COLLIDE POSTPONED

You cannot know how much it pained me to postpone COLLIDE for a week. Michiganders do not postpone for the little bit of snow and ice we had (maybe I’m becoming a Kansan after all). But I thought it was too important of an even to have a third of a crowd at tonight. We really need our Seniors here to make this event a success and I was afraid they and others would not venture out on the roads. So next week….

The eye doctor

I went to the eye doctor today. I knew he would either give me a new prescription for a new set of glasses or put me on the rack to stretch my arms a few more inches.

I guess they don’t use a rack anymore. I’ve got a new Rx for some new glasses.

Karla says I should get some hip new glasses that will make me look twenty years younger. For that I told her—I wouldn’t need new glasses, she would need to get rid of hers.

The Church that became a Doctor's Office

The little church that I attended as a child never grew much. As I recall, we tried to grow. We had Sunday school drives, revival services, and one time we brought in a “Christian” clown. There were special “singspirations,” Christian Movie nights (cinematic “classics” like Thief in the Night and The Cross and the Switchblade were played) and an “old fashion” Sunday where people would dress up like during the pioneer days. Efforts to reach the lost and troubled were made—but nothing worked much. I guess the unchurched folks in Michigan didn’t want to be entertained by a Bible verse quoting Bozo the Clown or dress like Laura Ingalls. Who knew? Today the church is a doctor’s office and most of the members are either in heaven, moved away or have found a new church to attend.

I guess that happens to some churches.

There are reasons it didn’t grow. But I was too young to know most of those reasons. I remember that a preacher or two left because of questionable morals. And I’m sure we had more than our share of church going folks that didn’t always behave the best either. There are reasons the church is a doctor’s office today.

Sometimes we had children’s church, but usually we didn’t. I sat in big people’s church because there wasn’t a “little people’s church.” By the time I was in high school the youth group dwindled down to me (which made planning youth activities pretty easy). Usually the youth group activity planning committee went like this:

Me: “Where does the youth group want to go tonight?”
Me: “I think I’m going to McDonalds.”
Me: All in favor of the motion to go to McDonald’s say “Eye”
Me: “Eye”

Maybe some would look back at the church that is now a doctor’s office and say: “What a failure.”

I guess I don’t view it that way.

I can’t speak for anyone else who attended the Elmwood Church of the Nazarene except for me ((a.k.a the entire youth group)—and of course I was young, and it was 30 years ago (my memory might be fuzzy)), still I have many fond memories of those days. The handful of members taught me some important life lessons:

Mr. Kipp: Always had candy in his pockets for the kids. The lesson learned: Boys and girls matter to Jesus.

Brother Bond (we called some of the older believers “brother.” I’m not exactly sure at what age one made the crossover from “Mr.” or “Mrs.” to “Brother” or “Sister” but “Brother Bond” was old): He helped me with more than one school wood-working project. Lesson Learn: Helping children with school projects is part of being in the family of God.

Mrs. Buckley: I mowed her lawn. She always called me Freddy (my brother). Lesson learned: Mrs. Buckley had a bad memory.

Nell Norton: Piano Player. As my memory has it, she played most songs a little slow—except for Wonderful Grace of Jesus—she raced through that one. I liked singing Wonderful Grace of Jesus. Lesson learned: God can use your gifts whatever talent you have.

Mary Vail (my Junior Boys and Jr. High Sunday School teacher. Mary got promoted when I did): I have memories of fancy restaurants and baseball games with Mary. Again, I don’t remember any specific lesson ever taught—but I do remember that she cared for the kids in her class. Lesson learned: Junior Highers matter to God.

Norm Norton (my Sr. High Sunday School Teacher, and husband to Nell): he put up with a smarty pants church kid who was sometimes bored, sometimes mouthy, sometimes not the best student—and all Norm did was patiently teach with humor and grace. Lesson learned: Teenagers matter to Jesus.

I remember Mrs. Van Dyne’s meatloaf (Lesson learned: Nazarene’s are good cooks) and Norm Fisher’s haircuts (Lesson learned: Maybe the original “Nazarene” had long hair, but the ones in the 1960’s definitely did not). There was Brother Sexton singing with his guitar (before guitar playing in church was considered “contemporary”) and Aunt Myrtle getting pinched by the rickety old theatre seats and letting out a holler (everyone thought she was getting a blessing from the Lord. Sometimes they sounded similar from Aunt Myrtle, I suppose).

