Uncle Bob

My Uncle Bob died yesterday in Ohio at the age of 88. I had four uncles but he was the only one I knew well. He was the last uncle standing, so I’m now uncle-less. It’s a genuine loss.

Everyone should have an Uncle Bob. He was a gentle, soft-spoken man of clear and genuine faith in Jesus. I never heard him say a cross or unkind word about anyone, even with easy targets like celebrities, politicians, and TV preachers. I never saw him get angry, even when I put a baseball through a front-door window at his house.

I was shagging fly balls that day in Uncle Bob’s (small) front yard. I had guessed I could aim closer to the house without reaching it. I’m not a power hitter, so it seemed safe. Not quite. After the crash, my mother was the first person out the door. She saw all us kids, but I was the one with the red face holding the bat. It was probably the only home run I ever hit in my life. I think she was swinging before she got to me. Spank first. Ask questions later. I never saw what happened to the rest of the kids.

No matter. I deserved the spanking. It probably helped me that my grandfather installed windows for a living. He ended up with an extra service call that day. But Uncle Bob never said a word to me about it. He just didn’t get angry. I was around him enough to know what he was really like. People often say nice things about the deceased at funerals. But in this case, it’s really true.

Uncle Bob encouraged me in my preaching, even when I was a youth, and was always interested in my ministry. Last month Carol and I stopped in to see my aunt and uncle at the end of our Ohio trip. Uncle Bob slipped $100 in my pocket. He had cancer and knew it didn’t look good, although a month ago they were still treating it aggressively and hoping for recovery.

We agreed it could be the last time we might see one another on this earth and rejoiced in the promise of eternal life in Jesus. I reminded Uncle Bob that we already knew how this would end. We just didn’t know when. He would eventually die even if God extended his life now. He agreed and said he had only one wish. He hoped when his time came, he would go quickly.

God answered that prayer. Uncle Bob declined quickly and was in hospice only five days before passing away yesterday morning at home with his wife and son beside him. He left behind a widow of strong faith who will follow him to heaven some day, three children of faith who will follow him some day, and six grandchildren–all of strong faith–who also will follow him some day.

Don’t you wish you had an Uncle Bob like that?

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Mom’s Rebuttal

A few weeks ago I posted an entry about my mother’s career as a church secretary. Recently I visited her and my father in New Concord, Ohio, where they still live in the family home they built in 1964. Mom mentioned that she had read my post and brought to my attention a few inaccuracies. For instance, she served as the church secretary for only 24 years, not 25 years.

Did I mention that mom was a stickler for details?

More substantive was a clarification that mom ran the church office, not the church. That’s quite a significant difference. It’s what I really meant, but the wording in my post is misleading. I stand corrected. Mom never ran the church, never tried to run the church, and never got in the way of those who ran the church. She did indeed run the church office with a strong, methodical and predictable hand, always aware that she served under the authority of the pastor. She worked hard to please each one. She viewed her work as service to God.

I had speculated – inaccurately to her knowledge – that mom may have nearly gotten herself fired because of her competence. On the contrary, mom reports that she got along very well with every pastor she served, which was a long string of them.

The final pastor desired more control of the office than the previous men. Mom sensed that she didn’t please him and decided it was time for her to retire, believing the pastor desired a younger assistant in the office. I don’t know if changes in technology played a role in any of that, but it was the era in which office computers were beginning to replace typewriters as primary office equipment. Is there a mimeograph machine still in use anywhere? Mom could cut stencils which produced printer-quality results. But those days are gone now.

Mom might rebut my speculation by saying she has done very well with changes in technology, thank you very much! She uses a computer every day, even in her mid-eighties. After she tells you that, she might mention she learned to type on a manual Royal typewriter (as did I). I remember she was both fast and accurate with a keyboard. She could spit out a page rapidly with few or no mistakes. If she did make a mistake, she was as likely to start over as to try to clean it up. But she did have liquid paper on hand or correction fluid for stencils, something I haven’t used in decades.

After mom recited her list of corrections to my post, I told her she had just proved my point. She didn’t let mistakes slide as a secretary. She was alert for errors and fixed them wherever possible.

