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Unknown's avatar Syd Brestel 6:15 pm on December 29, 2018  

They Don’t Make Movies Like They Used To

Sometimes we old-timers reminisce about the “good old days” when life was simpler. Streets were safe for children. People didn’t swear our use vulgarity in movies or television. Married couples on the old sitcoms even slept in twin beds!

“They sure don’t make things like they used to,” becomes a common lament. Surely everything was better back then, right?

Not exactly.

I would never want to go back to driving the cars we had 40 years ago when 80,000 miles on the odometer meant “trade in time.” My current pickup truck will turn 160,000 miles in a week or so and still runs like new.

But what about movies? Yes, I could easily complain about the language and sexual innuendos of today’s movies and TV programs. Not long ago Mary and I literally walked out of a movie that we had assumed would be appropriate. (Remember when movies didn’t need to be given a rating?)

My purpose in this blog, however, is not to lament the loss of the golden age of movies. On the contrary, I am glad they don’t make movies like they used to.

One of our Christmas traditions is watching a couple of classic movies with a Christmas theme, such as It’s a Wonderful Life. Jimmy Stewart, as George Bailey, is contemplating suicide on Christmas Eve due to a financial disaster—not of his own making. Harry is convinced he is worth more dead than alive. Clarence, an angel (I didn’t say the theology was good), tries to prevent Harry from suicide by showing him how his life has had such a positive impact.

It’s a great movie—except the only minority person in the movie is the black maid who is stereotyped, in my opinion, as a busybody.

Holiday Inn is another decades-Christmas classic, starring Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire and Marjorie Reynolds. These two men compete for the attention and affection of the same woman. The good guy, in the end, wins the woman. Throughout the movie, however, we encounter only one black maid, Mamie, and her two children. There is a scene where white characters perform a musical routine for the guests at the Holiday Inn. Their faces are painted black with exaggerated lips and eyes to appear comical.

That might have been acceptable in 1954, but should it have been? Thankfully, we will never see scenes like that in a contemporary movie or TV show. It’s offensive now—and really—was offensive all along.

Classic western movies often portrayed Native Americans as capable of uttering only one word, “How.” They were often portrayed as savages. The guy in the white hat was always good; the man in buckskin moccasins evil.

For a different perspective of the battle to win the West, read books such as Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.

While I am lamenting racial stereotyping in classic movies, I add one more observation from the world of athletics. I remember when blacks were not “intelligent enough to play quarterback.” That has, thank God, changed. Black entertainers no longer use separate and inferior toilets and drinking fountains. I am grateful for men like Martin Luther King Jr. who was willing to risk his life by applying biblical principles taught in The Sermon on The Mount. Regretfully, I grew up being taught Dr. King was the villain.

I write today as a Christ-follower. Every man and woman, no matter their race or culture bear God’s image. Every person deserves equal respect. Having just read The Road to Dawn, a biography of Josiah Henson, I was again appalled by the treatment of African slaves in America—especially in the South. It made me sad to read that many who justified slavery and the inhumane treatment of slaves claimed to be Christ-followers.

Henson is believed to be the man behind Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin. He eventually escaped with his family to Canada where, though legally free, he faced unrelenting racial prejudice. Life for black people in the Northern States—the area that prided itself for supporting the emancipation of all slaves and the end of slavery in the United States—was just as bad.

Looking back, it’s easy to see why Native Americans, blacks and other minorities have been inclined to reject Christianity as the “White Man’s Religion.” Thank God for people of faith like Harriet Beecher Stowe, Josiah Henson and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.—people who dared to push against an unjust and unbiblical status quo.

Watching classic movies has raised my awareness of how prejudiced we were. I am glad Hollywood no longer produces movies portraying blacks or Native Americans or other races in stereotypical and demeaning roles.

Let us be more like Jesus, who spoke with the Samaritan Woman, touched a leper, and ate with tax collectors. Jesus portrayed a Samaritan as the “man in the white hat” who did the right thing while the religious elite passed by without offering assistance.

God has but one family on earth today—His Church—consisting of men, women and children from every tribe and language group.

There are no distinctions, divisions, barriers, or glass ceilings in His house.

Unknown's avatar Syd Brestel 9:32 pm on December 24, 2018  

The story behind, “I Heard The Bells on Christmas Day”

church-2448950_1280bells-2413297_1280                                          

On Christmas Day 1863, American poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, composed the poem we sing as a Christmas carol. At the height of the Civil War, Longfellow wrote with a heavy heart fighting his own battle within his heart.

Here’s the rest of the story behind the carol:

Longfellow’s wife, Fannie, had died less than two years earlier when her dress caught fire. He tried to extinguish the flames with a rug and then his own body, but her burns were so severe she died the next day. Henry received such serious burns on his face that he grew a beard to hide the scars. Henry and Fannie had lost an infant but had five surviving children.

March, 1863, the oldest child, Charles, at age eighteen secretly boarded a train to Washington D.C. to join the Union Army. Just a month before Christmas on Nov. 27th, Charlie, as he was called, was seriously wounded: the bullet came within inches of paralyzing him. His injuries would take months to heal.

carillon-3441162_1280On Christmas Day Longfellow, now a 57 year-old widow with five children heard church bells celebrating “Peace on earth.” The dissonance between Henry’s life and the words in Luke 2:14 was profound. Words that were part of Longfellow’s poem, but are not included in our carol, reveal the struggle of the Civil War at that time.

