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!

Chronic Pain: Finding Hope in the Midst of Suffering

Fat Tuesday was two days ago.  It is the day before the season of Lent begins.  In Michigan on Fat Tuesday we eat Pazcki (a polish jelly donut—twice the fat, twice the calories, and twice the yumminess of a regular donut).  In New Orleans Fat Tuesday is the end of Marti Gras and the end of the hedonistic revelry that has consumed that city for weeks.  Wherever you live, Fat Tuesday is supposed to be the end of our self-focused outlook on life (read: FAT chance).

Ash Wednesday was yesterday and is the first day in the season of Lent.  Many people attend services where the imposition of ashes is to remind the worshippers of the words from Genesis 3:19:  “For you were made from dust, and to dust you will return.” It’s the beginning of the time of preparation for the journey to the cross and eventually to Easter morning celebrations.  Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of a Christ-focused outlook.

There is no special adjective for today—the Thursday after Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday.  So I will offer these choice describers for this day:

WASH YOUR FOREHEAD THURSDAY

If you attended a service where Ashes were imposed– it’s a good day to wipe clean your forehead or tomorrow may be known as ZIT FILLED FRIDAY.  But don’t wipe clean the memories of commitments and sacrifices you have promised to keep for the next 40 days.

FIND-A-BOOK-TO-READ-THROUGH-LENT THURSDAY

This is not a shameless plug for the new, hot off the presses must-read book Chronic Pain by a certain handsome author (OK that was a shameless plug.  I apologize).  Rather choose a book that will help you keep your focus on what it means to be a follower of Jesus.  Recent books like Francis Chan’s Crazy Love or the Nazarene Publishing House’s Ashes to Fire or an oldie but still a goodie, Dietrich Bonheoffer’s The Cost of Discipleship are all good reads for the Season of Lent.

DON’T-FORGET-YOUR-COMMITMENT THURSDAY

Many people have decided to fast something during the season of Lent to help remind them of the sacrifice that Jesus made on their behalf.  Chocolate, coffee, Facebook and soda pop seem to be the favorite choices of most folks I know.  All those are fine choices, if every day they remind you of what Jesus did on the cross for you and if you didn’t choose to fast them because you “needed to lose a little weight anyway.”  Remember why you are fasting whatever it is you are fasting.

HELP-A-NEIGHBOR THURSDAY

Do you remember God’s words to the people during the prophet Amos’ day who were into showy worship and all the pomp and circumstance of offering sacrifices to God while at the same time they were oppressing the poor?

So God bluntly told them:

“I hate, I despise your religious festivals;
your assemblies are a stench to me. Even though you bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings,
I will not accept them.
Though you bring choice fellowship offerings,
I will have no regard for them. Away with the noise of your songs! I will not listen to the music of your harpBut let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream. (Amos 5:21-24)

The Warning:  Don’t just fast something during Lent so you can tell your friends what a wonderful Christian you are because you gave up chocolate for seven weeks—make a difference by letting justice and righteousness rule your day. Look around and notice the hurting and the troubled and decide to help a neighbor.  I seriously doubt that one homeless person is going to care if you decided to stop paying four bucks for a Starbucks coffee for the next 40 days, but they might be blessed if you used your that same four bucks to help end their suffering.

These are just a few suggestions for today.  Bottom line—let today (and every day) be known as LIVING-FOR-JESUS THURSDAY.

10.  Spoken by the students of Genesee County:  “Hello, Mr. Principal.  I know it’s snowed all night but please don’t cancel school.”

9.  “I love having a salty film on my car.”

8.  “I’m thankful for potholes—they make me long for the heavenly streets of gold that much more.”

7.  “Let’s go to Chipotle after snow shoveling the driveway.”  (FYI–I am starting my own personal campaign to bring a Chipotle Restaurant to Flint).

6.  “Give me a Gold Medal—my car just did a perfect triple Lutz on I-475.”

5. “It’s all the way up to 30 degrees kids.  Time for shorts and flip flops.”

4.  “Why would anyone go to Florida when they can go ice fishing on Mott Lake?”

3.  “I’m going to miss these icy and freezing cold days this summer.”

2.  “Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow!”

1.  Spoken by the pastors in Genesee County:  “I love it that every Saturday night or Sunday morning we’ve had a snowstorm.  It does wonders for church attendance!”

The weather people are saying today will be another yucky, wintery, rainy, icy mix of precipitation and wind, but it’s only Thursday and Sunday is coming!  By Sunday the roads should be clear and our hearts ready for what God is going to do!

You can sign up for my weekly email sent directly to you at centralnazarene.com

Jesus said, “Go and make disciples of all nations baptizing them in the Name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.”             

He did not say, “Go and make good citizens” or “Go and make Nazarenes” but rather he said, “Go and make disciples and baptize them.”

We have our marching orders.  Make disciples and then baptize them.

Since Jesus said it, I am persuaded that EVERY believer should be baptized.

It’s an event to remember.  

I remember very well the day I was baptized.  I was ten or eleven years old. The church we attended did not have a baptismal tank, so I was baptized on the Eastern Michigan District Nazarene Campgrounds.  The campgrounds has had a name change since then, it’s now called “Water’s Edge Campgrounds.”  

Back when I was a boy, boys and girls did not swim together.  Mixed swimming was an absolute no-no on the Nazarene campgrounds.  So there was a “girl’s lake” and a “boy’s lake.”

The boy’s lake was the nicer of the two lakes.  It was a mostly sandy lake with only an occasional leech.  It had a really big dock that brave young men could dive off.  I am not great swimmer, diver and probably not particularly brave.  I never jumped off the dock. Compared to the girl’s lake, it was nice. Boys and girls both swim in it now.  So, it’s not called the “Boy’s Lake” anymore— now it’s called “Sandy Bottom Lake.” There is a big water slide that goes into it.  I think there is still an occasional leech or two— where boys and girls can discover them.  

