Wonderfully Beautiful

Every once and a while God brings somebody special into your life - somebody that has a unique way of making you look at things from an entirely different perspective.

Her name is Gabby. I don't really know where she came from. She just started showing up at church a few weeks ago. She sits with her grandmother on the second row to my left as I preach. She's short for her age, a little under developed physically and emotionally. She's loud. Very loud. But that's o.k. because she's beautiful . . . wonderfully beautiful.

She walks with a bit of a limp and smiles a lot. She's amazed by the simplest of things, and you are never quite sure if she has fully grasped what you're trying to say to her. Most people don't really know how to take her. If its on her mind, she's going to say it. Needless to say, her words are rarely seasoned with social graces. She will probably never make the cover of Vogue but she is beautiful . . . wonderfully beautiful.

She sits and listens intently as I preach, Sunday after Sunday about God sending His only Son to die for us. I talk about dying to self and living for Christ. I speak about gaining life by giving life away; and she listens . . . week after week she listens.

The other day her grandmother told me Gabby wanted to get baptized. I made an appointment to talk with her to make sure she was aware of what she was doing. I asked her if she knew for sure she was going to heaven when she died. She said she did. Then I asked if she were to die today and stand before God and He were to ask, "Why should I let you into heaven?" What she would say? she told me she felt sure that God would let her into heaven because she was good and helped her grandmother.

That was my opportunity. I told her how we all sin and how sin keeps us from going to heaven. I told her how there was nothing we could do to earn heaven. I told her that God was the only one good enough to deserve heaven. I told her how God loved her so much that He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to die on the cross for her sins. I showed her in the bible how she could trust in His death, burial and resurrection and call upon the Lord and ask Him to save her. In the moments following that beautiful little girl called on a wonderful Savior and gave her life over to Him.

"Now, Gabby" I said, "If you were to die today and God were to ask you, 'Why should I let you into heaven?' what would you say?" With a sweet, little sparkle in her eye, she looked up at me and said, "Because Jesus died for me and rose again!" I was elated.

"Now we can do the baptism thing," I said, "Since you have trusted Christ, its time for you to tell the whole world what Jesus did for you when He died on that cross, was buried and rose again. Sunday morning you are going to come before the church and stand in the baptismal waters. When you are lowered into the waters you will tell every one there that Jesus died for you and how you want to be associated with his death. Then, as you are lifted up out of the waters you will be telling everyone that Jesus rose from the grave and you want to be associated with his new life." She looked a little concerned, but agreed.

The next Sunday she was there with bells on, telling everyone how she was going to be baptized that day. I introduced her to Pastor Roger, the one doing the baptisms that morning, who took her away to get prepared.

When I finished my sermon I told the congregation about a special little girl that would be following the Lord in believer's baptism. The screen slowly raised and there stood Pastor Roger and that wonderfully, beautiful little girl. She was noticeably frightened, chattering nervously. Roger tactfully quieted her and said these words: "Buried with Him into baptism (he then lowered her into the water); raised with Him unto newness of life (raising her up out of the water).

It was then I realized how wonderfully beautiful that little girl truly is. As she came up from the water she looked up at Roger and asked, "Am I dead yet?" "Am I dead yet?"

She asked him if she was dead yet! It took a few minutes for it to dawn on me. She believed that following Christ in believers baptism meant actually dying. She had believed everything I told her in a very literal way! When that wonderfully, beautiful little girl walked down those steps into that baptismal pool she actually believed she was walking to her death. Following Christ to her meant giving her life away.

"Am I dead yet?" "No honey," said Jesus "I took care of that for you a long time ago. But now my dear, you are truly alive!"

Oh that we all had faith like that! The faith of a wonderfully, beautiful child.

First Impressions

One of the greatest difficulties we face here at Blackwelder Park when it comes to welcoming our guests is the layout of our campus. Our worship center is a 50 year-old structure designed around how church was done 2 generations ago. It faces Summit Avenue and identifies itself as a Blackwelder Park Community Church. That was and ideal situation 50 years ago because that is exactly what the church was designed to be, but with the introduction of a high commuter workforce our congregation travels as much as 30 miles to attend church here today.

When we were a community church, all visitors had some connect ability to the membership before they ever attended the first service. They lived next door to each other, their kids played together, or they worked in the mill together. The world was much smaller then.

Today things are different. We still desire to stay connected as Blackwelder Park’s community church, but the people who live in this community are not as familiar with their neighbors as they once were. Today we drive home from work, press a button in our car that opens the garage door, park inside the house, close the door behind us and go into our air conditioned homes until the next morning when we press the button again and head off to work. 50 years ago, most everyone walked to work, and sat on their front porches in the evenings to stay cool. “Howdy neighbor!” was a commonly heard phrase and, as a result, neighbors became acquainted with each other. The reality is, most of our guests are not acquainted with any one when they arrive for the first time.

So, with that said, our campus layout is problematic for welcoming guests in the 21^st century. Why? Because our foyer is too small and can only serve as a room where you receive a warm handshake and bulletin given in passing as you take five steps into the worship center where you find yourself “on your own.” These people who have absolutely no connection with anybody in our church receive less than a 5 second welcome greeting before they take a seat in our big, intimidating meeting place (intimidating to them, not us).

One solution to this problem would be to build an atrium on the front of our building, but the high cost of materials and labor, in conjunction with the debt we already have incurred through our last building project prohibits us from going in that direction.

We have, however, made some strides toward helping people to become better acquainted. We now offer the “Central Park” time in between Sunday School and our 11:00 service time in the Family Life Center. This is a great ministry and whoever makes it over to Central Park finds it to be a very warm and inviting place to be.

The question before us is, how do we get our first-time guests to wander over to the FLC? Truthfully speaking, they will NEVER wander over there on their own, so Central Park becomes a “Members Only Club” (not by design, but by location). For that reason, we are offering these techniques that we feel will assist you in helping first-time guests to feel welcome here at The Park.

1. Be committed to the ministry of helps. Helping people feel at home is a service to the Lord, not a service to the church, staff, pastor, or any other individual or organization. Be faithful to the calling. Arrive EARLY, not on-time. Welcoming guests happens 30 minutes prior to the beginning of service. Arriving on time is like showing up for a 1^st shift job at 5:00 – the opportunity to work has passed.

2. Be aware of what is going on. As a helper your job is to assist people in feeling welcome at our church. Do not get caught up in small talk with church members to the point that when a guest enters the room you cannot break away to do your job. You are on duty and must be prepared to do what you are called to do when duty presents itself.

3. Take the time to get to know the guests on a personal level. People today see right through superficial greetings. Politeness is no substitute for friendliness in today’s world. Guests do not care how polite you are, they are more interested in how real you are. They want to see you as a real person trying to get to know them as real people. They value time spent with them far more than pleasant words in passing. They want you to try to get to know them as a person.

