Pastoring, in regard to matters of sexuality and marriage is more complicated than it used to be.

 I guess I should be glad that I've entered the emeritus phase of my ministry. Pastoring, especially in regard to matters of sexuality and marriage has certainly gotten more complicated. I'm not, however, comfortable in just ignoring these matters. For one thing, Old guys like me are frequently asked to perform weddings. Given the right circumstances, it is something I'm glad to do. Secondly, I regard my years of experience as a trust. I think I have an obligation to help the next generations of shepherds. For these, and other, reasons I maintain an interest in the increasingly complicated realm of pastoral ministry in the sexual/gender/marriage realm.

In that regard, I recommend two articles that have come my way recently;

1. A blogpost by Gene Vieth, https://www.patheos.com/blogs/geneveith/2021/11/should-couples-and-their-pastor-reject-marriage-licenses/
   Vieth is a Lutheran, and as such interacts with a report that came from the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod. I encourage my pastor-buddies to read the report. As a baptistic, conservative Evangelical, I find it helpful. The report is linked in Veith's post. Veith gives a good summary of the report. Basically, Veith and the longer report ask some post-Obergefell questions and offer some answers and counsel that are worth considering. My oversimplified summary is that the article's position is that the Supreme Court's Obergefell decision didn't really change anything for a faithful pastor's practice. SCOTUS clearly misdefined marriage, but it didn't do so in a way that requires we shepherds of God's flock to do so. (Might that happen? Maybe. Realize, though, that while some slopes are slippery, not all are. I say for now we should be vigilant and try to drive in some stakes on the sloping terrain wherever and whenever we can.)
2. A second article, by Al Mohler, asks a question that I've seen come up several times, lately, though I don't remember exactly where (there are reasons why I'm emeritus). Here is the article. https://albertmohler.com/2021/11/10/briefing-11-10-21?utm_source=Albert+Mohler&utm_campaign=b40e1c087c-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2019_04_08_09_12_COPY_01&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_b041ba0d12-b40e1c087c-307975913&mc_cid=b40e1c087c&mc_eid=20aa58364c
   The question posed is a fine-line kind of distinction but one that in my humble opinion needs to be considered. Again, IMHO, I think that way back in the last century those of us who seek to hold to a Biblical view of gender/sexuality lost a significant semantic battle. That loss led to, or contributed to, a significant point of confusion. Is it proper to speak of a "Gay Christian"? Or even more pointedly, a "Gay Celibate Christian"? 

Pastors in the 2020s are faced with questions that weren't out there in the 1970s when I began my ministry. The requirement to be faithful to the Word remains the same.

Knees, Stairs, Numbers, and My Wife's Advice

 Going up and down stairs takes more effort than it used to. The effort is not only physical, it's mental. I remember going up stairs two at a time. Now I often think about a joke:

When I was twenty I took stairs two at a time.

When I turned forty I started taking them one at a time.

Now that I'm sixty, I take the elevator.

The joke's funnier when it's told out loud. Getting just the right inflection and rhythm on the last "take" is important. Timing is often important. Thankfully, my mind is still relatively quick. My feet have slowed down, though. I can remember coming down stairs in sort of a controlled fall. Though I've always been far from graceful, I was able to kind of flip my feet, sliding over the edge of one stair, barely catching the next, just enough to slow my descent to a manageable rate. There was some danger in coming down stairs that way. As I look back, though, it didn't seem that great. A sprained ankle or a broken arm wasn't that big a deal. I'd get over it. Actually, I think more about that controlled-fall descending style, now, looking back than I ever did when I was doing it. Back then it was automatic, so was climbing the stairs. In fact, I didn't really climb them. I just walked, or even ran, up them, as I said, sometimes two at a time. Now, I think about them. I want to be sure that each foot is firmly planted before I trust my full weight to the change in elevation that is coming. Do I do the one step at a time method, letting my stronger right leg do most of the work? Especially if I'm carrying something that is a good option. (Or is it a tempting option?) Or do I give my left leg the exercise it needs? You know, "Don't give in." Since I live in a house with three stories I quiz myself on that several times a day. So far I'm passing the test. The answer key is, "Did he fall?"

Not only do I think about how to go up and down the stairs these days, I think about what thinking about stairs means. This is where my wife's advice comes in. She is a proponent of thinking young. Don't talk about being old. In many ways, I agree. A case can be made that a number is an arbitrary thing. On the other hand, numbers are most useful when they are attached to something meaningful. Having twenty dollars in my wallet is much better--twenty times better in fact--than only having one. When it comes to stairs, having seventy-one years is worse than having twenty-one. I'm well aware that modern medicine and a greater emphasis on health have allowed us, on average, to stay more active longer than our grandparents but that only goes so far. I'm at the age now when I take greater note of those who are five, ten, or fifteen years older than me. Sometimes I take note when I read their obituary. I think of the lightning speed with which the last year passed and . . . well, you complete the thought. If I don't get my foot placed right on that fifth step coming down I could waste six months of what's left in surgery, in a cast, on a walker, or worse. I could see the surgeon about getting a new left knee--I like my titanium right one--but again the subtraction factor enters in, and like stairs, surgery isn't a sure thing. Do I leave well-enough alone, or should I choose to fix what's no longer good enough? My wife is right; focusing too much on being old detracts from making the most of the life we have. Yet, there is wisdom in learning to number our days.

I'm sitting in a chair, now, so I can think about that. When I'm on the stairs, I can't be distracted. I guess that is sort of my paradigm for living right now. Some years ago a friend of mine said, "When you get to be my age you don't concern pay the extra money to put the thirty-year shingle on your house." I visited my friend's house not long after he died. Sure enough, it needed a roof, but the twenty-year shingles had out-lasted my buddy. I think he was wise to use his limited resources on the twenty years he had rather than focus on the ten he didn't have. Of course, I know he was just playing the odds.

