Carry the Load

                                                        Carry the Load


When he read the story of Clint Bruce and how Carry the Load was started, he knew what he had to do. His experience was similar. As a combat vet with three rotations in Afghanistan he had seen the same thing Bruce had seen. Memorial Day had become just another party time, a day off, a beginning of summer. For Jake it was  more. He had buddies killed in those far off places. He found it hard to party on Memorial Day so he decided to walk instead. He couldn't go to Washington and walk to Dallas, but he could meet them there. So he joined the organization, got some pledges, got a  Carry the Load tee shirt for the remembrance in Dallas, laced up his boots, filled up a pack and started down FM 422 from Seymour toward Archer City. He was carrying Danny Horsch. Jake called him 'Shoe" as in "Horsch-Shoe."

Jake took two days of vacation plus the weekend to make the 165 mile trip. He planned to actually walk about half of it and ride with friends the other half.  He had been getting ready for it with long hikes after work and weekends. He didn't have to go by himself, he wanted to. He could have gone down Hwy 114 but instead he wanted the solitude of the old  farm to market road. Day 1 would be the hardest and the easiest both. Hard because he planned to go the whole distance, 38 miles to Archer City, in one day. Easier because he could start early, was fresh and he had a good friend he would spend the night with in Archer. Jake figured a little between ten and eleven hours of walking would get him there. Walk ten miles, rest half an hour and eat. Walk ten miles, rest one hour and eat. Walk ten miles, rest and eat. Then eight miles to finish at Rusty's house around 8:30 if all went well.

About 15 miles out of Archer City Jake needed another break. All had gone well. The thinking, the remembering, the outburst of laughter at something goofy Horseshoe did or said, the miles of not thinking and not remembering. It was good. A few people on that road had stopped, offering rides and hearing a quick version of what he was doing, support, then drove on. It was good but now it was pretty hot. Jake had made good time and figured he could work in a short break in some shade if he could find any. Right about the Parkey Lake turnoff Jake saw a convenience\ bait store. He didn't remember seeing it there before. But it being there was a sight for sore feet.  A cold Dr Pepper, some cold water and a shady side of the building were just what he needed. Perfect.

Jake went in and tried to purchase the drinks. The clerk heard what he was doing and wouldn't let him pay for them. "Take 'em and whatever else you need, son."  These west Texas folks, can't beat 'em. Jake slumped down in the shade of the building and put his pack under his head. He must have dozed off for just a few minutes. When he looked up, he had company. A few feet down the side of the building was a long, lean stranger resting in the shade.  He looked kind of hard, tough even. "Who are you carrying?'' he asked. His voice had an aire of knowing, of sensing, maybe he was carrying someone too. "Danny Horsch. We called him 'Shoe.'"
 "Your squad?"
 "Yeah, but he was killed a couple of months after I left. IED got him. I told myself  not to get close to the new guys since I knew I was leaving soon. With Horseshoe I couldn't help it. He was goofy, funny, sad, pitiful, dumb, and occasionally brilliant.  One minute you wanted to strangle him, the next he had you laughing 'till your stomach ached. He had a sad background. Busted up family...learning disabilities, not too good with school stuff,  surprised he got in the Army... but the Army was about all he had. So I'm walking for Shoe. Can't help but miss the little bug.  You carrying?"
"Yeah Jake, I've got quite a few names I'm carrying. Been at it quite a while. In fact, I'd better get going. Thanks for the shade. Don't worry, Danny's okay. He had a long talk with the chaplain about a week before the blast.  Thanks for your service and care. It won't be forgotten. With your permission, I'll add you to my list."

He held out his hand to shake and then the stranger got up and moved to the front of the building. Jake was too stunned to talk.  "That was odd. Did I tell him my name? How'd he know about Horse-shoe and the chaplain? " Jake picked up his pack and loaded it on his back. He moved around to the front to ask the stranger his name and how he knew these things. He was gone. As Jake moved out to the road to push on to Archer City, he glanced back. Looking back west he thought he saw the stranger moving on down the road carrying....what? what is that? A cross? Jake blinked and saw nothing. "I guess the sun got to me."

Or maybe the Son did.

