Category: Thursday Thought

I saw a glimpse of heaven this week.  We're in India, looking at the power that a school run by Christians can have in impacting the problem of human trafficking.

In a nutshell, India's Dalit caste—the lowest of the low–represents the vast majority of sex slaves in India.  Because the Dalits are so poor, they are often unable to afford schooling for their young.  Lacking the social network (safety) a school experience provides, these girls, whose parents are out working, become easy prey for the traffickers.

Enter the Good Shepherd Schools—a growing network of English Medium Schools.

Operated by Christians, these affordable schools make possible an education for children who would otherwise not have access.  With an education, girls learn valuable business skills.  They are much less prone to be caught up in the ugly web of human trafficking.

So we were visiting one of these schools that Friends Church of Yorba Linda, California has helped sponsor.  Getting out of the van, we were met by a drum corps and small band.  Our team walked a corridor flanked by girls in festive dresses, showering us with orange and yellow flower petals.  There was applause, confetti—even fireworks–in this tribute of thanks recognizing what Friends Church has done.

The thought struck me almost immediately in the hot sun of a Bangalore morning.  This is a picture of heaven!  This is a small taste of what it will be like to join the crowd of witnesses we read about in Scripture.  The music, the pageantry the colors….surely this is a preview image of the heaven we will someday enjoy.

The only dark cloud in this otherwise sunny picture? The sobering question: Exactly how much am I investing my life now in causes that heaven will celebrate?

The Bible tells us, “What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived” the things God has prepared for those who love him—“

So…how much do I love Him?  How much do you love Him? How much of a celebration will be yours and mine in heaven?

They say the best actors don't act.  They are simply absorbed into the character they portray.  I had a taste of that during a recent tour of the Herod exhibit at Jerusalem's Israel Museum.
 
For years, I've had a fascination with Herod the Great.  Many know him only as the king in the Christmas story who executed Bethlehem's baby boys.  And make no mistake—Herod was ruthless, even vicious, toward any perceived threat.
 
But Herod the Great, for all his evil, was also a great architect, a great builder, a great visionary.   He loved color, beauty and luxury. 
 
All these qualities are in abundance at the Israel Museum's Herod exhibit.  As you wind through the maze of amazing displays, you see wall frescoes, elaborate window frames, intricate tile work.
 
On one wall, we marveled at the exquisite detail in a colorful painting depicting a naval battle.  At our feet, the black and white checkerboard pattern of a tile floor in mint condition.  There were artistically shaped clay jars still labeled with their exotic contents.   We are now fully absorbed—almost lost–in Herod's lavish lifestyle. 
 
Finally, there's the dark rotunda containing the stone sarcophagus of Herod the Great.   It's made of a reddish limestone that shines like marble (I actually touched the engraved floral pattern).
 
But peering at the box that held Herod's body, I was immediately blasted with a recollection of Hebrews 9:27: “It is appointed unto men once to die and after this the judgment.”
 
In life, he was Herod the Great.  But as for eternity, barring a death bed conversion, he will be Herod-The-Late.  Too late to receive the gift of God which is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.  The question is—what about YOU?
 
All the wealth and wonder of this world will be of no consequence when we stand at last before God Almighty. All that will matter is our relationship with the Jesus Herod tried to kill as an infant. Do you know that Jesus as your Savior?

If holidays had families, Thanksgiving would be the unwanted stepchild.  Thanksgiving lacks the Hallmark beauty of Christmas and the Dick Clark fun of New Year's.  With stern-faced buckle shoed pilgrims as the holiday's heroes, nobody decorates their home with Mayflower lights.  Nor do we take part in Puritan parties.  Thanksgiving doesn't lend itself to much of that, so we don't lend much of ourselves to it.   Thanksgiving really is the overlooked stepchild.

Consider the way Thanksgiving is treated at national retail stores: hardly at all. Outnumbered by mountains of Halloween candy and masks, Thanksgiving is lucky to get a small display of any kind.  And because this stepchild holiday has the misfortune of falling so close to Christmas, it must be picked up, packed up and swept up…to leave room for Christmas.

