The Cost of Being a Disciple of Jesus

DISCLAIMER: I originally wrote this sermon four years ago, in August of 2020. If you want to listen to it, I’ll embed the audio version at the bottom of this post.

But I’m trying to publish more regularly on this blog because that’s what you’re apparently supposed to do…

So, I pulled this one out of the archives, because it’s a real humdinger. And you should read it. Seriously, it’s a good one, if I do say so myself.

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This morning, we’ll be reading through a passage from Luke 14:25-33.

But before we take a look at this passage in Luke, I want to tell you a story that’s a little bit closer to us in history. This isn’t something that happened 2,000 years ago, but much more recently.

It begins about a hundred years ago, in a city called Breslau. Breslau is in the southwest of Poland today, but a hundred years ago, and up until the end of World War II, it was still a part of Germany. And that’s where this story begins – in Breslau, Germany, a hundred years ago, in 1920, when a young man by the name of Dietrich gave his life to Christ, and decided that he wanted to study the Bible and become a teacher of God’s word.

Dietrich was a very intelligent young man, very devoted to his studies; by 1927 (when he was only 21 years old) he had graduated from the University of Berlin with a doctorate in Theology. Still young, and not quite sure where his place was in the world, he decided to come here to the U.S., and ended up as a professor at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. He was only in the U.S. for one year, but while he was here, he was lovingly accepted into a Baptist church in Harlem, where he taught Sunday School classes, and where he began to encounter the societal injustices being experienced by Christian minorities – in particular, black Christians that he had become friends with. As a white man, but still an outsider, a foreigner from Germany, he had slipped in between these two segregated worlds of American Christians – black and white, rich and poor, educated and uneducated. Dietrich knew his Bible really well. In the Gospels, he read, as we have been reading, about the reality of God’s Kingdom in the here and now. And he wrestled with the contrast between what he was reading about the Church in the New Testament, and what he was seeing the Church do (and not do) in New York and other places.

How could the Church in the New Testament be so united in purpose, and the Church of modern day be so fractured and divided?

Why was the wealthy Church so pre-occupied with its own position on the highest levels of secular society, and so blind to the suffering of the poor Church just a few blocks North?

How does that happen among God’s people? How does one group of Christians become obsessed with finding a seat at the table of high society, while another group focuses on pulling people out of the gutters and giving them food, and clothing, and housing?

Why do the Christians with the most resources at their disposal, hoard their wealth, while those with just enough to get by give away everything they have? Why can’t they work together? Why can’t they find balance in the community of God’s Kingdom – the community of people saved by grace – the community that Jesus gave his life to bring into existence?

What was the answer to these questions?

What could be done about it?

Dietrich wasn’t entirely sure, but he didn’t ignore these tough questions; he wrestled with them. And this unique perspective that he had, as an outsider and foreigner, influenced him a great deal. And he took that perspective with him, when he returned to his homeland in 1931.

When he returned to Germany, he began teaching theology at the University in Berlin where he had received his doctorate four years earlier, and not long after that, he was ordained as a pastor in the Lutheran Church.

And, it was less than two years later, on January 30, 1933, that the Nazis took control of his country.

As we all know now, with our 20/20 historical hindsight, Adolph Hitler’s rise to power would eventually culminate in the horrendous disaster that we call World War II, where millions of people would perish, and where terrible things had to be done in order to stop a man that was closer to an example of the Anti-Christ than almost anyone else in history.

Have there been others like Hitler?

Yes.

Joseph Stalin probably executed more people, for instance. But Hitler did three things that really single him out:

1. He lied to the Christians in Germany that were susceptible to deception.

2. He silenced, imprisoned, and killed the Christians who were not so easily deceived.

3. He waged genocide against the Jewish people.

If Hitler had succeeded in taking over the WHOLE WORLD, he would have been THE Anti-Christ.

As it turned out, he was only one of the many little antichrists like those the Apostle John warned us about in his first epistle (1st John 2:18).

Like I said, we all know this now. It’s more or less common knowledge. But to many of the Christians throughout Germany at the time Hitler took power it wasn’t as clear. Even though it SHOULD HAVE BEEN.

Hitler’s rise to power was hailed as an act of God by the majority of church leaders in Germany at the time. They threw their support behind him completely – telling their congregations that Hitler had been sent by God to lift them out of economic depression, and restore their honor on the world stage. Some went so far as to say that Hitler spoke on God’s behalf, and that the fulfillment of God’s Kingdom was embodied in the person of Adolph Hitler. Churches that had been firmly established and rooted in place for centuries, wasted no time in allowing Hitler to steam roll his way through them. In fact, they stepped aside as he removed Pastors, Bishops, and Elders who were not “pure-bloods” of Aryan descent. They remained silent when he demanded that he, the Fuhrer be recognized as head of the Church (rather than Jesus Christ), and they supported efforts made to remove the Old Testament from the Bible – because of its pro-Jewish agenda. These were not things that happened overnight. They were ideas that Hitler had been preaching for months BEFORE he was in power. There was plenty of opportunity for the churches in Germany to at least try to prevent his ascension to power – by speaking out against him. But those with the most influence in their society, remained silent. Or they openly supported him.

But not everyone.

There were small groupings of Christians in Germany, in the middle of all that madness, who refused to bow down and worship that man.

And the hero of this particular story – Dietrich – was among them.

Just a couple of days after Hitler became Chancellor, Dietrich was able to get onto a radio station in Berlin and sound the alarm.

Before they cut him off mid-sermon, he denounced Hitler and everything he stood for – and he rebuked every Christian who followed him for their idolatry to the “cult of the fuhrer.”

In the months and years that followed, he began organizing the minority groups of Christians who didn’t follow Hitler, by helping to create a network of churches dedicated to voicing opposition to him, as well as to rendering aid to their Jewish neighbors who were already under attack. He was putting into practice what he had learned when he was in New York – that he couldn’t just talk about the Gospel – he had to live in its reality. He couldn’t just stand around and do nothing while so much evil was taking place around him. He had to actually do something about it.

So, he did.

Between 1933 and 1939, he helped organize and lead an underground seminary where he taught his students that the cost of being a modern disciple of Jesus was complete loyalty to the King and His Kingdom, above all else. –Even if it meant losing your friends, losing your family, or losing your country.

And for this, Dietrich was branded an enemy of the state, his coalition of churches and his seminary were deemed illegal by Heinrich Himmler, and Dietrich himself was exiled from the city of Berlin.

Dietrich’s friends in New York City urged him to flee the country, and he did in the Summer of 1939. But he did not stay in the United States for very long. In a letter to one of his former professors at Union Seminary, this is what he wrote, shortly before returning to Germany:

“I have come to the conclusion that I made a mistake in coming to America. I must live through this difficult period in our national history with the people of Germany. I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people … Christians in Germany will have to face the terrible alternative of either willing the defeat of their nation in order that Christian civilization may survive or willing the victory of their nation and thereby destroying civilization. I know which of these alternatives I must choose but I cannot make that choice from security.”

It wasn’t long after his return home, that because of close trusted contacts within the German military, he first became aware of concentration camps where Jews were being systematically exterminated. And that put Dietrich in the position of finally having to choose, definitively, which of his two kingdoms he would betray.

Would he become a traitor to Germany? Or would he become a traitor to God’s Kingdom, by looking the other way as his neighbors were being murdered? He chose God’s Kingdom over the kingdom he had been born into.

When asked by a Dutch colleague of his at the time, “what he was praying for these days?” Dietrich told him, “If you want to know the truth, I pray for the defeat of my nation.”

And that’s when Dietrich became a spy.

He began working within the Abwehr – the German Military Intelligence network –which was not yet under the control of the SS. There were many German officers in the Abwehr, already functioning as allied spies against Hitler. They recruited Dietrich with the understanding that he would use his contacts in Europe and the United States to smuggle intelligence to the Allies, and to help Jews escape from Germany. And that’s what he did for the next few years…

Before he was eventually caught and arrested in the Spring of 1943.

Dietrich spent two years in prison for treason, during which time he was the pastor for his fellow prisoners, and even some of his prison guards.

