He Had to Go

God looked. He looked into humanity's past. He looked into humanity's future. It was all the same to Him... Timeless present of the Eternally Timeless. There once was a farmer. Three dozen years had yielded thirty-two crops--some good, some bad, some horrible, some great, and some not at all. The last two failed and he was finished. Worn out, ground down, and hard up...he was too tired, too broke, and too sad to farm anymore. The droughts, floods, freezes, heat waves, insects, government programs, and clueless bankers would have to find someone else to persecute. He was done. That winter seemed especially cold and long. It seemed to go nowhere and have no purpose. Gradually, the winter chill gave way to the warming earth of spring. A breeze blew the smell of newly turned earth from the next farm over to his nose and he knew. He knew the call of the earth. He felt it in his bones more than heard it in his ears, but he knew. He had to go..... Everyone called him "Coach." Some of the younger kids didn't even know his name. For a score minus two he had "coached 'em up." There were more wins than losses, a few more anyway. There were even a couple of deep runs into the playoffs. Some years ago, he wasn't exactly sure when, he relaxed. He worked just as hard, screamed just as loudly, and drew x's and o's incessantly looking for the perfect play, but he relaxed. It happened as he gradually saw a bigger picture no scoreboard could tally. This picture was painted with the colors of values, discipline, teamwork, and sacrifice. He finally saw the kids and he loved them. Most of the time it was a winning picture, but even if it wasn't it was still a good season. The kids in the program knew this, especially after graduation. But the booster club president and two board members had kids coming into the program next year. They were used to winning Period. And so the the coach who saw beyond the W's, well, he had to go...... All she ever wanted to be was wife and mother, until she became one. Those slow, wet, deep kisses and eager hands that sought her had also awakened such longings in her a year ago were either a memory or a menace now. The thoughts of giving life and sustaining life with children now seemed to steal all the life right out of her. The boss demanded her time and creativity. The husband seemed to demand her body and her paycheck. The church wanted their piece of her and the kids wanted everything. She felt like a commodity being traded on the floor of some human stock exchange. She wanted peace, she needed peace, she craved respect, she longed for love. Lately, she thought she saw something kind in the way one of her co-workers looked at her. He suggested a couple of glasses of wine after work one day. All she knew was she had to go...... He knew when he signed that other piece of paper that this one would show up one day. It could have come even sooner. How long has it been now, ten months? When he signed on he was restless, curious, a little angry at life, somewhat confused and needing direction. Now he has a career, now he has a speciality; he has responsibility and discipline; he even has a title to go with this new piece of paper: his orders. The only word that registers with him is "Afghanistan." He knew it was coming, halfway hoping it would come. Now it has. He's ready. He's trained. He is part of a team. He's going to do the right thing for his country, his momma, his sister and freedom lovers everywhere. He whistles in the dark. Each war has its rights and wrongs, its justices and injustices. He will discover in time his own opinions on his war. All he knows now is that he has the papers and they tell him, he has to go...... His passion and fire is what drew them to him in the first place. He probably should have been with a younger congregation. He was young himself, not yet 35 years old. He had a lot to learn about the way things ran, especially at such a prestigious, old, and large church. But he was gifted in the pulpit, maybe too gifted. The problem came when the church fathers discovered he meant what he preached. He preached hard truths that needed to be heard. He loved Christ passionately and that made the lovers of lessor idols uncomfortable. The pastor was humble in the presence of Christ and bold in the face of sin, especially the so-called respectable ones. The elders tried to bring him along with the comforts they could afford to give him. The sonofagun just kept giving more money to the church and more of his stuff to the poor. The elders agreed when they met how much they admired him in some ways. But the bottom line was, he had to go....... The Son looked. He saw the garden and He saw the gate--locked. He saw the temple and the big curtain--closed. He saw the farmer, the wife, the coach, the soldier, the pastor and everyone else. He saw their rebellion and brokenness; He saw their hopes and dreams, their darkness and futility; he saw pain and aloneness. He saw all they had and all they had lost. He looked around the splendors of heaven and saw an emptiness only He could see. Mostly He saw the cross and He knew, He knew what it meant, more than anyone ever would or could know. But mostly He knew this.....He had to go. And so He did. He who was timeless, enters time that we who weren't guiltless, might enter eternity. Now we can go, Cos

