The Kingdom, The Kids, & The Cowboys

Toward the end of our church assemblies on Sunday mornings, I’ll usually stroll from my seat near the front of the worship center to take a position near the doors in the back. I do most of my hand-shaking and hugging and greeting back there. I’ll make that walk during the singing of a closing song. And, without fail, for the past couple of years, I’ve been grabbed from the center aisle about three-fourths of the way back.

Ray Manos always grabbed me. And he wouldn’t let go until I had hugged him or shaken his hand or patted his back. A year ago he would whisper, “Hi, Allan” or “Good job.” Recently, though, Ray would just smile. He would just grab me and smile.

Alzheimer’s wrecked my brother Ray. This horrible disease slowly and deliberately and without mercy took away his memory and his abilities to think and reason and converse.

But it never took away Ray’s smile. Ray kept smiling.

About six months ago Ray’s wonderful wife, JQ, pulled me aside after worship one day and said, “I hope Ray doesn’t embarrass you when he reaches out like that.”

Are you kidding me? It always made my week. It was one of the highlights of every Sunday for me. Ray couldn’t kid me anymore about my tie like he used to. He couldn’t challenge me on a sermon point or ask me about my girls like he used to. But he could still reach out to me and shake my hand and slap my back. And smile. He could still love me. And he did.

For the past several months, conversations with Ray have been one-sided; not really conversations at all. He couldn’t really ask questions anymore. He just answered them. Mostly. We were talking about the weather two weeks ago. Or, I guess, I was doing all the talking. Ray was listening. Then we/I started talking about Legacy. We/I began talking about the people in our church family. I reminded Ray that when my family and I moved to Legacy a little over three years ago, the very first congratulatory email we received was from him and JQ. They had expressed their excitement, pledged their love and support, vowed to be a source of encouragement to us.

Then Ray asked me a question about something I had preached the Sunday before. I reminded him that I had preached from 1 John. Ray thought for a moment and said, “I don’t believe I know him.”

Sunday morning, day before yesterday, Ray left us for the next life. He’s made that passage now. Eternal life in the holy presence of Almighty God belongs to him now. Perfect peace. Brand new body and mind. Ray is realizing right now the culmination — the fulfillment — of all the faithful promises and plans of our Lord. For him and for all of us.

But that doesn’t mean I’ll never receive another hug or smile from Ray. Not at all. It’s coming.

Not this Sunday. That walk up the aisle at the close of our service this next Sunday will be sad for me. But it’s coming. I imagine the next time I see my brother Ray will be on that day of glory when, just like always, he’ll grab me and smile and say, “Good job.” And I look forward to it.

Lord, come quickly!

Allan

“Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?
Thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!”

These are the words that popped up on my screen at just after 4:00 this afternoon. These were the triumphal words chosen by the family and friends of Jenny Bizaillion to communicate to their thousands of brothers and sisters in Christ who have been as united by her illness and struggle for life as they are by the blood of the Lamb that Jenny died today at 3:38pm.

I don’t understand it. I don’t get it at all. I don’t pretend to know why our God allows such a thing as this to happen. Why do horrible things happen to wonderful people? I don’t know. Why do great things happen to lousy people? I don’t know that either. Neither did Habakkuk.

“Yet I will rejoice in the Lord,

I will be joyful in God my Savior.”

As long as I live, I’ll never ever forget the faith and the strength shown by Rick and Beverly and Josh and Jonathan and their families during this very difficult ordeal. I pray that I would show half the faith in a similar circumstance. I also pray that nobody ever has to endure a circumstance like this. I’ll always remember David’s courage and endurance and steadfastness in caring for his sweet wife and their precious daughter. Tirelessly. Loyally. Faithfully. I was sitting quietly with Rick and Beverly Saturday afternoon when David emerged from Jenny’s room to go watch Malaya play in a church league ball game. He had been working with Jenny’s legs and knees, doing everything the doctors and therapists said needed to be done following the Wednesday amputations.

