People with whom we have spent time have learned that my favorite doxology is found in Romans 11. Saint Paul seems to gush with Spirit and wonder declaring
Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out!
“Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor?”
“Who has ever given to God, that God should repay him?”
For from him and through him and to him are all things.
To him be the glory forever! Amen. – Romans 11:33-36
For many years this effusive description of God has been as a stabilizer to personal faith. (In the automotive world, a stabilizer is that thing attached to the trunk lid of muscle cars.) When prone to fish tailing and hydroplaning in the morass of personal cares and burdens, The Spirit purpose is to lift Truth with deep emotion and conviction into our consciousness, converting doubt into confidence. Saint Paul’s Spirit-given doxology has steadied our direction and given us traction in times of disease, despair, doubt and defeat.
An early occasion when I needed, and experienced, a working understanding and trust in the Great God defined in doxology was while the pastor of Calvary Assembly of God in Lansing, Michigan. Our area of the city was growing. New houses were being built near our neighborhood, farm acreage was being annexed, new schools were being built. The church grew.
Young, still naive, and probably too eager at age 28, the deacons and I convened a church business meeting to determine if we would build an addition to the church building. While one board member, the treasurer, was less than enthusiastic, I was caught off balance when Frank stood during the discussion and argued emphatically to delay any decision concerning expansion until, “We can prove in black and white that we can afford such a risky proposal. And, I urge everyone to support my opinion!”
At that moment the Holy Spirit gave me a gentle word that helped determine the course the church would take. I simply pointed out that when children are born into a family, the parents make room for them. Families add rooms or buy larger houses to accommodate their growth. It is natural and, while prudent management is required, rejecting or giving away a newborn is not a healthy option. The church voted unanimously, with the exception of Frank, to proceed.
Architectural plans were drawn, a ground breaking ceremony followed, bonds were marketed to finance the project, and a huge hole, 100' by 100' was dug more than 10 feet deep. And then it rained ... rained ... rained ... and rained for over a week. Since the hole was immediately against an existing wall of the church, as the water rose, it began seeping into the basement level Sunday School and children’s church area. My presbyter, a man at least 30 years my senior, called midway through the unseasonable monsoon to inform me that his congregation’s board had voted to have a sign made for us. I was initially ecstatic and thank him for their generosity. And then, I suggested that we would prepare copy for the sign maker. To that the veteran minister said, “I’ve already ordered it. The sign will read ‘Wegner’s Folly.’” My head spun. My spirit was crushed. I needed to connect with the God Saint Paul had defined in doxology.
Over the next ten or twelve months, the contractor defaulted, interest rates on FDIC insured certificates of deposit rose to more than 10 percent while we were offering only 8 percent, and my presbyter’s poke was beginning to look prophetic, Frank’s “death of the church” projection hovered like a dark cloud everywhere. But, the church rallied. Members and friends continuously applied themselves, doing everything their skills allowed. A professional painting contractor, a Jew, began attending services and supplied manpower and directed less experienced church members.
The building inched toward completion while vendors who had contracted with the general contractor began threatening our property with liens. We were able to arrange for the payment and delivery of the furniture directly with the manufacturer and completion materials, but I was dreading a confrontation with the general contractor. We owed his company about $21,000 and had less than $2,000 in our accounts. Over $27,000 in unsold bonds gathered dust in my study.
The dreaded appointment was set for a Monday afternoon at one o’clock. On the previous Saturday I went to the church very early to pray and make final preparations for Sunday. The faces and disapproval of two men haunted me. Both were older and had more life experience. Had I really heard the Lord, or was I simply a brash upstart who had led the congregation into foolish peril?
On Saturday mornings Pat would call when breakfast was ready and we ate as a family. She called that morning, I went home but I had a hard time enjoying breakfast. What was I going to do on Monday? Almost as an aside, near the end of the meal, Pat mentioned that a man had called inquiring about the church bonds.
After I finished eating and called Orville Foreman, a farmer living in Climax, Michigan. Mr. Foremen said, “I was milking my cows this morning and God told me to help you.” When I asked how he got my telephone number, he told me, “When God told me to help a pastor in Lansing, I went into the house, looked through the district paper and saw that your church has bonds for sale. So, I called. Now, how many bonds do you need to sell?” When I responded, “$28,000,” Mr. Foreman said, “Well, that’s more than I thought, but, just gather them up and come to our place Monday morning at 8:30AM. I’ll see what I can do.”
Monday morning I was in the gravel driveway of an old farm. The barns were old and unpainted, the house needed work. Nothing looked promising! Mr. Foreman came out of a barn having finished milking his cows. He told me to wait a few minutes while he changed clothes. Shortly, he reappeared in clean bib overalls and newer boots. I drove as he directed me toward his bank in downtown Climax. On the way he shared anecdotes about how God spoke to him and what happened when he obeyed. Things were looking more promising!
When Mr. Foreman and I approached, a man opened a bank door with a “Good morning Mr. Foreman! How are you this morning?” The greeting was repeated by five or six employees as we moved directly to the president’s office. I walked out of the bank with a certified check in the amount of $28,000! At the appointed hour I met with the general contractor in an office of our bank, negotiated a settlement price from a position of strength, made final payment, and the church had several thousand dollars to spare.
Every six months afterward, near the date when interest was due on the bonds, Mr. and Mrs. Foremen attended a Sunday evening service and deposited their interest coupons in the offering plate. Less than five years later every lender had been repaid. The church was full and the debts were paid. It wasn’t “Wegner’s Folly” after all. And, we were never able to “prove in black and white” that we could afford the project.
The God described so powerfully in Romans 11 is actively engaged in His world and our lives! Take heart friends! Spend time with the One deep in riches, full of wisdom.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Our Father Knows!
Sorry for the interruption! It was caused by two females, one quite agreeable and cooperative, the other a violent bag of wind. The first is a real lady, Becky Robbins, our Missionary Associate for the past two years. Becky moved last week and wasn’t available to format and send our “Renewed Cities” material. The second female was anything but a lady. Irene, a hurricane, came roaring up the East coast and we were forced to evacuate. We are happy to report that we are safe and that our home was spared any damage. Others in our community were far less fortunate.
Now that we are back on line, I’d like to share an account of our Lord’s miraculous provisions which built faith and helped prepare us for a life of radical trust. It helps to remember how I was formed. My parents were the children of European immigrants. My father was the frequently stern, but benevolent patriarch who earned wages and established financial priorities. My mother was a stay-at-home wife and nurturer of us three children. The arrangement worked famously, so well, that I wanted to follow the same formula for familial success.
Pat and I married in 1967. I had college degree and an entry level credential which announced that I was qualified to preach and lead a congregation. We were confident, full of eager enthusiasm, and loaded with expectations created by more than two decades of culturally formed family life. My interpretation of “family” collided with Pat’s. Her mother, Martha Kolas, was a businesswoman, immersed in the family bookstore business. Pat’s family ate in restaurants. I didn’t even know how to order a meal confidently in anything more upscale than McDonald’s or an A & W drive-in. Pat complied with my decision, but could probably have earned more than me during the first winter months of marriage when my trade was dormant waiting for Spring. Over some objections, Pat stayed home, prepared meals, and kept the three lean-to rooms attached to the back of the church ready for company. (The word “parsonage” is a very flexible word!) Yes, she could also contact absentees and make friends with people in our neighborhood. In that sense Pat did more pastoral work than I while I went hither and yon looking for work.
In 1967 rookie preachers in our denomination were expected to support the church with their “secular employment.” Getting to be a professional preacher (getting paid to preach) was reserved for the more experienced. As newlyweds on the verge of being really hungry, we began to learn how to trust God. I was too proud to ask our parents, or anyone else for help. And then, one evening we sat down to a plate of plain, naked elbow macaroni (no sauce) with a bit of margarine trying to melt. We gave thanks for God’s provision of macaroni. I was fearful of facing the next day without anything to eat in the cupboards or refrigerator. The clicking of knife and folk against plates seemed louder than usual. I didn’t know what to say, nor what to do.
In the middle of that meal, a knock came on the parsonage door. A widow was at the door. Alice returned our greeting with, “Could you use some food? I’m on the way home from the butcher. I bought a half of beef and don’t have room enough in my freezer.” In addition to the best steaks, ground chuck, roasts and assortment of other cuts that filled our freezer compartment, Alice also left behind several bags of groceries! For the next couple of weeks we ate like royalty! Pat and I still tell the story to those who doubt God will intervene in their circumstances. It has worked to build faith in others more times than we can remember.
