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Share 0 “Jesus was…sleeping.” (Mark 4:38). Now there’s a scene. Jesus was sleeping in the midst of a storm on the Sea of Galilee. The disciples scream, Jesus dreams. Thunder roars, Jesus snores. He doesn’t doze, catnap, or rest. He slumbers. Who could sleep at a time like this? Could you? Could you snooze during a roller coaster loop-de-loop? In a wind tunnel? At a kettle drum concert? Jesus slept through all three, at once! Mark’s gospel adds two curious details. “[Jesus] was in the stern, asleep on a pillow” (Mk. 4:38). In a stern, on a pillow. Why the first? From whence came the second? First-century fishermen used large, heavy seine nets for their work. They stored the net in a nook that was built into the stern for this purpose. Sleeping upon the stern deck was impractical. It provided no space or protection. The small compartment beneath the stern, however, provided both. It was the most enclosed and only protected part of the boat. So Christ, a bit dozy from the day’s activities, crawled beneath the deck to get some sleep. He rested his head, not on a fluffy feather pillow, but on a leather sandbag. A ballast bag. Mediterranean fishermen still use them. They weigh about a hundred pounds and are used to ballast, or stabilize, the boat. Did Jesus take the pillow to the stern so he could sleep, or sleep so soundly someone rustled him up the pillow? We don’t know. But this much we do. This is a premeditated slumber. He didn’t accidentally nod off. In full knowledge of the coming storm, Jesus decided it was siesta time, so he crawled into the corner, put his head on the pillow, and drifted into dreamland. His snooze troubled the disciples. Matthew and Mark record their response as three staccato Greek commands and one question. The commands: “Lord! Save! Dying!” (Mt. 8:25). The question: “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” (Mk. 4:39). They do not ask about Jesus’ strength: “Can you still the storm?” His knowledge: “Are you aware of the storm?” Or his know-how: “Do you have any experience with storms?” But rather, they raise doubts about Jesus’ character. “Do you not care…?” Fear does this. Fear corrodes our confidence in God’s goodness. We begin to wonder if love lives in heaven. If God can sleep in my storms, if his eyes stay shut when my eyes grow wide, if he permits storms after I get on his boat, does he care? Fear unleashes a swarm of doubts, anger-stirring doubts. And it turns us into control freaks. “Do something about the storm!” is the implicit demand of the question. “Fix it, or…or…or, else!” Fear, at its center, is a perceived loss of control. When life spins wildly, we grab for a component of life we can manage: our diet, the tidiness of a house, the armrest of a plane, or, in many cases, people. The more insecure we feel, the meaner we become. We growl and bare our fangs. Why? Because we are bad? In part. But also because we feel cornered. Shouldn’t someone mention Jesus’ track record or review his resume? Do they remember the accomplishments of Christ? They may not. Fear creates a form of spiritual amnesia. It dulls our miracle memory. It makes us forget what Jesus has done and how good God is. When fear shapes our lives, safety becomes our god. When safety becomes our god, we worship the risk-free life. Can the safety lover do anything great? Can the risk-averse accomplish noble deeds? For God? For others? No. The fear-filled cannot love deeply; love is risky. They cannot give to the poor. Benevolence has no guarantee of return. The fear-filled cannot dream wildly. What if their dreams sputter and fall from the sky? The worship of safety emasculates greatness. No wonder Jesus wages such a war against fear. Christ’s most common command emerges from the “fear not” genre. The gospels list some 125 Christ-issued imperatives. Of these, twenty-one urge us to “not be afraid” or to “not fear” or to “have courage,” “take heart,” or “be of good cheer.” The second most common command appears on eight occasions. If quantity is any indicator, Jesus takes our fears seriously. The one statement he said more than any other was this: Don’t be afraid. “It’s all right. I am here! Don’t be afraid.” (Matthew 14:27 NCV) “Do not fear, little flock, for it is your father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” (Luke 12:32) “Don’t be troubled. You trust God, now trust in me…. I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am.” (John 14:1-3 NLT) Fearless, Max Lucado, upwords.com .

