Hudson

If anything merits a blog it is the birth of a grandchild.

Hudson Christopher Johns was born on June 15th to my daughter Alyssa and son-in-law Paul.  Holly and I wasted very little time jumping a flight to Arizona.  It has been an amazing week, and I find it difficult to voice what it feels like to be a grandparent – as so many of you told me, there is nothing quite like it.

It has been a joy to bounce Hudson around and to watch my daughter and son-in-law take those first steps of parenthood.  They are doing well, supporting and encouraging each other, and experiencing all the variety of issues that go with having a newborn.  I am proud of them both.

Something unexpected for me was sharing some of the anxiety parents of newborns feel when you ask all those beginning questions: “Is he doing okay?  Is he eating enough?  Why is he crying?”  And the question we with experience already know the answer to – “Will life ever be the same again?”

Simple, black and white answer – “No!”

I read recently that having a child is an act of faith and an act of defiance.  An act of faith in that it expresses the belief that God can bring something good and pure and beautiful into this world.  An act of defiance in that parents refuse to let some of the scary things of this world have the final say – they dare, with courage, bring a child into this world, believing this child can not only change their lives but the lives of others.

At one point in my adulthood my Mom told me she prayed for me everyday.  I found comfort in that – if no one else prayed for me, Mom did.  Her prayers ceased long ago as she went to her heavenly home, but I continue her practice.  I seldom miss a day when I do not pray for my children Alyssa and Chad, and years ago I added to my daily prayer their spouses Paul and Becki.

Now with joy I add Hudson to the list.

Anytime Now...

I had a dream last night about babies being born – no wonder, both my daughter Alyssa and my daughter-in-law Becki are pregnant, and Alyssa is due anytime now.  We have our bags packed so we can fly out to Phoenix at a moment's notice (or whenever we can get a flight), and if we had the Star Trek technology my wife would have transported there already. 

Our first grandchild (a boy), coming anytime now.

I am finding it a strange feeling to live with the “anytime now” sense of things.  Will the call come in the morning hours, the afternoon, or when we have dozed off to sleep at night?  My wife does not like to carry her cell phone around, but I discovered this past Sunday that she not only had it in her pocket at church but had it turned on as well, “on vibrate” she said.  “Why?” I asked.  She said, “In case Alyssa calls telling us the baby is on the way.”  I said to her, “Alyssa would leave a message for us.”  And my wife looked at me with eyes like I have seldom seen in our thirty-seven years of marriage, eyes that said I had just failed the supreme test of being a father.  

“I think you should continue to keep your cell on” I wisely said.

“Anytime now” – I guess lots of things can happen on that kind of timetable, things that bring us joy like having a child or a grandchild, and a number of things that can make us sad or break our hearts.  But I am on the joyful side right now – our first grandchild coming “anytime now.” 

My sermon text for this Sunday is Psalm 139.  The Psalmist is both filled with wonder and fear as he reflects on the presence of God.  To God the Psalmist is an open book – before he can get his train of thought going, God knows, and God can even complete his sentences.  What overwhelms the Psalmist is the intricate involvement in our lives – God as the Creator, making us and shaping us before our mothers felt our first kick in the womb or heard our first cry.  The Psalmist says, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made” – and I praise God that He has been at work in the life of my daughter, fearfully and wonderfully making a life within her, her first child, my first grandchild.

Anytime now...

Passion Sunday

The Sunday before Easter is known both as Palm Sunday and as Passion Sunday.  Over the years our worship service on this Sunday at First Baptist tends to move from the joyful triumphal entry to the passion reflected on the cross.  Such was the case in the message I preached today.  I shared a brief bit of prose entitled “Friday” from Calvin Miller’s The Book of Jesus that I have always found haunting. Let me repeat it here, for your further reflections:

On with Friday's grisly business!
Let the broad arm raise the sledge!
Let the hammer ring out upon the nails.
I must not flinch with the crimson flows—
He's only a carpenter—a craftsman who claimed too much.
"I need a black nail, soldier."
Give me your hand, carpenter.  What a strange man you are!  You stretch 
forth your hand too eagerly— too willingly, as though I was going to shake it, 
not nail it to a tree.
Steady, man.  The first stroke of the hammer is easiest for me and 
hardest for you.
For me the first blow meets only the resistance of soft flesh.
The hardwood beneath drives much slower.
For you the first blow is the worse.
It brings the ripping pain and the bright gore.
The wood beneath your wrist does not feel and bleed as you do.

So many depictions of the suffering of Jesus reflect the physical pain of the Savior.  The truth of the matter is that the agony of physical suffering paled in comparison to the internal agony and hell our Lord experienced as He bore the sins of humanity.  I can not comprehend that – all I can do is thank God for this kind of love.

