If you missed either of the last two Sundays at ROC Church, then you missed out on a powerful time in the presence of the Lord! The most moving moments for me have been the ongoing testimonies of God’s transforming power at work in our midst. We have heard of people overcoming addictions, gaining new insights, finding acceptance and forgiveness, and growing in faith. And, yesterday Marie Douglas blessed us all with a beautiful, spontaneous testimony in song that fit perfectly with the main point in our passage – only the Holy Spirit can orchestrate such things. I’ve been thinking all day about the powerful spiritual she shared:
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home,
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.
I looked over Jordan, and what did I see
Coming for to carry me home?
A band of angels coming after me,
Coming for to carry me home.
Sometimes I'm up, and sometimes I'm down,
(Coming for to carry me home)
But still my soul feels heavenly bound.
(Coming for to carry me home)
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home,
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.
In a real sense, we know that no matter what we face the Lord will carry us through – all the way home. We don’t need to worry. We are God’s children – Receive who you are! He will take care of us – Become what you have received!
1 At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” 2 He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. 3 And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 4 Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. 5 And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.
~ Matthew 18:1-5
Lay down the weight of worry so that you can run and jump and play as His child. Enjoy the day He has created for you. This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it. Remember, as the wise, older grandfather said in the Grace Card, “Sunday is just the locker room. Monday through Saturday is when we play the game.” We need that time in the locker room, but now is the time we practice our faith. Play well this week!
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Love Your Neighbor
This is an incredible image of Egyptian Christians who formed a barrier to protect their Muslim neighbors while they pray during the chaotic time of protest. We have much to learn from our brothers and sisters.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Snow-nami
Are you prepared for the snow-pocalypse? If you have been watching the news, then you are aware that there is a winter storm headed our way. Of course, our sensational media make it sound like the world is coming to an end on Tuesday. The sky is falling! Well, at least some white stuff will be falling from the sky. And we wonder why people respond with irrational fear.
I haven’t ventured to the store yet, but I can guess that they are already running low on basic supplies after the ensuing mad dash to get ready for the coming storm. People are planning to hunker down at home for several days. This is generally an appropriate response to the news that has been shared. What strikes me as odd is that we know how to respond and prepare when we hear about the weather. We generally even know how to respond to other current news stories. But how are we at responding to the Good News?
Jesus even said that we are good at reading the signs in the sky, understanding weather patterns, and yet we can’t read the signs of the times. We do alright getting ready for snow, but how are we doing at preparing for eternity? How are we practicing for the coming Kingdom of God? We won’t find those supplies at the store. It is only as we let go and die to self, daily take up our cross and follow Him that we participate in what God is doing and prepare for that coming day. No turning back… no turning back.
Wisdom from fellow Christ-followers - Marcella of Rome (325 – 410 AD):
Marcella had an enviable life as the daughter of a prominent Roman family who married a wealthy man. But less than a year after her wedding, her husband died. She was given the chance to continue living in wealth when she was proposed to by the wealthy consul Cerealis. She chose instead to convert her mansion into one of the earliest communities of women, where she and other noble women used their riches to help the poor. Marcella said she preferred to “store her money in the stomachs of the needy than to hide it in a purse.” In 410, when the Goths invaded Rome, they broke into Marcella’s home. When they demanded money, she calmly responded that she had no riches because she had given all to the poor. Though she was an elderly woman, they beat and tortured her mercilessly. Her attackers were eventually shamed by her piety and she was released, but she died within a short time.
Marcella of Rome wrote, “By heaven’s grace, captivity has found me a poor woman, not made me one. Now I shall go in want of daily bread, but I shall not feel hunger since I am full of Christ.”
I haven’t ventured to the store yet, but I can guess that they are already running low on basic supplies after the ensuing mad dash to get ready for the coming storm. People are planning to hunker down at home for several days. This is generally an appropriate response to the news that has been shared. What strikes me as odd is that we know how to respond and prepare when we hear about the weather. We generally even know how to respond to other current news stories. But how are we at responding to the Good News?
Jesus even said that we are good at reading the signs in the sky, understanding weather patterns, and yet we can’t read the signs of the times. We do alright getting ready for snow, but how are we doing at preparing for eternity? How are we practicing for the coming Kingdom of God? We won’t find those supplies at the store. It is only as we let go and die to self, daily take up our cross and follow Him that we participate in what God is doing and prepare for that coming day. No turning back… no turning back.
