A friend of mine, told me that I should read A Tale of Three Kings, by Gene Edwards.  He had read it and he said he thought of me.  Why?  That would be T.M.I. for this context.  Suffice to say, knowing what I know, I was honored that my friend saw traces of me in the story.
In the rawest terms the book is about Saul, David, and Absalom.  Really it is about humility, ambition, brokenness, and yielding to God.  There is much that God knows, but "He won't tell."  Much of the book revolves around that tension of wanting to know--wanting to know so much that we will arrogantly claim to know--yet having to make choices in the realization that we don't know.  We don't even know our own heart.
The book is very selective in its history of David.  It claims that David did not fight for the kingdom, He did.the beginning of 2 Samuel makes that clear (3:1 in particular).  The book is right, however, in pointing out David's remarkable resolve in being unwilling to "stretch out his hand against the Lord's anointed."  (Saul)  Likely David's motives and actions toward Absalom were more complex than those portrayed in the book.
Having said that, I think Edwards zeros in on a central characteristic of David.  Maybe the characteristic that made him a man after God's own heart.  I know beyond any doubt that A Tale of Three Kings caused me to evaluate the contents of my own heart.  It seems that is the author's intention.  "The story is a portrait . . . of submission and authority within the kingdom of God."  (Introduction)  It gave me a new paradigm for evaluating some of the interactions that have formed and shaped me.
To put the question in the Words of David:  Am I willing for the "Lord to be my shepherd" even when He doesn't tell?  Am I willing to submit to Him even when I don't know where He is leading?

I think others will find A Tale of Three Kings, by Gene Edwards, a worthwhile read.

A Tale of Three Kings, Gene Edwards, Tyndale House Publishers.

Who gets to say what is beautiful?

Let me totally up front with my limitations, prejudices, and conclusions:

• I consider myself aesthetically challenged.  I just don't get why this color doesn't go with that one.  
• I enjoy music, of various genres, but my analysis of it pretty much begins and ends with, "I like (or don't like) it."
• I have great appreciation for a nice piece of wood well crafted.  I have made enough feeble attempts at doing that crafting, to have great respect and appreciation for those who do it with excellence.  I work hard at saying things well, and, to a lesser degree, expressing myself well in written form.  I seldom succeed in doing either in a way that could be described as "beautiful."  I think I'm able to translate that appreciation and respect for the crafts I am familiar with to those who labor in disciplines where I have no experience.  I think good art takes hard work, and practice, and that it involves that difficult to define quality, talent.
• I realize that art communicates.  I know that what I say is said not only by the dictionary meanings of the words, and the grammatical parsing of the sentences, but by the emotions my words call on, and the cultural memories they stir.  As any good comedian--not to mention Simon and Garfunkel-- I know even the absence of words--when the silence is well crafted--communicates with eloquence.  The problem is different cultures have different cultural buttons, and the 21st Century culture in which I live is made up of a polyglot of cultural languages.  I really hate to insert a high-end, technical term here, but it seems to be that "different strokes for different folks" is a concept that definitely must be considered in this discussion.  Having said that, though I stood in awe of  Michelangelo's David, I think using a picture of a naked guy is in appropriate in worship.  In my culture it just pushes too many wrong buttons.
  
• Finally, let me show my scars from the worship wars.  (For those who don't understand what I mean by "worship wars," first stop and thank the Lord, then if you are still curious, google it.  In those battles, I have leaned toward the amoral nature of music--music itself, apart from the words.  

A couple of recent articles have again raised this discussion in my thinking:

I saw a picture a while back that said something like, "Click if you think this world needs more beauty."  I very much wanted to click.  Yes, I do think this world needs more beauty.  I toured a local neighborhood recently, and I was bothered with how ugly it is--overgrown yards, falling-down porches, junk strewn about, and peeling paint flapping in the breeze.  I just spent a week+ redecorating a room in my house, and, while it doesn't show nearly as much as I wish it would, I work every week to say something with a measure of beauty.  Yes!  I think this world needs more beauty--desperately so.  I didn't click, though, because of one big question.  

Who gets to say what is beautiful?  

