Page 401 of 493

Every Meeting a Privilege

November 16, 2009 / Allan / 1 Comment

I have the opportunity here to talk to lots of people. Lots of people. Every day. Every week. People in my study. People in the hallways between Bible class and worship. People on the phone. People in the parking lot. Every day.

Some people come by to encourage me. Some are here to complain. Some are cheerful. Some are grumpy. Some come to confess. To question. To praise. To get advice. To give advice. Some people are hurt. Some just come by to hang out.

What I must remember is that every single person I run in to — without exception — is a person created by our God, made in the image of our God, for our God’s purposes. They are all, each one of them, a child of our Father. And I must approach every single interaction with these people with that specific mindset.

Eugene Peterson, in his outstanding book Working the Angles, says we have to view every one of these meetings — planned or chance, positive or negative — as a great privilege.

“This face before me, its loveliness scored with stress, is in the image of God. This fidgety and slouching body that I am looking at is a temple of the Holy Ghost. This awkward, slightly asymmetrical assemblage of legs and arms, ears and mouth, is part of the body of Christ. Am I ready to be amazed at what God hath wrought, or am I industriously absorbed in pigeon-holing my observations?

The significance of what I see before me is not what I see before me but what Christ has said and done. Far more relevant than what I feel or think, or what this person feels or thinks, is what Christ has said and done. This is a person for whom Christ died, a person he loves: an awesome fact! Am I prepared to admire? Am I prepared to respect? Am I prepared to be in reverence?

Every meeting with another person is a privilege. In pastoral conversation I have chances that many never get as easily or as frequently — chances to spy out suppressed glory, ignored blessing, forgotten grace. I had better not miss them.”

Peace,

Allan

The Gift of Unity

November 13, 2009 / Allan / 2 Comments

Sometimes when we think about or talk about Christian unity, we do so in terms of what we can do to create unity or cause unity or foster more unity. What we need to understand is that we already have unity. It’s already been given to us.

All Christians are united. All Christians are unified. All believers are together. It’s a gracious gift of God. We can’t do anything to cause Christian harmony. Christian unity is already an eternal reality. It’s just a matter of whether we want to accept it or not. Will we live into it, or not? Will we embrace the God-given and God-ordained blessing of unity or reject it?

“I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one: I in them and you in me.” ~John 17:22-23

Through Jesus we are given a profound spiritual intimacy with the Father and Son that changes all of human life. It’s a unity that encompasses the Father with the Son, all Christian disciples with them both, and, in turn, with one another. Jesus’ whole prayer in John 17 proclaims that unity is not something we maintain. Christian unity, this deep relationship and fellowship between all followers, is what God through Christ has already given us and continues to maintain through the power of his Holy Spirit.

“We know that we live in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit.” ~1 John 4:13

Jesus lives inside us. We are part of that holy communion, that holy community, with the triune God. It’s not because of anything we’ve ever done, but because of this great gift.

“That I myself may be in them.” ~John 17:26

Those are the last words Jesus says to God before he’s nailed to the cross. His last desire is to indwell his followers, to fill them with his glory and joy, so we will all be one. Together. Unity.

John 17 shows us the intimacy and character of the relationship that exists between the Father and Son. We see clearly the unity — the community — that marks their very nature. This oneness is then given to us. Jesus says, “I’m giving them the glory you gave me that they may be one, just like us. I’m giving them the power of your name that they may be one, just like us. I’m living inside them by the Holy Spirit that they may one, just like us.” We have been given this oneness with the Trinity and with everyone whom God has saved.

As his children, this unity is our new nature. This is now who we are: one with Christ and one with his followers everywhere. What that means is that there is very little, if anything, outside of denying Christ as divine Lord by word or deed, that can ever separate us. And if that’s the case — and it is! — then living into that reality in a way that speaks to a lost and dying world requires that we make every effort to love one another. Serve one another. Build one another up. Bear one another’s burdens. Submit to one another. Defend one another. Give one another the benefit of the doubt. Speak well of one another. Protect one another.

Paul says that’s the difference between spiritual infancy and maturity. That’s the difference between being tossed about and held together. Between deception and truth. Between things of human origin and things of Christ.

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To all preachers: click here for a recent word of encouragement and discipline from Terry Rush’s blog, Morning Rush.

Elders: a similar exhortation here.

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Whitney’s Richland High School Rebels got blown out by Arlington Bowie last night in the first ever high school playoff game in Jerry Wayne’s new stadium. My alma mater, Dallas Christian, is hosting their/our bitter rival, Fort Worth Christian, in a bi-district playoff game this evening. Whitney and I will be there at Chargers Field tonight. I’ll have to bribe Valerie and Carley with the prospects of cotton candy or Sour Skittles to get them to go with us. Carrie-Anne couldn’t care less. I’m looking forward to showing the girls around the campus. I’ll probably spend most of the evening telling them old stories as the place and the setting flood me with wonderful memories. I’m hoping to see lots of old friends, classmates, teachers, and even a couple of coaches tonight.

Here’s a really strange thing: I’ll probably have more friends dressed in red sitting on the visitors side.

