My friend Ed passed away last week.  He was a wonderful pastor, a great man and really fun guy to be around.  His death was unexpected and shocking.  As I read Ed’s obituary, his family placed a statement in the announcement that I have never seen before, which is saying something because I have read lots of obits down through the years.  (It’s an occupational hazard).  The obituary read:   The family… has asked that family and friends wear cheerful clothing to the celebration service.

 No one will confuse me with a fashion expert, but I’m not sure any of my clothes qualify as “cheerful.”  Out of style maybe, but not cheerful.  I’m not a Hawaiian shirt kind of guy and I don’t have any T-shirts with catchy sayings on them like the one with a finger pointing to the right and big letters saying “I’m with Stupid.”  I’m more of a polo and khaki’s guy.  Still I think I know what Ed’s family means.  No black suits and dresses.  No gloomy and drab apparel to match a gloomy and drab day.  They are calling the funeral a “celebration service.”  I’ve never been to a party wearing a black suit and tie.  If it’s a party, you show up wearing clothes that reflect the fun you are ready to have.  I think that’s the family’s point.

If the funeral service is truly going to be a celebration; and if we really believe that this is not the end for someone like Ed who has lived an amazingly wonderful Christian life; then we shouldn’t act or dress or like it is the end of the world.  Ed is in heaven. It’s a place that Paul said is so wonderful that “no mind has conceived all of the things that God has prepared.”  Ed does not need another chemo treatment; his remaining pain meds are not going to be used; he is singing and shouting from the top of his lungs.  So why shouldn’t we celebrate and wear cheerful clothing?

Ed’s wife and daughter understand the truth of Paul’s words to the Thessalonians when he wrote:   Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope.  For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. (1 Thessalonians 4:13-14)

In other words, we will miss our Christian friends and loved ones when they leave this old earth, but our emptiness is not permanent.  Our hope rests in Jesus Christ the Defeater of death and the One who promised we can defeat the grim reaper too through Him.

I might not wear a Hawaiian shirt to the service, but I plan on being thankful for a God that promises that the grave doesn’t have the final word!

Love is patient.
I wish this political season would hurry up and be done.
Love is kind.
Your candidate is a buffoon, a liar, a cheat, a clown…
Love does not envy.
Maybe I should move to Canada.
Love does not boast.
How can you not see that I am right in this debate?  I am so right!
Love is not proud.
If I were in charge things would be different.
Love does not dishonor others.
All is fair in love and politics! Mud-slinging is just a part of the game!
Love is not self-seeking.
Listen, if I don’t take care of myself, my interests who will?
Love is not easily angered.
HE/SHE SAID WHAT?!?!?!
Love keeps no record of wrongs.
Hurt me once shame on you. Hurt me twice…
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
Is it “rejoicing in evil” if someone slanders a political candidate that I don’t like?
Love always protects.
Unless I’m ignoring you and your words (for good reason, of course).
Love always trusts.
You have to earn my trust.
Love always hopes.
We are a mess and we always will be.
Love always perseveres.
Always? Sometimes it dies or gets lost or drifts away or I just move on.
Love never fails.
But the Democrats fail and so do the Republicans and so do the….

Dear God, in this political season, help us love as you love. Let us be guided by 1 Corinthians 13 in all we say and do. Help us not fall prey to the angst of the season instead empower us to put our trust and hope and faith in you! Throughout this election season may we keep praying the prayer you taught us to pray, “May your kingdom come, may your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

With the risk of sounding like a fuddy duddy (Fact: if you are using the term “fuddy duddy” you are a “fuddy duddy.”), I have not downloaded the Pokémon Go app to my phone. If you are asking what’s “Pokémon Go”? Please feel free to join me at the next “Fuddy Duddy Annoymous” support group meeting on Tuesday.

Pokémon Go is the newest rage sweeping the country. The “augmented reality” game was released last week and has already has been downloaded to over 20 million phones. Since I highly doubt that many readers of this article are counted among the 20 million Pokémon crazed users allow me to use this space as a public service announcement.

The free app uses GPS to make a cartoony map of wherever one happens to be located. Yes, there are even Pokémon at Central Church. (NOTE: the plural of Pokémon is “Pokémon” not “Pokémons.” One sure way to indicate your need for a Fuddy Duddy Anonymous group membership is to refer to many Pokémon as “Pokémons.”). Anyway, in this colorful, Big Brother is watching me kind of reality, Pokémon are just about everywhere, and when you come within range of Pokémon you can “approach” them and they will show up on your phone.

You trap the Pokémon by using Pokéballs on your phone. You get more Pokéballs by going to Pokéstops. Pokéstops are generally interesting places located throughout one’s community. Imagine the jump in attendance on Sunday if Central Church were a Pokéstop. I wonder how we could make that happen?

So the idea is to walk around looking for Pokéstops and Pokémon that you can trap when you use a Pokéball. Does this make sense? If you are saying about now, “When I was a kid we played Monopoly. What’s wrong with Monopoly?” then see the above references to the “Fuddy Duddy Anonymous” support group meetings.

For the most part, Pokémon Go has accomplished for America’s youth what my mom constantly insisted upon during my summer vacations (that is, get your lazy bones out of the house and enjoy the fresh air). And while there have been a few downsides to the craze (there are reports of students looking for Pokémon but not looking both ways before crossing a road and getting hit by a car and in one case youth stumbling not upon Squirtle, a type of Pokémon, but instead a dead body. Yikes!), has been harmless fun.

So why use this space to educate you about Pokémon Go?

Without the aid of a phone app, Jesus told a rag tag group of recently failed followers in Matthew 28 to “Go and make disciples.” Jesus plan to change the world was simple: disciples making disciples making disciples making disciples. And they did it. They went throughout the known world not looking for Pokémon but for folks who needed the best news of all.

Times and methods have changed but the command from Jesus is the same: Disciples making disciples making disciples. Imagine if we could develop a Disciples Go app for our phones where believers would have the same intensity to make other disciples as the 20 million down loaders of Pokémon Go have to find Pikachu (If you are asking, “What is “Pikachu”?” Without question you need to to be at the next Fuddy Duddy Anonymous meeting). Listen our goal is not to make 7 billion dollars like Nintendo did this past week with it’s Pokémon Go app, but to make more and more disciples. App or no app the message from Jesus has not changed: Disciples Go!

Karla and I recently saw the movie Tarzan. I’m not a movie critic or the son of a movie critic but that Tarzan was no Johnny Weissmuller (anyone younger than 50 will not have a clue of Johnny Weissmuller. Too bad or as the “real” Tarzan would say, “Oon-Gowa.”). Karla liked the love story between Tarzan and Jane, but I’ve always been partial to Cheeta and alas there was no Cheeta.

Here’s why I’m telling you about our recent trip to the movies: when we went to the theatre, I paid for the tickets with a credit card. As the young clerk was handing me the tickets and my credit card, I realized that I used the church credit card instead of my personal credit card. Both credit cards are blue. They look similar. I’ve made the mistake before in reverse and used my personal card to pay for church items. But this time I used it at a movie theatre! Thirty years ago, a Nazarene preacher going to a movie theatre would have been reason for real troubles with the church big wigs.

Old time Nazarenes remember the days when good Nazarenes didn’t frequent such establishments. My first movie was as a junior in high school when I snuck out of the house to see Disney’s Lady and the Tramp. The whole time I was in the theatre filled with second graders watching the cartoon, I was praying that Jesus would not return and catch me in that evil place! When I was in the 5th grade, my mom gave a note to the gym teacher stating that square dancing was “against our religion” and I could not participate in the activity. Had I offered a church membership class, every boy in the 5th grade at Marquette Elementary School would have joined the Church of the Nazarene on the spot. To many folks, face cards were a no no too, but Rook cards and Uno cards were OK. All of this seems silly now.

Back then too often holiness was defined by what we didn’t do and where we didn’t go. Holiness seemed to be more about outward appearances than an inward transformation. At times, holiness morphed into a “holier-than-thou” type of legalism rather than an honest pursuit of a Christ-likeness.

This is not to say that holiness in unnecessary. Quite to the contrary, “Be holy for I am holy” (1 Peter 1:16) is still in the Bible and is pretty straight forward. God’s plan has always been for His people to live a holy life, and God’s power enables us to do it. Holiness is not a call to legalism nor is it the impossible dream, holiness is becoming more and more like Jesus. Plain and simple. Now more than ever our world needs people that think and act like Jesus. Now more than ever, we need holiness!

Entry into heaven will not require a Nazarene membership card or knowledge of the secret Nazarene handshake (there isn’t a secret Nazarene handshake). Plenty of people will make it through the Pearly Gates who have never heard of Phineas F. Bresee (the founder of the Church of the Nazarene), Pilot Point, Texas (where the Church of the Nazarene was formed) and have never taken a Nazarene Nap (strange but true). Still, I am thankful for the Church of the Nazarene.

The following events in my life took place in a Nazarene church or on a Nazarene college campus:
• Dedicated as a baby.
• Encountered many loving people as a boy that shared with me Jesus.
• Asked Jesus to take up residence in my heart at the altar of the Elmwood Church of the Nazarene.
• Baptized (Well, actually I was baptized in the “girl’s lake” on a Nazarene Campground. What does it mean when you are baptized in the “girl’s lake”? I don’t know, but I was. On that same Nazarene campground, I first recognized God’s call upon my life and, on a far less spiritual level, first held the hand of a girl that wasn’t related to me).
• Preached my first sermon.
• Sought the infilling of the Holy Spirit.
• Received two diplomas.
• Met a pretty airline employee and asked her for a date.
• Said, “I do” when the preacher asked if I’d marry that same pretty girl.
• Dedicated one son (and later baptized him) and baptized the other as an infant.
• Had a General Superintendent place his hands on my head with a group of godly ministers surrounding me and was ordained as an elder.
• Held services to celebrate that godly lives of both of my parents at their passing.

At the Nazarene Publishing House, God continued to refine me into the person He wanted me to be as I worked my way through seminary as a janitor. It was that same publishing company that would print my book and several articles in Nazarene publications.

Five Nazarene churches have had people refer to me as “pastor,” and allowed me to minister alongside them as we made Christ-like disciples in our community and the world. I have been blessed to preach in Nazarene pulpits in Michigan, Wisconsin, Illinois, Kansas, Missouri, Dominica, Russia, El Salvador, Swaziland, Israel, Jordan, Cuba and Panama.

It’s not always popular to claim denominational loyalty these days. Some folks view denominations as an out dated expression of the Church. But I’m all in. Our call to holy living and making Christ-like disciples is needed now more than ever. I’m not claiming that the Nazarene church is perfect. (They let a guy like me be a member for crying out loud). It has some flaws. Still, I don’t know where I would be if not for the Church of the Nazarene. In every significant event in my life, the Church of the Nazarene has been there. I owe the church a lot.

As we move forward I want to be a blessing and help see the church that has given so much to me continue to be a significant Kingdom difference maker throughout the 21st century. How that works in real life means addressing our issues and celebrating our victories. It’s not settling for the status quo but its also not tearing down what God has already done. I’m convinced the Church of the Nazarene has great days ahead and I’m excited to see what God has in store for His people called “Nazarenes”! But for now, I think I’ll take one of those “Nazarene Naps.”

The little church that I attended as a child never grew much. We tried to grow. We had Sunday school drives, revival services, brought in a “Christian” clown and once a year had an “Old Fashion” Sunday where people would dress up like the pioneer days. Nothing worked much. I guess the unchurched folks in Michigan didn’t want to be entertained by a Bible quoting clown or dress like Laura Ingalls to worship God. Who knew? Today the church building is a doctor’s office.

Maybe some would look back at the church that is now a doctor’s office and say: “What a failure.” I don’t view it that way. I have many fond memories and was taught some important life lessons at the Elmwood Church of the Nazarene.

Mr. Kipp always had candy for the kids. The lesson: Boys and girls matter to Jesus.

Brother Bond (I’m not exactly sure why some folks were “Mr.” or “Mrs.” and some were “Brother,” “Sister” or “Aunt”) helped me with school wood working projects. Lesson Learned: Helping pre-teens not cut off a finger with a power tool is part of being in the family of God.

