Grace Chronicles

(Over the next few days I'll be writing on my favorite subject--"grace")

Why do I think and write so much about grace? Because if God is keeping score, I haven't got a ghost of a chance. Mercifully, our debt is marked "paid in full," which just so happens to be written in red. Grace is also my favorite subject to read about. In The Alphabet of Grace, Buechner writes: "Life is grace. Sleep is forgiveness. The night absolves. Darkness wipes the slate clean, not spotless to be sure, but clean enough for another day's chalking." Another of my favorite grace quotes comes from Brennan Manning, author of The Ragamuffin Gospel, "My deepest awareness of myself is that I am deeply loved by Jesus Christ and I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it." 

In the end, grace is God producing in me what I could never manufacture for myself. "The perfect surrender and humiliation were undergone by Christ: perfect because He was God, surrender and humiliation because He was man. Now the Christian belief is that if we somehow share the humility and suffering of Christ we shall also share in His conquest of death and find a new life after we have died and in it become perfect, and perfectly happy, creatures. This means something much more than our trying to follow His teaching. People often ask when the next step in evolution–the step to something beyond man–will happen. But on the Christian view, it has happened already. In Christ a new kind of man appeared: and the new kind of life which began in Him is to be put into us" (C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity).

"But by the grace of God I am what I am: and his grace which was bestowed upon me was not in vain; but I laboured more abundantly than they all: yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me." (1 Corinthians 15:10, KJV)

Retrieving the Gauntlet

John throws down the gauntlet in a little letter written a couple thousand years ago:

"But if anyone obeys his word, love for God is truly made complete in them. This is how we know we are in him: Whoever claims to live in him must live as Jesus did" (1 John 2:5-6, NIV).

Back in an age when chivalry and personal honor were paramount, throwing a gauntlet at the feet of an enemy or opponent was considered a grave insult that could only be answered with personal combat, and the offended party was expected to “take up the gauntlet” in order to accept the challenge. In the Apostle John's case, no insult is hurled, but an ultimatum is issued nonetheless. Here is a clear cut, either-or scenario--either we live as Jesus did or we do not belong to Him. This is no metaphorical mumbo-jumbo. No room for hermeneutical gymnastics.

What was he thinking? Surely John had something in mind other than our mimicking sinless perfection or mirroring supernatural power. The answer is found in peering beyond the surface of things and recognizing that what lies behind Christ's amazing life is immaculate integrity. To live as Jesus lived is to be a person of integrity at all times and under all circumstances. The way Jesus acted matched perfectly what Jesus said. No inconsistency existed in the person of Jesus Christ because He lived to please the Father. "Jesus said to them, 'My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to accomplish his work'" (John 4:34, ESV).

If who you're with is more influential than who you are, it's time to learn a lesson of integrity. Contrary to popular opinion, integrity is not always popular; at times it is the farthest thing from it. Consistency won't necessarily net you a profit and you'll likely win even fewer popularity contests, but integrity seeks approval on a higher plane. What others think is of little value to those of us who would be "little Christs" (C. S. Lewis's term), but what God approves is of eternal significance. If I want to live as Jesus did (and I do), I will pick up the "gantelet" by exhibiting behavior consonant with my profession and an attitude reconcilable with my testimony. Father, above all else, grant us integrity.

The Signature of Jesus

There are two biblical concepts with which I identify most naturally and fully. The first is that we are all fatally flawed creatures.  The second is that the only thing that distinguishes the believer from the unbeliever is that she or he recognizes and embraces God's grace as the only remedy for her or his flaws. Without even trying, I am a walking, talking, daily illustration of the first truth. If you watch me closely or listen to me long enough you will readily observe my flawed character. I will exhibit the negative attributes of every biblical character you read about with horror or disdain. Given enough rope to hang myself, I take the fall every time. In fact, there seems to be no bottom to the depths to which I can and do fall; there is no limit to the disappointment I evoke in those who know me and expect more from me. More profoundly, I am adept at disappointing myself. 

Fortunately for me, and for you, the second truth is made more clear when you see God's grace in relief.  I've overheard myself at times thinking, "Apart from the grace of God, there go I," when the truth is that I am every bit as guilty as every guilty person who has or ever will live. Scripture shouts my story when it declares "There is nothing good in me" (Romans 7:18) and "My righteousness is as filthy rags in the sight of God" (Isaiah 64:6). But praise God in the same breath it sings my song, "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me." My struggle is not in finding God's pardon; it is in accepting God's forgiveness and moving on. Guilt binds my heart and gags my mouth, but grace explodes the chains. Pretty much the message of the entire Bible is what Brennan Manning called the "signature of Jesus," that grace transforms this flawed human being into a trophy of God's power and love. If God can love and save me, there is hope for anyone.