On April 4, 1945 Hitler personally ordered Dietrich’s execution, and he was hung that same week at Flossenburg Concentration Camp.

Two weeks later, the U.S. 90^th and 97^th Infantry Divisions liberated that camp.

A week after that, the Soviets took Berlin.

Hitler committed suicide at the end of the month, and Germany surrendered on May 7^th.

Dietrich’s prayers for the defeat of his nation came to pass. But he himself, had already gone home to his real country.

The doctor who saw Dietrich’s hanging described his final moments like this:

“I saw [the] Pastor … kneeling on the floor praying fervently to God. I was most deeply moved by the way this lovable man prayed, so devout and so certain that God heard his prayer. At the place of execution, he again said a short prayer and then climbed the few steps to the gallows, brave and composed. His death ensued after a few seconds. In the almost fifty years that I worked as a doctor, I have hardly ever seen a man die so entirely submissive to the will of God.”

And that brings, the story of Dietrich Bonhoeffer to a close.

Now… why am I telling you all of this? Why is this story an important one?

Well, let’s finally get to Luke 14:25-33, and you’ll see why…

“Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: ²⁶“If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple. ²⁷And whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.

²⁸“Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? ²⁹For if you lay the foundation and are not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule you, ³⁰saying, ‘This person began to build and wasn’t able to finish.’

³¹“Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Won’t he first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? ³²If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. ³³In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples.”

Now, those are some harsh sounding words, are they not?

There’s a huge crowd following Jesus, and instead of reveling in all of his many followers, it’s almost as if he’s trying to get rid of them. He tells them they can’t follow him unless they hate everyone else… that they even have to hate their own life! Now, he doesn’t mean this literally – that they have to hate. After all, this is Jesus – he teaches us to love everyone, even our enemies.

So, he’s not literally telling us we have to hate ourselves and our families. He’s saying that His Kingdom always comes first. The Kingdom always takes precedence. He’s saying that our love for Him has to be total. Our loyalty to Him has to be complete. He’s saying, if you really want to follow me, you might have to say goodbye to the people you care about. He’s saying: If you say ‘yes’ to me, you might have to say ‘no’ to the people you love.

Jesus is using this allegorical language about building towers and going to war, which might all sound a little strange to us. But he’s pointing out the natural human tendency to look ahead. If we’re being wise, then we think before we make a major decision about something; we think about what that decision is going to mean, and whether or not it’s going to be good or bad, and we think about what we’re going to have to give up, or let go of.

We have to estimate what it’s all going to cost.

How much money to build that building?

How many troops to win that war?

Well, we don’t have to estimate what it costs to follow Jesus; he tells us EXACTLY what it costs – it costs EVERYTHING.

Dietrich knew that. He knew it really well. He knew that we can’t just hide in the comforting glow of God’s grace – that to do so, cheapens the sacrifice that Jesus made. We have to go into the darkness with the light that we have.

We have to do something.

And whatever that is – it might cost us everything.

It MIGHT cost us family; It MIGHT cost us friends; It MIGHT cost us our country.

And if so, that’s ok.

That’s what it means to pick up YOUR CROSS and FOLLOW HIM.

In John 15:18-19, Jesus said quite clearly: “If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. ¹⁹If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world…”

Let’s remember these words of Jesus in the coming months.

Let’s hold tightly to them, as the rhetoric in the world around us becomes louder, and the nonsense becomes overwhelming. Our job is still the same: To love our neighbors, to love our enemies, and to love God the most.

The kingdom we’re living in is temporary; it is crumbling. But the Kingdom we belong to is eternal, and it will never fall.

There won’t be any Democrats or Republicans in Heaven, my friends.

“Then the sovereignty, power and greatness of all the kingdoms under heaven will be handed over to the holy people of the Most High. His kingdom will be an everlasting kingdom, and all rulers will worship and obey him.” – Daniel 7:27

Dailey Chapel’s Annual Basket Dinner

This past Sunday, I decided to depart from our regularly scheduled program, to deliver a message that suited the occasion – our church’s annual celebration which we call “Basket Dinner.”

One thing that I find interesting about Basket Dinner – and this was true from the very first time I heard someone mention it. Back when I had no clue what it was… Basket Dinner has always been talked about around here, like it’s a universal event; as if it’s something that every Christian on Earth celebrates every year – like Christmas and Easter.

I remember once, asking a younger Caleb Dickey who grew up in my church, about Basket Dinner — just a few weeks after I moved out here… before I had ever been to one, and he was still in High School at the time, but he described Basket Dinner, as if it was a universal, concrete fixture of reality – something that all Christians partake of each year. And I know that he knew it wasn’t this universal Christian holiday, but that’s how he spoke about it. And it made me realize, that this was a deeply rooted part of Dailey Chapel’s history. I’ve realized that more and more with each year that I’ve been here.

Basket Dinner is a special, unique fixture of Dailey Chapel, and it’s very personal and meaningful to us, especially to all those who have celebrated it for decades, or for some – most of their lives, or whole lives. But there is also something about it, that is relatable to all churches.

So… I was thinking, this past week, about how we observe this special Sunday each year to honor those who’ve come before us, and met together in years past under the banner of Dailey Chapel – whether it was in our current building, or the previous one.

And, off course we know, that a building isn’t what makes a group of people into a church – it’s the gathering together, in fellowship, around the Lord’s table, around his word, to break bread and pray. Those are the main ingredients of church. A building isn’t necessary – it’s a blessing, and a luxury, and we enjoy having it – but the church isn’t a building.

If you ever happen to be up here, sometime after dark, by yourself, you’ll realize very quickly how different this building is when the people of the light are not gathered together in it. We’re up in the woods, and it’s a VERY scary place at night!

And at one point, in the past — as Mrs. Joanie Lunsford retells our history each year — the people of Dailey Chapel lost their building in a fire, about 84 years ago. But they didn’t lose each other, and they didn’t lose their faith. And as far as I can tell, they used the opportunity to grow stronger. And the evidence is all around us now. All those people are gone, but their church has outlived them.

It’s a feature of our existence on earth that sometimes, things have to go wrong, or something bad has to happen, in order for God to receive the glory that is due him. Sometimes, things have to go wrong, so that, they can be made right again – proving that our God is one of redemption, renewal, recovery, and restoration.

And this is nothing new. This is an old lesson – one that’s true for all of us. It’s woven into the fabric of reality itself.

And Scripture teaches us this old lesson over and over again. That things sometimes have to go wrong, before they can be made right. That things have to be broken, so that they can be put back together even stronger than they were. King David said in Psalm 30 that “there is weeping throughout the night, but joy comes in the morning.”

One of the beautiful things about the stories in Scripture, is how they capture truths that are common to all people of all times. The stories themselves are rooted in history, among real people, who really lived. But the lessons that the people in the stories learn, transcend the times and places in which they happened. In other words, the lessons that God wants us to learn are the same lessons that He has always wanted His people to learn.

And one of the biggest lessons – is that sometimes things go wrong, so that God’s people can remember their need for him, in all areas of life. And when they do, then the soil of hardship produces the fruit of victory.

That’s what we’re really commemorating each year on Basket Dinner Sunday. And as I said, it’s an old lesson – and it’s told over and over in the pages of Scripture, through the lives of many people.

We could go back to Genesis and read about Abraham for instance. A lot of things went wrong in Abraham’s life. He was constantly ending up in places he shouldn’t have been, and at times, in situations that were dangerous. And God always took care of him. God blessed him abundantly.

But the main thing on his mind was the fact that he wasn’t going to have any children to leave behind after him. So what did God do? He let Abraham and Sarah get so old, that the prospect of having children was completely hopeless from a human perspective. Sarah had presumably already gone through menopause, I think it’s safe to say – she was 90! But God allowed her to get pregnant and give birth to Isaac, through whom, she became the Mother of Nations. Hopelessness was turned into blessing.

Abraham and Sarah’s grandson Jacob, learned the same lesson. He was forced to flee his family, and leave behind his home, and everything he had – his own brother literally wanted to murder him. Everything went wrong in his life. He lost everything, just so God could get his attention.

