Leading Like Moses—Part 1

Exodus 32

It was 1981, and my brother James had just finished his freshman year in Bible college. He and three friends, Gary, Tom, and Jay, decided that they would go on a mission trip. They wanted to go to Alaska. They had heard David Munson’s stories of a summer of ministry in Alaska, and their imaginations were fired by the possibility. Wildlife, native villages, a huge road trip, and growing their beards out. It all excited four young men.

Tom readied a mid-70's model Chevy Blazer for the trip up the Alaska-Canada highway, through the wilderness and up to Alaska.

It was a May evening after the Bible college commencement. James and Tom had been visiting with friends a mile from our home. After dark, they decided to return to the college campus, complete their packing, and hit the road.

The night air had begun to cool as Tom led the way in his Chevy Blazer, down the Mount Carmel road. James followed on his 1970 Honda 400 motorcycle. They rounded the curve and passed Blue Bird trail and the high-water walking bridge that traversed the North Fork of the Kentucky River. Accelerating, they spanned the distance to the low-water bridge. Tom’s Blazer leaped forward in the straight stretch between the Mount Carmel Farm and WMTC radio studios. Not to be outdone, James opened the throttle on the old Honda.

The wind blew through James’ hair as he hurtled through the night air, helmetless. His motorcycle helmet had been stolen in Jackson earlier that week. As they approached WMTC, Tom hardly backed off at all as he rounded the curve at 70 mph. James was following closely and watched as Tom’s brake lights illuminated, and tail lights swerved.

That spring was a particularly bad one for broken fences. Cattle had been getting out, and farm workers had built and rebuilt fence lines. Unbeknown to James, a Black Angus steer had gotten out of the fenced in pasture and was lying down, sleeping in the middle of the warm blacktop of the WMTC curve on Mount Carmel road.

James’ eyes had been riveted upon the Blazer’s tail lights. By the time he realized there was a black mass in the middle of the road, he was upon it. He tried to swerve the Honda, but it was too late. His front tire collided broadside with the steer’s hind quarters. The motorcycle stopped, dead in its tracks. My brother, James, did not. He flew off the motorcycle, through the air, and landed another 40 feet closer to home. James landed in an upright, sitting position, hitting with such impact that the seams on his new Levi’s he had just bought at Rose Brother’s Department Store popped. As he slid, the asphalt burned a hole through his back pocket and the first layer of leather in his wallet. God’s angels spared my brother from certain death that night.

James went to ol’ Doc Maddox in Campton and had a few x-rays. Doc Maddox hated motorcycles. Doc found no broken bones on James that night. That night, it was a few scratches and one sore nineteen-year old young man who said goodbye to his family. He and his buddies were on the road to Alaska by midnight.

A Blazer led the way, and a Honda followed. Leadership. It’s my conviction that everyone has the potential for some kind of leadership. There are strong leaders and there are weak leaders, good leaders and bad leaders, wise leaders and foolish leaders, but everyone has the potential for leadership.

God called Moses to lead his people, the Hebrews, out of Egypt and into Canaan. Moses partnered with his brother, Aaron, to lead God’s chosen people; however, where Moses was strong, Aaron was weak. Consider the contrasting leadership styles of Aaron and Moses. 

• While Aaron was a people pleaser, Moses sought to please God.
• While Aaron was compromising, Moses claimed God’s promises.
• Aaron performed the role of priest, but Moses demonstrated the character of intercessory prayer.
• Aaron feared failure, but Moses was fearless in the face of potential failure.
• Aaron rejected holiness God demanded of the Hebrew community, but Moses embraced holiness. 
• Aaron embraced syncretism, blending true religion with idolatry, but Moses was a man of singular faith and commitment to the one true God.
• Aaron sought to save himself by blaming the people, but Moses sought to sacrifice himself to save the people.

Study the contrast. Lead like Moses.

