Broken to Be Grafted

Then you will say, “Branches were broken off so that I might be grafted in.” - Romans 11:19 

fffffff-wapp, fffffff-wapp, fffffff-wapp, fffffff-wapp - it was the sound of rhythmic swishing as wheat stalks repeatedly passed through the air and struck a heavy stone wheel set in a circular well made for pressing grapes into juice. A camouflaged figure with only the cloth wrapped around his head breaching the rim of the pit, paused briefly to wipe sweat from his eyes with the tale of his head covering. Tiny particles glinted all around him as waning sunlight beamed from the horizon and under the wide canopy of a terebinth tree. The young man spent another post-harvest day separating wheat kernels from pods that tipped spindly, pale yellow stalks while he hid beneath the giant tree in a hole. He feared an enemy who might attack and steal food from his family’s mouths at any moment. Even so, he liked the solitude. It was a time for deep thought, and it gave him respite from bullies and critics. Observant and introspective, the young man often worked out his consternation and sought solace in a quiet place. He’d suffered through demoralizing, humiliation, and put-downs. It seemed better to risk being alone and discovered by the tribe’s enemies than to be surrounded by familiar people who seemed to delight in breaking his spirit. So, he picked up another bundle and struck it against the stone. 

fffffff-wapp, fffffff-wapp, fffffff-wapp, fffffff-wapp. After shaking the stalks hard to loosen any clinging produce, he glanced over the rim and pitched the tares onto a pile. The 20-something froze in mid toss as his heart skipped a beat and he gasped at the sight of an unexpected visitor. It was not his enemy but someone radiant who both terrified and awed him. Even more so, when the being spoke and said the unlikeliest of words, “The LORD is with you, O mighty man of valor.”

His name was Gideon and his enemies, the Midianites, had oppressed his people for some time. He was shocked in several ways as his mind silently raced through questions like, “Who or what is that?” “Am I about to die?” and “Is this guy for real?” “Mighty man of valor?” He was tempted to look over his shoulder to see if the being was talking to someone else. His people were considered the least among the nation’s tribe, and his tribe the least among the nations – An entire people group given over to general feelings of inadequacy. Then, the angel spoke another absurdity, “Go in this might of yours and save the nation…”

It’s not hard to figure out why he was humble; oppressed people learn to keep their mouths shut and their heads down. But, some possess inner strength and extraordinary faith that goes largely unnoticed until a defining moment comes and God raises them up for His Name’s sake. Gideon must have been such a man. So, he climbed out of the winepress and obeyed the LORD. 

In time, the mighty man of valor led his people to victory, giving all the glory to God. In turn, the LORD fortified his courage and faith anointing him as a judge of Israel. A lesser man would have seized the power offered to him by grateful citizens and lorded it over them, but Gideon told them to let the LORD be their judge. A lesser man would have used the power to prove himself to family and friends who’d thought so little of him before, but Gideon did not. He used his new charisma to teach and lead the people toward faithfulness. Sadly, many failed to learn and suffered the consequences. But, Gideon showed the righteous how to climb out of hiding and into God’s light. He chose to embrace a new paradigm that was always deep within. Gideon allowed himself to be cut from the trunk and stem of his old story to be grafted onto a new source of life. (Read Judges 6–8)

I’ve applied some creative license to the story of Gideon to illustrate a powerful learning and transformational change of direction that reshaped my life. I’ve painted Gideon in much the same way that I saw myself back in my early twenties, a time when I considered myself a born loser who probably deserved the suffering he endured. I’d learned to believe that my life was a series of mistakes weighed down by a growing millstone of consequences. Then, at my lowest point, Christ’s compassion overwhelmed me. He drew my attention to a small, decorative plate my mother bought from me at a yard sale that depicted the prophet Daniel at prayer and the words, “Daniel the courageous.”  I suddenly realized that my Lord saw a mighty man of valor in me. His Spirit awakened untapped inner strength and deep faith. It would take time and effort to excavate that hidden vein of unrefined ore, but it was there ready for His use.  

