Category: Personal (Page 5 of 7)

My Own True Faith?

May 13, 2016 / Allan Babcock

P.Allan “Enjoying one good year is better than suffering two bad ones.”

So said my wife while driving me to a doctor’s appointment. We were talking about getting a prescription with possible long-term, unpleasant side effects.

I was somewhat taken aback by her remark. “I was hoping to live longer than a year.”

“I know,” she said. “I was just using that as an example.”

“Oh.” (Not feeling too encouraged.)

I have primary lateral sclerosis, which as you know if you’re a regular reader (and more than tired of hearing about my health issues), isn’t fatal, just chronic without a cure.

I’ve admitted before that this whole thing has been a major test of my faith. I was raised in a church that believes the gifts of the Spirit are still given today. I still believe that. So I’ve prayed much for healing, as have others for me. It hasn’t come. So I limp around, struggling with the worsening limitations the disease lays on me.

I understand that healing isn’t the norm, though the Lord still does heal. Disease and death are in the world because sin is in the world. Victory over death comes in the last-day resurrection. Nevertheless, norm or not, we pray for healing—and trust the Lord’s grace to be sufficient if he doesn’t give it.

Still, it tests my faith. Sometimes makes me question my faith. And never am I able to obey James 1:2-4 . . .

Count it all joy, my brothers,
when you meet trials of various kinds,
for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.
And let steadfastness have its full effect,
that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

COUNT IT ALL JOY? Most of the time I’m working on a little smile! I’m not even in the ballpark for counting it joy! If this is a faith test, I think I’ll be good to get a D.

In his book, Everlasting Is the Past, Walter Wangerin tells of his college years when he feared his faith had left him. Worse, that he believed the faith, but he’d never made it his own. He writes . . .

Was this my own true faith? My own fear and loving and trusting in the Almighty Father? Not really. It was the faith, that which I could deliver word for word. A static thing. I had learned about the commandments and the creed of the Church. I believed they were true—as I believed the stars are true. But I did not cling to this creed. Rather, I wore it like a badge . . . If, however, you asked me then if I had faith, I would brightly answer, “I do.” (p. 17).

Wangerin’s confession confronted me. I had served as a pastor 44 years. Prayed, studied God’s Word, preached it, taught it, counseled with it, loved it, believed it (so I thought). Wangerin’s words, though, made me ask, “Has my faith been a static thing? Did I wear Bible doctrines like a badge without clinging to them?” I always supposed that in every congregation (including those I pastored) sat some who said the right words but in their hearts really didn’t know Jesus. Had I been one of them?

Finally, I decided no. No I wasn’t one of them. My faith had not been a static thing. I didn’t wear the faith like a badge; I really did cling to the truth. Why, then, from time to time now did I struggle so much? I came up with two reasons.

One, I no longer pastor. That means I don’t spend my waking hours in the Word, in prayer, in meeting people to encourage them in the faith. When I lay in bed at night, I don’t think about the coming Sunday’s sermon, how I might better make a point or illustration. For 44 years I was like boiling water in a cup with a teabag steeping away, turning the water into tea. Now, for the most part, I am just water in a cup.

One of my friends at church used to call me a professional Christian. A joke, I think. I got paid to be a good believer. The money didn’t make me want to be a leader others could follow. It was Jesus who did it, plus my desire to be used for the good of others. But no longer a “professional”, my “normal” Christian life was suddenly without much structure. Besides, it’s always easier to have faith for somebody else. Which brings me to the second reason for my struggle . . .

Two, this was my trial and it was serious. Not that I hadn’t endured some tough times before, both in ministry and family life. But this was (is) different. It’s my body that’s (to use Paul’s graphic phrase) “wasting away” (2 Corinthians 4:16). Not a pretty picture. Reminds me of “the walking dead.” This body, that I’ve tried to take care of by eating relatively well, by all sorts of exercise and working out, is eroding—like a wave-pounded beach.

And, in this life, it will never be better (short of a miracle). What encouraged me through several surgeries was the expectation that once this is over I’ll be better. Not this time. That’s a punch to the stomach of my faith. Oh, I know, a new body in the resurrection. And that does help. But the thought of never running again with my grand-kids on this earth leaves me very sad.

I cling to Jesus. Wangerin confessed, “I did not cling to this creed.” Well, I am clinging. I could cite numerous Scriptures I’m clinging to, like . . .

” . . . fear not, for I am with you;
be not dismayed for I am your God;
I will strengthen you, I will help you,
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
(Isaiah 41:10).

But, bottom line, I’m clinging to Jesus. I don’t understand (though I want to). And, yes, there are days every so often when my clinging fingers slip and he holds me. But, my faith, though a bit battered, is my own true faith. And I’m clinging to the one who loves me and gave himself for me.

And, as long as I do that, it is well with my soul.