All this to say, my home church was small; never grew; and probably could have done a whole lot better in reaching people with the gospel—still the lessons I learned were that followers of Christ loved boys and girls and teenagers too. I learned that the church is meant to be a family that cares for one another. Old people and young people can share in life together—all of that’s a good thing. I honestly don’t know if I’d be pastoring today if it weren’t for some of those good influences in my life.

Last Night's Board Meeting

We had a long board meeting last night. Somethings had to be done: Tweaking our Child Protection Policy; approving those ministers in the credentialing process; treasurer's reports, etc.

But we also were able to talk about things just on the horizon that are really exciting-- "lighting candles in the darkness" stuff; getting every single ministry involved in Making More and Better Disciples; creating a means to share the success stories; and later in a committee meeting-- making plans for the Central Leadership Academy.

So thankful for a Christ-led board of leaders!

Preaching sick.

Preached sick yesterday... that's never good. But God gave the strength and we made it through.Our tech guys videoed the first service just in case I couldn't go in the second service-- it would have been the first video of a sermon at Central, but we didn't need it.

Seussapaloosa is done. Next up: GOLGOTHA: Objects from the Hill

COLLIDE is Coming

The Pastoral Team of Central is working on COLLIDE this morning: our inter-generational All- Church Worship and Service event that begins on February 21 and ends February 24.

This week is perfect for making Better Disciples (one of Central Primary Objectives) as we learn from one another-- Old and Young alike. We need everyone participating as we eat together, learn together, serve together and end each gathering with the communion.

I can’t wait! Plan on a great week!

Free Grand Slam

This morning I ate my free post Super Bowl Grand Slam breakfast from Denny's. Last year Ben went with me-- this year he decided it was too early for free food. I almost didn't go-- but the cheap side of me won the discussion in my mind-- and I found myself eating the eggs, bacon, sausage and pancakes. Yum. Free is good!

NTS Chapel

It's been a while since I was in a chapel service at the seminary. (I admitted that I think I doubled my attendance from my seminary days). Still it was great being with the students-- who were very responsive to the message I shared. I am so thankful for my seminary days and the lessons learned both within those walls and outside of them.

Rememberin' Rasslin'

Todd Morgan (one of Central’s finest youth and a senior at Olathe East) was featured in a newspaper article recently. The article told how he is wrestling well for the East wrestling team and how hard Todd works. The article made me proud to know him; it also reminded me of my “rasslin’ days” (as my grandfather would have said).

You did not misread that last paragraph. I wrestled during my junior year in high school. Unlike Todd, I didn’t have newspaper articles written about my skills or my work ethic on the wrestling mat. No one was worried that I was going to become the next Hulk Hogan. I had no signature move like some of the WWE “rasslers.”

As I recall I was not a particularly good wrestler (shocker #1!). I wrestled in the 105 weight class and I didn’t need to lose weight to get there. I could have wrestled in the 98 pound class but the other 98 pounder in my school was a beast. Can a 98 pounder be a beast? Well, he was scrappy and he beat me every time in practice. So I moved up to the 105 weight class where I thought I would have a better chance of competing. I am not sure I did any better—instead of getting pounded by a 98 pound kid from my school in practice; I got pounded by 105 pound kids from other schools at the meets.

I am not sure why I decided to go out for the wrestling team. It was not because I looked good in the “uni-tard” and head gear that wrestlers are required to wear. It’s not that I had a best friend on the wrestling team that talked me into getting beat to a pulp every other day. It’s not because I wanted to impress the girls—no one showed up at our wrestling matches but a few parents. (I don’t recall my folks being at the matches but I am sure they were there. I imagine them sitting in the bleachers and finding time in the 42 seconds before I was pinned to say, “See that skinny kid who’s twisted like a pretzel? That’s our boy.” They had to be so proud.) As a matter of fact, I only wrestled half the year because of an injury (see above comment about being twisted like a pretzel and this becomes shocker #2). Still, for that half of a season I wrestled for the Fighting Tigers of Garden City West High School. I made the team; competed in a few tournaments with mixed results (read: lost nearly all of them) and soon put my uni-tard and the wrestling mat behind me.

Why the wrestling confessional?

When I look back on those days, I remember the hard work of getting in shape. I remember working out in practice. I remember the uni-tard, headgear and wrestling shoes. I even remember a few of the agony of defeats. But don’t remember much else. I don’t remember my coach’s name. I don’t remember most of the other wrestlers on the team. I don’t even remember the all too few victories.

Time has a way of blurring our memory. We tend to forget both the good and the bad stuff of our lives. I think that’s OK--especially as it relates to the bad stuff. We all have had bad stuff happen in our lives. We all have things that we wish we would not have done, and/or we have had things done to us that we wish had never happened.

