“for I find my delight in your commandments, which I love. I will lift up my hands toward your commandments, which I love, and I will meditate on your statutes.” – Psalm 119:47-48
My preacher friend, Wayne, recently made a comment that stuck with me for days. During a sermon, he said, “We tend to like what we study and study what we like.” The more time we spend in God’s Word, the more we appreciate what it has to offer. And the more we appreciate what the Bible offers, the more time we’ll want to spend reading and meditating upon it.
Wayne said the principle is true for just about any pursuit and referred to music. He’s not a fan of classical music and thus doesn’t appreciate what it offers. He may recognize the most popular pieces but doesn’t seek them out and can’t tell you much about them.
Another friend of mine, Jenny Diamond, a music expert, backed this up. She said a trained person can listen to a classical piece and tell you exactly which instrument, like the oboe or French horn, is playing the melody. Her young music students often cannot. She added that a trained musician can tell you what musical period a piece of classical music comes from, be it the Renaissance, Baroque, or Romantic period, just by listening to it. There are characteristics in the writing of composers from each period that a trained ear can recognize.
Jenny listens to and knows classical music. A lifetime of study allows her to appreciate the subtleties, and she’s able to convey those to her students. The more she listens and studies, the more she learns. And the more she learns, the more she wants to listen and study. The two go hand in hand. Her passion for music didn’t happen by chance.
Wayne and I, on the other hand, are classical music novices. We don’t recognize the subtleties or time periods. We can’t pick out the oboe in the melody. We haven’t invested time and energy in this type of music and, as a result, our appreciation for it is at the surface level.
The note from the margin reads: Don’t expect to love, delight in, or lift your hands to something on which you have not meditated. Our love for something—be it a person, a hobby, or a type of music—flows from the investment we make in it.
If you find yourself not loving or even understanding the Bible, ask yourself, “Have I invested in it?”
My first encounter with Ron Swift involved the negotiation of a bride price, as practiced in many countries in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East. My eldest son, Jason, had spent the summer of 2013 Facebook-stalking Ron’s daughter, Rachel, as she did mission work, rode elephants, and sported dreadlocks in Cambodia. I may have looked over Jason’s shoulder a time or two, wondering if Rachel was the one. Quite boldly and prematurely, I messaged Ron, offering 50 camels in exchange for Rachel, so that my son would have a life companion and someone to make him Ramen noodles. When Ron immediately accepted my offer, I knew that regardless of what happened with our children, he and I would get along just fine.
My next significant encounter with Ron occurred on the eve of Jason and Rachel’s 2014 wedding. The wedding venue had just held another event, and we couldn’t set up the outdoor seating until around midnight. So, in the light of the moon, Ron and I and a few others set up rows of chairs in a field in a place called Bald Knob. (Ron and I never saw any knobs, bald or otherwise.) The next morning, while officiating the ceremony, I walked up to Ron and handed him the 50th and final camel, this one about three inches tall. The bride price was paid. The exchange of “I do’s” and rings soon followed.
Over the past eight years, my love and appreciation for Ron has only grown. He and his wife, Jackie, were crazy full-time RVers like my wife and I once were… living “in a van down by the river.” His love for Jackie, his children (Rachel and Nathan), my son, Jason, and the rest of his family was expressed regularly and never in doubt. You knew where you stood with Ron and that was a good place to be. The same could be said for “Libby,” his “best dog ever.” Ron understood dogs and dogs understood Ron.
Aside from his family, his dog, and his faith, Ron’s big passion was long-distance bike racing. He was good at it and found community with his fellow racers. When deciding the best places to park their RV for the next season, Ron always factored in the availability of suitable bike trails. Even after taking a nasty spill (or two or three) and injuring himself, he always looked forward to healing up and getting back on his bike.
Ron also faced a challenge most of us will never face—Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD). This condition resulted from many years of intense, stressful work as an anesthesiologist—specifically while taking care of critically ill or injured patients in the operating room. Few know the pressure of holding someone’s life in their hands. I mention it here because Ron never shied away from the subject. In fact, he and Jackie allowed me to interview them and include their story in my book, Faith in the Margins. Ron called the condition his “thorn in the flesh.” He shared his story because he wanted to help others going through similar struggles. He was empathetic to what others were facing.