Happy Mother’s Day, Daughter MXJXCX

May 7, 2016 / Allan Babcock

P.Allan Notice I’ve changed my code this year. Can’t keep the same one. The Internet is awash with all sorts of skullduggery. So even though I bravely insert my picture (which really is completely unlike me—my hair is more like Chris Archer’s actually and I don’t usually suck my forefinger), I don’t want to compromise you. (These first two paragraphs are vaguely similar to your sister’s, because my creativity is dwindling.)

Wonder why I risk wishing you Happy Mother’s Day so publicly? Two reasons. One, everyone who reads this gets to know what a wonderful daughter and mother I believe you are. You deserve it. Two, I get a blog out of the way. I deserve it. Killing two birds with one stone, you know? Come to think of it, that may be an inappropriate reference, since today I’m thinking of you as . . .

a mother hen. Not a glamorous image, is it! But I mean it in a good way. I watch you with your children. (Nameless and numberless here—security, you know.) I watch you stopping what you’re doing to shut everything else out to listen to them. I see you hugging them. I listen to you explain why what they said or did was wrong and how they should have done it. I listen to you tell how proud you are of how they did do it. I hear you encourage them and firmly discipline them in love without anger or belittling. I see the tears in your eyes when you look at them realizing the years are quickly passing and it won’t be long before they’ll be out reflecting to their children the good you’ve instilled in them.

Most of all, I know you’ve faithfully and sacrificially taught them about Jesus. With words. With attitude. With actions. Your commitment to Christ is commendable, and to your children life-giving. They know they’re safe in your arms, because you show them you (and they) are safe in the arms of Jesus.

I’d be the first to say church is crucial. And living out the faith in the marketplace is part of our calling. But nowhere is faith and faith-lived out more vital than at home. Inside our four walls we are who we are. No pretense. Hair down. (Bad illustration.) Inside your four walls your children see, not a perfect mom, but a God-honoring, Jesus-following, Holy Spirit-filled mom who is solidly there for them because she loves the God who is for us who are his.

And, though you don’t put your hands to the distaff (?–I don’t think) or hold the spindle with your hands (Proverbs 31:19), your “children [will] rise up and call [you] blessed; [your] husband also, and he praises [you] (Proverbs 31:28).

Me too.

Happy Mother’s Day, MXJXCX! I love you so very much.

Chicken with chicks Stock Images

Happy Mother’s Day, Daughter MQLQDQ

May 7, 2016 / Allan Babcock

Wonder why I risk wishing you Happy Mother’s Day so publicly? Two reasons. One, everyone who reads this gets to know what a wonderful daughter and mother I believe you are. You deserve it. Two, I get a blog out of the way. I deserve it. Killing two birds with one stone, you know? For some reason today (maybe it’s that horse in my backyard), I’m thinking of animals—and of you as . . .

a mother lioness. (Not wanting to appear illiterate, I had to look up “lioness” to be sure it didn’t mean mother lion. It doesn’t. Just female lion. Otherwise, I’d be redundant. Better look that up too. Come to think of it, I guess “mother lioness” is a bit redundant ’cause you can’t have a father lioness. Oh well, get what I mean?)

Mother lioness. Not very glamorous. (Maybe I have to stop watching that “Animal Planet” channel.) But she’s strong. And protective of her cubs. Also surely sly and slightly sneaky. “Sneaky” doesn’t fit you, especially since you almost always come right out and say what you mean. (A good thing.) “Sly”, though, meaning “wise” and “ingenious”. Sharp insight into people and situations and with almost always discerning advice.

The rocky times you’ve endured have made you stronger. You never gave up or in. You’ve grown in the Lord, sometimes startling me by your words of faith when I’m looking on the dark side. “[You] lift up your eyes to the hills” (quite an art in flat Florida) and know “[your] help (and strength) come from the LORD, who made heaven and earth” (Psalm 121:1,2). So you’re able to stand in the testing day and embrace your children with your protecting love.

Not having been a mother, this is just a father’s guess: Watching your children grow well must satisfy, but hurt too, knowing your influence over them is fading. But it doesn’t (ever?) end. The relationship you’ve forged with your children as their mother and best friend continues. They have no one as loving, faithful, giving, and wise as you in their lives. You have imprinted yourself on their souls. The marks of who you are are deeply etched in them. And, be assured of this, the Christ-life you’ve lived before them and the prayers you pray for them will bear fruit. God is faithful. I know. I’ve found him to be so in my parenting. (though I’m more like “Ol’ Yeller, than a lion these days).

Have a Happy Mother’s Day, MQLQDQ! I love you so very much.

daisy pollen flower

Devising a Diminishing Life

May 4, 2016 / Allan Babcock

P.Allan A bit of overkill that title, huh? Diminishing life? I took it from Walter Wangerin’s book, Letters from the Land of Cancer. Though my health condition is far easier to bear than his, “diminishing” fits me too.

I’ve posted more than a half-dozen “Personal” blogs (see “Categories” bottom right), most of them sharing my faith-struggles over Primary Lateral Sclerosis. That’s a chronic, incurable neurological disease that weakens legs and arms and inflicts an assortment of other symptoms. Far worse is Wangerin’s. After finding a lump and undergoing a series of tests, he heard his doctor’s blunt report: “This kind of cancer doesn’t go away. It will kill you. Sooner or later, this will be the cause of your death.” Since that diagnosis in 2006, Wangerin has continued to write, teach, and preach, all the while on a roller coaster of “treatment”.

