Yes, I'm still alive. I'm back in Taiwan now, and with all the missed time while away for my Dad's funeral, I had a lot to catch up on. That shouldn't be an excuse since anyone can spare a few minutes a day to write, but I didn't. But, I hope to be back to writing regularly now.
A few months ago, an old friend asked to meet with me. He is facing a crisis in his life and that has caused him to think more about the meaning and reality of his faith. We talked a bit about what he is feeling and thinking and then he turned to me and said, "You know, I've been a Christian more than 20 years, but I've suddenly realized that I really don't know much about what I believe. Once I was baptized, I sort of stopped trying to read my Bible or learn more. I had made my decision to accept Christianity, but once I did, it seems like that was enough. I don't know God any better now than I did then and I'm finding it hard to deal with this crisis." He is now reading his Bible regularly and praying about entering seminary because he wants to know more and wants to be able to encourage others to continue to grow in their faith.
The following morning, in our devotional time at the office, a coworker shared about a lady who had given a testimony at his church the day before. She has cancer and said that she realized that everyone was trying to comfort her, but they didn’t have much to say that meant anything. Was God really in control, and did he really care as her Christian friends said? She realized that the Bible that the church had given her at her baptism many years ago had not yet been opened. She began reading it and now is giving testimony to others to continue to pursue a greater knowledge of God.
Then, I read something written by a young person after a former classmate had died suddenly. One thing that struck me was her statement that suddenly she was afraid to die. However, her fear of death was not because she wasn’t sure of God’s salvation and that she would be with him in heaven. Her fear was that she felt that she had not yet done anything except satisfy her own desires. She hadn’t led anyone to Christ and hadn’t really served Him.
Why is the church so focused on getting people baptized, but satisfied to leave them there. I remember a Taiwanese pastor telling me proudly how many people his church had baptized in the previous year, and I asked him how many of those were active in the church still and were growing in their faith. He looked puzzled and just asked why I had asked that question. “Because the Great Comission didn’t say that we were to baptize all nations. It said that we are to make disciples of all nations, and baptism was just one of the steps along with going and teaching them to observe all that I have commanded. That’s not just teaching, but teaching them to obey. It’s not just knowledge; it’s obedience. If we aren’t making disciples, we have failed in our mission.”
He thought for a few minutes and said, “I never thought about that. I just wanted to get them to heaven. Actually, I think only one is even coming to church regularly. I need to think about that”
Why is it that we stop so soon? Is our focus on just getting them a ticket to heaven a sign of our continued human-centric value system? We are so focused on saving people from hell, that we forget that God’s priority is something far more valuable, and that is a restored relationship with Him. God created man to know Him, to serve Him. We belong to God, but we have left him. He is not looking for believers; for the baptized. He wants disciples and we are cheating Him, ourselves, and others if we forget the rest.
So, why do we stop so soon? What should the church be doing differently? What should I be doing differently? How much of a disciple am I?
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
A Hero's Welcome (updated)
Probably just about every 5 year old thinks that their father is a hero. You don't even have to be a really great father for them to think you're wonderful at that age. Later that begins to change as the boy grows and discovers his father's weaknesses and as he begins to develop his own identity.
Just a couple of days ago, my father passed away, and I still thought he was a hero. I've been a part of a men's breakfast study group for the past year, and a couple of recent studies focused on fatherhood. As other men described their fathers, I realized again just how blessed I have been. There were very many times when I disagreed with him, when I didn't want to hear what he thought, and when I thought that he was old fashioned and even a bit naive, but I always thought of him as a hero to me. And, as time when on, I even found that he was right most of those times when I had gone my own way. But, I'm talking about heroes, not being right. What was it that made him a hero?
