kirkallanlewis@yahoo.com

A Tribute to Kingdom Builders

Background Passages: Matthew 20:26; Matthew 25:14-30

I belong to a church that began its ministry in 1954. Since its doors opened, South Main Baptist Church, Pasadena, TX, two pastors have served the congregation. The late Dr. B.J. Martin pastored the church for 27 years before giving way to Dr. Ron Lyles in 1981. In a few days, Dr. Lyles celebrates his 35th anniversary with our church. Six decades. Two pastors.

This stability of pastoral leadership is certainly not a record for service at the same church. Other pastors served their congregations for longer periods. Yet, I think it says something about these two men of God.

What is the measure of a great pastor?

People look at a number of metrics to determine the vitality of pastoral ministry. We are, after all, a performance-driven culture. Some might look at church membership, Sunday School attendance, outreach totals, the number of baptisms, or the amount of congregational giving. Those should be important inputs. They are not, however, the important impacts.

Rick Warren, the pastor of Saddleback Church in southern California, said you measure the impact of a pastor, not on metrics as those above, but on his ability to be a “kingdom builder.”

A kingdom builder, according to Warren, is someone who…

lives for his great purpose,
lives by great principles,
lives on great power and
lives with great people.

Warren says our purpose for living as Christians is two-fold. First, our purpose is to spread the gospel of Christ to a lost world, bringing others into a saving relationship with God. Great pastors internalize that purpose and lead a church in a mission-minded focus, not just within the walls of the home church, but by establishing and supporting mission work at home and abroad.

Secondly, that great purpose calls us to move beyond evangelism to make disciples of those who place their trust in Christ. Making a commitment to Christ is a simple matter of faith. Living the purpose-driven life he requires daily is difficult unless someone teaches us how to live and relate to the world as God’s people.

In B.J. and Ron, I found men with equal zeal and commitment for spreading the gospel of Christ and for growing those wish to walk with the Father. Their passion proved in what they proclaimed from the pulpit and what they practiced as the daily pattern of life. The ministries they established in our church and our community shared the love of Christ in word and deed, touching not just the soul, but also meeting the physical, social and emotional needs of life.

Great pastors draw strength and wisdom from the foundational principles set forth by God in his scripture, according to Warren. A great pastor lives by these principles, letting them guide his every word and action. Both of my pastors made deep theological study an essential part of their preparation for ministry. You sensed their fidelity to scripture when they preached and taught. Yet, they made sure they grounded their heavenly theology with an earthly purpose…always rooted in the practical matters of life.

These gifts of teaching and preaching would have made limited impact if they are not wrapped in a cloak of love. For 35 years, Ron has lead our church to make to promises to all who join our congregation…to love them and let them love us in return. It is not a trite slogan, but a real promise of congregational fellowship designed to ensure that we care of each other in every way.

Warren said the power by which a pastor moves and serves rests in the presence of God’s spirit in his life. It is this Spirit who provides the discernment needed to guide, lead and counsel a congregation. Both men who have served as my pastor allowed the Holy Spirit to speak and work through them. Their ability to understand the needs of our congregation testified to the way the Spirit moved in their lives. They spoke the right word at just the right time. Provided new ministry outreach to fill a void. Comforted the hurting when they needed it most. It seemed God always put them exactly where they needed to be with the right word and touch.

Finally, Warren believes a pastor is a kingdom builder and a great pastor when he worships beside and with his people, holding himself and others accountability for the work of God in the church and in the community. He provides spiritual encouragement, building up the body to face a world that more often than not turns its back on God.

I have been encouraged by the studied approach taken by my pastors over the years as we dealt with contemporary social issues. Our church, under the leadership of our pastors, always tackled thorny issues of the day, but it was done after much prayer and acted upon with thought, compassion and grace.

Powerful sermons delivered in the past by both men resonated as a gospel of conviction and not the gospel of convenience often proclaimed from other pulpits. God’s people need to hear spiritual truth that makes us squirm a little in our pews. Both men spoke the Word of God with such passion that it dared their listeners to pick up the cross and carry it further down the road toward Christian maturity. I have been challenged, confronted, forgiven and encouraged. I have been allowed to serve and find my place of service both in my church and my community. I have been given opportunities to participate in mission outreach activities at home and abroad, allowing God to use me in whatever way he sees fit.

Yes. Without a doubt. My pastors, Dr. B. J. Martin and Dr. Ron Lyles were and are kingdom builders. Physically, they could not be more different. Spiritually, they could not be more alike. Both could preach. Both could teach. Both could take God’s word and translate it into a practical pattern for living in ways that even I could understand.

What is the measure of a great pastor?

If your measure is kingdom building, toss out the statistics and look to the heart. I can point you to two men made a difference in my life. Two men who encouraged me and countless others to think and live as kingdom builders.

My kingdom builders.

My pastors.

My friends.

“Well done, good and faithful servants. You have been faithful in a few things. I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness.” Matthew 25:21

Wonderfully Made…For a Purpose

Background Passage: Psalm 139

The brightest minds in Greek and Roman worlds for centuries before and after the time of Christ believed human wisdom, emotion, memory and thought centered in the heart, not the brain. Ancient ideas of physiology and psychology told them that God spoke through the heart; that within the heart lived the essence of man’s soul. They believed the brain was an internal radiator that simply cooled the blood as it circulated through the body.

Influenced by these cultures, the ancient Hebrews understood that the core of who and what they were was centered in the heart. In other words, like the ancient Greeks, they believed the heart was the focus of all rational thought and emotion. So unimportant was the brain in Hebrew thinking that the word is never recorded in scripture…not once.

Scientifically, we know the ancients were wrong. We continue to learn more about the brain as the depth of scientific research grows into the complex role it plays in our how we think, feel and learn. Though we know better, we still speak of “feeling” and “thinking” with our hearts, a metaphorical echo of scientific error relegated to the pages of history.

The human brain functions as one of God’s most marvelous creations, yet only in the past 150 years have scientists and physicians made serious efforts to understand how it works. In 1861, French physician Pierre Paul Broca discovered that small region of the left frontal lobe of the brain controls our ability to speak. In subsequent studies since that time, scientists have identified 83 specific areas of the brain that activate when we recognize a face, read a book, think about a specific memory or do certain types of physical work.

