# 1 Thing I Have Learned Each Decade: Decade # 3—Life is Hard.

            My wife is a fun woman. She has a great sense of humor. She can take it, and she can dish it out.

            Judy never tires of tweaking me about my "spending money" budget of my senior year in college. Actually, it was not the fact that I had a budget that caused her to tease me. It was the fact that my dad gave me $300 a month spending money that makes her laugh.

            She claims she did not received $300 in all of her years in college. Incidentally, today that $300 monthly stipend would be worth $672—a month.

            My counter argument was that $300 accounted for gasoline, eating out, books, and very important—golf. Hey, at least I had a budget!

            I will concede this: I had a good life. Materially, I never wanted for anything.

            All of that changed three months after I graduated from college. I was in the deep bush country of Papua New Guinea when some missionaries from Mt. Hagen traveled four and half hours by jeep, into the bush country, to find me. My mom had called, my dad had undergone an emergency stomach operation—and they sewed him back up. Cancer had eaten away most of his stomach. It was only a matter of time.

            I flew home, helped my dad die (hospice was unknown in my part of the country—then.) After that, I faced the challenge of managing my dad’s estate, of which he had legally put me in charge.

            I was very fortunate for two reasons. One, my dad, a businessman, had been very organized. Two, he had surrounded himself with good, decent, and honest people.

            Daddy’s lawyer was magnificent, daddy’s administrator—his cousin—was on top of everything, and his former business associates were all very willing to help me.

            My business training was minimal. (Daddy had tried for years to prepare me for life, but, regarding finances, I had let his teaching go in one ear and out the other.)

            I was ripe for disaster. Any one of the people Daddy had around him could have deceived me and cost my mother greatly. Fortunately, all were trustworthy and models of integrity. I have never forgotten this.

            I spent a few months at home organizing the estate so it could support my mother as well as my sister, who was fifteen at the time. (Mom kept her teaching job a few more years and then retired.)

            Serving as the executor of my dad’s estate was actually the easy part. What came next during that decade was hard.

            I had decided before I graduated to go back to school to get a Master’s degree in Bible and Communication. I did not want to sponge off my mom, so I decided to support myself and put myself through graduate school. But what to do for a living?

            Shortly after my dad’s death, I was playing golf one day with a good friend from high school, Brian Lindsey, and he suggested that since I was spending a lot of time working with my daddy’s real estate business, why not get my real estate license? That seemed a good idea, so I spent the next few months working toward that goal.

            In January of 1984, I moved back to Abilene and went into the real estate business. I worked under the tutelage of Ray Scott and his associates. I had returned to ACU to get my Masters, but I think I received my real education from the real estate business.

            When I entered into real estate, interest rates were finally dropping below 15 percent. That was good news!  A few years before, they had reached up to 18 ½ percent.

            Times were tough. Abilene was in a depression. And people of the world were not beating a path to the door of a 23-year-old real estate associate.

            To help my tuition costs and to give myself some experience, I taught one speech class a semester at ACU. Furthermore, I was very active in the campus ministry of my church, since we did not have a supported campus minister.

            Consequently, I was spending forty hours a week in real estate (to pay my bills), about ten to twenty hours a week in ministry with my church, about ten hours a week teaching (to pay for part of my tuition), and about ten hours a week taking two courses a semester. I would literally go to bed at 11:00 pm and set my alarm for 3:00 am to get up and start my day. As you might guess, this was an exhausting schedule.

            I worked in real estate for four years. I would not trade those years for anything. They paid my bills and financed the majority of my first Master’s degree. However, I would never want to repeat those years.

            In late 1987, I decided that if I was ever going to do mission work in a foreign country, I had to begin to find a team and raise support.

            To achieve this goal, I needed flexibility with my schedule. Real estate prevented this. Therefore, I made the decision to leave real estate at the end of 1987.

            I called several churches asking for support. Every one of them said, “No.” I will never forget that after this, Rick Atchley, Brad Small, Robert Oglesby and I hatched a plan to raise my support from the congregation I attended. They were on staff at my church then, and our plan was for me to ask members in our church to offer me individual support with offerings of $10 month. (That church was facing hard times because of the West Texas depression, and being funded through the church’s budget was out of the question.) The thought was I would go on staff with this support, as well as begin trying to put together a team to do foreign mission work in South America.

