Being the Sons of God

The world is in great need of peace. But how do we find it? Do we really even want it? Do we understand the cost of peace? Understanding the cost, would we pay the price? If history is our guide and predictor of the future the answer is no.

The church is supposed to propagate peace. After all, our savior, the one whom we call master and Lord, bears the name Prince of Peace (Isa. 9:6). But the occupants of the church are also occupants of this world. Thus, we find ourselves caught in a trap, constantly pleading “peace, peace” while all the time peace illudes us.

It was not any different in the days of Jesus. Matthew tells us that Jesus saw the crowds, all of whom were torn and tattered by the concerns of this world.  Needing some distance from the crowds Jesus retreated to a hillside and sat down. But his disciples gathered around him. Redeeming the time Jesus began teaching them about how they needed to live if they were to be his followers. He instructs them about how to live a blessed life. If they really wish to be blessed and truly desire to be identified as being his disciple, they will not just pursue peace but they will seek to be peacemakers. For “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the sons of God” (Matthew 5:9).

There not very many peacemakers in the world. In fact, there are not very many peacemakers in the church.

I have discovered however, both outside the church and inside the church, there are a lot of peacetakers. Peacetakers, are those who require a lot of the energy of those who are around them. Peacetakers are not evil. They are also not benevolent. Either out of necessity or out of selfishness their lives are focused on their needs and desires and they are unable or unwilling to be of much help to others. One of the hard facts of life and ministry is that we are going to encounter a lot of peacetakers. We must love and minister to these folks. They are no different than the crowds that Jesus ministered to. They are like sheep without a shepherd. So instead of complaining we ought to understand that God has given them to us to shepherd and we ought to be thankful that we are a sheep that has heard the call and obtained the ability and means to be a shepherd.

We are also going to encounter people who are peacebreakers. These folks have evil intentions. They will destroy peace. They understand the mechanics of dividing and conquering and in their tool box they have the necessary wrenches and screwdrivers and chisels to do the job. Peacebreakers are calculating souls. They will do whatever is necessary in order to propagate their selfish ideas and agendas. Jesus had other names for peacebreakers. He called them broods of vipers and whitewashed sepulchers. We might want to refrain from name calling. But while we strive to be as gentle as doves let’s remember to likewise be as wise as serpents. Because peacebreakers will destroy a family. They will demolish a nation. They will disassemble a church. Peacebreakers need to be identified, ostracized, and immobilized lest they dismantle the good and perfect things God has established in our world.

Then there are those who are peaceseekers. Peaceseekers do not like conflict.  Peaceseekers will try to stay out of the way when things are not going well. They are determined to not incur any wounds and to make it through the war without any scars. They may be your “friends” but when you need their help, they are likely to leave the battle field and in search of a place of peace.

We also come in contact with those who are peacekeepers. Peacekeepers will try to stop the fighting. Yet they will do very little to address the source of the turmoil that causes the fighting. Peacekeepers never resolve anything. They are content with the status quo if that is what is necessary to “keep the peace”. Peacekeepers strive to keep the loudest voices happy even if those voices are selfish voices. They will allow the preferences of a few to take precedence over the priorities of the kingdom. This results in gospel abating policies rather than gospel advancing strategies.

Peacekeepers will try to keep the pot from boiling over but they will not do anything to turn down the flame or get the raging pot off the stove. Peacekeepers will tolerate dysfunction, justify vile attitudes, and cover up sin, all in the name of “keeping the peace”. Peacekeepers will marginalize the victims and protect the villains. Peacekeepers will ignore truth and allow a false narrative to prevail. Peacekeepers will placate the powerful and punish the weak and they will rationalize that it is ok if that will allow the accepted ways and means of our lives and institutions to continue as they are. Righteousness may not prevail but that is ok so long as we “keep the peace”. 

But Jesus did not come to be a peacekeeper! “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a person’s enemies will be those of his own household” (Matthew 10:34-36 ESV).

Jesus came not to “keep the peace” but to make peace. Jesus did not make peace by avoiding conflict. Rather, he spent his life stepping into the middle of conflict, ultimately making peace by the blood of his cross (Col. 1:20).

Jesus encouraged his disciples to be peacemakers. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the sons of God” (Matthew 5:9).

Peacemakers do not relish conflict. They are aware of the dangers of conflict and they approach conflict with fear and caution. Nevertheless, they trust God and seek to make peace in the midst of conflict. They seek to resolve problems rather than continue in chaos. Peacemakers are not just trying to tidy up the house and sweep the ugly stuff under the bed. Peacemakers are not just seeking to negotiate a ceasefire or even to disarm the enemy. Peacemakers realize that lasting peace will become reality only when the heart is changed. Peacemakers know that the only way that peace will come to our broken society is by actively engaging people with the redemptive purposes of Christ. Jesus demonstrated how we should live here on earth and how we can live for all eternity. So, to be a peacemaker we must point people in the direction of Jesus. If we do that, we will be called the sons of God.

If you were to see a picture of my dad and I together you would have no doubt that we belonged to each other. People have often said to me “You look just like your daddy”! I would reply “Well, he was a good-looking man”. We did look alike. My wife would say that we also thought alike and acted alike. That is not too bad either.

Twenty years or so ago I was with my dad and he introduced to me to one of his friends. The friend looked at both of us and said “Well, that nut did not fall far from the tree. You sure could not deny him”. My dad said “I would not want to deny him”. 

