Blog

Baby Jesus is Missing

Tue, 16 Dec 2008 08:46:09 -0500

Another good one from Newton. After school:

"How was school today?"

"Good. We did our stations. One station had the manger stuff. We played with Mary and Joseph and the animals but there was no baby Jesus."

"No baby Jesus?"

"Yeah, he was missing."

I thought about all the ways I could abuse that in a sermon. "What's missing this year in Christmas is Jesus!" "What gest lost in the merriment is the infant Jesus!" I could guilt peopel into "putting Jesus back in the center of Christmas." It is named after him after-all!

Which brings up a question I've always wrestled with: How do I put Jesus back in Christmas? How do I put Jesus at the center of anything? HE ALREADY IS! I can't put Jesus anywhere in the first place. He is where He wants to be. And one place the bible says he always occupies is the throne. He is before all things, in all things, above all things. He is putting his enemies under his feet until he returns. Whether I acknowledge it is one thing, but it doesn't make it less true. He is glorious, he is in the center, he is the Lion of the tribe of Judah and the slain Lamb. What I think, where I put him (as if I could) really makes no differecne. Even my "putting him anywhere" is impossible unless he puts himself there first. That is what the Bible says. I'm not making it up.

It really bugs me when I hear people say "ask Jesus into your heart" or "accept Jesus" or "let Jesus..." A Jesus that impotent, who's throne is a bit brittle is not a Jesus I really would ask "into my heart." A Jesus who was rich and full of glory and honor who changed to swim in ambionic fluid, who morphed into an infant of a poor family with a mother of ill reputation, who shut his mouth for years not saying a word about who he really was and gave himself up to religious and power-hungry men (without saying much then either except for something about coming back with his angels in glory), who was raised from the dead and ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of his Father and will come back with ACDC-like racket to give us as a spotless bride and rich inheritance to his Father...now that's a Jesus I want to change my heart, to accept me, to let me in His kingdom.

Time to open some gifts in his honor!

God Always Says No

Thu, 04 Dec 2008 07:56:11 -0500

As most of you know we have been living in a rental for the past year and a half while trying to buy a house. In this whole process there have been no options - nothing to get excited about, nothing to remotely consider. A few weeks ago we came across a contender and actually offered low which influenced them to drop there high price. Yesterday we took Newton to see the house while a couple handymen measured and figured what it would cost to update it. He really liked it and enjoyed showing Brian and Missy's daughter around. It even has a small pool (sort of like a large whirlpool!).

Last night after dropping off a few kids Newton asked, "Dad, why does God always say, 'No?'"
"What do you mean?" I asked, ready for a good one.
"He always says 'No' when we look at a house," he responded.
I tried to sound profound and theological, giving my 5 year old something he could quote one day, "I don't know why God says, 'No' but often he says 'No.'"
He kept going, "He's gonna say 'No' on this house."
"How do you know?" I asked.
He replied, "Because I feel it."
[Pause]
"What? You feel it? How do you feel it?" I inquired.
"I just feel it. He's gonna say 'No.'" He answered.
I had to know so I asked, "Where did you get that theology?"
"From Mom," he answered.

I'm sure he got the pessimism from me and he sure didn't get the "I Feel therefore It's True" from Mommy. It did remind me that sometimes God simply says 'No.' He's been saying it for over a year and a half. I've been thinking alot about the refinement that 'No' brings and am beginning to wonder how I avoid God's grace in the negative? He said 'No' to His Son for a far more redemptive reason than all the religious sages could've imagined. He says 'No' to His people in discipline to reclaim and refine them. He's saying 'No' to us and He does love us. Sometimes He says, 'No.'

Failure

Thu, 25 Sep 2008 14:18:46 -0400

Why do we hate failure? At the beginning of the semester I asked my students what sort of social activities would they like to do. They answered resoundingly, "Kickball." Our last semester ended with a great kickball game and the enthusiasm obviously poured over to this year. So, plan a kickball game I did.

I dubbed it the "Biggest Kickball Game Ever." We invited another group on campus to join us. There will be pizza. I had been announcing it for three weeks. I've even joked about bringing others to offset my insecurities about planning a party and no-one showing up. The day before the big game I re-announced the game to my group (5 were missing). "How many can come?" I asked. A few hands went up. "Seriously, how many can come? " One more hand went up.

The thing is no-one is maliciously "not coming." They have previous commitments, work, homework, class. I should be encouraging their normal life pariticipation. Instead, all I can do is gloomily moan that no-one is going to be there.

