When Our Knees Are Shaking | |
Thursday, October 31, 2024 | |
At the age of 17, he was arrested and sent off to Buchenwald, a Nazi concentration camp in east-central Germany. Eric was sure his fate would be no different than the other 55 thousand who were shot, starved, or hung there. But he survived and was liberated by American troops in April of 1945. Fast forward to 1948. Eric was now 21, and the brand-new nation of Israel was fighting a war for its survival against invading forces from Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia. With the fire of the Holocaust still burning in his heart, Eric enlisted in the Israeli army. He endured five weeks of training that lasted 16 hours a day, and then Eric and his platoon were sent out to fight. But on day two of the battle, their platoon commander was shot in the shoulder and could no longer fire a rifle. Eric recalls, “They told me, ‘You’re taking over as Platoon Commander.’ When I asked why, they said, ‘Quite simply, there’s no one else!’” At Buchenwald, Eric had plenty of experience observing German and American forces. But nothing could prepare him for the battle they fought next. “We came over the top of a hill and saw so many Egyptian fighters, I knew we were way outmanned and outgunned.” But Eric’s platoon persevered in hand-to-hand combat, notably where the Egyptians had bayonets and the Israelis had none. Eric is now 98, sprightly, and still giving talks about his adventures. Asked about his most frightening experience, he chuckles and says, "The scariest moment was when I became platoon commander. In my fox hole, I lost control of my knees because they shook so much." But this was all kept secret from a fellow soldier, who interpreted Eric’s silence as strength. "The spirit of the Israeli soldiers fighting that war reminded me very much of the American 1776 War of Independence. There was never a doubt. We had to fight. We had to win!" Listening to Eric’s story makes me ponder the many biblical reminders that you and I are engaged in protracted spiritual warfare. There are moments when we all feel unqualified for the tasks to which we’ve been called. But other believers are watching us, taking their cue from us. Even when our knees are knocking. Fight we must, and win, we shall! Not in our strength but in His.
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What is Our Problem With Silence? | |
Thursday, October 24, 2024 | |
America might be the land of the free. But it is also the land of the loud. Research shows that 37% of rock musicians have experienced measurable hearing loss. While hearing damage begins at about 100 decibels, rock concerts routinely clock in between 110 and 120 decibels. And many of our churches are not much better in the volume department. My beef, though, is not so much with how loud we get but how silent we don't get. I submit that most evangelical churches (and those of us who attend them) are somehow uncomfortable with silence. Fast and loud is fun. It feels good. Slow and silent? Not so good. So, almost all of our worship music is geared toward fast and loud. But what does this say about us and our walk with God? It says our worship is more about our likes than God's character. The same Bible that commands, "Shout for joy to the Lord all the earth," also commands, "Be still and know that I am God." Who could argue that we do a lot more loudness than stillness? Tozer was ahead of his time when he wrote, "Religion has accepted the monstrous heresy that noise, size, activity, and bluster make a man dear to God. But we may take heart. To a people caught in the tempest of the last great conflict, God says, 'Be still, and know that I am God' (Psalm 46:10), and still, He says it as if He means to tell us that our strength and safety lie not in noise but in silence." There’s a lot to be said for silence. It helps us unwind and creates the stage on which introspection can perform its good work. Silence is calming, slowing—an acoustic cousin to meditation. William Penn, founder of the state of Pennsylvania, advised, "In the rush and noise of life, as you have intervals, stop home within yourself and be still. Wait upon God—and feel His good presence. This will carry you through your day's business." I dare you to "stop home" at some point today. You won't have to tell God that you've come to Him. He'll know it—by your silence.
