Pastor's Column

Jim's Blog Has Moved

2008-12-08T15:46:00.003-05:00

Jim's Blog has moved to http://threads.madisonparkchurch.org. This site will remain open as an archive for an indefinite time. Questions? Contact Kevin Majeski, Communications Director at Madison Park Church of God.

Fortitude, Light & Hope

2008-11-25T11:57:00.002-05:00

by Jim Lyon, Senior Pastor

Everybody knows that the fabled pilgrims set sail on the Mayflower in 1620 and headed for Virginia—but landed in Massachusetts instead. Ouch. And you think you got lost trying to find that new little restaurant in Fishers. And then there was that whole surviving the New England winter thing (47% of the Pilgrims, in fact, did not survive), bitter cold, howling winds, blowing snow, and all the rest. Very unpleasant.

As troubled as that first year in the Plymouth Colony was, this band of Pilgrims interpreted their experience as just another step forward in their journey with God. They were accustomed to making sacrifices for their faith; the harrowing challenges of building a new life in the New World were preferred over the terrible price they had already paid for their old life in the Old World.

The Pilgrims were a congregation of believers who refused to conform to the prevailing (at the time) Church of England. While living at home in England, the Pilgrims found that it was actually against the law not to go to Anglican services on Sunday; every Englishman who did not attend was fined the equivalent of six pounds (about $10 today). Jobs were scarce, ridicule was abundant, official and social ostracism was unbearable. They would not accept what they considered to be a corrupted practice of Christianity and elected to flee first to The Netherlands. In a way welcoming, Holland still was a stretch for them; the Pilgrims found the cultural adjustments very rough. They treasured their English language and heritage, but saw it all falling quickly away as their children began to speak Dutch. Amsterdam, even way back then, was a place of moral license, in which the Pilgrims felt very uncomfortable and threatened. And it appeared that Spain might reassert control over the low countries (like Holland). The Pilgrims feared trading the persecution of one crown for another. Where to go? What to do?

The answer? Cross the vast Atlantic on the Mayflower, of course, and settle in America. They were not the first to do so—and certainly not the last. Few assumed greater risks to pursue their dream, though. Sailing from Britain in September and landing near Cape Cod on the following November 21, the Pilgrims were confined “below decks,” by the crew, stricken with scurvy and who knows what else for months. Wading ashore in that bleak, damp November, weakened, hungry, and rancid from so many months in closed quarters, the Pilgrims had to wonder, “What have we done?” as they considered carving a new home in the dark, overpowering wilderness.

The miracle of the colony’s survival, the drama of the small party’s ambition, the anchoring faith in God which held them steady and led them to overcome impossible odds is now too often dismissed as quaint legend. It is not. It is history. It is our history. It is the history from which the kernels of American self-government and civilization have been planted and grown. It is the history of Thanksgiving Day.

The story of that “first” Thanksgiving feast day (well, actually, days—it was a three day celebration) is at the core of the whole narrative. A people who might have spent days complaining and gripped by fear and doubt, chose instead to spend their days thanking God, acknowledging His sovereign hand and trusting Him for their future. The power of that thanksgiving to transform their course is what Abraham Lincoln recognized (in another very challenging season of the nation’s life) when, in 1863, he established the custom, by Presidential proclamation, of calling the nation to prayer and thanksgiving on the last Thursday of November. (Franklin Roosevelt later adjusted the traditional date from “the last” to “the fourth” Thursday in November–to extend the Christmas holiday shopping season in the wake of the Great Depression).

And so, these 387 years after the first Pilgrim Thanksgiving, as we stare into our future with confidence sometimes shaken, as we wonder what lies around the bend, as the-once-mighty General Motors teeters near collapse, as questions can seem to outnumber answers, as the November weather turns chill on its way to winter, we, too, can find transformational light and hope in the Pilgrim (and very biblical) commitment to thanksgiving.

This Thanksgiving Day, stop and pray. Pray with others in your house. Acknowledge God. Thank Him for His sovereign hand in your life (yes, even in the midst of tough stuff), and trust Him for the days ahead. Identify three things for which you can thank God out loud, in the company of witnesses. Read a Psalm (like Psalm 138); read it, also, out loud. Don’t even think about eating that turkey (or those sweet potatoes with melted marshmallows on top) without thanking God first.

And, oh yeah, thank God this year that those Pilgrims didn’t give up. Their faithfulness and fortitude have blessed generations. Yours can, too.
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Important Notice: On November 26, Jim's Blog will migrate to the Threads blog (http://threads.madisonparkchurch.org). This site will remain open as an archive for an indefinite time. Questions? Contact Kevin Majeski, Communications Director at Madison Park Church of God.

For Heaven's Sake

2008-11-11T09:26:00.002-05:00

by Jim Lyon, Senior Pastor

I love working at Trunk ‘n Treat on Halloween. Our trunk’s lame décor will never win a prize—but some trunk displays could (like the fabulous Wizard of Oz set-up, featuring a yellow-brick road, tin man, and Emerald City-with-a-Space Needle, that Becky “Dorothy” Rosenberg and Chris Sheets brought to life … or the Ten Commandments extravaganza, complete with growling Pharaoh, pyramids, and smiling Moses) that the Trick Small Group staged a few trunks up from mine … or Steve and Linda Elliott’s Popeye and Olive Oil, surrounded by a tower of spinach cans … well, you get the idea).

As Maureen and I enjoyed that balmy Halloween evening last week, a dream suddenly was realized. I didn’t notice it at first, but something we had imagined years before suddenly was taking place, right before our eyes. From the first day we began dreaming of Madison Park we dreamed of a place where everyone would feel welcome. Traditionally, Anderson has had its “sides.” You know, there’s the “west side,” “east side,” “north side,” etc. Different neighborhoods and “sides” are owned by “them” or by “us.” I-69 has for 40 years been the southern boundary of “Anderson.” On the north side of the interstate, territory was essentially carved up. On the south side of the interstate, well, it was a “no man’s land.” It didn’t belong to anyone. Maybe that’s why Meijer is the most integrated supermarket in Madison County and why Ryan’s is the county’s most integrated restaurant. They’re both in the “no man’s land” south of the interstate. And now, our church is, too.

The dream? That Madison Park could be a safe place for folks from every segment of our community: “red and yellow, black and white,” and everybody else. It happened at Trunk ‘n Treat. I watched it. A gazillion kids and their families (okay, maybe not a gazillion, but over 1,300 anyway) representing every imaginable part of our community. White kids. African-American kids. Asian kids. Hispanic kids. Rich kids. Poor kids. Hearing-impaired kids. Physically-challenged kids. And challenging kids. They were all there. It was the world Heaven sees every day and a world we see all too rarely. It was a dream come true. Full of life and energy, laughter, hope and promise. Another Madison Park dream realized, if but for the moment. Awesome.

Dreams work. They really do. Joseph-in-Genesis had a dream. Joseph-in-Matthew was warned in a dream. Jacob had a dream. Peter’s whole sense of the Gospel was changed in a dream on a rooftop in Joppa. Paul was called to take the Gospel to Europe in a dream. Martin Luther King had a dream. You have some dreams. So do I. And together, we have been a part of the unfolding dream at Madison Park.

We’ve dreamed of thousands—yes, thousands—being saved. We’re on our way—with more baptisms and conversions at Madison Park in the last year than ever before in our congregation’s history. We’ve dreamed of being salt and light, actually changing the way our community lives. The GoTo26.com committee of local businesses (serving as a catalyst for enhancing the visibility and viability of development at Exit 26) was born at Madison Park. The Dove Harbor auction in The Commons last month (helping to underwrite this critically important Christian ministry to displaced women and children) was the best attended ever. The conferences and conventions we have been able to host at Madison Park in the last year have opened doors not just for us, but for all of Madison County. The dream of a convergence zone at Madison Park (with the church at its center) for the northeast Indianapolis metro stills lives. Believers across the world wait and pray for our dreams to come true, too--knowing that God will bless them as He blesses us over time.

I am absolutely convinced that Dreams-at-Madison-Park-do-work. But, like every God-given dream (as those guys in Scripture learned) every dream requires courage, daring, steady sacrifice, and long-term commitment. Thanks to each one whose faithful giving has helped bring us this far; thanks to each one who is joining the team. Remember, every one million dollars in debt we retire frees up $7,600 monthly for bringing new ministry to life. When you participate in the Dreams Work iniative, you literally change the world.

Check out the Dreams Word below. If you haven’t already signed up to be a part of Dreams Work, prayerfully do so this week. Madison Park needs you. God has opened a door of breathtaking opportunity right here, right now, for all of us.

In all the world there is no investment you can make anywhere that will do more good over time than investing in Dreams Work. I truly believe that. More people in more places will benefit than any other sacrifice you can make. And you’ll be blessed right-back, too. Your commitment matters. Be encouraged. And, keep dreaming, for Heaven’s sake.

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Important Notice: On November 26, Jim's Blog will migrate to the Threads blog (http://threads.madisonparkchurch.org). This site will remain open as an archive for an indefinite time. Questions? Contact Kevin Majeski, Communications Director at Madison Park Church of God.

Worship With Your Life

2008-10-27T17:43:00.006-04:00

by Joe Webb, Senior High and College Ministries Pastor

I can’t believe that it has been over 6 years! I can’t believe I have had 3 boys! I can’t believe that I have lived in 3 homes, owned 4 different cars, had 3 different job titles and have had 2 different offices. A lot has changed since my wife Kristi and I came to Anderson so I could fulfill the role of Jr. High Director. And let me tell you, it has been wonderful! My life verse since I have been here can be found in Romans 12:1. It says (in Joe’s paraphrase) to live out your life as a worship song to God. It’s been a journey, and I have loved seeing God at work in my family.

Well, now in my journey, as many of you know, the worship song must change. God has been calling me to lead worship full-time with my voice and guitar. I am excited and nervous all at the same time. That seems to accompany many adventures with God. Kristi, Jake, Luke, Kaleb, and I will be moving to Walla Walla, Washington in mid-November to take on a new role. I will assume the position as Worship Pastor at Blue Mountain Community Church.

I wanted to write to let you know that we love you! We will miss you! We will never forget you! Our time here in Anderson has shaped us, matured us, challenged us and grown us. We want to thank you for believing in us, supporting us, encouraging us, and reminding us of your love on a frequent basis. We truly will hold all of you close to our hearts. If I could say one last thing, I guess it would be: Offer your bodies and lives as a sacrifice to God! This is your spiritual act of worship. I can’t tell you where it will lead you, but let me tell you, it will be an amazing journey with the Creator.

We love you,
The Webbs

Covered in Prayer
by Jeff Matas, Senior Associate Pastor

On October 1, Joe Webb, our Senior High and College Ministries Pastor announced that he had accepted a call to be the Worship Pastor at Blue Mountain Community Church, a Church of God congregation in Walla Walla, Washington. Joe’s last day “on the job” at Madison Park will be Wednesday, November 12 as he leads Ignite for the final time. For the last eighteen months, Joe has sensed God calling him to worship ministry. His call to Blue Mountain Community Church was a result of much prayer, healthy dialog with Senior Pastor Jim Lyon and myself, and ultimately God’s leading. Madison Park has been blessed by Joe and the student ministry he has developed and led. The impact he has had on our students, past and present, is a tremendous legacy that will follow Joe... even across the continent to a far away place called Walla Walla. We will dearly miss Joe, Kristi, and their sons Jake, Luke and Kaleb.

As a pastor who has moved across the country, I know how important it is for a pastor and their family to be covered in prayer. Please join me in praying for Joe, Kristi and the boys as they prepare for this move; and also for their families back home in Indiana.

A search team is being formed that will lead the process of filling the Senior High and College Ministries Pastor position. If you have any questions, suggestions or comments please contact me at the Church. Your input and voice are important.

Important Notice: On November 26, Jim's Blog will migrate to the Threads blog (http://threads.madisonparkchurch.org). This site will remain open as an archive for an indefinite time. Questions? Contact Kevin Majeski, Communications Director at Madison Park Church of God.

Ride the Wave

2008-10-13T16:49:00.001-04:00

Everybody knows that we’re in the midst of a global financial meltdown. The Dow Jones has plummeted. Stocks worldwide have tumbled. Credit markets are frozen. Central banks from London to Brussels to New York are working together to stave off even more dread economic news. It’s enough to make even the most sage investor wonder. Are we watching the birth of another “1929”—a depression so grave that future generations will think we lived Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath?

From the Federal Reserve to the European Central Bank, from President Bush to Presidential wannabes Barack Obama and John McCain, from Congress to the Bank of England, from the talking heads on CNBC to the Wall Street Journal, nobody seems to know what to do or how things will turn out. Events of the last few weeks are grim reminders of just how fragile our security blankets really are, of just how limited governments can be.

Still, God is on the throne. He works for the good always. His is a fortune that cannot be diminished, a portfolio of inexhaustible supply. Somehow, someway, He provides for His own. Be encouraged, even in the tempest.

Our congregation’s financial prospects ride the wave, just like yours. Our ability to pay the bills, live up to God’s call and purposes, and reach for the future are all hinged on the individual journeys of our members. Thanks for your faithfulness. Thanks for holding steady, for your generosity, and for acting on your faith: seek first the Kingdom of God and everything you need will be provided to you (remember, that’s Jesus talking in the Sermon on the Mount).

Here are some things for which to pray, as we watch the financial headlines unfold:

(1) Three congregations are “circling” around our Scatterfield property; two of these have actually conducted Sunday services there this fall. There is real interest in all three in buying the building from us. Pray that one will make an offer and that a deal can be closed soon. It is sacred ground on Scatterfield, as all of us know—and we are convinced the Lord has plans for it. I have come to believe one of these three may, before too many more weeks pass, make our last church home its own. We will save $7,600 each month for every one million dollars we reduce our debt—a Scatterfield sale should net us about two million.

(2) We are close to closing a deal on the sale of four acres at Madison Park to a developer from Chicago (who plans to build a three-story residential building there). This project will be a wonderful complement to our existing facilities and would be situated at the intersection of Providence Drive and South 67th Street. Pray that all of the details will be shortly ironed out. Construction is forecast to begin early next spring. This sale should net us about $600,000.

(3) Over the last few months, Madison Park has been the catalyst for a new initiative to enhance the visibility and viability of Exit 26 off Interstate 69. Dubbed GoTo26.com, the idea is to form a new business and community association to promote Exit 26 as a destination along I-69 and in neighboring counties. There are over 130 businesses between Starbuck’s and Menard’s in the Scatterfield corridor, including 38 restaurants, 37 retailers, 33 service providers (like banks, hair salons, and so on), and more. Of course, pulling traffic off I-69 gives the church new opportunities, too. GoTo26.com is not online, yet, but it is alive and growing. There has been enthusiastic support from the city, business owners big and small, and encouragement from the Chamber of Commerce, as well. Pray that Exit 26, which is already the convergence zone of Madison County, will grow and prosper—and that Madison Park will be salt and light here, always. Remember, 65,000 people drive by Madison Park every day on I-69.

(4) November will mark the first anniversary of our Dreams Work campaign—the emphasis last fall which invited all of us to dream and help underwrite the dream of ministry at Madison Park. Stay tuned for testimonies of God’s provision and goodness. He has opened hearts and minds to Heaven in ways we could not have imagined. Thanks, once more, to all who have sacrificed for the dream; thanks for all those who have shared in the dream. And, if you’d like to know more about how you can be a part of the Madison Park Dream, please give us a call: (765) 642-2000 and ask for Rob Spaulding. Dreams work. They really do. Keep dreaming.

The Lord is faithful. Invest in Heaven’s store and in God’s purposes. He will take care of the rest. Yes, it’s a risk, yes, you will be tempted to hoard in hard times instead of to give. But, when you think about it, are your investments otherwise any more secure? Hmmm. Thanks for your generosity and faithfulness, always, Madison Park. God will honor you.

Hugs From Mom

2008-09-16T13:39:00.001-04:00

Last year I received a “free ticket” voucher from United Airlines, after a flight schedule was changed. I learned that I couldn’t actually convert the voucher into a ticket unless I personally visited a United ticket counter—which, of course, means a trip to the Indianapolis airport, standing in line, etc. A hassle. I forgot about the “free ticket.”

In July I flew home from Charlotte on Northwest. While waiting in the airport security line, I found myself in front of the United counter. No passengers were there—none—but two agents were standing behind the counter. I fumbled in my briefcase and, yep, the voucher was there. I looked at my watch, I decided to take a chance.

I handed over the voucher. “Can you give me a free ticket?” The agent replied, “Sure; the voucher expires tomorrow.” She pointed out the “Expires July 14, 2008” in block print on the bottom. Whew. Just made it.

“Where do you want to go?” the agent asked. Uh, oh yeah. Where do I want to go? Something inside of me said, “Go to San Francisco and see your birthmother.”

I’m adopted; my birthmother has not seen me since my birth, 56 years ago. Like my wife, she is named Maureen. She called me once in 1991. And, then again in 2003 (I think). A few times after that. I cannot call her. I am her only child. She’s been married 50 years. She lives in San Francisco. She was born and raised in Ireland. She’s never told anyone about me; she was unmarried when I was born. Flying to San Francisco to see someone I’ve never met, who didn’t know I was coming, whose occasional phone calls are few and far between, seemed preposterous. But, “the still small voice” repeated, “Go to San Francisco.”

“San Francisco,” I said after a pause. “Fine,” the agent replied, “when do you want to go?” Hmmm. “The voice” said, “the week following Labor Day.”

“The week following Labor Day—but I have to be back by Saturday. I have a Sunday job, you know.” The lady behind the counter looked at me curiously, “Uh huh.”

I walked away with a $727.00 ticket, for free. I ran to the gate, boarded my plane, got home at midnight. I looked at the ticket to SFO. “What was I thinking? This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

Monday morning, July 14: I noticed there was a message on my cell phone. I picked it up and listened.

