Category: Attitude

The Pilgrim’s Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Table Set 11-26-14I love the Thanksgiving holiday that we celebrate in America on the last Thursday in November. Jodi sets a magnificent table and our children gather with their children. Food, family, and football are the usual American components to celebrate the day.

In addition, it marks a time to reflect on our blessings over the past year which includes giving thanks for the good things provided, and giving thanks for the bad things that we have been spared from. It is also a time to consider ways to help our neighbors and share with those less fortunate in our community and around the world.

I love Thanksgiving, but  sad to say, I am not always thankful. It seems like a cliché, yet pausing to count our blessings and reflect on the gifts provided is one of our greatest privileges as humans in a life well lived. The author G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936) said, “When it comes to life, the critical thing is whether you take things for granted or take them with gratitude.”

The Bible has a lot to say about thanksgiving, mentioning it nearly 140 times.  In the book of Psalms alone, we are told over 30 times to “be thankful” and “give thanks unto the Lord.”  Psalm 92:1 says, “It is good to give thanks to the LORD, And to sing praises to Your name, O Most High.”  Nineteen out of the twenty-seven books of the New Testament mention the need for thanksgiving.   1 Thessalonians 5:18 says “In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”

Regardless of the hardships we may face in life, we can be thankful for the good things God provides. And it is always helpful for me to consider the circumstances of the Pilgrims when they celebrated the event we now call “Thanksgiving.” When we think of that first thanksgiving celebrated by the Pilgrims, we might assume it occurred during the first year of their residency here after their arrival in 1620. In fact, we know they did have a 3-day feast in the fall of 1621 where wild fowl and venison were served.  A letter by Edward Winslow is the only surviving description of the event itself.[1]  The hard winter months that followed brought extraordinary suffering and even more deaths to the small band of Pilgrims.

But the first real extended thanksgiving celebration took place a full three years after their arrival in 1620.  Those three years were filled with much hardship, toil and suffering.  Their days were spent combating sickness, drought, inner conflicts, and the elements.  But it wasn’t all bad news.  The Native Americans had taught the settlers how to plant corn, fish for cod, hunt for game, and skin beavers for coats.   They had planted gardens, built a blockhouse for their protection, houses for their own comfort, and a meetinghouse to worship God.

Just when things seemed to take a turn for the better, they again got worse.  In the summer of 1623, a drought threatened to destroy their vital crops.  So the colonists prayed and fasted for relief.  When the rains came a few days later, disaster was averted, and their crops were saved. Not long after, Captain Miles Standish arrived with staples and news that a Dutch supply ship was on its way.  Because of all these blessings and answered prayers, the Pilgrims held a day of thanksgiving and praise.  This 1623 event appears to have been the origin of our Thanksgiving Day because it combined a religious and social celebration.[2]  It was a time for expressing gratitude to God and sharing with their Indian neighbors.  Governor Bradford made the following proclamation:

“Inasmuch as the great Father has given us this year an abundant harvest of Indian corn, wheat, peas, beans, squashes, and garden vegetables, and has made the forests to abound with game and the sea with fish and clams, and inasmuch as He has protected us from the ravages of the savages, has spared us from pestilence and disease, has granted us freedom to worship God according to the dictates of our own conscience.

 Now I, your magistrate, do proclaim that all ye Pilgrims, with your wives and ye little ones, do gather at ye meetinghouse, on ye hill, between the hours of 9 and 12 in the day time, on Thursday, November 29th, of the year of our Lord one thousand six hundred and twenty three and the third year since ye Pilgrims landed on ye Pilgrim Rock, there to listen to ye pastor and render thanksgiving to ye Almighty God for all His blessings.”[3]

The provisions for that thanksgiving feast included:  “twelve tasty venisons, besides others, pieces of roasted venison, fruit pies, roasted wild turkeys, plums, nuts, grapes, corn, popcorn, vegetables of all types, fish, roast pork, etc.  But before all this, the first course was served:  on an empty plate in front of each person were five kernels of corn. . .lest anyone should forget” (the hardship of the previous winters.)[4]

“Lest anyone should forget.” Like Chesterton said, “the critical thing in life is whether we take things for granted, or with gratitude.” Happy Thanksgiving!

[1] http://www.plimoth.org/Library/Thanksgiving/afirst.htm

[2] http://www.si.edu/resource/faq/nmah/thanks.htm

[3]Federer, William J.  “America’s God and Country Encyclopedia of Quotations.”  Coppell, TX:  Fame Publishing, 1994, p. 66-67.

[4]Marshall, Peter and Manuel, David “The Light and the Glory.”  Old Tappan, NJ:  Revell, 1977, p. 144.

At the Intersection of Our Hopes and Fears

At the intersection of our hopes and fears“The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight.”

We exist in a contradiction of emotions. Moments of great faith and courage. Moments of great fear and trembling. But between those extreme moments, we often swim in a sea of ambivalence. Tumultuous waves of fear, doubt, hate, anger, self-loathing, and cynicism threaten to drown our hopes, dreams, faith, love and peace. We search for a life preserver to keep us afloat long enough to survive.

