Syrian Refugee Debate

WWJD? What would Jesus do? It seems that many people think you can just answer this question and you find the simple answer to the Syrian refugee problem. When you are driving down the road with your family and see a hitchhiker, do you ask WWJD and stop and pick him up, assuming that Jesus would (because He cares for everyone)? I don't! The risks are too great. Do you make a habit of picking up homeless men and putting them up in your spare bedroom? Me neither. Call my Christianity in question if you wish. But the Syrian refugee problem is problematic. There are reasons many of us are not gung ho about bringing those refugees here. Just consider one fact: Those Boston Marathon bombers (just two brothers) were refugees upon which we had compassion. What we can do, what I have done, is pray for our leaders that they make wise decisions. Certainly lives are in the balance in Syria, but lives are potentially in the balance in the US, too. WE ARE AT WAR!!

Thinking about music

Have your ever thought what life would be like without music, any music? Lately I have been thinking about the blessing of music. What an incredible gift!

I don't mean to suggest that I like all music. Frankly, some music is more accurately described as noise to me. What I have been thinking about is the grand experience of music to humanity in general. It is truly amazing.

With a mere handful of notes and a handful of keys we have not exhausted the melodies that can be made. There is a science to sound that defines music. Some sounds are compatible with other sounds in a manner that is pleasant, harmonious, even beautiful. Other sounds are incompatible or discordant; they irritate our hearing. And almost all of us can hear that difference.

I think it is wonderful that a particular set of notes can have the unique quality of the source making that sound. Listen to a band perform and you will hear the same notes of the melody, but with your eyes closed you can tell the difference between the piano, the guitar, the sax, the trumpet, the bass, etc. The same is true of our voices. Different performers may sing the same song in the same key, using the same notes, yet we can hear the distinct difference in the voice of the artists.

We were on a long road trip this Christmas so we loaded up the CD player in our car with Christmas CD's. I found myself savoring an album by Kenny G. His sweet style of play and the sweet melodies of familiar Christmas songs was truly peace-inducing.

Music is capable of communicating the multitude of varied moods of our being. An easy contrast is that of the happy, joyful or celebration songs to the sad or mournful melodies and cadences. In these ways, music connects with our hearts, with our emotions. And it can do so in powerful ways.

Having pondered this subject for awhile, I have come to see two important things. First, I have seen music as a gift of God to the human race. Life is so much fuller for all of us because of music than it would be without music. Try to imagine life without it. God has given us this gift in the design of the universe. You and I can give the gift of a musical instrument, and that can be a tremendous gift; but God has given us the greater gift of music. Have you been duly appreciative? I don't think I have been. Second, music defies the naturalistic, evolutionist view of our world and life. There is no rational explanation for the existence of any beauty - including the beauty of music - apart from a Creator who designed nature to have such beauty, and designed us to enjoy and use it. The Scriptures begin by telling us that we were made "in His image". Music is one of the wonderful ways the human race has to express creativity. We can take this for granted, or we can see it as a glory of God shared with us.

Another fascinating fact about music and the Creator's design involves the way music is stored in our brains. Though the lyrics of a song are language, they are not stored in the same way or place as normal language. Thus, it is not uncommon to find a stroke victim who is unable to speak words, yet can access and sing the lyrics of songs stored in the brain. If that sounds like something that happened by some random acts of nature, you hear differently than I. I see the fingerprints of a Mighty God, an Awesome Creator!

Finally, music is a common grace. That is, it is given to all. Thus, it can be used for noble purposes or for ignoble purposes. I believe it is our duty before the Creator to use it for noble purposes. By this I do not mean that all music must be of a religious or ostensibly spiritual quality. We should realize that "truth" conveyed via a catchy melody is quite powerful, but so is a lie. To appreciate music is, in part, to appreciate this great power.

Thank You, God, for the wonderful gift of music!

A "botched execution"

Last week national news spread about a "botched execution" here in Oklahoma. What is a "botched execution"? It is an execution that does not go perfectly. This one did not go perfectly. The duly convicted rapist and murderer did not go to sleep quickly as expected. At one point the inmate convulsed on the gurney.