Then from each black, accursed mouth,

The cannon thundered in the South,

And with the sound

The carol’s drowned

Of Peace on earth, good will to men.

My favorite lyrics are in the last verse:

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep;

“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail,

The right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

Today, I hear the grievous news of violence in the streets of Chicago and in Syria and Afghanistan. I hear of the renewed persecution of the Christian Church in China. I hear of thousands hovering at our southern border having fled violence in their homeland. I hear of innocent babies denied a birthday. I hear of the Opioid epidemic robbing children of their parents and parents of their children.

But, as a believer and follower of Jesus, I anticipate His return. This time, not a child fleeing the violence of Herod with his parents. No, I am waiting to hear the sounds of His glorious return as the King of all Kings, followed by the armies of heaven to bring an end to the injustice and violence in our world. This is our hope!

This Christmas, let us pause to love the babe in the manger. Let us reflect on His wonderful life and His death and resurrection. But, pause to anticipate Jesus’ return when “The wrong shall fail and the right prevail.” When there will finally be “peace on earth, good-will to men.”

I love the way our church sings this carol today. Intermittently, in the carol, we repeat, “I can hear them! I can hear them! I can hear them!”

Can you hear them?

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So from the Front Porch Swing, I wish you and yours a blessed Christmas. May the peace of God guard your hearts in the New Year.

Syd

Unknown's avatar Syd Brestel 6:34 pm on December 22, 2018
Tags: biblical sign, , swaddling   

The Front Porch Swing

The Sign of Swaddling Clothes

 And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn…. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:7, 12, ESV)

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I have always read Luke 2:7 without a passing thought about the words “wrapped in swaddling cloths.” Mary was a peasant girl and a new mom in a strange place and inconvenient circumstances, so she had to “make do.” Using what she had on hand, a few pieces of cloth or clean rags, she wrapped her little one against the chill of the night and the cave. It always seemed pretty straightforward to me.

A recent article in Christianity Today, however, tweaked my curiosity about the word “swaddling.” After consulting my Greek Testament, I discovered there was only one Greek word to translate four English words: “wrapped in swaddling cloths.”

Here is a literal translation: “Mary swaddled him and laid him in a manger.” Then to shepherds the angel announced, “And this is a sign for you, you will find an infant having been swaddled and lying in a manger.”

So what in the world is swaddling? The dictionary tells us that “swaddle or swath is to firmly wrap or bind something with cloth.”

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Triplet girls swaddled so Mom can get some rest. Thanks Amy Rejchrt for sharing this.

As it turns out, many cultures for thousands of years have practiced swathing or swaddling babies. It was a common practice in Asia, Europe and America until the 17th Century. Secured in tightly wrapped cloth (or the Native American pappoose in a cradle board), it was impossible for the baby to move its arms or legs, thus encouraging longer sleep cycles and providing warmth. It was also assumed the baby felt more secure by limiting the natural reflex of waving arms and legs. Some cultures swaddled their little ones in the belief that it would encourage arms and legs to grow straight and strong.

We now understand that babies need to move their limbs to build muscle strength and coordination. Tightly wrapping a newborn infant, restricting any movement at all, might even limit the baby’s ability to breathe properly.

Look at it this way, the fetus has been confined in the mother’s womb. Then it travels through the birth canal, clearly not the most comfortable trip one can make. As the Biblical Illustrator describes it, “the first gift a baby receives is fetters.” William Cadogan was one of the first physicians to call for the abolition of swaddling in 1748.

People still wrap their little ones, of course, especially as a means of settling or soothing irritable infants. Modern swaddling, however, is of the kinder, gentler variety—and much less confining.

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Meet Lincoln Busby being tenderly held and swaddled.

I suspect that Mary, being the product of her culture, practiced the ancient version of swaddling by wrapping strips of cloth firmly around Jesus, limiting movement of His arms and legs. After all, it was the “proper” thing to do if you were a good mother. And the night may have been raw and cold.

Mary demonstrated that Jesus was loved and welcomed into the family by tenderly swathing Him. Contrast her tenderness with God’s metaphoric description of the birth of the city of Jerusalem by her pagan parents, the Amorites.

“And as for your birth, on the day you were born your cord was not cut, nor were you washed with water to cleanse you, nor rubbed with salt, nor wrapped in swaddling cloths. No eye pitied you, to do any of these things to you out of compassion for you, but you were cast out on the open field, for you were abhorred, on the day that you were born.” (Ezekiel 16:4-5, esv)

     Heartless! Can there be a more graphic illustration of parental callousness and neglect? Nobody cut the umbilical cord. Nobody cleansed the writhing, bloody baby. In that culture it meant washing and using salt as an antiseptic. Nobody even wrapped this little girl or nurtured her. She was simply discarded and left to die.

I discovered that in the Greek Old Testament, The Septuagint, Ezekiel 16 used the very same Greek verb “swaddle” as Luke the physician used in Luke 2:7. The contrast, however, could not be starker. Our hearts cry out in righteous anger on behalf of that little baby girl on the garbage pile.

Mary and Joseph’s loving care for the infant Jesus rises up to us through the millennia like the fragrance after a rainstorm or beautiful flower nodding in a gentle breeze.

