Oh Boy! Our fathers and mothers in the gospel would hardly recognize the church they knew and loved today. How I can remember sitting in the missionary meetings on the appointed Lord's Day to hear the scripture read and the songs of Zion that pointed us toward the mission of the church. GO YE! We were blessed more than many pentecostal churches I knew of because we actually knew of real missionaries. With no disrespect to the wonderful women from many other churches who dressed in white and acted as agents of mercy and compassion in the city's hospitals, nursing homes, and avenues, we actually knew some real, live missionaries. I can recall the passion with which the returned missionaries from Monrovia, Liberia in West Africa and other islands spoke of the LORD' s work. These were missionaries with passports! The fantastic stories of GOD's provision and protection instilled in many of us a real zeal to want to be a part of what was happening in the church overseas. Two of my former Sunday School teachers actually left the United States to become a missionaries in Liberia. We were repeatedly reminded of the great commission on Mission Sundays, Missionary Days, conventions and Rally Days. An offering for mission work was a constant in our services. There was a local church emphasis as well as a denominational focus on missions in our church.
When my wife and I planted our first little mission church we believed that it would grow as we took the gospel to the streets, housing developments, nursing homes, senior citizen complexes, parks and bars. That's exactly what we did. We did the work of evangelists, making full proof of our ministry. We along with several faith-filled and faithful friends and members did this type of mission work. We saw some pretty marvelous things. Some lives were changed. Some lives were saved. Some families were healed and some souls were added to the church and the kingdom of GOD. It was hard work that took a lot of sacrifice of time and spare time but it was always worth it to see someone come to know Christ in a real and life relevant way. It still is.
I'll be open with you. I read The Purpose Driven Church, by Rick Warren. I heard his testimony and was drawn to his story because of the confident presentation of the growth of his church. There were some real practical information there. Some of it I incorporated into the church I pastor today. I was impressed with the systematic approach to church growth that he presented in the book. As a pastor of a small church I was really looking for a way to increase the congregation's sense of mission and a means to increase the membership. I recommended the book to the leadership group and we read it and discussed its theories. We decided to organize what Warren referred to as a "Seeker Service and followed his guidelines as closely as we could, including the practice Sunday. Well....., That was the driest, most uninspired and stilted worship service I can ever remember. It was awkward, uncomfortable and as dry as Melba Toast! Approximately midway through the "practice" I put and end to it and declared we'll never do this again. We haven't. That unfortunate experience taught me that I am not Rick Warren and this is NOT Saddleback Community Church! I must tell y'all that rehearsing a church service that was marketed, er, um, I meant designed for people who do not yet know Christ was a culturally different for me; religious culture, that is.
There are some things that are better left to the spontaneity of the Holy Spirit as opposed to the well organized and rehearsed efforts of well intentioned people.
I have been to several church conferences over the years which purported to assist smaller churches experience exponential growth if certain techniques were adopted. My conclusion was these methods were clearly marketing techniques from business plans. Much of the information could be found in books and on-line. What these geniuses of church growth had done was add scripture to a good business plan and charged a $200.00 fee for their plagiarized plans. I have had conversations with two pastors of very large churches about the growth of their churches. What I have concluded is that the realm of their ministry and the growth of it was a sovereign move of GOD. These men made some decisions that were clearly beneficial to the growth of their ministries. In the explanation of their church's growth there was no clear indication that they knew why their churches expanded the way they did. God has appointed some over a few, some are appointed over more and some over the mega ministry. That is not to say that there are not methods and biblical principles to follow that bring growth BUT as the apostle said "GOD gives the increase". What I have discovered is that people in the community want and need face to face, real contact with those claiming to be Christians. They don't want billboards or glossy cards to announce the church's programs and personalities. The church has a public relations issue in the communities in which many churches exist. They are suspicious of churches that seem to want to add them to the number who tithe and work to increase the coffers of the church.