            We took our idea to the elders, and they turned it down. I will never forget one of the elders sitting with me on the floor outside the elders’ conference room after everyone had gone home. He was trying to cushion the blow for me.

            I was totally confused. I was trying to honor God with my life, and nothing seemed to work. I could not get from point A to point B. Finally, I began to cry like a baby. I mean, I sobbed. That poor elder, he probably thought I was having a breakdown. He gently patted me on the back and did his best to comfort me.

            In retrospect, I see the wisdom of the elders’ decision. It ended up being a blessing for me. However, I will never forget the generosity of spirit and true friendship that Rick, Robert, and Brad showed toward me.

            God honored my desire for mission work shortly thereafter by providing me with a team to go to Argentina. He also blessed me by allowing me to begin courting my future spouse. (I don’t remember when I delivered the news of my past—my dad had given me $300 a month spending money.) What next?

            In December of 1987, Brad and Allison Small had me over for supper. They said they believed God had called me to do mission work and committed $50 a month support—to begin immediately. With that pledge, I began to spend all of my time raising support.

            I called hundreds of churches. Some were kind enough to allow me to come speak and offer me a one-time contribution. That was enough for me to get by the next few months. Those were fun times. (I still remember every church that helped me, and I will always be grateful.)

            After a while, the money dried up. Our team was not to set to leave until the fall of 1989. Future support was beginning to fall into place, but that was still a year away.

            What to do?

            Enter roofing, phone book throwing, and mowing.

            Steve Ridgell (if you read last week’s blog, you know who he is) was starting up a business that incorporated these eclectic components: roofing houses damaged by West Texas hail, contracting with a company to distribute phone books to every business and residence in cities such as College Station, Midland, and Odessa, and mowing lawns in Abilene.

            The good thing about Steve was his flexibility. I could take off on a dime and visit a supporting church or travel to a mission forum. The bad news was, when I was to work, I was to work long hours—and hard.

            I remember having so many houses to roof, we would start at 6 AM and go until dark, taking an hour off for lunch. When the temperatures exceeded 100 degrees, our tennis shoes literally began melting. Every time we took a step, we could hear them squish. Moreover, I was not a gifted roofer. Consequently, I hated roofing.

            Throwing phone books was better, but it was still a job requiring long hours. We would travel to a city and stay all week. Many times, we worked from daylight until after dark. Often, we would work thirteen or fourteen hours.

            I didn’t mow that many lawns because of the roofing. Unfortunately when I did mow, I would break out into a rash because of my allergies. But you have got to make a living.

            In December 1988, Judy and I married. In May, our support kicked in and we were off to language school. It was in Mexico that Judy began thinking that life is hard, but I will let her tell that story.

            I know some of you have been through so much more than I have. Please do not hear me complaining.

            I also realize many of you learned this lesson your first decade, and there are some advantages to learning it early. It was the third decade for me—the decade of my twenties.

            Let me also make this clear. My challenge was not working hard or spending long hours working. I have always worked hard for long hours; and I still do. It was spending years working long hours doing things I had never intended doing—that was what was hard.

            I have faced challenges since, but nothing like those years. I learned that God sometimes allows us to face adversity to help us grow. Without adversity, we cannot grow.

            I am sure that if I live long enough, I will face much more difficult challenges. That is yet to be determined.

            I am so thankful I went through the decade of the eighties. Because of that decade, I can tell you this. Whenever I thought foreign mission work was tough, or things were tough in a U. S. church and someone wanted me fired, or I was staying up all night studying my Hebrew and Greek assignments for my doctorate, I also told myself, “It could be worse. I could be in real estate… or roofing!”

                       28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose (Rom. 8:28.)

            

Five Things I Think I Think (with a nod to Peter King for this idea)

1. I promise, this is what I wrote in my blog two weeks ago: “There is still work to do. I fear picking them [the Mavs] to beat Miami; Miami is hot, playing great ball, and has three legitimate, young superstars. However, I have a good feeling about this Mav team. I think they reverse the curse of 2006. I see them winning the championship in six games.”

2. After watching the Mavs win last night, can a Monday be any better?

3. Now, on to the Stanley Cup. I predict Vancouver defeats Boston in seven.

4. I’m halfway through the first season of 24. (I watch it while I’m on the treadmill.) My goal is to never watch another season again—too addicting.

