The other day Samantha Norman asked me, "How do you choose the songs for worship?" The question surprised me, and I didn't immediately have an answer, so I said something about flipping pages with my eyes closed and stopping randomly. Renee, her mother, chimed in something about Itunes party shuffle, so I said, "Yeah I use party shuffle. The only problem is that sometimes I end up with a Beatles song in the mix." Samantha's sister Sydney jumped in with, "Like 'Hey Jude.'" That was particularly funny, because we had all just heard a sermon on Judas. I still chuckle.
The real answer didn't come to me, because frankly it's not something I do alone. Granted, there are times when I'm either tired or not where I need to be spiritually, and I just pick songs I like. But most of the time, choosing worship music involves a powerful experience with God. This week is no different. Let me share something that happens to me regularly.
Yesterday as I drove to church, the song, "The Power of Your Love" was on the radio. We know it well, and I was singing along.
Hold me close, let Your love surround me; Bring me near, draw me to Your side. And as I wait, I'll rise up like the eagle, And I will soar with You, Your Spirit leads me on in the pow'r of Your love.
As I sang the chorus, another melody came to mind, and I heard the words:
Take me, mold me, use me, fill me; I give my life to the Potter's hand. Mold me, guide me, lead me, walk beside me; I give my life to the Potter's hand.
Realizing it would make a great medley, I checked my arrangements when I arrived at church. Sure enough, they are in the same key, and I excitedly wrote myself a note. This morning as I began to prepare, I pulled those songs first. I use several references which give me scripture backgrounds and even suggest medleys, so it was easy to find a couple of other songs. "Your Love, Oh Lord" leads into "The Power of Your Love", and "Have Thine Own Way" is the obvious Invitation song.
I then picked up "Did You Feel the Mountains Tremble". I've been wanting to use it for several weeks, but it never seemed to fit just right. Thinking it would be a good opener, I began looking for a companion to pair it with. First I went to the Worship Leader resource and found the scripture background from Isaiah 64:1.
If only You would tear the heavens open and come down, so that the mountains would quake at Your presence.
Feeling led to the hymns, I then went to my hymn/scripture reference guide and checked two hymnals I most often use. I was dissapointed to find no reference to that scripture, but was intrigued to see verse 8 of that chapter in both. Curious, I looked and was awestruck once again:
Lord, You are our Father; We are the clay, and You are our potter; We all are the work of Your hands.
There is no such thing as coincidence. Only the One True God could guide and confirm like that. I am no longer surprised by the way He works in this, but I am always amazed. Another thing about all this is that Todd and I rarely discuss what he plans to preach. The only time I have any idea is during a series. That's why I'm continually amazed when the singing and the sermon fit like a hand in a glove. People think we coordinate it all, but the fact is that we don't have anything to do with it. God really can bring obedient people from different directions to arrive at the same place.
We're opening worship Sunday with "Heaven came down and glory filled my soul!"
SOLI DEO GLORIA!!!!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Sign #1...
I was born at an early age. (My dad likes to say that.) From the first day, I was in church. I grew up hearing the preaching, singing and story telling about Jesus. I heard about how He was born of a virgin in a humble place. I heard about how He lived a perfect, sinless life. I heard about how He was crucified, buried and rose again. I even heard about how He wanted me to be part of His family, the church. It was comfortable, and I felt I belonged. In my mind, it was only a matter of time before I joined the church.
In our churches, at the end of each service, we include what we call the "Invitation". Simply put, it's an invitation for anyone to openly respond to whatever God is doing in their lives at that moment. While we all sing an appropriate song, people voluntarily make their way to the front of the room where they can either pray, receive counsel, join the church or profess their new found faith in Jesus Christ. No one is required to speak. Rather the Pastor shares with the congregation for them while they stand next to Him in full view of everyone.
By the age of 9 or 10, I knew I needed to join the church. But there was just one problem. I was horribly timid. The idea of standing in full view of the congregation was a terrifying thought. I know what you're thinking. If you know me at all, you're probably saying, "Jeff? Timid??" The truth is, "Yes. The real Jeff is a scared little boy." The person you know is the one God has transformed and enabled, but we'll get to that in a minute.
I've always struggled with the fear of being seen. Some people I know love the spotlight. I love the shadows. Oh, I do fine in small groups or even in larger groups where I know most of the people well. In those settings, there is a level of control, and I can be secure in the box I've built for myself. But the idea of being the center of attention anywhere still gives me the shivers and makes me slip to the back of the crowd.
