Mowing with Ari

Posted on January 30, 2024 by Mark

Ari and I mowed the lawn yesterday. We have had weeks of rain and high humidity. The grass here near the coast of Oregon grows even in the winter. Our grass was tall and tangled, and even though it had not rained for a day, it was covered with dew. The wet grass quickly made the bag heavy and the mower hard to push.

Our grandson, Ari, age seven, asked if he could help. My first answer was “No”, but he kept asking so I relented despite the difficulties. His first assignment was to move the toys, chairs, and soccer net off the grass so I could mow. Soon, however, he was asking to push the mower. The bag was nearly full, so he was unable to move the mower no matter how hard he pushed. I reached around from behind with one hand and gave him a little help. With three hands, we mowed a crooked swath through the lawn. When it came time to mow the front, I invited him to mow the slightly sloping lawn where the grass was shorter. He worked hard, even pushing the mower back up the incline, but he was soon tired and went off to ride his bike.

To be honest, I could have finished sooner if Ari had not helped. He struggled to mow in straight lines, so I had to go back over some of the places he missed. And in the growing dusk, it was hard to see every missed strip, so today the lawn looks a little ragged. But Ari was delighted that he and grandpa had mowed the lawn together.

I think this story explains a lot of the raggedness of the church. God has invited all of us to work with him, but we are much like Ari—not quite strong enough, not quite steady enough.  We often need a third hand on the mower. Sometimes the lines are crooked no matter how hard we try to go straight. And certainly, God could do much of His work better and faster without us.

The real job yesterday was not about the lawn. It was about Ari and I spending time together. It was about Ari learning and growing. It was sweat on my wrinkles and sweat on his freckles. It was about love.

The same is true of God’s work with us. Certainly, the work of the kingdom is important, but even more important is working together with our heavenly Father. Jesus said that He did whatever he saw His father doing (John 5:19). In the life Jesus, we see His disciples mow a crooked line, get rebuked for unbelief, and get confronted about their pride. Yet again and again Jesus invites them to help.

We must be patient with the raggedness of the church. Like good parents, pastors must resist the temptation to do everything themselves. And when we see that growing in relationship and maturity is the real point, we should be quick to ask God, “Can I help?” We can trust that when things won’t move, a third hand on the mower will get things going.

Posted in Fathers and Sons, On Faith | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

The Wounded Healer: Limping into 2024

Posted on January 24, 2024 by Mark

How do we help others heal when we are deeply wounded? Where do we find the strength and the heart to help others when our own wounds still cry out? I think the longer one has lived the more likely it is that they are called to be wounded healers. Answering the call isn’t easy or inevitable. Even if we avoid the temptation to become bitter or quit and withdraw, even if we draw close to God and open our hearts, our wounds can easily sideline us.

Perhaps the cruelest taunt that stops us is like the one Jesus faced on the cross: “You saved others, but you can’t save yourself.” For me the accusation is “You failed to help your son, Peter, what makes you think you can help anyone else?” As with many pastors whose children wander from or rebel against God, my failure to persuade all my kids to love Jesus feels like a disqualification. How can God use me to proclaim the good news if I have failed with my own family? I feel this keenly when I stand behind the pulpit.

Preaching on the story of Jacob this last Sunday has helped me. After twenty years away from home and working for his uncle, Laban, Jacob is told by God to head home. Awaiting him, however, is his brother Esau, who years ago swore to kill Jacob for stealing his blessing from Isaac. Although God had enriched Jacob during his years serving Laban, he must now face Esau and his four-hundred armed men. The night before meeting Esau Jacob wrestles with an angel.

The story of Jacob wrestling with the angel cannot be hammered into any of neat theological box. Some see this wrestling as Jacob resisting God. But Genesis says the result of his wrestling is the angel blessing him. It is hard to understand why or how resisting God would result in a blessing. Perhaps the greatest blessing comes when Jacob realizes the angel is God and he “has seen God face to face” (Genesis 32:30).

Even after the angel touches him and dislocates his hip, Jacob refuses to let go. Peter, in the weeks before he died, had become so frail that his hip popped out of the socket. The pain was excruciating. Jacob was holding onto the angel—to God—even through terrible pain. The angel blesses Jacob and declares, “Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel for you have striven with God and with men and have prevailed” (Genesis 32:28). I suspect the angel dislocated his hip to let him know that the blessing flowed from God’s grace, not Jacob’s strength or skill as a wrestler.

