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TikTok, MLK, and Jesus

January 20, 2025


“…that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth…” (Philippians 2:10)

There was the sound of gnashing teeth and loud moaning in my youth Sunday School class yesterday. It wasn’t because of the extremely frigid temperature outside or the news of the severe famine in Somalia. In fact, most of my students don’t know where Somalia is. Instead of the cold of the Colorado morning and the malnutrition of African children, the students were weeping over the end of TikTok, or rather the end of their access to TikTok. They had been greeted with a warning that rivaled the Surgeon General’s words now printed on every pack of cigarettes, except worse. Smokers still have a choice. Tik Tok’ers don’t.

I pondered the “tearing of their cloaks” through the rest of Sunday. On Martin Luther King Day this morning, millions of African Americans remember what injustice was in life-altering ways before the Civil Rights Act. They faced much more than being unable to access videos on their cell phones. They were excluded, separated, diminished, abused, ridiculed, and characterized, at best, as second-class citizens. They didn’t have a voice, and their cries fell on deaf. After the Civil Rights Act, they still had to face oppression, exclusion, and persecution. Government legislation rarely is able to erase the hatred that is harbored in the hearts of people.

Interestingly enough, on this date in 1918, during the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia, all the places of worship were closed, and all religious instruction was outlawed. In essence, Jesus was told to take a hike from the country. Hundreds of Russian Orthodox bishops and priests were executed. Protestant Christians were imprisoned or sent to mental hospitals. Churches became the property of the government. It was a campaign to eliminate religion from Russian society.

Life is populated with injustices and adjustments. The two are often mingled into one. Because of their inconvenience, life adjustments are often characterized as injustices. Whereas, some of them could very well be, in other situations we have come to see that we are entitled to have them. For example, the uproar from students at my middle school when cell phones were banned from being used during the school day as a result of how they were impacting classroom instruction.

Meantime, injustices are often accompanied by adjustments. In Russia, the underground church developed as a result of religious persecution. The Jesus Who was told to take a hike was still a resident in the hearts and minds of His followers.

African Americans adjusted to the injustices of racial oppression by expecting it and protesting in non-violent ways about it. The images of people being beaten and churches being bombed gained a hearing from those who were appalled by the inhumanity.

I sympathize with the loss of TikTok, at least temporarily, for those who have come to use it on a daily basis. Like our expectations that the flight we booked a few months in advance will be on time and then we’re told at the airport that it has been cancelled, the inconvenience and frustration we experience makes one want to bang his head against the wall.

Head-banging and having your head banged are two different plot lines. In a way, one is self-inflicted, and the other is inflicted on us. There’s a difference. Just read what Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 11. Now, there was some serious injustice and persecution!

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Reading the Wise and Passed-On

January 12, 2025

“The proverbs of Solomon son of David, king of Israel: for gaining wisdom and instruction;
    for understanding words of insight; for receiving instruction in prudent behavior,
    doing what is right and just and fair…” (Proverbs 1:1-3)

I’m reading the words of the deceased this year, those who have passed on but sought to cause us to reflect on scripture, the ways of the Lord, and the deeper truths of the Walk. I recently wrote about reading Tim Keller’s daily devotional on the Psalms (The Songs of Jesus). A friend of mine recommended Eugene Peterson’s As Kingfishers Catch Fire, so I picked up a copy and started exploring its riches. This year my study and reflection emphasis will be on those who are not concerned with selling a lot of books or being on someone’s top ten list. Like Keller and Peterson, I’m on the hunt for those who have left us but not left us empty.

Bonhoeffer’s The Cost of Discipleship sits on my shelf waiting to have its pages ruffled. Ron Sider’s Rich Christians In An Age of Hunger seems like a timely read. Actually, a re-read since I read it back in the 70s. Yoder’s The Politics of Jesus also beckons me to think of Jesus’s relationship and view of politics.

And then there’s C.S. Lewis whose books cover a wide space on one of my shelves.

All have passed on, but whose wisdom and insight still live. I’ve grown past the books that dot my shelves on church growth, church leadership, and how to tame a deacon gone ballistic. I still find myself savoring Philip Yancey’s What’s So Amazing About Grace? (but he’s still with us!) and less interested in how one speaks to younger generations without looking like an old, decrepit doofus.