In church, as the invitation approached, anxiety would begin to grow. "People want me to join. It's the right thing to do.'' Those were the thoughts in my head. As the song began, I would try to talk myself into it. "Go down on the second verse," I would say to myself. When the second verse began I would think, "OK, on the next verse." Sooner or later, the song would end, and I would be off the hook. That's how it went week after week.
When I was 13, my father, a former Minister of Music and then High School Choral Director was asked to lead worship in a revival at a church near our home. Mama and I went with him every night enjoying the pre-service meal served to the choir and Evangelist. Oddly, I've always been at ease with adults and immediately struck up a friendship with the Pastor of the church, Hershel Sizemore. We had good conversations each night, and by Thursday, trust had developed in me. That night, he asked if we could talk privately. We went into the sanctuary, and he sat sideways in the pew in front of me. I don't remember a word he said. What I do remember is that Jesus was presented to me in a personal way.
What had only been head knowledge was transformed into something personal. For the first time, someone told ME what I needed. It wasn't about joining a group. It wasn't about what was expected of me. It wasn't about me and everyone else in the room. It was about me and God. It was about what Jesus did for me and my need for Him.
As we entered the time of Invitation that night, the same old anxiety began to build. I told myself, "I'll go down on the second verse." But a strange thing happened. As we began to sing, a wave of peace passed over me. I watched as an observer as I closed the hymnal, put it away and stepped out into the aisle. God had given me a gentle nudge. He had suddenly brought everything into focus, and I saw the big neon sign. It was easy. Daddy reminded me several years ago of the song we sang that night. "I Surrender All." That's what I did that night. It was simple and childlike. It was unquestioning trust. I surrendered control.
Over the following months and years, God has showed me the reality of sin in my life. He's showed me who He is. He's showed me why Jesus chose to die for me. He's showed me how much He loves me. He is still showing me these things. And I've learned to trust Him... to love Him back... to surrender all. He changed me. He enabled me to do things I never dreamed I could. I learned to live Philippians 4:13, "I am able to do all things through Him who strengthens me." He taught me to take my eyes off "I am able" and to focus on "through Him who strengthens me." Sometimes I give in to that scared little boy, take control and build my little box. That's when He gently nudges me again, points to the big neon sign and says, "Trust Me." Then I take His outstretched hand and we continue down the path together.
In our churches, at the end of each service, we include what we call the "Invitation". Simply put, it's an invitation for anyone to openly respond to whatever God is doing in their lives at that moment. While we all sing an appropriate song, people voluntarily make their way to the front of the room where they can either pray, receive counsel, join the church or profess their new found faith in Jesus Christ. No one is required to speak. Rather the Pastor shares with the congregation for them while they stand next to Him in full view of everyone.
By the age of 9 or 10, I knew I needed to join the church. But there was just one problem. I was horribly timid. The idea of standing in full view of the congregation was a terrifying thought. I know what you're thinking. If you know me at all, you're probably saying, "Jeff? Timid??" The truth is, "Yes. The real Jeff is a scared little boy." The person you know is the one God has transformed and enabled, but we'll get to that in a minute.
I've always struggled with the fear of being seen. Some people I know love the spotlight. I love the shadows. Oh, I do fine in small groups or even in larger groups where I know most of the people well. In those settings, there is a level of control, and I can be secure in the box I've built for myself. But the idea of being the center of attention anywhere still gives me the shivers and makes me slip to the back of the crowd.
In church, as the invitation approached, anxiety would begin to grow. "People want me to join. It's the right thing to do.'' Those were the thoughts in my head. As the song began, I would try to talk myself into it. "Go down on the second verse," I would say to myself. When the second verse began I would think, "OK, on the next verse." Sooner or later, the song would end, and I would be off the hook. That's how it went week after week.
When I was 13, my father, a former Minister of Music and then High School Choral Director was asked to lead worship in a revival at a church near our home. Mama and I went with him every night enjoying the pre-service meal served to the choir and Evangelist. Oddly, I've always been at ease with adults and immediately struck up a friendship with the Pastor of the church, Hershel Sizemore. We had good conversations each night, and by Thursday, trust had developed in me. That night, he asked if we could talk privately. We went into the sanctuary, and he sat sideways in the pew in front of me. I don't remember a word he said. What I do remember is that Jesus was presented to me in a personal way.
What had only been head knowledge was transformed into something personal. For the first time, someone told ME what I needed. It wasn't about joining a group. It wasn't about what was expected of me. It wasn't about me and everyone else in the room. It was about me and God. It was about what Jesus did for me and my need for Him.