One was that he truly, unconditionally, unashamedly, relentlessly loved his wife--my mother. Note that I didn't just say that he was "in love." He loved her. There is a difference. It was active, not just a feeling. As my brother said yesterday, there were many people who thought that he was so wonderful because of how he took care of my mother the last 2 years of her life when she because so difficult and demanding due to her deteriorating health. In reality, he didn't just take care of her for 2 years; it was 58 years." She was 16 years old when they married and had already had a very difficult life--life threatening bouts with scarlet fever twice, abandoned by her father before she turned 6 and forced to live with relatives (along with her mother and brother), and with a very low self esteem. He made her finish high school, taught her to do all kinds of things, and told her every day how beautiful she was and how wonderful she was, and how much he loved her. And, he lived it daily, too. I have never had to wonder at the meaning when Paul tells husbands to love their wives as Christ loved the church. I only had to wonder why it seemed so easy to him.
He was a gracious man. He was a man, a man's man, a hard worker, a fisherman, a hunter, a mechanic, an electrician, a carpenter--in fact he could do almost anything and I said that not only when I was 5 years old, but again as a 16 year old, a 25 year old, all the way down to today. But, he was also the most forgiving many I have ever known--and that includes not just offenses against himself as we usually think of when we think of forgiveness, but also stupid mistakes made by people like his oldest son (I only have one brother, younger than me), like when I forgot that the bolts that hold the brake drums on were reverse threaded. I was checking the brakes and kept trying to break that "stubborn" bolt free until I finally twisted the head off, leaving the bolt still in there. That happened just as he walked out the door. I stood up and tried to keep him from seeing what I had done, to buy a little time. I thought I was so stupid and that he would surely have to remind me of that. I thought there was no solution now that I'd twisted it off. He said, "You do remember that those bolts are reversed threaded?--you have to turn them the other direction from normal bolts.". "Yes, sir, I remember." He paused just a moment and then said, "Did you remember in time?" "Uh, uhh, No, sir. (How did he know?)" He just smiled and said, "Well, that's easy to forget. It's not a problem. We'll just drill out the center with a bit that's barely smaller than the bolt, and then we can twist out the remaining thin pieces. Let's go ahead and go to the parts store and buy a replacement bolt and a drill bit." What a simple solution? How was he so smart? But, more than that, why didn't he take the chance to remind me of how stupid a mistake I had made? I knew my Daddy loved me.
He was shafted on a number of occasions by numerous people, and turned the other cheek. He didn't do it in a sissy way. He did it as a man who had nothing to prove, but even more, a man who knew that Jesus required it. I learned that this was not just an idealistic saying of Jesus. There were men (at least one man--my dad) who took it seriously and lived it. So, why was it so hard for me to do so? I'm still asking myself that question.
And, yes, he loved me and was not afraid to say it or act on it. I didn't find out until after high school that that was not the norm, that every Dad didn't do that. He told me every morning at breakfast and as he left for work, and every day when he came home and every night as we went to bed. He hugged me anytime one of us was leaving, any time something good happened, and often for no reason at all. He told me he was proud of me, even when I dropped out of Little League because I still couldn't hit that ball and got so bored in right field that I would start counting the bugs at my feet so that I'd miss the ball going by (and he was an avid baseball fan, especially the Tigers, so that was a big deal). Once I brought I guy home from college for the weekend and to my great embarrassment when I drove up to the carport, he came to the car and gave me a big bear hug when I got out. Right in front of my friend! I know I turned red and I don't think I hugged him back. And, on Sunday evening when we left to go back, he did it again and even said that he loved me. It did make me feel good, but I didn't want to admit that I was glad because I wondered what my friend would think, but as we were driving back to Auburn, my friend said, "You know, you are a lucky guy to have parents like that. They love each other and they love you. I don't remember my dad ever giving me a hug or saying he loves me. I'd give anything for that." And, I started feeling really lucky as I thought of what that must be like for this friend. I learned a lot from that, not just about love, but about being willing to do what is good without being afraid of what others might think.