4. Be aware of your posture. Relax. Don’t hover over them while they are sitting in a pew. Sit in the pew in front of them and turn and talk with them. Sitting down always gives the impression that you value their company and want to offer your time to them without limitations. Lean into the conversation. By doing so you will present yourself as a warm, friendly person that is truly interested in who they are as a person.

5. Ask questions. The best way to show somebody that you value them as a person is to ask questions about who they are and what they do. Women love to talk about their families and men love to talk about their jobs. If you remember that, you will never lack for something to talk about. When you have finished asking questions, ask a few more. By doing this you will make a friend and earn the right to introduce them to other people.

6. Ask them to do you a favor. This can only be done after you have earned the right through spending time getting to know them personally. Say something like, “Hey, would you do me a favor and follow me for a second? I have something I would really like to show you.” It is best to do this while communicating some form of body language that says, “Hey, I’m fixin to go somewhere.” Do not tell them where you are going to take them until after they answer the question. When they stand up and start to walk with you, then you should tell them about this wonderful place called Central Park where we all gather together and have a great time getting to know one another. Be very mindful that this person is trusting you to protect them as they step outside their comfort zone and follow you to a very scary place. Do not leave them alone until they have met somebody new and are comfortable with your leaving.

7. Take them to the Welcome Center. This is the first place a guest should be taken and it is imperative that they feel welcomed when they arrive there. Introduce them to the Welcome Center attendants, and if they are not offered a gift by the attendant ask the attendant for one. We offer a copy of The Purpose Driven Life, a small Prayer Journal, and a Christian Music CD to all our guests.

8. Offer to get them a cup of coffee. While standing at the Welcome Center say something like, “Hey, let me get you a cup of coffee.” They might say yes, and if they do, take them over to the coffee maker and introduce them to the kitchen staff. When you walk up to the counter say something like, “Hey Gary, let me introduce you to Bob and Sarah, they are visiting with us today and I wanted them to meet you guys. While they are making small talk ask what they take in their coffee and make a cup for them. If the say something like, “no thanks, I don’t drink coffee,” don’t let that throw you off. Just respond by saying, “Oh, o.k., well let me introduce you to a few folks then,” and start walking over to the food table. Show them what is available and make the transition into step 9.

9. Hand them off to a new friend. By this time you should have a pretty good feel for their personality. Keep an eye open for someone in the crowd that would be a good hand-off person. Somebody that understands hospitality and will go the extra mile to see that the guest will feel welcome and secure. Once you have identified a hand-off person, say something like, “Oh, there’s Dave and Lisa! Come on, let me introduce you, your gonna love these guys. “ Take them over and introduce them. When you feel the handoff was successful and the guest feels secure, say something like, “Hey guys, Its been great meeting you but I’ve gotta run back over to the worship center. Hope you enjoy your coffee, and just keep an eye on that count-down clock over there. It will let you know when the service is about to start. Let me know if I can be any help in the future. See ya!

If you can successfully run a guest through all 9 of these steps you will have ensured that they feel welcome and a part of this wonderful experience we call worship.

Jesus told us to be fishers of men. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. The best fishing hole in Kannapolis is the worship center at Blackwelder Park Baptist Church between 10:30 and 11:00 every Sunday.

Has Anybody Seen Dr. Doyle?

When I was young, I remember my mother loading us in the car and taking us to DR. Doyles office. I liked Dr. Doyle. He was kind and soft spoken. He reminded me of Marcus Welby M.D. (those of you who don't know who Marcus Welby was, need to keep it to yourself so the rest of us who do, won't feel old and out of touch).

Any how, Dr. Doyle was cool. He could do anything. He could deliver a baby, cure strep throat, remove your tonsils, appendix, and adnoids, set a broken arm, stitch up a wound, and counsel a crying mother who was overwhelmed by all the complexities of motherhood in the 1960's. There was nothing Dr. Doyle couldn't do.

Today, however, the Dr. Doyles are gone. They are replaced by pediatricians, ear, nose and throat specialists, orthopedic surgeons, hematologists, gynecologists, and oncologists. We have psychiatrists, nutritionalists, and anesthesiologists . . . podiatrists, neurologists, and of course our all-time favorite - chiropractors.

The world of medicine has become "specialized," and as a result we are herded around like cattle and treated like numbers. We go from one office visit to another hoping to find someone who cares. Doctors have learned to treat diseases but have forgotten how to treat people.

Dr. Doyle would be ticked!

But enough Doctor bashing already. The same phenomenon is happening in the church, and we must identify it and correct it before Christianity becomes so specialized that we can no longer worship together as human beings.

30 years ago churches all seemed the same. There was a standard way in which most churches worshipped. We sang the same songs, used the same instrumentation, used the same translation of the Bible and dressed in the same clothes. Our churches were all decorated in the same similar fashion and our kids looked so much alike that it didn't matter who we were spanking.

Then it all changed. Somebody recognized that we were not attracting new people to Christ, and made an attempt at reaching out instead of reaching in. At first it was great! People were being reached with the gospel of Christ that would have never been reached the "old way" we were doing church. Those who refused to change congregated together in churches that embraced "the old paths." Those churches grew by leaps and bounds because people that shared similar tastes found each other in their stand against modernity. Those who changed, embraced a new generation of believers in a more contemporary culture and enjoyed the same successes built around their own tastes and culture. But there is where we went wrong.

Success, numbers, energy, opinions, numbers, taste, numbers, numbers, numbers became the driving force behind all we did as a church. We failed to see that the reason for our growth was more of a re-alignment than an evangelical movement. We were circling the wagons when we should have been crossing the great divide.

Then came the internet (thanks Al). What was supposed to unite us divided us even more. We could now search the web and find people with similar tastes in an instant. Our searches became more and more refined and our connections became more and more specialized; less people with more in common.

Cultures within cultures, subcultures, microcultures, quantum social theory (if I might coin a few phrases). The more specialized we become, the fewer people we have to socialize with, and the smaller our circle of friends becomes. Eventually we find ourselves standing alone.

It is time to stop the madness! Lets quit looking for people who are just like us, because us quickly becomes me and me has only two friends - myself and I.

Has anybody seen Dr. Doyle?

PK

Summertime

Well, It's official.  July 4th weekend is behind us and we are "slap-dab" in the middle of summer 2009!  BBQs and beach trips (that's "going to the coast" for the truly Baptist at heart), shorts and sandals (koolates for the slightly more spiritual) and a cooler full of ice cold Cheerwine (non alcoholic of course ; ) all make these days the things that memories are made of.  

I remember every spring at my bible college, the president would give the last chapel message of the year and send us off into the summer with these words, "Always remember to whom you belong."  Those words have gone with me wherever life has taken me since those days so many years ago.  I have since thrown the laws of grammar to the wind and rephrased that statement.  I now tell those I love, "remember who you belong to" ( something about ending a sentence with a preposition, or splitting an infinitive, or some similar dumb rule that keeps people from writing like they speak).  Any way, its not about the rules, its about the message.  Live for Christ.