As we entered the time of Invitation that night, the same old anxiety began to build. I told myself, "I'll go down on the second verse." But a strange thing happened. As we began to sing, a wave of peace passed over me. I watched as an observer as I closed the hymnal, put it away and stepped out into the aisle. God had given me a gentle nudge. He had suddenly brought everything into focus, and I saw the big neon sign. It was easy. Daddy reminded me several years ago of the song we sang that night. "I Surrender All." That's what I did that night. It was simple and childlike. It was unquestioning trust. I surrendered control.
Over the following months and years, God has showed me the reality of sin in my life. He's showed me who He is. He's showed me why Jesus chose to die for me. He's showed me how much He loves me. He is still showing me these things. And I've learned to trust Him... to love Him back... to surrender all. He changed me. He enabled me to do things I never dreamed I could. I learned to live Philippians 4:13, "I am able to do all things through Him who strengthens me." He taught me to take my eyes off "I am able" and to focus on "through Him who strengthens me." Sometimes I give in to that scared little boy, take control and build my little box. That's when He gently nudges me again, points to the big neon sign and says, "Trust Me." Then I take His outstretched hand and we continue down the path together.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Signs...
Decisions can be agonizing at times. Sometimes it's due to my own lack of attention to God's guidance. He coaxes and directs, but I fail to hear and see, my focus being elsewhere. Other times His silence about a particular subject is direction enough. But I'm not satisfied with unanswered questions, so I continue to struggle in my heart. This is unfortunate, "for God is not a God of confusion but of peace..." (1 Corinthians 14:33). He desires peace for me, especially when I come to a fork in the road.
I remember Gideon and the fleece (Judges 6:36-40). He was looking for a clear sign from God, but when God sent it, Gideon was still uncertain. His own fear stood between him and clarity. He asked God to confirm the message, and God gently, patiently did so.
Someone recently shared with me that he is sometimes so confused that he simply asks God to close all the wrong doors. He went on to say, "I guess that's immature." I said, "No! That's a very mature way to approach decisions." In Mark 10, Jesus speaks of childlike faith. He's not implying blind action. Rather He's referring to confidence in something that's trustworthy...like a child instinctively trusts his parents.
As we age and learn, we take control and use our own "intelligence." It's only with spiritual maturity that we return to childlike faith, understanding the frailty of our wisdom compared to His. God wants us to trust Him that way.
Whether it's a fork in the road or a desire for something new, I really want signs to give me direction. Many times I have prayed for a big neon sign from God. A few times He has cleared the fog of my own making to give me an undeniable message. Actually, I can count 4 times in my life that He has given me a big neon sign. During the next few entries, I'll share with you those special moments in my life.
I remember Gideon and the fleece (Judges 6:36-40). He was looking for a clear sign from God, but when God sent it, Gideon was still uncertain. His own fear stood between him and clarity. He asked God to confirm the message, and God gently, patiently did so.
Someone recently shared with me that he is sometimes so confused that he simply asks God to close all the wrong doors. He went on to say, "I guess that's immature." I said, "No! That's a very mature way to approach decisions." In Mark 10, Jesus speaks of childlike faith. He's not implying blind action. Rather He's referring to confidence in something that's trustworthy...like a child instinctively trusts his parents.
As we age and learn, we take control and use our own "intelligence." It's only with spiritual maturity that we return to childlike faith, understanding the frailty of our wisdom compared to His. God wants us to trust Him that way.
Whether it's a fork in the road or a desire for something new, I really want signs to give me direction. Many times I have prayed for a big neon sign from God. A few times He has cleared the fog of my own making to give me an undeniable message. Actually, I can count 4 times in my life that He has given me a big neon sign. During the next few entries, I'll share with you those special moments in my life.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Waves...
Several years ago I went deep sea fishing in North Carolina. I had never been out in the ocean away from land, and I was excited and eager. Catching fish was secondary to me. I was looking forward to seeing the world from a different perspective. But the idea of being the big bad fisherman with a couple of full stringers was also appealing. I took my motion sickness pill and we started out just before sunrise. The boat held about 40 people, and they were all lined up along the rails. So, I found a nice spot on the upper deck with a good view. It was glorious. Cutting through the water and feeling the mist in my face as the spray came over the boat. It was a clear day and you could see for miles. "This is going to be a great day," I thought.