I don’t want my heavenly father to deny me either. I want to look like Him, and think like Him, and act like Him. If that is going to happen, I need to be a peacemaker. Because peacemakers are called the sons of God.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Serving the Crucified Christ

Filled with hate, ignorant of truth, lacking in faith, and void of righteousness the Jews had plotted to kill Jesus. Rome took ownership of their plot and made a statement of their authority in the act of crucifixion. In the course of less than twenty-four hours Jesus was arrested, accused, lied about, endured six mock trials, cursed, beaten, and in humiliation crucified naked before the viewing world. As the sun made its downward turn, he breathed his last and hung dead on the cross. As the dark of evening approached there emerged from the shadows a servant named Joseph who was from the town of Arimathea.

Some refer to Joseph as a secret disciple of Jesus. But his thoughts regarding Jesus were not that secret. The gospel writers tell us that he was a member of the council, “a good and righteous man” who was himself “searching for the kingdom of God”. If his attitude regarding Jesus was private it lost its privacy when in a council meeting, he refused to consent to the majority opinion to work toward the demise of Jesus. 

Joseph did not have the power to stop the violent death of Jesus. He lacked adequate information about the meaning of the event. But he had enough theological understanding of the significance of Jesus and enough admiration for Jesus to serve him by administering proper burial.

We think of servants being poor but Joseph of Arimathea was a rich man. One does not need to be rich to be of service to the Lord. But we are to use whatever means we have to serve the Lord and His cause. If we have great means we are called upon to use those means to advance the kingdom and minister unto people. “To whom much is given, much is expected”.

Joseph was a servant with courage. He went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. Pilate was a weak ruler, so we might think that did not take much courage. Under Roman law the body of someone who had been executed was considered state property. Pilate could grant that body to anyone he so desired. Or he could refuse to relinquish the body to anyone. In such cases the bodies might be thrown into the nearby garbage dump and burned or at best buried as a pauper in the local potter’s field. Joseph took the risk of requesting the body from Pilate. But his real act of courage was that he, a member of the council, was identifying himself with Jesus. He risked being ostracized by his faith community. He risked trouble with the government. He risked losing business and position.

Joseph was a rich man but he was not afraid of difficult work. He engaged in the gruesome task of taking the tortured body of Jesus down from the cross. He purchased a new linen shroud and with the help of Nicodemus prepared the mangled body of Jesus for burial. Joseph had a heart willing to sacrifice. He took Jesus and laid him in his own tomb that had been freshly cut of the rock nearby. This was the tomb Joseph of had built for his own burial. It had never been used. But now it had been defiled with the body of one who had been executed as a criminal.

In reality Joseph’s tomb was occupied by the one who bore the richness of heaven, the richest of the rich. But Paul reminds us that for the sake of our salvation Jesus “became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich” (II Cor. 8:9). At the time of his burial Jesus had become the poorest of the poor, stripped of all his wealth by the weight of our sins. Yet by the sovereignty of God and because of Joseph’s servant heart he lay in a rich man’s tomb awaiting the day of resurrection when all the richness of heaven would be restored to him.

 

Seeing the Crowds

Jesus spoke a simple message of hope to people and provided practical help by healing their diseases and afflictions. So, the crowds gathered around him. The crowd in one town would follow him to the next town until soon the crowds were very large. The crowds that gathered were filled with sick, afflicted, and oppressed people.

The setting for the Sermon on the Mount is revealed in Matthew 5:1. “Seeing the crowds, he went up on the mountain, and when he sat down, his disciples came to him”.

Jesus always saw the crowds. He saw them not just as gathered masses of humanity but as sheep in need of care. Jesus went up on the mountain not in order to get away from the crowds but so he could observe them. From the vantage point of the mountain Jesus and his disciples could view the crowds for what they were. They were people in need of love, grace, mercy, and instruction. To the government, business, and religious structures of their society they were just tools, instruments to be used to enhance the desires of the power structures under which they lived. But to Jesus they were human souls created in the image of God. The crowds would have siphoned emotional energy from Jesus yet they strengthened him because in them he saw his purpose for being in the world. He had come to work for justice in the present world and provide the path for salvation that would ensure eternal life in the world to come. On the mountain, with his eyes on the crowds and with his disciples gathered around him, Jesus posturing himself as a teacher “sat down”. The disciples stood in the position of learners. Jesus began unfolding truths about the character they needed to possess and develop if they were going to emulate him and fulfill the purpose to which he was calling them.  

We do not know how attentive the disciples were or how well they understood. Our real concern should be how much attention we give to the teachings of Jesus and how well we follow the instructions. 

Tatooed on the Palms of God's Hands

On September 12 of this year we lost a giant among Illinois Baptist. Bill Weedman was a faithful servant of our Lord, first as a pastor and then for 25 years on the IBSA staff. He was a humble man, beautifully educated with a PHD from Southern Seminary, yet people rarely addressed him as Doctor. He was quiet and unassuming in so many ways, never drawing attention or recognition to himself. On the other hand all eyes were upon him because you knew he was someone who would be true to His word and what he knew to be truth. If you needed a job done correctly you called upon Bill. He was a wealth of information. If you asked him a question you better be ready for the long answer. He would start exhaling information and about the time you thought he was through he would inhale a breath of air and start exhaling more facts and figures and stories. And he could preach! His sermons were scholarly and at the same time pastoral, his delivery clear and without a note. Bill pretty much worked until failing health got the upper hand. For the last 6-8 years his public presence faded until it was non-existent. When you are not seen your importance dwindles and slowly you are forgotten. If people’s memories of you dwindle you just slowly fade away.

 

His memorial service was not held at a church but a funeral chapel. From 1:00PM until 3:00PM is not prime time. I think it is correct to say that while Bill knew a lot of people he had close relationships with only a few.  When time and memories of a person have elapsed and what is left of the physical body is just a sack of cremains maybe it is hard to justify showing up at a memorial service. I am not sure how many people came to the chapel and signed the guest book and left but when the memorial service began 29 people were in attendance. Only 29 people, just two dozen and 5. I was not among the crowd. My wife was there and I am taking some solace that I at least paid my respects by proxy.