Neuroscientists at the University of Washington recently published a new map of the brain, revealing more than 97 previously unknown regions of the brain to add to the 83 areas already familiar to today’s scientists.

A Stanford University study recently used a new imaging technique called array tomography to look more closely at the brain’s neurons and synapses. The data collected produced a three-dimensional picture of these tiny cell connections. The images indicate that the number of synapses in the brain exceed the number of estimated stars in 1,500 Milky Way galaxies combined, making the brain far more complex that previously understood.

These new discoveries caused a few of my own synapses to make a few new connections. I thought of Psalms 139. The Psalmist, in his praise of God, wrote beautiful lyrics about his creative work.

“For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.”

We are God’s creation. Whether we developed through an evolutionary process or appeared in a molding of clay and bone is really immaterial to me. Neither view changes my understanding of God as Creator. To focus on that debate misses the point of my personal relationship to him. That he gave me this marvelous brain that thinks, acts, reasons, chooses, understands and loves is an amazing gift that governs my relationships to my God and to others. That he gave me the ability to grasp the concept of faith in him is grace in full measure.

That thought led to another. My son and his wife, Melissa, are expecting their second child in December. They have named her Amelia Diane. We saw another ultrasound of her yesterday. Even now as her body is developing inside the womb, God knows her and all she will become. The Psalmist explored that idea, also.

“Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.”

I think of these things not to get into a debate on abortion and the definition of when life starts. Rather, I stand amazed that God already knows my granddaughter. That a God-ordained, perfect plan already exists for her life. That the only things standing in the way of that life are the choices she makes and the positive influence brought to bear through the unconditional love of her Christian parents and all of those who enter her life.

Her intricate and incomparable brain will be imprinted with her God-given uniqueness etched throughout its gray matter. The life he plans for her will unfold as it is imparted by her parents, instructed by gifted teachers at church and at school, and inspired by the love of family and friends that desire only the best for her.

One final thought occurred to me as I read again this familiar scripture. Intellectually, I know our brains, not our hearts, make us who we are. Yet, we must continue to lean upon the understanding of the ancients, like the Psalmist, to express our desire to be all that God wants us to be.

He planted a seed in all of us that longs for a Father. As we allow that seed to grow, God guides our lives through every trial, test and temptation. The seed, that free-will choice of heart and head–creates purpose. We uncover our purpose in God when we honestly seek him and genuinely desire to walk the path he sets out for us. As the Psalmist sang,

“Search me, God and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me.
Lead me in the way everlasting.”

You Matter to God; You Matter to Me

Background Passages: Genesis 1:26-27; Galatians 3:8; Mark 12:26-27

The Broadway musical Waitress tells a story about a young woman whose life turns out vastly different than she imagined it would. When life leaves her struggling as a waitress in a small diner, eking out a day to day existence with little to show for her effort, she feels invisible and unworthy of love and respect. She encounters a man who takes notice of her, sees her for who she really is. He spends time trying to convince her that she, and her life, are important.

Sara Bareilles, a talented singer and songwriter, penned the lyrics to You Matter to Me. The song speaks poignantly to the need in all of us to matter to someone. She wrote,

“I could find the whole meaning of life in those sad eyes.
They’ve seen things that you never quite say, but I hear.
Come out of hiding I’m right here beside you.
And I’ll stay there as long as you let me.

“Because you matter to me.
Simple and plain, and not much to ask from somebody.
You matter to me.
I promise you do, you, you matter, too.
I promise you do, you see?
You matter to me.”

In explaining the lyrics to the song, Bareilles said, “It was something so simple that I think is at the heart of what we really look for when we want someone who really sees us. It’s just a feeling that what you do and who you are matters to someone.”

I’ve listened a great deal to that song in the past two weeks. Within the lyrics lies an answer, I think, to the many issues that tend to divide us today, including “Black Lives Matter.” “Police Lives Matter.” These are such sensitive issues and I’ll probably fumble through it. Please bear with me as I try to express my thoughts.

First, it matters to me that an African American man or woman is shot and killed by a police officer, whether that act was willful and deliberate, a terrible misunderstanding or an absolute accident. Black lives matter. Secondly, it matters that an individual, acting in unmitigated anger, willfully and deliberately targets and kills any police officer. Police lives matter.

The personal and national tragedies occurring across our country today sadden me. The division among us which these tragedies create saddens me. That the tragedies get exploited by individuals, media and groups with political agendas, saddens me. The social wedge it drives between us creates a deep, personal and public fracture that will take time and selfless understanding to heal.

I believe fundamentally that your life, regardless of who you are or what you do, matters. First and foremost, you matter to God. Genesis declares that people…all of us…are made in the “image of God.”

“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.” Gen. 1:26-27.

Every human being, regardless of race, ethnicity, background or profession, in some way mirrors God…something of God can be seen and felt in each of us. As a result of our created connection to God, all people are important to God. All people matter to God.

There ought to be a God-inspired corollary to that truth, especially to those who call ourselves Christian. Because God matters to me–as His child, His creation–you also matter to me. Neither race, nor ethnicity, nor social status, nor profession, ought to change that belief.

Paul tells us in Galatians 3:8, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

The apostle need not spell out every category of human being for us to understand that in the eyes of our Father in heaven we stand the same. In every way that matters to Him and to us, we stand the same.

I was taught never to judge another unless I had walked in their shoes. My actions and the actions of others, are typically predicated on our personal experiences. How I respond to situations depends on what I have experienced, seen, heard and perceived…circumstances that impact my life. I cannot, therefore, fully understand the real and perceived discrimination African Americans feel. I have never walked in their shoes.

Nor can I fully understand the anxiety and trepidation a police officer must feel every time he or she answers a radio call for a domestic disturbance, a break-in, traffic stop or at any social protest. I have never walked in their shoes.

The plain and simple truth is we don’t need to walk in another’s shoes to sense their anguish over life circumstances. We just need to act on our faith principles and react in the love of Christ to each and every person we encounter.