Jesus was not always welcomed warmly by earth-travelers. Some saw Him as a threat. Some saw Him as a heretic. Most saw Him as an enigma. Not everyone in Jesus’ world gave him a warm welcome. Not everyone received him with grace. And many didn’t just ignore him, they rejected him. Isaiah prophesied his reception like this: “He was despised and rejected by men” (Isa. 53:3 NIV). John summarized the rejection of Jesus with these words: “He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him” (John 1:10-11 NIV). How did Christ endure treatment like that? At any point he could have said, “I quit. I’ve had enough.” Why didn’t he? What kept him from giving up? I wonder if Lee Ielpi understands the answer? He is a retired firefighter, a New York City firefighter. He gave twenty-six years to the city. But on September 11, 2001, he gave much more. He gave his son. Jonathan Ielpi was a fireman as well. When the Twin Towers fell, he was there. Firefighters are a loyal clan. When one perishes in the line of duty, the body is left where it is until a firefighter who knows the person can come and quite literally pick it up. Le made the discovery of his son’s body his personal mission. He dug daily with dozens of others at the sixteen-acre graveyard. One Tuesday, December 11, three months after the disaster, his son was found. And Lee was there to carry him out. He didn’t give up. The father didn’t quit. He refused to turn and leave. Why? Because his love for his son was greater than the pain of the search. Can’t the same be said about Christ? Why didn’t he quit? Because the love for his children was greater than the pain of the journey. He came to pull you out. Your world had collapsed. That’s why he came. You were dead, dead to sin. That’s why he came. He loves you. That’s why he came. That’s why he endured the distance between us. “Love…endures all things.” That’s why he endured the resistance from us. “Love…endures all things.” That’s why he went the final step of the incarnation: “God made him who had not sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21 NIV). Why did Jesus do that? There is only one answer. And that answer has one word. Love. And that love of Christ “bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” (1 Cor. 13:7 NKJV). Think about that for a moment. Drink from that for a moment. Drink deeply. Don’t just sip or nip. It’s time to gulp. It’s time to let his love cover all things in your life. All secrets. All hurts. All hours of evil, minutes of worry. The mornings you awoke in the bed of a stranger? His love will cover that. The years you peddled prejudice and pride? His love will cover that. Every promise broken, drug taken, penny stolen. Every cross word, cuss word, and harsh word. His love covers all things. Let it. Discover along with the psalmist. “He…loads me with love and mercy” (Ps. 103:4). Picture a giant dump truck full of love. There you are behind it. God lifts the bed until the love starts to slide. Slowly at first, then down, down, down until you are hidden, buried, covered in his love. “Hey, where are you?” someone asks. “In here, covered in love.” Let his love cover all things. Do it for his sake. To the glory of his name. Do it for your sake. For the peace of your heart. And do it for their sake. For the people in your life. Let his love fall on you so yours can fall on them. Excerpted from A Love Worth Giving W Publishing, 2002 Available for purchase at MaxLucado.com

Every father has a soft spot for his daughter. It doesn’t matter if she is three or thirty-three. The Schull girls are especially cherished by their pop. As a Dad – I get the privilege of investing into my kids – just like you… Recently on a daddy/daughter date with my 3-year-old, I was reminded of some simple parenting lessons. I’ll admit – sometimes these lessons drift off my radar screen, but on this day they were thrust back front and center. I’m still learning, just like you. Calista and I spent the day together ~ here’s the observations that struck me… 1. Questions?… She feels totally at ease to ask me any question – and I mean there is NO shortage of questions. At times, that barrage of inquisitiveness can become frustrating, but I need reminded – those questions are gifts. It’s a gift that my little girl looks to me for answers, advice and input. She feels totally comfortable to ask me for it. She trusts me. The spiritual implication that struck me is: do I feel totally at ease asking God? Is He the first one I look to for answers and advice? How’s your trust level with God? 2. Innovation comes pre-wired within children. Sticks become microphones and playground equipment can instantly become an ice cream store. Often as we get older ~ we lose our imagination, our drift toward innovation and settle for the status-quo. When it comes to our spiritual journey ~ have we lost our ability to imagine all of what God can do – how He can use us to impact our world? How’s your creativity & imagination? I love what the Apostle Paul says in Ephesians about God’s imagination. May we dream bigger! 3. Listening. I’ve always heard “you have 2 ears and only 1 mouth“. We live in a culture that speaks a lot, but listens less. Have you ever had that moment: you know the one – the moment your child has repeated your name 5-8 times to get your attention? Been there. Listening is what draws relationships closer – knits hearts together. James reminds us that ‘everyone should be quick to listen and slow to speak’ (James 1:19). As I practice intentional listening to Cali – it binds us together. Question is: how quick am I to listen for God’s voice? How about you? 4. Enter their world. That day I got to do something I rarely do. I got to paint Cali’s nails. Now, that is not something I do all the time. In fact I had different plans in that moment of what we’d do – but it was significant & special to her. I had to leave my world and enter hers. Isn’t that what the Incarnation is all about? God didn’t think that a reconciled relationship with humanity was something we could figure out – so He entered in. Still does. Have you stopped long enough to become aware again of His presence? Thank Him for being in your world. As a parent – how quick are we to enter into our children’s world? It takes time, imagination, listening and even questions. KEEP LEARNING. What’s 1 parenting lesson you’ve learned recently?