We must face negative realities in order to survive, but focus on positive ones to thrive. What if we could find solid footing to maintain serenity in the midst of a storm of adversity? What if we could remain peaceful and calm when the waves of despair threaten to capsize our vessel? What if we could hold onto virtue during moments of weakness when tempted to compromise our values? What if there really was a life preserver to keep us from drowning in that sea of ambivalence? What if we could overcome our fears with hope?

At the intersection of our hopes and fears we find the babe of Bethlehem. During his human lifetime, that baby grew into a man who would calm storms, stop angry waves, offer the tender touch of healing and forgiveness. He would provide courage to a widowed mother, sight to a blinded beggar, a place at the table for the hungry, downtrodden and oppressed, freedom to one enslaved by the chains of demons, and tender mercy to a woman caught in adultery. Ask any one of them. Ask any one of the countless others named and unnamed in the Gospels. They will tell you. Jesus Christ met them at a moment when they were about to go under, capsized by fear. But his touch, his glance, his word made the difference. Hope.

Heaven and earth intersected in Bethlehem more than 2,000 years ago. God came down to human level to show us his heart and compassion. Hope met fear. And hope won.

It’s not about Bethlehem. It’s about that baby boy who spans the centuries and more. He spans eternity. And his love spans the chasm between our sea of ambivalence and the solid ground of his destiny. That’s why pastor Phillips Brooks penned those words more than a century ago. We hear them sung today in shopping malls and sanctuaries: “The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight.”   ©2013 Don Detrick

A Thanksgiving Story

a thanksgiving story 3Ten men huddle around an open fire on a chilly evening.  Their eyes are hungry with anticipation as they study the meager contents of a simmering pot, their only meal for the day.  These are hard times, and food is scarce – especially for them.

“I heard he’s coming tomorrow,” one of the ten, a rabbi, states.

“You mean the Galilean, the one they call Jesus of Nazareth?” asks another.  The questioner is from Samaria, a sandalmaker by trade.  Samaritans are a common enough sight in this border town between Galilee and Samaria.

“Yes, he’s the one” answers the rabbi.

A small gust of wind fans the flames to illuminate the face of the man next to the Samaritan.  His visage is scarred, almost grotesque.  His nose, or what was once his nose, is now a protruding ulcer.  He struggles to breathe through his mouth. Large spots of raw flesh randomly appear between patches of beard.  He speaks next, with some difficulty.   “I’ve heard of him.  They say he is a miracle-worker.   I believe in miracles, although I can’t say I’ve ever seen one myself.  We Pharisees have always believed in miracles.  Why, the Scriptures abound with stories about miracles and angels and the like.  I remember the stimulating discussion on the subject I had with a Sadducee in Jerusalem a few years ago.  But that was before . . . .” his voice trails off as another begins to speak.

“Well, that’s easy enough for you to say.  After all, you’ve always had a smooth life – up until now anyway.  But I’ve always had to earn a living by the sweat of my brow.  Nobody could ever say that this Galilean potter wasn’t a hard worker.  The only miracle I’ve ever seen was one I made with my own two hands.”  He holds up his hands and in the glow of the fire one wonders how those hands could ever have produced anything of beauty or value.   They are deformed and ugly – worthless for any meaningful work.  Only one finger is recognizable on one hand, two on the other.  In silent anguish, he lowers them to his side, despising their uselessness.

A break in the clouds reveals a full moon and for a moment a clear picture of the ten shadowy figures appears.  It is not a sight for the weak-stomached.  For each one seems to be a victim of some great physical disaster.  Perhaps a terrible accident, or a fire, maybe they are war veterans – it’s not clear at the moment.

“The soup’s almost ready, and I’m ready to stop this discussion about miracles” another states, a note of sarcasm in his voice.  “Like my potter friend here, I’m from up north near Bethsaida.  I once had a thriving business in the marketplace there.  Over the years I’ve met a number of folks from Nazareth.  But that was before this happened to me.  Anyway, like I was saying everybody knows nothing good could ever come out of Nazareth.  If this Jesus is from there, he’s no miracle worker.”

Another speaks, his voice cracking with age.  Yet the men listen to him with a respect reserved for one who speaks with the wisdom of many years.  “Yesterday people in town said Jesus of Nazareth recently visited Jerusalem and there he healed a crippled woman and a man who could not walk.  He had a condition the physicians call dropsy.  He healed that man on the Sabbath day and created quite a stir.”

“Yes, but what about us?”  The old man was interrupted by another.   “We’re all in this thing together.  I’m only thirty years old.  I have a wife and children, and was ready to go into business for myself as a tentmaker.  But now my wife and family have returned to the home of her father.  I may never see them again.  I’m forced to spend my days begging and my nights with you vagabonds.  I think I could still work with my hands and make the best tents ever, but who would buy them?  Nobody would even touch them.  ‘Unclean!’ they would say.  What about us?  Could this Jesus heal lepers like us?”