Consider this. Jesus had been involved in one of those intense debates with the Jewish leadership who questioned so many of his teachings. Near the end, one of the teachers of the law came to Jesus and asked, “Of all the commandments, which is the most important?” Our Savior responded with a clear message about our relationship to God and to one another.

“The most important one is this: Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no commandment greater than these.” Mark 12: 28-31

We have an abundance of issues that would divide us today…gay and transgender rights, immigration, terrorism, “Black Lives Matter,” “Police Lives Matter.” “All Lives Matter.” All I know is that my political and social perspectives…all aspects of my life…must match my faith perspective.

Those groups and individuals at the center of every one of these issues matter to God. Therefore, they and their feelings must matter to me. I matter to God. Therefore, I and my feelings, must matter to you. Until we start listening with intent to love as God loves, we will never find the common ground we need. We will never truly matter to each other.

You matter to God. You matter to me. As Bareilles says, “It’s not much to ask from somebody.”

The Gilded Cathedral

Background Passages: Matthew 23:25-28; James 2:14-18

My wife and spent the last two weeks celebrating our 40th anniversary on a Baltic Sea cruise. We started with a side trip to Spain before boarding a ship in London for Norway, Denmark, Estonia, Russia, Finland and Belgium. As with most of these European vacations, every stop featured palaces, castles and cathedrals.

I stood before each church and cathedral awestruck by the size and scope of the construction, thinking about how the architects of old created inspiring buildings worthy of God’s presence. Today, these massive facades still rise high above the surrounding neighborhoods, dominating city skylines with ornate spires and mammoth domes that reach toward heaven. Intricate carvings covering the face of each cathedral serve as silent and lasting testimony to the skill of the collection of artisans who spent centuries, in some cases, creating these magnificent houses of worship.

As I stepped inside and allowed my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting within, I marveled at the invaluable artwork that filled each sanctuary, drawing my attention always forward toward the marbled and gilded altars. I find it difficult to wrap my arms around the wealth represented in the gold-plated structures filling these halls.

A thought dawned on me as I stood in the back of the nave of St. Peter and Paul’s Cathedral in St. Petersburg, Russia, staring at the gilded altar rising to the ceiling. Inching my way through the milling throng of tourists snapping pictures, jabbering nosily, jockeying for position to catch a glimpse of whatever the tour guide highlighted, I felt a profound sense of loss. I stood in a magnificent house of worship, yet nothing about the chaotic atmosphere within resembled worship.

I sincerely appreciate the beauty and boldness of these magnificent churches, even though the opulent style challenges my simpler tastes. The beauty is wasted when you realize that few of the cathedrals offered more than the occasional worship service. Most served only a secular function, reflecting the history of time gone by. Museums to extravagance. Mausoleums for a faith dying of apathy.

Statistics tell us that the Christian faith in Europe has been on a steady decline for decades. Fewer than 10 percent of the populations in Norway, Denmark and Finland attend church regularly. Those who profess a faith in Christ stand in absolute minority among the citizens of Scandinavia and northern Europe. Did the extravagance of the buildings contribute in any way to the decline in faith, or was it something more personal?

As I sorted through my distress over the decline of faith and the emptiness of these sanctuaries of worship, I recalled an encounter Jesus had with the Pharisees late in his ministry. The conversation was one of Jesus’ most direct and confrontational messages to the religious leaders of his day.

“Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence…You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men’s bones and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.” –Matthew 23:25-28

With those words Jesus reminds me that the decline of faith evident in Europe and in our own country has far less to do with the physical appearance of our buildings than it does the spiritual application of my heart. Jesus reminds me that I can play the part, speak the words, construct a beautiful façade as I proclaim myself a Christian, and still my heart beats as empty and devoid of worship as those amazing cathedrals. I can gild myself in gold, putting up a grand façade, but never demonstrate God’s love to a lost and dying world.

Cathedrals and churches echo with emptiness across the world because our deeds do not match our faith. James spoke to this.

“What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such a faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. But some will say, ‘You have faith; I have deeds.’ Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by my deeds.” –James 2:14-18

Sadly, I’m sure there are times when those men and women searching for answers to faith’s questions see me as a gilded cathedral. An empty shell hiding behind a gilded face. Christ-like in outside appearance, but without the deeds to back it up. Such is the height of hypocrisy.

A cathedral without worship is a museum. Faith without works a mausoleum. How much better would it be for us to be plain an unattractive to the world, but open to God’s presence as we serve and minister to his people?

At the end of the day, these beautiful cathedrals sit idle because the people forgot what it meant to serve. Forgot what it meant to invest themselves in the lives of those they encountered. Our modern churches run the risk of becoming silent witnesses to our dying faith unless those of us who profess Christ act faithfully on his behalf in service and ministry to those we encounter today and tomorrow.

For the sake of our country and our faith, I pray we’re up to the task.

Unfathomable

Background Passage: Job 11:7-9

As a celebration of our 40th anniversary, my wife and I are today enjoying a cruise on the Baltic Sea. We spent our first 36 hours at sea. The expanse of God’s creation and the endless waves outside our stateroom window remind me of a verse in Job as the suffering one is challenged by Zophar, one of his friends. Zophar chastises Job saying,

“Can you fathom the mysteries of God? Can you probe the limits of the Almighty? They are higher than the heavens above—what can you do? They are deeper that the depths below—What can you know? Their measure is longer than the earth and wider than the sea. (Job 11:7-9)

I look in amazement at the expanse of ocean before me. Stare in wonder at God’s creation. Its magnificence…his magnificence…can be overwhelming. Yet, like Job, I question at times why things happen the way they do. Raise my fist in frustration at times when life turns tragic, asking the same question Job asked. “Where are you, God?” Life and its vagaries seldom come with explanations.

At other times, I think long and hard about how he constantly blesses my life. Cry out in complete joy because I know he carries me through my darkest nights and my brightest days. Shudder at the thought of any moment lived without his presence.

It is those times, I know what I need to know.