In discussing his illness, Ron would refer to 2 Corinthians 12:7-9. Like Paul, Ron pleaded with God to take away his illness. As with Paul, the Lord’s response was, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Like Paul, Ron was willing to, “boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” Although PTSD was devastating to Ron, he told me he was learning to trust God’s sufficient grace. With each episode, God’s grace emerged.
So, Ron and his faithful companion, Jackie, endured much. He suffered many rough, debilitating days in anguish, unable to function. But there were also some peaceful days—some mountaintops. Playing guitar for family at Christmas. Exploring new places by RV with Jackie. Riding with friends. Vacations with family. Wrestling with his dog. All mountaintops.
But the valleys were deep. Jackie told me that Satan gives you this false hope that things will improve, but sometimes they don’t. She said that if Satan was using this illness to crush Ron—to put him in a headlock—we must remember that Christ has Satan in a headlock.
Toward the end of the interview, Ron said, “We know how the story ends. Christ wins the battle. And I’m in Christ. If that doesn’t give me peace, nothing will. Listen, I wish the situation were different. I pray that it will get better. It might. But it might not. If God doesn’t take this away—if this is as good as it gets, so be it. I’m at peace with that. Let him use me for his glory.” Jackie added, “We have a home in Heaven. And we belong to a heavenly Father who loves us and gives us sonship through Christ (See Galatians 3:26-29).”
Ron said, “I’m counting on that sonship. Think about the prodigal son for a moment. He made some bad choices and ends up eating with pigs, an experience not unlike the valleys mental illness will put you in. But the story doesn’t end there. He ends up expecting, best case scenario, to be a servant to his father. To just be shown mercy. But his father does the unimaginable—he elevates his lost, messed up son to an heir! And he throws a party! My only hope in all this is that God will somehow do the same for me. I’m counting on it.”
Yesterday afternoon, God called Ron home. His family, friends, and all who knew Ron are devastated. In losing Ron, we lost someone special.
But death doesn’t get the last word here. Satan doesn’t have the final say.
Ron was a Christian, you see, and that changes everything. 1 John 5:4 says, “For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith.” As a result, we can proclaim, “Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting? … But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord, Jesus Christ” (1 Cor. 15:54-57). What a promise!
In the end, Ron’s words to me were prophetic: “We know how the story ends. Christ wins the battle. And I’m in Christ.”
I paid a silly bride price of camels for Rachel, but Christ quite seriously gave his very life to purchase those who are in Him. And Ron was, and remains, “in Him.”
We don’t know exactly what Heaven will be like, but we know it will be something special. Ron will exchange his RV for a mansion just over the hilltop. I envision him upgrading his bike for a faster one that doesn’t crash. He’ll exchange his bumps and bruises for a crown. And maybe, at least symbolically, he’ll be reunited with every dog he’s ever owned. I see them pinning him down and licking his face. I can hear his laughter.
No more valleys—only mountaintops. No more anguish—only peace. Heaven is… as good as it gets. So, even as we cry today and in the days ahead, and there will be plenty of tears, we also need to remember Ron and smile. He was another of God’s special gifts to us. And he fought the good fight, he finished the race, and he kept the faith.
I just published my sixth book, Journey Through Genesis. Here’s a peek behind the curtain…
What’s it about?
It’s a devotional commentary on Genesis—the first book of the Bible. I cover all 50 chapters of Genesis, but unlike traditional commentaries, I don’t go verse by verse. Instead, I try to bring out salient points from each chapter—the things that spoke to me. I discuss ideas and principles that are applicable to my life. Hopefully, my readers can relate to that.
How did the book come about?
The original idea came from a discussion I had with my sister, Stacy, several years ago during a family gathering at Christmas. We were discussing my dream of doing some faith-based writing, and she mentioned a need for more writing that helps ordinary people to better understand and relate to the Bible. She planted a seed.
She was on to something?
Absolutely! The Bible is the most important, life-changing book ever written, containing the very words of God, and yet a 2021 survey of Americans found that 29% of people never read it and only 11% read it daily. Half of Americans read the Bible less than three times/year. More than a problem, that’s heartbreaking. It’s devastating to our culture and our future. A relationship with God—the most important relationship that exists—is built on two-way communication. We speak to God through prayer (Philippians 4:6-7 & 1 Thessalonians 5:17-18) and He speaks to us through the Bible (2 Peter 1:21, John 16:12-13, & 1 Corinthians 14:37). When we don’t read our Bibles, we cut God off, and the relationship becomes one-sided. If we also don’t pray, there’s no communication. Imagine a marriage relationship where neither spouse or only one spouse communicates. That’s a problem. This book is my modest attempt to encourage people to open or re-open their Bibles and let God talk to them.