“I’ve been told by a reliable source” the old man continued, “that Jesus healed a Galilean not long ago of leprosy.  In fact, some say that this man is traveling around bearing witness to his healing and telling people that Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah.”  The eyes of the men are all on the old man now.  A glimmer of hope has made the soup seem unimportant for the moment.

“Do you believe it’s true?” the young tentmaker asks.

“It could be” states the elder.  “I don’t really care if Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah or not.  I’ll let the experts decide that.  But if this Jesus can heal, I must see him.  I’m an old man and may never have a chance like this again.  I dread the thought of dying as a leper, an untouchable.  Why, no one would even give me a proper burial.  I don’t know about you, but tomorrow when Jesus of Nazareth comes, I’m going to be waiting, within shouting distance of him.  If this Jesus is as kind and merciful as they say he is, I intend to get his attention.  And then I’m going to ask him to heal me.”

“What have we got to lose?” asks the rabbi.  “Let’s go with him.  Surely a group of ten men together will have a better chance to get His attention.”

So one by one each agrees to go in the morning and join their voices with the voice of the old man.  They eat their soup in silence, each deep his own thoughts.  Some are skeptical, with a cynicism borne by years of bitter suffering and rejection.  Others finish their gruel and drift into sleep with dreams of love and family, employment and full stomachs.  Others lay awake, for the first time in many days looking forward to tomorrow and wondering what it will bring forth.

The morning dawns as bright as the expectation of what life could have been for these ten if it were not for leprosy.  Leprosy!  How they despise the word!  Leprosy!  To them the word means isolation and ridicule, poverty and vagrancy, hunger and despair.

Most of all, the word means unclean.  They did not ask for this curse, it just happened.  Oh, at first each tried to hide it.  But you cannot hide something like this for long.  And then came the inquisition, and then the meeting with the priests and finally the pronouncement of that vile word “unclean!”

As wretched as their wounds, even more wretched is their destiny.  Forced into isolation from healthy people, the leper is required to warn all who approach by calling out “unclean, unclean.”  Even the most spirited individual is soon beaten down in such a condition.

One can’t really expect others to understand a disease they are not afflicted with.  Most associate the plague with the person.  So lepers take their place in society as less than second class citizens.  In fact, they are treated worse than dogs by most.

There is not a moment of the day that these men are not keenly aware of what this disease has done to them – and what it has taken from them.  Leprosy!

There is not a day that goes by that each doesn’t ask the inevitable question:  “Why me?”  Obsessed by those words, they repeat them over and over.  “Why me?  Why me?”  But the answer never comes.  The silence echoes through their minds, constantly haunting their vacant souls.  Only a rational defense can break the silent spell.  Each one reasons:  “Surely I’ve never done anything to deserve this.”   Or worse, “Maybe I do deserve this.”

Thus finding no meaningful purpose for their plight, their tormented minds ponder another question.  A question that at least tends to soothe their wounds with the balm of fantasy:  “What if?”

  • “What if I were still a successful businessman?  I would never again take for granted my position.  I would give more than a paltry sum when alms for the poor were received.  Yes, I’d be more compassionate to the downtrodden and the needy.”
  •  “What if I were still able to live at home with my wife and children?  I’d never again resent having to feed those extra mouths.  I’d smile when the children needed new clothes, thankful for the ability to provide for a growing family.”
  •  “What if I were an esteemed teacher in Israel?  I had such a promising future.  My mentor said he had never taught a student with such insight into the Scriptures.   He once said I had a gift for teaching that would make my name prominent in Jerusalem, and I would be sure to use that gift to the best of my ability for God’s glory.  I would still have a home of my own.  I would be welcome in any synagogue.  And whenever I saw a leper, I would consider:  ‘There, but for the grace of God, go I.”

But as always, the stark realities of their existence soon terminates their brief respite of fantasy.  As diverse as they once were, they are now welded together by the white hot fires of suffering.  Leprosy, an unwelcome guest which suddenly invaded their lives, has thrown them together as surely as it cast them out of society and away from family and friends.

But today is different as the ten shuffle off together toward town.  Today there is hope.  Together they have formed a plan, tied to an incredible possibility.  Surely they have little to lose.  Their fate is already sealed anyway.  Why not believe the impossible?  Onward they proceed as faith replaces their fears.

They position themselves on the side of a road, the road by which Jesus is coming this day.  A crowd is already gathering in the early morning chill.  Soon the crowd becomes a multitude and some say “You lepers, get out of the way.  We don’t want you here.  Make room for us.”

If only one leper had been there, he could have been persuaded to move.  But ten, together, had formed a determined defense.  They had lost much.  They had nothing more to lose.  They made up their minds.  They would not move.  And they would not be moved by force of hand, for no one dared touch them, or even come close for fear of the curse.  So they held their ground.

Soon the noise of the multitude reached a fervent pitch in the ears of the ten lepers.  “It’s him.  It’s Jesus!” they hear.

A thousand questions race through their minds.  “Will he come our way?  Will he hear us?  Will he care?   Could he heal us?  Will he heal me?”  Now they see the object of the crowd’s attention.  They see Jesus of Nazareth.

