Wednesday, April 29

The weapon of the testimony....

“Then all nations will call you blessed, for yours will be a delightful land,” says the LORD Almighty." Malachi 3:12

They say that the greatest tool that God has placed in our hands for the sake of the mission is not doctrinal memorization, not weekly or even twice-weekly Church fellowship, nor even an effective argument. They say it is our testimony, that story that comprises our life and is composed of everything we've experienced and everything we have learned. The greatest of these powerful weapons in the armory of the Army of the Lord are not spoken, rattling off the specifications and expectations like some Special Forces expert but in the simplest of expressions....living it. Being a living testimony. Being able to silently point into the recesses of your heart and show the Holy Spirit there.

When you are exposed to the undeniable testimony of a true child of God, it may never look pretty. Trials, tribulation and suffering crop up into everyone's life; successes seem as illusionary as the 'American dream', and the struggles that they still face seem so simple in your eyes but so harsh and unending in their's. They fall, get up, fall and get up in a never-ending cycle.

But if you listen, you see a strength that defies the depressing cycle of failure. If you watch the evolution of the story, you see life exists (however ugly, however plain) in places where it shouldn't exist --- where they shouldn't even be alive standing before you, because in that darkness they speak of you know you would've fallen and become a cherished memory in the hearts of loved ones.

Just because you can see it doesn't mean that they can. They have walked through the valley of the Shadow of Death and fear no evil, because it is their companion and intimate lover. They know that God doesn't give them anything that they cannot handle, but look less to what they have gained through victory in Christ and more at the simple, continual, and (to them) epic failures that cascade like an never-ending stream in their lives.

The exposure of sunlight upon the broken depravity of their humanity is endured, they are restless and unfocused and consider themselves totally unworthy, totally a failure in the journey towards home. They long for the maturity that they see in others, even as those others express amazement at the maturity in them. The walk in the valley has left its mark, even as the heart beats with a hope that defies the mind's logic of its hopelessness.

Their testimony is the most valuable, however, because it isn't contrived or rehearsed. It changes with the fluidity of the ocean tides, meeting the unspoken answers of the seeker, the unsaved, and the denier that come into their sphere of life and hear their profession of faith; strained, tried and simplistic.

Undeniable.

Speaking from experience, writing my journey as a testimony written by the words of my broken, depraved and burdened heart, isn't set forth upon the ethereal pages of the Internet as a condemnation of what a 'true' Christian is but a profession of the utter foolishness of alteration, the foolhardy method of addition, and the empty application of biblical formulas to life and the professed life gained through the 'conversion' of our nature from old to new through the allegiance and oath of loyalty to Christ Jesus, Messiah and King, Lord and Savior. Faith is more than a matter of profession and belief is not as complete as one would claim.

As S. Michael Craven said in his book, Uncompromised Faith, being a follower is more than just Sunday services and Christianized language, theories, and expressions. It is that living in a broken world, broken, and finding yourself more and more distant in the logicality of love from God than you can ever hope to cover in the briefness of life. But desiring to try and making desire action, despite the assurance of failure and incomplete, unfulfilled attainment. It is, in the absence of all reasoning and all reasonable thought, stepping into the throne room of the King with the assurance of death for the interruption and being extended the scepter of grace, saved from the punishment that is the due.

Time and time again.

And it never gets any easier. It never gets any simpler.

For the first time since I was invited to be a part of the dynamic and powerful group of realistic men who God called through the voice of Scott Engelmann to join together as a band of brothers to be men of God's heart and mission workers for the field, I didn't go to the meeting. Reasonable excuse was existent and easily offered. But the reason I hadn't missed a meeting before was purely survival instinct....if I didn't go, I knew I'd probably never go back.

My belief in my worth was broken a long time ago upon the altar of this world and as I have journeyed through the destruction of the hillside and traveled down into the darkest valleys, I have gone...as a ghost.....substance an illusionary wisp faintly discoloring the landscape, belief the perception of movement out of the corner of the eye, and faith more of a dripping faucet than a flowing stream. Realistically feeling I am far beyond the saving and changing grace of God, and hoping as I crawl before the throne, eyes downcast and limbs heavy, beyond the hope of that hope that He is the gracious, merciful, and righteous God that I have understood in the bible and seen in the faces of the truly redeemed; those giants who walk among us convinced they are simple Lilliputs instead of Gilligans.

Whereas the events of my life would surely be nothing but a fly smashed into the broad windshield of their lives, I find these things of tidal and epic failure. I don't recall off-hand who said it, but one of the greatest truths I have found in the lessons of this life is, "Preach the Gospel, use words if you have to." We shouldn't have to, its existence and proof a living breathing hope in the face of hopelessness, belief in the logic of human righteousness of unbelief, and the faith to face Goliath with a sling and stone. Living under the mighty hand of God may not feel like a safe place, or even a place that others will be drawn to in the hail of worldly gratification, but it is the only place where hope for the hopeless cannot be denied even by their own lips.

Then the glory of God is revealed to those brought to its revealing. And the illusionary safety of human understanding of godly wisdom falls away to reveal the hand that will never leave its place on your shoulders…..even as your humanity crumbles under the weight of realized corruption and absolute depravity.
I don't know if the door opens into another desert or wilderness expanse or if, as the sustaining hope that exists testifies to, that I will find success in the surrender and victory in the defeat.

The greatest thing I fear is the greatest thing I face and the denial of the experience of relationship's painful experiences and wounding endings is hard to deny. Yet, in the purpose of the calling God brings me to face that fear, without assurance of victory and the absence of sustained peace.

