Point of Reference: Joshua 6:1 Jericho was bolted and barred shut because the people were afraid of the Israelites.
The cowardly Israelites 40 years earlier made a rush-to-judgment about Canaan and incorrectly assumed it was an unconquerable land. Jericho assumed, rightly so, that the invading Israeli army was unstoppable. But because of the false assumption of the Israelites the correct assumption of the people of Jericho failed to materialize—for 40 years. Weird, the enemies of God’s people had a better handle on reality than did God’s people. God’s people failed to risk success for fear of failure.
This whole scenario got me to thinking (a dangerous thing) about other times the people of God failed to achieve what God had planned because they/we feared failure. We’ve scaled back on plans because they were too aggressive and “we probably wouldn’t be able to afford it.” Never mind that God said, “Do it” and was on the hook to provide the funds; it didn’t seem feasible and do-able, so we didn’t risk success for fear of failure.
Nothing in my experience compares to attacking a walled city, like Jericho, with a battle plan similar to what God gave Joshua. Verses 3-5 read: All the soldiers will march around the city once a day for 6 days. Seven priests will carry rams’ horns ahead of the ark. But on the 7th day you must march around the city 7 times while the priests blow their horns. When you hear a long blast on the horn, all the troops must shout very loudly. The wall around the city will collapse. Then the troops must charge straight ahead into the city. Strangest battle plan ever devised. March daily for 6 days, on the 7th day make 7 trips around the city, then blow horns and shout. Much easier than battering rams and siege ramps that would take months, maybe even years, to complete. If a pastor today suggested such a ridiculous strategy for advancing the Kingdom of God, he’d be fired on the spot.
Perhaps it was because they had just crossed the Jordan River on dry ground (God parted the water for them) and saw first-hand what God was capable of doing. Perhaps it was because they liked having a new leader and Joshua had successfully delivered them onto Canaan’s soil. Perhaps it was because they had finally learned to trust God. Perhaps…it doesn’t matter the perhaps, they did what God told Joshua to have them do. They marched and probably looked ridiculous in the process. But they chose to risk success OVER the fear of failure. And God honored their work. Jericho fell.
It’s time we take a new look at ventures the Lord is leading us to attempt. We sit down and count the cost—which is Biblical. But usually we discount the intangible leading of the Lord over the tangible visible cost. We often allow our fear of failure to stop us from moving forward. We don’t want to risk failure. But WHAT IF we were willing to risk success? Nothing of significance has ever been accomplished without a certain amount of risk. The successful folks were willing to risk failure because they knew/know you can’t have success without the option of failure.
Are you facing any challenges today that have you in a quandary? Are you unable to make a decision for fear of failure? Is the risk of success an option? Bet it is!
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Memorial Day Musings
Point of reference: Joshua 4:4-8, where Joshua has 12 men select stones from the middle of the Jordan River to use to build a permanent reminder of what God had done for them.
In just a few hours it will be Memorial Day. Tomorrow we’ll see flags posted all over town—I’ll post ours. We’ll have the day off and give what could most accurately be described as a casual nod to the real meaning behind Memorial Day.
Back in the day when I was a boy we called it Decoration Day. My Mom would make floral arrangements from the many flowers she had growing in our garden and we’d travel to the cemetery where most of my family is buried and decorate their graves. Mom and Dad would talk about each family member, briefly reliving their lives and, sometimes, the manner of their deaths. Late in the day, we’d return to remove the flowers so the cemetery staff could mow. Mom took the lead to decorate the graves, keeping with the tradition of how Decoration/Memorial Day began. Stories are varied but all seem to agree that this observance originated with women decorating the graves of soldiers killed in the (un)Civil War. Legend has it that at first they only decorated the graves of the soldiers who fought on their side. Soon they realized there were mothers in other parts of the country grieving over the death of their sons and, because of distance, couldn’t honor their loved ones. So these compassionate ladies of the South also laid flowers on the graves of the Union soldiers buried near their Confederate Sons.
Over time we changed the name to Memorial Day and have placed an emphasis on honoring all who have and are giving of themselves in the service of our country. We especially honor those who died in the line of duty. I need a reminder to realize we have men and women struggling on foreign soil to protect our freedom.