We got the signal and everyone grabbed gear and found a spot at the rail. Then the boat stopped, and the lines went into the water. That's when it hit me. Amid the ocean waves, I was suddenly hit with waves of nausea. I've battled motion sickness, but this was like none I had ever had. While the boat was moving, I was fine. Stationary, the boat rocked in every direction imaginable. Left...right...forward...back...up...down.... All at the same time. They had a bathroom on the boat. It was about half the size of a phone booth. And it was worse in there. The motion was the same, accept you couldn't see out. I turned in my gear and spent the next 9 hours flat on my back in the galley.
At the end of the day, we started home and my symptoms immediately went away. Emerging from the galley, I was relieved to feel the breeze and only one direction of motion. One of my friends told me the captain had asked for me, so I climbed up to the pilot house and knocked on the door. I had a moment of envy when I entered the air conditioned room and saw the bunk in the corner, but then I realized the top of the boat moved worse than where I had been.
The captain asked how I was doing and then said, "Would you like to drive?" I said, "Sure!" I took the wheel and he pointed to our destination. A tiny point off in the distance. I was determined to show impress the old seafarer, so I squinted and aimed and held the boat straight. It was more difficult than I had imagined. The waves were not that high, but with their rolling, the boat wanted to go this way and that. But I held it firm.
After a few minutes, the captain said, "You're doing well, but it can be a rough ride. It's easier on the passengers if you allow the boat to follow the swells and just keep a general heading. Bowing to his wisdom I complied and began to only make occasional corrections. The ride improved dramatically. I learned something that day. Strictly following a straight course is not the smoothest ride. Allowing the waves to direct your path is the best way to get where you're going...if you're a boat.
Life is not a boat. Yes, in life we encounter waves. They buffet and push, trying to move us this way and that. Social influences, temptations, even culture and tradition attempt to impose their will on our lives. The straight path is often rough, and many people choose the easy route, but at what cost. Following the trends of this world, they exchange God's best for shiny things that do not last.
God says in Proverbs 16:25, "There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it is the way of death."
Jesus said in Matthew 7:13-17, "Enter through the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the road is broad that leads to destruction, and there are many who go through it. How narrow is the gate and difficult the road that leads to life, and few find it. Beware of false prophets who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravaging wolves. You'll recognize them by their fruit. Are grapes gathered from thornbushes or figs from thistles? In the same way, every good tree produces good fruit, but a bad tree produces bad fruit."
Allowing a boat to go it's own way makes for a smoother ride. But by doing so, it is easy to lose sight of the goal. The goal of my life should be to please my Father. I will encounter waves of influence, and the ride will be rough. But keeping my eyes on the goal and my path straight will bring a greater reward than any fleeting thing this world has to offer.
Ephesians 4:14-15 "Then we will no longer be little children, tossed by the waves and blown around by every wind of teaching, by human cunning with cleverness in the techniques of deceit. But speaking the truth in love, let us grow in every way into Him who is the head —Christ."
We got the signal and everyone grabbed gear and found a spot at the rail. Then the boat stopped, and the lines went into the water. That's when it hit me. Amid the ocean waves, I was suddenly hit with waves of nausea. I've battled motion sickness, but this was like none I had ever had. While the boat was moving, I was fine. Stationary, the boat rocked in every direction imaginable. Left...right...forward...back...up...down.... All at the same time. They had a bathroom on the boat. It was about half the size of a phone booth. And it was worse in there. The motion was the same, accept you couldn't see out. I turned in my gear and spent the next 9 hours flat on my back in the galley.
At the end of the day, we started home and my symptoms immediately went away. Emerging from the galley, I was relieved to feel the breeze and only one direction of motion. One of my friends told me the captain had asked for me, so I climbed up to the pilot house and knocked on the door. I had a moment of envy when I entered the air conditioned room and saw the bunk in the corner, but then I realized the top of the boat moved worse than where I had been.
The captain asked how I was doing and then said, "Would you like to drive?" I said, "Sure!" I took the wheel and he pointed to our destination. A tiny point off in the distance. I was determined to show impress the old seafarer, so I squinted and aimed and held the boat straight. It was more difficult than I had imagined. The waves were not that high, but with their rolling, the boat wanted to go this way and that. But I held it firm.
After a few minutes, the captain said, "You're doing well, but it can be a rough ride. It's easier on the passengers if you allow the boat to follow the swells and just keep a general heading. Bowing to his wisdom I complied and began to only make occasional corrections. The ride improved dramatically. I learned something that day. Strictly following a straight course is not the smoothest ride. Allowing the waves to direct your path is the best way to get where you're going...if you're a boat.