The experience reminds me of Jesus’ assurance, “And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. (Matthew 6:7-8)
Look up friends! Our Father knows!
Now that we are back on line, I’d like to share an account of our Lord’s miraculous provisions which built faith and helped prepare us for a life of radical trust. It helps to remember how I was formed. My parents were the children of European immigrants. My father was the frequently stern, but benevolent patriarch who earned wages and established financial priorities. My mother was a stay-at-home wife and nurturer of us three children. The arrangement worked famously, so well, that I wanted to follow the same formula for familial success.
Pat and I married in 1967. I had college degree and an entry level credential which announced that I was qualified to preach and lead a congregation. We were confident, full of eager enthusiasm, and loaded with expectations created by more than two decades of culturally formed family life. My interpretation of “family” collided with Pat’s. Her mother, Martha Kolas, was a businesswoman, immersed in the family bookstore business. Pat’s family ate in restaurants. I didn’t even know how to order a meal confidently in anything more upscale than McDonald’s or an A & W drive-in. Pat complied with my decision, but could probably have earned more than me during the first winter months of marriage when my trade was dormant waiting for Spring. Over some objections, Pat stayed home, prepared meals, and kept the three lean-to rooms attached to the back of the church ready for company. (The word “parsonage” is a very flexible word!) Yes, she could also contact absentees and make friends with people in our neighborhood. In that sense Pat did more pastoral work than I while I went hither and yon looking for work.
In 1967 rookie preachers in our denomination were expected to support the church with their “secular employment.” Getting to be a professional preacher (getting paid to preach) was reserved for the more experienced. As newlyweds on the verge of being really hungry, we began to learn how to trust God. I was too proud to ask our parents, or anyone else for help. And then, one evening we sat down to a plate of plain, naked elbow macaroni (no sauce) with a bit of margarine trying to melt. We gave thanks for God’s provision of macaroni. I was fearful of facing the next day without anything to eat in the cupboards or refrigerator. The clicking of knife and folk against plates seemed louder than usual. I didn’t know what to say, nor what to do.
In the middle of that meal, a knock came on the parsonage door. A widow was at the door. Alice returned our greeting with, “Could you use some food? I’m on the way home from the butcher. I bought a half of beef and don’t have room enough in my freezer.” In addition to the best steaks, ground chuck, roasts and assortment of other cuts that filled our freezer compartment, Alice also left behind several bags of groceries! For the next couple of weeks we ate like royalty! Pat and I still tell the story to those who doubt God will intervene in their circumstances. It has worked to build faith in others more times than we can remember.
The experience reminds me of Jesus’ assurance, “And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. (Matthew 6:7-8)
Look up friends! Our Father knows!
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
God's Guidance - Part Two
As we age we gain a perspective denied in our youth. While Pat and I were living the events we share, we were less aware of how our experiences were being orchestrated in the heavens. As time has passed we have become more aware and more appreciative that the God of heaven directs our steps. The One who orders our paths is described in Revelation 4.
At once I was in the Spirit, and there before me was a throne in heaven with someone sitting on it. And the one who sat there had the appearance of jasper and carnelian. A rainbow, resembling an emerald, encircled the throne. Surrounding the throne were twenty-four other thrones, and seated on them were twenty-four elders. They were dressed in white and had crowns of gold on their heads. From the throne came flashes of lightning, rumblings and peals of thunder. Before the throne, seven lamps were blazing.
The story I relate is now told from a different perspective than the one we had while in the middle of fretting, wondering, doubting and stressing. (Yes, we have done all of these in the process of learning to trust Jesus.)
After four difficult, full-of-learning years in “The Apple Capitol of Michigan,” Belding, Pat and I knew that a move was on the horizon. The Lord had taught us as we grew from newlyweds into young parents with our firstborn, Candace. The congregation had grown from ten or twelve to over 100 people, and we were on a roll! The Assembly of God was one of more than 15 churches serving the town of less than 5000.
Our hearts sank when we learned that the decision makers in the village refused to allow an annexation proposal to appear on the ballot. If several hundred acres had been annexed, one of the auto makers was prepared to build a new plant and hire several hundred employees. The lot of our people would have improved! But, the town fathers resisted the move, in part because they would have had to raise their wages or lose their under-paid employees.
Pat and I are both big city people. We were more at home in Chicago and Detroit than in Michigan’s Apple Capitol. When the district superintendent arranged for an interview with the pulpit committee of Calvary Assembly of God it became clear to everyone, except my parents, that we were to move our small family to Lansing, Michigan’s state capitol and home of Michigan State University. My parents worried aloud, “What will happen to the people in Belding? You can’t leave them. You are the only pastor most of them know.” I offered a hurried response, “The church will have a pastor.”
In the few weeks between our being chosen pastor of Calvary Assembly and the actual move, I was in frequent contact with the district superintendent, Parvin Lee. I would call him asking, “Who will you be sending to Belding?” The response was always, “I don’t have anyone yet.” Time was racing toward our final Sunday and a new pastor was not in view.
I’ll never forget a chilly Monday morning, calling from a telephone booth (Cell phones did not exist!) on a street corner in Greenville, Michigan. As I spoke to Brother Lee, again, about Belding Assembly’s need for a pastor, and again, hearing, “I just don’t know.” He then asked, “Who do you think will fit?” I was surprised by the question, but explained that before retiring the evening before, Pat suggested that college friends on staff at a large church in Grand Rapids would be an ideal fit. I agreed, but reminded Pat that it would appear to be a demotion and that our friends would not likely agree to move from their ministry. While I was relating my conversation with Pat, Brother Lee asked me to hold while he answered another call.
When Brother Lee returned to our conversation, he said, “I just spoke with your friend in Grand Rapids.” While praying at the altar with members of the youth group, the Lord spoke into our friend’s spirit saying, “You will never pray at this altar in the same way.” His wife was playing the organ when the Holy Spirit said, “You will never play this organ again.” The message was startling and precise, but neither spouse was eager to share with the other. Finally, when neither could sleep, one shared what they had heard during the altar service. The confirmation of the second spouse quickly followed and the next morning the call for which I was placed on hold was made. When asked what the superintendent thought the unusual communication meant, Brother Lee simply said, “It means you will preach at Belding Assembly of God next Sunday and I expect you become their pastor.
Before ending the call, Brother Lee laid out the plans for the following Sunday. I was to introduce our friends, assuring the congregation of their qualifications, before joining the worshipers and observing their fitness for becoming the new pastors. This strategy was highly unusual. I objected, citing the traditional way of doing things, but Brother Lee insisted. During that week I called again and again trying to convince Brother Lee to do things differently. The last call, late in the week, Brother Lee finally answered my wisdom with, “How old are you Otto?” I answered, “Twenty-six.” To my answer, he said, “I have been ministering longer than you have been alive, I suggest you do as I asked.” That ended my challenge.
Sunday morning came and I did as asked. Early in the service a group of people came in whom only I knew. They immediately became disruptive, rudely interrupting the Spirit’s work with their crude comments and restlessness. The people in the congregation immediately thought that the visitors were with the pulpit candidate. The preacher and his wife thought that the guests were part of the church. I was the only person in the building who knew and could clear up the misunderstanding. If Pat and I had not been present, God’s plan would have been thwarted. Later in the day, our friends were affirmed as the new pastors, unanimously, because the One who sits enthroned in the heavens arranges for everything to work together for good. (Romans 8:28-30)
The crowning moment of our experience came a few days later. While movers were carrying our things out the front door while others were moving the new pastor’s thing in the rear door. The church never was without a pastor for even one day, just as I had assured my parents. Jesus, who sits enthroned in the heavens, arranged it all!
At once I was in the Spirit, and there before me was a throne in heaven with someone sitting on it. And the one who sat there had the appearance of jasper and carnelian. A rainbow, resembling an emerald, encircled the throne. Surrounding the throne were twenty-four other thrones, and seated on them were twenty-four elders. They were dressed in white and had crowns of gold on their heads. From the throne came flashes of lightning, rumblings and peals of thunder. Before the throne, seven lamps were blazing.
The story I relate is now told from a different perspective than the one we had while in the middle of fretting, wondering, doubting and stressing. (Yes, we have done all of these in the process of learning to trust Jesus.)
After four difficult, full-of-learning years in “The Apple Capitol of Michigan,” Belding, Pat and I knew that a move was on the horizon. The Lord had taught us as we grew from newlyweds into young parents with our firstborn, Candace. The congregation had grown from ten or twelve to over 100 people, and we were on a roll! The Assembly of God was one of more than 15 churches serving the town of less than 5000.
