Pastors' Blog

I went out for my daily morning walk earlier this week. The sun wasn’t up—it was dark—and though I couldn’t see them, the clouds overhead only made the unrefreshingly warm humidity in the autumn air heavier and burdensome. I clutched my small flashing strobe light (given to me by a kind neighbor last week who caught me walking without light and insisted I receive his thoughtful gift—I gratefully did). The blinking strobe doesn’t light up much of the forested landscape—its value is its uncanny way of catching the eye of drivers hurrying to work in the dark.

But the downside of a light that doesn’t shine very far is your eyes begin to play tricks on you. And you think you see a creature racing across the road ahead (maybe a deer, or was it a tiger?). A blinking light with jumpy shadows is a recipe for uncertainty at best when you’re walking in the dark.

The darkness matched the mood of my heart. I like to pray while I walk. And that morning my heart was burdened for the church, my own and the wider national and global church. It feels like we’re stuck beneath dark clouds in heavy air, not drifting backward perhaps but certainly not making noticeable forward progress either. Having spent a few years in this parish and pulpit, my mind raced back through the many, many spiritual strategies our congregation and campus had embraced, had launched, had completed—hoping this one or that one would be the breakthrough.

I admit it’s difficult to define breakthrough anymore. After all, what constitutes a divine breakthrough in a faith community? Love and ministry to the disenfranchised, the marginalized and alienated (as in Isaiah 58)? The gospel to our neighbors and neighborhoods, our communities and cities (Matthew 28)? “Small companies of prayer” that meet faithfully to intercede for the baptism of the Holy Spirit (Acts 4)? A body of believers who love God with all their hearts, souls and bodies—and love their neighbors as themselves (Matthew 22)?

As I walked on in the dark, the cloud ceiling began to morph from black to grey, thanks to an approaching sunrise unseen beneath the heavy clouds. So what will it take? What are you waiting for, God? How long? Questions borrowed from saints through the ages much closer to him than I. Will the promised breakthrough—what the American writer and messenger described as “such a revival of primitive godliness as has not been witnessed since apostolic times . . . the Spirit and power of God . . . poured out upon His children” (GC 464)—come true for this generation?

“Ask the Lord for rain in the season of the latter rain” (Zechariah 10:1). “‘Behold I will do a new thing. . . . I will pour water on those who are thirsty, and floods on the dry ground. I will pour my Spirit on your descendants and my blessing on your offspring’” (Isaiah 43:19/44:3). “In the last days, God says, I will pour my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters. . . . even on my servants, both men and women, I will pour out my Spirit in those days’” (Acts 2:17-18).

Still deep in thought, I approached the end of my forty minutes. Less than two hundred feet ahead around the trees and curve was my home. At that moment I felt a drop. Then a second one. It was beginning to rain. I quickened my pace to get out of the rain, when a thought flashed through my mind—could it be that the breakthrough-rainfall prophets have promised and saints have prayed for through the ages—could it be that the “Big One” (the last divine rainfall) comes only when the children of God are nearly home, much closer to home than anyone realizes?

Could it be then the shadows play tricks on our eyes—“we see through a glass darkly”—so that what looks far is near, and what looks near is far? Could the same dark glass be hiding massive movements of Heaven and its visitants on earth, frenetically at work in the very strategies and prayers we conclude are ineffectual? Then maybe all is not in vain. And Heaven is much closer to us than we ever dared to imagine. Could it be?

Such are the thoughts of a man coming out of the rain.

Me? I was just glad to be home.

Nearly half of GenZers (born 1995-2006)—i.e., our thirteen to 24-year-olds today—were born after the four coordinated terrorist attacks on the United States 18 years ago today. That means they have never known a world without TSA and long security lines at the airport. They’ve never known what it was like not to have to take your shoes off and walk barefoot through an Xray scanner, not to have to limit your fluids in your carry-on bag to 3 fluid oz each, not to have to plop your laptop on a conveyor belt for high-tech Xray analysis, not to have to undergo the occasional (or frequent, depending on your ethnic background) pat-down by a sometimes friendly TSA officer. The list could go on and on.

But what happened on that glorious, sunny, blue-skied Tuesday in New York City (the Twin Towers), in Washington D.C. (the Pentagon) and outside Shanksville, Pennsylvania (the crash of Flight 93), has not only altered our travel routines. It has sadly also altered our view of Muslims and eventually all immigrants, tinging our perceptions with a lurking fear or suspicion of these strangers’ alliance with evil. That radical Islam exists who can deny? That terrorist attacks have continued unabated since 9-11 is obvious. That lone wolf anti-Muslim retaliation has subsequently shot up mosques the world over is also common knowledge. No, the world we live in today is not the world we knew on September 10, 2001. September 11 has rewritten all of our lives.