And once God had his attention, he put Jacob’s life back together piece by piece. He blessed him with wealth and abundance, and many children, and peace with his brother who had wanted to kill him. Jacob’s life had to go completely off the rails, before it could be put on the right track.

Jacob had a son named Joseph. Joseph became the head official of the Egyptian Empire, second only to the Pharaoh. But he got to that position, only after spending years as a prisoner, sold into slavery by his own brothers because they were jealous of him.

From what we read about Joseph, he didn’t really do anything wrong. God wasn’t putting him through difficult circumstances to get his attention like he had done with his father Jacob. God already had Joseph’s attention. And because of that, he was able to use Joseph’s life as a powerful foreshadowing of Jesus. But that meant suffering, before it meant victory.

God let Joseph’s whole life go wrong on the floor of a dungeon, and then, he lifted him up out of the pit, by making him the Prime Minister of Egypt, and using his talents, and ingenuity to save millions of people from starvation, including his own brothers who had sold him into slavery.

It was those same brothers that Joseph spoke to in Genesis 50:20, saying to them, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”

300 years after Joseph died, the same thing happened, on a much larger scale. All of the Hebrews were slaves in Egypt. And God used Moses to bring them out of bondage and form them into their own nation.

Then there’s the Judges and the Kings. Their were those like Samson who was strong and powerful, but had to have his strength taken from him, and his eyes burned out, and his body put in chains – all so God could show Samson and his enemies where strength and power truly come from.

I mentioned King David already. We see this pattern play out many times as we read about his life in 1^st and 2^nd Samuel. His life was constantly falling apart, and going wrong, and each time, he came back stronger.

When he was still a teenager, he became stronger than all the fighting men in his nation. When he was a fugitive, God sheltered him. When he sinned, God forgave him. When he lost a child, God comforted him. Whenever David lost his way, the Lord was there, to pick him up, and set him on the right path again.

It’s David who wrote, in Psalm 30:1-5, “I will exalt you, LORD, for you lifted me out of the depths and did not let my enemies gloat over me. ²LORD my God, I called to you for help, and you healed me.³You, LORD, brought me up from the realm of the dead; you spared me from going down to the pit. ⁴Sing the praises of the LORD, you his faithful people; praise his holy name.⁵For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”

Sometimes things have to go wrong, before they can go right.

Moses led the Israelites into a dead end, so God could make a new path for them through the sea.

Jonah had to be eaten by a fish, so that the people of Nineveh could be saved.

Esther was forced into the harem of King Xerxes, so that she could become the queen and save her people from genocide.

Hezekiah had to be face to face with the entire Assyrian army on his front porch, so that God could give him a front row seat to their complete annihilation by one of his angels.

Jerusalem was destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar, so that Nehemiah could rebuild it for people who learned that the Lord gives, the Lord takes away, and the Lord gives again.

That’s the whole story of Job too. The Lord allowed Satan to take everything the man had – his wealth, his family, even his health. Where most of us would probably complain to God about something like, Job only said: “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; Blessed be the name of the Lord.” And then God gave it all back to him double.

We could go on identifying this same lesson in Bible stories all afternoon.

Peter denied that he knew Jesus, before realizing how much he loved him, and was willing to die for him.

Paul had to be struck blind, BEFORE he could truly see who Jesus was.

Jesus had to die in order to prove that he had authority over death. He had to sacrifice himself, so that all of us could be saved. Things had to go wrong for him, so that everything could go right for us.

It’s not easy for us to learn these kinds of lessons. We can read about them in Scripture, but it’s not until we really go through something difficult that we have the opportunity to understand them. The lessons become real. And we learn. We grow. And then we forget.

They’re easy to forget. And then we have to re-learn the lesson. It’s painful. It’s humbling. It sometimes feels like God is abandoning us.

Believe me, even as a minister, I have days where I get pretty upset with God. And when I do, I go to him with all the classic complaints. Why is this happening God? What are you doing to me? Where are you? Why does it feel like you’re not here?

And then, God reminds me that sometimes things have to go wrong, so that they can be made right again.

Every year, when we have our Basket Dinner… when we eat the fried chicken, and go listen to the music – I have my own commemoration that happens inside my thoughts.

I’ve talked about this several times before, but one of the other things Basket Dinner is about, is repetition. So, I’ll speak about it again, just for a moment.

When I first came to Dailey Chapel – 9 years go – it was not Basket Dinner Sunday. It was a few weeks later, in the last week of August. But I tend to reflect on my arrival here more, during the week of Basket Dinner, because it’s a time of thinking about what our Church is, and where it came from, and how it’s a blessing to all of us that we have this fellowship.

And as Mrs. Carmen Palma can attest – she later remarked that I was the saddest preacher she had ever met. And I certainly was very sad. I was so sad and broken down, that I have only ever told this story in small pieces over the years. That’s how I’ve processed what happened to me during the two years before I found Dailey Chapel, or Dailey Chapel found me. I’ve had to process it in small doses.

So, whenever I talk about it, it’s always in fragments. But I was very traumatized. And I know that word gets a little over-used a lot these days. But I’m pretty sure that I had some kind of post-traumatic stress, after experiencing two years at a church in Indianapolis that almost killed me.

And the stress from that had manifested physically in the fact that I was the most unhealthiest I had ever been. And a lot of that was my own fault. I wasn’t taking care of myself properly. And also, I was trying to take care of a lot of other people, and I wasn’t mature enough to handle that, or know how to set healthy boundaries. I thought I could be a hero, and I was humbled to discover, quite painfully, that I was just another person in need of saving. And eventually, I came to the realization that I could no longer serve as a minister in that church.

And when I finally made the decision to resign as the youth minister of that church, I went to the elders, and I had a good talk with them. I told them I felt that I needed to be somewhere else, where I could do something other than youth ministry, because you have to have a lot of energy to be a good youth minister.

You have to be physically capable of keeping up with the kids, and break up fights, and clean up messes, and do a lot of traveling. Some of that I couldn’t do, and some of it I just didn’t want to do anymore.

So, I went to the elders, and we agreed that I would keep working until they found someone else to replace me, or I found another job. And if nothing had happened in three months, we would reassess the situation. That was my agreement with the group of elders.

And the following week, they met in secret, without me, and decided to fire me – but they also agreed not to tell me I was fired, but just to let me keep working and figure it out when they didn’t pay me. They were banking on the fact that I would keep doing the job for free, as a volunteer.

Now, the associate minister at that time, was a friend of mine, and he knew me since I was a kid; he went to church with our family. And when he discovered the plot, he called and told me about the secret meeting and the decision of the elders, and how it was the Senior Pastor’s idea. And I was stunned. I felt betrayed.

And I did confront the Pastor about it, directly, to his face. I told him, I couldn’t believe how he was treating me that way, like I was trash, especially after all the work I had done for the church. And he didn’t say anything. He had no response at all.

And that was the end of my youth ministry career. I did still maintain my connection with a number of the high school kids, that I was closest to. I didn’t need to be paid to be friends with those kids.

But I did need another job. And I needed to get healthy. And it took me almost a year to find Dailey Chapel. In the meantime, I had an online job doing editing for a Bible software company, and I did some other stuff to get by; I was an Uber driver for a little while.

I had just bought a car the month before I lost my job. So, I had to do whatever I could. I was selling all my collectibles, my massive Star Wars collection, my comic books, my video games, and all the stuff that I had collected over the years to one day pass along to my kids – if I ever had them.

But it wasn’t enough, so I had moments where things were pretty scary. I was struggling to make the car payments. It was repossessed once, but some friends got it back for me. A couple of my best friends, who are missionary teachers, and were in South Korea at the time, were sending me money so I could get by. A neighbor across the street who had been my grade school principal, and the super intendant of my high school, brought dinner to me one evening. He heard it through the grapevine that I was struggling, and still living in my parents’ house, which had been foreclosed. A few other people that had been close to my parents also brought food to me so I could eat. It was very humiliating, but I was so thankful for their generosity.

In short, I was barely scraping by. And I was getting really tired of life in the process.

