Category: Thursday Thought

Halloween.  It scarred me forever—in a good way.

 I’m not talking about being freaked out by a Freddy Krueger costume (why does our culture gravitate toward such gore?).   I’m talking about a lesson I learned on a neighbor’s front porch when I was a kid.

That October, Dad assembled us four boys one night, and we dug up a bucket of dirt from the garden.  We took it inside the kitchen and wetted it down to the consistency of mud (protective newspapers on the table, of course).  Dad patted, carved, and shaped humorous faces in 3D.  When the mud dried, we applied paper- mache over the hardened faces.  He then sprayed the masks with life-like skin tone and wrinkles, finally fastening an elastic strap. 

So off we went that Halloween sporting cool new masks.  One problem: the eye slits in my mask were a tad undersized—and maybe misaligned with my eyeballs.  So seeing out of the thing was a bit iffy.  At one home, I stood there as candy plopped into bags and a man finally yelled that he'd already put something in my candy bag.  As if I was being greedy and hoping for more. But I simply couldn’t see!

Though the guy was grumpy and it scared me, I've never forgotten that message—to say thank you.  What a great gift we would pass on if we made an effort to demand (yes, it requires that) of our children and grandchildren that they learn to verbally express gratitude.  Not just for a piece of candy—but for anything good that comes their way.

As believers, we love to trot out that greatest of worry-busting verses, Philippians 4:6.  But is it possible we have undersized the role of a thankful heart?  The verse says in everything “with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”  In other words, say thanks along with the request!

Is your vision of gratitude a bit like my mask—a tad undersized?  Best get this fixed!  Failing to learn gratitude is a trick nobody appreciates—least of all our Heavenly Father.

How much do you think about heaven? 

The angel, Gabriel, flew down from the celestial glories to visit a pastor as he prepared a sermon on heaven. The angel promised he would answer the pastor's single most pressing question about life in the bliss to come.  So the pastor asked Gabriel if there would be golf courses in heaven, and if so, what was their condition.

“Pastor, you’ll be excited to know we certainly have golf courses in heaven,” the angel smiled. “The fairways are, of course, immaculate. The scenery is agonizingly beautiful.  What’s more, I looked at the schedule and noted we have you down for a foursome—-this Saturday morning!”

Everybody wants to go to heaven.  Just not today.  Why?  More to the point, why do we secretly feel so drawn to this world—and distracted from the world to come? I admit that I resonate with Richard Baxter.  In his classic book, "The Saint's Everlasting Rest," he asks tough questions:

“What interest has this empty world in me?  What is there in it that seems so lovely, as to entice my desires from God, or make me loathe to come away?   When I look upon earth with a deliberate eye, it is a howling wilderness, and too many of its inhabitants are untamed monsters.” 

Our preoccupation with the here and now is at odds with Scripture. 1 John 2:15 warns, “Do not love the world or anything in the world.  If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in Him.”

Perhaps Baxter's most persuasive argument comes with his observation, "So much as the world is loved and delighted in, it hurts and endangers the lover.  And if it may not be loved, why should it be desired?”

Do you struggle to love the idea of heaven?  You are not alone. But let's not give up.  The answer is to continually "Set your mind on things above," as Paul urges in Colossians 3. After all, heaven is not so far.

“Yonder is the region of light!  This is a land of darkness.  Yonder twinkling stars, that shining moon, and radiant sun, are all but lanterns hung out by your Father’s house; to light you while you walk in this dark world.”

It’s time to get honest with God about heaven.  Time to set our hearts—and our minds—on “things above.”   Baxter’s brief prayer says it best:

"O, let not this flesh so seduce my soul, as to make it prefer this weary life before the joys that are about your throne!"

The gravel crackled underfoot, as we trudged to our next stop at Auschwitz.  Here, 1,300,000 people were imprisoned between 1940 and 1945—with only 200,000 surviving.   Among other displays, we stared at shoes.  Hundreds of pairs—all belonging to little children who were slaughtered—composed a portrait of agony crafted in leather. We winced at the piles of women’s hair the Nazis shaved off of their victims. There were confiscated combs and pots and pans and suitcases—almost all still bearing their owners’ names.

A sensation like emotional nausea clamped my stomach as I pondered the 1.1 million who were tortured, starved, shot, gassed (2,000 lives per hour, thanks to Zyklon B gas pellets) and burned.

