Why Must We Be So Mean?

I wish that those who claim to speak for our Lord would speak with His kindness.

I remember one of the many times I was caught with my foot in my mouth. It was Sunday morning and I was teaching Sunday School in the little building in which we worshipped back in those days. From where I was standing, I had a clear view of the front entrance to the building. A pastor friend of mine, from the next town, and his wife, came in. I figured they were on their way out of town on vacation, so I jokingly asked, "What's the matter Bob (not his real name), did they throw you out. The look told me, and later conversation confirmed, that the answer was "Yes." No doubt my friend had made some mistakes, but the shabby treatment he received after his sacrificial service was totally undeserved.   Not long ago a pastor colleague announced his intent to retire after a lifetime of ministry in one church. Knowing the difficulty that the "next man" often has when following a long-term pastor, my friend asked the man who was taking his place if there were "anything he could do for him?" "Yes," came the reply,  "You can paint my house." My wife told me about a relatively young pastor. I don't know why he left his church, other than it wasn't for some kind of immorality. Sounding almost like a line out of an old Western, the leadership of the church told the young man that he had ten days to leave town. On the evening before He was crucified, Jesus told His followers, "By this will all men know that you are my disciples, by the love that you have for one another" (John 13:35). The examples I gave don't stand alone. If you ask around you can find plenty more. But I hope you won't. It's not a new syndrome. Nineteen-hundred years ago, John wrote, "I wrote something to the church; but Diotrephes, who loves to be first among them, does not accept what we say. For this reason, if I come, I will call attention to his deeds which he does, unjustly accusing us with wicked words; and not satisfied with this, he himself does not receive the brethren, either, and he forbids those who desire to do so and puts them out of the church” (3 John 9–10, NASB95).  I wrote recently that we could do with some more Epaphrodites. Likewise, we'd be better off with far fewer Diotrophenians. My late Father-in-law used to say about some folk that when they were around the Devil could take the day off. May their mean tribe diminish. It's STTA (Something To Think About).

An Entry on My "After the Bucket List"

I had forgotten that Uncle Ray and I shared the same name. I always knew him as "Uncle Ray." His full name was Howard Ray Hargrove. He was Luther Howard Hargrove's eldest son, and I was the oldest grandchild, so we both ended up with Luke's--that what he went by--middle name. I'd like to think I've kept it a good name. I know my uncle did. He was my mom's little brother. He was the last of her family. All my aunts and uncles are gone, now. That's how life is down here. Time relentlessly erodes even granite, and we humans are much more fragile. James reminds us that we "are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away" (Jas 4:14). Uncle Ray restored old cars, he looked better than new long after others of that vintage had been crushed and recycled. Keeping an old human young isn't as easy. I remember when I was a youngster my family would travel five-hundred miles to the south to visit extended family. We'd always stop to see Uncle Ray and Aunt Jennie Lou. I don't think there was a single time that we went to their house without having a batch of home made ice cream. Uncle Ray was seventeen years older than me, so, when as a little guy, I'd visit Grandpa and Grandma's house he was still living at home. Before he joined the Army he worked on the farm with his dad. He took delight in trying to get me to "walk like a farmer." According to him, I never got it right. The last time I saw Uncle Ray was a few months after Aunt Jennie Lou had died. She was the epitome of Southern charm and hospitality and clearly the love of his life.  I had never talked to my Uncle about the Lord. Talking about Aunt Jennie Lou and her kindness and grace led naturally to a discussion of that which matters supremely. I look back on that conversation with encouragement. I figure in a while I'll go for a walk with my uncle. We'll both walk like farmers. He'll approve. We'll both laugh. We'll find a comfortable place, and we'll crank out a great batch of heaven-made ice cream. I figure even in heaven it'll be better if you actually turn the crank. Some people have a bucket-list. I'm developing an after-the-bucket-list. Ice cream with Uncle Ray is definitely on it. It's STTA (Something To Think About).    Kathy in Uncle Ray's '57 T'bird

