The Porch and Mudroom of Heaven

Posted on December 20, 2024 by Mark

Is this all there is? What happened to all the dreams of revival? All the hopes for our children? I am 71 and it seems like life has gone by in the blink of an eye. So many prayers prayed! So many unanswered. So many hopes have packed up and left town. Like an unrelenting tide, death and time have silently swept away those who mentored me. Is this all there is?

No. This life is only the porch of heaven, a brief time stay on the porch of eternity. My life has been blessed. God’s grace, help, and favor has been a shady porch on a hot Kansas day. His love has been a glass of ice-tea; his voice is the voice of a friend, tried and true.

But as wonderful as the porch is, it is not the house. The winter winds batter the porch and the wooden chairs, even the rockers, are hard after a while. On the summer nights we might delight in the fireflies, but in the winter we long for the hearth. We long for the door to open.

Here on the porch, we pour out our lives in service of Jesus, knowing our story is only one of thousands, and that all these years are only the preface of the book, the porch of the house of God. On the porch we suffer the heat and cold; we long for the rest offered in the house. We long to sit at the table with the Lord of the house and hear his laughter shake the walls.

I believe the last of a believer’s years, as troubled and painful as they can be, are like the mud-rooms of old farmhouses. Sometimes these rooms were connected to the front or back porch. Here muddy boots and wet coats could be kicked off. If on the back porch, there was often a sink and some Lava soap for scrubbing off the grease or manure.

The last years of our lives scrub our souls. The deaths of parents and friends clear away the clutter of worldly values and clarifies what matters. Suffering, especially the suffering of those we love, scours away our selfishness. Our own pains and mortality make us long to enter the house of Jesus—to be absent from this body and present with our Lord. The mudroom of our suffering offers few comforts beyond our cleansing, but it is here that we are made ready for all the joys and comforts of God’s house.

No, this is not all there is. It is hard many days and glorious a few, but it is only the porch. The lights of the house are on; the aroma of the feast fills the air.

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A Tale of Two Tales

Posted on December 17, 2024 by Mark

With great insight and common sense, Sam explains to Frodo that there are two types of tales. The first is the kind Bilbo had when he left the Shire and then returned well and wealthy—tales of “coming home and finding things all right, though not quite the same.” But there are also those who embark upon adventures, and despite opportunities to turn back, don’t, and never come to “a good end.” Sam goes on to say tales with the good endings aren’t always the best tales to hear but might be the best tales “to get landed in.”

I think most believers hope for the good-ending stories where the miracle comes, the marriage is healed, and the prodigal son comes home. We celebrate, rightly I think, how the relentless love of God sets free the son and daughter captive to sin. Yet, we are vaguely aware of the other kind of story. When Sam muses on two kinds of tales, he is on the stairs of Cirith Ungol and about to face his most terrible battle and deepest sorrow. Sam does not know what kind of tale he is in, or even if there will anyone to tell his tale.

Scripture supports Sam’s observation about two kinds of tales. Both kind of tales are mentioned in Hebrews eleven—stories of those who by faith shut the mouths of lions and those who by faith were sawn in half. Most of us like the stories of mighty and miraculous things done by men and women of faith. Hebrews is up front is saying that many of these heroes of faith never received that which was promised (v. 13, 39). We prefer stories where persevering prayer is answered, promises realized, and then glorious testimonies of deliverance shared.

The twelfth chapter of Acts also has both kinds of tales. The unhappy tale is only one verse long: “And he [Herod] had James the brother of John put to death with a sword.” In the next few verses, we get the tale of Peter being arrested. An angel appears, the cell fills with light, the chains break off, Peter walks out past all the guards, and the gates open by themselves. Honestly, I usually read right past the story of James beheading. I keep hoping for Peter’s kind of story.

I named my oldest son Peter even though the boy’s name we had picked out was Luke. I felt that he would end up being more tempestuous than the biblical Luke. In all his wanderings from God, I held out for a tale like the apostle Peter—who denied Jesus but was restored and became an apostle to the Jews. My son struggled with a deadly combination of addiction and type one diabetes. As my son landed in one ICU after another, I held onto the hope of the glorious testimony he would have when this tale was over. Then he died. I was not ready for this kind of tale.

