Man Gives to Beggar for Wrong Reason

Author Ed Dobson wrote a book titled The Year of Living Like Jesus, in which he tells the story in diary form of how he tried to live as Jesus lived and as Jesus taught for a year. On day thirteen of month one, he records this story:
My wife and I drove to Key West. I decided to take a day off from reading. As we walked past a restaurant on Duvall Street, a man, who'd obviously been drinking, called from the steps: "Hey, could spare some change so I can get something to eat?"
I've heard that line a lot, and I know a number of responses. First, you can simply ignore such people. After all, he will most likely use whatever money you give him to buy more alcohol, and, therefore, you'd be enabling his habit. Second, you can offer to take him to a restaurant to buy him something to eat. In most cases the person will not go because he mainly wants the money to buy alcohol. Third, you can point him to an organization that provides meals for the homeless. Many such organizations exist in most cities.
What did my wife and I do? We walked past the man without doing anything, as we have done with so many other people over the years. After all, it's not our fault that he is where he is.
But after we'd walked on a little farther, he called after us, "Can you help a Vietnam vet?" My youngest son is a veteran, and I deeply respect those who have served their country in that way. So I stopped, walked back to him, and gave him a dollar. At that moment I remembered the words of Jesus: "Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you." It's as simple as that—give to the one who asks. He asked. I had an obligation to give.
As I walked down the street, a wonderful peace came over me because I felt I'd actually obeyed one of Jesus' teachings. I knew he'd probably use it to buy more alcohol and that I probably hadn't made the wisest choice. And I also knew that a dollar wasn't really going to help him. But I had no other choice. He asked and I was obligated.
Still, what caused me to give him the money was not really my responsibility to follow Jesus, but the fact that he was a veteran. So after my initial euphoria, I realized I had done the Jesus thing for the wrong reasons.

Ed Dobson, The Year of Living Like Jesus (Zondervan, 2010), pp. 24-25

Slavery in Bible Times Was More Like Indentured Servanthood

Slavery in the Greco Roman cultures of the New Testament] is more like indentured servanthood. It's not what we think of as slavery. When you and I see the word "slave" in the Bible, you immediately think of 17th, 18th, and 19th century New World slavery: race-based, African slavery. When you do that, when you read it through those blinders, you aren't understanding what the Bible's teaching.
Historian Murray Harris … wrote a book about what slavery was like in the 1st century Greco-Roman world. He says that in Greco-Roman times, number one, slaves were not distinguishable from anyone else by race, speech, or clothing. They looked and lived like everyone else and were never segregated off from the rest of society in any way. Number two, slaves were more educated than their owners in many cases and many times held high managerial positions. Number three, from a financial standpoint, slaves made the same wages as free laborers and therefore were not themselves usually poor and often accrued enough personal capital to buy themselves out. Number four, very few persons were slaves for life in the first century. Most expected to be manumitted after about ten years or by their late thirties at the latest.
In contrast, New World slavery—17th, 18th, 19th century slavery—was race-based, and its default mode was slavery for life. Also, the African slave trade was [started] and resourced through kidnapping, which the Bible unconditionally condemns in 1 Timothy 1:9-11 and Deuteronomy 24:7. Therefore, while the early Christians, like Saint Paul … discouraged [1st century slavery] … saying to slaves, "get free if you can," [they] didn't go on a campaign to end it. [But] 18th and 19th century Christians, when faced with New World-style slavery, did work for its complete abolition, because it could not be squared in any way with biblical teaching.
So the point is that when you hear somebody say, "The Bible condones slavery," you say, "No it didn't—not the way you and I define 'slavery.' It's not talking about that."

Murray Harris, Slave of Christ (IVP, 2001)

God Lifts Up the Brokenhearted

Worship songwriter Brian Doerksen's son, Isaiah, suffers from fragile X syndrome, a genetic condition which results in physical, intellectual, emotional, and behavioral limitations. In his book Make Love, Make War, Brian reflects on the day he and his wife first received medical confirmation of Isaiah's condition. In the midst of his heartache, as Brian considered turning away from worship ministry altogether, God taught Brian a lesson that instead carried him further into his ministry:
[After receiving the test results], I stumbled around our property weeping, confused, heartbroken. At one point I lifted my voice to heaven and handed in my resignation: "God, I am through being a worship leader and songwriter …"
When I was able to be quiet enough to hear, I sensed God holding out his hand and inviting me: "Will you trust me?" Will you go even with your broken heart—for who will relate to my people who are heartbroken if not those like you who are acquainted with disappointment?" Reflecting further on this word from God, Brian writes:
I used think people were most blessed by our great victories. But now I know differently: People are just longing to hear [others] speak of how they have walked through the deepest valleys. The world lifts up the victorious and the successful, but God lifts up the brokenhearted. 

"The Wounded Warrior" Men of Integrity; Brian Doerksen Make Love, Make War (David C. Cook, 2009)

Renowned Atheist Offers Good Theology

During a recent trip to Portland, Oregon, noted atheist Christopher Hitchens laid down some seriously good theology. Most people recognise Hitchens as the author of the bestselling book God Is Not Great: Why Religion Poisons Everything. Since the book's publication in 2007, Hitchens has toured the country debating a series of religious leaders, including some well-known evangelical thinkers. In Portland he was interviewed by Unitarian minister Marilyn Sewell. The entire transcript of the interview has been posted online. The following exchange took place near the start of the interview:
Sewell: The religion you cite in your book is generally the fundamentalist faith of various kinds. I'm a liberal Christian, and I don't take the stories from the Scripture literally. I don't believe in the doctrine of atonement (that Jesus died for our sins, for example). Do you make any distinction between fundamentalist faith and liberal religion?
Hitchens: I would say that if you don't believe that Jesus of Nazareth was the Christ and Messiah, and that he rose again from the dead and by his sacrifice our sins are forgiven, you're really not in any meaningful sense a Christian.
Sewell wanted no part of that discussion so her next words are, "Let me go someplace else."
This little snippet demonstrates an important point about religious "God-talk." You can call yourself anything you like, but if you don't believe that Jesus is the Son of God who died on the cross for our sins and then rose from the dead, you are not "in any meaningful sense" a Christian.
Talk about nailing it.
In one of the delicious ironies of our time, an outspoken atheist grasps the central tenet of Christianity better than many Christians do. What you believe about Jesus Christ really does make a difference.

