Category Archives: Faith

June 17, 2016 · 1:24 am

Brown Eyes Hiding in the Car

It was as perfect a day as you could hope for.

Early October. The foliage was nearing its vibrant peak.

This Saturday morning was unusually clear and crisp.

Maine is beautiful everywhere 24-7. But this day exceeded the exquisite norm.

I came inside and began stuffing my briefcase. The past week had been a blur and I hadn’t had time to prepare for two major public hearings coming up the following Tuesday at the Maine legislature.

As executive director of the Christian Civic League of Maine I was not only the statewide group’s chief fundraiser and public spokesman – I was also its only registered lobbyist. I never spoke off the cuff but carefully prepared written testimony which I delivered to the legislative committees.

The press often covered these hearings, especially the controversial ones, and there were plenty of those during a legislative session.

I had to be fully prepared. I had to weigh every word. After all, this was for God.

I wished I could have stayed home on this beautiful Saturday. But duty – and of the most noble kind – called me to defend truth, justice and the American way against the liberal interests that in Maine were never far removed and always persuasive and well-organized.

When you’re in the minority you have to be constantly vigilant.

As I grabbed my loaded briefcase and headed for the door, my four-year old daughter Olivia came running up to me nearly out of breath.

“Daddy, Daddy! Will you go for a walk with me on the trails? The leaves are so pretty!”

Behind our house were several acres of wooded trails that wended their way to the fields near Colby College. On this fall day they would guide a traveler through breathtaking colors, by bubbling streams and scampering wildlife.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” I gently explained, “Daddy can’t right now. I have to go to work. But when I get home, then we’ll go for a walk on the trails.”

I knew it would likely be dark before I got home. Olivia might be in bed.

Offering such disappointment is easier if the recipient is forty rather than four.

Livy sadly dropped her head and slowly walked away.

I was sad too but knew that someday she would be proud of her dad standing athwart against the world.

There’s a little story tucked away in the Bible in the first verses of the sixth chapter of II Kings.

It’s a cautionary tale.

A group of godly prophets band together to build a new house of worship for God. They are enthusiastic and dedicated. They invite the prophet Elisha to join them on the banks of the muddy Jordan River for the capital campaign.

Elisha agrees.

They work with a holy zeal, cutting down trees. One of the young men, especially ardent, wields his ax with focused determination. This was for God and nothing could be too good for the sovereign Creator.

With each swing of his ax, unbeknown to this worker, the ax head loosened. It was an imperceptible dislocation. Everything seemed fine.

Then suddenly, without warning, the ax head fell into the water.

The man was as alarmed as he was surprised. He had borrowed the ax, it wasn’t his and now what would he tell his neighbor?

The prophet walked up to the distraught laborer. “Where did it fall?” Elisha asked him (II Kings 6:6, NLT). When the man pointed to the place in the river, Elisha cut off a branch and threw it in the muddy water at the very spot where the ax head had fallen.

While the men looked on in amazement, the water quivered and there suddenly was the lost ax head, floating in the river.

When Elisha told the worker to take the ax head, the man obeyed, waded into the muddy current of the mighty Jordan and retrieved the most important part of the ax.

Never again would this godly man permit his zeal to cloud his careful observation.

When I finally made it out to the car and opened the door to get in, I was hit with a sight I’ll never forget. Trying to be as small as she could be, there was Olivia hiding on the floor behind the front seat.

Her big brown eyes were expectant through tears.

“Livy,” I asked, “what are you doing?”

“Daddy, I just want to be with you. I want to go with you. I’ll be good.”

I slowly helped her out of the car and delivered her to her mother in the driveway. I told her I loved her and we’d walk when I got back.

As I drove away, I noticed a lump in my throat.

I sat at the light wondering what had just happened, what it meant and what I was doing.

My ax head had dropped off into the swirling muddy waters of duty, schedules and pride.

I knew where it had fallen.

I turned the car around and headed home.

Years later Olivia told me she never forgot the day I came back and the walk we took on those beautiful trails.

“I love you Dad”.

And I never forgot those big brown eyes hiding in the car.

Dad, keep that ax head tightened.

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June 3, 2016 · 1:21 am

A Letter to Ruth

He detested typewriters.

He wrote all his personal correspondence – and it was extensive – with a pen. He believed the noise of a typewriter interfered with the flow of creative thought.

His brother later typed his letters, being the only one who could decipher the scrawled handwriting.

This particular letter on this day required thoughtful attention. It was the reply to a young girl named Ruth Broady. Ruth had written to say how much she enjoyed his books.

He smiled at the affirmation. He loved children as much as he hated typewriters. Taking pen carefully in hand, he wrote the date in the upper corner: 26 October, 1963.

“Many thanks for your kind letter, and it was very good of you to write and tell me that you like my books; and what a very good letter you write for your age!”

He paused for just a moment. Then he wrote:

“If you continue to love Jesus, nothing much can go wrong with you, and I hope you may always do so.”

Then he paused again. This next part would be interesting:

“I’m so thankful that you realized the ‘hidden story’ in the Narnian books. It is odd, children nearly always do, grownups hardly ever”.