But the real problem with Thanksgiving isn't the way it's treated in our stores.  It's how it’s treated in ourselves.   Gratitude—the core message of Thanksgiving–is neither fun nor easy for most of us.

• Gratitude demands intentionality.
• Gratitude demands humility.
• Gratitude runs against the grain of our prideful self-sufficient selves.

Who likes a holiday that requires effort?

What fun is there in self-discipline and intentionality?

How can we get “unbooked” from the annual guilt trip we face, knowing we’re honestly not that thankful—at Thanksgiving or ANY time of year?

But I think we're asking the wrong questions.

What we SHOULD be asking is “What is it that really made the pilgrims tick?”  “Where could WE get a supply of their indomitable courage—the stuff that lead them to leave everything behind to follow Christ?”

Experienced in that light, Thanksgiving—the unwanted holiday stepchild—might just be one of the grandest of them all.

A  tuna sandwich and a Coke.  Such an ordinary lunch after such an extraordinary morning.  As I sit at a cafe overlooking Jerusalem, I am pondering an earlier walk down what is known to millions as the Via Dolorosa.  “The way of suffering” is the route Jesus walked through Jerusalem carrying his cross.

The thing of it is, the Via Dolorosa today is the way of shopping and dickering and shouting.  The most common form of suffering is sore feet and aching backs.  It's tough to imagine the real Jesus dragging a real cross up and down the hilly path these people call a street.

Ultimately that path leads to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.  If you've yet to visit, the church is a darksome foreboding structure, its cavernous blackness as eager to swallow all light as it is all hope.  Despair perfumes the air as your eyes adjust to the shadows.

Up a steep winding staircase, a barely controlled mob is cued up to pray or genuflect or ponder at the “exact spot” (so they say) where Christ's cross was hoisted.

As I walked through the church's massive doors back out into the sunlight, I encountered a woman who was weeping.  Tears dribbled down her cheeks as the weight of her experience squeezed hard on her emotions.

And suddenly, I was ashamed.  How could I—a follower of Jesus Christ—walk through this church and be so little moved?  When—if ever—have I truly wept over the agony Christ took upon Himself for me?

Of course, no one should be guilted into feeling an emotion.  But perhaps my lack of tears   is evidence I have thought too little of Him for whom no thanks is too much.

For Moody Radio, those are my thoughts, and I'm Jon Gauger.

 

 

Behold: the banana! High in potassium, bananas are great for preserving your eyesight and accelerating bone growth—not to mention warding off kidney cancer.

I like bananas…but this humble fruit has always amazed me. If you put any other food item remotely close to a banana… it ends up tasting like…banana!

Put a banana in your lunch box next to a ham sandwich…and the ham tastes like banana. So do your potato chips—and your Oreo cookies.

Recently, my wife put a left over slice of cinnamon coffee cake next to some bananas for just a few hours. Guess what it tasted like. You got it—banana coffee cake. Mind you, by the time I ate the coffee cake, it had been two days since it had been anywhere near a banana! Yet the effects of that banana contact were still evident in the fragrance and taste of the coffee cake.

Clearly there is some sort of chemical reaction going on here with incredibly powerful results—in favor of the banana. 1:00

Could I suggest the banana is a great model for the effect that Christians ought to have on non-believers. II Corinthians 2:15 “For we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing.” 1:15

When someone spends just a few hours with us, they ought to leave having the aroma of Christ all over them…just from being with us!

Now think of what this means for our unsaved friends. Just by being with us—we who know and love Christ—leave something of a spiritual fragrance on their souls.

There are two cautions here in this wonderful scenario.
Number one—the fragrance that people are left with better be the fragrance of Christ…other than stink of self.

Number two…even if we are living a godly life, unless we get up close to…involved with people who don’t know Jesus, how can His fragrance wear off on them?

Let’s be involved with friends, family and coworkers who don’t know Christ.

And let’s start living with the expectance that His fragrance really will rub off on them!