This morning Thom Rainer posted an blog entitled “Seven Traits of an Excellent Ministry Assistant.” He began by saying, “The days of the church secretary are waning.” That’s probably true even in rural areas. Then he listed seven qualities which I think are found in my mother. Both then and now. Here’s a link for the seven traits:

http://thomrainer.com/2017/08/seven-traits-excellent-ministry-assistant/

Mom has been retired now longer than she served as the church secretary. But her mark is still on that congregation. She set a standard of office excellence they still remember today. As an office secretary, mom did things right, which is commendable. It’s even better to do the right things. I think mom did that, too. She always put people first when she was a secretary. She still does.

 

OPM, Mom, Storm Clouds

OPM

Last month I walked downtown to pay a bill for renovations we had done at the house. I was a bit tense, partly because I didn’t know the amount due. The shopkeeper surprised me by forgiving the entire debt. It was an extraordinarily gracious gift, which I related in a previous post.

A few days ago I walked downtown again to pay another bill. This time I wasn’t the least bit tense, even though I didn’t know the amount. I walked easily into the store, pulled out the checkbook, and wrote a check. I didn’t feel the slightest hesitation or tension. There was zero pain.

What was the difference? No, it wasn’t that I had suddenly grown much more mature since last month. It’s more basic than that. This time I was carrying a different checkbook. I was paying a bill for the local clergy association. It wasn’t my money. I was merely a steward of their account.

There’s no pain when you spend other people’s money. Some financial advisors advise people to use other people’s money (OPM) when investing. I don’t recommend that, but it’s definitely less stressful to spend other people’s money. That’s why it’s important to remember God owns everything. We are merely stewards of his property. I remember Ron Blue teaching me that decades ago. It’s the first principle of biblical money management: “1. God Owns It all.” (Master Your Money, p. 20).

Everything we own really belongs to God. We are merely managers. If I adopt that attitude, there will be no pain in paying bills, or watching the stock market dive, or enduring a drought in the fields.

Every time I pay a bill, I’m using OPM. God owns my checkbook. The tension I feel when I pay bills reveals that I haven’t yet mastered stewardship.

“For the kingdom of heaven is like a man traveling to a far country, who called his own servants and delivered his goods to them. Matthew 25:14

 

MOM

Last night I was reconnecting online with an old high school friend, a PK (pastor’s kid) from another church. As we reminisced about our childhood, he asked if his memory was correct that my mother had been a church secretary. This was my answer:

Yes, my mother was the church secretary for 25 years. She was the classic “take charge” attack secretary. Actually, I think she ran the church more than the pastor in some cases. I know she clashed with some of the pastors. And she probably nearly got fired a few times for it, I’d wager, though I don’t know any details. She never spoke poorly of anyone. She was very good at what she did in the office. She was proud that her mimeographed bulletins looked like they had been printed. Sometimes we folded them at home on Friday night. She was very fussy that we folded them precisely and didn’t have greasy hands from popcorn. The president of Muskingum College once tried to recruit her for his office, but she wouldn’t change jobs because she still had kids at home. The church let her set her own schedule – and sometimes we would go to the church with her and play. I often played the organ while she worked. I know she counseled some people who had come in to see the pastor. She taught me things that have stuck, such as never misspelling people’s names and proofreading my writing until it’s right. It was much harder to make corrections in the old days, but she did it every time. She thought dictionaries were to be used. I still look things up if I’m unsure. She made me take typing in summer school after eighth grade. She said typing would be useful in high school. She was right, of course. She typed my master’s thesis – all 90 pages of it – in 1984, just before personal computers would have made it much easier. If she made a single mistake on a page, she started over. No white-out. She was the same at home. There were lists everywhere – cleaning lists, shopping lists, vacation plan lists, kids’ jobs lists. But it seemed like the house was always a mess. Go figure.

My friend said it would honor my mother to post this on my blog. Here it is, Mom. I love you!

