My Life in a Box (Reprised)

Awhile back I went through the big Tupperware box containing all the stuff my mother saved from my childhood days. I wrote some reflections and shared a few memories. Having moved to Virginia, I thought it might be good to share these thoughts with all of our new friends. I guess every life has a story to tell. Here's a bit of mine. 

My Life in a Box: Part 1
My Life in a Box: Part 2
My Life in a Box: Part 3

If Jesus Were from Texas . . .

Last night we were welcoming our new associate pastor coming to Virginia from the great state of Texas. It started me thinking, what if Jesus had come from Texas. I couldn't help myself. Feel free to add your own.

If Jesus were from Texas . . .

• His disciples would have included Billy Bob, Roy Lee, Scooter, and Bubba.
• He'd have brought his rod and reel with him when he walked on water.
• He'd have fed the multitude with catfish and cornbread.
• He'd be famous for turning water into whiskey.
• The Sermon on the Mount would have been the Preachin' on the Prairie.
• The prayer for the Passover meal would have been, "Good food, good meat, good God, let's eat!"
• His front yard would have been filled with broken down mule carts.
• Instead of a holy grail, knights would have been searching for the Holy Cooler.
• He would have cured the blind man with a little tobacco juice.
• Instead of a fish, the symbol for Jesus would have been a fishing lure.

Raise the Cross

Raise the cross, raise it over this broken world.
Raise the cross, where the innocents beg and bleed.
Raise the cross, for those enslaved, oppressed, abused.
Raise the cross, where violence reigns and sirens scream.

Raise the cross, over hollow churches, dead routine.
Raise the cross, beating hearts grown cold and gray.
Raise the cross, spilling blood on lifeless faith.
Raise the cross, stirring the ashes of yesterday.

Raise the cross, beyond the bounds of hatred
Raise the cross, far from all who judge and burn.
Raise the cross, tearing down the graceless walls
Raise the cross, so weary prodigals may return.

Raise the cross, above the altar of worldly gain.
Raise the cross, hoarded wealth with no reprieve.
Raise the cross, in crowded halls a shallow gospel.
Raise the cross, consumers pretending to believe.

Raise the cross, dripping down its holy cure.
Raise the cross, on Golgotha's lonely hill.
Raise the cross, let its timbers make us whole.
Raise the cross. The Savior is saving still.

Bombs in Boston

Rescue me, O Lord, from evil men; protect me from men of violence, who devise evil plans in their hearts and stir up war every day. They make their tongues as sharp as a serpent's; the poison of vipers is on their lips. 

Keep me, O Lord, from the hands of the wicked; protect me from men of violence who plan to trip my feet. Proud men have hidden a snare for me; they have spread out the cords of their net and have set traps for me along my path.

O Lord, I say to you, "You are my God." Hear, O Lord, my cry for mercy. O Sovereign Lord, my strong deliverer, who shields my head in the day of battle . . . Surely the righteous will praise your name and the upright will live before you. (Psalm 140:1-7, 13 NIV)

Hearts are broken for the people of Boston this morning. When the news breaks on the screen, we want to turn away. Not again. Not another senseless, cruel, cowardly act of violence. And the count begins, rising with each passing hour. To this moment, three people were killed, one hundred forty-two injured, seventeen in critical condition. Each one with a face and family, each one with an unfinished story, shattered hopes and broken dreams, and all of them, innocent victims of some stranger's mindless rage.

We pray for those who have lost loved ones, those who have been severely injured, and those who are still clinging to life. Our prayers also surround all who have been traumatized by having witnessed that horrific scene and for all of the faithful, courageous first responders. Let us lift up our sister churches in Boston and all those who are ministering and counseling with so many hurting people. The marathon draws participants from many countries, so the impact of this tragedy will be felt in far off corners of the world. We pray for all those who share the love of Christ in the face of evil and bloodshed.

It seems our world has devolved to the point where the random killing of innocent people is the only way to make a political statement, the only way for the powerless to feel empowered, the only way to express the anger and hatred of the heart.  The massive investigation is well underway and we can be confident that the killer or killers will be tracked down, foreign or domestic, international terrorists or the homegrown variety, people killing their own kind. I can tell you one thing for certain even now. No matter who is responsible for the bombing in Boston, it will not add up. It is an equation that will never balance. It is an answer that will never make sense to us. No matter the cause, no matter the complaint, no matter the belief, no matter how some person or group may have been wronged or abused in the past, this random killing of the innocents is never justified. It is madness. It is subhuman.

Let us all be reminded how urgent and vital is the work of the Kingdom in this sin-sick world. How desperately our world craves the light and love of the Gospel, though it cannot identify the antidote that can bring new life or recognize the bread that can satisfy its deep hunger. What this bloody, brokenhearted world needs is Jesus.

Easter Sunrise with Special Effects

It was my first Easter as a pastor. I was a 20 year old sophomore at William Jewell College with a tenure of three months as pastor of Nettleton Baptist Church, a country church about 60 miles from campus. We had planned to have a sunrise service on Easter morning and we were serious about the word "sunrise." We decided to begin at 5:45 am, just to make sure we didn't miss the first hint of daylight. Bob Shaney, our senior deacon, owned a little lake, actually an old railroad pond beside the tracks, just down the road from the church. Bob had cleared a path to a nice little clearing by the water where we always gathered for sunrise services, bonfires, and baptisms.

