Worth It?

Such are the dreams of the bi—vocational small town pastor.

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For all it’s challenges, I love pastoring a small church. We had such a wonderful and sweet Christmas eve service just gathering together with old friends, and new; seeing the kids have such a wonderful time as they acted out the nativity story, learning the real meaning of Christmas in the process while reminding and blessing the rest of us at the same time. All this on the heels of Sunday morning and having the kids, all ages together to make up a small chorus, to sing a few Christmas songs.

Props were handmade or came from the Goodwill store and special effects consisted of an illuminated star ornament hanging off the light fixture above the stage, and a halogen work light hidden under a chair to illuminate the angels.

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But I can guarantee that everyone left  leave here last Sunday and Christmas eve with a heart full of joy and memories that a professional high budget mega church presentation could never replicate.

I know I was blessed. I’m still replaying the events of those two services over in my mind, it was just so rewarding in so many ways.

But you know, it’s a lot of work, and that’s what I was thinking about between Sunday afternoon and Christmas eve service. Pastoring a church while working full time besides, is a lot of work and takes a lot of discipline and commitment–and then you throw in an extra service?

Now I don’t do this alone, many are involved in making this church work, and we all have responsibilities and challenges, and that’s the point.

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Blow it off?

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just say, the heck with it, I’m going to just pursue my own fortune, spend my time and money on myself, my own pleasure and just worry about me, me, me. Like all those other people. I don’t want to write another sermon, I just wrote one last week! (and every week before that) I don’t want to spend another Saturday alone at the church, I have a lot of better things I could be doing, camping, fishing, hunting, fixing up or even building myself a house.

Or I could just go home after putting in my time at work and just sleep in front of the TV with a beer or two while looking forward to a vacation in Vegas. ‘Been saving up all year, it’s going to be a blast!’ Or maybe something more noble like a trip to the Holy Land or my ancestral Scandinavian home lands.

I could at least try to get a job in a big church so I wouldn’t have to work two jobs and then I could travel to exotic places now and then and call it missions or at least earned sabbaticals.

Such are the dreams of the bi—vocational small town pastor.

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And just saying all that out loud makes me cringe because down in my heart I know—No, I wouldn’t rather do any of that. Because in the end, none of that matters. What matters is that I am serving my Lord, the bridegroom, in the manner and place he wants me to serve him. If it means standing in a dark place with my flickering lantern ready to be put to good use at a moment’s notice, so be it.

What matters is that you, are being fed, you are getting oil for your lamps. What matters is that those kids, my kids, your kids, are hearing about Jesus, that they know they are loved and that they are important to me, to you and to their heavenly Father.

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(One of my grand daughters, and a grandson in the background expressing his opinion of the music)

What matters is that I am ready for Jesus to come back at any moment and that I am not going to waste any time. I will keep doing what I can to prepare myself and others in the meantime.

And the joy I feel when I see the smiles of those kids, the treasures I have amassed in my heart at seeing those the Lord puts in my path have a little better day, a little more spark in their eyes and spring in their step and maybe a song of praise on their lips because we simply showed up here and did what the Lord called and gifted us to do, I wouldn’t miss any of that for all the gold in the world.

The world can have their gold, Gold won’t burn in a lamp or light the way to anything. It only weighs you down and adds to your burden. Only love will keep those lights on, those lamps burning. And I have a never ending source of that love, his name is Jesus.

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The NIV study bible suggests that those virgins were “perhaps bridesmaids charged with preparing the bride for the groom.” If that is the case, the church is the bride and I will do all I can to be a wise virgin so that the bride of Christ will be ready for her groom.

We need a lot more wise virgins I can tell you that. Because there are a lot of messed up brides out there who won’t even know who their groom is when he does show up. Because here’s the little secret about the oil—it has to come from the groom.

And once he is on the way, he’s not carrying his supply any more to give to those who ask, the time for preparation is over, the hour has come, it’s His wedding day.

Oil in the scriptures is often a representation for the Holy Spirit and perhaps that is what the oil in this story is. How do we get the Holy Spirit? How do we keep in tune with the Spirit?- live for the Spirit and not the flesh. We have to keep going to Jesus, and to the Father through Jesus. Spending time with him in prayer, in his word, in worship, meditating on his word, seeking wisdom, believing for miracles and intervention, trusting him for our needs while working with the hands and the gifts he gave us.

