Archive for January 2024

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Gospel Pollution

January 31, 2024

“Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28:19-20)

Jesus’ last command and commission to His disciples concerned taking the good news of God’s grace, forgiveness, and salvation to the world. It’s the basis for a number of mission organizations. As is our human nature; however, once in a while, a great message is crammed into a dumb idea. For example…

In the Northern Ireland area of County Londonderry, environmentalists have been recovering thousands of plastic bottles the past few years that have been dumped into the River Bann. Each of the bottles contains a Bible verse inside the bottle. The spreading of the Word has, in essence, been bad for the environment. The Good News is leaving a bad taste in the mouths of those concerned with the habitat.

Does a passion for spreading the Gospel trump the need to protect God’s creation? That’s a good question for a small group to discuss. One of those hot topics that has the potential to rise to the surface the opinions and beliefs of people.

The element that is often forgotten in the conversation is integrity. Living out the Great Commission of Jesus with integrity is more Christ-like than an anonymous message of scripture in a plastic bottle that proclaims the name of Jesus. If you want to go deeper with this, the message is often tainted by the messenger. We convey the message of a “plastic Jesus” instead of a heartfelt desire to share what He means to us.

Bottom line: What drew me, and continues to draw me, to Jesus are the messages of various Christians’ lives that display integrity, grace, humbleness, mercy, servanthood, and love. Consistency in a person’s walk brings validity to the message.

So what would Jesus do? I envision Jesus conversing with people…as he went about wading through the water and mud of the River Bann, picking up plastic bottles and other trash.

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My Sunday Best

January 27, 2024

“But the father said to his servants, “Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.” (Luke 15:22)

I’d put my bowtie on each Sunday morning, drape it with a brown tweed sport coat, attach it to a white button-down dress shirt, and finish the look with the only pair of dress pants I owned (Or my parents owned that were hanging in my closet!), and shiny black Florsheim shoes that made your feet feel like they were being smothered. It was church time, and our family always wore our Sunday best.

It was the only time during the entire week that my mom wore a hat and the only time my brother and I were expected to suffer for three hours in the torture of looking our best for the Lord. Our family of five crammed into the Ford and made the five-minute drive to church, the three kids captured in the backseat, Dad driving, and Mom supervising the backseat inmates.

Wearing our Sunday best was the non-negotiable. We were so accustomed to it that we never even thought of questioning it, even considered the strategy of whining and pouting. By the time I was in the fifth grade, I had retired the bowtie to the back of the bottom dresser drawer and upgraded to a necktie. After all, in our church (First Baptist Church of Williamstown, West Virginia) fifth-grade boys could be junior ushers for the Sunday morning worship service, handing out bulletins and taking up the offering. A suit and necktie were the required attire for such a position.

I’m not sure if the theology of wearing our Sunday best was understandable at that point. To come to church looking sloppy was vaguely connected to being more like the prodigal son of the Bible, wayward and lost from the loving arms of God. For the men, even wearing a suit but no tie was a dip toward depravity.

Since those growing-up years, things have changed on Sunday mornings. Wearing a suit is now more an identifier of the wearer’s generation than a desire to please the Lord. Jeans and a button-down shirt not tucked into the pants is now the norm. Or wearing a jersey of one’s favorite professional sports team, a tee shirt bought at the last rock concert, or Hello Kitty attire.

We now reside in an in-between time where some of the worshippers come dressed to the max while others look as if they just rolled out of bed. I’m an in-betweener. If I’m speaking, I wear Land’s End slacks and a dress shirt, but if I’m pew-sitting, I’m “jeaning.”

The thing many of us from the Sunday-best generation are still nervous about is the scriptural truth that tells us that God gives His best to us, regardless of what we’re willing to give Him. The story of the prodigal son blows us away. The kid who disrespected his father, walked away, and rebelled against the one who had blessed him and raised him is given “the best” when he comes to his senses and returns.