Every Moses Needs a Joshua--Part 1

Exodus 33:7 “Moses took his tent and pitched it outside the camp, far from the camp, and called it the tabernacle of meeting. And it came to pass that everyone who sought the LORD went out to the tabernacle of meeting which was outside the camp.  8 So it was, whenever Moses went out to the tabernacle, that all the people rose, and each man stood at his tent door and watched Moses until he had gone into the tabernacle. 9 And it came to pass, when Moses entered the tabernacle, that the pillar of cloud descended and stood at the door of the tabernacle, and the LORD talked with Moses. 10 All the people saw the pillar of cloud standing at the tabernacle door, and all the people rose and worshiped, each man in his tent door.  11 So the LORD spoke to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend. And he would return to the camp, but his servant Joshua the son of Nun, a young man, did not depart from the tabernacle.”

Alice and Wilfred Fisher were my friends and neighbors at Kentucky Mountain Bible College.  They are two of the godliest people I have ever known in my life. When I was about 9 years old their son Stephen was killed in a bulldozer accident. Stephen grew up at KMBC, loving adventure and machines. He married a girl from Lee County, Phyllis Davis. They moved to Harlan County, Kentucky where Steve was planting a church. To make ends meet, Steve bought a bulldozer, and did contract work. One day, he was clearing a pad to create a mobile home site on a steep mountainside in Harlan. The dozer got caught in a precarious position, could not regain its traction, and flipped, pinning Steve beneath. His young bride, Phyllis, watched in horror as the life was crushed out of her husband.  

When Alice received the tragic news, her heart reached out to God in her grief. “I wonder what God will teach me through this!” was her famous query.   

Over the years, Alice Fisher became a confidant for many. Her neighbor, groping through the pain of a son who turned to homosexuality, sought counsel from Alice. Students, colleagues, neighbors, and friends knew her to be a woman who knew God. Her intimacy with her heavenly father was fashioned into diamond-like beauty amidst the afflictions and agony of life.

Alice loved to work. She and Wilfred went to Kentucky Mountain Bible College in December, 1939, fresh out of Asbury College. They intended to stay for the remainder of the school year. That temporary arrangement extended to Alice’s death in November, 2010 at 97. She worked full-time at KMBC into her 70's and slowed down to a part-time position as secretary to President Philip Speas until she was 95 years old.  A temporary arrangement turned into a 71 year calling.  

As a young vice president at KMBC, I confided hurt, sorrow, pain, and joy in Mrs. Fisher.  She always supported and encouraged me.  She supported President Speas, protected him, and even nudged him graciously and gently.  She supported my father, J. Eldon Neihof, as president of KMBC and later as president of the Kentucky Mountain Holiness Association.  

This woman of God was one of my favorite chapel speakers, Bible teachers, prayer warriors, confidants, neighbors, and friends. My neighbors for many years, Alice’s living room lights were always lit before mine. She was up early, saturating her soul in the Word and prevailing in prayer. Whenever the weather was nice, she walked the tennis court near her house and mine. She was walking, holding 3x5 note cards, reading, quoting, and memorizing Scripture, until she was 96 years old.  

Alice Fisher was like Joshua in that she “did not depart from the tabernacle.”

For Such a Time as This

As a boy, my mother often told me the story of her pregnancy and my birth. She reminded me that although I am her oldest child, she was pregnant once before me. Mother's first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage.

Mother was pregnant with me during the 1960 presidential campaign. John F. Kennedy and Richard M. Nixon were the candidates. Evangelical Christians across the United States were alarmed at the possibility of a Roman Catholic president. The eschatology of the day featured Roman Catholicism prominently. Preachers and students of the Bible believed that the Roman Catholic Church would be the arch enemy of the true bride of Christ. They feared that a Catholic president would be the pope's puppet, leading toward suffering, the great tribulation, and the culmination of all things.

My pregnant mother confided to her own mother, my grandmother. My grandmother, who had given birth to all of her children in the midst of the Great Depression in the mountains of impoverished Appalachia, told mother, "I don't know that I could bring a child into a world like this."

That fear drove my mother to her knees. She fled to God's Word in prayer. Reading in the book of Esther, mother found God's comfort.
     "Who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?" (Esther 4:14).

Mother immediately knew that God had a plan for her unborn child's life, that His hand was upon me, and that He would use me. Throughout my life, mother has often reminded me of this promise. The promise has given me courage, boldness, and purpose for living in the midst of dark and discouraging seasons of life. The promise has motivated me toward conquest when the task ahead appears insurmountable.

