A Very, Merry Easter!

I remember standing a few steps away from where all the excitement was and I was smiling. I couldn't get the most ridiculous and silly grin off my face. She - my wife - got most of the attention, and I was the 'coat rack'...and that was just fine with me. Guests would come into our room, shake our hands, (I mean...mostly her hands), maybe leave a gift, balloons, or flowers, and then leave. Smiles. Hugs. Tears. Pictures. Stories. And more stories. I've had the utmost pleasure of experiencing these moments twice...at the births of our three children. These brief encounters with joy and happiness usually went on for several days and then life would go back 'to normal'. Or not.

Actually, as I recall, life never returned to 'normal'. Unannounced visitors stopped coming by. The phone was quiet. Cards and flowers stopped arriving. It was a stark contrast to the rush of excitement that was so palpable just days before. As new parents, we were vacillating between joyful anticipation and terrifying fear. When the last of the visitors left, I recall looking at my wife, who then was gently rocking two babies in unison, and saying, "Now what are we supposed to do?" The lives of our son and daughter that were hidden 'skin-deep' for nine months were now an actuality, and our lives have never resembled anything close to that of pre-parenthood. Life again would change dramatically, although with more predictability, with the birth of our third child, a daughter, just three short years later.

With all these changes came a few constants - smiles and tears, laughing and crying, controlled chaos and serene calm. We learned quickly enough that the crying will stop - eventually. Temper tantrums will become hugs and cuddles - eventually. And the occasional "I wish you were more like..." will become "I'm so thankful you are..." - eventually. Parenthood is like a roller coaster with near vertical drops without any warning, and twists and turns so sudden and unexpected. But I know that in a few minutes I'll be getting off the ride, walking down the steps toward the exit, and I'll look back at the ride and say, "Let's do it again!" And, like a kid, I'll run back to be first in line.

This Christmas, I wondered if God smiled proudly when the shepherds and wise men visited Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Was he taking in all that he could? Was he listening to Mary recount the story of not being able to find a place to sleep? I know Joseph must have...but did God? We know the angels rejoiced, but what did God do? With my finite i.e. human understanding of God's majesty and omnipotence I wondered if God wept when Jesus was born? Did he cry knowing that his son would endure the slings and arrows of humankind? Did he mourn knowing that his only son would endure hell and agony for three days? Was he anxious to get the whole crucifixion and resurrection thing over and done with knowing that the day would be here before 'he knew it'? I don't know.

I know one thing...Jesus' heavenly father never said, "Lets do it again."

About thirty-three years later, somewhere on a hill outside of Jerusalem, the Father, through his Son, declared, "It is finished."

 

Merry Easter to all, and to all a good night!

 

Waiting for the sun to rise - #comequicklylordjesus

Just a short time ago when cutting flowers this fall, I frequently found myself looking eastward for the rising of the sun - especially on days when the morning dew had fallen more heavily on the plants, and when temperatures hovered a few degrees above freezing. Slowly, and with predictable precision, the sun would rise above the row of pine trees along my field's perimeter; and finally I would feel its promised warmth on my back...and on my hands. Aching hands that from the cold and dew resembled more like claws frozen in time (think of an eagle's talons on the wall of a taxidermist) than that of dexterous and flexible appendages they were made to be! It never took too long - once the sun rose above the trees and its warmth penetrated my gloves - for my hands to return once again to full usefulness. And, it could never happen soon enough.

 

I was reminded of these cold mornings spent in the flower field during a recent meeting. The facilitator read aloud Psalm 130 as a prelude to our round-table discussion. And, when he read verse 6, "I wait for the Lord, more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning", it made me wonder if my longing for the autumn sun to rise in my field was similar to the author's 'waiting' for the morning. Did his body ache from 'waiting' as my hands ached to be relieved from the cold? Much like the sun being the only salve to my discomfort, was he racked with an internal longing like a homesickness that only a mother's touch can relieve?

