A Thing of Beauty
By Don Detrick with appreciation to John Keats
Dedicated to my teenage bride of 35 years, Jodi
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will shine
Growing in beauty, grace, and line.
I met my beauty while still a youth;
Life on the farm had taught me truth:
Things of beauty time will claim;
That joy subsides, only dust remains.
By nature’s law, emotions fade;
So human beings and all things made.
Though young and short, Keats might have guessed
Of something greater, something blessed;
A law of love, unscathed by years.
A love grown stronger,
Though stained with tears.
A love grown longer,
In spite of fears.
A love transcending earthly ties;
I found that’s where the answer lies.
For in your face and smile I saw;
A visage only God could draw.
And he our hearts together knit,
Though teens we said we’d never quit.
So through the years in joy and pain,
We hold each other and love remains.
I look at you, my precious treasure;
A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
A Tribute to My Father
Originally written June 18, 2002, Postcript June 21, 2009 - Father's Day
Last Sunday my sister and I checked our 85-year-old father into the hospital. He was very ill, with a temperature of nearly 104 degrees, yet his hands were blue and he was shivering from cold. “Yes, he is my father. Medical history? Bypass surgery more than a decade ago, prostate cancer, slight stroke last year. Yes, he has been here before, and yes he is taking his meds.”
As I sat next to his bed while my father was being x-rayed, poked and examined in every conceivable way, my heart was filled with a thousand thoughts and memories.
“Do it again, Daddy! Please!” He took me up in his arms and swung me back and forth like an old-time logger working a misery whip.
With his huge hands wrapped around my tiny body, he sang in his baritone voice, “Swing the little birdy in the tree, in the tree, in the tree. Swing the little birdy in the tree, sing, sang to Donnie, whee!!!” When he said “Whee,” he threw me up in the air toward the ceiling. I thought I would explode with a delicious combination of giggles and fright. I loved that game and over the years I saw my dad do the same thing with my own three children.
Another time, another place. Dressed in my blanket sleepers, with a quilt wrapped around me, I was watching my dad fix the broken motor on the mechanical chicken feeder. Mom was gone to a meeting for the evening. I was in his care and too young to understand that the health and welfare of his livestock was the key to our family’s survival. His hands looked so big to my four-year-old eyes, big enough to fix anything. Big enough to carry anything. Big enough to protect me from anything lurking in the dark shadows of the chicken house. “Daddy what are you doing? Can we go back to the house and watch television? Daddy, I’m thirsty. Can I have a drink? Why can’t I help you? Daddy, do I have to go to bed?”
It was the first time I can remember wanting something so much. I needed that red Radio Flyer wagon in the display window of the Western Auto store. It was just like the one Timmy had on the “Lassie” television show. Lassie and Timmy had such a good time playing with that wagon and hauling around everything important to a young boy. I had a collie like Lassie, too – and I just knew she would be as smart as Lassie if only I had a red wagon. “Daddy, can I have that wagon? Please, daddy? Shep and I would love to play with that wagon.”
Then I remember becoming very sick. The doctor came to our house and said I had rheumatic fever. They poked me with needles and hooked up machines that watched my heart. Dr. Bump said that I had to stay in bed for a long rest until I got better – but he also said I might not get better. I was very weak, and had to take the most awful medicine that my dad coaxed down my throat with a mixture of applesauce and sugar.
One day dad came home from town. He had been to the Western Auto store. I was lying in bed on the sofa in the living room. “Donnie, look out here on the porch.” I’m sure my heart really fluttered because there before my eyes was the brand new Radio Flyer red wagon! “It’s yours and you can come outside and play with it just as soon as you get better!”
With help from the Great Physician, and motivation from my dad, after six months I was able to go outside and play with that wagon. My earthly father and Heavenly Father worked together to provide my healing and I have never suffered a heart murmur or any ill effects from the disease that had threatened my young life.
As I sat and waited, more memories came. I was ten years old and an insurance salesman stopped by the house on his regular rounds. He was always trying to sell dad a different policy, but he was always treated like a friend, invited into the house for a cup of coffee and a piece of my mom’s pie. In fact, pretty much everyone who came by was treated the same way. From the ubiquitous salesmen, to the field agent, to the preacher, no matter how busy my dad was or what he was doing, it was momentarily laid aside for some polite conversation and some of my mom’s ever-available dessert. My parents had the gift of hospitality and they passed it along to their children. It is part of our inheritance – their legacy to us.
Although not old enough to participate in the conversation on that day, I was old enough to eavesdrop and understand much of what was being said. I knew times were hard and things were bad on our farm, but until that moment I didn’t realize how bad.
“We lost thousands of chickens ready for market during that last hot spell,” my dad was saying. “Besides that, the price we pay for everything keeps going up, while the price the co-op pays us keeps going down. I don’t know how we are going to make the mortgage payment and pay the bills, let alone buy another insurance policy. I just don’t understand it. You try to live right and work hard, and then things like this happen.” His voice trailed off.
That day I grew a little bit and learned a lot more. I’d never seen my dad cry before, but there were tears in his eyes and his voice trembled as he talked to the insurance man. I’d always seen my dad as invincible, never afraid of anything, able to pull us through any situation. But that day I learned that he was vulnerable to discouragement and I needed to do what I could to help pull our family through some tough days.
As they often do, things improved in time. Now I was thirteen. Dad and I were riding in the truck, going to McMinnville to buy supplies. “Son, you’ve worked like a man this summer. We couldn’t have accomplished what we did without your help.” My dad was a man of few words and even fewer words of praise. As if he had reached his absolute spending limit on such extravagances, he next did what he normally did as we rode together.
“Oh I want to see Him, look upon His face. There to sing forever of His saving grace. On the streets of glory, let me lift my voice. Cares all past, home at last, ever to rejoice!” On the seat of a tractor, or the seat of a pickup truck, my dad always sang. He loved the old hymns and gospel songs.
But my mind wasn’t on the song; it was on his words of appreciation. To tell you the truth, spending most of your summer daylight hours at the controls of a tractor isn’t exactly torture for a teenager. But at least for a few moments, I felt vindicated; like I’d paid my debt to the family for all the times I’d been a slacker and complained about life on the farm. A little bit of praise goes a long way to improve a thirteen-year-old boy’s perspective on life. But that wasn’t all.
“Hey, where are we going?” Instead of pulling into the feed and farm supply store, we were parking in front of the local Honda motorcycle shop. I had to pinch myself to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. I couldn’t believe it as we walked in together and I saw my dad plop down cash money to buy me a Honda 90. I wouldn’t have been happier if someone had given me a million dollars!
Fast-forward another five years to 1973. An eighteen-year-old high school graduate is spending a hot August day loading his car with most of his worldly possessions. He has seldom been outside of his own state. But tomorrow he will leave this home where he has spent his entire life and begin the drive to Dallas, Texas. There he will attend a Bible college he knows only from a catalog he has pored over and prayed over.
“Son, I know you’ve got to do what you feel called to do. You do your best and stay in touch. But I want you to know there is always a place for you right here if you should change your mind. You might be able to use these. I can remember my dad using these same titles in the ministry, studying them for his sermons.” He handed me two brand new books: a Matthew Henry commentary and a topical Bible, both purchased (by him for me) from a traveling Bible salesman.
I was shocked. I knew dad really wanted me to follow in his footsteps on the family farm. At the very least he had encouraged me to get a back-up profession like a teaching degree or perhaps even go to law school after college. But that day he gave me a precious gift – the gift of affirmation and the freedom to go and be the person I believed God was calling me to be.
Ten years later I was packing again – this time a moving van. Jodi and I were leaving behind our home church where we had spent the past four years as associate pastors. In fact, for the past six years we had lived and ministered close to the home place with both of our parents nearby. Kristi and Mark were born during this time, and Jana was in the hopper. Now we were moving to Toledo, Oregon – a new church assignment. Even though I had more details to take care of, more boxes to pack, and more furniture to load, I took a few moments and drove out to the farm.
I wanted to see my dad. More than that, I wanted his blessing. Over the past years, our relationship had grown and in the process I’d grown to appreciate his friendship and advice. Now I was moving his precious grandchildren more than a hundred miles away.
As usual, he was busy at work when I arrived, but not too busy to talk. We walked and talked and did a few chores together. “You know, I talked to the District Superintendent a few years ago about you.”
Trying to hide my surprise, I said, “Oh, you did?” I couldn’t imagine my dad having a conversation with the Superintendent of the Oregon District of the Assemblies of God, and certainly couldn’t imagine him keeping it a secret for the past few years.
“Yes, I was over at the District Office to fix the roof for them and as he was showing me the leaks, he was talking about you. He said he thought you’d be pastoring one of the greatest churches in the Northwest one day. And I agreed with him. Son, I know we’ll miss having you around here, but I think you are doing the right thing by going to Toledo.” Once again my father gave me words of affirmation, a gift I have since treasured through some rough moments in the ministry.
“Mr. Detrick, we are going to have to keep you overnight and run some more tests. Your lungs are clear, but your heart is going in and out of a fibrillation and there are some other things we need to check out. Maybe your son here can gather your things and the nurse will move you down to another room.” The doctor’s pronouncement brought an end to my trip down memory lane. But it did not diminish the admiration I felt for the old man we were wheeling down to room 130.
Stricken by the poignancy of the moment, and the reversal of our roles, I was reminded of Malachi’s prophecy. When I was a boy, I really didn’t understand my father. I saw him as a good provider, but a workaholic. And I’m not sure he always understood me – especially during my longhaired teenage years. But over time, and by the grace of God, my heart has been turned to his heart and his heart has been turned to mine. That’s really what our Heavenly Father wants from all his children as well.
As if you couldn’t tell, my father has a giving heart. That’s how he has always expressed his love, by giving selflessly, expecting nothing in return.
But over the past few years he has grown to express his love in other ways – hugs, and kisses, and the precious words, “I love you.” As we were leaving him behind in the hospital room last week, his parting words were for his ailing bride of 63 years. I knew part of the pain he was feeling at that moment was his inability to be at home to care for her: “Be sure and tell your mother how much I love her.”