In a culture that worships the latest and greatest, I’m more interested in the late departed. Keller and Tony Campolo have both passed in the last two years (Campolo last November 19 at the age of 89). The Community of Christ-followers is poorer at their loss but richer because of their ongoing impact.

Honestly, I think more about the final journey these days as I watch the list of those I have known be shifted over to the deceased column. There’s a serenity to my ponderings but an ache anchored in it as well. Like the first time I ate a poppyseed muffin, I wondered what all those specks were, and then I experienced how much they added to the bread.

As Paulo wrote to the believers in Corinth, “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15:55)


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Deep Thinking

January 5, 2025

 “Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowd.  After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray. Later that night, he was there alone.” (Matthew 14:22-23)

I’m not a philosopher. I wouldn’t even be so bold as to label myself a theologian. When I was in seminary, I’d sometimes have to resort to reading the theology of Pannenberg or Moltmann audibly in order to not go off the side of the road in mid-paragraph. Simple minds struggle with page-long paragraphs. But I struggled through it.

Ask me a history question, and there’s a much better possibility that I know the answer, even the nitty-gritty details of the occurrence. How I grow spiritually happens more in the quiet moments of contemplation rather than grabbing a theological work of Hans Kung off my bookshelf. I do better at reading a chunk of scripture and letting it roll through my mind rather than trying to read through the Bible in a year. I get lost around the time I hit Lamentations, which accurately expresses my demeanor at that time as well.

I went to the local Christian bookstore to find a yearly devotional and was amazed at the wall of possibilities but lukewarm about the product. I settled on a Tim Keller devotional, The Songs of Jesus, a devotional that focuses on the Psalms. Short readings each day that help me ponder and consider. If I can mine the riches in the Psalms this year, I’ll be blessed in more than a hundred and fifty ways. (Keller’s book, The Prodigal God, is still one of my favorites.)

The seminary professor who had the greatest impact on my life in the three years I was a student at Northern Baptist Seminary was Dr. Tom Finger, a professor of theology, who had an incredible way of making me think through why I believed what I believed. Analogy-wise, he caused me not just to dig the hole but to consider why I dug the hole in the first place.

Deep thinking requires slowing the pace, putting my cell phone in another room, maybe shutting the door, and not hurrying God to give me a pearl of wisdom. I’d be more of a swine than a follower if I did that. Deep thinking considers the grace of God from different angles, moves it around like a Rubric’s Cube that never quite gets completed.

Deep thinking looks at forgiveness and ponders how we pretend its existence and hold back on its potential. Deep thinking unmasks the tint of self-centeredness it can include while identifying the depths it can go to. It feels the ache and rejoices in the softness of its calling.

Honestly, we reside in a culture that too often is focus-deficient and swayed by how the moment feels. Our view of intimacy with God is prone to being dependent on the smoke-and-glitter of the last praise song. That sounds cynical because it is. I just wonder (There I go again!) if the Almighty would sometimes like to speak to us in the deepness of silence.

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New Jesuses

December 20, 2024

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.” (Matthew 5:5)

I read recently in the Wall Street Journal that there is a growing demand for white males in Utah with long blonde hair and beards to pose in family pictures as “white Jesuses.” Who knew that surfer dudes could step in for the Messiah.

Of course, Jesus has been the go-to name in several situations. Not family names, mind you, but rather ascribed nicknames for extraordinary people. At a recent high school basketball game, a player was going-off with long-range jump shots and spectacular moves. A few of the high school students sitting in the bleachers started calling him “Basketball Jesus.” A minute later, Basketball Jesus was fouled on a three-point attempt and then promptly missed all three free throws. Jesus had come back to earth, so to speak.

Jesus gets affixed to people in business, finance, service organizations, sports, and even entertainment. He’s black, white, red, brown, green, lavender, and polka-dotted. Interestingly, our culture, which is becoming less Christ-based, brings the Son of Man into the descriptions of outstanding performances. We have “Lightning Jesus” for track, “Chef Jesus”, and “Genius Jesus. Notre Dame has ha “Touchdown Jesus” for decades. There’s probably even a “Preacher Jesus.”

