STOP PAYING THE CROSS

Recently, while making an airline flight, God spoke to me in the strangest way. I was sitting next to the window in my assigned seat and the seat next to me was unoccupied. It is always a 'potluck' experience with who will sit next to you. Will it be an enjoyable or mot so enjoyable experience? Will they be talkative or not? If they are talkative how will they react when they find out I'm a minister, especially a Baptist one? Will they suddenly become religious, interested, antagonistic, or just quiet? Will it be a divine appointment or just a mutually 'in our own world' experience, politely ignoring each other? As a people watcher I usually take a look at what they read to get a clue as to where the experience might go.

A guy about my age sat down and after a few polite questions like “Visiting or going home?” he pulled out a book to read. I stole a quick glace at the title - "Stop Paying the Cross." Hmm, must be a believer, but that's kind of a strange title. I wondered what the book was about. I let my mind kick into theology mode to reflect on the cross. "Stop Paying the Cross.” Immediately the lines from an old him passed by, "Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe.” It amazes me how much theology we pick up from the songs we sing. Most of it is good, some of it is not. This one is a jewel.

The cross of Jesus paid for it all, pure amazing grace, mercy and love were accomplished and demonstrated there. I can't pay for all that, yet there are many believers who don't understand and experience that wonderful gift, truly unearned, underserved and unpurchaseable. They act as if they must some how earn the right to have the gift, or to keep it, which in reality is a complete contradiction of the meaning of the word gift. Perhaps that is what "Stop Paying the Cross” means.

Then the saying "I owed a debt I could not pay. He paid a debt He did not owe" wandered into my thoughts from somewhere in my distant past. When believers miss this truth and act as if they must still either continue to pay for their sins that they commit after becoming a believer or must pay back the cross with good deeds, as if Jesus loaned them righteousness until they can earn their own, they become enslaved. "Stop Paying the Cross."

When believers live the Christian life oriented either toward payback or earning God's price paid at the cross we call it legalism. Legalism misses the point in least four ways.

If you are good at it, meaning you are the personality type that is very disciplined, consistent and comfortable with rules, you can become very proud at what you have accomplished. Proud toward God which sinks into, "God you owe me because I have done the payback required," and proud toward others, "Why can't you be good like me, you slacker?"

If you are not the personality type that can pull it off, you either reduce it down to a few simple rules you can keep, "I go to church on Sunday's don't I?" or you become overwhelmed with guilt at the impossibility of being good and spend your energy on remorse, recommitments, rededications and looking for that great religious experience that will change everything permanently and remove the sense of disappointing God and incurring more debt to pay back. “Stop Paying the Cross.”

All of these contribute to missing the point of living positively to make a difference for God in the world. These legalistic perspectives focus us on ourselves. At best "we're good, but we’re good for nothing!" “Stop Paying the Cross."

Living in light of the full understanding of the grace, mercy, and love accomplished and demonstrated at the full payment of Jesus on the cross is summed up well in the classic lines of Isaac Watts hymn:

"When I survey (understand and measure) the wondrous cross, on which the prince of glory died, My richest gain I count but loss (of no real value), and pour contempt on all my pride (in what I have done). Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, Save (except) in the death of Christ my God! All the vain things that charm (impress and distract) me most, I sacrifice (give them up) them to His blood.”

This is how a truly changed life comes about. Watts concludes:

“Love so amazing, so divine, demands my life, my soul, my all."

“Stop Paying the Cross;” it's already paid in full. Thank you, Lord, for that reminder.

I said it was a most unusual way that God spoke to me, because when my seat mate took a break from reading his book he laid it down to where I could read the title better. "Stop Paying the Crooks." It was a book about healthcare reform. It wasn't about the cross at all.

Maybe I better get my glasses checked.

JTR

WIFE'S BEAUTIFUL LEG

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My wife went to the Dr. and had the wraps and staples removed. Pretty tough day for her. As you can see from the x-rays she has some pretty serious hardware in her leg. Thank you for all who have been praying for her. Her recovery is coming along pretty well. She now has a velcro boot to keep her leg tight, but she can bend her knee some, so he has a bit more flexability. Still has to stay off of it for a long time more.

