Last year I read a very disturbing book titled The Rape of Nanking. Written by Chinese-American historian and journalist Iris Chang, it was first published in 1997. Chang tells the awful tale of the Japanese occupation of the city of Nanking in the late 1930’s. It has been often described as “the forgotten holocaust of World War II.”
This month marks the 70th anniversary of Nanking’s misery—an ancient city which was then the capital of China. The city fell to the invading Imperial Japanese Army on December 13, 1937, and in the next six weeks, somewhere between 250,000 and 500,000 defenseless Chinese were murdered on the streets (that’s 12,000 murdered every day). Between 20,000 and 80,000 women were also raped and tortured—no one knows for sure how many. The city’s rich legacy of Chinese civilization—from art to architecture— was also destroyed (or carted away). The ugly verb, “rape,” incredibly, fails to even approach summarizing the horror.
An army of young men, religiously trained to believe the Chinese an inferior race, killed and worked mayhem for sport, boasting of contests to see who could “be the first to behead 100 Chinese.” Women were nailed to boards or impaled after they were raped, infants were thrown into the air and then speared by bayonets on the way down, men were buried to their chests in the ground and then eaten alive by dogs. The “orgy of violence” (as Chang described it) takes the breath away. Cruelty knew no boundaries in Nanking, as the rest of the world sang carols and settled around its Christmas trees in 1937.
For all of its despair, though, the Nanking’s story also carries astonishing inspiration. Within 10 days of the occupation’s wretched onset—just as Christmas Eve approached—a group of Christian missionaries stationed in the city and, implausibly, a German Nazi, organized a safe zone for the Chinese innocents. At the risk of their own lives and that of their families, they stared down the Imperial war machine and dared the Japanese to enter their homes, schools, and churches. They harbored thousands of terrified Chinese men, women, and children—all of whom would have otherwise been likely prey. For these amazing heroes, celebrating Christmas was about being Jesus, not just singing about Him. It was nothing less than being the presence of Christ in their world’s darkest hour. Their courage—and love— literally saved 250,000 people from hell-on-earth.
These Christmas heroes chose to stay behind in Nanking, when other foreigners fled for their own safety. They refused to leave the city and traded their own welfare for the chance to save others. They were not trapped; they were compelled by love. One of the most remarkable of these was missionary Minnie Vautrin—a single, 51 year-old believer from Bloomington, Illinois. Intimidated and abused herself by leering Imperial army thugs, she, nevertheless, stood her ground, arguing, cajoling, and defying the force of occupation. It is estimated that she alone saved the lives of 10,000.
The “Safety Zone” was a 2.5 square mile area of the central city, cordoned off and defended by nothing more than the Providential willpower of the missionaries and German John Rabe (who has fairly been called “the Oskar Schindler of China”). When aligned with God’s purposes, there is no telling what we can do.
On that sad Christmas Eve in 1937, the trustees of Nanking’s “Safety Zone” took a deep breath and remembered the carols of Christmas. “Silent Night,” “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear,” and all the rest. I have to believe the Americans brought to the table Longfellow’s inspired “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” in which he wrote, “And in despair I bowed my head, ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said. ‘For hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, goodwill toward men.’ Then pealed the bells more loud and deep, ‘God is not dead, nor doth He sleep. The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, with peace on earth, goodwill toward men.’”
Even in the midst of the most awful circumstances imaginable, Christmas still brings hope and life. In Nanking in 1937. In Afghanistan and Iraq and the Darfur in 2007. At home. And abroad. Everywhere.
Take a deep breath this Christmas Eve and join us to sing the carols, to acknowledge the hope, and to embrace, once more, the Christ Child of Bethlehem. Think with us about being Jesus in the way those brave souls were in Nanking. Thankfully, it is unlikely we’ll ever face what they faced, but we’ll find ourselves, nonetheless, staring down the devil every now and then as the new year unfolds. You can do it. We can do it. We can dedicate ourselves to blessing beyond ourselves or what we think possible, to trading our own comfort and security for Heaven’s cause. We can do it this Christmas Eve, at Madison Park, at 11:00pm. Don’t miss the wonder, the light, and the once-in-a-year moment that is Christmas Eve, wherever you are in life’s journey, whatever you have or must face. Be encouraged. Jesus is born. And, He lives.
Merry Christmas, dear Madison Park.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
The Hinge of History
I often refer to the birth of Jesus as “the hinge of history.” The advent of Christ at Bethlehem marked the division of all human experience into two epochs: before Christ and after Christ.
We acknowledge this truth every time we date a letter or celebrate our own birthday. For instance, I was born in 1952—that’s 1952 AD, as opposed to 1952 BC. AD is the abbreviation of the Latin Anno Domini Nostri Jesu Christi (“in the year of our Lord Jesus Christ”), meaning that I was born 1,952 years after Jesus was born. BC is the short form of “Before Christ” (which became standard in the English language many centuries ago, replacing the original Latin aCn = Ante Christum Natum = “before the birth of Christ”). Important dates are all tracked from this “hinge of history.” Julius Caesar was murdered in 44 BC. Christopher Columbus set sail in 1492 AD. And so on.
The birth of Jesus has not always been the “starting place” for marking time, though. Historically, most civilizations have used other important events as foundation stones for dating (“767 years from the founding of the City of Rome,” “22 years from the ascension of the Emperor to the throne,” “398 years after the volcano erupted,” etc.). A sixth century (AD) scholar named Dionysius Exiguus was compiling a table of Easter dates when he decided to stop using the system then in play (numbering years from the reign of the Roman emperor Diocletian) and, instead, numbering years from the birth of Jesus. Dionysius flubbed the calculation of the year of the Lord’s birth (he was off by probably 4-6 years), but he established a system for marking time that acknowledges the extraordinary influence of Christ that survives to this day.
Yes, there’s a Chinese calendar (developed by the Emperor Huangdi in 2637 BC). There’s an Islamic calendar (dated from Mohammed’s move to the “holy city” Medina in 622 AD). Israel recognizes the Hebrew calendar (which ostensibly begins with the beginning of the world—Anno Mundi— in 3761 BC, but a calendar that was not set until 359 AD). Still, every nation of the world, over time, has recognized the dating of events from the birth of Christ as the norm: for commerce, civil institutions, and ordinary life. The world now holds this calendar in common.
That’s why sometimes you see dates now noted with CE (for Common Era) and BCE (for Before Common Era). There are those who quarrel with this subtle shift in vocabulary (a shift still not widely used outside of academia, but gaining ground, nonetheless), contending that it diminishes Jesus. But, even using CE bears witness to the centrality of Christ’s birth as the “hinge of history.” Whether you call the new year 2008 AD or 2008 CE, it’s still 2,008 years after the birth of Christ, not 1,386 years after Mohammed moved to Medina or 4,645 years after the Chinese Emperor Huangdi.
In the end, however, how others record history is not as important as how we track our own. Have you ever thought of calculating your years from the moment Christ found a place in your heart? Have you ever looked through a lens that acknowledges the year you were “born again” in Christ? In my case, though I was born first in 1952 AD, I was born again (Anno Meus Novus Ortus = “year of my new birth”) in AMNO 1, which means I am now living in AMNO 43. That moment of accepting Jesus as my Savior and Lord is the hinge of my personal history, whatever other calendars may say.
It was then I began to understand that God loved me unconditionally, that He would forgive me, that He had specific plans for my life, and that He would empower me (by His Spirit) to fulfill those Providential purposes. Everything in my world has looked different since that day. There’s a big difference between “before” and “after.” in 3761 BC, but a calendar that was not set until 359 AD). Still, every nation of the world, over time, has recognized the dating of events from the birth of Christ as the norm: for commerce, civil institutions, and ordinary life. The world now holds this calendar in common.
My birth dates (both of them) are important markers in my life’s journey. And, this Christmas, when the Lord’s birth is so much at the fore of our thinking, maybe it would be profitable for each of us to develop our own calendar for spiritual reckoning. O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us we pray. Cast out our sin and enter in, be born in us today. May this Christmas and the turning of the new year remind us all of “the hinge of history.”
Merry Christmas.
Jim Lyon
December 12, 2007 AD (and AMNO 43)
We acknowledge this truth every time we date a letter or celebrate our own birthday. For instance, I was born in 1952—that’s 1952 AD, as opposed to 1952 BC. AD is the abbreviation of the Latin Anno Domini Nostri Jesu Christi (“in the year of our Lord Jesus Christ”), meaning that I was born 1,952 years after Jesus was born. BC is the short form of “Before Christ” (which became standard in the English language many centuries ago, replacing the original Latin aCn = Ante Christum Natum = “before the birth of Christ”). Important dates are all tracked from this “hinge of history.” Julius Caesar was murdered in 44 BC. Christopher Columbus set sail in 1492 AD. And so on.
The birth of Jesus has not always been the “starting place” for marking time, though. Historically, most civilizations have used other important events as foundation stones for dating (“767 years from the founding of the City of Rome,” “22 years from the ascension of the Emperor to the throne,” “398 years after the volcano erupted,” etc.). A sixth century (AD) scholar named Dionysius Exiguus was compiling a table of Easter dates when he decided to stop using the system then in play (numbering years from the reign of the Roman emperor Diocletian) and, instead, numbering years from the birth of Jesus. Dionysius flubbed the calculation of the year of the Lord’s birth (he was off by probably 4-6 years), but he established a system for marking time that acknowledges the extraordinary influence of Christ that survives to this day.
Yes, there’s a Chinese calendar (developed by the Emperor Huangdi in 2637 BC). There’s an Islamic calendar (dated from Mohammed’s move to the “holy city” Medina in 622 AD). Israel recognizes the Hebrew calendar (which ostensibly begins with the beginning of the world—Anno Mundi— in 3761 BC, but a calendar that was not set until 359 AD). Still, every nation of the world, over time, has recognized the dating of events from the birth of Christ as the norm: for commerce, civil institutions, and ordinary life. The world now holds this calendar in common.
That’s why sometimes you see dates now noted with CE (for Common Era) and BCE (for Before Common Era). There are those who quarrel with this subtle shift in vocabulary (a shift still not widely used outside of academia, but gaining ground, nonetheless), contending that it diminishes Jesus. But, even using CE bears witness to the centrality of Christ’s birth as the “hinge of history.” Whether you call the new year 2008 AD or 2008 CE, it’s still 2,008 years after the birth of Christ, not 1,386 years after Mohammed moved to Medina or 4,645 years after the Chinese Emperor Huangdi.
In the end, however, how others record history is not as important as how we track our own. Have you ever thought of calculating your years from the moment Christ found a place in your heart? Have you ever looked through a lens that acknowledges the year you were “born again” in Christ? In my case, though I was born first in 1952 AD, I was born again (Anno Meus Novus Ortus = “year of my new birth”) in AMNO 1, which means I am now living in AMNO 43. That moment of accepting Jesus as my Savior and Lord is the hinge of my personal history, whatever other calendars may say.
It was then I began to understand that God loved me unconditionally, that He would forgive me, that He had specific plans for my life, and that He would empower me (by His Spirit) to fulfill those Providential purposes. Everything in my world has looked different since that day. There’s a big difference between “before” and “after.” in 3761 BC, but a calendar that was not set until 359 AD). Still, every nation of the world, over time, has recognized the dating of events from the birth of Christ as the norm: for commerce, civil institutions, and ordinary life. The world now holds this calendar in common.
My birth dates (both of them) are important markers in my life’s journey. And, this Christmas, when the Lord’s birth is so much at the fore of our thinking, maybe it would be profitable for each of us to develop our own calendar for spiritual reckoning. O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us we pray. Cast out our sin and enter in, be born in us today. May this Christmas and the turning of the new year remind us all of “the hinge of history.”
Merry Christmas.
Jim Lyon
December 12, 2007 AD (and AMNO 43)
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Betty's Big Dream
I was adopted when I was four months old and shortly thereafter taken to church. I was dedicated to the Lord as an infant, held in my mother’s arms, standing in front of the church family I would grow to know and love as the Woodland Park Church of God in Seattle. The people gathered around in those old, blond wooden pews that day would stand by me for a lifetime. In so many ways, I owe my life to them.
One of the advantages of being planted in a church for a lifetime is that the same people who witness your dedication as a baby, for instance, see you also as a child, a teenager, and a young man. The value of such perspective cannot be overstated; the wonder of a church family that knows you all-too-well and loves you anyway, well, that’s a gift from Heaven. Sometimes, those sage saints who bless on the sidelines can see and call the best out of you, in ways you could not have otherwise known.
One of people like that in my life has been Betty Snow. Her dad, Luke Bennett, was the pastor of the Woodland Park Church when I was dedicated. The Snows (and their two children, about my age) have encouraged me since before I can remember.
When I was a sophomore in college, Betty had the idea to stage a production of “A Charlie Brown Christmas Carol” at church. She asked me to play Linus—you know, the kid in the Peanuts lineup who holds a blanket and delivers the Christmas story from Luke 2. I had never been “on stage” before, but Betty believed I could do it. It was a small little part in a small little play in a small little church. But, for me, it was a threshold. I memorized Luke 2 and have never forgotten it.
The next year, Betty brought forward a script for Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” In those days, most churches were focusing on elaborate choir cantatas, holiday musicals, “singing Christmas trees,” and the like. Betty had a different dream. She loved drama and believed it could have great power to speak not only to our church family but beyond.
The church loved it. But, more than that, the congregation was moved by “A Christmas Carol” and changed by it, too. We began to invite our friends. In a few years, a tradition had been cemented in our local church. Children and young adults began to appear “on stage” for the first time; little kids dreamed of the part they would play next year. People who never darkened a church door began to walk in. The irresistible lure of the Dickens’ classic captured the essential core of Christmas, as the script was adapted to emphasize Scrooge’s transformation—his conversion-at the close. Betty’s vision of a church drama that entertained and, at the same time, spoke Gospel truth, had come to life.
And not just in Seattle. In 1991, the North Anderson Church (now Madison Park Church) presented “A Christmas Carol” for the first time, with the same simple script, adapted by Betty Snow. Over the years, our production has evolved to become a popular musical, with a cast of 100 and a live orchestra. Jill O’Malia, our director, working with an original score written by Rick Vale (and, truth-be-told, that score has been the work of genius), has, with heart and soul, led a team producing what is, as far as we know, Indiana’s longest running “Carol.” Over 40,000 people have attended, from far and near.
This year, Madison Park’s “A Christmas Carol” will deliver the same, timeless tale, grounded in the Christ of Christmas, as Ebenezer Scrooge is transformed on Christmas Eve. With a phenomenal new set (thanks to a generous gift from Warner Press), the largest performance platform in Madison County, a first-rate cast, and months of preparation, this year’s “A Christmas Carol” will be one you just can’t miss. With almost 1,800 seats available for each performance (Dec. 14-15-16, at 7 pm), be sure to invite a van-load of friends, too. See our new email invitation “Evite” at MadisonParkChurch.org.
And, as always, the “Carol” is free—there’s no admission, no ticket. But, an offering will be taken to benefit Dove Harbor, a residential shelter for women and children right here in Anderson that serves in Jesus’ name. Dickens would like that; I think the Lord does, too.
Betty Snow is still walking with Jesus in Seattle. Each year, I send her a copy of our “Carol” pro-gram to let her know that her dream still lives— 2,500 miles away. Dreams work. They really do. Don’t miss “A Christmas Carol” this year. You will be amazed—and inspired. It’s a Christmas tradition, fresh and new for 2007.
One of the advantages of being planted in a church for a lifetime is that the same people who witness your dedication as a baby, for instance, see you also as a child, a teenager, and a young man. The value of such perspective cannot be overstated; the wonder of a church family that knows you all-too-well and loves you anyway, well, that’s a gift from Heaven. Sometimes, those sage saints who bless on the sidelines can see and call the best out of you, in ways you could not have otherwise known.
One of people like that in my life has been Betty Snow. Her dad, Luke Bennett, was the pastor of the Woodland Park Church when I was dedicated. The Snows (and their two children, about my age) have encouraged me since before I can remember.
When I was a sophomore in college, Betty had the idea to stage a production of “A Charlie Brown Christmas Carol” at church. She asked me to play Linus—you know, the kid in the Peanuts lineup who holds a blanket and delivers the Christmas story from Luke 2. I had never been “on stage” before, but Betty believed I could do it. It was a small little part in a small little play in a small little church. But, for me, it was a threshold. I memorized Luke 2 and have never forgotten it.
The next year, Betty brought forward a script for Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” In those days, most churches were focusing on elaborate choir cantatas, holiday musicals, “singing Christmas trees,” and the like. Betty had a different dream. She loved drama and believed it could have great power to speak not only to our church family but beyond.
The church loved it. But, more than that, the congregation was moved by “A Christmas Carol” and changed by it, too. We began to invite our friends. In a few years, a tradition had been cemented in our local church. Children and young adults began to appear “on stage” for the first time; little kids dreamed of the part they would play next year. People who never darkened a church door began to walk in. The irresistible lure of the Dickens’ classic captured the essential core of Christmas, as the script was adapted to emphasize Scrooge’s transformation—his conversion-at the close. Betty’s vision of a church drama that entertained and, at the same time, spoke Gospel truth, had come to life.
And not just in Seattle. In 1991, the North Anderson Church (now Madison Park Church) presented “A Christmas Carol” for the first time, with the same simple script, adapted by Betty Snow. Over the years, our production has evolved to become a popular musical, with a cast of 100 and a live orchestra. Jill O’Malia, our director, working with an original score written by Rick Vale (and, truth-be-told, that score has been the work of genius), has, with heart and soul, led a team producing what is, as far as we know, Indiana’s longest running “Carol.” Over 40,000 people have attended, from far and near.
This year, Madison Park’s “A Christmas Carol” will deliver the same, timeless tale, grounded in the Christ of Christmas, as Ebenezer Scrooge is transformed on Christmas Eve. With a phenomenal new set (thanks to a generous gift from Warner Press), the largest performance platform in Madison County, a first-rate cast, and months of preparation, this year’s “A Christmas Carol” will be one you just can’t miss. With almost 1,800 seats available for each performance (Dec. 14-15-16, at 7 pm), be sure to invite a van-load of friends, too. See our new email invitation “Evite” at MadisonParkChurch.org.
And, as always, the “Carol” is free—there’s no admission, no ticket. But, an offering will be taken to benefit Dove Harbor, a residential shelter for women and children right here in Anderson that serves in Jesus’ name. Dickens would like that; I think the Lord does, too.
Betty Snow is still walking with Jesus in Seattle. Each year, I send her a copy of our “Carol” pro-gram to let her know that her dream still lives— 2,500 miles away. Dreams work. They really do. Don’t miss “A Christmas Carol” this year. You will be amazed—and inspired. It’s a Christmas tradition, fresh and new for 2007.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Celebrating Sixty
Her mother is said to have vigorously opposed the wedding—she believed her daughter’s fiancé to be unsuitable. He had few financial resources, his family was Greek Orthodox (and the bride was staunchly Anglican), and he had a reputation as being something of a, well, let’s just say, he was thought to “play the field.” On the plus side, though, he was simultaneously both a prince of Greece and Denmark and was a third cousin (that’s a plus?)—both the prospective bride and groom shared the same great-great-grandmother (her name was Victoria). The bride, of course, was none other than the Princess Elizabeth of the United Kingdom, soon to become Queen.