5. Not every day you get a call from your wife saying that your daughter and her team’s physics’ project won second in the nation. I found out that eleven thousand schools were invited to participate in the nationwide competition funded by NUCOR, which I found out last week is a FORTUNE 300 company with headquarters in Charlotte, North Carolina.

            Not every school entered, but a lot did. Three teams from East Texas Christian Academy were invited to the finals in Charlotte, with one winning an honorable mention. That in itself was amazing.

            Haleigh, along with her teammates Loren Moore and Kaitlyn Gravois, won second place. Haleigh gives the lion’s (lioness?) share of the credit to Loren and Kaitlyn. In any case, I am sure this was a memory maker for all involved.

            Thanks again, Mrs. Chitty, for teaching the physics class at ETCA. I never saw this one coming. Great work.

           

# 1 Thing I Have Learned Each Decade: Decade # 2--God Loves Me.

            I posted that statement on Facebook last week. I’m sure it drew some snickers. Many were probably thinking, “It took that long!” Let me explain.

            I knew intellectually and, I’m sure, instinctively that God loved me—probably since toddlerhood. What I mean about the second decade is that I really internalized the reality that God loves me when I was seventeen years old.

            You see, after I became a Christian, I really worked hard to honor God with my life. I began hanging out with people who were Christians and seeking to follow Jesus.

            A critical event was when a fellow by the name of H. L. Shirey moved in next door when I was ten. He was our congregation’s new preacher. He was a young guy, probably 23 or 24, and he did a lot with us kids. In essence, he became my first mentor--outside of my parents.

            Unfortunately for me, he moved away when I was about to enter the seventh grade. Shortly thereafter, I attended a church camp. Some high school boys were the spiritual leaders of that camp, and I followed their leadership.

            On the third or fourth day of camp, I went into the ping-pong room during a break in camp activities. Several of the high school leaders were there, while none of the camp counselors were present.

            With no adults around, many of those “leaders” pulled out and lit up their cigarettes, cussed, told dirty jokes—in other words, they demonstrated behavior 180 degrees different than before.

            I will never forget that moment. It was like a light bulb went off. In my immaturity, I chose at that moment to believe that all young people claiming to be Christians were hypocrites. I chose to become cynical.

            I didn’t attend a single Christian youth function until one month before my senior year in high school began. I still attended church since I was scared of what God would do to me if I did not, but those were very dark years for me. I was in a real wilderness.

            During the summer of 1978, I worked at our local Brookshire’s grocery store. My last day was the end of July. The first week of August, I planned on playing golf, relaxing, and working out for the start of “two-a-days” for football, which would begin the second week of August.

            The Sunday before my week of vacation began, our church held a youth meeting which was to last from Sunday through Wednesday. I had to go on Sunday because the meeting corresponded with our church and class activities, but that was all I planned to attend.

            Our speaker was a member’s cousin, Steve Ridgell. I listened to him teach Bible class and left thinking, “That’s the first time I listened for an entire Bible class since I can remember.”

            Next came the sermon—again I listened for the first time in memory. By the evening, I was hooked.

            On Monday night, I heard a sermon that changed my life. Steve talked about the cost of freedom. Our spiritual freedom cost the Father, the Son, and it costs us our lives.

            To illustrate how our spiritual freedom cost the Father (who allowed his son to die), Steve told a story. Although you may have heard this story—from what I understand it is a well-known and true story—let me share it with you.

            There was once a father, a widower, who lived in a community near a large river.  The father's wife had died several years before, leaving him with a son.  This son was the most important possession of the father's life; the son was practically all the father had. 

Because of this, father and son were extremely close.  Every day when the father came home from work, the son would ask the father to play.  So they would throw the baseball or football around, fish together, and simply do things that weren't important in and of themselves, but were very important to the relationship of the father and son.  Everyone in their small town knew that they loved each other as much as a father and son could love. 

                 As the little boy grew older, he naturally wanted to emulate his father, so he constantly asked his dad if he could go to work with him.  Dad kept on promising the boy that he would take him, but he never quite got around to it.  Finally, as summer arrived, dad thought to himself, "Why not?  He'll (the son) probably get a kick out of it."  So at last the father agreed to take the boy.