“Hello, Jim,” said the voice with the pronounced Irish accent, “it’s Maureen in San Francisco. I am sorry I missed you. I will try and reach you another time. God bless.” Incredibly, it was “the other Maureen,” my birthmother. Astonishing. I had no way to call her back, but I knew God was “the voice,” that He was at work.

She called again on September 2; I picked up the phone and told her I was going to be in San Francisco the next day. She wasn’t sure if she could see me. She just didn’t know. I got on the plane September 3. On September 4, while jogging along the Bay, I prayed earnestly for something to happen—a crumb, a call. “Maybe this was the stupidest thing I have ever done,” I thought. At 11:30am, she called again. “Can you meet me tomorrow at 11:40am?” asked the soft Irish voice. “Of course,” I answered, “I promise.”

I stood in the parking lot. What does she look like? I wasn’t looking for the diminutive little 76-year old woman standing nearby. At last, I noticed her: slender, short, dressed liked she’d walked out of a Talbot’s store. I walked over, “My name is Jim Lyon.” She immediately gasped and gave me a hug. We walked across the way and sat down, talking for an hour.

She was lovely. Bright. Engaging. Genuine. She described her journey, as I prompted her with questions. She repeatedly interrupted with a gentle, “I can’t believe it has taken 56 years …” “I have prayed for you so long …”

But, of all the things she said, one thing will never be forgotten. “When I discovered I was pregnant, my doctor encouraged me to have an abortion. I was terrified. I had nowhere to go, nowhere to turn. I did not know what I would do.” She took a breath, as if reliving those troubled days. “But I knew what I would not do. I would not end your life.” I stared back, my eyes tearing up. “It’s so good to see you,” she said, again, “after 56 years.”

She looked at her watch. Her husband would be waiting—she had to be on her way. He does not know. “It would kill him if he knew,” she told me. “Can you understand?” “Yes, of course, I understand. Thanks so much for seeing me today.”

“I will be in touch,” she said as she stood up and gave me another hug. “And, please give your mother my love. Tell her I thank God for her every day, for the way she has loved and cared for you. She must be a lovely woman to have raised a man like you.” She looked up and stared at my face again. “Thank you,” she said quietly. One more hug. And she was gone. I turned and began to cry. I didn’t mean to. I just did.

I flew home and gave my mom a hug.

Desktop Snapshot…

2008-09-02T09:57:00.002-04:00

I’ve heard it said that the surface of a desk is a snapshot of the person who works there. For example, a clean and tidy desk discloses the order of its owner; conversely, a chaotic collection of random papers, books, and post-it notes suggests somebody’s treading water and may drown. Hmmm. Although there are limits to the premise, of course, my desk does say something about me, I guess. Yours probably does the same for you.

I like to keep my desk top generally clear. There’s a lot of paper traffic that flies across my desk each day, processed, tossed, responded-to, and, sometimes, stuffed into the drawer below. But, I keep the top clean, most of the time. As I look at it just now, a few things jump to my attention:

(1) There’s a memo about the roof at Madison Park. Everyone knows that our new building at Madison Park has been marvelous in every way, except that “talking roof.”

Our builders (W. R. Dunkin & Son) have worked tirelessly, over the last year to resolve the problem. In May, our Board of Elders approved a deal to replace the roof with a new material and amended design. The roofing subcontractor (Fredericks) and the manufacturer (Firestone) have agreed to replace at no cost. Additionally, the Elders approved $65,000 to add a new layer of decking between the roof and the ceiling to minimize any future creaking (produced by the ordinary heating and cooling of the roof’s exterior surface). Today’s memo explains that the work will begin on September 8; the project should be complete within a few weeks, maybe even days. Our Sunday and Wednesday meeting schedules will not be interrupted. Thanks for being patient when you are redirected away from the main front doors on in-between days, as the “old” roof is removed and the new one installed (across the Main Auditorium and Commons). We are very thankful for the outstanding work W. R. Dunkin has done on our behalf throughout the whole project.

(2) A note reminds me that our new Grow U options (on both Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings) have been an unqualified success this fall, as a fantastic line-up of adult learning electives has been filling our Main Street classrooms at Madison Park. Hats off to Discipleship and Education Director Sarah Trick and her team for dreaming, launching, and managing Grow U. Check out the catalog and very cool Grow U “self assessment” materials at the Information Center in the Commons this week—or, as always, go on line: www.madisonparkchurch.org. Learn. Stretch. Grow U.

(3) Two other notes alert me to the violence sweeping through the Indian state of Orissa this week, as rampaging Hindu extremists have torched Christian churches, orphanages, and schools. Religious persecution is no stranger to this area, but events are spinning out of control. The Church of God has extensive work in Orissa (including the historic school and orphanage compound at Cuttack); it is at Cuttack that Christians Broadcasting Hope (CBH) produces its Hindi and Oriya (a regional language spoken by 65 million) broadcasts. The Christians there are in grave danger and are appealing for our prayers; Church of God leader, Asim Das, has issued an urgent plea; other sources (from the BBC to voices from other parts of India) are also sounding the alarm. Pray that God will supernaturally protect and provide for His people. Never take your freedom to worship for granted.

(4) My open Bible keeps me focused. I just read the Lord’s famous words (Matthew 5:13-16) calling us to be “salt and light,” reminding us that salt has no value if it looses its saltiness, challenging us to shine light everywhere. It’s not always easy knowing how to be salt and light—and it’s always easier to shrink back from controversy and struggle, trying to alter the taste of the world in which we walk. But, the imperative to try is nevertheless clear. My present preaching series (Change your life. Change your world.) is hinged along this line. My last Threads column, in which I reflected on the Anderson Community School Board’s conduct, is also a part of bringing this word to life. There’s much more to tell; stay tuned.

(5) There’s a post-it note with a web address on my desk. It’s from a guy in California who asked me to check it out. He’s just beginning (at age 66) to explore the Gospel and has started attending church. He wants to know if the church he has chosen is safe—if it is legit, in my view. I’ve gone to the website and been very impressed. I think he’s in good hands. But, that reminds, me: check out our website, too. You can read our Core Values there and see what anchors us. It’s good stuff—worth revisiting, from time to time.

There’s another corner of my desk that I never clear, though … three framed photos: two of my wife and me, the other of our sons and daughter-in-law. Maybe my desk top does give a snapshot of my world, after all. I’m very thankful to be right here, right now.

Speak the Truth In Love

2008-08-20T13:39:00.001-04:00

On April 21 of this year, Robert Scott resigned from the Anderson Community School Corporation (ACSC) Board of Trustees. Shortly thereafter, ACSC invited interested persons to submit “letters of interest,” to be considered for appointment completing the remaining two years of Scott’s “at-large” term. The Board President explained that interviews would be conducted from the pool of prospective candidates. State law requires the Trustees to fill Board vacancies within 30 days. The law does not outline a process for doing so.

The deadline for submission of “letters of interest” was set for May 9–three days after three incumbent members of the Board were to face re-election on May 6. Two of these (Teddy Bohnencamp and Wally Fitch) were subsequently defeated at the polls. In a three-way race, 62% of those voting voted against incumbent Bohnencamp. By May 8, Bohnencamp had declared her intention to seek appointment to the Board, hoping to move into Scott’s at-large seat (after surrendering her own).

Eleven other candidates also submitted “letters of interest.” Without even a day’s notice to any of the applicants, the Board met on May 20, announced that “the three most sincere candidates” would be interviewed and then a decision made. The interviews consisted of one question each and took less than five minutes. Bohnencamp was interviewed last. Just minutes later, the Board voted unanimously to appoint her to complete Scott’s unexpired term, fourteen days after the public had denied her another term at the ballot box.

So, Jim, what’s the point? Well, I was one of the 11 other citizens who submitted a “letter of interest,” after prayerful and thoughtful reflection. Here’s my story:

When I was called to lead this congregation, I was given a license—a mandate, really—from the church’s leadership to become engaged with the larger community, to be a voice for the common good, to be salt and light. To that end, I have been a member of the governing boards of agencies like United Way, Hopewell Center, and the Community Health Network in Indianapolis; I have served as Board Chair at Anderson’s Community Hospital. I represented 74,000 people in northwest Seattle in the Washington State legislature (before moving to Indiana) and have a long history providing leadership in many other religiously affiliated and charitable organizations. I am the Chair of the India Gospel League (NA), which will this year educate 300,000 children in India. I was the founding pastor of the Fairview Christian School in Seattle; my family has filled many leading volunteer roles in ACSC. And, oh yeah, we raised our four sons in Anderson Community Schools. I may not have been the best candidate, but I was credible.

When the process of appointment unfolded without even rudimentary contact or any substantive public review—I felt like someone had to stand up and say something. If I can be so easily dismissed, what happens to others who have less standing or no platform from which to speak? Teddy Bohnencamp is a good woman; I believe she has our school system’s best interest at heart. Still, some questions must be asked. Who established the May 9 deadline for applicants, following the May 6 election? Was it a “parachute” for potentially vulnerable incumbents? Did the Board develop a framework for appointment, following Scott’s resignation? If so, why weren’t any of the candidates or the larger public informed? If not, why not? Is serving on the school board so incidental that no thoughtful process needs to be crafted and implemented? Why weren’t applicants contacted before May 20? Why wasn’t receipt of their “letters of interest” acknowledged? Does anyone in the ACSC comprehend how compromising the whole sad chapter appears?

The ACSC Board holds in its hands our future. No group of persons requires more moral authority, wisdom, or the ability to inspire a community-wide collaboration than this group does. The appointment of Bohnencamp has become the “poster child” for many other weak links in our public education chain. The most important step the Board can now take to strengthen that chain is to provide clear, unequivocal answers to the questions above. They have declined to do so since first posed in person (and by letter) on June 10. Incredibly, the Board unanimously elected Bohnencamp its new President on July 8. The woman turned out of office on May 6 is now the Board President, without any explanation to the public, except: “Everything done has been legal, ethical, and fair.” Board member P. T. Morgan, alone, has gone on record expressing regret for his part in this debacle.

I have no personal issues with any member of the Board. But, the Board’s conduct has been so deeply flawed, its blank stare in the face of public skepticism, its unwillingness to even address the questions its course has birthed, and its apparent intention to proceed as if nothing problematic has occurred, seats us all at a kind of Mad Hatter’s Tea Party at which down is up and the obvious is ignored. New, fundamental concerns about how ACSC is governed spring to life each week that passes under this shadow. And that should concern all of us.

Pray. Get involved. Pay attention. Be encouraged. Speak the truth in love. Jesus

The Famous, the Infamous, the Lame

2008-08-05T10:41:00.001-04:00

“What did you do last summer?” It’s the proverbial first assignment of every school year, the essay everyone professes to dread, often because “I didn’t do anything last summer,” or, at least, “I didn’t do anything really cool last summer.”

My school days are long gone, though. Too bad. Because I’ve got some really neat stuff to tell about my vacation this year.

I had the chance to visit my oldest son, Jacob, in Alaska. Jacob moved to Anchorage two years ago, to take a new job. He’s loved it; he’ll never move back to Hoosierland, so far as I can tell. There’s something about the adventure, the challenge, and the excitement of the nation’s “last frontier” that has stolen his heart.

After visiting Jake in the 49th state, I know why.

Here’s some fascinating trivia that would make great filler for my “what did I do last summer” report:

Alaska is the English adaptation of the Aleut word Alyeska, which means “great land.”

Alaska spans four time zones. If a map of Alaska was superimposed over a map of the lower 48, it would stretch from coast-to-coast. There are uninhabited tracts of land in Alaska larger than the state of Texas. Denali National Park (which includes Mt. McKinley, the continent’s highest peak) is larger than the state of Massachusetts. But at 6,000,000 acres, Denali is small potatoes compared to the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. Wrangell is the nation’s largest national park—almost twice the size of Denali and larger than Switzerland (with more mountains, too).

Anchorage is one of the world’s busiest airports. Why? It’s the number one air cargo transfer point in the world—as jumbo jets carrying merchandise between Europe, Asia, and the two Americas stop, transfer, and refuel there 24/7.

Over 50% of Alaska’s land mass is owned by the federal government. Another 30% is owned by the State of Alaska. The “native corporations” (owned by Alaska’s original peoples like the Eskimo, Aleut, and Athabascan) own another 19%. That leaves only 1% of Alaska for private development. But, that 1% is no small chunk—that 1% is still almost three times the size of Delaware. The North Slope School District is the world’s largest, covering 93,000 square miles (that’s almost three times the size of the whole state of Indiana).

Over 25% of the oil produced in the United States comes from Alaska. The state government’s share of that oil wealth means that Alaskans pay no sales or state income tax. They’re still mining gold in the Alaska mountains, too—and have been ever since Joe Juneau discovered it in the panhandle in 1880.

Alaska remains a land of astonishing opportunity—a place that seems everywhere to be “in the making.” The state’s motto: “north to the future” is more than apt. The culture of optimism, can-do, “let’s give it a try” no matter what the odds, is contagious and energizing. We can see why Jacob loves it there.

For all of the superlatives, though—for all of the spectacle of Mt. McKinley in stark relief against the deep blue sky, for the hushed wonder of watching grizzly bears, wolves, caribou, doll sheep, eagles, and more in the vast wild (yep, we saw ‘em all), for all of the breathtaking glaciers and whale-watching on the Seward coast (yep, we saw the whales, too)—nothing can describe the best part of “what I did last summer.”

The best part? It was walking off the plane in Anchorage and seeing Jacob Lyon at the gate. Because he works in the tourist trade, he has a security clearance at the airport. He was actually standing at the arrival gate, as we walked off the jetway. Tall. Self assured. Handsome. Grinning ear-to-ear. As he swept his mother into his arms and gave her a hug I was all but overcome. He is our first-born. Our son. The child we prayed for and prayed over. And now, he has found his place, at last, in the last frontier.

Wherever you go in the world, whatever wonders you see, the best, most fulfilling, most memorable, most life-giving moments are always those defined by relationships, framed by love. You don’t have to be a parent to experience this. You don’t have to be married to know this. You don’t have to go to Alaska to taste this. You just have to have a heart tuned to God’s own. And, if you do, you will find that relationships are the gold, the oil, the wealth and wonder of lifetimes.

If Jacob had been standing at the airport in Fargo or Timbuktu, my summer could not have been more complete. Seeing him made seeing Mt. McKinley look lame.

Okay, so Mt. McKinley can’t be described as lame. But, you get the idea.

What did you do this summer? Did you invest in somebody, somewhere? Did you find a hug—and give one back, too? Did your unconditional love become the summer’s postcard never to be forgotten? What’s the most beautiful thing you’ve seen this summer? Bless and be blessed, Madison Park. You don’t have to fly across six time zones to Jesus B. B Jesus wherever you are.

A Rhythm To Life

2008-07-22T12:03:00.001-04:00

There is a rhythm to life—you know, that whole “time to laugh, time to cry, time to celebrate, time to mourn,” deal (as in the Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes). The whole Bible is pretty big into the rhythm thing. Think about the creation narrative in Genesis: six days of work, one day of rest, and then a repeating cycle, a pattern even enshrined in the Law some centuries later.

We have the greatest potential for success and wholeness if we embrace this concept of rhythm in life, balancing our days with routines that conform to God’s original order. Doing so anchors us and gives us a sense of order in a world of chaos. It also maximizes our ability to grow.

Church life, in its best moments, reflects these rhythms. It frames the week’s beginning and end—and its middle, too. It can be a touchstone that reassures and stretches us, both at once.

“Assembling together” on “the Lord’s day,” the first day of the week, Sunday, is a no-brainer. Going to church isn’t so much about receiving, but giving and encouraging. Giving our time and attention to God, encouraging His people to “love and good works” (read Hebrews 10 on this count, for instance). Jesus Himself was routinely in a house of worship with God’s people on the day of rest, that one day set apart in seven, observing the rhythm of creation. Maybe it’s this discipline, as much as any other, that reminds us that we are a “new creation,” re-born and re-created.

There’s another day in the middle of the seven, though, that’s always been a part of my weekly rhythm. It doesn’t have the same weight of Biblical endorsement as does Sunday, but it has long been established as a time to ground ourselves just the same. It’s Wednesday—the mid-week—the halfway point between Sundays.

I don’t know about you, but the world in which I live can wear me out between Sundays. It’s a complex world and it’s easy to get sidetracked. Wednesday-evening-with-my-church-family somehow always puts some new wind in my sail and keeps me steady until the next Lord’s Day (when I have a chance to stop, take a deep breath, look back at where I’ve been and place my life once more in the Lord’s hands for the days to come). With this in mind, I’m very excited about our new fall mid-week line-up, which launches August 20 at Madison Park. Our congregation has always had a strong mid-week ministry, but this fall (our second in the new building) is especially promising.

Our junior high and senior high student ministries will be separated for the first time in living memory, with new options for high schoolers in the Crossroads Auditorium and a new small group outreach and discipleship program for junior highers in other meeting rooms. Adults will be able to choose from a wide selection of elective learning and growing classes, all under the umbrella of Grow U. A new and improved Men’s Fraternity (that’s where I’ll be!) will be one of those electives, meeting on Main Street. Stay tuned for the whole Grow U line-up—coming soon. Our children’s ministry will also field new programs for kids on Wednesday night. And, the evening will begin each week with the wonders of the Lighthouse Café (for everyone!) in The Commons.

Wednesday nights will start off a half-hour earlier this fall, with all programming beginning at 6:30pm (except, of course, for the Lighthouse Café in The Commons, which will open its doors at 5:00pm). Children’s, student, and adult Grow U ministries will all run for 75 minutes, dismissing by 7:45pm. This way, everyone will be able to go a little deeper at mid-week and get home a little earlier, too.

To set the stage properly, our regular Wednesday evening schedule will be suspended during the first two weeks of August, as we prepare for the Fall 2008 Wednesday Launch on August 20. These two weeks without regular programming will allow our staff and volunteers to pull out the stops on August 20 and each Wednesday thereafter.

