If you’ve been worshipping at Kaw Prairie for any amount of time now, you’ve heard about the Christmas Eve “Barn Service” again and again, I’m sure. For the last 6 Christmases, Kaw Prairie has made a ministry of presenting these Christmas Eve services to families in the west suburban communities—and beyond (attendees have told me they fly back to KC just in time to catch the late service!) Each year, a playful, kid-friendly drama about the newborn Jesus anchors the service, and a short message, Gospel-reading and candle-lit carols bring it to a touching, sometimes even sublime conclusion.
And each year, hundreds of people, sometimes over a thousand, drove out to rural DeSoto and its historic Kill Creek Farm Barn. They were there to celebrate the birth of the Savior, to build a family Christmas memory, to enjoy the Kaw Prairie worship service—and to bask in the rustic simplicity and gratitude the century-old timber exuded.
Part of the barn’s magic was its proprietor, lovable old Mr. Zimmerman, the former DeSoto middle-school social studies teacher, who purchased the old Gardner, KS barn ten years ago, organized the Amish craftsmen to disassemble, transport, and re-build it. Darrel spent the last ten years growing the relocated treasure into a community magnet for children, families, school field trips, farmers’ markets, weddings, meetings, and yes, Kaw Prairie worship services!
Year after year, new Kaw Prairiers would share with me, “Well, I came first to the Barn Service a couple years ago, and then finally I thought I’d come visit the church that started it all.” And year after year, the Gospel of Jesus Christ got proclaimed amid the huddled, eager families and the frosted strawbales. Grandparents would fly to Kansas City to see it with their grandkids. Divorcing parents would have their hearts melted by their children’s wonder, and thank God for the spirit of shalom that filled them. And grizzled old men would hold back tears as the love of Jesus Christ washed away the shame and pain of life and Christmases past.
But after a tornado blew down the barn this past spring, we faced a choice: give up on the barn service, or try to help Mr. Zimmerman rebuild it. We opted for the latter, deciding to “move the service indoors” in an effort to keep the spirit sparking while the Rebuild the Barn fund inched up far enough to launch the effort.
So this year, your Kaw Prairie family invites you to anchor your Christmas celebrations at your crazy church—the one that has an outdoor Barn Service indoors in its gym. There’ll be some strawbales to sit on (or our regular padded chairs if you prefer), hot cider and coffee, and yes, Darrel’s farm animals in the corner of the room. After a 15-minute Christmas Carol sing-along before each service, you’ll be treated to a playful, kid-friendly drama called The Big Event, in which the angelic singing group, the Heavenly Host, just scored an invitation to sing at a "Big Event" that God is planning. The service changes gears as the fast-paced play concludes and the mood turns more serious –with a brief Christmas message, a child’s reading of the Gospel, and candlelit carol-singing of Silent Night and more.
And at the service’s very end, we’ll all be challenged to give a Christmas offering to help Mr. Zimmerman rebuild the historic barn—and incarnate the love of Jesus Christ in a rough and tumble world—where even Saviors and barn services can struggle to find a home.
I hope to see you at worship on Christmas Eve—11am, 1pm, 4pm or 6pm. And I pray that this week, you’ll be praying about the one the Holy Spirit is calling you to invite to join you in celebrating the birth of the One who changed the world. And if you’ve got a Barn Service story or photo to share, please email it to me at pastordan@kawprairie.org. I’d love to pass them on to Mr. Zimmerman!
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Itsy-Bitsy Heebie-Jeebies
I like trees, I’ll confess. So far I’ve planted more than 20 of them on our tract-home subdivision lot. But there is a downside to big trees, and it’s not all the leaves—I think lots of leaves are fun for the whole family, as well as the leaf-guard gutter replacement companies
Nope, for me, the big downside is only one thing: big spiders. This time of year, they’re having a great time spinning big ol’ webs between our trees and shrubs, and then parking their big hairy selves in the middle of the webs, like they own the place or something.