I am an ordained chaplain now, the church illusion of safety in numbers (large numbers) under a corporate business mentality of 'saving souls' no longer sustainable in my eyes, and the sight of those I cannot deny their discernment and wisdom a view of a leader and minister to the broken…..He calls me to serve Him.
I am afraid.

I know the darkness too well to disregard its danger. But I can hear the voices crying out and I cannot stay….. I am afraid, of staying and of going……
Lord help my unbelief…

Monday, April 27

Deep sea fisherman.....

"So do not fear for I am with you, do not be dismayed because I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you, I will uphold you with my righteous hand." Isaiah 41:10

Standing at the helm of this storm-tossed ship, watching the biggest wave ever formed begin to crest, I have gone from the fearful state where my humanity begs for air to scream and stand tense....waiting for that moment, that signal, that signifies the beginning of the end: the end of waiting, the end of any effort that my broken, sinful humanity could possibly bring to bear, that time -- waited for since the dawn of my creation and the first cry of a newborn male child. This, I can feel with every fiber of my being, is what I am purposed for.

The wave, massive in its height and scale, blots out the horizon....blots out all hope of escape. There simply is nowhere to run, no rescue to come in time, there is no one on the deck......this is my time. This has been a long time in coming, the culmination of lost loves, love wrongly loved, relationships broken by circumstances, time, and my own hand. In the mirror like glassy surface of the massive wave, I see the heartaches, the sin, the sorrows, the suffering, and the brokenness of my heart boiling under its turning and chaotic surface.

When the Master of the ocean meets you in such a dramatic and undeniable way, despite the attachments each deep-sea sailor has to the land of his birth, everything becomes irrevant and pointless.

No son who has borne more than his share of sorrow, no daughter who bears so much brokenness and suffering in similiar fashion to your own (the makings of a deep-sea fisher herself), no friend who means more to you than you could ever say or ever show, and no one to bear you up under the approaching crush of the Perfect storm. When you are a deep sea fisherman, you challenge the Master of the Deep each and every day. Sometimes the harvest of the fish are plentiful, still wrought with danger but danger of the level you're prepared for.

Sometimes it takes longer to gather enough to pack the holds, to make the journey upon the miles of deep, dark ocean worthwhile and you face unexpected dangers...but find yourself up to the challenge and coming out on the other side with holds full and a song to sing.

But, as every seasoned salt will tell those willing pups who sit to listen, you challenge the Mighty enough and you will come face to face with the darkness of your soul and tremble at the display of mighty sovereignty of the Ruler of the Deep. Its as certain as the need to cast the mooring lines off to move out to sea or as certain as the dawn of a new day. He will hear your challenge and He will answer; in ways you cannot prepare for and cannot predict.

And when He does, after you've done all you can; battened down hatches as tight as they can be, casting off the dead weight of equipment no longer effective, and jury-rigging the damage of the precursor gales that have buffeted your too small vessel in preparation for this spectacular finale; there is nothing left to do but face the Creator of the storm and be humbled.

In that moment between waiting and beginning, between inspiration and dread; you look back upon the path that has brought you out, far from land's embrace and protection, and see the moments of your life that have been in response to that deep sea call; leaving those who prefer the relatively safety of the inland waters, dunking their poles into the waters and pulling out smaller fish, though huge by their experience, compared to the ones you have seen in your travels to the deep. You smile at the memory of the honest, heart-felt impressions made by those who dared to cast their poles in a new and strange fashion and who yeild a bountiful harvest from the inland shores until the fish themselves learned the tricks and began to ignore the lure of the overused technique.

Mighty fishermen were they in the little puddles of water, easily impressing those who gathered upon the shore to watch such overskilled techniques in a shallow and limited environment. Even then, you felt the lure of the open ocean and the siren call of the deep. Little ponds filled with stagnant water, unmoved by the current running deep under the surface and unchallenging in the fish swimming beneath its waves.

You remember the adventure in its infancy; catching a ride upon another's vessel...the greenhorn amid giants scarred and bruised by the life of a deep sea fisherman. You remember gathered for evening meals as the waves gently tossed themselves against the hull, listening to tales both horrifying and inspiring from those veterans --- and smile as you remember that one who drew you aside one day and told you to listen with purpose, garnering what uses you could from the tales told, and that day you were included in the group....no longer a greenhorn but looked upon as one of the few; a deep-sea fisherman.

You recall the joys of a life such as this; the massive sized fish, the likes no inlander would ever see and have never believed existed. The dawning of a new day upon the crystal waters of the deep, that sucks the sunlight in like a favored drink, disappearing into the darkness of its heart and sending the glowing sparkle back through the water to be almost painful to watch directly such splendor. The open sky above, the untarnished line of the horizon, and the fading memory of a land that bound your heart and soul in its embrace.

The sorrows too. Shipmates taken by tragic accidents; a hook catching them and dragging them into the crushing depth of the deep, foolish mistakes made upon the dangerous deck of a deep fisher, and those too precious few who journeyed back with you with holds full and rewards bountiful only to be felled upon the land they detested, a deep sear is never at home on the land, by some unknown disease or the dreaded "c" of cancer. Very few, in your replayed memories, so very few simply went to sleep in the night and never came back to the land of the living to venture forth with you again into the deep.