The royals celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary last week—the first in British history to do so. It has been an eventful 60 years, what with the shrinking empire, domestic dust-ups, Diana and Camilla and all of that, but, in the end, the ancient pledge of a lifetime repeated by Elizabeth and Prince Philip way back on November 20, 1947, has stood the test of time.
But then, London wasn’t the only place on the planet marking a 60th wedding anniversary last week. Madison Park’s own Burt and Jeanne Blocher celebrated 60 years, too. Family and friends from far and near gathered to enjoy the goodies, hugs, and great company in the Crossroads Auditorium.
Sixty years is a long time. The Blochers together raised two extraordinary daughters and have doted on two elegant granddaughters (and some great-grandchildren, too!). Some years ago, their oldest daughter, Wanda—a bright and beautiful college student—lost her life while crossing the street adjacent to the Anderson University campus. Tragedies like that often unravel promises made to each other and to God. But, Burt and Jeanne held steady.
Successes and joys came to them, as well. Still, they held steady. Whatever their circumstance, the Blochers have worked tirelessly through the years for the Lord. Serving here, giving there, encouraging, sacrificing, loving all along the way. The Blochers are today, as they have always been, integral to what we call “the kingdom work,” advancing the cause of Christ wherever, whenever possible. They are the kind of folks of which every pastor dreams—faithful, steadfast, and true.
While talking with their daughter Greta at the anniversary reception, she told me of how excited she was to see her parents still dreaming for the Lord. “They’re so excited and positive about the church,” she said and then continued, “they’re full of life and energy, engaged and involved.” They’re still devoted to each other, standing side-by-side.
At the reception, someone asked them, “Why don’t you take a cruise or something—it would be wonderful!” “Yes, we’ve thought of that,” they replied with characteristic modesty, “and we have been saving along those lines, but, we’ve been able to travel a bit before and now, well, we’ve just decided to invest it in the church instead—God is doing so much good here.”
I want to grow up and be like that.
Burt and Jeanne enjoyed a simple gathering of precious souls at the Madison Park Church on November 17. The next morning, they got ready for church as they always do. Burt greeted me in the Commons on Sunday morning, introducing me to new friends and faces, as he always does, with a word of encouragement. As I walked away I glanced back at Burt and Jeanne at church, a handsome couple, always.
What a privilege to be surrounded by such a community of great souls! It’s not Buckingham Palace, but this church has a treasure store of riches that cannot be matched, anywhere. Thanks for being a part. And, happy anniversary, Burt and Jeanne. May the Lord bless you as you have us.
The royals celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary last week—the first in British history to do so. It has been an eventful 60 years, what with the shrinking empire, domestic dust-ups, Diana and Camilla and all of that, but, in the end, the ancient pledge of a lifetime repeated by Elizabeth and Prince Philip way back on November 20, 1947, has stood the test of time.
But then, London wasn’t the only place on the planet marking a 60th wedding anniversary last week. Madison Park’s own Burt and Jeanne Blocher celebrated 60 years, too. Family and friends from far and near gathered to enjoy the goodies, hugs, and great company in the Crossroads Auditorium.
Sixty years is a long time. The Blochers together raised two extraordinary daughters and have doted on two elegant granddaughters (and some great-grandchildren, too!). Some years ago, their oldest daughter, Wanda—a bright and beautiful college student—lost her life while crossing the street adjacent to the Anderson University campus. Tragedies like that often unravel promises made to each other and to God. But, Burt and Jeanne held steady.
Successes and joys came to them, as well. Still, they held steady. Whatever their circumstance, the Blochers have worked tirelessly through the years for the Lord. Serving here, giving there, encouraging, sacrificing, loving all along the way. The Blochers are today, as they have always been, integral to what we call “the kingdom work,” advancing the cause of Christ wherever, whenever possible. They are the kind of folks of which every pastor dreams—faithful, steadfast, and true.
While talking with their daughter Greta at the anniversary reception, she told me of how excited she was to see her parents still dreaming for the Lord. “They’re so excited and positive about the church,” she said and then continued, “they’re full of life and energy, engaged and involved.” They’re still devoted to each other, standing side-by-side.
At the reception, someone asked them, “Why don’t you take a cruise or something—it would be wonderful!” “Yes, we’ve thought of that,” they replied with characteristic modesty, “and we have been saving along those lines, but, we’ve been able to travel a bit before and now, well, we’ve just decided to invest it in the church instead—God is doing so much good here.”
I want to grow up and be like that.
Burt and Jeanne enjoyed a simple gathering of precious souls at the Madison Park Church on November 17. The next morning, they got ready for church as they always do. Burt greeted me in the Commons on Sunday morning, introducing me to new friends and faces, as he always does, with a word of encouragement. As I walked away I glanced back at Burt and Jeanne at church, a handsome couple, always.
What a privilege to be surrounded by such a community of great souls! It’s not Buckingham Palace, but this church has a treasure store of riches that cannot be matched, anywhere. Thanks for being a part. And, happy anniversary, Burt and Jeanne. May the Lord bless you as you have us.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Sharing the Harvest
Every year as the holidays approach we in the Church Office receive inquiries from generous souls who would like to do something special for a needy family at Thanksgiving or Christmas. Is there a family for which we could provide a Christmas dinner? Or, is there somebody we can help locally this year? Well, the answer to all of the above is, “Yes, thanks so much for asking!” Here’s one great way you can help.
We work throughout the year with a local Christian relief ministry called Operation Love. In fact, our congregation is a member of the Operation Love Church Alliance—which means we’re actually a stakeholder in the ministry, an owner, united together with about 20 other church families to help our community in Jesus’ name. We fund the ministry and provide volunteers every month.
This year, Operation Love will provide food for in home holiday meals for 200 families in our community (“setting the table” for about 500 people altogether). The food baskets will be prepared for delivery on December 12. Different churches are assuming responsibility for supplying food to complete each basket. We at Madison Park are partnering with the South Meridian Church to cover the meat (ham or turkey, for instance) for each of the 200 families.
Because many of these needy families do not have kitchen access or the ability to roast a turkey or bake a ham, Operation Love has worked with Harvest Markets to provide a “meat certificate” for each basket. Each family will receive a certificate that they can redeem at any nearby Harvest Market, choosing the kind of meat they’d like—and Harvest Market will provide it to them cooked or uncooked, based on the family’s preference. Harvest Market is discounting the cost of the meat. This partnership between the grocer, Operation Love, and our two congregations will greatly enhance the whole effort—and families-in-need will be blessed, in Jesus’ name.
So, this year, think about making a cash gift to Madison Park for “Meat Certificates”—okay, I know it doesn’t sound too glamorous, but it will do the job. (See “Holiday Giving Opportunities” on page 4 of threads to learn how.) Your cash gift will go a lot farther than any food you yourself can buy and donate. As a recognized relief agency, Operation Love has access to quality food supplies of every kind that the ordinary public does not; your cash gift is the most helpful, always, across the board. Your helping hands are needed to help pack the baskets, too, if you’d like some more direct involvement in providing this gift—and you can also help distribute the baskets, if you like. Pastor Keith Stork (and his assistant in the church office, Jackie Corn) can help with more information and details.
And, oh yes, November proceeds from our Holy Grounds ministry in The Commons at Madison Park will also help purchase meat for the food baskets this year—so, as you enjoy a latte or vanilla protein smoothie (one of my favorites) this Sunday, you’ll also be treating someone else to a Christmas dinner.
Thanks for your generous heart, Madison Park, always!
We work throughout the year with a local Christian relief ministry called Operation Love. In fact, our congregation is a member of the Operation Love Church Alliance—which means we’re actually a stakeholder in the ministry, an owner, united together with about 20 other church families to help our community in Jesus’ name. We fund the ministry and provide volunteers every month.
This year, Operation Love will provide food for in home holiday meals for 200 families in our community (“setting the table” for about 500 people altogether). The food baskets will be prepared for delivery on December 12. Different churches are assuming responsibility for supplying food to complete each basket. We at Madison Park are partnering with the South Meridian Church to cover the meat (ham or turkey, for instance) for each of the 200 families.
Because many of these needy families do not have kitchen access or the ability to roast a turkey or bake a ham, Operation Love has worked with Harvest Markets to provide a “meat certificate” for each basket. Each family will receive a certificate that they can redeem at any nearby Harvest Market, choosing the kind of meat they’d like—and Harvest Market will provide it to them cooked or uncooked, based on the family’s preference. Harvest Market is discounting the cost of the meat. This partnership between the grocer, Operation Love, and our two congregations will greatly enhance the whole effort—and families-in-need will be blessed, in Jesus’ name.
So, this year, think about making a cash gift to Madison Park for “Meat Certificates”—okay, I know it doesn’t sound too glamorous, but it will do the job. (See “Holiday Giving Opportunities” on page 4 of threads to learn how.) Your cash gift will go a lot farther than any food you yourself can buy and donate. As a recognized relief agency, Operation Love has access to quality food supplies of every kind that the ordinary public does not; your cash gift is the most helpful, always, across the board. Your helping hands are needed to help pack the baskets, too, if you’d like some more direct involvement in providing this gift—and you can also help distribute the baskets, if you like. Pastor Keith Stork (and his assistant in the church office, Jackie Corn) can help with more information and details.
And, oh yes, November proceeds from our Holy Grounds ministry in The Commons at Madison Park will also help purchase meat for the food baskets this year—so, as you enjoy a latte or vanilla protein smoothie (one of my favorites) this Sunday, you’ll also be treating someone else to a Christmas dinner.
Thanks for your generous heart, Madison Park, always!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
The Dreams of MPC
Okay, here they are—a collection of dreams Heaven-sent, I think. Actually, these are just “the tip of the iceberg,” a sampling of the hundreds and hundreds of dream cards left on the prayer benches at the close of Sunday’s services on November 4. The dreams reproduced here are just from the top of the stack, in no particular order—each one represents, though, a heart reaching for God.
(1) “I dream of Madison Park being the home of Madison County’s singles community, comprised of single people of all ages.”
(2) “I have lived in Pendleton 13 years and for three years have looked for a church so I would not have to drive to Greenwood. I saw this church and came a few weeks later and on Sundays since then. I started tithing here just this week. Thank you for being by the highway. Please sing ‘I Can Only Imagine’ at some service.”
(3) “I believe God has given me a dream to start an Al-Anon group at Madison Park and/or some women’s group for abused women.”
(4) “My dream is to start a travel club, to take bi-monthly trips via motor coach to exciting places in this beautiful USA. I have ten years of experience in this field.”
(5) “I have a dream of being more involved in a leadership position at Madison Park.”
(6) “I would love to see Madison Park be a high-profile resource to families, for instruction in parenting (baby to teenager to aging parent care) and a place that gives teaching help in restoring family structures in Madison County.”
(7) “I don’t know yet the total dream. I know God has used me to inspire faith in others. I pray for God to show me what He wants to do with my life... THE BIG PICTURE!! I have so many dreams, but I only want to pursue His perfect will.”
(8) “My dream is to finish college, support my family, and serve God with every fiber of my being. I dream of watching my children grow to be good Christians and well-rounded, respectful citizens. I want to become a better person, mother, and Christian. I dream of receiving the Lord’s dream for me. I only hope I will have the courage to accept His dream for me.”
(9) “I believe God has given me a dream to hold a weekly Bible study.”
(10) “I dream that the church’s health care ministry will expand and be a blessing to the community.”
(11) “I dream that all of my family will know God and be in eternity with the Lord.”
(12) “I believe God has given me a dream to go to India.”
(13) “I believe God has given me a dream to be a ‘dot connector.’ My greatest passion is to help others discover their passions and help put wheels on their dreams. I want to help birth ‘outside the walls’ projects like the ‘City as Parish’ program in Fresno. It involves fair trade, social justice, human resources, and missions. God is still developing this dream.”
(14) “I dream of a biblical training center operated from Madison Park for the community—for the world—to train leaders worldwide.”
(15) “God has given me a dream to have a women’s center that ministers to women. My mission statement is ‘to show hope and wholeness to others through Jesus Christ.’ I believe this center could minister to the community through Bible study, parenting classes, “how to interview” classes, wellness classes, exercise classes, etc., networking with other social services.”
(16) “My dream is to make my family some-thing that is whole, healthy, and the type that God is proud of, individually and as a family, myself included.”
(17) “I believe God has given me a dream to build a business that employs 400 people and makes a profit, so that there is a long-term business that provides job stability in east central Indiana.”
(18) “I believe God has given me a dream to help the elderly in this community by becoming an advocate for their health-care needs.”
(19) “I believe God has given me a dream for a fitness trail to be made with the land owned by this church.”
(20) “I dream of a medical facility on the grounds that will provide many areas of care—medical, surgical—possibly a surgery center—I plan to discuss this with Community Hospital and see if this is still a possibility in combination with them. Provide mind, body, and spiritual care here on the Madison Park grounds.”
(21) “I believe God has given me a dream to have a bookstore at Madison Park.”
(22) “I believe God has given me a dream to be a lawyer.”
(23) “I believe God is calling me to use my nursing degree for mission work over-seas (short and long term).”
(24) “I believe God has given me a dream to be a pastor. I don’t know all of the details, but I know that I am going to continue to trust Him. I do have a dream to get married; I am engaged to the most amazing woman … praise God for that!”
Dreams work. They really do. For some, the dreams are still quite hazy and elusive, for others more clear. But, for all of us, if you seek, you will find. Jesus said so. Seek God’s leading, His wisdom, His dreams for your life and you will find. Be encouraged, Madison Park.
(1) “I dream of Madison Park being the home of Madison County’s singles community, comprised of single people of all ages.”
(2) “I have lived in Pendleton 13 years and for three years have looked for a church so I would not have to drive to Greenwood. I saw this church and came a few weeks later and on Sundays since then. I started tithing here just this week. Thank you for being by the highway. Please sing ‘I Can Only Imagine’ at some service.”
(3) “I believe God has given me a dream to start an Al-Anon group at Madison Park and/or some women’s group for abused women.”
(4) “My dream is to start a travel club, to take bi-monthly trips via motor coach to exciting places in this beautiful USA. I have ten years of experience in this field.”
(5) “I have a dream of being more involved in a leadership position at Madison Park.”
(6) “I would love to see Madison Park be a high-profile resource to families, for instruction in parenting (baby to teenager to aging parent care) and a place that gives teaching help in restoring family structures in Madison County.”
(7) “I don’t know yet the total dream. I know God has used me to inspire faith in others. I pray for God to show me what He wants to do with my life... THE BIG PICTURE!! I have so many dreams, but I only want to pursue His perfect will.”
(8) “My dream is to finish college, support my family, and serve God with every fiber of my being. I dream of watching my children grow to be good Christians and well-rounded, respectful citizens. I want to become a better person, mother, and Christian. I dream of receiving the Lord’s dream for me. I only hope I will have the courage to accept His dream for me.”
(9) “I believe God has given me a dream to hold a weekly Bible study.”
(10) “I dream that the church’s health care ministry will expand and be a blessing to the community.”
(11) “I dream that all of my family will know God and be in eternity with the Lord.”
(12) “I believe God has given me a dream to go to India.”
(13) “I believe God has given me a dream to be a ‘dot connector.’ My greatest passion is to help others discover their passions and help put wheels on their dreams. I want to help birth ‘outside the walls’ projects like the ‘City as Parish’ program in Fresno. It involves fair trade, social justice, human resources, and missions. God is still developing this dream.”
(14) “I dream of a biblical training center operated from Madison Park for the community—for the world—to train leaders worldwide.”
(15) “God has given me a dream to have a women’s center that ministers to women. My mission statement is ‘to show hope and wholeness to others through Jesus Christ.’ I believe this center could minister to the community through Bible study, parenting classes, “how to interview” classes, wellness classes, exercise classes, etc., networking with other social services.”
(16) “My dream is to make my family some-thing that is whole, healthy, and the type that God is proud of, individually and as a family, myself included.”
(17) “I believe God has given me a dream to build a business that employs 400 people and makes a profit, so that there is a long-term business that provides job stability in east central Indiana.”
(18) “I believe God has given me a dream to help the elderly in this community by becoming an advocate for their health-care needs.”
(19) “I believe God has given me a dream for a fitness trail to be made with the land owned by this church.”
(20) “I dream of a medical facility on the grounds that will provide many areas of care—medical, surgical—possibly a surgery center—I plan to discuss this with Community Hospital and see if this is still a possibility in combination with them. Provide mind, body, and spiritual care here on the Madison Park grounds.”
(21) “I believe God has given me a dream to have a bookstore at Madison Park.”
(22) “I believe God has given me a dream to be a lawyer.”
(23) “I believe God is calling me to use my nursing degree for mission work over-seas (short and long term).”
(24) “I believe God has given me a dream to be a pastor. I don’t know all of the details, but I know that I am going to continue to trust Him. I do have a dream to get married; I am engaged to the most amazing woman … praise God for that!”
Dreams work. They really do. For some, the dreams are still quite hazy and elusive, for others more clear. But, for all of us, if you seek, you will find. Jesus said so. Seek God’s leading, His wisdom, His dreams for your life and you will find. Be encouraged, Madison Park.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Reading the Architecture
I graduated from college with a Bachelor’s degree in Political Science. To do so required heavy classroom doses of philosophy, history, and rhetoric. “Argumentation and Parliamentary Procedure” was one of my favorite classes—the class met three times a week and we all argued every day, just for fun.
But, honestly, one of my most memorable undergraduate classes wasn’t even related to my major; it was an architecture class in the art department. I spent months studying church architecture and completed a term project that compared and contrasted ten Seattle church buildings. Architecture reflects more than just what we can afford, it also expresses who we are and what we value most.
St. Demetrios Greek Orthodox Church in Seattle’s Montlake neighborhood is a stunning blend of ancient and modern styles, for instance, elegantly captured in a series of sweeping curves, mosaics, and gilded Byzantine icons. St. Demetrios clearly works hard to preserve the ethnic heritage of its congregation and honors a mysterious and sobering sense of who God is.
Prince of Peace Lutheran Church on Northeast 145th Street represents the classic Scandanavian penchant for minimalist design, incorporating sharp angles, pale, neutral hues, and the very effective use of natural light to accentuate elemental religious symbols. No ruffles and flourishes here, but a very quiet, thoughtful, reflective space in which the devout can set themselves apart from the hustle and bustle outside.
First Presbyterian downtown commands a fortress-like perch above the business district, drawing a sharp line between the sacred and the secular. Once the largest Presbyterian congregation in the world, First Pres has always been famed for its orthodoxy and devotion to absolutes. Its building affirms that history, well, absolutely.