The bottom line about all of this is really no different than it was back when I twenty-one looking forward to the next fifty years, which is now the last half-century. What really matters is using my days, however many or few they be, to the glory of the God of eternity. 

For now, I have more stairs to climb. Pray for me.

Reading Between the Lines of a Missionary Prayer Letter

I receive emails from various missionaries and mission groups. Not long ago, I was one of those who sent such prayer letters. This brief report, that I read this morning, really spoke to me, not only for what it said but for the challenge it implied. I edited it a bit, to remove identifiers and to make the brief account clearer. I'll share a few comments afterward

From the world, where things like this happen (the request contained the missionaries place of service):

We marvel at God’s workings! A coworker from a social ministry project regularly attends a meeting of a group of subsistence farmers. He noticed that one of the female participants had not planted a field next to her house. It turned out the woman had been accused of having used magic to kill her nephew. The boy had died of malaria. As a result of her familynand church believing this accusation, she was beaten so severely, she couldn’t even move for a long time. So the coworker and associates planted a field with her, even though they weren’t sure there would be enough rain to produce a good harvest. "We also tried to point to reconciliation through God," as all those involved in the beating incident attend the same church.

They report, "How happy we were, when three months later we were able to have a thanksgiving service on that woman’s field – not only for a good harvest but also for the joyous news that she has forgiven her family. Later we heard that her brother, acting as the head of the family, had asked her for forgiveness."

Christians have often been accused of "killing their own wounded." Having been a pastor for most of my life, and working in Christian organizations all my life, it is far too often a fair observation. "Coworker" found a way to step in and redeem such a situation. She/he did so on several levels: 

• In the environment where this story originates, this field represented an important part of a family's livelihood. It is probably not saying too much to say that whether or not this field was planted was a matter of life and death.
  I, and you, need to be looking for places where we can step in and interrupt the flow of evil in this world. The church has an impressive history of doing this. From the early church rescuing abandoned infants in the Roman Empire, to Christians stepping up to care for victims of the Black  Plague in the middle ages, to modern-era missions erecting hospitals and aiding with agriculture all over the world, dedicated Christians have chosen to light a candle rather than merely curse the darkness. Thanks, Coworker, for this example.
• Whenever tragedy strikes, sin is usually lurking around. The "father of lies" looks for any opportunity to damage the church. Here is a church in an agricultural community minus all the tractors, silos, and equipment that mark farming in the west. These aren't folk who grow tomatoes because they can grow better ones than those available at Walmart. For these folk, if their field produces they eat. If it doesn't they don't. The devil is smart enough to know that someone attending the funeral(s) that would have taken place, had not Coworker and his band stepped in, would draw the clear conclusion, "This is the church's fault. The beating this woman received was a sin not only against her but against those dependent on her. Worse, it doesn't take too much imagination to see that but for Coworker, this would have resulted in a stain on the reputation of the church--even The Church.
• Did you note that Coworker didn't plant the field alone? "Associates" helped. Further, the group of outsiders didn't do it for the injured woman, they did it with her. There are times when brave, dedicated Christians need to step up on their own, but those occasions are rare. Usually, the pattern one can observe in the book of Acts--partnership--should be the mode of action. 
• As important as it was for this family to be fed, that wasn't most important. The brief praise and prayer note didn't say for sure, but I take it that "the brother acting as the head of the family" is the father of the boy who died from malaria. If so, it makes the forgiveness that was offered all the more powerful. The Apostle Paul tells his son-in-the-faith, Titus, to teach his congregation "to be ready for every good work, to speak evil of no one, to avoid quarreling, to be gentle, and to show perfect courtesy toward all people. . . . to devote themselves to good works. These things are excellent and profitable for people." (Tt 3:1–2 & 8). This is part of the lifestyle that results in "the word of God . . . not be[ing] reviled" (Tt.2:5), and "condemned" (Tt 2:8). In fact it results in the "adorn[ing of] the doctrine of God our Savior" (Tt 2:10). Can you imagine that people like you, me, Coworker, and Associates have the opportunity to make the truth about Jesus Christ more attractive to those who live around us? We do!

I prayed for the missionaries who shared this request. I thanked the Lord for the good harvest and the reconciliation that came as a result of this act of kindness. I ask that the Lord will continue to provide these missionaries, Coworker, and Associates with opportunities to show the Good News in practical ways. But, I also prayed, "Lord, what can I do to make the Gospel more attractive to those who watch me?" I'll try to remember to not only read what is written in missionary prayer letters but to read between the lines, as well.

Politics and Brotherhood:

 I had a break from mainland USA & Virginia politics. On Guam, where I spent most of the five years, and in the island nations and states of Micronesia, people take their politics seriously, but it clearly has a different character. There are only 170,000, or so, residents of Guam. Some of the legislative contests in FSM and Palau are decided by electorates of a few hundred or even less. Often the main candidates for a position are relatives. Even on Guam, a US territory, the social group from which candidates are usually drawn is a pretty small club. This familiarity tends to bring a measure of civility. I haven't seen that in the current Virginia contest for governor. The mud is deep. Even though most of you don't live in the Old Dominion, I figure you have a share of the wet, sticky soil in your neighorhood.

As citizens, we have a responsibility to wade through the mud and make the best decision we can. 

As citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven, those who claim to be Christ-followers have a greater responsibility. The difficult fact of elections is that someone (sometimes several someones) losses. The Body of Christ, however, Democrat, Republican, Independent, abstainers, etc. goes on. In the final analysis, it is the church that will make the ultimate difference in this world. Read John 13:35, 1 Timothy 2, and Titus 1-3 as examples of what the church can, and should, do.

Lance Witt offers some thoughts on honoring one another within the church. It is a needed reminder. Let's put brotherhood above partisanship.

I May Not Live on Mars Hill, but

 I am in the neighborhood. 