By seeking his Kingdom first and foremost and trusting that all else will be added unto us as we need, not as we desire.

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It’s living for the groom, not for ourselves. Keeping our jars full at all times.

Broken

“That cup in its state of scarred repair is more beautiful than it ever was.”– So are you!

A year or two ago our daughter Cally was over for our annual Christmas morning potato pancake breakfast. A tradition that started somewhat by accident as I enjoyed making breakfast for my girls when they were little and as I perfected the elusive perfect potato pancake. Enjoying a cup of coffee and the company of family gathered, she somehow chipped her coffee cup, the one with a real cool Currier and Ives type Christmas scene on it, that she was using. I heard the clink but didn’t see the damage and I said half-jokingly, “Oh don’t break that, that’s Mom’s favorite cup, she picked that up at the Christmas stroll.” A few minutes later, amidst the chaos of many little ones playing and adults visiting, she’s frantically searching the house for super glue—she wanted to fix the cup.

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It wasn’t until later when she was explaining to her mom in tears that she had broken her cup that I realized the tragedy I had exacerbated. She felt horrible about it. And then I felt horrible because I had just made things worse with my off handed remark.

My wife, Donna, of course told her not to worry about it, she loved Cally more than any cup. Donna later fixed the broken cup.

Can you tell it was once broken? Yes, but it is more valuable now than it ever was because of the incredible love and emotion that was poured back and forth over that cup, because of the accident and the heartache it caused.

That cup now says to Donna, “My daughter loves me so much that she was broken over having chipped what she knew was something that I valued.” And that glued together cup also now says, “My mother loves me so much that she was more upset over my heartbreak than she was about her once beautiful but now broken cup.”

That cup in its state of scarred repair is more beautiful than it ever was.

Jesus tells several parables in his last days, many of them aimed at the religious hypocrisy of the Priests and Pharisees of his day. And the end of one such story he warns:

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Sounds dire, unless you know a little more about the nature of our God and the symbolism of his word built  in the scripture over time.

The way I see this, this business about falling on the stone and being broken? Being broken can be a good thing. And if you are going to be broken, the rock is the place to do it because the rock is where you can be rebuilt, it is after all a cornerstone, the chief corner stone.

The commentaries and study Bible notes will tell you that the reference here to falling on the stone and being broken means you’re done. That’s just not consistent with scripture. Being broken is always a prerequisite to being repaired, fixed—born again. God loves the broken. In fact, it is the only sacrifice he requires.

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I think the more profound and certainly more encouraging message here, the secondary and more consequential meaning of this prophetic word first uttered by Isaiah and then claimed by Jesus, is that if you fall on the stone, purposely throw yourself on the stone, broken—broken down, brokenhearted, a broken soul who has realized just how empty, sinful, hopeless and lost you really are apart from the chief cornerstone, you will be rebuilt.

Repentance—repentance is the first step to becoming a citizen of the Kingdom of God.

Powder?

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Now, rejecting the rock, Jesus, out of hand and in the end having to be crushed by it, is certainly a bad thing–something that’s ground to powder ceases to exist. But something that is broken can be fixed. God loves a broken spirit, God loves a broken heart, because it is usually a heart that is open for him to repair, to rebuild, to remake—better, more resilient and more committed to remaining strong and whole than ever before.

I believe that for you! Yours is now a heart that now knows that if it falls, it can get up and go on, that if it breaks it can be restored and it is now in a solid place where it can be rebuilt to withstand the storms. The rock is a place to build, it is not a place of destruction.

The Holy Spirit told me as I was starting to work on the larger part of this message for my church Sunday–and it didn’t make any sense to me at first in light of what the parable says:

“The rock is here and it is a place to stand, a place to be strong and a place to grow.”

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To us a Son is given, the rock has come. Claim your healing, claim your peace.

Barbarians in the kingdom

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Preacher Dan

Have a most blessed and merry Christmas everyone!

The Best Present

“It was a reminder of simpler days when we never had much but we always had love.”

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I love the Christmas season. Perhaps because I have rich memories of Christmas from when I was a child and of when our kids were young. The traditions that bring you together and the anticipation of that glorious day when you get to give the ones you love those special presents you have put so much thought into, or shopped so diligently to find.

