Wasting Time!

Wasting time is usually not a planned event. It just happens. Good intentions are set aside and an "I don’t care" spirit overrides better designs. The effect of parental example drove industry, productivity and Christian time management deep into the core my person, the place where values are formed and from which life patterns flow. In church the preacher reminded us, sometimes excessively, of 2 Corinthians 5:10, "For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that each one may receive what is due him for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad." I think that if my pastor were preaching in today’s computer-driven culture, he would convince us we all are wearing a monitor linked to God’s master hard drive. God would be reviewing wasted time data and employing corrective measures.

Maybe the idea of a heavenly super computer isn’t too far-fetched! Is it possible that Baby Boomers, the generation that benefitted most directly from their parents’ hard work and unselfish generosity, have grown slack? It is easy to conclude, "It’s time for me! I have worked for more than 40 years, paid for my house, put the children through college, saved and now I am going to enjoy myself!" Even Christian publications allow the spirit of self-entitlement to thrive uncontested. (I wonder, is it because Christian ministries know who is most likely to contribute and are too smart to offend their financial support base?) Sloth comes from the root thought, "I don’t care!" Indolence creeps in slowly, sluggishly, sleepily. Minutes slowly become hours, hours turn into an evening, and after a few evenings one is disqualified, too late to present the application, to write a resume, or to do the simple good deed which could comfort, heal and instill hope.

Israel slipped into "I don’t care." Sloth overtook industry. An evening of ease became eight years of Godlessness under Cushan-Rishathaim king of Aram Naharaim, a brutal Baal-worshiping pagan (Judges 3:8). It took that long before anyone suggested, "This is intolerable! Let’s call out to our God for deliverance."

Once the slippery slope of the spirit of "I don’t care enough to . . ." seeps into the place where values form, one discovers, there is no ladder to climb out. We need help. Israel called out after 18 wasted years. "The Israelites were subject to Eglon king of Moab for eighteen years." (Judges 3:14) Children born in year one were making college applications without knowing a day of freedom! Judges 9 records, "Because he had 900 iron chariots and had cruelly oppressed the Israelites for twenty years, they cried to the LORD for help." Think of it, it took 20 meandering, useless, "I don’t care enough to . . ." years before an Israeli began seeking for a way out of the deadly malaise of waste.

It happens! Waste is not planned, it creeps in under the cover of entitlement thinking, and selfish interests left unchallenged. My upbringing was severe by today’s standards, wasting time was a major sin. Most recreation was suspect. Amusements were chosen carefully. Accountability was a reality and we were frequently reminded of the judgment seat of Christ. The pendulum appears to have swung to correct a few excesses, but may have gone too far!

Thank You!

For almost two years family and friends have prayed with us as we attempted to sell our Philadelphia home. Last Friday it happened. We are now former Philadelphia homeowners!

The journey was not what we expected. Sometimes we were stressed. Moments of doubt crept in sneakily. On more than one occasion the question surfaced, "Did we make a mistake?" Now the experience is near the end of an album of memories. Near the end, yes, because each day brings new experiences, people and events worth remembering.

Our friends are scattered about. Since the settlement date we have received congratulatory messages from Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware and Florida. We have heard, "Praise the Lord!" and "We have been praying," often, from people who really do pray. Pat and I thank you for your prayers and words of encouragement before the answer came. We now look forward with a new spirit of adventure.

Family and friends like you are priceless!

A $170,000 license plate and food stamps!

The Cape Gazette, a twice weekly local newspaper covering events and information about Southern Delaware (too many obituaries and real estate offers), reports that last Sunday a two-digit Delaware license plate sold for $170,000 at an auction. The buyer, a contractor who specializes in government buildings, will probably place the plate on one of his vintage cars. After the purchase the winning bidder spoke with the press about what a great investment he considers the plate. He expects to turn a handsome profit and was prepared to bid up to $200,000.

 

The auction of a license plate is incongruous with the stark reality of many local citizens waiting out winter months, living on unemployment benefits and looking forward to minimum wage summer jobs. Many of the seasonal workers live in “manufactured home” developments which are worth less than $10,000. 

 

I hope Christian people feel the pain caused by the disparity between those who have surplus resources and can speculate on a piece of metal with the embossed number “67" while others present food stamps in payment for a few food goods at the grocery store.