Why are fewer people reading the Bible these days?
Lots of reasons. We’re busy. Our days are full of activities—working, playing, raising children, maintaining stuff, etc. I’m afraid, at the end of a long day, too often “mindlessly streaming Netflix” or some other activity trumps “meditating on God’s Word.” Too often the Bible doesn’t bubble up on our list of priorities. And, if that sounds like finger-pointing, know that the first finger is pointed at myself. I’ve got work to do.
I also think sometimes people view the Bible as old and outdated—a relic from the past. The old, dusty family Bible sits on Grandma’s bookshelf, next to her VHS player and flip phone. Quaint, but rarely opened. In the opening of my book, I compare many people’s views of the Bible to the way the young man views a bowl of flaky cereal in the 1992 Super Bowl commercial. He’s not sold on it—thinks it’s kind of boring—until he tries it. Like the young man in the commercial, sometimes we must taste something again “for the first time” in order to appreciate it.
So, you want people to try the Bible again for the first time?
Technically, that’s not possible. You can only try something for the first time once. Figuratively, though, it’s possible to see an old, familiar product in a new and different light. Old married couples can reflect on what first attracted them to their spouse and try to recapture the magic. You can retrieve the old bicycle gathering dust in the garage, wipe it off, grease the wheels, and take it for a ride on a new, exciting trail. Old things can be reimagined.
I’ve probably read or been told the story of Noah’s ark 200 times in my life. So, it’s tempting to not read it the 201st time. I mean, what else could God possibly want to communicate to me through that story? It turns out, quite a lot. When I approached it, and the rest of Genesis, with an open heart and a fresh set of eyes, God opened the spigot. I saw things at age 56 that I hadn’t seen before, and I wrote down what I learned.
Why Genesis?
Genesis provides the stage-setting—the context—for the rest of the Bible. To understand where you are and where you’re going, it helps to know where and how you began. We get that in the first few pages. This book of beginnings, written by Moses under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, sets forth the origin of the universe, humanity, culture, languages, marriage, family, sin, death, sacrifice, redemption, cities, and civilization. Genesis answers some of the most basic, yet profound questions you’ll ever ponder. “How did I end up as a human being on Planet Earth?” “Who’s responsible for this magnificent universe we live in?” “Why am I here?” To better understand our heavenly Father’s actions toward humankind throughout the Bible, it’s valuable to know how He felt about us right from the start.
As with your other books, you continue to self-publish. Why is that?
Unlike some writers who consider writing a career, for me it’s a hobby. I enjoy and benefit from the process. This book, as an example, had me opening God’s Word almost every day for the past nearly two years. That’s a good thing—a useful hobby. I hope others enjoy and share my book with their friends and neighbors. But I don’t track sales or proceeds and do very little marketing. I don’t enjoy that aspect of the process and don’t get caught up in that—not at my age. Turning my hobby into a business would suck the joy out of it for me.
I also like having complete control over content. When I wrote my books on hiking the Appalachian Trail, I didn’t want an outdoor/adventure publisher asking me to take out all the “God stuff,” nor did I want a Christian publisher asking me to take out references to bodily functions. On the AT, I experienced God and experienced some odd, humorous moments of bodily functions. With my books, you get what’s on my heart—the raw, real me—for better or worse. I don’t have a publishing company telling me what, when, or how to write.
What’s on the horizon?
I currently have two irons in the fire. The first is a memoir of sorts—scenes from my life and what I’ve learned along the way. I’ve been going through scrapbooks and photo albums and talking to family members. I’m finding that looking back on my life and trying to make sense of it is a challenging and useful exercise. I’m also working on a sequel to Faith in the Margins. I’ve gotten good feedback on that book and there’s always new material coming in. Beyond that, who knows? Maybe a Journey Through Exodus? Whatever I’m working on, you’ll find me with a cup of coffee either at Vienna Coffee Shop, the Blount County library, or on my back porch.
Final Thoughts?
First, I want to thank the “Fab 5” who read and provided feedback to me on early drafts of this book. Chase Turner, Todd Tipton, and Janet, Jason, and Kyle Johnson took this journey with me and provided key insights that helped me shape the narrative. They saw things I had missed and simply made the book better. I am eternally grateful to them!