Jacob limps toward his dreaded meeting with his brother Esau. Before him, Jacob had sent extravagant gifts of hundreds of goats, sheep, and cows. Jacob had worked an extra six years for Laban to acquire all this wealth and herds, so it had to be hard to give them to Esau. He then sends his wives and their children before him—making himself completely vulnerable to Esau. Before standing face to face with Esau, Jacob bowed to the ground seven times. Then “Esau ran to meet him and embraced him, and fell on his neck, and kissed him, and they wept.”

We are not told what changed Esau’s heart, but it is clear Jacob did all he knew to do heal the relationship he had broken. Jacob gave all he could, made himself completely vulnerable, and had the courage to face Esau even though limping.It is perhaps likely that God went before Jacob and softened the heart of Esau.

So what does it mean for us, like Jacob, to be wounded healers? First, through all our pain and dislocated hearts, we hold onto God and His promises. We cling to God until we are changed, until we are blessed. We hold onto God when we think we can’t go on and see no way forward. We wrestle until dawn.

Second, we become humble enough to heal all our relationships. Our hearts are made tender, and we begin to value relationships more than our own rights. We become those peacemakers Jesus called blessed. We see others differently. Even though Esau tells Jacob that he doesn’t need the gifts he has given, Jacob asks him to keep them “for I see your face one sees the face of God.” After having wrestled with God and seen Him “face to face,” Jacob sees Esau differently—sees him with the same joy he saw God.

Last, wounded healers refuse to be disqualified by their wounds. Jacob doesn’t just limp to meet Esau. He limps into the covenant promises given to Abraham and Isaac.  We know God blesses and uses the wounded. We know, as Paul was told, that God’s power is perfected in weakness. We trust in God, not our own strength or wisdom. Without pride or ambition, we bow before our brothers.

Like Jacob limping into the promised land, we limp toward Jesus by whose wounds we are finally healed.

Posted in On Faith | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Mere Church

Posted on January 14, 2024 by Mark

I believe in mere church. I have sojourned in denominational and nondenominational churches. I now attend a Church of the Nazarene but am not a member. Once a month I preach at the Presbyterian church. God’s people of every kind are precious to me and have profoundly blessed me. I have come to love what I call, with a nod to C. S. Lewis, mere church.  

Mere church is simply people loving God and one another together. That love can be expressed in a variety of ways. I can dance in the aisles with the Pentecostals or worship with the solemn hymns of the Presbyterians, but I am always looking for people who love Jesus and each other.

Mere church is the First Church of the Whole Enchilada. It is a full-service church that refuses to specialize. Mere church seeks to be what Scripture says the church is—not more, and never less. It refuses to choose between the social gospel of helping the poor and spiritual gospel of saving the sinner. It says both/and to the gifts of the Holy Spirit and the fruit of the Holy Spirit. It says both/and to the Word of God and leading of the Holy Spirit. It seeks social justice and the justification of the sinner through faith in Jesus. It welcomes every spiritual crisis experience while helping believers grow daily through spiritual disciplines.

Mere church defines itself in relationship to Jesus. It takes courage for a denomination not to define itself according to some special revelation or experience. Before the Church of the Nazarene was a denomination, most future members were part of the Holiness Movement of the 19th century. The hymn “Called unto Holiness” was the denomination’s anthem. The denomination’s distinctive appeal was the doctrine of sanctification—sometimes called the second blessing or perfect love. Because the denomination saw itself as preserving the holiness teaching and experience of John Wesley, it was sometimes slow to embrace all the other biblical truths about being church.

Today, however, even many denominational churches, like the Church of the Nazarene, are becoming mere church. Without forsaking the experience of heart holiness, Nazarene congregations are becoming full-service: helping the poor, disciplining believers, and making more room for the gifts of the Holy Spirit.Most denominations are weaving distinctive core values into the whole tapestry that Scripture calls all churches to be.

Even Charismatic and Pentecostal fellowships are becoming mere church. Many, some after tragic scandals, are embracing an emphasis on holiness and accountability. Like the holiness folks, Pentecostals often defined themselves by a spiritual experience, variously called the baptism of the Holy Spirit or the fullness of the Spirit. Pentecostals, and to a lesser degree, charismatics, saw this as accompanied by speaking in tongues. But Pentecostals have realized, as the old saw goes, “What matters is not how high you jump when the Spirit moves you, but how straight you walk when you come back down.”

Some social gospel groups are becoming mere church. A friend of mine who is a leader in the Quaker denomination (Friends) told me that he enjoyed introducing young Quakers to Jesus—something that would have puzzled my Quaker grandmother. Some Quakers have become so dedicated to social justice and a social gospel that the idea of a personal conversion experience or a relationship with Jesus seems foreign. As Quakers seek to be true their roots in social justice, they are discovering it is the Holy Spirit that first made them quake.  

