MikePaschall.com

As Jed Clampett would say… “Whew dawgy!”

Our good friend Anthony Chapman, from Rock Church UK – York England has done it again!  Another message that begs our attention!  Please find a way to squeeze this in before you go to celebrate Easter services this weekend.  What a message!  It’s entitled:  THE TRUE GOSPEL:  A gospel of righteousness.  That alone begs a questions:  Is there another Gospel that the church is adhering to?  You might be surprised at the answer!

It’s a killer message.  Worth every second of your time!

Click HERE for:  THE TRUE GOSPEl:  A gospel of righteousness.

It may take a minute to load depending on your connection speed.  Be patient.  ; )

In the evening I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate-Street, where one was reading Luther’s preface to the Epistle to the Romans.  About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed.  I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone for salvation:  And an assurance was given me, that he had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.  —John Wesley

What kind of stuff do you put in your journal?  What do you mean you don’t journal?  Really?  I’m not sure everyone will get this, but part of the activation process of prophetic unction can happen while writing in your journal.  Although private, it is a declaration.  Not all of us are chair climbers or bed jumpers when it comes to declarations.  But to expend the energy to write it down definitely requires the cooperation of your mind and will.  It’s a great place to speak truth and dispel the lies that can so easily entangle us.

Dr. Bob Nichols said recently of journal work, “It’s a great tool for us to… go there – to process the stuff that’s on the inside of you. Most of us work hard to forget things, to bury it. Because it’s buried doesn’t mean you’ve processed it. Just because you forgave that person doesn’t mean that you processed it. It’s a misnomer. You can still have major pain even though you forgave. Forgiveness and trust are not the same thing. You can totally forgive them, but no longer trust them.  Journaling is more important than we think.”

It can also be a great opportunity to be naked, real—forthright.  MOST of us spend a great deal of energy covering up instead of stripping down.  Good Lord, if you can’t be honest with others, at least be honest with yourself!  Yes, it counts in the realms of an unglorious colloquy with naked self.

“I felt my heart strangely warmed” – John Wesley

This featured journal entry by John Wesley is so beautiful, simple, undeniably powerful—it’s the motherload.  It’s got all the juicy pieces of what we evangelicals would call “conversion.” Here are a few of my obviously simple thoughts about John Wesley’s entry.

First, there is this most wonderfully phrased passage about what happened when God moved on Wesley’s heart.  “Strangely warmed.”  What is there to be threatened of in those two words?  It’s a succulent image.  Notice that Wesley noticed what it felt like to him. He didn’t describe what preceded the “warming.”  There is no formula here. I doubt the father of Methodism suspected we’d be peeking into his private journal, or he might have been tempted to spell out the method for this “warming.” I know I would have. Remember, we want reality. Mystery doesn’t sit well in our spirituality.

Second, he linked it to trust and faith in the notion that salvation comes through Christ alone.  That’s a monster-huge discussion right there. I doubt most of us catch the real magnitude of Wesley’s words.  I’m not saying that I get it all, but I’m willing to make a wild guess that most of the church is very settled only in what it’s been taught.  BUT, not everyone has been taught the same things.  So, there’s a lot of wiggle room in the Body about what “through Christ alone” could all possibly mean.  How wide ARE those implications? Of course, what YOU’VE been taught is absolutely correct and whoever differs is absolutely wrong, right? Ha! Sorry, I’m messing with you, so let’s move on.

Without drawing a big ol’ line in the sand for who’s right and who’s wrong here, can we agree that the Father made a way for us to know how much He loves us?  Some of us realize it, and too many don’t. Is there any chance of a slim margin of agreement here among us?

Third (which is my personal favorite), Wesley mentions, “an assurance was given me.”  To me, this is indeed an important part of the motherload implications.  That assurance (and it is a real thing) should birth His humility inside of us, rather than mean-spirited certitudes and haughty religious absolutes.  If I’m not mistaken, that “assurance” is the presence of Father God, the Holy Spirit, and the residing Spirit of Christ.  There is nothing ugly or over-bearing that comes off those Persons.  Wesley received their divine grace.  He didn’t demand a template for that assurance.  It just landed softly, almost as gently as a dove.

“True grace is shocking, scandalous.”  – Philip Yancey

And lastly, he saw the atonement for some of what it was and how it applied to himself. Even though Wesley’s words are genuinely simple here, the idea that he’s articulating is not. Grace and forgiveness can’t really be contained, can they? There is always more than we need. How can we ever really get our minds around a supernatural ripple that is still expanding?