Humility never seems to be an ingredient and one of these spontaneously named Jesuses. In fact, in many cases performances by the present-day messiahs are punctuated with endzone dances and the flexing of muscles after a massive dunk. Jesus never sought the spotlight, but nowadays, “Jesuses” like to have their performance pulpits elevated by actions and words. “Blessed are the meek” is old-school and too St. Franciscan!

This may reveal my bias and disdain, but I wonder, in the next few months, how many “Jesuses” will enter the pearly gates of the transfer portal?

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Back Row Baptist Peace

December 12, 2024


“Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.” (Ephesians 4:3)

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” (Matthew 5:9)

On Sunday mornings, when I’m not filling the pulpit at First Baptist Church in Simla, Colorado, I’ll be in attendance at the morning worship service of Colorado Springs First Baptist. First, I teach the youth class of energetic middle and high schoolers, and then I go to the back row on the right side of the sanctuary for the 10:30 worship service.

I like the back row and, even more than that, the outside corner of the back row. It’s my place of peace. Sometimes, peace is a rare commodity in church. It’s like water in the midst of the Sahara. You value its existence whenever you’re able to find it.

Interestingly, churches are frequently places of chaos, tension, and conflict. People with life issues and unhappiness have a way of trying to overpopulate the boat with others who, after being dragged onto the Titanic, will proceed to sink the ship.

My back row spot is my place of contemplation, my calm amid the week’s tempests. A 95-year-old man sits in the pew in front of me. A young married couple relocated from Tennessee sits beside him. They did not know each other before the couple started attending, but they felt a bond of peace as they worshipped alongside one another.

In my four decades of pastoring, there was more than one Sunday when I could feel the tension in the sanctuary as I led worship. Some of those inner unrest moments were self-inflicted, and others resulted from people’s pet peeves or pettiness surfacing in a rash of anger on sour faces. Nowadays when I hear of church conflict and the unjustified things people do toward others, I shake my head.

My back-row seat is my sanctuary. I enjoy Pastor Dan’s messages, which are meaningful, thought-provoking, and absent of homiletical fluff. The music is superb without trying to turn the worship service into a concert, and the congregational care is evident.

From my refuge, my soul is stilled. Some churches pass the peace when there is no peace. I’m at peace in a place of peace with folk who are peace makers.

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Hearing God With Faulty Ears

December 9, 2024


“Consequently, faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the word about Christ.” (Romans 10:17)

Hitting seventy has seen me hit a few other things as well: my first cortisone shot in my knee, kidney stones, frequent trips to Walgreen’s to pick up prescription refills, earlier bedtimes, and doubts of being able to rise back up everytime I kneel down.

But one thing that I’m stubborn enough to not admit is my suspect hearing. I continue to tell myself that it’s not my hearing that’s the problem but rather people mumbling like toddlers who haven’t learned to enunciate their words. The result of my ignored deafness is my frequent misunderstanding of what someone has said to me.

For example, at basketball practice last week our team captain said a couple of things to me that didn’t make sense…to my hearing. Why was she asking me of my opinion about snow? When I replied that I don’t mind it, that there’s something kind of nice about getting a blizzard with a foot of snow she looked at me with confusion written all over her face.

“Coach, what are you talking about? What’s that got to do with asking you how my free throw form looks?”

“Oh. I thought you asked me what my opinion is of snow.”

Faulty hearing. I should say that faulty hearing results from my unwillingness to admit my increasing tendency to misunderstand and misinterpret. I can blame it on the loud rock-and-roll music I listened to back in the 70s, or the earbuds I’m wearing right now as I write these words, or the constant chattering of middle school students, but the truth is my ears are my originals that I can’t trade in for a newer model.

Transfer this “hearing dilemma” to the leadings of God. In a culture that could most accurately be characterized as self-serving and self-centered, there is an epidemic of misinterpreting the leadings of God. Sometimes, we hear what we want to hear and ignore what we prefer to avoid. If it feels good, it must be of God. If it hints of pain and discomfort, it’s not from the Holy.