The girl’s lake, on the other hand, did not have a cool dock. It had a lot of seed weed. The water wasn’t very clear.  I believe it was home to the annual convention of leeches and every other gross and creepy water creature. I don’t know why the boys got the good lake and the girls got the bad lake — that’s just the way it was.  As far as I know, N.O.W. never protested the lake configuration.  Maybe they should have.  The girl’s lake also had a name change it is now called  “McGuire Lake.”  

Somewhat reluctantly I must admit to you that I was baptized in McGuire Lake.  That’s right—the GIRL’S lake!  I, your manly preacher (I like to think I’m manly—even if my swimming and diving skills are suspect and I’m not particularly brave– especially if leeches are involved) was baptized in the girl’s lake. I’m not sure why baptisms were held in the girl’s lake, they just were.  Boys and girls—we were all baptized in the girl’s lake.  While I’m making true confessions of my baptism, let me also inform you that the minister that baptized me (my pastor at the time) later ran off with a bunch of money from the church.  He was an embezzler. He never went to jail— probably should have.  So I was baptized in the girl’s lake by a crook.           

Why did I tell you all of this?  

Baptism is not about the water. Girl’s lake, boy’s lake, lots of water, a little water—the location or the amount of water is not what’s important (hopefully there are no leeches).  It’s a symbol of what God has done.  And it’s not about the minister who does the dunking (or sprinkling or pouring) during the baptizing.  It’s all about what God has done (not some preacher)!  It’s a symbol of the glorious grace of God, when He washed our sins away. 

I love baptism times—and this Sunday we will be celebrating with 20 or so people the great news that they have had their sins all washed away!  If you have had a change of heart—bring a change of clothes on Sunday!  It’s not too late to be baptized (just shoot me or Pastor Andy an email so we can plan the morning).  Let’s celebrate what God is doing in the hearts and lives of men and women!     

            

This past Monday my mom had heart surgery.  The surgery went well, but an hour later for an unknown reason her heart stopped.  The doctors kept her going for a couple of days, but on Wednesday afternoon when they unplugged the ECMO machine that was acting as her lungs and heart—she quickly, quietly and peacefully went to her heavenly home.

If my mom had been in the Salvation Army (instead a long time Nazarene) they would have said, “She was promoted to glory.” She is in heaven!

I don’t know everything there is to know about heaven.  The old song we used to sing said, “When we all get to heaven what a day of rejoicing that will be.”  I think that’s true.  Here’s what else I know:

My mom exchanged…

• The potholed lined streets of Detroit for the Golden Boulevards of Heaven
• A two bedroom condo in Plymouth, Michigan for a mansion in Glory.
• A slight fear of water (she never learned to swim) to cannonballing in the Crystal Sea.
• The daily missing my dad (who went to heaven nearly five years ago) to a grand reunion  (no doubt including Neapolitan Ice Cream in the Welcome Home reception)

And best of all…

• She is no longer simply singing about Jesus at the Plymouth Church of the Nazarene—now she is SEEING Jesus.  Her faith is now sight.  She has heard those most wonderful words, “Well done, my good and faithful servant!”

We Christians have a different view of life and death than non-Christians.  Death is not the end. My good byes yesterday afternoon at 3:09 in room 548 in the Cardio ICU at Henry Ford Hospital in Detroit were not the final words.  I believe Paul’s words to the Thessalonians are true 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)

All this to say, “Thank you to everyone who offered prayers for my family and me.”  We know the Lord has been with us.  And now– Mama is with Jesus.  She is rejoicing. Who can be terribly sad about that?   We have the hope that we will see her and all the saints who have gone on before us!  Great is His faithfulness!

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

 

New Book Offers Hope to Those with Chronic Pain

February 3, 2014 (Kansas City, MO) Nearly 100 million Americans are affected by chronic pain, according to the U.S. Pain Foundation, and many of them struggle with not just the physical and emotional consequences of pain, but spiritual ones, as well.

“I am a pastor with chronic pain,” says author Rob Prince. “Having lived most of my life battling migraines, surviving a subarachnoid hem­orrhage, and constantly dealing with issues related to head­aches, I am acutely aware that not all headache relief comes from a bottle of pills or the various treatments available. The spiritual aspect of pain relief is what this book addresses.”

Prince assures that this book is not about getting rid of pain in five easy steps or about having enough faith to be healed. “Even with the Botox injections that I receive every three months, I still have three or four severe headaches a week,” Prince says. “So this book is more of an ‘I know what you are going through and God is still God even when you experience ex­cruciating pain’ book.”

Prince hopes that those who suffer from chronic pain, as well as those who have friend and family with chronic pain, will find help in this book, and that those bat­tling chronic pain will come to see God at work as he has in his own journey.

 

Endorsements

“The book offers renewed hope. I think every Christian who has experienced the dark night of the soul should read this book.” Frank Moore, Director of Center for Faith & Culture, Olivet Nazarene University

“In a world that seeks the easy answers for the problems of life, this book brings us to the rough places, about how a Christian deals with suffering.” Dr. Carla Sunberg, District Superintendent, East Ohio District

“Rob’s frank and transparent description is a guidebook for how each of us should face difficult circumstances. Whether the difficulty is chronic, like his headaches, or acute, like losing a job, there are common elements with which all can relate.” Danny R. Welch, Ph.D., Professor & Chair of Cancer Biology, Hall Family Professorship in Molecular Medicine, Kansas Bioscience Authority Eminent Scholar, The Kansas University Medical Center, Associate Director for Basic Sciences – The University of Kansas Cancer Center

 

Chronic Pain: Finding Hope in the Midst of Suffering will be released in April 2014 and can be pre-ordered at NPH.com Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com

My mom is not as young as she used to be.  I’m not sure if she would care that I printed her age or not (taking no risks and with the fear of being “grounded” at age 50), let’s just say she was born sometime during the Roosevelt Administration (In case you were wondering–Franklin not Teddy.  Oops, I think I just got grounded.).

