by jphilo | May 2, 2011 | Church Newsletter Columns
Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us,
let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us,
and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us,
fixing our eyes upon Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith,
who for the joy set before him endured the cross…
Hebrews 12:1-2a
I am a sucker for reunions. A look at my calendar, and you might say I’m addicted to them. Last week, my last class of fourth graders, now graduating seniors, had a mini-reunion. Come June, I’ll spend a few days chilling with my high school besties for the first time since – well, you really don’t need to know how long it’s been. In July, we’ll spend seven days at the mother of all reunions – Family Camp in Idaho with Hiram’s side of the family. And over Labor Day, more than two dozen of my crazy rellies will willingly spend Saturday and Sunday in a cabin with only one bathroom.
Easter morning at church seemed like a reunion, too, with the Adams back in these parts. Ingrid served up pancakes during brunch. Allan played his steel drum and rocked out with the worship band. Tears came to my eyes (surprise, surprise) while I watched their daughters talking a mile a minute with old friends.
The sense of reunion grew stronger during worship. The names of other dear church friends who have moved away, along with memories of saints no longer living, came to mind. Sunday school teachers from my childhood, the retired minister who became our neighbor and faithfully visited Dad for years, the pastor of our tiny South Dakota congregation, and the ranch families who were part of it all seemed to hover at the edges of my vision.
Almost, they seemed to stand beside me. Almost, I saw their faces glow in the reflection of the risen Christ. Almost, I heard them shout and whoop and holler, along with our entire GCC family, “He is risen! He is risen indeed! He is risen! He is risen indeed!”
Almost, it seemed, we saw Jesus this Easter morning, gloriously wounded and gloriously whole. In his presence, the miles and years separating us from dear friends and family, living and dead, vanished. Wrinkled faces grew smooth. Limbs gained strength. Minds cleared. Children danced. My father walked, steady and strong.
Our hearts leaped as we stood, united, on the precipice of the empty tomb. In the presence of great sacrificial love and deep magic, we could almost touch the nail-scarred hands. We almost sensed great and final reunion yet to come. For a moment, on Easter morning, we almost tasted heaven.
Oh, glorious, glorious, glorious day!
by jphilo | Mar 31, 2011 | Church Newsletter Columns
But Jesus called to them saying,
“Permit the children to come unto Me, and do not hinder them,
for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”
Matthew 19:14
Camp season is coming soon. When I picture kids racing to their cabins, bags and towels and pillows in tow, my heart skips a beat. Their joy brings back memories of church camp at Riverside Camp in Cedar Falls, the highlight of my childhood summers. The four hour drive was interminable. Dad smoked his pipe and sang wacky songs while the sibs and I fought in the back seat. Mom drove while riding herd on us, ignoring our desperate pleas for ice cream and potty breaks.
Once we arrived at Riverside, us yahoos, now quivering with excitement, tumbled out of the car, and raced headlong into a week of kid magic. Tumbledown cabins packed to the gills with campers. New friends and glamorous counselors. A swimming pool with no admission fee. Crafts in the church basement and chapel in the tabernacle. Songs in the mess hall. Bible studies around a bonfire each night. Around that bonfire one night, the Christ who I’d known was real for many years, became my conscious decision, the eternal Magic I would follow the rest of my life.
Many years later, our kids became Hidden Acres campers, attending summer after summer. A mere thirty miles away, the drive was too short for ice cream withdrawal or potty breaks. But it was long enough for quivering excitement to take hold. When their feet hit camp soil, they were off, running full tilt toward a week of kid magic – the swimming hole, riding horses, chapel, and their ultimate favorite: playing capture the flag IN THE DARK.
At the end of each week, we brought them home, tired, grubby, and full of stories. One year I asked Allen why his soap, washcloth, and towel were pristine and unused. “They sent us in for showers, but didn’t check to see if we got wet,” he said, and then launched a spirited discussion about the book of Revelation, which his counselor explained during their daily Bible studies.
One rainy year, we found Anne in a mud puddle searching for sticks and leaves and stones. After we got her home and hosed her down, she described how her counselor kept them safe when a summer storm hit. “She showed us what to do in bad weather.”
“Were you scared?” I inquired.
“Why would I be scared?” she asked. “God was listening to us pray.”
Christ was listening and waiting for me to come to Him at church camp when I was ten. He waited for Allen and Anne at Hidden Acres, too. How different our lives would be if a lack of funds had kept us from meeting Him there.