Dr. Ray Pritchard, "Christopher Hitchens Gets it Exactly Right," KeepBelieving.com (1-Feb-2010)

Tokens of New Life Beyond Death

In his book The Jesus Creed, Scot McKnight shares the moving story of Margaret Ault. When Margaret was just about to complete her Ph.D. at Duke, something unexpected—but quite welcomed—happened: she fell in love. She went on a date with a man named Hyung Goo Kim, and the proverbial sparks flew. But almost as quickly as the sparks became a fire, they were doused with water. Hyung Goo informed Margaret that he was HIV positive. Needless to say, Margaret was devastated. In her own words, "I'd just met someone I liked, and we were definitely not going to live happily ever after. I felt like I had been kicked in the gut by the biggest boot in the world."
Still, she and Hyung Goo were married. In his book McKnight asks the question many of us would ask: "Why would anyone invite into the core of their being so much pain?" He then goes on to share that the answer unfolds in the rest of Margaret and Hyung Goo's story. He writes:
When Margaret was in graduate school at Duke, she and Hyung Goo loved to walk in the Duke gardens, and so knowledgeable did they become of its plants that they "supervised construction" of a new project. They walked through each part of the garden routinely and had names for some of the ducks. In their last spring together, the garden seemed especially beautiful [to them].
Hyung Goo died in the fall and Margaret returned to the gardens in the spring where a memorial garden of roses was being constructed in his honour.
McKnight then points the reader to a series of quotations from Margaret's book Sing Me to Heaven, where she reflects on the days she returned to the gardens. She writes:
Where peonies were promised, there were only the dead stumps of last year's stalks; where day lilies were promised, there were unprepossessing tufts of foliage; where hostas were promised, there was nothing at all. And yet I know what lushness lay below the surface; those beds that were so brown and empty and, to the unknowing eye, so unpromising, would be full to bursting in a matter of months.
Is the whole world like this? Is this what it might be like to live in expectation, real expectation, of the resurrection
Was not Hyung Goo's and my life together like this? Empty and sere, and yet a seedbed of fullness and life for both of us. He died, and I was widowed; yet in his dying, we both were made alive.
After quoting Margaret's words, McKnight concludes:
 Where does she find strength to grip such faith and such hope? It is found in [her question]: Is the whole world like this?
The answer, "Yes, the whole world is like this: the whole world offers us tokens of new life beyond death and disasters." It offers the promise of new life beyond the grave, a life of renewed love in the presence of God. Why? Because Jesus was raised from the dead.

Scot McKnight, The Jesus Creed (Paraclete Press, 2005), pp. 286-288

Aunt Forgiven for Death of Nephew

In his book Free of Charge, author Miroslav Volf shares a personal story about the power of grace and forgiveness:
I was one then, and my five-year-old brother, Daniel, had slipped through the large gate in the courtyard where we had an apartment. He went to the nearby small military base—just two blocks away—to play with "his" soldiers. On earlier walks through the neighbourhood, he had found some friends there—soldiers in training, bored and in need of diversion even if it came from an energetic five-year-old.
On that fateful day in 1957, one of them put him on a horse-drawn bread wagon. As they were passing through the gate on a bumpy cobblestone road, Daniel leaned sideways and his head got stuck between the post and the wagon. The horses kept going. He died on the way to hospital—a son lost to parents who adored him and an older brother that I would never know.
Aunt Milica should have watched him. But she didn't. She let him slip out, she didn't look for him, and he was killed. But my parents never told me that she was partly responsible. They forgave her ….
The pain of that terrible loss still lingers on, but bitterness and resentment against those responsible are gone. It was healed at the foot of the cross as my mother gazed on the Son who was killed and reflected about the God who forgave. Aunt Milica was forgiven, and there was no more talk of her guilt, not even talk of her having been guilty. As far as I was concerned, she was innocent.

Miroslav Volf, Free of Charge: Grace and Forgiveness in a Culture Stripped of Grace (Zondervan, 2005)