"For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world: and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith." 1 John 5:4

Anger

I wrestle with the whole "be ye angry and sin not" concept (Ephesians 4:26). It's not that I question the inspiration or authority of the Apostle Paul's admonition; my struggle is with putting it into practice. Part A is no problem for me. I've been angry more times than I care to admit, and I come from a long line of people quite adept at reaching high levels of emotional frustration. No, the question mark comes into play with Part B: "sin not." If I'm upset enough to qualify as angry, it's rare when my inner turmoil doesn't boil over into sin. Either I begin to beat up on myself, or inwardly I want to beat up on someone else. Letting go without lingering bitterness is a difficult pill to swallow. So, what did Paul intend and how do I obey the command? My best take on this is that the anger Paul condones is a proper attitude and corresponding action toward any kind of injustice. We see this displayed by Jesus Christ himself as he upset the apple carts of the corrupt temple cashiers. There's no getting around it, the injustice of the practice of cheating worshippers out of their hard earned money set Jesus off, and he acted on the emotion. The kicker is that in doing so, he didn't sin. He refused to harbor bitterness and he didn't lose control. Above all, he didn't disgrace his Father by making it personal. In contrast, I tend toward dis-grace when I blow my top. Disgrace turns into guilt, guilt slips into shame, and shame promotes anger. The only remedy I've found for this vicious cycle is self-crucifixion and Spirit fulness. 'Father, put me to death and fill the void with your Holy Spirit.'

"Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath: Neither give place to the devil. Let him that stole steal no more: but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that needeth. Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers. And grieve not the holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption. Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice: And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you."

(Ephesians 4:26-32 KJV)

Respond

Don't overlook the moment, but never mistake the moment for the important thing. What matters most is how you respond in the next moment to whatever came your way in the previous one. At least that's the thought that struck me this evening while being buffeted by flying caliche from a tumultuous wind. We had arrived a short time before for the first of a double header at our grandson's state baseball tourney. The heat was palpable with the weight of it heightened by the absence of even a breath of air, the atmosphere bordering on being stifling. 

My wife was the first to look toward the eastern sky and notice the gathering darkness, despite it being only 5:30 pm on a summer evening. It was unusual enough to prompt a look at weather radar on her smart phone, which in turn graphically displayed a line of thunderstorms approaching our area. We located the tournament director and asked what they would do in case of rain, and he dismissed our question lightheartedly, telling us that if it rained it wouldn't continue for long and play would resume. His demeanor edged toward being flippant, so we went our way keeping one eye on the sky and the other on the field. At the close of the third inning spider web-like lightning lit up the sky, so we quickly began to close our chairs, gather our belongings, and head toward the parking lot. Within seconds, a swirling wind descended and tournament staff began yelling for everyone to grab their things and leave the park immediately. Bedlam ensued with adults grabbing chairs and children, not necessarily in that order, everyone dashing for the parking lot through the one narrow and congested exit. Children were crying, parents were screaming to their children, and the officials were broadcasting to everyone to leave, seemingly a bit after the fact. As I looked to the sky while still moving with my wife toward the car, I had the terrifying thought that we must be in the middle of a twister or at least very near to one. We overheard one blue shirted tournament official say into his walkie talkie, "One touched down." If they had an evacuation plan it failed miserably, and only by the grace of God did the disturbance not result in a disaster. After my wife was secure in our car, I went to make sure that all other family members were present and accounted for.  They were, so I returned to my wife and we wove our way through the traffic and made our escape.

With time to reflect during the drive home, I thanked God first for His protection and then relived the drama in my mind. None of us can control everything that enters our path, but each of us has the ability and responsibility of choosing how we will respond. Though we're never told exactly what prompted the psalmist to say "What time I am afraid, I will trust in God" (Psalm 56:3), his declaration reveals that the important thing is not what produces my fear, but what I do with it. How I react to any given moment inevitably discloses either the validity or inauthenticity of my faith. God grant us the wisdom and courage to respond in faith and calm resolve.

Modified Meditation

Everyone needs a place and a time where they can reconnect with themselves, and, hopefully, either find or rediscover God in the process. What that looks like will be as unique as the individual who practices this thing that many loosely describe as meditation. My own best time for quiet contemplation is late at night when we've laid the day to rest for all practical purposes and nothing remains but for body and mind to relax. That's the time I retreat to The Greenhouse, our garden room that has become sacred space within a larger context I call Pa Amani (Swahili for "place of peace").

Thomas Merton had some helpful things to say about meditation, as did Thomas Kelley and others, and I encourage anyone to read what they had to say and glean what is most helpful. "What can we gain by sailing to the moon if we are not able to cross the abyss that separates us from ourselves? This is the most important of all voyages of discovery, and without it, all the rest are not only useless, but disastrous" (Thomas Merton). My own experience of regular reflection may best be termed modified meditation; Whereas eastern meditation aims at emptying one's self, Christian meditation seeks a greater filling of one's self with the person of Jesus Christ, and for me that is something far more active than it is passive. These are the times a relaxed body and focused mind seem to foster intense creativity. In other words, I am still, but I'm not immobile. Granted, I wish I had the energy during late night inspiration to channel the creative urge into some beautiful work of art, but I am content to find the energy to record my thoughts on paper, or smart phone, or whatever is within reach at the moment. Deep thought for me always leads to an effort to record it. "Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time" (Merton).