But even then, with the passing of remembered sorrows and suffering, even then your face cracks into a smile as you recall the intoxicating thrum of the engines as the Boat Master pushed the throttles full forward, the turning sound of the water churning against the hull as it slices through the surface, the ship's nose pulled out a bit as if she were smelling out the fish that were to be hauled in, as if she were looking for her bearings so that the 'right spot' could be found.

The dolphins that welcome you into the open waters, the gulls that squawk their cheers to your ears as you return to what you are, to what you were meant to be: a deep sea fisherman.....one of the few, some say, foolhearty who cast their lots out upon the deep....

You remember the early days of learning the trade; working the decks, making what sometimes were easily rectified mistakes and sometimes were life-threating errors but surviving the struggles and the long hours and the full or empty nets and cages....that fade into the memories of a seasoned hand, the work coming almost effortlessly as you watched that greenhorn who came aboard much like you were once, frightened of their own shadow and overwhelmed with the work to be done.....some returned and grew into cherished shipmates; others rejected the foolheartiness of the open water in favor of shallow depths embraced by assured landbased rescue.

The weight of the steering beneath your hand, even now you can remember the sweaty palms and parched throat as you took the helm for the first time and worked the boat as you once worked the equipment on the deck; learning a new skill you never dreamed you'd be able to master but dared to dream of. Ah, the pleasure of being a deep sea captain.....even with the added responsibility of crew and equipment and navigating to those fruitful waters....there is nothing in your experience that compared to commanding the helm of such a vessel.

As the wave crests and begins to suck your ship into it darkening depth, raising the bow towards the vertical and your limbs respond with remembered lessons taught upon these very waters; the pushing of the throttles wide open and the thrumming response from the engines below, the tightening of your grip upon the wheel....you remember those who came before you; some generations of salted deep seaers....

from infancy to their watery graves growing up in the comfort and traditions of Glouster families, some who's blood ran salty and others whose pride of their heritage spelled their own doom.

Others, like yourself, landlubbers whose blood was transfused by the taste and adventure; the walking wounded, the scars of a old life unlearned and a new life lessoned by the harshness and unforgiving origins of your birth. But all, deep seaers, Glouster fishermen each and every one.....

As you reach the almost vertical point, where ship will either fall back, collasping upon itself as the water claims each and every open orifice and the deep claims its reward; you feel the remembered weight of hands upon your own, guiding but never forcing, as they ease the throttles a bit, turn the wheel slightly, as the dance between nature and man comes to its conclusion. You stand in the embrace of the Master of the Deep, who respects no man....sinner or saint, landlubber or deep salt....all come to this point upon the vessel they captain. And you know, as the vessel tips, that you will never be the same.......

As your eyes accept the darkness, either for eternity's momentary instance or until the storm has passed and sunlight once again graces the sky....you hear the words that awoke in your heart so long ago the desire of the deep.....

"Come follow Me and I will make you a fisher of men."

You know; whether your name becomes inscribed upon the walls of the momument to those who have passed before you as a moot testimony to the history of the sea...or whether those equally as foolhearty, brave souls of the rescuers pluck you from the sea's embrace once again, you have answered that call placed upon your heart and throbbing in your veins for so long.....

"And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me." Luke 9:23

Dr. David Livingstone, a missionary, was working in Africa when some friends wrote to him about their desire to send him help. "We would like to send other men to you. Have you found a good road into your area yet?"

It is Dr. Livingstone's reply that I would challenge each of you who sit in the fancy bass fishing boats on inland waters, or even those of you who fish like deep seaers in shallow waters, and even those who watch from the shoreline.

Dr. Livingstone said, "If you have men who will only come if they know there is a good road, I don't want them. I want men who will come if there is no road at all."
You will never realize the passion of the faith, the joy amid the sorrow of the belief, nor the peace in the midst of the storm of the Maker's hand until you cast your line out into the deep and let the Lord of it all pull you in.

You will never realize the glory and majesty of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob until you challenge the deep where He lives......make a road where none exist, travel to the deep that few have experienced.

Dare to risk it all, throwing everything to the wind........

Be a deep sea fisherman....

and find that in giving it all, you gain so much more than you could ever imagine.

The Master of the Deep is calling.........

Thursday, April 23

A handy guide for helpers of the hurting


When I was faced with the daunting task of preparing both my dearest sister in Christ, her family and the congregation for the ending of her earthly journey, it was my first experience as a chaplain and I was woefully unprepared.

There is a wealth of denominational handbooks that speak doctrinal traditions, but there have been no concise, structured handbooks available that make this journey as a layperson, a chaplain, or even a pastor somewhat less daunting….

Barbara Roberts has put the wealth of her experience, tested and tried upon the field of ministry, into such a handbook. Less of a personal story of lessons learned, it is rather a precise and no-nonsense reference guide that anyone facing the call of ministering to those facing life's challenges can quickly read, understand, and then apply the support of the Holy Spirit to so that the expression of God's love can be realized in the midst of the heartaches of this world.

This is a 'must-have' for anyone called to go into the mess of life with the heart of the Savior so that the needs of the ministered can be met with Christ-like love and compassion. Lay-counselors, Chaplains and even Pastoral staff will find this a vital and welcomed help.

