Hymn V

HYMN V.

THE hour of my departure's come;

I hear the voice that calls me home:

At last, O Lord! let trouble cease, 

And let thy servant die in peace.

The race appointed I have ran;
The combat's o'er, the prize is won;
And now my witness is on high

And now my record's in the sky

Not in mine innocence I trust;
I bow before thee in the dust;

And through my Saviour's blood alone

I look for mercy at thy throne.

I leave the world without a tear, 

Save for the friends I held so dear;

To heal their sorrows, Lord, descend, 

And to the friendless prove a friend.

I come, I come, at thy command, 

I give my spirit to thy hand;

Stretch forth thine everlasting arms, 

And shield me in the last alarms.

The hour of my departure's come:
I hear the voice that calls me home;
Now, O my God I let trouble cease;
Now let thy servant die in peace. 

The Littlest Bird

 Dearest Zhenya, 

 We had no idea where the Lord would take us when we first began our adoption journey 14 years ago. We didn’t know so many things. We didn’t know who you were, or where you were. We worried that you were cold and hungry,  we worried that you safe, and if you were scared. We didn’t know we would need fly to the other side of the world to find you. We didn’t understand what it would take to bring you home. 

When we finally found you we didn’t know that we would meet a beautiful 5 year old hummingbird, who would flit from one thing to the next, always moving quickly as though she might miss out if she settled in one place too long. 

We didn’t know we would find a girl who loves firm and strong, just like her hugs; a girl who was fearless when climbing trees, yet afraid of getting another bee sting because she didn’t want to hurt the bees. 

We didn’t know we would find a young woman who is fiercely independent, with a heart that is fiercely loyal. 

So many things we just didn’t know. We couldn’t know. But God knew. Just as He knew how to keep you safe when we couldn’t reach you, He knows how to keep you safe now, and through your future when you launch out on your own. He formed you in your mother’s womb with intention and for a purpose. Even though we don’t know what’s in your future, God does. He knew it all along.  

We love you

Mom and Dad

The End

  I wrote this as the end of season review the last season I coached. It captures my thoughts as I decided I could no longer be part of the program. 

The 2021-2022 Middle School Basketball season was one of highs and lows and a whole lot of learning for myself as a coach and for the 6^th-8^th grade boys who made up the team. With only two returning players, five new players, four of which are 6^th graders, it was a pretty steep learning curve for all of us. Each year I think that I should record the first practice and compare it to the last. This year was no exception. The improvement over the season was remarkable with each player growing in skill and demeanor in their own way. Some were more skilled, but had to learn what it meant to be a follower and an encouraging teammate. Others learned what it takes to be heard from within the crowd. And others learned that being the guy in front means you take the hardest lumps. The tall kids realized they were tall, the smaller kids realized they couldn’t do it alone.

               There were three key takeaways this season. The first was the idea that we as coaches, teachers, and parents should not put kids in a box based on their abilities or disabilities. When we teach we need to make every effort to connect with them to get them to understand what we need from them. That is our responsibility, its literally the job we signed up to do. If we give up on this effort, we give up on the kid. We decide they are no longer worth our time and effort to help them understand. We stop believing in them. We place them in a box and effectively tell them “this is all you will ever be able to do”. In reality we are saying “this is all I am willing to teach you so suck it up buttercup.” This cannot be the way we coach, teach, or lead. We must continue to make every effort to find the connection with the kids that have been placed in our care, never relenting, never giving up on them. And when we struggle to make the connection, it is us who need to change – change tactics, change coaching styles, change our approach, change tone, change goals. We have all felt the thrill of understanding when the lights come on and we see understanding flow across their faces. That is the goal, and the result will ripple across a lifetime.

