I am an Island

            Last night, Nancy and I watched the premier episode of Church Rescue, a reality show on the National Geographic channel about this cadre of three guys (the Church Hoppers) who travel around the country saving troubled churches (think Restaurant Impossible with more God, less mold, and smaller biceps). Initially, I was a little put off - NatGeo makes its money off of finding the strangest freaks and geeks, then creating a series around them (“What, you build underground bunkers to protect against zombie attacks? Cool!” “What, you dance with snakes and drink poison and hold fire to your skin, so that you don’t go to hell? Excellent!” “What, you weigh 1400 lbs and have fathered a brood of Icelandic, chainsaw-wielding, tuna-fishing, UFO-hunting, foreign prison-surviving, vertically-challenged Alaska state troopers [sorry, I mean, you and your three wives]? Well, then, just smile into the camera with the few teeth you have left, and we’ll start rolling!”). Now that their lenses have turned to pastors in churches, however, that means that suddenly the freak appears to be me (well, me and my three wives).

            The episode was about Pastor Larry Roseboro and New Hope Baptist Church. Pastor Roseboro desperately wanted to build this big-old sanctuary, and it took the Church Hoppers to convince him to instead make better use of the facilities that he already had. He was resistant at first, but finally accepted their wisdom. At the end everyone was happily singing, dancing, and sweating in the little Bapticostal church. Good lesson - good show.

            As I was watching, one key principal stood out to me - a pastor can’t do it on his own. If he tries, the church will inevitably collapse around him. So, why do pastors try to do it on their own? Two reasons - both equally destructive: 1) they want to, or 2) nobody steps up to help.

            Pastor Roseboro was of the first type - he did it on his own, because he wanted to do it on his own. There were some circumstances that led to the position he was in. However, his pride and lack of teachability kept him in that position.

            Please don’t get me wrong - I’ve got nothing but love and respect for Pastor Roseboro. He was out in that country church doing the Lord’s work. I suspect he was simply working things the way that he was taught to work them. There is no doubt that he has a deep love for the Lord and a passionate love for his church. Also, after some initial push-back, he humbled himself and accepted the guidance of the Church Hoppers. That is major pastoral studliness!

            The church was never intended to be a sole proprietorship. Church, from the first century on, was about community. When there was disagreement in the early church, the Twelve didn’t appoint Stephen to take over and fix it. They appointed Stephen and Philip and Procorus and Nicanor and Timon and Parmenas and Nicolas to deal with the issue (Acts 6). Even the fact that there were Twelve leading the Church, as opposed to just Peter, shows that Church is a group project.

            Another reason the “led-by-me” pastoral philosophy is a mistake is because “led-by-me” most often becomes “all-about-me”. Leading a church of devoted parishioners without anyone around to anchor a pastor to the ground is a dangerous road for anyone to walk. The local church was not designed to be a dictatorship; it was designed to be a republic. If you are in a church where it is all about the pastor, you are in the wrong church - run away, run like the wind.

            Some control-issue pastors want to do it all on their own, but many more find themselves in that position through no fault of their own. As Malvolio once said in Shakespeare’s The Twelfth Night, “Some pastors are born ‘it’s-all-about-me’, some achieve ‘it’s-all-about-me’, and some have ‘it’s-all-about-me’ thrust upon them.”

            At my church, I’ve got a great board of elders, fantastic deacons, and a congregation well-stocked with godly servants. Many other pastors are not quite so blessed. Everyone has a calling in the Church of God and all have been gifted to fulfill that calling (1 Corinthians 12:7). However, if you could show me that even 50% were actually stepping up and fulfilling their role in the Kingdom of God, then I would gladly eat my shoe (although I might first argue with you that eating my shoe, in actuality, has nothing remotely to do with the situation at hand).

            Why don’t people serve? The excuses are legion. My personal top ten:

1.     I don’t know what to do.

•   Ask your pastor, ask an elder, ask the nice lady who sits next to you every Sunday. Better yet, ask God to give you some direction. I’m thinking that’s a prayer He’d honor. Also, it’s possible the calling God has given you lies outside of the church proper. I’ve often told my congregation that I don’t care where you serve, as long as you are serving somewhere. The Church is much bigger than just that building where we get together to sing and listen to the pastor pontificate.