A person can only take so much humiliation before they start to think about ending it all. And I was alone, most of the time, without anyone to talk to or encourage me. My home church was really big. And I was just another face in the crowd. I could go there and be among 500 people and never talk to anyone. But to be completely honest, I didn’t go most of the time. Because I felt like I was a failure. I felt ashamed. And no church wanted to hire me. I had a Bible college degree in Biblical Studies and Missions, and a Master’s in Theology and Church History… and a great deal of practical ministry experience. And I couldn’t get a job because I wasn’t married at the time.

So, I almost gave up. I contemplated suicide. I really gave it some thought. Now, looking back, I believe there were demonic forces attacking me pretty persistently with that kind of thinking. But, I stayed in my Bible, I kept praying – and God sent me enough life-lines to get me through each day. One day at a time.

And, by some miracle, I held on long enough for Tim Dickey (the chairman of the board, and the Commissioner Gordon of Dailey Chapel) to respond to my desperate email for a chance to be considered their next minister.

Yes… that means, that I am the Batman in this story.

And here we are, 9 years later. And I consider all that to be just as much a part of our church’s history, as all the rest of it.

Sometimes, things have to go completely wrong, before they can be made right. Basket Dinner is a time for remembering the history of our Church, and what has been given to us, through the Lord’s providence, from those who came before.

And for me personally, it’s also about remembering my own history with this church. And what I was before I found them, and what they have given me since then.

A fire had burned up just about everything in my life, except my faith. And Dailey Chapel has helped me to rebuild it, stronger than it ever was before.

Some of you are going through things now that are rough and unpleasant to say the least. Some of you have lost family, some have lost friends. Some of you have health issues that are causing you pain or making life more difficult. Others of you have people in your lives that are going through terrible suffering and you don’t know what to say to them.

And that’s to say nothing of all the chaos and confusion and hatred we see happening in the world outside.

Christ is the only answer we have. He’s the only answer we need. Keep following him. Keeping moving forward. If we are in Christ – if we belong to Him – if we stay in the vine, then there is purpose and meaning behind all of the pain and suffering and brokenness and death.

He’s already made everything right – we’re just in the process of learning it right now.

I’ll close today with Paul’s words from 2^nd Corinthians 4:16-18. “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. ¹⁷For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.¹⁸So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

BREAKING NEWS: Non-Christians Behave Like Non-Christians

I want to say at the outset of this, that I intend no disrespect to my brothers and sisters in Christ – fellow pastors and teachers, or otherwise. But, I am concerned over the level of mud-slinging and stone-throwing that I’ve been seeing online over the past couple of days, in regards to the opening ceremony of the Olympics in Paris, France.

The specific part of the event in question involved an on-stage, live reenactment of what appears to be Leonardo da Vinci’s famous mural The Last Supper, painted about 500 years ago – with the obvious modification being that the “disciples” are depicted as a group of flamboyant drag queens.

Ha. Ha. Ha. Good one… You really got us.

This, somewhat ironically, reminds me of a story from the Book of Acts. I say it’s ironic, because it occurred in Chapter 17, when the Apostle Paul found himself strolling through the city of Athens – which happens to be the place where the first modern Olympic Games were held in the Spring of 1896.

As often occurred on his epic missionary journeys across the Mediterranean, Paul went directly into the most public places of town to make his plea on behalf of Christ. Paul’s method of public preaching in the open squares was not unusual, offensive, or disrespectful. It was common at the time, especially in a city like Athens, for teachers to philosophize openly among the masses to anyone willing to listen, and even to invite criticism which would lead to further discussion and debate on the topic at hand.

Make no mistake, Paul was “greatly distressed to see that the city was full of idols,” as we’re told in 17:16 [NIV]. But although this idolatry provoked him, he didn’t allow himself to be overtaken by anger and bitterness. It’s completely reasonable (for those among us who believe that Christianity is being mocked) to feel provoked, distressed, or offended by the actions of non-Christians, but it’s important that we leave those feelings at the foot of the Cross, and that OUR ACTIONS reflect Christ’s response to such things.

“To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps. ²²“He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth.” ²³When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats” (1^st Peter 2:21-23 [NIV]).

That’s how Paul responded to being offended. He presented the Gospel boldly but respectfully. And in his explanation, he even used the idolatry he witnessed as an avenue to reach the hearts of those listening to him. Look at what he says to the pagan citizens of Athens in Acts 17:22-23 –

²²So Paul, standing in the midst of the Areopagus, said: “Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious. ²³For as I passed along and observed the objects of your worship, I found also an altar with this inscription: ‘To the unknown god.’ What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you.” [ESV]

Paul’s reaction to the idolatry in Athens led to mockery by some, further inquiry and curiosity from others, and to the conversions of a few (17:32-34).

What would the outcome have been if Paul had allowed his distress to turn into vocal outrage? When I see my fellow pastors reacting to modern paganism in such ways, I think to myself, “Come on, guys, we can do better.”

In 2^nd Corinthians 4:2, Paul says that, “The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel that displays the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.”

And in 1^st Corinthians 2:14 he says, “The person without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God but considers them foolishness, and cannot understand them because they are discerned only through the Spirit.”

Taken together, the overall point is that if a person is an unbeliever they do not have the light of God’s Spirit to show them the way of life. Even if their intention is to directly mock our faith, “they know not what they do.”

It’s our job to be Christ’s ambassadors in this world – to shine the light of truth, and to bring the love. We’re not living under the Old Covenant. We’re living under the New one. The “goliaths” that we have to fight are our own pride and self-righteousness.

We have to stop thinking about non-Christians in worldly terms – like it’s “us” versus “them.” There’s too many of you allowing the vitriol occurring in the political realm of this world to dictate your words and actions. Stop taking the bait. The enemy craves your outrage and your stone-throwing, because that’s what elevates his kingdom. You aren’t winning any souls by shouting about your lack of “Christian rights.” The Gospel doesn’t say we’re entitled to “Christian rights” in this world. It says we have a King, whose Kingdom “is not of this world” (John 18:36).

There’s all kinds of things in this world, and in our modern culture that are offensive to us. And these people making a parody of a painting of The Last Supper is not the worst of them. It’s actually kind of lame. Mel Brooks did a much better job of it in History of the World: Part 1 (1981).

I’m sure there were people that got upset about that one at the time too. So lastly, I’ll say this: If you’re too hurt and offended by this kind of thing, the answer is really simple: Don’t watch it.

The Churchmare Before Christmas

It was the night before Christmas, when up at the church,
the preacher had arrived for a midnight search.

In his office among all the books and the notes,
he’d stashed his old sermons in some small plastic totes.

Christmas Sunday was tomorrow, it was almost here,
and the preacher was taken by that preacherly fear…

That he had no sermon for that Christmas Day,
that he had no words, and nothing special to say.

So he’d gone to the church in the middle of the night
despite the dark and the risk of frostbite,

to find and old story that he’d written a few years before…
It was about Silent Night during the First World War.

But he just couldn’t find it, in all of his files.
It wasn’t in his computer or in his office stockpiles.

Defeated and tired he looked at the clock; what would he do?
He had no sermon, and it was half past two.

And so, disappointed he sat down, in his brown leather chair,
and he bowed his head to say a desperate prayer.

But the church was dark, and it was warm and quite cozy,
and before he knew it, he was feeling a bit dozy.

As sometimes happens, when we last resort to pray,
we happen to fall asleep and wake up the next day.

And thus away he went into Never Never Land,
and lost several more hours in a way he hadn’t planned.

When he finally woke up and regained his sense,
he discovered that Sunday service was about to commence…

Everything seemed normal; the lights were all on, and all was in place.
So he just rose from his chair, and put on his best poker-face.

Then he took a look around, and he surveyed the room.
It was no longer dark and shrouded like a tomb.

It was full of brightness; it was calm and serene.
Annette and Carson had swept up the dust, and made it all clean.

There was the hand sanitizer placed by the foyer with care—
since the Spring of 2020 it was the same bottle that had been there.

The children had gone with Karlie and Kloe down the stairs,
to learn about Jesus, and to say their prayers.

Ben Jackson was there nestled, all snug in his pew,
after arriving at church early, to make good use of the loo.

But something was still missing, something was still wrong—
the thing that had made the Preacher, pry himself out of bed hours before dawn…

He had no sermon, so what would he say?
This was no ordinary service, this was on Christmas Day!

