Jehovah-jireh

Jehovah-jireh

I hadn’t been "into town" for a while. I had been working long hours and when I got off I just wanted to go home to my peaceful little nest in the country and spend a few hours with my wife before I dropped off to sleep; but I finally had to go to the drugstore. Have mercy! Gas was over $4 a gallon and the insulin I need to stay above ground raised from $10 to $89 out of pocket. I sinned. I thought, "So this is how it will end. (My life, I mean) I am dependent on capricious pharmaceutical companies and I won’t be able to afford my insulin. What a bummer! I wanted to be a martyr, or maybe die trying to set a land speed record at Bonneville on my motorcycle, or something glorious like that; but it looks as though I will just be the victim of a ridiculous economy. My epitaph will say:

"The Boz; ’neath this stone doth lie.

His goals were so noble, and high.

But people got greedy,

and he became needy,

so finally he just had to die."



I sinned because I forgot about all the times that God has provided for me when the wolf was at the door. Correction. The wolf had burst through the door and had his teeth on my jugular!

Jehovah-jireh is the name Abraham gave the place where God provided the ram as a substitute sacrifice for Isaac. I love that story, but the "providence" story that I relate to most is in I Kings 17. A great famine had swept the land. This widow, along with her only son, was about to cook a "last supper" and then get ready to die of starvation. The prophet Elijah told her to make him a supper first and then she and her son could eat. By faith she watched the prophet gobble down the last of her provisions, but when she went back to the barrel, there was just enough for another meal. And so on it went throughout the famine and she survived. That is the way it has been for me. God has never dumped a big load of surplus on me. Perhaps He knows that if He did, I would trust in it and not in Him. There has always been enough in the bottom of the barrel, though.



Ps 37:25 I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.
The rest of this essay will be my personal testimony to you, that you might not fear nor worry.


The belated wedding gift.

My wife and I got married while we were students in Bible College. Finances were always tight. About a year into our marriage, there came a day when we were flat broke. There was no food in our larder. We didn’t even have anything we could sell to get food except our wedding rings. We were 3 days away from the next paycheck. We went without supper. The next morning I went to classes and checked my mail slot. In it was a letter from someone I barely knew. Inside the envelope was a belated wedding card and a $10 bill! $10 would buy a week’s worth of groceries for two in that day. By that time I was planning on going into ministry and I knew preachers’ salaries were pretty meager. (Churches do much better now). I think it was the Lord’s way of saying, "Go ahead with your plans. I will take care of you."

 The year on $800 a month.



In 1983 I was challenged to teach at a Christian school. I had two kids. My wife and I had made a firm decision that she would not have a job as long as we were raising kids. $200 a week was a bare necessity wage for a family in that Wyoming boom town, IF nothing unexpected happened. The coal and oil industry creates local inflation. Starting salary for a deck hand with no experience on an oil rig was $20 an hour for a 70 hour week. Prices for things in that town 30 years ago were about what they are now. I took the job. I taught 7th and 8th grade all subjects, drove the bus, was the janitor, and filled in for the administrator who had health problems. The school was on a 7000 acre ranch, so we cowboyed on weekends in the Spring. We made a garden plot out of sand and sheep dung. To everyone’s surprise, we had a lush garden in the midst of a shale wasteland. Dick, the ranch owner, let us teachers hunt. I couldn’t even afford ammo at the time, but we got lots of wild turkey and venison given to us. We wanted to go see my family in Missouri during Christmas break. We calculated that we would need $50 worth of gas to make the 1500 mile round trip. Dick had several rental houses. One was between renters and needed a thorough cleaning. Cindy, Nichole, Joe and I did it. Guess what we got paid. $50! After we got through paying bills that year, there was $5 left each week. During that year, none of us got sick enough to need a Dr. visit. We had no car expenses except gas and oil changes. None of our appliances broke. We didn’t need to buy new clothing. There were no financial surprises that whole year. We made it! My salary raised to a more comfortable level the next year.

The trip to Haiti.

In 1997 I made my first short term mission visit to Haiti. We were each allowed two large plastic tubs of medical supplies and toiletries on the plane, plus a carry on with our personal needs. We gave away our two tub’s worth pretty fast. We were nearing the end of our two week stay. We kept seeing people with vital needs. A friend of mine and I decided to give away all of our money and personal needs on the last day. We had our plane tickets home and that was all besides the clothes on our backs. Our footwear on the plane were the rubber sandals we used to shower in. We had several delays getting out of Haiti. In all, it took 24 hrs. to get home. It was about 10 hours until we got on the big plane at Port Au Prince bound for Miami. The stewardess came down the aisle with pop, crackers and peanuts. He looked at me and said, "You hungry?" "No. You?" "No." We passed up the freebies on the plane! A long layover in Miami and back on a plane bound for Toledo. Stewardess comes down the aisle. "You hungry?" "No. You?" "No." We passed up the freebies again! Finally home. "You hungry?" "No. You?" "No; I just want to get some sleep."

That time God didn’t provide the meals. He just kept us from getting hungry. That’s the way He works sometimes. Elijah made a 40 day journey on the sustenance from just one meal. (I Kings 19)

The Healthcare crisis.

We supplicate often for good health and safety. Safety God has given; but not the best of health. We have spent many tens of thousands out of pocket for medicine since about 1986. Today, between my wife and I, we pay about $400 a month out of pocket for medicine. Were it not for insurance, our drugstore bill would be close to $2000 a month.

About a year ago, my wife got a case of the cancer. She went to the Stephanie Spielman center in Columbus, OH. The tumor was removed and we go back this month to see if any has come back. She has to take medicine for 5 years to keep it from recurring. With medicine, there is only a 5% chance of recurrence. Without, there is a 25% chance. That was going to cost us an amount out of pocket that would have put us in deep debt.    We told her doctor that we just couldn’t do it and we’d have to take our chances without it. The Spielman center went to bat for us. We went back for an appointment. They got the price reduced to a pittance. "Cool!" said we. It is air mailed monthly and delivered right to our door!

I retired in 2011 due to poor health (kidney failure). Like most of you, I couldn’t really afford to retire. A renal specialist told me that at the rate my kidney function was declining, I had two months left before dialysis and I’d better get ready to make the adjustment. I was already spending so much time on Dr. visits, lab work, and insulin management that I knew I couldn’t do my ministry justice and do dialysis too. That was the last straw. At this time I am a little over a year from Medicare, but I hear that’s no picnic either. I pursued government "benefits". I worked for days filling out paperwork. One doctor told me to just give them a list of my prescriptions and that should suffice. I hit a brick wall. I decided that I’d have to be totally blind and missing both arms before I’d get any help from them. It’s obvious that they’ve taken their share out of every paycheck I’ve earned for about 50 years and they have no intention of giving it back when I need it. I was tempted to become an expatriate; but after reflection, I really don’t blame the federal agencies. I understand why they seem obstinate. There are so many people out there who don’t need benefits but they are getting them anyway by lying and "working the system". Heads will roll. People who have had the same hassle told me to get a lawyer. I checked it out. The lawyers’ fees would have been over half of anything I would have gotten; so I dropped that idea.