I’ve read two-thirds of his book. Compelling. Fascinating. Challenging. And I’ve found this we have in common: “a diminishing life.” More about that in a moment.

I wish I had this book forty years ago. It might have changed the life-outlook of a thirty-two year-old. Every young pastor should read it. It will better equip him to serve his aging and ill “sheep”.

Now: halfway through Letters I came upon these thought-provoking statements . . .

” . . . perhaps fifteen years ago, I mentioned an odd ache to my father, who was then in his seventies. Mine was just a passing comment. But he responded with an old man’s wisdom and a complete lack of sympathy. He said, ‘Get used to it.’ These pains come. Sure enough, they stay.

“It’s the staying that takes the getting-used-to.

“I mean: until now I’ve met most diseases with the assumption that I would get better.

“Now, however a different kind of mentality is required. I will never again be able to draw a full two-lungs worth of air. I will ever puff at a flight of stairs. This body will nevermore be what it has been .

“We’re not really talking about aging itself, the plain passage of the years. We are talking about the breaking down of bodies, which begins earlier or later, depending on each person’s various experiences and constitutions. We’re talking about another way to live, about devising new methods for confronting old Time and physical degeneration.

“In fact, it presents an irony. When we are young we strive forward, peering toward and planning for the better things to come. But we base the presumptions of our forward-peering-planning on the experiences of our past, such as getting sick and getting better every time
. . .

“Now I have fetched up on the shores of those ‘forward’ years. Here there is only a strip of beach before the sea, only a limited distance into which to peer, for which to plan . . . .

“One gets sick and then does not get better again. A fellow finds himself boxed in: fewer future years, fewer promises to be drawn from all those many former years.

“Nevertheless, this thing is fresh and new, this devising methods for living the diminishing life. It can (it probably has to be) as creative a passage as any writer ever wrote. And that grants it the possibility of depth, gravitas and fulfillments and joy.

“Well, there are those who, their lives tightening around them, act as if it were prison walls closing in, intensifying their more unhappy qualities. Whereas once they might have been able to control their natural angers, anger becomes the strongest response–and can finally be nothing but a failing device, a lion devouring all the remaining years.

“Get used to it.

“I don’t have the hang of that yet . . .

“My project, then. To get good and old. Spiritually to approach my losses with the same craft and talent and devotion which I bring to the writing of a novel, a poem, a sermon.”

The first eight paragraphs above are hard to swallow. I’ll never be able to run with my grandchildren again. My body is breaking down. Only a strip of beach before the sea. Apart from a miracle, no getting better for this sickness.

But then these enlivening sentences: “Nevertheless, this thing is fresh and new, this devising methods for living the diminishing life. It can (it probably has to be) as creative a passage as any writer ever wrote. And that grants it the possibility of depth, gravitas (seriousness) and fulfillments and joy.”

My last chapter? Only God knows. But it is “fresh and new, this devising methods for living the diminishing life.” Besides, Jesus is still calling, “Follow me.” I just have to be patient with myself as I limp behind. I can’t “preach the Word” behind the pulpit anymore. Now it’s preaching by blogging (and reaching more people!) Everything takes more time. But, ” . . . no one has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him” (Isaiah 64:4). The “all things” are fewer, but Christ still strengthens me (Philippians 4:13). And, to top it all . . .

“Though [my] outer nature is wasting away,
[my] inner self is being renewed day by day.
For this light and momentary affliction is preparing for [me]
an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison,
as [I] look not to the things that are seen
but to the things that are unseen.
For the things that are seen are transient,
but the things that are unseen are eternal.”(2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

Product Details

(Walter Wangerin, Jr., Letters from the Land of Cancer, p. 136-139). This book is available from Amazon for $10 in either hardcover or Kindle. http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_24?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=letters+from+the+land+of+cancer&sprefix=Letters+from+the+Land+of%2Caps%2C559

Guilty & Trapped

April 28, 2016 / Allan Babcock

P.Allan I’m reading Walter Wangerin’s book, Letters from the Land of Cancer, published 2010. He’s still battling lung cancer (from 2005), and this book is a remarkable read. Here’s a passage that pertains to my point in this post . . .

“We don’t talk of cancer’s ‘cure.’ Surely we don’t have that right, given what continues in my body. But even if all signs of it vanish, this easier condition remains a ‘remission’ of the disease. It’s a wise distinction. My sister-in-law—she of the double-mastectomy, five years in remission—still bewares the specter hovering above her. This isn’t morbidity. It is evidence of the weight of her surgical and recuperative experience past. It is her proper recognition of the statistical facts, that having had cancer once makes the possibility of her having cancer again very high” (p. 124).

How does one live with that “specter hovering above”? How does one live with 11 years of cancer tests and treatments, and the “side effects”?