Well, Doctor Nicholas and the Wheats could tell with one look,
that the Preacher was sweating when he opened the good book.

The Nepotes, and Lunsfords, the Natale’s, and Sandy, and Alicia too,
the preacher looked at them and wondered, if they could tell… if they knew…

And what about all the others? He glanced all around,
but he was only humbled by all the smiles he found.

Mary Kay and Sarah were right where they always sat.
Vicki and Julia – across the aisle from where the Engle’s used to sit beside Pat.

At the piano was one of five people – (I didn’t know when I wrote this story)
if it was gonna be Grant, Terri, Carmen, Judy, or Lori.

Roseann was all ready to call out the first song,
as Jerry once did for the congregation to sing along.

George was smiling, with a twinkle in his eye,
I think he knew what was up, but he was too kind to ask why.

The Harpolds were there, in the second row on the right…
wondering if the Preacher was feeling alright.

They said hello, and they smiled as they usually did,
just like Karen, and the Cox’s, and Carson the kid.

Michael, Angie, and the Dickeys were all there in their pew,
as patient and faithful as Farmer Shew.

And back in the back like Ebenezer’s Stone,
sat Mr. Chet – sometimes with Kailynn, but never alone.

There was the Jukes’, and Ginni, and Jalen too,
and let’s not forget little Sylvie, the Christmas pooh.

But where was Jordan? He’d been here before…
we all missed him and his track suit of soft red velour.

But we also missed others, like old Jim Trout,
and some that were still with us, but they were out and about.

Where had they gone, what had taken them away?
Well, I don’t really know, but maybe we’ll see them again on Easter Sunday.

But, even though some were gone, new ones had come along—
little ones that to our Lord belong; they are weak, but he is strong!

There was the Methenys, and the Kelleys, and the Overpecks, and their brood—
who always came prepared with toys, and with food.

The Preacher was thankful for all of the people,
because to really have church you didn’t need a building or a steeple.

They had the main things – faith, hope, and love.
And they were thankful for all of their blessings from above.

But the time had arrived for the preacher to speak,
and with no message to give, he hung his head low, and was feeling quite bleak…

Then all of the sudden, from out in the parking lot, there arose such a clatter
that he sprang from the pulpit to see what was the matter!

Away to the window… (he didn’t fly, let’s be honest) he went slow…
This Preacher moves like a tortoise, as by now you all know.

But the sun was shining, and there was a sheen of fallen snow,
that gave the gloss of mid-day to the tombstones below.

When, what to his wondering ears did he hear?
It was Farmer Seth arriving on a brand new John-Deere!

He rushed to his pew, so lively and quick,
and right behind him, through the door came the 3rd Domenic.

But they weren’t the only ones arriving at church
causing Rhonda, and Brenda to jump aside with a lurch.

‘Here they come!’ Yelled Sue Weber, as she chuckled and smiled
at the little ones who ran up the stairs fast and wild.

Up out of the basement, like reindeer they came,
as Tim and Lori whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

Now, Cadence. Now, Leila. Now, Raegan. Now, Norah and Avery,
Tate, Jack, George, Henry, Hazel and Maizee…

But, in all the excitement, the Preacher had almost forgot
that he had no message… or so he thought…

And that’s when, without warning, he woke up and he found
that he had slipped out of his chair, and was lying on the ground.

The whole thing was a dream, thank the Lord for his mercy,
he had just fallen asleep and there was no need for controversy!

So, he picked himself up, and walked to the door,
but before he left, he looked back, and he thought once more…

How it made him feel dreary, and it made him feel bad,
but it was true; without people – this building could be really sad.

And more than that, it could sometimes be really scary—
in the dark, with the shadows, and the old cemetery.

It was the people who made this, into a place that was bright.
And without them here, even with lamps, there would be no light.

For the Lord to be here, it takes only a few.
That’s what he said, in the 18th Chapter of Matthew.

That was the message that this preacher would stress
when Christmas morning arrived in a few hours or less.

That Christ is with us, when we gather together, and invoke his name.
And it’s the Spirit that ignites, within us, a flame.

Whether it’s Christmas, or Easter, or Halloween,
or any of the other days that fall in between…

The Lord has come, he has died, he has risen again—
And all the host of heaven, has declared AMEN!

And this is the message we have all heard the same:
If we walk in His light, we are cleansed from our shame.

But if we ignore him, and decide to walk elsewhere,
The day will come; we’ll wake up, but we’ll be inside a nightmare.

And so that was the message, he’d preach on Christmas morn—
The story of Christ’s death, not just when he was born.

Then the Preacher went home, and he wrote it all down…
And he got up the next morning and he drove out of town.

He went back to the Church on that Christmas Day,
and his sermon had everything, he wanted to say.

Now, that sermon, was not the story I tell.
That message came from a much deeper well.

This poem is nothing much more than a tribute,
and I beg your pardon as I attempt to distribute…

But that is the story of just one Christmas, up on this hill.
There were many before, and there may be many still, if the Lord tarries, and if, it be His will.

You can also listen to this poem on Soundcloud:

The Theology of Pulp Fiction

One of the good things about getting older is being able to look back and see things from the past with a little more clarity than I did the first time around. I think this is often how we learn things in life. I suppose it’s similar to the difference between walking around in the middle of a city, and then driving away from it and being able to see the whole place from a distance, even as it fades into the rearview. That’s one of the reasons I like to re-watch movies I’ve seen several times before—especially those that I first saw a long time ago. The passage of time seems to create enough distance for me to see the same films with a completely different perspective.

In regards to the movies that I’ve enjoyed the most over the years, this change in my perspective is most notable in Quentin Tarantino’s 1994 classic, Pulp Fiction. It won an Oscar for best screenplay the following year, launched Tarantino out of relative obscurity, and made him one of the best-known directors in Hollywood. I didn’t know any of this at the time, nor did I care in the least bit. I’ve made mention before of all the great movies that came out of 1994—The Shawshank Redemption, Forrest Gump, Speed, Reality Bites, Dumb and Dumber, and many others—but Pulp Fiction didn’t ping my radar that year. I saw it for the first time a few years later, just around the time I graduated from high school, and even then, I can’t say that I was particularly blown away by it.

That’s not to say it wasn’t mesmerizing in a strange sort of way. The dialogue between the characters in Pulp Fiction was without parallel when it came out. I had never heard anything like it in a movie before, and I don’t believe I have heard conversations done that way in any other film since. Tarantino himself, though landing closer to the mark than any other screenwriter, still hasn’t managed to completely reproduce the same kind of discourse to the same degree in his subsequent films (this is only my opinion of course). It’s the kind of language that is extremely mundane, disgustingly appalling at times, intentionally offensive, and still a masterful work of unparalleled artistic genius—all at the same time. I picked up on this a little bit as a teenager, but I lacked the perspective needed at the time to really appreciate it for what it was.

Along with the aforementioned dialogue, I should probably say something as well about the unusual sequencing of the film. Pulp Fiction has four separate stories that are interwoven with one another, and yet it’s cut and edited in a way that presents these stories to the viewer out of chronological order. What’s more, is that there is nothing overtly obvious within the film itself to let us know that the chronology has been doctored in such a way. Each section of the movie presents a title card before it commences, but there is nothing on any of them to denote what order we’re watching them in. You have to pick up on this entirely from the context of the story itself. The first time I saw it I wasn’t even aware of this cinematic jigsaw puzzle until halfway through the movie, and even then, it took a few more viewings until I was able to piece all of it together properly.

Anyway, I suppose I’m not writing about Pulp Fiction now because of the intriguing dialogue and unusual sequencing… those were obvious innovations in filmmaking that I noticed back in the day. Even then, I appreciated the conversations about the serious nature of foot massages, McDonalds restaurants in Europe, and captured American pilots in Vietnamese prison camps hiding precious family heirlooms inside their anal cavities to avoid confiscation. Nope… I’m writing about Pulp Fiction now, because somehow, in the middle of all that other stuff, I managed to miss the central message of the film entirely.

