Big Smile and a Ponytail

With feelings of anticipation we stepped out of the rental car.  Three of us: a lady from our Student Ministry who also had teenage children, my wife Cathy, and me.  We had flown into Portland the night before and departed first thing in the morning across the mountains into Central Oregon.

Our arranged meeting was over lunch, hoping for some insight into the couple with whom we would speak.  I'll never forget that first impression: large eyes, a big smile...and a ponytail.  And that was the husband.  His name...Tom Burks.  It was early summer of 1996.

Tom and Stacy were meeting with us to discuss their future and ours.  We needed a Youth Pastor; they were considering a move from those beautiful mountain vistas to the desert.  Tom and grown up in that town and and gone "home" to lead a Youth for Christ ministry in local schools.  Stacy was the energetic girl with a quick wit (also from the Pacific Northwest) whom he had met in college.  We were all praying, seeking God's direction.

One day earlier, we had met a man old enough to be Tom's dad.  That man was seasoned, having spent his adult life in Youth Ministry.  He had formal training.  He had a strong track record.  He would be hard to beat, if our only concern was a side-by-side resume' comparison.  As our conversation progressed with Tom and Stacy, my heart said "Tom" and my head said "the other guy."

After the lunch meeting, the three of us climbed into the car and started the journey back to Portland.  We would pass near Mt. Hood on this route, but it was shrouded by low-hanging clouds.  Rain began to fall.  The cold, moist air was a planet distant from Yuma at that time of year.  As we drove, we began a casual conversation about our meeting with the Burks'.  Not wanting to dominate, I asked our traveling companion, Janice, what she thought.  Then I asked Cathy.  I was amazed to discover that we all had identical impressions.  The man we had met the day before had training and experience, but he didn't have something we saw in Tom...vibrant energy.  It was as if the joy had been squeezed out of the other guy and Tom was radiating it.  "You can learn skills," I said, "but you can't learn passion."  Faster than I thought possible, we were unanimous.  We came home and announced our recommendation to the leaders at Stone Ridge.

We didn't know then what we would only learn after Tom had been with us a few years...his ministry skill set was adequate in his work with teens, but it wasn't his best strength.  We discovered his ability as a Worship Pastor (his role since 1999) only after a painful ministry "train wreck" when many left our church.  For several months Tom led pretty much alone, standing before us with an acoustic guitar and helping us learn to sing our hearts out in worship.  It is an understatement to say that he has grown.  Today, he works with at least 4 or 5 worship teams, coaching them and helping them grow.  He oversees a large tech ministry, responsible for our multiple services.  In addition, he is an engaging preacher, who often helps us see God in a more intimate way.

But there is one skill many of you don't know about the man who long ago cut off his ponytail (smile still intact!).  Tom is, I think, the most effective strategist on our staff.  He is the one who often sees most clearly as we pray and think our way into the future.  He is invaluable to me...and to us all!

For those reasons and so many more, take a moment this month and thank Tom and Stacy for 15 years of faithful service.  Our church family is blessing them with a bonus (something we do on five-year anniversaries), but your thoughts of thanksgiving will mean more than you can imagine.

Stuttering Crier

Click the "Send" button and your message can be read within seconds...on the other side of the world. Hit speed dial and you can be talking "instantly" to someone in another country...as you both drive along life's highways. Watch earth-shaking news (like the Japanese tsunami) as it happens.

It wasn't always this way. For centuries, one of the readiest forms of transmission for critical news was the "Town Crier." "Oyez, oyez (literally "Listen, listen")!" they would cry in the streets. When print media became more readily available, Criers were replaced by boys hawking papers: "Extra! Extra! Read all about it!"

Today, in our "advanced" civilization, we have need of neither Crier nor hawker; we have Twitter. Or Facebook. Or Google Ad Words. I know. I read them. Almost every day. Some of what I read on Easter weekend has me reflecting on why I am a "stuttering crier." Other pastors told of lives being changed in their churches. The reports I read were in awe of the way God is at work. I never sensed anything but reverent joy on their part.