I know that God has purpose, design, intention, and direction. Life is leading somewhere... to Him. Fulfillment is found somewhere... in Him. How I live matters. Living to please God, a life well-lived for His glory, is important.

God made you too. No matter how random and confusing the path may be, He is pursuing you. He has purpose for your life. He made you to know, love, and serve Him in this life, and spend eternity with Him in heaven. Relationship with God gives purpose, order, and meaning to an otherwise chaotic existence. Know Him. Pursue intimacy with God. Let Him fill you with His fulness so that you may become His agent of grace in a broken, sin-cursed world... "for such a time as this."

Mission Made Possible

“Dr. John, meet Raymond. He will be your interpreter as you preach.”

Robert had just introduced me to a young pastor who would preach alongside me in Swahili at the 2013 pastors’ conference of the Africa Gospel Church held at Tenwek Africa Gospel Church, a brief walk down the hillside from Tenwek Hospital. Rev. Dr. Robert Lang’at is the Bishop of the Africa Gospel Church, a Wesleyan holiness denomination started by World Gospel Mission in the twentieth century to serve the church in Kenya East Africa. Lang'at is also my friend, an alumnus of Wesley Biblical Seminary, and an advocate for WBS.

Raymond Tonui shook my hand warmly. His slight figure and sharp facial features framed a warm smile and intelligent gaze. As we prayed together before the message, I knew that I was with a like-minded brother.

Preaching alongside Raymond was invigorating. He translated my English into Swahili to the one thousand pastors in attendance with ease, anointing, and conviction. The first message we preached together had its text in Hebrews 12:14-17:  

^“Follow peace with all men, and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord: looking diligently lest any man fail of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing up trouble you, and thereby many be defiled;  lest there be any fornicator, or profane person, as Esau, who for one morsel of meat sold his birthright. For ye know how that afterward, when he would have inherited the blessing, he was rejected: for he found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears.”

That service, the altar was crowded with kneeling, weeping, confessing Kenyan pastors, twenty feet deep into the aisles. Raymond remembers that evening, “I have not forgotten that night as the Holy Spirit spoke to us through the message of Holiness through you.”

Before the week was out, I met Raymond’s beautiful wife and two lovely children, and preached in the church he pastors, Karen AGC. I was present and preached at his ordination service at the close of the pastor’s conference. My heart was stirred when Raymond received the clergy collar along with the exhortation to preach the Word.

I learned that Raymond had graduated from Kenya Highlands Evangelical University, and that he desired to further his education. We talked about his attending Wesley Biblical Seminary as an online student in our MA Mission Possible program. This program commits to a tuition scholarship for international pastors in the majority world who can study online, in English, and with the recommendation of their host organization. I was the courier of Raymond’s college transcript from Kenya to Jackson, Mississippi.

Raymond was accepted and enrolled at WBS. In May, 2017, he is among the first Kenyans to graduate from Wesley Biblical Seminary’s MA Mission Possible program, and will do so with a Master of Arts in Christian Studies. Raymond describes his experience pursuing an online Master of Arts in Christian Studies at WBS: “I am grateful to God, you and the WBS Family, I am not the same person I was before. I have experienced the power of God in me and I am beginning to see his presence in my ministry. I believe in my heart that Holiness is what God wants for this Generation, and I stand up to be counted among those who will live and preach it. It has been a pleasure to sit under your feet and those wonderful men and women who serve as professors. I am eternally grateful.”

Your investment in the mission of Wesley Biblical Seminary is an investment with impact. You are impacting transformation in the Church at home and around the globe. Wesley Biblical Seminary depends upon the gifts of our friends to support 60% of our annual budget. We are dependent upon your prayerful and faithful monthly support to advance our mission. Thank you for equipping Raymond and many others to impact our world for Christ. 

Saint Valentine Tells His Own Story

“Let me introduce myself.  My name is Valentine.  I lived in Rome during the third century.  That was long, long ago!  At that time, Rome was ruled by an emperor named Claudius.  I didn’t like Emperor Claudius, and I wasn’t the only one!  A lot of people shared my feelings.  