Cos
Memorial Day Weekend 2014

Foreign God and How I Became a Radical

It has finally happened. I have lived long enough that now I am a radical. Radical-ness is suppose to happen early-- late teens, maybe twenties, I thought. Idealism mixed with anger mixed with new found ideas mixed with a taste of freedom to be rebellious and viola, radical. Usually, local radicals settle down and get busy living, working, and having a family. Some times their ideas for change and challenge take hold and new forms of work, finance, government, and other paradigm shifts takes place. Mostly they get domesticated. But me, radical?  I didn't think I changed that much that fast, yet here I am, radical. How did it happen?

Well, the best I can figure it, the whole world packed  up, picked up, and moved away from pretty much everything I thought was normal. I was left as a stranger in a foreign land. I used to think God was involved with the world- caring, concerned and wanting to bless. Nope, turns out he is not involved much, hardly cares at all- based on the amount of human suffering, and is therefore unconcerned. I thought humans were suppose to get to know all about God and have a relationship with him based on grace and faith. Nope, just call on him in emergencies or to question why he doesn't do more to help in our tornadoes, hurricanes, wars, and diseases. I used to think humans were of great intrinsic value because they were made in God's image, redeemed at the cost of his son, and deeply loved by God. Nope, turns outs humans can be bought and sold on the slave market, sex market, and the stock market. Your value is in what you produce and contribute and is only as high as the bottom line plus your ability to share the same opinions as everyone around you. I hold that followers of Christ were called to a life of holiness and righteousness that can only be lived in faithful surrender to and loving obedience to the Spirit of God. Radical me, I didn't get the memo that life is about self and being happy. God apparently is somewhere up there, not to be worshipped and served, but to make me happy.

I used to think a family with an involved dad, nurturing mom, both being faithful to one another and kids learning values like integrity, responsibility, faith, hope, love, and sacrificial service was a normal, good thing. Boy was I apparently off base. Dads are good to produce kids, send child support checks, and teach sports. Moms can now have it all from kids to careers to play dates with wine and each can have other relationships with either boys or girls when they "fall out of love." See how weird and radical I've become, I thought love grew out of faithfulness, commitment, and patient endurance. I thought that God had a say called "his will" about marriage and sex and righteousness in peoples lives and loves.  Nope, turns out love is all about chemistry and physicality and there is nothing much spiritual about it. Turns out I am now, by many standards in society, a hate-filled bigot with my radical views on God, love, marriage, and family.

Let's don't even go there with my radical views of the ways we worship entertainment, sports, politics, celebrities, and mother earth. I have the now radical idea that only God is worthy to be worshipped and we are to be stewards of all the resources of earth for the benefit of humanity which helps the planet, too. My society tells me I should eat, drink and be merry! I, the radical, tell my society also to eat and be grateful to God for the food and share with those in need; drink, and deeply at the fountain of grace and mercy being filled with God's Holy Spirit; be merry in knowing that though this world will one day pass away in judgement from a righteous God whose loving redemption was rejected, you may live forever in His kingdom by faith in His son.

Yep, it has happened. I lived long enough to become radical because I worship a foreign God. All this time I've been becoming a radical. Well, as a member of this radical minority sect of Christ followers aka Christians, I guess there's only one thing to do-- which is the exact thing the church of the first century did after Jesus' ascension: Love this world and all who are in it with the same love of Christ; proclaim that sin is real but is forgiven in Christ Jesus; model Jesus' compassion and service to "the least of these''; display in our fellowship the same unity as the Trinity; and pray that our "foreign" God reveals Himself to sinners everywhere.

God himself knows what it is like to be a foreign God. John's gospel proclaims that " He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him." (Jn. 1:10) So what did He do? "For God so loved the world that He gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."  John 3:16

So here I am, a radical serving a foreign God in a strange land. (Phil. 3:20) It's actually quite an adventure.

Want to join me?
Cos

I Guess I'm Getting Old

I guess I'm getting old.
 I say that to myself a lot now. I say it to myself a lot now, especially when it come to churchy business strategy stuff. The writer of Ecclesiastes said "of making many books there is no end..." ( Eccl. 12:12) I might add in our world the adding of a seminar after your book is successful sees no end either. A book is written, then is made into a dvd for a small group Bible study, then a seminar is scheduled in a nice city where the author of the book teaches you how to teach it- all for $399 (early registration knocks off $100) The seminars focus on neglected Bible admonitions and patterns, such as holiness, mission, obedience, marriage, etc. They are excellently produced and worthy of attention. Other seminars focus on sociological trends, faith (or the lack of it) trends, and mindsets and worldviews at odds with current theology and church practices. Problems are assessed, hope dims, but wait, there is a new way to look at and "do" church. Hope rises if we will just adopt this strategy and these causes then the lost, hurting world will find Jesus favorable again and our relevance will be restored and our churches thrive. Again.