“Yes it is him,” they agree.  “Now is our chance, we must act!”   Over the tumult of the crowd, with one mighty effort they raise their collective voices in a great shout of “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.”  The multitude grows silent.  Jesus turns, and spots the ten.

No one needs to offer an explanation.  Daylight reveals the obvious about these men.  Still, the embarrassed leader of the local synagogue speaks up, “Jesus, those ten lepers are vagrants.  Just beggars and not at all like the fine citizens of our community.”  But Jesus does not even acknowledge the man.  The ten lepers now have his full attention.

“What will he do?  How will Jesus respond?  Will he wave us away so he can visit with the “respectable” citizens of the community?” the lepers wonder.

With their eyes riveted on him, they hear Jesus say “Go, show yourselves unto the priest.”

“What kind of a command was that?  Doesn’t he know that it was the priests who pronounced us as ‘unclean’ in the first place?” they ask.   As they look at each other, they see nothing that would change the priest’s diagnosis of their condition.

“But there was something compelling about the way he spoke,” replies the former Pharisee.  Once again their gaze moves from each other back to Jesus.  “Yes, and there is something about the way he looks at us.  His smile is not a smile of mockery, but a smile of compassion,” says the sandalmaker.

One by one, in obedience to his voice, they proceed.  They are off to find the nearest priest.    Whether they believed before or not, as they walk along, each experiences a miracle of transformation.  Leprosy, the despised disease will plague them no longer.  Every man is healed and given a new lease on life.  Gone are the scars, the deformities, and the open sores.  Gone also are the stares of people as even missing extremities are replaced with new ones covered with skin as smooth as a baby’s.

Running and jumping, shouting with ecstasy, they proceed to their destination.  Along the way, the Samaritan ponders “Why should I go to a Jewish priest? I won’t be accepted by him.”  He remembers the stinging pain of rejection even before leprosy had afflicted him.  “You fellows go on ahead, perhaps I’ll see you later” he says.  “I’ve got some unfinished business.”

tenlepersThe other nine don’t seem to mind that he left the group.  In fact, now that they are all normal, it just doesn’t seem right for them to be associating with a Samaritan anyway.

Filled with a riot of emotions, the Samaritan tries to clear his mind as he formulates a plan.  “I will go show myself to a priest who won’t reject me because of my ancestry or birth.  I will present myself to a priest who seems to understand, and be touched by the way I feel.”

He makes his way back to the crowd, back to where Jesus is.  Cleansed of his disease, he falls prostrate at the feet of the One who made it possible.  His hands, once deformed by leprosy, now clutch the feet of Jesus.  He cries with a joy known only to one who has experienced sudden freedom after escaping from the prison of deep suffering and rejection.

Overcome with emotion, and struggling to form the proper words he speaks:  “Thank you, Jesus.  Thank you.  I was as good as dead.  Now I live again.  Thank you.”  But mere words seem inadequate to express the appreciation he feels.  From his inner soul he sobs deeply as tears of joy fall on the feet of Jesus, his real High Priest.  There is no pretense, no show.  His gratitude is sincere.

“Were not all ten cleansed?” Jesus asks.  “Where are the other nine?  Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?”  Jesus was addressing the crowd, not the man at his feet.  Looking tenderly at the healed man he said “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.”  (Luke 17:17 NIV)

Only one returned to give thanks.  Ninety percent went on their way, more enthralled with the gift than the giver.  Jesus healed them anyway, “for He is kind unto the unthankful and to the evil.”  (Luke 6:35 KJV)  It is this great kindness of the Savior which ought to make us want to offer thanks.

The Samaritan leper knew what he had been saved from.  For this he expressed thanks to the One who made it possible.  Jesus became not only his healer, but his Savior.

What would your life be like today if you were still being eaten alive by the leprosy of an unchanged sin nature?  What parts of your life would be missing?  How much would be broken, ugly and scarred?  Do you remember what it’s like to feel absolutely hopeless, knowing that even those who love you best are powerless to meet your deepest needs?  Can you recall when you looked to Jesus and He healed the leprosy of your sin, forgiving and removing the ugliness?  How you wondered in amazement at how He is restoring the missing and broken parts of your life as you go on your way?  How long since you’ve returned to your High Priest, to fall at His feet and express your highest gratitude?

Like the leper who returned to give thanks, may we also be grateful not only for what Jesus has done for us, but for what He has spared us from.   “Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!”  (II Cor. 9:15 NIV).

(Story based on Luke 17; ©2013 Don Detrick)

Moments of Mystery – Part 1

Moments of MysteryYou’ve heard it before, “Inquiring minds need to know.”  Does that describe you? Do you collect bits of trivia because you never know when the information gleaned might come in handy, like when you are a contestant on Jeopardy and need to formulate a question to the answer, “The leading cause of toenail fungus in Southern Hemisphere sloths.” Have you developed skills, such as eavesdropping or jumping to conclusions just because you are intrigued by what you don’t know? Do you love a mystery and enjoy speculating about whodunit before that information is fully revealed?