“Claudius wanted to have a big army.  He expected men to volunteer to join.  Many men just did not want to fight in wars.  They did not want to leave their wives and families.  As you might have guessed, not many men signed up.  This made Claudius furious.  So what happened?  He had a crazy idea.  He thought that if men were not married, they would not mind joining the army.  So Claudius decided not to allow any more marriages.  Young people thought his new law was cruel.  I thought it was preposterous!  I certainly wasn’t going to support that law!

“Did I mention that I was a priest?  One of my favorite activities was to marry couples.  Even after Emperor Claudius passed his law, I kept on performing marriage ceremonies--secretly, of course.  It was really quite exciting.  Imagine a small candlelit room with only the bride and groom and myself.  We would whisper the words of the ceremony, listening all the while for the steps of soldiers.

“One night, we did hear footsteps.  It was scary!  Thank goodness the couple I was marrying escaped in time.  I was caught.  (Not quite as light on my feet as I used to be, I guess.)  I was thrown in jail and told that my punishment was death.

“I tried to stay cheerful.  And do you know what?  Wonderful things happened.  Many young people came to the jail to visit me.  They threw flowers and notes up to my window.  They wanted me to know that they, too, believed in love.

“One of these young people was the daughter of the prison guard.  Her father allowed her to visit me in the cell.  Sometimes we would sit and talk for hours.  She helped me to keep my spirits up.  She agreed that I did the right thing by ignoring the Emperor and going ahead with the secret marriages.  On the day I was to die, I left my friend a little note thanking her for her friendship and loyalty.  I signed it, ‘Love from your Valentine.’

“I believe that note started the custom of exchanging love messages on Valentine’s Day.  It was written on the day I died, February 14, 269 A.D.  Now, every year on this day, people remember.  But most importantly, they think about love and friendship.  And when they think of Emperor Claudius, they remember how he tried to stand in the way of love, and they laugh--because they know that love can’t be conquered!"

St. Valentine’s story from http://www. pictureframses.co.uk/pages/saint_valentine.htm       January 13, 2000

A Valentine Veteran

Jimmy and Helen were workers at Mount Carmel High School when I was a boy.  Jimmy was a maintenance man and Helen was a cook.  They were both hardworking, industrious people.  Jimmy was not the brightest man, but he worked hard and he loved Helen.   One day Jimmy noticed the letter “V” marking a holiday on the calendar.  Jimmy thought to himself, “I need to get a Valentine for Helen!”  
So the next time Jimmy was in Jackson shopping, he looked for a Valentine for Helen   To his surprise, he could find none.  Jimmy saw a red cardinal with pretty feathers, so he decided to buy that for Helen   On the special day, Jimmy presented his valentine cardinal to Helen  and said, “Happy Valentines Day.”  Helen was mystified, and thanked Jimmy.  Suddenly she realized what had happened.  “Jimmy, it’s not Valentine’s Day.  It’s November and the V on the calendar is for Veteran’s Day!”

A Model of Christ or of Judas?

I remember hearing this story years ago.  I don't know the original source. 

John 6:66-71 
"After this many of his disciples turned back and would not walk with him any more. Jesus said to the Twelve: "Surely you too do not want to go away?" Simon Peter answered him: "Lord, to whom are we to go? You have the words of eternal life; and we have believed and we have come to know that you are the Holy One of God." Jesus answered them: "Did I not choose you twelve, and one of you is a devil?" He meant Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, for he was going to betray him--and he was one of the Twelve."

"There is a terrible story about an artist who was painting the Last Supper. It was a great picture and it took him many years. As model for the face of Christ he used a young man with a face of transcendent loveliness and purity. Bit by bit the picture was filled in and one after another the disciples were painted. The day came when he needed a model for Judas whose face he had left to the last. He went out and searched in the lowest haunts of the city and in the dens of vice. At last he found a man with a face so depraved and vicious as matched his requirement. When the sittings were at an end the man said to the artist: "You painted me before." "Surely not," said the artist. "O yes," said the man, "I sat for your Christ." The years had brought terrible deterioration. 

