is out of our control. So it is with spiritual truth. God has placed into the world around us certain spiritual decisions that all have cause and effect. When we act based upon a cause that is unwise won't the ensuing result be negative spiritually? Conversely our positive decisions must have a positive effect spiritually since the world that is seen is directly connected to the world that is unseen. So I determine today to study the spiritual effects of my actions (as much as that is possible) and understand the cause for which they were put into play. Not for the purpose of explaining the ways of God which are beyond our capacity to search, and not for the purpose of attaining any grace, favor, or gain for myself, but instead for the purpose of building a deeper faith in the faithfulness of the Father of lights in whom is no shadow of turning.

Does it ever seem that your view of God leaves you saying, "I wish God loved me as much now as He did when I was lost." You might think then that one must become as prodigal as possible to experience the fullness of grace or become as bound as possible to fully appreciate the gift of freedom or become as wounded as possible to adequately know the value of healing. This tragedy exists until the fact is realized that no matter how much darkness I attempt to add to my soul, I cannot make myself any more lost than I already am. Neither can I obey enough to gain more mercy and favor than you. Ultimately then, whether I'm born to a gangster or a preacher, my responsiblity is to spend my life in thanks and praise to my Savior who has flooded my darkness with His light.

Memorial Day. To memorize. To never forget. To remember. To put back together that which has been dismembered. To reconstruct. To always retain the ability to recall how things were. Somehow the way things were is often far better than the way things are. For one reason or another we will also look back on today as better than it seems at the moment because the past is whatever you want it to be. Most of us want it to be worth remembering so it's construction is often selective of the material that was best and that material (when separated from the bad and embellished) will build a structure more attractive than the one we live in today. I guess it would be of much benefit for us to be able to identify the best in this moment and build life to be just as attractive as we will one day remember. Memorial day is time to not only remember (reconstruct) the past but prepare this day as one that will one day be remembered as well.

Ever wonder what's going on in the lives of those whom you come in contact with every day? Of all of the traits I need to cultivate I believe empathy is the toughest. So today I aspire toward the virtue of empathy. Tasting tears other than my own.

In reading Mark's familiar account of Jesus' encounter with blind Bart' while visiting Jericho I noticed a strange portion of the story. Jesus hears the blind beggar man calling out to Him for mercy, which in itself is an interesting thing. But Mark records Jesus' less than compassionate response like this. Jesus stood still and called for him to come. How inconsiderate was that? Telling a blind man to come here is like challenging Christopher Reeve to a game of charades. The 'Christian' thing to do (according to the way we think) would have been to go to the blind man and heal his sight and THEN give him marching orders. I'm convinced that Jesus is hardly the pious sad sack that we have created in our art, pulpits, and plays. Jesus was/is good but he was hardly nice. His challenge to Bart was come follow me with no promise of healing, provision, or mercy. Simply a voice saying come. The beggar casts aside his garment and fumbles to Jesus with no record of assistance. The call still goes out to us who are blind today. Heal me first is our cry. Follow Me first is His. I guess the question is whether we want Him or simply want His supernatural ability to focus on our need. God is surely good, but He's not nice. Nice guys don't get crucified. Nice isn't what we need though. Often mercy comes in the form of a bitter medicine. Whatever we think we want I have to trust that what He desires to give, namely His voice, is really all I need in the first place.