I have my own disease—primary lateral sclerosis. It’s progressive, but not fatal. It weakens me and pains me, but won’t kill me. So how can I whine when one of my favorite authors and his sister-in-law suffer so? Even when I realize their hardship doesn’t relieve mine an iota, I still feel guilty. (And you, kind reader, must be weary of my whining or at least my talking about my troubles. By the way, there are more than 100 of you readers a day, with a dozen countries represented and about half of the U.S. states. Thank you from a guilty-for-complaining blogger! You should be glad my load is relatively light!)

Besides feeling guilty for getting down when others endure so much worse, I’m also feeling trapped. No, not my old, sick body. Well, yes, by that. But what I feel trapped by is Jesus. Here’s the story . . .

Jesus has told a gathered crowd, “‘Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood, abides in me and I in him’ . . . When many of his disciples (those in the crowd, not the 12) heard it, they said, ‘This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?’ . . . ” After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him. So Jesus said to the Twelve, ‘Do you want to go away as well?'” (John 6:56,60,66,67).

The trap is set. Hear it in Peter’s answer: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed and come to know that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:68,69). Jesus’ hard words sound like cannibalism. The Twelve doesn’t understand them any better than the others do. But they’re trapped between a rock and a hard place—and know it. If Pew Research polled the Twelve, “Do you like Jesus’ hard words?”, I expect 100% would say no. They don’t want to munch on Jesus’ ankle bone. But it’s either that or lose eternal life, because the one with hard words speaks eternal words. (I know Jesus wasn’t promoting a cult of cannibalism!)

I fancy Peter does a quick calculation. “Let’s see, no cannibalism (maybe MacDonald’s) with death (not a critique of MacDonald’s) or a cup of blood and eternal life? We’ll take life and (gulp) a small blood, please.” What else could he do? A brief, bloody meal was a small price for eternal life.

Trapped. That’s how I feel.

Look, you can say I’ve got PLS because we all live under death’s curse. I just happened to pull the PLS card. Or, you can say, Satan sent this. He’s the evil one who wants to feast on your faith (just a light meal much of the time). But, God is sovereign, even over Satan. (Job shows, Satan’s on the Lord’s short leash). Being sovereign, God is ultimately responsible.. “I form the light and create darkness. I make well-being and create calamity. I am the LORD, who does all these things” (Isaiah 45:7).

Therefore, still praying for healing, I find myself surrendered: “Lord, this appears to be the hard path you’ve chosen for me. Even so, where could I go? You have the words of eternal life.”

It’s a trap I ignorantly walked into. (I can’t say he didn’t warn me about tribulations on the way to the kingdom–Acts 14:22.) It would not be my first choice. But now that I’m here, I know the deal. There is suffering—and ultimately death. Yet even in the suffering there are blessings, the foretastes of eternal life. But when the chosen path here ends, comes the great gift Jesus trapped me for—the fullness of eternal life, which is seeing him face-to-face forever.

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Sporadic

February 29, 2016 / Allan Babcock

O Preacher “Get depressed?” my doctor’s assistant asked me last week. “Sometimes,” I answered. Were they afraid I’d commit suicide by chocolate-eating-orgy? No, it was for the government or insurance or something. But, yes, I do get depressed. And sometimes the darkness just won’t lift.

I’m confessing this because I’d like you to know me better and to know why my blogging is sporadic.

I’ve had back troubles for about eight years (I’m 72). I’ve had two open back surgeries, plus tons of tests and piles of pills. Not long ago, doctors finally settled on a diagnosis: primary lateral sclerosis. It’s a chronic, incurable neurological disease that causes a slowly progressive weakness in voluntary muscle movement in the legs, arms and face. The speed and extent of the progression differs from person to person. Along with the weakness in my legs and, to a lesser extent in my arms, is an ache in my legs, back and lately neck with changing intensity. I need a walker to get around. I planned to enter our county’s annual walker race recently, but it happened to fall on one of my weaker days. Knowing I’d be lapped by a 91 year old grandmother, I stayed home. (Just kidding.)

Almost two years ago, PLS compelled me to retire from pastoring. I still loved what I was doing, but I was treading water (figuratively) and it wasn’t fair to the church to have 48% of a pastor. (That percentage is quite accurate; I did much research study.) After 24 years at this church and 44 years in all, retirement brought a huge change-of-life for me. I laugh, because one church member encouraged Lois (my wife) and me to take it easy and do some traveling. The biggest trip I take these days, though, is down my driveway to the mailbox. I haven’t been able to find a suitable postcard about it to send to my friends.

Blogging has become my means of ministry. (I’m sure God invented the Internet for bigger reasons, but I’m thankful to be plugged in!) However, my physical condition prevents me from writing more regularly. I wish I could do one blog a day. But there are times it takes me two or three days to write one.

