Monday, January 08, 2007
The End?
You know, I promised some volumes of stories last month. Raw stories. Untold, exciting, ghetto-riffic stories. I don't think I am going to tell them. They really aren't important in the greater scheme of the Chisholm experience. If you are really aching to hear the stories, call me up, or ask me about them in person. I think I enjoy talking more than typing.
This is the last Chisholm Project blog. I am going to continue to blog elsewhere, at least once a month, at my new blog. Tara and I are not getting the internet in our home, which should be good for lots of reasons. But I will still blog a bit. Please keep up with me. www.mortifyme.blogspot.com
The last 3 or 4 months have been wedding-centric, and so Chisholm has not been priority. That was no mistake, and I don't regret focusing my energies elsewhere. But I am sure you are wondering "what ever happened to...?" and so I will take the time to tell you.
The kids. The 7 kids who are cousins/brothers/sisters who identify themselves as my children are still very much a part of our life. They (and some more of their family) came to the wedding. Shay, Stevie, Loka, Fernando, James, Tiana, and Shakira have all been over to the new house more than once or twice. We will keep feeding and teaching them there in Capitol Heights most Saturdays and maybe one week night weekly. Four of them are also coming to Morningview on Sunday nights for Bible drills and such. We are hoping that Fernando will get to go to middle school next year at Capitol Heights, and that way he can walk over after school as much as he likes.
Bradley. Bradley went to court-ordered boot camp this fall. He also hit puberty. Puberty and boot camp don't go well together. We have seen Bradley twice in the last 3-4 months. He still needs a new heart. Pray that he would call us.
Jimmy. Jimmy and his family decided that we weren't cut out for each other. I think I agree. It was nice serving them. Peace!
Herman. Herman is a legacy. Everyone who has never been to Chisholm but only read this blog asks about Herman. We don't really know what happened to Herman. Jonny made him a birthday cake in July (so sweet) and then Herman never called us ever again. We would play with the kids right next to his yard and he never came out. We would look for him to be outside feeding his dogs or talking to a neighbor. Nothing. A lot of his furniture got tossed on the curb by his daughter a while back, but the house has not been rented out again. I think he might have been put in a home? Or maybe something worse happened and his daughter is just collecting his check? I have no explanation, but I haven't seen him in 6 months for sure.
Mexicans. There are about 12 Mexicans living next door in the house, the plywood addition to the house, and the storage building behind the house. No lie. There are extension cords running power from the main house to the storage shed. When they found out that we were moving, they wanted to get 9 Rotary so they could have some more space. I hope it works out for them... and Ben the rat. But yeh... don't send your church to Guatemala to build a cinderblock home. Send them to Chisholm, because the next tornado could take some lives at 7 Rotary St.
Cameron, the whistle-blower. This is the neighbor who saw Lucius steal Jonny's truck. He didn't want to talk about Jesus, but he was good to have around. He would spot me with cash at the Dollar General when their bo-bo credit card swiper wouldn't work adn I needed to pay for my groceries. And he would knock on the door when the dog got out so that we would catch him. Good neighbor. Thoroughly ghetto. But good neighbor. He moved out in October without goodbyes or explanations. That happens alot in Chisholm. I hope to run into him around town.
Mean old white man. He didn't get any nicer or any less critical of everyone else, and we didn't ever break our backs to love him. We just let him sit on his porch and sulk. I'll be judged for that one day.
Other kids. I am sure the other kids miss the free hot dogs and pizza and popsicles, but other than that, they are making it without us. No goodbyes or anything.
So what was the point of it all, anyway? Why did we subject ourselves to crappy living conditions and theft and rat and ungrateful neighbors? Well, you'll have to either go back and read the archives of the blog, or you'll have to buy my book. If the Lord permits, I will finish writing it. It is going to be a personal theology of missions that ought to be applicable and pertinent in any neighborhood in any country, but especially to places like Chisholm.
May God continue to make your hearts tender for people who aren't like you. May He use someone more dedicated and foolish than me or Henson to do more work in Chisholm. May the church learn to treasure the chance to live like we lived. And may God redeem Chisholm for his name's sake!
Thanks for everything. I love you.