One thing about the past—it’s past. And for the most part, we need to let it go. Obviously, there are some things that have happened to some people that are so deep and painful that they need help and counseling and the Lord’s miraculous healing touch to let those things go. I get that. Still we need to let it go.

And by the way, even the good things, we need to leave in the past. If I had been a great high school athlete—I would not want a “Hail Mary Touchdown or a Walk-Off home run” to be the defining moment of my life. I’ve lived nearly 30 years since my high school days; I don’t want to say that the greatest thing that ever happened to me was 30 years ago. When I am 102 (if the Lord let’s me live that long), I do not want to look back at some glory years in the “sweet by and by,” instead I want to be able to say: God is still doing great things in my life. Today is the day that the Lord has made! Our yesterday may have been great, but I always want to be living for a great new day!

I love Paul’s words to the Philippians: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:13-14). I pray that I am always pressing on toward Christ—whether wearing a uni-tard or jeans or a suit and tie I want to be moving forward! (Ok, I have left the uni-tard permanently behind).

Guard Rails and Speed Bumps

If you drive onto the hallowed grounds of Central Church this Sunday via the west entrance you will notice that there will be a shiny new guard rail where there was once only rocks and shrubbery. Moreover, in the next week or two there will also be a couple of speed bumps were there was once only smooth pavement.

Why the guard rail and speed bumps?

As you know, at the end of the hairpin turn that is the west entrance there is a ten to fifteen foot drop into a beautiful retaining pond that is usually less “pond” and more mud. Unfortunately over the years not only has there been mud, native Kansan grasses and occasionally water in our “pond,” there has also been a Toyota and a Ford. Don McLean could have sung: “We have a Chevy in our levy.” Down through the years, a few drivers thinking of themselves as Mario Andretti on the streets of Monte Carlo have gone too fast, and subsequently went “over the hilltops and through the woods” landing not at grandmother’s house but in the mud at the bottom of our retention pond.

We have tried to encourage slower speeds. Last summer when we resurfaced the parking lot, the parking lot resurfacing guys put into the tar mixture a “secret ingredient” (read: a handful or two of sand) that was supposed to make the entrance a little less slick. I’m not a “parking-lot-ologist” and I do not recall how much extra we paid for the “secret ingredient” but it is safe to say—it didn’t quite do the trick. We spray painted on the pavement the word “SLOW.” Apparently, the wannabe racers do not read. We have put up signs that say “No thru traffic” (Maybe we needed to be more specific by having them read: “Hey Speed Racer! If you are passing through our parking lot because you are trying to avoid the traffic light at Rosehill and 87th Street we would prefer that you not use our parking lot as a short cut. But if you must go through our parking lot-- please do not race around the corner or you will end up in our retention pond and that will not make us happy one bit and we might even wish a pestilence of Biblical proportions to besiege thy underarms—all in a Christian kind of way.” Of course, that’s a lot of words to put on a road sign and besides, if the would-be speedy short cut drivers can’t read the word “SLOW” could we really expect them to comprehend “Pestilence”? Probably not.

In all humility, I must tell you that I have driven on the west entrance as much as anyone in the last four and one half years. And not one time, not once, have I even bumped the curb. Please do not take this to mean that I am bragging of my driving prowess (my garage door, the lady driver in her 2004 Ford Mustang who mysteriously appeared behind me as I was backing out of a space in Hy-Vee’s parking lot, and my insurance agent will confirm that I drive more like a demolition driver than a NASCAR driver), still I have not taken “Black Betty” (my 2002 Chevy Impala) flying off the edge. I am not sure how drivers end up in the waterless pond at the end of the west entrance… but they do.

So tomorrow we will have rails and next week bumps (Sounds like a medical condition, doesn’t it?). I am not a fan of rails and bumps. I wish we didn’t have to take such measures. But I am also not a fan of cars at the bottom of the west entrance. It really causes an ethical dilemma to our Sunday School counters (If they intended on being in Sunday School and they are on church property do they count in Sunday School if they are sitting at the bottom of the church’s retention pond?) Sometimes, the best way to avoid trouble is to put in road blocks and guard rails and speed bumps that force one to slow down and stay on the right road.

What is true on our west entrance is also true in life. Sometimes we need to build in guard rails and speed bumps into our life. If life has been more like a rat race lately (emphasis on the word “race”), then put in a necessary speed bump you might slow down and enjoy the important things in life. And if unwanted worries, habits and temptations are trying to creep into your life, build a guard rail.