What I think some of the mega churches have to acknowledge is that the influx of new people in many cases are changing membership or reentering a church experience after a membership or attendance lapse elsewhere. If my strong suspicion is true (Barna Research Institute says it is) then the expansive growth of the mega church is doing little to change the sinful landscapes in most American cities. That is not to say that there haven't been conversions or changes in neighborhoods and society where these churches are; I do mean to question the additional number of believers added to the roll of the Kingdom of Heaven in the seats and cell groups of mega ministries.
One way some of these mega churches can encourage smaller church pastors is to stop identifying themselves by the size of their congregations. They seem to be constantly reminding people of how large their church is. Perhaps I am sensitized to this because I feel relatively insignificant next to someone who claims a membership into the thousands. If you really want to help other pastors to grow their churches remind them of the long term benefits of faithfulness to the call of GOD. Encourage them to be good shepherds of the flock of GOD. Pour some time and money into their ministries before you ask them for a commitment of a tithe or yearly membership fee. Come and be a blessing to the church's program and attach no cost prohibitive honorarium to your attendance. Validate the daily, weekly, monthly and yearly difficulties associated with being a pastor of a small church. Try to understand the unique set of circumstances that accompany that particular ministry without holding up your church as the chief ministry model.
The average small church is not able to afford a marketing consultant, automatic letter writing campaigns, glossy welcome packets or television exposure. Most of them have to follow the tried and true commandment of Jesus to "GO YE, into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature.......", the old fashioned way; preaching repentance from sins in bars, hospitals, nursing homes, housing developments.... winning souls and adding them daily to the church such as should be saved. The work of missions must continue whether home missions or missions on foreign soil. Believe me, I have nothing against using technology to preach the message but it should never be presented as a key component to a church's success. If it is, I would wonder if it was really the work of the HOLY SPIRIT or of the skilled technique of a marketing consultant.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is this: Be who GOD called you to be. Stop worrying whether or not you're keeping up with the big boys out there with their multiplied thousands. I love the contact I have with the LORD's flock weekly, daily or as the opportunity affords. I touch them and they can touch me. They are enriched by have an actual relationship with the senior minister in the church. In fact I have several people in the church where I am the minister who left a larger church for the smaller, friendlier setting. Don't feel the pressure of having to measure up to the media's expectation of what a significant or relevant church is. Be faithful over the ones GOD has entrusted to your care and HE will reward you accordingly.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
WHY I HATE THE WORD FAGGOT... and why you should too
FAGGOT. Oh Lord, how I have learned to hate that word! I can remember being called that by very many of my male peers all throughout junior high school If anyone saw me today one would never guess that I used to be a slight built boy with a handsome, almost pretty face (as I have been told), large expressive eyes with very long lashes and a high pitched speaking and singing voice. I was not effeminate but I was very particular about my appearance. My mother told me a story about how I cried on the first day of kindergarten because my socks did not match the purple shirt I was wearing. I was aware! The original metrosexual. Well, maybe my father was the original.
When I was about 7 years old I was molested by a family friend. I had no words to describe what happened nor did I know what to do about it. It felt wrong and it made me afraid and confused. I never told anyone at all about it. I put the incident somewhere in the back of a seven year old mind and kept on living. This was long before the days when parents had talks about good touch and bad touch There was no forum for a discussion so I lived with what happened in my own mind. I knew what happened to me made me different in a bad way, therefore I was different in a bad way. A little while later an older boy led me to the back of the house next door and again I was assaulted. I didn't want to go outside and play again until that boy moved away.
I loved music and spent many hours alone in my room listening to my portable record player as they played the cast off 45's my mother gave me. I also loved to read, and smell the empty Avon sachet jars that my mother and grandmother emptied. I collected them until the pretty fragrance was gone. I played outside with my cousins and the few and select friends I had but nothing compared to my books and my music. I loved Sunday School and the choir at my home church. I lived for the musical programs the church sponsored. There I could hear music that was alive, exciting and sung with great passion. It was like heaven to me. I longed to sing and be like them. In school, I took exdtra music classes and voice lessons., As a teen I started a gospel group and sang in several community choirs, The All City Chorus, church choirs and the regional choir for the church denomination.