Mere church must be Berean. The Bereans tested everything Paul declared against Scripture. This means not formulating an exegesis to support pet doctrines or to reject an emphasis of another group. If one reads Phineas Bresee’s criticism and rejection of the Azusa Street revival that gave birth to the Pentecostal movement, it is clear that his position was not based on a careful exegesis of Scripture. His disapproval was primarily aesthetic and social. Azusa Street seemed unruly and disordered. He concluded, wrongly it turns out, that it would never amount to anything.

Mere church must be open to movements restoring a neglected truth to the church. In England, the Anglican Church sometimes locked the doors on John Wesley and refused to let him into their pulpits. A century later some Methodist churches locked out holiness preachers—including my great-grandfather, a circuit rider in Kentucky. Sometimes congregations are pushed too far in one direction or another by their culture. A hunger for intellectual or social respectability can tempt the Church to jettison biblical truths—truths that God may use revivals and movements to restore. Too often the church has become a spiritual shadow of the culture and refused to be counter-cultural where faithfulness to Scripture demands it. Mere church always welcomes the restoration of biblical truth and values.

Mere church demands humility. It means Presbyterians must admit they are not the only ones helping the poor. It means the Nazarenes must admit that they are not the only Christians who care about holiness. It means the Pentecostals and Charismatics must admit they are not the only ones who are filled with the Holy Spirit. It means Baptists are not the only ones who seek to honor God’s Word. There is no biblical justification for denominational pride.

Mere church means trusting God. If we don’t proclaim the distinctives of our movements, how are we going to market ourselves? I was once part of a movement focused on intercessory prayer for revival. Out of the movement grew a church, but many drifted away from the church because of its lack of community, discipleship, and shepherding. As I look back, I see that it would have taken a lot of faith for the congregation to be mere church. Could it, or would it, have even existed without its emphasis on intercession and the prophesy of revival? If intercession and the gift of prophecy were integrated into a biblical understanding of mere church, would the leaders have gotten the same following? Can we trust God enough to merely be the church?

Mere church calls for leaders with integrity and no personal ambition. It is hard not to turn a neglected biblical truth into a congregation-building scheme. People will rally to a call to be a praying church, a holy church, or a church that helps the poor. Yes, it is hard to get people excited about balancing good works with good worship, prayer with service, evangelism with discipleship. Embracing mere church means be content simply to pastor those God has entrusted to you. It means a radical faith that the Church is the Body of Christ, the hands and feet of Jesus in the world. Mere church is enough.

One danger of being mere church is that we may lose are reason for not fellow-shipping with other Christians. If Charismatics make the gifts of the Spirit just one truth among many, they might have no reason not to work with others. If holiness denominations admit many other Christians also care about holiness, we might have no reason for not meeting with Baptists or Presbyterians. I live in a small town with many small churches—many that struggle to keep the doors open. Few have enough young people to have a youth group where Christian teens can encourage each other. Having multiple small churches makes little sense. Mere church humbly admits we all need each other.   

If not by emphasizing our distinctive callings and doctrines, how then do we market ourselves? First, we stop marketing our congregations to people who are already Christians. Too often church growth is simply the re-arrangement of the believers who get attracted to one congregation then another. Second, we grow by being salt and light in our communities. The light is turned on when we genuinely and sacrificially love one another. By living lives of integrity and kindness in our communities, we draw people to Jesus. Being light and salt is enough.

Mere church is diverse. It has been good for me, a college professor, to fellowship with ranchers, loggers, and mill-workers.  It has been good to call ex-addicts and the homeless my brothers in Christ. Mere church refuses to let us just hang out with people like us.

Mere Church is organic; there is no formula for mere church. As we love Christ, we begin to love others. When we love, the fruit of the Holy Spirit grows in us. As we love others, we seek the gifts of the Holy Spirit to help and encourage our brothers and sisters. As we love our community, we seek to feed the hungry and clothe the poor. Love never fails to result in mere church.

Mere church is real. My pastor likes to describe our congregation as “Real people doing real church.” It describes us. There is no pretense. We all know we are a mess being made into something beautiful by God’s grace. We are all in recovery from our addiction to sin and selfishness. We know the love and grace of God is bigger than all our differences. We are merely the church.

Posted in Culture, On Faith | Tagged | Leave a comment

Just Following Jesus

Posted on January 7, 2024 by Mark

In the midst of church scandal, encounters with mean Christians, and political divisions in the church, we are often encouraged to “Just follow Jesus.” It has also become popular for many believers to escape the political associations of the label “Christian” by identifying themselves as mere “followers of Jesus”. I like the label “follower of Jesus” because most unbelievers like Jesus, and I want to be liked too. It makes it harder for unbelievers to dismiss me or dump me into a box of stereotypes.