               Second is that we must be honorable in our competition. There were situations this year where we had lost sight of the idea that we need to play honorably - treating our opponents as fellow image bearers of God, honoring their work, their play, and their efforts. We also had the opportunity to be on the receiving end of teams who did not honor us, in some cases we responded well, in others I am ashamed to admit we did not. Learning to honor your opponents is all part of the process of playing any sport. We should honor them by respecting their abilities or lack thereof. There is honor in competing to win, but there is no honor in continuing to beat on an opponent who is already beaten down. There is honor in working hard for victory, there is no honor is taking advantage of an opponent who is clearly outmatched. It is honorable to allow an outmatched opponent the opportunity to play their best by underplaying ourselves, its OK to let off and give them success. It is honorable to not play our best players when we have our opponent outmatched, even when it would ensure victory. Honoring our opponents and one another is part of the foundation for honoring God in our play.

               Third is that we need to remember the temporary nature of what we are doing. There is an entire book of the Bible (Ecclesiastes) dedicated to the idea that what we do here in on Earth is pretty meaningless, so we should enjoy it while it lasts. Solomon tells us it will all turn to dust and soon be forgotten. No matter how hard we try or what we do, if we are looking for significance and purpose in the things of this world (including sports) we will never be satisfied. In a generation no one will know who won state or how many points we scored, its meaningless in the big scheme of things. There are schools we visit who have huge trophy cases and their gyms are lined with banners to teams and games no one remembers and in a generation no one will care. In the end none of it matters. Depressing? Not really, Basketball, competition, any sport, cannot carry the burden of bringing meaning and significance to our lives, whether we are coaching, playing, or parenting. Solomon goes on to tell us eat, drink, and work, and take joy in all of it, because that it what the Lord had put before us. God has given it to us to enjoy, to take joy in, to be joyful while doing. We must be very careful to ensure our desire to win doesn’t take away our joy (or the joy of our kids). When we lose our joy, we need to really take a step back and evaluate what we are doing. Even worse is if our desire to win leads us to intentionally take away the joy of our opponents, by running up the score, or applauding their frustration, or rejoicing in their shortcomings, that is not good at all. How can we be joyful by stealing the joy of others? How can we rejoice by making others miserable? The challenge is to compete well, compete joyfully, while affording our opponents (who are ostensibly also fellow believers just as we purport to be) the same opportunity of joy filled competition.

               So a fun filled season with some challenges and some clear takeaways.

Friendly Fire

 There is a mindset that says we must win, maybe it’s an American thing. It is definitely an American Christian thing. And it is for sure an American Christian School thing. After coaching boy’s basketball in a small Christian school for four years I walked away. I had to. I could no longer reconcile what I believe with the culture of the school. Maybe it was just our school, but I doubt it based on how other programs displayed themselves. There were some good ones, who hadn’t let the “win at all cost” mindset take hold. But there were also some bad ones, ours included. 

We told ourselves we were better than those other bad schools: we didn’t openly cheat; we didn’t swear (at least loud enough to be heard off the court); we didn’t get caught playing ineligible players. We could prove it by the run of championships for both the boys and girls, and the trophies that line the office  

What we did might be more insidious. We played favorites; we had open nepotism; we marginalized and humiliated the weak, our players, other teams, it didn’t matter, they were weaker; we intentionally crushed our opponents when we could, taking away any shred of dignity; and we did it all under the pretense of healthy competition.  The school did it. The Athletic Director did it. the coaches did it. We did it.  I did it. I couldn’t change it so I left  

 In this competition culture we drown out the humanity of others with competition. We say it’s the “spirit of the game”. We forget they are image bearers of God when they put on a different color uniform or we break out a scorecard. We say things like “it would be disrespectful to take it easy on them” to justify our desire to dominate. We say our Christian Winners Creed and pray just before we humiliate our opponents, while elevating ourselves. It isn’t hypocrisy, there is no mask of false behavior. It is the true character on display.

 It is pride. It is pride that tells us to run up the score, it is pride that says it is “healthy”, it is pride that says it is the “spirit of competition”, it is with pride that we show off our trophies, it is pride. And God hates the proud. 

We should be ashamed. The school should be ashamed. The Athletic Director should be ashamed. the coaches should be ashamed. We should be ashamed. I was ashamed, so I left. 