Maybe you don't need the Holy Spirit

The lead pastor at our church kicked off a message series on the Holy Spirit some time ago. The message was excellent as I would expect from him. It has caused the wheels in my mind to turn in directions they haven't for awhile. This message and some other things I have been reading over the past several months (especially a couple of John Eldredge books) mixed together in my mind to generate some new thoughts for me. I decided that this was as good a place as any to share them. First, I believed long before reading Eldredge that spiritual warfare is real, that we have a crafty enemy in the spiritual realm. Since the Holy Spirit is an incredibly powerful resource for the followers of Christ, it would make perfect sense that our enemy would wish to minimize the effectiveness of that resource. Let the Christians settle for the doctrine of the Holy Spirit, but neglect actual life in the Holy Spirit. Cause the Christians to divide up over the gifts and manifestations of the Spirit in the lives of believers. Once the camps are fully formed with each fully convinced that they know what the Spirit does and does not do, what the Spirit used to do but no longer does, and what the Spirit does versus what we do - the Unholy Spirit can preside over the camps. Thus, some camps are guilty of blaming the Holy Spirit for many acts of the flesh or downright deception. Other camps are filled with people absolutely afraid of the Holy Spirit. They don't even like discussing the subject; forget getting near the Person. I fear that much of Christ's Church is impaired related to the Holy Spirit. Most of the impairment that I see lies in two arenas. In one arena are many believers whose experience with the Holy Spirit is limited to emotional feelings they have occasionally, mostly in emotionally charged church meetings. The other arena is made up of those who, for a variety of reasons, have no experience with the Spirit or any desire for an experience with the Holy Spirit. Let me first address the first group. I don't mean to suggest that an experience with the Holy Spirit is devoid of emotion. I only want to state that experiences with the Spirit are not necessarily laden with thrilling emotions. And thrilling emotions are not in themselves very accurate measures of the Holy Spirit's presence or work. Frankly, the enemy has a pretty long track record of using thrilling emotional experiences to promote and perpetuate sinful behavior in us. One should be careful not to substitute a mere emotional experience from a spiritual one, and a Holy Spiritual one at that. The second group is the larger of the two groups, in my opinion - at least in my day. People in this group have gross ignorance of, if not an outright aversion to, the Spirit. In the New Testament, there is an interesting passage about the Apostle Paul going to Ephesus and finding some people who expressed belief in Jesus. Apparently, he sensed something or saw something about their lives that made him ask, "Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed?" There answer made it clear why Paul's question was so appropriate. They said, "We have not even heard that there is a Holy Spirit" (Acts 19). Now, in the early years of the spread of Christian teaching, that statement makes sense. These were people who were baptized by John the Baptist and came to believe in and follow Jesus. They had somehow never encountered the full gospel message however since the resurrection of Jesus. It should not be so in our age, but I am afraid it is. Jesus is preached in places where the Holy Spirit is hardly mentioned. So, one could find believers in Jesus who might say, "I have never heard of this Holy Spirit" except by some to those TV preachers that I don't trust at all. In other denominational settings, I fear that the Holy Spirit is nothing more than a doctrine of Christianity.

Thanksgiving Thoughts

I don't remember the year exactly, but it was in the early 70's that my maternal grandfather died. I know I was driving my 1970 Olds Cutlass that I had bought brand new; and I don't think I had owned it more than a year at the time. On this rather strange occasion, I had gone home to visit my family - especially my Mom. My maternal grandmother had died the previous year, so on this trip, I decided I would drop in and see my grandpa on the way home.

The experience was shocking. When we pulled up to the old house where he lived, there were a few cars there already. Grandpa never had a car, never drove as far as I knew. So, he obviously had company. But this was in the daytime and on a weekday. At the door, I was greeted by an aunt who invited us in. The cars belonged to aunts and uncles I quickly learned. The news came fast. "Pop died this morning."

The body had just been discovered by one of the aunts early that morning. Grandpa was just sitting on his couch - dead - when she came in. The authorities had already come and taken his body away. All the aunts and uncles that were physically close were notified and assembled at the house. My Mom had not been notified.