Up until now, my mom has been relatively healthy all things considered.  Oh she has had a few health scares down through the years (who hasn’t?), but all that changes soon as she will have two heart valves replaced (an aortic and a mitral valve are the trouble makers).  So like an Art Van Furniture Store door buster special—she is getting a ‘two for one” special: Two valves. One surgery.

This past Monday, I was able to spend the day with my mom at the hospital. It was just mama and me (and her roommate Mrs. Price).  We didn’t do much. We talked about family and friends. We talked about her bland hospital cafeteria lunch and the bruises on her arms from the IVs.  We watch the Game Show network.  (J. Peterman, of Seinfeld fame, not Richard Dawson was hosting The Family Feud.  He was not wearing an Urban Sombrero).  I helped her put her socks on when she was ready to get out of bed and we took a walk down the hall so she could get a little exercise (neither one of us will be confused with Usain Bolt).

Nothing earth shattering happened at the Henry Ford Hospital in Detroit with mom and me on Monday. It reminded me how thankful I am for my mom and my sister, Beth, who has spent many, many similar days with my mom.  Still it was a good day for mama and me.

When Moses brought down the Top Ten instructions for the people, number five on the hit parade reminded us to “honor your father and mother”  (Exodus 20:12).   Obeying that particular commandment according to my Jr. Church teacher, Mrs. Cones, meant no back talking and no arguing when your parents said, “eat your vegetables.” Usually, it was kind of a “behave or burn” type of lesson.  Mrs. Cones was a no nonsense kind of lady—especially when it came to obeying your parents and eating your veggies.

Now that my mom is aging, I view the commandment a little differently.  To honor an aging parent means to respect them; treat them with dignity and listen to their worries and concerns.  To honor an aging parent is being there (and when you can’t be there it’s calling them).  To honor an aging parent means that sometimes you break appointments and adjust schedules, just so you can sit and watch a two families trying to name “Things at a Picnic” on the Family Feud.

It was an honor to be with my mom this week.

As you think of it utter a prayer for my mom as surgery and treatments are looming.

Dr. Jeren Rowell, District Superintendent of the Kansas City District of the Church of the Nazarene, endorsed my new book:

“Rob Prince is among the happiest, funniest, non-angry people I know. It is easy to forget that he deals with chronic pain. Across the eight years that I have served alongside Rob, including “Roberto” (you’ll have to read the book), I cannot identify one time when he turned my attention to his pain. How can this be? The answer is revealed in this engaging book, and it is not what you might think. There is no easy formula here, no simple answer, no “three steps to a pain-free life.” What is here, is the profound testimony of one who has learned to lean into Jesus so completely that the power of Christ is made perfect in his weakness (2 Cor. 12:9). This is really not a book about pain so much as a book on prayer; the kind of prayer that emerges when faith is being built through suffering. Regardless of the nature of your “headache,” you will find here the kind of wisdom that at once disciplines and strengthens, corrects and gives hope.”

Chronic Pain: Finding Hope in the Midst of Suffer is to be release in April, 2014

 

You can preorder at Barnesandnoble.com or by following this link:

Chronic Pain: Finding Hope in the Midst of Suffering

I think I am going to pitch an idea to the people at the HGTV (Home and Garden).  It would be called House Hunters (Preacher edition).  The show would feature a (slightly prone to live in any place that has running water) pastor and his (slightly pickier) wife.  The pastor’s wife (who will remain nameless to protect the innocent or the writer of this article) prefers a house where the kitchen was designed by someone like Martha Stewart not Martha Washington.  There would not be a lot of action and adventure in this TV show— unless you count the times that this nameless pastor’s wife rolls her eyes and says, “A caveman would not live here.”   I’m not sure anyone would watch such a show—I just know after being in 27 houses in the last two months (but who’s counting) and looking at hundreds more on line I’m ready to put this phase of our life behind us.

We’ve been in houses that smelled so bad it would make a skunk run for cover.  Another house had water in the basement.  The house we were in last night had all of its copper pipes stolen.  (Good news: There isn’t water in the basement.  Bad News:  There isn’t water anywhere else either).  One house was owned by the Bishops (of Bishop Airport fame)— the price was sky high.  Another house in Flint was called “The Governor’s Mansion.”  I’m not sure if the governor ever lived there but I know you’d have to make the former Illinois governor’s salary (that is– salary plus illegal kickbacks) to heat the place in the winter.

Helpful people have informed us of different homes for sale in their neighborhoods.  We’ve been told everything from:

“It’s a beautiful home.  I think they are asking $399,000.”  (Obviously they don’t understand a pastor’s pay package.  We don’t get illegal kickbacks.  The Lord and the courts in Illinois frown on such things) to “The neighbors have bars on their windows but it’s a nice place.”  (Ummm… I think the former Illinois governor could say that about his neighbors in the state penitentiary).

All this to say “the Fresh Prince of Bristol” doesn’t need a castle—but a three-bedroom ranch would be nice.

I have looked to the Bible for help in our house hunting. 

Jesus’ story of the two houses in Matthew 7 reminded me that I should stay away from beachfront property during hurricane season (not a problem in Flint). Instead I should look for a house built on a rock—because even when it’s raining cats and dogs— the house stands firm.  Of course, our problem these days isn’t rain but snow.  Depending on the size of the rock on which the house is built, I’m not sure my car’s traction would get me up the icy and slippery rock’s driveway—which presents a whole other problem. That’s just plain silly. 

We all know Jesus wasn’t talking about house hunters in His story.  His lesson was for a greater purpose.  The point—wherever you live (in a shack or in a mansion) make sure you are well grounded in Him.  Our earthly home isn’t nearly as important as our eternal accommodations.  So pay attention to how you are building your life.

At this current rate, we may be looking for a house until Jesus returns (and then it won’t matter where we are living), still in the meantime I want to be building a life that is well grounded on Him.  I hope you are too!