It’s one thing when it’s off in a corner, or under a deck somewhere. But here in August lately, there’s been a pair of cocky arachnids who must be texting each other with their two of their eight hands—because they’re setting up a pair of webs outside of each door—-one by the front porch (spun down from the grey dogwood that shades it), and the across the backdoor staircase, between the elm and bald cypress.
Now, after dark, I have to bring a baseball bat or broomstick with me to swat down the spider webs every time I go outside. See, I like trees--but I hate spiders. But I’m willing to have the spider and webs in my way in order to have big trees overhead (and to force me to man-up and stop being so wimpy!)
And that's a bit like my relationship with God. I love living the life of faith under the shadow of God’s wings, where it’s cooler than out in the harsh sun, and where it’s easier to rest, laugh and get some work done. But with those great blessings of shelter and beauty come some sticky traps that I'm always in danger of walking in to:
• I claim the humble Jesus as my Lord, but sometimes I let my faith make me feel more together than I am. That's a trap.
• I’m so confident in God’s sovereignty that I’m sometimes tempted to think there are easier answers to the world’s problems than there really are—and look down on folks who seem tied in knots worrying about them! That's a nasty web.
• And most insidious of all, despite following a Lord who hung out with prostitutes, outcasts and cynics, I sometimes find myself preferring to hang with my fun church friends than my more cynical unchurched friends. Mega-trap.
Lord, it’s awesome to hang in your good shade, but keep me from sticky trap of pridefulness and smug satisfacion while I do it.
Nope, for me, the big downside is only one thing: big spiders. This time of year, they’re having a great time spinning big ol’ webs between our trees and shrubs, and then parking their big hairy selves in the middle of the webs, like they own the place or something.
It’s one thing when it’s off in a corner, or under a deck somewhere. But here in August lately, there’s been a pair of cocky arachnids who must be texting each other with their two of their eight hands—because they’re setting up a pair of webs outside of each door—-one by the front porch (spun down from the grey dogwood that shades it), and the across the backdoor staircase, between the elm and bald cypress.
Now, after dark, I have to bring a baseball bat or broomstick with me to swat down the spider webs every time I go outside. See, I like trees--but I hate spiders. But I’m willing to have the spider and webs in my way in order to have big trees overhead (and to force me to man-up and stop being so wimpy!)
And that's a bit like my relationship with God. I love living the life of faith under the shadow of God’s wings, where it’s cooler than out in the harsh sun, and where it’s easier to rest, laugh and get some work done. But with those great blessings of shelter and beauty come some sticky traps that I'm always in danger of walking in to:
• I claim the humble Jesus as my Lord, but sometimes I let my faith make me feel more together than I am. That's a trap.
• I’m so confident in God’s sovereignty that I’m sometimes tempted to think there are easier answers to the world’s problems than there really are—and look down on folks who seem tied in knots worrying about them! That's a nasty web.
• And most insidious of all, despite following a Lord who hung out with prostitutes, outcasts and cynics, I sometimes find myself preferring to hang with my fun church friends than my more cynical unchurched friends. Mega-trap.
Lord, it’s awesome to hang in your good shade, but keep me from sticky trap of pridefulness and smug satisfacion while I do it.
Psalm 63 7 Because you are my helper, I sing for joy in the shadow of your wings.
8 I cling to you; your strong right hand holds me securely.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Passing of a Prairie Prince of Peace
Sportswriter Adrian Wojnarowski tells the story of watching 7’7” Manute Bol play college basketball in Connecticut. After an impressive game defending the basket, Bol came out as the bench took the floor for the final minute. As Wojnarowski’s party scooted toward the gym exit, he writes:
I was on vacation and relatively unplugged last week when the news broke that the compassionate NBA giant—and quiet Olathe resident— Manute Bol passed away, so I only learned of it on Sunday. He died from complications of kidney disease—and a horrible skin infection he contracted while visiting the hospitals he founded in Sudan. His funeral was held in Washington DC’s National Cathedral—with Senator Sam Brownback speaking, among others (see photo), and his body has been flown to his native Sudan for burial there.
I regret I never met Manute. Actually, I was looking forward to engineering an introduction when I learned the news. See, Manute’s children come to worship occasionally with a Kaw Prairie friend (you’d recognize his youngest as the active little guy who dances in the front row during the opening worship sets!)