I encourage you to experiment with modified meditation. Retreat to your own holy place and take with you something with which to record your thoughts. Think and write, or draw, or paint, and think some more. Then share your results with others. Self-discovery was never intended as a selfish exercise. What you come upon in the doing may surprise you; you just may come upon yourself, and find that behind it all is a loving Father beckoning you to embrace Him by knowing and sharing yourself with someone else.

Geriatric Limbo

It's either much too early or much too late to be writing, but either way I'm too awake to avoid the urge. Our oldest grandson is playing in a state little league baseball tournament a couple of hours away from our home, so we left after work for the game and just returned home close to midnight. It was a close game (we won 3-2), the umpiring poor (in my determined opinion), and the worst part was that the coach never inserted our grandson into the lineup even though he played all season and is every bit as good as the other players on the team, including the "pick up" players from other teams for the tournament. Such are the grand-parental moments that add purpose to the thinning & greying hair, and discoloration to the bags suspended and inflating below my eyes. I've somehow reached a stage of geriatric limbo--I fall asleep in my chair while "watching" TV, then can't find my way back to lala land after retiring to bed.  This somehow reminds of Paul's words in the New Testament, something to the effect that I do the things I don't want to do and fail to do that which I should--call it a kind of senior disequilibrium. Now, if only I can summon the 'umph' to translate insomnia into productivity.  Whoever said you're only as old as you feel wasn't old or he wouldn't have said it; he would either have been drinking coffee to stave off the dropsies or been hitting the fridge in search of a slumber-inducing combination.  What was it Bugs Bunny used to ask, "What's up Doc?" Perhaps understanding this is too much to ask and I should be content with knowing that at least I won't have long to toss and turn before bracing for another round of life. I really don't mind getting older, I only hope the perks of aging outweigh the senior moments.

Created to Win

ESPN, ESPN2, ESPN Classic, NBC Sports Network, CBS Network, NFL Ticket, the Golf Channel.... the list goes on. We are obviously a nation of sports crazed fans and what intrigues me most about it all is the passion with which many follow and participate. The word "fan" originates in the Modern Latin "fanaticus", meaning "insanely but divinely inspired”. Undeterred by exorbitant salaries in the professional ranks or the marketing of amateur athletics, our emotions rise and fall on the performances of our favorite teams and individual athletes, and I number myself among the addicts. Just today I enjoyed what for me was a rare treat, that of watching live on television the closing round of the British Open. I had followed the first three days of the championship on my smart phone, but the timing of our return from vacation stranded me at home on Sunday, a glorious predicament indeed for a preacher. Admittedly the drama wasn't as intense as in 1986, when the Golden Bear, Jack Nicklaus, who hadn't had a tour victory since 1984, shot a record 30 on the back nine of the final round to pass Greg Norman, Tom Kite, Nick Price, Tom Watson, and Seve Ballesteros and, at age 46, won his sixth green Master's jacket by one stroke. But I was still on the edge of the couch urging Rory McIlroy to hold onto his lead, and audibly cheered when he won by two strokes. I was so energized that later in the day I went to hit balls at the driving range.

What is it about athletic contests that hold our interest, command our wallets, and inspire on so many levels?  Sports psychologists suggest that the cause is the hormone epinephrine, commonly known as adrenaline. They purport that when we get extremely excited over a sporting event, it causes our bodies to release epinephrine, increasing our heart rate, causing excitement, and triggering our "fight-or-flight" instinct. I believe there is a much more significant cause. Inherent in every person is the God-placed longing to experience ultimate victory. We act this out unconsciously, but down deep each of us knows that we were created to overcome. "No, despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours through Christ, who loved us" (Romans 8:37, New Living Translation). Victory is ours, present tense, but the fullest expression of it is still future, and it is in this interim that we look for athletic ways to foreshadow our future.

"But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere." 

(2 Corinthians 2:14, ESV)

"For the Lord your God is he who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies, to give you the victory." 

(Deuteronomy 20:4, ESV)

Seasons

"Cramped In A Minivan"

EPILOGUE

It's funny how we loathe routine only to long for its return. Vacation is something we all anticipated intensely and greeted like the African Savannah welcomes the rains after a long dry season, but a break from normal demands is not always what we plan it to be. None of us would have imagined that we would spend our second day of vacation in a Nashville emergency room determining the seriousness of Joshua's abdominal pains. Even though we rejoiced that all tests for appendicitis or abdominal blockage were negative, we could not have predicted the physical and emotional toll the ordeal would take on us, and how it would temper each foray into the pool, time in the minivan, or any other vacation activity. There is no blame to be placed or shared; Josh's discomfort was simply a key theme in our story over the past week. When we had packed all we could into our allotted days, the cabin was cleaned, luggage stowed, snacks strategically placed, family members situated as comfortably as possible in their respective minivan locations, and all hunkered down for the 19 1/2 hour drive from Gordonsville, Virginia to Waco, Texas.

