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The Psalms of Our Lives

June 2, 2025

“I rejoiced with those who said to me,
    “Let us go to the house of the Lord.” (Psalm 122:1)

What does your life sing? Not necessarily on tune or with a beat that others can understand, but rather a psalm that sings to the Lord.

I’ve been reading Tim and Kathy Keller’s devotional, The Songs of Jesus, which goes through the Old Testament Psalms and Eugene Peterson’s A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, which focuses on the Psalsm of Ascent (Psalm 120-131). It’s interesting to see the different moods of the singer, some extraordinary in their praise and others revealing an urgency to understand why bad things are happening.

It has caused me to reflect on the psalms of my life and the life of the church. What tune does my attitude hum? Is it recognizable? Is it what other people are hearing? Like an audition for “The Voice”, does my voice sound off-key or melodic? Do I echo a groan like a wanna-be rapper or resemble a Gordon Lightfoot ballad?

On any given day, my life plays like a Spotify playlist, a mixture of good and bad, deep thoughts and shallow utterances. At one moment, like the psalmist, I’m going on and on about the need for mercy and grace, and at the next, I’m pleading for deliverance from a perceived enemy.

Today, at this moment, I’m quivering about the anger of the world that has erupted in brawls at high school commencement ceremonies, seen a belligerent man setting people on fire who were peacefully protesting a cause he didn’t agree with, and seen a drive-by shooting into a group of Chicago teenagers.

Last night, I angrily sang my own psalm as a motorcyclist strolled forward between the lined up cars (because a stupid law says he can) and then took off like a rocket when the stoplight turned green. There, I guess I sounded quite like David as he yelled,

“Lord, do good to those who are good,
    to those who are upright in heart.
 But those who turn to crooked ways
    the Lord will banish with the evildoers.” (Psalm 124:4-5)

Some of the psalms my life sings are deeply personal and others are like praise songs that have lost their meaning because they keep repeating the same words over and over to ad nauseam.

Just like David’s psalms that have been remembered and sung for generations and generations, the psalms of my life will be remembered by those who have interacted with my life in some way. In some cases, I have unknowingly cast a shadow on someone’s life. Shadows can be dark and unforgiving or places of shade and rest. For other folk, perhaps my life-singing has been uplifting and humorous. A few bars of happiness may have lit up someone’s dreary day.

And so, I head into another day of psalm-ing. Lord, may it be an honest reflection of my relationship with you, as well as being an authentic sounding of what Jesus means to me.

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The Seat

May 30, 2025

“With the crowd dispersed, he climbed the mountain so he could be by himself and pray. He stayed there alone, late into the night.” (Matthew 14:23)

I sit in the same seat for the Sunday morning worship service. Call me a creature of habit or someone who is set (or sits) in his ways. It’s just what I do. A young military couple sits in front of me and a 95-year-old man sits at the other end of the pew. My wife sits beside me, and my youngest granddaughter chummy’s up on my other side. My seat is my place of reflection, peace, and comfort.

I also sit in the same seat at Starbucks, the last stool on the right facing out toward Pike’s Peak. It’s my blog writing spot (where I am currently sitting). You can tell when I’ve been teaching too much by the absence of blog posts for a while. I like this seat for the view and being able to “pull to the side.”

Jesus had a tendency to find a seat in the secluded, a spot where he was able to be alone and pray. Even on the night when he was facing his death, he went to the Garden of Gethsemane with some of his disciples. A lot of attention is given to their drowsiness, but before we get to that point in the story Jesus has said to them, “Stay here while I go over there and pray.” He drew aside to His spot. His “seat” was one of agony and conviction. He knew He was like a Death Row inmate in his final hours. The seat off to the side gave Him the time and space to come to grips with His purpose and destination.

Years ago I asked a man at the church I pastored why he sat in the same seat each week in worship? In my youthful brashness, I had assumed that he was an older man set in his ways and couldn’t see to do something different for a change. His answer made me feel like an insensitive jerk. The seat where he positioned himself was where he had sat with his son for his child’s growing up years…his son who was killed in Vietnam serving his country. When he sat in his seat, he felt close to his departed child.