My son, keep your father’s command and do not forsake your mother’s teaching. Proverbs 6:20

 

STORM CLOUDS

The Clarkfield area is enduring a serious drought this summer. Recently there have been some good rains all around us. But most of the moisture has missed us. It the drought continues, the harvest will be seriously reduced, which would impact the entire town. To make it even more difficult, a couple times the sky grew very dark and threatening with the promise of rain, but it didn’t produce. Lord, please send rain!

Like clouds and wind without rain is one who boasts of gifts never given. Proverbs 25:14

 

Undeserved mercy, unexpected grace

“If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday. The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins and will raise up the age-old foundations; you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.” Isaiah 58:9-12

Yesterday I experienced one of the greatest kindnesses I have ever seen. It was a gift of mercy multiplied by grace.

Recently Carol and I had some new flooring installed in our home, a hard floor in the little breakfast nook and carpet in the den and stairway. Yesterday I walked down to the furniture store to pay the bill. Privately I was a little anxious because we’d already spent my annual housing allowance on other repairs and renovations. To be flat-out honest, I was suffering a bit of a private pity party. I know, I know. I shouldn’t engage in that kind of self-indulgent sulking. God has been so good to us. He is always faithful and worthy of our continuous trust. I ought not worry about such little things as paying bills. But I worry far too often, even when the Lord has provided the means to pay.

Most of my private pity parties are celebrated when I play the comparison game. When I compare myself to other people in general or other pastors in particular, it invariably drains my spiritual vitality. Pity parties invariably expose myopic vision. Whether I look good or look bad in the comparison, my eyes stray from Christ and turn inward to self. I carry a burden that isn’t mine to bear. Temporal responsibilities outweigh spiritual reality. That was my spiritual condition yesterday as I pulled out my checkbook. It wasn’t a picture of personal piety.

The clerk laid the bill facing her on the counter between us. I took a pen in my hand and waited for an amount to write on the check. Without any drama or fanfare, without raising her voice or changing her business-like tone, she announced that the bill had been paid in full.

“What?… Who?…” I stammered.

She wouldn’t tell me anything. No names. No places. No explanation. Just that the bill had been paid.

I was shocked. It was an undeserved mercy. I ought to have paid the amount due. Instead the debt I owed was removed. Someone else paid the full price.

But the clerk wasn’t finished. There was more. She wanted me to measure our kitchen floor. Whoever paid my debt also was going to provide a new kitchen floor at no charge. There were no conditions, no “ifs.” There was not a single “but.” It was a gift with no strings attached. I came to the clerk thinking she wanted something from me. Instead she had something for me.

I was speechless. Paying the bill I owed was an undeserved mercy, but adding a kitchen floor was an outrageous and unexpected grace. The prophet Isaiah would label this person a “Repairer of Broken Walls” and a “Restorer of Streets with Dwellings” (Isaiah 58:12).

Mercy is withholding punishment due. That’s the first mile. Exhibit #1 is Jesus’ atonement on the cross. He paid the debt we owe. He took the punishment for our sin so it didn’t fall on us. Grace is unmerited favor. It goes further than mercy. That’s the second mile. There are not conditions. There are no “ifs.” Not a single “but.” Exhibit #1 is God’s manifold blessings to us in Christ – election, justification, adoption, sealing, calling – to name a few. All provided with no strings attached. We approach God thinking he wants something from us. Instead he has something for us.

In Jesus I’ve experienced both mercy and grace. Exhibit #1 is a hallmark of my life.

This week I was privileged to experience Exhibit #2 of mercy and grace. Mercy paid the bill I incurred. Grace piled on blessings I neither sought nor expected. We were replacing a floor in my house, but God made someone a Restorer of Broken Walls in my heart. We were updating a little house on a highway, but God made an anonymous benefactor a Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.

Don’t feel left out. You can approach a heavenly Father and find undeserved mercy and unexpected grace. That’s what Jesus has for us. No strings attached. Some­times Jesus’ people do it, too. It can make a big difference. I know because it happened to me this week. Now that I have received the blessing of undeserved mercy and unexpected grace, I get to pass it on to others. So can you.

