Being Prepared

One of my struggles throughout life is the need to be prepared. I have friends who seem to survive well without much obvious preparation. I have pastor-friends who don’t spend much time on their sermons; they just talk off the top of their heads. But not me. That’s not one of my gifts.

From early on, I have felt the need to prepare. I think it’s because of my fear of failure. I don’t do well shooting from the hip! I don’t want to come across as unprepared. That’s one reason I wrote out every one of my sermons in full manuscript, and then took the manuscript with me into the pulpit. It’s a tedious way of doing sermon preparation, but at least I was prepared and, hopefully, my preparation was evident.

I’m not prone to nightmares—never have been. But the closest thing I have had through the years to a nightmare was some situation in which I found myself unprepared. I can’t tell you of the number of dreams I’ve had where I was ready to go into a worship service but I couldn’t find my sermon notes or my Bible. And I couldn’t even remember what my sermon topic was! At other times, I wasn’t dressed appropriately. I would panic as I desperately searched for my Bible or my shoes. The music had begun but I wasn’t ready.

I had such a dream last night. My nurse says that my dreams or anxiety are caused either by my disease or the Methadone I’m taking. In my dream last night I was scheduled to lead a Bible study. I’m not sure of the setting or the group I was to lead. But I’m sure of this: I was not prepared. Or if I was prepared, I couldn’t locate my Bible or my Bible study notes. In addition, I was on the ground with the group huddled around me. I couldn’t move. I was surrounded by sheer misery!

Some of this fear of being unprepared is bleeding over into my impending journey to heaven. How prepared am I for this journey? Have I done enough to merit entrance? What more do I need to do to get ready? What if I get there, thinking that I am prepared, only to discover that I’ve “misplaced my notes”? It may sound funny, but it’s not. It’s a valid question and a reasonable fear.

What I have to remind myself is that there is nothing I can do to merit entrance into heaven. God, through Christ, has done it all for me. In reality, I am not prepared, nor do I deserve a place in heaven. But the price has been paid, entrance is assured. All I have to do is to accept the free gift.

The Bible makes it clear: “Let not your heart be troubled….In my Father’s house are many dwelling places; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also” (John 14:1-4).

The place has been prepared; the price has been paid. I don’t have to have my “notes” with me. God has taken care of everything.

I can’t tell you how much relief and assurance that brings me. My entrance into heaven doesn’t depend on what I’ve done, how much preparation I’m made. I have accepted Christ and He has made it all possible. Thanks be to God.

Faithfulness

There are so many qualities in life that I admire and to which I aspire. But none greater than faithfulness. I want people to be able to say, “Whatever else you can say about Jack, he was faithful.” At the top of the list of the qualities of God is His faithfulness. He is a God of love and forgiveness, of mercy and steadfast love. But without His faithfulness to live out these qualities, we would have no assurance that God would be true to them.

Most people today are willing to make only short-term promises—just for today. In contrast, God exhibits and demonstrates faithfulness until the end of time. Psalm 100:5 says, “The Lord is good and His love endures forever; His faithfulness continues through all generations.”

Through the years, my favorite hymn has become “Great Is Thy Faithfulness.” The hymn writer, Thomas O. Chisholm, is right:

"Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father...
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided.
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me."

My favorite verse in the hymn is verse three:

“Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!”

In four lines, the writer outlines the great faithfulness of God. The greatest mark of God’s faithfulness is His forgiveness for sins which leads to a peace that endureth all things.

We are promised God’s presence to add joy or cheer to our journey and to guide us each step of the way.

Then, we are promised strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow. It’s this promise that I’m clinging to most tightly during this phase of the journey.

But the writer’s thoughts of God’s blessings are soon exhausted. He just scratches the surface here. In addition to these, he tells us that there are ten thousand beside!


And now that I stand on the brink of death, I remember and cling to one of His specific and special promises, “In my Father’s house are many rooms...I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me. For where I am, there you will be also” [Matthew 14:2-4]. I’m glad that I can cling to this promise of God.

How I wish I could attend the memorial service to sing with you of God’s faithfulness. You can count on the fact that I’ll be joining you in spirit.

“Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father...
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided.
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.”

Lamentations was written by Jeremiah, the weeping prophet. Chapter 3 is a litany of laments and will break your heart. Everything has gone wrong for Jeremiah. Nothing has gone right. You and I would throw up our hands and give up. But not Jeremiah. And what got him though this time of great tragedy? The promise of the faithful, loving kindness, of God.

After his description of tragedy, he comes to verse 41 when he uses the transitional word, “but.” “But this I call to mind and therefore, I have hope. The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning. Great is thy faithfulness.”

Join me today in claiming the promise of God to be faithful. His steadfast love and mercies are new every morning. Claim them today!

- Jack

Honesty in Prayer

I’ve written about my attempts to be honest in dealing with cancer. And for the most part, I think I have been honest. But last week I reached a new degree of honesty in my prayer life. As I have shared before, I have acknowledged my anger with my condition. I’ve admitted to fear as I face the future. But a few days ago I reached another level of frustration.

