Author: Jon Gauger

America is growing darker—literally.

Consider. Everybody wants to sell you an LED bulb that's "the equivalent of 60 watts." But what if you have a somewhat larger room or a higher ceiling? What if you want the equivalent of a 100-watt bulb? Not as readily available.

Then there's the dimming of hotel rooms. It's not just that they've switched to LEDs (in this economy, who could blame management?). The problem is they use the absolute lowest wattage bulbs money can buy. Which means your room is quite dim.

Another example. This summer, we installed a new ceiling fan in my home office. The attached light fixture allows for a maximum of 19 (wimpy) watts of power.

For thousands of years, civilizations struggled to find enough light to illuminate their homes adequately. Today, we have the technology but live in dimmer and dimmer rooms. You could almost believe that in America, we love darkness.

Of course, my gripe about lightbulbs is small potatoes compared to the moral darkening we seem to encourage, culturally. Our movies, music, video games, and schools are moving from dim to dark—all the while calling darkness light and light darkness.

We vilify anyone who suggests that having biologically born boys showering with girls at school is wrong. We assault (legally) anyone who offers gender conversion therapy. Would anyone just ten years ago have believed this could happen in America?

The prophet Isaiah said, "Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; Who substitute darkness for light and light for darkness" (Isaiah 5:20).

How shall we then live? The words of Jesus come to mind:

"Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven." —Matt 5:16

Imagine hearing this conversation…

"I was all excited—and then—not so excited."

"What do you mean?" I asked Timothy as I offered him a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. 

"No secret that I love to read," he mumbled as he crunched one I'd left in the oven too long. 

"You're forever talking about your latest book," I teased. 

"And you know I like action novels, right?"

"Again, not exactly a secret."

"Well, I recently discovered this author—an ex-military guy that spins a story like few others. Gritty characters. Action that never lets up. And, of course, the good guys always win."

"I'm not seeing the problem here, Timothy," I said, unable to resist the stack of cookies myself. Here, Timothy grew thoughtful—nervous maybe—and he wolfed down the last of his original Toll House treat. And then the conversation took an abrupt turn.

"This year," Timothy blurted, "I've felt like God is calling me to focus on personal purity. And one phrase keeps echoing in my head: 'Purity—in all my thoughts, words and ways.'"

"Great goal, Timothy," I encouraged. 

"It's just that in these books I was reading, the language got rough. Tons of F-bombs. The more I read, the more uncomfortable I got."

"I see your point."

"Here I am having conversations with God about purity and then reading conversations that are anything but pure."

"Whatcha gonna do?" I ventured.

"It's what I already did. Took those books out of the house to a donation center. Bummer. I'll never know how the stories end." 

I wanted to say something wise, pithy even. But nothing came—until Timothy half whispered, "I guess purity comes with a price."

Guess so. 

Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
-Psalms 51:10

P.S. If you like action books, too, Timothy shared some Christian authors you might like:

• Ted Dekker
• Jerry Jenkins
• Joel Rosenberg
• Frank Peretti
• Terri Blackstock
• Amir Tsarfati

 

As the new year swallows up the last of this year’s Christmas memories, one story lingers.

Like many pragmatic folks, Emma's parents' stuff Christmas presents into empty household boxes: detergent, cereal, Amazon boxes, whatever happens to be around. It makes wrapping gifts like stuffed animals or plush slippers a bit easier. To the young, though, it can be confusing.

We watched three-year-old Emma tear the wrapping off one gift, revealing a box of trash can liners. Not fully understanding, she shouted, “Hey, Dad. I get my own trash can!” As she spoke, she had the nicest smile on her face. Emma was genuinely grateful for a gift she probably hadn’t expected—a garbage can.

After all the chuckles subsided—and the true gift was revealed—a question jabbed at me. Are we as grateful when God sends us gifts that don't look like the blessings we expected? Are we as apt to smile and be gracious when the gift doesn't feel like much of a gift?