You know, and it’s really not the money you spend, it’s more the love behind it. I remember one Christmas when our girls were little we didn’t have much money and the little we had to spend we spent on the girls. But I was determined that I had to get Donna something. So I went to K-Mart a day or two before Christmas and right there near the front entrance was the cutest little mouse figurine. I picked it up expecting it to be porcelain and expensive but it was actually a wax candle and it was only $1.00.

Perfect for my budget. I felt kind of bad only spending a dollar on my wife for Christmas but I literally only had about $2.00 in my pocket. Times were lean but life was good. I gave Donna that mouse on Christmas morning and she loved it. It sat on the window sill in the kitchen for years so she could see it as she washed dishes until it finally got totally bleached out by the sun. It was a reminder of simpler days when we never had much but we always had love.

Of course as a child it’s the receiving that’s so exciting, the anticipation. I remember it well, the magic of Christmas as a child as it seems the whole world is celebrating one great event together as it does at no other time.

And the presents! Just what is in those beautifully wrapped presents under the tree? Did I get what I asked for? Maybe something so wonderful I never even thought to ask? Oh the anticipation is almost too much to bear—I have to know the secret to what’s under the tree! But you know you have to wait, Christmas is coming, all the signs are there, the lights and the decorations, the special shows on TV, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, the Johnny Cash Christmas special, the Little Drummer Boy.

There’s driving around town seeing all the lit up houses and the lights on main street, the Santa Clause who shows up at your door just after dinner on Christmas eve who looks strangely like a friend of your parents, scares your baby sister half to death, and leaves with a cold Grain Belt beer in his hand.

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Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

And then it’s bedtime and your parents tell you that tomorrow is Christmas morning so you had better get to sleep. But you lie awake for what seems like hours, too excited to sleep. Tomorrow is the day I get to find out the secret to what’s under the tree, to see what shows up in the stockings hung on the mantel with care. And then it’s time, the break of dawn, family gathered—finally, come on mom, we’ve been waiting forever!

I can remember almost everything I got when I was a kid. The 60’ and 70’s was the golden age of toys. Hot wheels and matchbox cars. Apollo moon mission astronaut action figures, GI Joes, Johnny West and his horse, Tonka toy trucks made of real steel, Rock ‘em Sock ’em Robots, Gumby, real Slinkys, not the plastic things they sell now, cap guns Etch a Sketches, Little Golden books and Scooby-Do lunch boxes, and the best toy of all, the Daisy BB Gun! Christmas’s were great!

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As you get older, sadly, you lose some of that excitement, the Christmas spirit can be replaced by the stress of having to be the one to make that Christmas magical for the kids. But remember, it’s not so much the stuff they get, it’s what you make of the holiday for them. The joy and the love that is felt and shared, whether it’s a one dollar mouse or a Tonka Toy Bull Dozer big enough to dig a swimming pool in the back yard, don’t lose the joy, don’t lose the wonder.

Remember whom we celebrate.

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If you have been born again you remember well the joy of discovering the secret of our salvation, of having the greatest gift of all revealed to us—that Jesus came to this earth from heaven as a baby, to grow up teaching us the mysteries of heaven and then opening the door for us to walk in by giving his life for us, and all we have to do is believe and receive.

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God sent us the long ago and oft promised gift, we didn’t know exactly what it would be or how it would help us, but when it was revealed on the day we heard the gospel and it finally clicked, it was better than we could ever have imagined.

I am loved! I am forgiven! And I am part of a family–a family that get’s to celebrate everyday the life that he gives us and the life to come.

I remember well when I first realized what the answer was, the answer to my question; Is there really a God? Can I know him if there is? What’s this cross and resurrection business about anyway.

As I sat there as a teenager and read through the gospels something just clicked in my mind and spoke to my heart; ‘God is real, Jesus died for you and you are loved and going to heaven.’

It would be several more years before I fully opened the gift and embraced the Lordship of Jesus by heeding his Spirit and letting him free me of the self-destructive nature of the flesh, but that was another glorious day I will never forget, one full of joy and excitement; Look what I got! It’s the greatest gift ever! Even better than Rock’em Sock’em Robots!