Jesus said to guard against hypocrisy (Luke 12:1) and greed (Luke 12:15), and Paul simply said, “Be on your guard.” (1 Corinthians 13:16). To guard one’s heart and mind takes some intentionality. It doesn’t just happen. It’s not wishful thinking. If we sat around and said, “I sure hope no more cars go into our pond,” more than likely next week we’d be pulling out another Honda. And if you say, “I sure hope the sin that always is messing me up doesn’t tempt me anymore” then more than likely before long you will fall into the same old ugly pattern. So build a guard rail. Don’t go to that website. Don’t visit that store. Don’t wallow in that bitterness. Don’t dwell on that discouragement. Don’t put yourself in a place where you will fall off the same cliff again and again.

When the pace of life is going a little too fast, speed bumps are necessary tools to keep us on the right road. And when bad habits and temptations are trying to gain entrance into our life, guard rails can keep us out of the mud. All this to say, our west entrance isn’t the only place where guard rails and speed bumps are needed!

Ready

After taking a week away from the computer and the church—I had my annual COK meeting with pastor friends from around the country—I am back. Ready to preach tomorrow. Ready to blog some this week. Ready to tackle the week ahead. Ready to storm the gates of hell and do great things for God!

De-Cluttering Our Lives

(Written at 6 AM on Tuesday Morning)
I like a clean desk. I think I work better with a clean desk. The cliché is not biblical but it sounds like it: “Cleanliness is next to godliness.” So why is my desk so messy?

Currently on my desk are the following items:
• a wrapper from the new computer keyboard I had to purchase (I think the old one might have gotten messed up from crumbs and other assorted things being dropped on it—possibly from eating too many snacks at my desk these last four plus years. Shhhh… to tell our tech guys at church or Karla),
• last Sunday’s worship folder,
• the Michigan license plate holder I received for Christmas three weeks ago (You might be asking: “What’s a license plate holder doing on your desk? It is supposed to be on a car, not on a desk.” Good question.),
• a Christmas card,
• a rock—it was from a sermon I preached where the rock was meant to be like an altar to remind me of the blessings of God. I almost didn’t see it because it was buried underneath a bunch of stuff. (Hmmm… I think there is another sermon in there…)
• a thank you note,
• housing receipts from the last year,
• several books that I used for last Sunday’s sermon,
• the electric outlet adapter set that my friend Mark Lail loaned me for the mission trip to Africa (OK, that’s really bad—it has been sitting on my desk ready to return to Mark since June—JUNE!!!!-- Mark, I apologize and will return it to you soon!),
• napkins from yesterday’s breakfast of champions (a McDonald’s sausage burrito),
• (In the gross but true category) I see lurking behind my computer monitor a finger nail that I clipped who knows when—it’s just laying there laughing at me.
• the wedding program from last Friday’s wedding,
• a McDonald’s “States Avenue” game piece from the Monopoly game from last fall (I didn’t even play the game, I never play those games. So why do I have a game piece on my desk and who put it there?),
• other assorted books, notes, reports and two copies of last Sunday’s sermon—all that should have been filed long before now.
Why do I have junk on my desk, when I really work better with no junk on my desk? I didn’t wake up one morning and say, “”Hmmm… I think I would like to pile my desk high with stuff.” No, it happened one wrapper, one book, and one report at a time.

My desk became messy, the same way that our lives get too cluttered. No one starts out and says, “Wow, I would really like a too busy life: too busy for my family, too busy for devotion time with God, too busy to be effective at work, too busy to look after my health. Being too busy is good.” Who says that? No one I know.

But many of us are too busy. We add something here and something there. Usually they are good things. We have trouble saying “No.” We like to please people—again who doesn’t? So we say yes to this project and yes to the kids wanting to be in bazillion different activities, and then there is the church stuff that we “have to do,” and blah, blah, blah. Until we wake up one morning exhausted from our cluttered life.

Maybe there is a better way.

(Written at 7 AM on Thursday morning)
My desk is cleaner now. The junk has been tossed (including the McDonald’s game piece and the finger nail—who’s laughing now!); the books are where they belong, the adapter is still there but soon Mark will have it returned to him. I feel much better with a cleaner, tidier desk. I am sure I will be more productive!

How did I clean it up? The same way I messed it up—only in reverse. I took care of one item at a time. How will you un-clutter your life—same way: One item at a time.