A Master of a Sacred Craft

Thank you, Haddon

“I heard Dr. Ironside tonight. Some people preach for an hour, and it seems like twenty minutes. Others preach for twenty minutes and it seems like an hour. I wonder what the difference is?” Haddon Robinson spent the rest of his life trying to answer that question.(https://www.dts.edu/read/truth-poured-through-personality-smith-steve/) Along the way he helped thousands of us become better preachers. Not great preachers, Robinson said there are no great preachers, only a great Christ. Robinson entered the presence of His Lord July 22. Not only did Robinson teach at Dallas Theological Seminary, Denver Seminary, and Gordon Conwell, he taught and encouraged many more of us through his books and articles. The thoughts of two capable preachers of a great Christ captures much of power his example and teaching had.   "“Preaching,” said Phillips Brooks, “is truth poured through personality.” Haddon Robinson understood that. “We affect our message,” he wrote in Biblical Preaching, his best-selling manual now taught in over 140 seminaries and colleges. “The audience does not hear a sermon, they hear a person—they hear you.”  And they have." (same artcile) Over the years, I have gained from Robinson's input on preaching. From him I learned that expository preaching is not only preaching from a given text of scripture, but allowing that Bible passage to guide me as I put the sermon together and shared it. I can't remember whether I heard him say it, or read it in an article, but he reminded me that everything in scripture is there for a reason. It is important. I've tried to remember that. I hope you won't think I'm disrespectful when I say that Haddon Robinson was one of three or four preachers who encouraged me because of what one would normally consider as a negative trait. Robinson didn't score very high on the good-looking scale. If anyone set out to draw a picture of a powerful spokesman and ended up with a picture that looked like Haddon, it would be because they weren't a very good artist. With all my shortcomings, I looked at Robinson, and thought, if that guy can stand in front of a group of people and effectively communicate the word of God, perhaps there is hope even for me. Though I never met him, Haddon Robinson encouraged me to be a better preacher. I hope in some small way I can encourage other communicators of the Word. I'm confident that there is coffee in heaven. I also figure we'll all be good looking in "up there," yet we'll retain an essence that makes it clear that we are who we are. I look forward to spotting Robinson along the golden street, sitting down over a steaming cup, and talking about the craft of uplifting the name of Christ in preaching. I don't see why a little thing like death should keep us from continuing to work on such a noble craft. It's STTA (Something To Think About).

I Can Walk. Where Am I Going?

I saw a man walking this morning with a gait I've seen hundreds of times. His slow, short steps, stooped posture and expressionless face reminded me of folk I'd seen in hospitals or nursing homes. Their doctor had just told them they could take a short walk. Usually pushing an IV pole, they would go a few yards down the hall and back. The combination of pain, stiffness, and concern not to do any harm eliminated any possibility of conversation. In those circumstances, it takes all of one's concentration to move one foot in front of the other and stay upright. This man wasn't in a hospital or a nursing home, though. He was at least a half a mile out on a walking route where my wife and I exercise, and he was going away from the starting line. Kathy and I walk fast. We are sort of proud of the record we have on that route--no walkerspass us--but that guy was way ahead of me. If I had to guess, I'd say he was dealing with the aftermath of a stroke. What impresses me is He is dealing with it. Not the other way around. He seemed to list to one side a bit, but his determination kept him moving straight ahead. As I walked by the man I thought about what he is dealing with, and all that I'm not dealing with, and all that I'm blessed with, and I asked myself,  "What am I doing with what I've got?" It's STTA (Something To Think About).

Liberation Day

If something is worth celebrating, go ahead, celebrate.