POSTSCRIPT:
Little did I know when I wrote this seven years ago, that both my mother and father would be in heaven within six months. I am thankful I was able to deliver this tribute to my father personally, and see the tears in his eyes as I read it to him. Up to this point in their lives, my parents continued to live on the same farm in Newberg, Oregon where my dad had lived for 75 years, since moving there as a boy in 1927. Although their health was failing with age, they still lived independently, Dad still drove, and they made it to church every Sunday.
Within a few days of writing this, my mother was hospitalized and placed in intensive care. A combination of cancer, diabetes, and low sodium levels left her in a near comatose state. Dad had recovered somewhat and drove to the hospital daily to sit by Mom's side. One day, the nurses came into the room and found Dad slumped over in a chair. He had suffered a stroke. So within the course of a week, my parents went from living independently to being hospitalized--and they never came home. Because of the severity of their health conditions and their need for constant care, they were moved from the hospital into a care home.
Although this was a difficult time for our family, two poignant memories stick out in my mind. First, after Dad’s stroke, family members gathered around his hospital bedside. The doctors did not know the severity of the stroke or the prospects of recovery. Nearly 86 years old, Dad was in a very weakened condition and in a comatose state. We knew he might be able to hear us so a number of us spoke to him and told him how much we loved him and prayed for him. Then, our youngest daughter Jana said, I want to sing to Gramps. She began to sing, “On a hill far away, stood an old rugged cross.” As she did, the most amazing thing occurred—Dad started to sing along! We all joined in and then began singing, “Amazing Grace.” Although his voice was weak and trembling, he didn’t miss a word. Nor did he open his eyes or show any other sign of being cognizant. When the singing stopped, we all stood in amazement and tears, while Dad slept on. He didn’t really awaken until days later.
Mom and Dad shared twin beds at the care facility. Mom went to heaven on August, 28, 2002. Before she died, Dad crawled into her bed, and gently cuddled next to his bride of 63 years. He was so sweet as he stroked her forehead and hands, and repeated, “I’ll meet you in the morning, on the other side. I love you and tell all the family I’ll be coming soon.”
A few months later, on November 12th, Dad went to be with the Lord and to see those family members who have gone on before. I spent the night sleeping in the room with him the day he died. Although he has been gone for nearly seven years now, hardly a day goes by that I don’t think about him and his impact in my life. They say that grown men are just little boys in a bigger body. Even today, when I close my eyes, I can see my Dad holding me, a little boy in his arms, swinging me way up high as I giggle and say, “Daddy, do it again!”
(c)2009 Don Detrick
Last Sunday my sister and I checked our 85-year-old father into the hospital. He was very ill, with a temperature of nearly 104 degrees, yet his hands were blue and he was shivering from cold. “Yes, he is my father. Medical history? Bypass surgery more than a decade ago, prostate cancer, slight stroke last year. Yes, he has been here before, and yes he is taking his meds.”
As I sat next to his bed while my father was being x-rayed, poked and examined in every conceivable way, my heart was filled with a thousand thoughts and memories.
“Do it again, Daddy! Please!” He took me up in his arms and swung me back and forth like an old-time logger working a misery whip.
With his huge hands wrapped around my tiny body, he sang in his baritone voice, “Swing the little birdy in the tree, in the tree, in the tree. Swing the little birdy in the tree, sing, sang to Donnie, whee!!!” When he said “Whee,” he threw me up in the air toward the ceiling. I thought I would explode with a delicious combination of giggles and fright. I loved that game and over the years I saw my dad do the same thing with my own three children.
Another time, another place. Dressed in my blanket sleepers, with a quilt wrapped around me, I was watching my dad fix the broken motor on the mechanical chicken feeder. Mom was gone to a meeting for the evening. I was in his care and too young to understand that the health and welfare of his livestock was the key to our family’s survival. His hands looked so big to my four-year-old eyes, big enough to fix anything. Big enough to carry anything. Big enough to protect me from anything lurking in the dark shadows of the chicken house. “Daddy what are you doing? Can we go back to the house and watch television? Daddy, I’m thirsty. Can I have a drink? Why can’t I help you? Daddy, do I have to go to bed?”
It was the first time I can remember wanting something so much. I needed that red Radio Flyer wagon in the display window of the Western Auto store. It was just like the one Timmy had on the “Lassie” television show. Lassie and Timmy had such a good time playing with that wagon and hauling around everything important to a young boy. I had a collie like Lassie, too – and I just knew she would be as smart as Lassie if only I had a red wagon. “Daddy, can I have that wagon? Please, daddy? Shep and I would love to play with that wagon.”
Then I remember becoming very sick. The doctor came to our house and said I had rheumatic fever. They poked me with needles and hooked up machines that watched my heart. Dr. Bump said that I had to stay in bed for a long rest until I got better – but he also said I might not get better. I was very weak, and had to take the most awful medicine that my dad coaxed down my throat with a mixture of applesauce and sugar.
One day dad came home from town. He had been to the Western Auto store. I was lying in bed on the sofa in the living room. “Donnie, look out here on the porch.” I’m sure my heart really fluttered because there before my eyes was the brand new Radio Flyer red wagon! “It’s yours and you can come outside and play with it just as soon as you get better!”
With help from the Great Physician, and motivation from my dad, after six months I was able to go outside and play with that wagon. My earthly father and Heavenly Father worked together to provide my healing and I have never suffered a heart murmur or any ill effects from the disease that had threatened my young life.
As I sat and waited, more memories came. I was ten years old and an insurance salesman stopped by the house on his regular rounds. He was always trying to sell dad a different policy, but he was always treated like a friend, invited into the house for a cup of coffee and a piece of my mom’s pie. In fact, pretty much everyone who came by was treated the same way. From the ubiquitous salesmen, to the field agent, to the preacher, no matter how busy my dad was or what he was doing, it was momentarily laid aside for some polite conversation and some of my mom’s ever-available dessert. My parents had the gift of hospitality and they passed it along to their children. It is part of our inheritance – their legacy to us.
Although not old enough to participate in the conversation on that day, I was old enough to eavesdrop and understand much of what was being said. I knew times were hard and things were bad on our farm, but until that moment I didn’t realize how bad.
“We lost thousands of chickens ready for market during that last hot spell,” my dad was saying. “Besides that, the price we pay for everything keeps going up, while the price the co-op pays us keeps going down. I don’t know how we are going to make the mortgage payment and pay the bills, let alone buy another insurance policy. I just don’t understand it. You try to live right and work hard, and then things like this happen.” His voice trailed off.
That day I grew a little bit and learned a lot more. I’d never seen my dad cry before, but there were tears in his eyes and his voice trembled as he talked to the insurance man. I’d always seen my dad as invincible, never afraid of anything, able to pull us through any situation. But that day I learned that he was vulnerable to discouragement and I needed to do what I could to help pull our family through some tough days.
As they often do, things improved in time. Now I was thirteen. Dad and I were riding in the truck, going to McMinnville to buy supplies. “Son, you’ve worked like a man this summer. We couldn’t have accomplished what we did without your help.” My dad was a man of few words and even fewer words of praise. As if he had reached his absolute spending limit on such extravagances, he next did what he normally did as we rode together.
“Oh I want to see Him, look upon His face. There to sing forever of His saving grace. On the streets of glory, let me lift my voice. Cares all past, home at last, ever to rejoice!” On the seat of a tractor, or the seat of a pickup truck, my dad always sang. He loved the old hymns and gospel songs.
But my mind wasn’t on the song; it was on his words of appreciation. To tell you the truth, spending most of your summer daylight hours at the controls of a tractor isn’t exactly torture for a teenager. But at least for a few moments, I felt vindicated; like I’d paid my debt to the family for all the times I’d been a slacker and complained about life on the farm. A little bit of praise goes a long way to improve a thirteen-year-old boy’s perspective on life. But that wasn’t all.
“Hey, where are we going?” Instead of pulling into the feed and farm supply store, we were parking in front of the local Honda motorcycle shop. I had to pinch myself to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. I couldn’t believe it as we walked in together and I saw my dad plop down cash money to buy me a Honda 90. I wouldn’t have been happier if someone had given me a million dollars!
Fast-forward another five years to 1973. An eighteen-year-old high school graduate is spending a hot August day loading his car with most of his worldly possessions. He has seldom been outside of his own state. But tomorrow he will leave this home where he has spent his entire life and begin the drive to Dallas, Texas. There he will attend a Bible college he knows only from a catalog he has pored over and prayed over.
“Son, I know you’ve got to do what you feel called to do. You do your best and stay in touch. But I want you to know there is always a place for you right here if you should change your mind. You might be able to use these. I can remember my dad using these same titles in the ministry, studying them for his sermons.” He handed me two brand new books: a Matthew Henry commentary and a topical Bible, both purchased (by him for me) from a traveling Bible salesman.
I was shocked. I knew dad really wanted me to follow in his footsteps on the family farm. At the very least he had encouraged me to get a back-up profession like a teaching degree or perhaps even go to law school after college. But that day he gave me a precious gift – the gift of affirmation and the freedom to go and be the person I believed God was calling me to be.
Ten years later I was packing again – this time a moving van. Jodi and I were leaving behind our home church where we had spent the past four years as associate pastors. In fact, for the past six years we had lived and ministered close to the home place with both of our parents nearby. Kristi and Mark were born during this time, and Jana was in the hopper. Now we were moving to Toledo, Oregon – a new church assignment. Even though I had more details to take care of, more boxes to pack, and more furniture to load, I took a few moments and drove out to the farm.
I wanted to see my dad. More than that, I wanted his blessing. Over the past years, our relationship had grown and in the process I’d grown to appreciate his friendship and advice. Now I was moving his precious grandchildren more than a hundred miles away.
As usual, he was busy at work when I arrived, but not too busy to talk. We walked and talked and did a few chores together. “You know, I talked to the District Superintendent a few years ago about you.”
Trying to hide my surprise, I said, “Oh, you did?” I couldn’t imagine my dad having a conversation with the Superintendent of the Oregon District of the Assemblies of God, and certainly couldn’t imagine him keeping it a secret for the past few years.