We had just walked through the courtyard where thousands of prisoners were executed against a brick wall.  Next, we hiked down to a basement complex where so-called trouble makers were starved or poisoned to death. 

Two-inch round door windows revealed cement floors, hangman’s hooks, crude toilets and the potential for inhumanity without equal.  The spiritual darkness of such evil is palpable in this basement more than 75 years later.

Yet walking away from Auschwitz, I am left with a different kind of heaviness. On the ledger of history, Auschwitz is recorded as a German catastrophe, a German wickedness.  While it happened to be Germans who created this death factory, the truth is, Auschwitz is alive and well in the heart of every unredeemed human.  The point is not just that Auschwitz happened (horrible as it was)—but that it is now happening—and will always be in the process of happening.  The danger is our inability or unwillingness to see it.

Consider that between 1986 and 1989, 8% of the Kurdish population of Iraq was killed. In the 1994 Rwanda genocide, as many as one million were slaughtered. Today we have Darfur, Sudan and ISIS and on and on.

Jealousy, hatred, and pride all lead to the same place.  It’s the place where marginalizing and suffering and persecution become our daily bread, with torture and death our familiar drink.

When the Bible says “the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked,” this is not a reference to Nazis.  It is a reference to all of unredeemed humanity. 

Apart from Christ, we are all mockers, haters and killers.  So apart from Christ and His capacity to heal all hatred, there will always be another Auschwitz. 

Let us be warned. Sharing the gospel is not just “nice.”  It is not merely “important”—it is imperative!

Two light squeezes on the trigger.

Two lead bullets from the barrel.

One dead brother on the ground.

 

Now, you stand before your brother’s killer in a courtroom that has just sentenced him to ten years in prison. Given the opportunity, what would you say to the murderer?

Eighteen-year-old Brant Jean experienced that moment as he locked eyes with Amber Guyger, the Dallas police officer who took the life of his older brother on September 6, 2018.  At the sentencing, Brant seized a moment to address his brother's killer.

What would you have said?  Angry words?  Raging words?  No one could blame you.

But looking straight at Amber Guyger, this is what Brant Jean told the killer in quiet, measured tones:

“I speak for myself.  I forgive you.  And I know if you go to God and ask, He will forgive you…I love you just like anyone else.  I'm not gonna say I hope you rot and die just like my brother. I personally want the best for you. I wasn’t gonna say this in front of my family or anyone.  But I don’t even want you to go to jail. I want the best for you. The best thing would be to give your life to Christ. I think giving your life to Christ, that would be the best thing that Botham would want. Again, I love you as a person.  And I don’t wish anything bad for you.”

Brant then made a request of Judge Tammy Kemp.  “I don't know if this even possible, but could I give her a hug, please?  Please?”

The judge gave her approval, and Brant Jean wrapped his arms around Amber Guyger, who wept.  Loudly.

Nor were her tears the only ones in that courtroom.

There are a whole lot of folks saying a whole lot of things about racial reconciliation these days. But what Brandt said with his hug and his forgiveness was more than profound.  It was like Jesus Himself.

“For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”

–Matthew 6:14,15

 

 

 

 

I spent a rare evening watching TV the other night.  As networks do, they promoted the living daylights out of their fall lineup.  At the top of the heap: “Television’s number one new drama, ‘Evil.’”

So successful is their search engine optimization, that if you Google “Evil,” at the top of the list is this "American drama series." As if evil itself were a distinctly American value or cultural distinctive.  Or is that actually the truth?

93% of Google users like this new TV show and Rotten Tomatoes gives it a respectable rating of 81%.  One reviewer describes it as “Like ‘X-Files’ for spiritual and supernatural phenomena.”

Not having seen an episode, I’ll not comment on the content.  My issue is with the title.  CBS deliberately chose this wording entirely confident that "Evil" would be intriguing—even favorable—-to a vast swathe of Americans. And apparently, it is.

That, folks, is a problem.

It is one thing for evil to be present in society—what society could ever claim to have ever been free of its claws?  It is quite another to celebrate it.  Which is what television is doing.

Jesus prayed, "Deliver us from evil." But increasingly, our culture is drawn to it.  Far from the maxim, to "hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil," we embrace it, engage it, and enjoy it.

As Francis Schaefer asked so many years ago, "How should we then live?" Philippians 4:8 cuts right to the chase:

“Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things.”

God help America when evil is “an American Drama.”