I also just want to encourage everyone to read their Bible. Like I said, it’s the most important, life-changing book ever written. Sure, there are parts that can be tough to get through. But other parts provide hope and meaning and purpose. God reveals His love and His plan for humankind. Jesus tells us and shows us how to please God and live the very best life. For me to know what God’s Word can do and not share it would be like a physician having a life-saving drug and not prescribing it. With whatever time I have left, I hope my books can in some way point people to our amazing God.
I hope Journey Through Genesis—available on Amazon—will encourage people to pick up the Bible and “read it again for the first time.” I hope it draws out some practical applications of the text for you. I hope you’ll share it with others because you are my only marketing team. But whether you read my book or not, read God’s Word. It’s inspired. It’s the one and only God who created you and loves you wanting to have a conversation with you. I promise you reading and meditating on the Bible will change your life for the better.
On our way from the airport to the parsonage yesterday, I asked my friend Carl about projects needing done during our month in Maui. He thought for a moment and said, “If you see something that needs done, just do it.”
Hmmm.
I would have preferred, “Take out the garbage weekly.” Or “Offer an invitation at the end of your sermons.” Or “Brush your teeth regularly.” I also prefer when my wife tells me “The bed could be made” or “The grass is getting a little high.”
Doing what we’re told to do is FAR easier than doing what needs to be done. It takes less energy. Less perceptiveness. Less creativity. Carl, whether intentional or not, was challenging me to up my game—to raise the bar. I wish I hadn’t asked.
Of course, he didn’t invent “Just do it.” I think he got it from the suits at Nike. They may have gotten it from God, who may have said it to a puzzled Noah after telling him to build an ark. Yes, God gave Noah many specific instructions on how to build the floating container.
But my concern here is not doing what we’re told. That’s a good lesson for the 1st graders I occasionally teach. My concern is seeing something that needs done and just doing it. That’s graduate level Christianity. That’s our challenge on Maui, and that’s my challenge to you.
If the old man is hungry, feed him.
If the child needs clothes, clothe her.
If a single mom needs groceries, buy them.
If a jobless dad can’t pay a bill, pay it.
If students need mentoring, mentor them.
If a poor person in a foreign country needs a home, go build it.
If the Walmart checkout clerk needs a smile and compliment, offer them.
If a flood-ravaged home needs mud removed, remove it.
If the parents of a special-needs child need a break, provide it.
If the widow need encouraging, visit her.
If prisoners need hope, bring it to them.
If someone hasn’t met Jesus, introduce them.
Having to be reminded to take out the trash or make your bed is cute in your first month of earning a childhood allowance. Being told to “rinse the ‘hars’ out of the tub”—as my wife once put it—is funny in the first week of marriage. However, only doing what one is told to do grows tiresome. In matters of faith, it reflects spiritual immaturity.
The world doesn’t need more ideas. My restless mind pumps out ideas daily—the good, feasible ones are rare and mostly ineffectual. The world doesn’t need more critics. Yes, we know you would have done it a better way. The world doesn’t need more sideline observers. Change happens in the arena.
No, what the world needs are more doers—more Christians in the game. More Christians who have been taken hostage by James 1:27, which reads, “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.”
Today, I hope we make our beds, take out the trash, and mow the grass. Let’s do what we’re told. And then, I hope God gives us the eyes to see “something that needs done” and the courage to “just do it.”
Every disaster area offers a blend of devastation and healing, of heartbreak and hope. Every day, God presents the volunteer with a person, an image, or a story. Each random, unexpected blessing is an antidote for the poisonous, soul-crushing environment you find yourself in.
Yesterday, our first day working in Marshall County, Kentucky, God offered two images that struck home.
First, the easel. Around 10 o’clock on the night of December 10th, a young girl and her family huddled in the basement as a nearly 250-mile long, EF4 tornado ripped apart their home and wreaked havoc across her native Kentucky and four other states. The 190 mph winds took the lives of 90 souls, including 75 in Kentucky, and left more than 125 injured.
Thankfully, the girl, her autistic brother, and her mother were spared. Her father, tragically, had died two weeks prior from a heart attack while sitting in his recliner the day after Thanksgiving. The girl and her family emerged from the rubble and walked through the ruins of their family compound the following day. Only one of the girl’s possessions remained intact and unscathed: an easel. I don’t know what it was like for her to stand in a debris-littered yard with nothing but the clothes on her back, holding her only remaining possession. I suppose she was forever changed.