Winning is losing

 I had a conversation with a new friend about his passion for golf and his aging father. He described how he beats his father every time they play and he wants his father to start using the closer tees as he can’t hit the ball s far anymore. What he thinks he is doing is giving his father an advantage to make it more competitive. What he is really doing is emasculating his father, albeit unintentionally. 

His desire to compete and win has drown out the desire to just be with his father. 

 My new friend will have plenty of opportunity to compete, but his time with his father is rapidly coming to an end. When that end comes,  he will miss being with his father on a golf course, way more that he will miss the thrill of victory when he wins. 

When justice and mercy collide

In itself the trial, beating, and execution of Jesus was a gross injustice. A truly innocent man was found innocent by the court, yet he was beaten and then killed. 

It is only when the crimes of all humanity, of you and I, are placed upon Him does it become an act of justice. It is by far the greater act of justice in all of human history. One man, held accountable and executed, for the whole of humanity, for each one of us, for me, so that we may live. The execution of Jesus is where justice, mercy, and grace collided, changing everything. 

Beautiful Grace Named Donna and Howard

So we met Howard and Donna at church, because where else would you meet people like Howard and Donna. It turned out they lived just down the street from us. We  had just started going to a newly formed  Life Group and invited them along. They jumped right in.

They shared the story of beautiful story of their life together and ended with this "We don't understand sometimes how or why God is doing what he does, but we see a beautiful tapestry of lives woven together."

At that time our family was in the middle of some of the hardest years of our post-adoption lives. Our hearts were empty, we had run out of grace to give to our kids who desperately needed more. We were barely keeping it together.

I don't know if Howard and Donna could sense this, if they knew how things were going.

Donna offered to tutor our kids. The teacher in her couldn't resist. She had a plan for our kids, she had a vision of what our kids could be, and most importantly she had a heart full of grace to share with all of us.

Where we doubted in our kids, she believed in them. When we doubted ourselves she believed us. When we were skeptical she was optimistic. When we were ready to give up, she persevered. It wasn't so much about the material she used, it was her heart full of grace and love. It made the difference for all of us.

I could make a big list of all of the changes we saw in our kids from their tutorage but that's not this story. This story is that she and Howard drowned our family in grace and love. We found our hearts refilled with hope, we believed again, we received and now could give grace. And we found friends to share coffee and tea and Halloween candy.

God's provision of Howard and Donna in our lives at that time was just what we needed. Not "just" as is "just enough", but overflowing, pressed down, pouring out excess, way beyond what was sufficient to the point of extravagance.

We will miss Donna and we will grieve with Howard and his kids. And we will look at the beautiful tapestry that is being woven by our lives and see the golden threads of Donna's life woven throughout.

On September 17th, 2018 I was stunned to find out Howard has passed away. And like a one-two punch I was devastated to find out he had killed himself. I don't understand, I don't think anyone will this side of Heaven. I really miss my friend.

This quote from one of Howard's classmates best describes him: "Howard was a person who noticed what so many others missed. he saw things and responded when others might not. He was a person who would cross any boundary or threshold to come, to sit with, and share with any person. In short, Howard was one who entered others' worlds and shared their lives, offering encouragement, friendship, and more."

So I want to share two thoughts. First, as you go through life try to be like Howard and Donna. Second, don't hesitate to reach out to those around you because you just never know. 

Sunsets...

  So I really like sunsets. They are my favorite. Sunrises are OK I guess, but they only reveal what can be seen to the earthly horizon, they show us what we already know.
  Sunsets on the other hand, slowly pull open the curtain to the Heavens. Each passing minute revealing an expanse beyond the imagination. Perspective changes as the horizon goes from being measured in miles to being immeasurable, unknowable.
  So, yeah, sunsets are the best.
 

The Theology of Men

So, we went to a church for  a while where the the theology of men was taught, and it was dangerous.