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But then the stresses of life start creeping in and we start to lose that enthusiasm, the magic is gone and it just becomes one foot in front of the other. Don’t lose the wonder, don’t lose the excitement, you still have the gift and the gifts and it can be new every morning if you just keep looking to him, to the one who reveals the secret things to your heart.

You have so much more to learn, he has so much more to give—and for you to give others.

Your place is assured, keep looking to tomorrow and don’t let the cares of this world steal your joy, you belong to a higher kingdom. Keep shining.

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You have life, you have Jesus. And that’s the best present of all!

 

Secret Things

Who am I, why am I, who put me here and where is he?”

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We all love to learn about things that have been kept secret right? Whether it’s the secrets of the universe we live in, the secrets of the government, the secrets of our neighbors or, more frighteningly, our kids—let me see that phone!

We hate having things kept from us and the more information we are entrusted with, the more valuable or important we feel.

We are a curious lot, insatiably curious; ‘Just what is on the dark side of the moon?’ ‘What is in a black hole?’ ‘What is dark matter?’ ‘Is there life out there?’ ‘What’s over the horizon?’ The questions are endless and our thirst for knowledge constantly leads to more and bigger questions. God created us with a capacity to dream up, explore and comprehend incredible mysteries.

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We are never satisfied; Just what is hiding in Area 51? Did Lee Harvey Oswald really act alone? Where in the world is Jimmy Hoffa’s body? What happened to Hillary’s Emails? Did Noah really forget to load up the unicorns? If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, where’s the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?

We may never know.

I mean, how can we? Just how many peppers make up a peck and just where do pickled peppers grow anyway? I do know this— two pecks make a kenning and four pecks make a bushel—and if you give me two bits I’ll stop…

Peter Piper—Now there’s a useless parable. I’m glad Jesus wasn’t just into telling nursery rhymes, tongue twisters and conspiracy theories.

Parables and mysteries

His Parables answered questions, revealed mysteries, that had been kept a secret from the very foundation of the world.

Here’s a head scratcher—If there is no one to ponder a mystery, is it a mystery? If there is no one to desire to know something that is being kept secret, if there is no one to keep a secret from, then are there really any secrets?

So, by that logic, there were no secrets to reveal about any mystery until there was a sentient being with enough self-awareness to ask the question, to seek an answer. And the greatest mystery of all, the most ancient secret, the first heart cry question— “Who!?” And it came from mankind. Who am I, why am I, who put me here and where is he?” It’s the question that reverberates in the heart of every man and woman who has drawn breath ever since.

And then, eons later, comes the answer, the answer with the answers. He is the embodiment of the answer to who we are, why we are and who put us here—Here I am—even before Abraham was, I Am. And he is also the one who illustrates the answers, reveals the mysteries of the Kingdom he brought, with his stories and with his life.

We are beings created by and in the image of God. We are created for good works, to love and be loved by God, and he is now here among us by the Spirit of Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit. And we are now citizens of the Kingdom of our God, the King of heaven.

 

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Jesus is the answer to the most important questions ever asked, the eternal questions, and he reveals to us that He is the answer, in part through his parables. Descriptions of the kingdom within and the kingdom to come.

The Kingdom of heaven is like. . .

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Matthew 13

We get to know the secrets that people have longed to look upon since the fall of mankind back in the garden. When the Kingdom was lost to us and the restoration promised. That was a very long time to wait, but now we know the secret things of God.

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I Am

We now have the answers to all the mysterious promises made by God down through the ages. And they are even greater than Moses, who wrote these mysterious words from Deuteronomy could ever have dreamed. Because his I Am that I Am burning bush, rumbling mountain, all powerful and awesomely frightening God is now our personal Lord and Savior. The great I Am became a Son of Man and now we can say I am—His.

 

 

Tastes Like Chicken

“… I started paying attention to the hooting of the owls I was also hearing. This is nothing new, we have had owls around the house for several years–but we never had chickens before…yikes!”

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“For we were also once foolish…” It’s easy to get arrogant when you are suddenly unlike so much of the rest of the world who seems to revel in foolishness and debauchery.

When we are transformed so completely by the power of the Holy Spirit it’s easy to forget that we were once totally deceived by the flesh and the enemy as well and if we do remember we think, “Wow, I really cleaned up my act, I really pulled it together!” No. actually, you barely did squat, Jesus did it—you just finally allowed him to do it in you, and for you.

