Press On…

Thomas Edison made some 2,774 attempts to find the right filament for a light bulb before he finally discovered a carbon filament that would both work and last.  Charles Goodyear began working in the 1830’s on a process to harden rubber.  In 1839, he accidentally dropped some rubber and sulfur into a hot frying pan, and to his amazement, it hardened.  However, it wasn’t until 1844 that he was able to develop a consistent process and patent it.

Alexander Graham Bell began work on existing technology to transmit speech over telegraph wires.  After two years of labor, he was finally about to transmit voice over a wire, resulting in the telephone.  An engineer named Charles Babbage proposed an analytical engine in 1833, but not until 1943 was “Colossus” built, a British device used in code breaking. It is generally considered the first true computer.  It took another thirty years for technology to shrink to a personal computer.  Hundreds of people, working for over a century, finally succeeded in making computing power accessible to us all.

There is no way to get an accurate account of the total number of rockets that failed before Apollo 11 finally landed on the moon.  Every time a multi-million-dollar rocket exploded, NASA engineers would ask, “What did we learn from this failure?”

During the 2020 Tokyo Olympics, Australian Patrick Tiernan was keeping pace with the leaders in the men’s 10,000-meter run.  About 200 meters from the finish line, he hit the wall (in case you are not familiar with the term, it means your body gives out and shuts down.  This happens to me in a 10-meter race).  The leaders surged ahead.  Patrick stumbled.  He got up, his legs swaying, and fell to the ground a second time, 180 meters from the finish line.  Patrick’s body was saying, “We will not go further.”  But Patrick got up a second time and stumbled his way to the finish line, coming in 19th place.  “It’s the Olympics and I’ve been waiting for five years for it,” he said afterwards, “It was about 180 to go that I collapsed the first time. You don’t stop when you’ve got 180 meters to go.”

“Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” was rejected by twelve publishers before finally being accepted for a publishing run of 500 books.  John Grisham’s first book, “A Time to Kill,” was rejected by twenty-eight publishers.  Theodore Giesel, better known as Dr. Seuss, had his first book, “To Think I Saw it on Mulberry Street,” rejected twenty-seven times.

In the Bible, there are people who had to keep trying.  Noah spent a hundred years building the ark.  Abraham and Sarah tried to have a baby for twenty-four years.  Joseph was sold into slavery, got promoted, was falsely accused, put in prison, rose to be the head trustee, had the chance to interpret a dream for Pharaoh, and was finally made second in command of Egypt.  Every time he was knocked down, he got up and started over.

Moses kept the people of Israel on the move for an extra forty years before they could enter the Promised Land.  David was anointed King, but waited fifteen years before he actually became King.  Jeremiah preached for forty years, warning people to turn to God.  They never did.  Paul was converted between 33 and 36 AD.  He waited ten years before his first missionary journey. 

What do all these stories have in common?  These people did not give up.  They pressed on.  Failure was a teacher, not a dead end. 

In the last years of his life, Paul wrote, “I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”  What was the goal Paul pressed towards?  It was not, as many think, his reward in heaven.  Paul explained, “I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead.”  Do you hear what Paul is saying?  His goal was to know, to experience Jesus, and to become like him.  He would not quit on that goal.

I wonder how many followers of Jesus have this as their goal.  Not many, I’d wager.  Somehow, we lost sight of the goal: to know Jesus and to be like Jesus.  Being a Christian is not just about going to heaven; it is about living your life as Jesus would live it. 

I’ve seen people who called themselves Christians quit on God.  When faith was hard, when prayers were not answered, when other people who called themselves Christians acted up, they bailed out.  They did not press on.

Followers of Jesus, hear this simple call: Press on.  Become more and more like Jesus.  When you fail, learn.  When you fall, get back up.  When you are rejected, try again.  When you have to wait a long time, keep trying, keep believing.  Press on.

No Endorsements Here…

Recently, the IRS announced that it would no longer endorse the Johnson Amendment.  The Johnson Amendment was passed in 1954 and was named after then Senate Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson.  The Johnson Amendment prohibited churches and religious organizations from participating in electoral politics, specifically, from endorsing a candidate for office.  If a church or religious organization did endorse a specific candidate, it would lose its tax-exempt status.  It has been suggested that this was an act of political revenge on Johnson’s part because two non-profit organizations with religious orientations had opposed him politically.  He was known to hold a grudge.

The IRS has applied this regulation unevenly through the years.  Candidates from both parties attended and spoke in churches.  I heard preachers tiptoe around the Johnson Amendment by saying, “Now the government won’t let me say who I will vote for.  But it says nothing about me telling you who I won’t vote for.  So, I am not going to vote for Senator So and So, because God has told me he is a bad man.  You draw your own conclusions.”  That may be following the letter of the law, but it stomps on the spirit of the law.

Pastors and Religious Leaders on the left and on the right hailed this decision of the IRS.  Many have long seen the Johnson Amendment as a limitation on free speech.  I expect that in the next election cycle, we will hear of many preachers and pastors endorsing all kinds of candidates.

I will not be one of them.  The most obvious reason is that by the next election cycle, I’ll be retired.

Even if I was not retired, as a pastor, I would not endorse any candidate for any office.  Here’s why.  First, history teaches us that whenever the church seeks political power, there is a diminishment of spiritual power.  Jesus never told his followers to seek political power; he never sought it himself, and he warned his disciples that rulers more often than not would want to arrest his followers instead of accommodating them.

Second, Jesus gave his church a mission: “Go, make disciples, teaching them everything I have commanded you, baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”  Nothing in that mission is about politics that I can see.  A disciple is someone who is like his master.  The church’s mission is to teach people to be like Jesus.  Evidence suggests we are not doing this very well.  If we are not doing our primary mission well, why take on another mission?

Third, Jesus never asked his church to make Republicans or Democrats, or for that matter, Conservatives or Liberals.  If his church is to make disciples, we must strive to be open to all people, no matter what their political affiliation.  The county where I serve is a swing county, one of the few in the United States.  If I endorse a candidate from a certain party, I will send a message to people in the other party that they are not welcome in our church.  That is so contrary to Jesus!  Shouldn’t church be the one place that transcends politics, where we place our Lord above our politics?

Fourth, as an observer of culture, a student of history, and a reader of scripture, I have noticed that every candidate is a sinner.  The sins of some candidates are obvious.  Other candidates have more hidden sins.  There is no candidate that completely reflects the will of God, because every candidate is flawed.  When I have made this point through the years, people come to me after I have spoken and argued with me.  Their argument usually goes something like this: “Yes, he (or she) is flawed, but he (or she) is not as flawed as the other guy.”  The problem with this argument is that we are arguing over levels of toxicity.  Whether you mix in a little poison or a lot of poison into chocolate chip cookies, the poison makes them all dangerous.  I do not want to lead the congregation under my care to put their trust in a flawed person, not a politician or a preacher.

Fifth, preachers need to preserve their prophetic callings.  I’m not speaking about their chart about the end times; rather, the calling to speak truth to power.  I’m not advocating that preachers make every sermon about the hot issues of the day.  Too much of that kind of preaching isn’t good for the preacher or the congregation.  But a pastor needs to be able to say about the actions of any politician, “This does not conform to the teachings of scripture.” 

Finally, Psalm 146:3 says, “Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save.”  If you take the Bible seriously (which I do), this verse tells me not to trust a human being who cannot save me.  Jesus is the only one who can, so I will put my trust in him.  Like the old hymn says, “My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.”

Florida Keys Sunset…

My cousin invited us to spend the 4th of July at his place in the Florida Keys. Free lodging, good food, good friends, and the beauty of the Keys was an offer we could not turn down.

My cousin has a boat, and we went out to the reef to snorkel. I learned two things. First, without my glasses, I really could not see the fish clearly. I could make out a fish with yellow and black stripes, and a purple fish. I asked my cousin the names of those fish, and he replied, “The yellow and black striped fish is a yellow and black stripe fish, and the purple one is a purple fish.”  I worry about him.

It was the next evening that my cousin suggested we go out on the water to see the sunset. I heard the sunset on the water in the Keys was like nowhere else. We took off about forty-five minutes before sunset and got in just the right spot. There was a line of storms about fifty miles off that provided the perfect frame.

The sunset was like nothing I had ever seen. The sun had a soft yellow glow, and as it sank, the sky was painted in shades of purple and pink. Sun rays shot out between the blue clouds (yes, clouds can be blue), as the purple and pink shades deepened.

My cousin had Spotify playing, and as a thousand sparkles of light played across the waves, Louie Armstrong came on, singing, “What a Wonderful World.”  In case you have forgotten, the second verse is: “I see skies of blue and clouds of white; The bright blessed days, the dark sacred nights; And I think to myself, What a wonderful world.”  The moment was as sacred as someone singing a hymn.

I had always heard that when the sun hits the horizon, it takes one minute for it to disappear. Not this time. The sun kissed the water and slowly began to sink into the horizon. The soft yellow glow turned into a warm orange that made you feel good to be alive. It seemed like it took the sun five minutes to be enveloped by the sea. Finally, the last silver disappeared, and the pinks and blues became a rich blanket covering the sky.

My cousin turned to me and said, “And people say there is no God.”