After I retired my health began to improve to the point I felt I could work again. I couldn’t go back into preaching because there were no churches close by in need of a preacher. I am at the point where a long move is nigh impossible. Our roots are too deep here. There are about 7 of them all under the age of 17.

God came to the rescue in a way I never expected. Along came a job offer from the most unlikely of places: A Farmers’ CO OP. I wasn’t looking for a job because at my age I felt my applications would be futile. A friend who worked at the CO OP said they needed help during the busy season. I went to the manager. "Can you pass a drug screening?" "I hope so." "Well, come in tomorrow after you go to the lab." "Well", says I, "Be forewarned, I don’t have much experience with chemical fertilizers and herbicides." "Aw", says he, "Once you get a snoot full of Anhydrous, you’ll learn."

Lots of fresh air and sunshine, lots of physical exercise, a friendly, fun crew to work with and a regular schedule. I’m physically worn out enough when I come home that I sleep like an angel. Evidently just what I needed! The busy season has come and gone but the manager has no present plans to lay me off. Now the financial pressure has eased. My kidneys have regained 40% of their function so far which puts me a comfortable distance from dialysis. I was in stage 4 which is the final stage and am now back up to stage 2. Not perfect, but functional.



I know we shouldn’t let right know what left does, but you need to know that we have never had to forsake our giving. We could have, and God may still have blessed us. Look at those who never give a penny and they have wealth untold. The tithe was always the most non negotiable thing in our budget, not because we believed God would bless us for giving or curse us for not; it is simply an urgency that the Spiritual nature gives us. I know what Malachi 3:10 says about giving the tithe and God will open up Heaven and pour out a blessing. It’s true. He does. BUT; people who give in order to get are viewing God as a Mafia Don who is running a divine protectionism racket. "Give, and I’ll make sure you don’t get hurt." They are simply missing the point. God doesn’t need my money, but as a person with a spiritual nature, I need to give. I need to give for the same reason a coyote needs to eat meat. To withhold is to deny my nature; my identity. The Christian needs an outlet for the new energy that is now coursing through his veins. To withhold is to stagnate spiritually.

I could go on and on singing the praises of Jehovah-jireh, and so could you; so if you are worried, I suggest you just sit down and start listing the times God has come to your rescue. He has fulfilled His promise to you or you wouldn’t be reading this right now. We just go from day to day like Jesus told us to in the first place; and there is always enough. Not a truckload. Just enough for each day. It’s been that way for 23,129 days now. I haven’t had to resort to stealing or begging. Don’t fret over the economy because there’s nothing You can do about it except prioritize your budget and start cutting out the stuff at the bottom of the list. Live within your means. I don’t think it will happen, but if I can’t buy food or medicine, I believe God will either make me healthy without medicine or give me the grace to die when the time comes. I didn’t figure on living forever in this world anyway.

I don’t ever want to take God for granted, but bless His heart; He is SO faithful and SO consistent that I’m afraid I do sometimes.

I think I will call this place Jehovah-jireh!

The Thorn of Time

Ps 90:4 For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night.

I will reveal the proposition of this essay up front so that you will know that I am working toward a conclusion and not merely rambling in vain speculation, for I do tend to be a ramblin’ man. I propose: Those who have died in Christ are beyond time; therefore they are, as we who are enduring time speak, enjoying fellowship with those of us who will be with them in Heaven in our future. This thought gives me a great deal of joy here and now. I am happy that they are not languishing in a state of waiting for us to join them.

The elapsing of time is either eternal, or it only happens during the existence of the material universe. I think the latter because time is pointless unless there is something that can be measured by it, and I have not known God to do pointless things. We sing a song: “When the trumpet of the Lord shall sound and time shall be no more…”. I agree.

The elapsing of time began when God said, “Let there be….”. When the earth was spun and the greater and lesser lights were flung throughout the heavens, space and matter began to relate to time, but only to the slightest degree. Even after the creation of man, the passing of time was a non issue. I doubt that Adam and Eve were continually checking their day timers; BUT, when the fall of man took place in the garden, the whole creation came under a curse. Death, of course was one aspect of the curse. Thorns and thistles another; but death came into the picture and man’s days were numbered. When that happened, time vaulted into position as a tyrannical king over all things material. The second law of thermodynamics and its irrevocable entropy began, not just for man but the whole creation groans under it. All matter began it’s forced march toward absolute zero. I believe the enduring of time’s relentless despotism is a “thorn” of man’s curse. The hope of escaping our bondage to dwell in an existence where the meaning of “past” and “future” are annihilated is a blessed hope indeed, and the more time I endure, the more I know it. We speak in terms of “the present”, but loosely. We are riding the “train” of time, so the precise “present” is always passing by the window of our conveyance, just beyond our grasp. Before we have said “I am”….we were. The hope of the Christian is that he will finally disembark at the most joyous of destinations and at last “be” as the great “I Am” is.

Mercifully, time is relative. Let me be a little silly. A house fly has a life span of about a month. Should we then pity them? How do we know how fast time is passing for them? They seem to us to be buzzing and burning themselves out at an incredible rate, when perhaps they see themselves as eagles, lazily wafting on the currents. I can imagine two of them sitting on my knee enjoying carelessly discarded remnants of a sandwich. I gear up to make my hand move as fast as possible to swat them. Perhaps one says to the other: “I see the hand beginning to move.” “Yes” says the other. “I guess we’ll eventually have to fly, but let’s have lunch first. Mmmmm, peanut butter and jelly! Let me check the radar and see where the hand is. Yes, the hand is still coming in our direction, but it won’t be here for a while. When it gets over us, let’s fly and meet on the other knee. Perhaps he wiped some of his sandwich on that one too. We’d better get some sleep before the long trip. It’ll take a thousand flaps to get over there non stop.” Now back to my awareness of time. My hand comes down so hard I hurt my knee, but to no avail. They are already gone. Do flies go through puberty on the 6th day? Do they get fat and bald and have mid life crises on days 12 and 13? Who knows?

About 4 months ago, I began my 34th avocation; working for a Farmers’ Coop in the fertilizer dept. On rainy days when we can’t spread or spray we only work 9 hrs. These are terribly long days we spend in the shop fixing what broke, maintaining machinery, topping off Roundup shuttles and fuel tanks, filling anhydrous wagons, laughing and crying with customers and playing Euchre. When it dries out, all that isn’t set in concrete breaks loose. First light ‘til dark; but it seems that the Sun fairly flies across the sky! I think we all prefer these days when time finds another gear.