In the church, I had mostly heard the tales where things are hard but then God breaks through and saves the day. God, I pray and hope, did this for Peter the night before he died, but I have no tale (not yet at least) of a prodigal come home, a denier of Jesus restored, a mighty man of God who knows the depths of God’s grace. I would never see Peter fulfill the life-verse engraved on the sword I gave him: “Feed my sheep.” It is impossible, even for a father, to know his son’s spiritual condition. On his foot, Peter had a tattoo that said, “Not all who wander are lost.”

It is dangerous to act as though we only live in a tale with a happy ending. If we think that we will always stop the mouths of lions, we will be unprepared for their bite. If we think every prodigal is coming home, we are ruined when our child dies alone under a bridge. The Israelites (Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego) thrown into the fiery furnace, declared that God was able to deliver them from the furnace, but if not, they still would not bow down to Nebuchadnezzar’s golden idol. They hoped they were in a happy ending story but knew it was possible they were in the other kind.

Pastors and church culture do not prepare believers well for the “if not.” We are always wanting a happy-ending tale like Bilbo’s, not a story of dying alone in Mordor. We want to hear of Peter whose chains were broken by an angel, not James who is beheaded. But I think Tolkien helps us recognize that our lives contain both kinds of tales.

As they trudged up the side of Mount Doom to destroy the ring, Sam and Frodo realized they were without a way out of Mordor. As far as they knew, they were in a tale that no one would hear and from which they would never return. Yet they put one foot in front of the other. Friendship and duty carried them forward in a tale with no happy ending, no hope.

Of course, it turned out they were wrong about the ending.After the ring is destroyed, they sit on the side of the mountain and wait to die. Eagles come and carry them away to safety. They later hear of how great a victory was achieved and how much evil has been undone and vanquished. When Sam discovers Gandalf was not truly dead, with laughter and tears, Sam asks,“Is everything sad going to come untrue?

For believers, there are always eagles, no matter what kind of tale we are in. Whether we see the eagles (angels) in this life or the next depends on how our tale is written. Like Sam and Frodo, we must be ready for either kind of tale. In faithfulness and friendship, we must trudge forward.

My wife, Teckla, has dementia, and as far as I kind tell, dementia never has a happy ending—only death. More prayer, or more faith, probably won’t change the ending. All the prayers and biblical promises of deliverance seem not to apply to tales of dementia. No eagles will come this side of the grave, yet I pray for her healing every morning. I do not think I will wake up and discover everything sad is untrue. But the day is coming when every tear is a tear of joy, and all our tales, sad and happy, are woven into the tale of Christ’s victory.

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Faramir and Hope

Posted on December 3, 2024 by Mark

A line spoken by Faramir, in The Lord of Rings, pierced my heart and grief. Although full of Christian truths and values, The Lord of the Rings is not, Tolkien insists, a Christian allegory. Middle earth is perhaps best understood as a pre-Christian world. There are some mentions of “a change of days” that will someday happen, but it is unclear what this change will bring or whether after death there is any hope of life.

Hope, and often hopelessness, are common themes throughout Tolkien’s work. Before sending Frodo on his way, Faramir tells him that his quest to destroy the ring is “a hard doom and a hopeless errand.” Much of the LOTRs is about doing what is right when there is no or slim hope of success. Gandalf says there is only a “fool’s hope” of destroying the ring of power. Here Faramir agrees with Gandalf and says to Frodo: “If ever beyond hope you return to the land of the living and we re-tell our tales, sitting by a wall in the sun, laughing at old grief, you shall tell me then.”

These words were spoken in one of Frodo’s darkest moments, right before he leaves the safety of Faramir’s protection and enters again into Mordor. Neither Frodo nor Faramir have reason to believe the quest to destroy the ring will succeed. And yet, there is this hope we will someday sit “by a wall in the sun, laughing at old grief.”

I have similar hopes. All my family vacations as a child and a parent have been on the Oregon coast near Yachats. Even in the summer, the north wind whipping down the beach could drive you to seek the radiant warmth of rock wall. I can still point to the rock where my mother nestled as she read her books and knitted her afghans. After playing in the surf, my brothers and I would seek the warmth of rocks on Cape Creek beach in the southern shadow of Cape Perpetua.