2.     I don’t have any spiritual gifts.

•   Oops! Don’t you hate it when God lets folks slip through the cracks? He promised to give gifts to everyone, but that’s a pretty tall order, especially when you consider just how big “everyone” is. But God can be excused - eternity is a long time - eventually it’s got to catch up with Him. Even Jesus in his humanity is working with a 2000-year-old brain, right? Can’t you just picture Him tearing apart heaven, digging through all the cushions in the Throne Room, sending angels wading into the glassy sea, desperately looking for where he left the keys to His white Mustang (see what I did there? Yeah…)?

3.     I don’t have time.

•   Yes, you do. Fix your priorities, then get back to me.

4.     Isn’t that why we pay the pastor?

•   No.

5.     I’ve messed up so badly in my past, God could never use me.

•   Paul imprisoned, tortured, and murdered Christians, and God seemed to use him to a fairly large extent. Isn’t the grace, mercy, and forgiveness of our God wonderful? (Besides - little secret here - chances are that the pastor or teacher or elder you’re looking up to has got some pretty herky stuff in his or her past, too.)

6.     There are so many others who have so much more experience and are so much better at it than me.

•   "If a church only used experienced people to serve its ministries, Captain, it would, logically, die off in a generation" (said in a Spockian monotone). And, in ministry, “better” is a word that has absolutely no practical meaning.

7.     I need to work on my spiritual walk first.

•   God’s not looking for perfect servants, otherwise every pulpit would be empty and every boardroom table would be collecting dust. God knows who you are, and still He’s called you to serve Him. How cool is that?

8.     I’m too __________.

•   Old, young, new in my faith, infirmed, fat, thin, tall, short, smart, dumb, German, whatever word you want to put in that blank, write it in. Good, now scratch it out, because it’s a bunch of hooey. Now, over it, write, “…useful to God to not be serving.”

9.     My pastor wants to do it all himself.

•   No, he doesn’t. He’s doing it all himself, because you’re not helping. Now, if you happen to be in one of those megalomaniac-led churches we spoke of earlier, please heed my previous advice and hoof it on out of town.

10.  What if I find out that I don’t like what I’m doing or that I’m no good at it?

•   Then stop doing it, and find something else. No harm, no foul. Sometimes discovering your calling is like a neon sign. More often, though, it’s a jigsaw puzzle. It takes time and experiences to place piece after piece. But eventually you’ll see the whole picture. It took me forty-four years to find my way to a senior pastor position, and I still don’t know if this is the whole puzzle or just another piece (and I may never know this side of heaven).

            So, here’s to Pastor Larry Roseboro and New Hope Baptist Church. Here’s to all the small churches (and the big ‘uns, too) who are in the trenches doing the Lord’s work. Here’s to the pastors who are slogging it through day by day (often feeling alone, but knowing deep down that they are actually part of a much larger band of brothers and sisters). But, most of all, here’s to the people of the church - sacrificing their time, loving each other, serving their Lord. Those people right there, they are Church.

Stalking the Wild Side

          Yesterday, my big day-off task was making my backyard leaf-free (after two-and-a-half hours of mulched leaf dust blowing on me, I was looking much like the Ghost of Autumn Past). At one point while I was dealing with these wilting, unwanted cast-offs, Lou Reed’s voice began crooning into my ear buds. The song he sang is from the Duets album by The Blind Boys of Alabama. It’s a simple, beautiful, melancholy song. Not too many words - just a heart-felt plea repeated three times over in Reed’s gruff, cigarette-laced baritone:

            Jesus, help me find my proper place.

            Jesus, help me find my proper place.

            Help me in my weakness, ‘cause I’ve fallen out of grace.

            Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

            As I strained to listen through the whining motor and the barking mini-Schnauzer (who was apparently taking the whining motor as a personal affront), a couple things came into my mind, particularly in view of Reed’s death last week. First, people can be so close, yet so far. That song was such a humble, heartfelt cry. And the way he sang it - so simply, so sincerely, so honestly. Yet, even though it sounded simple, sincere, and honest, there is no evidence that either of the last two were really true. They were just beautiful words emotionally sung - nothing more (which is a great description of the worship you find in much of today’s church - but that’s another blog).

            To think that if that plea had been truly from the heart and not just from the lyric sheet, Reed would be experiencing something very different than he is right now. That is heart breaking - truly heart-breaking. Speaking words of truth is not enough. Believing words of truth is not enough. Committing to truth is what is required to make Jesus both our Lord and Savior.