Our hearts sank when we learned that the decision makers in the village refused to allow an annexation proposal to appear on the ballot. If several hundred acres had been annexed, one of the auto makers was prepared to build a new plant and hire several hundred employees. The lot of our people would have improved! But, the town fathers resisted the move, in part because they would have had to raise their wages or lose their under-paid employees.
Pat and I are both big city people. We were more at home in Chicago and Detroit than in Michigan’s Apple Capitol. When the district superintendent arranged for an interview with the pulpit committee of Calvary Assembly of God it became clear to everyone, except my parents, that we were to move our small family to Lansing, Michigan’s state capitol and home of Michigan State University. My parents worried aloud, “What will happen to the people in Belding? You can’t leave them. You are the only pastor most of them know.” I offered a hurried response, “The church will have a pastor.”
In the few weeks between our being chosen pastor of Calvary Assembly and the actual move, I was in frequent contact with the district superintendent, Parvin Lee. I would call him asking, “Who will you be sending to Belding?” The response was always, “I don’t have anyone yet.” Time was racing toward our final Sunday and a new pastor was not in view.
I’ll never forget a chilly Monday morning, calling from a telephone booth (Cell phones did not exist!) on a street corner in Greenville, Michigan. As I spoke to Brother Lee, again, about Belding Assembly’s need for a pastor, and again, hearing, “I just don’t know.” He then asked, “Who do you think will fit?” I was surprised by the question, but explained that before retiring the evening before, Pat suggested that college friends on staff at a large church in Grand Rapids would be an ideal fit. I agreed, but reminded Pat that it would appear to be a demotion and that our friends would not likely agree to move from their ministry. While I was relating my conversation with Pat, Brother Lee asked me to hold while he answered another call.
When Brother Lee returned to our conversation, he said, “I just spoke with your friend in Grand Rapids.” While praying at the altar with members of the youth group, the Lord spoke into our friend’s spirit saying, “You will never pray at this altar in the same way.” His wife was playing the organ when the Holy Spirit said, “You will never play this organ again.” The message was startling and precise, but neither spouse was eager to share with the other. Finally, when neither could sleep, one shared what they had heard during the altar service. The confirmation of the second spouse quickly followed and the next morning the call for which I was placed on hold was made. When asked what the superintendent thought the unusual communication meant, Brother Lee simply said, “It means you will preach at Belding Assembly of God next Sunday and I expect you become their pastor.
Before ending the call, Brother Lee laid out the plans for the following Sunday. I was to introduce our friends, assuring the congregation of their qualifications, before joining the worshipers and observing their fitness for becoming the new pastors. This strategy was highly unusual. I objected, citing the traditional way of doing things, but Brother Lee insisted. During that week I called again and again trying to convince Brother Lee to do things differently. The last call, late in the week, Brother Lee finally answered my wisdom with, “How old are you Otto?” I answered, “Twenty-six.” To my answer, he said, “I have been ministering longer than you have been alive, I suggest you do as I asked.” That ended my challenge.
Sunday morning came and I did as asked. Early in the service a group of people came in whom only I knew. They immediately became disruptive, rudely interrupting the Spirit’s work with their crude comments and restlessness. The people in the congregation immediately thought that the visitors were with the pulpit candidate. The preacher and his wife thought that the guests were part of the church. I was the only person in the building who knew and could clear up the misunderstanding. If Pat and I had not been present, God’s plan would have been thwarted. Later in the day, our friends were affirmed as the new pastors, unanimously, because the One who sits enthroned in the heavens arranges for everything to work together for good. (Romans 8:28-30)
The crowning moment of our experience came a few days later. While movers were carrying our things out the front door while others were moving the new pastor’s thing in the rear door. The church never was without a pastor for even one day, just as I had assured my parents. Jesus, who sits enthroned in the heavens, arranged it all!
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
The Lord guides- part one
The Revelation of Jesus Christ to John amazes me from beginning to end. A favorite author calls the book a “cosmic opera.” The scenery, music, actors and themes are challenging and faith-building. The description of Jesus is awe-inspiring.
I turned around to see the voice that was speaking to me. And when I turned I saw seven golden lamp stands, and among the lamp stands was someone “like a son of man, dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet and with a golden sash around his chest. His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of rushing waters. In his right hand he held seven stars, and out of his mouth came a sharp double-edged sword. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance. (Revelation 1:12-16)
As I share this week about the Lord’s guidance in our lives, I am reporting how the One revealed in the Revelation appeared and acted as Pat and I followed Him together. Jesus, the One whose voice John turned to see, has guided us as profoundly, perfectly and powerfully as he did John. As we compress our experiences into a few pages we are startled to realize that some of the grandeur witnessed by John while on Patmos has been revealed to us as well.
Among the first occasions of the Lord’s direct intervention occurred as I was about to graduate from Central Bible College in 1966. During my junior year my family had begun attending a different church than the one in which I had grown. After being a part of my boyhood church for over 15 years, I worshiped with people I didn’t know. While the decision to change churches was rooted in good reason, noone could see how profoundly important the change in churches would be in my life.
As our college days were ending other senior students were contacting district superintendents, arranging interviews and reporting on the opportunities they saw ahead. Many of them were the children of pastors and missionaries. In contrast, I had no preacher relatives and no idea how things worked. I remember an evening my father telephoned and explained that I needed to call Charles Green, the pastor of St. Clair Shores Assembly of God, our new family church whom I knew only from a distance.
Before I could telephone Pastor Green, he called my dormitory and began asking me about my future. I reported that the district superintendent had suggested I accept his appointment to a pulpit located in a small Michigan town. When Pastor Green heard the name of the place, he emphatically said, “You can’t do that!” My response was, “Brother Cooley thinks I can.” To that, Charles Green’s second opinion was even more emphatic than the first. He said, “The superintendent doesn’t know what he is doing! That church will ruin you and you will never preach again.” I was in shock! Pat and I didn’t even know ministers could make mistakes until I became one. To us, hearing a pastor suggest that a superintendent was mistaken was confusing, or even blasphemous.
Our conversation wasn’t long. When Pastor Green told me how the church at which I was scheduled to be assigned had treated previous pastors, and predicted what my fate would be if I went there, I asked, “What should I do?” At that moment, I believe the Holy Spirit, the One who revealed Jesus to John on Patmos, gave my pastor a word of wisdom. He simply said, “Come and work with me until you know what you are doing.” There was an immediate witness of Holy Spirit with my spirit, and between Pastor Green and me. My role would be unpaid and was never defined on paper. But, until Pastor Green’s passing in 2009, he was among my best friends, faithful confidant and mentor. We never did ministry the same way, but we seldom disagreed. When we disagreed, we learned from each other and forged a stronger friendship.
While with Pastor Green at St. Clair Shores, I learned about the dynamics of church building projects. The congregation broke ground on the first Sunday after my commencement. The general contractor hired me and I earned a handsome wage as a bi-vocational novice preacher. Pastor invited me to audit church board meetings and arranged for me to preach for pastor friends in the area who were vacationing. I discovered the unpredictable nature of mimeograph machines and why it is important to keep a church building spotless. We sat together with pastors and I learned from simple conversations over Chicken Chow Mein. At my first minister’s school I learned more about ministry listening to pastors and wives in a booth at Elias Brother’s Big Boy than I did in the structured sessions. Pastor Green made sure I was learning in most natural settings.
For over forty years our lives were welded together. Pastor Green assisted in our wedding ceremony, dedicated our first born, arranged generous donations to our first congregation, counseled us when we were discouraged, and then worked side-by-side in Newark, NJ and Philadelphia as we renovated church buildings and a parsonage. During those years of hard work, on occasion, we sat at dinner tables and laughed so hard we could hardly eat. Our lives were made rich as we discovered the path the Lord had laid out for us.
Pat and I still marvel and wonder, “What would have happened to us if Pastor Green had not been one the Holy Spirit used to begin the process of establishing us in our vocation. The One who spoke to John on Patmos still speaks and changes the direction of our lives forever!
I turned around to see the voice that was speaking to me. And when I turned I saw seven golden lamp stands, and among the lamp stands was someone “like a son of man, dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet and with a golden sash around his chest. His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of rushing waters. In his right hand he held seven stars, and out of his mouth came a sharp double-edged sword. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance. (Revelation 1:12-16)
As I share this week about the Lord’s guidance in our lives, I am reporting how the One revealed in the Revelation appeared and acted as Pat and I followed Him together. Jesus, the One whose voice John turned to see, has guided us as profoundly, perfectly and powerfully as he did John. As we compress our experiences into a few pages we are startled to realize that some of the grandeur witnessed by John while on Patmos has been revealed to us as well.