Where we sit often has a backstory to it that needs to be told and honored. In our world that has minimal stability and consistency, we are hungry for places to sit, places to rest, and seats for contemplation. When we find that place, its sacredness becomes evident. We recognize it as being a gift. When others invade our space a sense of unrest settles upon us as the peace and quiet disappear.

Even this morning, as I was coming to the end of this blog, three young guys settled in around me and chatted loudly and long. In a way, I felt cheated that my seat had been invaded. They didn’t realize it. The world doesn’t realize it. In a way, it made me appreciate the hour of peace I had been gifted with before they came.

May each of us have some seating and sacred moments this day. Amen.

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The Sandals

May 19, 2025


 “I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me comes one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry.” (Matthew 3:11)

“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.  Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate.  For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.” (Luke 15:22-24)

When I walk down our driveway to get the mail out of the mailbox, I usually put shoes or sandals on. The little rocks that I swear weren’t there a moment ago seem to move onto the driveway when they see I’m barefoot. Even though I look like I’m trying to navigate my way through a minefield, I rarely get down to the postal box (to clear out the daily junk mail) without the pain of a stone pushing on the tender underside of my foot.

Sandals spare me the pain, even the Waste Management sandals my sister-in-law’s husband, Mickey, gave me twenty years ago when he was a top salesman for the company. Sandals were a gift that I continue to use.

I notice that sandals have a significant role in the walking journey described in the Gospels. That is, they leave a trail that begins with unworthiness and progresses from there. There’s a reference in each of the Gospels where John the Baptist is quoted as saying he’s not even worthy to untie or carry the sandals that Jesus is wearing. To untie Jesus’s sandals that had leather straps would have required John to stoop down, get on his knees, and assume the position of a servant. He did not consider himself worthy enough to do that lowly task.

It’s a picture of our unworthiness to experience the love, grace, and forgiveness of God. In a way, Jesus is on the throne, and each of us isn’t.

As we know, though, Jesus invited people to walk with Him. He taught as He walked. His sandals covered many miles as he traveled the dusty roads and rocky paths. There was plenty of dust to make the traveler’s feet a sight for sore eyes. In fact, Jesus tells his disciples to go into towns and villages and share the good news of God, but if they are not accepting the disciples are to shake the dust off their feet as they leave the town. It’s a sign of the judgment of God upon those who do not welcome Jesus’s messages of hope and new life.

However, the journey of the sandals arrives at grace and forgiveness when Jesus tells the story of the prodigal son returning home from his time of willful lostness. He has gone through all of his earthly possessions, his inheritance, and comes back…sandals went…hoping that his father will have a little pity on him and hire him to take care of the livestock since he’s not worthy enough to be his son anymore.

His father welcomes him with open arms, throws a party and a Texas barbecue, and puts sandals on his feet. It’s an amazing story that shows how deep and gracious is the love of God. Putting sandals on his feet was a sign that he was worthy to be called one of his father’s sons…no matter where he had come from…no matter the pain he had caused…and no matter the pain he had endured in his walk of blame and walking home in shame.

Sandals told him he was loved. As I look at my pair of (interestingly enough) Waste Management sandals, I’m reminded of the One who walks closely with me.

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Practicing The Presence of Christ…Behind The Steering Wheel

May 14, 2025

“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 28:20)

I wouldn’t characterize myself as being a “road rager,” but perturbed and annoyed would fit me as comfortably as my twenty-five-year-old Michigan State sweatshirt, complete with holes in the armpits.

I hurl flaming insults at drivers and motorcyclists who dart in and out of traffic, elderly great-grandmothers who creep along like they’re looking at Christmas light displays, teens focused on their cellphones more than the road (Against the law in Colorado now, thank God!), and sunglassed adorned professionals driving BMW’s in entitled kinds of ways.