At my age, time has found another gear. Far from lamenting it, I see it as one of the benefits of aging. We are made to know full well that we will not be stuck here forever, thank God! Perhaps the acceleration of time as we age is preparing us to be free of it all together.

When I say that those departed brethren are dwelling beyond time, I am not saying that they are, like Oxenham’s thoughts, “Bees in Amber”; in stasis, awaiting activation. That is not a very alluring prospect. It certainly was not the state of Abraham and Lazarus in Luke 16. No. They have “Zoe” life. In other words: life as God has it. A living, active, blissful and purposeful type of existence. Those of us who have been saved have “Zoe” life also in our spirits, but because our bodies are still slaves to time we can only see it through a glass, darkly. We should also remember the rich man of Luke 16. He was in eternity, but not with Zoe.

Let the more precise Greek language elucidate. The Greeks had at least two words for life. One is “Bios” which simply means “life” by its most rudimentary definition. Using oxygen, consuming and excreting, reproducing. Amoebae have “bios” but certainly not the other term for life: “zoe”. (I don’t think. Perhaps Amoebae have some pretty wild parties.) When Jesus said John 10:10 The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly . He used the term “zoeen”. An abundant life that is far beyond mere bios. We Christians who are still here enduring the curse of time have a foretaste of “zoeen”, but we will not know it’s full glories until we pass over into a dimension where time is not a factor.

It is we who are still in time who endure the suffering caused by the loss of loved ones; but my suffering is considerably ameliorated by the thought that my mother, my grandparents, and other Christian friends who have escaped, as I write, may be in my company in a land where we have realization of our full potential and are employing and enjoying it without limits. “Without limits” is the wonderful abundance of this sort of life.

One may object to my theme because of Rev. 6:10 where the souls of the martyrs cry out “How long?” How long before you avenge our deaths, Lord? If this is taken literally, then trash this essay; and I will have to trash a lot of what I believe about the afterlife. My opinion is that the souls of those martyrs are not suffering pangs of impatience. My opinion is that they no more literally cried this out than Abel’s blood literally cried out for vengeance on Cain. It is symbolic imagery depicting the nature of God’s justice; which sometimes seems slow, but is nevertheless inexorable. Surely any martyr for the faith will be too overwhelmed by the glories of this wonderful estate to worry about past indignities. If anyone would have been within rights to call God to hurry His vengeance it would have been Paul. Instead he says 2 Cor 4:17 For our light affliction , which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; Surely any martyr who is made fully like his master has forgotten his suffering and would rather cry for forgiveness. I can’t fathom a place called “Paradise” being similar to a street in Tehran full of people burning their enemies in effigy and screaming for the powers that be to even the score. If that’s paradise, I don’t wanna go.

One may also object to my inferences on the basis of Paul’s statement about the Christian martyrs in Heb 12:1 Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses…. Many assume from this that they are in Paradise as if in a great grandstand watching (witnessing) us as we run the race here and cheering us on, hence, waiting for us to finish the race and join them (which necessitates the endurance of elapsing time). I believe Paul is not saying that they are witnesses of us, rather he says that they are witnesses to us by the lasting memory of their lives.

Any reference to the afterlife that seems to require the element of passing time must be a concession needed to convey it to us in understandable terms.

I do not believe that those who have passed on are aware of anything we are doing “down here”; because for them we are already there. To be absent from the body and present with the Lord is an existence free of tears. Surely, if they were witnessing our journey through time, our foibles and struggles would cause them tears. Oh! How I would hate to think of my mother observing my temper tantrums! (Which, I must hastily add, are mild and fleeting compared to what they used to be) I remember how they bothered her so when she was rearing me. I was the oldest of 5 children and sometimes took advantage of my size in order to subjugate my siblings. In short, I was a bully. Back before every child had to have a room of their own, we three brothers all slept in a small bedroom. A full bed and a half bed were squeezed in wall to wall. If I wanted to sleep and my brothers were horsing around I would threaten; “One more ‘peep’ and it’s 5 minutes in the ‘crack’”! Sure enough, one of those little imps would go “peep”. My wrath instantly fell upon him and he was shoved down into the dreaded “crack” between the mattresses where he remained immobilized (and perhaps suffocating, which concerned me not in the least.) Mom called my treatment of them “strong arm tactics” and she cared not at all for them. Regardless, the last words I remember her saying to me were “You’re doing a wonderful work, son.” I was 750 miles away doing that work when she died. I tried to talk with her on the phone when my sister called and informed me that she was on the “home stretch”. By that time she was unable to communicate with me. Sometimes time and space are a terrible curse. I was always gone. She called me “the wandering Jew.” I was gone a wandering when she died. Gone a wandering when Grandpa and Grandma died. Gone a wandering when my nephew died. Gone. Gone a wandering. Now, praise God, I believe that as far as they are concerned I am not gone. They are not anxiously watching and waiting; straining to see over some distant aqueous horizon for the first glimpse of the flag on my mast. I am already there with them in a land where time and space are of no consequence. It is I who must endure what few years I may have left without them. It is I who must endure time.

It is they who are temporarily gone from me. If I remain faithful to the profession of my faith, I am no longer gone from them.

Golf, Healing, Ugly Cars

Golf used to fascinate me. I lived within a few blocks of a beautiful 9 hole course in a sparsely populated area. For $90 a year you could play as much as you wanted and you never had to call for a "tee time". If I needed to clear my head and get a little fresh air and exercise, I could jump out of my office chair and be teeing off in 5 minutes and back in an hour and a half. I probably averaged 3 rounds a week for several years. Sometimes I played using only a 3 wood. Sometimes I had the course all to myself and I played without clubs and threw the ball, rolling it like a bocce ball when I was on the greens. I even played in the dead of Winter, though the clubs lose their flex and shots are shorter. Yes, you can see the ball. As white as it may be it is not nearly as white as snow. I was never good enough to play in a tournament but good enough to stay out of the rough and enjoy the game.

The fascination was that I couldn’t master it. I would think, "now my slice is cured" but it would come back. I would think, "I can sink every put within five feet" then I would start missing the easy ones. Breaking 80 was a quixotic dream, but 84 was the best round I ever had, no "mulligans". There are so many variables that one simply cannot foresee and compensate for them all. Even after I had reached the peak of my game, I could go out with someone who had never held a club before and he could give me serious competition. I had a friend who was a carpenter. His hand eye coordination was sharply honed. He said he had never played before, and I was amazed at how quickly he caught on. The fourth round I played with him, he beat me; and I never beat him again. Among us duffers, it seems that golf is the great equalizer.



This is also how it seems when it comes to interpreting scripture. I have been taught the Bible all my life, informally and formally; and people paid me a salary for over 40 years to study and teach it. Despite this, new territory keeps appearing. I try never to discount what new converts say in my classes, simply because of their naiveté. They have the guidance of the indwelling Holy Spirit also and they are viewing the scripture from a fresh perspective. I pay attention to their questions and comments and sometimes they open new pastures of thought for me to graze in.