Hug your kids today. Kiss your spouse tonight. Call your parents. Express your love. Show your appreciation. And then get down on your knees and face and thank God for the wonderful people he’s put in your life.

Like the Rosses. And David. And Jenny Biz.

While you’re down there, pray for these families. Pray for our merciful Father to bless them each with his grace and comfort and peace.

“On this mountain the Lord Almighty will prepare a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine — the best of meats and the finest of wines.
On this mountain he will destroy the shroud that enfolds all peoples, the sheet that covers all nations;
he will swallow up death forever.
The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces;
he will remove the disgrace of his people from all the earth.
The Lord has spoken.
In that day they will say, “Surely this is our God; we trusted in him and he saved us.
This is the Lord, we trusted in him;
let us rejoice and be glad in his salvation.’”

Peace,

Allan

We look up “glory” in the dictionary of Jesus and here’s the definition:

Glory - obscurity, rejection, sacrifice, service, ridicule, obedience, death.

These are all the things the world ignores. These are things the world runs from and even despises. The world says “glory” is all about fame. Indiana Jones is forever chasing his “fortune and glory.”

In a way, I’m afraid — if we’re honest — we’re all chasing glory.

How do I get on TV? How do I retire at age 50? How do I get the lakehouse and the third car? How do I get the promotion and the big office? How do I get noticed? How do I get mentioned? How do I get a parade? How do I get my picture in the paper?

See, that’s the world’s definition of glory. And we can get caught up in all that. Whole churches can get caught up in that.

How can we grow to two-thousand members and go to three services? How can we attract wealthier people? How can we appeal to the right demographic? How can we get on TV? How can we get in the paper? How can we get noticed?

Preachers can get caught up in this chase for glory. How can I get invited to speak at ACU? How can I write an important book? How can I “wow” the audience? How do I get noticed? How do I get mentioned?

Glory. How do I get glory?

Jesus says if you want glory, you suffer. If you want life, you die. If you want victory, you surrender.

Jesus says, brother, forget the lakehouse and the new car and give that money to the single mom struggling in that apartment across town. Forget the promotion or the second job and spend your time and energy ministering to the teenager in your neighborhood who doesn’t have a dad. Churches, forget about growing big and concentrate on growing out. Forget about appealing to the right people and get enthusiastic about appealing to people who don’t have anything. Preacher, let go of wanting to “wow” the church and work more on submitting to the church and quietly and faithfully serving its people.

“Now my heart is troubled, and what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour?” ~John 12:27

Jesus is bothered, he’s distressed, not because he’s questioning his Father’s will or because he doesn’t understand. He’s troubled because he knows how hard it’s going to be. He understands perfectly everything the cross is going to mean. He sees the suffering and the pain and the death and the burial. And he trembles.

And at this moment, Jesus can pray one of two prayers.

“Father, save me from this hour.”

Or

“Father, glorify your name.”

It’s the difference between losing your life and saving it. It’s the difference between rejecting the cross and picking it up, between serving yourself or serving others. It’s the choice between seeking glory the way the world defines glory — the way Indiana Jones sees it — or the way God defines it.

“Father, glorify your name.”

Our God’s great name is glorified every time we, individually and as a church, go against the world’s definition of glory and pursue God’s. Every time we sacrifice. Every time we serve. Every time we consider others better than ourselves. Every time we put somebody else first. Every time we submit to rejection and ridicule, every time we face suffering, every time we die in the manner of Jesus, in the name of Jesus, and for his glorious cause, we bring glory to God.

And that’s our God-created purpose. To participate personally in that eternal glory of God.

Peace,

Allan

Have you ever read Psalm 88? I would encourage you to read it. First, a word of caution: don’t read it as the last thing you do before you go to bed tonight. Don’t read it when you’re all alone. Or on a cloudy day. Try to read it in brightly-lit room full of your closest friends. Because Psalm 88 is a downer. It’s tough.