In essence, God gives His Sunday best to us no matter who we are or aren’t. Bowties, neckties, no ties, tie-dyed…He gives His best, not because of who we are but because He wants, even hungers, for our best.

No divine hand-me-downs. No sloppy seconds. Only the best.

Not what we deserve, but rather what He desires for us.

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My Book Life

January 24, 2024

Ginny Heslinga wrote an encouraging text to me about the 3 books of my RED HOT: NEW LIFE IN FLEMING novel series. At the end of her message, she asked me if I would consider doing a book about a girls’ basketball team. Book 4 in the RED HOT series has been written (FLEMING HOPE) and is in the midst of being revised and edited, but Ginny’s question got me thinking.

So, what if I wrote a book about a pastor retiring from ministry and looking for something to do with all of his freed-up time…so he decides to start substitute teaching at a middle school…and in the midst of that new world he’s experiencing, the school needs someone to coach the girls’ basketball team?

Throw in a few plot twists and interesting characters, come up with an unexpected climax, and there you go.

Oh, wait a minute! That sounds a lot like my life story. Thirty-six and a half years as a pastor, and then substitute teaching for the last few years, and coaching basketball (although I have been coaching for 30 years).

The hard question! Would the framework of my life story be strong enough to be the basis for a fictional novel? Would it be compelling enough for people to want to read? Or would it be just one of a number of novels that can be a cure for insomnia and end up in the neighborhood’s Little Library?

Does my life have enough purpose and impact that it can be a novel? Those are difficult questions to ask for each one of us. Many of us live lives that resemble a slow dance to a ho-hum monotone melody. There is a lack of energy, direction, and passion. We go aimlessly from one day to another, looking for something that we’re not sure is going to be there because we’re not sure what that “something” is.

What a challenge to write a fictional story that has more than a hint of an auto-biographical feel to it.

And because I just finished coaching our middle school’s seventh-grade girls basketball team in their last game yesterday, I have a ton of writing material. For example, when one of my players tried to help out our opponents by shooting on their basket…in the fourth quarter of a tie game! Thankfully, she missed the layup! Or when a player considered the line on the side of the court to simply be a suggestion and decided to dribble around the defender and then back onto the court. I think she thought she was allowed to go out of bounds, but the defense had to play inside the lines.

Yes, it brings back that old saying, “Truth is stranger than fiction!”

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Fencing The Gospel

January 22, 2024

Friends of mine told me about one of their seminary professors who, when invited to speak at a church that only allowed the King James Version to be used (The Bible that Jesus used!), would bring a bible written in either Hebrew or Greek with him and read the original language. After all, he would say sarcastically, real Christians read the original language. For some reason, he never got invited to come and speak again.

Many churches have paranoia about anything outside of their comfort zone. Like a fortress constructed of high stone walls and surrounded by a moat, they guard against suspicious beliefs and suspect behavior. The problem is that “the enemies” of each fortress church are different. What is seen as normal customs and living for one church is taboo in another. It leads to a confused public, wondering why the gospel of Jesus is qualified in different ways by different folk.

For example, in my growing-up days at a Southern Baptist Church in Kentucky, the men went out for a smoke between Sunday School and the worship service. Most men had a pack of Winstons or Lucky Strikes in their coat pocket and puffed away before praising Jesus. However, if any of those men had a bottle of Jim Beam at home, it would have been hidden in the back of the cupboard. No good and respected man of God would have had a liquor cabinet at home. Our church was fine with the tobacco, but Kentucky bourbon was not tolerated.

As a kid, I could never quite understand why the Methodists were allowed to do certain things, but we Baptists were on the road to Hell for even considering them. To even ask questions such as “How do I know Jesus died for me and wants a personal relationship with me?” or “Why don’t we ever talk about the Holy Spirit in our church?” or “Why is it always a man who speaks on Sunday morning at church, but my mom does most of the talking at home?” was taken like opening wide the gate and letting the evils of the Enemy storm the fortress.