            Dad had an interesting job, and at times, a dangerous one. He was the operator of a drawbridge on the great river that bordered the town.

Arriving at the bridge early one morning, the father told his boy, "Son, you can play wherever you would like. But the one place I don't want you to play is around the gears of this drawbridge. There will be barges crossing underneath the drawbridge, and trains crossing over the drawbridge, all day."

"This is very difficult work, and I'm going to be busy. If you want to come up and stand by my side, that will be fine. If you want to play, that will be fine.  Just don't go near the gears.  It's dangerous."

            Of course, the boy, anxious to play, rapidly replied that he would follow his dad's orders and then ran to see what he could discover.

            There was a very good reason why the dad did not want his son near the gears of the drawbridge. Lying below the father's workstation were the previously mentioned gears. These gears weighed several tons apiece. When the drawbridge was raised, one of the gears would rise at the same moment, and as the drawbridge was lowered, that particular gear would lower as well. Obviously, to be anywhere near this mechanism would be dangerous. 

            Time passed.  About a quarter to twelve, a barge passed underneath the drawbridge.

            In the distance, the father could hear the whistle of a train rapidly approaching. For this reason, the father was about to lower the bridge when he saw a horrible sight. Directly below him was his son trapped under one of the gears of the drawbridge.

The son's ball had rolled down an incline into the section of the mechanism that housed the gears. Without thinking, the boy had rushed under the raised gear to retrieve his ball. Somehow, his shirt had been caught in one of the machines. It would have been just as well if the boy's shirt had been caught in a vice grip, so powerful was the pull that the child could not even take his shirt off.

            Slowly, as the catastrophe enveloped him, it dawned upon the father that he was going to have to make a tragic decision. He could rush to his son and save him, but in doing so, he would be leaving all the passengers on the train to perish in a calamity; or the father could lower the drawbridge and save the people on the train, but in doing so, he would be allowing his only son to die. 

            Rapidly, the father made his decision. Lowering the bridge...he watched his son crushed to death by the gear...and then...as if it was the end to a grotesque dream...the father, with tears in his eyes, looked towards the train. The people were laughing and singing and traveling merrily on their way. They had known nothing about the supreme sacrifice that the father had made.

            Prompted by Steve’s illustration of God’s love, I began to wonder how many times God had looked upon me with tears in His eyes as I went about laughing and singing merrily on my way, totally unmoved by the sacrifice that He made for me. 

            That night, I turned my life back toward God; I irrevocably began heading in another direction—one that would ultimately take me to do mission work in foreign countries and a ministry of preaching.

            I know some hate the story of the father and son. Others cannot understand it.

I can remember telling it in graduate school and some in my class responding with horror, “So God is like a father who kills his kid to save people on a train?”

Nevertheless, I note this story resonates with a secular audience. A foreign film won several prestigious film awards depicting this story. The translated title is MOST. (Here is one link on YouTube if you are interested in seeing an abridged version: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnq1FvnKc-k&NR=1)

This is testimony that humans instinctively yearn for the gospel story to be true. We want a Father and Son to love us that much.

My life changed forever when my gut realized what my brain already knew: God loves me.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life (John 3:16.) KJV

            

Five Things I Think I Think (with a nod to Peter King for this idea)

1. Mavs come back from fifteen behind with seven minutes left in game 2. Reverse the curse!

2. Mavs lose the all-important game three. They're doomed!

3. I can remember growing up hearing preachers preach against women wearing bikinis. They said they were designed and worn to make men think sexual thoughts. I even heard a couple of preachers ask, “Have you ever seen a fat lady wear a bikini?”

         The implied answer was, “No, of course not?”

         Well, Friday I viewed a sight that destroyed that premise. I saw a pregnant woman in a bikini. She was several months along. As a matter of fact, she may be having her baby right this moment—delivered at full term.

         I can tell you this baby was not the first. I am sure the munchkins with her were hers because of the family dynamics. I can also tell you how old she was because I counted the rings of cellulite on her legs. Of course, the spots where the tattoos were located—and stretched—were hard to count.

         All of this to say—maybe modesty has its benefits.

         If you disagree, I will be forced to use nuclear weapons: empowering all men, middle-aged and up, to wear Speedos to the swimming pool—if they so desire.