Since I cannot fathom God’s mysteries, nor probe the limits of his mighty power, I simply enjoy this life for what it is. His power expressed in the beauty and glory I see around me. His love exalted in the laughter of a child and the feel of a grandchild’s hand in mine. His joy evident in family and friends who continue to make my life more glorious each day. His work encountered within the context of my life that places me where he needs me to be at any specific moment in time.

I don’t need to know everything about how and why God interacts with my life. I just need to accept his grace for what it is.

Longer than the earth.

Wider than the sea.

Unfathomable.

In Whom There is Nothing False

Background Passage: John 1:43-51

Gene Lewis is 90 years old, still living by himself in Levelland, Texas. He is my Dad.

Born in Rhome, TX, in 1925, my Dad grew up in the small, West Texas farming community less than 20 miles from where he lives today. He served in the Navy during World War II, spending his time in San Francisco ensuring that the military supplies reached their destination on the front lines. He jokes that he served in the Navy and never set foot on a ship. After the service, he returned home, worked as a clerk in a bank until he was robbed at gunpoint and locked in the vault.

Dad spent most of his years as a cotton farmer and his later years working in the county tax appraisal district. After he retired and up until a few years ago, he delivered meals on wheels to the “old people” who couldn’t make it out of the house. He still works occasionally at the appraisal district during their busy times or to help train a new worker. He spends time trying to grow a few tomatoes in baked, red dirt that doesn’t cooperate much. He does love his home-grown tomatoes, but then, so does anyone who has ever tasted home-grown tomatoes.

That tells you what he has done, but not who he is. For that, I’ll simply remind you of the story of one of Jesus’ disciples.

Nathaniel (Bartholomew), born and raised in Cana in lower Galilee just a few miles from Nazareth, worked as a part-time fisherman and a full-time seeker of God’s truth. As Jesus began his ministry, Nathaniel followed the new rabbi for several weeks, listening to his teaching, probably sitting in the back row or on the edge of the crowd, getting his own measure of his teaching. He found Jesus’ conversations in the synagogue always rich with meaning and purpose. The stories to the multitudes penetrating…challenging the listener to think more deeply about God’s word. He was intrigued by this carpenter from Nazareth.

On this particular day, Phillip, one of Jesus’ new disciples, grabbed Nathaniel’s arm with a sense of urgency and excitement. “Come and see,” he said. “We have found the one whom Moses wrote about and about whom the prophets also wrote. Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.”

Knowing the scripture as he did, Nathaniel had trouble believing that the Promised One would come from Nazareth. Not yet knowing that Jesus was born in Bethlehem, he stated as fact, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” It was not a put down as we have made it over the years. He questioned because the “facts” he knew didn’t align with scripture.

When Phillip and Nathaniel approached, Jesus stood to greet him. With a smile and a comment that conveyed immense respect, Jesus said, “Here is a true Israelite in whom there is nothing false.”

Whenever I think of that story and the high praise Jesus rained upon Nathaniel, I think of my Dad. The thought popped into my head again this week we approach Father’s Day. My Dad is a true child of God in whom there is nothing false. While certainly not infallible, he lives his life with the utmost integrity. What you see is what you get. And you get a whole lot of good.

As a child growing up and an adult trying to find my own way in the world, Dad’s lifestyle laid out a set of undeclared expectations I still try to meet. He loved my Mom completely and with full devotion. That was a gift to his three children that he modeled each day. They were affectionate, but not mushy. They endured good-natured ribbing and laughed freely. Dad was her biggest supporter and she was his. His ability to love his wife and family openly was, and is, one of my greatest blessings in life.

Farming was not the easiest life to live. Dad would have supported any career path we chose, but we all knew his preference was for us to find another line of work. As a result, he helped raise a lawyer, a doctor and me. Dad instilled in all of his kids a serious work ethic, an attitude I see reflected in my brother and sister in the work they do. He worked hard and did what was necessary to support his family. While we may not have had a lot of material things, we were never poor…in reality, nor in spirit.

Dad spent long hours in the field, but he also knew how to rest. He understood that there was a time and place for everything. He knew how to leave the worries of the work on the tractor and come home focused on his family. He could also put things beyond his control in proper perspective. If the crop was hailed out, he spent little time moaning about his bad luck and more time thinking about the next steps. His work ethic and attitude toward life impacted me greatly.

Dad continues to teach me a great deal about our relationship to others. I don’t think I have ever heard a prejudiced word escape my father’s lips. Given the time period in which he grew up, that’s pretty amazing. He taught all of us that a person’s worth is measured by who he is and not where he comes from or what he looks like. Worth, to Dad, is not measured by political preferences, religious beliefs or immigrant status. A person should be measured by how he lives each day, how he treats others, the value he adds to the world. To treat anyone differently is just wrong.

I watched Dad as I grew up. If he found himself in a fractured relationship for any reason, he did his best to set it right, even if it meant having difficult conversations. Most of the time, those conversations led to a deeper friendship or, at least a mutual, respectful understanding of the other’s position.

These things and so many others make my Dad a great man in my eyes. However, if you know my Dad or ever met him, it would not take you long to understand that his relationship to God is his greatest gift to his family and friends.

If you look back to Nathaniel’s encounter with Jesus, you find Nathaniel stunned that Jesus used such kind words to describe him. “How do you know me?” asked Nathaniel. Jesus replied, “I saw you under the fig tree.” Sounds rather cryptic to us, but Bible scholars say it was not an uncommon circumstance for students of the scripture to congregate under the trees, unroll a scroll to study and discuss God’s Word. I like to think that Jesus was so aware of his surroundings that Nathaniel’s study under the fig tree, his desire to know God more intimately, did not go unnoticed by the Savior.

After a long day at work, it was not uncommon to see my Dad, sitting in his recliner, studying his Sunday School lesson while we watched Andy and Opie or some inane Star Trek episode. His discussions and debates with my Mom about scripture were often lively and always deep. Just reading the words of the Bible at face value is not enough for Dad. He wants to find its core meaning and its common sense application. The Bible for Dad is not spiritual pabulum or an outline of denominational theology, it is a blueprint for practical daily living. Its message drives the way he lives and loves.