“My soul is full of trouble and my life draws near the grave.
I am set apart with the dead, like the slain who lie in the grave,
whom you remember no more, who are cut off from your care.”

Of the 150 Psalms, nearly half of them are labeled as lament psalms. Lamentations. Anger. Doubt. Bitterness. Confusion. Questions. Complaints against God. Even accusations against God. And Psalm 88 may be the most uncomfortable.

“You have put me in the lowest pit…”
“You have overwhelmed me with all your waves…”
“You have taken from me my closest friends…”

Psalm 88 is the only lament psalm that doesn’t, at some point, turn to praise. There’s no praise here. No thanksgiving. There’s not even any hope that God will eventually change his mind or eventually rescue. The psalmist here declares that praying to God is doing no good. God has abandoned him completely. And there’s no light at the end of the tunnel.

“Why, O Lord, do you reject me?”
“Your terrors have destroyed me.”
“The darkness is my closest friend.”

Maybe you’ve never read Psalm 88. But have you ever felt Psalm 88?

This past Sunday here at Legacy we read Psalm 88 and then we prayed it. We lifted up to God our despair and depression, our confusions and doubts. We lifted up to God all those in our congregation suffering from cancer and other disease, those dealing with divorce, those struggling with unemployment, those battling family issues such as rebellious children and abusive spouses, our people who are suffering through the loss of loved ones — both recent and a long time ago. On Sunday we were honest with our God about our faith and our fears. We asked him the hard questions. Why are these things happening? How long will they continue? We told God plainly that we don’t always understand.

Those aren’t easy words to pray. It’s unusual in that we rarely pray this way at all, especially in a corporate Sunday morning setting. But the reading and the prayer and the open and honest theme of the day seemed to be especially meaningful to the many, many, many, many people of our church who are feeling Psalm 88.

It would be impossible to share with you in this space the more-than-usual number of phone calls, emails, and pop-in visits I’ve received in just the two days since Sunday’s service regarding what we did together as a church family. Being publicly and completely honest with God and with ourselves about our pains — physical, emotional, and spiritual pains — resonated with young and old, men and women, from every background and worldview imaginable. It touched people. It bonded people. Because a whole lot of us are feeling Psalm 88. At some point, most of us have felt Psalm 88.

Some still balk at using this kind of language with God, even though all of God’s people in Scripture, from the Patriarchs and Judges and Prophets to Christ himself and the Saints in heaven, have used the language of lament to voice their complaints to God in the middle of great trial. But there’s great comfort in unburdening yourself. There’s great relief in unloading and getting things off your chest. There’s solace in knowing that he’s listening.

You know that.

It’s OK. God loves you, remember?

Peace,

Allan

I’ve watched and listened to with fascination over the past 48 hours the continuing coverage of the horrible shootings at Fort Hood. I’m drawn to the news stories for several reasons.

My brother-in-law was stationed there for a couple of years right in the middle of the Gulf War. He and my sister lived there at Fort Hood. Carrie-Anne and I visited there, met their neighbors, played ping-pong and air hockey in the rec center there, and shopped at the military store there. On two different occasions, Brent was designated for deployment to the Persian Gulf. On both those ocassions they gave him less than 48 hours notice to tell Sharon and their families goodbye. And we prayed. And prayed. And prayed. And on both of those ocassions, after he had been packed and processed, the orders changed and his unit was told to stay put in Killeen.

Their daughter, my first niece, was born at Darnell Army Medical Center there at Fort Hood. Her birth, on New Year’s Day 1991, interrupted my plans to watch the #3 Longhorns and the #4 Miami Hurricanes in the Cotton Bowl. We spent two days at that hospital on that base for Cassie’s arrival.

A few years later Carrie-Anne and I saw Foreigner at a rock concert on base they called “HoodStock”.

Twice after that I called high school games at the Killeen Kangaroos football stadium.