It hit me this week that I am negligent, downright clueless, about practicing the presence of Christ when I’m driving. I’m like Peter drawing his sword to cut off the ear of Malchus as Jesus is being arrested. The rough edges of my life surface when a steering wheel is in front of me. It’s easy to pray for a wayward soul to find the Way, the Truth, and the Life. On the other hand, it’s revealing of my personality and character flaws when I reduce the annonymous guy who just cut me off to being a moron.

Why can’t my first thought be to pray for the person, to pray that whatever is going on in his life that is filled with darkness could be spoken to by the whisper of God? Why is my first thought more along the lines of casting him…verbally…into the lake of fire?

Is practicing the presence of Christ while driving my Civic possible, or is it more like an episode of “The Twilight Zone”?

It seems like when a person has things going well and is feeling pretty good about his relationshiop with Jesus that there’s a nudging from the Holy Spirit about some wart that I don’t habve tried to not see. Notice I switched from a person to “I” as that sentence progressed.

I think I need to put a sticky note on my dash that says something like, “Don’t Cuss At Them! Pray For Them!” Or “An Erratic Driver May be a Sign of An Unsettled Life. Pray For Their Peace.” At other times I need a poster board glaring at me with the word “Repent, Bill!” written in glow-in-the-dark letters.

This is an experience that will be properly defined as being “still in progress.” As I climb behind the wheel, I need to remind myself to pray for the road miles ahead. Sometimes, I pray for safety, but I have not considered praying for others.

Of course, the question might be, “Does it matter?” If no one hears me muttering Baptist profanity, what difference does it make? The answer is more about seeking the mind of Christ and realizing that no matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’m reflecting Him, reflecting just how intimate my relationship with Him is. Triple A estimates that the average person in the U.S. spends 55-60 minutes a day in an automobile. That’s roughly 300 hours a year.

I can choose to be a negative ninny for 300 hours a year or practice the presence of Christ, even if it in interstate gridlock.

PRAYER: Lord, I’ll try. I really will. In those moments when I revert to Peter with a sword ready to inflict pain and abuse, please forgive me. May You be my Driving Force!

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HIJACKING WORSHIP

May 11, 2025

“I have the right to do anything,” you say—but not everything is beneficial. “I have the right to do anything”—but not everything is constructive.  No one should seek their own good, but the good of others.” (1 Corinthians 10:23-24)

The good thing about the Christian faith is the freedom we have as a result of Christ. The bad thing about the Christian faith—and the church—is that we have freedom as a result of Christ.

A puzzling contradiction, you say. Yes. We have the freedom to live for Jesus and a tendency to be free in spite of Jesus. When my agenda butts head with Jesus call, I often have a way of putting Jesus in the back pew so He doesn’t interrupt.

Worship becomes the incubator for the personal oozings of fractured people. In my years pastoring, the oozing and spewing happened in various ways. I remember saying the dreaded words, “Are there any other prayer requests?” Aunt Matilda’s hand would go up to share such intriguing news as the newest saga of her battle with gall stones. Uncle Wilbur needed to share with the congregation that he had sprayed the weeds on the north side of the building…so stay off the grass. Little Lucy asked for prayer for her daddy who had been flatuating like an elephant all week long.

And then there was the elderly hard-of-hearing lady who refused the devices the church had to help people hear, but she always felt free enough to tell the guest speaker to speak up because she couldn’t hear him.

And then there was the lady who felt called to be a worship leader and was going to impress the congregation with her talent and words from the Lord for an insufferable amount of time. Her word was much more important than the pastor’s sermon that he had put at least twenty hours into preparing.

And then there was the traditionalist who would visually show his disdain for any praise song, but overly expressive himself when any hymn was sung. It was as if anything written after 1950 could not be inspired by the Holy Spirit. A Sunday where more praise music was sung than hymns would always be followed up with a ferocious letter to the pastor about letting Satan become a resident of the music people.

On the other hand, there was the lady who used the eighteen verses (with the same words) to display her latest dance class moves, swiveling hips and swinging elbows included.

