The tomb

A friend of Sarah’s from MOPS has a large house, it is actually two houses that are joined by a corridor. I asked to see around the house and she said to wait a moment and she would take me around. She was hesitant to take us down the corridor, but decided to show us anyway. It was very “special”, she said.

In a dark corner of the corridor was a rock formation with a cave that had a large rock beside the entrance. In the cave was a tomb, and in the tomb was the figure of a man, it looked plain enough to be a figure of Jesus, but was obviously made of wax or plastic.

She began to read a poem, or maybe the lyrics of a song about Jesus, his death and resurrection. I cannot remember the words, but they were powerful and emotional. At the climax of the poem she declared, “Up from the grave he rose.” And the figure in the grave arose! I was taken back and overcome with emotion to see a graphic depiction of my Savior rising from the grave.

She continued to read the poem which described the poet’s personal encounter with Jesus, and the figure of Jesus looked intently at me. The poet explained how Jesus had admonished he/she to write with the words, “He struck me with his pen.”

At the end of the poem, she told of how a disciple of Jesus had invited her to join him down the path as they followed Jesus together.

A man appeared from the end of the hallway and beckoned me to join him down an unknown path, and I followed him…

Cigarate! (pronounced "see-gar-AH-tay"

We knew we were in trouble – there were just four of us and twelve of them had gathered. They were Makah – they had the bodies of humans but the face and head of a cow. The had the minds of humans, except sometimes they were very irrational and unable to reason, so they would do bizarre and unpredictable things.

We had had a conflict with these Makah over property, so now they were assembling for battle. They knew no other way to resolve conflict.

It was time for the battle. We all gathered in a large tent, the four of us surrounded by dozens of them. The battle followed traditional Makah rules – it was to begin with speeches made by the leaders of each side, this informal address should be full of witty remarks, back-handed compliments, boasting, and story telling of brave warriors and battles from the past. As jovial as the beginning of the battle was, these stories could sometimes become “blood stories”, and the Makah would engage in bizarre savagery.

We started with jesting, which escalated to loud boasting, which became passionate tales of legendary heroes. The Makah leader got so carried away, he wanted to tell a story that would demonstrate his strength and frighten us with brutal reality – a blood story. He told the story of “The Princess.” The forbidden Makah legend was the story of a kidnapped princess and the vengeance of the king. As he described how the king killed one of his enemies, he approached one of his own men and killed him. Then he killed another, and another, and another of his own men. On and on through the story, until he had killed fifteen men and the story ended. His men, who had been numbly hypnotized by the poetic rhythem of the story, snapped out of their trance in an excited frenzy. Now for our story. We chose another deadly blood story – “cigar`ate”

Nate pulled a beat-up metal tube from his pocket, held it to the sky, and shouted “CIGAR`ATE!” And all of the Makah raised a fist and echoed, “CIGAR`ATE!”

Inside the tube, Nate had three cigars. The Makah loved tobacco, but it was very rare and extremely valuable in this country.

Nate lit the cigar and told the story of a Makah who had received a precious tobacco ‘cigar`ate’, but had it stolen. As he told the story, he would walk up to a Makah and give him a puff on the cigar and let him participate in the story.

“… and there was the man who had stolen his cigar`ate, standing across the room, calmly smoking. He approached the man and asked for it back, and the man said…..NO,” and as he said NO, Nate drew his pistol and shot the Makah, “ so he slew him.”

Then Nate would pass the cigar to me and I would continue, but we would sometimes say YES, and take the cigar back without killing the Makah. For them, it was like playing a deadly roulette game, if you win, you get to smoke a tobacco cigar for free, but if you lose, you die. The Makah were so interested in the chance to smoke the cigar, they did not even notice how their numbers dwindled until none were left. And so we won the battle with the Makah with a cigar`ate.

Like Joseph before Mary

Before she really met him, Michelle thought John was an arrogant jock like all the other football players at Ridge Creek High. John knew she was one of the cutest girls in school and was afraid to even look at her.

It was in P.E. class their sophomore year that she changed her mind about him. They were learning to play flag football and Michelle and her twin sister Laura had somehow been matched up against John his friend Jason. She expected him to show-off his athletic prowess and make her feel like a non-athletic idiot, “And then they’ll probably try to ask us out on a date.” She scoffed to her sister before they started to play.