It’s weird living and working and ministering here in FWC’s community. I drive by Fort Worth Christian at least once every weekday taking Whitney to Richland. I know a few of the teachers and coaches. Several of our families here at Legacy attended FWC and/or have kids at FWC. One of our elders here used to be Fort Worth Christian’s superintendent. I play basketball at Cardinal Gym every Thursday. I speak to the high school at FWC chapel at least once a year.

Great people. Great friends.

Go Chargers!

Allan

Feeling Psalm 88

November 10, 2009 / Allan / 1 Comment

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

Just Listen

November 9, 2009 / Allan / 1 Comment

After seven days of mourning, things aren’t getting any better for Job. And so he lauches into another round of lamentations. Job 3 is some kind of tirade. It’s a doozie. Rated R for strong language and disturbing imagery. Job curses his own existence. He says in a dozen different ways, “I wish I were dead.” He doesn’t understand what God is doing. So he asks “Why?” Over and over again, “Why, God, why?”

“I want to die.”

And then one of Job’s friends, Eliphaz, decides somebody needs to say something. He tells Job in Job 4:1, “Let me say a word here. I can’t help it. I can’t keep from speaking.”

And Eliphaz spends two whole chapters trying to explain to Job what’s happening to him and why. “Job,” he says, “This is God’s will.” And he tries to spin everything theologically. He tries to make sense of it. He even accuses Job at one point: “Maybe you need to look at your own life. Maybe you’re doing something, or not doing something, that’s causing these bad things to happen. ” He gives Job advice about his prayers. Eliphaz says, “If I were you, Job, I’d think about praying more like this.”

All three of Job’s good friends start weighing in on the situation, speaking from the outside, giving advice, preaching to Job.

And this is exactly the opposite of what Job needed from his friends during his hour of great sorrow.

Hey, we’ve all had the experience of fumbling for the right words in the presence of tremendous suffering. We’ve all visited a family at a funeral home and been embarrassed because we didn’t say anything. Or we’ve felt awful because what we did say was so woefully inadequate. We take food to the home of a grieving husband or mother and we have no confidence in the things we say. We’ll see a griever at church for the first time and actually avoid speaking to him because we don’t know what to say.

Please understand this: You don’t have to say anything!

You don’t need to say a word. Just be there. Just be present. Just listen. Just sit in silence with the mourner and listen.

I know we feel like we have to say something because silence is so awkward for us. We’re uncomfortable with silence. And if we’re not saying something, we feel like we’re not doing anything. It’s like we’re not helping.

The very best thing you can do is just listen.

If the sufferer needs to cry, cry with him. If the mourner needs to complain about a family member or another specific part of his great trial, put your arm around him and nod. If the griever needs to curse his situation or shake his fist at God, sit right there beside him and let him.

Just listen.

The presence of God is experienced by his people through his people. The Church of God is a powerful tool by which our Father is present in this world and among his children. Our God invites us to speak and he promises us that he will be near. He will listen to us and he will comfort us in our lament. He will hear our cry. And he will console us and reassure us in our troubles.

And we can better be that loving and faithful witness and presence to others if we’ll just be there. And listen.

Peace,

Allan

How Long, O Lord?

November 7, 2009 / Allan / 0 Comments

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

Glory Through Them

November 5, 2009 / Allan / 0 Comments

Jesus is praying with and for his disciples on that dark night of his betrayal. He’s reflecting back on the heavenly plans that were made before the beginning of time and looking forward to the eternal results. He’s talking to the Father about receiving glory from him and giving glory to him. And then Jesus says a most remarkable thing. He begins talking to God about his disciples and he says, “Glory has come to me through them” (John 17:10).

Glory has come to me through them.

That’s an incredible statement.

It’s amazing to think that sinful man, me, in all my shortcomings and inadequacies, in all my failures, in my selfishness, somehow us, me, in all my sin, somehow we bring glory to the Holy Son of God. That’s unbelievable.

That part of Jesus’ prayer tells me a couple of things.

One, we are very, very, very precious in God’s sight. He finds glory — he actually receives glory — in the bumbling ways we try to live for him down here. We’re not perfect. Far from it. But our attempts bring him glory.

Two, we are radically and dramatically changed by the death and resurrection of our Lord. God creates inside us a brand new creature, full of his Holy Spirit, meant to experience everything in a brand new way. We are different. We are sanctified. We’re holy. We belong to him and we are set apart for his will and his purposes.

And that brings glory to the Son. It glorifies Christ Jesus when you and I show an act of kindness in his name. It brings glory to him when we put our trust in him for salvation. It glorifies Jesus even when we fail.

The Church gives glory to God. We exhibit great confidence because we’re protected by his name (John 17:11) and we possess the truth of his Word (John 17:17). We live this sanctified life in his great power. And the mission is unstoppable. The Kingdom advances. And Christ is glorified!

Peace,

Allan

The Kingdom, The Kids, & The Cowboys

Page 401 of 493

Every Meeting a Privilege

The Gift of Unity

Feeling Psalm 88

Just Listen

How Long, O Lord?

Glory Through Them

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