Some of God's most awesome gifts come wrapped in packages we don't recognize.

When the distracted driver of a 66-passenger school bus slammed into the back of Diana's car, it didn't appear like much of a gift. The kids were in shock, Diana was in pain, and the car was totaled. Worst of all was the shoulder surgery Diana underwent. It temporarily immobilized Diana's arm, forcing her to change our baby boy's diapers using her teeth.

But many years later, we learned God used the drama of that experience to turn the bus driver's heart to Christ. She might never have come to faith apart from her implacable guilt.

I'm guessing someone reading this has come into their own "unexpected gift." Something you wish you could return or undo. Life looks grim, and the future seems dark. But Scripture promises, "Every good and perfect gift is from above and comes down from the Father of lights."

I dare you to be like Emma. Smile—and thank God for your "trash can."  I promise you. There's a gift inside. 

 

Imagine if Jesus opened a “School of Self Denial” right in your neighborhood—and He invited you to enroll. At what grade level would He place you?

Self-denial is not exactly trending these days. Self-actualization or self-assertiveness—there, you'll get some clicks. But self-denial? My Amazon search revealed only three book titles—all written by Puritans more than 500 years ago.

Apparently, today’s Christians don’t care much for self-denial. Odd. Because this was Jesus’ sweet spot, His thing.

• At the Incarnation, He denied Himself the majesty of heaven.

• In a prayer life that often began “while it was still dark,” He denied Himself sleep.

• In a 40-day wilderness odyssey, He denied Himself food.

• In the never-ending throngs that hounded Him for a miracle, He denied Himself alone time.

• In the repeated attacks of religious skeptics, He denied Himself the right to His divine reputation.

• In the ridicule of the Calvary crowd, He denied Himself personal peace.

• On the cross, He denied Himself comfort, relief—and life itself—trading them all for agony and atonement.

And now, He has enrolled us in His School of Self-Denial. In Matthew 16:24, Jesus said to His disciples, “If anyone wants to come after Me, he must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me.”

But honestly, I struggle just to give up one meal a week to pray. What's with us and our discomfort with self-denial?

How is it we can applaud the self-denial of Christ but avoid it ourselves?

• Why can't we deny ourselves just one TV show a week—and invest that time in encouraging people who are hurting?
• Why can’t we reduce our daily phone time just enough to memorize a verse of Scripture?
• Why can’t we skip one meal a week and invest it in focused alone time with God?

From these small sacrifices, we can move on to larger ones. But—only if we take seriously Christ’s welcome into His School of Self Denial. Class is in session. Are you ready?

Houston, we have an (Advent) problem.

We love celebrating Christ's coming with carols, candles, crèches, and cookies, not to mention cash. And we are right to celebrate so joyously. God came to dwell among us! But there’s another Advent that gets comparatively little enthusiasm. I refer to Christ’s second coming.

Curiously, those who claim to know Christ best often show much more enthusiasm for the babe in the manger than the King on His throne.

Think I’m being too harsh? Ponder all we’ve just experienced with Christmas, the First Advent, and then ask yourself:

• Where are all the songs about Christ’s second coming?
• Where are all the creative sermon series about His return?
• Where are all the special concerts and community outreach events based on the Second Advent?
• Where is all that excitement and enthusiasm we happily funnel into Christmas?

Here’s what I think. When it comes to Jesus, we love His first coming, but merely like His second coming. Many of us are so comfortable in the here, and now, we don't look for—let alone long for—the return of Jesus.

We love baby Jesus, but Warrior Jesus—Judge Jesus—we don’t know what to make of Him. So, we end up making very little of Him.

Ironically, it is only at His second coming that we enjoy the fulfillment of the promise of His first coming. Only after Christ’s second coming will we finally and forever know “peace and good will toward men.”

In 2 Timothy 4:8, Paul testifies,

In the future, there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing.

So, I ask. Do you love His appearing—or merely like it?

