Category: Thursday Thought

At the age of 17, he was arrested and sent off to Buchenwald, a Nazi concentration camp in east-central Germany. Eric was sure his fate would be no different than the other 55 thousand who were shot, starved, or hung there. But he survived and was liberated by American troops in April of 1945.

Fast forward to 1948. Eric was now 21, and the brand-new nation of Israel was fighting a war for its survival against invading forces from Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia. With the fire of the Holocaust still burning in his heart, Eric enlisted in the Israeli army.

He endured five weeks of training that lasted 16 hours a day, and then Eric and his platoon were sent out to fight. But on day two of the battle, their platoon commander was shot in the shoulder and could no longer fire a rifle.

Eric recalls, “They told me, ‘You’re taking over as Platoon Commander.’ When I asked why, they said, ‘Quite simply, there’s no one else!’” At Buchenwald, Eric had plenty of experience observing German and American forces. But nothing could prepare him for the battle they fought next.

“We came over the top of a hill and saw so many Egyptian fighters, I knew we were way outmanned and outgunned.” But Eric’s platoon persevered in hand-to-hand combat, notably where the Egyptians had bayonets and the Israelis had none.

Eric is now 98, sprightly, and still giving talks about his adventures. Asked about his most frightening experience, he chuckles and says, "The scariest moment was when I became platoon commander. In my fox hole, I lost control of my knees because they shook so much." But this was all kept secret from a fellow soldier, who interpreted Eric’s silence as strength.

"The spirit of the Israeli soldiers fighting that war reminded me very much of the American 1776 War of Independence. There was never a doubt. We had to fight. We had to win!"

Listening to Eric’s story makes me ponder the many biblical reminders that you and I are engaged in protracted spiritual warfare. There are moments when we all feel unqualified for the tasks to which we’ve been called.

But other believers are watching us, taking their cue from us. Even when our knees are knocking. Fight we must, and win, we shall! Not in our strength but in His.

Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God.

-Psalm 20:7

 

 

 

America might be the land of the free.

But it is also the land of the loud.

Research shows that 37% of rock musicians have experienced measurable hearing loss. While hearing damage begins at about 100 decibels, rock concerts routinely clock in between 110 and 120 decibels. And many of our churches are not much better in the volume department.

My beef, though, is not so much with how loud we get but how silent we don’t get. I submit that most evangelical churches (and those of us who attend them) are somehow uncomfortable with silence.

Fast and loud is fun. It feels good. Slow and silent? Not so good. So, almost all of our worship music is geared toward fast and loud.

But what does this say about us and our walk with God? It says our worship is more about our likes than God’s character. The same Bible that commands, “Shout for joy to the Lord all the earth,” also commands, “Be still and know that I am God.”  Who could argue that we do a lot more loudness than stillness?

Tozer was ahead of his time when he wrote, “Religion has accepted the monstrous heresy that noise, size, activity, and bluster make a man dear to God. But we may take heart. To a people caught in the tempest of the last great conflict, God says, ‘Be still, and know that I am God’ (Psalm 46:10), and still, He says it as if He means to tell us that our strength and safety lie not in noise but in silence.”

There’s a lot to be said for silence. It helps us unwind and creates the stage on which introspection can perform its good work. Silence is calming, slowing—an acoustic cousin to meditation.

William Penn, founder of the state of Pennsylvania, advised, “In the rush and noise of life, as you have intervals, stop home within yourself and be still. Wait upon God—and feel His good presence. This will carry you through your day’s business.”

I dare you to “stop home” at some point today. You won’t have to tell God that you’ve come to Him. He’ll know it—by your silence. 

In the last month, I’ve been privileged to participate in two remarkable reunions. The first was with my Junior High band director, now in his upper 80s. Then came an invitation to participate in a “Marching Mustangs” high school band event.

Our high school band director, also in his late 80s, flew in from Arizona, and we had dinner together. Then, we alumni rehearsed with the current band, marched out onto the field, and played the school fight song for the homecoming game. Under the bright lights, it felt like a time warp—like I was back decades ago.