David recognized that we have this one life to live (sounds like a soap opera), when he wrote:
“LORD, remind me how brief my time on earth will be.
Remind me that my days are numbered—
how fleeting my life is.
5 You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand.
My entire lifetime is just a moment to you;
at best, each of us is but a breath.” Psalm 39:4-5 NLT

Today you will have 24 hours. Me too. Let’s not try to cram 28 hours into our day, instead let’s do the important things, let go of the unimportant and in all things live our lives to the glory of God.

Something to Think about…

Yesterday in the Green Eggs and Ham Sermon, I touched on the issue that I think happens too often for believers who have been on the “inside” for a while. That is-- viewing others as on the “outside.” It is so easy to forget from where we have come. It is easy to lose track of the fact that had God not stepped into our lives we’d be just as messed up as they are. It is easy to become enamored with our standing or our position or even our Christian walk—instead of being enamored by the One who made us well and has given us “every good and perfect gift.”

Let’s be enamored by Jesus. Let’s not forget (as the exiled nation of Israel forgot) that we have been redeemed from nothing and became something. God has made us beautiful, but let’s not love our beauty more than the One that makes us beautiful.

Baby, its cold outside!

Baby, its cold outside!

Usually when I make such a comment my Kansas friends say something like “You are from Michigan; you are supposed to like this kind of weather.” As if all Michigan babies were born in an igloo, used icicles as pacifiers and had snowmen as their obstetricians.

I like to point out that I moved away from the frozen tundra.

Still because of my 40 years as a resident in the Winter Wonderland known as Michigan, I feel that I am qualified to give my non-snow loving Kansas friends a few tips for dealing with the weather we are experiencing.

1) To school administrators: Do not close the schools when you think there might be snow. How is it that Shawnee Mission cancelled school today? As my friend and former Michigan resident Pastor Andy pointed out on his Facebook status: “I can't believe I live in a place that cancels school because a threat of a few inches of snow--- really Kansas? If that was the case in Michigan I'd still be in the 9th grade from snow days.” Preach it, Andy, my brother!

2) To politicians and city planners: You might want to put in the budget enough money to cover more than one snow fall. I know times are tight, but seriously if your snow removal budget is blown before Elvis Pressley’s Birthday (January 8th, of course) then don’t be surprised if your constituents are “All shook up!”

3) To drivers: When there is a dusting of snow on the road, of course, I want you to be careful. But driving 22 miles an hour on a mostly clear highway with only a few snowflakes on it makes you more of a hazard than the two little snowflakes!

4) To drivers (part 2): When coming in the church’s west entrance, it is advisable to go a little slow if the ramp is snow covered. That is neither the time nor the place to think you are James Bond on the streets of Monte Carlo trying to elude the KGB. You will go over the embankment and down the retaining wall and into the frozen pit below. And that is not a good place for a pretend spy in His Royal Majesty’s Service to be.

5) To homeowners: Snowy walks and driveways are meant to be shoveled. That’s why Wal-Mart sells snow shovels and that’s why I have teenage sons. If you do not have the benefit of teenage sons I suggest you rent one for an hour. In renting a teenager, you get all the benefits and none of the hassles, grocery bills or requests for the car keys.

6) To children: Yellow snow is not lemon flavored.

7) To weather forecasters: Two inches of snow is not a blizzard. It is not one of the signs of the apocalypse. It is not necessary to have round the clock emergency coverage. Please, I beg you… end the drama!

8) To everyone crabby about the fluffy white stuff: Take a good look outside and remember the words from Isaiah 1: "Come now, let us reason together," says the LORD. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.” Thanks be to God who has taken our messy, dirty, dingy and drab hearts and can make them pure and white as snow! Why not let the snow be a source of inspiration as to what God has done in your life!

My favorite verse in Genesis

Yesterday in my sermon I mentioned that I had underlined my favorite verse from each of the 66 books in Ben’s new Bible. So each week, I will give you my favorite verse from a Book.

Genesis’ favorite is Genesis 1:27-28: So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. God blessed them and said to them, "Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground."

The notion that we were created in God’s image blows me away. The power of this verse came to me in a sermon I once heard, when the grammatically challenged preacher said in reference to this verse: “And God don’t make no junk!” That guy might not have passed an English test—but his theology was right on! We are created by God. As such, we are special. We are precious. We have tons of potential because we were made in the image of God!

One of my 2010 Resolutions is to Blog More

One of my Twenty-Ten (or is it Two Thousand and Ten?) resolutions is to use this blog a bit more than I did in Twenty –OH Nine (now that sounds dumb—I’ve never asked a kid his age and have him reply “I’m oh seven.” But I digress…) My hope is to usually include the e-mail I send out on Thursdays and the devotional thought from the Monday Morning Quarterback that I send to Central’s church board on Mondays (duh), and any other timely, helpful, not so helpful, funny, not so funny things of interest.

