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.

Something Best Enjoyed in Pajamas with a Snuggle on the Side

 The Christmas season will soon be upon us. Unfortunately, the Covid season still hangs on. Perhaps this little bedtime story will help soften the edges of this time that is hard for young and old.

A Lost Donkey Finds His Momma, And . . .
by, Howard Merrell

 

Dudley just couldn’t hee-haw any more.  For a while he was glad that Daddy Donkey wasn’t there.  Daddy Donkey always said, “If you want to amount to anything like your Grandpa Darius Donkey, you have to learn to “hee-haw” with royal authority.  The lesser beasts should hear you at least a mile away.” 

Dudley had practiced and practiced until his hee-haw shook the leaves on the bushes.  Not as good as grandpa Darius--he could make the palm trees sway-- but not bad for a little donkey. 

Earlier in the day when Dudley called out to Momma Donkey he was at his best.

Sheila Sheep looked at him and said “Baa.”

Cameron Camel slowly turned his head toward Dudley and slobbered in recognition.

Doreen Dove lighted on the bush next to him and said “Coo, coo.”

Howard Horse trotted by and whinnied in reply.

Even Baxter Buzzard swooped down to get a closer look.

But no matter which way Dudley turned his big floppy ears he couldn’t hear a Momma “hee-haw” reply.   Momma Donkey didn’t answer.

It all started a few days earlier, a long way from here, up in Nazareth.  Joseph, Momma and Dudley’s kind owner came and put the halter and blanket on Momma and said something about a trip to Bethlehem.  Dudley had never heard of Bethlehem so he figured it must be far.  If Momma was going to Bethlehem, what would happen to him?  Momma was telling Dudley to “Just be quiet.  It will be all right.”

But before she finished Dudley let out the saddest most pitiable “Hee-haw,” you ever heard. 

Joseph looked at the little donkey and rubbed him right at the base of his ears.  Dudley loved that.

“Why little fellow, you act like you can understand what I say, but don’t worry.” 

As Joseph spoke Dudley snuggled his head in the carpenter’s course woolen robe.  Sometimes the little donkey would find an apple or some other treat, but not today.
“Don’t worry little fellow.  You can tag along.  I guess the Romans will count you, too, and probably charge me more taxes, but I won’t leave you here by yourself.”

With that, Dudley looked so relieved, that Joseph just stood there in amazement.  “Sometimes I think that donkey understands every word I say.”  Joseph spoke out loud, but to no one in particular. 

Right then, Momma gave Dudley “the look.”  You know, the look that means, “Don’t you dare” do whatever it is that you were thinking about doing right before she gave you the look.   So Dudley just munched some hay, acting like he had no idea what Joseph said.

But he did.

Joseph gathered some hay and grain into a sack, and leading Momma out, said, “Come on Little Fellow.”  Joseph didn’t know the little donkey was named Dudley.  “You just follow behind your momma.”

And Dudley did just that.

Where is this Bethlehem place, where they were going?

Why were they going there?

When would they come back?

Dudley was full of questions, but he knew they would have to wait.  Right now he just watched.  Joseph very carefully and tenderly helped his wife Mary onto Momma’s back.  Dudley had heard not only from Momma, but from listening to the people talk that Mary was going to have a baby very soon.

“I wonder why we’re going to this Bethlehem place, right now?” He wondered.  But that was just one more question that had to wait. 

Joseph, and Mary and Momma went right down the path that led to the Jordan River, far below in the East.  Dudley went from one bush, to a butterfly, to an interesting looking rock, to a flower, to another bush, to an anthill.  If he got too far from the path he would hear Momma call.  Dudley was surprised that Mary and Joseph didn’t seem to hear when Momma would call his name, but Dudley could hear just fine, and when he did, he’d say, “Ok, Momma,” and bound back toward the little travelling group.  Mary would smile a tired smile when she saw him, but she never seemed to hear.

“Hmmm?”  thought Dudley, “another question.”

That night, Joseph found a place for his little family to spend the night.  Dudley listened to Mary and Joseph talk and knew they weren’t in Bethlehem, yet.  They still had several days of walking.

After some hay and a nice roll in the dust Momma was ready for sleep, but Dudley had so many questions.