I was by myself. I was not having a good day. I was wondering if I had begun the downhill slide to death. In the midst of these feelings, I began to weep uncontrollably, crying out to God, “It’s not fair! It’s just not fair! Why me? Why won’t you take this evil thing away from me?” It was a cathartic experience that immediately brought cleansing to my soul.

In reflecting on the experience, I was reminded of the Psalmist’s stance as he faced uncertainty and anger and distress. In his honesty, he cried out to God, “Why have you forsaken me? Why do you allow the wicked to prosper and the righteous to suffer? When will all this end? What have I done to deserve this?” The psalmist was never nearer to the heart of God than when he honestly expressed his anger and frustration over what was happening.

But the Psalmist didn’t stop with frustration or doubt. He always moved to certainty: “Nevertheless, I will trust you….” On the cross, Jesus used the psalmist’s words, “Why have you forsaken me?”, to express His pain and frustration. But at the end of the day, He affirmed His faith in God : “Into your hands I commend my spirit.”

I am developing a new honesty in my prayer life. I’m trying to be real with God. After all, He already knows my feelings — there’s no hiding them from Him. He much prefers my coming to Him forthrightly, in all candor, honestly expressing my innermost feelings to Him. I’m learning, with Jesus, to sweat great drops of blood as I cry out for deliverance, but then to place my life in His hands: “Nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done.”

It’s only when I’ve been honest enough to admit my fear and frustration, my disappointment and anger, that I am then able to place my life in His hands, knowing that He will do what’s best. There can be no resurrection without the cross, no Easter without Good Friday, no wholeness without first being crippled. I’m reminded of Jacob wrestling with the angel all night long, until his joint was thrown out of place and he limped away from his encounter with God. The price of his wholeness was being crippled from his wrestling with God. But without the honest wrestling match, there would have been no authentic encounter with God!

And that’s where I find myself during these difficult days: searching for wholeness through being crippled by the pain and misery of cancer; discovering eternal life through the bitterness of death; dying in order to live. Is it easy? Heavens no! The tears of last week weren’t the first, nor will they be the last. But I trust that through my struggle with death, I will discover the joy of life eternal through Jesus Christ. I want to discover the truth that Paul discovered, “For me to live is Christ; to die is gain.”

Take my brokenness, Lord, and make me whole. Amen.

Dealing with Anger

I had a wonderful visit this week with a dear friend who is also a therapist. In a gentle, but firm way, she helped me to deal with my anger over what is happening to me. Psychologists remind us that anger is part and parcel of the grief process. What have I done with my anger?

For some Christians, anger is difficult to acknowledge and deal with. We refuse to admit that we are angry. It’s just not the “Christian thing” to do. Others spend time with misplaced anger. While others wallow in anger and never work through it in any redemptive way.

My friend Ann asked me, “What have you done with your anger?”

That’s a good question. I think I have dealt with my anger in an appropriate way. I am angry that this cancer has robbed me of my future on this earth. Just when new opportunities were falling into place and the future for expanded ministry looked bright, here comes pancreatic cancer to deny me of the blessings of this earthly life. Sure, I’m angry. Deeply angry! But, at whom?

There’s nothing wrong in admitting that, at times, we are angry with God. Okay, we don’t believe that God sent this life-ending disease, but couldn’t He have done something to prevent it? Couldn’t God, in His omnipotence, simply snuffed out this dread disease? If He could, why didn’t He? In my humanness, I have a right to be angry with God.

But that is a dead-end street. In the beginning, I had these same thoughts, this same anger, about a loving God who did nothing to stop this horrific, life-ending disease. But I soon moved beyond this God-blaming exercise. God loves me more that I can begin to comprehend, and He would never do anything to bring harm to me or to deny me of abundant life.

So, who can I blame? With whom can I be angry? There are times when there is no one to blame. We live in a fallen, imperfect, world where things like pancreatic cancer occur. Well, then, with whom should I be angry. Not at myself, not at God. But at this imperfect world where babies die far too soon, where people are massacred without cause, where hunger and sickness abound, where those with power crush those who are poor and powerless and marginalized.

But anger at this fallen world is not enough. What am I doing about it? How much of myself am I giving to eradicate the evil in this life? What am I doing to encourage research into life-shortening and life-eroding diseases? How supportive am I, though the gifts of my time, energy, and resources in helping empower those whose lives are robbed of their basic freedom and human rights?

Yes, I’m angry with how my life is ending! I’m angry that the evil of cancer is robbing me of the opportunity of embracing life for years to come. I can choose to deny or repress that anger. Or I can choose to acknowledge my anger, deal with it in redemptive ways, and ask God to keep anger from threatening to rob me of what time I have left.

I choose the latter. I refuse to allow anger to embitter me or to rob me of the joy that God wants to give me. I choose to use what remaining time I have to channel my anger in redemptive ways. I invite you to join me in dealing creatively with our anger as we move toward the future that God has prepared for us—a future devoid of anger and filled with hope and courage.

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The Fear of Death

It seems that there is built into all of us a basic fear of death. I think God intended it that way so we will hold onto life. But for some, this normal fear of death becomes exaggerated, almost psychotic, and it colors the way we live.

I’ve said to you in a former blog that I have no fear of death; it’s the dying I dread.