This is not a post for movie reviews but I've gotten so many questions about the Matrix lately. Deviating from the norm, here goes nothing... So I've spent the past 24 hours pondering the profound philosophy for dummies dialog in the Matrix sequel. (That's a compliment if you're wondering, for the film cleverly verbalizes some complicated ideas). What a ride of a cinematic experience that was! I will say that this film phenom is a thought-provoking piece of material to be sure. I don't see that it's a clear spiritual story or parallel. Then again, what spiritual truth is truly clear? I read somewhere about seeing through a glass dimly. But it does cleverly illustrate some stark and mind blowing spiritual realities in graphic wonderment. A task many Christian films do with all the profound brilliance of a garden hose. (Left Behind and Omega Code come to mind) These films could have both been the Matrix but alas, a big budget in the care of badly skilled communicators produces drivel. I wouldn't say that they were badly skilled though. Perhaps they just didn't have anything to say. In this film the issues come fast and furious. Issues such as the sovereignty of God, the reality of the world that is 'unseen', the exercise of faith, the struggle to understand purpose and choice and the wondering whether they really exist at all. The tragedy of this film is that in all of it's brilliance a truly great series of spiritual illustrations gets muddied down by a bohemian 'worship' service that's more akin to a scene from Dirty Dancing, a sappy love story, and some unnecessary profanity that actually dumbs down what would otherwise be a wonderful piece of writing. So did I enjoy it as a carnal human? Absolutely. The freeway chase is the most amazing action sequece ever filmed, period. Pay your 7 bucks and go about an hour into the film and leave 20 minutes later. You got your money's worth. Would I recommend this as a person of 'faith'? No. If you want to make the gray matter come to life, get to a good church. A good church would not be one that seems to have all the answers. We have only to introduce you to the One who is ‘the answer’ and then it’s going to take you a bit longer than a lifetime of fear and trembling to figure Him out. If you think your church has a corner market on the truth somebody has sold you some oceanfront property in Arizona. So here's the deal. It's tragic when you have to go to a movie to get your wheels turning spiritually. Church should do this. Get to one that does.

The Prayer of Agur
Proverbs 30:7-9 “Two things I request of you (Lord) deprive me not before I die. Remove falsehood and lies far from me and give me neither poverty nor riches. Feed me with the food you prescribe for me. Lest I be full and deny you saying, “Who is the Lord?” or lest I be poor and steal and profane the name of my God.” Agur’s humble display of character, balance, awareness of personal weakness, and reliance on God is true wisdom spoken. This is not a ‘bless me’ prayer but a heart that desires that his life would bless God. Servanthood is a great idea until someone actually treats you like one.

I was talking with a friend recently about honest prayer. We were talking about the things that we would like to communicate to God and exactly how we would formulate the words to accurately convey what was in our heart and head at the moment. The conversation was brutal in its content and I occasionally felt the urge to duck under the table for fear of suffering retribution for what was coming out of my mouth. I was sure that God was going to pour wrath on my occasional selfish discontent. But when I recall the Scriptures, those who were closest to Him often had not only a passion to their praise but a fire behind their frustrations. God seems to take them both in as He is fervently tender and has created us to be so as well. So I searched through a journal of prayers that I’ve prayed over the years. (I write them so I won’t forget) The following is an entry from January 16, 2001. You may be offended by it at first but search your heart and see if you haven’t felt this a time or two.

“Father God. I just read that You desire to commune with me. If Your desire is to commune with me, what’s stopping You? Certainly I don’t hold the power to keep You back. And if I do would you kindly or unkindly overpower me? I always seek a deeper walk and always desire Your presence, (well, most of the time). The waiting and wondering how I can attain the Enoch walk, the Elijah mantle, the Samuel midnight visit, the Isaiah vision, or the Moses glow is enough to drive a mortal mad. I can sit seemingly forever and pray until I have nothing left to say but Your Name. But I guess it takes time. I understand that Your grace tells me that I can‘t be so offensive that You are repulsed at the thought of me. I also can’t take an action to gain a greater favor with You, can I? If there were a river or mud-hole to dip in or a mountain to run around I would gladly do it. More gladly to hear a clear command to do it would be the most desirable thing. I have no problem discerning whether the thoughts and ideas in my heart and mind are good ideas or not. I just want to know that they are Yours. I don’t need another idea from my own head and I don’t desire to make my own way or attain any success apart from You. Drag me to where You want me. The scars would always remind me that I wasn’t on this journey alone. Scream in my ear. And should I be left deaf from the experience my soul would be forever sustained knowing that You have allowed me to hear Your voice. Even if you strike me, whatever mark is left will tell my heart that you took a moment to touch me. Take me to where my heart is. Amen

