The Kingdom, The Kids, & The Cowboys

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Song of the Lamb

October 8, 2019 / / 0 Comments

“Then I saw in the right hand of him who sat on the throne a scroll with writing on both sides and sealed with seven seals. And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming in a loud voice, ‘Who is worthy to break the seals and open the scroll?’ But no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth could open the scroll or even look inside it. I wept and wept because no one was found who was worthy to open the scroll or look inside.” ~Revelation 5:1-4

God sits on his throne in heaven and holds in his right hand his eternal plans for the salvation of the world. The scroll is full — it’s got writing on both sides. The seven seals indicate that the scroll is official. It’s authentic. This is the real deal, it has authority. But the seals also make sure only the authorized party can open the scroll and read it. Only someone worthy, only someone with the right credentials and the right status can open it up and put whatever’s inside into effect.

So this is God’s plan to undo and overthrow sin and death and Satan and everything that separates us from God, everything that’s attacking us and destroying us and the world. This is God’s divine decree to deliver and rescue and save all of creation from the forces of evil. God’s holding it right there.

And this dramatic scene turns tragic when no one is found who is worthy to open it.

After searching all of humanity, the living and the dead, not one person is found worthy to execute God’s redemption. Not Abraham, not Moses, not David, not Elijah — nobody is worthy to preside over the salvation of the world. And John begins to weep uncontrollably. John is filled with despair. He’s distraught, he’s overcome with sorrow because it looks like God’s gracious plans for his people won’t be realized. John cries out loud because he knows the world is messed up and no human is going to fix it.

I don’t know what makes you cry. I don’t know how you are personally impacted by the brokenness of the world and by the fallen nature of humanity. I don’t know how your sin and the sins of the people around you affect you. I don’t know how hunger and poverty and disease and death and violence and hatred and war and corruption impact you. I don’t know what makes you cry.

But imagine if the only hope we had was in ourselves. What if the only chance we had to fix everything depended on us?

“Then one of the elders said to me, ‘Do not weep! See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has triumphed! He is able to open the scroll and its seven seals!’ Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing in the center of the throne… He came and took the scroll from the right hand of him who sat on the throne.” ~Revelation 5:5-7

Only one is worthy to bring God’s salvation to earth. Only one is worthy to rule the world in perfect love and peace. Only one is worthy to defeat sin and destroy death forever by the Word and power of God. And when it’s announced that Jesus, the Lamb of God, is worthy, all of creation breaks out in glorious song.

“You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased men and women for God from every tribe and language and people and nation. You have made them to be a Kingdom and priests to serve our God, and they will reign on the earth… Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!… To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honor and glory and power forever and ever!” ~Revelation 5:9-13

The Lamb of God has been slain, but he has not been conquered. The Lamb has been killed, but he’s not hurt. The risen and glorious Lord Jesus is holding the world’s salvation in his hands and he is standing — standing victoriously! — in the center of the eternal throne!

The Song of the Lamb gives us a picture of the reality. God is sitting on his throne and the risen Jesus is standing right in the middle of the room with him. We see who’s really in charge of the world. God is sovereign over the world because it’s his — he made it! The Father and the Son are reigning supreme. They are the ruler over everything that’s happened in this world and over everything that’s going to happen. No matter what it looks like or feels like, to you or to anyone else, we know our loving and gracious God is in control.

Peace,

Allan

She Ran to Him

October 3, 2019 / / 4 Comments

I’ve watched the video a dozen times and I’m moved to the verge of tears and inspired to the point of my heart bursting each time. You’ve probably seen the video: Botham Jean’s little brother, Brandt, speaking directly to Amber Guyger in the Dallas courtroom where she was convicted of murdering Botham and sentenced to ten years in prison. Brandt forgave her, told her he loved her, and then, in an unprecedented display of that forgiveness and grace, hugged his brother’s killer.

It’s remarkable. It’s beyond description. It’s Jesus. It’s the Kingdom of God. And it’s the only thing that can fix what’s wrong with us and with our world.

We can’t fix what’s really wrong. We try, but we can’t — not with education or technology or ingenuity or force. It takes forgiveness. It takes grace. It takes love.

It takes the words 18-year-old Brandt Jean spoke to Amber Guyger yesterday:

“I forgive you. If you go to God and ask him, he will forgive you. I love you just like anyone else. I’m not going to say I hope you rot and die just like my brother did. I personally want the best for you… I don’t even want you to go to jail. I want the best for you. Because I know that’s exactly what Botham would want. And the best would be to give your life to Christ. I think giving your life to Christ would be the best thing that Botham would want you to do. Again, I love you as a person. And I don’t wish anything bad on you.”