         I would like to think most would have enough self-respect not to do so. I’m realistic enough to believe enough would vainly wear them to change national opinion on acceptable male and female swimwear forever!

4. One of life’s neat moments occurred for me the other night. I watched one of my top five movies, FIELD OF DREAMS, with my son, Timothy. He loved it. What was neat was Haleigh watched the movie with us as well, even though she was busy packing for a mission trip to South Dakota. This was her second or third time to see it. Judy, Abby and Annie were out and returned during the finale. They stopped what they were doing to watch it.

5. I never thought I would mention a family member in the same sentence with the word “physics,” unless the reference had to do with us breaking one of its (physics) laws. Nevertheless, Haleigh’s three-girl team, working on a project for their physics’ class, won a spot at the National Nucor Strength of Steel Challenge in Charlotte, N.C. Eight spots were available, and three teams from ETCA won. Each team won a prize of $1500.

            Cayse Chitty is their teacher. Evidently, she must be very good!             Organizers are flying each participant and one parent to event. Being a godly man, I am deferring to my wife, Judy, to go.            

            Congratulations, teams. (If you want to read the newspaper article, here is the link): http://www.tylerpaper.com/article/20110602/NEWS01/110609949

FLATLINERS: A Good Movie for Christian Reflection

            Every year, I host my senior Bible class from East Texas Christian Academy for supper. For the past three years, we have enjoyed the movie FLATLINERS. The seniors find it suspenseful, even scary; I find it richly filled with teaching on atonement.

            The movie came out in 1990 and featured some of the hottest young actors of the day, including Kiefer Sutherland, William Baldwin, Kevin Bacon, Oliver Platt, and Julia Roberts. They play pre-med students, experimenting by medically putting each other to death—flatlining—for a few minutes, before using medical technology to bring each back to life.

            During the clinical moments of death, each-in his or her own way- experiences events reminiscent of dreams. In time, the students collectively note that each has come into contact with negative events from their past. Specifically, all reconnect with what they believe were past sins they had committed.

            The suspense begins as each character discovers a hole has been opened into the cosmos, and each faces vengeance and retribution from those they had wronged. One had been guilty of secretly taping his sexual encounters with college coeds. Suddenly, women begin seeking to manipulate and use him as he had done to others. Moreover, discarded females begin appearing, questioning why he had hurt them.

            Another character encountered a young girl he had continually made fun of on the playground in elementary school. She began to appear to him, supernaturally endowed with power over him. He was frightened.

            The most interesting character to me is Nelson, played by Kiefer Sutherland. Nelson bullied a boy—Billy—during childhood. After Nelson’s death experience, Billy returns to inflict pain upon him.

            At the climax of the movie, we learn of the guilt Nelson had carried with him since childhood. Billy had climbed a tree to escape his tormentors (which included Nelson)—and had slipped and fallen to his death. The accident caused Nelson to be taken by authorities from his family and placed in a foster home.

            Every year, I find this movie fascinating. In an age when a number of Christian leaders (some prominent) seek to downplay or eliminate any need of Jesus paying a debt for our sins on the cross, FLATLINERS demonstrates the basic human understanding that humans cannot atone for their sins. It is not enough to have God come down to earth to show us how much He loved us by dying for us.

            Deep within our hearts, deep in our subconscious minds, we intuitively sense that an act of God showing his love for us… is not enough for us to cope with this life. As Nelson’s case illustrates, there are some sins we can never atone for. We yearn to know, really know, our sin has been dealt with. The cross alerts us to the fact that God, through Christ, has truly cancelled our sin.

            Another thing I like about this movie is that it reminds us that we all need the cross—even those who are not guilty of committing the “big” sins. Yes, in this movie there were those haunted by their “big” sins. Yet, there were others haunted by “little” sins, such as Kevin Bacon’s character, who had made fun of a child on the playground.

            All of us have emotions and regrets from past sins locked away—unless we have turned them over to Jesus; they will continue to impact us negatively—perhaps even haunt us—unless we lay them down at the foot of the cross.

            I am thankful for a God who showed his love for us by dying such a terrible death; but I am also grateful the Bible consistently points forward to, or (in the New Testament) looks back at, a God who paid a debt He did not owe, because I owed a debt I could not pay. 