Human beings are the only creatures made in the image of God. This means we are the only beings who can appreciate the beauty of the world God has made. Think about it; when you walk your dog at sunset, has your dog ever stopped to admire the beauty of the colors? No. Your dog is only interested in smelling the smells left behind by other animals and reading the mail from other dogs. I have never seen a cow admire the beauty of a majestic live oak or a horse appreciate the flowing waters of a creek.

I have been blessed to see some beautiful places in my life. I’ve seen the coast of Maine from the water, stood on the rim of the Grand Canyon, canoed through Sparkleberry Swamp, snaked through Mammoth Cave, bathed in the mountain streams of the Mexican desert, walked around Cades Cove in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, been on a safari in South Africa, driven through the mountains with the leaves providing a golden carpet across the road.   I have looked up and marveled at the stars on cloudless nights, stood on the concrete steps of the Old House, and watched lightning arc across the Florida night, seen the surface of the moon through my childhood telescope. One of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen is the sunrise through the fog across the green grass of the Buckhorn Ranch. Just tonight, on my way to feed cows, I saw a doe with twin speckled fawns. And now, I have seen an amazing sunset in the Keys. In each of these places, each of those times. I felt the presence of God, the grandeur of God.

Because I am made in the image of God (as are you), I can see the beauty God has made. When I consider this, I am amazed that God created a beautiful world just for us to enjoy. Elton Trueblood once prayed in the chapel of Southern Seminary, “Thank God, for all the unnecessary colors.”

My friend John Ortberg points out that technology is making us prisoners. We stay inside too much. We need to get out more, see the world God has made, the world he declared to be good. We need to marvel at his grace in creating this sparkling world.

Psalm 19:1 says, “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” 

Listen to the sky. The colors are telling you God is alive.

Why is God Picking on Me?

Last week, a young mom unburdened herself to me.  Her baby was cutting new teeth and was not sleeping or eating.  Her house needed unexpected repairs, requiring her and her baby to temporarily move out.  Her husband was called in to see his boss.  The boss wanted to know if he was really committed to the company.  She finished her recital of troubles by asking, “Why does it feel like God is picking on me?”

I’ve learned that when people are in pain, it is hard for them to hear theological viewpoints (see the Book of Job).  The best thing to do is listen, comfort, and assure people that God is at work and he wants good for them.

I felt pretty good about my response… until Friday came.

I had to pick up my boat from a shop in Columbia.  On the way back to Sumter, I hit something on the Interstate, which bent the fender up on the boat trailer and peeled the tire back.  The tire came apart, and I had to pull over to the emergency lane.

I don’t believe in karma, but if I did, I would have noted the irony that two weeks ago, I wrote about my cousin Ned having a flat tire, but someone had stolen his block of wood that lifts up his jack.  Guess what was missing from the back of my truck?  You got it – my big block of wood.  I crossed my fingers and started to jack up the trailer.  I could get the old tire off, but I couldn’t get the new tire on.  I let the jack down, but now it was stuck under the trailer.  Not a problem.  I got out my scissor jack from the truck and started jacking up the trailer again.

Keep in mind that all this labor was happening about four feet from the interstate, with semi-trucks going by at 70 mph.  I began to hum, “Nearer My God to Thee.”  I kept turning the handle on the scissor jack, but the trailer was not going up.  Instead, I was bending the aluminum cross-piece up at a 30-degree angle.  I cranked the handle backwards and bent it.  I took a hammer and beat the scissor jack out.  Now my trailer was sitting on the axle.

All this took about an hour.  At the end of the hour, my shirt soaked through with sweat, I thought, “I have money.  I have a credit card.  I can call someone to do this for me.”  I made a couple of calls, and about thirty minutes later, a nice young man showed up to change the tire.  He had an air compressor, an airbag lift, and he had the trailer up in no time.  Then he came to the window of the truck, where I was inhaling the air conditioning, and told me that to change the tire, he would have to remove the bent fender, and it would cost $75 more.  At this point, I didn’t care.  He took off the fender, got the new tire on, and I was on my way, driving slower to Sumter than I ever drove.

I drove straight to the tire store and bought two new heavy-duty tires.  Then I had to run some legal documents to the notary so I could fax them to Florida.  After I faxed them, the attorney’s office in Florida called and told me the notary forgot to stamp a page.  Then the tire store called and said the boat was ready.  I picked up the boat, went back to the notary, dropped the boat off at another place to get new fenders, then went back to the house to scan and fax the documents again. 

From there, I went out to the pasture to feed the cows.  The bull had pushed down the gate, and they were all mixed up.  I started to fix the gate, and the rusted bolt snapped in half.  I went to the hardware store, but by then it started to rain, so I couldn’t get back to fix the gate.

It was about this time that the thought formed in my head, “Why is God picking on me?”  But I already knew the answer.  God was not picking on me.  Was he using circumstances to teach me patience?  Definitely.  Was he teaching me my limitations?  Probably.  Did he remind me of what I had written two weeks before about finding joy in changing flat tires?  Yes.

God does not cause everything that happens to you, but he can teach you through everything that happens to you.  It was a day to learn patience, to remember I am not in control, and that whatever happened to me on any day, God was with me.

One of the most important spiritual habits to cultivate is to review your day with God and ask, “What do I need to learn?  What did I do that requires forgiveness?  When did God protect me, encourage me, and show me his presence?”

God does not pick on people, but God wants you to learn some things from your day.  Even from flat tires, broken bolts, and papers that have to be sent twice.

PS: I told my cousin Ned about the flat tire, and he said it was a sign from God that I needed to buy a new boat.

A Kingdom Greater Than Our Country…

George Schultz was Secretary of State during the Reagan administration. He kept a large globe in his office. When newly appointed ambassadors had an interview with him, and when ambassadors returning from their posts for their first visit with him were leaving his office, Shultz would test them. He would say, "You have to go over to the globe and prove to me that you can identify your country." They would go over, spin the globe, and put their finger on the country to which they were sent--unerringly.

When Shultz's old friend and former Senate majority leader Mike Mansfield was appointed ambassador to Japan, even he was put to the test. This time, however, Ambassador Mansfield spun the globe and put his hand on the United States. He said, "That's my country."

On June 27, 1993, Shultz related this to Brian Lamb on C-Span's "Booknotes." Said the secretary: "I've told that story, subsequently, to all the ambassadors going out. 'Never forget you're over there in that country, but your country is the United States. You're there to represent us. Take care of our interests and never forget it, and you're representing the best country in the world.' "

I can imagine Jesus saying to all believers, “Never forget you are in this world, but your true home is in my Kingdom.  You are in this world to represent me.  Take care of my interests and never forget you are representing my Kingdom, that is the best way for people to live.”

Those of us who follow Jesus are citizens of a Kingdom that never ends.  We have been made into ambassadors for our King, to tell people that a different way of living exists. A verse I learned as a child was written by Paul: “Now we are ambassadors for Christ.” 

Here’s the funny thing: we’ve never been to our Kingdom, to our true home.  That’s where faith comes in.  Blind faith is not required, for there are signs of the Kingdom all around us.  What are the signs of the Kingdom?  Changed lives.  A deep joy that comes from being forgiven.  A profound peace of knowing God is at work in your life.  All our fears and all that would destroy us have been destroyed by our King. 

Jesus told us that in his Father’s house there would be many rooms, and he was going to prepare a place for us.  Based on all I know about heaven, it is the space where God’s rule is recognized by all, and everyone lives by the values taught by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount.  We often think of heaven in individualist terms.  We claim that we will not feel pain, we will not cry, we will not mourn.  But heaven is also the place of perfect community. Imagine living where there is no hate, no deceit, no lust, or adultery.  Imagine living where people love each other, where everyone gets along. In heaven, you are not the star; we will worship our Heavenly Father with great joy.  This is why Dallas Willard says, “Heaven is for those who can stand it.”  He means if you are not very interested in the way of Jesus on this earth, you will be very uncomfortable in heaven.

Obviously, I have not been to heaven.  But my time on earth is to prepare me for my eternal existence.  This is my time to learn the ways of Jesus.  On earth, I will face many temptations to follow a different way.  It seems easier, more comfortable.  But Jesus told me (and you), “Broad is the way that leads to destruction, but narrow is the way that leads to eternal life.” 

As the Fourth of July approaches, for Jesus followers, it is a time to remember we do not point to a map of the United States and say, “This is my home.”  The United States is my country, but my home is in heaven.  While I am here, my job is to represent my Lord, my Leader, to learn to be like him in every way, to get ready for that day when I shall see him face to face.  As the old hymn says, “What a day of rejoicing that will be; when we all see Jesus, we’ll sing and shout the victory.”

Joy in Changing a Flat Tire…

My cousin Ned, who is also one of my best friends, called me the other day.  He’s been listening to my sermons on Steps of Joy.  In the series, I’m explaining how to build a life of joy, not just experience haphazard moments of joy.  He started the conversation by asking, “Next Sunday, are you going to explain how to have joy when you have a flat tire?”

I couldn’t help but laugh.  I am no stranger to the flat tire club.  As a four-year-old, I let the air out of a tire.  I thought the sound of the hissing air was cool.  The whipping I got afterwards was not cool.