What a blast sharing the evening with my brother, Tom—who played trumpet—and sister, Susan—who played flute and was the drum major in her senior year. The thing that shocked me was…. Okay, I’ll just say it.   Everybody looked old. Really old.

Granted, I hadn’t seen most of these people since Ronald Reagan was president, but still, I was caught off guard. (And just think, they all said the same thing about me!).

My state of melancholy morphed into full-blown sadness when I pondered the cause of all this—the lingering effects of sin. Not one hunky football player, not one cute cheerleader, not one homecoming queen escapes the reach of its wrinkle-making, hair-thinning, life-choking grasp. And then we die!

Ah, but for the believer, there’s more to the story. There’s a better reunion coming. In heaven, our lives will be restored, our bodies will be new, and—best of all—”so shall we ever be with the Lord.”

Will you be at that reunion?

For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore, encourage one another with these words.

-1 Thessalonians 4:16-18

I suffer from an addiction.

Books.

I love the way they look, the way they feel—even the way they smell. I cannot pass up a bookstore, book stall, or library without perusing. And my biggest distraction at any airport is the spinning rack or sprawling stack of books.

Don’t get me wrong. A Kindle is fun—and mighty handy. But there’s something profound about cradling a beautifully crafted volume.

Likely, that’s why Psalm 139:16 arrested my attention. David writes, “Your eyes have seen my formless substance; and in Your book were written all the days that were ordained for me when as yet there was not one of them.”

Consider: your days are all ordained. Which means there’s a plan for your life, a story arc. And if our days are ordained, it means Someone is doing the ordaining—God.

When you write a book, the publisher assigns you an editor who has the last word on everything: content, style, deadline, and even the cover. David reminds us that not only is God our Maker, but He’s also our Editor.

Regarding the number of our days, there was a time when “there was not one of them.” Likewise, there will be a time when our days are no longer.

I have yet to read a book that doesn’t have a front cover—and a back, a beginning—and an end. Likewise, in the plot line of your life, God will, at some point, say, “This is the end.” And it will be.

Yet, in another sense, that moment will only be the beginning of eternity. For believers, eternity is our “story after the story.” But we have only a relatively few chapters here on earth to make a difference in that unending adventure.

I don’t know how many pages remain in your narrative—or mine. But shouldn’t those pages—every single one of them—be inked, underlined, and highlighted with stories of our courage, compassion, and Christ-exalting service?

Do you merely dislike sin—or do you hate sin? The question is about much more than semantics.

In Psalm 101:3, David pledges, “I will set no worthless thing before my eyes; I hate the work of those who fall away; It shall not cling to me.”

Notice that David didn’t say he “disliked” sin. The word here is hate. And God uses that same word—hate—to describe a long list of sins He despises.

The big deal? When we simply “dislike” sin, we inevitably tolerate it—and even toy with it. It gains a toehold, if not a foothold, in our lives.

I dislike my messy office desk, but apparently, I don’t hate it because I tolerate piles on my desk and even piles on the floor. If I truly hated it, I would get rid of the mess. This is nothing less than the sin of laziness or lack of self-discipline.

Spurgeon says, “What fascinates the eye is very apt to gain admission into the heart.”

Many are driven by lust—which certainly fascinates the eye—and so, at some level, we engage it. Others of us toy with greed, laziness, or extreme ambition. On good days, we avoid these sins (we dislike them). But at other times, we engage them (down deep, we like them). So, we feed them and give them lodging in our hearts.

In other words, we are part-time sin-haters. Which is another way of saying we are part-time sin lovers. But John Owen’s warning still shouts about the fray: “Be killing sin, or sin will be killing you!” 

I say again, a part-time sin hater is also a part-time sin lover. Then what’s the way out? How do we learn the art of “killing sin?”

Matthew Henry advises, “In all our worldly business, we must see that what we set our eyes upon be right and good and not any forbidden fruit, and that we never seek that which we cannot have without sin. It is the character of a good man that he shuts his eyes from seeing evil.” 