Joy to the world! The Lord is come—and IS coming!

What’s on your Christmas playlist?

We enjoy an eclectic mix of childhood favorites like the Carpenters, Living Strings, and the Rudolph TV soundtrack. We also have most of the Mannheim Steamroller albums, with a nod to country artists Carrie Underwood, Martina McBride, Alan Jackson, and many others, in a digitized set of Shell Oil country Christmas cassettes (circa 1989). Natalie Cole's Hallmark album is a must, as are Michael W. Smith, Amy Grant, John Tesh, Mariah Carey, and Michael Bublé. Then there’s Andy Griffith’s delightful collection of Christmas carols and stories.

But one album and one alone is reserved for the moment we decorate our Christmas tree—Evie’s “Christmas Memories.”  The CD, which came out in 2006, features her trademark performance of “Come on Ring Those Bells.”

There’s a lesser-known song on the album written by Evie herself that we particularly love. It's called "Move Me Closer."  Intended to portray the shepherds' reaction to seeing the infant Jesus, the chorus goes,

Move me closer, move me closer.
Move me closer to the Child.
Let me see Him
Let me hold His Hand.
Move me closer to the Child.

Having seen Jesus for a brief moment from a distance, those shepherds wanted to see more. And they wanted to see Him closer. Is that our reaction?

Honestly, I suspect many of us are more preoccupied with surviving Christmas than seeing the Christ of Christmas. Rather than draw closer, we move faster—and in the end, feel further. Further from the Christ who came to us.

Our cookies are baked, our cards are sent, our gifts are wrapped, our sermons are preached, but our hearts are cold. If that be so, the fault is none but ours.

Do you want to see Him?

Do you want to see Him closer?

Close enough that you can hold His hand?

It’s your move!

Move me closer, move me closer.
Move me closer to the Child.
Let me see Him
Let me hold His Hand.
Move me closer to the Child.

 

(C) Evelyn Tornquist Karlsson

Imagine sitting in the middle of a 41-piece orchestra clutching your french horn while just a few feet away, a large choir brings favorite Christmas carols to life. After a zillion rehearsals and two performances, I walk away with four lessons from our Community Christmas concerts.

Lesson #1

True satisfaction doesn’t come from hearing your own instrument but from hearing the sound of others. While I like my French horn, being immersed in the string section is a magic I would almost pay for. Reminds me of Philippians 2:4: “Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too.”

Lesson #2

Knowing WHEN to play your part is as important as knowing WHAT to play. Almost every rehearsal, I came in a bar too early or half a bar too late. Proverbs 15:23 underscores, “How good is a timely word. “

Lesson #3

We never outgrow our need to follow the Conductor.

For the most part, our carefully rehearsed repertoire went off without a hitch. Still, there were moments when the rhythm got just a bit out of sync. But following our fearless conductor, Dennis Criser, immediately solved the problem. Pretty sure you can guess the spiritual lesson here.

Lesson #4

Listen to the lyrics!

Christmas carols are classics for a reason. I was arrested by this invitation from Verse four of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear”:

 

O rest beside the weary road

And hear the angels sing.

 

We’re all on the road.

We’re all a bit weary.

But only some will hear the angels sing.

 

Take a moment and listen!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On December 9, 1965, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” aired for the first time on television. Most everybody knows that Charles Schulz was the creator of the iconic cartoon strip called Peanuts.  

 

But what fewer know is that when the animated Christmas special was under discussion, Charles Schulz stood toe to toe with television network executives insisting the program include a reading of Luke’s gospel account of the Christmas story. The biblical passage was necessary, said Schulz, to counterbalance what “had been lost in the eternal good-time frivolity.”

After serving in World War 2, Schulz became a Christian and taught Sunday School in churches in the Midwest and California. As life went on, though, Schultz’s faith began to fade. To the point that he referred to himself as a secular humanist. In one of his comic strips, Sally asked Charlie Brown if people went to heaven after they died. “I like to think so,” was Charlie’s underwhelming answer. In an ironic tragedy, the creator of Charlie Brown fell away from the Great Creator. 