Our suspect spiritual hearing leads us to places and positions that God not have in mind for us. When we only listen to God when the time is right or our schedule permits, it’s comparable to a math student trying to understand calculus right after he has learned the multiplication tables. The missing steps of his math journey will lead him to a disaster of gigantic mathmatical proportions. At best, he will look like a fool. Most likely, people will look at him with apprehension and distance themselves from his cluelessness.

Church congregations have faulty hearers. We can’t believe that we can hear the whisperings of the Holy Spirit when we only look to encounter him for an hour on some Sunday mornings. God does not slur His words, but we have a habit of slurring their meaning.

How can I know what God is saying to me? Get closer to Him. He won’t cringe or move away from me.

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Sunday Night Church and Ed Sullivan

October 26, 2024

“Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts…” (Acts 2:46)

Back in the really old days…like the late 50s and early 60s…my family’s Sunday routine was consistent: Sunday morning Sunday School and Worship, Sunday dinner (served instead of lunch), playing outside, and then getting in the car again for the drive to Sunday Night Worship. We were Southern Baptists, the lights aglow in the evening while the Methodists across the street stayed dark. Sunday nights at church were more relaxed. I didn’t have to wear my dorky bowtie or dress pants created to cause itching and torture. People seemed to be more engaged in light conversation and even laughed from time to time.

When we came home from church, my parents would turn on The Ed Sullivan Show, pop popcorn, and we’d gather in the living room. We’d laugh at Jonathan Winters, be amazed by some unique balancing act, and treat the performance of any vocalist as an opportunity to go to the bathroom.

It was family time, where we watched together, munched together, and talked together, Mom and Dad sitting on the only couch and the kids sprawled out on the floor.

Ed Sullivan has been gone for fifty years, passing away in 1974, while, in the meantime, “the family being together” has become a rare occurrence. Social networking, off as it sounds, has disconnected us; multiple streaming devices in the same household have separated us, and the disappearance of church gatherings has isolated us.

“Community” has been redefined as a chat room, a bowling league, and a gathering in a sports bar to watch the favorite sports team of a group of people who are all wearing team jerseys and/or hats.

“Community” in the first church in Jerusalem involved the weaving together of lives in sacrificial ways. They were a learning community, a sharing community, a prayerful community, and a serving community. Perhaps we can’t recover “community” to that point, but there’s got to be something more than a fellowship that rarely sees one another or a family that is staring into cell phones.

It’s disturbing that we, a nation of more than 350 million people, are more distant from one another than we’ve ever been.

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The Battle to be the Greatest Server

October 11, 2024

 “Then they came to Capernaum, and when he (Jesus) was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. (Mark 9:33-34, NRSV)

The chaos and tragedy of Hurricanes Helene and Milton have startled us. We’ve seen scenes of stranded people, houses being toppled, and communities being changed in a matter of minutes. The number of volunteers who have appeared on the scene has been gratifying, as folk who have no connections have offered assistance to the suffering. The amount of aid that has poured in gives us a sense of hope about the generosity of our fellow man.

Interestingly, in the midst of the care, several battles have surfaced that hint at territorial rights, like who is allowed to offer their assistance unconnected to an organization and who gets the credit. It’s reminiscent of the number of casseroles that appear at the home of the bereaved and the side conversations about whose was the best.

It’s also an oft-repeated story that mirrors the conversation that Jesus’s disciples had as they walking on the road to Capernaum. The gospel of Mark tells us they were arguing about who of them was the greatest. They were all disciples, but some of them seemed intent on proving they were on a different disciple-level than the others. When Jesus asked them what they were arguing about, there was silence. No one wanted to fess up to the topic of discussion. Jesus knew. He didn’t need to be told, and no one was telling him.

They were just like us!

Each of us has a craving for recognition. Charitable organizations have discovered that, so they create systems to give extra pats on the backs for levels of giving. There’s the Platinum Club, Gold Club, Silver Club, President’s Club, Distinguished Giving Club, Holy Cow Club, and Emerald Club. Organizations understand that they need to keep givers giving. I’ve received certificates from different organizations with a nice gold seal in the corner, telling me how awesome I am. It makes me feel good while creating the potential for me to lose sight of why I contributed in the first place.