And that’s true, with some qualifications. Let me explain myself. I grew up in a loving, caring church, but we had our annual round of revival preachers, most of whom were extremely fundamentalist. And no revival was complete without a sermon on the horrors of hell. Some preachers were really good at painting the terrors of those who died in an unforgiven state. I remember, as a little boy, literally “having the hell scared out of me.” Or, at least, that was the purpose of these sermons.

But what they did was to frighten me beyond reason about death and what might lie on the other side. I now realize that these sermons were more Miltonian (Paradise Lost), Dantean (Inferno) or Edwardian (Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God) than Biblical. Much damage and bad theology has been done through these images. Hell, as we know it in popular images of tormented souls is relatively new and has its roots in the Middle Ages. For instance, when Dante wrote his Divine Comedy, he gave us a blueprint for the soul’s descent into hell. But I didn’t know that then and a great fear of hell was engendered in my spirit. I was just a boy, for the most part still innocent, but I was made to fear death because of the reality of the horrors of hell that just might lie beyond.

Throughout my years of growing up, I had an unreasonable fear of death. I often dreaded going to sleep at night, because I might die during my sleep and wind up in some great “unknown.”

I think a secondary cause of my fear of death was the fact that in death I would lose control, and relinquishing all control was a frightening prospect. I liked to think that I had a modicum of control of my life — but that would be taken from me in death.

I wrestled with these inordinate fears long after I should have dealt with them. But gradually my faith in God overcame them. If God is good and gracious, if He wants the best for me, then I have no fear of dying. My sins have been forgiven and hell holds no power over me. I’m bound for heaven, not hell. In addition, why should I fear turning over control of my life to God when He wants nothing but the best for me?

That’s why I say that I have no fear of death. There is still uncertainty about what death entails. There is a degree of fear about the unknown. But the God who promises eternal life will be there to take me by the hand and escort me into the heavenly realm. As the psalmist discovered, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me” (Psalm 23).

I hope you will join me in that certainty as we all move toward the unknown known as death.



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Fatherhood

“Thank God for parents.”

This Father’s Day was the best!!

Both Stephanie (and Henry) and Charley were with me. We laughed and cried and celebrated the joys of being family.

This got me to thinking about my parents. I’m thinking much more these days about those who have helped shape me and whose love has made me what I am.

Neither of my parents would have been considered “successful” by the world’s standards. Neither graduated from high school, and my father never held a job that paid much more than minimum wage. I lived on the wrong side of the tracks - in what today would be considered an impoverished life. But in my view, they were most successful in the ways they touched my life and the lives of many others. They taught me that who I was was more important than what I possessed.

They taught me the values of a life that matters: honesty, compassion, service to others, and a love that is freely given and holds on tenaciously. But, most of all, they taught me the value of faith.

During our nightly family devotionals, I first heard the Bible read by my father, and I learned to pray by hearing the prayers of my mother. Theirs was a faith that was deeply held and demonstrated in their words and actions.

Over time their faith became my own. It grew in ways unlike theirs. We didn’t always agree on points of theology. In fact, they had no carefully reasoned system of theology, they simply lived by what the believed. But their faith continues to influence the way I live my life.

On this Father’s Day, I salute my mother and father, and give thanks to God for the way they taught me to live and give myself in service and love to others. I am reminded of the profound influence we have on our children. My children have not always lived out their faith in ways that I wish they had.

But I have seen the faith that Anita and I tried to instill in them take root and blossom and reach out in ways that my own faith failed to do. I apologize for the many ways I have failed my children, but I rejoice that they have overlooked my mistakes and have affirmed me in my faith.

For many young children, their father is their first hero, their model for living. For over 30 years I have kept a Father’s Day card that Stephanie made for me. In her childish handwriting, she listed her heroes. They were in this order:
“ Daddy, Jesus, and Hercules!”

You see, these were the individuals whom she thought were most powerful, strongest and smartest in all the world.

Tears welled up in my eyes, as I opened my Father’s Day card this year. It said:
“Dad, when I was a kid, you told me about the important things like hard work and good character.. . . but I learned the most from watching how you lived.“

And then Stephanie wrote, this time with much clearer penmanship,
“Who are my heroes? Daddy, Jesus, and Hercules!”

She and Charley have made my life worth living through their unflinching love and their total acceptance and affirmation of me as their father. I pray that you will have the same kind of experience with your children and you will never forget the influence you play on their lives.

Thank you, Mother and Daddy, for being such wonderful parents.
Thank you, Stephanie and Charley, for graciously accepting me as your father.
And thank you, Anita, for making it possible for me to experience the joys of fatherhood and for sharing those experiences with me!

Marriage

One of the many thoughts that has flooded my mind over the past few months has been my gratitude for the greatest gift that God has given me (apart from my relationship with Him) — the gift of Anita as my wife. Yesterday (June 1), we celebrated our 44th anniversary.

I knew I loved Anita back in 1963, but I had no idea of how much that love would grow and shape who I am and how I have functioned in life.