Manute has been a hero to me for several years. Not because he was a great athlete; even he conceded that wasn’t exactly the case. Nor because he was a local celebrity; in fact, few non-Africans realized he lived here. He’s been my hero because he was an awkward but awesome child of God to whom God gave huge—and uncomfortable—blessings, and who chose to sacrifice those blessings with a selflessness quite rare among today’s crowd of superstars—or suburbanites.
Manute’s NBA contribution was defensive: he blocked shots like nobody’s business (maybe the only player in the league to have more blocked shots than points.) And his life was poured out in defense of others, too: He sent nearly all his fortune to restore some shalom (peace, health & joy) to the violence-ravaged, poverty-stricken country of his youth. And he didn’t do it because he was a Sudanese loyalist or a grateful American. He didn’t do it because he was a Patriot, Gentleman, or Humanitarian. He did it because he was a simply—and humbly—a follower of Jesus Christ.
Government professor Jon Shields of Claremont McKenna College (a secular, liberal arts college near LA) summarized Manute’s life-mission with an insightful Wall Street Journal article on ‘redemption’:
Indeed, as St Paul points out in 1 Corinthians 1, God often anoints the people whom the world considers foolish or freakish in order to shame those who think they are spiritual, righteous, entitled or wise. (Yikes! That might include me!)
As we celebrate Independence Day this Sunday (including here at KP in worship), I know I’ll be giving thanks for the blessings that God’s given me as an American. But thanks to Manute, I’ll be remembering that Jesus calls me not just to celebrate my life and liberty—but to sacrifice them. In fact, Jesus does not call me to the pursuit of happiness, but to a difficult mission of sacrifice. And only there, in the foolishness of following Him, does joy and freedom find me.
Rest in Christ’s peace, Manute.
We walked slowly behind the University of Bridgeport’s bench and some kid stopped a few feet from [Bol] and said loudly enough for Bol to hear: “Is he real? Can I touch him?” I’ll never forget Bol glancing back toward him, his sad, soft eyes delivering an answer to a question that no one ever needed to ask.
I was on vacation and relatively unplugged last week when the news broke that the compassionate NBA giant—and quiet Olathe resident— Manute Bol passed away, so I only learned of it on Sunday. He died from complications of kidney disease—and a horrible skin infection he contracted while visiting the hospitals he founded in Sudan. His funeral was held in Washington DC’s National Cathedral—with Senator Sam Brownback speaking, among others (see photo), and his body has been flown to his native Sudan for burial there.
I regret I never met Manute. Actually, I was looking forward to engineering an introduction when I learned the news. See, Manute’s children come to worship occasionally with a Kaw Prairie friend (you’d recognize his youngest as the active little guy who dances in the front row during the opening worship sets!)
Manute has been a hero to me for several years. Not because he was a great athlete; even he conceded that wasn’t exactly the case. Nor because he was a local celebrity; in fact, few non-Africans realized he lived here. He’s been my hero because he was an awkward but awesome child of God to whom God gave huge—and uncomfortable—blessings, and who chose to sacrifice those blessings with a selflessness quite rare among today’s crowd of superstars—or suburbanites.
Manute’s NBA contribution was defensive: he blocked shots like nobody’s business (maybe the only player in the league to have more blocked shots than points.) And his life was poured out in defense of others, too: He sent nearly all his fortune to restore some shalom (peace, health & joy) to the violence-ravaged, poverty-stricken country of his youth. And he didn’t do it because he was a Sudanese loyalist or a grateful American. He didn’t do it because he was a Patriot, Gentleman, or Humanitarian. He did it because he was a simply—and humbly—a follower of Jesus Christ.
Government professor Jon Shields of Claremont McKenna College (a secular, liberal arts college near LA) summarized Manute’s life-mission with an insightful Wall Street Journal article on ‘redemption’:
When his fortune dried up, Bol raised more money for charity by doing what most athletes would find humiliating: He turned himself into a humorous spectacle. Bol was hired, for example, as a horse jockey, hockey player and celebrity boxer. Some Americans simply found amusement in the absurdity of him on a horse or skates. And who could deny the comic potential of Bol boxing William "the Refrigerator" Perry, the 335-pound former defensive linemen of the Chicago Bears?
