The Touch of Jesus, Lord of All Things

As I look over my fifty-two years of life on this earth, as I consider all of its ups and its downs - its seasons of sadness and joy - I am left, even to this day, wondering what makes the difference or, rather, what HAS made the difference to me. I have studied upon it greatly.

Born into a good family, raised in The Church, I, nevertheless, managed to have things my own way, on many an occasion. I considered myself above anyone or anything else, and I did not do what God wanted, nor did I even inquire of Him beforehand, but I acted upon my own counsel immediately. Sometimes I found success in achieving what I wanted. Sometimes I did not. When I did not find success I repented. When I did find success I did not repent, at least not immediately, if ever. I am sure that there have been successes in my life, which involved not the counsel of God, for which I have not yet repented because I have forgotten about those occasions and successes. Who knows? Maybe God allowed those successes because He was approving of my actions anyway, but I should have not sought to act without first inquiring of God. Therefore, I should have repented, and I hope to identify those times and actions so that I might repent of them. We should always go to God first, regardless of whether we think our intentions holy or selfish, for we never truly know the truth, never can even begin to discern the truth, until we have included God into our inner dialogues.

Now, as I have greatly studied upon these things, one clear observation strikes at me like a bolt of kind lightening on a dark, dreary, stormy night. As I have studied and reflect, in prayer and a spirit of humility before God, that bolt of kind lightening, always gentle, illuminates the vision that I, and many other Christians, have not seen: the touch of Jesus. Allow me to explain.

The world, the Bible, Jesus Himself, mention the word “grace” all the time. Grace is one of those words that is simply a word until you experience it. And once people DO experience it they understand it, but, I think, only for a time. Soon they again forget the real meaning of the word, for their lives press forward. It might be several years later that, again, they come to really understand the word. So, we go from understanding Grace to forgetting about Grace in an endless cycle of a lifetime. I wonder if we all do the same thing with our understanding of love, or joy, or peace, or fidelity, courage, forgiveness, and faith?

Another big word is “repentance.” I mentioned it already. But how much do we understand it? Like Grace, do we only understand it when we are broken, or do we endeavor to hold the principle of repentance up, before our eyes, so that it is never far out of our sight or mind? God's Word instructs us to be always about considering our ways and taking inventory of ourselves, our intentions and motivations. This is because God wants us to be sensitive to our own souls, so that we do not slowly drift away from Him and His holy will for our lives. By talking stalk of ourselves, all the time, daily, moment by moment, we become true disciples of humility, who are never far away from saying we are sorry to God and turning about in our direction toward His Will. So constant self-inventory and repentance go hand-in-hand. Without self-inventory there can be no repentance, and repentance is much more important than self-inventory, for only repentance stands as the first step in walking back to God. One can also take self-inventory until the cows come home, but unless repentance results from it, nothing more, nothing good, can ever come of it. If anything, only hopeless and depression await self-inventory alone. By daily, moment by moment self-inventory, we build many opportunities to repent, and thus keep an always fresh understanding and appreciation for repentance in our daily experience, heart and mind.

Now combine the two points and you, yourself, will be illuminated, as was I, by the kind and gentle bolt of lightening that allows us to see the Touch of Jesus...touching us!

In the course of your lives, like me, you will act selfishly. I am not saying that you set out to do it or that you will even be aware that you are doing so, but you will do it because we are all sinners. Like me, you will not go to God first, either because you know what His answer will be (and you don't want to hear it) or because you will not think to go to Him first. You will make these serious, sinful mistakes. Of course, by taking self-inventory your odds are better, but, being sinful, like me, you will sometimes do it. There is nothing you can do to permanently stop sinning, not until you go to be with Jesus and He transforms you, body and soul. But there is hope, do not despair.

Jesus told us several things, and we have the examples of His apostles to demonstrate these things to us. First, even when we sin, if we confess it, and are sorry for it, and ask Him to forgive us, He told us that He WILL forgive us and cleanse us from ALL unrighteousness. That's a bath from God. He takes away the filth that we put upon ourselves. Second, Jesus died for us, so that we don't have to remain filthy, even for a day. Third, Jesus loves us, He is in our corner, He understands our weaknesses of the spirit. Fourth, Jesus' love for us compels His own heart, always, to reach out to us. He WANTS to forgive us and put us back on track. He wants to see us filled with joy. He wants to remove ALL of our fears and sadness. Fifth, Jesus is Lord of All Things. Nothing frustrates Him. Satan cannot frustrate Jesus, circumstances cannot, sinful people cannot. He can do, He overcomes, All Things! Six, Jesus' Blood, shed upon the Cross at Golgotha, is active and saving, just as much now as it was when it was dripping down the wood and onto the ground. There IS power in The Blood. Nothing can withstand it. And when it drips into our hearts, it fills our minds and our emotions and our spirits. It changes us. This, my friends, is The Touch of Jesus, Lord of All Things. It is His Blood.

Every bad, unholy decision that you have ever made, even if you can't recall them enough to repent of them, is forgiven of you. Every time that you did not seek His counsel, every time that you sought self and not His Will in a given situation. All of it is forgiven by The Blood of Jesus, the Touch of Jesus, who is Lord of All Things. All that is needed for this grace is acknowledgment of it and sorrow over having done it, and repentance (which means to turn around and go in the opposite direction). You need not perform a million prayers, climb stairs on your knees or do some other act of “penance.” All you need do is go to Jesus, in humility and with a broken and contrite heart, ask Him to forgive you, and you SHALL be forgiven.

So, when you, like me, consider all of your years and the times that you acted wrongly, do NOT think that you have to itemize each one (although if God brings it to your memory it is good to acknowledge it and confess). God does not operate this way, as if you have to PERFORM a certain way or remember and account for every sin. One, single, act of confession and repentance is enough to receive the Touch of Jesus, Lord of All Things. What a terrible burden it would be to have to remember and repent of each sin individually. But Grace, God's Grace, given through Jesus' Blood, which IS His Touch, is willing and able to wipe away ALL sins in the twinkling of an eye. That, my friends, is the illuminating vision and fact of the Spirit of God, which we all now need to see. That is the kind and gentle lightening bolt that can change your day today, how you feel now, and put you into a better tomorrow. And if, in the future, Satan should remind that you did such and such many years ago, remember it and learn from it. But tell Satan that Jesus forgave you for that on the day that you went to Him. Tell Satan that your guilt and shame and taint from sin was taken away for that sin. And then send Satan away. He'll leave, for a time, and when he returns to condemn you again for those past sins, tell him again and send him away again. For the Scripture declares: “He who The Son sets free is free indeed.”

I tell you this in closing. After all of my remembering of my former days and all of my wrong actions, I now see that, even in my sin, even during those exact moments of running from God, Jesus was always there and able to undo all the bad that I had brought upon myself and others. That is best part of the Touch of Jesus, Lord of All Things. He is able and WILL fix the mistakes, bind up the wounds, heal and restore. And, even when I was sinning and being selfish, He was watching my back. Even then!

Give praise to The Lord, Jesus Christ, for His Grace and Mercy is like none other.

Peace, and grace to you all, through Jesus Christ, Lord over All Things.