I mowed Mrs. Buckley’s lawn. She always called me Freddy (my brother). Lesson learned: Mrs. Buckley had a bad memory but that was okay.

Nell Norton was the church piano player. 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. I think Nell did too. Lesson learned: God can use even a half-a-beat too slow talent, if you let Him.

Mary Vail (my Jr. High Sunday School teacher) took us to fancy restaurants and baseball games. I don’t remember any specific lesson she taught but I know she cared for us. Lesson learned: Junior Highers matter to God.

I remember Mrs. Van Dyne’s meatloaf (Lesson learned: Nazarenes are good cooks) and Norm Fisher’s haircuts (Lesson learned: Maybe the original first century “Nazarene” had long hair, but the 1960’s and 70’s variety of Nazarenes
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. We thought she got “blessed.” Blessings and pinches 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 I learned plenty of good lessons: followers of Jesus love boys, girls and teenagers; church is a caring family not just on Sunday; and old and young people can share in life together. I honestly don’t know if I’d be pastoring today if it weren’t for some of those people and some of those lessons.

In many ways, I hope Central Church can be that kind of intergenerational church minus the “Old Fashion” Sunday and the rickety pinching seats.

The above graph (thank you Joe Foltz for posting it) is from Pensions and Benevolence Office of the Nazarene Pastors Age distribution in the USA.  When I look at this graph I see some disturbing trends.

1.  Nazarene Pastors are white.  Every pastor in the picture is a white guy.  The USA is changing.  If we aren’t reaching other ethnic groups we will continue to lose our influence in society.
2. Nazarene Pastors are male.  We are losing our top female pastors (Tera Beth Leach is the lone exception).  I believe of the top 100 churches in the USA only one (Pasadena First church and Tara Beth Leach) has a sole lead pastor that is a woman.  We need our women pastoring and speaking into the life of the church.
3. Nazarene Pastors are old.  The largest group of active pastors is over 65.  I’m thankful for the wisdom of these pastors but if we are not calling and using our young women and men we will be in trouble in the next few years.  The church is dying and will continue to die if we do not have young women and men serving in our churches.

What this graph tells me (again) is that following the status quo will kill our church.  We need fresh ideas, new vision, and a mission strategy to reach younger adults.  The above graph gives zero indication that the Church of the Nazarene in the USA will rebound from our flat-lined (at best) attendance and growth numbers.

On this Pentecost Sunday, I remind you of a portion of Peter’s sermon:  “In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people, Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams. Even on my servants, both men and women, I will pour out my Spirit in those days, and they will prophesy.”  (Acts 2:17-18)

Lord, let it be so!

 

The funding of the Nazarene mission includes the World Evangelism Fund (5.5% of total income), Pensions and Benevolence (2.25%), Educational support (2.25%) and district ministries (various percentages). No one I know legitimately argues against Pensions and Benevolence funding.  We need to take care of our retired ministers. While the World Evangelism Fund may have those that wonder how the funds are dispersed or the openness of the expenditures (for the less than complete view of spending and how the nearly 39 million in WEF funds were utilized see the 2015 Annual Financial Summery), still few argue against missions giving.  The college funds are less enthusiastically embraced by those in some regions of the country, but again most Nazarenes appreciate the core commitment to higher education. But legitimate questions can and should be raised in relation to the inequality of the district apportionments.

Why, for example, should a Nazarene in Wisconsin have 9.39% of their tithe used for district management, when a Nazarene in Kansas City pays only 3.25% and in Oregon only 3.05% of their tithe used in district apportionments?  I guess that means you get 6% more for your ecclesiastical dollar in Kansas City or Portland than in Milwaukee.   In 2015, Nazarenes in USA gave over 31 million to fund district management.  31 Million!  Did we really get 31 million dollars’ worth of benefit from our district taxes?   Last I checked districts didn’t baptize anyone. Districts don’t dedicate babies. Districts don’t lead anyone to Christ.  They don’t make funeral dinners.  But we spent 31 million dollars for their oversight.   Africa spent a little less that one million and has nearly twice as many districts (130 to 76) and about the same number of members.

I’m not advocating eliminating district budgets, but developing a more equitable system. More specifically, there should be a limit on district allotments and a cap on how much an individual church should be required to pay.  If the district can not make ends meet on a 3 or 4% limit then maybe it is time to consider merging districts.  Or maybe like in other parts of the world, the District Superintendent also pastors a church.  This bi-vocational DS in other parts of the world hasn’t hindered growth.  In fact, quite the opposite, those are the areas were the church is growing.  The amount of the cap on district apportionment could also be debated, but it seems that no church should pay more than $25,000 toward district management.  All this to say, districts in the future will need to get more lean or creative as local church dollars stay more local.

As USA church dollars are stretched more and more, it seems legitimate discussion should be had on how to keep more monies with the local church and less toward the costly endeavor of district management.

 

In Church of the Nazarene at District Assemblies across the world, delegates are being elected for the annual Nazarene family reunion known as the 2017 General Assembly.  As these individuals are being chosen I offer three considerations for the newly elected representatives to prayerfully ponder as they prepare for General Assembly:

1)    International delegates must be more engaged before the General Assembly.  97.48% of the manual resolutions proposed for 2013 Manual came from the USA/Canada caucus (155 of the 159 resolutions).  Either the international church doesn’t care about such matters or doesn’t feel their voices are heard.  If it’s the former, let’s quit having general assemblies and simply vote for leadership roles electronically; save everyone the cost and time to gather; and let the USA/Canada office argue over the nuances of the manual.  If it’s the latter, then international delegates must embrace their role and offer meaningful manual resolutions for consideration. We need to hear and learn from our international brothers and sisters.

2)  National diversity on the General Board is guaranteed through the election process,  but gender diversity is not expressed in leadership roles throughout the church.  Please don’t think by simply electing a female General Superintendent we have done our duty as it relates to gender equality. The General Board, university presidents, directors and senior leadership roles in the Church of the Nazarene are heavily male dominated. Can you name five women in highly placed leadership roles in the church?  Me neither.  Let’s do something about this.

3)  Can the General Assembly theme of One Body, One Spirit, One Hope be achieved when we have Six Heads?  Maybe its time to consider that One Body and One Hope is best accomplished when there is One direction and One Leader. Our antiquated leadership by committee structure (the Board of General Superintendents) has been an ineffective model for casting vision and oversight for a while.  We’ve given these godly leaders an impossible task and removed any real authority from them.  Consequently, we are bearing the fruit of an ineffective system (a downward attendance trajectory and less engagement with the culture).  Maybe its time for the newly elected delegates to consider taking One bold step with One Heart and One Spirit by saying, “We need One Godly Leader.  We need a modern day Moses, Joshua or Nehemiah to courageously lead the way through the wilderness of secularization and the challenges of the 21^st century.”

May this lead to meaningful conversation as the church thinks and prays before we gather in Indianapolis in 2017.

I’ve been waiting for two and a half years to write the following six words:  There is a Chipotle in Flint!  

I love Chipotle. Silly Qdoba fans think that the restaurants are similar, but that is like saying a Ford Pinto and a Ferrari are similar or that a 13 inch, black and white Philco TV with rabbit ears and 65 inch LG OLED TV are similar. Besides missing a “U,” Qdoba will also be missing me, now that Chipotle in in town.

I cannot say with certainty but I believe there might be a Chipotle franchise in heaven (that and Chic-fil-A, of course). I also cannot say with certainty that the opening of the restaurant is in response to our church wide prayer “In Flint as it is in heaven.”  But I do know, it’s an answer to my prayers.  Luke was not writing about Flint and Chipotle, but it sounds like my sentiment with his words, “So there was great joy in that city” (Acts 4:8). Did I mention that I love Chipotle?

Chipotle isn’t the only good thing happening in Flint.  In things much more important than a barbacoa burritos (which I highly recommend, by the way), I am convinced that God is doing great things in the city.

Ours is a city with many needs but also many opportunities.  For instance, in response to the water issues some friends of some friends of mine who own a water filtration business (Aquaoxfilters.com) contacted me to see if our church would like a free church-wide system.  Central’s water is from Detroit, but our partner church Joy Tabernacle is in the heart of the city and in the center of the crisis.  To make a long story short, thanks to the generosity of AQUAOX and the hard work of Pastor Todd Womack and the plumbing skills of Central church’s Rick Marshall, Joy Tabernacle will have the water filtration system installed on Saturday. What a blessing for Pastor McCathern and the people of Joy Tabernacle to have clean filtered water!

Long ago, I heard a missionary say, “You can’t tell a thirsty person about Jesus until you’ve given him or her a cup of cool water.”  I never imagined the missionary’s comments would be true for where I lived in America.   But here we are and not surprisingly God is bringing people together to meet our clean water needs and spreading the Gospel.  Now I think Luke’s words truly are appropriate!  So there was great joy in the city! (Acts 4:8)

 

 

 

1) Snowmen make lousy friends. While snowmen generally don’t talk about themselves and appear to be good listeners, the truth is snowmen rarely pay attention; frequently give the “cold shoulder;” and at the first sign of trouble (when things “get a little hot”) they disappear. Let’s not even discuss how snowmen are poor role models with their “corn cob” pipe habit.

2) Shoveling snow from one’s driveway and preaching sermons are similar. They both require a lot of work for something that will be mostly forgotten in a few months (Months? Who am I kidding? As far as sermons go, the words of a sermon are forgotten within minutes of delivery).

3) Managing slippery roads without snow tires and marriage counseling sessions are also similar. In both cases I frequently want to shout out: “Get a grip!”

4) Salt melts snow but not cauliflower. Salt also doesn’t melt away—bad memories, hurtful words, shame and guilt. For those things, the Holy Spirit’s work is amazing and freeing. To eliminate cauliflower and other unwanted vegetables, I have two words: garbage disposal.

5) No one can control the amount of snow that falls or the temperature outside (unless you are the evil villain in the James Bond movie). But you can control the amount of snow that remains on your doorstep and you can control the temperature of your heart. Don’t get distracted by the things you can’t control (i.e. snow accumulation); instead focus on what you can control. Keep your heart warm and the front porch clean.

6) There are a lot of great euphemisms for snow storms these days: Sno-megeddon, Sno-pocalypse, and Blizzardopoly. Kids (and teachers) simply call it “Hooray Snow day!” No matter the circumstance, keep looking at the bright side!

7) To get a snowplow to come down your street follow these four easy steps:

1. Clear all snow from your driveway (either by shovel or snow blower),
2. Return to your warm house
3. Remove all of your winter outerwear
4. Sit down in front of a fire with a cup of warm cocoa and a good book.

Within minutes the snowplow will roar down your street pushing snow back onto your driveway and filling your entrance with harden snow and ice chucks.

8) Snowflakes are individual and small, but when they stick together they can make a really big difference. It’s a lot like the church. On our own we might accomplish a little for Christ, but together we can accomplish so much more! Let’s keep sticking together!

 

The best five words spoken in February are not:

 

Ground Hogs taste like chicken!

A Valentine’s card is enough

I made the Dean’s List

President’s Day Sale at Cabella’s

Chipotle will soon be open

 

All those are great words to hear but they are not as awesome as these five February words:

 

Pitchers and Catchers report today!

 

That means spring training can’t be far behind. (Start humming: “Take me out to the Ballgame”). The smell of hot dogs and cracker jack (does cracker jack smell?) will soon be in the air. The sun will be warmer; the days brighter and my dreams of the Tigers winning their first World Series since Reagan administration will captivate my imagination.

 

The words “Pitchers and Catchers report today” mean hope. There is hope that the snow will soon be gone and hope that my car thermometer will not read “0” like it did this morning. Hope is a wonderful thing!

 

Of course, for we believers our hope is much deeper than an improved bullpen (although I am excited that the Tigers relief pitchers might actually be able to throw the baseball over the plate). Paul in Romans 12:12 wrote, “Be joyful in hope.” I think that means that we believers should have giddy bit of anticipation as we wait upon the Lord. It’s like when you know the surprise gift a friend is about to receive; and you know they are going to love it; and yet it’s a surprise. The good news is almost bursting inside of you. You want to blurt out the secret; but you don’t. Instead you have a smile, deep within you because you know your loved one will be so happy when they open the gift. It’s a joyful hope.