I wonder. I wonder, too, if my childhood minister's prayerful plea, "Come quickly, Lord Jesus", had a tinge of homesickness and bodily ache like that I imagine of the psalmist. It was the prayer that I recall causing me - a pre-ten year old boy - to recoil with fear. Each time he prayed it, I had the same thoughts - Jesus, don't come yet, because I have so much to do. (With all the singing I heard they do in heaven it didn't sound to appealing to a pre-teenaged boy!) But Sunday after Sunday, no matter how much internal pleading went on inside my head for him not to, Reverend Zantingh would say those words in his prayer, "Come quickly, Lord Jesus". It was a plea, and, sometimes to my horror, he even said it twice.

Strange though, how almost 40 years later, my pastor's plea for Jesus to return quickly has become my plea. It feels like a yearning - like frozen hands aching for the sun to rise. It feels like the separation anxiety that a young boy experienced during his first days of kindergarten. It feels like the homesickness of an 11 year old boy that longed to be in the comfort of his own home. I know...I was that boy.

If you're waiting for the sun to rise,
for floods to recede,
for hearts to thaw,
for heartaches to heal,
for loneliness to dispel, 
for forgiveness to fall,
for peace to endure,
for laughter to ensue,
for tears to dry,
then wait, wait for the Jesus' return.

Like God's promise found in the presence of a rainbow, I know of no greater hope and promise for the future of humankind than Jesus' return.

#comequicklylordjesus #comequicklylordjesus

"I wonder God if you'll take my hand"

"Mother buries 3 children and her father following a week-end crash."

     Because I live, you also will live.

"A mother to four young girls succumbs to cancer."

     Because I live, you also will live.

"A sister in Christ shares her testimony about her terminal illness."

     Because I live, you also will live.

Three sentences.

Seven deaths.

Countless tears.

One promise.

In the span of two days, I read the tragic headline about the mother burying her children; heard the news about the death of an old friend's wife through another friend; and listened to a testimony of a dying sister in Christ shared with us by her husband. Sometimes when we hear tragic news we hardly give it a second thought. At other times news like this can shake our foundations and we ask questions about life and its meaning.

So what are we supposed to do with this? Why does a mom have to bury not just one but all three of her children plus her father? How is a father to raise four young girls without their mommy? Why is a godly man asked to live out his retirement years with out his dearly loved wife of 27 years. I ask lots of questions...but receive few, if any, answers.

But amidst all the deafening questions that are screaming for answers we hear Jesus' voice rise above the noise and whisper his promise, "Do not let your hearts be troubled...Because I live, you also will live" (John 14) and we remember that our life on earth is but a blink of an eye compared to the eternity we will spend in Heaven. When we remember this promise from Jesus - death's sting is less painful, and its finality less dreadful if we have placed our trust and faith in the only person who died and was raised victoriously.

If I believed that all there is to life is a few short years and then we die, I would find no consolation, no reasonable cause for hope, and no ultimate purpose to carry on.

However, it is becoming more and more apparent as I get older, that time is slipping away and the need to share the saving news of Christ is more urgent than ever. Too much time is wasted on 'getting ahead', crossing off 'bucket list' items, feeding destructive habits, reopening old wounds, and not letting go of the past.  The source of our only hope and comfort in life and in death is Jesus Christ. Without him, there is no hope for you and I. This message of hope doesn't get any clearer!

Frances Angermeyer, a WWII soldier, wrote this dramatic poem of his own conversion in 1942.

Lord God, I have never spoken to you,

but now I want to say how do you do?

You see God they told me you didn't exist

and like a fool I believed all this.

Last night from a shell hole I saw your sky,

I figured right then they had told me a lie.

Had I taken time to see the things you made,

I would have know they weren't calling a spade a spade.

I wonder God if you'll take my hand,

somehow I feel that you'll understand.

Funny how I had come to this hellish place,

before I had time to see your face.

I guess there really isn't much more to say,

but I'm sure glad God that I met you today.

I guess zero hour will soon be here,

But I'm not afraid since I know you're near.

The signal, well God I'll have to go,

I like you lots, I want you to know.

Look now this will be a horrible fight,

who knows I may come to your house tonight.

Though I wasn't friendly to you before,

I wonder God if you'd wait at my door.