 

I find it a little sad. It is disheartening that after a life of ministering to people and assisting others in ministering to people that only a small crowd comes to acknowledge your importance. If we view this only from the eyes of this world it is a discouraging thing.

 

In Isaiah 49 we discover a word of hope for Israel. They were a land, a nation, a people, who surely were depressed. Their city was in ruins and governments who were not sympathetic to their history, values, and faith ruled over them with a contrary hand. But the prophet says they ought to take courage for God has seen their affliction and is responding in compassion for them. God is writing a new song that will break forth as such decibels that the mountains around them dance in singing.

But they have not experienced that yet.

 

Isaiah 49:14 “But Zion said. ‘The Lord has forsaken me; My Lord has forgotten me.’”

             

Here is God’s response.

 

Isa. 49:15-16 “Can a woman forget her nursing child, That she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me.”

 

It is unfathomable that a mother would forget her nursing child. It is almost unheard of that a mother would forget the child she has borne. It could happen but God would never forget His people. This is a strong affirmation of God’s love and care for His people. God opens His hand and challenges them to look and see what is “engraved” on the palm of His hand. He has done this not with some kind of weak ink that can fade or be erased. But it is permanently carved into His metaphorical flesh. The object engraved on the palm of God’s hand is a drawing of the walls of Jerusalem. But which walls? Is it the broken down walls or the glorious walls of the future city? I say that it does not matter. The walls of Jerusalem is a reference to the people of God that had been and those that were yet to be engraved on the hands of God. It is a picture that tells us that God remembers us whether our walls are erect or whether they are crumbled on the ground.

 

How does this apply to you and me today? We are not Israel. We are not Jerusalem. We are not a nation enclosed with geographical boundaries. No! We are better than that! We have seen the Messiah. We have heard his teachings. We have seen Him crucified on a cross. We have acknowledged His resurrection. We have heard His gracious offer of forgiveness and salvation and by faith we have accepted that offer. We are a part of the church of the living Lord Jesus. We are the new Israel, we are the new Jerusalem. As such we are the recipients of all God’s promises and blessings and we are the ones responsible for propagating His mandates.

 

Thus this word of hope that Isaiah preached applies as much if not more to us than it did to those it was originally spoken to.

 

God has not forgotten us and He never will. He remembers us now here on this earth and He will remember us for all eternity. This promise is ours corporately as the church and as individuals.

 

Isaiah 49:16 is a beautiful picture of how God remembers and cares for His people.

 

The Amplified Bible, Classic Edition (AMPC) translates that verse like this “Behold, I have indelibly imprinted (tattooed a picture of) you on the palm of each of My hands; [O Zion] your walls are continually before me”.

 

What’s that?  Did it just say that God has a tattoo? Isn’t that something? God has a tattoo!

 

I dislike tattoos. I don’t understand why somebody would want one. The reason is that I have written so many dumb things in my life that I have learned that before I publish something to make sure it is something I don’t want to erase.

Recently a young woman told me she wanted to get a tattoo on her arm. My response was "please don't do that. Someone as beautiful as you does not want to mess up her beauty with a tattoo”.

 

But God has a tattoo. I suppose that if you are going to have a tattoo you ought to make sure it is of something significant. God’s judgment is great enough that He would not tattoo something onto His hand that was not significant.

 

His tattoo is a picture of His people. It is an image of His church corporately and it is a picture of you and me individually!  I ask the question: God why would you do that? God’s answer is “I love you so much, and I think you are so beautiful that I have tattooed a picture of you on the palms of both of my hands”.

 

Let me make three quick applications in regards to what this means for us.

It Speaks of  God’s Protection. 


He has engraved our image not on the back of His hand but on the Palms of His hands. In the palms of His hands he hides us and protects us. If the tattoo was on the back of His hand we would be subject to all the elements of the world. We would be exposed to gawking of all our enemies and all the enemies of God. In one sense we experience that anyway because we cannot be followers of God and live reclusively and still be effective. Yet we can rest assured that though the world around us may gawk at our faith and our values and even our existence we find security engraved on and enclosed in the palms of God. 


We are not forgotten. Jesus said “I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand”. John 10:28 


 It Speaks of God’s Preservation 


Why do we protect something? We protect it so we can preserve it and thus be able to enjoy it. 


I have a picture of my wife Jeanette and me taken just after we were married. I used to carry it in my wallet but now I keep that picture in a drawer in my desk. Every now and then I get that picture out and look at it and I get a visual reminder of what she looked like then. I get the picture out and look at it so I can enjoy it.  


God tattoos an image of us on the palms of His hands so that we will be preserved for His eternal enjoyment. Now is part of eternity! We are going to be in heaven with the Lord forever but God enjoys even now and He carries around an image of us on the palms of His hands. He can open His hands and look at us anytime He wants to.  


It Speaks of God’s Presentation


There is going to be a day when we all stand before God. It is a day of judgment, a day of accountability. Frankly, I have a little fear of that day. But my fears are calmed because I know that standing beside me on that day will be my savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, the one who was and is the physical hands of God on this earth. 


I don’t know what that day will look like but with a little sanctified imagination I hear my name being called and I see Jesus opening his hands and presenting me, presenting you, presenting His church to the heavenly Father. Can you get that picture? There in the midst of the nail scarred hand is a tattoo of me and you and all the redeemed of all the ages. We are not forgotten but we are presented to God eternally secure.