Therefore, on this Easter Monday, I will not stutter. I will boldly proclaim what happened in Stone Ridge Church this past weekend. Only God can accomplish what we saw, so I am joyfully shouting His praises. Here are the highlights...

* 31 people baptized (more are preparing to be baptized soon)

* Almost 1400 in attendance

* Scores of young families came, many for the first time. Young adults keep bringing their friends and God is changing their lives. In turn, they are bringing other friends and the process keeps multiplying.

* We were gripped by the presence of God. In every service. At every baptism. People were giving their hearts to Jesus in the auditorium and out in the courtyard.

Perhaps the final moments of baptism after the last service said it best. Juan, an elderly man who is very ill watched his grandkids being baptized. Juan gave his heart to Christ not long ago. After seeing his family members and others baptized, he told his son, "I have never seen anything like this. I want to be baptized, too!" Because of his medical condition, some of us met on Sunday afternoon to baptize him in the jacuzzi of one of our leaders. As tears flowed, Juan modeled obedience to Christ's command.

Only God!

A Mighty, Rushing Wind

The clear, hot skies of morning surrendered to growing afternoon darkness yesterday. Clouds that had begun boiling up over the mountains east of us gradually covered the heavens. I paid little attention until suddenly...SUDDENLY...a raging torrent of air began to rattle the windows of our office.

Most likely a microburst (they are common here) that lasted maybe a minute. Then someone came to my office door to announce what had happened near the entry to our auditorium.

"The wind blows where it wants to and you hear the sound of it, but you don't know where the wind comes from or where it is going. It is the same with every person who is born from the Spirit." (John 3:8 New Century Version)

In recent times I am seeing it over and over. The wind of God's Spirit blows into the life of a Christ-follower and changes everything. Old norms are turned upside-down and God (not religion, not rules) makes everything new. I never cease being amazed at the power of it.

How God Uses Pain

I remember the day the third baseman’s world was pulled out from under him. His life was baseball and his college team was headed to the small college World Series. He thought. If only one of his teammates hadn’t brought champagne into the locker room after they won the regional championship -- to celebrate like the pros. If only a local newspaper photographer hadn’t snapped the picture. If only the paper hadn’t printed the picture with the story. If only the story hadn’t infuriated the constituency who supported the small, Christian college. If only the coach had taken action and removed the offender with the booze from the team. If only.

Instead, the college president did take action and pulled the team from the series. The whole purpose of life came crashing down around that third baseman. Looking for answers, within a couple months he ended up in an unexpected place. He realized that Christ could fill the void in his heart and he received the forgiveness and hope that comes when we surrender to Him.

Less than two years later that third baseman and his young wife were teaching school. I had the privilege of becoming his pastor. He was eager to know and serve God. He spent hours studying the Bible. He was a natural leader who easily talked about faith and saw a number of his friends follow Jesus.

One day he came to me and asked for my blessing as he went off to further explore his world of faith. I knew the right answer and fought back my own disappointment that he was stepping away from our church. A few months later he started his own church, even as he still taught high school. That church started growing. At the time, we had just moved to Yuma. He would call me asking for input as they tried to organize their ministry.

Almost 25 years have passed since he planted the church in the Phoenix area. It has grown into one of the largest churches in AZ and they have seen hundreds -- perhaps thousands -- come to Christ. Even today I am moved as I think about this man who became my “son” in the ministry.

It all started when he faced the pain of a lost dream. What good is coming from your pain?

M-O-M: Three Letters Aren't Enough

The 8-year-old boy stood with his family along a crowded pew. The packed church was singing a moving tune, inviting people to give their lives to Christ and receive forgiveness for their sins. He gripped his hymnbook harder as his heart kept leaping into his throat. He knew what he needed to do. Wanted to do. But he was afraid. He stood firm.

The guest preacher stopped the song and said a few words, adding to the plea, then asked the church to sing again. The boy looked and noticed one of his friends had made his way to the front to share his commitment with the pastor. Behind that friend was a second friend. Their presence stoked the boy's courage. He closed the hymnbook, slipped out from his family and made his way up the aisle.