The CT (Christianity Today) podcast series, The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill. Is a powerful piece of work. I have listened to all of it, nine episodes at this point, and have found it compelling. I find it so from a historical viewpoint, as one of the greatest demonstrations of hubris I have ever seen, as an illustration of the reality that sin is often very much at home in the pulpit, but, most significantly, as a warning. We little guys can take as much pride (used in the clearly negative sense) in our 50 or 100 as Driscoll did in his thousands. Numerical success can be--please note that I said "can be," not "is"--a curse.

Trevin Wax offers an insightful commentary on how the hunger for a real father may have--I think does--motivate especially young men to gravitate to the likes of Driscoll. It is worth the read.

For decades I was privileged to spend a morning a week with some pastoral colleagues who served with me in my small town. Frequently, the conversation would go to a search for, or a discussion of "the key"--What is it that makes a ministry succeed? I have no doubt that hundreds, if not thousands, of young pastors thought they had found the key by learning to rant and even cuss like Driscoll. In any worthwhile sense they didn't succeed. I would make the case that they hadn't even located the doorknob. 

Our calling as pastors is not to build the biggest church in town. It is to be faithful to God's word. 

I can't begin to tell you how many times I have heard someone with a shiny new key in hand ridicule that truth. Perhaps you chuckled or sneered when you read it just now. You ignore it not only at your own peril, but you endanger the souls of those God has called you to shepherd. There is a strong warning that comes from Mars Hill.

DON'T.

Why Can't We Just All Get Along? Maybe we can't , or maybe we don't want to.

 Not out of a voyeuristic urge but out of concern for the church in general, and, in particular, for those churches with which I am involved, I took time this morning to read the report of the difficulties being faced at Bethlehem in Minneapolis. (The church where John Piper was the longtime lead pastor.) I fear and think that their issues are shared broadly among Evangelical churches.

If you are a subscriber to CT you can find a report here. If you are not a subscriber I would imagine a web search will reveal other articles.

The CT article pointed me to two other articles that attempt to classify the fault lines along which Evangelicals are dividing. One by Kevin DeYoung categorizes four responses to current social conditions. The article includes two charts that describe how those who from contrite to courageous tend to respond to various issues that present themselves in our world today. The other by Michael Graham, looks at six factions within Evangelicalism and then goes on to predict what the author sees as the way churches will be sorted. He sees three kinds of churches emerging.

As I read the article about Bethlehem and the other two articles I linked, I saw a probably over-simplified tension between orthodoxy and orthopraxy. Not that middle of the road is always best, but clearly in this case we need to work hard to both believe right and to behave correctly. 

It's tough.

Andrew Cuomo, The Fall of the Mighty

 The former (or is it, "soon to be former"?) governor of New York is not on my favorites list.

1. He is pro-abortion.
2. He has taken steps to undermine the sanctity of marriage as defined in Scripture.
3. He is widely reputed to be a strong-armed bully. This, no doubt, has some to do with his recent fall from power.
4. He has been, until he was recently abandoned by his former allies, a part of a political system that is taking America in a direction I don't like.

You would think I would rejoice at his fall from power. Don't bake a cake yet.

There are all sorts of self-satisfying observations that could be made, from a number of different perspectives.

• No doubt some will take pleasure in knowing that a powerful man, accused of taking advantage of women is now being replaced by a woman. Kathy Hochul will be New York's first female chief executive. I pray that she will lead the State of New York well.
• Cuomo tried to make the scandal go away. His arm that had proven strong enough to stiff-arm his way past previous attacks wasn't up to this task. No doubt, many black-eyed opponents of former conflicts are raising a glass to the powerful guy finally getting what's coming to him.
• Philosophically some purveyors of wisdom-to-live-by feel vindicated. When you use people as stepping stones on the way up, you can't expect them to hold out a hand to you when you are on your way down

In the end, one of the most powerful men in America found himself defenseless and friendless. Out of all the sins available to a man like the governor of one of the most powerful states in the union, Andrew Cuomo was accused, tried in the court of public opinion, and convicted by an unofficial jury (whom I'm confident the former chief exec would regard as not anywhere close to being his peers), of the crime, for which the current zeitgeist affords no defense.

To the list above you would expect that I would take pleasure in Cuomo's eviction from the Executive Mansion (Even the eviction moratorium that Cuomo signed is no help.). Though I'm tempted to let loose with a "Yippee!" I'm resisting. Two reasons:

1. First, I don't like lynchings. Perhaps I should say I do like some lynchings and that scares me. I realize that what happened to the former governor is not a court of law, but then again it kind-of, sort-of is, isn't it? For some in our culture when a certain accusation is made, the deal is as good as closed. I live in the South. We have an ugly history of taking justice into our own hands. In spite of his political positions, Cuomo perfectly fits the description of the kind of guy who always does what the former governor is accused of doing. To quote countless cowboy movies, "I've heard enough. String him up!" When that happens to someone in my tribe I feel the injustice. In cases like this where I could easily volunteer, "I've got a rope right here in the back of my truck," I need to extend the same caution.  Even if it isn't a real court, the accused deserves to have his day. 
2. I've been reading a book that reinforces some conclusions I have drawn and been drawing about our postmodern times when there is no longer a widely agreed-upon view of right and wrong. It is a time when each "tribe" contends for its own view. In the lynchings of the past, that I mentioned above, the main evidence was often the color of the accused skin. One was not judged as an individual but as a representative of their group. Comparing the current trend with the tradition, rooted in the Bible, that dominated in the West until recently, author, Scott David Allen, says, "This biblical idea created the West, and none of us can fully imagine the dystopia that would result if we discard it in favor of the dehumanizing idea that individuals don’t exist, and that people are reduced to mouthpieces, drones, or avatars of the groups that define them. In this fraught cultural moment, we need to emphasize what unites us, not what divides us."*
   We need to resist this way of thinking even when--no, "especially when"--this judgment based on what group a person is in results in a verdict that I find agreeable.