 

We believers have a joyful hope. God is up to something in this old world. He has not forgotten us. He has not abandoned us. He is creating and making all things new. Like the news of a surprise gift, this joyful hope we have brings a deep down satisfaction that God is on the cusp of doing something so amazing and exciting. But unlike the surprise gift of a friend, you don’t have to keep this news secret. Tell it. Let the cat out of the bag. Let the world know: We have a joyful hope that God is alive and He is at work! His creative, redemptive and powerful love is about to be unleashed! That’s even better news than “Pitchers and Catchers report today!” (Although I am pretty excited about that news too! Go Tigers!)

It seems like everybody is talking about Flint these days. Our city is on the national news. Celebrities and politicians all have opinions, views and various forms of outrage on our water problems. Jesse Jackson and Michael Moore have showed up and even Cher (I got you babe) has sent a truckload of water.

 

That got the theologian in me thinking, what if Jesus himself showed up in Flint. My firm belief, of course, is that Jesus has been and continues to be in Flint as He works through his followers, but you know what I mean… If Jesus physically walked up the city hall steps, what would he do?

 

Jesus and water are seen together a lot in scripture. In Matthew 14, Jesus walked on the water. Maybe that task would be a little easier on Flint’s lead laced water supply. Water was a big part of his conversation with the woman at the well in John 4. When she came at noon to get her bucket of water, Jesus told her he could give her “living water and she would never be thirsty again.” He wasn’t speaking of the liquid at the bottom of the well, but a spring of life that could bubble up within her soul. Still, maybe if Jesus came to Flint, he would offer our residents the opportunity to never drink from their contaminated faucets again. We’d all like that.   And remember Jesus first miracle involved water. Maybe if Jesus came to Flint he could turn the mud slinging, blame-casting politician’s whine into water. That would be nice.

 

But maybe the most telling words from Jesus concerning Flint and water are in Matthew 25 when he said, “I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink.” Maybe if Jesus walked up the Flint city hall steps he would say, “I was thirsty and you made sure that I was drinking clean water. I was thirsty and you looked after me. I was thirsty and you educated me on what to do in the midst of this crisis. I was thirsty and you didn’t forget about me. ”

 

As a Jesus follower in Flint, I might not be able to pull out of my wallet enough money to fix the infrastructure of our lead pipes or provide enough bottled water for all of our residents to drink until the politicians and civil engineers figure out the next steps. But in the meantime, I can look after my thirsty brothers and sisters. I can partner with organizations in the education, distribution, and care of those whose water is not fit to drink. I can volunteer through organizations like the Red Cross. And I continue to pray that God would work, that people would be spared from the negative impact of this ordeal and that the followers of Jesus like me would step up and say, “I want to be part of the long term solution not just spout outrage when the video cameras are rolling.”

 

If Jesus came walking into Flint, I think he would say, “This is my city. I have not abandoned you or forgotten you. I love this place and I am here to make everything new.”

In 1 Corinthians 11:1, Paul wrote: “Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ.” Earlier in the same letter to the Corinthians Paul called the believers: “I urge you to imitate me” (1 Corinthians 4:16). Similarly, to the church at Thessalonica, Paul wrote that he and his companions “offer ourselves as a model for you to imitate” (2 Thessalonians 3:9). And the author of Hebrews encouraged the believers to “remember your leaders, who spoke the word of God to you. Consider the outcome of their way of life and imitate their faith” (Hebrew 13:7).

 

All of this to say, as a leader you are to live a life worthy of imitation: in prayer, in love, in service, in attitude, in purity, in giving, in the study of God’s Word, in commitment to building the Kingdom of God.

 

Could you say with Paul to the people in your care: “Follow my example as I follow Christ”? If everyone in your church prayed as much as you, read his or her Bible as much as you, sacrificially gave as much as you, served as much as you; were as friendly to newcomers as much as you, testified of their faith to non believers as much as you—would it be a better, deeper, wider, more dynamic church?

 

I can hear the resistance now: That’s a lot of pressure. I don’t want my life to be under a microscope. I will mess up and I don’t want others to stumble because of me. Two Words: Horse Hockey! Quit hiding behind a spiritually sounding but wimpish leadership reality that say, “Look to Jesus not to me.”  If you are a leader: LEAD!  It’s what you do!  Are you prefect? No. Will you make mistakes; lose your temper; say something or do something dumb? Yes! Yes! Yes!  Still, in our local churches and in our denomination we need leaders who are willing to lead by their example!  

 

Lead in such away that you could tell anyone —imitate my walk with the Lord and follow me as I follow Christ.

Christmas is NOT about…

 

Angels sweetly singing o’re the plains (that sounds almost sacrilegious to say that Christmas is not about Angels?! But it’s not). And it’s not even about…

Bethlehem or Boughs of Holly—fa la la la la la la or

Candy Canes or Candles or Cookies or Christmas Cards or Chestnuts roasting on an open fire (Have you ever roasted a chestnut by an open fire? Marshmallows? Yes. Chestnuts? No.) or

Decorations or dinners or

Elves (sorry, Buddy). Christmas is not about…

Family, friends, Frosty the Snowman, Fruitcake (it’s definitely NOT about Fruitcake. Who eats that stuff?) or Figgy pudding (whatever that is) or

Gifts or Garland or Good King Wenceslas (whoever that guy was) or

Happy Holidays (to any PC police who happen to be reading) or

Icicles or Ivy or

Jingle Bells or Jolly Ol’ St. Nick or

Kris Kringle or the Kids in Girl and boy land who will have a jubilee (I’m not sure where “Girl and Boy land” is and I’m not sure I endorse their “having a jubilee) or a

Little drummer boy or

Magi or Mistletoe or Macy’s or Marshalls or anything that ends in “Mart” (not “K-Mart,” “Steinmart” or “Wal-mart“) or

Nog. Not Egg Nog or any other nog. No Nog (bluck!) or

Ornaments or Over the hill tops and through the woods to Grandmother’s House we go or

Presents or parties or Peppermint Mocha coffee or poinsettias or a partridge in a pear tree or

Quiet moments by the fire or

Ribbon or Reindeer or Rudolph (who technically is a reindeer) or

Snow or stockings or sleigh rides or Stars or Stables or Shepherds or Silver Bells or Santa Claus or

Tinsel or trees (Real or artificial) or

Unwrapping packages or

Visitors from the East bearing gifts of frankincense, gold and myrrh (Why doesn’t myrrh have a vowel?) or

Winter Wonderland or Wreathes or White Elephants or Wassail (Why can’t we just call it cider?) or

Xtra Xtra read all about it—headlines on the internet or

Yule Logs or Yule Tide or Yul Brynner for you Ten Commandment fans (Which isn’t a part of the Christmas story in case you are wondering) or

Zippy the Elf (please forgive me, “Zippy” was the best “Z” word I could come up with)

 

A to Z it’s not about any of those things.

 

Christmas IS about Jesus.

 

Period.

 

The end.

December 2015

The Princes: Our Annual Christmas Letter and 30 Carols too.

(There are 30 Christmas carols in our informative little prose below. Enjoy.)

In Michigan with no snow on the ground, no one is saying, it’s beginning to look at lot like Christmas. Which has caused Rob to repeatedly exclaim: “Let it snow. Let it snow. Let is snow!” in hopes that soon the mornings will be frosty. The Snowman will be built because here comes Santa Claus! Christmas time is here and so is the time to recap our year for our family and friends.

Our 2015 included some wonderful trips but none through Pennsylvania. We did not go through O big town of Pittsburgh or O little town of Bethlehem. Instead we went to Maine, Boston and Cooperstown (via our car not a sleigh ride); a mission trip to Panama where surprisingly no one told us “Feliz Navidad” (probably because we were there in March not December); and go tell it on the mountain, Blaire’s graduation from MidAmerica Nazarene University!

Speaking of Alex and Blaire, they are still living in Kansas even though we’ve been wishing they would say, “I’ll be home for Christmas with a moving truck and my favorite things.“ Alex is working for Northwestern Mutual hoping to earn some Silver. Bells ring when babies are born at KUMed and nurse Blaire gives care in the Mommy/Baby unit. They have two dogs and no matter how many requests Karla has made to Santa, baby or babies are not yet in the plans. Grand-dogs will have to do.

We are happy when our phones jingle. Bells ringing end the silent night and I ask Karla, “Do you hear what I hear? It must be Ben calling from Olivet.” Our junior business major worked in the summer for non-profit Forge Flint where youth groups would be up on the house top repairing a dilapidated building. Ben is also dating Madison from Peoria, Illinois. He is becoming a responsible man that has left us asking, “What child is this?”

Karla spends much of her time caring for her folks. You may recall that last year Mary fell down a flight of stairs and it looked like grandma got run over by a reindeer. While she is doing much better, Arling’s constant wandering has left us asking her mom in Yoda-like fashion, “Mary, did you know that dad is not on the deck, the halls walking he is!” Arling and Mary (married for 54 years) are managing through Arling’s Alzheimer’s, still Karla has not come from Brookdale Assisted Living saying, “I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” Every day is a new adventure, which Karla handles with incredible grace.

Rob has been offering the invite, “O come all ye Faithful and even to the not-so-faithful please come to Flint Central.” The church is doing great and his two-year pastoral review went well. As he walks the corridors of Central church he has said, “I wonder as I wander what new good things God has for us?”

With no snow, it looks like we will have a green and not a White Christmas. But the news doesn’t have to make you blue. Christmas isn’t about a color. It’s all about sweet little Jesus boy, born away in a manger and came so that we could experience real joy. To the world and to our friends we hope you have yourself a merry little Christmas!

Rob and Karla

I read a blog this week about a possible split within the Church of the Nazarene and how we might avoid it. It was an interesting read, but honestly I don’t think there will be a “split.” At least there will not be a church split in the traditional sense. By that I mean “Party A” gets mad at “Party B” storms off and starts a new church or movement. Quite frankly, I don’t see a united, passionate storming off by anyone or any group on the right or left of most issues in the Church of the Nazarene. I think church splits on a general church level make for interesting conversation but have little groundswell momentum.

Instead I think what has been happening and what continues to happen is the silent but deadly evaporation of church people into the unknown world of church hoppers, church shoppers, drop-outters and sleeper-inners. We have people leaving because they don’t see the passion and the relevancy of the church. They are leaving because after years of being “silo-ed” into their age group gatherings, they have zero connection to the greater church body. We have people leaving because they fail to see a church captivated by a mission and vision. They are leaving because churches are no longer acting like the Bride of Christ, but look more like the two-timing girl friend of Jesus (we like him sometimes, when it’s convenient).

We can’t fix all the problems in the Church of the Nazarene, but we can make Central Church a place that looks more like the Bride of Christ. Central church does NOT have to accept those ingredients that create a death mix for the church. How? We stick to our priorities. Connecting with God means our worship is alive, vibrant and intent on making disciples; Connecting to Each Other calls for us to be inter-generational and aware that the people sitting along side of us are important no matter their gender, age, color or political affiliation; Connecting to our Community screams for us to be relevant on Bristol Road, in Flint Township and Genesee County. Our neighbors need to know we love them! And Connecting to the World says we are not alone on this spinning globe, but we have a responsibility to be Christ’s ambassadors “to the end of the earth.”

Listen, I have no interest in being the two-timing girlfriend of Jesus. Let’s look and act like the Bride of Christ! Join me in praying for our church and the days ahead.

Our next door neighbor growing up was Mr. Bilow. (I don’t remember his first name. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t “Mister.”). I don’t know remember a lot about him. I was just a kid. But I do remember that Mr. Bilow restored old cars. Tow trucks would drag broken down jalopies into his driveway; Mr. Bilow would push the car into his garage, and then he would begin to work. In many ways, Mr. Bilow was an artist. Cars would enter his garage as a rusty, ugly bucket of bolts and leave his garage as a gleaming, restored vintage automobile. Mr. Bilow looked at those broken down vehicles and saw what they could become.