The interior of the St. James Cathedral on Capitol Hill is all dark, papal green, with rich woods, polished marble, and deeply stained glass. Its twin towers and exterior terracotta unmistakably proclaim it is an outpost of that larger basilica in Rome, St. Peter’s. Hushed reverence is the theme,gates and doors and passageways throughout speak metaphorically of the Catholic faith journey.
Seattle’s First Methodist is an historic landmark and, until recently, the home of the city’s oldest congregation. Built in the late 19th century, it bears all the hallmarks of the “tabernacle and temple” style popular at the time—vast domed ceiling, curved wooden pews and balcony designed to create intimacy, albeit with a pipe organ to remember. Equity, accessibility, and modesty were Wesleyan principles that gave rise to Methodism; First Methodist, for all of its size, still represents these truths well.
Church design does say something about the people that meet inside. And, what does our new building at Madison Park say about us? Hmmmm. I suppose there might be as many different answers to the question as there are people walking through the doors. But, here’s what I think, for what it’s worth; this is how I see it—er uh, us—anyway.
First of all: Madison Park is about relationships. The building works wonderfully to facilitate relationships—with God and each other. That’s an important part of our theology. We are an experiential people. God should not just be recognized, He should be experienced. Jesus isn’t just an historic figure, He’s a living presence. Relationships are the currency of the Kingdom. Madison Park, from the Commons to the broad hallways to the meeting rooms, to the Holy Grounds, to the sloped auditorium in which every seat faces the cross, is about relationships.
Second: yes, there is a cross in the auditorium. It is simple, straightforward, and inescapable. That’s because we believe there is no healthy relationship with God or with each other apart from the cross. And, even though many folks who do not embrace Jesus may be hosted in our building, no one will be confused about where we stand. We stand at the foot of the cross. That’s important, I think.
Third: Madison Park is a community resource. It wasn’t designed just for us. It is our meeting house, of course—and it is a sanctuary from the broken world. But, it also welcomes the community beyond our church family. It provides opportunities that no one else in Madison County does. We have the largest catering capacity in the county, we have the largest performing stage in the county, we have more parking places than any other venue in the county, and we are the only performance space adjacent to I-69 in the county. We have three stages, all equipped to serve groups of various sizes. From the Boy Scouts Citizen of the Year Banquet, to a meeting of 200 pastors last week from coast-to-coast, to Mark Lowry, to the much acclaimed Song of Solomon conference (coming to the Indy metro for the first time in February, at Madison Park), ours is a unique meeting place at the intersection of this county’s future. We are a people committed to being salt and light, engaging the world around us so that it can be blessed and redeemed. I think our new building says that.
Fourth: Madison Park is about life. New life. Abundant life. Eternal life. Changed life. The light that floods into the Commons each morning and the light that shines out from the Commons each evening both speak of the life God has breathed into us. As I stood handing out candy to the gazillion (okay, I’m not sure how many—but it seemed like a gazillion) kids and parents who walked by our trunk for treats last week on Halloween, as I listened to the laughter and had the chance to visit with so many old and new friends and faces, I marveled at just how much life Madison Park has already seen.
Nobody is going to confuse Madison Park with a cathedral. But, hopefully all will see Madison Park for what it is: the Church of God, a congregation of folks surrendered to Jesus and loving the world for His sake. May they see it always as welcoming and filled with grace. That’s how I see it. I hope you do, to. Thanks for being a part!
But, honestly, one of my most memorable undergraduate classes wasn’t even related to my major; it was an architecture class in the art department. I spent months studying church architecture and completed a term project that compared and contrasted ten Seattle church buildings. Architecture reflects more than just what we can afford, it also expresses who we are and what we value most.
St. Demetrios Greek Orthodox Church in Seattle’s Montlake neighborhood is a stunning blend of ancient and modern styles, for instance, elegantly captured in a series of sweeping curves, mosaics, and gilded Byzantine icons. St. Demetrios clearly works hard to preserve the ethnic heritage of its congregation and honors a mysterious and sobering sense of who God is.
Prince of Peace Lutheran Church on Northeast 145th Street represents the classic Scandanavian penchant for minimalist design, incorporating sharp angles, pale, neutral hues, and the very effective use of natural light to accentuate elemental religious symbols. No ruffles and flourishes here, but a very quiet, thoughtful, reflective space in which the devout can set themselves apart from the hustle and bustle outside.
First Presbyterian downtown commands a fortress-like perch above the business district, drawing a sharp line between the sacred and the secular. Once the largest Presbyterian congregation in the world, First Pres has always been famed for its orthodoxy and devotion to absolutes. Its building affirms that history, well, absolutely.
The interior of the St. James Cathedral on Capitol Hill is all dark, papal green, with rich woods, polished marble, and deeply stained glass. Its twin towers and exterior terracotta unmistakably proclaim it is an outpost of that larger basilica in Rome, St. Peter’s. Hushed reverence is the theme,gates and doors and passageways throughout speak metaphorically of the Catholic faith journey.
Seattle’s First Methodist is an historic landmark and, until recently, the home of the city’s oldest congregation. Built in the late 19th century, it bears all the hallmarks of the “tabernacle and temple” style popular at the time—vast domed ceiling, curved wooden pews and balcony designed to create intimacy, albeit with a pipe organ to remember. Equity, accessibility, and modesty were Wesleyan principles that gave rise to Methodism; First Methodist, for all of its size, still represents these truths well.
Church design does say something about the people that meet inside. And, what does our new building at Madison Park say about us? Hmmmm. I suppose there might be as many different answers to the question as there are people walking through the doors. But, here’s what I think, for what it’s worth; this is how I see it—er uh, us—anyway.
First of all: Madison Park is about relationships. The building works wonderfully to facilitate relationships—with God and each other. That’s an important part of our theology. We are an experiential people. God should not just be recognized, He should be experienced. Jesus isn’t just an historic figure, He’s a living presence. Relationships are the currency of the Kingdom. Madison Park, from the Commons to the broad hallways to the meeting rooms, to the Holy Grounds, to the sloped auditorium in which every seat faces the cross, is about relationships.
Second: yes, there is a cross in the auditorium. It is simple, straightforward, and inescapable. That’s because we believe there is no healthy relationship with God or with each other apart from the cross. And, even though many folks who do not embrace Jesus may be hosted in our building, no one will be confused about where we stand. We stand at the foot of the cross. That’s important, I think.
Third: Madison Park is a community resource. It wasn’t designed just for us. It is our meeting house, of course—and it is a sanctuary from the broken world. But, it also welcomes the community beyond our church family. It provides opportunities that no one else in Madison County does. We have the largest catering capacity in the county, we have the largest performing stage in the county, we have more parking places than any other venue in the county, and we are the only performance space adjacent to I-69 in the county. We have three stages, all equipped to serve groups of various sizes. From the Boy Scouts Citizen of the Year Banquet, to a meeting of 200 pastors last week from coast-to-coast, to Mark Lowry, to the much acclaimed Song of Solomon conference (coming to the Indy metro for the first time in February, at Madison Park), ours is a unique meeting place at the intersection of this county’s future. We are a people committed to being salt and light, engaging the world around us so that it can be blessed and redeemed. I think our new building says that.
Fourth: Madison Park is about life. New life. Abundant life. Eternal life. Changed life. The light that floods into the Commons each morning and the light that shines out from the Commons each evening both speak of the life God has breathed into us. As I stood handing out candy to the gazillion (okay, I’m not sure how many—but it seemed like a gazillion) kids and parents who walked by our trunk for treats last week on Halloween, as I listened to the laughter and had the chance to visit with so many old and new friends and faces, I marveled at just how much life Madison Park has already seen.
Nobody is going to confuse Madison Park with a cathedral. But, hopefully all will see Madison Park for what it is: the Church of God, a congregation of folks surrendered to Jesus and loving the world for His sake. May they see it always as welcoming and filled with grace. That’s how I see it. I hope you do, to. Thanks for being a part!
Monday, October 29, 2007
Reframing Our Futures
He’s written over 60 books, he’s earned three Gold Medallion awards (roughly equivalent to a Pulitzer Prize, only within the Christian publishing genre), and he has over 6,000,000 books in print. No small achievements, there. But, there’s more. He also is host of one of the nation’s most popular syndicated radio talk shows and founded the Women of Faith ministry, with conferences across the continent attended by more than 3,000,000 women. Whew. This guy keeps busy.
By his own admission, he struggles with an attention deficit disorder. And, he’s faced some tough—really tough—disappointments in life. He’s made some awful—really awful—choices in life. And, he’s made some smart—very smart—decisions, too. One of those was to allow Jesus to “reframe” his life. His latest book talks about “reframing”—how all of us can overcome the challenges, failures, injuries, and barriers of life by looking at them differently, inviting God to turn for the good what the devil meant for harm. Reframe Your Life: Transforming Your Pain into Purpose is the book’s title (FaithWords, 2007). The author’s name, of course, is Stephen Arterburn.
Arterburn’s New Life Ministries (including radio’s New Life Live, heard locally on WQME 98.7 FM at 1:00PM on weekdays), has brought the healing hope of Jesus and His teaching to literally millions. His Every Man’s Battle series has been a perennial best-seller. His last book, Healing Is Choice, still flies off bookstore shelves. New Life’s Lose It for Life is a three-day intensive program that has helped thousands address weight loss from an emotional, spiritual, and holistic perspective, with-out shame, condemnation, or guilt. And Reframe Your Life has, in just three months, caused a healthy and provocative stir. All of Arterburn’s material speaks directly into real life, in a straight-forward and honest way, defining psychology with biblical truth, bringing the Gospel to bear in a most relevant way.
I’ve just spent a few days with Steve at the annual CBH (Christians Broadcasting Hope) Retreat at the Billy Graham Training Center (called The Cove), in North Carolina. Not only is he a man of deep faith, astonishing insight, and rare authenticity, he also is a wit of the first rank; the guy could nail stand-up comedy if he ever tires of writing books.
But, most importantly, Steve concisely framed some of the most common obstacles we face in the pursuit of wholeness (e.g. “stubborn resistance” to effectual change, “arrogant entitlement” in a way that emphasizes “I deserve what I want,” and “justifiable resentment” fed by the sense that my unforgiveness is somehow righteous); he also unapologetically prescribed biblical remedies (e.g. “willingness,” “humility,” and “forgiveness”).
And more. He talked about other ways we subliminally sabotage our own progress and block God’s grace. He also wonderfully illustrated how Jesus always works to “reframe” the world in which we live to set us free and give us hope.
Arterburn is a powerful voice for “the God of second chances,” the premise that no matter where we’ve been, no matter what we’ve done, the Lord is willing to work with us and redeem. It’s an age-old story told in fresh new ways.
The three hundred people gathered, from coast-to-coast, at The Cove for the CBH Retreat sat spellbound as Steve spoke. We laughed. We cried. We learned. We sensed the Holy Spirit’s presence. We were changed. Unforgettable.
And, why am I telling you all of this? Well, because Stephen Arterburn will, once again, be our guest in a few weeks—he’s speaking in both Sunday morning services at Madison Park on November 18. I will be there; I hope you will be, too.
This will be a great opportunity for you to invite a friend to Madison Park. Ask the Lord to impress you with the name of someone He knows will be blessed by the teaching, fellowship, and worship. Once you have a name, make the call. Make plans to swing by and pick up your friend on the way—or to meet your friend in The Commons. Sit with him (or her or them). Meet them for lunch after-or follow-up with a treat from Holy Grounds (I don’t even like coffee, but I’m really enjoying the vanilla protein smoothies!).
I’d like to think that the Madison Park Church is helping Madison County reframe its future, too: providing options and opportunities for a community that might otherwise miss out. In November, Stephen Arterburn will be speaking to large conferences in Atlanta, southern California, and to millions on the radio, in 50 states. And, oh yeah, he’s also speaking in Anderson at the Madison Park Church.
Why? Because, he loves the Church of God and he believes in the ministry of the Madison Park Church. The Lord is opening doors for us so that we can open doors for others.
What a great place to be! And, what a great time to be here. Reframe your November with us. Stephen Arterburn. At Madison Park. Sunday morning, November 18. Be encouraged. Dreams Work. We’re just at the beginning of something greater still.
By his own admission, he struggles with an attention deficit disorder. And, he’s faced some tough—really tough—disappointments in life. He’s made some awful—really awful—choices in life. And, he’s made some smart—very smart—decisions, too. One of those was to allow Jesus to “reframe” his life. His latest book talks about “reframing”—how all of us can overcome the challenges, failures, injuries, and barriers of life by looking at them differently, inviting God to turn for the good what the devil meant for harm. Reframe Your Life: Transforming Your Pain into Purpose is the book’s title (FaithWords, 2007). The author’s name, of course, is Stephen Arterburn.
Arterburn’s New Life Ministries (including radio’s New Life Live, heard locally on WQME 98.7 FM at 1:00PM on weekdays), has brought the healing hope of Jesus and His teaching to literally millions. His Every Man’s Battle series has been a perennial best-seller. His last book, Healing Is Choice, still flies off bookstore shelves. New Life’s Lose It for Life is a three-day intensive program that has helped thousands address weight loss from an emotional, spiritual, and holistic perspective, with-out shame, condemnation, or guilt. And Reframe Your Life has, in just three months, caused a healthy and provocative stir. All of Arterburn’s material speaks directly into real life, in a straight-forward and honest way, defining psychology with biblical truth, bringing the Gospel to bear in a most relevant way.
I’ve just spent a few days with Steve at the annual CBH (Christians Broadcasting Hope) Retreat at the Billy Graham Training Center (called The Cove), in North Carolina. Not only is he a man of deep faith, astonishing insight, and rare authenticity, he also is a wit of the first rank; the guy could nail stand-up comedy if he ever tires of writing books.
But, most importantly, Steve concisely framed some of the most common obstacles we face in the pursuit of wholeness (e.g. “stubborn resistance” to effectual change, “arrogant entitlement” in a way that emphasizes “I deserve what I want,” and “justifiable resentment” fed by the sense that my unforgiveness is somehow righteous); he also unapologetically prescribed biblical remedies (e.g. “willingness,” “humility,” and “forgiveness”).
And more. He talked about other ways we subliminally sabotage our own progress and block God’s grace. He also wonderfully illustrated how Jesus always works to “reframe” the world in which we live to set us free and give us hope.
Arterburn is a powerful voice for “the God of second chances,” the premise that no matter where we’ve been, no matter what we’ve done, the Lord is willing to work with us and redeem. It’s an age-old story told in fresh new ways.
The three hundred people gathered, from coast-to-coast, at The Cove for the CBH Retreat sat spellbound as Steve spoke. We laughed. We cried. We learned. We sensed the Holy Spirit’s presence. We were changed. Unforgettable.
And, why am I telling you all of this? Well, because Stephen Arterburn will, once again, be our guest in a few weeks—he’s speaking in both Sunday morning services at Madison Park on November 18. I will be there; I hope you will be, too.
This will be a great opportunity for you to invite a friend to Madison Park. Ask the Lord to impress you with the name of someone He knows will be blessed by the teaching, fellowship, and worship. Once you have a name, make the call. Make plans to swing by and pick up your friend on the way—or to meet your friend in The Commons. Sit with him (or her or them). Meet them for lunch after-or follow-up with a treat from Holy Grounds (I don’t even like coffee, but I’m really enjoying the vanilla protein smoothies!).
I’d like to think that the Madison Park Church is helping Madison County reframe its future, too: providing options and opportunities for a community that might otherwise miss out. In November, Stephen Arterburn will be speaking to large conferences in Atlanta, southern California, and to millions on the radio, in 50 states. And, oh yeah, he’s also speaking in Anderson at the Madison Park Church.
Why? Because, he loves the Church of God and he believes in the ministry of the Madison Park Church. The Lord is opening doors for us so that we can open doors for others.
What a great place to be! And, what a great time to be here. Reframe your November with us. Stephen Arterburn. At Madison Park. Sunday morning, November 18. Be encouraged. Dreams Work. We’re just at the beginning of something greater still.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
More than The Messenger
When I first took a church job (way back in 1972: I was 19), I published the congregation’s newsletter. It was dubbed The Messenger and was printed on a Gestetner mimeo. I typed the newsletter on a stencil, stretched the stencil over the ink drum, cranked the press by hand, “slip-sheeted” a cardboard rectangle between each copy (to allow the ink to dry without smudging) and then fed the newsletter through the folding machine. Next, I addressed each copy with an ancient Address-o-graph (don’t ask—enough to say it was heavy metal—and I’m not talking about rock music).
At last, I sorted The Messenger by zip code and “invented” a few extra names and addresses (to bring the total to 200—you had to mail 200 pieces to qualify for bulk-rate postage). Many weeks, I sent 20 copies to the church office, addressed to “Hilda Schmutz”—a name I made up that actually referred to an old girlfriend upon whom I once had a crush, but who never had a crush on me. Okay, so I was only 19.
In those days, I imagined that only my mother would read the newsletter. My mom always read everything. But, c’mon, who else would read it? Well, maybe my grandma. I knew that Hilda Schmutz didn’t care.
Thirty-five years later, I still pen a weekly column. But, I still sometimes wonder if anyone besides my mom reads what I write. My grandma died in 1989. Hilda Schmutz still doesn’t care.
But, if I ever doubted that the newsletter is read, my doubts have been relieved in recent weeks. I’ve been getting a lot of feedback from things I’ve writ-ten. And, it’s not always “a good report.” Some take issue with what they’ve read by my hand; some disagree; some have been wounded; some aren’t sure I’m even telling the truth. Ouch.
The concerns expressed are so diverse as to preempt a reply in a forum like this. But, please know that I consider carefully all of the feedback I receive. I care about what others think—in a healthy way, I think.
Some of the correspondence received has been prompted by the sweeping changes we have all felt as we moved to Madison Park. To be sure, there have been some losses with the gains. Losses are real and can be very painful. My wife and I have felt many of those losses deeply; the last year has been especially tough. Because I am (dysfunctionally?) not accustomed to discussing my losses (beyond that Seattle thing I always whine about), I don’t always validate the losses in others lives. For this, I am deeply sorry.
Perhaps, some correspondence has been prompted by things I have written insensitively—not always appreciating the implications of an idea put forward. This is especially true when attempting to illustrate a point by drawing an analogy (which opens the door to all kinds of parallels, intended and not intended). I’m just dense, sometimes. I’m also very sorry for any grief I’ve caused on this score.
And, then, some correspondence may be prompted simply by differing perspectives. I just don’t see things sometimes like the world does around me. Truth be told, after 16 years, I still am sometimes conscious that I am “an outsider”—that my experience in Anderson is not the same as others who have always called Madison County home. I need to be more circumspect sometimes, understanding the limits of my own analysis and perception.
And so, to all those who read the pastor’s column: thanks so much for reading—even when you might find something I have written unnecessarily provocative or bruising. To all those who take the time to read and then also lovingly share your thoughts, thanks to you, as well. I respect and value your ideas, too.