Kathy and I celebrated Liberation Day, today. Not only is it the first time that we have celebrated this uniquely Guam--actually Chamorro--holiday, it is the first time that I've been part of a celebration of a deliverance that was accomplished by my people' in the midst of the people who were liberated. A few years ago I was privileged to visit my Uncle's grave in Normandy. You could sense the welcome even after seventy years, but no one was throwing a party. Today was a major celebration. We watched the parade, and watched it, and watched it some more. We left before it was done. The Air Force must have flown Harleys in. Most if not all the villages of Guam had a float, all the military units on Guam were represented, there was an assortment of queens and princesses, and everything that rolls from hot-rods to mud-boggers, to cement trucks were shined up and on display. During World War 2 Guam was occupied by Imperial Japan. Some folk became conscripted labor, and many were forced out of their homes. I read of one family who had to live in a cave. People were in real want, and some were abused or killed. I don't want to give you the idea that every thing was a bed of roses after the Americans showed up. It wasn't, but it was much better, and best, there was hope. As I watched the parade I thought about Jack Hicks, a young sailor on one of the big battleships out here in the Pacific, George Reynolds, who fought in the island hopping campaigns, and Mr. McCallister, a flight engineer on B24 bombers. I knew those guys, They were my friends. It was guys like them that led to this holiday. As I was leaving, I saw a group of Chamorro ladies. Taking a chance, because my question involved guessing their age, I asked them if any of them were here when Guam was liberated. Three said, "Yes." One, decked out in red, white, and blue, was fifteen when it took place. Another said that her dad was a P.O.W. and was set free as a result of the American victory. All over the island there are reminders of the sacrifice it took to take this island back. Those ladies recognize that when freedom comes as a result of dedication and sacrifice that it is worth remembering and celebrating. I've been thinking about Liberation Day, the Liberty we have in Christ, and what it cost. Jesus told a group of religious leaders who rejected His claims, "If the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed" (John8:36). Talking about the relationship that one has in Christ, 2 Corinthians 3:17 says, "Where the Spirit of the Lord is there is liberty." That's worth celebrating. Shine your car if you want to. Get out your motorcycle if you have one, but for sure, this Sunday when your church assembly sings praise to the Lord, cut loose and really praise Him. It's STTA (Something To Think About).  My fellow-servant, Joshua, sure has a good-looking family, and they obviously know how to celebrate.

A Phone Call from Epaphroditus:

We could use more Epaphrodites. Read on. You'll find out that's good thing.

I have always admired Epaphroditus. We know almost nothing about him. When Paul was in prison in Rome Epaphroditus took a gift from the church in Philippi (Greece) to the Apostle, and then stayed to help the man of God--kind of a human gift. While he was there he became ill, so sick that Paul feared that his friend with the servant heart would die. As if all of that isn't enough, let me tell you why I really like this guy. Epaphroditus was not concerned because of his sickness. He was concerned because he had heard that his friends back in Greece had heard he was sick, and he knew that would weigh heavy on their hearts. You can read about it in Philippians 2. He just called me. Not the real Epaphroditus. I'll have to wait for heaven to meet him. The guy on the phone, though, was acting so much like the little-known Bible character that as soon as we hung up, I started writing this. There's no need to go into details. Just know that the reason my friend called is because he wondered if an action--one most of us would take for granted--might have negative impact on others.    Lord, we need some more Epaphrodites. May I be one, and use me to encourage others to put others first. Amen.     It's STTA (Something To Think About).

An ugly time that isn't over

Fifty years, I wish we had come farther.

I saw that a movie is being released in conjunction with the fifty year anniversary of one of the worst race riots of the late sixties, Detroit.  I don't know if I'll see the movie, but just the announcement brought back memories. During the same era, twenty or so miles north of where I lived, large parts of Chicago burned. Just a few miles from where we lived stores where my family shopped and my friends worked were looted, torched, and eventually shut down (here). My roots are in the Middle South. I grew up in the Troubled North. My years of pastoral ministry were spent in a place better described as "mountain" than "southern," yet the vestiges of segregation were still evident, and the patterns of life that went all the way back to when one man owned another are undeniable. Now, I live in a place where a plethora of people groups live, and the struggle goes on. Like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., "I have a dream." I'm beginning to see that more than something I dream for, it needs to be a star that I aim for, to keep me on track. The way I relate to people and the worth in them that I see has nothing to do with color of skin, language spoken, or place where they grew up. Smart people are better at some tasks than some of the rest of us. For other things, strong people excel. Neither of those qualities, though, nor any of the other usual measurements, determines one's worth. People are valuable and worthy of respect because people bear the image of God. People are the ones for whom the Son of God died. The band of the redeemed who will praise God in eternity are made up of every tribe, and tongue, and nation. Lord, help me to keep aiming at that star.   It's STTA (Something To Think About).

Little Actions Can Result in Big Blessings

Opportunities Abound Be a Blessing!