In junior high school the lines are clearly drawn for what boys do and what girls do. I did not excel at sports, I did not want to play basketball, or football or take a shop class either but that was mandatory. So, I took woodworking one year, printing the next and then finally sheet metal class, ALL of which I tolerated. I could not wait for the three days we had music and the glee club rehearsals (yes, glee club). While there, I was in my element, singing, learning the parts, experiencing new music. It was in those classes I was exposed to classical music, folk songs, negro spirituals and pop songs. The majority of the other boys in class acted like they hated being in the classes; sitting bored, agitating the teacher and refusing to sing as Mrs. Hunter, the music teacher, cajoled and complimented them into compliance. None of that was needed for me. James was in front, eagerly absorbing the lyrics, the notes and the melody This did not go unnoticed by my male peers who observing my eager participation said: "Look at that faggot up there with them girls, that faggot!" My ears burned with shame. I pretended I didn't hear them. My eyes fixed on the teacher as my ears felt hot and my face flushed. The rejection I felt was almost crippling. I avoided eye contact with those boys and tried to ignore their taunts;"Sing you little faggot!" or "Look at James up there with the girls singing, little faggot." Because I didn't know what to say in retort or how to make them stop. I endured the verbal abuse which was often observed by teachers but never directly addressed. Eventually, the verbal abuse and bullying turned into physical abuse. I was pushed, threatened, put in headlocks, and had things taken from me; everything from lunch to money was fair game for my tormentors. I was chased home from school repeatedly. By 7th grade some of the girls joined in: "James wears mascara, James wears mascara!", they'd say as I passed them in my homeroom. Of course, I never wore mascara, I had those eyelashes.... To stop the teasing about them I took a pair of scissors and cut them off right to my eyelids. I carried on despite a sense of inferiority and daily embarrassment. I came to believe these kids knew what happened to me when I was 7. Why else would they be so mean and call me such a horrible name? They knew I was different. They could see it. I lived in fear of exposure and public shame.
One day I decided no one was going to take another thing from me or put me in a headlock again. This kid named Joseph decided he and his cousins were going to beat me up after school. There was no conflict between us; just another opportunity to beat up that faggot, James . That day, the faggot chasers got a big surprise! I whipped Joseph's behind. When his cousins intervened I ran and got a large board with some rusty nails it and started swinging it at anyone who came near. Eventually, a teacher leaving the building dispersed the crowd and I went home. The constant name calling ended somewhat but the damage from that word was deeply ingrained in my psyche.
I had no close healthy male role models. My father was absent; I saw him on average once a year and we never had a substantive conversation until I was a grown man with children. My two stepfathers were unsavory and nefarious men who epitomized abusive and insensitive masculinity. The sensitive and creative side of my nature was treated as suspect and was not understood by those men and one of them called my brother and I faggots. More pain and more damage. I was a deeply wounded boy who retreated even more into my world of music and books. My distrust of males (especially adults) increased when several adult males attempted to seduce and or touch me. One of which was a teacher, the other was a minister who wanted to record my voice. I thought my dreams had come true until the minister began to ask questions of me that seemed entirely inappropriate for a musical relationship.
The church became a safe place for me. In church my musical inclinations were appreciated and encouraged. I was given the opportunity to be creative and expressive musically. One day, I heard a man in the church whom I admired, call a man who was not present a faggot. Those who heard him laughed as he posed in an effeminate way and "broke his wrist" and batted his eyes. This increased the laughter. What this brother didn't know was my experience with that word. I had just begun to think about revealing my sexual abuse history to the church people with the hopes that they could help me deal with the emotional pain I was in. I had internalized that word and wondered if I may have been homosexual because of what happened. I always had girlfriends but lived in fear of my secret being exposed. I decided to keep my secret and keep my mouth closed. I lived my life full of pain from my rejections: real and practical rejection by my biological father, rejection by both stepfathers one of which used the word faggot to degrade my brother and I. Rejection by my peers in middle school was also accompanied by that word. Now I see and hear this church brother also using a word that caused me a great deal of fear, pain and isolation. It was many years later that I finally experienced the healing and the freedom to share my testimony and help others find their way to wholeness from abuse and rejection. That's another story for another day, or blog.