WEED WARS

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My Dad turned 87 this week. He is a son of an Oklahoma cotton farmer/cotton ginner. His father lost three cotton gins in the 1930’s Depression and Dust Bowl. He always said he could have survived one or the other, but not both. So my Dad became part of the massive Okie migration to California in the 1930s. His father started at the bottom again and returned to cotton farming in Tulare. It may have been there that the weed wars began for my Dad.

I was reminded of the weed wars the other day when I was over at my parents house and saw this little Okie rig over in the corner. It’s ok to use phrases like that when you really are an Okie, like my dad is. If you can’t make it out, let me explain it to you. It started with an old cast off skateboard that my dad attached a handle to so my son could have a scooter to ride around on when playing at their house, but attached to it now is a weed sprayer. The sprayer is too heavy for my dad to carry anymore, so he rolls it around on the board and sprays Round-up. My dad hates weeds.

One of my earliest memories I have of my dad is from when I was about four or five. We were coming home from church and as we drove down the road leading to our farm house, lined with cotton fields, my dad suddenly stopped the car, backed up about 25 feet, got out and walked into the cotton field in his Sunday suit, and pulled a tall weed. My dad hates weeds.

When I was in 5th grade or so, he had a knee operation that put him out of commission for awhile. Some men from the church came to visit one day and one of them said, “Chet, if there is anything we can do to help, let us know.” Believe me, I teach my seminary students, don’t say something like that if you don’t mean it. My dad replied, “Well, there are a bunch of weeds over there that I can see from the front window here.” They all laughed as if he was joking. I knew better. Those guys missed a real “hands on” ministry experience that day, and it really was something that would have blessed somebody. My dad hates weeds.

After he retired, and before they moved up to Sacramento, he really got serious in dealing with the weeds. I would call up and say, “How are things going?”and he would give me a run down of how many tumble weeds and goatheads he had cut down that day. It was then that I began calling it, “Dad and the weed wars,” when I would recount the conversations I had with him to my wife.

The other day my son came home from Grandma and Grandpa’s with a big blister in the middle of his hand. He had been in the yard, under Grandpa’s supervision, weeding a flower bed. My dad hates weeds.

He can thank our Great, Great, Great … Grandfather Adam for all the trouble. Weeds are part of the curse placed on this earth at the “fall” of Adam and Eve. Part of the consequences of their free will choice to “do it my way” was a cursed ground that would produce thorns and thistles, with no effort (no sweat) but to get the same ground to produce food to eat would take lots of sweat, Gen 3:17-19.

Every day my dad feels the consequences of Adam’s choice. However, as a believer he is looking forward to his resurrection and a new body and a renewed earth where there is no more curse (Rev 22:3). I’ll bet when we get there and you sit down with my dad and ask him, “So what do you think of this new heaven and earth?” his first reply will be, “There are no weeds here – I like it.”

OLD SCHOOL – SOMETIMES BEST SCHOOL

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You know I love technology. I love the fact that in just a few hours after my wife broke her leg people had been notified via Facebook, email, text and phone and prayers were going up and plans being laid for ways to help. Deacons made visits, meal schedules were created, and handicap equipment was being rounded up. Wow! This is cool – and fast.

I posted pics on the net and a number of other people sent email encouragements, and my wife continues getting Facebook well wishes. All these quick and fast e-touches are great, but today I got an old school handwritten note of encouragement and blessing from James T. Draper, Jr., former President of LifeWay Christian Resources of the Southern Baptist Convention.

I met Jimmy a number of years ago and recently have had the privilege of working with him on the Board of Trustees of Cal Baptist University. While Jimmy is an old school guy he is not behind the times in ability to maneuver technology or keep current on any method of communication, he just knows that the little extra time, extra effort, touches make a huge difference.

Thanks Jimmy for the encouragement and the reminder that faster is not always better.

IT WAS NO PICNIC

Saturday morning after a Deacon's Meeting I BBQed up some chicken so we could go on an afernoon picnic. We didn't have a destination in mind, just head up 50 and made a decision along the way. At Placerville we decided to go to Coloma and picnic there.