Slipping Away Into the Crowd Unnoticed

Today I saw an ambulance with lights flashing on the way to the hospital. As the vehicles passed me I noticed that the scripture reference John 5:13 was written above the back door. This evening I looked up the reference. It says “But the man who was cured did not know who it was, because Jesus had slipped away into the crowd that was there”. One Sabbath day in Jerusalem Jesus met a sick man who was lying near the pool of Bethsaida hoping someone would put him in the waters so that when the waters were stirred he might experience their magical healing effects.  

That might seem silly but if you have been sick 38 years like this man had you will cling to any hope you can find. Jesus encountered the man and asked him a simple question, “Do you want to get well?” without answering the question the man gave both an excuse and an explanation that since he had no one to put him in the water that someone else always got in the pool ahead of him and thus received the benefit of the stirring waters. Without arguing the man’s reasoning’s and without discussing the effects of the waters Jesus simply looked at this man who had been sick for 38 years and told him “pick up your mat and walk”. Instantly the man got well, picked up his mat, and started to walk. Without saying or doing anything else Jesus slipped away into the crowd and the man who was healed did not even know who it was that healed him.

I suppose there are several reasons why Jesus slipped away into the crowd unnoticed. Certainly He had other things to do and other people to engage. Maybe He did not want to hang around and listen to the complaints and the questions of the Jews as to why He had healed a man on the Sabbath. For Jesus discussing rules concerning when and how and where one could do good deeds was a fruitless and senseless endeavor. Jesus simply went about doing good and ignored man made illegalities. Perhaps there is another reason Jesus slipped away into the crowd after healing the man. Jesus had come to seek and to save the lost. He had come to serve not to be served. Jesus was not interested in receiving accolades. He wanted the attention not upon himself but on miracle of a sick man made well and the grace of God that had made it possible.

If we wish to be faithful servants of Christ we need to not be positioning ourselves hanging around in order to receive praise and credit. Like Jesus we need to do good and then slip away into the crowd unnoticed.  

The difference Between Passing Through and Passing By

We love to sing the old familiar song “This world is not my home I'm just a passing through, my treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue, the angels beckon me from heaven's open door and I can't feel at home in this world anymore”. The song jingles in our head and flows from our lips and gives warm thoughts in the heart as we think of the beauties of heaven, the loved ones who are already there, and the thoughts that we will one day dwell there also. I understand the sentiment. But if we are not careful we can be so busy focusing on our heavenly destination that we lose sight of the journey that has been set before us. We rush through life oblivious to the sights, sounds and stories and situations around us. We are headed to glory but we forget the gospel encounter that is enabling us to have the hope of glory. In doing so we fail to communicate the doctrines of grace that will help others join us in glory.

Jesus did not make the mistake of just passing through. In Luke 18:35-43 we read the story of Jesus and the blind beggar. The blind man was sitting beside the road cobbling together a living by the only means available to him. He was begging. He could not see but he could hear and feel the commotion of the crowds and he inquired about what was going on. The people told him “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by” (Luke 18:37). I submit to you that there is a measurable difference between passing by and just passing through. Jesus demonstrates what that difference is.

When you are just passing through you take the easiest route. You take the interstate and by pass the towns and crooked roads and the crowds and congestion. You want to get through the territory and make it to your destination as soon as possible and with limited stress. But when you are passing by you take the interesting route. Jericho was a less than desirable town and there was a road that went around it. But Jesus did not avoid Jericho but ventured right into the middle of it. He waded into the thick of the crowd where he could touch them and feel their pulse. He heard their stories. He saw their struggles and recognized their pain. He stopped and engaged in conversation with the people. His followers did not understand his concern and methods. When the blind man cried out for mercy Jesus’ disciples tried to silence him and blockade his access to Jesus. But Jesus stopped amongst the masses and asked that the man be brought to him. The disciples and the crowds saw the blind man as a freak to be shunned but Jesus saw him as a man in great need. The disciples were in passing through mode but Jesus was in passing by mode and so he stopped and engaged in a dialogue with the blind man.

The blind man was desperate and lonely and needy. When asked what he wanted Jesus to do for him he answered quickly and clearly “Lord, I want to see. It has been a long time since these eyes have functioned. Let me recover my sight”.  Jesus said ok. “Receive your sight”! The man’s vision was recovered and he followed Jesus around the rest of the day, glorifying God, telling people what Jesus had done for him. And all the people who saw it began giving praise to God.

We live in a world that is blind in a multiplicity of ways and for a myriad of reasons. They need the touch of Christ. They need the power of His mercy and grace. They need the gospel that loves and the gospel that saves and the gospel that heals. They are not going to encounter that gospel if we just pass through. But if like Jesus we will take the slower difficult road and pass by and stop and engage them with the power of the gospel, lives will be changed. Jesus himself does not walk physically upon this earth today. But we do. While we do let us tell the story of Jesus and administer the help and forgiveness that Jesus has to offer.  

 

 

The Value of a Tombstone

Two weeks before my grandmother Ada Cloyd was nine (9) years old she lost her mother to tuberculosis (TB). Grandma did not talk much and if you wanted information you had to pry it out of her. I asked her once what she remembered about her childhood and she said she remembered that when her mother died she and her two older sisters, ages 13 and 11, and her younger brother, age 7 were all sitting on the bed around her father as he told them what had happened. She said that all of them were crying. That may have been my grandmother’s only lasting memory of her parents because two weeks later her father was found dead under a tree where he had been plowing with his mules. He was buried on my grandmother’s 9^th birthday, May 27, 1916. Uncle Vince and Aunt Lucy and their daughter, who lived just down the road on the neighboring farm, moved into their house and provided the care and guidance needed until she and her siblings were grown. I am sure there were lots of stresses and struggles with that arrangement but my grandmother always held Uncle Vince and Aunt Lucy in high regards.

