Category: Thursday Thought

Tough choices. 
Life is full of them.
 
I faced one at the airport in Timisoara, Romania.  We'd finished a major “Global Partners Training” event with about 150 Christian media professionals.  Flying on to Bucharest to visit friends, I now toted a (massive) bright red suitcase that was entirely empty–but not quite big enough to nest my second suitcase.
 
On the trip over, it was loaded with supplies for the conference, all properly distributed.  But now, the airline wanted $75 to transport it to Bucharest.  It would cost another $75 to haul the hollow box home to Chicago.   Given that I'd discovered “Bid Red” in the trash and that it's telescoping handle was no longer in the mood to telescope, it seemed like a no-brainer that I just abandon Big Red.
 
Still, I struggled.  My heart finally yielded to my head and I let the airline counter know that I would be leaving the thing there (no need to bring out the bomb squad!). 
 
Before condemning Big Red to a corner at the airline terminal, I removed every personal tag and double checked its many zippered pockets (something I apparently had never done since I picked the thing out of the garbage).  To my shock, I discovered things I had no idea were inside: the cover of a bike manual, a large folded poster of some Italian soccer team, and (forgive me, sensitive readers) a woman’s undergarment. 
 
Consider that I'd been toting Big Red all over Romania.  The same suitcase had made a trip to Ghana, West Africa a few months earlier.  Who knew I was carrying around all this unwanted stuff?  (Guess I….ur….should be more careful about luggage sitting out on the curb, eh?). 
 
May I ask you a question?  Is it possible you are carrying around stuff you had no idea was actually weighing you down? Stuff that shouldn’t belong to you as a follower of Jesus.   Stuff you've lugged around for a long time, maybe?
 
Jesus asked, “What should it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his soul?”
 
Maybe it's time to get rid of the baggage.
 

To travel internationally is to make mistakes.

Mine are made in every category imaginable: mistakes in language, social etiquette, public decorum—you name it.  I'm sure I've managed to embarrass myself a dozen different ways as I've traveled recently through Turkey, Romania and Ghana.

Navigating airport terminals, I'm intrigued with the incredible difference that a tiny word change can make in the finesse of language and communication.  

For example, flying Turkish airlines to Istanbul, we repeatedly heard cabin announcements as follows: “Ladies and gentlemen and dear kids….”  I loved the “dear kids” reference.  Charming.  Yet it made me think—do we really see our children as “dear”?   Or are they often simply a drain on us?

Flying out of the Bucharest airport, I heard the following message over the P.A. System:  “Passengers are urgently invited to board flight number….”  At first, the announcement struck me as quaint, even cute.  In the U.S, we don't “urgently invite” anyone to do anything.  We would urgently request but not “urgently invite.”

The slight difference is telling.

Peering out the window of Germany's Frankfurt airport, I noodled on all of this. Consider the language of Revelation 3:20—an “announcement” of sorts from Jesus Himself.  “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.”

Notice that Jesus makes no demands—here, or anywhere—in Scripture.  He extends the indescribably urgent offer of eternal life—but simply “knocks” at the door. Elsewhere He says “Whoever is thirsty, let him come.”  But again, no demands.

You might say, Jesus “urgently invites.”  But He never demands.  The choice is always ours.

What kind of choices are YOU making about Jesus?

Every Thanksgiving it’s the same: we beat ourselves up over the fact that we’re not as “thankful as we ought to be.”  We chide ourselves—and others—for the presumption that describes our thankless “comfort with comfort.”

A thankful spirit is hardly optional, not if you read Scripture.  So I suppose there’s a place for thwacking ourselves with this kind of jolt. Yet, for my part, I shall not attempt to preach at you in this blog.  Instead, I would like to reset the stage of that very first pilgrim Thanksgiving celebration.

