No Small Print

You know the kind...all of the exceptions and exemptions and restrictions few of us read...the kind that would require a magnifying glass or the vision of a five-year-old...the kind that covers little but the glaringly obvious.

The gospel has no fine print, with no rules cunningly shaded, with no surprise requirements, and no hidden clauses.

Jesus did not believe in surprise expectations when He clearly outlined what He required of His followers. No earthly leader in any area of human citizenery was more "up-front" than Jesus Christ.

He plainly stated that each Christian would bear a cross (SEE Matthew 16:24). He forthrighly declared to His listeners that unless they were willing to sacrifice their lives for His sake and the gospel's - so that they could eventually save them- could not be His disciple. He said if anyone would be a part of His kingdom, he would have to humble himself and become as a little child (SEE Matthew 18:4). He made clear that the way up was down.

He said His followers would suffer; would be mistreated and misunderstood; would be hated by the world; would live a life of "straight and narrow" behavior; and that his hours and days would be marked by prayer, fasting, godliness, integrity, purity and wholesomeness.

B-U-T!! He also made it clear that those who follow Him through their lives on earth would have constant peace; would be freed from the domination of sin; would walk in light, not darkness; would have peace of mind; would share in intimate fellowship with (1) the heavenly Father, (2) with Himself; (3) with the Holy Spirit, and (4) with brothers and sisters in Christ. He promised eternal life to each follower; constant, Divine help, power and grace; resurrection from the grave, and heaven with joys beyond human comprehension.

On top of that, amazingly!, He promised that each believer would share in His glory (SEE John 17:22-24), and ultimately would receive and crown of glory. And then! bogglingly!, He said that He would reward every follower for their investments in His kingdom, after supplying them with the grace and power to accomplish it all! It is too much for our poor minds to absorb. All we can do is praise and thank Him!

Mark's Testimony

Note: Mark Boone, an instantly delivered alcoholic, gives this testimony Easter Sunday 2009 at the Columbia View Wesleyan Church, Portland, Oregon.

Sometimes the hardest people to be convinced of the power of God are those who have been long familiar with a Christian environment. I was raised in the church, parents pastors for 50-plus years. I've been a Wesleyan as long as anyone here, since before the Pilgrims merged with the Wesleyan-Methodists in '68 or '72 or whenever. Did a concert in this very church 20-25 years ago, but at some point I decided God had dropped the ball and I was doing this life thing my way. Until recently, I hadn't felt the Spirit of God for a couple of decades.

Two years ago, around Easter, I experienced an aortic dissection, much more serious than a heart attack. It produced several heart attacks. It is nearly always fatal-- something like 95% fatality. I lay unconscious, dying, with my family and loved ones crying out to God to spare me. The surgeon at QHSU said pre-op that the damage to my heart had already cost me my left leg, my kidneys, and most likely significant brain damage. "We're just trying to save his life," he said.

During the 12 minutes I was clinically dead, I saw myself on the operating table, people in scrubs around me, an experience that haunted me for over a year after. The surgeon told my family after the 9-hour operation that there were several instances that he would return to a portion of my heart to repair damage he had seen minutes earlier and find it had healed on its own! The legs I walked up here on are mine, and they work just fine! My kidneys that were gone suddenly began functioning normally, and tests show they are fine! My brain is, well... the same! I'm a medical miracle.

Oh, so that's what happened, Mark! Anyone would turn to God after that kind of ordeal! No, not even close. After waking from a coma several days later, I was adamant that I would not be buffaloed into a commitment to God. Your dear pastor and some of you came to visit me in recovery, and I politely but firmly resisted any perceived pressure from anyone towards the Lord.

God had healed my physical heart -- I couldn't have stopped Him from that if I wanted to -- but he could not heal my deepest need, my hurting soul, without my invitation. After a year of painful recovery, last Easter I was, some might say, as far away from God as one could be.

Now you're thinking, what in the world happened, after all of that, that changed this guy?