         

Mr. Dan Rexroth (President CEO of John Knox Village, one of the United States largest retirement communities) endorses “Chronic Pain: Finding Hope in the Midst of Suffering”:

“I don’t have migraines.  I never even get headaches, yet I can relate to this book.  Rob Prince has helped us understand, whatever our struggle that God is with us. We all have pain in this world; it is not a matter of if, but when. Rob has inspired us not to let the headache win.  God is sovereign, and our momentary problems should all fade in light of eternity. This is a great book to prepare you for your life’s next speed bump.”  — Dan Rexroth

Chronic Pain: Finding Hope in the Midst of Suffering is to be released in April, 2014. It can be preordered by following the link: https://www.amazon.com/author/robprince or preordering through Barnesandnoble.com or NPH.com

“Each of our lives is somehow affected by pain. Sometimes the pain is our personal physical or emotional suffering. However, other times the suffering and pain of our loved ones becomes our pain.  Pastor Rob Prince’s book provides a light hearted yet serious reminder that God is on our side and only through Him can we survive the “stinky”  or painful parts of life.  I am blessed to sit in Pastor Rob’s congregation each week and now feel honored to watch as God works in the lives of others through him and his migraines. “

N. Jeannie Williams, MD

“This new book by Rob Prince powerfully addresses some of the most troublesome questions of the Christian life as he takes readers on his personal journey of living with almost constant pain.  He uses his life experience to open a big window into demonstrating how we can have a vital relationship with Christ and a meaningful ministry in His kingdom work without having all of our questions answered about why good people struggle with innocent pain and suffering.  The book offers renewed hope and constant reminders that God is continually at work in our lives giving us daily victory!  I think every Christian who has experienced the dark night of the soul should read this book.” 

Chronic Pain: Finding Hope int he Midst of Suffering can be pre-ordered on Amazon.com or BarnesandNoble.com (Release date is April, 2014 from Beacon Hill Press)

 

5)  A volcano-like eruption from one of the bed sheet clad angels as a result of the combustible mixture of  three candy canes, two donuts, a handful of peanuts, a cup of warm eggnog, the Christmas program jitters, bright lights on the platform, and a possible touch of a flu bug.  Simply put the angels will no longer be “sweetly singing o’er the plains.” (It will be more like barfing o’er the shepherds and wisemen). 

4)  The hoard of parental paparazzi toting video cameras and iPhones causes such a disturbance vying for front row seats fifteen minutes before the program begins that two ushers, four security team members and Sister Annabelle are forced to put a headlock on one dad and escort a grandpa out of the sanctuary by his Santa Claus neck tie.  Interestingly, the organist prelude music selection during the commotion is  “God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman.”      

3)   The Barn Yard Brawl.  When toddlers dressed up as cows and lambs for a cuteness effect in the nativity scene, begin to butt heats and act very much real cattle and sheep.  The ensuing brouhaha causes the bathrobe-wearing shepherds to become junior Rambos using their staffs to put down the rebellion; the angels run for the hills; and the wisemen lose their Burger King borrowed crowns.  (I will neither confirm nor deny that years ago a certain Olivet attending, freshman preacher’s kid was involved in such a scandalous Christmas production. I sincerely hope our poor program director has finally ended her therapy sessions).  

2).  Two words:  Pyrotechnics malfunction

and  1.)  When through the message of the Christmas carols sung and the parts recited– one (just one– although even more people would make the morning more memorable—still when one…) boy or girl, mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, brother, sister, neighbor, second cousin three times removed, or anyone else discover that Jesus Christ really is “God with us” and that Christmas is all about God becoming man and displaying His tremendous forgiving love for all people everywhere. 

 

 

There is only one miracle story that is told by all four Gospels.  Do you remember what it is?

It’s not the healing of Lazarus, Jesus walking on water or calming the storm. Here’s a clue: since this is Thanksgiving week think– Big Meal.  

The miracle told by the four Gospel writers is biggest meal in the New Testament (bigger than any of your thanksgiving spreads—although no turkeys were involved).  It’s when Jesus took a boys lunch and catered a fish and bread feast for 5,000 hungry men and their families.  

All four Gospels say something similar to John when he wrote:  “Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish.” (John 6:11). 

Notice what Jesus did.  He gave thanks for the miracle before the miracle occurred. 

Notice what he didn’t do.  None of the Gospel writers say that Jesus asked for anything.  He simply gave thanks.  For instance Jesus didn’t ask the Father for enough food to feed the entire town of Davison (population 5,173) or asking for a VG’s truck to breakdown in the neighborhood. He doesn’t even pray for a “manna from heaven” redo.  No requests. None. He simply gave thanks for what He had.   Jesus gave thanks for the little bit, and God multiplied it until there was more than enough.  An argument could be made that the difference between 12 baskets of leftovers (burp) and 4,999 meals too few was a prayer of thanksgiving.

So often people focus on what they don’t have.  Jesus didn’t do that.  He didn’t pray, “O God, what are we going to do?  We are 4,999 meals short. We are in big trouble.”  Instead, he was grateful for the five biscuits and two little fishies and prayed something like:  “O God thank you for this generous boy and his lunch.”    Jesus wasn’t focused on the 4,999 meals he didn’t have; he was focused on the one meal he did have. 

That’s how I want to be– giving thanks for what God has provided and trusting Him for anything that might be lacking.  I tell people all the time—God knows what I need, when I need it.  I can trust Him!  You can too!

This Thanksgiving be thankful for all that you have—whether it’s great or small.  Be thankful.  And trust God for what you don’t have—be faithful.

 

Warm welcomes.

New friends.

Nametags galore.

Enthusiastic singing.

Empowered praying.

Generous giving.

Newly installed.

Thankfully called.

Overwhelmingly blessed.

Don’t trip.

Don’t misspeak.

Avoid blockheadedness.

Communicate relevantly.

Preach Biblically.

Teach truthfully.

Share faithfully.

Hope offered.

Renewal promised.

Commitments made.

Communion shared.

Revival comes.

God honored.

Jesus praised.

Spirit filled!

Great Day!

If you are in Flint this week—please, join us.  Let’s begin this adventure together!