Bol agreed to be a clown. But he was not willing to be mocked for his own personal gain as so many reality-television stars are. Bol let himself be ridiculed on behalf of suffering strangers in the Sudan; he was a fool for Christ.
Indeed, as St Paul points out in 1 Corinthians 1, God often anoints the people whom the world considers foolish or freakish in order to shame those who think they are spiritual, righteous, entitled or wise. (Yikes! That might include me!)
As we celebrate Independence Day this Sunday (including here at KP in worship), I know I’ll be giving thanks for the blessings that God’s given me as an American. But thanks to Manute, I’ll be remembering that Jesus calls me not just to celebrate my life and liberty—but to sacrifice them. In fact, Jesus does not call me to the pursuit of happiness, but to a difficult mission of sacrifice. And only there, in the foolishness of following Him, does joy and freedom find me.
Rest in Christ’s peace, Manute.
5 You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had.
6 Though he was God, he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to.
7 Instead, he gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being.
When he appeared in human form, 8 he humbled himself in obedience to God. Philippians 2:5-8
Friday, June 18, 2010
He didn't just walk on water
A group from Kaw Prairie’s WILD youth group drove over to Theater in the Park last Sunday night to see the famous musical Jesus Christ Superstar—but due to gathering lightening in the sky, the theater stopped the show right as Jesus was arriving at King Herod’s palace for his famous interview. (I was bummed because that was the part of the musical I remember best from hearing in my childhood: So if you are the Christ, Yes the great Jesus Christ, Prove to me that you're no fool, Walk across my swimming pool) What an awesome line!
As we were started hurriedly packing up our lawnchairs and coolers, we stood and offered our applause for the hardworking, gifted castmembers—and reactions started bubbling up from the teens: “That was cool.” “That was weird.” And of course, “Can we stop at McDonalds?”
And then, from a distant part of the crowd came an indignant woman’s voice: “I hated the whole thing!” Well, that got everybody’s attention. And it set the tone for the conversation in the van I was driving back to church.
“Well, what did you think of it, guys?” I asked. “It was weird,” came a voice from behind. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so modern,” someone mumbled. “Jesus was very conflicted,” offered a thoughtful observer. “He didn’t seem like, very much Godlike.” Overall, not a very upbeat theater review.
So we spent the short ride back to church talking about how Christians believe Jesus was both fully divine and fully human. And, like the Gospels in Scripture, the musical gave lots of attention to how human Jesus really was. Fully human, in fact. In the ancient world, unlike in ours, early Christians had no doubt that Jesus was fully divine. He’d not only worked powerful miracles and healings, but post-resurrection sightings of Jesus before His ascension were common, and historically well-attested. So trying to prove Jesus’ divinity wasn’t all that necessary. Indeed, the heresy called Arianism developed early on, denying that Jesus was human at all!
Proving his humanity, however, was—-and that’s why the Spirit inspired the earliest Gospel writers to reveal more of Jesus’ human nature than popular culture was focusing on. And in some ways, that seems to be the theological position of Superstar: despite the delight Broadway surely takes in pushing the envelope of convention, the musical does in fact affirm that Jesus was the lynchpin part of God’s salvation plan—and by inference, that He was indeed divine. But most of all, it strives to explore the likely conflict and tension within the human part of Jesus—in a way that can make us Christians feel pretty uncomfortable (mad enough to shout at the stage even!)
But why should Christians be so offended by Jesus’ deep and real humanity? The fact that Jesus knew our passions, pains, despair, and grief—and hopefully lots of our joys as well!—makes me all the more awestruck that He sacrificed His life for mine. Jesus willingly gave up His one chance to live a long and rewarding human life so that yours and mine wouldn’t end in a hellish separation from God. And that makes me want to shout with thanks to God, not my fist at the stage.