The gospel was fenced with certain codes of conduct and foundational beliefs that were never questioned. They became the identifiers, the qualifiers of one’s commitment level. In some fortresses, the Holy Spirit was on a short leash; in others, grace was guarded. In one tabernacle, an exorbitant number of “buts” were evident. “Jesus died for everyone, but…” “The love of God is available for all, but…” “Missing church isn’t a sin, but…”

It’s as if the gospel alone isn’t strong enough to stand on its own like it needs to be wrapped in bubble wrap and protected by solid barriers. Thus, someone searching for understanding and trying to find out why Jesus loves him is frequently frustrated by the quicksand of the questioning. It has more potential to be a journey focused on appropriate moral conduct instead of a spiritual endeavor. Oddly enough, it can be more about clarifying what can destroy your walk with God rather than how to walk with God or why God longs to walk closely with you.

A few decades ago, I was a part of a congregation that had gone through a split as a result of a charismatic part of the church. The spirit-filled group left with the senior pastor and formed another congregation, while the Mother Church found a new pastor who would be “more normal.” For a number of years after the split, it was as if the Holy Spirit was not welcome in that congregation. The walls had been built up to protect the inhabitants from any contact that even smelled of being spirit-filled. Where the Holy Spirit is not welcome, legalism becomes the law, and where legalism takes root, suspicion tags closely behind. One Wednesday night, Carol and I were leading a youth bible study, and there were moments of laughter as we talked about the scripture and the topic. A few days later, I was confronted by one of the pastors about the fact that the youth had been laughing in the midst of the bible study.

Just as there was no joy in Mudville when mighty Casey struck out, there was to be no laughter in that congregation. It was a defeating moment for me as I tried to figure out what it meant to be a leader in a fortress church. All the things I learned in three years of seminary didn’t fit well in that situation. Fifteen months after beginning, and seriously looking at leaving the ministry, I was rescued by another congregation where it was deemed okay to ask questions about the faith, search deeper, and…laugh!

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“You Can’t Score If You Don’t Shoot”

January 21, 2024

It’s been an entertaining 7th-grade girl’s basketball season. In the midst of getting significantly beaten in several games, there have been numerous memorable moments that have had the effect of raising the experience from just another ho-hum season. For example, when all five of my players ran to the other end of the court to play defense. Unfortunately, our opponents were inbounding the basketball underneath their own basket on the end of the court that they had just sprinted away from. Notice I said all five players ran away…and it was the fourth quarter…which meant they had been defending that end of the court for one quarter+ already.

It’s a sign of the level of inexperience I’m coaching. Only two of the ten girls have ever played basketball before. Most of the middle school teams we are playing are comprised of girls who have been playing on club teams for several years. I have 5 volleyball players, 1 dancer, 1 distance runner, 1 girl who has never played any sport, and the 2 who have played basketball before this year.

But they have improved greatly, even in the midst of lop-sided scores. This past week I told them that they have really improved in their warmups before a game. I was being serious. We no longer have to check for cracks in the backboard. They are actually making most of their layups during warmups. No joke!

They are discovering my “wise sayings”, such as “She doesn’t get smaller the closer you dribble the ball toward her”, and “You can’t score, if you don’t shoot.”

That one came at halftime of a game where we didn’t attempt our first shot until there were 9 seconds left in the second quarter. Since then, a couple of my players have taken the advice to the max, more than willing to fire as soon as they cross half-court.

Small steps.

We have won a game…in overtime on a banked three-point shot!

The thing is…I’m loving it! They’re learning and staying positive. In the midst of a 38-2 defense to a team that may one day be playing in the WNBA, I said to one of my players who was sitting beside me on the bench, “Hey! These girls have been playing together for the past 4 years. How long have you been playing?” She looked at me and said, “One game.”

“Exactly! This is all about learning, and you’re on the fast track of learning how to play basketball.”