That’s how I want to be. Not with cars, but as I view our world. I long to see Christ restore the whole earth. I want to look at the broken systems and misappropriated ideologies and see what could happen when God’s Kingdom comes on earth as it is in heaven.

Last weekend’s horrid events in France reminded me again how broken our world has become. When terrorists indiscriminately destroy and kill, I still want my focus to be on the One who declares, “I am making all things new” (Revelation 21:5). When everything within me wants to run in fear, I need to be reminded that God tells us over and over in his Word, “Fear Not!” (Truth: 365 times the Bible says, “Fear not.” Coincidence? Maybe. Or maybe God wants us remember every day of the year, even on days when terrorists wreak their havoc: FEAR NOT).

Like Mr. Bilow looking at a broken down Chevy and seeing a hot rod, I want to look at the world not through the terrorist’s evil agenda and blurred vision but through a God sized lens and imagine the possibilities of what could happen when people of God roll up our sleeves and get to the work of offering our world God sized solutions. Paul reminded a handful of believers in a thoroughly pagan culture in Thessalonica that “Our gospel came to you not simply with words but also with power, with the Holy Spirit and deep conviction.” (1 Thessalonians 1:5) Our world doesn’t need more words. The talking heads on the news channels give us plenty of words. What our world needs is a lived out Gospel message that has power, the Holy Spirit and a deep conviction. What our world is dying for is the dynamic, creative, transformative work of the Holy Spirit empowering us to love even our enemies and offering a better way to our broken down, fearful culture.

What rust and age destroyed, Mr. Bilow restored.
What sin and evildoers attempt to destroy, Jesus restores. Fear Not!

… The last time you read a Bible verse it was on a Christmas card.

… “Rub a dub dub, thanks for the grub” was your most recent prayer.

… You bought earplugs for yourself for “Pastor Appreciation Month.”

… You started a petition drive for: “No Tithe November”

… Your co-workers refer to you as “The mean guy with an attitude.”

… Your most “spiritual” exercise on Sundays is taking a “Nazarene Nap.”

… Criticism is your spiritual gift.

… By showing up on Christmas Eve, you’ll double your church attendance for the year.

… You’ve learned the hard way that “Passing of the Peace” is not the time to grab the usher’s toupee and tell him to “Go Deep.”

… When you are compared to Oscar the Grouch, most people think the green puppet is a tad friendlier.

… You can recite the last dozen Detroit Lions football coaches, but can’t recall the twelve disciples’ names.

…The last time you shared your faith– it was to a full service Standard Oil gas station attendant as he filled your Chevy Vega gas tank and washed your windshield.

… In the friendship registers you sign in under the alias, “Mr. Noah It-all.”

… You’ve spent an entire sermon humming to yourself “99 Bottle of Beer on the Wall.”

… When asked to name your favorite hymn, you replied, “Hotel California.”

… The only time you were the first person to Sunday School, you broke into a cold sweat and thought: RAPTURE!

Or more seriously, you might need a Spiritual Renewal Week if it’s time to re-invigorate your soul and spend some quality time with the Lord. You might need a Spiritual renewal if it seems your spiritual tank is empty; your marriage is rocky; life is overwhelming; and you’re tired or just plain cranky. You might need a Spiritual Renewal if like the psalmist you are asking: Will you not revive us again, that your people may rejoice in you? (Psalm 85:6)

On the street where I lived as a child, a family from a different religion than us did not celebrate any holidays, including Halloween. Their house was always dark on Halloween. No lights. No activity. No free candy.   And because of that (and based on no other facts) the kids in my neighborhood referred to the lady of the house as the “Witch of Rosslyn Street.” I don’t think she was a witch. I never saw her broom or boiling caldron. In fact, she might have been a very nice person, but since she didn’t pass out candy to the trick-or-treaters we labeled her as a Halloween version of Ebenezer Scrooge.   For the children on Rosslyn Street, the man and wife were cruel, greedy candy misers. Unfair? Yes. But that’s how they were viewed.

Why remember the “Witch on Rosslyn Street”? I read a book a while back titled: un-christian. The authors did extensive research and interviewed lots of non-church going, non-believing young adults. The results were disturbing to say the least. Most viewed Christians as judgmental (87%), hypocritical (85%), old fashioned (78%), out of touch with reality (72%) and insensitive (70%). I’ve got to tell you I don’t want to be considered any of those things, but like it or not too often that’s how a large portion of our society views Christians. To many folks, we are the “Witch on Rosslyn Street!”

There’s only one way to change such attitudes. It’s showing our non-Christian friends and neighbors that Christians can be real, sincere, loving, kind, non-judgmental, relevant, and authentic. How do we do that?

One small way is to use events like Halloween to change their attitudes. Halloween is the only day all year when my neighbors come to my door. I don’t have to seek them out. They come to me. In Kansas, usually Halloween nights were crisp and just a little chilly. I would place our portable fire pit in the front yard, grab some lawn chairs and a bucket of candy. Karla and I proceeded to greet the children as they came to our house. I met and talked to more neighbors in that one evening than any other time all year. I would wear a Michigan jacket (big surprise) and discovered that many in my Kansas neighborhood held various opinions concerning the Wolverines. Many parents warmed up by the fire pit and as they did we talked and laughed and enjoyed the evening. It was always a good night.

If the Michigan weather cooperates, I plan on doing something similar this Halloween.

If I am going to make a difference on Wailea Court, then I have to get to know my neighbors. I have to talk to them and engage in life with them. They need to see that I am not judgmental, insensitive and all those other undesirable traits. The way to change misperceptions, prevailing opinions and undesirable outcomes is show love and kindness one person at a time.

Do you remember what Jesus said when the question arose about his hanging out with the sinners instead of the saints? He said, “Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? Go figure out what this Scripture means: ‘I’m after mercy, not religion.’ I’m here to invite outsiders, not coddle insiders.” (Matthew 9:12 The Message). If I can be so bold, I believe that Jesus would be handing out mini snicker bars and getting to know his neighbors too. You see if we are going to be serious about transforming our society (seeing God’s Kingdom come to earth as it is in Heaven) then we must be in our neighborhoods sharing life with our neighbors.

I don’t want to be “The Witch of Wailea Court” but I do hope to be “The Jesus on Wailea Court.”

Karla’s dad has Alzheimer’s disease. Alzheimer’s stinks (I’m tempted to use a stronger expletive, but my mom would probably wash my mouth out with soap as soon as I stepped through the Pearly Gates if I did).

Alzheimer’s occasionally has robbed Arling of his sweet gentle spirit and has robbed Karla and her family of the intelligent and innovative man they once knew. All of us want to age with grace and dignity, Alzheimer’s is robbing him of that ability. We all want to know and be known; Alzheimer’s has robbed him of that too. Alzheimer’s is a dirty rotten thief (See the above soapy comments on my reluctance to use stronger adjectives).

I’ve been around a lot of sick folks through my years, and I can tell you there are not many diseases worse than Alzheimer’s. It’s horrible. If you have had a loved one with this terrible illness you know what I am saying is true.

Tuesday night, following our church board meeting and a long day, as soon as I arrived home, the memory care home where my father-in-law stays called to say he was being taken to the hospital. There had been an incident at the facility and he needed to see a doctor.

The ambulance and Karla and I arrived at the hospital at the same time. At this point, Arling was back to his “normal” state. It was late. Everybody was tired. The crowded, noisy emergency room was not a happy place. But tests needed to be run to make sure all was “normal” before he could return to the care facility. Nearly four hours later, the emergency room docs concluded that Arling’s behavior was the effects of Alzheimer’s. We already knew that.

Here’s what I didn’t know (well I knew it, but I was reminded again): I watched with a renewed appreciation and admiration as I saw Karla care for her dad. She was patient and kind. She tried to explain the happenings even when her dad didn’t always comprehend the explanations or the procedures. She was respectful and considerate. I saw her living into the words of the Ten Commandments to “Honor your father and mother.” I wish my boys could have witnessed their mom caring so tenderly for her dad. I wish you could have too.

It is easy to honor one’s parents when everything is great and all are blessed by them; it’s a totally other commitment to honor your father and mother when you aren’t always sure that they even know your name. I was thankful to witness Karla living and loving into Jesus command: As I have loved you, so you must love one another. (John 13:34). My parents are in heaven (my mom with her bar of soap), but if your parents are on the sunny side of the grave don’t reduce honoring them to Mother and Fathers’ days. Treat them with dignity even if the situation is less than perfect. Karla taught me that important lesson again this week!Al

Yesterday was “Pastor’s Day” at Water’s Edge campground. Upon perusing the list of available activities at the camp I was convinced because of my pastoral experiences I would be an expert at a number of them. Below is a list of the activities and why I thought I’d be displaying my particular set of skills developed over 25 years of pastoral ministry (and in parenthesis why I wasn’t quite prepared).

High Ropes Course: Living by faith on a tight church budget and praying that tithes given would match bills received has made me an expert in “Hanging from a thread” (In reality the High Ropes Course is a high flying adventure of zip lining from station to station. No knowledge of church budgets is required).

Climbing wall: “Getting over” the occasional unkind statement; a less-than-encouraging email concerning the cross placement in the sanctuary; or an exiting parishioner’s not so “constructive” criticism has developed a tough pastoral skin.   (The Climbing Wall is a 25-foot test of strength and endurance that concludes with a sense of accomplishment upon reaching the top. No one shouts “that’s not the way we‘ve done it in the past” or posts on Facebook why they are now attending the Baptist Climbing Wall; instead the camp workers encourage your upward goal!)

Canoeing: I’ve been “up a creek without a paddle” so many times sometimes I forget I had a paddle in the first place. (Canoeing the shimmering waters of Sandy Bottom Lake is a serene and enjoyable experience. Paddles are included.).

Paint Ball: Avoiding pot shots about not enough hymns sung makes even an out-of-shape pastor nimble and quick. (The only shots fired in this pretend battle experience are colorful balls of paint from friends whose goal is bragging rights around the campfire before singing the non-hymn Kumbaya.)

Waterslide: I can plunge feet first into deep theological debates with the best of them (The Water Slide is a slippery 30-foot plummet into the cool refreshing waters of the lake formerly known as “the boy’s lake.” A thorough knowledge of the differences between John Calvin and John Wesley’s theory of atonement does not enhance the waterslide experience.)

Blob: The Monday Morning feeling I have after a belly flop of a Sunday sermon. (The Blob is a fun water activity where one is propelled laughing and screaming into the lake. Preaching a terrible sermon is not a prerequisite for the Blob at Water’s Edge Camp).

Thanks Dr. Gardner, Rev. Rob Lewis and the Eastern Michigan District Camp team, you made a great pastor’s day even if I wasn’t an expert in any of the activities!

Lesson learned this week: This old guy should not be playing softball. Some old guys can still play. I am not one of them.

On Monday, I went to see Ben play softball for one of Central Church’s teams. They were missing a few players for one reason or another (For example, Justin Shonamon was absent because of the birth of his first child, Mackenzie, the day before the game. “A lame excuse!” said all softball seam-heads just prior to being smacked with a diaper bag by their wives.). When the game time arrived, seven ball players were present. Eight able bodied men are required to start the game. Ten players are needed to fill every position.

I had thrown my glove in the back of the car, just in case Ben wanted to play catch before the game. Truth be told, I was secretly (and stupidly) hoping this scenario might happen. In my deluded dream the headline in this Sunday’s worship folder would read: Pastor Rob’s Softball Skills Save the Day as Central Beats the Baptists!

 The team needed players and Tedd Selby (another dad who happened to be at the ball game) and I were called into duty.

I have not played softball in eleven years. Tedd said he hadn’t played in a long time too. I have no reason to doubt Tedd’s account of when he last played, but I’m pretty sure ten years prior Tedd was a better athlete than yours truly, because playing softball for him was like “riding a bike.” He picked up a borrowed glove and played like a champ at first base. The Tigers may be calling him to replace Miguel Cabrera while the all-star is on the disabled list.

They won’t be calling me.

Wearing my Sperry deck shoes, a polo shirt and walking shorts, I was not in softball ready attire. Sadly, my “uniform” was not my only deficiency.