The Bloody Man & The Little Boy

Once upon a time there was a little, Catholic boy, of some six or seven years old, who returned from church a much emotionally moved little, Catholic boy.  Sunday dinner was cooking in the kitchen, and so he somberly withdrew from his mother, grandfather, and old, old aunt and climbed the stairs to his bedroom to await the food.  He wanted to be alone for a while, to think. He was deeply sad, which is always a unique feeling for any little boy, but even more unique for this little boy.

On the way up the darkened staircase of his grandfather's house, he thought of the things that he had heard and learned about that day.  Maybe his tiny brain had heard those things before, but today was different because today something powerful struck his heart.  Even children, maybe especially children, need to get away with their thoughts and take counsel with their hearts; it's not just a deep, adult thing.  Yes, he may have heard those things before today, but today he learned.  Learning is different than simply hearing.  Little boys and girls, men and women, hear many things in life, at the beginning, in the middle, and, sometimes, near the end of life, but only the heart is capable of learning special kinds of things.  Science, mathamatics, history, all such academic understanding is accomplished via the ears to the brain.  But even a child can tell you that some things, things such as what this little, Catholic boy learned that Sunday morning, are only accomplished through the process of ears to heart.  When things are learned by this process they are very seldom forgotten.  I dare say that even the senility of old age and disease cannot wipe them away, for the heart is more than a database of facts and memories that can be plundered and destroyed, unless it be plundered and destroyed by its owner.  The heart, you see, from the time it is formed, is far, far superior to the brain; it's capacity to store, its eagerness to dispense, its magnitude to feel, its passion to share, and its supremacy to treasure make it the most awesome of God's wonders.  It is a nearly impregnable safe that spits lightening bolts into the sky to scare off thieves and enemies, yet a sweet music box that comforts and quiets the soul.  It is hard and soft when it needs to be, and it only changes when greatly traumatized.  It can bounce back, retract quickly, and dream more dreams than the brain can dream alone.  Yes, again I declare it: the heart is far, far superior to the brain, for the heart informs and nurtures the soul, even on Sunday afternoons, at grandfather's house, inside a quiet, upstairs bedroom.

Rounding the curve of the staircase, almost to the top, the little, Catholic boy's memory replays the scene in church that morning, replays the words of his mother.

A life-sized crucifix stands near the altar.  Blood paint streams down the man's arms, his legs, his face.  The life-sized man has a ring of thorns around his head, and the daggers of nature are clearly imbeded into the man's skin.  His eyes are open, his head tilted and resting upon his shoulder; he is in agony.  His chest is sunken in and his hands and feet have nail heads protruding from the wounds.  He is nailed to the crucifix.  His hair is long and matted from sweat.  He wears only a cloth around his body, which, too, is covered in blood.  His eyes deeply look into the little, Catholic boy, so much so that the boy cannot stop gazing back into the bloody man's eyes.  The church rises and is dimissed, people begin to shuffle out the doors of the grand church.  The organ music swells as the boy's mother takes him by the hand to leave.

"Mommy," says the little boy, pausing their leaving, "who is that?"

"Jesus," replies the mother.

"Why is he up there?" asks the little, Catholic boy.

"He died up there for you and me," she simply answers the simple, little boy.

And out they go to grandfather's house.

The little, Catholic boy thinks about those words as he sadly places his last few, sad, steps upon the final stairs.  He died up there for you and me.

Topping the quiet staircase, the little, Catholic boy opens the first door - a bedroom.  This is where he sleeps when visiting now.  He used to sleep with his old, old aunt, in her bedroom in the adjacent bedroom.  Now he and his mother and tiny brother sleep in this bigger bedroom.  The image of the large crucifix is still in his memory, profound and sad, as the door swings open.  The lad walks inside the quiet room.

He looks up from the floor and there it is: another crucifix, on the bedroom wall, a small crucifix.  It, too, is covered in blood paint, just as the one in the church that morning.  The sad, little, Catholic boy hears the words of his mother again.  He died up there for you and me.  He looks intently at this new, smaller version of the bloody man, and his wounds, and his open eyes, and his face.  It is love and pity, the little, Catholic boy percieves, that radiates from the face of this bloody man.  The same love and pity that he felt when he first looked at the life-sized, bloody figure.  Love and pity.  Again, he hears the words: he died up there for you and me.

Moved further than he had, thus far, been moved, this little, Catholic boy bows his head back to the floor boards and cries for the bloody man.  He cries for the bloody man's wounded head punctured by cruel thorns.  He cries for the bloody man's nail wounds and spent blood.  But, most of all, this little, Catholic boy's tears are spilled over this bloody man's obviously broken heart.  For this bloody man, the man that his mother called "Jesus," has had his heart broken for someone else.  And the little, Catholic boy's heart understands that it is he over whom Jesus is showing love and pity.  It is he.  The face of this man, Jesus, says it all.  "I love you," come the words, inaudible but real words, "and I died up here for you and for all people, because I love them, too."

And then the little, Catholic boy senses a different movement of his little heart.  His heart begins to swell with love, extended back at the bloody man, Jesus.  The two of them speak, one to the other, much is said between them.  The little, Catholic boy is no longer sad but happy inside.  He does not understand why he feels happy, but he cannot deny it nor does he try to dispell the feeling.  He simply enjoys it and he understands that this new feeling has been GIVEN to him by the person, the bloody man, the suffering man, Jesus.  His little heart understands that the bloody man's gaze of love was of a love for him, a little boy.  The pity, also, was for him, a little boy.  So the little boy again begins to cry, but this time his tiny tears are not sad but greatful tears.  He has spoken, in a way of sorts, with a bloody man upon a crucifix, inside of a quiet, upstairs bedroom, on an early, Sunday afternoon at his grandfather's house, and he is different, forever different now.  And then the bloody man, Jesus, relates one, final message to the little, Catholic boy.

"You will be my messenger and minister, and you will work for me to help others."

The little, Catholic boy does not know what this means, but he believes it all.  He knows that it is true.  He will always love and serve his friend, the bloody man, The Lord, that died up there for you and me.  And so he sort of kisses this bloody man, Jesus, farewell, and leaves that upstairs bedroom for Sunday dinner, downstairs. 

And Forty-six years later, though the little, Catholic boy grew and fell away from his promise and the memory of that day, he still loves that bloody man, Jesus, and, eventually, he did come back to serve him, to help others, for the sake and for the calling of his bloody friend.  And he was not punished for having left for a time.  Indeed, his gifts, he discovered, were never taken from him, even though, by rights, they probably should have been taken away.  But the bloody man, Jesus, does not condemn little boys, nor anyone else, nor does he take away the things that he has given them, for they were given in love, and love never fails; it is permanent.

Listen, all you who love hope and can muster even a crumb of a musterd seed of faith.  What this bloody man, this Jesus, did for a little, Catholic boy, he does, still, for older boys and girls.  This is no fable; it is all true.  All that is needed is love and acceptance.  With those two ingredients, repentance and increased love will follow.  And then such things will you see and experience!  You, too, shall talk with the bloody man, just as did that little, Catholic boy.  And you, too, shall be told what you are to do.  It is never too late to climb the staircase and enter the quiet bedroom, unless, of course, you die beforehand.  Beyond your breath of life, there are no more chances, for this bloody man, this Jesus, is also Just King and Just Lord, and he will not allow those that have done evil, those who rejected his free gift of love, to dwell with him forever.  Oh, he is such a loving but just saviour and friend.

