, Author at The Narrow Path

April 14, 2018April 14, 2018

There Is No Place Like Home

I have previously shared that I am the son of a sailor. That will create a lot of different thoughts amongst my readers, I expect. It brings forth many things about my character that will strike a shared chord with other military kids. Most who were children of non-military families may not readily relate to what I am about to share. There are a couple of striking givens to being a military brat. Having no real home is among the worst of them.

As a kid, we moved around a bunch as my father was transferred from base to base. From one house to the next, but we didn’t live there long enough for any place to feel like home. In fact, I was never in any school more than 2 years until I got to high school. My father retired in 1968, my freshman year and I begged him to let us stay at his last duty station so that I could have a normal high school experience. He relented after much discussion and, oddly enough, I went to high school (all 4 years) with the kids with whom I had been in first grade. Auntie Em, “There is no place like home.”

Good and bad baggage

Life moving from pillar to post taught me two life lessons at an early age. The first is that nothing is permanent. There is a built-in obsolescence to everything. Relationships, if you formed them, were never meant to last. A

pretty heavy piece of baggage to burden a young person with. Secondly, because of the first lesson, one had to learn to be outgoing, introverts had no chance if you were going to grow even a temporary relationship. The good news, I guess, is that I learned the second lesson well, developing a gregarious, outgoing personality on the outside, secretly (for the most part) dreading the “next shoe to fall,” wondering when my world would be shattered with a new move.

Home is good while it lasts

My teen years were not uncommon for the late 60s and early 70s. My grades were good and I had friends that I still have today, several decades later. We made wonderful memories, the kind made by people who shared much and laughed often. My friends and I enjoyed all the mischief that our small town would tolerate and some that it would not. We were richly blessed, but my transiently-trained heart still longed for something. Not quite trusting all that I loved about my life to remain solid. Not to turn into an ephemeral cloud of smoke to vanish into thin air.

Self-fulfilling expectations

I longed for something permanent. Most of my adult life I struggled with the haunting carry-over, the psychological stigma of the expectation that everything ends too quickly, nothing is permanent. Not meant to last. My marriages suffered, as did my early job history. I desperately wanted something permanent, something rock-solid, something that I could call my own. If things were going too well, I would manage to begin to eat at them causing a rift that would eventually cause the split I expected. For much of my 30s and 40s, I thought that the something I craved, my permanent thing was a home. I was not wrong but my mind was not yet ready to see a truth, the Truth that had been waiting for me all my life.

Was blind but now I see

The thunderbolt of epiphany struck one day while having a conversation with my Rector at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Collierville, TN. While speaking

to Fr. Jeff Marx, he told me that St. Andrew’s was my home. The conversation had been a fairly serious one, light-hearted but full of meaning and I don’t really think that Father Jeff was even aware of the stunning understanding that had opened up before me. Nonetheless, my eyes had been opened like the blind man before Jesus (Mark 10:46-52, Luke 18:35-43, ESV )

Please join me in a few of days as I reveal what I learned. I am sure that it changed my life. Not just in part but the whole. There truly is no place like home.

April 4, 2018

Good(?) Friday

Bound, scourged, beaten, mocked, spat upon, made to carry/drag a heavy load up a hill, nailed to a cross, made to suffer the tortuous death of a criminal although an innocent man. This does not sound like the way a good day should play out. In fact, it sounds like a terrible day. The worst day. Throw in the fact that the Light of the world was extinguished. Big storm. The curtains of the Temple split asunder. Good Friday? Not by a long shot, except for one miraculous detail.

Not a very good Friday

Having seen many crucifixes hanging on the walls of homes and Catholic Churches, I have always been struck by the almost antiseptic look of the crucified Christ. Nearly all the sculpted images show Jesus as being in pretty good shape. Pretty pristine. Not until I saw The Passion of the Christ, the 2004

movie by Mel Gibson, did I truly connect with the absolute brutality with which Jesus was treated. I am still horrified nearly to tears at the images of the scourging. The scourge that was used on the Lamb of God was an instrument designed to inflict ultimate pain, to wreak incredible havoc on the human body. A whip-like device, the scourge had pieces of metal or bone incorporated into the several lashes which were meant, not just to bruise and cut, but to savagely rip flesh from the body on the receiving end of its sting. Jesus was not just whipped. He was scourged! Not a good day for any man.

Via Dolorosa

After being further mistreated by the Roman guards, made to wear a crown of thorns and beaten on the head with a rod Jesus was made to carry his own

cross, his device of further shame and eventual death, up the Via Dolorosa (meaning sorrowful way) from the Praetorium, where He had been sentenced, to Golgotha, the Hill of Skulls. Hardly able to stand, losing large amounts of blood, falling twice, finally Simon the Cyrene was enlisted to carry His burden. Good Friday? This is sounding like a horrible day and it is not nearly over.

The Weight of the World

Our Saviour was surely reaching the lowest point in his young life. The devastating torture was horrible but maybe not the worst of Jesus’ pain. Along with everything that Jesus had and was about to endure, Jesus was carrying the weight and suffering caused by shouldering the sins of the world. Not just man’s previously committed sins but all of mankind’s future sins as well. What a crushing load!