To anyone who has been ruffled, I apologize. I do believe that what I have written is true—at least it is true as seen through the lens of my experience (which is different from objective, absolute truth, of course). Still, I will try to more carefully sort and express my thoughts in the days ahead.
As always, thanks to each one who extends grace—who always believes the best, hopes for the best, and calls out the best. If anybody in this town needs grace, it’s me. I am way less than perfect, on so many fronts. Newsletter columns included.
There are days, honestly, when I long for the simpler life I once knew, standing by the old Gestetner, slip-sheeting The Messenger. I didn’t write so much then; I was not responsible for so much then. I sort-ed the mail—it was not addressed to me.
But, on the other hand, I wouldn’t trade the rich experience of pastoral ministry at Madison Park for any nostalgic “days gone by” in my memory. I have seen too much of God’s good work all around me, in spite of me, to want to go back.
Be encouraged, dear friends. Thanks for reading. Thanks for writing. Thanks for loving, anyway.
At last, I sorted The Messenger by zip code and “invented” a few extra names and addresses (to bring the total to 200—you had to mail 200 pieces to qualify for bulk-rate postage). Many weeks, I sent 20 copies to the church office, addressed to “Hilda Schmutz”—a name I made up that actually referred to an old girlfriend upon whom I once had a crush, but who never had a crush on me. Okay, so I was only 19.
In those days, I imagined that only my mother would read the newsletter. My mom always read everything. But, c’mon, who else would read it? Well, maybe my grandma. I knew that Hilda Schmutz didn’t care.
Thirty-five years later, I still pen a weekly column. But, I still sometimes wonder if anyone besides my mom reads what I write. My grandma died in 1989. Hilda Schmutz still doesn’t care.
But, if I ever doubted that the newsletter is read, my doubts have been relieved in recent weeks. I’ve been getting a lot of feedback from things I’ve writ-ten. And, it’s not always “a good report.” Some take issue with what they’ve read by my hand; some disagree; some have been wounded; some aren’t sure I’m even telling the truth. Ouch.
The concerns expressed are so diverse as to preempt a reply in a forum like this. But, please know that I consider carefully all of the feedback I receive. I care about what others think—in a healthy way, I think.
Some of the correspondence received has been prompted by the sweeping changes we have all felt as we moved to Madison Park. To be sure, there have been some losses with the gains. Losses are real and can be very painful. My wife and I have felt many of those losses deeply; the last year has been especially tough. Because I am (dysfunctionally?) not accustomed to discussing my losses (beyond that Seattle thing I always whine about), I don’t always validate the losses in others lives. For this, I am deeply sorry.
Perhaps, some correspondence has been prompted by things I have written insensitively—not always appreciating the implications of an idea put forward. This is especially true when attempting to illustrate a point by drawing an analogy (which opens the door to all kinds of parallels, intended and not intended). I’m just dense, sometimes. I’m also very sorry for any grief I’ve caused on this score.
And, then, some correspondence may be prompted simply by differing perspectives. I just don’t see things sometimes like the world does around me. Truth be told, after 16 years, I still am sometimes conscious that I am “an outsider”—that my experience in Anderson is not the same as others who have always called Madison County home. I need to be more circumspect sometimes, understanding the limits of my own analysis and perception.
And so, to all those who read the pastor’s column: thanks so much for reading—even when you might find something I have written unnecessarily provocative or bruising. To all those who take the time to read and then also lovingly share your thoughts, thanks to you, as well. I respect and value your ideas, too.
To anyone who has been ruffled, I apologize. I do believe that what I have written is true—at least it is true as seen through the lens of my experience (which is different from objective, absolute truth, of course). Still, I will try to more carefully sort and express my thoughts in the days ahead.
As always, thanks to each one who extends grace—who always believes the best, hopes for the best, and calls out the best. If anybody in this town needs grace, it’s me. I am way less than perfect, on so many fronts. Newsletter columns included.
There are days, honestly, when I long for the simpler life I once knew, standing by the old Gestetner, slip-sheeting The Messenger. I didn’t write so much then; I was not responsible for so much then. I sort-ed the mail—it was not addressed to me.
But, on the other hand, I wouldn’t trade the rich experience of pastoral ministry at Madison Park for any nostalgic “days gone by” in my memory. I have seen too much of God’s good work all around me, in spite of me, to want to go back.
Be encouraged, dear friends. Thanks for reading. Thanks for writing. Thanks for loving, anyway.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Whose Is It, Anyway?
Money. It’s a word that is usually preceded by a defining pronoun. “It’s my money.” “It’s your money.” “It’s her money.” And so on. It’s always somebody’s money.
Of course, we talk about our money, most of the time. We earn our money. We save our money. We spend our money. We invest our money. And sometimes, we give our money.
What you do with your money is your business—unless, you want to give me some of your money. There are always lots of pronouns at work when we talk about money.
What’s mine is mine, I guess, to do with what I please. That’s why the pronoun is important: it’s mine. Mine is an adaptation of the ancient word me. Mine is all about me. (That other word, mine—as in an excavation, a coal mine—is rooted in the Celtic mywn, meaning ore).
When it comes to giving our money away, we usually start with the premise that it’s ours. The question is framed: how much of my money should I give? It’s mine, after all—you know, mine = me.
I have needs. I have wants. I have plans. I have dreams. My needs. My wants. My plans. My dreams. And, what’s the matter with that? Hey, I’ve worked hard. I earned it.
But, what if we started with a different premise? What if the money we touch is not ours, after all? What if it’s all borrowed? The word borrow is from the Old English borgian = to lend (as in the even more ancient lan = on loan).
What if everything we have is on loan from God? Then we would be not owners, but borrowers. What if we acknowledged that we’re all debtors with a capital “D,” borrowing our days, our talents, and our money from God, who created it all and owns it all?
Then, questions about giving, for instance, would not be, “What amount of my money shall I give to God?” but, instead, “What amount of His money should I keep for myself?” It’s His, not mine. All of it is borrowed; some of it may be used to meet my needs; the rest needs to be spent for Him.
Read 2 Corinthians 8:1-7. In this text, the Macedonian believers (the ancient Romans called much of modern Greece and Bulgaria Macedonia) are commended for their generosity, proven true by financial gifts to the church. They were generous borrowers; they did not see themselves as owners, but as managers of Heaven’s assets, on loan.
Check these points out: (1) If you wait until you think you have enough money to give, it’s unlikely that you’ll ever start giving. The Macedonians gave generously, even though they faced many “troubles” and were “very poor” (verse 2). (2) New Testament giving patterns exceed Old Testament requirements. The tithe (10%) is an Old Testament platform; the New Testament embraces the Lord’s 100% ownership of all that we have. The Macedonians gave “not only what they could afford, but far more” (verse 3). More than they could afford? Well, that’s what it says. (3) Giving that pleases God is not just surrendering our money—it’s about attitude. The Macedonians gave of “their own free will” (verse 3). They were glad to give and found joy in the release of things, not the keeping of them. (4) Giving to God’s work is a privilege. The Macedonians “begged” “again and again” for the chance to share what God had loaned to them (verse 4). (5) Giving can not only bless others, but inspire them, too. The Macedonians “did even more than we had hoped,” Paul wrote (verse 5) “just as God wanted them to do.” Whew. When you can inspire the Apostle Paul, well, you can inspire. (6) The Macedonians entrusted their offerings to the custody of recognized church leaders, like Titus (verse 6). They knew they had to trust somebody with God’s money; they decided to trust those they believed God had raised up to lead them. (7) Wholeness—holiness—requires “this gracious act of giving” (verse 7). All of the other virtues evident in the Body of Christ (e.g. “faith, gift-ed speakers, knowledge, enthusiasm, and love”) are incomplete unless we spend what God loans us for His purposes.
Like the New Testament Church, the Madison Park Church depends on our willingness to give. Not because we designed it so, but because God arranged it this way. He loans us everything; He intends for us to keep some to meet our needs, but to first honor Him with the balance.
“You should follow the same procedure I gave to the churches in Galatia (modern Turkey). On the first day of the week, you should put aside a portion of the money you have earned...” to give (1 Corinthians 16:1-2).
Money. It’s not mine. It’s not yours. It’s not ours. It’s His. Honor Him with it today; He’ll loan you what you need for tomorrow. Thanks for being generous borrowers!
Of course, we talk about our money, most of the time. We earn our money. We save our money. We spend our money. We invest our money. And sometimes, we give our money.
What you do with your money is your business—unless, you want to give me some of your money. There are always lots of pronouns at work when we talk about money.
What’s mine is mine, I guess, to do with what I please. That’s why the pronoun is important: it’s mine. Mine is an adaptation of the ancient word me. Mine is all about me. (That other word, mine—as in an excavation, a coal mine—is rooted in the Celtic mywn, meaning ore).
When it comes to giving our money away, we usually start with the premise that it’s ours. The question is framed: how much of my money should I give? It’s mine, after all—you know, mine = me.
I have needs. I have wants. I have plans. I have dreams. My needs. My wants. My plans. My dreams. And, what’s the matter with that? Hey, I’ve worked hard. I earned it.
But, what if we started with a different premise? What if the money we touch is not ours, after all? What if it’s all borrowed? The word borrow is from the Old English borgian = to lend (as in the even more ancient lan = on loan).
What if everything we have is on loan from God? Then we would be not owners, but borrowers. What if we acknowledged that we’re all debtors with a capital “D,” borrowing our days, our talents, and our money from God, who created it all and owns it all?
Then, questions about giving, for instance, would not be, “What amount of my money shall I give to God?” but, instead, “What amount of His money should I keep for myself?” It’s His, not mine. All of it is borrowed; some of it may be used to meet my needs; the rest needs to be spent for Him.
Read 2 Corinthians 8:1-7. In this text, the Macedonian believers (the ancient Romans called much of modern Greece and Bulgaria Macedonia) are commended for their generosity, proven true by financial gifts to the church. They were generous borrowers; they did not see themselves as owners, but as managers of Heaven’s assets, on loan.
Check these points out: (1) If you wait until you think you have enough money to give, it’s unlikely that you’ll ever start giving. The Macedonians gave generously, even though they faced many “troubles” and were “very poor” (verse 2). (2) New Testament giving patterns exceed Old Testament requirements. The tithe (10%) is an Old Testament platform; the New Testament embraces the Lord’s 100% ownership of all that we have. The Macedonians gave “not only what they could afford, but far more” (verse 3). More than they could afford? Well, that’s what it says. (3) Giving that pleases God is not just surrendering our money—it’s about attitude. The Macedonians gave of “their own free will” (verse 3). They were glad to give and found joy in the release of things, not the keeping of them. (4) Giving to God’s work is a privilege. The Macedonians “begged” “again and again” for the chance to share what God had loaned to them (verse 4). (5) Giving can not only bless others, but inspire them, too. The Macedonians “did even more than we had hoped,” Paul wrote (verse 5) “just as God wanted them to do.” Whew. When you can inspire the Apostle Paul, well, you can inspire. (6) The Macedonians entrusted their offerings to the custody of recognized church leaders, like Titus (verse 6). They knew they had to trust somebody with God’s money; they decided to trust those they believed God had raised up to lead them. (7) Wholeness—holiness—requires “this gracious act of giving” (verse 7). All of the other virtues evident in the Body of Christ (e.g. “faith, gift-ed speakers, knowledge, enthusiasm, and love”) are incomplete unless we spend what God loans us for His purposes.
Like the New Testament Church, the Madison Park Church depends on our willingness to give. Not because we designed it so, but because God arranged it this way. He loans us everything; He intends for us to keep some to meet our needs, but to first honor Him with the balance.
“You should follow the same procedure I gave to the churches in Galatia (modern Turkey). On the first day of the week, you should put aside a portion of the money you have earned...” to give (1 Corinthians 16:1-2).
Money. It’s not mine. It’s not yours. It’s not ours. It’s His. Honor Him with it today; He’ll loan you what you need for tomorrow. Thanks for being generous borrowers!
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Passing Along Good Reports
It’s always good to hear a good report. Here’s a sampling of good reports—letters sent to my mailbox in recent days. Each of these excerpted notes bears witness to the moving of God at Madison Park. Read, pray, and be encouraged.
First from a guy in his mid-50’s: “Although my wife and children have attended church, I have not been a regular attendee for over 30 years. I have felt the tug to attend for many years, but always found a reason not to... I came with my wife to Madison Park on the first Sunday and I have attended every service since. The experience has been overwhelming. The services have guided me to renew my relationship with God. It’s hard to put into words, but every time I come to a service, I feel as if the Holy Spirit is tugging at my heart. As I read the Scripture and the words to the hymns on the display I begin to weep—not in sadness, but in pure joy. I tear up on the messages, on the solos, when the choir sings... I see other worshipers raise their hands when moved—I just cry. Am I normal? I don’t mind crying, but people will start sitting elsewhere when they see the ‘crying man.’
“I am a sinner and I have asked God for forgiveness. My life is changing. I have a new job... which I believe was given to me by God. I feel a tremendous need to serve the Lord and the church. I think God has given me a dream, too! Thanks for listening. I got through this letter with only a couple of Kleenex—whew. See you Wednesday at Men’s Fraternity. Your friend in Christ...”
Here’s a note from a Church of God pastor in Ohio: “My wife and family had looked forward to visiting the Madison Park Church and last week we had the opportunity to do so! We were so inspired by the community of believers which we met there. As we arrived in to Anderson last Friday evening, we drove over to see the building and grounds. What a testimony to vision! ...The Sunday service was a moving example of what a community of believers can do when they ‘have a mind to work.’ The sermon reminded us to seek a dream from the Lord. I have been meditating on this message all week. We look forward to listening to the series... it has stirred us again to open ourselves to the dream which God has for our lives and ministry. We are planning to listen regularly via the internet.
“It seems like your congregation has become so much more than a local church—perhaps regional or global would be a more adequate description. I personally want to thank you for impacting our Church of God movement.”
The following note is from a woman in her 30’s who asked me to share her heart-cry with the church; she’s too shy to speak it, so she wrote it down and sent it to me; her name is Nancy: “I recommit myself to God. I have been having several personal battles and have been feeling very discouraged and hopeless. It seems as if the devil is really taking his toll on me right now. I have become very bitter, angry, hurt, and upset and starting to blame myself and God for not listening to my prayers and helping me during this time of need.
“I just started attending Madison Park in June of this year. I love Madison Park, Pastor Lyon, and the congregation. I feel God led me to Madison Park as an answer to one of my prayers. I had been struggling for several months and God finally came through and led me to Madison Park on June 17. He also gave me an answer to prayer for physical healing just three weeks ago. I thank God for both of these answered prayers daily.
“I just feel like I need to renew my vows to God and recommit myself, so that He can renew my faith and His Spirit in me. I cannot walk these battles I am facing alone, so I really need God to walk beside me, take my hand, and let me know things will turn around for the better. So church, I ask you to help me, as I recommit my life to God. Pray that God will stand beside me, taking my hand, and leading me in the righteous direction that I need to live. Thank you Madison Park, thank you pastors, and thank you all who have already been praying for me and being here for me in my time of need. I love you all. Please continue to keep me and my family in your prayers. May God bless you all!”
There are many other stories to tell. But, as you think on just these three, know that your investment in the Lord’s work at Madison Park is changing lives, redeeming, restoring, proclaiming, healing, and blessing. Thanks for being faithful. And, thanks for sharing your testimonies, too. In every conversation, lift somebody up this week. Remember, it’s always good to hear a good report.
First from a guy in his mid-50’s: “Although my wife and children have attended church, I have not been a regular attendee for over 30 years. I have felt the tug to attend for many years, but always found a reason not to... I came with my wife to Madison Park on the first Sunday and I have attended every service since. The experience has been overwhelming. The services have guided me to renew my relationship with God. It’s hard to put into words, but every time I come to a service, I feel as if the Holy Spirit is tugging at my heart. As I read the Scripture and the words to the hymns on the display I begin to weep—not in sadness, but in pure joy. I tear up on the messages, on the solos, when the choir sings... I see other worshipers raise their hands when moved—I just cry. Am I normal? I don’t mind crying, but people will start sitting elsewhere when they see the ‘crying man.’
“I am a sinner and I have asked God for forgiveness. My life is changing. I have a new job... which I believe was given to me by God. I feel a tremendous need to serve the Lord and the church. I think God has given me a dream, too! Thanks for listening. I got through this letter with only a couple of Kleenex—whew. See you Wednesday at Men’s Fraternity. Your friend in Christ...”
Here’s a note from a Church of God pastor in Ohio: “My wife and family had looked forward to visiting the Madison Park Church and last week we had the opportunity to do so! We were so inspired by the community of believers which we met there. As we arrived in to Anderson last Friday evening, we drove over to see the building and grounds. What a testimony to vision! ...The Sunday service was a moving example of what a community of believers can do when they ‘have a mind to work.’ The sermon reminded us to seek a dream from the Lord. I have been meditating on this message all week. We look forward to listening to the series... it has stirred us again to open ourselves to the dream which God has for our lives and ministry. We are planning to listen regularly via the internet.
“It seems like your congregation has become so much more than a local church—perhaps regional or global would be a more adequate description. I personally want to thank you for impacting our Church of God movement.”
The following note is from a woman in her 30’s who asked me to share her heart-cry with the church; she’s too shy to speak it, so she wrote it down and sent it to me; her name is Nancy: “I recommit myself to God. I have been having several personal battles and have been feeling very discouraged and hopeless. It seems as if the devil is really taking his toll on me right now. I have become very bitter, angry, hurt, and upset and starting to blame myself and God for not listening to my prayers and helping me during this time of need.
“I just started attending Madison Park in June of this year. I love Madison Park, Pastor Lyon, and the congregation. I feel God led me to Madison Park as an answer to one of my prayers. I had been struggling for several months and God finally came through and led me to Madison Park on June 17. He also gave me an answer to prayer for physical healing just three weeks ago. I thank God for both of these answered prayers daily.
“I just feel like I need to renew my vows to God and recommit myself, so that He can renew my faith and His Spirit in me. I cannot walk these battles I am facing alone, so I really need God to walk beside me, take my hand, and let me know things will turn around for the better. So church, I ask you to help me, as I recommit my life to God. Pray that God will stand beside me, taking my hand, and leading me in the righteous direction that I need to live. Thank you Madison Park, thank you pastors, and thank you all who have already been praying for me and being here for me in my time of need. I love you all. Please continue to keep me and my family in your prayers. May God bless you all!”
There are many other stories to tell. But, as you think on just these three, know that your investment in the Lord’s work at Madison Park is changing lives, redeeming, restoring, proclaiming, healing, and blessing. Thanks for being faithful. And, thanks for sharing your testimonies, too. In every conversation, lift somebody up this week. Remember, it’s always good to hear a good report.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
The Dove Harbor Dream
When you open your heart to God given dreams, you might be surprised by what comes to mind. That’s what happened fifteen years ago to three young women, sitting in a Sunday service at the “old” North Anderson Church on Scatterfield road.