"The years can be cruel. They can take away our ideals and our enthusiasms and our dreams and our loyalties. They can leave us with a life that has grown smaller and not bigger. They can leave us with a heart that is shrivelled instead of one expanded in the love of Christ. There can be a lost loveliness in life--God saves us from that!"  (William Barclay in The Gospel of John, vol. 1, 1955, pp. 237-238).

Tell Your Story!

William Barclay tells the following story in his Daily Study Bible on The Gospel of John (vol.1, 1955, pp. 76-77).

"There is a story which tells how, towards the end of the nineteenth century, Huxley, the great agnostic, was a member of a house-party at a country house. Sunday came round, and most of the members prepared to go to church; but, very naturally, Huxley did not propose to go. Huxley approached a man known to have a simple and radiant Christian faith.

"He said to him: 'Suppose you don't go to church today. Suppose you stay at home and you tell me quite simply what your Christian faith means to you and why you are a Christian.'

"'But,' said the man, 'you could demolish my arguments in an instant. I'm not clever enough to argue with you.'

"Huxley said gently: 'I don't want to argue with you; I just want you to tell me simply what this Christ means to you.'

"The man stayed at home and told Huxley most simply of his faith. When he had finished there were tears in the great agnostic's eyes. 'I would give my right hand,' he said, 'if only I could believe that.'"

"It was not clever argument that touched Huxley's heart. He could have dealt efficiently and devastatingly with any argument that that simple Christian was likely to have produced, but the simple presentation of Christ caught him by the heart."

My prayer is that God will give me the grace, wisdom, and courage just to tell my story of what Jesus means to me today.  I pray the same for you.

A Servant Boy’s Passover Story--John 13

I watched in wide-eyed wonder as Jesus entered the room for Passover. I had seen him in the temple courts on a few occasions.  Once, I even heard him teaching there. All of the talk had raged about him for three years. Now, I am face to face with this mysterious man who seemed to made children glad and Pharisees mad!

I had worked all day with my mother to prepare the room. One of Jesus’ followers had arranged our upstairs room for their Passover dinner. Mother was still in the kitchen when they
arrived. My job was to set the table and serve the food.

The warm expression on His face gave the room a special glow as He entered. Jesus’ men milled about for a bit. They noticed the wash basin, but no one seemed interested in washing. I looked at them. Not too dirty, I suppose. Oh well. I had heard that these men were outdoors men and not always attentive to some details of the Law.

Hesitant, they seemed to be waiting on something. The men milled about in conversation.  No one seemed ready to sit down on the dining couches. Suddenly, it dawned on me. I ran to mother in the kitchen.

“Mother, Jesus and His men are here. They are waiting for a servant to wash their feet.”

Immediately, mother responded, “Never mind that now. I have something for you to do.”

Knowing better than to object to my mother’s assignment, I set about completing the task which she needed doing.

Once completed, the kitchen and serving duties began to accelerate. I forgot all about the men’s need of a servant to wash them.

My first delivery to the tables was the wine. I carried the carafe into the upper room where the men were dining. I was astonished. They were already seated at the table. The wash basin and towel appeared untouched.

I scurried back to the kitchen.  “Mother, Jesus and His men did not wash for dinner!”

“Never mind that now” was mother’s familiar response to my urgent declaration.

“The bread,” mother directed, pointing her chin. Her hands were full with carving the lamb.

I turned to the bread and lifted it from its place on the counter  I placed it in Mother’s favorite bread basket and headed to our upstairs room where the men were visiting. As I placed the bread basket upon the table near the wine, I sensed tension in the conversation. The men on the end of the table were talking about the washing. No one wanted to do it. I knew it needed done, but mother needed me more. I could delay no longer. I returned to the kitchen.

Mother was completing the final carving of the lamb. She had arranged the steaming meat upon a large platter. She wiped her hands with a towel, lifted the sagging platter from its rest and placed it in my waiting arms.

“Quickly,” she urged. “Serve the table.”