In his book, “The First Thanksgiving,” Robert McKenzie does an eloquent job of taking us to that little gathering on a dreary Massachusetts shore.  He writes,

And yet in the autumn of 1621, the wounds were still so fresh.  It would be no stain on the Pilgrims’ faith if their rejoicing was leavened with a lingering heartache.  Widowers and orphans abounded.  Fourteen of the eighteen wives who had set sail on the Mayflower had perished during the winter.  There were now only four married couples, and one of those consisted of Edward and Susannah Winslow who had married that May shortly after both had lost their spouses.  Mary Chilton, Samuel Fuller, Priscilla Mullins and Elizabeth Tilley each had lost both parents, and young Richard More, who had been torn from his parents before sailing, had since lost the three siblings banished with him.  That the Pilgrims could celebrate at all in this setting was a testimony both to human resilience and to heavenly hope.

No doubt the capacity for the pilgrims’ thankful spirit had its anchor in the rock of Romans 8:38:  And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love.

This Thanksgiving, there’s no need for a guilt trip.

But a simple, honest, heartfelt prayer of thanks is more than in order.

If you are searching for an unforgettable picture of intensity, I know a two-year old who can help.

What the scent of blood is to a shark, the sight of a book is to young Caleb.  He doesn’t merely read books—he inhales them.   From the moment his sense of balance enabled him to toddle across the floor, he has dragged books all over the house and on to the lap of anyone—I mean anyone—who will read to him.

As Caleb’s “Poompah Di-Di” (the name he has cobbled together borrowing my wife’s moniker, “Di-Di” and his own attempt at “grandpa”), I have shared his love of books—and the sense of his wiggly body on my lap.

While most children his age are content to sit there as long as the pages turn quickly, Caleb will stay as long as needed on any given page.  And while most kids are “sort of” into the images and text, Caleb’s ferocious interest is off the charts.  He will do anything it takes to get front and center with a book.   And happily hear it read ten times in succession.  No title ever gets boring.  No page is ever unworthy.

So lost in the wonder of his books is young Caleb, that his own head gets in the way of my ability to read the page!   I have to dodge his noggin to do the readin’!  Now throw into the mix the shared interest of his older sister in the same story and you can begin to appreciate I often have a very full lap.

Without wishing to strain at a spiritualization, I sometimes feel “shown up” by Caleb and his intensity. To the point:  When am I ever this intense when it comes to reading the Bible?  Why do I not read like Caleb reads—no chapter ever gets boring, no page is unworthy?

Jeremiah 29:13 “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”

I’m pondering Caleb’s intensity—and wishing I had more of it.

What's the strangest place you have ever visited?  Traveling to 35 countries has taken me to some unusual locations, but none as bizarre as a trip to the ancient city of Hierapolis in Turkey. 
 
After a considerable hike through this historic city, you finally arrive at the Gates of Hell.  I'm entirely serious.  To the untrained eye (mine) the Gates of Hell appear entirely unremarkable.  Imagine a mound of dirt covered with cut stones that form a wall behind which are said to be the actual Gates of Hell.
 
How it is that long-ago-locals came to identify this spot as THE entrance to the world of the condemned is worth a brief excursion. 
 
The site is built on top of a cave which emits toxic gases, making it a convenient spot for the ritual sacrifice of animals.  Tied with ropes, the animals were tossed into the cave where they died, reinforcing the notion that this place of death represented the actual gates of Hell.  According to some reports, the cavern still maintains its deadly atmosphere.  Birds, attracted by the cavern's warm air, have suffered after breathing the toxic fumes. 
 
Having been to the place, it hardly seems fitting as an entryway to the lake of fire which burns forever, the final judgment.  Turkey’s so-called “Gates of Hell” make for an interesting visit but we would do well to separate biblical truth from lore and legend.
 
When the Bible speaks of Hell, it refers to a real place where real people will spend eternity.    Who will be there?  The Bible tells us in Revelation 20:15.  “Whosoever's name was not found written in the Lamb's Book of life was cast into the lake of fire.”  The only escape is to “confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead.”
 
Unspeakable agony, unending damnation—this is the real Hell, not some tourist site in Turkey. Unlike our visit to the supposed “Gates of Hell,” in Hierapolis, the real Hell is not a stopping off point.   It's a destination.  And having arrived, there is no going back.