In this world we hear some say, "Your bloody man is a ridgid man!"  Some say, "this bloody man is too strict, too authoritative, a harsh judge, demanding to be worshipped, and so I say to him that he can kiss my ass!"  They say such things as, "if I have to to follow and obey a god like that, who demands strict obediance and who makes only one way to be saved, I say he is not worthy of my obediance and love; and he can kiss my ass!"  But, more than fools, people who say such things are lost and confused.  They have only heard with their ears and their brains.  They have not tried to seek out and stand before the tender, loving, bloody man, in order to hear with their ears and their hearts.  And that, you will remember my saying, is where real learning and understanding is accomplished.  To them I say that the bloody man does not condemn you.  Instead, he waits up there, in that place, that church, that bedroom, that appointed place of meeting.  He waits for you to come in and to come before him as a little child, Catholic or Baptist or anything you may be.  Young or old, he waits there for you.  And if you come, moved for him and his suffering, then he will speak directly to you, and you, too, shall be different.  No longer will you judge him.  You, my friends, will understand, for you will have learned with your heart, through hearing with your ears.

I should know this to be true, for I was that little, Catholic boy! 

Please watch this video, below.  It will help you find your staircase to that bedroom.

"We Are The Reason" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrPAZbD6fG0&feature=related

My Grandfather's Boat

My grandfather's name was Leo, Leo Bourbeau, but we grandchildren called him “Day-Day.”

Day-Day was not a big man, but he was a man's man. A machinist by trade, his hands were rough and wrinkled, course and hard. He kept a workshop in his little garage, where I often watched him tinker on broken, household things or bikes or cars. He was uninhibited and unafraid; he took on all manner of work, such as carpentry, wall papering, plumbing, electrical. He could do it all and enjoyed it all. It was, I think, his therapy. At an early age, I showed some signs of his tinkering nature, though I have since lost all signs of promise or desire in this area. Would that I could have continued in this manner, for then I would have been of some valuable use to others, especially my wife and myself. I guess we all show early signs of picking up things from our relatives, only to find ourselves, later, incredulous that we ever showed such signs. In my case, I can now barely change a light bulb, and the only tinkering I have desire to do is the tinkering done on my computer.

In further keeping with being a man's man, Day-Day enjoyed hunting and fishing. I remember once going with him to have butchered the deer that he had shot, and I recall eating venison at a very young age. Though I have never hunted, nor my father, my brothers have done so for many years; it's probably due to a special gene passed on by Day-Day; he would be proud of them! As far as fishing goes? Well, fishing has always been a favorite past-time of mine. Fresh water fishing, never salt water fishing. And I like fishing best which is done with friends and not alone, for I remember Day-Day going out fishing with his best friend - a skinny man that lived around the corner - and I vividly recall the sense of sharing and camaraderie that bounced off of the two after they returned home from a day in the boat. While still a child, I think it must have been the allure of that bright glow and heartfelt feeling of friendship that first attracted me toward my own goal of fishing with friends; it's doubtful that I found attractive the sight of cold, dead fish and guts in my grandfather's kitchen sink. Yes, I would have to say that it must have been the idea that I, too, someday, might enjoy doing something fun with a friend. I remember wanting to be a sports fisherman, like my grandfather, on a boat with a good, faithful, companion. And I have since experienced the joys that my grandfather experienced. I recommend it to everyone reading this essay! Go fishing with a friend!

Now, one thing more that I need to point out; in keeping with being a man's man, Day-Day was not the Pepperidge Farm type of grandfather - the soft-spoken, twinkle-in-the-eye, story-telling, cuddle bum. He showed love, to be sure, but he was not sweet about it. Yes, he hugged and kissed us; in fact, I remember that he seemed to enjoy giving and getting a hug and kiss; but that's as sweet as he got. The reason that I tell you this is not because I found him to be less of a grandfather because of this, but because I want to paint an accurate picture of the man. He loved a beer or other alcoholic drink; he loved to eat peanuts out of a jar and drink Coke from a glass bottle while watching the newest “Gunsmoke” episode on television. He loved his recliner (so did I, when he was at work), and he loved his workshop. He loved his tinkering and his job at the General Electric. He loved his family, of course, and his friends. He loved his hunting and fishing and tackle. And, let me tell you, quite clearly, my grandfather loved, he absolutely loved, his boat! And this brings me to the part in my story in which I tell about the day that I almost crashed that beloved boat.

I might have been six years old at the time. It was a summer's day. It was just my grandfather and myself. It happened on Flax Pond, which I have always thought was incorrectly named because ponds seem to have a reputation for being small. Personally, I would call it a lake, but I would be taking my life in my hands if I did this because people can become enraged when someone begins messing about with tradition, landmarks, and treasured places. Suffice it to say, then, that Flax Pond is huge and can not be entirely seen from one angle.

As I've mentioned in previous essays, Flax Pond was nearly at my doorstep in my early childhood days. I could walk to it in about two minutes. Young men water skied on it, an old beach house (called “the bath house”) attested to its long history as a popular swimming hole, old folks meandered its shoreline with their dogs, and many other men and boys fished it day and night. DayDay fished it with his friend, in his beloved boat.

The boat, as I recall was white - about a 12-footer. It had a small, outboard motor and even now, as I write this, my olfactory sense is picking up the smell of the gasoline. DayDay kept the beloved boat in top shape, so it ran very well. He kept orange life preservers hanging from the garage ceiling; I can't recall where he kept his fine fishing poles, but I would guess that he stored them in the inner sanctum of the garage's workshop, safe and sound from grandchildren. I used to watch him taking the boat out of the garage. I used to watch him drive off, out the driveway, pulling it behind his car. I used to watch him, from the shore, driving all over Flax Pond or Little Sabago Lake, in Maine. That's where we vacationed, the entire, extended family, in those years of the 1960s. We had Maine relatives that had a camp on the lake, and my father and uncle, Gene, would rent one close by theirs. The blueberry picking strolls were always fun...oh, sorry, I digress.

Flash back to a Saturday morning. As I said, I am five or six, maybe seven years old. I don't know. My home away from home is my grandfather's house, on Flax Pond. And for some reason, maybe because I looked sad and pleaded, DayDay decided to take me on a boat ride around the pond. I do recall, though not vividly, my mother's apprehension and mild anxiety, but my grandfather assured her that all would be okay. I think she went down with us to the pond. Anyway, my first memory of it was having the orange life preserver placed over my head and strapped on tightly. Then DayDay ripped the cord of the outboard motor and I instantly smelled that glorious odor of the motor fuel. It sputtered but started right up. I sat in the middle seat and, of course, he sat in the rear, with his hand on the steering and gas arm. Then off we went, like a bullet, the waves waving, the bouncing up and down, the wind in our faces. It was actually happening! I was getting to ride in the beloved boat! Just me and DayDay!