Back to the cross. . . Jesus was nailed, hand and foot, to this object of punishment and shame, then hoisted into the air to hang for hours. Designed

to make it excruciatingly difficult to breathe, Jesus embraced the indignity of the cross. Suffering, bleeding, extremely weak, laboring to breathe, he still mustered the compassion to pardon the sins of one of the criminals who occupied this despised hill alongside his own cross. He may have been spared, due to his condition, the further insult of watching the guards cast lots for his clothing.

The Light of the World is extinguished

He finally gave up His life in an indescribable cry of anguish, asking God to forgive his persecutors. Enter the aforementioned storm and curtain tearing. The Lamb had been sacrificed for the sins of many. Jesus was innocent. He knew no sin but became sin. The Light of the world was extinguished. The WORD had been taken out of the world He came to save. Jesus’ lifeless form was taken down from the cross and placed in a tomb.

Good Friday transformed

Here is the big payoff. The miracle that turned the worst of Fridays into Good Friday. The best of Fridays. On the third day, Jesus arose from the tomb. The grave could not hold Him. Prophesy was fulfilled in the Resurrection of the Christ. All that heinous punishment that was dealt out on Friday was necessary to fulfill the Profits. The U shaped drama had been acted out. God

came down from Heaven and became man. He suffered death on the cross and was buried. He defeated the grave and rose from the tomb. In forty days he would ascend to His seat at the right hand of the Father. No slight of hand. No conspiracy. No mass hallucination. The mystery of Faith is etched on the hearts of Christians everywhere. Christ has died. Christ has risen. Christ will come again. Hallelujah!

March 29, 2018

Praise Him in the Storm, Part 2

After the last post, I would like to share with you a bit about one of God’s Saints who defined the strength of faith and the ability to praise Him in a storm. We should all be gifted enough in our lives to know someone like this. I was fortunate enough to be loved and blessed by this daughter of our King. Cynthia (my wife) grew up with and got into the mischief of her youth with Donna. I came to know her later in life but was instantly given a place in her heart and the hearts of her family. She was still full of mischief and the sparkle in her eyes was a beautiful advertisement for what was brewing in her head. Sadly, we lost this precious light after a crushing storm. These words are in memoriam to Donna after the storm.

Donna’s storm

Donna was diagnosed in September of 2016 as having Glioblastoma, a very aggressive, devastating form of brain cancer. This is the same cancer as John McCain was diagnosed with. I must say here that I am not a doctor nor am I a trained clinician, I have a layman’s understanding and must speak as a layman. When Donna was first diagnosed, she was given only three months to live if she went untreated. If she agreed to the rigorous treatment plan she might have a year. Donna prayed with her family and friends for guidance and for healing. In the end, she decided to follow the doctor’s advice and try to remove the tumor. Surgery was a success and the surgeon proclaimed that scans showed that they “had gotten it all.”

The insidious thing about this particular cancer is that it grows appendages that dig deep into the brain. On the ends of those appendages the cancer plants seeds in the brain’s tissue. As I understand things, it is nearly impossible to remove all of this deadly intruder. As you might surmise, “we got it all” soon turned into the cancer is back and it has grown. Donna’s faith never wavered. She kept believing in God’s healing Grace. She told everyone that all was well, that she was in God’s hands.

Donna and her husband, Fred, traveled to MD Anderson Cancer Institute in Houston, TX, for treatments that left her drained and sickened. Away from her family and loved ones, living in a travel trailer loaned by a friend for weeks at a time; Donna and Fred did the best that they could to live a “normal” life and they never stopped praising God for His goodness. They never stopped witnessing about the healing power of God, of the love of the Father.

There were many treatments. Many trips to MD Anderson. Houston soon became their second home. The tumor’s growth might slow for a bit but it continued to grow. Donna continued to tell everyone that God would heal her of her cancer. She continued to inspire all whom she came into contact with because of her trust in the Lord. We continued to pray but Donna was getting weaker and the effects of her cancer were taking their toll. During all her ordeal there had been momentary breaks in the clouds, the rain had slackened up for a bit but the storm still raged. For everyone except Donna.

Always His

Her family was constantly gathered at her side. Though she was now spending most of her time confined to bed, weak and hardly able to speak above a whisper, her faith in God was so many times larger than the tumor that refused to relent. “I’m in God’s hands”, she would tell us in her labored breath. We began to hold vigil as Donna slept. Having to be content with holding her hand, whispering I love you in her ear, kissing her brow while there appeared no let up in the storm.

Donna’s Storm is Over

At 5:45 AM on August 30, 2017, the storm was over. Donna left this world behind. Her suffering was over. She had been right all along, she was in God’s hands, in His loving arms. As she took her last breath on this earth, she took the next breath in Paradise. She is looking down on her family and loved ones from Heaven, doing exactly what she always did. She is praising God, walking with Jesus, and casting her love out to all those whom she counted hers.

Donna had proven more right than we had known. God might not have healed her cancer in this world but He had certainly healed her in the next world. Her illness, as horrible as it was, had been for the good. She blessed her children and grandchildren with her ever solid faith. Donna was a shining example of what we should all aspire to be. Donna lived her life in this world for the Glory of God. She shared her faith with so many people. My friend had been a Warrior for Christ and through her faith, she became the Hero of many. She certainly found a triumphant reception in Heaven. Donna has found the rainbow after the storm.

March 27, 2018

Praise Him in the Storm

I trust that everyone here is the “Praising God” type. Let’s hope so anyway. I hope most of us pray and praise our Creator as is His due. Some of us are more consistent or frequent than others. I make no judgment, only observe my own occasional inconsistency. For most of us, it is so very easy to praise God when everything is coming up roses. When you score the big raise at work or make the grade on a test that you dared to hope for. For many, it is not so easy to be thankful when struggling, unappreciated or stressed. I encourage everyone to remember to praise God when their skies are not so bright. Praise Him in the storm.

On a day when we are feeling unloved, who loves us more than our God? He loves us in our brokenness, in our tattered, tortured state as much as when we are all shiny, maybe more. This is the God who through the power of a thought and a breath, the passing of His mighty hand created all there is, in all its perfect synchronicity. And yet He not only created us to be in communion with Him, He knows us so intimately, He knew us before we were born and He knows the number of hairs on our heads.

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; Jeremiah 1:5 ESV

“Why even the hairs of your head are all numbered.” Luke 12:7 ESV

Count your blessings

Even in the midst of our troubles, physical or financial, are we not richly blessed? Have we not enjoyed God’s favor? Did we not wake up with a roof over our heads, don’t most of us have shoes on our feet or some change in our pockets? Most of us know where our next meal is going to come from. Most of us didn’t have to walk for miles to fetch water.

Even during the downpours of life, we are still children of the One True God. Jesus came down from Heaven, became incarnate of the Virgin Mary and the Holy Spirit, and died on a cross. The curtain of the Temple was torn asunder so that we were granted personal access to the Father (something mankind had only known on limited occasions since the Garden of Eden) and we know forgiveness for our sinfulness. Jesus was resurrected and ascended to Heaven to make a place for us. Beloved, those are reasons to rejoice, reasons to praise our God above. Praise the Creator for His creation, for His love, and for His Mercy.

Learn to Dance in the Rain

Do not be afraid to rejoice in troubled times. When are we in the most need of lifted spirits? Lift up your face to the heavens and make a joyful noise for the things by which you are blessed. They are myriad, after all. I remember, as a child in Florida, playing in the warm rains of summer, barefoot, soaked to the bone, having the times of our lives. I believe we had it right. There are times when it is quite alright to be as children. Kick off your shoes, learn to dance in the rain. It can wash your cares away, as the water washed away your sins.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” Matthew 5:8 ESV

Just Passin’ Through

I believe we should try to live your lives on this earth as they truly are meant to be. We are, after all, only temporary visitors on this island planet. Our true home is in Heaven with the Father where there is no sickness, no worries, no taxes or unemployment. We are here to prepare, to learn what we must know, how we must live in the next life. The life we were made for. Rejoice in it. Celebrate it. Live it to the fullest, but never forget to lift up praise to the Father. We owe Him everything!

March 21, 2018March 24, 2018

Kindness and the Language of Love

I heard someone on the radio say this morning that kindness is the language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see. I was struck by the simplicity of this profound statement. Kindness, like common sense, is a flower that does not grow in everyone’s garden. What a shame! Remember back in the 90’s when the trend in vogue was to perform “random acts of kindness?” Why should these acts have been random? Why not habitual acts of kindness? And why did kindness need to be a fad like bell bottoms or hula-hoops or pet rocks?

Kindness should be a fundamental building block to be taught to our children at an early age. It should go hand in hand with teaching a child to walk or speak or to practice good manners. What would our world look like today if every child learned to first be kind? There would be no need for gun control in a world where we practiced kindness first.

Mantle of Integrity

Kindness is a thread to be woven into the mantle of Integrity. The concept of integrity is as a garment to be worn everywhere we go. Kindness should stand out in the weave like a thread of gold. We are never too old to practice kindness, never too young. I believe we should practice kindness to all we meet. We are called to it. Paul instructs us thus in his Epistle to the Colossians.

“¹² Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, ¹³bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. ¹⁴And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.” Colossians 3:12-14

Also in Paul’s letter to the Church at Ephesus:

“³²Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” Ephesians 4:32

Kindness is a virtue

So, kindness is a virtue to be practiced according to the Bible, not only that, it is an ointment to a tired soul. Kindness has double benefits. It is not only a gift to the recipient but also the practitioner. Kindness relieves one’s heavier burdens of anger and bitterness. It is no fun carrying that stuff around. Be kind. Kindness is habit forming like a drug or Coca-Cola, but this habit is good for you. Besides, who would not rather be known as a nice guy or girl, rather than a nasty, pain in the backside. More flies with honey, you know.

Kindness is a cornerstone of love. Kindness may be interchangeable with compassion, and mercy. All of these are components of the character of Jesus Christ. I pray to be more like Jesus daily; to be able to show the love of Jesus to strangers, friends and family alike. Most days my prayers are answered. Some days, not so much.

Careful what you pack

I used to urge my Boy Scouts, yes, I was a Boy Scout leader, to treat their character as a suitcase. Something in which they would pack away essential things to be pulled out and used upon occasion. I would tell them that their suitcase would also be unpacked at the time of their passing. The things that they had packed away would be seen, remembered by others. I would encourage them to fill their suitcase with integrity, kindness, faithfulness, generosity, and respect (for themselves and others). These traits would become the way that they would like to be remembered.

What will your friends and family find in your suitcase? I pray that kindness is prominent amongst your possessions. It is a language that we can all understand.

March 16, 2018March 19, 2018

Healing Revealed… No Theatrics Required

As I left the true story of my soul-crushing experience with the fake healer/showman/thief who robbed God’s people of both their money and a true miracle; I was burdened with playing a part in persuading some that miracles and healing do not happen. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Miracles and miraculous healing happen as surely as we all draw breath. In fact, if one is in doubt of this very statement I invite you to watch the birth of a child. I believe that a live birth of a tiny human being is one of the most overlooked miracles in this world. Friends, this ain’t no cosmic sneeze. Miracles exist all around us. No special effects are required, no smoke and mirrors… No theatrics necessary.

As I previously left off, I was in a funk. Unable to reconcile my part in a horrible sham. The feeling of guilt was hard to shake and I had begun to question whether all faith healers and evangelists were involved in the same type of hoax. In my heart of hearts, I knew that this last could not be true, but there were so many of these televangelists out there working this same angle or something similar. One touted working miracles if you made a contribution wherein he sent you a piece of one of his ties somehow through which miracles would happen. One beseeched you to lay your hands on the television and your divine healing would take place. My mind kept asking, “ what if?”

Where had healing gone

Scriptures are clear, but we have traveled so far down the darkened path from the healing that Jesus and His Disciples performed in the Bible. The Church, somewhere around 300 years after Jesus, began to take healing out of the hands of the faithful and hoarded it, only to be done by the priesthood. Healing in the name of Christ Jesus and done by the Holy Spirit nearly stopped being practiced because of jealousy. The clergy wanted all the cool stuff for themselves! How dare the rabble, whom they felt beneath their lofty position, lay claim to such a gift from God? For decades, centuries even, healing slipped out of sight. People began to feel that it no longer existed. That the Holy Spirit had, somehow, lost the will or power to heal.

Never really gone

Healing has enjoyed a bit of resurgence in recent years, thanks in part to the faith of some true believers in Jesus Christ. There had been no statute of limitations in the New Testament. Jesus did not write an expiration date to the “Great Commission.” He never said, “Hey, you guys go out and spread the Good News, heal the sick, raise the dead, cast out demons, but give it a rest after a couple hundred years.” Thanks to the likes of Billy Graham, Francis and Judith MacNutt, and many others, healing is enjoying a revival.

Personal revelation

My wife and I were invited to attend a healing conference put on by St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, the Church we attended in Collierville, TN. This was somewhere around 2010. I was to run sound for the weekend and my wife was to receive healing prayer because she suffered from Fibromyalgia for many years. Fibro, for those who are not familiar, is a chronic pain disorder that is still somewhat of a mystery and it absolutely cripples many of its sufferers. Cynthia was one of those who suffered the pain and several related disorders including Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. She had taken nearly every drug known to modern medicine to end her pain, including up to five doses of morphine daily. Nothing was entirely effective and many were not effective for long. We welcomed any attempt to stop her suffering.

There were around 60 people who attended the conference. The headline speaker was an Episcopal Priest from the United Kingdom. He was humbly and comfortably dressed. He looked a little like the Renaissance paintings of St. Nicholas. A jolly sort with a comfortable, disarming voice. His honesty and sincerity were beyond a doubt. He talked about healing and how he had seen it take hold of many who had faith enough to believe it could happen. He was careful to state that he didn’t feel that people were infirm because of a lack of faith or that they were somehow at fault for their maladies. Sinfulness might not be the reason for their illness.

He made quite the impression. Not because he was some kind of showman, quite the contrary. He believed that Jesus Christ had given His followers a gift. Those followers, with the help of the Holy Spirit, could come to Him in prayer and because of His mercy and love for us, He would grant more than we might hope to ask. The Grace of God was palpable in the room. Our speaker believed and we were convinced that he was right. It is a wonderful place to stand, in the midst of a blossoming, spring-like eruption of Faith.

Come Holy Spirit

The time to test our new-found confidence came and Cyn stepped forward to take a seat before Father Jeff Marx, Jean Woods, and Mike Gibson. These three were our friends. Like us in many ways. I will be forever grateful for their faith in workings of the Holy Spirit. I stood behind my wife with my hands on her shoulders. Our prayer warriors began to pray. They were soft, sincere, comforting and they prayed to God as though he was sitting in our midst. As you know, Christ promised to be in our midst when two or more of us were gathered in His name. The three prayed, they shed tears and they asked Jesus to heal my wife, to remove her pain. There were no harsh spotlights, no microphones. There was only heartbreaking realism as these three faith-filled disciples of Christ poured out their energy in prayer to the Savior, the Healer. They begged Jesus to turn my wife into the person that He already saw her as, his perfect child.

What began to happen next was the part that got my attention and proved to me before the praying stopped that the Holy Spirit had been present in that small, still place. The room was full of small groups who were praying their own prayers. We were not alone but the others may as well have been miles away. All I could hear was the sound of these wonderful prayers and my wife’s quiet tears. To my amazement, I began to feel a power, like an electrical current, traveling up my arms from the spot where my hands lay gently on Cyn’s shoulders. I could not have moved my hands if I had wanted to move them. I knew at that moment that my wife was being healed and that I was being included in the miracle of God’s Presence. I was being marked just as Thomas had been marked as a true believer when he put his fingers in the wounds on the resurrected Christ’s side. From that moment, that precise moment, I would never doubt again.

The praying stopped. Everyone in our little group was exhausted. Most had tears visible on their angelic faces. Cynthia sat for a moment, unable to stand on unsteady legs. We all knew that something amazing had happened. We had witnessed a miracle. Had been a conduit for the Power of our living Savior. He loved us not just enough to show up, He loved us enough to keep His promise and granted far more than was asked. Cynthia slowly stood, a look of pleasant awe on her face. She was spent. I helped her upstairs to a room in the venue where she could rest. She rejoined us a couple hours later after a restorative nap. She knew that she was different. We all did. She would never be as she had once been. She had been touched by the healing power of prayer. Christ had laid his hands on her just as surely as I had.

It is now several years later. Cynthia has never, since that blessed day, had to take another morphine pill. She quit them cold, with no withdrawal. She still gets tired but she is no longer in pain. She is, as I have been, blessed beyond measure by the personal touch from our Creator. We will never again have any doubts about the healing power of prayer. Our God is just waiting to hear from us. He is always faithful. He is ever Merciful. No special effects, no smoke, and mirrors needed.

Seek and Ye shall find

Unfortunately, we turned to God as somewhat of a last resort. Sadly, it had not been our first approach to healing. Sadder indeed, is that we were not the only ones who turn to the Healer late in our need. He is only a bowed head, a trusting heart, and fervent prayer away. The coolest part is that He wants to show us how much He loves us. All we have to do is to give Him the chance.

February 27, 2018March 19, 2018

Confession is good for the soul

This is the true story of a series of events that took place back in the mid-80’s in Little Rock, AR. I am sharing the details with you as a sort of confession. After all, I’ve been told that “confession is good for the soul.” I believe that my very soul was battered and bruised as I was associated with some heinous activities, done in the name of the Lord. The names I shall use are real. Because these are true facts, witnessed by more than a few people at the time of occurrence, I have no need to fear a suit for slander nor defamation of character. I am neither judge nor jury but I must believe that God will surely call the guilty to account for these crimes upon His children that were perpetrated in His Name.

As I stated, the story begins in the mid-1980’s. I was working in the Production Department at an independent UHF TV station in Little Rock when two others and I were approached to do some freelance work outside the station for a three-night televangelist’s program to take place in our Convention Center. The pay was good, very good, and the event did not interfere with our day jobs so Dan, John and I agreed to take on the project. I was to run sound while John and Dan were to run cameras. We arrived at the venue at the appointed time and met with the director. We should have turned on our heels and run with his first question.

After introductions and the slightest of niceties, the Director’s first question shot straight to the mark. He asked us, “Are any of you particularly religious?” As you might imagine, we three were a bit taken aback. Our best-shocked response was to tell him that two of us were Catholic and one was Baptist but we would be okay with whatever took place. I had no idea how sadly wrong I had been.

We began to get our instructions for the event and our eyes were further widened. John and Dan were told by the Director that, “sex sells.” He only wanted to see pretty ladies and handsome men on camera, dressed in nice clothes, showing bright smiles. He didn’t want to see shots of the common men or women. No video of country-looking people in overalls and jeans. I should remind you again that this was Little Rock, AR. The middle of a very agriculturally oriented state with people who were quite happy to be living a bucolic life. I like country folks. I like small towns. I was offended. The vast majority of the attendees would have been too. Again, we should have bolted.

The house filled to capacity. We were SRO (Standing Room Only) and a feeling of expectant reverence filled the hall. One could look about the crowd and tell that there were a lot of people that just wanted to be in the Presence, to witness something Holy, to see first-hand a miracle. Many of these people had brought every hard-earned dime they could put together to contribute to the work of God.

When the lights came up to reveal the star of the show the crowd received him with awe. W.V. Grant stood before this house in all his resplendent glory. I was no stranger to Mr. Grant. Our station aired his shows. I had already formed an opinion on his preaching. It should suffice to say that I believe he was not the man that the late Billy Graham was. I had always thought him to be more close to a snake-oil salesman. Not the kind of guy with whom I would entrust my salvation. I would come to find out that he was that and more (or less).

He knew how to work a crowd. I will give him that. He strode the stage like a cat. Before long he had his prey in the trap. The sheep were ready for fleecing. John and Dan were instructed to shut down their cameras and step away from the camera positions as Grant’s minions passed the KFC-sized buckets for collection. Grant wanted no videotape evidence of the plate (bucket) passing. I was beginning to feel really uncomfortable.

The collection ended and W.V. Grant set about the real work of closing the trap. The “healing” portion of the program was about to be staged. Low and behold, the Director gave instructions to the cameramen describing the “miracle” that was about to happen. He described in detail how the subject to be healed would react. Exactly how he/she would swoon. How and where he/she would throw their cane or crutches into the crowd.

I must stop here and say that I believe with all my heart that God works miracles and heals through prayer. I have witnessed it first hand (that is a story for another day). I do not believe that he tells a director in a production truck ahead of time exactly how it will transpire.

People came forward to be healed and with each one, the Director knew just how it would play out. The crowd was mesmerized. I was sick at my stomach. The trap had been skillfully set and closed on the unsuspecting prey.

Another collection was made. The same instructions were given to the cameramen. In fact, there were five, yes five, collections taken each night. I just knew that the Pulaski County Sherrif’s Department would be waiting for us when we left. These poor sheep, God’s flock, were being fleeced by a fraud. This swindler robbed these people as surely as if he held them at gunpoint. And I was not only a witness, I had been a coward and done nothing to stop it. To make matters worse, I came back for two more nights and the scenario was identical, right down to the people who were healed.

These needy souls, in search of a touch from God, came by the hundreds, by the thousands, to be nearer to their God who works miracles. Their faith drove them to the venue as surely as their cars brought them. They paid for tickets, for the privilege of being near His Holy Presence and they were violated, robbed by the very man from whom they expected great things.

I know that sin is sin and I have been told that there are no degrees of sinfulness. I have a bit of trouble with that. I have always seen someone who has raped a child, vandalized a church, or committed some other terrible crime against God to have committed a more weighty sin than say a shoplifter. I’m still working on that.

I make no excuses for my part in this sham. I can only say that I was not then the man I am now. This series of events actually helped to form the future Bill. I spent a lot of time in prayer in the days following. I spent much time telling God of my shame and begging to be forgiven. The telling of this story serves a couple of purposes. My conscience is finally clear, and maybe in the telling, someone else might not fall prey to this thief in preacher’s clothing.

( As a Post Script to this writing, in case you are curious, Grant’s shady character did catch up to him this side of Heaven. He was convicted of tax evasion and sent to prison after taking funds from his church in Dallas, TX to make a downpayment on his million dollars plus home there and never bothering to report the $100,000 as income. Upon his release from prison, he has returned to his “ministry.”)

February 22, 2018March 19, 2018

Break our hearts for what breaks Yours

I assume you have guessed by now, with the many music references, that I am an audio junkie. All the way back to my high school days, Koss High-Velocity headphones on, the Allman Brothers full tilt; I would while away countless hours. Music has been my escape as far back as I can remember. Back in the day, we played vinyl, good old scratchy vinyl. One of my favorite parts of buying records was finding the liner notes. Yes, I was the geek that would read every word. I knew every tune and every sideman. Who played for whom? It has served me well over the years as I moved from rock and roll to jazz and blues back to classic rock and blues rock to modern blues rock and contemporary Christian music. I still read the liner notes when I can find them, although they are harder to find with today’s digital format.

Most of us know the feeling of having a song stuck in our heads. Sometimes it is a good thing, in the case of a good or great tune. Sometimes it is a bad tune, a mind-numbing nuisance. Sometimes you wake up with it, sometimes you catch a piece of it on your favorite audio source. Sometimes a mischievous friend will implant it in your brain. Think of this lovely beauty from back in the day (click at your own risk). Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

Enough of that. I said all that as an introduction to a recent discovery. God has sent me a message in a song and I can’t escape the lyrics. Driven to do my best to follow their suggestion, I went looking for the lyric sheet. I discovered that the song was penned by two of my favorites in today’s contemporary Christian music scene. The song is “Jesus, Friend of Sinners,” written by Mark Hall of Casting Crowns and Matthew West and performed by Casting Crowns. It goes like this…

“Jesus, friend of sinners, we have strayed so far away
We cut down people in your name but the sword was never ours to swing
Jesus, friend of sinners, the truth’s become so hard to see
The world is on their way to You but they’re tripping over me
Always looking around but never looking up I’m so double minded
A plank eyed saint with dirty hands and a heart divided

Oh Jesus, friend of sinners
Open our eyes to the world at the end of our pointing fingers
Let our hearts be led by mercy
Help us reach with open hearts and open doors
Oh Jesus, friend of sinners, break our hearts for what breaks yours

Yeah

Jesus, friend of sinners, the one who’s writing in the sand
Make the righteous turn away and the stones fall from their hands
Help us to remember we are all the least of thieves
Let the memory of Your mercy bring Your people to their knees
Nobody knows what we’re for only against when we judge the wounded
What if we put down our signs crossed over the lines and loved like You did

Oh Jesus, friend of sinners
Open our eyes to world at the end of our pointing fingers
Let our hearts be led by mercy
Help us reach with open hearts and open doors
Oh Jesus, friend of sinners, break our hearts for what breaks yours

You love every lost cause; you reach for the outcast
For the leper and the lame; they’re the reason that You came
Lord, I was that lost cause and I was the outcast
But you died for sinners just like me, a grateful leper at Your feet

‘Cause You are good, You are good and Your love endures forever
You are good, You are good and Your love endures forever
You are good, You are good and Your love endures forever
You are good, You are good and Your love endures forever

And I was the lost cause and I was the outcast
Yeah
You died for sinners just like me, a grateful leper at Your feet”

Just let the words wash over you for a moment. So many calls to show compassion and the words that stick in my mind, the prayer to “break our hearts for what breaks Yours.” Many of us pray for help to become more Christ-like. I do, daily; I pray for a servant’s heart and to grow to be more Christ-like. It is something for which I need many corrective nudges from above. Some days I do better than just break even. I still have much work to do.

Many, if not most of us are too quick to judge, too slow to show compassion. The homeless beggar who has his hand out in front of our favorite fast-food stop more often than not provokes anger or aggravation, not empathy. Aren’t most of us just a few bad decisions and a lost paycheck or two from being in those same shoes?

And lest we forget, we are all broken sinners. Remember that the Bible tells us that “None is righteous, no, not one;”( Romans 3:10 ESV) and “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” (Romans 3:23 ESV). For me, being more compassionate seemed a good place to start. It costs nothing. My natural inclination is closer to turning a blind eye or something nearer to cynicism than compassion. We don’t all have a lot of money to give the homeless person or the orphan child but we all have the smile God gave us and the warmth of our hearts. Kindness goes a long way toward healing wounded souls.

Friends, I am no saint. This is in no form a lecture or righteous chest thumping. It is merely the observation of a struggling, broken man who is trying to make his little spot in this world a better place. My days have become less stress-filled since I first began to practice having a servant’s heart. My bookstore has become somewhat of a sanctuary. Often a place of prayer. A place where students often come just to say hello, or to brag about a new job or another life point. My students even complain when I am out of the office and they have to deal with someone else. Pretty funny, considering that my daughter is usually the “someone else.” Many of my students even came around hoping for a report on my recent surgery and recovery process. Kindness is infectious. Jesus called it the second great commandment.

³⁷… you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. ³⁸This is the great and first commandment. ³⁹And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” (Matthew 22:37-39 ESV)I may be wrong but it seems to me that if we all followed this commandment more closely, the world would be a far better place. I was once asked by a new acquaintance if I was a minister. My best response was “not nearly often enough.” I was pleased by his confusion. Today, I would be overjoyed to be asked if I was a disciple.

February 14, 2018March 19, 2018

To everything there is a season…

Nearly every breathing soul on earth is familiar with this message. Whether from the song written in the 1950’s by Pete Seeger and made famous by the Byrds (Turn! Turn! Turn!), circa 1965. Or with the Bible passage from which it was taken.

¹To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

²A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

³A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

⁴A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

⁵A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

⁶A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

⁷A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

⁸A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 KJV)

I have been observing a season for healing and introspection. I had a knee replaced during the week of Thanksgiving. Recovery and rehabilitation has been an adventure that has taken a great chunk of my energies and most of my strength during the last 12 weeks. The good news, as always, is that God is good, all the time and I have come to find that my recovery is more than I bargained for.

That is the story. That is the message in the Bible passage. This is my story of the season that I found myself knee-deep (pardon the pun) in after my surgery.

Let me say first, that my surgery went off without a hitch. I had a great surgeon and the best nurses that I might have imagined. My physical therapist had me up and walking the halls of the hospital the day of surgery. Through the miracle of modern pharmacology, the pain was manageable and I couldn’t wait to be released for home. I got to go home on schedule and the storm clouds of impending difficulty began to form.

The doctor generously prescribed some strong (really strong) pain medicine which I took like clockwork and in a smaller-than-prescribed dose. Before the week was gone, the storm had fully developed and I found myself cut off from my version of reality and comfort. The narcotics had in effect turned me into a radish. I was, seriously, unable to form a coherent sentence. I was lost and alone in an uncomfortable daze. As I have previously confessed; I am no stranger to drugs and their effects on the user but this was something different. This was no blissful fog. I was not stoned as in the seventies. I was utterly and completely zombied.

Dose upon dose of this mind-numbing stuff and I found myself in a sort of void, a sensory vacuum. The worst part was that I began to feel isolated, especially so from God. I know, this sounds pretty melodramatic, but it was my reality, as skewed as it was.

I tried to say my prayers and not only could I not form my thoughts but I could not feel the presence of God at all. I was terrified! I am a pretty big guy and haven’t been really afraid of much in my life but this shook me to my core. I broke down as the storm washed over me. I felt that my soul was being battered by the terrible wind and drowned in the torrential downpour. I cried out the only way I knew how and I realized that the downpour was coming from within me. Tortured by fear and shame I shook and wept over having somehow lost God. My wife at my side, she reassured me that this was all the work of the evil one and that deep inside I knew that my God would never forsake me. I knew that when we are not strong enough to cling to God, that is when he tightens his grip on us. He is faithful to never let us slip from his loving grasp.

This marked the beginning of my season to heal and to start some pretty serious soul searching. With God’s help and with Cynthia’s soothing words in my ears I began to see a break in the turbulence of the storm. I concentrated harder and was able to reach out beyond the darkness, finding (at last) my God. He was right where he always is, waiting with open arms. I prayed hard, pouring out my fear and need. I realize that this all sounds overmuch and I suppose you would be correct in your thinking so. However, as the singer/songwriter Zach Williams reminds us, “fear is a liar”, and this had been the Mother of all Fears.

By the time my prayers had ended, I had promised the Father that I would put away the Oxy bottle and if He would help me with the pain I would dedicate my hard work in physical therapy and rehabilitation to His Glory. I also promised to increase my efforts to be an example of His Love to any who would come close enough to notice.

My season progressed. I took Tylenol before therapy sessions to dull the pain of extreme exercise, used ice packs a lot and made a rapid progression from a walker to a cane to walking unassisted. I am no longer parking in handicapped spots. I am now twelve weeks post-surgery and I have returned to serving on the altar at communion, scripture reading and leading Prayers for the People in my church. I never feel closer to the Father than at these times. I am richly blessed. I am in the gym three days a week, down about 30 pounds and have even moved the driver’s seat back to its original position, as my knee now bends better than before surgery. My only complaint is that when I sit for too long my knee stiffens and aches. But that is a “me” problem. The moral of that story is that I need to be more active than sedentary.

The season that began with storms and need and fear has turned into a beautiful season of hope and rebirth and pride in my God. He loves me, He loves us and is always waiting to hear from us. He is never more than a bent knee or bowed head away. He is faithful beyond any earthly measure.

November 26, 2017March 19, 2018

God speaks. Faith awakens.

This is a true story that might be the beginning of my true walk with God. It is surely the beginning of my witness, my testimony. The awakening of my Faith. I am telling this for you, Abbie. You are a dear friend and you hold an important place in my heart. I know you will feel the rawness of the telling. I hope it moves all my readers as much as it does me in the telling.

Back in the late 70’s my wife and I had tried nearly every method to get pregnant with no success. After three years of disappointment we grew frustrated, as one might expect. Her doctor flippantly told her we should try more often. Great idea, but still no positive result. Months went by and still no baby bump.

My wife, in going through her medical records, discovered that she had never been exposed to nor had a vaccination for rubella (German measles). Being exposed to the German measles during the first trimester of pregnancy can cause catastrophic birth defects in the baby. So, as a precaution, my wife got a rubella vaccination, only to find out a few days later that she was finally pregnant.

Our world was turned upside down. Our emotions ran the gamut from shock to anger to disbelief (How could this happen to us?) to serious despair. The doctor was certain that the only alternative that we had was to abort the baby. We consulted other medical minds and their opinions were equally dire. We must abort. The child could not possibly be born healthy.

Keep in mind that this was all going on in 1979, but the prevailing medical opinion is still not much different today with all the advancements now at our disposal. The Center for Disease Control currently has this to say about pregnancy and exposure to rubella.

“Congenital rubella syndrome (CRS) is a condition that occurs in a developing baby in the womb whose mother is infected with the rubella virus. Pregnant women who contract rubella are at risk for miscarriage or stillbirth, and their developing babies are at risk for severe birth defects with devastating, lifelong consequences. CRS can affect almost everything in the developing baby’s body.”

I won’t list the possibilities, but they were and still are, gruesome, at best. What were we going to do? We fretted. We cried. We prayed. We shook our fists at God. This was the toughest decision we could imagine having to make.

My wife was seriously Catholic. Italian. Catholic schooled with all the guilt and fear of Hell that the nuns and their rulers could instill in a child. I was new to Catholicism but was pretty sure that if we did abort this pregnancy, we would be reserving a seat by the fire. More anguish. More despair. More tears.

As you probably know, we didn’t have a lot of time to put off making a decision. The day finally came and we mustered up the courage, made the call and set the appointment to end the pregnancy. Why didn’t we feel like we were doing the right thing? Days passed uneasily.

On Sunday, the day before the abortion was scheduled. We did what we always did. We had our morning coffee, got ready and went to Mass. The Church was full of eager faces. Nothing out of the ordinary. Our priest began his homily and everything changed.

All at once it was as if God himself were speaking. As though he was seated on the back of the pew just in front of us. My bride and I were held captive by every word. I could hear no other sounds around me save the words being spoken directly to me. This message had our names on it and it was being written on our hearts.

There was moisture in our eyes as the Priest finished his homily. His topic was Faith. My God had answered my prayers. He sent His answer to me as surely as I am taking a breath. My wife and I cried on the way home after Church. These were different tears. These were tears of relief.

We arrived at home and went directly to the phonebook. There were no cell phones in 1979. We managed to find the doctor’s home number and we called him. “Doctor we can’t do this. We have to cancel our appointment.” To our shock, he was relieved. He told us that professionally, he had to counsel us to abort, but as a Christian, he was happy that we had changed our minds. Everything would be fine. After all, we lived in Memphis where we had St. Jude and LeBonheur Children’s Hospitals. God would provide.

We stopped worrying that day (well mostly). Knowing that everything would turn out fine. We had a strong family behind us and the best medical facilities in the country for sick children and this child would be loved. The pregnancy passed mostly without a major snag.

Our son was born on April 7^th, 1980. He had all his fingers and toes and he was healthy! Praise God! Rubella had been a factor in a minor way. Ben has a genius level IQ, a nearly eidetic memory. He is an Eagle Scout. He once found an old pocket pager in the mud in the backyard and after cleaning it up and tinkering with it, he turned it into a radio receiver. He does, however, lack certain fine motor skills. He will never be the star quarterback. Oh well, who cares? He is a gift from God. A constant testimony to Faith!