I love Philip Yancey’s brilliant statement in his book: What Is So Amazing About Grace? He says, “True grace is shocking, scandalous.” And so it is. Particularly when it comes to the wounded hearts of broken people. He also wrote, “Grace, like water, flows to the lowest part.” And thank God for that! We’ve all had our “lowest parts.” Some of us have paid dearly for them too. Which is usually when we find out how amazing grace really is.

Today, I’m grateful for Wesley’s discipline to record his thoughts. I’m deeply touched. Hope the motherload sits on you too.

MDP

What you’re looking at here is the demolished cupcake of Gracie, our 19-month-old granddaughter (our fourth of four grandchildren). Pretty, huh?

My eldest daughter, Nicole, and her husband, Steve, hosted our family this past weekend for a “gender reveal” party. Seems to be the fashionable rage these days. Actually, it’s very cool. Everyone gets an official guess of the baby’s gender, and then at some point during the party, a blue or pink item is introduced to reveal the sex of the baby.

I’ve heard of a few fun ways to do this, but my tribe rolls with food. So Gracie got the first cupcake. Her job was to smash open her massive chocolate sugarbomb (a beautiful JenDen creation), thus revealing the color of the frosting on the inside.

So picture our grandbaby, too young to understand the magnitude of her role, carefully examining her treat. IT TOOK FOREVER! Her mom had to keep scraping off icing until Gracie finally poked her finger inside the cupcake to reveal the bright PINK filling. Everyone screamed with joy! Poor Gracie exploded into hysterical tears!   It was sensory overload! The combination of her busted cupcake and the family cheering in celebration was just too much for her. The poor girl completely lost it on us. Not sure I blame her.

Here is the video if you got a minute: 

As we were passing out all of the congratulatory kisses, I suddenly heard my 35-year-old voice in the spirit, or in a vision, or maybe it was just one of those strong memories that resurfaces like an air-thirsty whale. As I looked at Nicole, she was suddenly 12 years old again.   She’d just asked me to pray for her. Her monthly cycles were brutal for such a young girl.   After I prayed for her discomfort, I told her, “That just means you’ll have fat, juicy babies.” Don’t ask me where that came from. I don’t know. It just popped out, and it became my standard response on cramp days. I’d usually always get a smile out of her whenever I said it, but she wasn’t having any fun at the time with all of that.

As I remembered it all, clear as day, I choked back my emotion. I couldn’t let the other boys see me cry. But the words “fat juicy babies” were pounding over and over in my heart. I couldn’t help but think of the journey it took us to get here.

Before I disclose something very personal and sacred about our family, let me put a disclaimer on this. I don’t know any other way to say this, but God has kept His word to us, and we totally celebrate His goodness. BUT, we’ve done nothing to really deserve it. Does that make sense? We’re not special and we’re not deserving of specialized treatment from God. At times we’ve been faithful and at times we’ve been like wandering lambs, afraid and exposed. I’m not sure why any of what I’m about to tell you happened. But I think about it all of the time.

Is anyone who gives birth, adopts, or raises a child ever really deserving of that child? Think about it for a minute. For a woman’s womb to receive the seed of a man, thus stewarding the miraculous mystery of life and soul, no matter how that life got started in that womb is way above our pay grade. It’s heaven-and-earth stuff. All of it is supernatural grace. I just think you’re being obstinately blind if you can’t see the Divine thumbprint in mankind’s ability to reproduce life.

There were times throughout our journey where all we had to hold on to was hope, and that my friends can be at times like climbing Everest using only dental floss for rope.

There are many women who are unable to conceive for a multitude of reasons. And again I have to say that “not deserving” or “no merit” isn’t a part of that equation either. The answers to our questions of “why” or “why not” are just simply beyond us in another dimension altogether.

My point in saying this is so that some dear woman who is still desperately clinging to hope will be encouraged and receive from Him what she needs to continue to endure and trust for as long as necessary. I wish I could issue guarantees, but there are none. He is God and He is love. Blessed be the Name of the Lord. And until He says something else to you, hold on to hope, honey. Hold on! Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

Nicole and Steve tried for many years to have a baby. Nothing was working. Three failed artificial insemination attempts and one failed in-vitro fertilization led to all kinds of disappointment, financial expense, and heartache for the whole family—especially for Nicole and Steve.

My daughter is a monster in the Spirit. Not many people know her that way but, good Lord, put her in a room where the Ghost is moving and she radiates like the sun! Most ministry people don’t have a clue of what she’s capable of. I’ve seen how she operates when she gets the nod from spiritual authority. Whoa, Jesus! Both of my natural daughters are wired this way.

