YOU and GOD

Hospitality (pt. 2)

As we have noted, there is more than one command in the New Testament that believers should be hospitable. In fact, even as one reads the Old Testament Torah, God gave the Israelites several injunctions concerning their treatment of “strangers,” always reminding them that they were once strangers for 400 years in Egypt. So, how’s your practice of hospitality?

Karen Mains, in her book Open Heart, Open Home, has shared some good insights on the difference between “entertaining” and “hospitality.” She writes, “Entertainment says, ‘I want to impress you with my home, my clever decorating, my cooking.’ Hospitality, seeking to minister, says, ‘This home is a gift from my Master. I use it as He desires.’ Hospitality aims to serve. Entertaining puts things before people. ‘As soon as I get the house finished, the living room decorated, my house-cleaning done—then I will start inviting people.’ Hospitality puts people first. ‘No furniture—we’ll just eat on the floor!’ ‘The decorating may never get done—you come anyway.’ ‘The house is a mess—but you are friends—come home with us.’ Entertaining subtly declares ‘This home is mine, an expression of my personality. Look, please admire.’ Hospitality whispers, ‘What is mine is yours.’”

I do not know who wrote this “Prayer of Welcome,” but it is worth repeating: “O God, make the door of this home wide enough to receive all who need human love and fellowship; narrow enough to shut out all envy, pride and strife. Make it a threshold small enough to be no stumbling block, but rugged enough and strong enough to turn back the tempter’s power. God, make the door of this house the gateway to Thine eternal kingdom, through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.”

Fifty years ago, in a column titled “Eutychus and His Kin,” a writer for Christianity Today (June 3, 1977) underscored the striking absence of hospitality in many churches: “Singer John Charles Thomas, now sixty-six, wrote a few months ago about an interesting project he undertook because he moves about a great deal: ‘I am presently completing the second year of a three-year survey on hospitality or lack of it in churches. To date, of the 195 churches I have visited, I was spoken to only once by someone other than an official greeter—and that was to ask me to move my feet.’”

When Ellen and I moved to Dallas in 1969, we of course wanted to find a Bible-preaching church to be involved in. We visited the First Baptist Church of Dallas, Texas, pastored at that time by the eloquent W. A. Criswell—not with the intent of visiting more than once, but just for the experience of hearing this renowned pulpiteer expound. We were not disappointed with the message! Interestingly, the next night, two members from that church were at our front door to speak with us about the Lord, and to invite us back to FBC of Dallas. The next night!

There was a small, independent Baptist church about five minutes from where we lived. The greeter, “Bucky,” was always at the front door with a bulletin, a warm smile, and a hearty hand-shake. But that was virtually the extent of the welcome extended to us. More than once, I invited the pastor to our house, but the invitation fell on deaf ears. We did join that church because it was an independent Baptist church so close to where we lived, and the older pastor was an excellent expositor of the Word of God. He never failed to feed his sheep well. But there was no hospitality evident for the two or three years we were there. It seemed that—with the exception of Bucky—it was a small club. Those years taught us the importance of reaching out to every family, with priority given to visiting families.

Years ago, I ran across this interesting testimony: “A Chicago businessman called his wife to get her OK for him to bring home a visiting foreigner as a guest for dinner that night. At the time, the wife had three children in school and one preschooler, so there were plenty of more important things to do than entertain strangers. But she consented and the meal came off without a hitch. The foreigner, an important Spanish official, never forgot that meal. Years later, some friends of the Chicago family went to Spain as missionaries. Their work was brought to a standstill, however, by government regulations. When the Spanish official got word that the missionaries were friends of that Chicago family, he used his influence to clear the restrictions from the missionaries. There is a church today in that province of Spain, due in part to that one meal.”

So many blessings and benefits accrue to those who obey God’s simple command: “Use hospitality.” It was important in 60 A.D.—and remains no less important to the Church of which Jesus Christ was the Founder and remains the Head in 2026. Use hospitality. You will not be sorry!

“Distributing to the necessity of the saints; use hospitality.” (Romans 12:13)

Use Hospitality

That command occurs in I Peter 4:9, given at a time when the church, still in its infancy, was aware that there were many believers, persecuted severely, who had lost everything they had. They would fit the description of the apostle John, who wrote: “Beloved thou doest faithfully whatsoever thou doest to the brethren and to strangers which have borne witness of thy charity before the church; whom if thou bring forward on their journey after a godly sort, thou shalt do well: because that for His name’s sake they went forth, taking nothing of the Gentiles.” (III John 5-7) Hospitality was not only nice, it was needed; thus we read in Hebrews 13:2: “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

How about hospitality in this 21^st century? Maybe not so common, especially here in America. But when I was about 12 years old, one of the men in our church often invited someone to Sunday dinner—without notifying his wife ahead of time. Instead, he waited until they were heading home after church to announce to her: “By the way, I invited so and so to dinner today.” We happened to be one of those “lucky “families one Sunday, and the hospitable man’s wife was ready for us: We all enjoyed peanut-butter sandwiches for Sunday dinner! Better than the sandwiches, though, was the good fellowship enjoyed by all! (I still remember that occasion 70+ years later!)