If there were a stray nail in a hundred-acre pasture, I would find it with the tractor.  Tractor tires are not easy to change.  I was riding my bike one day and found a sharp piece of glass that left me with two flat tires. 

My record was hauling my boat up to Lake Keowee for a family vacation.  I had a flat tire on the right side of the boat trailer ten miles from my house.  An hour later (after I bought a new spare tire), I had a blowout on the left side of the trailer.  I called and paid a man to come out and bring me another new tire. 

It is hard to find joy in changing flat tires.  In my experience, the jack never quite fits.  I carry a four-ton jack in my toolbox.  Once I had a flat tire out in my pasture.  I hauled out my jack, set it up, and started pumping it up.  The truck did not go up, but I managed to push the earth down a good ten inches.  Since then, I carry a six-by-six block of wood in the bed of my truck.  Putting the jack on a block of wood makes everything work better.

Ned told me his flat happened in a sandy orange grove middle.  Florida sand is not like beach sand.  It’s porous.  You can lose small children who get sucked into the sand.  Ned said he normally carries around a block of wood, but for some reason, it had gone missing from the back of his truck.  I get that.  There is a steady stream of garbage in and useful items out of the back of my truck.

Ned got his tire changed, but it was hot, and he got sweaty, and it was about five times harder than it needed to be.

So where was the joy?

Have you noticed we focus on the things that frustrate us?  When life does not go according to plan, we get mad, or we get anxious because we have lost control.  Frustration and anxiety are joy-killers.

So, how do you find joy when changing a flat tire?  I thought about my grandfather, Ned’s great-grandfather.  For the first two-thirds of his life, he did not have a truck.  To check his groves, he walked or rode his horse.  Grandpa Smith never had an air-conditioned truck or house.  I’m pretty sure he never sat in an air-conditioned room in his life.  I’m not sure they owned a tractor before he died.  They plowed with a team of oxen and hand-hoed every orange tree.  I wonder if he would tell us to be grateful that we have trucks with air conditioning.

My parents were married in September 1945.  During World War II, food, gas, and tires were rationed.  My daddy had to borrow his mother’s car, but it had four bald tires.  His brother-in-law, Uncle J.N., had a service station, and he had a car in for repairs that wouldn’t be fixed over the weekend.  It had four good tires.  They took off the four bald tires of Granny Smith’s car and put on the four good tires.  Daddy drove it to Kissimmee, got married, then he and Mama drove to Tampa for their honeymoon.  Mama told me they both prayed the whole way not to have a flat.  They had no spare.  They made it to Tampa and back to Wauchula, exchanged the tires, and no one was the wiser.  I think Daddy might tell us to be grateful that we have spare tires.

When those frustrating times come (and they will), before you get on board the frustration train, pause, get perspective, and be grateful for what you have.  Paul gives three commands in 1 Thessalonians 5: “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”  Paul connects joy with prayer and gratitude.   He is telling us to choose our reactions instead of letting our reactions choose us. 

This is not to say that we fake joy.  If our child dies of cancer, or our spouse leaves us, or we lose our job, we may feel the loss and the sadness.  But the Psalmist reminds us that joy comes in the morning.  If I understand this correctly, it means with time, we can see God’s hand at work guiding us, comforting us, loving us, and forgiving us, no matter what tragedy comes.

How do you find joy in changing a flat tire?  You pause.  You remind yourself of your blessings.  You remember God is at work for you.  Then you get out, change the tire, and know Jesus is right there with you.

Our Father…

Jesus said when we pray, we are to begin with “Our Father…”  This got me thinking, “What if my Heavenly Father lived in my house?”

Would he sit down on the edge of my bed in the morning and say, “Time to get up!  I have made an amazing day for you.”  Would we talk over breakfast about the day ahead?  Would he remind me that I would face temptations, but that he would always make a way out for me?  As I walked out the door, would he say, “Remember, I will never leave you or forsake you?”

Would he call me mid-morning to check in?  Would he encourage me about an upcoming meeting that might go badly?  Would he give me an idea for a project I was working on?  Would he tell me that I would run into a colleague, and she would be crying, and that I should not rush past her, but encourage her?

Would he come by and pick me up for lunch?  Would he ask how my morning went?  When I tell him about my “little white lie,” would his eyebrows arch in a questioning look?  Would he gently remind me I need to acknowledge that “little white lie” as a sin, ask forgiveness, and go back and apologize to the person I lied to?  Would he send me off with a warm embrace?

When I get stuck with a problem I can’t figure out, I’d call him.  Would he tell with a chuckle that he faced that problem before and give me an idea how to solve it?  Would he remind me to call someone I promised to keep up with? 

When I was tempted to leave work early, would I remember his teaching, to put in a full day’s work to get a full day’s pay?  He taught me so much: would I remember not to stare at the attractive woman walking down the street?  Would I remember not to be angry with the driver who cut me off?  Instead of judging the guy with the loudspeakers that rattle my car and teeth, would I remember not to judge him, but try to understand him?

When I got home, would he be waiting to hear about my day?  Would I feel the urge to tell him about the times I didn’t live by his teaching, or the five occasions I violated his rules?  If I confess, would I again feel his warm hug, telling me he forgives me and loves me?

Would we cook supper together, maybe sing some songs together?  Maybe we would sing an old hymn or a new contemporary song.  Or maybe we would sing “Always stay humble and kind,” by Tim McGraw.  One thing I know: My Heavenly Father has perfect pitch.

What would we talk about at supper?  Would we talk about his heartbreaks, how wars trouble him deeply?  Would we talk about the homeless man I gave five dollars to, but never asked his name?  When I ask him if it will rain tomorrow, he smiles and says, “We’ll see.”

I doubt we would watch TV.  Honestly, it’s no fun watching “Jeopardy” with him; he knows all the answers.  Instead, he might tell me stories that date back thousands of years, stories of how David killed Goliath, or how Solomon fell deeply in love with a girl and wrote her a love poem, or how he told the prophet Hosea to marry a prostitute.  I might ask, “Why in your name did you ask him to do that?”  Would he smile and say, “It was the best way for him to learn about grace.”

He might even tell me some funny stories, like how his other son, Jesus, once walked three miles with some men who thought he was dead, and they never recognized him.  Or he might tell me about the time he told Abraham and Sarah they were going to have a baby in their nineties, and they both laughed so hard, they snorted. 

When it was time to go to bed, I would thank him for being such a great Dad.  I would thank him for forgiving me for the dumb things I did that day.  I would ask him to give me good advice on how to live the next day.  I would ask if there was anything else I needed to cover.  And I would go to bed, knowing that he would be up all night (he never seemed to need sleep), watching over me.

When Jesus taught us to pray “Our Father,” I think this is what he had in mind.  We would learn to do life with our Heavenly Father.  His son would teach us.  His Spirit would guide us.  We would be encouraged.  We would never be alone.  A life of joy could be ours.

So, what’s stopping you from doing life with your Heavenly Father?

Imagine Your Life as a Movie…

Imagine your life as a movie.  I once heard a motivational speaker issue this challenge.  Your life, he said, is a movie, and the script isn’t finished.  It’s up to you to decide if your life finishes as a tragedy or a comedy. 

I’m not sure I agree with that last statement. 

I can imagine my life as a movie.  The opening scene is a year-old baby, sitting on a horse in front of his Dad.  The scene shifts to a confusing night an eighteen-month-old cannot understand; why is Mama crying and why is Daddy not there, and why will Daddy never come home again.

There are scenes from childhood, of exploring orange groves, pastures, and woods with my dog Mo, going to school with my lifelong friends.  Then my mother marries my stepfather, and I step into the strange world of Florida suburbia.  High School is music, band, and championships.

The thread throughout the movie is this early, strange call to be a pastor.  I am a leader in church.  I preach my first sermon at sixteen.  I go to college to learn the Bible, how to think theologically.  I have my first serious romance.  I have my second serious romance.

There are mistakes and sins.  Just because you are called into ministry doesn’t mean you are immune from saying “Yes” to bad choices.  I go to seminary.  I stay out a year to pastor my first church.  I go back to school, met a girl and fall deeply in love.  I decide to stay and get my Ph.D. I am called to my second church.  There, I discover not everyone likes me.  I propose.  She says yes.  I struggle with my coursework and working full-time.  We marry.  I’m called to a new church.  God delivered us.

Our son is born.  I write my dissertation, an unreadable analysis of three chapters in Job.  I pass oral exams. Our daughter is born.  I graduate – Jimmy Carter is the speaker.

I’m ready to move.  Nothing works out for two years.  I get depressed.  Finally, a church in a place I’ve never heard of, Sumter, SC, calls me to serve. 

We move.  God shows up.  The church grows.  It’s exciting.  Our last daughter is born.  The church votes to relocate.  People in town think we are crazy.  I need to make more money.  I teach classes at local colleges. 

We move into the new building.  The church keeps growing.  The Great Recession hits.  The church struggles through tough times.  We emerge.  God keeps working. 

The kids graduate.  They go to college.  Smart kids equal expensive colleges.  God provides.  The church is doing well.  We launch a new campus. 

My oldest daughter gets married.  Son gets married.  Covid.  Controversy over a column I write.  Raise money and build building for campus.  Sister dies from cancer.  First grandson is born.  Brother/best friend dies from cancer.  Now I run the family ranch and pastor a church.  Launch second campus.  Knee replacement.