Among the first occasions of the Lord’s direct intervention occurred as I was about to graduate from Central Bible College in 1966. During my junior year my family had begun attending a different church than the one in which I had grown. After being a part of my boyhood church for over 15 years, I worshiped with people I didn’t know. While the decision to change churches was rooted in good reason, noone could see how profoundly important the change in churches would be in my life.
As our college days were ending other senior students were contacting district superintendents, arranging interviews and reporting on the opportunities they saw ahead. Many of them were the children of pastors and missionaries. In contrast, I had no preacher relatives and no idea how things worked. I remember an evening my father telephoned and explained that I needed to call Charles Green, the pastor of St. Clair Shores Assembly of God, our new family church whom I knew only from a distance.
Before I could telephone Pastor Green, he called my dormitory and began asking me about my future. I reported that the district superintendent had suggested I accept his appointment to a pulpit located in a small Michigan town. When Pastor Green heard the name of the place, he emphatically said, “You can’t do that!” My response was, “Brother Cooley thinks I can.” To that, Charles Green’s second opinion was even more emphatic than the first. He said, “The superintendent doesn’t know what he is doing! That church will ruin you and you will never preach again.” I was in shock! Pat and I didn’t even know ministers could make mistakes until I became one. To us, hearing a pastor suggest that a superintendent was mistaken was confusing, or even blasphemous.
Our conversation wasn’t long. When Pastor Green told me how the church at which I was scheduled to be assigned had treated previous pastors, and predicted what my fate would be if I went there, I asked, “What should I do?” At that moment, I believe the Holy Spirit, the One who revealed Jesus to John on Patmos, gave my pastor a word of wisdom. He simply said, “Come and work with me until you know what you are doing.” There was an immediate witness of Holy Spirit with my spirit, and between Pastor Green and me. My role would be unpaid and was never defined on paper. But, until Pastor Green’s passing in 2009, he was among my best friends, faithful confidant and mentor. We never did ministry the same way, but we seldom disagreed. When we disagreed, we learned from each other and forged a stronger friendship.
While with Pastor Green at St. Clair Shores, I learned about the dynamics of church building projects. The congregation broke ground on the first Sunday after my commencement. The general contractor hired me and I earned a handsome wage as a bi-vocational novice preacher. Pastor invited me to audit church board meetings and arranged for me to preach for pastor friends in the area who were vacationing. I discovered the unpredictable nature of mimeograph machines and why it is important to keep a church building spotless. We sat together with pastors and I learned from simple conversations over Chicken Chow Mein. At my first minister’s school I learned more about ministry listening to pastors and wives in a booth at Elias Brother’s Big Boy than I did in the structured sessions. Pastor Green made sure I was learning in most natural settings.
For over forty years our lives were welded together. Pastor Green assisted in our wedding ceremony, dedicated our first born, arranged generous donations to our first congregation, counseled us when we were discouraged, and then worked side-by-side in Newark, NJ and Philadelphia as we renovated church buildings and a parsonage. During those years of hard work, on occasion, we sat at dinner tables and laughed so hard we could hardly eat. Our lives were made rich as we discovered the path the Lord had laid out for us.
Pat and I still marvel and wonder, “What would have happened to us if Pastor Green had not been one the Holy Spirit used to begin the process of establishing us in our vocation. The One who spoke to John on Patmos still speaks and changes the direction of our lives forever!
Monday, August 22, 2011
River pilots and God's guidance
Pat and I now live less than five miles from the Delaware River meets the Atlantic Ocean. The Dutch settled here in 1631. The bay area is full of quaint historic homes and commercial buildings and the lore of early settlers challenges even those who imagine in technicolor.
A few traditional occupations of the area survive the passage of time to our modern, sophisticated age. River pilot, Bill Lowe of Lewes, has one of those jobs, as other members of his family have before him. A Delaware River pilot can be found on Lowe’s family tree for 10 generations, beginning with John E. Maull, who began working in the 1750s, before the Revolutionary War.
River pilots are licensed to provide pilotage services for the maritime industry. Pilots possess knowledge and ship-handling skills necessary all types and sizes of vessels to safely transit the Delaware in all kinds of weather, at all hours of the day and night, 365 days a year. River pilots have engaged in this demanding profession since learning the skill from Native Americans.
Delaware River pilots are responsible for guiding shipping from the mouth of the Delaware Bay to ports along the river in Delaware, New Jersey and Pennsylvania, a stretch of about 130 miles. The operation never stops and, for river pilots, holidays don’t exist. When ships arrive from the ocean, pilots are taken to meet them on a craft similar to a speedboat. The small boat pulls alongside the ship, and the pilot climbs a rope ladder to board the moving vessel. Once aboard, the pilot is escorted directly to the bridge and takes control.
Pilots also board outgoing ships at northern port, from Philadelphia, Camden, Wilmington, and Delaware City to guide the vessels out to sea. One of the concerns of piloting, and it happens occasionally, is not being able to get off a ship exiting the bay in rough seas. When the smaller craft that deliver and pick up pilots are unable to reach a departing ship, the pilot may end up weeks later in a foreign country.
River pilots are engaged at points of transition, for traversing areas unfamiliar to the ship’s captain. Pat and I have traveled through life experiences unfamiliar to us and have been amazed at the precision with which God has guided us through treacherous spiritual mine fields, sent help when we were absolutely helpless, and surrounded us with special people when we were vulnerable. This week we will share a series of anecdotal reports of how God exceeded our best dreams. The theme is found in Matthew 6:8, “your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” Our experiences stirred into the knowledge of His Word, and witness of the Holy Spirit guides us more perfectly than the best of river pilots.
Edward Hopper’s Gospel song of several generations past captures the theme well.
Jesus, Savior, pilot me,
Over life’s tempestuous sea;
Unknown waves before me roll,
Hiding rock and treach’rous shoal;
Chart and compass came from Thee:
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.
As a mother stills her child,
Thou canst hush the ocean wild;
Boist’rous waves obey Thy will
When Thou say’st to them, “Be still!”
Wondrous Sov’reign of the sea,
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.
When at last I near the shore,
And the fearful breakers roar
’Twixt me and the peaceful rest,
Then, while leaning on Thy breast,
May I hear Thee say to me,
“Fear not, I will pilot thee.”
A few traditional occupations of the area survive the passage of time to our modern, sophisticated age. River pilot, Bill Lowe of Lewes, has one of those jobs, as other members of his family have before him. A Delaware River pilot can be found on Lowe’s family tree for 10 generations, beginning with John E. Maull, who began working in the 1750s, before the Revolutionary War.
River pilots are licensed to provide pilotage services for the maritime industry. Pilots possess knowledge and ship-handling skills necessary all types and sizes of vessels to safely transit the Delaware in all kinds of weather, at all hours of the day and night, 365 days a year. River pilots have engaged in this demanding profession since learning the skill from Native Americans.
Delaware River pilots are responsible for guiding shipping from the mouth of the Delaware Bay to ports along the river in Delaware, New Jersey and Pennsylvania, a stretch of about 130 miles. The operation never stops and, for river pilots, holidays don’t exist. When ships arrive from the ocean, pilots are taken to meet them on a craft similar to a speedboat. The small boat pulls alongside the ship, and the pilot climbs a rope ladder to board the moving vessel. Once aboard, the pilot is escorted directly to the bridge and takes control.
Pilots also board outgoing ships at northern port, from Philadelphia, Camden, Wilmington, and Delaware City to guide the vessels out to sea. One of the concerns of piloting, and it happens occasionally, is not being able to get off a ship exiting the bay in rough seas. When the smaller craft that deliver and pick up pilots are unable to reach a departing ship, the pilot may end up weeks later in a foreign country.
River pilots are engaged at points of transition, for traversing areas unfamiliar to the ship’s captain. Pat and I have traveled through life experiences unfamiliar to us and have been amazed at the precision with which God has guided us through treacherous spiritual mine fields, sent help when we were absolutely helpless, and surrounded us with special people when we were vulnerable. This week we will share a series of anecdotal reports of how God exceeded our best dreams. The theme is found in Matthew 6:8, “your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” Our experiences stirred into the knowledge of His Word, and witness of the Holy Spirit guides us more perfectly than the best of river pilots.
Edward Hopper’s Gospel song of several generations past captures the theme well.
Jesus, Savior, pilot me,
Over life’s tempestuous sea;
Unknown waves before me roll,
Hiding rock and treach’rous shoal;
Chart and compass came from Thee:
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.