God and My Golf Game

God and golf should not be spoken of by me in the same sentence. If you watched me play you would swear there is no God. With me, it is not that there is no God, there just is no golf---game that is. Following is how my walk with God and golfing go together: Tee Time: What a great day! God your creation is magnificent! Can you believe the beauty? And we get to be out in it. It's going to be a great day to tool around the course and enjoy all this.... First Shot: Well, it's a little off but I think I can find it, and maybe even play it. I'm just glad to be out here with you guys. God just wants me to stay focused... First Par Three: Well that's not too bad, just off the green ten yards... a good chip and put and I've got a par, at worst a two put for a bogey..... Three chips and two puts later... "Six!" God is just testing me to see if I'll stay sweet and in control... Par Five: Great drive... I might as well go for it in two, especially after that triple bogey. "Whack... Cut! Cut! Cut! Splash!. Oh well, two in, four out. That's okay. I'll hit up on the green and one put for a par. ..Three chips and two puts later...Eight! I hate this game and a Christian didn't invent it and no real Christian can play it! Twelfth Hole: Job couldn't have felt this bad. God has sent his buzzards to harass me. My pitching wedge is demon possessed. It needs to be exorcised. Rob Tennison says it is getting plenty of exercise. God, save Rob. Fifteenth Hole: I'm not sure God exists. The wind is too high and always blows in my face. It's too cold on the front nine and it feels like hell on this side. Why would anyone subject himself to this torture? I need a psychiatrist. My hand is cramping and the muscles in my back are as tight as Bob Kruse's purse strings. If I believed any longer in God I'd pray for the rapture right now. Yes, I got another triple! Eighteenth Hole: Just get me out of this. God if you exist and you can hear me, just let me get out of here with no more embarrassment, I promise I'll never try this hell-spawned game again...This drive wasn't too bad...I'm just going to close my eyes and swing easy...''whack"... wow look at that ball go....look, it's on the green... I don't have to chip... I can two put for a par, three put for a bogey! Great shot! Yeah thanks, ok. What? Sunday after church? Sure, I'll be here......... Hope springs eternal and hell is persistent and the rise and fall of my Christianity begins again....... Cos

But His Name is On My License

Two pastors I know died within about three weeks of each other. One was expected in a way. Bill Wright had been fighting cancer for a while. He was a larger than life character but not larger than cancer. I had heard his days were numbered but I actually didn't hear of his passing for about ten days after the fact. Bill was known for his huge love of Jesus expressed to people and through missions. If you heard him speak to people on the street or in the hall at a conference, "preacher" is the last thing you'd think of. That's one reason I loved the guy. You really weren't special until Bill called you "Dummy" or "Moron." I know that sounds bad but you loved him for it. If I called someone Moron they would want to hit me. If Bill did, you wanted to hug him. Literally thousands were impacted by his ministry of missions, especially to Mexico, on the Texas border, and through disaster relief trucks that he led his church and the state Baptist convention to man and expand. Not surprised but saddened was my reaction when I heard of his death. Another mold was broken... Wayne Oglesby's death was a shock. He was the pastor I had for the last year and a half of my high school days. He was only seven years older than I was. We hung out a lot my last year of high school and the Lord used him to help gentle me toward ministry. He was a good preacher. He was fun. He was thoughtful. He and Lynn took me to my first broadway play. They put up with my dropping by too often. He took me on excursions to the bible bookstore and to my first evangelism conference. When the call came to ministry after graduation from high school, I was ready to hear it largely because of Wayne. When the call came that he had hung himself in the garage I was not prepared to hear that at all. Surpised and saddened and un-nerved was my reaction when I heard he had ended his own life. Wayne had suffered with depression for some time I was told. I would have been too young to notice at 17 or 18 if he had those troubles then. I do know he'd get really down when he considered his own dad's death as a relatively young man. Wayne's last churches before he went to work as a hospice\funeral home chaplain didn't go very well. I don't know all the stories, I just know it was tough. Did the tough churches lead to deeper depression? Did depression make it hard to pastor these churches? I don't know. But his name is on the bottom of my license to the ministry and I was only one of thousands he impacted positively with his life even as depression was eating his life away like an acid. Could I get that depressed seven years from now when I'm 62? I hurt for the two widows, the kids and grandkids. One family hurting for all the right reasons we hurt when someone we love dies. Another family hurts way too soon with way too many questions. I hope and pray God brings peace to both and look forward to the time when cancer and depression take their rightful place-- in the darkest corner of hell. Lord, will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm 62? I'll need You. Cos

