Apocalyptic Moments
Spirituality
Golf In The Real Kingdom
A Spiritual Metaphor For Life In The Modern World
Object:
The fruit of the Spirit is....
-- Galatians 5:22-23
It's been said wisdom comes from experience and experience comes from messing up.
So I guess that means the older the wiser is another way of saying it's always easier to tell others the right way to do things after you've done them the wrong way for a long time.
Maybe that's why so many awful players become such good coaches.
Lee Trevino, however, isn't convinced. He has said he'd get a coach if he could find one who could beat him.
When I was in seminary, it was a cliché to say there's something at least a little strange about professors who've never been pastors telling prospective pastors how to do what they've never done.
I think of Dwight L. Moody who was criticized for how he did evangelism. Moody asked the inquisitor how he did it. When the man admitted he didn't do it, Moody remarked, "Well, I prefer the way I do it to the way you don't do it."
Fortunately, experience and education aren't the only paths to enlightenment. Sometimes the truth just seems to come to us out of nowhere. We get it without existential aid. I think of those times as apocalyptic moments. Believers chalk them up to divine inspiration.
One day it just hit me that I'm never going to qualify for the United States Open. It doesn't matter how much I practice or how many latest-technology weapons that I put in my arsenal. I'm never going to play on the Senior Tour. I'm never going to be the club champion at the course just off Route 19. I'm never going to be scratch.
It was an apocalyptic moment that reminded me of a paragraph from Kurt Vonnegut's Palm Sunday (1981):
An Indianapolis cousin of mine, who was also a high school classmate, did very badly at the University of Michigan while I did badly at Cornell. His father asked him what the trouble was, and he made what I consider an admirable reply: "Don't you know, Father? I'm dumb!" It was the truth.
Everybody is important to God. But God doesn't make everybody capable of doing everything.
When I taught preaching at Kansas City's Nazarene Theological Seminary, I'd always open the first class with a quote from Karl Barth: "It doesn't matter whether one wants to preach. It matters whether one can preach."
It doesn't matter what we want to do. It matters what we can do.
The secret of personal fulfillment is finding out who we are and what we're supposed to do and embracing ourselves.
Because we tend to daydream too much and some folks around us tend to prescribe too much, it usually takes an apocalyptic moment to figure out who we are and what we're supposed to do.
One day it just hit me that my children don't really care what I think about who they are and what they're supposed to do. They have minds of their own. While I know they'll end up like most children who grow up to appreciate their parents, my word will come in second best when it comes to selecting a vocation, spouse, sport, and so on. Parents can only do their best and leave the rest to you know who.
In How to Play Your Best Golf All The Time (1953), Tommy Armour confirms my contention that golf is a metaphor for life: "When you miss a shot, never think of what you did wrong. Come up to the next shot thinking of what you must do right."
One day it just hit me that goes for husbands and wives too.
One day it just hit me that being a pastor isn't really about being right about God but rather being right with God by doing right by people.
Or as Paul described the conduct and countenance of people who have God in their hearts: "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control" (Galatians 5:22-23).
One day it just hit me that being a believer is more about deeds than creeds. It's hard to figure that out on our own. That's why God's people have always depended upon apocalyptic moments or revelation.
By the way, it isn't necessary to hang out and wait for an out-of-nowhere apocalyptic moment. Just open the Bible. You'll be inspired and you'll also figure out if what you're believing and how you're behaving are more than auto-suggestion.
All I care to know is love is the greatest expression of faith -- loving God by loving people; praying and working for the highest good for others regardless of who, what, where, or when without the expectation of being loved back.
All I care to know anymore is love is more important than my house, car, score, handicap, bank account, treasures, trinkets, trophy case, diplomas, degrees, and all of the other temporal things that will eventually end up in some church's rummage sale.
Only love will last: love for God -- love for each other -- love for others. Read the great commandment again (see Matthew 22:34-40).
And along the way, there will be many apocalyptic moments through which our Lord discloses the truth about living in and for Him.
While I know many Presbyterians are really obsessive about our Scottish heritage to the detriment of ethnic inclusion, I really had a woman in my first church ask me to baptize her Scottish terrier.
No, I didn't.