How many times do we place a rule on a behavior to mask the true identity of who we are?  It's something to think about, isn't it?    We make the rules, obey the rules, impose the rules on others, and grin like a opossum eating briars when we are the only ones that keep the rules we make.  Sometimes I think the rules do nothing more than give us the feeling of superiority over those who don't hold to them.  

Remember who you belong to.  That's a pretty good rule.  It doesn't tell us where to go, what to wear, or what to do when we get there.  It doesn't ask us to hide our behavior in the dark, but encourages us to walk in the light as He is in the light.  

Enjoy life, remember who you belong to, and walk in the light as He is in the light. If you follow those rules, you'll need no others.

Word,

PK     

Why?

One nice thing about getting older is having so many observations to play around with.  When I was young, my thoughts and ideas were based on assumptions and idealistic projections of how things ought to be.  But as I got older, my views changed as I became a student of the experiences life had given me.  

There are factors that come into play in our lives and change all the rules.  Some, we control while others are totally out of our control.  Our initial observations of those factors serve as the bedrock for our world views and become the basis of our culture.  Everything in our world revolves around that and, as a result, our culture starts to dictate what is right and what is wrong.  Those cultural rights and wrongs come to be known as our cultural mores.  

 Within any given culture there are numerous people who share the same behaviors.  We dress alike, talk alike, and for the most part think alike.  We are united by our culture.  But deeper than our culture resides our cultural mores - the rights and wrongs of our society.  Our mores are the reasons why we dress alike, talk alike and think alike.  

When a "factor" comes into play and changes our behaviors, we are initially offended.  "It just ain't right."  We stand up and protest the new ideas because they challenge the core of who we are and the way we live.  We feel a sense of civic duty to "take a stand against" the new idea or behavior.  Then somebody comes along and has the audacity to ask us a very simple, yet contentious question, "Why?"  

That simple, one-word question changes all the rules.  It causes us to look beyond our current behaviors and thought processes, and closely examine the bedrock upon which our culture is built.  "It just ain't right."  "Why?"  "Why, what?"  "Why ain't it right?"  That perhaps is the scariest dialogue we as human beings can ever face.  It causes us to challenge the thoughts of our younger minds and the ideological foundations upon which our lives have been built.  

What if we ask "why?" and find that there is a crack in our foundation?  What if we learn that everything we based our life upon was sinking sand?  The horror of that realization alone is enough for most cultural ostriches to bury their head in that sand.  Most do.

  We learn to despise new thoughts and ideas that challenge the way we live.  We talk against, boycott and avoid anything that might go against the grain of "how we were raised."  We say things like, "You ain't from around here, are ya, boy?"  in hopes of diminishing the impact of evil aliens that are sent from an evil planet to destroy all that is right and honorable among men.  I have one word for those who feel obliged to protect their world from change . . . "why?"

Why is change so evil?  Christ told us to inspect the foundations we have built our lives upon.  He wanted us to know that foolish men build their houses on the sand while wise men build their houses on the rock.  The only way to insure that the principles of your life are built upon the rock is to ask the question "Why?"  

Take a long hard look at your life and ask "Why?"  

Think,

PK

      

On the Job Training

I'll never forget my first job.  It was a summer job working for my grandfather bailing hay on his farm in upstate NY.  I couldn't have been more than 10 or 11 years old at the time.   As far as I can remember, those were the most formative days in my entire life.  I learned more about living the summer I spent on that farm than I did at any other time in my life.

Haying is hard work.  There's no doubt about that, and the pay is nothing to write home about.  That year I made a whopping 1/2 cent a bail for every bail we put in the barn.   The value of the time spent there could not be measured in dollars and cents, though.  What I gained was measured by what I lost, and what filled the vacancy left behind.

My grandfather taught me how to be a man, and he did so by letting me watch him at work.  I watched as he backed his John Deere to the mower and hooked up the PTO.  He told me to always be careful around PTOs because they can "suck a man in and twist him up."  He taught me to keep my eyes open so as I wouldn't harm the machinery (sheenery, as he called it) or hurt myself or others around me.  I watched him take pride in what he did, make use of every minute of daylight, and sleep well at night.

I remember cutting the fields and waiting for the hay to dry.  All I wanted to do was hook up the bailer and start producing bails of hay.  I dreamed of bails falling out behind, as my little mind calculated the earnings, a half cent, one cent, one and a half, two cent, two and a half, three . . .  I learned patience as he told me that putting green hay in the barn would start a fire.  So we sat and waited, "Is it dry yet, grandpa?"  "Not yet."  The little boy inside me couldn't quite understand, but I waited.  "Patience, my boy, patience."

A few days later we backed up the John Deere again, but this time it was to the rake.  The rake was a big red piece of "sheenery" with large round wheels encircled with sharp tongs that moved the hay into rows as we rode along.  I'll never forget how careful my grandfather was to keep the rows straight; watching where he came from about as closely as he was watching where he was going.  "Its not about where you're going, its about what you leave behind, my boy, its about what you leave behind."

The day had finally come.  We backed up to the bailer and "hooked-er-up."  Off we went, following the rows we had left behind a day earlier.  Out came the first bail.  "Ca-ching!" I was a 1/2 cent richer!  Then the tractor stopped.  My grand father climbed down, walked over, picked the bail up and threw it back down again right where it was.  "Now you do it," he said.  I took my new gloves out of my back pocket just as he had done, placed my little fingers under the twine and pulled with every ounce of strength I had, but it wouldn't budge.  Then I watched as grandpa walked over to the machine and made an adjustment.  "Whatcha doin?" I asked.  "Making the bails smaller," he replied.  "Never bite off more than you can chew, my boy, never bite off more than you can chew."

The next day we hooked up the wagon.  Grandpa and I weren't the only ones working that day.  He had hired a man from down the road to help.  I didn't quite understand but kept my mouth shut (a technique that has proven to be quite effective over the years).  Off we went.  At first I walked along side and threw the bails up on the wagon while the "hired hand," stacked.  I was doing fine until we got to the third tier.  Then we switched.  I must say I wasn't very comfortable with my new position because it was quite high and I was (and still am) a little uncomfortable with heights.  The fact that I was standing on a very unstable surface traveling through a field didn't help the situation much.  "Grandpa, don't you think I'm a little too young to be in such a dangerous position?"  "Recognize the things you can't do and don't be afraid of the things you can do, my boy." 

10 tiers high we arrived at the barn.  The hired hand and I started the off loading process as fast as we could and threw the bails down on the ground below us.  The fifth bail I threw landed a few inches from where my grandfather was standing.  "Young man," he said "Always look out for people below you."