Show a Little Dignity

A clear and gentle answer turns aside testiness by Gordon MacDonald
Years ago I met a man who spoke of becoming enmeshed in a "multi-personed conflict" that spun out of control. An aggressive spirit of hate and vengeance saturated the attitudes and conduct of everyone involved.
When I asked how he resolved the mess, he mentioned a friend who confronted him and said, "Someone has to show a little dignity in this thing. It really should start with you." Apparently, it was the perfect rebuke, and it caused this man rethink his behaviour and bring some sanity to the situation.
I've never forgotten that unusual phrase—to show a little dignity—and whenever I've faced testy situations where the next word or the next deed would either fan the flame of conflict or spread the oil of peace, the reminder that my dignity is in play has been helpful.
Testy situations? Here's a real-world example.
A few days ago, I was at Boston's Logan Airport to fly to Chicago. At the boarding-pass counter, I ran into a problem. When the boarding-pass lady looked up my reservation, she discovered that I was scheduled to fly, not out of Boston, but from Manchester, New Hampshire, which is 50 miles to the north. That's a long distance when a plane is supposed to leave in an hour.
"Do you think you could solve my problem?" I asked. I pointed out that the airline had a Boston-to-Chicago flight leaving Logan at the exact same time. It seemed a good idea to me, I said, if she could put me on that plane. I also added a word about how happy that would make me. Happy is how I usually feel when someone sees a problem my way and especially when my mistakes are covered with little or no consequence.
The boarding-pass lady said she could do that. But there was a consequence: an extra $360 added to the price of my ticket.
"$360?" I said, shocked and starting to think defensively. "I'm a 100k customer on your airline. I give you guys a lot of my business. Can't you just get me on the flight for free as a courtesy?"
Everything I said made perfect sense to me. But not to the boarding-pass-lady.
"I'm afraid I can't. Those are the rules," she said.
The testy situation had reached its decisive moment. Even though this problem had originated with my forgetfulness, a part of me, not made of God, felt depreciated, blown off, victimised by a big company that seemed to put a monetary value on every transaction. This part of me quickly began to see the problem as the company's fault, not mine. As a result, this ungodly part of me wanted to say something sarcastic (about friendly skies, for example) that would hurt the other person as I felt hurt. Hurting her would help me to feel that I'd hurt the rest of the company , , , all the way up to the CEO. Perhaps she'd call and tell him how I felt so that his day would be ruined like mine was about to be ruined.
But another part of me remembered—just in time—the story about acts and words that reveal dignity. For a second or two I sorted out which of these two parts of me would control this situation. And that made all the difference.
I said to boarding-pass lady, "Before I pay you the $360, let me say one more thing. Six weeks ago I came here to take a flight to the West Coast and discovered that the airline had cancelled the flight and hadn't told me. They said they were sorry, and I forgave them.
"Then two weeks later, on a flight to Europe, the airline lost my luggage (for two days). They said they were really, really sorry. And, again, I forgave them.
"Last week, on a third flight, they got me to my destination two hours late. Your people fell all over themselves saying how sorry they were about the delays. And you know what? I forgave them again. Now here I am—fourth time in six weeks—wanting to fly with you again. See how forgiving I am?
"But this morning the problem's mine. I forgot that I scheduled myself out of the other airport. And I am really, really sorry that I made this terrible mistake.
"You guys have said 'sorry' to me three times in the last six weeks, and, each time I have forgiven you. Now I would like to say 'sorry' to you and ask you to forgive me and put me on that flight without charging me the $360. You have three 'sorries,' and now I'm asking for one. Does that make any sense to you?"
The boarding-pass lady took her own time-out and considered my idea and then said, "It really does make sense to me. Let me see what I can do."
She typed and typed and typed into her computer—as if she was writing a novella—and then looked up with a smile. "We can do this," she said. Two minutes later I was off to the gate with my boarding pass.
That morning dignity won. The airline forgave me. The skies were indeed friendly. I didn't have to pay an extra $360.
This increasingly crowded, noisy world is generating more and more of these kinds of moments where no one is really doing something bad … just stupid (me, in this case). But because our human dignity is eroded by these constant clashes, even our innocent mistakes point to the possibility for hateful exchanges and vengeful acts. You have to keep alert lest you get sucked into saying and doing things that you'll regret an hour later.
Ignatius wrote to the Ephesians: "Allow (the pagans) to learn a lesson at least from your works. Be meek when they break out in anger, be humble against their arrogant words, set your prayers against their blasphemies; do not try to copy them in requital. Let us show ourselves their brethren by our forbearance and let us be zealous to be imitators of the Lord."
You know what? I think Ignatius would have chuckled at my story and my quest for dignity. Perhaps he might even have used it as a sermon illustration. I know I'm going to.

The Dangers of Peephole Driving

As the recent winter approached, USA Today writer Larry Copeland wrote a story about the danger of "peephole" driving. Anyone who lives in the frozen north has likely been a peephole driver at some point. You're in a hurry to get to work on time, and when you walk out into the cold you find that your car is encased in a layer of snow and ice from an overnight storm. You start the car and turn up the heater. You get out your scraper and battle to chip out a clear space on your windshield. After a few minutes you have cleared away an opening the size of a large pepperoni pizza. You are now shivering and miserable, and you realise this will take 10 more minutes. So you move to the rear window and scrape off a narrower opening the size of a small sausage pizza with extra olives and do the same with the side windows. You throw caution to the frigid winds and get in the car and drive away.
Then it hits you: you can hardly see. You drive really slow and lean up close to the windshield and peer out your peephole and hope against hope that you don't run into anyone before the heater and defrosters melt more of the ice away from your windows. Worse yet, as you peer out your peephole, you notice that other drivers are peering out their peepholes!
Copeland's article ends with this warning from the North Carolina Department of Motor Vehicles: "Peephole driving is an invitation to disaster." Peephole driving is an apt picture of what it's like to go through life with the limited vision that comes from limited understanding and wisdom—the kind of limitations that come from not knowing the Scriptures.

source unknown

Viewing a Friend—and Even God—As an Enemy

In an article for ChristianityToday.com entitled "Our Divine Distortion," Christian songwriter Carolyn Arends shared a personal story that shows how easy it is to view friends as enemies when we are racked by shame or guilt—a dangerous trait that can have an impact on how we view God. She writes:
When I found a brand new lap-top for half price on eBay, I told my friend and musical colleague Spencer about my bargain of a find. He was worried: "Usually when something's too good to be true …"
"I know," I replied impatiently, "but the seller has a 100 percent approval rating."
"Be careful," warned Spencer.
"Of course," I assured him, annoyed. I wasn't born yesterday.
I sent the seller $1,300 and discovered in very short, sickening order that I had fallen prey to a classic scam. A fraudster had hacked someone's eBay identity in order to relieve easy marks like me of our money.
I felt [like a] fool—and didn't want to tell Spencer. The next time I saw his number on my caller ID, I didn't answer. I could just imagine his "I told you so."
Soon, I was avoiding Spencer completely. And I started to resent him. Why did he have to be so judgmental? Why couldn't he be on my side? Why was I ever friends with that jerk?
Eventually, we had to fly together to perform at a concert. "Whatever happened with that computer thing?" he asked an hour into the flight. Cornered, I finally confessed my foolishness, dreading the inevitable response. But as soon as I told Spencer about my mistake, a strange thing happened. The enemy I had turned him into evaporated. Spencer turned into Spencer again, my teasing but deeply empathetic buddy.
As embarrassed as I was by my eBay error, I felt even dumber about the way I had allowed my shame to distort my perception of a best friend. If my hand had not been forced, I would have remained estranged from him indefinitely.
I've always considered myself perceptive, but the longer I live, the more I discover my susceptibility to misinterpretation. This is true of the way I view my friends, truer of the way I see my enemies, and perhaps truest of the way I perceive God. 