Just for a moment, however, let’s stop to consider what it must have been like for the Creator God to be swaddled. Think of it! The One who spoke this seeming endless universe into existence was “fettered” so tightly he couldn’t move His arms! Beyond that, of course, we recall that our Lord’s first swaddling was being fettered to the human body of a helpless infant.

During His life and ministry Jesus remained swaddled in a body of flesh like ours.

After His death on the cross, our Lord’s body was bound with strips of fine linen, not the peasant cloth at His birth. He was swathed in grave-clothes, death itself, and a dark tomb.

Thank God the story doesn’t end that way. In Luke 20:7, the gospel describes how the death mask or face cloth was folded up neatly and set aside. The grave-clothes that swaddled the corpse were now empty. He was no longer swaddled…and will never be restricted or bound again in all eternity!

In the book of Revelation Jesus appears again as a fierce warrior king “clothed in a robe dipped in blood” and followed by the armies of heaven dressed in robes, white and pure. The Son of God will return to earth wrapped in a robe with a name on His thigh, “King of Kings and Lord of Lords.”

So this Christmas, when you sing Silent Night or Away in the Manger, reflect on what it meant for Jesus to be swaddled so tightly He couldn’t move—and may have even struggled to breathe.

Through His 33 years among us—from the cradle to the tomb—He submitted to restriction after restriction after restriction, and He did it for you and me.

He is restricted no longer. And one day, in His presence, we won’t be either. Imagine words like these from Handel’s Messiah resonating throughout heaven, “King of Kings and Lord of Lords, and He shall reign forever and ever!”

Unknown's avatar Syd Brestel 9:13 pm on December 15, 2018
Tags: , Obedience   

Welcome To The Front Porch Swing

The Blessing of Doing God’s Will

Last week I shared how God has sometimes led us in a very specific way, such as calling us to serve at the Pulaskiville Community Church.

This is Pulaskiville Community Church’s building.
The addition to the left of the original building has been added since we were there.
This little church was the best seminary I could have attended at that time. So many precious memories from those seven plus years are ours to cherish because God gives the best to those who leave the choice to Him. Below is a picture of the interior of the little white church on County Road 98 in Morrow County, Ohio.

Back in 1969, there wasn’t much about Pulaskiville would attract a stranger to move there. The little village straddled County Roads 109 and 98 ten miles east of Mt. Gilead, Ohio.

     Nothing—and I do mean nothing—warranted stopping for a second look. When we accepted the call to serve as the pastor of a small community church, there were seven or eight houses, a vacant store building (more like a souvenir from decades past), and a couple of trailer homes that had seen better days. Another vacant, dilapidating church building anchored the north edge of town beside an old cemetery. Dogs or an occasional chicken meandering in the road would be the only reason to stop. There were no streets, because every home faced one of the county roads.

     When Mary and I reminisce, like old people tend to do, we both agree that some of our fondest memories are from those seven-and-a-half years in Pulaskiville. In last week’s blog I shared about the call to become the pastor of a small congregation. Freshly graduated from Moody and in our third year of marriage, we moved our few earthly possessions into the parsonage, an old farm house near the church. I was 24 years young.

     Looking at old pictures I always ask, “Why would they call me to be their pastor?” I looked like a kid. I was a kid.

     We experienced a lot of firsts in that place: our first pastorate, first parsonage, first child, first sermon, first hospital call, first funeral and first wedding. Oh, yes, also our first front porch swing.

     Saturday nights were tough. Not being an extrovert and actually hating public speaking, I would be restless and often awaken Sunday morning feeling a bit ill. I can’t describe the symptoms except they were caused by stress. Sunday nights weren’t much easier, because I would replay the mental tapes from the morning sermon and evening Bible study.

     A few Sunday mornings stand out in my memory. Once, after a difficult week and not feeling comfortable with the sermon I had prepared, I wrote an entirely different sermon Saturday night. Sunday morning, I was still in a quandary as to which message to preach. The congregation had sung hymns, and the offering had been gathered when our song leader (that’s what we called them back then.) began to sing a solo, “The Love of God,” as the special music.

     Suddenly I began to write furiously. I preached my first extemporaneous sermon from a few sketchy words on the back of the church bulletin. John 3:16 became the text for a new sermon entitled, “The Greatest Love Letter Ever Written.”

     There is another Sunday that stands head and shoulders above all the rest after seven plus years at Pulaskiville. I was presenting a series of messages about knowing our enemy, the devil. That Sunday, everything that could possibly go wrong seemed to happen. The electric organ didn’t work. The sound system went south. I felt a little sicker than usual.

     None of this should have surprised me.

     The night before I had walked to the church to review the message. It was February and a lightning storm was brewing—not the usual Ohio weather in the dead of winter. (As I write this, I feel goosebumps on my neck.) Windows in the old church building opened and closed as I stood alone in the worship center. Lights flickered on and off. There was an eerie, dark and frightening presence in the building. So much so, that I feared walking back to the parsonage in the dark.

      Preaching the sermon the following morning felt like trying to push a heavy rock up a steep hill. If ever a pastor was weak, it was me that Sunday morning. But upon closing the sermon and offering an opportunity for a response, a man stepped out into the aisle and walked forward with his wife and three teenagers trailing. Then another man followed with his wife and family. (As I type these words, tears cloud my vision.)