“Yes, I was over at the District Office to fix the roof for them and as he was showing me the leaks, he was talking about you. He said he thought you’d be pastoring one of the greatest churches in the Northwest one day. And I agreed with him. Son, I know we’ll miss having you around here, but I think you are doing the right thing by going to Toledo.” Once again my father gave me words of affirmation, a gift I have since treasured through some rough moments in the ministry.
“Mr. Detrick, we are going to have to keep you overnight and run some more tests. Your lungs are clear, but your heart is going in and out of a fibrillation and there are some other things we need to check out. Maybe your son here can gather your things and the nurse will move you down to another room.” The doctor’s pronouncement brought an end to my trip down memory lane. But it did not diminish the admiration I felt for the old man we were wheeling down to room 130.
Stricken by the poignancy of the moment, and the reversal of our roles, I was reminded of Malachi’s prophecy. When I was a boy, I really didn’t understand my father. I saw him as a good provider, but a workaholic. And I’m not sure he always understood me – especially during my longhaired teenage years. But over time, and by the grace of God, my heart has been turned to his heart and his heart has been turned to mine. That’s really what our Heavenly Father wants from all his children as well.
As if you couldn’t tell, my father has a giving heart. That’s how he has always expressed his love, by giving selflessly, expecting nothing in return.
But over the past few years he has grown to express his love in other ways – hugs, and kisses, and the precious words, “I love you.” As we were leaving him behind in the hospital room last week, his parting words were for his ailing bride of 63 years. I knew part of the pain he was feeling at that moment was his inability to be at home to care for her: “Be sure and tell your mother how much I love her.”
POSTSCRIPT:
Little did I know when I wrote this seven years ago, that both my mother and father would be in heaven within six months. I am thankful I was able to deliver this tribute to my father personally, and see the tears in his eyes as I read it to him. Up to this point in their lives, my parents continued to live on the same farm in Newberg, Oregon where my dad had lived for 75 years, since moving there as a boy in 1927. Although their health was failing with age, they still lived independently, Dad still drove, and they made it to church every Sunday.
Within a few days of writing this, my mother was hospitalized and placed in intensive care. A combination of cancer, diabetes, and low sodium levels left her in a near comatose state. Dad had recovered somewhat and drove to the hospital daily to sit by Mom's side. One day, the nurses came into the room and found Dad slumped over in a chair. He had suffered a stroke. So within the course of a week, my parents went from living independently to being hospitalized--and they never came home. Because of the severity of their health conditions and their need for constant care, they were moved from the hospital into a care home.
Although this was a difficult time for our family, two poignant memories stick out in my mind. First, after Dad’s stroke, family members gathered around his hospital bedside. The doctors did not know the severity of the stroke or the prospects of recovery. Nearly 86 years old, Dad was in a very weakened condition and in a comatose state. We knew he might be able to hear us so a number of us spoke to him and told him how much we loved him and prayed for him. Then, our youngest daughter Jana said, I want to sing to Gramps. She began to sing, “On a hill far away, stood an old rugged cross.” As she did, the most amazing thing occurred—Dad started to sing along! We all joined in and then began singing, “Amazing Grace.” Although his voice was weak and trembling, he didn’t miss a word. Nor did he open his eyes or show any other sign of being cognizant. When the singing stopped, we all stood in amazement and tears, while Dad slept on. He didn’t really awaken until days later.
Mom and Dad shared twin beds at the care facility. Mom went to heaven on August, 28, 2002. Before she died, Dad crawled into her bed, and gently cuddled next to his bride of 63 years. He was so sweet as he stroked her forehead and hands, and repeated, “I’ll meet you in the morning, on the other side. I love you and tell all the family I’ll be coming soon.”
A few months later, on November 12th, Dad went to be with the Lord and to see those family members who have gone on before. I spent the night sleeping in the room with him the day he died. Although he has been gone for nearly seven years now, hardly a day goes by that I don’t think about him and his impact in my life. They say that grown men are just little boys in a bigger body. Even today, when I close my eyes, I can see my Dad holding me, a little boy in his arms, swinging me way up high as I giggle and say, “Daddy, do it again!”
(c)2009 Don Detrick
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Memorial Day - Remember the POW's
Remember The P.O.W.’S.
(c)2009 Don Detrick
MAIN THOUGHT: It is good for us to remember the sacrifices and challenges of others.
Then those who feared the LORD spoke with each other, and the LORD listened to what they said. In his presence, a scroll of remembrance was written to record the names of those who feared him and loved to think about him. "They will be my people," says the LORD Almighty. "On the day when I act, they will be my own special treasure. I will spare them as a father spares an obedient and dutiful child. Then you will again see the difference between the righteous and the wicked, between those who serve God and those who do not." (Malachi 3:16-18 NLT)
Recently we’ve been bombarded by news about how some of our soldiers mistreated or abused Iraqi prisoners of war. While we’ve come to expect that type of behavior from our enemies, we are shocked to discover that type of behavior from our military. Under the Geneva Convention, there are rules of war and there are rules about the treatment of prisoners of war that civilized society should follow. However in all of the rhetoric from both sides of the political fence, it is easy to forget the sacrifices made by those who have vigilantly served to secure our freedom.
That’s what Memorial Day is all about: remembering.
Many of us can remember - just after the Viet Nam War ended - seeing bumper stickers stating, “Remember The P.O.W.’s.” During the Viet Nam era, the news of the war dominated the daily news. But once we pulled out of Viet Nam, people soon forgot about the conflict and the soldiers. But family and friends of the Prisoners of War did not forget. If your husband or father or brother did not return home with the rest of the troops, you would never rest until you knew where they were. You would never give up hope and never stop praying until you knew they were either safe or dead. That was the reason for the bumper stickers and billboards and advertisements urging us to “Remember The P.O.W.’s.”
To tell you the truth, there are many things in life that are easy to forget. Even important things, like birthdays and anniversaries can be easily forgotten if we get too busy or preoccupied with other things. A few weeeks from now Jodi and I will celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary. I am planning a little getaway for us to Tanglewood in the Berkshire Mountains of Massachusetts. We will visit the Tanglewood Music Festival, summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra—and enjoy a live broadcast of Garrison Keilor’s Prairie Home Companion radio show. Someday we will go to Paris or maybe even Antarctica. For now, a trip to the Berkshires is good. But we will remember our anniversary. I will not forget! And I remember that my parents were married for 63 years and never went to Hawaii or Europe – they should have – but they didn’t. Other things, like putting the needs of children or grandchildren above their own, were always more important to them. Unfortunately for many people, those most important things are the things most easily forgotten.
We usually remember the things that are most urgent, most important to our heart – or our own personal needs. You might forget your grandparent’s anniversary, but you aren’t likely to forget to eat lunch today! The urgent things press upon us and clamor for our attention. Like the cries of a hungry baby in the middle of the night, we aren’t likely to forget the urgent and pressing needs of the moment because they make a lot of noise and are difficult to ignore. But sometimes the things that are truly most important simply don’t demand our attention. That’s why we need reminders.
This is Memorial Day weekend. Many Americans have no idea why we celebrate Memorial Day - viewing it only as a reason for a 3-day weekend. Memorial Day has traditionally been a day of remembering the many heroes who lost their lives during the Civil War and other wars in which the United States has been involved. All told, more than 1.1 million lives have been lost in America’s wars since our nation’s beginning. However, for many people, Memorial Day is also a time to honor all loved ones who have passed on before us. Years ago it was known as Decoration Day, but is now known as Memorial Day.
It is a good thing to use ceremonies or holidays or special observances to help us remember important people or events. Referring to the emblems of communion, Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of Me." (Luke 22:19 NLT) The word “remember” or a form of it is used more than 200 times in the Bible. Like the signs, “Remember The P.O.W.’s”, I’d like to remind you of the P.O.W.’s the Bible challenges us to remember.
1. Remember the poor. - Galatians 2:10
Galatians 2:10, “we should continue to remember the poor.” (NLT)
Have you ever been resource challenged? Have you ever had more than enough? Most of us live most of our lives somewhere in the middle ground. I think one thing we will miss is the tremendous perspective given to my generation by our parents and grandparents who lived through the 1930’s period known as the “Great Depression.”
The man who has 12 children is richer than the man who has $12 million. Why? Because the man who has 12 children doesn’t want any more, but the man who has $12 million is always grasping for more money.
· “Whenever we have the opportunity, we should do good to everyone, especially to our Christian brothers and sisters.” (Galatians 6:10 NIV)
· "Love your enemies! Do good to them! Lend to them! And don't be concerned that they might not repay. Then your reward from heaven will be very great, and you will truly be acting as children of the Most High, for he is kind to the unthankful and to those who are wicked. You must be compassionate, just as your Father is compassionate.” (Luke 6:35-36 NLT)
· “Don't forget to do good and to share what you have with those in need, for such sacrifices are very pleasing to God.” (Hebrews 13:16 NLT)
When we are having financial struggles, remember that God has promised to supply all of our need. Also remember that Jesus has a special blessing not only for those who are poor, but for those “who are poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 5:3 KJV) The New Living Translation says, "God blesses those who realize their need for him, for the Kingdom of Heaven is given to them.” When we come to the end of our human resources, we begin to realize our need to depend upon God and with that comes God’s peace.
Last night our daughter Jana, who serves as a minister on staff at Shoreline Community Church in Seattle, participated in an outreach to people on the streets of Tacoma, providing personal items, prayer, and care to those in desperate need of the love of Jesus—including those involved the area’s thriving sex industry and strip clubs. Joining Jana was her friend, Tiffany Ziesemer, who serves on staff at Life Center in Tacoma and is a firecracker of a young Christian leader. These young single women in ministry are doing more than just talking about the platitudes of the Christian faith, they are making a difference in Jesus’ name.
2. Remember the orphans and widows. - James 1:27
“Pure and lasting religion in the sight of God our Father means that we must care for orphans and widows in their troubles, and refuse to let the world corrupt us.” (James 1:27 NLT)
Have you ever felt abandoned, or all alone in this world? All people who are poor, orphaned or widowed face many challenges. Perhaps the greatest challenge is the feeling of being abandoned or forsaken – being alone and not knowing where to turn for support and provision.