Another time that stands out in my memory was when, as a Bible college student, a friend and I were driving up to Roan Mountain (from Greenville, SC) on a Sunday morning to check out the prospects of a youth ministry there. We got about half-way there and wanted to attend church somewhere; and there was a Presbyterian church nearby, just outside of Burnsville, NC. So we stopped in. It was a very small assembly gathered for worship, and they did not have a preacher that Sunday. Following the service, an elderly looking lady introduced herself as “Viney.” She said she lived very close by and asked if we would like to come to dinner. We did not hesitate to say, “Sure!” And so began a friendship that would involve my buddy and I being the recipients of some genuine Southern hospitality. On future weekends, we would travel that route to Bakersville, NC, stopping about half-way to spend Saturday night at the hospitable home of our friends near Burnsville. Mrs. H would have a chicken dinner on the table (often we got there late) with all the trimmings, plus a chocolate cake that we enjoyed before climbing into our beds, with covers turned down over clean sheets. How could anyone ever forget that kind of hospitality to virtual strangers? (Not that we were angels by any stretch of the imagination!)

Well, there are many such instances to recall; I know any evangelist could recite story after story of unusual experiences while traveling. The most unusual experience I ever had was when I was traveling each weekend to a small town 175 miles northwest of Dallas, Texas, to preach on Sundays for a church without a pastor. I was a student at Dallas Theological Seminary and also worked full-time at the Dallas County Detention Center. One Sunday, I invited a buddy to go with me as Ellen had three little ones to care for at home. We arrived at the church and, as planned, I preached the morning sermon, after which the wife of the church’s main leader invited us over for lunch, announcing it would be “bologna” sandwiches. I thanked her for the invitation, secretly sure that “bologna sandwiches” were not really what we would eat for Sunday dinner. This man had a good job, and the family was comfortably well to do. So, Ron and I showed up for Sunday dinner, and while the hostess finished with last-minute preparations, we conversed with the head of the house until his wife announced, “Dinner is ready.” When we got to the dining room, the wife directed each of us to our chairs. Sitting down at our appointed places, my friend and I salivated over the prospect of a delicious, hot meal, since it had been a long drive and a long day. We were a bit surprised when the hostess delivered beautiful, juicy steaks to her own plate, as well as her husband’s and teenage daughter’s plates—and set a bologna sandwich in front of me and my seminary friend. She did this matter-of-factly and without a change of expression on her countenance. So, without a word of surprise—and, hopefully, with no change of expression on our faces—Ron and I ate our bologna sandwiches, thanked our hosts for the dinner, and returned to the what was then a vacant house to get some rest before the evening service. (We also probably ate the sack lunches that our wives had packed.) After the evening service, we made the trip back to Dallas.

I never figured out why that happened that way, but it did not keep me from continuing my interim ministry there until the Lord moved us to Wichita, Kansas in September of 1971, where more valuable lessons—mostly precious, a few painful—awaited us before He would move us to Indianapolis, where we have ministered for 47 years now, the last 7 years as a retired “pastor emeritus.” (More on hospitality in a later blog.)

“And Joanna the wife of Chuza Herod’s steward, and Susanna, and many others… ministered unto Him (Jesus) of their substance.” (Luke 8:3)

My Journey (part 2)

The late Dr. Keith Knauss was my pastor in my teen years in Ottumwa, Iowa. He received his training in the Practical Bible Institute in New York, and he was an excellent teacher, pastor, and author of several books. I grew under his ministry but had not felt called to preach; and, upon graduation from Ottumwa High School in 1961, I attended a school founded by a Presbyterian minister in 1851—Coe College in Cedar Rapids—to prepare for a law career. As I recall, I received a small (though $500 seemed pretty substantial at the time!) scholarship from the Lions Club or some such organization, which I used for some of the tuition expenses.

During those years at Calvary Baptist Church, where Pastor Knauss was teaching God’s Word faithfully, God had been working in my heart, preparing me already for ministry. A friend, Tom Kent, also a member of Calvary, taught math in the public school. Though he was older than I, we shared a love for people and for ministering. An American Baptist Church in our neighborhood was without a pastor and about ready to fold. One of its members got ahold of Tom and asked if he would preach for them. Tom asked if I would help—he would preach in the morning if I would preach in the evening. I was still in high school but welcomed the opportunity to share God’s Word (what little I really knew of it). On top of this, we later teamed up to sweep out dust in some churches in northeast Missouri that had long ago closed their doors, to hold some summer VBS weeks for children in the area. Tom had grown up in this area, and his folks still lived across the street from one of these churches in Coatesville, so he had lots of contacts. We conducted evening services as well, alternating nights of preaching. I had to borrow some sermon outlines from Pastor Knauss to keep afloat, so to speak!

One semester at Coe College was enough. I took a course in the gospel of John and had to write a paper on what I thought the first few verses of the gospel—“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God . . .”— were talking about. As best I could (probably with the help of C.I. Scofield’s notes), I explained that the Word, Jesus, that was in the beginning, was God. I received the paper back with red letters and could tell by the prof’s comments that we were in basic disagreement on who the Word was—i.e., his was a liberal interpretation.

When Thanksgiving break came, I drove the 1952 Ford that served as my transportation back to Ottumwa and to the evening revival services at Calvary, where evangelist Glen Schunk was preaching. During the semester at Coe, I had been reading the book of Isaiah and was so challenged by the majestic testimony of that prophet, and by the challenges of such passages as Isa. 6:1-8 and chapters 40-66 (and others), that I could not mistake the call of God to me. It seemed to say, “Tony, what this world needs is not another lawyer, but a preacher of the gospel.” I did not know who Glen Schunk was—had never heard his name before—but that first message was all it took. I responded to the invitation and headed for the altar, meeting the evangelist at the front and telling him that God was calling me to preach. I believe either he or pastor Knauss prayed with me, and when the last “Amen” was said, Schunk put an application in my hand to Bob Jones University, an institution I knew nothing about. I filled out the application pronto and received word in a few days that I had been accepted for the 2^nd semester at BJU, beginning in January, 1962.