If Wednesdays at Madison Park haven’t been a part of your weekly routine in the past, give it a try this fall; it will strengthen your heart’s rhythm, I promise. If you’re already in the Wednesday-night groove at Madison Park, it’s my guess that you’ll be very pleased with what you find this fall. “Better than ever” is what I imagine we’ll hear, over-and-over.

And so, the countdown begins: one month until Grow U and all the rest is unveiled. Don’t miss August 20 at Madison Park. Get into a rhythm of life that anchors, sustains, inspires, and breathes Heaven’s air into everything you do, all week long. Make church on Sunday a non-negotiable priority—and add a mid-week spiritual energy stop at Madison Park into your mix—and the Lord will bless it. No doubt about it.

Thanks for growing with us, Madison Park. All summer long. And, this fall on Wednesdays, too.

Awesome! Connect. Grow. Serve.

2008-07-09T09:40:00.003-04:00

Last month, Maureen and I worked in “God’s Big Backyard” (Madison Park’s Vacation Bible School)(VBS). This year’s VBS was wonderfully conceived, superbly organized, and blessed, so far as we can tell, in every way. Hats off to Pastor Paula Spear, Children’s Ministry Director Lisa Ritchhart, and all those who made this ministry possible, reaching literally hundreds of kids. It was awesome.

One inescapable signature of “God’s Big Backyard” was the phenomenal staging. You remember: the larger-than-life tree house in the Main Auditorium, the white picket fencing, and all the rest. Honestly, when I first saw the collection in place I wondered if we had robbed Disney. Who could have guessed that paper mache could look so good?

When I asked where the tree house et al came from, I discovered that the VBS props were produced by a Madison Park Small Group—a circle of friends led by Paul and Lori Browning. “The Browning Small Group” learned of the VBS theme six months ago and decided to tackle the construction of “God’s Big Backyard.” Working week-by-week through the first half of the year, the Brownings and their fellow-groupies created the whole set (without blueprints) in their driveways. During the process, they found themselves drawn ever closer together as friends, as followers of Christ, learning, working, and serving together as a team. The rich fabric of their relationships, already established in small group Bible study, deepened as their small group stepped up to serve. Once more: “Awesome.”

In recent years our small group ministry has really moved to the center of our church’s life. In small groups, we connect to others, we develop relationships that transcend just the “coming and going” of Sunday services, we learn more about God, we find personal support in stretching times, and (as the Browning Small Group has discovered) we can do some really cool stuff that blesses the Lord’s work way beyond ourselves.

We have small groups that: have adopted children in developing countries, assumed responsibility for the preparation of Communion elements (no small task, when you think about filling 2,000 of those little cups!), provided food for people in need, provided transportation to doctor’s appointments for folks who otherwise had none, given birth to whole ministries (like the Lighthouse Café), taken the lead to support and encourage troops stationed abroad and their families who remain here at home, and … well, you get the idea.

Some people, of course, are not a part of a Madison Park Small Group—they don’t think they need one, until, er uh, well, they need one. Sooner or later, we all need one. We all need that point of personal connection that links us to the larger Body of Christ.

My wife and I are in a Madison Park Small Group (it actually meets in our home, every other Sunday evening). There are 18 in our group—mostly couples, some single. We’ve walked through the Bible and some other books together, but, mostly, we’ve walked through life together. When our kids succeed—or fail, when our health is good or not-so-good, when our marriages are strong or threatened, when the day is sunny or overcast, our small group has provided a safe place to be loved and understood. Never underestimate the power of honest, authentic conversation, covered by caring and intentional prayer.

It was, at first, a little scary for my wife and I to be a part of a small group. I mean, well, I’m the pastor. Can we really share? Can we really be transparent? The answer: “Yes, of course.” I’m not processing any church business in the group—Maureen and I are just like everybody else, finding our way as husband and wife, parents, friends, children, etc. I know: it can be a bit intimidating for you to get involved in a Small Group, too. But, don’t let your fears or sense of “I can’t add one more thing to my plate” rob you of the chance to really connect, grow, and serve.

Yes, yes, you can be part of a group that meets otherwise—a small group outside the sphere of your church family—a circle of friends “on its own.” But, when you connect to a Madison Park Small Group, not only will you find a place “to call home,” you’ll be exposed to many opportunities to grow and serve in the larger church family. Who knows, you might even find yourself up to your neck in paper mache one day, setting the stage for hundreds of kids to learn about Jesus in “God’s Big Backyard.” And, along the way, you’ll find friends-for-a-lifetime.

If you’d like further information about our Small Group ministry, if you’d like to know what the options are, if you’d like to join the 700+ adults in Madison Park Small Groups, contact Sarah Trick at the Church Office, (765) 642-2000 or strick@madisonparkchurch.org. She’s our Director of Discipleship & Education and she’s just waiting for you to inquire. Well, okay, she’s busy with ministry on several fronts, but, she’s still very glad to speak with anyone who is interested in small groups. Don’t wait for another day to go by … there’s a small group waiting for you, too.

Summer Stretch

2008-06-24T12:47:00.000-04:00

It’s summer time “and the livin’ is easy” … well, maybe not exactly “easy,” but summer does offer a change of pace. Most of us will find some vacation days (daze?) with which we can interrupt the ordinary routines of the year and take a break. And, even if you don’t have some days off on your calendar, there’s something about summer that invites an afternoon in the hammock or a little time spent in a park or at poolside on a sunny day.

It’s those moments that beg for a good book—something that can take our mind into new territory, something to read that stretches or comforts or startles or encourages us. For the last few years, I’ve recommended a summer reading list in my pastor’s column. Here’s the 2008 edition. Yes, yes, I know that my interests may not exactly be your “cup of tea,” but still I think there’s something in each of these books you’ll find worthwhile.

The Grand Weaver (Zondervan), by Ravi Zacharias, is one of those “discussion books,” the kind you read and then want to discuss. Zacharias is a storyteller who illustrates his ideas with real life. In this book, he explores the many threads in life that are woven together by God’s unseen hand. It’s an interesting and easy read, straightforward and thoughtful. It’s the kind of book you’ll recommend to someone else—and then want to talk about it later.

The Shack (Windblown), by William Young, is the book everyone seems to be talking about these days. A fictional story set in the Pacific Northwest (okay, that Pacific Northwest thing is enough to peak my interest), The Shack has been extravagantly praised and roundly condemned. For a few readers it provokes nothing more than a “so what’s all the fuss about?” response, a kind of flat, “no big deal” effect. But, for most, this book stirs profound emotions, both for and against. Maybe it’s the “where tragedy confronts eternity” byline, maybe it’s the fact that the stage is set by the murder of a young girl on a family camping trip, maybe it’s the premise that God shows up as a black woman named “Papa.” In any case, this is a story you will not soon forget. And, another book that you’ll eventually want to process. With somebody.

First Ladies (Volume II): The Saga of the Presidents’ Wives and Their Power, 1961-1990 (Quill), by Carl Sferrazza Anthony. Don’t let the long title overwhelm you or suggest that this is some sleepy historic tome. Au contraire: this is a lively real life drama that seamlessly weaves together the stories of seven American women who find themselves following one another into the White House. From the stunning challenges facing the just-31-year-old Jacqueline Kennedy to the shy, self-conscious housewife who became Barbara Bush—and Ladybird Johnson, Pat Nixon, Betty Ford, Rosalynn Carter, and Nancy Reagan all in between—this exceptional narrative will inspire and impress. The bond that develops between this singular class of women is especially moving. You’ll also have some sympathy for Cindy McCain and Michelle Obama as they approach 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue (and Laura Bush, too, as she prepares to leave).

The Lazarus Life (David C. Cook), by Stephen Smith, takes a fresh look at the familiar story of the raising of Lazarus from the dead, recorded in John’s Gospel. Smith wrestles with life moments we all face, from time to time (“God is far away and unresponsive,” “My life is defined by disappointment,” “Everything feels and looks hopeless,” “If only …”), and finds parallels in Bethany so long ago when Jesus showed up at the house of Lazarus, finally, after his sick friend had died. It’s an interesting treatment of the biblical history and a book filled with life lessons. You’ll lay this one down feeling better than when you picked it up.

We Survived: Fourteen Stories (Westview Press), by Erich Boehm. This is a classic, first published in 1949 and now reintroduced (in 2003) with some thoughtful reflection, new introductory material, and follow-up. It is an anthology of fourteen stories, each true, about “the hidden and the hunted” in Nazi Germany. Written shortly after the war, the narratives have a compelling immediacy that is spellbinding. Some of the contributors were Christians, others Jews, still others political or cultural foes of Hitler’s Third Reich—but all share this in common: they lived in an upside down world, where wrong was right and night was day, and survived to tell about it. Their amazing commitment to life itself and to a life that did not compromise their values and soul is breathtaking. No fiction could trump these tales of incredible fortitude, resiliency, and triumph, even in the face of impossible odds. Whatever you’re facing this summer, We Survived will remind you that you can, in fact, face it.

Okay, so there’s the Summer List for 2008. But, remember, never replace your Bible with these (or any other) titles. As you read the Scriptures, you’ll be able to properly interpret the rest of what you read. There’s never a substitute for God’s Word.

But, with that in mind. Read on. And, enjoy. And, oh yeah, don’t get sunburned in the hammock; you’ll have a hard time putting some of these books down!

Twelve Months Ago...

2008-06-10T08:00:00.001-04:00

The San Antonio Spurs bested the Cleveland Cavaliers to win the NBA championship. The average price for a gallon of gas in the United States fell from May’s peak of $3.11 to$3.00. Russian President Vladimir Putin threatened to aim nuclear warheads at Europe for the first time since the end of the Cold War, if the United States was allowed to pursue development of a missile shield in Poland and the Czech Republic. Paris Hilton was released from jail. And, oh yes, Rudy Giuliani and Hillary Clinton were pegged by pundits as the inevitable frontrunners heading into the 2008 Presidential contest. It was June, 2007. What a difference a year can make.

I have only vague memories of those headlines, though (the $3.00/gallon-at-the-pump seems especially vague just now!), because June, 2007, was also the month our congregation moved into its new home at Madison Park. It was a whirlwind, in a way, and yet, strangely, also a season of perfect calm and clarity.

The weather was perfect. The building project came together almost flawlessly (although the concrete floor finish in The Commons proved to be unsatisfactory and carpet would not arrive for a few weeks after our first Sunday). The projectors were not positioned properly in the Main Auditorium and, yes, the roof began to creak, every now and then. But, in the big picture, all of these were incidentals. The sparkling new Madison Park Church opened its doors on time on Father’s Day, 2007, and welcomed an overflow crowd for what would be an historic moment. In the life of our church. In the life of this community. In my life. And yours. Unforgettable. Blessed. Sobering. Exciting. Humbling. Exhilarating. Terrifying. And, filled with promise. All at once.

In the weeks and months that followed, we experimented, we adapted, we wondered, and we watched. We took some chances. We stubbed our toes, every now and then. We experienced some stunning successes, too. We welcomed hundreds of new friends. Sadly, we said goodbye to a few, as well.

But, in the end, we found ourselves stretched, growing, stronger, better. We found ourselves reaching out in unimagined ways to folks we never dreamed would walk through our doors. We found that the facility quickly became an anchor in Madison County’s life, as we became a community resource. Pastors’ Conferences. Civic banquets. School programs. Teaching seminars. All-day retreats for hospital staffs that provide health care for us all and strategic planning round tables for mission agencies that circumnavigate the globe. Public officials. Private agencies. Charities and no-profits. Businesses. Quilting societies. Weddings. Funerals. Anniversary celebrations. High school baccalaureates. Mark Lowry. The Everlasting Love Tour. Stephen Arterburn. They’ve all found sacred space at Madison Park. And the list goes on.

To meet the opportunities and grow with the promise, we’ve rearranged some staff assignments, brought in some new team members, and worked to develop our staff and lay teams already in place. There’s still so much to be done and so much to learn; there’s still so much to improve and so much to do better. But, as I look back over the last year, I, frankly, stand amazed. Amazed at what God has done among us. Never have so many been engaged doing so much good, in Jesus’ name, in this church’s life. Never has our impact for the Gospel been greater. Never have we seen more baptisms.

Heard more testimonies of God’s goodness. Seen so many lives transformed. And the list goes on.

Celebrate with us this Sunday (June 15), Father’s Day, 2008. Help us mark one year at Madison Park. It will be another historic moment. We’ll have three services: 9:00am and 10:45am in the Main Auditorium and Current (our new contemporary service with an edge) in the Crossroads Auditorium at 10:45am, as well.

Great transitions have taken place over the past 12 months, but some things never change: God’s love for us and this church’s commitment to Him. God’s promise to lead us and our willingness to follow Him. Our providential opportunity to be salt and light for Madison County. This church’s faith to take a chance-to risk and to dare for Heaven’s sake.

My love for you, this most precious and amazing church family. These have not changed. Thank you, Madison Park. What an honor it has been to walk with you always, but never more than during this last sea-change of a year. Be encouraged. Praise God. Celebrate with us, June 15.

Telling Our Stories

2008-05-28T12:00:00.001-04:00

Everybody has a story. You do. I do. How we tell it reveals a great deal about who we are and what we think about God.

As I write, it’s near midnight and I am seated in my hotel room in Berlin. Around the corner from my hotel is the Topographies des Terrors (the Topography of Terror). It is a deliberately-left-vacant city block on which once stood a collection of buildings that changed the course of history. One housed the Nazi Gestapo headquarters. Another was the SS Central Command. Another was the SS Security Office (SS = Schutzstaffel), Hitler’s personal (schutz) guard (staffel). A Gestapo prison also stood here. It was in these buildings that the Nazi reign of terror was conceived, hatched, and executed. The Holocaust was born here. The myth of Aryan superiority was imposed by force here. The torture and death of millions was literally managed here. The buildings were leveled during the war, but the basements remain. A sobering collection of photographs line a path across the basement floors, the hush interrupted occasionally by the sounds of Nazi voices recorded decades ago and intermittently broadcast across the vacant lot for effect. The whole effect is both creepy and chilling. Hitler came to power 75 years ago this year; this block tells a story, also.

Sections of the Berlin Wall still stand nearby, as well. That’s another whole story, the iconic emblem of the Cold War, the stand-off between East and West. Every inch of the Wall tells a story; crosses mark places where East Berliners lost their lives trying to break free.

These places are only a stage, though. The real stories have been lived. Today I walked with Wallentin Shula. He’s a German, born in what was the Soviet Union. His parents found themselves caught in the crosshairs of Hitler and Stalin, the War, and, ultimately, deportation deep into Soviet central Asia. Wallentin faced hair-raising persecution for his faith and German ancestry, growing up under Soviet Communism. Eventually, he escaped to the West. His is a harrowing tale, spanning generations— but told with a sense of God’s leading, of Providential protection and grace. A lesser soul might be bitter, asking “Why me, God?” Walletin, now 57, preaches the Gospel in Russian to the land that once oppressed him. Anatoli Derkach is 49. Just days ago I had dinner in his home in Ukraine. His parents were Christians. His father was one of 13 children; only two survived Stalin’s reign of terror in the 1930’s and lived to fight the Nazis in the 1940’s. Anatoli’s grandparents and eleven of his aunts and uncles were all deported to Siberian death camps—the Gulag—because of their Christian faith; all died there. After surviving the horrors of World War II, his father worked in the Ukrainian coal mines for the same Soviet government that had murdered the rest of his family. He never lost his faith in God, though, and introduced his son to Jesus. Anatoli grew up persecuted for his faith and then was drafted as a young man by the Soviet army. He refused to pledge allegiance to the Soviet state, on biblical principle; his life was held in the balance for six months, as the KGB tried to persuade him otherwise. He would not break; he survived. Now, Anatoli is a Church of God pastor in Mauripol on the Sea of Azov. I might have thrown up my hands and cursed God, given such a story. Anatoli sees God working for the good through it all and praises Him. Reading this, you might think, “Well, my story isn’t as dramatic as all that; mine is not so interesting.” Isn’t it? True, you may not have endured the tumultuous world of Wallentin and Anatoli. You may feel far removed from the Potsdamer Platz, the Topography of Terror, Hitler, Stalin, the Cold War, and all the rest.

But have you faced trouble? Has your world been turned, at times, upside down? Have you found life unjust or unfair? And, if so, how have you told your story? How have you interpreted it? And, what does that say about you and your relationship to God?

This I know: Walletin and Anatoli tell their stories in a way that glorifies God, without complaint. Extraordinary, really. They tell their stories in a way that blesses others and leads them to the same grace and peace that has sustained them. They tell their stories modestly, but in a way that inspires.

They tell their stories like Jesus tells His story. In a way that sees God-atwork, even in the most desperate hour. I want to tell my story that way, too. Jesus B, my friends. And, start working on your own story.
Genesis 50:20.

Broadcasting Hope Worldwide

2008-05-14T13:08:00.000-04:00

In 1947, the Church of God launched The Christian Brotherhood Hour, a weekly radio program. Dale Oldham, then the pastor at the Park Place Church in Anderson, stepped forward on air, speaking, quite literally, to the world.

In many ways, CBH was a pioneer in religious media. Previously, “church radio” was imagined as just that: the broadcasting of a church service somewhere. Dr. Oldham conceived a half-hour program that was a mix of music and message, designed for radio—not a church service which was incidentally also broadcast. His conversational style and commitment to speaking the Gospel to a broad audience proved to be a winning model. What was unique to CBH then is now the norm across the face of Christian media.

Much has changed over the years, though. Other voices have, in turn, sat behind the CBH microphone. Secular media has moved increasingly to formats (think Oprah), in which a host interacts with guests. The world is becoming a smaller place, interconnected by technology. Ideas fly from one place to another just by moving the cursor on a computer screen.

Radio remains, however, the world’s most accessible medium. More people have access to radio than any other form of communication. From villages in the African savannah to the front seat of your family’s minivan, radio is virtually omnipresent.

And, oh yes: the world increasingly wants to learn English. On every continent people on the street know that English is the ticket to advancing economically. English-speaking radio (think the BBC) is a global phenomenon. People listen to learn English, even if they are not originally interested in the content.