The team tried to “hide” me at second base. It didn’t work. The first ball hit to me was a little pop up that I cleanly caught and promptly fell head over heels (aka “the beginning the of the end of my softball career comeback”). Another ball went through my legs. Another pop up caused me to fall upside down AGAIN, but I didn’t catch that one. Thankfully the “been-to-a-few-too-many-potlucks” runner on first base thought even a blind nun should have caught that ball and wasn’t running toward second. When it became obvious that I didn’t catch it, his slow as molasses lumber toward second base allowed me to find the ball on the ground, pray a quick prayer of blessing upon my sluggish Baptist brother and weakly toss the softball toward second base. The “runner” was out. No thanks to my fielding, throwing or praying skills.

If my fielding was terrible, my batting was worse. On the first pitch to me I took a mighty swing and missed! This is slow pitch softball. It wasn’t Justin Verlander blistering in 94 mph heaters on the mound. It was some Sunday School teacher from the Baptist church tossing the ball underhand. On another at bat I hit the ball to deep shortstop. To get thrown out the shortstop would either have a rocket of an arm or the runner would be comatose. The shortstop’s arm was not a cannon, but I was out. To say, I am slower than a snail using a walker is an insult to the snails of the world.

Other than not looking like a ball player, not fielding like a ball player, not throwing like a ball player, not running like a ball player and not hitting like a ball player, I did great.

One didn’t have to know softball (read: Karla) to come to her conclusion: “Hey old guy, maybe checkers is more your speed.” My body has been telling me the same things ever since Monday night.

Why confess my less than stellar return to the softball field?

I wasn’t fooling anyone. Likewise, I know people who try to pass themselves off as somebody they are not too. Usually phonies don’t fool anyone (other than themselves) at least not for long. Paul’s instructions were simple: If anyone thinks they are something when they are not, they deceive themselves. Each one should test their own actions. (Galatians 6:3-4) The old cliché is generally true: Your sins will find you out. I was exposed as an over-the-hill, out of shape softball wanna-be. When other phonies’ sins are revealed sometimes the consequences are much deeper and much more painful (than my sore-from-softball bones).

My Point: let’s keep it real (on the softball field and in life). No need to be a fake superstar or a phony follower of Jesus. Remember we believers are all sinners saved by grace. Not perfect. Not always together. Just regular people trying (with God’s help) to love Jesus, love people and (from now on for me at least) not embarrass ourselves on the softball field.

There are times when I can relate to John the Revelator.  Oh, I can’t relate to being an eyewitness to Jesus feeding 5,000 hungry men with a boy’s lunch or seeing Jesus on the cross.  Neither can I put myself in his shoes when all his fellow disciples had been martyred and he was exiled to Patmos (my Kansas friends think being in Flint is like being “exiled” to Patmos, but they are wrong.  I like it here). And I surely have never seen the visions of heaven and glory that he describes in the Revelation.  So how are John and I alike?

 

Well, we both have a brother (like John and James my brother and I would fight a little when we were younger).  I can appreciate John’s convenient placement in God’s Holy Word how he outran Peter to the empty tomb (see John 21:4).  I’ve been known to trash talk on occasion too.  But I can really relate to John’s heart’s longing and cry in the next to last verse in the Bible when he simply writes, “Come, Lord Jesus.”  There are times this week when I have said that too.

 

As you know I deal with some chronic pain issues (Shameless plug alert:  If you haven’t read my book, Chronic Pain, or given it to someone who also battles chronic pain type of junk, what are you waiting for? But I digress…).  Lately, I’ve been a little more headachy than normal and a little more aware of my frailties.  I don’t know why.  I think our lovely Michigan weather has something to do with it.  Adding to my prayer list as you know there have been a boatload of troubles (more like a “fleet of cargo ships load of troubles”) in the news this week: riots in Baltimore; the Supreme Court’s hearing arguments in the same sex marriage debate; Iranian aggression in the Strait of Hormuz; ISIS murderous assault on Christians and others; and an earthquake in Nepal. Like you, I have friends who are facing surgeries and doctors have used the word “cancer” to describe some of their ailments. Others have troubles in their homes.  Sin has wreaked havoc in the lives of so many people.   All of these things have left me saying like John the Revelator, “Come Lord Jesus!”  In fact, the sooner the better, please come.

 

I’m so ready for Jesus to make all things new.  With John I look forward to the vision that he saw and described in Revelation 21: 

 

I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband.  And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.  ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”  (Revelation 21:2-4)

 

Doesn’t that sound good?  Please, please come!  Even as I write these words there is a big part of me that is glad that Jesus hasn’t answered John’s or my prayer to come just yet. While I long to be in the place with no “mourning, crying or pain,” I have loved ones that don’t know Jesus.  I have friends that if Jesus were to come right now would not be ready for His return.  So I’m torn, but not so torn.  I want Him to return for my sake.  I want Him to delay for their sake.  So if it means that our loved ones will find Jesus as he delays His return, then my prayer is “take your time Lord Jesus, take your time.”

 

It seems that Jesus takes serious what He inspired Peter to write: “not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9).  So I should take it serious too. As we wait His return, I have determined to do everything I can to see “everyone come to repentance.”  As long as I have breath in spite of headaches and riots and earthquakes and living in a post-Christian America, I want to work, pray, invite and share a cool cup of water with all who are thirsty.  I want to make a difference for Jesus until He comes!  So like John I say, “Come Lord Jesus whenever the time is right.”  

This Sunday is another baptism Sunday at Central Church! Hooray! I love baptisms; although, I must confess to a few less-than-stellar baptism moments in my ministerial career.

In one church, we didn’t have a baptistery, so we borrowed a nearby church for an afternoon baptism service. The baptistery-blessed congregation graciously allowed the use of their facility and didn’t charge us a penny. I only wish the fine folks had informed us that their baptistery heater didn’t work. What’s the old saying about getting what you pay for? I discovered that day that it is very difficult to say: “I baptize thee” when your teeth won’t stop chattering.

In my last church, before I arrived they had the opposite happen. The heater for the baptistery also broke, but it went into overdrive. The water was so hot they almost had preacher soup (also known as “David Busic Bisque”)!

As you know, I am not the brawniest pastor in the ecclesiastical world. That fact, coupled with a slippery fiberglass baptismal tank bottom, resulted in both the baptizee (a rather large man) and the baptizer (me) go underwater. Moreover, during our attempt to stand up, we both nearly went down for a “second blessing.” There is no truth to the rumor that the organist started a heavenly rendition of “Splish Splash I was taking a bath” as we exited the baptistery.

On another occasion, I was baptizing a rather tall gentleman and did not correctly calculate the distance between the tall man’s head and the back of the baptismal tank. Geometry was not my specialty. As you might have guessed, when baptizing the lengthy fellow, I clunked his head on the tank. After the service, when I embarrassingly told his girlfriend about the mishap, she replied: “Good! I hope he has amnesia. I’ll tell him we’re engaged!” Memory loss had nothing to do with the fact that they are now happily married. At least, I don’t think it did. Hmm?!

Once immediately before dunking a lady, she turned to me with terror in her eyes and whispered that she was deathly afraid of water and that “she just couldn’t do it.” (This was years before the near drowning and “head thumping” episodes, so tales of my baptizing skills did not factor into her apprehension). At that moment, I was glad our church doesn’t measure the amount of water needed to qualify for a baptism (We’ll dunk, pour water, or toss a few sprinkles in the general direction of the baptized). I poured a handful of water over her head, and everybody was happy and blessed.

Remembering these stories brought a smile to my face. Remembering my baptism brought a deep sense of joy. Baptism is something in which all believers should participate. Baptism is a really big deal in the life of the Christian. It is making a huge statement: I am a believer! It symbolizes our new life in Christ and declares that our sins have been washed away! Of course the most compelling argument to be baptized is that Jesus commanded us to do it. Which pretty much settles the question of whether a believer should be baptized or not.

So believer, be baptized. And one other bit of advice: If you have yet to “climb into the water,” before you do inquire if the pastor has correctly calculated the distance between your head and the back of the baptismal tank. You can thank me later.

Once upon a time there was a farmer who had a huge field. In the spring as farmers normally do, he planted the field with many seeds. He anticipated a mighty harvest. While the farmer waited for his crops to grow, he decided that instead of twiddling his thumbs and counting days on the calendar until harvest time, he would use his time wisely and renovate his barn to store his soon coming crops.

Meanwhile the crops grew.

The farmer hired an architectural firm whose building plans were magnificent and he quickly took out a massive loan and hired a builder to complete the project for what he believed would be one of the finest barns in the land.

Meanwhile, the crops continued to grow and grow.

When the barn was completed, it was all the farmer dreamed it would be. The barn had enough storage facilities to hold the produce from his field and even the crops from his neighbor’s field should their barns not be adequate. On top of that, the barn was equipped with flat screen TVs running announcements for future events in the barn; and there were plenty of restroom facilities for anyone who might visit the barn; there were signs everywhere so no one would get lost while in the barn. It was a very impressive barn.

Meanwhile, the crops were ready for harvest.

The farmer was so impressed with his newly refurbished barn that he began to give tours. Some other farmers noticed his beautiful barn and they were a bit jealous. But the farmer told them, it is not good to be jealous—just be thankful for your own barn. “Not everyone can have a big and beautiful barn like my barn,” he smugly told them.

Meanwhile, no one was harvesting the crops.

A few people from the city inquired on whether he would rent out his barn for receptions, weddings and special occasions. “Of course,” the farmer said with pride. All the necessary contracts were signed so that the barn could be used for receptions and parties and all sorts of things. He started giving hayrides to families and youth groups and inviting children in for afterschool enrichment program on the importance of the harvest. The former farmer, now tour guide and wedding coordinator, was quite busy— in fact nearly every weekend there was some function going on at the magnificent barn.

Meanwhile, the crops rotted on the vine.

The barn was busy, it just wasn’t doing what it was designed to do and the harvest was never brought in.

The Point: Having a nice barn is great, but it is not the goal. Keeping the barn full of activities is ok, but it is not the goal. The goal is all about the harvest. Let’s be concerned with the harvest.

He who has an ear let him hear.

1) Snowmen make lousy friends. While snowmen rarely talk about themselves and appear to be good listeners, they simply aren’t paying attention. Snowmen frequently give the “cold shoulder” and at the first sign of trouble, when things “get a little hot,” they disappear. (I am not even going to discuss what poor role models snowmen are with the whole “corn cob pipe” thing).

2) Managing slippery roads without snow tires and marriage counseling sessions are similar. I feel the frequent need in both cases to shout from the top of my lungs: “Get a grip!”

3) Shoveling snow from one’s driveway and preaching sermons are similar. Both require a lot of work and will be mostly forgotten in a few months (Months? Who am I kidding? I’ve preached a few stinkers I’ve wanted to forget before I got to the church foyer).

4) Salt melts snow but it doesn’t melt cauliflower. As a child I secretly hoped that sprinkling salt on my veggies would magically make them disappear and melt away. It never happened. Neither does salt melt away bad memories, hurtful words, or a guilty past. For those things, allow the Holy Spirit to work deep within your heart. In case you are wondering, as an adult I’ve discovered to eliminate cauliflower it takes three words: working garbage disposal.

5) You can’t control how cold it is outside. But you can control the warmth of your heart. Don’t get distracted by the things you can’t control. Focus on what you can. Keep your heart warm and close to the flame of God’s love.

6) Nothing stops our Senior Adult’s game day. Our policy is when Carmen-Ainsworth schools are closed we have no activities at the church. That rule does not apply to our Senior Adults’ Game Day. Telling an 85 year old she can’t play Skip-bo, takes a battalion of marines and full body armor for protection. I have neither. Play on, grandma, play on!

7) Snowball fights are a lot like church fights. A lot of stuff goes flying through the air, and usually someone goes home crying. Let’s avoid anything that ends in the word “fight.”

8) To get a city snowplow to come down your street follow these four easy steps:
1. Clear all snow from your driveway (either by shovel or snow blower),
2. Return to your warm house
3. Remove all of your winter outerwear
4. Sit down in front of a fire with a cup of warm cocoa and a good book.
Within minutes the plow will roar down your street pushing snow back onto your driveway, filling your entrance with now harden chunks of snow and ice.