Life is not a boat. Yes, in life we encounter waves. They buffet and push, trying to move us this way and that. Social influences, temptations, even culture and tradition attempt to impose their will on our lives. The straight path is often rough, and many people choose the easy route, but at what cost. Following the trends of this world, they exchange God's best for shiny things that do not last.
God says in Proverbs 16:25, "There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it is the way of death."
Jesus said in Matthew 7:13-17, "Enter through the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the road is broad that leads to destruction, and there are many who go through it. How narrow is the gate and difficult the road that leads to life, and few find it. Beware of false prophets who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravaging wolves. You'll recognize them by their fruit. Are grapes gathered from thornbushes or figs from thistles? In the same way, every good tree produces good fruit, but a bad tree produces bad fruit."
Allowing a boat to go it's own way makes for a smoother ride. But by doing so, it is easy to lose sight of the goal. The goal of my life should be to please my Father. I will encounter waves of influence, and the ride will be rough. But keeping my eyes on the goal and my path straight will bring a greater reward than any fleeting thing this world has to offer.
Ephesians 4:14-15 "Then we will no longer be little children, tossed by the waves and blown around by every wind of teaching, by human cunning with cleverness in the techniques of deceit. But speaking the truth in love, let us grow in every way into Him who is the head —Christ."
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Reflex...
When the doctor taps your knee, it kicks. Reflex. When I step out of the dark right in front of Terry Wright, she jumps out of her skin. Reflex. When a man's daughter flashes big eyes and that special smile, he reaches for his wallet. Reflex.
I don't have a daughter, but I know all about the wallet reflex. All men do. Whether they've given in to it or not, they've felt the pressure. And age doesn't matter. It's easier for daughter types to cash in, but grown women can do it, too. It's all about the look.
I remember an episode at the Family Life Center a couple of years ago. Several of our middle school girls were practicing on a basketball team, and as I walked into the building, they took a break. Hanna was the first out the gym door. Seeing me, she gave that special smile and asked, "Can I have a dollar for the drink machine?" My arm flinched. Immediately 5 more girls came through the door, and within seconds I was standing there alone, head spinning, with an empty wallet in my hand. I still think they planned it somehow.
Just the other day, Alli and Hanna dropped by the office to say hello. We were in staff meeting, but it was a nice break. They excitedly said they were going to the video store to rent "High School Musical 3." They wanted to buy it, but didn't have enough money. My arm flinched. I held back the impulse, but gave them each a dollar, and jokingly said, "Go buy yourselves something pretty."
I was hoping for a good eye roll and a smart remark. Instead, Hanna the optimist said, "Hey, we can get more sausage biscuits!" Later that day, I asked about it. No sausage biscuits. Instead, they realized that with my $2 they had enough to buy the DVD after all.
It's nice to be needed.
I don't have a daughter, but I know all about the wallet reflex. All men do. Whether they've given in to it or not, they've felt the pressure. And age doesn't matter. It's easier for daughter types to cash in, but grown women can do it, too. It's all about the look.
I remember an episode at the Family Life Center a couple of years ago. Several of our middle school girls were practicing on a basketball team, and as I walked into the building, they took a break. Hanna was the first out the gym door. Seeing me, she gave that special smile and asked, "Can I have a dollar for the drink machine?" My arm flinched. Immediately 5 more girls came through the door, and within seconds I was standing there alone, head spinning, with an empty wallet in my hand. I still think they planned it somehow.
Just the other day, Alli and Hanna dropped by the office to say hello. We were in staff meeting, but it was a nice break. They excitedly said they were going to the video store to rent "High School Musical 3." They wanted to buy it, but didn't have enough money. My arm flinched. I held back the impulse, but gave them each a dollar, and jokingly said, "Go buy yourselves something pretty."
I was hoping for a good eye roll and a smart remark. Instead, Hanna the optimist said, "Hey, we can get more sausage biscuits!" Later that day, I asked about it. No sausage biscuits. Instead, they realized that with my $2 they had enough to buy the DVD after all.
It's nice to be needed.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Too Much Stuff...
South Korea is not a land of peasants as some would believe. Images from the television show M*A*S*H lead us to believe otherwise. Remember, that show is at least 25 years old and represents one perspective of 60 years ago. No, I saw no peasants in South Korea. In fact, a glance at their CIA World Factbook entry (I love saying that) shows their economy is very similar to the US. While I'm sure there are the poor, most of the people I encountered seemed to have everything they needed.
Transportation is plentiful, food is everywhere and clothing is readily available (unless you're 6'2"). Housing is expensive, but everyone seems to find what they need. Electronic gadgets, the new measure of success are flooding the market. Everyone from the age of 6 has a cell phone, and they have models that won't be in the US for a couple of years at least.