We sometimes need to be reiminded that life is short, God is good and we belong to Him. We all face feelings of abandonment and challenging circumstances from time to time. But those who are orphaned or widowed, or single parents can feel that way most of the time. Scripture gives us comfort and hope:
· “A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads forth the prisoners with singing.” (Psalm 68:5-6 NIV)
· “Even if my father and mother abandon me, the LORD will hold me close.” (Psalm 27:10 NLT)
When we were pastors at Bethel Church in Chehalis, Washington, Tiffany Ziesemer was in our youth group and a dynamic teenager who loved Jesus and showed it in many ways. Tiffany started out in life as an orphan. Her parents, Gary & Naomi, worked through Lovebasket, a Christian adoption agency based in Missouri. Tiffany was 17.5 months when she was adopted, but the process of adopting her took 3 years and began before she was even conceived. Her mother was very beautiful – that is all that is known about her parents – on her adoption papers simply said, “Abandoned.” Tiffany may have been abandoned by her birth parents, but she was not abandoned by God. And in a few weeks, Tiffany is getting married to another young man from our church in Chehalis, Derek Bluhm!
We all could do more to remember “the widows and orphans.” If we could see through the eyes of Jesus, we would know that they have so much to offer. We all can do more to show the love of Jesus to others. And we are never too young or too old to do so. In countless congregations, there are unsung widows and widowers who are using their gifts and talents to bless and serve others. I am privileged to know many of them, like our friend Jen Annan from Bethel Church, who, though an octogenarian now, unselfishly give of their time and talents in various ministries in the service of Jesus Christ.
3. Remember the suffering of others. - Hebrews 13:3
“Don't forget about those in prison. Suffer with them as though you were there yourself. Share the sorrow of those being mistreated, as though you feel their pain in your own bodies.” (Hebrews 13:3 NLT)
Our daughter Jana also spends a considerable amount of her free time ministering to female prisoners at the King County jail. Our son Mark and daughter Kristi and her family care deeply about the needs of the homeless and suffering people around the world and often minister and give in practical ways. Our son in law Jesse is a registered nurse and did an internship at the Mission of Mercy in Calcutta. It is encouraging to see members of younger generations who vigorously embrace compassion and service to others as core values.
But there is more than one kind of prison, you know. There are those trapped in a prison of fear, feeling chains of anxiety and worry holding them back from experiencing the freedom of faith. There are those who are living in a prison of intimidation or frustration, feeling that they can never measure up to their own expectations or the expectations of others. So they live in isolation, silently suffering and seldom leaving the security of their own cell. Others are trapped by various bondages and addictions. Jesus wants us to remember those who are suffering in any way and help them in any way we can.
We often don’t look beyond a person’s outward appearance to recognize the pain on the inside. The next time you are tempted to just pass someone by, I challenge you to dig a little deeper – to ask yourself if this person might be a person Jesus is asking you to help in some way. We are to remember the poor, the orphans, the widows and the suffering. But we are also called to help the prisoners, the oppressed, the weary and the strangers that cross our path.
One of my favorite professors at Eugene Bible College was R. Bryant Mitchell. He studied pre-med at UCLA and graduated from Biola University, L.I.F.E. Bible College and Drake University. Dr. Mitchell had served as General Superintendent of the Open Bible churches and as their Director of Missions.
His brother, Hubert Mitchell had gone to the Island of Sumatra (Western Indonesia) in 1934 as a missionary. Sumatra is the fifth largest island in the world, larger than California and Nova Scotia combined with a population at the time larger than the combined states of California, Oregon and Washington. Conditions were primitive there, and World War II was threatening the area.
Evangelism in the jungles was difficult, but God was blessing with a harvest of souls. During the steaming hot days of the summer of 1940, Hubert and his wife were expecting another kind of harvest, the birth of their second child.
Hubert's wife, Helen, had been an accomplished soloist, often singing for Aimee Semple McPherson at Angelus Temple. Things seemed to go well during this pregnancy and on September 14, 1940 she gave birth to a little girl, Jean Marie. The next day, however, Helen had a severe headache, which turned into a coma and convulsions. Without adequate medical care, Helen soon succumbed. Little Jean Marie was just three days old when her mother died.
The Mitchells were talented people, and could have led successful lives and careers at home in America, but they chose a life of service to the Lord. They had a great impact on reaching the people of Sumatra. So great had been their influence that the head of the Dutch bank took care of all the funeral arrangements. Due to conditions, the funeral had to be held on the same day. All the city officials attended the service. "Before coming to Sumatra, Hubert had written the music to the famous poem of Annie Johnson Flint, 'He Giveth More Grace.' The song was sung at the graveside. There were only a few dry eyes as the words were sung by another missionary couple. As the song was sung, Hubert said he 'felt the sting of death being drawn out, and he then spoke to them all in Malay with the anointing of God's Spirit upon him.'"[1] News of Helen's death took six weeks to arrive in America by letter. This was the first public performance this song that has blessed so many for the past 64 years. Here are the words by Annie Johnson Flint:
He giveth more grace, when the burdens grow greater.
He sendeth more strength, when the labors increase.
To added affliction, He addeth his mercy.
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.
His love hath no limit, His grace hath no measure.
His power hath no boundaries known unto man.
For out of his infinite riches in Jesus,
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again.
When we have exhausted our store of endurance.
When our strength has failed, 'ere the day is half done.
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father's full giving has only begun![2]
God gives – He provides for the poor, the orphans, the widows and the suffering. He often uses us as channels of His provision. Won’t you ask the Lord to help you Remember the P.O.W.’s, and look for opportunities to be conduits of God’s resources, providing for those who are hurting?
Without God's provision, it would be impossible to sing the words "He giveth and giveth giveth again" at your wife's funeral. The "peace of God" passes all human understanding! We all need to be reminded about that, don’t we? Here are a few more reminders to consider this Memorial Day Weekend:
· We need to be reminded that life is short: Psalm 90:12 "Teach us to number our days. . ." A visit to a cemetery, hospital, or care home can remind us that life is fragile and short.
· We need to be reminded that Jesus is Lord and God is in control.
· We need to be reminded that while we can’t always change our circumstances, we can change our attitude.
· We need to be reminded that prayer changes things.
[1]Mitchell, R. Bryant and Lucille M. "Heritage & Harvests." Des Moines: Open Bible Publishers, 1995, p. 49.
[2]Gariepy, Henry "Songs in the Night." Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1996, p. 5-6.
(c)2009 Don Detrick
MAIN THOUGHT: It is good for us to remember the sacrifices and challenges of others.
Then those who feared the LORD spoke with each other, and the LORD listened to what they said. In his presence, a scroll of remembrance was written to record the names of those who feared him and loved to think about him. "They will be my people," says the LORD Almighty. "On the day when I act, they will be my own special treasure. I will spare them as a father spares an obedient and dutiful child. Then you will again see the difference between the righteous and the wicked, between those who serve God and those who do not." (Malachi 3:16-18 NLT)
Recently we’ve been bombarded by news about how some of our soldiers mistreated or abused Iraqi prisoners of war. While we’ve come to expect that type of behavior from our enemies, we are shocked to discover that type of behavior from our military. Under the Geneva Convention, there are rules of war and there are rules about the treatment of prisoners of war that civilized society should follow. However in all of the rhetoric from both sides of the political fence, it is easy to forget the sacrifices made by those who have vigilantly served to secure our freedom.
That’s what Memorial Day is all about: remembering.
Many of us can remember - just after the Viet Nam War ended - seeing bumper stickers stating, “Remember The P.O.W.’s.” During the Viet Nam era, the news of the war dominated the daily news. But once we pulled out of Viet Nam, people soon forgot about the conflict and the soldiers. But family and friends of the Prisoners of War did not forget. If your husband or father or brother did not return home with the rest of the troops, you would never rest until you knew where they were. You would never give up hope and never stop praying until you knew they were either safe or dead. That was the reason for the bumper stickers and billboards and advertisements urging us to “Remember The P.O.W.’s.”
To tell you the truth, there are many things in life that are easy to forget. Even important things, like birthdays and anniversaries can be easily forgotten if we get too busy or preoccupied with other things. A few weeeks from now Jodi and I will celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary. I am planning a little getaway for us to Tanglewood in the Berkshire Mountains of Massachusetts. We will visit the Tanglewood Music Festival, summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra—and enjoy a live broadcast of Garrison Keilor’s Prairie Home Companion radio show. Someday we will go to Paris or maybe even Antarctica. For now, a trip to the Berkshires is good. But we will remember our anniversary. I will not forget! And I remember that my parents were married for 63 years and never went to Hawaii or Europe – they should have – but they didn’t. Other things, like putting the needs of children or grandchildren above their own, were always more important to them. Unfortunately for many people, those most important things are the things most easily forgotten.
We usually remember the things that are most urgent, most important to our heart – or our own personal needs. You might forget your grandparent’s anniversary, but you aren’t likely to forget to eat lunch today! The urgent things press upon us and clamor for our attention. Like the cries of a hungry baby in the middle of the night, we aren’t likely to forget the urgent and pressing needs of the moment because they make a lot of noise and are difficult to ignore. But sometimes the things that are truly most important simply don’t demand our attention. That’s why we need reminders.
This is Memorial Day weekend. Many Americans have no idea why we celebrate Memorial Day - viewing it only as a reason for a 3-day weekend. Memorial Day has traditionally been a day of remembering the many heroes who lost their lives during the Civil War and other wars in which the United States has been involved. All told, more than 1.1 million lives have been lost in America’s wars since our nation’s beginning. However, for many people, Memorial Day is also a time to honor all loved ones who have passed on before us. Years ago it was known as Decoration Day, but is now known as Memorial Day.
It is a good thing to use ceremonies or holidays or special observances to help us remember important people or events. Referring to the emblems of communion, Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of Me." (Luke 22:19 NLT) The word “remember” or a form of it is used more than 200 times in the Bible. Like the signs, “Remember The P.O.W.’s”, I’d like to remind you of the P.O.W.’s the Bible challenges us to remember.