So I had a conversation today with a new friend from East Africa.  Happened to be Somalian.  As is my habit, I immediately asked him (nicely, mind you) if he was a follower of Mohammed.  When he answered yes, I smiled back saying (boldly, mind you) “Well I am a follower of Jesus.”

Very predictably, the conversation turned quickly to the person of Jesus.  He affirmed what every other Muslim I've talked to about Christ affirms—that he was a notable prophet. My friend went to great lengths to be polite—but even greater lengths to assure me that Islam and Christianity BOTH share a respect for Jesus.

Because our time was short—and Muslims have no problem being up front about their faith—I quickly assured my new friend that Jesus was MORE than a prophet.  I quoted Christ's own words, “I and my Father are one.”  And… “He who has seen me has seen the Father.”

Naturally, there was no agreement with my biblical claims.  But the conversation reminded me again how quickly we come to the “sticking point” for so many conversations related to faith.  People from most any stripe of belief are happy to talk about “God.”  They are more than comfortable discussing “beliefs.”  They are not the least bit threatened should you claim to be a “person of faith.”   Even talking about Jesus is acceptable—as far as it goes.

Yet take one teeny weeny step toward declaring that Jesus is God and BOOM!  Your ideological match has just ignited the kerosene of another's convictions.   Jesus is always the issue.
 

While I believe strongly we need to build bridges in friendly conversation with Muslims—and other friends, I have zero appetite for conversations that subject Jesus to a role any less than Almighty God.     

Please understand, I'm not advocating belligerence or harshness.   But there's a line in the sand over which we must be ever be vigilant.  And when someone—anyone–suggests that Jesus is less than God, it's time to lovingly and respectfully—but unapologetically–state the truth:   Jesus….is….God.

Have you ever had a natural gas leak in your home or office?

Gas leaks can be deadly, you know.  They are invisible, they are poisonous, and left untreated, they can kill with deadly force.

It's the same with church cliques. They are invisible, they are poisonous, and left untreated, they can kill with deadly force. The problem is, lots of people claim they can identify a clique at their church…but almost NOBODY would ever admit to being a part of one.

So let me offer this three-part exam to help you assess yourself.

Number 1: If you have ever secretly regretted someone else being a part of a church project or ministry that you're working on, you might be part of a clique.

Number 2: If you honestly (but quietly) resent it when new people come join your circle of friends at church, you might well be a part of a clique.

Number 3: If you cannot recall inviting someone newer to your church over for dinner…or to a social function of any kind…you might just  be part of a clique.

Cliques, by the way, are rarely the product of intentional design.  They are, rather, the byproduct of an unchallenged—even sanctified—selfishness.  Nor are they new. 

Church cliques go all the way back to the first church.  Paul took a look around and observed rather bluntly that “Some were of Apollos.  Some were of Cephas.  Some were of Paul.”  But Paul made it quite clear that such cliques were unacceptable.

So how could we possibly be so unaware of them creeping into our churches?  And how could we possibly allow them to flourish…through our own participation?

Any time… any thought… any word or any action excludes any one…it's a clique.  Meaning a clique could be made up of just two.    So let me ask you—honestly.  Are you part of a clique?  Or are you moving away from a clique?    Only one of those two statements can be true about you.

There will be no cliques in heaven.

There ought not to be cliques on earth.

At first, it struck me as blasphemous—then incredulous.

A satirical newspaper, known as the Onion, ran a recent headline as follows: “Christ Reluctantly Enters Area Man’s Heart.” The article went on to profile a fictional mortgage broker—Derek—who supposedly invited Christ to be his Savior. Derek is not a particularly nice man. Not the kind of man that you and I would necessarily choose to have a relationship with.

The article quotes Christ as saying, “When a believer reaches out to me with faith in their hearts, I kind of have to reach back, even if it’s Derek.”

Now please understand—I get the fact that this article is not only erroneous—it is blasphemous. Jesus has never known a hint of reluctance toward the worst of us. By contrast, the Bible sets the record straight assuring us in II Peter 3:9 that God is “patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance.”