The Chronicles of Narnia, one of the greatest pieces of children’s literature ever written, was sometimes attacked by academics as racist. Others assailed it as sexist. Everyone had an opinion; everyone had an interpretation.

The scholars thought they knew. This work of allegorical fantasy was examined and analyzed from various perspectives and prejudicial mindsets in search of supposed underlying cultural themes.

In the end, CS Lewis knew that children would get it.

They would embrace it in its purity and creative beauty. They would accept it and enjoy it for the wonderful and imaginative story it is.

Children would cast no cynical judgment on the work nor offer any smug critiques. They would perceive “the hidden story” that “grownups hardly ever” recognized.

What Lewis appreciated about children is what Jesus also celebrated.

Jesus attached great importance to child-like faith.

When his disciples got into an argument about who would be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven – a childish preoccupation typical of adults – Jesus stopped them and startled them.

“And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:2, KJV). Jesus didn’t want these arguing grownups to miss “the hidden story” and so he brought it center stage.

Jesus looked at the little boy and smiled. He caressed the lad’s tousled hair. And he held him tenderly in his arms.

Then Jesus looked at his disciples – the men who would be the first leaders of his church.

“Except ye be converted and become as little children,” he told them, “ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3, KJV).

How often have men and women missed the profound simplicity of the Gospel because they’ve refused to believe it could be that uncomplicated? They’ve wanted to add to it, analyze it and work for it. Anything but simply accept it as God’s free gift.

That’s too easy. Nothing this important could be that simple.

People remain blinded by their sophistication and cynicism; by their success, their money and their power; by their intellect, the approval of their peers or political correctness.

Saddled by skepticism, they miss the “hidden story” of God’s great love. They fail to “become as little children” and so never enter the kingdom of heaven.

They miss it.

When the disciples scolded parents for bringing their children to Jesus to be blessed by him because they thought it was a distraction, Jesus brought them up short.

“When Jesus saw what was happening, he was angry with his disciples” (Mark 10:14, NLT). These men had a lot to learn about children and the Kingdom of God and this was another teachable moment.

“Let the children come to me,” Jesus told them. “Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children” (vs. 14, emphasis added).

Then Jesus said:

“I tell you the truth, anyone who doesn’t receive the Kingdom of God like a child will never enter it” (vs. 15, emphasis added).

Jesus gathered these little boys and girls lovingly into his arms; he hugged them and put his hands on their heads and blessed them.

Children are humble, transparent, trusting, affectionate and unaffected. Many lose these qualities as adults. When they do, the kingdom of God grows more distant.

The true Christian is one who has not lost the child’s heart.

Pray that you may always be child-like in your love and faith. Yes, there’s perhaps good cause for cynicism today but don’t let it overtake you.

“I’m afraid the Narnian series has come to an end,” Lewis wrote in closing his letter to Ruth Broady, “and am sorry to tell you that you can expect no more.

God bless you”.

It was one of his last letters.

Less than a month later, CS Lewis, who never lost his child’s heart and never stopped loving Jesus, walked through the Gates of Splendor.

He entered a heavenly kingdom more glorious, more beautiful, more colorful and more creative than even he could ever have imagined.

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May 27, 2016 · 2:37 am

The Boy with the Paper Beard

It was a beautiful spring day in New England.

It was perfect weather for an outdoor ceremony.

Most boys would be excited about going fishing, running through the woods, playing ball or just goofing off.

Not me. Not today.

I was on a mission – a serious mission. And I dare not fail.

It all started a few weeks before when I was cast for the part in a school presentation. I was one of the tallest, skinniest, most serious – and shyest – kids in the class. So of course when the roles for this patriotic ensemble were assigned, I was given Abraham Lincoln. My job was to recite -from memory – the Gettysburg address.

My mom – with a pride only mothers possess – helped me locate a black top hat and matching long-tailed coat.

And then she rigged up a brown paper beard.

I got through the school recitation without skipping a beat – though one side of the beard began to sag a bit by the time I got to “we cannot dedicate – we cannot consecrate – we cannot hallow – this ground”.

The oration was met with robust applause by teachers and students.

Some of the kids started calling me Abe. I rather liked it but remained in my shell.

And then Mrs. Tobiasson, an older lady who took a liking to me in her English class, asked me if I’d like to reprise my role as the Great Emancipator – at the upcoming community Memorial Day ceremony.

I was scared but said yes.

Mom was now an expert make-up artist and made sure my paper beard was securely attached (we decided against glue).

Then she captured the moment for my descendants by taking my picture. I stood up straight, put one hand inside my coat and stared into the camera with the same serene confidence that Abe had for Alexander Gardner at his D.C. studio on Sunday, November 9, 1863 – 11 days before his speech – and a little over a century before my portrait.

Tolland, Connecticut was a small but proud picturesque town with well-kept shingled homes, stately public buildings and a town green. The Memorial Day ceremony was held on the steps of the new brick library.

It was a large crowd. All the local luminaries were there. So was the school band.

The cloudless sky was a vibrant blue.

When my turn came, I stood and calmly and clearly spoke the words I now knew well.

It was my first public oration. I was 12.