I won't take the time now to explain the situation except to say that, drama-wise, it pales in comparison to what I just described. That's a story for another time, and I never get tired of telling it, but, basically, I was asked a simple question by a complete stranger, and in the split second I had to consider my response, I realized beyond any doubt that the real question posed to me was, "Mark-child, are you done?" and the One asking through this total stranger was God Almighty Himself... my Creator... my Heavenly Father, who gave His only Son for me.

I was so overwhelmed and outclassed in every way by the Presence of God that I could not mentally fall to the ground fast enough. That Presence has not left me for an instant since, because my answer to Him and to the stranger was, "Yes. I am done."

Lest there be any misunderstanding, I did not just ooze imperceptibly into some warm, fuzzy experience that made me smile from time to time! Brother, I was changed! That song we sang about power, I didn't write that from a story I read about someone else. That happened to me! I could look inside myself and see it!

The Bible says that after Jesus died He went to hell. I don't recommend this at all! Don't go to hell! Maybe that's irreverant -- I'm thinking of writing a son named that! Anyway, a couple thousand Easter Eves ago, Jesus went to hell. He went straight to hell, and He did not go quietly! He didn't knock and ask politely. He didn't ask at all. He walked in there past all the mighty demons in the depths of hell, walked straight into Satan's stronghold, the devil's Fort Knox, and with the power and authority of God He took the keys of death and hell. That's what Easter is about, baby!

Listen, you want to champion the sting of death, the victory of the grave? Come to the cross!

You want to avoid the spiritual eternal agony of hell? Come to the cross!

You want to experience the unspeakable joy and peace, even in turmoil, disappointment and heartache? I'm tellin' you, come to the cross!

He's the way.

Praying Ground

It seems like we have great preoccupation with ground or real estate, and place high value on it. It could be classified in terms of "yardage", "mileage", and "acreage".

Billions of dollars are spent by millions of individuals to gain a few yards of ground. Records are painfully sought and high prices awarded for those desired yards of ground.

When it comes to mileage covered, we are a world in motion. No society has ever been as mobile as ours. Our shrinking globe is a grid of networking transportation. Going has easily replaced doing as modern man's pleasure activity. The many miles driven or the great amount of ground covered and viewed has become important in our lives today.

And acreage may be the greatest motivator of all time - past and present. We crave some ground to call our own. Ownership is a powerful force. A tiny, fifty by 100 feet plot of ground can consume a person and become his or her master.

There is another type of ground that has even higher potential and superior value that is generally depreciated and forgotten. It is praying ground. The relationship towards God is somewhat like that of spoiled children towards their parents. The only time the parents are important or sought out is when they need money or other assistance. How sad!

There are so many valuable aspects of praying ground that it should attract multitudes to acquire it. The truth is that there are miles of elbow room on praying ground. The area is unlimited - you can use all you want, and it is free.

Praying ground is where our eyes are opened. The blindfold of the flesh is removed and we can see as God sees. Limitations are reclassified as possibilities. Hope is reborn and courage renewed. Anything becomes possible on praying ground.

Praying ground is where chains are broken and captives are freed. The mightiest, most binding, addictive, habitual shackles of demons and men are shed as a tattered garment on praying ground. The "inevitable" is arrested and the irresistible is neutralized.

On praying ground we see through kinder eyes. Personal hurts and pain, and loss, and criticism become mere inconveniences when viewed beside the cross. Hard passions are softened. Vengeance is submerged in a sea of forgiveness, and hatchets are buried all over the place!

Mountains of disappointment are left there, along with disagreements and disillusionments. Piles of doubts and fear and quickly discarded.

Praying ground is where transformations occur. Sighs are turned to singing, and confusion is changed to peace. The fearful become fighters, and the losers face the rising sun, for here is failure's graveyard.

Rebirth and regeneration are characteristics of praying ground.

The message and music of praying ground is: God is our adequacy. He is enough. Don't give up, and don't cave is. But if you have, you can start again - on praying ground!