Her parents were buried in the family plot in a country cemetery. I have visited that cemetery a few times and have observed that many of the older graves are simply marked with sandstone rocks without name or words of eulogy or notations of the deceased date of birth and death. Such was the case with my great-grandparents when they were buried there in 1916. Poor people have poor ways. There were more critical things to spend money on than a properly cut and inscribed stone. It was left to family and friends to remember where their loved ones were buried. It was the responsibility of the older generations to pass this information and the accompanying stories along. Though my grandmother had a limited experience with her parents, preserving their legacy and memory was important to her. Those barren sandstone grave markers were not sufficient to honor their lives. When she became an adult, perhaps twenty or more years after her parents death she purchased out of her own funds granite tombstones that have now for decades marked the resting place of Noah and Izabel Gill. I was born 41 years after the deaths of my great-grandparents. But I know their story because someone told me. I can find their graves because someone respected them enough to buy a tombstone. It is right to honor our dead. It is good to preserve our memories. It is healthy to recall who we are even if when we do not know the ancestors in our lineage that made us who we are.  Remembering our loved ones who have gone on demonstrates our love and gratitude and regard for them. Taking the time and effort to do so adds value and dignity to our own human story.

My Christmas Prayer for 2017

When the rhetoric is vile and spewing forth hate

Fill my heart with love, my mouth kind words to relate

 

When characters are threatened by accusations

Keep my tongue from promoting the declarations

 

When news blares of another sniper with a gun

May my sheath, sword, and shield be your majestic Son

 

When I encounter neighbors burdened and in need

Grant me the blessing to give, not withhold in greed

 

When humankind divides by status, creed, and race

Help me pursue common ground, guide me by your grace

 

When conflict and confusion never seem to cease

Make me wise so that I might facilitate peace

 

When a brother has no one on whom to depend

Cause me to be silent, listen, and be a friend

 

When loneliness and despair threaten to destroy

Bring me hope, that encouragement I might employ

 

When I see people broken by sins frustration

Give me boldness to share knowledge of salvation

 

When they grapple in darkness unguided by sight

Let my life and voice become a beacon of light

 

When people doubt Bible truth and implication

Allow me patience for a gospel conversation

 

When stilled in weariness from our earthly story

Deliver heavens hope from the Lord of glory.

 

One Glad Morning

Two years ago today I received a phone call from my brother informing me that our Dad Larry Cloyd had died. I was not surprised. Dad had spent a lot of time in and out of the hospital over the previous years. He had numerous health problems. When I saw him two months earlier his breathing was labored and his mobility was limited. I had plans to see him again in another two weeks. But the Lord took him home before I got there. Dad lived in an assisted living facility and he liked it there. On the morning of Sept. 5, 2013 he got up and rode his scooter down to the dining hall. He enjoyed a good breakfast and joked around with a couple of his friends. He then rode his scooter to the elevator and went up to visit the nurses and get his medications. He joked around with them as he always did. He rode his scooter back to his room and within 5 minutes he had pressed his medical alert button. The nurses came quickly but he was gone. His soul had left his large, old, and tired body and flew off to glory. His favorite song was “I’ll Fly Away”. I can see him now standing around the piano taping his foot and singing with gusto “Some glad morning when this life is o’er, I’ll fly away; to a land on God’s celestial shore, I’ll fly away. I’ll fly away oh glory, I’ll fly away. When I die Hallelujah by and by, I’ll fly away”. On the glad morning of Sept. 5, 2013 that song became a reality for him.

I cannot imagine a better way to go. Dad enjoyed eating. And he enjoyed being around people. He left this earth with his belly full and his heart full. How you going to beat that? But I feel the void every day of not having him here. He was a good dad who fulfilled his responsibilities in life, took his faith seriously, and had great pride in his children. I love you Dad.

Laid Out in a Straight Row

Brock and I just got back from a walk in the cemetery. I noted that the graves were all lined up in a straight row. Maybe that is why the heart monitor shows a straight line when a heart stops beating. It occurs to me that I am destined to lain out, flat and still, in a straight row. That is death. Some people suggest we live that way. And some folks do. But since I will have forever to lay flat and still in a straight row I prefer to live with a few zigs and zags and curves and swirls. I choose to do a few things contrary to the norm and explore things out of the ordinary. I want to take a few risks and sometimes just land wherever the wind takes me. I might die sideways or upside down. But so what? There will be someone there to pick me up and lay me out in a straight row.

What is Love

What is Love?

                                                                   Brent Cloyd 2015

Love is a kiss

            A prelude to the dreams we hum
            A postlude of what has become

Love is a wine

            Intoxicating heart and soul
            Over the mind it gains control            

Love is a song

            A melody to remember
            Forever a burning ember

Love is a light

            Dispelling darkness in the night
            Keeping hope of morning in sight

Love is an ointment

            Soothing discomfort through the years
            Healing our wounds, calming our fears

 Love is a nourishment

            A meal giving comfort and strength
            Encouragement for the day’s length

Love is a refreshment

            An oasis along the way
            A cool drink at the end of day

Love is a Faith

            Bearing hope in the worst of times
            Always waiting to hear the chimes

Love is a Jewell

            A dangling necklace of fine gold
            Staying the same as it gets old

 Love is a perfume

            A fragrance seeking our favor
            An aroma we can savor

 Love is a curtain

            Protecting our secrets and pride
            A shadow where we can confide
 
Love is a banquet
            An emotion to celebrate
            A good reason to Decorate