Without getting “syrupy”, I want to acknowledge that Anita, with her considerable gifts in music and art, has been the one who has added splashes of color and beautiful music to my life. Nowhere do I find this better expressed than in the lyrics of Kenny Rogers, “You Decorated My Life.” Rogers writes as if he is writing of Anita’s impact on my life:

All my life was a paper
That was plain, pure and white
Till the balance was right
Till you moved with your pen
Changing mood now and then
Then you added some music
Every note was in place
And anybody could see
All the changes in me
By the look on my face

And you decorated my life
Created a world where dreams are a part
And you decorated my life
By painting your love all over my heart
You decorated my life

Like a rhyme with no reason
And an unfinished song
There was no harmony
Life meant nothing to me
Until you came along
Then you brought out the colors
What a gentle surprise
Now I'm able to see all the things life can be
Shining soft in your eyes

Lest you think we have had an idyllic marriage, we have struggled with many of the same issues that most couples struggle with in marriage. We are almost totally opposite on all the personality profiles. We often see things differently, react differently, and struggle to see the other person’s point of view.

But behind all that is a profound love and trust and respect that have bonded us together in a love that shapes and defines us. And into my rather routine, vanilla, and at times boring life, Anita has added the color and music that have enriched my life more than I can express.

From day one, we have shared the same values, been committed to the same causes, and felt passionately about the same issues. And at the heart of everything has been our shared faith that has bound us together in an unbreakable bond.

Anita could not possibly have been a better wife. She has affirmed me, supported me, forgiven me, and brought out the very best in me. In the words of Scripture, she, as a wife, “surpasses them all.”

And she has been an equally wonderful mother to Stephanie and Charley. As we have reminisced with our children over the past few months, I have been reminded of the many ways she helped shaped their lives, planting seeds of honesty, integrity, creativity, and faith that will serve them well to the end of their lives.

Anita has been my best friend, my lover, my companion in ministry, my confidante and my biggest booster. I can’t imagine life without her.

And so, on our 44th anniversary, I want to pay tribute to the one who has enriched my life is indescribable ways. Though death may temporarily separate us in a physical way, nothing can ultimately break the bonds of love that have bound us together for all these years. Using the words of Buzz Lightyear, our love will last “to infinity and beyond!”

"Kindness"

This week’s "Along the Journey" has more to do with living than with dying, but the subject has been on my mind lately and I want to share some thoughts about kindness.

The first Bible verse I learned as a pre-schooler in Sunday School was “Be ye kind one to another” (Ephesians 4:32). A couple of years later, we learned the remainder of the verse: “…tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God in Christ has also forgiven you.”

I have tried to model my life after this admonition. Admittedly, I have often failed, but kindness has always been a virtue that I tried to embrace. As I look around me today, I wonder whatever happened to kindness. We live in such a raucous, angry, disrespectful society. Just yesterday, as I was filling my car with gas, another customer became angry with the attendant because her receipt didn’t print. She stormed into the office and very loudly berated him. He accused her of not pressing the right button. It wound up with each using an ethnic slur against the other — all over such a minor thing. Whatever happened to kindness?

Kindness doesn’t mean going along with that which is wrong; nor does it mean allowing others to mistreat you. Sometimes we have to take a strong stand. But we can still do it with kindness, without denigrating the person.

Someone has said, "Love talked about is easily ignored. But love demonstrated is irresistible."

Jesus not only talked about love and kindness, but He modeled it for us. He was the epitome of kindness. He paid attention to those with whom He was interacting. His kindness signaled acceptance and affirmation. The Bible depicts kindness as the character of God. And the Apostle Paul lists kindness as a gift of the Spirit.

Kindness for others is not an emotion or a feeling, it is a choice. We choose to be kind to others, to embrace them in love, because God tells us to.

But what is kindness?

The Hebrew word is “hesed”:
“O Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love [hesed, kindness] endures forever.”

The Greek word for Christ is “Christos.”
The Greek word for kindness is “Chrestos.”
Many in the ancient world thought followers of Christ were actually “Chrestians,” followers of kindness. To be kind means ultimately to look like Christ.

Kindness means to be good, useful and helpful, considerate and gracious in all situations regardless of circumstances. It means that we care for the feelings of others and feel with them. It involves suffering with those who suffer, struggling with those who struggle, and honoring the worth and value of every person.

It’s not always easy to be kind, but as followers of God, it is an essential ingredient of our character. As I move down the last phase of my earthly journey, I have given thought to how I would like to be remembered. I hope that some of you will have some positive memories of things I am and have tried to do. I hope you’ll ignore my failures, or, at least, forgive me for them. But I hope that a few of you will have seen in my life a measure of kindness. That would make me happier than you can imagine.

So, the circle is nearing completion. From my childhood teaching of “be ye kind one to another,” I hope that I have moved on to the rest of the story: “tenderhearted, forgiving one another.”
That’s a goal worthy of all of us.

Does God Answer Prayer?

I’ve been taught all my life that God loves us, that He hears our every prayer and answers them all. I believe that — and so do you.

So, what am I to feel about the recent medical news? For months, thousands of you, from every corner of the globe, have been praying for me and for my healing. And then, last Thursday and Friday, several hundred of you were involved in a twenty-four prayer vigil. You were praying at the very time that I was having an MRI to determine the effectiveness of my three months of chemotherapy.