The speech is short – especially when compared to the two hour eloquent pontification delivered by the noted Edward Everett just before the President spoke. Fortunately for me, that’s not the speech we remember and school children recite. It passed immediately into deserved anonymity.

“…our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation …”

Lincoln began his “few appropriate remarks” by placing the Civil War in a historical context – not the Constitution but the earlier Declaration of Independence, which he revered and based his principles on.

The stakes were high.

“…whether that nation … can long endure …”

The war was a test he said – we’ve had many since – of the strength and resilience of the American experiment in self-government. Would we – could we – survive?

“… those who here gave their lives that that nation might live …”

Freedom is never free. Every soldier’s gravesite is an eternal testament to the high cost of our liberty. Those graves were there on that raw November Thursday. Today they surround the globe. Lincoln honored their sacrifice -and explained it – by recognizing it as freedom’s price and well worth paying.

“The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.”

Lincoln was wrong about his two-minute speech but right about Everett’s long oration. He was also surely right that deeds matter more than words and no deed mattered more than to lay down one’s life for one’s country and for the noble cause of freedom.

That sacrifice must never be forgotten.

“It is for us the living …”

The dead can do no more. They’ve given their “last full measure of devotion”. Those of us who remain and follow must honor the dead by bravely pursuing the “unfinished work” and “the great task remaining before us.”

Being an American isn’t just a lucky break – it’s an unresolved responsibility.

In a free republic there must be no place for cynicism or apathy. Only when we determine to do our duty as a united and free people can we insure “that these dead shall not have died in vain”.

After Joshua had commanded one man from each of the twelve tribes of Israel to take a stone from the Jordan River and build a memorial, he told them to “let this sign be among you, so that when your children ask later saying ‘What do these stones mean to you?’ you can tell them, ‘they remind us’ …” (Joshua 4:6-7).

As I removed my paper beard that afternoon, I knew I’d fallen in love with Lincoln, with his speech and what it meant, and with my country.

I knew I’d never forget.

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May 20, 2016 · 12:10 am

The Odometer

It was illegal but still done.

You wanted to find a good used car at a reasonable price.

You asked the owner if those incredibly low miles were original.

“Yes, as far as I know”, was the reply.

If a car looked like a low-mileage vehicle, it was fairly easy to make the mileage match the appearance. The odometer could simply be turned back. Thousands of recorded miles would vanish in as much time as it took to say “crooked”.

The automobile – more worn than the unsuspecting buyer would ever know – had suddenly been given a new lease on life by a dishonest dealer.

It might be nice if the years of our lives were like the odometer on a used car.

They’re not.

Time can never be set back to something more preferable and enjoyable – more in keeping with the age we feel and want to be. Regardless of how we feel – or look – time only marches forward. To strive to appear younger than we really are – and billions are spent on that every year – makes us feel better about ourselves and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look more attractive. And since God gave us our bodies as precious gifts – and the temple of his Holy Spirit – we are responsible to God to take care of our health.

There are products which give us energy and soothe our aches and pains; others take away the gray hair and the wrinkles. But regardless of what we spend or do, the mistake would be in deceiving ourselves.

There’s no turning back the years.

My own odometer rolled over last week. I’m another year older.

When I see the doctor for my physical he won’t give me a pill or injection that will miraculously make me forty again. Medicine’s come a long way – it will never go that far. When I leave that office my aging body will go with me.

And speaking of self-deception, I must stop thinking of myself as middle-aged; people don’t live to be 130.

I got a nice birthday card from my dear Aunt Bunny. She still lives on beautiful Deer Isle, Maine, where my mother was born and my ancestors are buried. Aunt Bunny is 83. She penned a note in the card about the day I was born:

“I’ll always remember May 15th! I was grocery shopping with your mother. She left me to finish shopping, because she was in labor. Stan [a dear family friend in whose honor I bear my middle name] came back to get me. The years sure do go by fast, don’t they?”

Yes, Aunt Bunny they sure do.

And once they’re gone, they never come back.

My mother, who now remembers nothing about that day – or me – once told me that she was nervous the night Dr. Gibson came in to deliver me. He was upset about the outcome of the world heavyweight boxing championship and she feared he might be distracted.

Rocky Marciano, in a Chicago rematch, had just knocked out Jersey Joe Walcott in the first round. Not much of a fight and Dr. Gibson felt cheated. But I came out just fine.

Dwight Eisenhower was a mere four months into his presidency.

“The years sure do go by fast, don’t they?”

Yes, “swifter than a weaver’s shuttle” Job tells us (Job 7:6).

When it comes to our time on this earth, the transcendent, recurring themes in the Bible are brevity and uncertainty. The metaphors are fleeting: a shadow, a mist, a tale that is told, the morning grass, clouds, spilt water on the ground, sailing ships and eagles in the sky, flowers of the field and a handbreadth.

Dust and clay.

“We all do fade as a leaf” (Isaiah 64:6, KJV).

God wants to make sure we get that – in all of its implications for how we choose to live our brief intervals between the massive eternities of the past and the future.

“Time, like an ever rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.”

But wait!

As great a hymn as it is, the Apostle Paul refuses to let Isaac Watts have the final word.