Swatting mosquitoes

One of the highlights of my week is a Saturday morning men’s discipleship group. In the previous post, I wrote about how we sharpen one another as iron sharpens iron. Sometimes that process exposes hidden weaknesses to which we’ve been blind. There was such a moment about three weeks ago. Some people might call it an epiphany. For me it was an “aha” moment. It was unexpected.

Early in our conversation, one of the men raised a question about God’s covenant to Israel and how it relates to the church. I opened my Bible and waited to respond. Without pausing, the guy raised another question about end time events. I stuck a finger in my Bible to hold the place and turned to another passage. Then we were off on another question. I put a another finger in the Bible. I was looking for a unifying thread to tie the discussion together.

All of a sudden it dawned on me. These questions weren’t going anywhere. There was no direction. We were just swatting mosquitoes.

Do you have mosquitoes where you live? We have tons of the little buggers in Clarkfield. (Whoops! Sorry about that if you’re thinking of moving here.) When mosquitoes bite, we itch like crazy. We’ll all felt those ugly red welts on our skin. They’re almost always inconsequential. Bu they grab our full attention. When mosquitoes bite, we stop whatever we’re doing a scratch ourselves.

Because we know what’s coming, we often start swatting mosquitoes before they bite. Do you remember when bug lights were popular? I recall the “crack” and “zap” as bugs strayed too close to the purple light. Bugs were everywhere. But no matter how many mosquitoes we zap or swat, one thing is certain: we’ll never get them all. One dead bug is immediately replaced by ten lives ones. Sometimes the mosquitoes we swat have blood in them. Our blood. We can feel the itch. So we swat harder. But it’s no use. They keep coming back. I think hell will be full of mosquitoes.

One of my friends in Clarkfield has told me about his ancestors pioneering into this territory in the late 1800s. The wagon train arrived in Yellow Medicine County on their way west to the Dakotas. According to the story, mosquitoes were so thick here that the travelers couldn’t continue. So they stayed. And built homes. And planted crops. And dug fence posts. And raised cattle. Somewhere along the way, they figured out how to drain the local swamps to create more farmland and reduce the mosquito population.

How did the early pioneers do all that work with the swarms of mosquitoes? Maybe their work was most productive in January. Never mind that snow covered the ground and temperatures dipped to 30 degrees below zero! Productive people don’t waste much time swatting mosquitoes. If they did, the necessary work would never get done.

That morning in the men’s discipleship group, I realized we had been scratching our itches and weren’t really getting anything done. The tasks we had laid out for ourselves were forgotten while we chased pesky mosquitoes. For example, the board had appointed the Saturday morning group to audit the church’s financial records. We agreed to do it. Every Saturday for two months I brought in a stack of paperwork and set it on the table. Every Saturday for two months the papers sat neglected while we swatted mosquitoes.

Four months ago we decided to watch a video addressed to evangelizing young adults who have left the faith of their youth and no longer believe in God. A few minutes into the presentation, we ran out of time for that day and never got back to it. Six months ago we agreed to preview a discipleship curriculum on emotionally spiritual health. Not only is it unfinished, we haven’t even begun.

See the pattern? Get the picture? Instead of moving from Point A to Point B, we’ve basically gone around in circles. We have swatted mosquitoes and left the heavy tasks undone.Life change is hard work. Just talking about it won’t cut it. We have to do it, despite the mosquitoes.

I’m not saying the group has been a waste of time. Not at all! The men have done an incredible amount of work around the building. Many times the guys have stayed til noon cleaning, mowing, trimming, shoveling and repairing. On occasions we’ve moved off campus and carried out service projects in the community. Bravo! It’s been great service and great fun.

But if we’re going to knock off the status quo and impact the trajectory of the church, it’s going to take intentional, focused leadership. So we changed our format on Saturday morning. Instead of swatting mosquitoes, we agreed to begin working on the tasks we said we were going to do. As a result, the financial audit is now complete. This week we’re doing a church health study. Next week we’ll get back to the evangelism training video. Soon we will begin to preview the emotionally healthy spirituality curriculum. If you’re in the area, we’d love for you to join us. You don’t have to be part of our church or any church. We meet 7:00 a.m. Saturdays at New Life Church in Clarkfield, Minnesota.