When the word came, it was not good. The cancer continues to grow. The chemotherapy, with all the ravages it caused, was not effective. But what about prayer? Did God not hear — or did He choose not to respond?

I read an article yesterday in which the writer says that the Scripture promises us the same miracles that happened in Jesus’ day. Then he gives an example of praying for his wife’s healing from cancer and how God answered his prayer and his wife is cancer-free, nine years later. He also prayed for God to give them another child, after being told by doctors that his wife couldn’t conceive. But God heard and answered his prayer and they had a child.

If it were only that easy. Or maybe God has it in for me. Or maybe it is all wishful thinking. What are we to do about unanswered prayer? How are you supposed to feel when heaven is silent?

First of all, I’m not willing to state that God didn’t hear or respond to our prayers. Who knows the kind of healing that is taking place — for me and for you —mental, spiritual, and physical healing. Do we really know enough to say that God hasn’t responded to our prayers?

Go back and read the Psalms. Listen as the writers struggle with this whole issue of unanswered prayer and a God who seems distant, whose face seems to be hidden just when they need Him the most. But read on and listen as they gain confidence in the promises of God.

Lest you think I sound too pious, that I’m implying that I have resolved the problem of unanswered prayer, let me assure you differently. I struggle mightily with the issue. I am disappointed, not just for me, but for all of you who have prayed so diligently and fervently, only to face a silent heaven.

My experience over the years, along with the experience of millions of God’s children through the ages, assures me that God is a God of love who hears and responds to our prayers. God will not grant every request or take away every pain or struggle. But He will always be there to wrap us in His arms of love, to wipe away every tear, and to give us to strength to face another day.

Keep praying. Don’t give up. God hears and is responding to our prayers in ways we can’t understand. I believe this with all my life!

Strength out of Weakness

I’ve always had difficulty in dealing with folk whose theology says that if we are spiritual enough, if our faith is strong enough, then either God will keep us from experiencing “bad things,” or, if we have to deal with difficulties, He will respond to our prayers and make things right.

Just recently, after sharing my story with a group, someone reminded me that if my faith was strong, God would answer my prayers. I replied that I, too, believe that God listens and responds to my prayers, but not always in ways I can understand or would choose. I cited the example of Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane when He prayed for the “cup” to be removed. But His prayer was not answered in the way He prayed.

I imagine that some of the Apostle Paul’s opponents in Corinth had the same theology. They valued strength and power and eschewed human weakness. But Paul was aware of his humanity and marveled at how God used his weakness to accomplish His purpose for Paul. In fact, in 2 Corinthians 11:23-29, Paul catalogues his weaknesses and suffering.

He reminds the Corinthians that we live in a broken world and only in heaven will we trade in this vulnerable body for the perfect, pain-free body. In the meantime, God uses the pains of this fallen world as a conduit for the empowering comfort of God. And through this comfort, we are able to comfort and minister to others.

Paul implied that the most difficult of circumstances teach us the most profound lesson of life—that we must learn to depend on God alone, not on ourselves. Paul talks about his “thorn in the flesh” and prayed for its removal. But, at the end of the day, God used Paul’s pain as a channel of His grace and empowerment and to teach him invaluable lessons about life.

So, I’m not ashamed to show my humanity. God knows I’ve demonstrated it over and over throughout life. But, like Paul, I have discovered that my sufferings, my imperfect humanity, have put me in a position to receive divine power. Out of death, I will receive life; out of my weakness comes God’s empowerment.

The temptation for most of us is to hide our weaknesses and boast in our strengths. Yet, Paul would testify that against the backdrop of our weaknesses God’s grace and power shine the brightest.

I am not divine. My weaknesses and lack of faith are all too evident. I am, at times, all too human. But as I embrace my humanity, God is able to bring strength from my weakness. “My grace is enough for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

How can you pray for me? Pray that I will acknowledge my weakness (not as a way of boasting, but a way of being honest) and that I will allow God to use my weaknesses as a medium of His grace and power.

Along the Journey

Easter 2007
The One Who Goes Ahead

In preparing for Easter this year, I have been especially drawn to Mark’s account of the Resurrection. Upon reflection, I was reminded that in the Easter message that I sent out last year, I used the message of the angel in Mark’s gospel: “Now go and give this message to his disciples, including Peter: Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there, just as he told you before he died!” (Luke 16:7, New Living Translation). Though that word spoke powerfully to me last year, I realize it speaks even more loudly to where I find myself this year than it did then.

These past three months have been characterized by enormous changes and uncertainty for Anita and me. Last Easter, we had been through a year of change as we had moved from Singapore and assumed new responsibilities. But that upheaval in our lives pales in comparison to what we face this Easter. In light of these realities, I am struck again with the message of the angel. And that word has been Gospel (good news) for me this Easter.

The prospect of going first into some unknown territory often causes us to hesitate and procrastinate, to hold back, and to wait for someone else to take the plunge. The angel at the empty tomb explained that the risen Christ had served this role: He had gone ahead of the disciples and would meet them in Galilee.