Depression hits when I let myself get under the weight of it all. I lay in bed with my (mostly) sound mind thinking of all the things I can do and write. Then I get up and my body becomes my enemy. Of course I’ve prayed. Many have prayed. But God’s answer has been to give grace in my weakness instead of healing from it. (My condition is far less harsh than Job’s, but there are days I think he and I could have gotten along quite well. )

Of course the promise of eternal life in a new righteous creation gives me hope. Problem is, I’m the kind of guy who prefers pictures before I go to a new place. Instead God has given only the highly symbolic Book of Revelation word-picture. I content myself with the new creation being “more than I can ask or imagine” (Ephesians 3:20); however I’d still like to be in better shape in this old creation. So I keep praying for healing, though, I have to admit, not with any great expectation. (Please don’t tell anyone I said that.)

My wife and children and grandchildren have been great in their understanding and care. Yet even that’s hard, since I’m used to being a doer, not a receiver.

Well, I don’t want to rain on your parade any more today. Just wanted you to know me a bit better and to understand my blogging inconsistency. I appreciate so much that you read what I write. I sincerely pray daily that the Lord will use it in your life to cause you to know him better and love him more.

I appreciate your prayers for me. And I will pray for you. If you’d like me to pray about a specific need, just reply to a blog. I won’t publish any prayer request you send; but I will pray. That will be a much-appreciated expansion of my ministry at this time in my life.

Thank you for the privilege of ministering to you through my writing. I thank God for the opportunity, and I thank him for you. May his Word continue to teach us all, and reprove and correct us, and train us in right-living, so we may be thoroughly equipped for every good work (2 Timothy 3:16,17).

Grateful for His covenant love and infinite wisdom
Allan

The (Little) Man Meets Jesus

January 14, 2016 / Allan Babcock

One of the main section-titles of my blog post is “The Man”. Not “man” as in macho; “man” as in ordinary. From time to time I’ll write some of my story as an exhibit of God working in an ordinary life.

Sounds pretentious, no? God at work in ordinary me? The Bible is full of such miracles. Remember the little boy Samuel (1 Samuel)? How about the disciples (the Gospels)? God—the Holy One, the Creator and Sustainer of everything, the eternal Master of all—really does reveal himself to, in and through ordinary, common, everyday people. Perhaps the most touching example is this . . .

Little Children and Jesus.

People were bringing little children to [Jesus], for him to touch them. The disciples scolded them, but when Jesus saw this he was indignant and said to them, ‘Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. In truth I tell you, anyone who does not welcome the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’ Then he embraced them, laid his hands on them and gave them his blessing (Mark 10:13-16, NJB).

When the opportunity arose, Jewish parents typically brought their children to a rabbi (teacher) for his blessing. That seems to be the case here. Jesus uses the occasion to teach the necessity of welcoming God’s kingdom like a little child. My point is simpler: Jesus welcomed little children. He “embraced them, laid his hands on them and gave them his blessing.”

When I think of this incident, I wonder what became of those little children? We’re never told, of course. Did this blessing merely make mothers feel happy and peaceful? Or did it lead years later to these children believing the Gospel and becoming Jesus-followers themselves? Were any of these children eventually instrumental in others giving their lives to Jesus?

“Little” Me and Jesus.

I received Jesus into my life when I was ten. The year was 1953. The place was “the 500 room” (that’s how many seats it had) in Bethany Church, Paterson, New Jersey. All Sunday school classes were there to hear a visiting preacher. At the end of his little sermon he said, “Now let’s have every head bowed and every eye closed. If you want to ask Jesus into your heart, raise your hand.” My parents had taken me to Sunday school and church from as early as I could remember. But I had never made a public decision to follow Jesus. After a minute, I tentatively raised my hand.

I should have known what was coming next. “If you raised your hand, come down to the front and we’ll pray.” My seat (center section, second or third row) seemed like center stage. No escape. I had to do it. I got up from my chair and walked to the front of the platform with about 15 or 20 other kids. The preacher prayed, then asked us to “repeat after me” some version of “the sinner’s prayer.”

When he sent us back to our seats, I was a bit dazed. This public thing had driven shy me out of my comfort zone. Or, was it something more? Did I really meet Jesus?

I can’t remember now what the following days were like. I’m pretty sure I didn’t become some sort of little saint. Didn’t want the Bible more than dessert. Didn’t count the days until next Sunday like I did for Christmas. If I had to describe those days, I’d say “same as always.” So maybe that episode was just socialization. Or . . . had I really met Jesus?

Three years later I was baptized in water. I suppose I did it because it was the next step. This step was down into the water of the baptistery (we inelegantly called it the baptism tank). I took my position next to our pastor and looked out at the Sunday evening crowd. I gave my testimony (brief since I had no shady past to confess). Promised I wanted to follow Jesus. Was put under and raised. I’d gone in dry, came out wet. Did anything else happen? Since ours was a Pentecostal church, if I had burst out in “other tongues”, the congregation would have erupted in praise. But my tongue lay silent in my mouth. Except for feeling wet and relieved, there was no change in me. So maybe baptism was just a church “rite of passage.” Or . . . had Jesus been there?