The greatness of God's love for us stands in stark contrast to the weakness of our love for Him. Why does God pour out grace with such abandon on a people who could not possibly return it with equal fervor? The story of the ruler who was forgiven an insurmountable debt only to turn and deal harshly with his own servant would suggest that God is expressing this level of grace that we may in turn view and deal with each other in the same grace. It is in this expression of love for one another that we find the capacity to return to God the worship that He is due. How can one hate his brother who he has seen but love God who he has not seen? When we get to know people we inevitably find things about them that we don't like. What makes us think that when we get to know God that we won't find the same thing? Scripture vividly illustrates that most people who get close to God have occasional disagreements with Him. Jonah, Elijah, David, Peter, Adam... It doesn't make us right because God's always right. It's simply to demonstrate that not everything about God is going to rub us the right way. Some things about Him rub you like sandpaper on a sunburn. But acceptance of His whole nature brings a powerful capacity to be changed by it. Isn't that the point? The Gospel of the Kingdom is 'come as you are' but not 'stay as you are'. That's a good thing. "...zeal for your house consumes me." Psalm 69

“Men never go mad by dreaming. If anything the ability to dream is the medicine that chases madness away. Critics are far madder than poets.” GK Chesterton
New age tells man to search for God within self. God, however, suggests that we should hunt Him like an eagle on the mountains. God not only touches man deeply but also transcends us to the point where we must transcend self to grasp Him. So I am inclined in my immature adventurous nature to pursue God as a man would hunt an eagle in the Himalayas. And in doing this I know that He will “never leave us nor forsake us” yet the paradox to this is that I know how David must have felt when He wrote, “as the deer pants for the water so my soul longs for You.” When you’re aware that you’re in the presence of God you long for Him even more. He inspires a hunger within us that is not only satisfied by His presence but is also enlarged by it.

I lost my friend, Marshall (the Colonel) Woolever, this week. He had made his 90th leap over the annual hurdle and did so with a sharp mind, quick wit, and profound wisdom. Old age in many people invokes sympathy, but in Marshall it produced inspiration. Marshall taught me three things about the ministry. Be prepared, be brief, be seated. So in his honor I have prepared a brief letter (while seated). You're home now, Colonel. I will miss you, but only for a while. See you again someday...

Dear Marshall,

I heard this afternoon that you had a pretty good day. I would say that seeing God would certainly make a day memorable. Thank you for pouring your life into us here. You shared so much wisdom and understanding and taught us that God was and is truly faithful. The only downside to this day I see is that you're home and I'm here and the world has lost a defender. A defender of America and a defender of the faith. But I would be shallow to say that your ability has been limited by your entrance into eternity. As you join the great cloud of witnesses I will listen for your voice urging us on and saying as you said so often, "Remain faithful". I will.

Bill

Growing up on the prairie of South Dakota I discovered that time was beautiful and a moment could last forever if you would be willing to stop and let it burn it’s imprint into your soul.  I spent those moments absorbing the beauty of a barren land without powerline and fence where man long ago gave up the notion of erecting a city that would draw massive amounts of people looking for the American dream.  This would never happen in a land where time had to stop for six months while the blinding snow and furious wind washed the land timeless again and there the weather found it’s playground.  With the marvels of man and the mountains left behind, the wind found an unhindered vastness and beat the prairie grass mercilessly.  During summer  storms the thunder slammed its fist into the ground with a force that would bring to life the deepest sleeper.  The wind twisted and turned like a caged animal suddenly set free.  The twisting and rocking trees testified to its indecisive inability to find a single path.  Though appearing helpless to the forces tearing at them the prairie trees were no stranger to this power and with their roots firmly embedded in the rich soil, they laughed at the storms.  As a detective depends on the criminal in a partnership of emnity so the trees of the plains draw their strength from the relentless wind.  To find strength one must face adverse circumstances.  Our offensive force upon a weaker foe is not a revealing test of strength.  Only a stronger foe can allow our limits to be known.