I think some Bible teachers will not suffer to be challenged, perhaps because of insecurity. They feel that showing a hesitancy or admitting an outright mistake will damage their credibility. Even experts in the "hard" sciences may have a lapse of competence, but with the Bible, who would dare to think he has cornered the market on knowing the mind of God? Is that not what we believe the Bible is? If we tell someone that the Bible is the Word of God, and then purport to be an infallible judge of all it says; I should think we are at more risk of losing credibility.

I think I have taught in err on a certain subject, and the balance of this paper will be a "mea culpa" and hopefully a correction of that mistake. The scripture in question is I Corintians 13:8-10 Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.

I do not believe that the supernatural gifts ("charismata") from the Holy Spirit are in existence today. I have often used the above text as proof of that. I learned that this was a "proof text" in Bible College; not from a professor, but from a fellow student in an informal home Bible study. Since college, I have heard various teachers and preachers use it as a proof text against the current existence of the charismata. It made sense to me at the time, and so I have perpetuated it also. Most of you who read this have never had an experience that you thought might be the charismata. I say again, I do not believe the charismata to be in existence today; but I no longer believe the above text to be proof of that. There are other passages that prove that to me, some Patristic writings (2nd century historical testimonies) and many personal experiences. The book of Acts, particularly the 8th chapter makes it clear to me that the charismata could only be conferred by the laying on of the hands of one who held the apostolic office. They were also conferred by the arbitrary volition of the resurrected and ascended Jesus, and that was only on 2 specific occasions and for obvious reasons: Pentecost (Acts 2) and the first Gentile conversions (Acts 10).

No one can qualify for the apostolic office today. No one today was witness to the ministry of Jesus from His baptism by John. No one today has seen Him resurrected. (Acts 1:21,22) No one can be bitten by deadly snakes or drink poison unharmed. (Mark 16:17,18) Handling snakes that have been kept in a pop cooler is one thing. Being bitten by one is another. Sometimes those pop coolers get a little warm and someone gets bitten. He swells up and dies without medical help just like anyone else would. There are those who claim to hold the office, but how can they verify it? I could claim it too, but what reason would you have to believe me? The Pope claims it, but why does he have to apologize for and rescind the supposedly inspired statements of his "apostolic" predecessors? Can an apostle resign? If the apostolic office still exists, then we do not have "the faith once delivered unto the saints." (Jude 3) Who knows what new information will issue forth in the next Papal encyclical or from the next "prophet"? Who can be sure of anything?

No. There the office of "apostle" does not exist today. Of course I believe Jesus still has the ability to confer the charismata, but He has made no prediction or promise to dispense it to modern folk. He fulfilled His promises and the prophecies on the Day of Pentecost. I have witnessed nothing that convinces me that the charismata exist today. In fact, what I have witnessed and experienced has only confirmed my belief that they do not now exist. What is being called the "charismata" today bears little resemblance to what transpired in the 1st century. Today’s exercises are for personal benefit, with no transfer of valuable information to edify the whole congregation. They may excite but they do not instruct. A football team may have sensational pep rallies but if it’s players do not know the playbook, they will lose. Today’s "tongues" are not known languages and dialects. Today’s exercises violate instructions for their usage given in I Cor. 14.

I said that personal experience was a part of my motive to believe that the charismata do not exist today. May I bare my soul about something that happened long ago?

I am fearful to tell this because I know this paper may fall into the hands of some of my former professors who taught me better. You must understand that I had not seen any evidence that God was at work in me for many months. I had been in ministry for a while. Long enough for a steady diet of death, suffering, and running to put out one brush fire after another to wear me down to the point of despair. When the song leader picked out the hymn "There is Joy in Serving Jesus" I did not sing. For me, it would have been a lie. I wasn’t serving Jesus at all. I was serving my perception of my congregation’s expectations of what the minister ought to be and do.

I had just returned from a long trip to the hospital where a dear lady lay ill. In my opinion, it was not her time. She was a sterling example of Christian womanhood; a "Dorcas" to our congregation. She had many more years to give, I thought. I prayed fervently, in full faith that the Lord would restore her. She died in surgery.

You must understand that it had been a hard year for our church. We had lost 3 faithful members to illness. I was like Jacob, wrestling with the Lord and swearing not to let Him go until I received a blessing. "Lord" I said, "Where is Your power? I must have Your power executed when I pray! If I cannot see some results soon, I will judge myself an unfit servant and give up the ministry!" I was stunned by this lady’s death. I felt like I had been slapped in the face by God. I was ashamed that my grief was mostly for me; not the lady’s family. I felt as if God was saying "You don’t count little preacher! I have better things to do than answer the prayers of a nobody like you. Bug off and don’t bother Me any more!" I remember nothing about the 3 hr. return trip from the hospital.

I had a good friend in my community who was a minister who believed in the charismata. I didn’t go to my house. I drove straight to his office. He knew something was wrong when I walked through his door. "I MUST get the gift of healing!" I blurted out. Immediately he took my shoulders and we both sank to our knees. Prayers of desperation began to flow cathartically from both of us. He laid hands on me. "Ken! You must speak in tongues!" I said, "I don’t want to speak in tongues. I want God to heal when I ask Him to." "I know", he said, "but before God will give you any other gift, you must speak in tongues. That is the first sign that God has baptized you in the Holy Spirit." I knew what I had been taught about Spirit baptism but I was ready to chuck it because what I knew wasn’t working. We prayed for probably two hours. Long enough that our knees got painful. We both laid face down on the carpet. We soaked that poor carpet with tears and sweat. 3 more hours went by. It was dark, long past suppertime. The late afternoon sun that had been streaming through his window had turned to stars. All of a sudden he jumped to his feet and pulled me up. "Look at me!" he demanded. "Don’t blink! There is an evil spirit keeping God from blessing you! Don’t blink! Let me see if I can tell what it is! Don’t blink! I am seeing letters! "T" "H" "E"….he kept going until he had spelled the word "theology". "That’s it! Ken! You must throw everything you have learned about theology out of your mind and start over again!"

At this point I lost all hope of receiving the charismata, but I tried not to show my disappointment. He had worked so hard with me for so long and I still appreciate his concern for me and willingness to help. I forget what I said next but our meeting ended. He said "God bless you and keep praying brother! You’ll get it!" I walked out his door and groped my way slowly home. For the next few days I was in a fog. People noticed my preoccupation and asked if I was feeling well. Was there a Holy Spirit? Was there a God at all? No one could have been more pure in heart and fervent about a genuine need than I was. Then I sank into the well of self loathing. Perhaps I was not pure in heart at all. Perhaps I was just too wicked to receive gifts. Perhaps God knew I would become proud. And what about God? Perhaps He was an elitist Who only gifted people who smelled of success. Did He deem me a non player? Had I been cast onto the scrap pile? Perhaps even a person of no consequence; someone to be ignored? I felt like Isaiah saying "Here am I! Send me!" But the Lord just looked over my head as if I were invisible.