Looking back six decades later. I believe God was beginning to reveal Jesus to me and in me. Those two events weren’t just socialization or rites of passage. Jesus was there. My experiences, though far less dramatic, were just as real as an alcoholic or a wife-abuser turning his life over to Jesus.

Small Beginnings.

Holy moments with Jesus often come in ordinary places. And may even outwardly seem insignificant. Take Sunday school, for example. You know how it goes. You’ve got a handful of youngsters who each drank a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew for breakfast. They can’t sit still. Can’t stop spouting off-the-subject stuff. Can’t stop acting silly. When the class ends, you fall into a chair and bemoan the wasted hour. But it probably wasn’t wasted. Sure, you didn’t plant your whole package of seeds, but a few fell threw that Mountain Dew. And God the Holy Spirit will use them.

So when we think of our children, we’d be wise to remember God’s work in their lives often starts small, as it did in mine. And we’d be especially wise to remember this prophetic admonition from a different situation but applicable to ours . . .

“Do not despise these small beginnings, for the LORD rejoices to see the work begin . . . ” (Zechariah 4:10a)

No One Escapes Suffering

January 1, 2016 / Allan Babcock

Hear that? No one escapes suffering. In my early years I hardly thought about it. I was suffering-free, except for some emotional pains of pastoring. But in my late 6th decade, suffering came. Back trouble hit— from genes and aging. Then came irritating digestive issues. Finally, after several surgeries and multiple tests, doctors decided their diagnosis: primary lateral sclerosis, a chronic and incurable disease that weakens parts of the body, makes walking without assistance impossible and produces other troublesome symptoms.

This morning while exercising I listened to a sermon from 1 Peter (a letter all about suffering), which included this text . . .

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, 4 and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade– kept in heaven for you, 5 who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. 6 In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. 7 These have come so that your faith– of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire– may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed (1 Peter 1:3-7).

I preached this several times. But, this morning it awakened me like a jump in a cold swimming pool. I pulled out my Bible and preached it to myself. (If you want to listen to my self-addressed little sermon, you may continue.)

In 1:3-5, Peter praises God for mercifully giving us new birth into a hope that lives through Christ’s resurrection. And he praises God for the imperishable, unspoiling, never-fading inheritance that is ours through faith. This inheritance, Peter writes, is kept in heaven for us and will come through the consummation of Christ’s salvation.

Then in 1:6 he reminds us that this hope/inheritance is a source of great joy. That convicts me, because too often I allow my disability to dampen my joy and it blinds the eyes of my heart to the great good that’s coming.

In the second half of 1:6 Peter has a despite-the-present-reality moment. You greatly rejoice in what is coming (future), “though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials.” This is the present reality. This is where I live, because no one escapes suffering—not even Christians.

Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial
when it comes upon you to test you,
as though something strange were happening to you.
(1 Peter 4:12)

Suffering is normal in this sinful, dying world. Suffering is normal for the Christian, because Jesus suffered.

But rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings
that you may also rejoice and be glad
when his glory is revealed.
(1 Peter 4:13)

But why do I suffer? We all ask that question, right? Why me? Why now? Why this? Is it fate? Bad karma? I look again at 1:6 and 1:7 . . .

In this (your hope/inheritance) you rejoice,
though now for a little while, if necessary (that means God has designed it),
you have been grieved by various trials
so that the tested genuineness of your faith
—more precious than gold that perishes though refined by fire—
may be found to result in praise and glory and honor
at the revelation of Jesus Christ.
(1 Peter 1:6,7)

Why do I suffer with this disability? So that my faith may be tested and proved genuine and result in my being praised and glorified and honored at Jesus Christ’s appearing! This is a faith-test. My faith must be proven genuine. And when it is, it will bring me praise, glory and honor when Jesus comes.

Allan (I’m preaching to myself, remember), don’t be discouraged and depressed. Think of the living hope that is yours through Christ’s resurrection. Think of the glorious inheritance he is keeping in heaven for you. Think of how he is guarding you for it through your faith. Rejoice in that!

Yes, you are enduring a trial now. No one, not even you, escapes suffering. But remember God is testing your faith—not because he doesn’t know its quality, but so through testing it may be strengthened and purified. Whether you agree or not, whether you would choose this process or not, your God has sent this into your life. It’s not senseless suffering. It’s refining fire for your faith. And it has extraordinary consequences. As you limp through the fire, persevering in faith, the result will be this: You will receive praise, glory and honor when Christ is revealed to this world in his glory.

So quit moaning and rejoice! Quit grumbling and praise him! Quit pulling the covers over your head and get up for the fight of faith! Because he is keeping you. And in the end, he will reward you with a crown of glory.

Alone with Jesus

November 24, 2015 / Allan Babcock

My private prayer time is suffering. Whenever I pray, my illness tugs at my mind—like metal to a magnet—and won’t let go. I need help to return to God-centered praying. The following blog, published by “Desiring God,” spoke to me. Perhaps it will to you too.

