[Tony]

I had to contact the Powers That Be in Missouri, as well as figure out what to do with the rest of the group. One of the cars that stopped was local, and he drove me to a truckstop 2 exits back, while the ambulances headed to the hospital in the nearby city, Pampa. I called the associate campus minister from Mizzou, the only phone number I could remember at the time. He said that he would make all the calls in Missouri, and that I should try to contact a Baptist church in Pampa, then get back to him.

It was Saturday. Who would be in their church offices on a Saturday? I found a pay phone and a phone book and called First Baptist Church, and unbelievably, the janitor answered. I quickly explained the situation, and he gave me the senior pastor’s home phone number. The pastor answered his phone. “Pastor,” I said, “I’m a BSU intern with a group of students from Missouri, returning from a mission trip to Mexico. One of our vans flipped over on the highway. They are at the emergency room in the hospital in your city, but I do not know the extent of anyone’s injuries. I have absolutely no idea what to do.”

In a calm voice, he replied, “Everything is going to be taken care of. Meet me at the hospital.”

The man with the car graciously agreed to take me to the hospital. When I got there, the emergency room was in the process of releasing all of the students that were in the van with prescriptions for pain medication. Other than what would be very sore bodies, no one suffered any injury.

The pastor arrived and talked with the emergency desk receptionist, then turned to our group. A church bus was outside, ready to take us all to a nearby hotel. Once checked in, he and my driver went to assess the damage to our van. It was totaled, obviously, so we had to figure out how to get half of our group home. The pastor talked to the Missouri Student Ministries Director, and agreed that we should put them on the next available Greyhound bus, which turned out to be 2 a.m. the next morning.

As the rest of the group ate dinner, the pastor had one of his members, a pharmacist, take me to get the prescriptions filled. Then, another member came by with the church bus at midnight to take the students to the bus station. We were almost in the homestretch, when the bus station wouldn’t take a check from the church for the tickets. So another member of the church was called, a bank president, who went to his bank at midnight and withdrew enough cash for the tickets.

Finally, the 10 students were off for home, and I returned to the hotel to join the rest of our group later that morning. I was back at the Mizzou BSU building late Sunday night.

As I reflect on that adventure this time, I’m struck by two images. First was the way Sonya’s actions helped to calm the students in the accident. She continued to pray with and comfort the ones in our van as well. I’m convinced that we would have all freaked out if God had not used her in such a manner.

The second is the wonderful blessing that is the church, the community of faith. While we were in the same denomination, this church didn’t know any of us, yet they took care of all our needs that day. How does anyone cope with life’s issues without the body of Christ?

[Tony]

This Wednesday, my wife and I will celebrate our 3rd anniversary. She is a living testimony to me of God’s grace and restoration. I am reminded everyday that God is at work in all things.

I’m the richest man alive.

[Laura]

Wow. That story about the van accident was quite insightful...the value of the body of Christ is indeed INvaluable. How incredible that God can use a bunch of sinners to do His work on earth. Great blog, by the way!

[Tony]

thank you, kindly.

God is good; His mercy endures forever. (Psalm 136)

[Tony]

This Sunday we will observe the Lord’s Table. One of the songs we will sing is How Deep the Father’s Love for Us, by Stuart Townend. Here’s a link to the lyrics if you want to read it.

The second verse is quite convicting, identifying that Jesus died for our sins, and that we were once mockers, just like those on the day of His crucifixion.

“How deep the Father’s love for us, how vast beyond all measure.”

[Tony]

Important lesson learned this morning:

If you use an interactive toy that plays “night-night” music to put your 10 month-old to sleep at night, don’t leave it in the crib for him to discover and play with at 5:00 the next morning.

sheesh.

[Tony]

Don't know what to write?
Here's a trusy axiom:
When in doubt, haiku

[Tony]

I was recently reminded of the story of Elijah and the “still small voice” found in I Kings 19. Everybody wants to ooh and ah over the scene where the wind roars, then an earthquake, then fire, yet God’s voice is heard in the gentle whisper.

But I often wonder why so many people stop there? As amazing as all that is, I don’t think it’s the main part of the story.

But lets set the scene first: In the previous chapter, Elijah was riding high from a tremendous victory. He challenged the prophets of Baal to see whose god was the true God. Which god could light a sacrifice on an altar? Baal’s gang tried and tried all day long, but to no avail. Then Elijah prayed to God, and the fires from heaven consumed the sacrifice and the altar.