I visited a number of homes and found warmth and plenty. In fact, what struck me most was just how little it takes to really make one happy. Several times I pondered the lack of storage space. Oh, there was plenty of space for the day to day items, but I couldn't see where they kept all the things they had accumulated over the years. Then it dawned on me. They don't have those things.
Absent is the attic packed with years of useless junk. No garage. No storage building. Gone is the overstuffed hall closet. It was shocking. "How do they survive without it?" I wondered. I'm not saying they don't share our desire to improve their condition. Human nature is the same everywhere, but these people seem to have a different perspective on need.
I never asked, but they seem to embody the old phrase, "If you haven't used it in a year, you don't need it." Better than that, they don't buy it in the first place. Some say we are a wealthy country. By comparison, that may be true. But I think we are simply spoiled. We have, so we accumulate. Then we need a bigger house.
Seeing this encouraged me to do something I've needed to do for a long time. I'm having a garage sale! I'm starting in the spare bedroom and purging. Every room and especially the attic. No more useless stuff. I made the announcement, "If you aren't busy, you're outta here." You should have seen the dogs spring into action.
Transportation is plentiful, food is everywhere and clothing is readily available (unless you're 6'2"). Housing is expensive, but everyone seems to find what they need. Electronic gadgets, the new measure of success are flooding the market. Everyone from the age of 6 has a cell phone, and they have models that won't be in the US for a couple of years at least.
I visited a number of homes and found warmth and plenty. In fact, what struck me most was just how little it takes to really make one happy. Several times I pondered the lack of storage space. Oh, there was plenty of space for the day to day items, but I couldn't see where they kept all the things they had accumulated over the years. Then it dawned on me. They don't have those things.
Absent is the attic packed with years of useless junk. No garage. No storage building. Gone is the overstuffed hall closet. It was shocking. "How do they survive without it?" I wondered. I'm not saying they don't share our desire to improve their condition. Human nature is the same everywhere, but these people seem to have a different perspective on need.
I never asked, but they seem to embody the old phrase, "If you haven't used it in a year, you don't need it." Better than that, they don't buy it in the first place. Some say we are a wealthy country. By comparison, that may be true. But I think we are simply spoiled. We have, so we accumulate. Then we need a bigger house.
Seeing this encouraged me to do something I've needed to do for a long time. I'm having a garage sale! I'm starting in the spare bedroom and purging. Every room and especially the attic. No more useless stuff. I made the announcement, "If you aren't busy, you're outta here." You should have seen the dogs spring into action.
Monday, February 23, 2009
4 and 3/4...
Several years ago I refinanced my home mortgage to the incredibly low rate of 4 and 3/4 percent. It dropped 10 years off the life of the loan while lowering the monthly payment by about $20. I was truly giddy. In celebration, Ray, my loan officer and I patented the 4 and 3/4 wave and the 4 and 3/4 hand shake. That's when you bend your index finger at the first knuckle. We also regularly gave each other a high 4 and 3/4 which is much better than a high 5. For some time, I went around excitedly telling people about my good fortune and encouraging others to do as I had done.
I usually received a mixture of reactions, most often with a touch of amusement on the part of the listener. One night after church, I was standing in line at Krystal with a new church family and was telling the story. My excitement level grew as I shared the details, and as I concluded, one of them asked, "Do you work for the loan company?" Surprised, I replied, "No... I'm just telling everyone the good... news...." I immediately heard the message God was sending me through my own words. Why do I not share Jesus with the same passion and urgency?
As Christians, we continually seek ways to encourage one another and ourselves to share Christ with other people. We talk about the duty of a Christian as commanded by Christ. We study clever methods of sharing. We encourage each other to learn and know what we believe. And we plead with people to participate in the outreach ministry. All of these things are important. But most of the time something else is missing. I believe most of us are missing passion in our lives. Passion for our first love. Passion for the one who saved us. Passion for the one who forgave the unforgivable.
I Corinthians 13 is familiar to most of us... "1If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing." This passage obviously speaks of the need of God's love in our lives, but I'm beginning to see it in a different way. Perhaps it also refers to passionless outreach efforts that achieve short term success but do not last.
Paul speaks of the positive effect passion can have on our others. In 2 Corinthians 9, he writes... "2For I know your eagerness to help, and I have been boasting about it to the Macedonians, telling them that since last year you in Achaia were ready to give; and your enthusiasm has stirred most of them to action." People see importance where they see passion. My words alone will not usually persuade, but when partnered with genuine passion, words can change lives.