Nonetheless, I am convinced that despite many good sentiments behind the phrase, the exhortation to “just follow Jesus” is unhelpful. It may have the virtue of being in true in a general sense, and it is an utterly safe thing to say, but it is almost completely without specific content. Because it is so vague, we are allowed to fill it with almost anything—or nothing at all.

The first reason the phrase is unhelpful is so obvious we miss it. Jesus is invisible. We cannot simply follow Jesus because He is at the right hand of the Father interceding for us. He has ascended. He is now invisibly present with us through the Holy Spirit. Simply following Jesus is therefore more complicated than going where He goes and doing what He does. There is nothing simple about following someone who is invisible.

Someone might object, “Don’t be a smart aleck, Wilson! We don’t mean literally follow Jesus! We mean follow His example!” Since we know little about the first thirty years of Jesus life, this can only mean we should follow the example Jesus set during his three years of extraordinary ministry in Israel. We are probably, however, right to ask whether the years before his ministry are a better example since few of us are going to become itinerant rabbis performing signs and wonders.   

Even if we accept the life of Jesus during his ministry as the model we should follow, we run into problems. To truly follow the example of Jesus, we need to do what Jesus did and commanded his disciples to do. In Matthew 10: 7—8 Jesus says, “And as you go, preach saying the kingdom of heaven is at hand. Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons, freely you have received, freely give.” Jesus is telling them to go and do what they have seen Him doing. But how, exactly, do we “just follow Jesus”?

Most of us are not healing the sick and casting out evil spirits, yet this was huge part of Jesus’ ministry. And although evangelicals are quick to apply the great commission (at the end of Matthew) to all believers and not just the apostles, they are less keen to apply the commissioning of his disciples to heal sick, raise the dead, and cast out evil spirits. Few seminaries, if any, prepare graduates to cast out demons like Jesus did.

However, we can still make a strategic retreat and say, “What we really mean by ‘Just Follow Jesus’ is to become like Jesus in our character. But there will always be wiseacres who instead of saying “Amen” will ask, “How?” We will tell them to spend time in God’s Word, pray daily, and hang out with some mature believers who are genuinely Christ-like. We will urge them to be filled with the Holy Spirit and remove from their lives things that make it harder to hear and obey the voice of the Spirit. However, some will ask, “When and how do I become filled with the Holy Spirit? Is it automatic at salvation? Should I expect anything supernatural or just claim it by faith? At this point, if we are honest, we are long way from anything like “just following Jesus.”

It is interesting to note that Paul seldom exhorts believers to follow Jesus. Believers are encouraged to put on Christ, lay aside the old man, walk by faith, and be filled with the Holy Spirit. It is probably the exhortation (Romans 8:14) to be led by the Spirit and walk according to the Spirit that comes closest to just following Jesus. This is true because the ministry of the Holy Spirit is to impart to us the character (fruit), ministry (gifts), and wisdom (revelation) of Jesus.

More common than calls to follow Jesus are Paul’s exhortations to follow his own example. Paul urges believers to imitate him as he imitates Christ (I Corinthians 4:16). Paul asks the church In Philippi to follow his example and to follow others who also walk according to the example he set (Philippians 3:17). Although we often want to protect believers by urging them to “just follow Jesus” and “keep their eyes on Jesus,” Paul acknowledges that we still need flesh and blood Christ-like examples to follow. “Just following Jesus” is hard without such models.

So even if we say, rightly I think, that following Jesus always takes us to Pentecost and living a life led by God’s Spirit, we are far from proclaiming anything simple. Learning to hear the voice of the Holy Spirit takes time and practice. Walking in the Holy Spirit is helped by the spiritual disciplines that make room for the Spirit to speak and work in our lives. Even holiness and Pentecostal traditions that emphasize crisis experiences now recognize that learning to walk in the Spirit is a process, not just a trip to an altar or a prayer line.

Urging someone to “just follow Jesus” may be harmless if it is the beginning, not the end, of our counsel. Because we mean this metaphorically, we must always follow this with an explanation of how we follow Jesus, how we become filled with the Holy Spirit, and how we learn to hear the voice of the Spirit, how we allow God to speak to us through Scripture. The metaphor must be filled with concrete examples of what following Jesus includes.

At the heart of this discussion lies one of the great paradoxes the gospel. It is simple enough for a child and yet deep enough that after years of study, we have only one toe in the ocean of His wisdom and love. Often when we tell someone they should “just follow Jesus” we probably mean they just need to love Him with all their heart—the way children do when they cling to a mother, father, or grand-parent. I have often not known exactly what following Jesus meant or where Jesus was going, but like a child I have clung to Jesus and spoken His name into the darkness. He is the bright and shining morning star.  