We can’t be like the pharisees acting holier than thou and we can’t act like the pagans indulging in whatever the flesh decides it wants at the moment. We need to behave like those who hold ourselves to a higher standard while still treating others like we truly care about them, to treat others the way we want to be treated.

This is what gets people to stop running from a God whom they think they could never please, and gets them coming to him and asking “Please; I want to stop running.” It can be hard to be a friend to sinners because they are so deceived they don’t recognize the danger and when they do, they don’t know where to turn. And even when they ask for help and desire rescue from their misery and addictions, they still run from the one who could truly save them.

Chickens inspired that, people are often no smarter than chickens.

As I was working on my sermon Tuesday evening the two chickens we are watching for our daughter Jessie interrupted my study. A couple weeks ago she brought over two of her chickens, one of which had an injured leg that made her a target for the other chickens of her flock who sense any weakness and pounce on it. And she brought over a friend to keep her company.

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Photo by Matthis Volquardsen on Pexels.com

She put them in the dog kennel with the big dog house in it. We don’t have a dog right now so that works fine, except the chickens soon figured out that by getting on top of the dog house they could fly over the fence and get out.

So Donna and I started just letting them roam around in the day time and then we put them in the dog house at night and put a hog panel in front of the door to keep them in and the predators out. The problem is, they insist on roosting on the patio furniture on the back deck as soon as the sun goes down so we have to catch them and carry them to the dog house. No big deal, once they roost they become pretty lethargic—more like half comatose.

I’ve never had chickens before so I find this all very interesting. Anyway, Tuesday night I was in my office sermonating when I hear the chickens, which were just settling in to their roost mode on the back of a patio chair next to the sliding glass door, pecking on the glass and making  fuss. At first I ignored it, it wasn’t the first time they thought they should be able to come in the house, but they were getting more and more rambunctious.

Then I started paying attention to the hooting of the owls I was also hearing. This is nothing new, we have had owls around the house for several years, but we never had chickens before…yikes!

So I made a beeline to the patio door, saw the chickens, apparently safe on their chair but still doing the chicken “buck buck  buck-oc!” thing so I step out on the deck and see a big ‘ol great horned owl, sitting on top of my truck about 15 feet away. I’ve seen these massive owls at various times ever since I was a kid and for some reason they always send a shiver down my spine. Maybe because they are huge and fearless and have a way of appearing out of nowhere.

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This one was no exception, suddenly sitting there like some grey stone gargoyle on top of my truck. He doesn’t seem a bit concerned that I’m out there. I look for something I can throw and don’t see anything I really want to hit my truck with so I just run at him yelling and waving my arms and he takes off on those great silent wings.

At the same time I see another owl take off from off a fence post on the opposite side of the yard, they had our chickens surrounded. My wife Donna wasn’t home yet, she’s usually the one who puts the chickens to bed, but these girls need to get tucked in now!

All right ladies, bed time. So I plucked one of the now quiet birds off the chair back and carried her to the dog house/coop, placed her inside and went back for the other one who now decided I was the one she need to be scared of. So she made me chase her around the deck, off the deck, back on to the deck, under the chairs, all while trying not to get her too riled up, until she finally paused long enough for me to grab her without pouncing like a hungry cat.

It must be hard to be a chicken, pretty much everything wants to eat you, because, well, after all—chicken really does taste like chicken. I know many of you here have learned the hard way how many critters want to eat your chickens.

So I get the second chicken into the dog house with the other hen and put the panel across the door, safe and sound. I went back to work on my sermon and, after hearing the owls commence their hooting again, I remember that I didn’t shut the kennel door. Better do that to keep the coyotes out. So I go back out and here’s one of those very large owls sitting on top of the kennel and her partner just a few feet away on the fence. Right up until then I thought it was pretty cool to hear these owls at night, not any more.

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Thots

The chickens were smart enough to call for help. But then they were too dumb to accept it. Anyone relate?

That’s the way the world is, and honestly, too often we are also; “Help me help me” What? No wait, I want to stay here where I’m comfortable, where are you taking me? And we run around in circles while the Lord is patiently trying to move us away from the great horned death looming in the darkness just waiting for a chance to finish us off.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just a little ‘ol hoot owl, here to sing you a lullaby.”kindness.jpg

Funny how we have to keep being reminded of God’s mercy and kindness.