Condensed from an on-line article by Christianity Today magazine, © 2009 Christianity Today International.

The God Bearer

What Iraq taught me about living the Presence by Lieutenant Commander Bruce Crouterfield
Serving a one-year tour in Iraq as a Navy chaplain, I was assigned to the II Marine Expeditionary Force. My task: to provide ministry coverage to a battalion special task force located in the western desert of the Al Anbar province, an area bordering Syria and Jordan.
The region is arid, isolated, and harsh. The task force of marines providing security to the area was spread out in small groups occupying command outposts and forward operating bases throughout the region.
Providing ministry coverage required long convoys to the outposts from a base camp known as Camp Korean Village, a small village once built and occupied by North Koreans who were contracted by Saddam Hussein to build the highway that connects Jordan and Syria with Central Iraq.
In the summer, the temperature reaches 140 degrees. Doing ministry in this environment means long hours of boredom mixed with conducting field services for sometimes as few as two or three and at other times as many as 40.
I wasn't there long before I began to wonder if the personnel I was serving valued what I was doing. The military culture is not highly expressive, so it's sometimes hard to gauge how you're being received.
I wondered, "Do these people value what I'm doing, even in a general sense? Does it make sense to get the education required, then go through the military training and the family sacrifices that are inherent with military chaplaincy? Can a person make an impact for God doing this?"
After five months at Korean Village, I returned to Fallujah and rediscovered the refreshment that comes from the companionship of other chaplains. I quickly learned that other chaplains were having the same thoughts and questions.
I asked one chaplain friend how things were going. A reservist who had been activated to serve a year in Iraq with a unit he really didn't know, his eyes dropped to the floor and he lowered his voice as if making a confession.
He talked about how he had been visiting marines and sailors in their work spaces and doing "deck-plate ministry," but he said he couldn't tell if he was making any difference in their lives.
Like others in pastorates and other forms of ministry, we question our real value. We can live with a haunting feeling that our ministry could end at any minute without any significance. We long to see lives transformed, but sometimes we don't sense much of that happening. Just doing the tasks and functions of ministry isn't enough.
The Real Job amid Multi-Tasks
Don't get me wrong, there is a place for tasks and functions in ministry. We need to keep our to-do list to stay organised. We need to set goals. We need to do real work and establish measurable objectives.
In my office I have shelves full of canned programs, and programs I've created, and even a file entitled "Good Ideas I've Stolen from Other Chaplains." I have programs for marriage enrichment, troop retreats, and character development. I conduct worship services on bases and at remote outposts.
These are some of the tasks of "doing ministry." But most of us long to be something more than just a "doer of tasks."
In a task-driven ministry, our day is planned and carried out according to the to-do list and daily planner. But task-driven ministry sometimes gets in the way of opportunities to do God's will.
Amid the to-do lists, we can miss the Spirit-led ministry, the divine appointments God provides for us to do his will. This is the evangelism that is guided by God; it's spontaneous, serendipitous, divinely appointed.
My Real Identity
A bigger problem with task-driven ministry is that it often places a professional identity upon the minister or chaplain. I'm not sure I want to be "a ministry professional." That's not to say I don't want to conduct myself professionally, but I don't want to be identified as a professional marriage counselor, a professional social worker, or a professional recreation coordinator.
I'm okay with doing some of those things, but that's not who I am. When I become the skilled expert, I can become so associated with those skills that the real identity I yearn for becomes lost. This can become a stumbling block for us in ministry; out of a need to feel relevant, we can find ourselves assuming our identity is that of an expert.
How we define ourselves, how we view our self-identity will guide us in how we do ministry. I want my sense of relevance to come from something other than running programs.
This finally became clear to me, believe it or not, as a result of talking with the marines and sailors in remote western Iraq.
Calling in the Marines
Sensing that I was missing something, I started talking individually to marines and sailors and asking them about chaplains. I talked about the programs we oversee as well as the more general "ministry of presence" that we provide. I asked them what, if anything, they considered valuable.
Their responses blew me away!
One marine told me, "When the chaplain is on convoy with us, we feel safer." (We were in combat.)
"When the chaplain is around, the Gunnery Sergeant is nicer," another said.
A corporal told me, "Sir, when the Commanding Officer comes in the room, he gets respect, but when the chaplain comes in the room, he gets reverence."
I talked to 100 marines and sailors serving in a combat zone, collecting their thoughts about chaplains. No two answers were exactly alike, but I began to see a trend. For some, the presence of the chaplain offered a sense of comfort. For others, a sense of safety. For still others, the chaplain's presence caused a change in the behavior of people.
None talked about the programs, as necessary as they are to make our presence possible.
It occurred to me that the presence of the chaplain had, in some ways, the same effect as the presence of God, which brings a sense of comfort, a sense of safety, and causes people to change their behaviour.
In other words, perhaps the most important role of the chaplain is reminding our personnel of the presence of God. When I asked directly, "Does the chaplain remind people of the presence of God?" overwhelmingly, the answer was Yes!
Where's God in the mirror?
When I look in the mirror in the morning, I don't immediately see the presence of God. I see a sinner saved by grace, grateful for God's love and Christ's atoning sacrifice on the cross. I see a person who struggles and is often conflicted. I see someone who wants to be loved, accepted, and valued. I see someone who is often uncertain about the matters and issues of life; I see someone who has fears and worries. I don't see the presence of God.
The conclusion? Others see me and other chaplains, pastors, and ministers differently than we see ourselves.
That was an eye-opener. That is what has been missing!
In 2 Corinthians 1:3-7, we see that comfort comes from God through the agency of human beings. God uses people like you and me to deliver comfort to others. In this text, the English word "comfort" is used to translate the Greek word paraklēsis, which is related to the familiar word paraclete, "one who comes alongside to help," another name for the Holy Spirit.
When we come alongside someone else and share the same comfort we have received from God, doesn't God come with us? Yes! Doesn't that make each of us bearers of the presence of God?
The Emanuel factor
To bring such comfort, and thus, to bring God's presence into a situation, is the most basic form of ministry. When we comfort those troubled, stressed, or in crisis, we bring unto others what we are not: God.
As ministers, pastors, or chaplains, our presence becomes the "God With Us Factor." My most important role: "The Emanuel Factor."
When we come alongside another after God has come alongside us, God is there. That makes the Christian who has received the comfort of God a bearer of the presence of God.
A person's life is truly relevant when it becomes a bearer of God's presence. Living the presence well might not allow me to be an "expert" in anything, but it does allow me to fulfill the calling of God on my life and to share his presence with others. As Henri Nouwen put it: "God wants you to live for others and to live that presence well."