There is, Paul asserts in his second letter to the Corinthians, the rest of the story.

And it makes all the difference in how we see our own mortality.

“That is why we never give up,” Paul writes. “Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day” (II Corinthians 4:16, NLT).

You and I will age and “perish” (KJV) physically, every one of us, but the most important part of us – our very souls – are, through the power of Jesus Christ, basking in eternal youth.

“For we know that when this earthly tent we live in is taken down – when we die and leave these bodies – we will have a home in heaven, an eternal body made for us by God himself and not by human hands” (II Corinthians 5:1, NLT).

Mortality and eternity have struggled.

Eternity’s won.

Forget the odometer.

Someday you are I will be in brand new showroom condition.

Forever.

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May 13, 2016 · 4:28 am

What Was He Doing?

The sky had been blue, the lake calm.

These men knew the water, loved it, and had made their living from it since childhood.

Now, as the sun began to set across the beautiful azure sea, he said to the men, “Let’s cross to the other side.”

The crowds had been large and attentive but his relentless teaching had taken its toll.

Jesus was tired.

When he told the disciples to come with him into the boat to cross over, they understood and obeyed. It wasn’t long after they launched that Jesus took a pillow, climbed to the stern and fell asleep.

Mark tells us in his account of this incident that very suddenly and without warning a fierce storm swept down across the Sea of Galilee. The sea is small – more like a lake. It is surrounded by hills, especially to the east, that rise in some places 2,000 feet. These mountains are the source of dry, cool air. In contrast, the climate around the sea itself is almost tropical; warm and moist.

This can create strong winds that quickly descend upon the water to the center of the lake like a giant funnel. The result is a violent and dangerous storm.

In a small boat is not where you want to be.

The disciples were seasoned fishermen but this storm had taken them by surprise and was threatening their lives. The huge squall sent high waves crashing over the boat. The ferocious winds lashed the rain hard across their faces until they were nearly blinded by it.

The boat was taking in water – a lot of it. Their hearts pounded with fear. And where was Jesus? Awake? Worried?

No.

Mark says he was in the back of the boat, “asleep on a pillow” (Mark 4:38, KJV). In the midst of this storm, surrounded by the violence of the natural world and men scared out of their wits, the Savior of the world was … sleeping!

Some folks can sleep through anything. Jesus apparently was one of them.

These men were in this desperate situation because the man now sleeping had told them to get into this boat. They had obeyed their Lord’s command and done his will.

And now here they were – and here he was.

Christians may be tempted to think that as long as they are living good lives in accordance with God’s word and purpose, he will protect them from all danger and difficulty. This is not so. As quickly as these men found themselves in the midst of a severe storm, our lives can turn from peace to trouble without a moment’s notice.

If you’ve been a Christian for very long then you know this is true.

The disciples obeyed but they were still in trouble – “in this world.” If our best life is now then we are, as Paul told the Corinthians, most to be pitied.

In their desperation, powerless to change circumstances beyond their control, these men turned to Jesus.

Hundreds of years ago, when believers faced cultural and religion storms that buffeted their new faith, the future martyr Savonarola preached in the great Cathedral of Florence.

“Sirs,” he told his congregation, “the light of faith is being extinguished; the soul of the Church is perishing. The ark of the Lord is going under. The billows of unbelief are going over her. The waves of trouble are swamping her … Sirs,” he cried, “what are we do to do? What can we do?”

Then in a thunderous chorus that shook the stately edifice and signaled the coming Reformation, the crowd shouted, “Wake Christ! Wake Christ!”

And so the disciples did. They roused the Savior from his slumber with a question:

“Teacher, don’t you even care that we are all about to drown?” (Mark 4:38, NLT).

“Master, carest thou not that we perish?” (KJV).

“Carest thou not?”

This was the first concern these terrified men had.

Is it not ours? In our despondency, discouragement and fear, the devil whispers to our heart that God doesn’t care.

Our nation and the world are in great crisis.

“Carest thou not?”

You don’t know when or from where your next job is coming.

“Carest thou not?”

You’ve prayed for years for your unsaved family to believe in Christ.

“Carest thou not?”

You’ve struggled with illness; perhaps you son or daughter is in the grip of drug addiction; maybe your marriage is on the rocks.

“Carest thou not that we perish?”

Jesus stood up and “rebuked the wind and said unto the sea, ‘Peace, be still’” (verse 39, KJV).

And suddenly there was a great calm.

“Why are you so fearful?” Jesus asked them. “How is it that you have no faith?” (verse 40, NKJV).

Oh yes, he cares. Do you believe that he does?

Is it not enough that Jesus was in the boat with his disciples? That he was present in their storm? Would this boat – or any boat – sink with Jesus in it?

We shall not perish in the presence of Christ – no matter the fierceness of our storm.

What was Jesus doing? Strengthening the disciples’ faith with his power and comforting their fear with his presence.

He did that in their storm.

He does the same in ours.

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April 15, 2016 · 3:23 am

Harnessing the Flame

She didn’t intend for this to happen.

Catherine O’Leary was just a poor Irish immigrant milking her cow in the barn.

Nobody knows for sure – in the end it was speculation.