Brandt then looked back at Judge Tammy Kemp and asked, “I don’t know if this is possible, but, can I give her a hug, please?”

When Judge Kemp hesitated, Brandt pleaded, “Please?”

When the judge said, “Yes,” Brandt stepped down from the witness stand and he and Guyger hugged.

But here’s what strikes me. Everything I’ve written to this point is only leading to this. This is what I really want you to read and seriously consider today. Pay attention to this.

When Brandt gets down from the stand and approaches Guyger she RUNS to him. She runs. She almost leaps into his arms to hug Brandt. And at the point when a normal hug would be over and the two huggers would typically separate, she re-hugged him. She wouldn’t let him go. His arms were open, he initiated the hug, but Amber Guyger ran to him and wouldn’t let go.

That moves me to the core of my soul.

I don’t know Amber Guyger. I don’t know anything about her other than what’s been written in the news and testified to in court. I don’t know much about her past, I don’t know the darkness in her heart, I don’t know why she shot and killed Botham, and I can’t imagine what she’s going through right now. But I know that when Brandt offered forgiveness and grace, she ran to him.

I don’t know but if Amber Guyger has been waiting her whole life for somebody to show her some unconditional Christian love. I don’t know but that her soul has been crying out for this for years: “Somebody forgive. Somebody express some love. Somebody say something kind. Somebody show grace. Somebody open your arms to me in acceptance and mercy.” And when somebody did — the teenage brother of her victim — she ran to him.

I also know that Brandt’s act of courageous forgiveness and unconditional love diffused the violence that was percolating in the streets of Dallas last night. Yes, there was a small protest in front of the courthouse. While Botham’s family sang and prayed at the Dallas West Church of Christ, dozens of demonstrators marched through downtown in protest of the relatively light sentence handed to Guyger. But there was only one arrest. Nobody got hurt.

I’m reminded that when the families of the victims of the church shooting in Charleston four years forgave Dylann Roof in that court hearing right after the massacre, the head of the Black Lives Matter movement called off their march. “It shut us down,” he said. “When they forgave him, it shut us down.”

The way she ran to him. I can’t get that out of my heart today.

That’s the power of the Kingdom of God, friends. The power of our Lord Jesus is not in threat or force or punishment, it’s not in numbers or petitions or boycotts, it’s not in protests or marches or demonstrations. The power of God’s Kingdom — what moves people and changes hearts and heals souls and destroys evil and will eventually transform us and the world — is forgiveness and mercy.

Brandt’s father said last night that his son’s actions in that courtroom didn’t surprise him because that’s how he was raised. That Church of Christ in St. Lucia taught and nurtured that, they practiced that. I hope our Church of Christ in Amarillo and your church wherever you are is teaching and nurturing the same thing.

Peace,

Allan

The Wrong Night

September 30, 2019 / / 0 Comments

We picked the wrong night to celebrate the Rangers and soak up Ballpark memories in Arlington. The Yankees scored more in their rout of the Rangers Friday than the Saints scored last night in a win over the Cowboys. The Rangers closed out their 26-years at the Ballpark by taking two out of three from the hated Pinstripers. But in the opener Friday, Texas pitchers gave up 18 hits, 14 runs, and six homers in an embarrassing blowout in the next-to-the-next-to-the last game ever at the “Temple.”

Bruce won our homerun pot when the second batter of the first inning went yard on Palumbo. And it was pretty much downhill from there. It was never as close as the 14-7 final might indicate. But, a bad day at the Ballpark is better than a good day almost anywhere else.

I thoroughly enjoyed my last ever nachos with extra peppers and Diet Dr Pepper at the Ballpark, I relished Chuck Morgan’s announcements, I marveled all over again at the Texas granite and stone murals that make up the exterior of that gorgeous shrine to the Lone Star State, I bought Whitney a Pudge Rodriguez Hall of Fame T-shirt for $5.40, and I watched wistfully as the late evening closed with a video tribute to the Ballpark’s greatest moments against the backdrop of the traditional Friday night fireworks.

Big picture, this whole thing is much more bitter than sweet for me. I still can’t believe the Rangers are moving out of this pristine, classic stadium for the slick, steel behemoth of an air-conditioned anathema across the street. It boggles my mind and nauseates my gut.