As I rounded the corner, and stepped to the doorway, the lamplight flickered in our upstairs gathering room. I paused, frozen in astonishment. Jesus had already risen from his seat. I watched as he untied the sash about his waist.  He removed his coat and laid it aside. Twelve pairs of eyes, plus mine, were riveted upon Him. Wearing only His tunic, He stood by the washstand and poured water from the pitcher into the basin mother had prepared for washing.  He wrapped the towel around His waist, tied it loosely, and lifted the basin. Then He turned to His disciples.

The twelve flinched almost as one at the realization of what their leader was about to do. My feet felt rooted to the floor.   stood behind the threshold of the doorway, watching the drama unfold. My arms ached with the weight of the platter of lamb. But I could not turn my eyes from the scene before me.

Jesus knelt first at one, then another.  He tenderly released the latch string that held the sandals and bathed and dried each foot. The men were silent, embarrassed, ashamed. When Jesus came to a great big barrel-chested man, the voice from within the burly beard defiantly insisted, “Not me. Go to the next one.”

“You don’t understand what I am doing. If I don’t wash your feet, you cannot have any part with me. Someday I will explain it to you.”

Shattered bravado proclaimed the corruption of character as the man within the bushy beard blustered, “Then just give me a bath!”

“No, you already bathed. Just your feet.”

And Jesus washed his feet too.

As Jesus completed the washing and replaced the towel and basin, He spoke, “Not all of you are clean.”

The men looked at each other, questions etched their faces.  What did He mean?  He was often making mysterious statements that they did not understand. Shrugging their shoulders, they began to relax.

I felt life return to my numb legs. I crept across the room and placed the platter of lamb at Jesus’ place. He was just returning to his seat. He looked at me, a child, and smiled.  Then Jesus reached his work-hardened hand across the wide table and tussled my hair. Teeth gleaming in a warm expression, He said, “Thanks, son,” and announced, “We’re ready to eat!”

I left the room to return to the kitchen. I heard Jesus begin to speak, so I paused in the dark shadows beyond the doorway, where moments earlier I had watched the foot washing unfold.

“Do you know what I have just done?”  His voice stilled the chatter.  “Do you know what I have done to you? You call Me Teacher and Lord, and you say well, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you should do as I have done to you. Most assuredly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master; nor is he who is sent greater than he who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.” (John 13:14-17 NKJV)

Embarrassed for spying, I hurried to Mother.  We worked in silence in the kitchen. Throughout the evening, I could hear laughter and lively chatter from the gathering room. Mother soon prompted me to return to the gathering room and clear the table.  As I came to the entrance, I again peered inside. The men appeared nearly finished with the meal.

Jesus spoke. His voice sounded sad. “One of you is going to betray me.”

The men looked around the table, shocked expressions on their bearded faces. The youngest looking fellow was leaning against Jesus. He turned to look Jesus squarely in the face. “Who is it?” he asked directly.

Jesus said, “The next one I feed.”  Then he took a piece of Mother’s bread, and sopped the last drops of broth from the serving bowl.  He handed it across the table to one of the men and tersely commanded, “Go. Do it.” The man immediately left the table and went out into the darkness.

Sensing a momentary pause, I entered the room and began clearing the table of plates. Jesus restrained me and asked me to leave the remaining bread along with his wine glass. My arms were already full with the plates of the 13 men. My shoulders ached as I carried the dishes to Mother in the kitchen.  She sent me back to the gathering room to retrieve the serving bowls.

By now, I had learned to pause and observe the men, lest I interrupt something important, before entering the room. In the doorway, I again heard Jesus speak.  “I will be with you just a bit longer, then I have to go. You cannot go with me. Love each other.”

The voice from within the bushy beard asked Jesus, “Where are you going?”

“You cannot come with me.”

“Why not?  I will die for you if you need me to!”

Jesus turned to the bushy beard. “Will you really?  Before morning you will deny me three times! But relax. I am going to Father’s house to get things ready for you.  I am the only way to Father’s house. I am the truth and the life.”

The words were strange to me. The men looked at Jesus with interested ignorance. Blank looks on their faces revealed that they did not understand the mysterious words of the Teacher, but none of them admitted it.

Back in the kitchen with mother, I heard singing. I slipped back into the gathering room as the men were leaving. I heard them proclaim their destination as the Mount of Olives and the Gethsemane Garden. A prayer meeting, they said.