Mecca:  The birthplace of Mohammad and considered the holiest city in Islam.  All devout Muslims are to make a pilgrimage (hajj) to Mecca at least once in their lifetime.

Mecca (Nazarene Version):  The hub of Nazarene-dom.  The greater Kansas City area is home to the church headquarters (known now as the Global Ministry Center or GMC); the Nazarene Publishing House; the Nazarene Theological Seminary (at least for the time being); and one of the Nazarene universities (MidAmerica Nazarene University).  There is no required pilgrimage to Kansas City but if there was I think it would be as much for the barbeque and jazz as it would be for our religious heritage.

For the last eight years, I have pastored in Mecca.  Lenexa Central Church is the only Nazarene church in the same municipality as the Global Ministry Center of the Church of the Nazarene.  We have hosted general church gatherings and several people in the congregation receive their salary because some person somewhere dropped some money in an offering plate and that local church gave to the World Evangelism Fund (WEF).

Prior to my eight-year foray in the hub of Nazo-world, often I heard at preacher’s meetings and other gatherings a little distain for “Kansas City.”  The majority opinion seemed to speak of “Kansas City” as if it was the evil empire in Star Wars or the IRS or worse (it’s hard to be worse than an organization led by Darth Vader).  I heard how “Kansas City” issued edicts that were unrealistic to the “real world.”   “Kansas City” was filled with waste and mismanagement.  “Kansas City” didn’t get the grass roots.  And of course, the real question and consternation:  Why does “Kansas City” need so much of our money?  (Sadly, even in the church it all boils down to money.) The World Evangelism Fund (WEF) was likened to “franchise fees” or “taxes.” The Publishing House materials were expensive and the seminary was a bubbling caldron of liberalism not worthy of our investment.

This weekend a moving van will be taking me away from my “Meccan” home and deliver me to a place (Flint, Michigan) where if someone mentions the “GMC” they think of a truck manufactured by General Motors and not the Global Ministry Center of anything.  If I tell someone I am a “Nazarene” in Flint, I am just as likely to have my new Michigander friend ask, “Did you say ‘Nasty Green’ or Navy bean’?”

“Neither,” I will say, “I said, Nazarene.’ It’s a church. I pastor a Church of the Nazarene.”  A blank stare is what usually follows.

So as I head back to the world where most of the people who do not attend a Nazarene church (and probably a few people who do) couldn’t describe a Nazarene if Phineas Bresee was standing in front of them.  Here’s what I have learned living in Mecca (Nazarene version) contrary to some of the notions I have heard:

The people I know who work at the GMC—love Jesus, love the church, and most generally could be making more money working at a job someplace other than 17001 Prairie Star Parkway.  They work hard.  Many of them view their job as a ministry.  They do this all for little recognition.  Little pay.  And too often, too little support from those outside of Mecca (Nazarene version).

No one is getting rich at the GMC.

Not the administrative assistants.

Not the ministry leaders.

And not the general superintendents.

There are no slush funds.

There are no extravagant parties.

I did not witness obvious waste and mismanagement.

Your WEF dollars are doing what we were told they would do—funding the mission of making “Christ-like disciples in the nations.”

Would I spend the money differently if I were the Nazarene Czar?  I am sure I would spend a little less here, and maybe a little more there.  But overall I would not make drastic changes.  That’s no different than if I gave you the opportunity to audit my personal spending habits.  You would probably spend my money a little differently than I have spent it  (I’m guessing you would not have as much Detroit Tiger apparel in your closet).

Likewise, the Nazarene Publishing House is not rolling in cash.  In fact, it’s tough these days in the publishing world.  Have you noticed how newspapers are going the way of the horse and buggy? If we want materials printed or disseminated from a Wesleyan-Arminian, Biblical worldview, rather than griping over the price of a the toddler Sunday school material or the cost of a book we should be in daily prayer for our Publishing House and then order one of the Publishing House’s newest, not-even-off-the-presses-yet-book like, Chronic Pain: Finding hope in the Midst of Suffering.  (I apologize for that shameless, self-serving plug).  As a soon-to-be Nazarene Publishing House author, I can assure you I am not taking any trips around the world or buying any Rolex watches with the royalties from my upcoming book.

The Nazarene Theological Seminary is not a hot bed of liberalism. While none of the NTS professors attended the church I pastored, several students and support staff have attended.  Again, they are not living in an ivory tower.  They do not have their heads in the thin air of academia.  They are not closet New Agers.  The people I know from the seminary love Jesus; love the Church of the Nazarene; and have a deep understanding and appreciation of our heritage.

All this to say, Mecca is not the evil empire.

As I leave Mecca, I do so with a deep appreciation for the church and the people that are leading the way.  Far from disillusioned or with some bitter taste from being immersed in our Nazarene world for eight years, I am departing with a renewed hope for the future. I love our message of holiness and heart purity and believe it is exactly what our world needs to hear. I love our willingness to be the hands and feet of Jesus and compassionately serve wherever a need arises.  I love our commitment to make “Christ like disciples in the Nations.” I love the church.

Good bye Mecca!  You’ve made me proud to be a Nazarene.

With my upcoming transition from one great church to the next– here are my seven tips for managing the period between pastors well.

1.  Don’t Waste this time.  Use the pastoral interim time to seek the Lord.  Pray. Really Pray.  Fast even.  Your church needs you to use this time to call out to God for your new pastor, his/her family, those young in their faith who are experiencing the first pastoral transition, and those older in their faith who may be reluctant to change. Prayer should be your first priority.

2.  Don’t Watch from the sidelines. Be ready to involve yourself in the ministries of the church.  Step in.  Volunteer.  Ask one of the remaining pastoral staff how you can help.

3.  Don’t Warp the truth.  Refuse to fall into the temptation of murmuring, gossiping or allowing any unwholesome talk to come from you.  Keep your heart and words focused on God’s heart and truth.