My folks agreed with that decision. My friend Tom had applied to be a graduate student at BJU and was offered a position to teach in the School of Business. He was to report in January of ’62 as well, so I had a ride to college.

My first Sunday on campus was amazing. It was like stepping into the vestibule of heaven. I attended vespers that first Sunday with a girl from our home church, and she laughed at my expression when I saw an organ rising from a “pit” on the right side of the pulpit. Well, that was the first of many wonderful “firsts” at BJU. I loved every minute of it, even though we had to be at breakfast at something like 7:45 a.m., ready for our first-hour class, sitting at our assigned dining common table, completely dressed with our required neck-ties on!

My major was Bible, with a speech minor. Early on, I figured out how to make a decent grade in Dr. Panosian’s History of Civilization class—a course many students found challenging. As to the Greek language class required of Bible majors, I did not find it easy but was able to keep up. I had excellent elementary, junior high, and high school teachers in the Ottumwa school system to thank for a more-than-average preparation for college. I can still recall most of their names, faces, and even some idiosyncrasies, but I will never forget their commitment to teaching and their no-nonsense approach, which is what I surely needed. Many of these teachers were, interestingly, “old maids,” so to speak. They were “old school” then and would be archaic by today’s standards. I did not, as a 7^th or 8^th grader, appreciate their contribution to my education as I should have, but I learned to appreciate it so very much. In high school, I was elected as president of the student council, another job that I would later know was part of my preparation for future leadership as the “bishop” of three local churches, the last of the three assignments lasting for 40 years here in Indianapolis.

I thought, upon graduation from BJU in 1965, that God would use me as an evangelist; but in case I would ever have an opportunity to teach, I felt I needed more training and enrolled in Central Baptist Theological Seminary of Minneapolis, Minnesota. It was another institution that I did not know much about. But Bob Jones had awarded an honorary degree to Dr. Richard V. Clearwaters, founder and president of Central, so I felt comfortable enrolling in the Bachelor of Divinity program, which was later officially changed to a Master of Divinity. It was a 96-hour program and usually took three years to complete—or four if you were married and working full-time, as I and several of my classmates did.

More later…

“Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, ‘Here am I; send me.’” (Isa.6:8)

His Last 24 Hours

Pilate tried again to persuade the crowd that he should release to them Jesus, but again they cried for His blood. Finally, at about 6 a.m. he delivered Jesus over to the mob and they took Him and led Him away to be crucified.

Immediately, upon His release from Pilate, soldiers seized our Savior, stripped Him, put upon Him a scarlet robe and pressed into His forehead again the crown of thorns, and they put into His right hand a reed or mock scepter; then they began to say, “Hail, King of the Jews.” Spitting upon Him, they took the reed from His hand and smote Him on the head. They mocked Him more, took off the scarlet robe and replaced it with Jesus’ own garment, then led Him to Calvary.

To the place of the skull He was then led, followed by a great company of people. Already weakened by the brutal scourging, Jesus soon fell under the heavy load of the cross that He bore, and one Simon, a Cyrenian, was conscripted by the soldiers to carry the cross on up the hill to Calvary.

Golgotha was the site of the crucifixion, and shortly before 9 a.m. on Friday, the sinless Son of God was stretched out upon a rough-hewn cross; nails were driven through the palms of each hand while one long spike secured both of His feet to the upright stake. The Roman cross of crucifixion was raised by wicked hands high above the earth, then dropped with a sickening thud into a hole upon the hill while every bone in Jesus’ body was torn and twisted in their sockets. Malefactors were put on crosses on either side of the Savior, and from nine ‘til noon the hill was crowned with three cross-bearing bodies, two thieves and the man on the middle cross, the God man.

Earlier all the Disciples had fled and forsook their Master, but by now word was out that He was on the cross, and one by one many had made their way back to Calvary to watch and weep. Mary, His mother, stood by His cross, as did Mary the wife of Cleophas and Mary Magdalene. John the Beloved Disciple stood beside Mary the mother of Jesus.

From nine ‘til noon, Jesus spoke three times from His place above the earth. First, His prayer of forgiveness was uttered: “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” Next, to the thief who in a dying breath asked for mercy, Jesus said, “This day shalt thou be with me in paradise” and finally, gazing upon the sorrowing heart of a sad mother He said to John, “Son, behold thy mother.”

While the hot sun beat upon Jesus for three hours, He spoke only three times and each time not for Himself but on behalf of someone else!

At noon, the sun became dark, and for three hours the heavens hid their faces as it were from the shameful scenes on Calvary.

At about 3 p.m. Jesus’ words pierced through and broke the silence as He cried, “Eli, Eli Lama Sabachthani,” “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

Shortly following that, Jesus said again, “I thirst.”

A vinegar-soaked sponge was held to His mouth on a stick, and when He had received it, He cried with a loud voice, “It is finished!” And then, “Father, into Thy hands I commend My Spirit.”

With those words Jesus gave up the ghost and died. It was Matthew who recorded that at that precise moment, the veil of the temple was rent from the top to the bottom, the earth quaked, the rocks were rent in two, and the graves of many of the bodies of Old Testament saints that had died were opened and they were seen walking through the streets of Jerusalem.

The darkest deed of history was done! Jesus had died; had died a criminal’s death, and the heavens blushed while the earth convulsed.