As a mother stills her child,
Thou canst hush the ocean wild;
Boist’rous waves obey Thy will
When Thou say’st to them, “Be still!”
Wondrous Sov’reign of the sea,
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.
When at last I near the shore,
And the fearful breakers roar
’Twixt me and the peaceful rest,
Then, while leaning on Thy breast,
May I hear Thee say to me,
“Fear not, I will pilot thee.”
Thursday, August 18, 2011
The blessing of family dinners
Pat and I recently shared our home with several young people. We laughed, played games, and ate together. It was sheer joy.
The meal was a simple sandwich and salad luncheon. Each one filled a plate at the counter separating the kitchen from our breakfast room, and then sat at the dining room table. We noted that most of our guests did not ask to be excused, nor were they comfortable lingering at table and conversing. Later, one of the young people asked, “Do you always sit and eat together?” The question reminded us of a privilege which Pat and I have both known all our lives, eating dinner together. We have taken the experience for granted. Eating dinner together is woven into our culture. We hungrily awaited Dad’s return from work because dinner did not begin until every chair was filled at the table.
The dinner table provided a daily forum for our parents to debrief us children. We were not interrogated, but naturally shared the experiences, fears, challenges and joys of the day and hopes for tomorrow. My sister Gloria worked for the Social Security Administration and had many humorous anecdotes to share about clients whom she interviewed and co-workers who made her life interesting and our dinners lively. Gloria’s dash for the McNichols bus is now legendary and was often a source for teasing. My brother shared how he was competing for “first trombone” in the symphony band, and once asked Dad if he though being an apprentice was a good job! Dad was rather quiet, but attentive. Mom urged us, “Eat the rest of this, I don’t want to put a little dab in the refrigerator.” Our parents served as unobtrusive referees who warned when we were crossing boundaries which would inflict wounds. Each learned empathy as tears would occasionally flow. We laughed a lot, sometimes debated the merits of issues we faced, negotiated conflicts, and learned more than we realize. We were only hurried a bit on church nights!
There are many reasons to adopt a family dinner routine. Table talk is affordable. No special high tech equipment is needed. Diagrams and complex planning would only defeat the dynamics which make dinner times redemptive, instructive and memorable. The value of hearing live voices, feeling real-life concerns, victories and loses cannot ne compared to the endless racket of a television. The dinner table is a priceless forum for teaching the next generation of Jesus’ disciples.
I now understand that our dinner table and the conversation we shared there was a place of privilege. We carried on the tradition as parents and are delighted as we observe the same privileged experience in our children’s homes. Jesus taught, “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.” (Luke 12:48) We welcome you to our table, somewhat selfishly, but eagerly.
The meal was a simple sandwich and salad luncheon. Each one filled a plate at the counter separating the kitchen from our breakfast room, and then sat at the dining room table. We noted that most of our guests did not ask to be excused, nor were they comfortable lingering at table and conversing. Later, one of the young people asked, “Do you always sit and eat together?” The question reminded us of a privilege which Pat and I have both known all our lives, eating dinner together. We have taken the experience for granted. Eating dinner together is woven into our culture. We hungrily awaited Dad’s return from work because dinner did not begin until every chair was filled at the table.
The dinner table provided a daily forum for our parents to debrief us children. We were not interrogated, but naturally shared the experiences, fears, challenges and joys of the day and hopes for tomorrow. My sister Gloria worked for the Social Security Administration and had many humorous anecdotes to share about clients whom she interviewed and co-workers who made her life interesting and our dinners lively. Gloria’s dash for the McNichols bus is now legendary and was often a source for teasing. My brother shared how he was competing for “first trombone” in the symphony band, and once asked Dad if he though being an apprentice was a good job! Dad was rather quiet, but attentive. Mom urged us, “Eat the rest of this, I don’t want to put a little dab in the refrigerator.” Our parents served as unobtrusive referees who warned when we were crossing boundaries which would inflict wounds. Each learned empathy as tears would occasionally flow. We laughed a lot, sometimes debated the merits of issues we faced, negotiated conflicts, and learned more than we realize. We were only hurried a bit on church nights!
There are many reasons to adopt a family dinner routine. Table talk is affordable. No special high tech equipment is needed. Diagrams and complex planning would only defeat the dynamics which make dinner times redemptive, instructive and memorable. The value of hearing live voices, feeling real-life concerns, victories and loses cannot ne compared to the endless racket of a television. The dinner table is a priceless forum for teaching the next generation of Jesus’ disciples.
I now understand that our dinner table and the conversation we shared there was a place of privilege. We carried on the tradition as parents and are delighted as we observe the same privileged experience in our children’s homes. Jesus taught, “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.” (Luke 12:48) We welcome you to our table, somewhat selfishly, but eagerly.
Delay! Wait!
Some have said I have the gift of understatement. Try this world class understated observation. “Waiting is difficult!” There must be a world-wide conspiracy staffed with international teams who organize delays for my personal benefit. I have had to learn from others about patience. Impatience doesn’t run in our family, it gallops.
Understanding Noah’s life work isn’t too difficult. Building arks takes time, but there is always something to be done. Spending forty days on the ark wasn’t too bad, but long enough. A family cruise sounds good, but forty days without going ashore? The detail that challenges me is that after it stopped raining twice Noah had to wait seven days before receiving a sign that the waters had receded (Genesis 8). By that time the board games had to be boring and no one would have wanted to play charades again.
While delay is part of living, it is especially difficult for someone who was born in a hurry and hasn’t fully recovered. I remember planting tomato seeds in an eighth grade classroom. The seeds germinated in the heat of the afternoon sun where twenty or more pots had been placed. Near the end of the school year Mr. Edwards, our home room teacher, told us to take the plants home and how to transplant them. I did as instructed, but the part about a “little fertilizer” was a bit overdone. My reasoning was, if a little is good, a lot is better. I mixed soil and lawn fertilizer half and half. I sat back with high expectations, envisioning a growth spurt worthy of Guinness Book of Records. Alas, the plant failed to survive more than a couple of hours.
Our team of more than 150 volunteers from as far away as Indiana, Michigan, and Florida had just finished renovations on a building in Newark, NJ. Vailsburg Assembly of God was less than one year old, Growing Garden Preschool was in its first year, and Metropolitan Bible Institute was convening its first classes. And another building was listed for sale in the city where we planted our first church. Our congregation, Cornerstone Church, was sharing the facility with the Evangelical group composed of 25 older members that owned the property. The sale price was over $1 million. The church and parsonage were ideal for Cornerstone’s use, but out of reach financially. And then, the pressure mounted. For months I had to resist the appeals for me to raise the monies and orchestrate the purchase. Some of the stress came from interested parties, district officials, and church members. But, the greatest pressure was from within. I wanted to leap in and get it done, but knew deep within that I wasn’t to do it. The Holy Spirit spoke directly and forcibly. (Pat had also offered some rather forceful opinions!)
Time passed. The phone calls continued with appeals for help. I waited, for months. The months stretched into more than two years. And, then the reward for waiting arrived. The church that owned the property suggested a merger with Cornerstone. There was no need for a capital campaign. And, the original congregation brought their bank account of more than $50,000 with them! “Waiting isn’t easy!” But, waiting is often the only course of action. The purchase remains the best deal we never made!
I lift the following from its context in Habakkuk 2, but do no harm. “For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay.” I have a few unanswered dreams, desires that I am eager to see fulfilled. On occasion I remind God that I am running out of time. I am waiting for more than ten years for a friend to be saved. God hears his name from my lips daily. A strategic component for the urban church and its expansion has been frustratingly long in coming. But, I believe it will be fulfilled. I have learned that after waiting for dreams to become reality, they are sweeter, more satisfying because of the delay.
Hang on friends! It may be only another seven days!
Understanding Noah’s life work isn’t too difficult. Building arks takes time, but there is always something to be done. Spending forty days on the ark wasn’t too bad, but long enough. A family cruise sounds good, but forty days without going ashore? The detail that challenges me is that after it stopped raining twice Noah had to wait seven days before receiving a sign that the waters had receded (Genesis 8). By that time the board games had to be boring and no one would have wanted to play charades again.
While delay is part of living, it is especially difficult for someone who was born in a hurry and hasn’t fully recovered. I remember planting tomato seeds in an eighth grade classroom. The seeds germinated in the heat of the afternoon sun where twenty or more pots had been placed. Near the end of the school year Mr. Edwards, our home room teacher, told us to take the plants home and how to transplant them. I did as instructed, but the part about a “little fertilizer” was a bit overdone. My reasoning was, if a little is good, a lot is better. I mixed soil and lawn fertilizer half and half. I sat back with high expectations, envisioning a growth spurt worthy of Guinness Book of Records. Alas, the plant failed to survive more than a couple of hours.