Those seasons of trying, begging, and crying out, and not getting what she really wanted in her heart was devastating—almost crippling. Steve was also being brutalized in the process. And honestly, I was personally confused as hell! We all were. “Really, God? Fat juicy babies! What gives here?” This was a kid who would breastfeed her Cabbage Patch dolls when she was 3 years old. She’s had mommy juice for a really long time.

After four major heartbreaks, each equally devastating, they rolled the dice again. By this time, all our family could do was whisper in absolute surrender, “We need you, Lord.” In early December 2011, Gracie was conceived in a petri dish.   We have a picture of the two embryos within hours of their conception (see below). Both were implanted in Nicole’s womb a few days later. Two planted, but only one developed to term. The mystery declared once again: “Some things are beyond you.” We had to rest with that.  Grace Irene Brewer was born in August 2012.

The mystery of it all is bigger than any of us can comprehend. Gracie is beautiful and perfect. A gift. A life. A baby. Pure grace.

I guess doctors have to give you odds on this kind of stuff, but the numbers were not good for any of the procedures. It was all risk and a lot of faith. Scary as hell, in fact! Couples going through these kinds of trials need your prayers and your tears. It’s a hard time, but worth the risk every time. I’m convinced the same can be said for foster care and adoption as well. It’s a risk. But the reward is so worth it!

The numbers Nicole and Steve got for natural conception possibilities were 1 in 1,000. So remove the words “good chance” here and replace them with “next to impossible.” Not happy news.

But, Gracie needed a brudder or a sissy, so Nicole and Steve had decided that round three of in-vitro was going to happen eventually. It was just a matter of when. Patti and I kind of felt like we would hear something in the fall of ’14. We were wrong.

Back in early February, our friends, Michael and Kathy Hindes, were in town for the evening. Nicole knew we had friends visiting with us, so it was really weird when she requested immediate Facetime with the both of us. We took the call in the back bedroom. We saw Steve’s and Nicole’s faces, and then a positive pregnancy stick! “It just happened,” they cried excitedly.

Patti lost control and fell onto the bed in sobs. I was yelling so loud my throat hurt the next day. I could hear the Hindes’ laughing on the other side of the house. They immediately knew what the commotion must be all about.  They knew what we had been through.

Since then, the daughter quarantined Pops and Nana’s communication. There were ultra sounds, blood work, and other things to check out before we were to move to full blown party mode. But, don’t check around too close to see whom all Nana might have told.   I don’t think those numbers are too good either.

Two months have passed and last weekend we watched in loving adoration as our beautiful Gracie dove into her pink cupcake.   Our eyes filled with tears and overwhelming awe. From the days of painful longing to soft moments of cuddling fat, juicy babies, He’s been our peace and the source. Here the words just fail to form. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

She’ll be here in September, a new sister for Gracie—a new cousin for Isabel, Jones, and Lewis. All is grace. All is good.

Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

Blessed be the Name of the Lord.  Amen.

MDP

A couple of years ago, Patti and I visited Bran Castle near Brasov, Romania. You would know this place as Count Dracula’s Castle. Since it is the only hilltop castle in all of Transylvania, Bram Stoker drew heavily from written accounts of the place when he introduced the world to his Dracula. The Dracula theme is definitely a big draw, but the real truth about all that is not so sensational.

During one part of our tour of the castle, we were ushered into a very tiny stone-milled spiral staircase that actually skipped a floor and connected the kitchen (on the first floor) to the living quarters (on the third floor). Two-way traffic on this staircase was nearly impossible. It was made for one person’s journey alone! Not only that, it was kind of dark in there, dank, extremely tight, and highly claustrophobic. What was even more noticeable as you climbed that stairway was that you lost your sense of direction and any real sense of peripheral progress. It was a crazy sensation on that creepy little path.

What got me thinking about all of this was due to a message I heard Dr. Bob Nichols give last Sunday in a church here in Waco. I told you, I go to church… sometimes… so get off my back about it.

Dr. Bob was talking about this very thing—that nauseating feeling of being claustrophobic and confined when one season has ended and we haven’t fully gotten into the next season.   Transition only feels like it lasts forever.

“My dove, in clefts of the rock, in a secret place of the ascent, cause me to see thine appearance, cause me to hear thy voice, for thy voice is sweet, and thy appearance comely” (Song of Solomon 2:14, YLT).