Had the story ended there, that would be enough. A young tornado victim being reunited with her easel is the hope among heartbreak, the healing among devastation. Remarkably, the young girl had something more in mind. She donated the easel to her church—the people who were busy helping her family and other storm victims. “Unless you become like little children…” Jesus once said.
The young girl’s easel is among the first things seen by church members and relief workers upon entering the church’s Fellowship Hall. It contains a message of hope for all who enter: “God’s got this.” For those who know the backstory, the easel represents something more. It reminds us of a little girl who gave up her only possession. She gave us her all.
That brings us to image #2. While knocking doors and assessing needs on Benton’s Carriage Lane, my friend Donna and I walked by a property with no door to knock, bell to ring, or window to tap. All that remains is the home’s foundation and a tree stump. In insurance terms, this is a “total loss.”
Upon closer examination, though, we found something else. Whoever had cut up the downed tree had gone to the trouble to carve a cross from its trunk. Yes, on the south end of Carriage Lane, on a foundation with everything else blown away, all that remains is a cross.
Like the easel, that cross will stick with me for, well, maybe forever.
Long after my Maryville home is gone, the cross will remain.
Long after my life savings are spent or passed on, the cross will remain.
Long after my prized possessions are rendered useless, the cross will remain.
Long after my physical body has returned to dust, the cross will remain.
Long after a life spent pursuing, acquiring, and becoming, Jesus’ death, burial, and resurrection are all that will remain.
The easel and the cross. The healing and the hope. The first two of many gifts to be unwrapped in the Benton/Mayfield disaster area.
Papa Raymond, my 88-year-old father-in-law, will have his second hip replacement surgery of 2021 tomorrow afternoon, on Veterans Day. Later this year, he’ll have eye surgery. You see what he’s up to, right? His plan looks obvious to me. Over the course of the next few years, he’s going to methodically replace all his body parts. He’s going to begin his ninth decade of life with the body of a 20-year-old. His 90th birthday cake will read, “Happy Birthday, Benjamin Button Climer!”
Preparation for tomorrow’s surgery begins at midnight tonight when Papa begins to fast. Wanting his next-to-last meal prior to surgery to be a good one, I made him my specialty: grilled hot dog with cheese and onions, along with a side of mac & cheese. As my cooking skills go, this is high-end. Whenever Big Steve lights the grill or pulls out a saucepan, something special is going down.
Toward the end of lunch, Papa did something he never does… ask for seconds. This is a man who eats like a dieting canary and weighs 138 pounds soaking wet. He never asks for seconds. For that matter, he rarely finishes firsts. So, when he asked to finish off the mac & cheese, we were all stunned.
“Tomorrow’s a big day, a lot going on,” he smiled and said. “Better get my nourishment today.”
Papa is a wise man. This isn’t his first rodeo, nor his first hip replacement. He knows what’s involved. It will be a challenging day, featuring drugs, needles, IVs, hospital food and, if he’s lucky, cute nurses. It all begins with about 15 hours of fasting. For a guy who likes his morning strawberry strudel with coffee, that’s tough. It’s a challenge. It’s a big day, especially for an 88-year-old.
How does he prepare? He loads up on nourishment today. He knows an extra scoop of mac & cheese today will strengthen him for whatever challenges tomorrow brings. This proactive consumption of calories might also make tomorrow’s inevitable 11 a.m. hunger pains a little more manageable.
On this beautiful fall day in Maryville, Papa’s words are now looping in my brain: “A lot going on tomorrow… better get my nourishment today.”
And then I look out on the back porch and see Papa. Like almost every other day of his life, there’s an open Bible in his lap.
“For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:6-8
On the radio today, a local businessman discussed an interesting aspect of the Coronavirus pandemic. He said it forced him to prioritize and categorize the relationships in his life.
Category 1 contains his “worth getting sick for” friends and family. These are the most important people in his life. He cherishes these relationships so much that he has been willing to risk getting the virus in order to be with them. Put another way, the real loss of not being with these special people for months or years trumped the potential risk of catching or spreading the virus.
Category 2 contains his “not worth getting sick for” friends and family. These people are still valuable to him, but they are not in his inner core of relationships. These are people you would regret not seeing for a year or longer as you wait out the virus, but they aren’t your most critical relationships. They aren’t worth the risk.