"Why have you come?" asked the pastor. "I want to dedicate my life to the Lord," the boy said, tears streaming down his cheeks.

That event happened on Mother's Day. The boy's mom told him that it was the best Mother's Day gift he could give her. Years later, the boy still remembers snippets of that day in vivid detail. It's on his mind today because it took place on May 8, 1960. Fifty years ago yesterday.

I will see my mom today. At a graveside. She will weep with empathy as she watches her nephew's body lowered into the ground. Her empathy comes from knowing. She knows what it is to lose a child. She knows the shock that gives way to searing pain. She knows the joy of being surrounded by comforting loved ones followed by the raw loneliness that eats away for months -- even years -- afterward.

She also knows resilience. She knows what it's like to rebuild from the sorrow. She has found ways to carve hope into the granite face of grief. She knows how to give herself away in the midst of the pain, bringing joy to others and thus back to herself.

A younger generation may not remember the song penned by Howard Johnson 95 years ago: "M is for the million things she gave me..." "Put them all together they spell MOTHER," he concluded. But I have long called her "Mom." And you can't spell that in three letters.

On this Mother's Day, let me say that I know a growing chorus of women who could vie for the title of "World's Best." In addition to my mom is Cathy, the mother of our children. And her mom. And my daughters. And my sister and sister-in-law. And Cathy's sisters. And...

Happy Mother's Day to you all!

Light In Haiti's Darkness

Just over one week ago, we started this communication journey as we turned our hearts toward Haiti. Here is what I wrote in that first post...

Would you pray tonight for Haiti? I am drawn to the following verses…
16 The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. And for those who lived in the land where death casts its shadow, a light has shined."
17 From then on Jesus began to preach, "Repent of your sins and turn to God, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near."
Matthew 4:16-17 (New Living Translation)

This morning I received a message from Edward Veloz, a pastor friend of mine from Santo Domingo, DR. Here is what he wrote...

Hey brother.. check the post from a Pastor from Haiti... just talked with Pastor Vijonet from Haiti on the phone and he asked me to share this: "if anyone is sad about Haiti - tell them God is in control and now there is a spiritual movement... people are crying, worshipping, and praising God! There is hope, spiritually!"

They Know Where I Live, Part 2

Yesterday I told about the difficulty of remaining anonymous in a medium-sized city. The other side to the story can be described by our experience recently as we sat on a commuter plane, waiting to depart Phoenix for Yuma. We were some of the first ones on the small craft.

"We haven't seen anyone we recognize yet," Cathy said. She obviously remembered the young female soldier we had greeted at the gate on the outbound portion of the trip.

"No, but we still may," I replied. We watched the faces as various people boarded.

Finally, after the door was closed, Cathy said, "The flight attendant looks familiar to me."

Such is life in our corner of the globe. We constantly see people we know when we're out and about. On the other hand, there are people we have known for years -- people who, like us, live here year around -- that we almost never see in town.

Oops. "Hey, how's it going!"

Cathy (as we walk away): "Who is that?"

Me (smile-on-face-talking-between-teeth): "I have no idea. But I met them somewhere."

They Know Where I Live!

Yikes!

A few years ago, our church relocated to a new section of our city. Cathy and I decided that it would be good for us to move to one of the growing neighborhoods near the new church campus. It was both practical and symbolic. The practical reason was that, between us, we can make as many as four or five trips a day to the church campus. The twenty minute commute from our old house made that very uncomfortable. The symbolic reason was that we needed to invest our lives in the neighborhoods where we would begin to serve many families.

We made a deliberate choice as we moved to the new neighborhood: we would introduce ourselves by our names and not mention what I do for a living. There are way too many people who cease being themselves the moment they know that they are in the presence of a "preacher." Even crusty golfers are known to clean up their language when a pastor is in the foursome.

The model of anonymity seemed to work for a while. People got to know us as neighbors. They waved and smiled. We had a few engaging conversations and, by the time some of the neighbors found out who we were, they had already discovered that we are pretty "normal." Except for the baptistry in our backyard and the communion bread and cup always present on the kitchen counter. (Not really!)