    It was a place where a man could stand and preach a Gospel that says "If everything works out perfect, it is Jesus at work." Which at face value sounds good, but what about when things don't work out? Is that Jesus not at work? What if you still are dying of cancer, or struggling with a failing marriage, or infertile? Are those times when Jesus says "I'll pass, have fun with that"? 

   It was a place where it was taught that the promises of God were subject interceding historical context and he could change his mind and not fulfill them if He so chooses. So if God can change his mind and go back on His word then what hope is there? All God's promises can be nullified in an instant based on this man's teaching. "But the teaching is great, we love his teaching".

   It was a place where I heard the phrase "God's purposes might be for you to be dead" from the pulpit. I get the theology behind it - the Jim Elliot story. But to a person seeking refuge from his own self-destructiveness, these made for an interesting day and a long night. 

   It was a place where I sought out healing, but my injuries weren't worthy of their attention. My story was inconsequential, not worth remembering. 

   It was a place where heads turned away when a soul was bared. Eyes were covered when a heart was laid open for others to see into. Instead of applying salve and bandages of hope and healing, transparency was covered with an old woolen blanket so no one had to look at the ugliness of the open wounds and pink scars.  

    It was a place where my healthy skepticism grew into full fledged cynicism, I became the snarling dog. 

   It was a place that was closed, and cold, and introverted. It was a place where people were invisible.  A place where ghosts walked in and out each week, forgotten before they arrived.  

   It was a sad place, a lonely place, a bitter well to drink from. It was the place that broke me. That place, those people, shattered what I thought the Church was. 

   In the end, I left that place. It was an unhealthy place. A dangerous place. A place of death for me.

   One of the hardest things to come to grips with is this - how can people, good people, nice people, well intentioned people, be like that? I really don't understand it at all, and a couple years later, I still don't. I just know I won't let it happen again.

 
   

Has the American Church become it's own version of reality TV?

It would seem that in the American Church today we have embraced (or maybe we just reflect) the reality TV culture. Normal people are boring in our culture.  To matter to the church it seems like you have to have a past full of rebellion, promiscuity, brushes with Johnny Law, drug use, etc - or - you have to have a background of cultish legalism where you were a "good person" and did "good things", but were enslaved by the rules of men who ruled. So our church has embraced the idea that normal people are boring. If a Christian has had an ordinary life, with ordinary parents, in an ordinary house then you are just plain old normal, and that is boring and the Church doesn't care about normal.

If you are normal your problems aren't big enough, your scars aren't visible enough, your tattoos aren't dangerous enough, your baggage isn't heavy enough, your pain isn't strong enough, your mind isn't messy enough, your spirit isn't broken enough, your actions aren't heroic enough, your wounds aren't deep enough, your position isn't important enough, your fame isn't promotable enough, your bank account is not full enoguh, your talent isn't amazing enough, your words aren't eloquent enough, your face is not photogenic enough, your victory isn't victorious enough, your tragedy isn't tragic enough, your freedom isn't liberating enough, your glory isn't glorious enough, your life isn't interesting enough, and neither is your death. Thousands of normal people will pass into and out of the church's doors this week and no one will notice them. Some will never return, and no one will care.   

The can and the will of God

So I recently was involved in a discussion which centered around churches and their poor decisions which lead to bad circumstances and embarrassing situations. The situations which make the church and the people of the church look bad in the eyes of the very community they are trying to reach. Looking “bad” might be a generous term. Looking like idiots, megalomaniacs, fools, money grubbing charlatans, or just plain old jerks might be more accurate, but you get the point. 

In these situations and out of these circumstances there is always an overflow of pain and hurt, a sense of betrayal, a loss of family and friendship, a sense of aloneness. Churches are made of of people, people make bad choices, which lead to bad situations, and people get hurt when these things happen. 

But, I had this thought - can God redeem these circumstances? Can God take all of this mess and pain and hurt and make something good out of it? Can God take my bad choices and the bad choices others make and bring good from the bad? 