As we were started hurriedly packing up our lawnchairs and coolers, we stood and offered our applause for the hardworking, gifted castmembers—and reactions started bubbling up from the teens: “That was cool.” “That was weird.” And of course, “Can we stop at McDonalds?”
And then, from a distant part of the crowd came an indignant woman’s voice: “I hated the whole thing!” Well, that got everybody’s attention. And it set the tone for the conversation in the van I was driving back to church.
“Well, what did you think of it, guys?” I asked. “It was weird,” came a voice from behind. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so modern,” someone mumbled. “Jesus was very conflicted,” offered a thoughtful observer. “He didn’t seem like, very much Godlike.” Overall, not a very upbeat theater review.
So we spent the short ride back to church talking about how Christians believe Jesus was both fully divine and fully human. And, like the Gospels in Scripture, the musical gave lots of attention to how human Jesus really was. Fully human, in fact. In the ancient world, unlike in ours, early Christians had no doubt that Jesus was fully divine. He’d not only worked powerful miracles and healings, but post-resurrection sightings of Jesus before His ascension were common, and historically well-attested. So trying to prove Jesus’ divinity wasn’t all that necessary. Indeed, the heresy called Arianism developed early on, denying that Jesus was human at all!
Proving his humanity, however, was—-and that’s why the Spirit inspired the earliest Gospel writers to reveal more of Jesus’ human nature than popular culture was focusing on. And in some ways, that seems to be the theological position of Superstar: despite the delight Broadway surely takes in pushing the envelope of convention, the musical does in fact affirm that Jesus was the lynchpin part of God’s salvation plan—and by inference, that He was indeed divine. But most of all, it strives to explore the likely conflict and tension within the human part of Jesus—in a way that can make us Christians feel pretty uncomfortable (mad enough to shout at the stage even!)
But why should Christians be so offended by Jesus’ deep and real humanity? The fact that Jesus knew our passions, pains, despair, and grief—and hopefully lots of our joys as well!—makes me all the more awestruck that He sacrificed His life for mine. Jesus willingly gave up His one chance to live a long and rewarding human life so that yours and mine wouldn’t end in a hellish separation from God. And that makes me want to shout with thanks to God, not my fist at the stage.
If there is a way, take this cup away from me!(JCS, Gethsemane)
For I don't want to taste its poison, feel it burn me.
I have changed: I'm not as sure as when we started.
Then I was inspired; now I'm sad and tired.
Listen: surely I've exceeded expectations—
Tried for three years, seems like thirty!
Could you ask as much from any other man?
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Fathers & Fishcounts
I am not a fisherman. But last week I took Jeremy & Eli over to Blackhoof Park to go fishing in Lake Lenexa (wow—what an impressive park that is—and what about that gorgeous, giant Spillway Dam?)
I was pretty proud of myself—I’d remembered to bring a back-up fishing pole, my tackle box, and to buy a fishing license and some nightcrawlers. Now, I did forget the bobbers-- so Eli just cast & dragged the worm across the bottom. Or, as Jeremy preferred, just drop the line at the end of the pole, and try to yank the fish in as they nibbled!
Unfortunately, neither technique netted any fish for us. What they did net was weeds—or underwater crabgrass (no marine biologist am I, clearly).
Which would have been okay, because as a dad I know all the traditional ‘no-fish-today’ excuses: it’s the wrong time of day, it’s just a bad spot, the moon’s in the wrong place, or, the fish just aren’t biting. Any of these would have worked, and as long as our trip home passed by a McDonalds for French Fries on the way home, it would’ve been deemed a success…
Except for the dad 20 feet over.
At first I thought he’d be a kindred spirit: his one son wasn’t paying attention, and his other son was complaining. In other words, I felt right at home! But then I heard the words every frustrated fisher-dad hates to hear from up the shoreline: “Golly, we got another one!” Seriously, he and his kids must have caught half-a-dozen fish just in the half hour we were sitting!
I was hoping Jeremy wouldn’t notice…but then he said, half-enviously, half-dejectedly, “Sounds like they’re having better luck.” Or, as I mumbled quietly to myself, “Sounds like they have a smarter dad…”
Comparing ourselves to others, comparing our skills to others, or comparing the size of our catch to our neighbor’s—that’s all part of the ‘little life’ that the Enemy tempts us to settle for. But that’s not the kind of abundant life that Jesus promises; Jesus offers us a life that’s not measured in how much we catch, but by what we’re fishing for, and whose boat we’re fishing out of.