You see, this Memorial Day weekend we’ve occupied ourselves with our own lives. All the local high schools have held their graduations over the last couple of days at the United Spirit Arena. Local school and college baseball teams have been involved in post-season tournament play and all have hopes of a state or national title. The NBA is now down to two teams who will compete for the trophy. There was a big race in Indianapolis today and millions of people watched it in person or on television. The temperature is soaring—actually, record breaking, and our church lost most of its air conditioning units this very morning, so it was hot in worship. We were a little uncomfortable. Yes, I need a reminder that some of my fellow citizens are suffering for the cause of freedom.
Centuries ago—actually, millenniums ago—God was leading a group of people from the wilderness into their promised land. He would perform a miracle to get them from one side of a flooded river to the other; He would part the river and establish dry ground. (Read my previous posting on the Wet Ankle Hall of Fame for more background.) In the process He gave instructions to the nation’s leader to have men gather the rocks and establish a permanent reminder of His work on Israel’s behalf. God knew humans forget what He does on our behalf. (I remember an old adage that goes like this: If we could forget our problems as quickly as we forget our blessings, we’d not have many problems.)
Have you considered lately all God has done for you? Have I? Have we given much thought to how much others are sacrificing for our country? Maybe, just maybe, May 30, 2011, would be a good time to reflect and give thanks to God and to our military families. “Thank You, O Lord, for blessing the U.S.A.”
In just a few hours it will be Memorial Day. Tomorrow we’ll see flags posted all over town—I’ll post ours. We’ll have the day off and give what could most accurately be described as a casual nod to the real meaning behind Memorial Day.
Back in the day when I was a boy we called it Decoration Day. My Mom would make floral arrangements from the many flowers she had growing in our garden and we’d travel to the cemetery where most of my family is buried and decorate their graves. Mom and Dad would talk about each family member, briefly reliving their lives and, sometimes, the manner of their deaths. Late in the day, we’d return to remove the flowers so the cemetery staff could mow. Mom took the lead to decorate the graves, keeping with the tradition of how Decoration/Memorial Day began. Stories are varied but all seem to agree that this observance originated with women decorating the graves of soldiers killed in the (un)Civil War. Legend has it that at first they only decorated the graves of the soldiers who fought on their side. Soon they realized there were mothers in other parts of the country grieving over the death of their sons and, because of distance, couldn’t honor their loved ones. So these compassionate ladies of the South also laid flowers on the graves of the Union soldiers buried near their Confederate Sons.
Over time we changed the name to Memorial Day and have placed an emphasis on honoring all who have and are giving of themselves in the service of our country. We especially honor those who died in the line of duty. I need a reminder to realize we have men and women struggling on foreign soil to protect our freedom.
You see, this Memorial Day weekend we’ve occupied ourselves with our own lives. All the local high schools have held their graduations over the last couple of days at the United Spirit Arena. Local school and college baseball teams have been involved in post-season tournament play and all have hopes of a state or national title. The NBA is now down to two teams who will compete for the trophy. There was a big race in Indianapolis today and millions of people watched it in person or on television. The temperature is soaring—actually, record breaking, and our church lost most of its air conditioning units this very morning, so it was hot in worship. We were a little uncomfortable. Yes, I need a reminder that some of my fellow citizens are suffering for the cause of freedom.
Centuries ago—actually, millenniums ago—God was leading a group of people from the wilderness into their promised land. He would perform a miracle to get them from one side of a flooded river to the other; He would part the river and establish dry ground. (Read my previous posting on the Wet Ankle Hall of Fame for more background.) In the process He gave instructions to the nation’s leader to have men gather the rocks and establish a permanent reminder of His work on Israel’s behalf. God knew humans forget what He does on our behalf. (I remember an old adage that goes like this: If we could forget our problems as quickly as we forget our blessings, we’d not have many problems.)
Have you considered lately all God has done for you? Have I? Have we given much thought to how much others are sacrificing for our country? Maybe, just maybe, May 30, 2011, would be a good time to reflect and give thanks to God and to our military families. “Thank You, O Lord, for blessing the U.S.A.”
Friday, May 27, 2011
Wet Ankle Hall of Fame?
REFERENCE POINT: Joshua 3:15. When the priests who were carrying the ark came to the edge of the Jordan River and set foot in the water, the water stopped flowing from upstream.
This passage of scripture has always fascinated me. The water would not stop flowing UNTIL they got their feet wet. They’d still be standing there today (all right, their mummified corpses) if they were waiting on the water to stop flowing before they moved. God was waiting on them to exercise faith in His word and get their feet wet. They did, the water stopped and the whole nation crossed over ON DRY GROUND.