We would bask in the sun and retell tales from past camping trips. We would laugh about past mishaps and injuries. We would talk about what had been happy and sad. We would laugh about the trivial griefs of a happy family—a rain- soaked tent, lost toys, falls on wet rocks in the creek. In the roar of the surf under the blue sky, many hard and sad things lost their sting.

I believe in Jesus and the resurrection and a new heaven and earth. I hope to sit in the sun by a wall and laugh at grief with my father and mother. I hope to again walk beside my brother Stanley and rejoice in the glory of God’s new creation. I will again, I hope, walk in the sun with Peter and rejoice at the mercy of God that saved him right before he died. 

Teckla and I will laugh at the days when she could not remember her name or mine. We will laugh at how wonderfully God remembered her when she couldn’t. We will marvel at how much good came from obedience when Jesus was our only hope. In the light and warmth of His glory we will “retell our tales.” Chapter by chapter, we will see how God’s mercy and wisdom ennobled us and prepared all things for the return of the King.

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Boromir and Some Good Thing

Posted on November 30, 2024 by Mark

The “victory” of Boromir in The Lord of the Rings baffles modern folks.  Boromir is one of the more complex and tragic characters in Tolkien’s story. In a moment of weakness, he tries to take the ring of power from Frodo. He was convinced it could be used to save his kingdom, Gondor. He is moved by noble motives to do an evil thing. He also seems to have come under the spell of the ring. But after Frodo puts on the ring to escape him, Boromir is filled with shame and regret. Then he hears the orcs grabbing Pippin and Merry and dies valiantly trying to rescue them. The orcs are too many for Boromir. Although he kills many of them, the orcs run off with Pippin and Merry. So what, exactly, was his victory?

Boromir did not feel victorious. His last words were, “I have failed.” Aragorn takes his hand, kisses his brow, and says, “No, you have conquered! Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace. Minas Tirith shall not fail!” Boromir smiles but says no more. Gandalf remarks later that although in “great peril,” in the end Boromir escaped, in part because of the hobbits he sacrificed his life to save.

Later when talking to Frodo, Faramir says of Boromir, “Of this I am sure: he died well, achieving some good thing.” Faramir says that when he saw Boromir pass by in the elven boat, his brother’s face was “more beautiful even than in life.” Faramir regards this as evidence of a noble death.

I admit when I read this as a teenager, I was not convinced that Boromir had won any victory. We are told that before dying he killed over twenty orcs, but this is nothing since Middle Earth teems with orcs. He fails to rescue the hobbits. The exact nature of his victory is elusive.

However, when we look at all the whole story of the ring, we see the greatness of his victory. It is clear, first of all, that Boromir is truly humbled and repentant after he tried to take the ring from Frodo. Repentance and mercy are extended to Wormtongue, Saruman, and even Gollum—but none takes it. Boromir, however, is quick to repent.

We also see his repentance immediately bear fruit when he rushes to defend Merry and Pippin. Merry and Pippin, as far as Boromir could see, had no strategic importance and could do nothing to save Gondor or defeat Sauron. But Boromir chooses to help them rather than continue his search for Frodo and the ring. Although he had been willing to use an evil means to achieve noble end, Boromir now chooses to what is right and good even though there is no practical end.

Boromir leaves behind all cost/benefit analysis or weighing of strategic value. He simply does the good thing before him. The story of Boromir gives hope for all those who have made a mess of things.  In the end, in ways that no one could have imagined, Merry and Pippin are of tremendous strategic importance. They end up mobilizing the Ents and Fangorn forest against Saruman. But none of this is part of Boromir’s victory. His is a moral victory. He wins back his heart from the evil that gripped it. He dies well, doing what good he can.

Although growing old and closer to death makes this kind of victory seem more important, Boromir’s victory is relevant to any who have failed miserably. Some of us have failed as parents, sons, daughters, husbands, wives, and leaders or disciples. Boromir failed as member of the Fellowship. In the victory of Boromir, we find hope that after failure we can still do what is noble.