It doesn’t feel like going to a football game when you’re at Jerry Wayne’s “Death Star.” I’ve been to Cowboys games and college games in that building, and it’s more like going to a huge hotel convention center than an NFL or NCAA football game. You feel like you’re walking through a fancy airport instead of through a concourse at a football stadium. You’re very very very removed from the action on the field — by distance and screens and speakers and a massive roof. The whole thing’s just really fake. And I’m not sure how the Rangers avoid that in their new indoor digs.

I attended the last ever game at the old Texas Stadium. Watching the Ravens beat the Cowboys that night, it was obvious the stadium needed to be replaced. It was old, outdated, and falling apart; rusty rails, water leaking and standing everywhere, weird smells, missing ceiling tiles, cracks in the concrete, faded paint. Not once did anybody in Arlington this year think that about the Ballpark. It’s not right.

I was fortunate to have watched somewhere between 350-400 Rangers games inside that majestic Ballpark. And it was a blast taking in my last one Friday with some really great friends from Amarillo. I’m thankful.

I’m not sure what next year looks like. I’m sure we’ll still take our twice annual trips to Arlington. I’ll eat nachos and drink DDP, I’ll sing along to “Deep in the Heart of Texas,” and Chuck Morgan will still be announcing the batters and pitchers and calling the dot races. But I might be wearing a jacket. In August. Drinking hot chocolate. Yikes.

Peace,

Allan

The Last Pilgrimage

September 26, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Baseball is an outdoor game. It’s designed to be an outdoor game. Like with football, the weather at a baseball game is part of the deal. It’s built in. But the Texas Rangers, who play in one of the top five nicest ballparks in all of baseball, are moving into a one-billion-dollar monstrosity of an air-conditioned anathema next year. The last chance to see an outdoor Major League Baseball game in the state of Texas is this weekend, and I’m taking it.

Several of us are leaving together in the morning to take in the Yankees and Rangers at the “Temple.” We’ll do what we always do. We’ll talk baseball during the six-hour drive, we’ll talk baseball during our late lunch at Pappasito’s, we’ll talk baseball during the game, and on the way home the next day. My focus will be on reminiscing. I’ll be trying to soak up every bit of this last experience at the hallowed Ballpark, conjuring up wonderful memories from the past 26-seasons, and attempting to make a couple of last ones.

The Ballpark in Arlington. I used to live there, you know?

That’s where Johnny Oates blew up at me for missing the media elevator and showing up late for a post-game press conference in that first season, only to pull me into his office and apologize to me the next afternoon. That’s where I earned my baseball degree sitting next to the great Steve Busby in our KRLD front row seats in the press box over a thousand summer nights. That press box is where I had several unplanned conversations with George W. Bush who would just pop in unannounced two or three times a season. I had my own parking space there. I ate for the cycle there. Many times. I broadcasted live from a soundproof booth in the TGIFriday’s in centerfield every Friday afternoon for four years.

There’s no way to know how many times I interviewed Michael Young in the Rangers clubhouse. After a loss, he was just about the only player who would talk. And there were many losses. It’s in that clubhouse where I was looking for players one afternoon to comment on the release of Juan Gonzales. It had just happened and I ran downstairs to get some sound for our late afternoon sportscasts. Kevin Mench declined. Rafael Palmeiro turned to Mench and said, “You gotta  talk to him. Because when it happens to you, you want these guys to be nice to you.” So Raffy and Mench talked to me that day.

That clubhouse is where I conducted an afternoon interview with Alex Rodriguez for a friend of mine, Bob Matuszak, who was freelancing for a health and fitness magazine. I had set it up with Rodriguez the day before — he knew what he had agreed to do. But he hated answering questions about his exercise habits and his diet routine almost as much as I hated asking them. After about two minutes he just up and walked away from me. I said, “Alex, give me another five minutes.” I needed to get these questions answered so I could get my twenty-five bucks. But he just put his hand up and walked away. And I hollered, “Thanks a lot, A-ROD!” He hated being called A-Rod. Bob kept that cassette tape for years. You could hear me yelling angrily and sarcastically at the highest paid player in baseball. He laughed about it all the time.

Eleven straight Opening Days. One private meeting with Buck Showalter. Tim Carpenter hitting his head on the decorative metal around the stage when the Rangers introduced him to the press as the club closer.  I was one of the voters for the Rangers Hall of Fame inaugural class. It’s not that hard putting check marks next to Nolan Ryan and Jim Sundberg. Lance Nix’s leopard thong. John Wetteland pouring champagne down the back of my shirt when they clinched in ’99.