9) A cold church with a working furnace is a very bad thing. I want to be a part of a church that is on fire for the Lord. A church that warms ice-cold souls and turns lukewarm disciples into white-hot sparks of God’s transformative love!

10) Snowflakes are individual and small but when they stick together they can make a really big difference. That’s a lot like the church too. On our own we can accomplish a little for Christ, but together we can accomplish so much! Let’s keep sticking together!

Maybe you’ve heard that this Sunday a football game is going to be played. The Super Bowl was so named by the late owner of the Kansas City Chiefs, Lamar Hunt, after his daughter’s toy “super ball.” I guess the world can be thankful she liked hard, rubber bouncy balls instead of some other toy or the big game might have been called the “Easy Bake Oven” Bowl. That title does not have the same pizzazz as the “Super Bowl.”

I like the name “Super Bowl” and I like the roman numerals that are used to describe them. This year’s game is XLIX. I say let’s use roman numerals more often. I was born in MCMLXIII, which makes me LI years old. I have II children and Karla and I have been married for XXVI years. In case you were wondering, last Sunday’s worship attendance at Central church was MDV. Using roman numerals is a little confusing but we’d get used to it.

IX years ago, Super Bowl XL was played in that extra large winter destination wonderland known as Detroit, this year’s game is being played in Glendale, Arizona. Apparently fans would rather attend the Super Bowl in a warm city like Glendale where the average temperature is LXXII as opposed to Detroit where the average February temperature is XXXV? Weird.

This year most of us will not be sitting in warm and cozy University of Phoenix Stadium (By the way, did anyone notice that the University of Phoenix doesn’t have a football team, but does have a football stadium? No jokes about the similarities between the University of Phoenix and recent history of the University of Michigan, please). Most of us will be watching from the warm and cozy comforts of our home. Sadly this reminds me of an old joke. Question: What do you call 47 millionaires watching the Super Bowl? Answer: The Detroit Lions. My response every year of my life to that joke: Maybe next year!

Not everyone will be turning in for the football game on Sunday. Some folks will watch the Pre-game festivities. Others will view the game for the commercials. (30 seconds of airtime during the game is 4 million bucks. In case you are not doing the math at home, if my sermons generated the same revenue this Sunday’s message would be worth 240 million dollars. Even my mama wouldn’t think my sermons are worth that much). Still others will tune into the big half-time show. A few years back the artist formerly known as “The artist formerly known as Prince” was singing at half time. Let the record show that while we share a name (quite honestly I’m not sure if “Prince” is his first, last or middle name), we are not related. Truth be told, unlike Prince I have never partied like its 1999. My boys tell me that most of my partying is more like its 1937. In any event, neither Prince will be singing at this year’s game.

All this to say, ready or not our yearly cultural phenomenon is about to happen.

Long before a properly inflated football is teed up this Sunday something far more important will happen: We will gather for worship. More than praising big, burley football players, we will be praising the Lord. More than sharing chips, dips and party favorites, we will be sharing in the Lord’s Supper. More than a simple gathering of friends, we will be meeting with the Holy One. And if someone who doesn’t know Christ decides to follow Jesus this Sunday (in church or somewhere else), that decision will be the greatest moment of the day. The Bible doesn’t mention anyone in heaven cheering when a touchdown is scored, but does say “there will be more rejoicing in heaven when one sinner repents” (Luke 15:7). I’m praying that that this Sunday there will be raucous applauds in heaven long before Tom Brady and Russell Wilson take the field.

(Here is “The 2014 Prince Christmas letter” that we are sending across the country to our “snail mail” friends. I thought you might enjoy it too!)

We did a lot of Welcoming in 2014 (some events we welcomed with open arms and some… not so much). Our Welcome list included the following:

Welcome back. We survived the worst winter in Michigan history. Our arrival to “the Mitten” and “worst winter ever” is merely coincidental… we hope.

Welcome home. Rob’s mom went to be with Jesus in February. We miss her!

Welcome to the real world. Alex graduated from MidAmerica Nazarene University with a degree in business. Well done, Alex!

Welcome to the Family. Blaire and Alex were married in May in Leavenworth, Kansas. We couldn’t have picked a better daughter-in-law even if we tried!

Welcome to the Good Life. Ben’s year included Olivet Nazarene University’s ultimate Frisbee team, a summer barista job at Starbucks while also working at a golf course. For Ben, free coffee and free golf equals “the perfect summer.”

Welcome Mat Ready. We moved into our new home in Grand Blanc in March. There are spare rooms waiting for occupants! Come and visit!

Welcome Doctor. Three strokes and a fall down a staircase for Karla’s mom and a few brief hospital stays for Karla’s dad whose Alzheimer’s is progressing has made us very much aware of the Flint medical community.

Welcome to the Pines of Burton. In November, Karla’s parents, after living with us for six months, moved into this memory care facility nearby.

Welcome Buyers. The selling of Karla’s folk’s rental homes, farm and most of their stuff has made Karla an expert of the roads between Flint and Hillsdale and an advocate of not getting old. It’s a lot of work!

Welcome to the Publishing World. Rob’s book, Chronic Pain: Finding Hope in the Midst of Suffering, was released in April. His publisher announced a financial crisis in the fall. Hopefully these two facts were a fluky and wild happenstance.

Welcome to Central Church! New vision, mission and staff at Flint Central have made for a full and crazy church year! Our prayer: “In Flint as it is in heaven!”

We will be excited to welcome in a new year in 2015!

We trust that you and your family are doing great and
we wish you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

You’re Welcome!

Rob and Karla Prince
Grand Blanc, Michigan

1. Do Pentecostal snowmen ever pray for a fiery revival? #ifyoucantstandtheheatgetoutofthesanctuary

2. Would Buddy the Elf have told King Herod “you sit on a throne of lies”? #fakesanta #cottonheadedninnymoggins #crazyking

3. If a careless worshipper spills candle wax on a pew cushion during the Christmas Eve Service will the perpetrator be placed on Santa’s “Naughty List”? #janitorsarenthappyeither

4. Couldn’t a contestant on the Wheel of Fortune buy a vowel for Myrrh? #PatIdliketobuyavowel

5. If one has nine Christmas trees in their house (and I do), can that house be declared a National Forest by the Department of Natural Resources? #toomanytrees

6. Would “wee little man” Zaccheaus have been upset if someone mistook him for an elf? #notfromthenorthpole

7. Would a perfect Christmas gift for Moses have been an iPad since he broke his tablets? #Mosesbutterfingers

8. Can a five point Calvinist “re-gift” unwanted Christmas presents or do they live by the motto: “Once your gift… always your gift”? #oncesavedalwayssaved

9. Isn’t a “Hanging of the Greens” service a little too violent? I don’t think the Halls like the idea of getting decked, either. #noexecutions #nofighting

10. Would P.F. Bresee (founder of the CoTN) have allowed Dancer and Prancer to become members of the Church of the Nazarene? #nodancing

On a much more serious note, in your theological musing this Christmas season I hope you reflect on the glorious words of John 1, when the apostle wrote:

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14) #bestnewsever #nojoke

November 15th is Saturday. A Michigan holiday known as “the opening of firearm deer season,” and all the hunters in the crowd said, “Kaboom!” The roads heading north (where there are more deer than people) will soon be filled with men and women ready to locate a majestic, beautiful trophy buck and shoot it dead.

I have gone hunting a few times. Never shot a deer. My participation in the November 15th deer experience (Can I really call it “hunting” if I never planned on killing anything more than time?) was more about hanging out with my fellow hunters. I went more for the coffee before the “hunt” and the stories of “the one that got away” after the “hunt.” (Please note: My non-lethal deer “hunting” is not because I am a card caring member of PETA and think there are some moral issues with shooting a deer. Some of my best friends love hunting. Love eating venison. Love the thrill of being in the woods on the hunt. Love the camaraderie of deer camp. I have no problem with any of that—I’m just not a hunter and venison makes me puke.)

Usually a friend would loan me the necessary hunting items: a gun; a bullet to keep in my pocket like Barney Fife; and an orange hat. When I protested that orange is not my color, I was informed that state law required every human in the woods to wear orange. The thinking is that a deer would not be caught dead wearing orange; hence if a trigger-happy hunter saw something moving and it wasn’t wearing orange, it must be a deer or a fashion conscious raccoon.

There was one occasion when out in the woods, wearing my stylish orange stocking cap and singing a happy little tune in between bites of a snicker’s bar (I can only I assume), a deaf and blind deer walked within a few feet of me. I could hear her coming through the woods, so I sang a little louder (My singing has been known to send humans running for cover.), undeterred she kept rambling in my direction. With my heart beating as if I had just completed a marathon, I had a decision: Would I live and let live? Or would I do my best Uncle Si of Duck Dynasty impersonation and “Hey! Boom! Done! Over! Know what I mean, Jack?”

I put down my chocolate bar and Bible, located my gun (it was on the ground covered with candy wrappers), loaded my bullet, wrapped by finger around the trigger and…

I couldn’t do it.

Even though the whole purpose for me sitting in the woods while wearing a dopey orange hat was to shoot such animals, when the time came, I just couldn’t do it. Remember: venison makes me sick and I think it would have ruined the deer’s day to join me for dinner too. I just couldn’t do it. I took my finger off the trigger and let her continue on her oblivious stroll through the woods.

I think there are plenty of times we have the goal within our sight, our finger is on the trigger, but for whatever reason we can’t pull it. Unfortunately, this happens in things that matter a whole lot more than a freezer full of venison.

We know we need to start exercising or start attending church or start tithing or start eating better or start consistently reading the Bible or improve our marriage or ask forgiveness from a friend or offer encouragement to a lonely person, but we just can’t seem to “pull the trigger.”

In most cases, this is not a decision that we even have to pray: “Is this God’s will?”
Of course, it’s God’s will to live healthier;
Of course it’s God’s will to reconcile relationships;
Of course it’s God’s will to make improvements in our Christian disciplines.

The question isn’t “does God want me to do it?” but rather “am I willing to do it?”
Am I willing to step out and do what I know God wants me to do?
Am I willing to see the goal and move forward in faith?
Am I willing to “pull the trigger” and start doing what God wants me to do?

The Bible says: I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back. So let’s keep focused on that goal, those of us who want everything God has for us. If any of you have something else in mind, something less than total commitment, God will clear your blurred vision—you’ll see it yet! Now that we’re on the right track, let’s stay on it. (Philippians 3:14-16. The Message). Like Paul let’s determine to stay focused on the goal and when opportunities to move forward and improve our walk with God arise, pray that we will “pull the trigger” and do what we know is God’s best!

More Good News: Doing God’s best choice does not require the wearing of an orange hat! Kaboom!

I’ve heard it (even taught it) that the Church of the Nazarene is a Big Tent. Historically I think the idea that the Church of the Nazarene is a Big Tent came from our earliest days when in a big tent at Pilot Point, Texas three groups laid aside some minor differences they may have had and joined together so that the message of holiness might be proclaimed throughout the U.S.A. and world. The Big Tent mentality was illustrated in a quote of P.F. Bresee (but St. Augustine said it first): “In essentials unity; in non-essentials liberty; and in all things charity.” So differences over the second coming of Jesus and the minutia of holiness were laid aside for the greater good of reaching our world and making Christ-like disciples.

Fast forward 106 years and the question is: Is the Church of the Nazarene still a Big Tent or have we become little campsites on the same campground (some might say, “Forget being on the same campground are we even in the same universe)?

It appears that it’s the latter. We have gone to our own camps. We still want to talk about “holiness” (we are still on the same campgrounds– although what exactly “holiness” is and how ”holiness” is expressed is vastly different among our people). Our differences over essentials and non-essentials have seemly caused the Nazarenes to circle around their particular issues in their own little camps. It would seem that Augustine’s (sorry Dr. Bresee) quote to be accurate for today’s Nazarenes should be modified as: In essentials unity; in non-essentials—there are no non-essentials; and in all things (if you agree with me about the essentials and non-existent non-essentials) charity. The quote doesn’t have the same beautiful simplicity; nor does have the heart of holiness, but that’s where the Church of the Nazarene finds herself.