Pulp Fiction is one of the most theologically engaging spectacles I have ever seen. It took me 20 years (and a MA degree in Theology) to realize this, mostly because it’s not anywhere near the type of movie in which you might remotely expect to find an intense examination of theological concepts—but there it is: a glaring discourse about God—sitting squarely at its center, amidst a maze of vignettes, characters, and language that would turn away anyone who might naturally be looking for this type of thing in a Hollywood film. I’ve been in the Church my whole life, and I can say with an unrestrained amount of certainty, that most of the Church folks I’ve known would never watch this film all the way through. Which is perfectly ok… it’s just a movie after all and I completely understand that sentiment. I think many Christians, even after making it past the R-rating, would be immediately turned off by the first exchange of dialogue and the dozen or so F-bombs that would be waiting eagerly to greet them within the first 10 minutes. But this is the great paradox of Pulp Fiction—that in the middle of all the nastiness and human depravity on full, unapologetic display—it has something to say about God, forgiveness, redemption, and divine judgment, that is profoundly Christian to its very core.

Among the four separate stories being portrayed in Pulp Fiction, there is one situated at the theological center of the movie—this is the story about the two hitmen—Vincent played by John Travolta, and Jules played by Samuel L. Jackson. These two guys are brutal, violent, loathsome individuals. It’s obvious from the opening sequence of the movie that they have been murdering people for a living long enough to be completely numb to what they’re doing, and that they perhaps even enjoy it. None-the-less, these guys are professionals through and through. They have business to conduct, and they do it ruthlessly, without the slightest bit of hesitation or remorse.

Near the beginning of the film Jules and Vincent experience something that sets up the theological debate that we see them engaging in as the story progresses. We’re not supposed to like these kinds of people at all, and yet, this experience they share, and their conflicting interpretations of what it means, makes us extremely interested in what happens to them afterwards.

The dialogue between Jules and Vincent, from that point forward, is a debate about the significance of what they’ve experienced together. Jules interprets the experience as a miraculous, direct intervention from God himself. Vincent, on the other hand, interprets it as a random freak occurrence. The two of them eventually part ways over the incident, because Jules decides that he has experienced God’s grace so thoroughly that it demands a response from him. And his response is to leave behind his life as a vile hitman and follow a different path. At the end of the film we see actual proof that Jules has decided to lead a different kind of life—that his encounter with God is genuine. He knows that God has given him a way out of the path of destruction he’s been on for so long. And he proves that he has accepted God’s grace by, in turn, extending grace to the couple in the diner who try to rob him. After successfully disarming the man and getting the woman to surrender, he gives them all the money he has anyway. Then he lets them go in peace. This is the beginning of his life lived in a state of redemption. His story goes on to places and people we don’t see. We don’t know what exactly happens to him after that.

Vincent, however, is a completely different story. We know exactly what happens to Vincent, because the film, in its out-of-sequence order has already shown us his fate. He concludes that nothing about his life needs to change. He sees no evidence of God, and thus, no need to repent of his life of murder and drug addiction. He goes right on living the same life as if nothing happened. Moreover, and in perfect harmony with the overall theme of grace, after he makes this decision he goes on to witness a similar thing happen to someone else in the character of Mia Wallace (played by Uma Thurman)—who is miraculously delivered from the jaws of certain death when Vincent plunges a syringe full of adrenaline into her heart to save her from a drug overdose. Yet even this second experience is not enough to wake him up. He will go on being a hitman, and this fateful decision will eventually lead him directly to his own death. Sorry for the spoilers.

I don’t really feel like going into as much detail concerning Bruce Willis’s character Butch, but the vignette involving him is an additional example of how grace is a powerful antidote to hatred and contempt, even among bitter enemies. When faced with the opportunity to leave the man trying to kill him in the midst of torture and death, he instead chooses to go back and save him. This act of grace provides him with the chance at a completely new life, just as it did with Jules.

Anyway, those are my thoughts on this old classic from Tarantino. The director has never, to my knowledge, made mention of any personal faith that he may or may not have, and in the 25 years since its release, I’ve never heard anyone else talk about this aspect of Pulp Fiction, but it’s obvious that this was the intended message of the film. Grace, when experienced, demands a response, and our choice of response, whether to extend grace to others, or to recoil further into our natural state of moral filthiness, determines the kind of life we will live, and what we leave behind us as we go.

This, my friends, is an echo of the message that Jesus left us. Christ has provided and demonstrated a stunning act of divine forgiveness and grace for all human beings. The only question is how we respond to it.

Hammering this theme home is the final (chronologically last) shot of the film which literally spells it out for us:

The Book of Eli

This is one of my top 5 favorite films of all time.

~~Originally posted on August 6, 2017~~

Sometimes, really good movies aren’t just something you watch – they’re something that happens to you. The first time I saw this past week’s movie it was quite an experience – mostly because it was a spontaneous decision, and I had no clue what it was about as I walked into the theater. It was a cold night in February of 2010, and I had gone to the movies to escape the rest of my life for a couple of hours. I used to do that more often when I lived around a lot of people. I couldn’t explain why, but sometimes I would just feel a need to get away, to be alone, to not have to talk to anyone, to rest and think. I’ve since learned that this is normal introvert behavior. That particular night my house had filled up with so many people that I couldn’t move. I was standing in the kitchen, watching as wave after wave of college students began devouring the meal I had spent half the day preparing. I was glad for my part in feeding them, and felt a deep satisfaction in my soul – and also an intense urge to quietly exit through the backdoor that I had been slowly pushed up against. So I did. And 10 minutes later I was sitting in an almost empty theater waiting to see what in the world The Book of Eli was about.

The movie pulled me in really slowly as it introduced me to Denzel Washington’s character (Eli) – a man walking alone through a post apocalyptic wasteland, bedding down for the night in some old shack as he carefully stokes to life the remaining juice in a scratched and scarred generation one iPod. He’s listening to Al Green’s – How Can You Mend a Broken Heart, and it contains the first words you hear in the movie, providing the background chorus to the drama about to unfold on the screen. It tells us what is going on inside this strange character we’re being introduced to – it’s a very sad lament – the honest prayer of a man who has had his heart ripped out, and is desperately crying out for a reason to keep going. The song reflects the scarred over wounds we see on Eli’s body as he changes his shirt and settles in for the night.

Eventually you learn that Eli has been carrying something of great value for the past 30 years – the last remaining Bible to exist in North America. There had been some kind of war in the past that ended with the victors destroying all the rest of them. Conflict ensues when Eli encounters the villain of the story, a crafty warlord named Carnegie – played by Gary Oldman – who just so happens to be in search of a Bible. Every day he sends out raiding parties to scour the surrounding wastelands in the hope of finding one. When these two characters meet each other, all Hell literally breaks loose.

I won’t venture into much more detail about the plot, but at the core of this film is the examination of something that Christianity has had to wrestle with since the 4th century when it became the official religion of the Roman Empire, and something it’s still dealing with today – the clash between genuine religious experience and the perversion of it by political entities that seek to use religion as a tool of manipulation to gain or maintain power over people. At the time, I was getting my Master’s Degree in Church History (which is also an examination between these two opposing forces), and I found it very impressive that the history of Christianity was so elegantly captured and personified through the drama unfolding between these two movie characters.

Carnegie’s christianity is political. Eli’s is personal. Carnegie wants to use the Bible to gain more power over people. Eli wants to find a place where people have the freedom to discover the Bible on their own terms. Carnegie wants to use it like a weapon to manipulate the masses. Eli wants to preserve its integrity as a beacon of hope. In the middle of this conflict is Solara – the adopted daughter and slave of Carnegie. It’s her character that brings hope and brightness into the story as she escapes the abusive confines of her home to follow after Eli and eventually latch onto the same almighty power that drives him.

When the credits rolled I couldn’t believe what I had seen. I think it’s very very difficult for filmmakers to make a religious-themed movie that is not only well done, but that doesn’t come across as cheesy, or that doesn’t entirely miss the point of what faith is even about. I shudder inside when I think of all the bad – and I mean terrible – Christian movies that elevate mediocrity and overall suckiness to an art form. And thankfully, the twin brothers Allen and Albert Hughes made one that rises above that kind of canned nonsense.

I didn’t just watch their film that night all those years ago – I felt it.