So keep checking for the ramblings of Rob…

Wisemen Shopping

Everyone with their Christmas shopping done, raise your hands.

Everyone who wants to give the people with their hands raised a “Noogie” raise your hands.

Everyone who thinks that the people who get their Christmas shopping done before Christmas Eve are a little too organized, raise your hands.

Thank you. Hands down.

Is this my weekly letter on an AA-like confessional?

“Hello my name is Rob and I am a Christmas Eve Shopper.”

I don’t know why I procrastinate. I just do. I know I need to buy presents. I know that all the cool stuff will be gone by Christmas Eve and I will be left to choose between an assortment of Snuggies, Chia pets and jars of pickled herring. Still I wait.

I’ve tried to excuse my procrastinating for economical reasons: “Our credit card cycle is later in the month, and if I wait to purchase gifts then we won’t have to pay for them for an extra 24 days.”

I’ve made an effort to illicit my doctor’s support: “Are you sure doc there is not a life threatening condition known as “Wal-Mart Intolerant”?

I’ve even attempted to make this a spiritual matter: “Since the Lord could return any day now, why buy presents for people who are going to be raptured outta here? I don’t want the brand new sweater I paid $7.95 on the clearance rack at Target just lying on the street in a pile after they’ve been caught up in “the Big Whoosh” to heaven and I don’t want their sinful relatives using the Chia Pet I bought after their gone either.”

The truth is—the reason I procrastinate is, “I hate shopping.” Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.

And I’m bad at it.

I’ve bought Karla plenty of lousy gifts down through the years. She no longer allows me to buy her clothes (my taste and hers are not the same); If the present is used for cleaning, she has promised to clean my clock with it (and I don’t think she means my Timex); and I’ve learned she doesn’t like footballs, Frisbees or any other sporting equipment—so what’s left to buy?

I blame the three Wisemen for my dilemma. They are the guys that started this whole gift buying frenzy. Had they not brought their gifts from the east then maybe we could just celebrate Christmas by singing carols and eating gingerbread. I sometimes wonder if they had to battle the crowded malls to get the frankincense if there would have been only two gifts. You think parking your Nissan Altima is hard, try finding a spot for a camel. Moreover, the Wisemen didn’t have to wrap the gold in a fancy box (gift wrapping another thing I am horrible at--by the way. The greatest invention ever: The Christmas Gift bag), they didn’t have to wrap the gifts but the Magi did have to make sacrifices to get the gold to Jesus. They probably weren’t asking,” Is my myrrh missing a vowel,” but neither were they saying, “Is it worth it to take these gifts to a King?” According to the Bible, when the Magi “saw the star, they were overjoyed. On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold and of incense and of myrrh.” (Matthew 2:10-11)

All this to say, I don’t think the Magi were procrastinating or complaining about the gifts they needed to get-- because their trip wasn’t really about the gold, frankincense or myrrh—it was about worshipping the Christ child. It was about finding the King.

It’s the same with our Christmases. Whether your shopping has been done for weeks or if you are going to do it next Thursday afternoon in Walgreens remember this: Christmas isn’t about the gifts, it is about the Gift that came from heaven. It’s about worshipping that King!

Everyone thankful for that Gift raise your hand. Me too!

Severe Snow Warning!

Some of you may have heard that I am from the Great Lake State; aka The Wolverine State; aka The Winter Wonderland; aka Michigan. Because of that fact, there are a few experiences afforded me. I always carry the state map (at least the Lower Peninsula of the state map) on my hand; I know plenty of people that used to work in an automotive factory; and I am long suffering (I am a Detroit Lion’s fan).

From time to time I am made aware of some differences between my home state and my adopted state of Kansas. This week was such a week. As you might know, in Michigan usually from mid November until early April cold white flakes fall from the sky on a rather frequent basis. When Karla and I lived in Alanson—Alanson, by the way, is located at the tippy top of your ring finger when looking at the backside of your left hand—there was snow on the ground from late October until early May. In other words, Michigan gets a fair amount of the frozen sunshine known as snow. The hardy souls of Michigan shovel it, scrape it, ski it, snowmobile it, sled it, throw it, create art and angels in it, and in all ways embrace it.