One of the Roman soldiers who had cast lots for His garments got on his knees and confessed Jesus as the Son of God, while His faithful followers, including Mary Magdalene, came to minister to His body. Joseph of Arimathea, a disciple of Jesus, had received permission from Pilate to bury the body of his Lord, and the body was taken from the cross by Pilate’s orders and wrapped in a clean, spice-laden linen burial cloth and placed in Joseph’s tomb, a tomb which had been hewn out of a rock. Nicodemus, the ruler of the Pharisees who had come to Jesus by night, anointed Jesus’ body with spices and perfumes. A great stone was rolled to the door of the sepulcher, and Mary Magdalene and the other women sat by the door to keep watch.

Saturday, the day after His burial, the vile chief priests went back to Pilate and begged of him a detachment of Roman soldiers to guard the tomb, for, as they remembered and reminded Pilate, He had said, “After three days I will rise again.” Afraid that Jesus’ disciples would secretly steal His body away, they sought the Roman watch and secured it from Pilate.

It was early—about dawn but still dark—on Sunday morning, the first day of the week, that Mary Magdalene and another Mary stole secretly to the tomb with sweet spices with which to anoint their Master’s body. Wondering who would roll away the stone for them, their question was soon forgotten as they came and saw the stone had been rolled away already.

What the women did not know at that time was that in the wee hours of the morning, a good while before daylight, God had shaken the tomb with an earthquake, and the angel of the Lord had descended from Heaven to roll back that great seal. The Roman soldiers fell to the ground and were as dead men, and the angel of the Lord sat down upon the stone. Jesus arose from His burial place triumphant over death and Hell, and two angels from Heaven came and folded neatly the linen cloth that had been wrapped around His body and the napkin that had been wrapped around His head.

The Crucifixion Week

It is often referred to as the “Holy Week,” Jesus’s last week of life on earth as the God-man, culminating in the cruel crucifixion. It serves us well to be reminded often of the unspeakable Calvary event—unspeakable because of the rejection of Jesus by His own, whom He came to redeem; yet precious because of the atonement that His dying secured for all men, especially for those who believe. (I Tim. 4:10) The following is an outline of the events of His last week:

On the Sunday before He was nailed to the cross, Jesus entered Jerusalem on a colt, fulfilling Zechariah’s prophecy that the Messiah would come as a King “riding upon an ass, and upon a colt, the foal of an ass.” (Zech. 9:9). On that day, multitudes cried “Hosanna to the son of David.” (Matt. 21:9) But just a few days hence, the crowds would be crying “crucify Him, crucify Him!” Luke notes that “when he was come near, he beheld the city and wept over it.” (Luke 19:41)

On Monday, approaching the city, Jesus cursed a fig tree that appeared to be at the stage of fruit bearing but was barren. Arriving in Jerusalem at the Temple site, Jesus surveyed the merchandizing taking place in His “Father’s House.” He responded by turning upside down the moneychangers’ tables, driving them out as He proclaimed that “my house shall be called a House of Prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves.” (Matt. 21:13) He had similarly done this temple cleansing at the beginning of His ministry, as John recorded in his gospel, chapter 2.

Tuesday was an extended teaching day for Jesus, beginning in the Temple teaching His disciples in parables and continuing just outside the Temple where the disciples asked Jesus about end-of-the-age issues. Those questions (Matt. 24:3) initiated a lengthy discourse by Jesus, recorded in Matthew 24 and 25, called the Olivet Discourse. In it, Jesus gave signs that would precede His 2^nd coming and the great tribulation that would take place just prior to that coming and the judgment of the nations that would immediately follow His return in power and great glory. (Matt. 25)

On Wednesday of “Holy Week,” at dinner in the home of Simon the leper, Jesus had his head anointed by a woman who poured over him a box of very precious ointment. The disciples rebuked the woman, but Jesus rebuked the disciples and commended the woman, while Judas Iscariot slipped out of the room to seek out Pharisees with whom he could conspire to betray His Master.

On Thursday afternoon, the first day of the feast of Unleavened Bread, Jesus instructed Peter and John to secure an Upper room where He and the disciples could share in the Passover Supper together. It was after this meal that Jesus washed His disciples’ feet, then revealed that Judas would betray Him, while He also warned His followers of their pending denial of Him. Our Lord instituted the Memorial of the Last Supper (Luke 22:17-20) and then launched into a farewell discourse (John 14-16) climaxing with His great Intercessory Prayer (John 17), followed by a short walk to the garden of Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives, where Jesus uttered the agonizing petition, “Let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not my will but Thine be done.” It was under the cover of an early morning blanket of darkness that Judas then led his cohorts in crime to the garden where he knew Jesus was wont to pray, betraying Him to Roman soldiers with a kiss feigning love and loyalty. This resulted in the arrest of Jesus and His hearing before Annas, former High Priest and father of Caiaphas, the then current High Priest before whom Jesus would stand to be interrogated and also accused, mocked, charged with blasphemy, beaten, blindfolded and reviled.

Friday morning, early, Jesus was formally condemned by the Sanhedrin—about the same time, interestingly, that Judas, feeling the awful consequences of his betrayal of the Son of God, went out and hanged himself. Jesus was led to Pilate, where the Roman governor asked Him, point blank, “Art thou the king of the Jews?” In keeping with the custom of releasing a prisoner on such festive feast days, the bloodthirsty crowd demanded that the seditionist-murderer Barabbas be released and that Jesus, King of the Jews, be crucified. Pilate, learning that Jesus was from Galilee, sent Him to Herod Antipas to be judged, and it was before Herod that Christ was mocked, dressed for a few moments in a gorgeous robe, and then sent back to Pilate, where he was chastised and crowned in mockery with a crown of thorns.