I need that message this year as never before: Jesus still goes ahead of us to prepare the way and to meet us in whatever future, whatever “Galilee”, we find ourselves. Someone asked me recently if I was afraid as I face the future. To be honest, my answer is “Yes.” There is always a measure of fear as one faces the unknown, the uncertainty of what lies beyond death. I know what I believe in my heart, the promise of life everlasting in the very presence of God. And I believe that with all my being and have shaped my life around its assurance. But, at the end of the day, it is an unknown venture, one that I have accepted by faith.

Nobody has been there and then come back to tell us that heaven is a reality, that there is life beyond death. No, that’s not true. Easter tells us that Jesus died, and then was resurrected. He has “gone before us” and awaits us there. That does more than I can possibly articulate to allay my fears and to give me hope.

Listen again to the great promises of the Resurrection:
-- “I go to prepare a place for you, that where I am there you may be also.”
-- “because I live you shall live also.”
-- “those who believe in me though they are dead, yet shall they live. . .”
-- “lo, I am with you always.”
These are the promises that enable me to look beyond the present suffering and sorrow and uncertainty and give me strength to make it through each new day with His companionship.

Easter is all about new life. It is about the one who has defeated the forces of death and in His great love invites us to new life here and now and forever. Be attentive to His call to you in this Easter Season. If you need more proof about the resurrection, the only way you will find it is to take a risk and start looking for signs of the resurrection in your own life.

Jesus will come to you, to your future, and say to you the same thing He has said to so many down through the ages, “Follow me.” Christ is risen and He calls you and me to journey with Him into ministry and abundant living today and forever. Let’s head out to Galilee. He awaits us there. Wherever He bids us come, remember that He has gone there before us and has prepared the way for us. That's the message of Easter. And I can’t tell you how much comfort and hope that gives me.

Jack

Along the Journey 04-05-07

“Gethsemane…from Fear to Hope”

I confess that this year I’ve walked through Holy Week with a different outlook. As I read the events of the week, I find myself on Maundy Thursday in Gethsemane. Several years ago, a group from our church in Jacksonville shared communion in Gethsemane, then sat there quietly, deeply moved by the knowledge that this was where the Savior Himself once knelt, prior to His crucifixion. It’s a beautiful and awesome spot, an oasis of calm. But, figuratively speaking, Gethsemane is a place where no one wants to be. It’s the place where we prepare to die.

But we all have our Gethsemane. It’s not our Galilee, the place of preparation where we learn and grow, and one day return in triumph. It’s not our Golgotha, the place of ending and death. Gethsemane is somewhere in between. For Jesus, for His followers, and for us, Gethsemane is that place in life where you finally know that you are mortal, that death is inescapable, and is on its way.

Gethsemane is that one place in your life from which you can’t go forward, and you can’t go back. All you can do is cry out, “Father, if there’s any way, don’t make me drink it.” For me, on this Maundy Thursday, Gethsemane is that place where I know the end is coming, and I wish, so much like Jesus, that there was some other way.

On that first Maundy Thursday, I find myself with Him on that hillside; in the night, among the olive trees, with a handful of terrified and sleepy disciples. Like the disciples, I have little clue about what’s going on. I don’t know what will happen next, and, quite frankly, I’m afraid to know.

The strangest thing about being afraid is that you can only fear what hasn’t happened yet. When one of my friends from Newnan was told that his biopsy indicated the possibility of a malignancy, but that the final results wouldn’t be in until the next week, he nearly fell apart. He told me later, “I was overwhelmed by the fear of not knowing. After I was told I did have cancer, I was able to handle that much better than the fear of the unknown.” That’s the fear with every Gethsemane: that the worst has not yet arrived, but you suspicion that it’s on its way. And the longer you wait there, the worse it gets.

Three times Jesus cries out in agony to His Father: “Father, isn’t there some other way?” Gethsemane is that place where something in you dies. Your confidence in your own obedience. You finally know how inadequate you are to face life in your own strength. You finally face the fact that you cannot save yourself, let alone anyone else. Only grace will do.

Somewhere on the road from Galilee to Golgotha lies our Gethsemane. No one wants to be there. We pray for this cup to pass, for this trial to be over, this burden to be lifted, this sorrow to be gone. One day this will happen, but in the meantime, our path lies through the olive grove, not around it. Yet if Gethsemane represents our greatest fear, it also represents our greatest hope.

We know that somewhere on the other side of Gethsemane, God raised Jesus from a terrible death. At Gethsemane Jesus confronts the enormity of what lies ahead; there He finds the strength He needs in order to follow through. “Not my will,” He eventually says, “but yours be done.” In much the same way, those who follow Him to this place find that Gethsemane is where God takes the suffering, the failure, the broken fragments of our lives, and chooses to anoint them.

I confess that I’m in Gethsemane right now, gripped by fear, but holding on to hope. And some of you are also there. Wherever you find your Gethsemane, I pray it would be more than a place of darkness and dread. I pray it would also be a place of anointing, a place of discovery, and of yielding to God’s gracious will. May it be for you a place of knowing Christ in His sufferings in order to share with Him the life and resurrection only God can bring. Easter won’t come unless we’ve spent time in Gethsemane. So, no matter what our struggles are, no matter what seems about to crucify us, let us look to the resurrected and living Christ. It may be Thursday night, but Sunday’s coming. We may feel like we’re hanging on a cross, but the resurrection is on its way.