There are several reasons for the disintegration into our differing camps. American politics, the ease of disseminating differing viewpoints via the Internet, the angst in the American culture, the lack of Nazarene based (or even Wesleyan based) education in the majority of Nazarene clergy, an influx of fundamentalism, an ecclesiastical identity crisis over several theological and social issues, and the recent Nazarene Publishing House debacle are only some of the factors. These and other influences have sent Nazarenes to their own little camps, circling the wagons around their ideas and notions and looking with a suspicious eye at anyone who disagrees with them. The Big Tent has been un-pitched.

Here’s the problem: When we had laid aside our differences; when we were concerned about proclaiming holiness; when our focus was on reaching the world and making Christ-like disciples; when we were a Big Tent (in other words) the Church of the Nazarene was growing. People were finding Jesus and holiness was being proclaimed. It doesn’t take a statistical genius to look at the flattened and now declining membership numbers in USA/Canada to conclude that when we started heading to our own little camps and casting stones at those in other camps that’s when our decline began. We may have a mission statement that reads: “To make Christ-like Disciples in the nations” but in the USA/Canada it seems our mission statement has become: “To make the rest of the church think like we think and if they don’t think like we think to make them out to be friends with the devil.” Again, its not a catchy slogan but that seems to be where we are and why we have lost our way.

So what is the solution? We’ve got to leave our individual camps and join the Big Tent again. Let’s get back to Augustine (and Bresee). Refocus on the essentials; quit making non-essentials essential; and remember charity. Holiness is all about love. Love presumably includes loving individuals and leaders with whom you may have a disagreement. Love includes loving those in society who disagree and loving those in the church with whom we disagree. Love is the door to the Big Tent.

Big Tent people love one another.
Big Tent people don’t get caught up in the minutia.
Big Tent people recognize that if we aren’t together we will never win the world for Christ.
Big Tent people understand that the message of holiness in this unholy culture is vital.
Big Tent people are holiness people.
Let’s get back in the Big Tent.

1) Sadness
I am saddened for the hard working people who work at the publishing house. It was 29 years ago (the same year the Royals won the World Series) that I started working as a “Cleanliness-is-next-to-Godliness Enforcement Engineer” (janitor) at NPH. During my first two years of seminary I scrubbed floors, toilets and any other grime that stood in the way of the scriptural holiness being placed on a printed page. Even as a janitor I thought that I was playing a role in the mission of the church. I have no doubt that those employees who will no longer be working at 2923 Troost (whether they are an editor, phone operator or warehouse employee) feel the same. Working at NPH for me was more than a job; it was part of the mission of the church. I am sad that the dedicated employees of NPH are no longer able to serve in this capacity.

2) Reality
The reality is that it is tough to be in the publishing business these days. Newspapers are closing left and right. Publishing companies (some much larger than the Nazarene Publishing House) have merged with other companies or closed their doors. The General Superintendents’ pastoral letter on the NPH crisis correctly assessed the situation when it stated, “Recent years have been more financially difficult. Due to shifting cultural circumstances including changes in the church, NPH has found itself having to adapt to new paradigms in order to maintain financial stability and sustainability.” Everyone I know involved in the NPH demise freely admits that it was going to take a not quite “turning–the-water-into-wine” type of miracle but something close to save NPH. Jesus did not turn the debits into credits. The reality is—the publishing business is a tough gig.

3) Understanding
Leaders make decisions and sometimes those decisions are wrong. The General Superintendents stated in their letter:

In 2012, with the election of a new leader for NPH by the General Board, plans were laid for yet another change in paradigm for NPH, including the acquisition of a new business unit for NPH. This was done with the sincere hope that NPH would be set on new trajectory and ultimately be stronger. Simply put: it did not work. It was a miscalculation on many levels. While it was obvious that the business model for NPH needed to change, we now know that these decisions likely hastened the crisis.

I’ve made bad decisions, dumb decisions, and “not-thought-through-all-the-implications” decisions too. I don’t believe any of the decisions were made with malice or done to purposefully harm the church or NPH. I am no conspiracy theorist (I think Lee Harvey Oswald shot President Kennedy too). In other words, I believe the General Superintendents when they write: “we do not believe anyone has made intentional decisions to hurt the church.”

I just think that our leaders saw that the NPH ship was sinking; tried to save it; and what they tried didn’t work. I refuse to be a Monday Morning Quarterback with less than all of the facts and make judgments on people that I have respected for many years. Instead I wish to offer them grace and understanding.

4) Change
Obviously, our methods of communication, evangelism and making Christ-like disciples must change. While at the same time, our message is more important than ever! Our impure world needs the message of heart purity. Our increasingly unholy culture desperately needs a people proclaiming the message of Heart Holiness.

Just a quick survey of the largest churches in the USA indicates that in the past year the overwhelmingly majority had their attendance decline or at best remain virtually unchanged (sadly, the church I pastor included). With the demise of our publishing arm and with our “strongest” churches in decline, the time is now (actually the time was ten years ago) to recognize that what we’ve been doing isn’t working. We need to prayerfully, creatively, courageously, diligently test new methods and new strategies to reach our world. We must come up with new ways to educate, disciple and provide new voices for the holiness message.

The methods of former NPH leaders like M.A. Lunn, Bud Lunn, Bob Foster and even Hardy Weathers might not work today—but that does not mean that the message must also go away. Our world needs holiness more than ever! Purity in heart and life is vitally relevant in our increasingly impure world. We must change so the world will know that God calls us to be holy!

5) Hope
I still have hope! I believe God can do a new thing. In fact, if it is not us, then I believe God will raise up someone else to call people to live holy lives. I just want it to be us. And I am hopeful that it will be! We still have thousands of committed people that desperately want to see God spark a new wave of revival fires. I know many young people who are willing to give themselves to a genuine movement of God. I believe that God is up to something and is ready and able to answer the prayer that he taught us to pray: “on earth as it is in heaven.”

We are called to make Christ-like disciples in the nations—let’s creatively and courageously move forward to fulfill God’s purpose for the Church of the Nazarene!

I usually shy away from all things nutty.
I’m not a fan of nutty donuts at Donna’s.
I have long supported a ban on Pistachio ice cream.
I like my Hersey chocolate sans almonds.
And if you push me for an opinion, I believe only little old ladies should ever eat Coconut Cream Pies.

I didn’t like either Nutty Professor movie (Jerry Lewis or Eddie Murphy).
I’ve never roasted chestnuts on an open fire and don’t know why anyone would.
And the only thing good about Hickory is when their basketball team beat South Bend Central High School for the state championship (This obscure Hoosier movie reference is for my friend Jake who is from Indiana and whose wife just had a baby).

My avoidance of nuts is not a hard and fast rule. It was not written in stone. Nowhere in 2nd Hezekiah does it say, “Thou shalt not have nuts in thy food, neither shalt thy children eat-th nuts; thou shall have neither cashew nor hazelnut; thou shall not consume peanuts or Brazil nuts; pecans and walnuts shall not be partaken until the fourth generation.” It doesn’t say that.

I do not lookdown on my nut-consuming friends. And in a point of confession, I must admit that I’m a little inconsistent in my nut aversion. I hope this does not make me a nut hypocrite. I have been known to order cashew chicken at Chinese restaurants. I even like a handful of mixed nuts from time to time. Although I draw the line at eating Brazil nuts, macadamia nuts, and Filberts and will steadfastly refuse them unless a gun is pointed in my direction. (Point of reference: “Filbert” is a dumb name for a nut. It is the nerd of the nut family and if three nuts are standing in line, you could recognize the Filbert by its pocket protector and white socks with black shoes).

Why reveal my nutty distain?

This week has been a little nutty and I don’t like those types of weeks either.

It’s just been “one of those” weeks. We all have them from time to time. Not everything has been bad, just nutty. My week has included a trip to Illinois to see Ben begin his sophomore year (yeah!); 40 injections in my bean (boo!); another doctor’s visit (it has yet to be determined if that appointment will result in a “yeah” or a “boo”); dealing with some nutty aspects of aging in-laws; and upon my return from “the Land of Lincoln” I’ve had a nutty and crazy busy schedule of appointments, meetings and sermon preparation (Rule of Thumb #247: When away from one’s desk for two days, upon returning there will be 12 days worth of emails, phone messages and things to do. At least it seems that way). All of that adds up to a nutty week.

It’s times like these I need to be reminded of some wonderful verses buried in the Book of Psalms:

I waited patiently for the Lord;
he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. (Psalm 40:1-3)

Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth. (Psalm 46:10)

My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever. (Psalm 73:26)

And one of my all time favorite psalms:

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth. (Psalm 121:1-2)

Whether your week as been joyous and great or a little bit nutty like mine, be still and know that God is still God and He will be our strength, help and hope!

Having been caught up in World Cup fever, I vowed to never eat German chocolate cake following the USA’s loss to Germany in the round robin portion of the tourney. Following the USA’s loss to Belgium in the knock out round, I committed to a lifelong fast of Belgium waffles. Truth be told, I never eat German chocolate cake or waffles so it wasn’t much of a sacrifice on my part. It’s a good thing that the USA never played France because I don’t know that I could have made a similar boycott of French fries or French vanilla ice cream.

With the World Cup mania still kicking around in my head (Did you see what I did there? The World Cup is “kicking” around in my head! Ha!), I am left wondering what church would be like if it was more like the colossal, every four year soccer tournament.

Here are a few of my conclusions. If my church was like the World Cup…

• I would refer to my Sunday preaching apparel as a “kit,’ the lawn in front of the church as “the pitch” and the ushers would forever be known as “linesmen.”

• I’d hand out yellow cards when someone didn’t volunteer for nursery duty or forget to silence their phone before a church service.

• They’d get a red card for bringing a tuna casserole to a church pot-luck.

• I’d use that foam stuff and draw a line at the back of the sanctuary and say you must sit in front of that line.

• If Luis Suarez (the soccer player from Uruguay that bit the player from Chile) ever attended the church I would require him to memorize Ephesians 4:31: Make a clean break with all cutting, backbiting, profane talk. Be gentle with one another, sensitive. Forgive one another as quickly and thoroughly as God in Christ forgave you.

• To discourage excessive flopping… oh wait a minute, I pastor a Nazarene church—we rarely flop in the aisles and we frown on anything that would be described as “excessive.”

• I’d whistle the greeters for being offsides if they miss saying hello to a parishioner entering a door.

• Before a different pastor could stand to receive the offering, make the announcements or pass the peace, I would require a digital board being held by guy on the edge of the platform silently announcing their entrance into the service.

• There would be stoppage time at the end of the worship hour (various times could be added depending on how fast the ushers “ush” and the singers sing) giving me a few extra minutes for sermonizing.

• There would be a non-stop drone of shouting, whistling and noise making throughout the service, while it may hinder the proclamation of the Gospel such crowd racket would also drown out the noise of babies crying, cellphones ringing or the snoring that occasionally occurs in those less than riveting sermons.

• Instead of seventeen verses of “Just as I am,” to indicate that we are done, a referee could blow a whistle a couple of times and waves his arms above his head and we’d all shake hands and wish one another well until we meet again.

• And at the end of every service there would be orange slices and Capri Sun for everyone (Were the moms of the players at the World Cup passing out treats like they used to when my boys were little kickers?).

OK, it’s painfully obvious there is not a lot of cross over between the World Cup action and the church I pastor. Still I would hope we are as passionate about Jesus as people are cheering for their country and team. I would hope that we realize while we may not be playing for a golden cup, but we are in a race toward a prize. Paul said it this way: I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:14)

Our favorite team may lose the World Cup but let’s not lose out on the prize that matter’s most.

When my son #1 was born, Karla and I had a very difficult time naming the boy. Truth be told, he didn’t have a name until he was five days old. On day #5, a somewhat perturbed nurse burst into Karla’s room at the Bay Medical Center (in beautiful Bay City Michigan) and informed us that we had to name the baby. Looking at us like we had committed some hideous crime, Nurse Meany of the Maternity Ward glared and sneered, “You have to name the child!”