Posted in On Faith | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Ari’s Gift

Posted on December 30, 2023 by Mark

Few gifts have been as precious as the one our grandson, Ari, gave us this Christmas. Teckla and I approached this Christmas with sadness. It is our first Christmas since Peter died, Ari’s first Christmas without a father or mother around. We are planning on moving to Kansas in July, so it is our last Christmas at this house with all its memories. And there are also the worries about Teckla’s memory loss, doctor’s appointments, and tests.

But in all these melancholic gray days of Oregon winter, Ari as been as bright as new penny. He has overflowed with Christmas spirit. He delighted in our small-town Christmas parade with fire engines and ambulances. He sat on Santa’s knee at the feed-store. He asked to go to church on Christmas Eve for the candlelight service. Leading up to Christmas, he excitedly counted all the days on the advent calendar. Ari made certain we left milk and cookies for Santa.  And on Christmas day, Ari did a happy dance as he looked at the presents under the tree.

But even better was the genuine gratitude that spilled out after he opened each gift. He quickly put down the present and gave Teckla and I a hug and kiss. He had an amazing ability to be equally grateful for small and large gifts. His joy over each gift made us want to give even more. His smile has been our Christmas star, his laughter our Christmas carol. Looking at how much joy Ari has given us, I can’t help but think about how much our heavenly Father delights in our gratitude and our full-hearted enjoyment of His gifts, both great and small. My New Year’s resolution is to be more like Ari, grateful for every good gift from God, hugging God close with praise and love and offering up an old man’s happy dance to a baby in a manager

Posted in Culture, Fathers and Sons, On Faith | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Going God-blind

Posted on December 25, 2023 by Mark

For many years I have asked my composition students to write an essay explaining the concept “All men are created equal” within the context of the American experience. I include the original quotation from the “Declaration of Independence” and similar quotations from Lincoln’s “Gettysburg Address” and Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech.

I urge them to explain in what sense we are truly equal since we certainly aren’t equal in ability, talent, intelligence, athleticism, or beauty. Most evade this question and say we are equal in rights but when pressed admit the concept is claiming a kind of equality that stands as the reason why we ought to have equal rights. It is an inherent equality we possess before, and whether, it is acknowledged by the government.

Some are baffled and conclude that although we aren’t equal, the idea that we are is useful for social order and harmony.  In other words, they believe the claim that we are created equal is a useful fiction. It is useful because being created equal is the best argument for equal rights.

I often urge them to look for clues in the rest King’s speech, the Declaration of Independence, and “The Gettysburg Address.” However, most of my students still draw a blank and instead of explaining the concept, give me a Wikipedia summary of the expansion of equal rights to women and people of color.

Despite King’s speech asking that we “speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old spiritual, ‘Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last,’” most my students make no reference to God as the source of our equality. Even though the “Declaration of Independence” speaks of people being “endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights” and begins with an appeal to “Nature’s God”, most students make no reference to God as a source of equality. I try to give some gentle guidance by asking them to explain the significance of the word “created”, but it doesn’t help much.  

In frustration some will demand I explain what “created equal” means. I suggest it may mean that we possess equal worth in the eyes of our Creator and therefore ought to be treated equally. That is why King declares us to be “all God’s children”. We are all created in the image of God, so we have equal value in His eyes. I then use the analogy of good parents valuing all the kids equally even though some may have handicaps.

Most of my students thinks this explanation makes sense and works well, but I am amazed that it occurs to so few—it is as though they have gone God-blind. They read right past the mention of God in their primary texts. I am not certain if this because of how American history is or isn’t taught in high schools or if it is because they think talking about God is simply off-limits in public education. Oddly, my religious and secular students are equally blind to God as the foundation of equality, so this is not a rant against godless Generation Z.  

It is disconcerting that I can so easily persuade my students that it is ludicrous to think we are created equal. They are, to their credit, uneasy about us having rights that match our level of ability and intelligence. However, they are unable to give much more than a pragmatic argument for equal rights for everyone. Also to their credit, they quickly conclude that biochemistry and evolution offer no persuasive arguments for equality.  

Whether one is on the left or right politically, students’ inability to explain what it means to be “created equal” should be alarming.  Going God-blind may open the door for demagogues from both the right and the left. If we are not “all God’s children”, history teaches that it is easy for us to act like the devil’s.

Posted in Culture, On Faith | Tagged , | Leave a comment

School Goes to Heaven

Posted on December 19, 2023 by Mark

One of the delights of these last two years has been picking Ari up after school. All the early grades, pre-K through first grade gather at the little gym in Myrtle Crest. Waiting parents gather outside the doors in a fanned-out crowd. The kids fly out one or two at a time.