It was a shocking experience to learn that Grandpa had already died. But there was something more shocking. Grandma and Grandpa had 11 children. Grandpa was an alcoholic; well, I guess I should say he was a drunk since he never went to any of those blasted meetings. He was not a heavy drinker all the time. He was more of a monthly binge drinker. He would get his Army pension check on the 1st of the month and he would routinely drink a good part of it away.

They were very poor people. They lived in a small four-room house on a large lot right beside the railroad track that ran through town. Somehow they had gotten water plumbed into the kitchen sink; that was all. And the water there was only cold water. The house had no water heater. The old house was heated with a large coal stove in the living room. An outhouse near the alley in the back was the only bathroom facility. And this was the way it was the day Grandpa died.

The most valuable possession they had was a television. And it was nothing spectacular.

So what shocked me more than learning that Grandpa had died was watching my aunts and uncles interact. They were arguing over who was going to get what. I cannot describe the disgust I felt. Grandpa's body was barely down to room temperature and these jerks are arguing over his stuff. I was in my mid 20's at the time and I had more stuff than what was in that house. I listened to the bickering for a few minutes and I had all I could stand. I told them so, in no uncertain terms.

One of my uncles, whom we had visited several times in prison when I was a kid, responded to my rebuke with a threatening one of his own. He said something to the effect of "If you know what is good for you, you'll keep your mouth shut, Nonie" (I guess that's how you spell it; I never saw it in writing; it was just what a lot of family called me back then. It was pronounced "NO-knee".) Since I never knew what this uncle was in prison for, I quickly shut up and left the premises. I have had no desire to be around any of them since. I have seen a couple of my aunts and an uncle that were not there that day.

Maybe Grandpa deserved kids like that. Maybe not. Though I heard plenty of stories about his alcohol abuse, I never saw him either drinking or drunk. He was always really nice to me. I liked him and he liked me. I don't like most of his kids though. I choose better friends than that.

I am very thankful for one of his children, my Mom, the second of the 11. This is my first Thanksgiving without her. I wish you were here. I'm glad you're not here anymore.

The United Way and Me

I was stationed in Jacksonville, FL when it happened. I had only been in the service five-to-seven months. Jacksonville was where I was sent from boot camp to be trained as an aircraft electrician, which is how I served my country for the next four years.

Most of the young men in my class were single guys like myself. There were a couple of married guys who lived off base. When there were "official meetings" or our unit had "duty", these married guys had to join us in the barracks. On one such assembly, we were informed that the United Way was requesting each of us to donate some small amount of money from our small paychecks. I think it was only one dollar per month. We were further informed that our commander wanted 100% participation from his command.

We discussed this among ourselves in the barracks that night, with at least one of the married guys speaking up strongly against it. We all agreed with his opinion; we didn't have money to give away. Personally, I had a car payment I couldn't make on the money the Navy paid me. I think it was a couple of days later that we were to turn in the forms to approve the Navy deducting a set amount from our paychecks. We all turned them back in declining the request.

This did not go over well with the commander. Did I mention that he wanted 100% participation from those in his command? Apparently, commanders were pretty used to getting what they wanted. When the paperwork hit his desk, something else hit the fan. We were all assembled again. This time we were told that, if we chose not comply with the request, we might have "bag inspections" on Saturdays.

I must explain what "bag inspections" were. When we joined the Navy, we were given a large duffel bag in which all of our Navy-issued belongings, (the underwear, shoes, socks, hats and uniforms provided in boot camp) were packed. A bag inspection would entail having to pack all of those possessions in the bag, carry it to a designated inspection spot (probably not close to the barracks), and then lay it all out to ensure we had all of the proper equipment in acceptable condition.

The idea of a bag inspection was not a pleasant thought, so it made a reasonable threat. No young sailor wanted to spend part of his Saturday that way. So - the opinion in the barracks quickly changed. Everyone but me decided to sign the papers and let the Navy take a little of our money to help out the United Way. It was not because any of us became more charitable with our limited funds. It was because - for almost everyone there, it seemed like the most reasonable option.