It wasn’t my fault the boy had no name. I had plenty of names. Great names. But Karla did not approve my suggestions. I don’t know why. My favorites were Foot, Finger or Blue.

In my thinking, if our child became a star beach volleyball player what better name could he have than “Foot” Prince? Imagine the endorsements for a star beach volleyball player named “Foot Prince.” If we spelled our name “Prints” instead of “Prince” it would have made more sense, but if you say “Prince” quick enough it works.

If our offspring became a famous police detective, wouldn’t “Finger” (Prince) be an awesome name for a super crime fighter?

An aspiring architect could not have a better name than “Blue” (Prince), could he? Karla said, “No!”

When Karla failed to see the wisdom of those choices, I suggested that we could give our boy a “normal” first name on the condition that his middle name was “Isa.” Of course, his official name would have been something like Harold “isa” Prince. Again she said, “No.”

Karla had names too. Mostly dumb names. She liked the name “Austin.” Austin? Why would any parent want to name their precious child after the home city of the University of Texas Longhorns? Are you kidding me? I vowed to call him some other Texan city, anything but “Austin.” “Come here, El Paso, it’s time for supper,” I threatened to say. My goodness, if we were going to name him after a college town, wouldn’t it had been better to name him Ann Arbor? Unfortunately, as all Johnny Cash fans know, naming him “Ann Arbor” would have been akin to having a boy “Sue.” That’s probably not a good thing. A boy named “Ann” might have a problem or two on elementary school playgrounds.

Finally with the prodding of Nurse Meany, we decided to name our young Prince, “Alexander.” It’s been a good regal name. It doesn’t have the same pizzazz as “Foot,” but Alex is selling insurance these days not spiking volleyballs on a California beach.

Why the walk down memory lane with you on this June morning?

Parents we have a responsibility to our kids. Giving a name that won’t cause bodily harm on the playground is only the beginning. We have a responsibility to show them the love of Christ. We have a responsibility to point them to the things of God and keep them from the things that will hinder their walk with God. I don’t know any perfect parents. We all make mistakes. Still we should strive to model before our kids Christ-likeness in our words and actions.

The Bible says, “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your strength. And you must commit yourselves wholeheartedly to these commands… Repeat them again and again to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed and when you are getting up.” (Deut. 6:5-8). Moms and dads, let’s tell and retell our kids of the great the love of God. It’s a never-ending, 24-hour job, but you can do it!

If I were starting a new religious movement, I don’t think I would pick as my primary mouth piece a guy who just a few days earlier had denied me three times. At best, the three-time, before the rooster-cock-a-doodle-dooed denier would get a two-year probationary period where his cowardly naysaying couldn’t infect anyone (especially servant girls by fire pits).

Apparently, that’s not the way God thinks or acts. He gives out second chances.

God must not pay attention to career day recommendations from the guidance counselors at Capernaum High School either. How else do you explain using a fisherman, industrial arts type of guy serving as your press secretary and chief spokesman?

And as you might expect the fisherman’s first sermon had a few flaws. For instance,

1) His delivery was all wrong. It was so bad the listeners thought he was drunk! “They must have had too much wine.” (Acts 2:13) If the crowd thinks you’re popping the top of an Ernest and Gallo or two before stepping into the pulpit that’s a pretty good indicator that you either A) need to work on your preaching skills; and/or B) are not preaching in a Nazarene church.

2) The sermon was too short. Porky Pig could have read the whole thing in less than three minutes from start to finish. How can you persuade anybody to do anything in less time than it takes to make an omelet? Maybe Peter could have told a funny story or two or at the very least tell some kind of fish story. I thought all fishermen could tell an interesting tale of “the one that got away” when given the opportunity. Maybe it wouldn’t have pertained to the message, but he wouldn’t be the first preacher to slip in a good story just to keep everybody listening.

3) Where are the three points? Every beginning homiletics student knows a good sermon must have three points. Not two points. Not four points. Three point sermons are a must—and it is highly recommended to have a tearjerker of an ending or you can kiss the altar call good-bye!  Wait a minute. There was no altar! Moreover, there was not an organist playing “Just as I am?” either? How many mistakes can a guy make in a sermon?

As you might know, the only thing that resulted following the too short and too poorly constructed sermon by a guy who never should have been preaching in the first place was a measly 3000 people converted! I guess that’s not too bad for a fisherman preaching his first sermon. I didn’t count the converts after my first sermon back in 1983, but I think it’s fair to estimate that there were significantly less than 3000 converted. My first sermon was in Alanson, Michigan (total population 741). So if everyone in the whole town came to hear me preach (they did not) and if everyone in the whole town converted (A Jonah and Nineveh-like revival it was not), the conversion tally still would have fallen 2, 259 people short. But who’s counting? I had three points in my sermon—you can count that wiseguy!!

All this to say, God knows what he is doing!

He did then.

He does now.

Pentecost didn’t need improving. God took a rag tag group of 120 followers on the Day of Pentecost and had a guy preaching his first sermon who just a few short weeks earlier could not stand before a slave girl without denying Jesus; and as these newly empowered believers poured onto the streets proclaiming the good news of Jesus their number quickly became 3120!

The movement hasn’t looked back since!

Transforming the world isn’t about fancy words, glitzy entertainment, manipulating crowds or man-made methods of attraction.   The only hope for our world is transformation through the power of the Holy Spirit. The same Spirit that was at work in Jerusalem infilling those early believers on Pentecost can be at work in us. The same power that moved as a mighty rushing wind can blow through Flint! The same God who lit the fires of revival back then has told us to pray that God’s kingdom would come to Flint as it is in heaven! Pentecost can happen in the land flowing with Vernors and Koegels!

Let’s pray for a modern Pentecost to happen to us!

 

My brother went to New York City when I was in the third grade and brought back a rubber rat as a souvenir for me.  

I loved the rat. It was the perfect gift. My mom hated it.

There is something you should know about my sweet dearly departed mother. While from time to time she may have sung slightly off key the great hymn “All creatures of our God and King…” she didn’t mean it. The truth is she hated God’s critters.

 She hated mice.

She hated lice.

She hated rats.

She hated bats.

She hated snakes.

She hated bugs.

She hates things

that hide under rugs. (I feel like Dr. Seuss).

Knowing this fact did not prevent me from strategically placing my New York souvenir throughout the house. For instance, I would put my rat in the cheese tray of our refrigerator (a perfectly legitimate storage place for a rubber rodent), and then I would wait for my mom to get some shredded cheddar. At the moment of discovery, my mom would let loose a scream that would make the producers of any cheap horror flick proud. No matter where I was in the city, I knew my rat had been found. The woman could holler. My mom knew the rat was rubber, still she would scream every time as if she encountered a living and breathing cousin of Chuck E. Cheese.

One day my rubber rat went “a missing,” and while my mom never claimed responsibility for the disappearance, looking back now I do recall a hint of a smile whenever I inquired on the whereabouts of my rubbery friend.

My poor mother endured much more than the “old hidden rubber rat trick.”  There were trips to emergency rooms (my brother found himself there more than the rest of us); refereeing sibling arguments (after one disagreement, she made my sister and brother hold hands and smile at each other. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment!); there were meals to prepare (her specialty: stuffed cabbage); sporting events and concerts to attend; cleaning, laundry and all the other household duties; and while not loving the critters she still welcomed into our family dogs, hamsters, turtles, fish and a salamander named Sam. (One lesson learned: Don’t attempt to teach your pet turtle how to fetch in the driveway, at the same moment that your mom is returning home from the grocery store. That story does not have a happy ending—especially for the turtle. Let’s just say, he never learned to fetch.). All this to say my mom earned each and every white hair on her head.

This Sunday is Mother’s Day! It’s a day to honor all our moms (white haired and otherwise) and to tell them thanks for all they have done.   So take time to say “Thanks”– even if your mom accidentally squished your pet turtle or in some other way was less than perfect. Don’t let Mother’s Day pass without thinking of and/or praying for the lady that brought you into the world and in most cases did so much more. Or if you are like me, and your mom is no longer on planet earth— remember the happy times, let go of the bad times and rejoice that God is Lord of all!

 

In Matthew 22:21 when questioned about paying taxes Jesus said, “So give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.” (You would have thought the chapter and verse in Matthew’s gospel would have been 10:40, but I digress.)  

Every year about this time, I wish Jesus had said something like, “forget paying your stinking taxes” or even “if the government is corrupt or full of hot air or in some other way messed up then you get a pass.” Remember Jesus died on a Roman cross, you’d have thought he might have taken issue with an unjust government. But He didn’t say such things. What he did say was “Pay Caesar.” Jesus also said (in the same sentence no less) to also afford to God what is God’s. It seems that most law-abiding citizens grudgingly abide with the former, “Like death and taxes… everybody’s got to pay up;” but they tend to be a tad forgetful about the latter.

What does “giving God what is God’s” look like?

The fact is I owe God everything. I wouldn’t be here with out His divine intervention in my life. (You probably wouldn’t be here either). So I think “giving to God what is God’s” looks a lot like giving him first place in our lives; first place in our hearts; and first place in our priorities.

As frequently happens, Tax Day (April 15—or as it is known around our house, “Blood from a Turnip“ Day) and Holy Week fall in the same week. Maybe that’s the way it should be. We rendering to Caesar (or Uncle Sam) during the week and remember the journey of Jesus the rest of the week. When I focus on the price that was paid for my salvation, I am left to conclude as the old song proclaims: “All to Jesus I surrender, all to Him I freely give.” And in the end that’s what “rendering to God what is God’s” means. It’s giving him myself, not just what is on the bottom line of an IRS form.    

After nearly five months of looking on-line at hundreds of houses, visiting in person over 30 different domiciles, and putting an offer on two places (the first one had a little mold problem), tomorrow (finally oh so finally) we will gain possession of our home. 

In the last five months, we have sold our home in Kansas; moved across the country leaving behind a great church, many friends and our son; put most of our earthly possessions in a storage facility; lived for over four months in a borrowed condo of a former letter earner in two sports at Michigan State University and a week in the basement of another MSU fan (Sparties are good people, but I’m ready to wake up and holler, “This is Wolverine Country!”); endured with the rest of the brave and hardiest Michiganders the worst (or next to worst) winter on record; officiated at my own mother’s funeral and also said “Rest in Peace” to our dog;   involved in a fender bender (not my fault) and possibly hit a stop sign (my fault); dealt with health issues of Karla’s folks and released, Chronic Pain, my first book on my own health issues; all the while I have tried to learn the ropes, the faces and the rhythms of a brand new church.

I think it is safe to say we are ready to be settled in our own home.  In fact, I can’t wait. I’m anxious, nervous, expectant, and hope-filled.  Every morning I’ve been counting down the days (even hours) until we can call 6415 Wailea Court “home.” 

I think in some ways that’s how the Apostle Paul felt about heaven.  He couldn’t wait. Anxious. Nervous. Expectant. Hope-filled—Paul wrote: For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling   (2 Corinthians 5:1-2).   

Sometimes I groan for that too. The last words of the Bible express my heart on many days, “Come, Lord Jesus come!” (Revelation 22:20) 

I long for Jesus’ return. 

I long for the day when all things will be made new.

I get so tired of the current cultural wars that exist in and outside of the church.  I am increasingly finding myself on the opposite side of popular opinion. I find myself more and more labeled a hater when, in fact, I want to known as simply a follow the One who called us to love our neighbor.  I’ve grown weary of being characterized as intolerant (at best) and ignorant (at worst) because I refuse to rationalize what I believe are godly biblical standards. I want to be fighting for the things I am “for” not known for what I am “against.” I want to be an authentically hope-filled person who exemplifies what theologian Jurgen Moltman described:  “Genuine hope is not blind optimism. It is hope with open eyes, which sees the suffering and yet believes in the future.”  As I see it– our hope-filled future is in the one and only God who can make all things new. 

And so like I’ve been counting the days to get in my home, I’m counting the days for Jesus to re-create us and do a beautiful work through us.  I’m anxious, nervous, expectant and hope-filled for that day!  I can’t wait to see His Kingdom come in Flint as it is in Heaven. 

Come Lord Jesus, come!