1. Remember the poor. - Galatians 2:10
Galatians 2:10, “we should continue to remember the poor.” (NLT)
Have you ever been resource challenged? Have you ever had more than enough? Most of us live most of our lives somewhere in the middle ground. I think one thing we will miss is the tremendous perspective given to my generation by our parents and grandparents who lived through the 1930’s period known as the “Great Depression.”
The man who has 12 children is richer than the man who has $12 million. Why? Because the man who has 12 children doesn’t want any more, but the man who has $12 million is always grasping for more money.
· “Whenever we have the opportunity, we should do good to everyone, especially to our Christian brothers and sisters.” (Galatians 6:10 NIV)
· "Love your enemies! Do good to them! Lend to them! And don't be concerned that they might not repay. Then your reward from heaven will be very great, and you will truly be acting as children of the Most High, for he is kind to the unthankful and to those who are wicked. You must be compassionate, just as your Father is compassionate.” (Luke 6:35-36 NLT)
· “Don't forget to do good and to share what you have with those in need, for such sacrifices are very pleasing to God.” (Hebrews 13:16 NLT)
When we are having financial struggles, remember that God has promised to supply all of our need. Also remember that Jesus has a special blessing not only for those who are poor, but for those “who are poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 5:3 KJV) The New Living Translation says, "God blesses those who realize their need for him, for the Kingdom of Heaven is given to them.” When we come to the end of our human resources, we begin to realize our need to depend upon God and with that comes God’s peace.
Last night our daughter Jana, who serves as a minister on staff at Shoreline Community Church in Seattle, participated in an outreach to people on the streets of Tacoma, providing personal items, prayer, and care to those in desperate need of the love of Jesus—including those involved the area’s thriving sex industry and strip clubs. Joining Jana was her friend, Tiffany Ziesemer, who serves on staff at Life Center in Tacoma and is a firecracker of a young Christian leader. These young single women in ministry are doing more than just talking about the platitudes of the Christian faith, they are making a difference in Jesus’ name.
2. Remember the orphans and widows. - James 1:27
“Pure and lasting religion in the sight of God our Father means that we must care for orphans and widows in their troubles, and refuse to let the world corrupt us.” (James 1:27 NLT)
Have you ever felt abandoned, or all alone in this world? All people who are poor, orphaned or widowed face many challenges. Perhaps the greatest challenge is the feeling of being abandoned or forsaken – being alone and not knowing where to turn for support and provision.
We sometimes need to be reiminded that life is short, God is good and we belong to Him. We all face feelings of abandonment and challenging circumstances from time to time. But those who are orphaned or widowed, or single parents can feel that way most of the time. Scripture gives us comfort and hope:
· “A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads forth the prisoners with singing.” (Psalm 68:5-6 NIV)
· “Even if my father and mother abandon me, the LORD will hold me close.” (Psalm 27:10 NLT)
When we were pastors at Bethel Church in Chehalis, Washington, Tiffany Ziesemer was in our youth group and a dynamic teenager who loved Jesus and showed it in many ways. Tiffany started out in life as an orphan. Her parents, Gary & Naomi, worked through Lovebasket, a Christian adoption agency based in Missouri. Tiffany was 17.5 months when she was adopted, but the process of adopting her took 3 years and began before she was even conceived. Her mother was very beautiful – that is all that is known about her parents – on her adoption papers simply said, “Abandoned.” Tiffany may have been abandoned by her birth parents, but she was not abandoned by God. And in a few weeks, Tiffany is getting married to another young man from our church in Chehalis, Derek Bluhm!
We all could do more to remember “the widows and orphans.” If we could see through the eyes of Jesus, we would know that they have so much to offer. We all can do more to show the love of Jesus to others. And we are never too young or too old to do so. In countless congregations, there are unsung widows and widowers who are using their gifts and talents to bless and serve others. I am privileged to know many of them, like our friend Jen Annan from Bethel Church, who, though an octogenarian now, unselfishly give of their time and talents in various ministries in the service of Jesus Christ.
3. Remember the suffering of others. - Hebrews 13:3
“Don't forget about those in prison. Suffer with them as though you were there yourself. Share the sorrow of those being mistreated, as though you feel their pain in your own bodies.” (Hebrews 13:3 NLT)
Our daughter Jana also spends a considerable amount of her free time ministering to female prisoners at the King County jail. Our son Mark and daughter Kristi and her family care deeply about the needs of the homeless and suffering people around the world and often minister and give in practical ways. Our son in law Jesse is a registered nurse and did an internship at the Mission of Mercy in Calcutta. It is encouraging to see members of younger generations who vigorously embrace compassion and service to others as core values.
But there is more than one kind of prison, you know. There are those trapped in a prison of fear, feeling chains of anxiety and worry holding them back from experiencing the freedom of faith. There are those who are living in a prison of intimidation or frustration, feeling that they can never measure up to their own expectations or the expectations of others. So they live in isolation, silently suffering and seldom leaving the security of their own cell. Others are trapped by various bondages and addictions. Jesus wants us to remember those who are suffering in any way and help them in any way we can.
We often don’t look beyond a person’s outward appearance to recognize the pain on the inside. The next time you are tempted to just pass someone by, I challenge you to dig a little deeper – to ask yourself if this person might be a person Jesus is asking you to help in some way. We are to remember the poor, the orphans, the widows and the suffering. But we are also called to help the prisoners, the oppressed, the weary and the strangers that cross our path.
One of my favorite professors at Eugene Bible College was R. Bryant Mitchell. He studied pre-med at UCLA and graduated from Biola University, L.I.F.E. Bible College and Drake University. Dr. Mitchell had served as General Superintendent of the Open Bible churches and as their Director of Missions.
His brother, Hubert Mitchell had gone to the Island of Sumatra (Western Indonesia) in 1934 as a missionary. Sumatra is the fifth largest island in the world, larger than California and Nova Scotia combined with a population at the time larger than the combined states of California, Oregon and Washington. Conditions were primitive there, and World War II was threatening the area.
Evangelism in the jungles was difficult, but God was blessing with a harvest of souls. During the steaming hot days of the summer of 1940, Hubert and his wife were expecting another kind of harvest, the birth of their second child.
Hubert's wife, Helen, had been an accomplished soloist, often singing for Aimee Semple McPherson at Angelus Temple. Things seemed to go well during this pregnancy and on September 14, 1940 she gave birth to a little girl, Jean Marie. The next day, however, Helen had a severe headache, which turned into a coma and convulsions. Without adequate medical care, Helen soon succumbed. Little Jean Marie was just three days old when her mother died.
The Mitchells were talented people, and could have led successful lives and careers at home in America, but they chose a life of service to the Lord. They had a great impact on reaching the people of Sumatra. So great had been their influence that the head of the Dutch bank took care of all the funeral arrangements. Due to conditions, the funeral had to be held on the same day. All the city officials attended the service. "Before coming to Sumatra, Hubert had written the music to the famous poem of Annie Johnson Flint, 'He Giveth More Grace.' The song was sung at the graveside. There were only a few dry eyes as the words were sung by another missionary couple. As the song was sung, Hubert said he 'felt the sting of death being drawn out, and he then spoke to them all in Malay with the anointing of God's Spirit upon him.'"[1] News of Helen's death took six weeks to arrive in America by letter. This was the first public performance this song that has blessed so many for the past 64 years. Here are the words by Annie Johnson Flint:
He giveth more grace, when the burdens grow greater.
He sendeth more strength, when the labors increase.
To added affliction, He addeth his mercy.
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.
His love hath no limit, His grace hath no measure.
His power hath no boundaries known unto man.
For out of his infinite riches in Jesus,
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again.
When we have exhausted our store of endurance.
When our strength has failed, 'ere the day is half done.
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father's full giving has only begun![2]
God gives – He provides for the poor, the orphans, the widows and the suffering. He often uses us as channels of His provision. Won’t you ask the Lord to help you Remember the P.O.W.’s, and look for opportunities to be conduits of God’s resources, providing for those who are hurting?
Without God's provision, it would be impossible to sing the words "He giveth and giveth giveth again" at your wife's funeral. The "peace of God" passes all human understanding! We all need to be reminded about that, don’t we? Here are a few more reminders to consider this Memorial Day Weekend:
· We need to be reminded that life is short: Psalm 90:12 "Teach us to number our days. . ." A visit to a cemetery, hospital, or care home can remind us that life is fragile and short.
· We need to be reminded that Jesus is Lord and God is in control.
· We need to be reminded that while we can’t always change our circumstances, we can change our attitude.
· We need to be reminded that prayer changes things.
[1]Mitchell, R. Bryant and Lucille M. "Heritage & Harvests." Des Moines: Open Bible Publishers, 1995, p. 49.
[2]Gariepy, Henry "Songs in the Night." Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1996, p. 5-6.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
HURTING PEOPLE NEED HEALTHY GUIDANCE
“This experience has really opened my eyes to the realization that many people are hurting. I just never noticed it before.” My friend was commenting on her new awareness. She had spent two weeks by the bedside of a loved one in the trauma intensive care unit of Harborview Medical Center. As we prayed and talked over her feelings, I was again reminded how much hurting people need healthy guidance. The healing, therapeutic touch or word of a friend provides immeasurable comfort and relief.
The church should be a center for healing, encouragement and help. Unfortunately, some people are hindered, rather than helped by their experience in church. For example:
Well-intentioned people who speak or act without thinking. “Just get over it” is not good advice for a person in the grieving process. Working through the stages of grief takes time and God’s help. Nor does it help to say, “I know just how you feel.” The reality is, nobody knows exactly how another person feels. You may have endured similar circumstances, and can share your story when the time is appropriate. But it seems trite to compare your situation to the grieving person’s.
False assumptions. You might tremble at the prospect of jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. But what if I told you the airplane was sitting on the ground?
You might believe that every person who has cancer dies from it. But you would be wrong. Many cancer survivors can testify to healing through both Divine and medical treatments. The reality is that every single person will die from something someday. Our false assumptions can keep us from moving forward with hope. They can also hinder the grieving process or reaching a place of acceptance and healing.
Simplistic answers and wrong beliefs. A hurting person is often confused and questions everything. In the process, they can come to the wrong conclusions about their circumstances. Often they will try to find a simple answer when a hundred complicated ones would not explain their predicament. Have you ever had these thoughts or has anyone ever said to you:
· "You must have done something to deserve this." While our actions or sins do have consequences, your own personal circumstances or loss may not be attributable to your own personal choices. To always believe so is a serious mistake that Job’s comforters made.