Lest someone is tempted to draw some wrong conclusions, let me state categorically:

• People of whatever gender, race, economic standard, etc. are creatures of God, bearers of His image. As such they deserve respect. If Mr. Cuomo is guilty of what he has been accused of he should suffer the just consequences. That same standard, however, applies to him. That same respect leads me to believe that Cuomo has a right to make his case.
• I am not denying or doubting that workplace abuse is a common and grievous issue. It is right that systems be put in place to give victims, and those who are easily victimized, the protection they deserve.
• I realize that those in positions of leadershp are held to a higher standard. In light of that higher standard, it may have been right for Mr. Cuomo to resign. Perhaps we can end on a note of agreement. For the State of New York and perhaps for our nation, at this time, this may have been the best, or "least worst," decision. 

Everywhere, let's follow the Apostle Paul's command, "First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all people, for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way." (The Holy Bible: English Standard Version. (2016). (1 Ti 2:1–2). Wheaton, IL: Crossway Bibles.)

*Allen, Scott D.. Why Social Justice Is Not Biblical Justice: An Urgent Appeal to Fellow Christians in a Time of Social Crisis (p. 66). Credo House Publishers. Kindle Edition. 

No, Mam, I'm not an Angel. I Just Have a T-shirt

 Hebrews 13:2 says, "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."

This morning I was attempting to be hospitable and might--for at least a fleeting moment--been mistaken for an angel. I was unaware. I was walking out of Walmart. My items fit into a bag that was easily carried, so I was putting my buggy back in the cart corral, just inside the entrance. A lady, prime kids-at-home age was arriving as I was leaving. The carts were doing what they always do when you're in hurry--they stubbornly remained attached to the rest of the carts in the row. She looked like she was in a hurry when she yanked on the cart nearest to her. Young moms are almost always in a hurry. 

Dilemma: I'm old enough to remember when this wasn't an issue, but, "Will she take offense if I try to help?" I hesitated a moment, but then she yanked on the first-in-line buggy in the next row. It likewise refused to cooperate. I'm about a foot taller than the frustrated lady, so I figured I could use that as an explanation if I needed one--I'm taller. "I guess pulling from an upper direction freed the stupid thing." So prepared with my defense against, "I don't need a man to help me" type of feminism. I raised the back-gate on the cart, gave it a couple of severe jerks, and was relieved to see it roll free.

I'm sure the lady wasn't in distress, but she did need a shopping cart to get her shopping done. She very nicely said, "Thanks."

Then she looked at me with a smile and kind of chuckled. She looked like she was about to say something, but, as I said, young moms are almost always in a hurry, and, truth be told, I needed to be on my way. Maybe she figured that, so with the smile still on her face she pushed the cart in the direction of the family supper.

Out in the parking lot, the not distressed but in need of a cart woman's amusement suddenly made sense. I was privileged to serve, for a while, at Pacific Islands University, a tiny school on the island of Guam. A couple of years ago, a group from Pingalap, one of the atolls that make up the State of Pohnpei, which in turn is one of the states of the Federated States of Micronesia (all needless information, but I thought you would be amused). Anyhow this group of Pingalapese was using our campus for a retreat for their group of churches. Since I was in charge that day, the group gave gifts to my wife and me. Included in the gift bag was a t-shirt that says, "Holy Angels" on the front. I happened to have that shirt on this morning.

Mam, if this happens to come your way, please know, I walk, drive a car, or ride a bike--no wings. I was just trying to be kind. I really don't know why those words are on that shirt. I wasn't given an explanation. Anyhow, I hope your shopping was successful.

To the rest of you:
The word "angel" means messenger. On at least one occasion in the Bible, "angel" likely refers to a human. John addressed the seven letters in Revelation 2 to the seven angels of the seven churches. I agree with a common view of this passage that the "angel" of each church was the pastor of that congregation. Pastor or not, all of us have been, to quote the Blues Brothers, sent on a "mission by God." We are messengers. Our messages are often communicated by actions rather than words--I don't think I said anything to the woman heading into Walmart. I hope the message of kindness came through. God cares about people wrestling with stubborn grocery carts. Getting a grocery cart unstuck doesn't sound very angelic, but I think it is exactly what I should have done this morning, especially since I was wearing an angelic shirt. I'd like to think Gabriel and the guys are proud of me.

Some thoughts from another blog and another project:

(I thought this post, from another blog, fit in on "The View . . ." so I'm double posting it.) 

Old Campers and Old Men, We Have Some Things in Common

June 19, 2021

 No pictures today:

Most of what I have been doing on the little camper has been pretty repetitive and boring. I have new fraining and a new piece of interior paneling on the rear of the trailer. Most of the siding is now off. Though it is pretty clear which piece goes where, I followed the advice of Larry (Mobiltec) (https://cannedhamtrailers.com/) and labeled each piece. (If you are in a project like this, do it on the inside (unfinished side) of the metal 😅). I also have done the same for windows. There is only one door, so I didn't label it. If I get to the point of not recognizing a door I figure Kathy will need to run an ad for an unfinished camper project.

Some good material on abortion:

 Christianity Today sent this article that features an excellent piece by Most Reverend Salvatore Joseph Cordileone Archbishop of San Francisco.

As a conservative, Evangelical Protestant I found the whole compendium of information confirming and helpful. Here are the links to the items referred to in the emailed article from C.T. followed by some quotations I gleaned from it.

https://albertmohler.com/2021/05/06/briefing-5-6-21?mc_cid=ed527e4864&mc_eid=20aa58364c
or
https://sfarchdiocese.org/documents/2021/5/Pastoral_Letter_LetterSize_0501.1.pdf?mc_cid=ed527e4864&mc_eid=20aa58364c
(This article by Cordileone is excellent)

https://albertmohler.com/2009/01/09/a-chilling-account-and-a-word-of-warning?mc_cid=ed527e4864&mc_eid=20aa58364c

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/05/05/world/the-pandemic-may-have-accelerated-the-american-drop-in-birthrates.html?mc_cid=ed527e4864&mc_eid=20aa58364c

”. . . abortion is not a “Christian” or “Catholic” issue: the dignity of the human person is a value that is, or should be, affirmed by us all.”