     Within seconds, almost half the congregation stood before the pulpit as testimony that God’s Spirit was moving among us. Mary and I both say that was the closest we have ever come to experiencing true revival.

     In hindsight, that was the beginning of the transformation of Pulaskiville Community Bible Church. Word spread throughout the region. People from surrounding areas began to drive to our little crossroad village to hear God’s Word proclaimed. Sunday nights became celebrations of what God was doing in our church. The congregation rapidly grew till attendance often topped 200.

     The youth group grew exponentially. Over a dozen young people attended various Christian colleges. Some of the guys became pastors. One girl became a missionary to the black community in Chicago.

     Two men from the congregation, Bruce Bowman and Jim Rupp, eventually served as pastors of Pulaskiville Community Bible Church.

     So, yes, I thank God for preventing me from attending Dallas Seminary like I had planned. That little white church on County Road 98 was the best seminary I could have attended at that time.

     When I finally did attend seminary ten years later, I chose Western Baptist Seminary in Portland, Oregon where God thrust me into another dying church.

      It’s all His Story.

     The rest is His Story.

I am standing behind the pulpit with Jim Rupp. Jim was saved under our ministry and years later served as pastor of the church. Shirley, Jim’s wife attended the church first. I visited their home, and after I left Jim said to Shirley, “I don’t like him..” Today we are brothers in Christ.

Meet Don and Joan Bowman. This picture was taken in their home in Kalamazoo when we visited them two years ago. Don was the first prson who responded to the invitation on that blessed Sunday. Joan and three of their children (Bruce, Sharon and Susan) followed Don to the front of the church. Bruce went on to attend Moody and also served as the pastor of Pulaskville Community Bible Church. Bruce died of a brain aneurism and today is in the presence of his lord and savior whom he served.

Capture.PNG

Meet Dan and Kathy Bowman. Dan, Don and Joan’s oldest son, was a student at Ohio State when we were at Pulaskiville. It seemed like every time we entered the front door of the Bowman’s home, Dan slipped out the back door to avoid “the preacher.” Dan became a follower of Jesus. He no longer slips out the back door. Dan and Kathy welcomed us when we visited his parents in Kalamazoo.

If you have experienced a time when God clearly led you by opening or closing doors, please share it with us. 
     Thanks for visiting The Front Porch Swing today. I welcome your comments and input. Please invite your friends to join us.

https://welcometothefrontporchswing.home.blog/

Unknown's avatar Syd Brestel 1:01 am on December 14, 2018  

The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

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Unknown's avatar Syd Brestel 10:06 pm on December 9, 2018
Tags: decisioins, , God's will, Pulaskiville   

Welcome To The Front Porch Swing

WestChaseShops, used by permission

Knowing and Doing God’s Will

How does God lead His sons and daughters? Sometimes His will seems mysterious—maybe just beyond reach. In many circumstances of life, however, Scripture provides clear instructions about God’s desires for our lives. The challenge in such moments is not so much knowing God’s will but in actually doing it. For example, every husband is to sacrificially love his wife. He need never wonder about God’s will in that regard!

Here are a few biblical passages that (very clearly) express God’s will for each one of us:

  • It is God’s will to invest our time wisely and to not be under the influence of alcohol or other drugs. Instead we are to live under the influence of—and be continually filled by—the Holy Spirit. God also wills that we gather to encourage one another and express thanks in every situation. (Ephesians 5:15-21)
  • It is God’s will that we rejoice and pray with thanksgiving in every situation while submitting to the Holy Spirit. (1 Thessalonians 5:16-22)
  • It is God’s will that we yield to the Holy Spirit who will sanctify or make us holy in our choices and actions. Paul specifically adds that it is God’s will to abstain from sexual immorality in every form because God has called us to live pure lives. (1 Thessalonians 4:1-8)

I don’t ever need to wonder if God wants me to give thanks in every situation—including life’s most difficult moments. He has already said so! I don’t need to waste mental energy asking myself if I should yield to the Holy Spirit’s influence in my life, rather than trying to solve every problem in my own strength. He has already made that abundantly clear.

My problems really boils down to doing more than knowing.

Let’s consider a broader question: “Does God have a specific plan (will) for each area of our lives, or are we free to choose things like where to live or work? I used to believe something like this: “God doesn’t care as much where I serve as why. He cares more about my motivation than the location.” I am still convinced that God deeply cares about the motives governing my decisions. But it’s also true that what I “want” may not be what God wills.

While ministering in Bend, I occasionally received a telephone call from a seminary grad or a pastor in the Midwest stating that God was calling them to plant a church in our city. They were looking for my counsel (or so they said). After a few minutes I would ask, “Why do you feel called specifically to Bend?” When the answers became a little vague and cloudy I would ask, “Do you like to ski or fish?” Often there was a clumsy silence before a mumbled “yes.” The ornery side of me assumed Mt. Bachelor Ski Resort or the Deschutes River was calling them to Bend. Those who eventually came to Bend (attracted by our quality of life) seldom lasted more than a couple of years before God “changed His mind” and sent them back home.

Sometimes, however, God still leads us like He did with the apostle Paul in Acts 16:6-10. Several times Paul’s plans to minister in Asia Minor (modern Turkey) were stifled. Doors slammed shut. I assume Paul’s motives were pure; he wanted to preach the gospel and plant churches. None of these locations offered a unique quality of life to attract Paul’s team. God simply closed the door.