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Remarkable Reunions | |
Thursday, October 17, 2024 | |
In the last month, I've been privileged to participate in two remarkable reunions. The first was with my Junior High band director, now in his upper 80s. Then came an invitation to participate in a “Marching Mustangs” high school band event. Our high school band director, also in his late 80s, flew in from Arizona, and we had dinner together. Then, we alumni rehearsed with the current band, marched out onto the field, and played the school fight song for the homecoming game. Under the bright lights, it felt like a time warp—like I was back decades ago. What a blast sharing the evening with my brother, Tom—who played trumpet—and sister, Susan—who played flute and was the drum major in her senior year. The thing that shocked me was…. Okay, I’ll just say it. Everybody looked old. Really old. Granted, I hadn’t seen most of these people since Ronald Reagan was president, but still, I was caught off guard. (And just think, they all said the same thing about me!). My state of melancholy morphed into full-blown sadness when I pondered the cause of all this—the lingering effects of sin. Not one hunky football player, not one cute cheerleader, not one homecoming queen escapes the reach of its wrinkle-making, hair-thinning, life-choking grasp. And then we die! Ah, but for the believer, there's more to the story. There's a better reunion coming. In heaven, our lives will be restored, our bodies will be new, and—best of all—"so shall we ever be with the Lord." Will you be at that reunion?
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Your Life is a Book | |
Thursday, October 10, 2024 | |
I suffer from an addiction. Books. I love the way they look, the way they feel—even the way they smell. I cannot pass up a bookstore, book stall, or library without perusing. And my biggest distraction at any airport is the spinning rack or sprawling stack of books. Don't get me wrong. A Kindle is fun—and mighty handy. But there's something profound about cradling a beautifully crafted volume. Likely, that's why Psalm 139:16 arrested my attention. David writes, "Your eyes have seen my formless substance; and in Your book were written all the days that were ordained for me when as yet there was not one of them." Consider: your days are all ordained. Which means there's a plan for your life, a story arc. And if our days are ordained, it means Someone is doing the ordaining—God. When you write a book, the publisher assigns you an editor who has the last word on everything: content, style, deadline, and even the cover. David reminds us that not only is God our Maker, but He's also our Editor. Regarding the number of our days, there was a time when “there was not one of them.” Likewise, there will be a time when our days are no longer. I have yet to read a book that doesn't have a front cover—and a back, a beginning—and an end. Likewise, in the plot line of your life, God will, at some point, say, "This is the end." And it will be. Yet, in another sense, that moment will only be the beginning of eternity. For believers, eternity is our “story after the story.” But we have only a relatively few chapters here on earth to make a difference in that unending adventure. I don't know how many pages remain in your narrative—or mine. But shouldn't those pages—every single one of them—be inked, underlined, and highlighted with stories of our courage, compassion, and Christ-exalting service?
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Part-Time Sin-Haters | |
Thursday, October 03, 2024 | |
Do you merely dislike sin—or do you hate sin? The question is about much more than semantics. In Psalm 101:3, David pledges, “I will set no worthless thing before my eyes; I hate the work of those who fall away; It shall not cling to me.” Notice that David didn’t say he “disliked” sin. The word here is hate. And God uses that same word—hate—to describe a long list of sins He despises. The big deal? When we simply “dislike” sin, we inevitably tolerate it—and even toy with it. It gains a toehold, if not a foothold, in our lives. I dislike my messy office desk, but apparently, I don’t hate it because I tolerate piles on my desk and even piles on the floor. If I truly hated it, I would get rid of the mess. This is nothing less than the sin of laziness or lack of self-discipline. Spurgeon says, “What fascinates the eye is very apt to gain admission into the heart.” Many are driven by lust—which certainly fascinates the eye—and so, at some level, we engage it. Others of us toy with greed, laziness, or extreme ambition. On good days, we avoid these sins (we dislike them). But at other times, we engage them (down deep, we like them). So, we feed them and give them lodging in our hearts. In other words, we are part-time sin-haters. Which is another way of saying we are part-time sin lovers. But John Owen's warning still shouts about the fray: “Be killing sin, or sin will be killing you!” I say again, a part-time sin hater is also a part-time sin lover. Then what’s the way out? How do we learn the art of “killing sin?” Matthew Henry advises, "In all our worldly business, we must see that what we set our eyes upon be right and good and not any forbidden fruit, and that we never seek that which we cannot have without sin. It is the character of a good man that he shuts his eyes from seeing evil." All of this sounds remarkably similar to Philippians 4:8: "...whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, think about these things." But I leave the final word with Spurgeon, who offers this succinct advice: “Hatred of sin is a good sentinel for the door of virtue.”
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