The most interesting thing to me about the whole week was the question that both grandsons as well the adults voiced during our marathon journey back to Waco: where are we going next year? How can one long to return home and to leave it again, all in the same emotion? Familiarity breeds something far different from contempt; it provides a secure base from which to explore. My happiest childhood memories are of the annual adventures our family took to Hot Springs, Arkansas. So strong are these sensory remembrances that they allow me to ignore anything negative, like the spats with my sister over backseat territory, or my father's reluctance to stop along the drive for restroom breaks, or the way my parents had to carefully balance each travel expense with the more pressing demands of mortgage, car payment, and the like. Vacations were commas for Mom and Dad, but exclamation points for me and my sister, ones I'm grateful that I did not miss. 

Jesus said, "The Father knows what we need" (Matthew 6:8). He knows we need seasons, a measure of predictability that allows us space to create and courage to dare. He also knows that life without dreams leads to monotony, the shadow side of routine. So we struggle with an inherent tension-- to remain and to release, to stay and to go, to be satisfied and to strain for something more, reminding us that we were created for a relationship that may be enjoyed here and now, but that cannot be fully realized in this life. Missionary author Don Richardson called this "eternity in our hearts." Vacations are powerful experiences, simply because they remind our hearts that one day earthly and emotional seasons will be discarded in favor of uninterrupted perfection with the Father. In the meantime, we're thinking about crowding back into a minivan next summer and vacationing in Savannah, Georgia.

Home

"CRAMPED IN A MINIVAN"

DAY SIX

Home is word like "mom." It usually conjures up the warmest of feelings and the best of memories, but is rather hard to define. Is it a place or an experience; multiple places or a series of experiences? Josh set me to thinking about home this week because he said more than once that he wanted to go home, only one time he meant back to Waco and another time he was referring to our vacation cabin. While I was reflecting on the enigma, I read something from a former missionary colleague who has moved to Uganda after living and serving in Kenya more than twenty five years. He writes, "Home! That sounds a bit strange to begin calling Kampala 'home', but it is." He goes on to mention his nervousness over learning a new city and language. For my missionary friend, home is obviously connected to both place and experience.

Later today, we toured the Battlefield of Spotsylvania Courthouse, sight of one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War. 17,000 men lost their lives in one day in the valley known as the 'Bloody Angle.' As I walked the path of Lee's line, read the monuments, and touched the canons, I couldn't help but think that every blue clad or grey uniformed soldier who fought in that spot one hundred and fifty years ago was likely filled with terror and a longing to go home. For some, home was magnetic north, for others it was magnetic south. But for all of them, home provided a bearing, a sense of knowing that wherever they were they were either going toward or away from home. 

Home is the place we were first and best loved, and we spend the rest of our lives trying to hold on to it or return to it. Blessed is the man or woman who finds it and recognizes it when they do. "Turn around and believe that the good news that we are loved is better than we ever dared hope, and that to believe in that good news, to live out of it and toward it, to be in love with that good news, is of all glad things in this world the gladdest thing of all. Amen, and come Lord Jesus" (Frederick Buechner).

Narrative of Grace

DAY FIVE

Vacation is a lot like people-watching in a mall, only you get to converse with some of them. Yesterday we met an art gallery owner/ English antique dealer in Gordonsville. He spoke with a distinct British accent, so I asked where he was from originally and learned that he hailed from Darby, England. The topic of conversation shifted to soccer when I asked if he was a "footballer," and he proceeded to wax eloquently about his days playing in the British 2nd level and later refereeing. He was particularly proud of the fact that the last match he officiated was Leicester versus Arsenal. Who would have expected to meet an English soccer player in Gordonsville, Virginia? 

This morning we met Sam from east Hanover County. He was the wrangler for our wagon ride at the resort, and handled well the team of white dappled Percherons named Doc and Duke. Sam is definitely down to earth; one might call him a man of the earth. He told us that he had been a teacher years ago and then was a dairy farmer for thirty years, doing all the work himself after his father died. He sold his cows back in 2007 just before the bottom dropped out of the market, but confided in us that he's still paying off what he lost when he sold. 

We've encountered other interesting people on this trip, like the BBQ Exchange waitress stuck in the '60's (complete with peace sign laden head band and long braided hair), and all of them remind me that each of us have a story and that each of our stories are unique. Jesus dealt with differences in a significant way-- he met everyone where they were, spoke a language they understood, and always started with their particular context when sharing his message with them. The good news (Gospel) is a narrative of grace, custom fit for every individual. 

"And when Jesus came to the place, he looked up, and saw him, and said unto him, Zacchaeus, make haste, and come down; for to day I must abide at thy house." Luke 19:5

Stones Cry Out

DAY FOUR

Vacations come with a fatigue factor all their own. Stated simply, I've had all the fun I can stand for today. My body still hasn't understood that we are in a different time zone, which means I don't have to get up before the break of dawn but did again this morning. Not that there was much discretionary space; we had a 9 am appointment for kayaks and paddle boat. My legs and hindquarters have demanded my attention all day as a result of the morning maritime experience of peddle and paddle. After spending the middle of the day sightseeing in Gordonsville and Charlottsville, we returned to the resort for pool time, tennis, miniature golf, and, finally, basketball. My legs ache, my feet hurt, and my back is tender. Thank God for Ibuprofen!