Long hours, days, weeks, months, and years eventually freed me from the Enemy’s lies. I slowly became the mature father to my wounded inner child. I learned to reject meanness and cruelty as if I were a parent protecting his precious son from critics and bullies. My journey slowly turned in a new direction. When I became a father I made up my mind that I would do whatever it took to start something new, whatever it cost me. The little boy in me climbed up to be a man who’d write a new story for future generations. 

“Then you will say, “Branches were broken off so that I might be grafted in.”’ (Romans 11:19) 

So, like a horticulturist who cuts a growing stem from one branch and then grafts it to another, the LORD broke me and spliced me to make something new. While I will always bear the scars of the transformation, I have the joy of seeing new, wonderful fruit blooming and growing sweet from me and my beloved bride. 

Looking back, I see that I was like Gideon; Called to courage and faith that will only serve well if balanced with humility and grace. Unlikely as it seemed at the time, the LORD asked me, of all people, to teach by example and occasionally sound the trumpet herald. My testimony is not always all that I wish it could be, but Christ called me up and I will strive for His glory in the littlest of things. Though weak and often tempted to sin, I will strive to resist opportunities for pride and prestige. Like Gideon, I will seek those whom God calls to defeat God’s enemies and uplift God’s people. But, in the solitude of my home, my solace comes from serving my bride, my children, and grandchildren as a humble man of God should. 

  

Sowing for a Great Awakening

“The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field…” ~ Matthew 13:24

Long-time members of United Methodist Churches like ours have expressed grief in all its forms as recent revelations have awakened them to the deep corruption within the denominational hierarchy (religious leadership structure). Most regular worshipers were content with the UMC brand and their association with it as long as their local experiences fit expectations and met basic needs. Local churches in communities like ours could feel relatively secure until national trends came home to roost. News that some United Methodist leaders and congregations in east and west coast cities overtly violated church law and went unpunished, went unnoticed by many, irritated some, and inflamed a few. The few who felt strongly about the local church’s integrity and its ties with the larger entity left in protest, and there should be no hard feelings over it. The rest held on while their pastors and lay leaders endeavored to maintain unity and vitality. During my tenure, I have and continue to sow for a great awakening. I’ve preached and taught from Scripture and methodically developed a vision and mission-based culture, rooted in the best of our traditions, within the staff, lay leadership, and the Shiloh family. Meanwhile, the UMC hierarchy continues to disaffiliate itself from the biblical doctrinal legacy of John Wesley. The resultant pushback from traditionalists and conservatives met with cruel reprisals that left their opponents with no choice but to form another denomination, and for local churches, like ours, to choose whether to remain affiliated with the United Methodist Church. We will decide on August 22, 2022.

After Jesus said, “The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field…” he then described how the Enemy corrupted the fields by sowing weeds among the good seed. The weeds had to remain until harvesters could safely extract them from among the good produce. It is the same with our current dilemma. I enjoy thinking that Shiloh is a fruitful vine that is witnessing the Master Gardener’s weed removal and cultivation. For a time, the garden will look bare, but the produce will soon thrive in the rich soil and an uncorrupted environment; soon, fruit will drip from the branches. 

This is a time for faith and courage. Our light must shine for the glory of Christ and we must boldly move out from under the current stifling, oppressive pall. Like the people subjugated in Egypt, we know we are slaves and victims of social degradation, so an exodus appeals strongly to us, but the uncertainty of the wilderness and the unknown prospects of new ventures frightens us. That, beloved, is the essence of faith. It is confidence that Christ is with us, even while we fearfully stand outside the boat like Peter. So, let us go unfettered into the fields where the Lord of the Harvest awaits us because we believe in sowing for a great awakening. Let us join our LORD in sowing seeds of truth and love while we bravely uphold His sovereign glory. Join me in praying that the Holy Spirit’s presence will bring fresh wind and fire to our community.