The Mess of the Story

Defend him all you want, say what you will, but wherever Jesus went he seems to have made a mess of things. So you disagree? Then kindly explain these things declared in the Bible which show how Jesus left a mess in his wake. I suppose one might find ground for argument that he messed up the stable in which he was born but look at it from the animal's point of few. Jesus turned their nice cave-barn into a nursery. Who really knows if it was fit to be used as a stable after that? But there are better examples of Jesus littering the grounds upon which he walked. He calls disciples Peter and Andrew, James and John (Mark 1) and immediately there is a problem to be cleaned up involving abandoned boats and rotting fishing nets. Who's going to take care of that mess? Jesus doesn't take too many more steps and he calls a tax collector named Levi to follow him as well. And guess what? Now there is a tax booth, (precursor to the toll booth?) table, chair, ledgers, stylus and other office supplies left just blowing in the wind. Another mess. He was just getting started. He takes his motley crew to a wedding and turns about 150 gallons of water into wine (John 2). What are you suppose to do with that much wine at the end of a party? Just another mess Jesus leaves among the dozens recorded. There were old, leprous clothes that were discarded and had to be burned after Jesus passed by their former owners. There were broken chains and ripped garments of a man who used to provide the home for many demons (Mark 5) now littering the Garesean hillsides. Crutches thrown aside and mats where the blind and lame used to sit now gather dust. And again, what were the people to do with the coffin and death shroud of the widow of Nain's son (Luke 7) when Jesus raised him from the dead? Just keep following this guy: cages get overturned, money scattered, tables broken and knocked over at the courtyard of women in the temple when he ran the business men out from the women's place of prayer; an empty perfume flask that held expensive perfume from Mary when she poured it on Jesus' feet; and who was going to fix the roof when those friends of the lame guy tore up the roof tiles to let him down from the roof for Jesus to heal? And you can't tell me that only12 guys could clean up properly after Jesus fed 5000 one time and 4000 another time, I don't care how many basketfulls of food they picked up! The list just keeps growing---used palm branches, a crown of thorns, death clothes left in the tomb--everywhere Jesus went you could see the result of his having been there. He truly made a mess of things! Follow him and you will find a debris field of old lives, old ways, former hurts, former ailments, lost days, lost hopes, and death's rags scattered to kingdom come. Would to God that He would make a mess of my life! Cos

