northpoint notes

It’s a statement not a wish. It would feel awkward wishing myself a happy anniversary. I could wish my wife a happy anniversary or I could wish someone a happy anniversary for almost any milestone they wanted to celebrate. But for me, it is not a wish be a statement.

39 years ago (when Memorial Day was always May 30) today – on a Friday, we were married in Kim’s home church in Wakarusa, Indiana. I am happy about celebrating another anniversary. We drove all the way to Fort Wayne for our first night together. We spent a couple of nights at the Abe Martin Lodge in Brown County and the rest of the week at her grandmother’s lake cottage at Winona Lake.

A card, a dozen red roses and dinner out will count as our celebration. We will reminisce over dinner and comment on how fast the years have gone. It’s a happy anniversary.

Neither of us perfect – which is a good thing. If either of us was perfect, the other one wouldn’t be necessary. We have worked together, laughed and cried together and shared ideas, joys and sorrows. All of those combine to make it a happy anniversary.

We aren’t just celebrating a milestone but a relationship.

The first time I heard her name I was asked to pray for her. I was speaking at a church in Ohio (I would later become pastor) and I was asked to pray for a woman who was in the hospital with a broken back – the result of a tree falling on her and pinning her face down in the dirt.

Several months later I met her for the first time. She was in the hospital caring for her 8 year-old son who was diagnosed with leukemia. We talked as I helped her change the bedding on his bed.

Over the course of the next three years I visited her and her husband and family in their home and frequently in the hospital as D.. continued to battle the leukemia. I also watched as P’s back begin to curve as a result of the tree injury.

When D.. was eleven, he lost the battle to leukemia. His mother was having continual struggles with her back and doctors told her that if she didn’t have surgery to straighten and strengthen her back she would eventually lose lung capacity. Two steel rods, fused bones and 6 months in a body cast and she was back on her feet.

Her husband, apparently in the picture of health, died a few years ago at 55 of a heart attack. She has lived alone in their dream home for the past 10 years. More recently she has been walking with her daughter through a bitter divorce.

Most recently she learned that she has cancer.

I know that many people face heartache and disappointment but as we have walked with this friend, it seems that she has carried more than her share and yet through all of the stuff she has held on to hope – not just hope for a better tomorrow but she has held on to Hope – to the One who is our Hope.

Several years ago she began to ask, “why me.” She told me she didn’t dwell on the question long when it seemed the Lord was saying, “why not you?” She began to realize that she had a faith that would see her through. Today she still walks with Hope.

Each month pastors from the region gather for a morning of prayer together. We begin at 8:00 and end by 11:00. Today was our day to meet. Coffee, juice, doughnuts and juice help somehow to stimulate conversation during that first 30 minutes.

By 8:30 we begin. Usually there is a time of worship (this usually means singing) followed by someone sharing a thought from a passage of Scripture to give us a focus for our praying. While we typically associate music with worship, I am convinced we worship today even though the time was only punctuated briefly by someone desiring to express their prayers and worship in song.

We began by looking at Psalm 46 – the  focus was on verses 10-11 – Be still and know that I am God. One pastor had a note in his Bible that suggested the another reading might be “relax,” and know that I am God. The suggestion was that we need to rest in the Lord and not take on so much ourselves. It was interesting to listen as different men prayed around the issues of self-reliance versus God-reliance; of resting in Him instead of doing everything ourselves.

There were those who confessed to relying more on plans and methodologies than on the Spirit of God. Our conversation with the Lord moved to our love for Him. There were confessions of not loving or honoring Him as we should.

We looked at verse 10, “I will be exalted among the nations,” as a promise. That in spite of what we do, God will be exalted. There seemed to be a natural progression from there to Acts 1 – to God’s promise to fill the disciples with His Spirit so they could witness to the nations. We began to pray for an outpouring of God’s Spirit on the region – on pastors and churches. We also prayed for the nations that have come to the region. We prayed for God’s blessing on them and that they would know Him.

The time went quickly – 2 1/2 hours. It was more like being a part of a conversation. It is just that our conversations were focused upward. Throughout the time the theme was rest in Him, trust Him, don’t rely on self, trust Him for this kingdom work. It was a good reminder that He promised to build His church. He didn’t tell us to do it.

So today, we rested and we prayed and we waited and God met with us. As we return to our churches, we continue to wait.