The three women (two named Susan and one named Karin) came down the aisle together at the close of the service and asked to speak with me. They were employed at Alternatives, Inc. (an emergency shelter in Anderson); all of them had been struggling with the increasing secularization of Alternatives (which had originally been conceived within a faith-based frame); all three of them had been stirred to the same end: Madison County needed a Christian shelter for women and children in crisis—a shelter in which Jesus could be freely proclaimed.
The two Susans and Karin were at once nervous, electrified, and terrified by their dream. “Is it possible that God is calling us to do this?” they wondered out loud. “But how?We don’t have any money, we’re young, and we don’t know even where to start,” they continued. “But, we know a Christian shelter for these women is needed. They are often victims of violence; they are often desperate, lost, and afraid. They don’t know who to trust and can’t imagine trusting God. They need a safe place, a healing place, and place to re-build their lives. And, they need the help that God can give. They need a place where they can hear about Him, too. Right now there is no place like that in Madison County—or Delaware or Hamilton or Henry or Hancock Counties, either.” They wanted to pray. “Are we crazy for even thinking about this?Will people laugh at us?Will they be mad at us?Will they think we’re ‘holier than thou’ or arrogant for talking like this?” The questions, the doubts, the fears—and the dream—all poured out.
We prayed together and I suggested that they come into the office and talk with me later in the week. I wasn’t sure how to respond on the spot, except to say what I always say, “Be encouraged.”
Over the next few weeks, the two Susans and Karin met together and with me. Other key lay leaders were drawn into the loop. The church stepped up with funding. Before a year had passed, their dream (or, better said, God’s dream) had become a reality. It was called Dove Harbor. The doors opened in a house in 1993. Today, “the Harbor” calls our building on Broadway and Plum home.
Two hundred women and children have found hope and a home at the Harbor since then. Unlike an emergency shelter (in which residents typically have just 30-90 days to stay before moving on), the Harbor provides an elongated platform (usually up to six months, but sometimes even longer) for residents to heal, before re-entering the world around them successfully.What had been our church building on Broadway (vacated in the 1980’s when the congregation moved to Highland High School), was remodeled to create ten spacious “studio apartments,” each with private bath. Common kitchen and “family room” areas were developed on two floors; elaborate security systems (to protect residents from angry boyfriends, etc.) were installed and a fenced play area for children opened. Classroom space was adapted for case management, group meetings, life-skills teaching, Bible study, and so much more. Everyone is introduced to Jesus; some receive Him humbly.
Dove Harbor exists as a ministry of the Madison Park Church (although about 10% of its funding comes from other churches and the local community). The residents themselves contribute 7% of the Harbor’s income, another 18% is generated through fund-raising events, and 17% is sustained by a fixed line in our church’s operating budget. The remaining dollars come from individual donations—the overwhelming majority of which are also from Madison Park Church-goers. Dove Harbor is not independently incorporated. It is an extension of the Madison Park Church. The church guarantees Dove Harbor’s budget—which means that if income fails to meet expenses, the church assumes the debt. If the shortfall is great (as it has been in some years), other church ministries are left unfunded, to guarantee the Harbor’s stability. Because we will not compromise the Harbor’s Christian foundation, government funding is unavailable.
Eventually, the two Susans and Karin moved away (one to the West Coast, the others to the south). An outstanding ministry team (led by Director Doug Linville) keeps the Dove Harbor dream alive today. So do you, whenever you support the Madison Park Church financially and otherwise. And, from that one dream, 200 other precious souls have been given a chance to dream again. God alone knows how many more will be so blessed in the years to come, in the same way.
Thanks for being faithful, Madison Park. You’re the best.
Dreams work. Never forget that.
The three women (two named Susan and one named Karin) came down the aisle together at the close of the service and asked to speak with me. They were employed at Alternatives, Inc. (an emergency shelter in Anderson); all of them had been struggling with the increasing secularization of Alternatives (which had originally been conceived within a faith-based frame); all three of them had been stirred to the same end: Madison County needed a Christian shelter for women and children in crisis—a shelter in which Jesus could be freely proclaimed.
The two Susans and Karin were at once nervous, electrified, and terrified by their dream. “Is it possible that God is calling us to do this?” they wondered out loud. “But how?We don’t have any money, we’re young, and we don’t know even where to start,” they continued. “But, we know a Christian shelter for these women is needed. They are often victims of violence; they are often desperate, lost, and afraid. They don’t know who to trust and can’t imagine trusting God. They need a safe place, a healing place, and place to re-build their lives. And, they need the help that God can give. They need a place where they can hear about Him, too. Right now there is no place like that in Madison County—or Delaware or Hamilton or Henry or Hancock Counties, either.” They wanted to pray. “Are we crazy for even thinking about this?Will people laugh at us?Will they be mad at us?Will they think we’re ‘holier than thou’ or arrogant for talking like this?” The questions, the doubts, the fears—and the dream—all poured out.
We prayed together and I suggested that they come into the office and talk with me later in the week. I wasn’t sure how to respond on the spot, except to say what I always say, “Be encouraged.”
Over the next few weeks, the two Susans and Karin met together and with me. Other key lay leaders were drawn into the loop. The church stepped up with funding. Before a year had passed, their dream (or, better said, God’s dream) had become a reality. It was called Dove Harbor. The doors opened in a house in 1993. Today, “the Harbor” calls our building on Broadway and Plum home.
Two hundred women and children have found hope and a home at the Harbor since then. Unlike an emergency shelter (in which residents typically have just 30-90 days to stay before moving on), the Harbor provides an elongated platform (usually up to six months, but sometimes even longer) for residents to heal, before re-entering the world around them successfully.What had been our church building on Broadway (vacated in the 1980’s when the congregation moved to Highland High School), was remodeled to create ten spacious “studio apartments,” each with private bath. Common kitchen and “family room” areas were developed on two floors; elaborate security systems (to protect residents from angry boyfriends, etc.) were installed and a fenced play area for children opened. Classroom space was adapted for case management, group meetings, life-skills teaching, Bible study, and so much more. Everyone is introduced to Jesus; some receive Him humbly.
Dove Harbor exists as a ministry of the Madison Park Church (although about 10% of its funding comes from other churches and the local community). The residents themselves contribute 7% of the Harbor’s income, another 18% is generated through fund-raising events, and 17% is sustained by a fixed line in our church’s operating budget. The remaining dollars come from individual donations—the overwhelming majority of which are also from Madison Park Church-goers. Dove Harbor is not independently incorporated. It is an extension of the Madison Park Church. The church guarantees Dove Harbor’s budget—which means that if income fails to meet expenses, the church assumes the debt. If the shortfall is great (as it has been in some years), other church ministries are left unfunded, to guarantee the Harbor’s stability. Because we will not compromise the Harbor’s Christian foundation, government funding is unavailable.
Eventually, the two Susans and Karin moved away (one to the West Coast, the others to the south). An outstanding ministry team (led by Director Doug Linville) keeps the Dove Harbor dream alive today. So do you, whenever you support the Madison Park Church financially and otherwise. And, from that one dream, 200 other precious souls have been given a chance to dream again. God alone knows how many more will be so blessed in the years to come, in the same way.
Thanks for being faithful, Madison Park. You’re the best.
Dreams work. Never forget that.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
The Four L’s of Change
A few years ago, Kroger (the nation’s largest supermarket chain) purchased local favorite PayLess. Kroger chose to keep the old PayLess name (which still stands), but it did rearrange some of the aisles and product placements in its Anderson PayLess stores.
It didn’t take long for “the fur to fly,” as they say. “What do they think they’re doing?” was the cry. “How dare they move the Campbell soup to aisle 10!” “What’s up with the natural food section—who cares? Give me more chips.” “Pop should be where you walk in, not on the other side of the greeting cards!” I’m not making this up. Blood pressures rose. Angry customers threatened to leave PayLess and shop at Marsh. I even preached a sermon about “changes at PayLess” to calm some of the saints.
Of course, some of us welcomed the changes. Truth be told, supermarket retailing in Anderson had been falling behind the rest of the country. Produce options and displays were, well, er uh, limited. The serpentine aisle systems customary here (in which you could be boxed in maze-like corners, lost in the pickles and mustard and forced to walk by “wine and spirits” just to find a way out) were not new-customer-friendly. Kroger (and the arrival of Meijer on the southside) expanded and changed our shopping horizons.
But, change doesn’t always come easy. We find solace in the familiar and security in the predictable. When we’re surprised by change, we feel a sense of loss and want to blame somebody for “upsetting the applecart.” We’ve all been there.
Our church has been experiencing monumental change in the last few months, as we have moved to Madison Park. We’re in a different location, for instance (seven miles from our last meeting place on Scatterfield). The building looks and feels very different. No stained glass. But lots of glass—and daylight. No balcony, but twice as many seats in the Main Auditorium. No more standing in line at the restroom, but a lot more walking to get there. Shuttle pick-ups in the parking lot, at your car, but fewer parking places at the door. Sunday services, as before, but configured quite differently.
And then, there are new faces. Lots of them. In fact, so far in September, we’ve been averaging over 400 more people every Sunday (483, to be exact, if those head-counts are being recorded correctly). Every one is welcome, but still, that’s a lot of change.
And, there are some “Northgoers” who came to Madison Park at first, but have now sought refuge elsewhere, stepping away from our church family and searching for new church homes. It’s never easy to say goodbye (especially if you don’t say goodbye).
A precious soul on our greeting team recently sent me a devotional (originally written by Rick Warren) which has helped her through the changes. It helped me, too—and I’m excerpting it here to help you, as well. It is full of wisdom, whenever you’re struggling with change—anywhere, from PayLess to church. Warren suggests a few things to remember in managing change:
(1) Love each other. “The first mistake most people make during change is to focus on what they’ve lost, instead of what has been gained—and that creates fear. The antidote to fear is love: There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear (I John 4:18). … The love that conquers fear involves thinking about others instead of focusing on your own needs—and the more you love, the less you fear.”
(2) Listen to each other. “During transition, we must be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry (James 1:19). If we get the first two right (quick listening, slow speaking), then the third (slow anger) will become automatic.” Seek to under-stand before trying to be understood.
(3) Level with each other. “We must speak the truth in love to each other if we’re going to walk together through change. It is human nature to avoid confronting someone directly, but then we fall into problems—even gossip—by talking to other people about the person we need to confront.” Speak lovingly. Reach for reconcilia-tion; never try just to prove a point.
(4) Liberate each other. “Finally, we need to show each other grace—cut each other some slack—during transition. Liberating each other means letting go and treating someone else the same way Jesus treats you.” It’s that whole “treat others the way you want to be treated” (Matthew 7:14) Golden Rule-of-Jesus deal.
The aisles may be rearranged. The music may not be “your cup of tea.” The lighting may remind you of a theatre. The service times may be different. But, relax. Jesus is the same, yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). God is blessing (e.g. we’ve had more candidates for baptism in September than in any single month since I’ve been here—and I’ve been here 16 years).
Sometimes, change is for the better. We’re still finding our way. I’m growing and learning with you. Thanks for walking with me, too. Dreams Work.
It didn’t take long for “the fur to fly,” as they say. “What do they think they’re doing?” was the cry. “How dare they move the Campbell soup to aisle 10!” “What’s up with the natural food section—who cares? Give me more chips.” “Pop should be where you walk in, not on the other side of the greeting cards!” I’m not making this up. Blood pressures rose. Angry customers threatened to leave PayLess and shop at Marsh. I even preached a sermon about “changes at PayLess” to calm some of the saints.
Of course, some of us welcomed the changes. Truth be told, supermarket retailing in Anderson had been falling behind the rest of the country. Produce options and displays were, well, er uh, limited. The serpentine aisle systems customary here (in which you could be boxed in maze-like corners, lost in the pickles and mustard and forced to walk by “wine and spirits” just to find a way out) were not new-customer-friendly. Kroger (and the arrival of Meijer on the southside) expanded and changed our shopping horizons.
But, change doesn’t always come easy. We find solace in the familiar and security in the predictable. When we’re surprised by change, we feel a sense of loss and want to blame somebody for “upsetting the applecart.” We’ve all been there.
Our church has been experiencing monumental change in the last few months, as we have moved to Madison Park. We’re in a different location, for instance (seven miles from our last meeting place on Scatterfield). The building looks and feels very different. No stained glass. But lots of glass—and daylight. No balcony, but twice as many seats in the Main Auditorium. No more standing in line at the restroom, but a lot more walking to get there. Shuttle pick-ups in the parking lot, at your car, but fewer parking places at the door. Sunday services, as before, but configured quite differently.
And then, there are new faces. Lots of them. In fact, so far in September, we’ve been averaging over 400 more people every Sunday (483, to be exact, if those head-counts are being recorded correctly). Every one is welcome, but still, that’s a lot of change.
And, there are some “Northgoers” who came to Madison Park at first, but have now sought refuge elsewhere, stepping away from our church family and searching for new church homes. It’s never easy to say goodbye (especially if you don’t say goodbye).
A precious soul on our greeting team recently sent me a devotional (originally written by Rick Warren) which has helped her through the changes. It helped me, too—and I’m excerpting it here to help you, as well. It is full of wisdom, whenever you’re struggling with change—anywhere, from PayLess to church. Warren suggests a few things to remember in managing change:
(1) Love each other. “The first mistake most people make during change is to focus on what they’ve lost, instead of what has been gained—and that creates fear. The antidote to fear is love: There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear (I John 4:18). … The love that conquers fear involves thinking about others instead of focusing on your own needs—and the more you love, the less you fear.”
(2) Listen to each other. “During transition, we must be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry (James 1:19). If we get the first two right (quick listening, slow speaking), then the third (slow anger) will become automatic.” Seek to under-stand before trying to be understood.
(3) Level with each other. “We must speak the truth in love to each other if we’re going to walk together through change. It is human nature to avoid confronting someone directly, but then we fall into problems—even gossip—by talking to other people about the person we need to confront.” Speak lovingly. Reach for reconcilia-tion; never try just to prove a point.
(4) Liberate each other. “Finally, we need to show each other grace—cut each other some slack—during transition. Liberating each other means letting go and treating someone else the same way Jesus treats you.” It’s that whole “treat others the way you want to be treated” (Matthew 7:14) Golden Rule-of-Jesus deal.
The aisles may be rearranged. The music may not be “your cup of tea.” The lighting may remind you of a theatre. The service times may be different. But, relax. Jesus is the same, yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). God is blessing (e.g. we’ve had more candidates for baptism in September than in any single month since I’ve been here—and I’ve been here 16 years).
Sometimes, change is for the better. We’re still finding our way. I’m growing and learning with you. Thanks for walking with me, too. Dreams Work.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Kneeling in the Need of Prayer
Last week, I received the following note, from a woman in our congregation, via e-mail. With the sender’s permission, I am sharing it with you. It is an inspiring tale of the prompting—and filling, I’d say—of the Holy Spirit. She writes:
“As you were closing a sermon a few weeks ago, you were encouraging listeners to pray at the altar [what I usually refer to as ‘kneeling benches’—you know, the padded kneelers that stretch across the front of our Madison Park Main Auditorium]. In fact, you made the statement, ‘God is here.’ I almost laughed.
“God is everywhere, isn’t He? That is the exact reason I have never prayed at the altar. What difference could it possibly make where I pray? I pray when I’m driving to work in the morning, numerous times throughout the day, and before I go to sleep.
“During the very week you made the statement, I had a crisis. You’ve heard of a dark night of the soul. I had a dark week of the soul. No one could help me. Everyone I knew had advice. All the advice was conflicting. It was not helping. It only made things worse.
“The next Sunday morning you were traveling [I was speaking at a Church of God Convention in Missouri on August 12]. I went to the altar for the first time. I went to the side where I could pray alone [we always reserve the kneeling benches on the south side of the platform—on the left side, as you look forward from the back of the room—for ‘private, personal prayer’]. Frankly, my expectations were low. I had already told God everything. I was waiting.
“There was a man to my right crying, audibly. There were two women on my left. Please understand that I am not an emotional person. I might even be a little low on sensitivity. People crying in public, even if it is at an altar, is uncomfortable for me. I had no way of knowing that what would happen next would change my life.
“The moment I knelt, I felt a presence. Even the air seemed heavy and warm. I had to work a little harder to breath. It wasn’t unpleasant, just clearly different, altered, or out of the ordinary. I began to pray. Everything I had planned to say was gone from my mind. The dialog was unrehearsed and raw.
“The root of the ‘problem’ or crisis poured out. I could feel ‘His’ presence. I didn’t know if it was the presence of God, Jesus, or the Holy Spirit. It’s all so confusing. It didn’t matter. It was the presence of Comfort, Joy, Peace, Help.
“There was so much to say. I could hear people entering the sanctuary behind me for the next service. I needed to hurry! I didn’t want to hurry. I felt I was praying for the first time in my life.
“Over the next twenty-four hours, I experienced a miraculous answer to my crisis. Everyone who had been aware of the crisis witnessed the miracle. The answer was evident and unexplainable and so com-pletely over-the-top that even non-believing wit-nesses were amazed.
“On Monday afternoon, someone told me that there was ‘open prayer’ at the church. [The Main Auditorium is reserved for prayer each Monday evening, beginning at 5:30pm.] I couldn’t wait to go. Once I parked my car, I practically ran inside. There was just one other person there. I chose the very end spot at the altar. I didn’t want to bother anyone else.
“This time I did not feel the ‘heavy’ presence. I began to pray. At first it was awkward. My thoughts were scattered and dialog seemed forced. Within ten minutes my mind began to feel focused and dialog became authentic. I talked and I talked and I talked. I poured out every fear, dream, hope, secret, failing, unbelief, goal, and disappointment. I was astonished when I could feel my soul worship-ping. It was almost automatic and I was along for the glorious ride. I began to tear up and then to sob. I have never sobbed.
“I experienced worship for the first time. My mind, heart, and soul were shouting out how magnificent it was to be in the presence of God. The thoughts of exultation went on and on. I felt witness to them. The thoughts could not have come from me. I was changed forever. I was in the presence of God!
“I was completely unaware of anyone else around me. Anyone who would have been watch-ing and hearing my sobs would have thought I was mourning a great loss, when, in fact, I was joyfully worshipping.
“Every Sunday and Monday since, I have been at the altar. You were right. He is there! I wish every person who walked into our church could experience His presence.”
Me, too. You can reach for the same. This Sunday. And Monday, too. At Madison Park.
“As you were closing a sermon a few weeks ago, you were encouraging listeners to pray at the altar [what I usually refer to as ‘kneeling benches’—you know, the padded kneelers that stretch across the front of our Madison Park Main Auditorium]. In fact, you made the statement, ‘God is here.’ I almost laughed.
“God is everywhere, isn’t He? That is the exact reason I have never prayed at the altar. What difference could it possibly make where I pray? I pray when I’m driving to work in the morning, numerous times throughout the day, and before I go to sleep.