A songwriter once wrote, "We are reaching for the future, we are reaching for the past, but nomatter what we have we reach for more. We are desperate to discover what is just beyond our grasp, maybe that's what heaven is for." I don't think I want to relive the past because I'll probably be reminded why I didn't think it was so great at the time. But now it's over and I choose to open the attic and find it's treasures rather than it's trash. Now if I can just do the same thing with the present, I may finally discover what abundant life is all about. Jesus had some stories to tell when he got home for sure. He didn't come back like He left. He left unblemished and we sent Him home with enough scars to hold the sin and sickness of all humanity for all time. I wonder what the saints and the angels said to Him as He made His way to the Father's throne? I'm sure they were in shock at the welcome He had received from us, at the fickle heart of man, and the lack of man's response. Surely they were ashamed of their fellow man who had treated the Holy Son of God with such disdain. What would the effect of those 33 years have upon Him? Would He tell the Father, "All hope is lost" and call for fire to consume the last of the Father's fallen creation? He instead takes His place at the Father's right hand and 'intercedes' for you and I. We have an Advocate whose memories of man produced compassion. That's grace...

Grandfathered

My Grandfather was fascinated by God's natural creations. He figured man's motivation in making stuff was for personal satisfaction and/or money. Since God is probably satisfied and doesn't need anything least of all money, Grandpa concluded that His only possible motivation for creating the wonders around us was His intense love for us. Every time he picked up a rock that sparkled or a flower with an intricate design it was an expression of God's love for us. To absorb and understand that love my Grandfather disappeared into that creation as if God's expression could only be returned by our taking pleasure in it. This made sense to me when I received a present from a dear friend. I found great enjoyment in the gift mainly because of my deep regard for the friend. The converse would then logically be that those who take no pleasure in the gift demonstrate the shallow depth of their regard for the friend. I think of the times in my life I have shown contempt for God by disregarding or merely ignoring the wealth of His many gifts. If God created this world to enjoy He certainly must have created within us the capacity to enjoy it. So then if I love God it musn't simply be by mental ascent or disciplined ritual but in allowing my senses to worship Him wholly and completely. It is then and only then that we are whole and complete.

I find comfort in knowing that I am not in danger of facing the wrath of God. Instead I have been identified with the Son. John 5:22 "for the Father judges no one but has committed all judgement to the Son." Acts 17:31, 10:42, 2:24

I'm beginning to realize that I've never felt really alone. As comforting as God's presence should be, His promise of constant companionship has often felt annoying. I have taken physical comfort for granted so what then have I done with the presence of the Comforter? In disobedience, His grip becomes as uncomfortable as a father clinging to the child who is in danger of falling into a canyon. I cry from the depth of my soul, "Please don't let go." even as I feel the foolishness of my inability to walk with confidence. Many or our scars are not only the wounds of a cold world and cruel enemy, but also the furious grip of a Savior who refuses to let us be destroyed by them.