This is the last Chisholm Project blog. I am going to continue to blog elsewhere, at least once a month, at my new blog. Tara and I are not getting the internet in our home, which should be good for lots of reasons. But I will still blog a bit. Please keep up with me. www.mortifyme.blogspot.com
The last 3 or 4 months have been wedding-centric, and so Chisholm has not been priority. That was no mistake, and I don't regret focusing my energies elsewhere. But I am sure you are wondering "what ever happened to...?" and so I will take the time to tell you.
The kids. The 7 kids who are cousins/brothers/sisters who identify themselves as my children are still very much a part of our life. They (and some more of their family) came to the wedding. Shay, Stevie, Loka, Fernando, James, Tiana, and Shakira have all been over to the new house more than once or twice. We will keep feeding and teaching them there in Capitol Heights most Saturdays and maybe one week night weekly. Four of them are also coming to Morningview on Sunday nights for Bible drills and such. We are hoping that Fernando will get to go to middle school next year at Capitol Heights, and that way he can walk over after school as much as he likes.
Bradley. Bradley went to court-ordered boot camp this fall. He also hit puberty. Puberty and boot camp don't go well together. We have seen Bradley twice in the last 3-4 months. He still needs a new heart. Pray that he would call us.
Jimmy. Jimmy and his family decided that we weren't cut out for each other. I think I agree. It was nice serving them. Peace!
Herman. Herman is a legacy. Everyone who has never been to Chisholm but only read this blog asks about Herman. We don't really know what happened to Herman. Jonny made him a birthday cake in July (so sweet) and then Herman never called us ever again. We would play with the kids right next to his yard and he never came out. We would look for him to be outside feeding his dogs or talking to a neighbor. Nothing. A lot of his furniture got tossed on the curb by his daughter a while back, but the house has not been rented out again. I think he might have been put in a home? Or maybe something worse happened and his daughter is just collecting his check? I have no explanation, but I haven't seen him in 6 months for sure.
Mexicans. There are about 12 Mexicans living next door in the house, the plywood addition to the house, and the storage building behind the house. No lie. There are extension cords running power from the main house to the storage shed. When they found out that we were moving, they wanted to get 9 Rotary so they could have some more space. I hope it works out for them... and Ben the rat. But yeh... don't send your church to Guatemala to build a cinderblock home. Send them to Chisholm, because the next tornado could take some lives at 7 Rotary St.
Cameron, the whistle-blower. This is the neighbor who saw Lucius steal Jonny's truck. He didn't want to talk about Jesus, but he was good to have around. He would spot me with cash at the Dollar General when their bo-bo credit card swiper wouldn't work adn I needed to pay for my groceries. And he would knock on the door when the dog got out so that we would catch him. Good neighbor. Thoroughly ghetto. But good neighbor. He moved out in October without goodbyes or explanations. That happens alot in Chisholm. I hope to run into him around town.
Mean old white man. He didn't get any nicer or any less critical of everyone else, and we didn't ever break our backs to love him. We just let him sit on his porch and sulk. I'll be judged for that one day.
Other kids. I am sure the other kids miss the free hot dogs and pizza and popsicles, but other than that, they are making it without us. No goodbyes or anything.
So what was the point of it all, anyway? Why did we subject ourselves to crappy living conditions and theft and rat and ungrateful neighbors? Well, you'll have to either go back and read the archives of the blog, or you'll have to buy my book. If the Lord permits, I will finish writing it. It is going to be a personal theology of missions that ought to be applicable and pertinent in any neighborhood in any country, but especially to places like Chisholm.
May God continue to make your hearts tender for people who aren't like you. May He use someone more dedicated and foolish than me or Henson to do more work in Chisholm. May the church learn to treasure the chance to live like we lived. And may God redeem Chisholm for his name's sake!
Thanks for everything. I love you.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
The Untold Stories, Vol. I
Okay, kids. Sit down for story time with Daddy Ben.
I should probably be doing something right now to prepare for wedding and honeymoon, but I can't think of what I should be doing, so I blog.
There were numerous things that happened that were more life-threatening than Ben-the-rat, and since I am moved out of 9 Rotary, and since Jonny is practically moved out, no one will fear for our safety or admonish us, because the past is past!
Story #1: Drunk Driver
This happened in hmm... February? March? I dunno when.
Jonny and I had Bradley over for dinner one Friday night. J and Bradley were sitting on the couch reading the Bible and I had taken the garbage out to the side of the house. My Mexican neighbor beckons me to the fence in the backyard.
"De cheek-ens..."