The perfect storm

You journey through life; its relatively good…..the love of a woman, the respect of your children, security in your profession, and opportunities abundant to serve God. Life happens; loved ones fade into the eternal reward of heaven or hell, regardless of how much you may still need them here or fight to hold them close, children turn from the biblical truths no matter how well you instruct them, train them, and empower them to walk in the paths of the LORD, relationships burdened by life end before they can truly be born, and we do the 'right thing' in balancing and maintaining our budgets and the car blows up, the house catches fire, and our work is gone in the blink of an eye. Relatively, in the prospect of the eternal, life is a good thing regardless. What is of this world will die with this world, and all that we know is eternal will be eternal. We are but pilgrims on a journey to our homeland upon the dirt of this world.

For most people life's routine is flowing along at the even keel, with brief squalls to ripple the surface of their ponds, but nothing more. They are born, grow up relatively peaceful, marry that person who has been their vision of a mate for life, have children, known for being upstanding citizens and religious folk, and then pass on to their rewards having left a legacy of continuousness in their passing. For others, there is a brief time of a tropical storm and its ferocity damages the temporary things within their lives, shaking the foundations of their eternal but sank far into the bedrock…their lives withstand the height of the storm and in a brief time, it passes into the memories of epic tales told to their grandchildren.

For a few, life's routine is nothing more than the collision of the "perfect storm", that combination of conditions, circumstances, and tribulations that come together to create the perfect hurricane upon the open sea, far from the sight of land and hope of rescue. For some, there has never been the moment of knowing a mother's unconditioned love or a father's pride in them. For some, life isn't as simple as going to a well-paying and intellectually challenging job and maintaining the trinkets that such allows; a nicely-appointed home, nice vehicles, and a loving family but rather a struggle against the impending wave that threatens to claim all they love and care for with the uncaring movement of compelled force. For some, peace is more defined because it is a temporary evacuation of water from around them being gathered by the wave building on the horizon.

These few continue to batten down the hatches with well-practiced ease, without wasted motion and wasted emotion. Oh, the weight of the building wave is shadowing their every step and their faces are grimed by the all-too-realistic outlook of annihilation that looms bigger and bigger on the fading horizon. They know that no matter how well they've battened things down and how well they respond to the fervor of the wave's power, there will be less upon the return of the sunlight….if sunlight is what they will see again.

They have wept themselves to the point of exhaustion, beyond the feverous attempt of their humanity to rationalize a dim glimmer of possible hope, and they have done what they could do in the time given to push their fragile craft beyond the grasp of the mother wave. Far from land, further from the hope of human rescue, they prepare for the aftermath of the approaching doom. For these few, the storm has never ended in the journey.

And, in this culmination of the 'perfect storm' they may perish beneath the waves of this bruising, punishing world or cling in the aftermath of its destruction to the flotsam of what remains; the choice is no longer theirs to affect or to vocalize. They are at the mercies of the ocean deep. Life is dealing the cards.

Christianity is facing its 'perfect storm', that combination of humanism (label it postmodern, emergent, universalism, liberalism whatever -ism you wish), moralistic decadence, and cultural isolationism that has come together to feed each other to develop the rogue wave of worldly destruction. As the wave gathers its might, growing in height and strength despite the fierce resistance of the vessel and crew, the world grows darker and the outcome seems assured. The years of 'individual' Christianity and personalized faith have met with the forces of humanism, post-modernism, consumerism and emerging church movements to bring to focus the power given to the Enemy in the end of times. No longer is Truth decisive and absolute, but must make way for cultural changes and economic desires. Churches call for 'economic and spiritual' revival, Christian radio stations promote 'economic' spirituality and isolation and Christians don't even know what they believe as more and more human definition contorts and misshapes simple Truths issued from God in His Word.

The Enemy floats in the most modern, technologically-advanced steel ships made by human hands with human intellect. Solely focused on delivering a human solution to human sin and explaining away the powerfulness of God.

The SS Christianity, a seasoned veteran of the world and its storms, is made of wood and pitch. The engines and a few navigational aids are the only handshake with modern times and human engineering. She is battered, patched, creaking and leaking from the numerous 'tropical storms' that have plagued its passage upon the open waters with equipment lost overboard and never replaced, cobbled tools made from broken remains, and only seaworthy because of the exhaustive efforts of her serving crew. She is far from her homeport where her family awaits her return and far beyond the rescue of the human leadership that has been slowly fading into the eternal of their reward over the decades; some 'victims' if you will of the storms past and others who have faded into the silence of 'retirement', wizened and aged, haunting only the sending off and homecoming of their old ship.

The crew has been whittled down; some have come upon the deep for a season, weathered a storm and recoiled to the calmness of the inland waters, where the depth is measured in the matter of feet rather than miles and the closeness of shore almost guarantees rescue's salvation to deliver them from accidents and freak weather than to be at the mercies of the unseen and unpredictable Master of the Ocean.

Some have spent a fair amount of time upon the open waters, been battered and bruised by the storms of epic tales and widowing nightmares. They have ventured into the depths of the unseen, grabbed their fortunes and made their riches and having horded the empirical wealth of a dangerous life lived, they spend what they gathered in the quiet comfort of home. These veterans sit at the local pubs of the homeport, their faces wizened by the harsh open wind and fiery burning sun that has shaped the measure of their days. They shake their heads in admiration, mixed with a bit of 'heart-felt' gladness, at the foolishness of the 'young' to venture back upon the waves of such a fierce Master.

The remaining crew, a collection of inexperienced 'greenhorns' and seasoned veterans, man the creaking decks littered with debris of endless hours worked pulling the precious cargo of lost souls from the tight grip of the enemy and fighting the storm's gathering fury. They are tired and bruised, wounded by the continuous effort to keep the vessel and crew alive, and the veterans sound out the warning, prepare the ailing ship and her 'greenhorns' as best they can, and turn to watch with a healthy fear…as the wave approaches.