 

You Old Guys!?

You can either have a person’s back and know they’ll have yours, or you can stab a person in the back and expect to be stabbed.

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Don’t be a grumpy old man. At 58, I’m starting to understand why some old men get grumpy—it gets wearisome sometimes when all the been there done that’s under your belt keep coming up against all the haven’t been there and haven’t done that yet—‘but let me tell you how it is’ —punks who want to have the same old fights with you that you’ve dealt with a hundred times.

Just imagine how God feels, the one who has always been there and knows all things, when we try to tell him how to fix things— how to answer our prayers. One thing I’ve figured out along the way is to always pray the Lord’s will be done, my prayers are suggestions, unless the Lord shows me specifically how he wants me to pray, and my faith is in the fact that God hears and knows how to handle my petitions, he doesn’t need me to give him a step by step fix it list.

That’s just an aside; the point of these instructions are to tell us older guys not to be grumpy old men.

Older men be sober, reverent, patient and loving. Sounds pretty basic. But how many are good at that? As one who is now falling into the “older men” category I become ever more mindful of how I relate to other guys because a lot of them are now younger then me. I had kind of a reality check a year or two ago on my construction job.

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I was getting on a plumber on my job one day about getting his under–slab rough-in done so we could pour the floor slab on schedule. He was a young guy with an even younger helper and struggling a bit to figure things out. So I, apparently not so patiently, explained a couple things to him; *“Let me explain the situation here, A. you’re getting me down. B we got us a leash law here and C. You’re in the wrong town.” (Okay, only you fellow baby boomers out there will get that one) and he looks at me and says: “You older guys need to be patient and help us out a bit, we don’t know everything yet.”

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I was kind of convicted by that—I try to be patient but job pressures sometimes make that tough—but what really struck me was that designation; “Old guys”. I didn’t think of myself as an old guy—the old guys are the old guys—wait, my old guys are dead or retired, I am the old guy!

I’ve tried to change my outlook a bit since then. Instead of getting frustrated at having to deal with the same things yet again and teach yet another green hand how to do things, I remember all the “old guys” I learned from and respected along the way and I want to be one of those guys. It takes on a whole larger and more critical aspect when you are also representing Jesus.

I did change my attitude toward that young plumber, made it a point to teach him a few things by helping he rather than riding him, and as the project progressed we ended up having some real good conversations about the Lord.

It’s hard to witness to someone whom you just belittled or got short with because they irritated you with their ignorance or lack of apparent motivation. You can be patient and respectful while still being firm in making sure the task at hand is being done to the best of everyone’s ability.

I learned a long time ago that a hand that respects you will do their best for you while someone whom you treat with disrespect will be looking for ways to get away with doing the minimum required and may even look for ways to make you look bad.

It’s about having one another’s backs. You can either have a person’s back and know they’ll have yours, or you can stab a person in the back and expect to be stabbed.

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Guy’s, don’t discount this. I have worked with some of the same guys for years, guys who don’t know the Lord and would much rather sleep off a hangover on Sunday morning than sit through a church service. But because I have earned their trust and respect they will actually listen to me when a door does open to interject my faith into a conversation and, even better, they will even ask the questions that start those conversations.

Many of them have asked me for my books and even read my blogs (I know right?). On the other hand, I have worked with guys who let everyone know right up front that they are religious, ‘I go to church, I teach Sunday school, I only listen to Christian radio…’ and they have a special way of looking down on the dirty heathens they are forced to work with. ‘I’m going to be late coming back from lunch because I have a noon Bible study.’

They have  the effect of driving people farther away from Jesus.

Then all the tax collectors and the sinners drew near to Him to hear Him. And the Pharisees and scribes complained, saying, “This Man receives sinners and eats with them.” Luke 15:1—2

In short, don’t be a pharisee—be Jesus to the world. Don’t shun sinners, eat with sinners, and exemplify a better way. The sinners drew near to Jesus. Are they drawing near to you? Or are they speaking evil about you behind your back?

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*CW McCall Crispy Critters

img_2941Barbarians in the Kingdom

Do I Know You?

Do you want to know me, or just pretend to? 

 

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21 “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven. 22 Many will say to Me in that day, ‘Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name?’ 23 And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness!’   -Jesus  Mat.7

So this begs the question; what does it mean to know Jesus?

