A GIFT FROM CHRIS

The past couple of days have awakened a remarkable pile of memories as we said goodbye to our friend, neighbor, extra son. The gift he left behind was this--a reminder of the very unique community God formed over the past couple of decades. Like fish unaware they live in the ocean, it's possible some of us just figured everyone enjoys such an ecosystem of camaraderie. The epicenter may have been Maria Street, but today it reaches to Senatobia, MS and Baltimore and East Africa, Louisville, Chattanooga, Philadelphia, and beyond. This Band of Brothers (which also includes a bunch of sisters!) is inextricably bound together forever. Their commitment to Christ is unmistakable, but they always stood ready to admit others into their ranks. To belong required a willingness to endure heavy doses of craziness, teasing, and practical jokes. This bunch includes some of the funniest people on the planet. We've sorted through countless photographs in the past week--the Starbuck Family Christmas Pic with big ol' Chris right there with us, the boys camping out on our trampoline, baptism photos, wedding pix, and more. The funeral home visitation was dominated by stories of Chris and the gang. When they kicked us out, we just moved over to Firehouse Subs. Somebody said he almost felt guilty for having so much fun at Chris's viewing. At the service the next day, we heard from just some of the guys--all 30-somethings now--who loved Chris like a brother. Christ was honored. The gospel of salvation was declared. Tears and laughter were abundant. We hugged each other, tried to comfort Chris's wife Amy and his parents, Denisce and Gordon, and told more stories. I left emotionally drained but spiritually filled. If Chris got to watch, I know he was pleased. I am so blessed by and proud of and thankful for all who populate this special group.

The Greatest of These

Helen was born in 1921 and lived out her life in a house just a half mile from Open Door. She had no blood relatives. Jimmy Carter was just leaving the White House the last time she attended our fellowship. But over the past more than a few years, I have watched the church be the church. There were untold numbers of meals and check ins and hours of yard work and various home repairs, and at least one break in for a medical emergency. This pastor didn't do much for Helen. Didn't have to. Others were busy doing the work of the ministry, and Helen neither demanded much nor put up with too much fuss. Yesterday afternoon at Historic Elmwood Cemetery with the rain coming down, I stood under a tent by her graveside and spoke to a group of people--the funeral director, a handful of long-time neighbors, and a cluster of saints from a little Midtown church. We were surrounded by 80 acres of graves dating back to 1852 where reside the bodies of mayors and slaves and a slave trader and 2,500 victims of the Yellow Fever Epidemic and veterans of American wars all the way back to our Revolution. We were viewing life from God's timeline, a look we seldom take time to consider. And that moment was for Helen. Only a few things comprise what is truly important. And I caught a rare glimpse of it.

Grieving Together

Just when I've about decided that Facebook brings out the worst in almost all of us--encouraging knee-jerk, reactionary, agenda-driven tirades at every turn--there's this ray of hope. I've actually been (okay, mostly) encouraged as I've followed responses to the Orlando tragedy. To hurt for the people who are hurting and to grieve with those who grieve only demands that I see people as people--made in God's image, fellow sinners on this sometimes too brief pilgrimage called life. To stand with them doesn't require that I celebrate every sexual behavior or that every Muslim is my enemy or that I must use every tragedy to drive my preferred political agenda regarding guns, borders, and "my rights." Sometimes it can be as simple as taking chicken sandwiches to a line of people waiting to donate blood on my day off.

View from Mars Hill

When the Apostle Paul stopped by Areopagus Coffee in Athens, he was favorably impressed.  While the baristas there all sported the logo of Mars, the Roman god of war, these people were at least spiritually aware.  They had posters to all sorts of gods and goddesses, and they even had one reserved for “the unknown God.”  And there were special red cups for the dark elixir offered as oblations.  They were celebrating, but not sure just why.  And so Paul was able to tell them some very Good News.  In their sad and generic, spiritually bankrupt and shades-of-grey world that lacked all sense of wonder, Paul let them know the single most wondrous truth in the entire universe.  Some mocked; some believed; some said he should come back and tell them more about this God-Man they had unknowingly yet instinctively acknowledged.  “The god of the red cup” became an opportunity to speak of the one true God loving us so much that He chose to dwell among us, seeking and saving those who are lost.

A Time to Speak

Some of you may be tiring of my continuing references to the Planned Parenthood situation. I can only explain that about 26 years ago I was faced with a question: What would I tell my three children and their children when they grew up and asked me what I had done for the unborn during "those dark days" in U.S. history? I cannot apologize to you...without later needing to apologize to them.

You may choose to look away,

but you can never say again that you did not know.

William Wilberforce

Praying for Our Police Officers

We need to pray for the police officers who protect us every day. People working political agendas have placed them in new kinds of danger. A split second of hesitation can cost them their lives, but pulling the trigger may cost them their jobs, their reputations, and the opportunity to live quiet and peaceful lives. Their families, who always face that nagging thought that a loved one might not come home from work, now face even greater challenges.  Take a moment to ask the Lord to protect and encourage them.

Our Legacy

The Congressional Budget Office has calculated the Medicare cost we might incur if we prohibit abortion of the unborn who make it to 20 weeks. Who even thinks in such terms? If it's a baby (and this is incontrovertible--try telling a 5-months pregnant mom that "it" is something else), then it is a baby. We have lost our way. Thomas Jefferson's name can hardly be mentioned these days without someone saying: "Yes, maybe a great man...but he owned slaves." One day will people look back on us and say: "Yes, but they allowed abortion"?