I studied the scriptures hard. I remember poring over and over Reese’s special studies on the Holy Spirit. Notes I had filed. Other commentaries. Greek lexicons. There was no sudden epiphany, but gradually little shafts of light began to penetrate. I decided to quit begging God. If He wanted to heal He would do it; if not, then forget it. "His will be done". I became Stoic and fatalistic (and am to this day). The passion went out of my intercessory prayer life, and I don’t necessarily consider that a bad thing. "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh. Blessed be the name of the Lord." I came to depend upon my "covenantal" relationship with God. Sometimes I felt it, sometimes not; but how I felt didn’t matter anymore. The covenant still said the same thing. At least I finally had peace.

I know this is a subjective experience that cannot be corroborated; but perhaps it will help you understand why I believe as I do. Prayer is always a matter of faith and obedience. Only by faith can we say He has heard and answered. I know God still hears and answers prayer, but He no longer uses specially gifted persons as mediums through which to channel His power. He can use me, or He can use a maggot if He wishes. He always does what is right, and I don’t always know what is right.

Now let us get back to the words of I Cor. 13. Paul says that when the "perfect" comes, that which is "partial" will end. We know that the "partial" is referring to the charismata; but what is "that which is perfect"? Many who claim to practice the charismata today say that the "perfect" is Christ. Since Christ has not come yet (so the reasoning is) the charismata still exist. The flaw in this rationale is that the original word for "perfect" was rendered in the neuter gender, meaning that it was a perfect thing and not a perfect person; to wit, I am fairly sure it was not referring to Christ.

What, then, is the perfect thing? Here is where I believe my reasoning was wrong. I thought the perfect, whole, completed thing was the completed and circulated New Testament. It made sense because the particular charismata referred to: (prophecy, tongues, and knowledge) were primarily means of revealing God’s will to men before they had the whole New Testament.

I have since realized that it is highly unlikely that the 27 books of the New Testament were suddenly available to everyone at the end of the first century. All 27 books that we have were not recognized as inspired until 170 ad at the earliest, and the common man would not have access to all of them for centuries after that. The completion and circulation of the New Testament was not the thing that caused the charismata to cease. It was the death of the apostles and the subsequent deaths of those upon whom they laid hands. That doesn’t seem to be an event qualified to be called "that which is perfect".



What I failed to do is a cardinal error in Bible interpretation: I failed to think within the context. What is the main emphasis of I Cor. 13? Do we not call it "the love chapter"? The whole gist of Paul’s message is to seek after the traits of Christian maturity; and there is none more exhibited by the mature than love (charity). He has just finished a beautiful description of what love is. It is clear that through the whole chapter that Paul intends to elevate love in comparison to prophecy, tongues, etc. Look at the introduction to his thoughts on love: 1 Cor 13:1-3 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. It is obvious here that there are traits of varying importance. The charismata are at the bottom of the list.

Examine the conclusion to his thoughts on love: 1 Cor 13:11-13 When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.



Clearly Paul is saying; (my paraphrase and commentary) "The charismata are scintillating, but they are for the immature. As one becomes mature, he will devalue these by comparison and realize that charity is where the rubber meets the road. Charity is the purest imitation of God. Charity is what will propagate, proliferate and become the hallmark of the Kingdom. The charismata are the ‘childish things’. The charismata are granted to the new Christian. The mature may still be able to perform them, but they prefer things often less glamorous, but more useful. Things like sacrificial love."

Illustration: I used to like cars that pleased the senses. It had to have "curb appeal". But cars have to do more than look good sitting by the curb. I couldn’t stand the sound of anything but a gas guzzling big block. When I sat in the seat, I liked my rear to ride about 6 inches off the pavement. I liked wide tires, fancy wheels, and four barrel carbs. Funny how things change. Now gas mileage is job #1. Small, ugly vehicles with horns that go "beep beep" instead of playing "Dixie". Spartan accommodations; getting me from point A to B as cheaply as possible with room for luggage. Cars that handle ice and snow well. Function is all I care about.

I guess you could compare these different styles of cars to the charismata, and things that are not so charismatic. The young believer is at first fascinated by the aesthetic. As he matures, his interests turn to things that get the job done in the trenches. Things like faith, hope, and love.

In summary: Do I believe the charismata exist today? No. Do I believe I Cor. 13:8-10 proves that? No. I believe "that which is perfect" refers to Christian maturity.

We will never be fully grown in this life. Not until we reach Paradise will we see face to face and know as we are known. Until then, love is the highest goal we can achieve.

Henceforth I will see vs. 8-10 in their proper context, adding even more wealth to one of the richest chapters in all of scripture.

It Should Have Been Me

It Should Have Been Me.

Rom 6:3-5 Know ye not, that so many of us as were baptized into Jesus Christ were baptized into his death? Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life. For if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection:


Being a preacher had it's "perks". It was not all suffering and sacrifice. Do you remember the movie "The Passion of Christ" directed by Mel Gibson? It came out in 2004 and turned out to be a blockbuster. May I hasten to say that there were parts of it that I didn't understand. I surmise that they were drawn from some esoteric tradition; not Biblical; but the treatment of Jesus during His arrest, trial, and crucifixion was probably more realistic than other passion stories I have seen.

Before it came out, all of us preachers in the area were invited to a "sneak preview" at a local theatre. The place was packed with over 200 of us. There are only 165 churches of all denominations in our county, so some probably came from far away. It was uncharacteristically quiet as the movie ran. During the crucifixion scene I heard gasps and some weeping. Also odd; when the movie ended, there was not a sound from the audience. All solemnly stood and began to file out in an orderly fashion. What happened next was spontaneous and a bit eerie. No one left the theatre. All stood in the lobby. Men who didn't know one another began to talk. Then there were groups of 3, 4, 6. I sauntered from group to group, curious as to what the topics of conversation were.

You must understand that preachers have a hard time getting serious when they are together. It is loud. There is usually a lot of noise coming from professionally trained voices that carry and echo. Lots of laughing and joking. There was none of that here. Everything was hushed and there were no smiles. A lot of furrowed brows and staring at the gaudy carpet, the shaking of heads, tears.