“Because an embryo is a unique and developing human organism, it follows that she or he possesses an inherent right to life from the moment of conception. Thus, the violent invasion of the act of abortion ends a human life.”

“This does not mean that we seek to impose our religious beliefs on others, but it does mean that our religious understanding of the human person as created in the image and likeness of God deepens our resolve to join hands with others, regardless of religious convictions or lack of them, to serve, teach, heal, and protect the human community, especially those most in need. We share with others the conviction that human dignity is innate; but we also believe it is of inestimable value.”

“Our increasingly polarized and uncivil society manifests a lack of respect for “the other” across a broad spectrum of issues. . . .”

“Formal cooperation in evil is never morally justified. For decades now western culture has been in denial about the harsh reality of abortion. The topic is swathed in sophistries by its advocates and discussion about it is forbidden in many venues.”

“There are important lessons here, to be sure.  One lesson must be this:  There will be theologians who seem ever ready to find a way to subvert the teachings of their church, even as they seek to remain in its employ and trust.  The second lesson is like unto the first:  There will ever be politicians who are looking for political cover, and will gladly receive this cover from those willing to subvert their church's teaching.  These lessons are by no means limited to the Roman Catholic Church.”

My observation is that people have grown weary of the abortion issue. Other more popular issues now have taken the place of protecting the lives of the unborn in many Christian's thinking. Being-tired-of is not the foundation of good ethics.

Have We Done Any Good, Here?

 Asking myself a habitual question:

Those of you who know me have heard me ask the question, "Have we done any good here?" I'll often pose the question at the end of a counseling session or a discussion/decision-making meeting. Most of the time I ask it to myself as much or more than to others.

Two things prompt me to ask the question this morning. 

1. Kathy and I are about two weeks away from ending a wonderful and unexpected season of our life. Since January of 2017 it has been our privilege to work with a wonderful group of people at Pacific Islands University. I'll tell you more in a minute, but, for now, know PIU is a Christian Liberal Studies and Bible college, reaching out to the People of Micronesia (little islands).
2. Pacific Islanders, and Pacific Islands people seen as a group, have caught my eye in the news recently.

One of the core values of PIU is transformation. We thoroughly believe in the life-changing force of the Good News of Jesus Christ. We have seen Gospel-motivated love melt hard hearts. In my short time here I have seen the intellectual, spiritual, motivational change take place in some of the young lives it has been my privilege to pour myself into. I come from an individualistic Western Culture. Most of my ancestors, just a few generations back, were hard-working farmers. I spent most of my adult life ministering in a little papermill town in a rural region of Virginia. Almost all of the people in the church where I ministered owned guns, many of them hunt with those guns. I've eaten hundreds of pounds of the venison they killed. Maybe they didn't pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, but their stories are filled with accounts of taking advantage of opportunities--sometimes slim--to improve their lot. Many built, with their own hands and those of family and neighbors, their own houses. They fixed their own cars and trucks. They made do, did without, and almost universally, made a better life for their kids and grandkids.

For the last four years I've worked among people who are much more communally minded. I've gotten upset, even angry, when I've seen young people full of promise held back by family--and it seems everybody is family--because the cultural norm is that one person, especially a young person, shouldn't get too far ahead of anyone else. I've also marveled at the safety net that these carefully respected relationships provide. I haven't lost my respect and admiration for the world I came from, and to which I will soon return, but I have a new and growing respect for the cultures I've been in for this season of life--a way of living that asks more, "What is good/right for us?" over merely, "What is best for me?"

Yesterday, I read a sad news story, that illustrates the challenges facing so many of the people of these tiny islands. Joe Enlet, a graduate of PIU, posted a link to the story of Iremamber Sykap, a young Chuukese man who spent most of his life in Hawaii. It is the same story that is tearing at the fabric of American life in Minneapolis, Chicago, and Kenosha, to name just a few examples. The only difference is instead of a young black man being shot in an encounter with police, it is a young brown man. Then today, I saw a photo-op announcement on the news. Some people, desperately in need of taking the critical thinking class at PIU, blame Asians, as a group, and Pacific Islanders for the COVID-19 pandemic. The irony runs almost as deep as the tragedy. If you look at a list of places in the world that are COVID-free you'll find nations like Federated States of Micronesia, Palau, and the Republic of Marshall Islands on the list. Yet, it is true, that in many places where Micronesians live in diaspora their infection rate is higher, often far higher, than their neighbors. Dig a bit though and you find explanations that bear an uncanny resemblance to the life stories of my Virginia neighbors. These are folk who are trying to make a better life, in particular, a better for their children and grandchildren, in the face of daunting odds. As is the case with my ancestors, sometimes that journey to the next step up ain't pretty. My loyalty to the institution I'm privileged to work with, causes me to see a deeper irony. If that government task force that is being formed, would simply give PIU their coffee and doughnut budget, we'd actually do something. I know that because we are already doing something.

You can get all the facts, figures, and results of studies you want and more. This morning I'm just speaking as a guy who unexpectedly found himself in a situation where he had an opportunity to make a difference, and who, by God's grace, has endeavored to do so. I'm also a guy who believes in this institution, PIU, and desires for it to prosper after I leave. I desire that, because I firmly believe that the prosperity of this tiny university, that serves the people of Micronesia is good for the people of Micronesia, the world, and the work of Christ. Specifically, here are some things I'd like to say. Really, what follows are bullet-points for further conversation:

• Micronesia is in great need of a new generation of capable leaders. Historically, geographically, culturally, PIU is in the right place to help fill that gap. Yes, this school has made mistakes in the past (Find me any person or institution who is actually doing something that hasn't made mistakes.). Let's get over it and get past it. Let's work together to solve the problems.
• Micronesia is rapidly changing. Half of Micronesians don't live in Micronesia. Every young person in Micronesia, and many who aren't so young, are connected to the world by cellphone. The world of the West and East with all our issues is at the fingertips of these people who don't have the depth of coping mechanisms we have developled in the First World.  Attempts to preserve a way of life that is no longer viable is futile, and not what needs to happen. There are marvelous aspects of the varied Micronesian cultures that ought to be preserved. But the young people PIU are working with live in and will live in a world vastly different than that of their parents and grandparents. 
  Those who say PIU isn't what it used to be, should thank the Lord. No, we aren't. We are helping young adults in the Twenty-first-Century, learn how to be Godly, productive citizens of this rapidly changing world. We do that by holding to that which is changeless.
  
