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To the Michigans  

It's a big week for four-year-old Lucy.

At her church’s Vacation Bible School, she was challenged to receive Christ as her Savior—and she did!  One might not expect to see much dramatic life transformation in a four-year-old (not exactly a "life of sin" from which to turn away).  But one would be wrong.

Lucy is suddenly a fearless (if not fiery) preacher.  Her mother calls her an evangelist.   She regularly gets into the face of her two-year-old sister and proclaims, “Sadie, you need to make a decision!”  But Lucy’s gospel witness is more than lip service.

At the VBS, students hear daily talks from missionaries who serve in Papua New Guinea.  Lucy now bubbles over with tidbits about life in Papua New Guinea, and the vast needs they have there.

So taken is Lucy with the spiritual condition of Papua New Guinea and the enterprising work of the missionaries, she boldly announced to her mother that she wanted to give her money to “the Michigans.” 

With due respect to our Michigan readers, Lucy’s spiritual journey is worth noting.  She wants her money (not somebody else’s) to get to “the Michigans.”

Lucy is living proof:

When Jesus touches your heart, He also touches your wallet.

And maybe that’s the reason so many of us give so little—we’ve only let Him touch our hearts a little.  But if He’s touched us—really touched us—then we can’t help but give.

To the church.

To the homeless.

To “the Michigans."

Dangling from a Rope  

A splash in the eye is what got my attention.

Huffing in the heat of the late morning, I gingerly hopped over several lines of train track coming out of Chicago’s Union train station.  Having cleared the last of the rails, something wet plopped on my head. 

The only place it could have come from was the high-rise off to my right, known as “The Residences at Riverbend.”  Currently, you can buy a one-bedroom condo for 404,900.  Need a little more elbow room?  A two-bedroom unit will set you back between $539,000 and $825,000.  But if you really want to spread out (and if you have just shy of a million bucks on hand), grab a three-bedroom unit.

I looked up and around and saw nothing that might have caused the splash on my face. Then I looked higher—and found the source.  Two squeegee-wielding window washers slathered suds on windows so high, I could barely make them out.

The Riverbend condo building is 37 stories tall.  Short by Chicago standards—but plenty high enough when you’re standing next to it.  Or washing windows outside of it!

Several hundred feet up, two men dangled from ropes whose knotted ends danced lazily on the sidewalk in front of me. The workers might as well have been ants on a distant limb. I paused.  Pondered.  Took pictures.   And zoomed in on these daredevils with my iPad camera.

Who in the world would do this?  Who would willingly suspend themselves several hundred feet above the pavement with nothing but a couple of ropes to guarantee their safety?  No doubt those ropes are reasonably reliable—but the hefty insurance premiums these workers pay bear testimony to the inherent danger.

A more sobering question then followed.  When it comes to eternal life, who in the world would be so foolish as to suspend themselves over the flimsy hope that God might let them into heaven if their good deeds outweigh their bad? 

Nowhere in Scripture do we find such a hope, but the idea is rampant in our culture.  Nothing less than receiving the forgiveness of Jesus and His rule over your life will grant you eternal life. 

Precisely what do you depend on to get you into heaven?

The Bible says, “These things I have written to you who believe in the name of Jesus Christ so that you may KNOW that you have eternal life.”

Are you dangling from a risky rope…or certain of eternal life?

Beware the Gnats  

Out at the camper, we inherited somebody else's deck. 

With the help of a lot of friends—and a John Deere tractor—we managed to move two 8x8 foot wooden sections to our site.  The repurposed deck then got a thorough power-washing.  The next step was…a step.  Actually, we needed to build three sets of steps.

Like most "morning" projects, the construction of those steps turned out to be an all-day affair.  So I measured, sawed, and fastened, all the while vaguely aware of a cloud of gnats swirling and swarming.

After taking a much-needed shower and changing into some comfortable clothes, I took a look in the mirror.  More than 24 bites encircled my neck (yup, I counted).  They grew red and slightly swollen—but didn't itch too severely.   Looking back, it struck me as odd that I had worked the entire day with only a vague sense of their presence.  That said, their bite marks were anything but vague. Amazing the damage a nearly invisible insect can inflict.

But isn't it also true of you and me that we cause the most damage to our treasured relationships—with small things?  Am I the only one with a history of hurting loved ones with small grunts of ingratitude, tiny criticisms, snippets of cynicism?