Look I'm crying, I'm shedding tears,

I'll have to go now, God, good-bye.

Strange now since I met you,

I'm not afraid to die.

If you live because Jesus lives in you; if your peace within comes from knowing Christ as your Saviour; if you believe that death does not have the final say, don't wait to share it. Someone's life depends on it.

If you want to know more about this faith I have in Christ, if you want to be convinced of Christ's authenticity, then I urge you check out Lee Strobel's, a former legal journalist for The Chicago Tribune and one-time atheist, compelling argument: "The Case for Christ: Evidence for the Resurrection".



A man and his tattered toy elephant

Ever see an adult clutching a stuffed toy or holding a blanket close to his or her face? I did last Sunday; and admittedly - I had to look twice, because it's not something you see everyday. I saw an adult man holding a stuffed toy very close to his chest. Accompanied by his caregiver/guide, this man, with apparent special needs, was a visitor in our church so I don't know his story. However, this scene of a man holding his tattered toy elephant got me to think...and smile.

What if we carried around with us a special blanket, a piece of cloth, or a stuffed animal? And, when we were upset or nervous we would hold it up close to our face and the world would return to its peaceful state? Imagine if that was the norm. We would get ready for work and run a checklist through our head - wallet ... yup .... keys ... yup ... lunch ... yup ... teddy bear ... yup. What if you didn't like to carry 'things' but liked to suck your thumb, pinky finger, or even a plastic soother? In today's culture, you'd be looked upon as quirky, in need of professional help...or needed simply to be left alone!

If you think about it, it's really not far-fetched. The truth is many of us carry around items, or engage in habits that we've adopted as adults to give us the 'comfort' we need; and we've become chained to them. We've exchanged our blankets and chew toys for cigarettes, alcohol, and sex. We've traded our thumbs for the casino, fast cars, and the latest pair of shoes. Food. Fashion. Alcohol. Cars. Houses. Hollywood. These things, in and of themselves of are not bad, but we can pour ourselves into them in hopes they'll bring us happiness...and the comfort that internally we all crave and seek to secure. Subtlety, our comforts become our chains and what once provided self-security becomes our jail keeper.

I've been sucked in, too. As a university student, I started engaging in excessive behaviors in search for my own comfort. Wracked by what was undiagnosed anxiety at the time, unknowingly I turned to harmful substances as a way to cope. Instead of turning to the faith preciously handed to me from my parents, schools, and church, I turned to the 'Porcelain God' and became an eager 'Bedside Believer'.

However, on a bed, tucked away at the back of a house in Eastown, Grand Rapids, MI, I remember  praying to God and saying these exact words, "Please God, whatever faith I still have in you, do not let me lose it! Please don't let me go." I knew that what I was doing was counter to God's will. You see - I still believed there was evil in the world.  And, since I believed there was such a thing as evil, then rationally I had to believe that holiness and righteousness were also present. So, whenever I remembered to do so I prayed that prayer.

This year - 2015 - marks twenty five years since graduating university. My life has changed radically. I'm no longer held by chains that were masterfully disguised as comfort. I'm thankful that God has released me from 'servitude' to things into 'service' to Him. Has it been easy? No. But, God met me where I was - he had been with me all along and was waiting patiently. He has truly become...my only comfort in life, and in death. He is neither fake nor imaginary...he is real, and you'll never have to re-sew any toy limbs that have fallen off from too much lovin'!


Heidelberg Catechism Q & A 1

Q. What is your only comfort
in life and in death?

 

A. That I am not my own,¹
but belong—

body and soul,
in life and in death—²

to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.³

He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood,⁴
and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.⁵
He also watches over me in such a way⁶
that not a hair can fall from my head
without the will of my Father in heaven;⁷
in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.⁸

Because I belong to him,
Christ, by his Holy Spirit,
assures me of eternal life⁹
and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready
from now on to live for him.¹⁰