One thing. I wish Chan had shared lessons he’s learned about private prayer. Here are a few of mine. (1) Begin with a minute or two of quieting down to become conscious of coming before the Lord. (2) Dump your read-through-the-Bible-this-year program. (It’s valuable, but, I, at least, tend to rush through the reading. Instead, pick a Bible book you’re interested in. (3) Ask the Lord to speak to you through it. (4) Read a small portion or until something “stands out” to you. (5) Be still and meditate on that portion or your “stand out” verse. Repeat it over and over in your mind. (6) Ask the Lord to enable you to believe it or obey it or whatever the appropriate response .

Okay, enough from me. Here’s what Chan wrote (with thanks to “Desiring God”) . . .

The Greatest Thing You Could Do Today
Francis Chan / November 23, 2015

Imagine walking up a mountain alone. But it’s no ordinary mountain. The ground beneath you is shaking, and the entire mountain is covered in smoke. At its peak is a thick cloud with lightning and thunder. God descends onto the mountain in fire, and each time you speak to him, he responds in thunder. This is what Moses experienced in Exodus 19.

Now compare that experience to your last time in prayer.

Distracted, obligatory, ordinary — I doubt any such words came across Moses’s mind as he ascended the mountain. But some three thousand years later, we rarely marvel that God permits imperfect humans into his presence.

How did the shocking become so ordinary to us? Is it even possible for our experiences with God to be that fascinating?

Going Up the Mountain

A mentor of mine lives in India. Last year, he called me on the phone crying, distraught over the state of the church in America. “It seems like the people in America would be content to take a selfie with Moses. Don’t they know they can go up the mountain themselves? Why don’t they want to go up the mountain?”

When was the last time you enjoyed meaningful time alone with God? Time so good that you didn’t want to leave. It was just you, reading God’s words, in his holy presence.
I was fifteen years old when my youth pastor taught me how to pray and read the Bible alone. Now, more than thirty years later, I still can’t find a better way to start my days. I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I didn’t refocus daily by going up the mountain.

It is alone with him that I empty myself of pride, lies, and stress.

• Pride: standing before a Person clothed in unapproachable light has a way of humbling you (1 Timothy 6:16).
• Lies: speaking to an All-Knowing Judge tends to induce honesty (Hebrews 4:13).
• Stress: kneeling before the God who causes men to fail or succeed replaces our anxiety with peace (Psalm 127:1).

Professional Gatherers

We often spend a lot of time and effort gathering believers together. We’ve become experts at gathering Christians around great bands, speakers, and events. Where we have failed is in teaching believers how to be alone with God. When is the last time you heard someone rave about their time alone with Jesus in his word? Gathering believers who don’t spend time alone with God can be a dangerous thing.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer writes in Life Together:

Whoever cannot be alone should be aware of community. Such people will only do harm to themselves and to the community. Alone you stood before God when God called you. Alone you had to obey God’s voice. Alone you had to take up your cross, struggle, and pray, and alone you will die and give an account to God. You cannot avoid yourself, for it is precisely God who has called you out. If you do not want to be alone, you are rejecting Christ’s call to you, and you can have no part in the community of those who are called.

The word community is thrown around quite a bit in Christian circles today. But our gatherings can be toxic if we do not spend time alone with God. I’ve been in many groups where people share their insights. The problem is not only that our insights are not as profound as we think they are, but that we’re so eager to share thoughts originating in our own minds, when we have a God who says,

My thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts. (Isaiah 55:8–9)

I want to know the thoughts of God. I want to gather with people who have been reading God’s words, people who have prayed and interacted with him. I want to fellowship with those who fellowship with God. I couldn’t care less if you have a doctorate in theology or sixty years of life experience. I would rather talk with a fifteen-year-old who has been in the presence of God.

Can You Love Sermons Too Much?

There is so much discussion around books, sermons, and conferences. I’m not against those. After all, I’ve given a significant portion of my life to preaching sermons and writing books and going to conferences. But sometimes I wonder if it’s time to shift our focus.

We have to look at the facts. American Christians consume more sermons and books than any other group in the history of the world, but consider the state of the church. Has the increase in resources led to greater holiness? Greater intimacy with Jesus?

You could argue that the state of our churches would be even worse without the resources. Maybe that’s the case. Or could it be that these resources (and even this article) has the potential of distracting people from the Source itself? Maybe all of these books and sermons about Jesus have actually kept people from directly interacting with him. It may sound blasphemous to suggest our prayer lives may be weakened by all of the consumption of Christian material. Nonetheless, I want to throw it out there.

We live in a time when most people have a difficult time concentrating on anything. We are constantly looking for the quick fix and for faster solutions. So the thought of sitting quietly to meditate on Scripture and praying deeply in silence can be eagerly replaced by listening to a sermon while driving to work. While it’s definitely better than nothing (considering all of the other messages we are bombarded with daily), the point of this article is to say that there is no substitute for being alone with God.
We must learn to be still again.