Between 6:00 a.m. and 9:00 a.m. Jesus continued to be mocked by soldiers and then, with reservations, released by Pilate to the frenzied crowd. He was led to Golgotha just a little before 9:00 a.m. and nailed to the cross, where He would hang between two thieves until noon, during which time Jesus would utter “Father, forgive them.” To the repentant thief, he said, “This day thou shalt be with me in Paradise.” To His mother, he said, “Woman, behold thy son.” And to the beloved John, he said, “Son, behold thy mother.” His garments were parted, and soldiers cast lots to see who would get what; and a superscription was written in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek, “This is Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” Jesus would suffer hanging upon the hill called Golgotha for another three hours, from noon until 3:00 p.m., crying out four more times: “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?” and “I thirst,” and “It is finished.” Finally, under a darkened sky where neither sun nor moon shone and where the earth was about to quake, Jesus cried: “Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.” Immediately, Matthew tells us that the veil of the Temple was rent from the top to the bottom, the earth did quake, some tombs of Old Testament believers were opened, Old Testament saints were observed walking the streets of Jerusalem, (Matt. 27:52) and the Centurion Soldier at the cross was overheard saying, “Truly this was the Son of God.” Jesus had died for the sins of the world; then He was carefully anointed for burial before being placed into the never-before used tomb of a wealthy man from Arimathaea, Joseph, who was also a follower of Jesus.

After three days and three nights (by Jewish reckoning, any part of a day is a day, night is a night), Jesus rose victorious over death, hell, and the grave— whereupon He appeared to many of his followers before ascending back into the heavens in a visible display of His power and great glory, the full display of which is reserved for His 2^nd coming at the conclusion of the Great Tribulation. (Matthew 24 and 25)

“Behold He cometh with clouds; and every eye shall see Him, and they also which pierced Him: and all kindreds of the earth shall wail because of Him. Even so, Amen.” (Revelation 1:7)

A Hard Way To Go

Solomon said plainly that “the way of transgressors is hard.” (Provs. 13:15) Centuries after those wise words were penned, Jesus underscored them with His unforgettable parable about the prodigal son who, in his youthful transgressions, found out that the way of transgressors is indeed unimaginably hard. (Luke 15:11-32) History, both biblical and non-biblical, is replete with stories that buttress Solomon’s thesis on the brutal hardness of the transgressor’s way. Here are some reasons why the way of transgressors is hard:

It is a hard way because of the places you will go and the people you will know. Transgressors notoriously keep company with fools (Provs. 13:20), destroyers (Provs. 28:24), thieves (Isa. 1:13) and riotous men. (Provs. 28:7) The places such companions will take you reek with the stench, smell, sounds, and sights of a Christless world void of that which is wholesome. “Thy princes are rebellious,” God told the sinful nation through His spokesman, Isaiah. The nation that He loved and lavished goodness upon would—in 605 B.C. at the hand of the Babylonian King, Nebuchadnezzar—surely realize at last that the way of the transgressing nation is hard;

Because of decisions that transgressors make—decisions to “do it my way,” to “have just this one fling,” to “have some fun to make up for all the good times missed,” to “go along to get along,” to “take care of # 1 first for a change,” to “depart for a while from the ‘straight and narrow’ way so I can get a taste of what the world is like,” to “do something for myself for a change.”

Because of the good that you will miss while going the way of the transgressor: The church family and fellowship that you will forfeit; the needed godly instruction that you will miss out on, which probably will never be able to be made up; the genuine Christian friends who have loved and nurtured you and have prayed for your happiness that you have left behind while going the way of the transgressor; the victories that might have come your way, the answers to prayers, the storehouse of good things your heavenly Father wanted to load you down with but could not; the friends of faith that had become as close or closer to you than blood relatives; the praises, hymn sings, testimonies, prayer services, revival meetings, and godly people who have without a word but by their walk impacted your life immeasurably—all of this and more will soon be lost from your daily life as you pursue the way of the transgressor which, you will find soon enough, is so very, very hard.

Because of the consequences you will reap—including “corruption,” a product of sowing to the flesh, and bitterness, hatred, confusion, discord, death. (Gal. 6:8)

Because of the opportunities you will waste: “One life, ‘twill soon be past, only what’s done for Christ will last.” Transgressors waste time, resources, talent, relationships, and lives that might have made a difference for God for good—opportunities gone with the fleeting years, never to return;

Because of judgment that must come—judgement that is certain; judgement that is just; judgement that is final; judgement that includes loss of rewards; judgement that will begin before death and follow after death (the judgement seat of Christ for the believer, or the Great White Throne Judgement for the unbeliever, Rev. 20:11-15).

Because of the price you will pay for being a transgressor: in some cases, the loss of your health, your loved ones, your job, your home, your marriage, your church family, your good name, your respectability—and, in the most extreme case, the transgressor who refuses Christ will lose in the end his soul. Jesus asked, “What shall it profit a man if he should gain the whole world and lose his own soul?” (Mark 8:36)

Because of the peace you will forfeit. “There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked.” (Isa. 48:22)

Because of the love you will spurn: God’s love, Mother’s love, Father’s love, the love of family, friends, teachers, pastors, mentors;

Because of the end you will reach: The way of the transgressor is hard, and the end of the way that seems right unto man is death. It is an ugly end; an unending end; a suffering end; an irrevocable end. BUT Jesus still says—with outstretched arms—“Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matt. 28:18-20)

“Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet they shall be white as snow; though they be red like, they shall be as wool.” (Isaiah 1:18)

My Journey

On November 19, 1942, in the small southeast Iowa community of Douds, my mother, having called “Doc Pollock,” gave birth to her fourth of five children, a son, whom she and dad would name Anthony Lee. The doc had come to our house and spent the night waiting for my “breech” arrival. I was the second son. Two sisters had preceded me, and one would yet follow in a couple of years. The family was poor, living in a large frame house just yards from the Des Moines River. It would flood in June of 1947, causing us to load into a rescue boat sent to deliver us from the rising waters.