Ministers should go to these conferences and seminars now and then. It is pure hubris to think one knows it all and can't learn more. There are excellent scholars, teachers, and pastors who present excellent material. The fellowship and dialogue with other ministers with differing yet similar circumstances is invaluable. The break away from the daily grind is refreshing. Go when you are young. Stay fresh. Put the new wine in new wineskins. Go even occasionally as an old minister. You need to see the young ones, hear their hearts, and minds and they need to hear yours. Old wine taste better.

Then go back home and read scripture. Read Jesus' strategy. Plain. Simple.Free-- Love God with all your heat, soul, mind, and strength. Love your neighbor as yourself. Seek first the Kingdom. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. If I be lifted up, I will draw all men to me. Take up your cross and follow Me. Go and make disciples of all nations.

I worry less about the next big thing telling me what the world is like and how the church should respond. The response will vary and change but the heart of the matter stays the same. Love Jesus. Love people like He does. You will figure out "the how." He will help. Yes, inform your caring with knowledge. But I've come to see the truth that most people don't care how much you know, they want to know how much you care.

But like I said, I'm getting old.
Cos

Taking Charge of Jesus

                                                      Taking Charge of Jesus


Finally Pilate handed him over to them to be crucified. So the soldiers took charge of Jesus. 
(John 19: 16)

 He has a thought and births a universe. He speaks a word and a world is formed. By his own hand he stretches out the heavens and marshals the starry hosts. He measures the waters of the earth in the palm of his hand.  The prophet Isaiah declares a mighty God reigns in heaven. We like him there.

Yet when he takes on flesh, we esteem him not. Coming into his own whom he has gathered in his arms and gently led, he was rejected,  he was unrecognized. Down here, we're in charge.

So hands pull his head and shoulders from his mother's body. Human hands wipe him down and place his weak bobble head on his mother's breast. From the beginning he is handled, swaddled, cleaned, changed, fed, wiped, carried, placed, rocked--he is handed over and handled over. At least for a while the hands are kindly.

He is handed over to the care of his mother. He is handed over to Joseph's apprenticeship. His hands work wood, the wood works over his hands.  People place orders, he fills them. People bring broken things, he fixes them. People treat him as a tradesman. He is. Some are respectful, polite. Some are demanding, demeaning. He is handled like a servant. He is.

One day it all begins to change. He leaves home.  He is handed over to be tempted. But he is in charge now (was there ever a time he wasn't?). He preaches; he walks; he calls; he heals; he corrects; he comforts; he confronts; he points, he prays, he weeps and he keeps walking toward a distant hill. It grows closer. Yet, He is handled like a performer more than a reformer, more like a re-claimer of past glory than a redeemer for new life.  The demands are set: no more Rome! no more disease! more bread! more fish! And don't change our traditions! He hands them an answer: no.

They hand him to Pilate. Pilate's soldiers take charge of Him. Good luck with that.

And on the cross and from a tomb, He takes charge. He turns an execution into an executive order. Hands do not pull him from the tomb as they did from a womb. He stands and walks out. You simply can't take charge of a God like that, but he allows anyone to grasp Him by faith.

Can you handle that?
Cos
Easter 2014

God Wrestling

                                                     God Wrestling


I don't like wrestling with God. I always lose. Always.

I've been doing it quite a bit lately. In fact, with the weather, allergies, schedules, and illnesses, the walking exercise has been replaced with wrestling God. It can be done anywhere, anytime. And I always lose.

The most famous God wrestler was Jacob, known in his day as the Deceiving Destroyer. He had a heal-grabbing move that always seem to work. He didn't lose often and even when it looked like he had lost (Laban), he finds a way in the last round to win.

Then he wrestled God (Gen. 32). No winning this one. All he could do was hang on.

Since I've been wrestling God lately it made me think of Jacob. I wonder what they wrestled about. Was it about pride, power, fear, submission, integrity, the past, the future? It went on all night so maybe it was these and a dozen more topics. Round after round, move after move. Jacob couldn't get the better of God, the old heal grabbing moves did nothing. All he could do was hang on.