The lives of GCC kids will also be different if a lack of funds keeps them from camp this summer. But by eating tacos and bidding on desserts, or by contributing to the camp scholarship fund later, we are permitting our kids to encounter Christ at Hidden Acres. What an opportunity to guide our kids toward the eternal Magic of the soul!
by jphilo | Mar 7, 2011 | Church Newsletter Columns
Then I saw another angel flying directly overhead,
with an eternal gospel to proclaim to those who dwell on earth, to every nation and tribe and language and people.
Revelation 14:16
Since I write and speak for a living, I thought my abilities in that area were fine and dandy. Until last Sunday when two back-to-back incidents dealt severe blows to my pride.
The first blow came Sunday morning after I left my purse on a chair to stake a claim in the sanctuary. Then I scurried to join the line to the women’s restroom. I didn’t recognize the woman standing next to me and introduced myself.
But she couldn’t introduce herself. She was deaf. And I couldn’t communicate because my pen and paper were in my purse. So I pointed to my name tag, (Thank you, Sue Woolston!) and my new friend smiled.
The second blow came Sunday afternoon as I prepared for the Adventure Club Bible lesson about the Ten Commandments. My goal was to put the ten big ones in kid language. But I couldn’t think of how to explain “thou shalt not commit adultery” without going way beyond my comfort zone. When Adventure Club started, I was still clueless.
As it turned out, the craft lady (Thank you, Marsha Arrowood!) took care of the situation during art time. When the kids arrived for the Bible story, I asked them which commandments they remembered, One little boy chimed in, saying, “In crafts we learned married men shouldn’t have another girlfriend, and married women shouldn’t have another boyfriend.” The craft lady nailed it.
Ever since Sunday, I’ve been thinking about what those incidents revealed about my communication skills. You know, the ones God gives so we can proclaim the gospel to every nation and tribe and language and people? Obviously, when it comes to some tribes and nations, my communication skills stink.
I keep asking myself the same questions. How can I better proclaim the gospel to nations and tribes and such? How can I better reach the people hungry enough for the gospel to attend a church where only a few people speak their language?
Answering those questions took creativity since sign language isn’t part of my skill set. But I do know how to write, so from now on, I’ll plan to carry a pen and notebook on Sundays. And I’ll be sure to wear my name tag for the people who can see but not hear my name. I also decided to make a conscious effort to think back to childhood and find words a youngster will understand, and then split my conversation time more evenly between kids and adults.
So I feel ready to share the gospel with two new tribes and nations this week, thanks to a couple well-aimed blows to my pride. A little pain for eternal gain is worth the hurt, don’t you think?
by jphilo | Feb 2, 2011 | Church Newsletter Columns
Jesus answered them and said,
“Truly, truly, I say to you, you seek Me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate of the loaves and were filled.
John 6:26
I love dessert. Perhaps because my grandmothers were marvelous, country-style bakers. Or maybe because Mom taught me to make snickerdoodles at the tender age of eight. Then again, growing up in the shadow of the Wells Blue Bunny ice cream factory could be the source of my sweet tooth. Or the culprit could be our town’s wonderful Dutch bakery.
Whatever the reason for this love affair, I’ve learned something over the years. Dessert is more scrumptious than satisfying. Unless a balanced meal comes first, the most delectable and tantalizing desserts leave me feeling hungry.
The same principal holds true with my spiritual appetite. I love to listen to music, read good books, and watch movies that speak truth into my life. But unless the majority of my spiritual food comes from scripture where I can feast upon the Bread of Life, my spirit isn’t satisfied. My heart grows ravenous and impatient. Instead of allowing God to fill me with knowledge of His Son and His ways, I seek instant gratification. I turn up my nose when God works through small things, craving signs and wonders and miracles instead.
The same principal holds true for our church body, too. Potlucks and Super Bowl parties, retreats and birthday bashes with our brothers and sisters are delightful. A talented worship band leading music, accompanied by a razzle-dazzle slide show, is engaging. Church initiatives that reach out to lost people are desirable. But if our hearts aren’t first satisfied in Christ, who calls us to eat and drink of Him, we will walk away from these events feeling hungry. Without a steady diet of God’s truth during our corporate worship, in small group gatherings, and during personal quiet time, our energy will flag. We will grow discouraged when progress, as we define it, is hard to see.
This year, our church is at a crossroads. Now that we’re in our new building, we’ll be tempted to eat dessert first. We will be tempted to offer sweet stuff to lost beggars instead of the bread they so desperately need. To avoid temptation, we must choose to nourish our spirits in God’s word every day. To gain energy, we must chew upon the Christ revealed in scripture whenever we gather together. We must talk about what we’ve learned, apply it to our lives, and ask God to use it to make us more like His Son.