4.  Don’t Wander from home.  Sometime sheep take this time to check out other pastures.  That’s Baaaad (I apologize for the poor sheep humor).  Your church is a community– stay near it.  Draw closer.  Don’t walk away when God’s people need you more than ever.

5.  Don’t Wallet your tithe.  The bills go on even after the pastor has left.  Tithing is not giving your hard earned money to the pastor or any institution. Tithing is the faithful response to the blessings that God has given you.  So why stop responding in faithfulness just because the pastor has left?

6.  Don’t Wish for yesterday. The recent past may have been great, but the future can be even greater if you believe in the God that taught us to pray, “Thy Kingdom come on earth (in your home town) as it is in heaven.”  The town where you live might be wonderful, but it’s not heaven. God’s will isn’t being fully realized in your home town as it is in heaven– not yet anyway. There is still work to be done and lives to be changed.  All this to say, with God’s leading– don’t look back– He is making all things new!  The best is yet to come!

7.  Don’t Worry for tomorrow. Jesus asked it, “Does God take care of the lilies and the birds?”  Of course!  Then God will take care of his church.  It’s not my church or your church– it’s God’s church and He will take care of it.  So why worry?  He’s got this one!  Deuteronomy 32:4 says it best:  The Lord is a mighty rock, and he never does wrong. God can always be trusted…! (Deuteronomy 32:4 CEV)  Trust God as your church transitions from one pastor to the next.  Trust Him it’s His church!  

 

 

With the Detroit Tigers about to make their way in to the World Series again (I hope), I give you this baseball quiz:

Can you name this ball player (feel free to hum the theme song from Jeopardy while answering the question)?

He played in the Major Leagues for 22 years (one more year than George Brett);

Had a career batting average of .289 (higher than Hall of Famers Johnny Bench and Ernie Banks);

Hit 174 career home runs (more than Hall of Famers Ty Cobb and “Homerun” Baker);

and Played for the Kansas City Royals for parts of two seasons (which is more than Kirk Gibson and Harmon Killebrew, but sadly is not more than Kyle Davies).

Do any Denny Matthews wannabes (The Kansas City Royal’s Hall of Fame broadcaster) have an answer?

One more clue: In the early morning hours of October 26, 1986, in the tenth inning of the sixth game of the World Series, with his team leading the series three games to two, opposing player, Mookie Wilson, tapped a weak ground ball in his general direction. The loser in a race between a snail and a turtle would have been faster than the slow rolling baseball. All our mystery player had to do was reach down, grab the ball, touch first base, the inning would have been over and his team would have had a chance to win the championship– instead the ball dribbled through his legs. Whoops! The Mets won the game and the next game too and this ball player has forever been known for the biggest gaff in World Series history.

As all Boston Red Sox fans know (sorry for bringing up a painful memory, Larry and Lynne Bollinger)– I speak of Bill Buckner.

Except for that error, Bill Buckner had an outstanding career. A player with similar statistics today would have more money in the bank than T. Boone Pickens (well, not quite than much). Instead, the only thing that most people remember him for is the ball that gently rolled through his legs. Poor Bill Buckner, we should remember all the great plays he made in his 22 year career, the good times he provided or the year when he led the league in hitting, but instead we remember that one error in his second to last baseball game. He suffered such heartache and distress over that one game, he moved from Boston to Idaho (where presumably Idahoans know Boise State football and potatoes but not baseball). Needless to say, the baseball career of Bill Buckner did not end well.

I don’t want to have the same thing said about my pastoring at Central ( and Karla refuses to move to Idaho). I’ve been pastoring about as long as Bill Buckner played major league baseball. I’ve been blessed with a wonderful “career” (I don’t like calling pastoring a “career.” It’s more “calling” than “career.” But you know what I mean). These last eight years in particular have been terrific. God has done great things at Central Church. We have seen some mighty victories, and now as I am about to leave– I certainly don’t want the proverbial ball to roll through my legs.

I want to finish well.

Finishing a pastorate well means being faithful to the last amen.

It is saying “thank you” with the same fervor as a hot dog vendor at Kauffman Stadium.

It is reminding the congregation that they are like a ball park plate of nachos without the cheese sauce–they are not done yet and there is more goodness to come! In fact, our Lord has a lot of good things in store!

It’s preparing the way for the next pastor– so that he/she can take off running (like ol’ Mookie darting to first base).

It’s recognizing just how blessed I have been to pastor such a great church and wonderful people (unlike the 1986 Red Sox– you’re all champs in my book!)

The Apostle Paul didn’t know an “infield fly” from a “fruit fly” and he certainly never heard of Bill Buckner, but he used a sports analogy when he wrote Timothy on how he was finishing well (not simply in ministry but in life). He wrote: I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. (2 Timothy 4:7) My prayer is that declaration will be said of you and me. Let’s finish well.

One Hour.

That’s what most of us devote to God in public worship each week― just one hour. (I know, I know― some of us spend two hours. I am usually in three worship gatherings on Sundays― so I spend between three and four hours in public worship gatherings. There are some people that probably do more than that― but for most people reading this little article― it’s one hour.)

There are exactly 168 hours in a week. If we attend one hour of worship a week, then we devote to God in public worship exactly .59% of our week to Him.

In the course of the year there are 8,760 hours. If we miss a few worship gatherings because of sickness, vacations, a couple of Jimmy’s soccer games, a Chiefs’ game, our second cousin’s wedding at the Precious Moments Chapel in Carthage, a get-away weekend with friends, etc then we will not even spend one half of one percent of our time in public worship in a year.

Less than one half of one percent!

I know that for many― the Sunday morning worship gathering is not their only time of worship. Lots of Christians spend time in private worship in prayer and Bible reading at home; they are involved in a life group or small group or Sunday school class where worship takes place; and they attempt to worship God throughout the day. There are a lot of people like that. But I also know there are plenty of people whose only time of worship is that one hour in church. That’s it. One hour. Less than one half of one percent of their lives in the course of a year is spent worshipping the God who created them, loves them, and died for them.