Here, the groom is coaxing the bride to come forth from the secret place. Oh wait, not just any secret place, a secret place of the ascent. You can make all the connections, right? God is coaxing the bride (us) to come out of the secret places of confinement. And what feels unending and peripherally redundant actually becomes a proving ground for vertical ascent.

Dr. Bob was basting this big idea in the notion that it’s possible to be making positive progress without necessarily knowing it, feeling it, or having any tangible sign of a “life changing” opportunity. All the while, we get to choose the attitudes and emotional climate that internally governs our moving up or down that spiral staircase. Read: anger, self-pity, blame, being reckless, irresponsibility, or unhealthy fear as “moving downward” influences.

Let me close with Dr. Bob’s final thought to this part of his sermon. Let me warn you… it’s a doozie.

“Opportunity can only be seized by you, when you are seized by it before it arrives.”

I’m pretty sure we’re much more seize-able when we’re climbing.

No gig lasts forever. That also includes your season in the hiding place. Keep moving. The way is up whether you know it or not.

MDP

I love this prayer from A Cry for Mercy by Henri J. M. Nouwen:

Listen, O Lord, to my prayers.  Listen to my desire to be with you, to dwell in your house, and to let my whole being be filled with your presence.  But none of this is possible without you.  When you are not the one who fills me, I am soon filled with endless thoughts and concerns that divide me and tear me away from you.  Even thoughts about you, good spiritual thoughts, can be little more than distractions when you are not their author.

O Lord, thinking about you, being fascinated with theological ideas and discussions, being excited about histories of Christian spirituality and stimulated by thoughts and ideas about prayer and meditation, all of this can be as much an expression of greed as the unruly desire for food, possessions, or power.

Every day I see again that only you can teach me to pray, only you can set my heart at rest, only you can let me dwell in your presence.   No book, no idea, no concept or theory will ever bring me close to you unless you yourself are the one who lets these instruments become the way to you.

Early on, back when I was a “proper” denominational pastor, my people-person wife used to ask me after Sunday church, “How many people did you see today?”  I’d shoot back, “all of them.”  That was a load of manure right there.  Honestly, I wouldn’t see anyone.  I was focused on what I was focused on.  Deeply focused and in my own world:  The Mike Zone.   The body was present, but the mind was elsewhere, rehearsing sermon notes, ideas, and concepts that needed to be laid out.  Some pastor, huh?

I’ve worked hard to change that about myself.  But I can still go there in a heartbeat.  Thump-thump.  Gone baby!

Last Saturday, Patti and I were headed on an errand to McGregor.  That’s about a fifteen-minute drive from where we live.  We drive that road all the time!  No biggie.

Saturday was a typical March day in Central Texas.  March in Central Texas can either be warm and sunny, or cold and cloudy, with nasty north winds.  Picture the latter.  Howling rainy winds.  Miserable stuff.

We were on a mission to get our errand over with so we could chill the rest of the day.  On our drive, however, we spotted a man—through slurpin’ windshield wipers—pushing his grocery cart with four large suitcases on the highway.   Of course Patti commented, “Oh, poor guy!”  I grunted.  But, we kept moving.  We were on a mission.

Two hours later, we were headed home from our appointment.  And yup, he was still out there on the highway.  Dragging his cart… still raining… his nasty pancho flying sideways because of the wind.  Now she said, “He hasn’t gotten very far.  Poor guy.”  I grunted out actual words this time, “Someone will pick him up.”

During my Seminary days, I had a two-hour commute between home and Ft. Worth.  So I would pick people up off the highway all the time.  Yes, ALL THE TIME.  So, I’m not completely heartless… regardless of what you might be thinking right now.

The next day, I was supposed to be preaching back in McGregor.  As I was driving to the church, I was definitely back in The Mike Zone, making sure I felt prepared.  Serious thinking.

There he was again.  Same guy.  Same road.  The same conditions existed, just colder.  He maybe progressed about four miles since I had last seen him the day before.  He was now displaying a sign with his destination: TEMPLE.  He must have slept in that patch of woods over there.  His odds aren’t great being on this particular highway.  He needs to be on I-35 not Hwy 84.  It can work over here, but not likely.

I grunted.  I really couldn’t be any later than I already was.  I had a serious message to give on the Holy Spirit.  I kept driving.

Three and a half hours later, I was headed home.  I was hungry, spent, and ready for a nap.  I made a quick call to see if Patti needed anything before I got home.  Nothing.  Sweet!

Damn it!  There he was again.  He had made a little more progress, but not much.  No grunt.  No more thoughts.  Now I’m talking out loud:  Just drive dude—just drive.  You’re almost home.  Frik!

