The Word Became Flesh
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Thursday, December 21, 2017 | |
How would you feel about leaving your family for six weeks? There’s probably no cell phone coverage where you’d be going. No internet either. Those things require electricity, and there’s precious little of that where you’re headed. That’s why you’ll be traveling with generators. What if I told you your destination would be oppressively hot—more than 100 degrees—every day? Travel will not just be rugged, but ridiculous. Paved roads—not likely. Cruising through shallow rivers and muddy creeks—a near certainty. Did I mention that the danger doesn’t end once you arrive? Often, that’s when it really begins. This is the mission that workers sign up for when they join Theovision, the Ghana-based ministry whose aim is that everyone be able to hear the Bible in their own language. Theovision has so far recorded audio Scriptures in more than 370 languages spoken by over 75% of people in 36 African nations, reaching approximately 700 million people across Africa. But this progress comes at a price. Many of these translations are done in hostile areas. The recordings must sometimes be done at night and in secret. As the Theovision team goes out with their audio equipment, they eat what the local people eat, speak as they speak, sleep as they sleep—even dress the way they dress. All of this with the goal of making the gospel message available to people who have never heard the ultimate Good News. To visit Theovision is to be amazed, caught up in a remarkable story-in-the-making. But how very much like Christ Himself. Did He not eat as we eat, live as we live and sleep as we sleep? Did He not go to our weddings, weep at our funerals and taste the salt of our tears? All of this, so we might understand the ultimate Good news.
Merry Christmas! |
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World's Most Unlikely Worship Band
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Thursday, December 14, 2017 | |
It may be the world’s most unlikely worship band. Can I tell you about it? I’d showed up for a regular appointment at a local senior retirement center. For several years, they’ve let me serve them as a speaker at their Christian worship service, held Wednesdays at 11:00am sharp. Except this time, the start time wasn’t as sharp. The fact is, we were late. Our piano player and sound technician (a husband and wife couple) were delayed. A lot. Fortunately, there’s a guy who owns a nice Bose radio, and he played a CD of reverent piano solos while we waited. And waited. The canned music was calming, but not the voice of the lady who coordinates the service. She was on the phone desperately trying to track down the missing keyboard lady and her husband. Me, I was going over my notes, as I always do when getting ready to speak, scanning my iPad—lost to the world. That’s when it happened. The Bose radio began playing the strains of the iconic hymn, Amazing Grace. At first I thought I heard humming. I glanced up from my notes and then heard one voice singing. Then another. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. Soon the whole room was alive with spontaneous singing. I once was lost but now am found, ‘'twas blind but now I see. This singing crowd, filled with wheelchairs and walkers, could not have been more sincere. Or worshipful. They sang because they were gripped. They sang because they’d connected. They sang because they couldn’t not sing. Honestly, I was caught off guard by the lump in my throat. In a world of Chris Tomlin and Joel Houston and Hillsong United, these people reminded me that true worship doesn’t require projectors and screens and lights and guitars. True worship is a thing of the heart—with or without the official keyboard player.
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Goodbye, House
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Thursday, December 07, 2017 | |
At first it didn’t really sink in that Monday night. It was the last meal, the last time Diana and I would be with my parents in the home I grew up in. They’d lived there since the sixties. That's a whole lot of memories. I stole away for a moment and took one last walk around. The Sumac bush was still there, all sprawled out by the front porch. There in the front yard, we kids played sixteen-inch softball, learned the basics of football, and tossed lawn Jarts. Seemed as big as Wrigley Field back then. Turning toward the east corner, I came to the tall skinny evergreen behind which I shared my first kiss. The peonies on the side of the house were gone. I remember the summer Mom and I were weeding around them. I seized the moment to fake a concern for snakes in the grass (hardly likely in northern Illinois). Having ratcheted up Mom’s pulse rate, at an opportune moment, I tickled her feet with a long stick—a chuckle neither of us have gotten over. I ambled through the backyard garden space where one summer I followed up on a resolution to grow a watermelon. Faithfully, I watered the sprawling vine and harvested exactly one small excessively seedy watermelon. Yet it was remarkably sweet. Meandering around the property I came to the collapsible picnic table Dad made, still latched to the wall. To this day, I’m not quite sure how he designed and built it. How many summer suppers did we eat out there? Eight of us. Together. Meal after meal. I’m happy that Mom and Dad have a new home. But leaving the old place is sort of strange. Nostalgia aside, it’s a great reminder that ultimately, our home can never be here on earth. Jesus said to His followers—then and now—“I’m going to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me, that you also may be where I am.” That’s where our real home is, and always has been. With Jesus. Forever. |
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Rules of Civility
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Thursday, November 30, 2017 | |
Do you have a code of personal conduct? George Washington did. The father of our country wrote down his ideas in a collection known as “110 Rules of Civility.” Among my favorites:
Fascinated with George Washington, nine-year-old Joslynn decided to craft her own Rules for Civility during a recent sleepover at our house. She spoke. I typed. Here are some Josie gems:
It’s fun looking at civility through the eyes of a nine-year-old, though sad that it has nearly become a cultural fossil. But civility matters. To God. To us. It’s the life blood of any society. Is it any wonder, then, that our culture is suffering from issues of the heart? For true civility, the Bible is the ultimate resource.
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Signs in Ghana
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Thursday, November 23, 2017 | |
It’s the best part of traveling in West Africa: the signs on the local shops. Please note that the term, “shop,” may be a bit generous for much of what we’ve seen in Ghana. Some of them are little more than rickety wooden roadside stalls. But nearly all of them sport a creative (if not pretentious) name of some kind. And a surprising number offer a Christian witness. Just for our Thursday Thought readers, I jotted down a collection of some of the best. For example, there’s the “Power of Prayer Fast Food Shop.” I wondered who’s the prayer for—the customers eating the food—or the workers serving it? If the soles on your shoes are worn out, you might consider a visit to the “God is Great Shoemaker Repair” store. We passed by a number of noteworthy electrical businesses:
Another memorable sign grouping was observed in the beauty and clothing sector. We drove past:
But other skilled workers also showed up in shop signs like:
Some of the shop names puzzled me, such as “By God’s Grace Bar and Catering Service” (how does God’s grace intersect with a serving of whiskey?). And I wondered what exactly is sold in the “Amazing Grace Cold Store.” Also, what is the merchandise selection like at “The Yes of Jesus Mini Mart?” And if they happen to run out of a particular item, do they offer a “no” at the “Yes of Jesus Mini Mart?” The taxis in Ghana are also typically plastered with names as well. Among some of our favorites:
But the award for the best sign I saw in all of Ghana has to be this: “Please give your life to Jesus. For He is.” If you’ve been looking for a sign from God—this is it! From Ghana, with love, - Jon |
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