Author: Jon Gauger

Their entire species is being threatened.  With each passing day, their numbers dwindle.  Yet few seem to notice–and even fewer care.

I'm not talking about a spotted three horned owl. Rather, it's something much more mundane.  So ordinary its passing is off the radar screen of general concern. 

Letters. Old fashioned, hand-written letters are a species in deep decline.  And in case you're wondering, that's not just a sentimental feeling. Ask the United States Post Office, where decline in letter volume (ie. revenue) is creating a major case of mail box blues. 

No secret as to why. Email and texting and inexpensive cell phones have all but taken over. Why wait three days for your message to get delivered when you can send it in three seconds?

Nobody's a bigger fan of email or texting than me–for whom these are almost an addiction.   Yet….I worry what they're doing to old fashioned romance.

Today's couples text and email almost exclusively.  Meaning…twenty or thirty years from now, there'll be very few love letters to open up and re-read.  Few cards to linger over.

Sure you can archive digital communication, but honestly–who bothers?  Besides, where's the romantic buzz from printing out a sanitized looking message on white paper?

The analogue feel of card stock, or crinkled paper and good ol' ink is a sensory experience for which there is no digital equivalent.

So how will emerging generations satisfy their appetite for reliving their romance?  Stare at images of antique phone screens?  Or is nostalgia itself soon to be extinguished…or morphed into a cold digital formula?

It all just makes me increasingly grateful that when God decided to send us His ultimate love letter, He didn't send us a text or email us an attachment with cute little animated graphics.  Instead, He wrote us a Book.   High tech is efficient.  But high touch it is not.

An Open Letter to Street Beggars, pan handlers and what would be labeled in a less politically correct age as…bums. 

Please know that I hear you and see you every time I walk downtown.  See your handwritten cardboard signs, your coffee cups hungry for coins.  And like most followers of Jesus, I struggle in knowing how to respond.

So here's the deal I'm making—it's admittedly something of a compromise.  If you ask me for food, I will buy some—as long as it is in my power.  You have my commitment to doing what I can to alleviate your hunger.   I will likely NOT give you money to buy food—because I have seen the abuse this scenario invites.  I have no appetite for fake appetite—and I'm deeply opposed to buying your next beer or your next joint.   But if possible, I will give you physical food.

Can I be honest with you, Mr. or Ms. Street Person?  It irritates me when I see your deception and uncover the phony nature of some of your signs.  You know who you are—this month telling me you need $34 to pay for blood pressure medicine…next month $85 to—quote—“keep your place.”  And it just about makes me want to spit when I see some of you eating lunch at pricey places inside the train station.  I know, I know.  “Don't judge.”  Maybe someone donated the food—or gave you the money for those nice lunches.  It's not fair to jump to too many conclusions.   Nor is it fair to point out your inconsistencies while ignoring my own.

As I carefully weigh the stewardship of giving you a dollar or two or five…how I could wish the same sense of rigid accountability was a grid through which every dollar of mine is run.   Alas, I am usually happy to spend a twenty on myself without a thought…while agonizing over whether to give you a lousy buck.  

So as you can see, I am, at points, decidedly uncomfortable with the path I have chosen. 

Jesus said “the poor you will always have with you.”  I just wish BEING with the poor was less uncomfortable.  But maybe that was Jesus’ intent in the first place.

Thanks for wading through this letter.

See you…out on the street.

My wife and I spend most of our summer weekends camping.  And lately, I’ve been intrigued with the dragonflies we’ve been seeing.  There’s just something about the way they zoom back and forth, almost like a space vehicle in a video arcade game.

You know it’s only been in the last 10 years or so that we’ve really come to learn much about these four-winged fliers.  For instance…did you know there are about 5000 species of dragonflies worldwide—and new species are still being discovered!  Dragonflies can be smaller than one inch, or longer than four inches, with a wingspan exceeding five inches.  As for speed, they can fly between 30 and 35 miles per hour. 