All we can do is repent deeply and do the good thing before us—every day. We must do the good things even if they offer no hope of reversing our failure or healing the hurt we have caused. This may seem less exciting than some hyper-spiritual victory that desolates the enemy. We would all rather be Aragorn than Boromir, but if we are honest, most of us probably have more in common with Boromir.  

Aragorn is right to tell Boromir that few achieve his kind of victory.  St. Paul would say perhaps, we are called to die well daily, so we can know Jesus and enter the fellowship of his suffering. Whether young or old, it is never too late to do some good thing.

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Teckla’s King

Posted on November 25, 2024 by Mark

Today Teckla declared me king. This was thrilling and heart-breaking. As her memory loss worsens, Teckla and I have a daily routine. I ask her who she is, who I am, and what my name is. We may do this three or four times during the day since, as many know, the memory-loss is often worse in the afternoon.

On a yellow legal pad, I have jotted down the basic facts of her life to add some authority to my answers to her questions. One of the facts is “I am married to Mark Wilson. He is my husband and I am his wife.” Two weeks ago, her memory loss was more severe, so our oral review of the facts went on throughout the day. She would recite, “You are my husband and I am your wife.” I tried to add, “You are my husband, and you are sexy.” She looked steadily at me and with sweet honesty said, “Maybe once.”

The hardest question for Teckla is, “How are we related?” This is, obviously, an important one, especially around bedtime. Often, I list the choices: brother, cousin, father, husband, nephew. I get a little worried when she says “grandma.”

This afternoon after a walk in the cold and a little shopping, I asked her my name, her name and then how we are related. She first said, “Brother?” I said, “No, but I am your brother in Christ.” Then her eyes lit up and she looked up at me and said, “You are the king.” This was not on the list of choices.

She declared me king with such joy and certainty that I knew it was more than just a random guess. Of course, it is always sad that she does not remember we have been married 46 years. But her declaration thrilled my heart. The tenderness and kindness in her eyes revealed that she trusted me to care for her. In her life, I am king. I am sure this is the only royalty I will ever know, but I know of no greater honor or more blessed realm.

 Teckla is, of course, the queen of my heart.

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Getting Ready

Posted on November 13, 2024 by Mark

In the midst of her dementia, the purity and simplicity of Teckla’s faith makes familiar truths as sharp as a newly forged sword. She has good and bad days. One morning this week she was troubled by a lot of confusion. Teckla asked, “When are we going home?” I explained that we now live with Dylan and Vanessa in Gardner, Kansas. By the time breakfast was over, she remembered my name and that I am her husband. But she was still restless, putting on her coat and grabbing her purse.  

We begin each day reading Scripture and then singing three or four hymns and some worship songs off YouTube. Those deprived of the rich tradition of hymns might not know that the verses of hymns often move through the gospel truths of God saving us, keeping us, and then resurrecting us to be with Him eternally. Teckla and I ended our devotions by holding hands and praying together.

After we had finished praying, Teckla turned to me and said, with a catch in her voice, “Shouldn’t we be getting ready?” I thought she was still thinking about driving home to Myrtle Point or something. I explained we had no place we needed to go today. She said, “I don’t mean that.”  As is often true these days, she struggled to find the words to express her thoughts. She finally said, “Like in the songs we sung.”

This baffled me until with tears in her eyes Teckla said, “Ready for heaven.” She had her coat and purse and was ready to go. I explained that we would probably be here a while longer. With some sadness, she slowly said, “Okay.”

A thousand sermons could not have made heaven as real as Teckla did. Something about her grabbing her purse and coat pierced my heart like a spring wind filled the fragrance of heaven. I felt a quiet thrill at the nearness of the Lord. I wanted to grab my coat too.  

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Grim and Fell

Posted on November 6, 2024 by Mark

I think all I have gone through has left me grim and (to use an archaic word) fell. This may be good. Experience and Scripture have left me realistic (grim) about walking faithfully with God. In the last ten years, I prayed for the healing of my mother, brother, and son. All have died. (Let me know if you would like me to pray for you too.)

 “Prophetic words” I thought I heard have fallen flat. Promises for this side of the grave have evaporated like Oregon fog. The truth that God is with me is encouraging, but I have seldom had any sense of his presence or heard His voice.   