Maybe you are on the other end of the spectrum, and don’t feel a compulsion for speculation.  When others drone on about personal details you did not ask for, you are not embarrassed to say, “TMI, that is more than I want to know about that subject!” You believe that life’s perplexing questions block your path often enough, without intentionally trying to stumble upon more of them.

Most of us probably fall somewhere in between the two extremes, striking a balance between being inquisitive and being contented to mind our own business. Yet there is something to be said about a sense of wonder and mystery. A four year old’s constant barrage of questions about who and what and why and where and when may reach the point of annoyance, but you can’t help admiring their quest for understanding. The world is opening up to them and their mind is beginning to grasp for answers, thus their questions pepper us with pleas for an explanation to all things observed in their environment.

In the age of information, we expect instant answers to every inquiry and problem. Knowledge our parents might have spent hours gleaning from searching card catalogs and library shelves we discover only a click or swipe away. If Google doesn’t know, Bing might, and Siri will be glad to answer, even if she provides nothing more than comic relief. “How far is to Lincoln?” you may ask while driving a Nebraska highway.

“There are four restaurants nearby that serve ling cod,” she replies to your question. Grrr…

To solve a really perplexing puzzle takes time. Gleaning valuable skills and insight requires years of intensive study and practice. You can’t become a board certified brain surgeon by taking a three week online class or watching a couple of YouTube videos. The same is true for any worthwhile pursuit. So why do we sometimes expect our journey with Christ will only lead us on happy trails filled with light and road signs every mile or so explaining our precise location and the exact conditions ahead?

Is it possible that the road of suffering might provide moments of mystery for our benefit? Could those dark shadows from the threatening storm cause us to cling ever closer to Jesus? Might our faith muscles stretch and develop through the twists and turns of an uphill climb when we don’t know exactly what lies around the next bend? Could the mystery of those moments cause us to speak with a little less certainty about our own ability and instead trust more fully in God’s? And is it possible that we are better for those mysterious moments because we can now encourage fellow travelers to keep climbing, keep pursuing, and keep moving forward because we have felt the hand of the Good Shepherd leading us through the darkness of the valley of the shadow of death?

Inquiring minds need to know, yet there are times when no easy answer comes. Ask Jesus. His plea, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” was met with silence on earth. Yet you can be sure it was heard in heaven. He understands the moments of mystery you face. And you don’t have to face them alone.

Perspective: What’s Wrong With This Picture?

What's Wrong With This Picture“Wow, look at Mt. Rainier this morning, what a magnificent view! Can’t you see it?”  From my perspective sitting in a window seat of a 767 flying at about 25,000 feet, it looked like I could almost reach out and touch Washington state’s highest peak. Just after sunrise, the view was spectacular.

“No, I can’t see a thing,” replied the attractive woman sitting next to me, who happened to be my wife, Jodi.

“Well move over a little closer to me, now can you see it?”

“Still can’t see a thing,” Jodi replied. By then we had flown further east and left Mt. Rainier behind.

“Well, you should have seen it—simply amazing!”

“Sure,” Jodi replied, sounding somewhat unconvinced and perhaps a little chagrined that I had interrupted her nap and occupied the window seat. At that hour of the morning, I could understand why she didn’t share my enthusiasm for something she could not see.

Perspective. It all depends upon your point of view. From where you are sitting you see one thing, and you see it clearly, perhaps with a great deal of certainty. But the person sitting right next to you might see a different picture. Maybe something entirely different. Or maybe they see nothing at all.

This can be frustrating, and lead to disagreements. I am convinced that a lot of the conflict we experience in life stems from the tension of differing perspectives. People with diverse points of view may not see eye to eye. That’s why we need to learn to listen and ask questions, so we can sense what others see and maybe understand them a little better. Instead, we are often too quick to try and tell how things look from our point of view, and grow increasingly frustrated if they can’t seem to view things our way or immediately agree with our perspective.

The photo above was taken from an airplane. What’s wrong with the picture? Well, you probably notice that the blue sky is above the clouds, something you could only see from a perspective about six miles above terra firma. From where most of us are usually standing on planet earth, the view below would be cloudy and dark, much different from the view above the clouds.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could always see what is happening above the clouds? It would not only change our perspective, it would probably change our attitude. And really, isn’t that what faith is all about? Standing on the ground on a dark and rainy day, we may project the darkness and dreariness that we see. But above those dripping clouds, the sun is shining. We know that. Yet we see no evidence of it at the moment. Maybe that is why the writer of Hebrews said, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”  (Hebrews 11:1)

Perspective. That is the difference between faith and unbelief. Between a life attitude ruled by the view from ground zero and a life attitude ruled by believing the sun is shining above the clouds. And you really should have seen that view of Mt. Rainier. Well, I did take a picture, so you can!