I could regale you with stories about my Dad in hopes that you would know him as I do, but I can think of nothing better than this. Dad is Nathaniel in my eyes. A man in whom there is nothing false. And, I am a better man because he continues to teach me all he knows.

I love you, Dad.

Happy Father’s Day.

It’s Just Not That Complicated–A Story

Background Passage: II Kings 5:1-15

The driver guided the gilded chariot
to the side of the valley road.
Dust from the day’s drive dulled its luster.
The Captain hopped off the back of the chariot.
Pressed his balled fists into the
small of his aching back.
Stretched the kinks from
his muscled frame.

He pulled the headpiece gingerly from his brow,
snapped his fingers.
Within seconds a servant boy
handed him a goblet of water.
Cool.
Fresh.
Soothing his parched tongue.
Slaking his deep thirst.

His caravan passed by,
continuing his journey.
Wagons bearing a king’s ransom.
Ingot and coin.
Silver and gold.
Carts hauling a king’s clothes.
Finest silk.
Softest fabric.
Gifts to the King of Israel
and his prophet.
The one his wife’s servant called
“The Healer.”

The Captain.
An imposing figure…
from a distance.
A head taller than those around him.
Shoulders broad.
Hips narrow.
Legs and arms
muscular and
mighty.
Tall in stature.
Regal in bearing.
Accustomed to the mantle of command.
Adorned with the tributes of his master…
Ben-Hadad II.
King of Aram.

An imposing figure, indeed…
until closer inspection.

His once handsome face
hidden beneath a soiled cloth.
Stained by open sores and
Ssall, weeping tumors which
consumed the skin around
his eyes and nose.
Red blemishes
circled his neck.
Gray splotches
covered his hands and arms.
Disfigured.
Discolored.

Naaman.
The Captain.
Greatest of Aram’s warriors.
Battlefield survivor.
A soldier’s soldier.
A prominent man
in search of
an improbable cure to
a dreaded disease.
A leper.

Naaman watched his entourage pass.
His men avoided looking his direction.
Partially in deference.
Partially in disgust.
Naaman noticed the slight.
He always noticed.
He roughly stroked his cheek,
angry at sensing no pain, no feeling
from the dying flesh.
More dead than alive.

An unknown prophet
his last ray of hope.
This trip a simple favor from the king
to his most trusted general.
Healing was a long shot both men willingly grasped.

Naaman gathered his strength again.
Exhaled a deep breath.
Climbed onto his chariot.
Nodded to his driver.
Followed the caravan toward the city of Samaria,
high on the distant hill.

He shook his head in weary disbelief.
He traveled this far on the word of a slave-child and
her blind trust in a holy man of Israel.

Naaman walked out the front door of what passed
for the king’s palace in Samaria.
Repulsed and revolted by the cowardice
he had witnessed.
He judged the Hebrew king.
A tattered bundle of nerves.
A sniveling sovereign.
A weak and whimpering ruler.

Entirely too intent upon keeping the leper at a distance,
the disdainful monarch summarily
dismissed the general from Aram.
Escaped personal accountability by
sending Naaman to
Elisha,
Israel’s prophet,
rather than ordering the prophet to the palace.
Unthinkable.

With each step along the path to Elisha’s house
Naaman grew angrier.
”What am I doing here?”
he muttered to himself.
“A fool’s errand.”

If the Israelite king’s palace was unimpressive,
the prophet’s home was little more than a hovel.
Naaman approached the door.
Hopelessness in his heart.
Contempt on his countenance.
A servant stepped onto the porch,
closing the rough-hewn door behind him.
Bowed respectfully at Naaman’s feet.

“My master bids you welcome and knows why you are here.
I tell you on his behalf to go to the Jordan River.
Dip yourself seven times into its waters.
When you rise up from the water the seventh time,
your flesh will be restored.
You will be cleansed.”

As quickly as he appeared,
the servant re-entered the home.
Closing the door in the Captain’s face.

Naaman stood stone-still in shock.
Mouth agape.
A man used to getting his way.
Now being sent along his way.
Accustomed to deference,
not dismissal.

Naaman.
Shouted indignantly at the prophet inside.
Rapped loudly at the locked door
with the hilt of his sword.
“I’ve traveled a great distance to see you.
Come outside and face me.”
Elisha did not come.
Naaman left in anger to return to his home.

Thoughts
troubled and
tumultuous.

“Not what I expected.”
“Did not stand before me and call upon his God.”
“No wave of his staff.”
“No potions.”
“No pronouncements.”
“No pretending
to do something…
anything!”

He shouted in anguish at the top of his voice,
staring at the heavens.
“Go bathe in the Jordan…Really?”
“A puny prophet!”
“An insignificant river.”
“An inconsequential country.”

“Superior rivers near Damascus…
Clearer.
Purer.
Could I not simply wash in them?
Why must I travel this far?”

He rode in silence aboard his chariot.
Returning home without a cure.
Fury slowly subsiding
into somber submission.
Resigned to his fate.

After moments of uncomfortable silence
his trusted chariot driver spoke in a meek voice,
never taking his eyes off the road ahead.

“My Captain,”
he hesitated before screwing up his courage to speak,
“if the prophet told you to do some great thing,
would you not do it?
It seems such a simple thing…
‘Wash and be cleansed.’
Is it not worth a try?”

A servant’s simplicity.

Naaman stared at the back of his driver’s head.
Then, into the distance.
Trying to find fault with his servant’s reasoning.
When he could not,
his anger evaporated.
Breathed deeply.
Exhaled slowly.
Clapped his hand upon the driver’s shoulder,
“Turn us around.
Take me to the Jordan.”

Naaman left the caravan a distance away,
taking only three servants with him.
Stood on the muddy bank of the Jordan.
Ankle deep in its languid flow.
Little more than 20-feet wide.
Slowly moving to the south.
A lazy current of muddy water reflecting
a greenish tint from the brush
along its slippery banks.

He stripped himself of his shirt and tunic.
Removed the soiled cloth covering his face and neck.
Hesitant.
Halting.
He waded into the water past
his hips to his chest.
With a quick glance at his servants
who had turned away to give him privacy,
Naaman submerged beneath the water…
Once.
Twice.
Six times.
Stared each time he emerged from the tepid stream
at his reflection in its wavy surface.
No change.
No transformation.