And so, while I don’t know anybody in Killeen anymore, we do have some very deep and vivid memories of some wonderful family times there. I’m watching this thing unfold and listening to the horror and watching the tears of the families and feeling deeply impacted. This is a truly horrible thing that’s happened here. It’s awful. It’s evil.

“Why, O Lord, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” ~Psalm 10:1

And I recall the age-old statement of the skeptic: If God is good, he’s not really God. And if God is really God, he’s not good. In other words, God could have prevented what happened at this army base in Central Texas. The fact that he didn’t must prove he’s not good. And if he could have prevented it, he must not be the powerful God we think he is.

Wrong. And wrong again.

In times of tragedy — in our own lives, in our local communities, globally — we hold on in faith to the anchor of God’s eternal love for his creation. We know he loves. We know his great love is the force behind everything our Father does and everything he allows.

The truth is, we don’t see everything yet. We don’t fully understand everything. We’re assured that our God is working out everything according to his purposes. And we know that his purposes are driven by what’s in our best interests and what’s best for the redemption of his creation.

So, we trust and we pray.

It’s OK to appeal to God’s omnipotence and his righteousness and declare to him that we don’t understand. It’s OK to question God and wrestle with him and beg him to change things. These kinds of prayers actually reveal our deep faith. They say to God, “We know you are just and righteous and all powerful; we just don’t understand.”

“Pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.” ~Psalm 62:8

Peace,

Allan

Preaching the good news of the Kingdom of God is going to involve some suffering. Picking up a cross and following Jesus, as our Savior demands, is certainly a call to suffering. It’s a sharing in the sufferings of Christ, a participation in what he endured. It makes us more like him. It shapes us and molds us to be more like him.

Jesus’ afflictions are not complete. They’re not done. They’re not finished. They are “lacking.” The sufferings of the Christ are still being carried out in those of us who follow him.

“I fill up in my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ’s afflictions, for the sake of his body, which is the Church.”

The Colossians 1:24-29 context in which we find this sentence is all about preaching — proclaiming the death, burial, and resurrection of our Lord. Preachers, I think, are called to die. To die to self, to die to the world, to die to any other way of life, to model in a “the-medium-is-the-message” kind of way what it looks like to live in Christ. To take on the sufferings, to bear the burdens, to carry the weight. And to do it for the sake of the Church.

There’s a teenager in your church who will come alive if you’ll only die for him. There’s an older woman in your congregation who will blossom like never before if you’ll die for her. There’s a sick brother, a depressed sister, a spiritually immature Christian, a stubborn believer, a wounded soul, a damaged disciple who has no hope of living unless someone dies for him or her.

I need to be reminded of this constantly. My role as a proclaimer of the Good News is to preach it and live it the way Christ did. Even with the sufferings. Accepting the sufferings. Embracing the sufferings. Welcoming them as a way of joining my Lord in his mission to redeem the world.

“I fill up in my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ’s afflictions, for the sake of his body, which is the Church. I have become its servant by the commission God gave me to present to you the Word of God in its fullness — the mystery that has been kept hidden for ages and generations, but is now disclosed to the saints. To them God has chosen to make known among the Gentiles the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory. We proclaim him, admonishing and teaching everyone with all wisdom, so that we may present everyone perfect in Christ. To this end I labor, struggling with all his energy, which so powerfully works in me.” ~Colossians 1:24-29.

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Today’s #60 in our Red Ribbon Review countdown to Cowboys season is a downer. Twelve players have worn #60 in Cowboys history. And it’s a less than stellar group. The noteables among them include the likes of Jackie Burkett, Ben Noll, Lee Roy Caffey, and Dean Hamel. You don’t remember them. You can’t tell me what position they played or when. This is a tough group. Only two of these 12 played for Dallas longer than two seasons. One of them is the second-best #60 ever to play for the Cowboys. And he is defensive lineman Don Smerek.

