Surreal Moments

There are times in our lives when we experience what has become known as surreal moments. The dictionary defines surreal as "fantastic, dream-like, unbelievable." I had a couple of those moments (minus the unbelievability) yesterday as I heard my son preach at the church where he is privileged to serve. He clearly taught the passage, convicted me of my own lack of kingdom-mindedness and gave me steps to take in moving that direction. The surreal feeling was anchored in the fact that this is MY son who is honoring God through the use of his gifts. It is NOT that I didn't think he could or would ever do such a thing. It is that, as with all of us, there was (and is) always the very real possibility of being sidetracked from doing what God has created us to do...glorify Him in all we do. It also isn't that preaching is more important than other things a person might do. It is that he is doing what God gifted him to do in a way that honors the Giver of the gift. By the way, I get the same feeling when I attend a musical directed by my middle daughter in which adults and children sing of God's grace in Jesus or hear the stories of lives changed by those recruited by my oldest daughter to further the Kingdom by serving the children of missionaries by providing quality education in the context of Christian community.

I hope, by God's grace, to have many such surreal moments as my children continue to live out a vital relationship with Jesus. By the way, my son's sermon should be available as a podcast shortly at the Bethany Church Podcast web page. If you listen, you'll discover that it is not simply a father's pride that speaks of his ability (although there is that). He does a fine job of communicating what Jesus said in the passage and what he meant by what he said and the difference that should make in our lives as followers of Christ.

Oregano and Crabgrass

In Eugene Peterson's book, Take and Read, he writes, "All of us have impulses from time to time to live a holy life--life lived as it should be, life true and good and beautiful, life lived for and in and by means of our Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier. And then someone telephones with an invitation to the hockey game, or we notice that the salad needs oregano, or the crabgrass in the lawn suddenly becomes a pressing priority. We are distracted by the mundane and forfeit, for yet another time, the holy. Or so we assume.

"And then we find ourselves in the company of a writer or writers who penetrate the surface pieties and show us what the holy life is really like, that it is the hockey game and the oregano and the crabgrass that provide the raw material for holiness. Holiness is not being nice. A holy life isn't a matter of men and women being polite with God, but of humans who accept and enter into God's work of shaping salvation out of the unlikely materials of sin and ignorance, our ambition and waywardness--also our loves and aspirations and nobilities, but never by smoothing over the rough edges. Holiness is not polish."

As we read through the gospel accounts of the Christmas story this season, it is once again clear that God was willing to get his hands dirty in order for us to be clean. And then he works with us to make us more like Jesus, with our messy-ness and all. What amazing grace.

Looking to the New Year

It's the way I'm wired. I enjoy coming to the end of a year and "closing the books." As a self-employed minister of the gospel I discipline myself to keep track of my time as preventative against sloth and as a corrective against what Oswald Chambers warned, " The greatest competitor of devotion to Jesus is service for Him." I've seen pastors who seldom talk about Jesus, but talk a lot about their ministry. I've also seen too many pastors who allowed the church to become their mistress, cheating their wife and family out of a relationship with him as husband and father.

I also keep track of books I've read through the year. This helps keep me balanced by showing me the genres I'm gravitating to. If I've read several novels in a row, I choose a non-fiction book or a book of poetry. If I've read several minisry-related books, I choose a novel or biography. If I've read several contemporary novels, I choose a novel that is at least 50 years old. (Note to my Margarita friends: While I'm not back to a book a week, I am reading a book every two weeks rather than once a month, so I must be working through the transition to southern California.)

All this to say, I am coming down the home stretch and then on January 1 I have new pages to begin filling in with hours worked and books read. I'll let you amateur psychologists figure out what this all says about me.

I Wish I Had Thought of That

In his book, Take and Read, Eugene Peterson writes, "When my children were young, I was full of devout idealism regarding ways in which we as a family would replicate the church as we gathered around the dinner table. Especially on Sundays. When we returned home after a morning of worship and sat down to Sunday dinner, I would attempt to initiate and direct a discussion that would bring the prayer and praise from the sanctuary into the eating and drinking at our dining room table. I would ask what they thought of the second hymn, or how they liked the introduction to the sermon. Did they notice the novel twist the assisting elder had given to pronouncing Melchizedek in the Scripture reading? No real conversation ever developed. One Sunday, in a moment of inspired desperation, I took another tack. I said, 'After the pastoral prayer, Mr. Green, head bowed, never straightened up. Those around him thought he was still praying. After the benediction when he still hadn't moved, he was discovered dead. Murdered. How was it done, and what was the motive?' Conversation developed. Real conversation. What it lacked in devoutness it made up for in liveliness. We searched the Scripture readings for clues, sifted the hymns for evidence, examined the possibilities of sin behind the congregational facade of Presbyterian rectitude. Each week there would be another victim."

Now why didn't I think of that? "Family devotions" with a twist. Give it a try some Sunday soon and then let me know how it works out.

Gentlemen, Stay Out of the Doghouse

Occasionally I receive a forward worth watching and sharing with others. This is one. There's still time before Christmas. Let this be a warning from a friend.

Ripples

One of our favorite missionaries uses the imagery of ripples in a pond when she speaks of the part that we play in people's lives. We toss our stone into the pond. Sometimes the rock makes a big splash. Sometimes rather small. But either way there are ripples that continue to move out from the initial event.

I got misty-eyed Sunday night at a children's musical directed by my middle daughter. Not only because of the usual distracted child in the front row of the angel chorus or the almost-on-pitch soloist or the brief moment one of the dance numbers was reminiscent of "one Grecian urn", (Tip of the hat to The Music Man) but also because the entire production was a ripple of the years that other adults invested in my daughter's life, particularly in using her talent in the arts.

Seated two rows behind me were my son and his fiancé. In four weeks he will be preaching to his local church. A church much larger than most churches I've preached in. Ripples of those adults who saw his gifts, communication among them, and encouraged him.

Arriving next Tuesday, my oldest daughter will spend the holidays with us and with people who are part of the support team who make it possible for her to work with a school in western Europe, recruiting godly men and women who will help educate children of missionaries which, in turn, allows them to continue their ministry. Ripples of those adults who saw her creativity and administrative talents and encouraged her.

I thank God upon every remembrance of my children, but also the myriads of adults who took the time to affirm their gifts and point them to Jesus.

The Power of a Changed Life

Forwarded e-mails are usually met with much cynicism and a quick finger on the delete button when they arrive in my inbox. But today I received a forwarded e-mail from my friend and colleague, Dennis Baker (whom you all know because everyone knows Dennis Baker). It is a short video entitled "Cardboard Testimonies" from Richland Hills Church of Christ in a suburb of Fort Worth Texas. I wouldn't presume to forward it to all 14 of my readers, but if you are inclined to view it, first grab a box of kleenex, then click on this link Cardboard Testimonies.