I love times of quiet – times to reflect, pray, read. I enjoy long, lone runs. I don’t mind traveling alone in the car or by plane. Those quiet – alone times are welcomed breaks from the hustle of everyday life.

I could never appreciate the times of quiet without periods of noise and a bit of chaos. In come the grandchildren – welcomed noise and chaos. They move and talk and change subjects before I can grasp their first question.

There is the noise of the extra conversation – usually two or three conversations at once. Then there are the normal times of conflicts between young siblings. “He touched me.” “She touched me first.” 

I started to write this post last night after they went to bed. I wrote the title and heard one of them coming into the room. My silence and solitude were interrupted by thirty minutes of conversation.  After those 30 minutes I was ready to retire for the evening.

It is quiet again. They are on their way home. I’m thankful for the respite but I already miss them. I like quiet but I am thankful for those special interruptions caused by grandchildren.

I reluctantly went for my morning run yesterday. I say reluctantly because I had not run in several days and the first day back is usually not the most enjoyable. The mind is telling me I can do and the body is screaming, “I don’t want to go!”

As I pushed through the first couple of miles I was reminded of playing team sports when I was in school (I was no star but played a little football, basketball and ran track one year). Just as you knew you had reached your limit of physical exertion the coach would tell you to run one more lap or do 10 more push-ups or run one more set of drills. Somehow you would dig down inside of yourself and you would do it. When you were done, you were exhausted but you felt good.

As I continued my run, I thought of heroes. Heroes are people who do what they are confident they couldn’t do under normal circumstances but when the time comes, they draw on something deep inside and do the extraordinary. The rest of us sit back and marvel. All of us have more to give than we typically tap into. I can run further than I really think I can. I can probably run faster (although I am beginning to doubt this one).

But it is not just about doing more physically. I can love more than I think. I can forgive at a deeper level. I can endure more criticism and absorb more insults.

As I continued my run and my reflections (mostly on my capacity to run more) on pushing my body to run longer and faster, I was reminded of a passage in the Bible. It is often used as a benediction – Ephesians 3:20,21 - now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever. Amen!

He is at work in us doing immeasurably more in and through us than we can imagine or think. Demands come. He provides what is needed to meet them – for His praise and glory!

One of the ways (it seems) that we measure significanceis by the number of appointments in our PDA, Daytimer, Outlook or old-fashioned paper calendar. The more we are in demand the more significant we must be. If we show up just in time for an appointment or slightly late, it adds to the impression of our importance. Then of course there is the cell phone. I was on a break at a meeting this week – on my cell phone and looked around to notice that there were several others in the same area of the building – few were talking to each other. They were all looking very important and in serious conversation with someone on their cell phone.

We are so geared to schedules that it is almost frightening to have white space on our calendars. Are we no longer important? Are we wasting time?

I look back over the past few months and my color coded Outlook appointments fill the pages. they make me weary just looking at them. They represent tasks and people. I look ahead and I like the pages that have a lot of white space. The give me a certain sense of peace. A day with no demands.

As I looked at a couple of blank pages and wondered how they would be filled, I thought about the issue of significance. My significance has already been established by Christ. He has already said I’m important. I have nothing to prove to Him.

Perhaps the better question is how significant is He. Is He significant enough in my life to allow white space – not just for quiet times with Him – but for Him to present ministry opportunities. Opportunities to bless others in his name – family, neighbors, the widow, the orphan, the lost and lonely. Where in my calendar is there space for God – the One I claim is truly significant?

Recently I have had lunch, coffee, or simple conversation (without a meal or beverage) with people who have been wounded by the church. It is easier to say “the church” than to name individuals but it still comes down to an individual or group of individuals and it usually  involves someone in leadership.

I have also read numerous blogs and other media that have expressed deep hurt and anger toward “the church” for hurts the authors have experienced.

I have no official position, no clout. I am only one Jesus-follower but I want to say to those who have been wounded, “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry for those who have used the name of Jesus to fleece others and line their own pockets

I’m sorry that we have often been more judgmental and condemning than loving and redeeming.

I’m sorry for those who have abused their authority in the name of Christ.

I’m sorry that we have often spent so little time listening to the concerns of the world around us.

I’m sorry for the times we have answered questions of empty cliches instead of solid answers.

I’m sorry we have often represented Jesus so poorly.