Start to think about retirement.  Start process.  Second grandson is born. 

Which brings us to today.  As I look back, I realize I wasn’t the only one writing the script.  Satan and the forces of evil were trying to wrestle the pen away from me, encouraging me to make wrong choices and decisions.  They were often successful.  The lie they told me was that they could write a better script than I could.  The tragedy is how often I believed their lies. 

God also offered to take the pen and write.  Funny how it seems like letting God write my story feels like losing control, when letting Satan write the script is also losing control, but doesn’t feel like it.

I look back and I see God leading me down the right paths, guiding choices, granting me blessings beyond measure. 

My movie isn’t over.  I don’t know how long this life/movie will last.  I hope it lasts a long time with good health.  Don’t we all?  I do know this: when God is writing the script, my life, my story, my movie is better.

I don’t agree with the motivational speaker who said I get to write the ending to my story, to decide if my life is a tragedy or a comedy.  I remember from English class that tragedy leaves you sad at the ending; comedy leaves you smiling.   I’m not sure life is that simple.  I’ve known many believers who lived tragic lives.  But I also know the great promise of Jesus: there is a life beyond death, and in that life, if we are his children, his followers, there is great joy, great feasting, and great music.  There is a triumphal sound in heaven, a melody of joy that reverberates throughout the city of God. 

When God is writing your script, your life is a joyous comedy, because you know, no matter what tragedy falls on you, God will work out all things for good.

Just be sure to keep the pen in His hand.  Let him write the script.

A Long Way Down…

Maybe it is because I grew up in the Florida flatlands.  Maybe it is because I was pushed off a dock when I was little.  Maybe it is because I jumped off a sandhill when I was six and sprained my ankle. I really don’t know why, but I am afraid of heights. 

It is embarrassing at times.  I was with a group of friends in Chicago, and they convinced me to go to the observation deck of the Willis Tower, once the tallest building in the world.  Not wanting to admit my fears, I went up and spent the next thirty minutes clinging to the walls, away from the glass.  I felt this panicky feeling that unless I held onto the wall, the whole building was going to come down.  There were parents who foolishly let their children lean on the glass.  I still feel a knot in my stomach when I think about it.

We celebrated one of my birthdays by going to Chimney Rock in North Carolina.  There were beautiful views, but also steep drop-offs.  My courageous wife would go out ten feet from the edge and look down.  I got down on all fours and crawled away from the ledge.  Not my most manly moment.

I went to a USC-Florida game and had to sit in the upper deck.  A Clemson engineer must have designed it because when “Sandstorm” played, that deck started to bounce.  I was already struggling not to freak out, but the bounce nearly did me in.

Recently, we went to an Atlanta Braves game at Truist Park.  My son-in-law made the arrangements.  I know he thought he was doing us proud by getting us good seats in the upper deck, first-base side, second row.  Going up to our seats didn’t bother me.  But we had to walk down to the seats.  The closer we got to our seats, the more my old fear of heights kicked in.  I knew if I tripped, there was only a pane of glass to stop my fall to the deck below. 

We were in the middle of the second row and had to squeeze past folks.  Sitting next to me was a man not as tall as I, but rather large.  Now I felt my fear of heights full on, plus a bit of claustrophobia. 

I was calming down when the batter hit a foul ball.  As it rose to eye level, panic took over.  The fear triggers in my brain said, “That ball is going to hit you!  Run!” while simultaneously saying, “Freeze, you fool!”  Every foul ball was like that.  My wife knew I was moving towards a panic attack.  She kept saying, “Deep breaths, deep breaths.”

I began to adjust by the fourth inning.  But I would see a child in the first row pull up on the glass barrier and look down.  In reality, they were in no danger, but just seeing them caused the bottom of my stomach to fall out.

By the sixth inning, I was thirsty.  I turned to my wife and asked her to get me a drink.  She understood I could not move and kindly got my drink and some popcorn.  Having sat for two hours, under normal circumstances I would need to avail myself to the “facilities,” but every part of my body was in a nervous clench.

The Braves won the game, and we made our departure.  I looked away from the field and up to the concourse where I knew relief awaited.  Funny, once I was back up on the concourse, the panicky feeling went away. 

There is a verse in the Psalms: “I look to the hills.  Where does my help come from?  My help comes from the LORD, the maker of heaven and earth.” I admit I prayed my entire time in my seat.  I did not pray for the Braves to win (added bonus), but I prayed for God to bring me peace, to trust him even with my irrational fears.

Sometimes people have a good reason to be afraid.  Sometimes fears make no sense at all.  Either way, the Good News is that God is there, walking with us, gently reminding us that he is greater than our greatest fear.   Whatever your fear, bring it to God.  Pray.  Listen to his response.  Ask to sense his presence.  Remember David’s words: “…I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” 

I imagined God keeping his staff between me and that thin piece of glass.  It helped. 

But next time, I will remind my son-in-law that the scripture says, “Lo, I am with you always.”  Not high.  Lo(w).  No use making God work overtime on my fears.

Never Trust a Man with a Clean Pickup…

I remember when my stepfather, Lawrence, bought a new truck.  He took me and my brother Steve aside and sternly warned us: “Now, this truck has to last a long time.  All three of us are going to be driving this truck.  I want you boys to be careful when you drive it and keep it clean.”

Thankfully, Steve put the first dent in the truck when he backed into a tree and bent the bumper.  Lawrence never yelled at us, but he had a way of reprimanding you that made you feel about five years old.  Usually, it was because we acted like five-year-olds. 

Because Steve put the first dent in the truck, I didn’t get in as much trouble as when I got it stuck in a pond.  It would take me years before I learned four-wheel drive was not the same as amphibious.  

Lawrence himself was not immune to tearing up the truck.  I was with him when he tried to chase a bull out of a pasture in the truck.  He hit a bull hole at thirty miles an hour and tore the front suspension out. 

The truck lasted two years.  Though it only had 40,000 miles on it when Lawrence traded it for a new model, the salesman said it looked like it had been ridden hard and put up wet.

He bought another truck, and again, Steve and I were told the truck had to last a long time, we had to keep it clean, etc.  It wasn’t long before a tree ran out in front of me, and I put a big dent in the side.  The bed quickly filled up with assorted tools, cans of WD-40, hoes, shovels, and axes.  The dirt in the orange groves migrated to film inside the truck.  In two years, this truck was passed down to Richard, the man who worked for us. 

We received the same speech when he bought the next new truck.  Thankfully, Lawrence was the first one to damage this truck.  He was loading his bass boat at a landing, hit the trailer hard, and accidentally knocked the truck into neutral.  The truck gracefully rolled backwards while Lawrence watched helplessly from the boat.  With a few bubbles, it was gone.  Thankfully, I was out of state when this happened, or I’m sure I would have been blamed.

It was about this time that a man came by the barn one day.  He was driving a shiny new truck that seemed to repel dirt and mud.  When he got out, his shirt and jeans were pressed.  I caught a glimpse of the inside of his truck.  It was spotless.  Richard leaned over to me and said, “Never trust a man with a clean truck.  He’s always trying to sell you something.”  Sure enough, the man tried to sell Lawrence an insurance policy.

Every truck I’ve owned got dirty.  The convenience of throwing something in the bed so it will be there when you need it is too tempting.  When my children were small, they did not help keep it clean.  I would find mummified gummy worms covered in dirt, lint, and hair.  However, the dogs still ate them.

I bought my current truck seven years ago.  It was immaculate; it had been owned by a salesman.  I told my wife, “I’ve got to keep this truck clean.”  That lasted about two weeks.

The dent on the right side happened when I tried to make a turn through a gate that was too narrow.  I busted out the cover on the right rear taillight twice (but it still works).  The driver’s seat has a big hole in it, but it doesn’t bother me.  My toolbox has a layer of grease from a grease tube that busted.  I keep a shovel, a hoe, and a pickaxe in the bed of the truck.  Right now, I have a sprayer filled with fly spray for the cows, an empty container of herbicide, a gallon of diesel fuel, and about an inch of hay and dirt up under the toolbox.  There is mud behind every tire well and some on the hood from where I got bogged down in the pasture last week.  I need to run the truck through the wash pretty soon.

Jesus once told the Pharisees they were like whitewashed tombs.  Attractive on the outside, full of rotten stuff on the inside.  He warned them and us not to pretend like we are perfect, like we have it all together.  The scripture says, “No one is righteous, no not one.”   Another way to say this is, “No one has it all together, no not one.”

My friend John Ortberg says he wishes we could start worship like they start 12-step group meetings: “Hi, I’m Clay, and I’m a sinner.”  Isn’t it strange that to begin our walk with Jesus, we must confess this reality, and then many of us spend energy to create the illusion that we no longer have any flaws?  Pride leads to self-righteousness.  Self-righteousness creates distance between you and your Heavenly Father. 

I think this is what Micah meant when he told us to “…walk humbly with our God.”  Admit we are broken.  Ask God for grace.  Pray to not be led into temptation.  Repeat.

My life, like my truck, is broken and dirty.  But Jesus and I are working on that.  I’m not as broken as I once was.  I’ve cleaned up a lot.  I still have a ways to go.  Don’t we all?