After the wagon was unloaded he cranked up the escalator that carried the bails to the loft.  One by one we loaded them onto the escalator and watched as they slowly made their way up.  Then it happened, the hired man who was now stacking in the loft, missed a bail which fell down a few feet from where I was standing.  My grandfather looked at me and smiled, "Remember to keep an eye on the people above, too."

We were done, and boy was I tired.  We jumped up on to the empty wagon and headed off to the house, or so I thought.  As we passed by the old farm house, I asked the man beside me why we hadn't stopped.  He said, "The job ain't done till the last bail is in the barn."

I don't know how many times we went through that process that hot, sweaty, itchy, summer.  It seems like it lasted for ever.   I think it was the hardest I had ever worked.  I know it was the least amount of money I had ever made.  If I remember right, I had made just enough that summer to buy a baseball glove.  But, as I said earlier, the value of the time spent on that farm could not be measured in dollars and cents.  What I gained was measured by what I lost, and what filled the vacancy left behind.  

That summer, my grandfather worked the boy out of me and the vacancy left behind was filled with lessons that would serve as a model for the man I would become.  

Over the next 4 weeks we will be going through a 4 part series entitled On the Job Training.  It will be a study on the Old Testament book of Job that will deal with the thought processes of suffering.  The overriding theme being, "God has to work something bad out of us before He can bring something good out of us."  

Sometimes life is full of suffering: hot, sweaty, itchy suffering that brings us little to no monetary gain.  We go through trials and testing for what seems like no purpose at all.  This series is designed to help you see the bigger picture in the midst of your trial.  

I hope you will join us on Sunday mornings, or follow the series via the web cast because sometimes the trials of life are in fact, nothing more than, training for something far greater. 

Hot, itchy and sweating with ya,

PK     

3-D

I enjoy art, and the creativity that drives it.  Each new concept or creation brings renewed hope and possibility to life.  Art is beauty, imagination and initiative mixed together.  Art explores the possibilities of life and then dares to dream.  Art says yes when monotony says no.  Art is courageous.  It dares us to step out of the box.  It is not afraid of failure.  

Art is the ability to take any pallet or medium and pour creativity into it, resulting in a new dimensional perspective.  Early art, however, was limited in this regard in that early artists were not aware of techniques that added the third dimension.  Early art was flat and two dimensional.  It reflected height and width but no depth.  It was not until artists started adding the third dimension that the fulness of life could be reflected on the canvas.  

As with two dimensional art, two dimensional living is flat, shallow and superficial.  As a result, there is no room for anyone or anything outside of one's own life or self interests.  The third dimension brings depth to our two dimensional lives.  

You may ask, "what is this third dimension?"  It is the ability to look at life from a new perspective, outside of our flat two-dimensional box.   It is life without limits.  It creates volume, space, and room for God and others.  

This third dimension, or 3-D as we like to call it, is life in its eternal form.  3-D also stands for "third day."  The day Jesus rose from the dead, introducing the perspective of eternity to our flat, two dimensional minds.  

The resurrection of Jesus Christ is the element that brings us a new perspective on life.  It enhances every aspect of who we are.  It gives life depth and meaning - a new capacity.  It is life without limits, beauty without boundaries.  The third day is to life what depth perception was to art.  Without it we would be limited by the canvases of our lives, never reaching beyond our flat perspective.  

On the third day Jesus Christ stepped off the canvas of mortality and walked boldly into the depths of eternity.  He painted the most glorious picture known to man, and now stands on the horizon and beckons to whosoever will, "come and follow me.  Enter into the fulness of life." 

I love it when God paints a picture!

PK 

All You Need Is Friends

I think it was John that said "All you need is Friends."  I don't know it might have been Paul or George, but I am pretty confident it wasn't Ringo.  Any way, I'm not much on Beetle trivia, but I do find some elements of truth in those words.  

Christ (somebody that is much larger the John Lennon, by the way : ) said these words:

This is my commandment,that you love one another, as I have loved you.  Greater love has no man than this, than that a man lay down his life for his friends.  You are my friends if you do whatever I command you.

What a concept . . . people helping people.   I think somebody like John Lennon would think on that concept and formulate a one-word sentence - Imagine.  

Imagine that.  Imagine a world where people actually lived out their Christianity; a world where living like Christ meant more than learning all the rules.  Imagine people seeking out those who are hurting so they can give their life away to them.  Imagine a place where people actually did all the "stuff" that Christ taught them to do - not just learning about what Christ did, but actually behaving as Christ had.  

Imagine a world where Christians live as Christ lived.  So many people in a world like that would be influenced in a positive way and God would be wondrously glorified!  In a world like that, no one would be able to doubt the power of Christ and the influence He had on the world for which He laid down His own life.   If Christians would act like Christ, what a world that would be!  

Imagine how we would worship in a world like that.  Oh, the songs we would sing!  Fanny Crosby, Bill and Gloria Gaither, Michael W. Smith, David Crowder, all would resound with praises to the King.  Perhaps though, there would be one more voice in that choir; a voice singing so loud that his name would become as common place as Christ's Himself. This added voice singing with an illuminated imagination - an imagination that would then include a heaven.  

All he really needed was a friend, or maybe it was love?  Same thing.

Imagine,

Pastor Keith

You Can't Take it Back

Devotion.  I've spent a lot of time thinking about that word this past week.  It's a word that we often throw around, but quite frankly, don't fully understand the full depth of its meaning.  

Oh, we may have a good concept of how we define the word, but our definition is not necessarily what the word truly means.  After all, we Americans are good at redefining everything to fit within our culture.  To us, devotion is synonymous with commitment. If we are devoted to some one or some thing we feel committed to it or them.  My question, however, asks if there is something more to this word than mere commitment? After all, commitments are often broken and circumstances seem to always trump any promises made prior to changing our minds.  Commitment is relative.  Relative to our current situation.  

Devotion is far greater than commitment, and as a result, most people never experience the blessings that flow from the heart of that word.  To the Hebrew mind, devotion is the ultimate sacrifice.  It is the greatest of the three voluntary offerings that one can bring to the LORD.  

Let me try to help you understand what I just said.  In the Old Testament God commands His people to bring certain offerings to His house for specific purposes at specific times of the year.  These offerings are required and expected.  Voluntary offerings, however, are neither required nor expected.  They are brought to the LORD out of an intrinsically motivated desire to worship.  

The first of these offerings is the vow.  If a person makes a vow to the LORD, he or she in essence is placing his or her freedom on the auction block of slavery.  An assessment is made of the person's value based on the market's rate for a slave of that given age and gender.  A price is then paid to redeem that person from the vow.  The price, if paid by a slave master, is 100% of that person's estimated value.  If the person making the vow redeems himself, the price paid is 120% of that person's estimated value.  In essence the vow is selling oneself into slavery and purchasing your life back through a sacrificial offering. 