I made it about three miles past the guy.

How many times are you going to drive by that guy?

Silence for another mile.

How many times are you going to drive by that guy?

Damn it!  Really?  [I’m laughing in the car because it’s just so frikk’n bizarre]

Shouting:  Ok.  Ok.  OK!

I made a quick u-turn and headed back in the opposite direction.  I scurried to shove my bible under my seat (didn’t want him to think he was being accosted by Bibleman) and rearranged the clutter in the passenger’s seat to make some room.  I grabbed the cash stash we keep in the car for such things and I was ready to roll.  I was actually surprised I had driven so far past him.

I kid you not.  You can’t make this stuff up.  As I pulled up, a man with a pick-up had pulled over and was loading the guy’s stuff into the back of his truck.  From the time I passed him, until I turned around and drove back to him, he had gotten the relief he was asking for.

I’m thinking:  NO WAY!  I DROVE PAST THAT GUY FOUR TIMES IN TWO DAYS!  YOU FINALLY SAY SOMETHING TO ME ABOUT IT, I TURN AROUND, AND THERE IS ANOTHER MAN WITH A TRUCK PICKING HIM UP?  WHAT IS THAT ABOUT?

“Just check’n.  That’s all.”

Listen, there is no one in this story who deserves a pat on the back other than the guy driving that truck.  I’m pretty sure he reacted the first time he saw the poor guy.

I asked one more time as I neared my home:  Anything else You want to say about this?

The guy was done.  He needed help.  It’s that simple.

That was it.

It was much to weird for me to draw any hasty conclusion here.  Honestly, I’m still processing it.

Let me get back to you on it if I can wrap it up all neat and tidy for y’all.

Don’t hold your breath.

MDP

I promise I’m not in a death spiral.  Not even close.

Last week I put up a post called Obit.  I revealed that I have been checking the obituaries, looking at the faces, and reading the tidbits of information published in the papers.  I told you it felt honoring to do so.  I still hold to that.

Although I’ve never been one to participate in Lent-focused activities, this year, because of some new devotional material I’m sitting in, I’m reading quite a bit of scripture that correlates liturgically to the Lent season.  This is new territory for me.  And quite frankly, I love it.

It feels totally foreign and absolutely refreshing.  I also like the fact that you can’t rush it.  You have to sit in it.  You must turn all the outside stuff completely off or you miss the whispers.  Yeah, remember when you could hear Him whisper?  You’re not alone if you’re having a bit of a strain to recall the last time you felt Him get next to you.

So a couple of days ago, I sat down with my lectionary of prayers and scripture, facing again the mystery that God allows death to operate.  That day’s reading was about the crucifixion of Jesus by Walter Brueggemann.

Instead of me reposting the actual reading (which was intimidating with its big words and complex theology,) I’m going to paraphrase and give you the stuff I put in my own journal.  Trust me, you’re better off with this redneck’s regurgitation.

Here’s what I wrote:

“It was God’s announcement that the end of a world of death has concluded.  He takes death into himself.”  -Brueggemann

The natural conclusion is that God is in agreement that we die.  It is not an ongoing battle with death (He defeated death), but His approval that allows death to do its work—even though we horribly struggle with how little control we have in how, with whom, why, and when death appears.  God is not shaken or thwarted by death.  Why?  Because it is only the way of passage through the door which Christ opened for mankind.  Life at another level awaits.

“IT WAS GOD’S ANNOUNCEMENT THAT THE END OF A WORLD OF DEATH HAS CONCLUDED.  HE TAKES DEATH INTO HIMSELF.”

Richard Rohr, a Franciscan who consistently helps shape some of my spiritual thoughts, teaches that facing the ramifications of death and the absolute certainty of its eventuality, is completely necessary for real maturity (BOTH natural and spiritual).  It’s almost too late to be affected by that realization when you’re old and feeble.  The value is on the front-end, early—the beginning. It’s about the only thing that really helps us prioritize our lives when our life needs prioritizing the most.  Not facing it keeps us shallow, childish, and immature.

I don’t think we’ll ever get to the bottom of His mysteries.  I like that about our God.   It forces what we hate:  the sober realization that we’re not in control; and God moves toward our terrorized morsels of faith.  In it all we find the pulse of life.

MDP

And I drew, too, the way that my father once looked at a bird lying on its side against the curb near our house.  It was Shabbos and we were on our way back from the synagogue.

“Is it dead, Papa?”  I was six and could not bring myself to look at it.

“Yes,” I hear him say in a sad and distant way.

“Why did he die?”