He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed (I Pet. 2:24.) ESV

Five Things I Think I Think (with a nod to Peter King for this idea)

1. My daughter, Haleigh, graduated Saturday from high school. I am very proud of her for a number of reasons, one of them is that she was one of three recipients of the Jana Preston Memorial Scholarship--$5000 a semester for 8 semesters… or $40,000 total. This scholarship is good for any college or university.

2. I do not know the name (names?) of the individual (individuals?) who funded this scholarship—unique to East Texas Christian Academy. Still, I am struck by the number of individuals God has blessed financially, who have chosen to fund scholarships to students. Furthermore, I am amazed by how many do this anonymously—and do so to call attention to someone else they wish to honor.

            Jana Preston was a faithful Christian, wife, and mother whose life ended much too quickly—a victim of cancer. Someone (or a few) funded this scholarship in her honor. Beautiful.

            My own life has been irrevocably blessed in this way. Godly, gracious, and generous people supplied resources to pay for 75% of my Master of Divinity expenses, and 100% of my doctoral degree.

            To all of you benefactors of the world—thank you. May God continue to richly bless you; you have proved faithful.

3. I finished this week an old book written in 1973 called The Wizard of Westwood: Coach John Wooden and His UCLA Bruins. Written by two contemporary Los Angeles sportswriters, Dwight Chapin and Jeff Prugh, I found this book to be the most objective account I have read of John Wooden’s life.

            Obviously, it was written before Wooden retired, yet, for that reason, I find it fascinating. Wooden was well on his way to becoming a legend, but he had not yet achieved sainthood status. Furthermore, the sportswriters were much more willing to contribute the warts of Wooden’s story.

            For example: the basketball players on one of John Wooden’s early high school basketball teams felt compelled to join their opponents in stopping a fist-fight. The fight was between John Wooden and the opposing coach. Now that’s something about Wooden you don’t read every day!

            Wooden himself readily admits in his autobiography that his temper as a young player and coach, at times, got the best of him. Still, this is the first time of have read this account in detail.

            Make no mistake about it; the authors include plenty of good things about their subject. It’s just that they draw a balanced picture.

            Keep in mind; they were simply writing about a great basketball coach at UCLA. They were not writing about the man we know today as… John Wooden.

4. I still believe the Mavericks will win their series in six games. I thought they would lose game one and win game two. The Thunder are tough. It would not shock me to see them take it to seven.

5. Welcome back Josh Hamilton and Nelson Cruz.

A Little Dab Will Do You

             I received good and interesting feedback on my thoughts on THE LORD’S SUPPER/COMMUNION last week. What I wish to do today is unusual for me; today, I wish to make an argument for the other side.

            It would go like this.

            There is no way we can replicate the Lord’s Supper/Communion experience of the First Century. First, for a substantial number of Christians, that meal was their biggest and best of the week. (This is one of the reasons Paul jumped on the more well-to-do Corinthians—they enjoying a relatively sumptuous meal; meanwhile, the poor had little to eat and left hungry.)

            Meat was not an item Christians could always afford. For Jewish Christians, a carry-over from some of the sacrificial meals under the old law was eating meat during sacred meals. Most of us regularly eat meat, and when was the last time you enjoyed a church’s potluck more than you did food from your favorite restaurant.

            Second, for some early Christians, the only time they would enjoy a full stomach would be after the agape meal (the meal experienced in the context for the Lord’s Supper/Communion.) Were we to eat our fill during the Lord’s Supper/Communion today, we would have to wait until—the next meal… before we would fill our stomachs again. Whether we desire to admit or not, most of us have enough food in our pantries to fill our stomach’s for a week or two.

            Most of us, Christians, in the U.S. are simply affluent. So why make a big deal about eating our fill during the Lord’s Supper/Communion?

            The fact is, we are not where we are going. We have not experienced heaven’s wedding meal with the Lamb. That is to come. Indeed, it says something about our present limitations that we can eat until our bellies are full, and yet we hunger again by the time the next meal rolls around.

            Why not partake of just a taste of heaven—a reign and an experience that is not fully consummated yet?

            Someday, that age will come—but not yet. The wafer of unleavened bread and the thimbleful cup size of grape juice remind us of our present existence.

            LIFE IS BETTER, NOW THAT WE KNOW THE LORD. However, we are not where we desire to be—or where we will be.

