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When I…

August 28, 2025

“When I said, “My foot is slipping,”
    your unfailing love, Lord, supported me.
 When anxiety was great within me,
    your consolation brought me joy.” (Psalm 94:18-19)

There are times when it seems that I’m not grasping situations or I’m losing my grip on life. You’ve probably been there. You wake up in the morning and you’re wondering what the purpose of the day is. It seems like a barren field of endless minutes. To agitate my Kansas friends, I compare it to driving across Kansas…with no end in sight.

As I was reading Tim and Kathy Keller’s devotional, The Songs of Jesus, the verses in Psalm 94 caused me to stop and consider. Even when my grip on life is slipping, God supports me. Even when I am anxious about driving down Powers Boulevard in the midst of the speeding lane-changers, the Lord whispers comforting words to my soul.

Gosh! What an encouragement it is to know that I don’t have to be at the top of my game, that the Lord lifts me up as I encounter the de-energizing, withering, stumbling times of life. What an incredible picture to know that “anxious Billy” can be transformed to “joyous Willy!” It doesn’t need to rest like a sack of potatoes on my shoulders alone.

In my years as a pastor…you know, being the one who everyone thinks is as solid and unwavering as a Stonehenge rock…there were times…long, dry periods…where I seemed to be stumbling along. I couldn’t get a grip on situations or understand what the next steps should be. I was supposed to be the one who led, the one who navigated the way, but there was no movement. It was like I was trying to walk through a patch of oil that was unforgiving. I’d read scripture, and it didn’t catch. I’d pray, and it didn’t seem to have any value in it. I’d preach and wonder what point I was trying to make.

I needed to have these words of the Psalm cross-stitched into my memory. Isn’t it amazing how one can read verses over and over and not have them take root and then one day read the exact same words again and have them blaze a new trail for the journey.

Anxious moments result in comforting joy. The sensation of falling results in dependable love. Who would have thunk it?

Thank you, Lord, for being there not only when I recognized your presence, but even when I was oblivious of it.

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Hung Up On The Words

August 19, 2025

 “But I tell you that everyone will have to give account on the day of judgment for every empty word they have spoken.  For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned.” (Mattew 12:36-37)

I’m six weeks into wearing Invisalign retainers. It’s not something I envisioned having at age seventy-one, but my son-in-law dentist said I’d be looking like a toothless teddy bear if I didn’t do something. Thus, I’ve joined my two braces-wearing granddaughters in the retainer world.

The main problem is that I haven’t adjusted to the speaking part of wearing retainers. I find myself stumbling over words with more than three syllables. B’s, F’s, P’s, T’s, and W’s seem to be the main villains. They resemble splinters that a person tries to pry loose, hesitant to give up their attachment to the inside of my mouth. At my cross-country practice last week, I was showering the young runner sitting in front of me as I spat out any word with a beginning or ending “s.”

The result is that I’ve become more focused on the words than the message. I’m hung up on making sure I don’t “spray it, don’t say it!” someone as I’m stuttering through words like “preparation” and “fundamentalism.” I’m more concerned with what I could say than what I ought to say.

It’s a parable about our culture. These days, people seem to get hung up on the words, and what they spit out makes about as much sense as skinny-dipping on a snowy afternoon in an isolated Eskimo village. There’s a lot of bad theology being sputtered about these days that complicate the simplified and simplify the complicated.

For example, some people don’t talk about sanctification. Any word with fourteen letters sounds like trouble and high-brow intellectual grade mish-mash. Better to simplify it into understandable off-the-wall theology, such as “coming to a point where we will no longer do bad things. Beyond wrong.”

What?

There’s the oversimplification of grace that tells us “Don’t worry about sin. God’s grace is sufficient.” Translated, a new generation of spiritual journeyers interpret that as saying, “What you do doesn’t matter. Sin freely, and then be freed.”

With our generations becoming less knowledgeable, or interested, in what the bible says, culture fills in the blanks for us. God terminology flowsd out of bad theology. The rock our lives are anchored to could be categorized as a weightless pebble.

I know, I know, that sounds pessimistic and borderline crochety. What can I say? My retainers hurt and the student in front of me is wishing he had brought an umbrella to cross-country practice. I’m trying to keep my “s’s” to a minimum.

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A Walk With Jesus…and Ralph

August 12, 2025


“As he walked along, he saw Levi, son of Alphaeus, sitting at the tax collector’s booth. “Follow me,” Jesus told him, and Levi got up and followed him.” (Mark 2:14)

One of my neighbors is recovering from a fall. His daily physical therapy now entails a walk around the block, his walker moving slowly in front of him, and his eyes on sidewalk cracks and unevenness that could suddenly trip him up. Ralph is in his mid-eighties, delightful to talk to, and a retired Navy officer.

This morning I had the privilege of going with him on his walk. The lady who normally walks with him (also a neighbor and retired nurse) had planned an out-of-town trip and asked me if I would pinch-hit, or maybe pinch-walk, for her.

As I reflected on our neighborhood journey, it occurred to me that it probably resembled what it was like to walk with Jesus. Ralph was focused on putting one foot in front of the other, but he stopped several times in our stroll to talk to people. He talked to the water sprinkler repair person, he talked to his neighbor across the street, and, a while later, to the neighbor’s spouse and son. He spoke with the man who was coming out to retrieve his empty trash can and also with another person as they drove by.