 

I know, I know! Some in the latter group failed to apply themselves in school, have an arrest record, have a poor work ethic and . . . but, some may never have had opportunities the former group has enjoyed. When I stop and reflect, but for the grace of God I could have been born in much different circumstances. If family hadn’t played the role it did, I may have never finished high school. What if I had been dyslexic and the learning disability was interpreted as a behavioral issue. How often do children like that recover from the stigma of “special Ed” classes? I can hear the screech, or murmurs, “We gotta end all these entitlements! People have to work or they shouldn’t eat!” Even Christians dare to see their success as an indication of their worthiness and hard work.

 

The older I get, the more I observe, and the deeper my understanding of God’s grace seeps into my soul, the fewer simple answers I have and the more inequitable the world appears. I want to do something to point out that Christians have a responsibiliity to live unselfishly. People at either end of the economic spectrum may begin to notice that our faith and behavior are connected!

One of the wonders of my world

The Egyptian pyramids and descriptions of the Babylonian gardens are phenomenal. Men’s modern achievements are similar. Engineering feats like the Panama Canal and the Empire State Building stagger my imagination. How did men build such amazing things, without a lithium battery powered screw gun? Wouldn’t you love to see the Statue of Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro, the Sphinx and the Great Wall of China? (Someone ought to get a tour organized!)

The man-made wonders of the world are very different from the things which cause me to wonder. While reading through Judges recently I was reminded of something which has caused me to wonder for more than 46 years, the time I have been married to Pat Kolas Wegner. In Judges 13 Manoah, Samson’s father, was afraid that he and Mrs. Manoah (No name is recorded for the dear lady.) would die because they had met face-to-face with God.

While Manoah was fretting, Mrs. Manoah shared a Pat Kolasian word of wisdom. (Note: wisdom runs in the Kolas DNA and that clan ought to receive recognition.) Mrs. Manoah said, "If the LORD had meant to kill us, he would not have accepted a burnt offering and grain offering from our hands, nor shown us all these things or now told us this." (Judges 13:23) There it is, the matter about which I wonder. How did God know that Manoah would need some mental-emotional ballast to keep him upright? I marvel at that!

Last week Pat and I celebrated an anniversary. In the years we have walked together rearing children, serving the Lord and His church, doing the best we knew how to do, Pat has repeatedly offered a brief, but deeply insightful word. As Mrs. Manoah’s common sense counsel helped him, so Pat has often inspired me which has resulted in fewer errors and our life has been richer. It causes me to wonder. How did God know how to match us up and do it so perfectly? That wonder takes nothing away from canal diggers and skyscraper builders. It is in a class by itself.

"A $170,000 license plate and food stamps"

The Cape Gazette, a twice weekly local newspaper covering events and information about Southern Delaware (too many obituaries and real estate offers), reports that last Sunday a two-digit Delaware license plate sold for $170,000 at an auction. The buyer, a contractor who specializes in government buildings, will probably place the plate on one of his vintage cars. After the purchase the winning bidder spoke with the press about what a great investment he considers the plate. He expects to turn a handsome profit and was prepared to bid up to $200,000.

 

The auction of a license plate is incongruous with the stark reality of many local citizens waiting out winter months, living on unemployment benefits and looking forward to minimum wage summer jobs. Many of the seasonal workers live in “manufactured home” developments which are worth less than $10,000. 

 

I hope Christian people feel the pain caused by the disparity between those who have surplus resources and can speculate on a piece of metal with the embossed number “67" while others present food stamps in payment for a few food goods at the grocery store.

 

I know, I know! Some in the latter group failed to apply themselves in school, have an arrest record, have a poor work ethic and . . . but, some may never have had opportunities the former group has enjoyed. When I stop and reflect, but for the grace of God I could have been born in much different circumstances. If family hadn’t played the role it did, I may have never finished high school. What if I had been dyslexic and the learning disability was interpreted as a behavioral issue. How often do children like that recover from the stigma of “special Ed” classes? I can hear the screech, or murmurs, “We gotta end all these entitlements! People have to work or they shouldn’t eat!” Even Christians dare to see their success as an indication of their worthiness and hard work.

 

The older I get, the more I observe, and the deeper my understanding of God’s grace seeps into my soul, the fewer simple answers I have and the more inequitable the world appears. I want to do something to point out that Christians have a responsibility to live unselfishly. People at either end of the economic spectrum may begin to notice that our faith and behavior are connected!