And that is why I give The Book of Eli 5 Coffstars , 4 Coff-buds , 2 Coff-tickets , 2 hallelujah amens , and 1 cat-kabob

The Bodyguard

This past week my Costner marathon took me to a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away… Just kidding. It only took me to 1992, but I actually had not seen this one before, and it was written by one of my favorite screenwriters – Lawrence Kasdan. At last count, Kasdan has written more Star Wars films than George Lucas, or anyone else for that matter, including my favorite The Empire Strikes Back. He was also the writer for one of my favorite westerns – Silverado – as well as Raiders of the Lost Ark. There’s quite a diverse collection of films in his trophy case, including The Bodyguard.

Like I said, I had never seen this movie before, though I was very aware of it because of its music which has immortalized five of Whitney Houston’s hit singles on what is still the best-selling film soundtrack of all time. If you were looking to set the mood for a romantic evening back in the 90s, or you were pining for a lost love – you didn’t have to look any further than Whitney’s version of “I Will Always Love You,” which was a remake of Dolly Parton’s original tune, yet arguably the best recorded version of the song. Side note: I was neither pining for lost love nor attempting to generate romance in 1992, as I had only recently discovered comic books… “two roads diverged in a wood, and I–I took the one less traveled by,” you might say.

So anyway, unlike the previous Costner films I’ve reviewed so far, I went into this one with a fresh set of eyes, and a desire to finally see this movie which had eluded my view for so many years. And I was glad I did.

The plot is pretty straightforward. Whitney Houston dons the guise of a mega-famous singer named Rachel Marron who I would imagine isn’t that different from her real self at the time – when she was at the height of her career. Because of threats from an unknown stalker her manager hires Frank Farmer (Costner), a former secret service agent under the Reagan administration. What is not as straightforward as the plot, is the dynamic relationship between these two characters. There’s a lot of grit in the details of what ends up becoming the love story of two people who are as different as two people can be. They are complete opposites who journey together long enough to reach a place of complete trust with one another. Kasdan reverses the traditional order of the classic ‘Beauty and the Beast’ love story here by taking his characters first to a place of passionate romance, then to friendship, then to understanding, admiration, and trust. I’m not sure that it works quite as well on screen as the traditional avenue of trust, admiration, understanding, friendship, and then romance, but what does work is the complicated messiness of it all, the realness of the emotions spilling out of Costner and Houston, and the paradoxical beauty of two worlds colliding, smashing each other to pieces, and then being rebuilt into something new.

One of the things I really appreciate about older movies is that the Christological metaphors are usually not as subtle or as hidden as they often seem to be in newer films. That’s definitely the case with The Bodyguard. While the plot, as mentioned, is a non-traditional love story between two opposites, the wider meta-narrative is a compact declaration of one of the main themes in all of Scripture – best summed up by the Apostle Paul when he instructed the men he was addressing to, “love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” If you suspect I might be reaching a little too hard for this metaphor, take note of the very end of the film which closes with the prayer of a priest holding up a cross and echoing a portion of the 23rd Psalm, “even though we may pass through the valley of the shadow of death, you are with us, guiding and protecting us.” Houston and Costner, having both grown up in the Baptist Church, knew exactly what movie they were making, and how timeless a story it really was.

Field of Dreams

It was the summer of 1987. All the stories about baseball seem to begin with reminiscing about what year it was, so I figure I’ll start with that. It was the summer of 1987, and the Hazelwood Hoosiers baseball team were celebrating their championship victory over the Pee Wee League. My dad was one of the coaches which makes it especially sentimental when I think back on it now. We had gone undefeated at 15-0 and quickly swept the tourney. Having reached the end of my three years in the league, and about to turn the grizzled old age of 10, there was nothing left for this right-fielder to achieve. So I decided to retire while I was at the peak of my career. For the next several years I just kicked back and enjoyed watching occasional games with my dad, or going to see the minor league Indianapolis Indians play at the old Bush Stadium from time to time. I even had a decent collection of cards and a Colorado Rockies cap. In a time when DVR recording wasn’t yet invented, the World Series always took precedence on our living room television set during evenings in the Fall. My memories of those times are all mingled together with campfires and the Charle Brown Halloween special. Even as I grew into my teenage years baseball was still magical.

Then The Strike happened. The Major League Baseball strike of August 1994 became the longest strike in MLB history, and it killed the postseason and the World Series – something that had not happened in 90 years. It was all about money of course… Millionaire players and millionaire owners were fighting over who was going to have just a little bit more. It was a disgusting display of greed that played out over months and laid bare an ugliness that had been festering below the surface of the game for some time I suppose. Eventually it was settled so everyone could go back to being millionaires again. But the damage had been done, and for me, there was no going back. When that summer was over, and the dust had settled, my love of baseball had been shattered. What was sacred had been profaned, trampled upon, and broken beyond repair. There was no longer any magic in it for me. Maybe I took it too personal, but I felt as if something had been stolen from me. That’s what greed does to things that are beautiful – it takes them away. It destroys them.

Then I saw The Sandlot one morning and a part of that magic found its way back into my heart. It was like uncovering an old treasure to discover that there were some movies out there about baseball that were somehow able to capture and contain the essence of the game – the purity that exists underneath when all the other stuff is pealed away. These films are idealizations of the values, history, and sentiments that baseball conjures up for us. There was one in particular that my 10th grade English teacher showed to us in class the year following the end of The Strike – Field of Dreams – and it is, perhaps, the purest and most elegant example of this.

Field of Dreams told me a story about what baseball really was at its core – not a sport – but a religious experience.

The film opens with Kevin Costner’s character Ray Kinsella standing in the middle of his Iowa cornfield hearing a voice. You probably already know what the voice said to him. It’s been echoing in my mind all week. “If you build it, he will come.” Sometimes, my mind likes to play puzzles and alter the words for me, so I end up hearing things like, “if you put it in the fridge, it will get cold,” or, “if you do the laundry now, you don’t have to do it tomorrow,” and my personal favorite, “if you let the dog poo in the park when no one is looking, you don’t have to pick it up.” But anyway, I’m getting off track a little bit. Back to Field of Dreams… It’s interesting to note that the morning after Ray first hears “the voice” he walks into the kitchen to discover that his daughter is watching an old black and white movie. We catch a brief glimpse of James Stewart from 1950, insisting that he’s talking to an invisible six foot rabbit named Harvey. Ray shuts the movie off, insisting to his daughter that it’s no laughing matter to hear something invisible talking to you. Eventually Ray has a vision that instructs him to build a baseball diamond in his cornfield. He proceeds to do so with the support of his wife and daughter, provoking the ire of the townsfolk and his brother-in-law in the process. Once completed, the field becomes a sanctuary in which players of the past come to find redemption and peace. You can interpret all this in many ways I suppose, but I like to think of Ray as a prophet of sorts, listening to the voice of God and obediently carrying out his instructions. The Bible is full of people hearing God’s voice, doing what He says even though it sounds crazy, and causing the people who are watching on the sidelines to lose their minds. As Ray says during the opening monologue, “Until I heard the voice, I’d never done a crazy thing in my whole life.” Along the way he hears a few other things from “the voice,” and it leads him to find James Earl Jones and Burt Lancaster – both playing the roles of aging acolytes in search of redemption themselves.

The beauty of the allegory here is that it’s not just in the film – it’s in baseball itself – and the movie is just a parable that’s showing us what has always been there. The ball field is like a church building. There’s the stands, the outfield, the infield, and there’s home base. These all mirror the essential parts of temples going back to ancient times. Solomon’s temple in Jerusalem once had an outer court, an inner court, and a Holy Place – and a Most Holy Place. Many of our churches today have a parking lot, a foyer, a sanctuary, and a communion table and baptistry at the center. In these places of worship, as on the ball field, people, friends, and families from the community gather together to participate in the same experience. There’s a structure to it all. There’s a rhythm. There is a set of rules that have been agreed upon – and there are guidelines that have been handed down to us from previous generations to show us how to follow them. There are emblems that give meaning, focus, form, and provide function for what is happening. In baseball we call these emblems the ball, the bat, the bases, the gloves. In the Church they are the Cross on the wall, the trays that hold the Communion Bread, the cups that contain the juice. Everyone has their place. Everyone has their own position to play. Everyone participates in some way. There’s the pitcher, the catcher, the batter, the basemen, the shortstop, the outfielders, the coaches, and the Ump. No one messes with the Ump. Even the spectators who aren’t directly playing in the game are invested in its outcome. There’s an energy to it all, an invisible force that pulls everyone together and puts them all on the same page for a few hours or so. It’s a spiritual experience. In its purest form there is no competition – only camaraderie, fellowship, and sharing time together – that’s the original intent anyway. It’s not really a game. It’s a sacred dance of worship. And in these sacred places, in the midst of the experience, encapsulated by memories, is an awareness of our connection to those who were here before us – those who shared time together and observed the rituals faithfully… those who found redemption on the field.