The second option of voluntary offering is the dedication.  The dedication is setting something apart as holy unto God.  Personal or real property is dedicated as holy.  An appraisal of worth is determined by the priest and the property is sold.  If a person other than the original owner purchases the property, it is sold at 100% of its value.  If the person dedicating the property wishes to buy it back he or she may do so, but only at a price that is equal to 120% of the value.  

These two voluntary offerings permit the worshipper to regain what has been offered by paying a price.  The sacrifice is actually found in the price one is willing to pay to keep his or her possessions.

The third, and most holy of all voluntary offerings is the devotion.  Leviticus 27:28 reads: "Notwithstanding no devoted thing, that a man shall devote unto the LORD of all that he hath, both of man and of beast, and of the field of his possession, shall be sold or redeemed: every devoted thing is most holy unto the LORD." 

Devotion is the ultimate sacrifice.  It is giving something away never to gain it back.  You cannot redeem a devoted thing.  Once devoted it is gone forever.  Wholly devoted to the LORD.

We throw the word "devotion" around so haphazardly.  We talk about our "daily devotions," we speak of "devoting our time and energy" to the Lord's work, we tell people we have "devoted" our lives to Jesus Christ, but at the least sign of inconvenience we adopt an americanized definition of the word and slip into a modern commitment that is contingent upon our current circumstances.  We say we are devoted, but yet we always try to take back that which we've laid on the altar.  

I don't know about you, but after learning this truth I will never look at my daily devotions the same way again.  Lord forgive us for being committed when we should have been devoted.  

If my people . . .

pk  

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow

Well, its been a while since the last time I had this experience.  After all, I've spent the last four years of my life in the Arizona Desert.  

Last night there came a blizzard, and it wasn't fit for man nor beast.  The grocery stores ran slap-out-a bread and milk and the world shut down for a day.  

Its been strange . . . kinda fun, kinda pretty, kinda boring, kinda deja vu.  Not a whole lot of people to talk to although a few did emerge from their cabins. 

Roger braved the elements, put on his snow shoes and traversed the frozen tundra all the way from his igloo in Rockwell like any respectable abominable snowman would do.  Richard and I faced the savage cold and with great courage survived the 100 yard trek from our houses to the church.  Wild Bill crossed over the river and through the woods to arrive at "base camp."  But that was about all the life we saw today, with the exception of a brief appearance by Yukon Ralph who dropped in to make sure that all was secure.   

We didn't see hide nor hair of the rest of the crew.  We just figured they had better sense than we did.  What a good day to stay at home and enjoy your family!  If I had not spent the night here in Kannapolis I would have spent the day in Yadkinville making a snowman with Katie.  

Snow days are good days.  They let us know that everything is not as important as it might seem.  The world can stop spinning every once and a while without everything falling to pieces.  Snow days remind us that it is alright to slow down and take it easy.

My prayer for you today is that you enjoy the simplicity of a frozen world.     

I think I am going to go enjoy a long winter's nap.

Wake me up when its over,

Pastor Keith

Expecting Great Things

We are now three weeks into our message series on prayer, and I must say I am beginning to really see God at work.  The evidences may be subtle at this point but they are evident and bear the signature of God written all over them.  I hear it in the prayers our people are offering up.  

God's people are praying with a kingdom focus.  Humility is present in their voices as they submit their will to the will of their Father.  This is the begining of great things.  The verse in 2 Chronicles chapter 7 is ringing loud and clear ; "If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land."  There is so much truth in those few words, and that truth will set us free!

I feel it!  I feel a great turning in the heart of our church - a turning from human will and interest to God's will and interest.  I sense a humility that is amazing - people bowing themselves down before their Creator, laying their lives on the altar as a living sacrifice.  Prayer is working!

We have discussed three key elements of prayer so far: First, prayer changes us.  Second, prayer is about the will of God, and third, there exists a major, spiritual struggle for our prayer life as we "wrestle not against flesh and blood."  Up to this point we have been speaking about our communication to God, starting next week we will begin to learn the elements of God's communication to us.  

Prayer is a two-way street.  That simple concept is perhaps the least taught, and most needed in all the discipleship process.  How can we do God's will if we can't hear God's voice?  How can we reach our full potential in Him if we neglect to foster a relationship with Him?  By developing our relationship with God we will learn to hear His voice.  

We have some exciting things yet to learn in this series.  Please pray for me as I study and seek the words God would have me to share with you throughout the remainder of this prayer emphasis.  I am very encouraged by what is promised to us if we "humble ourselves and pray."  I am kind of old fashioned in that I believe God will do what he said He would do if we do what He tells us to do.  

Expecting great things,

PK 

The Power of Prayer

Yesterday we started our first message in a six part series on prayer.  I think prayer makes all the difference.  All too often, though, we neglect this great privilege and then wonder why we celebrate only a mediocre faith experience.  

Prayer, as we learned yesterday is far to valuable to neglect.  I can honestly say, as your pastor, that I am totally committed to this subject.  I am totally committed to see that we come out of the mediocracy of our existence and enter into the joy of a true relationship with God, but i truly believe this will only happen "if" we "humble ourselves and pray and seek his face and turn from our wicked ways."  

I know, that sounds harsh.  You might be saying to yourself, "I am humble and I do pray and I have no wicked ways.  That verse is not for me, it is for the other people who don't live a good Christian life like I do."   If that's what your thinking then I challenge you to get a dictionary and look up the word "humble."  

The longer I serve in the ministry, the more I realize that God loves to work in the lives of the humble. . . those who are broken. . . those who have "gotten over themselves."  It is through weakness that we find strength.  It is in humility that we find God.  

The first step in a powerful move of God is a sweeping wave of humility that engulfs a community of believers.  People desperately seeking God by abandoning their own self interests.  People recognizing how they, individually, have been functioning as stumbling blocks in the path of God's blessing, and truly repenting of those attitudes and behaviors.  

We must all, "humble ourselves and pray, and seek His face, and turn from our wicked ways."  No one of us is exempt from this exercise.  We must all get alone with God and ask Him the question, "how have I, personally, been blocking the blessings of God in my life, the life of my family, and the life of my church."  Then, in the quietness of the moment listen to His voice.  Unless your name is Jesus, He will convict you of your sinfulness.  

God, I pray your wave of humility will strike our church in full force.  I pray that It will overcome me personally and change my life forever.  I pray that we as a people will seek your face in all that we do and find the unity that can only be found in the spirit of prayerfulness.  

God, we only have one chance at this life, and one chance at building this church.  Help us to do it in you will.  May your desires become our desires so that when we pray we are seeking your desires.  May we live in such a way that we experience the power that you modeled before us in the person of your Son Jesus Christ.  He, himself taught us that the mighty works that were manifest in His life were a result of His communion with You.  That same power that is manifest in His life resides with us in the person of Your Holy Spirit.  