One thing that captures my attention in Calvin Miller’s presentation is the statement of the soldier nailing Jesus to the cross – “Give me your hand, carpenter.  What a strange man you are!  You stretch forth your hand too eagerly – too willingly, as though I was going to shake it, not nail it to a tree.”  Such an image makes me thing of what Jesus said in John 10:17 –“I lay down my life – only to take it up again.  No one takes it from me, but I lay it down on my own accord.”

No one took Jesus’ life from Him – He gave up His life.  He thrust out His hand to be nailed to the cross.  Surely it was His love that held His hands in place.  Strange indeed, when you consider He did this for you and me...

Lost and Found

Some weeks are easy to get lost in – this was one of those weeks for a variety of reasons I won’t go into.  Regardless, in the midst of the week I found something – a passage in a book that I had marked long ago and had forgotten.  It gave me much to think about, and my discovery of the passage made me realize that perhaps this had not been so much a “lost” week as a “life-shaping” week.  Let me share the passage with you – it comes from Henri Nouwen’s book The Genesee Diary:

“Did I really live my life or was it lived for me?  Did I really make the decisions that led me to this place at this time, or was I simply carried along by the stream, by sad as well as happy events?...”

“I don’t believe that my life is a long row of randomly chained incidents and accidents of which I am not much more than a passive victim.  No, I think that nothing is accidental but that God molded me through the events of my life and that I am called to recognize his molding hand and praise him in gratitude for the great things he has done to me.”

“I wonder if I really have listened carefully enough to the God of history, the God of my history, and have recognized him when he called me by my name, broke the bread, or asked me to cast out my nets after a fruitless day?  Maybe I have been living too fast, too restlessly, too feverishly, forgetting to pay attention to what is happening here and now, right under my nose.”

Feeling lost?  Try listening...

There's No Place Like Home

First Baptist Church of Rolla enjoys our connections with internationals and we try to give them a taste of life in America.  Someone came up with the idea that we ought to show them a classic film – one that had stood the test of time.  We decided to show them The Wizard of Oz. 

I thought that was an interesting idea and wondered how they might receive it.  I have all these memories of this film, first as a child and then as a parent watching the film with my children.  I was always in a hurry to leave Kansas and get to Oz.  I don’t know if that says as much about the state as it does my love for fantasy, but I did love the change from black and white to color, and I couldn’t wait until the Munchkins emerged from their hiding place and the wicked witch made her appearance in a plume of red smoke. 

The internationals seemed to enjoy the movie, and I realized that the film hooks all kinds of images and feelings for us.  As children we have our share of fears in the dark – witches and graveyards and flying monkeys, to say nothing about lions and tigers and bears (Oh my!).  In the movie Dorothy and her friends go to the Wizard to solve their problems, and eventually they discover the Wizard is a fraud, using smoke and mirrors to create his own brand of fear.  He can’t really give a brain, nor grant a heart, or inspire courage – of course, each of the characters receive those things on their journey the way we do, by learning and gaining compassion and realizing that courage only comes in the midst of fear.  The ineptitude of the Wizard is exposed when it comes to Dorothy – his bungling attempt to get her back to Kansas ends with stranding her in Oz.  That’s okay, for it turns out that she has always had the ability to return to Kansas, once she could click her heels and voice the lesson of the film, “There’s no place like home.”  A few of the internationals voiced that phrase several times – they were homesick.  One international said, “No, I’d rather be here.” 

That was Friday evening – on Saturday morning I spent some time in Revelation 4 & 5.  The scene there reminded me of Oz but with significant differences.  Angelic creatures that might in some other setting be frightening voiced their praise of God.  Creation bowed before the heavenly throne, and though I imagine smoke rose, it was not smoke and mirrors.  The power and might of God was not a fraud, and God created a reverent kind of fear wrapped up in the gratitude of a thankful, redeemed humanity.  “Worthy is the Lamb” the multitude of heaven cried out, making it clear that Jesus had accomplished what no one else could do:  through His blood He gave us a new heart, a different way of thinking, and the confidence and courage that He has overcome all that we fear. 

Best of all, He has a better place waiting for us than Kansas or Oz.  There's no place like the home God has for us.

Snow

When I first began to pastor, I served a rural church out by itself on a lonely blacktop road in Tennessee.  Snow was something that just didn’t happen much, and then one year that all changed.  We went through a series of what we came to call “wicked Wednesdays” and “sinister Sundays”.  We called off one worship service after another and prayed for Spring to come.