"I'll go where you want me . . . "

On at least one other occasion I blogged about the magical thing that happened to me as a boy. My interest in reading gained traction in the early elementary school grades and weekly bike rides, more than two miles round trip, to the Ben Franklin Branch of the Detroit Library. Biography was my interest. The magic happened as my parents began introducing biographies from some unknown source. The lives of C. T. Studd, D. L. Moody (I began to think that Godly people only had initials.) and David Brainerd captivated me. And, the appearance of the books is still a mystery because my parents’ reading was limited to their Bibles and the newspaper.

Missionary biography stirred me. As I read of the voluntary selflessness of Brainerd who gave his life for Native Americans or the renouncement of inherited wealth by C. T. Studd, I wondered if I were willing to live as unselfishly. The life of other missionaries caused deep introspection as I contrasted their world views with the lives of military heroes, presidents and other historical figures whose stories I also read.

Simultaneously my boyhood church reinforced my growing interest by inviting a long list of Pentecostal missionaries to present their ministry. Many of those who formed my thinking were first-generation Pentecostal messengers. Each had a table full of ever-present "curios," snake skins, juju fetishes, big game tusks and grotesque masks that followed me home and made me restless at bedtime. Nearly all of the missionaries had 35mm slides, lots of them, with interesting stories about the people whose images were before us.

The formula for a "missionary service" was simple. We sang a song or two about the call of God and the needs of lost people. The pastor introduced the missionary, slides were shown and the missionary made an appeal for the youth to answer the "call of God." An offering was received and then we were urged toward the altar with the following tune.
It may not be on the mountain’s height,
Or over the stormy sea;
It may not be at the battle’s front,
My Lord will have need of me;
But if by a still, small voice He calls,
To paths I do not know,
I’ll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in Thine,
I’ll go where You want me to go.
Refrain:
I’ll go where You want me to go, dear Lord,
O’er mountain, or plain, or sea;
I’ll say what You want me to say, dear Lord,
I’ll be what You want me to be.
Perhaps today there are loving words
Which Jesus would have me speak;
There may be now in the paths of sin,
Some wand’rer whom I should seek;O Savior, if Thou wilt be my guide,
Though dark and rugged the way,
My voice shall echo the message sweet,
I’ll say what You want me to say.

There’s surely somewhere a lowly place,
In earth’s harvest fields so wide,
Where I may labor through life’s short day,
For Jesus the Crucified;
So trusting my all into Thy care,
I know Thou lovest me,
I’ll do Thy will with a heart sincere,
I’ll be what You want me to be.
Those biographies that I had been reading made the walk to the altar seem so serious. What if God decided that I ought to go to the Philippines where crucifixions were reenacted every year on Good Friday? The 16mm movie showed blood gushing from the nail wounds. (I still become faint at the sight of blood.)The demonic dances in another place were frightening. (I had a couple of nightmares about the dances.)

The parable of Matthew 15 reinforced seriousness of the altar response. "Don’t fool around with the call of God," was the message.
"What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’
"‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.
"Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go.
"Which of the two did what his father wanted?"
"‘The first,’ they answered."
The few steps to the altar seemed to take forever. So much was at stake! I may never be the same after this encounter. And, I wasn’t! Each conversation with the Lord of Harvest refined my understanding of God’s plans for me. I began to understand that "willingness" was the first qualifier for pleasing God. If I would consistently say, "Yes!" God could trust me with the place for which He designed me.

On occasion I still awaken to the tune of "I’ll go where you want me to go," and offer myself to service in which I can be of use. "No," is never the appropriate answer when responding to God’s assignments. Excuse me. I am on my way to an altar where I will answer God’s "Will you?" another time.

Picture it! Ponder it! Pray over it!

In a lengthy article for a missionary publication an eighteenth-century female missionary to China told of the abuse of girls and women. She pleaded for hundreds of additional ladies to serve along with her. Her task was to rescue the girls being sold by families as the future wives of those who could afford the asking price. The girls were often less than 10 years-old and were doomed to serve a domineering future mother-in-law. The future for Chinese girls born to poor parents was grim. Beatings, servitude, abuses of every kind were common.

One line in the published article is arresting. "Picture it! Ponder it! Pray over it! And think – do they not need us?" The author merely asked for serious consideration, not a rash decision or mindless commitment. But few responded to the impassioned appeal of the young writer who was giving her life to a ministry that rescued those so unfortunate to be born female and in China’s poverty.