Or the young man who volunteered to do special music and, unbeknownst to the pastor, launched into the hit song by the Village People, “Y.M.C.A”, including the forming of each letter.

Or the elderly gentleman who volunteered to do the invocation prayer, which he used to inform the congregation who they should vote for in the upcoming election.

Or the visiting woman who, in the midst of the service, informed the congregation that the Christmas tree in the sanctuary was a symbol of the demonic.

In essence, just like the Corinthian church, there are various ways we still find the freedom to hijack worship and display the truth that we have not moved very far away from the warped congregation that the Apostle Paul had to spend an exorbitant amount of time trying to correct the course of.

Lord, help us!

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The “Meh” Birthday

May 4, 2025

“The sun comes up, and the sun goes down,
    then does it again, and again—the same old round.” (Ecclesiastes 1:5, The Message)

Tomorrow, I hit 71! My brother tells me it’s one of those “Meh” birthdays. It’s hard to get excited about it. It’s like ordering vanilla at Baskin-Robbins. Who does that??? Probably 71-year-olds.

I tried to find a scripture that would help me understand “meh-ism”, but all I found were numerous references in Proverbs about being a sluggard, getting spit out of Jesus’ mouth for being lukewarm (Revelation), and making the best use of my time because we live in evil times (Ephesians).

“Meh moments” hit all of us. Next year’s 72 will have a bit of entertainment to me, since I graduated from Ironton High School in ’72.’ On the other hand, each birthday reminds me of the fact that more of my Fighting Tigers classmates are no longer fighting. Their fight has ended.

Kind of a dreary thought.

I find it harder these days to battle through the “meh-ism” than the more intense difficulties of lower back pain, athletes I’m coaching who need their attitude adjusted, driving in the midst of psycho drivers, and managing my hunger for fried foods as my cholesterol level is screaming at me.

Some days, I’m like Simon Peter after Jesus has been crucified. He’s at a loss as to what to do, so he goes back to fishing because…”What else is a guy to do?”

My roots watered with Baptist guilt, shower upon me disbelief in how I have just wasted a whole day without getting anything constructive done. On “Meh Days”, a person tends to keep asking, “Why? What’s the point?”

I know, I know, I’m sounding like a paraphrase of Ecclesiastes. Hitting 71, however, gives me a new perspective on the subject of meaninglessness. Tomorrow is my birthday…and it just is.

I think hitting 71 will tell me that it’s okay to sigh, to not be as excited as a Colorado Rockies every time they unexpectedly win a game, or also as depressed as the same fans on the regularity of their defeats. It’s okay to trust that the Master will guide me through the day, to nor have to always be behind the steering wheel. dictating to Him like an Uber driver on the clock.

As it also says in Ecclesiastes 1, “There is a time for everything…a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away…a time to love and a time to hate.”

Tomorrow is just…a time. Another day, I will lean on Jesus to pull me through.

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Avoiding Saturday

April 27, 2025

 “The next day, the one after Preparation Day, the chief priests and the Pharisees went to Pilate. “Sir,” they said, “we remember that while he was still alive that deceiver said, ‘After three days I will rise again.’ So give the order for the tomb to be made secure until the third day. Otherwise, his disciples may come and steal the body and tell the people that he has been raised from the dead. This last deception will be worse than the first.” (Matthew 27:62-64)

Recently, I was joking with a friend who attends a mega-church. They were having two Saturday evening services and three services on Easter Sunday. I asked him if they changed the words to the Resurrection Sunday songs they sing for the Saturday services, like “He’s Almost Risen” and “He Lives…in a While.”

Actually, he and his wife are a part of a very good congregation that does a ton of service in the community. I’m just a stickler for tradition, like celebrating Jesus’ resurrection on the day of the week that the stone was rolled away and the tomb was empty.

Sorry to be such a “Debbie-downer”, but going deeper (or perhaps backing up), it seems that part of the death and resurrection of Jesus’ story, the part we tend to skate over, is the silence of Saturday after the agony of Friday. Holy Saturday was a day of waiting.