Inventory…

We lived off the ranch for ten years.  My stepfather managed the S.H. Kress store in downtown St. Petersburg.  Every year, the store closed on New Year’s Day for inventory.  This was before computerized inventory.  Every item in the store had to be counted.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe it was for tax purposes.  Maybe it was for preparing the annual report.  It never made sense to me. 

I remember the old Jerry Clower story of the dad who ran a general store in a Mississippi town.  His son, a new graduate from Ole Miss, closed the store one day.  When his dad came in, he was surprised to see the door locked and a sign that said, “Closed for inventory.”  When he went in, he asked his son what was going on.  The son replied that they had to take inventory to see how the store was doing.  The Dad said, “Son, go to the back of the store and on the top shelf near the door is the first piece of inventory we ever bought: A bolt of purple cloth.  Everything else in this store is profit.  Now open those doors and let’s serve our customers.”

As children, we were not asked to help out during inventory; we were told to be up at 6 AM, and we would all go down to work alongside the regular store employees.  My sisters ran the office, tallying up the reports.  My brothers did the storerooms.  Various employees inventoried their departments.  As the youngest, I was assigned to count things that no one else wanted to count. 

My first year, I counted postcards.  Thank goodness I passed third-grade math.  I pulled one rack of cards and counted them; then the next.  It took me about twenty minutes to count each rack.  There were forty-eight racks.  I worked most of the day on the postcards, till my brothers told me to count the number of cards in an inch and then measure the stacks of cards.  In the process, God revealed to me that I was not cut out to be an accountant.

One year, I was assigned to count the toy department.  It took me longer than the postcards.  Not because there were that many toys, but I felt to be responsible, I needed to count and test each toy.  My stepfather surprised me in the middle of this joy, and I was reassigned to ladies’ underwear.  I was eleven, and lingerie was repulsive to me. I closed my eyes and counted as quickly as I could.

Have you ever done an inventory of your soul?  Most of us don’t.  To ponder our defects of character, to face the reality of our sins, to see clearly the damage we have done to others brings pain and shame.  Even Jesus followers want to throw paper over our character flaws.  That’s why we resort to blanket confessions: “Heavenly Father, forgive me of all my sins.”  John Ortberg aptly observed, “Bland confessions are like taking a shower with your clothes on.  You are spared the embarrassment of nakedness, but you really don’t get clean.”

We used to say, “Confession is good for the soul.”  Now we believe we shouldn’t dwell on the negative and only think positive, self-affirming thoughts.  The problem with this therapeutic way of thinking is reality.  Every person has flaws, makes mistakes, and does wrong when they know the right thing to do.  Only when we face the reality of our soul’s condition can we begin to receive forgiveness, release guilt and shame, and get healthy.

You need a daily time to be still and take inventory of the day.  You can use the Ten Commandments as a guide or the seven deadly sins.  For example, did I put God first today?  Did I attach God’s name to something he would not approve of (see social media)?  Did someone or something other than God guide my life?  Did I rest? Did I give God time when I focused on him?  Do I honor the good work my parents did in my life?  Do I forgive them for their imperfections?  Do I harbor hate in my heart for anyone? When did I lie today? Have I taken anything that did not belong to me?  Do I treat people as sexual objects? Am I faithful in relationships? When have I been greedy? Do I value money or possessions more than God?

You can also use the fruit of the Spirit to take inventory of the positive things in your life.  Do I love like Jesus? Am I living a life of joy? Do I have peace that is greater than my anxiety? Am I patient? Am I kind? Am I gentle in difficult situations? Am I generous? Am I faithful to my commitments? Do I have self-control?

What does your soul inventory reveal? Could it be that God is pleased with the positive and wants to clean up the negative?

Taking inventory is hard.  It is humbling.  It is essential. When you take inventory, you can finally face the reality of who you are.  Taking inventory will show you how much you need God.

The Next Pope...

(This article was written before the announcement of new Pope being chosen, but the same rings true)

I feel strange writing about who will be the next Pope.  I’m not a Catholic.  But I am not of the tribe of Baptists who think Catholics are going to hell.  I was a hospital chaplain with a young Catholic priest, and I was impressed by his devotion and faith.  Catholic writers like Thomas Merton and Henri Nouwen have spoken deeply to my soul.

I admired Pope Francis.  He seemed to be a compassionate man, with genuine care for the poor and a desire for justice.  Instead of appointing Cardinals from traditional bastions of power in Europe and North America, he diversified the college of Cardinals by appointing men from around the world.  Again and again, he spoke of God as a God of love for all people, not just a few.

The history of the Roman Catholic church is problematic.  There have been many abuses of power that date back centuries. Scandals involving sex and greed are woven into sterling examples of selflessness and devotion.  Yes, the present scandals of the church are inexcusable.  Attempts to keep secrets are reprehensible.  The miracle is God works through imperfect people and imperfect churches to advance his Kingdom.

My own tribe of Baptists has its own abuses and scandals.  Southern Baptists particularly were strong proponents of segregation and racial apartheid.  A famous Southern Baptist pastor, W.A. Criswell, declared to the South Carolina legislature in 1956 that, “Anyone who believes in integration is dead from the neck up.”  Not exactly in line with the teachings of Jesus.  We hear regularly about pastors who have abused children and had affairs.  Jesus did say, “Let him who has no sin cast the first stone.”  Baptists have no right to throw stones at anyone.

I think being Pope must be a hard calling.  Everyone in the world expects you to be perfect.  The press jump on every misstatement.  Fellow cardinals jockey for positions of power.  People notice when your eyes linger too long on a pretty woman and accuse you of harboring lustful thoughts.  Even moments of intentional humility, like washing the feet of the poor, are photographed.  Like the President of the United States, all the decisions that come to the Pope are hard ones.  The difference is that the Pope is elected for life; the President steps down after two terms (ever notice how every President ages in office?).

Now that Pope Francis is dead, the College of Cardinals is convening to select a new Pope.  The papacy is no longer bought and sold as it was in the Dark Ages.  There was a time when powerful Italian families controlled the papacy and traded it among themselves.  Reforms came, and the College of Cardinals developed a process to elect a Pope by secret ballot.  Adjusting to technology, today, cell phones are confiscated, and jammers are set up to prevent contact with the outside world.

Behind closed doors, there will be lobbying and politicking.  I do not condemn the Cardinals for this.  In my tribe, there are Zoom calls and late-night meetings to determine who will be selected for a one-year term as President of the Southern Baptist Convention. Every pastor knows there are meetings after the meeting in the church parking lot to determine what should really happen.

Here is the remarkable thing: somehow, through all our human ambition, our flawed nature, God works.  The promise of Romans 8:28 rises up: God is working good in all things for those called according to his purpose.  God has a way of sifting through our mess and making something beautiful happen.

No one expected John XXIII to be a great reformer and bring the church into the modern era.  John Paul II was a brilliant tactician who helped bring an end to Communism.  Pope Francis was a calm, peaceful voice in a turbulent, divided world.  God has a way of bringing the right people forward at the right time.

This is a good promise for all Jesus followers, Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox, to embrace.  No matter what we face, God is at work.   William Cowper penned these words: “God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform …”  Jesus told us the Spirit blows where he wills.  I cannot fathom all the ways God steers the hearts of people, but I marvel at how he weaves our flaws into his purpose.

I was riding a bus in New York when a man asked me what I did.  I told him I was a pastor.  His understanding of Baptists and Catholics was not very clear.  He asked me if I was a priest who abused kids.  It was then I understood that to irreligious people, all Christians get lumped together.  Whether we are Catholic or not, non-Christians assume the Pope represents all the followers of Jesus.

So, I pray the new Pope will be a person who loves mercy, who does justice, and who walks humbly with our God.  Come to think of it, I need to pray that for myself, too.

-May 11, 2025

Is God Good?

Steve Jobs grew up going to church.  At age thirteen, a copy of “Life” magazine came to his house.  On the front cover was a picture of a starving child in Biafra, the rebel state of Nigeria.  Deeply moved, he brought the picture to church the following Sunday and asked his pastor if God knew about the famine in Biafra.  The pastor replied that God knew everything.  Then Jobs asked, “Then why doesn’t God do something about it?”  The pastor stumbled through an answer to an unanswerable question.  Jobs later pointed to this conversation as his turning point away from traditional Christianity to alternative forms of faith.

Steve Jobs was not the first person to wonder why God seemed unresponsive to suffering.  Charles Templeton, a contemporary of Billy Graham, turned away from Christian faith when he too saw a picture of a starving child.  Templeton said he would never allow a child to starve.  He concluded that there either was no god, or if there was a god, he was not good. 

It is strange when we see suffering, we quickly assume God should do something, that he is responsible.  In the case of the Biafra famine, the rebel government refused to allow planes with relief supplies to fly into their territory.  Was God to blame for that?  In places like South Sudan, food is often left to rot on the docks in Ethiopia because relief agencies refuse to bribe corrupt officials.  Is God to blame for that?

Of course, all suffering is not related to starvation.  Why does one cancer patient survive and another perish?  Why does the couple who longs for a child remain childless while another couple seems over-blessed with children?  Why is slavery still tolerated in India?  Why are oppressive dictators allowed to live in luxury while their people scratch for survival?  Our hearts are moved, and we wonder if God’s heart is moved. 