Those who did respond risked their lives. Many died in service while in the prime of life. Young families buried their children. Many who answered the call were widowed at a young age. Orphans among the missionary contingent were sadly a sobering reality. The task and the conditions under which the mission was executed were difficult beyond words. But today, those who laid down their lives in the risky service to the least of China’s populace celebrate around heaven’s throne. A multitude of those who were rescued and generations of spiritual descendants are singing the songs of heaven!

A missionary call by Charles Gabriel was penned at about the same time as the missionary magazine article. I sung repeatedly the words in my youth and years of pastoral ministry. It needs to be revived! Let us boldly adapt the young woman’s challenge from long ago, "Picture it! Ponder it! Pray over it! And think – do others not need us?" Come on! Let’s sing! Let’s pray! Let’s go!
There’s a call comes ringing over the restless wave,
"Send the light! Send the light!"
There are souls to rescue there are souls to save,
Send the light! Send the light!

Send the light, the blessèd Gospel light;
Let it shine from shore to shore!
Send the light, the blessèd Gospel light;
Let it shine forevermore!

We have heard the Macedonian call today,
"Send the light! Send the light!"
And a golden offering at the cross we lay,
Send the light! Send the light!
Let us pray that grace may everywhere abound,

"Send the light! Send the light!"
And a Christ-like spirit everywhere be found,
Send the light! Send the light!

Let us not grow weary in the work of love,
"Send the light! Send the light!"
Let us gather jewels for a crown above,
Send the light! Send the light!

The spiritual needs of the world continue. In addition to reports in print, color photography, video journalism, and television help us see world need. We must, however, "Picture it! Ponder it! Pray over what we see!" And, then all serious disciples of Jesus must act!

Trace the Grace!

Saint Paul makes an arresting statement in a letter to his young trainee, Timothy, an insight into the apostle’s heart and understanding of the ways of God. The aging apostle wrote, "The grace of our Lord was poured out on me abundantly." (1 Timothy 1:14) Paul wrote after decades of ministry. He knew beatings which left him all but lifeless. He knew shipwrecks which caused all others aboard the boat to despair. Imprisonments and certain death at the hands of the enemies of the Gospel were overlooked. The grace of God moved to the bright lights of center stage.

The ninth generation of James Hudson Taylor’s decendents now minister in China, more than 150 years after the missionary patriarch arrived in the land to which he was called. That is amazing! Nine generations! But, that is recent history for the Taylor clan. In 1776 England was awakening from decades of decadence as George Whitefield, John and Charles Wesley preached wherever and whenever an opportunity presented itself. James Taylor, Hudson’s great-grandfather, was the life of the party a genuine scoffer who mocked the Methodist way and openly scorned whenever the message of grace was presented.

On the day of his marriage to Betty Johnson, James Taylor’s beautiful bride and dance partner, the bells announcing the time of the ceremony rang out, but the bridegroom was nowhere to be found. The grace of God was being poured out on him in the family barn. Concern for his soul overwhelmed him as the Holy Spirit convicted him of sin and taught James of his need of Jesus. Taylor was so caught up in the presence of the Spirit that he almost missed his wedding!

On their wedding night James Taylor informed Betty that he had been born again, opened a Bible and convened the newlywed’s first family altar! She resisted, for weeks! Betty wanted to continue dancing and partying. She missed the fun loving man she thought she had married. One night James lifted his bride of a few weeks and carried her to their bedroom. Placing her on a chair, James knelt before Betty and began to passionately pray that God would save her. The very next day Betty joined James in the new birth and became his life-long partner in prayer and Bible study. The Taylors became the leaders of Methodist classes in their community and patriarchs to those who founded a modern missionary movement.

One can trace the grace of God poured out in China all the way back to a plain Englishman’s wedding day in a small English village in 1776. The great-grandson, the one about whom many biographies have been written, may receive undue attention. The grace of God can be traced to a time and person who lived nearly 100 years before. From men’s viewpoint, James Taylor was anything but an "A List" candidate for salvation, but the grace of God was poured out on him as surely as on the Apostle Paul.

The Taylor story is amazing! But, each one who has known the conviction of the Holy Spirit and has been born of the Spirit can trace the grace of God all the way back to Noah and Abraham! The continuous chain of undeserved acceptance at God’s initiative is astounding! Trace the grace! Ah, sweet wonder . . . amazing marvel . . . the grace of God poured out in abundance.