I share this part of myself and my experience to make several points. You never know the impact of your words on those who hear you. The old adage; "Sticks and stones may bruise my bones but names will never hurt me", was likely coined by someone who had not lived with the awful legacy of name calling. Names hurt. The pain of them lasts much longer than a bruise acquired by a stick or stone. When someone who is supposed to care for you is the source of the name calling, it deeply compunds the pain. When those people are ministers, or the people who purport to represent the church of GOD the fallout can be immeasurable.
Faggot is a word rooted in hate. Its use is derived from the practice of burning alive of witches (also assumed to be homosexual) at the stake. The fire was started by using a bundle of sticks or twigs. In fact, a slang word for a cigarette in Great Britain is a fag. In Great Britain, the word faggot has several meanings: 1. A meddlesome confused old woman. 2. A faggot is a younger boy who is made to be a servant of an older boy. Despite the origin of the use of the word, it's meaning in The United States is clear. It's used to attack, denegrate and harm.
The use of the word Faggot whether as an actual epithet directed at a homosexual or to humiliate a heterosexual man is not in keeping with the biblical admonition regarding our behavior toward people outside of the church. "Walk in wisdom towards those who are outside, redeeming the time. Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt, that you may know how to answer each one.", Colossians 4:5-6. No one who claims to be a Christian should use a word so filled with invective and hate. I have seen men and women in ministry use the word faggot from the pulpit. It's use does not represent Jesus nor the attitude with which he dealt with people who were caught in sexual sin. It limits your ability to preach the gospel rather than enhance it. You will wound those whom you are trying to heal and shut up the doors to the kingdom for those whom Christ died. The word faggot and all of it's cousins; punk, sissy, dyke, lesbo, bull dagger, and many more should be eradicated from the lexicons of Christians.
Today I am free from the wounds of my past. I no longer live with the tyranny of the word faggot. The sensitive nature that was mine at birth is of value to GOD and His people in the ministry. The difficult experiences I had in my childhood and adolescence have been redeemed. The LORD has given me a great compassion for those with sexual brokenness. I try to ensure that the climate of the church I pastor is a hate speech free zone. I never use the pulpit to abuse or bully those who are in sexual sin of any kind. We must also be careful not to judge others based on the limited and superficial stereotypes of what is masculine or feminine as it relates to hobbies, interests, occupations, and preferences.
In closing: "Now all things are of GOD who has reconciled us to Himself through Jesus Christ and has given us the ministry of reconciliation, that is, that GOD was in Christ reconciling the world to himself not imputing their trespasses (sins) to them and has committed to us the word (message) of reconciliation.
Now then, we are ambassadors for Christ as though GOD were pleading through us we implore you on Christ's behalf, be Reconciled to GOD........ We give no offense in anything that our ministry may not be blamed." 2 Corinthians 5: 18-20; 2 Corinthians 6:3a.
When I was about 7 years old I was molested by a family friend. I had no words to describe what happened nor did I know what to do about it. It felt wrong and it made me afraid and confused. I never told anyone at all about it. I put the incident somewhere in the back of a seven year old mind and kept on living. This was long before the days when parents had talks about good touch and bad touch There was no forum for a discussion so I lived with what happened in my own mind. I knew what happened to me made me different in a bad way, therefore I was different in a bad way. A little while later an older boy led me to the back of the house next door and again I was assaulted. I didn't want to go outside and play again until that boy moved away.