There is an answer, of course, but it does not make us happy.  God, being God, does know everything.  He is more aware of suffering than you are.  It is always before him.  But God also knows the importance of free will.  He allows people to sin, and their sin causes suffering. 

What about suffering that God seems to cause, like a drought?  The answer to this disappears into the mystery of God.  No book I have read can adequately explain this.  The best we can say is we do not know.  This causes people like Steve Jobs and Charles Templeton to turn away from God.  In doing so, they implicitly say, “We are smart enough to understand the ways of God, and he should explain Himself to us.” 

I have seen enough stupidity on the part of human beings (including myself) to believe we are not as smart as we think we are.  I do not believe that we are able to understand all there is to understand about God, an infinite being.  I’ve studied the book of Job enough to know God does not have to explain himself to human beings.

Any discussion of the goodness of God must consider not just suffering, but also the goodness in the world.  An old hymn says we are to “…Count your blessings, name them one by one.”

Oxygen is a blessing.  It is God-given.  It is free.  Gravity is a blessing.  Imagine a world where gravity is not a constant.  Color is a gift.  What if the world had only one color?  What if God chose gray?  Or olive-drab.  Even yellow would get tiresome after a while.

Your brain is a gift.  Without much thought, I imagine a letter and my fingers type it out.  My brain can remember instructions from typing class long ago.  I can remember how my mother’s fried steak smelled, the taste of her milk gravy on rice.  Even as I type that last sentence, my brain sends a message to my salivary glands to create more saliva in anticipation.

The stars are a gift.  What if we are alone in the universe?  What if God sprinkled all those stars and galaxies in the night sky for our pleasure? 

The ability to love is a gift.  Most animals breed based on lust.  Humans can love and bond.  No one had to tell me to love my grandsons.  My heart went out to them as naturally as a duck takes to water.

Jesus' followers believe that God’s greatest goodness is the gift of his son.  Millions upon millions have turned to Jesus for forgiveness of sins.  Lives have been changed, addictions broken.  Families have been healed; trauma has been redeemed.  God’s great gift is adoption into his family.  We become his children, and he holds us. 

When I look at the gifts and blessings of God, I choose to believe God is good.  I cannot explain all that is wrong with the world, but because I believe God is good, I trust he cares more about suffering and sin than I do.  I believe he cares about my suffering, even though I am far from starvation.  I also believe that as a follower of Jesus, my compassion must grow to be like God’s. 

Before you decide God is not good, be sure to look at both sides.  Do not make the mistake of assuming you can understand all his ways and thoughts.  After all, if you can understand everything about God, is he really God or a projection of your imagination?

Cheap Faith, Expensive Faith…

I was at a gathering of people who had a lot of wealth. Where and when is not important. Let me simply say that it would be incorrect to speak about a Lexus in the parking lot; there were Lexi in the parking lot.  Women were dressed to the nines; the men were thin. Everyone looked perfect. I felt out of place.

Most of the people in the gathering professed faith in Jesus. They belonged to churches and attended when they could. The conversation at the gathering made references to Jesus, to God’s blessings, and to the sorry state of the government.  

Jesus once said it was harder for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. I get the analogy. When you live in luxury, it is hard to be humble. Sometimes, in my cynicism, I wonder if the ultra-rich would still follow Jesus if he said, “Go, sell your Lexus, give the money to the poor, and come and follow me.” 

It is fun to be self-righteous. It is also dangerous. Nothing attracts the attention of God like the piety of a person who condemns someone else’s externals without first examining the forest of sin in his or her own life.  In that moment of spiritual pride, a thought from God entered my heart: “So Clay, if I ask you to give up your truck with heated leather seats and give the money to the poor, would you?”

Ouch. The voice of God in my soul can bring a troubling conviction. If I am not walking with Jesus, I can begin to think I deserve all God lets me enjoy. This is the temptation of blessing: believing God owes me something because I have been so good.

If you live this way, believe you deserve the blessings of God, Jesus said you will lose something. You might gain the whole world, but you will lose your soul. I do not think Jesus was thinking just of heaven and hell when he said this; he meant you would lose yourself. Think about it: have you ever heard a story about a person who made it big in their career and made a wreck of their home? Or maybe they made a wreck of their lives with an addiction? The track record of human beings staying healthy while successful is not good.

Caroline Mahendran was teaching children in the Sunday School of Zion Church on Easter Sunday. If you have never taught children in Sunday School, you have no appreciation of the peace of heaven. One of the tried-and-true methods of holding children’s attention is asking them a question that requires a mass response. Simple “yes” or “no” questions are usually the best.

Since it was Easter, Caroline taught the children about the Cross of Jesus and the Resurrection of Jesus. She spoke about Jesus’ great sacrifice for us and how he deserved our total loyalty. She asked the class of twenty-four if they would die for Jesus, “Yes!” they shouted.

Fifteen minutes later, as these children were in the sanctuary, waiting for Easter worship services to begin, a suicide bomber entered, detonated his bomb, killing himself and twenty-eight other people. Twelve of the dead were children, the same children who declared moments earlier they would die for Jesus. Zion Church is in Batticaloa, Sri Lanka, where almost three hundred people died in Easter Sunday bombings.

Arasaratnam Verl lost his only child, V. Jackson. His oldest sister was also killed. His younger sisters and his brother-in-law are in critical condition. I cannot imagine what this man feels. He is not counting his blessings. His faith is under attack. In the face of loss, he will face the toughest test: to believe God is still good while his heart hurts. “Love your enemies, do good to those who persecute you” is not a quaint notion for him.

When I read this story, I was brought down. How can I claim any spiritual maturity when there are people who must live with this kind of threat? How can I judge anyone when my faith has never faced this kind of test? All my complaints about the difficulty of life seem trivial compared to the faith that is required to believe when a father sees the blood of his child spilled on the floor of the sanctuary.

King David once said, “I will not give God an offering that costs me nothing.”  Every kind of faith, Christian or not, will face this kind of test. The test will be simple, though the circumstances seldom are. The test is this: Is my faith cheap, an imitation of the real thing, a faith that breaks under pressure? Or is my faith expensive, willing to sacrifice, willing to believe in the face of pain, present in times of trouble?

Cheap faith or expensive faith. Which faith do you have?

The Story of the Nails…

Their story begins in the iron ore deposits on the Ramim-Manara Ridge.  A miner dug out some ore, packed it on his donkey, and made his way to a regular customer, a blacksmith just outside of Jerusalem. 

The blacksmith heated the ore, burning off the impurities.  He knocked off pieces of the surrounding rock that were not pure enough to process.  Then, while the iron was hot, he shaped it with repetitive swings.  Some ore was heated again to a liquid state and poured into molds.  One of the molds was for nails.  Not skinny nails, but ones designed to hold heavy weight.  These were for his best customer, the Roman soldiers stationed in Jerusalem.

The Centurion would pick up twenty or so of these nails each month, paying with Roman coins that had real value.  The blacksmith was not naïve.  He knew what the nails would be used for.

The nails would be used in crucifixions.  Often, the soldiers would use ropes to hold those under a death sentence on crosses.  Ropes were not as expensive and allowed the ones being crucified to linger longer, sometimes for weeks.  But nails were for the hurry-up jobs, when prisoners needed to be dead in 24 hours.  Driven through the hands and feet of the victim and the wood, the nails were often hammered over to prevent them from pulling out as the men writhed in agony.

Once, when the blacksmith was on his way to take care of business in Jerusalem, he saw a crucifixion in progress.  He heard the screams of agony as the soldiers drove the nails through the victim’s hands and feet.  He knew they were probably his nails.  His conscience bothered him some, but the Romans were going to buy nails from some blacksmith, so it might as well be him.

After the crucifixion was over, the soldiers would take the victims down.  If no family member claimed the body, it would be thrown in the city dump to rot.  The cross beams would be reused.  The nails would be hammered straight, to be used again. 

The iron that made up the nails was brittle.  After repeated nailing and straightening, the nail would often break apart.  The soldiers would gather up the pieces and return them to the blacksmith, who would melt the iron down and pour the molten iron back into the molds.

The Centurion arrived one day to pick up a fresh batch of nails.  Rumor had it that several men were going to be crucified that week, so Pilate could show the Jews who was really in charge.  Jerusalem was crowded with pilgrims, who had made their way into the city to celebrate Passover.  Pilate wanted them to know that if anyone entertained a thought of rebelling against Rome, they too would hang on a cross.

The blacksmith was not there when Jesus was nailed to the cross.  He did not hear his screams; he did not see the blood flow from his hands and feet.  But he had to go back to Jerusalem that morning to get some supplies.  As he rounded the curve, he saw three crosses.  As he drew closer, morbid curiosity drew his eyes to the nails.  Were they using his nails? 

He could see the nails clearly, noting they were brighter than used nails.  These were the nails the Centurion picked up earlier in the week.  His normal ability to shrug it off failed him.  There was something disturbing about seeing his craftsmanship used for such a cruel purpose.  He paused his walk and looked at the man in the middle.  He was in obvious pain, but he managed to choke out, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” 

This struck the blacksmith as odd.  What criminal ever forgave those who were crucifying him?  But there was something about this man, a peace as he faced death, that he had never seen before.