I have to believe the answer is yes. Not a simplistic yes, but an absolute, like the Law of Gravity yes. God absolutely can redeem the evil that people work. He can redeem the pain and the hurt. He can take it and bring wonderful good out of it. Because if He cannot, then I am doomed in my worship of a weak god who can be conquered by the will of mere mortal men.  

Therefore, since I believe He can, it becomes a matter of the will of God - will He redeem these circumstances? I will be honest and say that this is where I struggle the most these days. I have come to this place - I must believe God will redeem all of this mess, all of the bad choices, all of the pain, all of the doubt, all of the fears, all of the hurt, all of the bitterness, all of shame - He will make good from it somehow. Because if He will not - then I am truly without hope. And when we lose hope, we perish. So I will believe, and hope, and live. 

Everything Changes...

I put this together for Orphan Sunday a year after we got back from our adoption journey in Kazakhstan. It was hard to make, and is hard to watch, even today. Evidently time doesn't heal all wounds. David Platt is right "Orphans are easier to ignore before you know their names, but once you do, everything changes". 

Beloved

Beloved - this word has been echoing in my head for a day now.

Not a new word. not an uncommon word, but a word in which I can sink deeply into.

It is a word of hope, a word of acceptance, a word of belonging, a word of peace, a word of joy, a word of comfort. A life giving word, a life changing word.

 It overcame me like a tidal wave with such a simple thread of logic from Dan Cruver: When Jesus rose out of the water at His baptism His Father proclaimed to the world, “This is MY BELOVED SON, and I am very pleased in him”. And because we are sons and daughters, what is true of our Messiah is also true of us.

WE ARE BELOVED!
I AM BELOVED!
My Father in Heaven has declared to the world, that I am also His beloved son.
I am beloved.
And this changes everything,

Being Wrong

This shouldn’t be a new idea, but it is to me. This shouldn’t require a paradigm shift, but it does for me. The position we have in Christ, as sons and daughters of God, as children who are beloved, adopted, redeemed, from the before the beginning of time, means that it is OK to be wrong. We can risk it all, we can abandon all reservations, we can make mistakes, we can fail. In our failure we are still loved. In our error, we are still children of the King. So let’s take a chance, let’s risk it all, let us abandon our fears of failure and our need to be right, and jump. Let us grapple full on with the complex effects of the human condition knowing we might make a mistake, and that is OK.

The Ghosts Among Us

There are ghosts among us. They haunt the sanctuaries and halls of our churches. They cross our paths often unseen. When they are noticed, it is a glimpse, a shadow, a movement without a form. 

These ghosts were people once. They had dreams and hopes, they had form, they were solid. They had faces that smiled with warmth and eyes that glimmered with life. And that life gave them strength and form to embrace and and be embraced. But the fire that once burned inside of them has gone cold. Their body has become weak and broken and immaterial. Their eyes see life all around them, but their minds cannot conceive that the life is for them any longer. They have passed from living life, to merely existing among the living. 

Something happened to them along their way. Maybe they buried a loved one, and are drowning in their sorrow. Maybe the betrayal of a friend or a lover caused them to cast their dreams aside. Maybe they were struck down on the battlefield, and were left behind when they could not rise. Maybe the crushing weight of regret and guilt overcame them, and they lost all hope. 

Their voices have become as a whisper from a dry throat, unheard among the tumult of the living. Their vision is dimmed by the darkness slowly closing in. Eyes that once beheld the beauty and grandure of the sunset in the west, now can only see just beyond the next footstep. Tears that flowed in joy have been consumed by sorrow. Feet are broken and bruised, hands shake with fear, legs are unsteady, and the back is bent. Soon they will be gone, fading into nothing, overcome by their pain and sorrow and hopelessness. 

For now they haunt our churches. They sit beside us and pass among us. We give them bulletins and shake their hands. We will smile and ask “How are you?” for the thousandth time in our meaningless way. They continue to glide in and out unnoticed, uncared for, slowly vanishing with each passing Sunday. 