Help us, Father, to have the kind of faith that moves mountains - the kind of faith that causes the lame to walk, the blind to see, the deaf to hear and the dead to live again!  Cause us to seek the kind of faith that is available to us through prayer, praying in Your will, and in the life of your Son.  

God, grant us power in the Name of Jesus, power to accomplish your will and way.  Help us, Father, to recognize our weakness in the light of your greatness, and surrender our lives to you wholly and completely.  

Cause us to pray.  Help us to recognize the value you placed on our prayers when you made them possible by the blood of your Son.  You paid a great price for our great privilege.  May we ever be mindful, and as a result, ever prayerful.

Amen

Church, I hope you have taken this challenge to pray seriously.  I hope this message series will do more to develop you individually and corporately than any other experience in your Christian life.  Please join me in faithfully praying for a powerful moving of God to sweep across our church  in the form of a huge wave of humility, washing away all desires that are not abiding in Him so He can abide in us.

Your prayer partner,

PK

Starry Night

I have always loved this painting. It speaks to my soul.  Even before I understood the events that led up to its creation, I could sense the deep agony the artist hid beneath the brilliant colors.

Movement and light speak to the presence of a holy God.  The little village sleeps as a powerful and mighty creator quietly coddles it in his loving arms.  Absolutely beautiful.  

In the foreground we see a cyprus tree, dark and foreboding.  It places distance between the artist and the world he is observing.  Just out of his reach lies a quiet, peaceful village.  Beyond that village resides a powerful, mighty and caring God.  For some reason the artist is distanced. He looks at life with admiring eyes and is amazed by the Giver of life, but cowers in the darkness, secretly telling us that he does not feel worthy to participate in so great a masterpiece.  Absolutely agonizing.  

Early in his life, Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890) felt a strong tugging at his heart to serve God in full time Christian service.  He wanted nothing more than to share the love of Christ with the world, but his desires were not well received by the Dutch Reformed Church.  After being rejected by the seminary, he spent a number of years serving as a missionary to a village of coal minors.  Not willing to elevate himself to a higher standard of living than the people to whom he was ministering, van Gogh led the humble life of a peasant.  

This further alienated him from the church because many felt he was "degrading the priesthood."  Van Gogh did not measure up to the high standards set by the church.  The church was apathetic to this young man whom they felt could not live up to their standards.  Academically and socially challenged, he left the church, dejected.  

He embarked on a life that steadily spiraled downward.  Broken relationships, lead poisoning, alcoholism, and eventually mental illness brought on by debauchery led him to a place that was far from his earlier, God given passions.  Van Gogh was moving away from God and the church was blind and indifferent to his descent. 

The last year of his misery found him in an asylum at Saint-Paul-de-Mausole.  Tormented by unfulfilled ambitions, he walked the gardens observing the village below.  From behind the dreary cyprus tree he looked out at the life he so longed for, but was unable to touch.   

As I look at his "view from the asylum" I can feel his pain.  He witnesses a God that is present, shinning His light in the heavens above and in the hearts below; the sky on fire with light and motion; the homes below illuminated by the same.  A beautiful painting, but painted by an observer rather than a participant. 

I can't help but notice the only two places in van Gogh's world where he sees no light: in his own heart, and in the institution that should have brought that light to him.  This picture hangs in my office as a daily reminder that we as a church should never extinguish the light we are called to shine forth.  

Van Gogh's paintings today are some of the most highly sought after in the world.  They are displayed in museums and galleries worldwide.  They tell the tale of a troubled, passionate soul yearning for acceptance in a world that rejected him.  

I can't help but wonder what tale they would tell had he found the light of God in the church for which he yearned.  

PK

Precious Memories

I grew up in a small town in upstate NY.  I like to look at the expression on people’s faces when I tell them that.  “You don’t sound like your from NY,” most people say as they are somewhat taken back by my comment.    NY seems so vastly different than NC in the minds of most people.  When I say NY they immediately start thinking about subways and skyscrapers, but that is not the NY I remember.  The NY I remember was a very simple place. 

My father grew up on a dairy farm in Broom County and when I was a small child my grandfather still lived out on that farm.  I think my fondest memories as a child are somehow attached to that old farmhouse. It brings me back to a place that fewer and fewer people can relate to these days.

Coming into the house, you pushed back the screen door and found yourself standing on the back porch.  Immediately you were reminded as to why the screen door was needed.  Hanging from the ceiling was a yellowish-brown tape with a cardboard tube dangling from its bottom.  Many a fly met its maker on that contraption.  Those who survived the fly tape met their doom as my grandfather entertained himself by teaching me the proper use of a fly swat.   The little dark spots on the wall that stood where a fly once dwelt, were like “notches on my gun.”

To the right stood a reminder of the recent past – an ice box, not long retired, patiently awaiting the day its replacement, the Kalvinator, would prove to be a only passing fad.  As you entered the kitchen, a pot bellied stove and a “wood box” were the first to greet you.  I loved helping Grandpa split wood.  I would spend hours upon hours out back in the woodshed splitting and then carrying wood by the arm load down the hill to fill that box. 

I never felt so good as I did when my grandfather would lift the lid on the wood box and brag on me by telling how I could “do more work than any two men he had ever known.”  I was only eight, but to this day I believe he meant every word he said, and he said a lot of words.  Some of those words would not please my mother as much when I repeated them to her, but “that’s ok, moms don’t understand that kinda stuff,” Grandpa would say.    Then he would laugh.  I loved to hear him laugh. 

The kitchen table was 1950’s new.  4 stainless steel chairs with bright yellow vinyl seat covers surrounded a stainless steel table with a yellow Formica top.  I remember that table having more stainless and chrome than a 58 Impala.   Dangling directly over that table was a little white string with a little steel bell on the end.  I would stand on top of the chair and pull the string.  A slowly increasing glow would begin as the round florescent light fixture would start to hum out its illumination.  

On my Grandmother’s Formica countertops sat a huge Kitchen Aid mixer and a one - gallon tub of Crisco shortening.  A sheet of wax paper and a rolling pin lay underneath a heavy layer of freshly sifted flour.  A fresh batch of sugar cookies was in the oven. 

Lying on the counter beside the cast iron sink was a half-used bar of Lava soap in a rubber soap dish.  I remember washing up for dinner with that Lava soap.  I hated that stuff.  It may have done a great Job at washing the barn off old farmers, but it took the hide off little boys.  I never complained though.  I didn’t want my grandfather to think I was any less than “twice the man he ever knew.” 

In the corner of the dinning room sat my Grandmother’s big, black, Singer sewing machine.  A yard or two of cloth lay over the shoulder of the armless manikin that was dressed with paper patterns and pins.

My least favorite room in the house was the living room.  It was there that we would sit and do nothing.  I mean nothing, absolutely NOTHING.  I couldn’t stay there long.  So I would go and explore. 