CBH has adapted to these developments, too. The moniker has been subtly changed to Christians Broadcasting Hope. Later, in the 1990s, I was invited to become the voice behind the microphone, but with more interviews and guests. CBH established the church’s first 24-hour, toll-free access line (so that listeners could respond from anywhere, anytime). We moved into cyberspace, making the program available online. We embraced email as a response channel, too.

We also began to take “the show on the road.” With advances in technology, digital recording equipment has enabled us to produce programs in previously unimagined locales. These CBH-on-Expedition broadcasts have been some of our most popular, (think National Geographic-for-Jesus or NPR). Once a listener is hooked by the travelogue frame, the listener can see not just the world but God-at-work in the world.

The Madison Park Church has a contract with Church of God Ministries (which owns the CBH program), which reimburses our local church for my time.

As part of that arrangement, CBH takes me abroad once each year, to interview, teach, and produce programming in the field. From Beirut to Bombay, from the Amazon to the Nile to the Mekong River Delta, well, CBH has found God-at-work and brought the stories to the world.

This month, I will spend a few days in Europe taping for CBH. The Church of God is establishing an international ministry center in Berlin; our CBH team will attempt to capture some of the excitement and promise of this bold new venture, on air, in the context of a rapidly changing European Union.

We’ll also spend time with new believers in the Crimea (Ukraine). Ten congregations of the Church of God have been formed in this region over the last few years by the ministry of our Russian-speaking partners at CBH-Russian. The CBH-Russian broadcast is produced in Germany and throughout the former Soviet Union (which includes the Ukraine). These congregations are a stunning testament to the power of the Gospel-on-radio. We will be bringing their stories to a global audience on CBH-English.

It’s a privilege, of course, to be a part of the CBH ministry. I receive feedback from all over the world—from the woman who listens on the Pacific Coast of Washington State, struggling with a call to ministry, to the depressed young man in the United Kingdom who found hope listening, to the customs officer at the airport in Grand Cayman who recognized the sound of my voice as I entered the Crown Colony in transit, to the guy in Prague who was beside himself because his girlfriend had left him, to... well, you get the idea. Christians. Broadcasting. Hope. That’s who we are.

Thanks, Madison Park, for being a part, too. Not only have you partnered with CBH to allow me to invest time there, but you also help underwrite the broadcast financially, both locally and worldwide. Thanks for covering CBH with prayer, too. The Lord is honoring the work. Auf Wiedersehen. Sieh Sie in der Kirche am 25 Mai. Ermutigt werden. Jesus ist Herr.

Embracing the Times

2008-04-01T10:18:00.001-04:00

Twenty-five years ago, when I was serving as pastor at the Fairview Church in Seattle, a member of the congregation named Rob Moore wanted to install a computer network in the church office. He had some new fangled stuff he wanted to donate that he believed would revolutionize the way we “did business.”

We thought we were already a state-of-the-art kind of place—why, we had IBM Selectric typewriters with electronic memories and changeable type! We had a monster Xerox machine that could copy and collate. No Flintstones here, boys—nope, I grew up with Captain Kirk and Star Trek.

I had worked before for Northwest Airlines, so I was no stranger to computer screens and databases. But, c’mon, a computer network in a church office? No way. Word processing? What’s that? Toss out “Memory Mabel?” (that’s the name I gave to one of our IBM memory typewriters)—preposterous!

Rob explained that his employer wanted to donate some equipment that would be just right for the church. “Let us give it a try, Jim,” he pled earnestly, “You won’t be sorry.”

I trusted Rob. He was one of the finest men in the church, faithful and true. He was bright and fun. He worked for some sort of start-up company— one of those nerdy little firms stuffed with people who read Popular Mechanics when they were kids. It had some odd, goofy name, you know, something like—oh yeah, it was called Microsoft. Nobody knew what it was then.

I gave the nod and Rob moved in a collection of computer screens and keyboards. They sprouted up all over the building. Before 30 days passed, we were all typing up a storm on pixel screens, printing to remote printers, interfacing with the copier from our desktops, and more. Amazing. “Memory Mable” was cruelly dumped onto the dustbin of history.

Before the world had heard of Windows, Fairview Church was looking through a new window of technology. Nothing in the office would ever be the same.

These days, computers are everywhere. At church. At home. At work. Laptops on our laps. Wireless. Wired. New words like “Google” have become a part of our everyday conversation. Words like “Amazon” have been completely redefined—few people think of the river anymore. “Dot com” and “email” addresses are as common as street addresses.

Like the printing press and broadcasting in generations before, electronic communication has transformed the way all of us live. Like every other dimension of life, church life is also adapting and embracing the new technology to stay in touch with new generations (and older ones, too!).

That’s one reason why Threads is now being published just every other week, instead of every week. In addition to halving our printing and mailing costs, we are hoping more and more folks will find church news online. We’re working on new weekly online updates; we’re working to enhance our software programs to leave older PDF files (in which Threads can now only be read on the internet) behind, with better, faster online Threads access.

The “GoAheadAskAnything.com” website has been very successful, drawing hundreds of questions (and as many comments!) from people who speak online like some people speak on the phone. Some questions are just that: questions. Others have been cries for help (to which we have replied privately). My blog has opened a door for Threads readers to reflect on what they’ve read in the newsletter. The “Great Chocolate Giveaway” link from our homepage has become a forum for testimonies from folks on Easter Sunday.

Our MadisonParkChurch.org website podcasts have been very popular—you can listen to Sunday’s sermon or the latest Men’s Fraternity installment from anywhere in the world. Email correspondence is now, by far, the most popular form of communication with our church staff. My email “inbox” is crowded with literally hundreds of emails (from parishioners here at home and others from around the world) each week. Notes and cards are still delivered by surface mail every now and then, but e-cards come every day.

We have an outstanding team at Madison Park which works tirelessly to keep the technology up and running, so that communication, good ideas, encouragement, and soulfood can keep flowing freely, 24-7. Don Vosburg and his sons invest many hours as IT specialists at Madison Park. Kevin Majeski is our Communications Director, who manages our websites and produces the artful design you find there. Ryan Woolsey is our Technical and Media Director, feeding the web with audio streams each week. These three are the “point men” for a larger team of creative and talented staff committed to the communication necessary to maintain community; we thank God for them.

Rob Moore retired from Microsoft at the age of 35—15 years ago. Fairview—and Madison Park—have updated their computer systems several times since then. It can be mind-bending trying to keep up. But we are. For Jesus’ sake.

Lost. And Found.

2008-03-18T12:17:00.001-04:00

The chartered bus was waiting at the curb. Nathanael jumped out of the car and ran toward the bus, suddenly stopping half-way between. “Where’s my wallet?” he asked, half speaking to himself and half pleading with mom and dad to find the answer. “I had it in my pocket in the car and now it’s gone.”

“You have to have your wallet, Nathanael,” I replied, “It has your driver’s license and you need I.D.”

“I know, I know,” he muttered, tearing the back seat of our car apart, searching for the wallet.

Maureen and I jumped into the fray. The clock was ticking. The bus was supposed to be loaded and on the road in five minutes. The Highland Singers were on their way to Orlando to take the stage at DisneyWorld in a national choral competition; Nathanael was slated for a solo competition there, too. Aw-ugh-man-oh-man, where was the wallet? “Are you sure you had it in your pocket?” “Yes, mom, I’m positive,” Nathanael rolled his eyes. The tension—the desperation— was palpable.

“I found it!” Maureen shouted, “It was wedged in between the door and the back seat.” Nathanael grabbed the wallet and ran. The lost had been found. All was well. In a moment, everyone’s attitude was changed. Hope restored. Life resumed. And, oh yes, he ran back and gave us a hug.

We’ve all experienced the frustration of losing something—something really important. Everyone who wears contact lenses can testify to that (just ask me). But there are even more traumatic losses than a contact lens or a wallet. Or even a house. Or even a loved one.

When you lose hope and a sense of better days tomorrow, you lose everything. Life has no prospect of contentment or joy left, when there is no hope. When a dream is lost—and no new dream comes to life to take its place … when the anticipation of something wonderful is taken away and there is no hope of receiving it back … when the shadows close in and all seems to be lost … well, that’s when we surrender to despair and resign ourselves to a desperate end.

And that, at its core, is the story of the crucifixion and burial of Christ. A sense of overwhelming loss, with a capital “L”—and no reasonable, imaginable, or explainable hope of finding Him again. No more bright moments on the hillside overlooking Galilee, listening to the unmistakable Voice describe the lilies of the field. No more astonishing miracles of healing and calming the storm. No more breathtaking gifts of forgiveness. No more stories that disclose the heart of a God we were learning to call, “Father,” and no more of the unforgettable teaching like the Sermon on the Mount. Gone. All gone. He’s gone. Never coming back. Hopeless. Lost.

On that first Easter Sunday, though, the Lost was found—He was found, alive. And with Him, all of the hopes and dreams and truth He inspired. Healing. Forgiveness. Understanding. God’s favor. Life. They all came back with Him. We couldn’t imagine how or why, all we knew was that He is. He is alive.

That’s worth celebrating. The same enemy that sought to rob Jesus of His life—and to rob of us of the life He brings—is hard at work stealing and deceiving and discouraging today. That adversary is forever seeking to deny the reality and power of the Resurrected Lord. Satan wants us to grovel in the loss; he wants us never to find.

But, this Easter, once more, the Madison Park Church will proclaim the truth of Jesus being found, alive. Whatever your trouble, whatever you have lost and believe is locked in a tomb, whatever grave you think has claimed your dream, whatever despair you have called home, we are here to bring you good news: “He is risen.” Jesus has triumphed—and with Him, we can, too. Jesus B lost, for a few days, anyway. And then, Jesus B found. His story can be our story. Lost. And found.

Bring a friend. Invite a row-full. Fill up those empty seats in our Main Auditorium. This Sunday. Easter. March 23. At 9:00am and 10:45am: two services, just alike. With a 53-piece orchestra. Music made in Heaven. The preached Word. The sweet fellowship of the Holy Spirit. And the celebration of life and hope found. For everyone who will hear.

You can live without your wallet. And your contact lens. And your coat. And even treasured relationships. But, you cannot live without hope and the life it brings. That’s the Easter story. Our first Easter at Madison Park. Don’t miss it. See you then.

One...Two...Three...

2008-03-05T15:13:00.003-05:00

Four. That’s the number of subjects this column will cover. Four bases covered. Four seasons enjoyed. Four winds that blow. Four quarters that make a whole. Okay, alright already, you get it: four subjects. Here goes:

First, as you know, we moved into our new facilities at Madison Park last summer juggling some key staff portfolios temporarily. Many members of our staff team picked up new responsibilities in the short-term to see us through, wearing several different hats at once. Now that the dust has settled, the Board of Elders and Personnel Committee have confirmed some new staff permanent appointments:

Jeff Matas has stepped in the role of Senior Associate. Originally hired to work with Front Door Ministries and Assimilation—and then adding some Discipleship and Education management to the mix, Jeff served as interim Senior Associate during the last half of 2007. The Senior Associate’s first call is to come alongside the associate pastors and ministry directors, helping them to succeed and work together as a team. It’s a big job—and a critically important one. Jeff worked abroad for a large multinational corporation and then served as Senior Pastor in several churches Stateside, before moving to North/Madison Park three years ago. He has a bachelor’s degree from Anderson University and a MBA from Temple University in Philadelphia. His experience in secular management and in pastoral ministry brings a skill set to our table that’s hard to beat.

Shelly Stottlemyer has been called to serve full-time as our Front Door and Assimilation Ministry Director. Shelly has worked for the last four years as part of our Children’s Ministry team; her success in welcoming new children and their families into the church and her ability to dream and work with others to bring those dreams to life have impressed all of us. Energy. Life. A welcoming smile. And so much more. Shelly will be managing all of our church life initiatives that help welcome and integrate new friends into our church family—from children to adults.

Sarah Trick has been called to serve full-time as our Discipleship and Education Ministry Director. Sarah graduated from Anderson University prepared to teach school—but, the conventional children’s classroom wasn’t her ultimate destination. She has always had a passion to work with adults, facilitating relationships, organizing systemically curriculum and small groups to deepen our experience with God and each other. For several years, she has been employed part-time at Madison Park, working with our small groups; in the last few months she picked up some new pieces (like adult Sunday School and mid-week adult learning electives)—and now she has stepped into the Discipleship and Education role full-time. Passion. Ideas. A commitment to spiritually nourishing relationships. And so much more. Sarah is up and running with our discipleship and education portfolio.

There are some other staff appointments and adjustments that are falling into place, too—more on those later. But today, thank God for these three.

Second, our Volunteer Coordinator, Marti Freeman, has been hard at work in the last few months organizing a data base of our church’s volunteers. Last week she presented a report to the staff that was a great encouragement—and I’d like to share it with you. No matter how talented the staff, a living community of faith is dependent on volunteers. Marti has identified 870 adult volunteers at Madison Park, who serve each month in our church family, filling 1361 adult volunteer positions (some people volunteer in more than one area—but 870 individuals are committed and serving). That represents about 48% of our adult membership at Madison Park—awesome. There’s always room to grow—but this expansion of volunteer participation is a significant index of our church’s expansion since we moved to Madison Park. If you’d like to get involved, give Marti a call in the Church Office—she can help connect you to a ministry in which you can serve.

Third, Easter comes early this year, March 23. Start praying now, if you haven’t already, about who you might invite to join us at our first Easter at Madison Park. The services (at 9:00a and 10:45a) will be moments-never-to-be-forgotten. Jesus B. Bring somebody to celebrate.

And, fourth, “Go ahead. Ask anything.” It’s a new sermon series that I’ll launch on the first Sunday in April—but you get to help decide its content in March. Go to our website (www.GoAheadAskAnything.com) and pose a question or two—go ahead. Ask anything. Ask a question you’d like to hear answered from the pulpit in a sermon on Sunday, any question, about anything. Your questions—and the questions of others posted on line (you can do so anonymously, if you like) will then be listed on a ballot, also online—and then you can vote. Vote for three of the questions on the list—and the top ten will be answered on Sundays in April and May—one question will be the subject of the sermon each week. Go ahead. Ask anything. And, invite your friends (outside of the church, too) to do the same. Stay tuned.

There you have it. Four bases covered. Thanks for reading through to the end. I thank God for you, Madison Park Church!

A Little Extroversion

2008-02-19T09:16:00.000-05:00

I’m profoundly introverted. That means that I process thoughts and ideas, almost to the extreme, internally, privately. My mind is always switched on, my brain seems to be in overdrive, and my head spins with ideas all of the time. But, I rarely speak about them.

Yes, yes, I know you hear me talk incessantly. In a way, I am paid to talk. But, talking out loud is not my nature. I have to work at it. Because, I’m an introvert.

That’s not to say that I don’t have conversations routinely. I do. The problem is, many of those conversations are in my head; I’m so dysfunctional that sometimes I can’t remember if I actually had a conversation out loud with someone or if I just had it in my mind—a conversation in which I spoke to and listened to myself (and just thought it was you). I’m a mess.

Extroverts, on the other hand, process thoughts and ideas externally. They find it helpful to articulate everything, as part of the journey to a conclusion. Introverts are prone to come to conclusions silently and then articulate them. Such is the wonder and diversity of human life. Both introverts and extroverts are imagined by God and complement each other.

Of course, no one is exclusively introvert or extrovert. We usually fall somewhere in between on a continuum. I just happen to fall toward—way toward—the introverted side.

Over the years, as I have become aware of my native introversion, I have also been attempting to balance it—to force myself to speak my thoughts, instead of just thinking them: to share, disclose, process, and listen more actively. I’ve made some progress; I still have some distance to go.

What might I disclose today? What might I share today that might be relevant and helpful? How should I engage the larger world around me? Hmmm. That’s my challenge, day-by-day. Maybe that’s your challenge, too.

Let’s see. Well, first, let me tell you that I’m still very excited about Madison Park and what God is doing there—and what He will do there. I honestly still get a rush every time I walk into the building. I am energized by the conversations I observe in the Commons, by the ministry that takes place everywhere under that roof. From the kids’ wing to the Crossroads Auditorium and all of the Main Street classrooms in between—well, it’s just awesome to see God (and His people!) at work.

I’m excited about what happens in the Main Auditorium, too. The kneeling response at the end of each Sunday service has been very moving. God is speaking—and people are listening. I’m actually excited about the empty seats, too. Because each one of those seats is appointed for someone we haven’t seen yet.

I recently visited a church (Buckhead Church in Atlanta) where the pastor has this sentence pinned to the wall: “If we want to reach people no one else has reached yet, we’ll have to do things no one else has done yet.” Yep, I’m excited on Sundays as I see people finding their seats—and noticing how much room there is to grow, too.

To be truthful, I do grow weary sometimes of listening to people find fault. The world is full of problems and things that need to be mended—no doubt about it. But, listening to people talk often about how unhappy they are with this or that, well, it just wears me out. That’s when I want to retreat into my introversion. I’m not speaking about church complaints here—I’m just talking about complaints, period. I’ve endured people complaining about restaurants and schools and spouses and friends and government and the weather and how they’ve been wronged and how “nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen” and, well, you get the idea.

I’m invited out of my introverted shell, though, by those who problem-solve and look at the world around them with promise... people who see God at work, always find something positive to say, put the best spin on things, eschew cynicism, and extend grace. When the table server at the restaurant fumbles, well, “we all make mistakes.” When wronged, “I’ve probably wounded somebody along the way, too.” When disappointed when expectations are not met, “God always works things together for the good.” When faced with the broken, “I know God can work this out.”

Now, that’s processing externally in a healthy way. And, that’s the way I want to process internally, too.

Help bring me out of my cave and give me a word of grace and hope. It’s always good to hear a good report. Always. I’ll try and extrovert in the same way for you, too. Be encouraged.