It was about that time that I discovered an interesting passage in the book of Job.  After a flurry of comments and arguments by Job and his fickle friends, God breaks the silence.  He overwhelms Job with question after question, basically convincing Job that he (nor any other human being) could ever understand all that God is up to.  There comes a time when you just have to trust that God is at work even if everything seems to scream that He is not involved.

In that kind of context God asks Job, “Have you entered the storehouses of the snow or seen the storehouses of the hail, which I reserve for times of trouble, for days of war and battle?” (Job 38:22-23). We have storehouses of salt to melt the snow, and God has storehouses of snow and hail – quite an image.  And it is an image – God is trying to help us understand that which is beyond our understanding, and so He calls upon us to look at snow as a way He combats – what?  He reserves these storehouses of snow and hail for times of trouble, for days of war and battle – what does that mean?

As I looked out my study window this week with the snow falling, I was intrigued by how everything had come to a halt.  We go ninety-to-nothing most of the time, and then a little thing like a snow flake stops it all.  Mighty eighteen wheelers slip and slide, and as the snow accumulates, we get stuck inside.  We talk about getting cabin fever, about going stir crazy, and about being bored.  Interestingly enough, some families reconnect, bake cookies, play board games, find new ways to entertain themselves.  We may pray for a sunny day, and we find ourselves longing for Spring.

In it all, I wonder if the battle being fought isn’t for our souls.  We squeeze God out with our busyness, we think we are so powerful with our technology, we believe nothing can stop us – and then a snow flake wakes us up.  A thin layer of ice reminds us of our own instability and frailty.  Being stuck inside forces us to acknowledge our dependency.  God doing battle, God waging a war, gently reminding us that He is God and we are far more frail than we will admit.

Maybe we need more snow.

Transformation

One of my favorite stops during our recent Italy trip was at the San Giovanni in Laterano (St. John Lateran) Church in Rome.  The church is dedicated to John the Baptist and John the Evangelist and is the first among the four major basilicas of Rome.  Beautiful on the outside, the inside is breathtaking.  Huge sculptures of the apostles stand beneath reliefs from the life of Jesus and oval paintings of Old Testament prophets.  Each of the apostles have some symbol that speaks of their role or death – Peter and his keys, Simon the Zealot and the saw by which he was martyred, the Apostle Paul and the sword symbolizing his execution as a Roman citizen.  All of these were impressive, but I found myself going back over and over to the sculpture I have pictured here, that of Matthew (Levi) the tax collector.

Matthew’s story is told simply in Matthew 9:9-13.  He is sitting at his tax collectors booth, likely charging the exorbitant  taxes for which such collectors were notorious.  Though viewed as traitors for working with the occupying Romans, they were often very rich as they filled their own money bags with whatever amounts they could get above that promised to Rome.  We read that Jesus simply came up to Matthew and said, “Follow me,” and Matthew got up and followed.  Of course, that was not the end of it – Matthew later in the day had a party, a dinner in honor of Jesus who loved those known as outcasts and sinners.  Already Matthew is seen collecting something more important than money – he is collecting followers for Jesus.  Some of the religious legalists of the day did not like it and complained about Jesus associating with such sinners.  Our Lord’s response was direct – “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.  But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’  For I have not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

Whether Matthew previously viewed himself as unhealthy I do not know, but obviously there was something about Jesus’ message that changed his life and altered his eternity.  The mercy extended through Jesus began its transforming process, first evidenced by his attempt to introduce his friends and co-workers to Jesus, and then his dedication to following Jesus as one of the twelve apostles.  The statue pictured here shows Matthew standing with his foot on a money bag – certainly a symbol of the bags of coins that had possessed him in the past.  Because of Christ, the coins had lost their value.  In his hands is a Bible, a symbol of his determination to tell others about Jesus, most evidenced by the Gospel of Matthew.  What began as a simple calling changed his life, his career, his treatment of others, his life message.  Surely this is what transformation looks like.

There were other tax collectors who manifest great transformations, the most famous being Zacchaeus in Luke 19.  Once living only for himself, Zacchaeus was transformed into a generous man, suddenly aware of the injuries he had caused and determined to do something about it.  The change in his life was apparent to all.

Of course, Matthew challenges us to reflect on our own lives and the priority shifts that come as a result of our relationship with Christ.  Surely Jesus wants to be more than just an added dimension to our lives – He wants to be life itself.  When that happens transformation takes place and it becomes increasingly evidenced as we who are sick become increasingly healthy, as we who tend to think only of ourselves and cling to our bags of coins (or whatever else we value greatly) respond to such mercy by the dedication of our lives to Jesus and our compassionate outreach to others.

I wonder, if a sculpture was made of you, what would your foot be on?  What would be in your hands?  Would transformation be evident?

I ask the same of myself.