When a five-year-old gets saved, does she turn from a life of sin and embrace radical change?  Lucy has.

At this summer's Vacation Bible School, Lucy received Christ as her Savior.  She understood the definition of sin—and her guilt.  She understood that only by receiving Christ's offer of forgiveness purchased by His death on the cross could she become a child of God.

Lucy’s mother says there is now a marked difference in Lucy’s conduct. So much so, there is no way to account for such a radical turn-for-the-best other than this little child’s decision to receive Jesus. 

The other day, Lucy’s three-year-old sister, Sadie, happened to be nearby when an evangelistic surge came over her born again older sister. The conversation, recorded by her mother, went like this. 

Lucy was hanging up some of Sadie’s clothes, belting out the Awana theme song. Then she abruptly stopped her singing and said, “Sadie, you need to make a decision. I am telling you—sinners do NOT make it into heaven! Don’t you want to see Jesus?”

Sadie sat there pondering such biblical bombast and meekly replied, “Well, I want to see Great-Grandma “Fergeenia’” (who passed away last September).

No one was going to sidetrack Lucy.  "Sadie, it is a fact that she is there and waiting for you. But you must make a choice!"

Lucy is right, of course.  You have to make a choice. Have you?  Have you absolutely positively asked Christ to be the Leader of your life and the Forgiver of your sins?  If not, why not do so right now? 

If you have given your life to Christ, what difference is He making?  Shouldn’t there be change?  Lots of change?  And shouldn’t it be constant—ongoing—daily?

When I grow up, I want to be like Lucy: radically changed by Jesus, and radically unashamed of His gospel!

It’s not every day you get asked to shoot photos of an NFL star.  But it happened this week when former running back Matt Forte visited Moody Radio’s studios for an interview.

At age 32, Matt is still tall, still buff, and—frankly—an intimidating presence.  Chicago fans easily remember watching him blasting through tacklers, spinning past brute defenders, and carrying the Bears’ offense—game after game (9,796 career yards). 

No matter how you look at him, Matt Forte is impressive.  While most running backs last less than three seasons, Matt played ten.  And two of those seasons, he was elected to the Pro Bowl. 

The guy could run and catch, being one of only three players in the NFL’s “1,000-yard-rushing, 100-catch-season club.”  Imagine having a career average of 4.2 yards per carry, 54 career rushing touchdowns, and 21 receiving touchdowns.

So what’s the most important thing you should know about Matt Forte?  It’s this: Matt is a real-deal follower of Jesus Christ.  Snapping pictures as he spoke, I was impressed with his command of Bible passages and stories.  That’s something you wouldn’t encounter on Monday Night Football or ESPN.  Nor would you see something like that in a Sports Illustrated story about his career.

Matt spoke about the importance of not just having a Bible, but really reading that Bible—digging in for yourself and bulking up on biblical truth. All of which leads me to ask a simple question.

What’s the most important thing about you?  Is it the workplace “touchdowns” you’ve scored?  Is it the social status you’ve reached?  The money you’ve made?  The car you drive? What do others observe as the driving force in your life?  Is it your stuff—or your Savior?

It’s easy to claim we put God first—but our friends and family know the truth.  They know what we rush to the second we finish dinner, or when we have a free Saturday.

I’m learning it’s disturbingly easy to let my priorities get out of whack.  Easy to go after the wrong things with the most zest. Best heed the familiar advice of Jesus who urged us…

See first the kingdom of God and His righteousness. 

—Matthew 6:33

 

 

 

 

When Africans visit the USA, I wonder what stands out to them.  What makes them scratch their heads and say, “Why?” As for what makes this American scratch his head while visiting Africa, that I can answer in one word: insects.

Ten trips to the vast expanse called Africa have done nothing to dampen my love and admiration for this massive continent.  But frankly, I do wonder about the bugs. 

I’ve come across insects so bulbous and so massive, their wingspans appear to rival small aircraft (well, almost that big).  Indeed, Africa’s flying insects are an air force unto themselves. 

Visiting a restroom in Ghana, I heard a sound like dishes being shoved about in a china cupboard.  Turned out it was “merely” a single large flying something or other. 

But here's the kicker.  Despite the hordes of gigantic insects, you will find comparatively few screens on windows and doors.  In homes wealthy and not so wealthy, screens are a "maybe" item at best. Why?

Aren’t these people bothered by the insects? Why don’t more of them choose to protect themselves from the onslaught of creepy crawlers?  I wonder if they are so used to beetles the size of small birds, they don't even notice them. 