He points to some chickens in their backyard. (There used to be 6 or 7)
"Los pollos", says Ben.
"Yase, de cheekens. De dog." He points at Jonny's dog.
"El perro" says Ben. I am thinking he wants an English lesson.
Then he stands there looking at me like I should know the rest of his story. But I don't. 5 minutes later, I figure out that Buck climbed the fence and ate a chicken. If you have been reading since last winter, you knew this.
Then Roberto gets a cheeken and holds him over the fence as the cheeken flaps all over the place. He points at the dog and tells me to hit the dog. Like the dog is going to understand? What am I teaching the dog? Not to pick up a chicken and dangle him over the fence? So I give Buck a pat-pat on the bum, and Buck looks confused.
"Gracias" says the neighbor.
I am walking around the front of the house to go tell Jonny that the dog eats chickens, and as I round the corner, (it is dusk, by the way) this van comes sailing down our street towards our house at about 45 mph. He runs one side of the car on the curb and CRUNCH, he hits the telephone poll in the next yard (9 and 1/2 Rotary St. Yes, there is a 9 and 1/2 Rotary St.) I am just standing there being a startled spectator, which you will see is my customary response in these situations. My fight-or-flight instincts are apparently missing.
The driver's door comes flinging open, a shady white man leaps out and starts sprinting down the street. Another white man comes rolling out screaming and yelling and holding his sides. He is saying things like "Oooh!" and "Help me!" and "Jesus!" and "Oooh, help me, Jesus!"
Bradley comes out on the porch. He sees the van. He knows the man who drives it. He hears the crying. He thinks the guy is dying. Bradley starts crying.
Shawn (a lady named Shawn, our old neighbor across the street) and her little girl and the little girl's friend were getting in the car while this happened. Her little girl is crying. Shawn is standing on the curb with her hands on her hips shaking her head at the man in the street.
Every white person on Rotary Street (previously unseen) comes out to spectate, commentate, or hyper-ventilate. They start saying things like, "Somebody, call 9-1-1!" (I don't remember who did)... and "Get him some water! He says he's thirsty" and "Don't move him, he might be paralyzed!" You know... everyone thinks they are an E.M.T. in a situation like this. But none of them notices that there are power lines laying in the street and dangling over their heads. Smarrrrt.
Me: "Hey, there are power lines down..."
Everyone else: Ignores me.
And in the midst of the Caucasian madness, Shawn intervenes. "THIS MAN IS NOT HURT!"
Man: I'm dyin'... I'm dyin'... somebody call my diddy and tell 'im I love 'im...
White lady: What's his phone number!?
Shawn: THIS MAN IS NOT HURT. I SAW IT ALL. THIS MAN IS DRUNK!
Man: 555-9999Take me Jesus, I'm comin' home! Take me! Oooohhhh!
White people touching the man's hands and feet: Can you feel this?
Man: You're breaking my back!!! AAAAAAAAH!
Shawn: I AM A NURSE. THIS MAN IS NOT HURT. GET AWAY FROM HIM!
Man: I can see the light! Ooooh! (Drama ad nauseum)
And then you have the kids standing on the curb and they are crying. And I am like, "Hmm, this is not a place for them..." So I get them inside and put on Shrek and say, "Hey kids! Let's watch Shrek!" and as soon as I go outside, they follow me again. I mean, who wants to watch Shrek when a man is allegedly dying in the street. I can't blame them.
Then about 5 (no lie, Jonny will testify, 5!) emergency vehicles show up... which was uncalled for. And the police interview the man, and between his cries he tells everyone that the pole came out of no where and that he was projected from the vehicle (door?) into the street. And Shawn, the star witness is screaming, "THIS MAN IS NOT HURT! HIS FRIEND PUSHED HIM OUT THE WAY AND HE FELL OUT THE VAN! HE IS FINE! TAKE HIS #$* TO JAIL!"
Some cops go to look for the other man, who had by then had about 15 minutes to run to the other side of Chisholm. Finally, the paramedics put the drunk man in the ambulance and took him away, and for the rest of the night we had no power because the pole snapped, and the power crews had to do their work. We walked Bradley home and then sat on the porch and watched the clean-up.
The end of Story #1. Stay tuned for #2.
I should probably be doing something right now to prepare for wedding and honeymoon, but I can't think of what I should be doing, so I blog.