The only ones who get their feet wet that day were the priests carrying the ark—everyone else got to walk on dry land. Without their step of faith there would not have been the successful DRY crossing.
Here’s where my weird mind kicks in. What was it like for them to walk the rest of the way with soggy sandals? Did they slip? Did their sandals squeak, like my pair does when they get wet? Did their feet get muddy since they had wet ankles and soggy sandals and the river bed was now dusty and dust just seems to be attracted to damp soles? Just how uncomfortable were they the rest of the day?
But what a sense of satisfaction they must have shared, knowing their obedience had unlocked God’s power to part the river! For 40 years the nation had looked across that river to the land that should have been theirs. For 40 years they had eaten the same food, worn the same clothes, and followed the same routine while waiting on the older folks to die off. Now, everyone was on the other side and they had led the way.
These guys belong in the Wet Ankle Hall of Fame.
What’s that, you say? You’ve never heard of the Wet Ankle Hall of Fame? I shouldn’t wonder because I just made it up. To the best of my knowledge such a place doesn’t exist—but I think it should. Or, if you think it best to not establish an actual hall, how about a special recognition? Something like making them members of The Royal Order of Soggy Sandals? We could look for contemporary folks worthy of such an honor. We could develop a lapel pin for people who make it into this royal order shaped like a sandal with drops of water gushing out. Maybe develop a logo of a foot being submerged into water for marketing purposes. We could develop a whole line of sandals that are water resistant and dust repellant. We could make them from organic material harvested from the Jordan River or the Red Sea so we could have a connection with the places where the water was parted. Once a year we could have a water-parting party to commemorate these events and have bottled water from Israel flown in. We could push to make it a national holiday and encourage pastors to preach on water crossings on the Sunday leading up to the holiday.
Or, we could recognize that these guys did what they were supposed to do and not make such a big deal out of obedience. I don’t remember seeing their names mentioned as the ones who got their feet wet. They’re just listed as men doing the right thing and God blessed their obedience. May, just maybe, that’s the lesson we need to learn. Don’t make such a big deal out of normal obedience. Expect to always do the right thing and watch what God will do with our obedience.
This passage of scripture has always fascinated me. The water would not stop flowing UNTIL they got their feet wet. They’d still be standing there today (all right, their mummified corpses) if they were waiting on the water to stop flowing before they moved. God was waiting on them to exercise faith in His word and get their feet wet. They did, the water stopped and the whole nation crossed over ON DRY GROUND.
The only ones who get their feet wet that day were the priests carrying the ark—everyone else got to walk on dry land. Without their step of faith there would not have been the successful DRY crossing.
Here’s where my weird mind kicks in. What was it like for them to walk the rest of the way with soggy sandals? Did they slip? Did their sandals squeak, like my pair does when they get wet? Did their feet get muddy since they had wet ankles and soggy sandals and the river bed was now dusty and dust just seems to be attracted to damp soles? Just how uncomfortable were they the rest of the day?
But what a sense of satisfaction they must have shared, knowing their obedience had unlocked God’s power to part the river! For 40 years the nation had looked across that river to the land that should have been theirs. For 40 years they had eaten the same food, worn the same clothes, and followed the same routine while waiting on the older folks to die off. Now, everyone was on the other side and they had led the way.
These guys belong in the Wet Ankle Hall of Fame.
What’s that, you say? You’ve never heard of the Wet Ankle Hall of Fame? I shouldn’t wonder because I just made it up. To the best of my knowledge such a place doesn’t exist—but I think it should. Or, if you think it best to not establish an actual hall, how about a special recognition? Something like making them members of The Royal Order of Soggy Sandals? We could look for contemporary folks worthy of such an honor. We could develop a lapel pin for people who make it into this royal order shaped like a sandal with drops of water gushing out. Maybe develop a logo of a foot being submerged into water for marketing purposes. We could develop a whole line of sandals that are water resistant and dust repellant. We could make them from organic material harvested from the Jordan River or the Red Sea so we could have a connection with the places where the water was parted. Once a year we could have a water-parting party to commemorate these events and have bottled water from Israel flown in. We could push to make it a national holiday and encourage pastors to preach on water crossings on the Sunday leading up to the holiday.