• Micronesia has been evangelized. Those who think that means that the need for further missionary activity is no more, need to hang out here for a while. The great commission includes more than evangelism, though clearly, that is foundational. 
  Micronesia has a need for a new generation of trained leaders. 
  Opportunities in the Micronesian Diaspora are great.
  Because of their mobility, and other assets, Micronesians could become a force for missionary expansion into unreached and under-reached areas of the world.

As I read the sad story of  Iremamber, I thought of a graduate of ours who lived and worked in Hawaii for a time. She reached out to at-risk youngsters in the Micronesian community, youngsters like Iremamber was, just a few years ago. I thought of another of our graduates who is working with people struggling with drug addiction in an area of the US Mainland where a significant community of Micronesians live. I thought about a couple of other graduates who are involved in crisis counseling with people in the court system, here on Guam. I thought of some of the students I'm privileged to work with every day, students from Chuuk, Yap, Palau, the Marshalls, and various Micronesian communities in diaspora. These young people give me hope. To produce another tragedy like the one that took place in Hawaii is easy. Just do nothing. To make a difference takes a lot of us working together, working hard.

So, have we done any good, here. I believe we have, we are, and by God's grace, PIU will continue to do so. The folk who will remain after I'm gone would love to hear from you. Write me and I'll pass your information along, hmerrell@piu.edu, after 5/5, covbchm@gmail.com.

A Couple of Easter Thoughts

 On something like fifty Easters, it has been my privilege to share the wonderful truth of the RESURRECTION. I have that privilege again this morning. Here on Guam, the COVID situation has gotten better. Easter isn't about Spring--the resurrection of Christ is as relevant in the Southern Hemisphere as the North--and it is not a celebration of relief from a plague. It is a celebration of victory over sin and death, so the return of visible life after the apparent deadness of winter and the lessening of the grip of disease are related, though. Easter is about life--fullness of life here and life for eternity.

The Book of Romans in the Bible has been called the "Constitution of Christianity." The eighth chapter talks about all creation groaning under the ravages of sin. It goes on to talk about the "in all these things we are more than conquerors" victory that was won on that first holy weekend. That victory includes the defeat of all the ravages sin brought to our planet.

For most of those fifty, or so, Easters Kathy has played the piano. She will be again today. As I write I hear her practicing "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound. . . . My sins are gone. I've been set free." What a privilege to announce in music and word the wonderful victory. "Jesus Christ is no longer dead . . . He is risen, Halelujah. . . .  Joy to the world.

Happy Easter!

I'll Miss Gerald Sizemore

 Gerald Sizemore was one of the "Lifers" at Covington Bible Church. He was there when I arrived in 1973, and was there when I left in 2015. Gerald is with the Lord now.

People sometimes use the word, "wiry" to describe a man who isn't very big but who exhibits strength and resilience beyond what their size would lead one to believe. Gerald was that to the max. For much of the time I knew him he worked two jobs. Not a "real" job and a part-time gig, but two real jobs. One of his jobs was manager of a lumber yard. Before the big-box stores like Lowes or Home Depot became ubiquitous, lumber yards were where you bought nails and 2x4s and sheetrock. They weren't pretty places. You went elsewhere for home decor. They were what the name implies, lumber yards. Gerald was all over the place. He was behind the counter, he was on the phone, he was loading an order, or unloading a shipment. He got things done.

When we were building the Worship Center at the Covington Bible Church, where Gerald and I worshiped, much of the material came from the lumber yard Gerald managed. He helped me load a lot of 2x4s on my old Ford pickup. I don't remember what it was for, but there was a big order for something. We gave a couple of local businesses the opportunity to bid on filling the order. Shortly after we collected the bids and decided to go with the lowest--Gerald's outfit--one of the competitors stopped by the building site. He saw the pile of whatever it was and said, "Obviously, you must not have considered my bid." The fact of the matter is we had considered his bid. The fact was as soon as Gerald got the word that his was the winning bid, it was only a matter of hours until the material was delivered--so fast that his competitor had a hard time believing it.

That was how Gerald was. As the saying goes, "He didn't let any grass grow under his feet. No doubt, that get it done, and get it done now, style rubbed some people the wrong way. Gerald had some rough edges. Like me, the request was appropriate. "Please be patient with me. The Lord's not finished with me yet." I'm as confident as I can be about someone else that Gerald is with the Lord. Though we didn't spend much time together, Gerald was my friend. The last time I remember seeing him, he was sitting toward the back of the Covington Bible Church Worship Center, surrounded by lumber and sheetrock and sitting over plywood he had helped supply. He asked me when I was coming back. My wife remembers that he stopped by the house one time while we were in Covington. He told us he'd see us when we got back.

I don't regret what I'm doing, but I do wish I had been able to chat with Gerald as he dealt with the cancer that took him away. I confess that I don't know much about heaven. I don't figure there is brush to be cut. Are there trucks to load? I don't know. I'm reasonably confident there is stuff--good stuff, rewarding stuff--to do. Gerald'll get it done. Or maybe we won't really get finished. Perhaps, unhindered by time, artificial schedules, and cancer, we'll just keep on getting it done, without delay, without rush. I don't figure we'll have sore backs and strained shoulders, but will there be the satisfaction that seeps into a wiry body when it does a job well? Perhaps. If so Gerald will tell me about it when I get there.