There were numerous things that happened that were more life-threatening than Ben-the-rat, and since I am moved out of 9 Rotary, and since Jonny is practically moved out, no one will fear for our safety or admonish us, because the past is past!
Story #1: Drunk Driver
This happened in hmm... February? March? I dunno when.
Jonny and I had Bradley over for dinner one Friday night. J and Bradley were sitting on the couch reading the Bible and I had taken the garbage out to the side of the house. My Mexican neighbor beckons me to the fence in the backyard.
"De cheek-ens..."
He points to some chickens in their backyard. (There used to be 6 or 7)
"Los pollos", says Ben.
"Yase, de cheekens. De dog." He points at Jonny's dog.
"El perro" says Ben. I am thinking he wants an English lesson.
Then he stands there looking at me like I should know the rest of his story. But I don't. 5 minutes later, I figure out that Buck climbed the fence and ate a chicken. If you have been reading since last winter, you knew this.
Then Roberto gets a cheeken and holds him over the fence as the cheeken flaps all over the place. He points at the dog and tells me to hit the dog. Like the dog is going to understand? What am I teaching the dog? Not to pick up a chicken and dangle him over the fence? So I give Buck a pat-pat on the bum, and Buck looks confused.
"Gracias" says the neighbor.
I am walking around the front of the house to go tell Jonny that the dog eats chickens, and as I round the corner, (it is dusk, by the way) this van comes sailing down our street towards our house at about 45 mph. He runs one side of the car on the curb and CRUNCH, he hits the telephone poll in the next yard (9 and 1/2 Rotary St. Yes, there is a 9 and 1/2 Rotary St.) I am just standing there being a startled spectator, which you will see is my customary response in these situations. My fight-or-flight instincts are apparently missing.
The driver's door comes flinging open, a shady white man leaps out and starts sprinting down the street. Another white man comes rolling out screaming and yelling and holding his sides. He is saying things like "Oooh!" and "Help me!" and "Jesus!" and "Oooh, help me, Jesus!"
Bradley comes out on the porch. He sees the van. He knows the man who drives it. He hears the crying. He thinks the guy is dying. Bradley starts crying.
Shawn (a lady named Shawn, our old neighbor across the street) and her little girl and the little girl's friend were getting in the car while this happened. Her little girl is crying. Shawn is standing on the curb with her hands on her hips shaking her head at the man in the street.
Every white person on Rotary Street (previously unseen) comes out to spectate, commentate, or hyper-ventilate. They start saying things like, "Somebody, call 9-1-1!" (I don't remember who did)... and "Get him some water! He says he's thirsty" and "Don't move him, he might be paralyzed!" You know... everyone thinks they are an E.M.T. in a situation like this. But none of them notices that there are power lines laying in the street and dangling over their heads. Smarrrrt.
Me: "Hey, there are power lines down..."
Everyone else: Ignores me.
And in the midst of the Caucasian madness, Shawn intervenes. "THIS MAN IS NOT HURT!"
Man: I'm dyin'... I'm dyin'... somebody call my diddy and tell 'im I love 'im...
White lady: What's his phone number!?
Shawn: THIS MAN IS NOT HURT. I SAW IT ALL. THIS MAN IS DRUNK!
Man: 555-9999Take me Jesus, I'm comin' home! Take me! Oooohhhh!
White people touching the man's hands and feet: Can you feel this?
Man: You're breaking my back!!! AAAAAAAAH!
Shawn: I AM A NURSE. THIS MAN IS NOT HURT. GET AWAY FROM HIM!
Man: I can see the light! Ooooh! (Drama ad nauseum)
And then you have the kids standing on the curb and they are crying. And I am like, "Hmm, this is not a place for them..." So I get them inside and put on Shrek and say, "Hey kids! Let's watch Shrek!" and as soon as I go outside, they follow me again. I mean, who wants to watch Shrek when a man is allegedly dying in the street. I can't blame them.
Then about 5 (no lie, Jonny will testify, 5!) emergency vehicles show up... which was uncalled for. And the police interview the man, and between his cries he tells everyone that the pole came out of no where and that he was projected from the vehicle (door?) into the street. And Shawn, the star witness is screaming, "THIS MAN IS NOT HURT! HIS FRIEND PUSHED HIM OUT THE WAY AND HE FELL OUT THE VAN! HE IS FINE! TAKE HIS #$* TO JAIL!"