Lieutenant Commander Bruce Crouterfield currently serves at the Naval Chaplaincy School and Center in Ft. Jackson, South Carolina, training new chaplains. (2009)

Rejoicing in All Circumstances

Author Bob Reccord writes:
As I write this book, I'm having to exercise the faith of dealing with the prison of pain. Unexpectedly, I suffered a severe cervical spinal injury. The pain was so excruciating, the hospital staff couldn't even get me into the MRI until they had significantly sedated me. The MRI showed significant damage at three major points in the cervical area. The orthopedic surgeon's assistant later told me, "Bob, your neck is a wreck." He said there was hardly any way I could avoid surgery.
Because of the swelling of injured nerve bundles, the only way I could relieve the pain was to use a strong, prescribed narcotic and to lie on bags of ice. Sleep, what little there was, came only by sitting in a reclining chair.
Approximately 48 hours from the onset of the injury, doctors estimated that I lost about 80 percent of the strength in my left arm. Three fingers on my left hand totally lost feeling. Even the slightest movements would send pain waves hurtling down my left side and shoulder. To add insult to injury, physicians said I had to step away completely from my work (which I love), and begin to wear a neck brace … 24 hours a day for five weeks.
About halfway through that experience, I found myself sitting on the screened-in porch behind our home. The day was cold and blustery, but I was committed to being outside, just for a change of scenery. Suddenly a bird landed on the railing and began to sing. On that cold, rainy day, I couldn't believe any creature had a reason to sing. I wanted to shoot that bird! But he continued to warble, and I had no choice but to listen.
The next day found me on the porch again, but this time the atmosphere was bright, sunny, and warm. As I sat, being tempted to feel sorry for myself, suddenly the bird (at least it looked like the same one) returned. And he was singing again! Where was that shotgun?
Then an amazing truth hit me head on: the bird sang in the cold rain as well as the sunny warmth. His song was not altered by outward circumstances, but it was held constant by an internal condition. It was as though God quietly said to me, "You've got the same choice, Bob. You will either let external circumstances mould your attitude, or your attitude will rise above the external circumstances. You choose!" 

Bob Reccord, Forged by Fire: How God Shapes Those He Loves (Broadman & Holman, Nashville, TN, 2000), p. 112

Visit to Homeless Shelter Teaches Woman a Lesson in Thanks

Spending an evening at a shelter for homeless women was not my idea, but when a friend asked, I was perfectly willing to tag along.
Although the winter was still young, the cold was harsh. I nearly ran from the comfort of our car to the warmth of the church annex that had, for years, opened its doors as a refuge from the night.
The director, Christy, efficiently assigned tasks—to set the floor with foam mats and blankets as one would set a table, to lay out on a buffet table plastic forks, paper plates, and the donated leftovers that filled the refrigerator. When the women arrived, we would help serve the food.
Christy assured me that most of the women, the "regulars," had spent the day inside at one of several centers, but there were always the few who just appeared—seeming to have no history more concrete than their names.
My three hours at the shelter were not filled with dramatic scenes. From a corner of the large sleeping area, I helped serve dinner to 30 women who ate their substantial but bland meal, sitting cross-legged on their sleeping mats. Except for two boisterously irrational women, they talked little. By nine o'clock, many were bedding down for the night.
"Homeless." As I did the dishes, still within sight of the women, the word took on a personal meaning. These women slept here, but every morning when they left, they had to carry their possessions with them.
Suddenly I was overwhelmed with gratitude for my nightgowns, for my very own pillow, for my hand-picked dining room chairs. "Lord," I silently prayed as I walked to Christy's office to say good night, "thank you. Thank you—that I'm not one of them."
Christy met me in the hallway and interrupted my pharisaical thoughts with her own gratitude for my help. I asked her about certain women who had caught my attention.
Routy Rachel, Christy explained, had a Ph.D. in art history. Gradually her mind had slipped out of her own grasp. Ester, who had talked to herself all evening, was the mother of five children. She was a midwestern farmer's wife—until her life crumbled around her. Christy didn't know much about Carol, who had lain on her back for more than an hour, reading her King James Bible. Marla, who had seemed sullen, was a trained soprano who occasionally enjoyed serenading the rest of the group.
Only after I walked back out into the night air did the women's stories unsettle me. Their paths had too much in common with mine. In a sense, I was one of them: A mother's daughter. Vulnerable. A sinner in need of grace. …
Since then I have been more aware of the uprooted Vietnamese, Cambodian, and Latin American refugees who live in my neighbourhood, who ride my bus. War, political change, economic collapse—conditions over which they had no control—destroyed their lifestyle and stole their ability to communicate easily and thus to work efficiently. My thoughts have frightened me. My comfortable world, my secure home, is not guaranteed.
At the sight of the outstretched hand of a city beggar, I have always grown uncomfortable. Until recently, I have thought it was because of Jesus' warning in Matthew 25:45: "Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these [the hungry, thirsty, unclothed, homeless], you did not do for me."
But since I spent an evening at the women's shelter, I see that Matthew 25 is only the partial cause of my discomfort. I am uncomfortable because I see the beggar as myself—or my very own brother or mother or father. And I cannot think of a homeless or hungry woman in such personal terms without a reversal in the way I give my thanks.
The difference between "Thank you that I'm not one of them" and "Thank you for the grace you have shown to me, and help me to mirror your grace to others" may, at first, seem slight. But the second is for me a wholly new mindset that makes me want to reach out, that reduces my discomfort around those who have less than I, and, surprisingly, that reduces my fear of a future that is unknown. Why? Because even though I know I have no insurance policy against war and famine or sickness, I know I have a God who does not forget his own. And for that I thank him also.