Funny thing happened, someplace in the middle of the pond; we completely stopped. DayDay stopped the boat motor's forward thrust so that we simply bobbed in the water. There we were in the middle of the pond, a place that I had spied with my little eyes and dreamed about, like a distant galaxy, bobbing up and down, gently, in the wake of the waves that we had been making. I think that I must have felt like John Glenn. My space craft the beloved boat. Was I actually bobbing up and down in an area that I had watched so many water skiers wipe out and dash over?

It was quiet. As quiet as it can be with the sound of an idling outboard in your ears. And it was strangely still out there in the middle of Flax Pond. It was a clear day, blue skied, not windy. DayDay was smiling. He looked at me with great delight.

“Can I steer the boat, DayDay?” I asked.

I watched his face intently. I could read him as well as any grand kid can read their grandfather.

Before I knew it, I was sitting beside him with my hands on the steering and gas arm. Yes, his hand was placed over my hand, and he was doing the real steering and gas flow, but, even today, I feel like I was at the helm doing everything myself. Don't try to tell me otherwise! Little kids don't have to actually do the deed to feel the joy and satisfaction of it all. Imagination, and self-delusion, are wonderful things. I was doing it, period!

I powered that beloved boat all over the pond. I made circles. I made straight lines toward the distant shore. I aimed for floating ducks. I explored the country that my little eyes had strained to see, so many times, from the bath house. It was exhilarating! I smiled. DayDay was smiling. The wind, the waves, the bumping up and down, the blue sky and then...

A boat from behind.

It came up fast and too close, I guess, because DayDay almost jumped off the seat. In the precise moment of shock, he took his focus off of me and off of his guiding hand. Suddenly, I really was steering the beloved boat. And for that split second, I was not doing such a tremendous job of it. I could tell because DayDay let out a short grunt and suddenly grabbed back his hold on my hand and the steering arm. Whew! That was a close one! However, the other boat passed us by with a wider birth (the other boatman had, obviously, been inattentive, too), and we headed toward the shore. I could tell that DayDay was still shaken up a bit. Yet, today there would be no occasion for the necessity of field testing the orange life preservers. We got back, safely, on shore, and rest is, as they say, history.

I had forgotten that small incident of my life, until a few months ago, when I had the thought of how much of our lives, even as grown-ups, are like boat trips of adventure and even danger. Think about it for a moment. We're all like little children to God. And He's our Father, or like our DayDay, if you please. We grow and watch and dream and long to go out and visit the various places and experiences. But we need someone bigger to with us; we need protection; we need guidance; we need a bigger hand placed upon our own, smaller hand.

Our lives are like that boat, beloved of our DayDay. They can be damaged. They can be wrecked. They can take off fast, create fun waves, smell of good or smell of bad fuel, bring us to where we want to go or shift off course and enter dangerous waters. If we're not willing to let that bigger, DayDay hand clasp unto our own hand, or, worse still, if we don't believe in DayDay at all, and so shrug off His guiding, loving hand, well, we're gonna get hit, from behind, a lot. Some day we might get hit so bad that we sink. The beloved boat will be gone. What a sad day, indeed, that would be!

Sentimental hogwash, some will say. Maybe sentimental, but not hogwash. I am grateful for that wonderful day that I had, with my DayDay, on Flax Pond, the day that dream of being on that beloved boat came true. I am grateful that my DayDay's thoughts were on me, enough to take the time out of his day off and share himself and his joy of adventure and living. And I am ever grateful that he made me feel that I was steering his beloved boat. But, most of all, I am forever grateful that he loves me still and that he protected me by his guiding and strong hand.

We are the beloved boat. And God is real. Let us continue to be as children, full of adventure and dreams and forward thrusts into various places and experiences.

But let us recognize Him and His hand. And let us forever welcome its touch upon our own hand, just as I did, one long-ago day, on my grandfather's boat.

God bless you.

Social Security God's Way

I won't waste time quoting Scripture to prove that God's Way is that we care for people, and that He expects us to step up to our responsibilities to care and sacrifice for those around us, especially our relatives. You know that's what He wants, just as I do; this Law is sown into our hearts by threads that can't be broken.

I also won't waste a lot of time expounding upon the fact that dependance fosters further dependance. It, too, is a kind of law of nature.

Consider the birds.  You, a perfect stranger, feed them a few times, and there they'll be waiting forever after. As long as the perfect stranger continues to show up and hand out food, the same birds (and the friends they've told) will be there to receive, with mouths agape. After all, they've been conditioned by the process.

But Man is not a bird and should not be dependent upon strangers, nor anyone else, unless it is absolutely necessary to his survival.

I say that it's time to change (or return) to the perfect social security system. It's time we do it God's Way.

Here's a quick, instructive exercise: grab a pen and paper and write down the first names of your parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, children, and first cousins. When I did this I came out with a total of 21 individuals. Now hold that number off to the side and add to it the number of nieces and nephews you have. My count added 10 more people to my list, which is a total of 31 close family members. And by "close" I mean "blood" family members. Imagine, 31 people of blood and DNA so close to me that they would be considered the first, viable group of individuals to look at for the donation of an organ that my body would not reject. That's a good number of people!

Do you see where I'm going? Sure you do.

Now, lets do the math. Flip over your paper and multiply $29.00 times the total number of immediate family members (the first number, the one without the nieces and nephews). For me, 21 times $29.00 equals $609.00.  That could be $609.00 per month, or it could be $609.00 per week depending on the situation. If it were $609.00 per week then this would equate (given 4 weeks) to over $2,400 per month. Not too shabby. Certainly this is more than enough to enable me and my family to survive.

If you and I were to have a relative in need, we could surely contribute $29.00 per week to their welfare.  Why $29.00?  Because that figure amounts to just 10% of the total income for a person working 40 hours per week at minimum wage.  So, even if you just make minimum wage, and work full-time, your minimal contribution is going to go a long way towards helping your OWN RELATIVE, YOUR BLOOD!  And for those that earn more per hour, the number increases, of course.  Accordingly, the more relatives - the less the burden on each contributor - the more the total contribution to the needy relative.

Now, considering that some of the people on your immediate family list are too old (like your grandparents and parents) or deceased (as some were in my case), the number of contributors would decrease, of course.  But most people doing this exercise will find that they have at least an average of 6 to 10 people.  That's at least enough money per month to purchase medical insurance for the needy family member.  And, these days, that's the biggest expense that needs to be covered.  As far as a roof over their head and food and water, there is always room for a cot in the basement, and there are always scraps of leftovers from the dinner table.  They can drink water from the spicket outside the garage.

Okay, so we see, clearly, it CAN BE DONE by US, the family, not US, the United States.  And done by caring family, not strangers.  Granted, our needy family member may not live in luxury, keep a car and go on dates, but they will be provided for in their time of need. They will experience the love that they deserve. This is God's Way of providing social security!

Now take a minute and consider the savings.  Savings, you say?  Yes, savings!