“Everything that lives must die.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

“You, too Papa?  And Mama?”

“Yes.”

“And me?”

“Yes,” he said.  Then he added in Yiddish, “But may it be only after you live a long and good life, my Asher.”

I couldn’t grasp it.  I forced myself to look at the bird.  Everything alive would one day be as still as that bird.

“Why?” I asked.

“That’s the way the Ribbono Shef Olom made his world, Asher.”

“Why?”

“So life would be precious, Asher.  Something that is yours forever is never precious.”

—From My Name Is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok

“Men and women don’t live very long; like wildflowers they spring up and blossom, but a storm snuffs them out just as quickly, leaving nothing to show they were here.  God’s love, though, is ever and always, eternally present to all who fear him, making everything right for them and their children as they follow his Covenant ways and remember to do whatever he said” (Psalms 103:15-18, MSG).

Call me crazy if you want, but I’ve been checking out the obituaries in the Waco paper.  It’s not every day, and no, I’m not looking for myself.  I’m not sure I can totally explain it, but it feels… honoring.

Every now and then I might see a name I recognize, but for the most part these are total strangers.   Weird, huh?  And I’m genuinely interested.

Early on in my “church” ministry, I did a lot of funerals.  I officiated four to five times more funerals than weddings.  One of my best friends was a funeral director.  He told me more than I ever really wanted to know about the ins and outs of dealing with the dead.

I was so young and so full of myself, I was always more concerned about what I was going to say than who I was actually going to be talking about.   In fact, most of those early funerals I did were for people I had never met.  Talk about flying blind.  Wow.  I’m disheartened when I think of what I could have or should have said at some of those funerals.  I genuinely feel I let those people down.

Lots of years have passed since all of that.  I’ve seen more deaths, comforted more grieving people, and I’ve personally experienced the loss of family members and loved ones.  I still care about what I might actually say at a service, but it’s not nearly as important as honoring the person we are there to mourn, and comforting a family that is stricken with grief.

I can’t tell you how many times I sat in the funeral director’s office 15 minutes before the service, before a grieving family member would hand me the obituary for the deceased.  I would hurriedly learn the full name (some older people have some amazing full names), and if the family took the time to give a lot of details, I could put together a fairly insightful and tasteful eulogy to serve several purposes for the attendees.

Most of what is considered the obituary, or “obit,” that you hear at a funeral service, is read verbatim from the article that was written by a family member announcing the service details.  There’s much more creativity in services today, but all the basics are normally still observed.  No matter how it’s done, it still sucks to say goodbye.  It sucks to see the people you love hurting.  It just sucks to have to find some way to help these people find closure.  But, it’s a necessary and legitimate aspect of Kingdom life.

No matter how big, how small, how wordy, or how slim, there is one thing for certain about an obit:

IT IS ONLY A MICROSCOPIC PEEK AT A PERSON’S LIFE. 

There is no way to tell a person’s life story in an article, a sermon, a memorial, a funeral, or whatever kind of recognition that is being put together.

IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO DO THEIR LIFE JUSTICE.  ABSOLUTELY IMPOSSIBLE!

I remember watching JFK’s funeral on our little black and white TV.  That was a horribly sad day.  The country mourned.  School’s turned out.  Businesses closed.  All of it combined wasn’t enough to tell the whole story of the man.

Men and women are laid to rest all over the world with full military honors, gun salutes, and patriotic honor.  It’s not enough to tell their story.

Large and small funeral parlor chapels and churches provide a countless number of services for grieving families with broken hearts, but the words are never enough to tell the whole story.  It’s never enough.

Sometimes the obit is all you get.  The last pronouncement that time is up.  Death follows through.  Maybe not today.  Probably not tomorrow.  But soon enough for all of us.

What do you want yours to say?  Your obit.  What do you want the people you care about to write about you?  Or do you care?

I’ll conclude with these two things:

FIRST, SOW INTO YOUR OWN OBIT TODAY—EVERYDAY.   Papa was right in what he told Asher.  There is no such thing as an insignificant moment.  Live large, intentional—focused.  Tell people they matter to you.  Show your love, feed their soul—feed your soul.  Why?  (1) This gig doesn’t last forever, and (2) every day is a gift.  Yeah, it’s that simple.

SECOND, EXPAND YOUR RELATIONAL KNOWLEDGE BASE WITH THE PEOPLE YOU NOW KNOW AND THOSE YOU’RE ABOUT TO MEET.   There is only so much you can know about a person when you’re reading about them after they’re gone.  Not that it’s just about fact finding, but developing your own memories with people is hopefully what remains.