Here was the recurring theme of the conversations: "IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!" Priests, Protestants, Pentecostals, Pastors, and just plain old preachers; high flyers and nobodies; local televangelists and bivocational strugglers with grease on their hands; shepherds of thousands and shepherds of a handful. The movie was shown on the Friday before Resurrection Sunday. Normally our spellbinding Easter sermons that would "wow" our paritioners and put us on the map would have been at the front of our thoughts; but for a few brief moments we were stunned and staggered like boxers, by a blow that caught us squarely on the jaw. There was no posturing or thinly veiled vying for prominence as is common at clergy gatherings. Any fragrance of pretentious cologne was mixed with the odor of perspiration. I, as usual, was pretentiously unpretentious. One theme had captured us: "It should have been me!" All the pomp and pompadours, thoroughly ringed fingers; all the backward collars, all the differences of opinion; all the smug, supposed doctrinal superiority and erudition and preferred titles were, for a blessed moment on that "Good Friday" nine years ago, a million miles away. "It should have been me!" That golden nugget of overarching truth bowed every haughty head. One man said with clenched fists and gritted teeth, "I just wanted to go up there and take Him down and have them nail me there in His place!" This was no self ingratiating rhetoric. It burst forth from waxen bowels. Gradually we all left and got into our fuel efficient rusted out little conveyances and went our separate ways, and things were different for quite a while after that.

We were reduced to a common denominator. We were jerked unceremoniously back to our roots. We were reminded of that first blush of motive that began to steer us toward our respective careers. The Master of ocean and earth and skies....bare, bruised, bleeding; doing something that we couldn't do for ourselves. We came thinking we had plenty, and left in a grinding, humiliating poverty of the soul. We left to gird ourselves about with a towel and to get down on our knees and wash feet.

When Jesus had set His face toward Jerusalem for the last time on earth (and be assured He will set His face that way again) I think some of his disciples thought He had a death wish. He had just restored Lazarus from a state of miasmic decrepitude and incited the furor of His enemies to white heat. He was walking into a buzz saw and they knew it. Some thought they may become collateral damage. Thomas said, and I don't believe in a noble way, John 11:15b Let us also go, that we may die with him . I believe it was a tongue in cheek rebuke of His master's seemingly "bulletproof" bravado. But isn't that the first decision anyone who wants to be a follower has to make? Didn't He say, Matt 10:39 He that findeth his life shall lose it : and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it. Did He not turn the rich man away, saying, Matt 19:21 If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me. ? Jesus didn't spurn him because he was rich; the scriptures say He loved him. He knew this man had some dying to do before he could ever live. And so do we all.

I remember a TV ad for some menopause medicine that had a frustrated daughter yelling at her mother: "Mother! Please! I can do it myself!" We seem to want that from the day we are born. Even as little children when trying to do a task that is above our heads; someone reaches down to help and we jerk it away. "No! Me do!" You know it is a matter of pride. Perish the thought that we should display a vulnerability to someone else! "I am a rock! I am an island!"

Remember that scene in Samaria at the well: A hot, bedraggled, thirsty, hungry, utterly exhausted Lord of the universe beseeches a prostitute for a drink of water (water that He created, by the way). Water that no one is making any more of. The same molecules that quenched His parched throat that day may have fallen upon you as rain today. Who made the Sun to lift it into the Heavens where the cool upper reaches would purify and condense it and let it fall again, and again, and again; and yet He is in need.

You are in need and I am in need. There is a man in South America that has himself crucified every Easter season. He has himself scourged and crowned with thorns; nails driven through his hands and feet and languishes on a cross for a few hours before they take him down. He heals enough to do it again the next year. I don't go to that extreme but I certainly understand why he does it. The preachers in the theatre foyer came nose to nose with their desperate need. Certainly we cannot turn back the hands of time and carry His cross like Simon. I'm not sure Simon wanted to then. For all he knew, this was just another insurrectionist getting what he deserved. Little did Simon know that his name would be forever etched into the pages of history as one to be extolled for easing the burden of our Lord. No. We cannot go back. But the Lord knows our need. He knows our need when in our contemplation of the gospel message, though we have heard it again and again, it's full impact finally runs over us like a freight train. It will someday if it hasn't already. And we say, "Oh, my God! Let me die!" Dying is the whole duty of the sinner. Not once. "Dying" is in the continuous tense. Dying is not what we do to save ourselves, nor could it be. It is our nature, a natural response to what we have heard. A need we must accomplish, because it is our nature. "If I can't die in Your stead, then let me die with You Lord."

He says, "So you want to die like I am dying? Well; then come up on this cross with Me. You need to. I needed to die so that I could be raised again, and so do you." John 12:24 Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. Perhaps some do not understand the symbolism behind our conversion, especially our baptism. It is precisely the manner in which our Lord has instructed us to get up there on the cross with Him. Go ahead! Get up there and die! For after all, truly have we said, "It should have been me."

The Mason Dixon Gulf

 

 

  America has become two nations, and “we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure”.  In that 1st civil war, there was the Mason Dixon line.  In the present, that line has become a gulf, and the man who tries to straddle it will be ripped apart`.  Bear with a couple of stories from long, long ago.

 

  It was the best of times;  a banner year at the Sidney, Iowa rodeo in 1966.  Colored posters had bedecked the store fronts in every little neighboring cow town for a month.  My Grandpa would have been my age then.  I didn’t get much of his bodily genetics.  He ate more than I did.  I remember Grandma saying, “Land sakes Leslie!  You’re a gonna bust!”  He stayed spare and tight though;  workbrickle and tough as hedge.  Couldn’t tell he was Caucasian ’til he took off his hat. 

  I think it was a ’55 Ford,  bare bones 223 with 3 on the column;  no radio;  4/70 A/C. Narrow concrete roads with drainage curbs.  Bias ply tires would climb right up them and onto the dirt shoulder if you got too close.  No seat belts.  Steel dashboard.  Glass that broke into deadly shards.  The speed limit was 70 in daylight and grandpa didn’t care.  He ran his tractor full throttle, and his car almost.  I was in the passenger’s seat with my bare elbow out the window,  flexing my muscles for, but never looking at the cowgirls we passed.  There were plenty, all headed for Sidney.  Barrel racers in big hats with horses in tow.  Both of us sat deadpan.   Jake Blues with Elwood at the wheel and we were on a mission for ourselves!   A little reward after a Summer of hard work.  Didn’t talk much.  For him, it would have been like talking to a clod.  I knew how to say “Yeah.  Nah.  Dunno.  Please pass the taters” and that’s about it.  Highballing Northward, the tar expansion strips, swollen by the early August heat hammered lightning up our spines but we had put up hay all Summer.  Maybe as tough as the bronc and bull riders we were going to see, but it’s for sure we were smarter.   Just him and me on a little holiday. 