We will remember that they once existed, maybe even wondering what happened to them. We will say it is sad, but we will not mourn. We will say we wish we would have known, but will remain safe in our ignorance. We will say they should have asked for help, but not stop to listen. We will say it is a shame, but not feel ashamed. 

We will go on, because life goes on, for those who are living.

  

Until someone intentions to see them, catch them, find them and not let them slip away, they will haunt us. Unless someone determines to pick them up and carry them, bind their wounds, cover their shame, and dry their tears, they will continue to fade away. Without someone to restore their hope, to show them how to dream again, to lean in close, to listen to their whispers, to mourn with them, they will soon be gone, and it will be too late. For it is only the living who can help the dying.

Somedays I forget she has a past...

Some days I forget she has a past. She is always so happy, so excited, so full of energy, overflowing, unbounded.  Then she reminds me that she wasn't always like this.

"Daddy, if I get lost in the woods, I can blow this whistle and you will find me, right?"
"Daddy, if I was lost, how long would it take for you to find me?"
"Daddy, I need a compass and a pocket knife, in case I get lost."
"Daddy, if I was lost, you would come find me, right?"

She has been there before, lost in a land of strangers, hurt, alone, cold. She knows the feeling and it still haunts her. It is part of her past, lying deep in her memories.

I don't think she is afraid of being lost, but rather the idea that someone could be lost, and then found, is what lies behind her toughts and questions. The thought is that if she is lost, she will be OK, she will be found. The thought that someone will come and find her. It makes me want to draw her close, to pull her in, to let her know I will always find her, no matter what.

I can't keep her from getting lost without taking away the things that make her who she is, her energy, her inquisitiveness, her joy. However, I can make sure she knows that no matter how lost she thinks she is - she can be found.

We all get lost from time to time, and we also need someone to come find us, to draw us close, to pull us in, to let us know we will always be found, no matter what.

Songs I can't sing....

So, I have this thing with worship music. I have noticed that there are some songs I can’t sing without lying a little bit. I have no problem with songs about God, those are pretty truthful. Songs like Sing Hallelujah by Jennifer Knapp is great, hard to complain about those lyrics. David Crowder Band’s “…Never-ending…”, also great. Gungor’s “Beautiful Things” and "The Earth is Yours" are others. These are songs about God, not about me, and that is how I like it.  

I run into trouble when the song has those pesky first person personal pronouns in it. You know “I, me, we,”… those words. There are a couple, but one in particular has been haunting me recently:

“So I'll stand

With arms high and heart abandoned

In awe of the One who gave it all”

“So I’ll Stand”  - I am usually already standing at this point. If not, the Front Row Standers (those people who sit in the front row and stand up no matter what, forcing everyone else to stand up so we don’t have sit there looking at someone’s butt) will force me into standing. So that line is OK.

“In awe of the One who gave it all” – I am also OK with this line. It is hard not to be in awe of the Gospel and the God who put it together.  

It is that middle line that gets me. I can’t sing this line without lying just a little bit. If I sang it honestly it would be more like “I’ll stand with hands jammed hard into my pockets and heart carefully held to prevent damage and breaking…”.

Maybe I should just mumble under my breath the true version of the song and then move my lips like I am really singing out loud. I can imagine it would look like a Chinese kung-fu movie dubbed into English.

I realize that it is pride that keeps me from making the words I am singing match the life I am living. I couldn’t sing out loud what I am really thinking without feeling really awkward, and getting a few dirty looks. Imagine what it would sound like if I were singing "I'll stand with my hands in my pockets and heart locked away, la, la, la, la" while everyone else was singing the right lyrics. 

It’s not so much the hand raising, God gave us pockets in our pants for a reason and in my mind that reason is so you have somewhere to put your hands when you are singing at church. It is not the physical act of raising my hands at issue, it is the thought that I don’t want to be noticed, I don’t want to be embarrassed, I don’t want to be embarrassing.