As a teen, I began to be very disillusioned with the church and thought that once I got to be able to make my own decisions, I'd just quit going. It bothered me that in church, the "sinners" were all outside--drunkards, adulterers, etc., but those inside were the "righteous." But, "inside" I didn't see the kind of person that Jesus described and felt that no one was truly seeking that. They came to church and said that they believed, but at school on Monday, they were just like everyone else. I had decided that it was all tradition, or just a social network, and that no one really believed it. Well, except for my parents, but if they were the only ones, then they (in my mind) must be pretty naive. Fortunately, I met another guy, just a little older than me, who also believed, and I discovered that there were others. But, it came back to my parents because I got to see them 24 hours, and I knew it wasn't a front. That's when I decided to really go for it and make a commitment to Christianity.
I said he was a hunter, but though he sometimes brought home squirrels or birds, he never brought home a deer, even though he sometimes went deer hunting. I thought he was a bad shot (it never occurred to me that squirrels and birds were even smaller).eHe took me squirrel hunting a few times, but I couldn't sit still long enough to let the squirrels come close enough for us. He didn't take me deer hunting until I was in high school, but on that first hunt, we came upon a beautiful buck with a large rack. He motioned me to be still and quiet as he raised the gun, pointed it at the deer, took aim, and then...nothing. He just stayed there for a few minutes looking through the scope until the deer walked away. He put the gun down, looked at me and said, "Well, we got one. Wasn't he beautiful? And such a rack?" I looked a bit puzzled. "What do you mean by saying we 'got' one?" "We did. I got him in my sights, I kept him there. He walked away on his own, not because we scared him away. That's good enough for now. We aren't hungry. We have plenty to eat. A deer is too beautiful to shoot when you don't need the food. We hunted him and we won, beating out his animal instincts and survival skills. But, that doesn't mean we have to kill." I had a hard time with that one, but it stuck with me. You can "win" without taking the trophy, because you don't have to "prove" that you won. Such self-confidence. He didn't need a rack of antlers on the wall to make him feel good about himself. He was content in just himself knowing that he was competent and successful. So, why do I so often need to prove myself before others, go for the kill, seek the praise of others? I'm still working on that one also.
When we were leaving for Taiwan, he told me that he loved me and that he hated to see me go because he was going to miss me and he knew that if I went, I'd stay there. He knew what he was giving up, but he told me also that he was proud that we were going and that he wouldn't want to see us doing anything else in the world. He tried to be calm because my mom was a basket case the day we left, but he was crying when he hugged me goodbye. When our children were born, I know he and mom were both torn and they wanted desperately to have the grandkids near them like everyone else. As their health deteriorated, it got harder. We thought of coming back. The last time I left, he was crying more than I've seen him before and for the first time he said to me, "Billy, I don't want you to go. It's been so good to have you here with me again, and I'm so lonely." I looked at him, not sure what to say, but he quickly added, "But, I know without any doubt that you are exactly where God wants you, and with that, I don't want you to stay either. But, I'll miss you."
He was a believer, not just a proclaimer. He didn't just talk, he acted. but He was and is my hero. He is, other than Christ himself, what I wish I could be. I so badly wanted to get here before he died, not to tell him this. You see, I've already told him before, although his response was something like, "Of course you think I'm great. I'm your father. But, I'm no better than anyone else. You're just prejudiced toward me." He really thought that he was just "normal" and I couldn't convince him otherwise, but I know. And, the more I see of the world around me--and even more importantly, the more I know of myself--the more I know that he was not normal. He was my hero and always will be.
People keep saying that he is happy now that he is back with his beloved wife Auvlene, and that is certainly true. This last year was very difficult for him. But, I think we think that way because we are limited by our human thinking and feelings. I believe that even more joy to him is that he is with his Lord and he is rejoicing in that, while glad to have Auvlene by his side. You see, I think that on Sunday morning, he received a hero's welcome into the presence of God. I'd like to say that he deserved it, but again, that's just in comparison to most people. What he got was grace, but that was what he practice with others. When will I learn to be like that?
