Sadly Sobering

Today was the first day of orientation for seminary - lots of beginnings and meeting new people and neat professors/VP fellas. In so many ways this has been the point I’d looked forward to so many years ago when I graduated high school.

I remember dreaming about becoming a pastor while cleaning the offices of the church my family went to, almost longing for the day to come when I could start seminary. Thinking I could make a case for them to let me in early without a bachelor’s degree (young and dumb). It was an exciting day, having those thoughts run through my brain from years ago.

But it was a sobering day.

As my wife and I got home, we went to check our mailbox. One of the cooks from my two-month table-waiting job who lives in our complex was there. I asked how things were going there… He stuttered and stumbled and choked on his words to say the chief killed himself on Monday.

I know that guy. I knew that guy. He smiled and helped me a ton… My fumbling, ignorant, naivety he forgave and would say, “Don’t worry about it, it happens,” with a compassionate smile. I can’t tell you how many times in those two months I felt forgiveness and kindness from that in the kitchen or how often I thought I could do my job confidently because there was a guy willing to be forgiving of my waitering faults.

All day long I heard about the weighty beauty of the studies to come. All night long I’ll think of the reality of death and absolute necessity the kindness of the gospel is for broken people. “A bruised reed he will not break and smoldering flax he will not quench.” “Come to me all who are heavy laden, for my burden is light and my yoke is easy.” “All things work together for the good of those who are called according to his purposes…”

This is why we do ministry. To minister - shepherd and serve - those who are destitute and afflicted, storm tossed and heavy laden, shattered and broken, depressed and despairing, to love those only Christ in us could love, to have compassion on the wounded and destitute.

This is what we proclaim: certain hope in the salvation of Jesus and the coming redemption of our frailties, the perfect man in the place of our imperfections, the grace of God and the mercy of our Lord.

This is a sadly-sobering day.

The Death of Death

There is a place only he can go; there is a place where only love can lead; and there is a spot where we were bought.

It’s on the top of the Skull at the bottom of the pit, the bottom of the cup, which last draught he drank. That detestable liquid that sloshes around in the cup of pain, each drop mingled with eternity and temporary, each sip as unquenchable fire and every taste death.

Death, death, death his laugh is haughty and his smile grim, he sees the victim coming to his jaws, coming to his bite. His hunger is unquenchable and his desire is to rip and slash and tear his victim limb from limb and gorge himself on his blood. He plans it with pleasure and designs the whole affair to be one of maximum suffering, of complete and utter agony, of excruciating torment.

But lo, that victim he is consuming comes crawling back through the throat of that dastardly devil, he breaks out the teeth his enemy with sheer strength, he cracks and breaks the jaw of Death and puts his mutilated head under his bruised foot crushing his head in finality.

The death toll Death typical rung sounded out but with a new tenor, and a melody sprung forth. The sound of death had changed, for he had not rung the toll, no, there was another who began the new song. The one who death could not contain has sounded the first note in the chorus of his victory. The orchestra has been sent to play the tune of salvation; the band sings on and on and on the glory of salvation. The one who took down death and committed Death to his grave and paid the price in full, the price we could not pay.

On high he reins flashing forth the glory of his fame.

Calling men and angels to proclaim the glories of his name.

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” they cry out, “our hope our trust our everything;

Our hope our peace our offering!

Once dead but alive, once abused and refused now victorious and glorious.

The theme of heaven and of earth, the song we sing of our new birth;

That Christ has come and killed Death, and the chains of our sin don’t bind us;

No, we are free to live and live and see that Christ has saved us."

In the End

After all is said & when all is done; even then, even still we look to Jesus. Our hope & our great reward.

We can portray the gospel perfectly, we can speak it clearly, we can do it all ‘right,’ but even still some will not believe it. It’s not a failure on our part (even though some of us have been taught to think so). They just don’t have faith.

But discouragement for us is still there. We love them. We’ve been called to love them, the ones with faith and without. So it hurts when they don’t believe in the same life giving hope we believe in, it hurts badly.

But after we’ve said it all and done it all and loved them well (which won’t end until we’re dead), even then we still look to Jesus.

Not our actions or our words. Not our love or care. Just to Jesus.

Simple, right? Profound too. Just to Jesus.

Giver of life and love deeds and words. Everything.

It breaks us and makes us whole. It kills us and brings us to life. It softens us and emboldens us. Very simply we look to Jesus.

He’s the one who saves, who calls the dead to life and gives the life to live. He does it not us and our ability (or inability) to present the gospel in the clearest of fashions. Not the formula or the ‘Evangelist’ Jesus saves souls.

Boil all of our Theology and doctrine down to one simple thing; Jesus Christ came to save sinners for the glory of God. 

For Mother's Day

What my mother means to me:

Graciousness.

Mercifulness.

Lovely.

Tenderness.

Boldness.

Gentleness.

Kindness.

My mom is an amazing woman. While working a professional job saving lives, she raised two kids. She put up with the antics of my dad (and mine, ‘cause raising a boy is straight sanctification I assume) and did so in a way that bespeaks godly, biblical submission to his authority. (That is not to say my upbringing was in any way chauvinistic. It is to say my dad was/is the spiritual leader.)

Mother’s day, the day to celebrate what mom has done for her kids.

For protecting her kids like a bear.

For being the only one to console a broken heart.

For being the nurse to fix scrapped knees.

For saving tiny shoes and old pictures.

For the correction little sinners need.

For the tears at our graduations and awards.

For the life of love given to another.

 Yet, some have lost their mom. Whether from the slow wear of time, cancer, or suddenness of a car wreck she won’t be around this Sunday. Indeed, eventually, most of us will face the time where we bid our final goodbye and try to remember her as she was.

So Mother’s Day might as well be another way to say unconditional-love-care-support-gentleness-kindness-and-protection Day -- for all. The druggy on the street corner, the friends who have lost her, the kids who know her, and everyone else, ‘cause mom was always there for me and what better way to celebrate who my mom is than to imitate her?

My Climbing Tree

I have a tree and no it’s not the one in my front yard. It’s my, “Climbing Tree,” tucked away nicely in Riverside Park, it’s a big birch tree (and now that I’ve told you, you can’t go steal it, ok? Good.).

Perfect for climbing or sitting at its base and thinking. I’ve been finding myself there often lately. It’s a true statement to say the tree has seen me cry more than most people. It’s also seen me laugh a whole dang lot (my mind is kinda odd… if you didn’t already catch that little factoid).

Which brings me to my point. Suffering or pain or misunderstanding whatever vocabulary you’d like to chuck its way. And on top of it joy, ‘cause I think joy is misunderstood to mean happiness. But I don’t think joy means feeling happy, no; I don’t believe that by any stretch of the imagination.

What I mean is this: In the midst of misunderstanding the circumstances I am in complete understanding (and more than that, believing) the reality of the gospel. So in loss recognizing the vast gain found on the treasure of the gospel. Or in pain realizing the comfort found in the refuge of Jesus.

Joy is understanding your eternity is secure. Not as seeing your circumstances as painful. Oh though they might be more painful than you’ve ever felt before, and all the crushing weight of fear and the unknown come washing over you like some torrent of needles… Joy is planted in the heart so firmly so as to be the roots of faith.

But these lyrics ring true, “Soon shall close the earthly mission, swift shall pass thy pilgrim days, hope soon change to glad fruition, faith to sight, and prayer to praise.”