Greenpastures313’s Weblog

Kicking and screaming is how I often go in the way of God’s will. I pray, like Jesus, “Thy will be done,” but I don’t always realize just what it is that I’m saying. “God give me patience,” I ask, then gripe when I have to wait. Isn’t when we’re waiting that patience is most necessary? And would it not stand to reason that the more waiting I endure, the better I’ll become at it? God is answering the pray. “Give me faith and help me to trust you, O God,” I say, and then let doubt cloud my judgment and steal my serenity in Christ when I just know everything’s in the tank and it’s hopeless. But is not potential calamity the very thing that drives me to depend on God and builds my faith, making it stronger? God is answering the prayer. “May I forgive others as you, O Lord, forgive me,” I utter in solitude, then wonder why people feel they must hurt me, and how can I ever forgive that person? God is answering the prayer.

When we pray, we must be committed to the idea that God takes us at our word. If we pray sincerely for these and other things like them, things that make us fit for the kingdom of God, we must be ready for and welcome the answer to the prayer. We must steadily march headlong into each day with the knowledge that God’s answer may be suprisingly different than what we imagined or hoped it would be, but his is always the right answer for us. If you prayerfully seek these things (patience, faith, trust, forgiveness) prepare to be engaged.

Glenn Jarrett

First Street Church of Christ

     You are my son. Here, take this and go, if you must. Take your share, that which is prospectively yours. I yet live and you seek your inheritance, your freedom from under my roof. Go then. You are always my son and my grieved heart will miss you daily. Everyday I will expect your return, hoping that you to find the road home again, but you won’t easily find it, I know, and, therefore, knowing full well the misery you will inevitably encounter, I will station myself here every evening, day in, day out looking on this long dirt path where your independant journey began.

     I want you back. Are you one of those with a sign, “will work for food” held in grimy hands. I pray that you are safe and well, and not dying in a gutter somewhere alone and friendless. If you need me, if life in your far country becomes senselessly unbearable, then remember who you are and from whence you are and come home. I’m waiting and I’m praying for that very thing. You are my son, you always will be my son and in nothing of you will I be ashamed or find so distasteful that I forget that I held you first in my hands crying and comforting you with loving, fatherly words. You are my son. Come home.

(Adapted from the parable of the lost son, Luke 15.11-32)

The opening line of the Holy Bible is the opening line of the gospel of John. “In the beginning was the Word . . ,”(John 1.1). Then, “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” (verse 14). This is John’s birth narrative of Jesus – no manger, no shepherds, no guiding star, no evil king seeking to take the child’s life, not because these things never occurred, but rather to impress his readers immediately with the divine core of Christ. The Word became flesh. To borrow from Harry Chapin, he “came into the world in the usual way,” but as for his beginning, well there was none. He didn’t begin because he always has been. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the word was God.” These words leave no room for speculation or doubt. This is the truth to which one must give full assent in order to be truly Christian and to be truly saved.

Failed is the idea that Jesus was a good man only. Failed is the idea that his way is just one of many acceptable paths to follow on the spiritual journey. Failed is the idea that the specific object of faith is irrelevant as long as some kind of faith is apparent. Jesus was/is the creative Word of God and by his own declaration, he is the only “way, the truth, and the life.” (John 14.6). He was around in the beginning, and he continues for all eternity.

Anyone who writes on a regular basis gets asked this question at least once by someone: “Where do you come up with your ideas?”  Looking back on nearly ten years as a weekly columnist for our local paper, and twice that many years plus writing church bulletins and occassional pieces for various religious papers and/or magazines, I can honestly see that, wherever the ideas came from, some of them would have better just stayed there. But, for good or ill, they erupted from my bent mind and I had to write. There was no choice. I perused an old column which I had written for a church bulletin in the 1980’s and cringed. I can’t believe I said that. Writing, like anything else, is a skill that’s honed sharper and sharper with use. I’ll probably look back 20 years from now, Lord willing, and wonder what in the world got into me with that. but as for where the ideas come from it’s simple. I think of one word, an action word usually, and type it and I keep typing a word until the right one appears. The right one is the one that calls out to all his friends and says, “hey come on over here, something’s happening.” If a word doesn’t talk, I backspace him on out of there and look for another. I’m no expert, but from reading what others write and what they write about writing and from my own tried and true experience, writing has to flow. It can’t be manipulated as easily as some may think. Whenever I set to write a foregone conclusion, often I end up at a place entirely unthought of by my limited mental vision, and that’s cool. That’s when I go “hey, what a cool place.”  Interesting. And when that one right word just stubbornly refuses to rear its head, then I walk around in circles chanting to the gods (King, Rice, McMurtry) clubbing myself over the head with a foam tomahawk I brought home from a Braves game. It’s a weird process, but sometimes weirdness is called for.

There was a plan in place. A good plan. A sensible plan. A long-term plan. Trouble was, there was also a problem, a monkey wrench in the works, if you will. The problem was, simply put, he couldn’t imagine the unplanned loss, the unplanned confrontation with instability and lack of control. He never considered what other influences would or could do to his agenda. The plan was to take his ease, to live in the comfort of all that he had accumulated and accomplished. Funny how quickly all that can come to nothing.