The world is filled with people who come at you with "too"s.  It's "too middle-class,"  "too baby-boomer-ish," "too Black," "too White," "too common," "too snooty," etc. etc. etc. too much.  Yes, the world very much needs more beauty, but I have to admit--and so do you--that we don't all agree on what is beautiful, and at least some of that difference of opinion is not based on the fact that I'm under, or over educated, or sold out to, or not in tune with, my culture, or common, or high-falutin', or etc. etc.  Some of it--I think more of it than I care to admit is because we are different.

Al Mohler, with his usual perception, commented on this broader issue by way of responding to a panel discussion on Christian rap music.  This excerpt from his blog-post, has the nuance that I am struggling to communicate.

Rap music is not my music. I do not come from a culture in which rap music is the medium of communication and I do not have the ear for it that I have for other forms of music. But I do admire its virtuosity and the hold that is has on so many, for whom it is a first and dominant musical language. I want that language taken for the cause of the Gospel and I pray to see a generation of young Gospel-driven rappers take dominion of that music for the glory of God. I see that happening now, and I rejoice in it. I want to see them grow even more in influence, reaching people I cannot reach with music that will reach millions who desperately need the Gospel. The same way that folks who first heard Bach desperately needed to hear the Gospel.
The good, the beautiful, and the true are to be combined to the greatest extent possible in every Christian endeavor, rap included. I have no idea how to evaluate any given rap musical expression, but rappers know. I do know how to evaluate the words, and when the words are saturated with the Gospel and biblical truth that is a wonderful thing. Our rapping Gospel friends will encourage one another to the greatest artistic expression. I want to encourage them in the Gospel. Let Bach’s maxim drive them all — to make (their) music the “handmaid of theology.”

In particular I appreciate Mohler's admission, "I have no idea how to evaluate . . . rap."

I am aware of my limitations, which I am sure exceed, Dr. Mohler's.  Lord, help me to keep those limitations in mind.

I found this post, which, I think, contains the discussion, a video, that prompted Mohler's commentary.  I don't know any of the men on this panel, but I have met, heard, and argued with them all.  Owen Strachan's thoughts are worth considering.

Here is one more post I found that critiques--don't read this if you agree with these guys--the arguments made by the panelists, Brent Hobbs

OK, I'm a preacher, thus I feel a compulsion to at least suggest some things that we ought to do with this.

1. Just be quiet (I wanted to say "shut up,". but my wife would fuss at me.) about only being able to worship God, if--you know, "I can only worship God with organs, or guitars, or with people in suits, and dresses, or folk in blue jeans." or  "I need the place where I worship to be 'real'" as in, looks like a shopping mall, or "Worship can only take place in a sacred setting."  meaning pipe organ and stained glass.
   The fact is all of us have preferences, but that is all they are.  Three element are necessary for true worship, and none of them are listed above--you, God, and the absolute, Isaiah 6 conviction of the vast difference between the other two.
   
   
   "I saw the Lord high and lifted up."
   

   
   Certain things will help me in that regard, but in my fifty-one years of walking with the Lord, and my forty years of trying to help others worship Him, I have found that a change of heart-attitude is far more important than a change of venue.
2. I ought to be able to say, "I really don't like your music."  or, "I think you dress really tacky."  or "This building, practice, way of doing things is too . . ." without starting a fight.  
3. I should be able to hear what is said above without getting my easily culturally offended nose out of joint.
4. I should be open to hearing arguments about what is the best way to do God's work.  I need to realize that my way does not necessarily equal the best way, nor is my way necessarily wrong.
5. It's not about me.  I worship God.  He is supreme.  He has given me a mandate to enlist others in worshiping Him.  I must be willing to step outside of my comfort-zone to do that.

As always, I welcome your comments.

Perspectives on Thanksgiving:

I'm listening to my son preach on thanksgiving on Thanksgiving.  One of the points he makes is the effect perspective has on my thanks.  His confrontation provides wind in my sails for a journey I've been working on for a while.
I don't want to ignore or neglect any responsibility I have to make things right with anyone I have wronged.  I want my forgiveness to be without limit, as my Lord's forgiveness is to me.  I have an infinite ways to go on that.  I want to, however, focus on those who are willing to do the hard work it takes to live, love, and serve together.  I am very thankful for my family, for my church, and for the circle of friends and colleagues with whom I am able to serve the Lord.
Chad, in forty+ years of ministry I have found that the Holy Spirit often takes my words and uses them in unexpected ways.  The Lord used your words to encourage a continued change of perspective, I've been working on for a while.  Thanks, and
Thank You, Lord.