· "The devil is behind this. . .." In Job’s case, the devil for certain was behind his trouble, yet God still permitted it. The devil is not personally responsible for every problem we face. Sometimes we suffer loss and people die of old age. The Bible tells us we may battle the world, the flesh and the devil. Chasing demons is not the answer when working through grief or loss. “Spiritual warfare” will do little to ease your suffering when a tragedy occurs or a loved one dies. God, Scripture, a caring friend, and time will help immeasurably, though.
· "You must not have enough faith." This is an old line, and one that could be applied to every person listed among the “heroes of faith” in Hebrews chapter 11 – for they all suffered losses in many different ways, yet they all had great faith!
· "You must be out of the will of God.” The truth is, we can reside in the very center of God’s will and still be in a real pickle! Scripture is full of stories about God-fearing people from Joseph to the Apostle Paul who were doing God’s will and suffered anyway.
· “You can’t trust the medical profession, you know. If you will buy my remedy you will get better.” The fact is, God often provides healing in a variety of ways, and He certainly does use people in the medical profession. Luke, the author of the Gospel that bears his name as well as the book of Acts in the New Testament, was a physician! Anecdotal information or testimonies are not always helpful to a hurting person, because the experience of another person, no matter how wonderful, might not be the experience of the next person. What worked for one might not work for another.
Ultimately, our trust must be in the Great Physician to heal spirit, soul and body. Jesus once used mud to heal blindness (John 9:6). But He doesn’t want us to market the curative powers of “healing mud.” Instead, He wants us to trust in the Healer who applied the mud.
With God’s help and with our help, hurting people can become healthy people. The church should be a catalyst for making it happen. What do you think?
The church should be a center for healing, encouragement and help. Unfortunately, some people are hindered, rather than helped by their experience in church. For example:
Well-intentioned people who speak or act without thinking. “Just get over it” is not good advice for a person in the grieving process. Working through the stages of grief takes time and God’s help. Nor does it help to say, “I know just how you feel.” The reality is, nobody knows exactly how another person feels. You may have endured similar circumstances, and can share your story when the time is appropriate. But it seems trite to compare your situation to the grieving person’s.
False assumptions. You might tremble at the prospect of jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. But what if I told you the airplane was sitting on the ground?
You might believe that every person who has cancer dies from it. But you would be wrong. Many cancer survivors can testify to healing through both Divine and medical treatments. The reality is that every single person will die from something someday. Our false assumptions can keep us from moving forward with hope. They can also hinder the grieving process or reaching a place of acceptance and healing.
Simplistic answers and wrong beliefs. A hurting person is often confused and questions everything. In the process, they can come to the wrong conclusions about their circumstances. Often they will try to find a simple answer when a hundred complicated ones would not explain their predicament. Have you ever had these thoughts or has anyone ever said to you:
· "You must have done something to deserve this." While our actions or sins do have consequences, your own personal circumstances or loss may not be attributable to your own personal choices. To always believe so is a serious mistake that Job’s comforters made.
· "The devil is behind this. . .." In Job’s case, the devil for certain was behind his trouble, yet God still permitted it. The devil is not personally responsible for every problem we face. Sometimes we suffer loss and people die of old age. The Bible tells us we may battle the world, the flesh and the devil. Chasing demons is not the answer when working through grief or loss. “Spiritual warfare” will do little to ease your suffering when a tragedy occurs or a loved one dies. God, Scripture, a caring friend, and time will help immeasurably, though.
· "You must not have enough faith." This is an old line, and one that could be applied to every person listed among the “heroes of faith” in Hebrews chapter 11 – for they all suffered losses in many different ways, yet they all had great faith!
· "You must be out of the will of God.” The truth is, we can reside in the very center of God’s will and still be in a real pickle! Scripture is full of stories about God-fearing people from Joseph to the Apostle Paul who were doing God’s will and suffered anyway.
· “You can’t trust the medical profession, you know. If you will buy my remedy you will get better.” The fact is, God often provides healing in a variety of ways, and He certainly does use people in the medical profession. Luke, the author of the Gospel that bears his name as well as the book of Acts in the New Testament, was a physician! Anecdotal information or testimonies are not always helpful to a hurting person, because the experience of another person, no matter how wonderful, might not be the experience of the next person. What worked for one might not work for another.
Ultimately, our trust must be in the Great Physician to heal spirit, soul and body. Jesus once used mud to heal blindness (John 9:6). But He doesn’t want us to market the curative powers of “healing mud.” Instead, He wants us to trust in the Healer who applied the mud.
With God’s help and with our help, hurting people can become healthy people. The church should be a catalyst for making it happen. What do you think?
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Keep Christ in Christmas!
In December of 1965 I was about to turn eleven years old and a fifth grader at Dundee Elementary School in Dundee, Oregon. It was a tradition for the fifth grade class to recite the Christmas story from Luke 2:1-14 in the annual school Christmas program. Harold Wilson, our teacher, instilled in us a belief that our recital of these fourteen verses from the King James Version would be the highlight of the evening’s festivities.
So at the appointed hour, the school gym, where hours before we had played basketball or “red rover,” became a nativity scene. With anxious parents looking on from their folding chairs in neatly formed rows on the floor, we took our places on the stage. Although I have many memories of Sunday School and grade school Christmas pageants where I alternately played a shepherd, wise man, or Joseph while wearing my bathrobe and sandals as a costume, none stand more clearly in my mind than that particular night as we stood before that audience. Hours of memorization paid off as we began to recite the familiar words, “And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. . ..”
As we finished with, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men,” the audience rose to their feet with thunderous applause. Mr. Wilson beamed, our parents glowed, and we were all thankful that we had completed our assignment without missing a word. Looking back, that evening was a highlight of my young life. I had quoted many great authors from that stage—Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, Patrick Henry’s “the war inevitable” and various works of prose and poetry. But none seemed as inspiring as quoting from the greatest story ever told.
Even the knowledge that the event would soon culminate in a visit from Santa Claus, played by Mr. Vinson, our school janitor, who at 120 pounds was a skinny substitute for the real thing, did not stem my enthusiasm and sense of accomplishment at that moment. The reward for all the students was a coveted sack of candy, which Santa Claus distributed to all participants. Inside the brown paper bag was an obligatory inventory that included an orange, a few walnuts and hazelnuts (Dundee was known as the “nut capital of the USA” in those days!), a peppermint candy cane, assorted hard or ribbon candies that stuck together and nobody ever liked, and a few jelly/gummy orange slices. If you were lucky, you received a bag that contained the most cherished prize: one or two delectable mounds of flavored sugar, covered with chocolate. Maybe I’m just sentimental, or given to nostalgia, but the warm feelings from that evening fill my heart to this day.
It was no secret that Mr. Wilson was a born-again Christian and a member of the First Baptist Church. Nor was it a secret that he was an excellent teacher, devoted to his craft and to his students. I knew him as an engaging teacher, a caring coach, a volunteer vacation Bible school leader, and a man that impacted my impressionable young life by showing me that the world was bigger than the humble environment of our family farm.
I remember the bulletin board he prepared for our school that year. In those days it seemed fashionable to abbreviate Christmas as "Xmas". Mr. Wilson would have none of that. In capital letters his bulletin board message boldly proclaimed "Keep Christ in Christmas." No one protested or ridiculed—at least not publicly. Deep in our hearts, we knew that the message was true. Christmas is a celebration of the birth of Christ, not just another “happy holiday.”
A lot has changed since then. The freedom to express his Christian faith that Mr. Wilson enjoyed as an American educator has slowly eroded over the last forty-three years. Most would agree that the erosion of that freedom has coincided with an erosion of values. Courts and school boards in many jurisdictions have decided it is illegal for public expressions about the real meaning of Christmas, and that is a shame.
The fact is, you really can't remove Christ from Christmas. After all, it is His birthday. It would be politically incorrect to try to distance most holidays from the birthdays they commemorate. For example, to celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr. Day without a discussion of his life, death and accomplishments would be unheard of in the twenty-first century.
Jesus Christ was a real person cutting a far wider swath in history than any contemporary human being. We even count the years on our calendar from His birth. So why shouldn't we allow the historical details of his birth, life and death to be publicly proclaimed? D. James Kennedy wrote:
"The truth is this: Had Jesus never been born, this world would be far more miserable than it is. In fact, many of man's noblest and kindest deeds find their motivation in love for Jesus Christ; and some of our greatest accomplishments also have their origin in service rendered to the humble Carpenter of Nazareth."[1]
For the past thirty some-years, our family gathers around the tree on Christmas Eve. These days, that circle includes our children and two granddaughters, sometimes accompanied by other assorted family members and friends. Before opening our presents, our traditions include my recitation of the Christmas story. Those timeless and familiar words from Luke’s Gospel entered my mind in 1965, but they also entered my heart. They never left my heart, and I hope they never do.
About twenty years ago I wrote a similar article on this theme that was published in The Pentecostal Evangel. I sent a copy of it to Mr. Wilson, thanking him for the impact he made on my young life. Later I met with him and we reminisced about those days. Since then, we’ve lost track of each other. I’m not sure if he is still living, but if he is, I’d like to say, “Thanks, Mr. Wilson. Thanks for taking an interest in children and devoting your life to helping them learn and become better citizens and better people. Thanks for helping us remember to ‘Keep Christ in Christmas.’” It was good advice back then, and it is good advice today. In fact, it always will be.
[1]Kennedy, D. James What If Jesus Had Never Been Born? Nashville: Thomas Nelson, Inc. 1994, introduction.
(c)2008 Don Detrick
So at the appointed hour, the school gym, where hours before we had played basketball or “red rover,” became a nativity scene. With anxious parents looking on from their folding chairs in neatly formed rows on the floor, we took our places on the stage. Although I have many memories of Sunday School and grade school Christmas pageants where I alternately played a shepherd, wise man, or Joseph while wearing my bathrobe and sandals as a costume, none stand more clearly in my mind than that particular night as we stood before that audience. Hours of memorization paid off as we began to recite the familiar words, “And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. . ..”
