Monday Morning Music Ministry

3-22-21

Last week’s message on addiction excited a greater number of responses than I usually receive. I hoped that it would present a somewhat different perspective on this topic than we routinely hear; and perhaps that struck a chord.

I had not thought of this until I wondered at the feedback, but in a society where “victimhood” virtually has become a religion, it is refreshing to assert that we often are responsible, ourselves, for “challenges” we face. And, as should follow, that we can take responsibility as well for their solutions. Such resolutions represent more than coping, but rather liberation… second chances… new starts… a fresh excitement about life.

Several readers, and friends I have made in recent years, surprised me (and were glad to do so) with stories of their own redemption, of kicking addictions. My way of putting it with friends: moving from Alcoholics Unanimous to Alcoholics Anonymous; and, of course, other things than alcohol, which was the larger point of my essay.

There is another story about my unnamed friend from years ago whose situation inspired that message, and I will share the follow-up again, in a way of closing the circle.

It is a little more personal, to me that is. There was a tough period some years ago for my family – toughest most of all for my late wife Nancy. She had faced health challenges (what euphemisms we use) most of her life. She was an early diabetic, and that was the source of many ills, but not solely. When we met she monitored blood-sugar levels with test strips, and she (or I) would administer insulin shots by needle.

Eventually pumps and remote monitors were developed. During that technical evolution, her physical problems, some caused by the diabetes, raged. She virtually lost her sight twice; a miracle restored it once (unquote, incredulous doctors) and another by laser treatments. She had several heart attacks; and several TIAs, or minor strokes. She developed celiac disease, and had to avoid wheat, oats, rye, and barley; besides sugar, of course. The diabetes attacked more places than her eyes, and she had toes amputated. Cancer was discovered in her thyroid gland, and although one lobe was removed, it was devoid of cancer cells (another miracle, doctors could only call it). There were more medical problems too, like broken bones – all these before and after a heart transplant and a kidney transplant.

Nancy worried, more than about herself, for our three children. But they took strength from her faith and strength. We started a hospital ministry that lasted almost seven years… and might have have blessed us as much as the patients and their families.

We were without insurance, with me as a freelancer and she having (duh) pre-existing conditions. Things were tight, and emotionally stretched. At this time (while Nancy was in hospital, listed for compatible organs) my mother was dying, in hospice, in Florida, and I made the difficult decision to be there in her last hours. Driving to the train station in Philadelphia, my car was T-boned at an intersection and totaled. I was OK, and two days later I took that train. My mother lingered longer than expected; I returned home for Christmas, and got the message that she died while I wended north.

The transplants went well – in fact, she was almost like a poster child; no rejections, and living 16 years instead of the projected extra five. Until I could get a new car, our pastor lent us his van. Friends helped with watching the kids, and with meals. Neighbors helped with housework and chores. Our ministry continued, and my freelance schedule enabled me to take Nancy to the many follow-ups and lab visits.

We return here to my friend who starred in last week’s message, and was mentioned above. I related this litany to him with the appropriate “thank Gods” and gratitude to friends and neighbors. The whole “before and after” tale.

Ever the skeptic, he took the opportunity to teach me a lesson, to shake me back to reality. “You’re always thanking God for this and that,” he said. “But listen to yourself. It wasn’t Jesus who took your kids in when you had to go to Florida. It wasn’t Jesus who lent you that van. It wasn’t Jesus who brought you meals and cleaned your house… They were just friends and neighbors!”

My response came immediately, inspired by Someone else, because I wasn’t that clever myself: “You’re wrong. It WAS Jesus… working THROUGH our friends and neighbors.”

This truth is a way that God works, and a way that He often chooses to work. Not a fallback, but His intention. It is the reason Jesus came to earth… and, more, the reason He left.

But I tell you I am going to do what is best for you. This is why I am going away. The Holy Spirit cannot come to help you until I leave. But after I am gone, I will send the Spirit to you (John 16:7). And we yield to the Spirit.

We should be reminded here of bumper-strip theology that can have impact as it distills the Truth:

~~ You might be the only Jesus people ever know.
~~ Always share the Gospel – sometimes even use words.
~~ Be doers of the Word, not hearers only.
~~ Love one another, even as I have loved you,.
~~ Be imitators of Christ.

Of all the experiences, trials, and acts I have mentioned here, none is too big for us to assume it need not be done. And none is too small to have a life-changing, eternal impact. It’s funny how God works that way.

Especially when it’s through us.

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An example of “how small” an act can be is in this song by Ray Boltz. It reminds be of a visit by a missionary family to our little church, and their slide-show about their work overseas. My little girl Emily was so affected that she decided then and there to go into missions work. Which she did.

Click: Thank You

This message, and this song, would seem like orphans if I didn’t invite you to visit the site of Grand Staff Ministries Grand Staff Ministries – Becky and Tracy Spencer’s remarkable missions program to the people of eSwatini (formerly Swaziland) in Africa.

6/3/2012

A few years ago when I lived in California, I helped organize retreats for the people in the office where I worked. Spiritual getaways, opportunities for refreshment. We availed ourselves of landmarks of the state’s rich heritage, and held them at ancient missions that dot the coast. Few of us were Catholic, but the solemnity and Christian dedication of these oases were special indeed.