 Love is a banner

            Appreciating our worth
            Expressing our value on earth

Love is a flower
            A lily growing from the pond
            Beauty that expresses our bond
          
Love is a voice
            A call to the places we roam
            An invitation to come home 

Love is a guardian

            Protecting us from things that spoil
            Watching over the fruits of our toil

 Love is a rock

            In whose cleft we obtain refuge
            Granting us strength for battles huge             

Love is a covering

            A quilt hand pieced with perfection
            Stitched with peace, hope, and affection         

Love is a garden

            A soil where our lives can take root
            A fertile place producing fruit         

Love is a spice

            Amending the ordinary
            Bringing taste to the contrary

Love is a tree

            A gentle breeze providing shade
            A place for the stories we’ve made
      

Love is a seal

            A room that captures and confines
            A lock that holds us and refines

 Love is a comfort

            A shelter from the wind and cold
            A blanket when sick and old

Tiny Pulpits

A few months back I was rummaging through a closet at church and I discovered a tiny pulpit. It was amateurishly hand made from simple pine boards and plywood. My first thought was this is for a very short preacher. Or perhaps someone made it so children could play church. I was curious so measured it. It was 23 inches from the ground to the top lip. I discovered later that due to lack of Sunday School classroom space, someone, many years ago, had been forced to teach their class in the back corner of the sanctuary. So he made the short pulpit, placed it in the seat of probably the 4^th pew from the back of the church and used it as a lectern from which he taught his class who sat in the three back pews of the church.

My junk closet discovery is physically the tiniest pulpit I have ever seen. But I am afraid I have seen other pulpits that in reality are smaller than this one. In ministerial terms to say someone occupies a large pulpit means they preach from a place of prominence and great influence. It might mean they preach to a large church. In this sense the size of the pulpit defines the size of the pulpiteer. In a more fair world the pulpiteer would define the size of the pulpit but it does not always work that way.

In terms of what I have just described I have never occupied what I would call a large pulpit, though I have occupied some that were larger than the one I currently occupy. But I have tried to use the pulpit properly, though I am sure I have sometimes failed to do so. I have tried not to think about the size of the pulpit. Instead I have tried to focus on and judge myself as the pulpiteer. I may have a small pulpit but I do not want to be a small pulpiteer.

Ever since I found the tiny pulpit in the church junk closet I have been mulling over this thought. The question I keep asking myself is “what makes, or what determines, a tiny pulpit”? Or to ask it another way “what makes or determines a large pulpit”? I have thought of about 15 answers to that question and each answer has merit. I am not through exploring this question but here is my thought for today. The size of the pulpit is determined by the heart and soul and character of the pulpiteer who occupies the pulpit. If the pulpiteer does not believe in and have passion for the truth that he or she proclaims they are small pulpiteers and have made their pulpit small. And if they have no love in their hearts for the people they preach to then they are indeed little preachers occupying a tiny pulpit.

A Story Snaps the Picture

One of the most wondrous benefits of a story is that hearing a story might bring from our mind and soul a story of our own. Yesterday I shared a story about the now disconnected phone numbers that had belonged to my parents. Hearing that story my Uncle George, my mother’s younger brother, remembered a story about my mother.

My mother at age 20 had just graduated from junior college and obtained a job as a one room country school teacher. She was still living at home and wanted to use part of her new income to help the family. So she had a phone line put in. It was the first phone the family ever had. George recalls that the phone # was 865-W. To make a call you simply picked up the receiver and a real live operator would make the desired connection for you. It seems that mother also bought new living room furniture for her mom that year and at Christmas time bought a present for every member of the family right down to the tiniest niece and nephew. That was not a small feat since my mother had 10 siblings most of whom would have been married with children by that time. Uncle George remembers helping my mother wrap the gifts at the kitchen table and recalls how proud she was of herself and how happy she was to be able to do that. That would have been perfectly in character for my mother but I had never heard the story before. I am so glad my uncle shared that story because it gave me a slice of my mother’s life I would not have had otherwise. It enabled me to see my mother through a different lens. I saw a picture of her as a young single 20 year old three years before I was born. I can see her smiling face amidst a mound of Christmas presents on the kitchen table. That is a beautiful picture. A camera could not catch that picture but the story did.

Preaching Shoes and Son Shoes

Today I preached my father’s funeral. I did it because he requested that I do so. But I did it at my own insistence. If the task had to be done then the task belonged to me. But in order to do this task I had to put on my preaching shoes. So I put on my preaching shoes and laced them up real tight. And for the past four days the responsibility of preaching my father’s funeral has consumed me. Today I delivered the thoughts that had been burning on my heart. I hope my words helped others. I found catharsis in the experience.

But now I have to take my preaching shoes off. I had them laced pretty tight. This afternoon I put on my son shoes. I drove around town and took a look at the various places we lived and the places we used to go. I drove back to the cemetery. I read my Dad’s name on the tombstone. I picked up a handful of the barren clay under which my father’s body is buried. I crumbled the clay in my hand until it soiled my fingers and palm. I am going to miss you Dad. I am going to miss you bad. Son shoes are a lot harder to wear than preaching shoes.