Our team of more than 150 volunteers from as far away as Indiana, Michigan, and Florida had just finished renovations on a building in Newark, NJ. Vailsburg Assembly of God was less than one year old, Growing Garden Preschool was in its first year, and Metropolitan Bible Institute was convening its first classes. And another building was listed for sale in the city where we planted our first church. Our congregation, Cornerstone Church, was sharing the facility with the Evangelical group composed of 25 older members that owned the property. The sale price was over $1 million. The church and parsonage were ideal for Cornerstone’s use, but out of reach financially. And then, the pressure mounted. For months I had to resist the appeals for me to raise the monies and orchestrate the purchase. Some of the stress came from interested parties, district officials, and church members. But, the greatest pressure was from within. I wanted to leap in and get it done, but knew deep within that I wasn’t to do it. The Holy Spirit spoke directly and forcibly. (Pat had also offered some rather forceful opinions!)
Time passed. The phone calls continued with appeals for help. I waited, for months. The months stretched into more than two years. And, then the reward for waiting arrived. The church that owned the property suggested a merger with Cornerstone. There was no need for a capital campaign. And, the original congregation brought their bank account of more than $50,000 with them! “Waiting isn’t easy!” But, waiting is often the only course of action. The purchase remains the best deal we never made!
I lift the following from its context in Habakkuk 2, but do no harm. “For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay.” I have a few unanswered dreams, desires that I am eager to see fulfilled. On occasion I remind God that I am running out of time. I am waiting for more than ten years for a friend to be saved. God hears his name from my lips daily. A strategic component for the urban church and its expansion has been frustratingly long in coming. But, I believe it will be fulfilled. I have learned that after waiting for dreams to become reality, they are sweeter, more satisfying because of the delay.
Hang on friends! It may be only another seven days!
Friday, August 12, 2011
God's tools for shaping lives
In pre-television America, reading became and remains my favorite pastime. I am not sure if my parents took the preacher’s sermons about the demonic influence of television seriously, or if we were too poor to own the newly emerging entertainment vehicle. Books and a library card became my most valued possessions in the 1950's. As a boy I rode my bicycle over one mile to the Benjamin Franklin Branch of the Detroit Public Library, near the corner of Gratiot and Six Mile Road. There I checked out a stack of books, rode home with the bike’s basket loaded with new material, and stretched out on the living room sofa where I entered a world full of adventure and vicariously experienced another person’s life. By the time I entered high school I had read most of the biographies on the shelves of the branch library. The stories of presidents, military leaders, American legends like Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone, inventors, or world class athletes all captivated me. Between biographies I read and fell in love with Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.
In that season of my life, a small, but important collection of books mysteriously appeared near the place I read. Biographies of great Christians materialized. I became acquainted with C. T. Studd, D. L. Moody, Charles Borden, David Livingston, Adoniram Judson and others. The stories of faith and sacrifice captivated me. I was introduced to books authored by Dr. Oswald J. Smith. Oswald J. Smith was the pastor of world class missionary giving-sending People’s Church in Toronto, Canada. A missionary statesman and strategist who lived from 1889 until 1986, Smith was a leading proponent of the indigenous church principle long before the strategy was popular. He was a prolific writer whose books, hymns, pamphlets and poems continue to influence readers around the world. A Passion for Souls and David Brainerd: Man of Prayer and others etched new ideas and dreams into my young and pliable spirit. They caused me to question what endeavor was worthy of my life. Dr. Smith’s books became instruments of the Holy Spirit. God spoke through them.
This morning I finished reading Oswald J. Smith’s book, The Cry of the World, for the second or third time. Some language is quaint and some names of nations and people groups have changed since the 50's, but Smith’s ideas remain powerful. For instance, he quoted Gandhi’s grandson, “The missionaries taught us to read, but the communists gave us the books.” While expanding on the importance and power of the Gospel, Dr. Smith added, “We have been putting our money into buildings instead of the message. It is the message that is dynamite. ‘The Gospel is the power of God unto salvation.’”
As a teen, Oswald J. Smith came to speak at Brightmoor Tabernacle at Fenkel and Lamphere Streets on Detroit’s West side. I will always remember the missionary appeal that night as Dr. Smith addressed a large crowd gathered for the youth rally, “Why Should Anyone Hear the Gospel Twice?” He started with the occasion of Jesus feeding the 5000 and urged his young listeners to consider that Jesus fed all those present until all were satisfied. You may hear a portion of that unforgettable message at http://www.sermonaudio.com/sermoninfo.asp?SID=8109727561. In the 1980's I contacted The People’s Church to inquire if any of Oswald J. Smith’s books were available for sale. Dr. Smith sent me a personal note with the books! The note is one of my prized possessions.
Between 1962 and 1966 I attended Friday night Campus Missions Fellowship service in the chapel of Central Bible College. Missionaries Melvin Hodges, Wesley Hurst, J. Philip Hogan, Otis Keener, and Mark Buntain were the voices of the Spirit that called out for surrender to the will of God. I was moved deeply, challenged thoroughly, and surrendered to every appeal as fully as I knew how. My senior year Pat was my Friday night date and we knelt at the altar together. God was forming our lives.
This week we have been exploring the tensions between Calvinism and Arminianism, or the tensions between God’s foreknowledge and man’s free will. I am amazed how God has used His Word, life experiences, books, songs, sermons and friends to weave his desires and plans into my life. I am grateful that He has shaped, and is forming my life and is putting His Spirit within, the Spirit which brings me to a “Yes!” to His purposes and plans.
In that season of my life, a small, but important collection of books mysteriously appeared near the place I read. Biographies of great Christians materialized. I became acquainted with C. T. Studd, D. L. Moody, Charles Borden, David Livingston, Adoniram Judson and others. The stories of faith and sacrifice captivated me. I was introduced to books authored by Dr. Oswald J. Smith. Oswald J. Smith was the pastor of world class missionary giving-sending People’s Church in Toronto, Canada. A missionary statesman and strategist who lived from 1889 until 1986, Smith was a leading proponent of the indigenous church principle long before the strategy was popular. He was a prolific writer whose books, hymns, pamphlets and poems continue to influence readers around the world. A Passion for Souls and David Brainerd: Man of Prayer and others etched new ideas and dreams into my young and pliable spirit. They caused me to question what endeavor was worthy of my life. Dr. Smith’s books became instruments of the Holy Spirit. God spoke through them.
This morning I finished reading Oswald J. Smith’s book, The Cry of the World, for the second or third time. Some language is quaint and some names of nations and people groups have changed since the 50's, but Smith’s ideas remain powerful. For instance, he quoted Gandhi’s grandson, “The missionaries taught us to read, but the communists gave us the books.” While expanding on the importance and power of the Gospel, Dr. Smith added, “We have been putting our money into buildings instead of the message. It is the message that is dynamite. ‘The Gospel is the power of God unto salvation.’”
As a teen, Oswald J. Smith came to speak at Brightmoor Tabernacle at Fenkel and Lamphere Streets on Detroit’s West side. I will always remember the missionary appeal that night as Dr. Smith addressed a large crowd gathered for the youth rally, “Why Should Anyone Hear the Gospel Twice?” He started with the occasion of Jesus feeding the 5000 and urged his young listeners to consider that Jesus fed all those present until all were satisfied. You may hear a portion of that unforgettable message at http://www.sermonaudio.com/sermoninfo.asp?SID=8109727561. In the 1980's I contacted The People’s Church to inquire if any of Oswald J. Smith’s books were available for sale. Dr. Smith sent me a personal note with the books! The note is one of my prized possessions.
Between 1962 and 1966 I attended Friday night Campus Missions Fellowship service in the chapel of Central Bible College. Missionaries Melvin Hodges, Wesley Hurst, J. Philip Hogan, Otis Keener, and Mark Buntain were the voices of the Spirit that called out for surrender to the will of God. I was moved deeply, challenged thoroughly, and surrendered to every appeal as fully as I knew how. My senior year Pat was my Friday night date and we knelt at the altar together. God was forming our lives.
This week we have been exploring the tensions between Calvinism and Arminianism, or the tensions between God’s foreknowledge and man’s free will. I am amazed how God has used His Word, life experiences, books, songs, sermons and friends to weave his desires and plans into my life. I am grateful that He has shaped, and is forming my life and is putting His Spirit within, the Spirit which brings me to a “Yes!” to His purposes and plans.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Chosen!