Some cops go to look for the other man, who had by then had about 15 minutes to run to the other side of Chisholm. Finally, the paramedics put the drunk man in the ambulance and took him away, and for the rest of the night we had no power because the pole snapped, and the power crews had to do their work. We walked Bradley home and then sat on the porch and watched the clean-up.
The end of Story #1. Stay tuned for #2.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Ben and Ben
You may be unaware, but I share my name with a fictional rat from a movie (also named "Ben") made in 1972. I also share my name with a Michael Jackson song made for the movie about the fictional rat. I am usually reminded about Ben the rat about once a week by a guy at work named Cornelius who likes to sing the Michael Jackson song to me. It goes like this: "Ben, the two of us need look no more...We both found what we were looking for..."So I tell you this to accent the irony of my experience last night.
I decided to be productive with my time after work and do some laundry. This requires me to go back to 9 Rotary St (I have been sleeping at the new house). About 2 months ago, I discovered a suspicious hole in the dog food bag in the pantry, and also had heard some thuds in the kitchen at night. Jonny and I ascertained that we had a rat. About a month ago, Jonny came home (I was asleep) and found the rat staring up at him from the kitchen floor, proud as life and big as day. Jonny says that he has seen rats before and that he isn't scared of them. Big man, tough guy... yeh, yeh, yeh. He should have killed it while he had the chance.
The only place I have previously seen rats was in the alleyways in the slums of China. I remember being a little sicked out seeing them there, but it was not intimidating. I mean, we were outside in open space. The rats could run anywhere, the people could run anywhere, and the likelihood of a rat-pedestrian encounter was pretty improbable, unless you had cheese tied to your ankles.
Well... last night, I went to the house to do my laundry. I thought I heard a little scurry-scurry when I turned on the light, so I handled the situation how I normally do. I talked to the rat in my threatening ghetto voice. I said, "Rat, don't make me kill you. You better find a hole and hide cause I'm here to do my laundry. Get out of my way, you dirty little hooker." (That's really how I talk to the rat whom I had previously never seen but only heard)
I walk across the kitchen and open the washer lid. This rat comes thudding out from behind the washer about a yard away from my feet. I literally leapt on top of the dryer and started yelling "AAAAAHHHH!" until he made his way across the kitchen and went behind the water heater. Then, I thought to myself, I bet the Mexicans are hearing this, so I toned it down to just a little "aaaaahhh!" What if he had latched onto my ankle! I would be in the hospital for rabies or something. About two minutes later I got down from the dryer and did my laundry really fast and thanked God that I don't live in that stank nasty house anymore.
I really think I could better handle a snake. I feel like if I yelled at the snake, he would get mad. So seeing a snake, I would have some motivation to act a bit cooler. You know, treat him like he wasn't there while I reached for a shovel or something. Rats... different story. Yelling has no adverse effects that I know of. Plus, they are gross. They deserve yelling. I don't think there were rats in Eden. I am pretty sure they might be in hell.
So anyhow. Ben the boy met Ben the rat last night, and neither the boy nor the rat sang any Michael Jackson songs.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
More Youtube Videos
Lord I Lift Your Name
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bFPO78wITOI
Interview with Loka
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxriBcsB8BY
Bling-Bling Play Money
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr8Q7xvV370
More Bible Drill
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr8Q7xvV370
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bFPO78wITOI
Interview with Loka
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxriBcsB8BY
Bling-Bling Play Money
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr8Q7xvV370
More Bible Drill
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr8Q7xvV370
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Thank Youtube
I have taken several short videos of random things throughout the last year, and I am just now getting around to posting them on Youtube. I don't know how long I will leave them up, so enjoy them while you can. I will add links to each video as I add them to youtube. Also, they will basically be added in reverse chronological order -- so if things in the videos look or sound not-so-recent, it is because they are not-so-recent.
Enjoy!
Welcome to McDonald's
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmlT854yUcU
Sometimes People Do Be Hatin
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=upSmu-oFrfA
You Know What I'm Sayin
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJnb5QDoPBc
Enjoy!
Welcome to McDonald's
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmlT854yUcU
Sometimes People Do Be Hatin
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=upSmu-oFrfA
You Know What I'm Sayin
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJnb5QDoPBc
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Faking Fruit
This past Saturday morning, I finally did something that I have been meaning to do since we moved in last January: yard work. Don't misunderstand. We have a lawnmower, and we keep the grass/weeds cut. I even bust out the scissors and trim the nasty weeds that creep up against the front porch and gate. Jonathan thinks it is very funny that I use the scissors, but I will have you know that they are cheaper than purchasing a weed eater, and they have yet to require repair.