Just a couple of days ago, my father passed away, and I still thought he was a hero. I've been a part of a men's breakfast study group for the past year, and a couple of recent studies focused on fatherhood. As other men described their fathers, I realized again just how blessed I have been. There were very many times when I disagreed with him, when I didn't want to hear what he thought, and when I thought that he was old fashioned and even a bit naive, but I always thought of him as a hero to me. And, as time when on, I even found that he was right most of those times when I had gone my own way. But, I'm talking about heroes, not being right. What was it that made him a hero?
He was a gracious man. He was a man, a man's man, a hard worker, a fisherman, a hunter, a mechanic, an electrician, a carpenter--in fact he could do almost anything and I said that not only when I was 5 years old, but again as a 16 year old, a 25 year old, all the way down to today. But, he was also the most forgiving many I have ever known--and that includes not just offenses against himself as we usually think of when we think of forgiveness, but also stupid mistakes made by people like his oldest son (I only have one brother, younger than me), like when I forgot that the bolts that hold the brake drums on were reverse threaded. I was checking the brakes and kept trying to break that "stubborn" bolt free until I finally twisted the head off, leaving the bolt still in there. That happened just as he walked out the door. I stood up and tried to keep him from seeing what I had done, to buy a little time. I thought I was so stupid and that he would surely have to remind me of that. I thought there was no solution now that I'd twisted it off. He said, "You do remember that those bolts are reversed threaded?--you have to turn them the other direction from normal bolts.". "Yes, sir, I remember." He paused just a moment and then said, "Did you remember in time?" "Uh, uhh, No, sir. (How did he know?)" He just smiled and said, "Well, that's easy to forget. It's not a problem. We'll just drill out the center with a bit that's barely smaller than the bolt, and then we can twist out the remaining thin pieces. Let's go ahead and go to the parts store and buy a replacement bolt and a drill bit." What a simple solution? How was he so smart? But, more than that, why didn't he take the chance to remind me of how stupid a mistake I had made? I knew my Daddy loved me.
He was shafted on a number of occasions by numerous people, and turned the other cheek. He didn't do it in a sissy way. He did it as a man who had nothing to prove, but even more, a man who knew that Jesus required it. I learned that this was not just an idealistic saying of Jesus. There were men (at least one man--my dad) who took it seriously and lived it. So, why was it so hard for me to do so? I'm still asking myself that question.
And, yes, he loved me and was not afraid to say it or act on it. I didn't find out until after high school that that was not the norm, that every Dad didn't do that. He told me every morning at breakfast and as he left for work, and every day when he came home and every night as we went to bed. He hugged me anytime one of us was leaving, any time something good happened, and often for no reason at all. He told me he was proud of me, even when I dropped out of Little League because I still couldn't hit that ball and got so bored in right field that I would start counting the bugs at my feet so that I'd miss the ball going by (and he was an avid baseball fan, especially the Tigers, so that was a big deal). Once I brought I guy home from college for the weekend and to my great embarrassment when I drove up to the carport, he came to the car and gave me a big bear hug when I got out. Right in front of my friend! I know I turned red and I don't think I hugged him back. And, on Sunday evening when we left to go back, he did it again and even said that he loved me. It did make me feel good, but I didn't want to admit that I was glad because I wondered what my friend would think, but as we were driving back to Auburn, my friend said, "You know, you are a lucky guy to have parents like that. They love each other and they love you. I don't remember my dad ever giving me a hug or saying he loves me. I'd give anything for that." And, I started feeling really lucky as I thought of what that must be like for this friend. I learned a lot from that, not just about love, but about being willing to do what is good without being afraid of what others might think.