Storm on the Bering!

This is every sailor's nightmare - a storm at sea - especially at night!
Few of us take the time to imagine the "cost" of the seafood we buy, prepare and consume for our meals. All of it comes with rigorous, cold, difficult, soaking-wet effort, and much of it at the risk of human lives.

Customarily, the crews of seafood processing ships eat and toil sixteen hours a day that they fish, and, maybe?, read or sleep for eight. Work for sixteen hours and rest for eight. When they get to port (usually Dutch Harbor) with full and frozen storage lockers in the bottom of the ships, all hands turn out to offload, even if some had just gone to sleep in their coffin-like bunks.

Fishing vessels are not designed for comfort, and the 151 foot long ship our son, Mark, signed on to for a three month stint was soon at their fishing area- the Bering Sea - where the seas are typically rough in decent weather, and the storms are frequent and rougher.

Mark's first storm scared him more than any other frightening life experiences before and since - and he prayed more and harder! The fearful and repetitious pounding of giant waves, combined with the darkened crew's quarters (someone was always asleep), made sleep and peace of mind impossible. In his mind, Mark was certain that they were going to go down, and would soon be in the freezing, salty embrace of vicious, mountainous seas.

He said to himself, "I am not going to go down in this darkened, rolling, tossing bunk. I'm going up on the deck and talk to Colin (their skipper)''.

He stumbled up steep, iron steps and opened the deck hatch to the ominous shriek of screaming, salty sheets of stinging spray, quickly grasping the ever-present lifelines strategically placed for night movement on slanting, pitching decks.

Immediately Mark's attention was drawn to huge seas where their comparatively tiny craft bore directly down on each one, with intrepid, courageous challenge. They appeared to be a small bit of foam or piece of flotsam in comparison. The terrific pounding came as the result of their ship's temporary respite on each wave's crest, and then right down into the yawning trough of each succeeding, monstrous wave. "We have to be going down," Mark seriously concluded.

He forged his way to the lighted wheelhouse intending to ask Colin how long this could continue, and when they would go down, and what their chances of survival might be? Mounting the deck, he paused in wonder. Colin was sitting in a deck chair smoking his pipe and reading something. He never even had a finger on the wheel, but had it locked in place - directly challenging each threatening sea!

Without a word, Mark carefully made his way back to his darkened bunk. If the captain was not afraid, he had no reason to worry. Colin had weathered many a Bering Sea storm, and obviously, Mark lived to tell me this story.

The application is clear. Our Captain has control of our storms. They are no threat to Him!

A Prayer at a Public High School

The need for prayer can surface at about any place, and in any circumstance - even in a public high school.

They have become the favorite "whipping boy" in the American political arena. Liberal political activists are determined to prohibit God from our educational system. But, as smoke and mists rise to meet the sun, so people instinctively turn to God in prayer when difficulties arise.The high school play cast had frequently and vigorously practiced, and it was "show time" - six evening performances and two Saturday matinees. Excitement was high for both students and their families and friends. Before each performance "the jitters" were openly evidenced, but one young lady seemed unusually controlled, and, at least, outwardly confident.

Another was just the opposite - vigorously gestulating, marching about, obviously upset and very vocal about it all to anyone who would listen. The contrast between the two was marked.

Eventually the vocal one stopped in front of the calm one and asked, "Hillary, how can you be so quiet and calm? Aren't you nervous at all?"

"Sure I am", she replied.

"Well, what do you do to calm down then?"

"I just pray and ask the Lord to help me," was the short answer.

"Well, I need something to help me," her anxious friend said. "Would you say a prayer for me?"

Quietly but briefly, but right in the middle of chaotic jitters, Hillary prayed for her friend. Though unspoken, the act was not lost to onlookers, particularly when the anxiety was softened and, in its place, quiet self-assurance.

On the final night - the last performance to a overflow audience - both anticipation and tension were high.