Making a Mess of Ash Wednesday

How did a former Baptist pastor end up in this mess? Well, he created it. By the time I was finished with my assignment I had gathered an aluminum roasting pan, a can of vegetable oil spray, a bottle of charcoal lighter fluid, a hand-held propane lighter, an eight pound Jr. high shot put, a screwdriver, a pair of left-handed scissors, a plastic baggie, and a half dozen dried palm branches. It started simple enough- keep the palm branches from last year's Palm Sunday service to be dried and burned to make ashes for anointing those wishing to participate in an Ash Wednesday service. I had no previous experience with doing this. Last year's Ash Wednesday was my first. I sought the advice and help of a retired Disciples of Christ minister in our church who is on top of nearly everything. He went to a friend who lent him some ashes our service. I thought that added meaning to the term 'lent.' This year we would make our own ashes from our own palm branches. Progress. So I find myself in the garage this morning. Its thirty-seven degrees in there. I have a roasting pan to burn the branches in. I did an internet search and found an entry stating that spray vegetable oil worked well. I backed my pick-up out of the garage. I cut a few dried leaves and dropped them into the pan, sprayed them with a little oil and placed them at the opening of the garage. It was protected from the wind but far enough back to provide good circulation-I thought. So I put the lighter to them. Fizzle. It's not lighting. Okay, go get some lighter fluid. I pour some of that on the leaves and whomp, its burning. Man is it ever burning. Are those gas cans for the mower over there? I can see tomorrow's headline 'White Bluff Volunteer Fire Dept. Chaplain burns own house down...' Why isn't the smoke going out? Finally it dies down. Hey, this doesn't look too bad. The ashes are kinda long and stringy. What did that guy on the internet say? Oh, yeah you have to crush them. With what? I'll use the butt of a screwdriver. So on my work bench I get to crushing ashes with the butt of a screwdriver. It is taking forever. I'll just use my hand. That worked much better but most of the ashes stay on my hand. I get one teaspoon of ashes and drop them in a baggy. Second round. More branches this time, cut into smaller pieces. I use a little more vegetable oil and a lot less lighter fluid. Closer to the door this go 'round and farther from the lawn mower gas and a little whomp later I'm in business. This batch looks more promising. But what can I crush these ashes with? My hand is great but messy; the screwdriver is ok but slow. I know, I'll get one of my shot puts and roll it on the burned up branches. Viola! So I'm rolling out ashes thinking I'm probably breaking some ecclesiastical laws and I'm watching for the Orthodoxy Police and the fire department when I see all this stuff I've pulled out. What a unholy mess! Then it hits me-I'm my own metaphor. I'm trying to do this religious stuff, I'm not sure how and I'm not very good at it. I'm getting it done in one manner of speaking but I've made a mess of things in the meantime. Who shall rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God--through Jesus Christ our Lord! (Rom. 7:25) In a few hours people will come and hear an Ash Wednesday message. They will receive the sign of the cross on their foreheads from my thumb and from my DOC friend. They won't know about my messes either with living life or in making ashes. Some will come out of habit, some will come out of curiosity, some will come to try and make a connection with God again. Some will come and who knows why, but come they will. They will hear an explanation of the history and meaning behind Ash Wednesday. They will hear me say that it doesn't make God love them any more if they receive the ashes or any less if they don't. They will hear me say the Bible no where tells people to fast on this day but they will hear me be pro-fast if in giving up some daily, ordinary habit they can then turn their attention to the extraordinary Christ and think more of Him. They will hear me say that there is nothing which will give you more power with God by taking the Ashes but maybe if you stop and reflect enough you may better understand the power from God you've already been given. They will hear me say that nothing in this ritual adds to our salvation but if remembering our mortality and repenting of those weights in life that so easily entangle us (Heb. 12:1) somehow enables us to walk more with our God in humility and devotion ,then receive the ashes. They won't know that of all the services of our year that this one causes me to tremble and humbles more than any other. I feel so unworthy to be making the sign of a cross on these saints. It is I who need to live behind that cross. It is almost too intimate, too close with eyes too searching and hearts too open. It's a Presence I can hardly bear and maybe that is why I need it more than they. Finally they will hear me say to not let the cross of ritual on the forehead keep them from the more important work of this Lenten season: to take stock--to remember to whom they belong and to to whom they answer--to reflect on the relationship they have with Jesus and to not just check off another box of keeping the rules. I will tell them to fall in love again with Jesus and leave off anything that deadens or douses Loves flames. They will hear me tell them that when, at the end of the day, and they wash off the smudge I've placed on the foreheads, to remember that it is much harder to wash off the smudge in the heart. It takes the blood of Jesus to do that. Ash Wednesday 2010 Cos

Saints Alive!