Soon, though, we noticed that others were obviously revealing our "secret." A long time ago, I discovered that neighborhoods KNOW where the police officers and firemen live. You never can tell when you might need their help. Well, obviously, people also talk about where the pastor in the neighborhood lives. You never know when you might need to avoid him!

"Hi, my name is Sam and I live in that house across the street."

"Oh, are you that preacher?"

Yikes!

I Sometimes Wonder...

My grandmother was a Kennedy. No, not those Kennedys! (At least, I don't think so.) But there must have been something pretty powerful going on several generations ago in my Kennedy family.

At least two or three of my grandmother's nephews became pastors. Many of the others in that generation have been strong, faithful, loving local church servant-leaders. One of those pastors, Jimmy Kennedy, went to heaven yesterday.

Jimmy served churches faithfully throughout most of his adult life. It's interesting that Cathy's mother called the other night asking if we knew him. Their temporary pastor in New Mexico told them about this man named Jimmy Kennedy who had been his mentor when he was young. Cathy told her mother that we didn't just know him -- he was my cousin.

I sometimes wonder about those Kennedys. My grandmother was my closest link to what her parents must have been like.

But...

...the older I get, the more I feel their influence upon my life.

Tilt!

I was about Jr. High age when I first walked up to a pinball machine, dropped in a coin and started trying to score enough points to keep playing. I found I enjoyed the game and over the years have occasionally returned to a machine to spend a few, fun minutes competing.

I remember my surprise, though, when I first stood to the side and watched somebody masterful play. With deft touch, great players could just about make that machine stand on its side without the cursed "Tilt" lighting up. It seemed that I simply shifted my weight from one foot to the other and the whole screen would go blank as I watched the ball drop meekly out of my sight.

As a follower of Christ and as a pastor, I often see something go "Tilt" in the world of Christianity. For instance, there's the Bible study material a friend wanted me to look over. The more I read it, the more I felt my own internal "Tilt" light coming on. The problem was not so much in the doctrinal views espoused by the writer as by the authoritarian way they were presented. I get very cautious any time someone comes along with their pet interpretation of Scripture and communicates that no other view but theirs is right.

"Do you realize that scholars have studied the Scriptures over the centuries and arrived at different interpretations than this author?" I added, "Do you know that each of them backs their view with Scripture?" My friend was somewhat surprised to discover this and I'm not sure how this information will affect his use of the material.

Another "Tilt" situation happened just recently. I received an email from another state in which I was told about a Christian young lady who has grown very interested -- almost "I do" interested -- in a Christian young man whom her dad has found unacceptable. Someone wrote to ask me how to help this young couple navigate this situation.

I gave standard answers about how to approach the matter and, hopefully, reconcile the matter in a way that will be good for all. Then I found out more information. It seems the young lady is from a church that has set itself up as the end authority in every part of life. Their views run counter to almost every evangelical church in the world, but they have set themselves up as a small remnant who are right while everyone else is wrong. The only way the young man can ever be approved is to fall lockstep into their ranks.

Tilt!

Thanks, Dad!

"I would rather be cheated out of a dollar than knowingly cheat someone else out of a dime."

"God is always faithful to provide for us."

"Every car that left that garage had my name behind it. I got tired of worrying whether one of the mechanics actually did the work they said they had done."

Words.

Wisdom.

This is Father's Day number 20 since dad has been gone. But his words often ring in my ears.
"When someone hires you, they are paying for your time. Give them a fair deal."

"If you give your word, it's just as powerful as a signed document."

But the words I remember most clearly were spoken the last time I saw him, a few days before the cancer finished its painful course....

"I'll see you, son."
"Yes, dad, you will. It's twenty Father's Days closer than it was!"

Lessons From The Roadside

Continued from yesterday...

The BOOM split the night. I knew immediately that a rear tire had blown out. It was the same wheel as the axle bearing which was failing. That's when it hit me. The bearing was heating up because of friction. In the process, it was superheating the wheel attached to it. In turn, the wheel heat was causing a serious increase in the air temperature inside the tire. With enough air pressure, a tire can explode just like a party balloon.