A couple of days ago I had an important appointment. Even though I wasn't sure how to get to the place where the meeting was to happen, I arrived on time, early, actually. I was dressed OK. I thought things went well. When I finished I called Kathy to give her a verbal "thumb-up," and see if she wanted me to pick up anything on the way home (A man's got to earn his points when he can.). It was then that disaster, or at least potential disaster struck. I reached in my left pocket and my keys weren't there. I patted my other pockets, looked in my arm-full of stuff I was carrying, and they weren't there. I went back to the place where I had had my meeting, and they weren't there. The receptionist said she hadn't seen any.  Sinking feeling. Calculation as to how much trouble and expense would be involved making new keys. Wondering if there were any identifying marks on the key-ring that would lead to compromised security. Sinking feeling is intensified. I called Kathy. It took an hour out of her day to bring me another key. That gurgling sound is the sound of my point total going down the drain. My one hope was that when she arrived with the other car key, I'd find that I had locked my keys in the car, and all would be well. Alas, even after I checked under seats and floor mats, I didn't find the lost keys. I went back to the receptionist and gave her my card with a request to "call me if . . ." I once more back-tracked where I had walked, and was about ready to give up, when I remembered a couple of guys had been working on some building project in the corner of the parking garage. I hadn't walked particularly close to where they were, so I hadn't thought of asking them earlier, but in desperation I thought I'd give it a shot. As I approached them the guy who appeared to be in charge read the question on my face. Before I even asked, he pointed to my keys hanging on a faucet handle. I soon confirmed that yes those were my keys. When I went over to thank the guy he told me that he had spotted the keys on the pavement and asked his trainee to pick them up and put them where they might be seen. It would have been very easy for those two guys to have said, "Oh, just leave them alone." or even, "Serves the person right, they should be more careful with their keys." Obviously, though, they had better thoughts than that, and I'm blessed because of it.   “Do to others whatever you would like them to do to you. This is the essence of all that is taught in the law and the prophets.” (Matthew7:12, NLT) I'm sure glad those guys were thinking along those lines. I need to think of ways that I can apply Jesus' words and be a blessing to others, maybe even someone I've never even met. It's STTA (Something To Think About).

A Good Judge, or Too Quick to Judge?

First Impressions Not Final Conclusions

As I was walking over to the office this morning two disparate thoughts sat down side-by-side in my mind. I was thinking about something somebody said to me yesterday. I think he meant it as a compliment. I took it as such, even thought I'm not completely sure he is right. He told me that I'm good at reading people--making judgments as to whether someone is dependable, has good motives, that sort of thing.  The thought that began my cogitation had to do with an arm-full of stuff I was carrying, laptop, power cord, a really thick book, a couple of smaller ones, and a check that I wanted to be sure not to lose. Since my days as a freshman at Bremen Township High School, close to fifty-five years ago (back when only soldiers and boy scouts used backpacks), I have had the clear idea that guys carry stuff, like my collection this morning, one way, and girls another. Guys put the biggest flattest--in this case my laptop--thing on the bottom, and arrange the rest on top. Then they grab that big, flat thing by one edge, and carry it vertically at their side. their forearm will clamp the rest down. This leaves the other hand free for back-slapping, scratching, and other manly things.  Girls on the other hand hug their pile of books--assuming they can't get a guy to carry them (You independent women cut me some slack. I'm old-school.)--like a Teddy Bear. As is often the case, the female method has many advantages. Both arms share the load and books are much more secure. To this day, though, if I see a woman carrying a load "like a man," or a man carrying a stack of stuff "like a woman," my first impulse is, "That's odd." or, "I wonder if Bob has a sore arm?" or, "I don't want to mess with her today." I know that my barely adolescent first impression makes no sense, and my sixty-seven year-old self talks me out of it, but the reaction, like a preference for chocolate over vanilla, persists. Then I looked at the other thought, my friend's comment from yesterday. You can see where this is going, can't you? In our fast-paced world where first impressions are often the only impressions we have to work with, being able to size somebody up quickly is a great asset. BUT, But, but, we have to be careful and humble. Even if we are good at it--and in spite of my friend's compliment, I'm not all that sure I am--we need to not be overly quick to make that first impression our lasting conclusion. As I think back, I remember two preachers who made a very bad first impression on me. One I came to respect as one of the greatest preachers I ever heard. He inspired to be better at my craft. The other was my pastor for two years, and had a profound impact on my life. I'm glad those first impressions weren't my final conclusions. It's STTA (Something To Think About).