Jackpot. It was Coloma Gold Rush Days and there were all kinds of "49ers" all around. Not the football kind, the prospector kind. We decided to pay the $10 bucks and check it out.

But first the picnic. Check out the teenage "I hate this family stuff" glare. His sisters had it down to a science.

In a passing comment Brenda said, "I don't have shoes for walking in all this dirt. We should have thrown in our hiking boots."



After walking around all the tents and displays put up we decided to walk on up the hill toward the Marshall Monument. About halfway up the Monument hill there is an old Catholic Church with a cemetary behind it. We often walk around old cemetarys seeing if we can find our family names, Reed and McCabe.


As we walked around the cemetary Brenda slipped a bit on a slopping sandy hard patch of ground and fell down on her right leg like you would if you sat down cross legged. She said, "I broke something, you are going to have go get the car, I can't walk." Just one look at her shin and you knew she was right. My response was, "I'm going to get the Ranger, I'm not taking you anywhere." No cell reception in Coloma and the Ranger station is about a mile or so away. I ran all the way, while Jon stayed with his mom.

First the State Park Rangers, then the First Responders of the Fire Department, then the EMTs with the Ambulance. Closest hospital is Placerville. Brenda wanted me to take her to Sacramento, she had to be crazy with pain. No way. They have drugs in the ambulance. It is 3:30 by now.

Next the ER and waiting until the Doctors in our Insurance system OK the Doctors at Placerville to do the surgery. Serious break - Both the large bone and the smaller one, the tibia and fibula.


















By 8 P.M. she was in surgery. A rod along the large bone and a plate on the smaller one. By 11:00 she was in a room with her leg all bundled and elevated.







The next morning (Sunday) she was still in big time pain and nausea. She would not let go of her little pink friend.
















By Monday evening she is well down the road to feeling better, although she cannot put weight on her leg for 8 weeks!
















Well it sure wasn't much of a picnic. Jon said, "I told you we should have stayed home and watched Sponge Bob."

MOTORCYCLES HELP MY PRAYER LIFE!

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By the sound of that title you would think that I am talking about the solitude that riding a motorcycle allows you to experience. No radio, no conversation, just alone with your thoughts and God. And that is a great experience, but that is not what I’m talking about when I say motorcycles help my prayer life.

It’s when I work on them that I learn more about prayer! I’ve been working for about 2 weeks on my son’s motorcycle (my wife says 3, but who’s counting?) It takes so long because every time I need a part it has to be ordered and shipped and it takes 3-5 days to arrive. I put that part on, and then find something else that needs fixing, and its back to the parts store and another wait. It is frustrating to say the least.

The other day I was to my limit with working on this bike. I just could not get the front brakes to work. There is a saying in my mechanically inclined family when asked if a car can run again, “It ran once, it can run again. You may have to replace every part, but it can run again.” I was to that point with these brakes. I had replaced every part, they should be running, or rather, stopping. My prayer had come to the very direct, non flowery point. “Lord, now what? What can I do now, Lord?” And then I would try something else. I talked with people who worked on motorcycles for a living. I looked up things on the internet. And all of them gave good advice. So I would go back to the garage and try the latest suggestion. Still no brakes. Now even less flowery prayers and in complete desperation, probably mixed with greasy tears . . .

"LORD, WHAT DO I DO NOW?"

Just standing there in my shop, having exhausted every avenue I knew to explore, having gone back over in my mind over every step in the repairs, having dredged up every thing I knew about how brakes work, my eye fell on the open repair manual (yes, I do use them.) A little voice seemed to say,

“Slow down and look at that picture in the book again.”

I looked at it, and then looked at it again.

"That can’t be it? Really? Just that simple spring in the brake master cylinder? Did I put it in backwards? It is a bit bigger at one end than the other, and the funny shaped washer it fits against could go either way. That can’t be it. It has to be something other than that."

Then the little nagging whisper, “Look again at that picture.”

"Naw, it can’t be that."

“You asked for help, will you now not take it?”

Fifteen minutes later I had brakes simply by turning a spring and washer around inside the master cylinder. Does God answer prayers? Yes (and sometimes the answer is No!). He answered my prayer about help with motorcycle brakes. He didn’t just magically make them work. He used available voices in the book, and guided me to look again. I almost missed the subtle hint, because I had already covered that ground before and looked too quickly because it was familiar territory. I’ve done brake jobs before.