“Just one, Dudley.”

“Aw, Momma, two?”

“No, I’m tired, and we both need to sleep.  We have another long trip tomorrow.  Just one.”

“OK.  Momma.  Why do the people always act surprised when we act like we understand them?”

“Oh, I’ve been wondering when you would ask about that.  Do you see these big ears that Lord God gave us?”

Dudley nodded.

“Well these ears let us hear so much more than the people hear that when we talk we talk so quietly that they can’t hear us.”  So they don’t know we can talk, and I guess they just assume that we don’t understand either.”

“But Momma, why do you and Daddy Donkey, and Grandpa Darius always act like you don’t understand anyhow?”

“Well, young donkey, that is another question, but I’ll answer it anyhow.  We do that because it is easier.  We really know what they are saying, but we act like we don’t.”

“Is that why you gave me the look, when we were back at Joseph’s house?” 

“Now that’s three!  But, yes, that’s why I let you know you should play dumb.  The look! Indeed! You must have been talking to your Daddy again.  Now, get to sleep.”

It was dark and Dudley couldn’t see, but he knew Momma was giving him the look.  Soon he was fast asleep.

It was late in the evening when Joseph and his family arrived in Bethlehem.  The trail was full.  There were people, and horses, and camels, and more people, and Dudley knew Joseph was in a hurry.  Momma tried to hurry without jostling Mary, but even Dudley knew the time for her baby to be born must be soon.  As they were hurrying along a big group of Roman soldiers came by.  The flags floating in the breeze, the big fierce looking horses and the shiny brass armor on the men dazzled Dudley.  Dazzled him so much that he lost sight of Momma, and all the hoof beats, and soldiers talking, and merchants yelling, and camels grunting, and strange donkeys hee-hawing was so loud that Dudley couldn’t hear Momma either, and now he was lost. 

He went on in the way he thought they would have gone, but even when he did his best Grandpa Darius Hee-haw, he couldn’t hear any reply.  Soon he got even loster, and the sun was going down, and he got cold and loster.  Now, he wouldn’t have cared if Daddy Donkey teased him about his pitiful little Hee-haw, he would have loved to see somebody he knew, but no one answered, and the darker it got, the loster Dudley got, and the colder, and the sadder, and the . . .

Until he couldn’t “Hee-haw” any more.

All that came out was, “sniff – snuff.”

Poor Dudley’s head was down between his legs and his ears were dragging the ground when he smelled something.  Donkeys can smell almost as well as they can hear.

“Sniff, sniff, sniff,” went Dudley as he lifted his head into the breeze.

“I know that smell.”

“It’s fire.”

“People make fire to keep warm.”  Just thinking the word made Dudley feel better.

Dudley started walking in the direction of the smell. 

“Maybe, thought Dudley, “these are my people,” and if they are my people, Momma will be there!” 

Dudley was trotting now.  Soon he could see the glow of the fire behind some rocks.  He was running now.  He burst into the little group around the fire, but they weren’t his people and Momma wasn’t there. 

Dudley’s head hung, and his ears drooped.

“Hey, little fellow.”  Said one of the shepherds sitting around the fire.

“How’d he know to call me that?” thought Dudley.  “That’s what Joseph calls me.”

But the fire looked so warm--and could it be?  Was that man holding out an apple?--that Dudley moved closer to the fire, and took the apple from a little shepherd’s hand.

That’s when it happened!

Suddenly the sky was as bright as noonday.  All the shepherds fell on the ground like they were dead.

Dudley didn’t know what it was.  It looked like a man, but it was like it was made out of fire, only much brighter than the fire around which the shepherds had been huddling.

“Do not be afraid;” the thing in the sky said, with a voice like a people voice, but as loud as Grandpa Darius’s hee-haw.

“ for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people; for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. “This will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:10–12, NASB95)

Then the sky was full of these creatures of light saying with a sound that Dudley thought would split the rocks, “Glory to God in the highest, And on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased.” (Luke 2:14, NASB95)

Then they were gone.  The shepherds just stared at the black sky, dotted with stars, wondering where these marvelous creatures had gone. 