Share 0 Turf wars are inevitable between churches, countries and children. Whether we fight to sit in the same pew we’ve inhabited for eons or squabble over the line of demarcation drawn between countries, accommodating others is not our strong suit. The ideologies of servanthood and meekness elude us. Let me illustrate with a simple story with which we all can identify. You know you’ve seen it. You know you’ve been there… Yesterday I sat at the stoplight minding my own business, re-setting my iPod, scratching a mosquito bite, answering my cell phone and peeling off my sweat socks when I noticed a familiar scene in my rear-view mirror. Car Wars. A haggard mom in her well-stuffed checkered capris mooned me at the intersection of First and Main. Red-faced and precariously perched between the front and back seats, she was hollering at the top of her lungs. Two little buck-toothed boys smeared with Coppertone and dripping with pool water were beating each other senseless. The freckle-faced, tow-headed kid clobbered his little brother in the head with a model airplane. Older brother fired back with a knuckle sandwich followed by a head butt and a half-nelson hold. Fortunately, there were no vehicles behind us, so I sat through another red light to enjoy the show. The curly-headed baby in the car seat next to Mom peacefully sucked her binkie, oblivious to World War III behind her. Once “moon Mom” had peeled the two brothers apart, I assumed order was restored. But the fun was just beginning. Big brother, energized by the heat of battle, lobbed a Hostess Ding-Dong at Mom’s ponytail scrunchie. Enraged, Mom careened over the curb into the Walmart parking lot, ripped open the back door and tanned the hide of brother number one. I wanted to stay and watch the Mama drama, but a rickety truck filled with lawn mowers and week whackers pulled up behind me, the driver leaning on his horn. This “all too familiar” car war jogged my memory, taking me back to sister skirmishes of years gone by. Mattresses and back seats were hotbeds of conflict for Kathy and me. We drew the “invisible line” down the middle of the bed. If either sister poked a hairy toe across the line of demarcation, hair-pulling, finger-biting and jammie-ripping ensued. Road trips were the worst. Dad got so tired of the “my side,” “her side” quarrel that he pulled out the masking tape, measured the width of the back seat, and clarified the boundaries. This feeble attempt at preserving the peace lasted about fifteen minutes. Our rickety Rambler sedan was un-air-conditioned and the radio was broken. “Are we there yets?” started before we hit the city limits. It was a muggy June day, and we were baked and bored. Kathy and I had to entertain ourselves somehow. We started with an innocuous game of “Cracker Jack” basketball. Each player would alternate chucking a caramel popcorn piece into the open mouth of the opponent. If the candy corn hit the piehole target the pitcher got a point. After two turns, the “Cracker Jack” toss got ugly. The popcorn pelting turned aggressive and a full-out food fight was born. Dad screeched the Rambler to a halt, threatened us with an inch of our lives and re-stuffed us into the backseat. In a last-ditch effort at tranquility, the family engaged in a rousing rendition of “The People on the Bus Go Up and Down” and “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall” until we were too hoarse to croak. Harassment seemed to be the only activity that held any allure for us. The name-calling started first. “Pig Face.” “Blubber-Belly.” “Snot Nose.” “Son of a Snitch!” The names got meaner and our faces got redder. Mom whipped around and warned us of impending doom. Dad tried to divert our attention once more by playing the license plate game, but we were more interested in pinching. We could poke and pester quietly without arousing suspicion. Silently, surreptitiously, we tortured each other until one of us yelped in pain. Dad pulled into the 7-11, poured enough Benadryl down our throats to drug a horse, and we snored all the way to Galveston beach. Do you hold on white-knuckled and stubborn to your cherished opinions, never considering the thoughts and perspectives of others? Do you fight with other brothers and sisters in Christ, just like children skirmishing over toys? Do you relent or rebel? What keeps you from playing nicely with others? The “car wars” must stop! “Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited. Do not repay anyone evil for evil. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” Romans 12:10; 16-18 NIV

The Winter Olympics 2010 are upon us. Athletes across the globe long to skate like Ohno and ski like Mancuso. Even if they don’t win the gold, they hope to score a cushy endorsement deal with Swatch or Wheaties. Nike’s got a spot! Will Tiger leave a hole??? As Christians, most of us are keeping score in life. We know Ephesians 2:8-9: “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.” Yet something inside of us can’t accept the fact that we don’t earn our salvation. We still keep racking up brownie points for God in hopes that we can please Him on our own. Why can’t we receive God’s free gift of salvation in simple faith? Long-time Christians and pastors are suckers for legalism. We can be “good enough,” by golly! I began trying to get on God’s “nice” list at an early age. My third-grade year, it was my all-consuming desire to win the Sunday School perfect attendance pin. Practically perfect, the blue and silver shield had “perfect attendance” emblazoned upon the front like a banner from heaven. In order to receive the coveted award, I not only had to show up on time every Sunday without fail, I had to read the weekly Sunday School lesson and bring my offering