As we sat there on that lonely road, I glanced into the rearview mirror. Headlights! We had been the only vehicle on the highway for miles. I got out of the car and waved to see if the vehicle would stop. He did.

It turns out that the man in the Corvette was traveling from California to Socorro for Christmas. It also turns out that he remembered my dad, who had been in business there for over 25 years. I asked if he would call my parents so I could stay with Cathy and the kids. He promised he would and drove off into the night.

We wrapped our family in coats and blankets. The car engine was fine, so I started it every 10 minutes or so and ran it long enough for the heater to keep us comfortable. Then we waited. And waited.

We were approximately four miles west of Magdalena. The mountain air was clear and cold. From our vantage point, we could see every vehicle coming west on the main street of the little town. We noticed each time a set of headlights would break away from the village lights and move toward us on the highway. Again and again, we saw obviously local traffic travel a short distance from town and turn off on a side road.

We sat there about two hours. No other vehicle came past our spot after the man in the Corvette. We hoped he had contacted my folks.

Finally, a set of headlights distinctly came out of Magdalena on the highway. That vehicle was followed by another close behind. My dad had solicited the help of an old friend who owned a towing service. He had left his family on Christmas Eve and followed my dad out to rescue us.

I have learned many great lessons from that night so long ago. First, I should have listened to my friend David. He knew what he was talking about and I displayed my ignorance by failing to take his advice.

Second, we should have been more conservative when we discovered our problem. The initial occurrence with the bearing was just a few miles from a town that had two small Motels that could have housed us. I was impatient in my desire to get home.

Third, and most important, I endangered my family's life that night. I have been reminded more than once since then that we were most fortunate to have escaped with an exploded tire. Many such incidents are accompanied by brake fluid catching fire and the car goes up in flames.

........

We have just begun a summer sermon series in our church. We are studying the New Testament book of 1 Peter. The entire book is about the temporary nature of life and how God uses difficulties to shape us.

A Dark, Lonely Road

Continued from yesterday...

The drive from Phoenix, Arizona to Socorro, New Mexico normally took about seven hours. If you didn't stop too much or too long. If you didn't get slowed down by traffic (we didn't). If the weather cooperated. The evening of December 24, 1978 saw a trace of snowfall on the mountainous roads that we traveled, but the roads were clear and didn't impede our progress.

If you didn't encounter mechanical probl...uh-oh.

We had traveled about 5 1/2 hours the first time I felt the odd sensation of our rear axle bearing seizing up. I say "odd" because it wasn't accompanied by any sudden, sharp noise. Cathy and I "felt" it rather than heard it. My initial impression was that we had hit a patch of wet snow or ice and the back part of the car lost traction for about a second. "What was that?" Cathy asked.

"I don't know," I replied.

Driving along for a few more miles, we didn't notice any more problem. About ten minutes later, thought, it happened again. Still trying to figure it out, we drove along more carefully. The third occurrence was much sooner. About then, I remembered what our friend David had told me weeks earlier: "I think you have a rear axle bearing going out." Unfortunately I waited until Christmas Eve on a lonely stretch of U.S. Highway 60 to decide that David must be right.

By the time David's prediction was obviously true, we were approaching the tiny hamlet of Pie Town, New Mexico. That strangely-named village is right at the Continental Divide at an elevation of just under 8,000 feet about Sea Level. I know the place well...it's where my grandparents homesteaded in the 1930s. It's where my parents met, courted and married. It's the place where I performed my first wedding -- for one of my cousins. It's the place where my Grandpa and Grandma Norris are buried.

It's also the place that just happened to have a mechanic living there at the time and he had absolutely no sympathy for us on Christmas Eve. I didn't know if my uncle would be at the tiny house on the little ranch that is part of our family. It was dark, with snow on the ground and I was not comfortable driving out on the country road to the ranch.

And it was still over 80 miles to Socorro.

Cathy and I talked. Our family prayed. And we got back onto the highway. Counting the miles. Hoping we would make it.

We stopped at the little town of Datil and used a pay phone to attempt calling my parents. We couldn't reach them. It was Sunday night. It was Christmas Eve. They were at church.