            Until then, we will eat portions influenced by a fallen creation to celebrate God’s work in Jesus, and encourage us to wait for what is to come.

            I am not saying this should be our regular practice. I am saying how we think could redeem our current practice.

Five Things I Think I Think (with a nod to Peter King for this idea)

1. Okay, I have read messages from some of my friends on Facebook—wonderful, spiritual, and godly reactions to Osama Bin Laden’s death. These included marvelous scriptures that really made me think.

            So now, I am going to offer my initial emotional reaction. I am not saying it was right. Indeed, in light of scripture, it probably was wrong. But here it is:

            Last night, my daughter, Haleigh, woke me up from a deep sleep. Excitedly, she said, “Dad, they just killed Osama bin Laden. The president is speaking.”

               This is one of the few times I can remember being awakened from a deep sleep, and feeling upbeat about the experience. Instantly, even as my mind was processing the news, I felt positive emotions.

            Entering our den, where Haleigh had the president's speech live on the computer, I saw and heard him talking to the nation, and to the world. By then, I was fully awake, and I felt deep joy.

            Ten years is a long time. The world is a different place.

            Recently, I began watching Tom Hanks’ mini-series, THE PACIFIC. Some of those soldiers experienced perhaps the closest humans will get to hell on earth. Suicidal enemies attacking them using island civilians as instruments to blow up and destroy American soldiers. I tend to give others the benefit of the doubt when they have to choose between two or more bad choices.

            I am blessed by the world those soldiers helped protect. It is hard for me to divorce myself from this country. I have lived in other countries; there is no place like this one.

            I like feeling safe. I like feeling free.

            I appreciate our policemen. I appreciate our military.

            When others risk much (including the possibility that they might be doing something morally wrong in the pursuit of doing what is right), with the result being I am safer and free, I cannot help but feel gratitude.

2. Someday, someone should write an updated theology of government. When you wake up and find yourself the most powerful government on earth, how do you handle that responsibility?

            I suspect it is similar to waking up and finding yourself receiving the responsibility of parenthood. You cannot serve without sinning; yet, to walk away from the responsibility is sinning.

3. Way to go Mavs! Way to beat Portland.

4. DeMarco Murray drafted by the Dallas Cowboys? Please! If he cannot stay healthy in college, how in the world will he in the NFL?

5. It was five years ago this week I began my ministry at Shiloh. I am grateful, and there is no other place on earth I would rather be.

            

Communion versus the Lord’s Supper

                If you are not interested in Communion, the Lord's Supper, you are probably not going to be interested in this post.

                Recently, I told my sermon advisory group, I would be preaching a sermon on “Why The Lord's Supper” in a couple of months. I asked if they had any suggestions.

            One said to me, “Would it be possible to offer the people more than one little piece of cracker and one little cup full of grape juice? It always sounded strange to me to hear people talk about a supper, when what we experience is not even a good snack.

                Someone else, one who has been a Christian for a long time, said, “I agree. It just seems like what we do has very little in common with how they partook of the Lord's Supper and experienced communion in the New Testament.”

            I found our dialogue fascinating; it really gave me food for thought. (Wink. Wink.)

                  Since then, I have thought much about that conversation. I agree that what we do finds little connection with the way they did it in the New Testament. There is no implication from Scripture, and no implication from early church history, churches passed around portions of unleavened bread, from which each Christian took a tiny morsel.

               Now, since some churches passed around one cup, I can see each individual’s swallow being smaller, similar to the size of our little communion cups. However, these were experienced in the context of a complete meal. So people, by God's design, left feeling satisfied. (Indeed, one of the reasons there was a problem in I Corinthians 11 was because the more affluent Christians were sinning by not sharing their bountiful blessings of food with the poor Christians. Consequently, the poor left hungry.)

              Where did this disconnect between our experience of communion today and the early church's experiences come from? I suspect Constantine's influence on the church is partially to blame. That's the subject of another post for another day.

              Within my own fellowship, I'm wondering if there is another reason as well. In my fellowship, we practice open communion. That means, anyone who desires to partake of the bread and the cup may do so. We leave it up to each individual's conscience. Each individual is subject to God's judgment (I Corinthians 11:17ff), but each is allowed to make his or her own choice.