Jack

This I Know - March 26

My personality is such that I like to know, even need to know. I’m not content to live in the dark. I want to know why things happen the way they do. It may be a reflection of low self-esteem or a need to prove my worth, but I have a desire to understand things, to know things, to reason out things. I have even struggled with faith in this regards. I know that faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1), but I like to have empirical evidence. The most honest prayer in Scripture, for me, is “I believe; help my unbelief.”

But through the years, I have discovered that there are things I can’t know, will never know, until I am face-to-face with God.

I have had three different friends, over the past few weeks, to say, “I am troubled by the fact that bad things happen to good people.” Since they voiced this frustration as it related to my cancer, I am honored that they should put me in the category of “good people”! But that is a question that I can’t pretend to answer. God didn’t tell Job His reasons why bad things happen to good people. And He doesn’t seem to be telling us either. There is so much I don’t know.

But during these past few weeks, I have focused on some things that we do know. I want to mention several truths that I have discovered from Paul in the eighth chapter of his letter to the Romans. These are things I know.

This I know: we live in a fallen world: “All creation anticipates the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay. For we know that all creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to this present time” (Romans 8:21-22).

God has not promised that we would be spared the brokenness of a fallen world. In fact, it is this common brokenness that binds us together as part of humanity and gives us the hope of wholeness “as a foretaste of future glory…released from pain and suffering” (8:23). I have no right to expect to be spared from the consequences of this brokenness.

This I know: we have a glorious destiny awaiting us: “…what we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will give us later” (Romans 8:18). This is the hope that enables me to live in this vale of tears. We are destined for a place of peace and wholeness, a place where the joy will more than compensate for the suffering and unfairness of our current life. This is the grace-note of hope that keeps me going.

This I know: nothing can ultimately separate us from the love of God. Paul says in verses 38-39: “I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his love. Death can’t, and life can’t. The angels can’t, and the demons can’t. Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow, and even the powers of hell can’t keep God’s love away. Whether we are high above the sky or in the deepest ocean, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Through these past weeks of uncertainty, fear, anger, and questions, I have never had the slightest question of God’s love for me.

God has not stopped loving me anymore than He stopped loving His Son as He died an agonizing death. Cancer may ultimately separate me from this earthly life, but it cannot separate me from God’s love.

This I know: God uses everything that happens to us, things that He wills, and things that He allows to happen as part of our free will and as a result of the brokenness of our world, to construct His perfect future: “And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them” (8:28).

Do I really believe, even in the midst of cancer that is robbing my very life, that God can bring good, that He can and will use this experience to bring meaning and purpose to my life and to the lives of others?

Yes, I do!

In fact, in so many ways it has already happened. In ways that I don’t fully understand, God is at work.

Do I wish I understood more? Yes. But God has told me enough and I intend to focus on what I know, not on what I don’t know! And I trust that will be sufficient for the journey that lies ahead.

Balancing reality and hope: March 15 - ATJ 3

What’s it like to be told that you have one of the worst types of cancer, most likely terminal, with the possibility of only a few months of life, and with the prospect of intense pain? And to get this word in the midst of life that was moving forward in a wonderful way: family embracing health and success, a love for our work, and excitement for the future?

It’s like being kicked in the stomach, wrestled to the ground, robbed of hopes and dreams.


One of the struggles of the past few weeks for Anita and me has been an effort to balance the reality of what we are facing with hope for the future. We have been fortunate to have friends in the medical professional who have helped us interpret the reality of the severity of pancreatic cancer.

Time and again, over the years, I have seen people confront tragic news with outright denial. Denial has its temporary place in helping us deal with current circumstances, but persistent denial is unhealthy, it blocks the path to dealing in a redemptive way with the situation at hand.

But, from the beginning of my diagnosis, we have talked with medical professionals, researched legitimate websites, and read reams of material about what we are facing. We have looked reality in the face, and it is ugly! At times this has left us devastated and depressed, with little hope.


“As long as there’s life, there’s hope.” That’s the old adage that we’ve heard all our lives.

But the opposite is also true: “As long as there’s hope, there’s life.” Our faith is a hope-filled faith, hope that shines in the darkness of reality, hope that transcends the brokenness of life.

This hope is not a naïve kind of hope, not the Alice in Wonderland--close your eyes--believe anything you want--and it will come to pass kind of hope. Nor is it the kind of hope described by Nietzsche as “the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.”



What is hope? For people of faith, it involves facing the reality of the current situation with honesty and openness, knowing that God is still in charge, that His plans for us are wise and good, and that He will not abandon us in the midst of our struggles.

So, Anita and I have also tried, with God’s help and yours, to balance reality with hope. When I first shared the news with our staff in the CBF office and our field personnel around the world, I told them that I continue to hold on to the prospect of a miracle. My God is a miracle worker--but my faith is not dependent on Him performing a miracle. So many of you have responded that while you agree with my theology, you are praying for a miracle! And so am I!

And that’s part of the hope that has helped balance the reality of what I’m facing. But the other part of the equation has to do with hope that is not temporal, but eternal. I am confident, with the Apostle Paul, that “the one who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ” (Philippians 1:6).