Don't take my word for it.  Do the quick investigation and math for yourselves.  Look at your pay stub and see if you're having more than $29.00 per week taken out for social security and social medical care taxes.  Have you looked at your pay stub recently?  You'll be amazed.  See if I am not correct.  See if your directly caring for your Cousin Vinny or your brother, mother, sister or aunt wouldn't cost you a lot less of your money per year.  You'll find that it would cost you a TON LESS!  So, we would not only please God and love our family members properly by doing social security God's Way, we would also keep more hard-earned dollars in our wallets and purses!

In conclusion, let me say that I realize that this way of doing social security requires that we actually take a genuine interest in the welfare of our family members.  I also realize that it is harder to do this than it is to simply have the money taken out of our paychecks every week.  We human beings, especially in our American culture, don't like to be bothered with other people's concerns and problems, even if they are our own family members.  We like, and have long gotten used to, the current, impersonal social security system, in which I open my wallet and the government puts its hand in, takes out greenbacks, tells me that I don't need to be concerned, and hands it over to the waiting birds with gaping mouths. 

Long ago in this country, because we didn't want to be bothered, to be vulnerable, to take upon ourselves responsibility, and to willingly sacrifice for our families and others, we chose this diabolical, dependant-making, impersonal and failing system of providing social security to others.  Back then, we chose to have our money forcibly removed from our wallets, because it is easier on us (even though it's more costly), than lovingly, willingly, sacrificially engaging and giving money to our hurting, needy, blood relatives.  Shame on us all, for now we are trapped in a system from which it seems impossible to extricate ourselves!

Will the whole government change and stop taking money from you because you tell them that you will be giving now to Uncle Arthur?  Well, you can try, but don't count on it.

It's true, the IRS will not say to you, “Oh, that's okay, you don't owe us any money for Social Security and Medicare because we can see that you've been giving $29.00 to Aunt Bee every week.”  Nope. You will still have to pay for these things, via taxes.  But, who knows?  You may get the attention of others, who will also do it and then they will get the attention of still others.  Before we know it we could start an epidemic in which everyone is back on board with God's Way of handling social security!  Then the government will have to reduce our taxes because they won't be able to substantiate keeping them the same or increasing them.  It can be done, over not much time.  Little changes, done in the millions, have a dramatic and fast impact.  Let's start!

And even if the government doesn't come around, love, and stewardship, and Jesus require us to do social security God's Way!  Just give the minimum $29.00, talk to your fellow family members about joining together, and watch God begin to work in manifold ways!

God bless you!

Reward: One Million Dollars

A reward of $1 million will be tendered to the individual that provides information leading to the location of the spiritual waste dump.

Somewhere out there is a biological waste dump for human appendixes. And somewhere out there is a spiritual waste dump for extended prayer.

An altarectomy has been performed upon The Church, and we need to locate this vital organ, transplant it back into The Body, and take the proscribed medication necessary to keeping it healthy and properly working again. The medication is continued praying.

Going to, and remaining at, the prayer altar was a common practice. In the early days of the last century it was a practice that defined the Pentecostal Movement. It was called, “praying through” or “digging in” prayer; it's hallmarks were late, or missed, lunches, tears, and audible moans from the heart, not to mention blessed results. The faithful, not content with quick, superficial petitions, came down to the altar (of their homes or their home churches) to meet with God for extended times of real communication. It was intentional; it was common; it was talked about and shared; it was realized as irreplaceable in the life of faith; it was proven emotionally uplifting, life-changing; its value was of immeasurable worth to millions of the faithful; it was a spectacle of powerful testimony to other souls; it was a joy to the soul and a joy to God! Yet, alas, The Church has been “operated” upon and now this treasured, vital organ has been removed. It is gone and we are weakened as individuals and as a body. So, we must locate the spiritual waste dump; we must search and find it laying there; we must pick it back up, transplant it back inside, and protect it forevermore.

Some people will protest my claim, stating that I am wrong because I have not visited their congregation or home where this vital organ of faith remains within, and strong. To those good people I would say, “praise The Lord; this is good.” But I am talking about The Church as a whole; I am saying that, as a whole, The Church has been given an altarectomy, and that, for most of us, extended prayer times, either in our congregations or in our homes, is gone, cut out, forgotten.

In general, and in many mainstream, good congregations, and in Christian homes (and I have visited many, including my own), the calls and visits to the altar of EXTENDED prayer are completely nonexistent or too few in number to be able to define us, build us up, and keep us strong. And we had better face and see the truth and cease the denial of it, because our very lives and the lives of those we love depend upon doing undoing the altarectomy.

We need to get back to the regular appointments with God, the extended times of prayer in which we pour out our hearts before Him and forget about time, and meetings, and this thing or that thing. As The Church, members and collective body, we need to go back to our roots and dig in and pray-through, until we receive from Him what we need to live joyously, victoriously as a beacon of hope in a tiresome, lonely, often cruel and loveless world. We cannot do this under, or by, our own strength, either as single people or even as a group of millions; we must have the anointing from on high - we must have His Power and His Strength. We need His Encouragement and Fatherly Guidance.

When I was a young man of about twenty-five, my then spiritual father and pastor, George Hendrickson, invited me to early morning prayer with himself and his wife, Lena. We all arrived at the church at six o'clock in the morning, sleep-ies still in our eyes and yawns still opening our mouths. I entered not knowing what to expect. Sure, I knew that we were there to pray, and I knew how to pray, but I didn't know what to expect. Would it be formal prayer, the three of us sharing openly with one another? Or would it be that we would each go off to a separate area and pray alone, quietly. I didn't know what to expect. I learned that neither of these would be the case, but that BOTH would be the case!

Often I recall how awkward I felt. I knew them well enough, but my experience in prayer was always private. Was I now going to have to speak or reveal something? What were they going to expect from me? Unfamiliar things and experiences always stir up insecurity and, consequently, nervousness and butterflies. I wondered if they would expect me to hold hands (I still don't like that, I'll admit). I wondered if they would be reading the Bible (I hadn't brought one with me). I wondered how I would react to the various things said or done. I wondered about a thousand things and more as pastor opened the church door and as we walked toward the prayer room. I was quiet, awkward, new at this, wondering, intimidated, insecure. It was only us three, and they, too, were quiet. Were they feeling awkward also, I wondered?

And then it happened fast; I didn't have to wait a second more. Once we entered the room and took off our coats, there came no demand for me to do or say anything. Not even a subtle intimation that I should say or do anything. I eased a long sigh out of my mouth. It seemed like I had nothing to be insecure about; they weren't looking for me to act in any specific manner or to say anything at all. I could instantly tell, and instantly relax, because they turned away from me, got down on their knees, buried their faces into their crossed arms, and silence was the only thing heard in the room.

Like a child that learns by watching and emulating, and because it is best for one to always do what the Romans do when one is inside Rome, I found a place and buried my face in my crossed arms. I kept silent. This wasn't going to be bad at all. But how long would this go on? Would things change? Would I soon be expected to speak (or “share” as we like to say in church)? Would I soon be expected to sit up and interact with them, so that they could “share” things with me? I hoped not. That would bring me back to feeling awkward. So, I sat there, not praying, only thinking about what would follow. And then, after about two minutes, it happened.