 

The Dash In-between

I have started a series of sermons on faith in the life of Abraham, and this past Sunday I asked folks to write down two dates.  The first was the date of birth (I did give permission to cover the date if people didn’t want their neighbor to see it!)  I then asked those present to put a “dash” after the date, and then the numbers two, zero, and a question mark.  It would be something like “1978 – 20?”.  The second date would be the date of death, an unknown for the most part.

I pointed out that we have no control over the first date.  We didn’t ask to be born, ready or not we came because of the actions of others.  And the second date, the date of death, is a date we have little control over as well.  But the dash in between – that is the place of choices, decision making, where we can decide what we will do with our lives.

Abraham at age 75 responded to God’s call and it changed his life and ours.  Our choices are important as well.  What we do with the “dash in-between" will speak of adventure and faith and the embracing of promise – or of boredom, waste, unrealized potential, unfulfilled longings. 

In this context I quote Gregg Levoy from his book Callings: Finding and Following an Authentic Life.  I continue to find this quote challenging, and I wanted to share the challenge and discomfort with you:

To sinful patterns of behavior that never get confronted and changed,
Abilities and gifts that never get cultivated and deployed –
Until weeks become months
And months turn into years,
And one day you’re looking back on a life of
Deep intimate gut-wrenchingly honest conversations you never had;
Great bold prayers you never prayed,
Exhilarating risks you never took,
Sacrificial gifts you never offered
Lives you never touched,
And you’re sitting in a recliner with a shriveled soul,
And forgotten dreams,
And you realize there was a world of desperate need,
And a great God calling you to be a part of something bigger
than yourself –
You see the person you could have become but did not;
You never followed your calling.

A powerful and troubling quote indeed – and through Abraham, a reminder that whatever age we find ourselves, we can respond to God’s call to find purpose, life, authenticity, and hope in following Jesus.  We can get up out of our recliner and be a part of something far bigger than ourselves.

I hope that will be your choice today and every day as you live out your dash in-between.

The Best Thing About Italy

It has been a while since I have blogged, a fact my son reminded me about by placing a link to my blog on his updated website.  I have no excuses, not really.  I find it challenging sending my musings into cyberspace, uncertain as to who might read what I say and if it will make any difference at the end of the day. As a pastor I have this strong urge to be pastoral in some way, and since the blog is connected to the church website, I guess I should.  But I also have the desire to speak more personally about what I am thinking, how I process things, how I interact with God.  On top of that, it is always a lot more fun reading my kid’s blogs than writing my own.

Back in March 2010 the First Baptist Church of Rolla honored our twenty years of service to the church (I am now in the 22nd year – crazy!).  They threw a party, said a lot of nice things, and gave Holly and I a trip to Italy.  Our daughter Alyssa and her husband Paul had been to Italy before, and they immediately said they wanted to be there with us, serving as our tour guides.  The time of Christmas was set (cheaper, more days for your money, a beautiful time in Italy, etc.) and finally it came.

It was a tremendous trip, one that we will always remember.  We were in Florence on December 23rd through Christmas morning, then headed to Rome from Christmas to New Year's Eve.  Not being world travelers, my wife and I were uncertain about a number of things, but we couldn’t have asked for anything better.  My son-in-law, with a Masters in Antiquities, was a splendid guide, taking us to all the places tourists go and then to places tourists would pay a high price to see.  I enjoy Renaissance art and saw original works by Michelangelo, Botticelli, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, Bernini, Caravaggio – you get the idea.  We visited museums, saw churches larger than any I had ever seen, enjoyed Italian cuisine, were amazed at ancient ruins, silenced by age-old catacombs.  We walked 8-10 miles a day, traveled by subway, bus, train and taxi.  I loved every minute of it – well, we did get lost in Florence on Christmas Eve and got soaked to the bone – but I almost forgot that in the midst of all the good things.

I have been asked the question several times, “What was the best thing about your trip to Italy?”  I can name several, sharing the time and the sights with my wife and children, reflecting on ancient Christian origins, overwhelmed by masterpieces of art.  But I think the best thing is simply the fact that First Baptist Church of Rolla gave us this gift in the first place.  They didn’t have to – a card, a plaque, a gift certificate to a restaurant would have expressed appreciation.  But this went way beyond all that, lovingly extravagant, expressing love and care for Holly and myself in a splendid way.

So very much a gift of grace, like those our Heavenly Father gives us on a regular basis through His Son Jesus.   Merciful, extravagant, prodigal, amazing grace.

The picture is of Alyssa, Paul, Holly and myself standing before the ruins of the Emperor’s palace in Rome and Circus Maximus – as my son-in-law says, “Think Ben-Hur.”