In fact, it can be argued that endemic societal fear took a massive leap forward on that Tuesday eighteen years ago. We live in a culture afraid of everything now. Oh sure, the shoot-‘em-up mass killings that have escalated in recent years no doubt contribute to our insecurity and angst. And perhaps so does the “selfie me-first” narcissism that too often turns human beings into solitary individual fortresses afraid to trust anyone outside our immediate social context. Perhaps.

It could be that our Lord himself foresaw this global paralysis, predicting it would eventually become endemic: “People will faint from terror [recognize that word?], apprehensive of what is coming on the world” (Luke 21:26). Not surprising then that GenZers now manifest the highest percentage of college entrance students ever with self-diagnosed mental health issues. You can blame the technological impact of the smartphone, but we can thank 9-11 for preparing the way.

But why such gloomy thoughts on this sunny, still blue-skied September 11 eighteen years later? Because of all people, those who call themselves “Adventists” (believers in the soon-coming of Christ) should be analyzing the rapidly-gyrating news cycle and drawing the conclusion we now live in the self-disintegrating world the ancient Scripture predicted. While the Bible doesn’t calculate a calendar date for The End, we’d be fools to ignore Jesus’ somber admonition, “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him” (Matthew 24:42-44).

Jesus, our soon-coming thief? Of course not. Rather, Jesus, our soon-coming Savior, “the Savior of the world.” Which, if it doesn’t learn about him, will not only be caught unawares but will be lost. Which means that if we consider ourselves Adventists, it is ipso facto our “Adventist” mission to tell others this truth. Inviting them to worship with you is a blessed idea. Sharing with them something you’ve read that’s inspired you is another effective method. So is “loving your neighbor” into a continuing conversation about the meaning of relevant Bible truths (“the truth as it is in Jesus”). Choose what works for you.

But let’s not simply yawn our way past this eighteenth anniversary of September 11. What a waste of opportunity! In the words of Jesus, “keep watch,” “be ready” and “go.” And “I’ll be with you as you do this, day after day after day, right up to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20 Message).

You can relax. This blog isn’t about stamping out fire and bees. We actually need both. But in the last seven days, we’ve experienced the fire, the bee, and the stamp.

• The tragic apartment fire Saturday night is more than a news headline now. Forty some people were displaced by the flames that rapidly spread through the attic space of those units. One of our Andrews grad students quickly assessed the threat and raced door to door to evacuate the residents. The good news is no life was lost, no one was injured. But the human needs are now significant for those displaced. Thank you for the offers of housing. It looks like the relocation process is going well. But having lost their earthly possessions, our fire victims (many of them students and workers at the university) need replacement items. If you would like to donate to their needs, please mark your donation “Fire Victims” on a tithe envelope and turn it in this Sabbath. Naturally, you can also go to Red Cross and Andrews University web sites to donate there. Thank you for caring.
   
• Regarding the bees, Sunday found our church site a hive of “busy bees,” as volunteers kept showing up at our beautification Work Bee. What a turnout! And what a transformation! Take a walk around the church—if you can find a single weed, please let us know—and we’ll pull it! Then take a walk to our bathrooms inside—volunteer crews have left them spic and span. So a very big THANK YOU to all of you who made this work bee a success. It is God’s House, and I’m certain he smiles down upon us as we seek to glorify him by beautifying his House of Prayer for all people.
   
• And the stamp? Our Renovate: Heart & House team is rejoicing over the state electrical inspector’s stamp of approval on the huge electrical project this renovation has turned out to be. Wires of every color and size in conduits across the roof, up the walls, and under the floors—thank God for skilled minds keeping track of every fiber. A few hours after his approval, our local Fire Marshal Bruce Stover and Don Damron (assistant fire marshal) revisited our sanctuary, along with the local Americans with Disabilities Act compliance inspector. Praise God they, too, gave their stamp of approval for full-time occupancy of this sacred space. So the university on Thursday will be the first post-approval gathering under the roof. And, of course, we’ll be right behind them gathering for two festive worship celebrations this opening Sabbath of the new school year.

I’m excited about this first-ever “Bring a Friend to Church” Sabbath (August 31). Karen and I went to visit our neighbors last evening—and two families indicated they will join us this Sabbath. A third is thinking about it. And three others weren’t home, so we’ll catch today or tomorrow. Trust me—it’s a simple but thoughtful gesture you can make to those who live around you—all you need to do is hand them the invitation card (we have plenty extras here at the church for you to pick up) with that winsome smile of yours and say “I hope you can join us—we’re pretty excited about our newly renovated sanctuary.” And then pray. It’s the Holy Spirit’s mission to do the impressing—he just needs us to do the inviting. So thank for sharing what you and I are blessed to have—the very good news of Christ Jesus our Lord.

