Author: Jon Gauger

They were on a mission: seize a large stash of weapons.

On April 19, 1775, British soldiers marched inland toward Concord, Massachusetts, hungry to eliminate the colonists' firepower. But the secrecy of the British mission had been exposed by Paul Revere, who rode in advance to warn the colonists of the approaching British.

The colonists' forces consisted of two groups. Militia men formed a part-time army and typically trained six days each year. By contrast, Minutemen trained twice weekly—on top of their regular jobs.

All adult males were required to take militia training. But being a Minuteman was voluntary. They never slept without their weapons and supplies ready for immediate action.

On the morning of April 19, British soldiers stood on one side of Concord’s North Bridge, and the colonists on the other. Minutemen led by Captain Isaac Davis were first in line to advance. When asked if he was afraid to stand up against the British and fight, Davis replied, “I am not, and I haven’t a man who is!”

A three-minute battle followed in which Davis was shot in the heart, dying immediately, along with a fellow soldier named Abner Hosmer. But before giving up their lives, these brave men fired the “shot that was heard ‘round the world.”

As I stood on that same North Bridge a few weeks ago, I thought about the spiritual conflicts being fought in our nation today. There are battles about morals and decency, conflicts about the definition of manhood and womanhood, not to mention skirmishes over abortion and euthanasia. 

What we need now is a brand-new force of spiritual Minutemen and women. Folks who are not afraid to take a stand for biblical truth. We need a company of believers who—when asked if they are afraid to stand up for Christ reply, “I am not!”

It's much easier to be a regular "militia man"—training just six days a year, knowing you won't be called on to lead the fight. But courage is what we need now—women and men who are ready and willing at a moment's notice. We need Minutemen, not mere militiamen.

Which are you?

 

Sadie is seven and thinking about heaven. And to focus on heaven is to fuel your curiosity–regardless of age.

Recently, Sadie peppered her mom with questions about the end times. Turns out Sadie wanted to know the exact date Jesus will return. When her mom confessed she did not know, Sadie was flummoxed. Her response: “Welp. I guess you aren’t as smart as you look. Grownups do NOT know it all!”

Sadie is right, of course. Grownups do not know it all. In Matthew 24:36, Jesus said, "But about that day and hour, no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father alone."

Another conversation found the two of them treading in the deep waters of predestination. Sadie's question: "Did God make me a Christian, or did I really get to choose?"

Her mom responded, “You absolutely get to choose. But He always wanted you. Always.”

Sadie nodded, concluding, “I sure am glad I chose the good stuff.”

The Bible is clear: salvation always involves a choice—yours. Romans 10:9 declares, “If you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.”

Have you done that—confessed Jesus as Lord? Have you chosen to believe that God raised Him from the dead? Have you chosen “the good stuff?” 

Don't dawdle. The moment will come when it's too late. 

 

I saw an advertisement at the airport that rattled me. The headline read, Save Them All.

Immediately, I thought, what a great way to encourage believers to reach out to their unsaved friends.

Instead, this slogan was for an organization trying to shut down puppy mills. Now, I'm all for treating animals humanely—that's decidedly biblical. But I found myself asking, why aren't we Christians at least as bold in rescuing souls as animal lovers are in rescuing dogs?

If others can get worked up over puppies (I love them, too), shouldn't believers get much more excited about the eternal destinies of our friends and loved ones?

Save them all.

Isn’t that what you want for your family members?

Isn’t that what you want for your friends?

Isn’t that what you want for your neighbors?

 

Do you merely “hope” they make it to heaven?

Or are you desperate to see them there?

Save them all.

 

Powerful thought. But it won't happen if we keep living the way many of us have been living. We're too afraid of embarrassing ourselves, too fearful of being "outed" by our friends, should we explain the gospel.

But that’s not the Jesus way. His desire?

Save them all.

 

Two questions for you:

#1 When did you last share the simple saving message of Christ verbally with a friend or loved one?

#2 Would Jesus be okay with your answer?

 

He is not willing that any should perish but that ALL should come to repentance. 

-2 Peter 3:9

 

P.S. Thanks to my dad, who, at the age of 90, still cares about lost people and inspired me to write this blog!

At first glance, it cracked me up.

Cruising the streets of Brookline, Massachusetts, we encountered a store named Restorers Without Borders. For a price, they take in furniture of all kinds and rebuild or refinish it.

Cracked wood, missing table legs, scratched tabletops—they handle it all. And when they return that heirloom to you, it looks like new (or old, if you prefer).

Not to be missed—their slogan. It's splashed on not one but two windows: "You'll adore what we restore."

At first, I smiled. Then it struck me—isn’t that a perfect description of Jesus?