Anyone can know about him, know his story, his birthplace, his travels and teachings, his very detailed, execution narrative and resurrection witnessed by hundreds—I mean, his life and death and the politics and list of named characters that had a anything to do with his life, and the world stage that set up the scenario that facilitated the events of his life and death—the event that was Jesus Christ and the birth of his church is the most historically recorded event in human history by both biblical and non-biblical sources bar none.

Really, anyone who is willing to read a little can know about Jesus, they can join an institution that teaches them more about Him and even offers to make them a part of his church—’just sign here, sprinkle here, put money here, repeat after me and don’t let us catch you misbehaving—and you’re in. Here’s your wafer.’

But do you know me? Jesus asks, because I’m not recognizing you. . . have we met?

I’m afraid you fell for the lies…

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How?

So, how do we know the Lord? The best way I can illustrate it is by comparing it to a marriage. Which is after all, what Jesus does—we are his Bride.

It’s not just enough to know about the person you’re married to, anyone can do that. We have to become one with them—to have no secrets from one another, to spend enough time together, to be honest and forthcoming, to have shared experiences, to go through trials and share joys—we have to have all that, to eventually begin to be able to see the world through their eyes, and use that ability to serve and encourage that person as only someone who knows and shares a heart can.

Knowing Jesus is the ability to see the world through his eyes, to hear with his ears and feel with his heart. It is to have things between you that make sense only to you and him because you have those things between you that no one else has as he has been guiding you, teaching you, stretching and even rebuking you for years.

My wife Donna and I have things between us of great meaning, rich histories and connotations that can be communicated with just a couple of words, words that may mean nothing to anyone else listening. That’s the kind of relationship we must have with Jesus.

When Jesus told me a few years ago he sent me to Red Lodge “because he needed a barbarian here, not a politician” I knew exactly what he meant.

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I had to write and entire sermon series that later became a book (Barbarians in the Kingdom) to explain to you all what that one sentence wrapped around one word, spoken to me from Jesus meant to me. I knew what it meant because I had been allowing Jesus to turn this undisciplined, if it feels good do it, and if it doesn’t feel good, kill it barbarian, into a barbarian that could be used to advance his kingdom for many years. It was both a joke and a term of endearment between us when the phrase came to be my call sign, so to speak, according to Jesus who was now in the pilot’s seat of my life while I manned the torpedoes in the back.

Only a God who knows me because I have committed to knowing him, could turn being a barbarian into a good thing. He can do that for all of us, or whatever it is between you and him that has come to have great personal meaning because it comes from the one who knows you intimately. Are you tracking with me here?

I can’t tell you the specifics of how you have a relationship like that with Jesus, I can only point you in the right direction, the rest is up to you. It takes work and commitment just like a marriage does.

It’s walking with the Lord, praying and listening for the still small voice that speaks truth into your heart. Reading his words in the gospels and allowing the Holy Spirit to make them come alive in your heart. Learning to discipline the flesh so that those words move from your mind and into your heart.

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Knowing Jesus is knowing and acknowledging his presence in you by his Holy Spirit, seeking and allowing him to fully immerse you in the baptism of that Spirit and then not quenching Him nor expecting it to be some sort of new age phenomenon that that allows you to amaze and delight your friends and neighbors. It’s recognizing that the Holy Spirit is a person with a personality and a presence who desires to empower you for the Glory of the Father.

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Photo by Joy Marino on Pexels.com

He is not just an impersonal, or cosmic power that we tap into with the proper channeling or incantations.

 

Knowing Jesus is sharing a heart with God. It is feeling his grief at others pain and trouble. It is feeling his joy when you or those you love overcome the flesh, accept freedom from addictions, when chains are broken and hearts are touched by love, real love. Knowing Jesus is loving others with a love that can only come from him, loving when no one else does, standing with those who are being kicked by the world and by those who only know about Jesus but have stopped short of truth.

 

 

It’s hard

Knowing Jesus is hard because seeing the world through his eyes reveals how messed up, hurting and ensnared it is, but that pain is love motivating us to do something about it, and that something is something that only you and him can know—because he knows you and just what he has equipped and prepared you to do.

Knowing Jesus is trusting him with your heart.Heart n hands

He will never leave you nor forsake you.