              Now, in a conservative and doctrinally careful Fellowship, you've got a problem. How do you share communion with someone who may not be a Christian? Especially, if it is someone you really believe is not a Christian? The solution is simple; you virtually eliminate the communion aspect of the service, and emphasize the Lord's Supper facet.

              In the Lord's Supper, it is every man for himself. You're not showing a desire to fellowship someone, who is outside of Christ. That's his problem. Consequently, your conscience can remain untroubled.

              Unfortunately, in our congregation's case, all too often we do not experience communion; rather, what is happening is 500 people are individually, and simultaneously, taking the Lord's Supper.

              This explains how we can say with a straight face on Sunday nights, “If you were unable to partake of the Lord's Supper this morning, it has been left prepared for you and you may leave the auditorium to partake during the singing of our next song.”

            Voila! A handful of people go to a back room, away from the rest of the Body. Or, everybody in the auditorium sits and watches three people, who are taking the Lord's Supper on a Sunday night.

              Whatever that is, it clearly violates the meaning of the word–communion. Not much is being held in common by the assembly.

              What's the solution? I have some ideas. But I would enjoy first hearing from you. What do you think?

Five Things I Think I Think (with a nod to Peter King for this idea)

1. When I left for Argentina in 1989, I assumed I would spend the next five years practically isolated from American news and sports. I will never forget our first night in Argentina, in the home of the Reece Mitchell family, in Buenos Aires. I mentioned to one of Reece’s sons, I cannot remember which one, that I expected to be cut off from American culture, as I had been in Papua New Guinea.

            He replied, “Oh, well we get cable here.”

            That was the first I heard of the Argentine cable service. God bless the individual, who brought cable to Argentina.

            Because of the cable service, we received a direct feed of CNN. (Later, we received ESPN as well.)

            After we settled in our house in Cordoba, I subscribed to the local cable service. Now, we had been in Cordoba for a little more than a month, so I already felt a little bit out of the loop. One night, about 10:30 our time, I turned on the TV to CNN.

            It was 7:30 PM in Atlanta—time for CNN SPORTS TONIGHT. The program’s anthem blared out, and I emotionally tasted a little bit of home.

            Virtually every night thereafter, I watched the news on CNN and SPORTS TONIGHT. Anchors Fred Hickman and Nick Charles grew to be my friends, even though I never met them.

            Nick Charles is dying. He is suffering from bladder cancer and will be taken from us soon. Patrick Leech sent me a link that offers a marvelous testimony to Charles’ faith:

http://www.cnn.com/2011/US/04/06/nick.charles.facing.death/index.html?iref=obinsite

         I feel sadness because of the connection of my past. Yet, I can say gratefully, that Nick Charles is dying well.

2. I got to experience LEADERSHIP TRAINING FOR CHRIST for the first time on a Sunday morning. I know of no better ministry for equipping young people, children, and adults (!) than LTC. What a blessing it is.

3. The Mavericks blowing a 23-point lead to Portland on Saturday doesn’t scare me. Of course, I may be whistling in the cemetery.

4. My heart goes out to the people, who have lost property, especially homes, to the wild fires. Yet, another reminder of how little humanity really controls.

5. I took my family to the site of President John F. Kennedy’s assassination yesterday afternoon. The Texas School Book Depository has been turned into a museum. We did not go inside, but we walked around the site of the murder. Sad.

            I was impressed by how many people were there—more than I saw at Ford’s Theater last year. I heard the German language spoken; it looked like others from different countries were present as well.

            One strange moment: at the grassy knoll the investigator and author, Robert Groden, was present with his books and DVDs on the Kennedy assassination.

            He believes Kennedy was a victim of a conspiracy. Part of his proof is photos taken from Kennedy’s autopsy. (How he got them, I don’t know.)

            The reason I know he had photos is, Groden had a point man, who held up some of the photos. Fortunately, he told Timothy and Annie to turn around before he did.

            I have to admit; I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, the photos were morbid. (I decided to turn away; I couldn’t escape the sensation I was violating something sacred.) On the other hand, we are a democracy. We must hold the government accountable. Clearly, if someone in the government was conspiring to hide evidence, it would take the people seeing the evidence to move an investigation along. And, if you run for president, there are certain rights to privacy you surrender for the sake of the democracy.