He took another breath.
Bent his knees.
Sank into the river a seventh time.
He floated beneath the surface.
Stared up through the murky water at the heavens,
filled once more with despair.

In the muddled quietness,
disturbed only by the rush of blood pulsing in his head,
he thought to himself.
“Just sink.
Open your mouth.
Drown.”
He exhaled and waited to die.
Self-preservation and aching lungs
forced him to the surface.

Water dripped from his hair.
Ran into his mouth,
Sputtering as he gasped for air,
the Captain offered a quick prayer
to a God he did not know.
Almost too afraid,
he willed his eyes open.
Looked again upon his image in the water…

Tears mingled with the
trickle of water
running down unspoiled cheeks.

The man with the smooth skin of a child
Splashed and danced in the muddy waters like a child at play.

Cleansed.
Whole.
Transformed.

With a shout that echoed through the hills of Samaria,
Naaman lifted his unblemished hands and arms to the sky…

“Now, I know there is no God in all the world
except in Israel.”

Naaman’s story.
An act of God leads to salvation.
Yet, he didn’t go down easily.

Look between the lines.
Arrogant by accomplishment.
Prideful of position.
Naaman almost missed out on
physical and spiritual cleansing.
We’re not so different from the
leprous warrior.

Why is it so hard for us to accept the simplicity of God’s grace?
“Believe.”
“Be saved.”
So easy to hear,
yet too hard to believe.

Whether grace unto salvation or
grace toward our need,
we pound on the Father’s door
demanding an audience.
He sends
his servant…
Pastor.
Friend.
A word of scripture.

They tell us,
“Why do you make this so hard.”
“Go wash…”
A simple act of obedience.

We fume!
He didn’t present himself to us personally.
We fuss!
He offered us nothing spectacular.
No whisper of a magic word.
No wave of a magic wand.
We demand something…anything
different than…
“Go wash.”

Far too simple for our tastes.
Not at all what we expected.

Such cleansing ought to be demanding.
A requirement through which
we can prove ourselves worthy
of His grace.

Thank God.
Naaman learned a lesson we all must learn.
God’s grace is not that complicated.
It’s a gift.

Naaman teaches one more thing.
There is no other river into which we can
plunge that offers us cleansing.
Not the rivers of our home.
Not the rivers of our family.
Not the river of our deeds.
No other river.
No other Lord.

“There is no other name under heaven given to men
by which we must be saved.” (Acts 4:12)

One last lesson.
Blessed is the one who has someone in life,
Like the chariot driver,
willing to challenge his or her stubbornness…
Someone to remind us of our illogical pride
that prevents simple obedience to God’s will.

“If He asked you to do some great thing,
would you not do it?
It seems such a simple thing.”
Go wash.”

You see.
It’s not that complicated.
The cleansing power of Jesus Christ
washes away…
Sin.
Self-importance
Smugness.
Stubbornness.
Everything that stands in the way of receiving
His grace.

Because it’s so simple,
we stare at the heavens through murky water.
Falling to its depths.
Waiting to drown.
until self-preservation pulls us to the surface.

With tentative eyes,
we stare at our own reflection…
our now unspoiled condition.
Cleansed.
Whole.
Transformed.
Shouting to the world in absolute joy…

“Now, I know there is no other God.”

Trust.
Believe.
Act.
It’s just not that complicated.

Publisher’s Note: You’ll find stories similar to this in each of the author’s books, Put Away Childish Things and The Chase: Our Passionate Pursuit of Life Worth Living available from Xulon Press, amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com or most online bookstores. You may subscribe to the author’s blog by entering your email in the subscription block on the right side of the page at www.drkirklewis.com.

Afraid to Let Go

Background Passages: II Samuel 11:1-17 and 12:1-13; Isa. 43:18-19; Psalm 51:19 and Heb. 12:1-2

My brother celebrated one of those milestone birthdays years ago, determined to scratch parachuting from an airplane from his bucket list. With the appropriate time in the classroom, he strap a parachute to his back, climbed into a perfectly fine airplane and took off for his first…and only…static line jump.

In my mind a static line jump fits a on an insanity scale at a level slightly less than skydiving simply because it reduces operator error. Rather than jump, fall and pull your ripcord before you die, you climb out on the wing onto a metal platform with your parachute’s ripcord attached to a static line inside the plane. When you jump, you get two or three seconds of freefall until the line pulls the cord, automatically deploying the parachute. Blind panic assisted by old school technology. Once the canopy fully inflates, you enjoy the magnificent view from above as you glide to a soft landing on the good, green earth below.

My brother found himself standing on the platform flying at 5,000 feet, clutching tightly with both hands to the strut underneath its wing. Buffeted by the wind rushing past him. He waited for his instructor to give him the thumbs up to jump. At the appropriate time, the signal was given. He executed a perfect three-point jump. His feet lifted from the platform and one hand released its death grip. His fourth point, his right hand, refused to release the strut. He flapped wildly in the slipstream underneath the wing, unable to will himself to let go of his hold on that last vestige of safety.

Let’s leave him hanging there and come back to him in a minute and see if I can draw a point from this story.

David, God’s chosen king of Israel, did some pretty horrible things in his life. One particular incident would have spawned a salacious investigation in today’s news cycle. An affair with a married woman left her pregnant. David attempted to manipulate the situation by recalling her husband, Uriah, from the front line of battle to create the impression that the baby was a result of her husband’s leave. Her husband unknowingly thwarted the king’s maneuvering by honorably refusing to go home while his brothers were at war. David then compounded his sin by quietly ordering Uriah and his soldiers on a suicide mission where he would most certainly die, giving David the chance to marry the hero’s widow. David did some despicable things.

When God’s prophet challenged the king’s actions, David recognized his sin, feeling the heavy burden of remorse for his actions. He fell on his face in repentance, asking God to forgive him for everything he had done. David’s felt the sting of his guilt, but he would never now release from that heavy burden until he let go of his failed past and accepted the ever=present reassurance of God’s grace and forgiveness. Only then would his relationship with the Father be reconciled and restored.