I would entertain myself by swinging on the tire swing that hung from one of the two giant maple trees in the front yard.  I would rummage through the tool shed, and explore the attics and barns.  I would play in the hayloft and wander through the barn.  It doesn’t get any better than that.

In the winter, before we would go to sleep, my grandfather would stoke the fire in the pot bellied stove and get it so hot in the kitchen that you could hardly breathe in there.  Then, up the stairs we would go.

Upstairs in that house were three bedrooms.  Mine had two single beds with heavy feather mattresses.  Layers upon layers of blankets would be peeled back and I would crawl into the bed that would keep me safe and warm for the next eight hours.  I used to love to feel the weight of those blankets against my little body.  The pillows were made out of a blue and white, stripped cotton material stuffed with feathers.  Nothing felt so good as to lay my head on that pillow at night.  Even the occasional discomfort of rolling over onto a feather that had managed to poke its wrong end through the fabric didn’t seem to bother me.  I don’t think I have had a descent night’s sleep since the last time I laid down in that bed. 

These are memories.  Good memories.  Memories I will always cherish.  As you read these memories of mine, some of you could relate.  You could smell the wood burning in the stove and the sugar cookies baking in the oven.  You remember the hum of the florescent light fixture and the intermittent sound of the Singer sewing machine.  You remember crawling into a cold bed at night and dreading to crawl out of a warm bed in the morning.  Memories are precious. 

We must remember that not every reader of my memories can relate.  Some have no idea of what it feels like to live how I have just described.  Some might say that is a sad thing.  I’ve come to a different conclusion.  I believe memories are relative.  The things that we hold dear are not the things that trigger our memories but the people we share our memories with.  We attach significance to things and places because they are how we trigger our memories, but the true value is not in the screen doors and firewood.  The true value is in who walked through those doors and kept us warm. 

A younger generation may not remember the places and things we remember, but their memories can be the same, if we are willing to keep them safe and warm.

Love ya, Grandpa,

Keith

How Do I Comment on This Blog?

Many of you have been asking how you can post comments to the blogs @ The Park.  I thought I would write a few lines about how you go about posting a comment.

First, you will have to join the blog discussion group.  In order to do this you will have to click on the "follow this blog link" over the pictures on the right side of your screen. Once you have done this you will be prompted to follow certain steps that will show you how to join the blog.  

When you complete these steps your picture will appear on the right side of the screen, if you chose to upload a picture, if not a box with a shadow figure will appear.  Hover over that box and your name will pop up.  Once that happens, pat yourself on the back.  You have succeeded in your task.  You are now a follower of the blog.

Now you can write a comment.  At the bottom of the article you would like to comment on you will find a text line that says "0 comments," or "1 comments," or "2 comments," etc. etc.  Click on that text line and you will see a text box you can comment in.  Write your comment there.  

When you are done, you will find a drop-down menu located just below the text box.  Click on it and select "google account."  Then click post comment.  There is also a "subscribe by email option that will send any further comments directly to your email account.  Click there if to desire to receive comments in that fashion.

Congratulations!  You just succeeded in posting your first comment on a web blog.  I check the comments daily and approve those that are written in the spirit of Christian love.  Check back frequently to see if anyone comments on your comments.  

Looking forward to hearing from you,

PK

P.S.

Why a picture of Barney?  Idk you tell me.

I Love America!

I still believe in America.  No matter what the world may say, or the stock market may do.  I believe in America.  I believe in its people, its principles and, believe it or not, its politics.  

What that does not mean is that I agree with all its people, principles, and politics. I just believe in them.  I believe that we are still the greatest country on earth.  I believe strongly in what I read in our founding documents.  I believe that "all men are created equal."  I strongly agree with the words written on the Statue of Liberty: "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free."

What makes America great?  It's people.  Huddled masses yearning to breathe free.  People that came from nothing to be a part of something greater than themselves.  Potato farmers and factory laborers, migrant workers and entrepreneurs; people of every race, religion, and social status coming together as one. Americans.  

I don't agree with them all, but I love them.  Every last one of them.  Red, black, white, yellow, rich, poor, gay, straight, drunks, murderers, evangelists, tall, short, skinny and fat.  I love angry Americans and happy Americans, yankees and rebels, democrats, republicans, libertarians, communists, socialists, anarchists, and pacifists.  

I love Catholics.  All of them.  I love Methodists, Presbyterians, Jews and Muslims.  I love hedonistic satan worshippers.  I love child molesters and rapists, pornographers and preachers.  I love every radical left wing liberal that ever loved to hate Rush Limbaugh.  I love Rush Limbaugh.  I love teachers and construction workers.  I love illegal immigrants and the people who hate them. 

 I love America.  The land of the free and the home of the brave.  I love America.  The good old U.S. of A.  MY home.  My HOME!  

I love America.  I love it when it makes me proud and I love it when it makes me sad.  I am an American, and no amount of whining or complaining will make me love her less.  I love those who love her and those who hate her.  

I believe in America, but more importantly . . . I believe in Jesus Christ, and because of that one simple fact, I believe I can help.   

It is time the church started loving America.  I believe that is her only hope.

I love you,

Pastor Keith  

Simply Amazing

I have spent the better part of my life studying great movements of God. I have read about His mighty creative acts in the book of Genesis. I have marveled at the sea that was parted and the Sun that stood still. I am awed by His power over the forces of nature which obey His every command. Nothing stands against Him. He is God.  

But as shocking as it may seem, those things do not amaze me.  I expect them because I believe in who He is.  Being marveled and awestruck is quite entertaining.  Its the "wow factor" we expect from One so powerful.  Being amazed, however, is quite a different story.  Amazement is utter confusion - speechless wonder.  It is the recognition of the futility of understanding that which awes us.

Let me explain.  I stand in awe of His mighty power.  It impresses me beyond that which I can describe with words, but it doesn't amaze me because I understand it.  I know that sounds a bit arrogant, but humor me for a second.  When I say I understand it, I am not saying I understand how He did those things; I am saying I understand why He did those things.  As oversimplified as it might sound, God did those things because He can.  He is God.  

I stand amazed at something far more complex than all those aspects combined.  I stand amazed as to why He chose to work the way He did in the lives of His people.  Why He, being God, would even bother to listen to a thing we would have to say?  

I mean, He wanted to hear what we had to say so badly that He sent His own Son to die for us to make it possible.  God wants to have a relationship with man.  He wants to talk with us. That, my friends, is simply amazing.  

Now, lets take a closer look at this thing that is so amazing.  God moves in great ways.  I have watched as God has worked in the lives of men to accomplish great tasks for His kingdom's glory.  I want nothing more than to be a part of such a moving God.  I'm not talking about an "Oh, God, heal my feeble, weary body" kind of movement.  I'm talking about an "Oh, God, heal our land," kind of movement.  A working of God that changes lives by the millions.  