Wisdom from fellow Christ-followers - Marcella of Rome (325 – 410 AD):
Marcella had an enviable life as the daughter of a prominent Roman family who married a wealthy man. But less than a year after her wedding, her husband died. She was given the chance to continue living in wealth when she was proposed to by the wealthy consul Cerealis. She chose instead to convert her mansion into one of the earliest communities of women, where she and other noble women used their riches to help the poor. Marcella said she preferred to “store her money in the stomachs of the needy than to hide it in a purse.” In 410, when the Goths invaded Rome, they broke into Marcella’s home. When they demanded money, she calmly responded that she had no riches because she had given all to the poor. Though she was an elderly woman, they beat and tortured her mercilessly. Her attackers were eventually shamed by her piety and she was released, but she died within a short time.
Marcella of Rome wrote, “By heaven’s grace, captivity has found me a poor woman, not made me one. Now I shall go in want of daily bread, but I shall not feel hunger since I am full of Christ.”
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
One in the Spirit
There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. ~ Ephesians 4:4-6
Today we honor the dream of Martin Luther King, Jr. I believe that his dream is not only rooted in the American dream, but is also rooted in God’s vision for His world. We were made for each other. We need each other. And it is my prayer that all God’s children will come together in unity in the Spirit. Let us remember King’s dream:
I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Today we honor the dream of Martin Luther King, Jr. I believe that his dream is not only rooted in the American dream, but is also rooted in God’s vision for His world. We were made for each other. We need each other. And it is my prayer that all God’s children will come together in unity in the Spirit. Let us remember King’s dream:
I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Monday, November 15, 2010
Welcoming Angels
1 Keep on loving one another as brothers and sisters. 2 Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.
~ Hebrews 13:1-2
I had one of those experiences on Sunday that made me so proud to be a pastor at the ROC. I just had to take a moment this morning to brag on my ROC Flock.
Early Sunday morning, as people began to trickle in for Sunday School, one of our members found me and said, "We have a special guest and she needs some help." It is not an uncommon occurrence to encounter people seeking some kind of help at the ROC. It is a blessing to give, to be sure, but I have to admit that being known in the area as a giving place can sometimes drain one's energy and resources. There is so much need. And yet, as the Body of Christ, we didn't come to be served, but to serve and to give our lives away for Him - as Jesus modeled for us. And as we step out, He sustains us.
I simply said of course... where is she. As I approached Teresa, it was obvious that she lived in poverty. Suffering and hardship had taken its toll, leaving their marks all over her face, hands, feet, and clothes. Her downcast demeanor and broken body were clear witnesses of the oppression and brokenness of this world. My heart began to break for her.
I introduced myself and talked to her for a moment. It was obvious that she had a gentle and sweet spirit, in spite of her suffering... maybe it was because of all she had been through and not in spite of it. She told me that her family was moving to another part of the city and they wouldn't have heat for some time this winter, and they needed some blankets to keep warm. She has several grandchildren living with her and didn't want them to get sick over the brutal winter months.
I thought to myself, "I can't believe that we don't keep any blankets around here, but how can we say 'no' to such an honest, humble request." I said, "Let me see what we can do." As I asked around, I found out that Pastor Beckie had recently purchased about 7 or 8 new blankets to give away. Every year, as the weather changes and it starts to get cold over night, Beckie and a few others from our fellowship buy blankets to hand out to the homeless. It just happened that they had not gone out to give them away yet, and they were still in the trunk of her car. Coincidence?
Theresa stayed for Bible Study and worship. She was able to gather some bread that we offer for the community to take home for her family. And after the service, she spoke to me. She was in tears and simply said, "I wish I had found this place sooner. Everyone treated me so special here. They were kind and loving. I have been to churches where I was looked down on and treated poorly because of my appearance. This is a beautiful place." She asked if there was a church like this where she was moving. I gave her the contact information of a church like us that will be near her - I'm friends with their pastor and I know they will treat her well.
I believe that she found more than blankets and bread that day - I think she encountered the Bread of Life who can cover her and her family with the warmth of His presence. I can't think of anything that touches a pastor's heart more than a story like this.