A dragonfly typically eats 10 -15 percent of its own weight in prey.  That menu would include mosquitoes, aphids and other small insects.

Lots of myths have swirled around dragonflies for years.  Among the more popular: that they can sew your lips or eyelids shut.  My favorite myth: that dragonflies bring dead snakes back to life. 

Those myths seem silly.  Until you acknowledge the myths that you and I regularly entertain and even feed.  Myths like, “God doesn’t really know about my situation.” Or… “He really isn’t going to provide for me.”

Scientists report that when you’re actually handling a dragonfly, they’ll pretend they’re going to sting you. They curl up their abdomen and look exactly like they’re about to strike.  But the dirty little dragonfly secret is this: they can’t.  They don’t have a stinger!

Neither do those worries you and I cradle in our hearts. Romans 8:15 reminds us, “For you have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption by which we cry, Abba, Father!”

It’s time we stopped fearing worries without a stinger.  

Lord help us hear you and trust you.

It happened unexpectedly. 

I had just stepped through the revolving door onto LaSalle Blvd  in downtown Chicago It was then I heard the sound above the rumble of  downtown afternoon traffic. Could it be?

The unmistakable strains of “Just as I Am.”  Where was the music coming from?  As I stepped on to the corner of City Hall, I was swept up into a fog of sorts. 

Though the music playing was instrumental, I could hear the words in my head.

And I looked out at the faces on Randolph Street and wondered…  What if this was a giant urban Billy Graham outreach?   What if the music I was hearing was the altar call?  What if every person I saw was heading forward to pray and receive Christ?

Just as I am without one plea—

That's for the lady watering flowers in front of the hotel.

 

But that thy blood was shed for me.

There's a well-dressed businessman coming now.

 

And that thou bidst me come to thee

Over there— a cab driver's getting out of his car.

 

O Lamb of God, I come….

Look—is that the city council coming forward?

 

Just as I am thou wilt receive

Hundreds now.  Touching elbows.  Quickening their pace.

 

Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve

Some of them are crying.  And I myself am fighting tears.

 

Because thy promise I believe,

See them all?  Weeping…praying?

O Lamb of God, I come….I come.

 

Alas…the music faded as I walked toward the train station. And with it the strange vision.

But why shouldn't it be so?

Why shouldn't it?

Lord Jesus…visit our cities. 

And may our personal holiness pave the way.

Recently, my wife and I visited a friend who is in prison.   If you've never been to one, it's a sobering and sensory exercise.  There's an unmistakable institutional smell—a fragrant bouquet of floor cleanser, window dust and the faint odor of new paint,  There's the sound of doors buzzing, keys jangling, radios squawking…along with the thud of your own pulse.

Faces around the room bear a sad and anxious presence.  You wonder who they have come to visit….what the crime was–and you know that they're wondering the same about you.

As we chatted in the official visiting room with my friend, we did what everybody else there did: pretended the gray grimy place was the setting for an ordinary conversation in an ordinary place on an ordinary day. 

My friend talked about the “Property Room,” where inmates pick up magazines, and care packages sent by loved ones.  The objects are treated so cautiously, that  harmless gifts often never get to the inmates because of security concerns. But the worst thing is the sign that officials have posted outside the property room: “Leave your feelings at the door.”

The experience got me to wondering.  Why must we add insult to a prisoner's injury with a sign like that? Why must the walls be a depressing gray?  Can't something be done?  And if so, what should I do, as a follower of Jesus, to make a difference?

Guess I'm probably best off supporting the ministries already doing effective work in this challenging arena.  But I had better do something.  And so had you.

If we claim to love Jesus, we can ill afford to ignore his haunting word picture in Matthew, “I was in prison…but you did not visit me.”

Surely a visit means more than merely showing up . 

Surely it means stepping up…and lifting others up—even if they reside in a prison.