Aerial View Mt Rainier - Don Detrick c 2013

And by the way, if you would like a different perspective on what it means to follow Jesus Christ, my new book, Growing Disciples Organically: The Jesus Method of Spiritual Formation is now available in tree or e-form at the following links:

http://www.amazon.com/Growing-Disciples-Organically-Spiritual-Formation/dp/1937756815/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1368201234&sr=1-1&keywords=growing+disciples+organically

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/growing-disciples-organically-don-detrick/1113026834?ean=9781937756819

http://www.christianbook.com/Christian/Books/product?item_no=756819&product_redirect=1&Ntt=756819&item_code=&Ntk=keywords&event=ESRCP

Persistence

Persistence - pansy in concrete w copyrightI did a double take when I saw it. A single yellow pansy blooming in the driveway. Certainly nobody planted it there, yet somehow a seed took root. And there it was, its sweet pansy face peeking up from a crack in the concrete. I had to stop and take a photo of a literal “bloom where you are planted” story.

How often do I complain about how the present location isn’t ideally suited to take root, bloom, and produce? Or maybe the timing isn’t right. Or maybe I just don’t have enough time. Besides, everybody knows you can’t grow pansies in concrete cracks. Of course, weeds seem to flourish there. But here was a pansy staring me in the face and reminding me that against all odds, and even without ideal circumstances or conditions, blooming is indeed a possibility. The flower’s beauty and contrast with its harsh concrete surroundings was both stunning and defying the logic of my conventional wisdom.

Persistence. Patience. Possibility. These are the makings of everyday miracles. Stick with it. Don’t give up. And don’t stop believing. What do Olympic athletes have in common? Certainly some degree of natural skill and ability. Beyond that, they stick with it. They don’t give up. And they don’t stop believing they can win. In spite of the daily grind requiring long hours of practice, blistered bodies, bruised egos, and tired muscles, they persevere. And the most persistent usually take home the gold.

The same could be said for virtually every worthwhile pursuit. You could become proficient in a foreign language by studying a few minutes a day. Every day. For a long time. You could become a good pianist if you take lessons every week, practice 30 minutes every day, and do so over an extended period of time.

You’ll need to up the ante if you want to become a concert pianist, and very few do–really want to, that is. Because if you just want to a little, it won’t happen. You have to want to a lot, and then act accordingly. Persistently. Consistently. For a very long time. Despite less than ideal circumstances. Despite distractions. Despite sacrificing personal comfort.

What do you want to do? What is keeping you from accomplishing that dream? Persistence. Patience. Possibility. You can do it. You can find freedom from your circumstances and limitations. Just look at the photo of the pansy emerging from its concrete prison and let your dreams bloom right where you are planted. God, who specializes in making the impossible possible, can help you overcome adversities that you cannot conquer on your own.

It’s not an easy road. Easy roads are paved with good intentions and filled with potholes of adversity. Easy roads have weeds growing in the cracks. The road less travelled is paved with persistence, patience, and possibility. The potholes of adversity are still there, but the traveler choosing that route might just be greeted with the face of an unexpected pansy along the way.

Letting Go!

Letting Go - remote control“Put down that remote control. Now! Yes, I’m talking to you. Even if you are a male. Especially if you are a male. Put it down, slowly, on the coffee table. Then step back.”

Hard to do isn’t it? We’ve all watched siblings or spouses wrestle over the remote control. Nobody wants to wrestle to a draw. Everybody wants to wrestle to win. But what if the person you’re wrestling with is yourself?

Giving up control is seldom easy. Neither is losing. Unless by losing you are actually gaining. Like the times you might have lost at a game or something you knew you could easily win. Instead, you let somebody else win because you knew losing at that moment was actually winning. Winning a friend, or winning the heart of a child, or winning the wrestling match between your humility and your selfish pride. Tough choice to make, but often worth it. Because keeping your hand on the remote control is not the most important thing.

We come into this world crying with a closed fist. We generally leave with a final sigh and an open hand. What if we lived every day in between our first and last with an open hand? Instead of being grabbers, what if we moved toward opportunities for letting go?  Instead of trying to get at the head of the line, the closest parking space, the corner office, how would it feel to let it go?

“What a loser of an idea,” you might conclude. Taken to an extreme, I would agree. But most people don’t take it to an extreme. Most of us have to daily make a conscious effort to even think a little about others. Because we default to think a lot about ourselves. We are hardwired to think like a crying, grasping baby. Only maturity and an awareness of God’s grace makes us think more like Mother Teresa. What if we took a bit more seriously these words from the Bible?

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others. In your relationships with one another, have the same attitude of mind Christ Jesus had: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a human being, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death— even death on a cross!” (Philippians 2:3-8 TNIV)

Remote. Control. What do those words really mean? I think they mean “distant” and “demanding.” Not qualities we normally admire. Quite the opposite of Jesus who humbly drew near the human race by becoming one of us, and took on “the nature of a servant.” Even though he could have been a “remote control” God, he did not choose to do so. Relationships thrive, not when we are distant and demanding, but when we draw near and serve one another.

“Put down that remote control.” Trust me, you’ll feel better if you do. Let somebody else win that wrestling match. What you gain will be so much more than what you lose.

Semper Fi: Enduring Influence – Part 2 “Heroes”

Semper Fi = Enduring Influence“We’re looking for a few good men”

– The U.S. Marine Corps.