A voice whispering in the ear, on the wind, a small voice, now a loud bluster, now an even more still small whisper and everything crumbles around him. “This very night,” the voice said, “your soul is required of you.” Disturbing nuisance, nagging and gnawing. He ignored it and retired for the night, like thousands of nights before. A great fortune was amassed and he looked forward to enjoying it for many nights and days to come. But when the good plan, the sensible plan, the workable and long-term plan collides with the unplanned, “all hell breaks loose,” as they say, and then what? Then what? God has a better plan and it’s unveiled in his still small voice to you: “Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things shall be added to you.” (Matthew 6.33). A good plan, a sensible plan, a long-term plan which you and I and all the rest can implement today, if we just plan.

The word of the Lord came to Jonah saying “go and preach to the wicked city Nineveh.” But Jonah ran from God, at least he tried. Had Jonah decided to go by land instead of by sea, some particular details of his story would be different but the outcome would have been the same. It’s impossible to escape God’s presence, as Jonah shortly realized. The story of Jonah includes a large fish, but his encounter with the fish isn’t the principle part of the story. That creature is merely one of several things at God’s disposal to teach Jonah what he needs to learn, what we need to learn, and that is that people are constantly in the heart of God. He created them, he loves them, even the “bad” ones, and he doesn’t desire that any of them perish. But we, like Jonah, know better, don’t we? We think we do anyway. Jonah fled from God because he knew that if he preached to the wicked city, and the city repented, then God would spare it. Jonah did not want the city to be spared. Fact is, he secretly wished for it’s fiery demise. Would God rain fire upon it, or cause it to crumble into itself in a mighty earthquake? Who knows, but Jonah was ready for the judgment to come, whatever it might be.

But the Lord captured Jonah’s attention didn’t he? Yet even then, Jonah reluctantly journeyed to Nineveh, and “preached” to its inhabitants. He didn’t beg, he didn’t plead, he didn’t wring the heart of Nineveh with tearful pleas and touching stories of God’s love and compassion. In fact, his sermon was only seven words: “Forty days and Nineveh will be overthrown.” That was it. But with that little information, the city repented of its sin and the Lord spared it. Why? Because God loves his creation. He loves you, and no way you’re on a par with the people of Nineveh. Or are you? It doesn’t matter, you see, because God loves you as he loved them. And your repentance will bring the same good mercy from God. He will forgive, even Nineveh, even you.

Summer VBS is in full swing at First Street Church in Cordele. Unlike most churches, we don’t fit it all into one week or one weekend. Rather we use our regular Wednesday night meeting time throughout June and July. It’s less tiring, and it encourages a lot of people to attend mid-week that normally don’t. We extend our time of meeting only by a few extra minutes, beginning at 7:30 pm and going till about 8:45 or 9:00. 

This year our theme is Fishing With The Master, so we’re learning how to be better “fishers of men.” Each night we usually have a comedic skit to go along with our theme. These are really fun to direct and to watch.  Last week’s story about Jonah and the big fish was hilariously prortrayed by some of our young people, one of whom actually was swallowed by a big fish on stage! (with not so subtle music from Jaws omninously playing through the sound system. Our little Zoe’ had to sit with mama during that part. No tears, but “That’s scary!”). What’s in store for tonight? We shall see!

The teenagers and Vickey entered my upstairs office this morning at 8:30 with a tray of breakfast (Zoe’ was still sleeping). Emma arranged the plate of breakfast casserole ringed with sliced strawberrys a few mini Reeses (a favorite chocolate of mine), buttered toast on the side and a cold soft drink. Too hot for coffee even that early. I felt like the president or some high potentate, eating at my desk as I thought about final touches of thought for todays worship service. Zack presented me with a giant gift bag containing gifts: a new sport coat which I immediately tried on (a perfect fit) – Zoe just entered the room and crawled into my lap. I love you too, little girl, thank you! In the bottom of the gift bag was one of the items on my Father’s Day wish list posted here a few days ago – Dave Matthews Band’s new release Big Whiskey.

I think about how blessed I am with family and friends. I thank God for times spent with my Dad, and lessons learned from him, and for you, dear reader,who choose to spend a moment of your precious time visiting us here. Thanks for reading and have a happy father’s day!

 Gabriel was born with epilepsy so severe he would never walk or talk, but would live out his days in a wheelchair. Motor skills were almost nonexistent but as he grew, he developed some ability to coordinate movements, gestures, smiles. And his smile was infectious. At fifteen, Gabe, as his parents called him, had learned to write his name, well, sort of. Whenever asked to do so, he always eagerly obliged. He began by making the letter G and he made it perfectly every time. He knew that the lower case “a” came next which he could almost create, but he could never remember to attach the tail to the letter so the “a” always looked like an “o.” Finally, he ended by writing a “b,” but again, every time, he would invert the letter so that his “b” always came out as a “d.” And with a stroke of finality to his feat, Gabe would punctuate his name with a large period. With this accomplishment, Gabe became the fount of wisdom for his parents and all who knew him, reminding them that all that matters is what Gabe could write: God. To him, that was his name, and to his mother and father who loved him more than their own lives that was the end of the matter. God, period. Got problems? God period. Got troubles and woes? God, period. Got pain, suffering, sorrow, regret, burdens? God, period. Loving Him, serving Him, praising Him, that’s the most important thing. God is your answer, period. (as told by Beth Moore, via Focus on the Family).