Some greenhorns weep at the life that may be ending here upon the bitter ocean, others question the ideals that drew them to such a dangerous profession; promised wealth untold for a moment's work. The wise ones look to the veterans, drawing comfort from the battered collection of scarred humanity that stand firm at the railings, gather in the wheelhouse with one hand on the steering and one on the engine controls….ready to bring their full measure of seamanship to bear as hell unleashes its fury.

And, as the crest of the gathering force of the storm of -isms/decadence/isolationism is reached; in a world that grows increasingly reliant upon the godhood of its own design, where children carry guns into school to show the world in the moment of their despair that they will matter and the cries of unborn children haunt the dreams of misguided mothers, where the immorality of a few confuse the majority of the borderline and the redefined truth of the moment drowns out the eternal Truth, where true beauty within stands in the physical creation of the Maker's hand and is rejected by the ugliness of mankind's sinfulness, where the angels weep and the whole of creation shakes at the foolishness of mankind's created gods; globalization, global warming, economic prosperity, universal religion, intolerance of absolutes………

Each of the weary crew have their own personal stories of the fight against this storm; gathering now for years. They bear the scars of their own journeys upon the face of the deep; some bear in stark sight the brutality of man's folly. Some have known love only to have it leave them without its embrace, some have seen the blessings of children taken by the evilness of another and too many bear the common wound of an absent father and an even more absent community of faith.

There are those, who can find safer harbors to weather this storm, who fly out into its tempest with the honor of brother- and sisterhood to rescue this battered crew. In the face of overwhelming odds, they set their shoulders and their sights on finding these redeemed souls out in the deep. They go lightly equipped, with only enough protection to help them reach the hearts battered by the tempest. Though separated by distance and time, they face the fury of this "storm" with equal worry, but with a determination to be a deciding force in the crew's endeavor to stay alive. The mission supersedes everything else.

In the end, the brutal wave unleashes its fury and the crew grins…………..

leaning into its mighty grasp with hands working steering and engines in harmony and purpose, as the good ship climbs the mountain of man's folly.

For this may be just another 'storm of the century' or the final glory but the ship and crew know its purpose and will struggle against the approaching destruction with all of their faith, all of their belief, and all of their hope, as if this is a simple squall and not the end of their journey.

Hoping for the end because of the battles already fought, but willing to jump into the fray once again for another season. Because in the face of this greatest attempt to confuse and confound the children of the Most High God, their victory is assured and their reward is promised. The storm has already been defeated, the rescue already performed.

And in the aftermath of this storm, if indeed it is only a 'century's fury' and not the final end; where the world grudgingly erect monuments to the valiant ship and her crew, shaking their heads at the foolishness of dreamers who believe in facing the storm's fury lightly equipped, and epithets are given with reluctant honor to the 'good intentions' of such honorable sailors, the ship and crew will go on to its eternal reward.

For, when the 'perfect storm' of man's sinfulness and rebellion does come together upon the broken surface of a chaotic creation who groans in pain at the foolishness of man's intellectual and inspirational attempts to deny its creator, the Admiral of the Fleet will gather His veteran crew and sail His seaworthy ship into the fury for the victory over the true "Perfect Storm."

In the perfect storm of my life; love realized, spoiled by the circumstances of life itself, the purposed vision seemingly a dream, and the attempt upon attempt to overcome some of the common struggles I face….ship battered and beaten by the merciless sea…..in that moment, as I gaze upon the cresting wave so massive and dark it blots out the sky, and all possiblity of human hope dies in the sheer sight of its rolling power of destruction…….I have to smile.

Maybe this is the one, that final battle upon the face of this world and I can rest, until that day comes when my Master calls me to join the return and man my station aboard His vessel. Maybe not. Maybe this is just the enemy's lastest and greatest that is nothing more than a 'storm of the century'.

Hope remains. I have face the impossibility of my own abilities to move this wave and know that in the end of it all, I may become a name on the wall of the departed.....

It's time to step aside and let God...........

I grin and push the throttle……………….as do countless others on their own vessels of God's design


This is going to be one heck of a ride…………………………………...

A song rises in my soul…………………

"Father God, we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea"

Wednesday, April 22

The 12th year......


"My son, let them not vanish from your sight; Keep sound wisdom and discretion......Do not let them depart from your sight; Keep them in the midst of your heart." (Proverbs 3:21; 4:21 NASB)

Twelve years ago, after a frantic and hurried race across town (as opposed to driving in the opposite direction to the closer hospital ---I plead temporary insanity) and the doctor telling me that the planceta was separating from the uterus wall and the baby was in trouble.....at 10:06 am, by emergency c-section, Casey Lawrence Hutson entered into this world and took what too many unfortunate children are unable to do in today's society...a breath.

I was told that I couldn't be in the operating room, due to the emergency, and was on the phone with my sister when the nurse came up and told me that he had come into the world, in a fashion that would be a characteristic he has grafted into his personality, in spectacular fashion at 6lbs, 11 ounces and 16 inches long.....at what the doc said was the 'edge of viability'.

I can remember looking at him in the incubator, waiting transport to the hospital I should've headed to (again....I plead temporary panic), I promised him everything I had, would have, and could get for him. My life ended that day as I gazed down at this bundle of crying, full head of hair baby boy and I promised to make his life so much fuller than mine ever was; not knowing that he would bring something beyond what I could ever give back to him.....