“During the very week you made the statement, I had a crisis. You’ve heard of a dark night of the soul. I had a dark week of the soul. No one could help me. Everyone I knew had advice. All the advice was conflicting. It was not helping. It only made things worse.
“The next Sunday morning you were traveling [I was speaking at a Church of God Convention in Missouri on August 12]. I went to the altar for the first time. I went to the side where I could pray alone [we always reserve the kneeling benches on the south side of the platform—on the left side, as you look forward from the back of the room—for ‘private, personal prayer’]. Frankly, my expectations were low. I had already told God everything. I was waiting.
“There was a man to my right crying, audibly. There were two women on my left. Please understand that I am not an emotional person. I might even be a little low on sensitivity. People crying in public, even if it is at an altar, is uncomfortable for me. I had no way of knowing that what would happen next would change my life.
“The moment I knelt, I felt a presence. Even the air seemed heavy and warm. I had to work a little harder to breath. It wasn’t unpleasant, just clearly different, altered, or out of the ordinary. I began to pray. Everything I had planned to say was gone from my mind. The dialog was unrehearsed and raw.
“The root of the ‘problem’ or crisis poured out. I could feel ‘His’ presence. I didn’t know if it was the presence of God, Jesus, or the Holy Spirit. It’s all so confusing. It didn’t matter. It was the presence of Comfort, Joy, Peace, Help.
“There was so much to say. I could hear people entering the sanctuary behind me for the next service. I needed to hurry! I didn’t want to hurry. I felt I was praying for the first time in my life.
“Over the next twenty-four hours, I experienced a miraculous answer to my crisis. Everyone who had been aware of the crisis witnessed the miracle. The answer was evident and unexplainable and so com-pletely over-the-top that even non-believing wit-nesses were amazed.
“On Monday afternoon, someone told me that there was ‘open prayer’ at the church. [The Main Auditorium is reserved for prayer each Monday evening, beginning at 5:30pm.] I couldn’t wait to go. Once I parked my car, I practically ran inside. There was just one other person there. I chose the very end spot at the altar. I didn’t want to bother anyone else.
“This time I did not feel the ‘heavy’ presence. I began to pray. At first it was awkward. My thoughts were scattered and dialog seemed forced. Within ten minutes my mind began to feel focused and dialog became authentic. I talked and I talked and I talked. I poured out every fear, dream, hope, secret, failing, unbelief, goal, and disappointment. I was astonished when I could feel my soul worship-ping. It was almost automatic and I was along for the glorious ride. I began to tear up and then to sob. I have never sobbed.
“I experienced worship for the first time. My mind, heart, and soul were shouting out how magnificent it was to be in the presence of God. The thoughts of exultation went on and on. I felt witness to them. The thoughts could not have come from me. I was changed forever. I was in the presence of God!
“I was completely unaware of anyone else around me. Anyone who would have been watch-ing and hearing my sobs would have thought I was mourning a great loss, when, in fact, I was joyfully worshipping.
“Every Sunday and Monday since, I have been at the altar. You were right. He is there! I wish every person who walked into our church could experience His presence.”
Me, too. You can reach for the same. This Sunday. And Monday, too. At Madison Park.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
An Autumn Sampler
An Autumn Sampler
There’s energy in the air at Madison Park this fall... and here are just a few of the reasons why: Dreams Work is a new Sunday sermon series—and a new initiative in which our entire congregation can participate—that will carry us through the first Sunday in November. A dream can be a powerful thing—a necessary instrument to move forward in life and, sometimes, an indispensable gift when facing the challenges of life. Dreams come in all shapes and sizes, of course, and not all dreams come from God. But, when Heaven helps us, imagine what might be—when Heaven helps us to have faith that what is not yet seen will someday, in fact, be seen, well, then the world begins to change. For the better.
I’ve had a few dreams over time. But, what’s next? I still must be open to God’s impression on my heart for the days ahead. Where is God taking me in the next chapter of my life? What does He want it to look like? How does He want me to grow and develop? What does He want me to become? How does He want me to influence my world? Is it possible that He has things in store that I can’t by myself imagine—and that I can’t by myself achieve? Can the same be said of you, too?
“Dreams and visions” are the mark of the New Testament church (as Peter proclaimed on the day of Pentecost, quoting from the Old Testament prophet Joel). Our church needs a dream. Our town needs a dream. You need a dream. We all need God, defining our future and inspiring our hope. Dreams work. They empower us to reach beyond what we can touch today and give birth to better tomorrows. Dream with us, as we explore the Bible’s extensive catalog of, quite literally, dreamy passages.
Look for ways you can participate in the Dreams Work initiative. Dare to dream big, and watch God at work.
Men’s Fraternity is back—with duplicate sessions on Wednesday evenings (at 7:00pm), beginning September 19, and Friday mornings (at 6:00am) on September 21. Each session will be crisp and clean, a 60-minute power hour designed to challenge guys in The Quest for Authentic Manhood. Tens of thousands of men across the country have built spiritual muscle with this anointed curriculum, grounded in God’s Word and speaking directly into the masculine heart and mind. Don’t miss this chance to stretch and grow; don’t miss this chance to experience the camaraderie and life-changing dynamics of the Fraternity. All men are welcome; choose Wednesday or Friday; bring a friend or two.
This semester will include lessons like: Genesis and Manhood (2-parts), A Man and His Wife (2 parts), 25 Ways to Be a Servant Leader, Fathers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters, and A Man and His Life Journey. Each lesson is free-standing (you don’t have to attend every one to make it worthwhile). But, to maximize your experience, show up for all eleven Fraternity meetings.
The Wednesday evening Fraternity meets in The Commons; the Friday morning Fraternity will meet in the Crossroads Auditorium (with a continental breakfast). I am absolutely committed to being in the Fraternity this fall and very excited about teaching in it. We’ll have break-out groups at each Fraternity, too—groups that will form by the third week and stay together throughout. And don’t wimp out because you’ll have to be in a break-out group. Grow up and get committed. This is a Fraternity, after all—if you don’t want to be a part of “the house,” live with Mom and Dad at home. If you step up and take a chance with Men’s Fraternity, I guarantee that you’ll look back on this fall as one of the best in your life—and want more.
I am praying for 300. Yes, 300 men to participate. Be one of them.
Women of the Word (WOW) will resume on Wednesday night, September 19, also (at 7:00pm), with teaching sessions and break-out discussion groups in the Main Street conference rooms at Madison Park. Barbara Collier and a team of co-leaders are ready to WOW you with in-depth Scripture study and everyday application of its truths this fall. All women are invited.
And, all ladies are invited to the RefresHer women’s Bible study on Tuesday mornings at Madison Park, too—one of the congregation’s most successful and effective teaching and body-building ministries (now in its 16th year!). Becky Rosenberg and Tami Seulean lead this much-loved program, which blesses hundreds of women.
Whew. I haven’t even begun to share with you the great opportunities you can find in Sunday School and small groups this fall, too. Or in the children’s ministries (Trunk ’n Treat is coming to Madison Park!). Or student ministries. And Convergence (the new 10:45am Sunday worship celebration in the Crossroads Auditorium for young adults). And Stephen Arterburn (preaching this fall). And Leonard Sweet (okay, more on him in another edition of threads). So much to tell. So little time.
Be encouraged. Be a part. Join the journey. Connect. Grow. Serve. This fall at Madison Park. Boy, I’m glad to be here! Thanks for being here, too.
There’s energy in the air at Madison Park this fall... and here are just a few of the reasons why: Dreams Work is a new Sunday sermon series—and a new initiative in which our entire congregation can participate—that will carry us through the first Sunday in November. A dream can be a powerful thing—a necessary instrument to move forward in life and, sometimes, an indispensable gift when facing the challenges of life. Dreams come in all shapes and sizes, of course, and not all dreams come from God. But, when Heaven helps us, imagine what might be—when Heaven helps us to have faith that what is not yet seen will someday, in fact, be seen, well, then the world begins to change. For the better.
I’ve had a few dreams over time. But, what’s next? I still must be open to God’s impression on my heart for the days ahead. Where is God taking me in the next chapter of my life? What does He want it to look like? How does He want me to grow and develop? What does He want me to become? How does He want me to influence my world? Is it possible that He has things in store that I can’t by myself imagine—and that I can’t by myself achieve? Can the same be said of you, too?
“Dreams and visions” are the mark of the New Testament church (as Peter proclaimed on the day of Pentecost, quoting from the Old Testament prophet Joel). Our church needs a dream. Our town needs a dream. You need a dream. We all need God, defining our future and inspiring our hope. Dreams work. They empower us to reach beyond what we can touch today and give birth to better tomorrows. Dream with us, as we explore the Bible’s extensive catalog of, quite literally, dreamy passages.
Look for ways you can participate in the Dreams Work initiative. Dare to dream big, and watch God at work.
Men’s Fraternity is back—with duplicate sessions on Wednesday evenings (at 7:00pm), beginning September 19, and Friday mornings (at 6:00am) on September 21. Each session will be crisp and clean, a 60-minute power hour designed to challenge guys in The Quest for Authentic Manhood. Tens of thousands of men across the country have built spiritual muscle with this anointed curriculum, grounded in God’s Word and speaking directly into the masculine heart and mind. Don’t miss this chance to stretch and grow; don’t miss this chance to experience the camaraderie and life-changing dynamics of the Fraternity. All men are welcome; choose Wednesday or Friday; bring a friend or two.
This semester will include lessons like: Genesis and Manhood (2-parts), A Man and His Wife (2 parts), 25 Ways to Be a Servant Leader, Fathers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters, and A Man and His Life Journey. Each lesson is free-standing (you don’t have to attend every one to make it worthwhile). But, to maximize your experience, show up for all eleven Fraternity meetings.
The Wednesday evening Fraternity meets in The Commons; the Friday morning Fraternity will meet in the Crossroads Auditorium (with a continental breakfast). I am absolutely committed to being in the Fraternity this fall and very excited about teaching in it. We’ll have break-out groups at each Fraternity, too—groups that will form by the third week and stay together throughout. And don’t wimp out because you’ll have to be in a break-out group. Grow up and get committed. This is a Fraternity, after all—if you don’t want to be a part of “the house,” live with Mom and Dad at home. If you step up and take a chance with Men’s Fraternity, I guarantee that you’ll look back on this fall as one of the best in your life—and want more.
I am praying for 300. Yes, 300 men to participate. Be one of them.
Women of the Word (WOW) will resume on Wednesday night, September 19, also (at 7:00pm), with teaching sessions and break-out discussion groups in the Main Street conference rooms at Madison Park. Barbara Collier and a team of co-leaders are ready to WOW you with in-depth Scripture study and everyday application of its truths this fall. All women are invited.
And, all ladies are invited to the RefresHer women’s Bible study on Tuesday mornings at Madison Park, too—one of the congregation’s most successful and effective teaching and body-building ministries (now in its 16th year!). Becky Rosenberg and Tami Seulean lead this much-loved program, which blesses hundreds of women.
Whew. I haven’t even begun to share with you the great opportunities you can find in Sunday School and small groups this fall, too. Or in the children’s ministries (Trunk ’n Treat is coming to Madison Park!). Or student ministries. And Convergence (the new 10:45am Sunday worship celebration in the Crossroads Auditorium for young adults). And Stephen Arterburn (preaching this fall). And Leonard Sweet (okay, more on him in another edition of threads). So much to tell. So little time.
Be encouraged. Be a part. Join the journey. Connect. Grow. Serve. This fall at Madison Park. Boy, I’m glad to be here! Thanks for being here, too.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
The "Queen" is Dead
She was born on the Fourth of July, grew up in Brooklyn, and as a young woman, worked as a model. She would marry three times and give birth to one son. She would become a billionaire and reign over some of New York’s most iconic properties (like the Empire State Building). Demanding. Proud. Volatile. That’s how her friends described her. She died a few days ago, at the age of 87. Her name was Leona Mindy Rosenthal Roberts Panzirer Lubin Helmsley. “The Queen of Mean,” for short.
Leona was already a millionaire when she caught the eye of New York property tycoon Harry Helmsley in the early 1970’s. He divorced his wife of 33 years to marry her—and, together, they amassed an astonishing fortune. Leona Helmsley became a household name in the 1980’s, when she became the poster child for the couple’s signature hotel chain. with her imperial gaze and perfectly coiffed hair staring from the Helmsley Palace Hotel print ads, the copy read, “the only palace in the world where the queen herself stands guard.” Her stare made knees knock.
In time, Leona was charged with tax evasion. Convicted of evading $4 million in taxes, she paid a $7.1 million fine and spent 21 months in jail. Her husband, long in poor health, died in 1997.
During Leona’s celebrated trial, a slate of witnesses testified that she was haughty, cruel, and heartless. Unforgettably, a housekeeper, under oath, said that Mrs. Helmsley once remarked, “Only the little people pay taxes.” One wag contributing to this week’s New York Times blog on her passing, caustically observed, “Maybe she’s now being told that only the little people make it into heaven.” She was not famous for being loved, or for being loving.
In recent years, she did make some substantial gifts to charity: $25 million to a Presbyterian Hospital and $5 million to Hurricane Katrina relief, for example. But her estate is estimated to be between $4-5 billion.
And, in her will, she left $12 million to her dog—well, actually to a trust to take care of her dog. Her dog? Yep—an eight-year-old Maltese named Trouble. Trouble was, apparently, her closest friend and most valued companion.
She left $10 million to her aged brother and $10 million each to two grandsons. She declined to leave anything to her other two grandchildren, simply stating she did not “for reasons known to them.” Leona’s only child (the father of her four grandchildren) died suddenly at age 42 of a heart attack, in 1982. Most of the estate will be transferred to the Helmsley Charitable Trust. No one knows how it will be disbursed. So far, the dog is the big winner.
Following her death, Donald Trump summed up her life this way: “(She) was definitely one of a kind. Harry (her husband) loved being with her and the excitement she brought and that is all that really matters.”
All that really matters? Ouch. But, then, that’s the Donald talking.
Of course, it’s very possible that Mrs. Helmsley has been grossly misunderstood in all of the hullabaloo that surrounded her heyday in the headlines. Nobody is a cardboard cut-out, a one-dimensional villain or hero. We’re all a complex weave. Clearly she was a success in business. There’s no question that she was devoted to her husband Harry. And to Trouble, the dog.
Five billion dollars. Eighty-seven years. Thousands of employees. Four fabulous homes. A private jet. Jewelery to rival the crowned heads of Europe. Four grandchildren—two of whom have been written out of the will and two others that get less than the dog. Sad.
Like all of us, Leona leaves everything behind, as she moves from this world to the next. She had a lot more money to leave behind than the rest of us combined. But, what about the riches that really matter? And, what about the Lord’s review at the Judgment Day (as recorded in Matthew 25), “...when I was hungry you fed me, when I was naked, you clothed me...”? What about treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust can destroy? And, what about “where your treasure is there will your heart be also?”
I can’t speak for Leona. She’ll have to cover those bases for herself. But, I will have to speak for myself. And, I hope, that Genesis-the-Wonder-Dog will not then be front and center in the discussion of my legacy. May it be said at our passing that there is no doubt about our destiny, because we lived and loved in such a way that we were, unmistakably, the Lord’s own. May we seize every day, spend every dollar, and invest in every relationship, for the good. For Heaven’s sake. May we be famed for building God’s kingdom, not our fortunes. May we be deeply loved because we loved deeply. May we be remembered for our kindness and grace. Like Jesus has been.
I love you, Madison Park Church. I am sorry for you, Leona—and for those who held you dear.
Leona was already a millionaire when she caught the eye of New York property tycoon Harry Helmsley in the early 1970’s. He divorced his wife of 33 years to marry her—and, together, they amassed an astonishing fortune. Leona Helmsley became a household name in the 1980’s, when she became the poster child for the couple’s signature hotel chain. with her imperial gaze and perfectly coiffed hair staring from the Helmsley Palace Hotel print ads, the copy read, “the only palace in the world where the queen herself stands guard.” Her stare made knees knock.
In time, Leona was charged with tax evasion. Convicted of evading $4 million in taxes, she paid a $7.1 million fine and spent 21 months in jail. Her husband, long in poor health, died in 1997.
During Leona’s celebrated trial, a slate of witnesses testified that she was haughty, cruel, and heartless. Unforgettably, a housekeeper, under oath, said that Mrs. Helmsley once remarked, “Only the little people pay taxes.” One wag contributing to this week’s New York Times blog on her passing, caustically observed, “Maybe she’s now being told that only the little people make it into heaven.” She was not famous for being loved, or for being loving.
In recent years, she did make some substantial gifts to charity: $25 million to a Presbyterian Hospital and $5 million to Hurricane Katrina relief, for example. But her estate is estimated to be between $4-5 billion.
And, in her will, she left $12 million to her dog—well, actually to a trust to take care of her dog. Her dog? Yep—an eight-year-old Maltese named Trouble. Trouble was, apparently, her closest friend and most valued companion.
She left $10 million to her aged brother and $10 million each to two grandsons. She declined to leave anything to her other two grandchildren, simply stating she did not “for reasons known to them.” Leona’s only child (the father of her four grandchildren) died suddenly at age 42 of a heart attack, in 1982. Most of the estate will be transferred to the Helmsley Charitable Trust. No one knows how it will be disbursed. So far, the dog is the big winner.
Following her death, Donald Trump summed up her life this way: “(She) was definitely one of a kind. Harry (her husband) loved being with her and the excitement she brought and that is all that really matters.”
All that really matters? Ouch. But, then, that’s the Donald talking.
Of course, it’s very possible that Mrs. Helmsley has been grossly misunderstood in all of the hullabaloo that surrounded her heyday in the headlines. Nobody is a cardboard cut-out, a one-dimensional villain or hero. We’re all a complex weave. Clearly she was a success in business. There’s no question that she was devoted to her husband Harry. And to Trouble, the dog.
Five billion dollars. Eighty-seven years. Thousands of employees. Four fabulous homes. A private jet. Jewelery to rival the crowned heads of Europe. Four grandchildren—two of whom have been written out of the will and two others that get less than the dog. Sad.
Like all of us, Leona leaves everything behind, as she moves from this world to the next. She had a lot more money to leave behind than the rest of us combined. But, what about the riches that really matter? And, what about the Lord’s review at the Judgment Day (as recorded in Matthew 25), “...when I was hungry you fed me, when I was naked, you clothed me...”? What about treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust can destroy? And, what about “where your treasure is there will your heart be also?”
I can’t speak for Leona. She’ll have to cover those bases for herself. But, I will have to speak for myself. And, I hope, that Genesis-the-Wonder-Dog will not then be front and center in the discussion of my legacy. May it be said at our passing that there is no doubt about our destiny, because we lived and loved in such a way that we were, unmistakably, the Lord’s own. May we seize every day, spend every dollar, and invest in every relationship, for the good. For Heaven’s sake. May we be famed for building God’s kingdom, not our fortunes. May we be deeply loved because we loved deeply. May we be remembered for our kindness and grace. Like Jesus has been.