At the end of the game, Michelle was asking John out for a date, because he was completely different than what she expected. He was a gentleman, he was fun, he was encouraging, he was like a coach or a brother. But when she asked him out, he lied and said he already had a date.

They had several other classes together and started spending more and more time together. Michelle would often ask him out on a date and he would always find a reason to say no, and the more it happened the more it became like a game and they would laugh about the lamest excuses he could make. But when she asked him the real reason he did not want to go out with her he said it was God. God was a new part of his life and he talked about God like he had a relationship with Him. He said God was teaching him to think differently about "dating" than the rest of society does. She was intrigued about his faith and wanted to know more about it. God was real to him. As their friendship grew, God became more real to her.

They became best friends and shared a deep concern for each other. (I suppose you might call it real love, but they were afraid to admit it. )

After graduation, their relationship changed, the stakes were higher now. They both knew they had to choose what their future together would be. Michelle was desperately in love with him by now but she was afraid he would always want to be ‘just friends’. John cared about her very deeply, and wanted her to have the same kind of relationship with Jesus that he did. One day they were walking down a road and talking. Michelle was never afraid to ask him anything, but he did not know what to expect when she stopped and turned towards him.

“John, will you marry me?” she said.

Surprised and secretly delighted, he answered with a question,

“Are you proposing?” He said.

Now she looked at him very seriously and put her hands on his shoulders and said,

“John, I’m pregnant”

Anger flashed threw John’s mind. Of course it was not his child, he had never even kissed her and avoided even touching her. His convictions about sex were very strong and he was committed to abstinence until his wedding night. So who could the father be? Bitter rage and jealousy burned against whoever it could be.

He tried to suppress his anger and bitterness in his question,

”What will the father think if we get married?”

“John, you are the father.” She said.

The words hung in the air in front of him like they were written in the sky. Time stopped, and he stood there, absolutely bewildered. Impossible. Impossible. He thought, standing there like Joseph before Mary. He pulled away from her and held his head in his hands. “Michelle, you know that’s impossible, how can you say that?”

She knew this conversation was going to be hard for him to accept...

"I artificially inseminated myself," she answered.

The cry of the knife

Once upon a time, in another life in another world, Sarah and I lived in a little grass hut in a meadow beside a beaver pond. We were foreigners in the border country of two great tribes of native people, the Chair-Key people and the You-Tube people. These two tribes were fierce rivals; although they were not at war, fighting and pillaging was not uncommon along the border.

We lived at peace with both peoples, I spoke both Chair-Key and You-Tube fluently and often traded with them. We lived simple lives trapping beaver and raising a few crops. However, I knew our situation was dangerous. If one tribe ever suspected that we were allies with their enemies, I knew there were extremists who would not hesitate to destroy us. I was especially wary of the small sect called the Chair-Key con Queso’s.

We had a very precious baby son. At night, our son would become a fillet knife and we would wrap him in banana leaves and lay him outside the hut in a thicket where he was protected by a pack of wolves (that we affectionately named “The Wuves”). Occasionally, our little fillet knife would wake up wimpering and crying because his banana leaves had unwrapped, so I would wake up and wrap him again. The Wuves were very compassionate, but they didn’t have the slightest idea how they could help, so they would just pace around and wag their sad tails. Little help that they were, I knew the wolves would be the first to sound the alarm and raise the defense if ever a Chair-Key con Queso extremist tried to harm our little knife.

If danger ever came our way, I had a plan. In the middle of our little pond was a large beaver hut that had once housed over a dozen beavers. Now it was abandoned, and I had fashioned it into a hut-bunker. The only entrance to the hut was under the water; you had to swim down through a cave and come out inside the hut. I had made the hut as comfortable as possible and stocked it with spare supplies. There were bear rugs, elk fur blankets, beaver skin pelts, rabbit fur caps, venison jerky, corn meal, dried apples, and winter squash. There was just enough room for three people to lay down.

We practiced the drill often, what we would do if danger came our way. No matter what happened, Sarah would take the baby, run to the edge of the water, blow in the baby’s face to make him take a deep breath, and then dive in the water, into the cave and up into the hut. I would come if I could or stay and fight if I had to.

We had used the hut once, when would we need it again?

Now when I awaken to the cry of the little knife, I think….. where are the Wuves…..con Quesos?....... hut-bunker……

What I believe... about the Bible

In addition to dream-stories, I will publish my core beliefs in a series of posts.