Like Ray Kinsella with his baseball field, we participate in our rituals as a means of re-connecting with our Father as well. And we do it to try and better understand what redemption really is, what it means, and how it will, in the end, take us all back to home base.

BEATLES Mug

My dad really likes this mug. I’ll admit, The Beatles have never been my favorite band, but I do enjoy their timelessly catchy tunes as much as the next average joe. Of course enough has already been said about them and the deep imprint they have left in the history of modern music and culture–I couldn’t possibly say anything new about all that. But for me personally, when I hear The Beatles (or drink coffee out of their yellow submarine), it brings back memories of all the music my dad and mom listened to… Especially the music they listened to when I was a kid, and the stations they would tune into during long trips in our family’s old Astro mini-van. I remember hearing as much Elvis and Creedence Clearwater Revival as I did The Beatles. Sometimes my mom would bring her cassette tapes and Amy Grant would all the sudden find herself doing an encore for The Beach Boys. I was too young to understand or care about the differences. My parents’ music all blended together. One moment we’d be listening to John Denver sing “Rocky Mountain High” and the next we would be hearing tunes from the traveling Gospel quartet who had been visiting our church a week earlier, peddling their cassette tapes along the way. My parents religiously (pun intended) bought the tapes of every person and group that came through our church–I’m not kidding. A few years ago I found a box that had close to a hundred cassettes in it–all from people who had visited our church over the years to share their music.

The point is… My parents didn’t play music, and they didn’t sing either, but they loved to listen and they loved to collect it. And they taught me to explore the art form on my own, and to discover for myself what I liked and what I didn’t. I think I was in 5th or 6th grade when I started really getting into music enough to want to own the stuff I liked. My parents would buy me blank cassettes, and then I would record stuff right off the radio. I remember hearing the DJ on 99.5 WZPL announce a song that was about to come on, and I would dash across the room so I could hit Play & Record on the tape deck. And my older cousins had tapes that they would let me copy. My cousin Toby introduced me to Bon Jovi’s “Slippery When Wet” — changed my life. That was back when Jon Bon Jovi was an actual rockstar, before someone kidnapped him and removed all the testosterone from his body.

My early musical tastes were widely diverse. By the time I was in high school I was practically in love with Amy Grant, because I had been hearing her sing since I was in kindergarten. But that didn’t stop me from listening to Soundgarden or Metallica, and REO Speedwagon when no one else was around. I remember one time I was in an IRC music store with my dad, and he was letting me pick out an album for my birthday–I chose “Appetite for Destruction” by the infamous Guns N’ Roses. He just shook his head and said, “OK, but don’t show mom.”

Like I said, my parents really let me figure the whole music thing out on my own. When I was young, I heard what they liked, and as I grew older, they gave me the freedom and independence to decide what kinds of music I liked. Just because they didn’t like something, or because some dumb televangelist like Jimmy Swaggart said it was evil, didn’t mean they would stop me from listening to it. And I’m so grateful for that now. They never bought into all the crap about “christian” music versus “secular” music, and how non-Christian music was all from the devil. My youth pastor and his wife were the opposite of my parents when it came to music. They were good people, and I learned some good things from them, but their views on music were not among the lessons I chose to retain. I always thought it was kind of funny that they cared so much about it. I mean, at the outset of every trip we took, they would assign a student to go around checking everyone’s music to make sure no one had anything non-Christian with them. It was fascist and imperial. And we all know the proper response to something imperial–(thank you, Star Wars.) So I made it my mission to sneak as much non-Christian music as I could on board the church bus. And I was successful at it too. I was a supplier for the handful of other “rebels” as well. How did I accomplish this? How was I so great at smuggling contraband past the music police? Simple. My parents would let me use the outer cases of their Christian music CDs and cassettes to camouflage my music on the inside. When they came around to check my music, they would just see Michael W. Smith, Carmen, and of course Amy Grant… Never knowing that inside was Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and The Doors. Well, ok… Some of the Amy Grant cases actually had the Amy Grant cassettes in them.

Of course when I journeyed off to Christian college, things were on a whole new level. There was no actual rule against having non-Christian music, just a heavy fog of rampant judgmentalism toward those who did. I discovered this firsthand when the worship leader who lived next to me in the dorm almost had a stroke after seeing the Led Zeppelin poster on the outside of my door. I discovered it even more when during my second semester, my room was broken into and all the band posters (including a 6 foot Sgt. Pepper’s display) were all ripped from the walls and replaced with notes warning my roommate and I about our impending journey on the highway to Hell. But we had fun with that sort of thing. A few of my friends got together one night and did a live cover of Jimi Hendrix’s Purple Haze for the entire campus. That didn’t go over too well. But anyway… “we all want to change the world.”

And it’s great, what kind of memories a coffee mug can conjure up.

Originally posted on Instagram @ajcoffman and Facebook on December 4, 2014

Mom’s Mug

This mug has been in my parent’s house a long time. It was my mom’s mug of choice. I remember many Saturday mornings, waking up to cinnamon rolls, and mom asking me if I would make her some coffee, always in this mug. It’s a Longaberger cup, more popular for their handwoven baskets–which my mother collected for the last 25 years of her life, slowly filling the house with baskets of all shapes and sizes. I can’t believe she’s been gone for over a year now. Watching her die was the most difficult thing I’ve ever experienced… Even knowing it was going to happen wasn’t enough to soften the impact of it.

Mom left us with a lot of stuff to sort through and box away and give away, but those are just physical things, evidence of her presence in a house that was made into a home by the kind of woman she was, and the character she had. Her kindness and her love were evident to anyone who knew her, or even heard her great laugh–a laugh that can still be heard from my Aunt Charlene–mom’s sister.

I have nothing but a brain full of great memories, and a heart full of the love she passed on to me. But when I try to pinpoint one specifically, I think back to about 15 years ago… I was in college at the time, going through a really rough patch. I had already dropped out once and then returned, but I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with my life, and the pressure was mounting for me to choose a path. Some people think Bible college is a safe haven of theological reflection and spiritual enlightenment. I suppose it can be that for some… But for me it was a crucible that tore me apart from the inside out and left me with more confusion and questions than clarity and answers. In the midst of one evening, feeling like I wanted to leave and drop out for a second time, I did what any boy would do in my situation… I called the one woman in the whole world who might have the answer–I called mom. And after listening to me whine and sob about the darkness and uncertainty of the world, she told me something that she never had before.

She told me that I did not belong to her. She said that when I was born, God spoke to her, and he said very simply, “this one belongs to me.” And she finished by saying that she couldn’t tell me who I was supposed to be or what I was supposed to do, because I didn’t belong to her. She just told me to ask God. And my mother did many things for me throughout my life, but telling me that was the greatest gift she ever imparted to me.

Because asking God is everything.

Originally shared on Facebook on May 8, 2014

The Basmati House Review

sifting through the sands of culture, religion, & christian spirituality, one grain at a time

Tag: Christianity

The Cost of Being a Disciple of Jesus

Dailey Chapel’s Annual Basket Dinner

BREAKING NEWS: Non-Christians Behave Like Non-Christians

The Churchmare Before Christmas

The Theology of Pulp Fiction

The Book of Eli

The Bodyguard

Field of Dreams

BEATLES Mug

Mom’s Mug

sifting through the sands of culture, religion, & christian spirituality, one grain at a time

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