envelope. On the Sunday before Labor Day, Mrs. Brumit marched Randy Phelps to the front of the classroom and announced he had won the coveted prize-the perfect attendance pin. He proudly stuck out his chest and Mrs. Brumit penned his award from Jesus to his freshly washed IZOD polo shirt. Applauding wildly, I had a revelation from the Almighty. When I looked at Randy’s bespectacled face, for one brief shining moment I thought I saw a halo encircling his blonde buzz cut. I determined that morning that the next year I would stand before God, the angels, and the cheering crowd sporting that silver emblem on my gingham dress. But “perfect attendance” wasn’t an easy feat to perform. Three Sundays in November I hacked and sneezed all over Sandy French because I wasn’t going to let the Asian flu keep me from my trophy. In April I puked twice in church after eating too many donut holes before the sermon started-or was I sick? I can’t be sure. After my breakfast preceded me, everyone looked a little green around the gills. Debbie McCoy and Vicky Palmer contracted the virulent strain of intestinal flu I so graciously shared with the class. Undaunted, I came week after week after week after week…… Twice I almost lost the competition because of an errant offering envelope. One windy March Sunday, it fell out of my pocket when I hopped out of our Pontiac and onto the pavement. Sweet Mrs. Bentley saw the little white square under the car and returned it to me in the nick of time. The second envelope fiasco came the Saturday night I decided to hide it in my Bible between Nahum and Habakkuk. I hoped the fiery minor prophets would hold it fast until I arrived at class. When Sunday School started, I frantically thumbed through the Bible pages hoping to locate my nickel for Jesus. Where did it go? I scoured all of the “ah” prophets: Isaiah, Hosea, Ezra, Jeremiah, Jonah, Nehemiah, Zephaniah and Zechariah.. My tithe was nowhere to be found. Suddenly I recalled a Lucky Strike commercial from the night before. The book had something to do with tobacco-no, it was Habakkuk. I found Habakkuk, placed my envelope in the offering plate and breathed a sigh of relief. After twelve months of hard work, I reached my lofty goal and wore my heavenly treasure, my Baptist banner, with pride. Be honest. I’m not the only Christian around who struggles with legalism. You’ve been there, too. But once I stopped trying to get into God’s good graces and start trusting Jesus for salvation, life just got a lot more fun. My walk with God is no longer a religion, but a relationship. Read or listen to “Spiritual Maturity Is Not Simply Legalism.”

Singing sensation Taylor Swift sold four million records last year. Among her best current songs are “You Belong with Me” and “Two is Better than One.” The Bible tells us we are created to need each other. So how do we truly care for the people God places in our life? In many ways, caring for one another is the foundational building block of all relationships, yet we struggle to be real and present with others as work, finances and time constraints take priority. In his writings to the churches at Rome, Corinth and Ephesus, Paul teaches us six truths about how the body of Christ demonstrates care to its members. (I Cor. 12:24-26) When one part of the body is in pain, it affects all the other parts. So when we hear that a friend’s wife has a terminal illness, we hurt for them. When one part of the body is cared for, all parts are affected. We are elated when a couple we know has conceived after 18 years of childlessness. Members of the body are meant to care for one another. It seems a natural response to call a friend whose long-time relationship with his girlfriend takes a different course. Care for one another should be mutual. We need to be givers and takers so there is reciprocity in the body of Christ. Care for one another should be equal. We should not show more care toward one person than we do another. Let’s take a mental inventory of our relationships. Are we encouraging some and neglecting others? Mutual care for one another is the key to unity. We can be aligned in our beliefs but estranged in our relationships if we haven’t demonstrated concern for one another. A generous dose of care is the best prescription for a fractured relationship or divisive church body. No one should ever have to experience the pain of being alone, including members of our own family. Here are some practical ways of caring for one another that have worked for me. Stay current with people’s lives. Caring for others is difficult if we aren’t aware of their struggles and joys. Keep in touch regularly. Concentrate on doing caring acts. We need to turn our caring attitudes into action: phone calls, notes and letters, items of personal interest. A friend’s collection of nativities inspired us to show her an article about another such collector, a gesture that showed we were aware of her interests. Take an interest in what other people are interested in. (Phil. 2:4) Our interests include physical and emotional needs, desires, hopes, fears and worries – the things we think about and are concerned about. A good way to get in the habit of caring for others is to take the issues that concern us and use them as a reminder that other people probably have similar concerns. Learn to enter into other people’s worlds – their physical, mental and emotional worlds. People feel blessed when we take the time to be physically with them, share their thinking and empathize with them emotionally. Recognize that caring for others can be a burden that God prepares us for and helps us to bear. We can experience sadness, disappointment and hardship. Caring can cost us in resources, mental anguish and emotional