Or, we could recognize that these guys did what they were supposed to do and not make such a big deal out of obedience. I don’t remember seeing their names mentioned as the ones who got their feet wet. They’re just listed as men doing the right thing and God blessed their obedience. May, just maybe, that’s the lesson we need to learn. Don’t make such a big deal out of normal obedience. Expect to always do the right thing and watch what God will do with our obedience.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Exit or Entry Strategy
Joshua, chapter 3, is a fascinating Old Testament read. Joshua has been assigned the role of leader for the nation of Israel. They are still in exile in the wilderness, but are preparing to cross the Jordan River and claim their inheritance. Of course, there were people living in the land they were to inherit—poachers on their land. These poachers had been there a long time and had totally turned their backs on God. The Lord’s patience had expired toward these Canaanites and He was combining the entrance of Israel with the judgment on Canaan.
In this chapter God tells Joshua to cross the Jordan River. Once again He will part a large body of water and allow His people to cross on dry land. Now God doesn’t often repeat His miracles. He’s such a creative God that He doesn’t need to do reruns and He’s so perfect that He doesn’t need do-overs. No mulligan needed for Jehovah. But on occasion He has repeated Himself, which is what He was about to do for Israel. It would be new for most of the nation since everyone who was older than 40 when Israel snubbed her nose at God has died. People, say 55 and older, would remember the first crossing when they were leaving Egypt.
My, oh my, how 40 years changes things. When Israel first experienced the parting of waters the nation was exiting Egypt and avoiding conflict with Pharaoh’s army. This new parting—of the Jordan River—would be different. This one was an entrance to accept conflict. Totally different strategies: one to exit and avoid; the second to enter and fight.
Amazing how God can change people. Forty years earlier He had rescued a group of slaves who were, for the most part, a bunch of cowards. They feared confrontation with Pharaoh, with his army, and with the wilderness nations. Strangely enough, they didn’t fear confronting and criticizing Moses; they didn’t fear confronting/criticizing God EVEN THOUGH they had observed first-hand what He did to Egypt, ala the ten plagues. When they first arrived at the Jordan and saw Canaan, they were more fearful of confronting the Canaanites than facing God’s wrath. That decision cost them BIG TIME! You’d think that after watching Him systematically take Egypt apart, plague-by-plague, they would have trusted Him to do the same to the Canaanites. He had crushed the Egyptian army by collapsing walls of water when the Red Sea returned to its’ pre-parting ways. Why didn’t they recognize that He could have crushed any Canaanite army even absent the water walls of a sea?
Now, 40 years later, after wasting all this time in the desert, they’re finally moving forward. Forty years of wasted living—of existing in the desert eating the same thing three times a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, for………. 40…………. long…………. years. All during this time Canaan had been producing fruit and vegetables—a land flowing with milk and honey—while they ate the same stuff! Forty years of wearing the same clothes, permanently living in tents (that’s permanently living in impermanence), always packing and unpacking. Forty years of unproductive living, just waiting to die so the survivors could move on to accomplish God’s purposes. (I wonder if, toward the end when only a few of the old-timers were still alive, if maybe, just maybe, the younger folks were tempted to put a pillow over the faces of the elderly as they slept. Maybe try to shorten the extended stay in the wilderness just a little?)
Forty years earlier their ancestors had been given a choice: the security of the monotonous VS. the insecurity of the adventurous. They’d chosen/settled for security of the known as opposed to the insecurity of the unknown. And it cost them—DEARLY!
How many times have I—have you—settled for security over adventure? How many times have we missed the productive years of being able to enjoy the fruit of our Canaan adventure because we chickened out on following God when He asked us to take a step of faith into the unknown? This is bothering me today. Is it a question you struggle with as well?
In this chapter God tells Joshua to cross the Jordan River. Once again He will part a large body of water and allow His people to cross on dry land. Now God doesn’t often repeat His miracles. He’s such a creative God that He doesn’t need to do reruns and He’s so perfect that He doesn’t need do-overs. No mulligan needed for Jehovah. But on occasion He has repeated Himself, which is what He was about to do for Israel. It would be new for most of the nation since everyone who was older than 40 when Israel snubbed her nose at God has died. People, say 55 and older, would remember the first crossing when they were leaving Egypt.
My, oh my, how 40 years changes things. When Israel first experienced the parting of waters the nation was exiting Egypt and avoiding conflict with Pharaoh’s army. This new parting—of the Jordan River—would be different. This one was an entrance to accept conflict. Totally different strategies: one to exit and avoid; the second to enter and fight.