Why do I hate small numbers? Why do I equate success with size? Why do we equate failure with low participation? Why do we expect the gospel to be popular even if there is pizza involved? Why do we buy rock-bands, bow before clever preaching, and hand-out programs by the dozens?

Jesus died on a cross, alone, rejected. The church began in a small room with several very afraid and confused followers. Why can't I trust God that he will start this ministry, grow it, and produce His kingdom like He said he would, behind the scenes, in small ways, over time, including failure? Why can't I embrace failure when often, right beneath the surface lies the real kingdom of God moving onward?

Where is Thy Sting?

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 12:16:42 -0400

After a long battle, over three months in the hospital, several strokes and a heart attack, cancer, and more, Aimee's grandmother died last Friday. She was in her late 80's, had lost her own husband years before and had her wit till the end. It was a long but good weekend. The funeral took place in Greenwood, Ms. in the heart of the Mississippi Delta where she and her husband of almost 50 years farmed just miles from the graveyard. Death has a sting. There is no way around it. Someone you love is gone. Their life on this earth is over.

I think often about death. I think about how as a child life seemed so very long. The days went on for ever. As an adult we are characterized by busyness. The days are full. We don't have time to think if life is short or long. We tend to children, get to different activities, do our responsibility. Then, someone dies. Death intterupts us. We put everything on hold and bury the dead. For a short couple hours we pause to remember what the Bible says, "Life is a vapor, a breath. Our days are short. We are like the flowers of the field, full of glory one day, fading and dying the next. Eighty years is considered a long life. From dust we came and to dust we will return."

If we are not careful, we will move on too quickly, not sobered but over death. Moving on to the next activity, only to find ourselves in the hospital bed staring death in the face. No more children to put to bed, no more diapers, no more dishes to do, no more grass to mow, no more houses to buy, no more work to do, only a constant depreciation, a constant slipping into the hands of death.

I've often noticed at funerals we are so intent on "figuring out where someone was with God." We want assurance. Did they have faith? Did they believe? Make a profession? We care. We want to know. What I would rather know is did God have me? Am I in His strong hands? Did He profess me to be his child? Was their fruit of his work in my life? I am comforted to know that "salvation is of the Lord" and that I am in his care.

The ceremony was moving. Mostly because the words of man were few and the words of God were many. Both ministers (we may not need ministers now but we want them at death) bled scripture. It leaked out. One older minister had his bible opened but scripture so had hold of him he never looked down. It had crept itself into his heart and mind and poured over to us.

We drove to where Aimee's grandmother spent most of her adult life. It was an oasis of green in the middle of cotton fields just outside Tchula, Ms. Three houses still remained. Some of Papa's garden still survived. Much was more run-down according to Aimee's mother. It had seen it's better day but it still echoed of yet a better day. It was past it's prime but called out that there was a day coming that will be our prime. God has such a sweet plan in mind. Tchula, Ms. will be redeemed. Cotton will be whiter than white. Graveyards will erupt with the same joy Lazarus' sisters had. Tombs will open. Celebration will triumph. This earth will be our eternal home with no more kudzu (at least in such corrupt abundance), no more mosquitos (at least no more blood-sucking), no more anger at my children for silly stuff, no more addictions, no more fears and no more tears.

I am happy for every funeral I attend. Remind us, O Lord, to number our days.

Bricks

Tue, 09 Sep 2008 22:47:39 -0400

Recently a student I met asked me if I owned a grill. I said I did and explained how fond of grilling I was. I asked why he wanted to know. He said his student organization, BMW (Black Men of Western) was having a cook-out and they needed a grill. I said I'd be happy if they used my grill. Then I asked if they needed a cook. Rashad (the student) replied, "Yes, we sure do." I signed up for the job.

After enlisting Brian to help we showed up with grill, cooler, tent and assorted items in the back of our church bus (1986 Toyota 4x4 donated to our church). We probably cooked over 100 burgers and dogs and fed as many. It was a privelage to be there. Many students were grateful for our being there and we enjoyed meeting several of them for the first time.

There was music. Somehow BMW managed a great deal of music equipment (52$) and it was loud. They noticed we were a bit older and moved the speakers away from our path and made inquiries as to whether there was too much cussing for us. One of the songs had a catchy beat and the refrain went something like this: "Bricks...Bricks...something, something, Bricks..." I really liked it and asked a few of the guys what the whole "bricks" thing was about. They tried to suppress laughter and sort of avoided the question. I asked if it was a sexual thing, and they laughed and said it wasn't. Finally, one guy said, "I think it's talking about the projects. Some people call the projects "Bricks." I was satisfied and thought to myself how creative and simple that was all at the same time.

