Rock of Ages

                                                   Rock of Ages


Ok, so I shot myself with a cannon ball. It is true. No, Iwas not hurt seriously. Due to my superior reflexes and athletic ability I was able to minimize the damage. It would take more than a mere cannon ball to get the Cos.

Still, how did a 16 lb. cannon ball end up attacking me? It was simple, I was gardening. What, you don't garden with a 16 lb. shot put? Why not? It only makes sense. I live on a rock. There is a song in most hymnals about where I live: The Solid Rock. Except for the big tree in front of the house there was no vegetation on the lot on which we built. Plants, at least pretty ones, don't like to grow on rock. Some soil was brought in for a yard but about six inches down you hit rock. So every plant, shrub, flower, and tree I have planted has to have rock displaced to put it in the ground. Most of the vegetation we planted goes to the front yard. There is not much else to do in the front except offer yearly $50-$60  sacrifices to the gardening gods with annuals that last a month and perennials that last two months. The back yard is pretty bare.

So the wife decides we need something more back there, some color, some texture, some interest, something else for the dogs to pee on and something to die a slow agonizing death on the rock. We found a crepe myrtle that matched the type in the front yard. We picked a place along the back fence. I begin to dig.
The hole will be about 18 inches around. It will need to be about 18 inches deep for this crepe myrtle. The 18 inches around are a cinch, easy. I'm not even sweating. The first four inches down are just as easy and then it happens. I hit rock. A friend calls it "chunk" rock. It comes out in chunks. I've come prepared. Hammer, nail pry bar, and shovel. The shovel is finished at six inches. I hit a large solid rock at 8. I hammer, pry, dig, curse, dig, pry, cry--nothing. Time for the shot. I find my 16 lb. shot from college that I have carried with every move we've made through the years. Only my wife has moved as much and been more faithful.

The plan is to propel the shot with great force into the hole, strike the rock a mighty blow, crack the rock,  use the hammer to fragment the rock, and pull the dislodged pieces of the rock out of the hole. With the first heave into the rock I have some success but find I have two large rocks in there, not one. I go to work with shot, hammer, bar, fingers and after 45 minutes have the right side of the hole cleared of the big rock to a depth of 12 inches. Now the left side rock or the rock that's left, if you will. It is bigger, deeper. I lift the shot high over head and bring it down with such force that as I propel it into the hole my feet are lifted off the ground. Thud! Nothing. No cracks, chunks, no movement. Different angle. Thud! Same results. Move around the hole. Rare back. Dead aim on the center of the rock and swhoosh.....THUD! The shot bounces off the dead center of the rock and comes out of the hole faster than it went in. I know from physics that this is impossible but you don't know this rock. It flies out zeroing in on my knee which I am able with my cat-like reflexes to turn just slightly so the projectile glances off the outside of my knee.

Lamentations. I am defeated. Wife administers Gatorade, cold towels and Aleve. I channel Douglas MacArthur or Gregory Peck,"I shall return."

Retiring the shot, I employ new hardware next evening.  A long "rock" bar with a wedge end is used with  some success. After an hour of pounding, hammering, prying, crying and cursing, the large rock is out. The hole for the crepe myrtle is now sixteen inches deep and eighteen inches wide. It is lined with garden soil mixed with what dirt I could dust off the extracted rocks. The myrtle is planted. It will live this year but it has no promise of a long, tall future. It's future may not blossom but if plants have a soul, then it will know of the supreme effort made to give it life.

Sitting exhausted in the grass, I figure about four-man hours of labor was put into one small hole in order for me to kill an $18 plant. Then it dawns on me...how many hours, nay eons, did Jesus invest to break through the hardness of human hearts to  plant the seed of the gospel? The Rock of Ages busting through the rock of hardened hearts. It brings life, promised, guaranteed, and delivered. I see the crepe myrtle and am pleased. How much more the Lord when He sees His truth growing well in hearts of faith.  Our hope is built on nothing less.

Rock Gardening,
Cos

Though

PastorCos has had it pretty quiet as of late. Unless, you count the church members with cancer, the traffic accidents, a friend's son going to Afghanistan, the church having its first Sunday contemporary service (and no one got hurt!), running out of communion cups during the Lord's Supper, shooting myself  in the knee with a cannon ball, discovering my summer visitation list went from 25 to 65, people continually asking questions about mass shootings, war, radical Islam, politics and a harder group to pastor being the ones who don't question such things, all in all a pretty easy stretch (tongue in cheek). Then disturbing news came from around the corner, literally.

The bridge close around the corner from our chapel, the one that connects the back half of our community to the front half and the rest of the world, is collapsing. A temporary fix keeps us out of the creek and going to the grocery store but what happens next? Questions fly. When will it be fixed? How long will it take? How do we get out when its being repaired? Will they pave the county gravel road we will have to use while the bridge is being repaired (no!) Who will pay for it? Will our maintenance fees go up? How will I get to the new course for my 8:40 tee time?

Meanwhile, a fissure developed along one of the cliffs in our development overlooking beautiful Lake Whitney and the cliff is falling into the lake. Oh, yeah, its taking a house with it. Its all over the news and the house is over the cliff. I feel sorry for the homeowners, they hadn't owned the home too long.  Somebody's probably going to get sued and I have no idea how all that will turn out since the only one who actually knew how everything would end up was God.

Oh, maybe that's a good point, the only One who really knows is God. Now I don't know if He answers questions about when your house will fall into the lake but maybe He gives geologists, engineers, and builders science and skills to predict such things. Maybe He doesn't tell us everytime we are going to have a wreck or get cancer but surely He knows how to help us navigate through such things. Maybe in the inconveniences of life when man-made things break or erode, He reminds us of how spoiled we are and how to look not to temporal things nor to store up treasures on earth where moth and rust (and fissures) destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy and where thieves do not break in and steal. (Matt 6:19-20)

As I looked back over all the troubles going on all over the place, both near and far, I remembered a Psalm. It is one of those Psalms that sadly are too often relegated to funerals. It fits there but it fits even more when applied to living. It is Psalm 46. Listen to verse 2: "Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging."

Bridges give way, cliffs give way, health gives way and one day life in this body will itself give way and we are told not to fear. Why? How can we not fear when so much falls in or apart?  Because "there is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the most High dwells. God is within her, she will not fall."  The best, safest, most secure place will not ultimately be on this earth. The earth will melt (Ps. 46:6; II Peter 3:10-13.) The best place where you cannot be touched in a harmful way for all eternity is in God's city, in God's house, in God's heart.

When the bad times hit, when they come, begin your next sentence with Though and end it with I am in Jesus' heart. Anything that comes in between those points you will survive.

Cos

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