Two things happen to us who feel genuine remorse when faced with our own sin. We can seek God’s forgiveness and start anew within the grace he provides, much as David did. Too often, however, we never move past remorse to repentance, clinging to our failure with loathing and self-pity, certain that God could never forgive anyone so unworthy.

I was reminded of that fact not too long ago when I visited with a former pastor who had walked far from the path God intended. He was certain he strayed so far that God could never use him again in kingdom work. The work of Christ on the cross cleared the path for forgiveness, but this man could not bring himself to let go of the past and find a new way of serving him. It’s a journey most of us have made at some point in our lives.

When we refuse to accept the grace of God and forgive ourselves, we tend to drag the past behind us like an anchor. Instead God tells us the same thing he told the people of Israel in Isaiah 43:18-19…

“Forget (let go of) the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing. Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.”

The instruction is so clear. Let go of our sin. Release it into God’s forgiving hands. He makes a way in the wasteland of our lives to restore us for a new thing. A new work.

Let’s not leave my brother hanging on the wing.

Though it probably seemed like an eternity bouncing around in the slipstream, my brother eventually let go of the strut. The static line pulled the ripcord. The parachute opened. He enjoyed “a new thing.” For minutes on end, he floated lazily on his descent to earth 5,000 feet below with the wondrous panorama of sky and earth laid out before him. He called it “exhilarating,” and “adrenaline rush.” Yet, he only experienced the joy when he let go.

There may be nothing as miserable for a Christian who desires to walk the walk than to fail to do right. Walking in that shadow of guilt is debilitating, affecting not only our relationship with God, but our relationships with others. We can fall on our knees earnestly seeking and intellectually accepting God’s forgiveness. We will never experience full release until we let go of the past and accept the next new thing God prepares for us.

David got his life back on track by asking God to “Create in me a clean heart and renew a steadfast spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:19) It is a simple prayer of a fully repentant heart that says, “God, help me set aside my past and stay focused on you.”

The writer in Hebrews puts it another way by telling us to “throw off” or let go of everything that hinders us from serving God to the best of our ability. And, he even tells us how. Look at that remarkable passage in Hebrew 12:1-2.

“…Let us throw off (let go of) everything that hinders us and the sin that so easily entangles us. Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes upon Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.”

Guilt effectively destroys grace-filled living. Keeps us from believing God can use us in any significant way. I’m convinced when we let go of our guilt we will find life laid out before us in a wondrous panorama of God’s exceptional will for each of us. Exhilarating. An adrenaline rush of eternal proportions.

(Author’s Note: Feel free to forward this Bible study to anyone you feel might benefit from its message. Encourage your them to subscribe to the blog by going to www.drkirklewis.com and entering their email address in the box on the right side of the page. Once registered, you will receive an email announcing each new post. Thank you for sharing.)

A Mother’s Defining Moments

Background Passage: Proverbs 31:1-31

I think someone is trying to tell me something. Every Mother’s Day at my church, each mother is given a beautiful rose or some other lovely gift and a sermon extolling that Proverbs 31 woman we love and cherish. On Father’s Day, it seems, we get a self-help book on fatherhood and hear a sermon on how to be a more Godly man. Maybe we get what we deserve.

Each Mother’s Day brings to me a sense of rejoicing, remembrance and loss. My mother, Earline Lewis, passed away in 1998. Cancer claimed her but not before she shared a full life as a wonderful wife to my Dad, an amazing mother to her three children and a quiet influence to a new generation of women.

As a young woman in the 1940s, Mom studied to become an Registered Nurse. Upon graduation, she enlisted to serve as a nurse during World War II. The war ended about the same time and she was never shipped out, but she looked awfully good in her uniform. She lived a farmer’s life as a farmer’s wife, a stay-at-home mother and, for a brief time, a school nurse in our community. She ended her career as a medical director in a retirement community in Lubbock, Texas. I was always quite proud of her.

I have thought of her often over the last 18 years. If you’ll allow me a blog of personal privilege, I’d like to tell you about her on this Mother’s Day.

Mom was a woman of practical and personal faith. She experienced worship less on bended knee and more with helping hands. She lived an applied faith. Each day she demonstrated God’s love through her service to the hurting and the sick. To those whose minds outlived their bodies and whose bodies outlived their minds. She had a listening ear and a sensitive touch. Her worship often took her away from church on Sundays as she tended to the biblical “ox in the ditch.” I know God felt her worship every day.

Her faith was as personal as it was practical. She was God’s hand and heart to her elderly patients that were sometimes alone and abandoned. They were not just patients in bed three or four, they were beautiful faces, recognizable names, persons to be cared for and loved. She taught me that God calls us to care for the “least of his children.” Because he loves the least, we must also love and act in meaningful ways.

Mom was a woman of private heart. “Private,” not “remote.” When Mom loved you and engaged you, it felt like you were the only two people in the world. She was not overly demonstrative. Not one to gush. Yet, there was never a time in my life as a child or adult when I questioned her love for my Dad, her children or her grandchildren. You saw love glistening in her eyes. Felt it glowing in her smile. With a word and a touch she could connect her heart to yours.

My Grandma Mills, my mom’s mother, died in a car accident when I was young. We all felt such grief at an unexpected loss. I sat on the steps in Grandma’s house trying to play with a few toys and take my mind off of everything happening around me. I was having a hard time holding it together. Mom sat down and played with me for a time without saying a word. I cried. She cried. I hugged her. She hugged me. There were no platitudes of false comfort that I had heard from other well-meaning souls…“God just needed your Grandmas in heaven more than he needed her here.” She simply allowed me to look deeply into her hurting heart as she reached out to mine.

Mom was a woman of deep tenderness. She stood with my wife, Robin, and I in the tiny bathroom of our home the day we brought our first son home from the hospital. He was so little. Looked so fragile. So breakable. Clueless about everything, we asked her to give him his first bath while we watched. She handled a squirming and screaming sack of potatoes with such ease. She touched him, offering soothing words of comfort. She never stopped smiling and cooing at him no matter how loud he cried. Tenderness and patience.