We were poor, but not because Dad was not willing to work. He delivered eggs, worked on farms and in a rock quarry, and did any other job that he could find to support his family. We had “outdoor” plumbing and took a bath once a week in a tub filled by pumping the well—in short, all the that goes with a family of six that was just able to squeak by. Then, in 1947, my father was hired on at John Deere in Ottumwa, Iowa. We moved there and, from then on, enjoyed a modest living. Dad retired at the age of 62, having been in supervision for several years, and he and Mom enjoyed life together until he passed away at the age of 94. He drew a pension check from John Deere for more years than he was employed by them.

Just on top of the hill, also mere yards from our house, there was a Methodist church that our family attended on occasion. At some point earlier in their lives, Dad and Mom had attended a revival meeting and had professed Christ as Savior. Dad said that they seldom heard the gospel at the local Methodist church, and they did not grow spiritually during those years.

Then came August of 1947. It was a hot summer day in the sleepy little town of Douds, and some of our cousins who lived on a farm, not far from town, asked if my older brother, Teddy, and sister, Nancy, could spend the night with them. After much pleading, Mom said yes against her better judgment, so Teddy and Nancy got on their bikes and followed their cousins to the farm. It was there that one of the boys asked Teddy if he could swim; if so, he said, there was a creek running through the farm that they could “take a dip” in to cool off. I doubt that Teddy ever had the opportunity to learn to swim, but he ended up going to the creek and jumping in with his cousin. Sadly, Teddy—who had just one functioning lung due to diseases and complications at birth—got caught in a swift current that he was unable to get out of. With Nancy on the creek bank screaming for help—help that the cousin was not able to render—Teddy drowned.

That afternoon was life-changing for our family. We soon moved to Ottumwa, where Dad was employed; and our parents, having lost their child, had enough sense to know that it was not just an “accident,” but that God was trying to get their attention. They began to seek God, trying church after church—all kinds of churches—where they could learn more of God and His plan for their lives. One Sunday afternoon, a neighbor knocked on our door and invited our family to attend the evening church service with them. My parents accepted the invitation, and when they entered the doors of the church, it was like they had found what they were seeking. It was an independent, Baptist church, where a faithful pastor opened the Bible every service and preached “the whole counsel of God.” This was home. It was not long before, on a Sunday evening, I knew that I needed to be saved. And so, responding to the invitation, I went forward and was led to Christ by this good pastor, who later baptized me. The whole family was one in Christ before long, and this church became our church home for the next several years. God had, through the death of a child, gotten the undivided attention of our parents, and He was not ignored. They soon found the answers to their questions. From that time on, they became devoted followers of Christ, consistent in their walk with Him. I grew up, then, in a Christian home.

In about ten years, sadly, we had to leave the church. I share this because of a spiritual lesson that I believe is so very important. As I said, we had to leave that church, the church that we loved and grew spiritually in for years. The reason was that my parents, who dearly loved the pastor, sensed that he needed some rest—as in a vacation. The pastor got wind of that idea and thought they were spearheading a movement to get rid of him. Nothing could have been further from the truth. But, not convinced, the dear man of God called a special business meeting for the purpose of having my parents “churched.” They were voted out of the membership.

Thankfully, though, they did not lose their standing in His body. Another independent Baptist church lovingly received them and our family, where we all attended, growing in the faith, as long as we lived there. I wanted to share this painful chapter of our lives for this reason: As long as my parents were alive, I never heard the first disparaging word out of their mouths about the pastor who led his church to disfellowship them. They knew they were not guilty of trying to bring any harm to this dear man of God; they loved him and learned a great deal from his adroit Bible teaching. He just totally misunderstood their motives and acted upon that. I repeat—never, not one time in the many years to follow, did I hear one word of criticism about that pastor, the church, or his preaching. I share this because, had that experience tainted my parents’ view of pastors or churches, I doubt I would have pursued the ministry. After the call from God to preach, I attribute their loving response—sans any hint of bitterness—to my being in the ministry today.

More to follow….

“But by the grace of God I am what I am: and His grace which was bestowed upon me was not in vain….” (I Cor.15:10)

How Well Do I Remember!

There are no doubt pros and cons that a retiring pastor considers when contemplating whether he should move away from where he pastored, or whether he can remain active, supporting the ministry of his successor. For sure, there will be no shortage of advice offered, all free of charge.

We chose to remain at the church I pastored here in Indianapolis for 40 years, living in the same house that we have lived in, adjacent to the church, for more than 44 years. It is not the purpose of this post to discuss the pros and cons of this arrangement (we are grateful for it!), but rather to focus on one aspect of the life of a “retired” pastor who remains in the community/church in which he fulfilled a long-time pastorate.

Strangely, I suppose, I want to talk about the memories that I carry with me every hour of every day. The faces, the service, the love, the stresses, the losses and gains, and on and on.