In Michigan, a “Severe Snow Warning” means (believe this or not) that there may be a foot of snow on the way. It is a time when children are giddy with anticipation of the coming mountains of white, fluffy snow. Forts will be built. Snowmen made. The older youth see dollar signs as they use their dad’s snow blower to clean off the neighbor’s sidewalks and driveways. A Severe Snow Warning means (believe this or not) that an enormous amount of snow will soon be dumped on the affected area.

This week we had “a Severe Snow Warning” in Kansas. They were talking about this coming snow fall for weeks and weeks (OK maybe not “weeks and weeks,” but I think since last Thursday). By the way some weather forecasters were telling the story it would be the “Mother of all” Snowstorms. The city would be shut down. Life would be interrupted. Mayhem and destruction were distinct possibilities. The apocalypse was sure to follow.

Finally, oh so finally, the Monster Snowstorm of 2009 struck!

I awoke yesterday morning ready to break out my snow blower (the same snow blower that as it was being unloaded off the truck four years ago in the 100+ degree heat, the moving guy said, “You won’t need this.” I don’t think I used the old Toro even once all last winter in Kansas). Still, I was ready to shovel and scrape and remember the good ole days of frozen finger tips and hot chocolate warm ups. But instead I awoke to a grand total of an inch of snow maybe less!

Are you kidding me? I’ve seen more snow on the walls of my freezer.

In my home state we call that “a heavy frost.” We don’t even cover our tomatoes for an inch of snow. We wear shorts, t-shirts and flip flops and wonder when is “Winter comin’” when there is a mere inch of snow on the ground. We…. Ok, I’m exaggerating. We might not do those things, but when a grand total of one inch of snow is coming it is not called a “Winter Storm Warning” and it is not the talk of the news reports for three days in a row.

I write this not to solely complain about the hysteria of the weathermen in my adopted state, but also to reflect upon this Advent Season. Advent for the Christian is the season of preparing for the arrival of the Christ child on Christmas Day—but the Advent Season also carries with it the knowledge that Jesus is coming again. Like weathermen with an approaching snow storm, the Bible is full of warnings and reminders of that Second Coming. The warnings are not about the prospect of slippery roads and snow days for school children—but about the coming of the end of all things. In Revelation 3, Jesus said, “I am coming soon” (Revelation 3:11). In Mark he said, “No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Be on guard! Be alert! You do not know when that time will come. It's like a man going away: He leaves his house and puts his servants in charge, each with his assigned task, and tells the one at the door to keep watch” (Mark 13:32-33). In other words, the end is coming. Make sure you are ready.

I’m afraid that when thinking of the Second Advent and that “Jesus is coming again” we treat it like the news was being shouted by some wild haired, crazy guy on the street holding a big sign saying “The End is near.” Or at best, we treat the news like a hysterical weatherman on the local news is discussing a nonexistent snow storm and we conclude, “Well it might happen, but it won’t be today.” We don’t seem to treat it with the giddy excitement of children missing school or the opening of presents on Christmas Day.

This fact remains: Jesus is coming again. I don’t know when. I’m not painting my big sign to say “the end is near.” But I know He IS coming again. And like Jesus tells us, I want to “keep watch.” I want to be ready for that day. I want to make sure that my relationship with God is current and up-to-date. As we await the advent of his second coming, I want to be giddy with anticipation for the time when all believers will be faithful, joyful and triumphant.

A Weird Week

My weird week began, when my previously only occasionally irritating phone, decided on Saturday that it would become a permanent irritant and refuse to turn on. I don’t know why it stopped working, it just did. Knowing that a friend had some used T-Mobile phones lying around his house, I called to borrow one. Thankfully he agreed to allow me to use his daughter’s old phone until I can get a new one later this week. So now my ring tone is some crazy rap song and there are several teenage girls’ phone numbers in my possession. If someone listened or looked at the phone I am using without knowing the full story, I’m sure they would assume my name is “Pastor Creepy.” Weird!

The weird week continued when I was preaching in Sunday Morning’s second service—a sermon that was to be enhanced by my preaching in a darkened sanctuary with only a single light bulb to illuminate the message (you had to be here…); the only problem was that the light bulb worked for approximately 1/100th of a second. UGH! Thankfully, Pastor Kevin found an alternative lamp and after a minor delay the sermon was droning on. Still, it was not the way I envisioned the sermon to go. (By the way, in spite of the “technical difficulties” several people became Christ followers on Sunday Morning!)