The Church of the Damned

~ This was among the most vivid dreams I've ever had. A year later, it makes more sense. ~ 

It was around 3:00 a.m. on a June morning in 2021. I dreamed that I planned to visit a small church in a small town where I had once served as pastor. But, unfortunately, the church and village in my dream were neglected and overgrown with weeds and low-hanging branches. Unsealed cracks in the streets allowed shoots to poke through them, and bald patches of earth showed through all over lawns and even cemeteries. The little rectangle meeting house where I had served was no longer gleaming white, and the large oaken doors no longer glowing with fresh lacquer. Now, gray, unpainted slats topped by an un-louvered belfry wrapped faded stained glass and a corroded bell. 

A long-dead churchman stood near the signboard that once bore my name. As always, his bib-overalls contained his Dutch Master’s cigars in a pencil pocket, and his shirt collar opened to reveal white chest hair on reddened skin. “Preacher,” he said, “It’s good to see you.” Come in and sit for a spell. 

Dirty red carpet and faded brown paneling accentuated the ambiance as dust-filtered light beams cast through yellow and white pieces of stained glass. The familiar communion rail, pulpit, and backlit cross stood where they’d always been but covered in dust. An electric Wurlitzer and faded Kimble upright piano bracketed the scene. My companion spoke softly, “We’ve all died, Reverend” and then the light faded to darkness.  

Suddenly, I found myself far from that familiar place and standing near a large church building with a vast parking lot surrounding its square, Masonic lodge-like structure. The premises seemed as neglected as the little church I’d just left. Inside the main sanctuary, there were rows of theater seats beneath high ceilings and before a long, solid altar rail with a great, high pulpit at the center. Chairs for a large choir with a grand piano and majestic pipe organ on either side sat behind the pulpit. Curtains hung at regular intervals between tall, rectangular stained glass windows that cast dim light under dangling darkened fixtures. Everything was dust-covered, but not so much as the little church I’d just left. 

“What a magnificent building!” I declared to my companion. He said nothing but only stood still, watching me as I explored the sanctuary. I eventually wandered up to the pulpit and found that I had to stand upon several stacked wooden boxes to see over the top. While I teetered there, my companion called across the void, “Why don’t you try it out?” So, I began to sing a favorite old hymn in my most resounding baritone. The sound of my voice filled the large room, and I thought about how wonderful it would be to preach and lead worship in this place. After finishing a verse of the hymn, I boldly proclaimed the gospel of Christ, crucified for our sin, resurrected to bring new life in God’s favor, giving new birth in the Holy Spirit. My preaching boomed through the air, and it seemed glorious to me. Then, in the blink of an eye, I was outside, in the parking lot again.

Astonished, I asked my companion, “What happened?” He replied, “It’s a church of the damned,” and then disappeared. I stood there in confusion for several minutes before finally attempting to reenter the building. I unsuccessfully pulled on massive, metal-clad wooden doors locked from within. Somehow, I knew they were barred with a long wooden beam, so I walked the perimeter of the building until coming across an open door. When I made my way back into the sanctuary, I saw people sparsely scattered throughout the rows of seats. A tall, thin man wearing a dark suit and narrow tie stood in the pulpit speaking, but I don’t remember what he said - only that I fiercely rebuked him and demanded that he stop. In a flash, he stood in front of me at the back of the room. He seemed to tower over me as he glared down at my face. In another instant, the two of us stood in the same posture but outside, in the parking lot. 

Sensing danger of a spiritual nature, I began to condemn the man in the Name of the LORD. I said, “In the Name of Jesus Christ, I reject you.” “By the power of the Holy Spirit, I demand that you depart from me,” I repeated the phrases over and over, and as I did so, the face and head of my adversary changed. Hair faded from his head, and pointed ears straddled his pale, bald scalp. His eyes were red with rage, and I feared him. I thought, “Why isn’t this working?” “Why am I afraid?” “I know who this is, and I believe in my authority from the LORD. Finally, I cried, “LORD, save me!” and then I awakened from the dream. 

I have pondered the dream’s meaning ever since and have only a couple of conclusions: First, the churches of my denomination are dying or have already passed. Second, some of the seemingly healthy churches are dead in spirit and even led by the Enemy. My powerlessness in the face of the Enemy was a reminder that my life and times are in the LORD’s hands and, I must not take pride in the authority he gives me.