Sleep came fitfully. I tossed and turned until I awoke with a start around midnight. Mother was still sleeping. I immediately thought of Jesus, his men, and the prayer meeting. Concern and curiosity consumed me. I wrapped my bed sheet about my naked body and walked to the door of my Jerusalem home which led out onto the street. The night air was cool and moist. I stepped across the threshold and into the street.

I wound my way through the streets of Jerusalem. Now quiet and empty, they had thronged with Passover worshipers just a few hours earlier. I walked through the city gate and down the Kidron slope. Moving East, I found myself on the Mount of Olives.  The shadowy shapes of ancient olive trees of a garden were in front of me. I slipped beneath their dark embrace.  In the stillness, I listened for voices. Silence. I moved deeper into the garden named Gethsemane.

In the stillness, I saw some shapes I recognized as human. They were on the ground, sleeping. I hunkered beneath the old olive tree, waiting. A dark shape moved toward the sleeping men.

“Wake up.” I recognized Jesus’ voice immediately. “It’s time. They’re here.”

“Who? What?”

“My betrayer has come.”

Suddenly, torches illuminated the garden. Temple guard with stony faces surrounded Jesus’ disciple–the one Jesus gave the bread. Then the disciple kissed Jesus. The guards were on Him, yelling and cursing.

Torch wielding guards turned from Jesus to make a quick search of the garden. I heard running.  I started to run too. I heard footsteps behind me. A burly temple guard was closing the gap.  Suddenly, he reached for me. I could feel my bed sheet tear from my body and into his grasp. Naked, I fled into the night and to the security of my home.

Terror gripped my trembling form as I lay in my bed. The events of the night raced through my mind. Toward morning, I drifted into brief and fitful sleep, haunted by images of torches, temple guards, and the sound of pounding feet racing through a tangle of olive trees.

It was already light when I awoke from my slumber of terror.  The sound of a crowd gathering in the street stirred me.

“Passover,” was my first thought.

I rose and clothed myself. I moved toward the front door. My eyes were momentarily blinded by the morning light. As my vision adjusted, my eyes confirmed what my ears heard. This was not a peaceful Passover crowd, rather a riotous mob crying “Crucify him.” The volume intensified as I stood frozen in the open door of my home.

Then I saw Him moving up the street. Bloody. Naked. Beaten beyond recognition. Jesus.  Carrying a cross!  Convicted? Crucified? At Passover?

As the throng moved past my house, I felt myself caught in its tide of motion. I knew the destination, Skull Hill–the place of crucifixion.

It was gory beyond description. I watched from afar. Hours earlier,I had served Mother’s Passover dinner to this kind, mystical man. What could He have done to deserve this execution reserved for the worst sub-human creatures?

Sabbath was lonely. Scary. Subdued.

The first day of the week dawned. My homeland sky was illuminated first with a dim glow followed by threads of light. As the sun rose in the heavens, brilliance captured the arrival of a new week.

It was afternoon when the man I recognized as “the beard” appeared at our home. He asked for mother  In hushed, secretive tones he asked her about the gathering room. Arrangements made for a secret meeting that evening, “the beard” covered his head and slipped into the crowded Jerusalem streets.

At dusk, the group of men began to arrive at our house. The young one, the beard, others. Their expressions confused me. Then men looked confused. Their faces were stained with tears. Their eyes were puffy and swollen from weeping. Their voices were hushed and hoarse. Excitement, surprise, hope, and shattered grief co-mingled in voice and countenance.

Once they had gathered, mother asked me to serve them water to drink. I took the appointed pitcher and made my way to the doorway. I walked into the room and delivered water and glasses to the table. I was unnoticed as the men spoke energetically to each other. I turned and left the room. As I crossed the threshold on my return trip to mother, I heard a gasp, then silence. I paused, motionless.

Then I heard it. It was His voice.

“Peace to you.”

I turned to gaze through the open doorway. There He was. Unmistakable. It was Jesus.  He was alive!

“Why are you troubled? And why do doubts arise in your hearts? Behold My hands and My feet, that it is I Myself. Handle Me and see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see I have.”