pain. Nevertheless, we should anticipate the inconveniences, the dying to self and the sacrifice that caring for others will demand. Look for unique and personal ways to express care for others. After a national football championship a few years ago, I called a friend to congratulate him on his school’s win. I wanted him to know that I cared for him and his history with that college. Have you ever felt like no one cares about you? It is a hopeless feeling, a sense of being terribly alone with our pain, fear and even joy. It is a feeling of being disconnected and without help, cut off, overlooked, ignored, anonymous. That’s why the Bible instructs us to care for one another. No one should ever have to experience the pain of being alone. Don McMinn, Ph.D. (with Kimberly Spring) Executive Director of theiPlace.org The 11th Commandment: More Insights into the One Anothers of Scripture

What are the things that slow you up in life? You know, the gum that sticks to the bottom of your shoe, the spare tire you grew over the holidays…Do your worries weigh you down? Do relational hang-ups keep you from abundant living? When I was growing up on the baseball field ~ Coach used to yell a phrase to get us to run faster: “unhook your trailer“. Vince was the poor guy that heard this the most. I’m not saying he was slow around the bases, just pointing out that maple syrup might have a chance to outrun him… Unhook your trailer… All around us – we see them. Some carry horses, cargo, cars & more. They come attached to Semi trucks, big trucks with over-sized tires, cars & some even attached to bikes. Can they become attached to humans? What we all know – is that when we’re loaded down, it impedes our progress – we run slower. Physics dictates this reality. Unhook your trailer… The writer of Hebrews says something similar – way more eloquently – but just as truthful: 1Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. 2Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith,… (Hebrews 12:1-3) As a follower of Christ – we’re called to unhook the trailer…to cast off those sins, poor decisions & habits that hinder our progress to being more & more like Christ. We’re to keep our focus on HIM. Now – easy to say, difficult to do at times. This isn’t just a matter of ‘will power’ – this is staying connected to HIS POWER. His grace is sufficient to forgive the past, empower for today and call us forward into tomorrow. What’s needed is our yieldedness – our acknowledgement of the weight/baggage we’re unnecessarily carrying around… So, are you weighed down today? Confession is good for the soul. The Scriptures continual call to us to return (search our hearts Psalm 139) and make sure that we’re relationally right with our Father. Stop – take a moment (if needed) to unhook your trailer ~ quiet your soul & confess… Afterwards…pick up the forgiveness, freedom & renewal that is yours in Christ. (1 John 1:9; Romans 8) Jesus said that his burden was light – He came to bring forgiveness & freedom. We all need reminded at times to unhook our trailer… ~Jack How does confession impact relationships? (post your thoughts )

“They do not know what they are doing.” Luke 23:34 Thirty-seven years old. Thin, almost frail. Balding and bespectacled. An electronics buff. Law-abiding and tired. Certainly not a description you would give a vigilante. But that didn’t bother the American public. When Bernhard Hugo Goetz blasted four would-be muggers in a New York subway, he instantly became a hero. It’s not hard to see why. Bernhard Goetz was an American fantasy come true. He did what every citizen wants to do. He fought back. He “kicked the villain in the nose.” He “clobbered evil over the head.” This unassuming hero embodied a nationwide, even worldwide anger: a passion for revenge. People are mad. People are angry. There is a pent-up, boiling rage that causes us to toast a man who fearlessly (of fearfully) says, “I ain’t taking it no more!” and then comes out with a hot pistol in each hand. We’re tired. We’re tired of being bullied, harassed, and intimidated. We’re weary of the serial murderers, rapists, and hired assassins. We’re angry at someone, but we don’t know who. We’re scared of something, but we don’t know what. We want to fight back, but we don’t know how. And then, when a modern-day Wyatt Earp walks onto the scene, we applaud him. He is speaking for us! “That-a-way to go, Thug-buster; that’s the way to do it!” Or is it? Is that really the way to do it? Let’s think about our anger for just a minute. Anger. It’s a peculiar yet predictable emotion. It begins as a drop of water. An irritant. A frustration. Nothing big, Just an aggravation. Someone gets your parking place. Someone pulls in front of you on the freeway. A waitress is slow and you are in a hurry. The toast burns. Drops of water. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Yet, get enough of these seemingly innocent drops of anger and before long you’ve got a bucket full of rage. Walking revenge. Blind bitterness. Unharnessed hatred. We trust no one and bare our teeth at anyone who gets near. We become walking time bombs that, given just the right tension and fear, could explode like Mr. Goetz. Now, is that any way to live? What good has hatred ever brought? What hope has anger ever created? What problems have ever been resolved by revenge? Yet, what do we do? We can’t deny that our anger exists. How do we harness it? A good option is found in Luke 23:34. Here, Jesus speaks about the mob that killed him. “Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” Have you ever wondered how Jesus kept from retaliating? Have you ever asked how he kept his control? Here’s the answer. It’s the second part of his statement: “for they do not know what