Through all this I have been helped by Scripture. The book of Job gives comfort, but not the feel-good help preachers often offer. Job has some grim truths. First, you may be fighting in a spiritual battle you know nothing about. Second, things can get worse and often do. Third, victory may be nothing more than our refusal to curse God. Fourth, that in all this God may be silent and seem absent. Fifth, friends will often blame you for God’s absence and silence. Job does declare, “And as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives.” However, he also wishes that he had been a miscarriage. This is grim indeed.

The Psalms have also left me grim. David laments:

I have sunk in deep mire, and there is no foothold; I have come into deep waters, and a flood overflows me. I am weary with crying; my throat is parched. My eyes fail while I wait for God. (Ps. 69:2-3).

I feel this way when Teckla wakes up and asks, “Who are you? How did you get here?” Psalm 119:83 uses an especially poignant metaphor, “Though I have become like a wineskin in the smoke, I do not forget thy statutes.”  As I age and watch my skin sag and crack, I daily feel like a smoked wineskin. Again, and again, Psalmists complain about the silence and absence and delay of God, and yet grimly assert their faith in Him.

All this has also left me “fell” in the archaic sense of being fierce and dangerous. Because of Job, I know all the enemy’s energy is aimed at getting me to curse God. Therefore, I bless God with a vengeance. I may be grim, but my insistence on praising God with abandon has made me dangerous to all the schemes of the enemy. I took my church’s training class for praying for the sick, precisely because I know this is something the enemy would hate. I don’t always know God’s will, but I often know what the enemy would hate. Instead of isolating myself in my misery, I seek fellowship. Instead of fearfully holding on to finances, I give. Instead of taking offense, I forgive. Instead of moping, I rejoice. I am dangerous and fierce.

 I am a fell warrior for God is in my determination to be steadfast. When believers drift away from God and become self-absorbed instead of radically obedient, Satan wins more than one soul. Satan rejoices in the ripple-effect of the person’s unbelief and disobedience. Satan hates those who refuse to fall, who refuse to retreat, who refuse to despair. Like the Psalmists I will be grim and honest about all the troubles I face, yet declare, “God’s lovingkindness endures forever!” Holiness and humility that endures brings down the enemy’s strongholds.

As necessary as it now is put on the full armor of God, and even sleep in that armor some nights, I look forward to the reign of the Prince of Peace. Ultimately, vengeance on our enemy, although good, is not our highest motivation. We fight, endure, and persevere because we love Jesus, our King. We long to please Him, and someday be with Him. We exalt the name of Jesus because we love Him, but it is nice to know that this also torments our enemy who has stolen so much.

We can be fell and grim warriors whose greatest joy is the presence of our King.

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Haunted by the Widow

Posted on October 31, 2024 by Mark

Even before I realized it was Halloween, I had this title stuck in my head. Teckla and I have been asking God to use us in Kansas. In the past, I have found the prayer, “God, please use me,” dangerous. The last time I prayed this in Kansas all of heaven and some of hell broke loose. Teckla and I found ourselves opening our home and hearts to a multitude of spiritually hungry and needy people. As we once again pray to be used by God in Kansas, the story of the widow’ mite haunts my thoughts.

The tale of the widow is not a parable; it is a story of Jesus and his disciples watching people give their offerings to the temple treasury. When Jesus sees the widow drop in her two copper coins, he says. “Truly I say unto you, this poor widow put in more than all of them.” Jesus makes clear how different the economy of God is from the economy of this world. She gave more, Jesus says, because “she gave all.”

Each morning Teckla and I give ourselves to God. We ask God to use us, to bless us and make us a blessing to others. For most of our lives the natural place to serve has been with the Church—God’s people. Being a part of small congregations has always made finding a place to serve easy. Teckla has led Bible studies, led worship, printed bulletins, and even served as church treasurer. I have taught Sunday school, led Bible studies, and occasionally preached. The church we now attend has two services and plenty of people eager to serve, so where and how to serve God is not obvious.