Evelyn Bence, "Two Kinds of Thanks," Christianity Today magazine (November, 1999)

Getting Ready for a Visit from Jesus

Author Doug Mendenhall shares a brief parable that should cause all of us to pause and reflect:
Jesus called the other day to say he was passing through and [wondered if] he could spend a day or two with us.
I said, "Sure. Love to see you. When will you hit town?"
I mean, it's Jesus, you know, and it's not every day you get the chance to visit with him. It's not like it's your in-laws and you have to stop and decide whether the advantages outweigh your having to move to the sleeper sofa.
That's when Jesus told me he was actually at a convenience store out by the interstate.
I must have gotten that Bambi-in-headlights look, because my wife hissed, "What is it? What's wrong? Who is that?"
So I covered the receiver and told her Jesus was going to arrive in eight minutes, and she ran out of the room and started giving guidance to the kids—in that effective way that Marine drill instructors give guidance to recruits. …
My mind was already racing with what needed to be done in the next eight—no seven—minutes so Jesus wouldn't think we were reprobate loser slobs.
I turned off the TV in the den, which was blaring some weird scary movie I'd been half watching. But I could still hear screams from our bedroom, so I turned off the reality show it was tuned to. Plus, I turned off the kids' set out on the sun porch, because I didn't want to have to explain Jon & Kate Plus Eight to Jesus, either, six minutes from now.
My wife had already thinned out the magazines that had been accumulating on the coffee table. She put Christianity Today on top for a good first impression. Five minutes to go.
I looked out the front window, but the yard actually looked great thanks to my long, hard work, so I let it go. What could I improve in four minutes anyway?
I did notice the mail had come, so I ran out to grab it. Mostly it was Netflix envelopes and a bunch of catalogs tied into recent purchases, so I stuffed it back in the box. Jesus doesn't need to get the wrong idea—three minutes from now—about how much on-line shopping we do.
I plumped up sofa pillows, my wife tossed dishes into the sink, I scolded the kids, and she shooed the dog. With one minute left I realized something important: Getting ready for a visit from Jesus is not an eight-minute job.
Then the doorbell rang.

Doug Mendenhall, "Getting Prepared for the Arrival of Jesus," www.reporternews.com (24 September 2009)

Dying Man Finds Hope in Jesus

In his book Deserted by God?, author and pastor Sinclair Ferguson shares the following story:
The first physician to die of the AIDS virus in the United Kingdom was a young Christian. He had contracted it while doing medical research in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. In the last days of his life, his power of communication failed. He struggled with increasing difficulty to express his thoughts to his wife. On one occasion she simply could not understand his message. He wrote on a note pad the letter J. She ran through her medical dictionary, saying various words beginning with J. None was right. Then she said, "Jesus?" That was the right word. He was with them. That was all either of them needed to know. [And] that is always enough.

God Supernaturally Provides for Couple's Ministry

Years ago, Dave Phillips and his wife, Lynn, had a talk about the callings they felt God was stirring in them. As they discussed what they were most passionate about, they agreed that bringing relief to suffering children and reaching the next generation with the gospel were at the top of the list. The thought of starting a relief agency was considered, but Dave's response was, "But that would mean I have to talk in front of people." By nature, Dave is a very quiet, behind-the-scenes man.
But after much prayer, Dave set aside his fears, and he and Lynn started Children's Hunger Fund out of their garage. Six weeks after CHF was launched, in January of 1992, he received a phone call from the director of a cancer treatment centre in Honduras asking if there was any way he could obtain a certain drug for seven children who would die without it. Dave wrote down the name of the drug and told the director that he had no idea how to get this type of drug. They then prayed over the phone and asked God to provide.
As Dave hung up the phone, before he even let go of the receiver, the phone rang again. It was a pharmaceutical company in New Jersey asking Dave if he would have any use for 48,000 vials of that exact drug! Not only did they offer him eight million dollars' worth of this drug, but they told him they would airlift it anyplace in the world! Dave would later learn that the company was one of only two that manufactured this particular drug in the United States.
Within forty-eight hours, Dave had the drug sent to the treatment centre in Honduras and to twenty other locations as well. It was then he believed that God was at work, validating his calling to this ministry. Year after year, God continues to provide supernaturally. Today they have distributed more than $950 million in food and other relief to more than ten million kids in seventy countries and thirty-two states. Children's Hunger Fund has distributed more than 70 million kilograms of food and 110 million toys.

source unknown

Petitions That Honour Our King

Travel back 200 years in Christian history to John Newton, the slave-trader-turned-pastor and hymn writer. He would receive almost unbelievable answers to his prayers because he believed in what he called "large asking." When explaining what he meant, Newton would often cite a legendary story of a man who asked Alexander the Great to give him a huge sum of money in exchange for his daughter's hand in marriage. Alexander agreed, and told the man to request of Alexander's treasurer whatever he wanted. So, the father of the bride went and asked for an enormous amount. The treasurer was startled and said he could not give out that kind of money without a direct order. Going to Alexander, the treasurer argued that even a small fraction of the money requested would more than serve the purpose.
"No," replied Alexander, "let him have it all. I like that fellow. He does me honour. He treats me like a king and proves by what he asks that he believes me to be both rich and generous."
Newton concluded: "In the same way, we should go to the throne of God's grace and present petitions that express honourable views of the love, riches, and bounty of our King."

source unknown

Nature

Nature is ever at work building and pulling down, creating and destroying, keeping everything whirling and flowing, allowing no rest but in rhythmical motion, chasing everything in endless song out of one beautiful form into another

- John Muir -

A society that presumes a norm of violence and celebrates aggression, whether in the subway, on the football field, or in the conduct of its business, cannot help making celebrities of the people who would destroy it

- Lewis H. Lapham -

One Word

If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve its full potential, that word would be "meetings."