As we finished with, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men,” the audience rose to their feet with thunderous applause. Mr. Wilson beamed, our parents glowed, and we were all thankful that we had completed our assignment without missing a word. Looking back, that evening was a highlight of my young life. I had quoted many great authors from that stage—Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, Patrick Henry’s “the war inevitable” and various works of prose and poetry. But none seemed as inspiring as quoting from the greatest story ever told.
Even the knowledge that the event would soon culminate in a visit from Santa Claus, played by Mr. Vinson, our school janitor, who at 120 pounds was a skinny substitute for the real thing, did not stem my enthusiasm and sense of accomplishment at that moment. The reward for all the students was a coveted sack of candy, which Santa Claus distributed to all participants. Inside the brown paper bag was an obligatory inventory that included an orange, a few walnuts and hazelnuts (Dundee was known as the “nut capital of the USA” in those days!), a peppermint candy cane, assorted hard or ribbon candies that stuck together and nobody ever liked, and a few jelly/gummy orange slices. If you were lucky, you received a bag that contained the most cherished prize: one or two delectable mounds of flavored sugar, covered with chocolate. Maybe I’m just sentimental, or given to nostalgia, but the warm feelings from that evening fill my heart to this day.
It was no secret that Mr. Wilson was a born-again Christian and a member of the First Baptist Church. Nor was it a secret that he was an excellent teacher, devoted to his craft and to his students. I knew him as an engaging teacher, a caring coach, a volunteer vacation Bible school leader, and a man that impacted my impressionable young life by showing me that the world was bigger than the humble environment of our family farm.
I remember the bulletin board he prepared for our school that year. In those days it seemed fashionable to abbreviate Christmas as "Xmas". Mr. Wilson would have none of that. In capital letters his bulletin board message boldly proclaimed "Keep Christ in Christmas." No one protested or ridiculed—at least not publicly. Deep in our hearts, we knew that the message was true. Christmas is a celebration of the birth of Christ, not just another “happy holiday.”
A lot has changed since then. The freedom to express his Christian faith that Mr. Wilson enjoyed as an American educator has slowly eroded over the last forty-three years. Most would agree that the erosion of that freedom has coincided with an erosion of values. Courts and school boards in many jurisdictions have decided it is illegal for public expressions about the real meaning of Christmas, and that is a shame.
The fact is, you really can't remove Christ from Christmas. After all, it is His birthday. It would be politically incorrect to try to distance most holidays from the birthdays they commemorate. For example, to celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr. Day without a discussion of his life, death and accomplishments would be unheard of in the twenty-first century.
Jesus Christ was a real person cutting a far wider swath in history than any contemporary human being. We even count the years on our calendar from His birth. So why shouldn't we allow the historical details of his birth, life and death to be publicly proclaimed? D. James Kennedy wrote:
"The truth is this: Had Jesus never been born, this world would be far more miserable than it is. In fact, many of man's noblest and kindest deeds find their motivation in love for Jesus Christ; and some of our greatest accomplishments also have their origin in service rendered to the humble Carpenter of Nazareth."[1]
For the past thirty some-years, our family gathers around the tree on Christmas Eve. These days, that circle includes our children and two granddaughters, sometimes accompanied by other assorted family members and friends. Before opening our presents, our traditions include my recitation of the Christmas story. Those timeless and familiar words from Luke’s Gospel entered my mind in 1965, but they also entered my heart. They never left my heart, and I hope they never do.
About twenty years ago I wrote a similar article on this theme that was published in The Pentecostal Evangel. I sent a copy of it to Mr. Wilson, thanking him for the impact he made on my young life. Later I met with him and we reminisced about those days. Since then, we’ve lost track of each other. I’m not sure if he is still living, but if he is, I’d like to say, “Thanks, Mr. Wilson. Thanks for taking an interest in children and devoting your life to helping them learn and become better citizens and better people. Thanks for helping us remember to ‘Keep Christ in Christmas.’” It was good advice back then, and it is good advice today. In fact, it always will be.
[1]Kennedy, D. James What If Jesus Had Never Been Born? Nashville: Thomas Nelson, Inc. 1994, introduction.
(c)2008 Don Detrick
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Leadership Lessons from Billy Graham
From The Leadership Secrets of Billy Graham, I learned a new appreciation for his life, his leadership, and his legacy. Even though I’ve read both his autobiography (published in 1997) and biography by John Pollock (published in 1966), I gained a lot more insight from this volume.
Identifying Billy Graham as a level five leader, the authors point to Billy’s “extreme personal humility” combined with “fierce resolve.” This combination enabled him to establish and lead multiple organizations, maintain evangelism as his top priority, keep a team together through nearly seven decades, serve as chaplain and confidant of presidents and world leaders, and maintain his personal integrity through it all.
Like many Americans of my generation, I grew up with regular exposure to Billy Graham. Even as a teenager, I recognized something in Billy Graham that helped me identify more with him than with others of his generation. Perhaps it was the fact that he started wearing his hair longer in the early 1970’s. I can remember my dad being rather appalled that one of his peers (dad was born in 1916, Billy Graham in 1918) would want to “look like a hippie.”
Reminding my dad that “Jesus had long hair” proved to be a rather ineffective strategy as he reminded me that, “Jesus walked everywhere he went, too. He didn’t ride a motorcycle.” I jumped on my Yamaha 175 Enduro to take a ride in the hills and think about it.
I wondered why my dad didn’t think more like Billy Graham did. Both were raised on a farm in pretty humble circumstances. But my dad had pretty much stayed on the farm and had a worldview that didn’t extend far beyond the fields he had plowed most of his days. Billy Graham had left the farm years ago, traveled the world and was friends with the President.
That didn’t mean I necessarily thought Billy Graham was cool, because I don’t think teenagers ever think old people are cool when they try to look like teenagers or copy their styles. But I did appreciate that he seemed to have more of an understanding of the “generation gap” than my own father did. The fact that Billy Graham at least tried to understand the younger generation made a pretty big blip on my radar screen. And even though I didn’t verbalize it back then, I think I understood that to be a sign of leadership. At least it helped me respect him as a leader.
As much as my dad (and a lot of others of his generation) detested change, protested change, and resisted change, Billy Graham seemed to accept change. His acceptance was not just passive apathy, but reflected an actual embrace of change when change was necessary and beneficial to the advancement of God’s kingdom.
Growing up as he did in the racially segregated south, Billy Graham must have had a difficult time going against the tide of racial prejudice. But he did. Early in his ministry, he had followed local custom by preaching to integrated audiences in the North and to mostly segregated audiences in the South. The authors point to one 1952 incident in his Jackson, Mississippi crusade when he made a stand and exhibited courageous leadership:
Walking toward the ropes that separated blacks and whites, Billy tore them down. Mystified and uncomfortable ushers tried to put the ropes back up. Billy personally stopped them. This symbolically powerful gesture marked a major ministry watershed. He never again led a segregated campaign.
“There is no scriptural basis for segregation,” he said. “The ground at the cross is level, and it touches my heart when I see whites standing shoulder to shoulder with blacks at the cross.”[1]
I wish I could have witnessed that night. “Humility blended with fierce resolve” seems an appropriate description of his leadership that evening. He was humble enough to admit that the old ways he grew up with and had gone along with were wrong, and resolved to make a difference, even at the expense of alienating some of his constituents. More than a decade before Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech that riveted the nation’s attention on racial inequality and galvanized the civil rights movement, Billy Graham’s vision paved the way to make the dream a real possibility.
Billy Graham was a visionary leader. Some examples cited in the book include:
· His use of the term “team” years before it came into vogue in the business world and his actual practice of teamwork.
· In the first and only church he pastored, he changed the name from “Baptist Church” to “Community Church.”
· His consistent practice of turning his critics into coaches by asking them how he could improve. He understood the maxim, “The more influential you are, the harder it is to find people who will tell you the truth.”
· His practice of contextualization of his message. When preaching in New York in 1957, he used the titles from theater marquees as titles for his messages.
As a Pentecostal, I was once again reminded of the emphasis Billy placed upon the power of the Holy Spirit. Although I’d read about it years ago in Pollock’s biography, I was touched by the author’s description of Billy’s powerful encounter with the Holy Spirit in the early days of his ministry.
His first night speaking in Wales brought a small, passive, unresponsive crowd and showed no indication of the success Billy had achieved in America. Billy was hungry for the power of the Holy Spirit as the great Welch preacher Stephen Olford had described his own experience of Spirit baptism and coached Billy to seek after the same.
As Billy wept, they knelt to the floor and cried out to God. The description of what followed would rival any description of a Pentecostal outpouring:
“I can still hear Billy pouring out his heart in a prayer of total dedication to the Lord,” said Olford. “Finally, he said, ‘My heart is so flooded with the Holy Spirit!’ and we went from praying to praising. We were laughing and praising God, and Billy was walking back and forth across the room, crying out, ‘I have it! I’m filled. This is a turning point in my life.’ And he was a new man.”
That night, when Billy preached, “for reasons known to God alone, the place which was only moderately filled the night before was packed to the doors,” said Olford. “As Billy rose to speak, he was a man absolutely anointed.”
Members of the audience came forward to pray even before Billy gave an invitation. At the end of the sermon, practically the entire crowd rushed forward. “My own heart was so moved by Billy’s authority and strength that I could hardly drive home,” Olford remembers. “When I came in the door, my father looked at my face and said, ‘What on earth happened?’ I sat down at the kitchen table and said, ‘Dad, something has happened to Billy Graham. The world is going to hear from this man.’”[2]
As this applies to my own ministry context, I want to be sensitive not to discount someone else’s experience with the Holy Spirit, particularly when there are observable results. In Billy Graham’s case, the anointing upon his preaching, power to witness, leadership dynamic and fruit of the Spirit have been evident and readily acknowledged. I should not discount the work of the Spirit just because it doesn’t seem to fit into my theological box or personal comfort zone.