In essence, a walk with Ralph was not so much about where we were going but rather who we met along the way. It wasn’t about the destination, but rather the dialogue and discussion as we went. I envision a walk with Jesus being like that. In our hurry-up world, we miss the calm moments that are the most meaningful. I remember walking with my dad in the last couple of years of his life. He was to the point where he shuffled his feet as he walked, slow and steady, never rushing to get to wherever we were going. The best part of that was not where we were heading to, but rather the walk along the way.

Jesus talked as he walked. He taught as he made his way to the next town. People joined him in the journey as he progressed. Some of his most powerful and meaningful conversations came as he walked.

I was on the receiving end of Ralph’s neighborhood education. He knows all his neighbors. As he walked, he’d tell me about a neighbor’s family, occupation, how long they had lived there, what they lke to do, where they’ve been, and interesting things he’s learned about them.

Just like Jesus. Jesus knew the people who walked with him, and Jesus knows each one of us. When we walk through our days at hyper-speed, we’re prone to miss the greatest blessings of God and others.

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Future Church

August 10, 2025


“For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.” (1 Timothy 6:10)

Recently, a good ministry friend of mine sent a video clip to me that had me shakingmy head. The clip featured a mega-church pastor telling of the church elders’ decision to sell seats at their worship services to help pay for a new sanctuary that was being built. Think of it as a religious form of Frontier Airlines selling seats on their flights, higher-priced for prime seat locations. The idea would raise money and take care of any confusion about where someone should sit on a Sunday.

I was pulled into the story as I listened to the pastor’s rationale. I was envisioning names for the different tiered seating locations, such as “Saints’ Seats”, “Club-Level Christians”, and “Upper Level Lepers.” Perhaps communion would take different forms, depending on the area in the sanctuary: French bread and French wine up front, Welch’s white grape juice and sourdough in the middle, and those pre-packaged juice and cardboard cracker crumbs up high.

It wasn’t until I received another text from my friend that I realized the whole production was a put-on, a spoof. I had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

Maybe!

Future Church could take on financial weirdness like that. Years ago, I remember a TV evangelist/pastor having crutches nailed to the front of his church’s balcony. It was a motivator for people to send a “seed promise offering” to his church. It was slick and effective and manipulative. Future Church may look for other creative funding options to keep the lights on, considering the church-in-general’s shrinking base of financial supporters. We have not moved so far into the future that the words of Reverend Ike are no longer remembered. Reverend Ike would say, “The Bible tells us that the love of money is the root of all evil. But Reverend ike says the lack of money is the root of all evil.”

In Future Church, if it comes down to having to prioritize one capital “M”, “Money” will take center stage over “Ministry.” I fear that some mega-churches and centuries-old churches will, out of necessity, pivot towards unique funding models, especially those that heavily rely on their pastor’s popularity and pulpit ministry.

Future Church may also look to create a “rah-rah” environment that rivals an NFL fan base. Translated: an emphasis on the superficial that doesn’t seek to touch the soul. People may look to identify themselves with a high-energy, flashing-lights-and-smoke, popular church more than Jesus. The unspoken rationale could be “Jesus saves, but Faith Fellowship gets my foot tapping.”

The heartache for me is the sense I have that our population’s inner spiritual void seems to continue to look for something that will satisfy their emptiness, but are hesitant to see a relationship with Jesus as being able to fulfill their need. It’s as if our culture has limited the gospel in a time where they look for things that go outside their limits.

Could it be, could it really be, that Future Church will take online reservations for Sunday’s prime time worship gathering, just like our local movie theatre does? Don’t even get me started on church cheer squad and flag corps tryouts!

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Who Do I Look Like?

August 5, 2025

“For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.” (Colossians 3:3)

At a recent meeting of our high school coaches, our athletic director asked a question that stuck in my mind. He said, “What is your team’s identity?” Concerning our high school girls’ basketball team, I could answer that halfway. Part of who we are is clear, but part of who we have been, in my opinion, resembles a life raft floating in the ocean to wherever the wind says it’s going. That might say more about my expectations after coaching basketball for thirty years than anything else.

Either way, our AD’s question got me thinking about our Christian walk. Who do I identify with? Baptists? More specifically, American Baptists? A hybrid form of Jesus and church culture thrown into the mix? Or, do I identify with Christ? And, what does that mean?

I’ve been a church participant since I was born. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was positioned in my mom’s arms within two weeks of my entry into the world. The only time I was church-negligent was in my college years when I fell to the temptation of attending Bedside Baptist on Sunday mornings with Rev. Sheets always there to comfort the weary. I promised the Lord I’d do better next week, but my prayers of repentance disappeared from memory by the next late Saturday night. Woe was me.

Otherwise, I had been as regular in my church attendance as our postal carrier’s delivery each mail day of the unimportant Metronet ads that keep flooding our box. But, even that, doesn’t answer the question of where my identity lies.

As I creep along in the early seventies, I find that the truths of my faith seem to seep deeper into my soul. The value of my walk with Jesus has increased much more than my seat in the sanctuary. Even the times I’m asked to fill the Sunday pulpit have become more meaningful as I read the text, ponder it, and discover other people’s thoughts about it.

Understand, I don’t boast or brag about my identity with Jesus. And please don’t think I’m impervious to temptation and failure. I also can’t ignore the fact that I don’t have much tread left on these tires. Jesus just seems to be closer these days. I marvel at his wisdom and consistency. I’m amazed at his gentleness and mercy. I long to look like him and, in many ways, have people be able to see him in me. Or, better yet, see me in his shadow.

I’m not exactly sure what it is, but we don’t talk much these days about our Christian identity. It’s a bit like my high school girls’ basketball team — none of us are pretty sure what it means or what it looks like, which isn’t all bad, because how Jesus is experienced through me is uniquely different from anyone else.

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