And, oh yes, I need to say it: I love my church family. Absolutely. Unconditionally. How could I not love you? You are the best. Whew. That felt good. I said it. Out loud. And, on paper.

Seeking Everlasting Love

2008-02-05T10:39:00.000-05:00

St. Valentine’s Day is just around the corner—and with it a boatload of heart-shaped boxes of chocolate, bouquets of flowers, and gushy greeting cards, all nestled in red velvet dreams of romance.

Medieval Europe believed that February 14 was the day birds began to mate each year. Ancient Rome dubbed February the first month of spring and the season to pair up with a significant other. The Roman Catholic Church set February 14 as the feast day for St. Valentine in the fifth century— Valentine was a Christian clergyman thought to be martyred for officiating at weddings in defiance of a ban by the Emperor Claudius II (who believed that single young men made better soldiers, and, therefore, forbid them to marry).

Most of us have been passing out Valentines since the first grade, all in the shadow of these historic threads. If only real life was as simple as a “I’m yours.” Real-life relationships are oh-so-more-complicated than that.

Have you ever been stumped by the minefield of love and romance? Have you ever wondered where you fit in—or, how to pick up the pieces—or, how to get started—or, how to make a good thing even better—or, how to save a relationship on the brink—or, how to feel whole inside by making somebody else feel complete?

The Everlasting Love Conference, scheduled for Madison Park on Friday night, February 29, and Saturday morning, March 1, is the perfect fit for every adult—single, almost married, used-to-be-married, happily married, struggling to survive marriage, in love, out of love, young, old, and everyone in between. It’s a phenomenal study of the Old Testament gem-of-a-book, the Song of Solomon. In the Song’s eight brief chapters, the Scripture outlines all of the key principles you’ll need to understand and master: love, marriage, sex, and romance. No lie—this stuff really works... straight out of God’s Word.

The Everlasting Love Conference has stormed the country, from coast-to-coast. Madison Park has been chosen to be the host site for the Indianapolis metro. Our facility, with lots of parking and adjacent to I-69, has won the hearts of the conference team. This is an event Anderson would otherwise never see.

Kyle Idleman will be the key teacher at the conference. Kyle is the Teaching Pastor at Louisville’s Southeast Christian Church. He speaks to 18,000 people each week at Southeast Christian; it will be a privilege to welcome him to Madison Park.

Joining Kyle on the platform will be musician Jon Abel. Jon (who writes with Chris Tomlin and is a part of Nashville’s Universal/Brentwood Benson Music team) leads worship at his home church (Highland Park Presbyterian in Dallas) each week, but also is committed to the Everlasting Love Conference ministry. Over 225,000 people have been blessed by attending the Conference so far. This is your chance to be blessed by it, too.

Early registration for the Conference ends February 18—although you can register (as long as space is available) after that date. Registration by February 18 costs just $35— it’s $45 after that. If you get together a group of ten, you can save $10/person. The ticket is worth it—your ability to develop sacred, nourishing, healthy relationships will be upgraded and enhanced. Guaranteed.

The Conference will cover: (1) The Art of Attraction and Dating, (2) The Art of Intimacy, (3) The Art of Conflict, (4) The Art of Romance, and (5) The Art of Commitment. All of the sessions are grounded in the Song of Solomon—one of the Bible’s most extraordinary books.

You can register online (www.songofsolomon.com), at the Information Desk in the Commons at Madison Park, or at our Cross Street Ministry Center. Start making your plans now to worship, learn, laugh, listen, and grow at the Everlasting Love Conference February 29-March 1. Talk it up at work, at school, everywhere. I’m looking forward to being there, too.

And, if we turn out and support this national tour coming for the first time to our area, we’ll be able to welcome other outstanding events of this kind throughout the year, too.

Madison Park is not just a building for our Sunday meetings—it’s a community resource for Madison County. Valentine’s Day never looked better.

Facing the Giants

2008-01-29T09:53:00.000-05:00

This post was written by Mike Schwartz, Associate Pastor of Pastoral Care, Madison Park Church of God

Giants. What does this word conjure up in your mind? Some of you may be thinking of a pro football team. Others may be thinking of a young shepherd boy taking on the nemesis of his nation, Goliath, with only a sling and a few smooth stones. Maybe your mind takes you along the path of Frodo and the Lord of the Rings? Wherever the word may take you, it will surely strike a sense of adventure and challenge!

One thing I know about most men is we share an inner need for adventure and challenge... that which causes our hearts to beat faster, our breathing to quicken and adrenaline to pump through our veins! Not everyone experiences adventure in the same way.

For nearly 250 men, some women, and nearly 40 young people on Saturday, January 19, at Madison Park Church of God, the word “giant” would likely bring images of the majestic whitetail deer or a Tom turkey in full strut! The challenge of entering these incredible creatures' back yard undetected is both exciting and fulfilling. It is also a spiritual experience as we encounter our Creator in the most basic and primal element, and become a part of the circle of life.

From Nimrod in Genesis chapter 10 (who was recorded in scripture more for his prowess as a great hunter than being credited for uniting the major cities of Babylon known in ancient times as the land of Nimrod and later as Assyria) to Esau in Genesis 25 who gained the admiration of his father for bringing home Isaac’s favorite food from the field, hunters have historically been essential to the health and well-being of their families.

In modern times, hunting may not be as essential as it once was to providing life-giving protein for the family, but it still stirs the blood and meets a deep need in the hearts of many. In many ancient cultures, hunting was the primary way boys gained the right of passage into manhood. In North America today, hunters are the primary reason for the health and recovery of many species of animals through our conservation efforts and dollars spent. The fraternity of hunters is one that builds deep and lasting relationships. The memories that are created and shared are told and re-told, often for generations to come. The experience is often re-lived in a way that few other experiences can be. The bond is one that few men can put into words.

To bring Christ into these relationships is very effective evangelism. It isn’t preachy, which often drives men away. It is a lifestyle evangelism that reaches right into the heart of men and meets them where their passion lies.

It takes time, but then God’s love is often spelled T-I-M-E. The wonder of God’s creation is a fantastic cathedral where their spirits are ripe to receive Good News. It is also a wonderful arena to mentor young people in. Learning basic skills of safety, patience, ethics and conservation carries on into all of life. Learning to honor, even revere God’s creation is never time wasted. Time spent sharing with a young person is always time well spent. Many families enjoy hunting in the great outdoors together. Women are the fastest growing segment of the hunting population.

The first Deer and Turkey Seminar hosted by Madison Park Outdoors was a huge success. A sell-out crowd enjoyed great food, fantastic training for safety and field skills by experts Charles Sorrells and Brent Henderson who kept us literally on the edge of our seats, and vendors who offered their many talents and tools to anyone who wanted to take advantage of these great opportunities.

A special thanks to the pro-staff of Madison Park Outdoors; Brandon Jeffress, Kevin Anderson, Neal Kirby, Jerry Helvey, and Forrest Bricker for their hard work in pulling this event together. For all the vendors who contributed door prizes, drawings and great give-aways... “thanks” doesn’t say it well enough. For each one who attended, I am convinced that new friendships and future memories began. Thanks for coming and making this event such a great one!

These are the things that Madison Park Outdoors will elevate: a lifestyle-evangelism building lasting relationships of authentic Christian manhood, mentoring young people and encouraging fathers and grandfathers to pass on the rich heritage they have received, and if not to children of your own, pass it on to another young person who is not fortunate enough to have someone to mentor them.

Madison Park Outdoors will work hard to provide other opportunities to invite people to share the great adventure in the great outdoors in ways that gets their heart beating. Maybe you find adventure in backpacking, kayaking, fishing, photography, or just fill in the blank... we want to give you opportunities to find that adventure and build relationships that will introduce the Jesus in you to others.

Watch for more exciting opportunities to come through Madison Park Outdoors. If you happen to hear an unusual noise, it might be me practicing my turkey calling. I won’t mind if you just shake your head and ignore me; I’m just getting excited for my next great adventure!

The Greater Miracle

2008-01-23T13:36:00.000-05:00

This post was written by Jeff Matas, Senior Associate Pastor of Madison Park Church of God

In the movie Shadowlands, C.S. Lewis is at the height of popularity in the lecture circuit. He was a brilliant scholar and unparalleled Christian apologist. As a writer, apologist, and speaker, Lewis combined his luminous intellect with his deep love of God... it was a powerful combination.

In the movie you see Lewis, a superstar in his day, lecturing to support his book, The Problem of Pain, where he attempts to reconcile human suffering with God being all knowing, loving, and all powerful. In his book and in his lectures, he has a logical answer to every objection, he can intellectually respond to any question.

Here’s the issue though... this Oxford educated follower of Christ has been lecturing on pain, but he really hasn’t experienced much of it. Then he meets Joy Gresham, falls in love and marries her. Not long after they married, his wife discovers she has bone cancer. Lewis soon learns it’s one thing to have all the answers on why we suffer pain, it’s quite another to experience it yourself.

For the remainder of the movie, you watch Lewis transform from a self-assured Christian with all the answers, to one who is on his knees with nothing to hold on to but his faith in God. He recorded his experience of pain and loss in a subsequent book entitled A Grief Observed.

A few Sundays ago, our church was blessed to hear the story of Heather Gemmen Wilson. She shared a story filled with pain and suffering. In her sermon, she referred to the classic biblical text on the subject, Paul’s thorn in the flesh passage found in 2 Corinthians 12. She focused on verse 10 and repeated it throughout her sermon, “For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Preach on deliverance and miracles, proclaim that God will heal all who believe, that He will make you rich, that God’s goal is to make us happy and you’ll fill a stadium. Yet Heather stood before two thousand people on a Sunday morning and shared a story of incredible pain and suffering and received a standing ovation. Hers was a story of a rape that resulted in pregnancy and of a beautiful marriage that withstood the horror of the rape only to unravel years later when her husband walked out. She shared how, as a child, an auto accident left her right hand disfigured. Her story struck a chord; it resonated with the hearts of those who heard it.

Heather’s portrayal of life resonates because her story reflects the world in which we live. Jesus was right when he said in John 16:33, “In this world you will have trouble.” But he didn’t leave it there, he adds: “But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

Imagine if Heather’s story was only one of rescue... “A man broke in my home to rape me and, at the foot of my bed, God stopped his heart and he died... When I was young, I was in a horrific auto accident and miraculously I didn’t suffer a scratch... When my marriage was in trouble, I prayed and suddenly my husband changed and became this dedicated, romantic man of my dreams. Oh by the way, you can read all about it in my book.” That might sound great, but that doesn’t reflect the world in which I live.

God does perform miracles—no doubt about that. Read Hebrews 11 and you’ll find a list of astounding events. But keep reading and you’ll find that heroes of the faith also suffered immensely.

When I’m faced with a problem, God can do one of two things: He can either change my circumstances, or He can change me. God does miraculously heal and provide; but even when God miraculously changes my circumstances, he has a habit of waiting until the eleventh hour; and in waiting for the rescue, I’m changed.

I’m convinced that often God is more interested in changing me than my circumstances. That to me is the greater miracle... that God can take something painful—even evil—and turn it into something good.

He did it with Heather. A child conceived through a rape is embraced by her mother as a gift from God. “When I’m weak, then I’m strong.”

God did the same at Calvary. The evil of the cross and Christ’s suffering and death became my life and my salvation. God is more interested in redemption than rescue. Don’t get me wrong. I pray for rescue all the time. But when God changes me, and I have victory over my circumstances, I’m changed and become more like Christ... and that to me is the greater miracle.

A Look at the Horizon

2008-01-15T14:12:00.000-05:00

It’s a new year. It’s a new day. There’s always a sense of adventure, when you look ahead, with God. Yes, yes, there may be some tall mountains to climb on the horizon—and there may be some deep valleys on the road ahead—but, honestly, as long as God is on the throne, there’s always something bright and wonderful to which you can look forward.

Our threads publication schedule (which also feeds our blog) requires me to deliver copy with a one week lead—sometimes (as over the Christmas holidays) two weeks in advance. That forces me to look ahead as I write. As I type this in my kitchen, I ponder where I will be one week from tonight.

Well, as you read this, I’ll be traveling to India. I have been invited to speak at a convention of the Church of God in Shillong, a city of 500,000 sandwiched between Bangladesh, China, and Myanmar (Burma). The largest Church of God population in the world lives in this relatively small region; 30,000 people are expected to attend the meetings this month. It is a privilege to stand with our Christian family there; thank you for your prayers along the way.

While in India, I will also visit Salem in the far south of the subcontinent, surrounded by mountains, several hundred kilometers west of Madras (where, interestingly, Thomas, the doubting disciple, is thought to be buried). It is at Salem where the Madison Park Church (over the last 15 years) has played a key role in the development of a 50-bed hospital that serves an indigent population of 5,000,000, always in Jesus’ name.

This is not my first visit to India, of course; I am always inspired and refreshed by a visit there. To see the Gospel at work in a world of 800,000,000 Hindus and 185,000,000 Muslims is, well, astonishing. A visit to India is, for me, at least, a kind of scrub that puts life into perspective, that strips away the veneer of my comfort zone, and that clarifies for me what really matters and what does not. I’m looking forward to it.

I’m also looking forward to coming home, though. I love my home. My family. Our church. This country. The chance to make a difference for the good, right here, right now.

I’m even looking forward to the Annual Business Meeting on Sunday evening, January 27 (beginning at 6:00p). Oh c’mon, you say, the Annual Business Meeting? You can’t be serious.

Well, I am serious. Because this year’s Annual Business Meeting will be filled with exciting news, as we think about the year ahead. It’s not about boring reports, columns of numbers, and tedious debate. Nope. This meeting will be about how God has blessed us and dreaming about what He’s still going to do with us and through us.

At the Annual Meeting, we’ll announce the totals of our Dreams Work campaign. I know many of you have been wondering, what happened to the total? When will we find out? Well, tune in to the Annual Meeting and you’ll hear all the good news. It’s been hard to get a final tally, because so many commitments and gifts have poured in as the year ended. I can tell you that over 400 families have stepped up to participate. I can tell you that millions have been pledged. I can tell you that offerings in December were the largest ever in our church’s history (totaling over $750,000)—even a more astonishing feat, when you remember that we had to cancel Sunday services on December 16.

At the Annual Meeting, you’ll hear all about the Dreams Work totals, about how God is providing, and what we still need to fulfill dreams in 2008. There’s much to celebrate—but, there’s much to pray about, as well. We still have some tall mountains to climb—but we are much encouraged as we continue the ascent.

You’ll also hear about exciting developments in our staff. The appointment of our new Senior Associate by the Board of Elders, for instance. You’ll have a chance to hear about what’s up ahead. And ask questions, too. We’ll appoint two new elders. We’ll talk about the future of Scatterfield. And more. I’m looking forward to it.

From India to Madison Park, God is at work in amazing ways. Don’t stand on the sidelines, don’t let the world pass you by. Don’t look backward—press ahead. You may not get to India this year, but you can find adventure in God’s purposes, even at the Annual Business Meeting. C’mon. Give it a try. Be fun. Be a part.

Be encouraged, dear friends. Have some curry and think about me. See you soon.

Finding Hope in Hairspray

2008-01-08T09:00:00.000-05:00

The movie Hairspray was one of my wife’s few Christmas gift wishes and, well, er uh, Santa obliged. On New Year’s Eve, we opened the DVD and huddled together with some friends to watch the story unfold on “the big screen” (okay our TV) at home. It’s hard to huddle and snuggle with this movie, though. It’s all toe-tappin’, heart-tuggin’, hand-clappin’ musical nonsense, clothed with an implausible storyline. Set in 1962 against the backdrop of the civil rights movement, it’s a kind of “March on Washington” meets “American Bandstand.” But, don’t laugh. In this movie, it works.

The cast? There’s teen idol Zac Efron, who plays, well, a teen idol. And Michelle Pfeiffer, who plays the scheming foil to every noble impulse. And John Travolta-dressed-as-a-woman, playing the heroine’s mother. And the lead, newcomer Nikki Blonsky (playing a character named Tracy Turnblad), a plus-sized teenaged vocal power-house with big hair whose seemingly endless virtue, hope-for-the-best, I’m-going-to-dream-the-impossible-dream, persona is irresistible. And don’t forget Queen Latifah, Christopher Walken, and James Marsden, too. Need I say more? Yes, yes, it’s kind of a “chick flick.” Warm and fuzzy. Boyfriends and girl-friends and silly crushes in the hall-way. Still, I was surprised,for all of that, how much I liked it; it’s all about hope.

The plot line is absurd. Would Tracy really ever be chosen to star as one of the beautiful people? Can a study hall really be the venue where the dream of integrating 60’s Baltimore is actually born? Can corrupt media moguls and bigot-ed police officers really be thwarted by a bigger “ugly Betty” and her dance moves? That’s what you’d have to believe to believe this movie. Don’t laugh. It works. The reason this movie works is because it appeals to the hope in all of us that some-how, someway, the right always prevails— and that ordinary people like you and me have the potential to be on the winning team. There’s something irresistible not just about Nikki Blonksy aka Tracy Turnblad, but about the whole idea that we can rise above the stereotypes and obstacles others put in our way.

I may not be able to sing. Or dance. Or integrate Baltimore. But I can believe the best, call out the best, and be the best beyond what others tell me. I can dream for more than I am, to discover more than I can see beyond my front door, to inspire others because I refuse to simply accept the status quo.

Wait a minute. Is there a bridge to the Bible here? Of course. Every hopeful story is a bridge to the Bible. Because hope is one of the three eternal realities the Scripture tells us will never pass away. Dreams, breathed by God, will appear impossible to those around us, but can, nevertheless, come to life. The right will trump the wrong, every time (even if it takes time). Life should be an adventure, in which we are set free and in which we help others to be free, too.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. Jim, it’s just a goofy movie. Yes. It’s also a great way to start the new year. Don’t run away from your dreams, just because they seem too far out there. Pray about them. Chase them. Reach for them. Dreams work. Never forget that.

Faith. Hope. And, Love. These three. What part of your world will you change in 2008?