I love you, Madison Park Church. I am sorry for you, Leona—and for those who held you dear.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Unlikely Inspiration
I’ve had a lot of feedback from last Sunday’s message, in which I described a chapter in John Lennon’s spiritual journey that has been heretofore in the shadows—a season in which he came to terms with Jesus. The illustration was part of the Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds installment of the Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band preaching series. The story inspired in many a thirst for more—and I’ve been asked for references and recommendations for further reading.
I’ve also been asked questions like “where do you come up with this stuff?”
Well, when preparing a sermon series, I have to first pray. I do that. Routinely. I also, of course, study the Scriptures daily. Galatians captured my attention last spring, for instance, and, voila, God’s Blog: A Study in Galatians Backward was born. I also enjoy National Public Radio (NPR) and am taken, every now and then, by an insightful piece on air. I also subscribe to several periodicals—some mainstream and others not so well known. And, oh yeah, I read the Seattle Post-Intelligencer (a newspaper)on line every day.
In May, I stumbled onto 40th anniversary stories of the Beatles’ iconic Sgt. Pepper’s album. Sgt. Pepper’s defined an era and still tops the charts as one of the world’s all-time best sellers. Four decades and two generations after it first hit the shelves, you can still pick up a Sgt. Pepper’s CD at Target or WalMart. It has few peers. I dusted off my own Sgt. Pepper’s CD and found myself matching it to Scripture. Sgt. Pepper’s is full of questions; the Bible is full of answers. Colossians was a good fit.
Thanks to a tip from a friend, I found an article in Christianity Today (CT)(January, 2007) that captured “John Lennon’s Born Again Phase.” CT, in turn, had excerpted material from a new book titled The Gospel According to the Beatles (written by English journalist Steve Turner and published this year by Westminster John Knox Press).
Some of the most interesting material in the CT piece involved Lennon’s correspondence with televangelist, Oral Roberts. Lennon spent many hours watching Roberts, Pat Robertson, and Billy Graham on television, in the 1970s. In a desperate letter to Roberts, written in 1972, Lennon confessed his dependence on drugs and his fear of facing up “to the problems of life.” He included a gift for Oral Roberts University and then quoted one of his own famous lines, “Money can’t buy me love.” Lennon continued, “It’s true. The point is this, I want happiness. I don’t want to keep on with drugs. ...Explain to me what Christianity can do for me. Is it phoney? Can He love me? I want out of hell.”
Roberts replied with a copy of his book Miracle of Seed Faith and several letters. He wrote: “John, we saw you and the Beatles on television... your talent and music was almost awesome and your popularity touched millions. Your influence became so widespread and powerful that your statement (in 1966)— the Beatles are more popular than Jesus—might have had some truth in it at that moment. But, you know, our Lord said, ‘I am alive for evermore.’ People, the Bible says, are like sheep and are often fickle, following this one day and something else the next. However, there are millions who have received Jesus Christ as their personal Savior and have been filled with the Holy Spirit. They love Him. To them, He is the most wonderful and popular man who ever lived because He is the Son of God and His name endures.”
Roberts continued: “I thank God that you see this, John, and finally regret thinking any man or group could be more popular than Jesus. Jesus is the only reality. It is Jesus who said, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life.’ So, you see, your statement that because of your hard background you’ve never really wanted to face reality is actually really saying you’ve never wanted to face our loving Lord. What I want to say, as I tried to say in my other letter, is that Jesus, the true reality, is not hard to face. ...You said, John, that you take drugs because reality frightens you. Remember to open your life to Jesus. He will take all the fear away and give you peace. Peace that passes all understanding.”
Lennon eventually professed to his friends that he embraced this truth, accepting Jesus (Colossians 2:6a)—but, then, later fell away (he failed to commit to actually following Jesus)(Galatians 2:6b). Not long after, sadly, his life ended prematurely—gunned down in front of his home at the age of 40, in 1980. A story of tragic proportion.
Jesus used the currency—the vocabulary and conversation—of His time to engage his listeners and communicate truth. Farming. Fishing. Lamp oil. Headlines. Fig trees. Caesar. All became springboards for Gospel teaching that people could remember. A series like Sgt. Pepper’s (or Grey’s Anatomy or, stay tuned, Dreams Work) attempts, albeit clumsily, to do the same. Thanks for listening! Thanks for asking. Thanks for your encouragement.
I’ve also been asked questions like “where do you come up with this stuff?”
Well, when preparing a sermon series, I have to first pray. I do that. Routinely. I also, of course, study the Scriptures daily. Galatians captured my attention last spring, for instance, and, voila, God’s Blog: A Study in Galatians Backward was born. I also enjoy National Public Radio (NPR) and am taken, every now and then, by an insightful piece on air. I also subscribe to several periodicals—some mainstream and others not so well known. And, oh yeah, I read the Seattle Post-Intelligencer (a newspaper)on line every day.
In May, I stumbled onto 40th anniversary stories of the Beatles’ iconic Sgt. Pepper’s album. Sgt. Pepper’s defined an era and still tops the charts as one of the world’s all-time best sellers. Four decades and two generations after it first hit the shelves, you can still pick up a Sgt. Pepper’s CD at Target or WalMart. It has few peers. I dusted off my own Sgt. Pepper’s CD and found myself matching it to Scripture. Sgt. Pepper’s is full of questions; the Bible is full of answers. Colossians was a good fit.
Thanks to a tip from a friend, I found an article in Christianity Today (CT)(January, 2007) that captured “John Lennon’s Born Again Phase.” CT, in turn, had excerpted material from a new book titled The Gospel According to the Beatles (written by English journalist Steve Turner and published this year by Westminster John Knox Press).
Some of the most interesting material in the CT piece involved Lennon’s correspondence with televangelist, Oral Roberts. Lennon spent many hours watching Roberts, Pat Robertson, and Billy Graham on television, in the 1970s. In a desperate letter to Roberts, written in 1972, Lennon confessed his dependence on drugs and his fear of facing up “to the problems of life.” He included a gift for Oral Roberts University and then quoted one of his own famous lines, “Money can’t buy me love.” Lennon continued, “It’s true. The point is this, I want happiness. I don’t want to keep on with drugs. ...Explain to me what Christianity can do for me. Is it phoney? Can He love me? I want out of hell.”
Roberts replied with a copy of his book Miracle of Seed Faith and several letters. He wrote: “John, we saw you and the Beatles on television... your talent and music was almost awesome and your popularity touched millions. Your influence became so widespread and powerful that your statement (in 1966)— the Beatles are more popular than Jesus—might have had some truth in it at that moment. But, you know, our Lord said, ‘I am alive for evermore.’ People, the Bible says, are like sheep and are often fickle, following this one day and something else the next. However, there are millions who have received Jesus Christ as their personal Savior and have been filled with the Holy Spirit. They love Him. To them, He is the most wonderful and popular man who ever lived because He is the Son of God and His name endures.”
Roberts continued: “I thank God that you see this, John, and finally regret thinking any man or group could be more popular than Jesus. Jesus is the only reality. It is Jesus who said, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life.’ So, you see, your statement that because of your hard background you’ve never really wanted to face reality is actually really saying you’ve never wanted to face our loving Lord. What I want to say, as I tried to say in my other letter, is that Jesus, the true reality, is not hard to face. ...You said, John, that you take drugs because reality frightens you. Remember to open your life to Jesus. He will take all the fear away and give you peace. Peace that passes all understanding.”
Lennon eventually professed to his friends that he embraced this truth, accepting Jesus (Colossians 2:6a)—but, then, later fell away (he failed to commit to actually following Jesus)(Galatians 2:6b). Not long after, sadly, his life ended prematurely—gunned down in front of his home at the age of 40, in 1980. A story of tragic proportion.
Jesus used the currency—the vocabulary and conversation—of His time to engage his listeners and communicate truth. Farming. Fishing. Lamp oil. Headlines. Fig trees. Caesar. All became springboards for Gospel teaching that people could remember. A series like Sgt. Pepper’s (or Grey’s Anatomy or, stay tuned, Dreams Work) attempts, albeit clumsily, to do the same. Thanks for listening! Thanks for asking. Thanks for your encouragement.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Peace in the Midst of Panic
Kristin West left work and began the drive home. The traffic slowed and then eased up. She began to accelerate, but was distracted by an odd rumble. Suddenly, her black Trailblazer began to rock violently, slamming her from side to side; she felt like she was hurtling through the air. The bridge she had crossed a thousand times dropped out from under her. “I can’t die today,” she thought. And, then, the terrifying reality overwhelmed her: “I really am going to die today.” Kristin West, of course, was driving across the Mississippi River on Interstate 35W in Minneapolis.
As she fell, West’s purse opened and its contents flew everywhere. She tried to find her cell phone. In her mind’s eye, she saw her husband and children— she had to call them, one last time, to tell them how much they were loved. She was thrown into the steering wheel, then hurled back into her seat. A giant wave crashed over her SUV. Everything seemed to drop some more, but the bridge deck, somehow, was not submerged. The driver’s side of the car had been smashed into the median; she moved over to the passenger side and tried desperately to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “The window!” she thought. Next she saw a woman in medical scrubs outside of her car. “I can’t open the door. Can you help?”
The woman in scrubs opened the door.
Jeff Ringate was wearing his hard hat, in the middle of the bridge. He climbed up onto a small construction truck when the pavement beneath gave way. He knew the awful truth immediately: the bridge was collapsing. “This is the end,” he thought. A vision of his pregnant wife and their eight-month-old daughter flashed by as he fell. The bridge deck landed hard on the river, sending huge waves in all directions. Ringate heard screams and was buried in dust. He was thrown to the edge of the bridge, his feet dangling in the water. Stunned, he realized, “I’m alive!”
He crawled away from the edge, as cars continued to drop into the water from several directions. He saw people scrambling to get out of cars; he watched cars sink. He spotted a co-worker in the water and called to him. Ringate hung precariously as he hauled him onto the island of concrete, still crumbling. He saw another co-worker laying on the pavement nearby, motionless, injured, bleeding. He worked to pull others up out of the water—a woman screaming that her baby had gone down with her car, a red-haired guy literally yanked up onto the broken bridge deck by his hair. He heard a woman ask calmly: “Everybody okay? Anybody hurt?”
He turned and saw a woman in medical scrubs.
Her name is Amy Lindholm. She works in a hospital. She was driving across the bridge, talking to her boyfriend on her cell when she thought she heard thunder. And then a deaf-ening crack. And then the tumble, and everything went dark. When she came to, she was surrounded by the haze of concrete dust and distant cries, far off screams. “Am I dead?” she wondered. “I must be dead,” she thought.
Her boyfriend was still on the cell. The sound of his voice jolted her back to life. “Are you okay?” he called, as if from a far place. “The bridge exploded,” was all she could think to say.
She got out of her car and ran to the wrecked car behind her. Nobody there. She approached the next car in line. The woman inside said she couldn’t open the door, so Amy opened it from the outside.
“I can panic,” Lindholm thought to herself, “or I can try and relax everybody and help them.” Lindholm pulled herself together and began to clean wounds, reassure the wounded, calm the anxious, and offer hope to everyone who survived on that one section of the concrete nightmare that was I-35W. In time, one by one, they were plucked to safety by rescuers. None will forget Ringate’s daring rescues; none will forget the woman in medical scrubs walking from car to car, person to person, offering help and hope. Who can measure the power of that calming voice and touch, those helping hands?
Dramatic tragedies on the scale of the I-35 collapse are rare, thankfully. But, all of us can find ourselves in the midst of a crisis, from time to time. We can panic—or we can try and relax everybody and help them. We can feed fear or offer hope. We can be swept up in the sense of helplessness or help ground others with our faith in God. We all make choices.
One of the most important gifts you can give is that of calm hope.
One of the most important ministries you will ever have is becoming a conduit for the calming presence of Christ. Never underestimate the power of a steady hand, an anchored soul, a reassuring touch.
Wherever you travel this week, hold steady. Be encouraged. Jesus is Lord.
Thanks to the Minneapolis Star Tribune for capturing these stories from I-35W.
As she fell, West’s purse opened and its contents flew everywhere. She tried to find her cell phone. In her mind’s eye, she saw her husband and children— she had to call them, one last time, to tell them how much they were loved. She was thrown into the steering wheel, then hurled back into her seat. A giant wave crashed over her SUV. Everything seemed to drop some more, but the bridge deck, somehow, was not submerged. The driver’s side of the car had been smashed into the median; she moved over to the passenger side and tried desperately to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “The window!” she thought. Next she saw a woman in medical scrubs outside of her car. “I can’t open the door. Can you help?”
The woman in scrubs opened the door.
Jeff Ringate was wearing his hard hat, in the middle of the bridge. He climbed up onto a small construction truck when the pavement beneath gave way. He knew the awful truth immediately: the bridge was collapsing. “This is the end,” he thought. A vision of his pregnant wife and their eight-month-old daughter flashed by as he fell. The bridge deck landed hard on the river, sending huge waves in all directions. Ringate heard screams and was buried in dust. He was thrown to the edge of the bridge, his feet dangling in the water. Stunned, he realized, “I’m alive!”
He crawled away from the edge, as cars continued to drop into the water from several directions. He saw people scrambling to get out of cars; he watched cars sink. He spotted a co-worker in the water and called to him. Ringate hung precariously as he hauled him onto the island of concrete, still crumbling. He saw another co-worker laying on the pavement nearby, motionless, injured, bleeding. He worked to pull others up out of the water—a woman screaming that her baby had gone down with her car, a red-haired guy literally yanked up onto the broken bridge deck by his hair. He heard a woman ask calmly: “Everybody okay? Anybody hurt?”
He turned and saw a woman in medical scrubs.
Her name is Amy Lindholm. She works in a hospital. She was driving across the bridge, talking to her boyfriend on her cell when she thought she heard thunder. And then a deaf-ening crack. And then the tumble, and everything went dark. When she came to, she was surrounded by the haze of concrete dust and distant cries, far off screams. “Am I dead?” she wondered. “I must be dead,” she thought.
Her boyfriend was still on the cell. The sound of his voice jolted her back to life. “Are you okay?” he called, as if from a far place. “The bridge exploded,” was all she could think to say.
She got out of her car and ran to the wrecked car behind her. Nobody there. She approached the next car in line. The woman inside said she couldn’t open the door, so Amy opened it from the outside.
“I can panic,” Lindholm thought to herself, “or I can try and relax everybody and help them.” Lindholm pulled herself together and began to clean wounds, reassure the wounded, calm the anxious, and offer hope to everyone who survived on that one section of the concrete nightmare that was I-35W. In time, one by one, they were plucked to safety by rescuers. None will forget Ringate’s daring rescues; none will forget the woman in medical scrubs walking from car to car, person to person, offering help and hope. Who can measure the power of that calming voice and touch, those helping hands?
Dramatic tragedies on the scale of the I-35 collapse are rare, thankfully. But, all of us can find ourselves in the midst of a crisis, from time to time. We can panic—or we can try and relax everybody and help them. We can feed fear or offer hope. We can be swept up in the sense of helplessness or help ground others with our faith in God. We all make choices.
One of the most important gifts you can give is that of calm hope.
One of the most important ministries you will ever have is becoming a conduit for the calming presence of Christ. Never underestimate the power of a steady hand, an anchored soul, a reassuring touch.
Wherever you travel this week, hold steady. Be encouraged. Jesus is Lord.
Thanks to the Minneapolis Star Tribune for capturing these stories from I-35W.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Painting the True Picture
While in Seattle, earlier this month, my wife and I visited the new Seattle Art Museum (affectionately dubbed by the locals, SAM).
The new SAM downtown occupies the first fifteen floors of a new high-rise office building. Traditionally, art museums have been set in retreat like park settings—surrounded by trees, fountains, manicured lawns, and the like. Not the new SAM. It’s all about urban downtown, sidewalks, glass and steel, vertical rise.
That makes the museum experience a bit different. The collection is displayed against a backdrop of floor-to-ceiling windows, high above the traffic and pedestrians below. The floors are polished hardwood, everywhere—and the whole design is minimalist— you know, in the Danish-modern kind of way. Clean lines. Egg-shell palate. Less-is-more. Etc.
It works, though. The art stands out, dramatically, thoughtfully. I was especially impressed by the way the art is accessible; you can get up close and personal—and the explanatory information throughout makes everything understandable, even for art-appreciation duds like me.
One of the most remarkable oil paintings on display is Albert Bierstadt’s Puget Sound on the Pacific Coast. This is a large canvas (about seven feet across and almost five feet high), commissioned in 1870. It represents a beach scene, shadowed by mountains and a threatening sky, with violent surf pounding at the feet of boats and men dwarfed by everything else. The colors are both bold and dark, the images vivid and felt. It really is masterfully done. You can feel the wind blow and hear the surf crash as you stand there staring, agog.
Bierstadt was one of a class of late 19th-century New York City painters called “the Hudson River School.” These artists were conservative in their approach—nothing avant garde about them. They were also globe-trotters, exploring the planet and recreating landscape images in paint—snapshots, if you will, in an age when photography was mostly limited to portraiture.
What’s interesting about Bierstadt’s Puget Sound on the Pacific Coast, though, is that he captured an image he had never seen. Although he traveled adventurously throughout the American West, he had not visited the then Washington Territory. His Puget Sound painting was, simply, the figment of his imagination, a speculative stab at what he thought (based on other people’s tales and what he had read) it would look like. His beach scene was not a real place, at all. And, to be honest, it really doesn’t look much like Puget Sound (even though the painting looks very cool).
Hmmm. I’ve painted a few pictures like that in life, myself. I heard somebody describe someone or something this way or that. I imagined that “it” or “they” really looked like so-and-so or such-and-such. I created my own image of reality and believed it, too. And, because I was a good “painter,” I was believed—when, in fact, I had no first-hand knowledge of what I was depicting in the first place.
“George” really wasn’t such a bad guy, after all, when I met him. When I actually sat down and talked with him, he was nothing like the previous image I had imagined of him. And “Sally?” I had always heard she was like this, when really after meeting her, she’s nothing like that.
And the church down the street? I thought they always … when, actually, they never. And those people from that other country? Well, yes, I did know about their cuisine, but as a culture, there’s so much more. How could I have ever believed I could paint a picture of them without actually visiting with them?
And so it goes. So much of what we imagine is fanciful. There’s no substitute for first-hand experience. Be careful that you are not prejudiced (to be prejudiced is to pre-judge). Don’t just paint crashing waves because you think that’s what the surf is like on Puget Sound. There are mountains (like in North Carolina) and there are mountains (like in the Pacific Northwest). They really don’t look the same.
And Madison Park? Just because it’s big doesn’t mean it isn’t friendly. There’s no substitute for actually being there. In fact, just last Sunday, a young woman told us that she had visited at Scatterfield a couple of years ago and has been wandering from church to church since. She walked into Madison Park and felt immediately “at home.” “I was surprised,” she said, “because it’s so big. But, it’s so much more friendly than where you were before. How do I get involved and belong?”
