One of the most interesting things about our church is its capacity to respond to a challenge (and often at the last minute). The Pastor’s Prayer Partners, one of several prayer teams at church, wanted us to do a 24/7 “week of prayer” leading up to Easter again this year. That team really does want us to be a “house of prayer.” They are serious about it.
So they planned the week of prayer, promoted it, publicized it, and posted a schedule on the wall of church. Almost no one signed up. It looked like this was going to be a bust. Until the day it started – last Sunday -- when everyone signed up. We are now well into the week, and prayer is going up from church hour after hour, around the clock. I am still amazed at the last minute sign-up. It was a two-minute drill that would make John Elway proud.
Back to the business of prayer: it really isn’t a business, it’s a lifestyle. But like any business, it does involve some work. At times, hard work. One of the hardest-praying men who ever lived was the celebrated preacher, Charles Haddon Spurgeon, of London, England.
Spurgeon was called “The Prince of Preachers” and his preaching was extraordinary. He began preaching around the time of the American Civil War, and pastured one church for 38 years. He would often preach ten sermons a week, and over his lifetime spoke to ten million people, without the aid of radio or television (but he would have loved pod-casting over the internet).
Spurgeon was also a man of prayer, and believed that his church must be a house of prayer. Here’s what he said about that:
There is no waiting on God for help, and there is no help from God, without watchful expectation on our part. If we ever fail to receive strength and defense from Him, it is because we are not on the outlook for it. Many a proffered succour from heaven (i.e., a promise of help from God) goes past us, because we are not standing on our watchtower to catch the far-off indications of its approach, and to fling open the gates of our heart for its entrance. He whose expectation does not lead him to be on the alert for its coming will get but little. Watch for God in the events of your life.
The only homely proverb says: “They that watch for Providence will never want a providence to watch for,” and you may turn it the other way and say, “They that do not watch for providences will never have a providence to watch for.” Unless you put out the water-jars when it rains you will catch no water.
Spurgeon might have been thinking of a bible verse from Habakkuk 2:1. “I will stand upon my watch, and set me upon the tower, and will watch to see what he will say unto me.” How thankful I am, to be part of a church where we are “watching” for God 24/7 this week.
A Blessing on all of our people who are watching and praying for Providence!
Pastor Jim
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Day of the Fool
The Day of the Fool pastor Jim
April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four. ~Mark Twain, Pudd'nhead Wilson, 1894
The trouble with practical jokes is that very often they get elected. ~Will Rogers
I do miss those old-time humor guys. Max Eastman was another humorist. He said, “It is the ability to take a joke, not make one, that proves you have a sense of humor.”
Oh, I do so remember that infamous day, when the joke was on me, and a whole grandstand full of people were busting their gut. It was during my Instructor Pilot days in the Air Force, when they would give me a jet plane, a student pilot, and a government credit card, and say, “Be back Friday.” And I quit that job (what ever was I thinking?).
Our flying school would graduate a class of cadets every so often, and we instructors were forced to either march in the big parade or do some other deed of service for the occasion. On a day, I opted to serve as a driver in the motorcade, using a sky blue Air Force Rambler station wagon (“for official use only”), to deliver some VIP to the front of the reviewing stand. On this (dark) day, my Rambler was a ramblin’ wreck, and my passenger, was the Wing Commander’s wife. (Think: First Lady of the whole base.)
That was cool; I picked her up at their home by the main gate (the only time I ever visited that home) and we joined in the line of Air Force blue cars cruising slowly across the tarmac. Because the back seat of this ol’ heap didn’t look clean, the First Lady had opted to ride shotgun (a small fact that will soon be crucial to this story).The car ahead of me pulled up in front of the grandstand and three Colonels hopped out. That car moved ahead so I pulled up in front of the crowd, and stopped. The First Lady did not hop out. She just turned and looked at me. A light came on in my head: she needs someone to open her door for her. Aha! I can do that. Quick as a flash, I released my shoulder belt, threw the door open, and stepped out on to the concrete ramp. I turned to my left, to walk behind the car, and noticed that the car was now moving ahead – on its own! I had left the thing in DRIVE. “Oh God help me.”
I spun back around as the car cruised by my left shoulder. I ran up into a position where I could leap into the moving car. But just as I leaped, the left rear tire ran over my right foot, pinning it to the ground. I did a face plant on the cement. My hat and my sunglasses went flying off. The car was still moving, picking up speed.
