Angels

Angels

It started innocently enough. Our monthly neighborhood bible study was deep into a passage of Scripture when out of the blue somebody mentioned angels. It wasn’t me. I try and stay away from controversial topics in groups where there is a distinct mixture of church backgrounds. Then someone said, “has anybody ever seen an angel?”

My wife, Judy, who often goes where angels fear to tread, said yes, she has seen angels. Now all the attention was on her as she proceeded to share a time years ago when she was dropping off our children at a Christian school. As the kids entered the school building, Judy saw two gigantic angels, one on each side of the door. They were taller than the building and each were holding a shield and sword.

There is nothing in Scripture that says angels were only for Bible times. Both the Old and New Testament confirm angel activity. There were lots of angels around at the birth of Jesus seen by Joseph, Mary, Zachariah, shepherds and Magi to name a few. Reading about the saints of the early church, there is mention of angels who appear to warn, protect and direct.

Recently, during our Sunday morning worship service, one person mentioned that they saw angels all around the inside of the church worshiping with us. Some were sitting on the log cross beams singing their hearts out. It was reassuring to know that even in a small congregation such as ours, the heavenly hosts deem to join our worship of the Lord Jesus.

I know, it is a real stretch to think that angels are real. In our culture of technology where everything has to have verifiable proof to be believed, it is easy to dismiss angels as overzealous religiosity. However, the children at church that Sunday had no trouble believing that angels were around.

And whatever happened to our guardian angels; the ones who were to watch our backside and keep us from harm? I’m believing even if I can’t always see them.

How about you?

Humbebrag

Humblebrag

I like words and I like to know what they mean and where they come from. I look up words in a dictionary to find what language our English words come from: French, German, Old English, Latin, Greek, Hebrew or Aramaic to name a few. I don’t have a working knowledge of these languages, but I have books that help me along the way.

It was with some interest that I heard a new word recently. I was sitting at our family table at a wedding reception and one of my sisters leaded over and asked if I had ever heard the word humblebrag. I asked her to repeat it and then immediately looked it up on Google. To my surprise there it was. Since I had never heard the word before I wanted to know all about it.

Humblebrag as defined in the Urban Dictionary means “when a person, usually consciously, tries to get away with bragging about them self by couching it in a phony show of humility.” I asked my sister where she heard the word. She told me it was the title of last week’s sermon at the church she attended. Then she said that, is her opinion, the preacher was a perfect example of this word.

I didn’t need any more information. Over my years of ministry, I have heard more than enough humblebrag. Lest I be found pointing a finger at others, I confess there were times when I majored in humblebrag. Just thinking about the word brought painful memories of self-exaltation under the guise of false humility.

The Bible has much to say about humblebrag, as from Proverbs: “pride lands you flat on your face; humility prepares you for honors.” Lest one gets the idea that humility is groveling, I found this quote someone posted on Facebook: “humility is not thinking less about yourself; it’s thinking about yourself less.”

I like that!

Pot Luck

Pot Luck

You either love them or they are the nemesis of church life. Also known as pot bless and love feasts. I like to call it what it is: a lot of pots filled with food and it’s the luck of the draw about the ingredients. Every church I have been a part of has some form of communal meal that takes place right after the Sunday morning service usually once a month.

Here in Bozeman, we have a pot luck the first Sunday of the month. Everybody brings something to share and there is always enough even for those who forgot. Wild game stew, salads, deviled eggs, Kentucky fried chicken for those who remembered last minute. I don’t forget but I cheat. On pot luck Sunday, I get up early and pop a Costco lasagna in the oven.

I have eaten pot luck meals all over the world. In Mexico, the meal consisted of goat stew. Not bad until you look in the cooking pot and find a goat head floating in its own juices. In Africa I was afraid to look in the big steaming caldron. It tasted a lot like goat with a little dog mixed in. Out in the bush the meal was simpler. After killing and plucking a chicken, it was roasted on a stick over an open fire. No plates necessary; just pull the favorite parts off with your fingers.

For years I have been a one-man campaign to revolutionize church pot luck. Instead of all the work of salads, meat dishes and vegetables why not just serve desserts. There is a large variety of sugary delights that would satisfy the most discriminating taste. Just think of all those pies, cakes, brownies, cookies and puddings that could grace those plastic, eight-foot folding tables.

For a more economical pot luck, all food items could be purchased at Costco. You can get anything there and in bulk. The Kirkland brand, in my opinion, takes the congregational meal to a more sophisticated level. From plastic plates to large chicken pot pies and tiramisu dessert. Wow! A meal to die for.

Lest I be accused of maligning the sanctity of the church pot luck, I want to thank all who fed me those wonderful meals over the years. A special thanks to those who remembered to bring dessert!

Chuck

Chuck

I wasn’t much in the mood to look for a new truck. The hassle of trying to find a vehicle to replace my old one would be time consuming. I checked a few lots but didn’t have any luck. Then I asked the Lord that if he thought I should have a newer truck to please point it out to me.

No kidding, the very next day on the way to Thanksgiving dinner at my son’s house, I saw a truck with a For Sale sign on it. The next morning, I stopped and took a look: a 2007 ¾ ton GMC HD with 87,000 miles. I called the number, and this is the message I got: “This is Chuck. You got to talk loud because I am hard of hearing and this message recorder isn’t worth …….” I thought I got to meet this guy.

Just as I hung up, I heard a deep voice behind me, “You interested in buying my truck?” It was the same voice I heard on the recorder. It was a Chuck. A white-haired man wearing a red baseball cap with a Marine insignia on it. Introducing myself, I said yes, I was interested in buying his truck.

To make a long story short my son, Tim, and I took it for a drive. What a truck: power everything, Sirius radio, heated leather seats, crew cab doors, Rhino Lining bed, deluxe running boards even Weather Tech floor mats. This was more than I had hoped or prayed for.

Chuck and I shook hands on the deal. Two days later when we met at the bank to secure the loan and give him the check, Chuck pulled me aside and said that he had been asking the Lord to bring someone along who would really like his truck and would take good care of it. Then he said, “You are that man.”

I am sitting in my home office writing this blog looking out the window at my new pickup truck. It is the nicest vehicle I have ever owned; also, the easiest one to find thanks to the Lord. Oh, by the way, Chuck called me a few days after the purchase to tell me some added features. Then he said: “Dan, I have been thanking the Lord that you bought my truck. It is answered prayer.”

Thank you, Lord, for answered prayer and the opportunity to meet Chuck.