Truth Matters

Taking a Stand

I receive an email every day from Christianity Today Magazine. It gives three notable events in church history that happened on the day's date. One could make a case that July 6 was a pretty rough day in Christian History. On this day in 1535, Thomas More was beheaded. He had been sentenced to die by hanging, but Henry the VIII commuted his sentence to the swifter death of beheading. No such mercy was bestowed on Jan Hus, in 1415 he was burned at the stake for heresy. No one died, at least not immediately, but on July 6, 1054, the emissaries of the Pope placed an official document on the altar of the church in Constantinople, excommunicating the Patriarch of Constantinople, Michael Celularius. The division between Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy continues to today and was so complete that for most of that time the two sides couldn't even agree on what day it was. A millennium of division in the body of Christ. Two men, who did nothing worthy of death, executed. That's hardly a banner day. It's a day you remember, not celebrate. But, there is a common thread in these stories that is worth upholding. Likely you know very little about these three stories. All involved politics, church and/or secular, so, no doubt, the narratives are complicated. One thing is clear, though, right on the surface. All three of these events are driven by a desire to act on the truth. I'm not saying I agree with what was done. Clearly, in each case somebody was wrong. Just as clearly, though, and as plain as the nose on your face, in each account, there is a dedication to the proposition that truth matters. Some truths are so valuable and indispensable that they are worth dying for. I fear that in my day, the 21st Century Hus would have rationalized a way to avoid the flames, modern More would have made a decision shaped by the latest public opinion poll, and new millennium West and East would have swapped flowery, meaningless declarations and met for coffee, followed by a joint press conference. As I look at this listing of three days in history that should have been just ordinary, I am reminded that truth matters. That's extraordinary. Truth, let's labor to get it right and let's hold it as precious, sometimes more precious than life itself. It's STTA (Something To Think About).

Losing In The End

Losing at the end

Years ago a world class bicycle race used some of the beautiful roads in the Alleghany Highlands as part of its course. I got up early and road out to where I could sit on the side of the road and watch the real riders go by. It was impressive, all the escort vehicles, the police, the officials on motorcycles, the camera crews, but most of all the incredible athletes on their state of the art bikes. I remember watching the lead rider go by. There was such an incredible gap between him and the peloton that I knew he was going to win. With a lead like that, I could have finished the race and won. After the peloton, the chase vehicles and rear police escort went by, I mounted my machine and pedaled home, wondering what it would be like for the guy I saw go by to be on the winner's stand. I turned on the TV in time to see the end of the race, and the guy with the insurmountable lead was caught in last couple of hundred yards and didn't even finish in the top 10. It reminds me of the Rich Fool. Actually, the one in the Bible is just one of many I have known. Before it really mattered it looked like he was winning, big time, but when the reckoning came . . . well, that's how he earned his name. David and Asaph knew a lot of rich fools, only like my sure winner in the bike race, they don't look foolish at all when you look at them early on. In Psalm 37, David, and in Psalm 73, Asaph, watched these guys fly by seemingly unstoppable. It's enough to make you wonder*. Turns out that the lead rider I saw go by was not only competing against the best cyclists in the world but against physics--cold, unrelenting, the-way-things-are science. One study I read said that riding in the peloton allows a rider to expend 40% less energy and still maintain the same speed. Maybe it's only 20 or 10%, still, that guy out in front just couldn't overcome that difference. In the end, he lost. There are spiritual realities that are every bit as solid--more so even--than the laws of resistance, momentum, aerodynamics, and inertia. Psalm 14 says "The fool says in his heart there is no God." One doesn't need to be a formal atheist to be guilty of that foolishness. Living as if God were not on His throne is sufficient. No matter how big their lead out on the course, that kind of fool will lose in the end. Jesus summarized it in a sober question,  “For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world, and forfeit his soul?” (Mark 8:36, NASB95) It's STTA (Something To Think About).  *Read David and Asaph's ponderings here.