they are doing.” Look carefully. It’s as if Jesus considered this bloodthirsty, death-hungry crowd not as murderers, but as victims. It’s as if he regarded them not as a militant mob but, as he put it, as “sheep without a shepherd.” “They don’t know what they are doing.” And when you think about it, they didn’t. They hadn’t the faintest idea what they were doing. They were a stir-crazy mob, mad at something they couldn’t see so they took it out on, of all people, God. But they didn’t know what they were doing. And for the most part, neither do we. We are still, as much as we hate to admit it, shepherdless sheep. All we know is that we were born out of one eternity and are frighteningly close to another. We play tag with the fuzzy realities of death and pain. We can’t answer our own questions about love and hurt. We can’t keep ourselves out of war. We can’t even keep ourselves fed. Paul spoke for humanity when he confessed, “I do not know what I am doing.”1 Now, I know that doesn’t justify anything. That doesn’t justify hit-and-run drivers or kiddie-porn peddlers or heroin dealers. But it does help explain why they do the miserable things they do. My point is this: Uncontrolled anger won’t better our world, but sympathetic understanding will. Once we see the world and ourselves for what we are, we can help. Once we understand ourselves we begin to operate not from a posture of anger but of compassion and concern. We look at the world not with bitter frowns but with extended hands. We realize that the lights are out and a lot of people are stumbling in the darkness. So we light candles. As Michelangelo said, “We criticize by creating.” Instead of fighting back we help out. We go to the ghettos. We teach in the schools. We build hospitals and help orphans…and we put away our guns. “They do not know what they are doing.” There is something about understanding the world that makes us want to save it, even to die for it. Anger? Anger never did anyone any good. Understanding? Well, the results are not as quick as the vigilante’s bullet, but they are certainly much more constructive. For more of Max Lucado’s insights, see upwords.com

Pandemonium means bedlam, chaos or confusion . Does that sound like Sunday morning at your house? If you know your Greek, pandemonium means daemonium (demons) and pan (all around). No matter where you are in your Christian journey, Satan is always ready to wreak havoc in your life just at the moment God is ready to do great things. Don’t go naked to church, or anywhere else for that matter. Be alert. Don’t get caught with your pants down. On our first Easter Sunday morning in our very first church, pandemonium filled the parsonage. Roger, my young preacher-husband, was raring to go. He prayed for God to rain down fire from heaven. He practiced his sermon in the bathroom mirror until he was hoarse (hand gestures and all). He’d scraped dog poop off the bottoms of his brown wingtip dress shoes, and he flossed twice for good measure (no bacon bits hanging from his molars for Easter, a pastor’s “Superbowl Sunday”). Then my hero scurried off to the kitchen to grab a powdered-sugar donut on his way to church (an unwise move-the sugar residue resembles dandruff). That’s when pandemonium ensued. Our two pudgie Dachshunds, Bootsie and Brother Barrier, eagerly greeted their Daddy, plastering him with four sets of gummy, muddy paws. Perturbed beyond belief, Roger raced to the sink, pulled out a blue SOS pad and frantically began to scrape the muddy pawprints from his cream polyester pants. Now his pants were bluish brown. This did not bode well for the morning ahead. Roger, screaming my name (not in a good way) noticed piles of green feathers littering the kitchen linoleum. Bootsie and Brother had obviously scarfed down Budgie, our pet parakeet, for breakfast while we were still sawing logs. Roger grabbed a nearby sponge to mop up Budgie’s remains and realized his garish green-feathered pants now resembled a Las Vegas show girl costume (only much more modest, of course). The pants had to go, so I threw some navy dockers on his behind, spritzed a little Calvin Klein to cover up the doggie smell and pointed him toward the door. Our pandemonium had only begun. As Roger flung open the screen door to the carport, Bootsie and Brother exploded outside making a beeline into oncoming traffic. I sprinted after the errant wieners, lickety-split, completely forgetting I was wearing my quilted blue robe and electric rollers covered in toilet paper. Oh, yeah. And I forgot the white face cream. Classic. Most Sunday morning forays into the neighborhood would go unnoticed. But we lived on the main drag-a four lane boulevard three blocks from the church parking lot. All of our parishioners were giggling and waving at us, like we were the opening act for the service. Everything went downhill from there. Two blocks later we captured our demon dachschunds and limped toward home. I heard the organist pumping out his version of “Up from the Grave He Arose” as Roger hightailed it across the church parking lot to slide into the service and catch his breath. Instead of quiet anticipation of God’s presence, pandemonium hit the fan. Our first Sunday skirmish was nominal compared to the sieges that were to come. Hopefully, we learned to be better prepared. So don’t go naked to church, or anywhere else for that matter. Get prayed up. Suit up in your spiritual armor. The more God gets ready to bless your efforts, the more you will experience satanic interference. Don’t go blind into battle. Surround yourself with prayer warriors and stay alert. If you walk humbly before God, He will enable you to make peace out of pandemonium, create order out of chaos, and do mighty miracles in His name!