Yes, she went to another church.
Yes, he did!
I was asked at the last minute by a funeral director in New Jersey to preside at a funeral. Everybody looked so angry during the service. But people grieve in different ways. So I didn't give it much thought until I went to cash my honorarium and was told a stop had been placed on my check. When I called the funeral director to ask what I did wrong at the service, he said, "Bob, you didn't do anything wrong. I did. They stopped my check too. They wanted a rabbi."
Two women came to tell me about the thousands of dollars of carpeting that they had ordered. "Great!" I said. "The church really needs it," I went on. Then I talked about God's house demanding our best stewardship. But as I spoke, the two women appeared excessively nervous. So I asked, "What's the matter?" "Well," they began, "we didn't know if the others would like the color or price that we liked. So we just went ahead and ordered it without talking to anybody."
And who said church board meetings had to be boring?
But my favorite moment occurred during my very first session meeting when I outlined the great plan of church growth. A long pause followed my presentation. Then an elder said, "You're crazy if you think we're going to do that."
Apocalyptic? I don't know. But it did set a tone for my ministry.
The truth is I don't like to talk about money. It seems to bring out the worst in people. For some reason which I cannot figure out from a spiritual perspective, many people have this crazy idea that they can give what's left over to God for the advancement of the Kingdom.
I remember hearing of a church which needed new carpeting. So the pastor was asked what he thought about it. "As you know," he said, "I'm called to address the spiritual problems of our church. Besides," he went on, "I forgot to take Carpeting 101 in seminary." Nobody laughed. A month passed and he was told: "We don't have enough money to buy new carpeting. What do you think about it?" "As you know," he repeated, "I'm called to address the spiritual problems of our church." Another month passed and he was told: "Pastor, we can't afford new carpeting. We can't even afford to pay your salary." That caught his attention! "Perhaps," he suggested, "we should talk about these problems at the next congregational meeting. But as you know, I'm called to address the spiritual problems of the church." After the pastor opened the congregational meeting with prayer, an elder stood and said: "Pastor, we've got a spiritual problem in our church. It's called bad stewardship."
That's why I don't like to talk about money. It reveals too much about our discipleship.
It's so apocalyptic.
-- Galatians 5:22-23
It's been said wisdom comes from experience and experience comes from messing up.
So I guess that means the older the wiser is another way of saying it's always easier to tell others the right way to do things after you've done them the wrong way for a long time.
Maybe that's why so many awful players become such good coaches.
Lee Trevino, however, isn't convinced. He has said he'd get a coach if he could find one who could beat him.
When I was in seminary, it was a cliché to say there's something at least a little strange about professors who've never been pastors telling prospective pastors how to do what they've never done.
I think of Dwight L. Moody who was criticized for how he did evangelism. Moody asked the inquisitor how he did it. When the man admitted he didn't do it, Moody remarked, "Well, I prefer the way I do it to the way you don't do it."
Fortunately, experience and education aren't the only paths to enlightenment. Sometimes the truth just seems to come to us out of nowhere. We get it without existential aid. I think of those times as apocalyptic moments. Believers chalk them up to divine inspiration.
One day it just hit me that I'm never going to qualify for the United States Open. It doesn't matter how much I practice or how many latest-technology weapons that I put in my arsenal. I'm never going to play on the Senior Tour. I'm never going to be the club champion at the course just off Route 19. I'm never going to be scratch.
It was an apocalyptic moment that reminded me of a paragraph from Kurt Vonnegut's Palm Sunday (1981):
An Indianapolis cousin of mine, who was also a high school classmate, did very badly at the University of Michigan while I did badly at Cornell. His father asked him what the trouble was, and he made what I consider an admirable reply: "Don't you know, Father? I'm dumb!" It was the truth.
Everybody is important to God. But God doesn't make everybody capable of doing everything.
When I taught preaching at Kansas City's Nazarene Theological Seminary, I'd always open the first class with a quote from Karl Barth: "It doesn't matter whether one wants to preach. It matters whether one can preach."
It doesn't matter what we want to do. It matters what we can do.
The secret of personal fulfillment is finding out who we are and what we're supposed to do and embracing ourselves.