Thanks Gerald for who you have been to me. Tell Cleva hi. 

Thoughts from The Dermatology Clinic

 "Howard Merrell

Closure

Margins clear"

I'd been sitting in the treatment room at the dermatology clinic for a while when the little clipboard on the table to my right caught my eye. The above three lines, hand-written, on a legal pad, brought a lot of relief.

To quote the dermatologist that I usually see, I have, "bad skin." I'm naturally fair-skinned. As a boy, I spent lots of time outside. If sun-block had been invented back then, I don't think my family had heard about it. I remember episodes of sunburn that left me with large blisters.  It was at least a once-a-year occurrence. It's odd that insult to my skin that took place sixty-years ago should have present consequences, but it does (That's fodder for another post, sometime.) 

Because of COVID, Kathy and I didn't get back to Virginia last summer. Also because of the Pandemic, it was hard for me to get an appointment with my skin doctor during our shortened visit to Virginia at Christmas time. I wasn't able to see him until just before I returned to Guam. I've lost count of all the precancerous places the doctor has frozen off my face. Suffice to say, if they were all put together, they would equal a blast from one of Batman's Nemeses, Mr. Freeze.

On occasion, occasion the doctor will find a place that he judges to be beyond "pre." He cuts it out and sends it to the lab. Usually, the report comes back basal cell carcinoma. A couple of times it has been squamous cell, a step worse. Usually, the good doctor estimates correctly--he knows how much tissue to remove and "gets it all"--so nothing further is required. Dr. T. found a cut-it-out place at his last exam. I received the report after I was back here in Guam. It was a squamous cell and the margins weren't clear. There were cancerous cells at the edges of the piece of skin he had removed, indicating that he didn't get it all.

Usually, I'm not a worrier, at least not about medical things. In fact, my sin about such things is more apt to be complacency. After all, I only have one body. I'm responsible to care for it. Good stewardship begins with paying attention. There is a dear lady from my church in Virginia. The last time I saw her she was in a hospital bed in her living room. For most of the conversation, she kept her cheek covered with a handkerchief. When her hand slipped or she moved her head too quickly, I'd catch a glimpse of her teeth through the hole that cancer had eaten into her cheek. It didn't keep me from my work or anything, at least I don't think it did, but I looked at the picture on the hard drive of my memory a good bit, after reading that report from my dermatologist. 

So, I made an appointment with a local doctor, sent him the reports, and showed up in his office. He scheduled a surgery (in his office) for the following week and cut out a piece of my face about the size of a dime. I went back a week later. That's when I read the line, "margins clear." He did some more cutting so the hole could be sewn up properly and performed "closure." I'll go back in a week to have the stitches taken out. 

I don't need to tell you that I'm relieved and thankful. Before I go, though, let me share two thoughts that might be useful to you.

Lots of people were praying for me. Kathy and I are really blessed to have friends and colleagues who regularly bring us before the Lord. If you are one of those folk, THANK you! One prayer, offered so I could hear it, is indicative of many, "Lord, heal Howard." Did the Lord heal me? I think He did. You may reply, "Wait a minute, Howard, there were two doctors, several nurses, a lab technician or two, and even the janitors who keep the clinics clean and sanitary. Give them the credit. Thank them." I do. I am thankful to all of them. They did their jobs well, and I am the recipient of conscientious competence. But the reality is God often uses means in accomplishing His work. God is not only over and above His world casting down thunder-bolts of judgment or mercy from time to time. He is in His creation (see here). In regard to the current pandemic, Tish Harrison Warren talks about this, God's immanence, to use a fifty-cent word, here. Thank God and thank those He uses.

The question hangs out there, "Why did that sweet lady have a hole in her cheek that led to her death, and Howard had a dime-sized piece of meat removed, got sewed-up, and sent home?" My answer may sound trite and unthinking, but it comes from a lifetime of experience with such things and no little thought on the matter--they do let me teach Theology, you know. Here is my answer, "I don't know." I do know it is not because I am a better person than that dear lady or more deserving than she. Nor is it because God abandoned her or because her case was beyond His ability to heal. In the end, I just don't know.

So I start with a haunting fear and end with a confession of ignorance. Perhaps you need to find a braver smarter blogger next time.

Fiat Spyder Convertible, A Classic F150, Dreams, and Reality

 About twenty-five years ago my younger son and I were car shopping. Chris was a new driver. He was a good kid, the kind of young man that makes his dad want to do something special for his son. Chris's driving career had been behind the wheels of the "Blue Bomb," the "Gray Ghost," and the "Preacher Car." These names were given to well-used used vehicles that made up the wheels available to my son. They were named as sort of an act compensation. These weren't the kinds of vehicles that made a young man's heart pump faster. They were utilitarian vehicles. They weren't pretty. Mostly they would get you where you were going. That was their chief virtue.

We were looking for a car that would be Chris's. I don't remember whether it was Chris or me who saw the ad for the Fiat Spyder. Kind of as a father-son adventure we took the hour trip to see the little Italian sports car. Both of us really liked it. Chris wasn't real good with a stick-shift, yet, so I drove it. I wanted the car. More than that, I wanted Chris to have it. There was a sticker on the window of the little car that referred to some church or Christian ministry. Chris turned the radio on to check it out. The radio was already tuned to a Christian radio station. "Dad, it's a Christian car."

Maybe, but it was also a car that cost more than I could pay at the time. So the last time we saw "la macchina" was as we drove away, both of us disappointed.

The other day I saw a picture of a 1978 Ford 150. Shiney blue. Incredibly low mileage. Chris's daughter is learning to drive. She is the kind of young lady that makes a dad proud and a grandpa brag. She has been in business for a couple of years. She cuts grass and takes care of people's yards. She has saved her money and bought her own equipment. She doesn't want a car--I don't think the little Spyder would get a second look from her. She wants a TRUCK. She is, after all, a Texan. I haven't talked to her, but I'm confident she would like to have a truck that's more twice as old as her, and would cause people to ask, "Where'd you get that. I'm even more sure that her dad wanted her to have it. But alas, like the Fiat, the Ford wasn't to be. The Fiat cost too much, out of sight from the camera the Ford has too much rust and some other problems associated with old-age.