I’m also convinced, with Paul, that if our hope is for this life only, we are among all people most miserable. And so, my definition of hope has moved beyond my being healed today to a more eternal dimension.


So, here I am: acknowledging the severity of the medical challenges I face, but with my hand tightly in the hand of God, holding on to and being held by the hope He instills. Hope has become “the anchor of [my] soul, both sure and steadfast” (Hebrews 6:19).

Is it easy? Not at all. But, for me, today, it is enough!




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Thursday, March 8, 2007

Along the Journey (2)—03-08-07

Maltbie Davenport Babcock was a Presbyterian clergyman and moralistic writer from the latter half of the 19th century (1858-1901). He wrote the lyrics to a hymn that became one of my favorites as a boy: This Is My Father’s World. I recently came across a profound thought from Babcock that spoke to me in the midst of my journey. He wrote:

“Life is what we are alive to. It is not length, but breadth. To be alive only to appetite, pleasure, pride, money-making, and not to goodness and kindness, purity and love, history, poetry, music, flowers, stars, God and eternal hopes, it is to be all but dead.”

And so the question for each of us is, “To what are you alive?”

The world would convince us that we need to be alive to the appetites of the flesh—possessions, fame, fortune, pleasure. But Jesus reminds us that these are temporal and ultimately not satisfying, that one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.

In the words of Babcock, the things that really bring life to our living are “…goodness and kindness, purity and love, history, poetry, music, flowers, stars, God and eternal life.”

I’ve asked myself, during these past few weeks, “To what am I alive?” I should have been asking this question throughout the years, and in some ways, I suppose I have. The Scripture tells us that we were dead in our old life of sin, but God, through His Son, has made us alive! Alive to what? To the life of the Spirit, to love and kindness, to gentleness and peace, to the beauty of “My Father’s world,” to joy and hope, to grace and forgiveness, to all that is good and gracious, to trust and relationships. In short, we are made alive to the very life of God.

So many of us sleep-walk through life, unaware of the richness of God’s world, of the gifts given to us by God, of the transforming power of relationships. I’m claiming afresh my desire to embrace the breadth of life, not just its length, to be alive to each moment, each gift, each relationship, and to the eternal hope instilled by God.

Join me in this quest to be alive!

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Thursday, March 1 2007

My usual routine early each morning involves walking from our townhouse to the small shopping center a half-mile away, buying a copy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and consuming it along with a cup of coffee in a little sitting area. A bit of graffiti on a wall along the route has caught my attention several times: “There is but one question in life: What is real?”

On more than one occasion I have pondered that question. Over these past few weeks I have rediscovered an answer to that question—one that I had learned long ago. One of the things that are real is relationships. From the beginning God told us that “it is not good for human-kind to be alone.” God created us to live in relationship to others, and when relationships are absent, life is not complete.

We are family, community. At least, that’s the way we were created to live.Over these past few weeks, I have rediscovered afresh this truth in significant ways. As I look back over my life, the thing that stands out is not who I am or what I have accomplished; the most significant thing to me is the relationships that have shaped who I am and have enabled me to do what I have done.


The premier relationship is my life is my relationship with God. God has become more than some celestial being, far removed. God has become Friend, Companion, the One whose presence has shaped my life, provided meaning, and given me the strength for living. And that relationship has been strengthened as I have walked through the current dark chapter in my life.


Second only to my relationship with God is my relationship with my family. I have often said that aside from the transforming and redeeming relationship with God, my relationship with Anita, Stephanie, Charley, and the others members of my nuclear family has been God’s greatest gift to me. We are a family flawed like other families, but there has been, and is, a bond of love that has shaped who I am, has encouraged me, and has taught me the deepest meaning of life. And that bond has been strengthened over these past few weeks. I grieve at the pain my illness has brought to their lives, but without them I couldn’t exist.


Finally, I have been overwhelmed by the relationships I enjoy with a wide circle of friends, friends who are more like family than anything else. I have always valued the friendships developed over the years. But I have been humbled at the number of friends who have been in touch over the past few weeks. I have heard from friends old and new, friends with whom I stay in touch and friends from whom I have been separated by time and distance.

I have heard from people whom I served as youth minister nearly forty years ago, as well as numerous others who were members of congregations I served, colleagues in ministry, and people from community and civic life. Their comments about our relationships have brought tears to my eyes and a song to my heart. Over and over I have said to Anita, “I had no idea he/she felt this way about me.” And I have been reminded that, too often, I have failed to share my feelings of love and appreciation with them.


Tom Rath points out in his book Vital Friends: “Friendships add significant value to our marriages, families, work, and lives. At some level, everything we see and feel is the product of a personal relationship. Look around you and see if you can identify anything created in true isolation. After pondering this for a few moments, you might notice how dependent we are on connections with other people. Remove relationships from the equation, and everything disappears." (p.16)

If friendship and personal relationships are so vital to our well being and our humanity, we would be wise to invest time to intentionally cultivate and nurture friendship in our families, churches and offices and in our other social networks.


What is real? For me, relationships! I give thanks to God for each one of you, the rich relationships we share, and for your willingness to stand with us in this time of need.I want you to know that I love you and give thanks to God for our relationship. And that’s real!





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