We don’t wait well. We don’t like silence. We don’t like uncertainty. Holy Saturday was a day of all three. It’s easy to skip ahead to the flowery, Easter-lily-ied, dress-up-in-our-Easter-suits-and-dresses day when the tomb was empty. Empty of the grief and full of expectation.

Saturday would make us think and consider the quiet of our room or, for the disciples, the quiet of the room they were locked inside of. Saturday is more about the misery and confusion of Job. It’s the day when we wrestle with the questions “Why?” and “What now?”

Holy Saturday, however, does not draw a crowd. Unlike the funeral of Pope Francis, people don’t flock to gatherings for contemplation and remembrance.

Pointing the finger back at myself, there have been a number of “Saturdays” in my life that I have tried to avoid. When a friend, ministry colleague, and mentor, Ben Dickerson, had a sudden heart attack and was on life support for several days, it was a “Saturday” journey. We prayed for his restoration. We wanted the tubes attached to his body to be gone and Ben to be back with us. We wanted to have a conversation with him and to have him share what God had been saying to him. The Saturday, however, stretched out into day after day of unfulfilled hope. When I spoke at his funeral, I had a difficult time keeping it together.

That loss is twenty years in the rearview mirror and I still remember it like it was yesterday. Yesterday, like a Saturday.

And yet, the Saturdays of our lives shape us and condition us for our Sundays. Loss is sometimes the prerequisite for gain. Holy silence precedes exultation and transformed lives.

oly SaturdayI’ll continue to razz my friend about the not-quite Easter Sunday services, but not too much. He knows I’m a Baptist. We have a history of making Mother’s Day the third holy holiday and singing eighty-nine verses of “Just As I Am,” after which we leave just as we have been.

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Loser-Friendly Christianity

April 17, 2025

“Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life[a] will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?” (Matthew 16:24-26)

Following Jesus is for losers. Seriously, if you are afraid of losing you will end up being a square peg trying to fit on a wooden cross.

Once in a while, when I encounter one of my students who seems to be the center of the universe, I make a point with my finger and draw an imaginary circle around it. Then I say, “Is this you, and is this the world that revolves around…you?” Following Jesus means having Him at the center and my actions, decisions, words, attitudes, schedule, finances, and life revolves around Him. When a person follows Jesus, he loses something.

Jesus accepts losers. The world has a hard time being that merciful.

If there is a downside to that, it’s that the faith community of Jesus accepts people that no one else would…and some of those people use that to their advantage. Advantage means that they are still the center of their universes, and they know that followers of Jesus are suckers for hard-luck stories. Like scam emails about owing money to the state’s toll road system, they sound authentic. Most followers of Jesus have had their heartstrings pulled by a few of the folk who bring tears to our eyes.

Yet, Jesus doesn’t shake His head at us and seem bewildered by the mercy of those who follow Him. His kingdom is populated with those who have lost themselves in finding Him. There is community in this mass of losers.

That doesn’t compute with those whose lives are centered on achievement. In the parable of the prodigal son, the father is trying to get his elder son to understand the reason for celebrating the younger son’s return from waywardness. He says to the older son, who is noticeably peeved at his brother’s return,  “‘My son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’” (Luke 15:31-32)
The church is loser-friendly. When we LOSE sight of that, we lose the connection with our roots and God’s grace.

One more thing! Followers of Jesus need to be sensitive to “evangelistic arrogance.” That is, seeing those who have not experienced the love and grace of God as “second-class losers,” as if they are less of a person and spiritually stupid. That might sound weird, but followers of Jesus can take on the elder son’s perspective and sum up the picture as an “Us and Them” situation.

All of us are lost. It’s just that some of us have been found. We’re called to be friendly to those who are late arriving at the loser-friendly party.



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Traditional Kinda’ Worship

April 13, 2025

Since last August I’ve been serving as interim youth minister at First Baptist Church of Colorado Springs. Each Sunday I teach the youth Sunday school class and then attend the morning worship service.