I loved music and spent many hours alone in my room listening to my portable record player as they played the cast off 45's my mother gave me. I also loved to read, and smell the empty Avon sachet jars that my mother and grandmother emptied. I collected them until the pretty fragrance was gone. I played outside with my cousins and the few and select friends I had but nothing compared to my books and my music. I loved Sunday School and the choir at my home church. I lived for the musical programs the church sponsored. There I could hear music that was alive, exciting and sung with great passion. It was like heaven to me. I longed to sing and be like them. In school, I took exdtra music classes and voice lessons., As a teen I started a gospel group and sang in several community choirs, The All City Chorus, church choirs and the regional choir for the church denomination.
In junior high school the lines are clearly drawn for what boys do and what girls do. I did not excel at sports, I did not want to play basketball, or football or take a shop class either but that was mandatory. So, I took woodworking one year, printing the next and then finally sheet metal class, ALL of which I tolerated. I could not wait for the three days we had music and the glee club rehearsals (yes, glee club). While there, I was in my element, singing, learning the parts, experiencing new music. It was in those classes I was exposed to classical music, folk songs, negro spirituals and pop songs. The majority of the other boys in class acted like they hated being in the classes; sitting bored, agitating the teacher and refusing to sing as Mrs. Hunter, the music teacher, cajoled and complimented them into compliance. None of that was needed for me. James was in front, eagerly absorbing the lyrics, the notes and the melody This did not go unnoticed by my male peers who observing my eager participation said: "Look at that faggot up there with them girls, that faggot!" My ears burned with shame. I pretended I didn't hear them. My eyes fixed on the teacher as my ears felt hot and my face flushed. The rejection I felt was almost crippling. I avoided eye contact with those boys and tried to ignore their taunts;"Sing you little faggot!" or "Look at James up there with the girls singing, little faggot." Because I didn't know what to say in retort or how to make them stop. I endured the verbal abuse which was often observed by teachers but never directly addressed. Eventually, the verbal abuse and bullying turned into physical abuse. I was pushed, threatened, put in headlocks, and had things taken from me; everything from lunch to money was fair game for my tormentors. I was chased home from school repeatedly. By 7th grade some of the girls joined in: "James wears mascara, James wears mascara!", they'd say as I passed them in my homeroom. Of course, I never wore mascara, I had those eyelashes.... To stop the teasing about them I took a pair of scissors and cut them off right to my eyelids. I carried on despite a sense of inferiority and daily embarrassment. I came to believe these kids knew what happened to me when I was 7. Why else would they be so mean and call me such a horrible name? They knew I was different. They could see it. I lived in fear of exposure and public shame.
One day I decided no one was going to take another thing from me or put me in a headlock again. This kid named Joseph decided he and his cousins were going to beat me up after school. There was no conflict between us; just another opportunity to beat up that faggot, James . That day, the faggot chasers got a big surprise! I whipped Joseph's behind. When his cousins intervened I ran and got a large board with some rusty nails it and started swinging it at anyone who came near. Eventually, a teacher leaving the building dispersed the crowd and I went home. The constant name calling ended somewhat but the damage from that word was deeply ingrained in my psyche.
I had no close healthy male role models. My father was absent; I saw him on average once a year and we never had a substantive conversation until I was a grown man with children. My two stepfathers were unsavory and nefarious men who epitomized abusive and insensitive masculinity. The sensitive and creative side of my nature was treated as suspect and was not understood by those men and one of them called my brother and I faggots. More pain and more damage. I was a deeply wounded boy who retreated even more into my world of music and books. My distrust of males (especially adults) increased when several adult males attempted to seduce and or touch me. One of which was a teacher, the other was a minister who wanted to record my voice. I thought my dreams had come true until the minister began to ask questions of me that seemed entirely inappropriate for a musical relationship.