A New High Calling

2008-01-02T10:11:00.000-05:00

EDITOR'S NOTE: Please note this week's blog posted January 2, 2008 was written on December 18, 2007. The blog was written for publication in the church's newsletter "threads" and because of the holidays the printer requested that copy to be published on January 2nd be delivered on December 18th. Jim's comments are in no way intended as a reflection on current events and headlines that have developed in recent days.

I’ve always loved politics. I don’t know why. So much of the political arena is distasteful—it can be a very messy business, in which ends can be seen to justify means, in which lofty goals can be sacrificed for short-term gain, in which the common good can be trumped by the mad pursuit of position and power.

Perhaps, that’s why the public per se views politicians warily. We tend to be suspicious, guarded at best. I’ve been shocked by how some members of our church family speak of them cynically, even with contempt. Once, while standing in the church foyer, a parishioner told me she believed the first President Bush (“Number 41”) was “the lap-dog of Satan.” There’s more: she was referring to Ronald Reagan as she spoke of “Satan.” Ouch.

The Democrats don’t get off easy, either. I can’t even repeat what I’ve heard some church folk say about Bill Clinton, not to mention Hillary. Local politicians can reap the whirlwind, too. It’s a tough crowd, out there.

Twenty-five years ago, I was a member of the Washington State Legislature, representing the 74,000 people of northwest Seattle in the statehouse at Olympia. John Spellman was Governor at the time; old enough to be my father, he was used to the rough and tumble inherent in any political career. But, as I found myself occasionally the Governor’s guest (for example, enjoying cheese and crackers in the Governor’s Mansion following exhausting, nearly-all-night sessions), I saw something else: John Spellman was a husband, father of six kids, and committed Catholic, who delighted in reading Luke 2 every Christmas, not for political gain but because that’s who he was. I’ll never forget him telling me, “Government service is the highest calling in life, save one: the Christian ministry.” He believed it; I did, too.

I’ve met all kinds of people with political portfolios. Some were bad apples—but most have been principled men and women reaching for the right. In my years as a pastor in Anderson, I have become well acquainted with many politicians, from both sides of the aisle. None has a monopoly on virtue; no one is without flaw. All are real people, with real families, real questions, and real feelings.

Sadly, we sometimes imagine that every politician has an agenda when he or she walks through the church door—that the church is “being used.” I have, regretfully, heard that said about every political figure that has ever, at one time or another, called this church home, including: Dennis Carroll, Rodney Cummings, Sam Hanna, Mark Lawler, David McIntosh, Tom Newman, Mike Welch, and, yes, the new Anderson Mayor, Kris Ockomon. I have seen them differently; each has been, at important moments, moved by God at work here.

Just before Thanksgiving, Kris Ockomon called and offered my wife a job in the Mayor’s Office. It was, on several levels, an answer to our prayers. We never imagined Maureen working at City Hall, but we were praying for employment. The whole boys-in college deal has been a huge financial challenge for us.

But, because I’m a pastor, nothing is just simple. What would the implications be for the church? What will people say? Will they think we’re taking a political stand, one way or another? I have prayed in public with parishioners, both Democrats and Republicans (Kris asked that I, as his pastor, for instance, would offer a prayer at his swearing in ceremony on New Year’s Day), but I have tried to walk carefully, avoiding casting a political pale over the church. Would this job be seen otherwise?

We prayed. We consulted with David Sebastian, the Chair of our Board of Elders (and Dean of the Anderson University School of Theology); he believed it was a most appropriate move; no problem. We spoke with members of our Madison Park Small Group (including former County Prosecutor Rodney Cummings, no stranger to the hardscrabble of politics in this town—he said, “Maureen, I think you should do it”). In the end, we believed the Lord opened the door and Maureen walked through it. Her new post starts today (January 2).

Kris has been very gracious and straightforward; he has high hopes for his new administration. We respect him; we have no quarrel with outgoing Mayor Kevin Smith, either. But like both Kevin and Kris, we long for Anderson to succeed. If Maureen can help advance our community by managing the front desk in the Mayor’s Office, well, she’s glad to do what she can.

Politicians are people, too. So are pastors. Just like you. Thanks for understanding.

And, oh yeah, if you, along the way, have a problem with the new Mayor or have a question about the city’s course, don’t call me. Call him. I’m sure he’d be glad to speak with you. If you have a question about the Bible, give me a call. That’s my line.

Happy New Year, Madison Park. We love you. I Timothy 2:1-3 and Matthew 7:12

Being Jesus in Our World

2007-12-18T14:37:00.000-05:00

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.

The Hinge of History

2007-12-11T11:35:00.000-05:00

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)

Betty's Big Dream

2007-12-05T13:51:00.000-05:00

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.

Celebrating Sixty

2007-11-27T09:17:00.000-05:00

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.

Sharing the Harvest

2007-11-19T14:43:00.000-05:00

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!

The Dreams of MPC

2007-11-13T20:23:00.000-05:00

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.

Reading the Architecture

2007-11-07T14:28:00.000-05:00

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!

Reframing Our Futures

2007-10-29T20:19:00.000-04:00

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.

More than The Messenger

2007-10-25T10:33:00.000-04:00

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.

Whose Is It, Anyway?

2007-10-16T10:00:00.000-04:00

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!

Passing Along Good Reports

2007-10-09T16:17:00.000-04:00

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.

The Dove Harbor Dream

2007-10-02T12:50:00.000-04:00

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 Four L’s of Change

2007-09-26T18:02:00.000-04:00

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.

Kneeling in the Need of Prayer

2007-09-14T17:26:00.000-04:00

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.

An Autumn Sampler

2007-09-13T11:38:00.000-04:00

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.

The "Queen" is Dead

2007-09-01T08:10:00.000-04:00

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.

Unlikely Inspiration

2007-08-28T16:03:00.000-04:00

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.

Peace in the Midst of Panic

2007-08-22T06:32:00.000-04:00

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.

Painting the True Picture

2007-08-14T12:49:00.000-04:00

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

No Small Change

2007-08-07T13:53:00.000-04:00

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

My Day in the Rain

2007-07-31T10:19:00.000-04:00

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.

Uphill—Both Ways?

2007-07-24T11:33:00.000-04:00

I grabbed my baseball cap, dabbed some sunscreen on my face, tied my running shoes, and headed out the door. It was bright and hot outside—but the air was dry. The sun that shines over Alberta’s Canadian plains can dazzle—but, the air is mercifully dry.

I spoke at the Western Canada Convention of the Church of God, north of Calgary, last week. The church owns a stunning 40-acre retreat center above the Red River Canyon, as it slices between steep cliffs at a place called Deer Valley Meadows. The retreat center’s buildings hug the hillside, which drops dramatically to the river below, a tapestry of green meadows, wildflowers, and evergreen trees. Across the canyon, vast fields of bright yellow canola stretch endlessly, undulating and incandescent in the bright afternoon sun.

I walked down the road that leads to the gate, checked my watch, and started to run. The gravel road climbs slowly to the highway beyond. The fresh scent of evergreen, mixed with cottonwood, was everywhere. The sky was absolutely brilliant blue, sharp and clear. There was not a sound except the cushioned press of my feet falling at a steady pace on the ground below.

It was a workout though. The heat. The incline. Finally, I found the top of the hill and the smooth pavement of a two-lane provincial highway.

Hmmm. Let’s see. Which way to run. There’s a hill to the left. Another hill—but it looks less-of-ahill—on the right. Two roads diverged. Oh, nevermind. I’ll go right. Looks easier.

I picked up my pace now, the incline less than the dirt road before. I got lost in thought for a while, thinking about home. My wife. My sons. My parents. Seattle. Anderson. Madison Park. What I’m going to preach about later that day. Will there be hot water in the lodge showers when I get back? Or, will all of the guys playing sandlot volleyball have used it up? My mind wandered.

Whew. When is this hill going to end? I see the crest up ahead. Maybe I should turn back. No, I’m determined to run for 40 minutes—I’m not cutting it short just because I’m running uphill in a foreign country and have no idea where I really am.

At the top of the hill, the road opens ahead, level and flat. Nice. Okay, so I’ll go for another 10-15 minutes, before turning around. The canola and wheat on either side are breathtaking, as a warm breeze gently waves across both.

Time to turn back. Boy, that last leg, on the even ground, was just right. As I crossed over the deserted highway and turned to retrace my steps I gasped. What I thought had been an easy level run was actually downhill. I had been running downhill ever since I came to the crest 15 minutes ago. I couldn’t believe it. I stared upward at the highway as it climbed back toward the opposite horizon. How could I have not noticed? How could I have kept running, imagining I was “on the level” when I was actually descending?

I ran back up the hill. Ouch. The sun was searing now, my shirt was drenched with sweat, and the beautiful deck overlooking the Red River Canyon was the stuff of my dreams. That run back up the hill was as draining as any I had experienced in a long, long time. I made it—but I earned that hot fudge sundae I’d eat later (after the evening service).

Finally, at the top of the hill (again), I began running down. It was a gentle slope—it appeared a lot gentler going down than up—and I found myself, at last, at the retreat center’s gate once more. I stopped and took my pulse. One hundred sixty-eight beats per minute. For an old guy like me, well, that’s a workout.

As I cleaned up, I kept thinking about how much like life that run across Canada had been. We all know we have to climb sometimes—but, oh how easy it is to imagine that we’re holding our own, staying level, when in fact we’re going downhill. The decline can be so incremental, so subtle, that we don’t even notice it, until the moment comes when we have to turn around. Then we realize how far down we’ve come—and how strenuous it will be to get back to where we started.

That’s why the disciplines—the instruments—of Christian life are so important. The Scriptures are a daily check, to keep us moving upward and forward. Prayer helps, too. And, the scrub and encouragement—the compass—that a growing relationship with the Body of Christ can provide is irreplaceable. Indispensable. The Holy Spirit works through all three to keep us moving heavenward.

Join the journey with us at Madison Park. Connect. Grow. Serve. Sign up for the next Join the Journey class online. It’s for everyone, no matter how long you’ve been here. And then, get into a small group that networks with the larger church family. You’ll find the run a lot more satisfying that way. You’ll stay in shape. And, your chances of running downhill will be next to none.

A Number of Surprises

2007-07-17T10:11:00.000-04:00

I don’t know about you, but I’d have to say that moving into our new ministry center at Madison Park has brought a few surprises.

Surprise Number 1: Even though the building is many times larger than our last church home on Scatterfield, this one feels more friendly and welcoming. The auditorium actually is a more intimate space than the smaller Sanctuary at Scatterfield. The vast Commons has become a community of conversations—people show up an hour before the first service and stay until an hour after the second service just to talk and visit. Awesome. The Crossroads Auditorium, Main Street, the Children’s Center—they all just feel more comfortable, more user-friendly, more like-home, than anything we’ve experienced in years. How can it be? Maybe it’s the high ceilings. Maybe it’s the generous daylight that floods into building. Maybe it’s the fact we don’t feel crowded and “in-the-way” anymore. Maybe it’s because God has anointed the place. Maybe it’s all of the above.

Surprise Number 2: Lots more people than we imagined have stopped by to visit. We expected to see some new faces, but the sheer numbers of guests have been, well, astounding. Hundreds. Maybe even a thousand. In just four weeks. New friends stop in every day of the week (hundreds have signed our guest book during the weekdays, alone). New friends come by on Sundays (our Hospitality Room ministry team and 320 other Front Door Ministry volunteers have been especially important, as they welcome folks to Madison Park). Our first Lighthouse Café in the Commons served three times as many people as it used to routinely serve at Scatterfield. Our children’s ministry has seen three times as many children on Sunday mornings. Whew! More helping hands are always needed. Connect. Grow. Serve.

Surprise Number 3: Many dear souls who originally believed they would not, for one reason or another, find their way to Madison Park have felt led to “go south” with the larger church family, after all. To see these precious friends still a part of the family has been marvelous. Every one counts. And, while we know the Lord may lead some Scatterfield friends elsewhere, it’s still tough to stay “goodbye.” What a joy and blessing to say, “hello,” instead, each Sunday morning. Thanks to each one who has made the extra effort and taken a chance to join us. We love you.

Surprise Number 4: The building is fast becoming a “life center,” very much like the “life centers” we have helped build in India. More than a Sunday-meeting-house, life centers are community resources that become venues for all kinds of life-giving events and ministries. Our Fourth of July community celebration, for instance, proved to be an astonishing success, drawing huge crowds, with kids, families, seniors, young adults, and everyone in between eating, talking, strolling, playing, listening, and enjoying. Weddings, bereavement dinners, baptisms, child dedications, family reunions, support groups—they’ve all found a place in our first month at Madison Park. We did not anticipate so much, so fast.

Surprise Number 5: More volunteers than ever have stepped up to help. The building’s opening has somehow inspired a legion of new volunteers to get involved. There’s always room for one more and more to be done. But, this congregation has never before had so many people volunteering to get so much done.

Surprise Number 6: The roof “talks.” Well, it’s not in a language we can understand, but the roof does make itself heard every now and then. Don’t worry, though: our contractor, the roofing subcontractor, and the roofing supplier are all working together to help “quiet ‘er down.” The roof’s “talking points” have been diagnosed and remedies are being developed. It may take some time to make the necessary structural changes, but, they will be done. In the meantime, tell your friends that this is a building with a personality all its own.

Surprise Number 7: Nobody’s complaining about the roof. Not that anyone in our congregation would complain about anything, anyway, but, usually, we’d hear a ruffle or two about such things. But, so far as I can tell, everybody’s in a positive frame of mind and full of good cheer. In fact, with a rare exception here-and-there, you have been fabulous in the whole move, riding the wave as we make adjustments, embracing change and extending selfless grace and kindness to all. That’s why I love you, Madison Park Church. It’s not the building or the music or the visiting in the Commons or the programming or anything else that makes this congregation great and good—it’s the Spirit and the generous attitude toward others that He inspires that makes this congregation a gem. Every night, before I sleep, I pray that God will be glorified at Madison Park. And I believe He is. That’s not really a surprise, after all. Not with a people like you. Thanks for letting your light shine; thanks for your encouragement and faithfulness.

Appreciation for the Eclectic

2007-07-03T11:34:00.000-04:00

Our third son, Andrew, is living and working in Seattle this summer, saving money for a university semester in France later this year. He’s our “global child,” you might say, always fascinated by the larger world around him. His favorite city so far? Venice. Hands down. But, to be honest, he was charmed by Stockholm last May. India? He wants to go. And to Rio, too. And Africa. And... well, you get the idea. Suitcases and long airplane trips are no problem for him.

Maybe that’s why his taste is so eclectic in, well, just about everything. He can dress up or dress down—and be comfortable with both. He can read fiction and non-fiction and enjoy. He can eat spicy or bland. No problem. And music? Well, he likes it all.

Which brings us back to his summer in Seattle—which is, after all, kind of an eclectic place, too. Famous for the “grunge” sound, Kurt Cobain, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and all of that, Seattle is also steeped in a proud classical tradition. Pacific Northwest Ballet, Seattle Opera, and the Seattle Symphony all rank among the nation’s best. Last week, Andrew went to a symphony concert at the stunning Benaroya Hall—a spectacular performance showcase in the heart of downtown—an architectural and acoustical wonder that opened in 1998.

One of Andrew’s cousins went along, too. They sat next to a young mom and her five-year old daughter, neither of whom they had met before. Antonin Dvorak’s Symphony No. 8 in G Major shared the bill with Paul Schoenfield’s Klezmer Rondos for Solo Flute and Chamber Orchestra. Forget the Mariner’s game at Safeco Field—this was a whole different show.

The young mom and her daughter didn’t know much about the music, but Andrew did. He explained the history and pedigree of the pieces, answered questions about the symphony, and marveled at the elegant presentation in the 2,500-seat Mark Taper Hall. He loved it. The people he met around him did, too. His cousin’s review was more mixed. The symphony wasn’t really her deal, so-to-speak, but she enjoyed exploring Benaroya for the first time with her cousin from Hoosierland, just the same. In the end, the music didn’t matter as much as the company. Family. New friends who had never met before. A new adventure, things to see, experiences to write home about.

The tickets were cheap—only $20 each. To walk through the jaw-dropping, four-story glass atrium (complete with Starbuck’s, of course), was worth that. And a glimpse of the sun setting across Elliott Bay through that glass was unforgettable. And the constant ribbon of car lights that whir around the downtown block that is Benaroya, surrounded by towering skyscrapers on three sides and Puget Sound on the other—well, very cool.

But, it was the company, the laughter, the listening, the conversation, and the relationships, that made the whole evening worthwhile.

That’s the way church should be, too, don’t you think? You may not always like the tempo of the music, or the balance of sound, or the way somebody else was “up front,” or, whatever. But, it’s the wonder of friendships—old and new—the laughter, the listening, the learning, the sharing, the relationships that make being part of a church family so worthwhile.

Benaroya is home to many genre of music. Pearl Jam—we’re talking rock with an edge here—even has an album: Live at Benaroya Hall. Jazz is big there, too. Even country. And, Chinese music (very different from the western music to which most of us are accustomed). But, the place welcomes everyone.

Madison Park is no Benaroya Hall—but, in these parts, it’s pretty close, Of course, it’s not a concert hall per se, it’s a house of worship, a house of prayer, and a meeting place for God’s people. All of ’em. That includes the ones who like the music loud—and those who like it soft. Those who like 19th century hymns and those who are drawn to today’s new tune. It includes those who like Dvorak and those who’ve never heard of him and don’t care and those, like Andrew, who like it all.

How eclectic are you? How respectful are you of the diversity of God’s church? How willing are you to defer to one another? How committed are you to the great legacy of unity and oneness that is the Church of God? Are you willing to develop friendships and worship with people whose taste may be substantially different from your own? Or, do you think everybody should just be happy with the way you like it, because, after all, it’s your hall, anyway?

Hmmm. I think it’s God’s hall. That’s why we call it the Madison Park Church of God. And, I think He has a lot more eclectic taste that I could ever imagine. And, if He’s happy, I’m happy. He is the audience, when you stop and think about it.