Mom was a woman of constant love. Her relationship with her four grandchildren was nothing short of mesmerizing. The perfect grandmother. Whether it was sitting on the floor playing with dolls or trucks or joining in their conspiracy by teaching them to play poker, she was fully devoted to them. She gave them her full attention…every minute they were together. There were countless hours of intimate dialogue about dinosaurs, donuts, dolls, dreams. Shared secrets about school, sports, sororities and scholarships. Every conversation laced with a perfect blend of humor, intelligence and love. She never talked down to them. The priceless value of those encounters came less from the topic being discussed and more from the time she spent with them. Her love never wavered.

Those vignettes do not reveal everything about my Mom, but it gives you a little insight into a fabulous woman who made a difference in my life. I adored her laugh, her sense of humor, her common sense and her insight. She could cook a mean roast, suture a wound, drive a tractor, haul cotton to the gin and discuss Pauline theology. She could have done anything…been anything she wanted to be…but she was content to be my Mom. These are but a few of the things that defined her, a few of the imprints she left on my soul. She was an extraordinary influence in the lives of my brother, my sister and me. I will love her always.

I also do not think her influence stopped with us. They say that men often marry their mothers. I don’t think it is a coincidence that I married Robin 40 years ago. Though different in many ways, my Mom and Robin share identical hearts. Robin’s love for God flows through to her love for our boys. When they were children she always looked for new experiences and new opportunities for our boys to explore, sharing their interests and encouraging their curiosity. Making time for them whenever needed. Her love for them remains sacrificial and ever present. She was and is a great mother to them, helping to mold them into the amazing, Godly men they have become. I am blessed to call her my wife and the mother of our children.

Adam and Andrew, in turn, married two incredible women, Jordan and Melissa, respectively, both of whom remind me of my Mom in all the ways that matter most. I celebrate their similarities, their uniqueness, but rejoice in the mothers they have become. I admire their abiding faith and the way it governs their lives.

It may be more difficult to be a good mother in today’s world. Society tells parents to back away and let the kids find their way without undue parental influence. What a joy it is to watch Jordan with Eli and Josiah; Melissa with Lena. As mothers, these two young women are models of love, patience, discipline and devotion. I know this to be true because I’ve never seen three happier children. My grandchildren will never live a second without feeling their mothers’ love. What a gift that will be in the years to come!

I hope each of you takes the time this Mother’s Day to remember and thank that special woman who gave you life. Whether she is physically present or eternally remembered makes little difference. Her impact on your life has been immeasurable.

Happy Mother’s Day, Robin. Happy Mother’s Day, Jordan and Melissa.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. This verse is for you.

“Her children arise and call her blessed. Her husband also and he praises her. Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.” Proverbs 31:28-29.

*******

Breaking Into My Happy Dance

Background Passages: Ephesians 5:1, 15-17; Psalm 118:24, 29

I usually don’t watch the news. I spent far too much of my professional career being interviewed by reporters, hoping that the editing process would maintain the integrity of my comments. Too often full disclosure was sacrificed for a tidy sound bite. As the media grows more politically polarized, corporate bias destroys the objectivity of the press.

With little to do this week because of an empty calendar and heavy rains, I ended up watching more news that I ordinarily watch. The stories were anything but uplifting.

• Devastating earthquakes in Ecuador and Japan.
• Disastrous floods in southeast Texas.
• Deadly acts of terrorism.
• Destructive politics at home and abroad.
• Declining civility toward those whose beliefs differ from our own.

It is any wonder that polls say people are more anxious today about the quality of life than ever in recent history. I must admit to falling victim, at times, to the tone and tenor of today, anxious about tomorrow and the world our children and grandchildren will inherit. As I turned off the news, I remember thinking, “Surely there is a cave on a deserted and isolated island where I can shelter my family from the horrors of the world.”

Later that day I stumbled across an old Peanuts cartoon drawn by Charles Schultz. I had grown up with Charlie Brown. I think I read most of the 17,897 comic strips Schultz penned during his 50-year career. In this particular comic strip Charlie Brown sat alone on the curb with that typical forlorn expression on his face, thwarted at every turn by life. With a hint of resigned optimism, Charlie Brown said…

The cartoon made me smile and marvel at how God uses such ordinary things to remind us that his presence in our lives trumps every shred of doubt, disquiet and dread. As a Christian in a world in turmoil it is sometimes difficult to walk in confidence. How are we supposed to face life’s uncertainties and our own insecurities when it seems the world around us has gone mad? How do we stop being anxious about all that we see happening around us?

Sorry, Charlie. The answer does not lie in dreading only one day at a time. Paul gave us a clue in his letter to the Ephesian church as they struggled to live in a world in equal turmoil as our own. Look at Ephesians 5:1, 15-17…

“Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children, and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us…Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. Therefore, do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord’s will is.”

We come to grips with a crazy world by imitating God, living a life of love as modeled by Christ himself. We don’t fix the world’s problems by retreating from it or bemoaning its existence. We heal its sickness by loving it more. By serving it more. By sharing the alternative. Paul tells us that in the midst of evil days, we must live wisely, make right choices, follow the will of God as we understand it. And this might be the key… Our efforts can’t be uninspired or halfhearted. They can’t be judgmental and condemning. We must make the most of every opportunity God gives us to share his grace and love to a lost world.

Making the most of every opportunity allows us to see every day as a gift from God. Another chance to serve him. Another chance to love. Another day to care for those in need. Another day to rejoice. Another day to celebrate.

Charlie Brown suggested that we get the most out of the life when we are thankful for each day. When he discovers how blessed he is he goes into his happy dance…

The Psalmist said it this way…

“This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it. Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His love endures forever.” — Psalm 118: 24, 29

God, thank you for this day and the many unmerited blessings you have showered upon us.

Maybe today, instead of watching the news, I’ll just break into my happy dance.

*****

(Author’s Note: Feel free to forward this Bible study to anyone you feel might benefit from its message by clicking on the email icon at the bottom of the page. Encourage your them to subscribe to the blog by entering their email address in the box on the right side of the page. Thank you for sharing.)