Haven't you found it true that you can often avoid the "big sins," but you cause great trouble with the small stuff—the gnats of life?  Ecclesiastes 10:1 says, "Dead flies make the perfumer's ointment give off a stench."  And James 3:6 points out that tiny tongue of yours is "a fire, a world of unrighteousness."

We Christian folks have a history of warning our kind about the big sins of life.  But I'm not sure we've adequately estimated the damage caused by "smaller sins." As they say, nobody ever woke up and decided to ruin their life—or someone else's.  But it happens.  A bit at a time.  A bite at a time.

Beware the gnats.

Pretzels and Prayers  

At Ben’s Pretzels, they mix flour, water, and salt—and make magic.

At Ben’s Pretzels, they thank you for stopping by calling out, “Have a pretzel day!”

At Ben’s Pretzels, you hear Christian music playing over the speakers and read Bible verses on the walls.

No visit to Shipshewana, Indiana would possibly be complete without a pretzel at Ben’s. As I’m blessed with a wife who agrees, we recently sat down to a steamy hot twist slathered in butter and bursting with bits of crunchy crystal salt.  

Munching while marveling at this delectable (but hardly diet-worthy) treat, my eye caught sight of an antique stove. To be precise, it was a “Direct Action Lorain Oven Heat Regulator”—circa 1920s.   Resting on top of its built-in pie rack were half a dozen Ball jars and two Bibles.

Nestled directly on top of its modest stovetop surface, I saw a boxy looking basket, along with some Post-it notes and pens.  A sign next to them read, “Need prayer?  Write it down and put it in the box.  God bless!” 

Know what? Quite a few people had written down prayer requests and put them in that basket. 

Got me to thinking. What if Christian-owned businesses everywhere started doing that?  What if Christian doctors had such a basket at the counter where you sign in for your appointment?  What if Christian lawyers welcomed prayer requests in a basket in their front offices? 

Observe that with such a basket, nobody is preaching a sermon.  Not even a sentence.  Just offering to pray.  

I get that certain businesses face restrictions.  I understand that for lots of reasons, lots of places couldn’t offer a prayer basket.  But some could.  Many could!  So why not today?

And if you don’t happen to own a business, why not offer to pray for someone you know is hurting?  We can—and should—pray for and with our unsaved friends.

Again—why not today?

This Had Better Be About the Bible  

When I first began preaching,  I ran every sermon outline by my friend and mentor, Mike Kellogg of Moody Radio.  Peering over his glasses, he matched his steely stare with a deep-throated warning I’ve never forgotten: “This had better be about the Bible.”  

Throughout my ordination process, that same truth chiseled itself into my soul.  In truth, I still think about it every time I’m crafting a sermon outline.   It is the yardstick I use to measure my own sermons—and those of others. 

A few weeks ago we traveled to Florida, our flight taking place during Sunday morning church hours.  Later that day, my wife and I decided we’d watch a sermon on the iPad. I selected a pastor whose book was released by the largest Christian publisher in America. 

We listened carefully, expecting solid Bible content.  But we heard precious little.  There were many stories and many good points and lots of good truths to ponder.  But most of the sermon could honestly have been transcribed and handed off for delivery by a secular self-help speaker.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I love stories.  At heart, I am little more than a story teller.  And stories are great.  Jesus told tons of them.  Yet when it comes to a Sunday morning message, I am keenly aware that my stories must never overshadow the Bible text, but instead, reinforce it or illustrate it. 

As a minister of the gospel, I am standing as God’s representative, opening God’s Word to God’s people.  This ought to put a holy fear into the hearts of those of us who would presume to preach.

Wondering if perhaps I was being a bit harsh on the iPad preacher, or if our initial impressions were wrong, I went back and watched that same sermon again—this time with a careful eye on the clock. 

The sermon itself was 35:06 in length. I ran a stopwatch app, noting every single instance the preacher either read from the Bible, referenced a passage, or tried to explain the passage. The most generous of measurements shows a maximum of 6:25 of actual Bible content.  Meaning just 19% of the message quoted or explained Scripture. 

In a day when 69% of churchgoers believe that everyone will go to heaven…In a day when 56% of churchgoers don’t believe that sharing their faith is an essential obligation of their Christian life...how can a sermon with 19% biblical content be okay?

It isn’t!

This Sunday, your church will feature a sermon. It had better be about the Bible


Preach the Word; be ready in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with complete patience and teaching.        --2 Timothy 4:2



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Jon GaugerJon Gauger

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Jon Gauger Media 2016