Practice

Amateurs practice until they can get it right; professionals practice until they can't get it wrong.

Questions to Ask

You must constantly ask yourself these questions: Who am I around? What are they doing to me? What have they got me reading? What have they got me saying? Where do they have me going? What do they have me thinking? And most important, what do they have me becoming? Then ask yourself the big question: Is that okay?

- Jim Rohn -

Love

Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within

- James Baldwin -

Suffering

The question of theodicy: How can we justify a good God in the face of so much evil? But the central question [is] anthropodicy: How could human beings commit mass murder? How can God continue to have faith in our humanity, given the wickedness we commit?

- Abraham Joshua Heschel -

Rules

Pedantry and mastery are opposite attitudes toward rules. To apply a rule to the letter, rigidly, unquestioningly, in cases where it fits and in cases where it does not fit, is pedantry ... To apply a rule with natural ease, with judgment, noticing the cases where it fits, and without ever letting the words of the rule obscure the purpose of the action or the opportunities of the situation, is mastery

- George Polya -

Truth

There are two kinds of truth: the truth that lights the way and the truth that warms the heart. The first of these is science, and the second is art. Neither is independent of the other or more important than the other. Without art science would be as useless as a pair of high forceps in the hands of a plumber. Without science art would become a crude mess of folklore and emotional quackery. The truth of art keeps science from becoming inhuman, and the truth of science keeps art from becoming ridiculous

- Raymond Thornton Chandler -

Community

Community as a spiritual discipline is the effort to create a free and empty space among people where together we can practice true obedience… To create space for God among us requires the constant recognition of the Spirit of God in each other

- Henri Nouwen -

Jokes

Jokes of the proper kind, properly told, can do more to enlighten questions of politics, philosophy, and literature than any number of dull arguments

- Isaac Asimov -

Celebrating the Community Contributions of Believers

I lived in Boston in the 1980s, and I spoke with a pastor of a major church there. We were reflecting on the ways the church doesn't always recognise the culture cultivators and creators in its midst. This pastor said, "There's a woman in our church who was the lead litigator for the Environmental Protection Agency for the clean up of Boston Harbour. It's occurred to me since then that she played this incredibly important role in one of the great environmental success stories of the second half of the Twentieth Century. When I started high school, no one would put a toe in Boston Harbour, it was so polluted. And now there are beaches, and people go to the beach and swim. This Christian woman lawyer succeeded in litigating that case." He said, "The only time we have ever recognised her in church was for her role in teaching second grade Sunday school. And of course we absolutely should celebrate Sunday school teachers, but why did we never celebrate her incredible contribution to our whole city as a Christian, taking care of God's creation?"

source unknown

Going 30 Days Without Make-up to Learn a Lesson on True Beauty

One morning as I got ready for work, my husband watched me put on blush and eyeliner. I always get nervous when he hovers like this. Dan's a purist; he thinks I'm prettier without make-up. Later that night, he asked me why I wear it.
"I like wearing make-up because I feel more finished—more put together—when I have on blush and mascara," I explained.
"What do you think would happen if you didn't look put together?" he probed.
"People at work might view me as unprofessional."
Still not satisfied, he asked, "What do you think would happen if they viewed you as unprofessional? Do you think you could lose your job?"
"No, probably not lose my job, but I might miss out on opportunities because I'd go unnoticed."
"Oh, so make-up helps you get noticed."
"I don't wear make-up to get noticed," I rebutted a little more defensively than I'd intended. "It helps me look better, and when I feel like I look the best I can, I have more confidence, which in turn leads to more opportunities." I was getting tired of his questions—and uncomfortable. Still, he persisted.
"Oh, so making yourself look different from what you are gives you confidence." As Dan tried to understand the psychology behind wearing make-up, his questions became needles that poked holes through my logic. Exasperated, I ended our conversation by saying, "I'm annoyed by your questions, but they're making me realize that I don't have this issue sorted out in my mind. I'm going to take our conversation to heart and try to figure this out."
The next day I embarked on a 30-day experiment. Without telling a soul, I committed to wearing no make-up to see what kind of reaction I'd receive from the people in my life. I was sure coworkers would look at me and either judge my unfinished appearance with disapproval—maybe even disgust—or they'd ask me if I was feeling sick.
The first week was the hardest. I avoided making eye contact with people. Every time I saw myself in a mirror, I instinctively reacted with disgust. "You're ugly," I said disgustedly to myself on more than one occasion. I felt so unattractive.
To make up for my insecurity, I decided to go on the offensive. I started to concentrate on smiling as much as I could and initiating conversations with people so I could learn more about them as a way of taking the focus off of me. I desperately wanted to get comfortable in my own skin. But how could I when I felt so ugly?
Somewhere during week two, I began to realise that how I look has nothing to do with me. I had nothing to say in the matter. At conception, God knit me together, weaving the DNA from my mom and dad into a little girl with brown hair and blue eyes. My chin comes from my grandma, unchiseled and prone to doubling, and my nose might be a bit too big for my face. At what point had I started to judge these facts as good or bad? Who convinced me that my looks make me less than enough? And why had I allowed this faulty thinking to continue for most of my life?
At that moment, I decided to stop judging my looks as good or bad and instead begin to accept myself as I am. I'd view my physical appearance neutrally and without judgment. Beauty would become a moot point for me because it had been determined by God. He didn't request my input on how to design me, so I needed to trust that what I look like is as it should be. There's nothing to improve upon. However I look, it is enough.
After my 30-day boycott on make-up, I began sharing my experience with a few close friends. The thought of leaving off lipstick had never occurred to them. Every one of them said they wear make-up because it's fun, it makes them feel feminine, and they feel prettier with make-up than without. I understand all these responses fully and agree wholeheartedly. At the same time, I've experienced such freedom in not wearing make-up, mainly because I feel released from the struggle to be pretty.