I've wrestled God over pride, power, position, health, money, children issues, grandchildren issues (mainly distance), injustice and a whole lot of 'why' questions. I always lose but I keep coming back for more. Who else will wrestle with me over these issues with the kind of gut wrenching honesty and confidentiality that God wields? Humans get tired of hearing about that kind of wrestling, sounds a lot like complaining to them. Lately the wrestling has been over the health of my sister-in-law, Kim. Kim is a special needs child. 'Child?' She is fifty-five but operates on about a 12\13 yr. old level in many ways. She is special to the family for other reasons. Nick-named "Chuck" and an expert on birds, dogs, and most animals she is an absolute delight to all. She has also been very sick lately. She has ulcerated colitis and had to have her colon removed. Ostomy bag for the rest of her life...lets get in the ring, God.........

"Look God, I know all humans are subject to the results of the fall. Sin affects every one. But come on, are there no exceptions? You're God! How about taking it easy on refugees from despots, five year olds so they don't get cancer or ninety-five year olds with Alzheimer's and no quality of life?
(No answer)
"Yeah, I know and today I'm mad about Kim. Can't you give an executive order and fix this thing? Hasn't she suffered enough? And on top of that You are wearing her 93 yr. old mother out. How about it, don't they qualify for mercy?
(No answer)
"Oh, I know. I've read the the Bible. I see what happened when You showed up down here. I know what we did to the incarnate Son. I've been taught the standard orthodox theology that You aren't fixing things just "for time" but for eternity. Still doesn't taste right, especially for the more innocent among us. So how about it?
(No answer)
"Come on, can You not say something, do something?"

No answer comes but I often get a distinct picture of a cross in my mind, followed by some kind of heavenly gate, and a tear. I am reminded that the cross and empty tomb are the answers to the sin of the world and its pain. I am reminded that the ultimate healing for all things broken will come in a new heaven and new earth while in this one we will have tribulation. The picture of the tear in my mind I guess is a reminder that these things hurt God's heart more than I can imagine. Did God give these images in my head as an answer? Did I invent these things to give God ''an out?" That is another round of wrestling.

I don't know what else to do. I just keep on wrestling. The older I get, the rest and peace between rounds is longer, sweeter. Maybe I'm just getting too old to wrestle as hard as in my younger days. I have noticed that between rounds God is not in an opposite corner, He is right here with me in mine.  Who knows, maybe I'm in His.

So, I just keep on wrestling with Him from time to time. Like Jacob, about all I can do is hang on.  I guess that is a part of faith. Like Jacob, who got his hip thrown out, I will lose, I will limp. I trust people who are limping spiritually. I know they are fellow wrestlers of God. I know we all lose. But it is an odd kind of losing. If you go enough rounds and keep on hanging on, you will still lose to God, but in His kingdom somehow losing becomes victory. Go figure.

Losing to win,
Cos

Imposition

                                                         Imposition


Imposition.  Its Ash Wednesday and it doesn't sound right. I look it up. Okay, imposition means to apply or place but it is usually used with the idea of force, to compel as by an authority; to obtrude or pass off on someone. Do I really want to compel, force, or pass off on others the ashes? The Latin roots help. The word imposition has its roots in the Latin word imponere meaning to put on or to place.

So the ashes are placed, they are applied. But to what end? The ritual isn't mentioned in the Bible, not even hinted, yet millions of Christian receive the ashes to their forehead or hand yearly. There is nothing in the ashes that brings you closer to God, how can ashes do so in light of the blood of Christ and the presence of His Spirit? But they can remind; they can point; they can bring a tactile sense of a spiritual reality. In these ashes are the reminders of mortality but in the sign of the cross they help us see the promise of immortality for true repentants. In these ashes are the black grit of the dirtiness of sin and the remains of a burning desire in God's heart to win back the fallen and raise from the ash heap of sin, new life.  In these ashes are the sooty reminders of what was once alive (palm branches) is now burned, changed and yet re-purposed.  Through the cross Jesus takes our burned out lives and re-purposes them for eternity. When the ashes are applied one feels the grit, but not the guilt; one feels the sign of the cross but without His forsaken-ness, one remembers His journey but receives His joy.