Elijah had the prophets of Baal executed. Then, as a further sign, as Elijah looked toward the sea, God sent a rainstorm that would end a 7-year drought in the land.

You’d think that Elijah would be feeling pretty sure of God’s strength and protection. But it didn’t last long. Queen Jezebel was so furious over the loss of her prophets (a profit loss!), she swore to kill Elijah. But instead of Elijah trusting God to shine victoriously again, he turned and ran away like a frightened bunny.

And ran. And ran. Until he couldn’t run any farther. Exhausted, scared, confused, and lonely, Elijah asked God to simply end his life. “I’m done, Lord. Finish me off.”

But God had other plans. First He allowed Elijah to get some rest. Then He made sure that he had something to eat. Then more rest. And when Elijah was ready to hear God’s voice, God sent the wind, earthquake, fire, then finally spoke in the still small voice.

And said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

Elijah unpacked all the emotional baggage – fear, loneliness, rejection.

Five years ago this month was the lowest point in my life. The realization that my marriage would not be restored, that everything I had planned for as an adult – career, family, home, was gone – struck me with a force that left me ready to die. I sat in my chair in my 1-room apartment, exhausted from crying, and was reminded of Elijah’s story.

And in the re-reading of I Kings 19, God spoke to me with His words to Elijah. “What are you doing here?” So I told Him everything.

Then it was time to finish the story. I absolutely love God’s response to Elijah. “Go back from where you came. You’re not alone.” God told Elijah that back home waiting for him was a new king, a helper for him (Elisha), and 7000 people who were still faithful to the God of Israel. 7000 people!

And God showed me that I was also not alone. I had 3 friends who regularly supported and helped me through my emotional struggles, and I had a local community of faith to worship with, grow and minister together.

As believers, we have the wonderful hope that we are never alone. We have each other in the fellowship of the saints. And we have the Holy Spirit who comforts, guides, and sometimes asks in a still, small voice, “What are you doing here?”

[Laura]

That was really beautiful. Thanks for sharing.

[Tony]

I absolutely hate to admit this, but I’ve been watching Joe Millionaire lately.

This giant Neanderthal is about to choose one woman to “propose” to, but he first will have to tell her that the whole “millionaire” part was a fib. And now he’s actually having moral twinges about the setup. Little late there, Evan.

So I’m stuck on this show, trying to figure out who I want him to pick. Do I root for my favorite, the down-to-earth school teacher who seems to have a head on her shoulders? Or should it be the former “film” star, who is about as deep as the plot to a bum fight video?

One should be offended by the deception of it all, and leave broken-hearted. The other should turn him down for his lack of actual wealth, but appreciate the shrewdness of the premise.

Hmmm…

[Tony]

I seem to be telling lots of mission trip stories here. This particular episode came to mind as I pondered over Black History Month:

A couple of posts earlier, I described an adventure upon returning from a mission trip to Mexico during a winter break. That same year, I was with a team of Mizzou BSU students who went to Chicago for spring break.

We stayed at a church that was just down the street from the University of Chicago, in the south side of the city. The church had been a large, 3-story house at one time. The living room had been converted to a small sanctuary, and the bedrooms upstairs converted to children’s care space. We assisted in doing some basic painting and maintenance there, and at another church nearby – the Rain or Shine Temple.

Rain or Shine was located on 45th street, in a not-so nice part of town. Pastor Smith left a well-paid pastorate in St. Louis to serve there. The church building abutted to retail & office space on one side, space that had become rundown with age and poverty, and had eventually fallen under unlawful influence, as the downstairs portion became a gambling house, and the upstairs a brothel.

Pastor Smith immediately began to minister to the people there, and God changed the lives of many. The church secretary was a former prostitute; the chairman of the deacon board an alcoholic, numbers running thug. Eventually the church was able to buy out the leases on the building, closing their operations. It was truly amazing to see God’s hand at work in that community, and to catch of glimpse of the vision for ministry that Pastor Smith had for it.

But that’s not what I wanted to talk about now. I wanted to tell about someone else.