Early settlers built a network of missions along the Pacific coast so that travelers could be within foot (or horse, or mule) distance of one day from mission to mission. Most still stand today, active as religious communities that also welcome visitors… including individuals or groups who want a place to worship God or meditate on the Word. My friends and I visited Mission San Luis Rey in Oceanside.

These experiences were so good for my soul that I gratefully learned about abbeys, fewer in number, also each hundreds of years old, that likewise welcomed visitors. The abbeys are more active religious communities, however; and conforming to the rules of the order was more of a requirement. I arranged to stay at the Benedictine Abbey of St Andrew in Valyermo. It was to be for three days, living, even dining, among the monks. Participation in worship was not required, but silence – one of the order’s strictures – was.

One has free run of the beautiful grounds, including the Stations of Cross, a precious tool to reflect on Christ’s sacrifices; and the abbey’s library. There was no “lights out” policy in the Spartan rooms, because there were no lights. But the library, with many volumes and a cozy fireplace, was open all night.

When I went to the abbey I was not enduring a spiritual crisis, but I needed refreshment (we all do, always; whether we realize it or not is the matter), and I arrived expecting all sorts of insights, breakthroughs, and revelations.

I received none. None that I hoped for, or expected. I was not disappointed, but I was confused. In the silence, I had expected to hear God’s voice, but I did not. In nature I expected to see Him more clearly, but I did not. In the solitude, I expected to be free to bump into God at every turn, but I did not.

Yet after three days, without insights, revelations, or breathroughs to headline a journaling page… I was closer to God than I ever had been.

I had the sense – a reminder, really – that a curse of modern life is that we often are too busy to meet God on His terms. In modern religion, we are taught to construct “expectations” and then devise ways to meet them, all the time thinking that such paradigms will please God. In modern spirituality, we tell ourselves that we are on progressive paths to know God better and better and better.

… where, sometimes, the stark realization that we cannot fully know Him, is to rediscover the sense of awe at His majesty, His omnipotence, and His mystery. We have lost a sense of God’s mystery. It does not threaten to make God more distant; it does, however, make Him more God-like to us. Our goal must not be to be God (if that were possible), but to be Children of God. We should not think we can be Christs, but we are instructed to be Imitators of Christ. Yes, it is one of our charges to “know God and make Him known,” but we cannot have a presumptuous attitude: if we fool ourselves into thinking we can know all there is to know about Him… there would no longer be a need to know Him.

I came to appreciate, not regret, that “space” between our knowledge of God and God Himself. It is not empty, as we sometimes fear, but is that mysterious zone where we can just stop and have reverence and awe and wonder at the unknowable power, and love, of God.

That mysterious zone, of course, is called faith.

Embrace its vastness, do not scurry to shrink it. Love the fact that God created and maintains it as a special gift for His children. To lose yourself in the mystery of real faith is to feel, to KNOW, that you are closer to Him than you can ever teach yourself to be, or work towards. To try is futile, to surrender is divine.

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Writing our stories into God’s song, BEING the glory of God, is the essence of Christa Wells’ moving song “How Emptiness Sings.” Let your tune resonate in the open spaces.

Click: How Emptiness Sings

4-11-11

Very much a Lenten story.

The sister and brother-in-law of a friend of mine are missionaries in Mexico Their agency is called Last Frontiers, and this is story about their family’s life this week.

Ed and Denise Aulie work primarily with indigenous peoples of Mexico -– specifically the Nahuatl of Veracruz, and the Ch’ol of Chiapas. They also speak in congregations throughout Mexico, giving studies of God’s Word. They are church planters, and they also minister through literacy training, medical service for the sick, agricultural work, and construction of homes for woman who are alone.

They have worked in the mission field with indigent Mayan and Aztec tribes in Mexico for more than 30 years as a married couple; all their children were born in Mexico. Through the years they have mentored many young people who now serve across the world, including in the US, France, Germany, Italy, Canada, China, India, Yemen and Iraq.

Their story, this week, is about one of their own children, however. Ed will tell the story:

Over the years we have seen many a mangled bicycle lying on the ground, with a sheet covering the rider. We have seen crowds gather around a toppled donkey cart with a child or grandfather lying nearby, having been hit by a vehicle. Yet we never thought that one day it would be our son lying in the oncoming traffic lane after being hit by a car at full speed.

Finally, would YOU ask God to give you the grace to give “The Pardon” to anyone in your life, whether they are waiting for it or not? Don’t let a sword hang over that person’s head a minute longer.

“Be merciful as your Heavenly Father is merciful.” [Luke 6:36]

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I believe that the meaning, and to major extent the essence, of the Easter story is in Ed’s letter. The purpose of the Incarnation… the offer of pardon for our sins… the role of forgiveness… sharing the Good News. The meaning, and to a major extent the essence, of the Easter story is neutralized in our lives if we keep it as a historical episode from 2000 years ago. It is not only relevant for today. It must HAPPEN every day, in each of our lives.

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Click: I Can Only Imagine (Puedo Imaginarme)

If you are interested in the ministry of Last Frontiers, click its name on the MMMM Recommended Sites list on the right. You can learn about their missions, their news updates, their support opportunities.