Only then, when we are filled with truth, can we enjoy dessert for what it is: a taste of heaven for those who have feasted on the Bread of Life and been satisfied.
by jphilo | Jan 4, 2011 | Church Newsletter Columns
I will make you as a light for the nations,
that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”
Isaiah 49:6
This time of year, there’s never enough light. Morning comes too late. Night comes too soon. The cloudy days are too numerous. And the rare days when the sun peeks through, the light is weak, half-hearted, a dim glimmer of its summer strength.
The lighting in the auditorium where we worshipped for so many years was winterlike, too. More than once when it was my turn to read scripture, I coveted the headlamps miners wear underground. Now and then I would close my eyes and listen to the pastor, just to ease the strain of peering through the gloom to see him.
But the darkness was most oppressive during the annual children’s Christmas program. The lack of light made it hard to see the little lambs frolicking, hiding their silly sheepishness from the shepherds watching their errant flocks. The darkness made the manger scene more realistic, but didn’t do a thing for the wise-men-following-the-star business. As for the angels, let’s just say that the idea of the glory of the Lord shining round about them required audience members with active imaginations.
However, this year’s program, held in the new multipurpose room with its warm, yellow hues, brand new lightbulbs, and windows designed to catch natural light, was a different story. The crowd on stage was visible. The sheep kicking up their heels with increasing vigor as the program progressed. The shepherds quaking at the sight of the band of angels. The donkey swaying his head in time to the carols so his ears wiggled all over his head. Joseph shocked to see winged visitor in his bedroom. Simeon hobbling forward to bless the baby in the temple. Mary amazed to hear God’s plan for her life.
And the angel. The one who told Mary she was favored by God. The one who told her Son would be the Messiah prophesied in centuries long past.
The angel stood, on a cold December morning, in a patch of bright sunlight coming through the windows high on the south wall. Her hair shone and her white gown glowed while she spoke of the child who would be the Savior of the World.
My eyes took in the sight and my heart filled with longing for the sheep and the shepherds, for the angels and wise men, for the donkey, for Mary and Joseph, for Simeon, for all the children on the stage.
Dear Jesus, when the lives of these children fill with winter’s darkness, make your word a bright patch of sunlight in their souls. Use them to bring the good news of salvation to the ends of the earth. Amen.
by jphilo | Dec 1, 2010 | Church Newsletter Columns
And this will be a sign for you:
you will find a baby wrapped in cloths, and lying in a manger.
Luke 2:12
With every walk into GCC’s new building, I pinch myself and whisper, “Can this be true? Is this spacious facility really our new church home?” I walk by the beautifully decorated Sunday school rooms, grateful for the contractors who built them and the volunteers who did the finish work, scarcely able to comprehend God’s provision, right down to donated furniture that looks like it was special ordered.
When we sing worship songs on Sunday morning, my feet and back sing too, thankful for a level floor instead of the high school auditorium’s incline which aggravated this aging body. Before Tim’s sermon, I sink into my chair and relish its soft and sturdy comfort. “Can it be?” I wonder. “Can this great big, beautiful gift be for us?”
I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve. Which makes me think of the night when the angel appeared the shepherds tending their flocks. “Do not be afraid,” he told them, “for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which shall be for all the people; for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths, and lying in a manger.”
The sign was a baby wrapped in cloths, and lying in a manger.
No clean, carpeted and toy-stocked nursery for him. No bathroom with running water and a toddler-sized toilet ready for potty training. No Sunday school classrooms painted bright colors, the furniture the right height for little people. No soft and sturdy chairs for Joseph and Mary. No level floor to bear their aching feet. No furnace, no air conditioning, no rooms painted warm, inviting colors.
Only a Savior, a baby wrapped in cloths, and lying in a manger.
A baby who was God in human flesh. A baby who became a man. A man who poured compassion upon the poor and outcast, healed the sick, cast out demons, and fed the five thousand. A man, fully human and fully divine, who led a sinless life, suffered the betrayal of his closest friends, condemned for crimes he did not commit. The Son who loved men enough to hang on a cross in their place, who bore the wrath of his Father on their behalf, and died that they might live. The God more powerful than death, who rose on the third day, appeared to the disciples and ascended to heaven after forty days. The God who sent his Comforter, the Holy Spirit to be with us always.
This was the greatest gift: a baby wrapped in cloths, and lying in a manger.
“Can it be?,” I wonder, “Can this holy and beautiful gift really be for us?”
Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!
II Corinthians 9:15