All of this sounds remarkably similar to Philippians 4:8: “…whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”

But I leave the final word with Spurgeon, who offers this succinct advice: “Hatred of sin is a good sentinel for the door of virtue.”

Lord,

Help us lock the door on sin—and throw away the key. Help us stop being part-time sin-haters. We want to love you more —and love you only.

Amen!

The immersive green textures drenched us in beauty as the tractor hauled us deeper into the woods. I suggested to five-year-old Emma that we have a “looking party,” pausing to notice and thank God for all His creation. We did.

But why isn’t this a way of life for us grownups? I’m convinced there’s a price we pay for not really looking. First, we cease to be thankful. Second, we cease even to notice the magic. Doubt my claim?

When was the last time you looked up at the sliver-cratered moon of ours and whispered, “Praise God!”

Do we see those geese honking overhead during their formation flights? Even if they’re not honking, the sound of their wind-whipped wings is awesome.

When did we last inhale the fragrance that only autumn unbottles?

And how does God paint such bombastic shades of red on the tree leaves?

When was the last time you stood reverently in a field of corn and enjoyed the symphony of an early morning breeze making music in the drying stalks?

God’s creation offers a staggering amount of beauty—yet much of it passes by daily without our thanks. Worse, we fail even to notice it.

But what if we chose differently? What if we scheduled a daily “looking party” —a moment when we chose to notice—and thank God—for His creative touches?

Our cloud-crafting, moon-making, sky-painting, God generates an original never-to-be-repeated show every single day. And night. A “looking party” might be just what you need to notice—and thank Him for it!

It is I who made the earth and created mankind on it. My own hands stretched out the heavens; I marshaled their starry hosts.

-Isaiah 45:12

Are you a conversational narcissist?

Most of us are good talkers but lousy listeners. So, here’s how to know if your conversations are consistently more about you than anyone you’re talking with:

• You give little or no focus to what other people tell you.
• Your undying preoccupation is laser-locked on what you’re going to say next.
• You habitually hijack conversational subjects and steer them toward your own interests and experiences.
• Your stories are always “better” or “more important” than anyone else’s—therefore, more worthy of airtime.

Most of us love to talk more than listen. That’s garden variety selfishness. But conversational narcissists are me-monster addicts. They’ve never encountered a chat that couldn’t become all about them. Protest all you like, but if that’s really you, your friends and family already know.

I’m reading a book called How to Listen with Intention. Author Patrick King points out, “Conversational narcissism may look on its surface like a regular conversation, but on closer inspection, it actually resembles two people spouting monologues”—and they’re right next to each other!

The problem is as old and knotty as sin itself. The answer? Patrick King suggests, “Listening well requires that you suspend your own self-interest and ego and gracefully allow someone else to shine.” This sounds remarkably like Philippians 2:4–

Do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others.

Our conversations say everything about our interests in others, our Savior—and ourselves. Maybe a good next step for all of us is to simply say less—much less—and listen more. Much more!

Understand this, my dear brothers and sisters: You must all be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry

– James 1:19

If you think of an Oscar Meyer hotdog as nothing less than an assault on good nutrition, you can skip this blog. But if you hold a soft spot in your heart, a place on your palate—and your plate—for hot dogs, prepare to be amused.

Those yellow-band packaged Oscar Mayer hotdogs go back to 1929. Sales grew steadily even throughout the depression, and Oscar Mayer became a household name.

With commercial success, brand recognition, and the 1936 introduction of the kitschy Weinermobile, the company lacked but one thing: a catchy jingle. So, in 1963, Oscar Meyer sponsored a national contest inviting anyone to submit their musical ideas.  

Ironically, Richard Trentlage only learned about the contest the night before the deadline. In about an hour, he scribbled out a melody and lyrics and recorded a demo with his 11-year-old son and 9-year-old daughter. The next day, he drove up to Wisconsin from his suburban Chicago home to drop off the entry—and then waited. And waited. More than one year (and many focus groups) later, Trentlage learned he had won.