¹ 1 Cor. 6:19-20
² Rom. 14:7-9
³ 1 Cor. 3:23; Titus 2:14
⁴ 1 Pet. 1:18-19; 1 John 1:7-9; 2:2
⁵ John 8:34-36; Heb. 2:14-15; 1 John 3:1-11
⁶ John 6:39-40; 10:27-30; 2 Thess. 3:3; 1 Pet. 1:5
⁷ Matt. 10:29-31; Luke 21:16-18
⁸ Rom. 8:28
⁹ Rom. 8:15-16; 2 Cor. 1:21-22; 5:5; Eph. 1:13-14
¹⁰ Rom. 8:1-17

A red tulip, an Easter song, and an innocence found

1974. Huddled together in the shade of an overgrown juniper hedge; protected by the close proximity of their home, a boy and his older sister slowly and methodically scraped away the soil to excavate a crude grave. Not too deep - just deep enough to lay down the now deceased. After covering it so nothing of its temporal body was exposed, the boy's sister gently etched a picture of a cross in the dirt of the newly formed mound with the tip of her finger. Following a moment of silence, his sister began to somberly sing the mournful words of a famous hymn.

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.

A sniffle from the boy, then a tear, then crying - a crying that only a mother's trained ear could detect above the sound of vacuum cleaner nearing its own last day.
"Denise!" "Stop it! You're making him cry!", yelled my Mom from an open window.
And there it was - my first encounter with death and sadness and tears.
No - our beloved pet cat, George, hadn't died. He had been blessed with 10 lives.

I. Cried. Over. A. Dead. Red. Tulip.

That's all it was - a dead, red tulip! But, Denise captured the moment perfectly and she unknowingly preyed on my innocent understanding of life, death, and everything in between.

Nearing the grand age of 8, she was more worldly than my 5 plus years of life had afforded me. She knew 'the dust to dust' speech, the 'til we meet again' song, the reverent moment of silence, the imagery of the cross, the way around a songbook...she knew lots about life. And she knew how to make me cry.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.

It all came together that day. My Oma Gerrits had died earlier that year; Easter had been celebrated a few weeks before; Denise just learned the words to an Easter hymn, and tulips were dying all around. It was providential perfection! Time for a funeral. All that was needed was a little weeping...and it didn't take long for the tear ducts to take their queue!

See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

I'm often reminded of that May day of '74 and our innocent play whenever I hear that song. Sometimes my eyes fill with tears as I think of those close to me who have died. But it's only momentary sadness, because I'm quickly reminded of the joy that awaits when we will be reunited. Our separation is only for a short time. We have the rest of eternity to spend our time together. (And, if you're of Dutch descent, 'tip-toeing through the tulips' might be on God's eternal itinerary.)

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

Maybe, if my Mom would have allowed Denise to sing a resurrection song, the tears would have given way to laughter. Who knows? Or, maybe, we might have found something else to bury and commemorate its life. Like a daffodil, a crocus, or even the remains of a mosquito that had just met its untimely, unfortunate, and unseemly death between my hand and my knee.

Faithfulness looks a lot like this...

"MOM! Can you help me?"

"MOM! I need you."

"MOM!"

Racing up 13 stairs.
Turning left towards her bedroom.
There she is. On her knees. Praying.

"Just give me a few minutes. I'll be there."

That's all she needed to say and I knew things were going to be alright.

It didn't happen often - a handful of times, maybe - but often enough to forge a memory of my Mom that will stay with me forever. The several times I found my Mom kneeling beside her bed praying to her God was a moment of indescribable comfort. Words fail me. I'm glad my memory hasn't. Yet.

Thinking back to moments of my childhood when I saw the evidence of faith in my parents brings a certain joy and peace that seems reserved for only such memories. As I watch our children become teenagers and get closer to adult life these memories scratch the surface more frequently and they seem to be taking on greater meaning. My parents owned a faithfulness that was tangible. Their faithfulness was demonstrated in part by having daily devotions and praying before and after meals, to church attendance (as a teenager - regretfully, I'd argue it was akin to forcing a horse to drink), to tithing even when money was scarce, and to Christian day schools. I still hear my Mom asking one of us to get the 'black envelope from the hall closet' where she kept the money that was set aside for the weekly church offering.