Who Dat dun wan da Soupr Bol? Ya, it be da Saints. I'm happy for the New Orleans Saints on several levels. One, it was just a good, enjoyable football game. It had big plays, bobbles, hard hitting, momentum shifts and just about any thing you could want in a football game, unless you are a fan of the Colts. I personally thought Peyton Manning would find a way to win that game but the Saints were just too much. Some say it was destiny. After seeing Drew Brees with his infant son (that was good thinking to put ear protection on the little boy) and the tears of joy, I may be a believer myself. Birthed the year after the first Super Bowl, the New Orleans Saints were a tough luck group. Their faithful had followed their beloved team for forty three years of frustration. I remember fans showing up with bags on their heads to not be seen watching the Saints. I remember them being called the 'Aint's. I recall Archie Manning, one of their earliest draftees, being one of the best scrambling quarterbacks in the history of the game mainly out of necessity. The Saints were the opponent for our Cowboys in the first professional game I'd see when my daddy sprung for tickets. We watched Dandy Don and the Cowboys handily whip the new guys from Louisiana (I did like their uniforms). I really didn't have a heavy emotional tie to either team last night. If I had been forced to pick a team to root for it would have been the Saints, mainly because of Darlene, our Cajun friend, who really wanted them to win it all. Any thing that gets Darlene talking Cajun I'm all for. And who doesn't like an underdog story? There is no guarantee that the Saints of today's football glory will be able to repeat as next year's football champs. In fact, the NFC has sent nine different teams to the last nine Super Bowls. But there is another group of saints you may also want to pull for, since most anyone who reads this is a part of that group. It turns out that this group of saints,the ones addressed in nearly all of Paul's and Peter's letters, plus another dozen or so times in the book of Revelation, has had its ups and downs for the past 2,000 plus years, not forty-three. It's ofttimes even harder than it was for the New Orleans faithful to keep up the hopes of victory for these other long-suffering saints. Last night's Saints said they believed in themselves even after falling behind by ten early on. The saints of whom I speak are the believers, the followers of Christ who remain faithful through the centuries to the Christ that they love and in whom they believe. We have allowed the word "saints" to take on more meaning than was intended by elevating the concept beyond the realm of every-day living for the cause of Christ and by the love of Christ. In the New Testament, these "saints" were the believers, the faithful who trusted Jesus for their eternal lives and lived their temporal ones for His glory. They were set aside not by their extreme acts of goodness or miracles but by their belief in the Risen Lord. They were told to expect hard times even to the point of death but were called to patient endurance and faithfulness (Rev. 13:10; 14:12). The end result of their faithful endurance would be a feast and celebration even New Orleans can't match (Rev. 19:1-10). So you saints of the Lord may have something in common with the Saints of New Orleans football fame but your victory will last longer, have more meaning, and result not just in the joy of an organization or a city, but the entire Kingdom of God. So remember, 'When the Saints Go Marching In' belongs to the Kingdom Saints, not the New Orleans ones. But is there hope for the Texas Rangers? I can't find them in scripture. Oh well........ Who Dat? We Dat! Da ones who go marchin' in......... Cos