Look out, mosquitoes! We’re draining the swamp.

Sharpening iron

As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17

I’ve been part of a men’s discipleship group at New Life for five years. It was initiated by two young men who were new to the church at the time. The group didn’t move in the direction they wanted and eventually they left both the men’s group and the church. Subsequently they also moved out of the area. But the group they had planted remained and thrived in the lives of four men. All of us are older. All of us are elders. Occasionally others will drop in for a visit, but four men have made a commitment and often experience spiritual highlights early on a Saturday morning.

The meetings are usually unplanned without designated leadership, but they follow a predictable format. We just talk. We are comfortable around one another and there is high personal trust. So the guys open up without fear of rejection or condemnation. But we challenge one another directly. The most common topic by far is politics. Closely related is the culture war. That often leads to the challenge of evangelism in a changing world.

In many of these discussions I remain silent for fifteen or twenty minutes while the guys vent. Eventually they ask me what I think or I finally say, “May I address this with you?” Then it’s my turn to vent. We open the Scriptures and God leads us through a remarkable time of insight and depth. Sometimes we go on for two hours. Many times we walk out of the session praising God and saying to ourselves, “Where did all those insights come from? We didn’t plan it, but God delivered. It was a wonderful time of refreshment. God is so good to us!”

Over time, no matter where we began our conversations, we kept arriving at the same conclusions from our time together: We need to change our unwritten core values of status quo and power. We started putting the ideas on a portable white board. They were radical changes, like stop judging others or stop trying to control others. We talked about radical acceptance and service from a position of powerlessness. Scary stuff. Sometimes other people would look at the list on the white board and comment, “I don’t like it!”

That’s understandable. I’m not so sure we like it ourselves, either, because our stubborn old values continue to assert themselves with force. I keep dragging out the white board. I point to it and say, “We’ve talked about this a dozen times from several passages in Scripture. This is what we always conclude, right?”

“Right,” they say. But it’s hard to put it into action. We’re still suspicious of outsiders. We are still quick to point out the faults of others. We still want to be in control of election results. We’re still angry about cultural changes. For the past year or so I’ve begun to wonder if the men’s group is stuck. Where’s the life change?

Two weeks ago, God gave me a breakthrough. It turns out we were off track and have been for a long time. I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Others saw the problem and I didn’t. I’ll write about it next time.

Father’s Day

Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of spirits and live! They disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.  Hebrews 12:9-11

The older I get, the more I respect my dad. The years provide a perspective I didn’t have when I was younger.

Dad grew up during the depression in the inner city of Fort Wayne, Indiana. He was the third of four sons in his family. Money was tight. While he was still in school, he contributed to the support of his family.

He met my mother in Sunday school when they were elementary students. It was his mother, not his father, who provided spiritual direction for him. His father had nothing spiritually to offer. My parents married young against the counsel of mom’s parents. They were just 19 and 18. But they worked hard at their marriage.

When I was young, we all were active in church. But dad didn’t verbalize his faith much. I probably talked enough for all of us. I read the Bible voraciously and had a prodigious faith when I was young. I think maybe dad didn’t know what to do with me.

He certainly tried to build into his children’s lives in ways his own dad, my grandfather, hadn’t been able to do. His dad died about 60 years ago. I never knew my grandfather.

Dad tried to teach me to play ball, but I was a terrible athlete. They tell me I used to stand in right field with my back to the plate. Dad tried to teach me how to work on the family car. There was only one car back then, of course. He had once taken a car apart and put it back together. But I wasn’t the least bit interested in learning mechanics. Dad is an accomplished woodworker. He built beautiful wooden toys and fine furniture such as shelves and tables and chairs. He even made each of us sturdy wagons to haul our kids around at the fair, and later our grand-kids. More than once someone has offered to buy our wagon. It’s not for sale.

Dad was a stern disciplinarian. When we were kids, we didn’t think he was always fair. He had a bit of temper when we were younger. He has matured. So have we. In hind­sight, I can see how hard he tried. And I respect him for that.

Thanks, Dad!