Which brings me to this thought: faithfulness seems to fall off the radar when talking about the nine fruit of the Holy Spirit. I wonder if it's because faithfulness is an act that exhibits its fruitfulness most often within oneself. With the exception of 'joy', the other seven fruit - love, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control - can be displayed in our actions demonstrated toward others. Faithfulness manifests itself in daily, personal prayer; in weekly worship with God's family; in sacrificial giving; and in teaching our children "when (we) sit at home and when (we) walk along the road, when (we) lie down and when (we) get up". Deuteronomy 11:19.

It's this persistent and gentle faithfulness that glows in Mom's face. For whenever I visit her, she seems to have just laid down her Bible and (or) it appears she had been spending time in prayer in the presence of her Saviour, Jesus.

Mom's speech has been impaired greatly since suffering a stroke in 1996. And, for a reason I don't fully understand, when she sings her speech is clear. It's as if God said, "My child, because of a lifetime of faithfulness you always be able to sing praises to me. I won't take that joy away."

And, if you listen very carefully, somewhere in the distance, you can hear Mom sing a song she often sang when I was growing up - I Love to Tell the Story (Listen to Alan Jackson's version.).

I love to tell the story of unseen things above,
of Jesus and his glory,  of Jesus and his love. 
I love to tell the story,  because I know 'tis true;
it satisfies my longings  as nothing else can do.

Refrain:
I love to tell the story, 'twill be my theme in glory,
to tell the old, old story of Jesus and his love.
(Author: A. Catherine Hankey)

Sing it again, Mom. I want to hear it again.
 

.

Marked for Life, Made to Live

Picture this: there were two deer, each with 10 point racks, standing on their hind legs in a forest clearing. One of the deer has what appears to be a bullseye on its chest. And, the other deer looks at the first and says, "Bummer of a birthmark, Hal!"

A picture, a few words - 5 to be exact - and the stage is set! I'm sure Hal lived to be a very paranoid deer; always conscious that he was helping any would-be hunter get a better shot! Gary Larson, creator of "The Far Side" comic strip, had a great way of giving human qualities and personalities to wild life. His comics were often a single frame coupled with a one-lined zinger. But, that's all he had to say..."Bummer of a birthmark, Hal"...and in no time we can envision Hal living a very shortened life.

Funny, right? But, the odd thing about this cartoon is that I can identify with Hal. No, I don't have antlers or go by the name 'Buck', nor do I expect to live an abbreviated life because of a ill-placed bullseye, but I know first hand what it means to be the owner of a birthmark that's very prominent. It's not on my face as some people have. I was born with a dark, strawberry coloured birthmark that extends from the heel of my left foot, up the calf and to the back of my knee.

I don't remember when I became self-conscious of the mark, but I do remember one of the first times that I made an effort to hide it. I was 7 years old and I decided to wear long pants to my grade school's annual track and field day and I was determined not to be subjected to the questions from curious kids and less-than-tactful adults. When asked why I wasn't wearing shorts I recall making up the excuse that I forgot it was field day...(something a little unbelievable given the excitement and anticipation kids have for field days before they realize running and jumping are not at the top of their skill ladders.) While fumbling for excuses I remember one of my classmates, Marlene G, showing me a moment of undeserved grace and offering some elastic bands to help keep my pant legs rolled up.

Playing soccer wasn't a big deal because you could wear long socks and it would cover up my birthmark. But when I was 17 or so, going to Gulliver's Beach and wearing black jeans on a hot, summer day was a regrettable decision! I think that was the final straw. It was after baking at that beach and getting an even darker farmer's tan that I decided, if you don't like what's on my leg,...DON'T LOOK AND DON'T ASK! Now, I'm gentler and a little more accepting of peoples' curiosity, which is all it really is, isn't it?

A physical mark, a permanent spot on my skin, had partially defined me at such a young age. Starting from a very young age, we let all sorts of outside influences define who we are as individuals. We allow things like a birthmark, the presence or the absence of hair, the size of our house, our height, the make of our car(s), the types of vacations we take, how much money we earn, our job, the size of bank account, our ethnicity, athletic ability, the brand of clothing we wear, sexual identity, our friendships, how many views we get on Instagram, likes on Facebook, +'s on Google, favourites on Twitter (I'll pause here and let you fill in some more because the list is endless ______) to shape our identities. I've heard it said before that we allow our net worth to define our self worth. And, it's sad. Sad.