Our stretch on the road from resort to Gordonsville and Charlottsville put us on Virginia Highway 250, what the New York Times calls one of the most beautiful scenic drives in the country. I agree with the newspaper. Rolling hills in the foreground and higher mountains in the background provide a panorama of green and blue with texture created by the interplay of light and shadow. For the moment it was like remembering Eden and God seemed very near, much like the mountains that appeared close enough to touch though they were miles away. "Be still and know that I am God" (Psalm 46:10). I thrill to worship God as Creator and have found that nature stirs within deep longing and love for a Creator who chooses to share Himself by loaning mountains and trees and grasses and birds and animals and oceans to enjoy. I am not espousing pantheism; God is not identical to nature. Quite the contrary. Nature draws me to a very personal Origin. Creation always bows to the Creator, and I worship Him along with every part of creation.

"And he answered and said unto them, I tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out." Luke 19:40

A New Day

DAY THREE

Little boys can be loud, obnoxious, and at times, (to use the scientific term) downright 'toots'. There are, however, moments when such sounds are music to the ear. That was the case with Josh this morning, who woke up full of sound and full speed ahead, and maintained the volume and energy level all day long. It was an amazing comeback reminiscent of Oracle Team USA overcoming an 8-1 deficit to beat Emirates Team New Zealand in the 2013 America's Cup, the Super Bowl of sailing. Josh bounced back today from the past two days' vacillating between appearing comatose one moment and being doubled over in abdominal agony the next. His only set back came mid morning, but it only lasted a few minutes. In fact, Josh was so close to normal, that today actually felt like vacation. We hit the activity smorgasbord hard, including extended pool time, miniature golf, bean bag toss, horseshoes, frisbee, and a day ending ice cream run into nearby Gordonsville. 

God certainly created us resilient, and the ability to bounce back is one of His greatest gifts to mankind.  This holds true with man's spirit as well as his body. Who among us hasn't needed to say with the prodigal more often than we'd like to admit, "I will arise and return to my father"?  Thank God that mercy never fades and each new day is exactly that--new.

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day." 

(2 Corinthians 4:16, NIV)

Praying For Gas

Day Two

We thought Day Two of destination vacation would begin with an early morning continental breakfast, hotel checkout and then 'eastward ho.' It didn't work out that way. Turns out, Josh had endured a bad night and awoke with acute abdominal pain, so his mother called and spoke to the physician back home for an action plan. He recommended that we either take Josh to an urgent care for tests or to a hospital emergency room. We ended up doing both. An X-ray at Physician's Urgent Care was inconclusive in deciding between appendicitis, a virus, or another condition that I can't spell or pronounce, so they sent us to Vanderbilt Children's Hospital near Nashville's famous Music Row. Instead of heading toward Gordonsville, Virginia, there was a chance we were headed towards surgery.

After a brief stay in a gayly colored waiting room and learning that Josh's tests would take an undetermined time, JoJo, Joey, and I left Josh and his parents at the Children's Emergency Room and headed off to find a diversion for our oldest grandson. We drove down Music Row, through the beautiful campus of Belmont University, and collectively agreed that breakfast was a far too distant memory. I should have felt guilty for chowing down at Chago's Cantina, but confess that the pork belly tacos in lime sauce with red beans and collard greens temporarily put the whole crisis out of mind. We asked the waitress if she knew of a park nearby with a ball field of any sort, thinking that this would be just the thing to combine time killing with practice for Joey's upcoming state baseball tournament. McCabe Park was only three miles away, so after checking on Josh by text message, we proceeded to the ball field. A golf driving range adjacent to the field kept calling my name, but I ignored the summons and pitched batting practice to Joey for nearly an hour.  

It struck me while enjoying banter and play with Joey at the same time that his brother was having an ultrasound in a hospital strange to us, that this is the grandparent's frequent challenge--loving all grandchildren equally, while enjoying and responding to each according to her or his own personality, preferences, and 'sitz im leben'. Joey is nothing like Josh, who is different from Katie, who is older than Hannah, who does not resemble Hunter. Grand parenting may be grand, but it is sometimes harder than parenting in the first place.  Parents do well to learn the lesson of Proverbs 22:6, "Train a child according to his bent, and when he is old he'll not depart from it," and it may be easier for parents to follow that advice than for grandparents to do so. Maybe it comes from being one generation removed, but there seems to be an unwritten expectation that the parents of parents treat their grandchildren all the same. That is about as reasonable as it would be for someone to judge all taste buds according to the same standard of preference. Every child deserves customized parenting and grand parenting.