The blacksmith moved on, for clouds were gathering and it looked like rain.  As he left “Skull Hill,” he thought, “At least my nails are holding.”

But the blacksmith was wrong.  The man in the middle could have popped those nails right out.  As the old song goes, he could have called ten thousand angels.  He had that power.  But he stayed on that cross.  He stayed with the pain of the nails in his hands and feet. 

The nails were not holding him.  He chose to stay on the cross because he loved the whole world.  He loved you.  And he loved me.   And love, his love, has more holding power than any nail.

Saving Jellyfish…

I was at the beach, relaxing in my chair, watching the waves roll in as the tide went out. A group of children were coming my way, laughing and running. There were five of them: Two older girls, two girls who looked like they were in first grade, and one boy, a little smaller, who was probably in kindergarten. Everyone had a beach shovel except the boy, who had a real shovel, a small one you could purchase in a hardware store. It was almost as tall as he was.

About every five feet or so, a jellyfish had washed ashore. I don’t really remember much about jellyfish from school, except to stay away from them. Watching “Finding Nemo”
re-enforced my convictions about keeping my distance from these invertebrates. When the kids came to a jellyfish on the sand, they excitedly gathered around it. Then, they would argue over which one of them would pick up the jellyfish. Once the argument was settled, the chosen one would scoop up the jellyfish with his or her shovel.

The older girls managed this task without too much trouble. The younger kids, however, were not quite as skilled. I could imagine these dying jellyfish saying, “Please, please let one of the older kids pick me up, not one of the younglings.”

Once the kids had the jellyfish on their shovels, they walked into the water until it reached their knees. Then, they would give a mighty sling and sail the jellyfish into the surf.

Some of the jellyfish did not survive the pickup. Let us say careless stabs of the shovel divided the jellyfish. I do not know how many survived their return to the sea. Every third sling what was once one jellyfish entered the sea in three pieces. 

I observed this process through about twelve jellyfish when they finally made their way in front of me. I called to one of the older girls, “What are ya’ll doing?”

She replied with great confidence, “We are saving the jellyfish!”

I had heard of “Save the Whales,” but saving the jellyfish was a new concept. I couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you saving the jellyfish?”

She looked at me like I was the dumbest adult she had ever met and gave me that superior look that only a nine-year-old girl seem to have. She said, “Because they need saving!” Unspoken in her words but conveyed by her look was “Duh.”

God looks at his world and says, “My world needs saving.”  You and I are stranded on the beach of our own failures, trying to fight against currents and tides with our own strength. Our souls grow weary, and we cannot fight any longer. Then life pushes us to a place where we realize we are powerless over so much.

God, in his great mercy, looks at you and looks at me and declares, “I love this world. I love these people. I want to save them.”  Then the great question becomes, “How will God save his world?”

What if God chooses to save his world with a shovel? Nothing says God must be gentle or thoughtful. God could say, “I will scoop up a few and hope they survive the process.”

We forget that in many ancient religions, only the worthy were thought to be “saved.”  You had to be “good enough to be saved.”  That’s what the religious leaders of Jesus’ day thought. Naturally, they thought they were the worthy ones.

But God, with great gentleness, out of his love for us, sent Jesus to pay our sin debt by dying on the cross. His resurrection shows his power and purity to accomplish forgiveness through his death.

Maybe this is why Jesus said, “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”  Jesus does not come to save us with a shovel, tearing us apart in the process. He comes with gentleness. He stoops down from his heaven to enter our world, to live with us. In His grace, he lifts us out of our stranded condition and transforms us into the beings we are meant to be.

Maybe the jellyfish would have been wise to say to their saviors, “I’ll pass on being saved right now. I think I’ll wait for the next high tide.”  But you and I are in a different place. That is why Blind Bartimeus’ cry should be the cry of our own heart: “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me.”  And “Thank you, Lord, that I am not a jellyfish.”

Loving People You Don’t Like…

I’m not proud of this.

I walked into a restaurant, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man I disliked and his wife.  I knew this man as a professional peer.  From the moment I first met him, something didn’t sit right.  Call it chemistry.  I never found an easy groove with him.

In our encounters, he always had an agenda he wanted to push.  It was not a bad or evil agenda, but it was not one that served our church.  Our conversations began to feel uncomfortable as I had to deny his requests again and again. 

Once, we were in a meeting with other peers.  During the question-and-answer time, he made a statement that felt like an attack on our church and on me.  This troubled me.  I remembered Jesus’ admonition, “If your brother has something against you, go to him…” 

I hate confrontation.  It conflicts with my need for everyone to like me.  But I scheduled the meeting, met with him, and shared my impression.  He denied the comment was directed at me, and I thanked him for the clarity.  The interchange did not make me feel closer to him.

Now, I am in a restaurant, and my first impulse is to position myself so I am unseen.  Again, out of the corner of my eye, I could see him sitting so he could see most of the restaurant.  I hoped for a table out of his line of sight, but the only table available was in his field of vision.  While I waited for my food, I found myself trying to lower my profile, which, in my case, is hard to do. 

I could feel tension rising in my body.  I did not want to have an encounter with this man where I would have to fake a politeness I did not feel.  I also did not want to be rude.  In the back of my soul, Jesus’ words began to build, “…But I tell you, love your enemies, do good to those who persecute you…”  I did not think this man was my enemy, nor had he ever persecuted me.  But I was pretty sure avoiding him was not exactly being like Jesus.

This might sound silly to you, but I felt tense.  I know enough about Jesus’ words that to love someone is to want and to work for their good.  Liking someone is not a Biblical concept. 

Maybe that’s the flaw in my thinking.  I want there to be some gray.  Often, Christians will say, “Jesus said you had to love everyone; he never said you had to like everyone.”  But Jesus and other Biblical writers only speak of love and hate.  God seems to be saying there is no gray area, just a line of wanting good for people and being indifferent or hostile.

In that moment, I felt a whisper from the Spirit: “Clay, you cannot control what he does.  If he comes over to speak, I will give you the words to say.”  It was God’s gentle reminder to me that I am in control of very little.  I cannot stop someone from speaking to me.  I can control my response.  I can speak with a voice of blessing or a voice of distance. 

God once said to Abraham that he was going to be blessed so he could be a blessing.  It came to me that my attitude should be one of blessing.  If the man approached me, I could interact with him in such a way that wanted good for him, even if I would not be comfortable having a conversation with him.

This is how Jesus wants us to respond to people we do not like.  We do not call them names.  We do not try to avoid them.  We do not call them out on social media.  We do not fool ourselves into thinking we can control our encounters.  We can ask God to make us a blessing.  We can ask God to guide us so we are not entangled in whatever triggers fire as we have conversations.  We can ask God for a pure heart, so our hurts do not control us.  When was the last time you prayed like that?

As I grow older, I notice that people who get on my nerves in my first encounter often, but not always, become some of my favorite people.  I don’t think that will happen in this case. My hunch is that he represents someone from my past who wounded me in some way.  I probably represent a threat or a trigger from the past for him.  That’s the way life is.  But as God helps me see him more clearly, I can let go of tension and anxiety and trust God to guide me in a conversation we might have.  I can pray for God’s good to come into this man’s life.  To be honest, he looked a little beaten down by life.  I prayed for him to have strength and hope.

The odd thing is, he never came over to my table.  I wasted a lot of worry energy on something that didn’t happen.  Maybe he is just as uncomfortable with me as I am with him.  Or maybe I hid in my booth really well. 

How do you love someone you don’t like?  You give that relationship to God.

Who Taught You Generosity?

Someone taught you to be generous. The question is, did you have a good teacher or a poor teacher?

I learned generosity from my stepfather, Lawrence. He was generous to our church. But he also insisted on paying for everyone’s meal when we went out to eat with another family. He picked watermelons to give to people in the community. He bought dresses for girls in the church who did not have nice clothes. I saw all this. I even participated in the picking of watermelons. I had a good teacher.

As a pastor, I was taught generosity regularly by people in the churches I served. I remember Mr. Bennett, an older man in my first church who never married. The stove in the church kitchen was broken. This meant we were not going to be able to host a mission team. Mr. Bennett stood up and said, “I’ll buy a new stove.  Let that group come on.”  He set the tone for the whole church to be generous.

Then there was Mrs. Horn. I picked her up every Monday morning for a Ladies Bible Study. One day, she handed me a dirty handkerchief. When I opened it, there were some coins and several crumpled-up twenty-dollar bills. She said, “I know we are trying to buy new hymnals. I got a Medicare reimbursement check, and this is my tithe on that check.”  I was reminded of the story in the gospels of the widow who gave two pennies.

When our church decided to relocate, a young, divorced mom shared that she was cash-strapped, but she was giving up cable to be able to give. Another man told me he decided to disappoint his children and give their inheritance to the building fund. I spoke with another woman, and she told me she was just glad she had something to give. 

My best teacher of generosity, of course, is Jesus. I am regularly reminded of his great gift of bountiful grace. I know I do not deserve the blessings of God I have received, but all that is precious to me comes because of God’s grace to me. The verse we all know so well, John 3:16, begins with these words: “For God so loved the world, he gave…”  What does it mean to love someone? It means you give.