After these Holy Spirit red flags, Paul received a vision of a man from Macedonia (northern Greece) saying, “Come over and help us.” That plea was like saying “fetch” to a Golden Retriever.I love the way Luke describes Paul’s response. “And when he had seen the vision, immediately we sought to go into Macedonia, concluding that God had called us to preach the gospel to them.”

Immediately they left for Greece. Doors in Asia Minor had been closed to reveal an open door to bring the gospel to Europe.

I can identify with the story because God clearly revealed His plan for my life when He called us to pastor a rural church in Ohio. That’s what I want to share with you today on the Front Porch.

I chose to attend Moody Bible Institute where I met Mary. I could have chosen a dozen other colleges, but looking back I see God’s hand in my choice. Having completed our training at Moody we moved to Mary’s home town in Ohio where I could attend Ohio State University. Mary was pregnant, so I needed a job to provide for our family. I applied at North Electric, a telecommunications company. Bert, the personnel manager read my resume and noticed that I had recently graduated from Moody. From that point on the job opening was off the table. Bert was convinced she had just witnessed a sign from God, because she was part of pastoral search committee for her church. They had written Moody asking if there were any alumni in the area that might consider serving as their pastor.

But that hadn’t been my plan. Not at all!

My plan (my will) was to finish OSU in a year and attend Dallas Theological Seminary. I wasn’t interested in becoming a pastor, but Mary’s pastor challenged me to at least check out Pulaskiville Community Church because, in his words, “Perhaps God was in this.”

Somewhat reluctantly, I agreed to meet with the church board, but I really wanted to go to Dallas. Having read the church’s by-laws and Statement of Faith I told the board I disagreed with their doctrinal statement and stated emphatically that I was going to Dallas in a year. At that point, this Jonah set sail for Nineveh.

About six months later the church contacted me once more. They challenged me to pray about pastoring their church for one full week before finally saying no. Being upright and noble I agreed to pray. Following that week, I met the board again and laid out these conditions: “I am still planning on seminary in a year, and I will preach what I believe the Bible teaches, not your doctrinal statement.” Confident they would now reject me, I relaxed.

But they didn’t reject me. Every excuse I had offered was swept off the table. They were a desperate church; I was a begrudging candidate. Finally believing that it really was God’s will, we accepted the call and moved into the old farm-home-parsonage.

My one-year commitment to the church became seven and a half wonderful years. I grew. The church grew. My spiritual gifts were confirmed and sharpened. It was a love affair.

God had known all along what was best for me. I have always said, “Pulaskiville was better than any seminary I could have attended at that time. It was just what I needed and what the church needed.”

Next week, I want to share a few anecdotes from our ministry at Pulaskiville and introduce you to one of the men whom God gloriously saved—and who eventually served as the pastor of that same, white-frame-country-church on Morrow County Road 98

If you have experienced a time when God clearly led you by opening or closing doors, please share it with us.

Thanks for visiting The Front Porch Swing today. I welcome your comments and input. Please invite your friends to join us.

https://welcometothefrontporchswing.home.blog/

Unknown's avatar Syd Brestel 8:37 pm on December 2, 2018
Tags: , , incarnation, truth   

Welcome To The Front Porch Swing

WestChaseShops, used by permission

Two Essentials

One word, incarnation, describes how we can more effectively serve others—from the man on the corner with the cardboard sign to our next-door neighbors.

The opening words of John’s gospel describe the biblical strategy for really making a difference on our culture. It’s interesting where the apostle begins his account of Jesus’ life. Unlike Matthew and Luke, John shares nothing about shepherds, wise men, stars, or baby Jesus in a manger.

John goes way back before any of those events. He begins in eternity.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being by Him, and apart from Him nothing came into being that has come into being.… And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1:1-3, 14, niv)

There it is in black and white: Our mission, model and strategy for penetrating our culture with the Good News of salvation.

Obviously, you and I can’t replicate the first three verses. We weren’t there before the beginning of time, we don’t enjoy a relationship as God’s equal, and we didn’t create the universe out of nothing.

Even so, our great Example shines with unparalleled beauty and power in the words of John 1:14. The Second Person of the Trinity took on a body of flesh to become one with us. Or to say it another way, Jesus moved in next door. This is the incarnation we celebrate at Christmas.

Jesus’ disciples could clearly see what had previously been invisible. They could touch, even embrace, what had once been only spiritual. They could even break bread with God-in-flesh, drinking out of the same cup!

Jesus chose to live among people with great needs. He came “to seek and to save the lost.” One day Jesus met a man with advanced leprosy and heard the man’s plea for help. He did an amazing thing by reaching out to touch the man, an individual who hadn’t felt another human touch for years beyond memory. Even before the leprosy evaporated, that touch had begun to heal a deeper wound. The leper knew in that moment that he was loved and valued; he was no longer homeless, because Jesus had taken the time and had dared to break cultural taboos against lepers.

I can do that! So can you! There are no lepers where you or I live, but there are plenty of opportunities to touch another person with love and compassion.

Jesus also befriended another man who was considered just as untouchable as the leper. Zacchaeus was considered socially unclean. The “good” people in Jericho never broke bread with Zach. He might as well have been covered with dreaded leprosy. Yet Jesus invited Himself to spend the evening with this social outcast, eventually welcoming him into the very heart of God’s family.