The kingdom of heaven. Its citizens are drunk on wonder. Consider the case of Sarai. She is in her golden years, but God promises her a son. She gets excited. She visits the maternity shop and buys a few dresses. She plans her shower and remodels her tent. . . but no son. She eats a few birthday cakes and blows out a lot of candles. . . still no son. She goes through a decade of wall calendars . . . still no son. So Sarai decides to take matters into her own hands. (“Maybe God needs me to take care of this one.”) She convinces Abram that time is running out. (“Face it, Abe, you ain’t getting any younger, either.”) She commands her maid, Hagar, to go into Abram’s tent and see if he needs anything. (“And I mean ‘anything’!”) Hagar goes in a maid. She comes out a mom. And the problems begin. Hagar is haughty. Sarai is jealous. Abram is dizzy from the dilemma. And God calls the baby boy a “wild donkey”—an appropriate name for one born out of stubbornness and destined to kick his way into history. It isn’t the cozy family Sarai expected. And it isn’t a topic Abram and Sarai bring up very often at dinner. Finally, fourteen years later, when Abram is pushing a century of years and Sarai ninety…when Abram has stopped listening to Sarai’s advice, and Sarai has stopped giving it…when the wallpaper in the nursery is faded and the baby furniture is several seasons out of date…when the topic of the promised child brings sighs and tears and long looks into a silent sky…God pays them a visit and tells them they had better select a name for their new son. Abram and Sarai have the same response: laughter. They laugh partly because it is too good to happen and partly because it might. They laugh because they have given up hope, and hope born anew is always funny before it is real. They laugh at the lunacy of it all. Abram looks over at Sarai—toothless and snoring in her rocker, head back and mouth wide open, as fruitful as a pitted prune and just as wrinkled. And he cracks up. He tries to contain it, but he can’t. He has always been a sucker for a good joke. Sarai is just as amused. When she hears the news, a cackle escapes before she can contain it. She mumbles something about her husband’s needing a lot more than what he’s got and then laughs again. They laugh because that is what you do when someone says he can do the impossible. They laugh a little at God, and a lot with God— for God is laughing, too. Then, with the smile still on his face, he gets busy doing what he does best—the unbelievable. He changes a few things—beginning with their names. Abram, the father of one, will now be Abraham, the father of a multitude. Sarai, the barren one, will now be Sarah, the mother. But their names aren’t the only things God changes. He changes their minds. He changes their faith. He changes the number of their tax deductions. He changes the way they define the word impossible. But most of all, he changes Sarah’s attitude about trusting God. Were she to hear Jesus’ statement about being poor in spirit, she could give a testimony: “He’s right. I do things my way, I get a headache. I let God take over, I get a son. You try to figure that out. All I know is I am the first lady in town to pay her pediatrician with a Social Security check.” From Upwords.com . Used by permission.

“All flesh is like grass, and all its glory like the flower of grass. The grass withers and the flower falls, but the Word of the Lord will stand forever.” 1 Peter 1:24,25. NIV Our earthly bodies are like grass. When you walk out and see grass or you see a flower, you must ask yourself, “How long is that flower going to last?” It’s going to start wilting quickly. That happens to us. View yourself like a plant. Don’t take yourself so seriously. You’re not going to look good for long. And it’s going to get expensive to look good. When you’re born, you’ll spring up like a seedling. You’ll have your glory days, but it’s going to be over. Peter says that there is only one thing that’s going to last. The Word of the Lord will last. The Word of the Lord is unique. When you are gone, God’s Word will still be here and it will still be true. When God says something, it’s always going to be true. His Divine Truth will never be obsolete when we die and go to heaven. God doesn’t say “Now, I take that back.” We have to be people that have to learn how to love His Eternal Word. Nowadays we have podcasts of preachers all over the world, we have all sorts of Christian books, devotionals and videos, but it can’t replace God’s Word. There is something that happens when you are reading God’s Word. It totally changes you. This Word is “…the Word that is preached to you.” In chapter two of 1 Peter, Peter describes young Christians as spiritual infants longing for spiritual milk. We have all heard babies that didn’t get their bottle. You always hear the babies crying who didn’t get their bottle and the mom is frantically looking for it. Nothing works. No pacifier, nothing will shut that kid up besides the bottle. We should be like newborn infants longing for His Word. Nothing else will satisfy us. I can never read too much scripture in a sermon. That’s what the world wants these days. Sound bytes. We need His Word. It’s our life. Remember, “If you indeed have tasted that the Lord is good…” When we read and pray, communing with God, we have a unique relationship that is not obtained simply from relating with other people. Intimacy with God is irreplaceable. Invest your life in the God-moments. From “Texting God” by Francis Chan, 2009.