Hesitatingly at first, they touched Him. Then they laughed, embraced, and began talking rapidly. Jesus lifted His hands to slow their talk. His next words brought laughter. “I’m hungry! Do you have anything to eat?”

I popped my head through the open doorway. “I’ll get you something!”

The men roared with laughter at the exposed spy!

I raced to mother’s kitchen, grabbed a piece of broiled fish from dinner, and hurried back to Jesus. He ate it with gusto, and then he taught them.

“These are the words which I spoke to you while I was still with you, that all things must be fulfilled which were written in the Law of Moses and the Prophets and the Psalms concerning Me.”

“Thus it is written, and thus it was necessary for the Christ to suffer and to rise from the dead the third day, and that repentance and remission of sins should be preached in His name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. And you are witnesses of these things. Behold, I send the Promise of My Father upon you; but tarry in the city of Jerusalem until you are endued with power from on high” (Luke 24:44-48 NKJV).

Then he was gone, just as quickly as he had come. But His coming had forever changed me.

Avon Park Camp Meeting Bible Study

Avon Park Camp Meeting

Bible Study Introduction

I live just 3 hours from New Orleans, Louisiana.  The Big Easy is home to great gumbo, incredible French bread, amazing grilled oysters, and all other sorts of incredible coastal cuisine.  The Crescent City is also home to the sordid Mardi Gras and its overflow of iniquity, Fat Tuesday.  Juxtaposed against the backdrop of debauchery, the city's NFL football franchise is known as the New Orleans Saints! 

"Who Dat?"

When the Saints are playing, the loyal fan base cries the taunts of "Who Dat?" directing the insulting interrogative at the opposing team. 

"Who Dat?"

Scripture is replete with obscure characters with strange names who lived in times that we don't understand as citizens of a 21st century world.  We often find ourselves saying "Who Dat?"

This year's Bible study will attempt to unpack the stories of obscure as well as familiar Old Testament characters.  We will journey through these Old Testament narratives with in a quest to find age old Biblical  guidance for our lives.  Characters with names like Nadab, Abihu, Korah, Dathan, Abiram, Moses, Hobab, Jonah, Malachi, Joshua, and Adonijah will capture our attention.  Sometimes, we will find ourselves exclaiming the New Orleans chant, "Who Dat?"  Afterwards, we will know who that is!  I am eager to see you at Bible study!

Daily Bible Study 9:00 a.m. EST, February 5-14, 2016

Livestream at http://www.sundaystreams.com/go/AvonParkCamp

Snapshots

Hebrews 12:14-15 NKJV "Pursue peace with all people, and holiness, without which no one will see the Lord: looking carefully lest anyone fall short of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing up cause trouble, and by this many become defiled."


A few years ago, I was preaching a Sunday morning service of a revival emphasis in a church in south central Kentucky. I suggested that mothers-in-law sometimes took emotional photographs of their sons-in-law at poor moments. Sometimes, a daughter will take a photo of her husband’s bad side, and share it with her mother. The mother-in-law will then take this collection of photos of the bad side of her son-in-law and place them in an emotional photo album. Thus, bitterness and resentment are preserved in memorium, and relational defilement is shared between a mother and a daughter, further undermining the foundation of the daughter’s marriage to her husband.


After the service, a lady approached me. She was obviously moved by the truth of the message. She said, "I have to go home and burn some photo albums!"


I knew immediately what she meant. Her daughter’s stories, coupled with her inherent suspicion of the man who had taken her daughter to be his wife, created a sense of mistrust. She found herself gravitating toward the stories that cast the man in a bad light. When God showed His light on the unfairness of bitterness that was stored in her heart, she knew that she must deal with it in prayer. She also knew that her memory bank, the photo album filled with pictures of the man’s bad side, had to be destroyed.


I have learned that I have to qualify snapshots of relationships with colleagues and friends when I relate a story to my wife. If not, I can defile my wife’s thoughts of others with unattractive images of their worst moments. I often tell my wife, "I have just handed you a photo of life with this person; however, remember, life is a motion picture." The static nature of a photo leaves out important details that often change its interpretation.