And then there is the haunting of my prayers by this widow who Jesus said gave more than all the wealthy people slinging bags of gold into the offering plate. What if when I ask God to use me, I am really asking God to use me some way that feels important or significant? Is caring for Teckla and grandchildren every day being used by God? How does God regard a Saturday spent cheering for the grandchildren at their soccer game? If a couple dozen people read my blog is that being used by God? Am I living for God’s eyes or man’s eyes?

Even more seductive is the temptation to do for God only that which yields quick or visible results.  I may be dead before I see the results of my prayers for my children and grandchildren. Praying doesn’t feel like being used by God, just as dropping two mites didn’t make the widow feel like she had given more than all the others. This widow that haunts my prayers gently asks, “Mark, do you really want to be used by God, or do you want others to see you being used by God?”

The widow who Jesus saw asks us, “Is it enough that God sees?” I look around and see many at my age caring for parents or grandchildren. In hidden places and with little recognition, they serve God daily. Some are caring for a spouse struggling with sickness or memory loss. Others care for those who do not respond or return their love. All these live on the economy of God, hoping only for the riches of heaven.  

This story of the widow’s offering may not seem scary. But it is terrifying if you are committed to living God’s Word—not just studying it. The widow gave all she had to God—trusted her care completely into His hands. This widow haunts all our compromises and pragmatism. She comes in our dreams and invites us to the live a life poured out for Jesus. She challenges us to give all even if no one ever sees our gift

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By Their Fruit

Posted on October 29, 2024 by Mark

I am relearning the trees of eastern Kansas and western Missouri. It is a formidable task. There are about nineteen species of oak trees. Some like the willow and shingle oak have leaves that look nothing like an oak. There are also eight species of hickory. Mixed into these forests are maples, walnut, elms, poplars, hackberry, locusts, and ash trees. In the understory are pawpaw, persimmon, and redbuds. Some of the tallest and easiest to identify are the sycamores whose white branches shine brightly in the blue sky of Kansas.

Wrenching one’s neck to see the leaves and crowns of the trees gives us a glimpse of the glory of a hardwood forest but is not much help in identifying the trees. The branches move in the wind and intertwine with other trees. Different kinds of vines snake into the lower branches of some trees mixing their leaves with the leaves of the tree.  

Some identifications can be made by looking closely at fallen leaves. Many of the leaves, however, look similar: chinquapin and chestnut oaks, and also the blue, white, and black ash trees. The leaves blow around on windy fall days, so it is easy to assign a leaf to the wrong tree.

Looking at the trunks of trees can also be helpful. The shell bark hickory has peeling bark. Persimmons have a cork like bark that could be used as a bobber at a fishing hole. Honey locusts this time of year have myriad small yellow leaves that flutter down in the wind, but the trunks have devilish bundles of thorns long enough to skewer your hand. The bark of many trees, however, changes as it matures, making identification difficult.

The easiest way to identify these trees is by kicking around in the leaves under the tree and discovering what kind of fruit it has dropped: the seed pod, acorn, or nut. A close look at the acorn is the best way to identify the oak trees. Each acorn has its own shape and wears a different hat. Here we have many bur oaks which have the biggest acorns. The cap covers half the acorn with curling burs, thus the other common name–mossycup oak.

The hickories are best identified by their nuts. Two hickories, the bitter nut and pignut, have nuts too bitter or tasteless for human consumption. The mockernut hickory is so named because the nut is covered by a thick-shelled fruit but yields a very small edible kernel. The shellbark hickory has shaggy peeling bark as it ages but is called the kingnut hickory because of the large and delicious nuts it drops.

One often finds a circle of grass under black walnut trees. The leaves and fruits of walnut trees contain natural herbicides that prevent the growth of other bushes or saplings. Locust trees and Kentucky Coffetrees litter the ground with unmistakable seed pods. The most noticeable of all fruits are the large yellow green hedgeapples from the Osage orange tree. If falling from one of the higher branches, these are large and heavy enough to knock a person out.

As you can see, in the Midwest forests, it is best to look down to see what is up. I have realized this is true when judging ministries and spiritual shepherds. The crowns of trees dancing in the wind can easily attract and distract us. But kicking through the leaf litter for the fruits of a ministry will often give us the best understanding of the kind ministry we are examining.