Dig in with all of God’s children and embrace their realities.  Sit in their pain, drink to their successes, encourage their dreams, enjoy their individual and majestic beauty, and notice the kiss of God on another person’s life.

The earth is covered with beautiful flowers.  Love and enjoy them… while you can.

-MDP-

Too good not to share…

Most of the discussion of prayer I had ever heard centered on whether God answers prayer and how we can know that he does.  But during the past decade I have come to believe that prayer is not a matter of my calling in an attempt to get God’s attention, but of my finally listening to the call of God, which has been constant, patient, and insistent in my inner being.  In relationship to God, I am not the seeker, the initiator, the one who loves more greatly.  In prayer, as in the whole salvation story unfolded by Scripture, God is reaching out to me, speaking to me, and it is up to me to learn to be polite enough to pay attention.  When I do have something to say to God, I am rendering a response to the divine initiative.  So the questions of whether or not and how God answers prayer now seem to me bogus questions.  God speaks, all right.  The big question is do I answer, do I respond, to an invitation that is always open.

I do not mean to imply that I have no use for liturgical and communal prayer, which serves as a concrete enactment of my oneness with the other members of the family of God.  But I know; and I think every honest person knows that communal prayers are sometimes real to my inner experience, and sometimes not, and that difference lies in the kind of internal focus I am able to give to them.  I think that those who attack traditional liturgy, ritual, and communal prayer as meaningless to modern humanity are bogging themselves down in a great muddle.  Religious communal celebrations enact, reinforce, and incarnate the human sense of mortal interrelationship, divine interrelationship, and divine-human interrelationship.

—From Speech, Silence, Action! By Virginia Ramey Mollenkott

Naked self.  Quite the character, I must say.

I don’t meet with him very often.  I see him almost every day, but most of the time I try to ignore him.  That guy has really changed over the years.

It seems like only yesterday all the hair on his chest was jet black.  And the hundreds of times he’s packed and unpacked his bags for another ministry gig seems to have left permanent bags under his eyes.  The external rearrangements are staggering to say the least.

Not a lot more needs to be said about all of that because the unglorious colloquy with naked self isn’t about personal aesthetics.   Our aesthetics (and our own displeasure of them) is just too easy of a target.  When you consider genetics, gender, and race, there are just some things about how we look that are beyond our control.

Two truths I realized when I turned 50:

(1) Gravity shifts stuff down

(2) We only think we’re in control.

Meet with your naked self often enough and you’ll realize those truths well before your ‘50s.

So dude, you ran a 4.6 40-yard dash in high school?  You still got those kinds of wheels?

Honey, you’re 28 and you’ve nursed three babies?  Things have shifted huh?  As Hindes says, “Shift happens!”

See?  This is what I’m talking about.  Aesthetics are easy and mostly fleeting.  The unglorious colloquy with naked self is about something else.  It’s more . . . penetrating.  Deeper.  Ruthless.  Invasive.

We all have external stuff about us we don’t like or want to change.  Who doesn’t?  Even the most beautiful people on this planet will find something about themselves to pick at.  Pick up any Hollywood tabloid and see for yourself.

Here is what got me thinking about all of this.  Three Sundays ago, I was sitting on the couch enjoying my early morning with Patti.  Hot coffee, comfy sweats, computer in my lap—basically just chillin’ out.  As I turned my head to sneeze, a knifing pain shot through my lower back.  Before I could readjust my position, I sneezed again.  Now a hellacious pain engulfed by lower back.  So much so, I had to fight the urge to throw up.

There was no way to get comfortable.  Standing straight up was impossible.  Laying down on my side was about the least irritating position.  This went on for two weeks!  I was walking around like a very old, hurt man.

I gave patience, ibuprofen, ice, and heat a whirl for about a week.   But after eight long days, I finally called Dr. Gary.  I’m in Texas.  He’s in South Carolina.  I needed his magic and insight.  He helped me locate a chiropractor in Waco, so I made an appointment and went.

Let me interrupt here a second.  Patti and I recognize that sometimes there is some sort of spiritual readjustment necessary to get physically sound and well.  I know this can get very legalistic and crazy in this venue, but we’ve seen inner healing bring physical healing—lots of times actually.  Not every time, but too many times to ignore the possibility.

So, about eight days into my personal hell, my wife asked me what I knew she was already thinking. My wife has never helped me develop the skills of trying to read her mind.  I’m usually told what is on her mind before I ever have a thought about what she might be thinking.

So, do you have a problem with someone or something?  You’re out of alignment.  What’s going on?