(I can’t even find a picture of the guy. All I’ve got for you are these career stats. If you find a picture of Smerek please send it to me. Still looking for a picture of our Red Ribbon #69, Ben Fricke, too.)

I do remember him, though. Smerek played 69 games for the Cowboys as a backup defensive lineman from 1981-87. An undrafted free agent out of Nevada-Reno, Smerek finished his career with 14.5 quarterback sacks, six of those in 1983, probably his finest season. Smerek is remembered for his time in Dallas, mainly, for two things.

One, he was shot in the chest one night by a Dallas motorist who claimed the 6′-7″, 260-pound Smerek kicked his car and challenged him to a fight. A Dallas grand jury refused to indict the shooter for attempted murder. They ruled it self-defense.

Two, Smerek was riding shotgun with Randy White when they famously crossed the Cowboys players’ picket line to participate in practice on the first day of the 1987 NFL players strike. Tony Dorsett stood in front of White’s pickup in a tense standoff in front of TV cameras and nearly got run over by an angry “Manster.” Of course, Dorsett actually joined the “scabs” two weeks later, along with Too Tall Jones and Danny White. I’m not sure the Cowboys ever got over what happened during those six weeks. But Smerek and Randy White were the first two to cross. And Smerek is the second-best player to ever wear #60 for the Cowboys.

Peace,

Allan

Why doesn’t the roadrunner ever die? I’ve watched the coyote chase him all over the desert, I’ve seen him ALMOST caught by the coyote a million times, I’ve seen him in countless situations that look impossible to escape, but I’ve never seen him die. He always lives. Why?

It’s not because the coyote is inept. He’s a genius. It says so right on his business card.

The roadrunner never dies because the roadrunner has an agreement with the writer.

The writer has already determined that the roadrunner will never die. Regardless of how many trips the coyote makes to the ACME dry goods store, no matter how many rocket launchers and catapults and gallons of invisible paint are purchased, despite the coyote’s hours and hours of planning and scheming, the writer has decided the roadrunner will always win and the coyote will always lose.

Jesus says in John 8:51, “I tell you the truth, if anyone keeps my word, he will never see death.”

See, our Savior holds the power of life and death in his hands. He is the Creator of life. He is the master over death. He’s defeated death in his Resurrection. Death has nothing on our Lord. He obliterated death and reversed death’s effects. And he promises us that if we believe his claims and keep his word, we will never die.

If we truly believe it, our lives will show it. Our attitudes will reflect it. The ways we deal with people and events and circumstances will prove it. The way we handle financial crises and health issues and death and disease will testify to our life in Christ. God’s Son personifies life and victory and resurrection as powerful realities for his children. Death is not the bottom line for us. Death is not the final word. Christ Jesus is the ultimate power with the ultimate authority. And he always writes the last chapter.

It’s good to have an arrangement with the writer.

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Mary Hollingsworth, one of our newer members here at Legacy, is seeing sermon illustrations in her back yard. Our focus this past Sunday on the holy stumps and the holy seed and the salvation shoot prompted Mary to email me yesterday with a couple of pictures and this message:

“Last year a tornado in Bedford broke two of our huge oak trees in half, leaving only stumps. We thought they were toast and gone forever, which broke our hearts because we’re tree huggers to the core. I’m happy to say that we were wrong. Both stumps are now growing like crazy. ‘A new branch will grow from a stump of a tree.’ It’s still happening! And even though I know the Root of Jesse has already come, he does promise to come again. Perhaps these new branches are good reminders for us to keep growing, in spite of tough times, and be ready when he appears again.”

Thank you, Mary, for the pictures and the reminders.

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There are 66 days left until the Cowboys kick off their 50th NFL football season in Tampa Bay against the Bucs. And to get us there, we’re counting it down with the Red Ribbon Review. We’re honoring the runners-up, the almost-weres, the also rans, the second-best players in Cowboys history according to jersey number.