            The second thing that came to me is what a song like that says about the Church. Now, before I get too far into this, let me say that yes, it is just a short song, and yes, I am reading into it, and yes, I am making up my own back story. That being said…

            Here’s a guy who is calling out to Jesus to find his proper place with God. He’s a man who is broken and desperate. He wants to get right with Christ, but he doesn’t know how or to whom he should turn. My question is where is the Church? The answer is that for too many searchers, the Church is just not a viable option.

            While this song may be hypothetical, I believe it is not atypical. Too often, people in need of spiritual answers have no place to go, because the Church has surrounded itself with a barbed-wire fence of lifestyle requirements. If you don’t look like us or talk like us or act like us or abstain like us or marry like us, then what in the name of Holy St. Petersburg are you doing in our house?

            The line that gets me most is when Reed heart-wrenchingly confesses, “…’cause I’ve fallen out of grace.” While it may feel like it’s God’s grace that he’s fallen out of, it’s not. God’s grace is too strong and extends too wide. If we want His grace, it’s right there for the taking.

            Instead, the grace he’s fallen out of is that of the Church. Where could a counter-cultural, bisexual, alcoholic, former heroin addict like Reed go to find his “proper place”? What church is swinging its doors wide open begging him to come inside? Now, before you go Googling “counter-cultural churches” or “gay friendly churches”, let me save you some time. The answer should be “Mine”.

            Before I get labeled as some liberal theologian or permissive pastor, let me clarify. Everything that I have thus far said refers to those who don’t know the Lord and are seeking Him. In John 8, Jesus tells us that everyone who sins is a slave to sin. So, when non-Christians sin, they are just doing what they are compelled to do. It’s like a junkie destroying his life bad decision by bad decision in order to get his next fix. Why does he do it? He can’t help himself. He’s addicted.

            For us to require people to clean up their acts before they can come into our churches is like telling the tweaker, “I want you to quit meth before you can come into our rehab facility.” Jesus said, “I came for the sick, not the healthy.” As the Church - God’s representatives here on earth - we need to open our/His arms of love and mercy and grace to those who feel like they’ve “fallen out of grace.” We show them the love of Christ, then we let God take it from there. It’s our job to love them; it’s the Holy Spirit’s job to change them.

            One final clarification - I said that all this refers to those who don’t know the Lord. The standards are very different for those of us who do. When we commit ourselves to following Christ, we are committing ourselves to a holy lifestyle - “holy” meaning “sanctified, set apart”; in other words, “different from the world.” This is where I depart from most of the liberal churches and denominations.

            Too many in the Church have become comfortable with their lives; with the level of their sacrifice, with the depth of their commitment, with those sinlets that they tend to sweep under the rug as no big deal (“With all the murdering and thieving and fornicating going on, God won’t take mind of this little thing” [said, for some bizarre reason, in a Southern belle’s voice]). They treat church as a big comfy couch. They go there to feel good and cozy - they talk with their friends, they sing some fun songs, they get entertained by a sermon designed to make them feel happy. By the time they’re ready to go back home, they’re feeling great, because nobody judged them, nobody told them they were doing anything wrong, nobody challenged them to serve or to sacrifice or to get uncomfortable/messy/sweaty for Christ. Instead, they heard just the opposite. God is a giant fluffy teddy bear and all He wants is for you to snuggle around in Him a while. It’s a win/win for God and us - He gets His desperately needed love fix and we get to feel good while we throw Him that bone.

            When we become Christians, we become new creations (2 Corinthians 5:17). This means a total change in who we are - putting off the old, putting on the new. So, what does that “new” look like? Well, it’s not legalism - it’s not a bunch of rules and regulations. I don’t care if you smoke, tattoo, or chew, or go with girls who do. I don’t care if you drink in moderation or forget to recycle or vote Democrat.

            However, that doesn’t mean that Christianity is an anything goes frat party. Nor is it a Joel Osteen mushy God-is-just-plum-happy-with-you-no-matter-what-you-do smile-fest. The New Testament lays down some very clear rules about sexuality (both when and with whom), how we should treat each other (you-first, me-second), and what things in this world we should avoid (witchcraft, idolatry, etc.). We’re also promised that if we stray from those standards, God loves us enough to discipline us back into compliance in oft-times quite uncomfortable ways (spoken as one who has felt the Lord's belt across my tush a time or two).

            Does God understand that we’re going to sin? 1 John 1:8-9 makes it clear that He knows we will and provides forgiveness when we do. What He’s looking for from us is a commitment to following Him - a desire to serve Him and make Him what our life is about. That’s what that whole “Lord” part of “Lord and Savior” is about. And, as Christians, we’re also called to encourage each other, challenge each other, and hold each other accountable to striving for that same standard.