 

But don’t we see that very thing happening around us today? A third of America’s evangelicals don’t believe Jesus is God. Shockingly, almost 70% of today’s born-again Christians don’t agree that Jesus is the only way to God. Many evangelicals now accept and even defend clearly unbiblical behaviors. The younger Charles Schulz might look at our warped theology and call us blockheads!

 

But Schulz’s sad ending reminds us that when it comes to Christmas, there are at least two dangers. The first is that we may never really come to know the Christ of Christmas. The second is that having known Him, we could walk away. 

 

Drawing near—or pulling away. Where are you with Jesus?

I am irritated.

My wife’s friend mentioned a Sunday sermon where she heard it's unnecessary to be so concerned about verbally sharing our faith. And the preacher quoted these familiar words attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi: “Preach the gospel always—and when necessary, use words.”

It’s a pleasant thought. But it isn’t biblical. The Great Commission is not “Go into the all the world and do kind deeds.” It’s preach the gospel!

Doing good things is good. Unquestionably, rendering kind acts of service for others opens doors to sharing the gospel. But good deeds are NOT the gospel.

The gospel is the good news that because of His death on the cross, Jesus paid the penalty so people who are sinners and condemned to eternity in hell can be wholly forgiven.

When it comes to sharing Jesus, too many see ourselves as merely offering a lifestyle enhancement (“Jesus can make your life complete”) rather than a rescue from a burning building.

Do you see lost people as lost—teetering on the very brink of the chasm of hell? Or do you see them as good-hearted folk who just “need a little light for their path?" There's a massive difference in the way you'll approach them.

Rescuers don’t say, “You might want to consider this option.” No, they say things like:

• Jump into this net!
• Grab the life preserver!
• Hurry! There’s no time!

Rescue words are bold words because the situation demands them.

Good deeds are biblical.

Good deeds are vital—God uses them!

But let’s stop kidding ourselves. If you're serious about spiritual rescue, it HAS to come to words.

 

If you have never sampled a Portillo’s chocolate cake, never twiddled your fork in its fudgy excess, your culinary character is in question. The offer of a free slice of this deadly desert was enough to lure my son, Tim, and me into surrendering our email addresses to join Portillo's birthday club. Both November babies, it was time for us to claim the prize.

Having secured a couple of tables at Portillo’s, my wife, Diana, engaged Tim’s wife and girls with a pilgrim craft. Patrons and staff alike fawned over Tim’s little blonde girls (wearing matching red plaid tops and headdresses). Then the girls joined Tim and me in line to place our food orders.

While we waited at the counter for our order, little Ava and Emma chatted up one of the servers. Abruptly, the server grinned and said, “Hey, would you girls like a piece of cake?” They giggled, and she slipped them a (free) piece of cake. With the two birthday freebies Tim and I had previously ordered, our cake count was now up to three.

We returned to our table with the girls—and their chocolate prize—only to discover that moments earlier, another worker had bought out two other pieces of cake for them. We now had five free pieces—a virtual pyramid of unearned, undeserved, seemingly unending cake.

The joyous excess struck me as a metaphor for the kindness of Jesus. John 1:16 says, “For of His fullness, we have all received, and grace upon grace.”

Ponder that phrase for just a moment—“grace upon grace.”

• Full forgiveness.
• Full acceptance.
• Full freedom in Christ.
• Full assurance of heaven.

That’s grace upon grace.

Way better than a stack of chocolate cakes, right?

It’s Thanksgiving. And life isn’t perfect. And our country isn’t perfect. And maybe you’ve got problems at church, problems in your family, problems with your health. I don't minimize any of that. But I invite you to set all that aside for just a moment. Join me in pondering—even celebrating—the grace upon grace we have in Jesus.

Happy Thanksgiving!