Once I was on a long plane flight through the night and I could not sleep. I stood up and walked around the plane, carrying my Bible and praying. In a dark corner of the plane another man was awake, reading a book. As I walked past him, he asked me, "Is that God's Word you are carrying?"
"Yes, it is." I replied.
Why would I say 'Yes'? Is the Bible God's Word? What do you believe?
Here's what I believe:

I believe that the Bible is theopneustos, it is “breathed out by God”. All of the Bible has God’s authority, and it does not affirm anything that is contrary to fact – it is inerrant. It has been authored by men “moved by the Holy Spirit” in everyday terms and language fitting the context of the writer, but it is still God’s Word.

The teachings of the Bible are infallible, they are trustworthy and not misleading when interpreted correctly: according to the original intent of the author, according to literary form, and according to context in view of the rest of the Bible.

While some passages of the Bible may be difficult to interpret, the Bible’s message is clearly understandable; all things necessary for our salvation and Christian growth are clearly set forth.

The central character of the Bible is God, and God’s message to man is made complete in the person of Jesus – he is the “Word” of God. The central message of the Bible is this: We can know God eternally by trusting in Jesus Christ as our Savior.

Is today’s Bible really reliable after thousands of years of translations? Although we do not have the original “God-inspired” documents, we have thousands of ancient new testament manuscripts from the first four centuries, many more than any other writings in history. The Dead Sea Scrolls found in 1947 were Old Testament documents that were dated around 100 B.C.; they confirmed that the Old Testament we have has been very, very well preserved over the last 2000 years. Therefore we can have confidence that the English translations we have today are very true to the original.

How do we know we have the right books in the Bible? The books included in the Old Testament represent the books recognized by Jewish scholars as Scripture since 400 years before Christ. All of these books were recognized as God’s Word by Jesus. All the new testament books are recognized as God’s Word because they represent the teachings of the apostles, those given special authority by Jesus (whether directly or indirectly, as Mark records the gospel taught by Peter). They have been recognized as God's Word since the first century. We can be assured that we have God's complete revelation to us which is sufficient for our relationship with God to be complete.

Books for reference:

Josh McDowell, Evidence that Demands a Verdict

Bruce Milne, Know the Truth

Wayne Grudem, Systematic Theology

To the weeds...

As I faded to sleep last night, my wife and I were talking about raising children, and an idea popped into my mind. Now, I must be wary anytime I get ideas before going to sleep because I am not sure if I am awake or dreaming when the idea pops in my head. The true test will come when I tell it to Sarah, she is very good at discerning conscious thought from sub-conscious thought, which can be about as difficult as discerning a monkey from a rubber chicken. Here is the thought, "Honey, we shouldn't worry about weeding the back yard because we can let the weeds watch the kids when they are back there."
(Can you guess what movie we were watching?)

"Listen to that thistle, son, else he gonna chap yo' backside 'fore you know what hichya."

The end of an Irish tune

A pub can be such a sad and happy place. On one side of the pub, a group of reunited college friends told loud stories and laughed louder. On the other side, my childhood friend Jim and his family gathered around Jim’s uncle Nick, sick with cancer, and they knew that this was his last night with them. It was Nick’s idea to come to his favorite pub, where he was determined to spend his final hours laughing and telling stories. He was too weak even to lift a pint of ale, he managed a few swallows but nothing more. Nick’s voice was weak, and he couldn’t muster the strength to tell long-winded stories like he used to, but merely mentioning names and places was enough to flood everyone with nostalgia. Towards the end he started to babble meaningless phrases and we were reminded of the melancholic reality before us.

Suddenly, Nick sat up boldly and addressed his brother (Jim’s father) in a clear, business-like voice, “You know how to fix that plumbing in your basement don’t you? You need to get a 2” NPT flanged coupling….” He described in great detail what needed to be done – Nick was a plumber, you see.

He stopped. He dropped his head for a moment as if drifting away to another place. He smiled and looked up. Reverting back to his childhood in Ireland, he hummed a children’s tune. He burst into song with an Irish voice long forgotten. The family joined him, and soon the whole bar was singing or humming along. Nick only recalled the last line of the song, but he sang it over and over again, and finally he stood up and danced with his eyes full of laughter and we sang and wept with joy and sorrow. Then he stopped, hugged his brother, and died.