We received word that the tests did not reveal anything more for Josh than a significant bout of gas or uncomfortable case of constipation. It was the first time I can remember that having gas was an answer to prayer. It didn't take long to get back to the hospital, reconfigure the minivan, and resume our vacation trek toward Virginia. Grace is often easier to reflect upon than observe. Obscured by the press of the moment, grace is all the more poignant when the smoke clears. Josh is sleeping soundly in his car seat, we are headed east once again, and I am grateful for a Father whose nearness both defines and reveals Him.

Grace is Messy

Day One

Vacation has started and it seems to begin the same way every year--with grandson Josh getting sick, all over everything. We had just finished the mandatory travel breakfast at The Waffle House (our son-in-law's favorite) in Franklin, Tennessee, and were en route to Winstead Hill Park, when Mount Vesuvius erupted. Caught in the spray were Josh, the van where Josh was sitting, and the hanging clothes my wife and I had brought to wear for a business meeting later in the evening. Our first pressing priority was to locate a car wash complete with vacuum unit and deodorizer. Thanks to a quick search on the 'Around Me' iPhone app, we found one just 121 feet from where I had pulled over, and quickly started a decontamination process even NASA would envy. The bad news is that our vacation transport needed drastic and immediate help; the good news is that as soon as Josh emptied, color returned to his cheeks, pluck to his spirit, and the whole fumigation process became (for him) somewhat humorous. 

As soon as we could re-enter the van without feeling the urge to follow suit, our task was to find a laundromat. As luck would have it, the King Neptune Laundromat was situated catty-cornered across from the car wash.  I used the change machine to turn a $10 bill into enough quarters for laundry soap, dryer sheets, and two loads of clothes washed and dried.  The others took the car and went to play on Winstead Hill, a city park that once constituted my great great something's plantation, while Jo and I stayed to complete the laundry service. Once the money was changed and machines loaded, Jo and I settled into hard plastic chairs and we were able to discuss the unexpected anointing of our day. Jo was quite calm about the incident and entirely practical as to how to move forward. She is the wise and stable one, seemingly at all times, and I have learned to respect her greatly and do my best to adopt her response to adversity as my own.  All of life is grace, but sometimes grace is messy, and it helps to have a good example of how to deal with the clutter. 

Cramped in a Minivan

I plan on doing something I've not attempted before in my next blogs. There's no guarantee that it will be of any interest to anyone other than me, but for the next eight days I will be sharing thoughts and impressions while on vacation. We leave this evening for a trek through Tennessee and on to the Shenandoah Valley, mixing in a little work along the way, but mostly relaxing. The caravan (more accurately 'minivan') will contain my wife and I along with two grandsons, a daughter and son-in-law. Based on past experience, I anticipate the trip to be filled with plenty of humor, occasional reflection, and perhaps a life lesson or two discovered along the way.  Feel free to join us on the journey (but not in the already crowded mini van) and share your own comments and reflections in response. For now, I have some packing and loose ends tying left to do. 

Enos

I've been guilty in the past of poking fun at beauty pageant contestants, which is why I enjoy watching Sandra Bullock in "Miss Congeniality" so much. The curvaceous Miss-Somethings-in-waiting are asked what is most important to them, and each replies with agonizing predictability,"world peace." Now the shoe is on the other foot, or tiara is on a different head, whatever the case may be. 

Unapologetically, what I'm praying for these days is world peace; not a trite and hackneyed garden variety, but genuine, hate-free, battle-less peace. I have a personal reason for this sense of urgency. An email made it to my inbox yesterday morning containing tragic news.  According to a close friend in Kenya, a former colleague of mine and personal friend, Enos Nambafu Weswah, was brutally murdered along with 28 others at Mpeketoni near Lamu island this weekend as part of the escalating violence on the east African coast.  Enos was one of the professors at Kenya Baptist Theological College while I was academic dean, and he served KBTC faithfully as professor, Registrar, and then Principal until his retirement a few years ago. He was a gentle spirited man characterized by simple love and profound faith. Enos leaves behind his sweet wife Edna and precious daughter Yolanda. His death is a tragic loss and another chapter in the cruel tale of religious warfare mixed with majimboism (Swahili word for tribalism). Al-Qaida-linked al-Shabab militants from Somalia claimed responsibility for Saturday's attacks — just like they did for others last month that killed 65 people. Kenya police, however, said preliminary investigations pointed to a Kenyan separatist group (Mombasa Republican Council) on the coast. What makes matters worse is that this is truly out of character for a people I know personally to be congenial and hospitable.

I will never stand as a contestant in any pageant, but if asked what I want most these days, I would not hesitate. My clear response tinted by great angst would simply be, "world peace."