If the economic contractions of the past two years have left your “boat” a bit rusty and peeling, or left your net feeling a little less full than your neighbor’s, please remember—like I was forced to last week—that life’s really not a fishcount. Abundant life with Jesus isn’t an accounting, but an adventure—and the fishcount business is what we have to leave behind in order to really live it!
I was pretty proud of myself—I’d remembered to bring a back-up fishing pole, my tackle box, and to buy a fishing license and some nightcrawlers. Now, I did forget the bobbers-- so Eli just cast & dragged the worm across the bottom. Or, as Jeremy preferred, just drop the line at the end of the pole, and try to yank the fish in as they nibbled!
Unfortunately, neither technique netted any fish for us. What they did net was weeds—or underwater crabgrass (no marine biologist am I, clearly).
Which would have been okay, because as a dad I know all the traditional ‘no-fish-today’ excuses: it’s the wrong time of day, it’s just a bad spot, the moon’s in the wrong place, or, the fish just aren’t biting. Any of these would have worked, and as long as our trip home passed by a McDonalds for French Fries on the way home, it would’ve been deemed a success…
Except for the dad 20 feet over.
At first I thought he’d be a kindred spirit: his one son wasn’t paying attention, and his other son was complaining. In other words, I felt right at home! But then I heard the words every frustrated fisher-dad hates to hear from up the shoreline: “Golly, we got another one!” Seriously, he and his kids must have caught half-a-dozen fish just in the half hour we were sitting!
I was hoping Jeremy wouldn’t notice…but then he said, half-enviously, half-dejectedly, “Sounds like they’re having better luck.” Or, as I mumbled quietly to myself, “Sounds like they have a smarter dad…”
Comparing ourselves to others, comparing our skills to others, or comparing the size of our catch to our neighbor’s—that’s all part of the ‘little life’ that the Enemy tempts us to settle for. But that’s not the kind of abundant life that Jesus promises; Jesus offers us a life that’s not measured in how much we catch, but by what we’re fishing for, and whose boat we’re fishing out of.
If the economic contractions of the past two years have left your “boat” a bit rusty and peeling, or left your net feeling a little less full than your neighbor’s, please remember—like I was forced to last week—that life’s really not a fishcount. Abundant life with Jesus isn’t an accounting, but an adventure—and the fishcount business is what we have to leave behind in order to really live it!
I am the Gate. Anyone who goes through me will be cared for—will freely go in and out, and find pasture. A thief is only there to steal and kill and destroy. I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of. John 10:9-10 Message
Friday, June 4, 2010
Memorial Day & Duty Dodging
Ever since my sons & I put out our US flag for Memorial Day, I’ve been thinking a lot about all the servicemen and –women who’ve sacrificed for my family’s freedom and prosperity. Just last Sunday night, our neighborhood had planned a Sunday night campout in the neighborhood backyards, but the lightening, wind and rain changed those plans quickly. As crestfallen as the kids of the neighborhood were, I must confess I was one of the dads who was inwardly relieved: no mosquito bites, no giggling kids til midnight, no sweltering in a humid tent, no being pointed to the next day as ‘the guy who was snoring,’ etc. To me, the opportunity to dodge the campout was an unexpected treat—and I even got to make it up to the boys by taking them fishing on Monday, so my high DCQ (Dad Coolness Quotient) remained intact.
But both the event and my reaction did get me thinking all the more about Memorial Day. About just how few risks and inconveniences our servicepeople get to dodge as they go about protecting our nation. If a war breaks out, they go—no matter how hot & muggy or cold & windy the weather. If a boring task or a dangerous mission is required at any hour, they step up—no matter how much they’d rather be inside an air-conditioned house on a nice mattress instead. They’re well-trained for many things, but they raise their hand for any thing else that’s needed, too. And sometimes those hands raise for missions that will be their last.