The Loss of a Great Friend

Yesterday I wrote in good humor about saying goodbye to my old friend Flip Phone. Today I am mourning the loss of a really great friend. My new phone rang this morning at 8:45 CT. My brother was calling and the news he bore broke my heart. He called to tell me that our dad, Larry Cloyd, had died this morning of an apparent heart attack. The news was not surprising. My dad was 79 and suffered with numerous illnesses. I usually spoke with him 2-3 times a week. We spoke for the last time this past Saturday morning. I was sitting in the Dairy Queen restaurant and “Flip Phone” rang. Like always dad said “tell me some news”. I did not have much news to tell him. We did not talk long. He seemed tired. Now he is gone. So today with fragile mind and voice I have been calling and texting and emailing my brothers and sisters. We are planning a celebration of my dad’s life. Why not? We have something to celebrate. We had a good dad who loved his family and provided for them. We grew up watching a man who worked hard and lived honestly. We got to observe a man of faith who lived his life with generosity and pursuing what was right. So on this coming Sunday afternoon Sept. 8 from 2:00 -5:00 PM we will gather at the Tucker-Yocum-Wilson Funeral Home in Georgetown, KY to receive friends and family and to laugh and talk and remember the life of my dad Larry Cloyd. The next day, Monday Sept. 9 at 10:00 AM we will gather at the Buck Run Baptist Church near Frankfort, KY for a funeral service. I will be speaking at that service. I will do that with honor and at my father’s request. There will be tears and there will be sadness but there will also be rejoicing not only in a life well lived but in the eternity that my father now enjoys. So if you knew my dad, come help us as we share memories and celebrate.

Tomato Pie

It finally happened! My wife Jeanette and I have been married 30 years, 5 months, and 15 days. In all that time she has never made a pie. Oh, she has made plenty of cakes, cookies, brownies, candy, and sweet rolls. She has even been known to make a cobbler. But never has she made a pie. She says it is because she does not like pie. But she likes me, doesn’t she? Yes, I am sure that is true, but that like has never translated into a pie. Despite my request, my begging and pleading, cajoling, sad faces, and perhaps even attempts to shame her she has never made a pie. I have had to rely upon friends and neighbors and family members and the nice ladies from the various churches where I have been pastor to satisfy my craving for pie. I have had pies from some of the finest cooks on earth. I have received pies that not only satisfied the pallet but were pleasing to the eye. I have had sweet pies and tart pies. Hot pies and cold pies. I have been blessed with nut pies and cream pies and pies made from every fruit imaginable. But my sweetheart has never made me a pie. One would think that after the all the nice things I have done for her and all the wonderful things I have said about her she would bake me a pie. But it has not happened – until today. On the 30^th year, 5^th month, and 15^th day of our marriage my beautiful wife surprised me with a pie. It was a tomato pie! I must say it was very good. I ate two pieces. It was the first tomato pie I have ever tasted or for that matter the first tomato pie I had ever seen. Jeanette has never lacked for creativity. Now understand this was not a desert pie. But it demonstrates love and effort and progress and it was good and it proves that she can do it. Oh yes, believe me it counts, it was a pie!

George and Barbara

I was pleased and honored this morning that my Uncle George Williams and his wife Barbara were a part of our worship service at North Side Baptist Church. Afterwards my wife Jeanette and son Brock enjoyed visiting with them as we shared a meal together. We were their last stop on what had been a 10 week, 14,000 mile circuitous trip that took them north from London, KY, across Canada, into the Yukon Territory, into Alaska and back via the northwest and mid-western parts of our nation. Truth is, life has been a long and circuitous trip for George and Barbara. They met at a roller skating rink and have been rolling along together ever since. George was 20 and Barbara was 17 when they got married. That was 52 years ago. Not long after they were married George joined the Army. The Cuban crisis was happening and he was soon shipped off to Panama for two years. My memorabilia box still contains a Panama quarter he gave me upon his return. After Panama George went to Officer Candidate School and was commissioned a Second Lieutenant and sent to Vietnam. He had two one year tours in Vietnam and later a temporary assignment there as well. They also spent two years in Berlin and during that time they toured much of Western Europe in a tent. (That sounds a bit more rustic than the 40 ft. travel trailer they made the trip to Alaska in).  Somewhere in the midst of all these adventures they had their daughter Tammy. After ten years they decided they had had enough of Army life. They were living in northern Virginia at the time, Barbara had a job she liked and George began a career in sales. Then at the age of 40 he went back to school, received his Bachelor’s Degree in Nursing and spent the next 21 years working the night shift as an ER nurse. Over the years they have together visited all 50 states. Upon retirement they moved back to their home town of London, KY. I would call that a long circuitous trip. I am so glad I got to share a small piece of their life journey with them today. George and Barbara, I do not know how long it has been since you have had on a pair of roller skates, but some how or another find a way to roll on.

One Thousand and Forty-Six Weddings

I own a precious heirloom that I am quite proud of. It has no real value but it has a lot of value to me. It is a simple ledger book that my mother purchased in 1956. Within it she recorded the names of the men and women whom my grandfather, Morgan Williams, performed wedding ceremonies for along with date of the wedding. There are 1046 entries in this book. The dates range from July 2, 1923 until Nov. 21, 1961. According to my mother my grandfather had a record of all the marriages but they were recorded in a number of small notebooks. Wanting to secure this piece of history in one volume she purchased the simple ledger book and personally took on the task of recording the names of each couple and the date they were married. There are 1030 entries up to July 25, 1956, all written with the same pen in my mother’s handwriting. Sixteen entries are recorded over the next 5 years with different pens and a variety of penmanship. My grandfather died in 1962. At some point after his death and before my grandmother’s death in 1974 my mother secured the book and held onto it as a precious part of family history. My grandfather Williams was a country preacher in Laurel County, KY. He was also a blind man which meant he needed assistance in completing the marriage documents. Even as a young teenage girl and into her early adulthood my mother had often served as his scribe, hence the personal importance of this piece of heritage to my mother. About ten years ago my mother gave the book to me. Mother’s memory was fading by this time but when she gave me the book we sat down together and for about an hour and a half went through the ledger page by page. She knew a lot of the people and could tell me some tid bit of information about them. I was surprised how many of the people I knew.