Paul also instructs us in Romans 12... "11Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord." It's natural for the fire to dwindle. That is why it must be tended. I must stoke the fire of passion for my Savior.
Regardless of all the study and work, the most important thing for me to do as a Christian is to preserve (or revive) the passion in my heart for Jesus. Daily renewal and remembering where I am and from where I've come. Seeking and listening to Him. Loving Him. Only with a passionate heart will I be an effective witness for Him.
I usually received a mixture of reactions, most often with a touch of amusement on the part of the listener. One night after church, I was standing in line at Krystal with a new church family and was telling the story. My excitement level grew as I shared the details, and as I concluded, one of them asked, "Do you work for the loan company?" Surprised, I replied, "No... I'm just telling everyone the good... news...." I immediately heard the message God was sending me through my own words. Why do I not share Jesus with the same passion and urgency?
As Christians, we continually seek ways to encourage one another and ourselves to share Christ with other people. We talk about the duty of a Christian as commanded by Christ. We study clever methods of sharing. We encourage each other to learn and know what we believe. And we plead with people to participate in the outreach ministry. All of these things are important. But most of the time something else is missing. I believe most of us are missing passion in our lives. Passion for our first love. Passion for the one who saved us. Passion for the one who forgave the unforgivable.
I Corinthians 13 is familiar to most of us... "1If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing." This passage obviously speaks of the need of God's love in our lives, but I'm beginning to see it in a different way. Perhaps it also refers to passionless outreach efforts that achieve short term success but do not last.
Paul speaks of the positive effect passion can have on our others. In 2 Corinthians 9, he writes... "2For I know your eagerness to help, and I have been boasting about it to the Macedonians, telling them that since last year you in Achaia were ready to give; and your enthusiasm has stirred most of them to action." People see importance where they see passion. My words alone will not usually persuade, but when partnered with genuine passion, words can change lives.
Paul also instructs us in Romans 12... "11Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord." It's natural for the fire to dwindle. That is why it must be tended. I must stoke the fire of passion for my Savior.
Regardless of all the study and work, the most important thing for me to do as a Christian is to preserve (or revive) the passion in my heart for Jesus. Daily renewal and remembering where I am and from where I've come. Seeking and listening to Him. Loving Him. Only with a passionate heart will I be an effective witness for Him.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Memorable Ministry Moments (or Mmm)...
There are occasional moments in ministry that stay with you forever. Most are like Pastor Paul's lunch with Jake as told below or other special times when you see God's power and work around you. Some memorable ministry moments, however, fall into the category of the truly bizarre. This morning, I found a printed letter taped to my office door. On the letter was a post-it note. I recognized Pastor Todd's hand writing and chuckled to myself as I read. It said:
Please Read! You need to understand the aliens are coming! The Right Reverend Apostle ____ ____ (name withheld) came by to tell me so. Be glad you are off on Thursdays or you too would know about the aliens and Hitler. It is a heavy burden to bear. But on the bright side, I will be a king someday!
Todd's tongue in cheek note tells me all I need to know. He patiently listened as some fellow off the street preached his own brand of the gospel message. I read the two page letter. It's a rambling mix of scripture references, urban legend, science fiction and off the wall interpretations. I can only imagine the conversation. It saddens me for people like this. They are trapped in a fog of falsehood. But it also reminds me of a humorous story from my own past.
In the 90's I served a church in the small town of Cave City, Kentucky. Population 2500, give or take. The name comes from the many caves that are in that part of the world, and it's near Mammoth Cave National Park. The town had one traffic light and was located on a major state two lane highway and just off the Interstate that runs parallel. Actually, if you count the interchange there were three traffic lights, but only one was in town. It was a typical small town. Railroad track, bandstand, post office and one church of each denomination. One Methodist, one Christian, one Church of Christ, one Baptist and even one Catholic. It was appropriately named "Our Lady of the Caves".
Our pastor was a patient, wise man with a dry sense of humor. I was a young minister, and many times he would step in with the correct answer to a problem. Often I would ask, "How did you know that?" to which he would reply, "I'm the senior pastor." Other times it was "Because I'm the senior pastor", but we won't go into that.
Most churches have the occasional drop in person needing help. Because of our location we encountered more travelers than local people. They would come in and share strikingly similar stories, and we would attempt to help them while being good stewards. Many times I felt good about helping. The stranded motorist, the local family in need or even the traveler needing to talk. I took a lot of people to Dairy Queen for a meal and even put a few in the local motel for the night.