FWF 11-24-13 from First West on Vimeo.

Another Voice for the Cessation of Imprecision:

Dr. Kevin Bauder, is a writer I describe as a sane Fundamentalist.  He wrote a fourth of the book, Four Views on the Spectrum of Evangelicalism.  I find his articles at In The Nick of Time, his blog, to be consistently worth reading. He recently wrote about Cessationism and Continuationism.  In that post he observes some of the same "imprecision" that I observed in my foray into the world of academic theological conversation on that subject.  You can read his thoughts about the need for greater precision in the conversation here.  You can find my thoughts, and links to some papers on cessationism, at least the promise thereof, from the presenters at the Council on Dispensational Hermeneutics,  here, here, here, and here.

It is an important conversation.  I hope it continues.

I post this primarily for my preacher buddies.  Let me add, I appreciate what you do.
If some of you who face the other way on Sunday morning happen to read it, there is a lesson here, but that's between you and the Lord.  I'm just posting it so some of my fellow "Men of the Cloth"--even though the cloth is frequently denim these days--can say, "Amen."

Who Is Your Pastor?  No Really . . .

Some thoughts from the House of Mourning:

This is one of those blog posts that has more to do with me wrestling something to the ground than anything else, but if it provokes profitable thought and/or comment from others, so much the better.  Solomon says that we are wise to visit the house of mourning (Ecclesiates 7)  I had to visit recently, and decided to stay for a bit, look around, and ponder.
From my last post here on the TVTMK blog as well as several articles at STTA, you may have gathered that my mom recently died.
My brother, sisters, and I knew mom's death was near.  In fact, we hoped it would come quickly.  Unlike when my father died unexpectedly, we had some time to plan.  Money was a factor.  We wanted to properly honor my mother, but we all think it foolish to be extravagant.  My immediate family lives in Virginia, Texas, and Indiana.  The next generation takes in another four states and a nation in Europe.  So, things are complicated.  Mom lived in Indiana with my sister. Her last real home was here in Virginia where my dad is buried.  Early on we decided that mom would be buried here.  Having any service in Indiana was unlikely, and in the end we didn't have any there.  One of the early points of discussion had to do with cremation.  Since mom would die in Indiana and be buried five-hundred miles away in Virginia, there were obvious logistical advantages.  I don't have any strong Theological/Biblical opposition to cremation.  I have read some of the attempts to prove from the Bible that it is wrong and haven't been convinced, but I was opposed to it.  Primarily I was opposed to cremating mom's body, because I know other people find cremation highly offensive.  I wanted to honor my mom.  That is hard to do that while thumbing one's nose at the sensibilities of others.  Especially since I am called to minister to those folk, I voted against that possibility.
We chose to have no viewing of mom's body.  I last saw her several months ago.  I hope I don't offend anyone by saying this, but generally when I go to a viewing (a wake as it is called in other places) I only look in the casket, because some people expect me to.  I don't need to see in order to know that the person is gone.  Perhaps others do. Mom's body was brought here to Virginia.  She was buried in a private graveside service.  Later that day we honored here in a Memorial service.

In a Theologically rich passage about death, the Apostle Paul speaks of the body as an "earthly tent," and says it will be "torn down." He says it will be replaced with a "dwelling from heaven."  After some further discussion, the Apostle, well versed in bodily suffering, pronounces his druthers--"to be absent from the body and to be at home with the Lord."  (2 Corinthians 5:1-8)
Yet in other places it is clear that the body is not merely a container of the person, but an integral part.  Jesus spoke of His friend Lazarus, as being sick, asleep, and dead.  In each case it was Lazarus that was in the condition Jesus described.  Jesus told His disciples, ". . . let us go to him."  (my emphasis) Jesus assured the grieving sister, Martha, "Your brother will rise again."  When Jesus called Lazarus from the grave He called him by name, "Lazarus, come forth."  (John 11)

Several months ago I visited my uncle's grave in Normandy, France.  Nearly ten, thousand servicemen are

buried there.  On a wall more than a thousand more names are inscribed.  These are the fallen whose bodies were not recovered.  If Sergeant  Hugh Allen Merrell is in the grave, where are those hundreds whose bodies were destroyed or lost in their battle against Nazi tyranny?