Such joy! Kids crash into the arms of dads, bury their smiling faces in their mom’s laps. Unembarrassed, they will let out a loud, “Daddy!” or “Mommy”. The irrepressible Ari still yells, “Pa!” when he sees me.

Parents here in Myrtle Point are a motley crew waiting at the door. Some of the dads have come straight from work and smell like wood and chainsaws. No doubt many families have some dysfunction, some addiction. But never mind, the kids are out and in the arms of those who love them.

I know this joy in seeing Mom and Dad will fade. In later grades, it may be replaced with nods or grunts as teens glance up from their phones, but there is something instructive in how natural and free love comes to these little rockets flying out of the gym. Why should our pride or fear of what others think keep us from loving freely and loudly? We are made to love and be loved. Not much else matters.

Love is probably the main lesson in this school called life. The scene at the school has made me wonder if this is like heaven. I wonder if Mom and Dad are waiting at the door and a perfect Father is waiting to catch us and hold us. I can hardly wait until school is out.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

A Sneaker Wave of Joy

Posted on December 11, 2023 by Mark

A couple weeks ago my brother, Larry, was knocked down by a sneaker wave. The beach by the Bandon lighthouse was wrapped in a golden/gray haze as the sun moved in and out of the clouds. Larry had wandered past the piles of driftwood onto the sand. The curling waves were far off, but the storms had scoured and flattened the beach, so the waves rolled way up the beach. 

Larry, who is six years older than I, tends to wander off. This is just Larry, not senility. From up the beach, I watched Larry as he stood looking at his phone, taking a picture of the surf. Over the white noise of the ocean, he could not hear me yell as a small wave, maybe only six inches deep, raced quickly and silently toward him. To my relief, Larry finally started moving backward from the wave. Suddenly, however, I couldn’t see his white hair over the driftwood.

Turned out, he had tripped over a rock behind him. He was soaked but fine. His phone, which had floated about twenty feet toward the ocean, was ruined but had video of the sky and him walking up to it on the beach. Even small waves can lift, spin, and fling huge logs around, so Larry was fortunate the wave was spent by the time it reached the driftwood behind him.

Sneaker waves are most common in the winter but can come at any time. They are not tsunamis, and the causes are not fully understood. They may be the random result of small waves combining with other small waves. I have hiked beaches most of my life and have learned to note where wet sand ends and the dry begins. But a sneaker wave can gobble up the dry sand clear into the dunes and driftwood. They are like any other wave, but they keep coming—silently out of the blue.

Last week I was hit by a sneaker wave of joy. It came out of nowhere. On Wednesday night Teckla and I had gone to a “Blue Christmas” service at our church. It was sweet and refreshing. It gave Teckla and I time to grieve, to meditate on Scripture, and to light a candle for the losses in our lives. On Thursday, Teckla and I tackled the big job of dismantling the old piano upstairs. It was heavy and needed to be hauled off piece by piece. It was noisily satisfying—especially pushing a big piece out the front door and down the cement stairs. The chords and discord were delightful.

But neither of these events, though pleasant, were the source of the quiet joy that flooded my soul on Thursday. The joy did not come in a moment of escape, distraction, or fantasy. Our struggles with are unavoidable. Yesterday, Ari asked to visit “Daddy’s stone”, so we took him to where Peter, Stanley, and Mom and Dad are buried. In short, the causes of our grief surround us. Yet, a sneaker wave of joy washed over my heart.

I would like to credit my vibrant prayer life for this joy—but my prayers are desperate and weak. I did not “pray through” to joy. In fact, my prayer on Thursday was, “God, whether you like it or not, I am yours. I am not going anywhere.” Not exactly mountain-moving prayer. And this inspiring prayer of consecration was more the result of joy—not the cause of it.

Nor did my joy flow from surprisingly good circumstances. On Thursday I came home from the men’s Bible study only to discover rain had poured under the door of the back porch and the roof was leaking into the bathroom. Teckla threw towels on the back porch, and I climbed out on the roof with wet-patch.

It seems I will be unable to monetize my joy, or even get a good sermon. I will not be writing “Five Steps to Find Joy in Trauma.” The joy did, however, over-flow some when I got gas on Friday. Out of the blue, I asked Rodney at the gas station if I could pray for Jesus to heal his back pain. I am seldom so bold. I don’t know yet if Jesus did. Nonetheless, my speaking seminars on joy will have to wait.

Even worse, I do not know how to repeat the experience—taste once again the bracing tang and sweetness of the joy. What can’t be repeated can’t be repackaged or tucked away for a rainy day. There is no app for joy.