We continued our journey. More carefully. I stopped once or twice and got outside to listen to the sound of the axle as Cathy inched the car a few feet ahead.

The weather had cleared as we crept on. The next town -- Magdalena -- was only 26 miles from "home." We started down a long hill just west of there and were comforted by the sight of the lights that meant civilization.

Suddenly...BOOM!

To be continued...

Sometimes...The Experts Are Right

My friend David climbed into my Ford Torino station wagon one night at the church we attended. Our destination was a few miles away -- the home of a new family who had just arrived at our church.

As we cruised along with the fast-moving traffic on a busy Phoenix street, David asked me to be quiet for a moment. No, he wasn't being rude...he was listening to a noise coming from my car. "It sounds like you may have a rear axle bearing going out," he said. Sensing my caution, he added, "It's not an immediate problem and may not actually fail for quite a while, but you should have it checked out."

"I can't hear anything wrong," I replied. He then described the noise to me and I listened again. I still couldn't hear it. I turned my head different directions and couldn't hear what he described. I opened my window and tried to hear it with more outside noise coming in. Nothing.

David was an easy-going guy. He didn't push it any further. On the other hand, he was a pretty skilled auto mechanic. I should have listened to him.

But I didn't.

A month went by and I didn't hear a noise or notice any signs of a problem. Two months passed and I pretty much forgot what David had said.

About 2 1/2 or 3 months later, we loaded our kids into our Torino station wagon and headed to New Mexico. We left Phoenix on a Sunday right after church.

It was December 24th.

To be continued...

Life Begins In The Middle...

...and works it's way out.

My writing focus recently has been about things you can do to live effectively. While each principle I have given you is -- I believe -- both true and helpful, I would be amiss if I don't tell you the most important truth I have learned.

Let's be honest with each other for a moment. No matter how we try to make life work, we frequently find ourselves in an identity crisis of sorts. Paul, the former Jewish legalist who became a passionate Jesus-follower (and wrote about half of the New Testament), put it like this...

I do not do the good things I want to do, but I do the bad things I do not want to do. (Romans 7:19 NCV)

I understand the struggle. Don't you? Perhaps it would be easier to grasp by gazing on the theology of Rubik:

In other words, life can be a mess! How can we sort it all out? Can we sort it all out?

We can if we understand that life begins in the middle. At least, that's how Paul -- in the same passage as above -- put it.

I learned to solve the original Rubik's Cube when it was popular back in the 80s. It took a small book of instructions, but the secret lay in one simple code: the middle square on all six sides remains constant. Once the cube is made, the middle can't change. For instance, the white middle square is always directly across from the black middle square and so on. The rest of the cube must align to those middle squares.

Paul said it's the same with us when we give our heart to Jesus Christ:
For I joyfully concur with the law of God in the inner man, (Romans 7:22 NASB)


In other words, no matter how jumbled up we feel -- regardless of the inconsistencies we notice in ourselves -- Christ changes the inner person. He changes us so that the deepest part of us wants to do the right thing. That becomes our "constant" when we put our faith in Christ and his payment for sins on the cross.

When someone becomes a Christian, he becomes a brand new person inside. He is not the same anymore. A new life has begun!
(2 Corinthians 5:17 TLB)

Your life begins in the middle. It takes the power of God through His Son Jesus Christ to change your true colors.

Saturday Reruns 2

I told you last week that I would take Saturday off for a bit of creative rest. Since I write this on Friday, I wanted you to see this picture that Becki took of me in Boston just yesterday. It will make you glad I chose a rerun...
Entitled, "A Face In The Crowd," I originally posted this on November 1 of this year.

They rolled in like waves breaking on the shore. Small cars, SUVs and pickups threaded their way through road construction traffic cones and formed rows in the dirt outside our church parking lot last night. As they parked, families of all types and sizes emptied out and made their way onto our campus filled with our volunteers ready to serve them.

As people checked through the makeshift gates, they were welcomed by smiling workers handing out candy at "Trunk & Treat" stations. A few feet away was someone else hosting a game aimed at kids. The games awarded tickets which were redeemed for prizes.