Something Has to Go

It was simple for Paul. He loved being with Jesus. “To live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).
Knowing Christ deeply consumed him (Philippians 3:8). There is no substitute for being alone with God. If you don’t have time, you need to quit something to make room. Skip a meal. Cancel a meeting. End some regular commitment. There is literally nothing more important you could do today.

God literally determines whether or not you take another breath. “He himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything” (Acts 17:25). Could anything be more important than meeting with the One who decides if you live through this day? Could anything be better? How can we not make time to be with the Maker of time?

What plans do you have today that you think so important that you would race past the Creator to get to them?

Bathroom-Fall Theology

November 16, 2015 / Allan Babcock

I fell last night. Good thing I fell on my head.! I was standing by the bathroom sink, my walker at my right side. I turned, somehow lost my balance and fell, my right temple hitting the ceramic tile floor, my legs twisting in my walker, and my glasses breaking. (If my blog seems dark, it’s my prescription sun glasses!)

I’m okay. Not as well-dressed as this guy, but okay. Just a minor bump and a darker-than-usual day. But it got me thinking. Questions.

How do persecuted Christians handle suffering? Even though my hard head meeting hard floor hurt (the fall didn’t hurt, just the sudden stop), some of my brothers and sisters suffer far worse. When a man’s wife is raped, when his daughter is kidnapped, when he cries to God and gets silence, how does he maintain faith?

The only answer can be 2 Corinthians 12:9 . . .

“My grace is sufficient for you,
for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

It’s not the strength of the man’s faith; it’s the gracious power of the Lord. It’s a gift of faith from the Holy Spirit that surpasses our “normal level” of believing (1 Corinthians 12:9a). It’s the shield of faith which smothers all the flaming darts of the evil one (Ephesians 6:16a).

The 5 Types of Power Revisited | The Fast Track

He will never leave us or forsake us (Hebrews 13:5b). In other words, when our suffering is great and our “normal” faith seems small, our Lord is with us throwing the punch of his power into us, so we can keep trusting even when the agony is beyond reason.

Is all our suffering ordered by our Father? Somehow it’s easier to believe that persecution-suffering—or even judgment-suffering—are ordered by God than suffering from falling in the bathroom. After all, we’ve got biblical warnings of persecution and judgment.

If they persecuted me, they will persecute you also (John 15:20).

... continue to face persecution from their Communist slavemasters

The LORD is angry with all nations; his wrath is upon all their armies.
He will totally destroy them,
he will give them over to slaughter (Isaiah 34:2).

PostHaste - Wrath of God - YouTube

But we have no biblical warnings of bathroom falls or flat tires or broken air conditioning. Does our Father order the “big stuff” but the “little stuff” just happens? I remember Jesus’ encouraging words . . .

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?
And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.
But even the hairs of your head are all numbered” (Matthew 10:29,30).

Many versions, such as the NIV, translate “apart from your Father’s will.” But the ESV (above) correctly omits “will” because it’s not in the original Greek. So what exactly did Jesus mean? That our Father wills even the fall of an insignificant sparrow or that our Father knows about the fall of each insignificant sparrow? Does Matthew 10:30 mean our Father determines the number of our hairs or knows their number?

Charles Spurgeon beautifully answered this way . . .

“I believe that every particle of dust that dances in the sunbeam does not move an atom more or less than God wishes – that every particle of spray that dashes against the steamboat has its orbit, as well as the sun in the heavens – that the chaff from the hand of the winnower is steered as the stars in their courses. The creeping of an aphid over the rosebud is as much fixed as the march of the devastating pestilence – the fall of . . . leaves from a poplar is as fully ordained as the tumbling of an avalanche.”

So did our Father order my fall? Did he command that only my glasses break and not my arm? Or was my fall devil-inspired or merely the natural result of my disability?

Such questions lead to others: Does God really work for the good in all things? If so, how in the world does my bathroom fall conform me more to the likeness of God’s Son?

And we know that in all things
God works for the good of those who love him,
who have been called according to his purpose.
For those God foreknew he also predestined
to be conformed to the likeness of his Son,
that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.
And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified;
those he justified, he also glorified (Romans 8:28-30).

Honestly, I find it hard to believe that our Father will use my fall for good, especially to conform me more to Christ’s likeness. Yet maybe one good thing is this: someone who reads my blog may be encouraged in their suffering.

When it comes down to it, in a situation like this, while I don’t fully understand, I’m like Peter. To many of his followers, Jesus made some hard statements. John recorded what happened next . . .

From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him.
“You do not want to leave too, do you?” Jesus asked the Twelve.
Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go?
You have the words of eternal life. (John 6:66-68).

I choose to believe that persecuted Christians endure suffering by God’s grace and gift of faith. I choose to believe that all suffering is ordered by our Father (even though I don’t understand). But my bottom line, when I’m hurting and confused and tempted is Peter’s statement:

“Lord, to whom shall we go?
You have the words of eternal life. (John 6:66-68).

No one else–no place else–to go with my hurt and pain and ignorance, but to Jesus. Because he alone speaks the words that lead to eternal life.

Jesus Open Arms photo: Jesus' Arms JesusArms.jpg