Reality. Most of us confess to being realists. We clearly want others around us to keep their feet rooted

in what is, not in what they wish it were. But deep down, I wanted the little convertible for my son, and the big Ford for my granddaughter. I'm almost 71 and I'm still working on the balance. Having dreams keeps me going. Not dealing rightly with reality makes me starry-eyed and useless. When I'm thinking clearly I realize that dreaming of Fiats, Fords, and big victories is OK, even good. I've seen a lot of dreams come true, but living as if the fulfillment of my dreams is what I have coming, or thinking that there is some magic formula that makes Pedro's campaign promise--"All your dreams will come true."--a reality is a sure route to frustration or worse.
Kira, make me #3. I would have liked for you to have truck, but trust God. Know that Romans 8:28 still applies. It covers Italian cars, classic trucks, and old men's dreams. welcome to the club.

The Eyes of the One-hundred, HOPE

 

Back when I was in college, Vicky Fought, my English teacher, passed out a story that she had found in a magazine.  I lost my copy of that story, but I’ve never forgotten the gist of it.  One of the goals of my ministry has been to remember the lesson of this story. I wanted to put some present-day flesh and skin on those fifty-year-old bones and share that story, so I wrote the following, trying to preserve the gist of the story that profoundly moved me, half-a-century ago. I share it with you today. If anybody recognizes it and has the original, I'd love to see it.

Behold a preacher ascended to his pulpit and looked out on his congregation.  Two-hundred eyes looked up at him, and in the eyes of the One-hundred could be seen the eyes of the world. 

Quarantine Epistle #4:

 Kathy and I returned back to our apartment on the PIU campus, Monday night. It is good to be back home, but  . . . I'll get back to the "but" in a moment. Let me explore the good. Let me make clear, for any watchers, that we are making a good faith effort to abide by the quarantine requirements. We aren't COVID Pharisees, though. We have talked to a very few people just outside our door, masked up and six feet apart. Two little girls told Kathy they had cared for her flowers while we were away. One of my colleagues brought us a lunch plate from a meeting that went on yesterday, and then again, today lunch was brought by a friend. Our neighbor went to the grocery store for us, and this afternoon another coworker brought our mail. It has helped me realize just how much little acts of kindness mean--a lot. We enjoy our home, and we certainly enjoy one another. Thank you, Lord.

My Heart is Sad, but I Offer a Word of Hope:

 This morning--I am back where America's day begins--the keyhole through which I view the world is narrower than usual. Kathy and I just returned to Guam, from a wonderful Christmas break. The rules in Guam require us to serve a week quarantine in a hotel room. We haven't been out of the room since we arrived Monday night.

I woke up early and saw online about the troubles in Washington DC. Right now we are watching the scene unfold on a news channel. I'm heartbroken. I'm not about to pose as an expert on the constitution or a particularly well-informed political analyst, but when I see protestors sitting at the Speaker of the House's office, and another at one of the official seats of power, and hear news of someone being shot in this riot, I know beyond any doubt that this is wrong, very wrong.

There is a significant confluence of thoughts in my mind:

On a number of occasions over my near half-century of ministry, I have spoken of one of the great virtues of American politics--the peaceful transfer of power from one administration to another. I contrasted the American way with what was common practice in much of the world--elections were followed by riots, violence, mayhem, and sometimes coups that led to military rule. Now I see this being played out in the capital of my country. I am sad. My heart is broken not only by the violence that I see but by the polarization and ugliness that has ramped up to what I'm seeing now. I share the sadness being expressed by President-Elect Bidden that he is sharing as I write.

Before I saw the news on the violence in Washington DC, I was working on a class that I'll be teaching in a couple of weeks. I read the first chapter in Bill Hybels's book, Courageous Leadership. In the opening chapter of this excellent book, former pastor, Hybels reacting to scenes of violence at Ground Zero after 9/11, and another that unfolded between two brothers, proclaimed that, "The church is the hope of the world!" (28) I have often said, "Amen!" to those words and that sentiment.

There are many reasons behind the horrible scene unfolding in the Capitol. Dig in that pile a bit and you will find misplaced hope. The church, which should be, as the late Chuck Colson so often articulated, "the conscience of the nation," has failed in that role. We have too often failed in that role because we have traded our God-empowered heritage for a bowl of political pottage. The power of the church does not come from cunning political alignments. It resides in the reality of the life-changing Gospel. It changes the hearts of terrorists, be they little boys or hardened criminals. It gives a hope that is sure and not dependent on the next election or appointment to the Supreme Court. Its power is the same dynamic that brought a crucified Savior back to life after a horrible death. It is the power that toppled the greatest force on earth at the time--the Roman Empire. 

That power was at first placed in the hands of twelve men described by one group biographer as a "rather ragged aggregate of humanity." As one who has inherited that trust of the Gospel, I can assure you that the leaders of the church today are no less ragged. To those who, like me, can call themselves ministers of the Gospel, I remind us that our power is not political or organizational. It comes from a heart of purity devoted to the cause of Christ. I am saddened to know that Bill Hybels will not among those of us who call for prayer, resolve, and Godly action in this time of turmoil. Hybels, by his moral failure, forfeited his place of leadership in the church. Yet even in his failure he offers a challenge. Brothers and Sisters in Christ, the power of the Gospel does not lie in politics or organization, or even human skill. It resides in a message that is backed by a changed life. One of those original ragged individuals said it well.

 But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, 16 keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander. 17 For it is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for doing evil. 18 For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God. He was put to death in the body but made alive in the Spirit.

The New International Version. (2011). (1 Pe 3:15–18). Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan.