Time Stood Still - reprinted from April 2009

Good Friday.   It’s a little past eleven o'clock this morning and Jesus from Nazareth has been hanging from the cross for more than two hours now. This morning as been filled with many strange, yet thoroughly predicted events. Some of us have simply gone about our morning as if it were just another day, but for Him it was the beginning of a new covenant. 

I've already been awake for about six hours now and the thought of how his day had started so much earlier (for he’s been up all night) has flowed in and out of my thoughts several times.

What started out as an after-dinner prayer session in the garden has now come full circle through one mock trial after another. Not a defender or friend found anywhere at this point, only those wanting to persecute and punish him for the vicious crime of love. Alone again, just as he was last night while praying so earnestly as the blood and sweat poured through his skin as his closest allies slept silently.

Many of us can tell someone exactly where we were when the news of 911 reached us, or what we were doing when we heard President Kennedy had been shot, or what our reaction was to hearing that the wall dividing the two Germanys finally fell - but how many of us will pause long enough to recount the events of this day in history. Where are you on this day, Good Friday - today?

Before seven o'clock this morning he had already been held up to the crowds awaiting outside the ruler's chamber, only to be denied recognition in exchange for the release of Barabbas, (a known killer and thief) the first of many to be saved by this Saviour of ours. 

At that same time this morning Dale and I watched the sun rise over the shoreline of a beautiful and serene lake in an area of Alabama appropriately named "All Good" and my heart was being drawn nearer to His. A good start to a Good Friday indeed!

Already he’s endured unimaginably cruel whippings, and beatings to the point layer upon layer of skin has been stripped from his body. He's suffered through shameless acts of disgrace before rulers, priest, and judges of this world throughout the night, yet he's maintained his dignity – he's stayed true to himself and his purpose. Unlike most of us, he never resents his position or calling, he never cowards down to appeasement, he simply continues to march in cadence with the beat of a warrior's drum.

By seven-thirty he's been sentenced to death - I was fixing pancakes and bacon for breakfast, while she checks her email and does some on-line banking. He's facing not a normal execution, but rather a vile and cruel one set aside for the worst of all criminals, and for revolutionaries – the hideous Roman crucifix. I imagine it takes quite a bit of time as the guards select just the right cross from the pile of readied lumber outside the wood-worker's shop for which to hang a son of a carpenter claiming deity. They want to insure the heaviest and largest would be thrown across his shoulders, yet the weight of the wood is the least of the load he bears this morning.

The executioners meticulously see to it that his punishment is carried out so completely in every way. Despite being tired, hurt, and dazed, he simply relies on the strength of his purpose to keep moving forward – to his point of destiny. No sleep for over twenty-four hours, beaten down, blood flowing profusely from the stripes upon his body. His face is battered and swollen from the closed-fist beatings he's taken as a cloth is wrapped around his eyes (supposedly to hide the identity of his attackers), yet he knows each one. Dried spit now stains his cheeks as a robe of ridicule is placed over his shoulders. There is no one with him 'cept the Father. 

All the while this morning around this time I go about loading and unloading the dishwasher trying to wrap my heart around this scene playing out in my mind. Trying to get a feel for the depth of loneliness he must have felt this morning. 

By eight o'clock he's staggering and stumbling through the streets and across the rocky pathway finally giving in to accept the assistance of a man from Africa whom we know only as Simeon. A bonding takes place that will change lives forever in this fateful appointment as they walk upward to a place and time that history is yet to forget. Eight-thirty rings in with a loud clank, the sickening sounds of the first spike being driven through skin, muscle, veins, and then wood.

This morning it once again resounds in my mind - CLANG - goes the hammer to the nail, as the blood splatters over the garment of the soldier holding it steady against his wrist and hand. His feet are over-lapped and held in place as the third and final spike is driven with tremendous force by the swinging of the heavy hammer.

I'm now alone with my thoughts of him as Dale goes about her house-cleaning chores, pausing only long enough to stop by the desk for a hug every now and then. CLANG goes the sound in my mind – CLANG as my body shivers at the sound.

By nine o'clock the cross is raised into place on a hillside sadly called “Place of a Skull” and the bidding begins immediately for his garments, a testimony to the fact that even these deniers knew the importance of the moment – the man. Once in the upright position the blood begins to pour freely from his forehead where the jagged edges of the weather-hardened thorns have pushed through his now fragile layers of skin.

With little earthly life left in him he still finds the mercy to voice forgiveness to a repentant thief hanging beside him. His mother and Mary Magdalene have just finished leading a group of women who love and adore him unlike no other to a hillside just a short distance away to pray to God for mercy to be shown for the one they call Master – friend.  At a distance, this was the best his faithful followers could do at this point, merely follow from a distance. 

I pause from this writing long enough to pray to him – for the One that is on the cross that morning long ago, still today sits at the right hand of the Father.

Mid-day approaches and the focus on this torturous death has been temporarily shifted when the sun disappears into the darken skies for three hours, a heavenly event that can't go unnoticed by even the strongest of deniers. The earth shakes violently, and the sound of the thick veil of the temple is deafening as it's being torn end to end capturing the attention of all those giving witness. Suddenly everyone recaptures their focus as the man hanging from the cross shouts (not whispers) - “Father, I entrust my spirit into your hands.” My Bible says, “and with those words he took his last breath.”

This next part may not be in your Bible, but I know it's in the Bible that rests in my heart - All natural laws of time and space were broken, and all theories of physics were tossed out the window as time stood still this afternoon to mark the historic reunion of the Creator and His creations - as if it were the moment just before God created Adam. 

Again this morning, time stands still as I recognize once more the significance of this event on a personal level. He did all this for a wretched sinner like me - amazing love!  We have such a tendency to hurry past this day on our way to Resurrection Sunday that often times we neglect to ponder on His sufferings.  Oh sure we can wear with ease the shiny crosses around our necks, but we somehow can't stomach to watch the horrific pain he suffered even when it's in movie form.  It's just too graphic we cry out through our tears, too painful.  I believe for us to truly appreciate the resurrection we must first totally engulf the cross and all its nastiness.   

As I write this item the song You are my king (Amazing love) by the group called Newsboys plays repeatedly. I've loved the lyrics of this song since my friend Tom Coleman first played it for me several years ago, and when I sense a need to refocus I simply play it as I am this morning, over and over, and over.

I’m forgiven because You were forsaken

I’m accepted, You were condemned

I’m alive and well, Your Spirit is within me

Because You died and rose again

Amazing love, how can it be

That You, my King, should die for me?

Amazing love, I know it’s true

It’s my joy to honor You

In all I do, to honor You

You are my King

You are my King

Jesus, You are my King

You are my King

On this day, the one we call “Good Friday” here in this beautiful place I call home I'm reminded of just how much an honor it is to praise and serve Him with our words and actions. Just a few short days from now the tomb will be emptied as the rock is rolled away and the sound of trumpets will shout He Lives. Yet, on this historically celebrated day I will always stop whatever I'm doing and give observance for the reason that time stood still some two thousand years ago.

I invite you to join me in singing from the heart in one accord - Jesus, you are my king!

An amazing love indeed...... I pray Easter-like blessings on each of you this weekend. doug

Reprinted from April 2009

Wild Man - originally written in October 2007

A recent commercial began to air on television from an auto-manufacture to promote the sales of convertible-top vehicles.   Its underlying message is about the wildness, or free spirited image associated with driving a “rag-top”.    The scene opens with the woman talking to the screen, (her husband) and tells him emphatically that they are not buying a convertible.  She then sarcastically asks, “What are you going to want next, an Amp?”   As if she’s talking to a husband in his late teens as opposed to the mid-life image she presumes to portray.   In this thirty-second spot, our “wild, carefree days” are brought back into focus from its distant past.  The heart of this message is, that there is a “wild man” inside of all of us that yearns to be set free, either through driving a speeding car down a seaside expressway with the top down - through the rough exertion of the screeching sounds of an electric guitar - or merely through the releasing of whatever has repressed us, and our noble efforts to be free and wild.

Actually, we come from a long line of wild men and women.   Adam was as wild and naked as could be expected, considering he was in the mist of a new planet and its unbridled wilderness.   Yet, Eve was even wilder than he was, for she was wild enough to believe the lie that somehow she could reach an equal level of knowledge as God.  We still bear witness to the extent of her wildness.

Abraham, Noah, Moses, Sampson, David, Elijah – all wild men along with the wild women in their lives carving the pathway before us.   

John the Baptist was very wild, as we all know.  Living in the wilderness - munching out on wild honey and locust at a time when the Jewish people lived in fear of being exterminated by an infestation of locust – which had been prophesized by Godly men for years and years.   Yet J.t.B. ate the insects like jellybeans and kept right on preaching and baptizing.   Why?  Because he had been called and set aside for just such a wild purpose as this, even before he was born. He would come before the Messiah to announce his coming.   This is indeed a wild story to try and wrap our heads around!   

Then came the real “wild child” Jesus himself.   Wild enough, to disregard mom and dad’s instructions and stay behind at the early age of twelve so he could “be about his Fathers business.”  Wild enough, to gather up a group of rag-tag followers and strike out on a mission of healing and hope that would ultimately lead to death on the cross.   Wild enough to wait until the fourth day to raise Lazarus from the dead when Jewish tradition said after the third day, there was no hope.   Wild enough to walk on water!   To still the winds of storm, and wild enough to proclaim that His kingdom was at hand.   Wild enough to suggest the drinking of wine and the consuming of bread should be done in remembrance of Him, and likened it to eating His flesh, and drinking His blood.  His message became so wild that at one point his followers decided he was getting too wild and they began to fade away.  But Peter, a wild man himself, had a light-bulb moment as he declared; “for whom would we follow, it is you that has words which gives eternal life.” 

The Son of Man was wild enough to clear the city’s temple of businessmen in broad daylight, as if it were his own.    Wild enough to challenge the religious leaders of his time by setting straight people’s understanding about what was God’s order versus what man had created.  Wild enough to deny the powers of death and to be resurrected from the grave in order to give the single most reliable source of hope that mankind has ever experienced.  Now that is wild as defined by the true definition of wildness!

Ever wonder why He put aside everything that He had in heaven to come live wildly among us?   To be ridiculed, mocked, despised, cursed, beaten, slapped, and spit upon?   I have to believe it was partly because His wildness also contained his undying and passionate desire to be seen as a worthy God by all of us.  Not just for the Jews.   Not just for the material things that he provides His people, but for the grace and mercy that can only be seen when one lies down his own life for another.   Remember at the time of his coming, only the Jews believed in a Messiah even though they didn’t see the full picture of what was taking place around them – or how wild this God made into Man would eventually become.  John 3:16 says He so wildly loves us that He willingly gave His only son to die for us.

Who else would be wild enough to come to Satan’s home turf with a game plan to defeat him once and for all?   We all understand that the ultimate checkmate by God over Satan was in Him sending His son as a sacrifice for His people.   Who else could show us that true Christianity isn’t enough to just repress our wild inhabitations, but it is to take up our cross with a wild passion for carrying the message of hope throughout the world.   Losing the wildness of sin, but gaining the wild freedom of redemption and salvation through His grace with the boldness that comes from the Holy Spirit, now that’s wild living.   

We have all been called to show the crippled a way to walk wildly - the hungry and thirsty a wildness that quenches all desires.   To offer to the unbelieving, an unbelievable wildness, not just in theory, but more so in the practical standards of a purpose for their lives - to the depressed, the suicidal, the hopeless, the downtrodden, the forsaken, and the outcast a wildness that can only come through the vindication of mercy, and the hope in an eternal and glorious existence to come for them.    

We are called to be wild men, and women.

We are called to be party animals.

We are called to be dance instructors.

We are called to be beacons of light.

We are called to be His.

In C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe - Aslan the lion represents to us God and the children in the story asks if he’s safe.  In response Mr. Beaver’s exclaims “Safe?  Of course he isn’t safe – but he’s good.”   

Wild, that is being wild for His calling in our lives isn't safe, yet His faithfulness to see us through all that we face is the extent we can understand of the depth of “good” within our minds and hearts.  I don’t know about you guys, but I’m way overdue for a little more wildness in my life?   A convertible would be nice too, but for now Jesus will do just fine.

Dear Lord, help me to release the chains that bind me from feeling the freedom of living a wild and passionate life for your Kingdom to the fullest extent.    Doug

Holding On - reprinted from Jan. 9, 2009

friday, january 9, 2009

Let go! “Just let go, and you’ll be ok” I screamed, but even in a crisis situation I felt really uncomfortable yelling at an eighty-something year old woman like that. There’s something to be said about “good raisings” I guess. “Please let go, I promise I’ll catch you!” Mrs. Kennedy was confused, she was hurt, she was disoriented, but most of all she was afraid – very afraid. Holding on for dear life was all she had left.