I can remember for the first month of his born life; getting up at 3am and on the road by 3:30, at the hospital's NICU by 4:00am (dressed and gowned) to spend an hour with him. I can remember the sadness of looking at the children who were smaller than my palm as I turned to sit down at the incubator of the biggest premie in the room and counting silently those who didn't make the journey long in this world who's incubators were empty.....

I can remember taking him home with a apnea monitor, running back and forth to the docs when the darn thing went off at all hours, the recommendation for physical therapy and premie 'assistance' so that he could 'catch up' and helping him walk....a tiny hand gripped tightly around my pinky finger, which was being pulled from its socket as he gathered steam.....the diagnosis that he was cognitively-impaired....the rejection of a speech theraptist who said he was too 'stupid' to learn to speak and my reply, issued in a low growl "You aren't good enough to teach my son."

The rushing home after recieving a call he was at the hospital because he was outside and fell, right into the trailer hitch, and again when I was told that he was left in a car by his grandpa and did what anybody else would do, put the car into drive and knock a mobile home off it's foundations....becoming the only kid in the country with an accident on his record before he could even drive.....(not really).

The struggles with school, the struggles with my ex regarding his care, and the best day of my life since his birth and the following birth of his sister.......the day when custody of both of them were given to me. And the reason that I walked back into the church and realized God's call.....for him and his sister......

We have had our share of struggles; self-imposed, imposed by others, and dealing with life as life comes. We have had our own sorrows, hurts we have caused each other intentionally and unintentionally.....life is not the image I held when I gazed down at that boy so long ago.

Easter Sunday, 3 years ago, he joined the family of God.....and the adventures God has taken us on since then have been harrowing, scary, and blessed.......

No one will ever say that he is anything but a joy to be near, loving and caring of those around him and always faithful. He has endured so much, been ridiculed and mistreated because of his special need as much as he has been blessed with gifted teachers, caring teachers, and exceptional friends.

As I look back over the last twelve years, I am amazed that --with all the mistakes I've made, the consequences of decisions made by me and by others, and the passing of life in a broken world--- a twelve year old young man walked into the ktichen today, looked up at me with those beautiful and caring eyes and wrapped his arms around (as much as he could) my waist....and said, "Do you know what today is?"

I wish I could say that I said something profound and scholarly about the angels singing and heaven rejoicing....but no.....I said, "Frankfurter day at school?" In a look that has become part of his impressive facial library, he said...."Nooooooo...." I relented and wrapped him in my arms.....and spoke the words of my heart.....

"Today, you become a young man.....and continue to be a blessing to this old man."

To the community of Godly men that stand in pursuit of the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords, I present to you someone who is transitioning from boyhood to young manhood, from childish things to adventures and battles and glory for his Lord and King......

As a father, I ask that you..this community of godly men...take this new man into that community and take him into the next phrase of this journey home. Each of us men are uniquely gifted to mentor the new men growing into fatherhood, to teach godly principles through fresh and different eyes...I ask that you step up to the task and show him true godly masculinity, reinforced by the multitude that you are.

As a man, I am proud of who he is becoming even as my arms strain against letting go and my heart longs for the simplier times of cradling him in my arms. But, I know that God has taken my dedicating this young man at my word and calls him out into the purpose to which God set aside before he even graced me with a smile as I was told his mother was pregnant.

The greatest thing that I have ever heard from this young man's mouth still send the shiver of wonder and joy down my spine when I hear it......"Dad, I love you."

The greatest thing that I can ever say to you as I present the newest member of the community of manhood.............

"Gentlemen, here is MY son, with whom I am well pleased!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I give you a blessing from God, community of men, and I give you a treasure of my heart. I hope that, if you have a chance to have an godly impact upon this young man's life or to cross his path in the journey home, that you will see what a wonderful man he is becoming....and will impact him as a man in the community of godly masculinity can do.....

Tuesday, April 14

Choices

"All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country ----a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them." Hebrews 11:13-16

Dan B. Allender, PH.D, identifies four types of 'pain handlers' in his first chapter of The Healing Path: How The Hurts In Your Past Can Lead You To A More Abundant Life. One, which I think I can most readily identify with, is the paranoid. The one who avoids pain (as much as is illusionarily possible) by seeing it everywhere and with everyone. Avoiding disappointment by never being surprised by sorrow. The fatalist, who accepts pain as normal and part of the 'luck' of life, is too far from what I think. I don't believe pain is normal, though it seems to be on intimate terms with me and my life.

The hero, I think, is most like a friend of mine, who avoids pain by seizing it as an opportunity to show how tough they are, growing beyond the requirement (again, illusionarily so) of acknowledging need or weakness. The optimist, as Allender says, is most of the 'churchy' crowd….where if pain exists it must be dispelled by seeing the 'good' in everything else.

Allender seems to have the cost of pain down too, where it saps at our God-image as human beings; hammering cracks in the bowl of faith, hope, and love to the point where our faith shatters upon the impact, our hope grows dimmer in the waiting, and we shutter ourselves from the cost of human love.

Christ said that to follow Him was to suffer, like He did. To gather up our cross and lug it down the city streets towards that hill where we can see the beginnings of our own crucifixion….the gathered crowds, the soldiers with hammer and nails, and the smell of decayed dreams scattered in the stiff breeze. We know its coming, at least the paranoiacs among us do, and can already feel the painful piercing of those nails.