Our fellowship truly embodied the beautiful prayer that I heard while working at a homeless shelter in Kansas City. We had different church groups come through to serve dinner each night. I would usually have someone from the group pray before we prepared to serve the meal. One evening an elderly African American lady offered a prayer that I will never forget. She simply said, "Lord, we know You'll be comin' through the line today. Help us treat you well. Amen." I try to remember that pray every day. "Lord, I know that I'm going to encounter you today. Help me treat you well." I wish I could say that I live up to that all the time... but I don't. And, yet I know that He hasn't given up on me... as we sang on Sunday - You never let go.
I absolutely love leading people who "get it"... who understand that we learn to love God by loving others... that whatever we do for the least and lost, we do for Him. And as we pour ourselves out, living as expressions as His love, His grace and His peace... we receive the Kingdom of God.
37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
~ Matthew 25:37-40
Thank you ROC Flock! I'm proud of you! Let us continue to love one another for God is love!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Justice in the Morning
Bart Campolo (founder of Mission Year and son of one of my favorite writers and speakers, Tony Campolo) shared this story. It moved me and reminded me why we are here. I thought I would pass it along:
Dear Friends,
It was late when Karen came over from next door with her cell phone. On the line was Emily, a young school teacher who moved here with her husband to be part of our fellowship, and who has been especially good to Jamilla, an against-the-odds teenager on her block. Karen put Emily on speaker, and suddenly we were all together in the middle of a post-modern teenage nightmare.
With part of her disability check, Jamilla had gotten herself a high-status cell phone that connects with internet, and recently she had been experimenting with ‘Urban Chat,’ a sleazy local website where teenagers flirt with each other online. A few hours earlier, an attractive guy from that site had convinced her to send him a nude photograph. Now he was telling her that unless she paid him $60, he was going to forward that photo to every kid he knew at her school. According to Emily, Jamilla was frantic, embarrassed, and very much afraid.
The ensuing conversation ranged from the new dangers of technology to the old vulnerabilities of adolescent insecurity to the unique blind spots of kids in poverty, but it kept coming back to the problem at hand: What should Emily tell Jamilla to do? For good reasons, Jamilla was terrified to tell her family, and it didn’t take much research to discover she could get into big trouble for sending the photo in the first place. In the end, we told her to agree to pay off her blackmailer the next morning, in person, on the campus of the University of Cincinnati. Of course, we had another plan in mind.
Jamilla and I parked near the meeting place early. She walked there alone, while I stood across the street, pretending to talk on my cell phone. Both of us nervously scanned the face of every young man on the sidewalk, looking for the bad guy. When he finally showed up, he walked towards Jamilla with a confident smile. Before he could say a word, I stepped between them.
“My name is Bart Campolo and I’m Jamilla’s pastor,” I said calmly, as his smile disappeared. “I’ve spoken with our lawyer and also with a police officer in our fellowship, and both of them tell me you’re not in any real trouble yet.” I paused for a moment, hoping he wouldn’t run, but he was frozen in place. “Now first of all, I need to watch you delete that photograph from your cell phone.” Wordlessly, he complied.
“Of course,” I continued, “you might have a copy of that photo on your computer, but I’m here to tell you that if it goes anywhere, I will personally see to it that you go to jail for at least a year and that your family pays out a great deal of money. Do you understand me?” He nodded, as I held up my camera and pushed the button. “Now I have your photograph and your telephone number and I know where you go to school. Son, what you did to Jamilla was ugly and cruel, but I’m going to let you walk away from it. But I promise you, if we ever hear from you again, the wrath of God will come down on you. Again, do you understand me?” He looked me in the eye for the first time. “Yes sir,” he said. I stepped back. “All right then. You may go.”
As he walked away, I put my arm around Jamilla, who still looked very afraid. Honestly, I was a little bit weak in the knees myself. I’m not a natural tough guy, after all. “Do you really think it’s over?” she asked quietly.
“Yes I do,” I replied. “That boy is terrified, and he ought to be. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because I wasn’t bluffing. I meant every word I said.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
On our way to her high school, I gave Jamilla just the kind of fatherly talking to you would expect, about trust and men and self-respect, and Jamilla gave me just the kind of relieved, grateful attention you would expect after an ordeal like that. Over and over, I tried to communicate to her just how precious she is to us. Jamilla teared up, and told me how much it meant to have a caring grown-up friend on her block. Without Emily, she said, she didn’t know where she would be.