"The mountains shall bring peace to the people, and the little hills, by righteousness." (Psalms 72:3 KJV)

Rambling Fever

Everyone needs a moment to put work on hold, abandon the mobile, and stealth away for space and peace.  I'm not sure how you carpe diem, but my wife and I have found that we do it best by adding miles to my Jeep and transporting ourselves into an altered state that feels like vacation, even if it's just a day trek down the blacktop. The best part of traveling with my wife is that she reads to me while I drive. Although she insists that she does it simply to enrich us, I know she started doing it to keep me awake. Actually, the practice accomplishes both purposes. While keeping me alert behind the wheel, she has read to us novels and biographies, autobiographies and sermons. We've made friends in literature from slaves on antebellum Cane River plantations, to an Episcopal priest in a small town named Mitford. This Sunday afternoon's drive began according to script, the second installment of a political autobiography that my wife started on our last adventure, but the return leg later in the evening contained a twist. As I drove (wide awake I might add), something moved my soul and I burst into a poor rendition of a favorite song from my teenage years, Merle Haggard's "Rambling Fever."  My wife was startled, partly because it wasn't pretty, but mainly because it was more than slightly out of character. What ensued was a couple of hours of something like "Name That Tune."  We sang John Denver hits that shaped my youth. We laughed through the best of the Beach Boys, including one I sing often to our grandchildren: "Oh, I'm long tall Texan, I ride a big white horse..."  Kenny Rogers made our memory hit parade, along with George Jones, Dolly Parton, and others. You could write a person's biography with the lyrics they memorize through the years and still remember. The most telling part of the experience is what we revealed and learned about each other, and what we remembered about ourselves. Having loved and lived with each other as best friends for a number of years, there's still so much to explore. The whole experience reminded me that all of us are works in progress. We may reach mile markers and milestones, but none of us have fully arrived or ever will. Perhaps that's the point of humanity after all. To be fully human is to be in process; sometimes straining forward, other times pausing, but all the time growing. "But we shall lovingly hold to the truth, and shall in all respects grow up into union with Him who is our Head, even Christ" (Ephesians 4:15, Weymouth New Testament).

Attending Church

My wife and I are part of a small church (attendance was up yesterday, edging above 40 for the first time since Easter) that's been in our community since 1853, and to be honest, I wonder at times if it really makes a difference that I'm there at all (and I'm the preacher); but then I look around and remember why it's important that I'm there and that anyone else would be there too. There's a young man on one side holding a little girl who isn't his child, but she clings to him like they belong together. There's a man my age who was just released from jail, signaling me with a victory sign as he entered the sanctuary. There's an older woman who sees life differently since her stroke, waiting to hug me and give the same greeting from her sister she gives twice every Sunday morning. There's the older man who lost his wife a few years ago and finds his purpose in life these days by tending the climbing roses in the prayer garden. There's the sweet rancher in the choir who silently mourns the fact every Sunday that she can do everything with her weathered husband except attend church. There's the bent and largely hairless woman who has helped so many others through their times of crisis, but now wages her own battle against the onslaught of cancer. We are all different, but each Sunday morning is a kind of family reunion. 

The reason, I think, that so many find it hard to go to church is that we've largely lost the notion of what it means to be church.  We confuse participles for the noun. Singing, praying, dancing, preaching, teaching, these are all but modifiers of the real thing. I do enjoy pageantry. I'm a person of habit, so I like ritual in worship as well. Predictability need not stifle expression; it may, in fact, liberate it. I thrill to soul stirring music (unless we repeat the same lines more than seven times). Good Preaching has always moves me and bad preaching perturbs me (not to say I haven't done more than my fair share of it). But all these may be experienced alone and in private, particularly with the advent of wireless and television. What makes church "church" is that I am present with other pilgrims, connected spiritually as well as physically. It is the connection (relationship) that morphs worship into life transformation. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder; it cools the heart and dulls the spirit. This is not a new problem. One particular church in the New Testament was having a dickens of a time getting folks to show up, hence the admonition: "Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching" (Hebrews 10:25). Me loving you, and you loving me, liberates both of us to love God and worship him "in spirit and in truth."

All of this reminds me of something Frederick Buechner said during his  200th anniversary sermon at the Congregational church in Rupert, Vermont: "Despite the enormous differences between them, all these  men and women entered this building just the way you and I entered a few minutes ago because of one thing they had in common. What they had in common was that, like us, they believed (or sometimes believed and sometimes didn't believe; or wanted to believe; or liked to think they believed) that the universe, that everything there is, didn't come about by chance but was created by God. Like us they believed, on their best days anyway, that all appearances to the contrary notwithstanding, this God was a God like Jesus, which is to say a God of love. That, I think, is the crux of the matter. In 1786 and 1886 and 1986 and all the years between, that is the heart of what has made this place a church. This is what all the whooping has been about. In the beginning it was not some vast cosmic explosion that made the heavens and the earth. It was a loving God who did. This is our faith and the faith of all the ones who came before us" (Buechner, "The Clown in the Belfry").