You may take exception to his approach, but he’s right in that we all prioritize our relationships. Your spouse and children mean more to you than the other people in your neighborhood. You may value your Christian friendships over casual acquaintances at the office.
Jesus makes no distinctions. He loves every one of us. He didn’t wait for us to love him or to stop sinning before He was willing to die for us. He selflessly and proactively gave himself up.
With Jesus, there are no “worth dying for” and “not worth dying for” categories. He loves all of us equally. We’re all worth it. He was willing to go far beyond the risk of being harmed. He came to Earth knowing full well the certainty of a horrific, painful death.
Still, two categories remain:
Christians – those who are obedient to God’s Word. They believe in Christ, have confessed His name, have repented of their sins, have put on Christ in baptism, and continue to live faithfully.
Everyone else.
In John 14:6, Jesus said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
Have you heard the expression, “I like the idea of…”?
I like the idea of writing a book. Translation: I would love to be an author, but I don’t intend to literally go through the difficult process of turning an idea into a book.
I like the idea of hiking the entire Appalachian Trail. Translation: I like the idea of being an Appalachian Trail thru-hiker, but I don’t intend to literally climb up and down mountains for 12-15 miles each day for the next six months.
I like the idea of being healthy and fit. Translation: I know a healthy and fit lifestyle would be good for me, but I don’t intend to consistently eat right and exercise. That’s too much trouble.
What about the Bible? Do you like the idea that God took the time to communicate to us in writing? How about liking the idea of certain Bible passages? Let’s take Hebrews 13:2: “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.”
That sounds like a neat idea. I like the idea of it.
Just don’t expect me to do it.
I mean, I’m hospitable to my family. We open our doors to loved ones and celebrate family gatherings with feasts and frivolity.
I’m also hospitable to my friends. We have hosted many friends travelling through East Tennessee and have shared many meals with our church friends. Are we hospitable? Absolutely!
But that’s not what Hebrews 13:2 is about, is it? Hospitality to strangers is a whole different ball game. When was the last time you invited a perfect stranger into your home? The very notion sounds risky, even unsafe. That may have worked in Bible times, but today, not so much.
At a restaurant, when was the last time you invited a stranger, sitting alone, to join you and your family? Seems a little awkward. I mean, you don’t know the person. What if they’re weird? What if they have a virus? What if they have nothing in common with you? What will you talk about?
Don’t get me wrong—I like the idea of being hospitable to strangers. But in practice, I’m going to take Hebrews 13:2 and line through “to strangers.” Isn’t it enough for me to just be hospitable? Shouldn’t I live prudently, manage risk, and limit my social contact and generosity to known quantities?
But wait, Hebrews 13:2 isn’t finished. The stranger before me might be an angel. Isn’t that special? I like the idea of it.
Of course, it’s not realistic. It’s probably an exaggeration—a divine figure of speech. That stranger sitting across from me at the restaurant, or three pews in front of me, or on the street corner asking for his next meal, couldn’t possibly be a messenger from God. That’s silly. What are the odds?
So, while I like the idea of Hebrews 13:2, I’m going to reword it as follows: “Show hospitality to your friends and family.” Now that’s more like it! Thanks for accommodating that quick edit, God! I’m going to show hospitality to my family and friends like never before! I appreciate you working with me on that. I think we’ll find this approach is more reasonable and less risky.
While I got you here, God, can we discuss Matthew 5:44? I mean, I like the idea of loving my enemies…
It’s taken me a couple of days to process and try to make sense of the situation unfolding in Afghanistan. I hope you’ll give me the space to “think out loud” for a few moments.
I could write about politics and unload on this Administration. Not so much that we’re getting out of Afghanistan, but how we went about it. It’s a travesty on multiple levels, but I try to avoid divisive politics on social media. Few minds are ever changed. Vote your conscience.
I could write about national strategy as it relates to Afghanistan. I’ve studied national strategy and warfighting at one of our nation’s most prestigious schools. Tens of thousands of debates have occurred, and papers have been written, on our interests in Afghanistan. Do we stay and keep fighting for a third decade? Do we get out completely? Do we leave a smaller contingency force behind to gather intelligence and put out fires? How do we balance humanitarian interests and nation-building with the loss of American lives? Queue the endless debates.