The quiet was broken by a murmuring coming from one of them. It was like a deep, deep moan, like from someone with a belly ache. But I thought that I heard something intelligible in that moan, and I was correct because I soon heard the moan again, from the same person, and I clearly heard the word spoken inside that moan.

“Jesus.”

I heard it. She said “Jesus.”

Then he said “Jesus” in a moan.

Then the moans of “Jesus” increased. That one word, that one name, all inside of a deep, deep moan.

“Jesus,” they moaned. And, sometimes, “Jesus, oh, Jesus.”

I sat there, still not praying. How could I? I had never prayed like this or heard anyone else pray like this! Moaning prayer? Prayer by which one word, even though this one word was the name of God's Son? What a strange type of prayer this was to me. Three people, apart but close enough in a small room, so quiet that you could hear the clock ticking, and one moan of Jesus after another moan of Jesus. It was peculiar to me, curious to me; how could I pray or think of anything? I was too busy trying to figure it all out, and so would anyone else that has not experienced this. But then something else happened.

I began to relax in my whole soul. It was as if those moans of that one word, Jesus, were soothing me way down deep inside my heart and mind and body. It was remarkable, and I am as astounded by it today as I was back then, so long ago. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. And the silence. And the clock. And the stillness of buried faces in crossed arms. Jesus, oh, Jesus. Jesus, oh, Jesus. Their hearts were calling Him through their mouths, in moans of calling, in moans of yearning, in moans of “please.” Oh, Jesus.

And this went on for some time, until one of them moved. I peeked to see what they were doing, and was again surprised. It was Lena, my pastor's wife; she had moved. Was she getting up? Was she finished with her moaning prayer of Jesus? No. She had moved to a prone position; she was now laying outstretched on the carpeted floor of the prayer room. Her head was still buried in her arms. And she continued to call Jesus. But now her moan had turned to a sound of gentle weeping.

What was going on? No long petitions? No exalted and loud praises? No reading aloud of Scripture?What on earth was going on? It was still strange to me, but it was no longer causing me to be anxious. I understood, or at least my soul understood, that it was TRUE prayer. I was witnessing true prayer, which comes out of the deepest recesses of the heart. And I was at peace just hearing it. And soon I found myself in a prayerful state. I entered in to the environment of prayer and grace and peace that they had prepared for us. An hour passed, and there were some articulated petitions and praises heard spoken into crossed hands, but I might as well have not been there it seems. They were lost in Jesus and in their time with Him. I thought that they may have forgotten that I was even present.

When the hour passed, they stood up. They smiled at me with radiant faces. They hugged me and shook my hand. They genuinely thanked me for coming and I could tell that they weren't just being polite. Somehow, my presence there, with them, meant something real to them. And they appreciated it. How strange, I thought to myself, for I had done nothing more than sit there with my head in my arms and listen to them. I never spoke. I never prayed aloud. I never encouraged them with words. What had I done? Why were they so very happy to have me there with them? It would not take me too long, by the grace of God, to understand. God soon informed me what it was all about.

They loved me. And when you love someone than you value them simply being with you! My presence, my willingness to be part of their spiritual family and gathering, my getting up early to be with them touched them. And they couldn't hold back their delight and their expression of love for me. I had joined them. I had been with them when they met with their Jesus. I had shared my time with Jesus with them. They got up early. They were intentional. They “dug in” and “prayed through” and set being with Jesus before everything else in their day. They moaned out to Him. They cried out to Him. They lay vulnerable before Him, not caring what I might think, not caring if I might look upon them as strange. They did what they had been doing for many years. And I was there. I was there. We were separate but together during that whole hour. People, coming to God and expecting God to come as always. And He came! I was there with them. That's why they were delighted. Hearts love to share.

I will never forget that first day of this new kind of prayer. I have engaged in it myself, many a time. And I have never been disappointed; Jesus has always come and lifted me up in ways supernatural, in ways that no human being could ever do. I have been to the extended prayer altar of my home, and I have been to the extended prayer altar of my church. But, sadly, not enough in these later years.

Congregations that have discovered an altarectomy must locate the spiritual dump, find again that vital organ, and transplant it back in where it belongs. Altar calls. Tarrying. Digging in. Praying through.

Individuals that have discovered an altarectomy must locate the spiritual dump, find again that vital organ, and transplant it back in where it belongs. Family prayer time. Tarrying. Digging in. Praying through.

Let the Sunday roast burn if need be, but let us wait upon the prayer altar for Jesus! Let the appointments and sleep times be missed. Let the many other things be put beneath the call to pray and to pray long and pray hard!

Our Lord said that He rewards those that diligently seek Him. He also stated that the Kingdom of Heaven is to be taken by forceful people, people that come expecting the consolation of His Presence and people that won't leave until their hearts have been changed enough to receive that day's morsel.

Return to extended prayer. Dig in. Pray through.

Reverse the altarectomy!

I am committed to doing it. Won't you join me?

Are You Sick or Depressed?

Note: There are YouTube video-songs at the end of this blog entry, but you risk a diminished benefit from these videos if you don't first read this article.  I encourage you to watch them AFTER reading my post.  I'm not trying to manipulate you; I honestly believe that reading this first is most needed. Thanks.

Adversity is not always with us; I understand this, and I am grateful that it is so. But as every person shall find, sickness, sorrow, strife, and even depression will visit from time to time. It is on such occasions that I am comforted and encouraged by the words of Jesus when he said, “in this world you will have tribulation, but, take heart, I have overcome the world.”

The Holy Scripture clearly reveals that, as friends and followers of His Son, The Father bestows upon us the full inheritance of children of the King. Through the Blood of Jesus, we are grafted in to the divine family; we are Christ's brothers and sisters. Through the work of Jesus upon The Cross, and the justifying mercy of The Father, we share in the manifold blessings of heaven, even while residents of this earth. Our brother, Jesus, our Savior, Jesus, our friend, Jesus, our King, Jesus, holds the world in His hands. By the power of His great might, which is never, never outmatched, He upholds, protects, comforts, and consoles us. He encourages, heals, teaches, and corrects us; like the world, He holds us in His hands, for we are His, and He loves us. This is why He tells us to “take heart” when we face any kind of tribulation. Any tribulation that we face, He faces. Any sickness or sorrow, depression or other mountain of adversity, is trapped and destroyed by the power of his love for us. And though we shall be visited by the tribulations of personal adversity, we shall not be undone. Those that do not belong to the household of God will be undone, for they have not Jesus, but we shall not be undone. Through Jesus we will overcome the world.

Sometimes we just need to be reminded of this truth. And what better way to be reminded than through song? As a musician of more than 40 years, I understand and appreciate the value of music. Music is supernatural; I do not understand the mystery of its immense power, but I do recognize it. But even non-musicians recognize this power, for did one man not pen the words, “music hath notes to charm the savage breast” so very long ago?

In keeping with the spirit of providing you with the best that I can give, I offer you these songs, these hymns, to remind you of who you are and who He is, so that you shall be helped by these remembrances. Let these songs become your songs - your prayers. Own them; own and feel their words; let your heart and your soul be lifted up by the melodies. Allow the mystical experience of music to enrapture your entire being. If you do this then you will not only be helped in your time of tribulation, but you will grow as a Christian.