Some folks think it was a group of men gambling. Others accused Daniel “Pegleg” Sullivan. He was the first to say anything about it and some insisted that he caused it while trying to steal milk in the barn.

The most common account though centers on Mrs. O’Leary and her cow.

Just as she was finishing her milking, the cow kicked over the lantern.

It was around 9:00 PM on Sunday evening, October 8, 1871, at 137 DeKoven Street.

The shed next to Mrs. O’Leary’s barn was the first building to go up. Three days later, on early Tuesday morning, October 10, the thick smoke finally began to clear.

The city had been devastated.

The Great Fire of 1871 had destroyed more than four square miles of Chicago, Illinois. More than 100,000 people were homeless. Another 300 were dead, casualties of the horrific blaze.

The conflagration had engulfed more than 2,000 acres of the city, destroyed more than 73 miles of roads, 120 miles of sidewalks, 2,000 lampposts, 17,500 buildings and $222 million in property – about one third of the city’s total valuation.

The wind, drought and dry timbers in Chicago had conspired to make this one of deadliest and most destructive fires in American history.

It all started when a cow kicked over a small lantern in a barn.

The anguished residents of Chicago were reminded of what man learned when he first discovered fire: it is a humble servant but a fearful master.

Fire warms, comforts, enlightens and guides. Out of control, it kills and destroys.

Words are compared to fire in the Bible, especially in the Book of James. The brother of Jesus was blunt in much of what he wrote in his epistle. This includes what he wrote about “the tongue”.

The forthright James can think of no better metaphor for human speech than fire.

The tongue may a small member of the body but “behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth,” he writes (James 3:5, KJV). Mrs. O’Leary would have vouched for that.

Just like an obscure lantern in a barn, words may start small enough but carried along by the winds of slander and exaggeration, the embers of maliciousness fall on the dry wood of envy and gossip. Soon they become a howling blaze of destruction.

It may not be what anyone intended but it gets out of control.

“In the beginning was the Word,” John writes in the prologue of his gospel (John 1:1).

Words have great power – for good and for evil. “Death and life are in the power of the tongue,” wrote the wise man of Proverbs (Proverbs 18:21, KJV).

Thomas Jefferson helped to forge a new nation with his eloquence in the Declaration of Independence. Of Winston Churchill’s stirring orations, President Kennedy said:

“In the dark days and darker nights when England stood alone – and most men save Englishmen despaired of England’s life – he mobilized the English language and sent it into battle.”

But in the mouth of an evil man words are “a burning fire” (Proverbs 16:27).

While Churchill galvanized England, Adolph Hitler used his fiery demagoguery to fuel the passions of hate and lead his nation into self-destruction and world war.

Sticks and stones may break our bones but words can also hurt us.

They can be beautiful or ugly. They can wound or heal. Words can build us up or tear us down. Words can unify or divide; give us hope or cause despair. Like fire, words can offer warmth and comfort or they can consume and destroy a life.

Jesus tells us that our words don’t just determine our character – they reveal it.

“For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks,” he explains (Matthew 12:34, NKJV).

“A good person produces good words from a good heart, and an evil person produces evil words from an evil heart” (Matthew 12:35, NLT).

That’s simple enough – cause and effect.

Words matter – tremendously. They change lives, families, churches, nations and the world.

Sometimes in an instant.

When he uses analogies like taming a horse and sailing a ship, James has this one thing in mind: control.

You and I must control what we say – and how we say it.

The stakes are high, the dangers real.

“It only takes a spark,” James warns us, “to set off a forest fire. A careless or wrongly placed word out of your mouth can do that. By our speech we can ruin the world, turn harmony into chaos, throw mud on a reputation, send the whole world up in smoke and go up in smoke with it, smoke right from the pit of hell” (James 3: 5-6, The Message).

Out of control, our words can be “the very world of iniquity … set on fire by hell” (James 3:6, NKJV).

May this be our prayer:

“Set a guard over my mouth, LORD; keep watch over the door of my lips” (Psalm 141:3, NIV).

Let’s harness the flame.

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April 8, 2016 · 2:38 am

Anticipation

You remember the famous scene.

Who could forget it?

Not our daughters who stared transfixed while the black -hooded, sharp-beaked and hunch-backed hag slowly disappeared onto the floor.

Dorothy had just thrown a pail of water on the scarecrow who was on fire. The water splashed on the Wicked Witch of the West – a villain if ever there was one.

As the Wizard later observed, the Wicked Witch was “liquidated”.

As she began her descent, the witch cries, “I’m melting! Melting! Oh, what a world! What a world!”

Those are among her final faint words as she meets her highly justified demise.

“What a world!”

Yes it is. And sometimes you and I feel like we’re melting.

It’s hard not to feel a bit burdened, a little anxious, and even slightly discouraged by this present world.

None of us lives on Walden Pond – isolated in an oasis of natural calm. We are here, in this world as it is and there is no reasonable escape from the human condition, long for it as we often do.

Instant global communication puts all of us in a kind of echo chamber. You and I get more news more quickly from more sources than at any time in history.

Most of this news isn’t good. It impacts us. And we often think, “What a world!”