Once released, that jingle went viral before things went viral. To the point where people started requesting it on the radio! You know the lyrics:

Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer Wiener,

That is what I’d truly like to be-ee-ee.

‘Cause if I were an Oscar Mayer Wiener,

Everyone would be in love with me.

The tune is perky, and the lyrics amuse.

But I’m stuck on that phrase: “If I were on Oscar Mayer Weiner, everyone would be in love with me.” The idea conveyed (all in good fun, of course) is that if you really want the love of others, you gotta do something. In this case, become a hot dog.

You say, Jon, you’re way overthinking this. It’s just a jingle! Maybe. But I’m convinced that many Christians—could it be most Christians—secretly believe that same hot dog theology. We “sing” messages to ourselves like:

• If I were a lot more holy…
• If I were me without my past…
• If I were able to get past my abuse, my divorce, my prison record… THEN God would be in love with me!

Nothing could be further from biblical truth. Ephesians 2:4,5 declares, “But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace, you have been saved.”

If He loved before you loved Him, you can do nothing to earn more of that love. Nothing. You already have it! Almighty God is already in love with you!

That’s something to celebrate!

(With or without a hotdog).

P.S. Enjoy that photo of the Weinermobile—27 feet of pure fun!

It has the most powerful bite of any shark on the planet. At 1,300 pounds of bite force per square inch, the Bull shark is even more powerful than the Great White. By the way—puny humans like us have a bite force that maxes out at a mere 150psi.

Bull sharks are found all over the world in saltwater oceans as well as freshwater lakes. They’ve even been found in Alton, Illinois—some 1800 miles up the Mississippi River! Not to creep you out, but almost no one in the water is safe from a Bull Shark.

They eat dolphins and turtles (hard shells easily cracked by the shark’s teeth). And Bull sharks will even attack hippos!

But here’s the creepiest fact of all. Bull shark babies, known as pups, usually live in mangrove swamps away from big nasty predators. But adult Bull sharks take advantage of this—eating the young of their own kind.

Disgusting? Absolutely. But what about us?

When we chew on juicy theories about why one of the church’s worship singers left her husband—aren’t we eating our own kind?

When we tear apart the pastor’s sermon—over lunch, no less—aren’t we eating our own kind?

When we hungrily swallow unflattering words about fellow believers, aren’t we guilty of eating our own kind?

That evil behavior comes so naturally is an ugly proof of Jeremiah 17:9, “The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked.”

Today, let’s choose to be gentle—extra gentle—on the people around us. Especially those that rub us the wrong way. Remember—we’re called to be harmless as doves, not ruthless as sharks.

But if you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another.

– Galatians 5:15

It might be the most abused word in the English language: Free.

Aware of our undying quest to get something for nothing, advertisers love to splash this word all over brochures, billboards, and websites. But that free word is almost always accompanied by an asterisk—essentially, a tiny technicality that allows greedy people and their companies to pose as if they are offering something they are not.

Nowhere is this more evident than on the web. Waiting for my flight at O’Hare, I was invited to click on “ORD_free_Wifi.”  But if you click it, you are taken to a website eager to take your money for pay-only access to O’Hare’s Wi-Fi.

Try doing a Google search for “Free Photos.” You’ll see any number of websites all claiming to offer free images. But when you click, you find a mixture of photos displayed, with the most prominent ones offered by fee-based companies like Shutterstock or iStock. Their images are positively not free!

So, why is this kind of misleading representation even allowed? Such a practice violates every notion of false advertising!

This is just one more contrast that makes Jesus so refreshing, so appealing compared to anything the world offers. When Christ says, “Come to me all you who are weary and heavy laden,” He doesn’t present a tantalizing fake offer with fine print.

When He offers to set you free from the power of sin, there’s no charge When He promises free forgiveness, it really is free.

When He offers free salvation, there’s no catch, no small print—and no fee!

Thanks be to God for His no-fine-print gift of Jesus, the Savior!

“Freely you received, freely give.”

–Matthew 10:8b