Expectations.  And prayer meetings.  If your experience is anything like mine, they rarely go together.  Our prayer meetings are almost entirely predictable.  To the point of….dare I use so harsh a word…. boredom?   Expectations and prayer meetings don’t go together in the same sentence, let alone the same gathering room at church.    In my opinion, this is one of the biggest reasons our prayer meetings are attended by handfuls—rather than “room-fulls.”

Sure, we know that Scripture calls us to prayer.  But on a chilly winter night, with a warm supper settling in our gut, there’s little motivation to go out to prayer meeting—where we can reliably expect pretty much the same requests every week.  Monotony dressed up as ministry.  We don’t expect God to show up, so we don’t either.  

But what a difference it makes when expectation is in the atmosphere.  Twice, it has been my privilege to visit the Brooklyn Tabernacle in New York and attend their Tuesday night prayer meeting.  If you’ve never been there, you’ll have difficulty believing my assessment.  The auditorium is jammed before the prayer meeting begins.   And when it does, instead of jumping into requests of the Almighty, it’s an intense time of praise.  Songs of praise.  Prayers of worship.  This is what they do most. 

They pray for the world…for missionaries…for persecuted Christians in a specific country.  They pray for lost people.  And—most refreshingly of all—they pray with expectancy.  These people fully expect that when they return the following week, they’ll hear a report on how God intervened in a situation—perhaps supernaturally—to work His will. They expect to hear testimonies from people who’ve just come to faith…and they do!

Who wouldn’t want to be a part of something like that?  Who could possibly stay home and turn down a front row seat to the arena of the Almighty, doing what only God can do?

Every church, of course, has its own culture, its own flavor and style.  But to the extent that our prayer meetings continue to lack a sense of expectation—great expectations—we will continue to see a lack of participation.

I, however, am hoping for more.

The second most important book on your shelf.  What would that be?  When it comes to living a consistent Christian life, a world atlas might just be the second most important book on your shelf. Right next to your Bible, of course. Did my suggestion surprise you?  Give me a moment to explain.

You see, there's a problem with our evangelical worldview.  For many of us, there's very little “world” in it.  While on paper, we agree to the urgency of what we call the “Great Commission,” most of us suffer from a great omission.  We simply do not know—or much care—about the rest of the world.

I have had repeated conversations with otherwise intelligent believers who assume Africa is one big country.  There is no concept of the fact that Africa contains 54 independent nations.  No grasp on the fact that Africa is so massive, that inside its borders, you could easily fit the United States, China, all of Europe…with plenty of room to spare.

Yet having traveled to more than 30 countries, I myself still struggle with a myopic view of the world.

“So what?” you say.  Why the big harangue?

The big deal is if we hardly even know where people live, we'll hardly even care about them. Out of sight…out of mind.  

But it was Jesus Himself who told us “Go into ALL the world and preach the gospel.”  Jesus went out of His way to remind us to go out of OUR way and care about “the uttermost parts of the world.”

In a day of Google Maps and Google Earth and GPS screens, there is no reason—and certainly no excuse–for being a geographically ignorant American.

Though Christ's concern is primarily about people, we cannot—and must not—ignore their place, whether Judea, Samaria, or the uttermost parts of the earth.  Their place, after all, is inextricably linked to their plight.  And the plight of people—wherever they live—is always at the heart of Christ.

Hospitals.  They're no fun when you're sick—but remarkably instructive if you're healthy.

Recently, my wife went into the hospital for kidney surgery.  So I spent four nights sleeping out in the waiting room, and countless hours observing.  I've come away with three lessons I'm trying to hang on to.

Lesson #1: Everybody is hurting—from something.

Hospitals, of course, are filled with the sick, the broken, the bleeding.  There isn't a hallway you walk down that doesn't offer some kind of evidence of intense personal pain. 

Yet this is also true of life, itself. Everybody's hurting over something.  The problem for most of us is that because life isn't labeled a “Hospital” we often fail to see the pain in front of our face…in the face in front of us.

Lesson #2: The best care is team care.

