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