His king was vanquished, his country conquered, and Daniel's future seemed dim.  Captured and then carted off to a strange land, he had no idea what lay before him.  What could he have been thinking as passed through the gates of Nebuchadnezzar's palace, its walls adorned with artwork in relief?

Large segments of those very walls are on display today at the Istanbul museum in Turkey. Recently I gawked at several sections of them featuring beautifully preserved images of lions and dragons.   Gorgeously carved and colorfully painted, these panels are about four foot by six foot— and stunning. It's hard to believe these pieces date back 2,600 years. 

Staring at these treasures, I tried to process that these are the very same images—the very same walls with the very same lions–that Daniel would have seen once pressed into palace duty.  Perhaps his hand reached out to trace one of those same lion's paws that caught my attention.

Remember that as Daniel took in the exotic palace imagery, he did so without benefit from any previous perspective such as Discovery Channel, books, Blue Ray or even a county zoo.

I continued to stare at the walls Daniel stared at.  What thoughts raced through his mind as he pondered the lion with the blue background I was photographing?  It must have been jolting—terrifying: lions everywhere!

But most of all, I wonder if Daniel connected the painted palace creatures with the real lions in the pit into which Nebuchadnezzar eventually placed him.  Did he tremble at the smell of these beasts?  Quiver at the feel of their hot breath on his skin?

Someday, I shall ask Daniel myself.

Meanwhile, Daniel has a question for me—and you: Is the power of the living God a thing that we merely archive between the leather covers of our Bibles—a sort of museum for heroes long past?  Or is it a force that moves us and motivates us on a daily basis?

Staring into the eyes of the painted lions is haunting.  But what will it be like to one day lock eyes with the Lion of Judah?

There's something about a room—any room—whose name begins with the word, “Treasure.”  In a visit to Istanbul’s Topkap Palace Museum, I was obliged to spend time in the Treasure room of the Sultans.

Personally, I'm not much for jewelry, especially the gaudy kind.  And Sultans—like so many rich folks in history—had a penchant for serious bling.  Yet I was stopped in my tracks at the window showcasing the Kasicki Diamond.  At 86 carats, this diamond is considered to be one of the largest in the world.  Set in silver, it is surrounded by a double row of 49 cut diamonds.

The sight of the pear-shaped gem grabbed my attention, but the story behind it kept me lingering.  According to “reliable” accounts, a poor fisherman walking the shores of Istanbul looked down and saw something shimmering in the sun.  Stooping down for a closer look, he scooped up the shiny thing which appeared to him as a piece of glass (either this man was more ignorant of jewelry than even me, or there must have been a boat load of sea weed wrapped around the thing!).

Any way, he took it to a jeweler who feigned disinterest insisting it was merely a piece of common glass. Yet—out of the “goodness of his heart” the jeweler offered the ignorant fisherman three spoons in exchange for his find. Eventually a vizier, doing business on behalf of the sultan, purchased the diamond and it made its way to the palace.

The story you may find unlikely.  But what is certain is that you and I may be engaging in the same kind of foolish trades every day.

We trade the diamond of God's indwelling power for three spoons of our own puny effort.

We trade the diamond of Christ's rest for three spoons of anxiety.

We trade the diamond of the Spirit's guidance for three spoons of self-centeredness.

2Co 4:7  But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.

Today there will come your way—and mine—a thousand opportunities to trade away the treasure God has already given us.  But spoons are a poor trade.  For ignorant fishermen—or those bound for streets of gold.

It was an odd sensation. The cool breeze tumbling through the open window, carrying along on its invisible current a sound.  Vague at first.  Indistinct.   Then it stirred me out of my last attempts at sleep.

Even in the stupor born of time zones and travel, I quickly assessed the noise–an Arabic chant sounding from a distant speaker calling ancient Istanbul to piety for Allah.  The morning Muslim call to prayer.

But the more I listened, the more difficult it became to discern the imam's voice.  There were echoes everywhere, it seemed.  That “solo” was now a chorus.  Or perhaps, more accurately, a wall of sound.  Different voices from different mosques all over the city were chanting back and forth (in Istanbul there is a mosque on virtually every city block).  This wall of sound, this “gentle roar” was like nothing I'd ever heard before.