Bierstadt was a great artist. Too bad he didn’t know what he was painting.
I want to be careful with that, too.
I love you, Madison Park. See you this Sunday, as Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds opens our eyes to Colossians, chapter 2. Sgt. Pepper’s continues August 19. Share your thoughts on Jim’s
The new SAM downtown occupies the first fifteen floors of a new high-rise office building. Traditionally, art museums have been set in retreat like park settings—surrounded by trees, fountains, manicured lawns, and the like. Not the new SAM. It’s all about urban downtown, sidewalks, glass and steel, vertical rise.
That makes the museum experience a bit different. The collection is displayed against a backdrop of floor-to-ceiling windows, high above the traffic and pedestrians below. The floors are polished hardwood, everywhere—and the whole design is minimalist— you know, in the Danish-modern kind of way. Clean lines. Egg-shell palate. Less-is-more. Etc.
It works, though. The art stands out, dramatically, thoughtfully. I was especially impressed by the way the art is accessible; you can get up close and personal—and the explanatory information throughout makes everything understandable, even for art-appreciation duds like me.
One of the most remarkable oil paintings on display is Albert Bierstadt’s Puget Sound on the Pacific Coast. This is a large canvas (about seven feet across and almost five feet high), commissioned in 1870. It represents a beach scene, shadowed by mountains and a threatening sky, with violent surf pounding at the feet of boats and men dwarfed by everything else. The colors are both bold and dark, the images vivid and felt. It really is masterfully done. You can feel the wind blow and hear the surf crash as you stand there staring, agog.
Bierstadt was one of a class of late 19th-century New York City painters called “the Hudson River School.” These artists were conservative in their approach—nothing avant garde about them. They were also globe-trotters, exploring the planet and recreating landscape images in paint—snapshots, if you will, in an age when photography was mostly limited to portraiture.
What’s interesting about Bierstadt’s Puget Sound on the Pacific Coast, though, is that he captured an image he had never seen. Although he traveled adventurously throughout the American West, he had not visited the then Washington Territory. His Puget Sound painting was, simply, the figment of his imagination, a speculative stab at what he thought (based on other people’s tales and what he had read) it would look like. His beach scene was not a real place, at all. And, to be honest, it really doesn’t look much like Puget Sound (even though the painting looks very cool).
Hmmm. I’ve painted a few pictures like that in life, myself. I heard somebody describe someone or something this way or that. I imagined that “it” or “they” really looked like so-and-so or such-and-such. I created my own image of reality and believed it, too. And, because I was a good “painter,” I was believed—when, in fact, I had no first-hand knowledge of what I was depicting in the first place.
“George” really wasn’t such a bad guy, after all, when I met him. When I actually sat down and talked with him, he was nothing like the previous image I had imagined of him. And “Sally?” I had always heard she was like this, when really after meeting her, she’s nothing like that.
And the church down the street? I thought they always … when, actually, they never. And those people from that other country? Well, yes, I did know about their cuisine, but as a culture, there’s so much more. How could I have ever believed I could paint a picture of them without actually visiting with them?
And so it goes. So much of what we imagine is fanciful. There’s no substitute for first-hand experience. Be careful that you are not prejudiced (to be prejudiced is to pre-judge). Don’t just paint crashing waves because you think that’s what the surf is like on Puget Sound. There are mountains (like in North Carolina) and there are mountains (like in the Pacific Northwest). They really don’t look the same.
And Madison Park? Just because it’s big doesn’t mean it isn’t friendly. There’s no substitute for actually being there. In fact, just last Sunday, a young woman told us that she had visited at Scatterfield a couple of years ago and has been wandering from church to church since. She walked into Madison Park and felt immediately “at home.” “I was surprised,” she said, “because it’s so big. But, it’s so much more friendly than where you were before. How do I get involved and belong?”
Bierstadt was a great artist. Too bad he didn’t know what he was painting.
I want to be careful with that, too.
I love you, Madison Park. See you this Sunday, as Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds opens our eyes to Colossians, chapter 2. Sgt. Pepper’s continues August 19. Share your thoughts on Jim’s
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
No Small Change
Everybody likes something new, every now and then. Think: a new car, a new coat, a new day. But, there are some things in life that just should never change. You know, things like the way your mom makes French toast, Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, the scent of lilacs, stuff like that.
While in Seattle on vacation this week, Maureen and I stopped at a Ben & Jerry’s ice cream store on Market Street in Ballard and ordered two fruit smoothies. As I approached the cashier I noticed the sign, in big, handwritten letters: “FEAR CHANGE? Leave it here.” Next to the sign was a jar filled with loose coins and a few dollar bills. Cute.
The next day, Maureen and I, together with our sons and daughter-in-law, drove to the Pacific coast for our annual family reunion. This is the 85th consecutive year that our family has gathered at the beach. For the first 40 years, the family met in a remote little seaside village named Copalis. And then, in the early 1960s, the tribe moved its summer reunion a few miles south on the Washington coast, to Ocean Shores. We’ve been playing Rook (a favorite card game), playing in the sand, exploring tide-pools, sharing meals, and laughing and visiting with five generations of cousins, aunts and uncles, etc., each summer at Ocean Shores every year since.
Until this year. For the first time in 45 years, the family will not gather at Ocean Shores—or even on the Washington coast. We’re converging on the town of Seaside, Oregon. Oregon? Okay, it’s just across the Columbia River from Washington. And, it doesn’t have a sales tax (on anything), unlike Washington. And, it’s still the Pacific coast. But, c’mon. Oregon? Not Ocean Shores? Not Copalis? What ever happened to our sense of tradition? Of keeping some things fixed anchors in this chaotic world of exponential change? Rook just won’t be the same at Seaside. Or clam chowder. Or the starfish in the tide-pools. Or a hundred other details that are sacred to our memory.
Fear change? Not me. I loathe it. At my core, I’m a traditionalist who would prefer that everything just stay the same. Predictable = stable = easier to manage = I don’t have to take risks = I can remain comfortable = I am in control.
But I only had two choices this year for our family reunion: (1) show up in Seaside, or (2) miss it altogether. Either way, my summer was destined to be changed, to be different. We drove to Seaside.
And, guess what? What an absolutely delightful lace Seaside turned out to be! The beach houses we rented were very cool—polished hardwood floors, fireplaces, gabled windows, comfy furniture. Sweeping views of sand dunes and surf. Dramatic coastline. Perfect weather. The town was crowded with quaint cafes, shops, sleepy streets and picturesque bridges across small waterways that empty into the sea. And just down the road is stunning Cannon Beach and the Gibraltar-like Haystack Rock. And the lighthouses at Cape Disappointment. Google these places on-line and see for yourself. They’re fabulous.
Actually, our extended family has had one of its best visits in years. The Pacific sunset at Seaside has been breathtaking. The s’mores at the campfire on the beach? Scrumptious. And, oh yeah, did I tell you that there’s no sales tax in Oregon? Hmmm. Better pick up another T-shirt.
Maybe change is necessary sometimes to appreciate the world around us and expand our horizons. The tradition of getting our family together should never change—but where we get together can change. Maybe, when we make the commitment to stay together as a family, the Lord has a way of exceeding our expectations. It sure worked that way for us at Seaside this year.
And, at Madison Park, too. Thanks so much for embracing the changes—and investing in the future—at Madison Park. It’s a big investment for me to get my wife and kids out west for the family reunion. But there’s no treasure greater than maintaining those relationships. The same can be said of our church family. I know it’s a big investment for many of you to meet at Madison Park. But, I am certain the Lord will honor your choice to do so. Thanks for driving the “extra mile” (or two or twenty) for the joy of seeing one another on Sundays and welcoming new friends. Fear change? No, not really, when we face it together.
Seaside. Madison Park. Places to be surprised for the good and in which to nurture faith and community. If you can’t make it to Seadside this month, Madison Park, too, hath her charms. Even if it’s different. Acts 2:42
While in Seattle on vacation this week, Maureen and I stopped at a Ben & Jerry’s ice cream store on Market Street in Ballard and ordered two fruit smoothies. As I approached the cashier I noticed the sign, in big, handwritten letters: “FEAR CHANGE? Leave it here.” Next to the sign was a jar filled with loose coins and a few dollar bills. Cute.
The next day, Maureen and I, together with our sons and daughter-in-law, drove to the Pacific coast for our annual family reunion. This is the 85th consecutive year that our family has gathered at the beach. For the first 40 years, the family met in a remote little seaside village named Copalis. And then, in the early 1960s, the tribe moved its summer reunion a few miles south on the Washington coast, to Ocean Shores. We’ve been playing Rook (a favorite card game), playing in the sand, exploring tide-pools, sharing meals, and laughing and visiting with five generations of cousins, aunts and uncles, etc., each summer at Ocean Shores every year since.
Until this year. For the first time in 45 years, the family will not gather at Ocean Shores—or even on the Washington coast. We’re converging on the town of Seaside, Oregon. Oregon? Okay, it’s just across the Columbia River from Washington. And, it doesn’t have a sales tax (on anything), unlike Washington. And, it’s still the Pacific coast. But, c’mon. Oregon? Not Ocean Shores? Not Copalis? What ever happened to our sense of tradition? Of keeping some things fixed anchors in this chaotic world of exponential change? Rook just won’t be the same at Seaside. Or clam chowder. Or the starfish in the tide-pools. Or a hundred other details that are sacred to our memory.
Fear change? Not me. I loathe it. At my core, I’m a traditionalist who would prefer that everything just stay the same. Predictable = stable = easier to manage = I don’t have to take risks = I can remain comfortable = I am in control.
But I only had two choices this year for our family reunion: (1) show up in Seaside, or (2) miss it altogether. Either way, my summer was destined to be changed, to be different. We drove to Seaside.
And, guess what? What an absolutely delightful lace Seaside turned out to be! The beach houses we rented were very cool—polished hardwood floors, fireplaces, gabled windows, comfy furniture. Sweeping views of sand dunes and surf. Dramatic coastline. Perfect weather. The town was crowded with quaint cafes, shops, sleepy streets and picturesque bridges across small waterways that empty into the sea. And just down the road is stunning Cannon Beach and the Gibraltar-like Haystack Rock. And the lighthouses at Cape Disappointment. Google these places on-line and see for yourself. They’re fabulous.
Actually, our extended family has had one of its best visits in years. The Pacific sunset at Seaside has been breathtaking. The s’mores at the campfire on the beach? Scrumptious. And, oh yeah, did I tell you that there’s no sales tax in Oregon? Hmmm. Better pick up another T-shirt.
Maybe change is necessary sometimes to appreciate the world around us and expand our horizons. The tradition of getting our family together should never change—but where we get together can change. Maybe, when we make the commitment to stay together as a family, the Lord has a way of exceeding our expectations. It sure worked that way for us at Seaside this year.
And, at Madison Park, too. Thanks so much for embracing the changes—and investing in the future—at Madison Park. It’s a big investment for me to get my wife and kids out west for the family reunion. But there’s no treasure greater than maintaining those relationships. The same can be said of our church family. I know it’s a big investment for many of you to meet at Madison Park. But, I am certain the Lord will honor your choice to do so. Thanks for driving the “extra mile” (or two or twenty) for the joy of seeing one another on Sundays and welcoming new friends. Fear change? No, not really, when we face it together.
Seaside. Madison Park. Places to be surprised for the good and in which to nurture faith and community. If you can’t make it to Seadside this month, Madison Park, too, hath her charms. Even if it’s different. Acts 2:42
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
My Day in the Rain
I’m in Seattle on vacation. You remember, the place I used to call home. It’s a gray, thoughtful, Seattle day. Overcast, with an occasional raindrop and a foggy mist that takes shape and then evaporates, all at once. Cool and clean, I’d say, clothed with the scent of fresh evergreen under the gently brooding sky. It’s not weather that appeals to everybody, I know; most people roll their eyes when I describe it fondly. But, for today, it’s just right for this guy raised up on the shore of Puget Sound.
It’s just right because I received some hard news today. A real disappointment. Something long hoped for—and worked for—has, suddenly, been taken away. That’s how it feels. And it’s tough. It’s not incidental, it’s not a “well, no big deal” kind of a thing. It’s a big loss. A sad moment. A real blow.
It’s an “ouch” and a “ I’m frustrated,” and a “kickin-the-gut” kind of feeling. I’m not sure what even to think, as the reality sinks in. The “why’s,” “what if’s,” and “what now’s,” are all swirling in my head. I’m on vacation, but it doesn’t feel very relaxed right at the minute. The tough edge of life has intervened.
Of course, in my line of work, I walk other people through disappointments all of the time. I know all of the cosmic explanations, the Bible verses-that-bring-perspective, the Romans 8:28 embroidery, and all the rest. I know how to pray. I know how to sort things out. I know what to do.
Except, today, on this gray, thoughtful Seattle day, I don’t feel encouraged by any of the stuff I dish out routinely to others. It’s not always so easy to practice what I preach.
Part of me wants to be mad. Another part wants to just fold up my tent and walk away. Or pout. Or feel sorry for myself. Or be passive/aggressive (projecting my aggression passively, by playing the martyr and just being quiet—with a sigh or a stare or a shrug). What difference does it make, anyway? Things didn’t work out the way I’d hoped. I’ve got new problems to face now. New and deeper canyons to cross. Ugh. Just forget it. St. James has had enough. And, yes, at times like these, I don’t want to hear anybody else whine about anything else. We’ve all got problems, okay?
Yuck. My attitude stinks. It doesn’t help me or change anything for the better. It pulls me further down—and makes me poor company, too.
I feel worse for my introverted tirade. And, even though there’s a kind of perverse energy in feasting on my negative junk, I know it’s a dead end.
I stare out the window at Green Lake. It’s a beautiful, peaceful view from the brick tudor house on the corner that I call “home” for a few weeks each year. Facing west across the lake, I can see a group of crew shells slicing through the water. There are joggers and power-walkers on the perimeter path, below my perch—just beyond the sloping green grass and next to the weeping willows. The clouds move silently, undulating and morphing into different shapes and forms, breaking up here and there to reveal a hint of blue sky. A shaft of light breaks through and then disappears.
God is fighting for me. Not against me. I do believe that. Maybe today’s disappointment is just a stop on a longer journey, in which God will lead me and my family to a better outcome than even I had dared for once to dream. I have a choice to make: wallow in my disappointment or watch for God to intervene for the good. Hmmm. I’m going to believe God will show up tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next. With evidence that He is, in fact, working things together for the good. Because I am called according to His purpose. And, I love Him.
Maybe Romans 8:28 works after all. Or check this out (Hebrews 11:6): So, you see, it is impossible to please God without faith. Anyone who wants to come to Him must believe that there is a God and that He rewards those who sincerely seek Him. I have to make a choice. I choose to believe. Even in the face of my deep disappointment.
Maybe I shouldn’t write a column like this. Kind of a downer. After all, I should be trafficking in the inspirational, right? But, everybody has good days and bad days. The rain falls on the just and the unjust. And droughts fall on both, too. That’s life. My life isn’t without its challenges, just like yours. But, in the end, we all have the same choice to make. I’ve decided, once more, to “wait upon the Lord.” The devil has taken enough away from me today. I’m not giving him another inch. If it’s rained on your parade this week, too, I pray that you’ll make the same choice, as well.
And, hey, I’m in the Emerald City, after all, with my wife and family. Things can’t be all that bad. Colossians 3:2.
It’s just right because I received some hard news today. A real disappointment. Something long hoped for—and worked for—has, suddenly, been taken away. That’s how it feels. And it’s tough. It’s not incidental, it’s not a “well, no big deal” kind of a thing. It’s a big loss. A sad moment. A real blow.
It’s an “ouch” and a “ I’m frustrated,” and a “kickin-the-gut” kind of feeling. I’m not sure what even to think, as the reality sinks in. The “why’s,” “what if’s,” and “what now’s,” are all swirling in my head. I’m on vacation, but it doesn’t feel very relaxed right at the minute. The tough edge of life has intervened.
Of course, in my line of work, I walk other people through disappointments all of the time. I know all of the cosmic explanations, the Bible verses-that-bring-perspective, the Romans 8:28 embroidery, and all the rest. I know how to pray. I know how to sort things out. I know what to do.
Except, today, on this gray, thoughtful Seattle day, I don’t feel encouraged by any of the stuff I dish out routinely to others. It’s not always so easy to practice what I preach.
Part of me wants to be mad. Another part wants to just fold up my tent and walk away. Or pout. Or feel sorry for myself. Or be passive/aggressive (projecting my aggression passively, by playing the martyr and just being quiet—with a sigh or a stare or a shrug). What difference does it make, anyway? Things didn’t work out the way I’d hoped. I’ve got new problems to face now. New and deeper canyons to cross. Ugh. Just forget it. St. James has had enough. And, yes, at times like these, I don’t want to hear anybody else whine about anything else. We’ve all got problems, okay?
Yuck. My attitude stinks. It doesn’t help me or change anything for the better. It pulls me further down—and makes me poor company, too.
I feel worse for my introverted tirade. And, even though there’s a kind of perverse energy in feasting on my negative junk, I know it’s a dead end.
I stare out the window at Green Lake. It’s a beautiful, peaceful view from the brick tudor house on the corner that I call “home” for a few weeks each year. Facing west across the lake, I can see a group of crew shells slicing through the water. There are joggers and power-walkers on the perimeter path, below my perch—just beyond the sloping green grass and next to the weeping willows. The clouds move silently, undulating and morphing into different shapes and forms, breaking up here and there to reveal a hint of blue sky. A shaft of light breaks through and then disappears.
God is fighting for me. Not against me. I do believe that. Maybe today’s disappointment is just a stop on a longer journey, in which God will lead me and my family to a better outcome than even I had dared for once to dream. I have a choice to make: wallow in my disappointment or watch for God to intervene for the good. Hmmm. I’m going to believe God will show up tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next. With evidence that He is, in fact, working things together for the good. Because I am called according to His purpose. And, I love Him.
Maybe Romans 8:28 works after all. Or check this out (Hebrews 11:6): So, you see, it is impossible to please God without faith. Anyone who wants to come to Him must believe that there is a God and that He rewards those who sincerely seek Him. I have to make a choice. I choose to believe. Even in the face of my deep disappointment.
Maybe I shouldn’t write a column like this. Kind of a downer. After all, I should be trafficking in the inspirational, right? But, everybody has good days and bad days. The rain falls on the just and the unjust. And droughts fall on both, too. That’s life. My life isn’t without its challenges, just like yours. But, in the end, we all have the same choice to make. I’ve decided, once more, to “wait upon the Lord.” The devil has taken enough away from me today. I’m not giving him another inch. If it’s rained on your parade this week, too, I pray that you’ll make the same choice, as well.
And, hey, I’m in the Emerald City, after all, with my wife and family. Things can’t be all that bad. Colossians 3:2.
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