Last week I was sure I saw Clovus Wayman. Clovus has been in heaven for 25 years, at least. But, as I was waiting in a line to pick up an online order, there he was, next up at the register. Now, what I was looking at was the back of a man’s head, and the form of the frame of his body—shoulders, stance, bent of head, etc. I knew of course that this particular person was not the real Clovus Wayman, a dear faithful friend and member of our church from the time I arrived in 1979 to the time God called him to glory. Clovus and his wife Hazel went to Florida every winter, but the day they returned—always about this time of the year—they would drive by the church to give me a hug (well, Hazel did, not Clovus) and to let me know they were back. They lived half a mile from the church and were always quiet, supportive, faithful. I will never forget the face of my dear friend, Clovus. It was etched with multiple deep, deep wrinkles which made him look very old; but one never saw him without his flashing a faint smile. Very few words. One time, though, I think at a seniors luncheon, Clovus opened up and said something that really startled me; it was sometime in the month of May and for a full month, in Indianapolis, all you hear about is the “greatest spectacle in racing”—the Indianapolis 500. Clovus said, “I have lived in Indianapolis all my life and I have never once seen the 500 race track.” Matter of fact like! He had to have been in his 80’s when he said that. The 500 track was no more than a 20 minute drive from where he lived. Every May, 300,000 plus people come from all over the world to see 33 Indy race cars on the oval track, their teams poised and their drivers patiently waiting for the “Gentlemen, Start Your Engines.” Clovus lived next door to it for almost a century and never laid his eyes on it!

Here is another factor that is unique to pastors who retire from a long-term ministry and remain in the same church and live in the same place: almost everywhere you go—to the grocery store, to the gas station, to a restaurant, to the doctor’s office or hospital—you will drive by streets or neighborhoods where your church members, most of them now with Jesus, lived and where on many occasions you sat down in their living rooms to visit with them, read scripture, and pray. Their faces, names, likes and dislikes, the apartment or little framed house that they lived in, the name of the street they lived on, and much more will come to your mind about them, including who their best friends were and much more. A fast, mental bio of these people races through your mind and you whisper a prayer to God thanking Him that you had the honor, the privilege, to be their pastor, sharing their joys, griefs, victories, defeats, sorrow—ministering to them, in some cases, for decades, and becoming like a family member. Visits to the hospital when they were sick, and memories of their passing and memorial services, ending with a comital of their mortal remains at a local cemetery will, at random, flash through your heart, head, soul. All as you drive by a certain street on your way to drop off some laundry!

For the most part, these memories are pleasant, not painful. And, it should be noted that I am not living in the past. But, there are certain people, places, and personalities that cannot be erased from a pastor’s heart and mind because of the sheep-shepherd relationship that was once between them. To be sure, there are a few memories that are unpleasant and unwise to dwell upon; but, by far, most of the remembrances are joyful and result in a whispered prayer of thanksgiving to God for allowing Ellen and myself to have shared in their lives, loves, losses. And, it is a reminder that, “over yonder,” when our life’s work is ended and the bright and glorious morning we shall see, not only shall we know Him and worship Him, we shall know them and worship Him with them. And “it will be worth it all, when we see Jesus!” Selah.

“Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us.” (Hebs. 12:1)

Revive Us Again

On August 31, 1986, in the evening service from the Thompson Road Baptist Church pulpit in Indianapolis, I began the message with these words: “It happened 18 months ago here in the heart of America—a 20^th-century moving of the Holy Spirit of God—what one man who was an eye witness described as ‘the most remarkable manifestation of His power that I have seen in many years.’ Here is what a few folk who were part of what many called a “genuine revival” said of it:

“For the first time in 20 years, my mother and I have a peace and freedom in the Lord.”
“Our church was very cold. There were a lot of bitter feelings. Some of us were not speaking. Sunday night we ended up in tears, hugging one another.”
“Our marriage has been refreshed—it’s like a second honeymoon.”
“God has taken away all the hate and anger I had for my wife. He stopped a divorce. He has replaced the pride and bitterness and stubbornness with a love and peace.”
“God turned our school upside down.”
“Praise the Lord—I now have that heart relationship that for 40 years was missing in my life.”
“I have seen many ‘mercy drops’ in over 30 years of ministry, but nothing like this ‘shower of blessing!’”

And there were many more. It was a protracted revival meeting in some western Indiana communities that changed lives, homes, and churches as evidenced by a broad swath of personal testimonies.

We do not hear too much about “revival meetings” today, but God has not changed, and none would argue that there is—in our sophisticated, 21^st century, high-tech oriented worship gatherings—no longer a need for such a moving of the Holy Spirit. The question is not, “Can God still give revival?” The question is, “When will God revive His church, His people?”

The preparation for revival

A.T. Pierson said, “There has never been a spiritual awakening in any country or locality that did not begin in prayer.”

Charles Finney said, “Revival is no more a miracle than a crop of wheat. Revival comes from heaven when heroic souls enter the conflict determined to win or die—or, if need be, to win and die!”

2. The price of revival

> Confession

> Contrition

> Restitution

> Consecration

Milton Kerr, in his newsletter, quoted George Sweeting on “Practical Steps To Revival: (1) Be dissatisfied with yourself—your spiritual posture; (2) Ask God to transform your life; be as determined for the blessing as Jacob was when wrestling with God; (3) Put yourself in the way of blessing, not neglecting prayer; (4) Do a thorough job of repenting: ‘Create within me a clean heart,’ David sobbed; (5) Make restitution whenever possible; if you owe a debt, pay it. (6) Develop a seriousness of purpose; keep off the detours; (7) Deliberately narrow your interests. The Christian life requires specialists—Jesus said in effect, ‘Be a one-eyed man,’ and Paul said, ‘This one thing I do.’”