It continued on for perhaps 10 or 15 minutes before finally dying away again.  Assaulted by a sudden silence, the question popped into my brain, “Why don't followers of Jesus pray so boldly?  Where is our “gentle roar?”  Why shouldn't the world hear us calling on Almighty God?  Shouldn't the whole world sense our communion with our Heavenly Father in prayer?

In the book of Acts, we read that after the disciples met and prayed, 'the place was shaken where they were assembled together” (Acts 4:31).   Silent prayers–personal prayers–surely have their place.  Even the Holy Spirit prays for us “with groanings which cannot be uttered” (Romans 8:26).

Still, I wonder. What if followers of Christ were really and truly dedicated to prayer?   What if we stopped what we were doing five or six or ten times a day and prayed, not ritualistic prayers, but true heart language?    What if our prayer meetings were filled to overflowing? And what if on Sunday mornings, outsiders attending our services described their experience as “being in a house of prayer?

Indeed, what if when the whole world attempted to define Christianity it would be impossible to separate our faith…from the gentle roar of our combined prayers?

Businesses are funny. They all speak their own dialect—a sort of modified English.  Have you noticed?   In the rail business, that thing a locomotive pulls down the tracks–it's not a train.  Instead, they call it a “consist.”  Funeral directors don't refer to dead bodies.  They refer to them as “cases.”  But the food industry has an expression that has always impressed me as being downright odd.

Look at the label on a package of gum and it will likely say, “Please dispose of ‘after use.'”

“After use?”  Who actually “uses” gum?  We chew it.

Imagine being with a group of friends and you whip out a pack of Dentyne and say, “Hey, anyone here care to USE a stick of gum?”

Now…look at a box of macaroni or a cake mix.  Or a can of tuna.  Chances are there's a label or a stamp somewhere that says, “Use by….”  But…who “uses” food?   Who runs around saying, “Boy, I'm so hungry I think I'll sit down and USE a big plate of macaroni?”   We don't USE macaroni….we eat it!

I'm also intrigued by the other thing you see on food labels, “Best if used by…..”….and then there's a date.  Rather ambiguous, don't you think?  What I want to know is, just HOW bad is it after that date?  Is it merely “not quite as good” or will one bite likely put you in the emergency room?

All kidding aside, this “use by” expression brings two sobering questions to mind:

First…what IS my personal “use by” date?  Or put  more bluntly, what's my expiration date?  (Only God knows). But be assured, He has one. For me—for you—for all of us.

The second question: Can I be used?  Just how useful am I to the Savior?  Am I stale and out of date?  Or am I fresh from having spent time with Jesus and His Word?

How useful are we to the Savior?

Loyalty programs–seems like everybody's got one.  From airlines, to restaurants… supermarkets to car rental places.  Businesses everywhere want more of your business.  That's why they offer these so-called “loyalty programs.”  You know—it's the plastic card that gets you a 15% discount at your next hotel stay…or the grocery store that offers special pricing—if—you use your reward card.   Or maybe you're into collecting miles with your favorite airline's frequent flier club. 

A recent study from FanXchange and COLLOQUY shows that 54% of Americans are unhappy with loyalty program rewards.   Part of the dissatisfaction is that customers find the rewards themselves unappealing!  Another problem is the redemption process, with 43% frustrated over expired points.  39% claim it is too difficult to get enough points and 37% are ticked off that the rewards promised are somehow not available.

I wonder if Christ followers today feel the same way about the rewards that God has offered us.  So many of us express so little interest in eternal rewards. We're into life here…rather than there.  And why is that?

Do we feel it's simply too difficult to earn the eternal rewards that Christ has promised?  Or is the problem much worse—that we are simply not interested in the rewards He offers?

It's time we got our loyalty figured out.

Time we started living for rewards that will never fade away.

Hear the words of Jesus in Revelation 22:12:

          “Look I am coming soon!  My reward is with me and I will

           give to each person according to what they have done.”

Me?  I'm pondering those eternal rewards—and my “want” to want them more.  What about you?