There were a couple of springs when the Big 12 played their conference tournament at the Ballpark. On those Thursday and Friday afternoons, I’d walk out of our studios to the picnic tables in centerfield and spend the 30-minutes between sportscasts taking in the sunshine and the action. I worked closely with Scott Franzke, Chris Schneider, and the late great Roger Emrich at that Ballpark. I sat in the main studio with Mike Rogers and Alice Rios talking about new Cowboys coaches and Mavericks draft picks. Tyler Cox hired me there and Jerry Bobo tried to get me to stay there.

The very first playoff game in Rangers history was at that Ballpark. I was there covering the second playoff game in Rangers history. The next night. In the auxiliary press box. I was delighted to see my assigned seat was next to the legendary Norm Hitzges. I was disappointed that he never showed. I was in the home run porch for the last World Series game ever played in the Ballpark, a thrilling Game Five win over the Cards. And I’ll be there tomorrow when they begin their last ever series in the “Temple” against the hated Yankees.

It’s going to be hot tomorrow night. It’s always hot at Rangers games. That’s part of the deal. And I’m thinking this will be the last one. When they move into that Jerry-inspired sportatorium next year, they’ll never have the roof open. The Astros only open their roof between 10-12 times per season. When do the Cowboys open theirs? I’ve read that the Rangers will close the roof when the temperature or the temperature-heat-index is over 84-degrees or when the wind is forecast to be more than 20-miles-per-hour. So, that’s like, always.

It won’t be like going to a baseball game. It’ll be like something else. And there won’t be any memories. Just sterile, indoor, air-conditioned entertainment.

The Ballpark in Arlington is only 26-years-old and it’s still one of the top five nicest in the country. Yes, it’s hot. But do you think a Lemon Chill is going to be nearly as good next year?

Peace,

Allan

Preaching: Leads to Salvation

September 25, 2019 / / 0 Comments

“…the word of faith we are proclaiming: That if you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved… The same Lord is Lord of all and richly blesses all who call on him, for, ‘Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.’ How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in?  And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?… Consequently, faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the Word of Christ.” ~Romans 10:8-17

St. Francis is said to have said, “Preach the Gospel; if necessary, use words.” Notice, he’s trying to inspire us not to use words by using words. Word are always necessary! I’ve heard people say they’d rather see a sermon than hear one. That may be true. But hearing preaching is what leads to salvation.

Preaching is not us talking about God, it’s God talking to us; it’s not telling us how to find the way to God, it’s telling us how God has come to find us; it’s not how to put ourselves in a right standing with God, it’s reminding us of the covenant God’s made with all of us that he’s sealed forever with the blood of Jesus Christ!

It’s not so much you’re a terrible sinner and you need to change; it’s more like this is awesome, so why don’t you jump in?

You are more flawed and sinful than you’d ever dare to believe and, at the same time, you are more loved and accepted by God than you’d ever dare to hope. That’s preaching! And hearing that leads to faith. It leads to salvation.

One of the most amazing things about the Creator of Heaven and Earth is his refusal to keep silent. Our God is a talker. Time and time again, when we storm off to pout like a spoiled child, when we slam the door in a huff like an angry lover, when we hide ourselves in the shadows because of our sinful shame, this verbose God comes looking for us, he comes wanting the start the conversation again, he wants to talk it out for the thousandth time. God breaks the terrible silence of our sin in the name of his steadfast love.

Adam, where are you? Let’s talk.
Elijah, what are you doing here? Let’s talk.
Paul, where are you going? Let’s talk.
Peter, come have breakfast. Let’s talk.
Allan, where have you been? Let’s talk.

Somebody gets up in front of the church every Sunday to make the same Public Service Announcement: that your worth is not wrapped up in where you came from, but in who came for you. There is no catch, there’s no limit to the goodness of God’s intentions for you. Preaching points to the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus as the fact and the proof that we are all loved and valued by God and that this world is good and this whole thing — the world and humanity — it heading toward a very good place with its Creator.

You don’t really hear that anywhere but in church.

All of us feel like slaves to our sin. All of us feel trapped by the systems and structures of this world. All of creation is groaning because of its bondage to decay. But in Jesus Christ, all these things have been eternally defeated. It’s already been accomplished.

The Gospel is not about some spiritual battle, it’s more like a prison break! The doors to eternal life, abundant life have been flung open! The gates to liberty and freedom in Christ, with God and with each other — all those doors have been opened wide and the escape route has been cleared and paved by our Lord Jesus.

You don’t really hear that anywhere but in church. Seriously, where else would you hear it?

This kind of message is illegal in some countries, it’s been outlawed in our schools, and it’s not allowed on government property. You’ve got to get dressed up and come to church to hear this stuff.