  Sidney is one of those towns where the elevation is higher than the population but it still plays host to a championship rodeo.  It is a “must” stop for all the top competitors if they want to amass winnings toward a national title.  Superstars like W. G. “Freckles” Brown (then aged 45, he would compete for another 8 seasons) and Larry Mahan were there.  We enjoyed the events, but there was always an intermission while they prepared for the bull riding.  Suddenly, over the loud speaker came the theme from “Gunsmoke”;  you remember;  the one they played while they showed a coffee pot on the stove.   Everyone jumped to their feet with wild applause.  Ambling out of the chutes and into the arena they came.  True corn ball rock stars.  I had been watching big animals explode out of that 7’ gate all afternoon so they looked a little frail and smaller than life.  In full costume, Festus (Ken Curtis) did his bow legged strut, grinning his signature facial expression: One eye squinted, the other brow raised high.  Doc (Milburn Stone) shuffled along beside acting cranky as usual, rubbing his hand over his mustache and daubing the back of his neck with a hanky.  They reached into their pockets and slung hard candy into the crowd, creating a melee amongst the youngsters and not a few adults.  They sang some old Western ballads.  “IIIII’ll keep rolling along;  deeeep in my heart is a song;  heeeere on the range I belo  ong;  drifting along with the  tumb a ling tumbleweeeeds.”  (Curtis was with the “Sons of the Pioneers” for a while and Stone could harmonize.)  It was pretty good.  Real good.  And then they did a comedy routine.  If you watched any Gunsmoke reruns you know what a chemistry those two had.  I read somewhere that a lot of the dialogue they did on the show was ad lib.  They just sat down at that table in the Long Branch over a beer (which Doc always wound up paying for) and the director simply turned them loose.  They said sometimes Matt (James Arness) and Kitty (Amanda Blake) couldn’t look at them without laughing so they had to quit filming for the day and come back the next after they had all settled down.  I thought my Grandpa, sitting next to me, was going to pop a rib .  His laugh was a long, wheezy exhale and a very audible catching of the breath that sounded like a six cylinder with a straight pipe.  I elbowed my way down to the fence to get a black and white autographed picture of Doc and Festus, suitable for framing.  $2; almost half of what I spent that day.  I shook their hands.  They were soft and some of Festus’ makeup came off on my thumb.  I guess he had drawn me a little too far into his character.  Grandpa didn’t care if he met them.  He grew up with guys like that so it was no big deal.  I took the picture to Bible College with me, and after I got married, I hung it opposite the commode in our bathroom so I could look at it while enthroned.  It disappeared shortly thereafter of unknown causes.   I’d give anything to have it back but she won’t say.  Stone and Curtis were in sync, on and off stage.  It is difficult to think of one without the other.  They represent the antithesis of the next event that transpired, which speaks more to the subject of this article.

 

  On the far side of the arena appeared a family of trick riders with a bevy of beautiful  Arabians.  (Horses, I mean)   The father, leader of the troupe, explained over the P. A. system that he was going to attempt to “Roman Ride” (put one foot on one horse and one on another as they run flat out side by side).  He explained that one of the horses had been in training, so there may be a wreck, but that’s what the people came to see anyway and he knew it.  He said the horses needed to do this in front of a crowd to perfect their synchronization so we were all to whoop and holler so they could get used to it.  I thought he was a hippie with his flowing blonde hair, pastel blue silk jump suit, and ballet shoes with no socks.  No socks!  Even the women wore socks back then!  The horses stood motionless.  Bareback with only decorative bridles.  Not even the flick of a tail to shoo a fly.  I had seen a Roman Rider at a circus once but he used reins.  I had never seen it done before without reins nor have I since.   This rider climbed the fence and deftly leapt aboard. A knee on each horse and a fistful of mane.  Seemingly of their own volition, the equines bolted.  Up he stood with his arms outstretched like a bird of prey, his billowed sleeves flapping in the wind as he leaned into it.  I watched as his knees independently absorbed the undulations; his head perfectly still.  Halfway around the arena things were perfect, but as they neared the grandstands on the South side the cheering got louder.  This seemed to spook the younger horse who was on the inside.  He got out of sync a little, then a little more.  The rider’s legs stretched farther and farther apart.  I thought he was beyond the point of salvation, destined for a 30 mph slide in the “mudnure”.  I wondered if the dainty seam in those sequined silk breeches would hold.  What lie beneath?  Will the men have to shield the ladies’ eyes with their Stetsons??  A public exposure like that in Iowa in ‘66 with women and children present would make the Omaha Newspaper just a little ways up river.  My grandpa, sitting beside me said with increasing volume;  “He’s gonna…...whoops.  Whoops.  WHOOPS!”  Finally the rider pushed off with one foot to the older horse and the younger one went plumb loco.  He lost his bearings altogether, loped to the middle of the arena and stood facing the crowd, shaking his head as if to get the noise out of his ears.  Grandpa took off his straw Fedora and waved it by the brim and laughed that wheezy laugh while slapping his knee.  He had milker’s hands that were those of a man twice his size.  They looked out of place on his willowy frame.  I was afraid he would break his own leg!  I didn't have my license yet and driving my grandpa home from a rodeo with cracked ribs and a dislocated kneecap would be hard to explain to a statie.  The crowd cheered anyway, because the man didn’t wind up with a mouth full of dirt and the crotch of those pants held out.  High entertainment for a hayseed!

 

  I said all that to say this:

 

  After 50 or so years’ awareness concerning this nation’s gees and haws I have seen it settle into two fairly well defined blocs on moral issues and fiscal matters.  It seems to have little to do with political party affiliations.  Neither Republican nor Democrat;  these blocs are now conservative (right) or liberal (left).  I plainly believe Biblical Christianity (there is no other kind)  has more in common with present tenets called conservative than those called liberal.  To say an individual is “liberal” or “conservative” may be an over simplification.  Personally, I am an extreme conservative on moral issues, I am equidistant between center and extreme right on fiscal considerations.  I am glad to pay the government a fair salary to defend the Constitution, and I am glad when my taxes go to help those who can’t help themselves.   There are some social issues that do not compromise my moral compass;  and on those I am yet farther toward center.   You can see that conservatism and liberalism may come in shades and hues depending on application to individual topics;  nevertheless, moderation is less feasible than it has ever been.  I may have to drink some of the “bathwater” of radical conservatism to protect the moral and religious matters that are my “baby”.   In a broad stroke, we shall say that these two major creeds are found in both parties, and conservative party platforms are moderating in a vain attempt to span the gulf;  and a bridge with too long a span collapses. 

  Pinning one label or the other on a politician may be an exercise in futility.  Campaigns give one identity, incumbency produces another.  How can you tell who is who with all the vote trading and deal making over pork?  There is more vicissitude in the halls of congress than on the street.  Amongst the constituency, the labels are clearer and the contrast is coming into sharper focus.  We are obligated to choose and get both feet firmly planted in one or the other.  No honest man can ride them both.  The Mason Dixon line has become the gulf of Hades which no man can cross. 