It absolutely about the heart. There is pride in my heart that keeps me from making the life I am living match the words I am singing. So instead of changing my life to match the words, I sing a little lie, I keep my heart firmly and safely tucked away, my hands stuck in my pockets.

I also realize this: The source of my pride is fear: fear of the unknown, fear of pain and suffering, fear of change, fear of challenge, fear of looking silly, fear of risk, fear of being uncomfortable, fear of being asked to do more than I think I can, fear of being known, fear of transparency. Pride comes from fear. Pride is the cowardice of the man who refuses to be honest with himself …and his Maker.

To be continued....

On Fishing...

So, people who have gone fishing with me know my opinion on fishing -
"Fishing would be great if it weren't for the fish"

    I love fishing as long as I don't have to catch fish. When I am fishing I can sit for hours and nobody bothers me. When another fisherman does stop by it only takes one look at my empty stringer to get him moving again. No one wants to talk to the guy who can't catch fish.

    I get to enjoy nature's most wonderful scenes when fishing. Running up and down a river in a boat with a couple friends is wonderfully relaxing.

    I get to enjoy friendship in a completely different way when when fishing. These are times when it is OK to sit quietly with others around.

    The only thing that breaks the silence and calm of this wonderful experience is the fish. A fish on the hook invites excitement and interest and distraction and noise.

   So, maybe I am missing the point of fishing, and maybe those fishermen who work so hard to trick a fish onto their hook are missing the point too.

Not from around here are ya?

  So, my wife and I were flying back from New York City after celebrating our 25th anniversary when I discovered a curious unwritten rule : you cannot call yourself a "New Yorker" unless you have lived there for 30 years, and you cannot say you are "from Brooklyn" unless you have lived there 32 years. These are a light compared to the requirement to say you are from Newport, RI, which is three generations, which makes me a little sad because I had hoped by two 6 month stays in Newport would count, evidently not.
  In Eastern Arkansas they refer to a non-native as someone who is "from off".  For example, if you ask for directions to Blytheville, Arkansas and pronounce phonetically instead of "Blivl Arkensaw" then they know instantly you are from "off" and will give you the directions which will include a stop in Oil Pump and a left turn where the big Oak tree used to be.
  All these labels and requirements and unknown rules make me wonder about our own church. What are the unwritten rules that exist within our Body of Believers? How long does someone have to attend in order to be considered a "native"? Do we give knowing looks to others when someone mispronounces "Shibboleth" (did I just do that very thing by making an Biblical reference which only those who know the story will understand and get the inside joke?) Do we treat new people as though they are from "off"? Have we created our own classes within the church?
  I cant speak for my church since we just moved and are pretty new, but I know I have, personally. And it is wrong. And in reality there is only one class of people within the Body of Believers - sinners, enemies of God, who have been redeemed and rescued and adopted into a family that goes beyond DNA, and we are all somewhere on the road to sanctification, struggling one step at a time, looking for the day when we will finally see our Redeemer face to face. 

Old Buildings...new hope...

         So, I get to drive around a lot and I love to look at old buildings, particularly out in the country. As I drive by I think about who might have built it. I wonder what it was like when it was new. I imagine a young family, excited to begin a life together in their new house. I envision the proud owner of the new hotel opening up for business near the thriving train station. And then I look at the old worn out building and wonder what happened. What happened to the hopes and dreams, what happened to the people?

         I have started thinking about people the same way lately. When I see an old man sitting under a bridge in the cold, or a young woman walking down the street at night, or a child looking through the garbage for a meal, or just a guy, worn out by life, I wonder about them. Certainly they are some mother’s son, some father’s daughter. Could they be someone’s brother or sister? Do they have their own sons or daughters, or grandchildren?

         What happened to their hopes and dreams?

         Unlike buildings, people cannot be boarded up or torn down. People are made in the image of God. People in the most horrible circumstances still have hopes and dreams. People in desperate circumstances desperately need to be restored to life through infinite grace, love, and mercy.  And I am pretty sure that is one of the reasons we are here….