Obviously, there is a tension, here, and as with most theological tensions there is a tendency to gravitate toward one pole or the other, or, to change the metaphor, to swing the pendulum to one of the extremes.

I reacted against one extreme years ago when a close friend died.  His eldest son wanted to get rid of the body in as cheap a fashion as possible.  Immediate cremation, and unceremonious disposal was his plan.  My friend was loved, not only by me, but by many others, including his church.  I thought, and, more so, I felt that this proposal was wrong--even vulgar.  Not knowing where I would get the resources I said, "I don't want my friend to be remembered this way.  If need be, I will take care of the expenses."  (There was more involved, and as is often the case, the difference financially between cremation and burial was not as great as was originally thought.)  My friend was properly, but modestly honored.  Later when I watched this scene from West Wing, I was reminded of what I had done for my friend.  It was right.  The extreme that says the body is nothing is wrong.

Yet I hear others speak as if the body is everything.  Some of the more intellectual among them are fond of using the word gnostic*.  I think, in using the word they are railing against the extreme bifurcation of body and spirit that marked the Second Century cult, and is the excuse for the shabby treatment of the body that I and the fictional Toby objected to.  Yet in their objections, it seems that some go to far.  Look here for an extended--very extended--discussion.  They seem to make more of the body than it is, and pronounce absolutes were none exist.

I'm humbled by the realization that I don't all that I wish I did about death.  It is an enemy.  For those of us in Christ.  It is a defeated enemy.

*I find it interesting that in railing against gnosticism some folk embrace a characteristic of the cult.  The idea of, and dare I say "the pride in," possessing knowledge that others do not have.  Why else bandy about a code word that clearly separates the initiate from the ignorant masses.

Yesterday, after a long decline, my mother died.
Mom was the least healthy the four parents my wife and shared.  I can't remember a time when she wasn't sick, yet she outlasted the other three.  She spent more than a 1/4 of her life a widow.  Most of that time she was my nearest neighbor, living in an apartment my family was able to build for her.

September 30, about 12:30 PM Irene Merrell opened her eyes. She saw clearly for the first time in a number of years. Not only did she see, she also comprehended with brilliant clarity all that she saw, heard and felt. All at once the cruel hand of the dementia that had caused her world to grow ever smaller and dimmer—taking away her independence, then her recognition of others, command of words, even her self-awareness, and, finally the ability to do vital tasks like swallow a sip of water—released its grip on her in one liberating flash of deliverance. In an incalculably brief moment she became not only all that she had ever been, but more. Eighty-five years after her conception she became all she was meant to be. Irene was with us for eighty-four years
I think she first saw our Lord. She had been born into His family when she was still a child. Now she was born into His presence by angels sent to bring her home. I don’t know, but I’d like to think she saw Doc Merrell a moment later. He stands strong and erect. No Parkinson’s stoops his frame or brings tremors to the hand that reached out for hers. His playful grin shows the gap in his teeth. Her eyes have a sparkle that has for so long been missing.
Irene was known by many names in her life. Madge and Luke Hargrove called her Daughter.
Elene, Clara, Ray, Lena, Ruth and Jim called her Sister. There was no doubt she was Doc Merrell’s Sweetheart. Howard, Ted, Judy and Carol called her Mom. To Chad, Chris, Leslie, Audrey, Stacy, Joy, Jayne, Dawn and Mitzi she was Grandma, and to the next generation she became Gooma.
In eternity God’s people will serve Him, a task Irene was accustomed to. While yet a teenager she taught Sunday School, a ministry she continued off and on for more than half a century. She exercised the gift of hospitality and used her sharp mind to keep the books of one church. Her little crocheted angels are literally around the world. She died having no treasure here and much there.
Irene’s desire for her funeral arrangements can be summarized in four words, “What the children want.” In keeping with those wishes we will bury mom next to dad in a private graveside service and then honor her at a Memorial Service Thursday evening, at Covington Bible Church, 2140 S. Carpenter Drive, Covington VA 24426. The family will be at the church to receive friends at 6:30, the service will begin about 7:30. Mom desired, and we children concur, that in lieu of flowers donations be made to IU Goshen Home Health Care & Hospice, 200 High Park Ave, Goshen, IN 46526, or Covington Bible Church.