He has done it before in the lives of men, and all I can say in reply is I am amazed.  Amazed that He would use men to accomplish such a heavenly task.  Amazed that He would chose to react to our situation.

In all my amazement I ask one question: How does He determine which men to use in the working out of His purposes?  The answer is clear.  Those who will pray.

God's greatest desire is to have fellowship with us.  Those who will pray, fulfill that longing in His heart.  Over 3,000 years ago the LORD spoke to King Solomon and said these words:

If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land. 

When we pray He hears, and great movements of God follow.  

I stand amazed as to why God would answer our prayers.  Then it hits me.  He is God.   

Prayerfully,

pk   

 

The Cows

Ok. I had a lot of people request a copy of the email shared this morning. I did not write it, and I do not know who the author is, but here it is for you consumption. Enjoy:

An old farmer went to the city one weekend and attended a big city church. He came home and his wife asked him how it was.

“Well, said the farmer, “it was good. They did some things differently though. They sang praise and worship choruses instead of hymns.”

“Praise and worship choruses?” said his wife. “What are those?”

“Oh, there okay. They’re sort of like hymns, only different,” said the farmer.

“Well, what’s the difference? Asked his wife.

The farmer said, “Well it’s like this. If I were to say to you: ‘Martha, the cows are in the corn’ well, that would be a hymn. If on the other hand, I were to say to you:

Martha, Martha, Martha,
Oh, MARTHA, MARTHA, MARTHA,
The cows, the big cows,
The brown cows,
The black cows,
The white cows,
The black and white cows,
The COWS, COWS, COWS,
Are in the corn,
Are in the corn,
Are in the corn,
Are in the corn,
The CORN, CORN, CORN!

Then if I were to repeat the whole thing 4 or 5 times and include guitar and drum solos, well that would be a praise chorus.”


As luck would have it, the exact same Sunday, a young, new Christian from the city church attended a small country church. He came home and his wife asked him how it was.

Well, said the young man, “It was good. They did some things different though. They sang hymns instead of regular songs.”

“Hymns?” said the wife. “What are those?”

“Oh, there okay. They’re sort of like regular songs, only different.” Said the young man.

“Well, what’s the difference?” asked his wife.

The young man said, “Well, its like this. If I were to say to you: ‘Martha, the cows are in the corn.’ Well, that would be a regular song. If on the other hand, I were to say to you:

‘Oh Martha, Dear Martha, hearest thou my cry.
Inclinest thine ear to the words of my mouth.
Turn thou thy whole wonderous ear by and by
To the righteous, inimitable, glorious truth.
For the way of the animals - who can explain?
There in their heads is no shadow of sense,
Hearkenest they in God’s sun or His rain?
Unless from the mild, tempting corn they are fenced.
Yea those cows in glad bovine, rebellious delight,
Have broken free their shackles, their warm pens eschewed.
Then goaded by minions of darkness and night,
They all my mild sweet corn have chewed.
So look to that bright shinning day by day.
Where all foul corruptions of earth are reborn,
Where no vicious animal makes my soul cry
And I no longer see those foul cows in the corn.

“Then, if I were to only sing verses one, three and four, well that would be a hymn.”

Annonymous

Four Sad Faces

Today I read an article in the paper about a small church in our community closing its doors after 108 years of ministry. It was a very sad article. The photograph attached told the story, four sad faces huddled together in a large empty room. My heart could not help but ache for those people. I thought of the hard work and love they must have poured into that building over the years. I envisioned happier times in their lives when the church was brimming with young, vibrant families starting their journeys together down the path of life. I thought of weddings and baby dedications, baptisms and fellowship dinners. I heard distant voices of laughter and crying babies in the nursery. Then my eyes brought me back to the current reality these folks were facing: four sad faces huddled together in a large empty room.

I thought to myself how those folks must long for the days when children were spilling drinks on the carpet and congregants were having "discussments" concerning what songs should be played during the worship service. Oh, what they would give to have a little discomfort in that building again. . . a little challenge.

Instead, they faced a declining membership. 14 to be exact. They told a story of having enough money in the bank to finance the church for another 10 years, but seeing no point in "spending more money every month than they were taking in." They found a worthy, charitable organization, turned over their assets and met one last time together as a church family.

Sad to say, this is the state of many churches in America today. I can't help but ask myself why? Why are so many churches closing their doors when the need is so great? I think the picture tells the tale. Four sad faces huddled together in a large empty room. 108 years of tradition brought to an end.

I asked myself a question as I looked at that picture. What year is it in this picture? I could not tell. The picture was timeless. Nothing in that empty room indicated time. It was as if time had stood still. I saw no indication of time, no indication of movement and no indication of change. It was the most perfect presentation of preservation I had ever seen. Four sad faces in a large empty room. Timeless.

Selah (Think about it),

Pastor Keith

Unimportant

Unimportance. Have you ever thought about that word? I know, it sounds like a ridiculous question; but, think about it. Why would you think about the word "unimportance." It seems, well you know . . . unimportant. There are too many important things going on in our lives to dwell on the unimportant.

But think about it for a moment. It either means something never had importance, or importance has been removed. Either way, unimportace is the absence importance.

Unimportance demands nothing of us. It brings no sense of urgency. It requires no thought. It exists successfully without calling any attention to itself. You don't even know it's there.

Unimportance is so unimportant that it doesn't even think about itself. It thinks only of others. Unimportance places significance elsewhere. It never takes itself too seriously.

Infact, unimportance has alot to be admired. If more things in this world were unimportant, more things would be considered important. Now that sounds a little on the crazy side, but humor me for a second. Unimportance places significance elsewhere making other things more important than itself. By releasing its own significance it raises the value of the surrounding world.

Oh, that we could become more unimportant.

PK

www.thepark.cc

I am so excited to finally have our web page up and running! We now have a web presence and that means we can do so many wonderful things together as a church online. What you see is only the beginning of a fun and exciting journey that we will begin together.

This new tool will allow us to better communicate with each other and keep us informed as to what is happening @ The Park. Please browse around and look at what is currently posted. I am sure there are many of corrections that need to be made and we are looking forward to hearing from you as you make suggestions and corrections that will better enhance our web page.

There are a number of ways you can communicate those suggestions to us. The first way is to comment on this blog. I will be checking the blog site daily and will read and post comments frequently. You might even want to subscribe to this blog and the posts will then be delivered directly to your email inbox. The second way to make comments or suggestions is by contacting the church offices at theparkinfo@thepark.cc. Donna will read those emails and distribute them accordingly. A third way to express your ideas is by contacting us by telephone at the church office.

Some things to look forward to are message podcasts, free sermon resources for preachers, praise team and choir resources, and worship service videos. Please check back frequently as we will be updating the web page often.

We are so looking forward to your comments.

Peace,

PK