Anyhow... besides cutting weeds and grass, our yard goes unkempt. Neighbors are not very envious of Yard of the Month, and neither are we. We have had this mutual fence foliage that we shared with the Mexicans, and Saturday I got tired of scraping my car against it. I decided to make a journey to our local Chisholm hardware store, Dixie Hardware on East Park Av, which turns out is a very nice little place with lots of stuff and reasonable prices. I purchased some shears and gloves and went home happy.
For about 45 minutes, I neutered everything green that could be reached without a ladder, and then I made a nice pile of limbs and such on the curb.
The next morning as I was leaving for church I looked out my window at the curb, and I guess I expected a big pile of brown to be sitting there... but everything was green. Things looked just as fresh as though I had just done the chopping. And it all sort of bugged me that the limbs weren't dead yet, because they were no longer alive and attached to the root. So in my agitation, I started thinking; the thinking has subsequently led to this blog.
I think that there are an awful lot of times that I am like these dead-but-green branches. I know that there are hours and days and seasons of unfruitfulness in my life. My affection for God wanes, my brokenness over my sin is absent, and consequently, my life is full of bad fruit.
I am the type with a 500 pound conscience; when I err, I feel that my sin is being broadcast in neon lights on my forehead. I am naturally inclined to rationalize that I outwardly appear as dead as I feel on the inside. At this point of anxiety, instead of running to Christ, abiding in Him, and filling myself with Jesus, I instead try to cling on to all the appearance of green that is left in the lifeless branches.
Basically, I fake fruit.
I willfully prop my dead limbs up against the Vine and try to camouflage myself among the healthiness of other branches. Few people discern that I am ministering and striving and running the race in utterly self-focused, self-reliant pride and vanity, and the sham lasts until the branch turns brown. Maybe no one notices because they are doing the same thing. Then, someone spiritual says something about a dangerous fire; I realize that I am literally hell-kindling, and I finally run to Christ.
This is not a joyful way to live. It is stressful. It is stupid. It is injurious --even perilous-- to my soul.
I want you to see that it is indeed possible to fake fruit. God is not fooled, but man is. I want to confess that I have often done it in your sight, even through this dumb blog. I want to ask your forgiveness. I want you to assume nothing. I want you who are my friends to ask me if I am abiding in Christ. And when I say yes, I want you to say it again. "Are you truly abiding in Christ?" You might be snatching me from the fire by asking.
I love God for giving us a Bible that is so in-your-face true. He might have a lot of secrets and mysteries, but he isn't hiding anything from us that is crucial to eternal life. I am not sure how so many of us go years reading the Word and never being afraid for our souls. Jesus' own language in the Gospels promise us a number of fearsome truths, one of them being that dead, fruitless branches are not fire-insurable. Neither are joyless, loveless, peaceless "Christians" who esteem themselves more than God's glory. They are cut off by the Vinedresser, and cast into the flame. (Jn 15:-5-6) It is a truth that we need to approach and digest everyday.
I leave you with another Bible passage with a similar message. I pray that God will use it to help us examine our fruit, and help me to never fake mine.
Abide in Christ!
"... the word of God came to John the son of Zechariah in the wilderness. 3And he went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 4As it is written in the book of the words of Isaiah the prophet, "The voice of one crying in the wilderness:'Prepare the way of the Lord,[a] make his paths straight. 5Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low,and the crooked shall become straight, and the rough places shall become level ways, 6and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.'"
7He said therefore to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? 8Bear fruits in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our father.' For I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children for Abraham. 9Even now the axe is laid to the root of the trees. Every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire."
10And the crowds asked him, "What then shall we do?" 11And he answered them, "Whoever has two tunics[b] is to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise." 12Tax collectors also came to be baptized and said to him, "Teacher, what shall we do?" 13And he said to them, "Collect no more than you are authorized to do." 14Soldiers also asked him, "And we, what shall we do?" And he said to them, "Do not extort money from anyone by threats or by false accusation, and be content with your wages."