No one has hung their head in discouragement. No one has pouted. No one has entered the transfer portal or asked about their NIL. They are experiencing being a part of a positive athletic team in defeating situations. Anytime we score a basket, I chuckle. When we scored the one basket in the 38-2 blistering, the crowd erupted. When one of my volleyball players actually does a reverse pivot, I cry, “Holy cow! Did you see that?” When my tallest player sprints down the court and intercepts a pass that was headed to a player for an easy layup, I get all jittery! When another one of my volleyball players dribbles back and forth but remembers to use her left hand, I want to cry. I’m so happy.

We took them to the Air Force vs. Wyoming Women’s basketball game, and they watched the game as opposed to having their faces buried in their cell phones. We debriefed afterward about what they had learned. After each of our games, we talk about what we learned, in what ways improvement was evident, and what we need to work on.

We’re going as a team to our high school’s game this coming week. In essence, these ten young ladies are taking an accelerated course in basketball.

It will all be over in a week, and I’ll miss them greatly. About a week after the season is over, I’ll recognize what a blessed coach I have been to teach them, lead them, and figure out in new ways how to instruct players new to the game.

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Mis-naming

January 20, 2024

A few years ago, I discovered that my parents almost named me Silas Dean Wolfe instead of William Dean Wolfe. Silas was the name of one of my grandfathers, who had been killed in a mining accident when my dad was in his growing-up years. Not knowing about my “other name” until I was in my fifties made me consider the possibilities. Would a name change have made any difference?

On the opposite side of the situation, would someone else assuming my name make a difference? Whereas, if I would have been christened “Silas Dean’ would not have altered my life course, if a different person took on my name after all these years would have been different, even suspicious.

It would be like a Chevy Chevette masquerading as a Corvette. Some of the same letters would be used but the car would be a real discouragement.

Thus, it is with the name “evangelical.” What it meant a few decades ago has been replaced with something uncomfortable and shaped differently. (Picture the Chevette with a Corvette name taped onto the car’s back panel.) The uncomfortableness can be seen in how the media uses the term and also in some of those who identify themselves with the term.

The roots of the word “evangelical” come from the Greek word “euangelion”, which means “the good news” or “gospel.” It emphasizes the proclamation of Jesus and the good news that He offers of eternal life.

In recent years, it has morphed into an identifier of a conservative political group with strong ties to the Republican Party. In the recent Iowa political primary, many of the evangelicals openly admit that they are not connected to any community of faith. In essence, the political party that they have invested their money and time into is their church.

The effect is that to be an evangelical is viewed as a defining label of one’s political views and only slightly connected to the gospel of Christ. Even certain broadcasters will place a sneer into the prouncing of the word. The interesting thing is that the National Association of Evangelicals, founded in 1942, was meant to be a moderate group placed between two factions of conservatives and liberals.

Over the years, things have changed. The good news is now viewed with suspicion. Let me say it again. The good news of grace, peace, love, salvation, and forgiveness of God is now viewed with suspicion.

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Scamming Life

January 16, 2024

We used to watch Candid Camera on TV as part of our Sunday evening entertainment. Allen Funt set the scene for us of unsuspecting people in weird situations. At the end of each person’s encounter the words “Smile! You’re on Candid Camera!” would be said to the amusement of the audience and, most of the time, the person who had just been pranked.

In more recent times, there have been other TV shows that have played out fake scenarios involving people going about their days. In essence, we’ve been familiar with scams since we were born into this world.

Scams, however, have taken on a new life form. Ninety percent of the cell phone calls I receive are scam calls. Lord only knows how many “real” calls I’ve missed because I didn’t recognize the phone number. My iPhone gives me a nice warning that the call from PoDunk, Wisconsin, is a scam, but today I didn’t answer a call from my pharmaceutical company because it wasn’t familiar and was coming from Arlington Heights, Illinois.

Now we have look-alike imposters, who are very convincing. An elderly lady from our area received a piece of mail recently telling her that she had won the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes. The enclosed announcement would have gotten me excited with the believability of its appearance. Thankfully, this octogenarian called one of our local TV stations who investigated it further and uncovered the false claims.