The problem was, what she was holding on to was sinking, and sinking fast I might add. To be exact, she was holding onto an eighty foot cabin-cruiser with half of its rear-section blown apart from an explosion in the engine compartment mere minutes earlier. What I was trying to get her to take hold of, was my hand, my bass boat, what small bit of safety I had to offer her. What she was holding on to also held her husband Leroy (of almost sixty years) and this is what she was really afraid to let go of - a lifetime, more so than a life.
Again, the problem was, what she was holding onto was sinking quickly beneath her feet.

I knew if I had any chance of saving her husband before it was too late she was going to have to let go of the deck rail she had a death grip of, and fall down into my arms for me to catch her. Finally she did, and I did. I convinced her (after about three attempts) to stay put in my boat, as I went for Leroy. She was confused, and frantic, but I found her loving husband to be even more so - after the deafening explosion he wasn’t sure what to do except to try and save his beautiful bride, and then himself. He immediately tried to radio for help, and then went underneath the deck and into the cabin to retrieve a couple of life-jackets for them.

Leroy was 84 years old at the time, all six foot two, and two hundred and fifty pounds of him. Throw in a bunch of soaking wet clothes and he was a “hand full” to say the least. The fact that he had somehow managed to get his life-jacket on while still holding on to her vest presented a whole new set of issues to deal with. As you can imagine the cabin section of the boat was filling quickly with the cold water of Old Hickory Lake and the flotation of the life jackets was causing the elderly Mr. Kennedy to become pinned against its roof yet he refused to let go of her life jacket, even unto the point where he lost consciousness.

Their boat had sunk more than ten feet since my arrival, and I was now standing in ankle deep water. Somehow I was able to break out the three panes of glass in the boat’s front windows and then finally two Samaritans swam over and helped me pry the water-logged body from the grips of death that held a temporary hold of it. We managed to roll him over and into my boat as the deck of the cabin-cruiser went beneath the surface. I quickly loosened the rope between the two boats before we were all dragged to the bottom of this greedy lake, and off we headed for the Marina.

Holding on to life was Mrs. Kennedy as she also held her husband’s head in her lap as I held on to his wrist as I checked for a pulse while steering my boat toward safety. What started out as an opportunity to continue holding on to the peace and serenity of a day on the lake before winterizing our vessels became an afternoon where we found ourselves merely holding on to each other, and the situation we had before us.

You know, the one thing I’ve found I do more often than I should is I hang on to things that just aren’t good for me. Like eating the wrong foods, drinking the wrong stuff, thinking the wrong thoughts. Hanging out with the wrong groups of people, or any of the other many bad habits I’ve experimented with from time to time in my life. Sometimes what I find is I’m voluntarily holding on to the very things that hold me back from being where I need to be with my life - where God wants me to be.

There’s always a sense of security in holding on to something since we already know the risks/rewards involved, and the level of commitment that is expected from us. And there’s always a certain amount of fear in reaching out for something new or different. This is so true in many aspects of our lives; with relationships, jobs, homes, even automobiles, where we go to church, how we teach our children, and yes most certainly in how we see ourselves. There are so many things we find to hold onto in our past, and present that sometimes our hands become so full we can’t hold on to the “right things” tight enough, and we simply lose our grip.

Holding on to things such as absolute truth, conviction, values, and principles are all things that get tested at times, and either our grips are made weaker or stronger because of these challenges. I now understand that simply because someone else is holding on tightly to a sinking ship, doesn’t make it something I should hold on to also. Yet so often we revert to that way of thinking, we get caught up in trying to mirror our lives in many ways to the lives of our parents, grandparents, friends, fellow church-goers.

I’ve found FEAR will almost always cause us to be hesitant to let go of what we even understand to be wrong for us. “Fear” as in the lack of courage to trust God, and have faith that He is in total control of all things both here on earth as well as in heaven - the kind of “fear” that can only be conquered by God’s love, and direction through His word.

Mrs. Kennedy finally let go, and let God rescue her, for I was merely the bodily form He used to catch her. Mr. Kennedy finally let go of the hand of death he was holding on to, and recovered from this accident. Unfortunately, it took me many more years to let go of so many of the fearful thoughts, and selfish ways I had been holding on to for so long – yet we all three were saved in a very real way.

Holding on sometimes can be the one thing that actually holds us back from allowing His purpose to be fulfilled in our lives. Ask yourself, is there something in your past you’re holding on to even today that you know you need to let go of? If the truth were told - we all have those things in our lives. If the truth were told - we all live with some unhealthy amount of fear about letting go of the things we've held on to for far too long.

Let go! “Just let go, and you’ll be ok” He calls out to us, “Please let go, I promise I’ll catch you.”

doug