Click on each of the links, below. And may God's Presence manifest in you the reality and power of His Son, so that your tears and discouragement are passed, and you enter the sunshine of victory over darkness and despair, the land that belongs to you by the power of The Cross.

We shall have tribulation in this world, but take heart, dear friends, our leader has overcome this world, and we belong to Him. No evil will befall us. He holds us in His hands. Simply ask for His help, believe, do not doubt Him, and then rest in His promise. He never turns His back on His own. Encourage your heart and speak faith into it, through these songs and through your own open and honest prayers. That is all that you need do. He will undertake for you. He will bring down the mountains and lay them at your feet because He loves you! Now, crank up the volume!

1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGTY6H6SLOw&feature=related

2. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3KJCxnNqrp0

3. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LW4OPRb4uTs

4. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ra4HWj1jrJA&feature=related

5. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZqOIoxuf1C0&feature=related

6. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1chPr40N-bA&NR=1&feature=fvwp

7. Companion to the above: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EweWSpNuWZA

8. Andy Griffith sings “...His heart is touched by my grief.” Powerful. Great voice & arrangement: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nro_PwhYqXk

9. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-OpF_Q3TmCg&feature=related

10. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFlmCipBFWQ&feature=related

11. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sdux079C0iQ&feature=related

12. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGqev3gcxNA&feature=related

What Is Your Season, Your Present Feeling?

I offer this prayer that I penned some time ago.  I hope that it will help someone.  God be with you.

God of Our Ancient Fathers

a prayer

Your Book, O Lord, shows me that I share in the experiences of my ancient fathers - that my heart cries the same cries of their hearts...

God of the Tired, please give me Rest.

God of the Weeping, please give me Laughter.

God of the Confused, please give me Clarity.

God of the Troubled, please give me Peace.

God of the Sick, please give me Health.

God of the Poor, please give me Sustenance.

God of the Rejected, please give me Friendship.

God of the Weak, please give me Strength.

God of the Fearful, please give me Courage.

God of the Lost, please give me Direction.

God of the Sinful, please give me Forgiveness.

God of the Doubtful, please give me Faith.

God of the Angry, please give me Mercy.

God of the Maligned, please give me Vindication.

God of the Hunted, please give me Escape.

God of the Neglectful, please give me Sight.

God of the Hopeless, please give me Vision.

God of the Suffering, please give me Patience.

God of The Spirit, please give me Life.

God of The Promise, please give me Jesus.

Through Christ, Our Lord.

Amen.

Powerful Opiates: Religious Practice & Spiritual Sentiment

Before I begin, let me define the terms I use.

Religious practice is something we do in order to achieve a specific, religious result or outcome. The objective is to meet an obligation, by means of some kind of religious rite, and thereby achieve some sort of spiritual or emotional feeling.

Spiritual sentiment is that spiritual or emotional feeling that is attached to religious practice.

Opiates are powerful drugs that stupefy a person and keep them from functioning properly.

On a certain day, Jesus was addressing the religious Jews and others. No doubt, we would call many of these people “good,” because they worked hard in the discipline of their religion. They acknowledged the Scriptures as the Word of God, and they read these Scriptures every day. They were not lazy toward their religion in the least. Jesus recognizes their hard work, for this is what he says:

“You study the Scriptures diligently because you think that in them you have eternal life. These are the very Scriptures that testify about me, yet you refuse to come to me to have life.”

But now pay careful attention to what He says about the significance and the merit of their religious work and discipline, in light of the truth. Notice, while He recognizes they are hard-working in their religion, He tells them that this is not good enough to bring them life. He clearly tells them that the only way that they can have life is to come to Him.

Jesus' words here are very clear. He reveals that it is possible for a person to diligently follow and keep religious practice, get a good feeling via spiritual sentiment, yet totally miss the objective of life, which is only secured through, and in, Him alone. Religious practice will not secure or move the heart of God. The only way that we can secure and move the heart of God is to quit fooling ourselves with religious practices, surrender ourselves, and COME to Him.

Notice that Jesus uses the word, “refuse,” when characterizing these people not "coming" to Him. Why does he use this word, refuse?

In His Word, God has made it clear that He draws all men and women to Himself. He is lovingly faithful to reach out to every human being, continually, calling them into relationship. He does this for everyone. So it must be our refusal to come that explains why we have not come. One would not be guilty of not showing up at a party to which they were not invited. But if one is invited to a party and they do not show up, they have “refused” to show up. For not showing up at a party, after being invited, we may have a legitimate excuse. Maybe we were sick or had to be out of town.  But there can be no excuse for not coming to Jesus, except for the excuses that we think, in our own minds, are legitimate.  So Jesus rightly uses the word, refuse.  While they surely work hard at their religious practice of reading the Scriptures, the very Scriptures that reveal Jesus, they are numbed, by these practices, they are drugged by these practices and sentiments, into feeling all warm and fuzzy, and into believing that they have come, when He says that they have refused to come.  We make excuses for not coming to Him because our minds and hearts are drugged and under the influence of religious practice and spiritual sentiment. 

One excuse for truly coming to Jesus is that we tell ourselves, and others, that we have ALREADY come, we are already with Him.  We say, “Jesus and I are okay; everything is fine between us; I have come to Him and am already with Him.”  But, in reality, our own hearts and our own miserable conditions testify against this statement, and we are far from Him.  And we know that we are lying to ourselves, and to others.  But most often, we would rather be revered or accepted by way of our known, religious practices than by the reality of an honest and healthy relationship with the person of Jesus. It is much easier to pretend, for ourselves and for others, than it is to surrender our wills and our lives. It is much easier to practice religious rites, like reading the Bible, going to Communion, or reciting the "Our Father" prayer, than to actually sacrifice our lives over to someone else, even if that someone is The Lord who gave us that life, and sustains that life, and loves us more than anyone can love us. So, when invited to come, we give the excuse that we have already come.

To prove, to ourselves and to others, that we have already come, we point to the things that we do and to our sentiments and feelings, which we think are good and can save us.  Look, we say, don't you see that I read my Bible?  Don't you see that I attend church, and I make sure that my children attend church?  Don't you see that I have received my first, holy Communion, that I have been confirmed, that I celebrate Christmas and Easter?  Don't you see that I send my children to Sunday school and read them stories from their child's Bible?  Don't you hear my morning and evening prayers?  Don't you know how much money and personal time I give to charity and to the poor?  Have you seen me become teary-eyed when people pray?  Don't you know how personally moved I am when I see the news stories concerning sick or missing children?  Don't you know how I have prayed for them? Don't you know that I avoid profanity?  Didn't you hear me pray the rosary and other prayers?  Don't you know how much I love God and want to please Him?  Haven't you seen me being kind to people, when they did not deserve it?  Am I not a good father?  Am I not a good mother?  Am I not a good brother?  Am I not a good sister?  Do I not work hard for my family?   And there are a thousand other things we say and do, to which we point and say, “Look,” in order to prove, to ourselves and to others, that we have already come to Jesus.  But, in our hearts, we know that we have not come to Him, and that we are lying to ourselves and to others.  We know.  Our true hearts and the consistent practices of our lives testify against us.