            Summing up this ridiculously long blog, we are called to a high life standard - a standard of holiness. However, just because we must live up to this standard doesn’t mean we should expect non-Christians to live the same way. They can’t do it; we can. They’re on their own; we have the Holy Spirit to help us. And before we go condemning and rejecting and walking away feeling smug, we need to remember that the only reason we’ve been spared the same sin-addicted life is because of the sacrificial, undeserved grace of Jesus Christ. If someone in the Church had shown Lou Reed that same kind of grace, maybe he would have finally discovered his “proper place”.

The Story of a 13-Year-Old

It’s two days since my daughter’s 13th birthday, and I’m still struggling with this blog. I’ve started it twice - got a good ways into it twice - and still I have nothing. I’ve been working on an “Open Letter to My Daughter on the Occasion of her 13th Birthday”, but it’s all sounded so manufactured - like I’m just using her special day to vent a few things that have been on my mind. Weak…

So, instead, I’m going to just start writing this without a plan, and see where things go. It’s sort of like when I write a chapter in a book. I have an idea where I’m beginning, an idea where I want to end up, but really no clue what’s going to happen in between. It’s like Stephen King writes, “Because it makes me happy when the words fall together and the picture comes and the make-believe people do things that delight me.” When I write, I’ve got some influence on the story, but it’s really the characters themselves - when I lean my head back and close my eyes and put my fingers on auto-pilot - who create the action and speak the dialogue.

That’s a little like parenting, I think. I’ve got some influence on this young woman - so much less than I had when she was younger, but still some influence, nevertheless. As a father, it’s my job to provide her with controlled environments in which she can be herself, express her thoughts, make her mistakes, learn about truth, learn about lies, and develop her personality, her humor, her character, her opinions, her faith. I believe her mother and I have given her a good starting point for this chapter of her life - certainly not perfect, but solid. We’ve also tried to lay out a path toward the goal of what we pray at the end of this life chapter will be a woman who loves God, loves her family, and is confident in herself and who God has made her to be. That’s the plan…

There are those times when I write and I get to the end of a chapter and it resolves itself just how I had planned. Want to know how often that happens?

More typically, things twist. Characters begin to do things and say things that I never planned. Sometimes that’s good - Scott Ross was originally intended to be just a throw-away character in the first chapter of Monday Night Jihad. Somehow he popped back up a few chapters later, and eventually became my favorite character of the series. Riley Covington’s the guy I’d want to go hear give an inspirational message; Scott Ross is the guy I'd want to spend an evening with on the back porch with a six-pack of Diet Code Reds.

Sometimes, however, the twists are not so good - I never meant for Jim Hicks to die. I loved Jim, then he got shot, and I cried when he died. (I realize for those of you who haven’t read the books, you’re thinking either “Who?”, “Why do I care?”, and/or “Spoiler Alert”. Sorry for so much “Inside Riley” stuff; it’s just where my mind is taking me.)

Honestly, it’s the twists that frighten me - those times that I don’t have control of my daughter; when she is out expressing her thoughts and making her mistakes and learning to discern who the good people are and who are the ones to run away from. I could keep a tight grip on her, only let her go the directions I think she should go, try to force my thoughts into her head, make all the tough decisions for her, but then my story would become her story. I would write her life. That doesn’t work in novels, and that doesn’t work in 13-year-old girls.

So, what do I do? I give her the best framework I can. I teach her when I get the chance. I try to set an example of what a godly person looks like. I listen to her. I take every opportunity I can to tell her how proud I am of her. And I love her unconditionally, no matter what, through thick and thin, forever and ever, amen.

And then I sit back and close my eyes and let the story unfold. However, this time when my eyes are closed, I won’t be watching the action on my little internal TV screens with my fingers skittering across the keyboard. I’ll be praying. Because there is no more important thing I can do as a father than pray for my daughter - day after day, without fail. More than giving her a framework, more than setting an example, more than telling her “I’m proud of you” or “I love you” or “You’re the funniest thing since sliced snot” (and she is that - dang, that girl can crack me up!), I need to be daily bringing this young woman before God.

You see, there are so few times these days that I get to actually be with her, and those times will only be getting less. However, God will always be with her, giving her a framework, teaching her, setting an example of a godly, sacrificial life in the person of Christ, listening to her, telling her how proud He is of her, and loving her unconditionally, no matter what, through thick and thin, forever and ever, amen.

And He’ll do all those things so much better than her old man ever could.