When our barracks chief discovered that I had still refused, he told me that I would have four hours of "extra duty" on Saturday. I was to report to him at 0800 hours in dungarees. For four hours I was charged with cleaning this and moving that. About half way through the morning, this petty officer in charge told me that, if I insisted on refusing to sign the paper, we could be doing this for many more weeks. I said to him, "Sir, you can have me do extra duty for the next four years; but I will not give money to the United Way." I never heard anything else from him. I was never forced to do extra duty again. In retrospect, that petty officer didn't want to have to supervise me on his Saturday either.

At the time this all became an issue, I had nothing against the United Way. I had heard their advertisements about a new way to support various organizations like the heart association, cancer society, etc. People could make one pledge and not be pestered by dozens of agencies wanting financial donations. It sounded reasonable. In fact, if this proposition had been made while I was still working at the factory in my hometown, I would have probably signed on to do it.

The practice of coercing military men to give to the United Way was undoubtedly being investigated at the very time that my barracks mates and I were being coerced. By the next year, when the United Way drive was in gear at my next duty station, we were clearly informed that we could not be forced to contribute - that congress had passed a law making it illegal to do so. Still, we were told that our commander wanted 100% participation from those in his command. I don't know how many refused this time. Maybe I was the only one again. The four hours of extra duty the prior year was fresh in my mind, and I had not changed my mind.

This time I was not threatened, but I was called into the squadron commander's office. He issued no threat. He wanted to know why I would not contribute. In his mind it seemed like such a little amount and such a reasonable request to ask everyone to do their part. Then he told me that, if I still didn't want to contribute, he would personally put the money in for me. In retrospect, I suppose he anticipated that suggestion would make me feel guilty enough to sign on. It didn't. I told him - respectfully - that he could do whatever he wanted but I would not give. I also told him what happened to me in the previous command.

The United Way supports a lot of good works. My problem was not with their goals, but their methodology of reaching those goals. Just because someone decided it would be a great thing if every American worker gave to a particular cause or cluster of causes, does not mean that you or I should feel obliged to give. Neither does it mean that some corporate head should apply pressure on underlings to give. That, I am fairly sure, still happens.

I am a pretty generous man. I give to worthy organizations regularly. But I have little tolerance for manipulating and coercing people to be generous. So, for that violation of my person - and not me alone - the United Way shall never get one red cent of my money. Over the years, I have found more reasons not to contribute to the United Way. They have had a tendency to support agencies that many of us would not choose to support. Many years ago the excessively high compensation to the head of United Way was exposed. If I had ever a doubt about changing my mind, that solidified it.

Wounds of a Friend

Yesterday I had a minor surgery to remove a rather large cyst from my back. I was sent home with instructions for care of my back until time to have the stitches removed. The instructions covered things like bathing, what to do if I should experience heavy bleeding, and care of "the wound".

That is what the sheet called the place where the doctor made an incision, removed the problematic cyst and sewed me back together - a wound. I immediately thought of a proverb, Proverb 27:6 to be exact. The first part of the verse says, "Faithful are the wounds of a friend . . ." (NKJV). The NIV translates it, "Wounds from a friend can be trusted . . ." Sometimes, in an earnest effort to help someone, we must hurt them. We can even say we wounded them as the doctor did about his minor surgery. It is a wound to be dressed and properly cared for. It is certainly not a wound as I typically think of wounds.

I think of a wound being something that happened either by an accident or at the hands of an adversary. Dr. Monks was no adversary and neither was his action accidental. On purpose, he wounded me. He wounded me to heal me.

Now, he did his best to minimize the pain of his service. He deadened the area before he started cutting me open. He suggested I take Extra-strength Tylenol for pain and discomfort after the initial anesthetic wore off. Last night I took a couple of the Tylenol tablets because of substantial discomfort. Today I have felt the discomfort but am being a tough guy and not taking anything for it. I'm fine.

This situation is a great illustration of the proverb. Friends sometimes have to wound us to help us. We sometimes have to wound our friends to help them. Such wounds are not meant to harm but to help. May we have the sanity to see the help through the hurt when we are wounded by a friend. May we have the good fortune and the sanity to only wound as a friend.