Funny how we have just celebrated the remembrance of that journey, ending after three years of powerful ministry and works…..so powerful that the Pharisees moved after His death to make sure that 'lies' were not enduring through the apostles' thief of the body and don't see beyond the crucifixion in our own lives. Beyond that sectionalized part of Christ's suffering, Isaiah wrote this of Him:

"He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not." (Isaiah 53:3 ESV)

We often talk about the duality of Christ; fully man and fully God. But we never talk about how that perspective applies to us.

From the H.I.M. Change class I just attended, (www.h.i.m.org) when we have a conversion (coming to Christ for the salvation gift), it leads to holiness which God causes additions to our faith because of the given new nature that leads to godliness, so that we can be an example for those around us. Godliness is part of the process in which we walk towards in this journey to our new country, a kingdom where a city has been prepared by God for us. So we obtain, in Christ, godliness and holiness, within the salvation gift. But, do we truly understand that godliness, even comprehend the holiness which is our new birthright?

Christ was human, born of a virgin and raised as a Jewish carpenter's son. He suffered the scraps and bruises often associated with childhood, He saw the joys, fears, and pains of those who He called friend in the context of the moment, who He called neighbor in the community of man. He stood within the oversight of the Roman government, watched His earthly father suffer through business contracts failing, I'm sure, as well as times of profitability. He saw family pass away and saw marriages good and bad. He experienced life, with the power of God harnessed to the will and timing of His heavenly Father. What kind of conflicts did He experience, knowing that He was fully God, while being fully human?

He was acquainted with grief, He knew sorrow beyond the time surrounding the Cross. And yet, He kept on….going about His Father's business and subjecting Himself to His Father's will. To the point of death, and beyond.

To get to the Resurrection, He had to go through the suffering and sorrow of the Cross. To gain salvation , He had to pay the price of mankind's sinful nature. To bring about redemption, He suffered the life of a man, fully, while being fully God.

Paul told us to consider it pure joy to suffer for the sake of Christ. What truly does that suffering look like?

I think I am beginning to find out.

Fully.

There has always been struggle, conflict, pain, and sorrow in my life; like a constant companion that never truly goes away. A father who left at five, a mother who abandoned at six, broken marriages, sibling conflict that escalated to physical, a wife who decided that someone else deserved what she had given to me, and loves unrecoverable from the circumstances of life. Life hasn't ever been something to live, but something to endure. And hope for a short span.

Where is the holiness, godliness, love and example in that? Did Jesus experience such pain and sorrow in His human life? Situations may have been different, but the sorrow felt was more than I've ever had to endure.

And I have endured badly.

If we are to follow Christ, if we are to expect and experience sorrows such as our Savior did, and to endure those sufferings with the same determination and hope that Christ taught us and modeled for us….what would that look like and how, in our duality of nature; corrupt sinful old nature against the spirit of the new nature, are we supposed to show such devotion…to the Father's will and the Father's plan?

In the deserts of our lives, where the harshness of the sun becomes a searing enemy and the dryness of the landscape quenches even the heartiest of faithful servants, the foolishness of our own authority and power lay naked upon the yellowed ground stripped bare by the grittiness of the wind-blown sand. Our hearts, broken yet again, unfulfilled and unquenched, cry out in the fullness of pain. And we stand wishing for the hope that sustains us comfortably in the goodness of life's experiences would disappear and leave us for death's welcomed embrace….but it endures, it flourishes in the brutality of the desert.

There, sunburned to the third degree and with all human possibility of deliverance savagely beaten to death…we lose pretense and imagination, sustainable hope and peace. We chase after mirages for a while, disappointments building on disappointments as the illusions are exposed and the sand becomes as much a piece of clothing as our tattered garments that hang from our gaunt frames. We come to the point where our reaction to the madness of living dually in a world that whispers unity will pull us closer to the God we face in the darkness of our souls or we give in to the madness of living sinful and worldly in a world that cannot save us; living a life that will end instead of ending that life for the life everlasting.

I am there; in that shadow land between absolute madness and absolute surrender. God on one hand, offering a relationship of awesome power and splendor amid the squalor of this world's sinfulness. The world, on the other hand, offering a way of absolute madness….where the illusions of instanteous gratification and fulfilled desire are of a temporary nature and will, under the consumption of too much of the desert's sand, will kill as surely as a cancer.

There is no longer a belief in "just a little longer" will I have to endure before something will happen; God will find some long-lost relative to solve the financial struggles with the fat of an inheritance, love will find a way to beat the circumstances that keeps it at bay; felt and desired, but unfulfilled, and the suffering of the moment will give way to the peace promised.

"faith in the unseen" or belief in the mirage of this world?

The enemy stands before me, like a salesman intimately aware of my likes, dislikes, wants and desires……offering illusion after illusion like prancing ponies in a stage show for my enjoyment….if I chose the madness that lurks within the darkness of the desert night. He offers logical, progressive, and encompassing explanations for the illogical and foolishness of the unknown that is the alternative to his offerings. Custom-tailored to my ears. Displays built only with me in mind.


Silently, mute in its simplicity and untarnished by the blasting sand, stands a door…..no displays of promised destinations, no stoutness of build or craftsmanship, or even a handle in which to open it for a quick peek….shuddering and swaying in the full gale of the desert's design, only a simple and unadorned sign graces its wooden frame: Enter, all who seek.

Do I believe in the knowledge that I have of a God who has me in His hand, who has a plan for me that simply doesn't fit into the worldly plan of those mad with the illusions of religion, universalist unity, and commonality of our own 'godness'?