What we witness daily is the desperate groaning of an earth yearning to be set free from the oppressive and corrupting curse of sin. The violence, injustice, hatred and deep divisions on every side join in a cacophony of despair. The prophet says “the earth is utterly broken down, the earth is clean dissolved, the earth is moved exceedingly” (Isaiah 24:19, KJV).

And in these last days, Isaiah adds, “The earth shall reel to and fro like a drunkard” (verse 20, KJV).

Is this not what is happening?

Even in our well-ordered American democracy, this year’s presidential campaign has reflected the angry coarsening of our culture. If it is true that Americans get the leaders they deserve, what does the current spectacle tell us about ourselves?

Would any thoughtful citizen not agree that this bombastic and shallow carnival has been beneath the dignity of a great republic? And before we hasten to blame the candidates, let’s remember that our politicians do not create the mood or tone or the values of our country – they reflect them.

The American people have been betrayed by their parties, their government and their leaders. They have become distrustful and cynical. That’s because too many – including Christians – have placed their ultimate trust in the princes of this world and not in the almighty Ruler of the nations.

Disillusionment was inevitable.

The Apostle Paul describes the world’s current situation in his letter to the Romans.

“Against its will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse … all creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time” (Romans 8: 20, 22, NLT).

Sin is the fatal virus that infected the whole human race and explains the self-destructive path that has so often over-powered man’s most noble pursuits; that has led to man’s inhumanity to man and fueled his darkest passions.

We wrestle, we struggle, we hope and we sigh. So many hearts are heavy with a grief and despair that seem never to lift.

Jesus spoke to his disciples on the night of his betrayal and told them that he wished for them to “have peace”.

And then he said:

“In this world you shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33, NKJV).

Jesus said that trials and difficulties and the swirling controversies of the world would be an ever-present reality. They would affect us “in this world” (emphasis added).

Then Jesus pivots.

“…but be of good cheer …”

On this conjunctive hinge swings the bright door of hope.

In the face of this challenging and disturbing reality – and in spite of it – Jesus tells us to “take courage, be confident, certain, undaunted” (The Amplified Bible).

How in the world can we do that?

Because there is a far greater reality.

“I have overcome the world”.

Jesus has defeated the devil. He has conquered the grave. He reigns triumphant. He’s coming again.

He has won! For all eternity, he has won!

This world is temporarily under the sway of Satan, its evil prince. But you and I as Christians rejoice that Jesus Christ came to “destroy the works of the devil” (I John 3:8) and to “deliver us from this present evil world” (Galatians 1:4).

How then must we live?

We must “live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world” (Titus 2:12, KJV).

Where do we find the strength to do that?

In the promise of his return.

“Looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Savior Jesus Christ” (Titus 2:13, KJV).

All of fallen creation shares with us the exciting anticipation of his coming.

“But with eager hope, the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay” (Romans 8: 20, NLT).

What a day that will be.

Anticipation.

There’s no better way to live in this world.

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April 1, 2016 · 1:14 am

Jackson’s Daisies

To a boy of three the world’s a wonder.

Wrapped in mystery, gilded with discovery and glistening with delight, every step is an adventure.

I was reminded of this joyful innocence when I went for an Easter afternoon walk in a park with my two grandsons.

Finley, two and making a remarkable recovery from his leukemia to the point where it’s hard to believe he’s still got it – or ever had it – decided to sit down on the sidewalk and summarily remove his shoes and socks.

Grampy gently put them back on – thankful that this only happened once and nothing else came off.

Soon a little voice shouted behind me. I turned to see Finley’s older brother Jackson running with his arm held out.

A big grin crossed his handsome face.

“Grampy, take these. I want to give them to Mommy.”

He opened his little hand.

There was a loose clump of daisies. Some of the petals had fallen off and several of the stems were bent.

It was a pretty sorry bouquet.

“Jackson, these are beautiful!” I told him. “Mommy will be so excited to get them!”

I held onto to the flowers as if they were prize-winning marigolds. I knew his mom would be happy, thank him profusely and give him a big hug. She’d tell him how wonderful these haggard-looking daises were.

And for that moment little Jackson would be on cloud nine, so proud that he had done this extraordinary thing for his mother and given her this precious gift.

When I had emergency surgery a year ago, Jackson and his older sister Ava made get-well cards for me. Jackson’s had random indecipherable lines scrawled all over it. Ava’s had a note inside:

“What did they do to you? I want to see you after you get home.”

The cards still sit on my desk – symbols of something wonderfully and beautifully indescribable.

I don’t love the cards. I love the little people who loved me enough to do that for me, though they hardly knew how. That’s why I can’t part with those simple, awkwardly scrawled, little messages.

I accept the frailties because I know the heart. I know and understand the pure intention and I’m moved by the desire.

Jackson’s daisies may never have made it into a vase but they entered a mother’s soul.

Anyone who has ever loved a child knows exactly what I’m talking about.

Trinkets and scribbles become priceless emblems of an affection that cannot be defined – a tenderness that will never be rejected.

This is how God sees us. It’s how he knows us. It’s how he loves us.