Back at the church we were staying at (funny how I can’t remember it’s name, but Rain or Shine is still close at hand), our students led the Wednesday evening worship service. Attending the service were a few members, and a couple of folks that had been receiving assistance from benevolence funds. One such fellow stuck around after the service, and he and I talked.

He was a Vietnam veteran, still wearing an Army coat, and grew up in the St. Louis area, but had moved up to Chicago to be closer to family. His eyes were yellow from years of abuse to his body, but he spoke clearly, and we talked about mutual places we’d been to in St. Louis. He had been coming to the church for a few weeks, and felt that it was a “real good place.”

Then the conversation suddenly turned. “Yeah,” he said, “I used to hate white people, but not since I was in the service.”

Two thoughts came to mind: How did we segue to this topic, and did he think I had a problem with black people? A voice in my head told me to shut up and listen further, and that maybe this guy had something to say.

He was at a battle site in Vietnam, his troop backing away from the firestorm. A fellow soldier was down and he went to pick him up to carry to safety. “The guy was blown apart. I was carrying his body under one arm, and his legs under another, when it finally hit me. This guy’s blood is all over me, and it’s the same color as mine. He’s going to die just like I am. How can I hate a man just because of his skin color?”

I now think about his tale, and wonder as to its veracity. But at the time, I was simply riveted to his words. Simple. Real. True. I didn’t have any response other than to put my hand on his shoulder, and he did the same to me in return.

After a few more moments of conversation, we wished each other God’s blessings, and he left into the night.

[Tony]

I mentioned a few posts earlier that I’ve stepped down from worship leading for a while, in order to help my wife get to church. My pastor asked that I still lead once a month so that the congregation maintains a connection with me. The other weeks, I assist in planning and rehearsing, but sit with the congregation on Sunday.

There are moments when I enjoy participating from the pews (chairs in our case). But the rest of the time it just drives me crazy. I’m analyzing song tempos transitions, mentally wishing the person at the computer would anticipate the next slide better, wondering why I can’t hear the keyboard or bass or particular singer as well.

For the most part, I have been involved in worship leadership since my sophomore year in college – 18 years ago (yikes!). There have been very few periods since then where I was attending church and not on the platform, either as part or full-time staff, or now as a volunteer.

Pondering this gives rise to a couple observations about myself:

1) Many people raise their hands in worship, but since I’m usually playing guitar, I’ve never felt comfortable doing it myself. Even when I try, my hands never seem to go higher than my elbows, and they mostly end up in my pockets.

2) It is perhaps easier for me to hide behind my guitar on stage than it is to worship with my church family from the pews.

I’m not convinced that these are necessarily bad things. For some, participation in the community of faith means some level of leadership. Pastors, for instance, still assume the role of pastor, even if they are not preaching that Sunday. I would imagine that Elders experience the same affect.

This is not a conclusive thought for me, though. I’d like to think that I’m still open to God teaching me a new perspective on worship leading and being led in worship.

[Tony]

It’s been a sad few days.

I’ve heard news of two people in my life that are not doing well. The first is a woman that was a second mom to dozens of kids. Skin cancer is taking its toll, and it saddens me to think of this strong, loving woman now sapped by a cruel disease. But her faith is sure, and she knows to Whom she belongs. I’ve been praying for her comfort.

The second is my cousin. She has been diagnosed with schizophrenia, and is in a state hospital, since her family isn’t able to control her any longer. This is a beautiful young woman whose life has been taken away by mental disorder. It doesn’t seem fair.

[Laura]

That sounds pretty bad. Stuff like that never seems fair. I'll definitely be praying for you and them.

[Tony]

Let me be clear from the beginning: I’m not at all questioning Whom we should worship. We as Christians have no choice but to love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength. I don’t exactly know where I’m going with this yet, but I’m trying to work out a measure of discomfort I feel whenever I hear people say that worship is only about the glory of God.

An all-sufficient God does not create humanity because He is lonely. By the same token, that same all-powerful, completely perfect and holy God does not have us worship Him because He has self esteem issues.

I’m inclined to believe that worship is for our sake, and not His. And if that is the case, then what is wrong with recognizing our perspective, preferences, feelings, desires, in at least part of it?

Pondering…

If anyone reads this (ha!), I welcome your insights. And if it becomes any clearer for me (translated: doesn’t get me burned at the stake for heresy), I’ll open this discussion on the Theology board.