Then one of the shepherds, one with a big black beard like Joseph’s, said, “Let us go straight to Bethlehem then, and see this thing that has happened which the Lord has made known to us.”

Dudley’s little donkey brain was all in a whirl.  Didn’t those wonderful creatures in the sky say something about a baby?  Could it be Mary’s baby?  And it if it was Mary’s baby then Momma couldn’t be far off.

So when the shepherds picked up their staffs and tied their robes around their waists, Dudley followed right behind.  They “came in a hurry and found their way to Mary and Joseph, and the baby as He lay in the manger.” 

Soon the shepherds left.  They told everybody they saw about what they had seen.  Dudley’s big floppy ears could hear them talking a long time after they left.  In fact he could still faintly hear them when he drifted off to sleep snuggled close to Momma.

 

The Closing Of, The Slouching Toward, and The Disposal of Unsalty Salt That Led to This Mess

 One of the things, concerning American politics, that I have thankfully observed over the years is the orderly transfer of power that takes place from one election cycle to another. Unfortunately, I see evidence that this might not be the case this time around. Personally, I don't think the chances of wide-spread violence are very high. I definitely don't see a coup in the works, but I can't ignore the recent demonstrations--some of which became riots--or the fact that some businesses and offices in major US cities have proactively boarded up their places of business against the possibility that some might "take things to the street." We pridefully claim that we aren't a "banana republic," but could we just be a republic with more bananas?

During my lifetime, to one degree or another, the United States was influenced by respect for authority, fairness, and the rule of law, that found its roots in Judeo-Christian values. I'm not saying that most of my countrymen of 40, 50, or 60 years ago were Christians (or Jews). They weren't. But, my nation was still strongly influenced by values that were in many cases drawn from Scripture, or from the natural

law that is parallel with Biblical ethics. 

I came of age in the late 60s. As a boy growing up with Beaver Cleaver in the 50s I was aware of President Eisenhower. Mostly I remember that he played golf. He considered himself to a very religious man, but he was not a part of any church. I would say that most of the adults around me in my growing-up years shared that sentiment. It was my dad's view (until he turned back the Lord in a personal way, just after I started college). People had a religion and set of values that were handed to them. Most did little if anything to strengthen that package and make sure it maintained its relevance so it could be passed on to the next generation. 

Two books that helped me, later in life, to see what was going on in my youth are The Closing of the American Mind, by Allan Bloom, and Slouching Toward Gomorrah, by Robert Bork. To use a Biblical picture, our salt became saltless and it was therefore good for nothing except to be thrown out and walked on. Even later, Cornelius Plantinga's book, Not the Way it is Supposed to Be, A Breviary on Sin, helped confirm and tidy up my thinking.

So, what do we do?

  

The simple answer is--and it's not wrong just because it is simple--to do right.

      He has told you, O man, what is good; 

      and what does the LORD require of you 

                  but to do justice, and to love kindness, 

      and to walk humbly with your God? 

(Mic 6:8)

Beyond that, or perhaps I should say, "within that" let me offer a couple of thoughts:

• Do what you can, where you can. Spend less time railing, or fretting, or rioting about what is going on Washington, or Palikir, or . . . and more time reaching out with kindness to your neighbors.
• Don't just coast, based on the moral/ethical capital of the past. Live, work, and minister in such a way that you are adding to the supply of salty salt that will help preserve coming generations from the kind of rot we see around us today. 
• Discipline yourself to discriminate between the person who holds the view to which you object, and the view held by that person. That person is created in God's image, one for whom Christ died, and she or he is a repository of unimaginable potential. That view you despise may be despicable. That person is redeemable.
• Think! Don't just feel. 
• Listen more. Talk less.
• Don't shout (unless you are warning someone of a disaster.)
• Seek to understand.
• Be kind.
• Know that God has gotten along just fine while all kinds of governments and governers functioned in this world. Our hope is in him.

Live for Jesus.