The year was 1949 and Detroit, Michigan was teeming with post war industry. War years gas rationing had ended and the demand for American built cars had never been greater. Brands now forgotten, DeSoto, Plymouth, Pontiac, Willys, Nash, Packard and Hudson rolled off assembly lines. People from the deep South came to work in the auto industry. As young veterans of the war returned home the housing boom kept skilled construction workers well employed. New subdivisions, networks of streets, and cookie cutter houses sprang up creating an urban sprawl and a new word, “suburban.” Schools were soon overcrowded, and a new network of super highways now called the “Interstate” was a futuristic dream.
In 1949 a five-year-old boy was sound asleep in an attic bedroom at 18112 Riopelle Street. The house was nondescript, like thousands of others in the city, Cape Cod in design, asbestos shingles, small front stoop, modest yard. The boy was as ordinary as thousands living of others within walking distance. Like most others in the neighborhood, his parents were the children of European immigrants. The Holy Spirit awakened the boy with an acute conviction that he needed to be saved from his sins. He was guilty of several grievous misdeeds. He had sassed his parents, fought jealously with his year-younger brother, lied a few times, and had given his older sister a difficult time when she was his baby sitter, the usual infractions for a five-year-old. I was the boy.
The presence of the Spirit and the reality of my sin was real. I was not familiar with nightmares nor was I a restless sleeper. No traumatic event triggered the experience. The Spirit simply awakened me! I cried out for my parents who rushed to my bedside, probably thinking I had had a bad dream. After telling them I needed to be saved, they prayed with me and Jesus has been my Savior for 62 years!
Bible stories learned at home and Sunday School reinforced my faith. I distinctly remember attending a Sunday evening worship service at our family’s church near the corner of Nevada and Van Dyke Streets in Detroit, c.1950. We sat in the balcony that evening. My father’s sister, Alma, was visiting from Northern Michigan. The congregation sang an old Gospel song and I can still hear my Aunt Alma’s slightly off-key voice singing
“Tis’ the grandest theme thro’ the ages rung; Tis the grandest theme for a mortal tongue;
Tis’ the grandest theme that the world e’er sung, ‘Our God is able to deliver thee.’”
“He is able to deliver thee, He is able to deliver thee, Tho’ by sin oppressed,
Go to Him for rest; Our God is able to deliver thee.”
“Tis the grandest theme, let the tidings roll, to the guilty heart, to the sinful soul;
Look to God in faith, He will make thee whole, ‘Our God is able to deliver thee.’”
The large church building swelled with the statement of faith sung by hundreds of voices. I loved it then, I can hear it now!
This morning I awoke with another Gospel tune streaming through my spirit.
“For it’s real, it’s real; O, I know it’s real.
Thank God, the doubts are settled, and I know, I know it’s real!”
Seasons of doubt have come and gone. I have had to confront challenges to faith. But, I know, I really know that Jesus saved me! He chose me, a most ordinary child living in a city teeming with over a million people. The Holy Spirit could have visited children living less than 100 yards away from my bedroom, but He chose me!
In 1949 a five-year-old boy was sound asleep in an attic bedroom at 18112 Riopelle Street. The house was nondescript, like thousands of others in the city, Cape Cod in design, asbestos shingles, small front stoop, modest yard. The boy was as ordinary as thousands living of others within walking distance. Like most others in the neighborhood, his parents were the children of European immigrants. The Holy Spirit awakened the boy with an acute conviction that he needed to be saved from his sins. He was guilty of several grievous misdeeds. He had sassed his parents, fought jealously with his year-younger brother, lied a few times, and had given his older sister a difficult time when she was his baby sitter, the usual infractions for a five-year-old. I was the boy.
The presence of the Spirit and the reality of my sin was real. I was not familiar with nightmares nor was I a restless sleeper. No traumatic event triggered the experience. The Spirit simply awakened me! I cried out for my parents who rushed to my bedside, probably thinking I had had a bad dream. After telling them I needed to be saved, they prayed with me and Jesus has been my Savior for 62 years!
Bible stories learned at home and Sunday School reinforced my faith. I distinctly remember attending a Sunday evening worship service at our family’s church near the corner of Nevada and Van Dyke Streets in Detroit, c.1950. We sat in the balcony that evening. My father’s sister, Alma, was visiting from Northern Michigan. The congregation sang an old Gospel song and I can still hear my Aunt Alma’s slightly off-key voice singing
“Tis’ the grandest theme thro’ the ages rung; Tis the grandest theme for a mortal tongue;
Tis’ the grandest theme that the world e’er sung, ‘Our God is able to deliver thee.’”
“He is able to deliver thee, He is able to deliver thee, Tho’ by sin oppressed,
Go to Him for rest; Our God is able to deliver thee.”
“Tis the grandest theme, let the tidings roll, to the guilty heart, to the sinful soul;
Look to God in faith, He will make thee whole, ‘Our God is able to deliver thee.’”
The large church building swelled with the statement of faith sung by hundreds of voices. I loved it then, I can hear it now!
This morning I awoke with another Gospel tune streaming through my spirit.
“For it’s real, it’s real; O, I know it’s real.
Thank God, the doubts are settled, and I know, I know it’s real!”
Seasons of doubt have come and gone. I have had to confront challenges to faith. But, I know, I really know that Jesus saved me! He chose me, a most ordinary child living in a city teeming with over a million people. The Holy Spirit could have visited children living less than 100 yards away from my bedroom, but He chose me!
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Tension: God's Sovereignty, Man's Power of Choice
In foundational theology courses students are confronted with schools of thought which provoke serious debate and introduce stress. The tension between fundamental viewpoints initiated a lifetime of pondering for me. Two dominant schools of theology emphasize truth to an extreme. Calvanism, stresses election and the sovereignty of God, the other, Arminianism, emphasizes the will of man, or free moral agency. One speaks often of the way God plans history, chooses who He will employ in bringing about His desired ends, and how little man has to do with the outcomes. On the other hand, the other points to man’s gift of choice and responsibility to decide.
After years of musing, I have concluded that there is enough Biblical support for both views and I am right in the middle! The arrangement works for me because I have friends who embrace each view, and by being in the center, can reach both! The image is of ligaments in the human body which exist in a healthy tension, connected on opposite ends to allow proper function in the body. The opposite ends are complimentary, not contesting, and allow the body to operate as it should.
The stories of King David and the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah are frequently cited in discussions between the complimentary schools. Psalm 139 is David’s song celebrating God’s sovereignty.
1O LORD, you have searched me and you know me.
2You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
3You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.
4Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD.
5You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me.
6Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.
7Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?
8If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there ...
13For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
15My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
16your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
17How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!
18Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand. When I awake, I am still with you ...
Each time I read the song I am filled with wonder, awe, and marvel. God knows! I don’t!
Isaiah and Jeremiah speak of being known and having the course of their life established while still in their mothers’ womb. Consider Isaiah’s understanding of God’s sovereignty and his calling.
Chapter 49
1 Listen to me, you islands; hear this, you distant nations: Before I was born the LORD called me; from my birth he has made mention of my name. 2 He made my mouth like a sharpened sword, in the shadow of his hand he hid me; he made me into a polished arrow and concealed me in his quiver.
Chapter 44
24“This is what the LORD says— your Redeemer, who formed you in the womb: I am the LORD, who has made all things, who alone stretched out the heavens, who spread out the earth by myself,
Isaiah’s self-awareness and confidence in the context of God’s revelation is rooted in God’s sovereignty and empowered the prophet with an authority to minister.
Jeremiah was likewise aware of God’s election.
Chapter 1
4 The word of the LORD came to me, saying,
5 “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.”
A careful reading of the prophets reinforces God’s activity in the world, and specifically, how He chooses, or elects, those useful in advancing His purposes.
In my experience, while exploring the purpose of life and desiring to fulfill God’s assignment or vocation for me, I read John 15. I was arrested by the Holy Spirit who spoke with a thundering, powerful authority and undeniable clarity, You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit — fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. (Verse 16)
Hundreds of complimentary experiences, confirming voices, and Spirit encounters were used by Sovereign Lord to unfold a lifetime of satisfying assignments. The call to follow Him is clearly His initiative. So, our hats are doffed to the Calvanist. Since we are allowed to obey or rebel, it is right to salute Arminianism.
Tomorrow I may dare to share a few specifics of my personal journey, how Sovereign Lord communicated His unfathomable wisdom and design for my life in bite sized pieces.