I recently went through the book and discovered that 876 of those weddings took place in just over a decade between 1940 and 1950. In fact 662 of them took place in the five year period between 1945 and 1949. In 1945 my grandfather performed 127 weddings. His most prolific year was 1946 when he performed 219 weddings. He performed 145 in 1947, 96 in 1948, and 80 in 1949. It does not take to much knowledge of history to figure this out. The boys were coming home from war and were either reconnecting with or finding their girls and starting families. My grandfather was a good friend with the County Clerk. The couples would come to the courthouse and get their marriage license. If they were in need of a minister to perform the wedding he would suggest that they go see my grandfather Morgan Williams. Fact is, during that time period he was not that far away. Often he was at the courthouse anticipating the need for his services. During the course of his ministry there was 31 times that he married three couples on the same day. On nine different occasions he married four couples on the same day. Seven times he married 5 couples on the same day. And on March 29, 1947 six different pairs of brides and grooms stood before him and said “I do” to their vows and he pronounced them husband and wife. Only in Vegas and places like London, KY.

Those were different days. It was in many ways a different culture. What pre-marital counseling was done in those days was done by grandma and grandpa and other such elders in the community. Weddings were simple but they were important and memorable. Saying “I do” did not mean “I’ll try” it meant “I will”. Yet, I am certain that within the 1046 marriages that my grandfather solemnized there were some that failed. Some kept their failures secret. Some learned to endure and work through the tough spots. Some ended up back at the courthouse. I am certain that some were gloriously happy and have fond memories of the day when they got their marriage license and found a preacher who would do the honors and send them on their way. I guess the truth is some would have looked back on their marriage experience as a mixed bag of trials and blessings. Love kept them together and they endured the trials because they enjoyed the blessings. That is the way marriage is. That is not going to change whether you get married in a cathedral by a priest or down by the courthouse by a country preacher.

Thirty Years Ago

My wife and I have been married thirty years today. We were married at a little chapel in downtown Kansas City, Missouri, just one block away from the Kansas state line. Our wedding was simple with just our parents, siblings, niece and nephew, and three other friends attending. My wife’s pastor performed the ceremony. Our life together has been a busy and circuitous journey. We have lived in just two states but have had 10 different addresses. I have had seven different employers. We have three children and together with them have traveled in 42 states and Canada. We have been a lot of places, done a lot of things, met a lot of interesting people, encountered a few challenges and have found solutions to or resolve with most of them.

Thirty years in some ways seems like a long time. For one thing there have been a lot of changes over the past thirty years. Thirty years ago we were still using one of those big heavy typewriters (and a lot of whiteout). We had scarcely heard of the internet. Yet here I am today communicating to people and places in different parts of the world with a click of a mouse. Thirty years ago we would seek to eradicate any mouse that got in the house and now I have a mouse at my right hand a great deal of the time. On the other hand thirty years does not seem long at all. It is not so long ago that I cannot remember holding my wife’s hands, looking into her eyes, and saying my vows. I can still hear her voice as she said her vows to me. I guess if you had thirty years with the wrong woman it would be a long time. But I have been fortunate to have spent the last 30 years with the right woman and it does not seem all that long.

Thirty Years Ago

©2013 Brent Cloyd

Man and woman, pledging no more to be single

Bride and groom, excited that their lives would mingle.

Husband and wife, in love, with hopes and dreams aglow

We were married at the chapel, thirty years ago.

Fifty-Seven Years Ago Today

 

Today is my mother and dad’s fifty-seventh wedding anniversary. They did not have a long courtship. Their first date was in August of 1955. They went to the Laurel County (KY) Homecoming together. A little over 5 months later on January 29, 1956 they were married. My mother says that the first time she ever saw my dad he was driving a Farmall H tractor. My grandfather had two farms separated by seven miles and according to her he would drive by and throw up his hand. One day when he drove by, he slowed down, brought the tractor to a stop, turned off the engine, and there perched on the tractor seat asked my mother for a date. That’s the way my Mama tells the story. Truth be known she flagged him down. Since my dad gives a much different account of their first meeting it is quite possible that my mother’s version has been embellished somewhat. But since mother’s Alzheimer’s will not allow her to defend her version of the story I think I will just let it ride.

Big, fancy, expensive weddings were not the norm in the culture where they were from. Most people just went to the pastor’s home or perhaps to the church and had a simple private wedding. There was the pastor, the bride and groom, and two witnesses you had secured to “stand up with you.” My mother and dad had asked my dad’s brother and his girlfriend (who would soon be his wife) to stand up with them. Together they went to the home of a country pastor and farmer whom everyone called “Preacher Kirby”. There on this day fifty-seven years ago, they “tied the knot”.

There have been a lot of anniversaries since then. Some of them have been great celebrations. The recent ones have been tough. Mother has been suffering with Alzheimer’s for over 10 years and for over a year she has not known us. Dad has a slew of heath problems himself. So I suppose tomorrow the extent of the celebration will be a visit to the nursing home that will differ little from other such visits. I wish it could be a happier occasion. But fifty-seven years ago today they stood together before a country preacher who asked each of them this question: “Will you take this woman/man to be your lawfully wedded wife/husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, so long as you both may live”. And they said “I do”.

 

Fifty-Seven Years Ago Today

                            2013 Brent Cloyd

 

With new dress and suit, flowers, and hair fixed just right

The dreams, plans, and labors of our lives would unite

My brother and his gal stood beside us on the spot

To give witness to the world that we tied the knot

We stood nervous before the preacher at his home

Promised to cling to each other; never to roam

Said “I do” to the questions; gave the preacher his pay

Man and wife; fifty-seven years ago today.