The Jerry Fallwell Jr./Liberty Mess

 To say, "I'm conflicted" about the recent news in regard to Jerry Fallwell Jr. and Liberty University is a definite understatement. I'm a graduate of Liberty Seminary. I did most of my work by driving the one-hundred miles to Lynchburg once a week. Even then--late 80s and early 90s--I had "issues" with some things the Senior Fallwell was doing. I remember a conversation I had with a classmate and Fallwell aid about Jerry Sr. taking over PTL. My friend reported that folk in the office tried to talk Jerry out if it. They were right. I attended an "I Love America" rally, and was friends with the star of the show, Robby Hiner, but I became comfortable with the position of a couple of other (former) Fallwell associates, Eddie Dobson and Cal Thomas. They state their case in a book they co-wrote, Blinded by Might. I had gotten to know Dobson, through a mutual friend. From a distance, I watched him move away from the politics-is-the-answer, position to a Gospel-centered ministry. My experience, for what it is worth, has proven Thomas and Dobson to be right. (I don't want to give the impression that Jerry Sr. and Thomas Road Baptist abandoned the Gospel. They didn't.)

Still, my experience at Liberty was a good one. Frank Schmidt, James Borland, Ron Hawkins, and Norm Giesler, are names of teachers who still stick in my mind. They were/are good guys. I never attended chapel; it was long over before a arrived for class, late in the afternoon. About my only campus experience was parking on the lot. As I recall about the only time "Jerry's" political adventures came up in class were in good-natured jokes. As a pastor well within the circle of influence of Liberty, I was glad for my over-sized neighbor (I speak of Thomas Road Baptist and Liberty, not Jerry Sr.) I saw several young people from the church I pastored go to Liberty, including my son. By and large, they had good experiences. 

My conflict is further conflicted by the fact that Jerry Jr. and I have something in common. We both lead (in his case led) Christian Universities. His, one of the largest, mine, one of the smallest in the world. Let me be clear: If half of what is reported about the current scandal is true it is far beyond excuse. I'm just saying, there is a place in my heart for those who sit in the chair.

With all that said, I'm trying to learn from what is going on at my Alma Mater.

• God can use anybody He wants to use, but from our perspective down here, God's work ought to be done by God's people.
  Those of us who have watched Liberty since the death of Jerry Sr. have noticed a disturbing drift. Here, I'm not talking about the move back in a political direction. I'm talking about using the metric of success as the chief measurement of whether an organization is doing the right thing. Jerry Jr.'s statements about not being a pastor, given with the implication that this allows him greater ethical freedom, is a very harmful notion. If one is not prepared to lead a Christian institution in a Christ-like manner, including by example, then one should either resign or take the word "Christian" off of the description of the institution. Hannah Anderson makes this point well.
• As Paul tells Timothy and Titus (1 Timothy 3 & Titus 1) the chief qualifications for leading in the church--and I would say by extension for leading in parachurch organizations--are matters of character, not matters of expertise. By far the most important responsibility of the Board of any Christian Institution is to make sure that the executive leader is leading in a Godly fashion. I know this will sound judgmental, but (I was Board Chair before I was President, so I have some experience from which to speak.) Liberty's Board waited too long.
• Catastrophic failures--and I regard this as one--always have a personal/moral component. In this case, it is near 100%.
• As I look at all of this, among the many flaws I see in myself, I (perhaps you?) need to guard against pride. I can hear the firey whispering in my ear, "At least you didn't do that." Instead, I am working to see the snares (2 Tim. 2:26) that though baited with smaller morsels--for Jerry Jr., the bait was millions and billions, while in my realm, it is hundreds and thousands--are in reality the same deadly traps. Often those trip-wires are strung in the home rather than the office or boardroom. They are strategically placed to do the most damage.

The former leader of one of the world's biggest Christian Universities doesn't have the President of one of the smallest on his speed dial. Nevertheless, here is my advice:
Walk away, quietly and meekly. Make your primary, and perhaps only, focus the rebuilding of your family. Memorize this line and recite it often. "I have no comment." Forgive. Seek forgiveness. Get good counsel. Take the check for ten-and-a-half million and sign it on the back. Give it to the financial aid department to establish a scholarship in the name of the most faithful janitor at Liberty. Leave instructions that your name is never to be used in conjunction with the scholarship. Sit on the back row and listen to your brother preach. Come in five-minutes late and slip out during the final prayer. Know that I'm praying for you and for the school named on the diploma that hangs on my wall.