After years of musing, I have concluded that there is enough Biblical support for both views and I am right in the middle! The arrangement works for me because I have friends who embrace each view, and by being in the center, can reach both! The image is of ligaments in the human body which exist in a healthy tension, connected on opposite ends to allow proper function in the body. The opposite ends are complimentary, not contesting, and allow the body to operate as it should.
The stories of King David and the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah are frequently cited in discussions between the complimentary schools. Psalm 139 is David’s song celebrating God’s sovereignty.
1O LORD, you have searched me and you know me.
2You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
3You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.
4Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD.
5You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me.
6Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.
7Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?
8If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there ...
13For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
15My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
16your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
17How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!
18Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand. When I awake, I am still with you ...
Each time I read the song I am filled with wonder, awe, and marvel. God knows! I don’t!
Isaiah and Jeremiah speak of being known and having the course of their life established while still in their mothers’ womb. Consider Isaiah’s understanding of God’s sovereignty and his calling.
Chapter 49
1 Listen to me, you islands; hear this, you distant nations: Before I was born the LORD called me; from my birth he has made mention of my name. 2 He made my mouth like a sharpened sword, in the shadow of his hand he hid me; he made me into a polished arrow and concealed me in his quiver.
Chapter 44
24“This is what the LORD says— your Redeemer, who formed you in the womb: I am the LORD, who has made all things, who alone stretched out the heavens, who spread out the earth by myself,
Isaiah’s self-awareness and confidence in the context of God’s revelation is rooted in God’s sovereignty and empowered the prophet with an authority to minister.
Jeremiah was likewise aware of God’s election.
Chapter 1
4 The word of the LORD came to me, saying,
5 “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.”
A careful reading of the prophets reinforces God’s activity in the world, and specifically, how He chooses, or elects, those useful in advancing His purposes.
In my experience, while exploring the purpose of life and desiring to fulfill God’s assignment or vocation for me, I read John 15. I was arrested by the Holy Spirit who spoke with a thundering, powerful authority and undeniable clarity, You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit — fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. (Verse 16)
Hundreds of complimentary experiences, confirming voices, and Spirit encounters were used by Sovereign Lord to unfold a lifetime of satisfying assignments. The call to follow Him is clearly His initiative. So, our hats are doffed to the Calvanist. Since we are allowed to obey or rebel, it is right to salute Arminianism.
Tomorrow I may dare to share a few specifics of my personal journey, how Sovereign Lord communicated His unfathomable wisdom and design for my life in bite sized pieces.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Some things change, others do not.
Pat and I returned home Sunday morning from Phoenix, AZ where we attended General Council. We have attended every council since1969. We drove from Michigan to Dallas that year. Candace who was only three months old. Our Ford was not air conditioned and temperatures daily approached 100 degrees.
The contrasts between the first council and the one convened last week are many. I list a few of the most striking differences.
• On a personal level, three of our granddaughters attended this year and enjoyed special sessions for youth. I am no longer the youth movement!
• Business sessions were once long and tedious. Resolutions were endless and often adopted after intense debate. I remember one issue being debated for more than eight hours in 1975. Most resolutions were adopted last week with few comments or amendments.
• In the past appeals for offerings were long, and many. On Friday night, following the message, the speaker asked that everyone contribute to a special offering for youth by texting from their i-phones and digital devices! Devices flipped open and tiny screens lit up as people younger than me eagerly entered codes and amounts in response to the challenge.
• Several daily wardrobe changes were the norm a few years ago. Men wore suits and ladies often appeared as if they were on their way to a dinner party. Last week I saw a district official in a T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops in a business session. This is the first time I did not wear a tie to a session, but shorts and flip-flops are a bit much for an old guy like me. Suits and ties are a bit much when daily temperatures are over 100 degrees.
• The music and language now is different. “How cool is that?” sounds funny to me when used as an aside from a speaker approaching the mandatory age for filing for Medicare. But the message was a profoundly important and solidly Biblical.
Other things remain the same. I celebrate what has not changed and commit myself to investing in those who embrace the same call of the Spirit which gripped my heart as a youth.
• The preaching remains outstanding. We heard Biblically sound messages filled with promise and warnings. The same call to holy living and faithfulness to vocation we heard as fledgling preachers in the 60's continues.
• Youth still fill arenas with praise and cry out to the Lord at altars when invitations are extended. Large crowds worshiping were meaningful instruments of the Spirit used to shape me. I will always remember the times when an elder minister prayed words of assurance with a hand on my shoulder following the General Superintendent’s keynote message. The opportunity for another generation to experience the support of elders is still being repeated.
• Leaders continue to define our mission. Pentecostals have never satisfied with past accomplishments. The command to “go into all the world” is still on our lips and in our hearts. Today’s methods are more sophisticated yesterday’s, the mission remains unchanged.
• Friends still gather at alumni receptions. Our hair is grayer, or gone; out gait is stiffer; and our hearing imperfect; but our outlook remains optimistic, hopeful. We are aware that our sons and daughters, and grandchildren, will be the ones filling offices, chairing meetings, defining vision. They will do it with excellence and in the power of the Spirit.
Some waste time lamenting change. Let us choose to remember the past with fondness and look forward boldly. As youth, we believed we would change the world. And, we did the best we could. The work of world-changers is incomplete. The Holy Spirit continues to effectively prepare people for His use in the mission. Change ought to be celebrated if we are confident that Jesus remains at the right hand of the Father, the Holy Spirit will fill all who seek Him, and that the Kingdom of God is indestructible!
Another thing has not changed. While I was gone, no one did my work for me. There are weeds to pull in my garden, bills to pay, and errands to run. There will be someone with whom I may be able to spend time and encourage. Let’s look forward! Positively!
The contrasts between the first council and the one convened last week are many. I list a few of the most striking differences.
• On a personal level, three of our granddaughters attended this year and enjoyed special sessions for youth. I am no longer the youth movement!
• Business sessions were once long and tedious. Resolutions were endless and often adopted after intense debate. I remember one issue being debated for more than eight hours in 1975. Most resolutions were adopted last week with few comments or amendments.
• In the past appeals for offerings were long, and many. On Friday night, following the message, the speaker asked that everyone contribute to a special offering for youth by texting from their i-phones and digital devices! Devices flipped open and tiny screens lit up as people younger than me eagerly entered codes and amounts in response to the challenge.
• Several daily wardrobe changes were the norm a few years ago. Men wore suits and ladies often appeared as if they were on their way to a dinner party. Last week I saw a district official in a T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops in a business session. This is the first time I did not wear a tie to a session, but shorts and flip-flops are a bit much for an old guy like me. Suits and ties are a bit much when daily temperatures are over 100 degrees.
• The music and language now is different. “How cool is that?” sounds funny to me when used as an aside from a speaker approaching the mandatory age for filing for Medicare. But the message was a profoundly important and solidly Biblical.
Other things remain the same. I celebrate what has not changed and commit myself to investing in those who embrace the same call of the Spirit which gripped my heart as a youth.
• The preaching remains outstanding. We heard Biblically sound messages filled with promise and warnings. The same call to holy living and faithfulness to vocation we heard as fledgling preachers in the 60's continues.
• Youth still fill arenas with praise and cry out to the Lord at altars when invitations are extended. Large crowds worshiping were meaningful instruments of the Spirit used to shape me. I will always remember the times when an elder minister prayed words of assurance with a hand on my shoulder following the General Superintendent’s keynote message. The opportunity for another generation to experience the support of elders is still being repeated.
• Leaders continue to define our mission. Pentecostals have never satisfied with past accomplishments. The command to “go into all the world” is still on our lips and in our hearts. Today’s methods are more sophisticated yesterday’s, the mission remains unchanged.
• Friends still gather at alumni receptions. Our hair is grayer, or gone; out gait is stiffer; and our hearing imperfect; but our outlook remains optimistic, hopeful. We are aware that our sons and daughters, and grandchildren, will be the ones filling offices, chairing meetings, defining vision. They will do it with excellence and in the power of the Spirit.
Some waste time lamenting change. Let us choose to remember the past with fondness and look forward boldly. As youth, we believed we would change the world. And, we did the best we could. The work of world-changers is incomplete. The Holy Spirit continues to effectively prepare people for His use in the mission. Change ought to be celebrated if we are confident that Jesus remains at the right hand of the Father, the Holy Spirit will fill all who seek Him, and that the Kingdom of God is indestructible!
Another thing has not changed. While I was gone, no one did my work for me. There are weeds to pull in my garden, bills to pay, and errands to run. There will be someone with whom I may be able to spend time and encourage. Let’s look forward! Positively!
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