Amazing how God can change people. Forty years earlier He had rescued a group of slaves who were, for the most part, a bunch of cowards. They feared confrontation with Pharaoh, with his army, and with the wilderness nations. Strangely enough, they didn’t fear confronting and criticizing Moses; they didn’t fear confronting/criticizing God EVEN THOUGH they had observed first-hand what He did to Egypt, ala the ten plagues. When they first arrived at the Jordan and saw Canaan, they were more fearful of confronting the Canaanites than facing God’s wrath. That decision cost them BIG TIME! You’d think that after watching Him systematically take Egypt apart, plague-by-plague, they would have trusted Him to do the same to the Canaanites. He had crushed the Egyptian army by collapsing walls of water when the Red Sea returned to its’ pre-parting ways. Why didn’t they recognize that He could have crushed any Canaanite army even absent the water walls of a sea?
Now, 40 years later, after wasting all this time in the desert, they’re finally moving forward. Forty years of wasted living—of existing in the desert eating the same thing three times a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, for………. 40…………. long…………. years. All during this time Canaan had been producing fruit and vegetables—a land flowing with milk and honey—while they ate the same stuff! Forty years of wearing the same clothes, permanently living in tents (that’s permanently living in impermanence), always packing and unpacking. Forty years of unproductive living, just waiting to die so the survivors could move on to accomplish God’s purposes. (I wonder if, toward the end when only a few of the old-timers were still alive, if maybe, just maybe, the younger folks were tempted to put a pillow over the faces of the elderly as they slept. Maybe try to shorten the extended stay in the wilderness just a little?)
Forty years earlier their ancestors had been given a choice: the security of the monotonous VS. the insecurity of the adventurous. They’d chosen/settled for security of the known as opposed to the insecurity of the unknown. And it cost them—DEARLY!
How many times have I—have you—settled for security over adventure? How many times have we missed the productive years of being able to enjoy the fruit of our Canaan adventure because we chickened out on following God when He asked us to take a step of faith into the unknown? This is bothering me today. Is it a question you struggle with as well?
Sunday, May 22, 2011
How Long Wrong?
There was an interesting phenomenon surrounding my early days of “church going.”
I place it in quotations because it was what we did, as in “get ready, we’re going to church.” My parents took me to church before I was born, knew my own name or could even count to one. “Church going” was a normal part of my routine. Who am I kidding, it was our routine. My earliest memories are around church going and my mother playing the piano for church. (You’d think that hearing the piano played in vitro would have led me to have an ear for music. Oh that it were true. My ear is drawn to magnets because it’s tin.)
My maternal grandparents lived next door to the First Baptist Church of Stover, Missouri, back in the days when no one locked their doors, including the church. So whenever we visited the grandparents, I played with the pastor’s son and we played in church. We played church. Not that it was all that much fun, it was just what we did—we didn’t know any better.
Church going wasn’t much fun in those days. Somehow the Puritan influence must have carried over into Baptist churches. (Someone has said the Puritans were afraid that someone somewhere might be enjoying themselves and they were bent on stopping that frivolity.) Most of what I remember about church going was along the lines of, “stop that—you’re in God’s house.” “Shush, you’re in God’s house.” “God doesn’t like it when you do that in His house.”
Funny, when we played church and no adults were with us, God didn’t seem to mind if we got loud or laughed or—heaven forbid—ran in the aisles. The ceiling didn’t fall in. And, I can’t believe I’m admitting this, the pews were great fun to crawl under. (If my grandmother had known what we were doing I’d not be alive to be making this confession. Fortunately, her eye sight was failing and didn’t realize the dust on the front of my jeans came from the church floors under the pews. I think the custodian loved it when we played there.)
After the novelty of church going rubbed off, about the time I approached puberty, I no longer wanted to go. Strange how a kid can get up feeling normal until he realizes it’s Sunday and church going day and he gets a bad case of “Mommy, I don’t feel good. I better stay home today?” Of course Mom’s intuitive sense knew better and we went to church. (One Sunday afternoon while playing with cousins, a rock was dropped on the ring finger of my right hand and the tip was nearly gone—hanging by a thread. We made an emergency trip to Gunn Clinic and Dr. Gunn sewed the tip back on. Surely this would qualify for an exemption from Sunday night church, but nnnoooooooo, we were in the car headed back. I played the old “my finger hurts so much I might throw up” card and did get a single night reprieve from church going.