As a teen, I began to be very disillusioned with the church and thought that once I got to be able to make my own decisions, I'd just quit going. It bothered me that in church, the "sinners" were all outside--drunkards, adulterers, etc., but those inside were the "righteous." But, "inside" I didn't see the kind of person that Jesus described and felt that no one was truly seeking that. They came to church and said that they believed, but at school on Monday, they were just like everyone else. I had decided that it was all tradition, or just a social network, and that no one really believed it. Well, except for my parents, but if they were the only ones, then they (in my mind) must be pretty naive. Fortunately, I met another guy, just a little older than me, who also believed, and I discovered that there were others. But, it came back to my parents because I got to see them 24 hours, and I knew it wasn't a front. That's when I decided to really go for it and make a commitment to Christianity.
I said he was a hunter, but though he sometimes brought home squirrels or birds, he never brought home a deer, even though he sometimes went deer hunting. I thought he was a bad shot (it never occurred to me that squirrels and birds were even smaller).eHe took me squirrel hunting a few times, but I couldn't sit still long enough to let the squirrels come close enough for us. He didn't take me deer hunting until I was in high school, but on that first hunt, we came upon a beautiful buck with a large rack. He motioned me to be still and quiet as he raised the gun, pointed it at the deer, took aim, and then...nothing. He just stayed there for a few minutes looking through the scope until the deer walked away. He put the gun down, looked at me and said, "Well, we got one. Wasn't he beautiful? And such a rack?" I looked a bit puzzled. "What do you mean by saying we 'got' one?" "We did. I got him in my sights, I kept him there. He walked away on his own, not because we scared him away. That's good enough for now. We aren't hungry. We have plenty to eat. A deer is too beautiful to shoot when you don't need the food. We hunted him and we won, beating out his animal instincts and survival skills. But, that doesn't mean we have to kill." I had a hard time with that one, but it stuck with me. You can "win" without taking the trophy, because you don't have to "prove" that you won. Such self-confidence. He didn't need a rack of antlers on the wall to make him feel good about himself. He was content in just himself knowing that he was competent and successful. So, why do I so often need to prove myself before others, go for the kill, seek the praise of others? I'm still working on that one also.
When we were leaving for Taiwan, he told me that he loved me and that he hated to see me go because he was going to miss me and he knew that if I went, I'd stay there. He knew what he was giving up, but he told me also that he was proud that we were going and that he wouldn't want to see us doing anything else in the world. He tried to be calm because my mom was a basket case the day we left, but he was crying when he hugged me goodbye. When our children were born, I know he and mom were both torn and they wanted desperately to have the grandkids near them like everyone else. As their health deteriorated, it got harder. We thought of coming back. The last time I left, he was crying more than I've seen him before and for the first time he said to me, "Billy, I don't want you to go. It's been so good to have you here with me again, and I'm so lonely." I looked at him, not sure what to say, but he quickly added, "But, I know without any doubt that you are exactly where God wants you, and with that, I don't want you to stay either. But, I'll miss you."
He was a believer, not just a proclaimer. He didn't just talk, he acted. but He was and is my hero. He is, other than Christ himself, what I wish I could be. I so badly wanted to get here before he died, not to tell him this. You see, I've already told him before, although his response was something like, "Of course you think I'm great. I'm your father. But, I'm no better than anyone else. You're just prejudiced toward me." He really thought that he was just "normal" and I couldn't convince him otherwise, but I know. And, the more I see of the world around me--and even more importantly, the more I know of myself--the more I know that he was not normal. He was my hero and always will be.
People keep saying that he is happy now that he is back with his beloved wife Auvlene, and that is certainly true. This last year was very difficult for him. But, I think we think that way because we are limited by our human thinking and feelings. I believe that even more joy to him is that he is with his Lord and he is rejoicing in that, while glad to have Auvlene by his side. You see, I think that on Sunday morning, he received a hero's welcome into the presence of God. I'd like to say that he deserved it, but again, that's just in comparison to most people. What he got was grace, but that was what he practice with others. When will I learn to be like that?
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