Maybe we just need to get out more - you know, and see the world. India? Haiti? Russia? Timbuktu? You’d be amazed at the different kinds of worship out there.

I love ya, Madison Park. All of ya. Each one. No matter what your musical trip might be.

True Liberation for Today

2007-06-26T10:10:00.000-04:00

Paul McCartney was flying home from a vacation in Kenya. He (like friends and fellow band members, George Harrison, John Lennon, and Ringo Starr) was exhausted by the punishing pace of concert touring (Beatlemania was at its zenith and live shows were thought to be necessary to promote any new collection of songs); furthermore, he had grown to resent the stereotyping of the boys from Liverpool (mop-topped haircuts, matching suits, and boyish grins). It was November, 1966.

As he sat on the long flight home from Nairobi, McCartney had an idea. What if the Beatles produced an album “in disguise,” pretending to be an alter-ego group that dressed differently, sang differently, and broke the mold? He even cooked up a name: “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.”

“We’d pretend to be someone else,” he later reflected, “It liberated you—you could do anything when you got to the mic or on your guitar, because it wasn’t you.” It was goodbye forever to the “Can’t Buy Me Love” Beatles; it was hello to the “A Day in the Life” and “She’s Leaving Home” Beatles. The boys became men. And pop culture was turned on its head. The now-iconic album was released 40 years ago this month, in June, 1967.

In 2003, Rolling Stone dubbed Sgt. Pepper’s “the most important rock ‘n roll album ever made, an unsurpassed adventure in concept, sound, songwriting, cover art and studio technology by the greatest rock ’n roll group of all time.” It has since been described as one of the most important emblems of the modern age, defining, driving, and capturing the tenor of not just one, but several generations. Not only did the album usher in the famous (infamous?) “summer of love” and hinge a sea-change in popular mores, it almost single-handedly moved FM radio to the forefront (because AM radio formats demanded “single hits,” Sgt. Pepper’s “streaming” tunes, one flowing out of the other, were relegated to FM—which, in turn, drew large numbers of listeners to FM for the first time) and transformed the recording industry. No longer would live tours be required to promote new music (the Beatles never gave a live concert again) and new technologies found a niche in the mainstream (eight-track recording, over-dubbing, orchestration synthesized with electronic instruments, etc.). Sgt. Pepper’s was the first album to include printed lyrics for the listener, the first to elevate cover design to art, and the first to run one song into another, seamlessly creating a musical tapestry, woven together from start to finish.

But, c’mon. It’s just a record. Big deal. Well, maybe. But, interestingly, 40 years after its release, Sgt. Pepper’s remains one of the world’s best-selling collections. It has popularized, for two generations, a cultural vocabulary that transcends commercial music. In another age, when biblical metaphors and imagery were almost universally understood—even outside of the church—phrases like “I get by with a little help from my friends,” “picture yourself on a boat on a river, with tangerine trees and marmalade skies,” and “lovely Rita, meter maid,” would be the stuff of Alice in Wonderland. Not so today. Biblical phrases are unfamiliar and Sgt. Pepper’s lyrics have become the reference points of ordinary conversation.

Not so long ago, in a random survey, high school students were asked who first uttered the famous line, “There is no greater love than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Most answered, “Abraham Lincoln.” (Wrong: it was Jesus.) Everyone knew that “I read the news today, oh boy, about a lucky man who made the grade,” was a Beatles’ line—and a line from Sgt. Pepper’s. Hmmm.

Still, pop culture ebbs and flows. The same questions, the same angst, the same wrestling with the sad and impossible stories from real life that have given Sgt. Pepper’s traction over all these years are in play today. Maybe that’s why the album still sells.

The Beatles never seem to find the answers to those questions, though; their best effort simply escapes them. But, the answers can be found—in the timeless masterpiece that is also the most influential and transcendent work of all time: the Bible.

For the next few weeks, walk with me through Colossians—a New Testament gem that answers the questions Sgt. Pepper’s, “the summer of love,” and people of all ages have been asking for 40 years (and more). McCartney’s pretend band poses real questions. The Bible patiently—and consistently—provides real answers. It was twenty—er uh—forty years ago today, Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play. They’ve been going in and out of style, but they’re guaranteed to raise a smile. So may I introduce to you... Sgt. Pepper’s meets Colossians, Sundays this summer at Madison Park Church. Connect. Grow. Serve.

Becoming A Key Player

2007-06-19T10:35:00.000-04:00

It has been the central and most versatile instrument of western music since the 18th century, adapted for venues as diverse as concert halls to bawdy saloons to living rooms in the-house-next-door to, yes, even houses of worship. It stands alone as a musical soloist and can enhance any ensemble, band, or orchestra. It is the platform for just about every genre of music—pop, country, classical, and sacred. It is, of course, the piano.

Italian Bartolomeo Cristofori is credited with developing the first piano (in the 1690’s). He pioneered the piano technology (keyboard-hammers-strings) that is still in use today. Over the years, hundreds of manufacturers have attempted to improve on Cristofori’s pianoforte; Steinway and Baldwin are two names that come to mind.

And then, there’s Torakusu Yamaha. Yamaha was born in Japan in 1861 and became fascinated with western culture and technology. He trained as a watchmaker and eventually repaired medical equipment. In the 1890’s, he built a reed organ. But it was the first piano manufactured in the Orient in 1900 that cemented his name in the musical history books. By 1904, Yamaha’s acoustic excellence and woodworking craftsmanship earned his pianos Grand Prizes at the St. Louis World’s Fair. Yamaha pianos were catapulted into the first tier of the world’s finest instruments. Yamaha concert grands are still considered some of the world’s best—and chosen more often than any other by top classical musicians at prestigious global competitions.

We have a spectacular new concert grand piano at Madison Park. Well, it’s new to us, anyway. It’s a Yamaha that has been the recording studio piano for some of popular music’s greatest talents; it arrived from its original home in Los Angeles (fully refurbished and tuned for our use) last week; its black-wood finish elegantly graces our platform in the Auditorium.

Those very ivories have been tickled by some famous hands, including those of: James Taylor, Stevie Wonder, Tony Bennett, and Andrew Lloyd Weber. When you hear their recordings, you may be listening to our piano, also. It’s an instrument that good.

Weeks before the piano found its way to our new home, Steve Williamson sent me a picture and “bio” on the piece. For him, this piano was “love at first sight.” I almost had to ask him to take a cold shower. It’s just a piano, Steve. Cool down.

Still, I understand his excitement. Its brilliant, precise, and rich tones stand alone. A piano can speak in a thousand languages and communicate clearly, every time. It can speak to older generations and younger ones, too. It’s always in vogue. It captures traditional favorites and fresh new songs. It can bring a hush across the room or inspire even the most reserved soul to tap a foot or clap the hands. It can move us with a simple melody, just one note at a time, or take our breath away with an astounding sweep of chords and keys, running from one end of the keyboard to the other. This piano has seen it all. And, in the right hands, it can do it all.

Kind of like this church. Versatile. Flexible. Adaptable. Elegant. And, fun, too. Sober, when it needs to be. Full of laughter and smiles the rest of the time. We are an instrument in Heaven’s hand, with a wonderful history, but now poised for even greater things.

We’ve got some sharps and flats. Some high notes and low ones. Black keys and white keys. Several octaves stretch across our keyboard. Not one key is of much use by itself, but when played by the Master, following the composition of His choice, whoa, what a sound. What a magnificent instrument. Even better than the Yamaha concert grand.

The next time you walk into the Auditorium at Madison Park—the next time you hear that piano sing—stop and think about our
congregation. Where it’s been, what we’ve seen. And how wonderful it is to be on a new stage, right here, right now. It’s a whole new chapter of exciting new tunes, even as we recall treasured ones. It’s a whole new season of opportunity, inspiration, blessing, and beautiful music that God can call out of us, with which to move the hearts of a larger audience than we have ever before imagined. It gives new meaning to one of my favorite phrases, “Stay tuned.”

Add your note. Become a key player in our church’s life. Don’t sit on the sidelines, don’t be the old upright in Uncle George’s attic or
the tinny keyboard in your cousin Vinny’s rec room—be a part of the new grand. Maybe you’ve only played for the world outside before—no matter—God can use you at Madison Park now.

Contact our Volunteer Coordinator Marti Freeman. She’ll help you find your place to serve. You’ll be amazed at the beautiful music you can make. The time is now. Get involved. Be encouraged. Connect. Grow. Serve.

The Final Countdown

2007-06-12T10:46:00.000-04:00

This is it, folks. The doors at Madison Park open this Sunday, June 17. Here are 10 things to remember as we walk into the next chapter of God’s great plan for us:

1. God is leading us. Our move to Madison Park has been, from the beginning, driven by Providence. From the $1,000,000 offering initiative (November, 1995) to the 60 days of 24-hour prayer and fasting (February-March, 1997) to the fateful "Take them south” sermon (June, 1997) to the three years of ministry at Anderson High School on Madison Avenue (launched in 1998) to the taking of an option to buy the 211 acres (August, 1999) to the actual purchase of the Madison Park site (August, 2000) to drafting building and financing plans (beginning in 2001) to the groundbreaking (November, 2005) to building of roads and utility infrastructure (2006) to the completion of the building (June, 2007), God has led us. Through three building fund campaigns, countless hours of prayer, 26 congregational business meetings, four outdoor services on the grassy ACE airport landing strip, the baptism of over 40 people in the lake at Madison Park, and oh-so-much-more, God has led us. Whatever else comes to mind when you walk through the 60-foot parkling wall of glass that is our church’s new front door, never forget: God led us here.

2. Our children’s ministry will never be underground again. For almost twenty years, our children’s ministry has labored virtually underground, in the Scatterfield basement. Without windows in most rooms, with narrow hallways, cave-like corners under low ceilings, and beat-up, miss-matched furniture, our children’s ministry has struggled to draw new kids and keep the ones we have. Take a walk through the Madison Park Children’s Center and, well, your jaw will drop open. Big windows. High ceilings. Wide hallways. State-of-the-art media and all new furnishings and fixtures. All designed with safety and security in mind, too. This is a huge advance for a church aiming to draw more families and children.

3. Our youth will be under the same roof with the rest of us once more. For the last 10 years, our youth have met at Cross Street, while "the rest of the family” met at Scatterfield. Scatterfield just doesn’t have anywhere for the junior and senior high kids to go. Cross Street has been (and still is) a very versatile ministry hub—but, for everyone who’s lived with the “dropping one child off here and the other there and...” Madison Park’s Crossroads Auditorium, loft, and youth center adjacent to The Commons will be a “taste of heaven.”

4. We’ll be able to eat together. The Scatterfield Fellowship Hall can only seat a few hundred—and no other space in Madison County can accommodate more than 500 for dinner, either. At Madison Park, we’ll be able to seat (and serve) up to 1000 for a meal (with a kitchen large enough to prepare the food, too).

5. We’ll have adult meeting and conference rooms for the first time since we worshiped on Broadway (in 1984). Take a stroll down the broad avenue of an interior corridor we call “Main Street” and check out a whole wingfull of rooms perfectly set-up for adults.

6. There are no stairs. Anywhere. Well, okay, there are stairs up at the front of the platform and leading to the technical room and to the Crossroads Mezzanine... but, otherwise, for the most part, worshippers will have easy access to the building without having to navigate steps.

7. No more waiting in line for the restroom. Let’s just say, at Madison Park, you’ll just have to see the restrooms for yourself. Whew.

8. There are 1,070 parking spaces on site. Forget parking on the grass or the hassle of waiting for a space after the first service gets out. Yes, it can be a ways to walk if you’re “on the edges,” but, we’ll also have a much expanded valet service, multiple drop-off lanes under the soaring canopy at the front, and a parking lot shuttle that will pick you up at your car and drop you off there, too. The shuttle will run for 30 minutes before and after each service start and end time.

9. The Main Auditorium will seat up to twice as many as our Scatterfield site—but with only four more seating rows, front to back. That’s because of the much wider arc of seating. No balcony, either. You’ll just have to see it to believe it. Very cool.

10. It’s all about helping people find God. For all of its conveniences, Madison Park Church is about opening doors in people’s hearts. How we love, serve, and invite others there will make the difference. Connect. Grow. Serve. Beginning this Sunday at 10:00am at Madison Park. You can be there or hear about it. And you will hear about it. So, why not bring a friend and be there? Join us at Madison Park and catch the excitement and adventure of the new day. I just know you will be blessed if you do. See ya then!

A Season of Change

2007-06-05T10:49:00.000-04:00

I had never been to a Cracker Barrel before. It was the first Saturday in June, 1991; I sat at a table, for the first time, with Jim and Jill Rogers.

Jim was working then for the Gaither Studio—and an additional few hours each week as the youth pastor at North. The church had lost its youth minister the year before and Jim and Jill had agreed to step into the void temporarily, bridging the program until another pastor could be found. But, as months went by, they found a kind of fulfillment working with teenagers they had not known before. And it wasn’t just the kids they enjoyed; they also loved working with the other adult volunteers, developing friendships and watching God bless.

I was the new Senior Pastor, in town to buy a house before moving to Anderson a few months later. “Could it be that God is calling us into the ministry?” “What do you think Pastor Lyon?” I told them about my own call to ministry. It seemed like my story was much like theirs, only I was just a bit farther down the road.

After some serious prayer, I spoke also with North’s lay leadership. They, too, had seen the Lord’s hand on Jim and Jill and encouraged me to explore with them the possibilities of a fulltime post. I did. And the Rogers’ said, “Yes!” Jim and I began working full-time at North on the same day, August 11, 1991.

Jim and Jill, Maureen and I became close friends. They invited us into their home on our first Christmas Day in Anderson, when we felt otherwise quite alone. They made us a part of their family. Jill made a pot of chili, with salad and treats on the buffet, in their house in old Edgewood. We drank hot chocolat and watched Josh and Nathanael play in the family room; the boys were then two years old. As we drove home, Maureen and I talked about how important the Rogers had become to us; we could not have survived the adjustment of moving from Seattle to Anderson without them by our side.

Jim’s ministry evolved at North. From youth to administration to discipleship and education to pastoral care to Senior Associate, leading the Associate staff. He stepped forward to preach. He mastered weddings and funerals. He helped dream dreams. He held steady when I might have faltered, walking the long road that has brought us to Madison Park.

Jill kept the homefires burning, through it all. She pioneered ministry for special needs children at North, sang in the Women’s Ensemble, ministered to the pastor’s wives, organized back-up singers for the Retro, whipped up a mean latte in the Holy Grounds, hosted a small group, and oh-so-much-more.

Our families went to the pumpkin patch together. To Siesta Key for spring break. Out to dinner. Over for dinner. To the movies. Jim and I went to India. Maureen and Jill went to Seattle. Our sons became brothers. Maureen stood by Jill’s bed as Caleb was born. I stood beside them as they dedicated Caleb and Libby to the Lord. We’ve laughed and cried. Through triumphs and tragedies. They have blessed us, as I know they have blessed many of you. We have been strengthened by their love and witness, as I know you have been, as well.

But, some very tough challenges, in time, chased Jim and Jill down. In the end, their marriage has unraveled. It’s a complex and sad story—such stories always are. A sobering tale of loss and grief, broken hearts and missed moments. It is not necessary to visit the details; it’s enough to know that two people held very dear by all of us have found themselves in a desperate season— and their children find themselves now living in a broken home.

As a consequence, Jim has stepped forward to resign from his position as our Senior Associate, effective June 1. He has not done so because of a moral failure or gross sin, but because he knows that given the circumstances, many of which are beyond his control, he needs to focus on rebuilding his life, investing in his children, and developing a new reservoir of emotional and spiritual energy before venturing back into a leadership role.

The ministry can require you to deliver a lot to others; Jim knows he doesn’t have that much to give right now.

Perhaps, someday, he will be clothed, once more, in a pastor’s mantle—but not now. And with this assessment, the Board of Elders, his psychologist, his friends on the staff, and yes, this Senior Pastor all agree.

It is with unspeakable sadness that I write these things. Jim and Jill, Josh, Caleb, and Libby are treasured more than words can tell. It is impossible for me to comprehend that they are not still one family. But, things are as they are.

Pray for them. Each one. Love them. Every one. Lift them up and expect the best from them. All of them, even as they walk through this deep valley. May the Lord bring them healing and place, as they seek His perfect will and way.

And, thank God for the years Jim and Jill have poured into the Lord’s work at North. We will never be the same.

I love you, Jim and Jill. My heart aches for you. Please know that you and your children will always be a part of our family. Just like you made us a part of yours so many Christmases ago.

Putting It All in Perspective

2007-05-29T11:52:00.000-04:00

There’s a nice guy in our congregation who likes to fly—so much so that he bought himself a plane. He has one of those “life and death” kind of jobs that probably pays well enough, but also takes a toll. The pressure and tension of every ordinary day can take your breath away.

And so, he flies. Somehow, soaring into the heavens—well, okay, cruising anyway between 1,000 and 9,000 feet—soothes the soul and recharges the batteries. On beautiful, clear, and calm days, few things could be more, well, heavenly.

Last week he invited me to fly, too. I rode “shotgun” (as my sons like to say), peering over the instrument panel and gawking at the blue sky. I also spent a fair amount of time staring at the ground below, too. There is more than just quiet and an expansive view up there, there’s also a unique perspective.

In a glance, I saw all of Anderson. The spatial relationships of familiar streets and buildings fit together quite differently when seen from above than they do when observed driving below. We flew low enough to capture the cars—and even cows—that dot the landscape of Madison County. Rooftops. Trees. Ponds. Swimming pools. Driveways with basketball goals. The race track. The university. Schools. Churches. Everything. Under a bright afternoon sun.

It was our new facility at Madison Park that really stood out for me, though. As the plane banked to the right, I could see the long ribbon of I-69 moving from Indianapolis toward Muncie. The volume of traffic, the life and energy, the constant, unbroken movement that is the interstate’s signature was riveting. It clearly is the artery from which our whole country draws its lifeblood these days.