I remember frequently seeing or hearing that phrase as a boy growing up during the Viet Nam era. In print, television, or radio commercials, the message was the same: it requires something to be a Marine. It requires faithful service, and only a few meet that requirement.

Though not a Marine, our nation yesterday (4/11/13) honored a faithful hero. The Congressional Medal of Honor was awarded posthumously by President Obama to U.S. Army Chaplain (Capt.) Emil Kapaun, a hero who died in 1950 during the Korean War serving and saving the lives of his fellow soldiers.

Chaplain Kapaun heroically saved the life of a wounded soldier who was about to be executed by the enemy by running to and lifting the wounded man. Both were captured and sent to a POW camp, where the chaplain continued to serve as a representative of Jesus, frequently giving his own tiny ration of food so other soldiers could live. He modeled faith and virtue. While keeping hope alive for others, he died of starvation in that camp.Chaplain Kapaun US Army Hero - Congressional Medal of Honor - Korean WAr

One iconic image of Chaplain Kapaun captures his story. The photo shows him helping a wounded soldier, with his arm around his shoulder. In an online article in Time magazine, Chaplain Col. Kenneth W. Stice describes Chaplain Kapaun’s heroism:

“I’ve read his story and wondered what were the influences that shaped him to be such a man of influence, willing to make extraordinary sacrifices for others.  Well there’s the obvious formation of his abiding religious faith and practice. That is common to all chaplains.

But there’s also the influence of his family life – as one who grew up in rural Kansas, on a farm, within a tightly-connected community. It was in that context that he learned the value of hard and honest work, loyalty and support of neighbors, and simple a lifestyle with meager possessions.

Both of those streams of influence were absolutely vital in preparing him to endure captivity with such humility and courage, so that he became the inspiration of other POWs to carry on.  Chaplain Kapaun was consistent in his daily walk, and how he lived his faith.

The remarkable acts of bravery under direct fire in November of 1950 were reinforced through those daily acts of religious faith. All chaplains have the opportunity to make that impact on others with consistent living that was epitomized by Chaplain Kapaun’s example. His consistent walk and witness encourage me on my own journey of faith. But that same witness serves to convict me of areas that I need to be more faithful.”[1]

Did you notice how many times Col. Stice used the word, “influence” to describe this heroic man? I was touched reading about Chaplain Kapaun’s faithfulness and enduring influence. And I had to ask, What do all faithful heroes have in common? Here’s what I came up with:

  • They are present and available rather than absent and inaccessible. Can my loved ones count on me to be present and available–to be there for them when they need me?
  • They are alert and engaged, rather than pre-occupied and distant. Am I present when I am present, or neglecting my duty to pay attention to my family, my friends, my responsibilities?
  • They are courageous and sacrificial, rather than playing it safe out of harm’s way. Will I protect and serve others, or only myself?

The Marines are looking for a few good men who will be “always faithful.” It’s not a gender thing, anybody can be a hero to somebody by being faithful in who you are and faithful in what you do. Enlist today, your faithful influence will endure. Semper Fi!


[1] U.S. Army Chaplain Col. Kenneth W. Stice, “Medal of Honor: Chaplain Kapaun’s Heroism Feted Today. Time, April 11, 2013 at http://nation.time.com/2013/04/11/medal-of-honor-chaplain-kapaums-heroism-feted-today/ accessed 4/12/13.

Semper Fi = Enduring Influence: Part 1

Semper Fi = Enduring Influence“There’s no such thing as an ex-Marine!” While I have heard NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs on television’s top-rated series make the remark many times, I was somewhat surprised to hear the unison voices of three students echo the exact sentiment. Someone in the university class I was teaching happened to mention that a number of their cohorts were ex-Marines, thus their collective and corrective response.

It got me thinking. What is it that makes a select group of individuals so impassioned that they proudly wear the title, “Marine” as a badge of honor forever? Not “ex-Marine,” mind you, but even years following active duty they subscribe to an identity in the present tense, “Marine.”

What occurs within that window of time in active service, be it two years or thirty, that becomes part of the fabric of their lives forever? What creates the ethos, the culture, the duty, the mission that permeates their collective DNA? What could inspire random diverse individuals with unique personalities, gifts, and talents into a unit with a collective identity and purpose? What is so compelling about their mission that men and women risk life and limb to defend each other and more importantly, defend the dignity and freedom of their nation? What could possibly generate such enduring influence?

Books could be written on the subject (and they have). Techniques, strategies, training, culture, combat, duty, shared quarters, community, language, experience, camaraderie—these all contribute. But in the end it really comes down to two words: Semper fi. Not “semper fidelis.” The abbreviated version works fine, and is more efficient in the Marine economy. Latin is not the strong suit for most Marines. And like Special Agent Gibbs on NCIS, most Marines I know are people of few words. They choose action over verbiage. They don’t need a lot of fancy words to proclaim their faithfulness, they show it every day. They get things done. They can be counted on when it counts. Their influence endures. In a word, leadership is influence, and they lead by example.