I am content with my sneaker wave of joy. It smelled and tasted like eternity. This joy, though quiet and small, was remarkably powerful—untouched by anything on earth yet touching all things.

Sneaker waves come to those who walk along the edge of land and sea. All I can do is be grateful and walk on the edge of my faith. Until swept away.

Posted in nature, On Faith | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Flint

Posted on December 5, 2023 by Mark

Tremble, earth before the Lord

Before the God of Jacob, Who turned the rock into a pool of water,

The flint into a fountain of water. Psalm 114:17—18

Does it ever seem that God delivered you out of the frying pan and into the fire? The Israelites often felt this way in their exodus from Egypt. After camping at Elim, a place with 12 springs and seventy date palms, the Israelites were led into the wilderness without much food. There they grumbled, “Would that we had died by the Lord’s hand in the land of Egypt when we sat by the pots of meal, when we ate bread to the full; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly of hunger.” They thought, “At least we would have died fat and happy.”

Despite their whiny attitude and lack of faith, God sent them manna. Soon, however, they are in the wilderness again—this time without water. They again grumbled against Moses, “Why, now, have you brought us up from Egypt, to kill us and our children and our livestock with thirst?” God instructs Moses to strike the flint with his staff. Water springs forth and all the people and their animals drink.

In the past, I have always felt outrage at the Israelite’s failure to trust God. After the miracles in Egypt, the parting of the sea, and the manna, how could they not trust God? Not only did they not trust God’s deliverance, but they doubted His good intentions. They did not trust His love. How dare they grumble and doubt His goodness!

I am, I have discovered, an Israelite. I have survived (thus far) prostate cancer. Teckla has survived breast cancer and the removal of her gall bladder. Together we are (thus far) surviving the death of Peter, our oldest son.  God has brought us through much, Teckla is now experiencing progressive dementia. Has God saved Teckla from cancer just so she could go through the long death of dementia? Has God given us grace to endure the agony of losing a child, just so we can wander in the bewilderment of dementia?

I don’t know. However, the story of God bringing water from the flint became central to how Israel understood God. In Psalm 114:18 the God of Jacob is identified as the one “who turned the rock to a pool of water, the flint into a fountain of water.”

I know this: God can bring life from hard things. Cancer was hard, dementia harder. But I serve a God who can bring life and blessing from the hardest things. Nothing in my life has been as hard as facing Teckla’s dementia. It is flint, and it is hard to believe more than my tears will flow from it. I want to tremble not before her dementia but before the Lord, the God of Jacob.

Unlike the Israelites, I am convinced of God’s kind intentions and limitless love. For those who have put their faith in Jesus, God will crack open death itself—the hardest rock we face—and bring forth resurrection, joy, and life. I trust in a God who can bring life from flint, whether that be healing, enduring, or death. God will make the flint a fountain.

Posted in On Faith | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

An Untrue Romance

Posted on November 24, 2023 by Mark

A true confession: I am guilty of romanticizing the early church—a lot, not a little. Long ago, during the Jesus Movement, I fell in love with the first five chapters of Acts. (My favorite band was even The 2nd Chapter of Acts). I loved the promise of Pentecost and power one high—the miracles, and the extraordinary love for one another.

When I read of Pentecost and the weeks following, I thought, “Wow, they have both holiness and power!” The “both” caught my attention because I was a 4th generation member of The Church of the Nazarene. Their distinctive doctrine focused on the power of the Spirit to entirely sanctify us and remove our bent toward sin. When I looked at the love and unity of the early church in Acts 2, I saw holiness.

Partly because of the Jesus Movement, I noticed that there wasn’t just purity of heart in Acts 2, there was power. In fact, when talking about Pentecost, Jesus told His disciples “you shall receive power when Holy Spirit is come upon you”. Power! In the Nazarene tradition that power was understood as sanctifying power—the strength to live holy lives. But it was hard to ignore that in Acts, the power to heal was an important engine for church growth.

Most importantly, I made a fundamental shift in my hermeneutical approach to Acts. I had always approached Acts as merely a history of the early church. But what if, I asked, Acts was not just an account of what was, but a picture of what ought to be. What if Acts is normative and not just descriptive? As a thought experiment, I removed from Acts everything that was an expression or a result of the supernatural power of the Holy Spirit. Almost nothing was left.

I quickly made the power and purity of the New Testament Church the goal of my heart, and even my life. The power emphasized by the Pentecostals and charismatics would, I thought, be joined to the holiness message of the Nazarenes. We could reject the false choice between the fruit of the Spirit or the gifts of the Spirit. We would seek to express both the character and the ministry of Jesus. With another former Nazarene, I helped start a small gathering of the church dedicated to being as “New Testament” as possible.