And there, where I-69 gives entrance to Anderson’s retail and commercial core at exit 26, stood our new facility at Madison Park. The sprawling campus, parking lots, roadways, and broad sidewalks (being paved even as we flew over) wereastonishing. I gasped at the strategic placement of our new ministry center, as seen from above. I’ve driven by it on the ground a gazillion times, I’ve talked about “the strategic intersection” a thousand times, but suddenly, in a way I had not imagined, I realized—I saw with my own eyes—that Madison Park sits “smack dab” in the middle of this community’s present and future.

If you don’t believe me, check it out for yourself from above. Look at the ribbons of traffic, where they move, where they converge, where people are going. And, you’ll see what I saw: the future at Madison Park. As a wise sage once told me, “It’s not how far you are from someplace that matters, it’s how far you are from the interstate that matters.” Well, we’re there.

Why does that matter? Because an important dimension of church life is its impact on the world that surrounds it. Salt and light. Influence. The ability to see and be seen. Of course, the first century church found itself preaching in temple squares, meeting in homes, and sometimes scattered by persecution—and it thrived. But, it always seized opportunity to strategically place its voice in the middle of things, so far as it was able.

It was convenient for Paul to preach in the heart of Ephesus—or to sail for Macedonia—or find his way to Rome, for that matter. But, the first century believers always found their way to the center of things. We are, in this day and age, doing the same, too.

Just plopping a new building in a visible location won’t do it, though. Ultimately, it’s the life we bring to the place that will make the difference.

That’s why we’re aligning our ministries on a new continuum: Connect. Grow. Serve. Madison Park is all about helping people connect to God and to each other. And then, helping them to grow in those relationships. And, then to help everyone find a place to serve, for Jesus’ sake.

Whether you’ve been a part of our church family for years—or are just finding your way—we’re excited to invite everyone to Join the Journey at Madison Park, to: connect, grow, and serve.

Flying above Madison Park helped me put it all in perspective. In a moment, in one sweeping glance, thousands and thousands of people, thousands and thousands of individual stories, hopes, dreams, and fears, swirled around the place we will call our church home. It’s a bit like what Heaven sees all of the time, I suppose. I’m so thankful for a friend who helped me see it just once. And, even more, I’m so thankful for the privilege of being a part of it, right here, right now.

June 17. One service at 10:00am. Unforgetable. At Madison Park. Don’t miss it. Bring a friend. Connect. Grow. Serve.

Safty in Individuals

2007-05-15T12:45:00.001-04:00

In the Y locker room after my daily run, I noticed the guy seated on the bench across from me. “Hey, how are ya?” I asked, as he stared at the floor. He looked up with a sad expression and said, “Not good.”

He’s someone I’ve known for several years. He and his family once attended North—and then, one Sunday he gave me hug in the center aisle and walked away, without a word—and then the whole family just stopped coming. No goodbye. No explanation. They were just gone.

I continued to see him at the Y, but he always looked away when I approached. You know, one of those uncomfortable kind of moments. Like there was some unresolved business, something unsaid that needed to be spoken, some wall between us I could not see but unmistakably felt.

Then, one day in the locker room, he walked by and I said, “Hi.” He turned and started talking. He said he felt bad that he walked out of church that day and never came back—that some other members of his family wanted something different—that he should have been man enough to at least say goodbye—that he loved and appreciated the ministry at North—and me—so much—that he was sorry.

I wasn’t sure how to reply, except to say, “No problem. Thanks for sharing your heart just now. And, I love and respect you, too.” That was it. He walked away. Since that day, we’ve talked and laughed and talked more, while passing by. But not this day. Something was the matter. “Is there anything I can do to help?” I inquired. He looked up and said, “Can we talk?”

“Of course.”

He began to pour his heart out about some stuff at home—his hopes and fears and doubts. I listened. I responded with some counsel, as best I knew how. We prayed, out loud, together, right there in the locker room at the Y.

“You have always been a safe person for me, Jim,” he said. “Whenever I think I don’t know where to turn or who to talk to, you come to mind. You make people feel safe.”

I suppose that might be true, for some people. But, I can think of several people who wouldn’t consider me “safe,” at all—in the sense that they think I’m overbearing, or too self-focused, or too judgmental, or too... well, you fill in the blank. The truth is: safe means different things to different people, and we’re all perceived one way by some and another way by others. Maybe that’s because none of us manage our relationships perfectly and all of us are very complex personalities.

I’d like to be a “safe person” for others, though. But, how? I’ve been thinking about this lately. Here are some of my conclusions:

(1) Safe people are committed. They don’t bail when a relationship requires some work. They make long-term commitments for the long-haul. You can depend on them.

(2) Safe people are honest. They do not patronize, pretending wrong is right or right is wrong. They speak the truth in love and listen in the same way. Even when a relationship may be strained by the truth, they stand by the truth, knowing, that, in the end, every relationship is strengthened by authenticity.

(3) Safe people have clear boundaries. They know who they are and are comfortable in their own skin. Consequently, they can establish—and enforce—clear boundaries to develop healthy relationships.

(4) Safe people have a generous spirit that is not easily offended and gracious to a fault. They believe the best, hope for the best, and call out the best. They build up, not tear down. They can scrub, but will not scratch.

(5) Safe people walk with God. They know Him. Their knowledge is self-evident, by the way they speak and listen, by the way they sense and process, by the way their heart can be trusted objectively.

(6) Safe people are anchors. They hold steady, they hold others steady, they are constant. Others may come and go, but they always weather the storm.

(7) Safe people say, “I love you,” and mean it. And then, they live up to it.

I’d like to be like that. I want to be part of a church like that. Jesus is like that. We can be, too.

Soul-Scrubbing Bubbles

2007-05-08T10:53:00.000-04:00

Pond scum. It’s a very unpleasant combination of two words, isn’t it? I mean, when you hear these two, what comes to mind? Green, slimy, gooey, gunk that floats, creeping from the edges to the middle. Yuk.

Sad to say, but we’ve got a pond scum problem at Cross Street. Cross Street—you know our Cross Street Ministry Center near Community Hospital, where the Church Offices, Church Library, NorthKids Learning Center, and gymnasium all hug the shore of an idyllic pond, framed by the forest-bursting-into-spring-green on the other side.

Unfortunately, that “spring green” is growing on the pond, too. We’ve tried everything over the last few years to try and get that scum under control. Scum-eating carp, for instance. I know—there’s a more proper name for the swimming scum-eaters, but, that’s what they are: scum-eaters. But, alas, they can’t seem to eat fast enough. The pond scum prevails.

We’ve dumped chemicals into the pond, too, to make the water less hospitable to the scum. Yes, yes, it’s Earth Day and all of that—and yes, we want to be environmentally sensitive, and yes, the chemicals are to “balance” the water’s otherwise toxic twist, but, again, our investment as been in vain. More scum upon scum.

We’ve even been out in the canoe, trying to scoop the stuff up, cut it off at the root (it’s really growing from the bottom), and carrying it away. Snip. Splash. Swoosh. Snip some more. Scoop some more. It’s hopeless.

What’s the problem? Lots of theories here. Like mole hunting in the front yard, there are a hundred ideas, remedies, and explanations, depending upon with whom you talk. In a nutshell, the whole pond problem has to do with the run-off from surrounding farmland—all of those nitrates and fertilizers and who knows what else the farmers pour into the soil to grow things—which makes our pond water high in nitrogen and choked off from oxygen. Whatever. The pond scum flourishes because of the farmers next door. That’s one idea.

Maybe it’s the fact that the pond has no natural spring to feed it. Maybe it’s because the pond was artificially introduced to manage the run-off from the big paved parking lot out front. Maybe it’s because Al Gore was right, after all, and the climate is changing because of carbon fuel emissions in the Great Lakes basin. I don’t really know. I do know that pond scum is very unattractive. I know, because I’m looking at it right now.

What to do? The only “way out” seems to be a fountain. The kind of water spout that you see in retention ponds in many places—a jet of water that shoots out from the middle of a pond, creating an Old Faithful-like geyser and, at the same time, aerating the aqua. In this way, the water is “refreshed” with oxygen and circulates. Stagnant water is always trouble; moving, circulating water doesn’t give scum a chance.

Putting a water jet in our Cross Street pond is problematic (we don’t actually own the pond, we just look at it) and expensive ($2,000-$4,000). Oh well, it’s no big deal, really. The view is still lovely—and the pond scum does add some, shall we say, texture to the scene. There are bigger problems to tackle in life.

But, there is a lesson here. Every day, I’m reminded that I have to keep moving and exploring and learning and listening and changing to stay fresh and clean. I can’t stand still, become stagnant, just sit here and live. I need to be stirred up, aerated, if you will, with the oxygen of Heaven. I need to be stretched, circulated, and refreshed. There’s a lot of toxic run-off in this world that, inadvertently, finds its way into the basin of our souls. It can cause us to become stagnant and unclean. We must be intentional and take the initiative to combat the stuff, lest scum grows in our hearts. We need a fountain—of life.

There are a lot of changes swirling about us these days. The church is getting a new name and a new home. There are some exciting new ministry programs and alignments around the corner. The pool is being stirred, the water is being aerated. There is a fountain. And it’s beginning to flow.

We either become stagnant or we are stirred up for life. Don’t let any scum creep into your pond. Make sure the water is fresh and the world’s run-off is cleansed by allowing God to shake things up a little. For the good. For Heaven’s sake.

There’s a beautiful lake at Madison Park. Have you seen it? It covers eleven acres, it’s spring fed, and there’s not a trace of scum anywhere on its surface. We’ve tested the water and it is unusually pure. Pray that our congregation will be framed in the same way. Always springfed, always fresh, always a thing of beauty.

I am so very thankful to be a part of this church family at this most exciting time. Thanks, North, for your sacrifice, prayers, ministry, love, and spirit of adventure. That’s the stuff of Heaven’s fountain.

Getting There... Together

2007-05-01T10:17:00.000-04:00

It was a conversation my wife knew would inevitably come, but it was still hard to bear. And not just for my wife, but for her mom, too. It was that telephone call a few weeks ago in which my mother-in-law (who will be 87 this summer) explained to her only daughter (my wife) that she will not ever again be able to leave Seattle and travel to Indiana to visit us in our home.

That conversation was a marker—the turning of a page—a loss. Still, we must focus on what we do have—not what we don’t have. Maureen, after all, can still fly to Seattle and see her mom.

And, Maureen’s mom lives in a wonderful place called Cristwood. Cristwood is an idyllic senior citizens community, nestled in a deep, wooded ravine, surrounded by towering fir trees and blooming-right-now rhododendrons. Cristwood is a Christian ministry, with several buildings; my mother-in-law’s fifth floor home overlooks a landscaped terrace and peeks through the trees at Puget Sound. My Aunt Lavinia lives on the fourth floor. Cora Ashmore, Al and Dorris Cliff, Evelyn Skaggs, Helen Flynt, Violet Davis, and a host of other friends from our original church family (Fairview) have all called Cristwood home. Moving to Cristwood, though, is a marker, too. Selling your family home, downsizing, moving from the house-you-built hugging a Seattle hillside overlooking the Sound and mountains, figuring out what to give away and what to keep. We all know the drill. Not always easy. But, time marches on.

Moving to Cristwood presents some other challenges, too. Like getting to church. Cristwood is many miles from the Fairview Church—home to so many of its residents. Why, Lavinia and Violet and Helen and Dorris are the kind of anchors that tether churches together, over lifetimes. Evelyn’s husband was my pastor from the time I was five until I was a junior in high school. How could they leave Fairview behind?

In the end, they couldn’t. And they didn’t. All of these dear ones (now in their 80’s), my mother-in-law included, have banded together to make the commute to Fairview. Over fifteen miles of tedious Seattle traffic (and yes, it’s tedious, even on Sunday), separate Fairview and Cristwood. But the stalwarts at Cristwood will not surrender the church-of-a-lifetime. They have organized themselves to make a way.

They car pool. Everybody takes a turn—usually just once a month—driving to and from church. They ride, talk, laugh, and make plans together. Sometimes, they stop at the Northgate Food Court (on the way home) after church on Sunday and enjoy Ivar’s Fish ‘n Chips or Kidd Valley’s scrumptious hamburgers and shakes. On other days, they hurry home for their own Sunday lunch.

My mother-in-law takes her turn. So does Cora. And Lavinia. And Helen. Dorris has Parkinson’s, so it’s more difficult for her. But, she never misses a Sunday at Fairview, either—everybody works together to make sure everybody gets there and back. Some have been friends for years, raising their children together. Others have become friends only recently. But, all are friends. Friends from church.

In the end, what we have, even if we lose other things, is our relationships. Our health may fail, our address may change, our circumstances may be altered, but the sweet fellowship of the Body of Christ is a treasure that never has to fade. Moving always brings some loss—and some gain. But, the treasure of Christian friendship trumps any change life swings our way. Maureen’s mom may not be able to fly to Indy, but she can still get to Fairview.

And, how about that move to Madison Park? If the Lord isn’t calling you to serve in ministry at Scatterfield, don’t let the move to Madison Park separate you from the congregation you call home. Madison Park is easy to get to—there’s not a lot of traffic in Anderson on Sundays—the parking at Madison Park will be easier than at Scatterfield— there’s a seat there with your name on it.

Would you like to car pool? Let us know, and we’ll help organize others from your area. Would you like to drive to Scatterfield and ride a shuttle to Madison Park? We’re working on that, too.

All of the people I know at Cristwood have no regrets about moving—or commuting to church. Sure, it’s been a big change for them—but, they’re loving it. I want to live that way, too. Change? It’s not always easy, but it can be blessed. Just think of what we still have: friends, a loving church family, and a place to call home.

See you at Madison Park this summer. Well, except for that couple of Sundays on vacation, when I’ll be in Seattle, at Fairview, with the Cristwood crew. We love you, North... er uh, I mean, soon-to-be Madison Park... our church family.

Securing Precious Cargo

2007-04-24T11:29:00.000-04:00

Headlines can be dreadful. The incomprensible massacre at Virginia Tech. Another suicide bombing in Iraq. Darfur. And, remember the guy who kidnapped young boys in Missouri? How quickly we move from one grim story to another. It’s a sad, broken world.

And those are just the stories that make the news. All of us know the sorrow that can come from facing a personal tragedy or loss—an illness, an accident, a crisis born in circumstances beyond our control—and how that loss can change us forever.

Grief can raise questions for which we do not have easy answers. The “why” questions usually stump us. It has always been so. Take Job, for instance. Lots of questions; not too many answers.

The Book of Job, of course, suggests that there are spiritual realities behind the troubles we face. The text gives us a glimpse of the tension that supernaturally exists between Heaven and Hell, good and evil, God and Satan. Job’s woes—and ours, I imagine—are the design of the devil himself. Satan means adversary, after all.

Still, there are some things we can do to stay out of harm’s way. In a world where disgruntled madmen open fire on random innocents, why would we foolishly expose ourselves to unnecessary risks and dangers? Why would anyone drink and then drive? Or take the chance of contracting a lifethreatening sexually transmitted disease? Or risk life and limb for some kind of extreme sport, just “for the fun of it?” I don’t get it.

Which brings me to another headline. Remember the rude remarks radio bad boy Don Imus made about the Rutgers’ women’s basketball team? And the ensuing firestorm? And the meeting between Imus and the team in the New Jersey’s Governor’s Mansion to “patch things up?” And the traffic accident in which the Governor of New Jersey, Jon Corzine, was critically injured on the way to host the meeting in his home?

You didn’t hear about the Governor’s accident? Governor Corzine (age 60, a former United States Senator and CEO at Goldman Sachs) was riding in the front seat of his SUV, driven by a New Jersey State Trooper. The Governor was in a hurry to get to the Imus-Rutgers meeting, apparently, because the SUV was traveling at 91 mph (in a 65 mph zone), with emergency lights flashing. Some guy in a red pick-up tried to move out of the way, over-compensated and clipped the grassy shoulder of the highway, spun into another lane, forcing another car into the Governor’s, causing the SUV to run off the road.

The State Trooper driving the Governor walked away from the accident scene; the Governor was critically injured, breaking eleven ribs, leg bones, a vertebrae, and more; the Governor remains on a ventilator, sedated, in the hospital, six days after the accident. The Trooper was wearing a seat belt; Corzine was not.

If your car is stopped suddenly in an accident, your body, if not belted, will continue in motion at the speed the car was traveling for another second or two, thrown around the car. Often, an unbelted passenger is thrown out of the car. Seventy-four percent of those thrown out of a car die as a result of their injuries. This astonishing statistic does not reflect the number who survive, but are paralyzed.

Sixty-three percent of those killed in car accidents were not wearing seat belts. If 90% of Americans would wear their seat belts, there would be 132,000 fewer injuries every year—and 5,500 fewer deaths. Injuries sustained as a result of refusing to buckle up cost a staggering $8.8 billion annually; every health and auto premium we pay costs more because somebody doesn’t buckle up.

So why not buckle up? It wrinkles your clothes? It’s not so comfortable? It’s just a bother? What difference does it make? Ask the Governor of New Jersey. No one knows when he’ll be able to return to work—or even get off the ventilator.

As a pastor, I am exposed to many painful moments in the lives of dear folks that I love. Sometimes, those painful moments are wholly preventable. The “if only I had …” regrets can be overpowering.

In a world where the devil works so much mischief, why give him an opportunity to do harm? Put on your seat belt. Make sure everyone else in your car does, too. Especially your children. It’s one simple way you can protect your body, which is, after all, as the Scripture says, “the temple of the Holy Spirit.” Buckle up, North. For Heaven’s sake. And, your own.

Don’t just pray for the Lord’s protection—give Him a hand. And, oh yeah, stop smoking, too. Refusing to buckle up makes as much sense as choosing to light up. Both choices rob life.

Okay, enough of my “dad-talk.” I just couldn’t resist, though—because I was reading the paper and I love ya.