Today’s #66 is versatile offensive lineman Kevin Gogan. A bargain as an eighth round pick (206th overall) in 1987, Gogan toughed it out through those last two horrible Tom Landry seasons and the transitional phase into the Jerry Wayne Era, resulting in two Super Bowl rings and a huge fat contract with the Oakland Raiders. Gogan spent seven years in Dallas, but he got all his Pro Bowls and national recognition with the 49ers. At one point late in his career, Sports Illustrated put Gogan on the cover of an issue dedicated to dirty players in the NFL. Again, in a 49ers uniform. Still, he beats out Burton Lawless and Jesse Baker. He’s the second-best ever.

Beep-Beep,

Allan

Picture the cemetery scene in John 11: the hysterical wailing and shrieking; unrestrained weeping and the chaos that must have been; the stench that was coming from more than one body in that dug out tomb; the utter hopelessness of the situation.

The hopelessness of the people.

Martha says, “Jesus if you had only been here…but there’s nothing you can do now.” Mary says, “If you had only been here, Jesus…but it’s too late now.” The friends and the mourners say, “What a shame Jesus didn’t get here sooner to keep Lazarus from dying.”

All hope for Lazarus — this great friend, this brother — is gone because he’s dead.

But Jesus is the Resurrection and the Life. Christ is the One who personifies victory and life and resurrection as powerful realities. And he’s standing right there! He’s angry at what death has done — and is doing — to his people, to his world, to his creation. His tears are not for Lazarus. He knows he’s coming up. Jesus’ tears, I’m convinced, are connected to deep anger. This scene is the result of sin and death. And Jesus is there — he’s here! — to reverse the damage.

They tell Jesus they believe. But they look at dead Lazarus and they feel hopelessness. It’s over. There’s no hope for Lazarus because he’s dead. They’re not expecting anything.

Satan uses our fear of death as a terrible weapon against us. Hebrews 2:15 says the devil holds the power of death and holds us in slavery by our fear of death. No wonder Jesus is so upset! He sees in this Bethany cemetery the ravages and devastation of sin and death and Satan in the people and the world he created.

Death is the enemy. But it’s no match for the Lord of Life. He tells the sisters the sickness will not end in death. He tells his disciples he’s going to wake Lazarus up. He tells Martha her brother will rise again. Even if you die, he says, if you believe in me you’ll live.

With Christ Jesus, death does not have the last word. Death does not have the final say. Death is not the bottom line. The Lord of Life is the ultimate power with the ultimate authority.

And as resurrected believers, we ought to live like it.

Afraid of death? No! Jesus has overcome death!

Dragged down by sickness or the other things that afflict us in this earthly life? No! Jesus has already defeated those things.

Is your hope stolen away by sin, by bad choices, by the destructive things you’ve experienced? No! Jesus has already obliterated it all.

So, why don’t we live like it? That’s what has Jesus so upset, that Satan causes the bad things that happen to us in this world to distract us from the reality that in Christ, we’ve already defeated all of it.

We are death-defeaters in Jesus. It’s already done. As baptized participants in the resurrection community, death has nothing on us now. And neither does sin.

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The Dallas Cowboys claim they don’t retire jersey numbers. But they do. Yes, there are some members of the hallowed Ring of Honor who have seen their numbers worn by other Cowboys. And that’s OK. But, whether they admit it or not, there are some numbers — an exclusive two or three — that are just sacred. They should be retired. And they are. Whether the Cowboys call it that or not, they are. #12 is one of those numbers. And so is #74.

So there’s no #74 in our Red Ribbon Review today. Only one player has ever donned that number in Cowboys history. And I will not desecrate him or his name by mentioning him in this space.

There are 74 days left until Cowboys season. But you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get a second-best player.

Peace,

Allan

“Whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” ~1 Corinthians 11:26

What happens when somebody dies? How do we feel? How do we act? What do we do?