Bocce

Yesterday made for an odd 4th of July for our family because it was our first without Popi. He'd not been with us for our family celebration the past two years due to deteriorating health, but even then we took the party to him. The first such effort he seemed to recognize and appreciate, while the second seemed to escape his largely expressionless stare. Alzheimer's is rarely forgiving, especially on holidays. The change was noticeable, yet he was still present in a way. In the past, Popi held center stage with his love for the great grandchildren, for food, and for our annual bocce tournament. More than anything else, he simply loved family being together.  When the center is removed, what normally revolved around it tends to wobble a bit while seeking out a new focus. When this happens, the whole thing appears out of sync, even slightly warped, like an old wooden tennis racket exposed to the elements. We pressed on this year and even persisted with the bocce tournament (naming it the Ury Armand Memorial Tournament), but we were conscious of the trying, and conscious trying carries with it an emotional strain all its own. The good news is that wobbling objects often right themselves, and, no doubt, so will our family. We will once again celebrate in rhythm with one another and become unaware of what makes being family work. Thank God for making families resilient, and for bestowing the gift of joy in spite of loss. Popi is remembered, and remembering keeps him with us. "Sharing tales of those we've lost is how we keep from really losing them" (Mitch Albom, "For One More Day").

The American Dream

"The American dream" is more important than one might think. Something about dreams both define us and deny us. They define in that they uncover ourselves at the most honest level--what we want most, the raw and uncut version. But they deny us in that a dream never acted upon calls into question a large measure of that which I think makes me "me." Left long enough in the Land of Oz with no mooring to Kansas, I regress to a wispy shadow of intention. Great courage is always required to move from here to there. The greater distance betwixt the two, the higher is the demand for an intrepid spirit. God grant each of us the lion's courage, the tin man's heart, the scarecrow's brain, but most of all, the derring-do of Jesus of Nazareth that catapults beyond the plains of dreams and onto the summit of fearless abandon.

On Fire

Am I the only one that tries not to notice the tabloid covers at the grocer's checkout, but inevitably reads a few headlines before swiping my debit card? I gave in again last night after stopping at HEB to buy the mandatory k-cups for the next morning's wake up call. This time, the bold print that lured my gaze was situated next to a photo, and read, "Katy Perry is on fire." I didn't take time to peruse the fine print, and it left me considering its meaning. It might indicate an incident of spontaneous combustion; on the other hand, it may be a slang expression meant to describe her pop culture ascension. Either way, the phrase surfaced some timely questions. Just the day before, a former student had posted a fiery comment to one of my blogs: "You were preaching the Kingdom of God with fire when you returned from Kenya & began teaching/ preaching/ mentoring at ETBU. This memory will last a lifetime!" I'm certain that his comment was meant to affirm my relationship to Christ, and although I greatly appreciated the sentiment, the inevitable follow-up question must be, "Have I lost the fire?" Does my behavior and demeanor still warm those around me and cause others from a distance to draw close in efforts to catch a spark that will ignite a fire of their own, or have the embers grown cool with time? How would I know? If I have lost the fire, can it fall again?

Life has changed since I stood daily in front of eager students and did my best to instill an appreciation for Bonhoeffer's "Cost of Discipleship", decipher Bernard of Clairveaux's "Four Degrees of Love", and challenge them to join Laubach in experimenting with practicing the constant conscious awareness of God's presence. Life is different. I'm different, but has time and change dimmed the heat? Have pain, disappointment, mistakes, choices, silence, and cultural noise muffled my impact and diffused the power?  Have I forfeited any gifts? Do I settle for insipid relevance and cower to comfort? While change is inevitable, must spiritual fervor be a casualty to time? Yes, there are wounds remaining to be healed and demons that linger, yet brokenness has always been the necessary tinder for spiritual awakening. Father, let my heart cry out with Evan Roberts of the Welsh Revival, "Lord, bend me!" Shape my thoughts, form my words, and direct my passion so that brokenness paves the way for prophetic impact. Make me a perpetual light, rather than a pathetic shadow. My heart joins in David's emotional refrain:

"Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit. Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee"(Psalms 51:12-13 KJV). Stoke the embers into life. Set my soul ablaze, Lord, and consume me once again with your holy fire. "Light yourself on fire with passion and people will come from miles to watch you burn" (John Wesley).

Faded Caboose

On my way to Fort Worth from Waco last week, I saw in an open field adjacent to the Interstate a faded purple caboose adorned by a handwritten 'For Sale' sign. After doing a double take, I had my hands full remaining focused on the road ahead while stealing glances to consider the anomaly. Instantly, I bombarded myself with questions: How does a thing designed to run on steel rails end up perched awkwardly in a grass field far away from the nearest tracks? Where had it traveled during its lifetime? What had it seen? Who and what had it carried? When did its usefulness began to fade? What replaced it? Why was it painted purple? Who could want it now? How much would someone ask for a grounded purple caboose? Almost as quickly, I thought of reasonable parallels in my own life, and by reflex uttered an audible prayer, "Father, prevent me from ending up like that." For some time now I've been gripped by what might be termed an obsession. I want to end well. I want my life to count today, but I really want my sum of days to result in a life well lived. Quite the opposite of Tantalus, the Greek mythological figure standing in a pool of water beneath a fruit tree with low branches, with the fruit ever eluding his grasp, and the water always receding before he could take a drink, this seems like a reasonable goal -- to have the curtain close with integrity intact, both useful and inspiring. Stated in another way, let me be anything but a faded and abandoned caboose. The inspired apostle expressed it best: "But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection: lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway" (1 Corinthians 9:27 KJV).