Perhaps the greatest lesson learned from Leadership Secrets was the tremendous potential of seemingly small decisions. Shortly before the Los Angeles crusade that launched him into the public spotlight, Billy conducted a much smaller crusade in Modesto. One afternoon of that crusade, he met with his young team and asked them to go back to their rooms and think and pray about all the things that had become stumbling blocks to evangelists in years gone by, write them down and come back to discuss the issues.
The results of that meeting became known as the “Modesto Manifesto.” In comparing their lists, they found the results strikingly similar and included these points:
1. Shady handling of money.
2. Sexual immorality.
3. Badmouthing others doing similar work.
4. Exaggerated accomplishments.
In a solemn time of prayer, the team members agreed to hold one another and their organization accountable for these things. As a result, Billy Graham personally and organizationally has never been subject to the scandals that have rocked the evangelical world. At the end of his life, his character and integrity remain intact, and it is largely due to the decisions and agreements made in 1948 in a Modesto hotel room.
Credibility is a precious commodity because it is short on supply and greatly in demand. Although I cannot hope to attain and achieve the stature of Billy Graham, I can learn from his leadership characteristics and godly example as a humble, but fiercely resolved follower of Christ.
[1] Harold Myra and Marshall Shelley. The Leadership Secrets of Billy Graham. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2005. p. 139.
[2] Harold Myra and Marshall Shelley. The Leadership Secrets of Billy Graham. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2005. p. 23-24.
Identifying Billy Graham as a level five leader, the authors point to Billy’s “extreme personal humility” combined with “fierce resolve.” This combination enabled him to establish and lead multiple organizations, maintain evangelism as his top priority, keep a team together through nearly seven decades, serve as chaplain and confidant of presidents and world leaders, and maintain his personal integrity through it all.
Like many Americans of my generation, I grew up with regular exposure to Billy Graham. Even as a teenager, I recognized something in Billy Graham that helped me identify more with him than with others of his generation. Perhaps it was the fact that he started wearing his hair longer in the early 1970’s. I can remember my dad being rather appalled that one of his peers (dad was born in 1916, Billy Graham in 1918) would want to “look like a hippie.”
Reminding my dad that “Jesus had long hair” proved to be a rather ineffective strategy as he reminded me that, “Jesus walked everywhere he went, too. He didn’t ride a motorcycle.” I jumped on my Yamaha 175 Enduro to take a ride in the hills and think about it.
I wondered why my dad didn’t think more like Billy Graham did. Both were raised on a farm in pretty humble circumstances. But my dad had pretty much stayed on the farm and had a worldview that didn’t extend far beyond the fields he had plowed most of his days. Billy Graham had left the farm years ago, traveled the world and was friends with the President.
That didn’t mean I necessarily thought Billy Graham was cool, because I don’t think teenagers ever think old people are cool when they try to look like teenagers or copy their styles. But I did appreciate that he seemed to have more of an understanding of the “generation gap” than my own father did. The fact that Billy Graham at least tried to understand the younger generation made a pretty big blip on my radar screen. And even though I didn’t verbalize it back then, I think I understood that to be a sign of leadership. At least it helped me respect him as a leader.
As much as my dad (and a lot of others of his generation) detested change, protested change, and resisted change, Billy Graham seemed to accept change. His acceptance was not just passive apathy, but reflected an actual embrace of change when change was necessary and beneficial to the advancement of God’s kingdom.
Growing up as he did in the racially segregated south, Billy Graham must have had a difficult time going against the tide of racial prejudice. But he did. Early in his ministry, he had followed local custom by preaching to integrated audiences in the North and to mostly segregated audiences in the South. The authors point to one 1952 incident in his Jackson, Mississippi crusade when he made a stand and exhibited courageous leadership:
Walking toward the ropes that separated blacks and whites, Billy tore them down. Mystified and uncomfortable ushers tried to put the ropes back up. Billy personally stopped them. This symbolically powerful gesture marked a major ministry watershed. He never again led a segregated campaign.
“There is no scriptural basis for segregation,” he said. “The ground at the cross is level, and it touches my heart when I see whites standing shoulder to shoulder with blacks at the cross.”[1]
I wish I could have witnessed that night. “Humility blended with fierce resolve” seems an appropriate description of his leadership that evening. He was humble enough to admit that the old ways he grew up with and had gone along with were wrong, and resolved to make a difference, even at the expense of alienating some of his constituents. More than a decade before Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech that riveted the nation’s attention on racial inequality and galvanized the civil rights movement, Billy Graham’s vision paved the way to make the dream a real possibility.
Billy Graham was a visionary leader. Some examples cited in the book include:
· His use of the term “team” years before it came into vogue in the business world and his actual practice of teamwork.
· In the first and only church he pastored, he changed the name from “Baptist Church” to “Community Church.”
· His consistent practice of turning his critics into coaches by asking them how he could improve. He understood the maxim, “The more influential you are, the harder it is to find people who will tell you the truth.”
· His practice of contextualization of his message. When preaching in New York in 1957, he used the titles from theater marquees as titles for his messages.
As a Pentecostal, I was once again reminded of the emphasis Billy placed upon the power of the Holy Spirit. Although I’d read about it years ago in Pollock’s biography, I was touched by the author’s description of Billy’s powerful encounter with the Holy Spirit in the early days of his ministry.
His first night speaking in Wales brought a small, passive, unresponsive crowd and showed no indication of the success Billy had achieved in America. Billy was hungry for the power of the Holy Spirit as the great Welch preacher Stephen Olford had described his own experience of Spirit baptism and coached Billy to seek after the same.
As Billy wept, they knelt to the floor and cried out to God. The description of what followed would rival any description of a Pentecostal outpouring:
“I can still hear Billy pouring out his heart in a prayer of total dedication to the Lord,” said Olford. “Finally, he said, ‘My heart is so flooded with the Holy Spirit!’ and we went from praying to praising. We were laughing and praising God, and Billy was walking back and forth across the room, crying out, ‘I have it! I’m filled. This is a turning point in my life.’ And he was a new man.”
That night, when Billy preached, “for reasons known to God alone, the place which was only moderately filled the night before was packed to the doors,” said Olford. “As Billy rose to speak, he was a man absolutely anointed.”
Members of the audience came forward to pray even before Billy gave an invitation. At the end of the sermon, practically the entire crowd rushed forward. “My own heart was so moved by Billy’s authority and strength that I could hardly drive home,” Olford remembers. “When I came in the door, my father looked at my face and said, ‘What on earth happened?’ I sat down at the kitchen table and said, ‘Dad, something has happened to Billy Graham. The world is going to hear from this man.’”[2]
As this applies to my own ministry context, I want to be sensitive not to discount someone else’s experience with the Holy Spirit, particularly when there are observable results. In Billy Graham’s case, the anointing upon his preaching, power to witness, leadership dynamic and fruit of the Spirit have been evident and readily acknowledged. I should not discount the work of the Spirit just because it doesn’t seem to fit into my theological box or personal comfort zone.
Perhaps the greatest lesson learned from Leadership Secrets was the tremendous potential of seemingly small decisions. Shortly before the Los Angeles crusade that launched him into the public spotlight, Billy conducted a much smaller crusade in Modesto. One afternoon of that crusade, he met with his young team and asked them to go back to their rooms and think and pray about all the things that had become stumbling blocks to evangelists in years gone by, write them down and come back to discuss the issues.
The results of that meeting became known as the “Modesto Manifesto.” In comparing their lists, they found the results strikingly similar and included these points:
1. Shady handling of money.
2. Sexual immorality.
3. Badmouthing others doing similar work.
4. Exaggerated accomplishments.
In a solemn time of prayer, the team members agreed to hold one another and their organization accountable for these things. As a result, Billy Graham personally and organizationally has never been subject to the scandals that have rocked the evangelical world. At the end of his life, his character and integrity remain intact, and it is largely due to the decisions and agreements made in 1948 in a Modesto hotel room.
Credibility is a precious commodity because it is short on supply and greatly in demand. Although I cannot hope to attain and achieve the stature of Billy Graham, I can learn from his leadership characteristics and godly example as a humble, but fiercely resolved follower of Christ.
[1] Harold Myra and Marshall Shelley. The Leadership Secrets of Billy Graham. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2005. p. 139.
[2] Harold Myra and Marshall Shelley. The Leadership Secrets of Billy Graham. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2005. p. 23-24.
Monday, December 1, 2008
A Wonderful Book
I just finished reading, "Same Kind of Different As Me" by Ron Hall and Denver Moore. I first heard their story on NPR, and was so intrigued I ordered the book (which is a New York Times Bestseller, BTW). I'm glad I did--it is one of the most touching stories I've read in a long time. The book mirrors two lives, Ron Hall, a millionaire Ft. Worth art dealer, and a homeless African American, Denver Moore who was raised in near-slavery conditions as a Louisiana sharecropper. Their story is remarkable--particularly how Ron's wife Debbie brought them together by her desire to work at the Union Gospel Mission in Ft. Worth.
The book is written in a chapter by chapter dialogue, letting Ron tell his story and Denver tell his in contrasting chapters. The similarities between the two individuals' backgrounds is astounding, as is the contrast between their opportunities and outcomes in life.
Debbie is the common thread between them and provides the sub-plot. The story of her life and ministry is amazing--her faith and love for "the least of these." In the midst of this, her battle with cancer provides more insight into faith and teaches some good lessons about healing, grace, grief, and recovery.
Despite its funny sounding title, "Same Kind of Different As Me" is one of the most missional stories I've ever read and I will be encouraging others to read it. Evangelical Christians can learn a lot from this true tale. You won't view homeless people in the same light after reading this compelling story!
The book is written in a chapter by chapter dialogue, letting Ron tell his story and Denver tell his in contrasting chapters. The similarities between the two individuals' backgrounds is astounding, as is the contrast between their opportunities and outcomes in life.
Debbie is the common thread between them and provides the sub-plot. The story of her life and ministry is amazing--her faith and love for "the least of these." In the midst of this, her battle with cancer provides more insight into faith and teaches some good lessons about healing, grace, grief, and recovery.
Despite its funny sounding title, "Same Kind of Different As Me" is one of the most missional stories I've ever read and I will be encouraging others to read it. Evangelical Christians can learn a lot from this true tale. You won't view homeless people in the same light after reading this compelling story!
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