And in fact, the particular people we gave thanks for on Memorial Day aren’t supposed to be all the noble soldiers, seamen and airmen who served through trial and adversity (though I thank God for them, too)— but the ones among their number who paid the ultimate price with their lives. I may have awakened on Memorial Day morning on a clean bed with no insect bites (and the rumors of my snoring under wraps for yet another year). But most of all I woke up grateful for the countless men and women who spent sleepless nights in service and countless days battle to let me wake up so blessed—and so free.
But both the event and my reaction did get me thinking all the more about Memorial Day. About just how few risks and inconveniences our servicepeople get to dodge as they go about protecting our nation. If a war breaks out, they go—no matter how hot & muggy or cold & windy the weather. If a boring task or a dangerous mission is required at any hour, they step up—no matter how much they’d rather be inside an air-conditioned house on a nice mattress instead. They’re well-trained for many things, but they raise their hand for any thing else that’s needed, too. And sometimes those hands raise for missions that will be their last.
And in fact, the particular people we gave thanks for on Memorial Day aren’t supposed to be all the noble soldiers, seamen and airmen who served through trial and adversity (though I thank God for them, too)— but the ones among their number who paid the ultimate price with their lives. I may have awakened on Memorial Day morning on a clean bed with no insect bites (and the rumors of my snoring under wraps for yet another year). But most of all I woke up grateful for the countless men and women who spent sleepless nights in service and countless days battle to let me wake up so blessed—and so free.
It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived. — General George S. Patton
There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. ---Jesus, in John 15:13
Thursday, April 1, 2010
The Way, the Truth & the Bike
This morning our almost 10-year-old son Eli & I rode our bikes to his elementary school. For many folks, that may not sound like a big deal. But here at the McKnight house, it’s huge: after years of nervous avoidance, Eli finally learned how to ride a bike over spring break, thanks to an innovative program for special needs kids called Lose the Training Wheels held at Johnson County Community College. We took him to program sponsor Bike America, and with exacting specs from the instructors and a few adjustments at their shop, we bought him his first ‘new’ bike ever! And nearly every day since, Eli’s been outside—bicycling. Mostly at the flat cul-de-sac at the end of our downhill street. Sometimes over on flatter nearby streets. He’s meeting new kids. He’s growing in confidence. And he’s forcing the whole family to put air in our tires.
And today, pedaling over to his school, we took it public in a whole new way: Not a fast way, mind you--or a very confident way. But our own back-street, low-traffic, highly meandering way.
It’s both inspiring and nerve-wracking to watch your child learn something that’s both liberating and dangerous—especially when the learning itself is an answer to prayer.
And believe it or not, that may be how God is looking at you this Holy Week.
God may be watching you with pride as you try something new—experiencing the history & fellowship of Jesus’ last supper at a Seder Meal, your guilt in Jesus’ death on Good Friday, and the wonder of His resurrection on Easter Morning. But God also knows it’s not a risk-free experience—for Him or for you. You may realize some things about yourself—and your relationship with Him—that might knock you off your high horse, or leave your ego a bit bruised. You might be so excited that you’ve ‘lost the training wheels’ that in your over-confidence you plow full-throttle into innocent ‘pedestrians’— and leave them less impressed with Jesus because of you, not more! Or, most typically, you might so enjoy being closer to God after this Easter, that you forget to look back and make sure He’s still traveling with you. And like my son before he learns the back-streets way to school, you might stay on the bike just fine, but not end up where you meant to go!
But what brings joy to God’s heart, I’m guessing, is precisely what brought joy to mine this morning: seeing you give it a try. There are scores of new Kaw Prairie worshipers getting involved this Holy Week in experiencing the death & resurrection of Jesus. I pray that the Holy Spirit will be blowing in your hair as you propel yourself down the Way He’s pointing. – Pastor Dan
“Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me. 2 There is more than enough room in my Father’s home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? 3 When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am. 4 And you know the way to where I am going.”5 “No, we don’t know, Lord,” Thomas said. “We have no idea where you are going, so how can we know the way?”6 Jesus told him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except through me. John 14
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