The church became a safe place for me. In church my musical inclinations were appreciated and encouraged. I was given the opportunity to be creative and expressive musically. One day, I heard a man in the church whom I admired, call a man who was not present a faggot. Those who heard him laughed as he posed in an effeminate way and "broke his wrist" and batted his eyes. This increased the laughter. What this brother didn't know was my experience with that word. I had just begun to think about revealing my sexual abuse history to the church people with the hopes that they could help me deal with the emotional pain I was in. I had internalized that word and wondered if I may have been homosexual because of what happened. I always had girlfriends but lived in fear of my secret being exposed. I decided to keep my secret and keep my mouth closed. I lived my life full of pain from my rejections: real and practical rejection by my biological father, rejection by both stepfathers one of which used the word faggot to degrade my brother and I. Rejection by my peers in middle school was also accompanied by that word. Now I see and hear this church brother also using a word that caused me a great deal of fear, pain and isolation. It was many years later that I finally experienced the healing and the freedom to share my testimony and help others find their way to wholeness from abuse and rejection. That's another story for another day, or blog.
I share this part of myself and my experience to make several points. You never know the impact of your words on those who hear you. The old adage; "Sticks and stones may bruise my bones but names will never hurt me", was likely coined by someone who had not lived with the awful legacy of name calling. Names hurt. The pain of them lasts much longer than a bruise acquired by a stick or stone. When someone who is supposed to care for you is the source of the name calling, it deeply compunds the pain. When those people are ministers, or the people who purport to represent the church of GOD the fallout can be immeasurable.
Faggot is a word rooted in hate. Its use is derived from the practice of burning alive of witches (also assumed to be homosexual) at the stake. The fire was started by using a bundle of sticks or twigs. In fact, a slang word for a cigarette in Great Britain is a fag. In Great Britain, the word faggot has several meanings: 1. A meddlesome confused old woman. 2. A faggot is a younger boy who is made to be a servant of an older boy. Despite the origin of the use of the word, it's meaning in The United States is clear. It's used to attack, denegrate and harm.
The use of the word Faggot whether as an actual epithet directed at a homosexual or to humiliate a heterosexual man is not in keeping with the biblical admonition regarding our behavior toward people outside of the church. "Walk in wisdom towards those who are outside, redeeming the time. Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt, that you may know how to answer each one.", Colossians 4:5-6. No one who claims to be a Christian should use a word so filled with invective and hate. I have seen men and women in ministry use the word faggot from the pulpit. It's use does not represent Jesus nor the attitude with which he dealt with people who were caught in sexual sin. It limits your ability to preach the gospel rather than enhance it. You will wound those whom you are trying to heal and shut up the doors to the kingdom for those whom Christ died. The word faggot and all of it's cousins; punk, sissy, dyke, lesbo, bull dagger, and many more should be eradicated from the lexicons of Christians.
Today I am free from the wounds of my past. I no longer live with the tyranny of the word faggot. The sensitive nature that was mine at birth is of value to GOD and His people in the ministry. The difficult experiences I had in my childhood and adolescence have been redeemed. The LORD has given me a great compassion for those with sexual brokenness. I try to ensure that the climate of the church I pastor is a hate speech free zone. I never use the pulpit to abuse or bully those who are in sexual sin of any kind. We must also be careful not to judge others based on the limited and superficial stereotypes of what is masculine or feminine as it relates to hobbies, interests, occupations, and preferences.
In closing: "Now all things are of GOD who has reconciled us to Himself through Jesus Christ and has given us the ministry of reconciliation, that is, that GOD was in Christ reconciling the world to himself not imputing their trespasses (sins) to them and has committed to us the word (message) of reconciliation.
Now then, we are ambassadors for Christ as though GOD were pleading through us we implore you on Christ's behalf, be Reconciled to GOD........ We give no offense in anything that our ministry may not be blamed." 2 Corinthians 5: 18-20; 2 Corinthians 6:3a.
P.S. I finally learned to appreciate my eyelashes. They helped to draw my wife to me. She loves them! Oh, and the passion for the Avon sachet jars? I now make scents fro men and women and make money doing it. I thank GOD for how he made me.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
BAH HUMBUG! A Better Way To Celebrate Christmas
I wish for all this Christmas a celebration devoid of unnecessary tinsel and pomp.