Kindhearted followers of Jesus have been suckers for scam artists. Fake charities and pretend ministries that play on the emotions of empathetic people have been around for a long time. The New York Times published an article about one “charity scammer” who had 76 fake charities that the IRS hadn’t noticed, charities with official-sounding names like “The American Cancer Society for Children of Massachusetts.” In fact, the 76 charities shared the same mailbox.

As my mom used to say, however, “When you point your finger at someone, four other fingers are pointing back at you.” Actually, it’s three because my thumb is pointing toward the sky. But those three fingers remind me that I can be a “Jesus-scammer.” I can convince people that I’m a wholehearted follower of Jesus, even when my thoughts and actions communicate otherwise.

There is even a bundle of times (That means a lot!) when I think I can scam God into not seeing my waywardness, self-centeredness, and lack of commitment. We cringe at the word “scam,” but I’m guilty of pretending to be a person of faith.

That sound harsh and self-condemning, and yet it’s accurate. Maybe I don’t construct fake charities like The United Way of Ohio (Another of the 76!), but I fall short and act out innocence.

And thus, I pray for forgiveness and rely on the promise of the grace of God. For that, I am genuinely…truly thankful!

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Uninvited Guest

January 10, 2024

This morning at my neighborhood Starbucks, a homeless woman in a wheelchair came in. The staff treated her with respect, offered to help her get into the restroom, and gave her a cup of hot coffee.

At 6AM on Wednesday mornings at this particular Starbucks, a group of four to six men meet. They pull two tables together, sit there, and gab as they drink coffee for an hour. It’s the one day during the week when I occupy a table at the other end of the cafe, because of the closeness of my usual seat to them.

However, on this Wednesday they had an uninvited guest, the homeless woman. When she exited the restroom, she pulled her wheelchair up close to the men’s tables and scooted over into one of the empty seats that was awaiting the arrival of one of their regulars. The dynamics of the group changed at that point. What was intended to be another round of their typical Wednesday morning chattering had the result of scattering. After about 15 minutes of the woman sitting with them at their tables and looking like she was feeling right at home, the group of four men took their leave. It was only 6:20.

Before her arrival, she had had an encounter with a couple of law enforcement officers outside the cafe, had wheeled herself away, but then had come back. At about 6:40, one of the officers came back, had a chat with her, and then guided her to the exit doors. I held the door open for her to maneuver her wheelchair to the outside. Although I’m not involved in the field of mental health, because of her chattering to herself and the chaotic state of the restroom after she had used it, I had the feeling that she had some form of mental illness.

And then, five minutes after her exit, the group of four men came back and gathered around their tables once again to resume the weekly chatter.

I considered what I had seen and heard. What did the situation communicate? Why was I left with a feeling of uncomfortableness?

First, the positive. The Starbucks staff was kind and considerate. They showed hospitality to the guest who had been burdened with multiple life challenges. They did what they could. Even the group of four men was respectful, but when it was apparent that she was seeing her visit to their tables as more than a “Hi! How are you?”, they made their escape.

Most of us are uncomfortable with intrusions into our normal living routines. We gravitate toward the familiar, the expected, and the planned-on. The problems of our society and world are so often simply seen as problems…out there, somewhere else, to be handled by others. Whether it be a wheelchair-bound homeless woman, a migrant crisis, a mass shooting, or even an autoworkers’ strike, we are often at a loss as to how to respond. We crave normalcy. We cringe about the irregular.

Truthfully, the Starbucks encounter with the homeless lady was a no-win situation. She wasn’t asking for help and was probably simply looking for a place to get warm for a while. Although we don’t like to admit it, the only answers we have for some of the situations in life are to be kind, respectful, and seek the Lord’s help in knowing how to respond.

Jesus was criticized for hanging out with “sinners.” He was scoffed at for healing the blind, the lame, and the ostracized lepers. For us, when the unexpected enters our arena of life or sits down at our table, it requires prayer and then a question to consider: What would Jesus do?