So, to rephrase Stephen King, “It makes me happy when the story comes together and the growth comes and my daughter does things that delight me.” And she does…all the time.

The Water of our Discontent

           So, the Israelites have just gotten through watching God bring ten nasty, bizarre afflictions on the mighty nation of Egypt - nasty enough for the Egyptians to willingly offer them a “Get Out of Slavery Free” card with the added bonus of a free shopping spree at their neighbors’ abodes.

            Next, they strolled through a split-wide Red Sea, parted as the result of supernatural winds provided by God (or, depending on who you’re talking to, parted as the result of a volcanic eruption on the island of Santorini [or parted as the result of a rare weather phenomenon called “wind setdown” {or parted as the result of water nymphs dancing their nymphic “Water Part Dance” (or parted as the result of global warming [or parted as the result of whatever whack-a-do hypothesis some whack-a-do scientist comes up with next {or parted as the result of an all-powerful, Creator God to whom the ease of accomplishing such a minuscule task would be comparable to Kenny G playing “Hot Cross Buns” on the recorder (I write that with the full understanding that most of you, given your druthers, would rather endure multiple performances of “Hot Cross Buns” by the Iron Horse Elementary 3rd Grade Recorder Ensemble than have to suffer “Songbird” even one more time)}])}]).

 

            Quick aside - just how stupid do they think we are?

The Israelites: The Egyptians are coming! The Egyptians are coming!

Moses: Well, don’t look at me.

The Israelites: We’re all going to die! We’re all going to...wait, what a refreshing breeze.

Moses: No kidding. I’m just going to lift up my staff here and cool my armpits a bit. Starting to get a little robe chafe after all this walking, if you know what I mean...Oooooo, that’s nice.

The Israelites: Moses, look! The wind is parting the waters!

Moses: Holy Mother of Ur! This must be one of those once-in-a-lifetime weather phenomena! What a remarkable coincidence that we happened to be in just the right place at just the right time for this to happen. Must be Kismet! Quick, let’s get everyone across!

The Israelites: But what about the Egyptians? Won’t they just follow us across and kill us on the other side?

Moses: Hmmm, hadn’t thought of that. I guess our only chance is if the water fortuitously closes up after we’re all across and drowns them before they reach us. Here’s hoping!

            Yeah, that’s just how stupid they think we are...

            Anyway, Moses led the people through the walls of water and out into the wilderness. Once there, God provided miracle bread in the morning and miracle meat at night. They’ve seen God do incredible things - things that should have them in a permanent state of jaw drag. Instead, Exodus 17 tells us that as soon as the Israelites’ canteens start getting a little dry, it’s panic time.

            “Why did you bring us up out of Egypt to make us and our children and livestock die of thirst?” they cried out to Moses.

            Seriously? Sometimes you just want to smack them in the head! Did they really think that God wasn’t aware of their situation? Did they really believe that if Moses didn’t quickly holler up to the Almighty in order to break Him away from the annual Heavenly Jerusalem Resort & Casino poker tournament (little hint: never play against the cherubim - you’re never sure which of their faces to watch for the tell), then it was very likely He would totally forget about them as they shriveled into little Semitic raisins?

God: I’ve got two pair - kings over tens! Read 'em and...wait a second, that reminds me of something...kings...king...pharaoh...ten...plagues...THE ISRAELITES!!! Oh, man!!

            Somehow, I figure, even without their grumbling, water would have come. God knew their needs. He’d already proven His love for them. What was there to worry about?

            God knows what we’re going through. He knows the trial. He knows the pain. He knows the shortage, the grief, the loss, the loneliness, the uncertainty. We don’t need to cry out to Him for Him to take notice.

            That’s not saying it’s wrong to cry out to Him. If that were true, King David would have had his ephod in a wringer. He was the master of crying out. However, there is a huge difference between David asking God “Why?” and “When?” and “How long?” and the Israelites’ incessant, faithless bellyaching. The former expresses genuine human emotion and struggle, but in the context of trusting God’s power and character. The latter, rather than trusting, questions them both.

            God knows. He sees. He loves. He provides. It may be a painful journey sometimes, but we can rest assured that even when we are at our thirstiest, God is always there with a rock, a staff, and a refreshing spring of living water.

Doing the Snake Watusi

Note: I just finished writing this blog, and as I read through it I realize that I’m coming across as seriously peeved. Reason is that I am. So, let this serve both as my apology and my fair warning.