Look around. We're bombarded with ads that tell us we'll be happier with a drink in our hands, a diamond on her finger, a boat in the driveway, an in-home theatre, better smelling armpits, fresher breath, tighter abs and skinny jeans. Really? Maybe, for a few hours, or days, tops.

I'm not immune to it - I still fight the temptation to compare myself to others. But, here's what I try remember (and I'm not always successful): I was fearfully and wonderfully made by God (Psalm 139:14) and I'm storing my treasures in Heaven! (Matthew 6:20). That's all I need. I just can't use it as collateral on a bank loan!

Come to think of it, when asked by my epidermal inquisitors I should have replied, "Oh...that red spot...those are God's fingerprints he left behind when he made me."

Ah, story of my life...always a day late and a dollar short!

And, after all these years, a word to my 2nd grade classmate Marlene G. - "Thanks for your kindness! I'll never forget."

Is Charlie Hebdo up Schitt's Creek?

Charlie Hebdo and Schitt's Creek...all in one week! I'm not sure what to do with this so, I'm hoping we can work some stuff out together.

You see, right now, I don't know if I'm #jesuisCharlie or #jenesuispasCharlie. And, should I continue watching the new CBC comedy - Schitt's Creek? (For those unfamiliar with this particular show...just google SCTV/Second City alumni Eugene Levy, Catharine O'Hara and yup...Schitt's Creek. I also hope you've heard about the Charlie Hebdo protests this week. If you haven't, stop reading this and become informed because there're more important things to know than what I have to say!)

Back to my dilemma - how are the two related, or are they, you ask? You're confused, you say.

It's very simple. My confusion stems from a vague connection to one of Canada's fundamental freedoms: freedom of speech and to my Christian faith. Let me explain.

From our good friends at 'Wikipedia': "Freedom of speech in Canada is protected as a "fundamental freedom" by Section 2 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Unlike many democracies, freedom of speech in Canada is not protected, and is not absolute; Section 1 of the Charter allows the government to pass laws that limit free expression so long as the limits are reasonable and can be justified."

Still confused? Ok - let me put it this way. I agree that there are limits to what we can say, write, draw, enact, etc. If, in what you communicate, are likely to offend and incite anger, then good discretion should be shown and you probably shouldn't say, or do, or draw, the thing you were planning to do. Yet, history has shown that many injustices in society have been corrected because there were a few brave souls prepared to express what many didn't want to see or hear.

So, I'm 'jesuischarlie' because freedom of speech and expression is a fundamental human right which hundreds of thousands of people died to protect, yet I'm 'jenesuispascharlie' because not everything should be said. (And, I didn't see a T-shirt or placard with both statements at the demonstrations. So, I guess, there's no middle ground...right?)

And Schitt's Creek? (By the way, Schitt is actually a legitimate surname in Germany, but has different spelling variations for one obvious reason!) OK...I watched the first 2 episodes back to back...and I laughed...out loud. In my opinion, it's funny. (I think The 3 Stooges are funny too, so if that's any indication!) But, I can understand why some might find the title repugnant and obscene. There are areas in North America...mostly south of the 49th...where the 'S' word is right up there with other off colour words. If it's offensive to some, should I watch, and thereby endorse the show?

As a Christian - would I buy a copy of Charlie Hebdo knowing that some of it's contents are offensive to at least 1.5 billion people - although not offensive to me? Should I continue watching Schitt's Creek knowing that it's title is offensive to many fellow believers in Christ - although not offensive to me?

I'm not entirely sure. I'm not even sure writing this blog has helped me! However, here's what I do know: Christians are instructed to make every effort to live at peace with others (Romans 12:18). So, I think I'll stick with this.

P.S. I checked with Jack, Deep, and Awe, but they didn't Know...either. :)