Or do I accept the fragility of the illusionary mirages; what my human eyes can see, what my human heart can feel, and what my human hands can touch; displayed in all their splendor on the hot, burning sands before me?

No one can serve two masters.

I can be 'all that I want to be' within the illusion of the world…..

Or I can be "despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief……"

A life of love unfulfilled, of peace unattained, and of success in finances, parenting, and career undiscovered……

Or a life surrender of my soul for the illusions of this world?

I'm going to chose the door, God help me….I'm going to chose the door.

For the hope that remains, for the hope that endures….

So help me God…..


What will you chose?

Sunday, April 5

Uncompromised faith in a compromising world.


"But dedicate your lives to Christ as Lord. Always be ready to defend your confidence in God when anyone ask you to explain it. However, make your defense with gentleness and respect." 1 Peter 3:15 (GW)



"Research reveals that Christianity in America has become more diluted, more distorted, and less Christ-like with each subsequent generation," Josh McDowell writes. "So severe is the crisis that I dared to proclaim that if something serious does not occur in the life of the church, we may be witnessing the last Christian generation in America."

"Historically, Christians have been formidable in projecting this new and true interpretation of reality [the transformational shift in our conceptions of reality, self, human nature, knowledge, morality, and ethics] into every aspect of American life and culture," S. Michael Craven offers, "not by political coercion but through intellectual influence, missional activity, and compassionate outreach." But, in today's culture, where a candidate can be elected President through 'inclusive and universal' change even by those who claim Christianity as their religion, such formability has become systematically reduced to "religious ritual and personal piety."

As the world has become increasingly intolerant of its views and its mission, the Church has withdrawn into its beautiful buildings and subcultured language, symbols, and literature. It has strayed away from the very calling of its mission and ill-equipped those daring enough to venture into the culture of deprived and sinful world. It has become a victim of the culture, influences, and worldview of a society it was supposed to save.

S Michael Craven, president of The Center for Christ and Culture, is considered to be one of the leading cultural apologists in the modern world and offers those daring enough to engage in discussion a thought-provoking and challenging look at the crisis facing the movement started by Jesus Christ and the ineffectiveness of modern Christianity in meeting that commission given in his book Uncompromised Faith: Overcoming Our Culturalized Christianity.

"Empty-headed evangelism," Craven believes, is the "dumbed down Christian theology" that has created a generation of Christians who are afraid to engage in the hard questions that society uses to silence the witness of the followers of Christ, prevents effective discipleship, and has created a world where the immoral views of humanism are dominant. He calls for a renewed, biblical form of engagement in the battle for the lost souls of the world, in an effective and culturally changing mindset.

Missional apologetics.

A way of engaging the culture in a way that historical apologetics (classical, presuppositional, and evidential) has failed to do. In "addressing the ideas or ideological influences common to a given culture," and recognizing "social issues and their underlying ideas or worldviews," missional Christianity becomes more of a "rescue force that is determined to stay until all are rescued" instead of a hit-and-run commando force that is only here to harass the enemy forces.

"The missional Christian presses into the world wherever he or she is," Craven defines this 'new', highly trained warrior. "and pushes back the darkness with the love of Christ."

In Uncompromised Faith: Overcoming Our Culturalized Christianity, Craven not only challenges us to learn the way to effectively engage the culture that we have unknowingly allowed to affect our faith but he offers thought-provoking arguments on how those influences have brought a once effective and life changing reality to the former shadow of itself.

Post-enlightenment, postmodernism, and the persuasive consumerism of American culture have allowed "social acceptance of false moral perspectives" as culturized Christians have become increasingly unable to "articulate meaningful, rational, and compelling reasons" for the Gospel message of morality. Only 4% of American Christians use a biblical worldview as a basis for decisions, and even that worldview is more of an espousing of Christian tenets rather than a framework for 'analyzing, evaluating, and guiding' one's lifestyle.

Craven describes this necessity of having a "Christian philosophy of life….where men understand all of reality and its nature in connection with the revealed Word of God" for the effective engagement of a culture and society that has become increasingly anti-Christian. In looking at the effects of modernity and modernism, postmodernism, and consumerism upon our faith, Craven calls us to 'represent the Kingdom of God' through "distinct community…and serving the world through compassion and mercy in meeting humanity's needs and being just."

Reading his book, we are taken upon a journey of understanding the cultural influences and how they have changed the biblical context of God's grace, mercy and glory. We are offered a restoring and effective way to rejoin that unique and achievable goal of being part of God's redemptive work in a world gone crazy by understanding how the morality of our faith has been suborned by secularism. Craven looks at the cultural influences of our modern times, the social issues that plaster the landscape of American society, and calls us to engage that culture through 'demonstrating the reign of God within…authenticating community" with understanding and love.

"If we want to overcome our Culturalized Christianity to worship and serve the King of Kings; we must recover this broader understanding of our mission as Christians in the world. We must learn to properly analyze and intelligently engage the culture, and we must interact with each other and the world in a spirit of grace, love and charity."

Far from emergent, universal, and New Age spirituality movements that disengage God from life, Craven offers a means of understanding and being effective as believers in the cultural influences of our age with the effectiveness of Paul, the compassion of Peter, and the ultimate reality-changing and life-giving impact of Jesus Christ.

I would recommend picking up a copy of Craven's book and challenge you to develop an 'uncompromised faith.'