Funny thing happened on my way to the blog this afternoon. I had a nice piece all planned out, then I made the mistake of detouring to Drudge. Once there, I spotted a story about a snake-handling preacher who died after being bitten by a rattler (http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/why-i-watched-a-snake-handling-pastor-die-for-his-faith/2012/05/31/gJQA3fRP5U_story.html?hpid=z1). Intrigued, I clicked and read.

Turns out the story was more about the angst of the photojournalist who watched Pastor Randy “Mack” Wolford die following a chomp on the thigh by a rattlesnake. She wrestled with her guilt at not doing something, and the story seemed to be part of a cathartic justification process. For me, though, her emotional/spiritual/professional struggle was much less of a concern, than was the fact that this guy died a ridiculously stupid death.

George Went Hensley

In Mark 16:15-18 (part of a much-disputed portion of the Gospel that most likely either was never in the original or was added later to fill in for a portion that was lost), Jesus is commissioning the disciples. “He said to them, ‘Go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation. Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned. And these signs will accompany those who believe: In my name they will drive out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all; they will place their hands on sick people, and they will get well.’ ”

Somewhere around 1910, George Went Hensley, a rural Tennessee pastor, read these words and got it in his twisted mind that God wanted him to start dancing with snakes – thereby ignoring the passage’s historical context, cultural context, literary context, immediate biblical context, broader biblical context, and Just-using-the-brain-God-put-in-your-head-Common-sensical-Don’t-put-the-Lord-to-the-test-Them-things’ve-got-fangs-Really?-I-mean-really? context. And once Pastor George started doing the snake watusi, a number of other Pentecostal churches said, “Whoa, that looks like fun. Where can I get me some snakes?”

The purpose of this “act of worship” is to prove one’s deep faith through obedience to one of Jesus’ most risky commands. The problem with the obedience tack is that Jesus never commanded anyone to pick up snakes. In fact, looking at the Greek tells us that the only command in the whole passage is to preach the good news. Accidentally picking up snakes without harm is simply a sign of God’s protection over them, as Paul proved on the island of Malta (an incident that still gives me the heebies whenever I read it).

Now, my purpose in this post is not to convince any of you not to pick up snakes – my guess is that most of you are firmly in the non-shake-rattler-and-roll camp (and I’m quite aware that I’ve been woefully remiss at tapping the Appalachian blog-reader market). What concerns me in all this is just how twisted we can get as the result of bad hermeneutics, i.e., principles for interpreting the Bible.

Pastor Randy "Mack" Wolford

As Pastor Wolford’s life slowly drained, his congregants stood by praying and waiting for God to heal him. His own mother, who had lost her husband to the same insanity thirty years earlier, stroked his feet as he passed. She said, “It’s still the Word, and I want to go on doing what the Word says.”

But it’s not what the Word says!

Wolford’s sister said, “His faith is what took him home.” And I want to scream, “No! It was ignorance! It was bad theology! It was deception! It was the toxic venom of crotalus horridus! Whatever it was, it wasn’t faith – and it certainly wasn’t God!” I commend their deep faith, but faith in a lie gets you nowhere. I can have faith that my mini-Schnauzer is going to start gakking up gold bars, but if I quit my job and wait for it to happen, then I have no one to blame but myself when the bank comes and takes my home.

Please don’t get me wrong – I hurt for Wolford’s family. They’ve lost a loved one. No two ways about it. But it didn’t have to happen. When we take Scripture out of context, we can end up using it to justify anything we want – dancing with snakes, baptizing for the dead, confessing through a priest, creating a Melchizedek priesthood, keeping women quiet in the church, beating the snot out of our kids, picketing the funerals of servicemen, picketing the funerals of gays. Hey, you got a cause? I’ve got a verse.

Pray for the Wolford family. They’re dealing with a huge, painful loss right now, and chances are it won’t be the last hole that unnecessarily gets drilled into their hearts. Pray for the Church of the Lord Jesus in Jolo, West Virginia, and others like it. Ask God to let them see the truth of His Word.

Finally, pray for yourself. Ask the Lord to protect you from deceptions, to keep you near His truth. Commit to yourself and to Him that anytime you hear something new, exciting, strange, or hinky, anytime you get tempted to walk a different direction from the one the Holy Spirit set you on at conversion, you’ll check it out deeper, you’ll seek some wise counsel, you’ll pray long and hard before you leap.

Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s two posts in a row I’ve gotten preachy. I am now officially stepping off my soapbox – but I’m still keeping it close by, just in case.