I remember quite a few needing gas who said they were traveling from this state to that looking for work. I was always suspicious of that story, but felt my job was to show Christ's love and let God work on their hearts. However, there was once a fellow who said he was driving from Virginia to Texas. I didn't have to look at my map. Everybody knows that driving from Virginia to Texas takes you through Tennessee not Kentucky. I felt peace about it and said, "You're lost." It was one of the few times I sent someone away without giving them something.
One of the most memorable ministry moments (mmmm) happened toward the end of my time in Cave City. The Pastor was sitting in the outer office talking with the copier repair man. I was walking down the hall and heard the familiar click of the outside door handle. As I entered the main foyer outside the office, I glanced toward the main entrance to see who was coming in. Do you remember the old man from the comic strips with the white hair and long white beard wearing a robe and carrying a big sign on a stick the says, "The End is Near"? Well, he came to our church.
He was coming through the inner door struggling with a back pack and his sign. Still in stride, I turned into the office, said to the pastor, "This one's yours" and went into my office and closed the door. About 30 minutes later I came out to find my pastor wrapping up the conversation as the man was leaving. He told me it was one of those strange ramblings about God and things that leave you convinced the man is missing a few fries from his Happy Meal. Then he stopped and looked me in the eye and asked, "Why do you always give me the hard ones?"
I smiled and said simply, "Because you're the senior pastor."
Please Read! You need to understand the aliens are coming! The Right Reverend Apostle ____ ____ (name withheld) came by to tell me so. Be glad you are off on Thursdays or you too would know about the aliens and Hitler. It is a heavy burden to bear. But on the bright side, I will be a king someday!
Todd's tongue in cheek note tells me all I need to know. He patiently listened as some fellow off the street preached his own brand of the gospel message. I read the two page letter. It's a rambling mix of scripture references, urban legend, science fiction and off the wall interpretations. I can only imagine the conversation. It saddens me for people like this. They are trapped in a fog of falsehood. But it also reminds me of a humorous story from my own past.
In the 90's I served a church in the small town of Cave City, Kentucky. Population 2500, give or take. The name comes from the many caves that are in that part of the world, and it's near Mammoth Cave National Park. The town had one traffic light and was located on a major state two lane highway and just off the Interstate that runs parallel. Actually, if you count the interchange there were three traffic lights, but only one was in town. It was a typical small town. Railroad track, bandstand, post office and one church of each denomination. One Methodist, one Christian, one Church of Christ, one Baptist and even one Catholic. It was appropriately named "Our Lady of the Caves".
Our pastor was a patient, wise man with a dry sense of humor. I was a young minister, and many times he would step in with the correct answer to a problem. Often I would ask, "How did you know that?" to which he would reply, "I'm the senior pastor." Other times it was "Because I'm the senior pastor", but we won't go into that.
Most churches have the occasional drop in person needing help. Because of our location we encountered more travelers than local people. They would come in and share strikingly similar stories, and we would attempt to help them while being good stewards. Many times I felt good about helping. The stranded motorist, the local family in need or even the traveler needing to talk. I took a lot of people to Dairy Queen for a meal and even put a few in the local motel for the night.
I remember quite a few needing gas who said they were traveling from this state to that looking for work. I was always suspicious of that story, but felt my job was to show Christ's love and let God work on their hearts. However, there was once a fellow who said he was driving from Virginia to Texas. I didn't have to look at my map. Everybody knows that driving from Virginia to Texas takes you through Tennessee not Kentucky. I felt peace about it and said, "You're lost." It was one of the few times I sent someone away without giving them something.
One of the most memorable ministry moments (mmmm) happened toward the end of my time in Cave City. The Pastor was sitting in the outer office talking with the copier repair man. I was walking down the hall and heard the familiar click of the outside door handle. As I entered the main foyer outside the office, I glanced toward the main entrance to see who was coming in. Do you remember the old man from the comic strips with the white hair and long white beard wearing a robe and carrying a big sign on a stick the says, "The End is Near"? Well, he came to our church.
He was coming through the inner door struggling with a back pack and his sign. Still in stride, I turned into the office, said to the pastor, "This one's yours" and went into my office and closed the door. About 30 minutes later I came out to find my pastor wrapping up the conversation as the man was leaving. He told me it was one of those strange ramblings about God and things that leave you convinced the man is missing a few fries from his Happy Meal. Then he stopped and looked me in the eye and asked, "Why do you always give me the hard ones?"
I smiled and said simply, "Because you're the senior pastor."
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