I have been in Christian ministry for nearly 40 years. My faith is stronger than ever but I have been listening to many who do not share my faith. Some were once believers. Some were seekers. In many cases their faith and their desire to seek was turned off by the actions or attitudes of those professing to be Christ-followers.

While none of us are perfect, we serve One who is. We are to grow to be more like Him. We cannot use our imperfection as an excuse to wound others. I pray the Lord will give us grace to admit our weaknesses, the courage to allow Him to change us, a heart to love as He loved us.

I never knew my great-grandfather. I have seen pictures of him (I actually bear some resemblance to him) and I have heard stories but I never met him because he died before I was born. I am thankful for him even though I have no personal memory of him. What I know about him comes from family stories.

My dad told me that my great-grandfather was very disciplined about having a personal time with God. Everyday, regardless of the work schedule or guests, his grandfather would slip away to another room to read his Bible and pray. He wasn’t legalistic but committed to having time alone with God.

An aunt told me she had similar memories of her grandfather. She told me that she remembers hearing him pray for his children, his grandchildren and any children born to them. His prayer was that they would all trust in God and believe in Jesus.

He was praying for me, my siblings and my cousins before any of us were ever born. He was praying for our faith. I am thankful for a great-grandfather whose vision was to see his family become people of faith.

He set an example – and so I pray for my own children and grandchildren. I pray for the normal things we want for them – safety, provision, healthy marriages, etc. – but I mostly pray the Lord will keep them strong in their faith.

The book of Nehemiah records the rebuilding of Jerusalem. They faced numerous obstacles from getting permission to facing opposition to fighting discouragement. One phrase sticks out for me in the passage, “but we prayed.” If I recall there are at least 9 references to prayer in this rather short book. At least in the heart of Nehemiah, prayer made the difference between a city lying in ruins and a city restored to glory and strength.

Several years ago (more than 20) I was asked to give oversight to a region of churches for my particular tribe (denomination) of churches. I was a elected to that position at a conference, by my peers and delegates from the churches I would serve.

At the close of that conference three men came to me and promised to pray for me every day. Two had preceded me in that ministry and the third was a retired farmer. I served in that role for 14 years. During that time, each of those men died (that is not a warning for anyone who wants to pray for me). I remember the incredible sense of loss I felt.

I was with one of these men a week before his death. I offered to pray for him – which I did. Then he invited me to come and kneel by his chair. (Invite suggests I had a choice – there was something compelling about this invitation that could not be resisted.) I knelt by his chair and he put his hand on my head and prayed for me – that is my last memory of him. There was an incredible sense of blessing and empowerment. The next week I shared in his funeral.

The memories of those men – the blessing of their prayers and the strength I received through their prayers has prompted me through the years to recruit prayer partners. I am thankful for a team of men and women who pray for me regularly.

I do not expect to face the kinds of challenges Nehemiah faced but I still need prayer for the challenges that come my way and I am thankful for those who pray.

As long as I can remember, she was old. She was a member of the church I called “my church.” I didn’t know much about her except that she was old, read her Bible a lot and prayed a lot.

The small brick church we attended was a single sanctuary with classrooms in the basement. There was a small overflow room at the back that was seldom (if ever) used for overflow. We used it for additional classes. (100 people would have put us in overflow).

The door to the sanctuary was in the rear on the right side (as you are facing the front. This dear elderly saint usually sat near the front on that same right side of the church. As a teen I usually sat near the back on the opposite side of the church.

Each Sunday morning or Sunday evening or Wednesday evening, she would make a point of meeting me at the door as we left the service. She would extend her frail hand to shake mine, look up a me and tell me, “I’m praying for you.” There were times that her reminder of prayer unnerved me a bit. I knew that she talked with God and assumed He talked with her. I wondered if He as giving her inside information about my need of prayer.

A few weeks after I began my freshman year of college. I received a package in the mail. It was from this dear lady. She sent me the book “Why Revival Tarries” by Leonard Ravenhill. Inside the front cover was a note that read, “I’m still praying for you.”

Four years later I began my first pastorate. I had hardly settled into this new assignment when I received another package. It was another book – “A Treasury of Prayer” by E.M. Bounds. Insde, she had written a note, “I’m still praying for you.”

I have no idea how many years this dear lady prayed for me. I’m thankful and frequently reminded of the privilege of praying for others. I pray the Lord will continue to touch the hearts of older saints to pray for young people that they might be encouraged and strengthened in their faith.