A week later (tonight) we had a student drop by to visit. He's a great guy whom we've grown fond of over the last year. His name is DeShaun Davis. He's from Louisville and has taught me much about R&B, Usher, Old School Michael Jackson, not to mention his upbringing, family, honesty and basketball. He's the only person to ever beat me 15-0! I relayed to him my conversation about Bricks and told him how interesting that was too me and creative, etc... He laughed and told me that wasn't what Bricks meant at all. He said they probably didn't want to tell me what it really meant. Finally he graciously let me in that "Bricks" meant "Bricks of Cocaine." "Oh," I said.

Which led me to think several things: Why wouldn't those guys tell me the truth? Why does DeShaun? It made me realize what a privelage it is to have a student from a total different world who can "translate" the gaps that exist and help me to understand. It made me appreciate someone who will be honest with me about real life and not the Christian Bubble we like to live in. Everytime I talk to DeShaun I think how the Psalms and the rest of the Bible probably make alot more sense to him. My middle-class, suburban life is rather abnormal compared to the rest of the world. I need to understand the world of "Bricks" a bit better. Jesus did come into the world not to condemn it (that will come in time) but to save it (Brick-pushers included). What am I here for? Who does my world include? Whose world am I being invited into?

Tilley the Cat II

Tue, 09 Sep 2008 11:55:53 -0400

Tilley thinks she can hide. She likes to hide. She runs from you if she thinks you want to get near her. Only on occassions does she really like to snuggle. Usually she tears off and scoots under the bed which had become her favorite hiding place. Sometimes you can find her under a chair or table, we've even found her under a dresser!

When Newton comes home he immediately does reconnaissance for the cat. Then, search and "rescue." He combs the downstairs, under beds, then heads upstairs where she is often found sunning in the girls bedroom window. A few days ago he couldn't find her. He enlisted my help. We headed upstairs - no Tilley. We looked in the office - no Tilley. We headed to our bedroom to look under the bed. We quickly noticed a lump under the covers. Tilley had found her way underneath the bedspread and planted herself where she was convinced she couldn't be seen! In her mind she was hidden. She was safe in her estimation. No-one would see her. The absurdity of it all was the lump under the covers. Of course we could see her! The lump gave her away.

This is a parable of my life. I think I'm safe and hidden. I try my best not to be exposed before God or men. I hide all my deficiencies and attempt to cover all my sins. But, there is always a lump! I'm the lump! I'm a walking picture of needing God and don't want to admit it.

The grace of the gospel is that God sees our lumps, knows we're hiding and graciously pursues us. He provides covering for our lumps and gives a spotless life that allows us to honestly admit we have spots. The gospel is everything. My cat continues to teach me.

Tilley the Cat

Fri, 05 Sep 2008 09:36:07 -0400

We have a cat named Tilley. My youngest daughter Chloe stayed on us for months. One night after eating at our favorite, cheap Mexican restaurant the kids went next door to a pet store. This particular store was the final stop for Shelter animals. If they didn't find an owner then the next step was the needle. By the time Aimee and I walked in the store Chole had focused in on one particular cat about 6 months old. She was a beautiful, buff color and stood out from the rest. She was not oversized or overhairy. I was attrated, I admit, but also determined not to give in. Then, we saw the sign. Above her cage it read, "URGENT" and underneath that, "SPECIAL, HALF PRICE NOW!"

What's a man to do? Of course I knew her fate if we didn't rescue her. Yes, there were some cute things about her. But, what sold me more than any was her status. She was caged and bound for destruction (to put it frankly) and she had an advocate who was in love with her and wanted her free (Daddy, pleeeeaaaase...) Now, Tilley the Cat is a member of our family. She roams with ease, gets in trouble, makes messes in her litter-box and is endeared to all of us. Sometimes she's fussy and scratches you, occassionaly she wants to snuggle. She loves to be noticed.

I am amazed at how much this has been a picture of Redemption for me. I am teaching through Abraham this semester and am overwhelmed with God's pursuing, reaching, finding, never-ending, blessing, I'm gonna love you no matter what redemption. He is set on blessing Abraham and He is set on blessing the world. The phrase Redemption Junkie blurted out of my mouth the other night with no forethought. That's what He is! He is a Redemption Junkie, addicted to our good. I think I would be a bit less cynical and pessimistic, a bit slower to anger, a bit more gracious with others if this drug got in my veins.