Celtic Christians called the Holy Spirit An Geadh-Glas or the Wild Goose. A wild goose can’t be tracked or tamed. Unpredictability or a hint of mystery or an element of danger surrounds the wild goose. In a sense, if you take the leading of the Holy Spirit out of life, life is boring. But if you add Him into the equation of your life, you never know who you are going to meet, where you are going to go, what you are doing to do, all bets are off. Now let me state a personal conviction. I think what is most lacking in the church is not education. Let’s keep learning but we are all educated beyond the level of our obedience. And I don’t think what’s most lacking is resources. Let’s keep giving, but we are the most resourced church in the most resourced country the world has ever known. You want to know what I think is the most lacking in the Christian church today? Guts. Good old-fashioned guts, to live by faith, to climb the cliff, to engage the enemy. We must realize that we are involved in something that is a matter of life or death and that we are called to live courageously, even dangerously for the cause of Christ. Now, the good news is, I don’t think in most scenarios, our lives are on the line. But passivity is not an option, and I think God is calling us to play offense, and this story inspires me. It tells me that the will of God is not an insurance plan, it is a daring plan. Jonathan’s plan to rout the Philistines was bold and daring. In 1 Samuel 14:1-15, Jonathan said to his young armor-bearer, “Come, let’s go over to the outpost of those uncircumcised fellows. Perhaps the Lord will act on our behalf. Nothing can hinder the LORD from saving, whether by many or by few.” “Do all that you have in mind,” his armor-bearer said. “Go ahead; I am with you heart and soul.” It is tough to psychoanalyze someone who lived thousands of years ago, but I think it is safe to say that Jonathan did not let his fears dictate his decision. Jonathan’s desire to advance the kingdom, so to speak, was greater than his fear of failure, and his attraction to gain was greater than his aversion to loss. Jonathan was not playing defense. He was playing offense. He courageously climbed the cliffs at Micmash, and picked a fight with the entire Philistine army. This has to be the worst military strategy I’ve ever heard of. If you read the next few verses, you discover that Jonathan’s plan is basically this. Let’s expose ourselves to the enemy in broad daylight and concede the high ground. Then he comes up with a sign. Verse 9; “If the Philistines say to us, ‘Come up to us,’ we will climb up, because that will be our sign that the Lord has given them into our hands.” Ok, I’m sorry but if I’m making up the signs here, I’m doing the exact opposite. If they come down to us, that’ll be our sign. Or better yet, if they fall off the cliff, that’ll be the sign that the Lord is giving them into our hands. I think more often than not, the will of God will involve a daring decision, a difficult decision, sometimes a dangerous decision. But one daring decision was enough to shift the momentum, create a tipping point. I Samuel 14:23 says: “So the Lord saved Israel that day.” Because one person made one move. One person did one thing that made a difference. Can I suggest that the church needs more daring people with daring plans? When did we start believing that God wants to send us to safe places to do easy things? Where did we get that? I think we made a false assumption about the will of God. I think we’ve assumed that it should get easier the longer we follow Christ. I don’t believe that it gets easier, I think spiritual growth prepares us for more dangerous missions, to do more daring things for the cause of Christ, and it shouldn’t get less adventurous, it ought to get more adventurous. Perhaps the Lord will act in our behalf. Can I suggest that many Christians seem to operate with the exact opposite modus operandi? What a study in contrast! I think what Saul didn’t do is just as significant as what Jonathan did do. His son is climbing cliffs engaging the enemy, Saul is sitting under a pomegranate tree on the outskirts of Gibeah. I see him just popping pomegranate seeds into his mouth, maybe a little fan action, chillin’ out on the outskirts of Gibeah. What’s wrong with this picture? The Philistines control the pass at Micmash, and as the leader of the army of Israel, Saul should have been fighting back instead of kicking back. But he is on the sidelines instead of the front lines, and you know what? It is not the only time, he let David fight his battles for him too didn’t he? Saul was head and shoulders taller than anybody else in Israel, Saul should have been the one out on that battlefield fighting the kingdom’s battles, but he was a spectator. I think, instead of playing to win, Saul was playing not to lose and he was content with letting others fight his battles for him. Too often we spend our entire lives at the foot of that cliff, we just don’t have the guts to climb it, because what if God doesn’t act on our behalf? Well, nothing exciting is going to happen and I wonder if that is why a lot of us are bored with our faith. The bottom line is this – I think there is a little of Saul in each of us. There is part of us that wants God to defeat the enemy while we are on the outskirts of Gibeah under pomegranate trees. If Jonathan hadn’t climbed the cliff, engaged the enemy, picked a fight, the status quo was going to remain. We’ve got to take that little step of faith. From “The Cage of Fear” by Mark Batterson, National Community Church, Washington, D.C.