Idols

Idols

We don’t hear much about idols anymore. When I was growing up there were matinee idols (movie stars) and rumors of pagan idols worshipped in far off lands. I guess we are much too sophisticated to use such an old fashioned word. Or are we?

Having spent all of my adult life in church work, I have come to observe that idols are more prevalent than one would think. By definition, an idol is a person or thing that is greatly admired, loved, revered or worshipped. Worship can be defined as an excessive admiration for someone or something.

In church there is a tendency toward stability and safety. Change does not come easy. Maybe it’s because we live in a very changeable world where everything is up for grabs. There are many who like church just as it is which translates “don’t mess with it.”

Years ago, when I was pastoring an Episcopal church, I messed with an idol. In the sanctuary, there stood a wooden reading stand carved like an eagle. Since no one ever used it, I moved it off to the side. On Sunday morning, there was an immediate and hostile response from members of the congregation. They didn’t want their church furniture rearranged. The argument went along the line “it has always stood there.”

This was the beginning of my education of idols in the church. People attach inordinate value to furniture, ritual and tradition that eclipse the Good News of Jesus. It is so easy to be distracted by objects or convictions that can capture our imagination and lure us away from Him; even a piece of furniture.

The Bible reminds us “to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.”

The Porch of Rebellion

The Porch of Rebellion

For nine years we lived in Havre. Havre, located on the Hi Line in northern Montana, is about 45 miles from the Canadian border. Moving from the big city to a small, rural western town was an adjustment. We lived in a rental house about a year before purchasing our first home. Our reason for moving there was to start a new church.

The Lord was gracious in providing the down payment. It was a lovely home built in the mid 60’s with enough room for our family. Our new home was located on Juniper Street, near the schools and a city park. We could not have asked for a better home. There was only one problem, no front porch.

Judy had it in her mind that our home needed a front porch. It would be a place where we could sit on summer evenings and relax. I couldn’t see how it was possible to add a porch in such a small yard with two big fir trees taking up most of the space. Like many marriage disagreements, the porch became a sore point in our relationship. I didn’t want it and she did. Throw the cost of construction into the discussion and well, you can guess the rest.

It so happened that the next spring, I was out of town on a business trip. When I returned, there was a small porch addition next to the front door. It was well constructed and painted the color of the house. Actually it looked very nice. When I asked Judy how the porch got there, she told me that she contracted with one of the men from our church. He built the porch in two days and she painted it. Did I have any other questions?

 She went ahead and did what she wanted with the expectation that I would be excited about our new porch. Being a man of God and the head of our household, what could I say? I just refused to sit out there! After a time, realizing that wasn’t working, I confessed to her that it was a beautiful addition to our home. We did spend many a summer evening there.

By the way, the porch of rebellion is still standing. You can drive down Juniper Drive and see it.

Dance Lessons

Dance Lessons

I hated it! It was not my idea to take dance lessons. I was fourteen years old and needed to be outside with my friends playing baseball. You would think that after eight years of taking piano lessons from the nuns, my parents would give me a break. No, here I was taking ballroom dancing lessons.

I have a photo to prove it. Several years ago my sister sent me a birthday card with a cover photo of me dancing with a girl at the VFW club. It was the dance recital that culminated painful weeks of lessons. There I was dressed in sport coat, slacks, white shirt and tie. The look on my face said it all. My dancing partner didn’t look any happier. Actually she was quite cute.

Through the years, I realized that dancing was not on a par with going to the dentist. Although I was never mastered the rhythm, I managed to get out on the dance floor and make my moves. I remember the high school sock hops, the lindy, the twist and the stroll. The slow ones I was best at. Those dance lessons finally paid off.

For Christmas this year, I gave Judy dancing lessons. Not that she needed them but something we could do together. Every Tuesday night for six weeks, we hit the boards learning the Texas Two Step. Let me tell you, it is a workout swirling around the dance floor, changing partners, trying to concentrate on “quick, quick, slow, slow,” without stepping on my partner’s feet or running into another couple. It is fun.

Looking back at my youth, I see that many of the things I was “forced” to do by my parents were not terrible. They were opportunities to try new things. They knew that young boys don’t lean into ballroom dancing. They did know that a time would come when dancing would be a part of adult life. I am grateful for those experiences.

I still believe that eight years of piano lessons from the nuns is too much!

Hoping Against Hope

Hoping Against Hope

Have you ever felt hopeless? Ever had that sickening feeling that disaster is about to strike and there is nothing you can do to avoid it? You look around for help and everybody else seems unaware of your problem. Doesn’t anybody care?

Years ago we moved to Montana to start a church. It was a big step of faith to take my family from a large metro area to a small western town. I believed God was leading us. Judy and the kids were apprehensive. It being the Christmas season added more anxiety. We made the move and the church started to grow.

Some time later, I began doubting whether I had heard God right. It was a little late to second-guess myself but fear started to creep in. My confidence both at church and at home began to waver. What was I thinking? I wasn’t trained to start a church from scratch. I was way over my head and way out of my comfort zone.

Judy suggested I get away for a few days and pull myself together. A friend offered his secluded lake cabin. I had never done anything like that before. Leaving responsibilities behind, I set out to hear God, scary to say the least!

Shortly after arriving, I grabbed my Bible and sat out on the deck. Flipping it open and glancing down I saw these words: “When everything was hopeless, Abraham believed anyway, deciding to live not on the basis of what he saw he could not do but on what God said he would do…he plunged into the promise and came up strong, ready for God, sure that God would make good on what He said.”

It felt like I was having a blood transfusion: my tired blood exchanged for hope-enriched blood. I could feel the weight of hopelessness falling off. Slowly my mental wheels started to focus on what God had promised. From that day I began the journey of learning the discipline to stay focused on what God will do and not on what I can’t do. My job is to hope against hope. That is work enough!