When God was calling me to be a pastor I rejected His call, not wanting to live a life devoid of joy. My early days as a pastor were marked by more Puritanical pursuits than joy. After all, I was a pastor and church going was serious business. I was wrong.
This last week as I was working my way through Deuteronomy I came to chapter 16, verse 11 and read (in the God’s Word translation): Enjoy yourselves in the presence of the Lord your God….Enjoy yourselves at the place the Lord your God will choose for His name to live. In the midst of all the teachings about sacrifices God tells His people to enjoy themselves in His presence. EVEN IN THE OLD TESTAMENT!
Today at Bacon Heights we enjoyed ourselves in the presence of the Lord our God. We sang Nick’s welcome song, a take-off on the YMCA song and I believe God smiled. I sure did. We baptized—a father baptized his son and another father was baptized along with his son. We clapped and I believe God smiled. Pastor Jerry challenged us about ministering in our neighborhood and spoke about a partnership project. I believe God smiled at his children taking seriously His command to take the gospel into the whole world, including our own back yard. Yes, I truly believe God smiled at our worship today. I know I sure did.
I place it in quotations because it was what we did, as in “get ready, we’re going to church.” My parents took me to church before I was born, knew my own name or could even count to one. “Church going” was a normal part of my routine. Who am I kidding, it was our routine. My earliest memories are around church going and my mother playing the piano for church. (You’d think that hearing the piano played in vitro would have led me to have an ear for music. Oh that it were true. My ear is drawn to magnets because it’s tin.)
My maternal grandparents lived next door to the First Baptist Church of Stover, Missouri, back in the days when no one locked their doors, including the church. So whenever we visited the grandparents, I played with the pastor’s son and we played in church. We played church. Not that it was all that much fun, it was just what we did—we didn’t know any better.
Church going wasn’t much fun in those days. Somehow the Puritan influence must have carried over into Baptist churches. (Someone has said the Puritans were afraid that someone somewhere might be enjoying themselves and they were bent on stopping that frivolity.) Most of what I remember about church going was along the lines of, “stop that—you’re in God’s house.” “Shush, you’re in God’s house.” “God doesn’t like it when you do that in His house.”
Funny, when we played church and no adults were with us, God didn’t seem to mind if we got loud or laughed or—heaven forbid—ran in the aisles. The ceiling didn’t fall in. And, I can’t believe I’m admitting this, the pews were great fun to crawl under. (If my grandmother had known what we were doing I’d not be alive to be making this confession. Fortunately, her eye sight was failing and didn’t realize the dust on the front of my jeans came from the church floors under the pews. I think the custodian loved it when we played there.)
After the novelty of church going rubbed off, about the time I approached puberty, I no longer wanted to go. Strange how a kid can get up feeling normal until he realizes it’s Sunday and church going day and he gets a bad case of “Mommy, I don’t feel good. I better stay home today?” Of course Mom’s intuitive sense knew better and we went to church. (One Sunday afternoon while playing with cousins, a rock was dropped on the ring finger of my right hand and the tip was nearly gone—hanging by a thread. We made an emergency trip to Gunn Clinic and Dr. Gunn sewed the tip back on. Surely this would qualify for an exemption from Sunday night church, but nnnoooooooo, we were in the car headed back. I played the old “my finger hurts so much I might throw up” card and did get a single night reprieve from church going.
When God was calling me to be a pastor I rejected His call, not wanting to live a life devoid of joy. My early days as a pastor were marked by more Puritanical pursuits than joy. After all, I was a pastor and church going was serious business. I was wrong.
This last week as I was working my way through Deuteronomy I came to chapter 16, verse 11 and read (in the God’s Word translation): Enjoy yourselves in the presence of the Lord your God….Enjoy yourselves at the place the Lord your God will choose for His name to live. In the midst of all the teachings about sacrifices God tells His people to enjoy themselves in His presence. EVEN IN THE OLD TESTAMENT!
Today at Bacon Heights we enjoyed ourselves in the presence of the Lord our God. We sang Nick’s welcome song, a take-off on the YMCA song and I believe God smiled. I sure did. We baptized—a father baptized his son and another father was baptized along with his son. We clapped and I believe God smiled. Pastor Jerry challenged us about ministering in our neighborhood and spoke about a partnership project. I believe God smiled at his children taking seriously His command to take the gospel into the whole world, including our own back yard. Yes, I truly believe God smiled at our worship today. I know I sure did.
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