I'm intrigued at the clusters of doctors and nurses in the hallway, talking about this or that patient and what they've attempted so far—and what they think might be most beneficial next.  These very smart people have learned that the smartest among them is not sufficient for the mystery of human hurt.  It takes a team.

Same is true in the body of Christ.  Galatians 6:2 calls us to “Bear one another’s' burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ.”

Lesson #3: There is indescribable beauty in the humility of serving.

Over the past five days, I have witnessed countless acts of kindness from nurses and doctors and technicians.  There is little glory in cleaning up human waste…or changing bloody dressings. Frankly, I was caught off guard at the beauty I saw in the humility of this selfless service. 

I now hear Christ's statement in Matthew 5:7 with fresh ears:  “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.”

There's no glory…and certainly no fun—in visiting someone in the hospital.  Or someone shut in.  But it's the lifestyle we've been called to.   That's mercy.

With a view from a hospital corridor, those are my thoughts .

The Waldo Canyone Fire.  By the time it was finally put out last July more than 300 Colorado homes were destroyed.  One person was killed, with nearly half a billion dollars in damages.
 

Like any disaster, it's one thing to see it on the web…or watch it on your flat screen TV.  Quite another to be there.

On a recent trip out west, my wife and I decided to visit the ruins.  The scent of burning is still in the air, months after the last of the flames were silenced.

What we saw was beyond sobering.  Block after block of burned down homes, many concrete foundations entirely cleared of even a hint of blackened sawdust.  The sense of nothingness was oddly gripping, inducing an almost sacred sadness.

 Yet oddly, we saw random homes that were somehow spared the fury of the fire.  You drove down the street and a list of the houses went like this: Destroyed, destroyed, destroyed…spared.  

How?  What could possibly have prevented these places from lighting up like torches as the monster fire gobbled up entire neighborhoods like prawns on a platter?

Then…it hit me: this is exactly what judgment day will some day be like.  The majority of people whose names you've known and whose lives you've touched–their souls: destroyed.  Destroyed, destroyed, destroyed.  And then—miracle of miracles…this one spared.  Destroyed, destroyed, destroyed.  And then wonderfully, gloriously…that one…spared. Spared the fire and destruction of hell, an agony that will not cease.

And the questions again: How?  Why?

There can be only one answer: Grace.

There can be only one response: Go.  Go and share what Christ has done…and what Hell will do unless one is rejected and the other recieved. 

Recently we did a major home remodel and in the midst of the dust, discovered that our house's foundation had cracks in two places.  Damaging water was slowly leaking in.  We did not enjoy paying the price to have the foundations fixed.  But I'm so glad we did! 

How wish it were that easy to repair the cracks in the foundation of our Christian culture.  We see those "cracks" when we read study after study showing followers of Jesus divorce nearly as much as followers of the world.  We see them when we read that Christians visit pornography sites with disturbing frequency.  We see the cracks when we read scientific evidence that followers of Jesus are increasingly comfortable claiming to believe one way…but behave another.

My concern is two-fold.  One, we seem to lack a consensus that the cracks are truly severe.  And two, the few solutions out there appear to be rather surfacy: read this book…attend that webinar… download this resource.

I'm reminded of the street they recently resurfaced in our neighborhood.  A concrete barber of sorts shaved off the top three inches of concrete pavement.  I was intrigued that most of the cracks I had seen at the surface were still quite visible three inches down.  Supposedly, a fresh coating of asphalt will smooth over those cracks.

But there is no easy way to pave over the cracks Christians have allow to develop on the narrow road Jesus spoke of.

And if Christ followers are going to stand out from our culture–in a good sense–we will need to dig much deeper than surface level cracks.  We'll have to go down to the very foundations for vital repairs.

It's not pretty. It's not fun.  But it must be done.

For followers of Jesus, the time for band aid solutions is long past.   The course before us may be expensive.  But pay the price we must.  The cracks must be fixed. 

Lest "the narrow road" opened up by Jesus, become perilous for the very folks we invite to travel alongside us.