I could write about one of the fundamental principles of leadership: owning a mistake, learning from it, and committing to do better. Blaming others doesn’t instill confidence. I wish there was more personal accountability and less political posturing in government. I can’t fix that. I can only own my own mistakes.
Instead, I want to share with you how this hit me personally. My youngest son, sensing all may not be well between my ears, checked on me late last night. I told him it had been a surprisingly difficult day emotionally. I’m dealing with anger, frustration, and sadness. I can only imagine what those who lost friends and loved ones in Afghanistan, or served multiple tours there, are dealing with. I can only imagine the suffering on the ground there—our Allies being rounded up, young girls being plucked from their homes, etc.
Through all those emotions, one question is stuck in my head: Was it worth it?
I volunteered to spend 6 months at Bagram Air Base in 2007—6 months away from my wife and two young sons—because I wanted to do my part. I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to help support the Airmen who were directly killing terrorists. I wanted to make a difference in the lives of the Afghanistan people.
Watching the videos of The Taliban in the presidential palace and walking around Bagram Air Base was shocking. Seeing terrified Afghans scrambling and dropping from an airplane broke my heart. It felt like we were back to square one. It felt like the loss of life and billions of dollars spent over the past two decades were a complete waste. It felt like I would have been better off spending those six months being a present, supportive husband and a dad to my sons.
Those feelings make me highly cynical and jaded. I start thinking… “Because it didn’t last, it shouldn’t have been started. Because it didn’t turn out as we had hoped, it was a wasted effort. The poor, long-term returns prove it was a misguided investment.”
But do they?
This isn’t the first thing in my life that hasn’t, over the long haul, turned out as planned.
As a teacher, youth minister, and mentor, I’ve invested countless hours in some young people who “didn’t turn out as planned,” although God’s not through with them yet. Wasted effort?
As a missionary several years ago, I worked tirelessly alongside others to help plant a church in a third-world country, only to see it fold a few years later. Wasted effort?
As a disaster relief worker, I’ve “mucked” and hung dry wall in many flooded homes, only to see those same homes and communities flooded again in subsequent years. Wasted effort?
As an Airman, I deployed to Afghanistan to help good people and stop bad ones. Yesterday, the bad people won (at least until God settles all accounts). Wasted effort?
As a Christian, I’ve prayed for sick people, including my mom, to get well. God had other plans. Wasted effort?
That kind of thinking will leave one jaded and cynical. You stop trying—stop trying to do good in the world—because your efforts may not work or may not last. Given the lack of a guaranteed, long-term return, we don’t invest.
So, rather than debate politics and national strategy this afternoon, I just want to encourage you to keep doing good.
Invest in teaching and mentoring young people—some lives will be changed.
Share your faith, go on mission trips, plant churches—some will take root and last.
Help disaster victims. If the need arises, help them again.
Deploy to trouble spots or support those who do. Show kindness in the moments God has granted you, be that in a war zone, a school cafeteria, or your home.
Keep praying, even when some prayers seem to go unanswered. The Father knows best. And before bashing our leaders with perhaps well-deserved criticism, take a moment to bow and pray for them.
Like many Americans, I’m profoundly disappointed in what is transpiring in Afghanistan, but I’m not going to become jaded and cynical.
The truth is, sometimes I let my family and friends down. Sometimes, many times, God has every right to look down on me as a flawed human—a poor long-term investment.
“To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though not being myself under the law) that I might win those under the law… To the weak I became weak, that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some.” – 1 Corinthians 9:20, 22
While volunteering at Palmetto Bible Camp in South Carolina, my burly friend Joel and I put our spouses in charge of planning our day off. Big mistake. Instead of the obvious options of fishing, going for barbecue, or relaxing in our RVs, Janet and Karen suggested we attend an equestrian competition at the nearby Tryon International Equestrian Center.
“They want to go watch dressage,” Joel lamented, running his thumb and index finger over his white, bushy mustache.
“What’s dressage?” I asked.
“It’s the French word for dull and boring.”
“Oh, quit,” Karen interjected, as she herded us toward the car. “It’s horse reigning. You’ll have fun.”
Aside from our preference to eat pigs rather than watch horses and riders execute a series of predetermined moves, why were Joel and I so reluctant?
We didn’t know anybody. We had no children, grandchildren, spouses, or friends among the competitors. We hadn’t placed any bets. We had no dog, or rather horse, in the fight.