It turned out to be harder than I thought it would be. Much prayer did not turn into much power. Purity of heart was more elusive than one prayer of consecration. Dying daily to self, it turned out, was daily. And then there were, over the years, some scandals, some divorces, and some fakery among the groups with which I fellowshipped.

So, I have returned to Acts with different eyes—perhaps eyes both weary and wary. I have read chapter six where the Hellenistic Jews and the traditional Jews were complaining of discrimination in the care of widows. Wait! Are these the same folks who in chapter two had all things in common? Who in chapter four “were of one heart and soul”? I had seldom thought much about this eruption of division. I had usually skipped to the next part of chapter six that tells of the deacon, Stephen, who performed “great signs and wonders among the people.”  Stephen’s story, and Phillip’s in chapter eight were proof that the power of the Spirit was not just for apostles or some “apostolic age.”

Even more disconcerting was the strife between Jewish and Gentile believers. Both, I assume, were baptized in the Holy Spirit, so why didn’t that instantly bring unity and revelation of God’s will? Why did Paul have to warn the churches against the Judaizers in so many of his letters? Paul romanticized nothing.  In a farewell address to a gathering of elders, Paul urges them to be on guard:

I know that after my departure savage wolves will come in among, not sparing the     flock, and from among your own selves men will arise, speaking perverse things, to draw away the disciples after them. Acts 20:29—30

Today such talk would make Paul of little demand as a speaker at pastor conferences.

And there are also the little endnotes in Paul’s letters where he mentions those causing problems for the church. And all of II Corinthians where Paul is forced argue for his apostleship. And even the split between Paul and Barnabas over whether to take Mark with them.

Many years ago when my father was pastoring a Nazarene church, his patience was sorely tried by some mean and petty board members who, none-the-less, claimed to be saved and sanctified. He called his father, who also had been a pastor and asked, “Dad, what does sanctification do for a person?” My grandfather, who had seen Nazarenes from the earliest days of the denomination, simply said, “It helps.” In my youth I would have protested, “It should do a lot more than that!” Now, I think, “We need all the help we can get.”

One of my favorite stories from Acts was the story of Peter being delivered from prison by an angel. This is a great text for sermons on the power of God to set us free. We are also told the church was earnestly praying for Peter’s deliverance, so it is also a good text for sermons on the power of prayer. What I usually skipped was what came a couple verses before in Acts 12:1—2:

            It was about this time that King Herod arrested some who belonged to the church
             intending to persecute them. He had James, the brother of John, put to death with
             the sword.

For obvious reasons, this verse doesn’t inspire many sermons, which is okay. It is healthy to hope for angelic visitations and earthquakes like the one that set Paul and Silas free in Acts. However, we must include the murder of James in our story of the early church. I am sure the church prayed for the deliverance of James just like they did for Peter. This verse, I am afraid, is also a lesson about prayer.

 I am still committed to seeking the purity and power of the New Testament church, but I am more open to structures that try to mitigate the problems the church has always faced. However, if the cure for problems in the church is denominational structures, we must make certain the cure is not worse than the disease. The structures must be a means to an end—not an end in themselves. And certainly, we have seen among both Catholics and Protestants that church structures can hide and even enable predatory leaders. Sadly, denominations that grow out a move of God, years later oppose God’s next visitation.

And yes, I still believe that holiness is the answer to many church disruptions, feuds, and troubles. Leaders living a crucified life would end many of the problems that plague the church. Hower, a careful reading of Acts and Paul’s epistles reveals there will always be scandals, disappointments, false teachers, and exploitive leaders. So I am not singing, “Give me that old-time religion”.

My personal answer comes from John 21:20—22. Jesus, appearing after his resurrection, had just told Peter, “Follow me.” Peter looks around and sees John and asks Jesus, “Lord, what about him.” Jesus replies, “If I want him to remain until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me.” Like Peter, I have often asked God about this leader or that leader, or even why God healed one person and let another die.

Jesus’ answer is always the same, “Follow me.” It would be nice to do this alone in a cabin near an Oregon beach. But every time I start following Jesus, I end up back with His people. I always run into His command that we love one another as He has loved us. He loved us when we were still sinners, when we had failed and betrayed him. He washed the feet of all his disciples, even Judas.

I choose to follow Jesus through all the troubles of the church. I accept that God’s field is sown by His good seed and that the tares were sown by His enemy. I leave the tares to God. I am not going to abandon God because of what His enemy has done.

Many fail. Much fails. But loving God and His people never fails to be the right choice, even when our hearts are broken. If the church is reduced to ruins, you will find my tent pitched in the rubble.

Posted in Culture, On Faith | Tagged , , | Leave a comment