• The woman with the issue of blood—He restored her.
• The man with the withered hand—He restored him.
• The ten lepers on the road—He restored them.

Everywhere He went, Jesus restored: people, relationships, dignity. He was a “restorer without borders,” as evidenced by His conversation with the Samaritan woman.

Yet Christ's most profound restoration work was done as His nail-pierced body hung on the cross. There, He died to pay for our wrongdoing, our sins. In this self-denying act, He made it possible for every one of us to experience the ultimate restoration—peace with God.

Have you asked Jesus to restore your soul by forgiving you of your sins and taking charge of your life? (He adores what He restores!) What’s stopping you?

 

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come:

The old has gone, the new is here!

2 Corinthians 5:17

 

Adrenaline rushed.

My heart rate surged.

I'd been walking alone on a country road, enjoying the early morning. And then I wasn't alone.

A dog resembling a Doberman Pinscher turned the corner and headed right for me. With a cornfield on one side and a yard on the other, there was no place to go—and no stick to grab for self-defense. I was entirely exposed.

Seconds later, the dog's owner rounded that same corner. "Nick!" She called out to her dog. But Nick blew her off and kept coming. "Nick, get over here!" This time, he paused, looked back at her, but kept walking toward me.

I stopped, not wanting to upset the dog in any way. That’s when the lady shouted, “I don’t think he will hurt you.”

I shot back, "It's the 'I-don't-think' part that bothers me!" Nick approached, sniffed my hand, and eventually, the not-too-obedient dog caught up with the lady who passed by with a smile—but no apology.

Free of threatening dogs, I resumed my walk, pondering that this incident was an imperfect metaphor for the showdown that temptation brings. We can be minding our own business when around the corner—bam!—temptation shows up, headed right for us.

But rather than a Doberman or Rottweiler, temptation is usually disguised as something cuddly and soft. Think Pomeranian or Bichon.

If you linger, you'll invariably hear a voice calling, "I don't think it will hurt you." But it does. Every time. Then, having done its damage, temptation leaves you with a smile—and no apology.

Oscar Wilde once famously quipped, “I can resist everything but temptation.” While it’s true temptation is inevitable, falling is not. The Bible assures us God will make a way of escape from every temptation we face. Let’s remember that!

You are from God, little children, and have overcome them; because greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world.

– 1 John 4:4

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At Junkanoo Beach in the Bahamas, the turquoise ocean hue is so intense, you swear it’s been Photoshopped, and so clear you can see down at least 30 feet.

What fun to zip my iPhone into a waterproof pouch and slip beneath the waves to capture images of underwater life. After years of watching Discovery Channel shows, it was intoxicating to experience it personally.

Needing to come up for air, I wondered about shooting some different camera angles. What if I put that iPhone on the sand and clicked the shutter just as the waves collided? I scrunched my body down low and clicked away (onlookers concerned for my sanity?).

After reviewing the pictures in our hotel room, I was intrigued to discover a bubbly look we don't usually "see." We tend to focus on the height of the surf or the curve of a wave. Or perhaps the splash of the impact on a rock. But the pictures on the phone showed a vast assortment of teeny bubbles—all frozen in an instant.

It was a simple exercise—and I’m probably more intrigued with the results than anyone (who gawks at pictures of waves?) Yet I saw things that morning I had never noticed before. All because I lowered myself—and tried a different point of view.

If only we could apply that lesson to the "problem people" in our lives. If you're like me, you find it easy to make assumptions and snap judgments about folks different from us: street beggars, homeless people, the perennially unemployed.

It’s easy to pigeonhole them. But maybe to properly understand and genuinely love them, we need to lower ourselves and try a different point of view.

Stop labeling them and start knowing them.

Stop dissing them and start hearing them.

 

Lower yourself.

And try a different point of view.

Who knew there was wisdom in the waves?

He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death: death on a cross.

—Phil. 2:8 

Are you bold when you pray?

I'd not given the question much thought until recently. We were out at the camper—Saturday morning. It's breakfast time, which means six-year-old Ava is on one of my knees, and four-year-old Emma is on the other (our standard practice).

I say a prayer of thanks for the meal that goes something like this:

Dear Lord,

Thank you for our food.

You are so good to us.

Thank you for letting us be together out here at the camper.

It’s like a giant present.

Before I can say Amen, Ava blurts out loudly, “And please help us to have a sleepover—tonight!"  The last word is not spoken but sung in operatic style—complete with massive vibrato. As in "to-niiiiiiight!"

(You’ve heard of photo-bombing—but I think we experienced a prayer-bombing!)

In my estimation, that qualifies as bold praying. Ava really wanted a sleepover—that night—at our camper. And she wasn’t the least bit shy about asking God. Of course, asking in our hearing might have greased the skids just a bit in her favor. And, of course, we did have a sleepover.