I leaped up and tried to catch up. Running left and looking right, I caught up to the open door. Just as I was in position to leap again, I collided with one of those Colonels from the preceding car. I went down again; fortunately, he did not. Again I was up and running. Ahead of the car there was a formation of troops standing at attention, but now they broke ranks and spread open for the approaching car. It was like Moses charging toward the Red Sea. I was almost in position to make another leap. What I didn’t know is the First Lady had released her seat belt and was sliding across the bench. Just as I leaped toward the open door, she hit the brakes. I smacked into the end of the door, and went down a third time. Down for the count. The car stopped; I lay face down, eating concrete. Waves of laughter poured down from the grandstand. It was the most exciting moment at any graduation parade in the history of Reese Air Force Base. All the people loved it. The First Lady loved it, she was laughing so hard she was in tears. I hated it. I who had been the proud jet pilot, was now the Fool of the Year. “Why, O God?” I cried. “Why would you let this happen to me?” I lay on the ground like a wounded insect, knowing I would never hear the end of this.
“Ah, Grasshopper,” the small still voice seemed to say. “Pride cometh before the fall.” Oh, so it does, and every year around April 1st, I am reminded of the awful truth: There, but for the grace of God, go I, the Fool.
A Blessing on Your April…Jim
April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four. ~Mark Twain, Pudd'nhead Wilson, 1894
The trouble with practical jokes is that very often they get elected. ~Will Rogers
I do miss those old-time humor guys. Max Eastman was another humorist. He said, “It is the ability to take a joke, not make one, that proves you have a sense of humor.”
Oh, I do so remember that infamous day, when the joke was on me, and a whole grandstand full of people were busting their gut. It was during my Instructor Pilot days in the Air Force, when they would give me a jet plane, a student pilot, and a government credit card, and say, “Be back Friday.” And I quit that job (what ever was I thinking?).
Our flying school would graduate a class of cadets every so often, and we instructors were forced to either march in the big parade or do some other deed of service for the occasion. On a day, I opted to serve as a driver in the motorcade, using a sky blue Air Force Rambler station wagon (“for official use only”), to deliver some VIP to the front of the reviewing stand. On this (dark) day, my Rambler was a ramblin’ wreck, and my passenger, was the Wing Commander’s wife. (Think: First Lady of the whole base.)
That was cool; I picked her up at their home by the main gate (the only time I ever visited that home) and we joined in the line of Air Force blue cars cruising slowly across the tarmac. Because the back seat of this ol’ heap didn’t look clean, the First Lady had opted to ride shotgun (a small fact that will soon be crucial to this story).The car ahead of me pulled up in front of the grandstand and three Colonels hopped out. That car moved ahead so I pulled up in front of the crowd, and stopped. The First Lady did not hop out. She just turned and looked at me. A light came on in my head: she needs someone to open her door for her. Aha! I can do that. Quick as a flash, I released my shoulder belt, threw the door open, and stepped out on to the concrete ramp. I turned to my left, to walk behind the car, and noticed that the car was now moving ahead – on its own! I had left the thing in DRIVE. “Oh God help me.”
I spun back around as the car cruised by my left shoulder. I ran up into a position where I could leap into the moving car. But just as I leaped, the left rear tire ran over my right foot, pinning it to the ground. I did a face plant on the cement. My hat and my sunglasses went flying off. The car was still moving, picking up speed.
I leaped up and tried to catch up. Running left and looking right, I caught up to the open door. Just as I was in position to leap again, I collided with one of those Colonels from the preceding car. I went down again; fortunately, he did not. Again I was up and running. Ahead of the car there was a formation of troops standing at attention, but now they broke ranks and spread open for the approaching car. It was like Moses charging toward the Red Sea. I was almost in position to make another leap. What I didn’t know is the First Lady had released her seat belt and was sliding across the bench. Just as I leaped toward the open door, she hit the brakes. I smacked into the end of the door, and went down a third time. Down for the count. The car stopped; I lay face down, eating concrete. Waves of laughter poured down from the grandstand. It was the most exciting moment at any graduation parade in the history of Reese Air Force Base. All the people loved it. The First Lady loved it, she was laughing so hard she was in tears. I hated it. I who had been the proud jet pilot, was now the Fool of the Year. “Why, O God?” I cried. “Why would you let this happen to me?” I lay on the ground like a wounded insect, knowing I would never hear the end of this.
“Ah, Grasshopper,” the small still voice seemed to say. “Pride cometh before the fall.” Oh, so it does, and every year around April 1st, I am reminded of the awful truth: There, but for the grace of God, go I, the Fool.
A Blessing on Your April…Jim
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