After three months of Sundays I was already running out of much to say, but even I knew what to preach about on Easter, so I had my best effort all typed up and ready for the 11:00 worship service. My problem was, I had no idea what to do or talk about at the sunrise service. If I had ever attended such a service as a kid, I must have been half asleep or too focused on the donuts to notice what was going on. All I knew was I couldn't come up with another sermon and nobody played the guitar.

In the dorm the night before, my buddy Rusty and I sat up late trying to make a plan. Today, we would just Google it and come up with all kinds of ideas, but we were lost and left to our own devices back then. It was too late at night to call my dad. I should have realized my problem sooner, but that would have been wise and responsible of me, two traits I had not yet developed.

About 2:00 am we gave up and went to bed, getting up at 3:30 so that we could leave by 4:30 for the drive to Nettleton. To make matters worse, it was raining, cold and steady, all night and all the way. Do we give up and go to the church? Do we skip the whole thing? Who decides? No umbrella. No raincoat. Nothing.

When we pulled up along the gravel road by the little lake, the rain had let up to a sprinkle and a couple of pickups and a car were already there, still running as people kept warm and waited for the others to arrive. Bob and Bill had laid some old lumber along the path to keep us out of the mud. No one said a word about cancelling, so off we trudged through the gloomy early dawn for our worship time. By the time we made it to the clearing, the rain had stopped and the sky was beginning to brighten to the east.

About fifteen of us were gathered there, from the baby, Zach, to Grandma Perryman who couldn't hear a word I said anyway, though she always had a sweet smile. We struggled through a couple of hymns acapella. "He Lives" is way too high for 5:45 in the morning. Bill led us in a prayer and then I did the only thing I knew to do. I read the Easter story from Matthew's Gospel. That's when God decided to show up and cover for His rookie preacher.

As I read the resurrection story, the sun poked through the dark clouds just above the horizon. I heard a gasp from someone and looked up to see what had happened. High in the sky against the gray clouds was a spectacular rainbow stretching over the lake with vivid color from end to end. We stood there speechless for a long, lingering moment. I began to read again concluding the story just as our rainbow was overshadowed by a second full rainbow, two brilliant bands stretching across a stormy sky.

We did better with our closing song, as you might imagine. By the time we made it back to the cars, the sky was gray and the rain had begun to fall again. We all headed over to Sylvia's house for breakfast. It rained all day, but nobody cared. We had seen such beauty and wonder and promise on that Easter morning. Unforgettable.

And, just between me and God, what I learned on that Easter morning was a lesson I will never forget. God said, "It's not about you. It's not up to you. It doesn't depend on you. Just give it your best shot, kid. Go ahead. I'll cover you." Thank you, Lord. He is risen indeed.

Once Upon a Tree

Ernest Hemingway wrote a book of short stories called Men Without Women. One of the stories included in that book is call "Today Is Friday." It is written in the form of a trilogy and deals with three Roman soldiers who had just crucified a Nazarene Carpenter. After they had crucified this Carpenter who had claimed to be the Son of God, they stopped by a tavern in ancient Jerusalem on the way back to the barracks.

One of the soldiers has been unaffected by the whole incident and drinks his ale as lustily as ever. Another of the soldiers just cannot forget this Carpenter - He seemed like such a good fellow - but he orders himself a cup of ale and begins to drink it. The third soldier is slapped on the back and told to order his ale and drink it. But he cannot. His heart and mind are still back there at the scene of the cross, and on the Man who was dying there.

While his raucous buddies "chug-a-lug" their ale, he keeps staring with that faraway look in his eyes and he says, "He sure looked good in there today." Then there is more laughter and more table talk in the tavern. But even in the midst of the ale and the gaiety, the thunderstruck soldier says again, "He sure looked good in there today."

Hemingway's story is not historical, but the reactions of these soldiers are the typical responses of all who ponder the cross.The great mass of people go through life untouched by its importance. Only a few have the sense and sobriety of that soldier who said, "He sure looked good in there today."

- Calvin Miller, "Once Upon a Tree"

Coming or Going, Attracting or Sending?

A Celtic Blessing for St. Patrick's Day

May the blessing of light be on you - light without and light within.
May the blessed sunlight shine on you like a great peat fire,
so that stranger and friend may come and warm himself at it.
And may light shine out of the two eyes of you,
like a candle set in the window of a house,
bidding the wanderer come in out of the storm.
And may the blessing of the rain be on you,
may it beat upon your Spirit and wash it fair and clean,
and leave there a shining pool where the blue of Heaven shines,
and sometimes a star.
And may the blessing of the earth be on you,
soft under your feet as you pass along the roads,
soft under you as you lie out on it, tired at the end of day;
and may it rest easy over you when, at last, you lie out under it.
May it rest so lightly over you that your soul may be out from under it quickly; up and off and on its way to God.
And now may the Lord bless you, and bless you kindly. Amen.