Just before curtain time, Hillary's friend said to all, "Hillary's prayer really helped me to calm down the other night. Let's have her pray for all of us." And with an assenting nod from teachers and aides, that is just what Hillary did!

Praise the Lord for dedicated, young Christians in our high schools whose testimonies are telling for Christ!

Sidled Through the Door at 74

Actually, the catchy title has only incidental reference to the matter to consider.

I am 74, and had some firewood in my arms, and a slowly closing door through which to walk. The thought flitted through my mind, "Yes, I can slip through it and do it quickly if I move somewhat sideways." It worked fine as thoughts of athleticism mentally applauded the smooth effort.

But it was the method of the move that alerted my senses, and not the actual act. It was not "my kind of a move" at all, but that of one of my dearest pastor friends. Many times, over the years of our working together, I had seen him make just such a "smooth, sideways move" through a narrowing space.

It was the thoughts that followed that quietly rocked my mind. Jim's three boys all made those same smooth, sideways moves, and they do so today though they are in their late forties and early fifties. Their body language, bearing, facial expressions, soft-spokenness and much of their conversations are "Jim all over again."

The truth is that we become like those persons with whom we spend large amounts of time - those with whom we talk a lot, and especially those whom we admire.

The conclusion here is as certain as heredity and environment: the more we spend time with Jesus and His teachings and His Word, the more we are like Him

I love the truth of two heavily-lined verses in my Bible, and long ago made them guiding stars in my own quest for my Lord.

Matthew 10:25a: "It is enough for the disciple that he be as his Master..."

and also,

John3:29: John the Baptist said, "...the friend of the Bridegroom, who stands by and listens to Him, rejoices greatly because of the Bridegroom's voice: this my joy therefore is fulfilled."

Yuks from Yakima: Hand It Over!

Note: This is the fourth of a four-part series of true, church-related humor. These are true, unembellished stories that occurred while we were pastoring the Yakima, Washington Wesleyan Church.

Brother Curt Heath moved dirt - the old fashioned way with a team of horses and a scraper...sometimes called a fresno. It took a good man to drive the team and hold the scraper in the dirt, and when full, it went to a dirt pile or a low spot to be leveled, tripped and dumped. As I say, it took a good, strong man to operate a fresno day in and day out.

Brother Heath's business was to move dirt, even such big jobs as digging excavations for basements which required many days of backbreaking labor. Smaller jobs were used to fill in (pun intended) for the smaller, less lucrative ones.

Brother Curt got saved! really saved! and when he did - as is usual - he started to read the Bible. Buying a New Testament for a dollar, he learned to read from its pages during his lunch time. It was a struggle, but without any formal education, God helped him to learn to read from his New Testament. His face would shine as he would tell this story during church testimony times!

On a certain day, after sweating and toiling by both man and beasts, he was pleasantly contemplating what would be for dinner that evening when a neighbor man saw him and hollered at him. Stopping the team and waiting for the neighbor to come over, they exchanged pleasantries and then he asked Curt of he would have time to move a small mound of dirt sometime, and pointed in its direction.

"No time like the present," he said, and in an hour or so had it level and smooth. "How about $2.75?" That seemed about right for both men, and soon Curt was home, had the team fed and put way, and then a hot bath.

At the dinner table his wife, Carey asked him, "Curt, did you have any extra work today?"

When he remembered the small job for the neighbor, he told her that he had.

"How much did you make?", she asked.

He questionedly replied that it was two dollars and seventy-five cents.

"Hand it over" she said. "It's mine."

And he did...when he heard her story.

With him having a New Testament, she began to pray and ask God for a Bible that she saw in a downtown store window. The price was more than she had...$2.75! Exactly what was extra that day!

There are so many touching aspects to this true story. One is how God answers prayer...often to the penny. Another is how many Bibles most of us have. Another is the hunger that new converts (and those who truly love God) have for the Word. Another is how willing Brother Heath was to surrender his hard-earned money when he saw that God was in it.

More next week!