If you are a parent, one of the most important lessons you can teach your child is to be generous.  One Dad I heard of does this by letting his elementary-age kids determine the tip the waitress gets.  They are learning math and generosity at the same time. Teach your children to learn the joy of giving.

What if your generosity teacher was not a good one? Too many families have finances that are trainwrecks. They live with financial anxiety that passes on to their children. As a result, the kids grow up and have no idea how to manage money. When you feel strapped financially, generosity is usually the last thing on your mind. Having a good understanding of your finances and generosity is a great gift to your children.

Culture is a terrible generosity teacher. No one buys a Super Bowl Commercial to invite you to be generous. Instead, we are told that if we buy this car or drink this beer, we will be happy. The truth is that all cars wear out. All beer flows through the body. You might get a happiness high, but it won’t last.

When people hear about the generosity of billionaires, their first reaction is, “If I had a billion dollars, I would be generous too.”  We assume only the ultra-wealthy can afford to be generous.

The work environment is usually a poor place to learn generosity. The boss harps on cutting back and saving money. Workers are told, “The company can’t afford to give you a raise.”  Then we hear the CEO is making millions. There are exceptions, companies that are generous to their employees, paying for benefits and further education. Funny, most of these companies are very successful. Generosity in the workplace equals happier workers, which leads to higher customer satisfaction.

If you do not know a good generosity teacher, start looking for one. Find someone who is generous and invite them to lunch. Find their secrets. Look for stories of generosity. We often call them “feel good” stories. Stories about generosity make us feel good! Learn from these stories.

Read the Gospels and discover how generous Jesus is. He did not have money, but he did have power, and he was generous with it. He gave his time to listen, heal, and teach.  When you learn from Jesus, you will discover why He makes your life better and helps you become better at life.

When you die, would you rather people talk about how much money you had or how generous you were?

Boundaries…

When my mother and stepfather married, she made it very clear that she did not believe in divorce, but she did believe in justifiable homicide if he ever cheated on her. One day, she was cleaning a pistol, and it accidentally went off, putting a bullet hole in the ceiling. She looked at my startled stepfather and, without missing a beat, said, “You remember I told you I didn’t believe in divorce, but I believe in justifiable homicide. Consider that your warning shot.”  She was defining a boundary.

When I was in high school, my curfew was midnight. I learned to calculate distance, speed, and time at stoplights to make it home on time. One night, I lost track of time (it is none of your business why), and I got home at 12:30. My mother was waiting. I was grounded for two weeks. My mother was enforcing a boundary. She said it was for my own good. Try explaining that to your girlfriend.

In college, I did not do the best job of keeping track of my bank balance. Imagine my shock when one day I got a letter informing me a check had been rejected for insufficient funds. The bank was reminding me there was a boundary and they were not going to make an exception for me.

My first batch of heifers I grew out were delivered from our ranch in Florida. They were a feisty bunch. I kept them penned for a few days with plenty of food and hay. After four days, I let them out. They stampeded out of the pens, ran through a four-strand electrified fence, and halted only when they reached a woven-wire fence with an electric strand attached. That fence defined a boundary.

I have been stopped for speeding more than once in my life. Usually, the trooper asks for my driver’s license and registration and then asks me the question, “Mr. Smith, do you know why I pulled you over?”  I know the truth, and he knows the truth. My standard reply is something like, “Officer, I know I was speeding. I assume that’s why.”  The trooper usually nods, then tells me my actual speed and the speed limit. He is reminding me there is a boundary and I was flying past it.

When people read the Bible, they are often confused by all the rules and laws in Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. People remark the rules are boring. I get it. I once was a librarian in a law firm. I had to make corrections to books filled with laws and cases. It was easily one of the most tedious jobs I ever had.

Why did God want all those rules in the Bible? The laws of the Old Testament are there to show the people of God boundaries. They came from being slaves. The Egyptians set the boundaries and made the laws. God is now teaching them his laws, his ways. When you read the laws of the Old Testament this way, you realize how much his people needed to learn. The Ten Commandments are a morality code. We take it for granted that everyone knows not to steal, kill, or tell lies. They don’t. God had to define morality and boundaries for them. They didn’t know what was healthy to eat and what wasn’t. God had to define some foods as clean and some as unclean. Apparently, they didn’t even know basic sexual morality, like “Don’t have sex with a parent (yuck!)” or “Don’t have sex with animals (double yuck!).”  God defined the boundaries for them.

Of course, whenever a boundary is set, some people want to ignore it, and some people take it too far. By the time of Jesus, the religious leaders had made up new boundaries to protect the boundaries. Jesus said, “I’ve not come to abolish the law but to fulfill the law.”  Jesus was doing a boundary reset. What matters, he said, is living in the Kingdom of God. This meant loving other people like Jesus loves them. It meant surrendering your will to your Heavenly Father. It meant following Jesus wherever he leads. Jesus gave us a radical new way of understanding boundaries. But they are still boundaries.

We seem to be living in an era when people do not respect boundaries anymore. Russia ignores the Ukrainian boundary. Hamas and Israel ignore each other’s boundaries. On social media, people feel the freedom to attack someone (crossing a boundary) without trying to understand the person they are attacking. Some even do it in the name of Jesus. This certainly crosses the boundary Jesus gave us of loving one another.

Boundaries are there for a reason. God gives us boundaries so our souls can grow and thrive. Don’t envy people who ignore the boundaries. They have a way of winding up in the ditch. When you encounter one of God’s boundaries, know it is there for a reason, and that reason is he loves you and wants the best for you.

I Want You to Be Generous…

I'll be honest: I want you to be generous. I want you to let me pull out in a line of traffic. I like it when you spend more on my birthday than I expect. When you let me take the last spot on the elevator, I appreciate it.

It's not just you. I want my children to be generous. I love it when they tear themselves away from their busy lives to come see me. I love it even more when they bring the beloved grandsons. Christmas is wonderful when they cook for me and give me presents. In my old age, I want them to pay for the finest nursing care available. I want them to be generous.

I want the businesses I patronize to be generous. I love it when the doughnut shop miscounts and gives thirteen doughnuts instead of twelve. It's pretty nice, too, when the waitress brings me a fourteen-ounce ribeye instead of a six-ounce sirloin. They tell me to keep the steak and charge me for the smaller one. Accidental generosity is pretty nice, too.

Since I work at a church, I want the church to be generous as well. I'd like them to pay me more for the same amount of work. If they want to add benefits to my compensation, like buying me a new Ford F-150 King Ranch 4x4 each year, I guess I can live with that. 

I also like it when my government is generous. I will take all the tax breaks I can get. One year, the government failed to deposit one of my tax checks. I asked my accountant about it. She said to wait. I waited three months. I called the IRS. When I finally spoke to a real person, they said they would investigate the matter. I never heard back from them. I contacted my accountant again. She contacted the IRS. The response again was they would look into it. Three years passed. Does incompetency count as generosity?

When I meet someone, I love it when the conversation is about me. I get to show off how smart I am, how interesting my life is, and how my grandsons are the most talented, handsome, exceptional boys in the world. When you are generous with your time and attention, and I'm the recipient, I'm thrilled.

In school, I always liked it when the teacher was generous in grading. These words delight every student: "I grade your exams on a curve." I remember getting a "C" on one paper. The professor wrote, "Nice Try." As my daughter said many years later, "'C's' get degrees."

By now, you have spotted the flaw in my love of generosity: I like it when you are generous; sometimes, it is a struggle for me to be generous. That attitude is a pretty selfish way to think and live. Yet isn't it true many of us live this way, even if we don't want to be this way?

Is this the way God wants me to live? Emphatically, no. God made you to be joyfully generous. The most doubted verse in the Bible has nothing to do with the earth being made in seven days. The most doubted verse in the Bible is "It is more blessed to give than to receive." 

Christian Smith and Hilary Davidson, researchers at the University of Notre Dame, wrote a book entitled "The Paradox of Generosity." Through peer-reviewed academic research, they discovered that people who are generous (in their definition, who give at least 10% of their income) have more friends, deeper connections, a sense of purpose and well-being, and better health than non-generous people. People who are generous live more joyful lives.

If this is really true (and I believe it is), wouldn't it make sense to make our goal to become generous people? Wouldn't you be happier if you thought more about how to bless other people than thinking about what you don't have? God designed you to be a pipe. You are to let his grace, joy, mercy, and love flow into you. As it flows into you, it will change you. Then, we allow his gifts to flow out of us to bless others.

I've heard this analogy so often, but it contains so much truth. Jesus knew two bodies of water intimately. The first was the Sea of Galilee. Though small, it had a vibrant ecosystem. Water flows from underground springs and from the Jordan River. The lake, through the centuries, has been a vital fishery, a source of water, and a source of irrigation resources. The Jordan River flows out of the lake to the Dead Sea. The Dead Sea has no outlets no outflows. It is nine times saltier than the ocean. Fish and plants do not thrive in this harsh aquatic environment. Thus, its name is the Dead Sea.

I really do want you to be generous, because I do not want your life to turn into a toxic environment that drives people away. Let's face it: no one wants to maintain friendships with a self-centered person. I want you to experience the deep joy of generosity, of thinking of others before you think of yourself.

I want that for myself as well. God made me and you to be generous. Our goal is to be just like Jesus, the most generous one of all.