My missionary friend, Dr. Bill Rapier, founder of African Leadership Development reminded me, "If you've never had it (a window screen), you probably don't know there is such a thing!"  You can't miss what you've never known. Plus, Bill reminds me, there is widespread use of window sheers that does help with the bugs. 

Allow me a hairpin turn as I ask, why don’t more of us put up more of a protective barrier against the sin all around us?  The doors and windows of our souls are often left entirely open and unprotected.   We pay little heed to the little—and large—critters that eat away at our holiness, gnaw at our peace, and sting us with the reality of our failures.

I'm amazed at the number of times I've fallen for the same sins.  I'm embarrassed by the way the confession of those sins sounds ridiculously repetitive.

Is it possible we’ve become so familiar with sin, it no longer bothers us?  Any chance we may have become so used to some sins we no longer screen them out?  Just wondering and just struggling—like you, perhaps.

Thanks for letting me…um…bug you.

How large does a rudder need to be to steer a ship?

Perched on the upper deck of the Volunteer, I sensed the hull of our 29,000-pound boat gliding noiselessly through the shaded waters.  The complete ease of our ride belied the sweat equity invested by thousands of workers over 12 years.  Consider—at a pay rate of $1 per day, they dug the 97 miles of the Illinois & Michigan Canal entirely by hand. 

After the canal’s completion in 1848, ships transporting fruits and vegetables and other goods were all hauled by mules.  Calling us back to those simpler days, a single mule tugged our 75-foot boat.  Its hooves dimpled the dust of what is today a bike path, the guide rope briefly dancing in the water now and then.

Strolling to the back of the ship, I studied the man operating the tiller.  Noting that he'd offered a little boy a turn at steering, I wondered if he’d also indulge a bigger boy.

And there I was, hands on the tiller, guiding the boat through the narrow canal. Right away, I noticed how difficult it was to steer because the upper deck blocked most of the forward view.  You had to stick your head over the sidewall to see what was ahead.

Fortunately for me, the captain performed that task rather capably and told me how far to rotate the tiller.  I moved it more frequently and at a greater sweep of range than you might imagine.

At one point, I asked the captain how big the rudder was.  “Two foot by two foot” came the reply.   A mighty small chunk of metal steering a rather large boat, I thought.

But isn't that the very point of the warning in James chapter three, regarding the power of the tongue?  Verse four cautions, "Look at the ships also: though they are so large and are driven by strong winds, they are guided by a very small rudder wherever the will of the pilot directs."

That “very small rudder” holds enormous potential for good or evil.  Verse eight summarizes, “No human being can tame the tongue.  It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.” 

You already know life is not a pleasurable ride down a shaded canal.  You alone know the daily moments that tempt you to steer your speech in the wrong direction. I’m with you, for sure. Maybe the prayer of Psalms 141:3 is the one we need most:

Set a guard, O Lord, over my mouth.  Keep watch over the door of my lips.

 

 

Kids and Supper.  

You never know what’s on the menu—and I’m not talking about food. I speak of the delectable dialogue that often spills on to the table (along with the occasional glass of milk). 

The other night over dinner, our daughter and son-in-law engaged the family in a conversation about the gospel. Eleven-year-old Josie was there.  So were Caleb, age seven, and Lucy, who is five.   It wasn’t long before someone quoted Romans 3:23: “For all have sinned and….”

Boom!  At that precise moment in the verse recitation—before they could go any further than that first phrase—Lucy interjected, “But Caleb the most!” 

While five-year-olds are not generally known for their tact, Lucy's mouth has a near-legendary capacity for articulate assault. And there it was: Lucy's assessment of her older brother’s sin record: “the most.”

Might be fun to drill deeper with Lucy.  Does she mean Caleb has the most sins of any of her siblings?  More than anyone in her entire family?  Or is she thinking more globally—as in Caleb has the most sins of anyone on the planet?

The story takes a deeper dive into comedy when you grasp the truth about Lucy.  For most of her first four years, if Lucy were unhappy with her older brother Caleb, she would bite him.  And not just a little. It grew to the point where poor Caleb would warn strangers entering their front door, “hers a biter.” 

James’ warning to “remove the plank from your own eye before complaining about the speck in another” comes to mind. 

Indeed, "All have sinned…." Including me.  Including you.  Including Lucy.