The Scriptures confirm it: Preaching the Good News has to happen if people are going to hear and be saved. Faith comes from hearing. And the kind of hearing that leads to faith can only happen when a definite salvation word from God is proclaimed. And that word, that message, is the Word of Christ: that he alone is Lord and that God has raised him from the dead.

Peace,

Allan

Preaching: Act of Faith

September 24, 2019 / / 0 Comments

“God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe. Jews demand miraculous signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than man’s wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man’s strength.” ~1 Corinthians 1:21-25

Preaching is an act of faith because on the surface it doesn’t make sense. What’s preached is foolishness. It takes faith.

Think about it. We take ordinary everyday water and we speak God’s Word. We tell the story of how God has used the water at creation, at the Red Sea, in the womb of a virgin, at the crossing of the Jordan, in the rescue of Noah’s family — and we get baptism, a sacrament for how God saves us.

We take ordinary table bread — just a loaf of bread — and we speak God’s Word. We tell the stories about God feeding his children in the wilderness and Jesus breaking bread with sinners and feeding multitudes on the mountain and God preparing a meal to share with all the saved on that day of glory — and we get the Lord’s Supper, a sacrament for how God takes care of us.

We’ve heard the Word of God preached so much it’s easy for us to forget the power, the wonder, the holiness of that moment when the preacher climbs the steps to the pulpit, opens his Bible, clears his throat, takes a deep breath, and dares to speak for God. It’s not a cat video or an epic fail or an advertisement for another new and improved, faster-acting, better-smelling, lifetime-guaranteed product you’ve just gotta have. Preaching is the Word of God, proclaimed to the people of God, as an act of faith in God. It’s a miracle.

I believe it works like the sacraments. Not exactly, but kinda. You know, during the communion meal, the bread is still a plain cracker and the grape juice is still Welch’s grape juice. Or Great Value, I really don’t know. Even after the prayers, it remains crackers and juice. But by faith, God uses the meal to convey to us the reality of our unity and acceptance and fellowship with him and each other.

In the same way, I think that human words spoken by human, sinful, fallen preachers are still human words, even after all the prayer and study and meditation. But by faith, God uses the words to communicate the realities of his eternal love and grace for us. It’s divine speech. It’s an act of faith.

Preaching is not a lecture, it’s not a book report, it’s not somebody telling you what to do, and it’s not new information — after two-thousand years of preaching, what’s new? No, it’s an exercise in faith.

“As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my Word that goes out from my mouth. It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.” ~Isaiah 55:10-11

I’ve been preaching full time for almost thirteen years. When I first started, my sermons were not very good. My preaching was not great. Those poor people in Marble Falls and the mid-cities of northeast Tarrant County burned off years of purgatory listening to those sermons. Those folks are going to be escorted straight to heaven!

But, let me tell you, even today, the sermons are hardly ever as good as I want them to be. I’m almost always disappointed. Almost always. I take comfort in the words of Augustine. He’s one of the greatest preachers in the history of the Church. And he wrote this over 1,600 years ago:

“My own way of expressing myself almost always disappoints me. I am anxious for the best possible, as I feel it in me before I start bringing it into the open in plain words; and when I see that it is less impressive than I had felt it to be, I am saddened that my tongue cannot live up to my heart.”

I don’t think I’m committing homiletical homicide every week. I’m just not as good as I want to be at finding the right words and putting them in the right order to communicate the powerful things the Lord puts in my heart. It’s disappointing. But I believe with all my soul God is using every single word I say — the best ones and the ones I’d like to have back — to do exactly what he wants done.

I know what you want. You want inspiring sermons, sermons that soar, sermons that rise to the lofty heights of our God and his eternal love and his matchless grace; you want sermons that challenge and convict and compel you to action. I do, too. I really, really do. And sometimes it happens. Sometimes it works. The preaching sometimes gives you something you need to hear, it comforts you or encourages you at exactly the right moment, it opens your eyes to an everlasting truth that changes everything for you. We go to church wanting that, expecting that. And when it happens, we know it’s the Lord. That’s our God at work.

Our Father is in charge of our sermons, not our preachers. He alone inspires, he alone speaks, he alone puts his Word exactly where it needs to go, when it needs to go there, and he alone causes it to grow and bear Kingdom fruit to his eternal glory and praise.

I have no idea what’s happening in our preaching. And no control. I don’t know where the words are going, but they are going somewhere. I trust that. I know that. Our God will never allow his words to return to him empty. If I didn’t trust that God was in charge of the preaching, I wouldn’t do it. And you wouldn’t sit through it. Preaching is an act of faith for all of us.

Peace,

Allan

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