If ministers and ministries can be compared to trees, the Kansas City area is indeed a mighty forest. Recently, a major minister and ministry has fallen into scandal and disgrace. Teckla and I have been gone for over thirty years, so we are looking for a church home and kicking around the leaf litter to see what ministries have good fruit and would be a good fit. We have been impressed with the kindness we have shown at the Vineyard Community Church, but we know there are many excellent congregations in the area.  

One way to examine the fruit of a pastor or leader is to watch how they interact with “the least of these” in their congregation. How much time do they spend talking to the person who is neediest and has the least to offer the church? At our home churches in Myrtle Point—Freedom Fellowship and First Presbyterian–we saw good fruit expressed in caring for the broken in our midst.  We were shown abundant grace, mercy, and kindness by God’s people in Myrtle Point. Here at the Vineyard Community Church the pastor, who had not met Teckla or known of her dementia, prayed for her and then whispered in her ear, “Keep coming just as you are.” These simple words made Teckla feel seen and valued even though she struggles to express herself or remember words.

Small acts of kindness and holiness in ordinary life are the fruits that best reveal the nature of a ministry. Like acorns, these small acts of obedience and faithfulness contain all the DNA of the ministry. Careful examination of the leaf litter beneath a ministry will help us know if we are seeing a bitternut, pignut, mockernut, or kingnut hickory.

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Faith Keepers: A Manifesto

Posted on October 22, 2024 by Mark

My son Dylan recently said to me, “Dad, I want you to finish strong.”  His senior pastor, who was retiring, had preached a sermon on the importance of ending one’s life full of faith. Dylan was right to be worried. The last few years have shaken all the dust out of my faith. Teckla and I have faced cancer and the death of our son Peter. We now face Teckla’s worsening dementia.

We have seen spiritual leaders fall and leave behind all kinds of spiritual and emotional wreckage. Our faith has also faced the wear and tear of watching pastor after pastor cast visions that evaporate in this spiritual desert. We have seen spiritual fads come and go with little impact on church growth or spiritual vitality. It is easy to be cynical and difficult to have a vision (or trust anyone else’s).

It has gotten harder to say with Paul, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith.” Sometimes I am weary with grief and loss, besieged with doubts and fears. Some days I have “no fight” left. As I look around at believers my age, I see that I am not alone in my struggle to keep the faith and fight the good fight. Too many seem to be stumbling right before the finish line.

I propose Faith Keepers, a mutual aid society for weary Christians who need help finishing strong. It would help those wounded by religious abuse. It would extend a hand to those stuck in a swamp of disappointments and unanswered prayers. It would walk with those seeking a way through a labyrinth of questions and doubts.  

Faith Keepers Will

  1. Hold onto a battered faith in the goodness of God. We will not doubt the goodness of God because of the messes people make.  We will call one another to return again and again to Jesus, our first love. 
  2. Open ourselves to spiritual growth. We will refuse the lie that we have seen it all and done it all. We will be teachable and tenderhearted. We will be mature enough to be childlike, but never childish. We learn from one another, the old and the young.
  3. Let our grief and disappointments gentle us and deepen our compassion. We will not withdraw, harden our hearts, or let bitterness take root. We will weep with those who weep, rejoice with those who rejoice.
  4. Seek first the kingdom of God even in retirement. We will not let our last years be all about us. We challenge one another to sow good seed, even if others will rejoice in the harvest. We will live the poured-out life to the end.
  5. Fight for the salvation and blessing of friends and family. We will be faithful to pray, give, and serve to the end. We will put the full armor of God on our aching bones. Together we will stand and fight.  
  6. Speak hope to this generation. We will not speak despair and betray this generation of God’s children (Psalm 73:15). We will remind one another of the faithfulness and steadfast loving-kindness of God.

  7. Rejoice even through our tears. Our hearts will rejoice in the unchanging and unstoppable love of God and the victory of Jesus over Satan, sin, and death. Together we will rejoice in every ray of light that pierces the darkness.

Yes, I know Faith Keepers will never fill stadiums like Promise Keepers did in the 90’s. Too many of us have bad knees and enlarged prostrates. And about the time we got some leadership in place, they would start dying off. But maybe we could have breakfast at Perkins.

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