Condensed from an article on Today's Christian Woman Editor's Blog, © 2009 Christianity Today International.

Surviving a Plane Crash, and What It Means

by Gordon MacDonald

Sixty-eight years ago—June 17, 1940—a squadron of B-18 bombers took off from Mitchell Field on Long Island. While gaining altitude, two of the planes collided over a block of homes in the town of Bellerose. They fell from the air spreading metal, glass, and flaming fuel all over the area. Twelve people (11 in the planes and one on the ground) died.
My interest in the event stems from the fact that I could have been the 13th fatality. A 14-month-old infant, I was in a playpen in the backyard of my family's tiny Bellerose home when the planes came down. Aviation debris, a little or a lot depending on who is telling the story, littered our yard except where my playpen was located. How dramatic is that?
Originally, my knowledge of the plane crash was based on my parents' telling of the story, and I heard it often as a boy. There came a time when those re-tellings became so burned into my mind that I became convinced I'd witnessed the collision myself. Even as I write these words I can see in my mind, as if watching a video, two planes high in the air. I see their tails entangling, and I see them plummeting downward.
But that "video" is a marvelous example of our unreliable minds that create "mental movies" of memories where none may actually exist. I "see" the plane crash event because my parents told me about it and left me with vivid impressions.
Recently I decided to revisit the plane crash story, and, without much trouble, found articles about it as well as a picture of the crash site in the archives of the New York Times. While my effort offered a few insignificant details I'd not known before, the story I'd so often heard as a child was substantially accurate.
Occasionally, when a conversation has needed some juicing up, I've volunteered the story of the colliding planes. Some upon hearing it have said, "You were sure lucky." Others have said, "I guess you never know when it could be your time to go." Actually, in the telling, I keep hoping someone will say, "Imagine how deprived the history of the world might have been if you'd not survived that day." But no one has ever said this.
My mother's "take" on the plane crash, however, was another matter. "God spared your life for some special reason; you have a very special destiny," she'd say whenever the day was recalled. Then she'd add with the aid of a pointed finger, "And God will judge you harshly if you don't find out what his will is and do it."
"I will," was all I could usually promise when she said that.
For many years my mother's words imposed a heavy burden. Think about it: your mother—this most important figure in your childhood—will not let you forget that you could have died, that you survived a spectacular accident for a reason, and that only God knows what the reason is. And so far he's not telling.
"Gosh," you say to yourself over and over again, "I better find out what God's reason is. I can't afford to botch something like this up." Out of such faulty thinking, it occurs to me, so much of our actionable theology is formed. In this case, my impression was of a secretive God who plays games like "Guess what my will is?" and promises severe consequences if you don't get the right answer.
So maybe you see why this plane crash might become such a seminal incident in my life. The fact is that I lived with its implications—my mother's anyway—for at least three decades. How interesting that an event in my fourteenth month of life could influence many of the choices I later made about faith, about call, about the way I determined to live. Again and again, on such choice-making occasions, I'd hear the faint voice of mother: "God spared your life for a reason." So, what was that reason?
Recently, after a lengthy intermission, the memory of the plane crash returned to me and prompted further reflection. I suppose that's why, this time, I researched it and verified the facts.
Out of all of this have come these further thoughts.
• The story and my mother's interpretation probably did as much as anything to lay the tracks for me to prepare for a life in Christian ministry. Having grown up in a Christian context, ministry of some kind—rightly or wrongly—was the only thing I could think of that might fulfill God's "reason" (as my mother put it) for me to be alive. I've accepted this with little protest, and the fact is that I have very few regrets about the course of my life as a pastor and a writer. I have been kindly treated, especially on those occasions when I shot myself in the foot.
• There did come a time midway through my pastoral years when I re-examined what it meant to be truly called in order to be sure that I had not made decisions about my life's direction that were more about mother-pleasing than God-pleasing. It was a healthy examination because it enabled me to redefine what I believed to be a call on my life and to feel confident about it. Today that updated call gets me out of bed almost every morning.
• My own experience has impressed me with how important it is for each of us to guard our tongues when we are tempted to launch our interpretations of someone else's experiences. People with the power to influence are often in positions to say something that can negatively alter the direction of another's life. I wonder how many have never recovered from advice irresponsibly given.
• On the other hand, what of those interpretive comments made in passing that suddenly send someone's life in an unexpectedly blissful direction. Examples: 1961: "Gordon, I've met a woman who would make you a great wife." (I married that woman 48 years ago). 1972: "Gordon, I've recommended you to a church in New England that needs a pastor." (I've lived in New England ever since). 1976: "Gordon, I have this conviction that you might have a writer's gift in you." (I'm presently working on my umpteenth book). Conclusion: the next time a plane crashes in my back yard, I'm going to consult a lot more people before I make up my mind as to what it means.

Rabbit Tragedy

A man was driving along the highway, and saw a rabbit hopping across the middle of the road. He swerved to avoid hitting the rabbit, but unfortunately the rabbit jumped in front of the car and was hit. The driver, being a sensitive man as well as an animal lover, pulled over to the side of the road and got out to see what had become of the rabbit. Much to his dismay, the rabbit was dead. The driver felt so awful he began to cry.
A blonde woman driving down the highway saw the man crying on the side of the road and pulled over. She stepped out of her car and asked the man what was wrong. "I feel terrible," he explained. "I accidentally hit this rabbit and killed it." The blonde told the man not to worry. She knew what to do. She went to her car trunk and pulled out a spray can. She walked over to the limp, dead rabbit, and sprayed the contents of the can onto the rabbit. Miraculously, the rabbit came to life, jumped up, waved its paw at the two humans and hopped down the road. 50 feet away the rabbit stopped, turned around, waved at the two again, hopped down the road another 50 feet, turned, waved, and hopped another 50 feet. The man was astonished. He couldn't figure out what could be in the woman's spray can! He ran over to the woman and asked, "What was in that spray can?" The woman turned the can around so that the man could read the label. It said: ... "Hare Spray. Restores Life to Dead Hare. Adds Permanent Wave."