15As the people were in expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Christ, 16John answered them all, saying, "I baptize you with water, but he who is mightier than I is coming, the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. 17His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." Luke 3: 2b-17
Anyhow... besides cutting weeds and grass, our yard goes unkempt. Neighbors are not very envious of Yard of the Month, and neither are we. We have had this mutual fence foliage that we shared with the Mexicans, and Saturday I got tired of scraping my car against it. I decided to make a journey to our local Chisholm hardware store, Dixie Hardware on East Park Av, which turns out is a very nice little place with lots of stuff and reasonable prices. I purchased some shears and gloves and went home happy.
For about 45 minutes, I neutered everything green that could be reached without a ladder, and then I made a nice pile of limbs and such on the curb.
The next morning as I was leaving for church I looked out my window at the curb, and I guess I expected a big pile of brown to be sitting there... but everything was green. Things looked just as fresh as though I had just done the chopping. And it all sort of bugged me that the limbs weren't dead yet, because they were no longer alive and attached to the root. So in my agitation, I started thinking; the thinking has subsequently led to this blog.
I think that there are an awful lot of times that I am like these dead-but-green branches. I know that there are hours and days and seasons of unfruitfulness in my life. My affection for God wanes, my brokenness over my sin is absent, and consequently, my life is full of bad fruit.
I am the type with a 500 pound conscience; when I err, I feel that my sin is being broadcast in neon lights on my forehead. I am naturally inclined to rationalize that I outwardly appear as dead as I feel on the inside. At this point of anxiety, instead of running to Christ, abiding in Him, and filling myself with Jesus, I instead try to cling on to all the appearance of green that is left in the lifeless branches.
Basically, I fake fruit.
I willfully prop my dead limbs up against the Vine and try to camouflage myself among the healthiness of other branches. Few people discern that I am ministering and striving and running the race in utterly self-focused, self-reliant pride and vanity, and the sham lasts until the branch turns brown. Maybe no one notices because they are doing the same thing. Then, someone spiritual says something about a dangerous fire; I realize that I am literally hell-kindling, and I finally run to Christ.
This is not a joyful way to live. It is stressful. It is stupid. It is injurious --even perilous-- to my soul.
I want you to see that it is indeed possible to fake fruit. God is not fooled, but man is. I want to confess that I have often done it in your sight, even through this dumb blog. I want to ask your forgiveness. I want you to assume nothing. I want you who are my friends to ask me if I am abiding in Christ. And when I say yes, I want you to say it again. "Are you truly abiding in Christ?" You might be snatching me from the fire by asking.
I love God for giving us a Bible that is so in-your-face true. He might have a lot of secrets and mysteries, but he isn't hiding anything from us that is crucial to eternal life. I am not sure how so many of us go years reading the Word and never being afraid for our souls. Jesus' own language in the Gospels promise us a number of fearsome truths, one of them being that dead, fruitless branches are not fire-insurable. Neither are joyless, loveless, peaceless "Christians" who esteem themselves more than God's glory. They are cut off by the Vinedresser, and cast into the flame. (Jn 15:-5-6) It is a truth that we need to approach and digest everyday.
I leave you with another Bible passage with a similar message. I pray that God will use it to help us examine our fruit, and help me to never fake mine.
Abide in Christ!
"... the word of God came to John the son of Zechariah in the wilderness. 3And he went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 4As it is written in the book of the words of Isaiah the prophet, "The voice of one crying in the wilderness:'Prepare the way of the Lord,[a] make his paths straight. 5Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low,and the crooked shall become straight, and the rough places shall become level ways, 6and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.'"
7He said therefore to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? 8Bear fruits in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our father.' For I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children for Abraham. 9Even now the axe is laid to the root of the trees. Every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire."
10And the crowds asked him, "What then shall we do?" 11And he answered them, "Whoever has two tunics[b] is to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise." 12Tax collectors also came to be baptized and said to him, "Teacher, what shall we do?" 13And he said to them, "Collect no more than you are authorized to do." 14Soldiers also asked him, "And we, what shall we do?" And he said to them, "Do not extort money from anyone by threats or by false accusation, and be content with your wages."
15As the people were in expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Christ, 16John answered them all, saying, "I baptize you with water, but he who is mightier than I is coming, the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. 17His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." Luke 3: 2b-17
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Morning-Who Part 2
The picture above is actually from the church picnic. Check out David and Kem jumping rope at Lagoon Park.
More pictures of youth teaching