A long row of "show cars" and motorcyles were available to keep the attention of afficionados while their kids were having fun.

Along the way there were clowns doing face painting, a variety of inflatables and a cake walk. We offered a food court with hot dogs, nachos, baked potatoes, soft drinks and over 20 varieties of homemade chili. We even had a special area for "Tiny Tots" where the preschool crowd had fun prepared just for them.

They rolled in like waves breaking on the shore. Moms, dads and grandparents brought their children to "Family Fall Festival."

I spent the evening walking around. My job was to greet people, answer questions and make sure our volunteers had everything they needed. Candy gets handed out fast in a setting like this and I discovered some of our "Trunk & Treat" stations were running low. I headed to our office to get reinforcements.

That's when I saw him. He was sitting in a chair near the door to the office and away from the foot traffic. Honestly, if I hadn't seen him right next to the building I was entering, I would never have noticed him. He was just a face in the crowd. A drop in a small ocean of people.

He wasn't in my way, but his offer to move gave me a brief moment to look into his face. Those eyes told me a story. This was a humble man, a poor man. His body language said that he works hard, and his load is heavy. This man who obviously wanted his family to have some joy on this night also had limited ability to buy them much. I think he felt uneasy being here, but he came because we offered family fun at no cost.

His face also said he was grateful. He didn't want to be a bother. He didn't want to get in the way. He didn't expect others to carry his burden, but life circumstances demanded that he accept what was offered.

He had been sitting there, almost invisible. But when I collected my thoughts from the evening, I remembered him. That's when I recalled the words of Jesus...

18 God's Spirit is on me; he's chosen me to preach the Message of good news to the poor... To set the burdened and battered free,
19 to announce, "This is God's year to act!"
Luke 4:18-19 (MSG)

Last night, in a very small way, we were able to take action. I hope the way we did it offered a small bit of kindness and a Message of good news to a face in the crowd.

Inside, Outside, Upside-Down

The older I get, the simpler some parts of the Bible are. It's always a temptation to see them, then teach them as complicated. I heard about the country preacher who wanted to show off his "larnin'". Preaching from the good, old King Jimmy Version, he would stop every time he came to the word "ye." "That's a little Greek word," he would say. "It means 'you.'"

Anyway, the older I get, the teachings of Jesus seem more and more simple. Peel away the veneer of religion and He said some pretty amazing things. Maybe that's why the religious people of His day didn't like Him all that much and the regular folks followed Him in droves.

I told you yesterday about conducting the memorial service for a man who LOVED his family. What I didn't tell you was that he -- his name was Jerry -- wasn't religious at all. His wife explained that, after a few times of trying in their early married life (almost 45 years ago), he wanted nothing to do with church.

Some months ago, Jerry was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It affected his optic nerve and he lost his sight. Ultimately it took his life at the relatively young age of 65. In the waning months, he faithfully went to all his grandkids' sporting events and cheered them on, even though he couldn't see them play.

This non-religious man ended up teaching me some pretty profound spiritual truth and helped me see some simple things I might have missed.

Even as an enemy had started growing in Jerry's body, something beautiful was born in his soul. A tiny sprout of what Jesus called eternal life began to stretch and move around inside him. His family started noticing subtle, but powerful changes in the way he interacted with people and with life in general. He was less gruff and more gentle. He started opening up and talking more. He even wanted to go to church.

An outsider might think that this was a dying man grasping for some hope after this life. If you had known Jerry, you wouldn't think that. This was a man who told you exactly what he thought was right and didn't care much how you felt about it. He was "real." He was really changing. I'm not sure that even he understood it, but he spoke openly about the faith that was awakened in him.

John, who called himself "the disciple whom Jesus loved," wrote many years after the resurrection: "He who has the Son has the life." (1 John 5:12) As someone who spent most of my ministry years trying to make sure that people followed a certain religious formula to become a Christian, I am increasingly convinced that eternal life isn't about formulas or tradition or even a set of pet doctrines. It's about life.

I don't know how it started, but I'm convinced Jerry had it.