We may be sad because of the loss or we may feel a sense of joy because of a prospective inheritance. In the case of a particularly tragic death, we may feel fear mixed with love. The death of a great poet or artist may result in feelings of deep respect. When an innocent person dies we may react with protests or vows of revenge. The convictions and deeds of a great leader may be so confirmed and endorsed upon his death that they actually radiate to later generations. People may celebrate the death of a tyrant by dancing on his grave.

Death can mean many things. And many can be our responses.

But none of those above mentioned actions and reactions express exactly what Paul means when he says “proclaim the Lord’s death.”

For Paul, the death of Christ was and is good news. It’s great news! And it is to be proclaimed with great joy.

When Paul describes the death of our Lord as a sacrifice, he’s telling us that the crucifixion is God’s greatest gift to humanity. “He who did not spare his own Son , but gave him up for us all — how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?” (Romans 8:32). “God presented him as a sacrifice of atonement” (Romans 3:25).

“Proclaim the Lord’s death.”

To do that during the Lord’s Supper means that we are to express the pleasure and the joy that come as a result of the crucifixion. To proclaim means to announce publicly and clearly — not to whisper or remain silent — what has happened because of Jesus’ death and the meaning of that death. The table is an occasion and a practical form for showing and confessing that Jesus’ death is totally different from a natural event, a criminal act, or a tragic loss. It is not a reason or a place to cry or moan.

Markus Barth, from his 1988 work Rediscovering the Lord’s Supper:

“Those celebrating the Lord’s Supper know the pain and shame, the horror and scandal, of Christ’s death. However, they rejoice in the crucifixion and praise the slaughtered Lamb because God has raised from the dead the crucified Son and has accepted his intercession by enthroning him at God’s right hand. In Paul’s theology, as much as in the message of John, Hebrews, First Peter, and Revelation, the Crucified is always the raised and living Christ. The one who rules the Church and the world and who will come again is the crucified Christ. Through Christ alone the godless are justified and reconciled, saved and given peace. We have abundant reason to rejoice in Christ’s death and to praise the slaughtered yet living Lamb.”

To proclaim at the table is to do so with joy and gratitude. Love for God and gratitude for the sacrifice of his Son doesn’t exclude amazement and holy fear. That’s certainly part of it. But celebration and great joy that the Lord has come and that the lost have been found and that the dead are now alive expresses the real essence of the intent and mood of Christ’s meal. The Lord’s Supper is a meal of joy and thanksgiving, a eucharist, where we proclaim with one voice what Jesus’ willing sacrifice means for the world.

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For the record, Carley and Valerie have selected UConn, Whitney has picked OU (she’s very conflicted right now), and I’ve got Louisville winning the national championship. My Final Four is Louisville, Memphis, Carolina, and Duke with the Cardinals outlasting the Blue Devils for the title in Detroit. Carrie-Anne hasn’t given us her bracket yet. She has 24 hours.

Peace,

Allan

“Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.”   ~Revelation 14:13

We just got word here at the Legacy church offices that Stan Stafford, our brand new 100-year-old brother in Christ, has died and has passed from this life to the next to be with our Father forever. What a beautiful, bittersweet day.

Please click here to read my post about Stan and the day he was baptized here back in October, 16 days shy of his 100th birthday.

My every encounter with Stan over the past three or four months was uplifting. I’m so grateful to our Lord for the mercy and grace he showed to Stan and for the way our Father used this gentleman to teach us lessons about that same mercy and love. I’m so glad my mom and dad got to meet Stan three weeks ago. I’m grateful for the way the Smiths and the Jennings loved Stan and took care of him and met his needs. And I pray that our Father will send more Stans our way and that we’ll seek out more people exactly like Stan to bring to our Savior.

As I was walking back up the center aisle during the last song this past Sunday morning, Stan shook my hand from his wheelchair parked next to the sound booth at the back of our worship center. He smiled and said, “Great job.” I should have said the same thing to him. Great job.

Allan