 

  The major factor in our recent general elections is that slightly more liberals came to the polls than conservatives (duh);  but I think the reason that happened is that our president appeared more transparent about his convictions, be they right or wrong.   His competitor did not present a bold enough contrast to engender confidence among enough conservatives.  It was the same in the 2008 election.  I believe “conservative” political analysts and advisors are dead wrong when they tell their candidates to appear more moderate.  The issues are so polarized that there isn’t enough rope to build a swing for a “swing” voter anymore, so why try to capture their vote?  I surmise that for offices higher than State Representative, straight ballots based upon liberalism or conservatism are cast.  How I long for a conservative candidate who will say, “This is where I stand!  If you agree, vote for me.  If not, vote for my opponent.  Either of us will do our best.”  Unless a conservative like that can garner the funds necessary to run a campaign, then America’s day in the sun is over.  We’d better renew our devotion to our Heavenly citizenship and remember Who truly grows, bakes, and butters our daily bread.  Conservatives had better prepare to live as a tyrannized minority (that is only barely a minority).  True Christians have always been a minority, so what’s new?  Conservative Christians have enjoyed a modicum of toleration in this nation for quite a while.  World history will show that to be quite abnormal;  but remember that the church waxes or wanes regardless of it’s approval by the outside.  The church waxes or wanes due to it’s internal health and according to God’s plan which either incorporates or stands above the ebb and flow of politics.

 

  As I have said in previous kommuniques, we cannot go out of this world for now.  The chasm is ideological, not physical.  Conservative Christians must walk, talk, work, and play side by side with non believing liberals.  (There are some “liberals” who are “believers”,  but the terms are oxymoronic.  These folks just don’t know it yet.  So there.  I love you but there are times when I can’t be nebulous.)   They may want to get off this planet of “knuckle draggers” so they can go evolve, unhindered.   We may want to go to Heaven before it’s time and let those with gods of their own machination go extinct down here, which they surely would PDQ.   But we’re crowded into the same pig pen for now.  Christians need to be concerned and participate in the debate,  but never fearful;  for we are well equipped.  We have the most complex and astounding piece of matter in the universe right inside our skulls, we have a will, and we have the Spirit of our Creator that is strengthening and urging that will.  We are well educated.  We have the printed and readily available Word of God which is absolute truth.  We eat persecution for breakfast.  We are not like instinct driven animals who have to be fenced off from each other.  We can refrain from biting off the tails of other pigs we don’t like.  There are areas where we can defer without compromising the essentials and if we want to be the pig with more largess, we should.  As Paul said, he was made all things to all men that he might by all means save some.  However, there are lines we cannot cross.  I doubt Paul got gassed at a Greek bacchanal or copulated with temple prostitutes as part of his evangelistic method.  If our wills are malleable to the Spirit,  He will stick our nose to the Book and our conscience will show us where the line is every time.

 

  I got a John Wayne coffee mug for Christmas.  It is oversized with a handle that I can get three chubby knuckles through.  On one side is a picture of the Duke, and on the other in bold letters it says, “A man’s got to have a code;  a creed to live by.”   That line did not originate with a script writer.  It is his personal statement cited in a biography written by his wife.  (For what it’s worth:  I met Stuart Hamblen at the Kiamichi Men’s Clinic one year.  He was a good friend of and fellow actor with Marion Morrison, a.k.a. John Wayne.  They were also drinking buddies off screen, until Hamblen became a Christian.  Hamblen and Morrison remained fast friends.  He wrote “It is no Secret” and some other lesser known Christian music.  Hamblen told us that he baptized Morrison two years before his death in 1979.)  I am urging you now; draw up a personal code.  You know the Bible.  You ought to be able to write your constitution based upon it.  Make a list of things you must always do and things you must never do, under any circumstance.  Plant both feet on it and don’t step off it.  Live with people of other codes.  It is more likely that you will be living with people who don’t have a code at all.  You have to live with them;  but have the lines clearly in mind of how far you will go;  and if they go too far, keep your mouth shut!  You ought to approach a brother with meekness, but dressing a non Christian down, especially in front of his peers, never has a positive outcome.  Just don’t do the sin with him or show your approval of it.  Believe me, that says a big plenty.  Once in a while I remember who I am and behave like it.  I was at the café with friends  and a guy came in whose breath smelled of alcohol at 9:00 in the morning.  He was loud and vulgar.  He told a dirty joke.  My peripheral vision saw everyone looking at me.  They still call me “reverend”.  Once a “reverend” always a “reverend” I guess.  I sat silent with the brim of my hat shadowing my face, staring into my coffee.  The only one who laughed was the man who told the joke.  People are keeping score.  If you “claim the Name”, there are more people who will take their lead from you than you know.  Until the Lord returns, there will always be those who are taking notes.

 

  The horse that went awry;  did they take him out back and put him down?  Of course not.  He represented a great expenditure of time, energy, money.  I can say with certainty that they took him out of the trailer at the next rodeo and made him do the same thing.  I can guarantee that he became the lead horse and they trained other young ones beside him.  They knew he would eventually put food on the table for them!   You put up with your kids because you know they will get big enough to push a lawnmower and scrub the floor, and eventually lead you by the hand to places you should go but may not want to.

  Friend, please don’t give up on this world yet!  There are those you come in contact with every day in whom God is investing.  He foreknows that they will opt to follow Him.  The Holy Spirit is riding drag behind them, goading them toward salvation.

  God may purposely  put you together with them if He can trust you as the lead horse.  I don’t know how you train a horse to run in perfect harmony beside another, but I doubt that they are trained by whipping them after a failed attempt.  It would only confuse them, for they are yet ignorant.  As Jesus said, “forgive them, for they know not what they do.”  Keep on walking amongst them. 

 

  CWII is on!  1 Kings 18:21  And Elijah came unto all the people, and said, How long halt ye between two opinions? if the LORD be God, follow him: but if Baal , then follow him.  There are only two horses and they are severely out of sync.  There are only two kingdoms.  There is no survivable middle ground.  Walk and talk among the enemy’s hapless slaves calmly, unafraid, dressed in the whole armor of God.  Take a bullet.  Heal up.  Go back and do it again.  Of course, the gulf of which I speak is not a physical one;  therefore, we walk and talk among those who bear little resemblance to us.  It is a separation of mores and values.   God knows those on the other side who will defect, and that’s why we must walk in their midst.  When they want to be granted asylum, we must be there to take them in;  to give them a new circle of comrades;  with God’s power, protect them;  and show them that there is another “alternative lifestyle”.

 

  Unlike CWI, brother is not fighting brother here.  The non believing world has morphed into some sort of new species;  bipedal hominids like us but that’s about as far as it goes.  Impacting our society is not the pink tea pastoral visit to Aunt Bea’s anymore.  It’s raw, rugged, rough and risky.  If you’re a fake, you’re going to eat dirt.  A man’s got to have a code, a creed to live by.