You and I can do that, too. We can spend time with and eat a meal with someone outside the family of God. Yes, it might take a little looking to locate that Zach, Jeff, or Julie. They probably won’t be up halfway up a tree looking for us, but he or she may feel every bit as empty and filled with longing as Zacchaeus did in that roadside sycamore.

Finally, John adds, “We beheld His glory.” He saw God’s glory when he looked at Jesus. That really stirs me. As majestic as the universe is, God’s glory is incomparably greater. What we could never know about God from observing the Creation Jesus has demonstrated through His actions and words. God’s love, mercy and grace were on full display in the Christ. Those tender attributes of God that we love and cherish and sing about blazed from His life like the rising sun. We can, at least in part, do that today.

We can demonstrate God’s grace and mercy in our relationships. We can, in one sense, be Jesus’ hands to touch someone in need. His voice to encourage them in their discouragement, cynicism, or near despair.

Let’s say, then, that we do have such an opportunity. Where do we take the conversation? Some say we should lean toward grace, and avoid speaking words of truth that might offend. We must “adjust” the truth to make it more palatable. Others may lean more heavily on the truth side. If the truth hurts, so be it. Let them have it! Truth, however, is not a weapon to bruise, but a map pointing the way out of darkness into light.

Jesus always held truth and love in perfect harmony. They were not two clashing musical notes. The Bible says that He was “full of grace and truth.” He never ignored a person’s lostness but always pointed the way home. He never diminished the Father’s holiness or minced words that needed to be spoken, and yet He always extended grace and mercy. Jesus was never rude, but He never failed to expose hypocrisy. Every sermon He preached and every conversation He had was always balanced with grace and truth.

If I am going to make a difference in my community, I must deliberately build relationships with grace and mercy but also speak the truth in love. And no one ever said that would be easy.

May I never be like the physician who fails to warn his patient about a terminal diagnosis, so that they can prepare appropriately. I need to demonstrate radical grace while sharing the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

So help me Jesus.

If you are a Christ-follower today because someone cared enough to share both truth and grace with you why not share your story with us?

Who is your Zach or Julie? What is your strategy for encouraging them to become a Christ-follower?

Thanks for visiting The Front Porch Swing today. Please invite your friends to join us.

http://welcometothefrontporchswing.home.blog 

Unknown's avatar Syd Brestel 11:00 pm on November 25, 2018
Tags: , , , Recovery   

Welcome To The Front Porch Swing

WestChaseShops, used by permission

Same Kind of Difference as Me

Last week on The Front Porch Swing I shared that the only visible difference between me and the man holding a cardboard sign was I was sitting in my warm vehicle and he was outside sitting on a plastic bucket. This week, I would like to probe a little deeper into the topic of homelessness and assisting the vulnerable among us.

Obviously the man with the sign and I have unique life stories. I have always been gainfully employed and now enjoy a comfortable retirement and live in a nice home. He is homeless and may sleep in a tent or a car. He may have chosen his lifestyle, or he may be there due to alcohol or drug addiction or, perhaps, as the result of the high cost of housing in Bend. Either way, our lives could not be more different.

Our culture places us in two distinct identities. My material worth and his are galaxies apart. I am confident he doesn’t receive the same respectful treatment as me. Oh, yes; compassionate people stop to give him money or other assistance; otherwise he wouldn’t be sitting at the same corner day after day.

As divergent as our social status, we share one identity. We were both created in God’s image. We are both fallen creatures in need of God’s grace and mercy.

Back in 2006 I recommended a book, Same Kind of Different as Me, to our congregation. The book is the true story of two men in Texas whose lifestyles were dramatically different. The book was also made into a feature length movie.

Ron Hall, a wealthy, respected art trader in Dallas met Denver Moore, a black homeless ex-con from Louisiana, while Hall was volunteering at a shelter in Fort Worth. These two men, from dramatically unique backgrounds, became best friends. The take away from the story is that the relationship between these men, not free meals or a place to sleep at night, eventually enabled Denver break out of a life-time of violence and homelessness. Truth is the relationship also had a positive impact on Ron Hall.

If it is true that the deepest need of the poor among us is not more resources but relationships, how can we respond? I can’t be become a friend of every homeless person in my community. Neither can you. But, I can choose to get involved with one or two men at the Shepherd’s House. The relationship usually begins with caring for his immediate needs such as clothing or perhaps a ride to medical appointments or with a parole officer.

But, having cared for those needs is just the tip of the iceberg. The men I have helped the most were the ones I asked to help with a job around my home. Often they agreed to help me thinking they were simply volunteering. Surprising them, by giving them a generous “salary”, helped move the relationship forward. Sitting in my truck at a local drive-through coffee shop listening to their stories was part of helping them, and it also impacted me.

Last week I promised to share about another friend I have met at The Shepherd’s House. Bill, not his real name, calls me Pops. He has spent much of his five decades in prison. He knows that he is welcome in my home anytime, and we text frequently, always saying “I love you.” The transformation in Bill’s life has been phenomenal but not without struggles. Progress has had its ups and downs. Sometimes the struggle has been so severe he has considered running away- his old default pattern. But, our relationship has been one of the anchors encouraging him to stay and fight through the struggle.