Now it must be understood that Jesus did not speak these words to these people in order to break their spirits.  Rather, He spoke these words because He wanted them to know the truth about themselves and about what it means to have life.  He loved them, as He loves us, so much that he did not want them to continue in the darkness of error, and the futility of false security. The truth is often difficult to hear, especially when we have been trying, as best we know, to do the right thing. But difficult to hear on not, the truth must be given, else Jesus would be guilty of holding back the truth.  "Come to me," says Jesus,  "Don't put the cart before the horse; come to me first; only then will reading the Scriptures prove meritorious to your spiritual growth."

The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, is that religious practice and spiritual sentiment can drug us into a stupefying state of mind and heart. Without really coming to Jesus, religious practice and spiritual sentiment will numb us into believing that we are Christians, when we not. For Christians are only Christian when they COME, fully come, to Jesus. And they come on His terms, which is by sacrificing their wills to His will.  True faith, which heals, comforts, saves, and grows, can only come to us when we truly come to Jesus.  True faith in God and a proper, healthy relationship, is not evidenced by performing religious duties and rites, or by securing the warm, fuzzy feelings associated with spiritual sentiment.  True faith in God and a proper, healthy relationship comes when we come...fully...sacrificially...to Jesus.

So, let us stop proclaiming our diligence in reading our Bibles. Let us stop pointing out that we pray. Let us stop pretending that church attendance and meeting certain religious obligations make us Christian or close to God.  Instead, let us come to Jesus, by surrendering to Him our lives, so that we might have Him, truly have Him, and have life. For Jesus also said these other things, on a different day.  He said, “He who gives up his life, for my sake, will save it. For I have come that you may have life, and have it more abundantly.”

False Teachers, Part 1: Joyce Meyer

All of my life I have been a student of the Bible. The Bible declares that God is the author and finisher of our faith; He gives us faith and sustains it.  But this does not mean that, because of our sincerity, we are free from falling into error.  The only way to remain free from being duped by a counterfeit is to be an expert in the genuine.  So it is the plan of God, the expectation of God, and the responsibility of men, to read the holy Scriptures often, to study them diligently, and to go back and check them when some preacher or spiritual teacher brings us a message or an idea foreign to what the Church has taught for centuries.

I can attest that it takes time to discover whether or not a certain preacher or teacher is teaching false doctrine; I was once a fan of Frederick K. Price and Kenneth Copeland, both of them false teachers. It was the 1970s, and I was a young man still studying.  Also, I had little knowledge of all of their teachings; I did not know exactly what they taught about the nature of Christ, or the full nature of what it means to be a Christian. But, after a while, yet not a very long while, their teachings on these subjects, and others, showed them up as false teachers when I checked them out with the holy Scriptures.  Therefore, I do not throw rocks at others when I find out that they are following a false teacher, for they, like I once was, may not have been exposed to a particular false teaching. I do, however, correct unbiblical doctrine when I find it, because that is my job; it is my job as a Christian educator of over thirty-five years, as well as my job as a Christian.  But I do understand that it sometimes takes extra time to study and pray through the various layers of someone's teachings, until the truth is revealed.  But start we must, and we must continue to uncover truth until the day that they stick us in the proverbial pine box.  So I encourage you to start now, and keep going; do not stop.

This year I will highlight, mostly using other sources and websites that are trustworthy, some of the false doctrines and false teachers that the Church has to contend with in our days. One of the most revered and oldest, apologetics ministries that I will use will be the Christian Research Institute, founded by the late Dr. Martin. Since Dr. Martin's passing, Mr. Hank Hanegraaff has been manning the helm; he has done a profoundly excellent job of it. Their website is http://www.equip.org/.  Their daily radio broadcasts, in which they field questions over the phone, is called "The Bible Answer Man," and was started many decades ago by Dr. Martin.  In addition to the website and the radio show, their publications, including popular and scholarly works, are of the best to be found anywhere, and have proved invaluable to me in my teaching ministry.

My first installment of "False Teachers" centers on Joyce Meyer, an extremely charismatic and popular teacher within what we call the aberrant "Prosperity" or "Positive Confession" movement. I have chosen Ms. Myer because, over the past three or four months, she has again popped up on my radar. People that I know and care about have purchased and read her books and, I believe, may have been tainted by her teachings, which are completely unbiblical and, therefore, dangerous to the Body of Christ. She is a wolf in sheep's clothing, to be sure.

I say that she is a wolf because she has been confronted by many godly, learned men and women of The Gospel.  And though she has been shown her many biblical errors, and been urged into accountability, she continues to defy these godly counselors and to teach and promote these "doctrines of demons."  She sometimes even lies about her past, with respect to them, saying that she never taught or believed them, though she was well on-record (including her own, written material) when she DID teach\believe these false doctrines.  So I use the word, wolf, because that's exactly what a wolf does; it defies the warnings of the goodly shepherds and, because it is hungry (in this case, hungry for money and power), it sneaks its way into the flock and feeds off the weak ones.  But the weak sheep are most important to God, so we must warn the entire flock when we see a wolf lurking about.  The good thing, for both you and me, is that I have no radio or televison producer to stiffle my words, as some ministries do; I am free to call out "WOLF" when I see one, for the good of the sheep in God's flock.  Joyce Myer is a wolf. 

Now, one last thing.  Before I give you the link to the Christian Research Institute information, concerning Joyce Meyer, I encourage and admonish you to read the entire web page that I lead you to read. Surely your faith is worth reading the entire thing. Next, I would caution you to check your pride; Joyce Meyer is not your mother that you should feel defensive, nor should you feel embarrassed if you, up until now, had been taken in by her supposed ministry and teachings. After all, she does do a good job of twisting Scripture in a way that appears to "prove" her doctrines.  She is good at what she does, this twisting of the Bible and this charasmatic, false honesty, else she would not be so rich and of celebrity status.  Yes, she is good.  So there is no reason for you to feel embarrassed over the fact that you were duped by her; please put any pride you have away; I am your brother, and you need not feel embarrassed.  As a friend and teacher, please just give me the benefit of the doubt, fully read the resource material I commend to you, check it against Scripture and the teachings of The Church, and then you will see, for yourself, that you have been duped by a wolf in sheep's clothing.  But you must do the due diligence of fully reading, without pride involved, and the rest, if you are to do it rightly and achieve truth.  That's your part in all of this.  Read everything, study, pray, and put away pride.

Here, in the link, below, is "the skinny" on Ms. Meyer and her ungodly, unbiblical teachings.  If she should come to your church to "preach" to your congregation, I advise that you run, do not walk, to the nearest exit.  Then, stand guard at the church doors so that no sincere seeker of the true Gospel of Jesus Christ gets past you and inside.  We must not only fight the heretics - we must protect others from their lies. 

May The Holy Spirit of God open our minds to the truth of His Word, and keep us from all error.

CRI, on Joyce Meyer: http://www.equip.org/articles/the-teachings-of-joyce-meyer