Patience, Faithfulness, and Obedience

It was astonishing the other day when I looked at the calendar and realized that it was 2003. You can’t let yourself think about these things you know. Time is just something you have to flow with because let’s be honest, it’s going to flow with or without you. I have now spent a third of my life at a church that I came to ‘volunteer’ at a decade ago. I have learned many things but the most significant would have to be the power of combining three powerful forces, time(patience), faithfulness, and obedience. One can exist without the other but put them together and the blessings multiply before your eyes. Not that things happen quickly though. Often it isn’t until you look back that you see clearly God’s Divine guidance and you realize who was really in control all along.
Such has happened here at Calvary Worship Center. Six years ago we put a bid of five thousand dollars on five acres of prime highway property in north Austin. This property was owned by the local school district and was being auctioned off publicly. Though the property was worth nearly one hundred times our bid amount, we were notified that our bid had been accepted due to a historical clause in the title that the land could only be used as a school, church, or cemetery, forever. We were simply the only church that bid on it. We knew God had a plan for this body so we prayed that He would give us a clear vision. We began to feel as though this church was not destined to become a body of 10,000 in one location but that it was a body of 100,000 in 500 locations. So much of the spiritual growth and maturity in this body has come from those who have committed themselves to the birthing process and developed patience, demonstrated faithfulness, and exercised obedience. We felt as though the worst thing we could do for the kingdom of God was to produce a place where every program is in place and run by professionals. That formula works if all you intend to do is build a congregation of onlookers but that’s not what we’re called to do. We are called to make disciples and that involves believing in God’s ability to use those who feel as though they have nothing to offer the kingdom and there are many people like that in churches today. So we have devoted ourselves to uncovering the hidden gifts within this body as well as equip the priesthood of the believers and in doing so we have discovered that the five fold ministry exists all over our congregation, not just in the pulpit. So our vision became clear as we realized that we would not be holding onto people but we would be building them up only to send them out to take another group of disciples through the same process of pioneering and birthing a work not only in another part of the city but most importantly, in them.
Further investigation into the history of the property uncovered some incredible confirmation of that vision. We found that the site had actually been a settlement in the 1850s called Merrilltown and was at that time the last outpost between here and Colorado. A church was built there and thrived with revival but not among the membership in the community but in the many people who were making their way west in search of gold and a better life. The treasure that many found, however, came at an altar in that little church where newspaper articles from that day speak of the sounds of prayer and praise extending long into the night as people came from all over to worship and watch lives changed forever. One article was written by a man who remembered his time as a child in Merrilltown attempting to sleep under a wagon outside but not being able to for the “sound of those praying was like thunder”. The pastor at that time realized that he would never build a church where people would come and stay forever but that he would have to send them out and if he was to do so he would send them out as pioneers not for gold, but for God. That church building sat upon the exact same spot that our new facility is currently being built.
As of this writing the site is being prepared and forms are being built for the foundation of a 12,000 square ft Texas limestone building that while much larger will look very similar to the original structure. The beautiful reality of all of this is that we are not a part of an original vision that began with us but we are a part of a vision that God gave to a church 150 years ago and has now extended farther into the future than they could ever go. Should Jesus tarry we pray that this vision of expanding the Kingdom by producing patient, faithful, and obedient disciples will continue farther into the future than we could ever reach as well.
Grace and peace
Bill

Recently I was asked why one would benefit by going to a small church with needs as opposed to a large church with professional caliber programming. The following was the response.

"Whenever a person looks for a church it involves a step of faith. CS Lewis (I believe) said of faith, "If we consider the unblushing and staggering nature of reward promised in the Gospels it would seem that our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak." Keep that in the back of your mind and I'll come back to it in a sec.

Believers look for churches with a few things in mind. They may want to join a class. That is that they have plenty of relationships as it is and simply want to come to further their theological education. They also may want to join a family. That is that they don't really care about the details of what is taught. The only question they want answered is, "Am I accepted?" Or they may want to join an army. That is they want to be a part of a group of people who have a purpose and are on a mission. They have something to offer and want an outlet. As a class we're blessed with a church full of people who are 'apt to teach'. As a family CWC is a truly loving community. But as an army we are sorely lacking. Not in purpose and mission but in soldiers with specific skills. There are many many many many .... opportunities that exist at CWC to be used by God to create something that has never existed within this body before. Certainly having polished ministries and programs in place is a welcome option, but I have come to believe that a crucial part of the Spiritual maturity of people is the priceless process of birthing a mission fuelled by the greatest cause of all.

Now think back to the CS Lewis quote. In this light consider that what you desire in a church may not exist yet. But perhaps God has placed in you a desire to be a part of a church that you will help create as opposed to a body that has been already created for you."