Silver Bells, Jingle Bells, Frosty The Snow Man, The Abominable Snowman, The Grinch, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, The Grinch, Roasting Chestnuts , Christmases of White, Santa Claus, Sugarplums, Piggy Pudding, Stockings, Trees, Flocked or Not, Tinsel, Angel Hair, Christmas lights, bulbs, mantels, boughs of Holly, wreaths, mistletoe, sleighs and sleds, gifts and wrapping, wassail punch, egg nog, mulled cider, Christmas cards, cookies, candy, candy canes, Christmas geese, turkeys, hams, Secret Santa, Yankee Swaps, Dirty Santa, Christmas sales, bazaars, 34th Street Miracle, Ebeneezer Scrooge, A Wonderful Life..... on and on it goes. Considering the cultural importance we attach to the supposed celebration of the birth of Christ, I must ask the same question as the Magi in Matthew 2:2, "Where is He born the King of the Jews?"
There really must be a better way to celebrate CHRISTMAS. 2006 was my last year of being involved in all the extra. As I get older I really appreciate the simplicity of celebration. Celebration is an acknowledgement of the significance of the day. I think when we add all the cultural amenities and the exorbitant expense that the American culture dictates, we lose something in the acknowledgement of the day. I have found that the major thing gets obscured in the tinsel. I am reminded of the late Rev. E. V. Hill, former pastor of the Mount Zion Baptist Church in South Central, Los Angelos, California. He encopuraged his congregants to take the names of families that he had acquired from the welfare office, folk in the hospital and others in difficult situations to bring the gift of Christmas to them. He claimed a richer and more fulfilling celebration of the day in his church and his own life following that effort.
The LORD announced the birth of the Christ with an angelic host praising GOD and saying: "Glory to God in the Highest! Peace on earth and goodwill towards men." Luke 2:10-14 I don't think it is without significance that the glorious birth announcement of Christ was initially delivered to the lowly, despised and disregarded shepherds. Shepherds were so poorly thought of that they were considered unsuitable as a witness in the court of law; so ireputable was their honor. They were considered dirty, prone to theft, resolute liars and generally unreliable as employees. It was to them that the initial witness of the birth of the Savior of the World was given. In GOD the Father's celebration of the birth of His Son he made His grace known to men of ill repute. I like that. I choose now to celebrate the day by being a blessing to the Merrimack Mission in Boston. They are known as Kingston House, 39 Kingston Street, Boston, MA. For one hundred years they have done the work of the LORD by taking in the homeless, feeding the hungry, preaching the gospel to those who need the good news. This they do without great pomp. They don't have exorbitant salaries, private jets, 50,000.00 marble toilets nor do they charge the people they help a fee for the service. Lives are changed and daily souls are added to the church. Kingston House simply announces the birth of Christ daily by being available to those in the city who are desperately in need. I like that. I think its in keeping with the day and it is also in line with Christ's announcement of His Kingdom, Isaiah 61 and Luke 4:18; "The Spirit of the LORD God is upon me to preach good tidings to the meek...bind up the broken hearted."
Where is Jesus in all of this excess, indebtedness, commercialism, mammon worship, greed and banqueting? I find it harder and harder every year to discern His face in all of the busy-ness. Jesus is very near when we show love to someone who is in need. Feeding the hungry is a work of the LORD. Helping someone to find the savior is certainly the LORD's work. I don't mean to imply that while you are running from Lord and Taylor to Macy's to Nordstrom's to Sacks, to Neiman's looking for the perfect gift for Uncle Luther or Cousin Addie that you are not doing a loving thing. I think the birth of the Savior is worth doing something that will count for all eternity. It's worth doing something that can be directed to the Savior's very mission.
The very fact that we have to remind ourselves and others with, "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" speaks to how lost He is in a lot of the season's traditions. I am changing the way I celebrate. My focus has shifted. It's my choice and my soul is happy about it.... I don't know about my family and circle of friends..........Pray for me.