May I add a personal word of thanksgiving for your sacrificial gifts to our Renovate project. I am amazed at how God has moved your heart to be so unselfishly generous with him and his House. The monies continue to flow into the church treasury, and no sooner do they arrive than JoAnn Siagian, our church treasurer writes another check to one of a score of companies and crews we’ve hired to turn our collective dream into reality. There is still more renovation to go—our Grand Opening will be Sabbath, October 26—and so there are still more checks to write. May God bless you to the max as you join our brigade of “cheerful givers.” Truly the best is yet to come—with Jesus.

Last Thursday a mysterious nuclear explosion at a northern Russian military offshore base sent the world into jitters. In the intervening days, the Russian government has slowly broken its silence by disclosing hints as to what transpired. 

“A radiation increase four to 16 times above normal background levels occurred in the nearby town of Severodvinsk after the incident, according to news agency TASS” (www.usatoday.com/story/news/2019/08/13/chris-cuomo-russia-and-chipotle-bowl-chemicals-its-tuesdays-news/1996819001/). 

Furthermore “the Thursday blast on the coast of the White Sea in Nyonska killed five scientists with Russia’s nuclear agency, which later confirmed they were testing new weapons. More victims were hospitalized” (nypost.com/2019/08/14/russia-says-radiation-levels-spiked-in-area-around-weapons-test-explosion/). 

“Asked to comment on the conflicting reports and concerns about the consequences for the local population, [Kremlin spokesman Dmitry] Peskov said: ‘I have nothing to add beyond what I stated. ... I can just assure you that in such a situation all the competent agencies do everything to assure the safety of the citizens of the Russian Federation is fully provided’” (www.cnn.com/2019/08/13/europe/russia-missile-technology-kremlin-intl/index.html).

Beyond the nuclear geo-political realities this headline represents, are there any lessons to draw from the story for ordinary people like you and me? How about these three?

Lesson 1—stuff happens fast. It’s the story of our lives in this nanosecond world, isn’t it? For the five hapless scientists going about their daily professional duties, one explosive second tragically snuffed out their lives, their bright minds. And spouses, children, and families are left devastated. Stuff happens fast anymore. No wonder the Bible warns its readers about the impending Day of the Lord: “For you know very well that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, 'Peace and safety,' destruction will come on them suddenly, as labor pains on a pregnant woman, and they will not escape” (1 Thessalonians 5:2-3). Life happens . . . stuff happens . . . even the end happens fast! Be vigilant, stay awake.

Lesson 2—openness is the best policy. There isn’t a government around that enjoys disclosing bad news to its citizens and the world. But the piecemeal release of information only raises the level of distrust, as we all have learned. Want to cultivate trust with people? Then be open, be honest. “Everything that Christians do should be as transparent as the sunlight” (Thoughts from the Mount of Blessings 68). “Transparent as the sunlight”—that is sage counsel for us all—governments, institutions, and churches included.

Lesson 3—it’s good to be radioactive. The nuclear threat, of course, is not only instantaneous devastation but also long-term radioactive contamination. But in the spiritual realm that's actually very good news. Because radioactive contagion was the secret to the New Testament faith community, was it not? A band of eleven disciples becomes an upper room of 120 (Acts 1:15), and to them are subsequently added 3000 believers (Acts 2:41) and then 5000 (Acts 4:4) and then “myriads” (Acts 21:20, GK muriades “tens of thousands”). Their secret? At their daily request, the resurrected Christ so infused their lives that when they daily moved through their world, they were actually “radioactive” (or contagious) with Jesus' self-sacrificing love. 

Truth is people respond to a caring, loving individual. Didn’t Jesus promise that radioactive “contamination”—“Let your let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:16)? “By this all will know you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35). Radioactive with the very force the world is desperate for—unselfish love.

So in a few days why not join with the others in our “Bring a Friend to Church Day” August 31? No lengthy Bible studies to give in advance, no having to offer something distasteful—instead simply your friendly, “We’re moving back into our newly renovated church, and I’d like to invite you to join us August 31. Our pastor’s sharing a new series, 'Roommates, Bad Dates and Soul Mates’—it's about how to grow a lasting relationship with people. Here’s a printed invitation. Love to have you come!” Grab a handful of invitations at worship this Sabbath, and with your smile pass them on to neighbors, colleagues, and friends.

Radioactive for Jesus—and why not! Stuff happens fast. And who can say how long your opportunity will last. So I say, Let’s do it now.​