I began to wonder, how many times have I missed that subtle hint to look again at the Bible for instructions? The Bible is the ultimate owners manual. How many times have I just glanced at his instructions because I’ve read that before, it is familiar territory.

MOTORCYCLES HELP MY PRAYER LIFE! I learned an important lesson. It is one that Henry Blackaby stated in his book “Experiencing God.” When you get up off your knees start looking for ways that God is going to answer your prayers. It may not be how you suppose it will come!

It will not be magical (the brakes did not fix themselves).
It probably won’t be audible (heard with your outer ears).
It may not be emotional; I was still fuming and did not have “peace.”
It may come through the advice of others (but this time it didn’t).
It may come from going back over territory you have already covered, but ran over too fast.

I'm learning to listen for that quiet voice. In fact it’s not even a voice, and you may confuse it with your own voice just dialoguing in your head, but I find in retrospect it often is the right lead to follow.

Another thought just came to me. If I had read the book carefully in the first place I would have never got to the place where I was. Hmmmmmm. That could be another entire lesson in itself.

SUNRISE PRAISES

This past week I have been out the open fields for three spectacular sunrises. One was up in the foothills outside of Wheatland. We arrived quite a while before the cracking of dawn and the stars were spectacular. I could easily see the Milky Way and the Big Dipper. We just don’t get this kind of experience down in the lighted urban settings. Immediately my thoughts went to Psalm 19:1 “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” A prayer of praise and thanksgiving went from my lips.

Thank you, God that I get to be out here with my son this morning in your beautiful creation.

I hadn’t even finished my expression of praise when another Psalm jumped into my thoughts, “He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name” (Psalm 147:5.) A bit of a contemporary chorus filled my mind, “He knows my name, He knows my every thought, He sees each tear that falls, And hears me when I call.”

Thanks for that reminder, Lord.

We hiked by flashlight about a mile into the wildlife area and waited for the dawn. As the sun crept over the hills, the sky turned a light purple and the oaks trees looked like black construction paper cutouts pasted against the sky. When the sun comes up in places like this the coolness increases, and today was no exception. A shiver ran through me. I knew it would not last long, and looked forward to the sun rays that would eventfully warm me up.

Because of my position in the little valley, the sun and hills were to my back and cast really long shadows across the open area. The brightness of the sunrise first hit the area across from me where my son had taken up his position. This morning I did not actually see the sun rise but saw it slowly light up the panoramic view in front of me. I was in the shadows for a long time. At one point my son walked across the valley back into the shadows where I was and noted,

It’s kind of cold over here.

Yeah, I said, with a slight shiver.

Then it came. The sun began to hit my back and soon I was warming up. As I basked in its embrace I thought of Malachi’s word, “But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings” (Malachi 4:2). Another prayer formed,

Thank you, Lord, for Jesus, your righteous son, who has shown his light on me.

Later in the week I was with my other son and we were out the fields of Bakersfield before the sun rise. We couldn’t see the stars, probably because of the smoke from all the fires that has filled that end of the valley, but the moon was big, bright and full. It was in the west just about where the sun usually is an hour or two before sundown.

The sun was about to rise and I knew the moon, although it was bright and significant, would virtually disappear when the sun cleared the mountains to the east, it has no comparison to the glory of the sun. We were in open farm land with no large oaks trees to cast shadows. I knew soon we would be standing in full sunlight. Another worship song kept running through my heart:

The sun cannot compare
The glory of Your love
There is no shadow in Your
presence
No mortal man would dare
To stand before Your throne
Before
the Holy One of heaven
It's only by your blood
And its only by your
mercy
Lord, I come

I bring an offering
Of worship to my King
No one on earth deserves
The praises that I sing
Jesus may you
receive
The honor that You're due
O Lord, I bring an offering to you
I bring an offering to you. (Offering - words by Paul Baloche)

Lord, I offer my life again to you as an offering of service. Thank you for the blood of Jesus.

I pray you experience the splendor and glory of our Lord this week.