We have all experienced the effects of unfaithfulness. Needless suffering, broken promises, broken vows, broken families, and broken lives are the inevitable result. Even the most faithful person may have a lapse of faithfulness. Unfaithfulness is common. Faithfulness is rare. That explains the question posed by the writer of Proverbs: “Many claim to have unfailing love, but a faithful person who can find?” (TNIV)

Semper fi. Always faithful. Always on active duty. Always ready to be found, identified, and counted. What if every disciple of Jesus Christ was as quick as my Marine students to identify with Jesus? Never an ex-disciple. Never a lapse, but always faithful. Who knows, we might become people of enduring influence. And we might just change our world.

Easter Hope: Resurrection & Reconciliation

Easter hope Resurrection & Reconciliation - PorcupineThe German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860) compared the human race to a bunch of porcupines huddling together on a cold winter’s night. He said, “The colder it gets outside, the more we huddle together for warmth; but the closer we get to one another, the more we hurt one another with our sharp quills. And in the lonely night of earth’s winter eventually we begin to drift apart and wander out on our own and freeze to death in our loneliness.”[1]

But winter does not last forever, and in the Spring Easter warms the cold heart with hope. Christ provided us an alternative: to forgive each other for the intentional and unintentional pokes we receive. Because Jesus died and rose again, we have hope. Forgiveness, kindness and compassion are at the heart of the Gospel. Even in the face of injustice and sinful arrogance, Christians must have hope. Even in the face of anger and hate, Christians must have hope. Even in the face of war and violence and death itself, Christians must have hope. That’s what Easter is all about: hope for resurrection and reconciliation.

The Civil War was the most un-civil period in American history. It is hard to imagine the hatred, animosity and strife, not just between the states, but also between families and friends and neighbors.  620,000 American soldiers on both sides lost their lives in battle or as a direct result of the conflict. To place that in perspective, we must realize that the entire population of the United States at the time was a little over 30 million – thus over 2.0% mortality from the bloody war! All told, there were more casualties in the Civil War than in all wars America has fought combined from then until now.

During the war, half the men of military age in the state of Iowa served in the Union army and more than 12,500 of them died and more than 8,500 of them went home with serious wounds. The devastation in the south was even worse. Ten billion dollars in property damage – 40% of its livestock destroyed. The state of Mississippi spent 20% of its budget on artificial limbs for the wounded in 1866.[2]

In 1913, the Federal government held a fiftieth anniversary reunion at Gettysburg. It lasted three days. Survivors of unspeakable atrocities bivouacked in the old battlefield together, swapping stories, and looking up old comrades. They had witnessed the worst of the human race, but now these aged soldiers and one time mortal enemies came together for a final memorial meeting.

The climax of the gathering was a re-enactment of Pickett’s Charge. Thousands of spectators gathered to watch as the Union veterans took their positions on Cemetery Ridge, and waited as their old adversaries emerged from the woods on Seminary Ridge and started forward toward them across the long, flat fields. Philip Myers, (who witnessed the event as an 18-year-old) wrote, “We could see not rifles and bayonets but canes and crutches.  We soon could distinguish the more agile ones aiding those less able to maintain their places in the ranks.”

As they neared the northern line, they broke into one final, defiant rebel yell.  At the sound, “after half a century of silence, a moan, a sigh, a gigantic gasp of unbelief” rose from the Union men on cemetery Ridge.

“It was then,” wrote Myers, “that the Yankees, unable to restrain themselves longer, burst from behind the stone wall, and flung themselves upon their former enemies. . .not in mortal combat, but reunited in brotherly love and affection.”

“It was,” says Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, a Union hero of Gettysburg, “a transcendental experience.  A radiant fellowship of the fallen.”[3]

“A radiant fellowship of the fallen.” With all due respect to those Civil War heroes, that also seems a fitting description for a community of believers in Jesus Christ. Though fallen in sin, we are picked up and redeemed in Christ.

If members of the Civil War could discover reconciliation and forgiveness, surely we can find hope through reconciliation for the uncivil way humans—friends, strangers and family members alike—sometimes treat each other. And on this Easter Sunday as we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus, let’s not forget what He said on Good Friday as He suffered unjustly at the hands of those He created:  “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”  (Luke 22:34 NIV)

Maybe the quills of broken promises and broken lines of communication have popped your balloon of hope. Maybe things just haven’t turned out as you expected.  Jesus rose from the dead so our hopes and dreams could be resurrected and we could be reconciled to him and to each other.

Jesus Christ is unique for two miraculous reasons: a virgin’s womb and an empty tomb. As fully God and fully human, Jesus suffered as no man ever suffered, and on the cross took upon Himself the sins of the world. His resurrection from the dead offers hope for the future and makes possible reconciliation for us all. Isn’t that a better choice than being poked by porcupines?


[2]The Civil War by Geoffrey C. Ward, Ric & Ken Burns.  New York:  Alfred A. Knopf, 1990   pp. 398-404.

[3]From Ken Burns, The Civil War Video series Vol. 9.  http://hardtogetvideos.com/civil_war.html