Horror and Hope in Haiti

I have been somewhat reluctant to write anything about Haiti. This is not because I've had no thoughts on the matter but because so many are writing on the subject with such profound insight and meaning that any thing I added may be superfluous. It is also true that my thoughts keep migrating back to Haiti even after putting down the newspaper or turning off the news. Two themes of thoughts keep recurring in my thinking. One is obviously the sheer horror of the quake and its magnitude on such an impoverished nation. The devastation of the quake is unspeakable enough but Haiti's ability to deal with the aftermath is almost non-existant. I use my imagination often to inject myself into other people's situations to try to link myself to their joys, pain, questions, feelings, fears and hopes. I hope this helps my prayers, empathies, and messages to them. But I am simply not able to make my imagination go to the horror so many people in Haiti must feel with the loss of loved ones, friends, and their homes. If you can believe that the whole earth behaves momentarily like an ocean wave then you get an idea (so I'm told) of what a major earthquake feels like. The solid earth lifts, curls, and crashes with liquidity reserved for large bodies of water. The infrastructure, such as it was, in Haiti could not handle the shift. But what really shifted was not just the earth but every one's tenuous balance on life that had been held up by the relationships, homes, routines, and what they considered normal. There will be a new normal in Haiti after this horror. That brings me to the other theme in addition to the horror. In the midst of this tragic loss there nonetheless is hope in Haiti. We see this in the world-wide outpouring of aid to this poor nation. We see the magnitude of effort being made to bring help through every humanitarian means possible. Governments, relief agencies, doctors, nurses, missionaries, and construction workers are mobilizing on a massive scale. We see the hope in the heroics of families searching for and uniting with families. Can you imagine the strength of hope that generated missionary Frank Thorp's odyssey to drive eight hours to Port Au Prince, find in all the rubble the building that had collapsed around his wife Jillian, and dig for three more hours and pull her out alive and well? Amazing. Can you imagine the strength of hope for the six year old in the grocery store that fell on him who discovered fruit roll ups within his reach and munched on them for five days? What did the two year old girl think about and how did she keep going for six days until she was found in the darkness and dust of what was one time home for her and her family? Stories like these are being told everyday of hope and help arising from the rubble of Haiti. We often hear, even from our own lips, questions to God of why? Why did you let.....Why don't you....Why didn't you stop...? They seem to come with each tsunami in the Pacific, tornado in Oklahoma, hurricane in the gulf and with earthquakes across the globe. Idiots say its God's judgement ignoring the scriptures that say judgement begins with the household of God (I Peter 417)and that we must all appear before the judgement seat of God (II Cor. 5:10)to give an account of each idle word and action (like the one where I called someone an idiot). These ignore the very words of Christ who just before His betrayal and death declared "Now is the time for judgement on the world; now the prince of this world will be driven out." (John 12: 21-32) A little humility will go along way in making statements about God's judgement. That is His business and He is the only One qualified to say and assess what is to be judged as to how and when. Even Jesus in His time on earth faced the occurrence of catastrophe in Luke 13:2. A tower had fallen killing eighteen people. We are not given the particulars regarding the tower as if it were in existence or was being constructed or if an earthquake or wind caused its destruction. Christ didn't answer all the "why" questions that must have surrounded this tragedy but he also made sure people understood it was not the judgement of God on eighteen people who were worse sinners than the rest either. He admonished the people of His day to be ready for terminal times through repentance. Do you ever wonder why we don't question God's grace and outpouring of blessings during good times the way we question Him during the horrific? Doesn't seem quite fair does it? Yet, in many, if certainly not all ways, God has answered the why questions. We see in the horror of Christ's cross that He is present with us and working redemption. We see in His promises of eternal life and heaven's accessibility through faith in Christ His answer to both our own brokenness and the world's. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoptions as sons, the redemption of our bodies. (Romans 8:22-24) His answer to a broken world is the promise of a new, whole one (Revelation 21:1). His answer to broken lives, broken by sin, guilt and ravaged by death, is new life in new bodies where sin is forgiven, guilt is removed and death has died. Meanwhile we groan. (II Cor. 5:2) The promise is not fulfilled in total, but it is secure. There is horror in Haiti, but there also is hope both temporal and eternal. Where is your hope today? Cos