We didn’t understand the jargon, competition elements, time limits, deductions, brackets, arenas, and prizes. None of it made any sense. Just outside the arena, vendors were selling jewelry and windows. That didn’t make any sense either. Joel and I followed the lead of our fellow spectators and applauded but didn’t know what the horse or rider had done to earn it. We didn’t get it.
Since we didn’t get it, we didn’t fit in. This wasn’t our culture. These weren’t our people. We were surrounded by horse people doing horsey things. We were RV guys who would have felt more at home at an RV show (or eating barbecue). We didn’t belong here.
With few exceptions, the spectators weren’t all that into it. A few hooped and hollered but most sat passively and offered only cursory applause at the end of each performance. This was no Saturday afternoon college football game. Since the other spectators weren’t all that into it, why should we be?
I’ve had bad experiences with horses. My wife loves horseback riding and I’ve reluctantly joined her on many rides around the country. After sizing me up and inquiring as to my comfort level, the cowboys always pair me with the oldest and slowest horse in the barn. Then they chastise me throughout the ride for not keeping up.
One painful beach gallop—an anniversary gift to my wife—resulted in tears in my eyes and a week-long limp. On another ride, I watched a church friend crack her head open after being thrown from her horse. I rushed over and applied pressure to her wound with my t-shirt. It was traumatic not only for her and her children but for our other church friends who saw me shirtless. Yes, I’ve got horse baggage.
Still, Joel and I were there, getting our dressage on, surrounded by a few hundred people in an arena designed for a few thousand. Our experience and attitude regarding equestrian competitions reminds me of the way a lot of people view going to church.
“I don’t know anybody. It’s an auditorium full of strangers.”
“I don’t know what’s going on. There’s a lot of unfamiliar jargon and peculiar practices. What’s with the bread and juice ritual? What are elders and deacons? Where does the money go? How does this class or sermon relate to my real-life problems? I’m so confused.”
“I don’t belong. They have established friend groups and I’m an outsider. These are church people doing churchy things.”
“I’ve had bad experiences. I remember the way the church treated my parents during their divorce. Also, no one visited me when I was in the hospital, or the year I was shut-in due to the virus. I’ve got a closet full of church baggage.”
“The church members weren’t all that into it. No one made comments or asked questions in Bible class. The singing was ho-hum—not much energy. Everyone sat far apart from each other, even pre-Covid. Not much Spirit in this place.”
The result? Fewer people attend worship services these days. Like the Equestrian Center, many faith groups struggle to fill their building. What can be done? How can we reverse the trend?
Invite people. Bring them to a decision point. When is the last time you invited someone to church?
When visitors show up, introduce them to others. Connect them with potential friend groups. Take them to the appropriate Bible classes. I left the Equestrian Center with no new friends—no connections. I didn’t get the backstage tour—didn’t meet any riders. It was not enough to just watch them do what they do. We can’t afford for that to happen in our worship services.
Explain terms. Answer questions. Don’t assume people know what’s going on. At the Equestrian Center, one volunteer answered our questions and made sure we had a program. The program explained the scoring, categories, and other relevant material. I read about “change of foot”—a scoring element—and started looking for it. My experience improved once I understood what was going on.
Make people feel like they belong. Get them involved in a ministry. At the Equestrian Center, imagine how our experience would have been different if they had asked Janet to help transport the horses, Karen to hand out programs, or Joel and me to help repair a barn door. We would have felt needed—a part of the action. There would have been instant buy-in to what was going on.
Worship in Spirit. Along with your Bible, bring your passion to worship. Sing out. Participate. Make comments in class. Sit together like family. Say “Amen.” I’m not suggesting a rock concert scene, but worship doesn’t need to be a boring funeral service either.
Finally, consider things that may turn people away, such as archaic terminology or cliques. If you want Joel and me to frequent your equestrian events, or visitors to frequent your worship services, you don’t need throw out the rules—the doctrine. But you must see those events from our perspective. The note from the margin reads: Like Paul, we must consider the perspectives and the culture of the people we’re trying to reach.
Whether Joel and I attend another equestrian event doesn’t matter. Church attendance, however, is paramount. Hebrews 10:25 tells us to, “not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing.” Let’s do all we can to make visitors feel welcome and more likely to return. I may not understand dressage, but I know church services are where we worship God, learn His will, and draw closer to one another.