But the more you read Scripture, the less bombastic Ava's prayer seems. In fact, the Bible commends her style. We’re invited—no, commanded—to approach God with boldness. Do you?

Don’t hold back. Don’t be wimpy. Next time, pray boldly.

Like Ava.

 

So, let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There, we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most. 

-Hebrews 4:16

Like many workplaces, Moody has a wellness program that encourages employees to pursue a healthier lifestyle. You watch educational videos, do fitness exercises, and take a healthy eating lifestyle class—that sort of thing.

For every course you take, you get points. When you earn enough points, you earn the reward: $20/month off the cost of your insurance.

But here’s the thing. This is really about repentance!

• They want me to repent from my five-layered Taco Bell burrito.
• They want me to turn away from lounging on the couch while binge-watching TV.
• They want me to repent from my daily can of soda.

Can I be brutally honest with you? (Don't tell anyone, but) I just want the points—the discount! So, I do the bare minimum. And—sad to say—none of the courses have substantially changed my lifestyle.

I watch the videos—the “sermons” on wellness—but none of it changes me. Because all I want is the prize. Which takes me to a brutal question.

Do we follow Jesus only for the prize—the payoff? Do we love Him primarily because of the gifts and bonuses He offers? Or do we love Him because we love Him? Just because He is worthy.

Here’s the litmus test: Are you repenting—turning away from sin?

Little repentance equals little love.

Much repentance equals much love.

Romans 2:4

Or do you presume on the riches of his kindness and forbearance and patience, not knowing that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?

 

I saw a strange sight.

While waiting for the train, a shabby-looking man fiddled with the parking meter behind me. His bunched-up pants were way too big for his skinny waist.

I was confused by how his fingers mashed the parking meter panel with such intensity. As if he'd somehow been cheated out of change (or was hoping to find some?).

Then I looked down and noticed the guy had no shoes—only filthy socks, well-worn. They had been white in another world, but long ago, they'd morphed into a muddy gray.

As the train approached, I wondered what this guy would do. Curiously, he ran toward the passenger car closest to the engine—which was not in use. He pounded on the door, then darted forward after receiving no response.

At this point, I had to board or risk missing the train. So, I never saw the end of this little drama. I wonder. Did the guy manage to board wearing nothing but frayed socks? How did he expect to dodge paying the conductor? Or did he have the fare?

May I share with you my first reactions?

• Who is this guy—and why does he seem so nervous?
• What is he trying to do to that parking meter?
• Why doesn’t he have any shoes?
• Is he actually hoping to force the train doors open?
• Where is he going—and why?
• Should I be afraid of him—he does creep me out!

I had tons of questions—but zero compassion. None. I felt uneasiness. I even felt fear. But I felt nothing remotely related to compassion. And that is so unlike Jesus.

When Jesus encountered two blind men on the Jericho road, Matthew 20:24 notes He was "moved with compassion" and restored their sight. When a leper approached Christ, Mark 1:41 tells us Jesus was "moved with compassion," so He said to the man, "Be cleansed."  When Jesus passed by the widow of Nain, He "felt compassion for her" (Luke 7:13). Stepping out of a boat on the Sea of Galilee, Matthew 14:14 tells us Jesus “saw a large crowd and felt compassion for them and healed their sick.”

When Jesus looked at people—sick people, oppressed people, hurting people—he felt compassion. Every time. This was His first reaction. 

Where is my compassion?

Where is yours?

 

 

 

Nassau, Bahamas—the fifth busiest cruise port in the world.

At Port Nassau, they can dock six massive cruise ships simultaneously. And nearly 100 ships do so monthly, bringing some 20,000 cruise passengers who tour Nassau daily.

My wife and I are just back from an anniversary trip to the Bahamas (no cruise—just a few days in the sun). There, we observed Port Nassau passengers immediately ushered to a pristinely manicured neighborhood.

The "Straw Market" is a collection of upscale shops and eateries with more diamond stores than any street I've ever walked. And this is the only version of Nassau that many cruise passengers ever get.

But just blocks away from the glitz and glamour of the Straw Market is a much more realistic view of the Bahamas: cratered sidewalks, grimy buildings, noisy trucks, and a lot less sparkle.

Our visit to both “halves” of Nassau reminded me of the way many Christians posture. We project a carefully manicured image of happiness and success. We’re all smiles—when we sense the spotlight on us. With our coiffed hair and cute kids, we’re killing it on Instagram. And nobody at church appears more together than us.

But the real us—the non-staged us—is not near as sparkly, which is odd—because God sees right past it all.

“Man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).

Are you projecting an image—or letting people see the real Jesus inside the real you?