After I dropped her off, I called Emily and Karen and Marty, so they could stop worrying. Then I gave thanks for women like them, who live out their love in the most natural ways, and make safe havens for girls in trouble. And then I treated myself to a greasy diner breakfast, during which I reflected at some length on the peculiar exhilaration of utterly overpowering a mean, abusive person in the name of Jesus.
It doesn’t happen nearly often enough, but I do love the smell of justice in the morning!
Keep the faith,
Bart
You can see the original post here
Dear Friends,
It was late when Karen came over from next door with her cell phone. On the line was Emily, a young school teacher who moved here with her husband to be part of our fellowship, and who has been especially good to Jamilla, an against-the-odds teenager on her block. Karen put Emily on speaker, and suddenly we were all together in the middle of a post-modern teenage nightmare.
With part of her disability check, Jamilla had gotten herself a high-status cell phone that connects with internet, and recently she had been experimenting with ‘Urban Chat,’ a sleazy local website where teenagers flirt with each other online. A few hours earlier, an attractive guy from that site had convinced her to send him a nude photograph. Now he was telling her that unless she paid him $60, he was going to forward that photo to every kid he knew at her school. According to Emily, Jamilla was frantic, embarrassed, and very much afraid.
The ensuing conversation ranged from the new dangers of technology to the old vulnerabilities of adolescent insecurity to the unique blind spots of kids in poverty, but it kept coming back to the problem at hand: What should Emily tell Jamilla to do? For good reasons, Jamilla was terrified to tell her family, and it didn’t take much research to discover she could get into big trouble for sending the photo in the first place. In the end, we told her to agree to pay off her blackmailer the next morning, in person, on the campus of the University of Cincinnati. Of course, we had another plan in mind.
Jamilla and I parked near the meeting place early. She walked there alone, while I stood across the street, pretending to talk on my cell phone. Both of us nervously scanned the face of every young man on the sidewalk, looking for the bad guy. When he finally showed up, he walked towards Jamilla with a confident smile. Before he could say a word, I stepped between them.
“My name is Bart Campolo and I’m Jamilla’s pastor,” I said calmly, as his smile disappeared. “I’ve spoken with our lawyer and also with a police officer in our fellowship, and both of them tell me you’re not in any real trouble yet.” I paused for a moment, hoping he wouldn’t run, but he was frozen in place. “Now first of all, I need to watch you delete that photograph from your cell phone.” Wordlessly, he complied.
“Of course,” I continued, “you might have a copy of that photo on your computer, but I’m here to tell you that if it goes anywhere, I will personally see to it that you go to jail for at least a year and that your family pays out a great deal of money. Do you understand me?” He nodded, as I held up my camera and pushed the button. “Now I have your photograph and your telephone number and I know where you go to school. Son, what you did to Jamilla was ugly and cruel, but I’m going to let you walk away from it. But I promise you, if we ever hear from you again, the wrath of God will come down on you. Again, do you understand me?” He looked me in the eye for the first time. “Yes sir,” he said. I stepped back. “All right then. You may go.”
As he walked away, I put my arm around Jamilla, who still looked very afraid. Honestly, I was a little bit weak in the knees myself. I’m not a natural tough guy, after all. “Do you really think it’s over?” she asked quietly.
“Yes I do,” I replied. “That boy is terrified, and he ought to be. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because I wasn’t bluffing. I meant every word I said.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
On our way to her high school, I gave Jamilla just the kind of fatherly talking to you would expect, about trust and men and self-respect, and Jamilla gave me just the kind of relieved, grateful attention you would expect after an ordeal like that. Over and over, I tried to communicate to her just how precious she is to us. Jamilla teared up, and told me how much it meant to have a caring grown-up friend on her block. Without Emily, she said, she didn’t know where she would be.
After I dropped her off, I called Emily and Karen and Marty, so they could stop worrying. Then I gave thanks for women like them, who live out their love in the most natural ways, and make safe havens for girls in trouble. And then I treated myself to a greasy diner breakfast, during which I reflected at some length on the peculiar exhilaration of utterly overpowering a mean, abusive person in the name of Jesus.
It doesn’t happen nearly often enough, but I do love the smell of justice in the morning!
Keep the faith,
Bart
You can see the original post here
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