He loves us in spite of ourselves, not because of ourselves. He loves and accepts us in our weakness not in our strength; in our ignorance not in our knowledge. Just like a little child, we can’t bring much to God. He knows that and loves us just the same.

This is the profundity of God’s grace.

This is the incalculable dimension of his love.

If we as parents love our kids that much imagine how much more our heavenly Father loves us.

The prophet Isaiah writes of God’s tender-hearted care – of his divine sensitivity:

“A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judgment unto truth” (Isaiah 42:3, KJV).

“He will not crush the weakest reed or put out a flickering candle. He will bring justice to all who have been wronged” (NLT).

The life that is bruised in heartache, sin and defeat will not be broken by the God who knows and cares. The soul that is just barely flickering in the cold despair of the lonely night God will never snuff out.

A man or woman may be down. With God they are never out.

The stems of Jackson’s daisies may have been bent, the petals falling off, but his mom readily accepted them – and gently embraced the boy who had done all he could.

She would get other gifts – and nicer flowers – in the years to come. But for now this was more than enough to make her heart dance with joy to the rhythms of her love.

“The Lord is compassionate and merciful,” David wrote, “slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love. He will not constantly accuse us, nor remain angry forever” (Psalm 103: 8-9, NLT).

David would have known this. More than once, as did Moses, the apostles and great saints through the ages, the shepherd king revealed his altogether too human frailty. And so he could tell us:

“The Lord is like a father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him” (vs. 13).

Why does God treat us so patiently and with such compassion and forgiveness?

“For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust” (vs. 14).

To God we are like a three – year old bringing him crumpled daisies.

The poet Whittier put it well:

“All sin and wrong, Compassion which forgives
To the uttermost, and Justice whose clear eyes
Through lapse and failure look to the intent,
And judge our frailty by the life we meant.”

This is God’s love.

He accepts our bent daisies. To him they are more than enough.

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March 25, 2016 · 2:21 am

Indeed!

What a difference!

It all started when he got knocked off his high horse.

The experience was radical and he became a man possessed – not by hatred as he had been but by love. Not by a determination to obliterate a strange new faith but by a devoted commitment to spread it.

He was transformed on the dusty road to Damascus.

His fiery passions did a 360.

The Apostle Paul, who wrote most of the New Testament, was a man on a mission.

In his ardent pursuit to take the Gospel of Jesus Christ throughout the first-century world, he was prepared to meet any hardship, endure any trial and suffer any persecution.

And he did – plenty.

He told the Corinthians that he had “been put in prison more often, been whipped times without number, and faced death again and again” (II Corinthians 11:23, NLT).

Few in history have suffered more for the cause of Christ than the indomitable Paul. Few have given up more of this world’s glory and prestige.

It was from a prison in Rome that he wrote to the Philippians about his sterling Jewish pedigree. If anyone could boast about his background and achievements this “Hebrew of the Hebrews” could. Yet he explained to the Philippians that the goals, values and priorities of his life were radically different.

Everything now for this brilliant scholar was weighed on a different set of scales.

“I once thought these things were valuable,” Paul wrote, “but now I consider them worthless because of what Christ has done. Yes, everything else is worthless when compared to the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord” (Philippians 3:7-8, NLT).

Paul looked to the future, saw his purpose clearly and never once took his eyes off Jesus.

He pressed on. He traveled light. He valued what mattered.

Nothing mattered as much to Paul as this:

“That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death” (Philippians 3:10, KJV).

“That I may know him and the power of his resurrection …”

Here was the secret of the great man’s life.

For Paul the resurrection of Jesus Christ was not just an annual event – a burst of colorful pageantry; an hour of familiar recitations and a prayer of thanks.

It was a daily presence and a daily power.

For Paul, the resurrection was a holistic worldview, it was a continuing perspective and it was an attitude.

It was the way to live as an optimist in a pessimistic world.

Nothing was more practical or more relevant than the resurrection. Paul faced every trial, every hardship, every suffering through the power of the resurrected Christ. This was his reliable source of joy and confidence.

The resurrection of Jesus Christ was not just a future hope – it was a present reality. Paul defended the resurrection logically and with a persuasive eloquence, but he lived it practically.

At the end of the 15th chapter of his first letter to the Corinthians, after underscoring the central importance of the resurrection of Christ as the lynchpin of all our hopes – in this world and the next – arguing that our faith is utterly futile without it, Paul urges us onward in life:

“Remain steadfast and unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord.” It is because Christ is risen – because he defeated death and the devil when the stone rolled away from the tomb – that our work for God is never in vain (I Corinthians 15:58).

Our faith is not in vain.

The members of the early church greeted one another with this salutation.

“Christ is Risen!”
“He is Risen Indeed!”

When terrorists strike into the very heart of Europe, killing 34 and injuring hundreds, and the world is gripped in fear, we must remember …

Christ is Risen!

Despite the present evils of injustice, racism, hatred and violence …

Christ is Risen!

In the hospital, the classroom, the factory, the unemployment office, the prison and the drug rehabilitation center …

Christ is Risen!

At the graveside …

Christ is Risen!