I was humbled one day as I overheard Bill sharing his story with a group of our friends. He shared that the turning point in his life began when I invited him out for pie and coffee. His past life on the streets conditioned Bill to question my motivation for inviting him to meet with me. But, through sharing life together, his life has changed. His deepest need when he came to the Shepherd’s House was not a warm place to sleep or even the recovery program or occasional financial assistance I provided. His greatest need was relationships with other followers of Jesus. I was just one of them, but my life has also been influenced in so many positive ways.

The challenge of helping the poor and the broken image-bearers among us is great. But, how can we help them? I offer a few suggestions:

First, open the curtain. Pull up the shades. Ask God to help you see the needs around you through new eyes.

Secondly, pray for wisdom to know how God may want you to respond. Will it be volunteering at a local shelter? Or, providing transportation to court hearings or medical appointments?

Third, ask God to show you who might be your Bill or your Sam or Susie.

Finally, accept the risk of getting involved in their life. Perhaps it will begin with letting them choose clothing. Spend time getting to know the woman behind the sign or in the man in the mission.

Perhaps your part in the ministry will be providing financial support through your local church or the shelter ministries in your town.

But, get involved. Because God has a heart for the poor, the immigrant and the vulnerable; so should we.

It begins by realizing we are all created in God’s image. We are all needy. Some of us have resources to share.
Denver Moore, an ex-convict comparing himself with the wealthy and respectable Ron Hall, said it quite well: “Same kind of difference as me.”

I have discovered the same truth through my friendships with the men I have befriended at The Shepgerd’s House.

I would love to hear your stories of being touched and enouraged by someone else. Or, share how God has used you to encourage another broken person.

Thanks for visiting The Front Porch Swing today. I welcome your comments and input. Please invite your friends to join us.

http://welcometothefrontporchswing.home.blog

Unknown's avatar Syd Brestel 10:50 pm on November 20, 2018
Tags: , , Thanksgivine, traditions   

Welcome to The Front Porch Swing

WestChaseShops, used by permission

Happy Dependence Day

Recently our local newspaper included a magazine insert featuring the u pcoming “Holiday” season. I deliberately sandwiched holiday in quotation marks, because political correctness now frowns on the term “Christmas” in public discourse.

Will Thanksgiving follow suit, becoming yet another purely secular holiday?

The magazine insert included several stories of Thanksgiving Day traditions of families here in Central Oregon. Only one of the stories mentioned God. It was more about recipes, football, shopping, and various Black Friday misadventures.

A local contributing editor to the same newspaper shared several reasons why she was thankful. I commend her, because her list was thorough and carefully considered.

But I couldn’t help but notice something missing. Whom was she thanking? Giving thanks requires a minimum of two persons: a grateful party, and the person receiving thanks. That is why we always say, “Thank you.”

It struck me that the secularist and atheist ultimately have no one to thank! If everything in our lives is the product of sheer chance, an arbitrary evolutionary process, then whom do we thank? Who gets the benefit of our overflowing gratitude?

Ultimately, no one at all.Every blessing we enjoy is a gift from somebody. The Christmas presents under the tree with my name on them say who they are from: my wife, my kids, my grandkids. When I receive each gift, I look into the face of a loved one and say, “Why, thank you!” And I mean it. But what about gifts like freedom of worship, a safe home, good health, good friends, laughter, the warmth of a snapping fire on a cold morning or the undeserved prosperity and plenty that so often come my way? Who gets my thanks for these?

God gets my thanks.Every gift He gives me has a label with His name attached in familiar handwriting. James writes: “Don’t be deceived, dear brothers and sisters. Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights” (James 1:16-17).

Several years ago I was the speaker at a communitywide Thanksgiving service sponsored by the evangelical churches in Bend. I chose as my topic, “The Declaration of Dependence.” No, that is not a typo. Now mind you, it was a Thanksgiving service, not a Fourth of July celebration.

We Americans, most of us at least, celebrate The Declaration of Independence from the English Crown on the Fourth of July. Thanksgiving Day ought to be our Declaration of Dependence upon God.

Giving thanks is a way of declaring my dependence on Him, confessing and acknowledging Him as the Giver of every good and perfect gift that I enjoy but too often take for granted.

Thanksgiving Day calls me back to the realization that I have been richly and uncommonly blessed by the God of heaven. And the more I realize my utter dependence on Him, the happier I am.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

So what is your response to the concept of declaring our dependence on God this Thanksgiving? Are we as a nation and culture moving away from acknowledging God on Thanksgiving Day?

What tradition does your family observe to keep thanks back in Thanksgiving?

Thanks for visiting The Front Porch Swing today. I welcome your comments and input. Please invite your friends to join us.

http://welcometothefrontporchswing.home.blog

Unknown's avatar Syd Brestel 11:40 pm on November 18, 2018
Tags: , , , Welfare   

Welcome To The Front Porch Swing

WestChaseShops, used by permission

Bootstraps or Biblical Dignity?(Part 1)

He has told you, O man, what is good;

and what does the Lord require of you

but to do justice, and to love kindness,

and to walk humbly with your God?

—Micah 6:8, esv

Today we have accepted homelessness as the new norm.

I see more and more camp sites in the National Forest near my home town of Bend. An editorial in our local newspaper reported an almost 20 percent increase in homelessness in our county since 2015. Recent statistics reveal a 21 percent increase in youth homelessness in Central Oregon in 2017. Men and women, holding cardboard signs, can be found at most major intersections. I often debate with myself whether I should help them—but then the traffic light changes, and I have things to do.