It just pissed me off when she said it, because I knew she was right.  I had already been going over that question in my mind.  I issued a generalized: negatory goodbuddy!

I frikk’n sneezed Patti!  Don’t get weird on me.  I frikk’n sneezed, I’m hurt, and I’m not too happy about it.  Just pray.

Men can be such whiney pricks.

My chiropractor appointment was that morning.  Patti left for the day and I went to the bathroom to shower and shave—AND there he was again.  Naked self.  Except, this time the dude was toting an attitude.

Any particular reason why you feel inclined to bark at your wife because she’s asking the same questions you’d be asking her if she was in your situation?

I have no defense.

What’s the matter with you?  You seem to be tense about every thing in your life right now.  You are out of alignment and I’m not just talking about your back.

Frik!  See I told you.  Invasive.  Ruthless.  At this point my nose is on the mirror and I’m staring through the dark windows.

You just left a season you absolutely loved.  You still need rest, creative space, and you’re undone with a couple of months of transition and mystery?

How the heck does naked self know this stuff?

This down time is the time to plan, think, dream (remember when you used to love to dream?) and deal with the downed fences around the pasture.

Anything else?

Stop thinking about having to do some “thing” that will change the whole world.  It’s a ridiculous notion.  Be willing to serve those around you today.  HE has already done what is necessary to change the world.  It’s too much pressure.  It’s hard to love if you’re under religious pressure.  Love and serve.  That’s it.  Love and serve.  You can do that no matter where you are.

That was the big stuff.  Naked self addressed a couple more personal items that really aren’t important to anyone else, so I’ll spare you the details.

I then dressed and went to my appointment.  It was NOT a Dr. Gary adjustment.  Holy crap!  I had to go home afterwards to see if I soiled myself.  Wow.

But I felt better the very next day.  Two days later, I went back for another adjustment.  Everything was back in alignment, and I was on the treadmill and lifting weights again the very next day.  BOOM!  Just like that!

The temptation here is to produce the formula.  There is nothing in here that remotely resembles a formula.  There is no formula.  THERE IS NO FRIKK’N FORMULA!

What I think I got out of my little baño episode is that naked self should probably have more stage time than what he or she really gets.  Not in a weird selfie-way (God please deliver us from this fad), but in a truth encounter way.  Why?  Because there are some things in our lives that can only be addressed by us.  And from deep inside all of that compacted dust and earth from which we were all created, we need to decide and make some changes—knowing all too well that change can be painful and lonely.

I’m not a professional in this sport, but I do try to be honest and forthright.  Naked self sometimes needs to get our attention because we’re not listening to anyone, including the Lord.  Naked self probably has some stuff to say.

It might be about your personal aesthetics (which usually only reveals a more serious issue if you’ve got the courage to face it).

It could be a legitimate need to readjust attitudes, postures, and spiritual hygiene.

Or even, “Hey dude… you’re wearing me out with all your vibration and fear.  Settle yo rear, would ya?  At least pretend you got some faith.”

And then there is all the stuff about our relationships and communique portfolio regarding the important people in our lives.

For me, it was time for the unglorious colloquy with naked self.  An adjustment prior to the adjustment.

It might be time for you too.

-MDP-

I’m  gonna tell you straight up, and I make no apologies for this:   I’m doing it to you again.

I posted a link to Michael Hindes’ sermon “Resolutions” weeks ago (Jan 16) with a sincere hope that you might avail yourself to that message.  As stated early, my desire was only to point you to what might be deemed significant for your development.

This past weekend, my long-time friend David Johnson and his sweet wife Bonnie, made an attempt to escape the deep freeze of Minnesota for some warm gulf air.  They did thaw some, but not much.  It’s been cold here deep in the Heart of Texas.

The elders at ECF invited David to preach and he responded with a message that was quite moving.  If you’re a person who struggles with the dichotomy of a GOOD, BENEVOLENT—GRACIOUS GOD and a sometimes MEAN, UNJUST—HURTFUL WORLD… this message is for you!  Let me encourage you to take 45 minutes and dial in to what the Spirit might be saying.  It was an incredible message!  You won’t be disappointed.

David Johnson is Sr. Pastor at Church of the Open Door in Maple Grove, MN.  You’ll not hear a more gifted Bible teacher than this guy.  I have the greatest friends on the planet.  I’m so blessed!

TO LISTEN TO DAVID JOHNSON’S MESSAGE:  Stephen’s Last Stand

(Be patient.  It might take a minute or so to load.)

Mike

xo