Because we tend to daydream too much and some folks around us tend to prescribe too much, it usually takes an apocalyptic moment to figure out who we are and what we're supposed to do.
One day it just hit me that my children don't really care what I think about who they are and what they're supposed to do. They have minds of their own. While I know they'll end up like most children who grow up to appreciate their parents, my word will come in second best when it comes to selecting a vocation, spouse, sport, and so on. Parents can only do their best and leave the rest to you know who.
In How to Play Your Best Golf All The Time (1953), Tommy Armour confirms my contention that golf is a metaphor for life: "When you miss a shot, never think of what you did wrong. Come up to the next shot thinking of what you must do right."
One day it just hit me that goes for husbands and wives too.
One day it just hit me that being a pastor isn't really about being right about God but rather being right with God by doing right by people.
Or as Paul described the conduct and countenance of people who have God in their hearts: "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control" (Galatians 5:22-23).
One day it just hit me that being a believer is more about deeds than creeds. It's hard to figure that out on our own. That's why God's people have always depended upon apocalyptic moments or revelation.
By the way, it isn't necessary to hang out and wait for an out-of-nowhere apocalyptic moment. Just open the Bible. You'll be inspired and you'll also figure out if what you're believing and how you're behaving are more than auto-suggestion.
All I care to know is love is the greatest expression of faith -- loving God by loving people; praying and working for the highest good for others regardless of who, what, where, or when without the expectation of being loved back.
All I care to know anymore is love is more important than my house, car, score, handicap, bank account, treasures, trinkets, trophy case, diplomas, degrees, and all of the other temporal things that will eventually end up in some church's rummage sale.
Only love will last: love for God -- love for each other -- love for others. Read the great commandment again (see Matthew 22:34-40).
And along the way, there will be many apocalyptic moments through which our Lord discloses the truth about living in and for Him.
While I know many Presbyterians are really obsessive about our Scottish heritage to the detriment of ethnic inclusion, I really had a woman in my first church ask me to baptize her Scottish terrier.
No, I didn't.
Yes, she went to another church.
Yes, he did!
I was asked at the last minute by a funeral director in New Jersey to preside at a funeral. Everybody looked so angry during the service. But people grieve in different ways. So I didn't give it much thought until I went to cash my honorarium and was told a stop had been placed on my check. When I called the funeral director to ask what I did wrong at the service, he said, "Bob, you didn't do anything wrong. I did. They stopped my check too. They wanted a rabbi."
Two women came to tell me about the thousands of dollars of carpeting that they had ordered. "Great!" I said. "The church really needs it," I went on. Then I talked about God's house demanding our best stewardship. But as I spoke, the two women appeared excessively nervous. So I asked, "What's the matter?" "Well," they began, "we didn't know if the others would like the color or price that we liked. So we just went ahead and ordered it without talking to anybody."
And who said church board meetings had to be boring?
But my favorite moment occurred during my very first session meeting when I outlined the great plan of church growth. A long pause followed my presentation. Then an elder said, "You're crazy if you think we're going to do that."
Apocalyptic? I don't know. But it did set a tone for my ministry.
The truth is I don't like to talk about money. It seems to bring out the worst in people. For some reason which I cannot figure out from a spiritual perspective, many people have this crazy idea that they can give what's left over to God for the advancement of the Kingdom.
I remember hearing of a church which needed new carpeting. So the pastor was asked what he thought about it. "As you know," he said, "I'm called to address the spiritual problems of our church. Besides," he went on, "I forgot to take Carpeting 101 in seminary." Nobody laughed. A month passed and he was told: "We don't have enough money to buy new carpeting. What do you think about it?" "As you know," he repeated, "I'm called to address the spiritual problems of our church." Another month passed and he was told: "Pastor, we can't afford new carpeting. We can't even afford to pay your salary." That caught his attention! "Perhaps," he suggested, "we should talk about these problems at the next congregational meeting. But as you know, I'm called to address the spiritual problems of the church." After the pastor opened the congregational meeting with prayer, an elder stood and said: "Pastor, we've got a spiritual problem in our church. It's called bad stewardship."
That's why I don't like to talk about money. It reveals too much about our discipleship.
It's so apocalyptic.