It is easy enough to point to the calendar and say, "Easter draws near, let us think and prayerfully reflect on the price, the sacrifice, the sin Christ took (mine) and the death He died (mine) but also the coming joy of a broken tomb." To prepare for Easter what is really needed is the Bible and maybe a calendar. But some may want to feel the ashes, feel their grit, feel the cross drawn on their foreheads as it helps them think, reflect, and pray. No, there is neither magic nor miracle in ashes no more than a plastic cup with crangrape juice and a tiny stale wafer. Yet, they point, they remind, they help us feel, they help us think and help us thank.

Imposition. Late at night the mirror sees it all.  I must wash. The hands become black with ash. The washcloth is smudged. The sink runs black. The mirror sees. The mark remains for a time on the skin as I stare back at the mirror. "Jesus, was it an imposition? The birth, the life, the loneliness, the blood, the pain, the death?" The skin is clean, scrubbed, exfoliated. "Was it an imposition, Lord?" A scripture comes to mind. Hebrews 12:2, "Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God."

The ash stained cross on the forehead has faded now. I sense the ones in my heart have too.

Cos
Lent 2014

Where's Betty?

                                                         Where's Betty?


Sitting on the front pew at church a few weeks ago I glanced over my left shoulder. We were singing "Faith is the Victory," and there, across the center aisle, on the third row was Betty. She was sitting with her husband, Don, and daughter, Cate. But in some ways, Betty wasn't there. She had a far away look and any one could tell she wasn't in the moment. Some of the people who know simply call it "the stare." Betty has Alzheimer's.

I couldn't help but wonder, "where's Betty?" Perhaps as she looked toward the choir, her choir, she was back in her place again. Maybe she remembered back when she started the music for our chapel and there were only five of them instead of the fifty the choir now has. Since we were in church maybe she remembered starting the bible study she and Don had in their home that led to the beginning of the chapel. Could she be remembering helping start the 4L's club for older ladies needing a place to socialize, fellowship, and pray. It was impossible to know from "the stare" where Betty was at that moment. I can only hope and read into those eyes something good for her.

On the next verse I glance again and I see the stare hoping she is somewhere with children or grandchildren or great-grandchildren. Is she in her garden? She loves to grow beautiful things and unusual. She's forgotten more about plants than I will ever know. It hurts.  Maybe she is remembering all the visits she made in the early days of the chapel inviting people to attend. Probably less than half of the chapel  knows how hard she worked, how outgoing and friendly she could be and that most of us might not be here in this building, enjoying this worship, and singing these songs were it not for her and a handful of other faithful saints.

What disturbs me more is that she may not remember any of this. But I can hope and I hope that behind the stare she hears the beauty of a symphony she and Don attended and supported for years. She loves music. Maybe in her mind she is playing the piano herself, accompanying Cate on the violin. I don't know because her stare can't tell me. It is somewhere far off, in the past, in the future, I can't know. I can only know that she and others with the stare deserved better than this. Her family deserved better than this. But they didn't get it. I get aggravated with God at these times of her confusion, their exhaustion, and everyone's frustration with this disease. I not only ask "where's Betty?" I ask ''where's God?" I ask Him this about a lot of situations. He doesn't say much, at least that I can hear. My theology tells me that even when I can't see or hear much, I should know He does much and that eternity will reveal it. But now the stare hides it. I have to trust that He loves Betty and will take care of her. We sing the third verse: "on every hand the foe we find drawn up in dread array..." Yeah, I see that foe and he put the stare on her face and I hate it. "Faith is the victory....that overcomes the world." I guess that stare is in some ways the battle face of one with a few battles still left to fight. I see that stare and by faith must trust that God sees and feels it too. But it's still haunting and I wonder--where's Betty?

After church we go into the fellowship hall for coffee and conversation. I make my rounds. I try to say "hello" to new faces and faces that seem sad or alone or that I just haven't seen in a while. Then I see Betty. One of the sister saints has seen her too. She knows her, her past, her present, her future. She engages Betty. At that moment Betty smiles, her eyes are bright, she speaks. There is joy. There stare is gone and for a few minutes I know where Betty is. She is here; she is with family by blood and by faith. God is with her in this moment, and though harder to see, He is with her in the stare. She is here and will be until "we vanquish all the hosts of night in Jesus' conquering name."

Faith is the Victory, even when it is hard to see.
II Corinthians 5:7

Cos

Used by permission from the  family. For more information or to volunteer, please call the Alzheimer's Association. The Hill county number is 254.458.6560.