The weird week rolled on when we received a call at the church that someone had hacked into our phone lines and had made hundreds of calls to (get this) Liechtenstein. You read that right: Liechtenstein. According to Wikipedia, Liechtenstein is one of the world’s smallest countries (about the size of Overland Park), has a smaller population than Lenexa and it is the world’s largest producer of false teeth and sausage casings (insert your own joke here). Liechtenstein was also the recipient of numerous phone calls from the Central Church of the Nazarene from Saturday Night until Sunday morning at 8 AM. Maybe there was some Liechtenstein phone-a-thon going on. Weird.

There were other weird things occurring this week like the temperature going from a pleasant 60 degrees to a freezer-like 30 degrees overnight. The wreathes that Karla had me put up when the weather was balmy last Saturday are now blowing in the wind and scraping on the windows. Twice now, I’ve awoken thinking some burglar is outside my bedroom (Quite honestly, if I were a burglar it would probably be easier to break in a first floor window rather than my second floor window, but in my sleep I’m not thinking logically). Speaking of Christmas decorations (the wreathes, remember?) my house looks like an elf convention gone badly—there are Christmas supplies everywhere. Weird!

I’ve been to hospitals, counseling sessions, and Tuesday night was the District Pastor’s Christmas Party. As you well know, pastors are “party animals”—thankfully the weirdness of the week did not include anyone doing anything that will cause them to lose their credentials. Although I must admit that our own Pastor Cory Stipp would have been elected as the best dressed if such an election were held. To quote the rapper on my borrowed phone, “He was looking fly.” Weird!

I know I am not alone. Famous people like Tiger Woods and football coaches, Bobby Bowden and Charlie Weis, also have had a weird week. Sometimes things just happen. Sometimes our weird week happens as a result of someone else’s behavior, sometimes we are the reason for our weird week, and sometimes life just happens that way.

Remember Paul’s words for weird weeks: So we're not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There's far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can't see now will last forever. (2 Corinthians 4:16-18, The Message) In other words, Hang in there in the weird and wacky weeks. God is in control. He’s on the throne. Keep trusting Him!

Tessie

When I was a young, hot out of the seminary oven preacher boy, I would go to the Four Season’s nursing home every Thursday morning. The fine residents of Four Seasons didn’t know it, but they were my Guinea pigs. They would get a “test run” of Sunday’s message before the congregants at the Bad Axe Church of the Nazarene got the real deal three days later. I had been using Karla as my Guinea pig, but when she didn’t like something she let me know it—the Four Seasons crowd was much more genteel or maybe their hearing aids were turned off. Either way, I didn’t have to dodge shoes and other assorted items when I preached at Four Seasons. (Of course, I’m kidding. It’s true that I used to practice my sermons on Karla, it is not true that she threw things at me when I did).

The service at Four Seasons was very simple: three songs, a prayer, and a sermon by me. The hymnbook that we used consisted of 15 songs in a super-sized font that Bartimaeus could have read-- even before he met Jesus. So we frequently sang the same songs. A half blind, half deaf lady volunteered to play the piano, the residents would choose the songs, and I (never to be confused with Bill Gaither or Steven Curtis Chapman) would lead the music. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir we were not.

One of the regulars at our little church service at Four Season’s was Tessie. Tessie had suffered a stroke when she was young and been in the nursing home for quite some time. She had trouble walking and had never had any type of speech therapy following her stroke, so she had a very difficult time speaking. Most people could not understand a word that Tessie said, but I think that was because they didn’t try. Oh, one more thing about Tessie—she loved Jesus. With all her heart, she loved Jesus.

Like the Detroit Lions losing football games, every week I could count on Tessie to lift her crippled arm and request that one of the three songs that we sing would be “What a Friend we have in Jesus.” Every week-- “What a Friend we have in Jesus.” I think she would have chosen that song if there were a thousand songs in the hymnbook and not just fifteen. She never grew tired of it. Tessie couldn’t even sing the words (not in a language that most people could understand)—but she deeply knew the friendship of Jesus.

I want to be like Tessie—no matter my difficulties and even if no one quite understands it-- I want to sing out: “What a friend I have in Jesus.”
Moreover, I hope this isn’t sacrilegious (I don’t mean it to be), I hope Jesus is singing, “What a friend I have in Rob” too. In all the best friendships I have had—it’s been a “two way street.” When I need a friend, they are with me and when they need a friend, I am there. That’s what true friendship looks like. While I am absolutely convinced that Jesus will never leave me; I want Him to know—through all the times in my life, through all the trials and all the storms, when people let me down, when church folks act like Darwin was right, when life is downright stinky—that I am not leaving Him. He can count on me to keep trusting, keep giving, keep believing, and keep expecting greater things.

Is Jesus singing, “What a friend I have in __________ (Fill in your name)”?