In the midst of your fear and uncertainty about the future, your guilt over the past and your discouragement of the present …

Christ is Risen!
He is Risen Indeed!

Don’t just celebrate the resurrection – embrace it. Live it.

Experience its power. Let its truth and beauty inform and infuse your life.

It’s our only hope.

Through all his hardships the apostle Paul remained triumphant and joyful. The hammer of his adversities would have broken many a man upon the anvil of despair. But Paul was convinced that he served a risen Savior.

It made all the difference in how he thought and how he acted.

What was true for Paul then – in that cruel first- century world – is just as true for you and me today.

We serve the risen Christ and in this earth-shattering reality alone we have hope, joy and final victory.

No matter our circumstance or the world condition. No matter the headlines yet to be written.

This is what it means to know him and the power of his resurrection.

Christ is Risen!
He is Risen Indeed!

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March 18, 2016 · 12:01 am

He Knew

We fail.

We sin.

We all miss the mark.

Whether it’s by a lot or a little makes no difference. The glory of God is a very high standard and there’s not one of us who hasn’t fallen short of it.

We disappoint others. We disappoint ourselves. We disappoint God.

Yet no failure must ever be final.

No sin must ever be fatal.

A man called Peter could tell us.

It would have been bad enough that evening for this disciple. But he typically was the one who spoke up, and that only made it worse. Jesus had just warned him: “Simon, Simon, behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat” (Luke 22:31, KJV).

Your might expect Peter to have cautiously pondered that spiritual advisory, coming as it did from his Lord. But then he was, after all, Peter.

“Lord,” Peter insisted, “I am ready to go to prison with you, and even die with you.” [22:33, NLT].

All of us pledge enthusiastic loyalty at the outset – and we’re always sincere in the moment. Devotion comes easy until it’s put to the test. Courage means nothing until it’s called for. At the time he spoke those words, Peter meant them.

We’re always ready to march – before we actually have to; before we see the enemy staring us down.

What Jesus then told Peter – perhaps in the presence of the other disciples – stunned him to silence.

“Peter, let me tell you something. Before the rooster crows tomorrow morning, you will deny three times that you even know me.” [22:34, NLT].

As the ominous evening wore on, Peter’s loyalty began to unravel and the courage he had so passionately professed evaporated into the night mist.

First, he couldn’t even stay awake through Jesus’ agony in the Garden of Gethsemane. While Jesus wept, Peter slept.

As his Lord – the One for whom Peter would be willing to die – was led away by Roman guards, “Peter followed at a distance.” [Luke 22:54, emphasis added].

And then came the expletive-laced denials.

Luke tells us something that the other gospel writers omit. After Peter insisted – for the third time – that he didn’t know who Jesus was, Luke records:

“At that moment the Lord turned and looked at Peter.”[22:61, NLT].

We don’t know how Luke was aware of this startling detail – except that Peter must have told him. Peter remembered that look. How could he ever forget those eyes, so sad yet so kind? Was it not a look of understanding and compassion? Surely, Jesus didn’t scowl at Peter. It could not have been a look of condemnation or anger. It was, perhaps, the brief look of a broken heart.

However Jesus looked at Peter in that instant, the impact was immediate.

“Suddenly, the Lord’s words flashed through Peter’s mind” [vs.61, NLT].

“And Peter remembered the word of the Lord” [KJV].

It cut Peter’s conscience to the marrow.

Luke says that he “left the courtyard, weeping bitterly.”[vs. 62, NLT].

Peter disappears into his shame and disgrace and his incredible guilt. Yes, “Peter remembered.” That’s all he could do. He remembered the courage he had when it didn’t count. And the courage he lost when it did. He remembered how his lofty allegiance melted in a crucible of unimaginable disloyalty.

Most of all, Peter remembered the look. How could Jesus ever forgive him? How could Jesus ever look at Peter – again?

Luke tells us that the buzz following the resurrection was that “The Lord has really risen!”

How did they know?

“He has appeared to Peter” [Luke 24: 34, NLT]. Yes, Peter!

Mark says that the young man at Jesus’ empty tomb commanded the women who had come to anoint Jesus’ body to “go, tell his disciples and Peter” that Jesus had risen. [Mark 16: 7].

“…and Peter…” Don’t forget Peter.

Peter, whose greatest days were still ahead. Peter, who would strengthen, encourage and lead the first Christian church. Peter, who would yet die for Christ. Yes, Peter, who was forgiven and still loved by the Savior he had denied knowing.

You will search in vain throughout scripture for a greater testament to the love and forgiveness of our Lord Jesus than those two simple words, “and Peter.”

They are full of meaning. In them is the glory and redemptive power of the Gospel. Here is the greatness of God’s heart. The resurrected Christ went out of his way to single Peter out – and to include him in the mighty breadth of his extraordinary grace.

For every one of us who has ever stumbled and fallen – who has ever been tortured by a painful regret and a guilty remembrance – he has done the same.

Jesus has reached out and included you and me by name.

He has forgiven us – and asked us to forgive ourselves.

It has been said that “we need to be loved the most when we deserve it the least. Only God can fulfill this need. Only God can provide a love so deep it saves from the depths.”

Peter could tell us that.

He knew.

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