The question is, “Are we helping by responding to the panhandling, or simply enabling them?” Yes, that may sound a bit harsh, but it’s a question worth considering. More importantly, how should we be involved?

My local church, Foundry Church, is deeply involved. We prepare and serve meals to almost 200 people once a month, and lunches twice a month. We provide a shower truck so homeless people can bathe and receive clean underwear, socks, and other necessities. Foundry supports The Shepherd’s House in Bend and the local Teen Challenge with both finances and hours of volunteer work.

Is it enough? Are we doing the right thing? I can hand the guy on the corner a dollar bill and feel a little better. But what if his need is deeper?

When Helping Hurts, a book by Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert, claims that many efforts to alleviate poverty may actually hurt in the long run. The greatest need people have, according to Corbett and Fikkert, is not more resources but relationships—someone to walk with them and care about them. And I would add that their greatest need of all is a personal relationship with the God who loves them.

The lack of relationships helps explain the weakness of our public welfare system.

The woman holding the sign has a name besides “homeless person.” She also has a story. She’s somebody’s daughter—and perhaps has daughters and sons of her own. Beneath those placid eyes that won’t maintain eye contact is a person created in the image of God. I can’t help but wonder how long has it been since she enjoyed a real conversation? Received a compliment? How long since she was embraced without carnal motives?

Sometimes, of course, I assume the homeless person is sitting there by choice. After all, it’s easier to ask for a handout than apply for one of the abundant job opportunities in Bend. Perhaps they just want another bottle of cheap wine or another syringe dripping with heroin. They have made their choices and now they’re reaping the consequences. So why not leave them alone to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps?

I admit those statements sound harsh, but they illustrate how difficult it is to know how to help or whom to help. It is much easier to become the proverbial Levite or priest and just walk on by the wounded soul by the side of the road. After all, it’s not my problem; let the State take care of it.

One thing is certain: everyone wants to be treated with dignity and respect. So the challenge, then, at least as I see it, is how can we help people without doing even more damage? How can I offer dignity to the woman behind the sign?

I can’t forget how often the Bible commands us to care for the poor, widows, orphans and immigrants. God deeply cares about the vulnerable among us. These are the bruised reeds I wrote about on August 20th.

In Michael Barram’s book, Missional Economics, the author writes: “God is deeply concerned for the hungry, and God’s people should be as well.” (p. 96) God’s concern for the poor was demonstrated by the laws concerning gleaning. The Israelites had suffered under Egyptian bondage; now they were to show compassion for the poor among them. (Check out Deuteronomy 24:19-22, Leviticus 19:9-10, and 23:22.) Barram writes that God required farmers to intentionally leave part of the grain and fruit un-harvested so that the poor could “earn their food with dignity.” The words “earn with dignity” leaped off the page at me. Even the simple act of going into a field to gather grain or pick fruit provided some dignity for the poor. “Gleanings were not handouts,” writes Barram. The fact that gleaners would come in behind the harvesters suggests the farmer was aware of the poor living in his community—and even implies a relationship between farmer and gleaner. In the book of Ruth, that lovely older testament gem, Boaz’s invitation for Ruth to glean in his field eventually blossomed into a marriage relationship—leading to the eventual birth of King David.

I have resources the poor lack. My challenge is determining how should I invest them. How can I offer my hand to another image-bearer? How can I help meet their greatest needs—a relationship and dignity? This is a dignity that God Himself demonstrated by sending His Son to rescue them, just as He has rescued me.

When I first volunteered to serve at The Shepherd’s House, a local faith-based recovery ministry, I met Sam (not his real name). Sam had just arrived from Portland where he had hit the bottom after losing everything he valued in this world, including his wife who had been killed in an auto accident. Buried in depression, Sam felt little hope. I begin to take him out for coffee or a meal. We went to Wal-Mart where he could pick out clothes, because everything he owned was on his back.

Over weeks and months of sharing meals in our home and spending time together, the darkness began to lift. Sam today is gainfully employed and enjoying life again. It wasn’t the coffee or the clothes that I gave Sam; it was my time. Myself.

Sam’s greatest need was the relationships he discovered at The Shepherd’s House and in the time we spent together.

In the gospels, two rich men met Jesus. The rich ruler was as a respected insider, but he left sadly after rejecting the conditions Jesus set to have a relationship with Him. Zacchaeus, a social outcast, enjoyed the party of a lifetime in Jesus’ honor. The only difference between the rich ruler and the rich tax collector was that one was already on the inside; the other on the outside looking in.

It seems to me that things haven’t changed a whole lot. The difference between me and the man on the corner with a cardboard sign is that I am sitting in my warm vehicle looking down while he is sitting on a plastic bucket looking up.

Next week I want you to meet another man whose life is being transformed through relationships.

Have you ever considered the greatest need of the poor among us is not more resources but relationships?

Today the economy is good and jobs are available yet millions remain on the welfare system. Could the lack of relationships within the beauracracy be one of the reasons it has failed? What do you think?

Do you have a story about the power of relationships to help restore a wounded person?

Thanks for visiting The Front Porch Swing today. I welcome your comments and input. Please invite your friends to join us.

http://welcometothefrontporchswing.home.blog