"Thanks be unto GOD for His unspeakable gift." 2 Corinthians 9:15
Silver Bells, Jingle Bells, Frosty The Snow Man, The Abominable Snowman, The Grinch, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, The Grinch, Roasting Chestnuts , Christmases of White, Santa Claus, Sugarplums, Piggy Pudding, Stockings, Trees, Flocked or Not, Tinsel, Angel Hair, Christmas lights, bulbs, mantels, boughs of Holly, wreaths, mistletoe, sleighs and sleds, gifts and wrapping, wassail punch, egg nog, mulled cider, Christmas cards, cookies, candy, candy canes, Christmas geese, turkeys, hams, Secret Santa, Yankee Swaps, Dirty Santa, Christmas sales, bazaars, 34th Street Miracle, Ebeneezer Scrooge, A Wonderful Life..... on and on it goes. Considering the cultural importance we attach to the supposed celebration of the birth of Christ, I must ask the same question as the Magi in Matthew 2:2, "Where is He born the King of the Jews?"
There really must be a better way to celebrate CHRISTMAS. 2006 was my last year of being involved in all the extra. As I get older I really appreciate the simplicity of celebration. Celebration is an acknowledgement of the significance of the day. I think when we add all the cultural amenities and the exorbitant expense that the American culture dictates, we lose something in the acknowledgement of the day. I have found that the major thing gets obscured in the tinsel. I am reminded of the late Rev. E. V. Hill, former pastor of the Mount Zion Baptist Church in South Central, Los Angelos, California. He encopuraged his congregants to take the names of families that he had acquired from the welfare office, folk in the hospital and others in difficult situations to bring the gift of Christmas to them. He claimed a richer and more fulfilling celebration of the day in his church and his own life following that effort.
The LORD announced the birth of the Christ with an angelic host praising GOD and saying: "Glory to God in the Highest! Peace on earth and goodwill towards men." Luke 2:10-14 I don't think it is without significance that the glorious birth announcement of Christ was initially delivered to the lowly, despised and disregarded shepherds. Shepherds were so poorly thought of that they were considered unsuitable as a witness in the court of law; so ireputable was their honor. They were considered dirty, prone to theft, resolute liars and generally unreliable as employees. It was to them that the initial witness of the birth of the Savior of the World was given. In GOD the Father's celebration of the birth of His Son he made His grace known to men of ill repute. I like that. I choose now to celebrate the day by being a blessing to the Merrimack Mission in Boston. They are known as Kingston House, 39 Kingston Street, Boston, MA. For one hundred years they have done the work of the LORD by taking in the homeless, feeding the hungry, preaching the gospel to those who need the good news. This they do without great pomp. They don't have exorbitant salaries, private jets, 50,000.00 marble toilets nor do they charge the people they help a fee for the service. Lives are changed and daily souls are added to the church. Kingston House simply announces the birth of Christ daily by being available to those in the city who are desperately in need. I like that. I think its in keeping with the day and it is also in line with Christ's announcement of His Kingdom, Isaiah 61 and Luke 4:18; "The Spirit of the LORD God is upon me to preach good tidings to the meek...bind up the broken hearted."
Where is Jesus in all of this excess, indebtedness, commercialism, mammon worship, greed and banqueting? I find it harder and harder every year to discern His face in all of the busy-ness. Jesus is very near when we show love to someone who is in need. Feeding the hungry is a work of the LORD. Helping someone to find the savior is certainly the LORD's work. I don't mean to imply that while you are running from Lord and Taylor to Macy's to Nordstrom's to Sacks, to Neiman's looking for the perfect gift for Uncle Luther or Cousin Addie that you are not doing a loving thing. I think the birth of the Savior is worth doing something that will count for all eternity. It's worth doing something that can be directed to the Savior's very mission.
The very fact that we have to remind ourselves and others with, "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" speaks to how lost He is in a lot of the season's traditions. I am changing the way I celebrate. My focus has shifted. It's my choice and my soul is happy about it.... I don't know about my family and circle of friends..........Pray for me.
"Thanks be unto GOD for His unspeakable gift." 2 Corinthians 9:15
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