If we are going to be in the world for 8,760 hours a year― with all of the downward influences, pressures and temptations that draw our attention away from God― then the one half of one percent of our time that we intentionally set aside to corporately worship God is vital.

Because I know that is true, as a pastor I try my very best to protect that hour. We gather on Sunday morning (or Sunday night) to worship God. Period. That is what the sacred hour is all about.

It’s about worshipping the Creator of the Universe.

It’s about having a divine encounter with the One who loves us more than we can imagine.

It’s about being captivated by the Savior who came and died for us.

It’s about imagining and seeking that His will would be done on earth as it is in heaven.

The Bible says when two or more are gathered in Jesus’ name, then He is with us.   So we don’t have to invite Jesus to be in our gatherings; instead He invites us to be fully engaged in worship and to give Him all of our praise and all our attention.

As such, worship gatherings are not about seeing friends (although that happens).

It’s not about hearing the latest news on Uncle Joe’s battle with gout (although sometimes that happens).

It’s not about finding a place to sit and relax while our kids are in the nursery (although that sometimes happens).

It’s not about noticing if the music is too loud, too soft, too new, or too old. Or if the preacher was wearing jeans or a suit. Or if the room was too bright or too dark or too hot or too cold (although occasionally we focus on those things instead of God too).

It just makes sense to me that if we are only giving one half of one percent of our year to public worship then that whole time (however brief it is) should be about Jesus.

Only Jesus.

So I hope you will worship God someplace this week. Gather in Jesus’ name― singing praises to Him, hear from His word, celebrate the Lord’s supper and expect God to transform that one half of one percent of our lives into something that will sustain us, motivate us and captivate our imaginations for what God can do with the other 99.5% of our time.

The Bible is infested with bug references.  Ironically, the praying mantis is not one of them.  Although several other insects and flying creatures are referenced.  Egypt had trouble with a plague of locust. The spies coming back from the Promised Land said they looked like grasshoppers compared to the Canaanites (as we will see– being compared to a bug is never a good thing, by the way). Then, there is this “tasty” little verse buried in Leviticus: “There are, however, some flying insects that walk on all fours that you may eat: those that have jointed legs for hopping on the ground.” (Leviticus  11:21)  For the record the author of Leviticus states that grasshoppers are fine dining and bacon is a “no no.” (Burp!). Not all is bad news toward bugs, Solomon commends the ants who though small work hard in Proverbs 30.  And according to the gospels, John the Baptist ate bugs and not bacon (obviously he read Leviticus but had never visited a Bob Evans restaurant).

 My backyard is infested with bugs too.  Mostly cicadas, chiggers and spiders. Did you know it is only the male cicadas that makes those annoying loud, shrill sounds? (Gentlemen insert your own joke here about shrill noises coming from a different gender inside your home rather than outside of your home.  Before inserting your cicada/wife joke, grab your pillow you might be sleeping on the couch tonight). Chiggers are not my friends either.  They have bitten me in places no bug should ever venture.  Karla’s sworn enemy is the spider and has been known to call the neighbor to kill a particularly large eight-legged monster that had taken up residence in our basement.  And this week, a bee bit my dog on right on the nose in our back yard.  She was not a happy puppy.  Suffice it to say, like the Egyptians during Moses’ time we’ve been saying, “No more bugs.”

 Bugs in the Bible and bugs in my backward are not the only bugs that bug me.  When people take on insect like qualities that’s even worse than a swarm of bed bugs in your king size posturepedic.  For instance, have you ever noticed how gossipers sound a lot like bumble bees just buzz, buzz, buzzing with meaningless noise.  At least bees make honey– gossipers make nothing but trouble.  Mosquitoes aren’t the only blood sucking creatures on the planet. So are those whose greed doesn’t allow them to see each person as a unique, child of God whom we are called on to help.  Instead these “skeeter quality” like people seem to only be interested in what they can get out of people. And flies aren’t the only life forms that are drawn to garbage.  I’ve known people who are obsessed to the latest scandal in Hollywood, Washington DC or even their local town or church.  When the morsels of slander or tales of  sordid misdeeds are released, they gather to the news like flies on a stinky chunk of raw meat on a hot summer day.   These folks don’t  realize that there’s more to life than the latest pile of garbage.  All of these bug like qualities are worse than any flying insect type of creature found in my back yard.

 The truth is–  all of us have the potential to have bug-like attitudes and behaviors .  So if you should find yourself slipping toward “A Bug’s Life” don’t splash on the Deep Woods Off or any other bug spray, allow the Holy Spirit to work, cleanse and free you from any of those annoying qualities and behaviors.  The Israelite spies didn’t like comparing themselves to a grasshoppers when they scouted out the Promised Land, let’s not have people comparing us to gnats, fleas or ticks rather than let them say we love like the Creator of all those flying, jumping, and creepy crawly things.

 Now let’s go out loving God and all his creatures great and small (except chiggers)!

  

 

 

My church, the Church of the Nazarene, has long made attempts to be an “International Church.”   For the record, I am very glad for those efforts.  I am glad that our mission statement as a church is “to make Christ-like disciples in the nations.” I am glad we take serious Jesus’ call to go to the ends of the earth with the Gospel message.

Whether we are truly “international” in all aspects or not is a matter of debate.  Our leaders can point out the fact that two of our highest elected officers are non-North American and both  our newly elected International Youth President (Mexican) and our newly elected Missions President (United Kingdom) are also not from the USA/Canada region.  Like a slow-moving snail could have told his slow moving turtle friend, “I think we are making progress.”

Of course, the magic number we like to tout to prove our “internationalness” is 159.  We are in 159 world areas.  That’s more countries than McDonalds (100 countries) and Walmart (a measly 27 countries) combined.  Woo Hoo!  159! 

But that’s where my problem lies.

One of those 159 world areas is Syria.  The country that is the topic of much debate in Washington DC and around the world this week.