The destruction of the recent storms has, excuse the comparison, blown away the sentimental surface and revealed layers of jealousy and hardened hearts.

Meanwhile, a number of ravished folk have become pawns in a game about power and prestige. They couldn’t care less about the name on the truck or the person carrying boxes of supplies. They just need clean water, food, shelter, and clothing. Their world has been turned upside-down. When that happens, it’s hard to read the name on the side of the vehicle no matter how large the letters are.

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My God Is Bigger Than An Election

September 19, 2024

 “If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. 18 But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” (Daniel 3:17-18)

I love the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Their faith in the One Who would walk with them into the fiery furnace is awe-inspiring. They would not bow down and worship an earthly king just because they were told to and everyone else was on their knees. They kept the proper perspective in a difficult time.

I feel the same way in the midst of our approaching presidential election. Each day has been peppered with grim warnings that if this candidate wins it will be the end of American democracy.

And the warnings have come from both of the major political parties. The warnings have resulted in massive amounts of financial contributions to underwrite the massive amounts of rhetoric that has been pouring out. In a few weeks, half the country will have come to believe in the end of democracy while the other half will be convinced it has been saved.

Christians have been sucked into the fervor just as much as Taylor Swift. What I believe is that my God is bigger than an election. That, if I believe He is Lord of all, then he is Lord of this moment and the next moment and the next. That, even though we are falsely convinced that we hold control and our fate, He is the One Who sees over the hill, knows the course, and determines the outcome.

Too often, the very people who say they are followers of Jesus treat God like He’s one of the Greek gods, sitting above the earth and watching the actions of mankind instead of being intimately involved with His creation.

My God is bigger than the election. What He can’t control is the ludicrous actions and words of those who have their own agendas. In the heat of the furnace, may we sense Him fanning us with His presence.

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The Sometimes Awareness of Jesus

September 17, 2024

My Honda CRV has “awareness helps.” If I begin drifting into the next lane, the steering wheel slightly shakes and a warning light comes on. If another vehicle pulls up in a lane beside me, a light on the rearview mirror on that side of the vehicle flashes to make me aware “I am not alone!”

Truthfully, most of the time, I don’t need a flashing light to let me know what I already know, but once in a while, I’m clueless about the obvious until I’m reminded of the obvious.

Big chunks of my life are like that in my relationship with Jesus. I’m trudging through a situation and someone will ask a question like, “How did Jesus help you in that?”

Ahhh…searching…searching…”Well, He guided me through it.” In my lame response, it’s as if the rearview mirror has flashed, and now I’m conscious of the constant closeness of my Savior. Sometimes, it’s as if Jesus was an afterthought to the event, like a fill-in for a sudden cancellation.

Strange as it may sound, being a part of a church fellowship has the sneaky potential to insulate me from the awareness of Jesus. At church, we use Jesus-talk and hang around with other Jesus-talkers and do activities that are somewhat Jesus-related…without being aware of the presence of Jesus in our midst. I feel a little “Baptist guilty” saying that, yet I know it’s spot-on. I have this tendency to be so entwined with the world and those around me that I miss the Master. I was talking to my youth group about this last week. We had “talked around Jesus” for quite a while and then, like a campfire in the midst of our circle, we focused on Jesus.

I’m going back to Psalms and drawing close to the intimacy of their words. Some Psalms express the misery of the moment, while others, such as Psalm 27 speak with an assurance:

The Lord is my light and my salvation—
    whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life—
    of whom shall I be afraid? (Psalm 27:1)

I’m also treasuring how relationships have the extraordinary potential to solidify my foundation. Last week, I met with a long-time friend who is on a journey with cancer, and we talked about the presence of Jesus with him as he walks it. Conversations with fellow believers have taken on new meaning as I am reminded of Jesus’s footsteps staying with me. As Psalm 23 reminds me: I will fear no evil,
    for you are with me…” (Psalm 23:4)

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