3. The product of revival

> Reconciliation

> Rejoicing

> Restored love

> Revitalized power

> Renewed freedom

I began this post with a brief reference to an area-wide revival in the mid-1980s in west-central Indiana. I close with an except of a testimony from one man transformed by that revival: “I was doing great and enjoying the revival immensely until the night Del (Fehsenfeld of Life Action) preached on holiness. That night God began to pull the cover off of some sins I had suppressed for years. During the next few days, as I listened to the messages on clear conscience and bitterness, I was under deep conviction. But there was something wrong in my life I could not put my finger on. One night I went home and fell on my face before God. I fell asleep….with still no answer. The next thing I realized the dog was barking. I got up to let him in, and as I did I noticed that it was 3 a.m. I remembered during the revival, God had been waking many people about this time, so I started praying. No sooner had I hit the couch in prayer than God gave seven names of people from whom I needed to ask forgiveness.

“I awakened my wife and told her that God had shown me what I needed to do to clear up my sin. I decided I would wait until morning, but as I walked back to the couch, God’s Holy Spirit said, ‘Do it now.’ He told me to start driving and He would show me where to go. At 3:45 a.m., I was in the car headed for I-74. On the list was my mother-in-law, my father-in-law, my wife’s sister, a pastor, my brother, and his wife. At 6 a.m. I drove by my in-law’s trailer. It was so dark I went to a motel to call them so I wouldn’t scare them.”

I am not going to have space for all of this testimony, but here is the final paragraph: “Since that day my life, which I thought was ok, has changed radically. My conscience is clear; my spirit is free, and Christ is living His life through me.”

“Oh Lord, revive Thy work in the midst of the years…Wilt Thou not revive us again that Thy people may rejoice in Thee?” (Hab.3:2; Ps.85:6)

“Kiss of the Eternal”

One of the most unusual deaths in all of recorded history is that of Israel’s great emancipator, Moses.

In fact, the record of it—as given in Deuteronomy 34—is singularly strange in itself. For if we believe that Moses wrote the first five books of the Bible, it seems that Moses pre-recorded the facts of his burial. That is not impossible, for God’s Holy Spirit is the author of all scripture. But no one would argue that it is not unusual! It is more probable, though, that Joshua later added the account of the death and burial of Moses.

His death is unusual in other respects. God buried him, we are told. Then, Jesus’s brother Jude informs us in his epistle that the Devil and Michael, the archangel, fought over the body of Moses. Why they fought is not known. Some conjecture that it had to do with the appearance of Moses with Elijah at the Mt. of Transfiguration. (Matt.17) But there is some truth in the assessment by one writer that “there is a special secret and mystery regarding the burial of Moses that would be a profanity to disturb.”

Without disturbing that mystery now, consider with me what we can know about his death:

1) The disqualification of Moses: The greatest leader this side of heaven that Israel has ever known was denied setting foot into the “Promised Land” because he “sanctified me not in the midst of the children of Israel.” (Deut. 32:51) Plain and simple, it was a matter of disobedience in striking the rock for water rather than speaking to it as God commanded. It harkens to what Samuel the prophet said to the disobedient King Saul later on in the history of God’s people: “Wherefore then dost thou not obey the voice of the Lord?” (I Sam. 15:19)

To obey is better than sacrifice. Disobedience in both cases came with a terrible price. Moses could view the promised land from afar but could not set foot onto it; Saul was rejected as King. Not only was the sin of disobedience in play here, but also the root cause of all disobedience—the sin of disbelief. When Moses—who had been told by God to speak to the rock—smote it with the rod in his hand, God said: “Because ye believed me not, to sanctify me in the eyes of the children of Israel…therefore ye shall not bring this people into the land which I have given them.” (Num. 20:8-12) Some centuries later, the Apostle to the Gentiles would share that he constantly gave attention to keeping “under my body and bring it into subjection—lest that by any means when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway.” (I Cor. 9:27) Disobedience, the offspring of disbelief, comes with a horrendous price-tag—and that price is often disqualification.

2) Consider with me also the disappointment of Moses. God took him to the top of Mt. Nebo and showed him all the land of Gilead, then said to the great leader: “This is the land which I sware unto Abraham…I have caused thee to see it with thine eyes, but thou shalt not go over thither. So Moses the servant of the Lord died there in the land of Moab.” (Deut. 34:4,5) Do you think that Moses said (to himself), “That’s all right—at least I got to see the land, and my successor, Joshua, will get to go in and set foot there, and I am so happy for him!” Not on your life! Moses had to have been sorely disappointed when he died! His dream of a lifetime would not be fully realized! His place as the leader was forsaken; his plans of going into the long anticipated land were abandoned; and his privileges as the Lord’s guide in this most thrilling last leg of the 40-year journey were forfeited.

3) Finally, we come to the death of Moses—a death mandated by God as to its time and place. We each have a time and place to die—for our times are in His hands. The prophet’s eyes were not dimmed, nor was his natural force abated. He was not crippled nor hard of hearing. One poet said that God “kissed him, withdrew his breath, and took him.” His passing was followed by weeping and mourning for thirty days. Moses had lived 120 years. He was buried in a valley of Moab and succeeded by his protégé and hand-picked successor, Joshua.

So, there is sweet sorrow in reading of the last days of this larger-than-life figure out of the pages of Old Testament history. His life was such a saga of greatness; yet one definable act of disobedience brought about the sorrow surrounding his death—buried by God, yes, but buried in the plains of Moab, the land of a people that perpetually hated Moses and his kind. A story strangely, sweetly kind.

Something surely can be learned here. No matter what mountain peaks you have trekked in through life’s journey, you have not gotten so far up that disobedience to God will not bring you down. You can be forgiven; but the awful price of sin, with its unalterable consequences, will still need to be dealt with. “And there arose not a prophet since in all Israel like unto Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face.”(Numbers 34:10)

“Hath the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams.” (I Sam. 15:22)