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The Newness of Oldness

January 7, 2024


“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” (2 Corinthians 5:17)

“Something old, something new...” is the beginning of a rhyme intended for brides to remember their list of things that needed to be done. For me, it has a completely different connotation. In the midst of my old age, I’m finding new experiences.

For example, I’m awakened each new day with my new companion, Arth Rithis! You see, the latest and greatest may mean what enters into your life later on that will be one of your greatest challenges. To announce its arrival, it rings the doorbell of your lower back and knocks on your knees. The pill that is taken shortly after arising in the morning gradually dulls the noise of the pain.

This is another thing about the oldness of newness: the expanding number of pill bottles that are the AARP equivalent of notches in the belt. It’s a sign of how many decades you’ve roamed the earth, a prescription to symbolize every ten years. Honestly, most of the pill bottles are reflections of the sins of my past: a taste for fried foods, not stretching well enough before playing basketball or taking in a five-mile run, slouching in that uncomfortable school desk for all those years, and snacking late at night. In many cases, the newness is connected to my dumbness.

Other new additions to my new old year include suspect hearing, hurting teeth, unexpected grumpiness, and a desire to head to warmer climates about the time I’m turning the thermostat up in the house.

The other side of the well-weathered coin, however, is that each day is a new creation, a new opportunity, and filled with the potential of a multitude of blessings. I am a new creation given the opportunity to be renewed and refreshed each and every day.

When I retired after 36 and 1/2 years as a church pastor, I was actually “repurposed.” I was no longer pastoring a church, but I was repurposed to pastor in other ways: conversations at Starbucks with several of the regulars that often turn towards the spiritual, coaching young athletes with emphases on good character and respect for others, the freed-up time to write, and the opportunities to teach middle school kids that is more about influencing their perspectives and moral outlook on life. I no longer have the time pressure to prepare a sermon each week, but I do have the “purpose” of impacting young minds.

In effect, I am a new creation, not because of anything I’ve done but because of the One I follow, Jesus. The renewing of my mind is far more important than the deterioration of my knees and hips. In the midst of my transition from Frosted Flakes to cereal that resembles grass clippings, I have been blessed to make small, subtle differences in the lives of those I encounter.

I am an old new creation!

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My Irritations Through Jesus’s Eyes

January 4, 2024

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well.” (Matthew 5:38-40)

Sometimes when I’m out for a walk, I listen to Andy Stanley’s sermons. Recently, he was doing a message on underreacting to overreactions. He asked the question, “What irritates you?” and then suggested that the question be asked again through the eyes of Jesus.

Uh-oh!

It got me thinking and cringing about the results. For example, reality TV irritates me, or as I like to call it, “Lack of Reality TV”. How would Jesus react? Thinking of scripture, I think Jesus would point us toward the Kingdom of God…“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.” The priorities and the drama of this world are not the priorities of Kingdom people.

I thought about the other things in life that cause me to grind my teeth: college athletics transfer portal, helicopter parents, Christians who are so narrow-minded they won’t even drink root beer, a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle with 999 pieces, scam calls, dogs that bark at nothing for an hour at a time (in the backyard behind our backyard), and speeding motorcyclists who zig-zag through traffic like they’re going down a slalom ski course.

But how would Jesus react? It seems that Jesus only got stern and confrontational with the most religious people of His day. For most of the irritating items on my list, I’m afraid He would tell me to get over them. The realization of that fact grinds at me but also brings me back to the fact that I live in a fallen creation and I’M one of the fallen creatures. I pick my nose when no one is looking and edge up my speedometer when it suits me. I also have a way of justifying myself like it’s a protective shield around my fragile ego. I don’t like to ask the question, “How do I irritate Jesus?”

Our hunger to look perfect and think of ourselves as perfect needs to kneel in the shadow of the cross. It is only in that slim place of darkness that we can truly see who we are and rejoice in the saving grace of God.

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