But here’s what blows me away—the real “headline.” The Onion is a printed newspaper, distributed in Milwaukee, Chicago, Denver, Indianapolis, Omaha, Sana Fe, Ann Arbor, Columbus and Providence. The paper has a circulation of more than 200,000. It is entirely secular—and features articles often laced with profanity.

But here on the front page was a powerful (though satirical) illustration of the saving grace of God. The piece goes on to tell us Jesus—quote–“allowed His divine love to wash over” this guy.

As for his part, the fictional Derek is quoted as saying this was “only the start of a long intimate journey with the Lord by His side.”

A satirical newspaper in a post Christian culture has gotten it almost entirely right. On the front page is a somewhat blasphemous, incredulous article that tells the outrageous truth: Whosoever will…may come. Now THAT's awesome. That's Jesus!

Houston, we have a problem: adults are not memorizing the Bible.

Not like we should, anyway.

I don't know about you but I struggle in committing Scripture to memory.

When I was a kid, it was much easier to memorize the Bible.  Awana was a great experience.

But time is not kind to our brains.

Or is it that we adults have allowed too much data clutter on our hard drives?

Either way, we don't memorize the Bible—at least not much.

I've taken survey after informal survey and the results rarely vary.  “When I was younger I used to memorize…but not so much anymore.”

But how have we dismissed Scripture memory?  On what basis have we jettisoned all sense of accountability–all legitimate guilt?  Last time I checked, there wasn't even a hint of age restrictions in the admonition, “Your word have I hidden in my heart that I might not sin against you.” And how could the Psalmist claim, “I meditate on your law day and night” unless he had memorized a good portion of it?

Folks, this is not an incidental problem, a minor issue. It's huge.  I think it strikes at the core of why the Church is so much like the world.  It's part of the reason we divorce so much… part of the reason we're able to look at on line porno with virtual impunity.   We have not embedded sufficient quantities of Scripture to point our moral compass toward true North.

You know what my conclusion is?

We don't memorize because we don't want to memorize.

Okay, so memorizing for adults is hard.  So what!  Too bad!

Were you and I called to a life of ease?   Is personal comfort our measuring stick?

The truth is, it IS harder.  But it's NOT impossible.  My own struggle—and the struggles of countless others—proves it CAN be done.  It just takes a little more time and a lot more effort.

Shouldn't “denying ourselves and taking up our cross daily” possibly include doing the hard work of Bible memorization?

It's time to stop making excuses.

It's time to start memorizing the Word.

Amid the many small town fall festivals of Illinois, Stillman Valley Days must rank among the finest.  There’s the usual stuff: craft shows, carnival rides and overpriced funnel cakes.  For fans of fireworks, Stillman Valley Days is probably one of the season’s last and best displays in the whole state—which is why we try never to miss.

But because Stillman Valley is definitely in farm country, there’s always a display of small gasoline powered implements.  These antique machines are said to have performed important functions on farms of the last century.  Indeed, some of them are more than a hundred years old.

But because I’m not a farmer—and certainly no mechanic—I lack the imagination required to figure out what many of these contraptions actually did.  I saw Flywheels without pulleys….crankshafts with nothing to crank.  One machine, hiccupping white smoke, had a lever that went up and down endlessly.  Watching the three dozen machines that made up this display, I couldn’t help but observe the folks in charge: a cluster of old men, seated in lawn chairs.   Keepers of the past.

In the gentle racket of missed cylinders, combustion chambers backfiring and the chatter of a small town extravaganza, my mind wandered.  It occurred to me that this sorority of rusted relics was a metaphor for the senior citizens in so many of our churches.

Sometimes by choice—but I suspect more often by default—our seniors are left with little role other than Keepers of the past… Relics of the rested and rusting.

Surely this is inconsistent with biblical mandates that show seniors in mentoring relationships, offering wisdom, guiding the younger.   Surely we have, in many cases, bought into the world’s concept of merely tolerating our older members, rather than celebrating their years of experience.

In a day when churches are increasingly hiring outside consultants…you have to wonder how much wisdom is sitting there rusting away…unknown…untapped…unused.

That’s ungood.