I was in the Middle East for a conference a few years ago and some Nazarenes from Syria were there.   One of the Syrians I met on the trip was a doctor.  His business card is sitting on my desk reminding me to pray for him.  I can’t help but wonder how he has fared the last couple of years.  Is he overworked tending to the injured and dying?  Will he be safe if more bombs start to fall from the sky? Is he one of the hundreds of thousands of refugees that have fled the country?   I wonder about the children that attend the Nazarene Christian school in Damascus– how have they manage through the war?  Then of course, the best man in my wedding lives in Beirut.  The U.S. government has said US citizens should leave Lebanon just in case the fighting moves past the borders of Syria.  What will happen to him and his wife and two step daughters?

So this week as our political leaders are debating to bomb or not to bomb, I’m thinking of people– the people I’ve met and know that live in that area. People who believe like I believe– my fellow Nazarene brothers and sisters.  They have the same core values that I espouse and yet live in a far more difficult, dangerous place.

I know the plan (no matter from which side of the political divide the debater is on) is not to bomb churches or schools or innocent victims– but instead to lay waste to the mad man’s military complex that enables him to gas his own people (How nuts do you have to be to gas children?). But bombs no matter how “smart” and sophisticated are not “smart” enough and sophisticated enough.  They occasionally miss their target.  Unlike golf– with bombs there are no mulligans.  Unlike horseshoes, with bombs close isn’t good enough.  When a bomb misses its intended target usually children or other innocents die.  (This happens mainly because mad men who gas their own children also put important military targets by schools or hospitals knowing full well that innocent people will be the victims of an errant bomb). All this to say, war is never good. The decision to bomb should not be met with rejoicing and pride but rather with confession and prayer.

So if you don’t mind, while political leaders and pundits debate to bomb or not to bomb, I will be praying a lot for my fellow Nazarene brothers and sisters living in a few of those 159 world areas. I will be praying that the Prince of Peace and the One that calls us to love our enemies– would somehow win this day.  I will be praying that God’s will be done in Damascus as it is in heaven and, likewise, that God’s will be done in Washington DC as it is in heaven.  Call me naive (I like to think of it as  hope filled) but I happen to believe that God’s will being done on earth as it is in heaven does not include bombs.  I will be praying for all those making decisions and all of those people that will have to live with the decisions being made this week.

Come, Lord Jesus come!

 

 

 

 

Please read the following disclaimer (that is, confession) before proceeding:  With the beginning of the National Football League’s season, I must confess I’ve been a Detroit Lions fan my whole life. You know I am a football fan if I publically admit to cheering for the Motor City Kitties. The Lions have never won a championship in my lifetime (LIFETIME!).  In fact, in my 49 years they have won exactly one playoff game.  And I’m still a Lions fan.  One time I was in a grocery store in Lenexa wearing a Detroit Lions T-shirt and the teenage grocery bagger (thinking he was being a smarty pants) said, “I bet you are the only person in Kansas City wearing a Detroit Lion’s shirt.”  To which I one upped him and replied, “Listen kid, I could be in Detroit and I would still be the only one wearing this shirt.”   To be a Lions fan is to be a hardcore football fan.

My confession not withstanding and with much fear, trembling and gnashing of teeth on the prospect of alienating my fellow football fan friends (how’s that for alliteration), I must confess that we (and too often that “we” is “me”) put too much emphasis on the high and holy pigskin.  Idols were not just for knuckleheaded Baal worshippers in the Old Testament.  There are plenty of idols today– and football for many is one of them.

I’m not advocating a boycott of the NFL.  I am not saying that watching or going to NFL games in sinful (well, unless you are an Oakland Raiders fan.  Ha!).  I’m not saying that anyone is going to hell because of fantasy football (25% of my fantasy football team roster are Detroit Lions.  File that bit of info under the heading:  “Some people never learn”).  All I am saying is that too often we get dangerously close to making a god out of a game.

So as we are about to embark upon another football season, I offer this caution to myself and every other starry eyed, “this-year-is-our-Super-Bowl” dreamer:  Keep God first.

Think of me as a referee  throwing a preemptive, penalty flag.  Visualize a graying Detroit Lions fan, walking to the middle of the field dressed out in a NFL referee black and white striped shirt; whistle around my neck; and speaking to a full stadium, “We have a 15 yard life penalty on #57 of the Christian team for unnecessarily worshipping a false god.  This action results in a loss of devotion to God and if it continues unabated to the pearly gates could lead to non entry.”

Throughout this football season (and every season of life) keep God in his proper place.  Do not allow a game, an activity, a hobby, a job, a person or the pursuit of money or happiness or anything else dominate your thoughts so that you no longer give proper worship, adoration, devotion, time, energy and praise to God Almighty.

Please remember: football is a game and God is God.   That is all– you may now continue viewing  Sportscenter for the latest news on Tim Tebow. Thank you.

This week it is Syria.

Last week it was Egypt.

It was somewhere else in the world the week before that.

This week, it was a funeral for a guy who died too young.

Last week, it was a cancer diagnosis for a guy who is too young.

And the week before that?

It was someone and something else.

This week, it was a report of a marriage in trouble.

Last week, it was a rumor of another one falling apart.

And the week before that?

Another family, another issue.

This week so many need Jesus.

Last week, they needed Him too.

And the week before that?

They needed Him then too.

With each passing week, there are

troubles,

wars,

divorce,

cancer,

sickness,

disagreements,

pain,

worries,

anger,

misunderstandings,

jealousies and

self centeredness.

I am reminded over

and over

and over again… our world needs Jesus

and so do our homes

and so do I.

Now more than ever?

Maybe.

I wasn’t around 100 years ago.

Maybe the world really needed him more then.

I can’t speak for 100 years ago, but

I know the world really needs him now.

There may be points in my life history when I needed Jesus more,

but I need him now too.

With each passing day,

I know why the Bible’s next to last verse reads: “Come, Lord Jesus!”

It’s my prayer for this week,

and next week,

and probably in the week after that–

in our world,

and in our homes,

and in our lives.

“Come, Lord, Jesus!”