I like it!

The worship service is a blend of traditional and other “stuff.” The “stuff” includes some creative worship elements that support the theme of the day. For example, today (Palm Sunday), everyone will receive a small palm cross (that was handmade two Sundays ago by the congregation after the post-worship luncheon) and come froward to lay it at the foot of the cross.

I like the involvement of the congregation in various parts of worship. The front of the Sunday bulletin is often a picture that was taken of a previous church event or part of a worship service…a baptism, the sharing of communion, a blessing, two people hugging one another, children laughing…it is very personal and displaying of “congregational life and love.”

There are traditional elements, including the Lighting of the Christ Candle by a congregational member, the singing of one or two hymns (also one or two praise songs), an invocation, and a Call to Worship. Pastor Dan has a great message that speaks to where we are but also brings in the setting of the scripture and how it has been lived out in the history of the church and/or the saints.

Different servers of different generations are the servers of communion each month, from 10-years-old to 90. I’ve noticed that a parent and their teen serve side-by-side. It’s a congregation that honors those who have passed on, as well as those who have moved on. Someone who is moving from Colorado Springs to somewhere else is given “bread for the journey” at the end of a worship service. Someone who has been baptized is given a framed ceritificate with the autographed names of everyone who was in attendance at that Sunday’s worship service.

In other words, there are extra doses of congregational care and connectedness that happen. It’s a needed ingredient for a long-standing (152 years) center city church that has seen a city grow around it.

Every church has its purpose and mission. It has become more challenging for this 70-year-old youth minister to find a place that feeds my inner hunger without feeling stuffy or superficial. There are other places of worship that could double as a concert venue. That’s not my thing, although it fits the needs of many others. On the other hand, there are places where eighty-six verses of “Just I Am” are sung at the close of a worship service with mounting pressure for someone to come to the altar. Not my thing either.

The thing that is often forgotten about worship is that it’s worship OF God, not worship ABOUT ourselves. Worship that is OF God will often have the interesting effect of touching the depths of our soul, while at other times ushering us into His holy presence that leaves us a bit shaken up. Just read the expereinces of the Israelites and the early churches, as well as the not-yet words of Revelation. Worship isn’t traditional, blended, contemporary, or preachy. Worship is just that…worship of the Holy Almighty One who graces and loves us.

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Footwashing

April 5, 2025

“After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.” (John 13:5)

Perhaps the most counter-cultural story in the gospels is when Jesus washes His disciples’ feet. Not that someone washing another person’s feet was uncommon. That’s what servants did for their masters. With the dusty roads of Israel, washing feet was for cleanliness and protection against disease.

But servants did it, not rabbis, or teachers, or…messiahs.

And then Jesus got down on his hands and knees and scrubbed feet. Peter protested, although he never offered to return the favor or take Jesus’s place. In my Kentucky roots, I can hear one of my aunts telling me as I’m getting up from the table to get something from the kitchen, “You sit down there and let somebody else get that for you.”

Jesus didn’t let someone else do it for Him. This was Him. This was a visual lesson on how the gospel is countercultural. In my middle and high school teaching and coaching experiences, having someone take the role of the servant or sacrifice for the team is not a common occurrence. Even Jesus’s disciples had a heated argument about which one of them was the greatest.

At my middle school, one of the ways a student’s bad behavior is dealt with is that he/she spends an hour after school helping one of the custodians clean up. One day, a sixth-grade girl who I had coached in cross-country was helping. I was surprised because she had been excellent this past fall. When I inquired about her, the custodian spoke up and said that she was volunteering to help them two days a week after school. That’s counter-cultural.

Most of us strive for prominence and prestige…top dog…but Jesus flipped the script. Even His entry into Jerusalem prior before the foot-washing episode had people thinking He was coming to be crowned the new king, when He was coming to begin His passion walk.

He flipped the script. Now we might say that “We GET saved by the GIVING of His sacrifice so that we might GIVE as a result of what we have GOTTEN.”

Amen!

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